Once Were Men

by Marin Landis

  He was satisfied with that revelation. Humans were covetous of eternal life but they had something better. Finity. It drove creativity and love and resilience and improvement. He would give anything and indeed everything that Melvekior might prosper.

  Janesca had just woken from her afternoon nap when Mother Arantia burst into her room. Her quarters were small, but immaculately appointed. The warm sunlight filtered through the window and the ornately designed curtain prettily and she looked out upon the gardens when the rapid opening of the door made her jump.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed dozily.

  “High Priest Hestallr is here. As usual he gave no notice but he hasn’t been for almost ten years. We must set a wonderful example Janesca and he’ll definitely want to speak to you. Wash your face and come to the garden theater. It is there we will entertain him. He’s much too big for the doors and the last time he broke so much furniture.”

  Mother Arantia looked frantic, her cheeks red and Janesca had never heard her say anything negative about anyone.

  “Praise him,” Arantia added quickly. “Quickly now,” she clapped her hands together to move Janesca along.

  Janesca had been looking forward to seeing Hestallr again since he removed her from her gentle captivity in the palace of King Alpre. Her initial thoughts that it was Mithras Himself could be excused. Nobody encountering him for the first time could fail to be intimidated and amazed by his sheer bulk. He wasn’t just a big man, he was an enormous man and radiated vast power. Trying to assimilate the sheer scope of such a being was difficult. All those years ago, in the aftermath of the Day of Darkness, had he appeared and proclaimed himself the Sun God, none would have doubted. Some still believed him to be Mithras and even the likes of Povimus and Arantia would comment on such speculation.

  She readied herself in haste. While Mother would notice hair out of place, Hestallr would not.

  The garden theater was one of her favorite places. So many of the sisters loved to grow flowers and vegetables that there were countless small gardens scattered throughout the grounds, but this one was a collaborative effort. An auditorium ringed by head height broad-leaved bushes, seats fashioned from great tree boles, ringed with colorful flowers and a stage, the stump of an ancient lightning struck oak that had died decades before.

  When she arrived there she almost choked with outrage and then laughter to notice the High Priest sitting on the stage as though it were a couch especially provided for him. Had anyone else, including Povimus and King Alpre, treated her stage with such offhand disrespect, Mother Arantia would have screeched the birds out of the sky, but Hestallr was himself a force of nature and she didn’t even react bar an uptight look upon her face. Even that look vanished when Hestallr addressed her. Her pouty mouth turned to a wide grin. Janesca could not hear what he had said, but the low rumblings of his voice were almost like an earthquake. More than ten other sisters were present, all with looks of rapt adoration on their innocent faces.

  She loved being the most worldly in the Abbey. Many of the girls had never known the touch of a man, and most were still virgins. You knew that to be true when they spoke about Hestallr as a man to be won and wouldn’t it be wonderful to be wed to such a hero. “ You won’t think it’s wonderful on your wedding night, the size of him,” Janesca had offered, laughing.

  “Janesca, I am pleased you are here. Tell me about these dreams you are having.” The giant peered at her with his ice blue eyes, his blond shaggy hair hanging almost in his eyes.

  She was nervous, and confused. “Lord, dreams? I am so sorry, I do not know.” She stood near him, unsure of where else to put herself.

  “Your dreams, girl, at night when you call out for the Lord Hestallr, mentioning also a secret that only he can hear. We have all heard you. “ Arantia was staring, her eyes wide, head bobbing up and down, encouraging her to speak.

  “It is no matter, Arantia, it might be best that she does not remember such dreams.”

  Something registered in her mind. Actually she had been having strange dreams, but she didn’t remember waking from them or losing sleep. While the dreams were strange, they certainly weren’t distressing, in fact quite the opposite. Now she had the chance to briefly think over them, she understood that they must be religious dreams, sent by Mithras or at least inspired by the holiness of her surroundings. Many were dreams of the God Himself and of his Blessèd, the angelic beings that fought by his side against the evil Apset and the dark Gods of death and darkness. She felt comforted even now.

  “I do remember something…” she began.

  “Might we have time alone, Mother Arantia?” Hestallr showed proper deference in his words to Arantia.

  “Yes, of course,” she responded immediately, pleased that he had consulted her. “Come ladies, let us do as Lord Hestallr requests.” She clapped her hands as she did a hundred times a day and whisked herself away, leaving Janesca alone with Hestallr, growing more and more nervous and anxious every second. In fact she felt positively unwell and could feel herself becoming extremely tired.

  “Janesca?” Hestallr rumbled. He reached out and caught her as she fell.

  “Janesca, you fainted.” The deep voice of the High Priest of Mithras sounded like a distant thunder.

  “I’m fine, big man. Janesca, though, is fast asleep.” He sat up, once again in control of Janesca’s body. Mikael wasn’t comfortable in a female’s body but this one at least wasn’t too alien.

  “Mikael!” boomed the Living Mountain and then he stopped still. Many would say throughout the ages when meeting Hestallr that “Surely he is more than human, surely he is a demigod, formed literally from the mountain.” His true nature was often one for discussion amongst those who cared about that sort of thing. Comparing him to a mountain though was incredibly apt as in times that required deep thought he would become still and unmovable. Though rarely for long.

  Mikael was on the urge of becoming concerned when Hestallr stood. He towered over the sitting figure of the woman he had mere minutes ago placed on the soft grass and laughed. His laughter shook leaves from the trees. The sisters heard it through the walls of the convent and joined in without knowing why.

  “You have played a fine jest on us, Mikael. Do your brothers know? Does Mithras know?”

  All of Mikael’s plans rode on Hestallr’s response to the answer to that question.

  “No, nor do I wish them to. Ye’re no slave, Hestallr. Ye defied one of us once, this is like as to nothing in comparison.”

  There was a few seconds in which he thought that the giant may swat him dead. While not as aggressive as his fellow Elder, Ushatr, Hestallr was still prone to bursts of violence when faced with danger. One of Mithras’s Anaurim asking him to keep a secret from the Sun God Himself was about as dangerous as it could be.

  “Why have you hidden, Mikael? How was I so easily fooled?”

  Mikael could tell that Hestallr was perturbed, he never normally asked more than one question at a time.

  “There’s things that Mithras will not tell ye, Hestallr. The reason for Apset’s betrayal fer one. D’ye not find that odd? Ye were birthed, changed from what ye were into what ye are now, that you could overthrow Apset and yet I bet a gobbit to a pinch of rat shite that ye dint know why. Mithras cannot let that secret out and I’m not sayin’ but let that guide yer decision here.”

  “You have the same name, Mikael!” Hestallr clenched his fist and ground his teeth.

  “Well, who wouldn’t believe that I was named after one of the Blessèd?” He hoped that would mollify the Scourge of Hell, though he was certain he wouldn’t hurt this body.

  “I’ve already laughed once today, that was quite enough,” Hestallr said, “but you cannot stay in that body.”

  “What other choice do I have?” Mikael asked, hoping beyond hope.

  “We will go to your body. It will have rotted but you can fix that, Varalus.” Hestallr used an old name for Mikael and his brothers.

  “I cannot withou
t the risk of the rest of them noticing. Like you knew when Tiriel was released, like I knew even in my state.”

  Hestallr sighed. He would never leave Janesca in this position. “I will do it. You ask much, Mikael, it will cause me pain. The girl, she is no Akashic?”

  “No. She, however would be dead or a whore, she has profited.”

  “What is your end goal here, Mikael?”

  “Get my handsome body back, save the world, impress some lassies with my stamina and sink a few ales along the way.”

  “Very well. I will assist you.”

  If Mikael didn’t know better he could have sworn that Hestallr almost smile.

  “My thanks, could we leave now fer the Monastery of the Hammer. I can already taste Ushatr’s cider and I know ye like it as much.”

  Hestallr then openly grinned. He did.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Messenger

  “He was the youngest of us and the most naive. The centuries didn’t change that.” - Mikael

  “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Melvekior.” Bhav was worried. Her son, the Prince of Maresh-Kar, the Holy Knight, Melvekior Martelle, hadn’t slept for two days and he insisted on being everywhere she was.

  “I can, mother,” even after the novelty had worn off he still felt like bursting into tears of joy when calling her that. “I need to make sure you don’t leave again.”

  “How will you stop Her, son? She is not concerned with my happiness or yours, but with grander events.”

  “I don’t know now, but I will when the time comes.” His eyes were a little crazed, he was on the verge of hysteria, she knew.

  He sat, almost lay, on a couch in her quarters. Originally he had sectioned her in his rooms but she demanded more privacy and he then moved her to a suite of her own and wouldn’t leave, stating, very politely, that she had privacy in two of the three rooms but he would always be here in the parlor. She sat at the writing table, exasperated. Even that fussy servant of his had failed to make him move. She had no idea how to reach any of his friends. Quite possible the Aelvar tutor his father had somehow arranged, or the tribeswoman, could have persuaded him, but nobody here had any sway. Even Povimus was met with the death-stare he had inherited from Mikael.

  She closed her eyes. Lady, I have been your humble and uncomplaining servant, grant me this one boon, that he finds peace, she prayed silently. Opening her eyes, she could see him fighting sleep. It was no good for him, soon he would start to hallucinate and he could make himself very sick.

  “Melvekior, I must insist, you…” she stopped, what faced her took her words away.

  He perked up then, at the sight of her face, all color drained from it. He looked behind him and then came wide awake. Without warning a bright, bright enough to hurt his eyes, and perfect being of light, stood within those chambers. His heart soared.

  “You came, you answered my prayers,” he fell to his knees before Tiriel.

  “You are almost insensate, Melvekior. Here,” he reached down his hand made of pure luminescence and touched the young Prince on the brow. Tiredness was instantly banished, he felt more alert than ever.

  Bhav too, at this juncture, kneeled before the Anaurim, Tiriel.

  “No, no, please stand, I am not to be worshiped, I am no God.” The light faded in less than a moment and he stood, a being with no equal, in full human form. Almost as tall as Hestallr and less bulky, with the physical perfection of a Denier of Kurhu, his only flaw that his right hand had but a single finger and a thumb.

  Bhav blushed and pulled a cover from the bed. “Wear this, holy one, I pray.”

  Both Melvekior and Tiriel looked at her without understanding between them.

  “Very well, Bhav.” He wrapped the sheet around his shoulders, protecting her modesty, the concept seemed lost on him.

  "My thanks to you, Lord Tiriel for attending. I have called and prayed for your aid, but I knew not how else to reach you." It was fair to say that Melvekior was disillusioned with the Gods at this time. With the threat of losing his mother hanging over his head he was less polite than he might have been.

  "We are not omniscient, Prince Melvekior. Neither us nor Mithras knows every detail of life in your kingdom. How would we make any decision or take even the smallest step with the weight of all of that knowledge. Nay, I did not come in response to your summons but your mother's prayer was a beacon of residual Aur.” Tiriel looked from him to her, his face impassive.

  “Ahh, I have a most urgent boon to ask.” For Melvekior, this being was a direct conduit to his God, a sacred being. His annoyance and desperation notwithstanding, he still needed to be deferential.

  “I feel that I know what you will ask. No divine magic is required to see that you are re-united and wish circumstances to remain thus.” His expression did not change. Was he capable of feeling emotion, Melvekior wondered.

  Bhav spoke now. “Lord Tiriel, I know you have spoken with this vessel recently and although it has been a great honor to serve Sehar in such a way, I am tired. “

  "I understand that, Bhav. Mayhap She does not, also I believe she may have more need of you if my brethren are to be returned to the fold. Apset likely betrayed them as he did me."

  "Was it not the Three Kings who betrayed you, Lord? The story is unclear to me, I apologize, but it appears that a faithful servant is being punished while the guilty are left to prosper."

  "They were manipulated and directed by Apset. It is difficult and tyrannical to blame mortals for being easily swayed by the likes of the Anaurim. For that reason I chose not to exact revenge and it was not within my sphere at the time."

  "My father hinted that indirectly, they were to blame for my mother's condition, but I didn't understand it at the time. That now becomes clear. Revenge is within my remit." Melvekior could feel the fire of determination in himself again. It had been absent for the past few days as tiredness had taken its toll on top of the pressures of running a kingdom. There was of course something that he could not allow to happen. "Lord Tiriel, can you ask Sehar not to take my mother? In return I will seek your brethren and I will not fail. I vow a sacred oath to Mithras that within a year I will have discovered the fates of the three missing Anaurim whether they be alive or dead."

  "They are alive, Melvekior, I would know were they not."

  "My son, my Prince, how can you find what was hidden to a Goddess? I fear your vow will lead you to ruin." Bhav looked distraught.

  "I understand, mother, but I will not let you be taken and I will have my revenge on both Tiriel's captors and your tormentors. It is well that they are one and the same.” He stood, resolute, intending to start his quest off as seriously as he meant to undertake it.

  “You are a true champion of Mithras, Melvekior. I will convey these concepts to Sehar and Mithras. I, of course, cannot predict their response, but here, this may help.” He held out his perfectly formed hand, fingernails that appeared trimmed and polished by one of Sunar’s courtesans. Melvekior opened his and into it dropped a small white figurine. He recognized it immediately.

  “I stopped wearing this, Lord Tiriel, I felt it disrespectful. Unless…” He didn’t dare to think. The phoenix pendant was carved from the finger of this Blessèd of Mithras; not his earthly finger but from his body of light. The other two missing fingers were worn by King Calre Alpre of Uth and the Dread Mage Thacritus, King of the island nation named after him. The magic contained within offered near immortality and facilitated the transfer of the bearer’s soul to a new body. Melvekior’s father had inadvertently been the recipient of such an exchange which situation led to a stand off with the previous ruler of Maresh-Kar.

  “No, it is the same one you wore. “ He wiggled his remaining seven digits in front of the Prince. “I have further empowered it. When worn it will show you the presence of Aur, the divine magic we wield. My brethren could be disguised as anything and would know if Sehar was near. You they would not suspect as having the ability to see through their ongoing disguise
so they will not fortify any deceptive magics and this might give you the edge over the Handmaiden.”

  “Thank you, Lord Tiriel. Do you have any advice on where to start looking?” He’d made a vow in haste but that didn’t stop him believing in himself. He knew he would need whatever assistance he could get.

  “There is but one place, in all the years that Sehar searched, that she did not go. The Anaurim would not go there, but there is one there that might know.”

  Melvekior could not conceive of a place that a Goddess would not go, nor did it sound like somewhere he would go. “Pray tell me of this place and the one of whom you speak.”

  “It is the city of Fallset, home of many temples and home also to the Mystics of Noor. Deep within the caves of Noor is the Viterorm, the fabled Oracle of Noor. Even I do not know what manner of being this is, but it is older than the most ancient of trees and older even than I. It may be able to shed light on the whereabouts of one or more of the lost Anaurim. Noor would not allow Sehar to enter her caverns, but you may be able to negotiate passage.”

  Melvekior nodded, wanting to complain about the seemingly impossible task, but in the spirit of honoring his father, he would not. He looped the phoenix pendant over his head, the white stone, termed Neral by the Three Kings, of which there were now two, heavier than it looked. By the time he looked up, Tiriel was no longer there.

  Bhav rushed to him and held him against her chest and suddenly his lack of sleep caught up with him. Whatever spirit-tonic Tiriel had placed upon him, now ended and he felt himself flagging. He tried to speak but with a mother’s care and authority she silenced him and pulled back her bedsheets.

  “Sleep, my sweet Prince,” she cooed, rubbing his hair. And he did.