"After being convicted of murder in the first degree for the death of three Drakarlean citizens," images moved from bladeball highlights to a compilation of sound bites and coverage of the highly publicized trial. "Mr. Tarcones, as a future lifetime resident of Blacadoma Prison, soon became known by his fellow inmates and public at large as The Law."
For the first twenty-six years of his life, no man living in the modern era could imagine a more fulfilling life of fame, fortune or health, Thortizan reflected as the brief recounted the events leading to the man's fall. Up to that fateful day he committed those heinous crimes, he was the most beloved and admired person, not just in Drakarl, but also in the entire world. And he threw it all away for a handful of Ecifrican scum! It was an act that puzzled Thortizan and the Drakarlean elite to this day.
"We have all studied, with intimate detail, the enigmatic leadership skills Muzar Tarcones displayed while incarcerated in the world's most secure and deadly penal facility. From his unique style of martial arts, to unprecedented urban warfare tactics, his influence is evidenced in all we do today." The brief transitioned into a condensed overview of the referenced archived footage, gleamed from the security cameras strategically placed throughout the inmate run facility.
The first significant episode shown occurred about three months into Muzar's life sentence. Prior to that time, he had managed to survive in relative isolation from the rest of the population but, by design, the lack of sufficient food, water and basic survival needs had forced him to surface and fight over a recent drop of supplies.
The scene took place soon after a random supply drop into one of the main caverns connected to the surface by a mile long shaft. In the midst of the mayhem that ensued, as gangs fought to gain control over the precious currency, Muzar managed to secure a bottle of water and a few cans of food, but failed to escape detection of several inmates who quickly put up chase.
Eventually eleven other inmates, all members of an Ecifrican gang known as Destiny's Charge, cornered Muzar in one of the many dead-end cul-de-sacs. With Ecifricans comprising over seventy percent of the prison population—an overall number that ranged between a two hundred and fifty thousand to half a million—Destiny's Charge had ruled over the dystopia since its inception over a century ago.
The dominant Ecifricans allowed other provinces represented in the inmate population to form their own gangs and semblance of leadership so long as they paid homage to Destiny’s Charge. All except for the tiny minority of unfortunate Drakarleans sentenced to the maximum-security penitentiary, who were ritualistically tortured to death upon their immediate arrival.
The delayed and rarely edited public broadcasts of these tortures and other horrid events that took place daily in Blacadoma Caverns had quickly surpassed Drakarle's millennia long, draconian enforced capital punishment as the best deterrent against crime. In tandem, and to a greater affect, the popular channel was the primary tool used by the Drakarlean ruling class to edify their enduring propagation of the Ecifricans as an animal species that was less than human.
The famous scene showed Muzar make several feeble attempts to reason with the men. They met his pleas with scoffs as the ring of bodies around him tightened. Each armed with crude clubs and blades, one could sense their mounting excitement at the prospect of finally capturing the elusive icon. They had something special in store for the most famous Drakarlean known in modern times: an exercise in torture they intended on relishing for weeks to come if possible.
Seconds before the first strike, resolved in his decision to fight for his very survival, Muzar crouched—a posture that, for a brief moment, eerily resembled his signature stance on the tri-field—and sprung forward into the first line of assailants. None of the convicted murderers that surrounded Muzar in that moment was prepared for the raw savagery unleashed upon them. Moments after the violent blur of motion, five bodies littered the floor, arms, legs and necks twisted and bent in repulsive, unnatural positions, the flesh riddled with lethal gashes and punctures. As Muzar stepped clear, blood pooled from the heap and began to seep across the floor.
But the most devastating act of violence occurred next as the self-appointed leader of the group turned in shocked anger and swung his club toward Muzar's head in retaliation for his fallen brothers. Poised for the counter strike, even when slowed down frame by frame, the awesome burst of speed and force in which Muzar thrust his fist into the man remains a natural phenomenon difficult to comprehend. The scene ended with a close-up of the dead man's caved in face, the remaining Ecifricans scattering and of Muzar's casual escape down a dark hall.
Thortizan scanned his soldiers with satisfaction as the sobering scene delivered the full weight of their mission for the first time, clutching the group into a primal state of alertness. "Within a year after this incident, either by choice or default, Muzar Tarcones managed to aggregate the disparate gangs comprised of the criminals hailing from the various other nations represented in the facility. In the process, he seized and maintained control over three of the seven main caverns."
The brief proceeded with a few of the more epic battles that took place over that time period between Muzar's united minority and the Ecifrican majority. Shots from various surveillance cameras revealed brilliant, orchestrated tactics that leveraged the confined setting of the caverns and narrow passageways to gain the advantage and ensure victory time and time again.
"A special task force, led by yours truly, was formed in response to the strange influence Mr. Tarcones appeared to be having on his fellow inmates. Our charge: to manipulate the situation with the objective of learning the full extent of what the man was capable of accomplishing." Thortizan recalled the unfettered pleasure he and his colleagues experienced while playing God the following four years, as they introduced one difficult scenario after the other into the quasi-controlled environment.
"At first, we exploited the already prevalent law of supply and demand by cutting off all supply drops into the caverns he controlled, forcing Muzar to take the offensive. Again and again, he raided the Ecifrican camps and stole what they needed to survive. Next, we began to supply the Ecifricans with raw materials to increase their limited arsenal of crude weapons. Not only did this one-sided arms race tactic fail to tip the scales in favor of the Ecifricans, but we soon discovered that Tarcones's numbers and control over the caverns continued to grow in strength."
"Trained in superior hand to hand combat, survival skills and military tactics, united by a faith based, disciplined leadership, Muzar Tarcones had spawned a fighting force the likes of which the world has never seen." Indeed, after years of in-depth study by Thortizan's secret panel, the C.O.S. adopted Muzar's unprecedented strategies to create many of the contemporary military treatises held sacred by the theocratic regime.
Thortizan, as he watched hordes of condemned inmates swear their undying allegiance to Muzar grow year after year, had developed a respectful, almost paranoid, caution as he studied the man. Despite being thousands of miles away, seeing all that transpired via sanitized security videos, and having the perceived control over the man's fate, Thortizan secretly feared succumbing to Muzar's boundless charisma.
Not since Apostle Drestan led our people to freedom, inspiring generations to this day to convert the rest of the world in the beliefs of our beloved Savior, had man been subjected to the persuasive force of one individual. The memory helped Thortizan come to grips with his own apprehension about the pending mission.
Thortizan expanded on his exposition. "Energized by a courageous leader, prepared to die for the betterment of the whole, the once deviant and broken men and women that chose to align themselves with Muzar Tarcones began to call themselves the Stewards of the Law."
Once believed to be condemned to finish their remaining years in wretched purgatory, Stewards of the Law claimed to discover a higher purpose once they joined the cult. Discontent with one’s lot was no longer justified, as Muzar taught his followers to perceive all of life experiences as
an adventure; as an opportunity to grow. "The soul is no longer forced to fend for itself" he would preach to his devout followers; an existence all too familiar for any person sentenced to Blacadoma and, in most cases, their lives prior to incarceration. "Strength is abundant for the soul truly aligned with its brethren," one of the man's more famous statements to emerge.
At no point did Blacadoma ever become a desired destination for any sane person. The average lifespan of the condemned still hovered around eighteen months. If one somehow managed to avoid the typical death delivered in some form of gruesome butchery, rampant malnutrition, infection or other natural causes would end their miserable lives. No, despite the growing fascination around Muzar Tarcones, for the vast majority, Blacadoma remained one of the most horrid places known to the collective imagination.
But the popularity of the already highly watched, around the clock, public broadcast of the events taking place in Blacadoma Prison continued to grow to new heights during Muzar's four year reign. Anyone who owned, or knew someone who did, a telipad or wallscreen during that time stayed glued to the happenings at Blacadoma, waiting to see what Muzar did next.
The Stewards of the Law, a cult like the world had never seen since the Church of Salvation, had begun to spread. Anyone who ever studied the social phenomenon would agree, the movement spawned from the depths of Blacadoma's subterranean caves was infecting the free world at a frighteningly fast past. Muzar had gone from public icon as an elite athlete, to living deity as the savior of society's discriminated rejects.
"Some of you may remember from your elementary social studies, Muzar Tarcones actions in Blacadoma inspired a few of the Drakarlean liberals to write essays and hold large public speeches, comparing Muzar to every saint or apostle ever known. Some went so far as to claim he was nothing short of the second coming of our Savior."
Even the Church of Salvation's top leaders, behind closed doors at least, had started to view the man with strange reverence, citing examples of his actions became common place in many heated and earnest debates on the origins of race, culture or religion.
"This pestilence known as Muzar Tarcones has outlived its usefulness," Cardinal Fertinand, Thortizan's predecessor, finally said to Thortizan and his crew at the apex of it all. Each panel member had been handpicked for the position due to their pure bloodline and staunch allegiance to the Order of St. Vorenius. They all understood the implications conveyed in their leaders statements and in response, set out in earnest to exterminate the problem.
No one had commiserated on how to destroy Muzar Tarcones more than Thortizan and his team and yet every approach they attempted over the years had come up short. Desperate, they systematically and arbitrarily aspersed the criminal acts of hundreds of thousands of innocent Ecifrican men and women, fleecing every Ecifrican compound and territory in the process, to produce a fresh body of Blacadoma inmates. "We will overwhelm him with sheer numbers while reducing the already paltry supply of food and water," Thortizan remembers conspiring with his smug partners.
The move proved itself one of the biggest blunders in his career, a mistake he remains grateful was never exposed. For what Thortizan and his team had failed to see prior to initiating their bold move, empowered by their omnipresent position and hindered by blind prejudice as they were, were the precursors leading to a truce between the Stewards of the Law and Destiny's Charge. The influx of new Ecifricans, the majority of which had become enchanted by Muzar's growing legend in addition to knowing the details that led to his arrest—a perspective their inmate countrymen were not privy but soon became educated to—were the catalyst that ensured the tentative truce became a lasting reality.
The situation had completely spiraled out of control. Thortizan remembered how all evidence of the covert panel, having never been formally approved therefore having never existed, were whisked away as elected government officials and appointed panels scurried to find a solution to the public relations nightmare that was but a breath away from escalating into a bona fide threat to their theocratic control.
Every department offered suggestions but none appeared to offer a solution. The only idea that offered at minimum a short-term solution came from Cardinal Fertinand's defense department, which was to send in armed troops, annihilate the whole lot and start over. Relief swept over the empire when, without any warning, the situation took care of itself with the sudden disappearance of Muzar Tarcones.
"Just over ten years ago today, Mr. Tarcones vanished. Of the intact and operational security equipment providing coverage to roughly eighty percent of the subterranean penal facility at the time, none recorded any sign of his whereabouts for three straight months. This led us to presume him deceased; the cause of death and evidence of bodily remains taking place and residing in one of the few areas no longer available to our surveillance."
"Recent intel informs us that not only is Muzar Tarcones alive but he somehow managed to escape from Blacadoma." Despite their conditioned discipline, murmurs of shock and disbelief erupted. "Enough! Do not forget, we are dealing with an adversary that was once one of us. One of the few people in the world with both the capital means to facilitate an escape from Blacadoma and the motivation to do so."
"Drop zone in ninety seconds!" The pilot’s voice interjected.
The men stood in unison at the prompt and began to double check their gear. Thortizan walked toward the rear of the jet, making eye contact and smacking men on the back and shoulders as he went. Once there, he punched a large red button on the sidewall that turned green and hydraulics lowered the back bay door, revealing a moonlit sky.
Thortizan turned and addressed his men. "Our purpose has arrived; the time has come to reclaim the world here after and for all eternity in the name of our Almighty Savior!"
A chorus of "Praise be to him!" met the close of his words as the green button began to blink. Single file, the ordained Vorenian Knights spilled into the night sky unified by a divine mission all believed was destined to occur.
Chapter 17
"Stay here. Do not move until I return. Do you understand me? I promise to come back," Steffor said passionately.
"Of course you will," Calivera replied without hesitation, "but I will not wait for your return. I will follow and, the Provider willing, unite with you soon." Her confidence instilled a welcome dose of courage despite her stubbornness.
He looked over her shoulder at Leanor standing a few feet behind her, imploring the mysterious Mystic to help convince Calivera to obey his command to stay behind. The impulsive decision quickly proved itself a foolish one, harshly reminding Steffor how little he understood of the woman or her role, as she said: "You must take both of us with you."
"Steffor!" Kilton boomed, his stentorian voice heard from over a half a mile away. "We cannot delay another second!"
Steffor turned in his friend's direction. Just beyond Kilton, Grimlock, Martna and Vejax were moments away from reaching the valley's west wall. Kilton stood atop a barren knoll stationed between them and Steffor who still stood before the newly formed Mystic Tower. He was poised to run but clearly reluctant to take another step until he saw Steffor move in his direction.
"It will take us too long to reach the Guardian Trail as it is, with the two of you in tow it will take at least half a day. This does not address the real issue of how either of you navigate the trail once there. Your coming is simply not an option."
"You possess the power to bring us Steffor," Leanor boldly confronted him. "The Transcendent Age is close upon us. Calivera and I must be with you when it arrives."
"What do you speak of?" Steffor stammered, his patience wearing thin. It took all his power of concentration to block out the wave of screams heard moments before that creature erupted from the Provider's insides. The call of duty sounded, they must act now. Every second that transpired since losing their Mysticnet feed of Razum City was another moment of anguish as his soul sensed innocent life ripped from the world.
Calivera grabbed his
hands, pleading his attention. "Listen to her Steffor. She....we....have seen...the Provider has revealed an existence that goes beyond our world, the transcendence that all aspire to and must reach. You are the key to realizing our destiny but it cannot be done alone."
"I do not desire to do this alone!" he said, finally losing his temper. "I have four, very dependable Guardians at my side and hundreds more on the way. I do not see how a Healer and a...Mystic can offer any assistance in battling the creature destroying our beloved city as we speak." Calivera's crestfallen face calmed him, a glorious reminder of why he had not left yet.
He gently cupped her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Living within our boundless love is the only existence I care about. Please do not ask me to put you in harm’s way. I cannot bear the thought of losing you....not again."
With fresh tears in her eyes, she acknowledged her own fears of losing their time together in this lifetime, a fear that stemmed from prior lives together never completely fulfilled. Reunited as they were, the seed of their potential life together having just broken to the surface, neither could deny the desire to become one with the other.
"You must face this fear, see it for the challenge it truly is," Leanor said, addressing both of them now. "If you do not face the fear of losing each other, then how do you expect to meet the challenge of facing the Deagron Maker or the events yet to materialize but most certain to demand even more courage?"
Who was this woman? At first perceived as some kind of dysfunctional Mystic he would figure out later, Steffor recalled now that he did not find her among the Mystics probed when searching for a way to correct the defunked Mysticnet. If she were a Mystic, she would have registered as such. Stranger yet, taking a moment to apply his ability to identify with any of the races, he discovered she did not conform to any.
Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One) Page 23
