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The first thing Eizen could remember was the weak blue glow of the Earthpulse surrounding him like an embrace as he seemed to float, weightless. His unfocused vision could make out nothing but that soft light, rolling like an ocean around him so that he couldn’t tell where he ended and it began. Slowly, gradually, the cloudiness began to clear from his vision. His heart beat once… twice… and began to repeat. Air rushed into his lungs with a surprised gasp. Life pulsed through his body. His vision grew sharper, and he looked down at his hands, bending and extending his fingers experimentally.
When he raised his head again, a blinding white light exploded into his vision, pulling him in.
He stumbled out of the Earthpulse, landing hard on his hands and knees on unforgiving rocky ground covered in patchy, rough grasses, hissing in pain.
“Stand, child,” said an airy, raspy voice.
He stood as quickly as he could on unsteady legs, squinting into the beaming sunlight. Perched on a rock before him was a wind malak, its form that of an odd, owl-like creature.
“Who are you?” he asked, slightly taken aback at hearing his own voice for the first time.
“I am here to teach you,” the owl replied curtly. “My name is unimportant.”
“Then, who am I?”
“You are the earth, newly born from the Earthpulse here,” the owl replied. “You will have a true name someday. For now, you are Eizen.”
Somehow, Eizen understood.
Eizen let his eyes wander then, over the rolling mountains that surrounded them on all side, peaks towering yet soft against the bright blue sky, draped in clouds and scrubby trees. A bird flew suddenly from the branches of a tree on a neighbouring mountainside, the distance making it appear as little more than a speck against the endless blue sky. Eizen wondered if he could fly like that too.
“What is this place?” he asked, feeling breathless with the size of it all.
“Rayfalke Spiritcrest. Your home.”
Eizen’s gaze flitted back to the owl, his eyes betraying the barrage of questions forming in his mind. The owl sighed, weary of this already. When Eizen opened his mouth to speak, the owl cut him off with an abrupt flap of both wings.
“No more questions for now,” the owl said, looking as much like he was scowling as a bird possibly could. “I have much I must teach you, and little time.”
-
And the owl did teach him a great deal. How to use his mind and energy to manipulate the earth, the wind. How to take care of himself. How to avoid humans, and how to fight. But Eizen’s hunger for knowledge was insatiable, and the owl did not care to teach him more.
At first, Eizen would try questioning him over and over – “But why are humans so dangerous?” or “Is there more of the world beyond Rayfalke Spiritcrest? What’s it like? How far does it go?”. At best, the owl would simply ignore him. At worst, the owl would summon a storm of winds powerful enough to lift him into the air, sending him sprawling dangerously close to the cliff’s edge. Eventually, Eizen resigned himself to figuring things out on his own.
So he observed. And when that wasn’t enough, he wandered – never too far, but never without glares of disapproval from the other malakhim in the mountains.
When he was about twenty-five years old, still a young child in the lifespan of a malak, a small human settlement cropped up in the foothills of the mountains about two day’s walk from the peak where he dwelled. He knew what the other malakhim said about the humans, of course, but they fascinated him. As decades turned into centuries, the settlement grew into a village, and Eizen grew bolder in his observations, walking right into the center of town to stand with the humans. They couldn’t see him anyway, he thought, so what was the harm in getting close? He watched them live out their lives; the way they packed so much intensity, so much complex emotion, so much change, into such frustratingly short lifespans never ceased to amaze him.
They were wonderful creatures, but the other malakhim on the Spiritcrest weren’t even curious, only mistrustful.
Eizen saw countless malakhim born from the same Earthpulse as him – a sluggish water malak who slept for most of the day even though malakhim don’t need to sleep, a short-tempered fire malak who expressed his frustrations by burning helpless insects, a selfish wind malak who was always trying to blow clouds over the sun when it was hot – and more than he could even remember. Still with that old owl teaching each one the basics, still with almost every one completely content with nothing more than that.
Surrounded by malakhim who didn’t understand him, surrounded by humans who couldn’t even see him.
Eizen was alone.
-
The old owl simply disappeared one day, without a word and without a trace. Rumours said he couldn’t stand teaching new malakhim anymore, that he’d finally snapped after a millennia of performing a task that he hated more than anything else. Eizen, now nearly seven hundred years old, couldn’t say he blamed him.
Months passed with no one stepping in to fill the owl’s job, until one day Eizen saw the telltale flash of pale blue light from the Earthpulse as he watched from a neighbouring peak. The first malak born since the owl left. Eizen paced a little in his uncertainty before hurrying to the Earthpulse point. The thought of teaching a listless and uninterested new malak was unappealing, but he knew how alarming it might be to be born into the world with no one there to guide you. He could at least take them to some other malak living in the mountains who could teach them.
As he drew closer, he could see an earth malak with golden hair and blue eyes just like his own standing before the Earthpulse, looking all around her in wonder. She was tiny, even for a child. As Eizen approached, she watched him closely, her big eyes shining with curiosity and intelligence.
“What is happening?” she asked in a soft, slightly nasally voice.
Eizen was surprised to notice himself beginning to smile. “It’s your birthday,” he replied, settling down on one knee to bring himself face-to-face with her.
She gave a little hum and tilted her head thoughtfully. “And who are you?”
I am here to teach you, he recalled the owl saying to him – and he realized that he actually wanted to teach this little girl, so much more than anyone had ever taught him. He wanted to show her everything he had learned in his long life. He wanted to give her everything he could give her. He wanted to keep her safe. And he didn’t really understand why.
She was watching him expectantly, eyebrow raised. “I’m –” Eizen began, but paused. What is that word the humans in the town use? “I’m your big brother.”
“Do you have a name?” she asked.
Eizen laughed at her brusqueness. “Eizen.”
“My big brother, Eizen,” she repeated. “Then who does that make me?”
“My little sister.” Eizen thought for a moment, furrowing his brow. She was so tiny, her features so delicate, but he could feel the resilience and raw power of the earth emanating from her. It reminded him of the little flowers that bloomed very late in the summer in the foothills of the Spiritcrest, tiny and delicate like fine-spun lace but with the tenacity to outlive the other flowers well into the frosts of autumn. Edna flowers. Eizen gave her a gentle smile and ruffled her soft, fine hair. “Your name is Edna. Do you like it?”
She nodded once exaggeratedly, sending her hair pitching forward over her face. “What’s it mean?”
“It’s a pretty flower,” Eizen answered.
Edna took hold of two of his fingers in her tiny hand. “Show me Edna flowers,” she demanded.
Eizen laughed again. Warmth, along with a fierce sense of protectiveness, spread into his chest. “Ok,” he said, rising to his feet, never letting go of her hand, “Let’s go find some.”
The lingering heat of a late summer breeze ruffled the scrubby grass as they walked down the mountain, hand-in-hand until Edna complained that she was tired and Eizen hoisted her up onto his back. Midday was already giving way to afternoon, the bright sun behind them casting long shadows on the rugged ground before them. Birdsong echoed from somewhere in the distance. They had passed the treeline some time ago, and the stunted brush from higher up was turning into more grasses and taller trees.
“Did your big brother name you, too?” Edna asked suddenly.
“No, I don’t have a big brother,” Eizen replied. “An old owl gave me my name.”
Edna hummed in acknowledgement. “You’re weird.”
“You really do speak your mind, don’t you?” Eizen said with a breathy huff of laughter, before his tone slipped into seriousness. “It’s not a bad thing, Edna. To be different. And don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. You remember that, ok?”
He felt Edna’s forehead gently bump against his shoulder as she gave a big nod. “Ok.”
They came across a narrow stream bubbling with cool water as the land grew less steep. Lush green grasses surrounded it on its banks, and among them were tiny flecks of bright white, gleaming in the sparkling glow of the sun as it began slipping just a little bit lower in the sky.
“Right there,” Eizen said, heading for the stream. “Those are Edna flowers.”
“Brother, put me down,” Edna demanded. She began kicking wildly where Eizen’s arms were looped back through her knees, her feet slamming forcefully against his sides. He laughed breathlessly even as the wind was knocked out of him. “Hurry up!”
“Alright, alright,” he said, grinning like a fool as he kneeled to set her gently on the ground. She would be impossibly strong when she got older, and he thought he was beginning to understand the pride he saw the human parents in the town express for their children.
Edna bounded down the hill towards a particularly large cluster of white petals. “Are these Edna flowers?” she asked, crouching down beside them.
“They are.” Eizen sat down cross-legged on the grass beside her and began to pluck a few of the most vibrant white blooms.
Edna wrinkled her nose. “They’re really small,” she said plainly.
Eizen plucked a few more flowers. “They may be small, but they’re much stronger than all the other flowers,” he replied.
“Really?” She gazed up at him, her big eyes wide.
“Really,” Eizen said, and began to braid thin, thread-like stems together. “Other flowers can’t survive this high in the mountains, but Edna flowers can thrive anywhere, no matter how cold or inhospitable. And you’re strong too, just like them.”
Edna watched him curiously as he brushed the hair away from her temple and tucked the cluster of flowers behind her ear. The soft petals tickled her face.
“Eizen?” she said.
He stood back up to his full height, tall and powerful and imposing before her. She felt safe.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m glad you’re my big brother.”
He glanced back down at her, the edges of his mouth pulling into a soft smile as he ruffled her hair, careful not to disrupt the flowers. “I’m glad too.”