Difference between revisions of "Where the Wind Comes From"

Four arks, unremarkable at first sight, bore the power of the elements. Oval in shape, the vase sized arks looked like earthen eggs with a flat bottom to fit snugly in four ceremonial births. Each one harnessed a primordial energy. And through them, the Order of Golden Dawn performed their rituals for centuries. In concert, they were a powerful force to be reckoned with. And wielded by the Order, they imposed goodness where the root of evil tried to take hold.

But evil did not like that.

Darkness manifested itself in the hearts of men. They found shed the blood of innocents to wrest power from the earth. This blood cult grew in strength, but were held in check by the Order and the secret arcs and the elemental power they bore. This balance of power was broken when a member of the Order betrayed his brethren and spilled the secret of the arcs to the Blood Cult.

To minimize the threat, the senior monks of the order, strong magicians in their own right, deemed it prudent to separate the arks, removing from their ancient vault. Preparations were made over a decade, and the arcs were hidden in far off corners of the world. The Strongholds of Fire, Water, Earth, and Air became focal points for their respective energies and generations of priests, monks, and magicians guarded the treasures of power.

But in modern times, the Stronghold of Air was discovered. Darkness converged on the Black Hills of North America. A relentless and bloody assault left the broken bodies of the Order littered in dark corridors and empty courtyards.

One priest remained. One chance lingered. But death hovered ominously over the lone survivor. ~

Harney Peak ~ Evening ~

~ Drayson hugged the earthen vessel close at his chest. The arrow-inflicted wound in his shoulder poured blood, staining the dusty old relic. But the priest wouldn’t give up. Nearing his fourth decade, the man was still in good shape and strong. He rushed through the bowels of the old stronghold, which had been hollowed into Harney Peak. Instinctively he knew his pursuers were not far behind, though as he looked over his shoulder he could not see anyone following. But time was running out.

Ducking into one of the comm stations, Drayson tried to initialize the satellite telephone. But as he’d feared, the connection had been severed, or was somehow being blocked. So he abandoned any thought of rescue from the Order, spread throughout the world, and continued deeper into the depths of the mountain. Cursing under his breath, the man clung ever tighter to the ark. His hands were red with blood, but he was unsure of it was his own or that of his fallen brothers. In fact, he was unsure of everything.

How had they been found? Who had betrayed them? How could he escape with the pillar of power he cradled in his arms?

The only thing Drayson knew without a doubt was that he could not allow the ark to be captured by the cultists. This duty was the reason for his existence. And he dug deep into the recesses of his mind, searching through memorized tomes, recalling ancient rituals, and even praying to forgotten gods.

Then he heard them. Voices, full of fury and resolve, echoed down the hallway behind him. He picked up his pace and despite of the vision fading from his eyes, he pressed on. There was an exit into the dark night around only a few more turns in the tunnel. He dared to hope that he may escape from the stronghold. It may not be his tomb after all. That hope faded quickly when the voices behind him became the voices in front of him. He was trapped, and there was nowhere to go.

With an audible cry of despair, Drayson ducked into one of the ante-chambers off the main corridor and pushed the heavy stone door shut behind him, barring it from the inside. He hurried across the room and put his back to the wall. He would fight. He would summon all the magic he knew to ward off the attackers. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Ultimately, he would fail as had all of the inhabitants of the stronghold. And the arc would be lost.

“There has to be another way,” he muttered to himself through labored breath.

A heavy thud at the door shook him to the core. After centuries of preservation as the guardians of the arcs, it would all end now. Darkness would bear the power of air, tipping the balance in their favor. Drayson looked around the room for anything that may give him an advantage. Aside from old furniture and an unused wash basin there was nothing that would aid him.

Another heavy thud shook him from his thoughts. Preserving the power in the arc was all that mattered. Heaving himself from the corner of the room he set the blood stained arc on the floor. His life was void, of that he was sure. But perhaps the power could be freed from the arc. The elemental energy may be lost, but at least the cultists wouldn’t possess it. Certainly such magicks bore risks, and he didn’t even know if it was possible. But it was the only option that presented itself. He wasted no time.

With arms raised he drew on the arcane arts he’d been trained to use through countless hours of study. Blue energy crackled over his fingers and charged the air around him. Dust and debris shifted in the room as the power hummed and circulated around him.

“Hail to the guardians of the Watchtowers of the East, I invoke thee...” As Drayson spoke the walls began vibrating. A ghostly yellow light began emanating from the opaque arc, centered in the room. “I call to the Anemoi. Boreas. Eurus. Notus and Zephyrus. From the blowing sands I reach out to Shu. Hear your servant. Ehecotl, stir from your slumber. Fujin wake and move here. Enlil and Vayu come to...” The stone door shattered and an imposing cultist came into the room flanked by his minions. His abysmal eyes glaring through a Black Mask bore into Drayson, lost in his summoning.

“Stop.” The cultist’s voice was stone cold but calm. He dispassionately took in the scene and reached toward the shimmering arc. Tendrils of violet energy stretched from the man’s fingers, but were rebuffed by the arc itself. A very sudden and violent wind exploded from the center of the room and the ancient artifact levitated from the floor.

Drayson’s eyes remained closed and he continued muttering under his breath calling on ancient and even forbidden magic. He felt his soul falling into the center of the room, but his feet remained anchored to the floor.

The masked cultist, his eyes full of hate, pointed at Drayson and uttered a single word. “Kill.” Without hesitation the cultists flooded the room, ceremonial daggers raised in defiance of life.

But suddenly the room was deathly still. The violent wind ceased and the glowing magicks faded. The still and quiet was so profound that the cultists froze in their steps. Drayson sagged in the corner, his knee to the ground in exhaustion.

In the center of the room where the arc had once been, crouched a towheaded boy. With head bowed he heaved softly as if breathing for the first time. No one moved but the boy. Lifting his head he opened eyes, blue like the sky, and surveyed the dark room around him. He looked to be in his mid-teens, pristine and fair of skin. He rose, naked and unashamed and looked at Drayson. A smile spread across his face and with a voice tinged with innocence he muttered quietly, “Father?”

Drayson’s mouth hung agape. He was too tired to move, and the shock sapped him even of his last strength. “How?” It was all he could say.

Suddenly the cultists resumed their murderous path and the masked leader stepped toward the teenager. Their intent was clear... Destruction. Without thought the young man with the blue eyes reacted. Reaching his hands out to either side, he became the wind and spirals of air lifted him just off the ground. A ravaging gale spun around him and smashed the cultists into the wall. The masked man was catapulted through the open door behind him.

Then the air was still again and the teenager dropped casually to the ground. Loping across the room, the young man made his way to Drayson and helped him up. The elder Priest looked deeply into the young man’s eyes, perplexed beyond reason. He tried to form words but they wouldn’t come.

“Who are those men?” The boy said as he supported his creator and they moved toward the doorway.

“They are...evil. And they are legion. More will come.”

“Then we should hurry,” said the teen with spirited energy. “Who am I?” This question presented itself with an expression of concern.

“I’m not sure,” said Drayson honestly as he was shuffled up the corridor to the mountainous exit. “I’m not sure at all...”

The massive stone which usually guarded the secret entrance had been obliterated. The cold night air wrapped the two men in her chilly embrace as they emerged from the stronghold. Snow clung to the ground and the evening was oddly quiet in contrast to the violence they’d just left behind. The icy ground crunched under their feet as they made their way from the stronghold.

“Here,” said Drayson as he removed his over-tunic. Wrapping it over the teen’s shoulder’s he continued, “It’s cold...”

“I didn’t really notice,” the young man said with a smile. He reached out with one hand as if feeling the air for the first time. He caressed it like it was a real thing. Then an innocent chuckle emanated from his wide grin.

“Well, you need to cover up anyway... This country has some very strict decency laws,” Drayson explained with a wry smile.

“Dumb,” was the blue-eyed boy’s only response as he gazed up into the starry night sky.

“Kyse,” the priest said suddenly.

“What?”

“Your name is Kyse. It’s an old gaelic term for the wind. And it... seems to fit.”

“Ok,” answered Kyse, as he helped his elder down the steep rocky terrain. “Call me Kyse.”

Still awash in awe, Drayson watched the boy move. Like a spirit of youth he seemed unfettered by the weight of living in a world full of darkness. What had he unleashed? How was it even possible? The priest couldn’t decide if he was more worried about what the boy would do to the world or what the world would do to the boy... For now it would have to be enough to simply make it to another safe haven, and Drayson put his mind to that end. The cold darkness swallowed them as they descended the peak into the world below.