Opener of Ways
"Goddess", Aten said, as his eyes closed again and he laid his head back. Hastily, Hathiel pulled herself clear of the Merging, her thoughts confused. She looked down again at Aten's face. He was still smiling slightly, his head resting upon the sand. Then, he stopped smiling and his eyes opened again.

"This is not a dream," Aten said, "and you are not a goddess. Who are you? Where am I?"

Hathiel remained silent as Aten sat up. The warrior winced, his hand moving to the back of his head where the mast of the ship had struck him. Then, he muttered to himself. "I remember now. There was a storm, and my ship was destroyed."

He looked at Hathiel again, his eyes piercing, and then he grinned at her. "And you, lovely lady, are somewhat of an enigma. Why are you here with me, on this beach the gods have forsaken?"

Again, Hathiel was silent, confused as the warmth of his grin washed over her, and the man nodded. "I know not who you are, lady, but I suppose you mean me no harm, or you could have slain me as I slept. Interesting as this conversation has been, however, I fear I must depart, for as you can see, I have lost most of my possessions and I am hungry."

Aten pushed himself to his feet, but giddiness from hunger and the blow to his head caused him to stagger. Closing his eyes, he swayed for a while, waiting for it to pass. Then, he started to inspect his belongings. All he had were his clothes and the dagger sheathed in his right boot. He surveyed the surroundings. The beach stretched off to the north and south, and in the west, beyond the beach, tall trees covered the ground in shadows. Aten strode towards the woods, then stopped as five warriors emerged from them. They approached slowly, deliberately. And they were all carrying drawn swords.

---

As Aten was waking up, Pas and the other four men in his search party had approached the beach. Upon seeing that Aten was indeed here, he had been jubilant, for he remembered well the lashes that had been delivered to his back by order of the general. 50 lashes he had endured, for nothing more than the offence of sneaking his whore into camp. The other men in his party had been similarly punished for various other offences, which was why they had been more than happy to take Hindustani gold in exchange for the death of the general.

Pas would have liked nothing more than to walk onto that beach and plunge his sword into Aten's foul heart, but he was wary, for it was common knowledge that the general was one of the greatest fighters in the Empire and, even unarmed, he was not to be taken lightly. The woman Pas dismissed, but the general he feared. He wished to kill Aten and claim the gold, but he had no desire to risk death attempting it, and so he signalled for silence and crouched among the trees with his men, observing.

They watched as Aten sat up and spoke with the unknown woman. Senji cleared his throat and whispered to Pas. "He has no sword, Pas. Let's take him." But Pas gestured sharply for silence. Senji sneered but subsided. Pas observed as Aten stood and staggered, and a slow smile spread over his face. The general was obviously weakened from fighting the storm. He stood and turned. "The Hawk is injured. Let's take him, but be careful."

Pas and his men rose from their hiding place, drew their swords, and strode towards the Hawk General.

---

Hathiel watched as the five warriors approached. Obviously, they planned to kill Aten. Perhaps this was how Aten would die. It was later than had been decreed in the Book of Fates - and this was unheard of - but she could investigate that with her sisters later. Her duty now was to wait for Aten's soul to be freed from his body, then return it to the Source. As these thoughts went through Hathiel's head, Aten spoke as if oblivious to the threat of the swords in the hands of the warriors facing him. "I recognise you. You are soldiers of the Empire and you have served with me before. You will give me your supplies and a mount, if you have one."

The leader smiled without mirth. "I'm afraid not, general. Today, we will repay you for the pain that you have caused all of us, and we will repay in ki-"

Impatiently, Aten interrupted, "Yes, yes. I am sure that listening to you whine about how I wronged you will be as painful to me as the lashes I ordered laid on your back were to you. But you do not understand. I do not have the time. I am tired and hungry. I do not have the energy for this nonsense. This is not a negotiation. Give me what I asked for or die. Decide."

Pas' face hardened and he said nothing. Aten closed his eyes and drew a long breath, standing very still. When he opened his eyes again, all traces of weariness had vanished from him. He drew his dagger and flicked it in a high, slow arc towards Pas. Instinctively, the soldier's eyes followed the spinning blade as it fell towards him. Pas began to step to his right to avoid the falling blade. He never completed that step.

Hathiel blinked as Aten exploded into action. Almost faster than the eye could follow, he took two quick steps and hurled himself towards Pas. His left arm blurred out, slamming the heel of his palm into Pas' nose, driving the bone into his brain. The others had barely begun to tense in reaction when Aten's right hand flashed out, plucking the dagger out of the air and slashing open the throat of the man on his right.

Aten ducked under a neck cut from his left, then leapt into the air, spun, and hammered a booted heel into his assailant's face. As he landed in perfect balance, he hurled his dagger into the eye of the warrior furthest to the left. Aten spun to confront the remaining soldier, but he had turned to run. The general scooped up Pas' sword and hurled it like a javelin to stab into the fleeing man's back.

A groan sounded from behind Aten. He turned to see that the soldier he had kicked, Senji, was still alive. He strode towards the would-be assassin. "No! Don't kill me!" Senji cried.

"I'm too tired to do so, man," Aten replied, sinking to his haunches to stare at him. As the man started to weep in relief, Aten spoke again. "You can do it yourself."

"No! I won't do it!" Senji shouted.

"You will do it, for if I have to, by all the gods, I swear I will make it last for hours," Aten said.

They stared at each other. Senji obviously wished to attack, but lacked the courage. Finally, with a despairing cry, he rose to his knees and drove his sword into his own belly. For a while he remained motionless, then he fell over and started to writhe and scream in pain.

Aten strode over and casually flipped the soldier onto his back with his foot. "Gods, man, you appear to have disembowelled yourself. It looks as if your death will take an agonizingly long time, after all. However, as your screams are beginning to grate on my ears, I shall be kind and put you out of your misery."

The general gathered up the dying soldier's sword and stepped on his chest to hold him still. With one powerful blow, he hacked Senji's head from his shoulders.

Aten retrieved his dagger and wandered among the corpses of the soldiers, taking their swords and hefting them for balance. As he did so, Hathiel replayed the fight in her mind. She had never seen any man move so fast before, but it was more than just his speed that had been unusual. In the course of her immortal life, Hathiel had witnessed many scenes of violence. The action was usually brief and brutal, but unsure. Aten had been like a wolf among sheep, utterly confident and completely in control of the fight. His movements had been supremely graceful, like a dancer's, and yet blindingly sudden. By comparison, the assassins had appeared clumsy and inept. Hathiel knew that here was a true prince among warriors, perhaps the deadliest she had seen in centuries.

She watched as Aten wrenched Pas' sword from the body of the soldier who had tried to escape. The blade slashed through the night air in a series of bewildering arcs as Aten tested it. Apparently satisfied, he unbuckled the sheath from Pas' body and attached it to his own belt. Then, he turned to regard Hathiel quizzically.

"Well, you seem to be no stranger to death, lady."

Hathiel almost laughed aloud in spite of herself. If the man only knew . . .

Aten watched as a look of amusement flitted across the strange woman's face following his words. With her fair skin and white hair, she appeared fragile and ethereal. Perhaps that was why he had thought she was a goddess. Though her hair was white, it was not the listless white of the elderly. Instead, it seemed to glow with its own luminescence in the moonlight. Then, a deep voice spoke from the direction of the ocean.

"That was very well done, young Hawk." The woman gasped and Aten saw, for the first time, a look of alarm on her face. He spun to confront the owner of the voice. It was a man with ebony skin and short, tightly curled hair. He wore a gray shirt with a strange symbol embroidered in gold on its sleeves. And he was standing on the surface of the water.

Despite the blatant display of supernatural powers, Aten could sense no danger emanating from the strange figure. Yet the woman was afraid, and Aten reacted to that fear. His dagger flashed into his hand, and then into the air. "No!" Hathiel shouted, but the dagger was already hurtling towards the black man like a crossbow bolt.

Aten watched in disbelief as the dagger slowed, then stopped, floating in midair in front of the man's chest. "My, my, such insolence from a lower creature," the black man drawled as he stared into Aten's eyes.

The air was no different. The moonlight still illuminated the beach and Aten drew breath as he normally would, but, staring into the stranger's eyes, he suddenly felt . . . pressure. It was as if an invisible mountain had settled itself on the shoulders of his spirit. Aten tried to resist the immense pressure, but slowly, he sank onto his knees and his head bowed.

"That is much better. An appropriately respectful posture."

The pressure eased and Aten stood up. "Who are you?" The general asked.

"He is a demon! An accursed being who does not belong in this universe!" Hathiel hissed.

The black man raised an eyebrow. "You injure me, Hathiel, truly you do. I am absolutely crushed that you would label me so." He looked at Aten. "I assure you, general, I am not a demon. At least, I am of an order much higher than that of the mindless, ravenous being that caused the storm which sank your ship."

The demon gestured at Hathiel. "The appellation of 'demon' applied on one such as myself is nothing but a falsehood the gods use to mislead their servants.

"However, my nature is immaterial for now. You may address me as the Upuatu, Opener of Ways. Now, listen carefully, Aten, for your time is short. The storm that sank your ship was caused by the demon Zu. Zu was sent by a practitioner of the dark arts. Both the wizard and the soldiers who just attacked you were in the employ of the Hindustani Lord Girish. As you know, the Tiger General has been killed and the army he led into Hindustan was crushed. The Blood Buddha now marches upon your Empire with an army numbering more than 150,000. Your mentor, Tannin, has been murdered in his own house in a bid to provoke you to rage, for Girish feels that you are the only one who poses a slight threat to his plans of conquest. Is he right? That depends on you, Hawk General. Will the Empire survive or fall? That, too, depends on you. Whatever you decide to do, I give you Hathiel to aid you as best she can. Choose well, young Hawk."

The Upuatu turned to Hathiel. "Stay with this man," he said in a strange voice that seemed to be a whisper, yet reverberated in Aten's ears like thunder. Hathiel gasped and twisted as if trying to escape from some unseen grip. The air around her writhed as she struggled, then settled as she wilted and fell to her knees. "You are now bound to this shell of flesh, my dear Spirit of Air, until I choose to release you. If you wish that to happen, you must assist Aten in whatever task he chooses to undertake."

Upuatu held out his hands, palms facing the sky. "Come, Astarel, and lead these souls back to the Source."

A Spirit of Air appeared before the Upuatu, glowing and insubstantial. She floated towards the slain men, and for a moment, Aten could see their souls rising. Then, they all vanished. Aten looked back towards the Upuatu, but he was gone too, and the general noticed that his dagger was once again sheathed in his boot.

Aten strode towards the kneeling Hathiel. "Are you all right, lady?"

She appeared like a statue, totally immobile and staring vacantly into the air in front of her. The air shimmered around her again, slightly at first, but then ever more violently, until Aten was forced to step away as he felt tremendous waves of pure force blasting at his spirit. To stay there was to have his sanity blown away. Beads of perpiration appeared on her face and abruptly, the air settled. Hathiel let out an explosive breath of air, and fell to her side.

Aten leapt forward and caught her, lowering her gently to the ground. "I can't . . . break free." Hathiel whispered. Aten sat beside her, staring out to sea.

"Who or what was that . . . Upuatu?" The general asked.

For a moment there was silence. Then, Hathiel replied. "He is a legend, a myth, even to my sisters and I. We did not think He still existed, even though those of us who are eldest, those to whom the gods sometimes speak, know that the gods themselves told us of Him. Some say that He is more powerful than the gods themselves, though the gods deny it. They insist that He hides from them, fearing their power, and yet there is fear in their own eyes when they speak of Him.

"No god knows His purposes or His true identity, or if they know, none of them has chosen to tell us. When questioned about His origins, some gods say that He is a renegade who originated from their own realm. Others speak in weasel words and say He is nothing but a cowardly demon. The Book of Fates mention Him not at all. A goddess once told me that He is older than all of them, and that He was already here when they arrived in this universe. Some among us believe that the Creator Himself created the Upuatu before or just after He created the universe. Others believe the Upuatu is even older than the Creator.

"What all the legends agree on is that where He walks, chaos follows, and that He opposes the Book of Fates. I knew that He was powerful, but I did not expect His mastery of the Source to be so profound that He could make me human without destroying me. Above all, I did not know that Astarel had defected to His side. Is she alone? Or is there a cult among the Spirits of Air who secretly worship the Upuatu?"

For the first time since she spoke, Hathiel showed bitterness and raised her voice. "Inattentive gods! That they could allow this to happen! And now I cannot reach out to them. He has taken that power away from me too."

Aten considered her words, then spoke. "And I assume you were here because I was to die in the storm?"

Hathiel looked at him sharply, then shrugged and nodded.

The general nodded, and looked out at the sea once more, his eyes thoughtful. Then, he looked back at Hathiel and grinned. "Are you hungry?"

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  Blood Buddha
For a day Hathiel floated above the sole survivor of the storm, but he did not die. With his arms locked around what had been the mast of his ship, the man survived until he was washed onto the shore by the tide on the following night. Upon hitting land, the man awoke and scrambled further up the coast, out of reach of the waves, before wearily collapsing on the ground and falling asleep.

Once again, Hathiel marvelled at the man's spectacular talent for survival. However, Hathiel was also troubled, for it was written in the Book that the storm would kill all who had been on board the ship, and in all her millennia of existence, Hathiel had never known the Book to be wrong. She hovered closer and studied the man. He appeared young, in his early twenties, perhaps. He was of average height, and his frame was lean but powerful, with slim hips, long legs, and broad shoulders. Hathiel guessed that he would be athletic.

His face was neither handsome nor ugly, as she had noticed before, and his features were refined. The fierce tattoo on his face, however, belied his scholarly features, as did the power of his gaze that Hathiel recalled from before. His shirt, trousers and boots were all black, and by his side hung a lacquered black sheath for a short sword. The sword had been lost in the storm.

Hathiel reflected on all these things, but the appearance of a man told one little of the man himself, she knew. Furthermore, Hathiel had never been interested in humans and their history before now, so she did not know the significance of the tattoo, nor could she deduce anything from the man's clothing. For a while, Hathiel deliberated her next action. In the end, she decided that her duty called for a greater understanding of this man who had seemingly defied his fate.

Drawing upon the power of the Source, Hathiel shaped and changed the particles of air and earth. They swirled up from the ground and from the air, spiraling towards the center of her luminescent being. Brighter and brighter she glowed, and when the glow died away, Hathiel stood before the man as a slim, young mortal woman with ivory skin and white hair. She drew in her first breath and gave a low chuckle at the sensuous pleasure of it. The sand felt exquisite beneath her unclad feet. The moon appeared at once further away and yet more real. The stars twinkled. The wind from the sea carressed her slender frame and she enjoyed it at first, but then shivered and frowned. She was cold. Once again, she shaped the particles around her, but this time, into a white robe wrapped around herself.

Hathiel strode towards the man and sat on the sand beside him. Her hands stroked his face lightly, enjoying the warm sensation of skin on skin. Then, she placed her fingers on his temples, took a deep breath, and Merged . . .

---

Aten was his name, and he was dreaming. Hathiel/Aten was sitting at a campfire. A man with the head of a snarling tiger tattooed above his left brow sat with him. He was tall, a head taller than Aten, and massive. He radiated pure physical power, but to Hathiel, his eyes showed something more . . . a hunger, perhaps. A hunger for all things. A hunger that could never know satisfaction. A name came to Hathiel . . . Hugo. His eyes were cold, but he was smiling warmly at Aten.

"Be wary at the home of Girish, my young friend," Hugo advised. "He is the most ruthless warrior of our time, and is perhaps the best general besides us Guardians. His friends call him Buddha in jest now, because of his apparently perpetual good humour and his seeming compassion for the peasants, but this 'Buddha' has a blood-drenched past. His actions during the civil war 11 years ago have resulted in the deaths of countless numbers of his own countrymen and he put the current Rajah on the throne."

"But I have heard it said that he is a man of peace now, hence this request for a diplomatic convention." Aten argued.

Hugo's eyes narrowed, but his smile stayed in place. "That is the common perception, but examine the evidence, Aten. His own armies number perhaps 40 thousand. The combined armies of the rest of Hindustan number perhaps four times that. Have there been any wars in the area within the last 10 years? No. Why, then, is this 'man of peace' maintaining such a large army and urging the rest of his country to do likewise? Tataristan to the west poses no threat. What other enemies could there be for him to fight? Think on that, young Hawk!"

With that, the Tiger strode from the campfire back to his own tent, while Aten sat, staring at the stars, alone with his thoughts.

The dream shifted and blurred, then cleared. Aten was seated in a great hall, on one side of a long aisle. At the head of the aisle sat a powerfully-built dark-skinned man with a thick moustache and long, curly hair. He was richly dressed in the robes and jewellery of a Hindustani lord. It was a banquet, and they were feasting. The guests were some of the most powerful men from Hindustan and the Empire, as well as the land of the Tatars. There was even a fair-skinned ambassador from the far west. Performers came and went from the aisle. There were musicians and acrobats, magicians and sword-swallowers, dancers and firewalkers.

All in all, it was a magnificent and loud affair, the banquet, but Aten did not partake of the enjoyment. Instead, he spent his time covertly studying Lord Girish, the Blood Buddha, the man who was their host. In the days that they had been there, the Hawk General had observed much. He had observed that all the powerful men deferred to the Blood Buddha and spoke to him with the utmost respect. Even the normally arrogant Tiger General practically fawned on him.

The man himself raised Aten's hackles as no one had ever done before. This was strange, because Girish was unfailingly polite to everyone, including Aten. His movements were graceful with an unconscious arrogance, his stance at once poised yet relaxed. His gaze was strong and unwavering. Perhaps it was that Aten was a fighter of unparalleled skill in the Empire, and his instinct told him that here, at last, was a man who could just be a match for him and hence his warrior's soul longed to confront Girish blade to blade to see who was the better. Then again, perhaps it was just that the Tiger's words had registered within him deeper than he had supposed.

The dream shifted again.

The convention was over, and all the participants were preparing to take their leave of the Blood Buddha. Warm words and gifts had been exchanged, yet to Aten, it had seemed hollow, for no promises had been made, and no treaties of lasting peace signed. The Tiger and the Hawk met with Girish in his study. As the leader of the delegation from the Empire, Hugo spoke. "My Lord, the Emperor sends his gratitude for your gracious hospitality towards his servants. With your permission, we will now take our leave and return to our Emperor with our reports of this convention."

"Please, friend Hugo, we're both old soldiers here, so dispense with the formalities," Girish said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Go in peace, my friend, and may the Gods bless your journey home. Now that the official business of the convention has been concluded, however, I would indulge a little in personal matters. It would please me greatly were young Aten to remain as my guest here for a while more, for his mentor Tannin, the old Hawk General, was a great friend of mine, and I would hear tidings of him."

The Tiger shrugged and smiled, though his eyes were wary. "Aten is my peer and not under my command. Hence, the decision lies with him, Lord Girish."

"I will stay," Aten said. "I, too, desire a chance to make your better acquaintance, Lord Girish, and if it is not too forward of me, your friendship as well."

"Agreed, then!" Girish declared. The Tiger bowed and took his leave. For a while, the two men remained silent. Then, the Blood Buddha rose from his seat and smiled at Aten. "Would you like to fence with me?"

Aten masked his surprise and grinned broadly. The Blood Buddha smiled back at him and nodded. "I have felt it too. Come then, my young friend. Let us put the question to rest. It will be a private duel with our own blades, so that none may witness either triumph or defeat, and it will end with first blood drawn."

"You are most considerate, my Lord." Aten replied, bowing.

And then they were fencing in a courtyard. Aten carried a short sword with a straight blade, while Girish wielded a talwar. The two swordsmen twisted and spun like dancers around each other to the discordant music of clashing blades. Their skill was astonishing. Both had lightning-fast reflexes and blistering speed, and their duel seemed more like a choreographed sword dance that they had both practised for years than an unrehearsed fight. There were no hesitations, no false starts. Each block and parry was followed smoothly by a lightning riposte. Their footwork was flawless, both of them constantly in perfect balance whether in retreat or attack.

Suddenly, Aten launched a blistering offensive, his sword slashing and hacking at the Blood Buddha. Girish retreated and defended desperately as his opponent's sword flashed towards him in a series of bewildering arcs too fast for the eye to catch. He could only depend on instinct and the movements of Aten's arms to block the attacks. It was an almost superhuman effort by Girish, but it was not enough, for at the last slash, Aten flicked his wrist and scored a shallow cut on his left thigh. The duel was over.

The men stepped back from each other and bowed. Girish grinned ruefully. "Time spares no man, young Hawk. Remember that. I can take nothing from your victory, however, for though I could perhaps have matched your speed eight years ago, I certainly did not have your skill then."

"You are too kind, Lord Girish," Aten replied. "This proves nothing, for as we both know, only in a duel to the death can a true victor emerge."

Girish shook his head. "That I would never indulge in. Not to be immodest, but I am too important to my country to risk my life lightly. Besides, the best I could hope for in such a duel would be to take you with me as your killing stroke left you open. I have neither your speed nor your stamina, Aten.

"Now, on to more serious matters, if you please. I have sensed your animosity towards me these past few days, young Hawk, and I do not think it is merely a desire to test yourself against me. Tell me what it is."

Aten felt a touch of unaccustomed fear, for Girish was no longer smiling and his expression was stern. Aten knew he could best the older man in a fight, but suddenly, that was no longer relevant. Looking into the eyes of the Blood Buddha, Aten now understood why he was called that. There was a fierce and ruthless intelligence behind that steady gaze. There was an iron will that would not be turned from its course. Aten decided on honesty.

"Your army is too large, my Lord."

The Blood Buddha nodded and relaxed. His eyes, though still powerful, took on a tired look. "No doubt someone we both know brought your attention to this," Girish sighed. "As you grow older, my friend, you will realise that no matter how powerful a man becomes, he is still subject to the forces the world exerts against him. We can control our own desires, but we cannot control the desires of others. Only the Gods have such power, and sometimes I doubt even that.

"I am, in all modesty, an extraordinarily strong-willed man, but even I must bow to the forces of Fate and work with the tools that have been given to me. After the last civil wars in both our countries, we have been left with huge armies, powerful generals, warlike lords and unhappy peasants. The wars have taxed them harshly, and the young men, bred on militant propaganda, think of war as the only patriotic pursuit.

"I would like to see peace between our lands, Aten, but your emperor is weak and the Tiger is strong. The whispers I hear from your country tell more besides. They tell me that the Bear, the Dragon, the Serpent and the Hawk are all ruled by the Tiger. More importantly, the Tiger hungers for glory and he looks to the south constantly. Similarly, my Rajah fears your Empire's power and hence conscriptions continue. I see now that the Hawk rules himself, at least, but that is not sufficient."

Girish paused for a while and looked to the north. Then, he sighed and turned to Aten. "I fear that the coming war is inevitable, young Hawk. The Tiger will almost certainly attempt to invade my country when he feels strong enough or when he grows impatient enough. Already he is trying to stir up sentiments amongst the nobles of the Empire against us.

"I would advise you to stay out of the conflict, for if you do not, you would be under the Tiger's command, and I know his skills as a general. They are not sufficient. It is likely that I would crush his armies, and if that should happen, then the Rajah would probably seize the opportunity to attempt to conquer the Empire, or at least annex a large part of it. In the end, you could be the only force standing between us and the death of your Empire."

Aten weighed the Blood Buddha's words in his mind, and they held the ring of truth. "I thank you for your advice, my Lord, but I still have a question. Why would you give it? If you are so confident of your victory, surely it would run counter to your interests if I were to survive to oppose you?"

For a moment, the Blood Buddha's gaze wavered, and Aten felt he could see past the walls the man had erected against the world into the darkness of a personal hell within. Then the walls reappeared and the darkness was gone. "The Rajah may desire conquest, but I do not. I have no wish to see more babes impaled, nor do I wish to see good men become demons."

Suddenly, the lord grinned at Aten and added, "Besides, I liked old Tannin."

The dream shifted again, and Aten was standing before the bed of a sick old man. "So, at almost 40 years of age, Girish almost had you in a duel? What a man!" The old man cackled for a while, then went into an extended coughing fit.

"Beware the words of blood and steel, my boy. The hunger of the Tiger knows no bounds," Tannin whispered.

Then, Hathiel/Aten had a sudden sense of being watched. Tannin and the room he was in faded away. The dream itself faded away as they fought for consciousness. Then, Aten's eyes opened and Hathiel had the curious experience of seeing, through Aten's eyes, her own pale face staring down at herself. His alarm left him when he saw Hathiel. He smiled at her and he opened his mouth to utter a single word.

"Goddess . . ."

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  Spirits of Air
They had been called many names. The North Men called them Valkyrie, and believed them to be collectors of souls for Wodan. The desert people believed they were angels of God. The superstitious Achaeans believed they were succubi, who ripped the souls from men. The nomads called them the Spirits of Air, and perhaps that was what they called themselves too, for nomads had an uncanny ability for naming things by their true names. Hence, that is what we shall call them too.

The Spirits of Air are generally invisible to the eyes of mortals, save for special times in special places where conditions in the aether allow brief glimpses of them to be caught. A North Man, lying wounded on an ancient battlefield, saw a luminous being standing beside a slain friend, and named them Valkyrie. He survived, and perpetuated the legend. This was perhaps a bad thing to have happened, for it served to increase the North Men's lust for battle glory.

Whatever their name, they do collect the souls of the departed. Not, as the North Men believed, only the souls of warriors, but all souls. They greeted these souls upon death and returned them to the Source. That was their function in the Universe, though they were also possessed of intelligence and free will. Indeed, they were born into greater awareness of the Way than all mortals, for they had all seen the face of the Creator.

Given their duty, it is natural that the Spirits of Air flocked around battlefields and scenes of natural disasters in greater numbers. Tonight, however, a score of them were gathered silently in the roiling dark clouds above and behind a galley. An unnatural storm was brewing, and the glowing Spirits of Air gazed down upon the men toiling on the ship far below. The sails had all been lowered, and the oars manned by the sailors frantically beat upon the darkened water in a vain attempt to outrun the storm.

The storm, however, would not be denied its victims. The heavy clouds, driven before the howling wind, finally caught up with the ship and, once above it, they swirled together in a mighty maelstrom, building their forces, until they struck down with a bolt of lightning. The Spirits of Air flowed down with the lightning, singing their silent siren song of departure and arrival.

As Hathiel surged down with the lightning bolt that struck the mainmast of the ship, she could already see some of her sisters bearing the souls of departed sailors off to be returned to the Source. Hathiel, landing upon the charred deck of the galley, watched as surviving sailors leapt into the angry sea to escape the doomed ship. One of the sailors, however, stood quite still at the fore of the ship, holding on to the railings and gazing into the storm. You I will take tonight, Hathiel decided.

The mast of the ship, ruined by the lightning bolt, groaned and finally fell, glancing off the head of the last sailor, who fell to the deck, unconscious. A huge wave raised the doomed galley high, and an opposing wave finally crushed it into more bits and pieces of driftwood to wander the seas, perhaps till the end of time. The sailor was flung into the water by the impact, and Hathiel followed her intended victim. Almost as soon as the sailor sank beneath the surface, the storm started to clear. The howling winds slowed and the clouds broke, allowing shafts of moonlight to illuminate the surface of the calming waters. The mighty storm demon Zu, satisfied that his work was done, left to claim his prize in souls from the wizard who had summoned him.

The sailor sank into the darkened depths, and Hathiel followed. His face started to glow, and then his soul blazed forth from it, brighter than any mortal soul Hathiel had yet claimed. She floated towards it, but suddenly the eyes of the soul opened and, as if he realised his situation, the soul receded back into the body, which twitched as the life force refused to leave it. Hathiel floated before the man, awaiting the inevitable.

The man's features were regular, neither beautiful nor ugly, and a dark tattoo of a stylized eagle's wing arched over his left brow, down his temple, covering his cheek and ending at his chin. As Hathiel studied his face, his dark eyes opened, and Hathiel was shocked, perhaps for the first time in her immortal life, by the power behind them. The man tried to breathe, but choked on the water. Amazingly, he overcame his reflexes and managed to stop himself from gasping again, forcibly swallowing the remnants of the inhaled water instead.

Despite the lack of air, the man showed no panic, contrary to Hathiel's expectations. Instead, his jaw set in a determined line and his brows narrowed. He began to kick towards the dimly lit surface. After what must have been an eternity of torture for the man, his head finally broke the surface, and then he allowed himself to gasp and cough, expelling the water in his lungs. After his coughing had subsided, the man gazed around at the wreckage of the galley. Selecting the largest piece of driftwood, the remnants of the very mast which had robbed him of consciousness when the storm had begun, he began to swim slowly towards it. He embraced the mast, right arm above it and left arm below, rested his head upon his right shoulder, and finally allowed himself to lose consciousness again.

Hathiel gazed around the man. There was no land in sight. Her duty, as dictated by the Law, was to wait until the man died, as was written in the Book, and return him to the Source. And so, Hathiel waited.

Labels: Fiction, Wind God

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