Nerrissa: Gateway of the Dove

By C.A. Keenan

Nerrissa may have been born a Princess but she has been brought up with no privileges, in total isolation, within the grim court of the Red Dragon. She is about to be forced into an untenable marriage when she beholds a golden Vision of an imprisoned Goddess compelling her to venture forth into the world on a great quest. She The Golden Dragoness Of Morning, and her dog, meet four other young women, The Anchor Of The Dove, The Rider Unhorsed, The Virgin Whore and The One From Nowhere, ending up in the most unlikely of all places; A brothel in an outlaw town where an old woman awaits their arrival.

The Woman engineers their escape and guides them on their journey taking them through enchanted woodlands while surrounded by fearsome enemies. They meet Old Gods, extended family and new loves. They learn about their world and the powers that have lain unsuspected hidden within themselves. At every turn they are confronted by danger but they must win through to the Demon’s door where the Goddess in her vision has been entrapped by the wrathful fire deity. Then their ultimate goal will be to find a way to banish The Flame.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.A. Keenan
• Release date: May 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781773025872

Book preview

Preface

The Chronicles of Duvholm i

Many years ago The Royal Archives charged me with the responsibility of writing the Chronicles of the beginnings of The New Order. Duvholm.

They averred that I, being the only outsider, was most suited to produce as unbiased an account as was humanly possible. They knew that there would be many accounts written and they wanted to be sure that there wouldn’t be trouble down the road with factions fighting over the authenticity of each account.

Now after the passage of many years, I see that their fears were not unfounded. I have already perused several versions of our struggles and our journeys, a couple of which seem to be works of pure fancy and another of particular note, written by a member of the old order who has lost his prestige in the New Order. He declares that we brought down an establishment of great purity and integrity. Interestingly enough, this was the one that most adhered to the facts.

However all of them give the impression that we wandered about the wilderness for years when in fact the entire journey, from the time Virga and Nerrissa arrived in The Boot until the end of our quest was accomplished within one Lunar Cycle.

To have an official record, fully endorsed by the principle participants, was absolutely essential to the stability of the New Order.

I told them that it wasn’t a task for which I was either inclined or disciplined to accomplish. I explained to them that I was neither educated for, nor had the patience to write. That on my planet I had been brought up on the Tri Dee.

Yes we had books but they were generally kept in museums and any child could call one up on her Studicomp. You were required to learn to read but you could see almost anything you wanted to see on your Tri Dee. So I have decided to create a Tri Dee production to record the events.

They assured me that indeed they had the confidence in me to accomplish this task.

Now I see that they were correct in their assessment of me. So now I know I best be about my job … lest it does not get finished and I default on my obligations. Anyway I have been appealed to by The High Commission to honour my ancient promise to chronicle those days and record our struggle lest they be lost in the minutiae of time.

I think I’ve already mentioned that I am indeed quite elderly, so elderly that by now, these events are merely stories from the past. I will try to present the highlights of our days as it would be far too boring to reiterate every weary mile and every soggy meal. It is good enough to know that we had them aplenty. There is no need to drag you through the gray featureless spaces of our lives. I’m sure you have enough of your own to plod through.

I have spent the subsequent years learning and studying all sorts of eclectic bits of wisdom gleaning from all over the multi-verse. Such wisdom gives shape and clarity to those distant travails. And so the story begins, as all such stories do, when the fabric of the universe is strained beyond endurance. When the balances are so awry, grave circumstances must right them.

We think that a state of humanity always implies a sort of penchant for going too far, but it has been my experience in recent times that the gods are not very much better.

ii

For as a class they have caused much trouble and they have the talent for much larger scope.

It was a time when things merge while others are struck asunder; a time of meetings and departures. Randomness is a concept I have long set aside, for I have learned that in times of great crises the right people are in place to obviate and facilitate the return to the integrity of the balance.

*****

It is all in the Ba-lance, said the fool doing a pirouette about the wooden walkway. He raises himself on his toes; he is ancient and more than a little crazy. It is all in the Ba-lance, and he leaps into the air and twirls, returning to the balls of his feet.

The crowd withdraw warily. They are afraid he might touch them and in that touch, infect them with madness.

I am going to the town square to make trouble, says he.

Is this your part time occupation, says I?

No! says he, I am a vol-lun-teer wor---ker." He pirouettes through the crowd and is gone.

Oh, says the fat lady as she circles her temple with her finger and she nods and rolls her eyes knowingly, at her neighbour.

Did you see that guy? says the little boy, laughing.

Boy was he out of it, comments an adolescent boy.

He’s not as weird as that guy who hangs out at the five crossroads, adds and old man.

Let me tell you about my great aunt Ethellia, interjects a middle aged housewife, if you think he’s crazy; you don’t want to meet her first thing in the morning.

A Street full of strangers, all happily sharing their eccentrics; people who five minutes earlier would not have either acknowledged or given each other the time of day.

*****

The point of this is that you never know who or what will unite you, with whatever unlikely group of persons for whatever unlikely cause. You never know who will be the facilitator. It is not the point that none of these people could do what the Fool accomplished; it is that none of them did.

This is a story of a meeting of the coming together of events and people for who knows what, or for what far-reaching influence?

Of course there was a prophecy of champions and companions; a thing that would come when ‘THE CHOSEN’ was born. So I have organised some events that took place before I was actually part of the quest. These things I have found out by questioning others and are as close to what really occurred or I’ve been able to ascertain.

*****

First there is the advent of The Goddess That Walks into a quiet little world where the Gods are attached to the plates that float on the Magma; each keeping to their own place and therefore no conflict. At the time when The Goddess Who Walks enters into this world most of the deities had quit consciousness and retreated into the dreaming all in various stages of development. The Great Mother did not bother anyone in particular but entered through a portal from the Multiverse with her people escaping from a universe of turmoil and violence. They settled in an area that was sparsely populated without interrupting the other peoples that already inhabited this world. They settled down to a simple agrarian lifestyle of non-interference, merely adding to, rather than detracting from, the inhabitants who already people this place.

*****

Then: after considerable time has passed, say eons, enters The Flame or as some others would have it, The Demon, in pursuit of the peaceful Goddess and her people. He chooses a nodule beneath a powerful mountain, Dragon in name, where the Lord of that plate had, in the far distant past, made the transition into The Dreaming.

It was a place where many Ley lines culminated and it was why it was chosen. He lay secretly beneath that mountain and began to amass a huge cache of power, building and building and building.

When he has amassed as much power as he deems necessary he roars out into the land searching for ‘The Goddess of The Dove.’

She, thinking that she has escaped him, does not become aware of Him until he is almost upon her, so just in time she flees his grip and rushes East down the most easily accessed Ley line, never realising that that was exactly what he had intended Her to do. All She could think of was to get him as quickly as possible away from her people. So she fled east down the Line that ran beneath The High Ledges towards the sea. He gains upon her rapidly. When she gets as far as The River Dan he manages to come around her and block her access to the big Rivers to the east and north so she branches off to a smaller Line that heads south just inside a small mountain range. He continues to herd her southward. However a huge unexpected power rises up and comes at his pursuit of her from the West. He screams and smites the lands from which the voice has originated. Two great voices raging against each other, one younger and decidedly female and the other older. His new foe, one used to peacefulness and him Savagery personified. He lashes out smiting her with unaccustomed violence damaging her so that she retreats into herself. He continues his pursuit of The Golden Dove of Mourning. He sends a wash of power to her eastern flank and she turns towards a tall mountain. He pushes from behind and then he has her bottled in a cave halfway to its summit. He flicks the symbols of the portal and pushes her out where he has come in; he bombards the gateway with the last of his power and renders the portal inoperable. He screams and rants around the mountain for many a day in irrational frustration that She Who Walks has been banished by his ire and he may torment her no more. He then expends most of the energy He has left by destroying the lands between there and the High Ledges. The lands of whatever Entity had tried to thwart him.

After this unsatisfactory enterprise He limps back to His node beneath the Dragon Mountain to recuperate and plan his vengeance upon The People Of The Dove; in his eyes his only consolation.

*****

Many Years Pass and The Flame Develops His Regime and Incorporates The Peoples of this Land that he has found, into his power to do his bidding and for his own personal uses.

These events and knowledge I have gleaned through interviews with Princess Nerrissa, her mother Queen Jobina, The old Healer Asa, Morna who is Jobina’s body servant and Kynan Lord Chancellor, Zandra The High Priestess of The Goldon Dove about how the Quest began.

This I will call:

Part I. These events I believe were the very occurrences leading up to the crisis that launched our quest and information that makes sense of the later events.

iii

As for the rest, the actual chronicling of the quest, I have entitled Part II. I have verified the facts with my companions, and find that my recollections do concur with theirs.

LORD ALI CLEY

PROTECTOR OF GRENEDAN

FIRST RECORDER OF DUVHOLM

Part 1

Chapter 1

In The Fullness Of Time

The wind rages about the battlements of The Tower In The Wood, shrieking like a demented banshee. Allannah lies wan and wracked with the pain of her ordeal. Long tendrils of matted black hair sprawl limply on the greasy bed.

Her eyes fly open, fathoms of terror boiling in their dilated depths.

She is finely made. A toneless, almost transparent whiteness stretched over a delicate construction of bones too fragile to sustain life. Fine blue veins draw intricate traceries of ultramarine filigree beneath that translucent covering.

Deep within, a baby is fighting its way to its destiny and taking its toll on the life that gives life.

She screams, arches, screams again and falls back, to move no more.

A filthy old woman scuttles into the room, hobbles awkwardly to the reeking heap of blood and matted furs on which the corpse of the unfortunate young woman lies. She mumbles and fumbles and screeches incoherently. She wrings her hands in fear.

She’s dead! She’s dead! she wails, and the child is not come!

An equally dirty dreadful old priest comes in behind her and flings her aside with one hand while drawing out a nasty looking blade. He plunges it into her rapidly cooling lifeless flesh around the distended belly. Wet reeking ropes of intestine flop out to lie glistening upon the bed while he slashes beneath her womb. One more slash and he tears the child from within the abdominal cavity where it has been lodged breach against her pelvic bone. Hauling it up by its heels from that stinking, steaming mass he slaps it sharply, but it does not cry out. It hangs there in the pitiless cold. He slaps it again. Suddenly it convulses and vomits forth a great, gout of yellow mucus and breathes its first breath. It does not make a sound. When he has satisfied himself that it is breathing, he thrusts it at the old woman, pauses to slash the cord saying, tie it off, don’t let it bleed to death. It’s a boy! Lord Averil will want this’n, and turning, waving vaguely towards the bed, get rid of that! So saying, stabs a finger at the baby, make sure it lives. If it dies, so will you old woman, so will you. He glares into her face, I’ll see to it m’sel’." So saying he shuffles away and out the door slamming it into place.

So she takes him, ties him with a piece of his mother’s gut and wraps him in a filthy cloth.

*****

YOUR MAJESTY, HIGH KING OVER ALL THE LAND, KING EBEN; The High Lord Averil, Lord of Stronghold and the Clan of the Boar, regrets to inform you of the untimely death of your beloved sister, and his cherished wife The Lady Allannah who has this day died in child birth and has been buried under the offices of the Church amidst due honours. Your nephew, who has been named Terrill, is fit and doing well. The Flame Be Praised!

*****

Terrill

Terrill is a cold child, he neither laughs nor cries; neither does he show anger. He is bloodless and thin: black haired with curiously transparent white skin, like his mother. Thin lipped and bony. In spite of it all, he is strong and healthy. He has the kind of body that shows no muscle yet he seems to hold his own against the brawnier boys in the Stronghold of the Boar, whenever necessity forces contact with them. He however, never voluntarily enters into their rough, cruel games. He does not like physical contact of any sort and when pressed dispatches his adversaries as expediently and neatly as possible. He is as unlike his half brothers and cousins as a shrike is to a wild pig.

His eyes are veiled and colourless; no spark ever shines there. No hint of inner turmoil or betrayal of thought, but somehow gives an impression of ceaseless mental activity like trout in the shadows endlessly shifting behind the pale coldness of deep waters.

He is neither spurned nor favoured in The Great Hall and yet after the occurrence of some important event he would be discovered to have been there all along. He seems to possess an uncanny sense of timing; and always when some crucial piece of information has been disclosed he is there watching quietly, served up by his own interest but never betrays even a glimmer of enthusiasm.

Averil watches this youngster, who is old beyond his years, with great interest and wonders at his singularity of intent. He suspects him of vast mental resources but cannot fathom the depths of his mind. He rarely speaks to him. They co-exist without intercourse. He watches and so does the boy.

The Lord Averil assigns him to the old physician-priest to be mentored and tutored. The boy attends to his lessons in the same manner with which he pursues everything; dogged, cold, precise, without any show of brilliance or spirit. He never questions the old man; he neither argues nor accepts. He virtually devours the library of the old priest, limited as it is. Then he gains permission to likewise handle Lord Averil’s equally limited literary possessions. The day soon comes when there is nothing left in the Hold of the Boar for the intellectual advancement of Terrill.

The Old priest seeks audience with his Lord as he is well past the point, and now at a loss, to know what to do with this twelve year old, who has, so far outstripped him.

*****

The High Lord Averil sends for the boy, who comes to him cold and immaculate. He stands before him in the flickering candlelight; his immaculate gray-brown doublet, white skinned, black haired and those almost colourless grey eyes veiled in circumspection.

The boy cannot remember his father ever having addressed him directly before.

Averil raises his eyes and declares, Ah… Alannah’s little cold eyed shit! laughing his humourless deprecating laughter; his blue eyes reflecting the same coldness crackling from Terrilll’s deep recesses.

The old priest says that you have devoured every book on this demesne, He says, and that he has nothing left to teach you. He pauses, waiting for him to indicate that he has indeed been heard.

Do you think that you are old enough to sit by my side? He waits with obviously increasing impatience.

Well boy! Can you not speak?

Yes m’Lord, he admits evenly.

Well! a note of exasperation entering his voice. What are we to do with you?

You must send me to The Red Dragon my Lord.

What! to the King’s court? He exclaims incredulously. You’d make a bonnie page all decked out in blue hose and silken doublet. Ha! Ha! Ha!

No m’ Lord, you must send me to The Flame Lord’s Cavern, the boy replies flatly. I have neither interest in court nor courtiers.

A priest? This cannot be! with each statement his voice rises and rises in volume until he is almost shrieking. You are my rightful heir! You have Royal Blood! I need you! He shouts.

What do you need me for? he asks quietly his voice now edging on scorn. What could I really mean to you? Olag is good enough to rule here. His quiet voice now edged in deprecating arrogance.

For the first time Averil lets his eyes fall upon the old priest who stands by gray with shock.

Has he spoken to you of this? he roars.

Not a word your Lordship; he never passes comment.

I’ve noticed, says he, but not for lack of opinions. I take it. He adds facetiously.

He turns back to the boy in a slow, deliberate, sly fashion, his back slightly hunched, his head cocked to one side and his hard eyes staring unblinkingly into his son’s veiled ones. What do you want from the Church boy?"

It is where I belong, Sir.

The Lord Averil raises his arm, palm forward towards Terrill and with the other negligently waves the old priest out of the room. Be gone old man, he mumbles never taking his eyes off of the boy.

The door clicks shut and Lord Averil continues, So you would go to the Church.

The Church Militant! he announces with unmistakable emphasis.

Oh … The Church Militant, repeats his father mockingly.

The power is not in the court, the power is in the God, Terrill states unctuously.

Ah … breathes the wily old Lord. maybe your power … he breathes thoughtfully. It seems you have the family blood after all. I have been waiting for a sign. At least with you ‘there’ I wouldn’t have to watch my own back. Ha! Ha!

I will follow Anselm. He is my grand Uncle and will see it my way. I will follow him as High Prelate.

How can you be so sure of that? He’s not dead yet. He has never even seen your face.

I am sure, he pronounces, his staccato notes ring out filling the room like a bell. I have spoken with The Holy Living Flame. First The Helm Of God and now I will be his Hammer!

So it’s God’s power you will wield.

Mine is the White Light, replies Terrill, God’s Vessel.

For the first time in his life the Lord Averil is stunned into silence. He sits there in total astonishment and for a minute he believes that he sees a cold unyielding flame shining out of those crystal adamant eyes.

A flame that makes him feel cold and mortal. He knows then that he faces a power to be reckoned with. One brief glimpse, and the veil is drawn once more and all vestiges of childhood have been stripped away.

In his new sight, this strange entity continues, Olag can take your seat here, when the time comes, he waives his hand negligently off into the future, in the meantime, there is a princess for him to wed and as Arch prelate, the rest will be mine. We can have it all.

The overwhelming realisation of the vast potential that stands before him floods into his mind in a tidal wave of lust and greed. At which point he reaches for his golden cup, so full of the overwhelming potential he finds it almost impossible for his brain to synchronise his mental expansion and his physical coordination. He jerks the vessel towards his mouth, the liquid splashes into his beard and when it actually reaches his lips he begins to choke and spray in his efforts to swallow and laugh at the same time.

Terrill whips back fastidiously out of range of the red stream, so as to maintain his immaculate separateness and to distance himself from his father’s obviously distasteful display of emotion.

Well, remarks Averil, trying to regain his composure, wiping his eyes and beard on the sleeve of his robe, it seems that you have inherited your mother’s sensibilities. He waves towards his immaculate apparel. And then he warns in a more solemn tone, you might remember that she died for it; raving mad out there in that tower, he waves his hand in the direction of the forest. Oh she was too good for the likes of us, she was. That she was, that she was, he nods his head in dire warning. You look like her too, very a-ris-to-cra-tic, he enunciates each syllable. All white and black she was… but you have the Boar’s lust for Power. If lust ye can call it? He lowers his eyelids so that only a piggy glimmer shows beneath his lashes in the candlelight.

He clumps the cup down on the table before him and now he is standing staring down on him, flicking the wine absent mindedly from his moustaches, edgy thoughts teeming through his mind.

Well then m’boy it’s The Red Dragon for thee! Then he mutters, not quite to himself, and may Anselm mind his own back, har, har, har.

*****

He chuckles to himself, off and on for the rest of the evening and on into the following week.

That evening in the Great Hall he places Terrill on his left and to the great delight of Olag, he places him to his right in the seat of the heir. Everyone wonders and whispers; speculation runs like wildfire through the hall. No one has the temerity to question Averil directly.

*****

Two weeks later the Lord Averil sends for his tailor and the boy. He orders clothing appropriate for his intended career and when this is accomplished he brings him into his strong room and selects from his treasure five measures of gold and ten of silver, saying, this is the accustomed dower to The Church but understand that you and no other, not even my heir has access to my fortune. The Church is ever an expensive proposition. There may come a time when you may have need of gold, The Church being ever greedy, gold being the only advantage needed to secure position or privilege.

He takes a long look, We will make a pact. You will never cross my objectives. I will see that you rule the church one day; as sure as I will become High King and rule this land. Between the two of us The Boar will rule The Dragon.

He pours red wine into gold cups that are waiting by. He raises them one in each hand he stares steadily into his son’s eyes and passes the left one into Terrill’s hand. Now drink to it! he demands.

And they drink: a forty year old man and a twelve year old boy.

And the boy says not a word.

*****

After the Spring thaw and the Festival Of The Flame, the man of war, gives the young man of The Church, a fine new Royal white gelding, a ten man personal guard, a cook, and a pack horse loaded with provisions. He sends his son with his saddlebag packed with all his fine new clothing, five measures of Gold and ten of Silver off to meet his destiny.

Smugly, he considers that he will have the best of the bargain. He has made a good investment. So he puts it from his mind in confidence to await its decided outcome.

*****

Terrill rises quickly and quietly through the ranks. At the age of eighteen he has come as far as one of his age can come.

At this time the Queen brings forth her second child, a Prince, The Heir Apparent, Adin and Terrill is appointed his spiritual guardian and Royal Tutor.

As the young Prince grows, his unstable temperament, hot and passionate, becomes glaringly apparent.

Terrill by contrast imbued with cold restraint makes an interesting counterpoint to the fiery child.

He teaches the young Prince his letters and he drums into him the history of The Church and The Laws of the Land. He teaches him Fear of God and about God’s swift retribution and subtly about his own connection with the Dire Deity until the child looks upon him as the God incarnate. In his heart, lies superstitious awe.

In his mind Terrill is his friend and mentor, for Terrill makes himself indispensible to this impressionable young prince by manipulating people and situations for the boy when he finds favour and withdrawing his services when he does not. He soon learns that he can have his way with just about anything as long as he stays on the better side of the priest; therefore he develops the habit of doing his bidding. Terrill carefully builds in him an overweening sense of his own importance, not a difficult task, while making him totally dependent. He teaches him all the facts, protocol and commerce of the Kingdom of Flamtakh but he does not teach him to think or judge for himself. Terrill is practically his only companion. The only contact he ever has with the other boys is at his compulsory arms training when Terrill is obliged to hand him over to the Arms Master.

*****

Meanwhile Terrill dedicates himself outwardly to the God and inwardly he masters the secrets of power and its acquisition. He becomes adept at the control of arcane knowledge and faithfully adheres to the rituals. He is perfection in the eyes of his superiors. He works long into the night and rises early. He never shirks his duties nor does he give way to depression, as is so often the case with young priests, or to any other excessive emotion. He is always level, immaculate, polite to his superiors, ruthless to his inferiors and quick to obey without even a hint of obsequiousness or resentment. He keeps his own council until his opinion is sought and then gives it objectively, conservatively and with an economy of words that is truly appreciated.

He betrays no trust of his superiors and is privy to every man’s thoughts and confidences.

He is set aside by his masters as singularly ideal material for advancement and there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that he will achieve high office.

*****

The High Lord Averil rubs his great square hands together in anticipation of Terrill’s gathering of power. He waits and he watches.

He uses his time well: preparing his army, training his many sons, increasing his levies of peasants year by year and year by year he works them bringing them under close service. He trains under close scrutiny, weeding out any who show signs of individuality, rebellion, cowardice or infirmity. It is a hard, cruel existence living under the hand of The Boar.

*****

And in the fullness of time, The Lord Anselm, The Helmut of God, is gathered unto the Flame. In the depths of the Flame Lord’s Cavern, Terrill gathers unto himself Anselm’s living essence and the power of many dire sacrifices, using up the enemies of The Flame, he secures ascension.

The plans of the Boar will surely come to fruition.

Chapter 2

Obligations

The Queen sits in her chamber an embroidery frame in her hand resting in her lap. Her threads and needles spread out in tidy order on an ornate table by her side. All the colours in perfect gradations and her dainty pair of scissors within reach she picks them up and snips a fresh floss, threads it through her needle and pulls it through the cloth.

Just then, the doors burst open rudely without announcement or any kind of formal introduction and Terrill bursts into the room like a cold wind from the north in winter time. He moves across the space as if he was an automaton. His robe barely creases and there is no rustle of fabrics. He is just all of a sudden looming over her.

It is time Madame! for the Princess Nerrissa to fulfil her duty. It is past time she was wed. He enunciates every syllable, every word clipped short, economical. Any word saved is that much less time spent with a woman.

Her faithful Lord Chamberlain, Kynan has tried in vain to direct her attention to this repugnant matter. She has had hopes of the Eagle Klan.

She even offered private, cautious inquiry. They have responded in careful noncommittal wording.

They are afraid; she is forced to admit to herself. They will not risk another son. She does not even sigh aloud.

He has the temerity to stand over her, cold and unyielding. No one else in the entire Kingdom would take such unheard of liberties in the presence of the Queen. She does not look into his face. She never looks into Terrill’s face. She keeps her eyes glued to her hoop and linen. The needle arrested in her hand; even the thread seems to squirm on the dead white field.

Her womb twists with nausea deep in her belly. Her heart tightens in a vice of dread. My only one, she groans inwardly. I cannot give you up. She knows her son would trade her to the Boarklan, for … for that dreadful vixen. Poor Nerrissa to follow in the footsteps of poor doomed Alannah! Poor dear Allanah! She Grieves. I will not allow Nerrissa to share her dreadful fate.

Suddenly, the room becomes stifling hot. Startled, she looks up. Shock fills her! She sees The Flame. It is no longer even Terrill; she sees behind his eyes a raging fire of death.

He turns upon his heel and leaves abruptly.

The door slams behind his back.

Her mind fills with horror. He was Here! All colour drains from her face. The Flame was Here! I FELT HIM!

I know that He was summoned! I know deep in my soul. An icy darkness closes around her heart sealing her resolve towards her daughter.

Until now I was vacillating, she shakes her head, cognisant of my duty.

He will not have my Nerrissa! Never! Never! Never! She pounds her breast then collapses over her sewing..

Chapter 3

Revelations

No sooner does Terrill manage to achieve the Cavern Of The Flame, like a stilted, mesmerised automaton, he is enveloped in a lurid crimson light, that bleeds outward into a ball of golden fury, then dissolving into its outer reaches as an opaque stygian nigrescence.

Without volition he finds himself prostrate upon the floor before the pit.

The Voice sounds within the very fibre of his being, from his head down to the bottom of his feet, from within his spinal column outward along the very fibres of his nerves outward unto the very surface of his skin turning him into a massive sounding board; he vibrates with its pronouncements.

THE TIME HAS COME.

WE MUST NOW TURN OUR FACE TOWARDS THE NORTH EAST!

YOU MUST NOW TURN ALL YOUR ATTENTION UPON RIDDING THIS WORLD OF ALL THE GODDESS SPAWN.

YOU WILL GO OUT FROM HERE TO A REGION KNOWN AS THE BOOT.

THERE I HAVE SET ASIDE, FOR MY PURPOSE, A HILL FORT, A PLACE CALLED CASTLE ROCK.

IT SITS ABOVE THE NODE WHERE THE LEY LINES MEET.

IN THIS PLACE YOU WILL RECIEVE ME AND I WILL ESTABLISH A GREAT RESERVOIR OF MY STRENGTH BENEATH THAT PLACE.

HERE YOU WILL FULFIL YOUR ULTIMATE USEFULLNESS AND BECOME MY HOLY RECEPTACLE

A horrible resounding groan echoes down through the endless generations of Arch Prelates that he carries deep within himself which he has accepted from Anselm on his passing. The shock of this inward reaction stuns him, a heretofore unique experience. He slams it away within, hopefully away from the scrutiny of The Lord Of The Flame.

THE EYE OF THE FLAME moves suspiciously closer.

His mind shudders in fear.

REPEAT FOR ME THE LITANY.

The voice insinuates itself like a worm into his brain.

Upon examination at a later time he cannot tell if he spoke the oath aloud or only from the depth of his internal mind.

He gathers himself together and rising to his feet from where he lies and in a voice far steadier than ever he feels he pronounces the oath before The Deity.

IN THE PRESENCE OF MY GOD

I SET ASIDE ALL THAT I AM.

I SET ASIDE ALL OTHERS

EITHER PAST OR PRESENT

NO OTHER THING STANDS BEWEEN ME AND MY GOD

I FILL MY EMPTINESS WITH MY LORD

YOUR LIFE FORCE FLOWS WITHIN MY VEINS.

I SUBMIT MYSELF FOR YOUR USE.

YOUR POWER IS IN MY HANDS

YOUR ENEMIES ARE MY ENEMIES

YOU GO FORTH IN ME TO MEET OUR ENEMIES

I GIVE MY ALL TO EXTEND YOUR DOMINION

I AM NOT SEARED

All the while the eye scrutinises him, he is steadfast.

Some time passes and when The Flame is satisfied with his servant’s reactions proclaims, MAKE READY, WHEN THE SUN RISES ON THE MORROW YOU WILL BE GONE!

Terrill turns on his heel and makes haste to do his master’s bidding, but all the time a nagging doubt eats at his convictions; for the first time in his entire existence he is unsure.

*****

That night, when he is alone in his austere quarters and all his duties have been discharged, tentatively, and oh so gingerly, he begins his exploration of those minds within. He explores their horror, wrought by his Lord’s announcement. Every step nearer to his ultimate usefulness brings new paroxysms of revulsion. He finds that he cannot breach the block behind which lies the answer that he seeks.

He finally withdraws in defeat. He retires seeking some much needed rest he will need to commence his journey on the morrow.

However, lying upon his narrow bed, he does not rest, apprehension surges around him … and then … He knows. He will fill me with himself. He will pour through my being and then there will, no longer, be any room for me. My mind … my will … will cease to exist. With this ultimate realisation his mind fills with horror, He promised me, he rails against his fate; I’d live forever, and his mind cries out, only I won’t even know! My conscious self will cease to exist while my body will continue, as long as he has need of it, maybe forever.

He had been allowed access to all the minds that went before him and because they had all existed in him, he thought that he would continue on. Now the realisation that he would go on for all eternity just as he is now was not to be.

NB: I have taken the supposition of this interchange between the deity and the High Prelate without any factual reality as of course there was no witness to this event.

It was a fact however that all his antecedents did live within his being as it was a practice that upon their death their essence was passed into their successor.

There are those who would declare this presumptive and it may be so but I could see no other way