Into Forbidden Lands
The World of Mirrors

Iam known by the people of Theregon as Draca Aethera, but on occasion Tarmel still calls me Illiom. Whenever he does I smile, for it is a reminder of that trying yet exhilarating time that brought us together.

He acts as if he is still my Rider, and that I require his protection, although we both know that it is no longer so.

Six years have passed since the Illignment and the merging of the Chosen with the Bloodrobes. Six years that have seen us focus all our energy and resources on the people of Âtras: regrouping scattered communities, rebuilding shattered realms and healing the land, the forests, the very air and the waters that were poisoned by war.

The biggest of all tasks has been restoring the people’s faith in life.

One year after the Illignment, Prince Vardail was crowned High Regent of the Common Weal of Theregon. We, the Chosen, now known as Draca, attended the crowning ceremony to give Queen Eranel’s heir our blessing.

Vardail’s work of restoration and reconstruction has done marvels to heal the spirit of those who survived the Bloodrobes’ war.

I flew to Altra once, soon after the coronation, and sought out my beloved Who.

I went to him as an owl, but he was not fooled by my appearance. He recognised me instantly and I saw how rich his life had become. He has sired a clutch of eight owlets and they are indescribably beautiful.

Before I flew back to my own nest, I thanked him for his company and guidance during the dark times of my lost days. He looked at me like he always did and said nothing. I smiled, although I am still not sure what he makes of human smiles.

Altra remained untouched by the cataclysm unleashed by the Bloodrobes, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

Argolan is no longer Shieldarm; she now serves as Wardmaster in King Vardail’s New Kuon, taking over from Menphan Tarn who resigned after the war. I have heard that Pell, Grifor and Zoran are part of her handpicked personal guard. It moves me that they are still together. The bond that unites them is by far the strongest of any within the Black Ward and they are regarded as living legends by Blades and Riders alike.

We, the Draca, oversee the whole of Âtras, which means that we travel a lot. Fortunately, our wings make short work of the great distances involved. The people remark that the Age of Myth has returned to the world, for the presence of Dragons in the skies of Âtras is now commonplace.

Though we do not meet in the flesh very often, we do so in regular melds. Regardless of distance, the melds are incredibly powerful experiences that nourish and deepen our connection whenever we come together in this way.

Kassargan lives with us in Calestor and she teaches the youth of Iol in much the same way as Draca Provan once did. The role suits her, and on occasion, when I see her sitting in the shade of the trees in the Pentangle, I see Provan in her serene presence.

Scald is Draca Tuatha, and he has taken up one of the hardest tasks, that of overseeing the healing of Igollianath and the Onceland Sea, as well as all of the surrounding lands. He rewards himself by spending as much time as he can in the Werewood and has become greatly respected and loved by the Elleyadim. I suspect that his true motive is to be close to the Heartwood and the Woedim, those extraordinary living extensions of the Werewood.

Azulya, now Draca Shalim, lives mostly in Cevaram. That land was also spared the full brunt of the war, though they fought tooth and nail in the bottleneck of the Atlan Peninsula where Ollord concentrated the Kroeni forces in an attempted invasion of the Queendom. She lives there, reunited with her beloved Roonhian’ka husband, though the largest part of her work is in Kroen where the people suffered terrible atrocities at the hands of Ollord’s Horde.

I see her as often as I can.

Already much of Lodeh has been rebuilt, and the ruthless Houses that once ruled through deceit and the sword have been disbanded. They have been replaced by a council of elders who are chosen by the people for exhibiting the qualities most needed for the benefit of all.

Draca Igris, once Sereth, and Draca Faenna, formerly Elan, oversee the great valley of the Thel Drus, while Draca Vane, who went by the name of Malco, now lives in Quendor and is custodian of that vast mountain range.

Finally, Draca Mirrillil, or Undina, has opted to return to the tribal lands of her people, the Pelonui, in east Albradan. From there she travels wherever she is needed.

I can see some slight marks of time upon Tarmel, although he remains strong and agile – the benefits of his continued practice of Madon.

My own body has not aged in any way. The only physical change I experienced in this time was the predictable cycle that saw me give birth to the twins, Tehrist and Chissel.

I now know that this body will remain the same until the time when - like the Draca of old - I will yield this sacred role to someone ready to walk this path of power.

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I know, when that time arrives, that Tarmel will be long gone.

He knows it also.

We do not speak of it because it does not benefit either of us to dwell upon what will come.

This is the time we have together, and we drink deeply from it.

Tarmel knows my feelings for him. I open myself to him whenever we come together in our precious unions, and let him drink from that vast well that has opened up inside of me.

He knows there will never be any other for me.

Now, outside, Chissel and Tehrist dance under Tarmel’s watchful eye. He is teaching them Madon.

He is more demanding of Tehrist because the boy looks so much like him. He is softer with Chissel, because she is so much like me. But he adores them both in equal measure and fathers them with unrestrained love. Daylight shines upon them now, but they will still be dancing when Sudra lights up the night sky.

The Bloodrobe Crelor who forced himself upon this body was so utterly mistaken: his seed did not consume Tarmel’s. Only my old fears could have allowed such an abomination, but the gift of Sudra’s Orb burned all that away, stripping me of all fear.

The vision of that old woman in Calestor, who once foresaw my death, had been true. In the moment of entering the Orb of the Goddess, Illiom did die.

The truth is that the one who was born was neither Illiom nor Aethera, but something greater than both.

The names remain, for in the world we need names to differentiate one from the other. But the nameless that stirs within me is so much more than any name could ever be.

When Tarmel is not minding or entertaining the children, or being with me, he fills his days with a new endeavour. He has taken up the craft of the scribe and each day puts quill to parchment to record the events that have shaped our lives since that day we first met, beneath my rough sanctuary, high in the Sevrock Mountains.

He is constantly hounding me for details of my experiences, and I do what I can to satisfy his curiosity, even though I am much more fulfilled by what is happening right now.

His passion and love for me drive him, and seeing him so engrossed in his task is a beautiful thing.

And I recognise an opportunity to do something that would not be possible if he had not undertaken this endeavour.

So here and now I would speak to you – the one who is reading this tale of the seven Chosen and their quest for Sudra’s Orb.

Do not, even for one moment, delude yourself into believing that this story is fanciful, or that it happened only to someone named Illiom.

No.

This story is about you.

It is the tale of your journey home.

For, whether you know it or not, you too are Chosen.

It matters not that your name is different, nor that the details do not match.

You too have fallen under the spell of forgetfulness, a spell that you have cast upon your own self.

You too walk in this dream we call life, utterly ignorant of the vast power that stirs within you.

You too live in the World of Mirrors.

It does not matter how lost you are.

It does not matter how fearfully you peer out at life.

Your status does not matter.

Nor do the terrible deeds that you believe you have committed.

Nothing matters at all.

To be free, there is just one thing you need to do.

And you can only do it now, because now is the only moment there is.

To be free you must open your eyes and see who you truly are.

Wake up.

“That which you seek, is that which seeks you.”

Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī

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