Rise of Primus

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Rise of Primus Page 10

by Michael Zadai


  He then hurried off to meet Primus, leaving the henchmen to commit the deceased to the veracity of feral grounds.

  “I have carried out your directives regarding the rabble-rousers,” Titanos reported. “They are no more. Each Muspellum household is receiving instructions as to your wishes while we speak. I expect nothing less than social civility from now on.”

  “Very well, then,” said Primus. “Tell me, the subjects included in the experiment, are they well?”

  Titanos dreaded to be the bearer of bad news, especially at a time like this. Burly as he was, he felt like a mere weakling before Primus. Knowing his master’s disdain for weakness and his flair for quashing it, he maintained his composure and tried not to perspire.

  “I’m afraid the news isn’t good. There have been disturbing developments common to all.”

  “Go on, tell me,” prompted Primus.

  “Their strength diminishes daily, as well as their stature.”

  “Do you mean to say they are shrinking?”

  “It appears so, my lord.”

  Primus paced the floor a moment, confused and thinking.

  “That is not possible,” he roared.

  Titanos winced. Not knowing how to answer, he said nothing.

  “Is there more, Titanos?”

  “There is much more.”

  “Then say it all!” he demanded.

  Titanos had never felt so nervous. He took a deep breath and bravely made his report.

  “Their wings, they have atrophied. Like broken tree limbs, they are useless appendages.”

  Primus tightened his lips. His eyes grew steely.

  Titanos continued, “Additionally, they exhibit signs of intellectual decline. Their thinking seems more...humanlike.”

  Exasperated, Primus threw his hands in the air. “This cannot be happening!”

  “Also, Historus believes that the young they now carry will prove to be human at birth.”

  “What? Muspellum will give birth to humans?”

  “That is what Historus has said, my lord.”

  “And tell me, how did he arrive at such an idiotic conclusion?”

  “Of that I am uncertain. He rambles so. But he did say that the fertile properties of humans are capable only of reproducing humans.”

  “I shall kill Historus! What else did he say?”

  “He said the impregnated Muspellum are essentially surrogates for Valerian and Aurea, carrying their offspring to term.”

  Primus ran his fingers through his hair and suddenly had a thought. He shook his head, “No... No...”

  His countenance fallen, he looked up at Titanos, “Tell me…tell me he did not say they would look like them too!”

  “He said they would look as much like them as does Eliam—all of them.”

  Lupa had overheard the conversation and came into the drawing room.

  “What have you done, Primus? This cannot be!”

  “Oh, sit down and shut up!” he barked. “This is why I did not allow you to participate in the experiment!” He pointed his finger in her face. “You should learn to be grateful!” Lupa immediately quieted herself and sat down. While missing her cue for showing gratitude, her timing for shutting up was suddenly impeccable.

  “The Image Maker has gone to great lengths to preserve His image within the humans. While He locks their genetic code against our tampering, He tampers with ours!”

  Primus slammed his hands down on a table. “How dare He douse my ‘Flames of Fire!’ He takes the cream of my crop, clips their wings and makes them simpletons!”

  Titanos cringed on the inside and Lupa stared nervously at the trembling hands folded in her lap.

  Primus paced back and forth, spitting and sputtering, continuing his rant, “How is it that He still underestimates me? Is it lost on Him that to me winning is everything? Let Him prevent us from bearing young after our own kind. I will gladly foster his bastard children! After I have marred His image in their minds they will be nothing like Him!”

  He spun on his heel, looked upward, and shouted, “And you think I’m the vain one?” With that he stormed out the door.

  Lupa breathed a sigh of relief and leaned her head back. “We both know he’s crazy,” she said to Titanos, “but he usually gets his way.”

  The mutating Muspellum devolved rapidly, losing all capability superior to that of humans. The males especially deplored their more humanlike stature, and found it unbearably humiliating.

  But the advent of each new child brought great consolation, for the ability to bear young, human or otherwise, was by all accounts, miraculous.

  Primus rallied quickly after his initial shock and soon began to regard the turn of events as advantageous, since greater proliferation of the human race in Manumit meant that he would own them. And that, to him, was revenge most rewarding.

  Reproductive powers generated by the fertility project made multiple births commonplace, and over the course of time the human population grew exponentially—to the third and fourth generation.

  Close monitoring of the burgeoning masses became increasingly more difficult, and food shortages brought strain and rebellion not easily quelled. As conditions deteriorated, a steady stream of humans seized every opportunity to flee the restless city and establish settlements elsewhere. As a countermeasure to this troubling exodus, Primus eventually walled in all of Manumit, posting armed garrisons at intervals along its expansive border.

  Those who had previously fled, he referred to as craven renegades. He sometimes raided their settlements, returning with whatever or whomever he wished. But he found captives bothersome, and so, sequestered them only occasionally, as a show of force and intimidation. Citing them for civil disobedience, he made a public display of them, having them openly flogged before ordering their demise.

  However, with earth’s land so vast and its foliage so dense, many traveled to distant lands where Primus and his myrmidons were less likely to seek them out.

  In one such settlement, unbeknownst to Primus, a young woman nurtured Hope within her womb. Coming to term, she gave birth to a son whose destiny would lead him to Manumit.

  For there is a will not deterred by events in time and space. It is not subverted by schemes, nor thwarted by powers, but presides over all.

  Meanwhile, Life Weaver visited a dream upon Lupa wherein a man came to interpret the writings on the Frame.

  Chapter 13

  A calling rang out, a summons for all Chayil to gather at the Bridge in Time. From near and far they came, a winged convergence of wind-driven snow, whipping through an Elysian pass, above the swollen river gorge. And where the chasm broadens, letting the waters run free, the Chayil spread wide in drifting white above the Rainbow Sea.

  Like glowing coals, all clustered in red, the rubied bridge, a vermillion pathway, descended from long crystal braids out of the highest heavens. There, Seraphim kept its eternal gate, for beyond its threshold time prevailed in every dimension, throughout every age— past, present, and future.

  Abba stood upon the arching bridge, its back bowed in reverent deference. Kalandra, a Chayilian daughter, stood with him, her mahogany hair a banner of beauty above vestments of gold and bronze. She stepped forward and loudly proclaimed: “The tolling of the bell now sets the whisper free! Amid ringing proclamation the mystery is unveiled!”

  Abba came forward, eyes spilling compassion down cheeks buffed radiant with hope.

  “The children of earth, now great in number—along with many of our Chayil—remain under the yoke of the Netherlife, while Primus, ever more larcenous, claims them as his own. Watchman,” he called to Abriel, “please apprise our family of your findings.”

  Abriel flew to the front of the assembly. Hovering just below the bridge, he faced the others.

  “My watchmen and I have witnessed, these many years, the oppression of which Abba speaks. We have observed Primus’ pilfering—his plucking of the jewels from the Image Maker’s crown—they are to him no more than p
lunder, precious only as tokens of retaliation. These he crushes beneath the punishing weight of vengeance grown heavy in his heart. Further, in mockery of Abba, he has constructed a Jeweled Altar, a monument to his thievery. There he pours out libations, invoking the Netherlife.”

  Abriel turned toward the bridge and appealed to Abba, “I would gladly rally our troops and rout out every stronghold, risking all to save the captives. But they, being long entrenched in Primus’ ways, would surely refuse rescue. However, if we do nothing, theirs is a hopelessly abysmal plight.”

  “Your assessment is correct, Abriel,” answered Abba. “Left to themselves, they are beyond hope. However, one greater than they, greater than the might of your hosts, and greater still than Primus and the Netherlife, remains above all. He stands ready even now. As for you, Chief Watcher of humankind, I send you to Manumit, where your participation is vital to my plan. Need I ask if you are willing?”

  “I am more than willing, and ready, too!” he answered. Myriads of Chayil erupted into prolonged applause, and the heavens clapped in joyous thunders for sheer relief at the news.

  “You will enter Manumit in human form, Abriel, but your name shall be Sophos. You will have neither sword nor shield, but do not fear. Sophos is clever, his instincts keen, and he will rely upon the wisdom vested in him. When they send for you, go and accomplish your task, for Lupa has dreamt of your coming and inquires even now as to your whereabouts.” He hugged the able warrior, adding, “Remember, at no time are you to lend your hand in battle unless otherwise instructed. For now, it is not your war.” Entrusted with the mission of mercy, Abriel was escorted by Kalandra, down the Bridge in Time until he disappeared from sight.

  Meanwhile, Titanos searched diligently for anyone who might possess the ability to assist in decrypting the Frame’s message. After exhaustive inquiry he located one human seer and one Muspellum whom he deemed equal to the task. He told them only that their immediate assistance, regarding a highly sensitive matter, was required. Armed escorts took them into custody, and delivered them posthaste to the temple, where they appeared before Lupa and Primus.

  Seeing Historus, Lupa stepped down from her chair with a well-practiced look of superiority, and snapped at Titanos. “You dig to the bottom of the barrel to bring me Historus?” She approached the small-framed intellectual. Looking down her nose, she jabbed, “Could they find nothing suitable for you to do on Tyrannous?”

  Historus glanced down briefly, pursing his lips, then looked up at Lupa. “Is my preference for fact over fiction still an affront to your nebulous conjurations?”

  “For one of such notably diminutive stature, you take a sizable risk in speaking. Your opinion has become unpopular of late, say, for the past half century or so. That alone places you in jeopardy.”

  “You were not summoned for your inane drivel,” snapped Primus. “We want nothing more or less than a scientific response from you. Lupa, let him do his work.”

  “Very well then, Historus: work!” she mocked.

  Historus limped over to the Frame, walking-stick in hand, and began examining the writings. He tilted his head this way and that, touched the carvings here and there, and mumbled a bit—as one does when calculating. At last he confessed, “The symbols puzzle me. I am afraid the markings exceed my field of expertise, falling as they do outside the sphere of my studies thus far. Perhaps if I had more time. . .

  “There is no more time!” interrupted Primus. “Now shuffle aside. Your studies have crippled your mind!”

  “Now that was a practice in futility,” said Lupa.

  Primus pointed to the human and warned, “You had better decipher the encryption, seer, or both you and your equal may perish here and now. I despise incompetence!”

  The seer bowed and approached the Frame. He did not touch it or examine it closely, but only stood before it in prolonged silence. Everyone watched, waiting, as he seemingly did nothing at all. At last Lupa demanded, “Well. . . what are you waiting for? Do you not understand that time is of the essence? Or are you as much the dullard as your companion?”

  “My apologies,” said Sophos politely, “but the message is not meant for my telling. That privilege is reserved for the one to whom it is appointed.”

  Lupa laughed. “Oh my, do I detect humility here? Now that is a quality not easily found in these parts! Tell me, what is your name?”

  “I am Sophos.”

  For the sake of recall, she repeated, “Sophos. . . hmm. . . Tell me, Sophos, how is it that we meet only just now?”

  But before he could answer, Primus chimed in, “Something about you reminds me of someone I knew long ago—in a previous life—and that does not bode well with me. I assume you are an intelligent man, and aware, no doubt, that I am significantly less impressed by your humility than Lupa. It would behoove you to speak what you know, and the sooner the better.”

  “Please forgive me, Primus, but the etchings contain a story, one whose telling must begin with Lupa. For it says, ‘She who delves into things unknown shall bring the story to her throne.’”

  Primus, his suspicions roused at the suggestion, leapt from his chair and lunged at Sophos. He snatched him by the collar, coming nose-to-nose with him. “I really don’t like you!” he snarled. “Don’t push it!”

  Abriel wanted to teach his insolent brother a lesson or two. Feeling trapped, he deplored his human condition. Nevertheless, obedient to Abba’s directives, and aware that he was no match for Primus, he refrained. As instructed, he would outwit his opponent rather than take up the sword.

  “Need I remind you,” he wheezed, “that the man detained in the grip of your fists is the only one who can tell you what you wish to know?”

  Primus released him, warning, “It is the only thing that saves you. Now do it!”

  Sophos coughed slightly, crooked his neck as if realigning it, and extended a hand to Lupa. She approached the Frame. He placed his hand over hers and guided it as she felt her way across the elaborate cryptogram.

  “Feel and see, Lupa,” he coached, “Speak the words.”

  Primus watched, and with an eye roll, fidgeted in his chair.

  Eyes tightly shut, Lupa crept her fingers through each foreign symbol. Soon she began to tremble. When at last she spoke, her voice was slight with uncertainty. “Eternity in time. . .flesh for divine. . . life into death. . . until death becomes mine. . .”

  Suddenly, the Jeweled Altar glowed a brilliant emerald green, causing all to avert their eyes. Heat radiated from its center, climbing rapidly by degree, and the Altar began to wobble and hum. As the droning sound grew to a near-deafening pitch, Primus lunged toward Lupa, yelling, “Get back!” And just as the two of them hit the floor, a violent explosion obliterated the Altar, reducing its jewels to a fine shimmering rain.

  Lupa lay on the floor of the smoke-filled room, her face buried in the bend of her arm, crying, “My Altar. . . my lovely Altar!”

  Primus lay beside her, annoyed at her whining and infuriated with Sophos. He glanced around the room, hoping to find him in the rubble, and entertained notions of what he might do to him if he found him alive. His eyes landed on the Frame, which, oddly enough, remained upright and intact, not more than five feet away from him. He saw the reflection of his bewildered face in the Frame, and the pathetic sight Lupa lying beside him; both, he found equally repugnant.

  He knew it was virtually impossible that the Frame should have remained unscathed in the blast, and he expected that the Image Maker had something to do with it. Whatever role Sophos might have played, he decided, would have to wait for further investigation. For now, he half expected the Life Weaver’s face to appear in the Frame, and that he wished to avoid at all costs.

  “Come, Lupa,” said Primus, helping her to her feet, “I built one altar and can build another. As for that Frame, I will dispose of it promptly!”

  “You will do no such thing!” declared Lupa, her hair a frizzy matted mess. “You heard what Sophos said. The Frame’s message i
s intended for me! Its story awaits its telling upon my throne! If you are to build anything, wouldn’t you think it should be a throne?”

  Primus rippled his feathers to loosen debris, and gave his wings a flapping shake. “Hmm…perhaps you are right. The sooner I fashion a throne and place you upon it, fulfilling the prophecy, the sooner the Frame will become unlocked. Oh, yes!” he exclaimed, kissing Lupa’s dusty head. “That is precisely what I shall do!” Primus was elated, for he was dying to journey within the Frame to see what secrets it contained—provided Lupa went first, of course.

  “Yes!” agreed Lupa, “And won’t it be thrilling?”

  And, so, the rattled couple tottered off together, ears ringing, thoughts reeling, leaving Sophos and Historus behind in a curious pall of smoke.

  Historus, whose cane lay shattered among the rubble, struggled to his feet and brushed the debris from his clothes. Sophos stood before the Frame, perplexed, but unharmed, his tousled hair glittering.

  Just then, the symbols in the lower casing of the Frame began to move about. Accompanied by sounds of clicking and popping, they rearranged themselves until the Frame became unlocked. No sooner had the movement ceased than Philon appeared standing in the Frame. Stepping out, he paused, examined his arms and hands, and jokingly said, “Well, I seem to have arrived in one piece.” Seeing Historus, he beamed.

  “Historus, my brother!”

  Historus had not seen that broad smile since before the rebellion. Although tears blurred his vision, it was as gracious as he remembered. His hand flew to his mouth stifling the spilling emotion.

  “My heart is warmed at the sight of you, Historus.” assured Philon.

  The prodigal fell to the embrace of Abba’s Son, whom he had betrayed the day he chose to follow Primus.

  Sophos was confused at the warm reunion.

  “You would speak kindly to this traitor?”

  “Historus called out to me some time ago, Abriel. Returning home, he has been restored. I urge you, do as I have done. Receive him.”

 

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