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Introduction By Glyn Shull Page 3

Starbright, Part 1 of 3By Johanan Rakkav Page 4

The Chronicle of EbbBy Michael Saad Page 20

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Greetings and well met!

April is always such a blessed time. It is the time of renewal, rebirth, and preperation for the year to come. The weather is grand, animals and children frollicking in the yards and fields all across the world. And, of course, this is the time of year that our Saviour died for us. Remember not only the great sacrifice that He made for us, but also the intense love that motivated Him to make it. His death and return marks a first in Human history, as Love shown about the world.

These stories, I don't know what to say about these stories. If you don't know the name Johanan Rakkave by now, then your head must have been rammed into your fourth point of contact. Even the extra dimensional beings know who he is. The second story in this issue, yes there are only two, is froma new comer to TC2(Which, as we all know, is the same thing as never been published before). MichaelSaad's "The Chronicle of Ebb" tells the tale of Ebb, a Christ like analogue that captures the hearts and minds of his people.

God Bless you all!

Glyn ShullFounding Editor – TC2

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STARBRIGHT

By Johanan Rakkav

Part One

The First Timeline

C.Y. (Covenant Year) 4015:200

“There it is,” said my father as we stood together and looked out from one of the observation decks. “What do you think, now that you see it?”

“It’s… incredible. No wonder the Bruins have the reputation they do.” Said reputation was for being the greatest engineers among known organic species outside the Kingdom of Ariel itself.

“Yes. The Bruin Hegemony will make a first-rate Annex.”

“If they accept our offer, you mean.”

“We have much to offer them, Alain,” said my mother. “The Bruins are notoriously self-reliant, but even they can’t discern between good and evil of themselves. Nor can they defend themselves against all who might wish their destruction. If they see these things, they’ll surrender to the Hooded Man’s rule as readily as any other people.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.”

My father—David Jonathan Harper—smiled at me. He was the Planetologist Level Seven aboard Michael and the overall Director of the Surveyor’s scientific mission. My mother—Esther Joy (née Whitestar) Harper—was the Exobiologist Level Seven aboard and a first-rate creative writer. The personality types—Ni’te and Fe’ni, respectively—and interests of my parents made them excellent mutual advisors in life, work and love. And a good thing too, because their only son was a prodigy and an enthusiast even by Ne’fi standards. Mother often likened me to an explosion in a spaghetti factory waiting to happen. At just past fifteen, I pretty much fit that description.

The object of my amazement was the Great Ring around Gr’rakh, the homeworld of the Bruins.Gr’rakh is smaller but denser than Ge, my homeworld; its iron core is larger and it has a natural magnetic field to match. Its tectonics and native coral-analogues had created a single continent, numerous islands and vast reefs which girdled its equator like a fractal belt. Twelve equally spaced,

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slender Great Pillars ascended from the continental Great Belt—or in one case, from the Great Strait that divided the two ends of the Belt—to join and anchor the Great Ring. The huge space habitat gleamed white on Gr’rakh’s sunward side; on the night side, many lights sparkled like multi-colored gems on a necklace.

We approached the Great Ring in the Cherub-class Surveyor aboard which I’d grown up, the DSS Michael Archangelos. I was born in the Helios system on Selene, Ge’s one natural satellite, but I’dgrown up on Michael along with the children of mortal Adamim, Enoshim and Gammadim: three of theFour Species of Man. The rest of the crew consisted of tall androids called Manikins, members of a species to whom the Kingdom of Ariel owed much of its hyper-technology based on n-crystals.

“And now we have a little surprise for you,” said D.J. Everyone aboard outside our family called my father D.J., just as they called my mother Joy and me Alain. “No non-Bruin has set foot on Gr’rakh before, and so our Lightchildren must go dirtside first before our mortals do. Your mother and I want you to go with the adults.”

“Really? And they all agree?”

“Certainly. It was Spica’s suggestion, actually.”

“All right!” I exclaimed. Being a Lightchild means you’re not a vector for disease. You can’t infect anyone else, and no one can infect you. The White Hand itself, plus certain modifications it makes to a Lightchild’s body, guarantees that.

And it’s a good thing, too. Our first-contact Protocols include procedures for dealing with biological cross-contamination. Such contamination is inevitable, and planetary ecologies are incredibly complex. No one can predict all the possible interactions between native and foreign organisms. But a Survey team needs at least to learn about fundamental incompatibilities, such as a potential plague that could decimate the visitors or the visited before a cure could be found. Using Lightchildren to make first contact gave the exobiologists enough time to do their jobs.

True, the Bruins had plenty of exposure to Adamim and Enoshim already through Gr’rakh’s trade with the relatively nearby Cluster Federation—but the Bruins could quarantine all or part of the Ring if they had to. Not so with Gr’rakh.

We had plenty of company on the observation deck, everyone whose duties didn’t preoccupy them. Soon one of the Great Ring’s hangar decks on Gr’rakh’s night side swallowed our disc-shaped Surveyor, all 16,180 cubits of it, as easily as a great baleen whale swallows a single krill.

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* * * * * * * * * *

One of the Statutes of the Kingdom is that mortal Covenant Citizens—save Manikins—can’t gointo space without Lightchild escort. Another is that every high administrative office in the Deep SpaceService must be held by a husband-wife team of Lightchildren. Thus the Captain and First Officer aboard Michael were married Lightchildren: Bakbukiel—no last name—and Spica Wheatstar, respectively. “Old Bakbuk” was a Blademaster Level Seven—a Grandmaster—and a liaison of the paramilitary Deep Space Fleet. Spica Wheatstar was a Starbard Level Seven from the Deep Space Corps and our Special Ambassador in first-contact situations.

We had one other pair of married Lightchildren aboard, Theta and Spica Wheatstar. Theta was the Deep Space Guild liaison, responsible for making trade arrangements and taking care of other logistical details. Vega was a Starbard Level Five and my tutor in everything but Blademastery. CaptainBakbuk and some of his Manikin aides, and also Raphael Goldwing my meta-tech Sentry, handled that end of my instruction. I was the only other Lightchild aboard.

Normally I’d already be in one of the local Academies of Light, the boarding schools for Lightchildren—perhaps Geopolis House on Ge or Earthlight House on Ge’s moon Selene, as I was born on Selene. Since I was a “Surveyor brat” when the Hooded Man called me at age ten, I received special dispensation. That disposition would end when I was old enough for the Upper Levels: the equivalent of a four-year university degree or beyond.

While my parents and the rest of the crew stayed in Michael, we Lightchildren went down to the hangar deck wearing our standard Service uniforms: everything in either black or deep charcoal gray, including our leather jackets, but not our white or ivory collared shirts. Only our insignia and our rings distinguished our ranks and Wing memberships in the Service. The color differential was simply amatter of matching our natural complexions. No one else in known space allows such a variation in uniform dress. As we learned later, the Bruins appreciated that nuance for reasons of their own.

Four Bruin Warriors—four Digits of one Paw of the Gr’rakhi Claw, their armed forces—met us on the hangar deck, spoke to us in halting but good Adamic, and escorted us to the Ring’s version of Customs. I marveled at the Digits; they averaged about nine feet tall—although there wasn’t much deviation from that height—and retained the fur, much of the facial structure and the immense strength of their ursine archetype. Each bore as many personalized weapons as he could comfortably carry, enough to quell a full-blown Adami riot single-handedly.

“Bruin males compete for social and sexual status through the arms they display,” Old Bakbuk explained to me. Everybody called him that despite his youthful appearance, for he was almost nine hundred years old. “Those already mated retain the arms each bore as a bachelor.”

“Is that why each of us is carrying a weapon openly, even the women?”

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“No, that’s another aspect of their psychology,” Vega interjected. Bakbuk nodded. “They believe instinctively in arms control by mutual and honorable deterrence, and they believe other speciesshould follow their example. To them, hidden weapons are dishonorable to the point of abomination; one can get killed on the spot for carrying or using one. That’s why even our Sentries must be visible inRest Mode; they qualify as formidable weapons indeed, and ones that can be hidden easily.”

I nodded. Bakbuk’s Sledge, Vega’s Kithara, Theta’s Thomas, Spica’s Lyra, and my Raphael all floated over our left shoulders like levitating crystal balls. Bakbuk and I wore our full-length Starblades, Minbara and Shalhevetyah, in scabbards on our backs; the others wore daggers in wrist sheaths. At fifteen I was still “growing into” my Starblade; it had been forged for someone of adult stature, and I’d only just started training with it.

Lightchildren of either gender are physically perfected after their phenotypes, and are called from all Five Tribes and from ectomorphs, mesomorphs and endomorphs alike. It was mere happenstance that all of us were White Tribesmen and three of us were blonds. My barley-blond hair got me a lot of good-natured teasing aboard Michael, it was so striking. Blue-eyed Spica and Vega, a wheat-blonde and a honey-blonde respectively, were spectacularly beautiful and wonderfully gracious women, Ne’fi and Fe’ni respectively in personality type. As a Ne’fi teen whose happy hormones were growing happier by the day, I found them awe-inspiring. Spica and my parents figured I’d marry young, especially after such extended close exposure to such loveliness, but Vega wasn’t so sure—nor were Bakbuk and Theta.

But those flickers of thoughts in my head were soon displaced. While everyone naturally had a keen interest in the personal and technical complexities of what we saw, Spica and I especially all but merged with those complexities, not lingering on any one item for very long, but seeking to understand the hidden connections behind everything and everyone we passed. You could see it in Spica’s eyes, as I did, if you knew what to look for, and so you could see it in mine. A Primary Gift of Insight has its demands.

At Customs we were greeted by the Captain of the Paw. Either due to lack of study or else due to pride in his people’s ways, he spoke in Gr’rakhic, not Adamic or even the interstellar pidgin called Ersatz. The leader of our escort, the Paw’s equivalent of a lieutenant, translated in the same halting Adamic he’d used to greet us.

“The Bruin Hegemony,” said the captain and then the lieutenant, “welcomes the Lightchildren of Ariel to the Great Ring.”

“We are honored to meet you,” said Spica in grammatically perfect Gr’rakhic, and she went on to introduce us all in the same language. This got our hosts’ keen attention; nobody but nobody in known space—at least among mortals—speaks Gr’rakhic with any fluency save the Bruins themselves.

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“How is it that you know our language?” said the Paw Captain in Gr’rakhic. Kithara, thanks to her bond to Spica’s mind, translated his words into Adamic for the rest of us. “Your accent is understandably strange given your speech organs, but otherwise your Gr’rakhic is like that of a Cub-Teacher, at once poetic and precise.”

“All Lightchildren with a Primary Gift of Insight have an accompanying Gift of Tongues,” Spica replied. “This is one reason why I serve as Special Ambassador aboard Michael. But there is one here whose Gift of Insight is far stronger than mine. His Gift of Tongues is proportionately strong. MayAlain speak to you?”

“Cubs among us bear no dishonor among adults simply because they are cubs. You may speak, male-cub.”

Spica smiled to herself and nodded in my direction.

“Thank you, honorable Warriors,” I replied in perfect formal Gr’rakhic—not just in grammar but in accent. “I and Raphael Goldwing my Sentry”—I pointed to the sky-blue sphere floating over my left shoulder—“can act as your intermediary if you and Ambassador Spica agree.”

“I think this would be well,” said Spica. The other adults agreed. “Do you?”

“Yes. I am Captain Tam’rr kai-Tshan,” said the Bruin in equally formal Gr’rakhic, “and I am a Keeper of the High Grove, which is why I was chosen to meet you.” After asking the adult Lightchildren to explain the significance of their names, he said, “Recite your name once more, male-cub.”

“Christopher Alain Harper, sir. I normally go by Alain Harper, though, or simply Alain.”

“The euphonic quality of your name is quirky, if I may say so, compared to those of the others. What is your name’s significance?”

“Christopher means that I bear the Anointed One, Joshua Davidson the Hooded Man, in my inner being. Alain means that I’m handsome by the standards of my people.” I saw no need to explain that my parents thought me attractive from the inside out, even as a newborn baby. “Harper is one who plays a harp, a particular kind of plucked stringed instrument. Many of the House of Harper are Starbards: singers, poet-composers and sages as these females from other Houses are. I hope to becomea Starbard myself.”

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“Can you sing? We have heard Adamim from other Powers”—he meant Adamim who were either colonists of the ancient Dispersion or else more recent Exiles from the Kingdom—“sing before and find their art interesting, but not always pleasant. Some styles of your people’s song are nobler thanothers. Sing for us now—a noble song of your people, as you choose.”

I’m a Ne’fi who enjoys being in the musical spotlight, but at the moment I was taken aback. “Begging your pardon, Captain,” I said most formally and submissively, “but both Spica and Vega are fully trained Starbards. I am not.”

“But they are females.” Thanks to my Gift of Insight, I knew he meant no deliberate insult—that in their culture, females were respected for many things including many kinds of profane singing, but what the Bruins considered sacred singing was the province of males only. I explained this to the other Lightchildren. Vega and Spica nodded in understanding. It was the men, interestingly enough, who looked at the captain in some wonder.

“He seems to want me to sing something sacred,” I finished.

“Go ahead,” Vega said encouragingly. “Sing something from the Sefer in Adamic—the Terms of the Covenant, perhaps, if your voice is prepared for that.”

It was prepared well enough. The Ten Terms in their original Codex Adamic have by far the most florid melodic rendition in the whole Book of the Covenants. They need a dramatic tenor—not a lyric tenor such as I had become when my voice broke—to do them justice, but I rose to the challenge gamely.

Waydaber Elohim eth kol hadvarim haelleh lemor:

Anokhi Yehawweh Elohekha asher hotsethikha…

By the time I reached Yehawweh the Bruins were applauding loudly with their great hands and shouting with their great bass voices. Both they and I stopped when the captain raised his hand.

“I am a Keeper of the High Grove,” he said again as he bowed low, “and among our people youshall be called Gr’ran ho-Ki’kau”—“Singer the-Never-Dying” in Gr’rakhic grammatical order—“and be honored as one of the adults of your kind.”

The other Lightchildren glanced furtively at each other, for “Undying Singer” has a specific andprophetic meaning in Lightchild lore. As for me, I was completely taken aback by then.

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Everyone on Michael knew that my Nine Gifts were strong already, even by Lightchild standards. None could’ve imagined that a Paw Captain of the Gr’rakhi Claw would be the first to pronounce my true identity.

It wouldn’t be too long before the rest of known space found out how right he was.

* * * * * * * * * *

TorusRail—how the Gr’rakhic name translates into Common, including the lack of break between words—is the system of high-speed trains that takes Bruins and visitors from one part of the Great Ring to another. Our escort guided us to one such train, and we all rode on it to the Pillar that rose from the Great Strait. Near its base the largest seaport on Gr’rakh received goods and personnel headed to and from the Ring. Other Pillars engaged in like trade, but as they all rose from the land they dealt in a lesser variety of goods.

“All of the Pillars, however,” Captain Tam’rr explained to us, “give the High Grove access to the Ring, and by the power of the High Grove the Ring and Pillars are kept stable and the Ring habitable. The great trees you saw growing in the Ring are extensions of the High Grove. They grow even higher on Gr’rakh, despite the natural gravity.”

“What is the High Grove?” I asked in perplexity.

“Perhaps one of your own peers can explain it best in terms you can understand. Our terminology concerning the Grove is couched in mystery and reverence. Until we discovered the Tetronon Gr’rakh, we did not know how completely we had forgotten the Lord Davidson, and so gave such worship to the High Grove that we should have given to Him.”

“A moment. How did you forget the Hooded Man?”

“We do not know. Even the Archons living here do not understand their lapse of memory, or ours.”

“This is very, very strange.”

It wasn’t the first such instance either we or Lightchildren in general had encountered in the Dispersion, and it would take many years and several changes in my Timeline before any of us—myself first of all—would learn the reason: interference from the sect of Illusionists under Nicholas

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Blackthorn’s guidance. Thankfully whoever had done the dirty work had left Gr’rakh long ago, but the effect lingered on for millennia.

“But you remember Him now thanks to the discovery of your world’s Tetron,” Bakbuk interjected smoothly, “and we will teach you more. Vega, tell Alain about the High Grove.”

“The High Grove is an Archon, one of the Old Ones,” Vega explained, “and in rest mass the largest of all. It’s one of the few who chose a non-humanoid form as her default archetype. She has no mortal charges, but she shelters the Bruins and all other creatures on Gr’rakh—and also hosts other OldOnes, including the Bruin Hegemons. We’ll meet them all on the surface.”

“So how is it,” I asked with a wry smile, “that Raphael and I weren’t briefed on any of this before we set course for here?”

“Well, the information is Yellow Seal,” said Bakbuk with a shrug. “You don’t have clearance for such information yet.”

“You’ll only be fifteen once, Alain,” said Vega with a rather mischievous smile. “Some things the Hooded Man and we keep hidden, to increase the wonder of the young.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“You really will thank us later.”

I certainly did. Raphael recorded everything that happened as we traveled on and then disembarked from TorusRail, walked to the entrance of the nearest Pillar, and descended in a large circular seating area with windows on most of its sides. The passenger elevator was one of several tubes that ascended from the surface of Gr’rakh inside the Pillar; some were for cargo of various kinds, and one was the tube that contained a mighty stem of the High Grove. I made a minor nuisance of myself asking Captain Tam’rr about how that stem sprang up from the surface and then spread into a forest deep in the Ring’s habitat section, helping to balance and purify the Ring’s atmosphere. I also asked about many other things I saw both within and without the Pillar.

When we disembarked with the other passengers, we found that the Pillar rose from an artificialisland located about a mile offshore in the waters of the Great Strait. We could see the lights of the nearby seaport coming on as Gr’rakh’s sun set, and the lights of the long bridge that allowed the stem of the High Grove to reach the Pillar. Somewhere on land, the stem’s roots joined with those of the rest of the Grove, a deciduous forest that reached around the world and sent its highest crowns a thousand feet into the air. The forest (so Captain Tam’rr told us) was most like the forests of other worlds’

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temperate zones; Gr’rakh had almost no axial tilt and its K-class sun loomed large in its sky compared to Helios in Ge’s sky, but its average temperature was cooler than Ge’s.

We went by boat to shore and after riding on land from the Port of Westview (again, a Commontranslation of the Gr’rakhic, close enough) into the forest, we found ourselves dining and then bedding down at least five hundred feet up in the trunk of a living tree—a tree with red bark and emerald leaves with gold undersides that was but an infinitesimal part of the largest living Archon in the Diaspora.

Of all the things which happened to me that night, the effects of the Bruin ale that was pressed on me (since my hosts considered me an “adult”) were the most memorable. Lightchildren can’t be poisoned or even made drunk (something which impressed our hosts no end), but between the tasty ale and the fresh air, I slept soundly indeed later on.

* * * * * * * * * *

“In your Common tongue I am named Finale Brookwater, Disciple of Secrets,” said the tall redheaded woman who stood before us the next day, deep in some unmarked place in the High Grove. “The Bruins who I help guard call me She Who Walks Alone. As a Protean among the Old Ones I do not always appear as you see me. Sometimes I appear as a White Tribeswoman with blonde, brown or black hair, and occasionally as a woman from any of the other Four Tribes. Consider me the Ego to the Self that is the forest around you.” When she saw me nod in understanding, she bent her gaze upon me.“Have you studied the workings of the mind, young Alain?”

“I have, ma’am. I hope to be a Starbard someday. I understand your analogy.”

“It is no analogy; it is truth. I am the Spirit of the High Grove; these trees are its Brain, and alsoits Soul and its Body. But do not be ashamed; every Archon now present perceives the truth of what you are is many times more profound. When you learn it, you will change existence as we know it.”

Bakbuk gestured to keep me from responding. Through Raphael and the other Sentries my parents and everyone else who could aboard Michael saw and heard everything which was going on, and I could only imagine my parents’ reactions in particular.

“This is Menthe Wintergreen,” Finale went on, “the Disciple of Peace. She has dwelt in the quiet places of the Grove since almost the beginning of the Dispersion.”

Menthe was much shorter than Finale, a doe-eyed brunette wearing deep violet robes who looked about my age—at least to my biased eyes at the time. In fact all Archons in humanoid form looktimeless and have perfectly symmetrical faces, but this one was unusually youthful in countenance.

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And despite being a Fi’ne, while she merely clasped the hands of the other Lightchildren, she gave me a wholehearted full-length embrace which I (being fifteen) returned just as wholeheartedly.

“Ahem,” said Finale before one of the adult Lightchildren could say something similar.

Not until I was married—sixty years later in another Timeline!—was I held so long and so intensely by any female. I think Menthe would’ve kissed me had she dared, and likely neither of us would’ve wanted to stop. I was dizzy—to say no more—when she finally let me go and stepped back, and she was blushing and looking down at her feet.

“Perhaps Menthe has dwelt alone for too long,” Spica remarked dryly. She told me later—muchlater, given subsequent events—that for all I just went through I’d shown astonishing self-control for a Ne’fi male my age and she was proud of me.

“Perhaps so,” said Finale, but while she tried to look stern the smile she wore refused to leave her face. “But obviously she recognizes the inner truth of your youngling as well.” Smoothly she turnedto the other Archons present. “These are the Hegemons of the Gr’rakhim: in Common, the Den-Father, the Den-Mother, and the Cub.”

“Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” I exclaimed with a laugh, partly to break the tension. “Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear.”

“What?” exclaimed Finale.

I doubled over with laughter at the image in my mind. Spica, who as a fellow Ne’fi understood my sense of humor instinctively, gestured to the others not to intervene.

“If you were in your blonde form,” I explained at length, “you and the Hegemons would be the spitting image of characters in one of our children’s tales.”

“You mean like this?” In an instant Finale became a radiantly lovely blue-eyed blonde, and she walked over to the Hegemons and stood beside them.

“Very close, although Goldilocks in the tale is a child herself.”

“I see.” And as you’ve probably guessed, that’s how the nicknames given to the four Hegemonsof Gr’rakh came about. They started with me, they stuck, and in time they went viral among many

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irreverent Adamim out-of-Sphere.

“If all Lightchildren are as well-humored as the youngest of you,” said “Papa Bear” to Spica and the other adults, “we shall all get along splendidly.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The Shrine of the Tetron was located in Port Westview, but the Tetron itself hadn’t been found there. Just as the Bruins began exploring their own star system, the Tetron transmitted a homing signal on a frequency that could penetrate the igneous bedrock in which it was buried. The Bruins found it completely unharmed—no surprises there—and with the Three Bears’ help they got it working.

Like all Tetrons, the Tetron of Gr’rakh was a truncated tetrahedron with a sophisticated interactive teaching program. First, it taught the Bruins Adamic and Common, which knowledge stood them in good stead when the first travelers from the Cluster Federation arrived. Next, it gave them the gift of n-crystals and instructions for cultivating and using them, which gave them the key to the stars. Finally, it revealed the existence of the Kingdom of Ariel, its Lord and its peoples, and in due time sent out the automatic “please contact us” signal.

“Our fellow Citizens the Manikins have dispersed countless Tetrons like this one not only in theRing of Stars,” Spica explained to the Bears, “but in galaxies far beyond ours. Should there be Hegemons and mortal charges in unknown places, they’ll have the means to contact us when they’re ready.”

“Then the Lord Davidson,” Papa Bear asked in surprise, “has not kept a record of where such creatures might be?”

“He most certainly has,” Spica replied with a smile, “but He doesn’t reveal to us more than we need to know at any time.”

“That is sensible,” said Mama Bear, “but it may mean you will face a surprise attack from somequarter some day.”

“We may,” Bakbuk replied gravely, “but we Lightchildren are equipped for many tasks, and oneof them is the defeat of Hostile Archons and their allies. We fight so that mortals don’t have to.”

“Our people’s warrior culture will not be so easily humbled,” said Papa Bear with equal gravity,“but a sufficient show of martial prowess in this world’s defense will bring many to see your point of

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view.”

“Do you foresee such a possibility?” Bakbuk asked.

“The Hegemony is the strongest Galactic Power in the region, and has trade with many worlds and Powers both near and far. We know not everyone has the instinctive view of deterrence that our charges have. Mortal Adamim, I am sorry to say, are among the most dangerous to us potentially, but far more dangerous and aggressive are the Imperial Dragons and the Suidae.”

“The Lizards and the Pigs,” I muttered very quietly to myself. “The Dinos and the Swine. Why am I not surprised?”

Yes, I had the White Hand in me from my mother’s womb—uniquely—though I didn’t know it yet. Even so, I had yet to learn the compassion even for the Enemies of Man which became part of my adult reputation. May those who’ve known me only as an adult pardon my mid-teen immaturity!

There was much more discussion, but in the end “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”—and Menthe as well—agreed that the Bruin Hegemony should become an Annex of the Kingdom of Ariel, after a sufficient time of preparation for the Bruins themselves. As a first step, they agreed a Portal of Starlight should be set up in its own room in the Shrine. Lightchildren would be free to come and go at their pleasure, and ships from all Four Wings of the Deep Space Service—Fleet, Guild, Corps and Survey—were welcome to come and conduct business in the Ring. Meanwhile, the mortals and Manikins aboard Michael were free to enter and leave the Ring, but until our own Protocols were satisfied only Lightchildren could set foot on the hallowed world of Gr’rakh.

* * * * * * * * * *

While the preliminary agreements were drawn up in their final form, and with the permission ofmy parents and the adult Lightchildren, I rode Raphael in Air Surfer Mode over Port Westview and then eastward over the Grove. I was looking for where we’d met Finale, Menthe and the Three Bears. Raphael had no trouble guiding me to the exact spot, and he went to Rest Mode immediately after we touched down.

In those days my access to Raphael’s tremendous capabilities was still very limited. For one thing, his otherspace closet had yet to be unlocked to me. I could use his Shield Modes, however, as well as his Air Surfer and Contact Lens Modes. All these were at Freedom Level One, however, which means I had to use vocal commands to access them.

The place where we’d met the Archons was on a sunny bank by a brook running down from a

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hill, the crown of which couldn’t be seen from ground level. From that crown far away, I could hear thebasso profundo overtone chanting of the Keepers of the High Grove as they revered the Old One who surrounded and nurtured their people.

I didn’t understand then what had drawn me there. It wasn’t in hope of seeing Menthe or even Finale, for they were busy dealing with the adult Lightchildren. Once I touched down, my original motives were forgotten, swallowed up in the very peace of the place. It was a place where real and possible futures crossed, and though I didn’t understand then the full significance of my perception, even as a natural Ne’fi I could hardly ignore it.

Starbards are taught the Chant of Vowels, an overtone chant derived from the vowels of the Hooded Man’s Oldest Name. I was no Starbard yet, but already there was something about the way I sang the chant—or else the mere fact I sang the Chant—which gave it unusual power over its context. As the High Grove was a single vast organism, and an Old One at that, I wondered how it would respond to my singing the Chant of Vowels in this clearing.

…ieaouoaei… ieaouoaei… ieaouoaei…

The trees rustled all around me as if a wind had come up to stir their branches. When I stopped singing, they returned to their usual quietude. Not even the Keepers were chanting any longer, as if they too had been stilled by either the Chant of Vowels or else its effects on the Grove.

“We’ve been waiting for you for a very long time,” said a woman’s voice from behind me.

I turned and saw a tall brunette with blue eyes, dressed not as Finale had been in modest yet rich robes, but in a figure-flattering two-piece outfit which exposed her right shoulder and midriff. Only the top covered and supported her considerable cleavage, which given my already-budding preferences was the last thing I needed to see. Her voice was seductive, not noble yet alluring as Finale’s had been.

“You’re a decent imitator of Finale’s voice,” I remarked as my eyes narrowed, “but you’re not aSe’fi as she is—you’re a Ne’fi like me. Who are you, and what do you have to do with me?”

“Your aural perception is keen, Undying Singer,” the woman remarked in her normal voice, andin Common as before. “You also inferred my basic thought pattern from very few clues.”

“That’s two people who’ve called me by that epithet since I’ve come here.”

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“Maybe you should start asking why.”

“Who are you?” I saw no reason to be respectful to her, Archon though she obviously was.

“Someone who I hope to get to know very, very well,” she replied with a smirk—just before two hairy, lanky arms grabbed me from behind.

“Hey!”

There was no time to call upon Raphael for defense. Whatever had grabbed me apparently had a partner, for another hairy, lanky thing appeared by the woman’s side just before the High Grove vanished to be replaced by another scene entirely.

I pulled my Starblade as soon as whatever had grabbed me released me, but Shalhevetyah went through empty air. I whirled toward the woman, who now had two seven-foot bat-men flanking her on either side. They knelt and bowed toward her with wings outstretched like perversions of covering cherubim.

“Look around at your new home,” the woman invited with a wave of her right arm. As she did, some kind of veil lifted from my mind, and I had no trouble guessing who she was.

I looked around cautiously. We were on the roof of a building overlooking one of the most beautiful beaches imaginable, one which extended north to south without a break and probably far beyond the horizon. It had what looked like ultra-modern resort hotels lining it on the landward side, also without a break, and we were on the rooftop of one of them. Rolling hills, mostly covered with tropical forest given the temperature, rose beyond the resorts.

The beach itself was all but carpeted with young-looking male and female Adamim—millions of them, many shaded with beach umbrellas and pavilions, many others exposed to the sun—and while their numbers tapered off sharply as they went seaward, they went right down to the water’s edge. Yet others were playing in the surf. There didn’t seem to be a stich of clothing on any of them.

I already knew there were quite a few things my new hostess didn’t allow her acolytes to do or to have done to them—not because of any real goodness in her but because those activities didn’t fit her particular plans for subverting the Adamim. But even from a distance, I knew what I was looking at and it shocked my still-innocent heart to tears—and to terrible anger.

“Raphael, go to Contact Lens Mode and Shield Mode Three!”

17

“Acknowledged,” said a voice out of thin air, and as his Rest Mode disappeared, my left hand projected a pane of blue, my right hand drew my sword and I moved into a defensive stance. “As you undoubtedly have inferred by now,” Raphael went on as he displayed a data file on my corneas, “this isCallista Brandywine, the daughter and incestuous lover of Nicholas Blackthorn, and this is Callista’s Planet.”

“Many people still name me and my world so,” she replied dramatically as she lifted her arms and spun around. “But I—I have grown far beyond what I was at birth. I am Tehawweh, the Great Mother Cosmos, and my power grows by the day—even by the hour!”

Wrong thing to say to a student of Old Bakbuk, lady—

“Take me back to Gr’rakh now, blasphemer,” I said as I lit Shalhevetyah and advanced slowly toward her, “or by the grace that’s upon me I’ll show you what real Power is!”

The Daimonae at Callista’s feet rose and would’ve drawn their sabers against me, but she stopped them with a gesture. “Even if you managed to kill me and my escorts,” she pointed out with a laugh, “you’d still be stranded here.”

“For a brunette Ne’fi, you’re pretty ‘blonde’,” I retorted, calming myself as Old Bakbuk had taught me. “Raphael’s reporting my position as we speak.”

“And this will do you any good… how? We’re thousands of light-years beyond the Cube your Kingdom’s staked out as ‘known space’—on the other side of the Cube from Gr’rakh, in fact.”

If she expected me to back down because of the apparent oversight on my part, she was mistaken. “I should know better,” she added after a moment, “than to underestimate a fellow Ne’fi on the defensive—even if he is a chick scarcely out of his egg. Tell you what: if you’ll sheathe your sword and drop your Sentry’s shield for now, I’ll send these two away. Then, I want you to hear me out. I believe you’ll benefit from what you hear. How about it?”

Why not? Might as well find out why I’m here.

“Send them away first.”

Callista paused, then motioned for her Daimon escorts to leave. Her gesture included a symbol made by her fingers—one I didn’t understand, but which I was sure meant trouble.

18

When the hairy bat-men were gone, I sheathed my Starblade, put Raphael in Rest Mode and asked sarcastically, “What protects all those people down there from sunburn? Your symbiont, I suppose?”

“Very good, Undying Singer. Even White Tribesmen in the Chalice cult tan more or less deeply,but they don’t burn. They can’t. An enviable position for the Maids and their male Helpers, don’t you think? Ageless youth, a healing factor second only to that of you Lightchildren, and both a hunger and a capacity beyond most mortals’ comprehension for… various intimacies.” Callista grinned lustfully. “Quite a draw for our visitors of both sexes too, as you can imagine. And the only price—besides my enjoyment of the men and boys from time to time—is the presence of my symbiont in the Maids and Helpers, which increases my ability to draw upon the quantum vacuum. The more such acolytes I have,the stronger my power becomes.”

I scoffed. “Don’t forget the eventual conquest of your guests’ homeworlds by your allies the Nulls.” Nulls—as you may be aware—are a rebellious sect of the Manikins: hyper-tech androids with self-centered ethics rather than God-centered ethics. “They’re the only reason you can keep this pornocracy running, isn’t it? And the same goes for any other place your Chalice of the Maids cult subverts. You didn’t kidnap an idiot, Callista—and just for the record, kidnapping me has earned you the immediate death penalty under Covenant Law.”

Callista scoffed in turn. “As if what my acolytes and guests below are doing hasn’t?”

“Why should I listen to another word you say?”

“Because if you do not,” said a powerful male voice, “I’ll leave now instead of later and destroyGr’rakh, the Great Ring and everyone living and visiting there.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Johanan Rakkav is the Hebrew pen name (anglicized King James Version-style) of a very busy Ne’fi (ENFP on the Myers-Briggs grid). Besides being a consultant in Christian apologetics, he is the editor and co-publisher of the book THE MUSIC OF THE BIBLE REVEALED by the late Suzanne Haïk-Vantoura (rakkav.com/biblemusic), a singer-songwriter who plays the piano, synthesizer, Celtic harp and ten-stringed Hebrew lyre (kinnor), a lifelong lover of the natural sciences (especially astronomy) and of speculative fiction, an enthusiast of personality type models, and (writing with E.V. Medina as Jack Shepherd) the co-author of the medieval fantasy/allegorical SF book REALMWALKERS (tiaera.blogspot.com). His fictional Metacosmos is now featured at undyingsinger.wordpress.com and rakkav.blogspot.com, as well as at the page TALES OF THE UNDYING SINGER on Facebook.

19

The Chronicle of Ebb

By Michael Saad

Planet Rlyesia, Galactic Coalition Protectorate, April 14, 2275 AD

- United Nations of Earth (UNE) Embassy Outpost, Office of Ambassador Alin Doval

Doval leaned in his chair and ran his hand over his mouth, stifling a sigh. The problem was

what he held in his other hand—a square, memory chip smaller than his thumbnail. He could snap it

with two fingers; yet inside that simple, blue encasement of silicon wafers, conduits, and conductors

held the fate of the entire universe.

“What the hell do I do with you?” Doval said in the empty room he sat in. One flip of the

communications terminal in front of him would call up the panel he had summoned expressly for this

purpose—to figure out what to do with the little square he was fidgeting with. The problem wasn’t the

chip—thousands of these were produced every day on Earth and shipped to the outlying colonies—it

was the information downloaded on it that could rattle the foundation of everything the human race had

known, had ever understood, about the nature of life itself.

He looked up at the clock and saw it was five minutes past 12:00 PM, North American

Mountain Time. There was no point in wondering whether he had gone too far in calling this meeting—

he had already sent the panel an encrypted copy of the digital information. The panel, by now, would

have gone through the file, conjuring up opinions on what the contents’ connotations could mean for

the human race. The crazy part was that the contents were nothing more than a simple story, a memoir

of an alien believed to have been written over 3000 years ago. Doval still needed clarification from

Rlyesia’s envoys on Earth, who were verifying the authenticity and translation of the tale, a task he

would ask them to confirm before he would dare release the narrative to anyone outside of the panel.

20

“All right you guys, wake up.” Doval let out a heavy breath and flipped on the power switch,

igniting the giant split-screen directly over his head. Two individuals—an older man with salt-and-

pepper hair, a round jaw, and a thick, beefy face, and a younger, middle-aged gentleman of Arabic

origin, with a high forehead, long hair, and slender face—appeared on each half of the screen. The

older man was dressed in a grey, UNE golf shirt and sat against a backdrop of evergreen trees with a

bright blue sky behind him, while the other sat in a trench, surrounded by brown clouds and a musty

sky.

“Every time I see you General, I yearn to step foot on Earth,” Doval said to the elderly man, his

former superior, a retired five-star general for the intergalactic wing of the UNE. “As for you,

Parmascus, seeing that ugly brown sky, I don’t envy you one bit.”

“Cut the horse hooey, Doval,” the General said. “I’m missing a picnic lunch with my grandkids,

and for what? A half-baked fairy-tale concocted by an alien and deciphered by human beings who

know the Rlyesian language no better than I do a Rlyesian’s colon.”

“This is no fairy tale, I assure you, General,” Parmascus spoke. More than twenty light years

separated him from the other two panellists but the subspace feed was holding up. “I’d heard about this

chronicle during my time on Rlyesia and often wondered if it wouldn’t come to this.”

“Thank you, Parm,” Doval said. It was time to call up the third and final member of his panel.

He hit an activation button on his touchscreen keypad, and the whole right side of the room lit up in an

array of flashing red, yellow, and orange lights.

“Summetros,” Doval spoke quickly, not allowing the computer the chance to boot up its long-

winded introduction. “Can you please verify the accuracy of the document’s most recent translation

from Rlyesian into English, please?”

21

“Certainly, Ambassador,” the computer spoke in a soft, mechanical voice. “The

most recent translation is 95.7% accurate. My own translation is

98.2% with the remaining 1.8% uncertainty confined to dialect

nuances, not major conformities, like syntax or gram…”

“Thank you Summetros,” Doval said, then turned to the General. “I wouldn’t pull you away

from your grandkids, sir, if I didn’t think this was big. We have to decide what to do with this

document. Right now, only the three of us know about this translation, and the exact content of it. The

question is, do we release this to the United Nations of Earth, and with them the Galactic Media, or do

we keep it under lock and key, or maybe in a box buried 5000 feet in the ground?”

“Release the damn thing,” the General waved his hand in the air. “I can tell you what the

Council’s going to say—you bloody Earthmen are so self-centered you think the goddamn universe

revolves around you. No one else is going to take this cockamamie yarn any more seriously than they

would an Elmer Fudd cartoon from the 20th Century.”

“I respectfully disagree, General,” Parm replied. “If anything, this document could not only

ignite a firestorm of debate and hostility across Earth, but the entire Galactic Coalition. The contents of

this story have the potential to alter the worldview of the entire universe in one fell swoop.”

“Dammit.” The General rubbed his head and sighed. “So you’re telling me my grandkids are

going to be eating without me, is that it?”

“Maybe we need to take it right from the beginning,” Doval said, “go over the entire text line by

line and scrutinize it. I have to admit though, in this present translation, the text is tough to refute.”

“At the very least, we could discuss its implications,” Parm said. “We really are on the cusp of

something extraordinary here.”

22

“I would be happy to call up the document for you to peruse on

each of your screens,” Summetros offered. “I can also maintain the audio

link for you to discuss each line, where applicable.”

“That would be fine, computer, thank you.” Doval said.

“God Almighty,” the General said, rubbing his forehead as he looked at his tablet in front of

him. “What are we calling this thing again? The…Chronicle of Ebb, correct? All right, gentlemen, let’s

take it from the top…”

The Chronicle of Ebb

As recited this day forward, on the second cycle of the Clicking Bird, in the year

following the Kajahkhan…

“Only when you establish control, authority and superiority,” my clan

leader, Obrai-San, told us, “have you established the natural order of things.”

“Yes, Haba-San,” was our traditional reply. We had heard that rationale

often, but now it is was time to put it into practice. I could see the Rouda scum in the

distance, walking in and out of their hovels made with the boughs and branches of our

23

Father World’s trees. Some of the hovels even had the remnants of moist, matted leaves

as rooftop coverings, adding yet further desecration to the life-giving air and water that

Moria—the name of our Father Planet—gave us.

“They are harvesting the wood,” my older cousin Eluid said, his orange eyes

squinting across the ravine, his eyes transfixed on one of the Rouda men who was

hacking down a thin, elderly tree, peeling its bark as if it were the skin of a dead wort-

rabbit. We had been watching this Rouda settlement for twenty minutes now. They had

settled on the valley cliffs, thinking they would be out of our sight, and thus be allowed to

carry out their gross practices on our world, carefree.

We watched the same man peel the tree’s bark, chop the wood into thin

sticks, place them in a round pit, and hammer rocks together, drawing up sparks that fell

like snowflakes along the torn, exposed, wood-grains.

“He is building fire!” Eluid hissed. “Do you see what that wort is doing,

Wedi-jud?”

“I see, elder cousin.” I wanted to leap across the ravine and stop this

butchery. Instead, we crouched behind the bush and looked to our clan leader, who sat

behind us, gauging our response.

“This is why we claim superiority on Father Planet," Obrai-San said,

nodding with approval at the anger in our eyes, “and this is why we fight. Now come,

boys—it’s time to avenge Moria!”

***

24

We crossed the valley at the low point of the river, then scaled the cliff

leading into the Rouda village, our daggers and whips at our ready. The Rouda village

had only been up for a short period of time—it lacked any infrastructure or sophisticated

defenses. It appeared as though the Rouda slugs thought they would get away with this

rape of our world.

We waited until our second sun dimmed, giving us enough darkness to keep

our element of surprise, but enough light so they would know who it was upholding

Moria’s honor.

“These are the same rats we chased away from the lava plain,” Obrai-San

said. “They were forbidden to practice Saghhir—the rape of Moria. Now they’ve violated

the terms of their banishment!”

Eluid and I glanced at each other. We knew what Obrai-San meant. We

belong to the Aundat’Clet—the word Aundat meaning “children of Father Planet.” Our

clan, the Clet, appreciated everything Moria gave us, namely our provisions for life such

as air, water, food, and shelter. We understood everything we needed to survive was

provided by Him, who was essentially the personification of our world, though not in any

form we could see or communicate with. Water came to us from lakes and rivers, air from

the sky, fruit from the trees and meat from the rabbits, rats, and snakes that inhabited

the lush, jungles surrounding us. Moria could only be felt, and even then only by the

highest-ranking elders amongst our people.

“These worts are an embarrassment to the Aundat name,” Eluid said, as he

watched the Rouda male add more wood to the fire was burning outside his hut. “The fool

25

will burn down this entire jungle if he’s not careful.”

“At the very least, he will burn down his eyesore hovel.” I said. The people

we watched were Aundat in name only, not in practice. They were known to us as the

Aundat’ Rouda. They existed in small groups, insolated camps in and around the forests

and rivers of our lands. Physically speaking, they were the exact same species as us—

purple skinned, biped, three eyes, sunken nose with high, bony cheekbones, and sentient

intelligence. In the ways we practice living, however, the Clet were the majority and, by

far, the more rational and superior people. We did not exploit the gifts of Father Planet.

We knew, for instance, Moria gave us shelter in the form of caves and caverns, embedded

deep into the mountains, which kept us dry in the rain, and cool during the hot seasons.

The Rouda slugs, on the other hand, took it upon themselves to tear up plants and skin

trees to build their homes, rejecting our firm conviction that deceased souls, once their

physical bodies have been buried and decomposed in the earth, return to Father Planet

as new foliage, trees, and growth. The Rouda not only rejected this idea, they spit upon it

by building their huts, fires, and hunting weapons from the very embodiment of their

ancestor’s spirits—a rejection that divided and forever fouled the relationship between

our two peoples.

“He will not burn down this jungle, or his hovel hut for that matter,” Obrai-

San spoke through gritted teeth, “because we attack—now!”

Our clan leader leapt over the log and charged into the village, wielding his

club and blade. Eluid and I jolted up and followed, my heart surging—I had been waiting

for this moment for the past year—my first opportunity to fight the Rouda and defend

26

Father Planet.

“You Rouda dog!” Obrai-San bolted into the village, startling the Rouda man

as he knelt at his fire. We stormed in, stirring panic throughout the village. Mothers and

children crawled out of their windows. In two of the huts, they ran through the walls,

bringing down the entire structure. Eluid grabbed a little fool tangled amongst the

branches, drug him out, and tied him to a tree.

“Don’t try to escape, you Wort-Tung.” Eluid threatened the child with his

blade. “I’ll slice you like the branches you cut to make this hut!” The child’s screaming

didn't faze us.

I grabbed two more children—tying them together and latching them to an

exposed root of a giant Mimabre tree at the edge of the cliff face. One of the children’s

mothers came at me with a stick, and I swatted her away, threatening to gut her son if

she came back a second time. I spun around looking for Obrai-San. I couldn’t see him, but

knew he would be in a wild frenzy, chasing the villagers into the jungle. He would pursue

them for hours—it was our strategy to send them deep into the jungle in different

directions, scattering them like pollen grains in the wind, so they would have difficulty

regrouping their numbers. This strategy caused many women and children to become

lost, and vulnerable to the jungle’s most dangerous aspects—fear, the elements,

predators. They are left alone to face Father World and His Justice! was Obrai-San's

justification for this tactic.

“Wedi!” Eluid shouted. I turned, and saw him dragging a man by the wrists

towards me. The man was crawling on his knees, struggling to keep up. He was bleeding

27

from the head, no doubt from having been hit multiple times with Eluid’s club.

I recognized the man instantly.

“This is the wort who built the fire!” Eluid said, throwing him to my feet.

The man lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Eluid stood over him. “He’s not so

mighty now he is facing Moria’s protectors, and not the defenseless spirit of an Aundat

grandmother!

“This louse needs to be punished,” Eluid finished. The man tried to sit up

but was kicked to the ground by my older cousin. Eluid handed me his blade.

“Here Wedi,” Eluid said. “Obrai-San would want you to do this. This honor I

bestow to you, here, in the Valley of our Ancestors. This is your Ralat.”

I took the blade. My heart curled in my chest. Eluid was right—this was my

Ralat, my rite of passage to become a protector of Moria. My father, my grandparents, my

grandparents before them—all have been reincarnated in this valley, this valley

desecrated by this Rouda pig. I could feel the eyes of my family watching down on me

now, begging me to avenge their spirits.

“This wort cut down your ancestors,” Eluid said. “Now you must cut off his

arm.”

The Rouda man lifted his head and looked at me with pleading eyes. “Sir,

have mercy on me.” He pointed to the child who Eluid had tied to the tree. “That is my

son. Please don’t let him see you do this. Let us go, and I swear you will never see us

again.”

28

“Never see you skin another tree, you mean.” Eluid said, driving the man’s

face into the ground in front of my foot. “No, Wedi. The boy must watch. He must learn

what he cannot do to Moria.”

I knew Eluid was right. I could not hesitate. I had to teach this Rouda slug a

lesson, one that would not be forgotten by his cursed offspring.

“Please sirs,” the man pleaded. I saw his son watch with terror in his eyes.

Eluid grabbed the man’s right arm, the one he used to skin the tree, and

pulled it straight. The man resisted, but Eluid kicked him in the cheek.

“Do it now, Wedi!” Eluid screamed. “This slime must pay!”

I lifted the blade over my head, and brought it down with all the weight I

could muster. The blade chopped through the man’s shoulder. I remember the sound of

skin and sinew ripping, and the crunch of the blade as it crushed bone. But the sound of

the man’s blood-curdling scream numbed my ears.

The man rolled in agony on the ground. Eluid picked up the arm, and looked

at me with a smile.

“Take it home, toss it into the River of Life,” Eluid tossed me the arm. “Then

you will officially become a warrior for Moria, cousin.”

I held the arm in my hand. It convulsed from the yellow lifeblood still

spurting from it. As much as I prepared myself for this moment, I had to remind myself

this was the custom of our people, and this action made me a protector of the planet, one

the highest honors bestowed to an Aundat’Clet male. I repressed the queasiness inside

29

me. I was a full-fledged warrior now, but there was no way I wanted to face the mortified

boy behind me.

“I accept this, as a symbol of my life oath to the protection of Father Planet,”

I said, trying not to let my voice quiver as I spoke.

“And He will accept you cousin,” Eluid answered. “Moria will welcome you to

His Army of Righteousness.”

“An army who maims a father, ruins a son, and cripples the weak,” a voice

rose behind us. “How proud do you think your Father will be, boy, when you bring Him

the blood and bones of the innocent, claiming you have acted in His will?”

I spun around in surprise to see an Aundat’Clet male—a high clansman

dressed in the same purple-and-gold garments worn by Obrai-San. My mind tried to

register not only his presence, but the words he just spoke to me.

Eluid responded for me. “And what is this to you, Haba-uncle? Is this your

ancestral domain as well?”

“It is not,” the strange man replied. “If it was, I could tell you my clansmen

living amongst us would be looking at us with shame, not pride, at the actions being done

here.” He walked up to me and looked straight into my eyes and said “as your ancestors

are looking at you right now, younglet.”

“What is this blasphemy you are speaking, Haba?!” Eluid said. “Who are

you, and why are you saying this?”

“Who I am will be revealed to you soon enough,” the stranger replied. “In the

30

meantime, you must help your fellow Aundat.” He gestured to the wounded man and to

his son behind us. “The damage you have done to the man has maimed his body, but the

damage you have done to his son is far worse—you have maimed his soul. Look at them,

boy!"

I looked over to the son, still tied to the tree, wailing at his father who lay on

the grass with a pool of yellow underneath him. He was gasping for air as he tried to

angle the stump of his arms into the ground, to control the bleeding. The little boy was

trying to wrestle free from Eluid's knots to help him.

I looked at the severed arm in my hand. The wails of the father and son

continued, and in that moment, thanks to this strange Haba's words, there was no way I

could deny what I had done was wrong. Oh Moria, what had I done?

“I- I…had to do this…” I said, bumbling. This was a Clet elder I was

speaking to. I didn’t know what to say. “He…brutalized a tree spirit. My ancestor. The

Rouda are my enemies, are they not, Haba?”

The man put his hand on my shoulder. “The Clet concept teaches us to hate

the Rouda for the way they live. I am hear to tell you today, boy, to love the Rouda. That

is what Father World wants of us. For everything the Rouda takes from the land is ours,

and everything we give to the land is theirs. In that way you will be acting as true

children of Father World, for he gives light from the suns to the unjust and the good, and

rain on the evil and just alike. So is the way of Moria.”

“Wedi, get away from this loon!” Eluid shouted, pulling me away. He held up

31

a dagger to the Aundat’ Clet before him, a horrendous sign of disrespect. “I don’t know

your name, Haba, but you are no Obrai, speaking this filthy talk. Stay away from us.”

“You are filled with misguided hate, my son,” the stranger replied. “A hatred

put there by the Teachers of our Way. I am here to tell you that way is wrong and needs

to change. For what good is the hoilken-bush if there is no water to nourish it? Its berries

become hard, withered, useless. So too are the Clet, without the true Spirit of Father

World to guide us.”

I listened to the stranger’s words. I looked away from the man and the boy.

The stranger noticed my shame and charged towards me, speaking into my face.

“No, look at them, boy!” He grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to open my

eyes. “You did this to them. If this is the life you wish to live, you must face the

consequences for what you’ve done here!”

I looked at them. The man was convulsing. His son started screaming for

help, frightened his father was going to die right before his eyes. My face went from

healthy purple to a nauseating yellow. The man's color was no different. I couldn’t look

any further.

"Now, my son," the Clet elder said. "Give me the arm."

"No, Wedi!" Eluid said, wanting to step between the elder and myself but agonizing

over whether he should. To do so, meant shoving a Clet elder, a crime punishable by

torture. Eluid was already skirting a thin line by drawing his blade on the man. "You

must take the arm to our village and burn it in the River, my cousin. That is the only way

32

to uphold your Ralat." He turned to the Elder. "You know this, Haba. Why are you

corrupting him so?"

"The boy is capable of making his own decisions." The elder never took his eyes

from me. "And he has not been corrupted by my word, but the word of a long, misguided

Way that has only brought bloodshed and despair to Father World."

His stare was too much for me. It was as if he shot an arrow through my heart. My

head was numb with the young boy’s cries, and the agonizing sight of his father, bleeding

to death in front of him. I dropped the man’s arm on the grass.

“What you have severed here today,” the stranger knelt down and picked up

the arm, “only Father Moria can place back. If you want to atone for what you’ve done, to

make this right, then follow me boy. Come, follow me.”

“He will do no such thing, you wort-hog!” Eluid hissed, wagging his dagger

at the mysterious man. “I swear, brother, if you weren’t my elder I would gut you like a

pig! Get away from him, Wedi!”

I paused, for one last look at the stranger. He had turned away from me, and

knelt beside the man. Within seconds, two Rouda females emerged from the woods. One

helped tend to the man, while the other began untying the child.

“Wedi, come on, you duk-jong!” Eluid nearly pulled my arm out of my socket,

forcing me to follow him. I barely heard my cousin's words.

“Let’s get away from here, Wedi. Now!”

***

33

“Who was this blood-hog?” Obrai-San snarled. “What did he look like? Why

did you listen to him?”

“I didn’t listen to him, Wedi did!” Eluid replied, exasperated, unsure of

which question to answer first. “The man was dressed in Clet robes. He didn’t wear the

jewels, but I swore he was an elder, I still swear it!” I offered nothing in response, my

mind a jumble of confusion, shame, and regret. It was a few hours after our retreat from

the Rouda settlement that Eluid and I had regrouped with Obrai-San, who was furious.

Upon hearing the reason why we left, he immediately summoned the council of elders to

meet with us, so we would explain our story. They wanted to hear about the Clet elder

who drove us away, and the wicked words he spoke. But it was clear the initial phase of

our interrogation was a full-fledged condemnation of our actions, and Eluid was bearing

the brunt of the scolding.

“You are supposed to be the elder warrior—the chieftan!” Obrai-San

slammed his fist against the rock in front of us, but his eyes remained fixed on Eluid.

“You are supposed to be immune to mercy when dealing with the Rouda pigs, yet you let

them sway you like a stupid ant, allowing your younger cousin to forego his Ralat by

granting mercy to that Rouda hog! Now, at age seventeen, Wedi-Jun still has not attained

warrior status for our clan!”

Eluid glanced at me with bitter, angry eyes—I could see he wanted to blame

me for everything. After all, it was my own decision to relinquish my rite of passage. I

had let my conscience get to me, the very thing I had been trained to repress when

34

dealing with the Rouda scum. Eluid, as lead warrior and Chieftain of our family clan,

second only to Obrai-San, had to accept my actions as his responsibility, and his failure to

guide me in the proper Way.

“Today, I have brought shame to my warrior caste,” Eluid spoke, his head

down. The words came out of him slowly, like dripping water. “I regret my guidance did

not facilitate Wedi-Jan to acquire his Ralat. For this, and all my failings to my Clet

ancestors, I am sorry.”

“Your failure has left your family one warrior less than the other clans,”

Obrai-Jonz, the lead elder, spoke. He was a rotund man, his voice was deep and absolute.

“But enough belittlement of poor, wretched Eluid. I fear he and the youngling were

swayed by the blasphemous words of this Clet elder. From the boys’ description of the

man it is obvious to whom we are dealing with, my fellow Obrai.”

The three other elders nodded. “It is Ebb,” one of them spoke.

“Ebbrezindli himself,” Jonz said with a grimace. “Of the Clicking Bird clan.

He has brought much shame to his family and, apparently, continues to do so.”

“Now he spreads that shame to my family!” Obrai-San said. “He is spreading

his blasphemy to other clans, and has cost me young Wedi. Now Wedi must go an entire

year before he can attempt his Ralat again!”

Obrai-Jonz rubbed his face, clearly vexed. “Ebbrezindli has already been warned

for his blasphemy, but, like all Obrai in our society, he comes from prominent lineage. If

his slander continues to impact other Obrai kinship, then perhaps more effective

35

consequences can be brought against him.”

“He has a huge following already, especially among the Rouda but now younger

Clet are starting to speak his drivel,” another Obrai said. “We need to deal with him

before he corrupts anymore of our own.”

“It is that mass movement which makes it so difficult to act against him,” Jonz

said. “I don’t want any more of our youth to follow him so naively. It will only be a matter

of time before he slanders Moria’s Way and commits Saghhir. Hopefully by then, our

youth will be able to condemn him themselves. Surely they possess the capability to make

such a judgment on their own, hmmm?”

The question was directed at Eluid and I, catching me off guard.

“Yes, Obrai-Jonz,” Eluid answered without hesitation. “Absolutely we do.”

***

“Get into the corner you Rouda swine!” Eluid shouted at an elderly male,

grabbing the man by the collar and flinging him up the incline. “Wedi, use your stick!”

I removed my whipping stick from my side holder—the threads of the stick

were beginning to fray, which tore into a victim’s skin all the more. I should have sanded

this down, why didn’t I sand this down?

“Wedi, you duk-jong! No time for hesitation!” Eluid said as he threw two

more captives —a Rouda boy and a Lena, an Aundat who rejected both Clet and Rouda

teachings, against the rock. The smoke and smell of the lava river caused panic amongst

the prisoners. The hot, grey air, coupled with the crackling sound of the river flow, made

36

them realize this was the beginning of their end.

I had used my stick to inflict order as we made the uphill trek to

Moria’vleck, our sacred mountain where the Clet believed Father World spoke to us all.

At the top of the mountain was an active volcano, the voice of Moria himself, the holiest

place on the planet. The lava flows came down the mountain in three networks of rivers.

The largest and hottest was the River of Life, which spanned the entire length of the

mountain and fed into an open plain at its northern base. It was also, as designated by

our Clet traditions, a place to condemn heretics and offer sacrifice to Father World. As

penance for our debacle at the Rouda village one week earlier, Eluid and I had been

assigned to bring sacrificial victims up to the River of Life, where the victims would be

given to Father World as sacrifices to keep our suns hot, our water flowing, and our air

sanitary.

“Come on, Wedi!” Eluid said to me, sensing my hesitancy with the whip. He

seized it and began whipping the young Lena with it. “These men will not go to the fires

on their own!” His tone dropped to a harsh whisper. “Quit embarrassing our family name

and act like a warrior!”

He gave me a swat on the head hard enough to make my eyes water, then

handed back the stick. Repressing the trepidation within me, I tore into the stragglers,

and barked at them to keep climbing.

We arrived a few minutes later. My whip frayed further, with drips of Rouda

lifeblood matted into the fibers. I had become cold and unfeeling—I had to in order to

brace myself for the River. A large stream of molten lava oozed down the mountain face

37

in a zigzag pattern. Dark, bubbly rock surrounded the stream, solidifying into black,

jagged, steaming crumble as it settled on the banks to be cooled by the forest air. Several

trees still stood despite being layered with the cinder and ash that spit from the

mountain top.

“Move, you hogs!” Eluid shouted at the prisoners, as we lined them up at a

clearing where several Clet priests operated a pulley, which held a cable over the lava.

Attached to the cable sat an open, metal cage—the prison that would carry the criminals

to the middle of the River, and release them to their peril. “If you choose to rape or reject

Moria, this is your fate! Now you can answer to your Father directly!”

“Please, I’ll do whatever the Clet want!” One of the Lena victims pleaded to

me. Perhaps he saw my vulnerability, I don’t know, but he immediately fell to his knees

at my feet. “Sir,” he wailed, “I see you are a kind man. I don’t want to die this way. I will

renounce the Rouda, I will become a Clet slave, anything you want. Please!”

The man was first to go into the cage. I put my hand on his shoulder and

gave the only response I could. “Brother, I cannot help you. Moria demands you answer

for your crimes.”

“Stupid Wedi!” Eluid said, shoving me aside. He began whipping the man,

then tossed him into the cage. The man’s wails did nothing to stop Eluid. My cousin

turned to me in a fit of rage.

“You are too weak, cousin!” He grabbed my ear and drug me to the edge of

the bank. “I want you to watch this pig burn and face his chastisement! Watch it, as the

38

first step to reclaim your warrior-hood!”

I watched as the cage was cranked across the river towards the center of the

flow. The searing heat caused the man to scream well before he was over the stream. I

tried to control my feelings and watch as the pulley operator sprang open the bottom of

the cage, and dropped the Lena man into the lava below. It took less than twenty seconds

before the man completely ignited into a ball of rolling, red fire. I could still hear the

echoes of his scream as the hungry lava swayed down the hill.

“May Moria eat his soul for his misgivings.” Eluid let me go. I turned to face

his vengeful, and satisfied, eyes. “Now we send seven more to the fires, cousin, and I want

you to watch every one.”

Seconds before the second victim, a blind Rouda female, was about to be sent

across, a group of Aundat emerged through the brown brush and headed towards us. An

Aundat male, in the blue, golden robes of a Clet elder, led the group, walking about five

paces ahead of the rest. I recognized instantly who it was.

“What is this?” The pulley operator asked. “What is going on?”

“It’s him,” one of the priests said with disgust. “It is Ebb.”

“What are you doing here, Ebbrezindli?” another of the priests asked. “This

affair no longer concerns you, as you have rescinded your right to walk on this sacred

ground.”

“And what are you doing here, brother?” Ebb replied. “I have not seen it

written that our Father’s voice, nor the natural beauty he gives us, be used as an

39

assembly of torture and death. It is written ‘Moria gives life to all, and in His sacred

ground, all good things come.’”

“Do not purport to be a scriptural authority to us, prudish boy!” the priest

shot back. “The traditions of the Aundat’Clet have been practiced well before you were a

pup. Our scripture is centuries old, and is not for petty youth like yourself to claim any

semblance of comprehension towards it!”

“I guide myself not by scripture, but by the words of Moria Himself.”

“Moria speaks to you,” the priest said, laughing, then turned to the rest of

us. “Did you hear that everyone? Ebbrezindli claims to speak to Father World himself.

How many of you enjoy such discourse with our Great Father? Any of you?”

“No!” Many in the ground, including Eluid, shouted out. I remained silent,

turning my attention back to Ebb. For the briefest of moments, his eyes caught mine, but

he resumed speaking.

“Father World created all of us as his own.” Ebb replied, launching a chorus

of applause from his supporters behind him. He approached the cage, where the blind

Rouda woman had been placed. “Look at this poor wretch here. Sister, what is your

crime?”

The woman adjusted her head towards the sound of his voice. She hit her

head on one of the bars as she tried to put her face through them. Her eyes ashen and

rubbery. “I…I make ointment from the barberry bush. I use it to soothe my eyes but I

have to grind up the leaves to make it.”

40

“She is guilty of Saghhir.” One of the priests said. “All Rouda are.”

Ebb ignored the comment. Instead, he placed his hand on the lady’s head.

“Sister, look at me,” he said.

The woman jolted as though she had been pricked with a thorn. Both her

eyes shot open and her expression was one of sheer terror. She stumbled backwards

against the cage and fell against the opposite side.

“Oh my…” She muttered, staring at her hands. “Oh my word, I…I can see!”

Her eyes appeared as orange and as healthy as any Aundat. The crowd stood stunned.

I heard rumblings of the miracles and healings Ebb had carried out, and this

was clearly one of them. Several of the Clet guards, my cousin included, shouted out the

event had been staged, but that couldn’t have been the case. We had all seen it with our

own eyes.

Despite the accusations, Ebb spoke again, and everyone listened. “It is

written, My earth, My forests, My land, will be a land of prayer, not a modem of torture

and death.”

“Enough of this staged showcase,” the lead priest shouted out. “What

Ebbrezindli has claimed to do here is impossible. You pervert Clet belief with your

sacrilege! Redemption can only be found in the Way of your elders, not by staged magic

tricks!”

“And I am here to tell you, brothers and sisters,” Ebb countered, “not only

can you do what was done to this old wretch, but you can also say to the sky, go rain on

41

this ground, and it will be done. For if you believe, and talk to the Great Father World

himself, you will receive what you ask for.”

“Bah,” the head priest waved his hand in disgust. He made a signal to the

Pulley Operator. “We will not fall for this perverted sorcery. Our Way is the only way.

The wretch still dies.”

“And I tell you, sir,” Ebb’s eyes narrowed into slits at the high priest, “this

wretch, and the Lena who burned before her, will join Moria in Father World’s kingdom.”

“Now you, Ebbrezindli,” the priest’s voice was acidic, “speak heresy!”

“And you sir, speak hypocrisy!”

“Kill the wretch!” The priest shouted. He pointed to the cage gate. Eluid shot over

the cage and started pushing it toward the river, as the pulley operator began pulling the

cable.

“You will NOT turn my house into a chamber of death!” Ebb’s voice seemed to echo

across the entire forest, stopping all of us in our tracks. He lunged at the whipping stick

at my side and pulled it from my holster. I did nothing to stop him. In a torrent of rage,

and moving faster than I had ever seen anyone move in my life, Ebb began whipping the

priests and Eluid, scattering them away from the cage. Even the pulley operator, bulky

as he was, cowered away from the ferocious lashes of Ebb’s whip. Ebb controlled the

whipping stick like a master, and all of the Clet scattered like wildfire.

His followers unlatched the cage and freed the old woman, still in shock at having

her sight restored. They freed the remaining prisoners. I stood still. I did not run. With

42

the Clet scattered into the woods, Ebb hand the whip back to me.

“Boy, follow me.” He said.

“I…I…can’t,” I said. All I could think of was Eluid’s anger raining on me.

Ebb nodded, then began walking away with his followers, including the six

prisoners. As I watched them all disappear into the forest, one of the last followers placed

his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it, startling me. My mouth dropped.

The man smiled at me warmly. He turned and walked away, both arms rocking at

his side.

I watched him walk the entire way until he disappeared in the forest. My heart

pounded as I watched him swallowed up by the brown trees.

It was the Rouda male whose arm I had cut off two weeks earlier. He had grabbed

my shoulder with the very arm I had severed from his body.

***

“Wedi-Jun!” Eluid’s eyes spewed fury as he hovered over me with a raised

hand. “You’re no longer to be seen at the demagogue’s appearances. Ever since those

theatrics at the River three weeks ago, you’ve been tracking his shows like a lost puppy!

Ebb is dangerous to your weak mind! No more! I forbid it!”

“I understand, elder cousin,” I muttered, bracing myself for the swat that

didn’t come. The truth was I had been in the crowd during Ebb’s appearances. The stories

about his healings, and the strange, mystical things he was able to do shocked me—

43

shocked our entire society. Large crowds of Clet and Rouda followers accompanied Ebb

wherever he went, and I had hoped to blend in among them. At every appearance, one or

two of the Clet elders or priests showed up, challenging Ebb’s beliefs and teachings.

However, Ebb’s message, wit, and scrupulous command of Aundat history and theology

was more than enough to put the hecklers in their place. His movement, without

question, was growing larger by the day as flocks of Aundat followers joined the fold. The

only two people who noticed my appearance at the functions were Eluid and Ebb himself.

“You understand but do you comply?!” Eluid slammed his fist on the

rockface in front of me.

“Yes, I comply,” I said. “I wish to become a warrior. I will do whatever you

ask.”

Eluid looked like he still wanted to strike me but restrained himself. “He

will probably die, you know?” he said. “He has led astray too many, and perverted the

Way too openly. The Obrai plan to kill him.”

I narrowed my eyes as I spoke. “Ebb has said as much.”

“Oh, now he knows this, does he?” Eluid said, laughing. “The mighty blasphemer

can now predict the future! Oh Moria, what else can this man do?”

“It’s strange, Eluid,” I said. “He says he will die for us. That his death will—”

“I KNOW WHAT HE SAYS, COUSIN!” Eluid leapt over the rock table and

delivered to me the ominous swat I had been waiting for. He struck me over the left

temple and shoved me backwards over the rock I was sitting on. I landed hard on my

44

backside, winding myself.

“I KNOW THE NONSENSE HE SPEWS! Oh, the Clet will kill him but he will

generously die for our transgressions, he says! Oh, he will ravage our society and

reestablish the Way in three days! Well, tell me, how can he do all of these things, huh?

HOW CAN HE?”

“He…he can’t,” I said, wheezing. “I don’t know how he could.”

“Because it's preposterous, that's why,” Eluid said, backing off. “What I don’t

understand is why you still heed his word and even bother with the scum?”

I took a breath and sat up. I watched Eluid walk to the crest of our cave.

“No matter anyway,” he said. “Ebb will be getting his just fate…and soon.”

***

As it was, the Elders made their move the next day. Eluid and I were

summoned in the middle of the night to Moria’vleck—the River of Life. We were to come

armed, with our stick-whips and clubs. Our instructions would follow once we arrived on

site.

Halfway up the hill, we found out. Fifteen Clet henchmen, led by five elders

—one of whom was Obrai-San—were escorting eight prisoners up the hill. The prisoners

had hoods pulled over their heads and were chained together. Upon seeing us, Obrai-San

ordered we step in formation and join the guards in shoving the prisoners up the

pathway. We were told to strike them if they stepped off the trail or stopped moving.

“We have caught the blasphemer,” Obrai-San said, “and six of his followers.”

45

Ambushed would have been a better word for Obrai-San to use. They

captured Ebb on his way back to Clet territory after speaking to Lena villages in an

adjacent valley. Apparently, the Obrai decided it would be best to work together to

kidnap Ebb and prosecute him quietly, without a high profile trial charged by a volatile

crowd of Ebb’s supporters.

“Now we can bring this pig to justice,” a henchman said, as he spat on the

hood of one of the followers.

“Enough talking!” Obrai-San chastised us. “The River approaches.”

At the head of our Procession, Obrai-Jonz walked silently as he approached

the open cage that hovered along the right bank of the river. Obrai-San and Aridian, the

Clet high priest, stood in front of him. We were instructed to push all seven accused to

the front of the cage, and force them to kneel at the elders' feet. I was pushed back as the

more experienced chieftains, Eluid among them, took the lead in unhooding the

prisoners. This suited me fine. I did not want Ebb to see me—the man did not know my

name, but he certainly knew my face. I did not want to be here for this, but I needed to

fulfill my commitments to the warrior brethren. I could not bring any more shame to my

clan than I already had.

“Here are the blasphemers, great elders,” Eluid spoke, “and here is the

greatest blasphemer of them all!” He tore the hood off the man at the front of the group.

It was Ebb—his face bruised and swollen, his eye partially shut. A trickle of yellow blood

could be seen from a nasty scratch on the left side of his face. More blood pooled in small

spaces between his teeth.

46

I was startled and dismayed to see the followers captured alongside

Ebbrezindli. Two were females, two were sickly-looking elderly males, and two were

children at the crest of adolescence.

“Ebbrezindli, son of the clan of the clicking bird,” Obrai-Jonz spoke, “you

have been charged with blasphemy of the utmost kind. Blasphemy against your elders,

your people, and our most sacred way!”

“And what do you call this assault on the child of Moria, and his people?”

Ebb answered through gritted teeth. “For it has been written…”

“YOU ARE NOT THE CHILD OF MORIA!” screamed Obrai-Jonz, cutting him off.

“This is the very blasphemy that has brought you to your fate. A fate only you can

prevent, by recanting those very words you just spoke.”

“I cannot recant the will of Father World,” Ebb answered. “What is to

happen here has been prophesized eons before—”

“Do not insult the Way any further than you already have!” Aridian, the

lead Obrai, said. “Your arrogance has corrupted those you have seduced.”

“I have seduced them in the spirit of Father World,” Ebb retorted, “to follow

the teachings of Moria, and to love all his children the way we would love another—”

“Enough of this.” Obrai-Jonz had fury in his eyes. “Ebbrezindli, do you

convict yourself of the crime of blasphemy, that you so dare call yourself the child of

Moria, when we ourselves know the exact lineage of your family history?”

“All I can tell you,” Ebb said, “is that I live through Moria, and Moria lives

47

before me, and together we will live forever.”

“Live forever!” Obrai-Jonz responded in a mocking tone. “Live forever? Even

if you burn in the very fires Moria has forged for you himself?”

“Do not assume nature and divinity are one in the same, Obrai-Jonz.” Ebb’s

voice wavered. “Everything before us was created by Father World, that much I know we

agree on, but what is taking place here and now has also been crafted by Moria, so that

the destiny of his chosen heir be fulfilled.”

“And are you the chosen heir?” Obrai-San scoffed, shaking his head in

disgust. “You, Ebbrezindli, son of a clan warrior and matron, who has disgraced them all

with his tales of falsified grandeur. You are a Wort, boy, and that’s all you'll ever be.”

Ebb’s eyes narrowed into slits, as he gazed directly at his accusers. “Do you

not think this very second I could bring down an army of servants at my command? That

I could call on our Father most high, Mighty Moria, to protect me from your judgment?

Do you doubt that, sirs? Do you doubt everything I’ve done?”

All three men looked at each other and chuckled, though the expressions on

their faces showed no humor. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could have doubted the

miracles, the healings Ebb carried out, but they did. I did—or least I thought I did.

“Bahh,” Obrai-San snarled. He gave a signal and was handed a prong, which

held a stone dipped in the molten lava. “Here, then, have Moria save you from this.” He

thrust the prong toward Ebb, releasing the burning rock. Ebb was forced to catch it with

his hands lest it fall onto his lap.

48

“Arrgghhhhhh!” Ebb wailed. He immediately dropped the stone onto the

ground in front of him, where it sank into the mossy pathway at his knees. He buckled

onto the ground, rolling in agony at his smoldering arms, which instantly turned a

frightening red. The smell of burning flesh penetrated the air.

“Ebb, recant, please my leader.” One of his followers begged him. The two ladies in

his group screamed at the sight of Ebb, sobbing from the searing heat, his head buried in

the grass to muffle the sound. I wanted to help him up, but I couldn’t. Instead, I had to

listen to the cackling laugh of my cousin, as he cheered the actions of our family Obrai.

“Where is Moria, now, huh, Wort-Rat?” Obrai-San asked. He signaled for Eluid

and another guard to force the man up to his knees.

Obrai-Jonz spoke with a cold finality. “Ebbrezindli, son of the great Clicking Cird

clan, and his followers, you are hereby sentenced to burn this very moment, for your

attempted perversion of the one true Way of our people.”

Ebb looked up. His arms were still burning from the fiery rock.

“It must be only me who goes,” he said, wheezing. “Only I must be sent into the

river. You cannot send my flock. It’s only supposed to be I, no one else.”

“Once again, you presume to know the Way,” Obrai-Jonz answered. “And once

again, you are wrong. You and all seven of your followers will burn, Ebbrezindi, as will

all of the followers who have taken up their lot alongside you.”

Ebb looked directly at the three Obrai standing above him. “You cannot kill my

flock,” he repeated. “The ultimate sacrifice is mine to make, and mine alone. Look at my

49

people behind me—they are the future of my movement. It was not written for you— ”

“We do not care about your following,” Aridian shot back. “You have tarnished

them all, boy. They are all perverted in the way now. As we speak, your followers are

being rounded up across our settlements by Clet warriors, whose orders are to incinerate

the heretics immediately, thus paralyzing your movement before it even begins. We will

destroy them as we do all those who oppose our Way. This was your doing, my son.”

Ebb’s eyes remained closed as he spoke. I was not surprised. I had expected no

other outcome from the tribunal. Apparently, he had.

“So you would execute all of my people? The children, the elderly, the sick, the

poor, and the expecting—all of whom came to me to serve Moria? You would kill them

all?”

“They will all BURN.” Obrai-Jonz said. “They, like the Rauda, are the minority,

who stand out like gnats. They will all be hunted down in their nests, and they will burn

in the fires of their villages, some even on this mountain, and their seeds will never

replenish in the soil of our forests!”

Aridian leaned over, and spoke with an arrogant, malicious air directed at Ebb.

"And you, my friend, know it will be done."

Ebb’s eyes instantly shot open. To the astonishment of us all, the orange of his eyes

was no longer orange, but a dark, distinct brown —the color of dirt and ground.

“And YOU, Aundat’ Clet,” his voice rose to a loud din, a deep, menacing, echo-like

tone that seemed to amplify off of the mountains and trees around us, “are NOT

50

WORTHY OF ME!”

He stood straight up from the spot he had capitulated on and thrust his hand into

the air, his finger pointing directly at the Obrai who had just condemned him.

Instantly, all around us, warriors emerged out of the trees, the ground, from

behind us and in front of us—there seemed to be dozens of them. They blended in with

the background, the foliage, the dark sky around us. They moved quickly, forming a

perimeter around Ebb, protecting him from the Clet guards. They held long, wooden

staffs. I had no idea where they came from. They seemed to fall from the sky or come up

from the soil.

“The demon has brought forth his minions!” Aridian screamed. “Kill him, kill him

now, before he—”

The high priest’s words were cut short by the violent rumbling and shaking of the

mountain. A torrent of lava barreled down the mountain, swelling the size of the river

fivefold. Bursts of pressurized lava shot out of the ground in random spots around us—a

phenomenon I had never seen before, or since. A sudden, yet clearly calculated, burst

shot up from underneath Aridian’s feet, disintegrating him before he could finish his

scream. All that was left was his charred right ankle, soldered off by the harsh spurt of

fire which retreated back into the ground like a wort-rabbit into its hole.

“The Earth shakes!” Obrai-Jonz shrieked. “How is this demagogue doing this?”

“He has angered Father World!” Obrai-San shouted, unsheathing both his dagger

and his whip stick. “Attack fellow Clet warriors. Kill Ebb, kill him!”

51

I immediately held back, knowing full well the mistake the Obrai were making.

Father World was not angered by Ebb’s actions, He was protecting Ebb, exactly as Ebb

had said he could.

“Obrai-San, wait!” I tried calling out, but he had already lunged at Ebb’s

inner circle. The minions, who I now saw to be bright, white, translucent entities stood

defensively, awaiting the attack, making swats at our guards only when our Clet

warriors swung at them.

“Die, Demon!” Obrai-San tried leaping over the perimeter to strike at Ebb,

who looked with spiteful eyes at my family leader. Two of the minions held up their

staffs, which I swear turned into spears before my eyes, and impaled my family leader,

lifting him up in the air. In desperation, Obrai-San pulled his dagger and tried to strike

at Ebb’s face. Ebb didn’t even flinch, as one of the minions blocked the blow with his

hand. Ebb looked at Obrai-San with pity in his eyes—Ebb no longer appeared to be the

wounded, helpless, burned man he had been minutes ago. Instead, Ebb placed his hand

on Obrai-San’s forehead, and responded, “I forgive you, son, but still you reject me.”

In a last defiant gesture, Obrai-San took out a pick from his side holster and

tried to stab Ebb in the eye with it —before he could make his killing thrust, however, the

minions hurled Obrai-San, and the spear he was impaled on, into the gorging lava river.

Ebb merely turned away, his eyes welled with tears.

“Wedi! Wedi-Jun!” My cousin screamed at me. He had a gash across the

right side of his face. He held a dagger of his own, the blade now broken in half. “Attack!

Attack this dok-klog! Hurry!”

52

“No, cousin!” I shouted. “I will not!” Surely, Eluid could see what was going

on.

“Wedi, you wort-rat dung!” He snarled. “This is your chance for redemption!

Come on!”

“No Eluid,” I screamed. “Have you not seen and heard what Ebb has done?

He is Father World!”

Eluid charged toward me, grabbed me by my ear, and pulled me toward the

circle. “Take out your dagger and attack! I command you!”

I pinched my cousin’s arm to break free of his hold. He tried to grab me a

second time, and I knocked his hand away. “No cousin! We will die. We can’t win.

Everything Ebb has told us is true!”

We looked at the crowd, several of the Clet guards had died or were

wounded trying to attack Ebb and his followers. We watched as one Clet guard swung his

whip and lashed a minion across his neck and arm, only to have the adjacent minion

strike him down with his staff.

“You will allow yourself to sit and watch your people die!” Eluid said.

“You can’t beat him Eluid. He is Moria—”

“ENOUGH OF THAT BLASPHEMY!” my cousin screamed. “You are with

that devil! You have been with him all along!”

“Retreat, Aundat’Clet retreat!” Obrai-Jonz hollered, motioning for whatever

Clet guards he could find to run away. “We cannot beat this demon now, we must

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regroup.”

“He is not a demon!” I tried shouting. “He’s not—arrghhh!”

I swallowed my words as my older cousin held the tip of his dagger to my

throat.

“If you do not run into the woods this second, I will take your head with me

and leave your body behind!”

I would not go with my cousin. I would not. “Eluid, I…”

Another rumble and explosion from the mountain cut off my denial, and an

angry stream of flaming rocks rained down on the remainder of the guards, causing them

to flee in different directions.

“Move it, you fools!” Obrai-Jonz sprinted up the mountain behind us. “That

dog has turned Clet against Clet, and is using the most-wicked magic, manipulating our

Holy Lands, to do it! This is going to be war, I swear it!

“Get that dagger away from your cousin, you fool!” he screamed at Eluid.

“You’ve being hypnotized by that wort-”

Before he could finish, a fiery boulder shot from the sky behind us, striking

the elder in the chest, pummeling him backwards down the hill in an explosive, rolling

fireball.

The moment stunned Eluid and I. His dagger remained pressed into my

throat. We looked at each other, horrified at what was transpiring before us. Fortunately,

I came to my senses first. I swatted his dagger away, unsheathed my own, and slashed

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him across the chest.

“Arrgghhhh!” My cousin wailed, dropping to his knees. I held my dagger at

him as the skies rained fire around us.

“I will not go, cousin,” I said, slowly backing away.

“From this moment on, Wedi-Jun,” Eluid said, between heaving breaths.

“You…are my sworn enemy, and the enemy of our family. You will rue the day you did

this to me, you deklekog!”

At that moment, he was weak enough I could have overpowered him and

stabbed him until he died. Instead, I had Ebb’s message in my ear—of mercy, forgiveness,

compassion.

“Go into the woods, Eluid.” I told him. “Flee. Flee before you do something

stupid and Father World chooses to take your life. And remember to forgive.”

“I will never forgive you, Wedi-Jun,” my cousin spat. “The next time I see

you, I will turn you inside out, and dance on your carcass.” I watched him turn and sprint

into the woods, and I knew full well my cousin would attempt to carry out what he had

promised.

I looked at the carnage around me. The lava torrent continued down the

mountain, a stream of it had broken away from the main river, and rose over the jutted

rock bank. I had never seen lava travel so fast. It gushed into the forest and through the

trees, on course to barrel into Clet settlements at the mountain’s base.

None of my brethren remained. There were only bodies on the slope, and

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small smoldering spots where Obrai-Jonz and the high priest met their end. Huddled

away from the river in a small clearing stood Ebb, and his six followers. As my eyes set

on them, I noticed there were no more giant cinders falling from the sky and the minions

had disappeared. Everything seemed like a blur. Ebb spotted me in the distance. I

stumbled down towards him.

When I reached him, I immediately dropped to my knees, unsure of what I

should say or do. A sense of shame overcame me. I wanted to hide.

Ebb’s eyes fell upon me. His followers looked at me with suspicion—I could

tell I was not welcome within their circle. Even worse was the way Ebb looked at me—the

way I would look at a lowly, downtrodden beggar—with pity and disappointment in his

eyes.

He walked towards me. I thought he was going to strike me. Instead, he put

his hand on my shoulder and spoke in a sharp, decisive tone.

“The Clet have shattered their covenant with Father World.” He said. “I will

not shed my blood for them, Wedi-Jun. My Father has commanded me not to. Salvation

will not come to them through belief alone, for my words, nor the words of their most high

Heavenly Father, can allay the wickedness that has festered in their hearts.”

I wasn’t entirely certain what he was talking about, but I didn’t question

him. He was all-powerful—I had seen it for myself.

“And you, Wedi, have finally brought yourself to me,” Ebb continued,

motioning me to stand up. “Unlike your brethren, your heart is not hollow, but you did

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not come to me until you saw the power of Moria exercised through me.”

“I-I’m sorry,” I said, getting up slowly. “I believe now. I—”

“Blessed be the one who does not see, but still believes in me.” Ebb waited

for me to stand. “As for the Aundat, only through belief in me, and through my words and

teachings, will they earn their place in Moria’s kingdom. They must abandon their

subversion of the Way—the elitist, inflexible schema they have adopted was the work of

the darkest, vilest being in Moria’s kingdom—Kelebatrust. Remember that name.”

“K-Kelebatrust?” I repeated. I had never heard that name before.

“It is a name your elders suppressed from your people, because they could

not control how you would react to it. It is the same thing they tried to do with me, only

they could not suppress the Kingdom of Moria.” Ebb then spoke to me in words which

penetrated my very soul.

“You must spread my word to your people Wedi-Jun, and learn about the

wickedness of Kelebatrust, his forces of darkness, and how your Obrai failed to teach

your people about his evil, ultimately enslaving them all to his will.”

“I-I know nothing about this Kelabatrust,” I said. “Where does he come

from?”

“You will not see him on this planet, Wedi-Jun. His presence exists in the

malice and elitism of your people. To help your people regain their spot in the Kingdom of

Moria, you must learn his tale from the Rouda, for only they have the preserved the

tradition of Kelabatrust’s banishment from Father World.”

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“I—I will do as you ask, sir,” I said. I had just been given the biggest

assignment of my life, far greater than anything I could have been given from Obrai-San

or Eluid.

“Do not fear me, Wedi-Jun,” Ebb squeezed my shoulder. “It is Kelabatrust

and his forces of darkness you must fear. They will work against you, but remember

Kelabatrust can only be in one place at one time, whereas Moria can be everywhere, all at

once. And He will be at your side when you ask him to. Remember that Wedi-Jun. It may

be your people’s only hope.”

“I will.”

I watched Ebb turn and walk down the hill to his followers. He had said to them

what he needed to, then we all watched as he walked into the underbrush along the left

hand side of the lava flow. He turned to face us, then a bright white light came down from

the sky, revealing a stairwell of white rock and gold. He gave us a wave, then walked up

the stairwell, and a voice, the loudest voice I had ever heard, came from light in the sky,

and it said “This is my son, in whom I am well pleased. He will not be forsaken. Instead,

he will come to his rightful place, along my right hand side.”

And he walked up into the light and disappeared, and we never saw him again.

And my work began…

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“Alright boys,” the General said. He had taken his vest off and the daylight shining so blue

when they began re-reading had now dimmed with an overcast sky. “I see what we got here, but so

what? What can we possibly hope to accomplish with this ‘story’?”

“This ‘story’ is a primary, historical account General,” Parmascus replied. He spoke via his

satellite link, on the brown musty planet 300 light-years away from Earth. “Written and preserved in

another galaxy, by a sentient life form different from our own, paraphrasing a minimum of four

passages that echo the words, teachings, and translations of the Christian martyr of Earth, Jesus Christ.”

“Like I said, I get that,” the General said, adjusting his reading glasses. “But I have a problem

with some of this vocabulary here—words like bastard, heretics, theatrics, suppressed, minions. I

mean, how much of this did we put in ourselves? Maybe that computer of yours can help us with this

one, Doval?”

Doval had remained quiet throughout the reading, letting the other two discuss the ramifications

of the story, but he knew it wouldn’t take long for the questions on the document’s credibility to arise.

“Summetros, can you address the general’s concern please?”

There is always a margin for translation variance, Summetros replied,

the specific vocabulary in question has all been tabulated to have a

85.6% accuracy rate or higher. The most recent Rlyesian-to-English

translation was carried out by an Aundat’Rouda translator, and is

consistent with the three other existing translations, including my

own—

“Thank you, Summetros,” Doval cut in. “Look, general, this is why I called you all in. All four

translations are on this data-chip.” He held it up. “On one hand, you may be right, I may have nothing

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here but a bedtime fable. On the other hand, there are some—and Parm is one of them—who would

argue I have something far greater. The question I have is, do I release this information to the UNE and,

subsequently, risk leaking it to the Galactic Media, or do I crush this thing under my boot, here and

now?”

The general removed his glasses. “Refresh my memory, Doval. What is the political status on

that rock of yours?”

Doval looked at Parmascus before answering. “Well, the planet itself remains a veritable

wasteland, no sophisticated infrastructure, technology, or society. As it was when I took over from

Parm a year ago, the Rouda remain the dominant tribe—still very agrarian, pious, and limited in

worldview. They are starting to warm up to human colonists. I'd say we have a decent relationship now,

hence why this document has finally come to our attention.”

“Ebb, of course, is the cornerstone of the Rouda faith,” Parmascus added. “They

continue to worship Father World. Ebb is seen as the personification of Moria himself.”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah, I know that,” the general said, “but what about this Aundat’Clet, this

elitist majority group in the story? I never heard of them. I couldn't find any documentation about them

either. What do you have?”

“We still don’t know much about them, sir,” Doval said, shrugging. “Apparently, they

exist in small, isolated tribes throughout the planet. They comprise less than 1% of the Aundat

population today. The Lena wiped the majority of their population in the civil war here 500 years ago.

Parm, you may know more about—”

“Never mind that, let’s get to the heart here.” The senior diplomat sounded frustrated. “Ebb’s

name, Ebbrezindli Reflietic, literally translates into the words ‘anointed one.’ We don’t believe it was

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his real name but one he claimed he was given by ‘Father World.’ There’s too many coincidences to

simply pass this story off as some kind of ancient Rouda fairytale.”

“We have 87 humans currently inhabiting this planet.” Doval said. “Fourteen of whom work

at this outpost. It is only a matter of time before they learn about Ebb, and this ‘Chronicle.’ Do I head

them off at the pass, and get this document in the hands of UNE and Galactic scholars now, before the

rumor-mongering and disinformation begins?”

“No,” the general said, letting out a heavy breath. “If it gets into intergalactic hands we’ll have a

firestorm of controversy the UNE doesn’t need right now. There’ll be accusations that humans—

particularly Christians—fabricated the document for imperialist, ethnocentric, and self-serving

reasons.”

“In short, we’ll screw it up, is that what you’re saying, general?” Parmascus said, with no

attempt to hide the disgust in his voice. “Instead of treating the story as the historical marvel it is, it’s

going to be condemned as an ‘obstruction’ to Earth’s expansionism, correct?”

“Those are your words, ambassador, not mine,” the general said, glaring at Parmascus as he

tapped a button on his datapad.

“It’s only a matter of time before my translators hear about Ebb from one of the locals,

general.” Doval said. “After that, I have no way of controlling what gets back to you on Earth.”

“And that, my sorry friends,” the general said, “would be the first of many of your ‘screw-ups.’

Want to hear another one?”

The cloudy, overcast sky the general sat in front of dissipated into a green-screen.

“I’m not on Earth.”

A loud explosion shook Doval’s command station. Loud screaming could be heard behind the

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durasteel door that housed him from the rest of the outpost. Doval glanced at Parmascus, whose eyes

shot like laser beams towards the general.

“I guess you missed your grandkids’ lunch awhile ago, hey general?” Parmascus said.

“Summetros, activate Project Tzuar now!”

Project initiated, the computer system stated. Ambassador Doval, please

exit at the previously planned escape route.

The sound of blaster-fire could be heard from the other side of the door. The dim sound of

horrified screaming trickled through as well.

“God, general!” Doval shot up from his chair. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m in Rylesia’s orbit right now, Doval.” The general said over the screen. “I’m here for that

chip. That’s a nuclear detonator in your hands, son. You can’t possibly control it.”

“And you can?” Doval said. He heard more screaming and blaster-fire through the door. “My

staff, don’t kill them, for God’s Sake! I’ll hand it over! Let them go!”

“Doval, get outta there!” Parmascus shouted. “They’re dead anyway. I told you!”

Sir, I would like to state the likelihood of your surviving the

General’s assault on your outpost, Summetros stated, decreases by a rate

of 1.4% with every second you hesitate to follow the pre-determined

exit path out of the station—

“Dammit, Summetros, shut it!” Doval turned back to the general’s image. “Come on, Sir, I

served under you! There’s no reason to take out my people! No reason!”

“It’s not me taking them out, Doval,” the general said.

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Doval hit the security terminal on his console to see a swarm of purple-skinned Aundat had

charged into the outpost, armed with TL-350 rapid-fire blasters, Earth issued.

“The Lena.” Doval looked up at the general. “What the hell did you tell them?”

“The UNE’s pulling out of the planet, Doval, just like I told you!” Parmascus shouted. “They’ve

armed the Lena—told them some fabricated yarn that you’re going to enforce Ebb’s teaching and

convert the planet to Earth-based Christ—urghhhh!”

“Parm!” Doval shouted to the screen.

Doval watched in helpless terror as Parmascus was lifted off his feet from behind by an

unknown assailant who'd crept behind him in the trench. Parmascus struggled on screen, trying to grasp

at the ripcord tightening around his throat. His face went red as he tried to struggle against the

overpowering assassin behind him, but the noose was too tight. The last image Doval saw was his

predecessor kicking over his tablet screen as his killer strangled the life from him.

“God, General,” Doval was sick to his stomach. “How long was this planned?”

“Hand over the chip, Doval,” the general said, “everything will go easier for you, I promise.”

Ambassador, I surmise an 83.4% probability rate that the general

does not use the word ‘easier’ in a context that guarantees your will

survive a direct encounter with his—

“I know, Summetros,” Doval said, through gritted teeth. “Make that 100%.”

The durasteel doors blasted partially off its top hinges, sending a loud din and strong vibration

into the command center that nearly knocked Doval off his feet. Two Lena guards put their blasters

through the small opening they created and ordered Doval to surrender.

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Sir, I now calculate the odds of your survival to be declining

at a rate of 8.7% with each remaining second you—

“Summetros, open the emergency exit!” Doval shouted, grabbing his data-tablet, and placing

the chip into his pocket.

The secret panel behind Summetros' mainframe popped open.

He was greeted by two Rouda members of his support staff, the only two aware of this

emergency plan.

“What take you so long, sir?” One of the men said in broken English, as he whisked Doval

through the doorway then sealed it shut.

“I never in a million years thought it would come to this.” Doval charged down the hallway.

“Summetros, show me the surveillance feed.”

His tablet screen showed a view of the command center. A second loud explosion blew open the

durasteel door and a contingent of armed Lena warriors stormed in. They began blasting the computer

panels and raiding the cabinets.

“The emergency exit is sealed, sir,” the second Rouda said, “but we need to move quickly. They

have the firepower to break it open.”

Sir, my best estimation is that you have less than nine minutes

to get to the rendezvous point before the Lena warriors completely

surround the perimeter and—

“Discover the emergency exit, yes, I know.” Doval broke out into a run. Parmascus’ emergency

plan took three years to devise and involved clandestine expenditures to employ Rouda to renovate a

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fire exit into a secret, underground tunnel. When Parm first showed him the chamber, Doval thought it

was overkill.

Too bad you couldn’t protect yourself, Parm. The thought settled in Doval’s stomach like a cup

of dirty water.

Doval ran out of the tunnel, which led to the mouth of a camouflaged cave. An armored UNE

hovercraft was already idling with its repulsors activated, holding the craft two feet off the ground. The

three men leapt into the craft. Doval took the passenger seat.

Within seconds, the hovercraft top closed and the men shot out of the cave, leaving the outpost

behind. Doval glanced backwards to see smoke billowing from the rooftop.

“I guess this makes me an official traitor and fugitive,” Doval said.

He looked at his data-pad’s screen. His command-center had been destroyed. Computer panels

sizzled and smoked, and circuit boards torn apart. Two Lena warriors were attempting to find the seam

of the emergency exit. Four others were sifting through filing cabinets and rifling through access

panels, clearly looking for something.

In the background, from what was the only working speaker left in the room, was the general’s

voice.

“Doval can run, but he can’t hide. Do whatever it takes to secure that chip from him.”

In spite of the obvious threat against his life, and the complete upheaval of everything he had

known for the past year, what caught Doval’s eye on-screen was a singular, Lena warrior standing in

the center of the room, doing nothing but staring upwards into the lone security camera overseeing the

center. The warrior merely looked up and smiled, as though he somehow knew Doval was watching,

but what gripped Doval, apart from the eerily confident look on the creature’s face, were its eyes. They

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glowed a deep brown.

“Good God,” Doval said.

The Rouda male in the seat behind him placed his hand on Doval’s shoulder. “Today, you are

more than just a traitor and a fugitive to your government. So much more.”

Doval leaned back as the hovercraft flew though the foliage of a broadleaf forest, camouflaging

them, for the moment, from any UNE or Lena trackers.

I must point out, sir, Summetros’ voice emanated from the tablet, that in

spite of your survival thus far, you have to determine what should be

done with the data-chip you hold. It is clear from the general’s

destruction of my mainframe that he intends to eliminate all existing

translations of The Chronicle of Ebb, leaving the only remaining

copies—

“On this chip, yes, I know.” Doval said, frowning.

“Please know the Rouda will do whatever we can to protect Ebbrezindli’s honor and teachings,”

the Rouda driver said.

“Yes, thank-you.” Doval answered. It will mean a civil war with the Lena, by the way. I hope

the Rouda are up for that. He kept the thought to himself.

So what do you intend to do with the chip, sir? Summetros continued.

Will you be releasing the story to an independent, intergalactic

news agency? Is Planet Earth ready for the information contained in

those files without provoking further religious discord? Or shall we

keep the information quarantined, for the time being, and let the

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political situation on this planet stabilize, if that is even

possible? The decision is yours, sir.

Doval removed the chip from his pocket and gripped it in his fist.

“I know, Summetros.” He let out a sigh, then opened his palm, “I’m going to do the only

thing I can. Protect this chip.”

Michael Saad is a full time teacher who, when not lesson planning or marking, squeezes in fictional writing to keep him from hounding government officials on education, health care, and the environment. He is happily married to his wife Jodi, and together they have two wonderful children. They reside in Alberta, Canada where Mike can escape to the mountainous Provincial Parks for seclusion from his frequent disillusionment of provincial, federal, and international politics. Mike’s previously published works have appeared in Orange Magazine, Open Minds Quarterly, B.C. Historical News, Ensorcelled,

Halfway Down the Stairs, Nil Desperandum, Orion’s Child, and SQ Mag.

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