The Fifth Codex (12 page)

I pause and look up at Admiral Vanderbilt as if a child eagerly awaiting her father to say it is okay to continue.  His warm eyes meld into a proud face and his next words tell me it is.

“We are with you, Granddaughter, until the end,” he confirms kindly.

Each joyous finger grips my tablet to the point they ache – I could not care less.  I suck in one more deep breath.  It is now time to read
directly
from the first copper plate.

“As for what comes next, it is not I who need tell you their tales, but they themselves.…”

Chapter Eleven
THE KNOWING TIME

Every eye faced forward to the future, the time has come for two to look back.  Not just to the past, but to the very start of this past.  As our first historian, the telling of our beginning has fallen to me.  A man living in the time that is tasked to scribe of those living in a time that was increases the heft of this burden, but also makes sweeter the glory awaiting its fulfillment.  By way of crude paintings upon rock, gathered scraps of stories passed down from long ago, and listened to songs sung by the fading memories of the eldest among us, the following is how Sapiens – once the weakest of wretches – have come to rule this world.

– Patremeus, Sapien Historian

For desperate eyes aimed by numbed minds that held but a handful of hope, Terra Australis
was
paradise found.  Banished from a cruel world a season earlier, this one warmly welcomed the few who survived.  Still in his or her native, virgin skin, each weary body dropped in disbelief onto scabbed knees sharpened by hunger.  For swollen eyes just a few more shed tears away from turning hopeless, nothing could be more welcome, nothing could be more glorious.

An oasis in a wintery desert, this fertile strip of land cradling their crippled toes was like nothing any of these miserable wanderers had ever seen.  Countless trees sprawl skyward from sweeping fields whose grasses appear as if spun gold.  Plants and bushes with all manner of fruits and flowing fresh water tempt to no end hungry, thirsty mouths.  Mammoths, sloths, buffalo, horses, antelope, lions, bears, wolves, and birds of all shapes and sizes blanket the land.  Even giant pandas are free to frolic about their own pocket of paradise.  From the most fearsome to the most charming, field and forest alike overflow with all manner of life.

These grateful men and women with weak minds dim as night settled mostly in the western shadows of the Agathis Australis.  Their canopies tickling the sky, the Kauri trees of the Agathis are a handsome backdrop to lush coastal plains.  From here, they drank from the most convenient fresh water lake and river they knew of.  This wide, rushing river flows from the northern sea, snakes through the western edge of the Agathis Australis, and extends far into the interior of what those to come would call Lapith Fields.  These flowing fields of golden grasses peppered with woodlands make up the heart of Terra Australis.  For the time being, this area was indeed best.

In truth, what choice did they have?

Their feeble minds did not dare explore far away lands such as the southern wall of towering, fiery volcanoes – the Pillars of Fire – or the equally majestic Guardian Mountains to the east.

A century as if a child birthed by time, ten such epochal children came and went.  From birth to death, each wept more than the last as it passed by.  Aside from growing in numbers, these men and women achieved nothing of note atop this lush, gifted land 1,000 years after their ancestors found it.  They labored through short life spans of forty, forty-five years at most and numbered around 2,000.  Pathetic beings the lot of them, they knew barely more than that needed to continue drawing breath for at least one more day.  In regards to all else about their world, they were beyond blind and stunningly stupid.  These aimless souls not only learned little of their world, they wondered about it even less.  Unlearned and happily so, their impenetrable ignorance swaddled them snug.

Could any living being that could become so much more, but did not yet know it, suffer a harsher curse?

Perhaps the approaching horror was random, perhaps something more.  Did this rich, fruitful land simply wish to rid itself of the wretched mortals who had done so little with it?  Or maybe, could it have been
this
day, when Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, claimed his crown?  Two thousand souls for the taking – although near worthless – they would still make a handsome bounty for a first day’s reign.

Brown and orange of rock and flame suddenly consumed the skies.  Until this day, those who trembled below had only known the color of these same skies as blue, black, or grey.  Every day for a full month, stone ablaze bombarded Terra Australis.  All cowered in rightful terror.  Some took cover, but most scattered in panic.  Too dim-witted to stay hidden, these wretches fled in every direction and from every direction were turned into ash.  A fog not of mist, but of fire, swept across the land and consumed all life foolish enough to cross its path.  Most, the weak, did indeed die, but a few of the strongest survived.

Was there a reason why these nearly three hundred men and women were allowed to cower not in a bloodied or charred heap, but with still beating hearts?

Maybe the gods were simply sloppy or in a wicked way mocked their dismal existence.  Perhaps Hades would return to wipe out these last few wretches once he realized a handful of leftover souls still lived.

On the other hand, was it possible a very purposeful meddling from above accounted for such madness?

Death and destruction near everywhere, but a single body of water stayed clean among this wrecked filth – the familiar lake.  Its waters glittered, glimmered, and when cupped in hand,
even moved
in unnatural ways never seen before.  Too terrified to search out other sources and despite tiny, yet visible, creatures wiggling about these waters, they continued to drink.  Their paradise in ruins, they huddled around the Pool of Torment and Discovery as if waiting for the Grim to collect the rest of them.

A world in utter chaos, the fall of these clueless scraps of flesh appeared certain.  At the edge of this blade of doom and their end in sight, a new day arrived after so many spent in mind-numbed darkness.  These staggering fools, these hopeless wretches, these owners of spirits weaker than the most parched twig; they had stumbled upon pure brilliance.  This brilliance was not of their doing, but they would make it their own, nonetheless.  Throwing off the yoke of a pathetic way of being, a new dawn lit the horizon.  Eyes blurred by misery looked upon a world still broken and crippled, but suddenly malleable, suddenly bendable to their will.

AND TO THEIR WILL THEY BENT IT!

In the midst of this newfound spirit, wretchedness began to wonder, wonder led to learning, learning brought about seeking to own an existence above mere survival, and the Rise of Sapiens begat the Knowing Time.  Lives once no more purposeful than those of wild beasts – their time as wanderers and scavengers was over.

Those who remained could feel the changes inside them, but it was not until the next generation, the first
true
Sapiens, when discovery
fully
took hold.  These offspring realized that he or she was a much grander being than any man or woman to come before.  Added height and muscle came with each next wave of fresh Sapien stock.  Complex language and then writing developed in just a few short generations.  A great deal more wondrous and intelligent than those who birthed them, Sapiens quickly became aware of new and, in some ways, unnatural abilities.  Yet to learn their new form owned a double-edged sword, Sapiens continued to drink happily from the Pool of Torment and Discovery.

Language and writing was but child’s play compared to what came soon after.  A full century into the Knowing Time, some Sapiens learned the ability to move small objects with only their mind.  Soon after, those more talented explored the enchanted world of spells and potions.

Magic came at a heavy price, and if abused, could very much shorten one’s life.  As if the gods from high above now judged them in the same manner as Hades already did from below, there
was
a dreadful penance to pay for mischievous deeds.  Especially if inflicted upon innocent others.  Unleash hurtful magic on another; foul tumors and lesions would come next.  Rapid decay of flesh and bone, and the wafting scent of death greeted wasting bodies soon after. 
Free will
the true king or queen of any Sapien, despite knowing that such a horrid end would stalk them without mercy, some unleashed their mystic rage, regardless.  Greed – jealousy – envy – revenge … some temptations are simply too great to resist.

Each successive generation lived twenty to thirty years longer than the previous one.  400 years into the Knowing Time, the oldest still alive had passed his second century.  Sapien elders suggested that three full centuries of life would soon be possible, eventually commonplace.  Adolescence in the young began to stretch across decades and, with longer life, came longer time to make a life.  It now took two to three years for a child to develop inside the womb.  The wisest among them began to wonder if such long life was in actuality as much a curse as it was a gift.

For learned beings, desired knowledge of the world predictably led to the exploration of it.  The Guardian Mountains to the east, the seas to the north, the Pillars of Fire to the south – budding explorers looked west.  But they quickly learned, rather tragically, that ‘to look west’ would be the fullest extent of their exploration of it.  Death the penalty for seeking other lands, to stray too far from the Pool of Torment and Discovery causes its content prisoners to forget nearly all they know.  So much so, they become as if aimless beasts to be put out of their misery by the frigid wild.  A good many forever lost before others finally realized this, our paradise has given us all we could have ever wished.  In return, as if the pool is a jealous mind wrapped in the body that is Terra Australis, it demands that we never leave.

*****

Despite so many achievements, we had barely scraped away at our potential.  To remedy this, the gods sent another gift.  One who would wield magic in a way none before had ever dared try; one with the power to unite; one who would lead us all into the light although we did not yet know we still dwelt in darkness; one who would be queen….

My eldest daughter, Cynisca.

Chapter Twelve
RISE

All are powerless to stop her, but those who know her well would not dare do so even if they could.  Cynisca owns a spirit the gods would fear – what choice do mere mortals have?  Soldiers fight for her willingly.  Mystics fall under her spells freely.  Even our steeds find in their hearts and hooves a bravery and swiftness few can imagine.  She came.  She saw.  Most would suggest she conquered, but my daughter, our first queen, did just the opposite – something grander.  SHE BUILT.

– Patremeus, Sapien Historian

– Early Summer, Year 426 KT
[12]

In year 426 of the Knowing Time, the greatest witch of the age made her move.  In one way or another, most throughout the land had heard of her talents, but only one knew of her grand plans for such gifts.

“By way of angered arms led by mystic might, Father,” Cynisca confided to Patremeus upon first light of the summer solstice, “I will unite the scattered tribes under a single banner.”

One of a handful of Sapiens to fully engross herself in perfecting her mystic abilities and succeeding more than any other by far, Cynisca owned a great secret others had yet to learn: Potions could not hold spells for long, but charmed objects of a fantastic nature and enchanted dust made of rare things forever could.

Soon after the Knowing Time began, groups of Sapiens had gone their separate ways.  A good many villages sprung up across the land and, in some cases, warlords ruled over groups of them.  Cynisca’s own village and two others in the remote south had banded together into a single village a few years earlier.

“I offer nothing but legend!” Cynisca declared in a voice as strong as her will.  “I promise nothing but greatness!  I will take nothing but all you have to give!  Each of you my brothers, my sisters – I will fight alongside you until my last breath!”

Cheers and the clamoring of bronze weapons against wooden shields stiffened by magic roared their approval.  Barely a hundred warriors and a handful of mystics now stood in a circle around Cynisca.  She sat atop a golden steed more magnificent than a sculpture molded from true gold ever could be.  The stallion now pranced in a tight circle.  A slight mist hung over the grasses and clouds stuffed with rain yet to fall brushed grey strokes across the morning sky.  There was no sun aside for a single ray of light bathing the Warrior Witch and her horse in destiny-riddled warmth.

“Six days ago, I sent two messengers north to relay our wish to unite with them.  These messengers returned to us yesterday with no hands … and with no eyes.  Beings who can so easily defile another plead for us to conquer them.  Do we dare withhold such a request?”

Chants of “No!” rippled among the gathered.

“Over 1,000 barbarians to the north – kicking, screaming, dying, let us drag them all into our fold!  We will dominate our own kind not for our benefit, but for theirs!”

More cheers and more banging of arms slammed and sliced their way through the air once more.  Their mounts brought to them, the soldiers, and six mystics followed Cynisca and Patremeus north.  Horses their one true advantage, a luxury in the north, they were a necessity in the far south.

One by one, each tribe fell by way of sword and spell.  Cynisca’s forces collected the conquered as if treasure; barely a month after they had begun, the collection of fleshy valuables was nearly complete.  But one large force remained.

As Cynisca’s army pushed north, some tribes joined her.  She wiped out any others who dared face her in battle, but not all chose to fight.  At least not yet.  These Sapiens fled for the fog-riddled swamps that soaked the western edge of the Agathis Australis.  Cynisca and her army marched to the border of these swamps and the final battle began.

Horses here were near useless.  Fighting in the midst of a drizzling rain that made the already thick fog of war even thicker turned especially brutal.  Even Patremeus, who was now in command of her warriors, suffered a gruesome spear wound to the shoulder.  Hand-to-hand, sword-to-sword, magic of course tipped the scales.

Over 300 of these last rebels dead, Cynisca’s soldiers quickly rounded up the last twenty or so foolish enough to still live.  They forced each of the captured to their knees and bound their hands and ankles.  The soldiers then draped rope across the lower legs and pegged this rope to the ground.  From the bent knees to the ankles, the captives could not move.  Dismounting her horse, Cynisca approached and looked upon each filthy face.  She did not waste words.

“For the one who threw the spear that injured my general,
my father
– reveal yourself!  I will make your end quick and your soul will be free for Hades to judge in its full, unspoiled form.  Fail to do so and
this
witch will withhold every speck of pity not only in this world, but in the next as well.  You will be dead, but
never
die.  Encased, entombed … your soul will never leave the body it now dwells in.”

Cynisca carried a scowl that would terrify a demon as she walked among them.  A long silence passed as she did this.

“SPEAK UP NOW!” she shouted.  Again, none of these wretches said a word.

With a concerned look at Patremeus, Cynisca went to him and knelt at his side.  She pulled out a pouch of enchanted dust and emptied some into her open palm.  Another mystic held in her hand a mix of wild lavender crushed with mint to help with healing.  With a whispered spell, Cynisca pressed the mystic’s hand into Patremeus’ wound and sprinkled the enchanted dust over the top of it.  With a painful cry at the force of this, his anguish started to seep slowly from his body as the blood rushed out to cover the hand of the mystic.  Finished, Cynisca’s scowl returned.  She grasped Patremeus’ favorite weapon, a finely engraved war hammer, rose, and again stood before her silent captives.

“So be it.  A generous offer denied; we will do things my way. 
The hard way.
”

Cynisca dropped the war hammer to the ground and drew her sword still dripping with the blood of others.  With a wave of her hand, a soldier came and wiped the blood from this sword.  As he did this, she motioned for the other mystics to gather close.  She then gave each of them a handful of enchanted dust.

“Warriors!” Cynisca called out next.  “Gather all manner of stone you can find and make a ring of rocks around each of these fools!”

They quickly did as told.  While soldiers did this, Cynisca summoned a few of them to her and spoke in whispers Patremeus could not hear.  A ring of rocks soon spread around each captive and their faces pushed to the ground, Cynisca used her sword to draw blood from the bound forearms of each captive.  Some held the subdued down while another captured this blood in a cup.  Enough blood taken, soldiers raised the captured back onto their knees again.

Slowly, and with great care, a soldier dripped blood from the cup onto each knee.  These drippings then ran along the ground until meeting one of the surrounding rocks of the ring coated with whatever blood remained in the cup.  Body to stone connected by blood, the five mystics sprinkled their handfuls of enchanted dust onto these twenty wretches and spoke their spells.

All of this preparation only, nothing could happen until Cynisca joined in, of course.  Their world’s greatest sorceress once again stood close to her father’s war hammer that still lay on the ground.  Ready to speak the needed spell, Cynisca sheathed her sword and raised hands coated in enchanted dust high into the air: