“Forgive me, Abriel. I don’t know what has gotten into me. It seems I have lost my senses out here, dazzled by these stars!”
Abriel’s heart melted for love of his brother, and he hugged him tight.
“Oh, for the days when we were mere Destiners, soaring the Silver Sea sky...”
Abriel gasped suddenly. Searing pain tearing through his side, he leaned, full weight, against his brother. But Raeh stepped back and let him fall. He planted a foot on Abriel’s heaving chest.
“Never let your guard down, Abriel, unless your opponent has been disarmed.”
Raeh watched his brother suffer and die, then walked away gratified.
Philon appeared within moments and scooped up Abriel’s limp body. He called out to Raeh, “Selfish ambition is your weapon of choice, and in defense of it you run your brother through.”
Void of empathy, blood dripping from saber to foot, Raeh stared blankly at Philon. All at once he dropped his weapon, as though it were a hot coal. With both hands, he clutched his thigh. Gnashing his teeth in agony, he spluttered curses.
“Your brother’s blood cries out,” said Philon.
“Feel his pain and let it reach your heart!”
With that he vanished, taking with him the slain Abriel.
Leg throbbing, fueled by rebellion, Raeh called forth his Pool of Passion. Watching the water collect in his palms, his countenance grew to a grimace, for the water had mixed with Abriel’s blood. Seeking to slake his inordinate thirst he drank greedily of the pinkish pool as if his life depended on it.
“What do you think of that, Philon?” he hissed. “I not only killed my brother, I devoured him!” Raeh belched.
His true identity, held under far too long, had at last completely drowned, and he entered a false reality wherein he reigned supreme. Palms licked clean and eyes ablaze, he screamed into space at the top of his lungs.
“Raeh is no more! Primus now reigns!” Stars drooping nearby flickered and dimmed at his malevolent cry, and amid the echoing declaration. Raeh’s heart began to quiver. He smacked at his chest, thup, thup! The quivering increased. He knocked harder, thwack! Just then a crawling sensation replaced the quivering, and Raeh made a dig toward it---scratching his chest until it bled.
In the course of his torturous tearing he thought he heard something, and so he stilled himself. All was silent but for his manic breathing and a faint, far off melody. Hands caked in bloody feathers, he pressed them against his ears, but Strophe’s melancholy tone came through. “Raeh...” she cried with mournful modulation.
A small object descended hauntingly toward him. Gliding like a leaf, drifting to and fro, it landed at his feet with a hollow plunk.
Chapter 5
The conductor’s place before the choir remained ominously vacant and the singers grew anxious at the implications of his absence. In silent formation they waited.
Philon, returning from Zenith, addressed the choral host, “Our Raeh, resisting love’s way and refusing its light, is blinded by visions of grandeur. Making darkness his home, he now gropes for fulfillment in the Netherlife.” While all were troubled at the news, questions lingered, leaving some unconvinced.
“While we grieve over losing one whom we hold so dear,” continued Philon, “I urge you to heed my warning. Raeh will return to entice you with deceptive talk and empty promises. Beware, lest you perceive him only superficially, for he is not who he once was.”
The gravity of Raeh’s state of mind, and the impact of his loss, was overwhelming. Minds raced and allegiance was tested, for Raeh was widely celebrated.
As Philon predicted, it wasn’t long before Raeh appealed in secret to those whom he deemed capable of advancing his cause. He called a clandestine meeting deep in the River Wood. There he would press his seditious agenda and leverage support. As word spread throughout the ranks, Meliose, along with numerous others not invited, caught wind of the event and consorted together to attend the meeting incognito.
On the designated day, member after glorious member of the Image Maker’s host slinked off into the woods to hear what the truant conductor had to say.
“In traveling the cosmos,” Raeh began, “I have made discoveries both without and within. One might say I have had an epiphany. Now enlightened, I have decided to shake off certain limitations, beginning with my given name, Raeh. Hereafter, I shall more appropriately answer only to ‘Primus.” Given Raeh’s high status and lofty titles, most found his reference to limitations odd.
“You have no doubt been warned of my coming, and cautioned about my luring you away from your less than prestigious positions. I assure you, nothing is further from the truth. It is not the sword of strife I seek, but rather, the hand of brotherhood.” Finding his appeal reasonable, some nodded in consent. “I wish only to extend the hand of brotherhood and engage in civil conversation with any so inclined.”
His every word weighed, and every movement measured, he spoke of the flawless beauty surrounding them, “It is a good life you have here in this lovely setting.” He patted the trunk of a knobby tree, and looking upward, took a deep breath. “Ahh...these woods—so peaceful and inspiring—the perfect place to dream.” He peeled a chunk of bark from the tree and gave it a sentimental look.
“Do any of you ever feel like nonentities among such a vast host? I mean, really, do you ever get the feeling that your proficiency and pedigree call you to greater distinction?”
“Your smooth talk disguises your guile!” shouted Meliose, rising to his feet near Raeh. “Did Philon not clearly warn us that Raeh would return and do this very thing? Yet you sit here entertaining his lies!”
Titanos, easily the largest among them, rose up quickly and headed for Meliose.
“Who do you think you are to disparage one so highly esteemed?”
“I am Meliose, personal attendant to Philon!”
Raeh chimed in, “And how have we acquired the honor of your presence? I distinctly recall omitting your name from my roster.” Dummy laughter dotted the uneasy crowd.
“But since you are here, tell us, Meliose, have you ever seen a star so pregnant with light that it bursts at the seams, scattering news stars into space? Or have you paid no attention?”
Raeh allowed no time for a response, but quickly called to a female.
“What about you, Lupa—with your propensity for delving into things mysterious—or shall we say prohibitive? What prevents you from investigating further?” Raeh spoke emphatically.
“I would venture to say that if either of you, or any of you in this exceptional assembly would dare look inside yourselves, you would find embryonic desires swimming aimlessly about within your Pool of Passion!”
His listeners perked up.
“Why doom them to futility? Is it that much easier to live a life tethered to mediocrity?”
Seeing he had piqued their interest, he challenged them. “To the courageous among you, let us gaze into that infinite Pool!”
“Please!” Meliose urged. “We must remember what Philon has said. Do not listen to Raeh!”
But throughout the company there began a great muttering.
“You must stop this madness!” shouted Meliose. “He is leading you astray!”
Titanos pushed Meliose aside, and coming between him and Raeh, drew his sword.
Meliose ignored him. Interrupting the invocation, he cried loudly, “Tell us, Raeh, are you privy to the whereabouts of Abriel, or did you find his conscience a liability to your cause?”
“One more word,” threatened Raeh, “and it will be your last!”
Fearless, Meliose answered, “Then let my last word be a worthy one. Hear me, one and all! Your revered ‘Star of The Morning’ murdered his brother in cold blood!”
“He lies!” countered Raeh.
In an instant Titanos’ sword came barreling down, but Meliose quickly dodged the strike and, swinging wide, sliced his attacker across the cheek. The wound splayed open and bled into his beard.
&nbs
p; “Chayil, fight for your freedom!” shouted Raeh.
Then on the ground and in the air a formidable battle ensued. Weapons clashed and armor clanged and the River Wood cried with war.
Chased in flight by three Chayil, Raeh readied his mind for engagement. Once I have been outnumbered, but outmaneuvered, never again! He made an unexpected vertical climb. The swiftest pursuers rushing past him, he dropped like a rock on the trailing warrior, and sent him spiraling to his death.
The other assailants, splitting off, gave him a moment to strategize. He darted into the forest and hid behind the trunk of a stout oak tree. A spear whizzed through the air, shearing the tree’s bark a hair’s-breadth away from his head. Seeing the spearman, he assailed him headlong, and in one deft movement snapped his neck. The third warrior fled the forest with Raeh in close pursuit. They reached an actively embattled clearing, and there collided blades. Raeh soon detected a weakness in his challenger’s technique and dealt what he hoped would be a deathblow. However, the masked adversary—both keen and quick—deflected the strike. Swiping at Raeh’s feet, he sent him hopping backward. Surprised at the onrush, Raeh’s confidence waned and he puzzled over the identity and proficiency of his contender.
The warrior leapt into the air. Planting both feet on Raeh’s chest, he kicked him to the ground. The reckoning blade speeding toward him, Raeh braced for the worst. Cold steel struck his neck—but stopping short of injury—left his pulse pounding beneath the blade. The victor tore away his mask, and like a lion, roared, “Sheath your weapons!” The foray, though widespread, came to a sudden halt, and Raeh watched in shock as Philon’s wings dematerialized into vanishing particles of light.
With Raeh at his mercy, Philon glared down his sword at him and said, “You will not win this war.”
He withdrew his sword and walked among the fallen. Surveying the battlefield, he cried, “Family, slain at the hands of their kinsmen... Have you all gone mad?”
Raeh, regrouped, and catching up to Philon, shifted blame.
“Meliose incited the uprising with his intemperate speech!”
“Tuck your tongue or lose it!” warned Meliose.
“You see, Philon? He is out of control.”
Philon looked sharply at him. “The blood of Abba’s children lies disconsolate on the ground, staining our feet... and you bicker.”
Raeh shrugged his shoulders. “It seems justice is in order.”
“Believe me, Raeh, justice would not treat you kindly!”
Raeh cut his eyes defiantly, yanked a spear from the back of a corpse and dragged it across the dirt, drawing a line of demarcation between himself and Philon. “Chayil!” he shouted. “The time to choose is now!” He called to Lupa, “I offer you a place of high standing, one commensurate with your special interests.”
With every eye upon her, Lupa wound her way through the crowd and stationed herself next to Raeh.
“Titanos!” he called for all to hear, “Does one of such notable bearing possess the courage equal to that of Lupa?”
Titanos, standing head and shoulders above the rest, walked past Meliose and Philon to take sides with the pair of rebels. Soon a large company, beguiled by their contentious brother, had become his allies. Choices made, Philon drew his sword. Pointing the winning weapon at Raeh, he issued an edict:
“For the bloodshed brought on by this rebellion, and the enmity you have fostered within our great family, you are hereby banished, and no longer numbered among the Chayil. Further, those who take your side necessarily forfeit the privilege of procreation.”
Upon hearing this, some immediately defected.
Indignant, Raeh spouted, “You strip us of our rights, take away our identity and toss us out the door! Very well, then, we shall make our own way! In fact, it is with great pleasure that we cast off association with your Chayil! This band of expatriates deserves a new identity, one that will prove more fitting in the end, I’m sure! I confer upon us the honorable title, Muspellum. For we are veritable flames of fire!” Swiveling around, he warned, “Remember—all of you— it’s Primus, not Raeh!”
Like falling stars across a nighttime sky, Primus and his newly emancipated Muspellum made their departure for Tyrannous, a planet where, unbeknownst to the others, certain work had long been in progress.
Tyrannous was mountainous and heavily wooded. Abundant in natural resources, it was a good place to settle. Ever anticipating reprisal for his antics, Primus wasted no time preparing a fortress fit to withstand the fiercest of onslaughts—should the Chayil attack.
As Primus inspected the work with his chief engineer, Galaxtra, Zorastichar came trudging up the hill in his characteristically odd manner. His stature was considerably smaller than the rest, and he walked with an uneven gait.
“What is he doing here?” asked the engineer.
“His business is with me,” answered Primus.
“But his science is not of our order. He flirts with the dark arts and delves into things forbidden.”
“Of course he does! Suddenly you are concerned?”
Zorastichar heard the disparaging remarks, and though winded from the climb, snapped hoarsely at Galaxtra, “You would do well to expand that small mind I hear knocking around in your head.”
“So my head can look like yours? Hmm. . . No thanks. And you can keep your chanting and charms to yourself!”
“Someday, Galaxtra, you could pay homage to me for my achievements in molecular engineering.”
“Enough!” commanded Primus. “No one here pays homage to anyone but me! I thought that was clear, Zorastichar...?”
“Yes, Primus, it is abundantly clear. Forgive me.”
“You are wise to acknowledge it,” he said sternly. “Galaxtra, continue your work. Zorastichar and I have more pertinent matters to attend to below the surface.”
They headed off to the Black Mountains where tar pits bubbled and belched, and filled the air with smoky stench.
Lizard-like creatures, eyes bulging yellow, made the mountains their haunt. With sharp webbed claws they dug a maze of tunnels from which they darted in and out to feed greedily upon the mountain’s sickly animals. Primus noticed the great number, speed, and aggressiveness of the mutants. “Your new brand of science, Zorastichar, coupled with your sorcerer’s skill, is impressive,” he said. “Your hard work these many months is commendable!”
“Thank you, my lord,” simpered the runtish servant, pleased at the flattery.
“In my study of molecular structures I find the discoveries endless, and room for manipulation, abundant!”
“Your personal sacrifice will not go unrewarded,” said Primus, patting the slick, misshapen head of the loyal servitor. “I am eager to see what you have conjured up in the Cavern of Malice.”
The pair stood at the foot of the mountain, and Zorastichar, lifting his arms, cried to the wall of rock, “Ekliam! Ekliam!”
The ground rumbled and the mountain shuddered until and a great cracking split the jagged rock in two. Primus and Zorastichar entered through its opening and disappeared into the clammy darkness.
Descending into the bowels of the cavern, they entered the main chamber. The floor sank into a slimy sulfurous pool, emittng a greenish-yellow light. A crudely hewn throne chiseled from a protrusion in the wall overlooked the pool.
In one dignified movement Primus lowered himself onto the throne, straightened his posture, and squared his chin. He felt important and imperial.
“From here, Zorastichar, I shall hatch my plans to execute vengeance upon Philon!”
He whistled, summoning his pet vultures. Their gross mutations intimidated Zorastichar. Covered in tattered gray feathers and standing four feet high, they were loyal guards, fearsome and forbidding, and Zorastichar dreaded their approach.
I should never have tampered with those birds! he thought. He hated the creaking of their slow-flapping wings, the grinding of bone against bone when they flew. Like everyone else, like everything else, they showed him no resp
ect. Zorastichar cowered as they made their descent, alighting on either side of the throne.
Pink beady eyes set atop long hooked beaks glared hungrily at him. With mouths agape—they screeched in protest—their pallid forked tongues curling upward.
“There, there, my pets,” said Primus. “Be patient.”
Zorastichar lit a torch from the cavern’s scant flame, casting a haunting light on his hideous experiments. Disemboweled animal carcasses lay strewn about, their organs freshly harvested, and jars of cloudy liquid lined along a rock shelf, spilled over with the likes of eyeballs, hearts, and brains.
“Still enjoying your playground, I see,” said Primus, amused at Zorastichar’s demented fetish.
“Yes, my lord. Animal energy—the Netherlife feeds on it!”
“Yes...I expect it does. Now, regarding our special formula, have you any doubts, Zorastichar? Any at all?”
“No, your lordship, I have none whatsoever.”
“And you do understand that if all does not go well, you shall have to pay a most pitiable price?”
“Yes, my lord. Such knowledge has in fact never left my mind.”
“Very well then let us proceed.”
Primus rose from his throne and stepped onto a small platform suspended above the pool. He inhaled the noxious vapors, and feeling light-headed, sighed, “Ah. . . the virtual Pool of Passion—the font of our machinations!”
Zorastichar, his recipe ready, wound the winch ever so slowly and watched, silent and non-breathing, as his ill-tempered master sank into the toiling broth. When he was completely submerged, the bent wonderworker tossed in the prescribed organs and muttered an incantation:
“All that is Netherlife
come to us now
that to your son
all others may bow!”
He repeated the chant incessantly and increasingly loud until the cavern echoed with his frenzied screams, as if a thousand trailing voices shouted over one another in supplication.
A heavy haze hung over the turbid water, sizzling and humming in the electrified atmosphere. The chains supporting the platform rattled and lurched, swinging to and fro, and the pool’s foment spun high into a thick, slimy twist. Zorastichar hunkered down in a cleft of the wall and the vultures crouched beside the throne.
Rise of Primus Page 4