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The Black-Feathered Monk

Chapter 1

By Draconicon

The Temple of Talon and Quill stood on the edge of a rocky promontory, overlooking a cliff face that even the demons that hid in the little caves in the lower hills would struggle to climb. The tiered, terraced roof of the great structure loomed high, and on the top was a bonfire, burning brightly in the mountain mists and casting warmth and light across the land below it. It was at that bonfire that Satres worked, the raven casting firewood into the blaze with meticulous care, the black-feathered raven taking his time to throw each piece to the right location within the blaze.

One, two, three to the center, followed by one to each side, propping up the collapsing wooden structures within and feeding the coals as they began to fade. The fire leaped from the iron well, once more soaring towards the sky. The raven paused, letting the fire crackle and dance in its elemental joy before tossing a few more logs inside.

One, two, three to the center, one to each side. The rhythm was as consistent as the fire's perpetual consumption of its fuel, a ritual as much as anything else in the temple was.

Satres emptied his arms of firewood and was about to turn for more when he heard the sound of tick-tick-ticking steps coming up the stairs around the other side of the iron-grated fires. He paused, leaning to the side to look around.

A peacock in bright blue robes ascended from the stairwell, his arms folded and his tail feathers flared. Satres bowed his head, pulling his yellow novice robe in tight as he knelt by the fire.

"Master Kazir," he said, bowing until he could lay his beak against the tiled roof. "I apologize for not hearing your approach."

"I walk silently, until I choose not to. It is my prerogative to sneak up on a student."

The peacock smiled, gesturing with one winged hand for the raven to rise. Satres did as he was told, getting to his feet without a sound. Master Kazir invited him to join him, and he did, falling in step behind the peacock as they walked the sides of the narrow peak of the temple.

To look over the edge was to look at the other levels of the Temple of Talon and Quill, seeing other monks of various hues either in the grounds or among the balconies. The other masters - Master Sarin and Master Wulin - were nowhere to be seen, their blues missing from the crowds, but there were plenty of others in the yellow robes of a novice, or the green or red robes of those that had already chosen their place in the temple.

"Tell me, Satres. Have you had time to consider your future?"

"I have, Master Kazir."

"And?"

"I have considered that I have little hope of choosing one."

The peacock smiled gently, his feather crest drooping slightly as he bobbed his head.

"It is true, I suppose. To have a choice can paralyze one until there is no choice to be made, and it must be made for you."

"Indeed, Master."

"Yet Masters Sarin and Wulin would be most pleased to have you in their ranks. The Order of the Talon and the Order of the Quill would both benefit from you."

The raven said nothing to that. The compliment had landed, after all, and to say more would be to sound like he was dismissing it, or worse, begging for more.

They stopped with the fire burning behind them, looking up at the great mountain that loomed over the temple, whose shadow they continually strained to banish with their light. Rather than snow, ash fell along the peak, and that ash spread further down the mountain with every passing year. The water that ran from the peak was stained gray and black, and the creatures that flew on the heights were too dangerous to mention.

Little demons might dwell among the low hills of the great mountains. On the heights, the great ones made their homes.

Master Kazir unfolded his arms, shaking his head ever so slightly. Satres turned to him.

"Master?"

"A feeling. Perhaps nothing, but...perhaps more."

"A raid?"

"...I hope not."

"Master Sarin -"

"Has already been informed. Don't worry."

"...Yes, Master."

"We are unlikely to see anything here at the monastery. There are few demons that would come this far down the mountain, and fewer that would stand a chance at doing any damage to the temple."

...But...

"But it is always good to be prepared. Here."

The peacock reached into his sleeve, pulling free three scrolls. Each one was bound in a single leather strand, and the sides were gilded yellow. The raven took them without a word, bowing his head.

"Where am I to take them?"

"Further down the mountain. Should the worst happen, it would be best for these not to fall into demon hands."

"Yes, Master. And after I have finished?"

"Return, of course. Darkness may be falling, but it has not yet landed; there is yet time for chores."

Chuckling, the peacock patted him on the shoulder before making his way back to the stairwell. Satres shook his head, looking down at the scrolls in his arms.

He knew what they were. Every monk in the temple did. The scroll of the Talon, the scroll of the Quill, and the scroll of the Clipped Wing: one for the two orders of their temple, and one for the order that had long since faded. They were taught to every member of the temple, but the true secrets of the scrolls were kept back for the masters alone.

If Master Kazir was willing to have them taken away, then it was more than mere caution. Something had been seen on the heights, likely enough.

Satres took a deep breath, tucking the scrolls into his belt. If he was to get these to safety, then he needed to leave now. He secured the scrolls, rolled his neck until he heard it crack, then took a few steps back from the railing. His robes fluttered in the wind, running along the scales on his arms and brightening the gray for a moment or two.

Then, he jumped.

To fly like a hawk, to strike like a falcon, he thought, kicking off the last inch of the terrace and flinging himself in the air. His arms spread out to the sides, his sleeves catching the air for a moment before the earth caught him in its iron grip. Slowly, he fell, then faster, then faster still.

The seven levels of the temple passed behind him as he threw himself into a spin, face towards the ground, his arms behind him. He narrowed himself, letting the wind rush by his face.

At the last second, he spun, swinging his legs out with a hard kick. Warmth rolled down his limbs, his talons glowing for a split second before he came to a sudden stop.

He landed without harm, only to kick off the earth once more, running through the grounds, sprinting and leaping in turns. The gardens and the practice fields faded behind him, and the raven soon left the monastery behind, darting down the mountainside. No path rose to greet him, and no road stood to guide him.

After all, such marks would make it all the easier for demons to reach the lowlands in the Valley of Heaven.

The sun rolled lazily across the sky as he ran down the mountain slope, using the incline to his advantage to speed him yet faster. For every leap he took, he fell further, and for every step, he let gravity pull him down. Always on the brink of losing control, the novice monk ran so fast that he almost felt as if he were flying down the slope. His eyes were half-closed, his other senses running ahead of him to tell him where to jump, where to land, where to go.

And at every step, his talons glowed.

The use of chi was a skill that was shared across all the temples and monasteries that stood between the mountains and the valley. Some taught how to harness it to see into the future, while others found ways to use it to heal. Still others taught how to use it as a means of fighting their enemy, and that was the most common use.

Among the Order of the Talon, its use was restricted to the legs and talons, to kick and to strike, to grip and to tear. It even allowed them to slow their falls by kicking at the right time, knocking the air out from beneath them and stopping them from hitting something truly solid at the wrong time.

Such was the use the raven put it to as he descended the mountain, his feathers trembling as the air passed through them.

It was the closest he could ever come to flying, and despite the dangerous situation, he savored it. He closed his eyes, feeling the pull of the earth fade every time that he launched himself into the air. For half-seconds, sometimes for a full one, he was free of the earth's grip, a bird fleeing its cage, only for it to be brought back to him a moment later.

And so, in this way, he put the Temple of Talon and Quill behind him, moving miles down the mountainside under the sun's light.

#

Eventually, he came upon the small village of Water's Birth, where the black-tinged waters of the upper mountains finally became clean enough to drink. The raven alighted on a rock above the village, a few hundred feet away, and he took a moment to catch his breath.

Then he was forced to take a few more, the reality of his exertion catching up to him almost as fast as the wind of his passage did. He was almost knocked off the rock in that moment, gasping softly and only barely keeping himself from wheezing. To be seen as someone so out of shape as to wheeze would have been humiliating.

This should be far enough. No demon would travel so swiftly as that, not in a day.

And it would be during the day that the demons would come. For all that they were born of darkness on the high peaks, they were creatures of fire and light as much as they were monsters of shadow and smoke. They would come however they felt like it, and they would not waste a day in which their prey could flee.

This will do. This will do.

Satres caught his breath, then descended to the base of the great rock. It was twice his height and perhaps three times his width, standing tall and casting a strong shadow. It also hid the nest of a creature that was friendly to the monastery.

The raven knelt, the scaly patterns on his lower legs leaving furrows in the ground as he knocked taloned fingers against the base of the rock. A sheet of earth slid to the side, and white eyes peered out of the darkness.

"Who seeks my services?" asked the burbling voice beneath the rock.

"The Temple of Talon and Quill wishes your aid."

"I do not come at the call of mortals."

"You do not come at all, old frog."

The eyes slid forward through the darkness, and an aged toad poked its head free of the underground. It half-glared at him, big eyes narrowing.

"That is not what I am. Speak with respect, hatchling."

"I do, Toad of the White Rock." He reached to his belt, pulling the three scrolls free. "I've been tasked to see these defended."

The toad looked down, and those already huge eyes went wider. Webbed hands reached for the scrolls, only to hesitate before they could touch them.

"What is going on?"

"Master Kazir hasn't told me. This is just in case the worst happens."

"The worst...So..."

The toad shook its head, starting to duck under the rock once more. Satres was ready for that, however, and grabbed the aged monster by the back of the neck, halting it in its tracks.

"What do you know, old frog?"

"What makes you think I know anything?"

"You haven't even taken the scrolls. You know something."

"Unhand me. You, who are nothing but a novice, have no right to restrain me."

"I have every right." Satres lifted one arm to his beak, nipping one of the feathers above his elbow and pulling it free. He held it by the sharp point at the base, swaying the soft tip near the toad's nose. "By right of the Quill, whose runes guard your nest from the eyes of mortals, I demand you honor your agreement."

The toad struggled against him, fighting to free himself, but the agreement was as inviolate as they came. The Order of the Quill were more than mere historians, though that was what the world knew them for. The Order of the Quill had laid many agreements upon the land, each one enforceable by those that knew how to channel their chi through their feathers and call upon the old agreements. Satres had learned of that as much as he had of Master Sarin's style of fighting with chi.

Eventually, the Toad of the White Rock stopped his squirming, hanging his head.

"There is a monster coming. I have felt it stirring so far down the mountain as I am, and it has only grown louder in the last few days."

"How great a monster?"

"Great enough to flatten this village, and great enough to leave great destruction in its wake. It comes with armies beneath its wings, demons sworn to its service, devils that cling to its heels in hopes of greater power. Monsters aplenty follow in its wake, hoping for the scraps that it leaves behind."

"..."

"It comes soon. The quakes of its movements surge through the mountain. If it has not already left the peak, it will soon."

"...You've given me...much to think about, old frog."

"You will run, then?"

"No. Master Kazir had a feeling, and he must be told that it's correct."

"You will die, if it comes."

"Then I will have to hope that it hasn't come yet." He handed the scrolls over to the toad. "Take these. If all goes wrong..."

"...I will fulfill my oath."

"Thank you."

The raven bowed to the toad, and the toad bowed back. A moment later, the scrolls disappeared, and it was as if nothing had ever been beneath the rock. Satres shook his head, pushing himself back to his feet. His talons curled through the earth as he looked back up the mountains, and he slowly shook his head.

A great stormcloud had gathered around the peak, one that circled and writhed about the mountaintop like a snake around a tree. It did nothing to hide the sun, but it did not have to. Great gouts of smoke billowed through the clouds, and he knew the toad was right. The mountain never reacted like this unless something powerful was moving towards the great opening at the peak.

He had to get back to the monastery, and quickly.

Satres gathered his strength and leaped. To climb the mountain was far more difficult than to descend it, but to take action in life was always harder than to let life take action against you.

#

The temple was still when he returned, though he could feel the vibrations of Master Sarin's order training for the fight to come. Their unified strikes shook the earth, their stomps and kicks sending shockwaves through the air that one could feel. As he approached the walls, he could make out half-hidden writings, markings made by Master Wulin in defense of the monastery. The raven felt a hint of comfort from the marks, but knew better than to believe it would save them all.

As he stepped through the door, the green robes of the Order of the Quill passed by, full members going down the walls and marking them with feathers and chi alike. What bargains they made with the spirits in the stone, he did not know, but he hoped that it would be enough.

The grounds were filled with the few farmers that dared to grow food this far up the mountain, tempting fate to harvest from the rich soil. Satres knew some few of them, had even gone to their farms during his training to learn to fight, to learn the mountain, but he knew none of them by name. They huddled together, and he knew something had already happened.

As a red-robed member of the Order of the Talon passed by, he grabbed them by the elbow. The hawk turned, raising his beak and head.

"What is it, novice?"

"Master Kazir told me to return to him after finishing my task. Where is he?"

"At the top of the temple, watching the mountain. Where have you been?"

"Attending to the task he gave me. Thank you."

Bowing his head, he darted for the great hall that occupied most of the ground floor of the temple. The stairs were at the very back, and he did not have the time or energy to scale the monastery from the outside.

He reached the top without passing any other monk, and found the blue-robed peacock standing where they had stood together mere hours ago. The master of the temple stared up at the storm clouds at the top of the mountain with his arms in his sleeves, not shaking his head, not doing anything.

The fire had gone down, barely more than a blaze where it had once been an inferno. He looked for wood to cast on it, but none could be seen.

"Master..."

Kazir turned, and the peacock smiled as much as his beak would allow.

"Ah, you have returned. The scrolls are safe?"

"Yes. What happened?"

"An attack."

"I saw no bodies; did they retreat with their dead?"

"Worse. None died."

Satres's eyes widened. The master gestured him forward, and he moved quickly to stand beside the peacock.

The grounds of the temple lay before them, from the practice yard close to the entrance of the temple all the way to the great fruit trees and gardens carefully preserved through the grounds, running right up to the walls that surrounded the grounds that they had claimed all that time ago. The master gestured to the walls, and from the heights, Satres saw what he had not seen when he had been on the ground.

All around, the walls had been scorched from above, and the scorch-marks formed the symbol of a jagged crown. In places, the fires that had left the marks still burned, darkening the rooftop tiles.

"How did this happen?"

"They came in great numbers, but many were nothing but illusion. We noticed too late, and the true demons fled before we could slay them. They left only this, as a message."

"What message is this?"

"We are claimed."

Claimed. Few demons would dare to say something like that, considering the hierarchy of the underworld. To corrupt a person, or kill them? That was fine enough, from what he understood. Even to 'claim' a person meant little. To lay claim to an area, however...

He looked at the jagged crown that had been left along the walls, and he realized his message was nothing. Master Kazir already knew the power that they were to face in the next battle.

A demon king was coming.

"The farmers?" he asked, barely hearing himself.

"They'll be better protected by our walls than sent down the mountain. They wouldn't reach Water's Birth before sunrise, and the demons would follow them."

"Then..."

"They'll come tonight," the peacock confirmed. "All of them."

"What do you want me to do, Master?"

"Choose a place; Talon, Quill, or elsewhere, but find a duty and stick to it. Every claw will be needed."

Satres nodded, numbly stepping back from the peacock and making his way back to the stairs. As he descended the tower, he remembered his lessons, and the power that a demon king wielded.

Tonight, everyone would be tested.

#

The sun set, and the storm broke. Water that burned as it touched the ground, melting grass and setting the skin to a fiery itch fell from the sky, and everyone sought what shelter they could. The tiles of the monastery held, enhanced by the power of the Order of the Quill, but the grass and the grounds quickly wilted, torn and burned by the power of the oncoming demonic horde.

Satres stood as the Order of the Talon's representative with the farmers. He was their guard, meant to stand over them and ensure their survival, or at worst, to guide them from the temple down the mountain. If the demons broke through, if the walls could not hold and the Talon could not keep them back, he would protect them on the march.

They were hidden in a back room of the temple, near a back door with no way of seeing out save for the door itself. Satres stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes closed as he strained to see what was happening.

To exercise his chi in that way was not in his training, but he could still feel the thundering footsteps of the Order of the Talon, sense their thundering gaits as they patrolled the temple. He could feel the wisping aura of the Order of the Quill as they applied their power to beads of imprisonment, to binding parchments, and more. The temple was awash in the spiritual energy of the different members.

And among the swelling, swirling mass of chi were three figures that stood taller and brighter than any other. Master Wulin, Master Sarin, and Master Kazir. They stood together at the front gates of the monastery, their chi alone able to keep the burning rain from falling on them, and they waited.

Everyone waited.

"Are we going to make it?"

The raven opened one eye, looking at the farmer. He offered a nod.

"If it is possible, we will make it."

"And what if it's not?"

"Then we will do everything we can to see that you make it."

The men, women, and children shivered at that, hardly reassured, but he could not think of the words to reassure them. He was not a man of words, not a raven skilled in speech and encouragement. He did not know how to help in that way. All he could do was protect them, and in that, he would do his best.

He stood in silence, listening and watching as much as he could in the limited way his chi allowed, when the world outside the temple went dark.

To see with one's spirit was to see life, warmth, goodness. In an instant, every speck of life outside the walls of the temple went black. Light turned to darkness, illumination to shadow, life to death. Nothing was left in its wake, and even the walls of light around the temple began to crack, bending before the tide of shadow.

Satres bit off a gasp as the ground shook beneath him, a great quake that rolled through the earth. The farmers screamed, men holding their wives, mothers holding their children, and the children holding each other. Everyone but the youngest desperately clung to someone, and even the youngest clung to themselves, knowing on some level that evil came.

Another thump, another echo of power through the earth. The great monster that the Toad of the White Rock had described had left the mountain and was on his way.

"What's going on?" one of the farmers shouted.

"They're coming."

"There's no way they can fight that."

"We have to get out of here."

"Calm down," Satres said, holding up a hand for attention, but the panic had already set in. It was spreading, going from one family to another and gaining power with each person to fall to it. "Calm down!"

His shout gained their attention when calmness did not. They were shaking, still, but they fell silent. He fixed them with a steady stare, speaking with a calm that he did not feel. "We run when the masters tell us to. Not before."

"But...but that quake..."

"The masters have fought greater foes than this on their own. Today, they fight together."

That was what he told himself as much as he told them. A demon king was nothing like the monsters that regularly came down the mountain. For all their preparations...

Knock knock.

The back door rattled softly, then again as someone knocked on it. The raven shook his head. That was impossible. Everyone was here, or at least, was supposed to be.

Knock knock.

"Did we forget someone?"

"Maybe Sule on the southern slope?"

"Oh god, what if they let a demon in?"

"What if they lead a demon here?"

Satres waved them back from the door, intentionally summoning his chi to his legs, thrusting it into his talons to make them glow. The light seemed to comfort some of them, and to those that it made no difference to, they didn't complain. They cleared out of the way as he walked to the door.

As he reached for the door, he tried to sense what was outside, but the darkness of the demon king stunted his limited ability. All he could feel were the stomps, the thunder, the approaching pressure of the enemy from up the mountain. If there was someone outside, he could not sense them.

Knock knock.

But something was there, and he couldn't just leave them in the darkness. He opened the door.

A female songbird garbed in a ragged woolen dress leaned in, panting for breath. She grabbed him by the arm, her eyes frantic.

"They're coming," she whispered.

"Who?" he asked, though there could be only one answer.

"The demons...they're coming...coming from the mountain's peak...and the slopes..."

"From behind?"

The songbird nodded, her beak clicking nervously, her feathers flaring and then subsiding. She wheezed as he leaned her against the door, looking outside.

The storm continued to rage, and what few plants had withstood the initial downpour were slowly losing the battle against the burning toxins that the rain carried. The rocks were left shining as their outer layers were worn away, then pockmarked as the rain carved new craters into them.

As lightning flashed, he did see silhouettes in the distance. Creatures were marching along the side of the mountain, backlit in the storm's jagged, infrequent glow. They were coming, indeed, and they were coming in numbers.

There was no way that the temple could hold against a two-pronged assault. The time had come.

"Everyone, get something to protect your face and head, and then line up behind me. We're leaving."

There was a scramble for materials, for blankets and more. Satres waited for everyone to be ready, then made the harder decision.

"I have to come with you, but I must ask for a volunteer to pass the news to the rest of the temple. Someone has to tell Master Kazir about this...and I can't guarantee that they will live through the night."

The farmers and their families glanced at one another. The tension in the room was palpable until one of them, a crow, stepped forward.

"I'll tell him. What do I say?"

"The demons come from behind. That's all you can say."

"Alright, alright. The demons come from behind. The demons come from behind. The demons come from behind..."

As the crow muttered the message to himself over and over again, Satres moved to the door once more. He pulled the back of his robe up, throwing it over his head, and waved as the lightning flashed once more.

"Let's go!"

They ran single-file and swiftly, leaving the back room of the temple behind. A hissing smoke rose from their clothes almost immediately, and more than one child screamed as their skin burned from the poison that fell from the sky. Their parents pushed them, and Satres pushed their parents.

They ran through the mismatched boulders at the rear of the temple, moving in a zig-zagging path between them. The thumping approach of the great demon grew louder and louder, and more than once Satres was forced to push the farmers to keep moving. Every time someone slowed, tried to look behind them, the raven was there to push them stiffly from behind.

"Keep moving! Don't look back. Keep moving."

And so they did, moving between the rocks and keeping their heads down.

Less than a minute later, he heard shouted orders, the monks redistributing themselves across the temple. The crow must have gotten the message through to Master Kazir. Breaking his own advice, Satres looked over his shoulder.

At that moment, lightning struck, three great jagged bolts leaping from the black sky at once. Between earth and the sky rushed the winged foe, demons with bat-like wings and red-skinned ogres alike making their way down the slopes. Imps less than a third of his size flapped in droves towards the walls, and under their putrid wings walked shambling husks, the dead of a thousand years rising from the mountain to fight their descendents and those that had taken their task upon their death.

And at the center of them all, looming larger than life itself, was the demon king.

Satres's breath caught in his throat, the raven's eyes going wide as fear rooted him to the spot. The demon king stood more than two dozen feet in height, his body covered in red fur, his eyes glowing with the feral gleam of the forest wolf. His arms were wide enough to encircle whole buildings, and he had the muscle to lift them from the earth and toss them across the horizon. Dark magics gleamed beneath his fur, and the crackling red lightnings of the underworld served as his garments.

But it was his eyes, his yellow, poisonous eyes, that gave the most terror of all. For anywhere he looked, the poison of the rain, the heat of the fire, the darkness of his very existence fell, and even the demons were not proof against his baleful stare. More than one of his servants fell, burning from the outside and shriveling from within, less than nothing but the time that the demon king looked away.

The masters...can they...

Whether they could or not, the masters were ready to try. He saw the silhouettes of owl, crane, and peacock leap to the top of the wall, blue robes flashing in the moonlight. Their chi glowed in a shimmering aura around them, a defiant lamp against the tide of darkness.

"Run...we have to run..." Satres whispered.

"Oh, but dear raven...you've already been caught."

He whipped around, staring at the songbird. She smiled, her blue feathers swaying, blowing in the wind...a wind that was not there.

"...You...you're not one of them," he whispered.

"Indeed, not." She chuckled, clicking her beak. "But so kind of you to flee with me. These farmers will be a fine meal, and I have always wanted a monk of my own."

Blue feathers turned red, then a deep crimson. Golden streaks ran down the feathers over her eyes, and black tips marked her tail-feathers. Her dress fell away, replaced with the same crackling red that marked the demon king, and she lunged for one of the farmers.

Satres leaped, landing between her and the crow woman, one foot buried in the earth, the other catching her blow against his shin. Even so, he slid backwards, his talons carving a rut through the earth nearly a foot long.

"You will not have them, demon..."

"Oh, and who will stop me?"

"Me."

"A novice? Well now...this might prove to be amusing...Come, then. Let's see if you can handle me..."

The End