Triumph of the Skies - Chapter 1
A Tale of Underland
Triumph of the Skies is a short story set within the world of Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom. Though not entirely necessary, for context it’s recommended you read at least the first six chapters.
In the midst of the deep darkness, the woman stood between the skies and the land. From her presence, the shroud of doom departed, and a shaft of golden light pierced the blackened clouds like the eye of a storm. Her form was draped in the sun, her feet shod with moonlight. Twelve blazing stars encircled her head, their trails inscribing a luminescent crown in the air above her. She doubled over, hands clasping the bulge of her protruding stomach.
The time drew near.
The child was coming.
At her cries, the darkness fled, and she fell to the ground. With each new surge of anguish, the light enshrouding her flared, and the eye of the storm grew wider. Suddenly, thunder broke through the air, stealing her gaze to the overhanging clouds. Something was approaching.
Seven tendrils of darkness swirled towards the ground, gathering like cyclones bound and intertwined in a central shaft. As they coalesced, sulphurous flame erupted from their depths and lava spewed from the mouths of seven bearded, serpentine heads. The dragon dropped to the ground before her, its wings a smoke, its worm-like body covered in scales of cracked molten rock. A serrated tail raked across the heavens, casting a shower of flaming stars to the ground.
One hand grasping her stomach, the woman scrambled backwards; away from the beast. The dragon, breathing terror and torment, pursued. It reared its seven heads, mouths agape ready to devour the emerging child, and with a final push and swell of agony—
Mariyam jolted upright, ragged breaths rattling through her chest. Panic gripped her eyes as they fought to pierce through the gloom. She glanced down at the origami sickle-sword clasped between her fingers. Her thumb stroked the fibrous textures of the hilt as her eyes moved to the text criss-crossing the surface of the blade.
“You will not fear the terror of the night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness,
nor the destruction that wastes at noonday.”
It had been an age since these lands had seen noonday, let alone enough daylight to catch an arrow. The terror of night and darkness were ever present. Unceasing. The world choked by a suffocating darkness so thick one could touch it. There was no telling the hour from within the cave, less still if one dared venture outside it.
They had done their best to conceal the entrance, and the glow of any lamps, bathing the rocky cavity in a gentle golden aura. Turning to her side, Mariyam lifted her shawl and checked the supply of clay vials strapped to her belt. She extracted them one by one, giving each a brief shake between her finger and thumb before slipping it back into its strap. Four vials left, three of which were empty; the last one less than half full. Not enough to cover the remaining journey south. They weren’t too far from the City. They could slip in and restock their supply, but he probably wouldn’t allow it. It was too risky, and their mission was far too great.
She looked over her shoulder at the heaving mass sleeping behind her, wrapped in a thick, hooded cloak. Her uncanny charge.
“I can hear you staring,” the form murmured, accent thick.
“You’re awake?” said Mariyam in matching tones.
The mass turned slightly.
“After all that, how could I not be?”
Mariyam placed a gentle, concerned palm on her companion.
“You should rest more. You need to conserve your strength.”
“How can I when your mind keeps churning like curdled milk?”
Mariyam rolled her eyes and turned away. Nephesh wouldn’t stop going on for about an hour now.
“They grow more intense, don’t they?” said Nephesh.
That Mariyam didn’t expect. She’d anticipated complaints, not conversation.
“You feel it?” she replied, half-turning to glance over her shoulder.
“I feel everything...” Nephesh murmured, “What do we do?”
“We wait for him to come back,” said Mariyam, turning hopeful to the cave entrance, concealed by layers of crumpled parchment.
Nephesh shuffled with discomfort, wrapping her cloak tighter around her.
“We’re better off without him you know.”
“We wouldn’t be here without him,” Mariyam shot back.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at me...at us. It’s not like how it used to be.”
“He’s an honourable man, Nephesh. He’ll do what’s right,” her gaze fell, and she bit her lip, “He always does what’s right.”
At the sound of shuffling footsteps, Mariyam shifted and tightened her grip on the sword. She edged back, placing herself between the entrance and Nephesh as the footsteps drew closer. They stopped. There was a scratch. A rap. Three more scratches and a drum of fingertips. Relief flooded Mariyam’s bones. She flung her shawl around the lamp, careful not to singe it, and drowned the cave in darkness.
“Clear!” she whispered.
The parchment covering shifted, and footsteps stumbled into the cave.
“Clear!” Came a hissed response and Mariyam whipped her shawl back, welcoming the returning light.
“Yosef!” she cried, dropping the sword, and rushing to fling her arms around the young man’s neck. He embraced her with one arm, his attention drawn to Nephesh.
Nephesh sat up, the flicker of the lamp’s flame reflecting in her white irises, sparkling like menacing jewels in the dark. She eyed him with wary disdain.
“Took you long enough,” she spat.
“Nephesh!” said Mariyam.
“Feel free to try foraging in the dark,” said Yosef with a shrug, slinging a sack off his shoulder onto the ground. “I grabbed what I could, but Mysts are close,” he continued, turning to Mariyam.
Nephesh arose and approached, scrutinising the bag’s contents. Yosef eyed her up and down then backed off a few paces to give her space.
“It smells good,” said Nephesh. “When do we eat?”
“Soon enough,” Mariyam replied. “Give it time. We need to prepare it, and we don’t have much in the way of utensils.”
Nephesh spun around in a huff.
“Everything always takes time!”
Mariyam shook her head then leaned in close to Yosef, placing a hand on his.
“I’m sorry about her,” she said, voice lowered.
His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. He shook his head, mouth clamped shut.
“No, it is I who should be saying sorry,” he said. “She is only voicing how you feel...and not without reason. It was no accident that delayed me.”
Mariyam’s smile drooped in concern.
“My heart is with you,” he continued. “But the rest of me... So many times, I have been tempted to doubt. If not for the King’s missive...”
His hand moved instinctively to the scroll strapped to his side, half concealed in a holster. Mariyam shuffled closer, gripping both of his hands, her eyes pleading encouragement.
“I don’t blame you. You’ve done everything you can to help us.” Mariyam replied, shaking her head. “But there is another concern.”
Yosef looked down at the clay vial resting in Mariyam’s open palm. He licked his lips in thought, eyes darting.
“That is less than half between us,” he said. “It is not enough.”
“I know,” Mariyam nodded.
He stood, back turned, and ran his hand over his mouth.
“I know what you would suggest. But it is too risky.”
“So is crossing the south in utter darkness,” she said.
Yosef turned to face her, sweat bespeckling his brow.
“If they find us, it will all be for nothing. We will be tried for desertion…I don’t know what they will do with her,” he said, motioning to Nephesh.
“They’ll kill me,” said Nephesh, despondent. “Which means they’ll kill her.”
All eyes fell on Mariyam.
“Listen,” Nephesh continued. “I may not be able to read the King’s missive, and I don’t understand any of this…But I don’t want to die.”
For a moment, Yosef eyed her, silent. He moved past Mariyam, knelt before Nephesh, and held her hands. Hands that were like hers. He raised his eyes to take in her face; the face that, aside from the white glint in the irises of her eyes, was identical to Mariyam’s.
“And I took a vow…a vow to take you under my wing and spread my garment over you. And to that I will hold. I will protect your life with my own…both of you.”
His gaze fell. Down to the bump protruding from her stomach.
* * *
“The King, blessed is he, created the yetzer hara, and the Bind as its antidote...”
In Underland, mankind’s inclination towards selfish desires manifests physically as an external being.
We call it a Mirror.
The Torchbearers of old called it the yezter hara.
Thank you for reading!
Want to know more about the world of Underland? Start here:
Knightfall & Sonrise
Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom is a serialised, young adult, fantasy novel about an overconfident bookworm who finds himself in a parallel world where words are weapons, ideologies form fortresses, and intelligence without integrity may just cost you everything.
Aah! You're back!