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I. The Kyie
In millennia past there was an elfin mage. He studied his books, his
magic, his history and mathematics long and hard with a scrutinous eye
and an insatiable appetite. He rapidly rose in the ranks of his academy,
in reverence amongst his colleagues, and in magical power and abilities.
After centuries, he held within his hand the power to summon and control
giants and angels, to make the earth reshape itself on his merest whim, to
have the sun shine or the rain pour down in torrents. He was the envy of
his peers, the enemy to a good number, but friend to even more.
And yet, in the glory of his power he was distressed. His magic
rivaled that of the gods, but he was not a god. As long-lived as elves
would be, they are still mortal. He stood upon a mountainside and
looked downupon his native land, following the rivers and slope of the
fields, the verdant forests, he marveled in the harmony of all things: how
randomness fell into a strange kind of order to be dispersed again, how
good defeats evil, only to be usurped. He marveled at the Balance of
all things.
Still, the Balance, he felt, was skewed. In his enormous power he
had only used it for good intentions, for the purposes of order. He had
brought peace and prosperity to his land and his native world by the
crushing of chaos and the smothering of evil. A horrible ennui crept into
his soul.
He gathered his things that evening, his library, his experiments and
tools, all magically stored and portable, and disappeared. His mark
remained upon his land for centuries. But eventually, in the ebb and flow
of all things, chaos and darkness returned. The Kyie watched from his
tower and smiled to himself.
He turned from the crystal, which was almost a metre across, which
gave him such sight and looked out into the vastness of Outer Planes,
their spin and twist following some long-forgotten but immutable pattern
as they whisked by. These timeless realms understood the Balance as
they danced in the cosmos, as they each played their part in its
maintenance. But, now and then, they would skip a beat, as if the
musicians were unsure of the tune.
I have sinned, the Kyie thought to himself. I have pushed the
pendulum too far for too long. He felt the urge, the desire, the need to
repair this fragile fabric that he had so torn.
He turned from the view out his window to the books and papers of
his study and stood in the middle of thurmaturgical circle. “A centering,”
he whispered intensely to himself. “I will build a centering.”
Thus he turned his will and his magicks to multiverse and Alina came
to be.
copyright february, 2000
noah mclaughlin