by J. C. Fiske
Fall as One, to Rise as One
Die as One, to live as One
One as all, all as One
“What does that mean, Father?” Jackobi asked.
“I know not what it means, but I know the name of their priestess. To use her real name signifies her as foolish or confident, and the Narsissa I remember was never a fool. She is here,” Foxblade said.
“You mean . . . the last of Drakearon’s agents? The one involved with my dad?” Gisbo asked. Foxblade didn’t nod, only stood still. He thought for a moment before speaking.
“The very same. This only increases the odds your father is, indeed, here. What is she planning . . . Something terrible, far more terrible, is at work than I originally anticipated. For her to use her real name, out in the open like this, signifies the plan is ready to be put into action or something, I fear, far worse . . .” Foxblade said. Gisbo looked to Jackobi, who looked back at him. It wasn’t like Foxblade to have worry in his voice.
“What?” Gisbo asked. Foxblade looked at him with heavy eyes.
“That it has already happened. We must get inside,” Foxblade said. They made their way over to the side of the church and scaled its mighty wall. They reached the top to a wide open, needle-like window. Once they all climbed to it, they could all easily stand upon its surface, like an open doorway. They looked downward to see the multitude of people below, all wearing white, gold, and black robes and all with glee and ecstasy upon their faces. The inside of the church was stunning. If money could cause beauty, they had used every cent to make it so. Tapesteries hung from the domed ceiling, which depicted three painted beings. The beings weren’t what caught Gisbo’s attention. The full-out rendition of the fiery blue Phoenix and the scaled green Dragon doing battle between these beings was what caught his eye.
“You have any idea what that painting is up there, Foxblade?” Gisbo asked. Foxblade looked and nodded.
“Yes, the story of creation. The nameless one, also called Father to others, is depicted in the center, the largest being. To the right, the god IAM, who created our realm, and to the left, Appolyon, the creator of the opposite realm to us, the Reath. This was once on the ceiling of the capital building of Flaria. It seems they have restored it, but have also altered it. Look closely,” Foxblade said. Gisbo did, and he noticed that the Phoenix had a sword through its chest, and IAM was bleeding from his heart.
“Sickos . . .” Gisbo muttered.
“The picture alone symbolizes what side these people are playing for. There was a theory, long ago, stated by an unknown source, that if the Phoenix or Dragon were to die, it would also kill the diety or god linked to them. The Dragon, we know, is still alive and well within the Reath with Drakearon and his followers. The Phoenix, however, we believe to be alive here, in this realm, but where we . . .” Foxblade started.
“The chattering has stopped,” Jackobi said. Their group looked on from above as the bells stopped their chiming and everything grew silent. They heard footsteps echoing off the granite floor. The footsteps sounded off, as if one foot skipped touching the ground. Click . . . click . . . click, came the sound, and then Gisbo saw her. A woman with long, blonde hair that reached down past her back. She was wearing a long, dress-like, gold, white, and black robe that hung low enough that it hid her feet. Gisbo would have guessed she were gliding across the floor if it weren’t for the clicking of one of her feet beneath her robe. She turned to face the audience, wearing a metallic mask that hid her entire face and jawline. If she had any limbs at all, they were unnoticeable under her robe. She seemed to almost hover there, still as a statue, when finally her robe rose as she lifted her arms, looking more like a scarecrow than a person.
“Holy Chosen, I welcome thee here again, not as brothers or sisters, but as one mind,” the woman said. Her voice boomed unnaturally loud with almost a strange static. Gisbo couldn’t tell if it was because of the mask she wore or if it was actually like that. It was indeed female, but sounded severely unnatural and scratchy and was undoubtedly powerful.
“Let us speak our devotion to our Lord, who has chosen thee above all others!” the priestess said. The whole crowd, more like zombies than people, took up the chant in near perfect unision.
“Fall as One, to Rise as One. Die as One, to live as One. One as all, all as One,” they all chanted. The priestess stood for a moment before continuing.
“The One is thankful to us for we are One with the One. When we are glad, the One is glad, and when the One is blessed, so shall we be blessed. To be One is to share in everlasting joy and pleasure. That is why we disband ourselves. That is why we fall and lose our sinful ways to rise as One, to live as perfect beings as the One is perfect. That is why we die, to join the One, and through death, we live as One, One as all, all as One, as it is written. Let us now cast off our earthly woes. Let us join with the One and feel One. That is why we come, that is why we live, and that is why we die, but first we must be rid of those who do not believe, for if we are to be as one, we must all be as One. If our flock has a blight, we all are blighted. Let us purge ourselves so we may be One. The purging begins now!” the priestess exclaimed.
“Purging?” Jackobi whispered to himself.
“The One forgives all and every sin, except unbelief in the One in thine heart. That is unforgivable, and those who have fallen or doubted, must fall to live. Let us raise our hearts and minds to be tested and be worthy of the One,” the Priestess exclaimed.
In a shuddering, stomach twisting sound, all the people began to raise their eyes and hands to the ceiling and let forth a strange jibberish by writhing their tongues and moaning. The sound was so piercing and uncomfortable, Gisbo and the rest of his company had to cover their ears.
“What . . . the . . . hell,” Gisbo moaned. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen, look at these people!” Gisbo muttered. Finally, as Gisbo was about to lose it, they stopped. All was quiet until the priestess began to move forward, gliding and clicking across the stone floor as she did so. She seemed to glance to her left and right, stopped at some folks, looked them over, and continued on. Gisbo began to see that some were still, without fear, while others looked beside themselves with nervousness. The priestess seemed to be drawn to these types as she tapped them on the shoulder. As she did so, priests wearing the same mask and robe as the priestess went to them and restrained them. The chosen few began to kick and scream with rage and desperation.
However, the people who were not chosen did not even seem to hear their screams. All of them had full blown smiles across their faces, showing all their teeth. Gisbo shook his head as several of the priests retrieved daggers from beneath their cloaks and forced the uncooperative ones to the front of the congregation.
“Weapons in church? The hell is this?” Gisbo muttered.
They watched as about fifteen people, mostly women, were brought forward to the front of the multitude. The priestess stood before them in her odd, statue-like stance. The people looked outright terrified, completely opposite the expressions branded on the others in the crowd.
“Thou hast thought thoughts of doubt in the One. You have broken the one cardinal rule and, for that, you are unworthy of the gift. Do not fear; we are merciful. Though you may now fall, you will rise and be with the One. You will all join with us. We will cull the doubt within you like a rabid beast that needs putting down. Fear not, we are here to save you. Let the purging begin,” the priestess said.
At that, the group began to line up in a neat row, two priests for every unworthy one, restraining them, with daggers across their throats.
“Chant with me!” the Priestess spoke, and the crowd echoed her every word.
“Blood from the One, returns to the One. From One’s blood, brings life. From One’s life, brings blood. May the One purge this blight so that we may be One as the One. Fall as One, to Rise as One. Die as One, to live as One. One as all, all as One.”
“Amen,” the Priestess finished and, with that, all the cap
tives’ throats were slashed. They fell to the ground as their puddles of blood joined together as one.
Chapter Fourteen: Narsissa
“The One is satisfied, he comes to you now. Raise your hands and accept his peace and pleasure, you, of the One’s Holy Chosen!” the priestess bellowed. Then, through Gisbo’s heat vision, he noticed dozens of heat vents surrounding the area began to glow in color.
“Cover your mouths, both of you. Do not breathe anything in, climb down out of the window if you need to,” Foxblade warned. Gisbo watched as a mist-like substance, unbeknownst to the people, began to pour out from the vents and enveloped the crowd within seconds. It was like nothing Gisbo had ever seen and he felt truly sick to his stomach, not from the mist, but from the people’s behavior. Their eyes seemed to roll back in total ecstasty, and they began wailing and moaning with pleasure, raising their arms to the sky and calling out to the One. They danced, moved, and spoke with their tongues rolling all about. Gisbo, as well as the rest of his party, had to climb out of the window and cling to the side. They watched the substance filter out the window and dissipate in the sky above them.
A few moments later, it was over. The people stood swaying in a dazed state, more automatons than people. The high priestess raised her voice and the people’s heads snapped upward in total obedience.
“The One is pleased! He is overjoyed! Now, may you all complete his will and purpose. You have earned the right to work another day!” The crowd cheered loudly in unision, chanting, “One as all, all as One!”
“Now, off to the mines! Glorify the One with your labor and in turn, receive his blessing on the morrow! One as all, all as One. Be thankful, Holy Chosen! Be thankful always you have been chosen!” the priestess said. They ended their service with the same chant as they started. The mist had now totally dissapated and Gisbo and company climbed back up to watch robed priests and priestesses guide the zombie-like multitude out the door with staffs, herding them like cattle, and none of them feeling pain as a staff collided with their heads or backside.
“This is so messed up,” Gisbo muttered. “What do we do now?”
“We wait and watch where the High Priestess goes and we follow,” Foxblade said. Gisbo gazed out over the crowd and spotted the high priestess, standing still as a statue, watching her flock disperse.
“Foxblade, is that her?” Gisbo asked.
“I believe it is,” Foxblade said.
“But didn’t you say she was paralyzed and had her limbs stripped from her in a fight with my mom? How the hell is she walking, let alone talking?” Gisbo asked.
“I do not know, but we will find out. Come down the wall slowly, we are going in,” Foxblade said. Together, the group planted their hands and feet slowly on the inside of the church and began to scuffle like spiders across the walls, being careful not to disturb the tapestries and alert anyone to their presence. They managed their way around and were now twenty feet above the Priestess, clinging to the wall. None of them uttered a word as they watched the last few people leave the building and the massive doors shut behind them.
“Come, Henwin,” the High Priestess said. This close, her voice provided her own echo, as if she were talking through a megaphone. The mask alone wouldn’t do that to somebody’s voice; it sounded scratchy and distant, as well, as if she were shouting underwater, Gisbo thought. Even so, the one called Henwin moved toward the back wall and drew back a tapestry to reveal a bookshelf. With one turn of a candle stand next to it, the bookshelf slid to the right to reveal a doorless entryway. Hedwin shuffled to the left of it and presented the doorway with both arms.
“This way, my Priestess,” Hedwin said. The High Priestess glided through with the occasional clicking noise without uttering a word. Foxblade glanced over at Gisbo and saw his hand rise as he made a shuffling gesture toward the doorway. Foxblade and Jackobi let themselves off the wall and floated down gently as Gisbo climbed down manually. Together, they walked through the doorway and followed the heated trail of footprints that descended downward, becoming even more accentuated the further they went as everything felt cold.
The stairs went fairly deep and everything was in total darkness, except for the glowing footprints. Gisbo focused his eyes on them and tried not to let his imagination get the best of him. There was an awful presence and smell and they seemed to get worse the further they went.
Finally, Gisbo spotted a glowing doorway toward the end. Even so, he was thankful for his heat vision as it made the doorway far brighter than it should have been. It seemed to be an eternity till they reached it. Gisbo saw Foxblade make the motion to halt and there they hung on the outsides of the doorway. He then a made a following motion and Jackobi and Gisbo watched as he clung to the ceiling and made his way up and over the hearth of the doorway and disappeared. Gisbo and Jackobi did the same and they each perched themselves at far corners of the wall. Before they did so, however, Foxblade disengaged their heat vision. It was far too bright in this room to make out anything at all. A few moments passed and, after initial fuzziness, Gisbo’s vision came back clearly and he couldn’t believe what he saw.
He had to squint his eyes due to the brightness and the contrasting whiteness to the darkness he now shrouded himself in. There, through a giant skylit window, the High Priestess and her servant stood overlooking a vast, underground operation. Through the window, Gisbo saw the hundreds of Holy Chosen, no longer looking like devoted religious followers. Their robes were off, as well as their shoes, revealing the bare backs of the men and boys with bloodied incisions across them.
Their workplace was massive, about the size of three Clash Fields shoved together, and lit bright and warmly for such horrid conditions. The robed priests and priestess had replaced their staffs and weapons with whips as they made their way about, watching their workers with keen eyes, doubled with uncanny accuracy with their whips. Still, the Holy Chosen themselves maintained their eerie, wide grins. The effect of the drug-induced ceremony still lingered in their eyes and they worked faithfully, like busy bees for their queen, who now stood over them.
“Such progress in only a few years,” the priestess exclaimed in her distant, echoey voice. Hedwin made his way over to where a series of black tubes spiraled down to a meeting place. He slid open a canister and saw a glass vial within. Every few seconds, it seemed a tiny drop of black substance dripped from the top and into it. Gisbo strained his eyes, and suddenly a deep realization came over him as to what exactly it was, even before the Hedwin confirmed it for him.
“The proof is here, milady. They have discovered a rich collection of crystallized Dragon’s Blood these past few weeks. As you ordered, they have remained in bare feet and hands so as to not ruin the fragile substance. Given the recent numbers, I’d say we will finally, after years of work, have enough untarnished Dragon’s Blood to inject the worthy one with the Drakeness within the Realm of Thera. Our Lord will return once again!” Hedwin explained with absolute relish to his voice.
“So long as the source of our illusion remains alive. The subject is weakening every day. Already he has surpassed my highest expectations of him. Without him, without his Drakeness-filled blood, we cannot hope to keep our slaves in line. Without his blood, there is no ceremony, and without the ceremony, there are no workers. Time is of the essence; we are cutting it close. Activate his vitals, let me see him,” the High Priestess ordered.
“Yes, milady,” Hedwin said. He made his way over to a machine of sorts and stuck a yellow ring within its core and, immediately, a mist formed within the air and slowly formed a clear screen. On it, Gisbo saw bars and numbers of various colors and heard a heartbeat. It was very low and clearly unhealthy. The man on the screen was pale and malnourished. His bones could be seen clearly pressing up against his skin. He was starving. There were hundreds of tubes all hooked up to his body and the man hung there, head lowered with long hair and beard covering his face.
“You were right, milady, the subject remains strong. Even now, after
months, he remains alive, refusing to give in to the Drakeness. His willpower is exceptional! Like nothing I have ever seen. It is a wonder to behold someone of his tenacity. I understand why Drakeron desires his service once more,” Hedwin said.
“I require his service more, Hedwin. Even if I must hide him myself from our master, it is the one desire I have. He must survive this, he must, even if I have to hook myself up to that machine once again,” the High Priestess said, coughing as she did so. Hedwin’s eyes lit up upon hearing these words.
“But, milady, you know that if you do that again, you may die! For years you have done this, and it has taken its toll. You will surely die the next time,” Hedwin said.
“Then, my love must hold out. He must. Still, such progress… my faith is strong. Things will go as planned. Excellent, excellent news, Hedwin. I am pleased,” the High Priestess exclaimed. Suddenly, Hedwin shuffled his feet tentatively. “What is it, Hedwin? You wish to speak your mind?”
“Yes, milady. I . . . I know I am in no position to ask for favors, but I do have yet one request. When our master returns, all I ask is that milady Narsissa remembers her servant,” Hedwin exclaimed in a full out bow. Just hearing the name Narsissa confirmed things for one individual in the rafters. There was a flash of yellow, and suddenly Hedwin’s throat exploded with blood. He gurgled and fell to the floor, dead. Foxblade then lunged at Narsissa, only to be halted as the giant window overlooking the slave quarters burst into thousands of shards as what could only be described as a monster leapt through it.
The monster glistened like a star lit sky in the reflecting light. It easily stood ten feet tall and was entirely donned in polished steel armor from head to toe. It wore the same mask as the now revealed High Priestess Narsissa and had a black hood over its head. It was as wide as a small hut and let out a groaning, deep growl and snapped out its gigantic arm, stretching it like a rubber band and squealing triumphantly as it caught something in its grasp and slammed it harshly against the wall.
