Bliss

by Daniel Lawley

  “It appears as if you have been busy” she embarrassed him further.

  “It is the working of the power you gave me, it must be used to sustain myself” he began.

  “There is no need to explain, it is the cycle. Life, death, everything. All must feast upon one or the other until they become the feast themselves.” She spoke dispassionately. This was fact. The truth of her existence. Devoid of passion she continued. “Do you enjoy it, this world I gave you?” She asked, “Oh he who could not believe.”

  “Very much so my liege, it has opened up to me the impossible. The things a mere mortal such as myself would never dream to exist let alone find possible” he answered her excitedly. The cadence increasing in his voice as he became entranced.

  “Good”, she purred, backwards she lay, “you have worked hard young Tenebris, or is it admiral now?” She used his rank to embarrass. “This you do in the name of me, sacrificed upon my altar the souls come to me. A feast for the vermin no longer, the richest of rewards. The richest of feasts.” She spoke with a mania he'd not seen in her before, as if she herself had become possessed by a force greater than herself. Suddenly he grew weary. Something in her voice told him again of her danger. The adamantly twisted nature inside her, ready to strike. He'd made himself expendable.

  “Fear not young fool” she softened. “You will die and I will feast upon you but not for many aeons. You are lifted up most high. Honoured one for you have lived your second life as one of grace and elevation” her words echoed inside his mind.

  “What shall I do with aeons?” He asked, awed and aghast at once. The prospect had never occurred to him.

  “You shall do what you wish, yet more importantly you shall do as I wish. You shall live as a king, you shall rule over all, you shall bring glory to me once more as a true believer in those who are above, you shall be my agent, Tenebris.” She spoke with passion. Using his devotion to work him into a frenzy of religious mania.

  “What must be done first?” He asked of her.

  “Ah yes,” she assured, “your work, while good remains incomplete.” She reminded him.

  “What must come next?” He asked her, the excitement rising in his voice.

  “For now you must continue, you must ensure the work complete, only then may my coming be assured” she instructed.

  “What of Johan?” He asked.

  “The prince is a weak fool yet he has not yet outlasted his usefulness. Be assured the web ensnares around him and he will fall to my glory.” She told him.

  “Then what?” He asked impatiently.

  “Relax my acolyte, you are eager yet the moment is what is important, mortal minds are always looking towards futures uncertain when certainty can be had in the present. You shall be justly rewarded, a king if you'd wish. All that is asked is that you, first among equals show the way to my glory.”

  A king. Mitrick bowed, stunned by her assertions. “It is done” he confirmed.

  “As it must be.” Beocantes spoke, yet so much remained hidden behind the dreams she had sold him. He knew not if he could trust her, yet he'd no choice. Perhaps for now, he'd enjoy what came.

  ~ The World Below~

  ~Second of the Crop, Song of Sorrow~

  The man, the myth, the demigod

  A plague upon the wise

  A warning to mortals

  A calling to die

  - Master Serioirus, religious poet

  Euricles had awoken in a strange place. Unknown to him how he'd arrived there he sensed foul play. Where he’d been he did not belong. Where he was, he remained unsure this place was where he was supposed to be either. Pain radiated from his chest, sharp at first. Pressure. The shoe of a stallion upon him. Then it numbed to an ache, twinging through his ribs with each breath. It pricked him. Each limb weighed more than it ever had. Tired and torn his old body had not fared well upon the tides of celestial light. He struggled to stand, rising to his knees. Then supporting his body upon his thighs he pushed upward. “This is a bad day to be an old man” he spoke to himself and nobody in particular.

  The words of the Three had rattled him deeply. Shaking the foundations of his faith. To the core of his existence he'd believed, all he'd been taught, all the Order had offered. His faith had granted him strange and fantastical magic. The Three had rewarded him for his steadfast vigilance in bringing religion to the people of Neta. Now they told him something different. Something had changed in the makeup of the gods, of that he was sure. Inside he raged. Determined to rise against it and push against the foundations of his reality. He would crush their scheme and pull himself above. Yet nay! Foolishness. The mortal who fancied himself deified. He'd never settled upon such preposterous nonsense before. He would not start now. A war between himself and the Three. There would be no contest. He'd be crushed underfoot as if he were a beetle discovered by a cruel child. Nothing would change that.

  He summoned the courage to take a step forth. He felt the joints in his legs creak as his heavy thigh muscles worked, serving to propel him forward. The advancement of his years had been no secret, at least not to those who knew him. It was the shock advancement of his body which hurt. It had finally caught up to where it was supposed to be.

  Quietly he crept through the underbrush. His muscles burned yet once he found his rhythm he discovered it not to be so difficult. It was mind over body and he'd been given a mission. It was true, he understood, that his mission was to stay uninvolved. Whatever glory lay in transpiring events was not for the likes of he. Yet he could witness without interference, he could turn, from man of action to man of analysis and understanding. He would watch and tell all what had occurred. They deserved to know, they all did. The Three would wish them to know. To cherish the cycle in which they found themselves. There would be no denial of it.

  Ahead he saw the trees rustle. Their leaves refracting light as it bore down from the storm above. Thunder crashed from the sky in a cataclysmic boom. He swore the clouds moved with the force, clearing the aching skies if just for a moment as they poured their anger upon the surface world. Whatever he'd been warned about had begun.

  He quickened his pace as best he could. The joints of his aching body protested each motion. Inside his head they screamed out for him to stop, to back down and to give up. There would be no let up. For he knew that if he were to give in to himself, for even a mere moment, he would never move again. What he would not have given for a steak and ale pie from the Captain’s Daughter in the capital. He dreamed of it and as he did so he swore he could taste the sweet suet as it traversed his tongue and made its way down his gullet. A nice ale to enhance the flavour would do nicely, yet he'd settle for a bitter. Something to wash the sting of the previous days away, just a bit, to cloud them from his mind. This he desired most. Had he not earned it?

  The thunder crashed again. This time closer to his position. He wondered if this was a divine warning. “Yes I understand, but I'm old, I'm old and I want to just go home. I want to just rest a while. But not here. Never here. I won't interfere, but don't interfere yourself with me. I'm staying out of it, just leave me be!” He pushed the words from himself with more anger than he'd anticipated. The vitriol inside himself he struggled to control. It rose like a viper, ready to strike. It had already coiled a restrictive trail around his heart. It continued to squeeze. He imagined the next thunderclap would be a direct hit upon him. It was not often one could get away with insulting a deity, let alone twice upon a single morrow. “Not today, I just can't” he reasoned to himself.

  He needed to return to the skiff and sail upwards. He'd find Jak and Armatrine if he could. He supposed this place may be the safest for them, if there were to be a tumult in the skies then perhaps away from it is where they should stay. Nay, there he went again. Trying to protect. Interfering. “I have loved her like a daughter, loved her since I first met her all those years ago, cared for her, raised her in your name. You've taken everyone else from me. Heretics or no, so don't you dare kill her you…�
� he prayed. A prayer to those which would prey upon them all. She was all he had, yet he had nothing but hope, that in this mess, she would come through. She would survive. For if she did not, he'd be alone. With only his own mad ramblings and the Three for company. That would not do.

  The distance he'd traversed surprised him. His aching legs had carried him far. He was close to the skiff, this he knew. Then he saw them, men, five of them. Burly and well muscled. Upon them they wore no uniform. No colours of the crown. Pirates! Crouching he hid in the shadows as they passed, their voices carrying through the thickets. It was no surprise to find others, he suspected many had secretly come to this place over the centuries, if they could make it past the drakes, they would make it to the world below. He suspected many a smuggler had left a cache here to return to at one time or another.

  He remained crouched. Moving only momentarily. How he hurt. This was no good to him. He assessed each area before making his way forth. If there were more, he was only an old man, he might overpower one, maybe two, beyond that he'd have no control over events. He'd be captured and possibly killed. The laws of civilization did not apply to a land yet untamed by the agency of civil society. He sped through the trees as best he could. It felt as if he would faint. Events had taken their toll upon him. Darting left then right. His dirty torn cassock hid him well in the undergrowth, despite its frayed nature it showed hardly any flesh. Mottled white and marbled with dirt and filth. He would need a new one upon his return to Qesa. He gasped for breath, his lungs burned in his chest. He needed a moment. Sitting he gasped until it subsided. There would be no dying today, not if he could help it.

  Then he saw it. The clearing where he'd left Jak and Armatrine. The skiff remained there. Hope, finally. Hope. He walked slowly there. Around him, the ground struck with the power of the thunder. “I know” he responded. “I am not getting involved, I only wish to go home.” Again lightning struck across the sky, arcing toward him. The power of nature.

  Finally he made it to the clearing, against the steady protest of his body and the weather. He would need to rest again, only momentarily, before setting sail upon the skies. How he would make it through the drakes and the light he'd no clue, yet somehow he believed. “If you want me to remain among the living, for whatever reason, for whatever comes next, then you’re going to have to keep me alive because I have not the strength left within me, to manage. And I know I can't stay here.”

  “Is that so?” A voice called from the undergrowth. Thickly accented and masculine.

  “Who are you? Show yourself!” He commanded.

  “Sit in the boat nice and quietly” the voice responded. “I want no trouble from you.”

  He'd been fooled. This was no more a road to safety than jumping into a blazing furnace. “Show yourself man!” He commanded again. This time frantic and forceful. A group stepped out. Regret filled him like a vessel. Vicious thugs, five in total. Cutlasses sharpened and pointing toward him.

  “Nice and easy into the tub. I want no trouble. The captain shall be pleased” spoke the leader.

  Overpowered, Arlandus did as ordered. This would not do at all.

  ***

  Her wrists felt sore from struggling against the bonds. Raw and wet from the trying. Shedding a layer of skin in the process had been both cathartic and painful yet she remained tied to the mast. Pinioned in place at the back of the boy. His struggles had ended some time before, she would not become so easily defeated. Above, the thunder crashed as lightning arced all across the brilliant purple sky, now darkened by ochre it had become a nightmare horizon upon which dread itself sailed to the hearts of men. The ropes irritated her stinging wrist. Her own foolhardy pride had caused her to act without thought. When she was free what did she expect to do? It was likely they would recapture her and tie her back in place more securely or even more likely, kill her for the trouble. She supposed she could take one or two with her to oblivion. Yet was the risk worth it? Of that she was unsure. She stopped her struggling. Right now this was the safest place. An exhaustion crept over her, she fought to remain conscious. Yet expending so much energy was beginning to take its toll upon her. She fought, digging her nails into her palm. She would remain awake. Of that she was determined.

  Around them the crew buzzed in the chaos of the storm. They had anticipated a difficult journey, it seemed, on board the make shift raft. Its floatation devices and rickety planks were enough to test the nerves of many seasoned sky-sailor. Yet the storm took it to a new dimension. Never before had they seen nor experienced anything of the like. A real ship would protect them. This would leave them sitting ducks. Lightning tore down the sky toward them. Narrowly missing the vessel as it blundered through the tumult. The captain stood upon the navigation deck yelling orders. It would take the collective effort of every sailor upon this vessel to keep them alive. They had taken their chance and made it this far. She hoped they lived. To be captured by those blundering into their own demise. She wouldn't mind, she was already living a borrowed lifetime. It would be embarrassing for the seconds before the nothing. That much she knew. It was not so much the dying as the circumstance.

  A voice came down from the crow’s nest above. Barely audible above the chaos of the crew and the rumbling anger of the aching sky. Whoever had been assigned that task was a braver soul than any she'd met. To climb a mast upon the storm. There lay true foolhardy courage.

  “What say thee man!” Bellowed Orochi, struggling to hear.

  “Ships ahead sir!” He yelled downwards, again toward the tumult. Armatrine sensed desperation in his voice. As if he wanted so much for it to not be so. Orochi pulled his scope from the lapel pocket of his long black coat and brought it to his waiting eye. A steeled expression of determination worn on his face, hiding his true thoughts yet even Armatrine saw the moment he noticed them. Perturbed he closed the scope and placed it back inside his jacket.

  “So it be! So it be! Miss Dupree,” he addressed her directly, “it appears that you have not been entirely of the honest persuasion during your time here among us.”

  “What's he talking about Armatrine?” The boy asked. He sounded concerned. Perhaps fooled.

  “I know nothing of an…” she began before becoming interrupted.

  “You do! And you will tell us!” Orochi bore the words through gritted teeth, no more than mere inches from her face. Halitosis ran rampant between them. She tried not to gag as smelled his teeth from inside his head. “Allow me to explain. Upon this vessel, this ramshackle collection of parts,” he backed off,“I am captain and as it goes captains are the kings of the skies, for now you both remain among the living, that is only because it is to my fancy” he sounded almost regal. Armatrine had to admit to herself that he played the part well, perhaps in anticipation of greater things to come. “Is that not right Miss Tyde?” He addressed his number one. Armatrine hadn't noticed her such a strikingly imposing figure her captain had made.

  “If I'd had my way I'd of strung them up” Tyde spat on the floor as she mimed a hanging. Hands around her neck, eyes rolling back.

  “Yes Miss Tyde, you did make this abundantly clear upon the commencement of this voyage, you were somewhat sore I had not heeded your words” he commented.

  “Aye Captain” she responded. Armatrine noted this woman did not appear at all sheepish or embarrassed considering her obvious devotion to the man before her.

  “Well, perhaps it is in order to reconsider, especially when it appears there are two Order vessels approaching us from ahead” he spoke quickly, allowing his words to take impact. Armatrine strained to look, yet the angle at which she was tied disallowed it.

  “He's telling the tru…” the boy began.

  “Shut up boy, nobody, asked you, in my estimates you are superfluous to this here conversation and would do well to remember so!”

  “Aye Captain” he responded. It struck Armatrine how quickly he cowered before his old master, considering all he'd been through with Arlandus and the trust he'd be
en shown, he was only interested in saving himself.

  “That's an impossibility” she hissed at the captain bravely. Bolstered by her anger toward the boy for his apparent betrayal. “You must know by now that the temple was ransacked and its inhabitants slaughtered, there's nothing left” she stressed.

  “I find that difficult to believe,” he responded, “I believe my own eyes and right now they be telling me there be two Order vessels approaching straight ahead”.

  “I really hate to tell you this dear Captain as you have been such an oh so gracious host but those ships you are pointing toward do not belong to the Order, they may bear our colours, they may bear our insignia but considering all that is left of the Order of the Pearl is Master Arlandus and myself they are not ours!” She was shouting by the end of it yet the stress in her voice sufficed to make her point clear.

  “Not yours?” Orochi questioned growing paler “Then whom?” He asked rhetorically.

  “I honestly haven't even the slightest clue Captain, what I do know is that right now I am tied to the mast of a make-shift airship probably in all likelihood readying to be blown from the sky by two vessels sacrilegiously bearing the insignia of a religious order to which I once belonged, if anyone here has reason to be scared it is myself” she snapped.