Cautious villagers were lined up at the barricade, rifles and shields ready. Azuch and Mechao called for calm; there would be no more hostilities, everyone was to return to their homes. And Darc heard Shara's voice.
Shara appeared in the entrance, propping up a young girl who staggered downhill beside her. As the two women approached them, the Castilian troops backed off; the mark of the Leper, tattooed on the girl's forehead, was enough to frighten them.
The soldiers were too stunned to speak - the Leper girl was too beautiful, so utterly different from the monsters they had feared all their lives.
Her slim, very pale body was wrapped in half-torn bandages and a shoddy dress, but it seemed flawless. Her walk was clumsy, like that of a child taking her first steps, but with each step she beamed with joy and pride.
Her face had changed too, and the plasters had come off. The thick, ugly facial veins were virtually all removed, withered away or covered by make-up; her youthful features were soft and rounded, full of life and energy. Even the eyes, though slightly bulging, had a healthy color.
Shara looked at Darc; they were both too happy for words. She led Eye-Leg all the way down to the dying Bor Damon, so that he could see.
Bor's half-shut eyes met the bright, curious eyes of the Leper girl, and he felt redemption. In his final impressions, the blond girl became a vision of the Goddess reborn, rising from the rejects of mankind to bring new life to the world.
Dohan saw, with great happiness and sorrow, how his father shut his eyes with a peaceful expression on his face.
The Dark Ages had come to an end.
Chapter 64
It was the end of Febre , the second month of 941 AM.
The Sunray , restored with great care, stood parked next to a larger carrier jet in the cover of a jutting cliff.
An endless, flat, white desert of ice and snow surrounded the ships. The wind blew biting cold. At least, Darc thought, there were no human remains sticking up from the ice, as in his dream. The real land, hundreds of meters below the sea of ice, was virtually impossible to reach.
He had recently encountered a local group of natives - the tribes who called themselves Inuit , living just like their ancestors in these barren wastes. This land now belonged to them. The Inuit called it "Jukei" , a name carried down from the last remaining people who perished in it.
Jukei... U.K. ... United Kingdom... England... Britain... Albion. Many names for one land. Heavily dressed in fur coats and thick boots, Darc shuddered and chattered his teeth; the chill came from within. How many previous times had the ice claimed his homeland? How many times had its name changed?
One day, he thought, England shall be green again - but not in my lifetime.
A metallic voice interrupted his thoughts: "Where do you want me to put this, Sir Darc?"
Lachtfot came marching up from the Sunray, dragging a loaded sled. The robot wore snowshoes on its heavy feet, just like Darc did; and after Lachtfot trudged Shara, mouth steaming, her fur-clad arms folded together.
"Just put the stone down, here." Darc pointed at a spot of naked rock.
They were walking on the peak of the Pennine Chain, the only part of the British Isles not completely covered by ice. The robot pushed the thick stone slab off the sled, overturned it, and rested it upright on the spot. It had been cut out of the nearby rock the very same day.
On the slab, two meters tall, Darc had inscribed with a laser-knife:
EILEEN ARCHIBALD
(1993 - ? )
POWERS ARCHIBALD
(1991 - ? )
KEPT IN LOVING MEMORY BY THEIR FATHER, DAVID ARCHIBALD
(1963 - )
The slab was thicker at the base; it might stand upright for centuries, until it too became covered by ice. Darc walked over to the slab, pulled away his fur hood and let his thick head of white hair flutter in his face.
He looked down at the dark rock below the slab and tried to picture his children's faces, the few years of their lives he had seen.
But he could barely remember what they had looked like.
Silent, unmoving, he started to weep. He did not feel the wind, the tears that nearly froze on his cheeks, or Shara embracing his waist. After a time, he sensed her presence.
"I can't forget them, Shara," he said. "It's as if they went away just last year. But I keep forgetting all the important things about them, detail after detail... and worst of all..."
Shara held on tighter to him, stroking his face with one glove, until he could finish: "I cannot stop hoping for the impossible. I lived; perhaps they also did. Maybe, somewhere in the world, there are other frozen people waiting to be found..."
He turned to face her up close. She was weeping too, but there was mostly anger in those black, deep eyes of hers.
"Why can't you stop torturing yourself?" she said. "The past is gone and buried! Even if you found them one day, and brought them back to life, they would have aged... you have changed... you would be strangers to each other. You should think of us, you and me, and Eye-Leg, and Dohan, and Meijji, and Claw, and the Lepers - the people here, now! We all need you! I need you!"
"I need you ," he replied.
They stood there for a while, slowly rekindling the fire between them, letting the world run its course. Mourning, after all, could only last so long, only claim so much attention.
And so they walked back toward the waiting ships, and the world. Darc was already dreaming of their destination, Amreca, and his plan to form a union of city-states there. That would be the best way to ensure stability, during the long process of curing all Lepers and making them fullworthy citizens.
An Amrecan federation of city-states, with a constitution, a flag... and an anthem. Darc had all the time in the world to pick a suitable piece of music, but he had narrowed it down to a few choices.
The King would always be the King, but in his youth Darc had slightly preferred the bombast of the singer Meat Loaf; he could still remember almost every word of his best songs.
What would it be - "Bat Out Of Hell", "Dead Ringer For Love", or why not "Modern Girl"?
This time, Darc told himself, this time we are going to do it right.
EPILOGUE
FROM THE YEAR 941 AFTER MONRO, OUR WORLD BEGAN THE REBIRTH THAT IS STILL IN PROGRESS.
At times, even I must ask myself whether these recent years were but a dream. So much change, so many discoveries made, so many fantastic events. A majestic greatness has crowned this war-torn, battered planet, and greater things still are just now coming real.
As I write these pages and watch the sky, I do not always know whether to believe my own eyes. Yet, in these times of flux, the following legacies of Darc's great work can be counted...
The Amrecan Federation of City-States he founded remains to this day, and grows stronger by each year. The old Leper Chief Claw is reported to still be alive and well in Exa, where he has retired from his long service in the Senate Court.
Visitors to Hesus City may behold the site where Chief Claw struck the first blow of the dismantling of its outer wall, or hear him tell his story.
Democracy thrives in Juro, since the revered Lord Dohan of Damon City initiated the contract of public elections. Most states in Juro have now signed the Contract, and the world-spanning Conference of Knights is still a vigilant guardian of its principles.
Without the Amrecan Constitution that Darc wrote, the Contract would not have become reality. Never again shall our fair Castilia succumb to tyrants and usurpers such as Tharlos Pasko.
Lepers all over the known world, once the feared scourge of the Wastelands, are slowly gaining stature in society with varying degrees of success.
Since when most cities were opened to the outside and inoculated against the Plague, agriculture has benefited beyond belief. The specter of starvation is now a thing of the past.
Many nomadic Leper tribes, stubbornly wary of the city life, roam the plains of Amreca on horseback, herding huge hordes of cattle. But all
their children, even as the traditional double-helix tattoo remains on their heads, are strong and healthily shaped.
The islands of Kap Verita are currently in dispute with the mainland states over fishing rights. But the King Elect of Kap Verita, the honorable Mechao the Twentieth, is a shrewd political player whose University of the Sciences gathers the best and noblest minds of the world.
The University stands as a guarantee of scientific growth and cultural exchange, and bridges most disputes between states. The Mansion of Mechao has been restored, and is still in use.
The Church of Monro has undergone several upheavals ever since the arrival of Darc - upheavals that are unlikely to end soon. The Central Dogma has been lifted, and high-priestesses are no longer required to have innate blond hair and blue eyes.
The music now named Rokenrol is no longer controlled by the priestesses, and the art of Rokenrol has become a creed in and of itself. As a consequence of this, the older generations often lament that today's youth has no respect for the Goddess.
Some like to call this era the King's Age or the Singing King's Reign. They may be right, but I think not. The ways of the Goddess are countless.
Furthermore, a new faith has been founded around Darc's awaited return from his exile. Many believe him to still be alive in the southern continent Awstrala, or claim to have seen him.
Your humble narrator is not prone to speculate in matters of faith. Yet I firmly believe, like my mentor the previous Librian, that Darc came to us for a purpose - a purpose unknown perhaps even to himself.
We shall now in detail chronicle the most recent era, commonly known as the Age of Miracles -
Excerpt from Librian's "Chronicles" (translated from the original language)
Yngve, AR - Darc Ages Page 42