Come, reader, join the great march today …
According to legend, a paradise awaits across the plains, a sanctuary that has survived every impact and every battle. Known as Arc, it is a place of isolation, a place to restart civilisation.
A fireball grows ever larger in the skies and ancient enemies wing through the spaces; the world Massin is the gathering place for every omen of disaster. Every resident soul faces a choice. Time now to march south to the sanctuary, from the eastern highlands and the western seas, there to escape apocalypse, and the renewal of the war between the Ilfin and Glonu, or stay behind, hoping for a miracle.
An Elemental will find the sanctuary – Lyra is gifted – a Warrior will defend the dispossessed – the boy Horin will grow up fast – and a Marsh Devil will lead them – Damin spends years preparing for this epic event – but it is also true that a sanctuary is not always a haven. Has the legend lied? Will Arc protect them?
Prepare for an adventure that will journey from ancient ways of living into high-tech environments. Ilfin of Arc is a dystopian Fantasy tale that flies into star filled spaces – strap in!
1
Ilfin
Belief
City of Normur
NORMUR’S SPREAD OF lights removed the stars from clear view and their absence in the dome of night saddened Lyra. Standing at the window overlooking a multitude of amber glows, she longed for the countryside with its silver spangles and cosmic spirals. Out there in the silence she was able to know herself; here she felt abandoned.
Duty
summoned her to this press of people. Somewhere out there, amid the many who
lit lamps and lanterns against the darkness, she would find Damin. He came to
this place to lose himself deliberately, but the time for that kind of selfishness
had now passed. Damin needed to go home, as she needed to return there.
Together
they would convince their families and friends, and the larger community, to
flee their homes, because she could not do so alone. They did not listen to her,
for they were wary of her, but they would at least gather to hear Damin’s words,
and she might then speak through him. Her trouble now lay in attempting to
convince him of her words when she
did find him.
By the light of stars, I hope our loved
ones will hear. Our time is short. Soon even flight will come too late. Soon
every star we swear by will be occluded.
Hearing
the door creak open behind her, Lyra swung around. Initial fright swiftly
surrendered to relief. Her meal had arrived.
Striding
forward across a threadbare carpet, she searched for her purse in an inner
pocket. Her forceful actions frightened the boy delivering the food, for he
stepped back swiftly, his brown eyes growing ever bigger. Her mother always admonished
her that she needed to control her movements, because she tended to alarm
people with her direct personality. Too
much like a man, Lyra, use your femininity more! Already they think you
strange; do not give them more reason to whisper about you behind your back.
Slowing
her movements, Lyra smiled at the boy as she handed over the required coin,
with an extra one for him. He swallowed, nodded, and made himself rapidly
scarce.
Shaking
her head and tucking her dark hair behind her ears, she sat at the small wooden
table placed in the corner, trimming the lantern’s wick there for added
brightness.
Potatoes
coated in spice, with slivers of venison. Damin would love it. How would she
find him amid so many people? Here she was not only abandoned, but also lost.
~
AFTER SPENDING THE night restless
upon a hard bed and enduring dark hours punctuated with too many strange sounds,
Lyra rose with the first of dawn’s light. It was overcast out, but a country
girl knew when the new day had arrived.
Reopening
the shutters she closed against the intrusive light from the city by night, she
gazed into a dreary landscape. It occurred to her that the glows against the
darkness lent the city prettiness, for by day it was dreadful. Buildings many
storeys high created alleys of only shadow, and the grey, filthy stone
possessed little by way of appeal. Roof tiles were encrusted with decades of
grime, all colour long ago scoured away by weather and time. Smoke weaved out
from chimneys to choke oxygen from the air.
The
spread was even larger than the lights of the night had her believe. A maze of
alleys and streets lay before her, and never had she seen as many buildings together
in one space. How did so many people manage to eat daily?
It
would be difficult to find Damin in the cesspit of humanity, but she at least
possessed a clue as to his potential whereabouts.
The
inn she chose for the night was recommended to her by a traveller she encountered
on the road four days ago. Thank the stars, for upon looking down she realised
how problematic it would be to make informed choices here. What did she understand
about cities? Where was safe and which areas needed to be avoided?
The
traveller she met was a Normur local on his way to Alarn in the east and was
thus familiar with the best and the worst of this city. He told her to commence
her search for someone lost in the lower region. Apparently, all newcomers landed
up there, because rent was cheap while a stranger waited and hoped for some
form of employment.
How
to reach the lower part, though, was another matter. While she was aware it lay
at the foot of the cliffs that marked the ending of the plateau, how to descend
remained a mystery. Today she needed to talk to people or she went exactly
nowhere. She hoped that she would not frighten them off before someone was
prepared to talk to her, for she required a guide.
Most
folk were wary of a girl with personality, but they were terrified of one with
a blue and a green eye.
~
THE BOY WHO had delivered her
meal sat on the step outside soaking up the warmth of a new day as Lyra left the
inn. He grinned at her, which was a marked change from his previous reaction.
Seeing that his courage was renewed, she asked if he knew how to reach and
enter the lower city.
After
looking at first her one eye and then the other, he asked, “Why do you want to
go there? Folk get killed there.” He then glanced at her pack slung forward to
hang from her shoulders against her stomach.
The
traveller on the road suggested she do so. Safer,
he said. A woman alone? Pickpockets will clean you out from the
back. It was decent gear, of quality leather and shiny clasps. Her younger brother
made it and suggested she use it. Weatherproof,
he said, and strong enough to cope with
any travel. She was still amazed by that adult statement; it was as if
Horin had seen more of life than she had, when he had never ventured further
than the boundary of their community.
Clearly
this city urchin realised her pack possessed value and obviously he now
wondered why she needed to enter the lower city. In his mind she had coin; why
leave the inn unless it was to take to her travels again, which surely could
not have anything to do with what lay at the foot of the plateau.
“I
am looking for someone,” Lyra told him.
The
boy nodded as if he was life’s greatest sage. “I can take you,” he said. “A
silver for my troubles.”
The
phrase sounded like something he overheard someone else use, for it was too mature.
Lyra smiled at him, liking him. He reminded her of Horin. “Two bronze. One now
and one when we arrive.”
He
squinted against the grey light, debating merit. “Fine,” he eventually murmured,
and held his hand out.
Supressing
a smile, she found a bronze and handed it over. “What is your name?”
“Attis,”
he mumbled as he clambered to his feet to stretch and yawn.
He
was scruffy in the sense that his clothes needed mending, but he was clean and
well-fed. Working at an inn had its advantages, clearly. Perhaps he was the son
of the owner. Untidy tawny hair was a mop of tangles she wished to comb into
order, as she did for Horin, and brown eyes were filled with mischief.
“Let’s
go,” he said, and stepped into the cobbled street.
Lyra
followed. Normur’s streets laid claim to her feet.
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