Beyond Flesh & Spirit: The Galanor Saga

By Frank M. Viollis

Like Volumes One and Two, Volume Three of the Galanor Saga has been written in three parts, or “Books”, of five chapters each. But, unlike its predecessors this novel treats each of the three Books, as a distinct, five chapter novella, with its own cast of characters, plotline and story arc. Of course, each Book helps to develop the storyline of the novel as a whole. I hope you enjoy it…
F. M. Viollis

BOOK ONE: ALONG THE JOURNEY HOME

We begin where Beyond Hope & Despair left off. Galanor and Nitiri have returned to Shuruppak, where they have been crowned monarchs. One morning, while Nitiri is asleep, Galanor rises and, while staring at the sunrise, reflects upon the events that transpired in the dungeons of Alenz Allure and afterwards. As his mind wanders back to that day, the story arc begins. He recalls their first moments together after having been torn apart by the crazed wizard, Malferion. He recalls how Nitiri found herself with an uncomfortable decision to make, and he, with concocting a plan to escape the tower.
After discovering the route the wizard used, they make their way, with great trepidation, out of the dungeon, through the heart of the ancient mountain and out into the light of a new dawn. They make their way back to the farmhouse of Huai-Ti, Feng-Chi and
Wan-Ye where Galanor and Anubis are reunited, only to discover that while Galanor was away, Lao–Fi’s forces have kidnapped Wan-Ye and Huai-Ti, in a fit of rage, goes after to confront the warlord in his fortress. Galanor vows to rescue them both. Along the way, he joins forces with a garrison of exiled soldiers, who, after much debate, agree to join forces with him, his queen and Anubis in the rescue attempt. At the same time Wan-Ye has become the concubine to the sadistic warlord. In time a rescue plan is conceived and executed, with results that are both joyful and tearful. When all is done, the three wanderers set out on a two year journey by land and sea, which bring them to Shuruppak and their ascension to the throne. The Book ends with Galanor receiving some startling news.

BOOK TWO: WHAT THE GOD’S BRING FORTH
Book two moves the storyline forward eighteen years. There are now three heirs to the throne: Tyr, Amara and Rama. Galanor and Nitiri, to no one's surprise, are wise and just rulers, but their reign is not without objection from some of the nobility. One morning, a rider is seen approaching from the west. He is intercepted and escorted into Shuruppak by a young, novice warrior. It is Mustir. He arrives with news of the most dire and consequential nature: Pharon has been struck down by mystical forces wielded by four, powerful and deadly riders, each determined to wreak havoc upon the world, in his own unique way. Mushtir presents his Captain with a token, handed to him by Pharon. Galanor recognizes the token, and the message behind it. He, Nitiri and Anubis prepare to journey to Pharon’s kingdom of Zeptepi, to help. As they prepare to leave, they are confronted by a conundrum for which they were not prepared and about which, they find themselves ill prepared to act. In time, as is the way with such things, matters resolve themselves, but not to everyone’s liking. Tearful moments transpire as their three children ride off in three different directions to battle one rider each, while Galanor, Nitiri and Anubis ride off to battle the fourth, and arguably the most powerful. While they are doing this, Pharon’s vampiric physician, a man driven by a powerful obsession to acquire knowledge at all costs, struggles to help his king. Meanwhile, while the monarchs of both kingdoms are busy, sinister forces, driven by greed and an ideology not their own, seek to rest control for themselves. With the aid of a potent talisman Galanor and Anubis confront the architect of the riders’ assault, beyond the edge of the universe and Nitiri battles the forces of death.

BOOK THREE: BEYOND FLESH AND SPIRIT
Book Three begins a few weeks after their return from Zeptepi.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369401262

Frank M. Viollis

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Copyright © 2023 by Frank M. Viollis.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

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Rev. date: 06/22/2023

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Prologue

Book 1: Along The Journey Home

Chapter 1 Captives No More

Chapter 2 The Will to Endure

Chapter 3 The Sickness of Tyranny

Chapter 4 Brave Hearts Prevail

Chapter 5 Death’s Shadow - Fate’s Hand

Book 2: What The Gods Bring Forth

Chapter 1 Unto The World They Came

Chapter 2 The Way of the Chosen

Chapter 3 The Belly of the Beast

Chapter 4 Whispers and Warriors

Chapter 5 And it Came to Pass

Book 3: Beyond Flesh and Spirit

Chapter 1 The Road Untethered

Chapter 2 Sea Spray and Sturdy Steel

Chapter 3 Retribution: A Tainted Dish

Chapter 4 Tomorrow is Yesterday’s Echo

Chapter 5 That Which Endures

Epilogue

Chronicler’s Note

DEDICATION

To my dearest friend and most trusted companion, Oberon. Thank you for always being by my side and for never ceasing to inspire and encourage me. Without you around, my world would be very empty, indeed.

W elcome.

My name, though it is not crucial to the telling of these tales, is Aficiados. I am, by virtue of heritage and personal choice, a master chronicler. As such, I have been called upon to relate these tales of honor and courage. They are tales that have yet to be concluded, though they began when the world was very young.

It was a time when all things seemed possible.

It was a time when sinister powers stirred the pool of humanity’s sloth, so as to shape and command its destiny.

It was a time of legend and myth when good and evil were not just random and ever-changing points on a societal compass gone mad.

It is at this point that my tale shall begin.

Mark them well, for I shall relate them to you, as they were given to me, and my father before him, and to his father before him, and beyond that unto the dawn of my line (which has its roots in the dust-shrouded halls of antiquity).

These are the histories of he who was known as, Galanor.

Let us begin…

PROLOGUE

Delicate Moments in Time

I t has been written that all things,

once born, are doomed to die. That,

With their first breath, they have

Already begun to take their last.

I t has likewise been written that,

All the moments between that first

Panicked breath and the last desperate

One, are filled with a never-ending

Stream of events and people, decisions

And choices, hopes and fears that, like

The forces that govern them, are all,

Preordained and immutable.

I t has also been written that man can

Only know what the gods decree. Can

Only experience what the gods conceive.

Can only survive what the gods allow.

So it has been written. So it must be.

But, why?

Meditations On The Theme Of Life

Volume XII - The Imperative

by Caspar Bolinicious the Younger (9,421 BCE)

I t had been nearly two years since the fall of Charok-Lavar and the welcome rise of a new, more open and honest kingdom on the shores of a great river, far to the east. Those Punya who chose to follow the new king, Pharon, did so happily. They brought with them their wives and children, horses and sheep, traditions and values. For all were welcome in this realm of enlightenment and fairness. Those who stayed behind, among the shadows and wandering spirits of the once great city, still clutching their old ways, fears and prejudices, continued to fight among themselves, until there was noone left to hate.

Abraheem ben Canaan and his Haberoo brethren, held a place of high honor and esteem in the kingdom, having been granted a permanent seat on the ruling council, and more than two thousand parcels of the most arable land in the realm, to call their own. No longer nomads and wanderers, they now advised the new king in all matters military, and stood as a bulwark against all enemies who might threaten the realm from the north.

The Panther Legion, with Tandolo at its head, was now the spine of the new kingdom’s army. The Punya, with Mustir as their voice, were its arms.

Juztalar, whose left hand had been crushed in a street skirmish that day, so long ago, when the Empire breathed its last, now wore an iron gauntlet upon that same hand, whenever he donned his armor and purple Sash of State. For he was now Lord High Marshall of the city’s defenses.

Returning from the iron jaws of war had given him the courage and confidence he needed to finally confess his undying love for the young priestess of Ianna. Anauk-Safu, who had for so long feared her love for him, might evoke her goddess’ wrath, gleefully expressed her love for him, as well. Her fears, it seemed, had been unfound, as there was no rebuke or reaction from Ianna, almost as if she were no more. Within a year, they parented twin daughters, whom they named Seeta and Fadina, in honor of their warrior godmothers.

Shiva who was treated like a god, had his own stables, his own staff, and a plentiful assortment of willing mares to keep him entertained.

Galanor, Nitiri and Anubis had traveled by land and sea, caravan and pirate corsair, cart and camel until at last, they arrived, as the fates had prescribed, at the great gates of Shuruppak, and their destiny…

*       *      *

Your majesty. Juztalr said, as he bowed deeply before his new monarch.

That’s going to take some getting used to. Galanor said as he entered the antechamber to the throne room.

Not to us, my Lord. The Lord High Marshall replied, as the torchlight cast an amber glow off the highly polished surface of his ceremonial breastplate, emblazoned with the symbol of the new king’s, Falcon Guard. We have been planning for your wedding and coronation since we first heard of your pending arrival.

But to be made king…

Whom better to govern us than the man who saved us? Who better to guide us, than the man whose courage, honor and dignity are legends unto themselves? Who better to restore our faith in ourselves, and our future, than one who embodies all that is possible in life? And who better…, he paused slightly, then added with a sheepish smile, ...to sit by his side, and share the throne, then the most beautiful, gracious and loving queen, this, or any other kingdom, state or city in the world has ever known?

You do us a great honor, my young, gallant friend. Galanor said, as he bowed his head. You have changed the course of the world, with your courage and dedication, Juztalar. Never forget that. And one day…, he said as he placed his hand upon the other’s shoulder, "...it will be you and Anauk-Safu who will sit side by side, upon the Alabaster Throne."

Thank you, your majesty. The young warrior replied with a deep and meaningful bow.

Now, tell me of the queen?

She has retired to your chambers, your majesty.

Well then, good night, my young friend.

Good night, your majesty.

With that, Juztalar motioned to the two, powerful Guardsmen who had been standing quietly in the shadows. They stepped to either side of their new monarch, and walked proudly beside him, as he made his way to his bedchambers. Once there, they positioned themselves, like pillars of iron, with gleaming swords, on either side of the highly polished, teak doors.

Good night. Galanor said with a comfortable and undeniably regal tone in his voice.

Good night, your majesty. The towering warriors replied with stoic valor, and grim resolve woven into every word.

As Galanor entered the royal bedchamber, the scent of honeysuckle, borne on the back of tepid desert winds, floated out to greet him.

Upon seeing his friend and comrade, Anubis, who had been peacefully sleeping upon a mountain of overstuffed, elaborately embroidered, silk cushions, jumped up, and ran to him.

Hello my friend. Are you comfortable enough? Galanor asked jokingly, as he knelt down to stroke the great hound’s pointed ears, and rub his long, lean head.

Anubis, guardian of the realm beyond time, merely rubbed his face along the broad, callused expanse of Galanor’s hands, stared into his steel gray eyes, whimpered slightly, then returned to the foot of the royal bed, and the delicately scented cushion heaven, he called: home.

As Galnor stood up, he looked out onto the balcony. There, with the silver glow of the full moon seeping through the gossamer sheerness of her gown; and the hauntingly seductive breath of the desert wind wafting its message of love and passion, as it swept across the perfect curves and following lines of her body; stood Nitiri, radiant sovereign of Shuruppak, goddess among women, and queen of his heart. He smiled and walked to her in bold, determined strides.

My Queen. He said, as he took her into his arms, and kissed her with a passion that would never die, never cool and never be seen again.

My Lord. She replied, as she returned his kiss with one that sent a warm glow into the dull night, igniting it with the unrestricted fervor of her own ecstacy.

The two lovers spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms until, with the desert winds blowing across their bodies, they fell asleep.

So blissfully comfortable were they, that as they slept they did not feel the cold, vile breath of his corruption as he crept into their room. He moved, as only he could move, outside time, between one fleeting second and the next. As he cast his dark shadow across them, he said, "I have not finished with you, my brother. Enjoy these quiet moments if you must. But, know this…I will not relent. I will not forget. I will not cease to pursue you, until you join me in ending the madness of permanent continence, forever. This, I swear!"

BOOK ONE

Along The Journey Home

C ome, let me know your goodness

Let me know your soul. Let me know

Your heart. Let me know your dreams,

Your fears, your hopes, your regrets.

L et me swim in the fragrant waters of

Your joy. Let me walk along the pebbled

Shores of your despair. Let experience

You without restrictions or restraints.

For only then might I find my own truth,

And with that, my own value.

Y ou are the breeze that uplifts me,

The dream that sustains me, the spirit

That guides me. You are the rolling waters

Upon which the vessel of my soul drifts

And the rocky coast upon which it might be

Dashed. You are all that I am and all that

I might become. You are my future. You

Are my past. You are my life. You are my

Death.

The Ways of Commitment, Choice and Truth

From the combined works of

Malachi of Aladon (13,248 BCE)

CHAPTER ONE

Captives No More

A nd to those who have come to find

Their lives and their spirits held

Captive by forces both banal and

Demonic, sensual and bitter, real

And imagined, I say unto you, fear

Not, for all is not lost. You are greater

Than you think, stronger than you

Know. You are the source of all power

And the wellspring of all truth. Go then.

Accept what threatens you. Endure what

Assails you. Overcome what challenges

You. Fear nothing. For you bear the seed

Of the eternal within you.

The Ashiasiaka-Volume III

Vishnu Malambrada (11,489 BCE)

T he shadow of the night had lifted, laying bare the full, perfect bosom of a new day. The soft, desert breeze, like a hushed whisper, caressed the supple flesh of the virgin morn, with a delicate grace reserved for only the most intimate of lovers. The newly risen ruby orb, shunning its long absence from the world, slowly moved its celestial fingers along the flowing curves and luxurious landscape of unbridled anticipation, hope and promise that pulsed at the heart of the new day.

Rising from his perfumed bed and the warm, tempting body of his exquisite, slumbering wife, Galanor walked casually toward the open balcony that overlooked his city. The welcoming scents of freesia and honeysuckle, blooming in the garden below, wafted up to greet him. The sun, cresting above the distant horizon, flooded the world around him with welcoming, sensual warmth. The first bustling sounds of a city being recalled to life, floated out from every corner of Shuruppak, as one by one its citizens, having shaken off the shackles of sleep, rejoined the flow of time. Life, in all its myriad forms and manifestations, was flourishing all about him. He felt its positive message of hopeful continuity flow through him, and smiled.

As he stood with his hands resting lightly on the marble balustrade, breathing in the bounty of life, he could not help but recall the caustic harshness and virulent chill that clung, like petulant crepe, to the walls, floors and ceiling of the ancient catacombs of Alenz Allure. It was alive with a hunger all its own, a hunger to strip bare the soul and render the flesh hostage to wanton, vampiric malice. It might have been fed by the countless centuries of madness that had gripped the Tom-Toray. It might have been a product of Malferion’s corrosive obsessiveness. It might have been a great many things. But, in the end, unlike its benevolent creators, it was a place of damnable corruption.

He sighed, as he turned to look at his beautiful bride, resting majestically under a blanket of the purest silk, her lovely body and its precious gifts, highlighted by the passionately clinging fabric. He knew from the first moment he saw her, standing on the balcony of her palace, that he wanted her.

The day had lived out most of its life, by the time he and the Panther Legion rode into Charok-Lavar. The crystal sky was as flawless as a prayer. The torrid, desert air, its lethal tongue flapping like a fishmonger’s wife spreading rumors in the market square, blew across the face of the earth like an accusation of guilt, hunting down all those who would defy it. The city’s wretched denizens, having retreated from the light of day, pursued their dubious carnal pleasures in the cool, undemanding shadows of its many taverns, gambling dens and brothels. And yet, there she was, standing like a statue carved from the pureset marble, her raven black hair flirting shamelessly with the tawdry breeze while her regal robes lay like a second skin against her tall, sleek, exquisite body. Nothing seemed to phase her, not the wind, not the heat, not the cacophonous sound of hundreds of pairs of iron shod hooves announcing their arrival in her city. She was magnificent.

In time, his desire deepened into a demanding hunger to possess her; and on some level, he didn’t yet fully understand, to be possessed by her. It was intoxicating. He began to see her as more than an object, more than another meaningless conquest in a long line of meaningless conquests. She was more than just another woman. She was an absolute monarch. A singularly powerful, domineering ruler, who was not only uncompromisingly imperious and highly intelligent, but flawlessly gracious and exquisitely compassionate as well. She was extraordinary.

The first time their lips met, there, in the hallway of her palace, with her body hungrily pulsating against his, and his heart pounding furiously, he realized how much more she meant to him than he wanted to accept. He realized, as he looked into her moist eyes and felt her steamy breath on his face, just how deep and allconsuming was his desire and his passion, how demanding was his hunger and his need. He realized, as he drowned in her honesty, how joyful was the release she offered, from a life of loneliness, if only he would surrender himself to the love she offered. He did. And, his heart and soul rejoiced.

But, it wasn’t until that day in her cell, after searching the world to find her, that he finally realized how deep and life affirming, his love had grown. For as he held her quivering body in his arms, and drank in the fullness of her scent, he looked about him at the world she had endured. His heart wept. She had lived with torturous pain and feverish anxiety, frigid nights and stifling days, chronic hunger and extreme deprivation. She had been tormented, ridiculed, badgered and berated by a mind so depraved and corrupted, by its own vitriol, that it had long ago lost its hold on reality. And yet, she emerged with her soul and spirit intact. She was more than her body, more than her mind, more than her status. She was strength and conviction, honesty and integrity, love and fulfillment. She was all that was majestic and pure in the world. She was all he could ever ask for and more. His journey had ended. His life was about to begin anew.

He sighed, smiled and whispered softly, I love you Nitiri.

He then turned once again to the blossoming day. As he watched the waves of heat rising off the desert sand, and the flame red globe shift to a blinding golden hue, his mind began to wander once again down the not so abandoned corridor of his not so distant memories. The air around him grew thick with the tainted scent of mildew and corruption. His heart began to race and his pulse quickened, as he could once again feel her lips burning against his with a deep passion and desperate longing…

Hold me, my Lord. She gasped. Hold me, please.

What makes you think I will ever let go of you again, my queen? He said, as he gently kissed her soiled cheeks and tear swollen eyes.

Oh, my dear Galanor, you have no idea what it was like…, she whispered softly, ...wanting to feel your touch, to hear your voice and taste your lips, only to know that it might never be. I’ve never wanted anything so much as to be where I am, right here, right now. She paused, as he kissed her gently, riding his tongue along to flowing curves of her full lips. I have dreamt of this moment for so long.

As have I, Nitiri. He said, breathing his words into her mouth, with the hot breath of passion in every syllable. As have I.

They held onto each other tightly, as if fearful that the tide of time and the winds of fate, would hunt them down and sweep them apart.

Am I then to assume that you have decided to cancel your appointments and forgo your duties for tomorrow…, he smiled as he ran his hands along the luxuriously firm contours of her body, ...my queen?

Yes, my Lord…, she replied, as she pulled him closer to her, rubbing her body against his in ways that set his blood to boil, ...I have.

Very well then…, he said as a huge smile creased his face, and he swept her into his arm, ...let’s not waste another precious moment.

As he carried her slowly toward a thick bed of soft, green hay, in an open cell, a harsh, nasally, panic-driven voice shattered the air. What about me? What about me? he shouted hysterically. You can’t leave me here like this. I did nothing wrong. Nothing! Malferion cackled insanely.

I had forgotten about him. Galanor said with rapturously caustic disinterest.

I hadn’t. Nitiri replied with a palpable sense of melancholy in her suddenly tense voice.

I did nothing wrong. It was all the whore’s fault. She’s to blame. I did nothing. His rants were as incoherent and viscous as his rapidly decaying mind would allow. Please, don’t leave me like this. I did nothing but defend my honor. Nothing. Nothing. Do you hear me, nothing! Please. Please. Don’t leave me like this. I did nothing wrong. Please… His words drifted off into an ocean of tears and gasping sobs.

Galanor, sensing her anxiety, lowered Nitiri to the hard, slick stone floor. Here. He said, as he drew the razor sharp dagger from his belt. You asked for this. He said as he placed it into her hand. You said you had a promise to keep. Do you still? He said softly, as his eyes met hers across a plateau of unspoken understanding.

With deliberate care, she wrapped her delicate fingers around the blade’s hilt and turned toward the pathetic, sobbing creature that hung suspended by chains of his own making. As she stepped toward him, the acrid fragrance of fresh urine floated out to accost her. In the dim torch light she saw a large, yellow puddle beneath his scrawny, wretchedly corrupted, whimpering form. Was this creature worthy of her disdain? She sighed, for at that instant, seeing her tormentor for the cringing coward and pathetic lout he truly was, a promise hurled up from the depths of her despair, in a moment of fear, anger and desperation, seemed far less important then had been at its utterance.

I won’t be needing this afterall. She said, as she turned her back to the feckless wizard, and placed the dagger once again into Galanor’s hand.

As you wish, my queen. He said, as he took the blade from her trembling hand and kissed her softly. You’re right, you know.

About what, my Lord?

It may take an entire lifetime to learn about you.

Is that such a bad thing?

I can’t think of a better way to spend a lifetime…, he paused only long enough to kiss her gently, and with a warmth that welded his words to her heart, ...my queen.

Come, my Lord. She said, as she gently took his hand and began to walk toward the open cell. I can think of no better time to start than now, can you?

No, my Lady…, he said, as he stared into her tears-glazed eyes, ...I can’t.

(Where only moments before, reckless passion and desperate, carnal desire had governed them, now, as they each began to understand the true nature of the gift the gods had given them to share, Galanor and Nitiri looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. Their love for each other would endure long after they had moved beyond the veil. Their story would be told and retold in one form or another, in names and faces both familiar and obscure, until all that had ever been, had ceased to be. The joy and honesty that graced their hearts, bound as they were by threads woven on the loom of fate, would speak to countless generations, as yet unborn, bringing them the promise of hope and fulfillment in a world steeped in despair. So it was ordained from the dawn of time…Aficiados)

For the next two days the lovers explored one another’s bodies and souls. They carressed the flesh and embraced the spirit. They spoke and laughed, cried and sighed, moaned and whispered as they wrangled as one, for hours on end, heedless of all but each other’s needs and wants.

I liked that.

I thought you might.

We’ll have to do that again.

Rest assured, my queen. We will.

Are you hungry?

Famished.

There’s no food here, you know.

Well then…, he said, as he ran his tongue one last time across the full, welcoming landscape of her breasts, ...let’s take our leave of this soulless place, shall we.

Yes, my love. Let’s

As they opened the door to their cell, where the lusty fragrance of love making had blended harmoniously with the sweet scent of fresh, green hay, they were greeted by the malodor of newly minted corruption and decay. Malferion’s body, now limp and silent, hung like rancid meat too long in the sun. His flesh, tainted as it was by drugs and malnutrition, had already become the home to feasting maggots. His pool of urine now competed with his rotting flesh for control of the catacomb’s airways.

Please wait here, Nitiri. Galanor said calmly, as he left her standing at the crest of the spiral staircase that had, for so long, been concealed from view. I’ll be right back. He added as he made his way to the foot of the hanging corpse. Putrid though it was, it did not disgust or unnerve him. He had seen far too much death, for that.

As he stood there, looking at what was left of the man, he wanted to hate him for all he had done; to blame him for the lives that had been lost and the damage done because of his cruel devotion to a crime that existed only in his mind; to pray that his tortured soul live forever in the lowest levels of the deepest recesses of the world of shadows; but why? What was done, was done. Malferion was no more. To hate him now would be a waste of his time and of his life’s energy. And, he could see no reason why he should waste either on a rotting piece of meat.

And so, in hushed, whispering tones, he recited an incantation that released the shackles from the wizard’s frail and damaged body. As it collapsed into his arms, he marveled at how devoid it was of any remnant of life, almost as if it had been drained of its life force long before it had drawn its last breath.

He carried the limp body into what had been Nitiri’s cell. After removing the dismantled door from the small cot, he placed the empty shell upon it. It was gaunt and sallow, and smelled of ancient dust and spiritual decay. For a moment, he thought he might pray over the body, to send it on its way peacefully, but that moment came and went without incident. For a moment he thought he might honor the creature as a fellow Atlanetean, and one-time aide to his father, but that thought too was still born.

As he stood there, staring at the corpse, he could not help but reflect upon its complete lack of substance and the extraordinary amount of premature decay. ‘Why the hell is so far gone? Is it possible he had died, and been brought back to life?’ He wondered. ‘No. He was far too animated and self aware for that. It has to be something else, something more ritualistic and arcane. I wonder if he ever studied at the temple of Azool. He certainly sounded like it. His choice of incantations had the beast’s scent all over it.’ He thought, as his eyes drank in the full extent of the decomposition. ‘I wonder if…’

And then, as if suddenly exposed to the blinding rays of an unfiltered sun, he realized the truth. ‘Lords of Light, he was possessed!’

You stupid bastard. He spat into the hollow eyes of the rancid corpse, with no small amount of disgust in his voice. "You stupid, stupid bastard. You gave your soul to Azool. What the hell were you thinking?"

He shook his head from side to side as he recalled how the vile cult of Azool had come to infiltrate all levels of Atlantean society. How its pernicious tendrils had spread unchecked, like a cancer, until its corrupt ideology had woven itself into every facet of Atlantean life and culture. How its ‘Tomes of Truth’ had become staples in the halls of academia. And how, after countless centuries of brilliant thought and reason, even the once noble and much respected Council of Ashan, had succumbed to its corruption. That was bad enough. But, to give oneself over completely, body and soul, to the Lord of Darkness, was almost unthinkable, even to the most ardent of Azool’s minions. That required the kind of insanity, spiritual depravity and self-loathing that very few possessed.

You sick, pathetic bastard. Galanor said caustically. I knew you were insane. I just never imagined how far gone you really were. For what it’s worth…, he added with bitter ash in his voice, as he recalled his time in the world beneath the world, ... you’ll be right at home where you’re going. He paused for a moment, then realizing that Malferion might yet be of some value. He reached down and yanked off the corpse’s low cut, leather boots. You don’t need these anymore…, he said coldly, as he beat them against the cell wall to be sure they were not inhabited, ...but, I know someone who does. He took the boots, turned and walked out of the cell without giving the soulless, rotting wizard another thought.

As the sun inched its way behind the massive bulk of a distant mountain, and a cool breeze floated into the rank cell, the bag of rotting meat that had once hoped to challenge the chosen of the universe, lay quietly decomposing in the still, silent permanence, that would embrace it until the end of time. But, even in death it would know no peace, for it had surrendered its essence to another. It had given of itself, and all that it ever was or would ever be, to one whose very being was a leperous virus that fed on everything it touched. Galanor was wrong. Malferion’s soul would never find its way to the Realm of Shadows. It would never join the chorus of whispering souls, or wander aimlessly through the vast canyons of despair and regret. It would never drink from the rancid waters of bitter recriminations or feast upon the bread of unfulfilled dreams. It would never know such joy, for its fate would be worse, far, far worse.

I brought you something. Galanor said, as he approached Nitiri with the boots in his hand. Malferion insisted that you have them. He said with a mocking smile, as he held them out in front of him. He said, though it hurt him to part with them, he knew you would make better use of them.

He said that, did he? Nitiri quipped.

Yes. And, since…, he said mockingly, ...I don’t think he’s planning on taking any long trip for quite some time, I agreed. He added with a subtle smile. Now…, he continued, as he knelt down and tore away a large swath from her robe, ...let’s see what we can do about protecting your feet, shall we? He added, as he lovingly wrapped the cloth around each of her feet and ankles. He then slid the shoes in place and laced them carefully. There. How does that feel?

Like heaven. I had forgotten what it felt like to have warm feet. She added, with joy in every word.

Well, my queen, are you ready to depart this foul place once and for all? Galanor asked, as he and Nitiri stood at the head of the spiral staircase that had been hewn from the solid rock of the mountain.

Yes, my Lord. But, first…, Nitiri paused and turned her full attention to Galanor’s steel gray eyes, so full of confidence and strength, "...though I am quite sure you have thought this through already, may I ask where we’re going? I never want to go back to Charok-Lavar. The very thought of that place, and that filthy little man, turns my stomach."

I know, my queen. I promise you, you’ll never have to see that place or endure that pathetic little worm ever again. He said softly, as he stroked her face. "I was thinking of returning to Shuruppak. It’s a beautiful little city, of ancient and extraordinary design. Since it sits above a modest aquifer, it’s filled with flowering gardens and graceful fountains. Its people are decent, honest, hard working folk. I honestly think you’ll like it there. Do you have any objections?"

No, my Lord. It sounds like an excellent place to…, she paused, smiled coyly, then continued tenderly, ...well, we’ll talk about that later.

As you wish, my queen. He replied with a telling smile. He then took her hands in his and, in a voice saturated with sincerity, added softly. I have no idea how long it will take us to get there, or what difficulties we may encounter along the way. But, I promise you this, Nitiri, as long as I draw breath, I will never allow anything in this world, or any other, to hurt you. He then kissed her gently.

Thank you, my Lord. And I…, she whispered, as she took his hands in hers and kissed them lightly, ...promise to be by your side, no matter what may come, in this world or any other.

The moments that passed, passed in silence, as their lips sealed the pledge their hearts had made. Finally...

Shall we go? He said as he stared into her eyes and smiled.

Yes, my Lord. Let’s She answered softly, as she followed him beyond the rock door, into the perpetual night that guarded the ancient, hand carved steps.

For what seemed like an eternity, they moved cautiously downward, through the deepening gloom, until nothing save the absolute perfection of the inky oneness, surrounded them. Even the sounds of their own footfalls were lost in the snare, that was the solitary soul of the darkness. Suddenly, without any preamble, Galanor stopped. He turned back toward Nitiri and asked, Did you hear something?

No. Why?

Please, stay here Nitiri. I’ll be right back. Was his only reply, as he quickly turned and began to run back up the stairway toward the dim, half-light of the catacombs. With each step he took, he could feel Barlusch pulsing evermore brightly against his back. His hunger had returned.

‘Damn.’ He thought, as his heart raced and his feet met each stone step with the confident aggression and deadly accuracy of a born predator. ‘How could I have been so blind? Damn! Damn!’ He challenged the darkness and the stone with an urgency born out of the fear of something that made his skin crawl and his pulse race. ‘What was I thinking? Why did I let myself be deceived so easily? I hope I’m wrong. Lords of Light, let me be wrong!’ His thoughts raged and his pace quickened as he began to see the first signs of distant light seeping into the bowels of the serpentine stairway. His sense of urgency doubled as Barlusch, pulsing with righteous fervor, demanded to complete what he had begun. As the great black blade’s fury flared like an exploding sun against the cold, stone walls, Galanor, fighting off his carnivorous angst and fearful of what his shortsightedness might have unleashed upon an unsuspecting world, flew like a demon wraith toward the light.

(The Allure had arrived millennia ago. They had taken great pains to carve this, their home, from the flawless stone of the flawless mountain. They had designed its massive portals so that they could only be opened by spiritual immersion and caring touch. Likewise, they had crafted their emissaries, the Tom-Toray, with care and love, hoping they might bring something blissful, hopeful and much needed to humanity. They were wrong. For the Tom-Toray had, without their master’s guidance and light, descended into madness. They lost all sense of balance and reason, and had, over time, come to worship themselves above all else. From the depths of their maniacal downward spiral rose a new imperative, one that better suited their new vision of themselves as gods: to rule over humanity, rather than serve it.

This Galanor knew, from his earlier encounter. But, what he had failed to comprehend, was that the ones he had dispatched, were nothing compared to the potential hordes that lay in waiting deep within the hidden recess and dusty shadows of the massive structure. For over the centuries since the last of the Allure had passed on, the Tom-Toray must have bred unchecked and undisciplined, producing perhaps thousands or even tens of thousands of their kind, each with the singular-minded goal to dominate the world of man ...Aficiados)

He raced upward at a dizzying pace until, with the walls of the catacombs within his sight, the slick, stone door slammed shut, sending a gust of stale air, mind-numbing darkness and the sound of muted, mocking laughter in its wake. He placed his massive hands upon the door and pushed with an effort that would have easily toppled the great columns that guarded the tomb of the once mighty king, Sanserilia of Aristos, but to no avail. The door had been shut, and the passage sealed by words and magics as ancient as the Earth itself. Nothing could undo what had been done.

As he stood facing the now impervious wall, he heard a voice ringing in his head, like the lamentable tolling of an iron bell, ‘Fear not, Chosen of the Kahal, we shall meet again, in the fullness of time. When and where we cannot say. But, rest assured, our paths will cross again. And, when they do, beware the wrath of the Tom-Toray. Our hearts are pure. Our memories are long. And, our mission is righteous.’ He sighed deeply as his heart sank at his impotence. He had failed to see what was right in front of him. He had let his hubris override his instincts. He had let an enemy deceive him. He had wanted to save Nitiri, at all costs and accepted willingly the illusion of success they offered him. They understood and manipulated him. They sacrificed a few, to protect the many. As he stood facing the mockingly, mute stone wall, he sighed deeply as the realization that at some point he would have to pay for that mistake. Perhaps in this lifetime, perhaps another.

Slowly and with great trepidation he turned and made his way, silently down the rough hewn step, to Nitiri’s side.

What was that all about, my Lord? Nitiri asked as she hurled her words directionless into the absolute darkness that surrounded them.

An old enemy and a future threat. He answered cryptically, pushing his feelings of dread and incompetence into an unused portion of his mind, where it would stay until the threat took shape again. I’ll tell you all about it sometime. But, for now, I must ask you…, he added, as his voice sank into low, deeply throbbing tones, ... to cover your ears.

Why Galanor?

Because I don’t want you to share in any way, in what I’m about to do, Nitiri.

But…

...No. This is not something I’m willing to discuss. He said firmly, his words blindly floating into the absolute blackness that encompassed them. "We can’t make the long trek down this passage in total darkness. It would be beyond foolhardy to even contemplate it. I was fairly confident that Malferion made use of this passage often, if only to replenish his supply of narcotics. I thought he used torches to light his way. I was wrong. Since there are no torches anywhere to be found, I can only assume he used a summoning incantation."

As he did with your chains?

Exactly. And now, so must I. Please cover your ears. It may not insulate you completely from the corruption, but it will be better than nothing.

But, why Galanor? I heard him say those words when he bound you to the wall. They didn’t effect me then. Why should they effect me now?

"First, because they weren’t directed at you. You can rest assured the metal in the chains ached at their utterance. Second, because the summoning was specific, localized and brief. What I must now do will be none of those things. He paused briefly, then reached out and touched her cheek. Nitiri, please understand, I’m trying to protect you, to shield you from a lecherous evil. A summoning is a corruption of all natural laws and a violation of the sanctity of the soul. It’s an abomination that can and does wreak havoc on the spirit and the mind. Trust me. I know. I evoked a summoning once before, in the icy water of the great North Sea, and paid the price for it. And now, if we are ever to make our way out of here safely, I must do so again."

I heard you utter such words before, when you shackled Malferion. How would this be any different?

It isn’t any different, Nitiri. It was corrupt then. It’s corrupt now. The only difference is, that then I acted on instinct to spare you from harm. Now, I must evoke the necessary power deliberately, with no well-intended excuse to justify my transgression against that which defines all existence: the soul. He paused for a moment, then added with great solemnity in his voice. It is the energy that sustains the universe and binds it into one dynamic, living organism. It is it’s beating heart, it’s heaving breast. It was created when all things came into being and will endure long after all things have passed beyond the veil. It resides at the center of all that is or will ever be, animate and inanimate, great and small, visible and invisible. It should never be defiled. And, that is exactly what this practice does. It reaches into the soul of the user and the used, the master and the slave. It reaches in and crushes its will to survive.

That’s terrifying. How could such a thing ever come to be?

In times long past…, he said with a tone of reluctant melancholy in his voice, ...my people viewed themselves as great scholars, brilliant philosophers and noble seekers of wisdom. But, in truth, they were nothing more than supremely arrogant children, who sought answers to questions they felt they, and they alone, had a right to know. They ignored all the warning signs. They violated every restriction. They pushed and pushed until, in the end, they undid the riddle of the universe. But, like any petulant child, they were ill-equipped to fully confront the consequences of their actions. When the total weight of their discovery confronted them, they shuddered with an uneasy mixture of fear and giddy exaltation. And why not…, he added thoughtfully, ...they now possessed the power of the gods.

That’s incredible.

Yes, it is. He answered softly, then added. They could bend existence to their will with but a word or a phrase. He paused for a moment then added calmly. "That discovery was the beginning of the end for the Atlantean civilization. We had far too much power at our disposal and far too little wisdom to know how not to use it. He sighed quietly, then added softly. Now you know."

Can I help, my love? Her voice came to him from out of the darkness like the gentle warmth of a subtle breeze.

Thank you, but I would prefer that you were as far removed from all this as possible, my queen. I don’t want you tainted in any way. Besides…, he added offhandedly, ...one more blemish on a soul as scared as mine will hardly be noticed. He reached into the septic pool of the darkness, took hold of her face and kissed her gently. Now…, he breathed lovingly, ...please cover your ears.

With that, Nitiri, onetime slave, onetime empress and soon to be queen of a distant land, placed her back against the cold, unforgiving stone wall, covered her ears and prayed. She prayed for his health. She prayed for his life. She prayed for his soul. She prayed because she understood full well the consequences of bartering oneself against the needs of the moment, no matter how desperate or banal they might be. She prayed because she knew what it felt like to stand at the edge of an emotional abyss and feel the icy wind of desperation swirl around and through you. She prayed because she could feel his pain and understand his anguish. She prayed because she would gladly have traded places with him, but knew she couldn’t. She prayed and she wept.

A low rumbling tone began to filter through the chilled, still air. It was subtle at first, almost like distant thunder. But, it soon grew closer and more intimate, as it took on a life of its own.

It began to float along the soft tissue of her flesh like a vaporous spirit lost in the night, seeking refuge in the supple curves and full aspects of her perfect body. Like a faceless, formless, feverish lover it probed her with fingers of reckless anonymity seeking access to her most private and secure places. It was relentless and demanding, beguiling and seductive, invasive and oppressive. It wrapped itself around her as it fondled and probed her. She closed her eyes tightly against the sinking feeling of utter helplessness and mounting despair. Her breathing became more labored as she struggled against the waves of voiceless demands that howled in her mind.

And then, it stopped.

In the wake of the sudden psychic silence, she shuddered uncontrollably. A terrible, petulant chill ran through her body, as if she were staring at a freshly dug grave that bore her name. Though she wished it were otherwise, she was terrified. Never had she imagined that such emotional and spiritual carnage was possible. Never had she imagined, not even in her worst and most consummate nightmares, that so deep and demanding a pit of soulsucking despair could exist. Never had she imagined that she would know so absolute a feeling of utter helplessness, worthlessness and terrible loneliness. Never…

Nitiri. His voice, like a steadfast distant beacon in a dense fog, reached out to her lovingly. She heard it. It was comforting and secure. It was hopeful. Nitiri.

It was filled with gentle reassurance and concern. Nitiri, my love, come back to me. Please come back to me. She felt his arms around her. She felt the beating of a desperate heart and the warm touch of his lips upon hers. Nitiri, my precious queen, please come back to me.

As Anubis had once done for him, Galanor reached out to her floundering soul with all the love at his command. He prayed it would be enough to bring her back from the abyss.

Come back to me, Nitiri. Please come back to me. I don’t want to live another day without you. Please, my queen, come back to me. He pleaded gently.

My Lord. She whispered as sank into the warm, comforting waters of his love.

Is it really you? She asked as she languished in the powerful security of his embrace. Please tell me it’s you. I need it to be you. Is it you, my love?

Yes Nitiri, it’s me. Please open your eyes.

I’m afraid.

I know.

But…

...It’s alright.

I’m so alone.

I understand.

Please don’t let go of me.

I won’t.

I’m afraid.

Don’t be afraid, my love. I’m right here.

Is it really you, Galanor?

Yes. He said calmly. Here, take my hand. He took her sleek hand into his and consumed it with tender care. Now, open your eyes, my queen.

Slowly and deliberately, Nitiri did as he had been asked.

As she opened her eyes, a gloriously subtle amber glow greeted her. It was like a warm summer breeze, that bathed the ancient stairway with a serenity that bespoke a spirit that was pure and refined, gentle and caring, holistic and majestic. It was the spirit of Kali-ashka and, despite its own pain, it was reaching out to comfort her.

Are you alright? Galanor asked as he began to see the color of roses returning to her cheeks.

I think so, yes. Nitiri answered as her fear subsided and her eyes became accustomed to the light. I feel so foolish, Galanor. She said as she stared into the steel gray ocean of her lover’s eyes.

Why?

Because, I should have been stronger. I should have been able to resist its voice. But, it was so terribly sad. You should have heard it. I should have resisted. But, I couldn’t. It was too…, she paused to catch her breath, ...beautiful. I know you warned me. I just didn’t grasp it fully. I’m sorry. I tried to resist. I really tried. She said as she forced a timid smile to her face. But, I couldn’t. It was too powerful, too insistent, too demanding. It was too…

...I know. That kind of sadness is impossible to resist. That’s its curse. He said quietly with a slight, gentle smile on his savagely drained and tortured face.

For a moment, while all the stars, in all the galaxies, in all the universe spun with mindlessly reckless speed around one another, the lovers, with their two hearts beating as one, shared a moment of sublime stillness and peace.

Oh, my Lord…, she said, as she stared into his eyes as drank in the full, horrific effect of the summoning written across his face in bold creases and deep, somber shadows. She saw his steel gray eyes glisten behind a glaze of stress-induced tears and sweat. As she touched the taught muscles of the stoic face and felt his quivering jaw, ...forgive me.

For what?

For being so absorbed in my own distress that I…

...shared your pain, and your fear and your…, he said gently, as he kissed her hands, ...soul with me? Don’t be silly. That’s what I’m here for. Besides…, he said with a weak, tortured smile, ...what more could I have ever asked of you, than to share in your pain? Isn’t that what love is all about?

But, my Lord, your pain and suffering is…

...nothing compared to that of the stone, Nitiri. He said as he placed his trembling hands on either side of her delicate face and kissed her tenderly. "Please understand, Kali-ashka is in pain. She has no one with whom to share it. No one to hear her cries or dry her tears. No one to ease her suffering or soothe her damaged soul. She has been raped and she is all alone."

Raped?

Yes. And, I…, he sighed deeply, as he lowered his head under the crushing weight of his sorrow, and with a deep tremor in his voice, added, ...was her rapist.

(It has been written that sorrow is the handmaiden of regret. That it is the yardstick by which the soul may be measured and the heart validated. That it is the one true feature of a man’s spirit and essence that can justify his tenure in this realm. We all do what we do. Some may even regret what they have done. But, very few know real sorrow. For that, requires an immersion into murky depths of another’s pain. That requires an undiluted acceptance of all responsibility and culpability. That requires sacrifice. That is why it is the true measure of a man’s soul. That is why Galanor’s was on fire…Aficiados)

Oh, my dear Galanor. Please…, she said as she brought him close to her and hugged his tortured, trembling body, as if the very thought of letting him go would bring an end to all reality…

(She may have been right. For the Powers of Light and Darkness are forever vigilant. They sit at the heart of all things like great spiders in