An Angel’s Road to Hell

Gaya

Gaya was located close to a universe’s core. The core was the place where the energies of creation spilled over into the void chasm and breathed life into an otherwise dark and static place. The closer a planet was located to a universe’s core, the more abundant life could exist. The immense influx of power allowed diverse species to flourish.

Gaya was an old planet. Her face had changed quite a bit over the course of several billions of years. Right then she featured two continents, split by an endless sea that was inhabited by gargantuan monsters of the depths, growing to several kilometres in length. The seas were always in turmoil, be it from the clashes of gargantuan sea-dragons under the surface or from the mating dances of enormous whales that were large enough to swallow an island whole. The waters had an alluring shine to them, oscillating between emerald green, azure blue and pitch black at the deepest points, but wherever one would watch the waves, iridescent light would shine through the surface.

The larger of the two continents was quite stable. It sported an ancient human empire, organised in a strict caste system that resulted in a magocracy. The emperor stood at the pinnacle, ruling over billions of lives, always eager to spread his sphere of influence. His empire included a myriad of races, dwarfs, elves, kitsume, humans, naiads… the list went on. But recently he didn’t spent too much time governing his empire and holding the leash on his subservients. No, he was consumed by the prophecy of an aged seer, one she spit out while his torture master carved her beating heart out of her chest:

‘Heed my words, puppet king, far across the ocean, far away from your control and atrocities a new power will rise. And so the angels help me, you will not be able to crush it. Your demise is as inevitable as my death…” She died afterwards, her last energy spent. The emperor couldn’t glean anything else from her, as her soul sped to the chasm before he could force her back. And thus the second continent became the centre of his obsession.

Long since drunken sailors had boastfully claimed to have crossed the sea and returned home. Usually those stories were ignored, no one could sail across the ocean after all. But what if those stories had been true? Was there a path across the endless waves? What really lay across the fog of time and space? If it were more than myths and legends, the emperor swore he would find them and subjugate them to his will.

Far across the waves, huge pillars of an unknown greyish stone rose from the depth. They broke the surface of the sea and continued to rise, high into the sky. They were perfectly straight without a nook or cranny on their sides but had a multitude of forms. The smallest one rose about 2 km above the surface with a diameter of 15 km while the largest one climbed 4 km into the sky and was several hundred kilometres across. Their forms were varied but always symmetrical. If looked on from above, one would see circles, stars, triangles and rectangles, even the form of an acorn could be made out. The same shape never occurred twice and the distance between pillars varied greatly. The sea in between the pillars was always frothing and waves of hundreds of meters crashed into the unyielding grey stone. It has always been like this, since aeons ago a great cataclysm destroyed the second continent, catapulting the mana-heart, the foundation of a once mighty nation, deep into the seas. Only the roots of mountains, that were rich in mana infused materials, survived the catastrophe. Luckily the second continent had been chock full of them. The last living remnants of the empire of the moon, those that had been able to flee to the mountaintops, had to start anew. They couldn’t climb down nor could they have crossed the thundering seas to reach the next pillar. And thus, over time, a multitude of kingdoms and cultures came to be.

Most of them consisted of one race, as families and friends stuck together during the cataclysm. Their descendants were the ones who now lived their lives on the pillars in the middle of the sea. Trade and cultural exchange only happened later, after elves, inhabiting a pillar to the far north, were able to mine a special ore that could only be found there. This ore was getting lighter if exposed to heat, carrying several times its own weight into the sky. If it was cooled down, its weight would gradually increase until not even angels or demons could have moved it even an inch. Or so the saying went, nobody had actually ever seen an angel nor a demon, for that matter, let alone have them try to move a cooled down patch of sky-ore.

The hardships of the cataclysm were forgotten by all but just a few and only a handful of beings were still around that remembered the splendour of the empire of the moon and the devastation, famines and unending struggles that followed its fall.

On one pillar, close to the centre of the formation, a tribe of fox people, or rather kitsune as they called themselves, had managed to fertilise their mountain using an ingenious form of rune-magic that turned dead rock into verdant earth. In the beginning the tribe consisted of five families and their closest friends. They toiled on the barren mountain and used all their resources to carve out a living from bare rock. All they had in the beginning were a few cherry-seeds, a tree revered by the kitsune for its beauty and life-giving fruits, and the seeds the wind carried over from other pillars.

Time passed and the kitsune fought through the early hardships. The tribe developed fast and after centuries the erstwhile barren mountain couldn’t be recognised anymore.

Lush green fields stretched from the cliffs towards the centre, only broken by five azure rivers that flowed from the centre of the island to its edge.

The centre resembled a giant garden full of cherry-trees, the oldest one was right in the middle and reached a height of over 500 meters. It would have taken quite some time to circle its trunk on foot. It was named Boseiju. From the roots of the tree, the rivers that gave live to the island flowed in a steady stream. On closer inspection, five palaces, nestled onto the largest branches, directly above the source of each river, could be seen. Each palace was unique, but they all seemingly grew from the branches, resembling a living part of Boseiju. On a branch higher up the tree a small port with seven moored sky-ships could be seen.

Further towards the edge of the island, the trees were not as tall but every one sported at least one house, hidden in the crown of the tree or nestled around its base. Where the garden ended, luminous runes were carved into the soil, revitalising the earth around and the rivers that flowed over them. To the south and to the east, verdant fields bordered the garden, suppling the community with greens and pasture for their cattle. To the east and to the north a glittering forest of green, blue, red, silver and gold leaves rustled in the wind.

The whole island was teeming with life. Exotic birds added colour and sound while magical herbs and plants supplied an intoxicating smell all over the island that change in accordance with the time of day. The forest was filled to the brink with animals and magical creatures, under the full moon even the pearly-white hide of a family of unicorns could be seen, the foals chasing around after small fire drakes that lived in the cracks of the cliffs.

Ever since 200 years ago the first elven sky-ship had risen into the sky, other culture creating races moved to the kingdom of the five families. A small enclave of elves occupied a large cherry-tree close to the forest. Some dwarfs had dug a mine close to the cliffs and had created the first dwelling beneath the earth. They even broke through the cliff-wall and added a small hangar for air-ships, which came and went quite regularly, as the kingdom of the five families was the only place where mithril could be mined. A nigh indestructible metal and magical conductor that resemble silver with a blue hew. And as there was a profit to be made, some adventuring humans could always be found lurking around the island.

Never-the-less it still remained the kingdom of the kitsune. While they were as good as extinct everywhere else, here they made up most of the population. They resembled immensely beautiful humans with porcelain skin, maybe a tad shorter and built more lightly, with fur-covered fox ears sticking out of their hair. The Colour of the fur could range from midnight black to a glistening white. From their lower backs a number of fox-tails sprouted. There could be any number of tails, from one to nine. In kitsune culture the number of tails was foremost a sign of beauty. All kitsune were born with one tail and additional ones would only develop if the kitsune in question understood an integral part of their purpose, or destiny as the humans would call it. As such additional tails were a sign that one understood one’s place in the world and therefore a small part of the world itself. Because most kitsune were simply stunningly beautiful, wisdom and beauty were often used interchangeably in their culture.

The serene atmosphere on the island was interrupted by a scream, issuing from one of the palaces on Boseiju. A scream as old as life itself. A scream that heralded the birth of a new member of the kingdom of the five families.

In a spacious room within the moon palace, named after the silvery moon-stones that were used to decorate parts of the façade, a silvery kitsune with four tails laid on a silken bed. The room was lit by a chandelier that hung from a deep blue ceiling. The full-moon watched through several huge windows and touched everything in the room with its silvery beams of light. Around the bed three people were anxiously watching while the woman on it continued to scream and wriggle in labour. A large male with raven-black fur gently grabbed her hand while stroking her head with two of his six tails: “Nearly there Helena, just hold on a little longer…”

An old and wizened kitsune with copper-coloured fur interspersed with grey patches and a medical bag clutched in his left hand added:

“Remember milady, the harder the labour the more promising the child!”

‘Ohh will you just shut up already? This is hard enough as it is without your hollow words of reassurance…”

Helena had a good reason to be troubled. She had been in labour for the past 12 hours and if the child wouldn’t or couldn’t arrive within the next, they would have to resort to magic to prevent serious harm to the mother and baby. Interference during birth was considered an ill omen by all kitsune.

“My love, all will be well and even if we have to use magic, our child will grow up splendidly. Don’t worry yourself with a troublesome future that will never come to pass” the black kitsune, Albert, whispered into Helena’s ear while he continued to gently stroke her hair.

She looked up at him and when their eyes met, a small spark travelled from the depth of Albert’s azure eyes towards his wife. When it reached Helena, she managed to relax, at least somewhat. And finally, with the next tremendous wave of pain, a small head with black hair and silvery ears could be seen. Some seconds later the old kitsune reached down and could, at long last, present the royal couple with their daughter.

A tiny kitsune with raven-black hair and silver fur rested peacefully in the arms of her mother. She seemed serene and calm, having cried for the last twenty minutes. She had only stopped to drink a little and had gone back to crying directly afterwards. Now she was finally asleep.

“Oh my lord, she is beautiful. The most precious thing I have ever seen!” Albert couldn’t get enough of his daughter and hovered closely by his wife. The doctor and the future maid of their little girl had been complimented out of the room as soon as he had assured Albert that his wife and daughter were fine, only exhausted.

He lovingly caressed his wife’s ears while studying the form of the new woman in his life. She was perfect. Small silvery ears adorned a black-haired head. Her facial features were still somewhat chubby but he could already make out her high cheekbones, chiselled nose, pouty mouth and large eyes. Her face promised to be remembered in legends and songs, if she grew up just a little.

When she was still awake, her eyes had shone like the moon and even emitted a tiny bit of silvery-blue light. Her gaze had been hypnotising, not only for the freshly minted dad, but the maid and Dr. Hofffox had also been entranced for several seconds when they first gazed upon the newly born princess. For Albert, the most amazing thing was on her back. Two tails, glittering like molten silver were closely entwined with the one he used to hug his family. The little princess was born with two tails. Something that should not have been possible. How could an infant know anything about the world and its place in it? But the miracles didn’t stop there. Above her tails, directly on her shoulder blades, two birthmarks could be seen. They resembled finely chiselled wings, but instead of feathers, intricate flowing forms filled them. The closer he looked the more details he could make out, the symmetries seemed to continue on and on until they were so small that his sharp fox eyes couldn’t follow them. Even when he used magic, he could only decipher more details but still couldn’t follow the pattern to its end. The most amazing thing however was the colour. Instead of a light change to her skin tone, the birthmarks were made of something that resembled silvery-blue light, flowing beneath his daughter’s skin.

“You are right. She is perfect. And she is ours!” Helena whispered. Her husband pulled her and the little girl close with one of his tails and smiled brightly at his family.

And there, in the no man’s land, smack down in the middle of two loving parents, a tiny but honest smile formed on the sleeping princess’ face.