A Bright Power Rising

by Noel Coughlan

  FROM ON THE MATTER OF LIGHT BY SHINEBRIGHT FEROCITAS.

  The gnomon’s golden hand pushed against the ashen sky to no avail. Around it, the priests danced to the rhythm of their prayer, their dizziness growing as they studied the sour, fungal scum stretching from horizon to horizon. No shaft of sunlight pierced this fetid cloud. Not even the tiniest rent existed through which freed souls might fly to their master. The dead, victims of a roof fall in the mine, would remain unburned this day, as they had for weeks. DawnGlow Fulgur glanced at the cold, white disc of the sun struggling against its shroud. Would the pyres ever be set alight?

  He tired of watching the priests beg for the sky to open and turned his back on the shrouded sun, continuing on to the ministry of the city of Tincranny. He hurried through the entrance hall, up the stairs, past myriad offices to the private chamber of his friend, the minister-governor of the settlement, AscendantSun Auctor. DawnGlow had come at his friend’s request. No explanation for the summons had been given, but AscendantSun’s note had stressed that it concerned a matter of utmost importance.

  DawnGlow rapped on the door. The silence on the other side was broken by the scrape of a sliding bolt. The door creaked ajar. AscendantSun’s smile peeped through the gap.

  “Welcome,” he said, swinging the door open. With a wave of his hand he indicated to his visitor to take a seat.

  DawnGlow planted himself in an armchair and admired the fine upholstery with his fingers. He watched AscendantSun close the door and shuffle to the chair on the other side of the desk. Those mysterious wounds he had suffered in the mountains had left him with a permanent limp. AscendantSun still refused with typical obstinacy to divide, though it would have cured him. The Lineage of Auctor was always so headstrong and peculiar.

  DawnGlow glanced about the chamber. Though it was past noon, candles burned to dispel the tyrannical gloom of the Ill-weather. Three golden banners hanging behind AscendantSun’s desk dominated the chamber. One was the Golden Light’s sigil: a spread, two-thumbed hand. The middle banner, a hammer with faces on both ends of its head, was the symbol of the city of Tincranny. The third bore the emblem of the Lineage of Auctor, the half-face. DawnGlow, like all Ors, was partial to the symmetric, the balanced. Out of friendship, he maintained a tactful silence about his distaste for the Auctors’ eccentric symbol, though AscendantSun probably was aware of the strain it placed on others’ aesthetic sensibilities.

  AscendantSun’s personal genealogical chart hung on another wall. Below the first Auctor was a ladder, each rung of which represented a division, one of each set of twins being the progenitor of the succeeding pair. SunGerm and his unfortunate twin MorningHymn were on the top rung, SunGerm’s descendants were on the next rung, and so on. Many illustrious names stirred memories of Gleam and its valiant defense against besieging tribes of Mixies. Hatred for Mixies distilled with each succeeding division till it reached its apogee in MixyBane, the last Minister-Governor of Gleam and the founder of Tincranny. After his division, the animosity waned. His progeny sought rapprochement with those who earlier divisions had reviled. They had had successes, too.

  AscendantSun and his twin SunTrove had negotiated a decades-old peace treaty with one tribe of Mixies, the Stretchers, which had held even through the Ill-weather. The cost had been great. Several names below MixyBane had disappeared in the wilds, presumably slain by Mixies they sought to befriend. After SunTrove’s tragic death in the calamitous flood that submerged the western coast of Sunrest, AscendantSun became the sole survivor of the four divisions since MixyBane.

  Which made AscendantSun’s inexplicable delay in dividing maddening, even frightening. It was as if he was giving up on his lineage. DawnGlow resolved to try again to persuade his friend of the urgency of adding another rung or two to the chart.

  His eyes drifted to a small wooden object on the table beside AscendantSun’s ministerial medal. It was a scarred tablet, shriveled and warped by age. He directed his host’s attention to it with a nod and asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It is. I was given it when I was elected a minister to remind me of the consequences of neglecting my duty.”

  DawnGlow rubbed his throat. With difficulty, he averted his gaze from the miserable relic of defeat and enslavement.

  “Mead?” his host asked.

  “Please,” DawnGlow replied without hesitation. He hoped his friend would be generous enough not to abuse him with the current year’s tasteless produce. No amount of spice could hide its poor quality.

  AscendantSun poured two goblets of the honeyed beverage and passed one to his guest. DawnGlow tasted it and smiled. “Last summer’s honey.”

  He gladly accepted AscendantSun’s offer of a game of battlefield. The minister laid the gridded board on the desk and poured out pieces from a leather pouch. Both Ors began to sort them.

  “You can play the center if you wish,” AscendantSun offered.

  DawnGlow nodded. “Your pieces are unusual,” he said, frowning. They were made of carved bone and veined, yellow marble.

  “A holy man of the Stretchers gifted them to me. The marble pieces fascinate me. They are as the Stretchers see us.”

  DawnGlow picked up a marble piece with two thumbs and examined it. “Judging from these, they find us very ugly,” he quipped. Stretchers were just Mixies. The nuances distinguishing one tribe of Mixies from another was immaterial. Only one difference mattered. Two peoples lived in the world of Elysion—those with two thumbs on each hand and those without—Ors and non-Ors.

  DawnGlow and AscendantSun quickly set up their pieces on the grid. The gnomon was positioned in the center square and encircled by defending batonaxers. The bone pieces, representing Mixies, were dispersed around the edges of the board, divided as their real-life counterparts. Their greater number was balanced by their inferior ability.

  DawnGlow straightened his pieces. AscendantSun made his first move, and battle commenced.

  “So, why did you invite me here tonight?” DawnGlow asked as he moved a batonaxer.

  “Nostalgia,” AscendantSun replied as he advanced a piece. “And a desire to enjoy simple pleasures forever lost with the coming of the dawn.”

  “What do you mean?” DawnGlow asked as he haphazardly moved another batonaxer. It was a mistake, though hopefully not a fatal one.

  “Concentrate on the game,” AscendantSun said with a smile. “I do not want to listen to excuses when I win.”

  They maneuvered their pieces in silence. Dozens of scenarios flitted through DawnGlow’s mind, not all of them related to the game. AscendantSun had an ulterior motive for inviting him, but guessing his friend’s intentions was like playing battlefield blindfolded and trying to guess his opponent’s moves from the sound of his pieces sliding across the board. He had to wait for AscendantSun to make his move.

  The slaughter began in earnest. Mixies and Ors were swept from the board in attack and counter-attack. Both sides made errors, missed opportunities. AscendantSun was on the verge of victory when DawnGlow snatched it from him by maneuvering his gnomon into a corner square.

  “I am sure you will win our next game,” DawnGlow offered in condolence.

  AscendantSun sighed. “There might not be a next game.” He opened a drawer in his desk and produced an envelope and a parchment. He presented both to his friend and slumped back in his chair.

  DawnGlow perused the letter, mentally converting the stilted glyphs into flowing text. As he read, his heart sank.

  * * *

  Speaks Harbinger of the Dawn, Conscience of the Sun, Minister of Ministers, Voice of the Consensus of Lineages,

  To AscendantSun Auctor, Minister-Governor of Tincranny,

  * * *

  The Consensus of Lineages has learned that a heresy has taken root in Tincranny. A small number of Ors have chosen to repudiate their allegiance to our Bright Lord. These blasphemers, calling themselves Orstretcherists, have adopted as their creed the nonsensical myths and perverse doctrines of the tribe of M
ixies called Stretchers. AscendantSun Auctor is accused of leading this movement. The Consensus demands that the minister resign and submit to house arrest till his trial can be arranged. He should appoint NeverFear Cor to act as interim minister-governor. The enclosed envelope should be presented unopened to him.

  * * *

  The seal on the envelope was broken already. DawnGlow’s fingers trembled as he removed its contents. The new minister-governor was instructed to arrest an extensive list of other suspected Orstretcherists. They were to be transported to Shiningpeak for trial. Many were DawnGlow’s friends.

  “I do not know what to say,” DawnGlow admitted. “You think they will exile you and the others to Evercloud?”

  AscendantSun shook his head. “I doubt the Harbinger intends to extend to us such kindness. Note that we are to be tried in Shiningpeak, where his cult is strongest, where the moderates in the Consensus hold least sway. He plans to have us executed.”

  “That is preposterous,” DawnGlow said. “Nobody has been executed since the Viator War. The Harbinger himself was convicted of treason and heresy and was exiled to Evercloud. Why should he not offer you the same mercy?”

  “Different time, my friend. That was before the Ill-weather, this dark age that the Harbinger claims to have foretold. Before its coming, he was ridiculed as a madman, condemned to perpetual exile. Those who once had him imprisoned now proclaim him their savior. They close their eyes, rest their hands on his shoulder, and let him lead wherever he wishes. They willingly submit to his every whim. He wants the Orstretcherists dead. We are the antithesis of all he represents. We want peace. He wants war. We want to prosper with the Stretchers, and other Mixies. He wants them dead.”

  And of course, the Harbinger claimed to be the Golden Light’s prophet, while AscendantSun’s followers denied the precedence of Aurelian before the other divine Lights. Indeed, they rejected the divinity of all Lights, preferring to put their faith in the Stretchers’ phantom deity.

  The grim logic of AscendantSun’s argument was irrefutable. The Harbinger was a dangerous and ruthless fanatic. He was certainly capable of putting the Orstretcherists to death.

  Many Ors unaffiliated with his cult might agree with him if he did. The Orstretcherists went beyond the Tokenists or the Necrotheists or the Dawn Chorus or the other fringe religious groups. AscendantSun and his followers rejected not merely the orthodoxy of the Consensus but the very nature of the cosmos that Ors had accepted since they left their maturation tubes.

  It was very important not to be swayed too much by AscendantSun. He had his own agenda, and he could be very persuasive.

  “So, do you intend to obey the orders of the Consensus?” DawnGlow asked.

  “No,” AscendantSun replied. “The Consensus appears to believe we have no other choice but to do so. It considers us too untrustworthy to be left in peace, but loyal enough to surrender meekly to our executioners. By morning, everyone on that list except me will have departed Tincranny. They will seek sanctuary amongst the Stretchers till they decide a better course of action.”

  “And you?”

  “That is why I asked you here. I am handing over temporary governance of the city to you.”

  “What about NeverFear?”

  AscendantSun laughed. “I think the Consensus would prefer I left you in charge rather than another Orstretcherist. By morning, NeverFear will be beyond the reach of the Consensus.” He paused. “I also have a favor to ask. You might not be inclined to grant it.”

  DawnGlow’s chest tightened. “Go on.”

  “I wish to divide,” AscendantSun said.

  DawnGlow was too flummoxed to respond.

  AscendantSun leaned forward in his seat. “My friend, my heart is pulled in two directions, and I must divide to follow both.”

  Resting an elbow on his desk, he unfolded the outer thumb from his fist. “On the one thumb, my natural inclination, like all Ors, is to preserve my lineage. I also must aid my exiled coreligionists. Isolated from their kin, they will face great dangers that my conscience demands me to share. I cannot abandon them.”

  The inner thumb emerged from beneath the fingers. “On the other thumb, the Harbinger must be stopped. He promises the second coming of Aurelian and a golden age for our people, but he will deliver instead suffering and desolation. He wants a holy war, a massacre of every non-Or in Elysion. I’m not concerned just for Stretchers and other Mixies. I fear for our own people. If he was to realize his genocide, our race would be damned by it. Once they understood the gravity of their crime, shame would destroy them. But such an insane scheme is certain to fail. The Mixies are much stronger than our people’s pride is willing to acknowledge. We have succeeded against them in the past as much through diplomacy as warfare. The war that the Harbinger craves would be our ruination. I must stop it.”

  AscendantSun was unrecognizable as he banged the fist on the table. His face was so ugly with violence. It could have belonged to a Mixy.

  The list of Orstretcherists was crumpled in DawnGlow’s fist. He placed it flat on the table, trying to maintain his calm. “But why turn to me for this?”

  AscendantSun leaned back in his chair. The vision of corruption was gone. DawnGlow’s friend returned with a smile.

  “The method of our propagation must remain a secret from the Stretchers,” AscendantSun said. “You know how long division takes and how much food must be consumed. If I attempted it in the mountains, I could not conceal it from my hosts. I want the Stretchers to focus on what our peoples have in common, not become distracted by our biological differences.”

  “But why turn to me?” DawnGlow asked. “Surely there is some Orstretcherist like NeverFear, unknown to the Harbinger’s spies, who could hide you while you divide?”

  AscendantSun picked up the list from the table and waved it in the air. “Other than NeverFear, I cannot rely on any Orstretcherist whose name is not on this document, since he might be one of its compilers.”

  He dropped it on the table. “As for you, aside from our many years of friendship, you can be trusted precisely because you are not an Orstretcherist. You do not share my beliefs, but you harbor the same doubts in our dead god that ultimately drew me to Stretcherism. You have merely drawn different conclusions. I put my faith in the Stretchers’ god. You put your faith in none.”

  “It is hard to have faith in a god who died so ingloriously in battle,” DawnGlow admitted, nodding.

  “But most of our people still cling to their faith in Aurelian,” AscendantSun said. “Their reluctance to accept his death as final makes them vulnerable to the Harbinger and his ilk. I suspect even many Orstretcherists in their hearts long for Aurelian to return, and their adopted faith is an anesthetic to dull the pain of his loss. You are immune to that almost universal longing, so you can appreciate my arguments rationally.”

  DawnGlow shifted in his seat. “I look on Aurelian and his demise as honestly as I can. Aurelian might have created us, but he brought us little but ruin in his first life. Why should he deliver anything but ruin upon his resurrection? We have prospered without him. The misplaced devotion to him that pervades our society hinders our race from even greater achievements.”

  He glanced at the murk beyond the windows. “As for this Ill-weather, it is just a meteorological caprice. Aurelian neither caused nor will end the Ill-weather. Coincidence and not providence is the root of the fulfillment of the Harbinger’s prophecy.”

  DawnGlow shook his head. “His famous escape on a pumice raft from Evercloud was likewise just a fortunate accident. Slabs of pumice, great and small, were reported all along the coast. Sailors said they saw islands of the stuff far out to sea. Though the strait dividing Evercloud from the mainland can be crossed by rowboat in a few hours, it took the Harbinger two days to drift ashore. It is not credible that the Golden Light would choose such a haphazard method to liberate his holy prophet from his island prison.”

  The hollowness of his words mocked DawnGlow as he spoke.

>   “But,” he added, “I condone even less your devotion to a foreign god whose only physical manifestation is the breath of his adherents. In your devotions, you have replaced a god who failed us with one that does not exist.” It cheered him to speak with such absolute conviction.

  A spasm of irritation flitted across AscendantSun’s face. “You have never condemned my beliefs in public or denounced me as a heretic.”

  “My friend, till now, we have never been frank on the matter. Uncertainty salved my conscience. Besides, I never doubted your loyalty to our people, despite your infatuation with your mountain friends.”

  “Then do not doubt my loyalty now.”

  DawnGlow stroked his cheeks as he weighed the decision before him. The division would take between seven to eight months, but AscendantSun would be his guest for much longer, almost a year. DawnGlow would vacillate for every moment of it. He damned his fickle, superstitious heart. He had spent many lifetimes cementing together a perfect mosaic of rational arguments and empirical deductions to seal away forever his true irrational nature. Yet, now, despite all his ingenuity, it burst forth through ignored crevices and blossomed like some impudent weed.

  “If I grant you this favor, how do you propose to stop the Harbinger?” he asked.

  “Other than betraying our people, any way I can.”

  “And supposing the Harbinger is truly the prophet of Aurelian?”

  AscendantSun stared blankly at him for a moment. He obviously had not expected such a question from a Necrotheist, one who believed their god dead and never to return.

  “The Golden Light will stop me,” AscendantSun said.

  DawnGlow’s soft exhale brought no relief. His resolve flickered like a candle between granting and refusing his friend’s request.

  “I will help you,” he said. The decision was shocking, as if he had no part in its making. Friendship had triumphed over good sense. Surprise gave way to regret. How did AscendantSun intend to stop the Harbinger? There could be only one way.