Prelude: The Landing

Somewhere Above the Bruhàn Bernaii Woods
28 Fyrva, 4 Ur

As he was swept along the faint trail high above the ground, Y'kàndrà felt like he was going to vomit.

This is why only beings with wings should fly, he thought, as even the stars above appeared blurry, but there was no choice if I wanted to reach my destination quickly.

Although 'flying' was really the wrong term, it was the closest description he could find to describe being carried by Element Air, tethered to a path created by another being with Aevyen attunement. Or, how he would have explained to his students, "a trail of condensed air that drags you along like a rope".

"Until the rope runs out, anyway,” he muttered.

 In one hand he held his brand, and in the other, he still clutched the blue-tinged feather bestowed on him by that other being - She of the Few, the Aevyormi Queen.

Or 'Naun' as she wanted to be called, he remembered, has it really been less than a day since She nearly died?

Apart from the clothes he wore, his brand and Her feather were the only possessions he carried, a result of necessity rather than forward planning. As he passed over the Shànver Woods towards the Bruhaii Aunàn, home of the Ravens, he noticed that Naun's trail was becoming fainter.

Once he floated beyond the mountains near the Oasis of Tarran, it began to rain, and each drop felt like an icicle blast to his face.

You can never plan for the weather, it had better be warmer now I'm further South, he despaired, grateful that the Wind at least was preventing him from being drenched, though the cold tore through his thin robes with ease.  

With Naun's wind-path rapidly dissipating, Y'kàndrà knew he would soon have to take action. He was grateful that its disappearance held something positive for both him and the Aevyormii.

We are both nearly at our relative destinations, he thought with relief.

He brought to mind the landing incantation he required, while his head pounded from an Ur or two of the Wind whistling around his ears. The spell wasn't complicated, but remaining focused would be essential to not injuring himself in the process.

"There's Béjaiber'ghas," he mumbled, referring to the sprawling multicultural city that stood against Zykyrn Pilkarrz, which was an almost pitch-black fort surrounded by a high wall on the three sides not already protected by mountains.

"They only stand against it in terms of geography," he complained, "they refuse to see reality."

Shaking his head to attempt to forget that unwelcome distraction, he readied himself for the descent. As Her trail had almost dissipated, his altitude had already dropped considerably, which altered the distances he had to correctly judge. Espying a pocket of land between Béjaiber'ghas and Rockfall Cliffs, he stretched out his brand.

"Y-Erdàjai!"

As he began to plummet, keeping his eyes open proved a strain.

Just a few moments more to find a focus, he willed himself.

Spotting a lone tree, of which kind he could not make out, he closed his eyes and concentrated on its location.

"Y-Bernàn-erd, Aeyv-ajai!"

Okay, that was harder to pronounce, but who in their right mind commands the Wind to work against them? he thought with a chuckle, I guess I'm not in my right mind. I shouldn't be surprised after the last few days.

At that command, it did so, slowing him and drawing him to the tree in question. Once he felt he could open his eyes once more, he quickly stowed his brand inside his robe and reached out to an oncoming branch, hoping that this Summer-flowering tree had sheltered itself from the rain. Y'kàndrà grasped it with what strength he had left, and promptly hit his head on a much larger branch above, wrenching his shoulder as his descent abruptly ended. Crying out in pain, he cursed the necessity of focus at the expense of everything else, and allowed himself to fall into a sitting position within the tree's foliage.

"Ugh, never again!" he vowed, massaging his now grazed forehead, grateful that he had never worn focus jewellery, "if I hadn't distracted myself at the last minute that would have been smoother."

It was then he realised how much his right hand was hurting, a consequence of grasping Naun's feather as though his life depended on it. Slowly allowing it to relax, he was relieved to see the plume had taken no damage through his flight or landing. He reached into his robe, retrieved his brand and secured the precious memento between its stone and stem.   "Well, here I am," he sighed, "and all I need is sleep."

The pattering of rain on the leaves above him was calming, but reminded him of how thirsty he was. Reaching up to one of the inward-curling leaves, he opened his mouth and allowed the wind-chilled rainwater to refresh and rejuvenate him, though it did nothing to relieve his fatigue.

"All I've been doing for the last two days is casting spells and shedding tears," he murmured, "if I were still teaching in the Academy I would be telling my Acolytes about the need to rest after spell-casting."

He cast a glance towards the imposing, black stone walls of Zykyrn Pilkarrz to the North and the welcoming gates of Béjaiber'ghas to the West. Bringing to mind the rough map of the Known Lands they had at the Academy, he remembered that Shevezz City was also not too many Urs walk away either.

It is a good reminder that black stone does not mean anything in and of itself, he pondered, massaging his sore shoulder.

"But I am not ready to use mental energy to interact with other people yet," he mused as he fixed his brand to his rope belt, as opposed to hiding it away, "I must, at least, be ready should anything happen.”

Gingerly standing on his branch, he reached up to the one that had moments earlier been the source of his woes and dragged his heavy body onto it. It was about as thick as he was wide.

"Let's hope I don't roll around in my sleep," he thought wearily, realising he no longer cared.  

Laying his head on a smoother piece of bark, he closed his eyes and soon drifted off. He had much work to do, but that could only start when he was ready.

And that would not be for some time.