A random story (or, part of a story) I found…
Picture Credit
Photograph taken on mobile.
I was just randomly flipping through a notebook of mine, when I came across this little story from a year or two ago. I haven’t read or edited it; this is me literally transcribing word for word and discovering (the same as you) what surprises younger me left behind. Enjoy! I hope. Unless it’s actually really bad. That would be quite funny, though.
Chapter One – Prologue
[Page 1]
The archangel shook his head, narrowing his eyes to gold slit. “Khan Oglud is a fool.” His words were sharp. Khan Oglud was a fearsome warrior – the greatest warrior of the Aervien Plane, some would say – but the severity of the archangel’s words, had Oglud been present, would have been enough to make the great khan quiver in his boots.
The archangel’s silver skin shimmered in the light sunlight like the deadly sheen of an assassin’s knife. His pointed face was a maze of creases; with one flick of his pearl-grey hair, the archangel grunted and began pacing up and down the dirt clearing. His white gown – hemmed with scarlet stitchings – wafted at his ankles.
Huge trees – oak, birch, willow – encircled the clearing. Their leaved joined sang in the wind, joining the birds in their melody as they flitted between the branches. The archangel paid the trees no heed nor respect as he passed. His eyes were firmly rooted to the floor; his face was fixed, completely motionless besides the slight trembles of his bushy moutsache as the zephyr blew through it.
Bar’kaval watched the archangel as he paced up and down the clearing. She, too, was an archangel from the Regstrum forts, with a silver skin, a lithe frame, and pupilless, gold eyes. Unlike the other archangel, though, she wore a tight dress, modest if somewhat tight. The dress appeared as if stitched entirely of autumnal leaves: the mess of yellow, red, and orange colours almost gave her the appearance of a woman on fire. Long locks of fiery ginger hair rolled down her back in waves of tight curls like a dazzling lava fall spilling down a mountainside.
As she watched the other archangel, Bar’kaval raised two fingers to her lips and whistled – quietly, so that the other archangel could not hear. To the common man, her whistle-melody sounded angelic and serene, but for those who knew Daichan – “whistle-tongue” – the whistle was thin no such thing. It was akin to a the ringing of bells on the eve of a siege; it was akin to a barbarian’s war cry as he rampaged into battle.
[Page 2]
The whistle was a war cry, but more than that, it was a promise.
A promise of death.
Haevestal, he was called. The other archangel, that was. He was Haevestal of the Grand Court, Haevestal of the Owl’s Wisdom, Haevestal, Lord of the Great Porumeneum. Those were three of his titles; he had hundreds more, known to all of the archangels of Regstrum.
Haevestal’s public life was well-known, Bar’kaval thought, but away from the lecturn, those gold eyes became rather more shadowed and sinister.
She was broken from her thoughts as a frantic burst of Daichan nailed her eardrums. The beauty of the birds’ whistles was lost on her; she flinched. at the urgency of the wh voices. Instinctively, Bar’kaval flinched. [She seems to enjoy flinching – enough to flinch twice in two sentences!]
The birds were too loud. Haevestal would hear them. That was another of Haevestal’s titles: Master of the Daichan.
Haevestal stopped in the middle of the clearing, back facing Bar’kaval. He whistled lowly. The birdsong stopped. The wind died.
Silence.
Bar’kaval’s skin prickled. She fought to slow her racing heart as Haevestal turned towards her to face her. His face was frozen with concentration: his eyes were cold and unblinking, his brows were knotted tight, and his jaw – sharp like a vipershark’s tooth – was clenched. Bar’kaval flinched. [Again with the flinching!] All around her, she could now suddenly hear the loud fluttering of leaves, a sound akin to a thousand marracas shaking in her eardrums. She jerked her head sharply, eyes wide, heart pounding.
She fixed her gaze on Haevestal, still stood motionless in the clearing, and whistled shrilly. The urgency of her whistle could be understood by even those who did not understand Daichan – and her whistle-tongue command came not a second too soon.
Haevestal’s warriors – a trio of furious goldfinches – burst from the shadowed cel ceiling of leaves like golden bullets. They moved at a speed so fast Bar’kaval’s eyes barely comprehended it them, so fast no mortal eyes could track it them.Enhanced by the magics of the Oreal Plane, the three Daichan goldfinches darted towards her.
There came another rustle from the underbrush – from the bushes at Bar’kaval’s
[Page 3]
back. The bird moved swiftly Emerging from the bush came a dazzling peacock; its body was covered in alternating stripes of light and dark blue and its tail of black feathers hung heavily off its back end. As the peacock appeared, time seemed to stop: Bar’kaval’s heart paused at a half-beat, and the Daichan goldfinches froze mid-flight.
Thank the Islindur that she has come, Bar’kaval thought as she watched the peacock step between her and the goldfinches. Its eyes fixed on the three Daichan birds.
In a firm voice, the peacock said, “It is a sad day to see Daichan in Peia. It is even sadder to see Daichan under an archangel’s command.” Her voice words came out with an extreme bitterness, a hatred so strong, so powerful, so overbearing…Bar’kaval felt the whole forest heave.
“Begone Daichan. Begone Daichan Lord,” said the peacock, grinding her beak. “Begone!”
In a dazzling display, she splayed her black feathers wide, like a hemispherical shield. From the black, feathered canvas gleamed fifty gold-orange eyes, each shining like a supernova; and from each eye there came a bright [light], directed at the goldfinches. Fifty beams of fierce orange coalesced, and for a brief instance, the clearing and forest entirely was engulfed in orange light.
Bar’kaval winced as it burrowed into her eyes. She gritted her teeth. When the light faded, time resumed. When the light faded, the goldfinches were gone. Haevestal still stood in the clearing, brows furrowed, his furious eyes like golden arrowheads as they angled towards Bar’kaval. Between the two stood the peal co peacock, grinding her silver beak as she glared at Haevestal; her black tail feathers were still splayed wide, and the orange eyes adorning them still shone with vivid intensity.
Haevestal’s hands clenched to fists. “The Lights of Nocta may harm Daichan, but they cannot harm me. I am no Daichan Lord; I am an archangel and the Daichan’s master! For the insult, I pray the birds of wickedness roost and destroy Peia forevermore!”
His eyes fixed on Bar’kaval. “You are just as much a fool as Khan
[Page 4]
Oglud. The Seven are coming, if you believe it or not. When they come, all who stand in their way shall fall.” He inhaled sharply, eyes burning bright.
[Don’t worry, guys – I wrote this and I have no idea what’s going on either! I think Haevestal is supposed to be a Saruman-like figure??]
Bar’kaval twisted her silver face into a vicious snarl. “The Herald came to Ibion, to Khan Oglud’s court. I saw what you did to Ibion. I saw the fire, the endless tide of skulls. I saw our great leader turn his back on our people.”
Haevestal shook his head. “I did it for our people, Bar’kaval. The Herald is the Seven’s greatest servant; I had to assure him the archangels of Regstrum would abide by the Code and support his masters.”
“You betrayed us,” said Bar’kaval firmly. “You allied with the Daichan, our sworn enemies, and even commanded them in the attack on Ibion.” Your You brought She nodded at the peacock. “You brought Daichan to Queen Ja’a’s realm, to Peia; and worse still, you will bring the Seven to the Planes.”
Haevestal frowned. “You misunderstand, girl. The Seven are already here. I have not betrayed you but am doing what must be done if we ought to survive. I make this stand for the archangels–”
“–And I make this stand for the Planes,” Bar’kaval growled. “I make this stand for all who will be slaughtered by the coming of the Seve.” Her hand darted beneath her gown, drawing a ruby-encrusted greatsword.
But upon sight of the greatsword, Haevestal merely laughed. “My dear Bar’kaval…While I would love to entertain your frail notions of heroism, I’m afraid I simply have better places to be.”
And with that, he disappeared. No flash or bang or pop or spark. He was simply there one minute then gone the next.
“So it begins with betrayal,” said the peacock – Queen Ja’a – in a mournful tone. “Every tragedy begins with betrayal…”
[The End]
—
To be honest, I don’t really have too many thoughts on this piece apart from:
Hope you enjoyed it though. Or were at least mildly amused/intrigued. Though even that might be a stretch.
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