XII
Aeons ago a god nicknamed it the Lost Room and the title had stuck ever since. It was a secret room located to the rear of the chief deities' Throne Room. All one had to do was to think of the great god Junives and walk behind the throne, only to immediately appear in the Lost Room. It was a Gift bestowed only upon those who ruled the Otherworld.
Faeder could no longer see his Throne Room now. A bland wall of rock blocked his view but he knew that all he had to do was walk back to where he came from while thinking of home and he would reappear in his own dimension. Faeder searched the room. It was not particularly high or wide, yet large enough to move about comfortably if he needed to. At its centre a furnace burned with a blue flame that offered no heat. There was only one opening, which led out into the vast cosmos beyond. From that opening jutted a bridge.
The gods called it the Skywalk. It was a nondescript conduit made of hoar frost crystal that extended out from the Lost Room and hung out over the cosmos.
Faeder stood at the beginning of the platform, one foot on the bridge and one foot still firmly planted in the Lost Room. It was a place he had hoped never to find himself, a place where only the rulers of the gods' pantheon were allowed to enter, a place where one could converse with the great god Junives. They say that Junives had created the Lost Room. So vast was his consciousness it was near impossible to communicate with him, so he had created the chamber so that there would always be a focal point where he could look to if one wanted to reach him.
According to legend, in the beginning there was only Junives. He was everything and everything was him. In the earliest times he was known as the Creator, the Creationist or the Great God. Then for some reason, nobody knows why, he created others. In mortal terms they were his children but in reality they were entities that made up the universe. There were five of them initially: Neitfe, giver of life to the universe; Rialiti, who brought substance to the cosmos; Seul, representing the mind and soul of all living things; Speis, the expanse of infinity which allowed all things to exist and, finally, Taim, the personification of actuality in the past, present and future.
Like all children, some were more placid than others. Rialiti and Taim were unruly entities and for an immeasurable age chaos ruled the cosmos. In the end Junives created a sixth entity, a younger sibling, Cide, who brought order to the cosmos. The laws of the heavens began to follow a pattern and time became linear.
Aeons passed and life flourished across the ether. The entities looked on and wondered at the cost of having offspring created from their magick; something that Junives had explicitly forbidden. All but Cide had looked at their father and wondered why he should get to reproduce and not them. Therefore, they created a race of giants. Mortals would later call them Titans.
Like locusts, they marched across the cosmos enslaving any intelligent life forms that had been born. As the children of entities, they soon discovered that they had the power to bend the laws of their parents and looked to these lower life forms to treat them as gods without equals.
Cide looked on and grew angry about the chaos being released by his older siblings. Therefore, without consulting Junives, the Entity of Order created his own line of Titans who followed the rules and sought to reverse all the damage caused by the other Titans. Battles and skirmishes broke out across the cosmos and the people within suffered. So vast was his mind, it took an age for Junives to recognise what was happening. In anger, the Creator produced the Old Gods to counterbalance this race of Titans no matter which faction they belonged to. Afterwards man recognised Junives as the Great Balance whose symbol would become the weighing scales.
In addition to the creation of the Old Gods the Great God allowed man, the most sentient of all the life forms, to decide the manner of the Old Gods. However, man was angry with the way in which the Titans had forced their will upon their worlds and so many of the Old Gods had come to represent that rage and the Dark Ones were born. For an age the Old Gods fought the giants, cumulating in a great and final battle known as the Fall of the Titans, when they were finally vanquished and imprisoned in The Pit.
Junives then vowed not to involve himself in the direction of the cosmos after that. First, he turned to the entities. As punishment he took the essences of Neitfe, Rialiti, Seul, Speis and Taim and imprisoned them in gems the size of pebbles. Cide, volunteering himself for the same punishment as his brothers and sisters, was turned into a metal glove in which the gemstones would fit. He named this the Kosmos Glove.
Junives, realising the danger of such power, especially in the hands of a Dark One, evoked a narration upon it stating that only a mortal could wield the power of the glove. He then separated the glove and sent it to different realms within the universe.
In time the New Gods were born and heard well the pleas of the mortals to save them from the Old Gods. Under the command of Faeder they did so, imprisoning those who were not destroyed alongside the Titans.
And so as father of the New Gods, Faeder found himself tentatively walking out along the Skywalk out into the cosmos, dressed as he was in the manner of a Kel'akh warrior. At the end of the walkway, the path ended in the shape of a circle almost like a shallow bowl and it was here that Faeder stood and waited. He gazed up and down, taking in the full view of the expanse around him, his godly eyes taking in the stars, comets and the spiral-shaped realms that made up the universe. Even he could not see an end of such a thing and wondered at the intelligence behind it. Suddenly Faeder felt a huge pressure upon him. He staggered under its force and fell to one knee groaning as he went. It passed as suddenly as it came. Shakily he stood.
“You wish to see me, grandson?” asked a voice from behind Faeder.
Slowly the father of the New Gods turned. He saw an elderly man with a white beard and wearing a simple robe stand before him. In one hand, he held a staff upon which he leaned lightly. Faeder smiled at the perfect representation of how the mortals saw him. The pressure of his will that had almost bowled him over was the smallest particle that Junives could exude from himself to appear on the Skywalk. Moreover, this shadow probably still possessed more power than the chief of the New Gods.
Faeder bowed respectfully. “Grandfather, in truth I had hoped never to have to come to this place.”
Junives offered a sympathetic smile. “I know. Long I have watched you whenever I can. You have seen the future?” Faeder nodded. “And you have seen what I will do?” Again Faeder nodded, a little surprised. Junives smiled. “I am Taim's master,” he explained. “It is not the other way around. Ask your question, grandson.”
Faeder nodded. “I only have one question. Why?”
“A mortal with the near power of me cannot be allowed to exist,” stated Junives. “What ruin he might bring when he reimagines the cosmos does not bear contemplating. A mortal mind cannot cope with the scope of such a thing. That was why I placed such a narration upon the Kosmos Glove and the gems. More worrying than that, the mortal is being controlled by a dark entity of the New Gods. It is my belief that she attempts to usurp me and remake the universe in her vision. It would mean the endless torment of all life. That cannot be allowed to happen.”
“Why wait so long then?” asked Faeder immediately. “Do something now.”
“I cannot,” replied Junives with a voice that betokened infinite patience. He was a being who had lived for a countless amount of time and had an uncountable period ahead. “It is my first law that I took upon myself after the First War of the Gods. If I break that even now it could very well mean I might continue to break my own commandments at the slightest persuasion. I must let the path run its course.”
Faeder frowned. He could feel his frustration begin to grow. “In the vision I have witnessed I assume that the final battle is the end of days.” Junives simply nodded. “Why wait until then, grandfather?”
Junives smiled sadly. “I do not mean to sound cruel, grandson, but if it looks like the mortal might win I will wipe the whole of the universe clean and simply begin again.”
Twelve Years Later
XIII
It was mid-afternoon when Meuric wearily arrived at the village of Kar'el, nodding once at the town guards as he entered through the gateway upon his dark horse. He was nine leagues south of Ay'den now, the closest he had been to that town in the last dozen years. He had sworn to stay away from that settlement after Ladra had returned him from his mission in Ber'ek. However, when the tenth year had come and passed and still there was no battle at Ay'den he rationalised that fate must have somehow now been changed. Was it because of the vision from the Fari prÄost Honora or because the Conclave's Council now owned the child Abram? He had no idea. He only knew that he had now earned a further two years of life and he was not about to waste it.
Yet his recurring nightmare had never ceased.
His first port of call was the stables, paying a copper coin to have his horse “Paden” brushed, fed and watered and to finally be bedded down for the night. He travelled light into the village, his excess clothing, weapons and money hidden out in the Great Wood out of sight of Kar'el. In case he was robbed or he had to make a hasty exit he would not be left completely without means.
Sluggishly, he made his way to the Travelers' Inn, his legs feeling like lead weights, his body aching. The building was half filled with patrons even at this time of day. His body felt more drained than it had been in years and he could not recall when, in the last few weeks, he had stopped long enough to even enjoy a proper meal and genuine rest.
For several years now he had been scouring the world, searching for the mage that had killed his family and his people. He had lived rough for the majority of that time, sleeping in the shadows of the mighty forests that still covered much of the world. Now thoughts of a bath, a hot meal and a warm bed seemed to be
constantly tugging at his soul more often than revenge. Must be finally getting old, he considered with a wry smile.
After closing the door the first thing to hit him was the humidity of the place with so many enclosed bodies and a guarded fire at its centre. Almost immediately he felt like clawing for the freedom of the outdoors and the nocturnal sounds of the woods. Looking around, Meuric noted that there were several serving girls working. All had glanced furtively in his direction as he had opened and closed the door, probably looking to make some more easy money. But there was one in particular that grabbed his attention.
She seemed to be just past the age of twenty Name Days with lively green eyes and red/brown braided hair. Something about her had made the woman stand out more than all the others. She possessed a Gift, Meuric realised, sensing the tentacles of magick reaching out from her. Focusing his mind he saw the thin line of brilliance that surrounded her slim body. Half the girls immediately made their way over to him but it was the one with the natural-born power that had made it first.
“Afternoon, my Lord,” she mumbled. Meuric laughed. He could not feel less of a nobleman if he tried, though the clothes and the few weapons he carried were of the highest quality. He could sense the instant attraction she had for him. Perhaps she could feel the magick he radiated? “My name is Onóra. My father owns and runs this place. That is him,” she indicated with a nod of her head. “He is the one standing next to the kitchen doors, talking with our Chieftain. What is it that I can do for you?” She smiled at him and her eyes twinkled mischievously.
Meuric was amused at her forwardness and returned it with a dazzling grin of his own. He saw her give a quick glance back and smirk in satisfaction as the other girls continued with their duties of handing out food and pouring drinks. One girl in particular, he noted, had cast Onóra a venomous look.
“Afternoon, Onóra,” said the warrior in a tender and soothing voice. “I am Meuric of Daw'ra. I fancy a hot bath then after that a warm meal and a clean room for the night.”
The Roz'eli called them balneae, small hot baths used for bathing either publically or privately. It amazed Meuric to find such things that belonged to the Roz'eli Empire influencing the Kel'akh Nation so far from its borders, especially when everyone knew that war was coming. But this was how that empire worked. They
played the long game, manipulating regions from a distance so that when they finally conquered an area it was easier to subjugate those integrated into the Roz'eli way of life.
Unabashed Meuric looked her up and down, his storm-coloured grey eyes dancing with hints of his own mischief. He glanced over in the direction of her father and could not help but scowl briefly at the short and portly balding man. In their society it was frowned upon for a man to allow himself to run to fat.
“Take after your mother I hope.” He pulled a silver coin out from a discreet pocket within his cloak and handed it to her. “I trust you will be close at hand if I need you?” He grinned like the cat which got the cream.
Onóra gazed down at the coin which had the Roz'eli Emperor's head on it. She had never before held so much money in her palm. She lifted her head and gazed deep into the eyes that seemed to be far too old for such a young and handsome face. “Whenever, my Lord, will have me.” She realised then what she had just said and blushed in embarrassment. “I mean⦠I will show you to our Private Bath House. In the meantime I have your Bed Room made ready and have food waiting at your table when you return.”
Still grinning, Meuric nodded and moved on, following the serving girl to the rear of the building. Onóra entered the room first, immediately taking flint and steel and striking them together, lighting the torches dotted around. Meuric swiftly followed. Entering the Private Bath he noted that it was tiled from top to bottom, including the circular pit in the ground that was already filled with water. The domed roof above possessed a narrow slit that allowed the steam to escape. A constant fire was lit beneath the water for heat. A plain wooden bench, to set your belongings, sat off to one side against the wall. Soap, perfumed oil and a strigil sat on a small stool to the right. The whole area was just a rough representation of how the Roz'eli did it, if somewhat smaller and strictly for one person at a time.
“Everything to your satisfaction, my Lord?” asked Onóra.
Meuric nodded. “Yes, thank you.” He handed another silver coin to the girl. “See that I am not disturbed for the next hour and bring me some clean clothes.”
Onóra was only too eager to accept and withdrew. Immediately, Meuric stripped down and carefully sank into the pool. Instantly he felt his muscles begin to relax. A short time later a knock came at the door and the
serving girl entered carrying a red and yellow chequered tunic and blue trousers. She could not help but stare at the muscular build of the Daw'ra man.
“The tunic and bracae belonged to my brother,” she explained. “He went off to fight in the border wars against the Roz'eli and has yet to return.”
Meuric tried to smile sympathetically but in truth he was just too tired. “That does not mean anything. A lot of warriors from Kel'akh go on to become hirelings. There is a lot of demand from us because of our expertise.”
Onóra thanked him for his kind words then added, “I will take your clothes and have them cleaned and washed.”
As she left Meuric drew his razor-sharp knife from its covering and began to scrape away a week's worth of stubble. Setting down his knife he closed his eyes only for a moment.
And instantly fell asleep.
With a yell Meuric woke, his hands scrambling for the dream arrows that had penetrated his body. Realising that it was not real he relaxed his racing heart. The nightmare was still there and getting worse. A knock came from the door.
“My Lord,” said a girl. “It is Onóra. An hour has passed. Your food and table are ready.”
“Thank you, Onóra,” came Meuric. His voice shook slightly. “I will be directly out.” It was then that he realised that he was holding his dagger. Somehow he had reached for it when he woke.
Meuric dressed swiftly, putting on the trousers and tying them securely with a cord before slipping the tunic on over his head. They were a good fit. On his feet he set and tied his Gab'ee leather shoes that reached a little way above his ankles. The pouch of money that he owned he tied to the cord of the bracae so that it was hidden from view beneath the tunic. He tied his leather belt over the tunic which held two long-bladed daggers.
He opened the door and scanned the area as he stepped forward. Onóra led the way. Ever alert, always watchful, sometimes he cursed the training of the Protectorate. Even after so many years he still had trouble switching off. The inn surprised him. In such a small village as Kar'el there were many travellers from all parts of the country, denoted by the coloured tattoos on their faces. There were several more persons without them.
Unlike most men of Kel'akh he kept his face smooth and his hair short. Edging forward, he began making his way through the crowd as Onóra led the way to the rear.
“I assumed that you wanted a little privacy,” commented the serving girl.
Meuric smiled wearily. “You assumed right.”
Conversations ceased or assumed hushed tones as he neared. He was yet another new face in the village and distrust was everywhere, even for someone with a Kel'akh tattoo upon his face. Rumours of a further Roz'eli incursion were rife. There had even been talk of Kel'akh collaborators and foreign spies being sent throughout the nation.
Of course there was, considered Meuric dismaying at the naïveté of the Kel'akh people. The Roz'eli called them General Agents. That was the nature of war and the Roz'eli Empire understood extremely well the components of a successful campaign. For them war and security were a constant need that had to be maintained and their army was permanent and professional, fighting in continual synchrony. There was none of the seasonal fighting that the tribes of Kel'akh still employed so they could head home for harvesting. There was none of the one-on-one fighting between champions, nor as a rabble. Having captured and secured the east of the Kel'akh Nation, it was only a matter of time before the Roz'eli made their way further west. It was even said that at the present time the Ard-ri, Kel'akh's High King, had travelled south with an army in fear of an invasion.
A man stood up suddenly blocking Meuric's way. He was dressed in green and brown and, though not taller than the warrior, he was certainly wider. He was in his late thirties with unkempt hair and a messy beard. He staggered slightly and the smell of alcohol that drifted from his breath could have bowled over a small boar. Meuric looked at him and in comparison seemed to be like a child. He tried to walk around him but the man again barred his path by side-stepping. The stranger then ran his rough thumb across the Meuric's clean-shaven cheek.
“Tell me, boy,” said the man. His words were slightly slurred. “Does the lack of hair make it easier to lick the boots of the Roz'eli Emperor or do you fancy them so much that you want to look like them?”
Meuric smiled coldly then launched a right uppercut that lifted the man clean off his feet. He landed hard on the table behind amid three patrons. The three men roared in anger and jumped instantly to their feet, but Meuric was amongst them, slamming a gold coin on the chest of the unconscious man.
“For your inconvenience,” he stated.
He looked at each of the three men directly in the eye. His pale grey eyes made them take pause before they ogled the money. It was more than enough to pay for their food, their lodgings and a Woman of Companionship for the night. The men sat and signalled for a servant girl to attend them. A couple of the local bouncers dragged the comatose man outside.
Meuric moved on, spotting a man subtly waving his arm at him. He sat at the rear, almost in shadow, to where Meuric was being directed by Onóra. He was tall and lean, with a full beard neatly trimmed, shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. A blood-red tattoo sat on his cheek marking the Kah'al tribe, like many in this region. The clothes he wore were of simple colours but of good quality. A sword rested against his leg. A dagger lay on the table.
The serving girl looked at the Daw'ra man apologetically. “He said you would not mind.”
“It is fine, Onóra,” said Meuric. “He is an old friend.”
Heavily Meuric sat on the bench next to the stranger making sure he kept his back to the wall and his direction of sight aimed at the doorway.
“Was it necessary to knock the man out?” queried the man. His tone was serious.
“I did not have the patience to explain the practicalities of having short hair and being clean-shaven during battle.”
“I suppose that you are correct,” murmured the man gravely. “If Roz'eli invades, like they must at some stage, I guess we will all find out soon enough.” The man suddenly smiled and thrust out his arm. “Well met, Meuric.”
Eagerly Meuric gripped the man's wrist. “Well met, Liam.” Almost immediately Onóra set a plate of various meats before him along with fresh warm bread and a jug of watered wine. “Plain water will be fine, Onóra.” The serving girl blushed furiously as she skipped away. She barely made eye contact with the warrior.
“You can do it,” quipped Liam as he watched the swaying hips of Onóra as she moved.
Meuric laughed as he too watched the girl. “And I did not even have to get her drunk or pay for it.” He turned to his companion. “So what brings you to Kar'el? I did not expect to find the Custodian of the Northwest here.”
Liam laughed. “So you heard. I still cannot get used to the title. A smart move by the Ard-ri breaking Kel'akh down into regions. It will make it easier to defend against the Roz'eli hopefully.”
“It will not be enough,” put in Meuric. “Not against Roz'eli soldiers. They have not been defeated in a major battle in over one hundred years and have been fighting wars for near three hundred. Their army is full-time; they understand logistics, engineering, medicine and intelligence gathering. They have infantry, cavalry, artillery, archers, a navy, and that does not include their elite units or units such as Free Archers. To defeat them you would have to become like them.”