Rise of Primus

by Michael Zadai

  “A fool’s folly becomes his undoing,” said Historus of himself. “I regret my part in the rebellion, Abriel, and have borne an insufferable burden ever since.”

  Memories grazed like cattle behind his eyes’ gates, dulling their sheen. “The shadows of the Netherlife are darkness beyond all telling, engendering madness beyond belief.” Leaning on Philon he lifted his heel, revealing a tight ball of burn-scars—evidence of torture. “As for Primus,” he said, “insanity courts his every move.”

  This, Abriel knew to be true, for he had experienced his brother’s madness full bore. Images of that unconscionable day flashed before him: the sickening sound of his own stabbing, the pain of it all. Would he ever forget the blood seeping warm from his side, or the cold pleasure he saw in his brother’s eyes?

  He shook his head as if to shed the dismal memories, and looked over at Philon. Seeing his eyes so pure and his heart so good, he wanted always to side with him. He turned toward the meek and remorseful Historus.

  “Who am I, that having been restored to life, should not rejoice at another’s restoration?” He smiled as one does when truly forgiving and hooked an arm around his old friend’s neck. “I welcome you, Historus. The gift of life is our common bond. We truly are brothers.”

  He offered himself as a crutch for Historus, and the three walked down the darkening streets of Manumit.

  “There are others here whose hearts have turned homeward,” said Philon. “They are a clandestine contingent, pointing the humans toward their family of origin and helping them whenever possible.” The irony was not lost on Abriel that he, Abba’s Chief Watchman, thinking he had seen it all, had in fact missed so much.

  “Life Weaver is always working, even if covertly,” he concluded.

  They reached the home of Historus and quickly ducked inside, taking every precaution against being noticed. The house was modest, and given the host’s fondness for study, was a little messy too. Pieces of parchment lay in stacks here and there, and a clutter of clay pots boasted tender shoots of hybrid plant life.

  Eliam, first-born of Valerian and Aurea, bounded the corner carrying a large basin of water. He came upon Philon and almost dropped it.

  “Eliam!” exclaimed Philon.

  “Philon?”

  Eliam put down the basin, its water sloshing on the floor.

  “How I have longed for this day!” he said, beaming.

  “And it has been a long time coming!” said Philon. They grabbed one another with a backslapping hug.

  Proper introductions were made and everyone freshened up to share the meal that Eliam had prepared for them. While eating, they swapped stories, and at times, laughed until they cried.

  Historus wept over days gone by and the goodness he had left behind, but having Philon in his home, eating at his table, brought a cure to his sense of lostness.

  Eliam, now a grandfather, had never seen the Garden that would have been his home, and so had many questions for Philon. He listened longingly as Philon spoke of the goodness of life once there, and the friendship he had enjoyed with Valerian and Aurea.

  Eliam at last asked, “How did we stray so far from the Garden’s gate, and come to live the way we do?”

  “A plundering evil once came to a harmless world,” answered Philon. “With humankind its target, it shimmied the lock on the door. Capture and ruin followed, and became a relentless pursuit.”

  “And what shall become of this evil? It took my wife, Simcha, and others like her.”

  “Evil hastens, even now, toward the day of its recompense, Eliam. As for Simcha, you will find her with Abba when you pass through death’s portal, into life without end.”

  In the present company, Eliam let his tears flow freely.

  Philon took bread and gave a portion to each of his companions. “Come together often,” he said, “and share your bread with others. In so doing, remember this night.”

  So they ate the bread and drank the wine that Historus had made from the vines he tended and from the fruit he had crushed in honor of Philon’s coming.

  When at last they turned in for the night, it wasn’t long before a cold dampness crept into the room where Philon lay sleeping. He awakened startled and shivering, the room closing in on him. In the darkness he fumbled for his cloak, wrapped himself in it and quietly slipped outside.

  Arms crossed, he cupped his shoulders. “The last time I felt like this I was a boy, hiding from the henchmen.” Vapor poured through his nose and mouth and rose into a starless sky. He brushed his arms briskly and set out for a walk. “As I pace these stolid streets, let me feel you near,” he breathed.

  The Temple steps wore a wide malevolent smile, and Philon, climbed several treads before movement near the landing caught his eye. Swift and fleeting, it passed among the columns. An iniquitous influence fluttered near, and a gravelly voice asked, “Why have you come?” In a moment’s time, the face-less inquisitor whisked Philon off his feet, into the air.

  Head to toe in a black hooded robe, Primus stationed Philon at the temple’s pinnacle, collar in hand. Ragged wings extended, he held him there, and poked him with a bone-thin finger. “You are soft,” he croaked. He poked him again. “You are weak! Tell me, are you mortal, or divine?” Philon did not answer. “If you are Abba’s Son, do something.” Primus flew in a circle around him. “Do anything! Jump!”

  But the voice in Philon’s heart assured him, “Your identity is not in question.” He uttered not a word. Primus, angered by his silence, grabbed him once again and flew with him past the clouds into Manumit’s bedazzled sky. His hood blew back, and Philon, seeing into his soul, recoiled at its stark depravity. His teeth, once beautifully white and perfectly aligned, had mostly rotted, leaving him saw-toothed, fouling his breath. Lesions lined his face in notches, and an unnatural slump at the right of his cheek made his eye droop on course.

  “If you are anything more than a mere resemblance of Philon,” he rattled, “then share your celestial properties with me. I will lay all of Manumit at your feet and have them pay homage to you!”

  Again Philon heard the voice inside him, “You have my acknowledgement always.”

  Punishing Philon for his silence, Primus took him nose-diving to earth and slowed just above the mountain range. “If I were to drop you here and now…would Abba save his son, or would you die an imposter?”

  Fearless, Philon declared, “I am forever Abba’s son!”

  Primus was in a quandary, for if the man was who he suddenly claimed to be, then to cause him harm would bring wrath without remedy upon his head.

  Flying low he dropped him on the ground. “I don’t know who you are,” he said, his voice clattering as though he gargled rocks while speaking, “but I give you fair warning: this is my kingdom! Leave it!”

  Though stumbling from the fall, Philon started the trek back to Historus’ house. He passed dwelling after dwelling, thinking of those residing there, and of generations to come. Overwhelmed by the weight of his mission, yet compelled by unswerving love, he crumpled to his knees and uttered a plea: “In my weakness be my strength as I complete my journey.”

  And the night spilled over into early morning.

  Chapter 14

  Lupa looked through her window’s lattice, pleased to see the commotion generated in her honor. The town square, bordering the Temple, was all abuzz with servants. Scurrying nervously about, they made sure all was in perfect order. Primus had constructed a fine throne, and the day when Lupa was to officially take her seat upon it had finally come. She tidied her hair, donned the last piece of jewelry and straightened her lovely gown.

  “Our plans, Titanos—have they been carried out to the last detail?”

  “Yes, Lupa, to the minutest,” he assured her.

  “And the Black Guard,” added Primus. “Are they ready?”

  “Yes, my lord, they stand instructed and ready.”

  “Excellent.”

  Abriel had accompanied Philon to the fringes of the cr
owd when Philon said, “You cannot go with me now. I must go alone from here.”

  Abriel objected, “I don’t understand. My place is by your side. It is there I intend to remain.”

  “Abriel, I am asking you to trust me.”

  “But if you should be placed at risk in some way, it is incumbent upon this warrior to come to your aid, no matter the cost.”

  “Have you forgotten what Abba told you, Sophos? In this town you are a mere man. They would eat you alive.”

  “I suppose I had forgotten.”

  “It is not your warrior’s skill, but your trust that is crucial at this hour. Please give me your word that no matter what happens, you will not intervene on my behalf.”

  “Whatever you ask of me, I will do. But may Abba’s grace sustain us both,” he answered.

  Abriel kept an eye on Philon until he disappeared within the throng.

  The glistening lectern, having been specially crafted for the occasion, was studded with fragments of the Altar’s jewels. When Primus stepped up to it, Titanos rose to his feet in applause of Manumit’s notorious leader, the crowd following suit. Primus received the ovation with dignity, never letting on how much he craved it. At last, he raised his hand for quiet.

  “What an inspiring sight to see this great and varied assembly, so vast and thriving!” he raved. “It seems we are just now awakening to find that our Manumit is no longer the little city she once was!” He shrugged his shoulders as if baffled. “Days turned into years, and years into decades, until suddenly we have an empire on our hands!” He paused for a brief volley of applause. “As your Sovereign, I say Manumit deserves a Queen!”

  Lupa emerged on cue from behind a purple velvet curtain. She smiled and waved most regally at her admirers, and they, hoping that her rise in power would ease the tension of Primus’ stringent reign, erupted into applause at her appearing.

  Lupa’s gown was an elegant royal blue, with a black silken sash draped at the shoulders, embroidered in red nightshade berries. A necklace of peerless diamonds graced the curvature of her ivory neck, and her hair, swept up in braided laurels, fell in long loose curls down her back.

  A regiment of warriors outfitted in short chain-mail tunics, and headgear topped in horsehair plumage, jogged lock-step down the center aisle. Like the beating of many drums, rhythmic footfall pounded the ground until the soldiers filed into rank at the platform. Armed with short swords and rectangular bucklers, stained in red ochre, they appeared fierce and foreboding before the assembly.

  “Citizens of Manumit!” bellowed Titanos, his bass voice heavy. “I give you the kingdom’s constabulary, the Black Guard!”

  “Hail, Queen Lupa!” they shouted, and in unison they struck their shields.

  Sophos watched the exhibition from a distance, scanning the now noiseless crowd for Philon.

  Primus raised a golden crown for all to see, and loudly declared, “Let it be known and hereby acknowledged that on this day, I, Primus, the Supreme Ruler of Earth, do crown Lupa of Manumit, her Royal Queen!”

  To shouts of adoration he placed the crown upon her head, and she, Queen over all, stood proud before her glorious kingdom. Temple musicians struck jubilant chords and praises rang out in honor of her coronation.

  Face radiant, crown stiffly balanced, she motioned for silence. Pledging allegiance to the Kingdom of Manumit, she vowed to maintain her High Priestly duties, as practitioner and purveying of Intheism, and to enter her role of royalty with unrivaled dedication and zeal. Then she turned to the truer task at hand.

  “As I take up my appointment as Queen, there is a matter of high importance I wish to share with you. I am well aware of the rumors that have circulated these many years about the Hidden Chamber—the secrets it holds—the mysterious goings on behind its walls.”

  The curious crowd began to stir.

  “While I have no intentions of confirming or denying said rumors, I have brought along a relic from the Chamber.”

  The audience gasped in anticipation. Lupa gestured toward the large draped object behind her on stage, and to the guards that stood on either side of it. “Remove the wrap!” she ordered, and immediately it was snatched away.

  “My Realm!” she cried. “Behold, the Frame of Story!”

  The sea of witnesses swelled at the sight of the fabled Frame. Reeling with delight they hailed their queen.

  “Since the day of its discovery, in the remotest of places long ago, we have puzzled over the mysteries it contains. For you see, the etchings along its borders comprise a cryptogram, one that defied our most sophisticated deciphering techniques...until recently, that is.” Prim and purse-lipped, she smiled for effect. “After much personal investment, a disturbing, yet fortuitous chain of events occurred wherein I broke the code!”

  The audience, now on the edge of their seats, drew in an audible breath. “The encryption reads: She who delves into things unknown shall bring the story to her throne!” The standing throng cheered gloriously, while Primus, annoyed, offered three slow claps. “And so, my realm,” she continued, “I shall access the powers of the Frame intended for me, and use them for the betterment of our lives!”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than a man, standing to one side of the platform, spoke up, “The Frame is not a tool for implementing your plans, Lupa.”

  Hearing Philon’s voice, Sophos pressed through the crowd and spied him on stage. There, Lupa, appalled by his gall, glared angrily at him. Since all eyes were upon her, she maintained her composure and signaled to the scowling Primus not to intervene. I will make an example of this insolent dreg and demonstrate my authority as Queen, she thought.

  “That is Queen Lupa to you!” she snapped.

  “I am well aware of your title,” answered Philon.

  “On your knees!” she ordered.

  Sophos cringed as Philon obediently knelt before her. He could not imagine why Abba’s Son would willingly humiliate himself in that way. He feared what might happen next.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “Tell me your name!”

  “I am eternity. . . in time.”

  “What?” she cried in disbelief. “No! Your name, man. Tell me your name!”

  “I am flesh... for divine.”

  At that, she struck him open-handed across the face. “Say no more!” she demanded.

  Philon simply looked up at her.

  Unnerved by his clear, guileless eyes, she attempted to shield herself from his steady gaze. She thrust her palm toward him and turned her head aside.

  “I command you, say no more!” She was shouting now and appeared to be unraveling.

  “I am life... into death...”

  Lupa turned toward him, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and yanked it hard, forcing his chin upward. Infuriated, she spit in his face.

  “You will still your tongue or have it extracted!” she warned.

  Philon, his cheek reddening from the blow, and his face sprayed with spittle, recited the prophecy to its end,

  “. . . until death becomes mine.”

  Lupa covered her ears. Shrieking, she stumbled back.

  “He assaults the crowned head!” shouted Titanos. The Black Guard surrounded Philon, swords drawn. Meanwhile Primus rushed to Lupa’s side. Aware of the crowd’s watchful eye he manufactured a look of concern.

  Kneeling, he cradled her in his arms. “Catch your breath, “Queen! Frailty is unbecoming of royalty. You are making us a laughingstock!”

  She gripped her consort’s clothes at the neck. Lips quivering, she pleaded, “Primus, please, take him away from me. His love. . . it smothers me!”

  “Quiet, Lupa! He who smites you with love is the same who has left you barren. Philon has come at last!” He helped her to her feet, and said, “Let rage be your backbone, woman, and stand your ground!”

  The Black Guard had pinned Philon against the Frame, and pushing back the crowd, cleared a wide swath around him. Primus approached the prisoner. Inches from his face, he taunted him
“Your nose, Philon, it’s bleeding.” He poked him. “You are soft. Weak!”

  Philon ignored him, and dabbing his nose, spoke aloud, “The Frame’s story echoes through eternity, from where the Image Maker summons all souls!” In search of Valerian he eyeballed the throng. “Valerian!” he cried, “Tell them; did you and Aurea not journey within this Frame while living in the Garden?”

  Lupa ordered Valerian to be brought forward. Leaning on another he obediently climbed the platform steps.

  “Tell us,” she demanded, “is it true what this man says?” But beneath her breath she threatened, “Be careful, old man, how you answer. It may cost you all you have.”

  Valerian hung his head. Stammering, he answered, “I...I know nothing... nothing of this man, nothing of the Frame.”

  Primus took Lupa and Titanos aside. “Philon is obviously in a weakened state. While I cannot understand it, I can surely take advantage of it. We will not lay another finger on him, lest we incur a wrath beyond our merits. But the humans? Let his blood be on their hands!”

  Titanos issued a secret order for all Muspellum to stand down, while Lupa strolled to the edge of the platform.

  Like a fire breathing dragon she blazed, “This dissident has disgraced my coronation and dishonored the Kingdom Of Manumit! Show him where your loyalties lie. Give him what his insolence deserves and spare no measures!”

  Her words were a rush of fire, igniting a feeding frenzy. Like a colony of army ants, the mob surged toward Philon.

  “Use the spikes in my pouch and the hammer in my hand to nail this lunatic to the Frame!” cried the town’s blacksmith. He then tossed his things up on the stage to those milling closest to Philon. “Obey the Queen! Give him what he deserves!”

  Sophos had made a mad dash for Philon, but just before reaching him, was intercepted by the Black Guard. Frantic and screaming, he threatened reprisal to any who dared touch Abba’s Son.

  Rising into a frenzied heap, the would-be murderers cried, “Death becomes yours now!” And their ears rang with the striking of the hammer, while Philon cried in anguish, his cracked, swollen lips moving to unintelligible phrases.