The Sovereign Road

by Aaron Calhoun

  Kyr!

  Garin opened his eyes. He lay prostrate at the edge of the pool of blood. The sword hovered a few feet above him, dark and inscrutable. As he stared at the ebon surface of the blade, a sudden wave of fear washed through him as he finally began to understand.

  All mankind hung together.

  None were innocent, not even himself.

  He was not here as a representative of his race. How could he even think to take on that role when his own heart contained the same darkness? How could he hope to survive the fire that would surely overwhelm him?

  No, when the voice spoke of guilt, it was his guilt alone that was being judged.

  “I see that you now understand. Good. Then we may continue. I ask again, guilty or not guilty? Answer swiftly, for it will be the last time the question is posed.”

  A thousand voices filled his mind: each an excuse, each a rationalization. Yet in the end he knew that none spoke the truth. He glanced one last time at the blazing clouds, and then cried out in a loud voice as tears streamed down his face.

  “Guilty! I am guilty!”

  “It is so!”

  The sword began to rise, its blade shining with a dull red glow like metal in a forge. Around him the burning clouds churned faster and faster, a cyclone of living flame. With a sudden rush the fire leapt inward, infusing the sword with its heat until it blazed like the heart of a star, and within seconds the skies were black and empty. All had faded to darkness except Garin and the intolerable fury of the sword. The fiery blade continued to soar upward, rotating as it ascended until its tip pointed downward toward Garin’s heart. Without warning it fell toward him like a meteor. Fear gripped him and he braced himself for the first searing pains of judgment, but they never came.

  Instead the blazing sword plunged into the pool of blood. The dark liquid hissed and bubbled as it extinguished the blade’s fire, sending great billows of acrid steam heavenward. A few moments later the darkness began to lighten, and a soft brilliance crept slowly across the empty landscape.

  “Guilty you are,” whispered the voice, “but my flame has been quenched by the blood of another. Now, go! The realm of my sister awaits.”

  A long, thin slab of crystal rose silently from the pool, its surface flickering with soft candlelight.

  “Thank you,” said Garin.

  “It is not I that deserves your thanks.”

  Garin nodded silently, then rose to his feet and stepped through the slab-gate.

  Again he coursed down the crystalline pathways of the Cube of Cubes, his body a coherent array of scintillating light. Ahead loomed the iridescent membrane that enclosed the next realm. His vision blurred and spun as he passed through its surface, and when his eyes cleared Garin found himself in a verdant garden at twilight. Soft breezes, warm and fragrant with the scent of flowers, caressed his skin, and as the pure beauty of the scene took hold of him he was suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.

  “Rest, my child, rest…”

  The voice was soft and gentle, with the soothing tone of a mother. How long had it been since he had last slept? Days? Weeks? Though a dim part of him wondered what spirit it was that spoke to him, Garin could not muster up the energy to respond, and instead lay down beneath a tall tree festooned with bright red blossoms and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ***

  “Child, it is time to awaken.”

  The soft words slid into Garin’s mind, gently arousing him from slumber. He sat up slowly, feeling more refreshed then he had in a long time. Around him was the same soft twilight in which he had fallen asleep, but he was not particularly surprised. He had passed through stranger places on his journey than a garden of perpetual evening. Stepping out from beneath the tree, Garin saw a well-worn footpath that he felt certain had not been there before.

  “Come forward child. We must speak soon, but your journey has been hard, and you must needs be refreshed.”

  The path lead through a dense forest of trees similar to the one he had slept beneath. The air here was thick with birdsong and the fragrance of flowers. As he walked onward he began to hear another sound, a gentle trickling like the chiming of bells. Then the forest opened up to reveal the grassy banks of a river. The water was clear and ran across the rocks of the streambed with an evident playfulness that kindled joy within Garin’s heart.

  “Bathe my child! Cleanse your body and soul!”

  Garin waded out into the stream. The water was cool but not cold, the seeming embodiment of refreshment, and he scooped large handfuls onto his face and body. Each muscle relaxed as the liquid coursed over his skin, and a bright smile broke out across his face.

  “Drink! Drink my child. It is the River of the Water of Life! Drink your fill and be satisfied!”

  Garin bent down in joyful obedience and took a long draught. As he swallowed new vitality surged through him, as if the blood in his veins had been filled to the bursting with the pure essence of life. He continued to drink until his stomach could hold no more, and then waded back to shore.

  “It is good! Now come. There are more trials ahead.”

  The path clung to the river’s edge, following it upstream into a cluster of low hills topped by a dense mass of forest that glowed with faint light. At last it ended at a large round pool backed by a cliff wall from which a cataract poured with great tumult. Garin scanned the scene, and spied a series of switchbacks cut into the cliff-face near the waterfall that promised access, albeit difficult, to the forest above. There appeared to be no other way forward, and so he quickly circled the edge of the pool and began to climb.

  The slope of the switchback was steep, but surprisingly Garin felt no exhaustion. Indeed, new energy seemed to well up within him every moment, and he realized that something inside him had changed since he had drank from the River of the Waters of Life. Gaining the cliff top, Garin saw that the cataract was fed by a swift-moving rill that emerged from a dense wall of evergreen and fir. Shafts of red-gold light shone between the trees, as if a perpetually setting sun lay just beyond. Garin examined the treeline closer and saw a break near the point where the stream left the forest, a living archway that penetrated the thick foliage like a tunnel.

  “Come my child. Just a little way further.”

  Garin stepped through the archway and made his way deeper into the forest. The light streaming through the wood grew brighter as he walked until all was a chiaroscuro of dark trunks and beams of fiery brilliance. From somewhere nearby, Garin could still hear the tinkling, babbling sound of the stream. After a short distance the tunnel ended at a high hedge pierced by a single portal. Feeling sure that the intelligence of this domain must dwell within, Garin took a deep breath and entered.

  The hedge enclosed a woodland glade filled with wildflowers. Within the glade’s heart bubbled a crystal clear spring that seemed to dance with barely restrained life. A deep channel stretched from the pool to the edge of the glade, and through it the Waters of Life poured out ceaselessly into the forest beyond. In the center of the spring rose a mound upon which grew a tree made entirely of gold. The tree had no leaves but from its trunk seven branches reached toward the sky, each bearing a single immense candle that burned with a brilliant flame. Dazzled by the beauty of the scene, Garin walked to the edge of the spring and knelt amidst the flowers.

  “My Child, do not kneel to me. I am a fellow servant like yourself.”

  The voice whispered softly in Garin’s ear, carried on a breath of warm wind that blew from amidst the candles and golden boughs.

  “Who are you?” asked Garin as he rose to his feet. “What domain is this?”

  “You have passed beyond judgment into the heart of the Cube of Cubes,” said the voice. “Here, all is beauty and joy, the ancient joy of creation that was sung by the morning stars before the worlds were made. I have many names, but in the realms below I am often called Tifereth or Kallos.”

  Garin thought for a moment.

  “Are you truly the sister of the one who
m I met on the blazing plains?” he asked. “Your domain is so… different from his.”

  “After a manner of speaking,” answered the voice. “The Arethoi are not biological beings as you are; each of us sprang fully formed from the thoughts of the Ever-living One long before your world began. But as those thoughts co-inhere each within the other, so we are rightly called siblings. Even the fallen one, though his corruption has proceeded far, is still our brother.”

  “You speak of Daath,” said Garin with a shudder.

  “He has had, and will yet have, many names,” replied Tifereth, “but in this life-age he calls himself by the name of his ancient domain in the Cube of Cubes.”

  “Malkuth spoke of that domain,” said Garin. “He called it the primal wound and said I would have to traverse it.”

  “It is so,” said the voice solemnly.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about it?” asked Garin. “All Malkuth said was that Daath betrayed He Who Is, and because of that treason he was cast out and his domain shattered.”

  “You ask to hear one of the oldest and saddest tales of the Arethoi,” replied Tifereth. “Come, sit on the banks of the Spring of the Waters of Life and I will tell it to you.”

  Garin sat down amidst the flowers and listened intently as Tifereth spoke.

  “As I said before,” she began, “each of the Arethoi sprang fully formed from the mind of He Who Is. We are thoughts of His thought, finite expressions of aspects of His eternal existence. On the day of our birth we were given the City Imperishable for a habitation and the Cube of Cubes as the embodiment of our inmost thoughts and desires. In that glad time my brothers and sisters rejoiced in harmony and danced together upon the Cosmic Mountain. Beauty and Joy were at the center of that dance, surrounded by all the thoughts of He Who Is given form: Grace, Life, Sovereignty, Eternity, Strength, Mercy, Judgment, Wisdom, Understanding, Foundation, and Knowledge. Then He Who Is propounded a greater deed. By pouring His uncreated light through the Cube of Cubes, He would create worlds other than ours through our agency. We gladly joined in the work, and as His light pierced the crystal of the cube each of us reflected and focused that light, calling the lower worlds into being out of the deeps of Tehom. As we saw them take form we rejoiced in the order and hierarchy of creation, seeing ourselves as the vassal rulers of these new realms. But then life emerged on the worlds of Phaneros, and all was changed.”

  “It began when the first races were raised to sentience from the lower animals,” continued Tifereth. “He Who Is started to lavish love and attention on them in ways that he had only done with us in the past. He walked with them, embraced them, and drew them closer to Himself. And as we watched His affection for these new creatures, we learned that our earlier picture of our place in the cosmos was… incomplete…”

  “What do you mean?” asked Garin.

  “He Who Is came to each of us in a vision,” replied Tifereth, “walking with us in our domains within the Cube of Cubes and revealing His heart. He explained that the Arethoi were never meant to be the crown of creation but rather its pillars and foundation, eternally weaving His light into the fabric on which the cosmos rested in an endless act of self-giving. He gave each of us a choice, asking if we would freely devote ourselves to the ongoing nurture of the realms beneath knowing that one day they would surpass us in glory. Though the thought was foreign to us, most of the Arethoi were captivated by the beauty of His plan and readily agreed. Most, but not all.”

  Tifereth paused a few moments, and when she continued, Garin thought he heard a note of sadness in her voice.

  “None knew exactly what transpired as He Who Is walked with Daath in the privacy of his own domain, only that afterward Daath came to each of us in secret, railing against what he had learned and calling upon us to join him in open rebellion. To a one we rejected his advances and soon he ceased speaking of it, but a day came when thunder shook the cosmic mountain and we looked to see Daath ascend its summit in anger, demanding sovereignty and lordship over the lower worlds. He stood before the gates of the Golden Temple, delivering accusation after accusation against He Who Is while all the Cosmos waited in silence. Then the shining gates opened and He Who Is stepped forth. His brilliant face was downcast in grief, and he shook his head in sadness as Daath raised his hand to strike his creator. As Daath swung to deliver the blow, He Who Is cried a single tear of living flame that fell upon Daath with the force of a meteor, casting him down from the mountain into the boiling deeps of Tehom and shattering his domain within the Cube of Cubes. All that remains of it now is a gash, a wound in the fabric of creation that may never heal. The shadow that has engulfed the lower worlds springs from this wound.”

  “I have entered that shadow,” said Garin sadly. “I suppose I grew up within it, not knowing the darkness in which I lived, but when I made the ascent to Mythos I saw its true form. Daath has imprisoned the spirits of all the races of the Cosmos within it, each walled off from the other, each endlessly dissolving back into the nothingness from which it had come. I was nearly trapped as well.”

  “It is the most terrible truth of Daath’s rebellion” whispered Tifereth sadly. “To deny the reason for which you were made is to deny your basic being. And once that being has been denied, what is left except the endless emptiness of the void? Still, I would not leave you in despair, for rumors have come to us that He Who Is has entered the darkened spheres alone and wrestled with Daath amist the corruption.”

  As Tifereth spoke, an unbidden memory surfaced in Garin’s mind of a ruined stone building on the shattered world of Sha-Ka-Ri. Kyr had spoken there of a great tragedy that had brought hope to the cosmos. But that conversation seemed like aeons ago, and Sha-Ka-Ri was now lost to the viridian fires of the entropy clouds.

  “I fear that the corruption is reaching its peak,” said Garin, his voice choked with sadness.

  “It is so,” said Tifereth. “Yet while Phaneros remains, the hope that moved you to seek the Sovereign Road is not yet dead.”

  As Tifereth spoke, a crystalline slab rose silently from the waters of the spring. Its surface was a pure black deeper than night itself.

  “Beyond this slab-gate is the primal wound, the ancient domain of Daath. For all those touched by the shadow it is the only road forward. Even now I can feel great movements in the Cube of Cubes. Darkness gathers, a darkness that you have faced before and must face again.”

  As he stared at the flawless obsidian surface a chill shivered through his flesh. Still, he knew he had no choice but to go forward.

  “Thank you, Tifereth, for the love and refreshment you have given me,” said Garin as he rose to his feet. “Whatever may happen next, I am grateful.”

  “Take heart child,” said Tifereth, “there is also light. He Who Is has not abandoned you.”

  His heart lifted by the words, Garin stepped through the gate.

  Chapter 28: Guardian of the Ancient Mysteries

  Trielle followed Anacrysis down a broad street lined with low glass buildings. The mirrored panes gleamed in the murky red light of the brown dwarf as if the city were perpetually bathed in the last beams of a fading sunset. All around her was a sea of faces. Some were from races she knew, many, like Xellasmos, were from races she had never before seen, but all possessed a look of peace that contrasted sharply with the hurried, often frantic look of the crowds of Scintillus.

  “There are fewer of us now than there used to be” said Anacrysis with a touch of sadness, “but despite this the joy of the Sur Ekklesia remains undiminished.”

  Trielle could not help but agree. Despite the sparse, twilit surroundings, she could not escape the sense that this place was somehow more alive than anywhere she had ever been.

  The buildings grew in height as they neared the heart of the city, until at last the road ended at the doors of a vast structure that reached skyward with graceful towers of glass and stone. As Trielle considered the shape of the building, a strange sense of familiarity grew in her mind.
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  “It reminds me of the place where you found me on Galed’s moon,” she said to Anacrysis at last.

  Anacrysis laughed.

  “Indeed, that building is an image of this one and others like it. You stand before the last Cathedra of the Dar. Once every world possessed one, yet now even their memory has vanished. Only this one remains.”

  Anacrysis stepped toward the door and gestured.

  “Come Trielle, there are things inside that you need to see.”

  Trielle stepped through the doors of the Cathedra. She stood on a floor of polished marble, flanked by twin rows of slender glass pillars that formed a pathway into the vaulted space beyond. The pillars rose to a high dome that soared above her head like the sky. Both the walls and the dome above were covered with shards of colored glass arranged in a myriad of scenes. Although many of these were meaningless to her, she recognized a few from her father’s description of the Philosoph wars. But even these were portrayed with a clearly different perspective: the forces of the Dar depicted in a sympathetic light and those of the Conclave shown as malicious. Then she caught a glimpse of the far wall of the Cathedra, and the rest was forgotten.

  Stretching across the glassy surface was the image of a man shining like the sun and crowned with rainbows. Below, above, and all around him a myriad of strange creatures lifting their hands up in gestures of joy and honor. His arm was outstretched toward a group of figures dressed in rags, the palm of his hand raised as if in warning. Yet the figures appeared not to notice, but instead marched blindly over the edge of a dark precipice filled with smoke and fire. As Trielle gazed at the precipice a cold wave of terror shot through her flesh and she looked away with a shudder.

  Immediately below the image stood a raised dais and stone altar similar to the one used by Tseramed on Galed’s moon. The altar was flanked by two great candelabras that burned with hundreds of bright flames, their radiance mingling with the dim light of the brown dwarf to fill the Cathedra with a warm glow. A vast multitude from all races and worlds gathered at the foot of the dais, their faces glowing in the candlelight like embers ready to burst into flame. Then a bell sounded, and Trielle turned to see a figure robed in red and white step from a door in the far wall of the Cathedra. His head was crowned with a golden miter, and a flowing white beard trailed regally from his chin.