Syndesia Part 3
The black captain raised his bloody sword high in victory, yet even as he did there came a flash of light, as though the dawn had broken a second time, and from the mountains peak where had sat the sun enthroned ere its darkening, up rose a bolt like lightning that swept high above the plain and plunged to the earth before his feet, striking with a sound like thunder and a great crashing of light whose brilliance blinded for a moment all about and even that mighty one turned his head from it.
When the light faded and sight returned, there stood the war chief of Tartaros, sword in hand, the broken pieces of the flag-staff lying about him. But standing there before him was a man near as tall as he; thin and gaunt, but in his eyes were flames of fire and lightning crackled at his fingers. Long robes like red wings whipped about his skeletal form in the rising gale that raged only where they two stood, the fabric glittering like rubies and glistening like blood. His hair, long and wild, was like pale milk upon the red of his garments, but it stood out stiff and untouched by the howling winds, and a faint light was all about him like ghostly flames. His voice came like thunder that echoes through a tomb.
“Return to thy pit, oh Fiend! lest I slay thee!”
But the demon lord merely laughed. Lifting off his helm with one hand, he cast it behind him, his fangs bared in a deaths-head grin as he strode forward, unhindered by the storm around him.
Over the sound of the wind came the roar of his voice as he closed with this new enemy.
“You saw that the yapping of your hound would not make me flee, and so you send out this! One of Galvanos’ weaklings, come to try his arts on me? Fools! I will have no more talk, no more wheedling bargains and empty threats!”
The wizard held his ground and as the demon neared, he spoke a final time.
“If thou wilt not flee, then thou shalt perish, demon of Babilis!”
And an inferno leaped from his hands; a storm of white fire that burst forth and engulfed the black form, the flames leaping higher and higher until their light was such that none could look on it, the figure of the demon blotted out by their brightness.
The flames died and for all their fury, the dew hung still wet on the blades of grass, themselves yet green as spring.
But the demon also was unharmed.
“Old fool! I was birthed in fire!”
His voice as he strode on was cut off by the crack of thunder and the snap of lightning as a pillar of energy burst from the sky and struck him. But when it died away he still stood, silent now and grim. With effort he set each foot down on the earth, but it rose up about him and stone gripped his body up to the neck, encasing him.
With a roar and a violent twist of his head the stone cracked, his shoulders broke through the shell and first one arm and then the other beat at his prison until his chest was free and he could wrench his sword from out of the crumbling stuff, striking at it with the black iron, sparks flaring as the stone shattered and he was held no more.
Snarling he rushed at the wizard, sword thrust out before him to spit the frail body, but was met by a glittering wall of adamant. With a flash of light and a screeching of metal the blade struck, bursting through with a splitting shriek. Through the diamond shield. Through the crimson robes and through the flesh beneath. With a sigh the wind died and the white hair fell still, speckled with blood.
That terrible light flickered once more in his eyes and then died. His body slid from the blade with a horrible sound as the jagged edge caught on his ribs with every tooth and ground against his bones.
The demon stood before the defending army, his black armour smoking and his face fixed in a horrible scowl.
He lifted his arms and roared.
“I have killed your champions and broken their bodies! Who else would challenge me?”
The host before him shifted as some disturbance passed through the ranks, and the sound of breathy whistling could be heard among the rustle of shifting bodies and the soft clanking of metal. until, out from the lines directly before him rode a small man on a donkey, loaded down with packs, tools tied to its sides that rattled merrily as the ugly beast plodded stubbornly onward.
The man was likewise non-descript, clad in rough cloth with a workman’s apron tied about him and a battered felt hat on his shaggy head whose brim hung down over his eyes. He continued to ride forward, his whistling shifting to humming and singing without any rhyme, straight at the place where the enemy captain stood, until, just a few feet away from where he stood, unmoving even as was the army before the gates, all caught in confusion and surprise.
“crying Blerum Blerum to them all!”
He halted suddenly, seeming to have only that moment caught sight of the figure. The donkey snorted at the sudden pull on the reigns and the man slowly looked upwards from beneath the drooping brim of his hat at the black champion standing before him.
“You?”
Disbelief sounded strange in that terrible voice, but anger quickly replaced it.
“I have defeated great heroes; mighty servants of Tyros and Galvanos, and yet you come before me? By what power do you think to slay me little man? Wilt thy ass bite me so grievously that I fall down and die?”
He lifted up his sword, fury on his face.
“Nay. I will have no more of this mockery. Thou shalt die, and then all thy folk shall follow thee!”
The sword sped once more for the kill, but the man lifted up one hand and it halted in its descent, frozen in place as a ripple of light spread out from his hand, showing the outline of a great dome of force that spread over the entire city.
“Ah. Well, sorry about that, it seems the mages have put up a barrier”
The man on the donkey turned to look over his shoulder at the city walls.
“Yep, there they are, see them? Up on the parapets.”
He waved cheerfully at the figures standing on the wall. Their distant forms in a line above the gate with their arms upraised like toys set atop a child’s sand-castle.
“I’m afraid that we’re both stuck here for a bit, even if they drop it right now, it takes a bit to dissipate. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they stopped me having my noggin split, but I was a bit busy, gold doesn’t prospect itself you know.”
He paused to consider
“Of course, a sword in the skull would probably have been more of a problem now that I think of it.”
He looked at the figure frozen before him, the burning eyes roiling with emotion.
“well, since we’re stuck here, no pun intended, you unable to enter and me unable to leave, do you mind if I ask why you picked this city? It’s a nice enough place, sure, but it’s no merchant hub; there’s no thriving market or anything, and frankly, we’re not exactly rich you know. We also aren’t one of those mercenary cities with big armies and chips on their shoulders that you might want to beat just to show you can, so what do you stand to gain by attacking us? You’d lose a right bunch of chaps, we’re good enough fighters for that, and you’d not get much for it. Like as not you’d wreck the place to I suppose, that’s really all we’ve got going for us you know, nice architecture, and you can’t exactly take that with you back home can you? Hey, you see that spire up there? That skinny one, oh, one, two, third from the right, the one with the bird on top? Looks like a chicken from here actually, blast, it was supposed to be a falcon. Anyway, I did that one you see, just thought I’d point it out.”
He made some impatient gestures to the figures on the wall, and whatever they did in reply seemed to please him.
“Well, you should be right in a minute, they’ve dropped the shield, but one more thing; you said you beat our best did you? I’m afraid I wasn’t watching at the time, and no offence, but it doesn’t look like it from here, I mean, where are the bodies?”
The demon found that he could turn his head a little and, with nothing else to do until the effect wore off and he could step on this infuriating little man, he turned to look back at where he had fought the two men. He could make out the flagstaff, leaning a little and missing its pennon. Hadn’t he broken it? But nowhere could he see the bodies of the knight or the wizard; no silver Armor or scarlet robes, nothing but green grass, unmarked.
He turned back to the man, gazing intently at him, the smile gone from under his silly, drooping moustache. He found he could speak now, and feeling had come back to his feet, though his arms where still locked to his sword hilt, frozen in mid-air above that worn felt hat.
“What trickery is this? Who are you? My strength is that of Babilis! Your magics and your gods cannot stop me!”
“Trickery? You’re probably right about that, but as to gods well…”
His face grew sad and his eyes stared into the demons own, fixing him with a gaze as sharp as swords.
“Do you not see how your victory is come to nothing before your eyes? Where now is your triumph? What are your gods but the blowing of the wind? What are their blessings but the falling of the rain and the suns heat in summer? Their curses but winters dearth? Even they that claim discipleship of them do not worship the creature itself but the things over which it is said to have dominion; a bountiful harvest or success in battle. Good fortune in trade or a mates enduring love. These are the true gods of men.”
He shook his head and the black sword hung heavy in the demons hands once more.
“Anyway, you see, the thing about Good, is that it tends to lose a lot, but somehow, it never actually gets beaten; we just keep fighting a losing battle without ever, actually, losing. Just something to think about, and, before you get too caught up in your battle here, you might want to have a look over there.”
He indicated the slope where the plain beside the river began to rise up into the flanks of the mountain, and the demon, no longer sure of himself followed his gaze.
“Hang on a second, should be… just about…now...there you go”
As he spoke there was a flash of light, and then a second as first one and then a second star-gates tore into being; the first an angular door-shaped hole in the air filled with swirling red and yellow light and the second a rounded portal that shone in gentle blues and greens.
From these two gates began two emerge two armies, one of Wildfolk, and one of Demons, and at the head of each stood a figure different from the rest.
Caught between the three armies and the cold depths of the river, the host of invading demons, no longer superior in number, had only the portal at their back to retreat to.
“Now, I can’t say if its right for anyone to kill someone else to save his own life, or to save someone else’s life, though personally I wouldn’t take a life to keep my own. This lot on the other hand…”
He indicated the humans behind him and the two newly arrived forces.
“…They think otherwise. It’s up to you my friend, but there’ll be no glory here today. There’s nothing but death for everyone if you choose to fight.”
He stood atop the great hill at whose feet lay the city, and from whose stone its walls were builded. Once it had been wooded, and the lands about it had been marsh. Now waves of grass rippled in the breezes that struck its windward side as gales, and a broad river flowed through fertile fields. Flocks grazed where trees had been hewn to build the city, and the broad shoulders of the mountain sheltered the buildings from wind and storm.
He watched the people and the city far below. This had been his dream, his purpose, from long before any other ever shared in it. Now it was his pride, his joy, and his contentment. But soon he would leave it as he had left others before. Demon, Human and Wildfolk walked the streets of this city; tended its fields, its flocks, and its businesses. The mingled peoples of these fractured worlds shared in its bounties and brought it's spirit to the other worlds.
Tartaros sat low in the sky, threatening, but not yet.
The city was all a-bustle; crops flowed into the storehouses, flocks and herds made their way to new-built pens and sheds within the walls. The sight of the demon home-world no longer filled the people of Syndesia with fear and dread; the coming of its shadow served only to set their wills and make them cherish their loved ones all the more as they waited, both for friend and foe alike.
Arboreus glowed on the horizon, and Tartaros hung swollen above, the passing flow of life through the city gates had slowed, and soon they would be shut.
Almost time.
Two figures had been toiling up the side of the mountain while he sat watching, and now they reached him.
“Hullo Graul, I guess this must be everyone’s new favourite angel eh? Good to finally meet you, sit down, take a load off the old stompers. Interesting company you keep Graul; finally decided to look into getting redemption have you?”
He shifted along on the bench and indicated the space beside him, while Graul lowered himself to the grass beneath the wide spreading chestnut that shaped them.
“Tyros will not have me back, you know that”
“I wasn’t talking about Tyros”
The two old friends watched each other like rival bulls, and the newcomer sensed that this was an oft argued point between them. Graul grudgingly made the expected reply.
“You speak of your ‘Nameless God’ then? How do you even know He exists?”
His friend laughed
“We three sit here like a bad joke; and Angel, a Lich and an Abomination, and you ask how I know He exists? Who else would approve of such a friendship? Tyros? Babilis? Galvanos? Well, perhaps He would at that, but calling that old sticky-beak a god of knowledge is like calling a dung farmer a god of the harvest; accurate, but a bit inappropriate.”
The newcomer was hesitant to interrupt, but something he had said aroused his curiosity.
“You are a Lich? How?”
The man shrugged, he certainly didn’t look like a Lich in his dusty, workman’s clothes, his drooping moustaches giving his face a look of deep sorrow despite the smile that hinted beneath it and the laughing eyes above them.
“You know, I’m not really sure. As far as I know it just happened one day, something I found or something I did, of course I couldn’t really tell straight away and I get around, so who’s to say?”
One other thing this ‘Lich’ had said didn’t make sense.
“Who is this Nameless God? Are there other gods besides those who have names?”
The moustaches lifted in a grin, and the laughing eyes winked at Graul, who had closed his eyes quite deliberately.
“Oh, I shouldn’t think that He’s nameless, just that we haven’t a word big enough for Him; We give things names to describe them, but what word do we have to describe someone like Him?”
The Angel pressed him, leaning forward intently.
“But which god do you speak of? All the gods have names, do they not?”
Grinning broadly now at Grauls defiantly sleeping form, the man settled down to talk.
“You know, that’s a good idea Graul, lets ask the angel what He thinks”
Graul didn’t reply
“Tell me lad, doesn’t it stand to reason that if there are beings such as Tyros and Babilis and the rest; these entities that are supposed to be possessed of forms and powers far beyond all mortal ken and whatnot, then mightn’t there be one beyond them; as much greater than they, as they are greater than us?”
He leaned forward, passion burning in his eyes as he laid out years of quiet thought before a willing listener.
“These gods of yours, well, my opinion is that they’re just someone’s ancestors that did something special back in his day and years on, had his kids, kids tack his name onto the things they really worshiped. As though their old grandad might help them get the things they wanted. But even if there are some magical, mystic entities walking about all invisible, giving out powers to people that worship them, are they really worth worshiping? Are they even all that different from us? Don’t they still love and hate, fight and strive for what they want like we do? what’s the point in calling something like that a god?
They sat a while in silence, each contemplating the scene below them. Eventually the angel, unsure how to respond, changed the subject.
“Are you then the ruler of the city?”
He laughed
“No one is the ruler of this city lad. I helped build it, sure, but so did a lot of others, and it’s not the only one I helped build either. Ruler? No sir, not me.”
He settled deeper into the seat, slouching against the tall back with his hat over his eyes, propped up on his long nose.
“I used to wish I could rule a city somewhere; I told myself I’d be a man of the people and not act like a snob, help out everybody, be one of them. Turns out, I was right about part of it; I am one of the people, but that’s it. You see, for all my dreams of how people would recognise my worth and would make me their leader, which I would reluctantly accept, humility being one of my strengths of course…”
He nudged Graul in the ribs with a foot and he grunted, but a moment before the foot had swung out, the ‘lad’ had seen a grin on the shaggy face.
“…For all that, no one ever did. And all my life it’s been that way; I always wanted to be a noble hero, a knight, or a wise sage, a learned scholar for whom knowledge truly was power, a wizard or a bard that travelled about telling stories, all those sorts of things. When I realised I didn’t have the personality or the charisma for any of that, I thought I could be an artist at least; the craftsman behind the scenes that creates all those wondrous things that heroes and kings and wizards fill their towers and palaces and castles with, but somehow I was never good enough at any one thing to be any of them; I was always too much something else to be good at anything worth doing.”
He tilted his head back and looked out from under the floppy brim of his hat at the angel beside him and winked.
“There’s a reason they call me Niggle you know; well, actually, its… because I gave myself the name and no one else knew anything else to call me...”
He coughed and smoothed his moustaches, his hand muffling his voice a little, but not enough, and they all knew it.
“Anyway, I even tried to be the sort of loner that’s no good at anything, and nobody likes, but who does his own thing anyway, whatever that means. Turns out I was too good at some things to be bad at everything. So now I just do what I can, sometimes it’s good, sometimes it isn’t. But I keep doing it because what else is there to do? I make things and I explore places, I wander, and I wonder, and well, that’s all there is to me. Sorry to disappoint”
He grinned as he said it, but there was the remnant of sorrow in his voice, as though he had mostly come to terms with his failings, but some bitterness lingered amidst the carefree cheer.
The angel frowned, something didn’t make sense.
“Then, if that’s true, why do so many people talk about you?”
The self-proclaimed good-for-nothing snorted. He sat up and removed his hat, letting the breeze ruffle his too-long/not-long-enough hair. He rubbed his face with his hands and turned to face him, grinning ruefully.
“They talk about me because I’ve made a nuisance of myself for far too long. I kept sticking my nose where it didn’t belong; I didn’t give anyone a choice about whether or not they’d heard of me, I made sure they did. I wanted to do my own thing, and to do that I had to badger other people into letting me do it, well, then that’s what I did.”
He stood up, slapped the knees of his moleskin trousers with the hat and jammed it back on his head, combing his hair away from his eyes.
He picked up a pack from beside the tree, talking as he lifted it up and settled it on his shoulders.
“It’s been nice talking to you, I’m glad there’s still kids like you out there, naïve enough to do what’s right without second guessing yourself into doing nothing. Good to see you too Graul”
He nodded to them both as Graul opened his eyes and the Angel sat where he was, surprised by such a sudden parting after everything before.
“I’ll see you around sometime. Bye for now.”
He turned and began to walk down the far slope, and as he disappeared into the trees that still grew on this side of the mountain, a scrap of song came back to them on the wind.
“For me, I’ll turn and wend my way; to Bonny Road, and Fernie Brae…”
