by Marin Landis
"Anyway, I fought for my king and I never lost. Eventually I became King. There was some treachery involved but I was drunk with power and did not care. In my head I could see the course that battles would take and my legend grew. I was Miklos the Conqueror and the world trembled beneath my feet. Some time into my rampage of destruction I noticed that I wasn't aging in the same way as others. My children would die before me and my mind suddenly opened to what was happening. Somehow I was immortal and with that realization came all the hubris that you might expect. I imagined myself all powerful but in time began to see that my area of influence was small and though I was revered as a God by my people, I knew there were unexplored lands and unconquered people beyond the Southern Shore. I spent seven years living near water, testing out boats and building small craft with my own hands. My people were limited to traveling the shoreline but through dumb luck and bloody mindedness I learned to master the art of sailing and discovered that I had an unerring sense of direction. Your friend Hestallr shares the same connection with the earth. Then, it served me well, allowing me to land on a shore only previously discussed in whispers around the campfire." Mikael paused. He drank some ale and looked at his son.
"Where was this, father?" Melvekior thought that something was expected of him at this stage, but knew not what.
"Far to the north. It is of no consequence. You imagine yourself to be a descendant of the noble bloodlines of Malann. I know you do, for it is what I have told you and it is true. Those same bloodlines spring directly from savages, more base than the Tarkan, many of them directly from me. At best I am an explorer, a civilizer, at worst a barbarian and marauder. There's no pride in something you can't control. Honor comes from your actions here and now, the things you leave behind. My essence is overpowering. It turns every body I inhabit into a near perfect replica of my original form. This body you see is how I looked, more or less, all those centuries ago."
"You conquered this new land then, father?" said Melvekior, steering his father back to the original point.
"Not straight away and not alone. I walked the coast and through a massive desert and then green forests with giant trees and animals I cannot even describe. One day I came upon a woman who lay naked upon a beach. It was not a safe place and I was amazed that she would put herself into danger. I called out to her as to not frighten her and she leapt to her feet with a grace that I found captivating. She didn't seem worried about her nakedness; I thought I had stumbled upon some tribe of people for whom clothing wasn't yet a notion. It turns out that she was so fiercely independent that the thought of being told what to do was an anathema. Her skin was the darkest brown and her body devoid of hair. In my journeys I had seen groups of dark skinned men chasing wild animals but they ran off when I tried to hail them. No fear lay in this woman's dark eyes as she approached me, closely almost to touching. My loins stirred and I contemplated taking here there and then but something held me back. I don't know that it was a conscience, a growing maturity and self-awakening or simply good sense. She laughed as I struggled with the decision and then spoke. I was amazed. She spoke my language as well as a native speaker. 'Stranger,' she said, 'welcome to my home. I have lived on this same stretch of beach for two score years.' I knew she lied as she looked about the same age that you look now. It occurred to me that she told me that for a reason and when it dawned on me I laughed. She laughed and then we made love.”
Stunned as he was that Mikael had known Herjen all that time ago, he was still a long way away from wanting to listen to an account of his them doing that. “I don’t need all the details, father, please.”
“Well, that’s fair enough, I’m sure ye will enjoy the same prowess as me in that regards. I was amazed and astonished that I had come across someone like me, but at the same time cynical that it had happened at all. Surely if I could that easily find such a one, there’d be more. I quizzed her many times about how she came to be there and she repeated each time that she loved the view and wanted to be there. She hadn’t felt any sort of external pressure and was amazed as I was to find another immortal. My belief that there would be more like us was soon confirmed, we met more people on our journeys until our group became too big to maintain. There were squabbles and scuffles for positions of power which was astonishing to me. Nevertheless I was the most suited to lead and the majority confirmed this in a free vote. This caused a split and we were left with half a dozen immortal beings, tired of the physical, dissatisfied with searching for knowledge and the origin of our strange longevity. We each agree to go our separate ways. I was heart-sore that Herjen would be leaving but she was a difficult person to be around for long.” Mikael paused, looking Melvekior straight in the eye. “You had better hope she hasn’t infected Ottkatla with any of her stubborn ways.”
“So, you knew all along?” Melvekior wasn’t surprised really. It would have been obvious to him.
“Of course. I hid in plain sight for so long, it occurred to me that others might do the same. Carefully manipulating those tribes to believe that a holy spirit was protecting them wasn’t difficult I imagine and when I made contact with them and became friends with Skollmak, I heard of the Herjen spirit. Legends of us would have made their way down the centuries certainly and there have been entire religions based on us, Mithras for one, but He of course made that happen. So I saw my chance with Ottkatla and took her to Saens Martelle to watch her. I could see nothing of the divine within her, but then I hid my Aurim successfully, so I imagine she could too.”
“They think the same thing as you, father. They knew who you were and congratulated themselves on their deviousness.” The realization that even divine beings were self-congratulatory and devious wasn’t a comforting one for Melvekior.
“They?” He sat up and looked more interested than he had ever seen him look.
“Yes, father. Many things have happened since you died. As you know, I am a Prince now,” he laughed humorlessly and recounted his path to the throne of Maresh-Kar, the return of Bhav, his journey to Fallset and then finally his encounter with the Anaurim.
Mikael whistled. “You’ve been busy and there is a current of change running through the world. It feels like all those centuries ago when I met Herjen and then eventually Mithras. He was a sight to behold, son. Not at all like he is now. He was noble and strove always to achieve the greater good and he forged us into a team, closer than any military unit for we knew each other’s minds and souls. That was never his intention but his strength of character and commitment to our shared ideals made it so.”
“That is the part of all this that I’m struggling with. Faerlen and Herjen explained to me that Mithras sought to cleanse the world, to rid it of all life and start again. Can that be true? What of Hestallr and Ushatr; they are in direct communion with Mithras are they not?”
“Those two are not what they seem, nor their sibling I would guess, Gravandr. I have thought for years that they served Mithras, but now I believe otherwise. They will oppose Mithras’s plans if we do not, but we will.”
“But why all the deception father, all the plans within plans, the games…?” Aware he was sounding whiny, a trait his father would not bear, he left it there.
“For you, my son. And the timing is perfect. Mithras cannot fulfill his plan without me, without my aid. He calls me ‘The Key’ and relied always upon my guidance and understanding of tactics. I don’t possess logic or understanding, but I do possess intuition and this is why I believe everything is working out according to some grand plan that I understand only in a quiet place in my mind. I can’t go to that place, but I can let myself act without thought or intent. What follows is the utterly correct thing. I’ve stopped questioning that and have been generally successful.” He reached across the table and took hold of Melvekior’s wrist in the warrior’s grip. Melvekior felt a rush of emotion and similarly held his father’s arm. “Son, I’ve been a neglectful, poor father but I believe it has been for the best. You’ve learned from Aeldryn and Ott
katla what you needed to and from my absence and your mother’s ‘situation’ you’ve learned mental resilience and the right degree of cynicism.”
“I hold no ill will towards you, even after you hid all this from me. You could have trusted me, you know?”
“I know, but you were a child, you don’t see the difference in you since I died. I can see that difference, you have become a man and I’ll wager Ottkatla has seen that difference too. You say that the Herjen has separated from her?”
“Yes, it is awkward between them but they now seek something called Jotnar that accompanied Ottkatla back from some distant mountain.”
“Garm!” whispered Mikael, almost under his breath, almost involuntarily.
“What?”
“Garm, son. When your people, and you, refer to Mithras as a God, they are, mistaken. As I believe you are starting to believe. From what you’ve told me and what I have recently learned, the cult of Mithras is necessary in some fashion to maintain order and civilization. There is relative stability in these lands and in Malann, Gravandr is bringing peace, diverting the vast military might of that land towards more progressive outcomes. Mithras himself has no hand in this and I believe the Elders, Ushatr, Hestallr and Gravandr work outside His aegis, but promoting His law for the good of the people.”
“So I have dedicated my life, and my oath, to an idea, rather than a God. Does He even hear our prayers?” He had thought about this long and hard over the past couple of days, hoping that the rogue Anaurim were wrong. That somehow his father was alive and nothing but a normal man who was lucky enough to cheat death. Of course they were being truthful and his father was a demi-god, hunted by Melvekior’s God and a vital part of a plan to destroy all life. Now, even more disturbing for him was the claim that his God was nothing but a concept and the reality behind that God, a spiteful and mad being crazed enough to kill them all.
“Oh he does, and he taps into them for power. Powerful as he was before we ascended and more so when we attained divinity, that is nothing to what he is now. To complete my previous explanation, Garm is what you would term a God. Mostly indifferent and yet somehow behind all of this. The Elders do his bidding, though I know not how they commune with him as he has never been visible to us, though a presence far beyond what we understand can ofttimes be felt in the Aethyr. The Heavens.”
“Melvekior. Brother.” A person joined them, shoving his way to sit beside Mikael, startling Melvekior briefly for it was as unexpected as it was sudden.
“Faerlen. If you have found me, who else will?” Melvekior had imagined a more impassioned reunion but maybe when you’ve lived for centuries a few decades apart is a drop in the ocean.
Faerlen was still the same person as he was before; emaciated, sunken-eyed, but now he was dressed like the rest of the fops and dandies in the Ideal Vintner. The dark semi-circles beneath his eyes had also gone. Maybe he had managed to get some sleep while Melvekior was waiting for Mikael.
“There will be repercussions, quite probably destroying all the work we have done for the past years. I suppose you know better though?” There was a lack of spite in Faerlen’s words, from centuries of working with Mikael he must have actually believed that he might well know better.
“You know how it works. I don’t think, I just follow the unheard voice.”
“Well, I suggest you listen carefully. And prepare him,” Faerlen motioned towards Melvekior.
“For what?” Melvekior hated being kept in the dark. “And I’m ready. Whatever it is.”
“The wrath of Mithras can take many forms, besides it is not just him. He has rekindled old relationships,” said Mikael.
“You can’t mean Anedra?” Faerlen seemed aghast.
“Her precisely. I had suspected for years, but then I encountered, while fully unprepared, one of her dogs. It severed my connection with the vessel fate had driven me to. She’ll still blame all of us for her loss, but it’s been centuries and whatever her current connection to Maedhras, I am not feeling kindly disposed.”
“Be careful of her Miklos, she is no longer the unhinged hunter you knew once. She has been able to tap into some dark and powerful currents. She has spies everywhere and a vast following.”
“Wait a second!” Interrupted Melvekior. “The dog that attacked you, the hell hound, was the doing of Ain-Ordra to re-balance the scales of life and death. Or so I’ve been told by one of her disciples. Who is Anedra.” He trailed off. Why wouldn’t their names change over the centuries? His father referred to himself as Miklos, to Mithras as Maedhras. It would take no wild stretch of the imagination to see that Anedra could be Ain-Ordra.
After a few seconds Faerlen spoke. “I see you’re figuring out that time alters everything. Even immortals are subject to its ravages. Anedra was a sweet girl who became something different upon ascension. That which is within you can erupt to the surface…”
He didn’t get a chance to finish.
“All this about ascension is complete fantasy. Something happened, that is fair to say, but there was no rising up or improving. We were infused with something and it was not our doing. Some greater plan, that is the source of my unheard voice, is behind this. There are thousands of us across a vast ocean of distance and probably more than we know within our small piece of that ocean. We are not as unique, nor as powerful, as we once thought. The fables that Maedhras put into the Maru are closer to the reality than even He knows. We are but two of a multitude.” Mikael stood, his hair wild, as his mind raced. “We must stop thinking of Mithras as a God, he is but a powerful man, and not an all-powerful one at that.”
“Father, sit down, you are attracting attention!” Melvekior, conscious of his station, not realizing that over the top behavior was perfectly acceptable for the nobility. Even blasphemous behavior as none paid Mikael more than a couple of seconds heed.
“I cannot just sit while there is action to be taken.” Contrary to his words he sat and motioned for more ale. Lowering his head, he spoke in a quieter voice, “The presence of Faerlen here, the Jotnar, the sequence of seeming disasters that have befallen me; there is a pattern, a current. Something is stirring, awakening. Garm. He works slowly, but his agents are here.” He waved his hands around his head. “All around and not just the ones I have named.”
“To what end, Mikael, for what purpose?” Faerlen demanded. Melvekior too was interested in that.
“”I know not, but it feels the same as those early days did. Something, Garm or something else, manipulated events so that a civilizing influence could descend up on these lands and now the next step in that plan is about to come to fruition. “
“This is all well and good for you. I’m no immortal bodystealer so I don’t have time to ponder for centuries about the movements of other beings, Gods or not. My mother is in danger, so is my father and the woman I love,” he paused briefly, as if only just admitting it to himself. “What in the Hells are we going to do?”
“Stop Him, Melvekior, we’re going to stop Him. And if He’s lucky, we’ll kill Him.” His father’s eyes glowed briefly, like there was something alien behind his eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Coronation
“We trusted neither of them, but they had something we desired. Power.” - Calra Alpre
He was happy to throw himself down on his bed. Tired and sightly tense. Things were happening that he couldn’t combat with faith or with a sword. Bigger things than he and he felt out of control. Such was his dark mood that he almost shouted various sorts of obscenities when he heard a confident rap at his door. Not Flaubert then, come to lecture him about some aspect or another of ruling a kingdom. Nor would it have been his mother, for Bhav merely entered. At his behest. Privacy wasn’t an issue when it came to his mother, he’d have her sleeping in his chambers if he didn’t think it would be perceived as odd.
“Come!” he bellowed resignedly.
It was Povimus. He looked tired, or maybe angry, either way his brow was furrowed and he didn
’t even offer his customary blessings as he barged into the room.
“Prince Melvekior, you’ve been head of state for some time now and the Church is grateful for everything you’ve done…” he left some sort of sentiment hanging in the air. While Melvekior didn’t have patience for games at the best of times, this wasn’t one of them.
“Out with it, Povimus, I’ve had a trying day.”
The already crinkled brow furrowed further. “Very well, you should have a coronation, a religious affair in which your position as Chosen of Mithras is sanctified and my position as High Priest of Maresh-Kar and Amaranth solidified.”
Now it was Melvekior’s turn to frown. Was Povimus that hungry for power that he needed some sort of concrete title? Nobody would deny him those offices.
“Certainly. Can you make the arrangements? Do I need to do anything apart from stand there looking regal and follow your lead in the oaths and such?”
“No, Prince, you won’t. It will be a glorious affair. Let us say three days from now.” Povimus turned to go. Of his own accord. Something was definitely wrong. Melvekior would normally have to dismiss the man to be rid of him and he didn’t even ask for any money.
“Spend what you like, tell Flaubert. And Povimus….”
The old priest, not yet to the door, so slowly did he walk, turned, his hair floating about his head. “Prince…”
“Is something troubling you?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.” He didn’t meet Melvekior’s eyes.
“Good night then.” The priest left and closed the door, leaving Melvekior wish he’d stayed with his father and Faerlen at the Ideal Vintner. Were it anyone else he might have pushed the issue, but Povimus was a kind soul and might have to face, in the coming months or years, the disruption of everything he held dear.
