Into Forbidden Lands
Aethera

She awoke with a start, in pitch darkness.

A great rumble echoed in the distance.

She had not heard thunder this deep in the Keep before.

She had retired early, too exhausted to join in the celebrations that were still sweeping across the kingdom. The last thing she had marked as she made her way down to her cell was that the alignment had already begun: the dark moon had started to cover the light moon, and both were simultaneously converging to eclipse the sun. The red star shone so bright in the darkening sky that Aethera could no longer gaze directly at it.

It was a dream that had awoken her. She could only just grasp the echo of a voice calling out a name.

Illiom…

As Aethera stared into the dark a feeling of absolute dread clenched her gut, pushing the dream away.

What has happened?

In that instant Shalim burst into her cell. The light behind her burned and flickered like flames.

“Aethera, wake up! We are betrayed!”

Aethera stared at her fellow Adept in uncomprehending disbelief.

“What?” she stammered.

“We are under attack!”

Aethera leapt from the cot and quickly donned her vest.

“Who?”

“Greem, Klathka, Balgor and many more. The Bloodrobes! They are real, Aethera! We must stop them! We must rouse…”

An explosion drowned her words.

Desperate cries sounded in the hallway.

Aethera’s hands were shaking as she struggled to fasten the ties of her vest.

“Anhilim! Where is he?” she asked, her voice thin with anxiety.

But Shalim had turned and fled back into the passageway.

Aethera gave pursuit.

She was just beginning to grasp the magnitude of what was happening. What some had suspected for years was suddenly real.

Having discarded their masks of servitude and acquiescence, the Bloodrobes were striking at the heart of the Adepts’ order with a terrible force.

Another explosion – stronger and nearer – shook the floor as she stumbled after Shalim.

She felt the chaos all around her. Destruction was everywhere. She felt the despair of lives suddenly snuffed out like candles in a winter wind, and underneath it all the destroyers’ bloodlust ran like spilled poison.

What could she do?

The stone walls shook violently in the wake of a rapid series of fresh explosions.

She closed her eyes for a moment and opened herself to perceive the extent of damage. Her senses reeled at the desecration being caused by the Bloodrobes.

Igol, the sacred mountain, was sinking into the earth. The entire Fallanga range was being pulled down with it. She felt the ocean rush in to drown Sterren-Gar and all of its people.

A sob of despair escaped her lips.

She ran.

The catastrophe was already happening and there was nothing Aethera could do by herself. Without the other Adepts she could not turn the waters back, nor raise the mountains.

She fled through the halls, racing past the bodies of Adepts, students and servants, weaving to avoid others also fleeing in panic.

She reached out with her mind to warn the College Masters and Elders, but received no response.

They were all dead.

She felt the battle being waged within the halls, passages and laboratories of the College Keep.

The battle was already lost.

With feverish urgency, Aethera now reached out to seek her closest friends. Nothing.

She suddenly felt Tuatha’s presence.

But the relief was short-lived, for he was locked in combat with two Bloodrobes and Aethera felt his powers weakening fast.

Rushing to the nearest window, she flew out into the night, and to his aid. The rogue star’s crimson light shone upon the waters that churned around Mount Igol’s peak, like a restless sea of blood.

She realised now that aligning the celebration to the eclipse had been no accident. The Bloodrobes had fed on the power of the red star! How could they have been so blind?

Tuatha was in dire need, there was no time for recriminations.

Shalim, Igris, Faenna and others were also heading towards the embattled Adept.

It seemed that only those who had cloaked themselves had survived.

She arrived as Shalim began barraging a Bloodrobe with power. The Bloodrobe, distracted, turned away from Tuatha.

Moments later the others arrived and blasted the sorcerer with their fury.

Aethera bound the stricken Bloodrobe’s wrists and ankles while Vane – an Adept Aethera barely knew – sent a death bolt into the sorcerer’s heart.

They turned to deal with the second Bloodrobe, but he was gone.

Now it was the Adepts’ turn to flee – and quickly – before the escaped sorcerer could summon others to rally in force against them.

Only ten Adepts remained.

Together they leapt from the heights of the Keep and plunged into the abyss beneath Igollianath where giant waves still crashed and foamed over what had been the greatest kingdom in Âtras.

They fled east, but soon sensed the Bloodrobes’ focus upon them.

In desperation the Adepts morphed into falcons, swallows and swifts. By containing their power within these small winged creatures, they sought to minimise their presence and elude the sorcerers’ probing minds.

But years of wielding unmitigated power now rendered them incapable of containing that power within such fragile forms.

With screams of glee that they felt even from this great distance, the Bloodrobes discovered them and launched into pursuit.

Every attempt to evade their foe failed and the sorcerers drew slowly but irrevocably closer.

Three of the older Adepts, who lagged behind, suddenly veered north, away from the course Tuatha had set.

Aethera immediately recognised this as a desperate bid to draw the sorcerers’ attention away from the rest of them, a sacrifice that might buy them some time.

The decoy was successful.

The sorcerers pursued the other three.

Seven! From one hundred and eight Adepts, to just seven, in a single night.

Regardless of their sacrifice, Aethera harboured no delusion that any of them would survive this dreadful night.

The seven finally came to the easternmost point of Âtras. Beyond this they could see nothing but ocean and knew then that all was lost, there was nowhere to hide.

Who are you?

The probing question bloomed unexpectedly in their awareness.

Startled, Aethera and her companions sought the questioner’s source. Whoever this being was, they had cloaked their identity with a mastery that surpassed the Adepts’ understanding.

What do you seek?

Desperate for help, the Adepts disclosed their true names, identifying themselves as wizards of Igollianath.

Sanctuary, they pleaded.

A silence ensued.

I am Menalor, and I speak for the Counsel of Wisdom of Elendalid. We sense that the powers that pursue you seek your annihilation. Yet we fear for our own people should we agree to provide what you ask.

Another pause – a shorter one this time.

However, we shall not tarry, for our code will not permit us to deny succour when it is requested. Therefore, we grant you sanctuary.

Aethera asked the question that burned in her mind.

How can you help us?

Come to us that we may instruct you, but make haste. You have precious little time.

Guided by Menalor, the seven Adepts reached a city situated far to the south of the land, perched at the very edge of an ocean.

They alighted onto the battlements of a palace of translucent alabaster.

Here a score of beings awaited, but Aethera knew that only Menalor and a handful of others were actually present; the remainder were mere projections from more distant reaches of the kingdom.

“We are the Draca, servants of Elendalid,” Menalor stated. “We welcome you, wizards of Igollianath.”

Even as he spoke, Aethera felt the slaughter of the three who had sacrificed themselves. The sorcerers were now turning in their direction, heading towards the palace.

“What manner of sanctuary do you offer?” Faenna asked urgently.

Menalor smiled sadly in response.

“You will have to shape that for yourselves,” he informed her. “There is only one way that you can replace sanctuary from those who pursue you, and that is to vanish.”

“How do we do that?” Aethera asked.

Menalor looked at her intensely.

“You must forget who you are.”

The suggestion rendered them speechless.

The Draca continued.

“And by that I do not mean that you should cloak your thoughts or your minds. No, that would not protect you. I mean that you must utterly forget yourselves, everything you believe yourselves to be. You must erase all that you have learnt and everything that you think you know. If you wish to live, you must become no one.”

The Adepts looked at each other in dismay.

“But that will leave us entirely powerless,” Vane exclaimed, “and unable to defend ourselves!”

Menalor smiled.

“It is your power that draws your enemy to you, not your lack of it. Lose it and those who seek you will no longer be able to replace you. This is the only way you will replace refuge. You – or rather – who you believe yourselves to be, must cease to exist.”

Aethera recognised that the idea had merit. It offered the best possible solution for survival. And yet she was appalled.

Mirrillil voiced her concern.

“But to utterly forget our essence, our being, would mean to become lost. How would we ever come back to ourselves?”

Menalor looked at her with deep compassion and pointed to the sky overhead, where the dark moon was still visible near the sun after the recent eclipse, and the red glow of the Illstar still dominated the sky.

“When the Gods’ dance completes one cycle and the next alignment happens, you will have your chance to reclaim what you have lost,” he told her.

“But that will be in … how long?”

“Two thousand and two hundred years,” Menalor answered serenely.

There was deathly silence.

“How?” asked Aethera. “How will we come back?”

“We are going to provide each of you with a crystal upon which you will imprint your essence. When the time comes, these crystals will enable us to replace you, regardless of your adopted forms.”

“Adopted forms?” asked Tuatha. “What do you mean? Must we even change our form?”

“It is essential that you do so – for no one can live for that long without the use of power. Your longevity alone would betray you, so you must mask it. You will weave a spell that will sustain you during this time by making it appear as though you have lived not one, but many lives. As soon as you let go of who you are, your body will transform into that of a newborn. Like others you will appear to grow and age. As the time of your death approaches, your spell will cause you to seek a lonely place where your old form will dissolve and you will be renewed as a babe. No one will connect the old with the new for no one will witness this transition. This will happen with each new incarnation and in this way your secret will remain safe.”

“Will we remember each of these lives?” Vane asked.

Menalor shook his head.

“You will not. With each transformation your memory will be erased.”

There were no more questions. They were all aghast at what lay ahead, but what choice did they have?

“When the time is nigh,” Menalor resumed, “we will release the crystals, replace you, and contrive a way to send you back to Igollianath, to seek the one thing that will reawaken you to the truth of your original nature.”

“The Orb of Full Light?” Igris asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing but Sudra’s Orb will help you rediscover what you now choose to forget. For the Orb dispels all illusions.”

“You would do all this for us?” asked Tuatha.

“No. You will do it for yourselves. We can see that you have the power to do this; it is only a matter of choice. Will you reduce yourselves so that you may survive and bring back aid when Âtras needs it most?”

Aethera grew aware of the darkness gathering at the western horizon, so Menalor’s next words came as no surprise.

“You must decide now. The time for deliberation is over. Your nemesis approaches.”

An exquisitely beautiful woman with silver hair arrived, bearing a basket of crystals.

“Will you do as we instruct?” Menalor asked.

Each nodded their agreement.

“Your lands … they will be decimated…” Shalim murmured, horrified by the realisation.

Menalor nodded.

“And yet we shall endure. We will await your return, for with it you will bring one chance to restore order and balance to the world – the balance that you have shattered with your blind arrogance and your pride. But now do as we ask. Choose a crystal.”

The Adepts made their selection.

“Now imprint them with your essence,” the Draca instructed.

This they did, and then surrendered the crystals.

“Now you must forget. Let go of all that you have mastered, and all that you believe yourselves to be. You must let go of all titles. All powers. I warn you! Do not hold on to even the smallest scrap of knowing, for it will betray you, and become the cause of your immediate demise.”

The Adepts looked at one another one last time, distressed and fearful of the task ahead.

Menalor offered a final instruction.

“In this moment you are the doom of Elendalid, but you will one day become the only hope for the whole of Âtras. We, the Draca, pledge to await your return. Your crystals shall be kept safe. We shall not fail you, but you must do this now!”

With that the Adepts began their last work of mastery.

They sang their most powerful spell, the Chant of Undoing, with themselves as the spell’s focus.

Aethera felt her awareness fade.

It was like dying, and the desire to hold on to something - to anything at all - was almost impossible to resist; but Aethera understood all too well that to hold on to anything would lead to death.

Her final awareness was of Menalor’s reassuring gaze.