somewhere between the bottom of the climb and the summit
is the answer to the mystery of why
is the answer to the mystery of why
T
he pigeon arrives for him the first night he sleeps in Denocte’s castle. He does not think much of the arrival; the bird itself seems nondescript enough, with the gray plumage and iridescent feathers at the throat. The letter, tied snuggly with red ribbon, bares no seal that Ira recognizes. He considers it the first night on the job; why would he? When he unravels the parchment tenderly, delicately, as if pulling the petals off a flower—Ira is taken aback.Meet at Veneror Peak tomorrow.
The handwriting seems effeminate and elegant; no calligraphy that Ira has seen before. The seal only resembles an intricate knot, with no semblance to any of the Sovereign’s sigils. He closes his eyes to rest, but does not sleep; the night passes restlessly until Ira awakes far too early to begin his journey. He sets off well before daybreak, into the night, traverse a forest he knows well.
Ira tells the story within his own mind: No one knows who sent the first letter; if it came from the north-eastern kingdom of Solterra, the northwesternDelumine. They do not know if the pigeons, with the letters sealed with each Sovereign’s wax melt, were sent from the southern countries—Denocte and Terrastella. The rumors on the wind vary with each retelling, with each utterance, until the fantastical meeting on the summit will go down inscribed in myth. Perhaps, they will say, the pigeons came from each deity.
Hours later, Ira knows his own thoughts are fantastical as he ascends the steep pathway to Veneror. And yet—in a land where all but one Court had recently experienced mysterious turmoil, perhaps the tale does not read so strangely. And besides—the truth does not seem far from the aforementioned myth. The facts are not there. The message Ira received had been vague at best; merely a summoning of Sovereigns to the summit of Veneror.
He still has so many questions about his ascension to the throne. Where had the other Sovereigns gone? What entity had taken them? Or, more seriously, had they simply vacated their respective thrones? He wonders, as his muscles begin to burn for the climb, if any of the other recently crowned would know.
Recently crowned. Ira has heard the names. He has attempted to familiarize himself with the going-ons of the other nations. Adonai, in Solterra. Elena, in Terrastella. Andras, in Delumine. Me, he thinks, in Denocte.
Ira, when he reaches the summit, discovers he is the first there. This late in the summer, the air is downright frigid. He feels the end of the season, the early needling of autumn. He has felt it well before the peak and now, when he exhales, a long billow of semi-opaque breath escapes his lips. To his eyes, the peak looks nearly like a wasteland. Barren rock protrudes from the earth, jaggedly, as if a wound. He has long-since abandoned any shelter of trees, instead progressing into a bald face. However, he knows he is not all alone. He has come to Verenor often to understand the peak needs adornment aside from the statues of the gods cutting up, prominent, against the sky. They all measure the same height; and, at their pinnacle, stretch far beyond any rock or mountain feature.
The new Sovereign steps froward until he stands besides Caligo’s statue. He turns his back to it, waiting—waiting.
He holds his breath.
Ira does not know yet for what.
He casts a glance away from the statues, the rocks, the summit; he glances back toward the earth so far below. He wonders, exactly, how far that pigeon had to fly to summon the Kings of Day, Dawn, Night and the Queen of Dusk.
