Chapter 15:
Religare: To Bind and Make One
Within the chamber of the billowing flame, the group mulled over the information as they were surrounded by the timeless murals that told a part of a much larger story that had been buried and hidden from the world. If it were just words and pictures painted on walls, the tales and revelations offered by their short guide could have at best been accepted as another religion's views of the gods or, at worst, rejected on the spot. What held their intellects from these simpleminded extremes was the fact that they had experienced the miraculous along their journeys to that moment. Before then, each of them had heard varying accounts and explanations, tales and legends, myths and fables that seemed to confuse the reality as different voices told the stories, but Quaden's story, the same that was painted all around them, offered a unifying account that seemed oddly comforting. Comforting in some ways, though, but distressing in others.
For Mathew and Thomas, the information was an adaptation, an addition to what they had learned of the gods throughout their lives, but, for Meira, it was a positive affirmation of all the religions except hers. There had been no mention of "the one true God," nor had there been any insinuation or eluding that such a being might exist. As it would seem, all of the "false gods" appeared to be real while her God had yet to be mentioned.
An eruption of laughter came from Thomas as he stared at Quaden with the comedy causing a stream of tears to roll down his aching cheeks. "What's the joke?" Quaden asked as he straightened his back and grew stern.
"You," Thomas struggled to say through his fit, "are Atlas!"
"Thomas!" Mathew barked at him without result.
Quaden approached Thomas, his fury increasing with every step as his face turned a dark shade of red. "Yes," he said, "I am Atlas. You got a problem with that?"
"No, no," Thomas responded, bent over and clutching his sides, "I truly believe you, but the irony is knocking the wind out of me!"
With fists clenched as his knuckles turned white, Quaden appeared to be on the verge of sending the man to the floor under his will, but he stopped. His eyes began to move about as if he was searching for something, perhaps, to hit Thomas with.
"Thomas!" Mathew yelled, again. "Stop this at once. Show him some some respect!"
"No!" Quaden stopped Mathew. He looked down at his hands and then back up to the murals. Glimpses of his former glory as the titan flashed in his mind as though they were partially remembered dreams from long ago. Mathew was about to walk to Thomas and thrash him about for his insult, but Quaden held out an arm to bar his path. "He's right," he said as he looked up to meet Mathew's confusion. "I'd be stupid to not notice the irony, myself," he began to laugh with his friend.
"You took the saying 'big things come in small packages," Thomas began laughing even harder, "and just..." he trailed off, trying to think of a good description. "I don't know how to call it, but, by the fates, you're at the far far FAR extreme!"
"What is wrong with you?!?" Meira screamed. "You're disrespecting him to his face and think it's funny?!?"
"Meiri," Quaden smiled, "it's okay." He then tried to approach her to comfort her. "Are you okay? You look really upset. You know that I can handle myself and that I wouldn't let him belittle me." Thomas erupted into more laughter. "Bad choice of words in the moment," Quaden laughed. "I really get the comical irony and I know he isn't meaning to disrespect me."
"But you're letting him do it!" she argued. "He's disrespecting you and the gods of this holy place." She released her glare upon Thomas, bringing his laughter to an abrupt end as he fell to the floor, shaking in fear.
"Meiri, Meiri," Quaden tried to calm her down, "it's okay. Let him laugh it out. He accepts it. He's coming to understanding what he's learned."
"I thought you didn't believe in the 'false gods,'" Mathew said to her, trying to understand why she was growing more unstable by the moment. "Why are you suddenly so defensive of...." He didn't finish his sentence. In that moment, seeing her rage and frustration, he realized what she was so angry about.
In fact, both Mathew and Thomas understood what Meira's conflict was and they understood it more deeply than they had discussed before. Their journey, their mission had been explained clearly by the mystic in Ctesiphon. As she explained, they were to bring about a new religion to end the worship of the old gods, but if they were then learning that the old gods were real then, they wondered, what would that mean of the new "one true God" that Meira spoke of.
When they had first heard the reading by the mystic, they held their own interpretations. Thomas thought it was more of a political means of unifying the world under a single banner. Mathew and Meira, on the other hand, believed it was due to Meira's divinity and that her religion was correct while the others were merely false stories waiting to be replaced by the truth.
After Meira's outburst, the three had very different perceptions of their mission than before. "Meiri," Mathew spoke softly, "you look like you're panicking and I think I understand why."
Her eyes jerked about as tension raced through her heart. She looked about at all of the murals, the flame, and at her companions. "How could you possibly understand?!?" she roared. "Just stay away from me!" she said as she turned and walked out of the room.
"Let her go, lad," Quaden held Mathew back from pursuing her. "Thomas may be able to laugh his way through this, but, I figure, she may need to go through another emotion entirely."
Meira marched through hallways lined with more murals, but was too distraught to pay them much attention. She found her way to some stairs and pushed upward, feeling her thighs burn as she didn't waver in her pace. For roughly twenty stories, she forced herself onward until she reached the peak of the spire. Stopping to look from the colorfully stained glass windows, she finally collapsed from the strain of the climb. In the quiet of the chamber, her faith came loudly into question in her mind. If she had heard, all of her life, that the old gods were false, demons meant to confuse mankind, and that only the Yehudhi knew of the one true God because He had chosen them, she wondered if all that she was learning on that day was that her faith was the one that was a lie. After all, if what Quaden was saying was true, the gods in the murals weren't there to enslave or lead anyone astray, but free them. They fought to free humanity, not just the Yehudhi, from enslavement, from demanding worship, from gods who saw humans as pets, pests, or livestock, so, it begged the question, if she was falling into the worship of such a god merely from tradition. Her sense of self was wavering. She feared that she had been living a lie.
It wasn't difficult for Thomas to slip away without Quaden or Mathew noticing him. Something in the murals sparked an enlightenment in him as somethings appeared more clearly than ever before. Leaving Mathew to ask Quaden all the questions he could, Thomas wasn't far behind Meira as he followed his friend to be there right at the moment she needed someone. Making sure to give her enough space, as to not intrude on or hinder her ability to process, he remained out of her awareness, yet close enough to hear her sobs and whimpers as she physically, spiritually, and emotionally collapsed on the chamber's floor.
Thomas expected her cries to subside in time, but they were growing and being replaced with a rage as she wailed harder and began to thrash about. Feeling her pain as if it were his own, he couldn't withstand much of standing idly by while his friend struggled. Slowly and quietly, as not to startle her, he climbed the stairs, finding her too weak to stand as she slapped the walls and floor, spitting and cursing. Her words were unintelligible through her deep lament. Nothing of what she tried to cry out made any sense to him. In order to fully understand her anguish, he would first need to help her regain some composure.
At first sight of him, Meira screamed what he could only assume was some form of, "GET OUT," and "LEAVE ME BE," but her pain was so deep that it pierced right through him. As though he was instinctively applying pressure to a wound, he rushed to her and wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly as he joined in her sorrow.
Her wailing only continued for a short while afterwards. Returning the gesture, she held him in return as they rocked and cried until the emotions began to subside. As soon as her breathing had steadied enough to where she didn't appear to be on the verge of fainting, Thomas opened the floor for her to discuss what she was experiencing. "I know this might sound stupid of me to ask," he said, brushing tears from both his and her eyes, "but to improve, one must be content with being thought of as foolish and stupid. What has you so upset, Meiri?"
She pulled away from him as her stare went into the distance. Her mind reeled on how to begin. She was afraid of admitting that she might have been wrong about God. She was afraid of saying it and offending Him, as the conflicting thoughts of if He did or did not exist waged war inside her. Thomas recognized the struggle and patiently waited for her to find the words. "It's all a lie," she said, her voice low and subdued.
"What's a lie?" he asked her.
"The Yehudhi," she answered. "Yahweh, the Elohim, the false gods are not false gods. I was raised, believing that the Yehudhi were chosen by God Yahweh as those closest to Him, that we would find the promised land if we only kept our faith in him and only him." Her voice sunk even further as her gaze fell to the floor in front of her. "Abraham's commandments are a lie. It's all a lie."
With a sigh and a nod, Thomas was prepared for her answer, but wasn't expecting her to be so all encompassing in her renouncing of her faith. "Maybe you're partially right," he said, causing a sneer to appear on her lips. "Maybe there are parts of your faith that are lies. I just learned that of virtually every story of the Roman gods, but what I also learned was that they actually do exist."
"That's great," Meira scoffed, "you get all your gods back while I lose mine."
"Why do you say that?" he asked, but, before she could verbally lash out in anger, he continued. "What have we been doing almost every night since we left Dimasq? Do you even remember that first night you showed us your God? We ALL got the same message: 'I am here. We STILL get that message every night we pray with you. I certainly never heard that voice before. I certainly never felt that before meeting you, so what's different?" Her eyes lifted slowly from the floor to meet his. He was looking at her like he was expecting her to have figured all of this out already. "Maybe the Yehudhi aren't the only ones capable of being chosen by Him. Maybe His choices are still being made, day by day, not once and final hundreds of years ago."
"What are you saying?" she asked him, hope returning to her.
It was time to sink the point. Thomas had to choose his words wisely. He could either lift his friend up and out of this hole while invigorating her spirits and offering her newly found strengths, or he could unintentionally leave her feeling more lost and confused, sapping her ability to carry on as they have. "The idea of a single God isn't new to Rome or Greece," he began, taking long pauses between sentences, so not to rush the thoughts. "Sokrates challenged the idea of divine command by asking two questions: Are right actions right because God commands them, or are right actions commanded by god because they are right?"
Meira's mind was already weakened by the emotional turmoil, but not weakened enough. Her sharp wit, albeit set aside at times, would not be dulled by anyone or anything. She analyzed the words used and the reason behind asking such questions. "I understand what Sokrates was trying to say," she answered after some quiet thought. "If it was God's command, then it is all up to His will and, therefore, subject to change if He wanted to change it. If the actions were right with or without God's command, then, again, God's command continues to be arbitrary." She thought for it a moment longer and then grunted. "Did you think that was supposed to help me?" she growled. "Are you trying at all or do you not understand what I'm going through? The mystic told me that I was supposed to bring about a new religion to end the worship of the old gods, but I'm just now learning that my religion was the fake and the old gods are real? Can't you understand how this is pulling at my heart?"
To her dismay, Thomas smiled. "What I'm saying, Meiri, is that God Yahweh could have chosen your people long ago," he explained as he sat next to her. "He could have given the commands during a time when those commands were needed. Now, he could have new commands waiting to be heard and do you want to know what I've heard him say? Do you want to know what I've heard him say through you?" Her eyes began to well up, again, a heavy hope and anticipation for his next words were all that kept her silent. "You tell us about your God, but you show us Him through you. Your actions speak louder than any words could ever. What I hear from those actions is love: love your neighbor, love your brothers and sisters, treat everyone with kindness, even when you're not feeling very nice," he said as he nudged her playfully. "You healed an entire fleet of smugglers, allowing them to leave their painful pasts behind and I have yet to see you treat anyone differently by where they're from, what faith they hold, what class they may be a part of, or whom they might love."
His words were doing exactly what he had hoped they would. He was calling on the vary spirit that pushed Meira into the group that surrounded the slave in the market place to protect the poor man. It was the vary spirit that stood rebelliously against the oppression of women even in the face of her own mother, but his final words, "... whom they might love," that caused her pause.
"I don't understand that last part," she confessed, looking to find him staring at the ground with a soft smile. Confusion and embarrassment grabbed her. "I-I don't," she stuttered. "Are you saying...."
"Yes," he stopped her and her heart raced, "but don't tell him. He hasn't the slightest clue and I'm fine with that. He wouldn't have me in that way and that's fine. I'll just continue to be his friend and poke his brain. Besides, I know he is not the one for me and that there is that one out there, somewhere. It doesn't mean I can't love the fool, anyways."
Meira was thoroughly confused. Thankfully for her, Thomas was lost in his own thoughts for the moment, granting her enough time to catch on. "OH!" she gasped as she put the pieces together. "You're in love with Mathew!"
"Who did you think I was talking about?" he looked at her strangely. "Did you think I was talking about you?"
"I almost did!" she said as they began to laugh together. "I had no idea you were in love with ANYONE and you were just saying some really nice things about ME. I guess I don't normally think of any of you like that." She thought a little further. "I guess I don't think about that type of love."
"That's unfortunate," he sighed. "Loving another is the reason why poets write and bards sing, but it makes sense. You're so amazing that it would have to take an extraordinary person to catch your eye."
Their shared moment of vulnerability drew them closer together. Meira nudged him with her shoulder and they leaned into each other like brother and sister, feeling the true depths of their bond growing deeper like the roots of great tree. "So, what do you think, Meiri," Thomas rocked with her. "What if we created a religion based on love and family, regardless of where you're from or which family you were born into?"
The thought was wonderful, of course, but the mystic's reading lingered in the backs of their minds. "Do you think it will be enough?" Meira asked.
"Enough for what?" Thomas asked in return.
She sighed. The reading of her and the others' futures made her fearful of believing that she was the right person for the duty of creating an inclusive and expanding religion. "The mystic told me that countless people would die over my religion," she said, expressing a weight that had yet to sink into her mind until then. "She told me that it was going to cause wars and sickness and destruction and that I was going to be there to witness it all."
"She told me the same thing," he responded.
Meira turned to look her brother in the eyes. "Do you think a message of love will be enough?"
"No," he said solemnly as his shoulders slumped, "which is why we need people to believe that love is coming from God."
"But how can I preach of a God when I'm so confused with if He exists?" she began to panic, again.
Thomas placed his arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly. "Then we will pray," he said. "We will pray until He answers us and points us in the right direction. Besides," he groaned as he released his hug and climbed to his feet, "it sounds like this is an entirely new God we should take the time to get to know before opening our big, fat mouths about." He held out his hand to help her up. "What do you say, Meiri Magdala? Are you ready to go on a search for God?"
Chapter 16:
Directions
Although her legs were sore, Meira insisted on walking back down without Thomas'assistance. The two laughed freely along the descent back to meet their friends. Meira joked about making the climb up the stairs a regular training for the other centurions and Thomas told her stories about his time visiting the Parthenon in Athens. "They have fountains and places for you to rest at along your way up and down,"he said. "Perhaps, these spires would do well with a chair here and there."
As they drew near the main hall where the flame was kept, they didn't expect to hear Mathew and Quaden loudly talking, but they also didn't expect to hear other voices. Echoing along the walls to reach them long before the sight of the main room came into view, Meira and Thomas could hear another man in the chamber making orders and demanding their two friends to reveal their whereabouts.
"I told you," Quaden's high pitched voice shot clearly through the castle,"we're here alone."
"I already spotted your friends at the window," the man yelled back. "You are trespassing and will be executed. It will be up to you if you would rather it be quick and painless or long and painful, so tell us where they are."
"If you already know where these ghosts are," Mathew scoffed loudly, "why don't YOU go and look for them?"
Meira and Thomas were nearly to the massive entrance to the room, creeping along in the shadows of the pillars. "Maybe I will," the man snarled, "but then who will stay behind to keep a watch on you? Maybe I should just execute you now and save myself the trouble."
The two could hear the sound of a sword being drawn as Meira leaped from the hallway, screaming, "No, please don't. We're here." Thomas rushed in after her in a failed attempt to stop her from acting so brashly.
With how serious it sounded, Thomas and Meira had expected to see an entire squadron of soldiers, but it was just the one man. Mathew or Quaden alone could have stood a fighting chance against one man. Quaden could have sent him to the floor if he wanted to with his sheer will. As Meira and Thomas stared, confused by what they were seeing, all three of them burst into laughter.
"It's okay, you two," Mathew waved to them. "We heard you coming and thought we'd have a bit of fun."
"Such a good friend," the man said as he sheathed his sword, his voice clear and elegant, "that she would risk her life for you without hesitation."He stood tall and straight at about 183cm with an air of royalty about him. He wore a meticulously kept golden set of plated armor with a vibrant red cloth for a toga beneath it. His skin was a dark bronze and his dark hair tied neatly down by a tight, yellow headband. He didn't appear very old at all, but about the same age as Meira.
Tense from the scare, but laughing at the joke at her expense, Meira was still curious about this new face among them. "And who are you?" she asked in relief.
The man briefly glanced at Quaden as if to say that it was his job to introduce him. "This is Prince Pacorus," Quaden answered, "son of King of Kings Orodes II."
"You must be Meiri Magdala," Pacorus bowed graciously to her. "Quaden told me a little about you, so, please, tell me if any of the images mean anything to you." He slowly waved his hands about to each of the large murals as if there was some hidden message behind them that Meira was supposed to know.
Of course, Meira and Thomas had their own perceptions of how Meira might answer.Fortunately, since their small talk, she was able to respond with determination and courage. "They mean that there is more to learn," she answered.
His mouth flashed a brief grimace. "Nothing that speaks directly to you?" he asked expectantly.
Meira, Mathew, and Thomas all turned about, looking at the murals with confusion. "What am I supposed to be seeing here?" she asked. "Perhaps, if you told me what it is you're asking for, I might be able to tell you if I have it."
Prince Pacorus turned to Quaden, questioning with his eyes as to if the merchant had divulged any of the secrets of the room yet. "I've told them that I am Atlas," he answered aloud for everyone to hear. "Go ahead and tell her. This might not be the right place to ignite her memories."
"Memories of what?" Meira asked.
"Memories of who you are," Prince Pacorus replied. "You see, after Atlas locked the old gods away for good, one decree was made to allow us to return to the physical realm: if we were reborn as mortal humans, but never to rule over mankind, again."
Thomas' eyes squinted as he asked, "Aren't you a prince, though? How is that not ruling over humans'?"
Quaden sauntered over to be more a part of the conversation. "Pacorus' placement had a specific purpose. He's not here to become the next king, nor is he here to govern."
Meira's mind moved like lightning as all the evidence dropped right in front of her. "He's here to protect this location," she said. "You purposefully chose to be reborn in a life where you could have the greatest ability to protect this sacred place."
"Very perceptive," Prince Pacorus smiled. "I am the keeper of this castle and protector of it's secrets."
"Not a very good protector," Thomas winced. "We got in here rather easily, didn't we?"
"That's because you had HIM guiding you," Prince Pacorus sneered at Quaden. "Are you going to put that scarf down, now? You've won the bet." Quaden smiled and untied the scarf, placing it back where he had found it. "Only myself and a handful of others on this planet know about this location. Even the guards you passed are unaware of this place."
"If Quaden is the titan, Atlas," Mathew inquired, "who are you? We understand that you were reborn as Prince Pacorus, but which god are you?"
Again, the prince motioned for his friend to introduce him as was the custom for the nobility who were not meant to introduce themselves if someone else could do it for them. "You passed his statues on the way in," Quaden answered. "To our Roman brothers here, you would know him as Vulcan, but here he would be known as Gibil, god of fire and metallurgy. He built this castle, himself."
The two Romans were half in the moment and half out. To them, they were standing in the presence of two immortal celebrities, but the magnitude of the chance meeting had left them bewildered, their minds still warring between acceptance and disbelief. Thomas was just learning that the gods were real, and slowly coming to grips with the fact, and Mathew was equally taking his time with accepting the reality.
"You're THE Vulcan?" Mathew asked, looking suspiciously between the prince and Quaden. "Hephaestus to the Greeks?"
"And Gibil to Mesopotamia," Prince Pacorus bowed. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions."
Naturally, the two Romans were curious about the stories of the gods that they had grown up with in comparison with the new story unfolding before their vary eyes. They asked about the wife of Vulcan/Hephaestus, Venus to the Romans and Aphrodite to the Greeks, and if she was truly as beautiful as the legends described. "Yes, she is," Prince Pacorus answered sadly. Even the vague image from a faded memory after being reborn so many times was still striking enough to be blinding to his mind's eye.
"You haven't found her in this life yet, have you?" Quaden asked, causing a sad smile to appear on the prince's face.
"Like you and Pleione," Meira added softly, which caused Prince Pacorus toturn in surprise to Quaden. "I remember you asking me about her name. Is it like that for all of the gods? Are you all searching for your other halves?"
Prince Pacorus looked to Quaden with an expression of serious concern at the same moment Quaden burst into laughter. "Iupitor wouldn't have so much luck, am I right Pacorus?" Quaden turned to his friend. "Iupitor would sooner bury himself neck deep in the desert than every be found by Iuno."
"Does that make Juno an ally?" Thomas asked.
"He didn't say that," Prince Pacorus responded with a grave tone to his voice, "and you," he turned to Quaden, "had best not forget your own pursuer."
Quaden's laughter dropped suddenly. "Do you mean...?"
"Yes," Pacorus nodded, "I've heard that Nyx has returned during this time along with all of her children."
"Odin's crows!" Quaden became visibly distraught. "Who did you hear this from?"
"A reliable source," Prince Pacorus replied. "In our market place, I happened upon a peculiar woman, named Phoebe, who had a very familiar air about her and I could tell that she felt the same with me. At first, I was excited at the prospect of finding my Aphrodite, but I took it slow. We ate dinner that night and drank until we both worked up the courage to ask about each others real names. To my surprise, she was Marduk, the warrior god to the Babylonians," he clarified for the others, "and she had been traveling everywhere to train in all the combat arts from every nation that would teach her. She laughed so heartily when she talked about her travels. After her memory came to her of who she really was, she decided to take this gift of a mortal life for its fullest rewards and set out to face the world's challenges."
"Which way was she going?" Meira asked with a great deal excitement. "I would very much so like to meet her!"
"She said she was moving east, toward the Indus," Prince Pacorus explained."She wanted to learn the Kalaripayattu that had been developing in the area, but this was years ago. I have no doubt that she would have made her way there, mastered the deadly style in a year, and moved onto find another, but that's not the important detail of why I'm telling you about her."
He turned to Quaden as though he was a soldier reporting from the field in the middle of a war. "She told me that she had fought her way through an entire town," he said, "after discovering that an old woman there was really Discordia. Apparently, Discordia has been moving her way through Rome and Parthia, creating havoc and driving further expansion. Phoebe told me that, after witnessing Discordia use her powers to turn an otherwise peaceful town into a riotous frenzy, she followed and spied on the old woman. That's when she learned that both Deimos and Phobos were with her."
Quaden sat quietly, not wanting to interrupt any of the details his friend was offering him. "All that Phoebe could learn of their plans was that they were searching for someone. During the night that she spied on the three, she learned that one of the fates had been reborn and, in her short time in her mortal life, before Nyx tortured and murdered her, she revealed that there would be a child, born of her own will, who would be the end of the old religions."
At that very moment, every eye turned to look at Meira, who had yet to embrace the task fully, herself. "Did she mentioned how this 'child' was supposed to accomplish such a feat?" she asked Prince Pacorus.
"No," he answered in defeat, "as it went, that was when Phoebe was discovered. If she hadn't fled, she would have been killed by either the rioting streets or by her own hand out of the most sever of panic."
"By her own hand?" Mathew began to shake. His recollection of the moment in Mari replayed in his mind as he saw, back then, his own hand coming towards his throat with his knife. "We already met HIM," he said as he clenched his fist and breathed to steady his nerves.
"Yes," Thomas added with a bit of pride, "Meiri, here, left him and that entire thieving city under the Euphrates river."
"Please," Meira winced, "that was not something to be happy about. I lost control and, because of that, many lives were lost. Lives that didn't deserve to die. I have all of their blood on my hands."
"Wait," Prince Pacorus was shocked, "tell me exactly what happened in Mari." Mathew reported detail for detail of their experiences in Mari, including their meeting of Quaden and the corrupt, grotesque looking city official who had him nearly take his own life out of sheer terror. "City official?" Prince Pacorus was infuriated. "How could they have taken over politically in one of Persia's cities?" He took a deep breath and steadied himself. "I will need to send a squadron to investigate."
"Investigate what?" Thomas asked. "We just told you that the entire town was washed away."
"But not all were killed," Prince Pacorus cautioned. "I guarantee that Phobos, or whatever name he holds today, is most certainly NOT dead. Did he learn of where you were going? Does he know your final destination?"
Meira looked to the others who were also searching their memories. "I know that it was clear that we were heading to Ctesiphon," she answered, "but only Mathew knew that we were going as far east as Bactria until just recently."
"It wouldn't be hard to follow us," Quaden added while he rubbed his chin. "There's really only one major road that heads east. Others will lead through territories that are as mysterious as they are dangerous."
"What would you suggest," Mathew asked Prince Pacorus. "We are traveling through your country. If we continue along the obvious path, they're sure to catch up to us. Do you know of any other routes?"
"Yes, I do," Prince Pacorus answered, "but Quaden is right. While they are faster, they also lead you through dangerous terrains with deadly beasts and djin, but I came across something in my studies of the library that might be of some use to you, if not on the road then at least in helping you decide which challenge you would rather face. Please, follow me."
He led them through the keep and to the back of the castle where an impressive library held scrolls, books, and loose pages, anything that the god could get his hands on over the many lifetimes he had spent protecting the place. Every lifetime came with the same challenge of relearning the texts in this library, but, when he first discovered his true self and found his way to the castle, his first task was always to begin transcribing the oldest of the texts to newer mediums. The organization of the library remained the same and each time he set foot the in large room, it was as though he knew exactly where to look for what he had no idea he was looking for.
"Some soldiers found these," Prince Pacorus stated as he retrieved a tan ledger from a shelf, "during a patrol along the eastern reaches of Isfahan. In their report, it said that one man seemed to have died just before finding his way back from the desert. In his sun baked bones, he still clenched onto this journal even after death. I imagined that the information was so vitally important that it would be a waste to let the scholars toss it into their piles of unread materials that have become homes for rats and worms."
"What does it say?" Meira asked.
"Read it for yourself," Prince Pacorus responded, handing her the ledger. "It's written in some form of prose, like Homer's works, but take from it what you can."
Sept,8th 2005
Seen through what can only be said and heard through what can only be felt,
Lingering on as the caravan marches through the desert's dark stream.
Anima calls forth into the twilight mist that flows from their own lungs
As the hooded men stop in amazement.
Not from the heavens, does this observation hail down.
Restless are the caravan slaves who wait for their sweet release from the numbing darkness behind their scarred lids.
Wait!
They sit in silence.
Statues hold greater company.
Spinning circles of torment engulf the caravan as they search for the direction they need.
So long ago, the answers left the night sky and made these men, these hooded men, blinder than the slaves they plucked the eyes from.
Obsessed with their own direction.
And here, a humble rock, the thorn in their side tonight, has more sight and direction than those very men.
The answers never abandoned the reason for being, but reason abandons those who seek the answers in one direction.
Oct,10th 2005
The steady beat of the camels' feet rhythm the heart of a dying man as the caravan comes to a halt.
They no longer fallow the serpent that slid between the high dunes.
They continued a course leading across the empty sea. So vast and so open.
This reminds the hooded that they are not to be seen, but are unable to hide from one.
Fear strikes all who ride high.
They are not unseen.
Aware of the return of the observer, the hooded men lean their chins down and kick at the human pets in detest.
One slave, whom no one thought alive, reaches forth for what he cannot see and yearns for the night sky to shine it down.
For centuries, it has not given any more than a blank stare of a million eyes.
Frustration consumes these dark beings and one leaps from his mount to slaughter the dead slave come to life.
His crescent sword, like a mirror, showed the stars above and stilled his hand for a moment.
All became silent and still, once again, like a horrific, hellish painting, as they wait for something, anything.
A lingering breeze lifts the hood of the unmounted man just long enough for his victim to peer upwards with empty gaze and spy his ruler, his god.
In a single stroke, the slave was quickly relieved with the distasteful swipe of a child's brush through a once beautiful painting as the hooded man brought his moonlit blade down upon him.
Those without eyes can see and those that see choose to be blind.
He gained his place.
Oct,11 2005
The faint melodic whisper of a beautiful woman's voice and the crackle of the campfire draws the observer's curiosity.
In a panic, the hooded men have stopped and made home for the night.
The slaves sway in a joyful manner as a shrill note is heard in the distance.
They sing for their pray with beautiful songs and even more beautiful voices.
Hoods circle the fire, facing one another, but never look up.
Those that fear these sirens of the desert stare into the fire. At least, those who know of them.
The wind whips and bights as the voices reach the camp.
Not one man moves from his trance of the licking, dancing flame because none of these tormentors are willing to become the tormented.
They can feel the warmth of a woman,s lips against their cheeks and the silken skin of their arms as they caress and tease under the heavy night clothing.
For hours this test continues with no sway in the caravan's focus.
Better to watch dancing lights than to face the threat, or were the dancing lights what invited the threat?
Only the dead that once lived twice knew that answer.
Nov,8th 2005
Furiously, the night gains in speed as the caravan moves through the wastelands forgotten by time.
Mangled expressions of what life once was still stand forth, strong and resistant, from this poisoned earth.
Anew pair of eyes seek out through the darkness. She watches them, licking her lips.
Her eyelids seem only decoration as she peers deep into each soul that passes by her invisible presence.
Unable to forgive the world for starving her and her kin, she twists and writhes from the pain of a thousand year empty stomach, for, although she may not be noticed, she is still alive and waiting,
The slaves hold the key, but these damned, hooded fools throw them away like nothing more than the bones from the animals they devour.
Tonight, one shall pay.
Our dear friend of the old blind dead sits high and proud tonight at the hind of the caravan and carelessly takes his eyes off the road to look to the sky.
Nothing.
As quickly as the fly who throws it's life to the spiders web he is dragged off his beast and unveiled just before she leaves him behind. She knows his fate.
Standing in the road his true face is exposed. Shaking and stunned he struggles to grasp what has happened, but his companions, his so called "brethren," do not share the same hesitation.
Instantly, they leap form their mounts, tackling the poor soul finally realized, cutting the eyes from his head and binding his wrists in steel, only to be dragged along with the other pets.
She smiles.
The hunger of truth may be satisfied for now, but satisfaction can never replace truth.
March, 24 2006
Much pride can be the strength that destroys mountains, as do the hooded men that destroy dreams. Their new pet knows all to well. In his new darkened state, he has become of his own fate. He smiles. The others, entangled with him by cold, metal vines, feel him and back away in a shy reverence. To see the one that has carried the path of the ruling and walked the path of the ruled.The way is soon to appear.
Sept,10th 2006
"Forever in the life of a fallen tear on the desert floor," thinks the newest pet of the hooded men. "Never have I heard their pain more clearly. Why did once open and nimble eyes have to be made empty and cold?"
"Seeking guidance through their darkest moment only to find the harsh kick of rejection. Restricted by such heavy burdens."
With voided gaze, he scans the heavens, "Observer, I see you, now. Why do you watch this sickening display of torture? Can't you see they need help?"
"I can see the stars shine dim from those that find a way to hide from the self, for the stars only reflect the self's shining way."
"These poor, poor hooded men."
March, 24 2007
"It has been a while, Observer." The unhooded slave whispers. "You are frustrated that I know you now," he snickers as his heavy steel restraints are harshly tugged by his new lords.
"Where have you been?" his words grow bolder. His blind companions listen in, hoping to hear a gospel. "What do you think of this sickening display?"
The caravan brakes quickly to listen intently after the fall of the last word.Silence fills the essence of everything near and all wait for an answer. Hoods bob and sway from the discomfort of the camels' humps.After a few moments, the serenity is broken as the hooded men, in unison, dismount and begin to make camp.
"Fine, if you will not answer my questions, perhaps you will sing me a song?" He feels his heart break into rampant beat. His head swims and sweat collects on his brow. He is afraid of what he asks. All become silent again and he receives his choir.
Staring at this bold man all mouths are open, silently screaming, silently wailing. Pain, fear, all the expressions of torment an animal's face can portray are now directed at him. Circling him. Crowding him.
"Stop!" he lets out in panic. They move in tighter. "Please! Stop this, Observer!" He feels the pressure from all around as they move in. Hooded, chained, beast, they press themselves against him. Gaping mouths releasing long, deep breaths that hang in the night air like the dense smoke of a pipe. "I," he gasps between each word, "can't," the air is almost gone from his lungs, "breath!" Frightened and confused, he releases one last word: "help."
Cold dew rests on the darkened cheeks of a man who once looked down. The muscles of the absent eyes and their lids jerk to mimic the fluttering awakening. He breathes deeply. "You now come to me in my dreams, Observer? Which hell do you fancy more?" he speaks with a deep malice. "The one you think is reality, or the one you fear is reality?"
December, 29 2007
So long has it been since the observer's last visit that the caravan gasps in unison as if all were plunged into the arctic waters.
Hoods jerk and sway in hope of spying what spy's on them. The frustration grows. Some of the hooded men blame the observer for their loss in direction and bite at their already desert cracked lips.
One was too lost in rage. His bite was deep and the wound bleeds freely. Panic grips him as he reaches back for a cloth to stop the flow. One drop, just one drop. By chance, another hooded happens to see the small glint of starlight reflect off the tiny, ruby droplet before it hits the sand. He quickly quiets those near him and listens.
Careful not reveal his face, he pulls his hood back to expose only his left ear. The wind whistles as it carries some dust from far off lands. The slaves try to remain quiet, but many cough, their lungs are now bags of sand.
Like sharks, these creatures can smell the soothing mixture of blood and sand for miles. Like hyenas, their backs are high and hunched, and like death, their skin is smooth and dark a star.
They come in numbers worse than nightmare. Circling and circling. They do this to dizzy their pray. The wind picks up as these beasts tighten in diameter.
"EEERAAAAGH!!" A loud shriek from one of the slaves as he is dragged away. Nobody noticed witch direction or witch beast. The circling spell is working. "Please, do something, Observer!" The unhooded pleads. "You have the power to stop this! Amabo te!" He is confused by what he says. "AMABOTE!" He screams, not knowing the meaning.
"HEEEYAAAURK!" Another slave is taken.
"What is wrong with you?!?" The unhooded slave is getting angry. "Did you bring them here? Why won't you stop this?"
The wind is building.
Some beasts are distracted by the sand and dust that now circles them. Louder and louder the howl of the aerial current grows. The caravan and beasts are no longer focused on each other, for the winds prove a mightier foe as beast by beast is plucked away.The sands thicken the air as the tempest increases, separating sight and space. All sight is lost, lost. All space is infinite, infinite.
In the end, the caravan is left with only the loss of two. The impatient slave bows his head. "Thank you Observer. I am in your debt."
A harsh silence falls and all turn to him. The ground shakes like a dog's skin, irritated by a flea, and an unfamiliar voice comes forth. "Why do you ask for what you can do yourself? Latinum dicere non debes. You will bring much pain."
"This has to be the ravings of a mad man," Mathew groaned. "Look at the dates. What calendar uses these? Which calendar would be on the year 2005?"
Quaden's jaw dropped as he gawked at Mathew. "This thing talks about sirens of the desert, monster hounds, and some observer that can bring about a sand storm, and you're worried about what calendar the writer used?"
Meira's eyes were focused on the last entry. While she read the entire thing, it was natural to wonder about the observer. "There's the observer," she said, "and there's also the narrator. Who's observing the observer?" she asked aloud, making everyone, including Prince Pacorus, scratch their heads. This was a very intriguing idea, but it was the very ending that caught her attention. The hooded man who had become a slave came to the ultimate foreground of the story. "Who is he?" she asked to nobody in particular. "If he had the power to stop the sandstorm, who could he have possibly been and is he still out there?"