Altitan Overture

[Synvasti Shymere]

Others have felt the earth tremble. Seen dust shake off from ancient, long-sealed doors. Heard the rumbling of song and of stone. Ask Sorynn, Rosaline, Alanna, Draekyn, Cody. Eyes always on the doors now.

I went to watch as well. And listen. 'Rifter had just begun to rise, pale light cresting the mountains, when Topaz offered up the music of her voice and zither. Later, Telmacha brough a fresh-slain bear for Kenj to cook in hopes that the savory aroma would lure the giants from their bastion. Topaz also set off a firework, igniting the sky with Miranda's initial - M a brief, burning beauty against the blue.

People spoke of other ways to get the attention of the giants. Shared fragments of knowledge or conjecture. People also spoke of herbs gathered from hillside, forest, garden, and kitchen. The topic of giants is not huge enough to overwhelm all other interests. Eventually, some fell asleep beside the broken Life Monument. Some kept guard through the night. Some went wherever their feet took them.

Much later, as night drew to a close, I and Draekyn heard a single sound like the breaking of the sky during a storm. Heard that single sound shatter into echoes. Then heard only silence.

[Synvasti Shymere]

At the fourteenth marc, the doors shivered with a sound like the laughter of a stone bear, and scattered dust upon the much-trampled snow at their base. Many saw it. Heard it. Before this came to pass, some watched Lowrenzo turn into a trick of smoke and mirrors, a haze-hued disappearing act.

Many questions. No answers. Some fear.

Still, while the marcs marched past, song spilled from the hearts of adventurers, food and drink were shared as well as laughter. If giants stirred behind their walls and listened to the sounds without – they heard friendship's tongue.

[Synvasti Shymere]

Some doors don't open at a knock or a song or a shout. The mountain stretches in its sleep. A stone flies or falls and kills two initiates. Vigil proceeds undaunted. In sunlight and moonlight and the unlight of a cloudy night, people gather and watch. Talk turns to gods and honor and a hundred other things. Laughter rises, silence falls, and sometimes one hears the stone-rousing rasp of a snore.

Beneath evening's quilt, the Loreweaver calls for threads to be passed from hand to hand and braided into a circle like a spidersilk bracelet. The threads come from the raw stuff of rain and rainbows, dormant volcanoes, wind born of hope, crescent cradles, and steel toothpicks. Apolla closes the circle. Viviyana kisses the doors. The charm is not enough. Loreweaver gifts a final story to the gathered. Tells of gremlins, golems, and valor. And ale. Silence rolls down like clouds from the shoulders of mountains. Silence like another kind of quilt.

The bird comes as light grows long and golden, as all other eyes turn to dreams. It pauses in flight upon the cracked Life Monument. I catch only its colors – feathers like a moonless night and eyes of indigo afire. Words fail.