The Chamber’s domed walls, supported by large oak trusses, arched from floor to mid-ceiling. Shadowy specters, born of candlelight, bent and bowed as if paying homage to numerous charms and symbols.
The Jeweled Altar, a Primus original, was both magical and magnificent. With the perfect balance of crystals and gems—a collection of Primus’ plunder—it was an entrancing piece of craftsmanship, poised at the Chamber’s center. When all went well during certain rituals, the jewels released energies conducive to clairvoyance and other uncanny powers.
Lupa was comfortable and confident in the familiar surroundings and took great pride in Primus’ dependence upon her particular field of prowess. With the Frame of Story standing off to one side of the Altar, she prepared to unlock its secrets.
Resolved not to disappoint, she approached the Altar and reverently placed her hands upon it. Muttering a series of unintelligible phrases, she availed herself to a darkling spell. Her hands coursed across the scintillating jewels, running spasmodically this way and that until energy flowed in currents, illuminating the Altar.
She uttered strange incantations and poured out bubbling libations upon the imbibing Alter. Her head swayed from side to side, and with eyes rolled back in their sockets, Lupa entered a trance. Primus watched anxiously.
“It bleeds,” she crooned. “The Frame, it bleeds!” And gasping, she cried, “It is the bloodletting of Philon!”
Outraged, Primus lunged at her, grabbed her by the throat, and pinned her to the wall.
“Do not toy with me!” he snarled. “Philon is incapable of death! If you have no genuine answer, do not fabricate one!”
He released his grip, and she, in a fit of rage, spit in his face.
“In your blindness do not toy with my visions! It is Philon’s blood!” And she stormed from the chamber shouting and cursing at Primus, who, while wiping the spittle from his face had already begun to mull over the implications of Philon’s potential demise.
A lone drop of blood seeped from the Frame and met the floor with a gentle splat. Primus turned to look, but upon inspection found nothing.
He exited the chamber, where Titanos, standing guard, had heard the volatile couple have their broil.
“We both know she’s crazy,” said Primus, “but when it comes to such things, she is usually right.”
Chapter 11
Lupa had developed a kindly relationship with Aurea and showed a sincere interest in her pregnancy, for she, like all Muspellum, had lost the ability to procreate by spurning the very source of life Himself, and taking sides with Primus. She took great delight, therefore, in helping prepare for the advent of Manumit’s firstborn child.
The day soon came when Aurea detected the onset of labor and sent for Lupa. Upon hearing the news, Lupa rushed around in fluster, barking orders as she went, and demanding that someone fetch Primus immediately. She arrived at the cottage to find Aurea at the point of delivery and Valerian standing nervously at her side.
“It all happened so quickly!” he explained.
“Not to worry,” said Lupa. “I am here.” She pointed toward Aurea’s head and commanded, “You stand there!” to the attendants she said briskly, “Bring the basins of water, the towels, and the wraps prepared for the child. . . and where is Primus? Get him in here!” With that, she took up her position as midwife, coaching Aurea through panting and pushing and that final groan which brought about the birth of Earth’s firstborn son. Lupa held up the infant—trembling and robust. “It’s a male!” she announced. And the sweetest sound in the whole wide world rang out in the town of Manumit the moment the infant cried. Aurea took the baby in her arms and called him Eliam, according to the oath she and Valerian had sworn to Philon.
Lupa noticed Primus standing against the back wall. “Primus, come and see,” she urged. Primus stepped in closer.
“Isn’t he beautiful, Primus?” she asked, gushing. “Yes,” he said flatly, then whispered, “Not that I at all care.” Lupa pinched him hard, and flinching, he said more loudly, “He has a lot of hair!”
He excused himself from the room, leaving Lupa to enjoy her new family of friends. As the door closed behind him, his wheels began to turn, for he had found the event inspiring, and went to formulate a plan.
The next day Primus met with Lupa at their private residence overlooking the city. He could see she was upset, and thought it the perfect opportunity to let her in on his new idea.
He sat down beside her, and with little more than superficial empathy, coaxed, “I can see it in your eyes, Lupa. Tell me, what’s bothering you?”
“It is the child, Eliam,” she divulged. She held out her hands for Primus to see. “Look. He was born into these hands.” Her chin trembled. “And don’t bother reminding me that I must get past it. That, I will never forget!” Blinking, she batted tears.
“Listen,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ve been thinking. I may have found a way. It may truly be possible.”
“Oh, please,” she shook her head, “don’t do this to me.” She snatched her hand away from his. “I forfeited that privilege the day I followed you!”
“Correction, Lupa: you were stripped of that right the day you exercised your free will!” Not wanting a fight to interfere with his agenda, he eased his tone, “I am not making any promises, but if you will hear me out, I think you will find my proposal compelling.”
“Well,” she answered, “I won’t get my hopes up, I can promise you that!” She crossed her legs, planted her chin in the palm of her hand and stared down at the floor. Swinging her foot she said, “Go ahead.”
“It will require patience on your part while we determine reliability.”
“Patience, Primus?” She cocked her head at him. “You could not have picked a virtue in which either of us is in shorter supply.”
In defiance of her point, he ignored the comment and continued, “First, we must select subjects for the experiment.”
“And who might they be?”
“I have in mind to choose one hundred Muspellum, male and female, of course, fifty of each—Valerian and Aurea also.”
“Leave Aurea out of this. The child needs its mother.”
“She will suffer no harm. We need only to borrow her fertility.”
Lupa sighed. “Primus, what are you proposing?”
“The Jeweled Altar, Lupa. Do we not derive many powers from it?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Then why not draw upon those powers?”
And so it was that the two spent the better part of the day discussing the feasibility of Primus’ idea, and scrawling down names of prospective candidates whose qualifying traits would include high mental acuity, exceptional talent, extraordinary physical strength, and a good dose of aesthetic beauty. If there would be young Muspellum flying about, it was imperative that they be neither clumsy nor ugly.
They would host an elaborate dinner for the honored participants in the temple’s Chamber Hall, and conduct the experiment in the Hidden Chamber—about which rumors had long been circulated, accounts of bizarre happenings, neither confirmed nor denied, spoken of only in hushed tones and curious whispers. Primus and Lupa were confident that none would decline the invitation.
The evening soon came and the unsuspecting guests filed into the Chamber Hall where they milled about mingling and making small talk. Unaware of the purpose of their invitation, they were excited just to have made the list. A sumptuous dinner, replete with effusive toasts to Primus and Lupa, left them sated and happy, and whatever good sense they might have possessed, seemed to slip through their fingers, like crumbs from the bread they so hoggishly ate.
Primus, widely acclaimed for his ingenious musical talent, had composed an enchanting opus. Since his dismissal from the Image Maker’s choir his music had taken on harsher, more raucous tones, however, his arrangement impressed the goggle-eyed guests as it floated through the airy affair—a cacophonous jangle of bellows and whines—that brought the evening to near-perfect
pitch. And the intoxicated Muspellum, caught up in the mystical mix, became all the more receptive to his influence.
Meanwhile, at the home of Valerian and Aurea, a knock came upon the door.
“Valerian! It is Titanos. I must speak with you at once!”
Valerian opened the door. “Yes, Titanos. What is it?
“Lupa requests your presence immediately, you and Aurea. Leave the child with its nursemaid.”
“Why, of course. I will ready the horses and come as soon as possible.”
“Never mind the horses. I have the Belladonne for your transport.”
Valerian and Aurea gathered their things, and after instructing the baby’s nursemaid, mounted the royal beasts and left with Titanos.
The brisk ride delivered the couple to the temple’s back entrance in record time. A pair of servants whisked them inside and down a lovely corridor, where tasseled draperies dressed its windows, and abstract paintings adorned its walls. A set of double doors opened to a suite of rooms so alluring, that Valerian and Aurea felt as if they glided across the threshold into the comfort of its lavish lap.
Servants brought in goblets of fruity beverages and platters of steaming hot rolls. “Make yourselves at home and enjoy the refreshments,” said one, politely. Valerian and Aurea’s eyes lit up when they saw the bread, for since the day Primus first presented it to them in the Garden they had longed for it. Awaiting Lupa’s arrival, they ate and drank to their hearts’ content, and soon began to feel groggy.
The contented couple stretched and yawned. Eyelids heavy, they sprawled across the fine lamb’s wool rugs that lay thick upon the shadowy floor. They slept to the scent of sweet spices and the flickering glow of candlelight.
In the Hidden Chamber, Primus and Lupa incited the Muspellum.
“Were not we his firstborn?” plied Primus, making his case. “Were not we the crown of His creation? Why then does he deny us the right to bear young, as Valerian and Aurea have done?”
Lupa goaded the Muspellum into feeling indignant. “We have watched Valerian and Aurea with their little one, and witnessed the joy that only they can know.” She thrust her finger in the air. “And all because he has made barrenness our blight!”
She pointed to a couple, calling them by name. “Have you any children?”
“No,” they answered. “We have none!”
To others she posed the same question, “You there, are you able to bear young?”
“No,” they shouted in turn. “We too are barren!”
With that, Primus and Lupa snatched back the curtains that had hidden the Jeweled Altar, and the human couple lying unconscious upon it. Since they retained within them that life which begets life, they had become central to the experiment.
The Muspellum gasped aloud. Having been provoked by Lupa, some demanded, “Death to Valerian and Aurea!” Others bleated, “Take their child!”
Primus shouted, calling them to order, “Quiet yourselves and keep your heads! It is not for death’s sake that we call you here tonight, but for the proliferation of life!”
Cowed by their leader’s rebuke, and stunned by his declaration, they immediately quieted.
“Lupa and I have sufficient cause to believe that we have discovered a way to access the fertile properties of our friends,” he emphasized, “and transfer them into our own bodies. This would mean the bearing of offspring for Muspellum and the propagation of our race!”
His audience listened raptly.
Face florid, Primus asserted, “Not only will we have our young, but we will bring them up in a world where Muspellum reign supreme!” His obsession progressed, he proclaimed, “And we shall be the glory of the earth!”
Lupa added an impassioned plea. “What say you, Muspellum? Are you with us?”
High strung as their leaders were, the candidates feared showing any sign of reluctance, and whether through cowardice or bravery, they rallied to the cause, shouting, “Yes! We say yes!”
Elated, Lupa cried, “Then come forward, pioneers! Come!”
Under her direction they filed into the Hidden Chamber and encircled the Alter, where crystal-laden aprons lay across the fertile humans. Servitors cinched corresponding aprons around the waists of the Muspellum, who then stood hand-in-hand with their mates.
Primus and Lupa faced one another from opposite ends of the Altar, hands placed upon the mystic gems, and fingers aglow. Primus, wild-eyed and jubilant, crowed, “Now we embark upon our greatest quest: to beget life where life is forbidden!”
Lupa ran her hands across the lighted jewels, muttering incantations and pausing over this jewel and that. Her head aloft as if nosing the air, perspiration lining her brow, she placed her hands on Valerian and Aurea’s aprons. In a voice thin and raspy—a voice not her own—she invoked the powers of the Altar.
“Life in the loins. . .” she strained, streaks of blue bulging beneath the skin of her ghostly face.
“Life in the womb. . .
Come now inhabit. . .
Fertility’s tomb!”
Collapsing, she hit the floor flopping like a fish, then lay deathly still.
Tick. Tick-tick. Electrical currents skittered across the Altar like long legged spiders, their spindly legs arcing blue. Sizzling and snapping, they clambered across the aprons. The juiced arachnids ran their course, charging from apron to apron. Pop! Pop-pop! Flashes of red singed the air, raising smoky columns of gray. Dark green mist poured over the Altar’s rim and rolled like a fog toward the test subjects. Most were unnerved by the numinous phenomena.
“Stand your ground,” cautioned Primus. And they stood stock-still.
When the fog at last cleared, servants swept up Valerian and Aurea, still sleeping, into their arms and whisked them back home, tucking them safely into bed. They would recall nothing of the nights’ events, for they had been dosed with an herbal amnesiac.
As for the Muspellum, they were freed of the aprons, but detained for debriefing, for they had remained fully conscious throughout the affair and would never forget it. They listened judiciously as Primus warned them never to utter a word to anyone about the experiment.
Chapter 12
Muspellum, by fallen nature, were a quarrelsome lot, but they had managed to hide that fact from Valerian and Aurea, since Primus had mandated that they do so. Before escorting the humans from the Garden’s unstable environment to a more civil one in Manumit, Primus threatened the Muspellum with every sordid act of reprisal if they failed to comply with his wishes.
With a penchant for head-lopping, and a profound lack of conscience, he held the reins tightly on Manumit, with little to no resistance.
Under no circumstances was it wise to bring Primus displeasure—for to be an object of his displeasure was to be one of his wrath. Therefore, he suffered no shortage of sycophants whose sole method of survival lay in making his every wish their command. Additionally, he had amassed an impressive contingent of cold hearted warriors who without so much as blinking an eye, disposed of anyone Primus desired to be rid of.
When Muspellum females began showing signs of pregnancy, word of the fertility project was inevitably leaked. Jealousy arose among those who had not been made privy to the goings on that night in the Chamber. Fighting soon broke out among both males and females, and increasing conflict beset the now fractured city—something Primus and Lupa had failed to factor into the equation.
Since the day of their “kidnapping,” as Primus liked to think of it, Valerian and Aurea’s assimilation into Manumit had been virtually seamless. Maintaining the appearance of a better life in Manumit had been central to his success. Now, clashes among the Muspellum threatened to dismantle that illusion.
Primus had come a long way from being just Raeh. In becoming the refugees’ adoptive parent, he had found his life’s work, and he would not risk losing it.
Titanos had blacklisted the most vocal antagonists, ten in all. He had them apprehended and delivered to the temple’s dread hollow.
; Spiked stonewalls, scarred in bloody feathers and hide, chewed the captives like cud, as they were shoved along the narrow passage way. A musty stairwell, steep and throaty, received them tumbling. Swallowing hard, it dropped them into the belly of the dingy keep.
A squalling female, the first to hit the dungeon floor, immediately spied Primus. Indignant over her exclusion from the project, she clambered to her feet and waved a finger at him. “Who are you to decide who is and is not worthy to bear young?”
Following after her, a strapping male, his fist a ball of knuckles, demanded, “We want answers!”
Too angry to be afraid, the captives shouted over one another, decrying Primus’ elitist ways and calling his leadership into question.
“Silence!” shouted Primus. “I will have order in my realm!” He swung his sword and sheared off the knuckles, which had been so recklessly displayed.
He turned to the blathering female-gone-mute and slapped her face. “Ironic, isn’t it, how I deplore insubordination?”
She didn’t move a muscle, not even to wipe the blood bubbling from her nose.
“One more peep...” he dared. He cleaned his sword against her wing and a flurry of feathers rose like incense before him. Leaving it behind him, he rebuked them all.
“You have treated with disregard my special interest in the humans and threatened my plans for Manumit! How is it that you forget there is no such thing as forgiveness in my camp? Now, with tolerance in such short supply, I can only see things growing worse for you!”
Primus propped a hand on the shoulder of his chief defender, Titanos, and like a childish bully, chided, “And they shall be fodder for vultures and vermin, a treat for beetles and bugs! Meet me in my drawing room when you are finished with them!” Primus then stormed off in a huff, thinking, “I would kill them myself, but their anemic blood is unworthy of my blade.”
Titanos and his warriors fell upon the dissenters with a fury befitting their master’s rage until the ten Muspellum lay on the dreary dungeon floor, breathing their last to the gurgling strains of death.
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