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Thursday, July 26, 2012

Three Gates



In the friendly light the islands were softened, nestling into the calm ocean, slumbering before the heat of the day.
Three islands, close and visible to each other, rose sheer on all sides out of the sea as if pulled by an almighty force from the depths. The cliffs were a brilliant, sparkling white, smooth, with no handholds, impossible to scale, but carved into the side of each island there was a gentle meander of time-worn stairs rising from the deep ocean, here so like a lake, spiralling around the outcrops of land until they gently gave way to the plateaus above.
When she came with Vannis the day before the stairs were there, although substantially eroded, and the sea beat itself senseless against unforgiving grey cliffs. The land, though level, was black and brittle underfoot, as if scorched for ages. A harsh place, sustaining no life, not even a hardy seabird. Now, after the uncloaking, the plateaus were uniform emerald, grass cropped short as if a contented herd of horses had been a-grazing but moments ago. There were no horses, but there were birds; strange, little yellow creatures with long scarlet legs and sharply pointed blue beaks. They fluttered here and there and every time they moved their wings, the sound of mournful flutes filled the air. They walked with graceful, dainty steps and every time their small three-toed talons touched ground, the sound of tinkling bells was heard. Saska was entranced by the little creatures, and by the happy-sad melodies of their movements.
Yesterday Vannis whistled a short, complicated tune that brought them to him in greeting, their fluttering causing flute music to rise and fall in deliberate melody. Communication, she realised. She had never before experienced such complete serenity.
‘They are sky-born,’ Vannis whispered, tears in his eyes. ‘They are the very last of their kind, rescued from a far planet poisoned by darklings. They are almost sentient and would have achieved it if they continued undisturbed. The Valleur call them Ephnor, an ancient word for Heavenly Music.’
‘Why do they not fly away?’
‘This is their home.’
‘Vannis, has all the life around the sites been in stasis?’
‘Time has no meaning out there in the magical realms, Saska. For the Ephnor, for every blade of grass, it has been but a moment, a blink, a thought.’
Incredible. She looked at them now, the birds of music. How happy they seemed; how sad they had lost their sentient future.
She raised her eyes to the nearest arch, still amazed by it, by all of them. The birds had so taken her in yesterday that it was a time before she actually looked at the islands; aptly named little spits of land, for to any eye it was three gates. Upon each island there stood an iridescent blue arch, free-standing in splendid isolation, structures at least ten times higher than the average woman, seemingly sculpted from one solid block of stone. What stone it was, she could not comprehend, but she knew there were no joins; the surfaces were smooth and unblemished.
‘The Three Gates,’ Vannis said, rather obviously, causing her to smile. ‘The Gate of Forgotten Past,’ and he gestured to the arch left of them, ‘and the Gate of Remembered Future.’ He pointed right. ‘This one before us, sandwiched between Past and Future, is the Gate of Present Dreams.’ They had uncloaked from the central island. ‘Self-explanatory, I would think.’

House of Valla 

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