(eng) Michael J. Sullivan - Legends of The first Empire 01 by Age of Myth

Author:Age of Myth [Myth, Age of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Miralyith

To the Fhrey we were little more than dust, as unnoticeable as pebbles along a path. It gave us an advantage, but not for long.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN

Arion left Thym and Naraspur in Alon Rhist and traveled south alone. For her, loneliness wasn’t a problem. She reminded herself of this twice. The second time she added the adage about how Miralyith were trained to live inside their heads and being with people was the real hardship. The third time she considered how, being alone, she could stop and rest when she liked, walk when she wanted, sleep where she wished. By the fourth time, she wondered why she had to keep reminding herself that she was better off alone. Then she faced the obvious realization that she wasn’t just alone with her thoughts. She wasn’t isolated in her home, away in the Garden, sitting in a quiet room of the palace, or studying at the art academy. Arion was completely alone. There wasn’t another Fhrey for miles and no Miralyith at all on this side of the Nidwalden. Those thoughts were sobering.

Before being appointed as the prince’s tutor, Arion had taught at the Estramnadon Academy of the Art. One of the hardest things to teach, after students learned the basics, was that Miralyith weren’t invincible. Everyone in Erivan treated them with respect, deference, and even fear. Such behavior made it all too easy to believe, as Gryndal did, that they were above others. Such thoughts led to a number of serious and sometimes fatal accidents. Arion knew of one student trying to fly who had nearly died from jumping off the roof of the Airenthenon. Another student, grieving over a lover’s death, had entered the afterlife to save him and never returned.

Being a Miralyith wasn’t the same as being all-powerful. The fall from Naraspur had been a reminder of just how vulnerable she was. If Arion had landed on her neck or slammed her head on a rock, she’d be just as dead as anyone else. A more immediate concern was that she couldn’t create or summon food and water. She had to carry supplies on her back and hope more would be found before her provisions ran out. And while she wasn’t worried about being attacked when awake, she would need to sleep. While unconscious, she couldn’t maintain even the simplest weave. As she often told her students, a Miralyith was like a diamond—harder than anything, but if hit in just the right place, it shattered like glass. And there she was, alone in an unfamiliar wild wilderness, a diamond in the rough.

At least she had her string.

String patterns were taught at the art academy to boost concentration, creativity, and dexterity, as well as to familiarize students with the idea of weaving patterns out of interconnected threads. The Art was all about recognizing and making delicate patterns, and string games were as much an illustration as a tool. Such games were used only briefly, early in a Miralyith’s training.

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