WINDS OF NORTH AND EAST

White stretched beyond reaches, drowning both the mountains tall and valleys deep in pure snow. Blizzards soaked the lands in everlasting storm, and the snow never melted, only ever growing, like an unceasing miracle of world. At the very border of two lands, where once North and South were marred, now stood a frozen lake, and above it ten feet of snow.

Surrounding the lake was a forest of broken trees, of olden rocks laden with eons of time… and above them ten feet of snow. Where once stood marshes of green, and flowery fields beyond reaches, now stood ten feet of snow. And within the ten feet of snow stood a dry land, barred with wooden spikes at the outreaches, surrounding primitive, leather and woolen huts and wooden cabins. Fire upon torches burned here and there, but at the edges the flame burned with no stop, melting snow into droplets that feel through a cone-like plank of wood into dozens of buckets.

Men and women, clad in furred leather from top to bottom, and another layer atop, walked or sat, none speaking. There were no horses and no animals, and there wasn’t an army like it used to be when they marched away from the North, as the North had caught up.

Chief Trios of the Northern Stormborn was sitting calmly, a cup of ale in his hand, his fingers playing with it. A small fireplace burned behind his back, warming the cold wars. Next to him was his right hand adviser, Roggar, a sunken man in his late sixties. Chief Trios – once a proud star of the North – had a withered expression, his once black hair turning silver slowly.

“Chieftain,” Roggar spoke slowly. “We cannot continue like this.”

“Aye, we can’t,” Chieftain replied, laughing lowly as he coughed. “So tell me, Roggar, the fuck am I supposed to do? Down South an army of confused, bitter men await, already marching towards us, escaping their own disaster. Up North, who the fuck knows what awaits? Where am I supposed to lead my men?”

“We need to unite with other tribes--”

“No!!!” the Chieftain roared as he slammed the cup against the table, crushing it. His hand began bleeding lightly as he cut it, but he ignored it. “I’d rather my name and blood perish in the snow than ally myself with those bastards!”

“Then we march east,” Roggar said, sighing. “Eastern Frontier, I hear, needs good men. And we have good men.”

“Aye, we have fine, great men,” the Chieftain said. “But they need Mages, Roggar. Not men wielding axes and shields.”

“You are a Magus, as is your son,” Roggar said. “They will accept you.”

“I’m tired, Roggar. My feet had been drenched in deep snow for over a year, and all my dreams were crushed under the weight of life. Half my tried has died, and the other half is dying. We’ve lost without ever fighting a battle. What do you think would happen if we truly fought?”

“It’s better than starving here, Chieftain.”

“Aye, perhaps,” the man replied, laughing. “But can we, Roggar? We hadn’t seen this much snow since the day North had seen men. And it’s not stopping… just moving further South. We can’t march directly East, unless you think we can handle tens of miles of deep snow. We can’t go South for fear of encountering others. We can’t do anything, really.”

“… Trios,” Roggar’s voice suddenly grew softer as he spoke. “I’ve known you since you were a little babe. I’ve watched you grow, watched you struggle, and all throughout I’ve seen a man whose heart burns hotter than any cold. North has forsaken us. South has abandoned us. We have no friends, and our people are losing hope. The last thing they trust in is you. That’s what keeps them moving. That’s what keeps their frostbitten feet alive. Should they ever see that their hope has surrendered, it would be the end of us all.”

“Your men will follow you, Trios, as they always have. Wherever you point your sword, there they shall go. But, first, you have to point it. It is time you made a choice, and stopped drinking yourself to death.”

“… you’re supposed to be my adviser, not my fucking wife.”

“March East, Trios. Whatever fate welcomes us, we’ll welcome it right back.”

“…” Chief Trios sighed as he stood up, looking through the window. “East it is then.”

**

Sandstorms blinded the eyes and the skies, hiding a vast, endless desert beneath. Deep within the Eastern Wasteland, far beyond the point any Westerner had ever reached, stood a tower made entirely out of sand. It rose higher and higher, until it passed the point the storm could reach. It lived amongst the clouds, and it stood proudly, withstanding the vestiges of time. The tower grew narrower towards its top, until it was only wide enough for a room, and the room was round and open at the sides, as sunshine basked it in surreal rays.

Within the tower, at the very top, a room was filled with shelves, and shelves were filled with book. Beneath lay glistening, white tiles, and a barred entrance. A round sphere stood at the very center of the room, rotating slowly, and upon it the Realm was painted. From the North, West, South and East, all lands were marked, all Kingdoms and Empires named. At both sides of the globe stood two tables, and one chair beneath, upon which sat two men. Both appeared old and worn, their hands barely writing on parchments, their breathing ragged.

The barred entrance suddenly open, startling the two men who jolted upon their feet. From within the small entrance a woman appeared, and behind her two men, topless and barefoot. The woman seemed young, perhaps in her mid twenties, and had startlingly white hair and golden eyes. From the center of her forehead a horn arose, like a Dragon’s, filled with spiraling markings throughout. The two old men quickly knelt in front of the woman.

“My Queen.” the two spoke in unison.

“Gatherers of Knowledge,” the woman spoke in a soft voice. “Arise.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“What have you learned?” the woman asked.

“Of the storm we’ve learned, my Queen,” one of the men spoke, his voice weary. “Of the storm that was… and the storm yet to come.”

“Where?”

“Here, my Queen,” the other older man said. “In our home. In the very heart of it.”

“… when?”

“We cannot say,” the two spoke in unison again. “For we do not know.”

“What else did you learn?” the woman asked.

“We’ve learned of a boy,” one of the men spoke. “Who comes here.”

“What of the boy?”

“He carries Your blood, my Queen.” the other spoke.

“That’s impossible,” the woman replied, furrowing her brows. “The last of my kin had long since perished.”

“The blood is faint, my Queen, but it is there, without mistake.”

“… another Ancient?” the woman’s voice suddenly softened as she felt weakness overcome her body. “Are you certain, Gatherers?”

“We are, my Queen.” the two spoke in unison.

“I need to speak with him, then.”

“The time is not yet ripe, my Queen. The boy still needs to learn.”

“I don’t care!” the woman raised her voice suddenly. “If there’s another one of my blood out there – my family – I need to meet him, now!”

“My Queen,” one of the men slowed down as he continued. “The Knowledge is Eternal… and is never wrong. The boy is young, and not ready.”

“… when will he be ready? Is anyone ever ready?” the woman persisted.

“He will,” the man said. “For his journeys will no doubt lead him to you, my Queen. Your blood is his blood; they echo, even if space divides.”

“Have you learned anything else?” the woman asked after a short silence.

“Deadman had arisen,” one of the two spoke. “And he gathers his corpses in the depths of North. He shall soon march.”

“… I don’t care about the damn North,” the woman grunted. “What about here? Do you know who is heralding the Beastkin into war? And who is invading the far South?”

“… I’m afraid that we do not, my Queen.”

“… ugh, so be it,” the woman turned around and moved towards the entrance. “Find out more things about this boy. I must know who he is. His name, how old is he, where did he come from and where is he going. Everything.”

“We shall, my Queen.”

“Good.”

**

Lynne was leading the group through the forest, much less alarmed than before, his expression of calm. He had moved the hooded figures inside the Emperor’s Realm, and had learned a few things from them: they are Beastkin, a small Shamanic Tribe well-versed in the Laws of Space. The legacy of their tribe is the Ancient Scripture that describes the way to send unknowing into the unknown – the Realm of Gods, they call it.

They don’t know who was the one that had coerced them into doing it, but are certain it was a human, which sparked a worm of doubt inside Lynne’s heart. While others were rather confused by Lynne’s sudden change, Thalia remained the same, as she knew what had happened within the forest.

“How much longer until the Frontier?” Lynne shouted back at Leana and Ryn.

“Not much,” Leana said. “Three days’ walk at most.”

“Hey,” the monkey, who was peacefully sitting atop Lynne’s shoulder, nibbling onto a pill, spoke out suddenly in a whisper. “Why don’t you tell them about what those Beasts told you? About the zealous group of fanatics – human fanatics at that – heralding the Beastkin into war.”

“Tell them?” Lynne chuckled. “Hai, damned monkey, has your brain finally gone rotten? Is it finally time we switch our nicknames? They aren’t certain either. Best we just keep our mouths shut for now.”

“Someone really ought to cut your tongue! Rotten brain? Hah! My brain is ten times your size, you rotten brat!” the monkey retorted.

“Aye, aye, and your head is half the size of mine. Although I was never good at math, the whole thing sort of falls apart, doesn’t it?” Lynne smiled as he spoke.

“What are the two of you talking about?” Thalia sped up and joined them as she asked, quickly followed by Fen’er and Parsia.

“Ready to tell us what happened in the forest yet?” Fen’er asked.

“Of course he is,” Parsia added. “He’d never keep secrets from his friends, would you Lynne?”

“What’s with this weird peer-pressure? I’m not telling you jack diddly,” Lynne said. “So shoo back into the land of not knowing stuff.”

“Where to shoo? The land of not knowing stuff is right here,” Fen’er said, pointing at Lynne. “Located deeply inside your rotten brain.”

“… you know,” Lynne said, slowing down slightly. “One day, I’ll tame a Dragon and ride it. And when that day comes, I’m not taking any of you bastards for a ride! Hah! What about that? Regretting being disrespectful to me yet?”

“The day you tame a Dragon is the day I’ll die,” Fen’er said, her expression deadpan. “As in, never.”

“What’s a Dragon to a kind, benevolent soul such as myself?” Lynne spoke as he puffed his chest. “The moment the creature lays its eyes upon me, it will know… that Lynne is the only true Dragon Rider! Kind! Handsome! Smart! Lovely! Strong! Who wouldn’t want a man like that in their behind?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“… I meant on,” Lynne added. “I really meant on.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Thalia said, waving lightly. “Dragon-fucker.”

“Hey, you can’t do that! I just misspoke!”

“Whatever you say, Dragon-fucker.” Fen’er added as she slowed down and moved away from Lynne.

“Rotten Brat of Dragon-fucking lineage,” the monkey added. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“No, no it doesn’t! It doesn’t have a ring at all! It’s completely---” Lynne suddenly came to a halt as he narrowed his eyes, focusing onto the tall bush in front of them and the thick trees beyond. “… they’re here.” he whispered gently; the bush suddenly exploded as a panther-like creature, furred in white, bolted from it, coated in thick thunder, aiming directly at Lynne, while dozens of other of Beastkin emerged from the shadows, roars filling up the forest as the ground beneath quaked.