Shielding her eyes to protect her vision she couldn't see him anywhere. Panic. She moved forward as swiftly as circumstances allowed her. Searching where she could. Reaching the end of the rooftop she peered downward, unable to spot him below. Suddenly a sharp pressure at her back, a snapping sound as her pack came loose and more pressure before she felt herself falling to the stone below. Then darkness.
~ The World Below~
~ Fifteenth of the Smith, Song of Joy~
Under and below the mortal world
Always waiting and always watching,
A wrong sister,
Wronged in the sacrament of her own dark light
-Ancient hymn sung on all song’s eve
Mitrick Tenebris awakened surprised to find himself in any state of being at all. He'd strong memories of the wind rushing past him and the snapping, stinking jaw of a cloud drake upon himself. There was deep unending nothingness. Then this. The blindness had receded. No longer he found himself denied the most basic of life's necessities. Allowing eyes he'd never been more thankful to receive vision through a moment to focus he struggled to make out shapes around him. The ground, the lushest of thickets, he wondered where in Neta he'd landed, upon what isle did he now inhabit. Below the green he felt something familiar yet so distant. The crumbling, wet of rich soil between his fingers. Not hydrated enough yet to be mud. Just on the cusp of the space between states. It had been many years since he'd enjoyed this feeling. More than a few since he'd simply allowed himself to be. His breath came easier, no longer a rasping, aching husk. He inhaled deeply of the sweet tasting air, filling his lungs without tightening or drooling. Without the agony of the curse upon him, cruel brother Arlandus. His anger had cost him greatly. The wroth of brethren slighted, in the heat of the moment. He wondered how it had shaken the old man’s faith so. How his perfect Three, had frowned upon him from the corners of his mind where they made their home. Judgemental matriarchs spying upon his every move. He wondered if they had scolded their devoted servant at the treatment he'd afforded his poor brother Tenebris. Or perhaps they had rejoiced. Who could say what travelled through the addled minds of mad fanatics. He was done with that life, the trappings of complexity in what should always have been never more than a simple equation.
His eyes finally returned to their proper focus, he was nowhere akin to any place he'd been in his life. Bewilderment would have stolen his breath away if he'd half a mind to give it up. He'd been correct about the green, and the rich, earthy soil beneath it, the moisture of which lent a chill to his fingers as he rested upon his hands. Around him trees towered, the tops of most invisible from the ground he found himself on. Instead he made out a thick canopy which looked as though it were thousands of leagues above. This vegetation, as explosive as it had grown, was forced to fight for the rich light of the twin suns. Yet there was light down below. It filtered through the plant life filled with organic luminescence. Nature had found a way to feed the continual flow of existence, consciousness and death in the absence of light from a star. He'd never heard of an island such as this in all his years spent upon Neta. Perhaps he was the first, perhaps it was one to call his own.
He stood, his legs surprisingly limber for one who’d survived such a fall. Perhaps the forest had broken the impact somewhat.
Eyes wide in wonderment at the new world in which he'd found himself, Mitrick Tenebris began to walk, exploring the lush undergrowth of the unknown isle he now traversed. There could be no denying the beauty of its existence, yet part of him wondered how it had come to be. Another part filled with fear, the longer he found himself in its midst he became increasingly worried about survival. There was seemingly no way back above the canopy, even if he could make it up to the treetops he'd not make it upward through the clouds, to the Neta he knew. Seeking out a new way to survive he'd start over, marooned and alone. Before long a sound caught his attention, unfamiliar yet hauntingly imprisoned in the back of his mind. A calling to the deepest part of his core. Primal energy encapsulated him. The voice was that of a woman, that much he knew, what's more she seemingly spoke his name. Softly on the currents of the wind. Her seductive tones filling him with desire before he'd even a chance to see her.
“Where are you!” He called out in equal parts questioning and torment.
“Look inside” a soft response in the most cryptic of moments.
Laughter echoed behind him, resonating from the hard trunks of trees and along the forest glade. Turning he saw nothing, nobody. An empty place in which he stood alone. She called to him again. Softer still on the tail of the breeze. He felt her now, fingers caressing his hair, his shoulders, his back, before finally embracing him. Stopping dead he turned to see the figure before him yet found none. He was used to the embrace of a woman, yet none as beguiling as her. Laughter filled his mind as she nibbled at his ear. Lust rose in him like a beast after the longest of slumbers. Who was she and where could he find her?
“You found me,” she admitted. Faux modesty for he knew in that moment that he'd never.
Making herself visible now he spent a moment to soak in her being. The shape of her slender body, light danced on her skin, ripples in the fabrics of the universe. Dark hair framed a perfect face. Smiling she watched him.
“Who might you be?” He cleared his throat, summoning the courage to speak.
“I suppose I might be the smile of the twin suns, or the power of eclipse. I might be the face of love, set to send a thousand cities burning to ash, I may be the flay of flesh from bone or the beating of impassioned hearts, sweet Tenebris, yet we both know I am all of those things, and none.” She smiled sadly.
No use. “What is your name?” He asked, eyes drinking her in, wondering how a woman as enticing as she could speak such little sense.
“Ah, the greatest of terrible questions,” she smiled, planting a stirring kiss upon his cheek. “You know my name, it is one whispered in dark corners and all men fear it yet none understand its truth. All fall and bow before it, scraping to ingratiate, yet all beg for its delay. A sweet moment more, a frail plea for the unworthy. I am Beocantes. You may call me Death” she smiled, searching his eyes with her own.
Vicious chill rent his spine. Beocantes! The Order be damned! The Three, goddesses of light and creation, alive with compassion for all mortal beings, yet here stood before him Beocantes. Goddess of death and destruction, words turned to ash in his mouth as the grave nature of his predicament became one with his contemplation.
“Your turn pale sweet thing, why so silent?” She smiled forlornly, a piercing smile that spoke of love and hurt and loss. Of a task no immortal should preside over, of a life filled with death. Of light cast behind shadows, never seen and less so known.
“It is a sadness,” he replied after a short moment, “that one as comely as yourself be handed the bitterest of existences, barely spoken of while sisters seek the glory of all creation.” He gazed deeply into her, a gaze that spoke of pious devotion. Heresy all but pushed to the back of his mind.
A more telling smile pressed the shape of her lips. “Master Tenebris, let us not forget that you yourself denied my existence until mere moments ago.”
“Majesty I never…” he stammered in protest.
“Ah” she sighed, pressing a slender finger to his lips. He stirred to her touch. “Sweet mortal, remember I am Beocantes, I know all. Your transgressions laid bare before me. I know who you are, truly in your mortal soul.” He quivered as she whispered softly in his ear, her breath warm as that of a lover. Around them the jungle rustled. “All men deny my worship yet all come to me in the end, just as all things must. They await judgement or they await love or some missing piece yet all fall before Beocantes, so tell me,” her lips pressed to his ear, “what is it that you desire?”
He found himself unable to form the words required to make his desires known. Her divinity and the rising lust inside him conjoined in disastrous mix.
“I assure you, you are quite dead and the life you
have led has not been one laden with virtue nor grace, you have died selfish and wanting, accursed among mortals and gods and you will suffer.” Her voice grew cold, distant. Upon the floor beneath her feet lay his corpse, broken and shattered by the fall, the drake and the curse. There he lay, smashed to nothingness for nobody but himself and the goddess of death to bear witness to. “You belong to me now, Mitrick Tenebris and I offer you a simple choice.” Extending her arm she pointed a slender finger toward the floor. At her command opened a hole. Below he saw nothing yet within he sensed a darkness, ancient and unending, unforgiving and unyielding. “You may spend eternity in the dark place,” she spoke sadly, “or you may spend it devoted to myself, in servitude.” Her expression grew more pointed, directly correlating to the danger in which he now presided. “You have denied the existence of the Three, flown in the face of their keepers and worked directly against their favour. That road has led you to your end and now you find yourself at this juncture. Fate is a cruel mistress Tenebris and one to which all mortals must yield.” Harsh words from a forked tongue. Quivering he fell to his knees. The choice before him obvious. “You find yourself at the mercy of a goddess you know not, and of whom before meeting, would have denied the existence of.”
“Fate,” spat Mitrick,“fate is nothing more than the will of the cruel and monstrous upon the powerless.”
“Not at all monstrous,” she smiled sadly, “only the nature of the things we are and find ourselves to be, you cannot change the fate of all those like yourself but you have a chance to change your own!” Her words pierced him like drake’s teeth. Shuddering at the memory he buried his dead face in his frozen hands. What could one such as her desire from one such as him? “Perhaps an element of persuasion is in order,” she stated calmly placing her palm to his forehead. Images filled his mind. First of the world he'd vacated, the Neta he knew and its end. Qesa burning, a floating island of pale dust and grey ash adrift in the currents of the wind. Crumbling to ruin. Himself victorious leading armies, her armies, to the victory she craved at their hands. Honoured at her side, deference and dominion theirs. A changing of destinies under the changing of banners. A momentary silence passed. “You will have a chance, to change all their fates with my power in your hands,” she confirmed, “you need only state that you are one with me in this cause.”
A smile crept across his mouth. How the wheels of the universe turned like clockworks, all their machinations elevating him to power “Then sweet goddess, I am.” The words came easier than expected.
“Then rise to your new life my Mitrick Tenebris.” She commanded and he followed. There was blinding agony then a momentary reprieve before blackness took hold. The last thing he remembered was the feel of her kiss upon his cheek. Breathing life anew into flesh once rendered dead.
~ Temple of The Three~
~ Fifteenth of the Smith, Song of Joy~
The pain of leaving
The shadow cast over the land
Cast by the hand
Of the pain of the return.
- The verses of the Three, ancient Order book
The agony of the healing pool was greater than that of the fall. Powerful currents spread themselves across her skin, stripping it brutally from her body. Then muscle and sinew, blood vessels and nerves until only the bones remained to be crushed to fine dust then rebuilt again. The process repeating, abrading her to nothing over and over in the translucent purple light of the pool, all the while somehow aware of the agony her physical self felt. Taken apart and rebuilt in succession, each time stronger, each time more powerful than the last. For a long time nothing mattered but the pain, but the rebuilding. If she'd been capable of screaming, she would have. Louder than anything she'd heard before. It would be a mercy, she thought, for somebody to switch power from the pool and allow her the reprieve of death. Then she was suddenly aware she was naked, embarrassment spread across her, shame. Until she was able to see further than the pain and the light. She was alone. Small mercy in the light of the divine work taking hold.
The healing pool stopped its work, grinding to a halt in the deepest alcove of the temple. Its loud, crunching gears suddenly brought to silence, unlike so many things she was used to in this life of servitude to the Three, there was no ceremony. Only herself, the Three and the silence, painfully loud in her ears, as if nothing else existed in the whole of Neta. She stepped gingerly from the pool. A sense of dread covering her being, what had the damage been?
New robes had been laid on the altar before her. Not her usual cream with tan leather but a dark shade of magenta, cyan coloured light leather armor to go atop, strapped tight against her body until the healing took hold and set. She threw the robes over herself, the tunic coming just below her waist. New leather hose awaited, quickly she pulled them upwards, lacing the drawstring at the front with zeal. Finally the armor and boots, she never felt more at home than when wearing field leathers. Her old ones had been comfortable. As well worn as a second skin, broken in enough to be comfortable. The new ones pressed in at places which the old had not in a long time. She wondered what happened to them? Were they salvageable? These would need adjusting.
She stared for a long time at the pool. Its thick stone rings now still where so much motion had been only moments before. It had felt like a violation, the healing. Stripped, not only of what she wore, but of herself, the things she was made of and built anew from what was left. The deepest parts of herself exposed. Powerless to fight it, powerless to even protest. A quiet tear fell down her cheek, trailing a tail of salt and water along her face. It had been so long since she’d cried. This was all she allowed herself. A single solitary drop to mark the passing. Any less would hold to be improper, more, indulgence.
A quiet cough came from behind her. It was Arlandus, how long had he been stood there watching? Even moments of despair were truly not hers to experience alone. Quietly she turned, composing her face. It stung from the work of the machine. Tiny bolts of energy gnawing at her flesh like hundreds of tiny teeth leaving their mark upon her.
“Master…” She spoke, unable to finish what she was saying, the gravity and weight of the happenings between them heavier than she could bear.
“Armatrine” he began.
“I failed you, I‘m sorry.” Heart pounding in her chest. Tears welling in head eyes with each thud.
“It is nothing, no failure and no conversation for you and I to be having, for it was not I who set you this task.” She noted his calm demeanour, some-how he kept himself from displaying too much emotion in spite of himself. He'd known her since she was but a girl, trained her, raised her as well as he would raise his own child, how could he feel nothing now?
“Then?” She asked.
“I must take you to see her, she knows you’re recovered and wishes to speak with you immediately.” He responded. The high priestess wasted no time. Between the showing and the conversation she'd barely enough time to get used to the feel of the fresh leather against her skin. It rubbed hard, perhaps it would be a good thing, friction transforming her skin into a chitinous carapace. It was the change that would be painful, yet it always was. He led the way. The medical chamber lay many miles and many long winding passages under the temple floor. Violet light spilled into the passageway behind them as they left. Arlandus at the fore, Armatrine to the rear, head bowed in contemplation of the conversation before her. Pieces and fragments of memories filled her mind. She had woken in the chamber aware of the machine, yet the moments leading to that were a blur. The simple fact she had required such extensive medical attention told her that indeed the showing had been a test that she failed. So this conversation, this council, would be a judgement upon her. Arlandus continued his icy demeanour toward her. As if to look at her directly would vex him so.
There would be a penalty for failure. That much she knew. Her imagination ran wild with the difficult possibilities as he silently led the way. Perhaps she would be demoted or stripped of all rank and thrown unceremoniously fro
m temple grounds. Perhaps she would be maimed or disabled in some way. She had read historical accounts of order acolytes who failed the showing losing a finger or an eye. They had spent much time healing her, perhaps that in itself was her punishment? They climbed the winding stair, a quaking in her legs as fear took hold. Around and around the darkened spiral, only the intermittent light of the sconces upon the wall every twenty-five steps. Finally they reached the top. Her nerves aside she pushed the door and sauntered in, unenthused by the prospect of what awaited, yet unafraid.
The chamber insides were as much disarray as she'd left them before, whatever kind of court the high priestess kept it wasn't an orderly one. She sat in her high seat. The ancient crumbling men at her either side fully vying and fighting for her attention seemingly oblivious to the intruder now amongst them.
“You all make a sorry sight.” If she was to be punished she would rather feel like it was deserved.
“Dupree!” Arlandus shouted. The first time she'd heard him raise his voice in anger through all the years he'd raised her as a child, trained her into the Order, taught her their ways. He always been a man of boundless patience. There was no stopping her now.
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