Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 25.2: The hallowed relics

"It is known that there are many gods. The Mother has many, many children, and they each rule over different seasons of life, different gifts of nature. Some of them are always in our minds, but some of them are forgotten, lost to time. The Gods of yore."

"Old gods sleep until they are called upon. Until they are woken. It takes a great feat to wake an old God, to call upon their presence and make them open their eyes. There are many stories of those who have tried, but very little is said of those who have succeeded."

"One such story is of Istregerd of Wies, an man from a time before the Great Five," Zella continued, flames dancing in her black eyes. "The story varies depending on who tells it, and there is nary a complete version nor an end. But all stories start the same, with Istregerd being a poor fisherman who often sailed out on a tiny boat, hoping to catch enough fish to eat and sell at the market, rarely earning more than a few coins."

"On one such day, when he was out at the sea, Istregerd was hit by a mighty storm. The wrathful storm sent the tiny boat careening against the rocks, smashing it into pieces. It should have killed Istregerd. It should have drowned him. But he survived. His body, on a piece of driftwood, miraculously drifted. Perhaps for days, until Istregerd awoke just miles away from the shore of an unknown island."

"Istregerd swam until he reached the island, glad to be safe from the sea. Though when he arrived, he realised there was something strange about this place," Zella continued, all attention raptly on her.

"By all accounts, Istregerd was a poor man who had no true education. He knew not how to read, nor how to write. But Istregerd was a fisherman by trade and knew how to navigate. He was certain that no matter how terrible the storm had been, it was very unlikely he'd sailed so far. This island was not one he was familiar with. He'd never seen it on his usual fishing route. He would have remembered because it was a place like no other."

"The island he arrived on was a fantastical place, unlike anything he had ever dreamed of seeing. Hills of emerald, rivers of the freshest, most crystalline water. The sweetest, juiciest fruits his mouth had ever tasted. It was like the eternal summer we are promised after death. But it was not heaven, for even in all its fantastical wonder, Istregerd could tell there was something strange about this island. It had an unpleasant and eerie sense of distortion."

"Istregerd knew there was something wrong about the isle, and the longer he stayed there, the longer it became apparent. At night, the thickest mist would fall upon the Island, strange voices coming from its depths. Istregerd would take refuge high on the cliffs of the isle, for he understood that whatever lurked in the mists was not benevolent. But that was not all. The fruits he so loved would turn rotten at nightfall, their once juicy insides now filled with blood. The rivers would run dark, and from their depths, strange visions could be seen. Even the landscapes of the isle would shift at whim. One day, the apple orchard would be south, the next, they would be east. Everything that was once so wonderful would become a twisted version of itself once the sun went down."

"One such night, when the mist covered the isle, the trees groaned and the wind cackled, Istregerd found himself looking for refuge deep in the caves of the mountains. But rather than safety, what he found here was the eye of the storm. The root of all chaos."

"Now, I should pause and explain the lore of the Gods," Zella said, and they all leaned forward in their seats, rapt attention on her every move. "It is said that when the Mother created our world, she did so simply with her touch. The green hills of Cereas were green that burst forth as soon as she set foot on the land. The craggy cliffsides of Gerrathea were fits of her anger, rippling the land until rocks had piled high. The seas and rivers were her fresh tears. The flowers and trees were peals of her laugh, and the snow her despair. Everything she touched turned into the world we know today."