Courage (21 page)

“It’s time,” Din said in his rich, vibrant voice. “Gather your equipment and say your final goodbyes. It’s time for
Farsyssa
.”

The grounds broke out into confused exclamations, then a buzz of activity.
Farsyssa
was the traditional parting ceremony to bid farewell to warriors. It also provided closure between family members in case the worst happened, and to assert who the interim patriarch and matriarch were. Yayu looked at Roshi, who looked back, all pale. Yayu grabbed his son by the wrist and led him at an all-out sprint to where the family sat waiting in the stands. They bobbed and weaved among the chosen warriors, who were moving just as fast.

“For those of you going off to fight,” Din said, his tone serious, “take pride in your courage and determination to protect your world and many others. For those staying behind, find strength in those fighting for not only your wellbeing, but so that I may forever be your god.”

The whole family was standing--everyone in the stands was on their feet, a sea of colorful hair and worried faces. Yayu waved them over and they met in a small circle on the grass. Issa was holding her toddler, Napora, who was the epitome of cute with her mane of orange hair, big eyes, and face Yayu wanted to smother with kisses every time he saw her. Issa was the spitting image of her mother, but hadn’t yet grown into the same serene grace she’d had. Yayu’s second son, Soen, stood beside Issa. He and Roshi could pass for twins as a quick glance, but Roshi was two fingers taller and their facial features varied, not to mention they had personalities all their own. Roshi was more serious and reserved, kind of like Aerigo, but only to the degree that anyone from Ormolu could muster. Life was too full of wonderful things to waste on seriousness. Soen was the explorer who always came home with one scrape or another. Scondish people were graceful by nature, but Soen had found a way to bypass that, which never failed to amuse the family. His sons’ children must be with their wives, which was tradition during war. Under normal circumstances, Yayu would’ve had a chance to say goodbye to them as well.

“Roshi,” Yayu said, unstrapping one of his wood daggers from his belt. He held it out so the blade was parallel to the ground. The wood handle was smooth and had a sheen to it from all years that the oil from his hand had coated it. Its leather sheath was still stiff and dull, just like it was supposed to be, with geometric embroidery that matched their clan’s symbols. These daggers were heirlooms and practice weapons. Roshi held out his hand, palm up. Yayu placed the sheathed blade in his son’s hand, then cupped his empty hand under Roshi’s. “
Dru Din ni so hivor
,” he said, his voice suddenly thick. Through Din we find strength. Yayu kissed his son on the forehead, who echoed his words. “Issa.” His daughter hesitated, then handed Napora to Soen. Napora started crying and held out her little arms to her mother. Yayu unstrapped his other dagger and passed it on to his daughter with the same gesture, words, and kiss, then beckoned Soen over and pulled his family into a fierce group hug. “I love you all very much,” he said, tears freely trickling down his face. He made no move to wipe them--not because of the war paint, but because tears showed just how much he loved all of them, and that he felt their love in return.

“We love you too,
visco
,” Roshi said in a hoarse voice.

Din started speaking and Yayu and his family stepped apart to listen. Yayu donned his steel daggers so they hung snugly against the small of his back from leather straps that crisscrossed over his chest and spine. “I have assembled the five hundred of you with five hundred warriors from my other world. I don’t know what the fighting conditions will be like, but I suggest pairing yourselves with them.” Din held out a giant hand and some bipedal brown creature appeared above it. It had massive wings, almost like a dragon’s, that were longer that its body when folded, a thick mane of long lighter brown hair surrounding its feral face, legs shaped quite similar to anyone’s from Sconda, but ending in paws instead of toes, a massive chest and torso like Aerigo, and large clawed hands. It wore sparing bits of shining, silvery armor held down by black leather straps. The creature had a thick tail that ended in a tuft of fur the same color of that on its head. “They’re called manticores. Your ground speed can match their air speed, so they can protect you from the air while you fight on the ground. This is the best I can do to help insure your survival.”

* * *

Leviathan manifested on his world Ashatharla, a planet dominated by tropical rain forests. He materialized on the fringe of one such saturated forest that had sewn itself to the base of a steely mountain. His serpentine body hovered motionless above the glistening canopy, and his sudden appearance sent thousands of tropical birds flying in a cacophony of cries and screeches. The flightless creatures living in the canopy cried and howled in alarm, and many a branch and tree swayed and shook with their hasty movements.

Once the birds were clear of all three hundred feet of Leviathan’s flanks, his girth more than wide enough to cover a city block, one thousand flying creatures shot through the canopy like a volley of arrows and surrounded the dragon from head to tail. They were all smaller than Aerigo, shaped similar to him, but were all lithe females with membranous wings. Baku had blurted “faeries” when he’d seen them. These women weren’t faeries. They were Pneuma. They wore no armor; just a top that covered their chest in lush colors, a matching bottom, and an ankle-length skirt that covered only one toned leg. The winged women wore thick leather belts form which their half-skirts hung, along with a barbed rope they wielded in melee combat alongside their magic. They were his chosen army.

The Pneuma congregated around Leviathan like fireflies on the verge of a forest. Some played with the leathery white ribbons that fanned from his tail, or nestled between them, giggling, smiling and chatting among each other. Most hugged or caressed his body, which dwarfed them hundreds of times. They were barely bigger than his fangs. The Pneuma surrounding his head, sang and spoke to him in their flighty language, and he took a moment to enjoy one final moment of peace and happiness with them. Even though there was no foretelling of the outcome of Nexus’ prophecy, the universe would be forever changed no matter the result. The Pneuma tickled his scaled belly, danced on his back among the spines and crest of white hair, and urged him to come play in the trees. He could feel something pulling him, and probably all other deities, towards Nexus’ realm, urging him to hasten his army to the battlefield. ‘
My dear Pneuma, it’s time to fight
,’ he said telepathically.

The laughter and lightheartedness wilted. The thousand Pneuma removed themselves from Leviathan’s tail and back, and gathered before his massive head. Some playfully whined in protest and halfheartedly begged him to transform and come play, as he had done countless times. Leviathan closed his reptilian eyes as tears escaped. The winged women closed in about his neck and snout and caressed him with their tiny hands.

One Pneuma, the leader Ona, held back, hovering before his snout. “Don’t cry for us,” she soothed. Leviathan opened his eyes and let the tears fall. “We willingly fight and die to keep you as our god. This Nexus god will not have us.” She presented her slender hands to him, palms up, and bowed. “We are yours.”

With all the grace and gentleness his giant form could muster, Leviathan brought the tip of his snout to Ona’s forehead and held it there. A white light emanated from the contact point, along with on the same spot of every Pneuma’s forehead. Leviathan shed two more tears, which broke into a thousand teardrops like a burst bubble. The drops flew into the women’s foreheads, dousing the light and revealing a two-dimensional rendering of his icon, which floated above the central pillar in Phailon. He would collect his icon after he brought his mortal army to the battlefield. The rendering looked like an isosceles triangle with a “w” for a base and a diamond shape balancing atop the center of the “w.” The Pneuma marveled at each other’s foreheads. ‘
You all are mine. Always
.’

Chapter 15

“Vancor, a moment if you would, before you collect your army and prized General.” Even though all the armies were about to gather on his realm for the next part of his prophecy, Nexus couldn’t help but feel increasingly worried.

Vancor had been studying the dead, suspended leaf, trying to move it or crush it, but every time he made a swipe at it, the leaf became insubstantial. Nexus had stopped caring about the leaf a long time ago, having gone through the same frustration, but kept a watchful eye on the satyr from his peripheral. Hopefully no other deity would be tempted to poke or prod the tree, but why would they? Vancor had thought nothing of it until Nexus had said something.

Vancor stepped back from the dead leaf and Nexus relaxed a little. “What is it?”

“The rest of my prophecy. We discussed it once before, but your simplified explanation satisfied me then. ‘The universe is always seeking balance.’” Anger bubbled up inside him. He felt a need to punch his father. “Balance? What balance? Is something controlling the gods themselves? Is there a higher power than us? Are we just one part in a chain of infinite regress?”

Vancor gave him a flat stare.

“I am bold enough to use a prophecy to get what I want, and I still have something besides Aigis trying to interfere!” Nexus inched closer to Vancor. “You confirmed this, saying that even though I strive for what I want, the universe still has an opportunity to thwart me! How--”

“Enough!” Vancor stepped towards Nexus. The storm rumbled louder as lighting increased in frequency to the point where it was one flash after another, nonstop. A darkness emanated from Vancor and seemed to suck the lightning from the storm. There was an aura around him that stayed dark, and his auburn hair darkened with it.

Nexus unconsciously backed away from who was supposed to be his greatest ally. One heel found the edge of the plateau. He stopped and stared up at the satyr, who looked much more than a head taller than him.

When Vancor spoke, his voice felt like every word was a punch to Nexus’ gut. “You are merely one god among many in an infinite universe.” The darkness crept towards Nexus in the shape of claws. He dropped to his knees and the overhead storm weakened. “You think, just because you want it bad enough, that the universe will acquiesce and let you get what you want?”

“Are you saying that the universe is a god, too?” His voice came out barely stronger than a whisper. The darkness loomed inches away from his face. He struggled to form a coherent thought.

“No. You are fighting what has become the natural flow of life. You can’t dam that flow; only redirect it, but only a little.” Vancor held his glare, but the darkness emanating from him retracted, seeping back into the satyr’s body. “Reduce that ego of yours, or it will undo you one day.” The darkness’s retreat stopped inches from disappearing completely. “Do you understand now?”

Nexus pushed himself to his feet, feeling humiliated and humbled, two emotions only Vancor was capable of making him feel. “That much, yes,” he said, forcing himself to hold Vancor’s terrible glare while trying to keep condescension out of his own voice. He was still annoyed with the defiance in his prophecy, not his friend. He didn’t want to be misunderstood while rage gripped Vancor. “But how does that work? The natural flow of life. Why is it so hard to change?” Nexus felt his knees buckling yet again. Vancor’s will was so powerful. His gaze was throwing every last scrap of his will at him. However, Nexus’ question softened the satyr’s gaze.

“The laws of Creation were designed to be difficult to change, difficult enough to dissuade any attempts to change them. The power of the Voice of Prophecy gives you a chance to tweak things, but not overhaul. You are fighting a tide” Vancor inhaled the rest of the darkness surrounding him, and his darkened hair returned to auburn. “You will always be at the disadvantage.”

“I see,” Nexus said sourly. He wanted to blurt “that’s not fair” but no one cared about the fairness of the situation. His prophecy would give him what he wanted if it came to fruition. Part of him wondered why Vancor had taught him how to use the Voice of Prophecy when he already knew how difficult, if not impossible, it was to change what had been established so long ago. Yes, Vancor had constantly warned and cautioned him, but never outright told him that the odds of him getting what he wanted were low, that he was at this much of a disadvantage. “Well, there’s no turning back, now.”

“Actually, there is.”

Nexus gave Vancor a curious look.

“But I hope you don’t.” He broke into a wicked grin full of fangs. “This was so much fun to prepare for.”

“By all means, do explain anyway.”

“You can call the prophecy off. You’re not bound to see it through, should you choose to stop fighting the natural flow of life. But like I said, I hope you don’t. The divine realm needs change, and I love to watch blood spill.”

“You needn’t worry. I’m fully committed to getting what I want. Can you discuss the rest of the prophecy with me while you gather your army?”

“Of course,” Vancor said with a bow fit for a ballroom, then disappeared while still bent over. “Speak your mind.” His sonorous voice sounded from somewhere in the sky directly above him. At least he wasn’t pompous enough to make his voice fill the whole sky.

“Remember, the last stanza goes like this:

Yet, despite two-hundred thousand lives,

the fate of the universe shall reside

only on the shoulders of two warriors unrealized.

Hope is never lost, keep up the fight.

And prophet: beware the sword of light.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about who the two unrealized warriors are.” Nexus planted himself at the edge of his plateau so he could watch over the battlefield as armies appeared on it. He wrapped his arms behind him and assumed a regal stance, determined to look as imposing and respectable as he wanted to be. He deserved respect just for his courage to harness the Voice of Prophecy. “For the longest time I thought it pertained to Aerigo and Daio, since they are both warriors, and don’t know their full potential. But once Aerigo conveniently killed Daio for me and the prophecy went unchanged, I’ve begun to wonder if the girl is the second warrior, despite her serious lack of power and prowess.”

The first of many armies popped into existence on Nexus’ realm. A thousand armed and armored soldiers, laid out in formation, appeared like someone had lifted an invisible cloth covering a small portion of his barren realm. Each army had an assigned plot on the battlefield so no army would materialize on top of another. The individual armies could reorganize their locations once everyone was present and accounted for.

Vancor said, “The last two Aigis make sense. From what you’ve told me, the girl has had time to learn and grow. We’ll see if the prophecy changes when they die.”

If they die
. Nexus wanted to blame their defiant survival on some sort of deus ex machina, but both Aigis had survived the trap on their own power, Aerigo had survived the assassination thanks to the girl, and she wasn’t dead yet because Aerigo had whisked her off to somewhere unknown--well Kabiroas knew, but he would remedy the worrisome situation soon. “Unrealized simply means ‘not known.’ It leaves that line of the prophecy open to interpretation. What isn’t known? The Aigis’s true power? The two warriors themselves? Are there two foes I’ve never heard of yet, or do I have the wrong two in mind, like I did with Daio and Aerigo?”

“Maybe you are simply not allowed to know. The prophecy wants to keep you off balance and on guard, which is both good and bad. Good because it will save you from complacency, but bad because unknowns can lead to costly decisions.”

“So that leaves me with the very last line to worry about.” More armies appeared in the same fashion as the first, slowly filling out the battlefield like a chess board with plenty of empty space in the middle. The sight filled him with excitement. He allowed himself a big grin for a moment, then forced himself to calm down and focus on looking imposing. Only the insane wore a big grin in the face of death. He had kept his sanity thus far, and would need to remain focused to keep it through the third and final utterance of his prophecy.

“The sword of light,” Vancor said.

“I haven’t a clue,” Nexus admitted, “other than that will probably be the weapon the unrealized warriors use in an attempt to kill me, the prophet.”

“That’s the only thing I can think of, unless it’s just a metaphor.”

A dozen more armies appeared. Nexus felt like a performer covertly watching an auditorium fill up. All these tens of thousands of warriors were here because of him, soon to kill or be killed, and their fate deciding course of life’s fate from then on. Now this was power. But the other powers working against him... “Vancor, why would the power from the prophecy warn me of a danger? You explained that I’m supposed to be at a steep disadvantage. How am I being warned at all?”

Vancor was silent a long moment as Nexus watched the sandstone basin get progressively more populated. The sight filled him with mounting excitement and anxiety. What if... what if Aerigo or some unknown foe arrived in time to stop him from delivering the rest of the prophecy? He was so close now, closer than he’d ever been able to envision himself. Sure he’d daydreamed of commanding mortal hordes to destroy one another--or at least something like it that didn’t interfere with free will--but he’d never dared assume he’d make it to this point.

Nexus took a deep breath. Vancor was right. He was being too paranoid. However, the breath and the mental reminder did nothing to calm his nerves.

“The only thing I can think of,” Vancor began slowly, “is that it’s a final warning to you to not go down the path you’ve chosen.” He fell silent again.

“What is it?” Nexus said sharply. “I can tell you’re holding more back.”

“I don’t like my conclusion. I can hear the anxiety in your voice. I don’t wish to make it worse.”

In saying that, Nexus figured out what his ally didn’t want to say. All the color drained from his face.

“Creator or not, the prophecy’s power has presented you with a way to live through this, even in the face of certain defeat. I suggest putting that scenario aside. Chances are it won’t happen. You’re making sure of it, remember?”

Nexus forced himself to put aside his fears and speak. “Yes, but where is this warning coming from?”

“Your subconscious. Prophecies foretell the future. You are being forewarned of the most probable outcome that isn’t in your favor.”

So... he had an out if things went awry...

No, he wouldn’t let himself choose that humiliating path. The storm rumbled its consent. “Vancor, are you almost done? I’m eager to send Kabiroas on his way.”

Vancor materialized behind Nexus, who turned around. Next to him stood Kabiroas with his hood down and black garments showing some wear. The satyr said, “Even though our conversation was short, it took me hours of mortal time to gather them. Time has a tendency to fly for mortals when we’re not looking. Imagine how fast time will fly outside your realm once all eyes are on the war. This is the last time I’ll suggest that you stall the war until the last two Aigis are dead. You lack the power to bend time for mortals.”

That was a huge time difference. Before Nexus could contemplate his options, his sorry excuse for a father appeared by the dead tree, looking all dejected. His eyes had lost the usual glint of joyfulness--which he’d seen only when they weren’t about to fight. Baku looked like a defeated old man, not a shred of hope left. Nexus smiled in contempt as more deities began appearing on and around the plateau, blanketing the area like mutlicolored moss. His father placed a hand on the tree, as if he was about to lean against it for support, but then he caught sight of Nexus and let his hand slide off as he straightened up.

Nexus realized he’d stopped breathing and was reaching towards his father. He exhaled and willed himself to relax and enjoy the moment. His lousy father was here to witness the orders to assassinate his two Aigis. He’d just touched his son’s icon without knowing it. It was perfectly safe where it lay after all.

Kara appeared between them, her long black hair waving about her as usual, and wearing her emerald green dress that clung to every curve of her sensuous body. She glanced at Nexus, which sent a surge of more primal excitement through him, and then his mother turned and looked at Baku, as if surprised to see him there. Nexus could no longer see his mother’s beautiful face, but he couldn’t get himself to move, much less stop staring in shock.

Baku stared at Kara and suddenly appeared more youthful. The grey in his hair and goatee turned a more uniform black, the thinning of his muscles bulked up, and the wrinkles in his face softened. He stood straighter. But even with all the changes, he was still covered in injuries, and his blue eyes welled with confusion and hurt. No matter how Kara stared back, he didn’t like it. “Hello, Father. Where are your two Aigis now? Not dead, I hope.”

His parents continued to stare at each other as if they hadn’t heard him.

“Kara,” Baku said longingly.

The whole realm fell silent to Nexus. The cacophony of voices and machines blaring from the collection of armies, the rumbles of thunder overhead--everything failed to reach his ears. He had lost his mother’s attention to his father and he wanted her attention back more than he wanted to start his war. His father didn’t deserve her, however Nexus couldn’t find the will to move his feet or arms. His mouth wouldn’t operate either.