Humanity’s fears exist within the darkness, within that which they cannot know, so they scrape away at its edges with fire that they may understand. The bright blessings of the Gods have dwindled, so what other choice is there but to light a path with flame as the darkness encroaches? Too long have the Gods looked on with indifference to the people’s suffering, or perhaps indignance at their betrayal.
Long ago humanity was indistinguishable from the beasts they hunted, but in their fear of the gloom they begged the Gods for succour. The Gods convened and agreed to grant them the burning light of wisdom to push back against the cloying dark, exalting them above all other creatures. Their boon was not granted lightly, however, for in exchange humanity took the responsibility of stewardship and curation of the world. Mankind emerged from the shade of the forests and woods, spreading across the lands taking their flame with them. The Gods watched closely for a time until they became satisfied with humanity’s work before slipping into a restless slumber, every so often rousing to supervise their progress.
Homesteads turned to hamlets, hamlets grew to villages, until towns and cities dotted the landscape and through necessity, ingenuity formed fantastic machines to ease their burden. Stone turned to steel, and flesh turned to dust. Kingdoms were forged and shattered, and people soon forgot their promises to the Gods, neglecting their commitments and pursuing greed and lust. When they awoke again, the Gods were enraged. Their oath was broken and the abandoned flames within their hearts dwindled allowing darkness to seep in and take control.
Their deities sought revenge and manifested those marred flames they had been gifted into a curse. It began in their largest city; the most sinful among them erupted into dusky flames that provided no tender warmth nor soothing light – only seared flesh and bones remained. The fire spread as fire does, spreading like a sickness from city to village, across great swaths of land impacted by the humans’ sin. It grew from a flickering flame into a vast conflagration and consumed but consumed discriminately. The people saw trees aflame with a flickering darkness that supped away at the light, lapping away at their walls and blanketing their crops, yet none of it burned. It desecrated only human flesh with human sin, leaving all else untouched. Pockets of humanity remained, mostly cut off from one another by this all-consuming black inferno of their own creation. Now, the Gods watched on with intrigue and amusement as the world restored its own balance.
The sun yet shone, the tides yet pulled, and the wind yet blew. Life continued as it had for countless years despite the impending, irresistible doom that they faced. Nevertheless, it was not only the Gods that watched their plight. Their humble servants, the elementals they had installed to work in their stead also looked on. Only one among them, a wind spirit by the name Hawelon, took pity enough to do something. He rode the winds across the grey seas, along the lands and blustered through forests and plains, over rolling hills and swampy ditches. He climbed along craggy paths up into the most holy of places, the Mountains that Touch the Sky, from where all life was said to come and the Gods said to reside.
High up beyond the clouds at the peak lay a temple built around a cave built at great cost of human lives, littered with sacrificed objects from dangerous pilgrimages by only the most hallowed of individuals. It had been hundreds of years since such offerings had been made, the clothes, food, statuettes, and jewellery now mere vestiges of times long past and people long since forgotten. A great brass horn rested on a wide decorative overlook that jutted out from the bare rock, used to call to the villages below in times long past to indicate a completed pilgrimage. A huge nest had been woven into the cave from great branches, and protective cloth tags that had been bleached by the sun had been tied into them by pilgrims to protect it from nefarious spirits and ill will.
Hawelon, without form, comprised of shifting, fluid winds blustered between the granite and marble columns of the temple, swirling around the fallen remains of the crumbled roof. He knew of the Goddess that resided within but was hesitant to awaken such an entity without a formal introduction. Nevertheless, something had to be done about the humans. Hawelon squeezed his winds through the horn, calling out a long note that reverberated from the rocks below and sounded out across the milky horizon.
For a moment there was silence. With a silent gust Hawelon circled the centre of the temple in wait, watching the entrance of the cave. With heavy steps, the Goddess within approached. Emerging from the darkness of the cave came an avian creature of brilliant blues and crisp whites, reds and oranges speckled in patterns along its wings and body. The crisp whites between the markings shimmered like the reflections on water as she emerged into the light, and atop her head was a large golden crest that rose up like a magnificent crown. At her feet extended long black talons, each one larger than a bear, that shone with the splendour of polished obsidian.
“It has been some time” she began in an ancient tongue, her hooked beak moving slowly, “since I last heard that sound.” Hawelon soothed his winds as a show of respect, stilling himself before the great bird. She took a moment to stretch out her wings and neck, flapping great gusts that blew the dust and debris about the place.
“…What brings you to this place, elemental?” She continued, arching her head down towards the centre of the temple. “What drives you to wake me, and what grants you that privilege?” There was a tone of entertained bemusement to her voice. Hawelon looked on, gently swirling in place. She could destroy him with the beat of a wing if she so wished, so he chose his words carefully.
“Tynged, revered weaver of destinies, Goddess, I have come before you this day to make known the plight of the humans.” She tilted her head to the side in question, eyeing the shifting of his gusts incredulously.
“The plight of the humans? What concern is that of yours, small one? Do the humans choke the winds, are their fires enough to cover the sky?” She asked mockingly.
“They are so few, yet their suffering is so great. They are our servants; obliged to enact our collective wills. They require protection from that which they have no hope of protecting themselves.”
“Protection from sin? The Gods did not corrupt them, the Gods did not make them suffer – nor drive them to war, banditry, nor slavery. This curse that routes them is of their own creation, small one. They are destined to suffer; it is in their nature to yearn for it as the flowers yearn for the sun.” Tynged seemed unmoved. Hawelon knew she was right but remained determined in his resolution.
“I believe there remains light in them, hidden in the darkness. I have seen it in the way that, even now, they work and toil, they share and love, and in the way they hope and pray. Their fire isn’t smothered just yet.” Hawelon retorted.
“But what good is a servant that does not serve? If something has grown rotten, do you not dispose of it? These humans are putrid, the darkness within them has rotted them to the core of their being.” She stomped forward towards him. “And yet, you have the audacity to come before me and ask for their salvation, when even they do not? They would not interfere in the affairs of ants, but here you are meddling in theirs. You presume that they wish to be saved, are worthy of saving, and offer help where they did not ask it. To attempt to involve a Goddess in such frivolity is vulgar.”
Hawelon knew that he couldn’t just give up, but she was clearly growing increasingly frustrated.
“Forgive me, my Lady, but I do not believe them rotten exactly. If a tool is broken, do you not fix it? As a fire dies in the dark, do you not feed its flames to renew its light?”
She stared at him silently before turning her back to him. She said nothing, but stood in quiet contemplation. After a moment she stared up into the sky before granting him his response.
“If you seek to save these creatures, if you truly believe they can be saved from themselves… I suppose there is precious little your own master can do about it.” She turned back to face him. The sharp tone to her voice had gone, softened into a matronly melodic sound. “Know this, small one, there are those who eagerly await the destruction of the humans. Should you do this, you may spark a war between the Gods themselves. After all, it was they who convened to grant them the same fire that now destroys them. Not only do you intervene in the matters of humans, but those of Gods as well. This is a dangerous path, elemental.”
He hadn’t taken into consideration exactly how far reaching the impact of his actions would be. Angering the Gods would spell his destruction and likely the hastened destruction of that which he now sought to protect.
“I cannot intervene.” She continued. “To do so would be an affront to those who yet slumber. You, however, might.” The mighty bird swung down her head and tugged out one of the short feathers from her tail. She placed it on the floor before Hawelon. “If you wish to help these creatures, you must walk among their kind and know strife from their perspective. Take their form and find among them one who’s flame still burns bright. Bring them my feather and alter their destiny.”
Not thinking about the consequences of this, Hawelon was overjoyed. He whipped his gales under the blue-gold feather and raised it aloft, only to find his faculties failing. The shifting winds that formed him slowed and solidified as his control over them began to wane and he felt for the first time a physical form that could touch and feel, smell and taste as humans did. His perspective of the world dwindled down to only what he could see before him. No longer could he feel and change the winds or blow across the lands with ease, he was bound now to walk the soil and rock slowly, susceptible to the world and all its dangers.
He took his first gasping breaths as his body finished changing, panic set in his face at the burning sensation of empty lungs inflating for the first time. In, out, in, out. He had to focus on standing, breathing, blinking. He began examining his new body, poking and prodding, pulling and moving every part that he could to familiarise himself with it. This was a whole new experience, the only pleasant part of which was the novelty of it all.
“Small one. The nature of mortality is that you must end other lives to prolong your own. This body is no exception to that rule. You must breathe, eat, drink, and remain warm. They have granted me clothing in the past, but I have no use for it. Take whatever you wish.”
Naked, Hawelon stood now, stunned at it all. It took a moment for him to click everything into place but started with a few small steps towards the cave. He stumbled, but his arms instinctively pushed themselves out to catch his fall. It seemed that the body, as fragile and vulnerable as it was, had its own protections.
Inside the mouth of the cave was a pile of old clothes, largely untouched by the elements and kept in decent condition. He tried a number of articles on, from decorative robes to mail, but there was one outfit that stood out to him that had been specially crafted for Tynged. It was still shaped and sized for a human, but it emulated the spectacular hues and patterns in her feathers with speckled gold brocade and feather motifs throughout. Hawelon emerged from the cave in his new robes and a leather satchel across his chest that hung by his side, decorative tassels draping from it. A glint of approval twinkled in Tynged’s glassy eyes.
“Go now, for you will soon need to eat, to drink, to sleep, and to suffer.”
Hawelon presented the Goddess a graceful bow. As he rose, he swept back his dark wavy hair, and tucked the feather into the satchel. It was one of her smallest ones, but still barely fit inside. He stared out down the mountain through the clouds onto what lay below. At the base of the mountains was a sprawling forest, the horizon littered with lakes and cut through with rivers and roads. He had no idea where he might find the human in question but had seen human settlements as he blustered through the world. As he looked out from the overlook a cold wind blew behind him and he took it to be a sign of the direction in which he must travel. Perhaps, he thought, he was not alone.
Making his way down the mountain was no easy task with sheer faces and rocky roads, but a path previously used by humans had been marked out with cloth tags that fluttered in the gentle breeze. His uneasy feet struggled to keep their balance on the uneven rocks that poked into his leather soles of his moccasins. Pain. This was his first experience with suffering. It was the only pain he had felt in his life and therefore the worst - he hobbled down rock after rock attempting to find the smoothest stones in his path to avoid it. His progress was slow as he made delicate, uneasy movements. The mountain was difficult enough for seasoned climbers, but for somebody so fresh on their feet it was intolerably strenuous.
He hadn’t taken into consideration nightfall. Free from human form he could feel the world around him through the way air moved about, through sounds and motion and had little need of light. That was not the case for this mortal shell, he quickly discovered, as the sun sank beyond the horizon. He sought refuge from the cold and the winds beneath a young fir tree with thick foliage and sank into a restless sleep as his body grew drowsy, haunted by the sounds of animals in the distance. Fear. Cold. Fatigue. The suffering he experienced from the rocks was nothing in comparison to this.
As the sun rose the next morning he experienced another new form of torture that all mortal creatures face; hunger. He had no idea what humans were even supposed to eat. He knew he must kill in order to live, but had no idea how to hunt or craft weapons to assist in that. With heavy legs and a painful emptiness within his roaring stomach he continued down the mountain. The majority of life on the mountain was inedible, but still Hawelon collected every type of leaf and flower, moss and grass and tried each one. The experience of taste was entirely new to him, a novel instinct engrained in creatures that told them what was nutritious and what was not. Consuming all manner of different things brought him joy that he did not expect. He soon learned which plants were edible and began to horde them in his satchel as he went.
Soon the clattering rocks beneath his feet gave way to grasses and the trees increased in density as he reached the edge of the forest. There was a different kind of darkness here; the shaded boughs shifting softly as the breeze kept them swaying. There was a lot more food here, and a little stream that he supped from and soothed his feet. He found the water to be refreshing, but trying to keep it in his bag as he had with the food proved an impossible challenge. It was difficult to remain in one direction with the sun hidden from view and the forest spanning seemingly forever into a maze that all looked the same and yet different at the same time. He spent the night in the forest largely awake, hearing calling birds and howling canids. This time the suffering was more familiar.
He managed to escape the woodlands into a span of rolling hills spattered with long grasses and different trees, some of which bore fruit that dangled seductively for him. He laden his bag with them as he went, steadily making his way across the landscape. In the distance he saw a structure, a small farmhouse and barn, outlined with wooden fences that had been toppled and broken in places. Something was wrong - covering every inch of the building, every scrap of ground, every bush and tree and hedgerow was a burning darkness akin to a mist that lapped and flicked like fire.
At sight of it he ran towards the building, fearing there may be somebody still inside. He reached the edge of the flames and stopped, examining what he saw there. They seemed to span for miles, licking at everything they touched. There was no smoke, no heat, and drew the light into them as if they were comprised of shadow. As they shifted they bore glimpses of what lay beneath. Incarnate sin, these desecrated flames of humanity charred and incinerated human flesh but left all else untouched. He saw from where he stood the remains of a few that had tried to escape their wrath. The grass beneath their withered figures was still lush and green, but the shadowed flames obscured all else.
Hawelon pictured life here. Raising animals and growing crops, friends and family, births and deaths and the times inbetween. His mind then shifted to the eruption of these flames and the fear that they must have been experiencing and the bitterness and sorrow that they must have felt at the loss of their loved ones to this unspeakable, unexplainable horror. This was his first experience with loss. The idea of mortality sunk into him like a stone in water, hitting the bottom of his heart with a weighty realisation that he was now subject to it.
There was nothing left for him here, so he followed the edge of the flames towards the rest of the little town. Along the way were the remains of charred corpses littered among the gloomy fires. Dessicated bodies with blackened flesh lay strewn in all positions, some still holding each other close as they’d been backed into corners, some huddled away wherever they could hide, but more out in the open as they’d ran with futility from this mysterious death that burned from within. The bodies of children still clung to their toys and dolls, some held tight in the arms of their parents now for perpetuity.
Their animals were still relatively tame, some casually traipsing through the village as if the flames didn’t exist to them. A scraggly old dog passed by a few houses consumed with flame and stopped to look up at Hawelon before continuing on its way. Not a single one of the homes and buildings offered him shelter, the fires claiming them preventing his access. Even the temple had been taken, its sanctity granting little protection from the burning sin that had consumed them all. He rested outside the village away from the fires among a little grove that was painted with wildflowers of blues and violets, whites and pinks. He watched the stars twinkling in the sky and shut his eyes.
The following morning he walked along the edge of the fire that spanned a road, attempting to follow it towards another settlement. All day he walked beneath a steel grey sky laden with clouds, his feet burning, his muscles screaming as he pressed onwards. Even between the towns the fire spread along paths used by the humans to transport people and goods. Nowhere that humans had operated was safe, everything they had touched burned with this dusty blaze. He followed flames adjacent to the path, leering at signs in the darkness that pointed the way.
He felt something new hit his face. Water from the sky began falling drop by drop until a heavy torrent poured from the heavens. His clothes grew saturated and heavy and that damp cold bit at his bones. This discomfort was a new experience, but a welcomingly mild form of suffering compared to what he’d seen. He had no choice but to press on, holding the feather aloft above his head to try to stay as dry as he could.
Finally, on the misty horizon the silhouette of a city drew into view. It had large stone walls with turrets and towers, which to Hawelon was a wonder of construction. He knew the sad reason why the defences were necessary but imagined that for those inside they must be quite reassuring. The fires still clung to every stone, every thatched roof, flickering away and consuming the light as if the city were in a perpetual twilight. Along the road exiting the city was a long row of charred corpses; soldiers still in their uniforms, homeless refugees burdened with boxes and bundles containing their valuables, a displaced population with nowhere to go and nobody to turn to. He imagined himself among the vagrants, panicked and fearful of what was to come, swept away by crowds of people focused on their own survival as the comforting stability of society crumbled around them.
He spent the next few days walking, surviving as best he could, drifting between empty towns and cities in search of humans that had yet to be destroyed by these flames. Everywhere he went he encountered death without destruction that killed without discrimination. Reaching further and further into the lands inhabited by the humans he realised the extent of what he was dealing with as the horizon writhed with pulsating darkness as far as he could see. It covered everything like a vast blanket to extinguish the fires of humanity. Fear crept in as he wondered if this was all for nothing.
Hawelon was travelling through a stretch of woodland in search of forage when he came upon a middle-aged man doing the same. He was dressed in filth-covered clothing with a ripped coif atop his head and sported a bushy beard. To say he was excited to see somebody living was an understatement, but he knew humans could be dangerous. Nonetheless he tried his luck greeting the man.
“Lo!” Hawleon waved over to him. He raised himself to full hight out of the bushes he was picking from and scowled right at him.
“Who’re you? What d’ya want?” The man cautiously reached his arm over his body, resting his hand on the pommel of a knife.
“Ah – friend. I just want directions to the nearest city.” He didn’t have any way of defending himself against a weapon. The man took a second, staring Hawelon up and down.
“You don’t look like y’want directions. You look like y’want a belly full of steel.” He barked at Hawelon. He wasn’t expecting hostility like this and was petrified to the spot as he ran through his options in his head.
“What’s with the getup?” He continued, still eyeing the colourful robes. “You a priest or summat?”
“I was.” He answered. He tugged at his robes as he stared down at their beautiful colours and shimmering brocade. He was lying without even thinking about it. It was his first time deceiving somebody and he felt a rush of excitement as the man believed him, but it was twinged with guilt at what he had done.
“An’ the fires took ‘em all. Sinners, all of ‘em.” He relaxed his posture. “…Bad luck to kill a priest. You might wanna get a change of clothes when you can.”
“Thank you for not … you know. Do you know where I might find people?”
“What d’ya want to find people for? Bunch of swivin’ shites if you ask me. Fires take us all.” He had a bitter look about his face.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t quite…”
“They’re either zealots or heathens now; there’s no inbetween. Some say the Gods abandoned us, some say we abandoned them.”
“And what do you think?” Hawelon asked.
“Doesn’t make no difference t’me. Th’ flames come to cleanse us all. Bit late to be asking forgiveness now.” He was right. No amount of prayer, repentance, or sacrifice would stop the fires now. Hawlon wanted to reassure the man that there was still hope, that the feather he carried would bring peace to these lands once again, but he knew it best to simply move on.
“So it is. Nevertheless, I must find a city.”
The man gave a subtle nod. “The road’s gone now. You’ll have to go around the flames, but go north-west for about three hours.” He pointed off into the distance. Hawelon gave his thanks and moved on, eyeing behind him in case the man changed his mind about using that knife.
Eventually he came upon the city in question. An imposing fortress sat atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the city and tall stone walls surrounded it, a second set surrounding the city with little farms dotted around the landscape on the outside. In the distance the fires still burned, each day growing closer and closer. He was stopped by two guards at the entrance to the city, but taking him for a priest he was allowed to pass. He’d always understood cities to be the grandest form of human society, peaceful, safe, with all walks of life working collectively to further humanity. What he saw couldn’t have been further from that.
The main road through the city was barely paved – muddy tracks had been covered with a few wooden planks and sewage lay out in the open close to people hawking their questionably fresh foods, livestock roamed around in the streets with tattered, homeless dogs begging for scraps. The emaciated bodies of refugees that had managed to escape the fires only to die to starvation or sickness lay scattered among the detritus, baking in the sun next to still-living friends and relatives. In the market square sinners had been hung in metal cages to die from hunger or dehydration, their remaining existence a mockery of their humanity and a warning to others. Inquisitors from the temple stalked the streets, watching for signs of anything that may anger the Gods further. Hawelon witnessed a man being assisted into a bronze bull by two inquisitors, surrounded by a tired-looking crowd. He could tell by their indifference that they’d seen this happen before. Beneath the bull they lit a fire and listed off the man’s many sins, some of which Hawelon knew weren’t interpreted by the Gods as such. As the metal heated the man inside was burned and his screams echoed and rumbled inside the bull, emitting a hollow scream that reverberated around the square.
Everywhere he walked, he got stares due to his gaudy clothing. Those suffering coveted the wealth he displayed openly, jealous, angered by the way he flaunted it around. He stood out from the subtle earthy colours sported by the impoverished masses that shuffled about their business. He made his way to the temple and strode inside to a scene of people lined up in rows, some barely alive, some alive no longer. They coughed and spluttered and groaned while robed priests rushed back and forth looking after them all. The sudden influx of refugees had brought with them disease as well as starvation, crime, and calamity. The tangible suffering on display pained him and he wished there were more that could be done. He stared through the rows of people and examined the wincing faces of each one but finding somebody pure was an impossible task.
He continued about the streets and eyed everybody, losing hope that he’d be able to find one person among the crowds that would be worthy of accepting the feather. The stench of the foul city air singed his nostrils and burned at his eyes and the smoke of their chimneys and pyres choked the sky with a black haze. He saw in the concentrated mass of humanity the very things that the Gods had seen – these creatures were not curators of this world, not protectors of it, but parasites. Fearful, vengeful, greedy creatures that sucked the life out of the world to further their own goals.
He’d seen enough of this grey prison. There was nobody here that still had a light within them pure enough to save them, so he continued on his way through the other side of the city and emerged onto a refugee camp for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t live rough within the safety of the walls. For miles makeshift, ramshackle tents constructed of tattered fabric that offered little protection against the elements sprawled out like an unstoppable cancer and more and more people flooded into the few remaining safe places. Sad, weary faces peered up at him as he walked by, some asking for food or alms, others weeping softly into their hands at the futility of living. Inquisitors dragged a few people away from their wailing wives and crying children, with nobody and nothing standing in their way.
By the time he reached the other side of the camp he saw a few unsupervised children playing. With everything happening around them, with no prospect but a horrible death, they were actually playing games. They must have known about the fires, they must have known that there was no hope for them, and yet they still retained their innocence. There was one young girl in a tattered dress without shoes, her feet filthy and caked with mud. She was digging a hole in the mud by hand and dropping in a few seeds, patting the dirt down and moving on to dig another hole a little further along.
Hawelon couldn’t help but watch. It was so different than what he’d seen inside the walls, the pain and misery, the hopelessness and weariness. He walked behind her and took a better look, but she turned her head and stared up at him with a grin.
“What are you doing, little girl?”
“I’m planting trees!” she giggled.
“You know they’ll take a long time to come up, right? It’ll be years before you get any fruit.” He didn’t want to tread all over that innocence, but he had to say something.
“I know, but when I do, I can share it with everybody, and then people won’t be hungry anymore.” Her words hit him deep. With all the anger and fear, she still wanted the best for everyone. The tone in her voice, the bright sparkle in her eyes, it was different than everybody else.
“Your clothes are funny, mister.” She added, still smiling. He hadn’t realised that he was staring. “Are you an angel? My mummy said an angel was going to take her away, and then one day they did. Are you going to take me away?”
A gentle breeze swayed the tall grass, making it glint and sparkle like ripples in water. This was it. This was her. He had no doubt about it. She was so young, so fragile, but that innocence gave her purity. He put a finger to his mouth in a shushing motion. He wasn’t an angel, but elementals were close enough. It wouldn’t be an outright lie.
“She told me to give you this.” Hawelon knelt down and rummaged in his satchel to pick out the feather and held it out for her. Everything in his gut told him that she was the right one, that if anyone still had a pure fire within them that it would be her.
“That’s for me? It looks like your dress.” He couldn’t help but smile. She held both her hands out and took the feather into them, staring down at it before looking back up at him. “Thank you mister.”
She held it close to her chest and closed her eyes, fully believing what she had been told. For a moment nothing happened and Hawelon worried that something was going wrong. Abruptly she burst into a bright prismatic light that shifted and fluttered like a rainbow aurora. The vivid colours fluttered closer and closer together until they merged into a brilliant white light. The feather had vanished, sublimated into nothingness. The light she emanated made her form like a silhouette, completely shadowed by this illumination that radiated from her body. There was nothing Hawelon could do now, everything was set into motion. As if falling slowly upwards, she raised into the air slightly, unable to control this new motion, and the light swelled brighter and brighter until a bright flash flared from her in spurts uncontrollably. Her limbs began to twitch and her head rolled back until an explosion of light covered all.
Hawelon had no idea what had happened, but he was back in his original form, nothing now but shifting winds. He hurried across the landscape feeling for where he had been, feeling for the flames, for those dark tendrils of manifested sin.
Nothing. The fires had gone. Hawelon had to find the girl, the one who was pure enough to save them all, who’s fire burned brighter than all the sin in the world. He would never find her, but she lived on in the hearts of all those who survived.