The Imbalance of Evil

Tomorrow, concinnity will return to Ambraxas.

"You're not ready," The finality of his words was defining.

Ufaro stood near the entryway of the keep. His stature was strong and overbearing though he had seen hundreds of rotations in his lifetime. The kanaf robes hung from his shoulders ominously in the ashen air between them. The gray slits of his black pupils strained against the dark room. Torches lined the room, but the close of the century was near, and light struggled to break through the mist that covered the land.

"Not ready, but I am next in line as one of the Sheva," Kùren had practically shouted in response. He threw his hood off to reveal his markings as if Ufaro needed a reminder of all he had learned and done to earn his place. He knew he was disrespecting the leader of the Sheva.

"The ceremony is performed by the six members of the Sheva, a fact of which you should be well aware." Ufaro's calm voice expanded to fill every inch of the room, the only indication he was becoming upset with Kùren's refusal to remain behind. Kùren had asked about the ceremony from the instant he had been inducted into the Order of The Sheva but was told the ceremony could not be explained, only experienced. Beyond that, it was performed by those known as The Seven, the highest-ranking Sheva.

"Is there truly harm in me observing?”

Ufaro looked away from him to the darkness outside the window. The Runes over his head were obscured in the faint light, though Kùren could see the outline of the Rune for wisdom pulse as a dying ember against his temple. “Yes, there is,” Ufaro trailed off.

Kùren’s eyes narrowed. Ufaro never spoke with uncertainty in his voice. Cruelty and disdain, yes, but never uncertainty.

“I completed every trial and have knowledge of the Evandora greater than any other Sheva under The Seven. I am here because I deserve to be. To tell me I am not ready is to dishonor the Sheva and the Seven, Ufaro." He spat his name. Kùren knew he was tottering dangerously close to punishment, but as next in line for his place as a member of The Seven, he believed he had the right to, at the very least, observe the Ut Inluminent.

In his anger, the Runes he had received upon his induction burned where they were scared into his skin. Each line, each curve, and each etch was a symbol of his right to be one of The Sheva. Each black mark on his pale skin was a reminder of his place. He remembered each draw of the blades across his skin as the words were tattooed in scars and blood upon his body. The indentations across most of his skin waited to be layered with more of the earth’s language. Growing up, on the few occasions he had seen The Sheva, he had always believed they were covered in scales like their ancestors had when they had flown in the sky. The markings were not scales, they were ancient words and symbols, all on their own useless, but in the patterns and layers they formed upon his skin, they brought power, strength, and light to his soul. The more he learned of the Earth’s language, the more runes he received upon his skin and the more power he yielded over the elements of the earth.

As The Sheva leader, Ufaro had more Runes than the others. He had the most power contained in the chamber of his soul. Ufaro's expression did not change as they sparred silently. He could pull the living breath from Kùren's lungs in an instant but only looked upon Kùren without expression. The energy and power that rested there had mesmerized Kùren during his trials. He still remembered standing beside the other Draco as they waited to hear the names called of those who would join the ranks of The Sheva. In the end, Kùren and forty-nine others had earned that place. He had gained the right to step on the sacred seven stairs and enter the keep where the Sheva resided. Kùren had earned the right to partake in The Sheva’s ceremonies and know the secrets of their world. Yet, he stood being told he was not ready for the next step of his destiny.

"Kùren, it is not your place as a Sheva that I question, but your ability to close your heart over what is needed for the Ut Inluminent as one of the Seven. Sacrifice is required to hold balance. It is that you do not understand. In that, you are not ready."

"What do I need to do to prove to you I’m ready?" Rage seeped into every word he spoke, contrasting Ufaro's calm demeanor.

When Ufaro spoke again, sparks darted from his lips. "There is duty and sacrifice beyond what you could imagine. Yet, your heart still sides with the weak. You will stay with the rest of the Sheva away from the Malefic. Do not disobey me."

In anger, Kùren left Ufaro’s chambers and placed his hand against the cold metal of the entryway door. It was not wise to leave the keep when their connection to the elements was weak, but he ignored that warning and whispered, "aidëen." Instantly, a spark flew from the center of his palm and followed the curving path of the filigree inscribed into the door. The hands of the first Sheva had molded the door when they formed the keep. As a result, no part of the door was without etchings of the story of Ambraxas and spanned to reach the ceilings. He stepped back as the flame moved quickly around the door, igniting each of the forty-nine corners, moving through the story of Ambraxas.

Every living creature knew the story of the birth of Ambraxa; though the verses were told differently by every tongue, the story remained the same. Before the formation of the world, there was only a mass of darkness. A place absent of life destined for nothing, but then, one word was spoken. That word, that singular tone, connected with every frequency of the massive void below and drew forth the formation of the world as it is known. It took the sound of one word to create light, land, water, fire, wind, and anything seen and unseen. As a reminder of the first light brought forth by the first sounds, the Kenná, circled the lands every morning, breaking from its resting place, moving to the center of the sky, then it would return to where it came from. Day after day, in concinnity with the darkness of the night the crimson strands mixed with the Api Briu.

The creatures that roamed the earth were also connected to the elements formed from the Earth’s ancient language. Dragons held fire, dryads the language of the trees and plants that grew, fyries spoke with the wind, sirens molded with the words of water, elves communicated with the stones of the earth, and so on. Each creature had command over an element. However, it was humans who were designed with greater care. Humans were not only created through the sound of their name but with the breath of the word. They were special, held in a place of honor, rulers of all others but did not speak or know the earth’s ancient language.

For a time, there was harmony. Every element moved together. There was an understanding between the smallest creatures and the largest mountains. Humans ruled over those who connected with the sounds of the earth. Everything in its own language, a tone, a frequency, they speak into the world.

But then desire overwhelmed the heart of a single man who wanted to take more from the world than it was willing to offer. No one knows who spilled the first drop of blood, but blood soaked the earth because of greed. The first death–the Malefic. The horn rang throughout the world, announcing the final breath was taken. The moment of the first loss of life changed the world forever. The elements no longer communicated with the world around them, and soon the creatures of the earth forgot they had ever spoken the earth’s ancient language.

Not the Draco. For centuries they have sacrificed themselves to the earth’s ancient language of harmony.

Because of the betrayal, the earth slowly fades over a century, falling out of harmony until the light of Kenná vanishes entirely. It was slow initially, but over time, life couldn't help but notice the dark days and the Kenná becoming a shadow as the element of evil overpowered the rest. On that day, every one hundred years, The Sheva perform the Ut Inlumninent, rebalance the earth’s voice and bring harmony to the elements.

A faint click sounded, and the door swung open.

The air outside the keep was chilled compared to the weighted amber air surrounding each Sheva member. Seven massive pillars, one on each step, were topped with a flame representing the life of a Sheva. Once their life ended, the flame would die, and another one lit when a new name was called. At the first of the seven steps, Kùren stopped and turned to the pillar.

Kùren placed his palm against the cool stone but did not offer any ancient words to the stone as he had to the door. His handprint fit perfectly against the backdrop of the intricate etchings like it was a missing piece at the center. As if the markings on his hand were created as an extension of the stone. His lips pressed together tightly as he read Ufaro’s name written out in the Earth’s ancient language. There was such beauty in the intricacy of the sprawling lines.

One day, his name would be etched in the stone, and he would earn his place as one of the Sheva. As a Draco, he knew the honor of being a Sheva. It took work to complete the rounds of trials to be chosen to join the Sheva and await his calling to be one of the Seven, should that day ever come. But would it ever come? Ufaro doubted his ability and his place in line for the Seven. Kùren knew, deep in his soul, that he was supposed to bring light and harmony back to the world. It was his duty, his destiny.

Kùren pulled his kanaf robes tight and ran towards the Arden forest beyond the Affra wall that protected the Sheva and hid them from the rest of the world. As he ran, the kanaf burst out behind him like wings, and he flew even faster through the trees. He ran without direction, with no destination. For he was welcome nowhere but within the walls of the keep. The Sheva were on the outside of the Ambraxas world. While he had grown up in a small Draco village on the eastern side of the Arden Lines, the instant he had been selected to the Sheva, Kùren was shunned by everyone and everything he had once known.

They were honored but feared. They were respected but cursed by the community they were once part of.

The Sheva did not answer to Ambraxas kings, nor did they contribute to the world outside the Affra. They were not responsible for boundaries or feeding the poor; no, The Sheva were responsible for ensuring the earth continued to breathe and pulse life through the trees and rainfalls. They kept the balance of life in order. They kept the harmony between the elements, and more importantly, they kept them in check, ensuring no element of life moved outside its boundaries. Very few humans still told the story of the beginning, and when they did, their tales had a much different ending.

Kùren knew it was the highest of honors to serve the earth by breathing life back into her core and resetting the rhythm of the elements. It was what Kùren had always felt destined to do.

_____________

This was the last thing Kùren had intended to do that night. After traveling through the Arden for hours, he had intended to return to the Affra wall and comply with Ufaro's command. But as he approached the tree line and saw the six members of the Seven descend the main stairs and walk solemnly through the Affra and into the woods opposite him towards the Malefic, he knew he must follow.

The trees stretched across the starless sky as he followed the silent group. Shadow against shadow, each limb and bare branch contrasted against the expansive, endless sky above. It was the darkest night of the century. The physical evidence that the rhythm and balance of the earth needed to be corrected. The evidence that evil and darkness had taken over all that was good.

Kùren was careful with every step he made in the darkened forest. Each rock, each fallen branch was rough against his feet, but still, he did not slow his pace. The treeline soon gave way, and they began walking through the desolate area beyond the Arden. The thick trees were replaced with rocks stacked on top of each other. The stone towers were imitations of the living trees that should have grown.

They had entered the Malefic. A crater of death in the northernmost area of the Arden. A space that had not been able to grow anything since the first death.

Without the cover of trees, Kùren touched the Rune on his right shoulder and whispered, "kalopsia," and was instantly cloaked from all around him. In his induction into the Sheva, he had sat through the agonizing pain of being marked by the Runes. It had taken days, and he was still learning the words which held the power to call each Rune to the surface. The cloaking of kalopsia he had only discovered when he overheard Ufaro leaving the Affra one evening and completely disappearing, not only from sight but from sound and smell. Moving from in front of the element of air to behind it was painful and took practice. Kùren had worked on the Rune’s power in secret for weeks until it became as natural as breathing.

Finally, the company drew to a stop at the very center of the Malefic.

It was a small clearing within the forest, not quite at the base of the mountain, but close enough it seemed the steep incline acted as a barrier to the group. The space was barren, overrun with the desolation of death. Only as the six members of the Seven stopped did he notice the small piles of stones arranged in the sacred symbol of the Sheva. But something was different. The symbol should have been marked by six anchor points, but the symbol in the dirt had a seventh pile of stones at the center.

The cloaked figures took their places upon the six pillars, leaving the seventh one empty. Ufaro spoke, smoke fuming from his slitted nostrils, "As in centuries past, and for centuries to come, we call upon the darkness to permit us the power of destruction, that we, the honored of The Sheva, may be granted control over the Ambraxas and all who inhabit the lands.”

Kùren could not believe the words falling from Ufaro’s lips. They dishonored all that he had known. The Sheva were to honor and protect the Earth’s ancient language, not control it.

When Ufaro finished, he turned his face from the speckless sky and spoke to the Seven, “Let us call upon the earth’s language a remind her who permits her light, then we will prepare for the sacrifice and the cresting of the Kenná."

Forgetting he was cloaked between elements, Kùren pressed himself against a large stone tree as the hooded men turned their backs to each other to face out into the stone forest. A moment passed before Kùren heard the words of the ancient story of Ambraxas and Kenná's creation. Each spoke it in their own words, in their own way, one voice layered on top of another. Never before had Kùren heard the tale told with harmony, each member speaking with his own emotion, inflection, spirit, and soul.

The beauty was blotted out by the destructive words Ufaro spoke before.

There was a sudden crash upon his chest. Ufaro was using the wind to feel for anyone in the area. Kùren knew he had to leave before he could no longer hold himself between the elements and was found by one of the Seven.

With quick steps, he moved swiftly out of the Malefic but was stopped in his tracks by a still, quiet voice.

The sound was faint, and the Runes on his ears strained to hear. Someone was crying.

Kùren didn't move. No living creature lived this far into the depths of the Arden, let alone within the boundaries of the Malefic. He quickly moved towards the tiny sound. He weaved through the stone trees to the western edge of the Malefic. The amberic atmosphere was hazy and weighted by the gray of imbalance, but he saw a shape begin to appear out of the haze.

It was a child. A human child.

Two plats of golden hair fell down her back as she crawled about in the darkness, restrained by an invisible force. Trails of fallen tears stained her cheeks as she continued to wail quietly. Her dress, once a delicate white fabric embroidered with ivory lace now stained and torn, hung loosely from her bony shoulders. There was a faint smell of the Orna, the sacred oil used to mark the purity of someone before a ceremony.

Tentatively, Kùren shifted closer. As he did, he noticed the glimmer of rope around her ankle. The child was tied to the stone tree. The cord was black, but Rune markings were clearly imprinted on it in crimson string. Written out on the rope, he could see the markings for accept and offering.

Kùren was still covered by the break in the elements as he puzzled over why someone would tie up and abandon a child in the middle of the most desolate place in Ambraxas. His mind strained to sift through his knowledge of humans. The Sheva were at their weakest because of the disharmony between the elements, and it took every ounce of focus he had to stay hidden within the air. But his strength was fading.

Sacrifice is required to hold balance. Ufaro had told him. He had been referring to an actual sacrifice, not giving up his desire to participate in the Ut Inlumenent.

The truth crashed over him then. He saw every lesson he had ever been taught, every tale he had ever heard from his village with the Dracos and in his years with the Sheva. They all pointed to one thing: sacrifice brought change. It was through the spilling of blood that the Earth resolved to cut herself off from the elements that made up every aspect of who she was. So it made sense that the balance would be restored similarly through sacrifice and the spilling of innocent blood. But Ufaro had been speaking of controlling the Earth rather than serving her. He had spoken to darkness rather than to the Kenná. More lies blotted the truths that, for years, he had accepted.

Had his ancestors indeed spilled more blood to bring about balance to the elements and retain the ability to speak Earth’s ancient language, or was there something darker within the lines of the Ut Inlumenent?

With the darkness surrounding him and the force of the air pushing him from his hiding place, all he heard was a voice call out to him. The voice spoke in the Earth’s ancient language that created all that existed. The voice was not from the child, and it was not from the elements around him. No, the voice was coming from inside his soul. The place where all the rhythm and harmonic balance rested within him. The voice and its words filled the void within his chest.

Is a child’s life worth the salvation of the rest of the world?

Kùren took another step closer to the child.

She heard him then. He could feel his energy drain as the Runes burned against his skin. The split between elements was fading. Instead of allowing it to take all his energy, he released the Rune’s power and stepped out from between the elements of air.

Instantly the girl’s eyes opened wide as he came into view. “Dragon,” she whispered, her eyes widening. He almost smiled; he had heard of the human stories with monsters called Dragons-scaled creatures with strong wings that carried them across the sky. But while Dragons could fly with wings, he soared with the kanaf robes that gave him agility to move quickly between the trees of the Arden. Some stories even say that the Draco ancestors, indeed, were Dragons. Kùren liked to think that was true. To her, he might as well be the beast of his past.

Kùren needed to make a choice. He had to decide if he would trust The Sheva’s teachings, stained with lies, or the voice that called within himself.

Is a child’s life worth the salvation of the rest of the world?

Kùren was close enough to touch the child now.

The question continued as an anthem in his mind. Over and over, they sang. If he saved the child, would he be saving the world from the darkness the Seven seemed to serve, or would he be condemning Ambraxas to a worse fate, one of continuous imbalance?

The Kenná had been fading to its most faded form, a shadow of what it should be, and without the Kenná, day would not exist, life would not exist. Kùren felt the fading power because of the disharmony. The Kenná needed to be realigned and rebalanced. A sacrifice needed to be made.

He knelt by the child.

“Dragon,” she whispered again. This time, the world was dripping with fear.

He could not listen to that voice right then or focus on the anthem within his chest. So instead, he called on the strength within him and spoke the earth’s ancient word for flame. The sparks fell from his tongue and onto his palm, igniting into a sphere. Then he touched his hand to her bindings. With the slight heat in his palm, they fell away.

Kùren made his choice. He picked up the small child and ran.

He pressed her face against his shoulder so she could not be heard. The silk of her dress was soft against Kùren’s scaled skin as he ran. The child struggled against him to break free from his grasp. But Kùren did not stop. He did not stop as he reached where the trees were no longer made of stone. He did not stop as the energy inside him began to fade. He did not stop as he passed the keep, feeling the power of the Affra call out to him.

Kùren’s hood gave him tunnel vision, and he focused only on the space directly in front of him. And he did not stop for anything, for he knew the instant the others realized what he had done, he would be hunted.

_____________

It had taken every bit of strength and whispered calls to the elements to keep himself and the child hidden from the others as he ran. The breath from his lungs burned, but he no longer felt the impending presence of The Seven.

The child in his arms had stopped struggling and resolved to huddle against his shoulder. The entire journey Kùren had counted the child’s heartbeats as they crested the top of the Mirella mountains, south of the keep. The trees could not breathe at that height, and Kùren stood as the tallest thing for miles. A statue, insignificant against the grandeur of Ambraxas around him.

Her eyes flew open as he shifted the girl and placed her on the ground against a rock. She settled on the soft moss underneath her slight frame. The girl stared into his ebony eyes, and he held her golden ones, such small pupils that must have been made from dipped honeycomb.

Kùren straightened, putting some distance between them, “What is your name?”

The girl shrank back from him at the words which snaked from his throat. Kùren looked to where the Kenná would have risen had he left the girl behind. In another hundred heartbeats, the world would know that the harmony had not been restored.

“What is your name?” he tried again, willing his words to be softer that time, but still, the child gave no response. With a sigh, he sat beside her, his heavy black robes pooling around him. The fabric collided with the darkness already around them, a darkness in which the world would remain.

Only a few more heartbeats. Kùren counted every one of them, each echoed by her small breaths.

The girl signed heavily. In and out. Kùren didn’t want to look at her. His gaze was affixed to the gray horizon, praying by some miracle he had not condemned the world. It was useless. He could not feel the pull of the Kenná as he usually did when it crested the horizon. The Kenná would not rise.

Again, the girl took a breath. This time Kùren looked at her. She was filthy. The dust had scared her face from where it had smeared against his shoulder during their escape. But her eyes, Kùren could not look away from her eyes. Golden rays against the soot-covered face.

“Ethereal,” her voice was small, weak, but she took another breath and said again, “My name is Ethereal.” They sat there staring at each other for a long breath. “You saved me,” she whispered, then reached out her small, delicate hand, pushed away his robes, and touched the place where his heart should beat.

Kùren’s chest lurched. The instant her hand touched his skin, all feeling of harmony and balance returned to his soul. He had to close his eyes against the instantaneous emotion of peace and calm that washed over him at her touch.

When he did open his eyes, it was not to find darkness. Instead, he was blinded by the Kenná cresting the edge of Ambraxas, brighter than it had ever been in his lifetime. Rays of gold replaced the crimson light it was before. Those rays pressed against the ashen haze until the fading power was gone, replaced by clear air far beyond the base of the Mirella.

They sat together on the mountainside and watched the Kenná rise upon a new world. Kùren could feel the restored power within his soul. He could whisper the words of Earth’s ancient language and pull elements to himself, but the inflection of the response was different somehow. He would need to learn the new dialect of the world around him. Whatever the days ahead were to bring, Kùren was sure that the balance of Ambraxas, while in harmony, had shifted.

The cycle, whether good or bad, Kùren did not know, had been broken and rewritten. He only prayed that the new cycle that began at the start of that day would be embedded with life and light, not imbalanced by evil.