Difference between revisions of "Ripples of Good"
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Revision as of 18:19, 18 March 2017
By: Kiusha Posted on: December 31, 2013
PROLOGUE: A pebble is cast
Some may rejoice the coming of Aurora. Some may stand in awe at the return of Deucalion. Neither God would be with us, however, if it wasn't for Bal'met, and not even the nihilists welcomed Him or His destructive force that could have taken all of Sapience. Only those that would underestimate the power of Bal'met could ever have considered harnessing it for their own purposes. Some may rejoice the coming of Aurora, but never should it be forgotten what the cost of Her return has been.
When a God dies, mortals can do little but weep and despair. When more than one God dies, every sensible mortal is gripped by a paralysing fear. When the Gods started falling like broken dolls to the malice of Bal'met, every single prophet of doom ever to have existed in Sapience could be believed by even the proudest and most blind of mortals. When it was all over, it was clear that while the side of Good stood blessed by the coming of Aurora and Deucalion and their gift of Targossas, it had lost Compassion, it had lost Justice, and it had lost Honour. There was nothing left but a burning flame, consuming all that stood in its way. As Lady Tarah would have teached us in better days, the ripples caused by Bal'met would continue to spread through the realms of Good, and no one could ever know where they would eventually lead.
CHAPTER ONE
Neomah
Neomah was in a foul mood. After she had snapped several times at two of her fellow Spirit Walkers during what was supposed to be a relaxed moment at the Dragontail Bar, they had told her to go out hunting and take it out on creatures that deserved such treatment. As she shamefully agreed with them and was feeling restless, Neomah had obliged. It wasn't going very well, however.
It was not that the buckawns didn't keep falling like flies; they were easy pickings, after all. The real problem was that her mind kept drifting towards the Heart of the Vashnars, her city of birth, where she knew Abdias was probably laughing with his friends from the Cerulean Spire. Abdias, who had suddenly turned his back on her after a lifetime of friendship, was the sole source of her foul mood. Frustrated, she pointed a finger at the nearest buckawn, who dropped to the floor as white as a sheet as the last drop of blood left his body. She snarled, and her silver fur bristled. The other buckawns looked at her in fear and confusion. After all they were used to her taking pleasure in the hunt, while right now her discomfort was far too apparent. No longer could she get herself to show even the slightest smile at the exhilaration of cursing those evil Forestwatch inhabitants.
She kept wondering what had gotten into Abdias, although, she told herself sarcastically, it could not be that much of a surprise that a devout troll mercenary did not show a great deal of intelligence. But they had grown up together, and all it had taken was one order for Abdias to cut all ties with her. They could no longer 'fraternise', he had said, because she belonged to the enemy camp. How could he possibly be so obedient, a slave to Aurora and Deucalion? Over the years she had come to expect more, not just of Abdias himself, but of all of the Ordine Vashnar Lumeni, Cyrene's devotionalists. After all, the Lumeni had at one time been a strong, independent group of wise men and women who did not walk blindly but who chose very carefully which steps would actually lead to the betterment of Good and Creation. With a growl she pointed at a squealing buckawn. After many years of meddling by those who say they work to further Good and Creation, the Bloodsworn Gods of Targossas had finally swept up the Lumeni into the Diaspora and corrupted them with nothing more than threats and bullying and disdain for their identity, as Shallam, the Church, and the Citadel had once corrupted what was right and good long ago.
Now Neomah found herself stamped an enemy of Creation, not just for her citizenship of Hashan, but for her love of moonlight as well. Explanations were few and far between; clutching at nihilist straws out of love for Her dear child could hardly be called a reason for Lady Ourania and all of Her followers to be branded as black as Abaddon. The world of Targossas was apparently as black and white as the world of Shallam had been before it. Still, could Abdias really believe that his dear friend belonged to the enemy camp? Did he not know her heart? Her only solace was to know that at least some of Cyrene's former Lumeni had relinquished devotion and turned their back on Targossas and the Diaspora, but that was not nearly enough to give her any real comfort. Her foul mood was far from over. Another buckawn backed away in fear before dropping to the floor.
Abdias
Lost in his slow thoughts, Abdias stared out over Lake Muurn from the window of the Spire. A sadness had clouded his day, and his Orcsplitter battleaxes seemed far too heavy in his hands. Not even the divine inspiration granted by the Gods of Good could lift his spirits. In fact, using devotion now felt like a betrayal. How high its cost had been. Neomah had always been like a sister to him, and really, what had she ever done wrong? He smiled softly as he remembered the quirky rajamala magiker, fresh from the Trial of Rebirth, telling him one of the reasons she had chosen to become a shaman was that bleeding creatures was such a merciful way of killing them. When you lose a lot of blood, she had said, you will fade away and the pain will not hurt as much. Her bright mind had always provided her with a unique view of the world and had served as an inspiration that went beyond what divine inspiration could ever offer. Who could ever play that role in his life now?
Devout as he was, Abdias firmly believed that following the path of the paladin was not just his calling but his destiny, a destiny that he had started to follow even before going through the Trial of Rebirth. As a child, he had lingered in the library for hours on end, studying scrolls on Good, praying, or simply watching the light of Aurora seep in through the windows as the Cyrenian Clock Tower heralded the dawn. He remembered well the poem he read about the sacrifice of Dawn, last of the Luminae, and he knew that his path, too, was the way of sacrifice. His brief family trip to Shallam and the Chrysalis Basilica had only served to increase his fascination by and dedication to the Light. While Neomah did not share his calling, she had always fully supported him on his way, and had even helped him in his studies. Now that had all ended. A single tear dripped down his stony face.
Resolutely, Abdias pushed those memories away. It was all in the past now, after all, and Neomah and he would never share another book or another laugh again. Their paths had forever taken different turns. It would be folly to cling to childhood sentimentalities in the face of Evil, Chaos and Darkness, that had destroyed Shallam and continued to be a constant threat to Creation and Good. While his friendship with Neomah was worthwhile to him, it was nothing compared to the larger issues at stake in the world. It was not enough to turn his back on the Light, especially now that it appeared so close in the radiant figure of the beautiful Lady Aurora. Gripping his axes, Abdias straightened his back with a new resolve.
The loss of his friend might have made Abdias solemn and sad, but he resigned himself to his fate. He knew he had to make peace with the changes that had rippled through Sapience after the destruction of Shallam and the loss of Lady Tarah. The gathering of the Lumeni into the Diaspora was only one such change, and not by far the greatest. The world was in turmoil, and the old though new Bloodsworn Gods required him to take a stance. Perhaps his great sacrifice had not yet been great enough. Perhaps it was time to cut his ties with the past more deliberately and more completely, not just with his childhood friend, but with his childhood home. After all, every choice was a pebble in the pond of life. With a final sigh, Abdias turned away from the window and took the first heavy steps back into his life.
Filaletha
True to her mhun bodyguard nature, Filaletha calmly watched her friend from across the room. Neomah had been in bad sorts lately, and it showed. Even the more adventurous of their housemates had learned to tread lightly around her to avoid a push or shove or a snide remark. A constant frown marred the soft fur on Neomah's face, and Filaletha could have sworn that her black cat eyes had never looked so moist before. When once again Neomah looked up exasperated, fidgeting endlessly with her skirt, Filaletha made her decision. "Come", she said resolutely, walking up to Neomah. "We're going out for a cup of kawhe."
When they arrived at Blu's Den in Cyrene, the dark skinned serpent was a little annoyed at Neomah's choice of venue. Who would go to Cyrene in a blizzard? She concealed her own feelings, however, and focused on those of her friend. As they sat down in the reading nook with a cup of cocoa, Neomah's reasons for proposing Cyrene became quickly apparent. "When the blizzard stops, I want to read the Twelve Tables again." she said. "I am convinced that this whole mess is contrary to the old principles of this being a neutral good city of respect. Abdias should have more respect for me and not misuse the crazy ideals of Targossas to turn his back on the principles of his home. Turning against half of Sapience on the basis of generalised idiocy without regard for the individual involved is definitely not an act of respect, and that's even without mentioning the fact that Targossian ideals basically comprise enforcement of specific behaviour, which is irreconcilable with Cyrene's live and let live idealism."
Seeing through Neomah's cool facade of logic to the pain inside, Filoletha compassionately took her friend's hands in her own. "My dear Neomah", she said gently, "do you really feel that logic is going to do any good? Do you really feel that any arguments you may conjure up will do anything to change Abdias' mind? Is there really anything you can do?". Under the caring gaze of her friend, Neomah could no longer fight the tears, and they suddenly started to stream down her face. She angrily jumped up from her chair. "I have to save him from this madness" she uttered, and blindly stormed out of the shop and into the blizzard, leaving a perfectly fashioned vodun doll of Abdias behind on her seat. With a soft sigh, Filaletha picked up the doll and put it safely away in her satchel.
Filaletha did not move from her spot. Instead she waited, patiently drinking her cocoa, until the familiar beam of light from Neomah's prism shot into the room, as she had expected. She stood up, and hugged her friend tightly for a long time. When she finally let go, the shoulder of her dress was soaked with tears.
"We cannot change the world, my dear." Filaletha said softly as they'd both sat down again. "The world changes itself, and we are but leaves on the wind, ripples on the pond. Sometimes that means accepting what we really do not wish to. But please realise you are not alone." Neomah sadly nodded as the old mhun continued. "Everyone who walks in the moonlight is a victim of these new policies, and we should definitely not look to Cyrene as a refuge from this force that has risen in the east. Remember the army of refugees that this city has taken in after Shallam fell. Those were not refugees tired of fighting, they were angry and deprived citizens who had watched as their loved ones died, had little left to lose, and were all to ready to throw themselves into the fray. With Good streaming into the city like that, it is clear that this city is no longer the one you left behind to come to the Spirit Walkers. The Twelve Tables may remain the same, but that is no guarantee of intent."
Neomah stayed quiet, but the acceptance could clearly be seen in her face, and she nodded thoughtfully, understanding the truth of the wise Serpentlord's statements. "Even if Targossian ideals are not wholly embraced in these mountains, Shallamese ideals definitely will be followed by a large part of Cyrene's population. This is no longer a city of neutral good. Mark my words, Neomah: it is only a matter of time before Hashan will wholly have taken over the position of Cyrene as a haven as peace and tolerance." Neomah nodded. "Good without Justice and Compassion may be Good," she concluded her friends argument, but it will never be good or morally right.
Callisthena
Her soft arms enclosed his waist from behind. "My love.", she murmured warmly into his armoured back. "How good it is to see you." Abdias turned around, and drew the nimble siren into his arms, burying her in his troll embrace. Callisthena felt a chill, however, and knew that it was not just the cold steel of his fullplate armour. When he released her, she looked up and caught the same chill in his steel blue eyes. She thought of kissing her bloodsworn fiancé, but was afraid of the ice she would find on his lips and took his hand instead as they walked to the round table in the back room of the Salvaged Spirit.
After they sat down, Callisthena gathered her courage and presented herself with optimism; after all there was something to celebrate. "Welcome to Targossas!", she beamed, "It was about time you finally joined the city.". Abdias smiled, brief and curtly. "It is good to be here," he said, "though it is strange to be without a House, …" He then looked away, staring for a while into the distance [what distance, add flavour]. After a pause, he added, "and it is even stranger to be without Neomah." He then looked at her, a lost look in his eyes, along with something which Callisthena believed to be guilt.
When he dropped her name, Callisthena felt that familiar pang of jealousy; Neomah had struck again. She and Abdias were like siblings, he had said, but never had Callisthena met a pair of siblings that seemed to love each other as much and seemed to cling to each other as much. The fact that they were not in fact related by blood only made that realisation harder. It was good that the Bloodsworn Gods had made them say goodbye, but it was very bad indeed that Abdias had clearly not fully said goodbye just yet. Perhaps it was jealousy speaking, but Callisthena told herself that her concerns were for the safety of Abdias' future with Good.
With the resolve to change not Abdias' mind but his heart, Callisthena pushed her jealousy away and forced herself to sound calm and collected. "It is unfortunate," she said, "that your sister has chosen to turn against the only acceptable choice, the choice in favour of Creation." Abdias opened his mouth to speak, but Callisthena quickly continued, waltzing over any concerns he might voice. "It is crucial that your remember that it is her actions, not yours, that are responsible for your current separation." She gazed at Abdias with all the love and seducing siren beauty she could muster, and added sofly, "It is not your fault, my love."
A tear welled up in Abdias' right eye, and Callisthena knew she had him then. His vulnerability lay on the table between them. "It is not her fault either, though.", he said weakly. "Perhaps it is not the right thing to do, to cut her out completely." Taking both his hands into her own, Callisthena slowly shook her head. "As you sit there, reconsidering your choice, the only choice you could have made while fighting for our cause, it must be logically clear that she is already corrupting you. The Bloodsworn Gods have their reasons for each choice they have us make. Her apparent innocence is not so innocent at all, as it has sown the seeds of doubt." Callisthena reached out and traced the soft skin of her right hand across his cheek. "That doubt should never be present, my love. You are, after all, the most righteous of paladins I have ever met, and if anyone should not doubt himself, it is you."
With that, she had hit him where it counts. Abdias, who had looked like he wanted to respond, instead swallowed audibly. Then he got up to hug her tightly, and she could feel (zijn snikken) through his embrace, which was again as warm as ever. Perhaps, she thought with a tender sprout of hope, they could finally be free from Neomah and her corruption. There was just one little thing she had to do to make sure of that.
CHAPTER TWO
Neomah
Slowly but carefully, Neomah unravelled the vodun doll of Abdias. While she could have used it to see Abdias, she had long realised that she would never contact him, never force her friendship on him, never go against his wishes and his request in this matter. The vodun doll, therefore, no longer served a purpose. It would be safer for Abdias if it were gone, especially considering her recent carelessness.
In her wisdom, Filaletha had waited with returning the doll to her until she had herself noticed its disappearance. It had taken far too long; over two months had passed before she reached into her fur-lined backpack and found nothing there. Had her friend not collected the doll when she left it, it could easily have reached Mhaldor by then, leading to certain death on the side of Abdias, especially now that he had joined Targossas. Neomah's eyes narrowed when she thought of that; the honourless Targossas was no place for the kind-hearted and chivalrous paladin she had known. The inability to help him find his way was maddening… but she had to respect his wishes. She sighed, and continued unravelling the doll.
After finishing, Neomah remained lost in thought. While Filaletha was right, and there was not really anything she could do, she could not help worrying about Abdias. His girlfriend Callisthena was the only constant in his life, and as far as Neomah was concerned, that was not a good influence. The few times Neomah had met her, the flighty siren had seemed far too emotional to provide any sort of stability. Perhaps, though, that was merely appearance. Abdias had said he did not recognise the apparent coldness with which Neomah had been met in her attempts to converse with his girl. It might have been jealousy. In that case, perhaps, Abdias would have someone who would genuinely care for him. Neomah could do little but hope that Callisthena could fulfill that role in his life.
For a moment Neomah was very disoriented as the object of her thoughts suddenly appeared in the room beside her, the shining figure of a guardian angel floating in the air behind her. Had she been in thought so deep to have reached one of her trances? Her training as a Spirit Walker did allow her to, at times, see more than the average person. Callisthena did not appear as a vision though, she seemed very real indeed. Why was she here? "Is something wrong with Abdias?". The question left her lips before she could fully form the thought.
"Not if I can help it", Callisthena said, and suddenly Neomah was hit by the full force of the priestess' devotion. She wanted the vodun doll of Abdias, Neomah realised, and she would have given it to her if she would still have had it. A good thing she had finished unravelling the doll, she thought, as there was no longer any doubt in her mind that Callisthena was not to be trusted. "Give me that doll," the siren said with a honeyed voice that Neomah found oddly appealing. The guardian angel took on a menacing appearance, her eyes glowing with a frightening red light.
"I don't have his doll!" Neomah exclaimed sharply, as she looked around for the nearest exit. "It is done with, gone. Not that it is any of your business! If you don't leave, though, I will soon have one of yours." She reached into the rift for the necessary materials, simultaneously withdrawing a few inks for runes. A powerful curse started to form on her lips.
Suddenly a dirk appeared out of thin air and plunged into the back of the unsuspecting siren. Filaletha had struck, drawing an agonising scream for the lips of the priestess as she turned a deathly white. It was two against one, and there was no way Callisthena could survive would she stay. Even before Neomah finished her curse, however, the siren disappeared to a faraway call, fleeing through the force of an ally's devotion. Neomah shared a meaningful glance with Filaletha, as they both realised that staying on the sidelines might no longer be the peaceful option they yearned for.
Abdias
Abdias' eyes shone with fury, as he paced through the streets of Targossas on his way to see Callisthena. He could not remember ever having been this angry or as dumbfounded. Why on Sapience would she ever do such a thing? It had not taken long for him to figure out what had happened, what the reason had been that she was suddenly enemied to Hashan and had almost lost her life. Rumour spreads fast, after all, and despite the law against fraternisation, apparently some of the Targossians still had their sources in Hashan. His fiancée had gone after Neomah. What was she thinking?!
His pace speeded by his anger, it did not take him long to reach Callisthena, who was only a street or two away. "I need to talk to you alone, now." he said to her through teeth clenched with seething anger, casting a few glances at the small group of priests she had been talking to. Callisthena started, but quickly recovered and wordlessly started to follow him. "No need to make a scene", she whispered, apparently emotionlessly, as they got out of earshot of the curious Targossians witnessing the couple. It only made him more angry, if that was possible.
At a quiet street-corner a small distance away they halted. Abdias looked questioningly at the Sireni girl, a glower darkening his brow. Before he could speak, though, she began. “I understand why you are angry, my dear.” she said. “But you must understand that it was all for the best. I had no choice but to protect you.” A look of seductive sweetness caressed her face, and she took a step in his direction, touching his cheek with her soft hand. He felt himself falling into her eyes for a moment, but then he regained himself and pushed her away, narrowing his eyes. "Don't touch me." he said. “You can not believe I will forgive you that easily.” At that moment a dreadful realisation began to form in his mind, something he had never even conceived of before. She did not at all regret her actions. How could he forgive her, ever, if she did not?
Taking her by the shoulders, he held her at arm's length and stared her deep into her eyes. "My dear Callisthena," he said, "I understand your intentions were good. Yet your actions were far from it." When she opened her mouth to respond, he lifted his hand to silence her, and continued. "I know you neither agree nor understand. Yet you were in the wrong, and I cannot condone what you have done. This will stand between us, perhaps, for years to gone." He paused. "Despite what you might think, my love, what I am about to do is not about Neomah. It is about you." A tear fell from his eye as he added softly, "I can no longer trust you."
Deep in his heart, Abdias had understood that the attention and effort it would take for them to repair their relationship would distract him too much from his calling, from his destiny. This was just one more sacrifice he would have to make for the cause of Good. Silently, and without remorse, he broke off the engagement, never releasing his gaze into her eyes. He then turned and walked away, leaving Callisthena behind, lost and confused, with her beautiful face as pale as a summer cloud.
Filaletha
Quietly, Filaletha sat at the Crossroads, overthinking the meeting with the Regents in the Senechal's Complex. It was obvious to all that this meeting had been very different from others. There was no quabbling, no taking digs at each other, nothing of the sort. For once the politics of Hashan had seemed to work towards a general consensus, for the good of the city, rather than on the personal ambitions of the individual Regents. This was not just her impression of the meeting, it was clear in its results as well.
The decision that had been made today would have great consequences for the future. It had been a difficult choice. No longer, however, could the hostility of Targossas be considered as a mere nuisance. Callisthena had shown no hesitation whatsoever at making demands and attacking Neomah. To her, the citizens of Hashan were as toys, to do with what she pleased at the time it pleased her. She was but one example, but other recent incidents gave more than sufficient reason not to consider it as an isolated event. It was a pattern, a pattern of hate and disdain. It was time Hashan stood up for itself. It was time to stop being a pushover.
Letting her anger dissolve, Filaletha sadly shook her head at herself. It had not been that long ago that she had told Neomah that Hashan might be the new haven of peace on Sapience, but it seemed like a different era, a new era. Filaletha had never been a pacifist, and had always been willing to use force, even lethal force, when necessary, but this was the first time she had been willing to speak out in favour of war. Once she had realised that relations with Targossas could not be restored, simply because of the prejudice on the side of the pets of the Bloodsworn Gods, there was only one possible choice: to show the honourless warmongers of Targossas that Hashan was not to be trifled with, and that their offences would be met with lethal force. Her voice, which had in the past pleaded for peace on many occasions, had swung the vote. War was imminent, and Targossas would soon learn that their policies of self-righteousness had a dark side.
It was a small majority, however, and Filaletha had wondered, for a time, if this was personal, and if she was as neutral and trustworthy as she had once been, now that it was her dear friend that had been the victim of the hate crimes. Was war indeed the right decision? In the end, she had decided, it did not matter. Perhaps the incident had taught her to see a different side of things, but many of her fellow citizens had already been on the receiving end before, and even if her decision was not fully devoid of emotion, it was a good thing that she was able to understand what many Hashani were going through. Besides, whatever role her own feelings had played, there was no turning back now. New guards were already being trained, and the Senechal would soon inform the city. They would go to war before the end of the year.
If there was any doubt left in Filaletha's mind, it was on the readiness of the citizens. They were not used to war or fighting. She had no such doubts though, about their willingness to defend the city. If they were not ready, they would soon be ready. Nothing forges steel like the fire. She chuckled at the sudden reference to forging; long hours of deliberation with the Minister of Security, a devoted Phaestian, must have left its marks. With that thought, she ended her pondering and rose from the bench. The decision had been made, and there was much left to do.
Callisthena
Callisthena had known Abdias would be angry, but the action he had chosen had shook her to the depths of her spirit. Still, she could not get herself to believe that their relationship was doomed, even if their engagement had, for the moment, been put on hold. When he would have calmed down, she would be able to explain to him why she had done what she had done, and she would once again find herself buried in his embrace.
She found herself quite angry, although her anger was not directed at Abdias, who simply didn't know any better, and definitely not at herself, as she had done nothing wrong. Abdias had to learn, still, the treacherous nature of the Hashani, and the treacherous nature of his former friend, Neomah.
"They don't know their way around the pointy side of a sword, but they are far too skilled in the treacherous arts of politics." Callisthena muttered to herself. "The unravelling of the vodun doll is nothing more than a skilled tactic of drawing Abdias away from his destiny. That bitch just wants him for herself" She shook her head grimly. Neomah could never defeat her at the game of seduction, and if it was as simple as that she would win him back every time, but these politics were treacherous. She would have to find a way to defeat them, using whatever means necessary. There was no place for honour in Targossas, not when it came to fighting for the cause of good, and Abdias was a promising young paladin, whose fighting spirit and obedience would be a great asset to the cause of good, not to mention to her own happiness. "I will help him be free from her at last." she promised herself.
CHAPTER THREE
Neomah
Neomah relished her newfound knack for cruelty. In a way it had always been a part of her, and could have been recognised in the pleasure she took in the hunt, but it had always been tempered with compassion. She had no such reservations now, though, especially not against her current enemy. Several years of war and ceaseless fighting had passed, and, curiously enough, they seemed to be on the winning hand. The current assault on Targossas was met with force, however, and the heat of the battle took all of her concentration and strength. The distraction came unexpectedly and threw her off her game. Without warning, her eyes met those of Abdias across the blood-smeared battleground.
She looked him into his eyes, hesitating but a moment and nearly cursing herself at doing so. She knew that even a brief moment of pause could prove fatal in these circumstances. It became quickly apparent that her mistake had been noticed, as the Targossians present turned their attention to her. She had become a target. A deeply tanned Targossian monk, proudly wearing his black Tekura belt, raised himself into the Dragon stance. Before he could attack, however, and to her great wonder, Abdias had rushed to her side, his Orcsplitter battleaxes gleaming in his hands. Gasps of surprise rose around her; the Targossian rites had suddenly turned on them.
Warm, wet tears streamed down Neomah's face as she realised what had happened. No longer was her dear friend bound by the ties that shattered emotions, shattered lives. He had struggled free from the death grip of the Bloodsworn, and regained his freedom. She was touched, deep in her soul, by the fact that it was, apparently, her own person that had made him take the final leap. She could not ponder it for long, however, as the fight continued.
Abdias' betrayal had turned the tide of battle, and with his help the raiders managed to defeat the remaining Targossians, feeding them into their tank. It was a brilliant victory; never before had they managed to destroy as many rooms in a single effort. Neomah was positively elated, but she could not help but notice that Abdias did not share that feeling. He seemed pensive, instead, more pensive than she could remember ever having seen the usually straightforward troll.
Their victory did not allow her time to speak with him about it, though, as her fellow Spiritwalkers made great effort in whisking her away towards home. They parted with nothing but a long glance, filled with a deep understanding of each other, each other's motives, and of course the knowledge that they would meet again, not as the friends they once were, but as the friends they would again become.
Abdias
The imposing gates towered before him, and Abdias briefly halted his step, but he had made up his mind. No longer did the red fog pose any sort of threat to him. If anything, it now held the promise of a new life, a better life, one not tainted by lies, intrigue, and weakness.
In the end, his experience with Targossas and the Bloodsworn Gods had left him numb. The fire that had burned from childhood, the desire he had had to follow the Light and devote himself to Creation, had slowly been extinguished by the series of disappointments he had had to endure. He had suffered, first by the loss of Neomah, then by the loss of the Wardens and his home, Cyrene, and finally by the loss of the love of his life, Callisthena, whom he had never been able to see in the same light again, especially since she had shown no remorse but had continued her scheming, which had become obvious to him once he understood what she was up to. He had greatly suffered, and through suffering he had become strong as granite and hard as a diamond. "Strength through Suffering ". he chanted to himself. In suffering, too, had he finally realised that it had been the Mhaldorians who had been right after all.
With disgust he thought back on the heathens in Targossas. Weaklings, all of them, chasing after a truefavour of Aurora or Deucalion like they were children and it was the newest toy, but doing so only by hunting creatures they knew they could kill easily and without risk. When the inevitable battles came from one of the many enemies of Targossas, including the increasingly effective forces of Hashan, most of them went into hiding, often even attempting to misuse logic to conceal their cowardice; like the destruction of a single room was not something worth fighting against.
He himself had had no such reservations. Perhaps lying in the arms of a siren, and forgetting about his duty, would have been nice, for a time. The treachery of Callisthena, however, had forever cured him of such qualms. He had been the best soldier the Gods of Good could have hoped for, ceaselessly fighting in Their name, continuously getting stronger through the scars of battle. He could have chalked his annoyance with most of the Targossians up to one of those inevitable sacrifices he had to make in order to do what he must, for the Light, if he had not, in that one brief moment, seen through to the truth of his all.
When he had seen Neomah shine, towering above the battlefield despite her short stature, a proud glow in her eyes and on her face, it had all fallen into place. No longer was she a quirky rajamala, she was a fierce lioness. If anyone on the battlefield that day had deserved to be protected, it was this woman, a queen in his eyes. She had sacrificed nothing, but she had suffered at the hands of his former fiancée and the Gods of Good. Yet, she stood there, stronger than ever, but cold nor hard, burning with something that he had lost many months before. When the army called her out to be the target, he had done the unthinkable and he had rushed to her side as her defender. He had lend her his sword, and had turned his rites of devotion against his fellow citizens. Of course, such a choice could be made only once, not just because it had made him an enemy to Targossas and he had been irrevocably stripped of his devotion, but especially because his eyes had been opened.
Unlike his own, Neomah's suffering had not been self-inflicted. However, they were very much alike in that they had both grown stronger, as Sartan had always proclaimed. That what he had considered sacrifice had, instead, been a blessing and had served to hone him into a weapon. He should have cherished the opportunity to grow, and he should have embraced not just the result, and definitely not the cause, but the suffering itself. "Strength through Suffering", he repeated, and with a smile, he stepped through the Mhaldorian gates towards his future.
Filaletha
Filaletha hurried through the rainy streets of Hashan, lifting her skirts high and stepping carefully to avoid the mud getting on her luxuriously layered, dark blue gown. Starting at the midnight hour, this special meeting of the Regents would held in the house of Damaris. She had suggested the location herself, as she greatly valued the brilliant mind of the city tutor. Despite the rain and the mud, Hashan was very peaceful this night, and she took in the atmosphere with deep breaths of enchantment.
A brief smiled touched Filaletha's lips as she considered the irony. Despite the raging war, Hashan had never felt more at peace. Apparently Hashani had needed someone to fight, and when there had been no real enemy, they had chosen themselves. All that infighting seemed over now, and it was a pleasing experience, one she hoped to continue from her new position. As she reached Argent Lane, the full moon broke through the clouds, and a single beam fell on the door to Damaris' house. How could that not be a sign from Ourania? Things were looking very well, indeed.
The musty smell of old books greeted her in the slightly damp atmosphere of the house. The other Regents were already there, enjoying themselves with cups of tea and kawhe. There was nothing but agreement around the room, it was almost scary. But of course, the occasion lended itself well to this kind of festive spirit. She was met with hugs and smiles, and was quickly handed a cup of kawhe. When she sat down, of course, things got more serious.
The Prophetess of the Spiritwalkers stood up, solemnly. She cleared her throat and began to speak. “We are gathered here today to elect our new Senechal.” she said. “Since there is only one candidate for the position, the election itself should not be difficult, nor should it take long. We can all expect that under Filaletha's leadership Hashan will continue to flourish as it has for a while now. Her wisdom and calm consideration, paired with the courage and decisiveness needed from a great leader have already carried us toward our glorious future. It is my most sincere wish that with her as our Senechal, Hashan will grow even stronger.”
She paused briefly, then said: “Let us vote. Who is in favour of Filaletha becoming our new Senechal?” One by one, each of the Regents slowly raised their hand. The last ones to raise their hands were Filaletha herself, and the Prophetess, who smiled as she did so, stating: “It is done. From this day forward, our leader shall be Senechal Filaletha. May she turn a new leaf for the city of Hashan.”
Callisthena
It was Mayaween, and many of her city-mates were out enjoying themselves, revelling in the mysterious spirit of the season, but Callisthena wept. She could not stop, despite the gentle care of her loving guardian angel. She was inconsolable, and was wholly unwilling to let any of her fellow Targossians try to console her. She had not understood the true nature of her plight, had not understood the true depths of her feelings, and had definitely not understood what Abdias had really needed of her. She had failed him, and in doing so she had not only failed herself, but she had failed Targossas, and had failed both Good and Creation. They had lost an ally and gained an enemy. Callisthena remembered the stony coldness of Abdias' eyes at their last encounter, and wept with full force again. His fire had been completely extinguished.
The broken siren buried her head in the pillows on her couch, extinguishing every last bit of light still caught in her eyes. As she let the darkness overtake her, many doors in the city suddenly slammed shut, but it had never seen more natural. The anguish of lost Pericles seemed a logical extension of her own, and Targossas seemed to Callisthena to be nothing more than the tomb of promises past and of the beautiful world that could have been. Creation seemed nothing now but a hollow shell. What had she been fighting for all these years, if true happiness was never meant to be?
In the distance she could hear the battle raging. It was not going well. Against all odds, Hashan and Mhaldor had joined forces in an uneasy truce, bonding over their common enemy. They had brought dragons and a stack of Atlatls. After a few close calls, it seemed that this time a great portion of the city would be laid to waste. However, she could not bring herself to care. Instead, she muted the sounds by eating a hawthorn berry. For good measure she threw in some bayberry bark as well. She wanted to see nothing, to hear nothing… really, what she wanted was to be nothing. Another stream of tears flowed down her face, but without the heart wrenching passion she had felt at first. She had slowly become desensitised and was crying without emotion, emptying herself of everything she had loved and lost.
For a long time she lay there, forgetting everything around her, and forgetting herself. Slowly, her tears dried, though the numbness stayed. She stared into the darkness of the room, listening to the sound of her breathing. It took her a moment to realise that she should not be able to hear that, and that even if she should, it was not her breath at all. It was, however, not enough to be startled. In her head, a male voice began to chuckle. "You may not know it yet," it spoke, "but you are My child already." The divinity of the voice could not be mistaken.
Callisthena did not stir. She felt no fear, not because there was no risk, but because she was indifferent to it. Where she would once have jumped at the sign of any God, and would have scurried to present herself with the proper decorum, she felt no such desire in this instance. Instead, she was overtaken by a curious kind of peace, a resignation she had never felt before, not to her fate, but to her wish to have none. Finally, she spoke, in barely more than a whisper, to the God she knew was Babel. "My Lord, grant me Oblivion.", she whispered, surrendering to her new master.
EPILOGUE: Calm waters
The graceful light of Ourania shines beautifully across the waters of the Lemnian Sea, below which the old city of Shallam rests, though never in peace. Nearby Her children carry tanks into the darkened streets of Targossas, certain and united in their cause. While Sun and Moon have fought side by side against Bal'met, and had never been as close as that one fateful time, the mystical glow of the nightly queen can never be consoled with the dispassionate Lightbringer or the ceaselessly burning Righteous Fire. The new Good lacks humanity, and is doomed to fail. It is only a matter of time before Targossas, too, rests forever beneath the waves of eternity.