A Century Later #2
I appreciate Silas’s hard work, but I miss the walls I forged. I made every brick from stardust, and they glowed at night. A beacon the elves thirsted for. Do any of those walls still stand?
Erevan’s hot on my heels as I barge into our chambers. “The book you made for me,” I announce eagerly, grabbing what I seek off my drawing desk. As I turn, I look at Erevan.
Is that a smile? A long time has passed since my lips curved up.
Erevan begged me to make a forge here once we arrived, but I refused.
How could I work without Lucian sitting in the corner watching me as he leaned against the star rocks?
Lucian was the one who ensured I did not work until I fainted; he’d pick me up, wash me, then carry me to his bed, where he consumed me.
After a few decades here on Panthas, Erevan came to me with a gift. A book he had created using his magic, making it indestructible compared to the books humans used. He didn’t want me to lose another thing so he placed a piece of his core magic into this book.
Erevan did this when he made his creatures here.
He shared a small piece of his core magic with them.
We have to be careful not to give away too much of our core magic.
But on occasion, it is required. All gods have done it, eventually.
Sometimes, it involves the creation of things that are harmful to other gods. On occasion, it’s assisting a god.
Erevan has never told me, but I know he has the core magic of fellow gods within him.
I sense it when his guard is down. It is likely that he leveraged the other gods, striking a deal with them in order to keep their secrets from being exposed.
After all, Erevan knew about the first demigod on Panthas.
For years, I drew nothing in the book until we watched the dragons burn the land. Charred bones surrounded me as I stood in the ruins of the burned mage city. With one touch, most of the bones would crumble. Burial was impossible.
These people would be nothing more than dust in the wind. No memory or place to grieve.
Nothing.
Defeated, I sat in the hot soil among the bones of mages who fought valiantly, only to be denied the sunrise. I held Erevan’s book to my chest, wishing for tears that didn’t come.
What’s done is done. Tears didn’t reverse it.
I pulled back the book’s cover. I yearned to create a protective rune that would prevent a repeat of the horror. I had nothing to draw with so I searched, grabbing a shard of a bone that didn’t crumble. The burnt end worked as a makeshift pencil.
The bone, once living, was brought back to life.
I last sacrificed core magic when forging the God Swords. The symbol represented my surrender and desire for peace.
I did it again when I held that book and drew the first rune.
This book he created was too precious to be just another sketchbook, so I used my core magic for the first time since we arrived.
Forging something new, something to help bring peace.
I changed the pages and glued my magic into the spine.
The book became sentient, growing a mind of its own, just like one of Erevan’s creations.
I, too, made a living thing. Then I drew a rune similar to the ones I used to decorate my creations with.
While sketching, I envisioned the rune’s function and operation.
The rune initially faded into the page. The book rejected it; it craved something more substantial.
The pages desired more and more, a sliver of my mind.
I needed to give the rune more rules, a strong foundation to live upon. Hammer it, stretch it out, as a blacksmith does to steel when forging a sword to make it stronger.
The rune was a child I designed; I picked everything from the hair color to how tall it would be.
I worked and reworked my drawing, making changes and additions.
I had to keep my thoughts and intentions pure and focused.
Only then did the symbol remain on the page.
Together, our core magic created a book that had the power to transcend the pages and sink into whoever wrote the rune.
When Erevan asked what I made, I told him it was a rune that could be drawn onto humans. My intention with this first mark was to bind those strong enough to a dragon, thus giving the beast riders who could tame them.
I never wanted to endure the chaos caused by a wild dragon again.
And it worked. We created dragon riders.
That was how I made the first rune. A symbol strong enough to reforge Erevan’s magic creatures.
Erevan’s eyes smile, reliving the memory as I just did. I hug the gift he gave me to my heart. “You want to make another rune?” he asks.
The leather of the cover warms my hands as the magic-infused material glimmers in the light. Erevan magically ensured the book’s pages would never deplete. The book purrs with delight at being held. Erevan’s spine straightens as if he can feel my touch deep within his bones.
“Yes.” I nod. “What if I made additional runes to aid humans in defending against magic? Victory won’t be so simple anymore.”
His eyes pull tight as he listens. “Wouldn’t that create an imbalance?”
I rub my jaw, frowning in thought. He’s right. Magic has a way of seeking balance. Focusing solely on humans risks harming other creatures, and magic may retaliate. Creation is fickle. Once you set it free, it’s hard to catch again.
It’s a wildflower; you can pluck it, but the seeds have escaped into the wind. Thus, some are forever on the run.
“I’ll make runes for all of them to use,” I finally say.
“That seems unwise, my love. Look at the battles they have fought because we gave some of them magic.” He pushes off the door frame and comes closer.
I step back, keeping him in my full view.
“We didn’t regard the consequences because we were desperate when we came.
Think about it, Erevan.” My voice rises as I defend my vision.
“All these wars are an imbalance. We gave them magic, but we didn’t counterbalance it. The runes can be that opposition.”
His brow lifts. “Or cause more wars,” he counters.
“Think of it this way: giving them magic was like giving one clan metal; they used it as a weapon and a tool to grow. The other clan still has sticks and stones. If we give them all metal, that will teach them how to progress, how to make peace, and how to come to terms with the fact that no one is above the other. Then, in centuries, once they have allied, we can make our plea to them.”
His lips press into a flat line. “But wouldn’t that go against our original rule, my love? We vowed not to erase a species to save our own. If we allow humans to possess magic, it will alter them.”
I turn and lick my lips. He’s right. Glancing out the window, I feel the warmth of the now-rising sun. A new day has come.
“What if,” I mumble, “I make the runes temporary? Some could last a day, while others could last longer. Like the dragon riders, whose runes last during their lifespan. Then the dragon is free for another rider to claim.”
I whirl around when I’m greeted by his silence.
“It’s a good idea,” I insist, nodding as I close the distance.
His eyes sweep over the clean floor as if he’s trying to find the dirt within my suggestion. “The others gods won’t go for this.” He reaches up and cups my cheek, his eyes full of a deep ache. “They don’t know you drew the dragon rider rune. They will fear anything you create, my love.”
My heart skips a beat. They are right to fear my hands. “Any tool can kill. It’s the responsibility of those who wield it,” I whisper as a tear slips free.
He tips my chin up and presses his forehead to mine.
“I know.” His inhale is deep. “And that is why we won’t tell them.
” He pulls back. “My magic slumbers; I can’t fix this, but your runes can.
And the others will never suspect it. They think the rider’s runes manifested naturally as our markings have. ”
He pushes up his sleeve, revealing the symbols that cover his forearms. I glance at the empty spot where he sacrificed his core magic to make the book for me, the gift we kept secret from the other gods.
I blink in surprise. “You… you agree?”
“I do. They will keep battling until one prevails, but equipping them with the same tool will leave them with no option but to reconcile. But more wars will come before peace. Humans will seek vengeance on magic users. Blood will be shed.”
My throat tightens. We knew death would follow us, but we wanted to survive. It’s selfish, but it’s also survival of the fittest. “I understand,” I force out.
Peace will come. I have to keep repeating that. It’s what happened in our world. Every god commanded legions of devoted elves. We realized we’d have no kingdom left to rule if the battles raged on. We made peace; everyone was happy, or so we thought.
It was an ignorant belief that those who served us loved us.
We used them, but we also loved them. We learned the hard way that love is not equal.
“How do you intend to share these runes? The other gods can’t know they are coming from us.” He plucks the book out of my hand and sets it on the bed, then rubs my shoulders.
I bite my lip as I ponder. “We need those with pure hearts. I will teach the riders how to redraw the runes and use them. They can share the runes to everyone. Our fellow Gods will assume it’s part of their magic, like the rider’s mark.”
“Power taints pure hearts, my love.” He adds more pressure to melting the tension on my shoulders.
“When you cast a stone into the water, it’s bound to ripple, but eventually, calmness will be restored.” I grasp his face, willing hope into my touch. “This has to work; they must ally.”
“I have no doubt it will, but remember, my love, alliances are only signed after much blood has been shed.”