Year 415 since Upheaval (the second month - Ameth)
My mother and father sit at my sides. I rest my hands on the table so they do not shake as the old priestess places the purple geode in my sweaty cupped palms. All the children are tested at eleven, twelve, and thirteen. The first one said I had no sign of the gift, to the great relief of my parents. She takes a sample of my saliva with a shiny wooden stick and puts it on the crystal.
The reaction is immediate and the living light inside pulsates like a heart.
Mom's face is unreadable, and my father turns pale. ''This means nothing,'' he says. ''The test is wrong...no, your test is wrong.''
The old woman throws a fleeting but compassionate look at him. Her gaze mostly doesn't leave the geode. ''Master Bolormaa your daughter is blessed by the Goddess.''
He stands up and speaks with a voice that is barely composed and close to a whisper, ''You can take my daughter after you kill me. Go back to your temple, bring some soldiers with you for all I care, you can't take her.'' Father never thinks much before speaking. I wonder, is it his pride or the love of me that drives him now. Possibly a mixture.
Before the priestess can reply Mother is calm and dignified. She stands up and takes my father's hand. As befitting a crystalcrafter, his hands were always stone steady when they needed to be; only making slight delicate movements, and always under his complete control. Now they are anything but. His profession enabled our family a good life on top of a southern moss: one of the colossal rock formations littering the city and the canyon floor beyond; with often flat tops that mostly feature a sprawl of flush-roofed homes, temples, public gardens, and other buildings of white and gray stone.
''John we should rejoice, there is no greater honor than serving the city and the Goddess.'' My mother sounds less than enthusiastic. She always dominated her emotions but her eyes show glimpses of fear as her breathing speeds up. Olive skin graced with barely a few lines, pale brown eyes outlined with kohl and resembling those of a fierce yet gorgeous huntress from one of the manuscripts I've read, coal black hair, and rosebud-shaped lips, which are just like mine, reasonably make me think my mom is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She wears a simple white sleeveless tunic made of linen with bright yellow borders. Under her bust, cord belt reins in the garment.
My mother suffered through two miscarriages before having me and the fact she keeps her composure at this moment is quite admirable. Sadly, these last few moments seem to have aged her somehow.
''How can you say this Lana, we are to lose our only child and you talk about honor.''
''She will see you once a month, Master Bolormaa. Your family will be privileged and venerated.'' Priestess Aleera almost chides him. She has more than a few lines on her face but her brown eyes are pleasingly clear for a woman of her age. Her hair is all gray but long and well-kept; it spills across the top of her brown robes. Like the rest of her holy sisters and brothers, she honors the Goddess by wearing it long. Male priests often grow a beard instead. On many of our statues, the Goddess is portrayed as an imperious woman with lengthy luscious free-falling tresses. Great look for the statues but a nightmare for sculptors. Her iron triquetra necklace is probably hidden under the spotless brown cloth.
''To the Void with your privilege, you have my answer.'' He was never overly religious like mom is or how most people we know are.
''Priestess, may my husband and I discuss this in private. These are truly blessed news however all of our emotions are in the air now, and we need time to compose and talk.''
''Certainly. We are not animals; take your time. In the next few days visit me in the temple, we have much to talk about. There are still months before the start of her studies.'' She picks up the still pulsating geode, stick, and the rest of her equipment. After saying goodbye to my mother, she moves to leave, but before finally doing so, she tells us not to talk to anyone about the test or its results. Father didn't even bother to look at her.
My parents fight throughout the rest of the day and a good chunk of the night but eventually, Mother's composure prevails. Irritatingly, even though I was the subject of their bickering, I was never consulted for my input.
Later, and after some comforting words of wisdom and warning from my mom, they are finally left for bed. Allowing me to unobtrusively climb to the flat roof of our home and gaze up for a heartbeat or two. I remember never being able to stare at it for as long as other kids did.
Sol is blanketing Lodestar with its comforting red light. I always do this when I can't sleep. I lie down and close my eyes as the red orb gives me a warm feeling under my skin.
A small thought nags at me about how there was something strange regarding Mom. At first, there was the understandable anguish, same as with Father, but during our last conversation, she seemed almost relieved.
Fruitlessly I try to catch a dream or two while in the distance I hear dogs barking and—if I really focus—the faint and pleasant humming of waterfalls falling over the edges of our moss a few hundred paces to the north.
***
Same year. Eighth month - Citar.
A giant snake is in front of my home. Its six feathered wings, spaced at equal intervals, are weirdly folded as it lies half-coiled on the ground. It doesn't constantly move its tongue in and out as its much smaller animal cousins would.
My parents have a mixture of feelings, they know we will see each other once every forty days and we had plenty of months to say goodbye but I am to be raised away from home on Academy grounds—an unknown place I never visited and only heard and read about.
Mom packs me a little too many spare clothes, food, a few tokens of home are thrown in, and even some dried beef. All in all, I'm fairly certain I have enough supplies in my satchel to traverse the Wastes and back.
''Anna, remember what we talked about,'' my mother whispers in my ear as she hugs me.
Father has trouble standing. ''Whatever happens, come back to us girl.'' He seems to have difficulty breathing, and my mother puts her firm hand on his shoulder. It helps, slightly improving his bearing. My father hugs me and after looking at me one last time with brown watery eyes he turns to leave. Without saying another word he trudges toward the house. Father is afraid that if he looks back he won't be able to let me go.
''John!'' My mother reaches toward him to make him stay but then relents. He slowly closes the door behind him, unable to even glance back. He seemed so pale.
''Go, girl.'' My mother's face is made of the same stone as many statues of the First Daughter Theia are. Nevertheless, forcing those words out seems to have taken a lot out of her.
I will not make this more difficult than it needs to be. Besides, Aleera is already occupying the front saddle. I trace my fingers over the triquetra pendant Mother gave me. Feigning not to hesitate, I turn to stride toward the Winged.
As I sit in the saddle behind, Aleera dismounts and places a thick belt around my tunic to which she then attaches multiple straps connected to the saddle. She checks the bonds numerous times, yanking the straps and readjusting the belt.
''Thank you hallowed sister,'' I say.
Aleera grins at that. ''Just sister or Sister Wellamo is fine.'' She didn't talk much with my parents and I'm thankful to her for giving us a decent amount of time for the final goodbyes. She is wearing a simple brown woolen tunic, with black gloves and a darker shade turquoise scarf with rolled edges and loose weave—despite the mild weather. ''Hold the horn with both hands at all times.''
I simply nod.
''And do not kick with your legs, just enjoy the view.'' Her confident voice is reassuring.
I take a deep breath. ''I understand, sister.''
Aleera grabs the reins and secures herself in her own saddle—she has only one bag with her, firmly tied to the side. After I attach the satchel to the right of mine, her heels tap two times at the snake's flanks, and it moves its large sinewy body slowly upwards while unfurling long narrow wings.
As we are about to take off a sense of dread takes me but not for the fear of heights. Since around my ninth year, I have rarely left my home. When I was very little there was a boy about my age that liked to mock my red hair and would often pull it. Eventually, I had enough so I punched him and accidentally broke a few of his ribs. After telling my mom what happened I wasn't allowed to play with other kids anymore. Luckily for me, the boy claimed he fell, ashamed to admit a girl beat him up. She nicely instructed me to always be gentle and to not speak of what truly happened to anyone ever. Mom can be very convincing but it wasn't her stern hand that frightened me the most, it was the look in her eyes. She would tell me, ''If you want to keep a secret say it in a graveyard.'' I never saw that type of fear in her before that—deep and terrifying.
I will be so close to them and yet in another world. I am scared.
After a few breaths, we are airborne. Dried dark red leaves and swaying purple grass mark our ascendance.
I continue to wave and gaze toward my home for a few more moments and then the city spills around us. We are soaring higher, immediately picking up speed. Soon after taking the skies the true chill of autumn is revealed and I'm grateful for my cozy, double-layered, woolen cloak. It is a large thick blanket folded into a cloak. I wrap it around me.
The air tickles my face as we slowly rise. My grip on the horn instinctively tightens.
The full view of Lodestar plasters my eyes as it nests in the middle of a massive canyon. The city's outline is heavily elongated from north to south.
The canyon floor is wide. It would take an adult from the first morning light until about midday to walk the Valley from side to side at a leisurely pace.
In the very center of Lodestar, there is a colossal colorful pillar. Even from this distance, it is easy to spot. I've only seen it up close once a few years back but the memory is still clear. Its entire surface is carved with a painted frieze that spirals around it, showing the Goddess and her daughters. Goddess herself appears dozens of times in the form of a regal and serious woman's face. Interestingly, I remember those large faces well because they are left unpainted. I think some strange symbols are around them. Theia, the First Daughter, is easily recognizable by holding a spear and a sword, while her divine sister Acrona has the slightly different battle gear of rich fields, strangely painted green, with joyful children and familiars scattered near her.
The pillar marks the largest public space in the whole city: Senate Plaza. There are scores of worshipers around its base which slowly fade from view as we fly southeast.
Far above the peak of the giant pillar, an indomitable red orb of light blissfully gives out its shine. During the day Sol's impact is underwhelming but at night it can even hurt the eyes to look upon directly as it blankets the city with its red hue. Our clergy preaches that it is a tiny piece of Allmother's divine body put there to bless and protect the canyon until the end of time. I prefer to think Sol is the hazy sun's offspring.
Anyway; even though our beautiful small sun is so high above the city, some grandmaster at the Academy calculated, to the slight displeasure of the clergy, that it still only shines at the height that is about the middle of the general depth of the canyon.
During the day the air above the city is always swished and swooshed with winged familiars carrying, hauling, transporting, relocating, delivering, or simply revolving around Sol in long curves and ellipses. They are harmless, docile beasts of mane, feather, horn, scale—just like our current companion—and I don't know what else. There are consistently at least a few, and sometimes a throng of Winged circling Sol. Winged familiars, like their ground brethren, are drawn to the light of Sol, and even at night, there are always dozens of them flying around the small sun. At this distance, they remind me of tiny flies around a small clump of real fruit on my kitchen table.
Everywhere I look Lodestar spans with its jumble of buildings, temples, and large circular plazas where there is always an occasional orator speaking to an eager small crowd of supporters; using the steps of some temple as their podium.
A good few senators would pay a small group of people to follow them and listen to their speeches. These paid followers would serve as a starting point for other citizens to gather and hear the loquacious words of the speaker. Crowds attract crowds.
All plazas are on the ground level. Loved by the public and merchants; they often have a fountain, or decorative pillar with a vividly painted statue on top, at their center. Splattered across them, singing and dancing troupes of mummers and street musicians often jostle for the best places to perform and earn some hex.
If I focus enough, even obelisk-like quadrangular water towers become clearly visible. With their filled square tops, the ignored towers enable fountains to have their erupting glory.
Far above ground level, carpeting the sprawling flat top of a moss to the east of mine, there are public gardens whose striking colors of dark-red flowers and purple grass mix with the white stone of the buildings and the pale imposing reddishness of the rock they sit on. Small waterfalls cascade from the sides of these and most other mosses into collection tanks or directly into ground channels. These channels are not very numerous but they cut the tissue of the city into large blocks of white buildings that sprawl endlessly northwards, consuming the horizon.
Many of these flat-topped hills of rock dominate the landscape. Most are of an irregular shape with none being exactly the same. To me, the most unusual mosses have two or three wide column-like formations, each of different thickness, supporting impossibly large rocks with buildings on their flat tops. And even more structures, homes, taverns, and shops are hidden from view on ground level—huddled in the space created by these nature-made columns.
Almost all mosses are connected with long white sky-bridges, which seem fragile when compared to the looming mosses, despite being more than wide enough for several sizable carts to be moving next to each other. The sky-bridges are smooth and strong but are relatively rarely used and mostly by younger people and merchants that live on mosses. Winged transportation is omnipresent, kinda cheap, and favored by the elderly. For large cargo the tedious ground route is possible.
Almost directly below us and slightly to the right I can see one of many unassuming cubical castella. The settling tank is three times taller than an adult. I've seen most of Lodestar only in the form of pictures and maps—although my moss gave me an excellent view of the southern area—and castella are seldom depicted.
It really is grimeworthy that my best view of the city comes as I'm forced to abandon it.
On the western sweeps of Lodestar—occupying almost the entire top of the large western moss—I can see a violet smudge. Ariadne Garden is an intricate maze of violet hedges. Literally labyrinthine swirling pathways have walls that are supposedly head taller than an adult, leading to an adorable fountain smack in the center. I had a sketch of its supposedly easy-to-get-lost passages which was easy to solve. Granted, my perspective was superior to that of someone surrounded by violet barricades. Despite concentrating, the individual rows are indistinguishable at this distance. I hoped to visit it someday.
My neck starts to ache but I can't stop myself from continuously looking behind.
Directly ahead of us and far below, I can see the full void-sized scope of Allmother's temple with spots of human flesh entering, exiting, swirling, jostling, praying outside, burning incense, bringing offerings, and children playfully climbing the bottom steps. Considering Lodestar is given to our chosen ancestors by the Goddess herself, the supply of the faithful is never short.
Most temples are made of marble with triangular pediments holding heavily decorated tympanums that are always stacked with statues or sculptures. Statues are often depicting naked human forms in dramatic poses, and wicked-looking battle familiars—all of it coated in predominantly red, blue, and scores of mostly bright colors.
Temple sculptures I've seen in manuscripts often showed scenes of many-sailed ships on irate, gray-black waves. On others, our holy ancestors are shown holding hands, with lavish green plants I don't recognize and thick-leafed branches spread all around them.
Below the tympanums, vividly painted friezes in shades of vermilion red and ultramarine blue, float just above the elegant marble columns that are sometimes left white with only the top ends having a dark purple color.
Temples of Theia have columns that are half coated in red with her painted statue on top of the pediment—while horses, lions, or mean-looking war crystalborn flank her at the far edges. Acrona's columns are blue. Her colorful statue is often flanked with palmettes or purple statues of artificial plants with spiraling tree barks and serpentine-shaped trunks.
I've heard Allmother tends to have the most imposing temples and I do not question that even for half a heartbeat as Aleera and I fly directly above the cluster of painted marble. In a breath, we stream above the large white steps flanked with tall embankments of pure gleaming marble, and then above the five-men-high dark purple statue of the Goddess, placed at the apex of the pediment—her daughters stand eternal watch at the corners.
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As we are about to leave the last vestiges of the city's periphery, our snake increases its speed. In no time at all, we fly just beyond the outskirts. Smoke-gray maple groves and magenta thickets are mostly found lining the main roads, while violet grass carpets most of the soil close to Lodestar.
For most of its extent, the Valley's surface is overall flat—at least that's what they teach in common school. My parents paid for the tutors to come to our house so I can be homeschooled. Mother said it's for the best since that way I can learn more. And I did. I rarely sleep, so at night I used the light of Cobalts or Ambers to read and do my assignments. I would put a bed sheet or old clothes at the bottom of the door so my parents couldn't notice the light.
My head hurts. I've overused it again.
In the end, our flight should only cover roughly a quarter of Valley's length. From here sides of the canyon floor appear dark purple to black and are dense with mostly Violet Breaker-made trees and shrubs. Some trees within the city, or edging the outskirts, don't discard their leaves even now during the days of late autumn.
The snake slows down our flight, for a few breaths at least, and I smell the wispy hints of dry crispy spicy aroma coming from the soil far below.
I've never ridden a Winged before and my heart, naturally, wishes to leap out of its cage. A little smile sneaks up on me, and immediately I feel guilty for some reason. The view offers a welcome distraction as I glance at scores of scarcely noticed bridleways. They remain mostly unused, but for a crystalborn rider or two—throwing dirt and dust far ahead of us.
Below and to my left, one of the four tentacular waterways converges with the outskirts of the city. Starting high at the sides of the cliffs and then feather-gently descending, the four large waterways diagonally converge towards Lodestar with each ending its long journey at the tallest four mosses in the outskirts. Extensive waterways provide water for most of the mosses, baths, fountains, senatorial villas, and for a decent chunk of well-off people while wells and sprawling underground cisterns, with creamy lime-plastered stone vaulting, provide the drinking water for the majority of city folk. I've read too much useless nonsense.
The plentiful water never stops flowing.
This waterway to my left is the southeastern one and is quite pleasing to the eye. A nimble succession of continuous arches forms the white arcade with the channel crowning the top.
The Valley is no different from Lodestar when it comes to thirst. An extensive network of irrigation canals—sometimes hugged by hamlets—carries the lifeblood needed to feed its purple heart. The biggest ones are used for coal transport from further south, the ocean's bounty from the north, and carrying supplies. The largest and strongest Gray-made water familiars sometimes pull narrow transport ships and boats.
All the canals in the Valley completely rely on the only two rivers in it. At least I think they are rivers, they might be giant channels or something. Anyway, these two river-channels are at the bottom of the cliffs, basically marking the eastern and western border of the long valley.
My mom once said the water in the Valley is so plentiful that some farmers living in one of the small settlements scarcely doting the canyon floor use it to wash their cattle with buckets.
''Hold on girl.'' Aleera's voice is half-diminished by the wind hitting my ears. She gently pulls on the reins for a few breaths. The winged snake lowers our height for just a fraction of its body length, and, as my grip on the saddle horn increases, I question my earlier confidence.
In the distance far in front of us, down below, I can see a few slender lines of smoke. It comes from those small settlements that barely pass as villages. I throw an awkward glance to the north—Sol's light grows evermore obscure.
Most of our flight has passed and I can already see some of the supposedly striking shapes of the facade—a blurry part of a somewhat rectangular silhouette really, with no discernible details at this distance.
After about three-quarters of our journey, the face of the eastern cliff dominates the view. It—just like its western twin—is about two miles high and more vertical in the tall upper reaches while the bottom area is often slightly thicker and more rugged as the escarpment slopes downwards. The lengthy cliff has thousands of, mostly small, waterfalls gushing out of its face. The biggest and the lower ones often break upon the rock until the water flows into the eastern river-channel.
The rock is throwing up water by the voidloads. Although this is not so noticeable in all the places due to the size and scope of the cliff. The sound waterfalls make is mildly annoying—irritable background noise chafing my left ear. I put my face fully against the oncoming wind, allowing its loud whispers to kill the annoying sound of the crashing water.
Some of the waterfalls are so high that the water slowly turns into mist, never reaching the far bottom. The mist forms into random patches of pure white clouds—slowly spreading, and swirling above the channel.
The eastern river-channel meanders and follows the uneven bottom of the cliff. This channel, created by the countless waterfalls, itself ends up becoming a huge cataract as it spills at the northern extreme of the Valley, into Alldora far below.
To my left and slightly below our height, a small barely visible rainbow hugs the palest reaches of a mist cloud before disappearing into nothingness. To my right, the distant western cliff is just an endless fat line. It appears smooth from this distance. The two of them confine the Valley.
The landscape of the canyon floor is growing into uneven terrain of sharp-peaked hills, tors, and buttes, all possessing every imaginable shade of rust red and pale orange. Their scant ornamentations are occasional dark purple or black shrubs, and gray wildflowers. However, I have seen scores of Violet-made trees and even a few natural ones in this area. The air here is less heavy than the one in the city. I resist the urge to look back again.
The snake's graceful white-with-red-trim wings make the occasional sound of a distant drumbeat. The scaly creature uses winds sparingly, making us smoothly glide for most of our journey so far. It bizarrely reminds me of the golden-colored water familiar in a fountain near my home. Sudden, long, crestfallen breath escapes me. Anyway, the cat-sized glimmering fish was an arrow-fast part of the water as it cut and slid through it with no effort at all. This flying snake is like that golden fish: completely in its element.
Aleera and I almost reached our destination. She pulls the reins, making us slowly descend as our six-winged friend begins its spiral landing.
In the distance below I see a few minor irrigation and drainage canals, fountains, and pools. The area seems opulent with water, but it’s not very lush.
This region of the canyon floor makes the rest of the Valley seem flawlessly flat. Our slow descent is greeted with narrow and wide passages, hills, and columns of pure irregular rock; as if the rage of Alldora’s immense waves got suddenly petrified to form the landscape, and then: chiseled by Allmother herself, pummeled by rock rain, and finally painted red, with each stratum having a unique tint of silver gray, buff, soft green, golden yellow, and every shade of pink. Closer to ground level, thin layers of violet, swarthy turquoise, brown, dark gray, and hints of the wealthy deep blue of lapis are stacked upon one another in an eternal embrace. I see wide open areas of nothing but stone, scattered gymnasiums, buttes, irregular towers of rock, circular fountains, and columnated streets winding through a mess of craggy hills. There is order in this chaos of a landscape.
I can see several rock formations with half-shimmering flat tops, here and there, used for charging the crystals. They call it lightbathing. Emptied crystals are placed in bathtub-like vessels which have mirrors of polished bronze on the inside. The light of the pale sun gets focused on the crystals making them charge faster. There are a few dark-blue clad figures at the top of a tower-shaped formation, collecting the fully-charged Cobalts. An equal number of small winged familiars are nearby, awaiting for their riders.
For a creature with no legs, the landing was surprisingly soft. I unbuckle myself and get the satchel before jumping off the saddle.
''You'll sprain your ankle like that.'' Aleera reminds me of my grandfather. He would often make such comments and then wonder why my mom doesn't even bother to rein me in. She adjusts her hair and tunic after gently dismounting.
''It was a long ride and I wanted to be off the saddle.'' I smile nicely at her.
''It would be much longer on most other Winged. Nibbles is fast.'' She pats the side of the giant snake. I'm not going to bother commenting on that name. ''Long ago future students would take the ground route.'' She looks up at the Academy's facade for a few moments and then exhales. ''Let's go, girl.''
That’s a distressing thought. Ground route from my moss would’ve taken us from dawn until sunset. Winding sets of steps and passages leading to ground level are carved on the sides of most mosses but they would not be passable for the majority of ground transport mounts. We would be forced to go north from my home through narrow roads, a jumble of houses and minor palaces, hedgerows of mostly purple, dotted with dark red and black buds, until we reached a small patchy slope next to wide steps, both leading down to a clearing and then onwards over the sky-kissing bridge itself until we’ve arrived to a slightly lower rock structure. The process would have to be repeated until reaching the ground level, making our path anything but practical. Or, I would’ve simply taken a long path downwards, walking the zigzagging narrow steps until reaching the ground transport beast far below. But I hate taking the stairs, so this turned out nice.
My eyes run northward for a few heartbeats. I was never this far from home. At this level, I cannot see very far and even Sol, which at this distance should appear as a pretty speck of pale red light, is obscured by a craggy landscape.
I stop following Aleera for a few moments and look up. Hair-swaying facade of the Academy reaches upwards for close to a third of the cliff’s height.
The facade’s width seems to be about half its height.
Strangely, the first thing that stands out to me is the two long banners almost flanking the carved structure. They are made of black nanilu cloth—portraying the Academy’s emblem: a greatly stylized phoenix about to take flight. The mythical creature has its left side dyed violet and right in iron gray. According to my mother’s friend, our neighbor Mistress Imani Aebutius, this fabric is strong, durable, and expensive to make. Imani has a cousin that studied at the Academy and was more than helpful in answering many of my annoying and my mother’s anguishing questions. If one threw mud at the banner, if one could throw that far and high, it would simply slide off it; together with the thrower’s arm. Not even a drop of rain gets absorbed. I’ve also read that nanilu is difficult and slow to manufacture. There is a unique artificial—some elderly might say familiar—tree, with pear-shaped fruit that has long fibers at the bottom, resembling strands of fine hair. Since nothing can be wasted, the nasty-tasting fruit is thrown to the pigs. Strands are painstakingly woven together to create nanilu. Supposedly it can stop a steel blade. Only one such tree exists and no other Violet Breaker managed to replicate it. They say it is better guarded than some senators.
My father would have to work for decades to afford the cloth making just one of those banners, while every Breaker gets their own, custom-tailored, pure nanilu, long-sleeved shirt, and stirrup pants, for free, after graduating. Both garments blacker than Void’s butthole.
I speed up my pace. Above the height of the banners, and occupying a central position of the uppermost reaches in the vast facade, there is a carved triquetra. Near the end of each point of the triquetra there are large spherical indentations in the stone—each giving away its own fleck of light. The top point houses a crystal that must be large but it appears a mere dot of pale lilac light, at this distance. The bottom left houses a red crystal, with the last interlaced arc pointing at blue. Being regularly exposed to pale sunlight, the three of them are always charged.
My father has illuminated manuscripts, bought and more often borrowed, with notations and illustrations of many familiars, art, palaces, or structures of note. He says they help inspire him in his work. A decent amount of these was related to this obscenely large face of the Academy.
Below the triquetra, which I'm fairly certain can be seen all the way from the other side of the canyon, and within the confines of the triangular tympanum, there is a sculpture—a bizarre collection of spiraling naked forms. Not to be undone, and following the common theme of the facade of everything being colossal in scale, the tympanum has almost the width of the triquetra. Hundreds of naked human figures, each in prime youth and shape, emerge out of sharp swirling clouds. It's hard to say whether the figures are terrified or excited. In the manuscript pictures, some seemed serious while others were mostly indifferent. The sculpture has an overall helical shape. Even the bodies of mostly half-emerging people are following the prevailing helical pattern.
It is hauntingly pretty, although I'd prefer it to have more than just one color. If I said such thoughts aloud mom would clip me on the head. ''The design of the Goddess is never to be questioned,'' she would say. Our chosen ancestors held the entire canyon, including the structures within, in the highest reverie. Of course, over centuries some slight modifications and changes were necessary but only after a lot of fervent discussions. I once overheard Father jokingly say how you can't dig a shithole without the Senate debating about it. Again an image of my mom taping me on the head emerges.
Just below the tympanum, there is a frieze stretching from side to distant side of the facade. Depicting lightly armored human figures with axes, spears, and sledgehammers; while with them are familiars: Ground and Winged, possessing sword-like teeth and scythes for claws. The portrayal is a bit much. It is a scene of battle, although the enemy is not depicted, only corpses and body parts. I've read that the carved line of decoration is several times larger than an adult. This was probably done so their details are not lost due to the vast distance and scope of the facade. Sadly, it seems to me even these masterful details get somewhat lost within the scope of the structure. Some long-dead writers and painters no doubt used their Winged to acquire all this knowledge.
It is a little disappointing that there are no pleasing and large letters formally stating, ''The Breaker Academy.''
The enormous facade is as daunting as it is breathtaking; I feel as if it might consume me at any moment. It may be grand in its design and scope but I don't like its unpainted surface. That pinkish-red color dominates, making the entire vast structure seem dull.
For some reason, Aleera is smiling at me. ″Come along now, girl, rushy-rush.″ I haven’t even noticed that I’ve stopped walking.
We approach the bridge-like structure, spanning the wide river-channel. The beginning and the end of the bridge are a seamless continuation of the stone beneath our feet. There are many bridges like it strewn at equal intervals. Red-cloaked guards are on both flanks. I heard that their toil can be mostly ceremonial and that the Academy sometimes uses guard duty as a form of discipline. These two don't seem to be students. From the way they stand and hold their spears, I assume they are trained soldiers. They simply nod to Aleera as we stride past them without asking about our business.
We pass about a third of the bridge, and Aleera, always thoughtful, answers what I wished to ask. ″They belong to Crimson Guard and are sentinels of this place,″ she pauses for a moment, a somber look grabs her eyes, ″among other things.″
I can't stop staring at the oversized carved monster in front of us. ''Are there many?''
Aleera almost laughs. ''Yes, girl. They are in a sense a small army of the Academy. Officially these soldiers owe their allegiance to the Senate but in reality, they answer only to the person at the top of this landmark institution.''
As we are crossing the almost three-armspans-wide bridge a pleasant mild wind dandles us. I'm surprised it can even be windy at all considering all the rocks and obstacles around.
High above and to the right of the great facade I can see small shapes of about four Winged which slowly disappear out of sight as their forms merge with the cliff's face.
A strange sound, barely noticeable, draws my attention down at the channel. There is something in the water. ''What is that?'' I nod to my left.
Aleera glances at the water for a moment. ''Probably a sea serpent. One of those guards is pretending to be an ordinary soldier. Come, girl.''
I don't quite understand, but I've already slowed her enough. My march quickens until l catch up with Aleera.
After crossing the bridge, the large courtyard of stone greets us. I'm surprised at how pristine and flat the area appears. There are chips and cracks in places but overall: it's smooth.
''Why didn't we land much closer?'' I ask.
''This is the Academy's courtyard. Most enter through one of the bridges. They have a certain etiquette of behavior here, you should be mindful to adhere to it during your studies.''
I simply nod, not wishing to bother her with too many questions. There was time for me to get some research done but the Academy is known for being secretive. Regardless, many things were known about this place but people simply chose not to speak of it aloud.
In the distance to my left, I can see a large cart pulled by a Gray-made four-legged familiar, considerably bigger than a cow; supposedly bringing supplies to this place. Soon a figure in a dark blue robe approaches it.
Ahead of us, one object dominates the courtyard. The statue of Teshub Lartia, the Academy's semi-legendary founder, and a renown Breaker. His domineering likeness stands in the center of this vast rectangular courtyard. He is recognized as the first chairman of the Academy and was supposedly allowed to have dozens of battle crystalborn at his command. The statue is made of khar-nogoon rock and it is strangely unadorned. No small crystals in the eye sockets, nor a drop of added color, only the natural dark and pale green shades. Countless delicately thin and some fatter lines, each having their own distinct greenish hue, diagonally cross the statue from head to distant base—the sides of which are carved with beasts. I assume these were some of his crystalborn. My home could comfortably fit inside that base of the statue with room to spare. Compared to those in the city, almost all of which are colorful or sometimes even clad in polished metal, it seems bland.
About a hundred strides or more to the right of me, there is a fountain with five or six children. All dressed in matching green garments and sitting at the edge of it or on one of the benches nearby. The courtyard held many sizable semicircular benches of polished white granite, their plinths raising them slightly. The benches had sturdy-looking backrests, as tall as a man’s torso. Bronze medallions depicting a phoenix graced each end. These seating areas seem countless but are mere dots in the courtyard's wide expanse.
Steadily rising huge gates in the middle are swallowed by the vastness of the cliff-carved structure and appear minuscule. Further at the sides, they are flanked by two smaller ones. All that space and only three entrance points? Clergy often preaches that since the Goddess made the world then even all of this would be considered nothing in comparison. A lot of nothingness. The imposing double gate in the middle is dark greenish-brown. It makes me wonder how they open and close the monstrosity. Without needing to see the beautiful interlocking grain—or feel its fine texture—I realize they are entirely made out of stonewood. My home, like that of so many others, has tables, chairs, bowls, and even eating utensils made out of it. Despite being commonly used it does live up to its name. At ten I tried carving my name on the kitchen table using one of my father's tools made of steel. It took me a nice part of that morning just to carve a few decent marks in it. A shiver passes through my lower back at the mere memory of my mother's reaction. I've read that the gates of the Academy are often closed except during those special days of the festival. They have carvings in them and not even a smidge of paint on their entire bulk, which I guess gives them certain simplistic beauty. Human figures are depicted in the carvings at the bottom, mostly relating to the life of the Prophet, with various Genesis symbols aligned vertically down the middle. During the festival celebrating the Second Daughter, the large gates open inwards for those wishing to pray to Acrona or bring tribute.
The top steep curvature of the middle gates is contrasted by countless columns in front of them. Like spines of giants whose girth would put that of most trees to shame, they spread endlessly on either end. All columns are topped with ornate, inverted bell-shaped capitals, which have graceful curves of stylized motifs portraying two rows of jagged leaves from a plant that I don’t recognize. The leafy curves nicely complemented the scroll-like ornaments that spiraled upward. They are fluted—resembling the ribs of a starved person—with twenty-four sharp-edged shallow grooves carved into the surface of each column.
At the end of the main rectangular courtyard, we are greeted with steps that were clearly made with no children in mind. With long strides I climb them, until reaching the clearing upon which the columns deceivingly seem to stand. Just like the rest of the facade, they are carved out of the cliff. The old priestess is often ahead of me and has a surprising lightness to her step.
A forest of soaring, widely spaced columns, flanks us. I’m unnerved at how they hauntingly disappear into the distance.
While crossing the smaller inner courtyard, I notice we are about to be greeted with—of course—more needlessly large steps, leading to the gates and the clearing in front of them. I must be blind.
I pause after noticing the gates are flanked by two large beasts. On my left, there is a black panther far bigger than any dog I’ve seen. Its pale blue eyes are gorgeous but that means little to my rampaging heart. The right side of the gates is occupied by a short but long creature made of spikes. Its snout ends up in a forearm-sized horn with smaller ones being jutted all over its scaly back. Its front legs are comically short—shorter even than its fat neck. The most terrifying is its tail, basically a cudgel overflowing with pointed tips. Yet it seems so peaceful as it lies on its belly, with that mean tail coiled around as if it were a kitten.
Near each of the beasts is one strange-looking guard. Both are garbed in black, clasping their hands behind their straight backs and looking forward. The two beasts just sit and lie peacefully, barely even noticing us.
Aleera regards me with comforting eyes. ''Are you scared, girl?''
''Yes.'' There wasn't much pondering about answering that question honestly. Claws from one of the creatures appear to be made of curved daggers. Obviously, I have seen familiars in their many endless shapes but I don't remember ever seeing a battle familiar. Maybe years back during a triumph or if a Winged one flew close to my moss but I can't really remember.
''Don't be. They are as much a threat to you as a fly.'' She said it so nonchalantly like there was no greater truth in the world.
As we move toward the right side of the large gates and the small doors within it—me moving with wobbly steps—I notice one of the guards has intricate tattoos near his throat. I freeze.
A Black Breaker.
A few moments pass and I realize, embarrassingly, that I was staring, my reverie broken only by a gentle tap on the shoulder from Aleera.
We reach the corner of the gates, in front of the tall door embedded in its right side. As we are finally about to enter the Academy's depths, my gut gives birth to a vortex.