The Silverton Legend

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The legend of the first Candoran ruler is a tale of magic and mystery, passed down through the ages just as the necklace is. Each king or queen of Silverton blood holds within them the passion of a phoenix. If ever their country comes in need of it, the phoenix arises from the land’s ashes. It is a tale as old as the floating islands above the Banian Sea or the singing trees of Athrel.

(This legend is a part of my Key of Fire novel.)

Submitted: January 13, 2012

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Submitted: January 13, 2012



Light flashed across the churning sky, a quick beam that resembled the reflection of a blade.  It illuminated the land below it, its enemy.  The booming war cry echoed through the valley, shaking trees and disturbing the slumber of the animals.  Soldiers raced down from the sky by the thousands, wet and cold, carrying banners unseen by mortal eyes.  It was a storm unlike any witnessed before, fearsome and mighty.  Leaves rained down upon the travelers who shivered in fright at the base of a giant oak.  The heavily pregnant woman cradled her protruding stomach in her hands, gently rubbing the mound as if to soothe the child within.  Her burnt gold hair stuck to her face like vines, itchy and annoying, but she dared not remove them.  Her husband wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders, cradling his love against his chest.  With nurturing words, he calmed his little wife, smiling as she laid her head in the hollow of his neck.  He wiped the strands from her delicate face, pulling them back behind the frail shell of her ears.  Pulling the too small blanket around their cold forms, he rocked her gently until she fell asleep.

Watching from its perch in the swaying trees, the small figure lifted its wings.  The white owl preened under its downy feathers, returning its blazing yellow gaze unto the two.  She was undisturbed by the raging tempest above them, instead focusing her attention on the mortals below.  Power coursed through the bird’s veins, extending out from its graceful figure.  Like the curling fronds of a newborn fern, the tendrils reached, caressing against the surface of everything it passed; be it tree, grass, or creature.  Where the invisible hands touched, light sparkled, bright as the stars that were hidden from view.  The essence of this immortal seeped ever closer to its two charges, fading in and out of sight, similar to the wings of a fairy.  The owl lifted its wings once more to take flight, sailing through the trees on the path of the dusty trail.  When she drifted silently over the now sleeping couple, she rested in the branches above their head.  Scanning the surroundings for potential threats, the owl felt the extension of power from the female.  It was not the woman, she knew, but the child that grew within the human’s womb.  It felt the immortal’s presence and was curious.  The human within the shell of an owl grinned.

Such curiosity and brilliance at such a young age, the enchantress mused.

Without warning, the rain shifted and the wind howled.  The air around them grew frigid, freezing the droplet soldiers into ice and snow; it bit against the warm skin of the humans below.  While they remained under the enchantress’s sleeping spell, their body temperatures dropped and rosy lips turned arctic blue.  Flakes gathered on the fringes of their downed eyelashes and piled atop their heads like crowns.  In a matter of heartbeats, the world around them was a blanket of white, but what would appear to be a winter wonderland was nothing more than a nightmare.  The savage wind raced through the trees, the gusts racing one another as it battered against the shaking frames of the man and woman.  Teams of snow created a bet between one another, competing to see who would bury the figures first.  As the warmth dropped and the child within grew cold, the being that watched over them screeched in rage.

They had waited many years for this child to come, for her to be born of virgin blood.  No longer would the powers of old sit idly by while the darkness that haunted their existence snuffed out their only hope.

With every ounce of power in her mind, she called upon the blood of the ancestors that ran through her veins.  It coursed like an ember though her body, stretching out to the frozen forest.  Animals began to appear, wolves and foxes accompanied by birds of prey.  They gathered in a circle around the sleeping couple, and relished in the feel of each other’s magic.  Lying dormant for centuries, their powers now leaped and bounded off the land and its inhabitants, reaching automatically towards their unborn savior.  A red coated vixen stepped up to the woman, extending her cold nose through the blanket and nudging the flesh beneath.  The woman did not stir, but the figure within her did.  Pulling back her head, the fox grinned, shaking her soft fur free of the cursed snow.

Gathering around tighter, they all extended their essence towards them, warming and calling them back from the icy hands of death.  It was a battle that had been waiting for years, and after such a buildup of power, the darkness had no chance.  With a scream from the wind and a final clash of thunder, the mighty storm dissipated, revealing a fat moon as white as the melting snow.  It beamed around them, casting its own help to the guardians, lending where it was needed.  With the help of the circle, flesh became tan once more and breathing evened out into a restful rhythm.  Eyelids flittered as dreams emerged.  The night forest exploded into color, the snow seeping back into the earth, the power lingering to it becoming neutral once more.

As the world melted around them and their powers seeped back within the confines of their animal forms, they left one by one.  With each disappearance, magic remained, giving the gift of healing or sleep.  Some mended the clothes of the couple, patching up a hole or rip, while a lone badger left a massive bag of imperishable food.  When all was calm once more, and the child within the womb slept peacefully, the owl lifted her eyes to the moon.  With a quiet shift, she sent her body dropping, landing delicately on the protruding stomach.  Her talons did not harm the body on which she stood, nor did they offer any discomfort.  She was merely a small pressure, like that of a hand.  Reaching with her mind once more, she felt for the child, and found her.  She was a tiny spark of light, the baby, in a sea of darkness.  Her gift unto them was not of food or healing, but rather her own slice of magic. 

When the bird left their side, it held no humane thought in its head.  The thrum of magic that used to be a constant companion was no longer there.  On silent wings, the bird flew, searching for the snack that would feed its hunger.

Down below, beneath an oak in full blood, the couple sleeps.  The baby within the woman’s body stirs, nudging the side of the womb with her foot before falling back under the embrace of slumber.  Resting delicately on the frail female’s stomach, wrapped in a liquid silver cloth, rests an amulet of power.  Its wings are made of polished ivory, with two, fiery garnet as its eyes.  The silver chain attached is spelled to never break or tarnish.  The phoenix is a beautiful piece of jewelry, meant to always find its owner.  Inscribed on the back is a single name:  Arianna Silverton.

© Copyright 2018 Silver Storme. All rights reserved.

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