Chapter 2 – The Blue Shield

A wave rose from a dark sea and crashed against the rocks. The world shimmered and suddenly the rocks became battered wooden gates and the waves boiled with swords and steel, threatening to tear the doors of the city asunder. The enraged sea curled and broke again but the gates did not crumble. Instead the sea of spears crashed against a brilliant blue shield and above the sound of the raging ocean she heard a grief-stricken cry.

“Stand and fall!”

The waves continued to beat against the blue shield until the world went dark. She found herself standing in an empty field strewn with bodies standing over the form of an old man wearing a cracked silver crown. A shadow fell across her and she looked up to see a huge horned form standing over her. She screamed and the world went dark again with the sound of beating wings.

Ana awoke with tears streaming down her face, just as she always did. Opening her eyes she slowly took in the familiar room around her; the thatched walls, the high open windows through which a faint breeze blew in to rustle her long hair, the stones; broken spear points; and fractured arrow tips covering every flat surface. Perhaps, she thought to herself allowing a wide grin to slowly spread across her face and ease away the night’s terrors, today I will find another hilt.

As quietly as she could Ana slid into her plainest clothe dress and tied her long hair behind her. Briefly she considered putting on her tough-soled shoes she usually wore out in the sands, but quickly chose instead a pair of soft felt moccasins in which she knew she would be able to silently make her way out of the temple. Tossing a warm hooded tunic over her head she checked the small inside pocket she had sewn on herself to make sure her notebook was in place, and silently slipped out the door.

“Ana.” A soft familiar voice called mildly behind her. Ana froze in mid step. “Are you going to out to hide in the desert again?” She could hear him smiling now.

“What if I am?” She replied.

“It doesn’t seem like a very priestly thing to be doing,” the one eyed beggar shrugged with a smile, “especially not on a temple day.”

“Ugh.” Ana snorted, “I hate the temple days, all those people climbing up here from the city just to walk by me and climb down again. It’s not like any of them would stay or come up on any other day.”

“All but I my lady.” The beggar smiled and spread his arms in a mock bow. Ana laughed despite the unpleasant smell that seemed to billow out from his tattered robes.

“Of course,” she giggled, “my faithful Drenimir, perhaps you could save me this year and fight off my visitors with that.” She pointed at the chipped and rusted hilt that stuck out from the beggar’s robes.

“I’m afraid all this relic is good for is garnering pity, without it you would never know I was once a proud young soldier in the blessed army.” Drenimir grinned, his green eyes flashing in the early morning light, and rapped the rotting scabbard with scarred knuckles.

The old one-eyed Drenimir had sat outside the entrance to her chamber for as long as Ana could remember, begging for alms to those few pilgrims who made the assent during the warm seasons from the city below and from the throngs that gathered every year for her blessing. There were several others who stayed in or around the temple, but none as constant as Drenimir. Many times during the cold seasons when the wind blew over the mountain temple she had sat next his fire just outside her door and listened to his adventures in the blessed army or of his voyage to the Island Sea.

“Ana?” A stern female voice called from where the squat peak of the Temple of Adoration rose precariously in the distance. Ana’s expression turned instantly from laughter to dread.

Drenimir smiled, “Some priestess you are.” He rose unsteadily to his feet and, giving Ana a fleeting wink, he stepped into the path from the Temple. “Run Child of Threshold! Flee your cage towards the wonders of the world!” He laughed.

“Out of my way you wretched man!” She heard the eldest of the temple sisters exclaim, but Ana was already running, and the sound of Drenimir’s laughter and the sister’s protestations soon faded into the distance.

She followed the path as it wound its way around the edge of the huge stone formation which thrust itself into the air from the surrounding desert. Below her, in the shadow of the great peak, she could hear the city of Threshold beginning to wake, and looking down she could see the twinkling of distant fires just starting to be lit. As she ran the path wound out of the peak’s shadow and into the morning sun which even so early in the morning had already begun to heat up the rock. Abruptly the mosses and twisted long-rooted trees stopped and the rock

path became barren and sprinkled with fine sand blown up from the desert below. She stopped when she arrived at a series of wood ladders; one of which led down into the city and the other which led up to the peak. The way down towards Threshold was well-worn with new ladders and a wide path for pilgrims, the road up was a much more dangerous and less-traveled route. The only person Ana had ever seen ascend past the temple was the old artificer carrying his bundles stuffed with scraps of paper, string, and sticks.

She had originally planned to slip down the trail and through the city before the earliest Pilgrims began their assent. Once down she could have easily slipped over the cities walls to the dunes below. Drenimir had told her stories of his days as a soldier during the years of the Grey King when the outer walls had been well-kept and well-defended. In the everlasting peace of the blessed, however, there was no longer any need either for soldiers or walls. As a result the dunes of the Keljarr had slowly built up against the once proud stone ramparts until now one could walk into the city from any of a number of places. By now, however, she knew some of the more fervent adorers would have already begun the climb up to the temple.

What’s more, she thought, the temple sisters will know just where I’ve gone. Ana’s love of exploring the old dunes outside the city for relics of past battles was, after all, a well known and oft frowned-upon topic of discussion in the temple. Looking up she could see the spire of rock jutting up far into the distance, a wreath of mist still clinging to its shaded side. Ana looked distrustfully at the old ladder then at the road back to the temple, a shudder rippled through her slender shoulders as she thought of the unending hours ahead watching pilgrim after pilgrim shuffle past begging for blessings she did not know how to give. She grasped the creaking ladder and began to climb.

The ladders creaked and groaned under her as she rose higher and higher, a few times Ana was sure that one would break under her slight weight or would tear itself from the walls and plunge her down into the waking city below. As she wound in and out of the spire’s shadow she experienced cool mist and blistering heat. After an hour of climbing she stopped to rest near where a huge gnarled Bandar tree which stretched it’s leaves out horizontally from the cliff into the mist that gathered there every morning. Ana sat on one of the large roots that dug into the rock like giant fingers and watched the cool mist drip slowly down the long white tendrils that hung down from the Bandar’s branches. In the distance she could see the expanse of the Keljarr to where it met the sheer cliffs of the wall, and far in the north a gleam of white sparkled in the morning light. Shielding her eyes from the glare she thought she saw a small dust cloud on the road to Threshold, as if a large party were approaching. A faint cackle of laughter from high above her startled her. The artificer must already be on the peak, she thought to herself with an adventurous smile. Grasping the woven Bandar roots which formed the rungs of the last set of ladders she resumed her climb.

. . .

“Wretched fool.” Miriam spat at the beggar as she watched Ana disappear around the

bend in the trail. Drenimir regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ll never turn her into a priestess Miriam.” He sat down heavily and leaned against the rock wall.

“It would be safer for her.” She snapped back at him, “What better place for her to hide?”

“She is still having the dreams.” He murmured softly.

Miriam cursed and leaned against the wall next to him, “She was even more a child then than she is now, she should not have remembered Hamar.”

“Perhaps she’s not remembering Miriam.” Drenimir whispered as he snaked a hand up to stroke hers gently. Miriam continued to gaze off over the city and into the empty dunes beyond.

“It’s been hard enough hiding a child in a world without children.” She sighed, “How are we going to hide a child who dreams of things she’s never seen?”

They stood quietly watching the wind play with the dunes, their hands entwined.

“You know letting her run off today will cause a stir among the pilgrims.” Miriam spoke at last.

“Bah,” Drenimir waved a wrinkled hand, “let the fools be stirred. How much have we given up,” He whispered, pressing his head against her leg, “to fulfill our promise?”

“Not nearly as much as was given.” Miriam replied, letting her fingers trace their way through Drenimir’s graying hair. “Where is she now?”

“She was headed down to the dunes to search for trinkets again, but I think she may had headed for the summit today to get away from your ‘pilgrims’.” Drenimir laughed softly.

“Is Arduous still playing out his madness up there?” Miriam asked, a look of disgust on her face.

“Arduous is. . .” Drenimir paused, searching for the words, “. . .less fervent than some, but he is still one of us.”

“Whatever you say old man.” Miriam laughed.

“Old am I?” Drenimir stood and stole a brief kiss, “I thought I was a ‘wretched fool’.”

Miriam laughed and pushed him away. “Later my love,” In the distance murmurs of a gathering and discordant crowd of pilgrims gathering at the temple echoed off the spire’s sheer walls, “when you’ve had a bath.” Turning back down the way she had come Miriam walked back toward the temple. Drenimir watched her go until she disappeared down the path.

“How much we’ve given up. . .” He whispered again wistfully, then sat down heavily again next to the door and closed his eyes.

. . .

The peak of the spire was shrouded in a light mist. She stood unsteadily, her arms and legs trembling with exhaustion and excitement. The rocky ground was covered with deep green mosses, a few small Bandar trees, and even a type of fern which Ana had never seen growing down in the lower elevations before. A gust of wind from the desert below swept past her, dispersing most of the mist, and Ana gasped. A huge stone statue hovered over her. It seemed as though it had been wrought from the stone of the peak itself, wings that must once have swept back in graceful arcs but now ended in crumbled remains. One arm was missing, the other stretched out as if trying to embrace the city below. Ana had seen to statue many times from the city, it was one of Threshold’s few artifacts of worship, but never from this close. Here between the patches of hanging mosses she could make out the face of a beautiful and oddly familiar woman gazing with everlasting love at the world below her.

Her wonder was broken by a contented humming and the light of a small fire from further up in the mist. “Arduous?” She walked towards the warm sound uncertainly. Arduous the artificer turned suddenly, a look of apprehension on his face before recognition flashed across his face followed by a wide smile.

“Ana?” She loved that he called her by her given name and not her title.

“What are you making?” Ana’s eyes were wide with wonder as she sat down amongst the artificer’s scattered tools, needles, string, and paper. She could see now that he had been sewing the scraps of old manuscripts together, and a small pot of some type of thick liquid bubbled cheerfully over the fire.

Arduous carefully placed a scrap of paper over a seem he had just finished, then dipped a flat tool into the bubbling mixture and pulled out a glob of the sticky substance and carefully smeared it over the edges of the paper. Smiling at his handiwork he rubbed his hands together and gave her another wide-eyed grin.

“Catching the wind.” He lifted his handiwork and a small round shape of sewn paper emerged with an opening at its base. Around the opening were affixed several strings which, in turn, were tied to

a small metal container. Ana looked at him, puzzled and wondering if people were right to call him mad. “Watch.” He whispered, holding the opening of his creation over the fire a few feet away from the flames. The paper billowed then filled itself out and shot skywards. Ana jumped back in horror.

“Arduous what have you done!” She shrieked, feeling the sting of tears beginning to form. “If the Adorers knew you had trespassed into the sacred air. . .” She began, her voice trembling, but Arduous simply shook his head.

“The Adorers could care less of my minor heresies,” He said the word as if it were the greatest of jests, “as long as I keep the water collection systems in good order they care little for my personal experiments.”

Ana moved cautiously forward while Arduous reeled in his paper craft by a long string. “I was exploring ways to send messages to Darrow by following the warm season winds, but once I had built a small model I wondered if it could lift a weight into the air with it. Don’t you see child? Why couldn’t this same model built larger carry not only a metal box but also a man?” Arduous had begun to pace around the small fire, his arms gesturing wildly with excitement. “Why not then, could a man see beyond the Wall. . .”

“But. . .?” Ana spoke quietly, “That is a blasphemy.”

Arduous stopped his pacing and looked down at her with what looked like pity in his eyes. “How I wish,” he whispered, “they had given you to me to keep instead of the priestess. What wonders you could have known. . .” He trailed off.

“I should not want to know such things, such things are only for the Blessed.”

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