Writing

It’s a myth. No one would be that stupid. However, it’s a myth so utterly ridiculous that one has to wonder. The skies are not the domain of man: they belong to one above all. However, a few decades ago there began a rumour; one so ludicrous it spread like wildfire. People truly are starved for entertainment in this age, maybe it was from that lack that this rumour sprang: one of an island that soars through the winds on a pair of pure white wings. The soft brown rock crumbles away into the limitless sky, the island itself held together by magic and wonder. Atop the island’s mountain stood a hall, adorned with marble splendour. They say that, as the island passes overhead, you can hear the harmonious chants from the top of the highest peak. The bells and harps playing against the clouds. 

They say that, as the path leads down from the sanctum at the peak, the road becomes paved and quickly widens. Its miraculously colourful market springs from the roads and the hustle and bustle of a small city is packed in every street. Crowds of people from all over the world flock the streets, overcome with smells and sights. Spices so fragrant that it overpowers the smell of hundreds packed ear to elbow. They say the wave of whitened smiles in the crowd could make a snow field jealous, that the chattering people would make a thousand rattlesnakes seem mute. The stalls themselves are picked from freely, everyone sharing and passing the joyous tastes around in a muddled melting pot. A place so open that even warring people would turn from breaking bones to breaking bread. A city where people needn't glance at the sky and keep themselves low. A world where people may dance and sing out in joy without fear of disturbing the wrong being. A world where nobody built their houses into the ground to mask their existence. They can live in towers that scrape the sky.

They say a river of water runs through the middle of the island, crystal in its clarity. Running from one end, where it pours off the edge and disappears into a mist. They say that if you were to cup a handful of this water, you wouldn’t be able to see it in your hand. Only the refreshing feeling as it washes across your skin would tell you it is there. The water rushes and bubbles over the side of the island, churning in a delicate white broth. It falls in a wonderful rainbow, the sparkling drops shining as they shatter against the island’s huge wings. A pair of angelic white wings. They beat slowly, with ten foot feathers sprouting from the top of each wing and blending into the sky as the isle crosses the world. The rustle of wings pushing against the deep blue sounds like a soft whisper fluttering across your ear. 

As the sun sets on this paradise, a comfortable orange glow lathers the tall and extravagant houses. These buildings are strange, some towers branching as they grow taller and covering their neighbours with a soothing shade. Now the crimson sky, highlighted only by the darkening clouds, begins to disappear under the cover of night time. The residents of such a marvellous island begin to dance, lights sparkle in the sky, stars descend from the heavens to join them in a merry sway of the hips. Laughter and wine flow freely well into the night as the people fly high above the problems of the world, they can cheer and toast into the darkness without worrying who might be listening. They can sing and play music deep into the sky until even the clouds above dance and Frolic against their soft horizon. 

It’s a horrible tale. One I think of often as I rake my hoe against the ground. Ripping the dirt up from its place. Blisters that form on my palms like a mould, the sweat that drips in fear of the open sky: all quickly reminding me of just how grounded my own world is. I long for a day where children could look up at the whooshing of wings, igniting a spark of wonder inside them: where people hear a howling from the sky and laugh in joy because the flying island has arrived. Where the shadows a cloud casts on the ground may bring hope to those looking upwards. I dream that the rain that breaks on your head is not a cover for something sinister but instead heralds the flying islands' dazzling waterfalls. I resent the earth I was born on for not sprouting wings and freeing me from the horrors that lurk around. I pray that when a message passes from town to town it is to tell of the wonderful celebrations rocking the heavens and not of some calamity that has befallen our neighbours. At the end of the day my greatest regret is that I cannot lift this ground up. That I alone cannot carry an island of joy on my back. I look at the people born into hovels in the ground, scared to venture under the sky, and I am pained by the limits of myself, that I cannot spare them from the torment as I wish I had been saved. I wish I could be the flying island for them.

Long ago, in a time untouched by men, there stood eight Dragons. One still stands today. Each was given a prophesy by a cruel trickster and each tried to escape it only to fall into their own demise. One still stands today. He has been known by many names as he has persisted through many languages. There are very few constants in the world, but one stood today before Aali. The Monarch as his most recent name. The name of Aali's father.

The man was larger than he should have been. His stature broad and the picture of masculinity. Or rather he modeled for the picture of masculinity. He didn't glance at Aali as he entered the room, nor should he with Aali being dead and all. Aali stood in the room anyway. This was not zer usual stomping grounds, no Aali normally kept to Lari's room. Especially when it was still light in the day. It was hardly thieving time yet. But today ze had come to witness something truly incredible. The Monarch would become human, just for a moment mind, but human nonetheless. The man walked awkwardly towards the bed where his daughter lay. She was still feverish from the operation, her body reassembled into one that fit. She rose slightly, her muscles straining to attention in a way no child should meet their parent. The Monarch waved her down. His muscled arms revealed from under the ancient style wrap he bore. 

"You know it has been some time since I bore a daughter." The Monarch said, his voice calm and measured. Yet his words still pulled a smile from the girls fragile body. The man paused slightly, a glimmer flashing in his eyes that Aali could have almost mistaken for affection. The display brought a soft grin to zer lips. A small welling of tears collecting in zer eyes. Lari would be next and the small gesture would mean the world to her as it did to the girl in front of her. Aali felt a deep excitement for her. The type of thing only an imaginary friend could feel. 

"Long ago I was given immortality," The man spoke. Aali was taken aback slightly, The Monarch hardly spoke and when he did it was an order for more wine, more women and more everything. He never spoke about his origins. "The spirit told me that one day I would curse her, and I of course told it that I would never curse one who bestowed such a gift upon me." The creature was suddenly ancient again. His years showing behind the pensive air. "they told me that I would hunger and hunger until nothing could sate me. And in seeking that which I wanted so, I would meet my end." Aali's heart almost stopped, it was a rare occurrence when ze was speechless. Unable to find the words even in zer mind. The Monarch dying was something many spoke of. Like the sun going out and the tides turning away. Yet the man who had barely said two words to zer now spoke of it himself? A chill ran down zer spine as ze stepped forward, his words almost lending credit to the phenomena themselves.

 The Monarchs fist blurred slightly, a strange warping in the air as it jagged forward. His skin melding into a soft green scale and his arm shifting into a deformed talon. Aali screamed out but no one would hear. The girls magic flared up in a moment, a confused blare of light. But it was too slow. The claw ripped down to her flesh and gorged a red splatter from her. She barely whimpered as she went. The look of betrayal frozen across her face. The Monarchs arm returned to normal, nary a twitch of emotion on his face. He ran a stained hand across her cheek, dying her terror stricken features before he turned and left the room. Aali's heart thundered through zer chest. Zer eyes still darting across the room in a daze. The questions began to batter away at zer mind like a drum. Then zer mind turned back to the woman, her new body carved. Lari would be next. They had both been changed at the same time. The had come out together. Aali ripped zer eyes from the corpse and bolted from the room. 

Their family lived in a sprawling complex of hundreds of buildings, each connected by their own walkways and separated by expansive and exotic gardens. For years Aali had made those grounds zer hunting grounds. Sneaking through kitchens and store rooms of every possession that had ever caught The Monarch's fancy. Always Aali had been quiet, even if ze was imaginary it was nice to pretend to go unseen, to pretend it was zer choice, but now ze thundered past walls of hedges and roaming creatures. Ze ran until the world almost swirled around, the pathways curving and shimmering in zer exhausted vision. Lari was easy to find, you could feel her pull from a room away, the soft comfort of her emotions on yours. Aali burst through the door, the splintering wood almost shattering under the force. Lari of course jumped, it was natural when a ghost popped up, she was remarkably more spritely than her sister and scrambled up against the back wall before eventually realising who had entered. 

"We need to go." Aali blurted, half hoping that zer words and current panic would be enough to spur Lari to action. 

"What's gotten into you?" Her voice calming as the initial panic flushed from her system. "You look like you've seen a ghost!" Aali would not find the time to appreciate the irony and instead rushed to the side of Lari's bed. Ze snatched her hand and tried to pull her out of bed, an incoherent spray of words and an exhausted panting did not make for a good argument. "Slow down for a moment will you," Lari said, her arm half dragged from the sheets. A small wave of calm pressed over Aali as Lari worked her magic, the pounding rhythm of zer heart stilling and zer breaths deepening. 

"Dad… He's coming." Aali heaved out, zer chest on fire. The stealthy life of a thief did not prepare one thoroughly enough for a run like that. 

"I know, He's at-"

"He killed her… You're next." Aali said, zer words stunted and short as ze tried to suck in more air. 

"Why would he-"

"I don't know we need to go!"

"Stop interrupting-"

"Get changed!" Ze yelled finally, letting zer trembling body fall to the ground as ze confirmed Lari had started moving.

More - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1uwraK18IAO2x2x8aRe_meKfdFsBd7HTy/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=102974286723132896272&rtpof=true&sd=true 

Tenth Circle, Ten Weeks West of Winter.

Dear Diary, 

Today was an unusual respite from the monotony of hammering Old Kimmer's horse's shoes straight after one of his boys has ridden them ragged. The village was abuzz with gossip as it often is when anyone new crosses through. I tried not to make myself interested but they said a knight had been in the Bear's Arms. All gleaming in silver like something from the heavens least that's what Maggie said. 

Everyone wanted to sell him something, it had been years since someone with money had come to Vires and an awful lot longer since they'd been willing to spend it. But he wasn't having much of it, bought some of Maggie's cheapest bread, payed for the cheapest room and then started walking towards my forge. I'll not be honest if I say he didn't scare me something. The armour itself was finery, it locked almost seamlessly with itself and some of the embroidery, Well if nothing else it made me jealous of the hands that etched it. But they came to me and said I was the most recommended from three towns over. Three towns! Can you imagine, me! I was blushing just for that I bet. But then they clammed down a sword, Oh the sword. If the armour were fit for a knight then the sword could not be out of place in the king's own hand. they didn't speak much, and what he did was distorted something fierce but he told me to put an edge back on the blade and clean it by the eve. I swear I took half the time just staring at the piece, It's steel was worth more than our whole village I recon and it was quenched beautifully. there were a few scrapings of glyphs but they had been closed up by blood and worn slightly by what best I can recon is the sword itself melting. Oh how I could dream of the adventures such a piece had seen. I stripped it clean of imperfections and got to work correcting the lettering as best I could, all of them in a language older than me and mine. I polished it enough to serve it as a mirror but even when the work was done I could hardly take my eyes off it. I felt almost heartbroken when the knight came to take it back, but such a piece should be in the arms of one who will use it. 

The knight came to collect it but an hour ago. They looked at my work and gave me a gold. Far more than it was worth but I took it gladly and saw the man off. It was a shame to see such metal work go, I doubt there will be much more chances for anyone, let alone me, to see such finery. 

Kimmer came to see what he'd given me the next day, says money like that has no place in a village like this but he has more than me still with his manor, he asked me what I thought of working on such things, weapons and armour and then told me about a school off the other side of the country that could teach me to make them more, I could use the gold to travel there and see what I could make of myself. I haven't slept a wink in the days since. Half near fell into my embers yesterday. Maggie says its a silly thing to say of a young one. That giving hope over contentness is cruel. Yet when I think of doing anything else… I can but feel the glimmer of that blade. 

* * *

Second Circle, Eighteen Weeks East of Winter.

Dear Diary, 

Vires had changed more than I thought. Kimmer passed away a few moons before I came back, I didn't think I'd miss the cheap bastard but the town feels more empty now. Kia got married to the new Fiefman, Kimmer's son. Should have imagined that but still it seems strange to be a stranger here. 

Maggie brought me some stew the other day, said they'd seen the knight once whilst I'd been away and damn it that didn't sting, to have missed the opportunity to work on such a blade. But then I've worked on many since. It took a day to get the old forge working. A week longer to find myself some workable steel. Then another to convince the barron to buy one from me. But what a sword it was. A nice shortsword with a sweeping curved blade and an equally curved handle. Slashes well enough and the barron was pleased that he had something to gift his daughter in summer. I inscribed it with a simple set to let her swing it better and told her to come to me when that wasn't needed to get them changed into something more suited. The captain of the Barron's guard asked me for a piece of plate since and I'll be working on that for the week. The blades I make are better than I saw on half the men in Kowling Town but it still seems a hunk of metal compared to the majesty that spurred me to leave Vires. I could blame the steel or my memory for making it seem more than it was. But neither would be true. It haunts me, and guides me. 

More - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1tTwvE0OgWuQqHrHqxLqIiqwM9FAhRgEy/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=102974286723132896272&rtpof=true&sd=true 

“Can we walk home? Together?” his hands fidgeted in a tight grasp, his head tilted down slightly in nervousness. His voice quivered in fear, come to think of it I can’t say I had ever heard his voice before. He was always drawing in the back of Ms Eldram’s maths lessons. I nodded awkwardly, normally I would walk home with my friend Trisha, but she stole the flower I was looking at on the playground and Papa always encouraged me to make lots of friends. We walked to the back of the classroom, and he reached the top pigeonhole where his coat had been stored, still damp from the early morning rain. I slowly pulled my long brown hair from the back of my jacket and let the locks fall down my back, then I popped the big black buttons through the red felt coat locking it over my small body.

We trudged through the damp leaves together in silence, his cold hand held in mine and his head still turned to the ground. I had questions swimming round my head, but the silence seemed impenetrable. I wanted to ask why he had invited me to walk with him… I wanted to know more about the mysterious boy everyone avoided. I wanted to tell him about my playground troubles… for some unknown reason I felt calmer around him, as if we had always been friends. Finally, I worked up the strength and squeezed his hand. In an instant his head turned to mine staring at me, his light grey eyes forcing me to look away sharply. 

“What do you want to be when youre big?” the words stumbled clumsily out of my mouth as my eyeline scattered across the cracked pavement finally returning to his gleaming eyes.

“I’m gonna be a superhero!” He exclaimed proudly, stopping suddenly and puffing out his chest so I could properly admire his greatness.

I let out a small snicker, “That’s what all the boys in our year want.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he smiled widely as if my disbelief was somehow a challenge “How about you?”

“I’m gonna be a firefighter!”

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes still wide and glistening. “Woooahhh like fireman Sam? I like his hat.”

We both nodded in appreciation for fire hats.

Finally, we reached his house, It was small and run down. Its crumbling red brick looked like sand as it shaved away and cracked. Its windows were boarded over and shattered, the remains sprinkled over the poorly kept lawn. As we walked up the path through the thickets of grass and wildflowers he turned to me. “Would you like some juice?” The house scared me, like something out of a horror movie, but since the incident at break time took most of my day I hadn’t had time to get a snack and drink, so I was too thirsty to worry about potential ghosts.

We walked through the wooden door, its hinges creaking as he turned the silver knob, pressing his limited body weight into the poorly painted door. We placed our bags at the entrance and walked through the house, the lights were off, and it was barely lit through the back windows, the light felt cold and almost eerie. I looked through the halls staring at the thick carpet of dust that hung above the radiator, the cobwebs that lingered in almost every corner. He came back not long after disappearing into the kitchen gripping a slightly smudged glass in both hands, a soft orange liquid sloshing around inside. As we sat on the dull, torn sofa I couldn’t help but notice the peaceful tone of the house, despite appearances it was quiet and calming, there were no annoying siblings teasing me or any nagging parents… It was nice. 

“I like you…” The words were soft-spoken, timid almost. His face had gone bright red at this point, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

“I like you too.” I stared at him, confidently this time. It was a strange feeling, I felt at peace around him.

My hand wrapped around his and two great grins formed across our faces. Just at that moment a loud buzz rang through the house, with a big smile on his face he slid off the sofa and ran to the rickety stairs that fell to the left of the entrance. He beckoned for me to follow and after a great deal of hesitation I did, slowly climbing the dust ridden stairs, my elbow scraping against the narrow walls. I made my way to the door, it was opened ever so slightly after he had ventured in. Instantly I heard it, a slow rhythmic beep, emanating from the room getting louder as I approached. Inside was a small bed, and a mess of wires surrounding it, screens that blurred with colours swarmed the back wall of the room. The lady lying on the bed was pretty, her gentle black hair tumbling across the sheets. Her face was covered by a mask and attached to tubes, hundreds of tubes all filling her small mouth. He had his arms wrapped around her waist and his head resting on her hip. As I slowly entered the room he spun around, a huge smile still plastered across his face. “This is it, My first mission as a superhero!” His fists clenched around the sheets that lay across her frail form. “I’ll Save my Mummy with these monster sealing machines.” His eyes are the last thing I remember about that day, they somehow sparkled even in that dark cold room, I’m sure the day didn’t end there. We probably talked for hours but none of that matters. All I remember are his eyes, the poorly masked fear echoes through my head even now… 

I never saw him again, I’m not sure that I even remember his name any more… 

The story of the first superhero I ever met, and my first love.