CHAPTER IV: CURTAINS OF CHAOS - SIDE A: A WINTER'S TALE (1)
1900 Words
CHAPTER IV: CURTAINS OF CHAOS - SIDE A: A WINTER'S TALE (1)
The icy days passed through the north of the valley and the riverbank. A blaze of effulgence, a compliment of hope. The young woman had passed her last cycles, lost in the tempest of the mountain. Defying the ruthless. Taking down the delusional. Tackling the impossible, the usurped. The gift horse had been left behind, many days before. This time she was alone; climbing up the barren pass of the helpless mountain, full of disturbing intentions.
A mist cornered her coldest and iciest dreams, those that seemed to have stayed at the beginning of the journey. Fehler was much stronger than the daughter of creation imagined. It had crossed nearby meadows; by shook banks, with the step driven by the promise of a vision. For the testimony of a dream. A voice heard in the hiss of echoes from the south, which forced her to cycle away in search of a lost source. An allegory that disturbed the corners of the woman's mind. She was sure that her reasoning had been lost, many days ago, from that vision of her loved one in the shadows of delirious waterfalls. Proclaiming for her soul, proclaiming for her being, proclaiming for her vitality, proclaiming for her dream. Scenes that now they only traveled in spite of a winter hell, with each step they took to overcome the excessive mountain.
She was trying to beat the heights of the frozen mountain, when she finds a broken bottle; as she trips with the hidden relic under the undermining hills of snow. Inside of its glass, there was a scroll; she opened it, as it revealed an image, perpetuated in the old and forgotten ink. The figure displayed a huge hill, and behind it, the effulgence of a burning star. Above the image, covering the idealistic fall of the heavy snow, was found the evening of a clue; described, and paraphrased, with the following inscription,
“Beneath the arms of the mountain, a bridge shall ponder. One wherein the winter of the hopeless morning, shall receive the steps of the unbidden youngling.”
Leyra lost her vision, as soon as she lost the scroll with the roar of the heavy wind. She took the scroll, as a warning; less than a leap of faith, as she continued her path beyond ascension. Each step she took seemed the last, and her last provisions threatened the loss of the roads: she did not know where she was going. She had no idea where she was sheltering. Her map had been destroyed. Her mind was lost in the notion of the sequences. Her eyes did not distinguish if it was the song of the day, or the frost of the night. Her guardian angels seemed to have lost track of her, for, although they promised never to leave her, the appearance seemed otherwise.
She hadn't slept for seven nights; resting, just because her body demanded it, but her mind did not stop echoing the echoes of the past and present; promising a welcome from a future. For her, there was nothing but the voice of a man, a warrior. Left for dead, because deep down, she had accepted his death. But clearly something was chasing her. Clearly something was driving her, since she was still without strength, pushing as if it were the last of her steps. It was the epiphany of a singular journey that was attested in the excessive impediment of an impossible task, but that the woman had been doing with the perfection of a meeting. The reunion of two paths.
She did not intend to find her lover, if not the essence of him. In the depths of the writings of the elven books, the majestic name of a lost legend was mentioned; embodied in the highest earth on the planet. The place that witnessed the welcome of a song from the highest god; the myths related to the winter formation of an exiled mountain among the most sacred of them, and from the construction of the third generation, according to the southern book, the father of the heavens treasured it as the radiance for deceased souls. They found peace in Fehler's heart, and eternal rest for the end of his days.
Although, no one had ever tried to climb it. Or rather, no one had ever survived to tell the tale. And the woman knew it perfectly. Throughout her days, she found carved bodies, detached weapons, defeated animals, even those that remained among the cold snow of the threatening place. As the woman found now, in the simple shelter. The only cave of darkness; that witnessed the cold tears shed in the emptiness of solitude found in the spirit of the woman; impossible to topple, among the frozen ships of the cursed mountain roads. A unique cave.
The woman only gave her the blessing, and continued on her way. A seemingly impossible tour to complete. Well, every time I looked towards the top of the mountain, the more it seemed to move away. Her paths seemed uncertain, amid the small light that crossed her from the heights of the endless itinerary.
That day he was awakened; the woman walked, step by step. The passing white ran through the dark symphony of the highest voice of winter. She couldn't hold back, and her feet were delirious under the weight of the gloomy charge. A sudden storm fell abruptly, all morning. An insatiable uncontrollable snowstorm. A small group of avalanches that made the way impossible. A set of rocks that attacked the woman; for the mountain was enraged, and seemed to attack the defiance of the unshakable woman. She fell exhausted, trying to contain her soul and her mind, before the curtain of chaos that succumbed on her feet and her steps. She closed her eyes, leaning at last, because at that moment, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense to her.
Her angel of light messaged her though, and took her through of a blink; without using a single word, since he had compromised his existence until the end of all his days, for her triumph.
"Athair?"
The woman looked towards her forehead, and found a distant reflection in the lost horizon of the heights of the place. And her gaze caught something strange. Among the figure of the moment, she found a holy effulgence. A twinkle of a home, remote after the mountain. She was not sure what she was seeing, for she could not distinguish between the white tempest that called for her soul and her heart.
The woman stopped the impulse of her ego; She quenched the flame of her desires, and stopped taking her steps upward, and began to slide towards the left side of the immense mountain. The figure seemed to become clearer, and when the woman managed to reach an appropriate distance, she affirmed the presence of a later mountain, smaller in dimension. At the top of it, was the source of the effulgence, which was nothing more than a reflection of structures covered in silver and iron. A small fortress, the closer the woman got, the more she made out its strange cover. A design with a special shape; singular in the eyes of the woman little knowledgeable of the kingdoms of the earth.
She descended the mountain towards the back side, for she predicted a high bridge, which connected the great mountain of Fëhler, with the small lower cusp. It was the entrance to the fortress, which the woman denoted with greatness and curiosity. Who could house a fortress in such a place?
She reached the beginning of the bridge, taking advantage of a small dip in the intensity of the great mountain. God her exhausted steps down, but she slipped between the frozen fields; foolishly dismissing the idea of approaching the fortress in a subtle and discreet way. She fell abruptly at the start of the wide, solid bridge, and all her belongings tumbled toward her front. Drawing the attention of the guards at the small entrance to the kingdom.
They did nothing, however; nothing more than to quickly enter and lose yourself in the depths of the mysterious little fortress. This didn't seem like a good sign to the woman, so she quickly changed her mind; Flustered, she quickly tried to gather all her things that had fallen out of her bag, including the Magic Book. And just when she had finished gathering her supplies, trying to retreat, an imposing voice yelled like a roar from the fortress.
"Don't take another step, Terran!" exclaims the voice.
The woman froze; nervous, because she did not know that she was facing her forehead.
"What are you doing in foreign lands?" the voice exclaims again. "Talk fast!"
"It has not been my intention to touch foreign lands" exclaims Leyra. “I am trying to find a refuge; I have been the last cycles in the mountain, I cannot contain more. "
"What kind of naive and ridiculous being is trying to scale the Soul of Nirveler *?" exclaims the voice. "Do you know the level of stupidity your words say?"
The woman was silent, and did not answer anything else. She was trying to see through the screams and the distance; at the top of the small door there was a suspended space, and there, she seemed to perceive the silhouette of a tall and thin woman.
"Who you are?" the voice asks.
“I am the daughter of the creator,” answers Leyra, “daughter of the ancestral snow; of the spring god. I am Leyra of the South, legitimate daughter of Elgoneth. "
The voice was silent; She looked around in confusion before responding again.
"For you are speaking with Garellia, owner of the Second Sacred, and Queen of the Winter Keep, the Kingdom of Lívithur," the voice responds. “And I tell you, woman, I have never heard anything so confusing as the one you say. And while you are the daughter of Elgoneth, why the hell should I let you pass? "
An avalanche was falling on the mountain. Sideways, a large chunk of snow began to descend. The tempest raced, and the sound of Fëhler's roar materialized strongly towards the entrance, encompassing the entire dimension of the bridge. Leyra, raised her hands quickly, her pupils turned a dark red color, and with an agitated voice she yelled,
«Methraí 'ithmelin! Orlinid 'ad urag! »
A bluish power emanated from the woman's hands, in the form of a wide rail that stretched like miraculous streaks of light over the air, holding the snowstorm down just above her. Her fists roamed u print color and temperance. The whole of the avalanche was suspended between the heights, stopped by the two cerulean forces that traveled throughout the cold skies. And when the power of the Fëhler stopped her collapse, the woman jerked her hands to her right; from the center of the great bridge. Moving both forces of light to this side, and throwing all the delirious snow that was on it towards the emptiness of the great steep area; saving her, and the divine bridge from an imminent destruction.
Garellia clapped her hands just once, looked her companions from side to side, looked straight ahead, and then exclaimed: "Come on in!"
- Writer
