Silver Cathedral Saga (23 page)

“Some
path,” said the Fire-caster. “We will more than likely be a hundred
before we reach the end.”

“You’re
sarcasm doesn’t help or suit the situation,” bellowed Ematay,
angry.

“Neither
does this stairway,” said Adea the Beast-caster.

“Look,”
said Ematay stopping on the stairway in the middle of the group.
They all stopped, as they noticed the echoes of less feet stepping.
The ones in front turned back to look at what was happening. “This
kind of attitude is helping nobody. Stop, and I mean right now.”
They all pressed on with no response, but went on to be very quiet
now.

The stairs
continued to go down even after another ten minutes, and there was
a little panting from most of them at this time. With all of their
joints taking the deep stairs for so long now, it troubled them,
causing some ache to kick in. Each step drew on more and more
force, or so it seemed and felt.

Eleanor and
Christian showed more than the others that the impact bothered
them. They grabbed their ankles and rubbed them every now and then,
hoping this would somehow help, but it didn’t, for healing magick
was a potent and powerful magick. Most believe it is a myth, which
is probably the sensible thing to do, because with there being so
few real magick healers in the universe—they might as well remain
that way—until we are seen and can truly help!

“We must be
nearly there now?” said Christian, whining. Everybody else was
thinking about doing it as well, just the boy got there first.

“No,”
replied Ematay. “We are going to the core of the earth dear boy.
This is no light taking, as much. None of us are loving such a
journey right now.”

God knows
my aching feet are not,” replied Dak the Battle-caster. “Though I
am obliged to go as deep as it takes us, as we all should.”

“What is at
the centre of the world?” asked Eleanor as they continued to shift
consistently down the spiralling, deep stone, stairs.

“A great
deal many things,” replied Ematay. “Things which were meant to
remain hidden, things which are meant to be found. And some things
that are needing to find a place.”

Eleanor and
Christian responded to the last sentence by looking at the dark
mountain walls that went down with them for a while, until it
started to change to earth and rock, not rock and earth. It seemed
their surroundings were changing now, and they were all glad of
it.

“Since when
do you talk in riddles,” said Eleanor.

“Since a
certain oath has permitted me to not give away dangers of our
secrecy, of our life and the way it is lived.”

“Are their
enemies at the core?” asked Christian.

“Oh, yes,”
replied Adea. The most fierce live in the deep core of the world,
and that is where they must remain, as the energy and heat down
here is the only thing that keeps them well. There was a time one
of these creatures tried to surface, only he fell ill to the air
and atmosphere around him several weeks after. Left to his fate, he
climbed and clawed back into the core of the world, of Astora.”

“How
interesting,” replied Eleanor. “What are they called?”

“Called,”
said Ematay. He seemed a bit uncomfortable about it all.

“There is
no use fooling this lot,” said Lauretta. “They will catch on all
too well. They seem to be a bunch that senses the truth, which is a
strange trait for children who live within lies to comfort their
younger selves.”

Ematay
stopped, again, and so did the rest. “It would do us well to stop
for a little while. I feel my feet are about to blister till they
explode now.” He grabbed his thick brown boots and then hit them,
as if that would make it all better. He pulled an angry expression
after, and yelled, as if to let out a rage he was angry with for
some time. “My feet are not as young as they used to be last time I
was down here,” he complained.

“Oh right,
yeah,” said the Fire-caster. “The creatures at the Heart of the
Mountain are a dangerous bunch. They are emotionless, hard as stone
and very slow at moving. They are everything we are not, and as
such, we were made from them. They have been written on the walls
of the Heart of the Mountain to be known simply as the…” the two
children were the ones closest, as the Spell-casters already knew
the story and were not bothered about hearing it again.

“Well…?”
said Christian, impatiently.

“They are
Astorians, Christian. They are us. They are our fathers and
mothers, our makers of old.”

“But how is
that possible,” said Eleanor. “The Edeolon book says that we
weren’t made by them.”

“And in a
way that is still true. The gods created the Astorians, and then
made a deal with them to create the humanoids, because the original
creation was incredibly flawed. Much like the gods themselves, they
only cared mostly of… well… themselves, as they were made from the
gods. So these Astorians made a deal with the gods and goddesses.
To create several humans, to be frail, filled with emotion and to
have a chance to be good and live with morals. And thus, we were
born from them thousands of years ago. There is some details that
have never been certain. Like how they made them. All we
Spell-casters know from the book of creation, is that these
Astorians can create and mould anything from the core. They are
crafters from the dark, old order; malevolent, dangerous. They are
probably the toughest creation in existence. But few know about
them. They are what the definition of evil is. Think nothing about
trying to save them, for they have made their own home in the core;
a pack of what the gods promised if they created these humanoid
Astorians. Us. They were hidden deep inside, where they eventually
became dependent on the energy there, and would become ill and weak
if they left their place. A thing the gods decided to do later on,
in case they challenged the new ways. Trust was never a defining
trait of the gods—or of the Original Astorians.”

Eleanor
cleared her throat, causing attention to herself.

“Woah,”
said Christian, beating her to it.

“Yes,
woah,” said Eleanor, finishing what she was about to do. “I can’t
believe we were created from the very depths of evil. The creation
of blackness.”

“Believe
it,” said Oddius the Edeolon Warrior. “Because I was surprised to
find this out with my friend here Selphira only fifty years ago.
Eleanor and Christian forgot that the Edeolon Warriors were there.
They were a very quiet lot within the group. The quietest, which
worried the children. Their thoughts of betrayal still rummaged
around them; they believed these could be them, or maybe not. They
could never be sure until they make their move.

“There is
hope in us,” said Ematay, “Because we were made to be the opposite
of such beasts. “We were created to be given a chance to care, to
care about everything, unlike the Originals.”

They pushed
on after their little breather of a break, it seemed to do their
feet good. But it was only about several minutes more that their
feet began feeling somewhat sore again.

“So you are
saying because we are fragile in the mind, body and spirit, is the
very reason we work on a much grander scale than the first
Astorians did?” said Christian.

“You got it
in one. Smart boy,” said Ematay, pleased, as pleased as Christian
was his own.

The walls
changed even more so now. They turned into pure grey rock, and
Ematay knew what this meant to him.

“I have a
very interesting question still,” said Eleanor as they continued
moving.

“Well out
with it then,” said her older friend.

“How can we
get to the core of the world when the sea encompasses all of the
ground. Won’t we drowned?”

“Good
question,” said the Fire-caster. “I wondered when you would ask
that.”

“It is
called the Heart of the Mountain for a very good reason. Where we
are going is at the exact middle of our world underground,
precisely. The exact numbers are unmatched upon much else in
Astora; and this leads to a mystical gateway that was built when
the world was created and formed itself. The gods made it this way
as a fail safe. If ever they would need the new Astorians, us, to
travel there. And it is a good job too, because it has been
recorded over the ages that they have… three times, including this
attempt.”

“But
beware, the Astorians live at the gates of where we need to use
this portal as old as our world,” said the Beast-caster Adea.

“Then how
will we get past them?” said Christian, sounding frightfully
worried.

“Ah,” said
Adea. “That is where I come in most useful on this quest. I will
take the form of one of them, and safeguard us through. The
Originals know nothing of our detailed magicks yet, and only wonder
at what we have done above. So we have the element of
surprise.”

“Me and
this Beast-caster here will both change into one of them,” replied
Selphira, confirming she was helping also. “We will move like them,
speak like them, have their strength, power, but we will never
become them in mind. It is a tricky and messy business with the
minds of beasts. Some are all rage, and some are everything but. So
us Beast-casters have been trained to focus on our inner self, to
remain the person we are inside. It is probably the easiest thing
to do once you are taught it. It just requires a little bit of
squint work on occasions, if the process is kept on too long that
is.”

They all
soon paid attention to the stairs getting smaller in depth and were
pleased something different was happening, hoping it was a
sign.

“So there
isn’t much to worry about,” said Ematay. “The king chose our team
because we would need the talents of all types of Spell-casters on
a quest such as this. You never know what will be swept up in our
faces at any second.”

Deepened

A light
shone, not the kind of light that was natural and beautiful, the
kind that was artificial and disappointing to gaze upon. It came
from a candle that was a blur at first, then it became clear, but
not fast. At a steady pace that didn’t shock this onlooker once his
eyes focused in.

“Dad?” he
asked.

“Yes,
son.” There was a brief pause before the king
c
ontinued. “I am afraid you have a problem. A
one I did not see, even with all the signs upon you, me and your
mother.

“Is it
night?” he asked not sure where he was or what time or day it was,
with an expression that made his father feel guilty, as well as
himself.

“No,”
answered his father. “Far from it. It is the same day.” He looked
behind his father, and saw the dreaded item he had been hiding all
this time. Not so much an item really, though it felt like one to
him. The way he treat it might as well have made it that way; the
creature was asleep, and glowed in its little cage with a dull blue
and grey. The rays from its colour seemed so dim in the light of
the day coming from the large open doors from the kings
balcony.

“No,
father. You can’t have it. I need it.” Prince Etch rose from his
seat, looking beyond worried, and it seemed to take action as if it
was the last living thing he wanted to do with his life.

Two men
came between the prince and his prize his eyes feasted upon. He
looked back to his father, as if to call them off, to get them out
of his way.

“They will
not move, son. I cannot allow you to throw your life away like
this.” He sat on a chair beside the bed Etch was sleeping on just a
few minutes ago. He seemed so calm, yet his face looked weary and
cautious.

“Ruining my
life? What—by getting what I want out of it,” answered prince
Etch.

“I know
living in reality is hard. God, I know what you are going through.
It took me a long time to accept I was going to be king some day
too, son. But trying to escape the truth in this way is
destructive—it is lethal. You have to let it go. Do it, do it for
me, for your mother. Please.” He had his head tilted towards his
son before he got up now, staring, begging for him to see some
reason in his plea.

“You don’t
understand dad. I can’t let it go. I could never let her ago, not
again, not this time. Please don’t ask me to. Please.” It had all
turned around, he was answering a plea with a plea, and his father
didn’t know how to respond at first, because he knew what his son
was talking about.

“You have
to let her go. Now. She is gone. Using Silver Dust is not going to
change that, no matter if you see or hear her, she is gone, you are
getting your own perception of her, not the real her.”

“I wish it
was that easy, dad,” he said before he leapt towards the small cage
standing on the long table of oak. It had a paint of smooth and
shiny white silver enveloping it, with curls of the swans wings
that extended into the feet of the table that made it stand.

The two
guards, who Etch noticed were Swan Knights, grabbed him before he
could even get within two steps of the cage; the Pixie, which now
had awoken, and began rattling the cage in fear, thinking it was
going to be robbed of its magick, of its dust. Again.

“No. No.
Nooo,” he screamed on the last of his words. “Don’t. Don’t take it
away;” there was a servant who took the cage away whilst the
knights held him in place. Etch struggled as hard as he could, but
he was weaker than normal because of the Silver Dust substance,
even though he would have normally stood a chance against such
masters of battle.

“I need to
see her again. She doesn’t deserve to be alone,” he said, seeing
the table which held the Pixie upon.

His father
looked at him as he moved, a Battle-caster pinning him to the bed.
At this point Etch’s father couldn’t look at him properly, he
almost hid his face, half ashamed to look, but also embarrassed he
let it come to a level this extreme. From the look of the king’s
face he was about to cry, though he cringed his face, turning so
quickly his son could not see. The father hid his entire face now
from his son. He could feel the reality of what he was seeing. He
wanted to believe what his son saw was true too, he really did,
which is what made this all the more harder to see. To hear. To
live and be next to.