*Chapter Nine*

Gaia

            With the shuddering sigh the sky cast upon the grounds at Rouge Palace, Gaia swept her arms upward to cover her pallid face with slender and wispy hands.  The scene she had just witnessed between the young prince and king nearly broke the deity’s heart.  For centuries the people of Cora had set themselves apart from others based on social and financial rankings and it always resulted terribly.  Men and women of all races of the world had to live with tears caused by broken hearts, false promises, and shattered dreams.  Society was corrupted sorely by money and power, worsening with every new age, darkening with every new ruler set upon Cora’s thrones. Where was there room for love anymore?

            True love did not seem to exist for anyone.  To find it between two people became a rare and preciously held gift, like an exotic and valuable gemstone would be held by a dwarven miner.  Gaia found that those of lower social standings, the ones called common-folk or peasants, were often those who were truly happy. They were free, for the most part, and were able to love who they chose. However, even their hearts are limited for if one were ever to fall in love with another of higher ranks, they were doomed to be ridiculed and heart broken.

            The Elemental Goddess rested her form gently against the comfortable yet cold fluff of cloud, peering down to follow Prince Azure’s form as he moved sullenly through the gardens. Her expression altered from sorrow to pity.  Whether he truly loved his servant girl, she did not know, but the strong emotion he felt for her emanated toward the sky. Hearts were meant to be free and love was a wildly untamed emotion. Gaia felt it was wrong of young King Edro to tell his brother to suppress his feelings for Aessele. Even though very much possible for one to hide their feelings, it did not make it right, nor would it be able to hide forever. Eventually desire would push and force its way to the surface and demand attention. Desire was not always a kind visitor.

            It pained her to see her people in pain, be they royalty, noble blooded, serf, or otherwise.  None deserved to be without love, none deserved to have to resort to secrecy in order to obtain it. Gaia sighed once more, the wind falling then rising, ruffling the young prince’s hair in mild comfort. She should not choose favorites, she should not coddle her people, but this particular prince did not know what more lie in store for him.  On top of having to dismiss strong feelings for Aessele, Azure must force himself to disregard all hopes and dreams of her as well, for they would only intensify what he already felt.  It was not fair, by any means, and Gaia allowed a silent sob to wrack through her form.  A single rain drop fell from the silver lined clouds above and into the prince’s hand.

            The young one turned his eyes upward only to see the faintest outline of a woman shaping the clouds.  It appeared as though she wept, though no more crystal drops fell that day. Gaia heard his faint whisper to her, morosely pained.

            “Do not weep for me, Gaia; please…it is the way it has to be.”

            She watched as Azure turned his bright eyes to the miniscule puddle dissolving in his palm before he clenched his hand and resumed his deliberate steps through the gardens.  The deity shut her eyes and turned, re-opening them so she stared into the bright sun toward Mora.

            King Talyn had been recovered from the outskirts of the Cordon Forest.  Gaia dreaded the reason that his life was spared.  It was rare to see one walk from those trees alive and uninjured, meaning he must have done something right to walk free; something right…or something very terrible.

            Driven by curiosity and pleading that the Mora King had not done wrong, Gaia set out for his kingdom.  It would not take her very long to arrive, yet she hated it so that her time of arrival would make no matter. Whatever deed Talyn had in mind, it was already set and ready.  Her words could do nothing but beg; her power did not include the right to deliberately change minds to her own devices.  She must respect free will and yet Gaia would forever be bound by it.  Coming to life was at the discretion of the peoples of Cora, and despite their beliefs, it was they who controlled her. Aiding them, advising them, healing the ill, making sure their world flourished and thrived, and taking the souls of those doomed to die was all she could do.

            Mora was not far off, Gaia knew…but she also knew it was already much too late. Fate could only take care of the rest, she kept reminding herself of it, and that this time her advice could not be given.

            *                                                           *                                                           *

Shadow Lands- Near the ShadowFalls

            The roar of Shadow Falls echoed clear across the deep ravine that plummeted some two hundred feet below the top of them.  The sound was one of power, one that warned of nature’s true glory.  ‘Do not come too close, or I shall swallow you up.’

            Simnal would do well to heed that very warning. He stopped after a day’s journey from the Black Forest, only to refill his skein in the waters of the river leading to the falls. He kneeled there now where the water was most calm, dipping the skein into the cool blackness.  The surface reflected nothing but the dark bedding beneath.  He had yet to truly leave the Shadow Lands for darkness swirled here as well.  Mist from the ground, a curse lain by Gaia long ago while in her fiery form, rose waist deep for one of average height. A child or dwarf would easily be lost if they went too deep through it.

            The sun could not cut through there as well.  The ground’s visibility came close to zero and every step had to be carefully minded.  There were no traps here set by the Shadow People, but nature had its own course and burrows of sorts could very well be hidden.

            Simnal turned his head back along the path he had chosen to take.  His golden eyes searched for the Shadow Gate, which could not be seen at any rate. He imagined Durìl stood there still, guarding as always and perhaps waited anxiously for his return.  A wry smile curved his lips- yes, she would still wait for his return even only a day after his departure.  Returning home did not feel likely, no matter how much he wanted to. His people would simply have to make do without his presence.

            The coolness of the water trickled over his fingers, reminding him he had been doing something.  Simnal turned his gaze quickly back to the running water and pulled the skein from it, taking a long drink, refilled it and then reattached it at his side.  Standing slowly, the shadow elf tried to determine his course once more. Wandering in the dark was not a very smart or ideal thing to do; neither was remaining behind the gates to continue being pestered by Celebria’s haunting pleas.

            There was no set way in and out of the Shadow Lands. One simply had to attempt cutting through it going any direction but north, and eventually the way would clear.  Simnal decided he’d stayed too far north, for the sounds of the falls were still too loud.  Following the river toward its source appeared the best and safest route; though he knew not where exactly he was suppose to be going. The main concern was leaving the mists behind him, to take away any yearning to simply ignore the insistence of leaving the Black Forest and return.

            Here the way was not so dark, for the river’s waters’ source came from the Shining Lake, south-east of the Shadow Lands.  It was much like the interior of his home- the ethereal light that radiated from nowhere enabling the people to always know where they were…it was a light only seen by the Shadow People.  Here on the river existed the same misty light, which vanished around a bend ahead to the south. This would be his road to take until free from the darkness of the lands he treaded now.

            ‘You must hurry, Simnal…you must not linger much longer.’

            The voice spoke to him once again. Frustrated, Simnal waved a hand, taking a step toward the south. “I do not linger, nor do I make haste. I know not where I’m going; you offer me no direction and only come to pester me. I have asked before, I ask again- leave me in peace!”

            Solemnly she replied. ‘Please hurry…you shall know the road to take…do not be too late, do not be too early. Do not linger, do not wait, do not…’

            “Do not, do not, do not!” He shouted, walking staggeringly through the mist, eyes to the ground, letting the river light guide his feet. “I persist because you persist and yet I do not know the reason. This should be enough for as long as you withhold the purpose of this trek! Unless you wish to speak of it, speak to me no more and let me journey in peace!”

            With a shuddering sigh, she answered him again. ‘You shall know the road, dear Simnal; you shall know the road…’

            Silence followed the last words, though he was wary that it would not be the final time he heard from her.  Celebria had never been so stubborn, nor had she ever spoke in riddles to him.  It began to make him wonder if it was not Celebria, but some other force at work.  Scoffing, Simnal pushed a hand through his dark hair, removing it from obscuring his golden vision, and kept going.  Even if it were Gaia, whom he refused to believe in for quite some time now, he could not believe that she would do a thing as this.

            Stories told and passed down from age to age, stories he had heard from childhood, reminded him that while Gaia’s power was immense, she was not subject to swaying the minds of people.  She rarely played them as pawns in her own game.  To Simnal, the elemental was as helpless as the people she looked over.  In his disbelief, he refused to accept that the mists were placed here by the goddess.  They had to be natural, perhaps something like steam from the water running close enough to the surface.  Everything was black in the Shadow Lands, so why not the mists?

            The story intrigued him, however. It was said that long ago when Cora first formed, along with all the races, when the land was freshly born, so was Gaia, the elemental goddess.  She did not walk amongst them as a regular being, but she moved with them in the skies, waters, earth, and fire.  Whenever she showed herself it was in the element at that time, in the form of a young woman, beautiful to behold.  Young and new to the world, the same as the races, Gaia knew not how to manage her power properly and abused them for her own gain.  The people were forced to do her bidding and most were too afraid to not listen to the young goddess.

            From what he remembered, it was the Shadow People who stood against her, refusing to be bent to her ridiculous puppetry. They were not called Shadow People then, the original name forever eluded history, and Gaia cast their lands in darkness and instilled fear into all others’ hearts about those very lands. Those who dared to venture through them usually got lost in the mist and never made it out before starving to death or being attacked by a wild animal.

            Simnal could not recall why the elemental deity changed, but somehow, by the Shadow People’s example, the others followed and managed to bind her power.  They reduced her abilities for the better, thus creating a kinder, more lenient and sorrowful being.  However, with the binding, the curse of the mist would never be lifted, but the price for having freedom of thought was well worth the cause.

            Laughing bitterly, the elf turned his eyes skyward and shook his head. Well worth the cause of freedom, they said? Where had his own freedom gone the moment he packed and left the gates of home?

            “I have no doubt…I am being toyed with…but I must not retreat…curiosity gets the best of myself.” He murmured and holding a grudge to the deceased apparition of his lost beloved, Simnal pressed on.

            *                                                           *                                                           *

Mora

            The troops led by Vincent’s regiments returned after a day’s journey from the Cordon Forest.  The sound of Zenith’s hooves pounding the path toward the drawbridge could be heard from a good distance, and the tower guards caught sight of the marching soldiers very quickly afterward.  None too enthused, the trumpets sounded, clearly singing across the courtyard, floating to the village concealed behind the walls’ protection.

            Mora elves and humans exited their homes, flooding the city to see what the excitement was all about.  Only a very few had known about the King’s disappearance and they’d kept their mouths shut knowing full well the punishment of tarnishing Talyn’s reputation in any way.  Most others still thought their monarch had remained in Rouge, so to them he was merely en route to Mora and just now returning.

            When the bridge lowered for them to cross, Vincent peered past the walls and informed the king of the party awaiting them. It was very much to Talyn’s disdain that his people had conjugated in the paved streets to see him.  Any other day he would have enjoyed flattery, no matter what the occasion, but today he wished they would slink back into their homes.  His image looked no better than the day before, having finally lost the circlet when Zenith had been spooked by a faerie which resulted in nearly throwing the king to the ground.

            Vincent wished Zenith had thrown Talyn to the ground and trampled him all the same, though he dared not say it, nor would he say it wasn’t a faerie that had spooked the stallion.  Zenith had intelligence and strength and pride, so carrying a tyrant like King Talyn was not at all to the mount’s liking.  He’d taken enough of the boot heels digging into his sides and the loud orders and complaints that Talyn constantly administered to the regiments around him.  Zenith just didn’t wish to carry the King anymore. Somehow, Vincent calmed the horse down and bade him to please last just a while longer.

            While the people of Mora came too close to the gates, Talyn raised an arm to Vincent and a few other guards.

            “Usher them back inside, immediately! I do not need them seeing me like this! Now, you buffoons don’t just stand there gawking as though you’ve no idea what I’m saying!”

            Hiding a smirk, Vincent nodded, glancing to Tarrant, before the two and another grey haired guard began to wave the people back.  Controlling the crowd did not prove to be an easy task- every person was so interested in seeing why they had to go back inside until the king had passed to the castle. So naturally, they began to get a little unruly, shouting out insults to the guards forcing them back into their homes.

            Tarrant had it hardest of all. His small build and young age made the others overlook his authority when he attempted to order them. The small soldier glanced back to Vincent for help and saw that he was not having the best luck either…then again, it also seemed that he was not trying very hard. 

            Outside the gates, tired of waiting for the crowd to obey, Talyn glared down to another officer.

            “You there!”

            “Yes, majesty?” the soldier replied, startled.

            “Give me your cloak.”

            “Highness?” The soldier questioned, confused. Why on earth did he need his cloak?

            The contemptuous look given by Talyn stopped further questioning, and immediately the heavy cloak was dispatched to him. Talyn muttered to himself that he shouldn’t have to stoop to the level of hiding his face, and yet he did so, sweeping the cloak over his head and shoulders, shrouding his features in the cloth. Zenith grudgingly carried the king through the gates, nickering his protest quietly as the people of Mora murmured to each other about the shrouded figure.

            “Is that the King?”

            “Why is he hiding?”

            “I don’t think that’s him.”

            “I think it’s one of those snooty people from Bintan.”

            “Maybe he’s a prince from Didren?”

            “Why would they come here though?”

            “No, that has to be the king! Look, he wears the Mora seal on the stitch of his left pant leg…but, where’d his shoe go?”

            Tarrant exchanged a wary expression with Vincent, who actually did his best to hide a smirk. Yes, he found the king’s embarrassment quite amusing indeed. Apparently, those who figured out it really was Talyn under the cloak, found it slightly amusing as well and fought to keep from making it known in his presence.   However, they never would have been caught by anyone; much less the king, for the heavy cloak not only obscured his face, but his vision as well.  Talyn wouldn’t have been able to see his hand inches away from his eyes even if he strained to; the cloak’s material was that thick. 

            As the stallion carrying the Mora king passed with the small parade of soldiers attached, the soft mumblings continued though nobody followed.  Their curiosity was not that piqued.  In a matter of minutes, the regiments had vanished into the deeper city where the castle lay and the residents finally returned to their homes. Undoubtedly it would be the talk of the day- a shrouded figure atop the most prestigious horse in Mora, a small regiment behind them, and Talyn being due back from Rouge all made great gossip; it still would not last long after night fell. 

            With a groan the gates of the palace opened at first news of the king’s return and very expectedly, Ivnoki stood waiting like the nervous rat he resembled.  The advisor quirked a white brow upward upon seeing the cloaked shape and then turned his beady red eyes to Vincent in question.

            “What is this? Surely you do not bring me back the corpse of our king!” The frail human man wrung his fingers nervously.

            Vincent coughed to keep from laughing. That might’ve been best but he did away with the thought. “Certainly not, Ivnoki; our king has returned safely.”

            Ivnoki seemed perplexed. “Then why is he shrouded as the deceased?”

            Grumbling, Talyn thrust the heavy cloak to the ground and unhorsed himself quickly.  “I have returned, though I hardly believe Vincent when he says it is safely! I was forced to hide my appearance from my people- they should not see their king, a man of such power and significance, in such a dreadful state! It is upsetting.”

            Crossing his arms, Vincent had to stifle a snort of annoyance.  Talyn simply attempted to cover up his own embarrassment by claiming the people would be upset by his appearance.  Truthfully, the people probably would have cared less about being upset and would have focused more on trying not to laugh out loud and lose their heads in the process.  It was no secret that Talyn was not a very beloved ruler, yet…he did keep the kingdom as safe as he could; even the subjects, who resented him most, including Vincent, accredited Talyn with that. 

            Trembling visibly, Ivnoki rushed to the side of the king and fussed over his condition.  That was more the advisor’s job than anything, feeding Talyn’s ego.  It was apparently needed more now than before, because it’d been bruised severely. 

            “Ivnoki cease your mollycoddling this instant and go have the maids prepare a steaming bath.  Fetch the healers as well, I’ll need them to check my wounds.”

            Hardly a second had passed before Ivnoki’s obedient reply sounded and the old man scampered across the way to do as he was bid.  The king tossed a sharp look to one of the guards who had opened the gate to the castle.

            “You, come here!”

            The guard stepped forward and saluted before standing still. “Yes, sire?”

            Talyn looked down his nose to him. “Has my dragon returned here?”

            “Yes, sire, he has.”

            “And what news of him?”

            Shaking, the guard replied. “The dragon had several wounds that were tended to very quickly and efficiently, sire.  To my knowledge he is resting to heal in the Draconic Lair, sire.”

            Apparently pleased that he was intimidating the guard, Talyn took a menacing step forward.  While they spoke and laughed about their king behind his back, the guards and soldiers were absolutely terrified about what would happen if Talyn ever found out.  A man with the power to extinguish a life at the snap of his fingers was frightening to any person. 

            “Good.  See to it he is checked upon this instance and have the report to me within the next two hours. Back to your station.” Talyn turned and walked, as proudly as ever, bruised ego slowly being repaired, in through the palace doors.