by Jason Tesar
Breathing deeply, he looked toward the Myndar city and took a few steps. Suddenly, his vision grew dim and he felt himself falling.
~
Enoch opened his eyes again when he felt himself being lifted from the ground, but the whirling colors of the sky and trees passing in front of his face only made him dizzier.
~
“Drink this,” someone said in a soft voice.
Enoch could tell by the sound of stillness that he was back inside the city. His head pounded and his body ached worse than when he’d been beaten by the Kahyin. Still not ready to open his eyes, he simply allowed the cool liquid to flow into his mouth and down his throat. The aftertaste suggested flowers and citrus fruit.
Laying his head back, he continued to breathe steadily and deeply until the pounding in his head subsided. Gradually, he felt strong enough to open his eyes. The air was cool. High overhead, the sky was shaded by a ceiling of tree limbs woven together. From somewhere far away, the trickling sound of water came to his ears. Beneath his tender body was a bed of soft ferns, their green fronds looking especially bright against his burned skin. As he looked up, faces began to appear at the corners of his vision.
“Are you feeling better?” Ananel asked softly.
“A little,” Enoch replied, his voice sounding harsh.
“Drink some more,” a female voice said from the left.
Enoch opened his mouth and allowed more of the refreshing liquid to be poured in. He closed his eyes again, and felt the irresistible pull of sleep. Haven’t I slept enough?
“Are you hungry?” Ananel asked.
Enoch thought for a moment, then realized that he was famished. “Yes.”
Before he could say another word, something smooth and sweet was placed into his mouth, and he began to chew out of habit. Though it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, he struggled to chew it for the dryness in his mouth. Eventually, he worked up enough saliva to swallow it. And after another sip of the flowery drink, he felt strong enough to sit forward.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would take all day. I must have fallen asleep.”
Ananel smiled. “You’ve been gone for seven days, little one.”
Enoch suddenly lifted his head.
By now, all the spaces around him were filled with the crouching bodies and eager faces of the Myndarym.
“Seven days? But I was just out by the tree—”
“We were watching you from the city. One moment you were there and the next moment you were gone.”
Enoch closed his eyes again and tried to make sense of what he was hearing.
“Then we saw you again. We were worried for you, but we didn’t want to disturb you. So we waited until you stood up … or tried to.”
Enoch rubbed his eyes and when he opened them again, he noticed that his palms appeared to be glowing. A soft radiance shone from the only part of his skin that wasn’t in pain.
“You’ve been in the presence of the Holy One,” someone on his left observed.
“It’s coming from your face as well. You must have delivered our petition?” another said over Ananel’s shoulder.
Ananel leaned forward. “Did you get an answer?”
Enoch simply looked up from his hands. He had neither the words, nor the strength, to have a discussion of this magnitude yet. But his face must have spoken what he was unable to.
Ananel’s golden eyes seemed to look through him, but their intensity faded suddenly. “He needs time,” he said finally. “Let’s get him bathed and prepare him a meal.”
“We’ll talk later,” he said to Enoch.
~
Enoch was grateful to have some time to compose himself. As the cool water from the stream eased his burned skin and refreshed him, he meditated on what had just taken place. Even while satisfying his ravenous hunger with the most delicious and strange foods, he was lost in his thoughts. He had seen and heard so many things that he knew it would take years before he understood it all.
But now, as he paced by the pond at the center of Kiyrakom, as he called it, he felt confident in what he needed to say to the Myndarym. Overhead, the night sky was dark and clear, revealing gleaming, silver stars that were crowded into every available space. From the perimeter of the Place of Meeting, tall trees reached their foliage toward the center, creating a partial canopy that would offer shade during the day. Their bright, graceful leaves stood in stark contrast to the twisted and knotted trunks that dug into the earth, sending out great roots that traversed the ground in search of water. From above and beneath, it seemed as though the trees were attempting to protect and shelter the inhabitants of the city. Only days ago, this had been the most beautiful place Enoch had ever seen.
That was before the vision.
The image of the White City was still burned into his mind. The vastness and beauty of it was without equal. The Keruvym and Ophanym around the Great Throne seemed as if they were made of light; their strange bodies made to live in a different world altogether. The Throne itself, bluer than the deepest part of the Great Waters, was so large that Enoch couldn’t even compare it to anything in this world. And at the center of this display of power and beauty was the Holy One, whom the angels couldn’t even approach for it seemed that they would be destroyed by the radiant glory that surrounded Him. Yet, Enoch was invited closer and given a place of honor and privilege.
“Enoch,” Ananel said quietly. “How are you feeling?”
Interrupted from his thoughts, Enoch saw now that all the Myndarym were gathered. He could see the eagerness on their faces. Ananel was the only one who appeared to know what Enoch was about to say. His hopelessness was visible. Tears began to form involuntarily in Enoch’s eyes as he glanced up to the sky, then down again to the strange beings that had accepted him into their city.
Wandering Stars.
Though once magnificent creatures to behold, their beauty now seemed pale in comparison to those around the throne. Where Enoch used to feel admiration and awe, he now felt sadness and sympathy.
“Minn vanir,” he began, calling them friends in their own language, which he now understood and spoke fluently. “Thank you for your hospitality. You have been kind to me.”
The gathering began to press forward, crowding in to hear Enoch.
“I held your petition in my heart, and I kept your words in my mind. Your repentance went with me as I sat down by the water’s edge to speak with the Holy One. I had no assurance that He would hear your plea. Though He always listens, speaking with Him is not the same as it is with you here in this place. Nevertheless, I spoke to Him and waited. Then a vision came to me and this is what I saw.”
Enoch recounted everything he witnessed, from the mist to the strange movement of the sun, moon, and stars. He spoke of the White City, the Keruvym and Ophanym, the One upon the Throne and the multitudes around him. Word for word, he repeated what the Holy One spoke, seeking neither to interpret the message, nor soften its rebuke. As instructed, he kept the prophecy of the Awakened and the other visions to himself, but in all other matters, he simply described everything as it had been shown to him.
“… tell them, ‘You will have no peace.’” he finished.
The Myndarym were clearly shaken by his words. Some of them dropped to the ground and buried their faces in their hands. Some paced the ground of Kiyrakom. Others simply stood still, their mouths open in disbelief.
Ananel was in tears.
Enoch wanted to tell them that he was sorry to be the bearer of bad news. He wanted to be a friend to these magnificent creatures. But these wants were overshadowed by something greater, something deeper—a need to be obedient to the Holy One who was now more real to him than ever before. Enoch had never had any doubts about the existence of the Holy One, as others in his tribe. But if he had, they would have been destroyed by what he had just witnessed. So, with great sadness, Enoch backed away from the gathering of angels, then turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 18
BAHYITH
Sariel pulled his wings inward and fell from the sky. As the wind ripped past his skin, his large Iryllur eyes could already see that something was amiss. The trees rose quickly to meet him, filling every part of his vision. At the last moment, he extended his wings and flattened his trajectory, coming to a running landing in the grass field near the center of the Chatsiyr village.
Behind him, three massive felines burst through the trees and sprinted into the clearing, their animal bodies heaving great breaths of air as they shaped into their angelic forms. Moving rapidly across the field, the group maneuvered around a grass hut and approached the village center, with Sariel in the lead.
As soon as his feet reached bare dirt, Sariel came to a complete stop. Where once was life and movement, all was now still and silent. Everywhere he looked, he saw blood, spears, and the bodies of lifeless humans strewn about as on the countless battlefields he’d experienced in his life. But instead of soldiers, he saw humans who were innocent of the ways of war.
“NO!” he roared, his body shaking.
A flock of birds took to the air from a nearby stand of trees.
When the commotion passed Jomjael whispered, “What happened here?”
“This is Semjaza’s doing,” Tamael replied with calm assurance.
Breathing heavily, Sariel’s eyes scanned the village that had become his home, looking desperately for any sign of Sheyir. His feet carried his body slowly from place to place, walking him through memories that he would cherish forever. Gradually, the fog of sadness was pushed aside. His trained mind began to suppress his emotions, allowing his senses to collect minute details—footprints, blood spatters, the positions of the bodies—to reconstruct what had taken place. He saw the stone-tipped spears of the Aytsam lying alongside the broken khafars of the Chatsiyram. The obvious disparity between technologies only confirmed Tamael’s attribution of blame.
“What does Semjaza want with the Aytsam, or the Chatsiyram for that matter?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the gruesome sights.
“He’s using them,” Tamael answered.
Sariel looked to the cold fire ring at the center of the gathering area. In his mind he saw dancing flames and running children. He saw smiling faces reflecting orange light. He saw bright eyes filled with awe. But with his physical eyes he saw Yeduah’s body draped over the blackened rocks with a spear protruding from his chest. Sariel tilted his head and stared at the lifeless form of Sheyir’s father. “For what?” he finally replied.
“For years now, Semjaza has been strengthening his resources in the event of a confrontation with the Amatru. He’s been using the people to mine materials from the earth. To build his fortress. To make weapons. They’re slaves to him. Until recently, his ambitions only extended to the Kahyin tribes. They’re more numerous than the others, and physically stronger.”
“It looks like he’s expanded his efforts since we left,” Jomjael added.
Sariel remained quiet for some time, walking slowly from one gruesome sight to another as the Myndarym followed. The picture that he’d been piecing together in his mind was now becoming clear. And the fact that the Shaper’s explanation was incomplete only reinforced how dangerous and mysterious Semjaza really was.
Sariel stopped walking as he neared the edge of the village. The trail of footprints left by the Aytsam transitioned from the damp soil into a wide swath of bent grass as it moved south and disappeared into the trees. “If he wants slaves, then why did the Aytsam kill so many? And why did they take all the women and leave behind only men?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the trees ahead.6, 7
In the ensuing silence, he could hear the shuffling of the angels’ footsteps behind him. He could tell that they were just now becoming aware of the fact that there were no female bodies among the dead. When Sariel turned around, he noticed their slack faces and eyes filled with tears. He could see that they’d never looked upon a battlefield before. And the sight of human slaughter was even more disturbing.
“Look what you’ve done,” he whispered. “You should never have helped him.”
Jomjael turned away.
Batarel kept his eyes fixed on Sariel.
Tamael’s head slowly dropped. “We never meant for this to happen,” he replied, his voice cracking slightly.
Sariel could feel a deep rage welling up inside him now. It was not the kind of emotion that would cause someone to react rashly. Instead, it was the sustained resolution of someone who had spent hundreds of human lifetimes honing his skills of warfare. Slowly, methodically, he pulled a spear from the body of a nearby Chatsiyr man and knelt to lift another from the ground next to him. He adjusted his grip and found the point at which the stone-tipped weapons balanced perfectly in his hands. They were crude and fragile compared to the weapons he’d wielded in the past, but in this place they were apparently still effective.
“You’re either with me, or against me,” he stated coldly.
Tamael glanced quickly at the others. “We’re with you,” he replied.
Sariel turned back to the south and unfurled his wings.
* * * *
SOUTHEAST OF BAHYITH
Sheyir struggled for breath, nearly choked by the tight, animal-hide rope around her neck. She was sitting on the ground with hands behind her back, tied to the inside of a poorly constructed fence of tree branches which encircled hundreds of women. Near her were dozens of other Chatsiyr women and many more from other tribes.
“What do they want with us?” one of the women whimpered.
Across the grassy meadow, on the opposite side of the makeshift corral, were groups of other women that appeared to be arranged by when they arrived at this encampment.
“Gods want children,” another woman spoke.
Sheyir twisted her head to find who had answered, but the rope cut into her skin. “Who said that?” she wheezed.
“Take wives to make big men children,” the woman spoke again.
From the corner of her eye, Sheyir located the woman only a few feet away. Though her words were arranged oddly, her language was nearly the same as the Chatsiyram. Her face was scarred and she appeared to have survived something terrible in her earlier years. Judging by her clothing, made of plant fibers, Sheyir guessed that this woman was also from one of the tribes descended from the Shayetham, like her own people. Perhaps their tribes even lived relatively close to each other. Not that it mattered anymore. Her own people and way of life had been decimated in a few, torturous minutes.
“What are big men children?” Sheyir asked quietly, just noticing a man with a spear yelling at a group of women on the opposite side of the enclosure.
“God children very big. Mothers every die.”
Always die? “The mothers die giving birth because the children are too big?” Sheyir asked, trying to make sense of the women’s words.
“Yes. Every die.”9
Someone screamed from across the enclosure and Sheyir turned to see a section of the fence now resting open, with two massive creatures standing in the gap. A few months ago, she would have been confused and terrified all at once. Now, after knowing Sariel, she was only terrified. These creatures were several feet taller than Sariel as he had first appeared, but they didn’t have wings. Their complexion and hair were a light earthen color, and they wore odd loincloths that hung down to the middle of their upper legs in both the front and back. But even with their different appearance, she could tell that they were Baynor.
Are they here to save us?
Just as she began to hope, several men with spears quickly rushed over to the imposing figures and knelt in front of them. The Baynor had not come to save anyone. They were the leaders.
A shadow suddenly moved across the ground.
Sheyir instinctively looked into the sky. Hundreds of feet above, a winged creature circled and descended.
SARIEL!
The winged silhouette grew in size as it banked, eventually dropping gently into t
he grass inside the enclosure. Pulling its wings inward, it walked toward the other Baynor and began to talk with them. It stood a couple feet shorter, but looked to have authority over them by the way it carried itself. In form, it looked much like Sariel, but with dark brown skin, black hair, and black, feathered wings. After it spoke with the other two, it walked slowly around the enclosure, occasionally pointing at a woman. When it did so, the human guards waded into the group, untied the woman, and dragged her to the center of the prison.
As the trio of creatures made their way toward her group, the last and most recent to come to this terrible place, Sheyir realized that her fingernails were cutting into her own skin. Her fists were clenched and shaking.
One of the taller creatures said something to the dark one.
“Hene, og hene,” said the winged one, pointing to two women a few yards away to Sheyir’s left.
As the screaming women were untied, the dark one’s disinterested gaze swept over the crowd, then rapidly doubled back toward Sheyir. Now his fierce eyes locked onto hers and he slowly took a step forward. “Og du,” he said, lifting his upturned hand toward her.
Sheyir couldn’t take her eyes off the creature. She was horrified and mesmerized at the same time. Its red eyes held a fascinating intensity, and she could only guess at the emotion behind them. Was it anger? Was it lust? As the rope around her neck dropped to the ground, the violent motion of being jerked to her feet brought her abruptly out of her thoughts.
“Taka dessa konnur ad Semjaza,” he told one of the wingless creatures, pointing to the women that had been selected from the crowd.
The men dropped Sheyir to the ground in front of the dark one.
The towering beast looked down to the human males. “You. Go get more,” he said in a language that sounded very close to Chatsiyr.
The men nodded and backed away in fear, finally turning and running away when they’d put enough distance between themselves and this fearsome giant.
“And you,” he said, turning back to Sheyir. “You will come with me. Semjaza will want you for himself.”
Sheyir flinched as the dark one reached down and lifted her from the grass as if she were a child. Holding her with one arm, he stretched out his wings and jumped into the air.
* * * *
SOUTHEAST OF BAHYITH