Contrary to what some may believe, I do not hate the gods. Even though I serve a demigod instead of one of them. Nor am I ignorant on who the gods are and who the demigods are, indeed I believe I have studied the complexities of religion more in depth than most. Because if I were to ever have a need to enter the outside world, my very life may depend on whether or not I can convince someone that I believe in the gods.
I have a great respect for the gods. They are the parents of the demigods after all.
I do wonder at their decrees that only they should be worshiped and that all who serve a demigod are heretics.
They would have their followers punish the heretics with death, when all we do is seek a closer connection to a demigod patron instead of seeking the cold impersonal presence of the gods.
Despite the fact that the demigods are dead physically their spirit and their presence is still there and is capable of being borrowed by their servants and wielded through the arts of sorcery. They even occasionally speak to their followers through dreams and visions. Many who once lived in this temple claimed to have heard our Lady Dawn’s voice, although I never have.
Worship of the gods is demanded. They do not reward their followers. You worship them because that is what is owed them, not because you gain anything from it. I was taught that the prayers of those devoted by the gods are met with silence and one must have faith that they are acting through you.
It seems a cold, impersonal faith when I can just reach out and feel the Lady Dawn’s power ready to be leant to me and know that she is there for me despite being dead. In spite of all things, she would partner with me and allow me to use her powers in exchange for my devotion. It seems too small a price if you ask me.
But those who worship the gods consider it too steep. And so, they kill the servants of the demigods.
I trail my fingers across my violet robes. Blue and purple are the colors said to represent magic and so sorcerers often wear it as well to hide the fact that we are heretics.
It’s a fine robe, made of soft material, cut in the Lowlander style just like most robes these days are. With draping sleeves and multiple layers to go over it. It’s also frayed and torn.
I gaze at it for another long moment before stepping past it to my padded armor. Unlike the robes, which were bought at a market in my lifetime, the armor comes from this ancient and collapsed city. I found an armory, half consumed by rubble at the back of the building we now call a temple.
I pull on the armor, the black leather fitting like a glove. Whoever crafted it long ago must have used some sort of enchantments to keep it from rotting away and for that I’m grateful. With my people’s diminutive stature it would have been practically impossible to find something to fit me so well from a human armorer.
Not that I would have convinced one of the other priests to buy me a piece of armor during one of their trips to the human world. That is not the proper sort of attire for a follower of the Lady Dawn, they would have said. As if I’m supposed to feel safe in the soft material of my robes that would not be able to catch a blade.
I hook my sword to my belt and stride out of my chamber, dancing around the giant stones that block off my room from what could have very well been an entire home once. Or maybe a shop. I have no idea what this city looked like before it was torn down around itself.
Cold air slices through the giant passageway carved into the side of the mountain. Pillars run through the outer hall, holding up the mountain above us, so that it does not collapse from having whole portions of it carved out. This hall was never supposed to be a building, it is too open to the elements and the fierce winter climate. It was probably originally the street, maybe even one lined by markets. Now it is the remains of a temple of an order that is going obsolete almost as quickly as this city fell a thousand years ago. The farther into the temple you go, the warmer it gets. Unfortunately, you cannot go very far into the temple before you run into collapsed passage after collapsed passage.
My footsteps echo around me, the only sound other than the howling wind.
I place my hand over my sword to keep it from jostling and clanging too much and make the last skip to the outer hall. It had long ago been cleared of rubble as it is where the priests spent most of their time.
Back when there were still more of us here than just Laellina and me.
If I close my eyes, I can almost see them jostling around. Praying in front of the stone statue of Azern that was carved there by our mason or carrying oil to keep the sconces lit.
I try not to stay in the main hall for long. It only serves to remind me of everyone we have lost. Instead, I hurry through the massive opening out into the side of the mountain.
Warmth meets my cheeks as I step out into the sun’s rays.
The sun hangs high overhead, and I squint, glancing up at it. Living inside of a mountain means that I don’t see natural light very often. It’s all well enough, the sun is not a great friend of my people. We were meant to dwell in halls of stone not out under the harsh glare of daylight.
I shall have to go back inside soon or face the discomfort of sunburns on every exposed portion of skin. I’ve heard that humans turn red when they get too much sun. I find the idea fascinating; I almost wish a sunburn on someone if I could see what it looks like. When I get too much sun, my skin darkens, going from a grayish blue to darker and darker hues of blue depending on the amount of exposure and damage done.
Still, the fresh air is too intoxicating to turn back now. And at least in this moment the sun shines down gently, warming my skin and bringing feeling back to my nose. I know it’s a lie, how nice the sun feels and that if I get carried away, I will be in for a world of discomfort and I told you so’s from Laellina as she sternly applies salve.
But as for right now I embrace the warmth of the sun’s light. I stride toward the sack filled with moldy straw that I built up near the end of the courtyard where I wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. That was back when there were enough people in the temple that they would trip over me. Nowadays I could probably practice in the outer hall, right in front of the shrine even, and no one would notice.
I draw my sword, swinging it into the sack as I let out an angry cry that echoes through the mountains.
I don’t know when I started realizing that people not returning when they said they would mean that they very probably wouldn’t ever return, but now the stone weighing at my gut, and the dread pooling at my soul is a familiar feeling.
I yank the sword out, straw and dried grass spill out onto the stone pavement of the small platform cut into the mountain side just outside this former city.
A sword is not a sorceress’s preferred weapon, I know. It wasn’t that well received by my fellow priests when I first picked up training. You should practice your sorcery more, they said. To use sorcery is an act of devotion to the Lady Dawn herself.
We are priests, not warriors. The life we live is not one of violence.
That is what I was told when I first picked up a sword. Well, now they are dead priests because the violence found them whether they wanted it or not.
The Lady of Dawn calls her followers to live peacefully with those who serve the gods, it is only too bad that the gods do not command the same from their own followers. And then there are the sorcerers who serve the other demigods who murder everyone.
With pretty much everything that breathes in the outside world ready to kill me, what other recourse do I have but to learn to defend myself?
I refuse to allow Laellina and myself to share the same fate as the other priests of Azern.
I start cycling through the drills. I got them from one of the books I dug out of the rubble in the armory. There were enough pages still intact that I was able to make out that it was some sort of guide to swordplay. The binding must still be under a pile of rocks as well as the first fifty or so pages. But at least I had the part with the practice drills.
Fortunately, the tome was illustrated so that I was able to copy what I saw in the pictures and try to piece together the rest. Otherwise, it would have been entirely useless to me since it was written in a language I cannot understand. Higher Elven doesn’t exist anymore.
The language was banned after the war. Yet another way for the Lower Elves and Lowlanders to keep us from recovering from what they did to us. The survivors had to speak the common language of the valley. I’m sure the Lower Elves hadn’t wanted to leave even those few alive, but the humans stepped in after a while, saying that it wasn’t even a war anymore, just a massacre.
It was always a massacre, but hey, good on them for finally catching up.
The Higher Elves who remained after the massacre changed their language and were forced to keep from teaching it to their children. Years passed, generations grew up and died, and even the survivors passed on.
And by now… well, I fear that the language is truly lost. Maybe there are scholars out there puzzling over the few scribblings that remain, trying to unlock the spells and magic systems that were lost to our people with their homes and lives and language.
But not even I, one of the Higher Elves, know it. The language of my own people.
No wonder so many of my people turn to illegal livelihoods. We have no land to call our own, we do not remember our language, and everywhere we go, we are mistrusted. Some rightfully so, but even the peaceful servants of Azern are hunted down and killed.
Four decades since the time that I was placed on the steps of the temple, and I’m finally a woman. Higher Elves age so much slower than humans do—we take twice the amount of time as them. But in those four decades that it took for me to finally become a woman, I watched as the order that I grew up in crumbled all around me.
It started off innocently enough, some of the priests would get bored of sitting here, tending the flames, praying and nothing happening. They claimed they had been chosen to go on missions by our lady, maybe they had been. But if so, then they were called to suicide missions.
Our numbers dwindled down until we stopped leaving the mountains for anything other than supplies. But even that is a risky business. Outside of the mountains is a dangerous place for Higher Elves, especially those who call themselves sorcerers. And even though we try to remain discrete, it’s commonly assumed that all Higher Elves are sorcerers. It’s a stereotype that unfortunately proves true in my case and likely led to the undoing of the other priests.
The older priests were the ones who left for the supplies, taking the risk upon themselves. And over the years, well... eventually luck has to run out. You leave once for supplies and nothing happens, but that second time? Maybe wolves attack, or bandits. Perhaps a Lower Elf decides you aren’t worth living anymore.
Maybe you are arrested and shipped off to the Spice Islands.
All I know is that eventually, if given enough time, people stop returning.
I clench my fingers, feeling the power of my sorcery animating the metal of my blade and controlling it with my will. The sword flies from my hand, swishing through the air moving from first position to second as they were shown in the training book I found.
I fear the outside world and what it will do to us, but if we truly must leave as is now seeming inevitable, I will do what I must to keep us safe.
The sword flies through the air, impaling into the straw sack.
I straighten, dropping my arms, a smile on my lips as I study the swaying hilt of the sword from where it is impaled in the dummy.
As I move, a wave of dizziness washes over me. I sway as I press my hand to my forehead, wondering at what had caused it. Too much sun? But I’d only just come outside. There’s no way I could have overexerted myself by now.
However, instead of abating, the dizziness only grows. I widen my stance as I sway but my ankle twists and I find myself collapsing to my knees, the hard stone biting into my hand as I catch myself before I completely collapse. I choke on a gasp as my heart races, my vision is spinning.
Am I falling ill?
A few winters ago, a terrible disease swept through the temple, claiming the few of our members who had survived supply runs and sacred missions. I had been spared from the disease, but what if it’s somehow claiming me now?
Azern…
I pause, glancing up. Who spoke? Is there someone up on this mountain with us? If there is, I need to warn Laellina. It is unlikely that they climbed this mountain in search of these abandoned ruins for peaceful reasons.
And yet I can’t seem to force myself to my feet. My arm trembles under the strain of trying to push myself up.
You are my namesake and yet you are so much more than that now.
I don’t know who this person thinks they are but I was named after Lady Dawn… I gasp as I realize what this is. A vision. I’m having a vision.
Some of the older priests claimed that Azern would speak to them, but it was not something I had ever experienced myself.
Why would she choose to talk to me know? After all these years of silence? I cried out to her as one by one her priests were killed and lost to me, and she said nothing. What reason would she choose to break that silence?
All your life you have served me, but now I must ask a greater task of you. Every day my power weakens, my followers are killed, and my siblings awaken a little more. The ancients once spoke of an end to everything—humanity, elves, and deities alike. I have foreseen the same thing. It is why I allowed myself to be entrapped in this tomb for all these years, but now I see my sacrifice was not enough.
“What?” I mumble, not entirely sure what I’m asking what about. I have a whole lot of questions and what doesn’t even seem to cover half of them.
The ancients spoke of those chosen by the gods who could be our saviors… or the ones to fail us all and doom everyone. Necromancy is a dark evil and one I have come to fear. Soon my siblings will rise again, and my parents and the other gods shall be forced to choose their champions. But my father, the Lord of Time, once gifted me with foresight for being his favored child. It is an ability I have used to endeavor to keep the end at bay. It is an ability that told me that for peace I must die alongside my siblings. And it is an ability that tells me that even with the gods gifting mortals with their chosen favor, we may all still fall. Which is why I have chosen you, Azern, to be my own chosen one. To be the bearer of my gift in this mortal realm. It is to you, my champion, that I give the task of aiding the god’s chosen ones on their journey.
A chill wind sweeps across me, I don’t know if it is simply the mountain wind, or something else. Something more powerful. But I am shaking and I cannot stop, my lips trembling and my teeth clacking together. And I feel as if I will never be warm again.
Do not fail me.
With those words, images pour across me. No, not pour. Slam into me. All happening too fast for me to understand. I hear people speaking, although I cannot see them and their speech is too garbled to make out what is being said. Pictures flash by, too quickly to see what they even are. I only feel the pressure of them on my brain. Assaulting me and my senses. I curl into a ball, trying to escape them.
But how can I escape what is happening within my own mind?
Finally, a blessed darkness tinges the edges of my consciousness. I gladly accept it and the respite it can bring me from this relentless onslaught.