Stormsdream fiction - the magic flute - foreword

The Magic Flute

Legacy of the DiKena

Copyright © 1999 by Keith D. Jones – all rights reserved
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It began in fire to scar memory and curse the soul with flame born of the firewind and of the storm. Thriving on chaos and pain, it swept the land, filling every corner and every valley and every lost mountain spire with light to remake the world. It began in a dream and half-remembered nightmare, spilling forth like liquid light as thick as molten stone, and it seeped through the cracks between fantasy and magic.

They called themselves the DiKena, and they were the source through which chaos flowed. The DiKena were first among all things, and they could shape the world and all things in it to their thoughts and imagination. They created spires of crystal and castles in the sky, and they created monuments of stone to rival mountains and oceans of green wood and bright sky.

They could give form to their very thoughts, their passions and desires, creating sculptures and life of intricate beauty and power. Creatures were created, companions, servants, and wild things drawn from the hidden corners of the soul. Shards and fragments of chaos slipped from the DiKena in the form of their anger and hidden rage.

The DiKena made war against their creations of chaos and destruction. Every confrontation would end only in pain and blood, and from these fresh wounds in the hearts and minds of the DiKena, more monstrosities would grow. To preserve their world and end the corruption of the land would have required them to bind their thoughts and passions in ways that they could not understand.

The storm grew and chaos reigned. That was when the dragons appeared. Guardians of the earth and sky, they sought only to protect the DiKena and sate the wild things of their blood lust. Whether they had been born out of the need for help or been created long before and remained elsewhere until needed was something the DiKena never learned.

The things were stopped. Creatures and strange monstrosities slipped back into the shadows from which they had been born. The world had been cleansed with fire and blood, but the DiKena could no longer touch the soul of the land.

Dripping with the afterimages and echoes of fire and chaos, the surviving DiKena splintered as they tried to regain their lost magic. They went into the forests and attempted to regain what they had once given to the trees. They explored the depths of the mountains while others swam in the oceans and still others attempted to claim the sky. The dragons could only watch as the various DiKena grew more and more distant, and they could do nothing to prevent the DiKena from changing.

DiKena, returning from the labyrinths beneath the mountains, spoke of wars fought with the surviving creatures of chaos. These DiKena called themselves the Montmorin. Learning from the wood and the forest, some DiKena spoke of becoming the Dryn. Others had learned to call themselves the Kianan.

It was the Kianan who first grew angry with the dragons for they could not help the Kianan regain their lost power. The dragons refused to sacrifice themselves in the hope that the DiKena would be reborn. They departed from the cities of the Kianan and made their new homes in the heights of the mountains where not even the Montmorin could reach.

From their perch in the mountains and from the sky far overhead, the dragons continued to watch over and protect the Kianan, Montmorin, and the Dryn from the folly of their forefathers. They watched over the bitter and disenchanted children of the DiKena. They watched and they waited.