THE WITNESS AND THE EAGATHAE
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I remember little of my life before the Dead Continent earned its name. Many know the legend of Eagamar, city of feathers, capital of the fallen Agamin empire, but none remain who remember the humble villages dotted across the eastern expanse. None, except me, for one of those villages was my birthplace.
I was seventeen when the Yellow Raiders came to enslave us—named for the yellow flowers they left in the remains of razed villages, a sign to any passerby that the impaled corpses were not a part of some senseless killing, but a sanctioned acquisition.
“Young, fit, strong”, these were the requirements for potential workers. I met the requirements, but I reasoned my parents and siblings must have fallen short. I never saw them die, but the raiders brought only a single cart, and my family was not with me in that cramped lockbox for the long journey to Eagamar.
You will, no doubt, have heard stories of Eagamar’s radiant beauty—streets paved with silver that never saw the dark of night. They do not lie, though we saw little of it through the grates of our prison.
“The Shield”, they called it—a shallow dome, cast of pure steihal. From the outside, the dome was smooth metal, but those who were unlucky enough to see its interior would find a complex tapestry of thousands of rooms—administration, guard quarters, slave cells, and every other space needed to serve The Shield’s one and only function. The entirety of it—thick steihal dome, thousands of slaves, layers of hierarchy and organisation—existed only for what was held in The Shield’s core, an inner dome at the very centre. The core held Eagamar’s most dangerous prisoner, and most prized treasure: the Eagathae.
I would not scoff at you for flinching, learning the Eagathae—beyond the power of man and nature alike—was once a prisoner to anyone. I admit, it seems an impossible feat, but somehow, they accomplished it. By the time I arrived, the last great-smiths who understood the power smelted into the creature’s binding chains had been dead for centuries, but the chains held strong regardless, barely allowing the Eagathae an inch to move.
Many assume the Eagathae is named for Eagamar—the ruined capital city of the land it now makes its nest upon—but the opposite is true. “Eaga” is “Feathered” in Agamini—the dead language of the empire’s early years—and “Mar” is “City”. Eagamar would not be “the city of feathers” without the feathers of the Eagathae, which granted the empire such unprecedented wealth.
A metal stronger and lighter than any other, impossible to fabricate. There was a saying, back when the feathers were once seen on the battlefield: “Ten soldiers wearing eagathae feather are equal to a thousand ihrenclad warriors.” The claim may have been an understatement. To be shrouded flush in eagathae feather was to be impervious to any weapon, and wielding a rachis as a blade meant you could cut through ihren as if it were mist. For a person of regular means, the best hope of survival against a featherclad knight was old age taking them before they swung their rachis. Undoubtably, the age’s most potent tool of war, and Eagamar held the only source.
It was the task of us slaves to extract those feathers. I still remember my first harvest in the core. I was armoured in full steihal—each plate worth more than my village produced in a year—and placed at the rear of a long queue. One by one, steihalclad slaves entered the vault door. Most returned a few minutes later with a single, torso-sized feather.
I say “most”, for the first dozen or so slaves never returned. Soon, I learned this was the case for every harvest. Even after being restrained to only an inch of movement, the Eagathae could still kill those who approached. Weariness set in after a dozen victims, but even then, the Eagathae sometimes found the energy to kill many later on. However, one thing was certain: to be placed at the head of the queue was a death sentence.
Eventually, it was my turn, and by then the Eagathae was weary, but no less dismaying. Each paw alone was enough to crush ten men in one step, and its wings—splayed out and chained to the setts—seemed enough to flatten a village with one beat. Its gaze never left me as I approached, hatred glowing like an aurora. It spoke to the creature’s intelligence and fortitude that they were able to maintain that hatred over so many centuries. I never once saw a hint of resignation in those sharp, predator’s eyes.
Blood and viscera painted the width of the cell, all that remained of the doomed first harvesters of each day. I nearly fainted from the smell alone, but I pressed on, as leaving empty-handed would earn me an execution on the spot.
Dazzling feathers bristled across its back and wings, and a dense crowd of them formed a mane. I could have taken a feather from anywhere, but I chose the extremity of its wing for fear of its jaws. Though its head was chained so tightly to the floor that it could not open its mouth, I still feared them, as they snarled at me constantly, baring teeth like spears.
As I tugged and twisted with all my strength, the Eagathae howled. It seemed the pain never lessened for the creature, for every feather I extracted over my time in The Shield was scored with howls of bottomless agony. Eventually, the feather came free, and remained in my grip as I fell to the stone. I did not wait to observe the Eagathae’s laboured breaths, instead hurrying for the exit with feather in hand.
I did not know the Eagathae then, not like I do now. Young and still brimming with empathy, I only saw a creature in great pain. Honestly, I saw a reflection. They were the last of their kind, after being targeted by Arphyliand in the distant past. Why Arphyliand’s wrath stopped short of the last, no one knows, though some theorise they predicted the fate of the last Eagathae, chained in Eagamar, and so allowed it to happen. They had lost their family, the same as I—and, like me, pain was their only proof of life. It was because of this that I did what I did.
There was another requirement for potential slaves that I have yet to mention: “None gifted with the silverwind.” When they took me from my home, this was true of me, but in the dark cells of The Shield’s slave quarters I discovered my rare connection to Rokmes, the silverwind plain. I dared not tell my fellow slaves, as one might think to inform on me for preferable treatment. Instead, I practiced in secret as they slept.
I would reach out to Rokmes and pull a wind towards our plain. Wielded without limit, one could harness wind strong enough to demolish a building, but I had to remain secret, so I only pulled enough to test my control. I would snuff candles beyond the cell bars with a wisp of silver light, and use thin, sharp winds to cut leaves from the tree visible to us beyond the grates. It took many nights, but eventually, I knew I was ready.
Finally prepared, I entered The Shield’s core, and approached the Eagathae. The slavers rightly feared the danger a silverwind user could pose. The winds from Rokmes were the strokes that wrote the world, and nothing could surpass that authority. Depending on the user, a strong enough silverwind could be harnessed to best anything, even chains imbued with power to bind an Eagathae.
I reached out to Rokmes and found a powerful wind heading straight for the chains around the creature’s neck. I pulled with all of my might and silver flashed before me, so bright it could blind. When I opened my eyes, the chain was broken. The Eagathae did not stir, only waited as I went from restraint to restraint, until no chains were left, and the creature rose free. It towered above, stretching its long-tethered limbs.
Then its attention turned to me with a voice of whispered thunder. ‘That was a foolish thing, little human. Did you think I would reward you for freeing me?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But I thought…you might find a way to forgive me, for being a part of your torture.’
‘Forgive?’ the Eagathae bellowed, then laughed uproariously. ‘What pity should a hawk have for a maggot? Once your kind found a way to leash me and you have been resting on that freak miracle ever since. But now, my wings can beat, my jaws can crush, my voice can draw lightning to earth, and you want me to forgive? I will not forgive one of you worms, not ever! Not you, not them. You will all suffer as I have!’
The setts trembled as it stepped towards me, so close I could feel the chill of its breath.
‘And you will suffer more than any.’
I thought it would kill me there, but instead, it breathed on me. In that breath was a power that bled into my skin, rewriting my foundation.
‘You say you want no reward, so I think a reward will be a fitting punishment. Your suffering will be as a witness. You will live to regret this day, and then live more. The maggot witness, alone in the wastes, suffering in the knowledge that I am free by your hand.’
With that, it spread its wings and flew. The thick dome of pure steihal was like paper to the Eagathae. It broke through without pause, into the skies above Eagamar.
“Eaga” meaning “feathered”, and “Thae” meaning “storm”. I learnt the true meaning of the feathered storm that day. I managed to escape The Shield due to the silverwind I harnessed. What I found outside was disaster. The most powerful city to ever exist was a meaningless title when matched against the Eagathae. Greenfire swept through the city, and lightning fell like rain. The creature’s wings beat buildings to dust and swept battalions away.
Panicking, one guard attempted to cut me down as I fled. His sword ripped across my chest, but when I looked down, the wound had already healed. Chunks of building fell on me, but I was not crushed, I simply walked beyond the restraint. This was the Eagathae’s reward. From that day on, I was separated from death entirely.
By the time I made it to the city’s limit, it was a city no longer. Barely a ruin, and I was its only survivor. I walked for weeks, back to the eastern expanse in search of a new home, but all I found was dust. The Eagathae had not stopped with Eagamar’s destruction, instead smiting the entire land. It mattered not if they were innocent or guilty, peaceful or resistant, the Eagathae slaughtered them all the same. And I was cursed to witness it, an entire continent of people, wiped out in a matter of weeks, because of me.
The Dead Continent had earned its name long before I reached the coast. Only the Eagathae remains in that land, nested in the mountains, forever unforgiving. There were settlers who tried to re-establish some small human presence, but after decades of predictable slaughter, the truth was accepted. It was clear what the Dead Continent had become. It was the Eagathae’s nest, where no hope was permitted for humans.
There were once dozens of eagathae that terrorised the world, Arphyliand slew all but one. To this day, I am searching for how. I have grown unmatched in silverwind prowess, and travelled the world for centuries, but answers still evade me. If there is a way, I will find it. I will not rest, for I cannot forgive myself until the last eagathae is slain. If I am destined for anything, it is to undo my mistake.
The Eagathae will join its family in myth. Then, finally, I will be able to rest.
The End