Rise of Primus

by Michael Zadai

  The soldiers released Sophos, and he crumpled at the foot of the Frame, heart-crushed, and enraged.

  The outcry grew savage and the stage swayed beneath the clambering of those perpetrating the cruelty upon Philon. Lupa quickly ordered Titanos to move the Frame to the ground, for she knew the crowd would follow.

  Strong as Titanos was, he could have carried it alone, but out of sheer meanness, he snatched up Sophos to assist him. “You want so badly to help him? Here’s your chance!” And he balanced the weight of the Frame to lean especially heavy at Sophos’ end. They moved it clumsily down the steps and out into the open field, with Philon hammered to it.

  Primus could scarcely believe his good fortune. Whatever the infraction that had led to the stripping of Philon’s power, Primus considered the punishment well deserved, and the turn of events propitious.

  He laughed aloud, gloating to no one in particular, “I suppose one could say my prayers have been answered!”

  Philon’s cries gave way to short, shallow gasps until he breathed no more.

  Sophos, in blinding dismay, wandered from the scene, stormswept. Finding Historus and Eliam, he bemoaned his human state, “I could only stand and watch!” Jaw tight, eyes red and watery, he zeroed in on Historus. “Tell me what you know, Historus!”

  “I know nothing! I am as shocked by this as you!”

  “None of this makes sense!” wailed Eliam.

  The panting mob, their vehemence now abated, looked on in silent satisfaction as Philon’s head finally drooped, his eyes glazed over, and he stared blankly at the ground.

  Lupa strode over to the Frame, her composure by now regained and her posture stiff with self-importance.

  “Serves you right, Philon,” she lectured his corpse. “This is my kingdom, and you have trespassed. For that you have paid the ultimate price!”

  A burst of maniacal laughter echoed eerily through the silence. “Yes, oh, yes! Philon is dead!” Primus, his madness at full throttle, danced in crazed circles and skipped around his mortal enemy. He cradled Philon’s lifeless face in his hands.

  “What on earth has befallen Abba’s Son? Did someone abandon him?” He pinched his bluish cheek. “Oh, well, at least my prayers were heard!” He kissed Philon’s battered brow, he then let his head drop to his chest with a thud.

  “Oh, Abba?” Primus called, looking up at the darkening sky, “I know you can hear me... It appears your Philon has failed you...or you him! Either way, you might want to consider other, more enduring options!”

  Many in the crowd, frightened by Primus’ lunacy, had begun to ease back. Spinning on his heel, he looked around to find them slinking away.

  “Where’s everyone going?” he asked, “The celebration is just getting started!”

  A veil of blackened clouds obscured the sun’s mournful face, and the wind took up a howling dirge. The heavens rumbled and groaned, and clouds wept their sorrow, pelting the earth with driving rain. Lightning flailed its irate arms, striking the ground with fire, hurling ash into the air, lamenting the death of Abba’s Son.

  All but Primus ran for cover. He stood amid the furor, fists tight against the sky, daring the Image Maker’s intrusion. Titanos fought the elements to run to his master’s aid.

  “My lord,” he yelled, “you must come with me at once! A massive energy convergence has occurred over Manumit, one that can only signal the opening of a portal! The enemy is upon us!”

  The words had no sooner left his mouth than turbulent winds formed an enormous funnel cloud over the city. A mighty trumpet blast sounded from within the cloud and warrior after winged warrior dove from its opening, filling the sky with Chayilian valor, while the Muspellum warriors stood dumbstruck.

  Meliose appeared at the funnel’s yawning mouth, pinions spread wide, voice booming above the storm, “Manumit falls this very day!”

  “To arms, Muspellum!” yelled Titanos. “To arms!”

  Caught up in the mayhem, the humans screamed in terror. Afraid of being slaughtered, they fled in all directions, sloshing through mud and heavy rain. Historus and Eliam quickly corralled many, including Valerian and Aurea of old, and took cover in the forest.

  A fierce battle ensued, and Abba’s warriors fought Primus’ Muspellum over the stronghold of Manumit, where so many had been held captive for so long.

  Kalandra, in battle dress and wielding her saber, made haste to bring swift retribution upon Lupa. Seeing her foe approaching, Lupa lifted a hand and chanted, “Sword of night, come with might, crush the enemy, quench the light!”

  An amber sword immediately appeared in Lupa’s hand, which despite the pouring rain, sustained the poison of a sorcerer’s broth. She met Kalandra in the air, and the two clashed swords to the sound of thunderclaps.

  Meliose had tracked down Sophos, meanwhile, and towered over him as he lighted upon the ground.

  “Your human disguise does not befit the battle at hand!” And he tossed him a sword. “This hails from the Royal House of Philon—a commendation for a job well done—compliments of Abba! Oh, and he said to tell you, ‘It is incumbent upon you, warrior, to fight!’”

  Sophos caught the sword by its pearl handle, and as he gripped it, he returned to his former state. He was Abriel, Chief Watchman and ready warrior of Abba’s esteemed Chayil. With recompense his resolve, his wings thrust open and he sprang into the melee, eager to hunt down Primus and avenge Philon’s death.

  Primus had seen the bequeathing of the sword and the transformation of Sophos. Indignant that he had been played the fool, and beset with the vengeance of jealousy, he waited in ambush for his brother.

  The Muspellum, outranked and outnumbered by the powerful forces assailing them, could do little to defend their kingdom. The battle raged and the Chayil laid siege to the temple, bringing down the high seat of the nefarious occult, putting an end to the atrocities sanctioned there and to the altar stained with sacrifice.

  Just as the rain abated, lightning struck the tower, bringing it down on the city walls, setting them ablaze.

  Many Muspellum fled the fight, escaping into space, while others died at the hands of Abba’s punishing swordsmen.

  Kalandra fought gallantly, but Lupa managed to hold her at bay as they battled in the city square.

  “Do you think me naïve, Lupa?” challenged Kalandra. “I know how you are. The poison that drips from your blade is the same that pours from your heart!”

  “You have spoiled my coronation, pretty princess! Therefore, you must die,” she vowed, “and most unattractively!”

  Titanos, in combat with Meliose, was taken aback by the strength and strategy of the able warrior and soon began to lose the struggle.

  “What’s the matter, Titanos?” jabbed Meliose. “Were you so arrogant as to think you would never meet your match?” With a mighty swing, he brought his heavy sword down upon Titanos, forcing him into submission. The next instant, a single swift stroke severed the head of the henchman and sent it tumbling to the ground where it rolled to a stop at Philon’s feet. There, the bloodshot eyes of Titanos stared blankly at the cloudless eyes of his Maker.

  Primus was incensed. “No one takes what is mine!” he raged. And he ordered his accomplices to engage Meliose and kill him, while he, a murderous cauldron of wrath, sped off in search of Valerian and Aurea.

  He spied them tottering along with Historus and two young boys, seeking refuge from the perilous war. They had lost track of Eliam and the others in the chaos.

  “Trying to flee?” came the unmistakably evil voice of Primus, who stepped out from behind a tree, blocking their path. “As I recall, it was me you followed the last time you fled! Changed allegiance, have you? In case you don’t know, Philon has died. It was dreadful. Excruciating, really. While I find a certain beauty in killing, my victims never seem to grasp it.” He momentarily drifted off in thought, savoring the details. “But” he rebounded, “now it is your turn to try!

  Historus summoned what strength he could muster. Standing
up to Primus, he attempted to shield the fragile knot of humanity huddled behind him. When Primus lunged forward, Historus flew at him, but Primus grabbed him midair, and slammed him to the ground. He took Historus’ cane and struck him across the head, rendering him unconscious. Breaking the cane in two, he threw it at him, first one piece, then the other.

  The children had run away, and coming upon a fallen tree, hid within its burrow, behind a curtain of lengthy root tassels.

  Aurea, her body curled in, could only seek refuge at Valerian’s back, as he faced Primus head on.

  “Tell me, old man,” taunted Primus, “how can you fight for your lady when there is nothing left of you but a bag of bones?” Primus laughed. “Would it surprise you if I told you that I have dreamt of this moment?”

  Truth be told, they were not at all surprised, but neither of them said so. Primus shoved Valerian, causing Aurea to tumble. “Are you deaf, too?” directing the pointed words at her. Valerian steadied himself and told Aurea to run, but she refused to leave him with Primus, she would rather die.

  “Look at you!” said Primus, belittling the feeble man. “You’ve gone from valiant and strong to weak and wobbly!” He kicked Valerian in the chest, and the gentle old soul, limp as a rag, hit the dirt, breathless.

  Primus caught Aurea by the hair. It was long and gray, and she had worn it tied back. Flipping his wrist around it, he forced her to her knees. Squatting, he met her at eye level. Aurea turned her face away. “You will look at me!” he demanded. And he steered her head to face him. “Your beauty was the only thing you had going for you—oh, and the fertile properties I harvested while you and Valerian slept. That was the ‘scientific breakthrough’ that allowed Muspellum to bear young! Lupa may be Manumit’s queen, but you are quite literally its mother!” Reasons to cry came in a deluge, and Aurea broke like a dam. “Did I want a city full of whining humans?” he asked rhetorically. “No! I hate humans!” And he swore to forever be at war with her offspring.

  He dragged her by the hair, jerking her from side to side, the way a dog would tug at a stubborn rope. Her ear piercing screams annoyed him.

  “Shut up!” he barked. “There is no one left to help you!” To prove it, he dragged her toward Valerian. She was relieved at the chance to pass by him, and although she didn’t think he was alive, she stretched out a hand in hopes of touching him once more.

  He trekked backward, dragging her past her soul mate, when Valerian sunk a knife into his calf. Primus squalled and rolled to the ground growling, leaving Aurea lying near Valerian. Beaten and bruised, they stole a quick embrace. “I was hoping Philon had come to save us,” Aurea whispered, desperately.

  Primus lifted Valerian off his feet. Shaking him, he questioned, “I own you, and you knife me?” He brought Valerian’s body into a knee-thrust at the stomach. Valerian buckled and caught a fist to the chin. Aurea crawled over to him and lay across his quivering body, pleading for mercy.

  Primus picked her up in one arm, and jerked up Valerian in the other. He propped Valerian against a tree. “Watch, now,” he said devilishly. “you won’t want to miss a thing!” Having retrieved Valerian’s knife, he buried it deep into Aurea’s stomach. She caved around the wound, eyes bulging from the muteness of her cry, and dropped to the soupy ground—the knife’s tip poking through her back.

  “No!” wailed Valerian, drooling blood. He struggled to his feet and beat upon the madman’s chest, his knobby fists shaking while taking aim.

  Primus caught his attacker’s wrists together in one hand and backed him against the tree. “From the moment I saw you I hated everything about you!” Strangely, his eyes welled with tears. His forearm pressed against Valerian’s throat, he choked out the breath which Abba himself had breathed into his nostrils so long ago. As if discarding refuse, he tossed the old man’s body in a heap on top of Aurea. “Good riddance!” he said, gratuitously, then simply moved on in search of Abriel.

  He soon spotted him, and loathing their kinship, was eager to bring it to an end. With Philon out of the way, he thought, there will be no one to revive him! He swooped in from behind, alighted on Abriel’s back, and wrestled him to the ground.

  “You seem to have forgotten…” Primus taunted, “Never turn your back on your opponent; the moment you do, you have underestimated him!”

  Abriel managed to cinch an arm around Primus’ neck, putting him in a headlock. Face reddening, veins swelling, he rasped, “You wouldn’t harbor hatred toward your brother now, would you? Or are we more alike than you wish to believe?”

  “Sadly, we are not at all alike!” Abriel answered. “If I were to pop off your head to avenge the death of Philon, it would be a deed most honorable. You know nothing of honor!”

  Primus’ body began to convulse and his face contort. Abriel was alarmed. Out of concern for his brother, he quickly released his hold. However, Primus had merely put on a show to play on Abriel’s sympathies. Once free from his grasp, he began an unsightly transformation. His famously smooth, shiny hair became coarse and wild, and his handsome face protruded into a muzzle. He appeared wolf-like. Elliptical pupils set deep in his eye sockets, flickered yellow in the darkness, and a single barbed horn bristled from his forehead, splaying wide in a spiral, before ending sharp at the tip. White hair, like that of a goat, grew quickly, covering Primus’ body from neck to foot, where split hooves—bony and spear-like—clamped into the earth’s cloddy clay. Primus hunkered down on his haunches—an animal ready to pounce—and eyed his brother.

  Abriel dropped his sword and stumbled backward. “Oh, Raeh, what has become of you?”

  Primus growled, and springing forward, took Abriel down. Just as the beast bared his sharp, serrated teeth, Abriel stabbed him the shoulder. Primus barked and yowled, but continued the attack, biting and kicking and bleating loudly all the while.

  Wounded and bloody, Abriel fended him off as best he could, swiping at him with his knife and sometimes cutting through his tough hide.

  Meanwhile, none was aware that Philon’s heart had begun to take up a rhythm. His breath returned in quick, short snatches, then all at once it filled his lungs. He lifted his eyes toward the raging battle, tightened his fists around the spikes and pulled them loose. He kicked his feet free of their pinning and leapt from the Frame—his wounds closing instantly. Collecting the spikes, he marched resolutely into the conflict. His voice thundered as he shouted, “It is enough!”

  The sun burst through the clouds abruptly, and the atrocious creature stopped its heinous cry. The beast collapsed, as if imploding, and its coat slipped to the ground in a heap. Primus stood in naked humiliation, ankle deep in a tumorous wad of teeth and hair. A Muspellum warrior quickly snagged the outer wear of a corpse and tossed it to Primus who, without the slightest reluctance, donned the soiled garment.

  An invisible force suddenly snatched him by the shoulders and slammed him to the ground. He lay prone, resisting and grunting, unable to move.

  Meliose and Abriel, their swords held loosely at their sides, stood astonished. or there stood Philon before them, so brutally murdered, yet so triumphantly alive. Abriel was exultant. Blinking tears, he laughed for relief and purest joy.

  Meanwhile, Lupa, weakened by Kalandra’s relentless assault, fell swordless to her knees, and her hair, with barely a laurel left in it, lay bound up in the hand of her adversary. A dagger pressed against her throat threatened to bring an end to the occultist and to her foul craft.

  But at the sound of Philon’s voice, and the advent of his victory, Kalandra chose only to shear the flaxen locks of the newly defrocked queen, leaving baldness the crown upon her haughty head. And she left her fastened to the ground beside Primus, wailing in disgrace.

  Philon threw down the spikes and they hit the ground bouncing and clanging before Primus’ sulking face.

  Kalandra stood next to Philon. She lifted her sword and loudly proclaimed, “All hail, Philon, Abba’s son! Behold, the Mystery unveiled!”

  The Chayil knelt on on
e knee, bowing in homage to their king, then leapt to their feet with shouts of victory at his rising. The Muspellum quaked with fear.

  The faint cry of a child soon caught Philon’s attention, and seeing a break in the platform wall, he discovered a little girl hiding there. He reached inside and gently lifted her out, taking her in his arms.

  He wiped away the tears that soaked her face. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he said. “My name is Philon. What is your name?”

  She removed her thumb from her mouth long enough to answer, “Aurea.”

  “I like your name, Aurea,” he said, his eyes glassy.

  She dislodged her thumb once more and added, “It’s great gramma’s name.”

  She spied Primus and buried her face against Philon’s neck. “I don’t like him!”

  “Well, guess what?” asked Philon. “He’s going away today. Far away. And you won’t have to see him again. How does that sound?”

  She touched Philon’s face and smiled. “I like you.” And she rested her head on his chest.

  Aurea’s parents, frantic over their missing child, were relieved to find her with Philon. They ran to her, and she leapt into their arms. No longer intimidated by the routed Muspellum, many others, trailing out of the woods, emerged from hiding.

  “Historus came limping down the embankment of a wooded ridge with Eliam’s grandsons at his side. Flying quickly to their aid, he swept up Historus and rushed him to Philon. Eliam intercepted the boys. Although they had not seen the fatal attack upon their great-grandparents, they had heard their cries and knew that Primus had indeed murdered them. Traumatized and grief stricken, they clung to Eliam, crying.

  Historus, his head a wounded mess, sobbed as he leaned upon Philon, “He has done it!” he wailed. “Primus has killed Valerian and Aurea. I tried to stop him, but could not. They are gone…they are gone!”

  Meliose and Abriel recovered the bodies, returning with them lying limp in their arms. The stalwart warriors carried the legendary pair past the parting crowd and presented them to Philon. He brushed back the hair that lay in matted strands across Aurea’s face. Her ashen cheek left a chill against his lips. He cradled the top of Valerian’s head and coursed a thumb across his timeworn brow. Tears fled his eyes and dripped onto the slain couple. All was quiet, but for the muffled sobs of grieving.