"Ëromyd" by Diogo Dionisio Teles

Ëromyd

It was a dark night over a sea in fury, dark clouds revealed themselves every time the lighthouse sent its signal over the ocean. The sea raged against the jagged rocks of the small cape, pulverizing the eastern wall of the stone tower. High above stood a boy, sitting by the window he watched as the fleet of galleons tried to sail away from shallow waters. The boats were already far away and yet, still too close to peril. At each passing the beam of light seemed to show them in a different position, like the blinking of an eye it passed again revealing yet another sight of a stormy sea, lightning flashing over the ever more distant ships. His father was in one of them, traveling to doom. A man of arms leading his little army into what everyone deemed to be a lost battle.  

The fire was dying, the last log burning in the fireplace, a survivor amongst ash and cinders. Sareen, his mother, slept bellow in their room near the ground; she didn’t seem to care that he might not come back. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t sleep thinking those ships could never return, he had to see them part. The furniture sent shadows that grew with the occasional flame that burned higher before dying away, the grey stone walls seemed alive as the crackling fire reflected its soft orange light on them.

Thunder shook the tower, then the inevitable flash and a burst of flames in the distance. He looked as the broken mast of a sinking ship still burned before vanishing forever in the deep. It had started…they were already being defeated and the battlefield was still leagues further to the east. The other ships sailed from sight, vanishing behind the dark curtain above the horizon, dramatic props leaving the stage through a veil to the cruel reality that lurked behind. Would he ever return? He cried, and as he did, his sadness spread to be felt by her. As he wept the stairs felt the breeze of her movement. The wooden trap door on the floor opened behind him and he felt a strange calm invade the little room, he felt her coming closer, soundlessly. He turned his eyes again to the sea, looking blankly as she putted her hand on his shoulder and grasped it gently. He sopped crying, “You must believe” she said softly and his heart slowed with every word she uttered; heat flowed from her hand, through his shoulder, filling him inside.

“I am afraid mother, won’t you miss him? You slept has the ships parted.” said the child, his gaze still lost beyond the horizon. “He will return darling” she answered as if it were the most certain truth. “How can you be so sure? Everyone says it is hopeless but he smiled at me when he left, he was happy to go, even knowing as well as I do that the enemy on the islands is invincible. Why was he smiling?”

She took her hand from his shoulder gently, he looked at it, the heat still pulsed through him, calming…soothing. Looking at him she smiled, her lips were thin and had the soft pinkish tone of a pink rose. Her complexion was fair beyond mortal fairness at his eyes; with silky raven hair cut slightly bellow the shoulders that somehow seemed to reflect the deepest blue of her eyes. She smiled yet more gracefully; the happiness on her expression was so overwhelmingly contagious that he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, in spite of his sorrow. “He smiled because he had faith, he smiled because he knows…he feels it.” Saying this she knelt at his feet and held his hands in her own. The child was puzzled trying to understand what he had heard, vainly. “And I feel It too” she said at last, “I know it… After this journey everything will change and, If need be, it will change even tonight. When he comes back he will be different, the hand of The Mother of All will touch him and bless him. And…yes…tonight you will see it too, you will feel it if you believe.”

He looked down at her; she was kneeling and looking up to him with wet eyes. Mother had never cried before, he remembered. In twelve years not even one tear was shed by her glad eyes and even now, her tears seemed to hold joy and not sadness. “I try to believe but it isn’t enough, mother I’ve started my training as a warrior, I know that father has power. Even now Rhea favors him as a paladin for his accomplishments, she gives him power and he uses it in her name, always the paladin. But I also know the darkness that awaits him, and its power is far greater. Belief isn’t enough!” he yelled as he sustained fresh tears. The mother’s face became serious, then compassionate, she breathed deeply and sighed. “I will show you that it is my son, I will tell you a story…the story, of a place far away in time. It is time for you to open your heart’s eyes. Be silent now, for this is a tale of how in times beyond memory faith brought forth all that we know today.” His eyes were those of a child begging for knowledge, his silence told her that he would listen, his silence told her that...he felt the change.

“My son, my dearest hope, you should know that beyond the grasp of our mind, beyond the reaches of any god or goddess, there is a place, a world inside a special sphere of existence which eludes even the most powerful magic and bars its gates to deities and mortals alike. There, most of what you know never came to exist; there are no elves, no gnomes, fairies or dragons and neither are there any of the other magical races you are so familiar with. It is a land of humans and no other race. There they live a life not much different from the humans we know: battling constantly for land and to protect their loved ones, greedy and above all, always anxious to learn the secrets of nature and of what she can give them to fuel even more battles and greed for power. They have no magic, though they wish they had; all they can count on to make their life easier is men’s capacity of adaptation and innovation to bring forth solutions as new problems arise.

“What a strange world. Why would anyone ever bother to make a story of such a place, what interest could there be in the affairs of a land where only men, beasts and plants dwell?” The child’s eyes showed mild indignation, he had heard many tales of wondrous adventures from his friends and his tutors; how could something important happen inside a sphere closed to the outside and isolated from the other realities? “Well you see, there is something special about these humans, something that turns the things around making us the ones living in isolation and captivity while they live in freedom…they believe!” She said it with a secretive tone, letting her voice down almost to a whisper. “Believe in what?” he asked. She looked at him and smiled enthusiastically, “In everything!” Her voice rose and she kept smiling as if saying, can’t you see the beauty of it? “You see, because they lived in such a simple world and yet, so unknown to them, they needed to believe there was something else beyond what their eyes could see. And so they started imagining, they invented gods, goddesses, angels and demons and everything their hungry minds needed to think their home was a special place and that…that they themselves were somehow better then all the other beasts.

They carved philosophies and religions around their imagined deities and with time, they started to believe that they really existed. The mind of men can elude itself in surprising ways. Fantastic creatures adorned their religions, adding substance and color to the philosophical aspect. They had their elves and fairies also, their dragons and titans; different people from different corners of their world developed rich and intricate cultures around these beliefs, around their imagined gods, goddesses and creatures which they believed blindly to exist.

Of course there were those who refused to believe, those who thought that reality was made by what could be witnessed by the senses or proved by logic, practical people, as they often called themselves. Misery was all they ever found. Some dragged themselves through life as animals striving to survive without really knowing why and others…ended their own practical existence when they missed to se the point in their lives. Happiness could have found them, if only they had listened to their hearts. Some indeed did that at the end, at the final moment of life many tried to believe, a desperate attempt to surpass the grief of parting with the fantastic world which passed them by all their life, which was passed away by them.” Her face was solemn as she became silent for a second, her mind for an instant seemed to be elsewhere. His voice claimed attention and her eyes showed awareness once more.

“But the ones that were happy, they lived an illusion! Isn’t it wiser to live by reality? The priests tell me all the time to do so, to stop daydreaming”, she smiled at the childish mingling of concepts and answered. “The priests told you that did they? Then tell me, which is real, a world with Rhea or one without her?” his answer was quick, almost automatic: “I know Rhea exists, as I know the elves and the dragons and all the other creatures exist…” then his eyes changed, pupils becoming small showing a doubt that came to him by surprise “…don’t they?” His expression started to border panic, anxiety. “Calm down!” she said with an amazed smile, and as she said and wished it he calmed down, the face returning to that of a curious child. “I will answer it; yes our goddess Rhea is real…so real.” Her face turned to look at the ceiling but her eyes seemed to look at something far beyond it, showing an expression of dreamily love and fulfilling joy.

“I will proceed with the story” and she looked at him again. “Although the men of this world built their cultures around deities that came from their imagination, they took shape and came to be very similar to the cultures that we know to exist around us. Their pantheons of deities were much the same as those adored by humans around us, like the Greek, our own, the Nordic and the Egyptian and all the others. What they didn’t know, was that they had an extraordinary power, it made them special, ironically it made them what they always wanted to be and already were!” A mocking smile adorned her lips. “This power was something that even their creative minds failed grasp, yet somehow it always ruled their lives and deep inside, those who hadn’t buried their hearts in a tomb of ice felt it. They just didn’t realize its importance, if they did, mankind would crumble and we would be doomed. Whenever they started believing in something, be it a creature, a deity or any other offspring of their wondrous imagination, a new sparkle of light shone far away, making their belief…real. Creatures were made into flesh and blood, gods were given power…worlds were forged from nothingness. When the process begun, no one really knows, but when it did the first world beyond theirs was created. Now, unaccountable different worlds exist, each inhabited by the sons of their minds, the creations of the gods that need gods for themselves to survive. Whenever a culture dies, its people becoming but a record in their history, it leaves one world behind, alive. Whenever a new one arises, a new way of thought or system of belief, be it religious or purely creative, a new world is born, extending the boundaries of the universe even further and filling it with creatures as real as any creature can be. Their faith is a beam of creation and wherever it passes emptiness ceases to exist. These new realms have lives of their own, independent and yet linked. As mankind evolved entire races of fantastic creatures were spawned and were incorporated into the society of their birth realm. These new places developed a life of their own, equal to the one we know today, with kingdoms battling for land and men living for love, with birth and death to make them evolve and to lighten or trouble their hearts. These places became as real as the world of the humans that first imagined them.

Somewhere in the lands of men there was a place that served as the religious center of one of the most enduring pantheons of their history. The people that lived there had a culture very similar to our own, but at the time they were still very young as a community, unlike us who have already raised much in the service of our deities. Ruling their lives were a god and a goddess; these, as they believed, were the origin of all land and all living things. The two were pictured as colossal giants whom they came to call titans; his name was Cronus, a god with power over change and as they believed, he had created the time. She was a mother goddess, creator of space and the earth they lived on and giver of birth to all life, her name was Rhea. Within such fantasy they pictured these gods as lovers and as such, soon came groups of people from within their people that made gods of their offspring. So it is that Zeus, Hera, Posidon and all the other powers that you know so well came to be.

The gods were not clueless about their origin, oh no, they knew it too well; they knew that they were creations of the human mind and their power of belief. But despite the fact that they had no access to the world of their creators, they discovered that their power could influence all the other worlds. They also found, and what a pleasant surprise it was, that worshipers throughout the created realms gave them power; which was not connected to the humans in any way but in its origin. Those with more worshipers discovered that they themselves had the ability to create much in the same way as the humans did, with two differences: this ability was triggered by will and not from faith and the new sparks of existence manifested themselves inside their home worlds, not outside as it happened with the humans.

The first gods made the other races and creatures forget their origin, in their minds was planted the idea that they were created by the will of the gods thus, gaining more worshipers for their divine entities. With this came even more power and control, now only the gods and goddesses know their origin for not even a deity can erase another’s mind, if they have such a thing. With time, little time, they became greedy and fights for power aroused, gods battling gods and worshipers battling between themselves in their name. The similarities to the world of men started to reveal themselves. This gave a life of its own to the imagined worlds, with disputes between religions and kingdoms rising and falling, men and other races living there, trying in their turn to gain power by pleasing the almighty deities.     

In one summer night, three men sat near two lonely pillars on the grass that covered what used to be one of the temple’s great gardens. The temple was now almost empty, only a few still stood by the ways of The Mother. They talked about how lonely they felt, old priests of a faith long fallen from grace and soon to be forgotten. They remembered ancient days, long before their life time, which the elders of their youth described as glorious times when the people loved the Giver of Life, the temples full of youth looking for knowledge and strolling with their masters on the beautiful gardens. Now the people looked more to Hera when they thought of life and birth, Rhea must be sad they thought. She should do something to make our brothers believe in her once more, to bring back the days of wisdom and stop the ever raising fights inspired by those that followed Ares. Later in the night they were joined by a traveler that was staying at the temple for the night. A strange man with traits from hotter lands far away from the east and on a journey of enlightenment to find his divine self, as he told them when he arrived. Sad as they were, the priests spilled their sorrows on the traveler, lightening their mourning for a dying goddess with one who seemed willing to listen. They explained their concerns, describing the old days and the days of then and how they wished to have an omen to guide them on the times that would come. The journeyman seemed interested and slightly amazed, explaining what he felt he asked them if Rhea had no one to act as her hand amongst the mortals, if she had no proxy for her power. She didn’t have, and as the priests told him that the surprise was more than evident on his eyes. As they asked him why, the traveler told them about his god, how he used beautiful winged creatures that were neither men nor women, creatures of extraordinary power to attend to his god’s wishes, breaking the veil between the realms of the divine and the mundane acting as his hands among the land and as his sword against his enemies. The three old men marveled at the idea, they wished Rhea had such servants to make the people believe that she remained present and that her power could still be a blessing for them all. But the displays of Rhea’s power were by that time nothing more than legends. They talked all night, it was hot and sleep failed to come until very early in the next day. They talked about these creatures the strange man called angels and of their feats on the world of mortals until finally, they were overcome by the need to rest. In the short hours between then and sunrise one of the priests had a dream, he dreamed of a women with wings that looked like those of the angels described by their traveler friend. This creature was definitely not genderless, she had the eyes of a lady and the face of a girl, a complexion so beautiful that pained the heart and inspired the soul. Her wings were very long and had pink feathers that shone gently with the glow of pureness, her body flawless, tall yet gentle, slim yet strong. She talked to him, her voice always a singing melody as the words uttered seemed to be born into the world by the first time, and introduced herself as Ëromyd. The name itself made him cry and smile, warmth exploded from his chest fulfilling him and making him aware of himself like never before, aware of all that was good; he felt his own life rushing through him like a fountain of light caressing his entire soul. Suddenly everything seemed alright, there were no worries anymore, and it seemed like all the sorrows of the world had been put at bay by her presence. There was some other sensation, he later described it as the feeling of floating, the grand joy of utopist freedom, but his words never quite descried it right, what he felt…divinity.  

She spoke, always smiling, love flowing from every gesture, caring beyond the measure of anyone making him feel like he was all that mattered in her existence. He was told that Rhea had sent the daughter of her will, the one without a father that should raise The Fountain Of Life again into the hearts of men and women. The name of Ëromyd would soon be known as Rhea’s heart offered to mankind and people would quiver at her presence and taste the tiny drop of Rhea’s ocean of force. And then they would know that her Mother was alive. His vision started to loose focus, he felt himself flying out of the room. Looking down he saw her floating slightly above his sleeping body, smiling with the beauty of countless fresh springs, her hand waved gently as if saying goodbye and then came the restful darkness that made the next few hours of sleep feel like a lifetime of calm meditation. It was all to perfect for a simple dream, at least that’s what he thought when he woke up, it felt real. He tried to keep his dream, or the visit as he preferred to think, secret; but on that same day a large group of pilgrims arrived at the temple. First they thought they were worshipers of Dionysius for there was a beautiful sanctuary dedicated to him at a day’s walk to the north, but then they identified themselves as pilgrims coming to bid Rhea’s help and blessing. His mind was aching for a sign and at that point anything could be seen as one. He was too eager to share what he had seen, the sudden appearance of so many followers could not have been a coincidence, and his mind didn’t even consider that as a possibility. He shared his dream as he wished, first with his fellow priests and then with the other brothers and sisters at the shrine, the result was far from what he ever expected, far greater. They were amazed, secretly every soul that still loved Rhea was eager for such news. Soon the word spread, all over the land old festivals were revived and, in the following years, the faith in the titan goddess grew side by side with the name of her proxy and the promise that she would soon come, to sooth the heart of the good and vanquish those they thought as evil. But the surge of faith was short lived, a few years after the death of the three priests Rhea fell again into forgetfulness. But it had been enough…

In another world a spark of life grew to become a fair blessing of goodness, Ëromyd shone for the first time and if there were ever doubts amongst the humans about her existence, they never even feinted do appear on the hearts of all who saw  her in this realm. Rhea had given birth to her last daughter, her proxy, the trigger of her will. With her help Rhea gained power and raised in status, her effectiveness inspired awe in all who faced her. As Rhea’s strength grew so did hers, although Ëromyd was not a goddess she was spared the oblivion of mind that would make her forget her true origin. The conscience of it made her mind stronger and her will unstoppable, and Rhea knew it. Together they created new races to aid them, celestial beings of pure good, winged and similar to the angels described by the unnamed traveler at the human shrine. The mother of the Greek gods showed herself once more and remembered her sons that whichever path lay ahead of the pantheon, her presence would be omnious and constant.

The gods were not pleased by the new tidings washing over their fate, her sons were particularly displeased with the impetuosity in her words and considered that she would soon grow out of control, they were right. Rhea overwhelmed every other deity from her household in the following centuries, an eternity at the eyes of a mortal but a flash in a god’s existence. Her power planted envy and envy fed on greed growing into anger and eventually…despair. The gods of the marble palace gathered in council and plotted to sabotage their mother’s engine of revolution, Hades the ruler of hell and punisher of souls was chosen; he would rip the soul of the one real threat…Ëromyd was to be no more.

They met and conflict erupted, the scale of which no legend could sing and no mortal could understand, the fight was fiercer than Hades had expected and the ravaging blow given to him by Ëromyd made priests fall from power and temples crumble into dust has Hades’ fuelling core was harmed and weakened. But she was no goddess and with time, she was defeated. Invoking the might of the council’s deities, and his own, he conjured a colossal sword forged by magic and tempered by his rage, the result was catastrophic: as the sword ripped the sky and fell towards Ëromyd she could do nothing but evoke her own soul to protect her from oblivion, in that she was successful.  The body remained intact, hurled deep inside the earth at the blade’s point as it fell over her carving itself on the earth to the hilt. Her soul covered the body with a last desperate attempt for salvation, will made into matter, a shield for the final blow. The body prevailed, buried in the entrails of the land where the blade of the ruinous sword ended in a sharp edge, but the soul was drifting, immortal yet defenseless. Hades could see it, he smiled as he anticipated the feast of torture that a divine soul could provide in one of his hells, but something was wrong. As he opened the dark vortex to his own palace of shadow he saw that she remained; a spark of pure light, red as blood and bright with life, remained drifting and refused to be sucked into the void of darkness. She had grown, Hades thought, grown beyond measure, indeed the council was right when it targeted Ëromyd as the real threat, there was no solution to annihilation, she was out of their reach for that, another solution came to his mind. Suddenly, written with dark fire, words appeared on the tower that was the sword’s pommel, the only part still visible above the earth, runes of dark power that embodied a sinister thought. If she can’t be destroyed, then she shall be imprisoned. As the thoughts formed in the death lord’s mind the pommel of the sword became hollow, a channel for her soul, channel to take her to her prison. He looked grinning at the dark gem on the top of the pommel and then opened his arms, his hands twisting in arcane gestures were lit with dark flames and the poor soul in front of him failed to resist, for the first and final time. The spark of red light vanished but still its love for life endured. The dark gem that was now the cage to her soul was lit with pulsing radiance, the black was defeated by a red fire burning inside, every few seconds a pulse of bright red light lit the lands around, a heartbeat, of the exiled proxy. The times that followed were sad for Rhea, as her daughter’s soul was caged the angels disappeared as did all the other being’s created by their combined will, for in this also their power differed from the humans’, what will created vanished as their forge was no more. The goddess’s power withered, the blow was deep and her wound bled, the blood being her worshipers that as time passed, either became faithless or dedicated their hearts to a younger god. Rhea stood for centuries at the edge of a chasm, before her the endless pit of a final death and behind, the shadows of distant sons waiting for the jump. She fed on what little ambrosia she could find in the unity of the pantheon, followers that loved all the Greek gods without dedicating their lives to any of them and yet prayed to all. Only a few scattered believers still stood by the titan goddess beloved of Cronus, living in shattered temples and meeting when fate wanted.”

She paused and looked at the sea, it’s waves were even higher and their violence was such that they broke hitting the lighthouse and making it seem like there was no land bellow it, the revolving sea seemed to support the tower as in its rage vortexes of water and foam raised above the jagged rocks of the cape. “So you see my son” she said in a slow breath, “although those creatures, and their deities, came from the swollen creativity of the human mind, once created they gained their own lives and could themselves give life to even more beings. Either by breeding or, as happened with the high ones, by their own will. Countless new creatures sprouted over all the worlds that then existed, new races were brought to life as others dwindled and died.

“Ages went by one after another and eventually the tower that was now the jail of Ëromyd’s soul, the pommel of the dark sword standing above the earth, was discovered by mortals. Their marveled at its strange beauty and at the land around it, greens fields of fresh pasture gave way to open beaches of clear sand bathed by calm waters. A town grew around the tower, its pulsing gem served as a signaling light for visiting ships and so it was used for many lifetimes thereafter. But the light’s influence was truly vaster, wherever land could be blessed by its radiance the soil became fruitful, all that was cultivated grew perfect and healthy and all crops yielded twice what could be expected by a hopeful farmer on a good year. All the ocean that shone with crimson tone at night was equally blessed, no boat ever sunk on those shores and those that took its fish always found with abundance and of richer palate.

“Starting as a small hamlet, the settlement grew to be a great city of importance with that world. In the elapsed time between the carving of the sword and the settlement of the first mortal, a river had found is way to the shore around the pommel. Starting as an audacious stream traveling long distances in a perilous journey until it met his destiny; the river grew old to a grand and slow serpent dragging itself lazily from lands far and wide. As the stream that once was naught but a pretty waterway laden with a sprinkle of flowers reliving the locals of their thirst, grew into a large river filled with banks of fine sand between which small boats could sail, the humans were forced to learn new ways to live. Towers were raised around the metallic splendor that was the sword’s pommel, or the Eyvan Tanteikoren as it was later called; high bridges of carved marble linked them and the cities life took of from the grounds into the intricate passages liking the high towers, leaving the river bellow free to eat the land at its whim. Plazas were built high above, marvels of stone and iron carved with such artwork that many took shapes reflecting the races of mortals that lived in the towers around it. But soon need came to stop the ever raising distance parting the river’s margins. And as mortal men always seem to do, they found a solution: gardens were planted on the shores and over the river bancs, the channels between them were covered in stone forming tendrils of water that enveloped the colorful gardens, which later became linked by small bridges of fine masonry. The city became a place of marvel attracting humans and other races alike to live in what was then called the Garden City of The Angels or, as those that lived there called it in a simple fashion, Danish. The people of Danish, just like the land and the ocean, did not remain unaffected by the radiance of Ëromyd’s heart. Those born under its light always grew fair to the limits their race and often became great bards or artists.

“Many lifetimes later, no one really remembers how much time had passed, but not to long ago from now, three travelers looked at the city from afar, a human man and a woman together with an elven male. It was a cold night and many hours had already passed since the sun went to share its light with distant lands. Their camp had been settled a few miles from the boundaries of Danish to allow them the rest demanded by exhausted bodies. Chance made that night a special one, for the man was a warrior that had sworn his life to Rhea and had come from a place where she was still seen as The Mother and The Giver. The elf came from even further, from a place known to many only as a distant mirage of fair lands that should await the mortal soul after the stern journey through life, an elf from Aëndor the home realm of Rhea. That night the elf sang for his companions, his song was beautiful and ethereal like only those wrote on those lands of evergreen beauty can be. It was sang with the magical voice of the twice born elves of Aëndor, those that already died on the world of mortals and by their deeds gained a second life on the heavenly realm. It was an ancient way of using the voice, the same that blesses the words of nymphs and fairies alike, creatures you so much like. A way of crafting melodies perfected by the gods and which, amongst the races of the mortal worlds, only the elves could ever hope to learn. The song originally related an ancient legend telling the story of how Ëromyd, the fair daughter of the Olympian titans, was once imprisoned by Hades, Lord Of Death; but the words that then flowed from the elf’s lips showed only images of a clash between beings of might and the conjuration of the sword that smote a noble creature who’s name had long been forgotten.

“The words were felt as they were sang and the melody forged was imbued with power, at every new pulse of the gem the soul trapped inside became more and more aware, memories assembled and took form in what had become a turbulent sea littered by the wreck of a shattered existence, all which remained of her soul. When the night song filled the air again something had already changed, the pommel of the dark sword trembled as did all the lands around it, she was aware now, ware that she was trapped and aware of her body lying far below and waiting for the spark of life that once made it move.  

“Ëromyd’s fate changed that night, and very quickly, for soon after the warrior amongst the three crossed the ocean and met his liege who demanded a report from his travels. In it, and added as a curious detail, were told the events of that strange night. His master was a wise and travelled man, the mover of Rhea’s faith on this realm and one of the few that still battled for her causes. A similar legend had come to his knowledge years ago in his days of training, but it was somewhat different. As they discussed the matter an astonishing discovery was made, the two legends fitted like pieces of a puzzle, as if the ones who wrote them, if there ever were two writers, had intently ripped the original in two before sharing it with any who would listen. As if feeling their wish, the elf appeared on that side of the ocean looking for his former companion and then, at their bidding, he sang once more. This time it was new song made from the other two, one mentioned no names, but the images it created on the listener’s mind showed what unmistakably was the Eyvan Tanteikoren. The other told about Ëromyd, daughter of Rhea and how the gods sworn to destroy her had achieved only her imprisonment, in some mortal world where Rhea’s presence was meaningless. The pieces had been sown together, they told a story forged by the dryads of Aëndor in times long past as a mourning song for the angels that had died, a story which  was later cloven in two by the will of the Greek gods to prevent the discovery of the soul cage. And so it is my son that two of the remaining warriors of Rhea and an elf from her own home, found the key to break the fabric of the dark sword itself. They started to believe she could be released and did all that was in their small reach to break a prison forged by gods, but as should be expected, they failed. All would have been lost had it not been for the faith one of the warriors had in Rhea. He believed, beyond all reason, he believed that somehow Ëromyd would be free. The story had awoken something inside of him, a feeling that surpassed logic or thought. The images of the princess angel that formed at his mind’s eye when he heard the song made his heart ache, an aching so strong and enduring that remained forever on thereafter and, which he knew would only pass when he had released from her crystal world the one he had come to love. This belief moved him even when everyone around him told him that he would destroy himself in his quest, but he just answered “I am already dead for I have felt for an instant what love can be when it is not pain. I will remain dead while my quest remains undone and, while the hope I can’t control still shows me what it really means to live. For such I shall always try to reach the only ray of light that can break the veil of darkness covering my world, so that I can be born again, born to a real life that I never had.” My son, at this point of the story you should guess what happened next”. Smiling she looked up at him for an instant and then, raised from her knees. Slowly she let go of his hand and stepped graciously backwards, her eyes never released his and a smile brightened her face still. The child did not answer, his mind was not on that lighthouse, it was still drifting over the fabric of images woven inside him by her words, as it was, she continued the story and her calm words filled the room again.

“Nothing more was needed, his faith was so strong that one day over the city of Danish there was a shower of crystal shards as the soul cage exploded, inside it Ëromyd had felt the waves of the knight’s hope. The energy that drove him fed her and strengthened her will once more, for nothing can be more strengthening to an angel’s soul than the knowledge that somewhere, a good heart believes in it without any thought of doubt save the fear of failure. Her will pierced the prison as a battering ram through glass and her soul was free once more. Her eyes opened far bellow the earth and she ripped her way to the world above, coming out of the river with her pink wings leaving a trail of silver drops as the sun shone on the falling water. On the first hour of her second age she flew across the ocean, on the second hour she found the man who had believed in her and, on the third hour, she met her mother and was embraced by the arms of a dying goddess.

“All had changed, the years that followed were happy and fruitful, and the angels were brought back from the ethereal world where their souls had been dispersed by the plotting gods of the ancient council. Rhea’s power was felt again and Olympus itself shook as Rhea entered to claim her throne once more, but then she left it empty. The sorrow she felt for their betrayal made her look at her sons with an empty heart, her place was with them no more. Too much time had passed and her sons had become nothing more than mischievous deities which would lay their own sons to ruin, if that would bring them one more gust of power. Rhea retreated to Aëndor, where she remains to this day. In the shadow Ëromyd stood since her liberation, her power hidden away from the greedy tentacles of those that would surely vow for her destruction once again. She lived a simple life amongst mortals, as a mortal, and orchestrated the forging of Rhea’s new endeavour. In the evergreen valleys of her home, Rhea was gathering those that had been faithful during her slumber, to them she bestowed godly blessings and, within short time, the valleys were filled with celestial beings, some were mortals that had been rewarded for their faith and others were new souls created by her own will and power. Within the valleys of Aëndor, far from the sight of those who stood at Olympus, a holy army began to grow. For what purpose? To this day only Rhea herself knows, but one thing this story tells: this army shall be a spear in her hand and her arm shall swing it with uncanny might, as is her will, this spear shall have to heads: Ëromyd daughter of her will and, at her side, the mortal knight who with his faith released a celestial soul and awoke a slumbering goddess.

“Do you see it now my child? This story tells us that forging events by faith is not restricted to the mind of those humans; it is a gift all sentient beings have but many times fail to use. All that is needed for it to work is belief and I believe son…I believe that your father will come back alive and well from this difficult battle and that, is all I need to feel happy when he is out there in peril. Rhea for sure has greater designations for him than death in this conflict and he feels it…he believes it. That is why he was smiling when he left, that is why he was happy”.

The fireplace held nothing more than ash, the room was grey and dark lit only by the faint light from the veiled stars outside. Every few seconds it grew brighter as the revolted sea reflected a fraction of the beacon’s light and when this happened, images of a pink winged angel, being freed from her crystal world by the knight that loved her, filled the child’s mind. A fairy tale, he thought, as only in such a tale would the knight be able to gain the heart of such a creature just by believing it was possible.

For a moment the strong winds above the breaking waves was all that could be heard, the child’s mind still revolving over the same thought. Then he tried to use the knowledge of the priest’s teachings at the temple of Rhea, to fit her mother’s story with theirs’ but he couldn’t do it, they didn’t fit. Gods created by the will of humans, the humans from that strange world, “How can it be true?” His child’s mind still failed to consider that a story could have a symbolical meaning, the doubt burned his heart. “It makes no sense! If we are living in such a world, created by the imagination of men, why was not our memory of that erased even as we speak, as happened with all the other creatures at the mercy of the gods? That story should not be known by anyone, it should not have ever been written, for how could a mortal write what his memory denies?  I think I feel that father will come back; I always had that feeling deep inside. But I’m afraid that it is little more than the little fragment of uncontrolled hope that that knight had when he wanted to break the crystal sphere that stood between him and his beloved. Also, I’m afraid…I’m afraid that, if he really doesn’t come back, I will feel much worse than I would ever feel if my mind was already set for that idea. So I try to think he won’t come back, it is what everybody else tells me. This way, the pain will be lessened when the news of the battle arrive.” He looked through the window with eyes wet, his face showing the effort to contain the tears. She waited, she could hear his thoughts were still turbulent and more words were slowly gathering and getting ready to be spoken emotionally. Images created by his mind illustrating the story he had heard flashed by mixed with imagined pictures of a bloody battle, which he thought to be his father’s. A single ship amongst new wrecks, a few soldiers disembarking on a beach filled with endless lines of soldiers in dark armours and purple capes waiting to slay them. And at the lead of the small force that had arrived was his father, the first to fall, slain by their enemy’s welcoming arrows. False images, she knew, but images that he believed to be true and fruit of foresight, a dangerous belief in a mind such as his, a belief that made her worry. She waited and she heard the words coming together inside his head, all other thought ceased for a moment and she smiled as she knew he would speak.

“How can he come back from such a battle!? They cannot win! They are dying already!” he yelled his words out, his face was red showing anger but his eyes revealed absolute fear, she could feel it in him, she could see the revealing aura of emotions revolving around his body, invisible to him and any who could have looked. He continued, first in a low grim tone and then, raising his voice uncontrollably as his worst doubts took the form of words. “I see it…I can hear their screams and see the sinking ships. Only one will reach land, I can see it in my mind. How can a few hundred soldiers, carried by one ship, defeat an army with hundreds of thousands of ruthless butchers!? Father will lead them with his unshakable courage and they will follow him as they always do, they follow him because the are blind with idiotic devotion” emotions troubled his mind and made him say what he really didn’t thought, he had always admired their devotion for him and took it as a model for his life, but now his judgment was clouded and he kept on talking to present the dark ending his mind had imagined. “And then…” his expression turned grimmer and his eyes narrowed, “…he will die.” His strength failed and he started crying. She looked into his mind, his words were convincing himself even more of this grim and false fate, he believed it now as an irrefutable truth, thinking it would make it better when they came to tell him after the battle that his father had fallen. In the background of the images of death stirring in his frail mind was the echo of a lament, a plea that constantly repeated itself: “I need dad! I don’t want to lose him! I don’t want it! Why does it have to be this way?” Despite the fact that he had already convinced himself that the direst fate was inevitable, part of it wished it couldn’t be, this showed her what she had to do, there was only on lane of action to stop his naïf mind of making the worst happen, to stop him from making it real. Her expression turned severe, almost angry, then it relaxed and her breath showed resolution. “Then I think I need to show you…show you how one man leading but a few hundreds of souls marching knowingly to death can defeat an armoured sea of butchering soldiers.”

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him after her down the stairs, firmly but not aggressively, he followed her numbed by his own crying. As they reached the door at the base of the tower the sea was roaring outside as each new wave exploded against the rocks. She unlocked and opened the door and immediately the wind took it out of her hand slamming it against the wall at its side and then invaded the room, the smell of seaweeds was very strong and hinted the obvious storm outside. She dragged him out with her; they walked a few yards against the wind and the water that swept over the small cape. Behind them stood the tower of the lighthouse, tall and blinking with bright light at the top. Every time the beacon of light passed their way it revealed the gargantuan bursting waves which made them feel like walking through a tunnel of parted waters. Her tunic was now but a wet veil of colourless fabric revealing her body and his wool shirt and sleeping pants were drenched and heavy. Suddenly she stopped and turned back to face him. Looking at his sad and confused face, tears dissolved in the water that still fell over him, she smiled and yelled over the raging sea: “Now see what I will show to you. Understand it so that you can understand yourself, who you are and why you are mistaken my son! Now you will know, why I believe and in what I believe; you will know, why your father will come back; you will know, how he will win and who he is,  and you will know…why I remember!”      

Saying this she released his wrist, stepped back and then it happened: she threw her arms straight down, her hands tightening close into fists as all her body seemed to contract. Then came the noise of clothes being torn apart, almost undistinguishable amidst the burst of another wave, as two large wings of pink silky feathers shot suddenly from her back stretching fully backwards and trembling slightly as the muscles on it were still stretching. Her face shone as drawings of silver light appeared on her left cheek and brow, a shine that dwindled to a soft blue forming mesmerizing intertwining patterns that made her face look enchanted and magical. Her wings relaxed and stood open to her left and right, showing their full span of three yards of pink silk, glowing and showering drops of light over the rocky ground as if it was a rain of silver reflecting the light of a sun that was far away on a battlefield shining courage over his men. She as whole shone as the most refreshing rays of moonlight, lighting all in a circle around her with a tone of grey and silver. She stood there for an instant, looking as all his fantasies of death seemed to be leaving his mind reluctantly, the meaning of what he saw still confusing to him and yet so obvious. Then suddenly her arms where extended at the sky and the force that she released made the hair stand at the back of his neck and his skin blister with excitation. As her arms extended in a gesture of authority the clouds above opened around them. The sea calmed with the waves dying away to a slow surf all through the ocean, as the circle of clear starlit sky above extended outwards dissolving every cloud into nothingness, and finally the wind slew to a soft breeze that ran through them as an ethereal gust touching their skin with tenderness, then…all was quiet. The sea stood still like a lake, reflecting the starlight and giving the illusion that the small cape and the lighthouse were drifting high above in a night sky with nothing but stars bellow it. The wind was no more. She shone softly seeming like the moon of that world of stars where they now stood. As she drew near the child silver light rained from her wings leaving a trail of new stars after her. And then she embraced him first with her arms and then with her wings, the light falling from them forming a circle of blessed light around mother and son.

“Ëromyd…” the child whispered.

“Yes son, dearest of my hopes. This is why your father will return, you now see who he is and understand why I remember my origin, I know that in your heart you feel it, your father will return because he needs no army, he will win and return as has been his fate since we are together. I will join him tomorrow and the sword that will later be fused into Rhea’s spear will be brandished once more smiting those who would destroy our peace. Thereafter we shall remain together and you, my son, shall be always at our side showing to every world and every god that…creation is possible outside the mind of men and that we shall live and endure forever, even if human memory abandons us forever. Legends never die.”

After this the circle of light around the angel and her son grew brighter turning the ocean into a lake of silver, I had to look away for the brightness was to strong to my eyes which are used to the darkness of my cave. When I looked again the cape was empty, the sea seemed a little more agitated and a soft breeze shook the forest trees behind me. As a dragon I am young but still many years have gone by since I first saw the world. I was born with the colour of fire which, as I grew up, came to seem misplaced. My mind always preferred the calmer ways of the world and the soft pleasures of a gentle tone of music or the soothing traces of a harmonious drawing. My thoughts always seasoned the reality around me with a pinch of fantasy making it seem all the better. I am quite unlike the other dragons of my colour which usually take life head on having fun as they can and showing themselves to the world around. But after tonight’s events I began to wonder. Most events usually pass me by, leaving me unaffected, this includes the bad but also the good happenings throughout my life. When you live life like I do few things really make a difference, but, when they do make a difference, my life changes and never again goes back to the way it was before. Amongst these events is the discovery of the flaming fairy that lives near my cave, which by the way is now trying to sneak behind the trees to surprise me, as I lie here near the lighthouse writing my final notes. This little pixy of playful manners made my wyrm’s heart beat as that of the knight that vowed for the angel’s freedom, but to this day I have found no songs to forge my quest and brake through the pulsing gem that holds her. I though about returning to my cave to gather my scrolls, record this story amongst the other scattered fragments of lives that may someday become a chronicle of this world. After a short talk to my little friend, in which I was a little embarrassed I must confess, unable to hide the inner fight between my fire heart and my wyrm’s mind, I retreated to my home inside the mountain. The time was for meditation, the story told by this Ëromyd had confused me as if I were the child to which it was told. I think my mind will be on the subject for a long time, for how long I really cannot predict as a question arises to which I have no answer…or is it that do not have the courage to try to find one? Am I also a figment of some human’s imagination?

THE END