The Ember in the Dark

We are the descendants of the old gods, and we carry their magic in our blood. We hold the secrets of humanity in our hearts and the truth in our minds. These messages have been passed down and translated through generations in secret. We were once fiercely respected and listened to. We were once deeply loved, and we were feared and admired. We were advisors, guardians, and defenders to great leaders and the greatest legends. We were the protectors of humanity, and yet we hide from it.

Myrtha is the eldest of six children, a woman in bloom. She often went on long horse rides across the seven valleys. She could not walk as well as others, her white horse Albion was her closest confident and allowed her to be free. A stream ran through the green seven valleys. Running slow and steady. A stream that is not too small to be too harmless, but not too big to be a danger. Myrtha had spent many times over her childhood exploring the valleys for her it was a peace, a comfort. She used the stream as her map, it too also brought her peace. Myrtha's overcasting hood shielded her hair. While her bright white dress had gone dull and had mud at the bottom seams. Grey clouds began to bulge above her crown, swelling heavily awaiting labour. Once she had reached a castle with the roof caved in, the sky gave birth. Vines and ivy had conquered the stone, steps led too nowhere, and the floor slabs sliced and cracked. An absent path gave way to an empty throne. The broken face of a mighty bath stone dragon lay decayed on the ground, with the pieces of its mouth and jaw scattered and lost. The yellow stone has gone brown and is lost to the moss. The entire place had been abandoned and forgotten.

Myrtha was always alone but never lonely. She knew her ancestors were watching and knew what was expected of her. Her sisters did not know the truth that she did. They did not know the stories, only she. As the eldest, it all fell to her. She removed her boots as they restricted her and danced barefoot in the rain. It poured on her in cleanse. Her hair was exposed. She spun on the cold stones, allowing her skin to be kissed by the teardrops. Eyes closed in bliss. The sound of rain synchronised on the stone harmonising together with the murder of crows that lingered in the distance. She felt the autumn wind carry a change - a calling. Thunder rolled to the beat of a mighty drum when suddenly... the rain changed direction. The rain travelled upwards. Myrtha did not notice. The ravens scarpered. Albion huffed as he was frustrated, scared, and cold, but Myrtha continued to dance. She did not want to return home because she knew what was ahead. She knew what she had to face eventually.

“Myrtha...” a whisper called her name. Startled she ceased her dance, as did the rain. She grabbed her shoes and quickly left the castle towards Albion.

Since she was a little girl, her dreams had been invaded by nightmares of the future. A prophecy foretold over and over. She believed in her heart that she had a role to play. That is why only she is the only one who carries the truth. She also believes it is because of her disability that is why she is blessed, and yet, also cursed. The Gods could not give her the power of knowledge and the source of their magic without a sacrifice of sorts – equity, she calls it. She had spent years throughout her childhood searching the valley for answers, for she had a lot of questions. No number of books she read, how many hours she practised shooting her bow, how hard she trained to combat her faults, she still had many questions. When? Why? How do I fit into all of this?

They say greed is what corrupted the world, while deceit followed. This is what resulted in the betrayal of our ancestors. They warned them what greed would do to people, and how lies would create rifts and ensure divisions, but they did not heed our warnings. Instead, they built a grand illusion, so vast it escapes their people's perception. We tried to break this, we tried to lift the veil for you to see. We were banished, hunted, and prosecuted. That is how we ended up here. I do not know if we are the only ones left. With so many gods and religions – we cannot be. We are a living reminder of their lies, we are their threat, I know they are coming for us. My father knows it too, he has not been sleeping. My sisters are unaware of all of this of course and think we chose to live here because it is a family thing. They had no idea. Who we are, what we are, and where we came from. I have made plans for if they do come, I just hope they change their minds. For all our sakes.

***

Across the land eastwards lay the world untouched by the presence of Gods. A world ruled by iron men in tailored suits. False idols who claim themselves great. People with fake wealth, control everything. Everything right down to the food sold in the markets, to the advertisements in the papers, to when the people can go outside. They have everyone’s life on a piece of string, and they decide when it is cut. They live in houses of cheap brick, cracked metal and flammable cladding. Cages that lack character and life. They cut their umbilical cords from nature, choosing the life of the concrete jungle. They believe they create their destiny, that they are Gods within their right. They feel they have earned this authority. They have not.

Ahriman was the man behind the curtain, the wizard pulling and pushing his buttons. He wore the spirit of chaos and destruction in his chest. He is a determined man whose ambitions will stop at nothing. He will get what he desires, and he will simply remove whatever obstacle that stands in his path. He is wrath but sentimental. He is graceful, yet he is a wild storm. He is a man clean-shaven and well kept. He looks ordinary but he is nothing of the sort. He is a vengeful man that holds grudges. A reckless individual that is very much aware of the power that lies in the dragon’s blood. Ahriman has created a history where the descendants of old are evil heathens, sent to destroy humanity. He constructs lies in the hope eventually they become gospel truth. Most of the time he can, but he fears the prophecy as much as he will never admit, even within an inch of his life. He knows his world is beginning to end and will do everything he can to stop it no matter the cost. In his mind, he will pay any price.

In his office deep within a hustling city devoid of colour, he sits glancing over piles of maps that cover the entire world and the places non-existent. Sunken islands that had been lost to the sea, towns that had uprooted and moved, societies that had risen to the heights of power to then crumble inevitably. He had it all. Ahriman’s office contained a collection of artefacts that are deemed lost to myth and legend. He lives in an illusion that he projects to his world. He knows the true power of dragon's blood, he fears it, and he has seen it in his dreams too. He is determined to find whatever remains of the descendants, wherever they may be and seeks to have them eliminated. He senses they have been close, but far enough not to touch, he has scouts searching in the barren lands; otherwise known as the seven valleys.

“Sir” a young boy, new to his job bursts into the room.

“What is it” he continues to analyse the maps.

“The rain...sir, it – it's going up...”

Ahriman puts the maps down, turns sharply on his swivel chair and glares out of the window. To his horror “We do not have much time. Find them.”

“Who sir?”

“The Heathens! Enemies of our people!” He slams his fist.

“The descendants of old! The ones that were sent all those years ago to destroy us all!” He takes in a few deep breaths while holding contact with the dear young boy quaking in his oversized shirt and tie.

“They’ve been hiding this whole time!” Ahriman gets up from his seat and slams his fist once more.

“Find them! Find them!” The room vibrated, the gold rims on the mirrors ran cold the lights began to flicker, and the poor young child was paralysed. He had not experienced anything quite like it.

Ahriman could sense the change too, it made him feel sick. His brow was wet with sweat, his palms clammy and the hair on his arms raised. His skin was pale with purple and blue veins pulsing in his cold blood. He is a God imprisoned in human form, exiled by the other Gods and Goddesses of Old. He as has many others before him and many others after him, fell victim to hubris. Ahriman however, a cruel and wicked God, did not seek redemption, nor showed remorse for his faults. Instead, he embraced them and set about planting seeds of chaos throughout human history. This is revenge for his entrapment. His defiance against the Gods. His shadow and spirit move from vessel to vessel. He is the reason for the betrayal of Myrtha’s ancestors. For him, every bit of the prophecy is entirely personal, and he will survive.

***

Back in the seven valleys, her youngest sisters Thora, Yara, and Eva were outside playing kings and queens, they said they were preparing for battle to rescue the princess. Her other sisters Lyvi and Freda were bickering as usual. They could never agree on anything, and it was always Myrtha that would have to sort out their mess.

“You said I could have the last one!” cried Freda.

“Well, I lied, and I’m older so I'm having it.”

“Myrtha, tell her she can’t just take it, after saying I could have it!”

“She did honestly admit her lie” Myrtha giggles, and sighs, “Why can’t you just split it in half?”

“Yea, why can’t we split it in half Lyvi?”

Lyvi goes for Freda's hair as they begin their next round as gladiators in the coliseum, commonly known as, the kitchen. Freda fights back. Myrtha swiftly exists in the room and heads towards the library leaving them to it as if she were never in there in the first place. For an individual that struggled daily with walking and basic balance. She could be gone in a flash if she needed to. She can creep around quietly and walk in the shadows unnoticed. She accompanies misguided ghosts, for she was already a ghost imprisoned. Yet, she is aware of what is to come. She is making sure everything is in place as it should be. No one ever notices that Myrtha smells like earth and rain, and no one ever asks where she has been or what she does. Everyone is too distracted by their own lives. She likes this very much because she can go where she likes. She likes being visibly invisible. Often seen with a book or bow, or a nice fresh hot coffee in hand. As the only one with a disability, she is quickly perceived as the weakest. All her life she has been underestimated, and she uses this to her advantage. She plays on it; makes you feel sorry for her and then she gets you.

***

They are here, she thought.

She ran, as well as she could into the kitchen...

“Stop fighting!” she pulls Lyvi and Freda off each other “Come on. We must go!”

“Wait what do you mean?” Lyvi asks pulling her arm away from Myrtha. A boom goes off in the distance and all three sisters stare out of the kitchen window scared.

“Don’t ask questions, just do as say.” Myrtha turns to Lyvi, the second eldest, looking frightened “Grab the others, now, quickly! Go.”

Lyvi runs off as quickly as possible calling her sisters names. Myrtha drags Freda with her, pulls out a few bags full of supplies and gives them to her, handing her a map in the process. “Head to the library, there’s a secret door -”

"How original,” she says sarcastically.

“This isn’t a joke,” Myrtha says solemnly while glaring at her sister in fear before continuing.

“Behind the door is steps that will lead you to the tunnel system. Follow the path straight ahead, do not make any turns. When you get to the junction, take the tunnel in front of you, as I said -”

“Don’t take any turns”

“Yes, exactly. The tunnel will take you to the beach, it is a long walk, so you had better run. The map is there if you get lost. Now, when you get to the beach there should be a boat waiting for you. It is the boat of convenience, and you all need to get on it.”

“Why? What is the boat of convenience?”

A ship that will take you where you need to go and will leave once you are in the place you are supposed to be. It only arrives when you need it, or when you need to be somewhere...just trust it. I will find you.”

“Wait, you’re not coming?”

“No, I’ll just slow you down.”

Lyvi and her other sisters join the conversation concerned “What’s happening?” said Thora.

“Where’s Dad?” asked Yara.

Myrtha looks at Freda and says “there is not enough time to explain-”

Incoming booms shook the walls of their home, the windows quivered with fear. Myrtha gives Freda a look and repeats “library.”

“Where are we going?” asked little Eva, the baby of the family.

“On an adventure. Now, you better go! Quickly!” replied Myrtha.

“Wait!” cried Freda, runs a few steps forward, and paused, realising it may be the last time she sees her sister. Scared and not knowing what was about to happen she utters... “What book is it?”

Myrtha smirks “The Secret Garden,” walking away in haste not looking back. She catches a glimpse of men in the distance through the window, like stick figures growing in generous size marching their way forward towards them, towards her.

***

Myrtha’s father, already outside, spoke in an ancient tongue as he began to cast a protection enchantment that shielded the home and protected those within its bubble. While Myrtha gathered her essentials and precious family heirlooms. She ran as well as and as quickly as she could, but she was wearing shoes and she was indoors. Running past the same window she could see the men were getting much closer she could hear their screams, their cries, their chants. She quickly ran to the vaults where no one goes, and as secrets die. Once down the crumbling spiral steps she quickly took the item out of its sacred stone, bewildered she could, and wrapped it in many layers of cloth before returning to leaving to help her father.

The sky grew dim, cloudy, and grey once more and ravens swarmed, the thunder provided a bass to the tune of Ahriman’s ambush. Then men's cries now roaring with wrath, fury, and destruction. They have been brainwashed to hate those of magic, anything to do with such kind. They hate us for existing and want us dead. They think it is killed or be killed. It is not and they have been lied to, she thought. Panting and out of breath, Myrtha finds a member of the household, Ambrose. He is not of magic, but his family has long been loyal to Myrtha’s family, he grew up with Mythra and her sisters. She trusted him and carefully handed him the mountain of just fabric, looked at him fiercely and instructed him to “bury it, quick! Get yourself out of here, go!”

Ambrose could feel the steel of the object, glazed at Myrtha, and headed out the door. Myrtha could see the men approaching the house. They were very pale, veiny, and devoid of sunlight. They looked unwell, unfit, and incapable of fighting. Yet they were still a force, they still had power and it was as if they were completely invincible. She could see her father making the protection spell, it was almost complete. The front doors gave way. Without hesitation, Myrtha ran towards her father to help him, but before she could reach him, an arrow shot him in the heart. Breaking the spell and killing a father of six. Shocked and now broken in despair, Myrtha unleashes a great scream. The wind around her picks up its pace, and lighting pulses off her and into the ground below. Blood pours from her eyes which are usually blue, turned piercing white. The rain pours, the wind howls and then suddenly...

A shockwave of purple flame. Ahriman’s ambush was gone, turned to ashes in an instant. The ravens flee singing tunes of victory. The rain stops, as does the gale. Mythra wipes her eyes, horrified by the blood. In shock as to what power she has unleashed. Scared for her safety and that of her sisters. She could see far in the distance men who had seen this all, and who were now sending scouts to get her. She took one last look at her father, removed his Obsidian necklace, and ran off into the dense woods. She did not know where she was going, or what to do. All she knew was to not keep running.

***