The Coming of a Storm

Sunlight, reflected in the droplets of water, like pearls gathered on the undersides of leaves and blades of grass. Hidden treasure.

Air, calm and fresh, washed clean by the storm that purified the land of everything redundant. Withered plants, dried and brittle branches, broken by the wind and rain. The old making way for the new. Cycle of life.

The song of a river, running with vigor and power, banks swelled and waters white. An unstoppable force of change, the bringer of plenty. Flow.

Qwaith took in the sensations of her environment. She connected to the land, feeling its mood. Excitement, aliveness. The land’s feelings brought a smile on her face.

Anticipation, curiosity. An underlining of worry.

Her smile faded and she opened her eyes. The moss was wet and soft in her palm, cool water trickling between her fingers as she squeezed it. Tiny organisms, little worms with hundreds of tiny legs living in the moss, crawled onto her hand. Food, food, food, they sang.

She placed the moss gently back on the wet rock and stood up. Dead leaves and dirt stuck to her knees where she knelt on the ground. Qwaith took a deep breath and held it.

Her heart beat at a steady pace, like a pleasant rhythm beating on a drum. She felt her blood flow in her veins, the processes of her body performing the function of living. The air swirled inside her lungs, wanting to escape. Pressure built in her ears. Her senses sharpened.

She exhaled, slow and long, listening to the sound her breath made. Birds chased in the canopies, squirrels dashed in the undergrowth. A treant lumbered sluggishly, attempting to cross the raging river with its massive body. A group of goblins, blades, and spears held tight in hand, observed it with caution, keeping low to the ground. 

Everywhere she looked, Qwaith saw life unfold in its endless, wonderful ways. Beneath her feet, the earth pulsated with an ancient rhythm, the soul of Nature herself. The land was pristine, untampered, and wild. Balance was maintained. All was well.

Yet Qwaith noticed a whisper of change. She could feel it in the grinding of rocks deep beneath the surface, feel it in the passage of time. She could hear it in the conversations of the grass and the trees, an excited murmur. A growing concern.

“Something is coming,” she said, looking, but not seeing with her eyes. She gazed through the eyes of the land, inspecting its every nook and cranny, looking over every inch of her protectorate. She saw through every living being and every non-living object, that inhabited a spirit. All seemed well, nothing threatened the balance.

Yet the whispers were there. Something was coming, from far away. From outside her protectorate, where she could not see it, though she could sense it.

Qwaith moved from under the trees and walked onto the field of grass. The treant was halfway across the river, the water rushing loudly as it slammed into its trunk and branches. The roots helped keep it steady. The group of goblins spooked as they noticed Qwaith and they ran, leaving their weapons where they fell. 

Birds and butterflies came to greet her, landing on her shoulders, ears, and hair. Dance, sing, love, food, they said, singing in lively voices. Dance, dance on the wind.

“Spread the word,” Qwaith said to them. “I’m calling a gathering.”

Word, gathering, dance, sing, they chirped and flew off, scattering to different directions. Qwaith walked to the river, knelt, and dipped her palm in its cool water.

“What do you see, sister?”

I flow, I run, I go, the river sang, loud and clear. From cloud to stone, from hill to valley, my waters go. I see… Deciders. Many they are, further down my stream.

Qwaith suspected as much. Whenever balance was threatened these days, it was due to the Deciders. Still, it was not ill to query if other forces were at work as well. She thanked the river and walked across its surface as it was solid ground, stopping by the treant. 

“Brother,” she said, placing a palm on the creature’s mighty barked skin. “Inform your kin. Deciders come.”

“We walk already,” the treant said, its whole body rumbling with its deep, scratchy voice. “We keep watch.”

Qwaith thanked the mighty guardian and walked to the other side of the river. Her feet remained dry as she stepped over the banks’ pebbles and into the forest.

“Trees,” she said, calling upon them.

We grow, we stand, we reach, they answered. Drink light and water, dig the earth. Come, rejoice in our shade.

“Thank you, steady ones,” she said, accepting their cover. “I call a gathering. Deciders come.”

We will stand, they answered, their voices deeper and slower than the treants’. We will greet them in our shade.

“They do not come for shade, tall ones,” Qwaith said, feeling the land, sensing its worry. “Protect each other. Keep alert.”

She walked deeper into the forest, listening to the trees conversing, spreading her message in the rustling of their branches. There will be much to do if the balance was to be preserved. Many to call, many to gather. Much to discuss.

A majestic deer crossed her path, antlers adorning its head like a crown. It bowed its head to Qwaith and looked her in the eyes.

What comes, true-elf? it asked. What comes?

“The Deciders, noble one,” she replied, running her hand across the deer’s sturdy hair. “Protect your own, and protect the weak. Keep alert.”

We will see and smell for you, true-elf, the deer said. Use our strong legs for scouting.

“I thank you,” she said and nodded. The deer sprang off, heading to its kin. 

Qwaith walked, speaking to plants and animals of the forest, talking to streams and the wind, addressing the sunlight peeking through the canopy. She informed everyone of a threat coming their way, and told everyone to prepare. 

The land responded to her calling and they gathered - in awareness. Qwaith tapped in the pool of their collective consciousness and gave each of them a part of herself - both in spirit, as well as in power. This way, she could not only see through them but also act if needed.

There was only one more to inform, one more that was under her jurisdiction to be called forth. An old friend.

Qwaith reached a hill mound in the middle of the forest - the center of her protectorate. It was a giant rock formation that jutted out from the green canopies, towering over the forest like a monolith. The rock was a natural formation, too steep to climb from all sides. She approached the rock and walked up its cliff walls like she was walking on level ground. The planet pulled down on her body, but her feet were stronger.

When she reached the top, Qwaith placed her palm flatly on the stone. “Rock,” she said. “I apologize for waking you from your slumber, but your presence is needed.”

The hill shook, frightening birds and monkeys away, loose rocks and pebbles falling off. A voice, sounding like grinding mountains rose from beneath. 

“Qwaith, old friend,” the hill rumbled. “No apology needed, true-elf. I was asleep long enough.”

“The Deciders come and I need help in keeping balance.”

“My being is yours.”

“Thank you,” she said and stood up. “Rise, ancient one.”

The hill shook again, like an earthquake, groaning with a yawn that tore rocks apart. Qwaith remained planted firmly on its surface as the hill’s body shifted and twisted, forming arms, legs, and a face. Qwaith soon found herself standing on the shoulder of a giant.

“Where do you need me?” hill asked, glancing at her tiny form.

“South,” she said.

The giant began walking.

***

“Is it much further, sire? Nightfall will be upon us in a few hours.”

Rongald gazed through the looking glass, squinting on one eye. The wind played with his hair, pulling at his coat and causing his scarf to flap against his cheek. 

“It’s not far.” He could already see it, in his mind. It had been days since they’ve flown over the last human settlement, days since their armada sailed unknown skies. The land beneath appeared wild and unclaimed by any kingdom, by any civilized race.

“Our fleet is prepared, sire,” the advisor said, holding the collar of his coat close together, protecting his sore throat from the wind. “Though I don’t see why we need it to be. Surely there will be no resistance from… this.” He gestured at the forest far beneath the airship.

Rongald lowered his looking glass and folded it. “If I am correct and the map shows the location to the Heart then we will need every ship we’ve got, Slander. These lands are untamed for a reason.”

The elderly advisor puffed. “Of course they are. But we will claim them. For the Empire!”

“For the Empire.”

“I suggest we ignite the core,” Slander said. “If you expect resistance then we should heat it to full power before we engage any potential enemy.”

“Agreed. Now is not the time to be prudent with crystals. Burn as many as we need. Soon we will have more than we will be able to hoard.”

“Yes, sire.” The old gnome’s eyes shone with a light of passion, the vision of a grand Empire so near completion. But Rongald knew better. His years of scavenging the wilds have taught him that whenever things looked too good to be true, they usually were.

It is darker before the dawn, it is most tempting to quit moments from victory, the last stretch of a long journey the hardest to make. They were approaching their end now. Should they be successful here, the true campaign can begin. 

Conquering the world.

The thought brought tears in Rongald’s eyes, the vision was able to send shivers across his spine. The dream of his fathers, his forefathers, and so many others before him… Too long have the gnomish people been left on the outskirts of the world, fighting for scraps. Too long have they been pushed around, bullied, and dominated by other races with superior might or magic. Too long have gnomes just stood by and watched, as other nations fought with godly forces for power. 

But no more.

Their time had finally come.

Might and magic would finally be shattered, overshadowed, and broken by a new power, an ancient power wrought from oblivion. 

As in confirmation to his musings, the airship shook, its core vibrating to life. 

“Technology,” he whispered with pride. “A power that the old ones wielded. A power overlooked by men, elves, dwarves, orcs, even the gods themselves. Fools, blind and myopic! But not us, no. We’ve recognized the potential. We’ve seen the possibility.” He gripped his gloved hands on the metal railing and glanced down from the viewing platform. “We’ve harnessed the power of our Intellect.”

A ship without sails, with a sleek body like that of a cigar. A steel frame and plating, heavy leather canvas holding pockets of hot gas. Wires, nuts and bolts, spinning blades that propelled the construction forward, held up by hot air. At its center, the core. An artifact as old as the world itself, acting as a heart that gives life to the technological marvel. 

Looking down at the majesty of the flagship, Rongald felt vertigo. The land was so far down below that he could barely discern individual trees. 

Utter sky supremacy. Not even dragons flew this high. Sometimes, not even clouds.

And looking behind, there were dozens of such airships, dozens of flying fortresses, each a home for thousands of gnomes. This was not merely an armada, but a whole people, flying to war and destiny.

“Look at this, Slander,” Rongald said. “Tell me, have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”

The old gnome paused on the stairs, his body shivering in the high altitude cold. 

“No sire, I don’t believe I have.”

“Take a good look. This is the beginning of a new era. History will mark this time as the turning point when gnomes ascended into godhood.”

In the light of the waning sun, the metal plates of the airships glistened with gold, their polished underbellies reflecting the forest green. A trail of white smoke followed behind, steam rushing through vents and pipes. Smaller aircraft and personal transports buzzed and whirred between the bigger ones, buzzy like bees in a hive.

“There is but one force that can stop our glory now, Slander,” Rongald said. “And that’s underestimating the enemy. Signal the fleet to prepare for battle.”

The aged advisor looked at his future emperor and bowed reverently. “Yes, sire.”

Rongald drank in the view of his armada, then turned towards their destination. He noticed something rising from the sea of green down below. 

Mist. It enveloped the land, appearing as if from nowhere. Too fast to be evaporation from the earlier rainstorm and too evenly spread. A rocky hill, its peak rising from the mist, appeared to move. Rongald’s heart quickened. 

“So we have arrived.”

***

“So it’s gnomes this time,” Qwaith said, spotting the Deciders through the eyes of an eagle. The sight took her breath away. “There’s so many of them.”

Like a storm cloud, they came. The sharp curvatures of their metal airships cut through the soft sky like knives. They left a trail of white steam on the blue canvas, showing the direction from where they came. A roaring, like that of a thousand gigantic bees, filled the air.

What is it? What is it? the birds asked curiously, flying around Qwaith’s hair. Big birds? 

Hide, run, danger, the grass whispered, swaying gently in the breeze, wishing it could uproot and move.

Intruders have come, the trees said. We will stand.

I meant not to carry them here, the wind whistled around the stone giant’s head, speaking to Qwaith. I apologize. They have taken advantage of my calm skies.

“I’m afraid I can be of no use to you, old friend,” the giant said. “The Deciders sail the skies. I am bound to the ground.”

“They will have to land, should they wish to claim what they came here for,” Qwaith said. “Ground people have to come down, sooner or later. It is their nature.”

“When they do, I will meet them.”

Qwaith connected to the water in her protectorate. She asked it to evaporate, to rise and conceal the land. 

I rise, the water said. From leaf, river, and puddle, I return to father sky. A mist ascended from all around, hiding the forest.

“This will not stop them, true-elf,” the giant said.

“No,” Qwaith said. “But it will slow them. If they come for the Heart, then we must slow them enough for my kin to come to our aid.”

“That we can do,” the giant grumbled, slamming its arms together in a thunderous clap. 

***

A sound blast came from the mist, shattering all windows on the airship, causing Rongald to cover his ears. 

“Down there!” he shouted, pointing at the spot where he’d seen a hill move, just before the mist concealed it. “Unleash the lightning!”

The officers in the control room obeyed and pulled levers, speaking into tubes. The order was communicated to the engine room and a few moments later, a response came.

The airship began vibrating, the broken glass rattling on the floor. A scratching, sparking sound rose from the direction of the core and it traveled across the outer body of the airship, flowing to the very tip of it. There it built up, the tip starting to glow turquoise blue. Rongald watched as raw magic gathered from the crystals, and brimmed with pure potential, demanding to be released.

He raised a hand, watching the magic zap from the tip of the airship, reaching into its surroundings, and searching for a target.

“Sire,” Slander said. “If the magic builds up too much…”

Rongald held his hand up. He knew that whatever was down there was far superior to them. It would take a powerful blast to make a dent.

“Sire?”

The magic hissed, zapping at the airship’s hull.

“Release!”

An operator slammed down a lever and the airship jolted, making everyone stumble forward. A stream of pure magic raced from the tip of the ship and cut through the mist.

A moment later, the mist exploded and dissipated, revealing a dome of white fire spreading through the forest. The heat could be felt all the way up.

“A direct hit, sire!”

***

Qwaith floated in the middle of a blinding white void. Her body was invaded by raw magic and she had to use all her concentration to channel it away, so it didn’t rip her apart.

She couldn’t help her friend at the same time. She did not expect the Deciders to possess such power...

The rock giant crumbled underneath her. The ancient elemental, her friend and companion throughout millennia's worth of wars and catastrophes, destroyed on the spot by a single burst of raw magic.

Gnomes, wielding magic… that was supposed to be impossible. How did they do it?

It burns! It hurts! We’re dying! Make it stop! She listened hopelessly to the cries of the land all around her, feeling each life burning in the fire. Trees, grass, foxes, deer, birds… she felt them all.

The white abyss finally released her. She found herself kneeling at the bottom of a crater, rocks molten beneath her knees and smoke rising from the land around.

“Such power,” she whispered. “The balance... “ She feared the damage would be done before her kin came. 

But for as long as she could draw breath, she would keep trying.

Qwaith stood up and clenched her fists. Her eyes rolled backward, turning green. Storm clouds began gathering, swirling vortexes of wind, like some tentacles of a gigantic sky leviathan, they began tearing airships apart.