by Marin Landis
To their credit, the rogue Anaurim looked embarrassed, even shamefaced. Herjen seemed to be on the verge of tears and her voice broke as she replied. “Daughter, I know it must be seen as a betrayal, yet I have never felt such a closeness to another being, even my lover,” she indicated Faerlen. “I always made sure that you were in no danger and it was absolutely necessary for you to do those things yourself. I could not have presented myself to Mikael, he would have known instantly who I was as would Eweheulu and I would not have returned with the last Jotnar. Think on it, Katle, Mennin will save your people. You and the Troge, the spear you left with him and Mennin, you can free the tribes.”
Ignoring all the things he didn’t understand, Melvekior still had questions. “Why? Why all this? What is your end game?”
Both of the Blessèd turned to look at him. “We seek to save the world, Melvekior,” said Faerlen, “ and in the process, stop Mithras.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A New Way
“I was once a man of faith. Now I am a man of fact.” - Melvekior
“What do you mean, ‘stop Mithras’?” Melvekior was shouting now. He’d lost his temper. He didn’t care that he was in the company of creatures many magnitudes of being above him. He didn’t care that there were things he didn’t know about all this. All he knew is that two emissaries of his God, Mithras, the Lord of Light, had just admitted the most foul blasphemy and tried to make him part of it.
“If you remain calm, it will be easier to understand.” Faerlen said in an even voice, plainly trying to bring the young Prince down from the heights he’d scaled in an instant.
“I can see no other option,” he set his jaw. “I’ll hear you out, but I’m no traitor, remember that. Mithras has saved me, directly or indirectly, many times.” He slammed his fist into Faerlen’s bed in fury. He rarely reacted in anger and felt a little silly, but it was either the bed or Faerlen’s smug face.
"It was many years ago," he began. "How many, I couldn't say. We do not measure years in the same way that you might, for we are long-lived. Maybe immortal. Our true forms are not of matter made, but of spirit. That which is ageless. Regardless, Mithras had became disillusioned with his lot." Faerlen paused. He looked confused.
"What is it?" Herjen asked.
There was a moment then, a moment in which there was some invisible communication between the two. They both stopped moving. It was as though neither breathed, but stood stock still and then it was gone. He nodded. She relaxed.
"Do you speak between your minds?" Ottkatla ventured. "The mother of Mennin did that also." Her voice was odd when she spoke, like it was difficult to say the words. Melvekior guessed that there was some bad memory or other involved. Now was not the time to pry, though.
"We did, though it was for a matter of expediency rather than to hide anything from you. Some of the concepts I wish to communicate are beyond your ken..."
"Please just continue, I don't think I could bear to hear again how superior you both are." Melvekior was still angry, in advance of what he felt was coming.
Faerlen took a deep breath. "Mithras had ascended due to his vast power, a strength born of the Sun. He was able to harness the solar energy unlike any other. This power became too much for a human body to hold and he grew into a being that rivaled a God, in fact he became a God. None now would deny such a thing but at one time he was a newly ascended being, a novice in the ways of divinity. As were we. Drawn by our master, our leader and savior, we explored and postulated and felt ourselves superior. It seems that we still do," he pointedly looked into Melvekior's eyes at this. "Despite this, we learned nothing. We could feel the presence of other 'beings' and Garm was still on his mountain, no more or less interested that he had ever been, but that was all. There was no terrific epiphany or revelation. Our physical forms had changed but not our minds. I, for example, am different to the mortal I was only because I have lived so long and have a less physical connection with the universe." He paused to stalk around the room a bit, looking like he was mulling things over in his head.
"Immortality does something to a person, it makes them care less," Herjen spoke here. Melvekior had noticed that she frequently looked over at Ottkatla who steadfastly refused to meet her gaze. "But when you do care, the feeling seems more intense."
"Aye, and that impacted Mithras more than us." Faerlen seemed almost to interrupt; he plainly did not want Herjen to direct the flow of his narrative. "He established Himself as a God and created a cult around himself. That was the first Mithraic Epoch. Melvekior, you will know of this from your studies as Heiligr and represented a time of great growth and plenty for Torgetiea. The Northerns, your forebears, started making for themselves a real society rather than a loose confederation of warring states and the other people's of the world lived in relative peace. Then, the Sundering, caused by those cursed Aelvar. They believed that Mithras and Sehar, as well as the other Divines, did not represent their best interests so they threw down their worship, save for their strange and mindless Gods. Of course, some of them eschewed any sort of worship soever and became devils. I can see you are becoming bored and have probably heard this history many times, but the relevant part comes now. Mithras decided, without any advice from anyone to wipe the slate clean. He intended to wipe all life from the world and start again."
"What in the Hells are you talking about? I have never heard of this before." Melvekior asked scornfully. "Every time you start making sense you say something idiotic."
"Who exactly would have taught you that? Hestallr? He doesn't even know. He wasn't yet birthed."
"Then why are we still here and not all dead? Who could have possibly stopped Mithras?" Melvekior demanded.
"The decision to reset the balance of life triggered Mithras’s first departure from the world,” continued Faerlen, ignoring Melvekior’s question. “He worked alone to make a plan so grand and heinous that when he returned to explain it, we were all horrified. Tiriel defied him and Apset spat in his face. Herjen and I begged him not so even think of such a thing and Mikael said nothing. Sehar approved and was instrumental to his plan to scorch the Earth. We were to pool our power to fashion a vast lens in the Aethyr through which Sehar would guide Mithras' power. Power he could absorb from the Sun itself and concentrate into a destructive force. Amplified by the properties of the lens we were to make, it would obliterate all living things in mere hours."
There was a sob from Herjen and Melvekior turned to see her crying into her hands.
"You may be the first mortals to hear this story and I implore you to hear it until the end before making any judgments. We saw then that Mithras was insane with power and Sehar along with him. The fact that you're here to save your mother from her depredations should tell you that, Melvekior."
"It can't be!" Melvekior felt shocked. Nothing he heard directly contradicted anything that he could prove, but he knew that Mithras was a force for good in the world. Or did he? His father had little time for Mithras, but if what Faerlen said was true, he could understand why. Ushatr and his brethren, they were good people, but was that because of Ushatr? Hestallr himself no direct reflection of Mithras, but he had met the Sun God. He would know the truth of this. "Finish your tale, Faerlen. I will consult with Hestallr."
"Aye, do that! Hestallr is the embodiment of everything good about what Mithras once was; loyalty and honor, chivalry and decency. And none of the bad. The depraved indifference and callous disregard for others. At first He was ruled by ideals and then ideals came to be ruled by Him, determined by Him. Once we knew that He was lost to the world of reason We knew we would have to stop Him, but also that this would be an enormous and treacherous event. We couldn't let Mithras and Sehar destroy the world. To Them our people had lost importance, our own people. Hundreds of years of separation from the common folk had changed those Two as to render Them almost unrecognizable as once human. Sehar Herself was, is, passionless and Mithras is ruled by His desires. Neither could be trusted to make posi
tive decisions and yet they wielded such power as to make them unstoppable." Faerlen was plainly not without passion as he became increasingly fierce in his delivery and stood with his fist clenched as if describing a current even rather than a time centuries before.
"But we did, Faerlen, we did." Herjen spoke to assure her lover.
"Aye, we realized that this plan could not succeed without us. Tiriel would do what he was told, though his compassion for every creature would have been tested. He was the most pure of us, his downfall and his saving grace. On the morning that we," he indicated himself and the statuesque female standing to his left, with a brief finger motion, "left, Mikael had disappeared already and Apset also was nowhere to be found. Tiriel had greeted us, for he sat already in the Halls of Mithras, the grand mansion in which He still lives. We intended to confront Mithras one last time and attempt to convince Him of His folly. Tiriel looked odd, he simply lay on the floor breathing heavily. Something had been done to him, but before we could investigate, Apset burst through the doors shouting madly for Mithras. There was something dangerous about him. He had always been volatile and as a man he was always a risk. He had no care for anyone who did not benefit him but I think he had been driven to madness by Mithras's arrogance and Sehar's dismissal of him. Sehar rushed in to attempt to calm him, stating that Mithras's wrath had been raised but Apset struck her down. We were amazed and made to restrain him but Mithras appeared and started to battle with Apset. At this stage, Herjen urged caution..."
"Correctly. We may have been harmed by the fury of their violence," said Herjen.
"Which has been borne out by Apset's appearance since then," Faerlen responded to her. "Maimed and burned, giving him the appearance of purest evil, a sad irony indeed." This was towards Melvekior and Ottkatla. "We left, never to return and have heard little since. We know that Apset succeeded, how we cannot imagine, in overturning Mithras and commanding Sehar. You know the rest of that particular saga, with Hestallr casting Apset down and releasing Mithras from his captivity."
Melvekior spoke slowly and deliberately. "I have seen too much in the last few months to scoff at any story, no matter how unlikely. This one though requires that I re-think my entire life and all that I have worked towards for years. I am a part of the Church whose head is Mithras that you now accuse of genocidal tendencies. Our tenets center around honor and doing that which is right and you paint a very different picture of my Lord than I am able to believe. It is my duty to announce you to the Church but before you act against me, know that I do not intend, at this moment, to do that. This bears further investigation," he smiled at the memory of his friend, Aeldryn. He also smiled at how he now felt that way about their relationship, rather than as a pupil to master.
"We do not want acrimony between us, Melvekior. Out of respect to your father, whom we believe, and have always believed, to be our best chance of stopping Mithras and also we are wary of you. You have already displayed a strange power that we do not understand. How can you be convinced to stand with us and not against us?"
"I want to see my father," Melvekior said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alive
“Here’s who ye can trust. Yerself only and that’s open fer debate.” - Mikael
"There it is, Mikael." The booming voice of the giant carried far into the night. The Church of Sehar in newly renamed Summerlight wasn't open to the public yet for the simple reason that there was no public. The village was being rebuilt and even with the efforts of the Brothers of the Hammer, four score strong, it was in the third month of rebuilding.
Hestallr had stomped into the Church the instant they arrived in the village, after a journey in which he hadn't stopped or talked or even looked up. Mikael had followed on horseback, the experience much less pleasant than he thought it might be, currently residing in the body of a young woman as he was. He would have found no difficulty in walking the distance, but the High Priest of Mithras covered an obscene amount of ground with his unstoppable walking method.
Mikael didn't follow him in. He had an aversion to churches. It wasn't a strong one and he was nothing but pragmatic. He knew, better than any, to separate the dogma from the deity, but he still didn't follow. He half expected Hestallr to call him in but he did not. Instead the mammoth Priest squeezed back out through the door holding a stone coffin like a normal man might hold a sword-case,
Mikael felt an odd chill run through his body. His body was in that sarcophagus, the one he'd inhabited for decades. Not just inhabited but grew up in. It was like having a second childhood and the body had grown to look identical to his original body. He didn't understand the mechanics of it because Melvekior was obviously his son but also had the look of the Martelles, as well as taking something from his mother's side. Maybe Aeldryn was right after all, that his people did all look the same.
Hestallr set it down in the dark and removed the lid with one hand. Mikael watched in disgust. The Priest was ridiculously strong. No wonder he was able to oust Apset. Could he do the same to Mithras? Would he have that much free will? Would Mikael be able to convince him to do so? It was part of his plan, an important part.
The body was in good condition, it was frail and limp. Mikael felt a little disgusted looking at it. He'd died of lung rot and bad timing. Mikael had intended to cure it, as proof to the boy of his heritage, but then Ushatr came. Weak physically anyway, repairing the body would have taken much of his strength and Ushatr would have known something was happening. His hubris in taking his own name would have worked against him and his disguise shattered. While he could count on Hestallr listening to reason, Ushatr was a maniac who would have immediately tried to restrain him or at least reveal his identity and presence. As luck would have it, that amulet was his savior, its origin ironic.
“What will ye tell Bear? He might react badly.” Mikael noted all the while staring at his corpse. It was an odd experience and he wanted it to end.
“He will. He also will not work outside the Church without good reason.” There was a question there.
“I will explain to both of ye at once. Do yer best to keep my head on my shoulders.” He turned away from the coffin. “Can ye fix that, please? Let us go from here soon.”
“Aye,” growled Hestallr. He lifted the corpse from its place like a child may pick up a kitten and lay it on the ground. Almost immediately Mikael felt the rumble. It was the earth. In response to Hestallr’s call. He was to the earth, the rock, the mountain what Mithras was to the Sun. The ground churned around the corpse and Mikael could feel the power. Even in his almost dumb state, he could feel the sheer brute and primal energy that Hestallr wielded. Then the cadaver was gone, swallowed by the soil. He felt a moment of panic and smelled the odor of freshly turned earth after a heavy rain. It reminded him of the grave. And then there his body was again, devoid of clothing and he knew it was whole again.
“My thanks, big man,” he said quickly and then the body of Janesca fell to the ground in a faint.
Hestallr didn’t bother to cover his eyes against the harsh glow of the subtle body of Mikael the Anaurim and watched with only slight interest as the figure of light shot from Janesca to the newly rejuvenated body that had housed it for so long. He regretted, for a short time, that he hadn’t thought to capture the young woman before she hit the ground, but there would be no lasting harm to her. Better that she returns to Amalia without any infestation to start her life properly. He felt distaste towards this habit of the Ascended.
He scooped up the unconscious female and turned to the body of Mikael that was making its way to its feet. “Come, time for you to explain.” He walked away in the direction of the monastery and Ushatr’s hut.
“We’ll hear him out, brother,” Hestallr shouted above the creaking and cracking of the hut.
Ushatr had reacted exactly how Mikael had expected. One look from the Silver Bear was all it took for the reality to sink in. Mikael Martelle was the very same being as Mikael the lost Anaurim. He wasn’t na
med after the rogue Varalus, it was one and the same. And he had fooled them all. Hiding in plain site. Nobody likes to be a food of, least of all Ushatr. While Hestallr was as slow to anger as a mountain, Ushatr was a volcano, permanently on the verge of eruption.
“You!” he had shouted. The volume of his outburst rattled the hut to its foundations and now the depth of his anger, reigned, was enough to be felt very physically. Mikael’s ears hurt and he was rapidly developing a headache.
One didn’t attack one of the Anaurim lightly, even if you’re whatever it was Ushatr and Hestallr were. Some sort of mixture of the Jotnar and the divine, Mikael had mused many times. He knew, however, that an attack was on the cards. He seemed slightly mollified by Hestallr’s words, but Ushatr breathed in huge deep sucks of air, his face was visibly red, even in the low light and his fists were clenched. He looked even bigger than he normally did and his fists would certainly be capable of strangling a person or snapping their neck in a heartbeat.
The creaking ceased, giving Mikael some relief and also the opportunity to quickly evaluate his surroundings. It was a small hut, especially for someone so large as Ushatr. Hestallr could barely fit in and had taken to a kneeling position immediately upon entering. It was a very basic hut. The bed was larger than normal and the ceiling exactly high enough for Ushatr to stand looming over him. A few odds and ends, mainly vessels, barrels and pots, sat against one wall, the wall opposite to the still. Hestallr had talked, almost animatedly, about Ushatr’s puissance in the arts of brewing and distilling, which meant he made great beer, or cider as he was quite bluntly corrected.