Aethertide (Finale)

Trees lined the inner walls of the hall. Sunlight beamed overhead with no roof to stop it, warming the grass that made up the floor. Floating seeds danced in the hazy light as Styr climbed the steps into the hall, eyes fixed on a pair of silver birchwood thrones at the other end.

Arriving at the centre of the hall, the Archamgi bowed. Aki dropped to his knees in the grass, the short walk enough to use up the reserves of energy he had left. His face heavily bandaged, Aki stared at the ground through his one working eye.

Although the thrones seemed unoccupied except for slanted beams of sunlight and dancing motes of pollen, Styr addressed them.

“My Lord, my Lady. I am Archmagi Styr.”

The voice that replied came from all sides, drifting on the wind like a flute melody.

“We know who you are, Styr. We do not know why you are,” the Lord said.

“I remember,” said another harp-like voice. The Lady.

Styr coughed awkwardly. ”I bring before you a traitor. This young Magi apprentice has attempted to wrest power for himself in the realm of An’Mor.”

“And yet he failed,” sang the Lord’s flute.

“Small and shrivelled and covered in sand,” came the plucking of the Lady.

“Yes, my Lord,” Styr replied haltingly. “By my hand he has been thwarted and your control over the realm of the aetheric crystals has been maintained.”

“Do you require some kind of reward?” the Lord asked.

“Lips cracked and half dead,” said the Lady.

Styr stuttered his reply. He could feel the Lady’s presence, her gaze, curious and unpleasant as the Lord was cold and indifferent. “Not at all, my Lord. Being in your service is reward enough. I simply return this traitor to you for punishment.”

“He will be taken to Broceliande. Leave him and be gone,” the Lord replied.

“Yes, My Lord. Thank you,” Styr replied, wincing as he stood to leave, fighting the urge to run as fast as he could all the way out of the hall.

When there was only the traitor left hunched and silent, the voices faded away.

“That one lies to us, my love,” the Lord said.

“Who thought there could be so many tears in one so small.”

“Yes, my love,” the Lord’s fluted voice sighed. “I remember.”