Scales of the Serpent

9

Darkness surrounded Mendeln, darkness that felt as if it went on forever. Uldyssian’s brother suspected that if he ran and ran as hard as he could for as long as possible, he would find no change in things. It would still be dark and empty. A part of him was unnerved by that…but another part was morbidly fascinated.

Still, his concerns for Uldyssian overrode that fascination and the longer Mendeln stood alone and silent in the darkness, the more impatient he became to return…if such a thing was possible. He was, after all, very likely a prisoner.

Why this betrayal, Achilios? he asked himself. Why steal me away when I only wanted to reunite you with the others? What reason could you have for stopping me?

“Because what you would have done would have had very unfortunate repercussions,” replied the voice he knew so well from his own mind.

A shape emerged from the darkness, a shape that yet still seemed very much a part of it. The tall, very pale man with the features too perfect. The cowled figure stood a full head higher than Mendeln, something the younger son of Diomedes had not earlier noticed.

“What repercussions? What? Speak some sense! What repercussions?”

But instead of answering those questions, the other turned from him and looked up…not that Mendeln saw anything different when he, too, stared in that direction. There was simply more of the darkness.

The stranger—no, he had called himself Rathma —quietly asked the emptiness, “Well? Can you sense what she is about?”

And the emptiness answered.

No…she is well shielded in this regard. There is perhaps only one who knows best how to infiltrate that shield and learn the truth…

Rathma frowned. “And we cannot exactly expect my father to be of assistance…as he is more likely than even her to try to reduce me to dust.”

There is that small matter…

Mendeln’s head throbbed each time the second voice spoke, as if his mind was not strong enough to fully accept its presence. He clutched his temples, trying to regain his balance.

Forgive me…the voice said, its intensity much reduced. I will endeavor to keep within your bounds…

Rathma helped Mendeln straighten. “The first time he spoke to me, I thought my head would split open.”

“Did not mine do so?” Mendeln blinked, again seeking the source of the voice. “Who is it who speaks to us? I have heard him before, too!” To the darkness, he suddenly railed, “Show yourself! I’d know all my captors!”

“But we are not your captors,” Rathma quietly returned. “Hardly that. Nor, definitely, your enemies.”

“Not my friends, to be sure! Or else why take me from Uldyssian’s side, where I should always be?”

Because, if you wish to be there for him when you most need to be, you must be with us now…

“More riddles? Who are you, speaker in the shadows? Cease hiding from me!”

Rathma tsked. “There can be no going on with explanations until he sees you, my friend,” he said to the emptiness. “But recall that he is mortal.”

He is not so much less than you, Rathma…

“I never said otherwise.”

Listening to the pair, Mendeln sensed how long they had clearly known one another. There was a bond here as great as that between him and Uldyssian…

Know me, then, Mendeln ul-Diomed…the voice declared, keeping its intensity to a low booming in his head. Know me as Rathma here does…

And suddenly there were stars in the darkness above, a blazing multitude of stars that swirled about as if caught up in a tempest. They filled the area above to the point that Mendeln had to shield his eyes. At first there seemed no rhyme or reason to their movements, but quickly they began to spread apart and settle into certain areas. As they did, Mendeln noticed that a shape began to form, a shape only half-seen, yet seen enough to finally identify it.

It was a creature of myth, a thing in fairy tales and stories, but never truth. Uldyssian had cheerfully frightened Mendeln with tales of such when the latter had been a small child…and Mendeln had savored every story.

But now… now to see such a giant, especially one composed of stars… Mendeln stood gaping and speechless.

It was a dragon. A long, sinewy, serpentine dragon beyond epic proportions.

The dragon has chosen you…those words or ones very close to them had been etched on the stone in the ghastly cemetery Mendeln had found himself in while staying in Partha. The dragon has chosen you…

The celestial creature shifted, its “eyes” a startling array of smaller stars. Know me… it repeated. Know me as Trag’Oul…

“The One Who Is Forever,” added Rathma, almost blandly despite the astounding spectacle. “At least, that is one meaning. There are several.”

But Mendeln barely heard that, for as the dragon spoke, he constantly shifted…and in doing so, revealed a more stunning facet. Within each of the “scales”—the stars—Uldyssian’s brother beheld short glimpses of life… his life. There he was as an infant, in his mother’s arms. Mendeln cried out at the sight of her, the pain of her loss—of his entire family’s loss—suddenly renewed.

He forced himself to look beyond that moment and thus witnessed one scene after another as the years of his pitiful little mortal existence raced along in what was for Trag’Oul surely the blink of an eye.

Trying to shake free of his feelings of insignificance, Mendeln beheld the fantastic entity as a whole…and in doing so noticed that not only was his life displayed before him, but so were hundreds, no thousands more.

We are all there, Mendeln realized. All of Humanity, from the first on…each scale…each scale is a measure of some part of us…

And among those lives, his eyes somehow fixed upon Uldyssian. In fact, the images of the brothers intertwined constantly, which made sense, of course. Whether together or alone, they were bonded by more than simply blood.

Yet…as the years of their lives swiftly progressed down the “body” of the giant, the two lives grew more separate. Mendeln saw the discovery of the stone near Seram and his brother’s seduction by Lilith as Lylia. The images flashed faster and faster. Partha. Lucion. Achilios’s death. Toraja. Serenthia. And on and on until—

Trag’Oul shifted again and the lives of the sons of Diomedes became lost among the sea of other existences. The human let out another cry and stared at what passed for the face of the dragon.

No more should you perceive, Trag’Oul told him. For beyond that is the realm of possibilities, where what you see are the paths that choices not yet made determine. It would be a danger to yourself and to this world to try to choose from them before life has assisted you in the decision…

He was speaking of the future. The dragon not only reflected the past and present, but what could be. The incredible immensity of the being stretched above him only now struck Mendeln. He sensed that Trag’Oul only revealed to him—and even Rathma—a most minor portion of himself. Turning to the cowled figure, Mendeln blurted, “What—?”

“What is ‘he,’ you want to ask?” Rathma gestured at the ever-shifting form. “Even Trag’Oul does not entirely know. He has existed since just after the beginning of creation, although not quite as we sense him now.”

No…that came later… Whenever the dragon spoke, the scales flowed and shifted, constantly displaying other lives, other times. That came with the finding of the Shards…with the molding of Sanctuary by the renegade angels and demons…

Mendeln had no idea what the leviathan was talking about save that it had mentioned demons. He glared at Rathma, whose features had, for the past few moments, greatly reminded him of another…too much of another, in fact.

And then it struck Mendeln like a bolt through his heart. He knew exactly who it was.

“You and she!” Uldyssian’s brother grated, anger exploding. He pointed a condemning finger at the figure, who stood as motionless as death. “You and she! I can see it in you! You are hers ! Hers!”

Mendeln summoned words of power, words that he was well aware he had gained from the very one he sought to attack.

Rathma raised a hand. In it materialized the ivory dagger that Mendeln had seen before his kidnapping. As the last of the words escaped Mendeln’s lips, the dagger flared bright.

So near the unnatural illumination and with his eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Mendeln was instantly blinded. He let out a cry and stumbled back.

He has adapted to your teachings well, Rathma…

“Almost too well. I was nearly too late. But his mind…his spirit…are not yet utterly in tune with the Balance.”

Discovering yourself before the offspring of Lilith can be rather disconcerting. You must consider emotions, Rathma. Sometimes I believe you have taken my teachings too much to heart, my friend…

Mendeln paid no mind to their discourse, his only concern recovering his sight. He continued stumbing back, somehow hoping to escape the demon before him.

“I am no demon…at least not in the full sense, Mendeln ul-Diomed,” Rathma declared, again seeming to read his thoughts.

“Get out of my head!”

The cloaked figure began to coalesce before Uldyssian’s brother. “We are beyond that, my student. You proved yourself receptive to what I offered that day when you were shown the stone near your village, the stone that was the first of your tests.”

“Tests for what? To see if I would become servant to a demon?”

Above, the stars abruptly shifted. Looking up, Mendeln thought that the face of Trag’Oul seemed almost… reproving. You are much too absolute at times, Rathma. Explain more. Tell him of his bloodline. Tell him about Lilith…

“I was going to.” For the first time, there was a hint of emotion—irritation?—in the cloaked figure’s tone. “You know I was.”

Eventually…More reshaping of the stars, more displaying of different lives. Never the same ones. Always eventually…

Rathma suddenly sighed. “Yes, perhaps I do hesitate, despite what I have said about the need for haste.” To Uldyssian’s brother, he calmly explained, “Mendeln, son of Diomedes, who himself was son of Teronus, who was the son of Hedassyian…I tell you now that you are of my own blood, my own offspring…and, thus, in turn, the one you know as Lilith…”

And Inarius, too, recall…

“He will know of Inarius soon enough.” Rathma watched Mendeln closely, the dagger held ready.

But there was neither a renewed attack or even protest from Mendeln. The skills he had gained through Rathma were enough to enable him to gauge the truth of the other’s words. “You do not lie…” rasped Uldyssian’s brother. “You’ve made certain that I would know it!” He shook his head. “Uldyssian and I—we are of her ?”

“As are so several others, the generations that have passed being of great number. And as I said, you are also of mine,” Rathma pointed out, finally lowering the ivory blade. “Which number far, far less…”

Mendeln sought to put this all together. “Is that why she chose him and you me? Because it was easier to play games with those closest to your infernal blood?”

Irritation once more crossed Rathma’s face, but before he could speak, the stars once more briefly swirled, then re-formed into Trag’Oul. Peace, the dragon murmured as best as he could. If Rathma can be called a demon, so, too, can you and every human. Theirs is where in part all of you come…but also there are the angels to consider…and their role is no less significant in your creation…”

Demons and angels… The notion that he—that everyone—was descended from such sounded so ludicrous. Yet once again the abilities with which Rathma had imbued him made it impossible for Mendeln not to see that all of this was truth.

It all only verified what Lilith herself had revealed in the course of matters. Mendeln had always secretly denied her claims, believing them lies used to undermine Uldyssian’s defiance somehow. But the only lies involved were to myself, it seems…

“Very well. You know that I must believe you. What does that matter? I will be your pawn no more than my brother will be hers!”

Rathma let out an exasperated sigh. For him, Mendeln realized, these small slips represented major displays. “We seek no puppets. That is my mother’s way…and my father’s, it appears, also. No, Mendeln ul-Diomed, what we seek is nothing less than any who can stand against what has been destined to come to pass since the very beginning…”

Above, the dragon stirred. In some ways, Trag’Oul was to Mendeln a far more emotional being than the man with whom he trafficked. Therefore, when the leviathan spoke, Mendeln had no trouble sensing the urgency Trag’Oul sought to relay.

Rathma speaks of his father’s folly, the dragon explained. The folly of keeping Sanctuary secret from those beyond. The Burning Hells know already…and thanks to Lilith’s insanity, the High Heavens will also soon discover this realm…

Through Lilith, Uldyssian—and thus, Mendeln—had learned the name given their world by those who had founded it. The demoness had also mentioned something of its earliest, highly turbulent history, too, yet she had never spoken much, as far as he could recall, of what would happen if those from whom the refugees had fled would all come to know of Sanctuary’s existence. He had supposed that not an important point, anymore, but it was obviously a very, very vital one. Indead, dread spread through Uldyssian’s brother, so much so that he was barely able to blurt out, “And so?”

And so, even if Lilith is foiled and Inarius offers peace…an improbable thing…it is very likely that Sanctuary and all within it—being that which not even the most powerful of either side could have once imagined—will still be destroyed.

“But why?”

There was that in the shifting of Trag’Oul that hinted to Mendeln how disturbed even the great creature was concerning what they discussed. It is what the demons and angels do whenever they come across a potent potential advantage. They fight over it until they destroy the very thing they desire…a fate, sadly, that is better than becoming the fodder for either…

“That is why we need you, Mendeln ul-Diomed,” added Rathma, nodding to the mortal. “That is why we truly need you to stand with us…of your own free will, naturally.”

Mendeln swallowed. Hashir came into sight near noon on the last of the four days that Uldyssian had demanded of his edyrem. They had crossed the vast jungle with a swiftness that no one before them surely had. So Tomo, Saron, and many of the other Torajians claimed…and Uldyssian had no reason to doubt them.

Distant Hashir, as seen from his vantage point, could be no more than half the size of Toraja, but Uldyssian felt that taking the temple there would require a hundred times the effort. Still, he hoped to avoid unnecessary bloodshed…if that was at all possible at this point.

“I want to enter the city in peace,” he told Serenthia and the others. “I want them to see as Toraja did that we mean no harm to those not seeking to harm us. That’s essential.”

“The Triune knows we’re headed this way. They’ve had time to work on the populace. It could be that the people’ve been poisoned against us,” the merchant’s daughter pointed out. “Our greeting might not be so gracious as in Toraja.”

Romus and several others nodded. Nevertheless, Uldyssian was steadfast in his decision. “We’re not the Triune nor the Cathedral. We show empty hands to Hashir…but fill them if need be.”

Uldyssian had the majority of his followers wait in the jungle just out of sight of the first settlements near the city. He chose a party of fifty to come with him, Serenthia and Tomo among them. Romus he left in charge, trusting most in the reformed villain.

As with each time that Uldyssian had shown such faith in him, Romus fell to both knees and took the other man’s hands. Touching his forehead to Uldyssian’s fingers, the Parthan tearfully said, “Master Uldyssian, I’ll not be letting you down. Not ever. By you, I’ve been saved from myself. That’s a greater gift than I’ve ever been given.”

“You’ve earned what you have.” Uldyssian bade the Parthan to rise. “If we’re not back by tomorrow morning, you know what must be done.”

Romus gritted his teeth and his hands formed fists. “But you’ll be coming back, Master Uldyssian! You’ll be coming back…”

Uldyssian wished that he felt so confident. The closer that they had gotten to Hashir, the more he had considered leaving Serenthia and everyone else in the jungle and merely walking into the city by himself. Then, if there was some plot afoot, at least none of the rest would be caught in it with him.

But Uldyssian knew that Serenthia would never have allowed him to make her stay behind. Nor, for that matter, would the rest of his edyrem have permitted him to go without someone to watch his back. They were as possessive about his safety as he was about theirs regardless of how much stronger Uldyssian was than the whole of them combined.

The whole of them save Serenthia, perhaps. By the time they had reached the vicinity of Hashir, she had become true second in command and her word was nearly as respected as his own. Her counsel had become invaluable to him…just as she herself had.

And that was why, the night before reaching Hashir, he had finally given in to his emotions and hers.

Even Achilios’s shade could no longer keep him from her. Their coupling had lasted long, the pentup fury as much for what had been lost as what was now found. There had been comfort, too, in the familiarity between them, the only familiarity that Uldyssian had left in his life.

She stood at his side as he led the smaller band toward the city gates. Uldyssian had purposely mixed his party half Torajian and half Parthan. The Hashiri, as Tomo said the locals were called, eyed the lighter-skinned members with something approaching awe, many possibly never having seen an “Ascenian” before.

Whether that was true of the guards at the arched gate was not evident, for they stood with wary faces and taut muscles even as the newcomers approached. Other traffic flowed in and out through the gates—wooden carts pulled by oxen, robed pilgrims on foot, and well-dressed merchants on horseback, just a few examples noted in passing by Uldyssian. All got short but studious glances by the sentries as they crossed the threshold. One, a plumed figure who had to be the officer in charge, eyed the foreigners but said nothing until they were next to step into Hashir.

“Do you carry goods for the market?” he asked, even though it should have been obvious that they did not. When Uldyssian answered for everyone with a shake of his head, the officer then peered at the various individuals. “Pilgrims, then. Where is your town, Ascenian?”

“I’m from the village of Seram. Others here are from the town of Partha and the city of Toraja.”

The man grunted. “Torajians I can recognize, Ascenian. Partha and Seram…these are places I do not know.” He finally shrugged. “Obey all laws and Hashir will always welcome you.”

“We thank and respect Hashir for its generosity,” Uldyssian returned, having learned the reply from Tomo. Lowlanders, as Uldyssian and the Parthans thought them, always expressed gratitude to a new city upon arrival in it.

His knowledge of the proper response took some of the stoniness out of the guards. The officer waved them past.

Hashir was similar in style to Toraja and from what Uldyssian had learned the former was actually the foundation of the larger city. At some point in the past, Hashir had sent out the explorers who had built Toraja, named after a hero in lowland epics. Uldyssian found it ironic that Toraja had outgrown its birthplace despite its seemingly remote location.

The tree-lined streets were there, but lacking the small creatures so venerated in Toraja. Instead, a variety of colorful birds appeared to have staked claim to the rich foliage, some of the avians exotic even to Tomo’s people.

“The Hashiri are said to bring back whatever beautiful birds they find on journeys, the better to color the skies of their home,” the Torajian explained wide-eyed. “I always thought that was bragging of theirs, for Hashir now lives in Toraja’s vast shadow…but such marvels! See that one?”

Uldyssian had to admit that the birds made for a wonderful, ever-shifting tapestry, but the noise their combined voices made—not to mention the tremendous amount of residue they left in their wake—did not overly enamor him of them. Instead, they made him yearn once more for the soft sounds of the more singular songbirds back home.

Their party continued to gather stares from the Hashiri and among the men Serenthia was a noticeable choice of views. Uldyssian felt a mild jealousy come over him. He managed to quell the desire, but constantly watched in case someone tried to become too familiar.

The Hashiri were dressed very similar to the Torajians, save that many wore silver sashes around their waists, and for the upper castes, nose rings of that very metal. There were other travelers as well, including a few yellow-skinned merchants from east of Kehjan. With their narrow eyes and unreadable expressions, they seemed almost feline. The Parthans among his group were especially fascinated by them, not that the Torajians did not also express interest.

The jungle lion was the patron symbol of Hashir; stylized versions perched atop many a column or gateway. The artisans had given the lion a savage grin that reminded Uldyssian too much of a demon, even though the stone creatures were supposed to be guardians against such.

Then there came into sight that which made all else in Hashir fade from Uldyssian’s mind.

Above the rounded buildings ahead loomed the familiar triple towers of the Triune.

Uldyssian wanted to go directly there, but striking at the temple would only alienate the citizenry against him, who, so far, appeared not to have been warned against them. The last meant that what had worked in Toraja could still work here after all.

The market was an oval region situated at the main thoroughfare in the city. Twin fountains set on opposing ends bubbled enthusiastically. Tents and carts filled the vicinity, their exotic wares even briefly taking some of Uldyssian’s attention from the temple.

He finally spotted that for which he had been searching. In the center of the market was a raised stone platform used for public gatherings and where even now would-be prophets preached to any who would listen. Most had audiences numbering only in the handfuls, if that much.

“On the right,” he told the others. “That’ll be our spot.” Even some of the ragged speakers paused as he neared, although Uldyssian was certain that it was due to his pale appearance, nothing more. He nodded politely at one, who rewarded him with a sneer.

The edyrem took up positions that Uldyssian had arranged in advance. A few, such as Serenthia, stood with him, while the rest became his initial audience. Uldyssian had learned the last part from Toraja, where some of the preachers there had secretly supplied their own cohorts as “converts,” the better to attract others wondering what drew the “crowd.” He did not consider his choice having anything to do with fakery; the edyrem, after all, were true believers who had joined him because of his previous speeches.

One or two locals drifted close even before he could clear his throat, no doubt merely interested in his foreignness. That suited Uldyssian fine. Tomo and his cousin had done the same in their city, as had others.

“My name is Uldyssian,” he began, his voice amplified by his powers. From every direction, heads turned toward him. Uldyssian kept his voice even and friendly—one man to another. In his case, he knew it was more him than his speechmaking that would attract people. “And I ask only that you listen for a moment.”

A few more Hashiri trickled toward him. The edyrem in the audience subtly shifted positions, enabling the locals to better view Uldyssian. As more and more newcomers added themselves, his followers pulled back. They would speak to the listeners only if asked questions. Uldyssian wanted his presence alone to be the reason anyone chose to gain the gift.

He started to tell them about his simple life and how he had been no greater a man than any of them. Even before Uldyssian reached the part where he had discovered his powers—leaving out the detail of Lilith—those listening numbered more than his party, with others constantly streaming toward the area. Serenthia glanced at him, her smile giving him more confidence. Hashir started to promise to be like Partha, a place full of acceptance, not fear and hate.

Not like his lost Seram.

The crowd in the market was now mainly his. Uldyssian gazed out at the faces, many of them clearly ready to learn of the gifts within themselves. Giving the throng a cursory search, he also detected no enmity, no treachery. He had expected there to be at least one servant of the Triune among his listeners, but could find none. Perhaps, he thought, they had holed themselves up in the temple, preparing for battle.

If so, they would find it coming soon enough.

Nearly every other activity in the market had ceased. The rest of those preaching had long fallen silent and at least one stood among Uldyssian’s audience, his expression as rapt as several of the others.

As he neared the conclusion of his speech, Uldyssian created a glow light. Gasps arose from the crowd. He dispersed the light, but the point had been made. What he spoke of was not mere fantasy nor trickery. Magic, yes, but one that he now pointed out was possible for anyone there, if only they would see.

The city guards who had been patrolling the market when first he had arrived now stood at the outer edges. They watched the proceedings with what were supposed to be disinterested faces, but Uldyssian noted a couple who seemed caught up in his words. The others merely did their duties and he saw no threat from them. Uldyssian continued to keep watch out for the Triune, but they remained absent.

At last, he finished, offering, as he always did, to show any who desired what their potential might be. As expected, there was a moment of hesitation and then the first brave soul—a young woman whose face was half-concealed by a veil—stepped forward. Uldyssian repeated the same steps he had with his converts in Partha and Toraja and was not at all surprised when the woman gasped with delight and immediate understanding.

Her reaction caused a sudden flow forward by most in the front of the throng. The edyrem standing with Uldyssian moved to create some sort of order. Even then, he faced a sudden sea of outstretched hands, each supplicant wanting to be next.

They all imagine it differently, Uldyssian thought as he chose one. But they all see it the same once it’s been awoken. No one looks at it as if it were a way to take advantage of others. He had wondered about that more than once. Was it because he was the messenger? If it had been someone like Malic, would the edyrem now be a force willingly embracing the evil of the temple?

Uldyssian could not believe that. As he greeted the man before him, he sensed nothing evil. Surely, the gifts could never be tainted.

But then, Lilith, Malic, and Lucion had all thought otherwise…

The crowd continued to swell. It was suddenly all Uldyssian could do to concentrate on his efforts. People were clearly spreading the word, for there were more in front of him than there had been in all the market at the beginning. Not even Partha had shown such eagerness. There, it had taken the healing of a child. In Toraja, it had needed more. But with Hashiri, it was almost as if the populace had expected his coming.

Uldyssian choked back any sign of his dismay. He quickly searched the crowd again, something that, with so many potential converts with which to deal, he had ceased doing.

He found them immediately. They were mixed into the crowd, especially among the later arrivals.

They had waited for his concentration to be pushed to the brink before joining.

Peace Warders.

Without their uniforms to mark them, they were as any of the rest in the crowd. Once again, Uldyssian had grown overconfident. He had dared the Triune to act and they had obliged him.

But getting assassins close and enabling them to succeed were two different matters. Uldyssian easily picked out the foremost three. However, when he probed for weapons, Uldyssian found none. Did they hope to strangle him? Why send unarmed men against him, who could easily strike them down?

Or could he? Doing so would make it appear that he was attacking simple pilgrims. He noted two more behind the three. Five men and still their purpose was unclear. They pushed as hard as possible to reach him, even though they had to assume that he now kept an eye on each. What was the Triune hoping to achieve?

And suddenly, he knew.

Uldyssian pulled back from the eager supplicants. Even as he turned, with his mind he sought out Serenthia.

She was there, but not alone. Two figures, a small girl and an elderly man, held hands with her. Likely, Serenthia had sought to bring them to him. However, her expression—mostly puzzlement—indicated that she was just becoming aware of something amiss.

To his own heightened senses, there was very much wrong. He could see them for what they were even though they wore the semblances of others and seemed impossibly small and weak in comparison to their true, foul selves.

Morlu.

Uldyssian reached out for Serenthia, his power simultaneously rising up to strike the disguised creatures.

But in the next second, the morlu vanished…and with them, Serenthia.