Erika nodded. “We’ll tell Janus, I promise.”
“Hang in there,” he said, giving them a brief smile, though Erika could not fail to miss the half-hearted nature of it.
After wiping his forehead clear again, he gave them a thumbs-up gesture as well, though his eyes betrayed the real truth. Erika knew that he was a very tough man, and also knew that his stoic demeanor was not just his own way of handling the tragedy, but was also intended for their own benefit. Casting a presence of strength, even if just a semblance of it, was a lifeline that they could all hold onto within the storm of misery. It was a foundation when everything else seemed so unstable.
“Hang in there, both of you. … It sounds crazy, but I know that it will get better. I know that it will,” Derek then added.
“It will, Derek,” Erika replied more firmly, giving him a warm smile in return, wanting him to feel a little of the confidence that he wanted to instill in the others.
He returned the grin, though it was laced with sadness. Derek then turned and set off with heavy steps to resume his efforts within the sea of tragedy.
JANUS
It had taken no small effort to force himself to walk into the village on that unforgiving morning. He was not about to let the good people of the village and his friends work through the rubble alone. Heavy hearted, seeing the world shrouded in the coldest gray, Janus had forced his legs to take each step up the hillside and past the outer palisade, taking him into the interior of the destroyed village.
Though he had expected horrific sights to meet his eyes, the lack of surprise in finding them did not diminish the thunderous ache in his heart as his eyes swept across the inner grounds of the Onan village.
All of the calamities in view were more than burdensome to his already fragile psyche. One of them, though, had been nearly enough to shove him over the edge and into an internal abyss.
Though unbeknownst to Janus, it was the very same sight that had compelled Logan to sit down, broken and angry, amid the ruins of the village. It was the scene of the child sobbing into the fur of her dead dog, as she rocked back and forth on the ground, cradling the crushed body.
The image conjured up a thousand upon thousand demons within Janus’ delicate mind. The horror and sorrow etched upon the little girl’s face, as her tears wetted the fur on the still body in which she had probably once found comfort and a sense of freedom, were far too much for Janus to be able to handle.
Instantly, he connected intimately with the great pain that was embroiling the little girl. The thunder of the agony he felt for her, and felt from the wounds newly ripped open within himself, caused a river of tears to break through and flow outward.
He slowly walked over to the little girl, squatted down, and hugged her tightly, sobbing himself.
Her dog, a large, stout, grey-furred breed, was clenched tightly in her arms. Its head was caked in blood and misshapen, where one of the cruel rocks from the sky had struck it during the dreadful night.
Janus memory invoked a contrasting image, one that made the current scene all the more acrid. He could imagine the little girl, just a day earlier, running through the village, squealing with joy as the dog bounded along playfully at her heels. He could still see the two wrestling and frolicking around, the dog licking her face, barking excitedly, and wagging its tail vigorously, as she threw her arms around it and hugged her furry friend close. The daunting veil of mortality now irrevocably separated the two companions, who had been happily playing together without a care in the world just the previous day.
However the roads arrived at it, this was the ugly culmination at the end of all lives. Through violence, age, or disease, and whether sinner or saint, all paths led to the awful conclusion that extinguished the wonder of a unique, irreplaceable life. That, in its naked reality, was the true face of death.
Death held the countenance of an unbowed conqueror. As always, the only death that Janus desired with all of his soul was the death of death itself.
The little girl continued to cry into the fur of the dog, but after some time curiosity must have moved her to look up to see just who was hugging her. Janus spoke no words, just trying to comfort and console her by his close presence. He understood her pain implicitly, but knew that there was nothing that he could really say.
He wished that he could somehow take the pain away from her, even if it meant that he added it to his own sustained, and continuously worsening, perdition. He hugged her to him even tighter, wishing that he could somehow squeeze the sorrow out of her, and let it seep into his own world-weary body.
Janus silently held the little girl close and snug, for what seemed like an eternity. He did not mind it in the least, knowing that it gave the poor child a slim anchorage to something that transcended the hideousness of the world.
Eventually, he felt a gentle hand lay down upon his shoulder.
Slowly looking up, he beheld a young village woman, whose face was stained with tears. New ones were welling up and moistening her reddened eyes, before beginning their downward trek. She was a very attractive young woman, but a great abyss of sorrow had left her looking haggard and drawn.
“Thank you … for being here, with my daughter … man from afar,” she said with great effort, in a voice hollow and exhausted. She tried to force a smile, clearly moved at the compassion that the foreigner had shown to her daughter, a child that he did not know.
Janus nodded quietly to her, knowing what she would ask, as he slowly released his embrace of the girl, and methodically got up to his feet. No words needed to be said that the girl’s mother needed to take his place as the comforter. The anchorage that he had instilled in the child, diminutive as it was, would be strengthened tenfold by the presence of her own mother. Many children in the village were now bereft of such a grace, a thought not lost on Janus as he watched the mother’s emotion pour forth at the reunion.
The mother instantly dropped to her knees and hugged the little girl tightly, letting the tears flow swiftly again down her angular cheeks. Wordlessly, Janus shuffled away from the scene, feeling numb in his heart, though his chest seemed to throb with the emotional pain that he held within. His legs were weak, barely able to support his weight.
Two times, he tripped on debris and fell to the ground. Each time that he fell, he dragged himself back up and continued onward, heading towards the village’s entryway. Janus wanted simply to head away from the village and its immense sorrows. He knew that he needed to get away from everything before he lost control of his tenuous hold on sanity, or could at least deceive himself that he could get away from the pain for a few moments. In truth, one could never escape such an experience, as it left a very unique kind of wound. The bleeding could possibly be stemmed, but the scar would never fade, as Janus knew well enough.
He fell one more time on the downward slope of the hill outside of the village, tumbling down haphazardly several feet before coming to a merciful stop. He ignored the scuffs and burning scrapes that he had incurred in the fall, as he dully got up to his feet and continued downward.
Finally, he reached the bottom, and started forward into the woods. His legs now felt as if they were made of the heaviest stone, though he forcibly picked up his pace and subsequently broke into an unsteady jog. A few times he wavered, and had to slow down to a stop, to find his balance with the help of a tree.
Eventually, he was deep into the forest, and far away from the village. Ultimately, when his willpower could no longer force his legs to carry him any farther, he collapsed onto the ground. Pulling himself towards the base of a towering oak tree, he curled up into a fetal position and wept bitterly.
At long last, the fatigue of an emotionally drained soul and a physically depleted body overcame his consciousness, and brought him into the merciful arms of a deep sleep.
THE UNIFIER
Everything was so abundantly clear, no depths hidden from the eyes watching the winged form descending from the skies.
The messenge
r’s heart was palpitating rapidly when he landed his Harrak deep within the bailey of the second level of The Unifier’s soaring citadel in Avalos. His thoughts were so very exposed, revealed in an instant of transcendent perception by the One watching him.
The Avanoran sky rider had been expecting to be greeted by one of the Unifier’s Sorcerers, the ones who attended Him most closely. They often sat within the gable-ended Great Hall that loomed far to his left, diligently conducting the Unifier’s affairs.
The Sorcerers of Avalos were quite unnerving in their own regard, though nothing like the Master that they served. Unlike the Unifier, the guardsman could still endure their presence while keeping his wits and composure. He had envisioned that once they had met his arrival, that they would conduct him deeper into the great fortress, or perhaps lead him on up to one of the higher levels of the citadel that the Unifier normally occupied.
The walk would have given him the precious gift of a little time, as he had hoped for a few undisturbed moments to steel his anxieties. The hopes had been brutally dashed when he saw that the Unifier Himself was awaiting him in person within the bailey. To the guardsman’s great dismay, he also saw that they were alone, anyone else evidently having been dismissed, as the grounds never went unoccupied by the forms of servants, artisans, or guards.
The eerie silence reigning in the bailey was intimidating enough, unnatural as the winds whistled among the series of buildings all around. A dizzying, icy chill of fear seized upon him with the realization of the Unifier’s imminent presence, imbuing his movements with awkwardness. Hurriedly, he got down out of the saddle, his knees nearly buckling as his feet set down on the ground.
The messenger bowed his head immediately, instantly dropping to one knee before the tall, immaculate presence standing before him. He fumbled about as he nervously unlaced and removed his conical iron helm, revealing the short-cropped hair covering his head from his ears forward.
The back half was shaved smooth, as was his face. It was a manner of style that hailed from an earlier age, now embraced by the warriors of the Unifier’s Avanoran garrison within the great citadel. Stoic, determined, and well-trained, the warriors that exhibited the strange, half-shaven style were normally to be respected and feared, at least by the populace of Avanor. The Unifier had no respect for the warrior, and was well aware of the man’s great fear.
As one of the elite garrison force, the man had been privy to many things that few others knew about the powerful being looming before him. Only the Sorcerers knew the Unifier more intimately.
He had no difficulty keeping confidence concerning certain aspects regarding the true nature of the Unifier, as he had openly witnessed what could happen if he ever failed to do so. Bold, even arrogant, in his dealings others in the realm, he was frightened to the point of paralysis just from being in the immediate company of the Unifier.
The moments spent directly before the Unifier were those that he dreaded the most. Being alone with the Unifier, in the middle of an empty bailey, was staggering to his inner composure. It was all that he could do to function within the oppressive climate.
“What is the report?” the Unifier calmly demanded, ignoring the tremendous fear swarming within the guard, and well aware of everything that the man was thinking and feeling.
The messenger kept his eyes averted from the powerful, penetrating gaze of the Unifier. “The Darroks destroyed a large village, and caused much damage to one of the tribes.”
“A village? One village? Did I not make myself clear that five villages were to be destroyed, in the first use of the Darroks?” The Unifier replied in an even tone, intertwined with tendrils of anger. “How was this not clear?”
The guard’s heartbeat was now racing precipitously, as he mustered up every ounce of his will to answer. “Your will was clear, my Lord. … They could not continue their attack. … They were challenged by tribal defenders, upon sky steeds. They were able to destroy the village, before losses to the Trogens, and threats to the Darroks, forced them to retreat. The losses to the tribesmen were great. Two of every three warriors that came up on sky steeds were slain.”
“And it was said that we would command their skies. That there was no way that the tribes would be able to contend with the Darroks. What can I believe now?” the Unifier stated darkly.
His eyes took on a blazing, reddish hue, with pulsing, swirling movements just beneath the surface of the baleful orbs. Anger rose up within Him at the news that the great Darroks had somehow been forced to suspend their assault, after leveling just one paltry village.
“And of the Darroks?” He inquired in a near hiss.
“They are all healthy,” the messenger replied quickly. “All of the losses were to the Trogens upon the carriages. Be assured that there was no harm to any of the Darroks.”
The Unifier narrowed His eyes as He focused upon the soldier. He could easily sense the increasing trepidation in the human at having to deliver the less than spectacular tidings.
“There is a threat … yes? Speak now, and openly,” the Unifier commanded in a low, threatening voice.
The sky warrior nodded, sweat beading all over his forehead. “Yes, my Lord. … A couple of tribesmen were able to cut a harness free on one Darrok. They flew on its underside, and cut the bindings. The carriage was near to sliding off of its back. The Trogens had to abandon the area, or lose the carriage and themselves.”
“How could that be? How could they even reach My Darroks to do such a thing?” the Unifier questioned with clear disgust. The feeble tribesmen had exposed a weakness in Avanor’s mighty new weapon, on just the very first use of it. “Why were those savages able to even come near to My Darroks? How did they pass through the Trogen sky warriors?”
A sickening dread gripped the messenger, as he knew that he could not lie, nor could he sweeten his words. There was no use even trying, and a part of him felt that he should simply run for the steps to the circuit wall on the terrace, mount them, and fling himself quickly from the wall.
“They … were not … sent in the carriages. The Trogens were sent without steeds. It was deemed that all room should be used for the stone missiles. The Darroks were loaded with as much stone as they could bear, with enough of a crew to handle it,” the messenger responded, the cold sweat surging all over his body. A breeze engulfed him, as it channeled through the rectangular buildings nearby, causing him to shiver.
“It was thought that the tribesmen could do nothing,” the guardsman continued. “That their steeds would not be expended on trying to attack the Darroks. That the Trogens would be able to fend any tribesmen off with just bows, if they did emerge to resist. Only a very small number of the tribesmen’s sky riders have even been seen in recent weeks … and none in force near this village. Their numbers were underestimated. It is said that they attacked together … concentrating in a group on one Darrok after another, felling as many Trogens as they could.”
Had the soldier looked up, he would have noticed no change in expression on the Unifier’s face. There was no outward sign of the instantaneous rage that was now churning violently within the tall, dark-haired being. It would not have been unusual, for whether fire or ice surged within Him, His countenance could remain uncannily placid.
The Unifier did not have to ask which magnate or leader had made the errant decision. It would not have been the Trogen leaders, a race of beings that rarely underestimated an opponent. The Trogen warriors had likely had great resentment for the order to go unescorted to begin with. They never would have gone unescorted under their own full command. If anything, the clannish Trogens would probably respect the tribal humans too much. The Trogens that had survived the fight would surely bring word of the debacle back to their own leaders, straining an already tenuous alliance.
The messenger would have been horrified to learn of the torments that the Unifier considered giving to the one responsible for the decision to leave sky steeds off of the Darroks.
The fact that t
he guard did not know his Master’s thoughts also mercifully spared him the brief moment when the Unifier contemplated immolating the guard, simply for having brought word of vulnerabilities that could have been so easily avoided.
The Unifier did not reply to the guard, instead calmly walking past the messenger and on towards the steps leading up to the wall walk. The Unifier’s long, rapid stride carried Him there in moments. The guard remained on his knee behind, not about to follow the Lord of Avanor.
The Unifier simmered, yet what was done, had been done. Another measure would have to be considered in regard to the Five Realms. The ongoing defiance of the tribesmen, like a wind fanning a fire through parched woodlands, had spread growing flames of hatred within Him. The news of their partial success against the Darroks made His spirit boil.
For just a moment, He contemplated the ironies inherent in the moment, as poor tribesmen continued to resist and reject what rich and powerful Kings, Sultans, and Emperors readily embraced.
Once at the wall’s crenellated edge, the Unifier swept His gaze across Avalos. He could see the spires of the great Cathedral of Avalos far below, a place nearing completion after many long years of construction. Being constructed with the latest techniques of architecture in the western lands, with towering spires, flying buttresses, and intricate vaults, it would bring a stream of visitors into the city. Though it appeared tiny from His vantage point, the huge edifice served as the most elite church in all of Avanor, the seat of the powerful Archbishop Regnier himself.
The thought of the Cathedral never ceased to amuse the Unifier, especially how it looked so small and insignificant before His towering, mighty citadel. The Cathedral was where many of the wealthiest nobles believed that they offered worship to the Accursed One. While their utterances may have been addressed to the God of the Western Church, an irritant enough, the Unifier was consoled by the reality that their hearts and deeds had long ago fallen to the service of Another.
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