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Show Notes
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Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Iron Peaks and the Weaver of Shadows, Part 3 of this week's series: The Echoes of Aetheria.
The transition from the salt spray of the ocean to the biting cold of the Iron Peaks was brutal. Kalen and Lyra traded their sea gear for furs and iron-shod walking sticks. The mountains were jagged teeth of granite, biting at a gray and heavy sky. Here, the air was thin, and the silence was not peaceful; it was a heavy cloak of fear that made every shadow look like a lurking monster.
"The people in the valleys below have stopped climbing," Lyra said, her breath hitching in the cold. "They stay in their houses with the doors bolted. They have forgotten that the dark is just the absence of light."
They reached the summit of the tallest peak, where a fortress of black iron stood. There were no guards, for no one was brave enough to approach. Inside the great hall, they found a man sitting on a throne of cold metal. He was the Weaver of Shadows, a king who had traded the sun for a crown of obsidian. In his lap lay a small lantern, its glass frosted over and its wick cold.
"You cannot have it," the King said, his voice a hollow echo. "If I release the Echo of Courage, the people will see me for what I am. They will see that I am small and afraid. As long as they are more afraid than I am, I am their King."
"A king who rules over a graveyard of spirits is no king at all," Kalen replied, stepping forward. He could feel the cold from the lantern radiating across the room, a frost that sought to settle in his bones.
"The lantern is broken," the King sneered. "I dropped it when the shadows first spoke to me. The flame is dead."
Kalen didn't look at the King. He looked at the lantern. He saw that the hinge was jammed with frozen tears and the wick was buried in the soot of old regrets. He knelt on the stone floor and pulled a small vial of oil from his bag. It was oil pressed from the seeds of a sun-flower that had grown in the center of a desert.
"I do not need to fight you," Kalen said to the King. "I only need to fix what you broke."
Kalen worked quickly, his fingers numbing in the unnatural cold. He cleaned the soot from the glass with a cloth dipped in salt water. He forced the hinge open, the metal screaming in protest until it finally gave way. He trimmed the wick and poured in the golden oil.
"I have no flint," Kalen whispered to Lyra. "The Silver Lute. Play the note of the sunrise."
Lyra pulled the lute from her back and struck a chord that sounded like the first light hitting a field of snow. The vibration of the music caught the oil in the lantern. A small, defiant spark appeared on the wick. It grew into a steady, warm flame that cut through the darkness of the hall like a knife.
The Weaver of Shadows shielded his eyes and fell from his throne, his obsidian crown shattering on the floor. As the light of the lantern grew, the shadows retreated, and the heavy fear that had gripped the mountains lifted. Down in the valleys, people opened their shutters and looked at the stars without trembling.
"It is done," Lyra said, her face illuminated by the golden glow.
Kalen stood up, holding the lantern high. He felt a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the fire. The world outside the window was changing. The grays were turning to deep purples, and the horizon was beginning to glow with a vibrant, neon pink that signaled the return of the world’s true colors.
They traveled back to Driftwood, not as heroes, but as two people who had simply reminded the world how to breathe. Kalen returned to his shop, where Jasper the cat was still sleeping in the exact same sunbeam. But now, the sunbeam was a brilliant, shimmering gold, and the clocks in the shop ticked with a joyous, steady heart.
"What will you do with the map?" Kalen asked as Lyra prepared to leave.
"There are more Echoes," she said, smiling. "The Echo of Laughter is hidden in a canyon of echoes, and the Echo of Dreams is at the bottom of a forest of glass. I think I’ll need a restorer for those, too."
Kalen looked at his tools, then at the bright, beautiful world outside his door. He picked up his satchel and followed her out into the morning light.