by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
When the council was seated, the attendants gathered those providing testimony concerning the evening’s topics to special seating down on the main floor. Among them was Bedan, uncomfortable at finding himself in such a limelight. Around this time, an attendant had worked her way through the crowded bleachers to reach Darla. In little above a whisper, she asked her to remain for the entire meeting, for Mother had some business she wished to discuss with her. Curious, Darla nodded she would remain.
A hush fell across the room as lights dimmed, the stage illuminating the collected council members. All eyes focused on Ma-we, waiting on her to open the meeting, which was her custom. But she remained quietly seated, her eyes fixed on Mihai who alone stood, casting a gaze upon her mother, both staring deeply into each other’s soul. The hour was set. Time ruled this eve. It was lord and god over all the people gathered. Mother was waiting upon Time, for it to reveal itself in all its power. When the moment was right, she smiled, nodding ever so slightly.
The theater stage gradually fell dim while lights secreted high in the ceiling cast their white, circular glow upon part of the stage floor, the silence deafening. At that instant, Mihai stepped into the radiant light, motioning with her hand toward the shadows. Slowly, the illuminated part of the floor began to rise. This was nothing new, it being a common practice for such events. What was unexpected was that Mihai stood upon the throne, Mother having always carried the moment at all past moots of her calling.
Mihai looked stunningly beautiful in her royal gown, flowing, bejeweled, silken train, and golden, kingly crown. She slowly turned in place, peering into the shadows, smiling as one does when looking into the eyes of a person she loves. When she again faced the council, she stopped, waiting for the lights of the room to reveal to her the faces of those gathered. The new king then searched the eyes of the crowd, followed by those seated at the council tables, finishing with her mother’s.
Ma-we smiled, remaining silent. This was her daughter’s night, a sign for future days. Mihai must deliver words to move her brothers and sisters to action. She must ignite a fire in their breasts. It was in preparation for this very night that Ma-we had so anxiously labored. Now destiny lay in the hands of her chosen one, her daughter of the darkness and the light.
Like the peal of a watchman’s bell crashing upon quiet waters, Mihai began, her voice never faltering. “We have dreamed of the old world for too long. We, the children of the gods, have folded our hands in rest, sleeping on the soft pillows of self-denial while our enemy has worked laboriously to bring our destruction. The wine of our intoxicating drink has kept us drowsy and complacent. Wake up! The universe sits on the very edge of destruction! Each passing day draws us ever closer to extinction. It rests in our hands to save our world… all worlds… from the coming day of fire and fury!”
She lifted a hand, extending it toward Ma-we. “Our Mother, Lowenah – the Maker of men, Yehowah – the Fulfiller of promises, the One who shall become whatever is needed to become – has clearly informed us that she is forced by law - a law twisted by the deceit and treachery of our wicked brother - that she can not, will not directly intervene in the events of this coming hour to correct matters. Our world must wake to it… or… or our kind will die in our drunken slumber. If we do not effect the success of the coming hour, ourselves, all will be lost.” She bowed her head in remorse. “But that hour has already passed. Our glory is diminished because of the treachery of our own hearts.”
Without pause, she lifted her eyes to the crowd and cried out, “Tonight we must call out a curse upon our own hearts! The discord of evil that is tearing apart the fabric of the universe will soon destroy all living things!”
She lifted a fist high, shouting, “We must act now to stop it! And damned be the present, past and future of our own selfish dreams!”
A groaning sigh rippled across the auditorium, the people like a weathered, ancient tree, sagging under the weight of a tempestuous storm. There was no denying the need to prepare for the wrath of the coming fury, and none entertained the idea of shirking his or her personal responsibility. It was a question of strength. Did this people retain the energy to pick up the banner of war and dive, again, into Hell’s fires?
Even Tizrela lowered her head, closing her eyes and seeing the grief anew in her weary mind. Well she remembered the hour and the day when she, leading a brigade of DinChizki’s cavalry against the advancing enemy at Memphis, was pitched from her mount, her body shattered by a missile blast, how Din, himself, had ridden through the raging horde to provide rescue of her torn body, fearing her already dead. And so many others were never rescued, but lay scattered and broken across the tortured plain, their bones still littering the fields in front of Memphis to this day.
Yes, the aching and weariness from the last war, the Great War, still rested deep within the souls of Lowenah’s loyal children. Just containing the enemy for those many years since the war ended had sapped what little energy remained in them. The thought of resurgence of hostilities, and even on a much grander scale, was more than many hearts felt able to bear. It was true, and no one doubted it, the fate of the universe rested on a fickle knife’s edge, and they, the children of the gods, must bend that fate to do their will. A collective chill ran through the crowd at understanding what they must do to accomplish that deed, a somber awareness that suddenly made the room feel less cheerful, the shadows cold and dark.
All eyes fastened upon their new king. She, alone, could give them the power and strength to press on, to bring matters to a finish. This was one of Mihai’s finest hours, always was when her fire was up. She made mistakes, wasn’t the wisest of their leaders, took too many chances, risked everything on a whim. She was impetuous. Yet there was no one greater than Mihai when little hope could be found. She inspired her brothers and sisters to acts of courageous valor by her own outrageous valor.
In raging battles, when all was lost, with no hope remaining, the woman would stand up, raising her colors high, daring any to follow, leading the charge with the fury of an enraged lioness. Just seeing Mihai’s ship or banner join the fight could change the outcome of a battle. She was the ‘jewel of life, ‘goddess divine’. She gave them life when there was no life remaining. She was the ‘fire of the heavens’ that burned away all doubt and fear. The woman could make her people crave the field of slaughter as one does a lost lover. On her rested all hope. She would lead the way tonight. She would show them how to survive the coming tempest. She would show them how to win this greatest of all battles. This was her coming war. This was going to be the King’s War.
The room had become as still as the tombs of yesterday’s heroes. All waited upon the moment. Mihai lowered her head, her eyes studying her hands as if the secrets of the future were hidden in them. In time, she looked up into the faces of those sitting in the bleachers, the sadness of the hour carving deep furrows in her forehead, making the new king appear aged like the mountains.
She now began to pace the raised circle, stopping at times to address parts of the audience. From deep within a heart that burned with eagerness of the moment and lamentations of the ages, a majestic power arose in Mihai’s voice that signaled the crowd to pay heed to what their ruling prophet was about to reveal. Cold and clear her words rang out. “Prophecy speaks of a great warrior who will crush our enemy to nothing!”
Mihai studied the people’s reaction, then shook her head. “I am not that warrior.” She paused again. “He will come from a realm beyond ours, a realm ever filled with violence, war, and hatred. In his land, love is little more than a word used to speak of the romantic devotion shared between a man and woman. It is a wretched land, having never known peace, plagued with disease and death, the very gifts this warrior will deliver to us. He will ride with a host more fearsome than the enemies we face… have ever faced… and who care nothing for the past we have loved so much. This host will
deride the fearful and they will sneer at the cowards and dreamers. Yes, they will look with disdain upon our weaknesses, for our failure to bring to ruin what most certainly should have been brought to ruin. Maidens and old men he will trample as though mere blades of grass.”
Mihai lowered her head as if in shame, slowing shaking it. “…Something that we could have done, but our hearts refused to permit us to do.”
Lifting her head up to reveal a fire burning in her eyes, Mihai raised her hand high, crying, “The prophets of his world call him ‘Apollyon the Destroyer’, but our Ancients address him as ‘Shiloh’!”
Mihai cast her eyes toward the floor and began to pace anew. “Who this man is, this person, we do not know. Our Mother has chosen it to be so. But I tell you, this man lives even now, as I speak. He is the Finished Mystery, the Sacred Secret. He will take up the commander’s staff and sit down on the very seat of the Firstborn.”
She looked into the faces of the surprised council, resting her gaze upon her mother’s. “I have neither the strength nor desire to stand such a post anymore.”
Turning again to the stunned, silent crowd, Mihai declared, “Today I have accepted the lordship promised to me long ago. This frees up law so that our mother may move ahead with her purposes so that she can, once and for all, bring down the one that tries to destroy us.”
Mihai slammed a fist into her opened hand, shouting, “It belongs to us, the children of the gods, to defend these realms against our brother’s evil until Shiloh arrives!”
Much to Mihai’s surprise, the room erupted in ecstatic applause, many standing and shouting their approval. Some hugged each other while some cried with joy or shook their fists in defiance. So, the tired and weary were being filled with renewed energy. Mihai had feared the worst, believing her speech would have a detrimental effect on the people. It proved to be just the opposite, for the people were rejoicing in open celebration.
The celebrants fully understood the meaning of Mihai’s warning words. They also knew the blow would be crushing for Lowenah’s children. What they did not yet realize was that the hammer would strike hardest upon the very ones gathered here this night. Few would survive to see Shiloh arrive, their torn and ruined bodies scattered across dozens of star systems, surrendered to a cause to hold at bay the four winds of destruction until Shiloh’s day. Had they known, it would have mattered little on this eve, for the children could see the future promised day as if it had already come and…and their new king would be leading them toward it.
Mihai waited for the energy of the moment to subside, seeking the exact instant to begin again. At length, it arrived. “Faith is not a possession of all. Many of our kind have surrendered to the Fates and whims of doubt, believing it is futile to continue a fight that will only end in failure. But you… you have not listened to the foolish prattle of the Wicked Snake… have not allowed him to corrupt your hearts with hopelessness. You, my brothers, have acted through this desperate age on the faith that all the promises our mother has promised will eventually be realized.”
“Tonight… tonight…” Mihai’s voice was choked off by a nervous constriction in her throat. Her mouth refused to permit the coming words. A heart begging for reprieve from the wanton slaughter and violence screamed out to the mind, telling it to be silent about the matter and to give the people what they wanted to hear…that peace would come some other way, a more kindly and gentler way. Suddenly, two separate visions flashed into Mihai’s eyes, each playing its fated outcome simultaneously. Two roads loomed before the woman, one the way of the heart, the other of the mind.
Mihai watched in awe seeing the two unfold before her. First there was the one she and her kind so badly wanted. Easy it was to travel as it swept her along its green and flowered pathway. ‘Peace! Peace!’ was the cry upon the breeze, promising all a return to the old ways before their universe was torn asunder, with all souls, all lovers, all lives, returned to a glorious, forgetful past. But, as she sped along, an ominous, dark, foreboding, swirling gloom loomed ahead, sending the woman into a stifling, black nothingness from which there was no returning.
Oh, but how much worse the second road was… maddening and destructive! It tore at Mihai’s senses, her very sanity. Ghastly scenes of horror and devastation flashed up at her. From every direction, fire and storm enveloped her. The cries of the dying filled her ears while unspeakable sights pummeled her soul. Disembodied voices called out accusingly, ‘It is you! You have brought this torment upon us!’ At length, a calm settled in, revealing that the road traveled on into gloomy uncertainty, but not total hopelessness.
Mihai opened her eyes to see Ma-we staring at her from a distance. She knew that the visions were no random events of a confused brain trying to grasp reality by sorting out possibilities of future decisions. Ma-we had given her child the visions just now, to show her daughter that there was no guarantee for a happy ending of coming events, but that hope existed by taking only one road, the one most feared and loathed. She nodded at her mother, a resolve growing in her breast to make the right decision, the only decision.
“Tonight…” She began again, her voice sounding with that resolve, “Tonight I present evidence to you that your faith has not been in vain. Even now, the very army of which I have spoken is being gathered for the tempest. Even now, they stand amongst us, waiting to take their places as our leaders, our new mentors.” Mihai then shouted, “They will teach us how to gather to ourselves the anger and the rage of God the Almighty!”
Again, much to Mihai’s surprise, the room filled with the wild roar of approval. When all was quiet, she continued. “Long ago, before there was a world of men, the Ancients told of a prophecy that, should the universe fall into darkness, there would be fulfilled upon those who survived to this current day the glory of the ending hour. It has been no secret, but few have remembered it other than in a child’s nursery rhyme. A phrase, as you may recall speaks thusly…
‘And when the sun is blotted out,
The three moons of Sharon shall give us light.
And by their blades of burnished hue,
They shall lead forth in glory’s fight.’
“As you well know, Sharon means, literally, ‘Mother of low stones’, or ‘Maker of lowly light’. It is said by some of the Ancients that there once existed a star system which was ruled over by a kingly race of seers and wizards. Chief among the planets of this mythical universe was one called ‘Lagandow’, the capital of this race’s empire. Hanging high above the sky of this long-forgotten world was a moon surrounded by three radiant rings, brilliant in reflective hues of red, green and yellow, which they cast down upon the fields and hills of Lagandow.”
“In the fables told to us when we were children, it was said that the moon’s name, when translated into our common tongue was called ‘Sharon’ and the rings, or children, were named for the color each emitted: ‘Ruby’, ‘Jade’ and ‘Gold’. Collectively, they were heralded as the ‘Blades of Light’. When the moon shown its brightest, the three children would almost disappear from sight. But when dark shadows enveloped their mother, the children would shout out their glory like blazing fires, lighting the night’s sky. At least that is as I remember the tale being told.” She glanced at PalaHar, who smiled and gave a nod.
“My Brethren, those of you who have supported me upon the field of slaughter, and those of you who I have sat in council with, and all here who have held true to our cause over these countless centuries, the world in which we live has been cast into darkness and foreboding. No longer does our light shine forth, cutting through the gloom of evil that surrounds us. The hour has come. The hour when our children must become the beacons of light, guiding our universe toward its final destiny.”
“It was also said of the three flaming blades that, should the universe become darkened, should the glory of the sun fade, the fires of the blades would continue to shine upon the ruins o
f Lagandow as a sign that not all was forsaken, but that hope remained as long as love moved the hearts of Lowenah’s children. My brothers…” Mihai raised her voice. “Our love for our mother has not wavered! Our hope is sure!”
Again the uproar of approval and applause from the crowd forced Mihai to pause until it subsided.
“There are…” Mihai caught her breath to ease a growing excitement in her heart. “There are three Swords to be taken from the world beyond, the underworld of this universe, which, like Sharon, is a reflection of our own world… our own souls. They have been fashioned into the form of all mankind, but have been tempered in the forges of Hell by the very tortures from our brother’s sick mind. To them there is a giving of power and strength beyond that of mortals, beyond our own power and strength. Like their lord, Shiloh, they laugh at danger and distress, for their souls have become like the wizards of Lagandow, their fathers. They do not fear death, for death is become their slave. They are become the wielders of death, the destroyers of souls!”
The room cried out its deafening silence. No one spoke. No one dared. This news was queer and unnerving. Oh yes, the tales of Lagandow were well known and the rings of Sharon were symbols of hope, but other than metaphor? And the wizards of Lagandow, spoken of as being real? True, some related them to the Cherubs, machines of Lowenah’s, living machines, maybe, but machines to do her bidding…at least that was the belief of many of Lowenah’s children. They, the children, were the first real offspring of Mother, the first to have a heart and soul. At least that was what many assumed.
Some in the room did not wear an expression of shock, but remained silent, caring not to reveal their personal feelings. Mihai again looked at PalaHar, sitting silently, leaned back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. It was he who long ago told an inquisitive child the tales of Lagandow and of the strange fellows who ruled the worlds from before time. He painted such vivid pictures, the girl even now could see the cities and wonders of that world in her mind.
And there were others: Gabrielle, Terey, Tizrela, and those like them, quirky and different in comparison to the other children, especially the younger ones. They were always aloof, speaking little of the First Age, of when they were children, that is, except for PalaHar. He made story and rhyme of those days. Indeed, as Mihai thought about it, it was from books written by him that what little knowledge of the First Age was revealed to the younger children was mostly through song and riddle.
Mihai had believed those stories until… until the ages of bliss and adventure clouded them from her mind. Only in the occasional dream-share with PalaHar were they revived, but then for only a moment. When cresting the tidal surge during the ecstasy of their lovemaking, how easy it was to believe in strange and wondrous things when only a child. No. Wait! Somehow she felt there was truth hidden in those riddling rhymes, and that was why her heart was forced to speak of them this eve. Was there really a power or force that drove the ships of destiny, and all the children needed do was remain aboard at their stations, staying whatever course those powers chose to take?
And Lagandow was real, at least according to the history books. The burning of Lagandow marked the official end of the First Age and the beginning of the Second. All the calendars began with that date, when the fires of the supernova reached the eyes of those living on EdenEsonbar. That was the zero date for all timetables. Even Gradian’s Clock was reset to measure from that day forward. There was no official history predating that event, only the fables and tales told by the Ancients living back then. Mihai’s heart told her that PalaHar spoke truth concerning the past, truth hidden in mirth and prose. She believed her heart was telling those truths, too, this eve - truths designed to bring hope to tired souls.
Awaking from her inner thoughts with a jolt, Mihai looked up to see hundreds of anxious faces anticipating coming revelations. She did not keep the people waiting. “Of those blades, those Swords, one walks among you even now, hiding in the shadows of your thoughts, observing all ways and searching out our secrets. Her blade strikes like a rapier, plunging deep into the hearts of those who hate us. Already her sword has been baptized in the blood of our enemy, its insatiable thirst only awakening. The manliness of Godenn will be consumed in her wrath, their slaughter extending along the broadways of the stars. She, this Sword, will open the path for the Queen of Darkness who will bring that evil man to nothing during his greatest hour of glory.”
A quiet moan of lament rose from the voices of the women in the crowd and a cry of anger arose from the men. Godenn was a notorious, sadistic murderer of Lowenah’s loyal children - any child, for that matter, if it suited his fancy. He often skinned his captives alive, torturing them for days before releasing their bodies to death. But he reserved his cruelest practices for the women in the land, he having abandoned their flesh long ago, blaming them for his ulcers and inflammations.
He would cut off the breasts of his sisters, while still alive, cooking them for his lieutenants to feast upon. Often, at these same celebrations, he would deliver the female captives up for sport, heaping upon them every sort of humiliation and violence the mind could conjure, even to the point of forcing them to eat the female parts torn from their fellow sisters. Godenn was the commanding field officer at Memphis when Mihai’s army suffered defeat and rout at its gates. He openly meted out to the wounded on the field his most vile forms of torture, forcing Mihai’s soldiers to watch, helpless to prevent them.
But who was the Queen of Darkness? Mihai did not say, nor did she know. In fact, when later asked concerning it, she did not recall speaking about such a person.
Hurrying on, Mihai spoke of another Sword, a second. “It is yet to come, but lives as I speak. Her power is in her anger that is yet to be realized. A female cub born, a female cub she is, but to be like a grieving she-bear, crushing and smashing in her madness, she will become. In her fiery fury, cities will melt and lands will become desolate. Woman and old man will quail as she rages forth from her den to bring to nothing all living things. She will devour the flower of Memphis, burning its ramparts and shattering its fortress towers. Only in that hour, when she carries the head of Legion in her own hands, will the she-bear finally find rest, making that city her own.”
The crowd sat stunned, many with mouth agape. The ruthlessness of Legion against Ma-we’s loyal children was well known. His glory was nearly that of Asotos, but for cruelty, none could compare. Second in command over the League of Brothers, and chief among the wizards and warlocks, few rivaled his secret knowledge of the universe and his uncanny powers at controlling that knowledge. No one dared face him in mortal combat, the man’s abilities being extraordinary. Even Gabrielle and Mihai, in their many wars against him, had failed to defeat the man or retake the stolen city of Memphis.
Through deceit, murder and treachery, Legion secured his power within the League of Brothers, finally taking Memphis by force of arms to make that holy city his capital, taking the title ‘Sagamore De Warlock’ – the greatest magician – by doing so, forever corrupting the titles of the Ancients who taught the science of EbenCeruboam. With his proximity to Eden’s Gate, greatest of all the portals, Legion immersed himself in toying with the children of the Lower Realms, something he reveled in until the Children’s Empire wrested the portal away from him during the Three Hundred Year’s War.
Legion was sly and cruel, playing victims like a cat does a mouse. No greater was this displayed than the way he practiced this on the hapless men and women of the Second Realm. For sport, he would use his learned powers to take control of unsuspecting minds and force them to practice upon themselves and others every sort of abominable perversion. He instigated the building of massive arenas used for the sport of slaughter, then offered, for a price, to his rebel brothers the opportunity to feel the thrill of the people’s suffering. It was in one of these slaughter pens that the creature destined to bring Legion’s eventual demise was brought to birth
by the fiery forge hammers of Legion’s own hand.
Mihai moved on quickly, allowing little time for the people to contemplate the meaning of her prophecy concerning the second Sword. She lifted her arm, waving her hand to draw the people’s attention away from their own inner ponderings and back to her. “I have taken up a scepter of authority given me by the One and Only true Authority of this world… of all worlds. Reluctantly it was, with much trepidation, my hand reached out for the power of this kingly duty, knowing how frail a child resides within this mortal body. I ask you, will you honor our mother by also acknowledging the kingship she has given me?”
Euroaquilo stood, shouting, “To the ends of the universe and beyond! See, our king and our god!”
Applause and shouting mingled in a confusing chorus of jumbled approval coming from the crowd. Smiles and tears, nodding heads...not one person disapproved. All here had waited for this day to come. Knowing now what it meant for this universe, all accepted the future it would deliver upon them.
Mihai’s face flushed red. She quietly nodded then, turning to her mother, bowed, lowering her crown in symbol of showing who the true King and God of this universe was. Ma-we smiled, holding back tears. This was her chosen daughter, most loved, most cherished. This was to be the second time she would allow her to face the Dragon unto death, if not in the flesh, at least in the spirit. Oh, how her heart ached with pride!
Mihai replaced the crown and stared up at the people. Not hesitating, she cried, “My acceptance of this kingly crown frees up law! Our Eternal King can now hand over to me… to us… Shiloh’s Sword, to wield as befits the Children’s Empire until that man shall arrive and take up his rightful station on his throne. That Sword will not fail us! Born in the depths of Hell and raised to the heavens, ‘Ruby’ is the name of this blade, the ring that swaddles her mother in a protective glow. Red is the blood of the enemy it slays as it goes forth in a rage to bring ruin upon those who have ruined this world.”
Excitement grew in Mihai’s voice. “She will teach us how to hate! She will teach us how to repay vengeance! She…she will teach us all the ways of the North!” Calling out with a beseeching command, Mihai asked, “Will you permit me the right to give glory to that Sword so that it might live in power? Will you follow her leadership, unquestioningly, no matter where she may lead you?”
The noise from the crowd rose to a deafening tumult, overwhelmingly approving Mihai’s request. The world was now forever changed. The end…the end, the final fury was begun. True, it might take years to bring it to a finish, but this time, this war…this was not a war to merely hold the enemy at bay. The death knell for Asotos was sounded. When the smoke cleared, before they could count their dead, the League of Brothers would be driven from this universe. It was now only a matter of time.
Above the din, Mihai shouted, waving her hand, “See! See, the Sword in my hand! The ‘Smashing Hammer’!”
A hush filled the room as anxious eyes scanned for this Sword of promise. No one moved. Was the person really here, or was Mihai speaking only in symbols? Time seemed to stand still, even breathing became labored. Yet no one stirred. The look on Mihai’s face did not change. No, the king’s Sword was real. It must be! But was it? Mihai’s arm had not moved. All eyes followed the direction it was pointing, right toward Ma-we’s council table.
Finally, after Tizrela nudged someone beside her, a demure woman, small in stature and delicate in appearance slowly stood. Wide-eyed, the shocked crowd stared, the insignia of field marshal emblazoned upon the woman’s sleeve, shouting its presence while challenging all power and authority in the room. Some gasped, others moaned within themselves, but most were too overwhelmed with wonder to do more than stare.
This was the moment Ma-we had been waiting for. Before they could gather their senses, she cast a most powerful spell over the room. A vision extraordinary flashed from Trisha’s eyes, blazing its radiant storm into the furthest corners of the theater. Like a hurricane, its passionate fury ripped at the very fiber of the people’s being, tearing into and through them, sweeping everyone along in its tempest. Out beyond the walls of this chamber, past the city, far into space, until the galaxy itself was only a tiny dot lost in a very large universe, the vision took them, Trisha’s fiery eyes glowing blinding crimson red, ever heating the raging maelstrom surrounding them.
A voice, low in tone but powerful in intensity, filled their ears with a disquieting moan, ‘You have come to this. There is no turning back!’
Moments became centuries, centuries turned into millenniums and millenniums heaped upon millenniums until time was lost beyond time. The voice chanted out in forgotten song:
“And Sharon weeps because of her daughter, for she has become strong and ruthless.
Shall Lagandow not rise again and bring an ending to all matters?
And look! The bow of the Watchers is broken so that its arrows have failed.
Who will bring a healing into death now so that my children shall stand on high again?
Oh Watcher, oh Watcher, see the Sword that delivers death and brings renewed life.
Your blood shall it seek to bring your salvation, and by your death shall all things live again.
My daughter burns bright with the blood of all men, for she does bring ruin to all flesh.
Give glory to her, for she alone shall rescue me in this hour of darkness.
And Ruby is death, and Ruby is dawn, and Ruby is blood in death and in life.”
As soon as the chant ended, another began, this time from beneath Trisha’s fiery, burning orbs.
“Shall the moth call out to the eagle and yet live?
I say I am the moth, come to devour the eagle, its young, and even its prey!
Who shall stand against the crimson tide, or speak against the fires of a tormented earth?
Who shall defy the gods and yet live, or touch the sun and not become burned?
Look!’
‘I’, says the moth, ‘shall do all these things and will yet do more!
I shall drink down the tide and pour it out upon my enemy.
I shall catch up the molten fires of the earth and pitch them into the sea to bring all flesh to nothing.
I shall spit into faces of those calling themselves ‘gods’ and eat up their fleshy parts.
And look and become afraid, for I shall quench the fires of the sun and make the world of men dark and foreboding.
Look and become afraid,
For I am the moth that has become the mountain wall of Yehowah!
In my rage, I will bring all matters to a finish.
Come! See my anger!”
Instantly, before the people’s eyes, the universe began to spin crazily, showing them in a moment of time all the days of the First Age, they hearing the warnings of the glowing spirits of God. Along they were taken until the carefree hours of the Second Age had fallen into the turbulent despair of the Third, and on they were swept. With the screeching of a banshee-wind, they were hurried forward, past the final battle at Memphis, the ending of the last war, this very evening, and far through the blackness of unborn time until…until they stood upon the precipice of some future day, to the End of Days.
Spellbound, all eyes peered out into the boiling clouds of sulfur and smoke and down onto the limitless plain below. To their terror and amazement, the people watched the valley plain erupt in fire and ruin as the surging mountain upon which they rode rampaged across the land. Screeching wind covered up the cries of the slain as armies and cities disappeared into the tumultuous storm the mountain chased, only to be vomited out from that very storm as overflowing rivers of blood.
“Deliver their souls to Hades’ gates!” a disembodied voice shouted.
At that, the mountain tore loose from itself giant boulders, flinging them down upon fleeing hordes seeking escape, torn asunder or burned to ash when the boulders erupted in explosive flames. Those who escaped the rage of the mountain and t
he burning missiles were consumed in the mountain’s anger as it released upon the entire plain scorpions and creeping things borne from the very mountain but hungry for the flesh of all living creatures.
And behold! Look! To everyone’s amazement, leading the battle charge, riding amidst the creatures of the abyss was a helmed, female warrior, mounted on a fiery red warhorse, brandishing a long, blood-drenched sword. Darkened red with the blood of the slain, the woman’s hair trailed in the wind, striking the enemy as with the sting of a scorpion’s tail, her eyes casting a burning light upon the enemy, dissolving all flesh from off their bones.
Raising the sword high, the warrior urged her army onward, shouting, “Forward on to death! Faster! Faster! To the end! Fear not their steel nor their blade! Damn them! Send them all to Gehenna’s Gate!”
Despite the maddening speed of the creeping hordes boiling up from the mountain’s fiery belly, it kept pace, crushing friend and foe, any who fell behind, caring not for man or woman, wild or domestic beast, the weak or the strong. A voice coming out from the midst of the scorpions and creeping things, following up closely behind the helmed rider cried out, ‘Fear not the beasts or those who rule their kingdom! Fear the makers of hosts, the kings of darkness who shed light upon those they choose and bring gloom upon the faint of heart, for we are the kings over your minds! Your nightmares are our playgrounds. Fear us, for ours is the night and the day. Good we can gift or bad. It is our choice!’
The vision sped along, leaving those witnessing it standing alone upon a torn and tortured plain. As thunderous convulsions of the angry mountain echoed into the distance, a calm and peaceful quiet grew around them, easing the pain and dread that had enveloped their hearts. Dark clouds of a foreboding night gradually faded into a shadowy morning filled with promise.
Suddenly, without warning, a blazing sun burst above the horizon, bathing the world in its comforting glow, to their amazement and joy, the heavens a radiant blue, cloudless, and the air humming with songs of countless birds. At that very moment, a great trembling could be felt as the land literally erupted with life for as far as the eye could see. A jungle filled this musical universe until the land overflowed with every form of growing thing. Never had the eyes of these children seen such variety and color that only a vision of the gods could make. Never could their hearts forget this moment so overpowering in majesty.
While the people gazed upon the surrounding beauty, they began to recognize that a whispering tune wafted upon the gentle breeze, a long-forgotten lullaby sung to them by their mother when they were small, too small to understand all the big things in the world around them. It went something like this:
‘Why, my dear one, do you cry,
at the things you cannot see or touch?
I swaddle you in my loving arms,
so no harm can you betide.
Do not dread what you do not know,
or hide from the darkened night.
I ever so much will care for you,
in my worlds of rich delights.
Listen, my child, to my heartbeat,
to the rhythm of love it shares with you.
Nuzzle close to my breasts with milk so sweet,
and hear my heart’s love for you.’
The sweet refrains of the melodious tune, dancing upon the fields of honeysuckle, clover and daisies, calmed the children’s hearts concerning the previous visions. Soon they were little more than distant memories, like troubling childhood dreams. Working like some powerful drug on a tired mind, the musical words played on each person’s soul, each one drifting into his or her private trance or dream. This was the state the people found themselves in, as if waking from a deep, restful sleep, when the vision returned them through time and space back to the Hall of Assembly and the moment.
Trisha had not moved, but was standing quietly beside her chair just as she had been before igniting the firestorm in the hearts of Ma-we’s children. Her eyes carried no expression of what the people had experienced, but her face revealed knowledge of the event. Was this woman, small of stature, quiet by nature, and with beauty of face that rivaled the gods, truly as dangerous as the vision depicted? The children stared at their mother, sitting motionless, a twinkle in her eyes the only clue that she was responsible for the previous adventure. Then, what of the field marshal? Who was she, really, and what kind of a person was she?
Before the others could collect their thoughts, a booming voice filled the room, calling out, “Behold ‘The Mountain Wall of Yehowah!’ See, the king’s Sword, Foe Hammer, does live and stand among us! Kiss the Lady who has given us hope and bow low to her mistress who will deliver it!” At that, Euroaquilo stood and bowed low at the waist, first toward Ma-we and then toward Trisha.
Other voices broke the silence, shouting, “Give her glory! Yes! Give glory to the One who has promised to become whatever she must to bring all things to a finish. Give Yehowah glory!”
Soon the entire throng had broken into laughter and song. The Maker of dreams had given them visions of the future. They would win! The universe would not end nor would their labors have been in vain. The room erupted in celebration unseen since the armistice ending the Great War. Mihai watched with pleasure the joyous tumult. In the end there was little to do other than formally accept Trisha as the new field marshal and pledge all fealty to her, as Mihai had requested. This was concluded by having Trisha take her position on the raised platform before Mihai, she handing authority as Field Marshal and Dictator En Force over to her. When finished, Mihai bowed low and returned to the council table.
There were many matters yet to be discussed and Trisha wasted little time getting down to them. In short order, the minor agenda items were concluded, appointments of deputies and magistrates being little more than formalities. Other items were as quickly dispatched. Trisha’s knowledge of the children’s customs and protocols was shown in the way she carried out business. Other than the unusual speed at which things were covered, she had done acceptably well, leaving most with the feeling that this outsider understood her place among the wisest of Ma-we’s children. Now, though, for the real test… Trisha must prove her leadership abilities in dealing with the upcoming business of the Prisoner Exchange.
Asotos had initiated the idea of a prisoner exchange and even its location, the lonely desert planet, EremiaPikros, that sat on the interstellar border between his nation called the ‘League of Brothers’ and Ma-we’s - now Mihai’s - called ‘The Children’s Empire’... a no-man’s land of sorts, uninhabited except for the occasional short-lived ore colony or fur trader searching out the giant phimoosmurna desert rat, trapped for its tough, leathery hide and musk glands located behind its jowls, used in making Intarajarta myrrh.
Asotos had not attempted a prisoner exchange since the end of the Great War. Oh yes, his treachery in dealing with the children loyal to the Empire was notorious, but always clandestine. Abductions and murder were still favorite tools he employed when the mood struck him, but he always managed to keep his hands clean, feigning innocence in any conflict with or intrusion into the Children’s Empire. This time it was different.
Five months before, the howker, PuszzZet, and gun-buses, Gihon and SarahMay, later joined by the cutter, Midnight, out of Exothepobole, engaged the barquentine, Righteous Knight, as it tried escaping back across the Frontier after pirating several merchant ships in the Outer Corridor, southeast of the Trizentine. A heated contest ensued, with the Righteous Knight eventually striking its colors after its engine and boiler rooms were disabled and life support systems failed. The capture of the Righteous Knight and its seventeen surviving crew provided clear evidence that Asotos was clandestinely violating the terms of the Armistice ending the Great War.
Asotos, of course, denied any act of aggression on his part and charged that the captain of the Righteous Knight was acting against orders, an easy accusation to make seeing that the man was killed in recent combat. This would
have been the end of matters, the loss of an old barquentine and its few surviving crewmembers, except Legion, Asotos’ top lieutenant, was livid, having some very close confidants aboard, including SalakTaqadam, a leading statesman and immediate lieutenant to Godenn, Legion’s second in command. He demanded that Asotos return his people to him, no matter the cost, thus forcing Asotos to: one, admit there might have been some misunderstanding on the captain’s part as to what his orders really were; and two, find a way to even the odds to make a prisoner exchange sway in his favor.
In the meantime, Mihai had ordered the carrier, DorshanBerry, and its task force to steam hard for the Trizentine in case hostilities should erupt in the region. Instead, Asotos averted a direct conflict by ‘picking the plum’, instigating the capture of the Zephath’s crew by an armed contingency of Stasis Pirates who, for a sufficient price, handed over their prisoners to Asotos’ people. By luck, Sirion, a most loved companion of Mihai, was included among the prizes he obtained. It was after this discovery that Asotos began to hatch his big plan, using a prisoner exchange to accomplish it.
The new field marshal was little interested in the details concerning the Prisoner Exchange, she already having formulated a strategy. There was mischief afoot and the woman knew it. For forty years she had studied Asotos’ intrigues, concluding that his primary method of operation was intimidation, consolation and finally, if all else failed, play the part of the victim. Few of Ma-we’s children were able to one-up his wily ways, but Trisha had a plan, one she had no intention of sharing, especially tonight. Ma-we knew, realizing just how foolhardy, reckless and possibly damning it might be.
No matter what Trisha thought, she was no match for Asotos, her powers still underdeveloped and weak. But would Asotos know that, having never been so boldly confronted other than by Gabrielle, one who nearly equaled him in glory and power? If the new field marshal truly realized what danger she might be in, would the woman be able to pull off such a dangerous coup? Ma-we smiled. Trisha was oblivious to the depth of Asotos’ magic, thus ignorant of the danger. She might just succeed.
Trisha scanned the crowd, studying faces, most showing more the curiosity of children watching some strange creature under a looking glass than their new leader. Few reflected the respect or caring that had been given to Mihai when she controlled the stage. Others hid contempt behind placid eyes, wishing for this bug to fly away and bother them no more. Most, though, just sat quietly, politely, waiting and contemplating what this human specimen from the forgotten Realms Below had to offer when she stood the platform alone, when Mother did not hold sway with her magic.
Trisha knew, as did all present, that Mother’s witchery was finished. Now the truth would be revealed. For thousands of years, prophecy concerning a coming ruler and his three Swords of justice that preceded him had been whispered among the people. For the many, their hope that had been in what was called Mother’s ‘new creation’ raised to life, as was told in the ancient myths and stories, to see the armies beyond the heavens swoop in to save the universe lost. Never was it assumed that children of dust, born in contempt and raised up in sickness and death should be the holy knights brought to rid their world of evil. Now Trisha must wake them to this fact. She and her kind held the fate of all creation, living and dead, in their hands. It had been left up to this woman to prove it, starting tonight.
All these things Trisha could see… feel, you might say. For forty years she had felt it, the sudden quiet of a wardroom when she entered unannounced, the polite dismissal of her opinions during council, even the coolness often felt when at general mess. She had done nothing to deserve such treatment. She should not be the cause of the children’s resentment. They had failed to bring evil to its end and their mother, her God, decided to use other forces to accomplish that. Trisha never asked to be brought here. She did not deserve such treatment.
Her eyes narrowed in thought. Weren’t these the ‘guardians of the universe’, the very faces of God that faithful, honest men like John had once bowed to in honor? Who were they to look down on her and the others of her kind gathered into their world? Well, tonight they would not dare to look down on her again! The universe was now changed. Trisha’s hands closed into tense fists.
Tears welled up in Trisha’s eyes. ‘Harlot!’ ‘Whore! ’Adulteress!’ She had long ago paid for that one night of love, one night of bliss out of a lifetime of toil, pain and grief. For that one night, she suffered the stares of the village people, the whispers as she passed, the quiet rooms she entered. For one night - one night when she was held by a man who really loved her, for one night that her heart smiled - she had paid, been forced to pay the bigots and belligerent people who considered themselves so superior to this… this… creature, this polluter of their perfect world. Tonight she again felt the stares of those believing themselves superior to her.
Fighting back tears, Trisha forced a smile of defiance. Tonight… tonight was to be different! Tonight the universe would be waked by a force greater than any experienced by these people! When finished this eve, things would be different! The people of this world might not love her or respect her, but they would certainly fear her… her and all her kind settled into this universe!
Ma-we frowned in sadness, remembering a conversation spoken in the solitude of a darkened room on a breathless night. ‘You have delivered the storm to this world. Did you not know that your children would bleed, theirs souls scattered across the star systems by this righteous evil from the depths below?’ And then the final whispers in her ear. ‘A ruin, a ruin, a ruin I shall make it. Are they not your very prophecies made upon your own children? Let matters run their course. Allow the girl to grow into a woman. She will one day come to love your children, but the blood must first flow. Death precedes life. Remember? The seed must die to be born again in fruit. Let her winnow the field with an iron rod so that your children shall remember this day and never permit wickedness to rise again.’
Ma-we bowed her head, sighing to herself, “It’s time. Lift the sword and unleash the midnight…” Unlike their earlier visions, the people were now to see the real Sword, Ruby, unsheathed, its true shimmering metal revealed in all its naked glory.
Clasping her hands behind her back, Trisha began to slowly pace the circular platform, the hard heels of her boots singing out sharply as they hit the polished marble floor. ‘Click! Click! Click! Click!’ Round and round the woman walked, creating a harmonic chant that her steps painfully hammered into hundreds of distraught ears. As rushing of blood roaring through a restless mind on a silent night, the piercing tempest grew maddening on the weary souls gathered in the chamber.
At the very moment a body felt it would implode into insanity, Trisha stopped, silent. Then, slowly turning away from the crowd, looking at the closed doorway as though expecting someone to enter, she began, cold and expressionless as a frost-laden morning. The latent power of immeasurable strength hiding within her breasts lay just beneath the surface, each word, each phrase hinting at its explosive anger. They were deceptively innocent to the ears, but they burned with a warning of the power of the beast within that panted to be unleashed.
“As you know, the Zephath fell victim to the vicious attacks of a Stasis Pirate fleet, the crew scuttling it before their capture.” She spun around, facing the surprised crowd. “What fool believes that!? No pirate fleet in this universe has the power to take on a ship the size of the Zephath! The Stasis are cowards! Cowards! If confronted by such a war-craft, they’d piss in their boots!”
The people gasped at Trisha’s crude way with words at such a formal event. She paid no attention to them.
The new field marshal went on to disclose the extent of information the investigation uncovered, from distress signals to finding the ship’s log, Mihai’s adventures as she followed the enemy’s trail. When the woman had finished providing an overview of the capture of the crew and Asotos’ contacting the Children
’s Empire seeking a parley, she addressed the council as to their responsibilities.
The new commander of Mihai’s armies turned toward the wise and the aged, a tone of motherly disappointment dancing on her tongue. “It is not the responsibility of this council to conclude what happened, something, I suppose, that could consume many evenings and mornings of social posturing and debate. You must decide this very eve, and not tomorrow, on what shall be done and how, and who shall confront the Dragon.”
Some faces reddened in anger, others clouded with discontent. Mihai frowned, staring down at her clasped hands resting on the table. Ma-we smiled to herself. ‘About time someone stirred the fire of self-content...’
Trisha began pointing and waving her hands with appropriate gestures. “The Dragon plays with your minds while he hides his true machinations in the shadows and uses your innocence and naivete to mislead you. He is too evil to lie with boldness, but twists your minds and hearts with truth hidden in riddles and deceit. By leaving you clues that he believes only a fool would overlook, he justifies his treachery and cruelty toward all of you.”
The new field marshal was not winning any friends. A cold disquiet was growing in the room, and it would only become more intense. Staring directly into Mihai’s eyes, Trisha accused, “Even the greatest of your warriors has walked, do walk blindly into harm’s way because they fail - or are unwilling - to understand their brother’s tricks.”
Mihai looked away, shamed by Trisha’s blatant truthfulness.
Trisha paid no visible heed as she spoke to the entire body of councilors, staring first one and then another in the eyes. “You see the signs, but do not understand them. You allow your brother to play the puppet-master over your minds by doing his bidding. Some of you fall to his evil and do not get back up. Some of you have fallen, but still cry loyalty to your cause.”
She stared at Euroaquilo. “Others have fallen, do fall, but take the blow and learn, and survive to fight another time.” Turning and looking up at the crowd, she cried, “Any who forget why they are fighting and the evil their enemy possesses will fall!”
Silence! The beast had stopped disgorging its fire for the moment. Trisha began to slowly and deliberately pace anew. Head down, with hands clasped behind her back, the woman retraced her steps around the outer ring of the raised circular platform. Again, the harmonic rhythm of the ‘click’ of her boots played out to the audience, but quieter and more subdued this time. When she stopped, it was to face and again address the seated council.
Trisha’s piercing gaze searched the councilors, they reacting as if a personal message was being delivered upon each one of them. Some turned to glance away, others glared defiance and disapproval while still others slowly closed their eyes as if surrendering to acknowledging a secret failure. And a few smiled, nodding approval.
Finally, Trisha’s eyes fell upon Mihai. A chill flooded Mihai’s mind, like a cold winter wind preceding a tempest. Out of the wind, a voice called, “He is waiting for you… Do you not see the adder at your heel? He has done all these things because of you. Beware the morning of your new life and fear the last hours of your childhood. Accept your death into a new life and be aware of the hour of ascent, the hour of despair.”
Mihai tried turning away from Trisha’s daunting stare, but could not - not until Trisha permitted it. The haunting voice pummeled her more. “This time you must face the beast… and he will strike you a mortal blow. Take the blow and keep on living. Do not strike back! Do not strike back! Take the blow in death and all will live. Be warned! If you listen to your heart, all will be lost. Be silent and your sister may live.”
All eyes looked to Mihai as she let out a cry, lifting a hand to her head. Her hands began to shake as sweat collected on her face, running in tiny rivulets from her chin. The people’s eyes slowly shifted away from their beloved king to the ominous figure standing before them. Who was this creature from forgotten lands? How could a woman so unimpressive in stature and, though beautiful, but not outstandingly so - how could she command such power? There was something more about her, something so base and vile, carrying with her the smell of death like the unforgiven souls of the damned, the Stasis and lost, the demons haunting their world.
Trisha cried out to those gathered, “Stand down and do not listen to your hearts!”
Was there a tone of love and compassion in this creature’s voice? Many wished it would be so, the witch standing before them charging them with the error of ages, condemning their kind for being poor stewards. A shudder ran through the crowd, - a mind, twisted, they could feel. It was as if the madness of the Dragon, himself, was breathing upon their flesh, burning away all hope. But there was more about this woman that seared their bellies and tore at their hearts. Her very words carried the smell of bloodlust upon them, a craving for war, death and destruction. This woman was yearning for war, for slaughter, for the death of things precious to the children of this universe.
Trisha admonished, “You must listen carefully to me and gain discernment so as to find clues hidden in the words you hear. Not everything is as it sounds, and not every soul is true to life and cause. Good air may well smell foul and poisoned air may revive the spirit into death. To choose the right course, one must find the right path. To preserve alive the souls of many, you must be willing to allow them death.” She raised her hand, extending a finger. “A crow is not a raven!”
Murmuring arose among the people. Who was this forgotten creature of so few days to play at their game of riddles? How foolish she was, so immature. Did this little child not understand the depth of knowledge and wisdom carried in the collective minds of the wise and ancient ones gathered before her? Was Mother only toying with them? Some glanced toward her.
Trisha saw their folly. She cried out, “You think me a fool?! Look and see! The death angel resides among you!” She pointed toward someone hidden in the crowd. “Until she who carries the Devil’s spawn gives birth to a new creation, will your world stand upon the edge of midnight. The Sisters of the BloodWind must pass away into nothing before the great and fear-inspiring day of my God. But, in their rebirth shall all men quail, because they are the trinity of good, bad, and evil. And when the spear of jade pierces the heart of the Queen of Darkness shall all the world know that by evil shall evil be brought to nothing!”
Shocking prophecy! All eyes turned from Trisha to Ma-we, seeking explanation for this outburst. No book of wisdom ever contained such future statements! What was Mother up to? They found no answer, only consternation. Ma-we was leaned forward from her chair, eyes wide open, she herself seeking answers to her field marshal’s troubling riddle. She was finding none.
What was it, then? Had this woman dared to tell of future events by using the wisdom of her own reckoning? The children searched Ma-we’s eyes. No, her eyes were not accusative. Indeed, what they saw was even more troubling. A cloud of dark recognition passed across Ma-we’s face, she hiding it in shadow by lowering her head while sliding back in her chair and staring toward her lap. Something was up with Mother, something so disturbing to her that she found no place to expunge it from her mind. The children could tell she was dealing with some unexpected event that was most disconcerting.
Wasn’t Mother the Maker of prophecy? If so, then why was she so disturbed? If the new field marshal had invented it, surely Mother would have revealed it to be so, but she said nothing. Were there other forces at work, forces that acted independently of the Maker of Worlds? How was that possible? But, if there was? If there was, might those forces be using this strange creature for purposes of their own design? As if this collective thought swept the crowd at the same moment, the room quieted to a hush and all eyes turned again to the woman on the raised platform.
Trisha spoke again, and although as sharp and accusative as her words were, no one dared rise in ire against them. A power strange and terrible had filled their hearts and all w
ith wisdom bent an ear to listen to what that power was revealing. Trisha’s voice calmed and, along with the passing of any contemptuous tone, she continued.
“You think me a fool? I tell you this, and I tell you this for your own good: you swim so deep you do not see the surface of a tricksy sea. The rocks on the bottom you take while the silent ships of honest fate sail out of your grasp. I sound like a child to you because I speak to you in the simple tongue of a camel maiden, not some great orator. But I can read your minds, lands lost in simple thoughts.”
She frowned. “The future promised smells foul to you, the old wine being so sweet in your thoughts. It poisons your minds, making you dream longingly for the past. Oh, you try to do the right thing, but you soon tire because your labors are without objective, your hearts seeking only the warm hearth and numbing wine.”
Slamming her fist into an opened palm, Trisha raised her voice in warning. “If you truly desire to see the healing of the universe, you must put those feelings behind you! Let the dead rest in forgetful bliss. In doing so, you will give them a home to return to.”
Trisha again took to pacing, her hands once more clasped behind her back. “To the common eye, two ravens may well look the same, yet both may be so different. One is smart and full of tricks. The other filled with an insatiable desire to fill its own belly. One may destroy your field for reasons untold. The other may seek only to destroy you. By the raven, men have lived and men have died. A raven has delivered meat to feed the flesh and another has devoured the flesh to satisfy itself.” She raised a hand in gesture. “To identify what kind of bird searches you out is only half the victory. To identify its motive is the other half.”
Lowering her eyes toward the floor, Trisha went on. “There are two ravens among you, but many crows. The crows are ever present, and not are they just in your enemy’s camp. Crows seek only their own selfish longing, and are easily led into evil deeds by a crafty raven. Your brother is the raven of which I speak. You must learn how he tricks and riddles with you… and you must learn to see how his crows circle above, waiting upon your mistakes.”
“Your Mother is also a raven, and though she may well bring gloom and despair upon her wings, along with those things she carries life through her tricks and riddles.”
“Both ravens will use tricks and riddles. Both will deliver you to ill or good. Both will cause you to fall and not get up again. But only one will return life to your flesh.”
She stopped, waving her hands. “You must learn how to understand them…both of them.”
There was a growing turmoil in the room, a restlessness of spirit and heart. How the people viewed this woman was of little concern to her at this moment. Now was the time for action. After all, should this life be any different than her last? Where was this promised new world, filled with peace and delights? Had she not seen only violence and war from the very day of her entering this paradise? No, better is it to leave people hate you and to deliver their souls than to love them with the gift of eternal damnation.
Trisha did not let up. She continued on with her chastisement of this people. For over an hour she lectured, condemned and chided them for their failures. From the time of the First Megiddo War up through the Great War and down until this evening, she stripped away their clothing of self worth and sacrifice, revealing the naked skeleton of the ‘straw man dancing merrily in the light of a blazing inferno’. The people were reeling from the blows of Foe Hammer. It was beating them down, exhausting their resistance, mocking their very existence. One person - one small, demure creature - stood upon the bulwark of destiny, crushing their longed-for visions, pulverizing those visions and casting their dust into a raging sea.
Trisha suddenly stopped her tirade, the silence nearly as damning as her speech. Was she finished? No! The full fury of the tempest was not over. She must yet conclude.
Staring into the faces in the crowd, she declared, “I came to this evil place through no will of my own, I being drawn back from death to suffer this life. My people and their cities… everything concerning them is gone, lost beneath the restless sands. My own sons lie forgotten, buried in the unmarked graves where no tomb recalls their deeds or names. There is no one here to share my past or my memories with, I being of so little value that none of your kind wasted their time to know me then. Still, I ask none of you for consolation for my loss.”
“Though unworthy of your thoughts in ages past, I will haunt your dreams throughout future days, you wishing I was become a miscarriage in birth. Look! I am come from the other side of your nightmares and have gathered them up before me! I am everything you hate and everything you fear, a soul twisted and deformed! I am your looking glass! See! I am the Lord of Darkness and I glory in destruction!”
She turned toward Mihai and spat, shaking an accusing finger at her, “I will not fight to save the past, but I will consume all that is good to deliver the future. You have unleashed the midnight, and you can’t stop it!” Then pounding her chest, she cried in rebuke, “I rule this world now, and you will not contend against me! You know what I do must be done, and damn all who resist my will!”
Trisha stood back, addressing the stunned crowd. “You promised your allegiance to me without question and I shall exact that loyalty with your blood. The fear of me is the beginning of wisdom, because I am only a shadow the one coming after me. You prayed for this day and I will make you regret it has been delivered upon you…”
She rested closed fists upon her hips, shaking her head. “And yet this day is not as foreboding as the one Shiloh will collect on to you. Rachel will weep over her own children on the day of his arrival and he will not listen to her plaintive cries for succor.”
Trisha’s fire was up, she unleashing it upon those present. “I do not ask for your love, nor do I seek your honor or respect, but I demand your souls to do with as I see fit! We…we no longer fight for our past, our future or even ourselves, for you live and can remember the past and yearn for the future. We fight only for those who cannot decide the battle, and we will sacrifice our blood to restore them to life! Their destiny rests in our hands! Their future depends on our actions. If you are not with me, you are my enemy and an enemy to all who have gone before us!”
She shouted, “Brothers! If we fail, their souls are lost forever! If we do not win this coming conflagration, Elijah will not come, and we shall all pass on to the fate of those who have gone before us!”
Smashing her fist into an opened hand, she proclaimed, “WE… WILL… NOT… FAIL!”
Silence like that of an empty tomb filled the room. At that instant, a door opened high in the back of the old theater. Eyes glared down at the troublesome creature below. The thick passage walls may have muffled her words, but her mocking tone and demeaning nature sounded through clearly. “Its evil smells putrid to my nostrils. Foul… foul… It clouds my vision so bad, it reeks with serpent stink.” Shaking its head while hiding in deep shadows, the observer asked itself, “Why do these fools not sense the monster below? Why do they accept such malcontent?”
Just then, the giant wall clock struck eleven bells. Looking up at it, the voice muttered in disgust, “One still warm in its blood I must remove to a secret place. This confederate I shall have to deal with at another time. Another time I shall exact punishment for all the wickedness it does this eve. I will find the hour and place. I will wait, and then… and then...” The passage door quietly closed and silent footsteps wafted away in the darkness.
Silence pressed in on the people with suffocating harshness. What had this woman done? A few were beginning to recognize it. A few…
Knowledge comes at a price. Often little notice is given it because such wisdom comes subtly, like a child maturing into adulthood. Other times it rushes in like a raging storm upon a quiet sea. Those who survive wish for the tempest to have never happened, yet they would not trade lessons learned to make it so. And so
it was this night. A great and terrible storm had raged against the collective souls of those gathered here, tearing away flesh and spirit, destroying dreams and hopes.
Still, one day the children of this Dark Age would wear with pride the scars and stripes of the master’s rod, pointing to them as proof that he or she had faced the Dragon’s wrath and proved their mettle. But that was for the future. They must first survive this night’s storm. Was there anyone among them with the strength to save them? Was there anyone who would speak out in their defense?
Finally a person rose, slowly, but like a great giant among men he arose, standing tall as he faced their accuser. Euroaquilo stared into Trisha’s eyes, his eyes piercingly sharp with emotion. His furrowed brow and set jaw gave pause to those observing him. All waited for him to release the tempest upon this creature from the depths below. Who could stand against the wisdom and wrath of the mighty StormWind? He would speak in his brothers’ defense. He would put this rabble in its place!
Euroaquilo quickly turned toward Ma-we, thanking her for the many good things she had provided her children over these many lifetimes of men. Bowing low at the waist, he remained still for several moments, showing her the honor deserved. When finished, he again faced the new field marshal. Now was the moment. Euroaquilo would restore the children’s honor, true, but in a most unexpected way.
He bowed low again, much to the surprise of many. When he stood back up, the light sparkled off a tear on his cheek. With his booming voice, the man called out, “My Lord, my Lady, do please forgive this people for our indiscretions we have heaped upon you. Our souls have seen only the pain of a world turned upside down, we losing our ability to see the picture you have painted for us this night. Thank you for your honesty to the point of dealing us a blow that might well save us from ourselves.”
Euroaquilo extended his arms, spreading his hands wide as he did so. “I am your humble servant and I hope to speak for all. Our Fates are but one, your breath one with ours. Shall you be cut, we will bleed; shall you cry, we will pine in sorrow. My Lord, you have taught us powerful lessons this night. Teach us, please, how to learn from them.” He bowed again, and upon standing, added, “My sister, my blood, in death and in life!”
A shout from above, “Amen! And Amen! Our sister, our blood!” Darla stood, all eyes transfixed upon this crazy child. She began to applaud.
Another voice called out, “Our sister! Our blood! Stand and give our sister the glory deserved!”
No one moved.
Frowning, Zadar shouted, “Stand and give our sister her deserved glory or forever be shamed!”
PalaHar, followed by Tizrela and other members of the council stood, repeating Euroaquilo’s words. Soon the entire room was standing in applause, expressing their approval of their new sister. Trisha’s speech was beginning to take on meaning and understanding. Asotos’ spell over the children was cracking. Euroaquilo had broken open the floodgates to this new understanding, but it was the energy and power of the new field marshal that brought the flood. Scales were beginning to fall from the children’s eyes. Though not yet realizing it themselves, Trisha had captured their hearts. Their minds and souls were soon to follow.
Trisha did not move, nor did her expression change. What she felt inside remained secret to all. Finally, when the room had settled down, she turned toward Ardon and, in a tone veiling any emotion, she asked, “Lord Ardon, please stand in…”
Without waiting for his response, or looking to the crowd for their reaction, Trisha turned away, stepped from the platform and quietly hurried from the chamber, closing the door behind her. The silent, stunned crowd stared dumbly at the door, expecting it to fly open momentarily, their new leader rushing in to resume her fiery oratories.
