Nivenmage

The Boy and the Moutnain

Argenen woke up. The last memory of Nivenmage Tyril burned in his brain; the fiery pit, the man in chains, the curse. He looked up to see that Serylor's back was turned, he was looking at the statue of Fie.

"Why so proud Fie?" Serylor was saying. "You have no more power here."

"It's you." Argenen uttered.

Serylor spun around. "How?" He asked in bewilderment.

"This power I have never belonged to Tyril." Argenen said. "It was your power, put there to keep bringing her back. You're the only one with the power over the omnisphere after all."

"Oh..." Serylor said as the realization dawned on him. "You took her curse."

"Yes I did." Then Argenen smiled. "They're waiting for you; the other gods. You left them down there."

"So she told you." Serylor said.

As he spoke Argenen began to invoke the power he had always been too afraid to touch. He grasped all of it, every ounce of his being, and held it ready. It swelled up inside him. Already he could feel himself falling into the Fabric. It was stronger than ever before. The smooth walls were shimmering, but Serylor was staring at Argenen and didn't notice.

Argenen knew he wouldn't come back this time. He would cut the power off at its source. He stared back at Serylor in defiance, clenching his hands as he felt the power grow.

"Lets go visit them." He said.

Then Serylor finally saw the walls shimmer. He looked back at Argenen in shock. "No!" He shouted, but it was done. The void in Argenen had passed the point of no return. The walls cracked, the bridge broke in two, it felt like the very sky was coming down. Argenen didn't hold back this time, he let himself fall. Light swelled over him and then it was gone.

He opened his eyes to a familiar scene. The waterfall in Tiraen. The sound of the water washed away the weight on his heart. Light lanced through the leaves onto a bed of moss and flowers. He was resting against a root of a giant tree, feeling more at ease than ever before.

To his left, a tall man with regal features and smooth, beautiful wings sat with his face in his hands, sobbing. Serylor. He looked so different; young. It was as if he had only just stepped out of the water at the divine pool. Argenen felt sorry for him. He had been scorned at birth, denied the right to live, and ultimately driven to become precisely what they had feared he would.

"It's not fair." Argenen said aloud.

"I know." Came a voice from behind him. He spun around to see Nevenym standing there. With her were the glorious figures of Daghian, Fereanor and Valeph. The wise, the mighty, the passionate, and the kind. All that was missing was Seryth, the embodiment of everything they were not, the god of everything that was not life, of the Omnisphere.

"It was our fault." Said Nevenym. "We were so concerned with the powers of life and passion that we neglected the need for quiet and peace. The omnisphere was meant to be a place of rest, and for that Seryth asked that his son be an angel to carry the lost ones across. We refused. We thought that power was too much. We were wrong."

She then walked over to the huddled form of Serylor. "Rise, young one, it is over."

"I can't do it. I'm weak." Serylor whimpered. "I killed so many. I..."

"Hush. There is so much pain out there, Serylor, you were never meant to live there. But, here, there is quiet, this is your home. Perhaps you can right the wrongs we have caused."

"I can't, I have no power down here."

"You have all the power. Look at you, you're young, and finally where you belong. You may not be able to send us back, but there will be many lost souls that arrive in your realm, you have to lead them into peace. Please, be the angel your father wanted you to be."

Serylor went quiet.

"What about them, out there?" Argenen asked.

"They will survive without us, but it will be hard. There will be more strife, more sad stories, but they will grow and eventually they will come back to us." Nevea looked sadly at Argenen. "I'm sorry, Argenen, I have no power to send you back."

"I know."

Slowly, Serylor stood up and went to the water. He stood there and looked at the falls in wonder. A new expression came to his face, without anger or pride. It was contentment.

"Can I ask you something?" Argenen asked, and Nevea looked at him and nodded. "What happened to Tyril?"

"She's here, but never before has a darker soul crossed this border. So much guilt. It has driven her mad."

Argenen breathed in the crisp air. He thought of all the people he had known, how they had fought so desperately, never even knowing why they were fighting. He thought of all the people who had helped them. He thought of everyone still to come: students in Nevean schools learning about a world they don't understand, warriors in the desert with enchanting songs but no more battles to sing about, people in the jungle who still long to be reunited with their brethren. Finally he thought of Tyril, who gave him her curse and then died of guilt. There was so much that still needed to be done.

"Well," he said, "I'd like to help if I can."