A Curse of Anger and Lightning

Chapter 4: Hollmir

As Hollmir shuffled past the stone gates of the capital city of Zamorra and began his descent within the canyon, he could feel the breeze squeezing through the stones and the air getting fresh and moist, the closer he got to the bottom– closer to the river flowing below. The redstone path was glistening in the moon lit night and led directly to the next grand gates to the castle.

Although this night was of a darkness not from this earth, the gentle stone lights lining the path managed to bring a warm and appreciated luminescence to the city streets. Everything here was so ingenious, industrial and mechanical, a shocking contrast to the lands of the north, Ar'jah, which were organic, natural and instinctual, wild.

The capital of Zamorra was an architectural and industrial marvel.

After the war of separation, many mortals sided with Feol'daria – out of fear, they took refuge in the desert to flee from the north and they were blessed with mechanical and scientific ingenuity from their new self appointed deities, the Ei'ilnam.

It was obviously the correct choice, seeing as now Zamorra was not only supported by Feol'daria but also their imprisoned patron gods Zanamar and Danaïr. They were unofficially the most powerful nation on the continent, shouldered by both immortalities and their capital nestled into a natural geographic fortress, within the canyon.

Buried within riches of stone and metal, the country reveled in endless parties, festivals and rituals – blessed, by the Sky Tower above.

Usurpers, he thought, thieves, liars.

Feol’daria – to him, was the plague that robbed this continent of piety. A winged plague, swift and cruel that took the natural order of faith and belief.

His temple island – Yeifon’hel, were supporters of the old gods, the rightful gods. They were spellchanters that pulled their Equilibrium power from their own unshakable faith and lifeforce.

They fueled it from deep within their souls, offering prayers, chants and self-sacrifice to the imprisoned gods of the war of separation.

Those sky-dwellers – Ei’ilnam, that race of winged, cold beasts. Those monsters came with promises of peace and knowledge after wrecking the continent of all its resources.

After burning the lands with their boundless Equilibrium, leaving behind a desertic waste, dry and arid that swept the throat and stung the face.

Zamorra was once a lush jungle, with trees as old as the Gods. Waterfalls and rivers, wondrous water beings living within them, breathing life into them – gone. Engulfed beneath the upturned earth, the havoc that ensued during the war – the devastation.

Only sand and heat, only metal and stone remained. Walking down the redstone path, the neat row of buildings, the glow of the stone lights he couldn’t help but sigh at the comfort this Kingdom benefited from ravaging the earth, from folding to Feol’daria’s might.

Now that he was Lu’ne, a graduated Chanter from the temple, sent to serve as advisor to the royals of Zamorra, he would slave here for 5 years, before returning to his home on the island of Yeifon’hel in the hopes of becoming Master– Lam’ne.

Finally the gates of the castle appeared before him, grand and red as ember fire, the roaring of the river beneath it.

He came to a halt, waiting to be hailed from above just like the previous gates, but none came. Staring at the redstone and gold metal, he approached until only a breath separated him from the entrance.

He pounded a fist twice, the sound bouncing against the rock of the canyon and back against the walls of the gate and castle.

Nothing.

He pounded again three times, screaming this time:

“I am Hollmir, appointed Spellchanter and Lu’ne for the Royal King Kadar and Queen Aryia of Zamorra, hailing from the Temple Island of Yeifon’hel. I have been called earlier to help deliver the Queen’s child. You will let me enter”

A trap door opened, a pair of hardened and tired, bloodshot eyes behind them.

“Shut up will you? It’s the middle of the night! The whole castle has gone to sleep” A croaky voice hissed.

“What about the queen? What about her child?”

The pair of eyes narrowed onto him, working out his attire of robes and panes, the glowing stone pendant around his neck, his fair grey eyes and fair skin, the mousy hair that was tied with a silver coronet and hairpin.

Hollmir was not particularly handsome but he did have good, honest and gentle features.

“The wizard from your island already came to help” He said from behind his trap door, the words laced with mistrust “Her majesty had her prince without any issues. They are all resting now, you arrive much too late.”

“Please let me in, I am the officially appointed Spellchanter, who is the other? There…there were no others” Panic settled in him, remembering the words of the guard at the first set of gates, no other Chanter was to be here in his stead.

Confusion clouded the old pair of eyes and the trap door shut tightly with a sudden stomp–then a clunking sound of locks and gears, the tinkling of keys, as a small door opened to a wide man, skin faltered and aging, holding up a stone-lit lantern in his hand for a better view at the Island Templar before him.

“He…he said he was here for the birth, that other man. We thought he was you or that…well obviously he isn’t.”

“Obviously not, who and where is this wizard?” Hollmir crossed his arms “By the Balance and the Old Gods will you just let me in!” He shuffled within his robes and wide sleeves, remembering his letter from the Masters of Yeifon’hel. He shoved it onto the broad chested man, his lantern swaying. “Here. Ordained by the Major Elders of Yeifon’hel, you can see the stamped seal at the bottom.”

The Gatekeeper inspected the document, his tongue clicking and brows furrowing, taking much longer than required to look over the letter.

“Yes… well… this is legitimate.”

“Of course it is.” Hollmir snapped, annoyance and condescension pursing his lips.

With slight frustration, a soft bow and a hand on his chest, the aging man stepped sideways, giving space for the Spellchanter to enter the castle grounds.

“Lozzep is the name, Keeper of Keys is the title” he said solemnly, hand remaining on his chest.

Hollmir only gave a small nod in response, he was too annoyed for formalities at this point. Lozzep said nothing to remark on the rudeness.

As soon as he stepped through the threshold, fresh wind caressed his face, the sound of rushing water chimed in his ears and lush greenery, plants and tall palm trees lay before his eyes, swaying gently against the breeze.

An oasis.

Fountains gleaming with shimmering water, so much water. Fruit trees and flowers gave off a sweet scent in the courtyard. The sheer opulence of this garden had Hollmir gaping.

He looked up, it was nestled so deeply within the canyon that daylight should have had difficulty reaching all the plant life, but mirrors had ingeniously been placed– strategically placed to guide the light of Nei’il down to shine upon this exuding display of privilege.

The old man beckoned the Spellchanter to follow, leading him across the garden.

“We will have all this sorted out tomorrow, for now you rest.” He said calmly– tentatively, as he walked across the luxurious garden, his steps muffled by the deep green grass beneath his feet.

The gatekeeper meant well, but those words did not waive the unrest pressing in Hollmir’s chest, as if an unknown dread crept within him.

“You did not answer my previous questions, who and where is this other wizard?”

“I am only Keeper of Keys, it is not my place to discuss these matters. I could ask you why you arrived so late, but that is a discussion to be had with the King and Queen. We will have this sorted out tomorrow, for now you rest.”

“I was held back by another birth and you said all that already” Hollmir snapped.

Lozzep raised his brows in surprise and amusement:

“Quite the temper for a Templar” He put a hand on the Lu’ne’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “If you are to reside here as appointed Spellchanter, better watch that mouth my friend, now please, follow me”

The tired and bloodshot eyes of the old man convinced Hollmir that this was a battle to be fought on another day and that rest would not be unwelcome after the events of the previous birth. He smiled gently at the old Keeper of Keys and extended his arm

“Lead the way, my friend.”