Syros looked at it, bewildered. Was it joking? “What is there to be happy about?” he asked the once three-eyed Alpelite.
“You should be thankful that you are living at all. Existence is worth the struggle. There are many who die while still inside their mother’s womb, many who will never experience what life is and the beauty that there can be.”
“Are all Alpelites so positive?” he asked, surprised at the creature’s optimism. “If your race is so evolved, then why do you fight us to retake Asterleigh? Is it merely because of all the pretty buildings?”
Bora’s face clouded with anger, so much so that Syros felt worried for a moment. Even though the Alpelite was wounded, it still dwarfed him by almost two feet. Despite its talk of understanding and adulation for life, it had only a few days previously brought a heavy axe down upon him, forcing him to act quickly to parry it, or he, much like Mercivous, would also be dead.
“You humans steal our home and expect no repercussions?” It gave a slight scoff of derision. “There is a mysticism surrounding Asterleigh that you humans know nothing about… We should have known what your race was like when you first arrived here; what has the human species ever done but destroy your own planet? And now you come to destroy ours?”
The creature was making sound points that were hard to argue against; instead, his mind went to something that he had wondered about relentlessly ever since he had first set foot in the grand capital. “How does the statue of Medzu stay stationary on the clouds?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “How did the Alpelites ever achieve something so inconceivable?”
The Alpelite had a look of puzzlement on its greenish-brown face. “Statue? That is no statue, human. It is Medzu’s empty shell.”
“If that’s its shell, then where’s its consciousness?” Syros responded, displaying his own bewilderment.
Bora gave a slight shrug. “Perhaps it left to get away from this world that is so barbaric. Tell me, human, if you had the opportunity to leave this world, would you not jump at the chance to do so?”
He turned this over within his mind, but he did not need to for very long. Yes, he would. In a heartbeat. Without any hesitation or second thought.
“So, human,” Bora continued, “where do we go? I’m sure when the rest of your kind find out what you did to the silver-haired one, they will come searching for us.”
Syros thought it over. “How about we join the Venians in the forests? I have heard stories of humans running from battlefields to join them, seeking sanctuary away from the war.”
Bora sounded unconvinced. “Bahhh… the Venians, though pleasant to the eye, are quite a boring species.” It looked Syros over speculatively. “Do you drink?”
“What?”
“Drink.” Bora repeated. “Do you drink wine?”
“Yes…”
“I think you shall like Ankor then. There are other humans living there. More than you might think, deserters from throughout the years who have joined our cause in retaking our homeland. Yes,” it continued, “I think you shall enjoy Ankor.”
“How do I know you won’t kill me the moment we walk through the gates?”
“You saved my life,” Bora reassured him, giving a low bow. “In our culture that means a great deal.”
Syros watched over the bowing Alpelite, unsure of what to make of the whole situation. Truth be told, he was not sure why he had saved the creature’s life. When he had retrieved his blade and pierced it through the back of Mercivous, it had felt as if something unworldly was in control of his actions. If he could replay the moment, he was not entirely sure the same outcome would reoccur.
“And what would I do in Ankor? How would I spend the rest of my life with you and your people?”
Bora lifted its head back up. “Well, that’s up to you, human. As I said, you have saved my life; once I tell the officials in Ankor of your deed, I’m sure they will look upon you favourably. You can choose to join us in our fight for Asterleigh and our God for whom we have been yearning. Or you can settle down. I’m sure we can find a pretty human mate to bear your children.”
This actually did not sound too bad to Syros, as he visualised what kind of future Bora was speaking of. But it was not what he wanted, not really. He wanted to return home to Jovian and live on his old farm once more, with his brother Ednon. He wanted Torjan and Saniya to be there, so they could live out their vow and die as old people together on the same day. But what he longed for the most was for the endless nightmare that life had become to finally end, and to wake up having forgotten all of the horror that had befallen him in his life up to this point.
“Okay,” Syros agreed. “We shall travel to Ankor.”
Bora gave him a slight smile. “Good. We shall leave after I enter into my nothingness,” it said cheerfully, before making its way past Syros and to a rock on the edge of the clifftop. Syros watched it, bewildered. Its nothingness? Bora climbed upon the rock and entered a stance that he had seen many times throughout his life.
“Care to join me?”
“No,” Syros responded, not moving from the shade of the tree. He had not meditated since he was a small child. To clear his mind of everything, at this moment, was surely nothing short of impossible.
“Suit yourself,” Bora called, stiffening its back. The suns were out once again and the weather had returned to a state of extreme humidity. Syros watched Bora silently, as its body obstructed the rising suns behind it. The minutes passed; other than the chirping of a few songbirds and the slight rustling of the wind, it was a moment of pure unadulterated silence. Syros leaned his head back upon the tree and closed his eyes.
“Please,” he silently begged, to whatever it was that might have been listening. “Please… no more hardships…”
He experienced a surprising feeling as he sat under the shade of the blossoming tree. It was a sense of calmness and serenity, but he didn’t expect it to last. So when the newborn silence was disrupted by the sound of galloping horses approaching their location, he did not feel surprised in the slightest. He got to his feet and withdrew his sword.
“Bora, they are here.”
They stood and watched the mountaintop, as the noise grew louder with each second that passed. After a moment Syros could see four figures heading towards them. He squinted his eyes trying to identify the riders. As they came into his vision, he determined the figures belonged to the oafs Deckard and Koman, as well as his friend Torjan; even Captain Raynmaher was among them, leading out in front. The horses slowed down as they neared their location, just a mere ten yards away. Deckard and Koman, along with Torjan, dismounted, while Raynmaher stayed on horseback, looking over at him with sadness in his eyes.
“Hello, Sy,” Torjan said.
“Hello, Torj.”
“I’ve heard some disturbing stories.” Raynmaher’s eyes shifted to the large Alpelite standing beside him. “Very disturbing, Syros. I did not believe them, but after they showed me Mercivous’s corpse… well,” he said solemnly. “I never expected that you, of all people, would turn traitor against your own kind.”
“I am a traitor,” Syros responded, looking into the eyes of his once mentor and Captain. “But all the same, I could not let Mercivous have his way with the village; I plunged my blade into his back and for that I have no regrets.”
“Koman and Deckard told me what happened in the village. How you led the others into the massacre of the Alpelites, how you grew so mad with blood-lust you killed Mercivous, before making your escape with this… cretin…” he continued, motioning his hand towards Bora, who was standing perfectly still, its eyes nervously shifting between the two.
“They’re lying!” Syros snapped, gesturing towards Deckard and Koman, who had smirks growing across their faces. “Who could believe such a story, concocted by these two morons?”
Raynmaher sighed. “All the same… the facts are
clear. You killed Mercivous, your own comrade and brother-in-arms.”
Syros nodded his head. “Aye, I killed Mercivous. He was a sadistic bastard. My only regret is that I did not prolong his suffering.” He gripped firmly onto his blade, as the four of them made further steps towards him. The mountain cliff on which Bora had been meditating was steep, seeming to go downwards for miles. Perhaps the fall would not kill them and even if it did, did it matter?
“Where is Saniya?” he addressed Torjan. “Is she safe?”
“She’s doing okay, Sy. Of course, she hasn’t stopped crying since she heard the news.”
“Tell her I’m sorry.”
“I will.”
“Put down the blade, Syros,” Raynmaher urged. “Put the blade away, come with us willingly and give up the creature. It is not worth your death.”
“What will happen to me if I do?”
“You will be sent back to Asterleigh and await trial. Who knows, you may live long enough to return to your village an old man, to be with your brother.”
Syros searched Raynmaher’s eyes. He could tell he was lying. He knew in this moment that they had come here to kill him. He continued to clutch firmly onto his blade; Bora was strong, but was wounded with no weapon. The Alpelite was not going to be much help.
“There are only four of you. I feel as if you may have underestimated my abilities, Captain.” He tried to emit an aura of confidence, but he knew he would stand no chance, not against all four of them.
Raynmaher shook his head. “I liked you, boy. It’s a shame, a damn shame,” he uttered, before motioning to Torjan, Deckard and Koman. “Kill him and the savage that he has foolishly aligned himself with.”
“Sy…” Torjan whispered, as the three of them inched closer towards Syros and Bora. “Do you remember our vow?” A slight, surprising smile had found its way onto his face.
“I do, Torj.” Why was he smiling?
“Well…” Torjan continued, as the three lads, with swords drawn, stood only a foot away, readying themselves for combat. “It won’t be today.”
Syros looked at his friend in shock. Then, within a moment, Torjan lunged at Koman and Deckard, knocking them both to the ground, their blades flying off into the distance. “Run, Sy!” Torjan yelled as Deckard and Koman quickly rose and began to restrain him. Syros realised the drop behind him was truly the only way they could go. He gazed back at Torjan. His mind was racing; he could not just leave his friend.
“Tame the beast!” Raynmaher ordered, as Koman withdrew a small blade from his belt and plunged it into the back of Torjan, who gave a loud cry of anguish. Koman brought down the blade again and again. Torjan now had blood pouring from his mouth and it looked as if at any minute he would lose consciousness. However, just as the fourth blow was about to be struck, Torjan quickly manoeuvred around, knocked the blade out of Koman’s hand and plunged the dagger through his comrade’s eye.
“Run, Syros!” Torjan shouted, as Raynmaher moved steadily towards them, his long blade glistening in the sunlight.
Syros gave one more panicked glance, then, without hesitation or second thought, grabbed Bora and jumped off the mountain cliff.
They tumbled for what felt like an eternity, the pain growing with each frantic passing second. Eventually, they fell into a mass of thick verdant bushes. Facing upwards to the mountain top where they had been, Syros let out a deep pained yell. Breathing heavily and heart pounding, he checked Bora beside him, tangled in the soft branches.
“Are you okay?” he asked the battered and torn creature.
“Praise be to Medzu! I think I was wrong,” Bora uttered after a moment of pure silence.
“Wrong about what?”
“You have now saved my life twice… Perhaps I was wrong; you may not be a human after all… but an angel, sent here to watch over me.”
I’m no angel, Syros thought to himself, gazing towards the sun-filled blue sky. Angels do not leave their friends to die alone. Nor do they literally shit themselves from fear at the prospect of jumping off the edge of an enormous cliff.
15
Temple of Yashin
Ednon was drifting through the streets of Asterleigh, which were, just as before, deserted of all life; only he and Medzu were present in the golden-laced city. Behind him, he was aware of the monumental statue illuminating, shining even more brightly than it did on a normal day when he wasn’t in the bliss of his dream state. The sky behind the effigy was red, blood red; Sechen was passing through the cosmic firmament. He did not focus on the stars for too long, his eyes remained fixed upon the ground, the stone-cobbled streets on which he walked. He was moving out of the city and into the meadows, which, much like the city itself, were vacant entirely. Contact with his senses had been lost somewhere in the esoteric allure; something was pulling him in. The wind was howling, even within this dream state he could feel it rippling against his skin, but it was like the knocks on a door of an empty house and not enough to wake him. He glided across the grass, up the verdant hills, heading towards the crimson night sky. He stopped and admired the view, but not for too long. The city was beautiful from this location; golden temples rose far above the ground as if the buildings themselves were trying to reach Medzu, sitting motionless upon the clouds.
Ednon turned around to see a figure standing before him, naked in the rain. He opened his mouth to ask its name, but no words manifested. The figure’s eyes were pure unadulterated darkness, like the emptiest of voids. It looked human, but how could it be? No human glowed with an unworldly brightness, nor did they have what appeared to be red veins twirling round to forge patterns, which for some unknown reason resonated somewhere deep inside of him. The glowing figure moved closer; the redness of the sky grew darker as the entity raised its hands and the plains were suddenly engulfed in shadows. The ground beneath him collapsed and, for the second time in as many dreams, Ednon felt the sensation of spiralling. Awaking in the stillness, he saw the kaleidoscopic eye form before him, before the orb of vision parted to immerse him in the endless ethereal light. All fragments of fear, joy, sorrow and love he had ever previously held were lost as the light continued to shine. He heard a distant voice, as the lucent reached its celestial brightest.
“Ednon…” A hand gently nudged his shoulder.
Ednon opened his eyes. He was sitting in the hall of the Grand Library. He found the hand that had awoken him belonged to the elderly Ageth.
“Ed, I’m sorry to wake you, but there is a man here looking for you.”
“A man?” Ednon asked languidly, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Who?”
“He did not give a name. He arrived at the entrance and asked whether you were inside. What shall I tell him?”
A man? Ednon once again questioned, now only to himself. Who could it be? Who would come here searching for him; was it someone from the Order? Who would even know he was here, in the darkened depths of the Grand Library?
“Tell him I will see him,” Ednon told her, eager to find out who this visitant was.
“Okay.” She gave him a worried glance. “I will bring him here. Do not move from this spot, Ed.”
Ednon had fallen asleep while reading one of the books on Vena’s ancient history. He had come here after learning of the Order’s intentions, unable to get out of his mind how wrong his perception of his grandfather had been. Why couldn’t he have told me? Why would he teach me these ideals of pacifism, knowing what his fellow Elders were planning? Ednon thought back to what his grandfather had told him on the night of his death and how he was more of a hypocrite than Ednon knew. This must have been what he was alluding to, he deduced, standing up and having a stretch. Still, why could he not have told me? He felt as if he would have had a clearer understanding if only the words had come out of Ira’s mouth, instead of Luther’s.
Ednon’s eyes searched around the halls. He was half expecting the phantom t
o be here once again; that accursed shadow whose words had condemned only horror and despair into his life ever since he had the misfortune to hear them. However, in the five or so times he had returned, the spectre had not reappeared. He was beginning to question whether he had truly seen it. Perhaps all it was, all it ever had been, was a daydreaming mind’s overactive imagination. He liked to think it so, as that would mean the world’s ending was also only a fantasy he had concocted in his mind. He prayed that this was the case.
Ednon sat and waited at his table, anxiously anticipating who needed his audience; perhaps it was Abacus, come seeking a reconciliation. He had not spoken to Abacus since their meeting in the underground had finished, instead opting for avoidance and circumvention. He was surprised, however, to see it was not Abacus who had come to find him but the old man Robles, whom he had met in Jovian’s cemetery, along with the blue-eyed woman, Ethna.
“Good day, master Ednon.” The old man spoke in his usual formal tone.
“Hello,” Ednon replied. Robles was, much as before, dressed both formally and elegantly. Ednon looked at the belt around the man’s waist and saw he was once again carrying his sword.
“I have never been in this building.” Robles glanced around at the shelves of books, while giving his grey moustache a twirl.
“Not a keen reader?”
Robles pondered for a moment. “I think I would have been. But you see, I never learnt to read.”
“You never learnt to read? If you don’t mind my asking, why is that?”
“My father was a military man. As was his father before him. Military life was all I knew, hence, no time for reading.”
“You’ve served in the military then?” Ednon was beginning to feel a smidgen of apprehension, once again directing his eyes towards the man’s sheathed sword in his iron-studded belt.
Robles placed his hands behind him and puffed out his chest. “Yes, Sir! Over forty years of gallant service, Sir!”
To Tame the Sentry Being Page 15