Chapter 32: Dawn

Roban groaned long and loud, a sound of deeply felt frustration.

Not kneeling on soft grass anymore, he lay flat on his back and the ground was cold hard stone. His wrists and ankles now were shackled. He could feel the heavy iron bands and chains between them. That was precarious, alarmingly so. He was no longer in the Underworld, which was partly good and partly bad. His visit had been premature, badly timed and it had hurt, a lot, but it had been a quick way to reach the Underworld and to reach the Underworld was a necessity to his plan. It still was and he would need to go there again.

None of this was the reason for his soul crushing frustration, though. His feelings of loss were almost overwhelming and he groaned again. Roban was sure, when he opened his eyes he would see the face of his sister, evilly grinning. She was the only one cruel enough doing this to him, and the only one brave enough as well. Roban opened his eyes to face his torturer and there was a face grinning at him, but it was not the face of his sister. Actually there were many faces and Ayphera’s was just the first he saw before he looked around. Oddly enough, none of those faces belonged to his sister. Ayphera knelt by his side and others stood farther away, surrounding him, and no one else smiled. Iane knelt at his other side, her hand on his shoulder. She was not smiling either. He thought she looked rather uneasy. Completely different to the purring Black Panther sprawled across his thighs and lap with her front paws on his belly.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” Ayphera said and her smile became even brighter.

Roban did not reply verbally, but looked pointedly from her eyes to his chained wrists and then back to her.

“I’m sorry, but we felt these chains are a necessary precaution. We’re at war and you are at the Manthakin war camp, in the temporary throne hall and in the presence of the emperor. It’s actually a cave, funny, isn’t it?” Ayphera answered his wordless question. “Please don’t try to break these chains, they are very precious to me, a family heirloom. Force will be needless, they open on command,” she said and then touched one of the manacles with her index finger. Glowing golden glyphs became visible, engraved into the surface of the iron bands.

Roban raised his eyebrows in surprise as he saw the glyphs.

Ayphera leaned over him, and tenderly kissed his forehead. “You’ll be a good boy, Roban, won’t you?” She asked gazing into the dark abyss in his eyes.

Roban tried to keep an emotionless expression, but a traitorous twitch at the corner of his mouth escaped his control. “I will never break these chains,” he promised solemnly.

Ayphera gracefully rose to her feet. “Let’s make our guest feel more comfy. You’re smothering him,” Ayphera chided mischievously, looking first at Iane then at the Black Panther.

“He’s no guest, we are at war and he’s our prisoner,” Someone shouted angrily.

Ayphera waved her hand dismissively. “When his sister arrives I will tell her Roban is our guest. Feel free to make your dissenting opinion known to her while we discuss the future.”

Meanwhile the Black Panther had moved off of him allowing Roban, helped by Iane, to ungainly stand up. He looked at the collar Iane wore and smiled.

“That’s a pretty collar you chose to wear,” Roban said.

“The chains you wear are pretty too,” Iane answered. The unease vanished from her face and she returned his smile.

“Pretty indeed but they feel very constricting,” he replied.

“Nothing enchains us more tightly than a bond we choose to wear,” Iane agreed and stroke her golden collar, still smiling.

Three loud echoing knocks ended Iane’s and Roban’s amorous exchange as well as the squabble between Ayphera, and an angrily murmuring crowd. Ghergias, the emperor’s adviser, had risen out of his chair and held a long wooden staff in his hand, the obvious source of these knocks.

“We summoned Roban Maghon from the Underworld. We met our obligation. Now fulfill yours, Iane, Princess of Erylaness.” Ghergias demanded.

Roban’s mood darkened considerably upon hearing that announcement. The flames of torches and cauldrons flared but instead of brightening the illumination, the shadows grew and the cave became darker.

He felt the touch of hands laid on his shoulders. Ayphera and Esthera had walked up to his sides and those hands belonged to them. Kassja had stepped in front of him.

“I am Kassja. We have never met in this world. A long time ago, on another world, we were espoused to each other. I once was Harmony, Feya’s daughter, but your sister made me Deception. We are not espoused anymore but we still share a bond,” she said and stepped even closer. Kassja raised her hands and placed them gently on the sides of his face. Then she looked up into his eyes.

Roban watched as her light grey irises changed their color. Black, then green, hazel and purple, when they changed to pale-blue Ayphera and Esthera retreated. Kassja rose to her toes and her hands glided to the back of his neck. Her fingers intertwined and he felt the pull. They stared in each other’s eyes until they needed to tilt their heads so their lips could meet. The kiss started haltingly but soon became probing, and then greedy and demanding. Her fingers were in his hair and his fettered hands on her hips, the chain between the manacles painfully grinding between bodies trying to merge.

Three more loud knocks reverberated through the cavern. Not interruptive enough, the knocks were repeated even louder. More knocks were needed plus the combined efforts of Ayphera and Esthera to pull Roban and Kassja apart, finally. Kassja’s skin was flushed from her face down to her rapidly heaving bosom, and Roban’s groan was a repetition of its earlier expressed frustration.

Kassja straightened her askew décolleté and smoothed some wrinkles on her elegant, but clingy deep-red gown. Poise and dignity reestablished, she noisily cleared her throat.

“Let us proceed, there will be no more interruptions,” she declared.

Iane looked at Roban skeptically. His expression darkened again, but then he loudly exhaled - more like a sigh really - and nodded once.

“Our prisoner gave his permission to proceed,” a young priestess of Nuna commented sarcastically.

The reproach came in form of a whiplash. Literally, it struck the face of the priestess and left a long ghastly gash spilling blood. Ayphera calmly coiled the twenty foot long thong of her whip back up. Tiny but sharp looking silver wings were tied to the last foot of the thong. Silence returned as the crying priestess was carried away.

Iane opened the jewel case her sister had handed her and looked inside. What once was the mystical Atyseos Shard now was a handful of sparkling sand. A human soul imprisoned in every single grain of it, the essence of immortality. She carefully poured the sand on the open palm of her right hand, and then closed her hand around it. Bright light shone from between her fingers as she balled her hand to a tight fist. When she opened her fist again the sand was gone, but a multitude of light rays, in every color of the rainbow, shone from her hand. She walked up to the throne, and stared into the watery eyes of the emperor. He returned her gaze defiantly. Iane rudely slapped her open palm on Dharkuntis’ forehead and his golden crown fell off his head. The crown hit the stone floor, and rolled a few feet away from the throne before it tipped and laid still, the metallic sound loud and clear in the eerie silence of the cave.

Everyone watched silently as the emperor became an immortal. His watery eyes cleared, the parched and withered skin of his face smoothed out, his body slowly straightened and new flesh grew and filled out the clothes that had hung loosely on his frail, emaciated body. Even a new shock of dark hair sprouted on his head. Suddenly Dharkuntis jumped off his throne pushing Iane aside. He stood there and spread his arms widely, red light crackling along his forearms and between his fingers. He felt his magic, charged and powerful. His eyes shone and the smile on his face was wide. Dharkuntis tilted his head back and laughed, loud and boisterous, a sound of deep relief and triumph. He had fought human destiny and he was victorious.

Roban watched too. He did not smile and did not laugh. He scowled at the scene in front of him and his mood darkened with every passing moment. Suddenly something distracted him. A feeling, but it soon became more than a feeling, a sensation. He closed his eyes and looked around. It sounds strange, but that’s what he did. And then he smiled too.

“Hello, Jenaya,” he said.

Hassika fiercely hugged the tall young woman she had known as Rhabina all her life. Both of them were crying those dubious happy tears. Then Nirumy crashed into them and all three fell to the ground, crying and hugging each other. The joyful reunion was illuminated by the still burning Ogusi camp, but at least the screaming of thousands of men burning alive had died, and did not impede on their happiness. A little while later, and upright again, all three watched the motionless lone rider on the field north of the camp. Warriors and riders of the Ghallan Clans were all around, but every one moved in a wide arc around that lone rider.

“I have to talk to Athea,” Rhabina said, but sounded rather doubtful about that prospect.

“Give her a little more time. She still has that faraway look in her eyes. After this battle I don’t doubt that there is a lot going on in her mind, and you know she isn’t alone in there,” Hassika replied. “Look over there. Greet those three before you talk to Athea. Actually there is one more, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Rhabina turned following Hassika’s gaze and gasped loudly. Denyssa was coming holding hands with Menja. Bosko strolled behind and repeatedly sniffed the air. While one of Menja’s hands was held by Denyssa, her other hand dragged an ax behind her.

“Goodness, what happened to Menja?” Rhabina asked shocked.

“You can see her change from here?” Hassika asked surprised.

“Menja looks like the sun is shining inside of her, but her light shines from behind a dark cloud,” Rhabina said and shivered.

“To me she looks the same as she always did, most times. Sometimes golden sparks shine from her eyes, but that’s rare, and actually beautiful to see. It is just a little weird talking to her lately. You have to figure out if Menja is talking to you or to Ghania,” Hassika told Rhabina.

“Ghania?” Rhabina asked. “Ghania the Great Mother?”

“Yes, the one and only,” Hassika replied grinning. “You need to know though, Ghania isn’t much of a great mother. She easily fits inside Menja’s little head.” Hassika broke out laughing.

Rhabina watched the hysterically laughing Hassika, shook her head and looked at Nirumy to confirm her suspicion that Hassika had gone insane. Nirumy shrugged, not willing to confirm or deny anything.

When the trio came closer, Denyssa suddenly ran ahead and jumped in Rhabina’s arms. The heavily burdened Menja was forced to keep her rather sedate pace and Bosko stayed with her, of course. Rhabina and Denyssa were still hugging, kissing and crying, when Menja and Bosko finally reached them too. Menja waited patiently until it was her turn. A moment later it was. Rhabina lifted Menja of her feet and hugged the small girl tightly to her chest, of course spilling some more tears as well.

“It’s really you this time, I can see it!” Menja said smiling brightly. “But you’re no amazon anymore. You are a ‘Surinai’, that is the old language and it means you’re a guardian spirit of the light.” Menja told her proud and knowingly.

Her face was so close, her sea-green eyes shining brightly, and then Rhabina saw it, golden stars wandering over a turquoise sky. She put Menja back on her feet and knelt before the little girl.

“You are Ghania. You are The Light,” Rhabina said with reverence in her voice and bowed her head.

Menja and The Light just giggled.

Chaos watched the scenery. Dark grey clouds shrouded the sky and the air was cold and clammy. Ground fog crept through troughs, blanketed valleys and beleaguered high grounds and hills. A few scavengers had come to feast on corpses. Tens of thousands of corpses. Corpses of humans and horses. Corpses disfigured by festering and gaping wounds. Charred Corpses frozen and displayed to show the terror of their death. Corpses rotting and reeking nauseously. Broken corpses, squashed corpses, dismembered, torn or chopped corpses. All around, for miles, scattered corpses, and within their midst a little girl.

She wore a white dress and a girdle of blue and red flowers in her long braided white hair. She sang a nursery rhyme as she hopped from foot to foot between the corpses.

Singing she hopped from blood puddle to blood puddle and every time she jumped, blood splashed around her. Her white dress was splattered, and its hem was drenched in blood.

Slow and measured Chaos applauded Athea’s presentation. The little girl slightly lifted her blood soaked dress and cutely curtsied.

“You’re good, little girl. It’s a shame we don’t have a white dress for you or you could perform for all of your friends out there as well,” Chaos said.

“Neh, my friends are still in awe of your show, that is enough excitement for one night,” Athea replied dismissively.

“You don’t seem impressed. No screaming at me, not even a few tears for all the horror and suffering I caused? Am I losing my touch?” Chaos asked skeptically.

“Oh no, I am impressed. You defeated fifty thousand enemies threatening the lives of the people I promised to protect. I doubt there is anyone but you who could have done that with so few casualties on our side. I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” Athea replied and smiled at Chaos.

“You’re not just pretending to lull my vigilance, and then you’ll murder me in my sleep, are you?” Chaos asked doubtfully.