Rise of Primus

by Michael Zadai

  Meanwhile, Eliam’s grandsons had wormed their way through the throng and stood face level with the deceased. Almost immediately they cried, “Look! Their eyes…they’re fluttering!” A collective gasp surged through the crowd, and all who could, pressed in close to see. Philon began to gently pat the faces of the slain, and as a father wakes his little ones from slumber, he called them by name, “Aurea…Valerian…wake up.” They batted their eyes, and coming to life, stretched and yawned until they regained consciousness. Abriel and Meliose eased them to their feet, steadying them until they were able to stand on their own.

  Reaching here and there, they search their wound sites, but found no injuries. The blood-stained souls, covered in dirt and debris, clung to Philon, who loved them so. “Let it be known to all…” he announced, “that these who were dead are now alive and well!”

  Celestial citizens, and those of earth, including some Muspellum, erupted into applause, and a rush of relatives ran to greet the resurrected couple.

  The celebration abated, and Philon addressed Valerian and Aurea, “You have lived long on the earth and have gotten on in years. Your family has multiplied, and now, having been truly manumitted, or set free, they will have a better life ahead. I have come to invite you home—if you are willing—your loved ones will not be far off.”

  Aurea, her voice delicate with age, replied, “And you would have us, still?”

  “My Aurea, of course, I would have you, always. I have been preparing for your return since the day you left.”

  “Thank you for coming!” she said.

  Valerian dried the wetness from his eyes. “I am sorry I lacked the courage to acknowledge you today.”

  “All is forgiven, Valerian,” said Philon, hugging his aged friend.

  “We will gladly go with you,” said Valerian. “It is where we belong.”

  Primus moaned in disgust, “Ugh! All that love chatter makes me queasy!”

  Philon was fed up with his insolence. “To your feet,” he ordered.

  “Tell us, Primus, in the Garden, at the lakeshore, what did you tell Valerian and Aurea they should seek after?” Primus hesitated, earning him the sudden company of Meliose, and a jab to the ribs. “Transcendence…” he answered scowling.

  “Speak up so that all may hear you.”

  “I promised them transcendence!”

  The crowd rumbled a sigh, for they knew all too well the failed mantra.

  “And which of these here achieved that promised state? Surely not Valerian and Aurea.”

  Primus had known that he could not give what he did not possess, so he proffered sensory illusions. Rung after rung he made the futile climb, his followers coming after, descending all the while. As for transcendence, the Image Maker owned it. Primus in fullest diadem would never attain to such supremacy.

  “I suppose not,” he admitted blandly. “But you should know, I have marred the face of the Image Maker in the minds of your weak-minded miscreants. Fully rooted in Netherlife’s soil, they reek of its foul stench!”

  Philon responded, “And you should know that I have just succeeded in taking the journey love demands. While you were not looking I joined the human race—was birthed into it fair and square—flesh and blood and bone!” He raised his arms halfway. “You did not seize me. I leapt into the fray! My life was not taken. I gave it up freely! Now the door stands wide open, so that all who will may enter. As for these, my miscreants,” he laughed, “I am forever in their world! Oh…and I am forever in your world too!”

  Primus was perplexed and highly agitated. While he could not understand what Philon had done, nor how he had done it, he understood one thing: his life’s work had unraveled beneath his feet in a single day, taking with it generations of indoctrination and control.

  Philon explained, “I was born and raised on the outskirts of Manumit, and only a young boy when you raided and pillaged our camp. There was nothing anyone could do when you went marauding. You took captive whomever you wished. But today the prophecy is fulfilled, and I have come accordingly.”

  When it dawned on Primus what he had helped to accomplish, it further infuriated him.

  He has broken the backbone of Manumit and dissolved my kingdom! He rallied for a final salvo. Perhaps there was hope. He spat vehemently, and pointed with exaggerated gestures. “It does not matter what you think you have accomplished for them, or how you think you have done it—whether through living, dying, or living again! They are highly unlikely to reciprocate!”

  Meliose, instantly swept Primus into a headlock. “You are far too lippy, and your head too big!” Running, he rammed Primus headfirst into a tree, bloodying the tree’s edgy bark. Meliose let him fall, then yanked him to his feet and propped him against the tree. “Is this what you did to Valerian?” Primus was too dazed to answer.

  Meliose walked back a few paces, picked up a sword and waited a moment for Primus to gather his wits before tossing it to him. His own weapon unsheathed, he zeroed in on Primus, reprimanding as he went.

  “You have heralded your heresies and preyed upon the innocent. They asked for bread. You stuffed them with lies. Today it is the bread of justice that you will eat from my hand! May you find it palatable, and I pray, purgative!”

  Meliose swung his heavy sword, but Primus parried the strike. Lunging for his opponent’s gut, he missed and fell flat on his face.

  “Get up!” Meliose demanded. “You have not yet tasted of the loaf!”

  Primus sprang to his feet and went charging headlong toward his challenger, but Meliose hunkered low and met him with an unexpected body block. The force of the impact propelled him into the air backward, leaving him to fruitlessly flap his wings before landing back-first on the ground. Meliose barked to Primus’ cohorts, “Pick him up!”

  They had barely gotten their master to his feet when a foot to the stomach knocked him breathless.

  “If I had used my blade,” Meliose warned, “you would have gotten your just desserts for what you did to Aurea!”

  Primus caught his breath and sat up. His nosebleed sprayed as he sputtered “ I curse you, Meliose!”

  Philon then came between the two. “It is enough.” The loyal Chayilian warrior sheathed his sword.

  Two Muspellum helped Primus to his feet. But he, being prideful, shook them off and stood on his own. He defiantly brushed his arms as if to rid himself of their aid. Beaten and bruised, he stood before Philon, his eye swollen shut.

  “Listen carefully,” said Philon, “to you and your Muspellum I issue this edict: Manumit shall remain a barren waste, never to be inhabited again. Since you have labored hard to sow within the fields of the Netherlife, you will reap its maladies and bear its necrotic reproach. My Chayil will always stand in opposition to you, and never again will you harass these whom we, this day, have freed.”

  Philon addressed Lupa, “I recommend you rethink your position. Your Intheism is mere vanity, your high priestly status, a charade. You have no idea.”

  Oblivious to the irony brought on by her baldness, Lupa straightened her posture and squared her shoulders, “Then I shall cling all the more to my vanity, and status too. If rethinking my position means realigning with you and yours—,” she flung her hand toward them, “—perish the thought!”

  “As you wish. You and Primus are hereby released. Take your minions and leave!”

  Defeated and disgraced, the vanquished fled the smoldering city and retreated to Tyrannous amid looks of scorn and clouds of choking smoke.

  To Historus and his brave band, and to Eliam, Philon said, “I leave in your capable hands the liberated souls who remain. With your assistance they will build new lives, remembering the story of the Frame and passing it on to every generation.” He then presented a ring to Eliam, “Son of Valerian and Aurea, first-born of Abba’s nation on earth, wear this ring with dignity, in honor of the Image Maker, whose insignia it bears. It is your birthright.”

  Eliam received the ring with reverence and deep appreciation.
He embraced Philon. And the ring glistened emerald green.

  “Abriel, I give you the honor of conducting the Garden’s First Couple to the portal. Today, they return with us to their Father and ours, in the Land of Ever Loving and Being Loved. All who remain here, be assured, you are not left alone. The Presence of the Image Maker will be with you always.”

  After everyone had said their goodbyes, Chayil filled the sky in snowy flurries of flight. Saluting the children of earth, they entered the portal.

  Historus and Eliam counted it a privilege to lead the liberated as they launched out to rebuild their lives. Whether reuniting loved ones in previously established colonies or pioneering new settlements, their joy was profound, for everyone flourished in the freedom which Philon had secured for them that day.

  In time, Manumit’s ruins became a tangle of stubborn weeds and strangling vines, leaving a knotty mass a monument to its sordid pretense.

  Despite Primus’ gradual, yet inevitable influence upon the human race, and the divisive schemes he would hatch to prevent them from knowing the Image Maker, Philon had succeeded in establishing his presence among them. Be they ignorant, failing or hostile, he would never forsake them.

  And Life Weaver was that presence which remained.