The Storm's Own Son (Book 3) (29 page)

So be it.

He had made his choices, taken his actions, and would face what came of them with open eyes. He stepped forward.

Epilogue

A thin man sat cross-legged and barefoot on a plain reed mat. He wore a threadbare robe of plain gray wool. His long black hair and beard were nearly half gray. He had a gentle, patient, detached expression on a face neither young nor old. His rounded brows framed soft, kindly-looking brown eyes over a narrow face with an aquiline nose. His hands folded meditatively at his lap.

It was night, and crisp, clear stars shone in a cloudless sky. He placidly observed something before him, something that produced great amounts of flickering red light.

His mat rested on a vast plaza of plain square paving stones. Distant buildings, behind and to either side, were constructed in a simple style of white stone and light varnished wood, with barrel vaulted roofs, fronted by sheltering colonnades of square pillars and flat canopies.

Close behind him, kneeling on the ground on folded legs, was a figure in white and green robes, with a handsome golden mask that had no eyes. The kneeling figure had his white-gloved hands folded on his lap, and his head bowed. A long bronze sword was strapped to his back.

Around him and facing him on reed mats sat a circle of twelve men and women, all of older years, with snowy hair and serene expressions. Their layered clothing and robes were of simple white wool. The men wore beards and white caps, the women, hair bound in plain tight coils and white shawls around their shoulders.

The eyes of the twelve men and women flickered with green fire.

In long lines on either side, dozens of other men and women sat cross-legged on the pavement, facing the man in the center. They wore garb much like those in the circle, save theirs were varied greens, grays, or browns. Like the man in the golden mask, they bowed their heads.

The man at the center made the slightest of gestures with his right hand. All those around him waited attentively on his word. He spoke in his language, that of the eastern regions of the Eastlands, what was in this era called the language of the Prophet.

"It has begun," he said in a soft voice, and with a gentle smile.

The twelve in the circle nodded, slowly and reflectively, as one.

The Living Prophet continued, "What was seen from without by my martyred Hand at the city of Avrosa, and from within by the three martyred in holy sacrifice, leaves no doubt that the Unholy One has arisen. Now we will speak of the many shared tasks ahead."

A woman in the circle, sitting to his direct right, spoke with a kind of peaceful joy, "Praise be, our soul and Prophet. May that the Unholy One will now unwittingly show the way."

"He may yet, sister," replied the Prophet in humble, almost apologetic tones, "but alas the trees of my garden have born little fruit. The shadows woven by the Unholy One's demoness grow thick. The three martyrs are now themselves besieged within his soul, and they can no longer speak to me. I will trust in your sworn ones to bring us news."

"They are close, our soul and Prophet," she answered, "and will become among his closest."

"We will await your word, sister, thank you," said the Prophet, gently.

Then, though he gave no indication but the slightest beginning of a turn and nod to his left, a man in the circle on that side replied to him.

"Our soul and Prophet," the man said, "the faithful on the western coasts have served with such zeal and joy at the making of ships, that I may report we are now three months and more ahead of our earlier goal. There were those who shirked the labor of their bodies, and so have instead served with the labor of their souls, given upon the pyres."

The Prophet showed no change in expression, but he replied with kindly words, "It is well done, brother. Let all here contemplate forgiveness for those who have served upon the pyres, and give silent thanks that they have forever shed their sins and their fears."

For a brief moment, the Prophet closed his eyes, as did those all around. The flickering red light upon them all grew stronger, and their shadows stretched back across the plaza.

The Prophet now raised his head, ever so slightly, and a man in the part of the circle behind him answered, "The missions are away, our soul and Prophet, both those long planned, and those recently so. I also have word on the success of our work in the sinful Republic."

"May they soon rejoice in the good word, brother. Blessings to you."

Then the Prophet slightly raised both his hands.

"Brothers and sisters, hearken," he said, softly. "Praise be for your service and preparation for this moment. We shall soon discuss them, and much more, in communion. For with the ninth seal of the world found at last, the end times are upon us.

"As it was my failure to foresee the emergence of the Unholy One so soon, in the time, place, and form he has taken, so I must make the sacrifice. Even now my remaining Hands proceed to their appointed places across the earth.

"Very soon, the Unholy One will seek to open the seals. Of all the forms he might have taken, it is the worst. The very spawn and heir of the arch-sinners and tyrants of the earth, the usurpers of the collective gift of mankind, will soon seek their power for himself.

"However better it would have been for the world to be further along in purification and the great transformation, we must work with what we have. With all the nine seals found, it is before us. With the destruction of the Unholy One, the greater part of the sundered power of the First One can at last be put to work for the benefit of all, and the first sin undone.

"And then, brothers and sisters, the great transformation may continue unhindered."

"Praise be," said the twelve in the circle, with one voice.

"With the purification of sin from mankind," intoned the Prophet in his soft voice, "the way shall be cleared for the annihilation of the ultimate sin that is the self. Then, the great transformation will complete, and as one being restored at last, humanity shall become God."

"So let it be," answered the twelve in harmony.

"Now, brothers and sisters," said the Prophet, "let us leave the poetry of spoken voice, and enter the prose of communion, for the long conversation that awaits us."

With that, the Living Prophet's eyes ignited with brilliant white light, and his body became perfectly still. The eyes and bodies of the twelve around him did the same.

As they sat in communion, the flickering red light became mingled with green.

Before the Prophet and those who sat with him, the stone plaza descended by eight steps to a far larger open plaza of brick. In the closest part of that plaza, twelve bronze stakes were planted in bases of inscribed white stone, and standing freely there, withering in green flames, were twelve men and women with faces set in ecstatic devotion.

Behind them, mounted in plain brick, were one hundred and forty-four iron stakes. Chained to them were men, women and children burning on pyres in red flames. Their eyes were vacant, but they screamed. By some power, the sounds of the screams were silenced.

In a vast circle around the pyres, thousands more men and women stood in silent forgiveness of those who burned, with their heads bowed and their hands clasped.

Storm and Fire continues with Mercy of the Prophet, Book One.

A preview follows.

Preview of Mercy of the Prophet, Book One

The cold wind whipped at them on the heights, as clouds rolled in from the north.

Talaos surveyed the immensity all around as they walked.

They were passing the tree line, and entering the realm of meadow, stone and sky. The switchbacks lay below and behind them to the south. Peaks rose in a great line going southeast, and a longer one extending far past the horizon, directly south. Others yet spread north and northeast, but the view of them was largely obscured by the highest peak of all, towering close ahead.

Directly before them rose a vast shoulder of the mountain, drawing on ridges and lower slopes from three sides. It had forest around its base, and beyond a wide meadow of short pale grass that clung to life. At its higher end the meadow faded to bare rock. There, even after thousands of years, could be seen marks of ancient battle.

Beyond the battlefield, half a mile or more, a second set of switchbacks had been carved into the solid rock of the upper slope. They rose up to a higher spur with ruins of some sort atop it. Above even that were stairs cut in the long final slope to the peak itself.  At the very top stood what looked to be buildings, and nine mighty pillars—the gathering place of the old gods.

Down below, wolves had followed them as far as the base of the first switchbacks, then vanished. Here, gentler slopes connected ridge lines to the great meadow before them, and in various places Talaos could now see distant, furtive patches of gray and black stalking through the trees.

As they reached the top of the shoulder, and the meadow itself, the Madmen fanned out in a half circle around Talaos and the Three. Behind him walked Auretius and the Stormguard, then the Wolves in a short, wide column.

Dark gray clouds gathered in the cold sky above.

Talaos turned back to Auretius, "General, how are you doing?"

The old man replied, "Astonishingly well. I haven't had such strength since I was a young man. With things as they are now for you... I fear for how much power you gave me to make this possible."

"I was a gift I made with my eyes open, and I do not regret it," replied Talaos.

Auretius nodded gravely.

As they walked on, Halmir, who was rightmost among the Madmen, surveyed the battlefield ahead. He turned to Talaos, with awe in his voice, "This is a place of great and terrible honor, but no mercy, where warriors on both sides fought to the end." With that, the Northman solemnly raised his axe to his chest in salute as he walked.

Talaos however began to sense something.

Behind him, Miriana spoke in a clear, powerful voice, "The Ferox come."

The bulk of the shoulder was a wide, gently sloping place with no defensible ground.

"All halt!" shouted Talaos, "Withdraw back to the slope, and form a defensive position."

They retreated back the way they'd come. On that side, the steep slope limited how many, and how swiftly beasts might charge at them.  Better, Talaos thought, to defend three sides than four.

From some hidden place among the rocks at the far end, where the shoulder joined the upper slope, stalked forty large black shapes.

"There they are!" thundered Vulkas.

"Madmen, Sorya, Katara with me! Front and center!," roared Talaos, "Stormguard around Miriana, behind us! Wolves on the flanks!"

As they took their defensive position, the Ferox advanced toward them with slow, predatory patience.

"Forty's not so bad..." said Kyrax, to a general lack of approval.

"They have the mark of the Prophet upon them," said Miriana.

They waited. Then more movement could be seen. At least a hundred more Ferox appeared from the dense pine forests of the lower ridge lines on either side. With them came hundreds of wolves.

"Hold fast, stay close," said Talaos, in a cold, deep voice.

The Ferox from the stones increased their pace. They raced forward in great leaps, and made howling roars as they came. Shortly after, so did the hundred Ferox from the sides, closing gradually to converge with the others. Behind them, the wolves ran in silence.

A light snow began to fall.

The forty Ferox howled and leapt, sweeping onward in fury. They grew close, and Talaos could see the green mist in their eyes.

About the Author

Thanks for purchasing this book!

Anthony Gillis is the child of hippie adventurer parents, and lived on his father’s sailboat, an island off the coast of Costa Rica, a converted school bus, and a ramshackle house in Ft. Lauderdale with a leaky roof and a sand yard, before settling down to something resembling a normal childhood. Somehow, all that made him decide to enlist and serve in the United States Air Force, and then earn a bachelor’s degree in history and an MBA. He worked in accounting and finance for many years, but has recently made the transition to full time writer.

A lifelong voracious reader, including fantasy, science fiction, and adventure stories, his influences are wide-ranging, but include J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert E. Howard, C.S. Forester, and Ayn Rand.  He is the author of several books, including the epic
Storm and Fire
fantasy series, science fiction novel
Alien Empire
, pirate adventure
Jamaica Rum
, and the dark sword and sorcery tales of
Blood on Bronze
.

More information on the author and his works can be found at
anthonygillis.com