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Here is the first little bit of the first chapter of a fantasy novel I've begun working on. I still want to finish Face, but this has been knawing at me for a long time and I couldn't ignore it anymore. Right now, it's untitled, thogh the first part of the title will be Earth PM. Maybe lol. Right now, the PM stands for Post-Merge.
Let me know what you think, and don't rip me off, I will sue you.
Aso, it's a rough first draft, I don't need to hear about any typos or spelling errors that may exsist. Thanks in advance!
1
Earth BM
“New York City was destroyed at nine twenty-eight AM, April third, Two-thousand and fourteen. Just under nine million people were in the city when the bombs hit. Just under one million survived.” Jessica Maroney spoke into a recorder, large white gloves with cumbersome fingers holding the device in front of the helmet of her safety suit. She had wanted to get a better view of the city, and stood now on the fifth floor of the Chrysler building. It was now the top floor. There was no ceiling above her, no other floors, to her back and one side, a jagged section of wall remained. In front of her, and to the other side, nothing but the open air. It was April fifth, and Jessica was among the first to be let into the city since the attack. She worked for the leading American news site, as a journalist. Amongst the scientist and military officials, she had been chosen along with a representative of a few other news sites to survey and report on the devastation here. It was massive, and complete. She let the record button go on her device as she looked out over the ruin. If one were to look in at her face through the helmets view port, he would see tears, freely flowing from her eyes, leaving a trail on her pale skin like a slug leaves on the sidewalk. The record button was pressed again, and Jessica's voice came shakily through the speaker, tinny and inhuman. “The pictures cannot do justice to what the human eye may see here.”
“Just makes you want to puke, huh?” Jessica stepped from the front doors of the Chrysler, miraculously untouched, even though hundreds of feet up the building had been disintegrated. A man garbed like her, in the all white, bulky suits one usually only saw in movies was speaking to her. It took her a moment to place him, the sun was a glare on the view port of his helmet, and his voice was unrecognizable through the speaker. It was his stature that did it.
“Something like that, Dexter.” Dexter Hannigan was a reporter with another site, and a man throughly unliked amongst those in his field, and Jessica had heard, amongst his co workers. He was sort and fat, with thick oily black hair he wore to his shoulders and a prominent nose. Jessica rolled her eyes and stopped when he started for her. As he neared, she was surprised to see that his eyes too were wet. For some reason she hadn't expected them to be. Dexter was always so, unattached. He had been in Iraq years ago, the story was well known, when his cameraman had been hit by shrapnel. As he lay writhing in pain, his blood pouring from him, taking his life with it, Dexter had picked up the camera and began taking snap shots. The photos won him an award that year. He accepted it in a room filled to half capacity, and to no applause.
“Yeah, I mean, it's the story of a life time, of course.” Dexter said, rocking back on his heels. “But you almost wish it had never happened, even if it is the biggest thing that could ever happen to the world of news.” Dexter smiled. “Almost.”
“You're disgusting.” Jessica said, her eyes narrowing, years of dislike bubbling to her surface like bubbles rising from the bottom of a pan of heated water. “You make me want to puke.” She jabbed her bulky gloved index finger into Dexter's chest. “Do you know how many people died?”
“No one knows the exact amount, but it's somewhere between seven and eight million.” Dexter pushed her hand away. “It's horrible, and tragic, and man oh man, it's going to make us rich. Don't you see that?”
Jessica could form no words, instead, she let out a scream, the sound of it was other-wordly through her suits speaker, and she turned away from the short man.
“Jeeze, I mean, I didn't know you felt so strongly.” Dexter spoke as he hurried after her.
“Of course I feel strongly. A whole city died. Almost everyone in it, and the people who didn't, God, didn't you hear what they said on the plane? About the radiation sickness? About why we're wearing these damn things?”
“Yeah, I did.” Dexter stopped, watching Jessica walk away. She stopped at the corner, her whole upper body turned to one side, and then the other. She was surveying the damage down that street, and the helmet made it impossible to turn your head. You could survey the damage anywhere though, concrete had been atomized, steel just gone in a flash, just as easily as the flesh had been wiped away from people's bones. Most of those were gone to, though a random skull or femur could be seen amongst rubble every now and then. A few people had survived the wave of nuclear power that had ran through the streets, faster than a cheetah, with a path of destruction as tall as a tidal wave, just to be crushed by falling debris.
Dexter watched Jessica for a long time, until she was just a speck down the street. He turned, noting the others around him, mostly military, men in the same suits, but with patches on the upper arms denoting them as such. Dexter looked up to the sky, it was an odd brown, and looked hazy, and beyond that, gray. Ash floated above the city, and coated every surface. Ash made up of buildings and cars, pets and glass, and people. Terribly, people. You left footprints everywhere you went, and within seconds of entering the city, you were covered in it. The dead made their presence known, as did the city. More than people had died two days ago. A city died. A city that was always the heart of America, it's brightest star. Now, it was dead, it's ash falling on those who came to remember it.
Dexter made his way into a nearby building, they weren't supposed to enter buildings, but had been given no escort, and all the reporters that day did so. This reporter though, wasn't entering a building to gt a better look at the destruction, or in the hopes of finding a survivor and being a hero, and getting the exclusive interview, this reporter was leaving. He was in an office of some sort, the glass and one wall gone, the desks and chairs in pieces, if they were there at all. A jumble of bones lay against one wall. Dexter put his hands to his helmet, laying them on either side of his head. He twisted the helmet, and there was a hiss of air. He lifted the helmet off and set it on the ground. Next he took off his safety suit, and folded it, laying it next to the helmet. He didn't much care for this place, and would not be coming back, he would be sure to tell Malik that. One of the eight Grand or not, Dexter would no longer follow blindly, and live in a place with so much hate. Dexter chided himself mentally for thinking of himself as Dexter. No, he was not Dexter, that was a silly name. He was Minagil, and he was leaving. Minagil pulled a small piece of black chalk from his pocket, and stepped to one of the walls still standing. He started at the floor and drew a half oval, slightly taller than himself, and meeting the floor again, a foot to the right from the start of the drawing. Minagil spent a few moments drawing shapes and letters that would never be deciphered by the men who would come searching for him in an hour, and the black line began to glow, a purplish light along the drawing. Minagil pressed his hand upon one of the runes and pushed. A door opened, it's edges represented by the chalk drawing. Minagil stepped through it. The door swung shut, never to open again.
Minagil found himself in a long, dark hallway, sparsely lit by two torches, one at each end. He had just come through a large marble door, black in color, matching the chalk he shoved back into a pocket. His door was sandwiched between two others, a red door on one side, a green one on the other. In all, twenty one doors lined the hall, all a different color. Minagil turned to his left, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. “These damned clothes, If I never see another button, or belt, or cuff link, it'll be too soon.”
Out of the hallway, Minagil was at the foot of a long and spiraling staircase, which, like the walls around him, were made of stone, long ago cracked and chipped in places. A deep breath, and a clenching of his fists, Minagil steeled his nerves and started up the stairs.
Malik The Grand was seated on a large pillow in the center of his chamber, at the top of the steps that Minagil now climbed. The room was circular, at the very top of a tall tower, with open windows set in the stone all around. The chamber was sparsely furnished, a small bed along the wall, a chair next to two cases filled with large tomes with yellowing pages. Malik's back was to the wooden door, his eyes closed. Behind the lids they burned softly with a fierce gray light, his nose was pointed downward, and he could very much resemble a hawk when he tried. His mouth was open, and a soft hum slid past his lips, hanging in the air, being washed away when a soft breeze rolled through from outside. Unlike all of the other Grand wizards, Malik wore no beard, and his hair was brown instead of gray. He was much younger than any of them, and his appointment to grand status had been met with shock and envy by many of the other candidates. It stood however, that Malik was one of the strongest and most skilled Wizards Enoa had ever seen.
The door to his chamber crashed open, hitting the wall with a bang. Minagil stood framed in the doorway. “Malik, I-”
“Will hold your tongue.” Malik interrupted, his eyes flashing open as he quickly stood and spun to face the man.
“I won't. I will not Malik.”
“You will, and you will address me properly.”
“I have seen much, and been through much. It was horrible, and I don't deserve to be the one always sent.”
“Much has happened here, Minagil.”
“What?” Minagil hesitated, the determination in his voice slipping away.
“Do come in, don't wait for an invitation now.” Malik let a thin edge of anger remain in his speech, but he smiled, and spread an arm wide, indicating the chair along the wall. “No one would dare interrupt me here, or arrive uninvited, I fear I don't have anything more comfortable for a meeting.”
“It's okay. O' Grand Malik. I thank you.”
“That's better, I think.” Malik set himself back upon his pillow as Minagil made his way to the chair. Malik was dressed in a flowing robe of dark green, a matching hat sat upon his head, doing little in the way of reining his wild shoulder length hair in. Minagil was settled, and Malik spoke again. “I do not know what you have experienced, though I fear that I may be able to guess.”
“It was a nuclear attack.” Minagil felt his tears beging to burn with tears once more.
“Yes, that is their weapons, right?”
“Yes, Grand One. The city of New York was bombed, by an enemy of America. It was their finest, most grand city.”
“And?” Malik asked
“Nothing is left standing.” Minagil sniffled, his lungs suddenly caught without air.
“It must have been terrible.”
“Yes.”
“I thought it must be so.”
“How? Why?”
“As you know, the mountain Chemila stands on the spot in our world, where New York stands in theirs.”
“Yes.”
“It stands there no longer.”
“What?” Minagil exclaimed, standing up, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles shone white.
“Yes.”
“But how?”
“I believe this bomb that they used, was so strong, it tore the thin wall keeping our dimensions separate, and devastated us here. The mountain is rubble, and many of those who lived on it and near it are dead or lost.”
“That's terrible.”
Malik nodded his head, rising once more to his feet. “Yes, it is.”
“Is there anything you can do?”
“Not alone.”
Minagil stepped forward. “Then, the other Grand Ones?”
“Yes.” Malik spun, motioning for Minagil to follow him. “I believe it is time for a meeting of The Grand Wizards, now that you have confirmed my suspicions. We may not have much time.”
Even with the aid of their Orefed orbs, it was six days and five nights before the Grand Wizards found themselves all in one place. The orbs allowed them to talk directly to one another, over any distance, instead of sending rolled parchment along with a hawk trained to find the recipient, as most citizens of Enoa had to do. Each Grand Wizard had one, as well as a Dragon that flew, another rarity in Enoa. Had they not, it would have been a fortnight or more before they could meet as a council, and by then, America was sure to have retaliated, and damaged both worlds even more. It was, Malik thought, amazing that they had not already done so. For once, someone on the Earth side of the dividing wall had showed restraint and wisdom.
At the insistence of Malik, The council met at Mount Chemila, eight powerful men among a once powerful site. They met on a flat piece of stone, it had once been a cave floor, but was now a plateau amongst rubble, the only ceiling the sky, which was purple and hazy as the sun left it. They spent a few minutes greeting one another, with handshakes and kind words, the closest of them embracing one another in their arms. Laughter pierced the air here and there, a strange sound not heard in the days since the mountain fell. “Grand Ones, if we may begin.” Malik spoke, and the Wizards all found a boulder or stone to sit upon, sitting in a loose circle and facing Malik who remained standing.
“Sadly, it seems we meet all together only in the worse times, when something has gone wrong, and it falls to us, the greatest of this land, to fix it.” Malik spoke loudly, turning slowly to face each Grand Wizard in turn. “Tonight is no different, though the penalty of non action may be more severe than we have ever seen.”
“It was the other side. Was it not?” A wizard dressed in flowing white spoke, his hair and beard matching his robes.
“Yes, Grand One Calib. It was indeed the other side, those who call Enoa, Earth.
“I thought so. I felt it. Only they can be so careless and filled with nothing but hate and destruction.”
“Yes. As you know, I have a small service of loyal men who travel back and forth, keeping me in knowledge with what goes on on Earth. One of them, A man who was so shaken and disturbed by what he had seen that he asked me never to go back, confirmed my, and apparently your fears. I've granted his request to not return, though he may be disappointed by what I propose to you tonight.”
“And what is that, young Malik?” Another wizard spoke, his voice as frail as his body seemed.
“I propose we announce our selves to the other side.” Malik paused, for a murmur had broken out amongst the Grand Council. He continued. “And we warn them. We tell them their actions have affected our world, and we will not stand for it. If they attempt to use their weapons again, which they call nuclear missiles, we will come down swift with our punishment.”
“What do you propose be our punishment?” The oldest wizard spoke again.
“Fernidad the Grand, I propose we merge our worlds, and put everything in their world, under our rule. Their cities will fall into our kingdoms, their geographical borders being almost identical to ours. Our woods and rivers and mountains will become ours, and vice-versa. Some will die, it will be inevitable, on both sides.” Malik paused, looking at each Wizard as he continued to rotate. “They will answer to our Kings, and ultimately, us. Just like the people here do now.”
One Wizard stood. “They will never stand for it.”
Malik nodded softly. “We will make them, if it comes to that.”
The next few hours spent at the ruined mountain were given to discussion. The Grand Wizards' dragons entertained themselves by flying, snapping at each other in the air playfully. Here, in this world, they were called dragons, if anyone on Earth had seen them, they would have called them Pterodactyls. They were various colors, and various sizes, though each could easily support their master. Most had crests rising from their heads, jutting behind them. They had short legs that were bent and held close to their bodies, and long arms and fingers, with a thin membrane stretched between. Most people here traveled with the aid of a dragon, though the majority of dragons were constrained to the ground. They would be easily recognized by people from Earth as well, as Triceratops, Allosaurus, even beasts that greatly resembled Tyrannosaurus Rex. Here, however, all of these animals were simply dragons.
“Now, my fellow Grand Wizards, we must vote.” Malik said after the discussion. He stood once more. “We have argued, respectfully, as is responsible. We have seen all sides. Now let me put the charge to us. Do we announce our presence? We have worked for long to remain hidden from their view. Now their carelessness has cost us greatly.”
“We have discussed this matter, young Grand Malik. You try to persuade us one way right before the vote. Skillful, boy.” One wizard spoke up.
Malik could not hide a grin. “You are right, let us get on with it.” Malik sat back down upon his boulder. “A simple raise of the hand, I wager?”
There were nods around the circle. Above them, their dragons found the ground outside of the plateau, as if sensing the importance of the moment, and not wishing to tarnish it with foolery and play up above. “A vote for a warning to the people of Earth.”
Around the circle, five hands went up, including Maliks. “That is enough.” Malik said, standing. Let us rest an hour more, thre is a stream nearby where we can drink. What comes next will test us all, more than we have ever been tested.”
Let me know what you think, and don't rip me off, I will sue you.
Aso, it's a rough first draft, I don't need to hear about any typos or spelling errors that may exsist. Thanks in advance!
1
Earth BM
“New York City was destroyed at nine twenty-eight AM, April third, Two-thousand and fourteen. Just under nine million people were in the city when the bombs hit. Just under one million survived.” Jessica Maroney spoke into a recorder, large white gloves with cumbersome fingers holding the device in front of the helmet of her safety suit. She had wanted to get a better view of the city, and stood now on the fifth floor of the Chrysler building. It was now the top floor. There was no ceiling above her, no other floors, to her back and one side, a jagged section of wall remained. In front of her, and to the other side, nothing but the open air. It was April fifth, and Jessica was among the first to be let into the city since the attack. She worked for the leading American news site, as a journalist. Amongst the scientist and military officials, she had been chosen along with a representative of a few other news sites to survey and report on the devastation here. It was massive, and complete. She let the record button go on her device as she looked out over the ruin. If one were to look in at her face through the helmets view port, he would see tears, freely flowing from her eyes, leaving a trail on her pale skin like a slug leaves on the sidewalk. The record button was pressed again, and Jessica's voice came shakily through the speaker, tinny and inhuman. “The pictures cannot do justice to what the human eye may see here.”
“Just makes you want to puke, huh?” Jessica stepped from the front doors of the Chrysler, miraculously untouched, even though hundreds of feet up the building had been disintegrated. A man garbed like her, in the all white, bulky suits one usually only saw in movies was speaking to her. It took her a moment to place him, the sun was a glare on the view port of his helmet, and his voice was unrecognizable through the speaker. It was his stature that did it.
“Something like that, Dexter.” Dexter Hannigan was a reporter with another site, and a man throughly unliked amongst those in his field, and Jessica had heard, amongst his co workers. He was sort and fat, with thick oily black hair he wore to his shoulders and a prominent nose. Jessica rolled her eyes and stopped when he started for her. As he neared, she was surprised to see that his eyes too were wet. For some reason she hadn't expected them to be. Dexter was always so, unattached. He had been in Iraq years ago, the story was well known, when his cameraman had been hit by shrapnel. As he lay writhing in pain, his blood pouring from him, taking his life with it, Dexter had picked up the camera and began taking snap shots. The photos won him an award that year. He accepted it in a room filled to half capacity, and to no applause.
“Yeah, I mean, it's the story of a life time, of course.” Dexter said, rocking back on his heels. “But you almost wish it had never happened, even if it is the biggest thing that could ever happen to the world of news.” Dexter smiled. “Almost.”
“You're disgusting.” Jessica said, her eyes narrowing, years of dislike bubbling to her surface like bubbles rising from the bottom of a pan of heated water. “You make me want to puke.” She jabbed her bulky gloved index finger into Dexter's chest. “Do you know how many people died?”
“No one knows the exact amount, but it's somewhere between seven and eight million.” Dexter pushed her hand away. “It's horrible, and tragic, and man oh man, it's going to make us rich. Don't you see that?”
Jessica could form no words, instead, she let out a scream, the sound of it was other-wordly through her suits speaker, and she turned away from the short man.
“Jeeze, I mean, I didn't know you felt so strongly.” Dexter spoke as he hurried after her.
“Of course I feel strongly. A whole city died. Almost everyone in it, and the people who didn't, God, didn't you hear what they said on the plane? About the radiation sickness? About why we're wearing these damn things?”
“Yeah, I did.” Dexter stopped, watching Jessica walk away. She stopped at the corner, her whole upper body turned to one side, and then the other. She was surveying the damage down that street, and the helmet made it impossible to turn your head. You could survey the damage anywhere though, concrete had been atomized, steel just gone in a flash, just as easily as the flesh had been wiped away from people's bones. Most of those were gone to, though a random skull or femur could be seen amongst rubble every now and then. A few people had survived the wave of nuclear power that had ran through the streets, faster than a cheetah, with a path of destruction as tall as a tidal wave, just to be crushed by falling debris.
Dexter watched Jessica for a long time, until she was just a speck down the street. He turned, noting the others around him, mostly military, men in the same suits, but with patches on the upper arms denoting them as such. Dexter looked up to the sky, it was an odd brown, and looked hazy, and beyond that, gray. Ash floated above the city, and coated every surface. Ash made up of buildings and cars, pets and glass, and people. Terribly, people. You left footprints everywhere you went, and within seconds of entering the city, you were covered in it. The dead made their presence known, as did the city. More than people had died two days ago. A city died. A city that was always the heart of America, it's brightest star. Now, it was dead, it's ash falling on those who came to remember it.
Dexter made his way into a nearby building, they weren't supposed to enter buildings, but had been given no escort, and all the reporters that day did so. This reporter though, wasn't entering a building to gt a better look at the destruction, or in the hopes of finding a survivor and being a hero, and getting the exclusive interview, this reporter was leaving. He was in an office of some sort, the glass and one wall gone, the desks and chairs in pieces, if they were there at all. A jumble of bones lay against one wall. Dexter put his hands to his helmet, laying them on either side of his head. He twisted the helmet, and there was a hiss of air. He lifted the helmet off and set it on the ground. Next he took off his safety suit, and folded it, laying it next to the helmet. He didn't much care for this place, and would not be coming back, he would be sure to tell Malik that. One of the eight Grand or not, Dexter would no longer follow blindly, and live in a place with so much hate. Dexter chided himself mentally for thinking of himself as Dexter. No, he was not Dexter, that was a silly name. He was Minagil, and he was leaving. Minagil pulled a small piece of black chalk from his pocket, and stepped to one of the walls still standing. He started at the floor and drew a half oval, slightly taller than himself, and meeting the floor again, a foot to the right from the start of the drawing. Minagil spent a few moments drawing shapes and letters that would never be deciphered by the men who would come searching for him in an hour, and the black line began to glow, a purplish light along the drawing. Minagil pressed his hand upon one of the runes and pushed. A door opened, it's edges represented by the chalk drawing. Minagil stepped through it. The door swung shut, never to open again.
Minagil found himself in a long, dark hallway, sparsely lit by two torches, one at each end. He had just come through a large marble door, black in color, matching the chalk he shoved back into a pocket. His door was sandwiched between two others, a red door on one side, a green one on the other. In all, twenty one doors lined the hall, all a different color. Minagil turned to his left, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. “These damned clothes, If I never see another button, or belt, or cuff link, it'll be too soon.”
Out of the hallway, Minagil was at the foot of a long and spiraling staircase, which, like the walls around him, were made of stone, long ago cracked and chipped in places. A deep breath, and a clenching of his fists, Minagil steeled his nerves and started up the stairs.
Malik The Grand was seated on a large pillow in the center of his chamber, at the top of the steps that Minagil now climbed. The room was circular, at the very top of a tall tower, with open windows set in the stone all around. The chamber was sparsely furnished, a small bed along the wall, a chair next to two cases filled with large tomes with yellowing pages. Malik's back was to the wooden door, his eyes closed. Behind the lids they burned softly with a fierce gray light, his nose was pointed downward, and he could very much resemble a hawk when he tried. His mouth was open, and a soft hum slid past his lips, hanging in the air, being washed away when a soft breeze rolled through from outside. Unlike all of the other Grand wizards, Malik wore no beard, and his hair was brown instead of gray. He was much younger than any of them, and his appointment to grand status had been met with shock and envy by many of the other candidates. It stood however, that Malik was one of the strongest and most skilled Wizards Enoa had ever seen.
The door to his chamber crashed open, hitting the wall with a bang. Minagil stood framed in the doorway. “Malik, I-”
“Will hold your tongue.” Malik interrupted, his eyes flashing open as he quickly stood and spun to face the man.
“I won't. I will not Malik.”
“You will, and you will address me properly.”
“I have seen much, and been through much. It was horrible, and I don't deserve to be the one always sent.”
“Much has happened here, Minagil.”
“What?” Minagil hesitated, the determination in his voice slipping away.
“Do come in, don't wait for an invitation now.” Malik let a thin edge of anger remain in his speech, but he smiled, and spread an arm wide, indicating the chair along the wall. “No one would dare interrupt me here, or arrive uninvited, I fear I don't have anything more comfortable for a meeting.”
“It's okay. O' Grand Malik. I thank you.”
“That's better, I think.” Malik set himself back upon his pillow as Minagil made his way to the chair. Malik was dressed in a flowing robe of dark green, a matching hat sat upon his head, doing little in the way of reining his wild shoulder length hair in. Minagil was settled, and Malik spoke again. “I do not know what you have experienced, though I fear that I may be able to guess.”
“It was a nuclear attack.” Minagil felt his tears beging to burn with tears once more.
“Yes, that is their weapons, right?”
“Yes, Grand One. The city of New York was bombed, by an enemy of America. It was their finest, most grand city.”
“And?” Malik asked
“Nothing is left standing.” Minagil sniffled, his lungs suddenly caught without air.
“It must have been terrible.”
“Yes.”
“I thought it must be so.”
“How? Why?”
“As you know, the mountain Chemila stands on the spot in our world, where New York stands in theirs.”
“Yes.”
“It stands there no longer.”
“What?” Minagil exclaimed, standing up, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles shone white.
“Yes.”
“But how?”
“I believe this bomb that they used, was so strong, it tore the thin wall keeping our dimensions separate, and devastated us here. The mountain is rubble, and many of those who lived on it and near it are dead or lost.”
“That's terrible.”
Malik nodded his head, rising once more to his feet. “Yes, it is.”
“Is there anything you can do?”
“Not alone.”
Minagil stepped forward. “Then, the other Grand Ones?”
“Yes.” Malik spun, motioning for Minagil to follow him. “I believe it is time for a meeting of The Grand Wizards, now that you have confirmed my suspicions. We may not have much time.”
Even with the aid of their Orefed orbs, it was six days and five nights before the Grand Wizards found themselves all in one place. The orbs allowed them to talk directly to one another, over any distance, instead of sending rolled parchment along with a hawk trained to find the recipient, as most citizens of Enoa had to do. Each Grand Wizard had one, as well as a Dragon that flew, another rarity in Enoa. Had they not, it would have been a fortnight or more before they could meet as a council, and by then, America was sure to have retaliated, and damaged both worlds even more. It was, Malik thought, amazing that they had not already done so. For once, someone on the Earth side of the dividing wall had showed restraint and wisdom.
At the insistence of Malik, The council met at Mount Chemila, eight powerful men among a once powerful site. They met on a flat piece of stone, it had once been a cave floor, but was now a plateau amongst rubble, the only ceiling the sky, which was purple and hazy as the sun left it. They spent a few minutes greeting one another, with handshakes and kind words, the closest of them embracing one another in their arms. Laughter pierced the air here and there, a strange sound not heard in the days since the mountain fell. “Grand Ones, if we may begin.” Malik spoke, and the Wizards all found a boulder or stone to sit upon, sitting in a loose circle and facing Malik who remained standing.
“Sadly, it seems we meet all together only in the worse times, when something has gone wrong, and it falls to us, the greatest of this land, to fix it.” Malik spoke loudly, turning slowly to face each Grand Wizard in turn. “Tonight is no different, though the penalty of non action may be more severe than we have ever seen.”
“It was the other side. Was it not?” A wizard dressed in flowing white spoke, his hair and beard matching his robes.
“Yes, Grand One Calib. It was indeed the other side, those who call Enoa, Earth.
“I thought so. I felt it. Only they can be so careless and filled with nothing but hate and destruction.”
“Yes. As you know, I have a small service of loyal men who travel back and forth, keeping me in knowledge with what goes on on Earth. One of them, A man who was so shaken and disturbed by what he had seen that he asked me never to go back, confirmed my, and apparently your fears. I've granted his request to not return, though he may be disappointed by what I propose to you tonight.”
“And what is that, young Malik?” Another wizard spoke, his voice as frail as his body seemed.
“I propose we announce our selves to the other side.” Malik paused, for a murmur had broken out amongst the Grand Council. He continued. “And we warn them. We tell them their actions have affected our world, and we will not stand for it. If they attempt to use their weapons again, which they call nuclear missiles, we will come down swift with our punishment.”
“What do you propose be our punishment?” The oldest wizard spoke again.
“Fernidad the Grand, I propose we merge our worlds, and put everything in their world, under our rule. Their cities will fall into our kingdoms, their geographical borders being almost identical to ours. Our woods and rivers and mountains will become ours, and vice-versa. Some will die, it will be inevitable, on both sides.” Malik paused, looking at each Wizard as he continued to rotate. “They will answer to our Kings, and ultimately, us. Just like the people here do now.”
One Wizard stood. “They will never stand for it.”
Malik nodded softly. “We will make them, if it comes to that.”
The next few hours spent at the ruined mountain were given to discussion. The Grand Wizards' dragons entertained themselves by flying, snapping at each other in the air playfully. Here, in this world, they were called dragons, if anyone on Earth had seen them, they would have called them Pterodactyls. They were various colors, and various sizes, though each could easily support their master. Most had crests rising from their heads, jutting behind them. They had short legs that were bent and held close to their bodies, and long arms and fingers, with a thin membrane stretched between. Most people here traveled with the aid of a dragon, though the majority of dragons were constrained to the ground. They would be easily recognized by people from Earth as well, as Triceratops, Allosaurus, even beasts that greatly resembled Tyrannosaurus Rex. Here, however, all of these animals were simply dragons.
“Now, my fellow Grand Wizards, we must vote.” Malik said after the discussion. He stood once more. “We have argued, respectfully, as is responsible. We have seen all sides. Now let me put the charge to us. Do we announce our presence? We have worked for long to remain hidden from their view. Now their carelessness has cost us greatly.”
“We have discussed this matter, young Grand Malik. You try to persuade us one way right before the vote. Skillful, boy.” One wizard spoke up.
Malik could not hide a grin. “You are right, let us get on with it.” Malik sat back down upon his boulder. “A simple raise of the hand, I wager?”
There were nods around the circle. Above them, their dragons found the ground outside of the plateau, as if sensing the importance of the moment, and not wishing to tarnish it with foolery and play up above. “A vote for a warning to the people of Earth.”
Around the circle, five hands went up, including Maliks. “That is enough.” Malik said, standing. Let us rest an hour more, thre is a stream nearby where we can drink. What comes next will test us all, more than we have ever been tested.”
