An Empire Of Traitors (Of Hate And Laughter Book 1)

by Enache, Serban Valentin Constantin

  An Empire Of Traitors

  Book I in the series Of Hate And Laughter

  by Şerban V.C. Enache

  Copyright 2014 Şerban Valentin Constantin Enache

  ***

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter I: Sycarus

  Chapter II: Birus

  Chapter III: Kalafar

  Chapter IV: The Sister Of The Temple

  Chapter V: Kalafar

  Chapter VI: Sycarus

  Chapter VII: Birus

  Chapter VIII: The Ram’s Brother

  Chapter IX: The Exile

  Chapter X: Birus

  Chapter XI: The Witness And Proctor

  Chapter XII: The Lord Of Rocks

  Chapter XIII: The Sister And The Sword

  Chapter XIV: Birus

  Chapter XV: The Champion

  Chapter XVI: Kalafar

  Chapter XVII: Sycarus

  Chapter XVIII: Kalafar

  Chapter XIX: Birus

  Chapter XX: Kalafar

  Chapter XXI: Birus

  Chapter XXII: Kalafar

  Chapter XXIII: Sycarus

  Chapter XXIV: Birus

  Chapter XXV: The Little Girl

  Chapter XXVI: Birus

  Chapter XXVII: Amarius

  Chapter XXVIII: The Inquisitor

  Chapter XXIX: The Plotter Of Streams

  Chapter XXX: Kalafar

  Sample chapter from the 2nd OHAL book, A Heretical Divide

  Foreword

  The fourth enumeration is the world of immaterial essence. Some call the ether the afterlife, hell, heaven, purgatory. But it is more than that, a place of endless wonder and mystery linked through the myriad suns across the void; it is the invisible fabric of nature. All bright stars are wombs of fire, yet only some of them are life-givers. The empyrean itself, a vast swirling madness of tides and winds; a limitless expanse that joins and sunders itself according to unknowable laws. Such is the Creator’s art... A boundless sky and sea made one, enshrouding all that is... dreaming all that could be. Strange creatures of alien worlds travel the ether, riding the celestial currents, leaving in their wake many a tale in whispers.

  Its proud fiery beings, its simple ghosts, its curious travelers, and cunning predators – all of them are searching to gratify need, desire, and command. The lesser denizens of the immaterial realm share bonds of vassalage. Yet the greatest powers, the greatest principalities, and the greatest dominions are ruled by gods. All sentient life, both mortal and sublime, represents but one mere curiosity in the vast, unending, undying madness of the Creator. He is part of all these creatures; yet he is not them. And though all of these creatures and worlds exist through his will, they are not him. The Creator is not a god to be worshiped, he is merely the prime mover; he just is... And as for time, only fools believe in it. It is a man-made construct, a necessary abstraction by which action is measured; it is not a dimension in and of itself. And such notion cannot exist without the physical and ethereal, independently of action.

  The skin that parts the flesh of worlds is getting thinner. A great cycle draws at an end. And the wounds of reality are starting to bleed the phantom ichor within the realm of mortal beings. Like all sentient life, the gods of hate and laughter need to feast and amuse themselves. And what better animal to entertain them, if not the human being? A creature endowed with reason, speech, song, and magnanimity; but also a creature capable of great hatred, insidious trickery, and much bloodshed. The greatest ambition of the mortal intellect is power. And what greater aspiration for the soul, than that of ascending to godhood?

  Prologue

  The Oracle’s garden was heavy with the scent of many a beautiful flower, yet the true weight behind it was given by the ethereal tides. The celestial currents were hidden to the mortal minds. Their weak senses able to comprehend only the three lower enumerations as they lived their lives in ignorance, distraction, and toil.

  And even to them, the mightiest of giants, demigods, the reach and flow of the ether was invisible, but not imperceptible. They had not a gathering like this for many centuries. And the skies beyond the earth were ready to whisper their tales of fate and fortune – to unveil the future of their rule and that of their race. Adamis was not alone in the garden, two of his kindred honored him with their presence and their thoughts.

  Nissad wore a white mantle fastened at his right shoulder. It was slanted over his breastplate of gold and bronze. His eyes were like sapphires, and the colour of his long hair was that of wheat fields in times of summer. Though a strong warrior, Nissad was no stranger to wicked ambition – his mind was keen, his heart merciless. His course of action plain and constant for many a decade. Adamis hated him...

  “Look at them all. They erect monuments to honor us, hoping to gain our favor. They whisper our names in front of their shrines; praying for all manner of selfish things. And the wisest and most prescient gather secrets; secrets in the dark, secrets from beyond. Have we learned nothing, my brethren? We should purge the flock while we can, for the human heart is treacherous and their numbers are swelling...”

  “We cannot rule without soldiers,” brother Rrofizal intervened in a most moderate tone. Unlike Nissad and him, Rrofizal’s skin was black and flawless. His head was shaved bald, and his eyes were chips of flint surrounded by copper. His armor a naked silver; unadorned by mark and tally. “We rescued them from centuries of war and perdition. And in return built for them a paradise on earth. It would be a waste to slay the poor souls out of fear – ”

  “Fear is what kept us alive and in power.” Nissad cut him off in a sharp tone. His voice was now a voice of anger. “That age of perdition was conjured by mortal hands. The tyrant kings we fought off... were the practitioners of dark arts; maddened with power beyond their comprehension. As for your so-called paradise, Rrofizal my brother; the archsatan Rornir and his vile kindred nearly destroyed it five centuries ago. So many of us died in that fratricidal war. And we dishonor the memory of our fallen by allowing the humans to grow wicked inside our midst.”

  Huh, you’re the one to talk of wickedness. Adamis wanted to say those very words, but instead of calling his brother a hypocrite, he preferred to poke at his pride. “You fear slaves, brother? We bested tyrants and demigods, and the mighty Nissad trembles for the future? Fears the rising shadow of mere mortals?”

  His spiteful kindred narrowed his sapphire eyes and shook his head. “Both of you know my reasons. But once again I am forced to repeat myself. He who shares power, ceases to be powerful. And ours is the greatest power, the greatest gift...”

  “We ceased to be gods, Nissad. Have you learned nothing from the past? Ours was once an existence of alien glory, fiery wind. We were the children of the sun; curious souls of mercurial flesh and ardent breath. Yet, we are no longer such... Disease and the passing of time won’t be our undoing, but the right amount of slaughter will kill any of us. We may be immortal, but we are trapped in these weak forms.”

  “But so is the enemy,” replied Nissad. “Our satans share the same weakness.”

  Our brothers you mean. Our tragic brothers... It was not supposed to have happened thus. The thing which brought them apart and into war was a clash of views. One faction driven by the meat of this world, by all its marvelous constructs. While the other motivated by blameless fear. Corrupted by wonder and greed, Adamis reflected bitterly. The conflict found him on the latter side. But he did not wish to linger on those dark days, not now. He wanted to counter the fearful Nissad.

  “We should have never stayed here. After we vanquished the
tyrant kings and idol worshipers, after we put and end to their hellish ambitions... We should have left this rock to return inside the fiery womb of our world, of our home. But we didn’t. We remained here to look upon it through eyes of flesh – with the ground of this alien world beneath our feet, and the sky so far away...”

  “Spare me your regrets, Adamis.”

  “And you spare me your arrogance and fear! You accuse the humans of growing wicked, but what about yourself? Humph? Are you not also turning vicious?” Nissad gave no reply, save for a smirk. “We need the humans,” Adamis continued. “Slaves as they are, that’s all they’ll ever be. As long as they follow us, the satans are held at bay. And like you said… power won’t be shared.”

  “You are a fool, Adamis. Can you not see god-children in the making? With every generation. With every womb filled with babe... they grow numerous, curious, strong, and bold. They are no longer the pitiful creatures shackled by the tyrants of old. They have seen the godly aspects of their own image. They have seen our greatest deeds... of implacable might and terrible grace. But they have also seen our excess. They have seen us die. And with such knowledge comes the possibility of defiance. They will seek us out to claim our power as their own.”

  Nissad’s blue eyes seemed to pulse with a hidden rage. Adamis was all too familiar with that look upon his brother’s face, and it did not impress him.

  “The grim truth of a benighted past, brothers,” Rrofizal intervened in his usual wise tone. “Such tales of fear never die. They keep the mortal heart filled with dread. The humans will forever look to us for guidance and deliverance. As long as the satans keep away from our domains, our power and rule will remain our own.” The conviction of their brother was well reflected in the silver of his plate, which shone cold in the yellow light of the sun. There was great wisdom in Rrofizal’s words; Adamis knew.

  But not greater than the wisdom found in those of the Oracle. And this very day, all of them would hear that wisdom. For the stars of the endless sky had whispered their knowledge of things yet to unfold. And once again, the Great Tower pulsed with invisible light and sang the holy currents through the air and into their ears.

  “There is power in numbers,” Nissad continued, further being an annoyance. “And there is greater power still when a great mind leads those numbers. The blade of wit is sharper than any sword. Ranks upon ranks of slaves armed in such manner will in time become a rebellious army. After our great schism, the humans learnt and passed on to all their kin the secrets of their divine overlords. That we can bleed and die... Remember my warning; the satans, few as they remain, will turn the humans against us. They’ll find a way to sway them to their heretical and perverse will. But all of you are too blind, too proud to see the threat that hides in plain sight.”

  “Do you fear death so much, brother? Or is the absence of power that brings you most dread?” It felt good to utter those questions. And Adamis spoke them with more kindness than anger. He had not the stomach to feel sentiments of such passion anymore. Anger was like a weed, it needed so little to catch root; and when it did, it bloomed and spread all too quickly – obscuring everything else.

  Nissad glowered back at him, eyes blue and burning. “I do not wish to die.”

  No one does, brother. No one. Adamis breathed out and they all made to leave the Oracle’s garden. It was time to hear true wisdom from the mouth of their sage and sire.

  As they walked towards the Great Tower, the place of gathering whispers, Adamis touched his breastplate. He traced the scar upon it with three fingers; the scar made by one of his former brothers, Jormungandr. The scrape was fairly deep, and it ran up to his gorget. He had refused to mend that mark upon his ashen warplate, for it served as a reminder. A reminder of those dark days in which they bled from sword and mace, from spear and warhammer, from betrayal and murder. He remembered the days when brother fought brother; all for the sake of how their kind would rule and live. All for the sake of belief, fervor, and greed. All for the sake of power...

  Jormungandr had been his closest friend. Adamis had loved him truly – a brother that shared his same heart. Such affections vanished like dust in the wind, however, when the schism ensued and found them on opposite sides. Though he bested his beloved comrade in battle, Adamis could not bring himself to do the deed. But unlike him, Nissad allowed no pity on the field of war. And he took Jormungandr’s life with cold indifference – smashing the skull of his friend right before his eyes. Pure hatred had been planted in his heart then, hatred for the one who wore the breastplate of gold and bronze.

  Glory and pride, he said to himself. Conquest and trophy. Bloodshed and strength. The end of fire beings, never to return inside the holy sun. But to live the life of savage mortals. And like a fool I followed them. Followed them into war and butchery. What was our world compared to this? This alien cosmos of water, of green, rock, earth, meat, and air. A seduction? An invitation? A trap? Adamis’ thoughts melted into each other, as the holy magic’s whispers grew ever louder. The void’s light prickles needed to be heard, and only one of their kind could hear them right.

  The Great Tower watched over the three hills – an architecture of mortal design. Built by the worker armies of the masonic guilds in honor and veneration to the gods of human visage. To the gods who had delivered them from the blighted age of perdition. ’Twas a giant edifice of gracious splendour, made of ivory, veined by obsidian. And inside it… the air was warm and scented. It reminded Adamis of an old smell, a good memory from long ago; when times were filled with peace, beauty, and wonder...

  We were great fools to renounce what we had. And unscrupulous in our zeal.

  But the Oracle was wise, and had the gift of seeing into the future – of discerning between the myriad threads weaved by fate, for none of them were certain as rock, nor thin as air. The holy chamber didn’t find only the three of them, but their other brothers as well. Each of them a bold frame of glittering armor and lavish finery, surrounded by menials. There was Berehok, Perithion, Vorgal, Orion, Levantur, Ashaghal, Garoth, Umathar, Kalith, Izuriel, Orhokan. Living gods to the minds of mortals, creatures akin to perfection. But not without flaws, nor without sin. They had been so many before the schism, before that cursed fratricidal war. And now they remained so few.

  “I have dreamt,” said a deep and tired voice. A voice that quieted all murmurs about the chamber. The Oracle was a feeble sight, shrouded in plain black attire. His sage mind was encased in a slender figure of disgusting flesh, leprous – poisoned with sickness at the hands of Rornir’s treachery.

  But leprous as he was, the wise one was provident. “I have seen our downfall, and that of the enemy. I have seen a night so dark and so bright with evil and terror. I saw the twin moons aflame, and the holy sun black as pitch, wreathed in fumes of blood. The beasts of the earth cried out. Tyrant kings, idolaters, and hellish creatures rose from the deep and dark to bring about a new epoch of bloodshed and ruin. The orchards withered, the grass faded to ashes, and the forests lit up like demons’ eyes.”

  The Oracle spoke at length, then released a long and tired breath of great sorrow. His blind white eyes were wet with tears, but his voice was brave and true. “Our pride was as much our undoing as our fear. We thought to rule over nature, over slaves, over Creation itself – as gods… such blasphemous, ruinous pride. The Creator blessed us with life as great forms of fire. Beings without flesh, feeling no sorrow, no want, no death. All comes from the Creator, and man’s fate is not unlike our own.”

  Everyone inside the chamber started muttering; splendid giants as they were, of great might and ageless life, even prideful demigods had their fears... Like the mortal sovereigns, they feared for the strength and future of their rule – feared the rising power of serf and vassal. Yet within that moment of grim revelation, Adamis felt ghost talons parting his flesh and bones to sink within the meat of his soul... ’twas a strange thing to be felt by his heart, a heart left cold by strife and treachery. But such was t
he Oracle’s meaning, a black light to a bitter end for their kind. A nightmare woven from beyond, from the gathered whispers of ethereal travelers...

  Adamis, however, questioned one thing. If fear was to bring about their downfall... why fear it at all? Let the evil grow. Let the shadows spread. Let treachery ensue. Whatever adversity, we will conquer it or die trying.

  “I know you have doubts, my brothers,” said the Oracle. The wise one glared at him for but a moment; and Adamis felt a phantom dagger upon his throat. But then the Oracle looked away, and the sensation faded. Before he had a chance to reflect, to understand what had just happened... the Oracle continued his dark revelation.

  “I know you have doubts; so do I. But the only valid doubts of the Greater than Everything are those concerning his nature. If man’s spirit is truly destined to rule this world, like our kind was meant to rule the womb of fire, which chases away the darkness and breathes life into nothingness... Then our end is nigh. For in spite of our corporeal forms, to which we are forever bound, our rule has no continuation. No purpose in the future that is to come. Alas, nothing is certain. The ether abounds with possibilities – ever changing and swelling in accord with the great unknowable laws of Creation itself. But I need more time to hear, more time to learn...”

  The Oracle beckoned them to leave, in order that he may further hear and discern between the many whispers of the insubstantial realm, whispers that came from so many worlds. Visions of so many possible futures and spent lifetimes, echoing like wraiths across eternity. And so all of them did as they were bid. Once outside the Great Temple, Nissad and Rrofizal began to bicker once more. The others paid them no mind; they were used to their quarrel and most likely bored with it.

  “It is settled,” Rrofizal spoke. “We delay anymore debates on the matter until the wise one makes clearer his visions.”

  In stark contrast to Rrofizal’s suggestion, Nissad spat. The anger in his blue eyes had yet to vanish. “Curse that leprous fool. All the wise one does is talk drivel; interpreting the ethereal shades through meager rites of divination. An exercise in futility, if you ask me. Chasing winds... What do we truly know of the veil behind reality? Of the roaming creatures of the ether? Nothing. Most likely they are both mad and cunning, a vile source of power that corrupts the weak.”