[Souldrinker]: 573.Prologue - The Last Bastion

XXII:16 “It has been this way since the Vanquisher first appeared in the skies, many millennia ago, when He first brought destruction, shadow and darkness, when He brought the First War. Such is the way of Evil that its effects linger on long after the Evil itself has departed.
XXII:17 “Rising from where the Creator’s goodness was not, the Vanquisher stretched forth His Hand. With the Sword of Wrath he waged war upon the earth’s Immortal Children, and darkened the skies for three cycles.
XXII:18 “His terror was great to behold. His power brought fear to the hardest of hearts.
XXII:19 “The earth’s creatures cowed low at His presence. They trembled and died by His Hand. His evil without end, He sought the Destruction of all the good works of the Creator, that the earth might become His Desolation.
XXII:20 “In those days long gone, those days only faintly remembered, the creatures of the earth eventually took courage and rose up against Him. He was repelled for a time, but at a great cost to the Immortal Children.
XXII:21 “The tears unending, the scorn unhealing, we shall sing of them forever, for their sacrifice was our Redemption.
XXII:22 “From the ashes of this costly victory the Circle of the Zodiac was formed. As Guardians they stand, forever at watch against the Vanquisher’s inevitable Return. A Return that is expected soon.”

The Book of First Times, XXII:16-22

Ag’Athos: First Temple Scribe, in Dedication to the Holy Phoenix of the Blessed Horizon.


          The Last Bastion


The Phoenix stepped out of the blackness.
It was not into light that he stepped, however, for the only light to be found in this place was the scant illumination that was cast by the net of stars that continually rolled it’s way overhead. Here, in a place that was in fact nowhere, shadows were not dissipated, only lessened in severity. Here, in a place that was Beyond all other places, in a place that was Separate from the rest of existence, features were not made more conspicuous but simply less ambiguous, although by no means any more identifiable. Such was the way of the Chamber of Stars, and such were the conditions under which the Circle of the Zodiac met.
Stepping into the lesser darkness, into the scant-light, the Phoenix froze. The Chamber of the Stars was not empty, as it always was upon his entrance.

At this point in time Amurasa the Phoenix was in Ascendancy, making its Heliacal Rising upon the vernal spring equinox every year. In correlation to this Phenomenon, the Phoenix himself sat in the Spring Chair during these rare meetings of the Circle. While this only made the Phoenix the first among equals at best, it nevertheless gave him some elevation over the others who congregated here, and gave his words some weight among the other Members of this clandestine group. It was for this reason that the Phoenix ensured that he arrived in the Chamber before the others, where he could sit in the shadows and meditate upon what he had learned since the Circle had last met. This time alone allowed him to think on how he would pass this information on to the Brethren, as the Circle of the Zodiac sometimes referred to themselves, for the manner in which he addressed the Circle and the information he chose to pass on to them were both of vital importance to the maintaining of the Circle’s composition, which was at the best of times far from pacific and often openly hostile.
Despite the fact that the Circle of the Zodiac was formed as a bastion against the inevitable Return of the Vanquisher and the Darkness He would bring, over the many millennia since it’s conception the Circle had lost it’s way, deteriorating into little more than a group of individuals who used their privileged position as guardians of ancient knowledge to bolster their own positions in society. The Circle had been set up as the last defence against the Return of the Lightless One, and those who made up it’s numbers were the mortar which held the Circle together. Despite this, in the hour of greatest need those who had been chosen to watch had forgotten their duties.
Whether this was through choice or ignorance the Phoenix did not know. Whatever the reasons, the Circle had become nothing more than a group of petty, squabbling children who were more like bureaucrats than the earth’s last hope against annihilation from Beyond. The realisation that this last hope was rapidly dwindling away had only hardened the Phoenix’s resolve to ensure that it survived, even if he was the only one among the Twelve who remained true to the great and crucial task which had been laid before them.
Thus he had always ensured that whenever the Circle was called, the Phoenix was always the first to arrive at the Chamber of Stars. The time alone he used to formulate his thoughts, to carefully construct the words he would say so that, while not giving away too much information to the those who would misuse such valuable knowledge, he would nevertheless be able to impart to those who had a kept true to their duties that which would be vital to the continuation of their watch. His time alone was vital to this task and now, when the hour of greatest darkness was soon to come to hand, this task was becoming ever more crucial, and so was the time alone he needed to meditate upon his words. Yet now, when he most needed the black solitude of the Chamber of Stars, he had arrived to find himself not alone. He had arrived to find that his isolation had been stolen from him when it had become most valuable.

The Chamber of Stars was a dark place, the shadows of which the Phoenix knew well, almost as well as the as the back of his hand, as the old saying went. Almost fifty feet in diameter, the Chamber was a large circular room that was surrounded by cold, hard walls made from a stone with which the Phoenix was unfamiliar. All along the walls stood lifelike statues of the various races which populated the earth - Humans of all types, Dwarves, Alaendaryn, Giants, Choskin, Mintar, Muchan, Trolls, Goblins, Wyrms, Mahed - half-hidden by the shadows, seeming more like golem than the effigies of living creatures that they were. Interspersed among these statues, spaced equidistantly along the circumference of the Chamber, were twelve dark cornices, each enshrouded in a darkness greater than that of the darkest midnight. These cornices served as entranceways for the Twelve Brethren, the gateways between this mysterious room and the physical world from which they came and to which they returned. A large metallic door was also situated within the circular walls of the Chamber. The door was known as the Serpent Portal, and where it led to was unknown to all those who gathered in this mysterious place, for it had proven impossible to open. But what was known about the door came in the form of legend, a legend that stated that when the door finally did open it would announce the arrival of the Vanquisher, signify the commencement of the Last War, and spell the beginning of the End Times. The Phoenix always pondered the Serpent Portal as he sat alone in the shadows of the Chamber of the Stars, hoping that he would not see it opened during his lifetime, yet always feeling as if this wish would never be granted to him.
Just as there was one cornice for each member of the Circle, so to was there a Chair for each of the Twelve. Each Chair was intricately carved from a wood whose origins were just as mysterious to the Phoenix as the stone that formed the walls. The Chairs had been meticulously carved to form the likenesses of the Heavenly Beasts that the Brethren were supposed to represent. Twelve Beasts, twelve Brethren, twelve Chairs, twelve cornices. In the centre of the Chamber was a large and heavyset table carved from the same mysterious wood which had given life to the Twelve Chairs that surrounded it. The Diadem Table, as it was known to the Circle, was covered in a myriad of carvings depicting a veritable menagerie of creatures which stylishly represented the army of Beasts who guarded the heavens against the Return. The Chamber of Stars had been carefully constructed to mimic the glorious Heavens in all their beauty, just as the each of the Monuments had been painstakingly built to be a perfect replication of the Constellation whose secrets it housed. Everything had been made to measure to serve in the eternal battle against the Darkness, and everything had its proper place.
Except here and now, things were very much out of place, and it was not just because the Phoenix was not alone. Twelve Beasts, twelve Brethren, and twelve Chairs. One Brethren to represent each Beast, and one Chair specifically made to seat each of the Brethren. Because the Phoenix was currently in Ascendancy, his seat was known as the Spring Chair and for now he held the unofficial position of Chairman among the Circle of the Zodiac, as useless as this position seemed to be when he needed it most. Just as the Phoenix had his own Chair, so too did the other members of the Circle have their own, and it had always been an unspoken rule that you seated yourself only in your own Chair. To do otherwise would be to bring undone the alignment with the celestial realm. This alignment had forever been crucial to the continuation of the task that had been set before the Circle of the Zodiac when it had been conceived upon the repulsion of the Vanquisher, who had brought an end to the Golden Age. Whatever their reasons for being a part of this hidden group, however they had used this position to further their own places in life, those who made up the Circle had been meticulous in the observation of this alignment with the heavens. Such observations were the linchpin that held the Circle together and allowed those within it to remain in power.
Yet here before the Phoenix, before his unbelieving eyes, this very alignment had been wrenched asunder, and it was this more than the fact that he was not alone that froze the Phoenix in his tracks, and kept him hidden in the recesses of his cornice. Seated before him at the Diadem Table was another of the Brethren, one who had chosen to break with tradition and seat himself in a Chair that was not his own. The Walrus Chair was occupied, the large wooden tusks that sprung forth from the face of the great Beast hanging down to frame a head which itself had two large protrusions rising forth. Seated in the Walrus Chair, seated in a place in which he had no right to be, was the Bull. Representative of Thoros the Bull-God, the Bull had never seemed to the Phoenix to be one who would push the boundaries of tradition let alone break them. Yet here before the Phoenix he sat, having decided that these boundaries were no longer worthy of observation, having decided that he possessed the right to break thousands of years of tradition as if it was worthless. His own Chair sat only a few feet away to the immediate right, so close that he could have reached out and touched it with his hand if he had wanted to. There was no chance that he had just simply mistaken the chair for his own, for the obvious differences in each Chair were unmistakable and he had seated himself in his own chair countless times before. No, the actions of the Bull were unmistakably deliberate.
The Phoenix wondered for a moment if perhaps the one who sat before him was in fact not the man with whom he had conversed in this very Chamber for the last two score years. The identities of the Brethren were known only to themselves, and this secret was one that each member of the Circle valued highly and would never willingly give up. When the Circle was called to the Chamber they would arrive hidden behind ancient masks and beneath dark and enfolding robes, their only distinguishing features being their voices, and these could easily be altered. Now, being mortals, each member of the Circle would inevitably pass into the Great Beyond from which only a select few ever Returned. Thus there was the need to pass on to another generation the right to take a place at the Diadem Table and continue the vigil that had been maintained for the last eighteen and a half thousand years. And thus it occasionally came to pass that the Circle would welcome a new member into its ranks, if welcome was the right word for the way in which these newcomers were accepted.
And so it was that the Phoenix briefly wondered if the Bull with which he had discussed matters for over four decades had finally succumbed to the Dark Lady and passed his Chair on to the next generation of Thorosian ecclesiastics to guard against the Return of the Vanquisher. If this was so, then the previous Bull had done a poor job in passing on the knowledge that was so vital to the fulfillment of the Circle’s duties. He himself, knowing that his time was but finite on the earth, had already begun to prepare the one who would succeed him after his death.
Before the Phoenix had time to further consider this position and it’s implications, he realised that this was indeed the very same man that had been present in the Chamber for the last four decades. The way he tilted his head as he watched the stars revolve above him, the way he stroked his chin as if playing with a beard that must be hidden beneath the ancient mask which concealed his identity, these idiosyncrasies revealed the identity beneath the mask just as much as the disclosure of his facial features would have. Despite the fact that deep shadows and a mask of his own hid his face, the Phoenix held back a small smile. No matter how many layers people placed between themselves and the world, no matter how hard people tried to appear other than they really were, it was the person beneath, the identity deep down inside that could not be hidden, that always gave you away. Always.
The urge to smile did not last long however, for in the sight before him there was nothing to smile about. If the one who flouted the unspoken laws was new to their Chair and unfamiliar with the intricacies of the Circle and it’s traditions, then their actions could be, well, not forgiven, but at least understood in some small way. But for this man, who had held his place among the Brethren longer than any other except the Phoenix, such actions could be neither forgiven nor understood. Such actions were an abomination to the code that the Phoenix had lived by for the last fifty years. Such actions could not be allowed.

The Phoenix stepped out of the cornice in which he had arrived and into the scant illumination provided by the infinite cosmos that moved across the open roof of the Chamber of the Stars. He made no move to remain silent as he stepped towards the Diadem Table, yet the Bull seemed still to remain ignorant of his presence as he continued to stare at the bright red line that divided the heavens east from west as cleanly as the equator divided the globe that was the earth. The Meridian Line. In reality, this line did not exist, and anyone viewing the stars from the physical earth would not see it. But here in the Chamber of the Stars it was somehow visible. At present the Meridian Line ran straight through The Constellation of Amurasa the Phoenix, just as it had at this time of year for the last fifteen hundred years. Its presence in the Constellation marked Amurasa’s Ascendancy and gave the Phoenix the right to sit in the Spring Chair, at least for now.
And this was the problem that caused the Phoenix to frown in worry every time he gazed upon that single red line, which in it’s eternal stability held so much power. For the last fifteen hundred or so years the Meridian Line had resided in the Phoenix but soon enough as the stars turned in their cycles and the Phoenix would move on. It was soon to be replaced by the Raven, and he would have to give up the Spring Chair to another of the Brethren, one who may not be so disposed to the true duties of the Circle of the Zodiac as he was. While this change was unavoidable, for it had been preordained by the Creator when He had made all things, it nevertheless continued to bring uneasiness to the Phoenix. It was not that he craved the small amounts of power that came with the Spring Chair, only that he knew that within his hands this power was safe from corruption. He could not say the same for the hands of any other of the Brethren, the Raven not least among them.
With a shake of his head, he wiped such thoughts from his mind. Leaving them for another time he brought himself back to the present problems that sat before him. The Bull still sat in the Walrus Chair giving his undivided attention to the tapestry of stars, and the Meridian Line in particular. It seemed as if the Phoenix still remained inconspicuous, at least for the time being.
The Phoenix finally spoke. “Have you decided that after all this time sitting in the Bull Chair, that it is not to your liking,” he said, but the Bull still did not turn to look at the Phoenix but instead continued to watch the slowly revolving heavens. “Have you decided that after forty years of observing the celestial laws that they are no longer worthy of your attention?”
The Bull continued to ignore the Phoenix, continued to stare at the twinkling lights that lay spread across the dark skies. If it were not for his hand continually stroking a beard that was not there, the Phoenix would have thought the man asleep, or dead. He opened his mouth to speak again, this time with the intention of not being so cordial, but his words were cut off by those of the Bull. “After all this time,” he drawled, as if to parody a Rhoharrian accent, “I have decided that I should begin to accustom myself to the vantage point that I will soon be forced to take. As should you.” For the first time he turned his attention away from the stars and stared at the Phoenix. Despite the fact that the Chamber was dark, and the Bull’s face was hidden by shadow, cowl and mask, he could feel the piercing stare of the Bull’s eyes boring into his own. “You do realise, do you not, that soon enough Amurasa will pass out of Ascendancy, and that your time upon the Spring Chair will be over?”
While the Phoenix had been glad before for the protection that his ancient mask had provided, he had never been more glad than at that moment. The scowl of indignation that took control of his face would have sent the High Priest of Thoros running to hide in the Bleeding Mountains, and he was a man that could tolerate great consternation if ever there was one. How dare this man speak of such things in so insolent a manner! The Bull had risen far above himself if he thought that he could speak so to one who still sat in the Spring Chair, even if his time there was running short.
Before the Phoenix could formulate a scathing rejoinder to these arrogant comments, the Bull’s mocking drawl once again cut him off. “I do not mean to be so callous as I may seem, Phoenix, it is only that a time of great change is upon us. Such a time as this was what the Circle of the Zodiac was created for, and it’s importance cannot be ignored or misunderstood.”
He waved a lethargic hand towards the Phoenix as he continued. “To be sure, it is a time of greatest change for you above all others, dear Phoenix. Do not think that I do not know that. But you must know that these are times of great change for all within the Circle, myself not least among us. In this time of change nations will rise and fall, men will die, and Gods will be overthrown while others begin Their rise to power.”
It took all of the Phoenix’s power of will to keep his hands planted firmly on the table, to stop them from crushing the Bull’s horned head. Who was this man to talk to the Phoenix in such a way? Of course he understood that this was a time of change for all within the Circle. Who was going to be forced to give up more than he, who was soon to lose the Spring Chair? The Phoenix understood the coming changes more than this whelp of a pup did, no matter how long he had resided at the Diadem Table. “Do you not understand, Bull, that the time of change is not yet among us? Have you forgotten that the one to whom you speak sits on the Spring Chair still? Do you not realise that you break the laws of the Circle in what you do here?” Fury like he not felt in a long time began to rise in his chest, and there was only one direction in which he could release it before it bubbled over and he lost his self-control. “Your actions here could bring apart the fabric of the Chamber of Stars before these changes are able to take place, and then the Lightless One will meet no resistance upon His arrival!” The Phoenix suddenly halted his words, realising what he had in fact just said. When he spoke again his words were not so steady as he would have liked them to be. The fury had not dissipated altogether, instead the words were filled with indignation and fearing disbelief, with the fury now subdued beneath his growing apprehension. “Or is that what you seek to do here, Thorosian?”
The Bull looked around the Chamber as if for the first time noticing that he was there, as if for the first time noticing that he sat in a forbidden place. But still he did not move. “You are wrong,” he said. “The changes may not be at hand, Phoenix, but the time of change is certainly already amongst us. And who is to say that in times such as these new and unprecedented actions are not required, hmmm?” Before the words had even left his mouth the Bull was waving away the stinging comments that he knew were soon to come from the Phoenix. “I mean no offence by what I do here, dear friend,” he began. Dear friend indeed! “It is only that by sitting here in the position I will soon be compelled to take that I can fully comprehend the changes that will be forced upon both you and me, forced upon not only the whole Circle but upon the whole world.”
The Bull motioned vaguely for the Phoenix to take a seat, but did not wait for him to do so before he continued. “I fear the changes that will soon arrive, brother,” he said with a voice full of intense gravity, and the Phoenix believed him. While not easy to detect, the fear was in his voice if only you listened close enough, and listening closely was something the Phoenix was accustomed to doing, especially in meetings of the Circle. “Power will be passed between hands, and I am not sure that I trust those hands into which it will be passed.” He paused for a moment before speaking again, as if he was not sure that what he was about to say was the right thing. As if he was about to take a gamble which he was in no way sure would pay off. “As I have trusted your hands these last forty years, my dear friend.” He leaned back into his Chair, into the Chair that was not his. It was as if he had thrown the dice and was now waiting to see if he had rolled five sixes or five ones. Depending on where you were playing dice, either throw could be a potential winner. Or a loser.
The Phoenix leaned back also, enfolding himself in the large wooden wings that curled out from the sides of his Chair. If he were any judge of character and honesty, and he would not have lasted as long or risen as high as he had within the Phoenician ranks if he were not, then the Bull had just spoken the truth. Acquiesced for now at least by the Bull’s forthrightness, the Phoenix relaxed, willing to listen to whatever else his companion had to say. “Continue.”
The Bull nodded almost imperceptibly, as if he had been expecting just such a reaction from the Phoenix. “As I said, I have trusted your hands for the last four decades to do what is right for the Circle of the Zodiac. I believe that you have always done your best to do so. The problem is that while the Raven is beyond a doubt a wise and knowledgeable man, I am not able to place the same trust in him that I have in you. The Children have their own ways and their own needs, and wise indeed is the mortal who can understand them.
“Unlike yourself, I am not sure that he will be willing to put the needs of the Circle before his own needs and desires. And in this time of great change, in this time of great need, the ability to do so is of paramount importance to the Circle and the task we have before us. Failure to do so would not only lead to our destruction, but the destruction of this world. Even more importantly it would mean the triumph of the Vanquisher upon his Return, and we both know that that cannot be allowed to happen, whatever the cost.”
Once again he paused, but this time it was to let the Phoenix speak his mind. But the Phoenix had not fully digested what the Bull had already said, and he wished to keep his silence until he had properly thought upon what the Bull’s words. He once again bade the Bull continue.
The Bull nodded, seemingly content to do all the talking. At least for now. “As I said, I have trusted you these last forty years to do the right thing, and to the best of my knowledge you have not yet failed me. And so I come to you for aid.”
“Aid? In what?” The Phoenix surprised himself by speaking, for such advances between two individuals among the Circle of the Zodiac were unheard of to him. It should have been no wonder that he had lost his reservations about remaining silent.
“An alliance. Of sorts.” Now the Bull leaned forward in his chair, putting his weight onto the large table before him, as if to emphasize the importance of what he was saying. “The time for the petty squabbles among the Circle are over. The time in which we allowed our meaningless religious differences to come between us is past.”
The Bull looked quickly around the Chamber as if to check for hidden listeners in the shadows. Quickly scanning the Chamber himself, the Phoenix found that they were still alone. As if still uncertain of their privacy the Bull dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper as he spoke again. “I have just received word from the Sho Mae’lin that the last of the Angelyn have been born into the flesh, in your homeland of Attol. The battle has begun, Phoenix. If we are to unite in the face of the coming Danger, the Circle must put aside our differences and become one in spirit. Only by doing so can we hope not only to repel, but to defeat the Vanquisher upon His Return. We have no other choice.”
With his next words, the Bull’s shoulders slumped as if pressed down by a great burden. Suddenly he seemed like a man almost entirely bereft of hope, on the brink of a crushing and absolute defeat. “Lamentably, I believe that the ability to do so is sadly lacking in those who seat themselves within this Chamber, and for that I truly grieve. And so I come to you, for an alliance that I believe is a necessity if we are to emerge victorious, if we are not to let down those who came before us, and those who are to come after us.
“And so I come to you, brother Phoenix. For you are the only one among us who I believe I can trust to join me in this cause.” Seemingly finished, the Bull returned to his position of apparent relaxation against the back of his Chair. Against the back of the Walrus Chair.
“Your words are well rehearsed, and pleasing to the ear,” the Phoenix began. He knew that he must tread carefully with his words, ensuring that he did not say too much before he could fully understand the true position of his companion. If what he had said was indeed true, and if his intentions were as honourable as he claimed, then he must be careful to make sure that he did not put a foot wrong with one who could become a powerful ally in the coming struggle. At the same time, he understood that this could be nothing more than an elaborate scheme by the Bull to draw out information from the Phoenix that he would use to further his own secret agenda. He must tread very carefully indeed, for these waters were both murky and dangerous. “You say that you trust me, and that is all well and good. A friend in the coming struggles would be more valuable than a ship full of Rhoharrian skygold, yet how do I know that I can trust you?”
The Bull nodded, this time more emphatically, as if he had once again expected such a response, only this time he seemed quite pleased to have received it. “I could sit here and tell you how much you could trust me until the sun fell from the sky, but our time is short and I may not be able to convince you of my trustworthiness before the others arrive. By then it will be too late. So I will bypass the bantering of words and simply show you.”
As if once again taking a gamble that he was not sure he should be taking, the Bull raised his hands to his head and drew back the cowl that covered him and helped to obscure his identity. Then, however incomprehensible the action may have seemed to the Phoenix, he slowly removed the Bull-mask that had hidden his face from the rest of the Circle for forty years. As the Phoenix’s eyes threatened to jump out of his head after witnessing such an action, as his jaw threatened to touch the floor in astonishment, the Bull very carefully placed his mask upon the Diadem Table as if performing a sacred ritual. Having done this, he just as carefully brushed back the long golden locks that had fallen over his shoulders, locks whose colour belied his age. The Phoenix could see in his newly revealed face that the Bull was nervous and still unsure about what he had just done, yet he could also see that in a way he was relieved to have finally shed himself of the burden of anonymity that had plagued him for over two score years. He had played his hand, no matter how dangerous it had been to do so, and now he was content to wait and see what would become of it. In a strange way, the Phoenix admired him, not just for his courage, but also for his ability to content himself with his risky decision and wait for the coming result. “And now I hope that you can see that I am indeed worthy of your trust and a man with whom you could make a lasting and effective alliance in the face of what is to come.” The smile that came across his face was one filled with hope, yet in a way it was also filled with pity, and an amusing sort of malice. The Phoenix did not have time to wonder at this strange mix of emotions that played upon the face of his would-be ally. “The question now remains, dear Phoenix, can I trust you?”
The Phoenix grimaced behind his own mask, wanting to drop his head into his hands at the helplessness of the situation. But he knew that he could not, for the situation was indeed helpless, although not in a bad way. In fact, what was transpiring was indeed a boon greater than any he could have hoped for, yet the boon had its price and he must now pay it. Just as slowly as the Bull had moved, the Phoenix raised his hands and drew back the hood of his robe. His steely grey curls which bespoke of his many years upon the earth flopped down over his now stooping shoulders. Even more slowly, the Phoenix raised his now trembling hands until they rested upon the ancient mask that lay across his face. Despite the fact that he knew he had no other choice, he hesitated, but he knew that this was no time for hesitation.
This was a time for action.



*   *   *   *   *



Davram Torvil did not move.
He tried to breathe as little as possible, lest the brush in which he was hiding shiver as it was moved by his heaving chest and give away his presence. The only movement came from the sweat that escaped his pores under the harsh desert sun and ran down his face, and the blinking and darting of his eyes as he tried to take in all that was transpiring around him. He was a rock, indistinguishable from the countless other rocks that littered the parched landscape in which he had spent the last month. At least he hoped he was indistinguishable, for if he was spotted he was almost sure that his end would come quickly, although not without pain.
The creatures whom he was watching with trepidation were by and large not physically intimidating. Tall, yes, but lithe and not well muscled, they had nevertheless exhibited on numerous occasions a speed and surefootedness that he knew would be more than a match for him.
And he was outnumbered, vastly. Scores of the creatures, the like of which he had only seen before on old temple walls and in ancient mythological texts, scurried across the desert sands unloading cargo from a collection of boats that had pulled ashore on the nearby beach. They moved with the grace of cats on a roof - sinister cats, on the prowl for an unsuspecting meal under the cover of night. All were garbed alike, in robes that blew in the hot wind without causing them discomfort or unsteadiness. The robes were in the colour of the desert sands, and would have made them appear as chameleons if they did not contrast starkly to their dark skin.
A half dozen larger, more menacing creatures accompanied the scores of lithe, cat-like beings. These larger beasts were indeed massive, with amazingly muscled bodies that would crack his spine if they were able to get their hands on him. These large creatures all stood knee deep in the water, lifting the larger crates from the boats and carrying them to shore before returning to the water once again. As Davram had been watching this scene, and somehow managing to escape notice, for several hours, he had noticed that periodically these humongous creatures would retire to the confines of a large tent to the north-west where they would rest for a while before returning to their work.
Davram itched to move closer to this tent, to see what was in it, what these creatures did when they returned there. Did they seek some sort of nourishment, a replenishment of some kind, or did they simply seek to withdraw from the harshness of the piercing sun? But he knew that if he did move, it would be the weapons of the workers before him that would end up scratching his itch. So he remained where he was, barely hidden by a bush fifty yards from the activity on the shore, but he did briefly turn his attention back to the large tent as he wondered again what lay behind its flaps. And he froze.
A gauntleted hand grasped the billowing tent flap and pulled it back, and a tall and well-built figure emerged from inside. The figure was not bare-chested like the beasts that handled the larger cargo, nor wrapped in a robe like the lithe creatures that danced across the sand. A thin armour covered its torso, clinging tightly to it such that the definition of its upper body was easily discernable, and its long legs were covered by what appeared to be some kind of leggings made of small interwoven rings of metal that dully reflected the suns light. No minor detail escaped him, such was the attention he paid to the figure. The heavy boots on its feet were matched to the equally heavy gauntlets that enclosed its hands, and even from a distance both appeared sturdy and very serviceable. A tight helm that covered the face enclosed the head, plain and unadorned except for two small serpents that ran up the sides, their heads meeting in an almost-kiss at the crest of the helm. As the creature turned away from Davram to gaze at something in the distance - he could not see what - Davram noticed that the tails of the serpents extended down past the shoulders, hanging down the back and almost reaching to the waistline. Davram resisted the urge to rub his eyes in surprise as the tails appeared to move, not in a swaying motion such as could be accounted for by the breeze, but in a writhing fashion that could be expected from a living serpent. Even more amazing was the fact that they appeared to be made of the same kind of dull metal as the leggings and the helm, from their heads right down to their writhing tails.
A loud noise from down on the beach caused the armoured creature to turn his attention sharply in that direction, and Davram quickly followed suit. One of the larger creatures had dropped a crate as it was bringing it ashore. The crate has shattered at one end, and its contents, now obviously a living creature, was banging about inside the container.
Suddenly the previously graceful scene became one of panic and furious movement. Several of the lithe creatures hurried to bring over a large tarpaulin as others beat the large fumbling creature that had dropped and damaged the crate out of the way. The bright sunlight pierced into the hole in the crate, and smoke quickly began to billow out. The creature inside obviously did not like what was happening, as it began to throw itself around in the crate more frantically until the tarpaulin was thrown over the hole, at which point it subsided and the crate became still once again.
As all this was happening the armoured figure had made his way down to the scene, where he beat his fist on the skull of the large creature that obviously did not appear to be menacing to him. The hulking creature cowed under the brutal attention of the helmed figure, covering its head with its large hands and seemingly pleading for the beating to stop. Eventually it did, and the figure turned its attention to the nearby robed figures and began to give them a lashing, this time with its tongue and not its hands.
While this was transpiring, Davram knew he had his only chance to get a glimpse inside the tent before leaving, if indeed he would be able to leave this place alive. Slowly, he backed himself out of the bush and scrambled down the back of the dune on which he had been positioned. He knew the sand would hide any sound of his movement, so he ran with all his speed until he came around behind the tent which had been fascinating him all day. For three decades he had been a searcher of ancient and mysterious things, and his highly developed instincts told him that he needed to see what was in the tent if he was to make any sense of what was happening on the beach this day.
Once he was up against the back of the tent he slowed himself, glancing quickly around the side to make sure that the attention of the creatures on the beach was not focused in his direction. Assured that he still had an opportunity to enter unseen, he quickly skirted around the side until he came up against the flaps that gave entrance to the dwelling. With a deep breath and one last glance back down to the commotion on the beach, he skipped into the cool confines of the shaded structure.
And froze once again.
Before him stood a small figure, robed not in the oranges and yellows of the desert but in a black that was darker than the shadows inside the tent. Its back was to him, yet he knew that it had already sensed his presence without seeing him. Slowly it turned, and just as slowly he began to edge his way back to the opening of the tent. He could move no faster, because he was already paralysed by the mere presence of the thing before him, and when it turned to face him, its green eyes illuminated from within the darkness of its cowl, he could move no more. Its hands were as hidden as its face beneath the confines of the dark robe, but long nails, claws, protruded out from the sleeves, menacing as they glinted with some nefarious liquid.
When Davram heard movement behind him, approaching him from outside the tent, the creatures spell was broken. He quickly turned to see the armoured creature closing on him, drawing a large dagger from a sheath that hung at its belt. Immediately Davram drew his own dagger, a short but very sharp instrument. He knew he was no match for the figure that rapidly closed in on him, and he knew he did not have the courage to attack the small, robed figure in front of him.
Without even thinking he lunged for the side of the tent, slashing it with his dagger and creating an opening just large enough for him to slip through. Once outside, he quickly looked around to size up his options. To his left the lithe, cat-like creatures were already streaming towards him, with the larger beasts trudging slowly behind them, less sure footed on the soft sands. To his right lay the open expanse of the harsh desert, a place that would likely hold his death if he got lost in there. But he had no choice. He dashed to his right and ran as fast as he was able to over the shifting sands that cruelly allowed his feet to sink with every step. To the south-east was a cave in which he had stayed just the night before, and he knew that if he could find it again he might have some chance of escape.
He did not look back, because he knew they were following him. They did not scream for his blood as they came, and they did not make any sound as they slid over the desert sands, but he knew they came. He could feel them behind him, their eyes piercing his back just as their swords would soon pierce the rest of his body if he did not run, and run with all his might.
And so he ran, with all his might.


*   *   *   *   *


The tear slid from his cheek and fell slowly, almost as if time was being dragged out, and along with it his agony. It fell with a small splash onto her face. That face, the only real face he had ever known in this world, had only days before been vibrant with life, beaming her smiling countenance into an otherwise lifeless world. That face had been his only joy in an existence that had otherwise been hollow and without love. Its smile had kept him alive for nearly forty years now, its kiss had wiped away all the fears that came with life in this cursed place. To look upon it had been to forget all his woes and dismay and become enveloped in the only love he had ever known. A love that was to be denied to him forever now.
He looked down upon the beautiful face, but it looked back up at him with an empty stare. Her eyes would never again see him. What had once been lively and knowing eyes were now dead forever, lifeless now for eternity under the embrace of death. They would never take in the light of the sun again, nor watch the waves as they lapped against the stony shores.
He could not bring himself to be happy that they would not also be forced to view the decay in which they lived, into which they had been exiled. They would never again watch as the darkness crept through the forest silently and consumed all that it touched, including their minds. They would never be compelled to gaze upon the horrors that inhabited this place and preyed upon the young and weak for food. They would never be coerced into regarding the insubstantial forms that flowed through this place, never forced into returning stares that came from the pale forms of the Lost Ones and drove themselves into the depths of the soul, where they took their pleasure from those whom they had once been like - the living.
He could not force himself to find happiness in these things, in the fact that she was now safe from the abominations that called this dreaded isle their home. He could not force himself to find happiness, and he knew that with her death he would never find happiness again. It had been taken from him along with life, along with her.
And now he was alone, as he would be until his time came to pass into the Beyond. Until that time came he would wander, cursed with solitude in this province of despair that held so much corruption of the spirit. He waited for the cold hand of death. He would gladly clasp it with all his strength when it was offered, he knew, and he waited for that day already, knowing that it would be a long time in coming. Death took an eternity to arrive for one of the Children, one of the so-called Immortals.
Immortality! She had told him many times of his people and their splendour, and she had also told him many times of their flaws. The greatest of these was their claim to immortality, in which they took great pride and conceit. But now he was staring at the horrible face of truth concerning this. The horrible, blank and lifeless face. Great length of years the Children did have, but immortality they did not. They may live for hundreds of years but their time came to pass Beyond just like that of every other creature that lived.
As he pressed his warm lips to her cold but moist forehead, he sensed them drawing near. She had never been able to do that while she lived, but he had always been able to, and he knew that this was one of many things that would cause him pain in his long future of loneliness. As always when he felt them near, he was forced to look up and behold them as they approached, as if they demanded recognition from him. Demanded recognition of their pain, of their solitude and loneliness. He watched helplessly as they arrived, unable to turn his face away. Slowly they drew themselves around him in a circle, sliding out from the dark forests or simply emerging from nothingness to silently behold him in his pain. They stared silently, watched motionlessly, and he returned the stares, unable to do anything else. These were the Lost Ones, those who had gone Beyond but been denied entrance into the Greener Pastures, and who had been forced to dwell forever here on the Lost Isle. In his new personal torment.
Silent and still, they beheld him as he held her lifeless body. He did not know what they were thinking, if they thought at all. But he could feel that they were waiting for something, something they had not received in many cycles. They waited and watched, anxious and expecting. At times like these, when he could feel them, it was a struggle to retain sanity. They penetrated deeply into the niches of his mind and seemed to feed upon what they found there. He had to struggle to retain that which was himself, for it appeared as if they were trying to drink him, consume him, until he became one of them. At these times she had always been his salvation, she had always been what had caused him to resist them and return to the land of the living. She had been his entire existence, his one and only happiness. With her gone there was naught to live for, nothing to return to, and seemingly no reason to resist them. But he did, knowing that this would be her wish, if she were still alive. He considered submitting to their lure, to their mental seduction, but the thought was only brief and fleeting. Once again, one last time, her face formed the resolve he needed to defy them and he forced himself, one last time, to bring himself back from the brink of insanity.
He could force himself to do this, but still he could not force himself to avert his eyes from their gaunt stares. And when he was once again locked in their visual embrace, he saw the most horrifying sight that ever his eyes could behold. Among them stood a new form, one he had seen every day of his life, but one that he knew was new to their ghastly ranks. She stood in front of him, almost transparent yet awfully real, with the same blank look that adorned the face of each of the other Lost Ones that encircled him. Unmistakably it was her, beautiful, serene, yet now ghostly in form.
As he stared at her unnerving and ethereal form before him, he rocked her cold and lifeless physical body in his arms, his tears now running like a torrent to cover her face with a salty wetness. Never had he thought he would behold such a sight. He had known that one day she would pass Beyond, believed that it would most likely occur before his time came, but he had always believed that she would pass on to the Greener Pastures, and dwell forever with the Ancestors of Light in their abode. Now the lie that he had believed stood before him, and its unavoidability shattered his resolve to hold on to his sanity. How could this happen to her, she that had lovingly nurtured him through all these years, who had braved the evils of this perverse place to provide for him, she whose smile was like the benevolence of the Ancestors themselves? Surely if anyone deserved to enter Their dwelling it was she? Yet it was not to be, for she stood before him now as one of the Lost Ones, denied entrance into the Greener Pastures and forced to forever dwell in this wasteland of souls. She had once told him of a great transgression she had committed, but she had never told him what it had been. Whatever offence she had committed, that silent wrongdoing that she had always kept unspoken, he knew now that it had cost her greatly. She had paid the ultimate price for one moment of weakness, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
But he could do something to come closer to her again. Among the minds that dried to drink of him was one new, one he could never mistake. Her. His last thoughts before he succumbed to her pull, to their pull, was of her. He had lost his only loved one, but now he could draw closer to her in some way, or so he hoped. The last word that escaped his lips before surrender, the last thought to enter his mind before he released his hold upon himself was her name. The only name he had ever known besides his own.
Mother.