Arthurian Cultivation

Flying is often described as a majestic experience, and that moment of takeoff where the world falls away and the trees fade from looming titans to mere blades of grass is something to behold. The rest of it tends to be boring, cold, and tiring. There’s little that saps the will more than feeling like you’re getting close, only to realise your sense of scale is off, and you remain punishingly far from your target. A problem that I kept having with the looming mountains we skirted.

Rolling hills of Celtica spanned out beneath us, the mountain range of the Alpus on our right forming a curtain that consumed the horizon. Somewhere between towering peaks, the fae realm waited for us. Up this high, you’d have been forgiven for thinking we were still in the depths of winter. Only the green plains which were now in the full throes of spring offered distant evidence to the contrary.

A gust of wind caught us, getting under the furs I wore. I puffed on my pipe forcing more smoke under the layers. My magical outfit had adjusted admirably to the conditions, turning into a thick riding coat, a collar that buttoned around my neck and even a furred hood. Even then, with the wind and cold, I’d had to add furs so kindly donated by the Golden Hinde to help keep me from freezing and a regular pump of smoke kept me tolerably warm.

“I don’t like it, Taliesin, I don’t like it!” Bors sat on the saddle before me, hunkered over Gring’s back, a fuzzy limpet I’d had to swat multiple times when he started to crush his mount in a fit of terror. He was swaddled in furs and while his iron constitution kept the worst of the cold off him, it did nothing for his crippling vertigo.

“It’s alright, Bors, we’re nearly there.” I tried to reassure my friend with a pat on the back. Earlier, I tried to highlight the majestic views, I wouldn't be doing that again. I'm not sure Gring would ever truly forgive me for having his rider be violently sick over the side.

“You said that two hours ago!” Bors moaned.

“Near is relative. We were very far, and now we’re nearer. Nearness is a state of mind.” I had to infuse glamour into my voice to be heard.

“That sounds like how my illuminated text would say ‘We’re still fucking miles away’,” Bors whined. I heard a chuff of frustration from Gring at that. I wasn't fluent in 'Gring' speak but even I could tell the pegasus had no patience left for Bors moaning.

Gring was doing amazing work keeping us both aloft, Despite his burden, the white pegasus flew beautifully. His wings had grown beyond the already impressive size I was used to seeing on the ground, the feathers glowing with glamour. Great feathered sails beating a steady rhythm to keep us aloft. Despite this magical shift, it was still taking everything Gring had to keep us aloft. Earlier Bors had complained about the cold till I'd had to cuff him on the ear. All of Gring's air glamour was being used to help generate lift and handle our added weight. None was left to keep the winds off us.

“Oh look, Gawain is turning. We’re either taking a break or we’re close.”

“Fool me once shame on me, fool me four times shame on you. I’m not looking. We know what happens when I open my eyes.” Bors groused into the saddle. I heard a faint whinny from Gring marking his agreement. I’d already had to promise that Lance would be giving him lots of grooming to make up for the two times Bors was actually sick.

Ahead of us, the Whispering Kestrel, burdened with the other three of our party, turned towards the mountains. As we got closer, Gaz’s enchanted earpiece began to hum.

“We’re near one of the camps they used. It will make for a good base. We’re setting down here for the evening.” Gaz’s voice was distorted by the vast amount of water glamour up here. His voice sounded like it was coming at me through the wrong end of a hunting horn.

“No complaints here. We’re good to follow you down.” I shouted back, hoping the earpiece picked it up.

“What’s good? Are—”

“We’re following.” I was now yelling over him as he continued to speak. I sighed.

“We need to work out a system for this. Message received, we’re following. Done speaking.” I added. A second later, the glamour faded from the device, so message received? I just had to assume.

“I highly doubt that,” Bors muttered from the front, the wind catching his words and delivering them to me despite the roar of the winds. “So we’re actually nearly there, can I open my eyes yet?”

Gring let out an angry snort and tipped left. “I’m keeping them shut, I’m keeping them shut!”

A few minutes later, Bors was hugging the ground. At least I think that’s what he was doing as he lay face down on a boulder with his arms wrapped around it. I turned to Gawain. “Is he OK?”

“He does this every time, Sir Taliesin. Would you believe it used to be worse?” Gawain stood beside me attending to Archimedes. The bird was getting a great deal for flying with three people on its back. Gawain had needed to boost his spirit animal with his air glamour often enough that he looked utterly wrecked as well.

“How? Did he try and take the ground with him?”

“Astute observation, one habit was indeed attempting to smuggle rocks along with him.” I heard a snort from Gring, who clopped his hoof for attention, before knocking it against a small boulder. “Gring is right, I feel rocks might be underselling the size and weight of the stones he had.”

“It’s alright, I’m going to braid your mane, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Lance spoke gently to the pegasus who settled and let out an appreciative whinny. She, like the rest of us, was swaddled in furs, but I could tell underneath her hair would be perfect. I wanted that power. My own hair was a sweaty mess that occasionally escaped my hood, where if I wasn’t careful, it would get frozen by a passing blast of wind.

The chill wind was lessening. Our camp was in a crack that broke off from a small valley. It was totally hidden from any passing eyes. Gawain went and pried Bors off his rock, marshalling him to help build a shelter. The narrow walls quickly became a roof and walls. We started a fire, normally a risk not worth taking as the smoke could lead others to us, but with some clever stonework from Bors and my gift, that wasn’t a worry.

As Bors got to cooking the food he’d brought from the travelling merchants, I sat outside our camp keeping watch. I sat a little away from our camp, so I could see more of the valley. I remained close enough to manipulate the smoke, and we’d agreed that if the shelter suddenly filled with smoke that was the warning sign for trouble. The rocks were coated in snow. I had a grey wolf pelt on and did my best to blend in with the rocks.

Looking out, I had to admit it was a beautiful sight. We were just below where the clouds started to form, so above me was a constantly shifting field of white, now turning gold with the fading light of day. Those churning clouds were nothing compared to the beauty of watching the sun set over Celtica. All day, the rolling green hills had looked like someone had dropped a great velvet blanket across the world, crumpled and rising in peaks and falling into deep troughs. At this distance, the land looked soft, like one could reach over and pinch the peaks between their fingers and shape them anew.

Gaz joined me. He’d had the good luck to get the pelt of a great white fox, and it merged perfectly with the snow. He sat beside me, staring out across the vista. We watched in silence as the shadows of the hills grew longer, until finally the sun dipped below the horizon.

“I never imagined I’d be doing something like this,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

“Aren’t you part of an Order? Isn’t going out on adventures like this part of the whole deal?” I couldn’t help but ask. The Harkleys had been very dismissive of the Orders, and the few Order members I had the chance to speak with rarely had time for a crippled cultivator. What I knew was mostly from stories, and they revolved around questing for relics, great hunts, and deep delves into the fae realms spread across Euross.

“It is in our name. The Order of the Kraken mostly works on ships. Mountains, not so much. But more, it’s because I’m a member due to politics more than talent.” I raised an eyebrow at Gaz. I didn’t know him very well, but I’d never describe him as someone lacking in talent. Before I could say as much, he spoke again.

“I’m the youngest son of the throne-heir to Jarl Orkney. Do you know of the Orcades?” he asked. I knew it. The small archipelago was beyond even the Lands of Woad at the top of Albion. Go beyond it, and only the unending ice wall was to be found. It balanced its role as a place of trade and rest with being the last stop for any ships that would come down raiding from the lands of the Nóregr. The dragon ships would shelter there before sailing down and launching their tame beasts of fire and scale to terrorise the settlements on the coast.

“I did once hear it’s cold enough to freeze your prick off if you piss in the wrong direction,” I offered, drawing an uncharacteristic laugh from Gaz. “But yes, I know of the Orcades. It surprises me you’re from there. I’d heard, well…”

“That we were all giants with dreadlocks and salt-caked beards who’d throw an axe through you as soon as look at you? See, that’s the issue. It’s not that I lack talent. My talents are—not the right shape.” Gaz let out a rattling sigh. “It made the Orcades a bitter place to be.”

“So what, you’re banished out here?” I asked. That’d be what the Harkleys would’ve pulled.

“Courts, no. This is to save me. My father called in all sorts of favours to get me here. At home, my immediate family was close, but everyone else? They live up to the image you have of us. Still, you have to understand, I was sent here not to become some hero of the Order, nor to take it over. I am meant to learn politics. I am to become our face on Euross proper. All of this wasn’t part of the plan.” Gaz gestured to the mountains, which were rapidly fading into total darkness.

“I shouldn’t be here. I should be back at the Order, safely learning what I need to know. I’m meant to be marrying Tiff in the summer and studying under my master. I owe my family for all of that opportunity. But here I am, deep in adventure, battling twisted cultivators and trying to find giant spirit bears. I didn’t even think twice about joining you all. Is it bad that I didn’t even consider going back?”

“I am the wrong person to ask about family.” I paused, thinking about how the Harkleys might’ve approached this. My mind retched. The Harkleys weren’t family but my jailors. To cleanse myself, I pulled upon my memories of my mother. They came easier than they had in a long time. The vault I’d preserved them in to protect them from corruption was now open. I tried to imagine how she would’ve handled this, what she would’ve wanted for me. It was tough. All I really remembered was her asking, ‘What do you want to do?’ Perhaps that was the answer?

“I have a question for you. If you’d wanted to stay on the Orcades, prove yourself somehow, take up drake taming, or become some great warrior there, what would your family have done?” I asked, letting the smoke work around me to battle the cold.

“Kept me there, I’m sure. Got me trainers and gave me the tools to make my way. I’d have hated it.”

“That would’ve been riskier?”

“It’s a series of islands infested with drakes and pirates. The politics here can be cutting, but it’s not an axe to the face, so I’d say it’d be far riskier at home.”

“Well, that’s the answer. Your family wants you to be happy, not safe.”

“It’s not that simple.” His answer was immediate, almost angry, before he stopped himself and pondered. I let him stew on it for a moment before asking a question of my own.

“What brought this on? I appreciate knowing my compatriots more, but it’s a little bit of a surprise.”

“I felt bad. We demanded your secrets from you. You shared them willingly, but it irked me that I did not offer the same. I felt it was time to even the scales.” He sat back, and I couldn’t help but nod in appreciation. “Do you really think my family would be happy with what I’m doing?”

“I’m not saying it’s simple, but that’s the underlying goal, right? I mean, again, I’m hardly the right person to talk about this, but I like to imagine that my mother would’ve wanted me to be happy, to be free. How I went about it was second to that goal. If I had been happy being a Har…” My throat closed up at the very thought. “Nope, can’t even say it. What I mean is, if I’d chosen a path she’d not approved of, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been simple. But it doesn’t change that her underlying goal was to see me happy. That’s what I have to believe.”

“What was her name? Your mother.”

“Gwendolyn. She liked to be called Gwen. She was just mum to me, though.” I felt a lump in my throat as I spoke.

“She sounds like my mum. Astrid is my mother. She’s where I get the hair from. She’d probably give me a real smack if I’d stayed behind. I’m sure she’d like to meet you.” We sank back into silence for a time before snow began to fall in great sheets of white, so thick we could barely see each other. We retreated inside to begin planning our assault.