THE EXILE A Gay Fantasy Experiment
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
This crown upon my head weighs me down and wearies me, makes my neck ache and my back stiff. It is simple and elegant enough in its design, but made of a thick, heavy metal that I am told is typical of the craftsmanship of the late Anatherian period. I cannot deny the symbolic power of this crown -- indeed, as you have read, I went to great lengths to bring this emblem of ancient power and glory under my control. It is, however, hardly practical; I would not wish the pain of it upon my worst enemy. And yet it occurs to me now that the discomfort caused by the crown's weight is symbolic as well. The power represented in this band of metal cannot be born lightly, nor without great cost.
Recently, a famous young artist of Fermanagh was commissioned by my circle of advisers to paint a portrait of me to hang in prominent display in his native city, where I am able to visit all too infrequently. It was decided a life-sized image of me there would serve to reinforce my rule by keeping my memory alive amongst the minds of the people during my long absences. In this portrait, I am still completely hairless, the popular conception of me to this day despite the fact that many years have passed since my curse was broken, and that now my hair grows as thick as ever before, covering my ears and reaching my shoulders. In addition, in a display of wisdom surprising in one so young, the artist has placed an olive branch in one of my hands and the Prince's Blade in the other. The message is clear: this is the dual nature of a King, who creates peace and wages war, who brings order even as he sews chaos, who does good while also causing great harm. It cannot wholly be one, without the other. This was a bitter lesson to learn. Valen once tried to teach me of this, though I think in the moral battle every king must face he let himself fall too far and lost his way, and he has paid the price for this failure. But even Alander struggled with this very point, as I have since learned.
As I came to power, my only thought was to ease suffering, to right injustice, and to create a better order for the world. This, I hope, I have accomplished, at least in part. However, it has been impossible to make these things come to pass without cost, and many are those who have been sacrificed in order for my vision to be realized. Jacek, my first and oldest friend who once I loved more than a brother, is one such. My memories of him weigh upon me heavily as do my memories of all who have suffered as a consequence of my actions, regardless of how noble I considered those actions to be. Some of these, like Jacek, I loved more than all other things -- heaven forgive me!
Three summers after my rise to power, I faced the first great crisis of my reign and Jacek was at the heart of it. Word came that Fermanagh, that old divided city, the first I visited and the first I conquered, had fallen to some unknown enemy. My male soldiers there had been broken and even the Queen's amazarii, whose numbers were still recovering from Valessa's civil war, could not hold against the foe. And so I came down in full power with a Broxbournean host at my back and even an additional force from Carmathen that I had wrangled from the hands of the Council there (this being the days long before I had dissolved that body). When I arrived, I discovered with horror that my greatest fears had come to pass. The unknown enemy who had taken the city were a surprisingly small army, passionate and embittered, with faces I knew too well. They had all of them been my brothers and sisters once, members of the people that had called themselves the Taluid, and Jacek stood at their head. They were the remnants of my former people, the ones who could not bring themselves to follow me down the path where I led the others.
It is not so surprising that they should rise against me. In their minds I had already destroyed everything they had known, loved, and held sacred. They were left with nothing but hatred, and they had nothing to lose. In their place, if, say, it had been Jacek or some other that had been exiled and I the one left behind, never seeing the world outside our village, I might have been one of them. In every great change there are those who cannot adjust themselves to the new way of things, who cling with the fierce stubbornness of which only we human beings are capable to their traditions and to the past. I have this stubbornness myself, and it was only the force of my exile and journey through our lands that taught me the truth. Alander foresaw that not all could accept the path of change, and that is why he prophesied (though this prophesy was largely overlooked by our leaders) that the Sha'Eluid would destroy our people, dividing them against themselves.
The force that had captured Fermanagh would not hear reason, and so I had no choice but to take up my blade against those I had once called my friends. I remember Jacek's sneer of hatred as we met in battle. His spirit had grown as twisted and angry as the brutal, hideous scar across his face. We fought. It was not the first time I had faced him in combat. It was not the first time that I slew someone I loved.
But I go not the proper way to tell a story, each event in its proper order. I was writing last of how I reunited with my father. Is it surprising how quickly his anger at me, at my disobedience, faded? I certainly thought it was, at the time. But remember, he was ill and close to death. Perhaps the traditions that had seemed important enough to warrant sending me into banishment now seemed, at the close of his life, to lack the same forcefulness that they once had. Faced with his own end, and the dissolution of his particular self into that greater universal identity (to which we all ultimately belong), he found his priorities rather changed. Then, too, we must remember that there is great power in love - power to change the way we have always thought. This is perhaps more than anything else the central theme of my tale, and of my life. Just as my love for another, a love I had scarcely spoken of or admitted even to myself (and have barely even written of here, where I have written everything else) had given me the strength to disobey my culture in a way I had previously considered unthinkable, now my father had out of his love for me found reasons to re-think the very traditions he had handed down to me and all my tribe. In the end, he proved himself the holy man my people had always revered him to be - for as our own texts affirm, love is a sacred force, the power of the Creator himself.
Certainly it was the power of love that can explain how quickly Shara offered me her allegiance. No sooner had my father named me the son of power than my former bride entered the room with a look of wonder and awe in her eyes. I was not surprised to find that she had been listening in to our conversation out of concern for my father, or for me, or for both of us. Her face was now radiant with purpose, her eyes wide and hopeful.
"Are you truly the one we have awaited?" she asked breathlessly, while my father gazed on speechless, his mouth gaping open. I said nothing, for the nature of the question was such that neither a yes or a no would be entirely correct, and I did not know how to begin to explain this to her. She seemed, however, to come to her own conclusion without any help from me.
"I thought I had stopped believing," she said, a hand upon her breast, "I thought I had banished hope. But now I find that I did not, never for a moment. It is a strange thing."
"What happens now?" my father asked at last, looking to me for guidance. His voice was unsteady and unsure in a way I had never heard it before, with a note of pleading as though he were importuning me for answers where he himself had none. It was a total reversal: I had become the father, he the uncertain child. It shook me to my core.
"I must claim the relics that lie within the temple," I explained, "They are the key to gaining the hearts of the people in the lands beyond. With them, I plan to overthrow oppression and create a new world. A better world, I hope." I knew how hopelessly naive my words sounded even as I spoke them, as though it could possibly be that simple, as though justice and harmony could be organized with a crown and a wave of my hand. But my heart burned with purpose, and I would not allow myself to falter now.
"Only the high priest can enter the Holy of Holies," Shara protested, "Markis, they'll never allow it."
"They must, if that is what is necessary!" my father interjected, coughing violently, "They will allow it once they recognize who and what he is. Once he has proved himself the child of destiny."
"But Markis has been banished and stripped of his authority. There are traditions and forms that must be obeyed," Shara's face was tightened with worry, "I'm not saying that I don't believe that he is what we think he is, only... I do not think the Elders will accept him as the one so easily. I know my brother will not."
"If they have eyes, they will see. If they have ears, they will hear," the old man quoted, "Do not the holy texts tell us this?"
"You should go, Father," Shara pleaded, "It is your right by virtue of your office. You may retrieve the relics for Markis and tradition will be kept. The others will take it far easier that way."
"It is not supposed to be easy!" the high priest snapped, "Not for any of us, but especially not for the Sha'Eluid. If he is truly the one, then it must be Markis who removes the relics, not me. Like every leader of our tribe before me I am bound to the traditions of our ancestors back to the first generation of Alander. Only the son of power may wipe away the rules of our customs, for such is his destiny."
It was disturbing to have wisdom in a way my father did not, and I could not bring myself to explain the truth; that I was not destined to defy our customs because I was the son of power, but rather that I was becoming the son of power precisely because I was willing to defy our customs. I had proved to myself, after all, that the words of the Archbishop regarding those who had the will to act were truer and wiser than I had previously believed -- not that the man himself was wise, for wise words in the mouths of the arrogant and selfish are no more effective and equally as dangerous as would be a blade in the hands of a undisciplined and untrained child.
"I must act at once," I said instead, "We cannot expect the Elders to allow this; they will not be able to see past the sinner that they exiled. I cannot wait for them deliberate or to organize against my purpose. I must go to the Temple, and I must go now."
"You will not be able to enter unnoticed," Shara warned.
For a moment I considered drawing upon Damon once more to travel unseen (though I feared to let him enter me again -- it still felt like a violation), but I knew that the time for subtlety had ended. It was time to toss the dice and test my fate, and I found myself wishing yet again that Alek was by my side. He had always had good luck with dice.
"So be it," I said, "Let them notice. There won't be time to stop me. I will not hide what I have come to do."
"But the others..."
"If they have eyes, they will see," I said.
My father smiled at that, and reached his hand out again to me. I took it again, and found it trembled nearly as much as my own.
"I am afraid," I whispered.
"You stand at the threshold of your destiny. Your mother spoke of this day," he said, his eyes glazed and distant, "She had such confidence, such power in her words. You remind me much of her, now. In a way, you always have." He licked his dry lips, and when he spoke again his voice was a hoarse whisper that could barely be heard. "When you were exiled, it was as though she had died all over again. And now you have come back to me. You have both come back to me..." He coughed again, violently. Shara rushed to his side and smoothed his brow as his eyes fluttered closed.
"Rest," she whispered, flashing me a worried look that spoke volumes.
"Amongst my followers in the forest there is a talented medician," I said, thinking suddenly of Jelena (as indeed most often I tried very hard not to do), "We must send for her soon." Privately, I considered that if Alek's lover could not save my father, perhaps I would be forced to turn to Damon once again for aid as he once aided Cedrik. It gave me no pleasure, but neither did my father's ashy face and ominous cough. "Watch over him, Shara," I said, turning to leave.
"I'm coming with you," she said, crossing to me quickly.
"My father--" I protested.
"Will sleep now. He often sleeps these days. He will be fine for a few hours, and you need me at your side."
"It could be dangerous," I said, attempting to dissuade her, but I knew at once that my words had only hardened her resolve more.
"I have waited for this all my life," she said, "Our people have waited for generations. You cannot ask me to stay behind." And she was right. I could not.
We slipped out into the early morning air, cold and crisp. The first inklings of dawn were beginning to filter through the treetops, and the dark of night was grudgingly giving way to its coming. The air was thick with morning mist, and the village, though quiet, seemed to quiver with the first indications that it would soon come fully to life. It was, in sum, precisely that moment of the morning in which the potentialities of the day seem widest, when the birth of the new day makes almost anything seem possible. My hand gripped my blade at my waist anxiously, not so much because I feared violence but because its presence there reassured me. Shara smiled at me, her face pale, and nodded that she was ready to proceed.
We walked to the temple. Our pace was not hurried or furtive. We made no attempt to hide our path or our destination. I resisted the urge to shrink, pushed shame aside, and stood up as tall as I could. It was not long before I saw movement in windows in the corner of my eyes, heard gasps and whispers and people running out of their homes to stare.
I was recognized at once, naturally. I had not been gone so long that the people who once adored me could not recognize my face. The whispers grew louder. I heard tones of shock, of anger, of wonder, of fear. No one moved forward to block my path, however, nor made any attempt to question me, so Shara and I kept walking. Later I would come to realize that her presence at my side was the chief reason for their pause, for surely if I had been alone there would have been a few who would have moved to intercept me. But here was the woman I had spurned and dishonored (in their minds), and they did not know what to think of it.
At length -- it felt like days -- we arrived at the courtyard before our temple, the meeting place where my people gathered and where I had sat a thousand times to listen to (and sometimes to give) the sermons on duty and honor and justice, of the purpose of our tribe and of the coming of the Sha'Eluid. It was empty and quiet now, though it soon began to fill with those who followed behind us shocked and dumb-founded. I did not pause, but continued up the few plain wooden steps to the entrance to the temple itself.
In construction it was different than any other structure in our village - more ancient, larger, and built with loving and almost lavish decoration compared to the simplicity of our other buildings. Though made of wood like our homes, its foundation was of sturdy stone placed countless generations ago. You could feel its age as surely as you could feel the age of the largest trees in our forest. Though it had stood in the midst of our people for generation upon generation, it still rose proud and strong thanks to the constant upkeep and care of our Priests. Only they could enter the temple proper, and since my ascension to that lofty position some several years earlier I had spent a good deal of my waking life inside its walls. More than anything else, the temple defined our very identity as a people and as a tribe. It was the focal point of our daily lives, the literal and metaphoric center of our village about which all else turned. Facing it at that moment, with my former brothers and sisters murmuring and gasping behind me, with Shara turning to give them her fiercest stare as if to dare a single one of them to speak a word of objection -- facing the temple, I say, at last after all I had seen and done and felt was as difficult and frightening as facing my father had been. This I had not expected, and for a moment I froze at the threshold.
"He cannot enter there!" came a sudden shout from the crowd.
At this I turned to face them, the men, women, and children of the Taluid. I said nothing, for I could find no words. I simply looked at them, face after face that I remembered well, each summoning memory upon memory of my childhood and adolescence. In some, there was the look of surprise. In some, agony and confusion. In still others, anger and violence. The silence was thick in the air, and I knew I had to act quickly.
"People of the Taluid," I said, trying to summon up the voice of confidence that had poured out of me before the Council of Carmathen and that had silenced my father's protestations, "Alander taught us the that the son of power would appear among us, and we thought we understood his words. We did not. The one awaited has always been nearer than we believed, in the one place we did not think to look. Look into a glass and you will see the one Alander spoke of. The tools he gave us, the strength of will and honor, were not given so that we might aid the son of power when he, by some divine miracle, appeared. He taught us so that we ourselves might by our own actions become sons and daughters of power, each and every one. And why? Because we have a great purpose to fulfill. We shall make Alander's vision real again."
There were more murmurs, protestations. "You are no longer on of us!" came a voice above the others. My first thought was that it was Jacek, but scanning the crowd I could not see his face.
"No, I am not," I said, raising my voice, "I am no longer one of the Taluid, as you are. I am no longer one who waits. I am the first of a new people, a new tribe. We shall be known as the Sha'Eluid, and we shall be the instruments of change we were always destined to be. At our coming the words of Alander shall be fulfilled at last."
And with that I turned and entered the temple, shouts and gasps following me. I heard Shara call out at the crowd, though her words were lost to me in the uproar. I half-feared that there would be violence but reassured myself that they would not dare to harm her. A Priest might follow me into the temple, to be sure, but weapons and all form of conflict were forbidden there. I was safe for now, though I knew well enough that I could not hide inside the sanctuary of the temple forever. All these anxieties faded away, however, as the the curtained entrance to the temple itself closed behind me, seeming to cut me off completely from the strife outside its walls. Here, the incense burnt slowly filling the space with its other-worldly scent that I remembered so well. Here, I had once experienced great peace and joy as a Priest of our people, and these memories helped calm my nerves and prepare me for what was ahead.
The layout of the outer chamber was unchanged; indeed, it had likely been the same for countless generations. Candles, tended to with clockwork precision by Priests in alternating shifts, burned in specially designated places around the room. The careful placement and constant upkeep of the flames was necessary to prevent the structure, being made of ancient, dry wood, from catching flame. There were no chairs or furniture, only cushions where the Priests would often sit in discussion or kneel in prayer. Upon the walls hung images depicting scenes from our sacred texts: representations of Alander, of previous High Priests, and even of the coming of the son of power. All this I viewed with the hungry eyes of one who had never thought to see this place, once a second home, ever again.
At the far end of the chamber lay another curtained door, one I had never before entered or even touched. Beyond this curtain, I knew, lay the Holy of Holies - the center of the temple and the most sacred place in our village. Only the High Priest himself could enter there, and then only on specific holy days reserved for such a purpose. All that was besides the point, now. I cast a glance at the entrance to the temple behind me. No one had yet followed, but I could hear the confusion outside growing more intense and desperate. There was no time for hesitation.
When I pushed the forbidden curtain aside and peered further back into the temple itself, I found only darkness at first. Since the Priests were not allowed to enter this area, it stood to reason that there were no lit candles beyond. I took one that still burned in the outer section and held it above me as I took my first step through the doorway. At first, I was surprised to see how small of an area it actually comprised, even though, considering the dimensions of the building as I had often observed from the outside, this should have been obvious. It was as though I had somehow expected the size of the room to be proportionate to the level of importance my people had placed in it.
The second surprise, larger than the first, was that the room was on first inspection completely empty. My heart plummeted and I nearly dropped the candle in despair. A million fears passed through my mind in a breath: I had been wrong about the relics, or they had been moved in anticipation of my coming, etc. etc. But then, in the midst of my panic, my eyes caught sight of something unusual in the way the light from my candle played across the floor. Taking a few more steps, I found it: an opening leading down into a tunnel formed of stone, and not of wood like the rest of the building. Indeed, as I made my way downwards and ran my fingers across the walls, I realized I recognized the stonework. It was the same as that I had seen in the Anatherian tomb that lay just a few hours journey to the north, where I had spent my first night with Damon. Grateful more than ever now for the candle in my hand, I pressed forward into the tunnel and left the temple proper behind. The sounds of shouting and conflict outside, already faint, now disappeared entirely and I was left with the sensation of being utterly alone.
At length the tunnel grew so narrow that I was forced to stoop, and I was plagued with memories of the night I had wandered the Anatherian tombs, lost. Then, too, I remembered the secret passage through which the Seeress had led Alek and I out of Valessa's fortress. As the minutes ticked by, I found myself marvelling at the many twists and turns of my strange journey that had led me to that moment and idly wondered (perhaps for the first time) if one day I ought to write down all that happened, if for no other purpose but to make order out of my chaotic memories. All these thoughts were, I believe, an effort to distract myself from the anxieties of the moment. I did not know what to expect at the end of this tunnel (the very existence of which had not been known to me, nor to any of us save my father and his ancestors), but more than that there was the uncomfortable sensation of knowing that now I had well and truly violated the traditions of my people. There could be no going back to them as I was before, and even the life of the lonely exile serving out his penance in isolation was lost forever.
My eyes peered at the floor before me, making sure of my way in the darkness. Once or twice I spotted old and faded footprints in the dust and sediment that lined the stone: my father's feet, perhaps? It was also possible, I considered, that they were the footsteps of an ancestor long since dead -- a former High Priest whose name I had memorized in my studies as a youth. The light from the candle flickered as my hand began trembling yet again.
At last, just when I had begun to wonder if the tunnel led out of the village grounds entirely, I came to an abrupt turn which, I saw as my light rounded the corner, led into an open chamber. In this small room, the stonework was oldest and crumbling. Several chunks had fallen from the ceiling and littered the floor, their places taken by earth, sediment, and large, searching roots. I realized almost at once that I was standing beneath the great tree in our village square -- the one that, according to the legend I had learned as a child, marked the burying place of Alander himself. And now I had seen for myself that the legend was true.
Before me lay the final resting place of my ancestor. I was in the tomb of Alander, a third and final time - and this tomb, I saw at once, was no decoy or symbol as the others had been. A sarcophagus, far simpler and less intricate in design than those I had seen in the tomb where I found my blade, lay before me that, when opened, revealed the remains of the man who once had made all our lands tremble and whose very name still carried the power to inspire change and rebellion. He had been buried in a suit of brilliant silver armor which must have been made of the same material as the Prince's Blade, for while there was nothing left of his flesh and even his bones were brittle and faded with age, the armor still shone brilliantly beneath the layer of debris. I marveled at that, and also that this once great man should be reduced now nearly to dust. One day I too shall fade away in like manner - and so shall you, my mysterious reader. So shall you.
Upon the chest of Alander's burial armor rested the object which the Archbishop had so long sought, the one for which I had traveled all this way back to my homeland and which now sits atop my head. I lifted it reverently and dusted it off, surprised even then at its weight. Lower, where I presume the corpse's hands had once been, rested a cylindrical object that proved on closer inspection to be a lengthy scroll in remarkably good condition. I handled it gingerly and unrolled it long enough to read a few words that were written there. It was in the language of the ancient Anatherians, which my people had preserved as our Sacred Tongue, and this is what it said:
"Thus I, who once was king and lord of all, have given away all my dominions, honors, powers, and glory. Once I would have commanded a man's body; now, I seek to nurture his soul. This I have learned above all: change comes from within. Of this I write, of all I have seen and done, and the rise and decline of my Empire, that the one who follows me (who must surely come) may learn and prosper. May that one succeed where I have failed. So I pray, in the name of Omnipotence."
My silent contemplation of these words was interrupted suddenly by a voice, causing me to look up startled. "So many hours he sat before that scroll, writing and writing away until he wrote himself into his grave. Foolish. Such a waste." The tomb had been enshrouded in an almost sacred silence and peace, so that now the sound of Damon's words and the bitterness they carried seemed almost violent by their very presence alone. He stood near the sarcophagus, staring down at the remains with a blank and alien expression.
"It is the story of his life," I said, rolling up the scroll, "And a far greater treasure than I expected to find in this place, a treasure beyond price." I clutched it to myself protectively, as if to illustrate my words.
"You will learn nothing of true value from it," he replied tonelessly, "He was, in the end, a fool. A blind fool." He suddenly looked up at me. "Do not repeat his mistakes, Markis. I intend a much better end for you than... than this." He gestured at the corpse dismissively.
My mind filled with a dozen questions, but I held my tongue. I had already said enough, and had no desire to mar the perfect silence of Alander's resting place further. Then, too, I was suddenly conscious that I must return to face my former brethren above. I turned to go, leaving Damon in his mysterious contemplation of his former master's grave. For a brief instant, I felt I saw a flicker out of the corner of my eye. For the smallest of moments I was certain that I had seen, not Damon the handsome young man, but a woman voluptuous and lovely, with hair black as night and ample feminine curves. But by the time I had processed this image and turned back to check, there was no one there, only myself and a man dead for generations.
On my return journey through the tunnel, my candle flickered and went out, forcing me to travel the last length of tunnel in utter darkness by tracing the path of the stone walls with my free hand while clutching my new-found treasures to my breast with the other. Soon enough, though, I found the entrance and was back inside the temple walls. I knew at once, somehow, that I was not alone. He waited for me in the outer room of the temple, blocking the exit in a tense stance that radiated his anger. As I pushed the curtain that led to the Holy of Holies to the side, he took a step forward and pulled his blade free from its sheathe.
"You would defile this place with violence?" I asked, surprised.
Jacek's face was grim and tense in the light of the flickering candles. "You have defiled it far worse already," he said coldly, "I could never have imagined that you would sink to such blasphemy, Markis. I feel truly sorry for you. It is clear the outside world has driven you mad, destroying whatever was left of the man you used to be."
I set the scroll and the crown down gently and slowly pulled my own sword out in defense. "One day, I hope, you will understand why I have done this."
"I doubt it," he said, through gritted teeth.
"I do not wish to fight you," I said hopelessly.
"You have no choice," he returned, but did not move to strike. Instead I heard his heavy breathing quicken. "I must know. Why did you do it? Why did you dishonor my sister and abandon us? You were like a brother to us. How could you do that to her? To me?"
I sighed, feeling empty and weary. Perhaps his words should have caused me pain, but I had experienced pain enough since my exile began that I suddenly found I could find no more for Jacek. The truth of what I felt for him could not be expressed in such a simple emotion, the kind you feel for a few seconds or minutes before it passes. It was the kind of background suffering that endures for years and lifetimes, lasting so long it becomes part of the very fabric of the self, fading into the background, unable to be fully expressed or understood or even seen.
"I could not wed her," I said at last, "Because I was in love with you."
He did not seem surprised, to his credit. Only stared at me with candlelight flickering in his eyes, whispering, "Cruel. Cruel." But what exactly he referred to, whether to himself, or to me, or to the world in general, I was not sure and there was no time to ask. His blade flashed towards me, and our battle began.
My memories of that day are vivid - each detail as I have expressed it here exists in my mind's eye with such clarity that I still sometimes find myself thinking that it must have happened only days ago. Impossible to think that many years have passed. And yet, of my battle with Jacek in our temple I remember little. The metallic ring of blade against blade, the furious shuffle of feet, the heavy breathing and groaning of two men exerting every effort into the struggle. I know I was still weary from my long night without sleep and the feeding I had given Damon, and how I managed to hold my own against my former brother (who, we both knew, had always been the stronger swordsman) I cannot tell. As we wearied, our form became less focused, our movements more erratic and desperate. At some point, our blades locked against each other, our weight shifted and we were pushed off balance, collapsing ignominiously to the floor and knocking over several candles. We were back to our feet and back into the thick of our duel within seconds, but in the furor of the combat it took us some time to notice that the fallen candles had set the temple itself alight.
I remember when I felt the heat of the growing flames and smelt the burning wood and the moment I realized what had happened. I saw the same realization in Jacek's face, but this knowledge did not cool our resolve - if anything, it added a further level of urgency and desperation to our fight. The rhythm of our meeting weapons increased in tempo, and now we shouted out with every strike. I was quickly losing energy and strength, feeling certain that soon I would not longer be able to lift my sword. I heard Damon's voice at my ear, then, calling out words of encouragement, begging my permission to enter me again and help me win the fight. I could not spare a moment to fully heed his words, let alone give him an answer for his request.
I felt a sudden burst of energy, as though reaching a second wind, but whether this was from adrenaline or some aid from my mysterious servant I was not sure. It did not matter. Jacek's weapon twisted past my defense, piercing my side and slashing outward, tearing skin and bringing up a well of blood. But this attack had opened up his own defenses, and I brought my blade swinging upward and across his face. He cried out and staggered back, a hand reaching up to clutch his face. He flailed wildly and fled the smoke and flames. I stumbled after him, a hand upon my own wound and my skin screaming out in pain at the heat, and only just barely remembered the treasures I had come to claim. They were miraculously still untouched by the fire, and I gathered them up and all but threw myself out of the curtained entrance to the temple as the flames consumed all behind me.
I remember lying on the ground and being held in Shara's arms, hearing the sound of combat all around us. People ran to and fro, in and out of my field of vision. I saw several giants rush past, locked in combat with some of my tribesmen, allied with others. For a brief second, I thought I saw Alek and Jelena rushing past, but was not sure. I could not speak, nor could I understand Shara's words though I could tell she was speaking to me.
Above all this chaos and confusion was the temple, wreathed in flames and sending a column of smoke into the sky. My a moment the structure looked as though it came from another, higher plane, as though it were made purely from fire, a place of glory worthy to house even the Creator itself. Then there was a groan as the wood buckled and and our most sacred place collapsed in on itself, disappearing forever.
My hands and clothes were covered in blood, but darkness and oblivion covered even that as I slipped away from consciousness. I could hear Shara's voice, her words still senseless but comforting, long after all other sounds had drifted away and I was gone.
**** Yes, I'm still working on this thing. Feel free to contact me and tell me not to give up! - thephallocrat@gmail.com.****