Natriel had summoned the Elders of the remaining tribes to an emergency session within the Emerald Dome in the Empyrean Hall. Of the twelve Destiner tribes, only five elders were present, a foreboding sign for them all. Natriel had taken his place as Chief Elder, at the auspicious Table of Wisdom.
Natriel, one of the few Destiner’s who had been in the Image Maker’s presence, stood tall, his azure-mist colored hair hung straight down to the middle of his bronze tinted robe, accentuating his noble countenance.
Present at his right side, was his dear life-mate of ages past, Yenna, who assisted him as Chief Elder. Few could match Yenna’s beauty. Flowing goldenrod hair, accented with streaks of indigo, was the perfect framing for her lily-white skin, and rosy, soft lips, and deep, round sky-blue eyes. Her outward beauty simply was a manifest of her inward person.
Of the three clans that were left, Natriel could not have asked for more devoted Elders. Atreus, of the Mistis Tribe, whose clan dwells in the Misty Isles of the Southern Sea, was a Destiner after the Image Maker’s heart, loving those in his care, and ready to defend their lives.
Lionus, of the Aquamarine Tribe, whose kin lived in the scattered island chains of the Silver Sea, attended to all the marine life, and the health of the pristine waters. Lionus was privy to the mysterious, yet artful creations of every sunset and sunrise that the Image Maker displays, and had seen the dismal pale of the Netherlife pollute the seas.
Lastly, there was Isidora, brave princess of the noble Skywalkers Clan, protectors of the Canopy in the upper reaches of the Silver Sea. She had engaged many of the Xcelenes in battle and had witnessed their savagery, a trait that had never been witnessed in the Silver Sea from its creation.
“Yenna,” Natriel appealed, “please do us all the honor by beseeching the Presence of the Image Maker.”
And so, as the Elders have done from ancient times, they regal wings outspread, lifting them above the great Hall, they effortlessly lifted their hands and faces ceiling ward, and Yenna sang her supplication:
“You who are Life itself,
O Blessed Song of the Morning!
Abba our Father!
Philon our Brother!
Life Weaver our Assurance!
Image Maker, Community of One!
We call upon you now!
We seek your counsel!”
Suddenly, a snowy white portal appeared in their midst, light outshining from within, until the shape of a figure became clearer before them, it was Kalandra, Special Envoy of the Image Maker.
The Elders bowed their heads in reverence, to which Kalandra did likewise.
“Please my dear friends, let us sit in counsel together.” As she alighted to the floor, her soft mahogany hair glowed with a slight sheen, highlighting the emerald green vestments, which clothed this Chayilian daughter. “Elders, no sooner was your supplication heard, that it was quickly granted.”
Natriel, the pragmatist, summarized the current crisis, “Kalandra, seven of our clans have fallen under the spell of the Netherlife and are now being indoctrinated by the lie of Intheism. Our scouts have ascertained a military buildup and a massing of warriors from the north regions, legions trained by the highly aggressive and skillful Xcelenes. We are outnumbered Kalandra.”
“And,” added Lionus, “There is a creeping contamination invading the waters in the north, sickening marine life and threatening the interdependence of all life.”
Kalandra, unshaken by the dismal reports, advised, “You are all aware of the edict ruling the Silver Sea:
‘To whom much is given, the responsibility lies, to cultivate and nurture, protect and provide. For in the day privilege is neglected, in time the gift given will be forfeited.’
And now, after centuries of ignoring the warnings and chastisements from the Image Maker to these rebel clans, this current crisis looms over the Silver Sea. And, we suspect that these clans will be reinforced with Muspellum warriors and Satrina the Sorcerer. This will be a inter-universe war.”
Natriel, ever wise implored, “The remaining clans are faithful to the Image Maker, Kalandra, whatever He asks of us, we will do. Whatever He commands us, we will obey. Whatever foe stands before us, we will confront with His favor.”
“He has never doubted your sincerity Natriel, nor your stout heart! But, you need to understand, not only does life as you know it here in the Silver Sea hang in the balance, but your very lives may forfeit as well in the struggle for liberty.”
Yenna, the fire of her heart now unleashed, addressed the Elders, “Is not our culture, our loved ones, the life Abba has given us, worth sacrificing for? Is not the redemption of our wayward clans worth the fight? We have enjoyed basking in the light of His Truths, resting in His peace, flying to His heights of discovery.” Unsheathing her long sword, glowing emerald green, she decreed, “We will fight! And we will overcome!”
All the Elders unsheathed their swords, and brandishing them in the air, cried in one accord, “All Hail the Image Maker! May His government rule over all!”
“Very well then,” Kalandra concurred, “I will present your request for assistance to the Image Maker. He will decide. In the meantime, may His wisdom be with you as you prepare for war.”
The portal appeared, and looking back at the Elders one last time, she blessed them and disappeared.
Addressing the Elders, Natriel entreated them, “Gather your finest warriors and strategists, we have work to-”
But before Natriel could complete his command, his son, Thoriel burst into the Hall, “Father, I apologize for this breach of protocol, but I have urgent news to report to this council!”
“Speak, Thoriel.”
“I just received word that Aqua, the city of the Aqualines, has been over run by the confederate tribes!”
“What! This cannot be!” cried Lionus.
Lionus quickly approached Thoriel, placing pleading hands on his shoulders, “When did this happen? How did this happen? My family, Thoriel, is there any report of my family?”
Yenna and Tranor hastened to his side, seeking to comfort him. “Come Lionus, let us allow Thoriel to give us a complete report.”
After having seated themselves, Thoriel presented a hologram depicting some of the recorded events. “The attack happened at dawn. The confederate forces attacked with subterranean vessels seemingly designed to travel unnoticed far below the surface of the water and then ravaged and broke through the city’s walls. These vessels apparently carry large numbers of warriors who then poured out into the streets of Aqua.”
Lionus pounded his fist down upon the sturdy table.
Thoriel continued, “The city was assaulted by the Xcelenes by air, raining down on our kinsman with sword and spear.”
As Thoriel was speaking, the hologram showed brief images depicting his explanation, fire and smoke rose from the city, as bands of Aqualines, herded like prisoners, walked down the streets and byways, hands raised to the air.
“In answer to your question Lionus, we have no word yet on the fate of your family. But, many of the populace was able to escape, including a significant amount of warriors flying in the Canopy’s jet stream.”
“And their destination?” asked Yenna.
“Here, my Lady. We have sent out a squadron of our best to escort them here.”
Lionus sat emotionless, in shock from the report. Yenna and Tranor stayed at his side.
“It is later than we thought my friends,” lamented Ovid, “this Netherlife, it is destroying the soul of the Destiner family.”
Tranor asked Thoriel the question all feared to ask, “Are any lives lost? Have the Xeclenes broken the sacred law that no Destiner take the life of another Destiner?”
Destiners live for eons, therefore, all life is sacred to them, especially the life of any Destiner.
His heart heavy, his speech slowed, Thoriel replied, “Yes, they have broken the sacred trust and have stolen the lives of many Destiner’s, male, female, the old and the young.”
; “Thank you for your report, Thoriel, you may take your leave.”
Natriel had never faced such a crisis in his tenure as Chief Elder. And never had he felt a creeping sense of inadequacy. “Yenna, I shall return, I must seek the voice of the Life Weaver in the winds. I shall return.”
As a state of emergency was issued to the remaining clans and preparations for war began, Natriel soared to the highest peak in his land, overlooking the Silver Sea, now awash in pastels with the setting of the sun, a watercolor delight. As he sat gazing at the sublime splendor before him, a voice greeted him from behind.
“You know, Natriel, this is the same peak on which I met Raeh on a windy, stormy night?”
Natriel, his heart warmed at the presence of the Life Weaver turned and said, “No, I did not know my Lord. He was assigned this station by Domitius. Who knew that centuries later, our Raeh would succumb to the power of the Netherlife and be the herald of such depravity and death.”
Life Weaver, his braided white hair radiating in the sunlight, and robed in an emerald green tunic, surveyed the sea in all its changing colors as the sun drew the day to a close. “I am here to warn you Natriel, the same temptation that presented itself to Raeh, will present itself to you.”
“How can that be my Lord? I have come to seek your counsel to engage this enemy, how then could I be tempted by the Dark Powers?”
“And wisdom will enter your mind, and knowledge will guide your plans, and prudence will set the course my son, but in the heat of the battle, in the crux of decisions, in the choosing of one path, that is when you will be tempted. Were it not, I would not have told you so.”
Natriel seemed puzzled, for he knew well the insidious Netherlife and its false promises of Intheism, and he would never have none of it. He gripped his royal sword, gazing at its ornate handle, a gift given him by his father long ago.
“My friend, it is not your heart that is being tested, it is how deep the golden thread of trust in Philon runs.”
As Natriel turned to respond, Life Weaver was gone. Looking skyward, his sharp eagle-like vision caught glimpse of the grandeur of the Canopy and he muttered, “I will not fail, Philon!”
The next day envoys from the remaining tribes arrived to convene and strategize for the defensive measures and population movements.
Tranor was appointed to oversee defensive strategies and Ovid was given oversight concerning population movements.
It was decided that the remaining clans travel to the vast land of the Aeton tribe, and so accommodations began to house the influx of populations. The Destiner’s were able engineers with eons of expertise. They had unlocked the mysteries of their natural habitat. They had long ago forsaken the building material of concrete and steel and instead harnessed the energy around them in living things.
And so, encoding chosen designs into the processing design of the trees, the rock, and the dirt, whole, living buildings sprung into being, for they had unlocked the mystery of energy and its fluid applications.
It would take one month for all the housing and necessary provisions to be built, and it was accomplished, ahead of schedule! All the clans had safely arrived in Aeton, whole cities were built to Ovid’s delight!
Tranor appointed captains to begin building defensive positions in the sea, in the air, and on the land, for they would not be taken by surprise like the Aqualines were.
They developed hardened positions using the same process upon the rocky coastline, and trees, which were shaped shifted into platforms from which winged warriors would fly into battle, and coral and sand formed a formidable boundary out from Aeton’s coastline.
Natriel was nearly prepared for invasion, but his suspicions grew as there had not been any report of movement from the confederation. He wondered what were they waiting for, what was there strategy?
But the Confederacy was shrouded in the shadow of the Netherlife. All communication from them was silent and all travel banned. The promises of self-realization as taught in Intheism are always accompanied by the tyranny of those who boast of its freedoms…the surrender of free will.
Chapter 8
Time does not exist in the Void. And thus, Ivy and Professor Chase Phillips were spared its, sometimes, corrosive affects. But, on one hand, the Void was their prison, shielding them from the events now taking shape outside the Void, but nonetheless, challenging their hearts and minds with the affects of the Netherlife.
“We shall never escape this nightmare,” lamented Phillips. “I have lost all sense of time, and…purpose…and I feel like I’m losing my mind!”
“We shall survive Chase!” Ivy confidently asserted. “Abba will never forget us. He will rescue us, I am certain.”
Chase rubbed his hands together and a faint white dusting flung about. “What is this?” he frantically spat. “What is this-this white powder coming off my skin?”
“I am experiencing it as well, Chase. It is the affect of the Netherlife upon our bodies. We are fading into its seductive influences. It wants us to believe we can be anyone and anything we wish to be. It is the illusion of self-realization, Chase. And in surrendering to its lies, it seeks to possess our souls. The Netherlife is self for self’s sake.”
Chase fell to his knees, his hands cupping his face and weeping aloud, “Why? Why did I believe their lies? I thought Intheism was the next step in our evolutionary journey.” But suddenly his weeping stopped. He rose to his feet, and questioned her, “What did you say?”
“I said the Netherlife tempts us to believe we can be anyone or anything we desire, it is consummate self for self’s sake.”
An impish grin slowly settled over his face. “I got it! Now I know what Primus was saying. The Netherlife is the next step in our evolutionary journey.”
“No Chase! It is not! I have been with Primus. I have seen and experienced its toxic deceptions.”
Suddenly there was a whoosh, and a mighty rush of air in their faces.
“So, I couldn’t help but over hearing your conversation, maybe I could be of some assistance.”
Folding his wings as his feet touched the snow covered ground, he announced, “I am Balik, Keeper of the Void. I have been observing how you two humans are, how shall I say, faring in the Void’s challenging environment.”
“What will you do when my Abba comes Balik?”
“Abba? Oh, Abba, is he not a deity of human mythology?”
“No! He is real, very real, and you know this to be true.”
“Truth?” he barked with a maniacal smirk. “Truth does not exist in the Void. Only what you choose to believe is truth, little girl.”
“Show me Balik,” begged Chase. “Show me how to access the Netherlife. Show me how to be all I am meant to be.”
“Ah, a willing human disciple?” Balik responded sarcastically. “Hmmm, you are a much lower species than I, but it may be possible.” He slowly paced back and forth, his hand on his narrow chin, considering the petition.
“No Chase! You will lose your free-”
With a swipe of the end of his wing Balik knocked Ivy off her feet and onto her back.
“Speak, when you are spoken to, Ivy.”
Frightened, Ivy scooted backwards away from the Muspellum Prince.
“I had an experience, Balik, in one of my classes.”
Feigning interest, Balik, with a wave of his hand and a swirling of white powder, created a seat of sorts and sat down.
“Tell me, human, what was this experience?”
“I was lecturing my students on the history and veracity of Intheism. I wanted to demonstrate the ancient practice of summoning forth the Pool of Passion.”
“The Pool of Passion? You know of this human?”
“Why yes, I do.”
“Well then, please tell me more.”
“As I was attempting to call it forth, a presence came to me and instructed me, it empowered me to call it forth…and I did! This experience led me to finally have the privilege of meeting Prince Lucius, or, I mean P
rimus.”
Balik arose from his chair, and it instantly dissolved, much to the marvel of Chase.
“Well then, human, I will agree to introduce you to the next step in your evolutionary journey.”
“May I speak?” Ivy asked.
“What, little girl?” Balik said, irritated.
“Why did the chair dissolve?”
Balik parroted her, “Why did the chair dissolve?” He was determined not to answer her, but Ivy was not deterred.
“Is it because the Netherlife cannot sustain itself long? And that is why it yearns for a host to possess and express itself through?”
Balik motioned for Chase to come to his side, and he shuffled over to him. “It is unfortunate that you, little girl, betrayed our Master. You could have risen to one of his most astute disciples.” And, with that and a few upward strokes of his turquoise wings, Balik vanished with Dr. Phillips into the milky white of the Void.
◆◆◆
Balik transported Dr. Phillips out of the Void and journeyed to the capital city of the Xcelenes, Dancor, now a city turned stygian fortification of the Xcelenes, which was situated in a hewn out valley surrounded by immense, jagged cliffs that rose up to rain laden, low hanging clouds like desperate hands clawing to escape.
It was here that Satrina’s assault on the Destiner’s found discontented hearts and listening ears for the contemptuous lies of the Netherlife. No longer following the tradition of the elders, the once dignified Elder, Maxim, now referred to himself as Sovereign of the Silver Sea, treating with contempt all other claims to rule.
Balik flew in low, whisking past Xcelene defenses, because he could, and because he relished the thought of exposing their weaknesses to Maxim.
Return of Philon Page 5
