Leslie Moore - Griffin's Daughter

For over a thousand years, it had remained dormant, its energy dampened by powerful magical wards put in place at the time of its defeat and imprisonment. But time and neglect had steadily weakened the very structure of the arcane energy that had sustained the wards, allowing the thing slumbering in the freezing darkness to slowly awaken.

For a very, very long time, it simply was . No coherent thoughts disturbed the dark, still pool of its consciousness. It floated, disembodied, a being of pure energy, existing in a place where no light, no sound, no sensation could penetrate.

Then, with sudden, convulsive force, the very fabric of the universe ripped open, and something pushed through. The being that had been asleep for so long now roused, fully conscious, responding to the familiar energy signature of the magic it had itself created so long ago.

With full awareness came memory and rage, but the spirit was too weak yet to wrestle free of the magical chains that kept it bound in the cold and darkness. It struggled anyway, fueled by its towering fury, but soon gave up in defeat, accepting that, for now, it would remain a prisoner.

The struggle against its bonds had not been a complete failure, however. The spirit did discover the creeping weakness that slowly degraded the integrity of the magic; it was only a matter of time before the wards could be broken and it would be free. In the meantime, it would practice the art of patience, but that did not preclude making use of what tools it could.

Through experimentation, it found that it could extend its consciousness outward, beyond the tons of ice and rock that imprisoned what remained of its physical essence. Even in such an inhospitable wilderness as the high mountains, many creatures, both furred and feathered, managed to eke out a precarious existence. The spirit found the simple minds of these creatures easy to commandeer. They made useful tools, serving as living connections to the outside world. However, the force of its essence drained the creatures of their vital energy, killing them after a time. No matter. There were enough to meet its needs.

It began to search.

Across the frozen desolation of the high mountains and down into the vast forests that lay at their feet, it ranged, merging first with a swift-footed fox, then a snowshoe hare, a sleek black raven and a gray wolf, silent as the shadows. The ravens proved to be the most useful. Their keen eyes saw much; their powers of flight allowed the spirit-being to range over much greater distances-but they tended to die quickly. The wolves, eagles, and big cats lived longer, but they could not get as close to farmsteads and villages without attracting unwanted attention.

The energy signature that the spirit-being searched for was, at first, weak and unfocused, but as time passed, it grew stronger. The spirit now knew that it must concentrate its search in the lands far to the south of its mountain prison, beyond the territory it had once ruled over as a mortal man. There, it felt certain it would eventually locate the vessel that contained the Key.

But finding the Key wasn’t enough. The spirit would also need the talisman that it had forged and charged with its mortal hands over a millennium ago. Only by reuniting the Key with the magic of the talisman could it regain its full power and put its plan into motion.

The combination of the two magical energies would unlock the barrier between the living world and the Void-that trackless, howling vortex wherein dwelled unnatural creatures of darkness, fearsome and terrible beyond description. Opening the barrier would release a vast army of these creatures that could be bent to the spirit being’s will. With such an army at its back, it… he would be invincible, the Destroyer of Nations. No longer The Nameless One, he would reclaim his name and power, and all the peoples of the world would be under his dominion.

This had been his intent a millennium ago, until he had been betrayed by those he most trusted. His magic had been stripped from him. The Key had been stolen and hidden beyond his reach, and his body slain and buried deep beneath the shattered fortress of his enemies. They had sealed him up and warded the chamber, trapping his immortal soul and stifling all self-awareness.

His enemies obviously hadn’t anticipated that their magic might fail.

He didn’t devote much time to wondering why they hadn’t kept a more close watch on the wards; his emotions were distilled down into two only-hatred of all living things, and the desire to conquer and destroy. He would accomplish his plan when he located the Key and the talisman.

He was very close.

Thunk!

An arrow pierced the center of the target, its fletched end vibrating. Ashinji Sakehera withdrew another arrow from the quiver at his hip, and in rapid sequence, nocked, drew, and fired. The second arrow embedded itself nearly on top of the first. A third arrow followed the first two, then a fourth. Within the space of a few heartbeats, he’d emptied his quiver. Shooting practice always calmed and focused Ashinji’s mind, and ever since his return home to Kerala two weeks ago, he’d been doing a lot of shooting.

Captain Sakehera had been given leave to make the journey home from his posting in the capitol at Sendai in order to fulfill a special family obligation. His brother Sadaiyo, eldest of Lord Sen Sakehera’s five offspring, and Heir to Kerala, was to be wed. The marriage of the Heir of one of Alasiri’s most powerful and important families was a very big event, and as such, no expense would be spared, and all of the obligatory rituals would have to be executed to perfection. As second-born, it was Ashinji’s duty to perform the Ritual of Welcoming on the day before the wedding ceremony itself, thereby officially accepting the bride into the House of Sakehera.

Tradition and ceremony were the very foundations of elven society, and Ashinji truly did honor them; yet, lately, those traditions were beginning to feel like heavy chains wrapped around his soul, slowly crushing him with their great weight.

Ashinji walked down the yard to the target and began pulling the arrows one by one from the tightly packed straw. A fly buzzed around his head and tried to land on his nose. He swatted it away as he pulled the last arrow from the target and dropped it into the quiver with its fellows. Wiping his perspiring brow with the back of his hand, he glanced upwards.

The sun, a white-hot eye gazing down from the cerulean sky, made the day unusually warm for early spring. The deep shade cast by the high wall of the yard beckoned invitingly. Ashinji ambled over and sat down in the dirt, back pressed to the smooth-cut stones.

Absent-mindedly, he tugged at the three gold rings that adorned the lobe of his left ear. At the end of each five-year period of service, all soldiers received an earring as a token from the king. In two more years, Ashinji would earn another ring and quite possibly a promotion. Eighteen years was a long time to spend doing something for which he had no real vocation. He would not have chosen the military life for himself had he been allowed to choose.

The second son of Lord Sen Sakehera was a thoughtful young man, and within his highly trained warrior’s body resided the soul of a scholar. His temperament had always been more suited to the life of an academic, rather than to that of a captain in the king’s army.

Ashinji usually spent much of what leisure time he had studying the texts and treatises of the great mathematicians, both elven and human. His father had always been a little bemused by his offspring’s interests but had never actively discouraged them, for Ashinji had always been a dutiful son, ever mindful of the role in life that his family and position dictated for him.