Flight-Prologue

This is my first post, so sorry for any errors...By the way, my book is separated into prologue and part 1 and so on by parts of the day. First we have Dawnsbreak, then Morningtide...you get it.

DAWNSBREAK

The moon was half full. It was a glistening, shimmering orb of pearly substances, swirling dazedly around the Earth in its serene manner. On and on it would go forever…if only peace could last as long.

Lady Eylŏn of the Mist stood on her balcony overlooking the Castle Awynå, the palace of quiet, the mansion in between the two dimensions of Gondwåna and Laurasiå. Down, Eylŏn looked, seeing nothing but the churning, twisting, white Waters of Eternity, a river so large it could only belong here, in the un-dimension of all dimensions, in the place of peace. It’s waters boiled and seethed in an ivory torrent of wishes and hates until it reached the cliff and spewed down, down, down forever…never to return again, the hopes and dreams fusing together and then disappearing.

Eylŏn threw her wish in there to, pulling the gossamer white thread from her mouth and flung it at the river, and saw it be dashed away quickly over the edge. She clutched the marble banister with pallid hands that turned her knuckles a colourless shade. Her hair, a waterfall of silver tickled her knees and shone silkily in the moonlight. Eylŏn shivered as a cold gust blew and twisted around her slim form and drew her emerald cloak around her.

“Come inside, irmâ.”

Frére Larwyn had come outside. He beckoned to Lady Eylŏn, gesturing that she should come in.

“No, frére, but I must wait for fate. I cannot protect the people if I cannot stop danger.” She said.

“But irmâ, you will weaken in the cold. And then you will not be able to protect your people. You are already ill as it is. Please, Lady Eylŏn, come inside and rest.”

With a heavy heart Eylŏn followed Larwyn in to the palace. Where they entered, the floor was polished and plain white quartz. It was empty and flat, the smooth surface broken only by milky pillars. Eylŏn’s satin slippers tapped on the glossy floor as she slid towards her bedchamber. She had absolutely no intention of sleeping, however.

She bowed her head to frère Larwyn and crossed the threshold in to her room. Larwyn touched two fingers to his forehead and then to his monk’s robe in farewell.

She sat down on her window seat and looked out upon the Waters of Eternity again, this time in a sea of fantasies and desires. She rested her weary head against the cool stone window frame. She was so tired, so frail. She had been ill ever since Aidæth had risen to the throne of Despir, feeble as a grandmother in old, old age. She must put up a barrier around the dimensions, both of them. But she was so fatigued…

Eylŏn forced herself to sit up. With her eyes closed in painful concentration, she put every drop of her energy into a barrier…a wall…a divider…a screen…a bubble of pure light extended from the castle…the force was zapping her of all her power…hurry, cover them from danger…now red-hot anvils were pounding at her temples, willing her drained body to collapse, but both dimensions were not completely covered yet…and still the scorching arrows flew at her, slicing her in agony.

Lady Eylŏn of the Mist slumped, unconscious and depleted.

ΦΠΩ

“Go, and attack everyone and anything in your way. You know what I want, and what the reward is. Go!” A shadowed figure rasped from a black palanquin suspended in the midnight air by four flying lizards. The chilling words echoed in the still.

With a roar a hundred demons launched themselves at the castle of Awynå, flailing battle-axes and talons. Spiked rhinoceroses, scaly elephants, two headed reptiles spewing fire, and other beastly warriors snarled and growled with anticipation for a great feast.

The fiend in the palanquin observed maliciously as her barbarians attacked the palace mercilessly, hearing the cries and shouts of the foolish guardsmen robed in white cloth. She cackled and cracked her knuckles and said: “Dunces! Their garbs will soon be stained scarlet with their very own blood, a living sacrifice to me!” She stood and commanded “Bring me to earth. I want to parley with my dear sister.”

The lizards bore her down to the ground, folding their plated wings and bowing their heads. The figure stood and gestured to two tashidons to accompany her. She flew darkly to the top of the castle and slid through the glass of the window.

ΦΠΩ

Eylŏn awoke to screams and moans. She stood up, clutching the ebony border of the window, dread and terror reflected in her beautiful, melancholy eyes. She turned so quickly her moon-bright hair whipped back around her and lashed her face. Her face froze in timeworn apprehension.

“So you have come.” She whispered at her sister who slipped through the east jalousie.

Aidæth smirked at Eylŏn. She was the Raven of the Dark, Mistress of Destruction, Lady Madnight, the Dark Angel. She held herself with the imperiousness of a magistrate declaring war over the enemy or a queen ordering the beheading of a criminal. Her soft, black cloak touched the ground and her jet hair was pulled into a sharp headress adorned with the Seven Jewels of the Night, as terrible and beautiful as their dame. She streched out a hand and shot a clear blue spasm of lighting from her palm and ensnared Eylon.

“You will be coming with me tonight, dear irmâ. I can’t afford to have you try ticks like that feeble barrier you tried tonight. It will snap just as I will snap you in half as soon as I finish with you.” She hissed, her black tounge flickering like her reptile devils. She closed her fist and Eylŏn’s thin throat was squeezed into a wire. She was imortal, but all the same, it caused as much pain as it would to a mortal.

“You will never win, devil.” She gasped “Our sister will come soon. She will be the sixth daughter after Zå’nibar. You know what she will do and that nothing can stop Fate.”

Aidæth snickered. She pulled Eylŏn into the grasp of one of the tashidons, who caught the frail woman in his huge hairy hooves.

“As if the girl could stop me! Larwyn, search the place. Bring as many survivors as you can. I want to have some fun later.” She ordered to the figure in the corner.

“No!” cried Eylŏn “Larwyn, my freré!”

Larwyn leered at her. “Your to trustful, irmâ.”

And with that Aidæth and her hell-beasts flew into the cloak of velvet that veiled the sky, with Eylŏn, the fourtborn of Fate, as captive.

There was no hope for the stragglers in chains that were forced to follow.

None but Fate’s last daughter.

The names here are hard to pronounce. "Larwyn" is said Lar-win. "Aidæth" is said "Ai!" like you're suprised and then "death." Awynå is said AW-ee-na. Oh, how I love complicated names.