Selectively Juggling

It was an absolute struggle to close my eyes against the onslaught of the pervasive howling winds. Even worse, I needed to dodge the unrelenting airborne razor-sharp glass shards and twisted-jagged metal. What good would I be to the mission if I died within the first 5-minutes? None, Man, “Get your act together”. We landed amid a rapidly evolving maelstrom, a rapid-fire onslaught of maniacal madness. It was pure chaos.

They’d warned us before we jumped that this was possible, but no, I wouldn’t heed their advice, I knew better, or so I thought! Once again, I’d fallen into the trap of being too pigheaded and arrogant, too full of self-importance to take the time to stop and listen to the elders. When would I learn? What, after my recklessness, has endangered the lives of my crew? After I can no longer live and breathe to tell the story? What then? I knew to succeed, I needed to quieten my inner turmoil, my inner chaos, and end my nagging incessant inner voice with its, “Zarkan, you’re not fit to lead; you possess neither birthright nor skill, you are not worthy” I had to pause, trying somehow to gain composure amidst the ensuing bedlam, thinking out loud “Quick, Zarkan, think! You’ve been in tighter scrummages before; you know the answer, trust in your ancestral guides!”,

Finally steadying myself, I signalled to Xandos, my tried and trusted comms captain. We’d grown up together in the same poor village, trained in the same academy, under the same elders, and shared a brotherly bond. One forged through shared combat and struggle, of loss and hope. It looked as though Xandos, too, had been caught totally off guard. The look of terror and fear was etched in his thick jet-black brow. Our mission had been to disable the Ziconite’s power stations, rendering them useless and unable to supply their warring armies. Massive armies were strategically camped deep in the impenetrable Durkonian mountain ranges.

Still, the howling winds whistled as shards of doom spun dangerously nearby. Summoning up my core magic took a lot of work. It took extra energy to focus on the crystallised monolith before me. It stood almost at odds with its surrounding natural landscape. Stark greyish lines of the towering monolith belied its true nature. It stood as a menacing reminder of the power of evil, the power of darkness to prevail over hordes of vulnerable, ill-equipped and ill-prepared masses. We knew it as the ‘tower of death’.

Pulsating gale-forced gusts had made the use of magic harder. The conjuring of magic amidst such chaos bore additional risks. There were too many anomalies, too many variables. Yet, we trained for this and the many similar missions before it. Our battle scars could tell the stories. There was more urgency with this mission; the consequences of loss would be devastating. We knew we couldn’t fail, as innocent worlds, tribes, and lands depended upon our success, our ability to drive the Ziconites’ from the towers, driving them deep into the earth. To ensure their scattered ashes and remains lay idle, powerless. Millions depended on our ability to stop the Ziconites and their maniacal mission to wreak havoc on all others, destroying the lands and enslaving nations and tribes. They are neither man nor beast but occupy a space somewhere between, some hedonistic savage world where there are no laws, governed not by thoughtful, educated leaders but savage masochistic malignant narcissists.

Their mere existence threatens all that has come before and all those who plan to come after. This mission must not fail; I must not fail. We must not fail. I hope Xandos was ready.

Xandos signalled his intention to morph into battle mode, shielding himself in the latest of our magic-based protective battle gear. Mobluim, our leading Seer and Archmage, had said that he’d taken ten years and countless trips to the otherworlds to finally finish what he’d considered “his best work yet”. He had promised that it would shield us from dark magic and the powerful Ziconites; perhaps that is where my arrogance and naivety were grounded in Mobluim’s assurance that the suits and shields would guard us against supposed death. What they wouldn’t guard us from poor planning, judgement and arrogance, I knew that much. Taking Xandos’s lead, I morphed into full battle mode; the reinforced leather and galvanised scales of dragon blood were surprisingly comfortable, seeming to move naturally with the contours of my lean body. It was as though I was naked, not burdened down by weighty battle armour. I liked that I could move freely, stealthily, and unencumbered by what used to be cold and heavy metal casings. Yet still, I must heed my elders warning “Zarkan, be weary of what is both seen and unseen, for within the setting sun, your past, future and present will collide. It will be time to embrace your destiny, not run and hide”. Thinking out loud, I heard myself say, “Zarkan, have faith in your training, have faith in your intuition”, and I just breathed, readying myself for battle.