Illumaru: Chapter 1

'I know you're there, Balac. No need to hide.'

'I wasn't hiding.' Resigned, he made his way out of the tall grass to squat by her side on the hillock. She glanced at him with a smirk. 'You know we'll never survive out here if you're so clumsy.'

'I'm a shepherd, not a hunter,' he grunted, chewing on a green strand, 'I don't need stealth.'

'Not hunter, but potentially hunted. This isn't Paradise, you know.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'No? We have sheep, the village nearby and a beautiful land just for us. What more could we ask for?'

She giggled softly and rest her head on his shoulder. 'Things could change, we're not alone in this world.'

'Nothing has happened here for decades. There's no ore, no kings, no city.' He frowned. 'Are you afraid?'

She remained silent and let her gaze pour into the evening clouds as they gathered in the distance. 'Father always told me that night comes no matter how long the day.' She shook her head. 'I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying. I just don't know what's ahead. And it frightens me.'

He sighed, and opened his mouth several times to speak, until he finally let out, 'No, Ildia, this day will never end, not for me.' She sent him a inquisitive stare. 'No,' he continued, 'Not for me. Any night in the deepest pit, with you at my side, will be my brightest day. Any day under the bluest sky, without you, will be my darkest night.'

'Since when are you a poet?' She chuckled.

'You'll never take me seriously, will you?'

'You know I do.' She drew nearer to him, her head laid against his breast while he gently combed her hair with his fingers. 'But what if I'm no longer at your side?'

'I'll die before that happens.'

'If you die, how will you be by my side?'

'I'll find a way. I always have.'

'We've never left the region. We know nothing of what lies beyond our world. Nothing but old men's legends about monsters and demons.'

'And? What does it matter? The world can take care of itself. There's nothing we have that it could ever want.'

'Not even love?'

'Not even. Monsters and demons don't know what love is.' He watched as the first stars materialized in the shadowy sky. 'Look, whatever comes from the mountains, I want you to remember what we both said, the day the chief elder joined our hands. Heart on your heart..'

'...And eyes on your eyes...' she exhaled, 'You don't really think I'd for--'

'...Today and forever.' The valley seemed so small as the skies robbed it of its light.

Her eyes slowly fell shut, and by the pattern of her breathing, he thought her asleep. To his surprise, she muttered, 'I've never believed in anyone, Balac. But I believe in you.'

A Night of Visitations

Like all things, the night breathes, though she tends to take her time. First she inhales the heft of day, with all its madness and all its vanity, until she has engulfed every grain of light and every speck of heat. Then, she caresses the hills with a soft breeze, sliding down their slopes and up again. She never forgets the high circle of stone, the massive fortified walls that hold the city. Around and around her cool breath flows, trapped in the ring that touches the stars, playfully bristling the man's hair and beard, as he stood and watched from the top of the wall.

With a faint grin he derided himself. As the mind of Shalaïm, he knew he couldn't afford to view this world through another lens than that of reason, precisely because no one else in the city could bear to do so. Yet today was the King's birthday--he could still hear the sound of festivities from the palace--and on such days even the most rational could allow themselves a peak in the realm of fantasy. And whatever it was that animated the night, there was something in it that soothed the aching hearts of men.

'A fine night, isn't it?' The gentle voice shook him from his dreams. He could have turned around, but instead kept his eyes fixed on the pale moon. 'If you expected to surprise me, Antarea, I'm sorry to disappoint you,' he replied gruffly, 'You always come in these...moments.' She chuckled. 'And what do these moments have in common?'

He shrugged. 'You know me better than I do, why even bother to ask questions?' He felt her soft hand on his shoulder, and continued anyway. 'I was sent here from Akhaïa by the Academy fifteen years ago, full of ambition and enthusiasm. Back then, Shalaïm, though under Hellenic rule, was hopelessly plagued by the misery and barbarism of its native inhabitants. While my brother Kellas ensured order and security, I did everything I could to bring it in line with the other Hellenic colonies, perhaps even the home cities of Akhaïa themselves. I devised the irrigation system and the sewer system. I taught them advanced farming techniques that doubled the yearly food production, and the mining improvements were just as successful. I am the architect of the walls we stand on, and my fast building system finished them in less than three years. Honours and awards I have received; my people were not ungrateful. And yet sometimes I can't help but realize that all of this was nothing.' He paused, and sighed, his arms partly outstretched towards the sky, as though pleading to a silent moon.

'Nothing,' he moaned, 'Nothing but luxury to ease their back-pains. The people are the same as they were. I thought the power of knowledge would somehow bring them back to reason. But I have failed...miserably. They are the most superstitious and idolatrous of men. They read the future from the stars. When Nature expresses itself, for good or for evil they attribute it to the whim of their gods. And they...they...you know what they do.' He cupped his hands around his face. 'I tried, Antarea,' he stuttered, 'I did all I could to stop them. But they love it too much. Kellas says it keeps them busy, and to take it from them would bring disaster.'

The one called Antarea took his hand in hers, and her warmth somewhat relieved his tense skin. He caught his breath, and turned his gaze to the hills beyond the hills, and the mountains beyond that. 'Sometimes to reassure myself,' he muttered, 'I recall the words of my Master Kritodemas. He would tell me that we are all made of the same elementary particles clumped together in an infinity of ways, until these particles separate and we disappear, never to rise again. All I have done, and all I could have done, will fade away all the same.'

'Is this really what you want, Arxes?' Her grip tightened.

He shook his head. 'There's nothing I want.'

She brought her hand to his upper jaw and mildly pressed on it, slightly pivoting his head so that they faced each other, his eyes staring at the ground. 'And what about purpose?' she spoke, 'You left your home from across the Azure Sea with a meaning, and have made many miracles in its name. Where is it now? What are you without a purpose?'

He smirked bitterly. 'Do you even exist?'

She laughed, and her laughter, gushing forth like a forest stream, never failed to fill his ears with peace that transcends understanding. 'Oh Arxes, I'm the truest of truths, the reality beyond reality. But my time is yet to come.' He finally resolved to look up, and despite her hood and the darkness, caught a glimpse of her ageless eyes.

'But first,' she whispered, 'There is a story to be told. Listen to it as it unfolds in the days to come, and learn. A storm is coming, and you alone can decide whether it will rip you apart, or prepare you for the age to come. You must choose, all of us must. But I'm sure you will choose to follow me in this new adventure. Oh I believe, Arxes, I do, I do...' Again, he gave his mind permission to venture beyond the usual borders. For her voice transfixed, not him alone, but the chariot of time, which came to a halt at the sound of truth. And in his heart, the old man admitted, not without reluctance, that she was right and that he would never know why.

'Sir!' A loud bawl from behind startled him, and he spun to face a guard. The Hellenic crested helmet covered most of his face, but Arxes could still perceive a hint of alarm in the eyes behind the slits. 'I apologize Sir. But you'd better come see this.'

Arxes peered over his shoulder. No one, as expected. 'Well then,' he exhaled, 'Shall we?' The sentinel swiftly lead him down the stairs carved into the stone. Once they'd made their way down, they trotted through several dark alleys. This was the poorer region of the city--though the sewer system had dealt with the stench, they still came close to tripping over a beggar or two. Arxes soon heard the noise of a throng up ahead, and a throng there was, a small mob of barking men and screeching women, hitting themselves and pulling their hair. A semi circle of armed soldiers barred them from the wall behind them. 'Make way!' barked the guard, a flail in hand. Most of the people of Shalaïm had seen the man with the silver beard at least once in their lives, and all knew who he was and what he'd done. In consequence many in the crowd stretched out their arms to him and thanked him for his presence. He shunned the adoration. To be considered a Saviour by barbarians of the worst kind was not something to be proud of.

'Make way!' With one last effort Arxes crossed the line of soldiers, falling and scraping his knee in the process. He winced at the pain, and gasped to realize he was gawking right into the lifeless eye of a dead calf. The animal lay in a pool of blood, it's throat cleanly slit. And on the wall, presumably with its blood, an upside down vaguely triangular figure had been traced, with two stems jutting out from each side.

His accompanying guard hurried up to him and helped him up. 'What is...this?' gargled the elder.

'Forgive me Sir, but for how long have you lived in Shalaïm?' The guard pointed at the figure with a frown. 'Don't you recognize the Black Hornet's face? The sign of the worst curse from Above?'

Arxes clasped his hand to his face. 'No, guard, I haven't been acquainted with this fellow. I suppose there's a beginning to all things.'

'Rightly so,' responded the sentinel, 'Dozens more were drawn all over the city. The people tried to stone the culprit, but we stopped them on time.'

'You should have let them,' he scoffed, but the guard's offended stare prompted him to add, 'Fine, I know. "Only the gods preside over life, and King Memloc is god of Shalaïm". Where is our most distinguished artist?'

The ward gestured him to follow.
                                                                                                   ***

Sometimes, the flicker of the dancing flames seemed to give life to the myriad of otherwise breathless inhabitants of the shrine room. The bulls, the snakes, the birds, the dogs, and any imaginable mix of the latter became frighteningly vivid, chattering among one another, gossiping perhaps, fighting over which one had received the most praise. Swift shadows driven by the fire on the wall darted past them, through them, and around them as they wriggled and wrangled. So many, and each so uniquely crafted.

Kellas watched the show of the statuettes, a lonely spectator in a dim amphitheater. When it came to constructive reflection on which move to make next, the shrine room, far from all the frenzy of the palace, was always the best choice.

With a sigh, he felt ringed fingers from behind his back glide down his torso, and under his tunic. There would be know strategy planning tonight.

'What does General Kellas by himself?' hissed a voice in his ear, 'The celebrations suffer of his absence.'

He smirked and lifted a lazy hand to stroke a thin neck pressed against his back. 'The Hellenes take no pleasure in such vulgarities.' A strident giggle filled the chamber in response. Arms slowly coiled around his thorax. 'Your arrogance dishonours you, General.'

This time Kellas slowly turned around, and contemplated the crimson mane tumbling down her shoulders, the flamboyance of the designs on her robe, the intricacy of the markings on her oily skin, the almost revolting innocence of eyes that couldn't distinguish heaven from hell.

'What is honour, Zaris?' he breathed as he brought her closer to him, their bodies entwined like the roots of a rotting tree.

'Brother!' He jolted, and released a heavy sigh to see the old Arxes at the other end of the path lined with candles, motionless before the tall, rectangular entrance. 'I gladly take note that being an agent of death has not extinguished the passions of life.'

Kellas rolled his eyes. 'First and foremost an agent of peace, old fool.'

Arxes smiled. 'Of which death is paragon. At least according to her.' He flicked a finger, and two guards stepped in, each holding the arm of what appeared to be a woman in a torn cloak, wrists heavily shackled, her head drooping and long black hair sprawled on the floor. The soldiers dragged her along the path, Arxes following close behind, and dropped her about ten feet from Kellas and Zaris, who stood the side eyeing the prisoner.

'An agitator, painting curses all over the city and driving the people mad,' explained Arxes in reply to his brother's inquisitive stare.

Kellas twitched an eyebrow. 'Out of all the thugs in Shalaïm, you bring me this harmless lunatic? Expel her from the city, and kill her if she returns.'

'Dearest Brother, I could not agree more. But the people insist.' He jerked his head toward one of the guards, who immediately fell to one knee and inclined his head. 'My General, we apologize for disturbing you on this day of mirth. Yet this foreigner has announced a terrible calamity for us, and all Seven cities of North Illumaru. She says we must leave before time runs out.'

The General sniggered and leaned toward the cloaked woman. 'And what sort of calamity do you predict, young lady?' No answer followed. Kellas rose and glanced at both Zaris and Arxes. 'Shall it be fire from the stars? Or perhaps a dragon? Or, if she has a sense of humour, a hemorroid epidemic?' Zaris let out a mocking grin, and Arxes shook his head in lassitude.

The guard peered over to his colleague with a wince. 'No my General. The Yephra.'

Kellas froze. This was no ordinary catastrophism, but a declaration of war. He scratched his goatee in morbid excitement.

'And what does a horde of nomadic savages want from us?' he articulated.

'Nothing, my General,' gulped the guard, 'You know the Yephra. They despise riches and own no property. They don't even have a king.'

The General's hand turned to a fist. 'But surely there must be a motive of some kind.'

'It doesn't seem so, my General. When they come, they will kill all that lives, and destroy everything else. They will take no loot.'

'Nonsense!' snapped Kellas 'There is a reason. And you will tell us.' He bended his knees until his face was inches away from the woman hunched on the floor, and though she refused to meet his stare, he though he could perceive something of a snicker behind the thin sheet of dangling hair between him and her visage.

'Tell me, guards,' he muttered, 'Apart from decorating our alleys, has our guest shown any other...eccentricities?'

The soldiers wavered, before one finally spoke up. 'Yes, my General. When she arrived a few days ago and started frightening the people, dozens of us were sent to arrest her.'

'And?'

'All attempts failed, my General. No one really understand how. Again and again she slipped past our swords like a snake, vanishing all of a sudden, only to reappear a while later, in some other part of the city...'

'Until tonight, it seems?'

'Indeed, my General. We have captured her at last.'

'It must have been extremely difficult. Surely someone like her must have put up a fight. Congratulations, men.'

The guards froze and exchanged helpless gapes. Arxes gasped.

Kellas sneered. 'She didn't, did she? She let you chain her up like a dog, without a twitch of the finger, correct? And proudly you brought her to me, without the smallest suspicion, that she has fooled you once again, and is now going to kill me?'

It all took a split instant. The woman spun on her feet, snatching one of the soldiers' blades from its sheath in the process. Both guards lunged at her, but she evaded her attacks with ease, tripping one with an elegant swipe of her foot against his ankle, and mauling the other in the thigh with his own weapon. Zaris pounced on her from behind with a screech, a dagger in hand. The woman caught her wrist just in time, and twisted it, forcing her to the floor, before ramming her heel into her gut, leaving her to moan and pant for air. Arxes bawled for the guard, but the soldiers only flooded in to find Kellas their General on his knees, gargling as the chain of the shackles tightened around his throat.

Arxes took a step. 'Dear lady, in your own interest I advise you to stop this immediately.' The woman took no notice, but remained standing behind the sputtering Kellas, her grip on his neck maintained.

'My brother's death is of no benefit to you,' gritted Arxes, 'Let him live, or you'll be begging us to let you follow him.'

At that she burst into a long cackle that filled the chamber and bounced against the walls, so that wherever the soldiers turned, her deafening voice would pour into their ears, even when it fell to a low, waning snicker. 'What do you know of death?' she uttered, 'What do you know of the Silent Gates?' She paused, and turned her stare to the ceiling. 'I knew nothing. So I asked.' Slowly her eyelids fell, her mouth gaping in twisted ecstasy. 'And so I heard. I heard the wind carry murmurs from the still mists, streams of words that the mind cannot grasp. Dreams shattered. Names trampled. Truth in flames. Can you hear it?'

As she spoke, the sound of a distant commotion arose, perhaps like a battle raging leagues away. Soon, however, it became clear that whatever the source could be, it was close, too close, and there was no clanging of iron and steel, or creaking of siege machines. Groans, , sobs, screams, and croaked sighs billowed from the floor to the dominating vaults. The soldiers squirmed and moaned, but none dared leave their General, who, still panting for air, listened, less in fear than in exhilaration. Arxes' head pivoted rapidly in all directions like that of a startled hen in a frantic search, mumbling 'This is impossible' all along.

'Witch!' screeched Zaris, pointing a bony finger at the woman from the ground where she lay, quivering. The woman glared back at her until she was forced to look away. 'Unavenged crimes need no interpreter. They spring from the earth they have soiled, and beg for payment. Payment from the mindless crowd that cheers and roars for undeserved death. Payment from the soulless soothsayers that feed it with lies. Payment from the soldiers in shining armour from across the Sea, who pretend not to see, but will see the same nightmare that falls upon the city.'

At that point the noises had become unbearably loud, and most of the guards fell to their knees and clasped their hands against their ears. Arxes searched on, desperatling battling against the terror of the inexplicable. Kellas' lips foamed with red froth. The carved idols themselves trembled violently, and many fell from their holders, crashing against the hard floor.

All of a sudden, the entire room was crossed by a short but violent gale. The lights of the torches died, and all were plunged in utter darkness. Only the whimpering of the soldiers, and the General's hoarse breathing, could be heard. Arxes waited, his heart pounding behind his robe.

The woman's voice boomed. 'The cry of innocent blood that demands justice!'