"Sky´s Guardians" by Leigh *Shwin* Erickson

He walked with an easy grace akin to a great cat. His pace was smooth and uninterrupted, his stance relaxed and calm. A blue t-shirt covered his lithe back and shoulders, it’s fabric dancing lightly with his movement. He wore jeans and shoes that were well worn as was obvious by the thinning spots that were scattered on their surfaces. It was easy to see what his passion was.

He was a runner.

But one glance into his eyes gave the impression that he was no mortal, no ordinary runner from this world. They were pale in hue and seemed to glow especially as the sun’s light fell on them, catching their colours and refracting into a thousand shades of blue. Deep pools of green elegantly dotted the silvery surface and yet a hidden blue played in their depths. They were mysterious and beautiful, like windows into the very sky.v

His face was sharp and knowing, yet gentle. His eyes, vaults without depth, took in all around him, observing everything with a distant yet distinct interest. He walked with such an ease about him that even the most fluttery or faint-hearted felt reassured in his presence.

But where he walked it would seem even he would stumble; even he would be afraid. It was a high cliff side which fell away into the frothing nothing of the sea before sunrise. There was no light to show the height of the cliff, but he had walked it often enough, he knew. To fall was more than certain death.

But he was not afraid.

Easy steps lead him further and further along the cliff’s edge as the black of night lost it’s hue to a deep blue, the first sign of the nearing sunrise. Faintly, the outline of the cliff’s edge became visible, betraying its shape now to every eye. It gathered itself and thrust forth into a jagged outcrop, a peninsula of sorts. Here the wind blew fiercely and as such, no life grew there, the wind having reduced the soil to nothing.

It was here that he stopped, here that he stood, wind whipping his shirt against his wiry frame; yet he stood strong, seemingly immune to the onslaught of the furious current. The sun would soon rise, he could see, by the pale and delicate lavender and rose hues lining the horizon.

He stood a little longer, watching the horizon with the same distant interest, waiting for the sun to rise. The sky faded to a rich green, then a fiery orange which gave way to a glimmering gold, he waited, watching.

And then it rose; the sun in its fiery glory was revealed on the gleaming horizon, casting a new light along the cliffs and filling the sea with metallic shimmers. He smiled, closing his sky filled eyes to the blinding star, raising his arms and reveling in the purity of the first rays of light that brushed his side of the earth.

And then he ran.

With long strides that carried him smoothly he fairly flew towards the cliff’s edge. Were any around to view the spectacle their breath would have caught in his or her throat that such a fine man, in the prime of life, would be hurtling at a godlike speed towards a sheer drop of hundreds of feet. They would have cried out in anguish as he launched his body with one final push from the cliff side; screamed as he began a now unstoppable free fall into the boiling depths below.

He fell. And yet he smiled; laughing at the wind which tore now at his shirt and whipped through his hair.

And then he flew.

Great wings the colour of the sky, all but invisible against the blue spread from his back and along his outstretched arms, breaking his fall and lifting him higher. Wings that were the children of the sun and the sky, breathed into life with the caress of the wind and the warmth of the sun; wings earned with the right of his guardianship; wings of the firmament; wings of the sky.

He was Rion, Guardian of the East, one of the elite few charged with the keep of the firmament. He took his task seriously, watching over the heavens in their awesome glory with a wary and well trained eye. He rose in graceful circles, ever higher, never wavering, flying with a practiced ease and a simple elegance that would have brought tears to the eye of anyone watching.

But no one ever saw, he made certain of that. For all his status in heaven, he led a simple life on earth. Like the others, he had been offered a dwelling among the angels of heaven in unimaginable luxury and comfort, but he refused. Many were confused by his decision, but the quite peace with which he lived his life assured any who passed him that he was wholly content living in the rugged beauty of Earth.

The sun was still low in the east and he sighed with deep content, knowing he could fly into eternity if he desired. Gentle breezes played under his wings, lifting and dropping him in an elemental game of tag. He closed his eyes, feeling the gentle warmth of the brightening star caressing his new-born wings, feeling the rush of the wind and the damp of the sea. He let the wind take him, allowing it to lead him where ever it wished; perfectly at peace in its shifting embrace.

Another guardian came into view, far on the western horizon. Unlike Rion, he appeared to be in a great rush, the sun glinting against his wings. They were a vivid green tinged with iridescent patches that shimmered like thin chips of mica set within the emerald. Rion frowned slightly recognizing this, by his wings, to be Dalanar, the swiftest of the guardians, who, despite this status, rarely hurried unless it was something urgent. Rion shrugged out of the wind’s embrace and flew towards Dalanar, wondering why the Northern Guardian was in such a rush.

They were within shouting distance soon; Rion was second only to Dalanar for speed, and even Dalanar was hard pressed to pass him.

“Ri!” Dalanar’s shout reached Rion’s ears; he hurried even faster when he heard the distress in Dalanar’s voice.

“What is it? What happened?” His sky chipped eyes flashed concern.

They drew up along side each other, Rion flying in the direction that Dalanar had been traveling, letting the Northern Guardian sink into a slightly more comfortable pace, which, though comfortable to both Rion and Dalanar, was a speed some of the Guardians could only dream of achieving. While they were flying close, Rion took a mental stock of his fellow Guardian. Dalanar’s emerald wings were impressive to view, perfect in every way allowing Dalanar his amazing speed. His hair, like Rion’s, was short, but it was a lighter brown. His eyes held the same sky within them, but of a different mood being a more somber grey tinged with gentle flecks of green. But the eyes were darker than usual today and the wings strained almost. “What is it?” Rion asked again.

“He called us.” Dalanar answered.

Rion’s eyes widened, “H-He? What happened? Why?”

“There is one who dreams.”

Rion’s eyes widened, “Have Mat and Ceraph been alerted?” He was alarmed; it wasn’t every day, in fact it wasn’t every life time that a candidate was found; and Dalanar appeared very worried.

“That’s why I came to the East. We’re the fastest, I figured we could split up. You could fetch Ceraph and I’ll find Mat.”

“Mat’ll be a real bear, Dar,” Rion almost smirked, “The Western Guardian at sunrise, now that’s a picture!”

“She’s dying Ri.”

The flawless flight halted as Rion’s wings snapped in by his sides, spreading out only as the guardian began to fall. “She’s what?”

Dalanar turned, grey eyes near black. “You heard me.” His voice was soft.

“How much time do we have?”

“God alone knows. She’s unpredictable, as are her circumstances, but judging by how far along she is, not much.”

“I’ll get Ceraph. Where are we meeting?”

“Pelanath Hall.”

“When does He want to start?”

A smirk entered Dalanar’s desolate eyes, “If I told you that’d be no fun.” He smiled, “Race you...”

Rion grinned, “Before zenith? You’re on!”

In a flash of blue and emerald, they flew at speeds only dreamt of, pushing even themselves farther and harder than they ever thought they could; for although their meeting had ended in jest, they knew the seriousness of the circumstances. This was no mere race, guardian against guardian; this was a race against fate, and a race against time.

Dalanar flew with a great ease, making his near impossible pace look effortless. In truth he was pushing himself to his very limit, hoping he wouldn’t be too late. He had gained a precious glimpse of their candidate and knew the condition she was in. If they were going to keep this dreamer, he was going to have to round up the Guardians fast. He only hoped that Rion understood.

The sky darkened as he flew to the Western realm, making him cringe; Mat was not known to be in a jovial mood when disturbed so soon after his shift ended. The Guardians worked in pairs such that there were always two or more in the sky; North and East characteristically worked together leaving West and South to be paired in the other shift. The Northern and Southern Guardians had to be flexible, often working half shifts so they were paired with both East and West. Rion and Mat had well set schedules, Rion from sunrise to sunset and Mat from sunset to sunrise, namely when the eastern and western hemispheres were lit. Mat was well set into his schedule. He enjoyed his break. Dalanar sighed, knowing where to find him.

“Mat?” he cupped his hands to his mouth and called, “Come out! We’ve been called!”

There was much grumbling and movement from the area surrounding Dalanar. A head, eyes still squinting in sleep yet creased with a deep frown, made itself visible from the hidden refuge of an air pocket in which it was resting. “By who?” Mat’s voice, though slurred with sleep, was sharp and annoyed.

“I think only one person can call a meeting of all the Guardians, Mat. Who do you think it is?”

The eyes opened a little in recognition, but the frown still didn’t lift from them, “So?” he replied, giving a great yawn.

Dalanar sighed, the reaction he knew Mat had been aiming for. Although the Western Guardian gave the impression of not caring, it was just a guise; he played along, “He’s assembling all the Guardians, cardinal, secondary, seasonal... everyone!”

“Why?” Two arms came forth from the air and Mat rested his chin on his outstretched hands, trying to look bored and doing a pretty good job at it.

It was Dalanar’s turn to yawn, “You trying to get me worked up, Mat? It’s not going to work you know...” He flashed the disgruntled Guardian a grin.

Mat pulled the rest of his frame from the air pocket, laughing. “Oh all right, Dar, I’m coming. What happened?” He perched on the edge of the pocket, great scarlet wings falling in a sleep mangled mess by his sides.

Dalanar’s somber eyes met Mat’s warm brown ones, “Ri and my page discovered what she thought was a potential dreamer; He found her to be a candidate.”

“A candidate?” All sleep was washed from the Western Guardian’s face. He pushed himself from his perch allowing his wings to spread to their full span to catch him, hovering then and staring at Dalanar unbelievingly.

“Yeah and she’s not doing so well. We need to hurry.”

Mat launched himself forward and Dalanar fell beside him. “What’s wrong with her?”

“He notified me first, so I got to see her. I think she’s dying; she really doesn’t look so good.”

Mat paled picking up his already strained pace, “Dying? From what?”

“I can’t say. I don’t know. But if it isn’t her body that’s dying, it’s what’s making her a potential Guardian that is.”

“That’s bad. That’s very bad.” Mat seemed to enjoy stating the obvious, but Dalanar ignored it.

“Yeah. We don’t have much time.”

“Rion getting Ceph?”

“Yeah.”

Mat nodded.

“Where’re we meeting?”

“Pelanath hall.”

“Pelanath?!?”

“He was the one who called us, only fitting we should meet where he is.”

“The last time I was there,” Mat sighed, “Was when the pages were assigned. It’s been awhile.”

“I could say the same.”

“He give you a time?”

Dalanar shrugged, “As soon as we could possibly get there. Now would be ideal.” He said, eyeing the steadily rising sun.

“I see. Rion know this?”

“Yeah, that’s why I sent him to get Ceph, he’ll hurry.”

“Then let’s fly.”