Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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Ensconced in his blackened stone fortress Xonereth delved deeply into the books humankind so revered. A hand-illuminated holy bible sat open on his desk, spirited away from some ancient monastery in Europe.
Copies of the Quran, scrolls from Egypt on crumbling papyrus, the works of and observations of Siddhārtha Gautama, Buddha himself. Judaism, the Dead Sea Scrolls, such priceless works seen by so few eyes, and understood by less. The Bhagavad Gita, Confucian texts, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and the Corpus Hermeticum, to name only a few.
Xonereth had been lax the first time, he had failed to see. He would not do so again. The prophecy had spoken to him for a reason, and as the greatest being who still had the will to care it fell on his shoulders to understand.
The proud ruler had always viewed the works of humans as petty, somewhat whimsical, and fragile. However, the more he read, the more he felt, and his once-slanted view altered. He began to realize despite their fragility and failings the human spirit held much for him to dwell on after all.
The first prophecy he had failed to comprehend until it was too late. Perhaps there was no such thing as thwarting the words penned by the gods, but he would this time at least strive to understand them. To know intimately his adversary before the engagement.
So with ceaseless ardor, he read and reread the lines before him. Stopping to reference the various other tomes at his disposal for study. Questing to know more that he may have this time the power to affect the outcome.
The heavy paper housed the words embossed in the blackest ink...
'As ebon tears cascade, bled by shadows below and above. He who will not grieve shall find it in himself.
Should the leafless stand, and the black Sire walks the earth.
The toothless dragon shall regain its claws, and the power be ignited.
Do we then pay homage to the five pointed star, or the kingdom of Judea?
For nestled in the breast of the soiled and weary mother, those autonomous shall become as one.'
Xonereth was trying hard to understand, the true meaning of the words that lie there. Plain words and yet they were not so plain.
He sighed softly, ivory forehead creased with trouble, as he rubbed at his brow with elegant, bejeweled fingers. The feelings that had recently been bestowed on him he had assumed were only for the fragile humankind. Something they bore or fretted over, hardly the chore for one such as he. Never had he felt such pressure or the feelings of helplessness as he had of recent nights, for daylight did not shine here.
His walk to the great tree had done no more than further darken his spirits. The waters were higher than ever before, black obsidian leaves sharp as sacrificial blades now littered the earth, making the sounds of crystalline screams as he crushed them underfoot. The great tree, pillar of his world was dying, or even as the most optimistic observation would admit, was greatly distressed. He had felt helpless as he had stood and observed Nethrizil's silent misery.
He had spoken then, to the noncommittal silence of the great twisted black trunk. Words that were new to him, ones he had discovered and uttered at Sheharizade's feet. Statements of fear and regret.
He had returned to his studies then, further galvanized by all he had witnessed. Driven by the sacrifice of his beloved. 'As ebon tears cascade, bled by shadows below and above'. Below and above? The phrase did not make coherent sense. Which was it, or could it indeed be both? Below and above, it was all relative to the beholder, surely?
The waters here were inky black, and so could some be on earth, the humans were very adept at fouling all about them. Xonereth's thoughts ran in circles. Still no closer to any kind of understanding or the truth. The Regent was a proud and arrogant being, however, he refused to believe the next line of the second prophecy could pertain to him specifically. The idea he would feel pity or remorse was absurd. Why should he?
The world's most powerful being, he was not counting the gods, as he well knew they had ceased to care long ago, and left this world as a child's discarded plaything. So that left him here as king of all he surveyed. He read the second line again. He did feel twinges of grief, he only had to visit his beloved Sheharizade to know so.
Perhaps the line spoke of him, perhaps not, so he moved his attention to the next proclamation. 'Should the leafless stand.' This seemed simple enough, a reference to the almost denuded Nethrizil, it could mean nothing else. The thought of the great tree's misery hurt him in ways he could not fathom. Nethrizil. He was inextricably linked to its fate.
He was very sure who the Black Sire was referencing, but the Dragon? He had no idea. Was it a physical beast, or was it more a manifestation, an idea, or just some way to describe a great ravishment that was to beset them?
The next line bothered him, and he frowned as he perused the ancient parchment. 'Do we pay homage to the five pointed star, or the kingdom of Judea?'
Xonereth found all human religions both trivial and full of waste. He had great issue that these actual human manifestations were stated so plainly in this sacred script. They would not even have existed at the time of its writing.
So to better understand he had spent long hours immersed in the often simple and natural Wiccan and Pagan philosophies, then even longer periods trying to diagnose the religion of the Jewish. Perhaps simply it was only an elaborate means to simply state the number five or six? Five or six of what? The passage raised more questions than it answered.
'For nestled in the breast of the soiled and weary mother, those autonomous shall become as one.' Who was this? What event did it portend? Even one of his magnificent intellect was very unsure.
The rest of the prophecy seemed lost in its convoluted description, were the events described played out on earth, or here in his domain? However, Xonereth's eyes kept straying back to the one line. 'The black Sire walks the earth...'
"Valefor..." he whispered. "It is time I found you."
He closed the volume with a rush of air and a dull thud, long hands coming to rest momentarily on the tome's bedecked cover, bound in silver hinges. The gems of no earthly kind encrusting the cover seemed to house many seeing and unseeing eyes. They moved as he raised his hands, and overhead there was the whispering flutter of a dozen gargoyle's wings.
