15/8/1100
The sun was rising as I walked up the hill with Mostima. Both of us were dressed in Lateran robes, more commonly called habits, or as I like to think of them, nun fetish gear. Wasn’t really sure how I felt about that. I mean, I self-exiled from Laterano years ago, and Mostima was exiled when she fell. But, Amiya had told us to put them on, so I did.
We gathered around that same empty throne that Wiš'adel had put up the day before. Once more, the Speaker was sitting on the steps of the throne, though she looked grouchy and irritated as she glared at me specifically. I grinned back and gave her a little wave, which resulted in W flipping me off. Some people just don’t know how to be happy.
Odda wasn’t with me, but Surtr and Mudrock were standing in the large circle around the throne. The order the groups were in seemed to matter a whole bunch. I wasn’t actually entirely sure why. There had been a lot of jockeying for position, and I think it had something to do with people being pure-blooded Sarkaz or not? Odda was off with Amiya back behind us, while the rest of the circle was made up of the heads of the Eleven Tribes.
For the vampires, I was shocked to see Warfarin. She wasn’t dressed in a lab coat, but was instead wearing a very ornate set of robes and looking awfully smug with Midnight and Closure at her side. There had apparently been some arguments about her taking the position of preeminence that she had somehow won. It had something to do with the lady vampire that had a massive crescent blade on her shoulder and a crown of roses on her head, but I didn’t know enough about Sarkaz politics to know why the previous vampire lord wasn’t in charge. Or if they were even still alive.
Next were the Wendigos. Sami Sarkaz had skulls for faces and massive racks of antlers, but stood in silent, orderly ranks that were very different from the rest of the Sarkaz. Each had a wooden shield and a long axe, and various banners flapped above them. The only Wendigo I had seen before was Patriot, and I thought he’d been the last one, but the dozen tribesmen who had appeared had not been questioned, only given a small bubble of space as a sign of respect for their reputation.
The Banshees were nearly all female, except for their leader. I was really surprised to see Logos there, but his mother was standing slightly to his rear and right, her face covered by her black veil. As far as I know, Logos is the only living male banshee. Certainly, all of the others were women, pale and with dark veils over their faces. Normally, I’d make a joke about the patriarchy since Logos was at their head, but I think we can skip that for today.
The heavily armored gargoyles were dressed in earthy colors, but Mudrock was at their head. She had taken off her helmet, and instead of her normal armor, wore what looked like a suit of living white marble that sparkled in the early morning light. She still had her hammer, her hands resting on its head, haft set on the ground at her feet. She saw me glancing at her and smiled. I smiled back, glad someone was happy to see me.
The most disturbing group was hovering just off the ground, dressed in white robes, and with white cloth masks covering their faces. Most of them were swathed in bandages that trailed towards the ground, but I could recognize Nadine by her pink hair. Most of the Withered Court had perished at Londinium, but the Nachzehrer were still a dread presence, even amongst a conclave of devils.
There was only one representative of the Damazti there, but since they’re a hive mind made up of fragments of a single being, that was more than enough. Their current guise was that of a young feline boy, but everyone knew what they were. Where they would fall in this was anyone’s guess, but the Damazti had cells throughout Terra, and you often would never even know they were there until they had accomplished whatever nebulous purpose they sought to accomplish was already completed.
The other sole member tribe was my favorite bubble gum-popping ass kicker. Surtr was sitting on a burning black obsidian hand that had risen up out of the ground, and was currently blowing a bright blue bubble of gum. She appeared utterly unconcerned about anything, despite the two smoldering corpses at her feet. They had objected to her claiming Diablo blood, and the right to represent her tribe. She had burned them from the inside out with obviously Diablo arts. No one else had contested her right. The smell was making me feel sick to my stomach, though I did manage to smile at my friend, and she grinned back before popping another stick of gum in her mouth.
The liches were a large delegation, dressed in dusty old robes, led by Fremont and his daughter, Ermengarde. To my shock, they all had their phylacteries on them in ornate golden censors they wore at their sides. That was…well, practically unheard of. Most of the time, liches kept their soul jars as hidden as possible, and it was rare indeed for one to carry it around. It was about the only way to destroy one from what I knew, so this was a big risk, even if you’d have to be a suicidal moron to challenge the entire conclave to a fight.
The cyclops delegation had also come down from Sami with the Wendigos. Unlike their bone-faced warrior companions, the Cyclopsi were tall, thin, and dressed in the robes of healers and seers. I was a bit surprised that they had two eyes, but even as widely traveled as I am, I’d never seen a Cyclops in the flesh before. Their leader was a woman named Arges, who had a third eye painted in red and black on her forehead. Her daughter wasn’t a cyclops, but had a massive ballista on her back and two large horns that denoted mixed sarkaz heritage.
The Arch Liar of the Djall had on a lacquered mask that looked a bit like a comedy mask from old Minos, though those usually didn’t look so impish, nor have forked tongues sticking out. I did recognize Nymph and her sister from Rhodes Island, though they were dressed up in fancy robes instead of their usual field kit. I don’t know much about the Djall, aside from them being the boogeymen of all Sankta bedtime stories. They’re supposed to be emotion feeders, but Nymph is really sweet and kind, so maybe they just have a sort of Empathy? Who knows.
And last of the Eleven Tribes were the Goliaths. Hoederer was at their head, with Ines at his side. Exactly no one was questioning her right to be there, and not just because Ines could probably kill even the stronger casters here with her own combat arts. She’d long been disguised as a Sarkaz, to the point that even I had thought she really was one until I’d caught a glimpse of her very obviously caprinae tail one day. She did stick out: she was quite a few centimeters shorter than all of the other large and muscular goliaths, but by her position at her husband's left, the side with the missing eye, it was clear she was in a place of honor and trust.
I didn’t remember the goliaths being a formally recognized member of the Royal Court, but Kazdelian politics seem to have elevated them thanks to the goliaths' long-time support of Wiš'adel .
And then…there was Mostima and me. This was quite literally the nightmare scenario for every Sankta growing up in Laterano. If you weren’t good, the Devils would take you, and you’d be hauled off to Kazdel, the demonic pit where you would be chained and tortured for all eternity. I had expected the Sarkaz to be, well, crueler and meaner to us. Instead, Fremont, the crusty old lich, had smiled at me earlier! The other Sarkaz seemed happy enough to see us too. They weren’t ignoring us, they just…sort of accepted that we were here.
“Ok, I know I’m new to this fallen stuff,” I whispered to Mostima as everyone shuffled into place around the throne. “But, like…are Sarkaz usually this chill with you? I mean, they were OK with me before, but now…I don’t know, they seem like they like me?”
“You’re the one who keeps saying you’re Sarkaz. Why are you acting all surprised when they treat us like one?” Mostima whispered back. I glared at her, and she gave me a knowing grin and a wink.
“You could have told me about the Returned stuff! What’s that even mean?! Odda didn’t mention it.”
“I could have, but why spoil surprises?” Mostima whispered back.
“You’re full of shit, you know that?” I grumbled.
“Aww, El, you’re just now figuring that out?” she giggled.
“Hush, children,” Fremont said from my left, his eyes forward.
Ermengarde giggled and reached over to squeeze my hand, putting a finger to her lips. “Shhh. It will make sense soon. For now, listen, Returned.”
I rolled my eyes at the old man, but nodded to Ermengarde, and faced the empty throne. Everyone seemed to be in their places, and Wiš'adel slowly stood up.
“Alright, let’s get this farce over with. Where’s Ears and her little gang?” the Speaker demanded, glaring around the circle.
It wasn’t Amiya that stepped forward, but Warfarin. She raised a hand, and the circle went silent. “I, Qassirah, Lady of Vampirum, present the Assembly of Chiefs and the Council of Tribes with one who would be king.”
Wiš'adel snorted, and there were some grumblings of derision, but Fremont coughed, and Wiš'adel muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Fine! Fucking old ass rules. Such a drag.” Then she raised her voice. “Has the Black Crown spoken?”
“Our ancestors have marked the one who would be king. She bears the Black Crown and the terrible burden,” Warfarin said coldly, her red eyes glowing slightly as she locked gazes with Wiš'adel .
“Well, then let the Sarkaz who has been chosen step forward and appear before this council,” Wiš'adel laughed. She sneered at Warfarin, and added, “They are Sarkaz, aren’t they?”
“Let the Chiefs and Council decide as such,” Warfarin said with a shrug.
“Fine. Then let the one who would be king come forward!” Wiš'adel said with an imperious gesture.
Horns blared, and this time, I recognized the notes. It was the call of the Sarkaz king. Slowly, the circle parted before the throne, leaving a gap wide enough for five people to walk hand in hand.
There was Amiya, striding forward with Mon3tr at her side. Behind them were Odda, Vigna, Hibiscus, Ascalon, and…Ifrit? Wait, what was Oliva Silence’s daughter doing here? She wasn’t Sarkaz, she was…well, I’m pretty sure she’s a Savra? But I’m actually not sure. Hmm, there was something going on here.
The Wendigo leader, a tall warrior with the image of a burning bush on his shield, stepped forward. We…object, he wheezed in a ragged, breathy voice that was rather shocking coming from such a hulking frame. Two approach…hrrng… this sacred conclave… who… are not …of the blood.
“The Speaker recognizes this objection,” Wiš'adel said, her eyes flashing with malice. “I see blood enemies. A bunny, a kitty, and a lizard. They are not of the blood, nor of the people. One claims to be the daughter of an abomination."
I winced. Cautus could call one another bunnies. But if someone else did…well, uh, that was a bit like calling a Sarkaz a devil. Same with the kitty and lizard remarks.
To my surprise, it was Surtr who stood, still chewing her gum, and raised her sword. “I object. That one is of my blood and lineage.”
Ifrit puffed out her small chest and pranced forward, with an impudent grin on her face. She planted her left hand on her hip and raised the right, a dark flame flaring to life there. “That’s right. I’m a Diablo! Anyone want to have a little hellfire to prove it?!”
You…were not… hfff…born…a Diablo, the Wendigo chief rasped, pointing his spear at Ifrit.
Her eyes literally ignited, and she raised both hands, her fists enveloped by smoking dark red flames. “Yeah!? You wanna fuck around and find out, old man!? I’m ready to have a barbecue if you are!”
“This objection has no merit,” Fremont said, raising a finger. “Those arts are of the Diablo, and the Chief of the Diablo has recognized this child as one of the blood. There are few here who can claim to be of the pure blood. Even you, Thamuz-Qarn, have blood not of the wendigo in your veins. Yet none dispute your right to stand amongst us as a chief.”
“Fine,” Wiš'adel said with a sniff. “But that’s still an abomination and an ancient.”
Mon3tr’s pinchers formed, spreading themselves from her back. “I am Mon3tr. Daughter of Dame Kal’tsit. Do any dispute my right to stand in my mother’s place?”
“Your mother? That’s rich!” Wiš'adel laughed. “Kal’tsit slaughtered the Sarkaz! Because she was an Abomination of the Usurpers! She caused more suffering of the People and the Blood than any!”
“And yet, she was recognized by our last king, Theresa, as a true ally of the People and the Blood, and granted the title of Dame,” Hoederer said quietly. His eye fixed on Wiš'adel , who had whirled on him, her jaw clenched. “If nothing else, by right of conquest, Mon3tr has the right to be here. Was she not the one who helped you strike down the usurper, Theresis? Did she not stand with the people in their hour of need?”
“She is a tool of our greatest enemy!” Wiš'adel snarled, sweeping her hand as if to swat away Mon3tr.
“I serve the People of Terra. The true children of the Crystal and Crown,” Mon3tr said firmly. “As my mother did. Twice she may have burned Kazdel. A hundred times, she did save it. I am here to finish what she began.”
“A vote, then! Who stands for this creature?” Wiš'adel demanded.
Unsurprisingly, Warfarin stepped forward almost immediately, followed by Surtr, Fremont, and Logos. I was a bit surprised to see that Mudrock didn’t step forward, but Hoederer and the Cyclops leader both did.
“Six to five,” Wisdel growled. She slashed a hand. “Fine! And you, bunny? You who claims that you are Sarkaz?”
“My mother was Sarkaz,” Amiya said quietly. “I claim the title by rite of blood.”
“Your mom was a devil now?” Wiš'adel demanded, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Awfully convenient, that. And where, exactly, is your mother, to provide proof of such a claim? Or failing that, two or three witnesses?”
Silently, Mudrock stepped forward. For a moment, Wiš'adel didn’t even notice. Then, she started, and turned to her. “What? You got something to say? Don’t tell me she’s your kid, Mudmud, because I sure as fuck know that she ain’t.”
Slowly, Mudrock held out a hand. One of her attendants placed a rolled scroll in it. Mudrock held it up for all to see. There was a black wax seal on it, marked with the image of a crown. “This scroll was sealed by her highness, Theresa I, King of Sarkaz, and passed to my mother, the Speaker of the Earth and Shaper of Stones. I break now this seal, before all assembled.”
Mudrock broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. “Be it known, that I, Theresa, First of My Name, Bearer of the Black Crown, Stoker of the Furnace of Souls, Heir of the Farchaser, do hereby adopt the child known as Amiya as my sole heir, child of my body, and daughter of the Blood. Witnessed in the year 11317 since the Founding of Kazdel, by Eretzha, Shaper of the Earth and Speaker of the Stones.”
Silence fell over the council, and I saw many Sarkaz bowing their heads in reverence for their fallen king.
Wiš'adel looked furious, but closed her eyes. After a moment, she opened them, dashing away what might have been a tear. “Fine. So you’re a Sarkaz. But not of the Blood. No king can ever decree that an Ancient, a child of cursed crystal, could be one of the Blood!”
“I was not born the first time as a Sarkaz,” Amiya said, her tone soft, but firm, and carrying to all within the circle. “But when I was reborn, I became one of the Blood. I am Wiš'adel as much a Sarkaz as you, Wiš'adel . For I bear the Black Crown. None but a Sarkaz would be accepted by our ancestors.”
At the name, the crown itself manifested on Amiya’s brow. There was a collective groan and sigh from the assembled people, and Wiš'adel ’s hands tightened to fists.
“And I suppose you’ll demand I recognize you as my king, then, Ears?” Wiš'adel spat to the side. “Well fuck that! I’m the Speaker because I get paid, and I survive. I make sure my people survive. You? You’re some punk cautus kid who picked that up because she happened to be in the room when the traitors killed our last king. That’s why we have a Speaker! Because the Crown was lost, and we have no king! And you, Ears, are no King of Sarkaz.”
Wiš'adel . Why do you deny my daughter?
Wiš'adel suddenly froze, her eyes darting around. There were gasps and mutters, as the crowd looked around for the voice.
“It, it’s a trick! An illusion!” Wiš'adel snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Amiya. “Just like that traitor Theresis used!”
Theresis never had the crown. I was never complete in the corpse he brought to life. You know my voice, Wiš'adel . Why do you deny me?
There was a shimmer in the air, and she appeared. Theresa. The Last King of Sarkaz. She had no crown on her head, but it was unmistakably her.
There was a series of thuds as all around the circle, the Sarkaz fell to their knees. Only Wiš'adel and Amiya remained standing, as even Mostima and I slowly knelt before the apparition.
“Why!?” Wiš'adel demanded, stepping forward, tears clear on her face now. “Why her!? She’s not Sarkaz! She’s a cautus. Our enemy! She was chosen by him. The one who killed you! The Butcher! The Ghost! The Oracle! The one who cast our people from our home and gave it to those who would destroy us! Why her!?”
Oh, Wiš'adel . Do you not see? Thersa reached out a hand, and cupped Wiš'adel ’s cheek, which clearly shocked the Speaker. This wasn’t a mere ghost: Whatever she was, this vision of Theresa was tangible. The time has come. The Prophecies of our people will be fulfilled. The age of darkness and crystal has come to an end. Either we shall reclaim our home…or we shall lose it forever. The Lord of Fiends has emerged. And she stands before you. Has she not passed through Ice and Flame? Has she not journeyed beyond Life and Death, and returned? Do not angels kneel at her beck and call? Does not the Abomination and the Witch serve her? Amiya is my daughter. And she is the one we have long waited for: the True Lord of Fiends.
Wiš'adel closed her eyes, and gripped Theresa’s hands. “You…you could be lying. An illusion. They already tricked us once. Offered us salvation, but it was just damnation in a different package. Even if we cast down the angels and destroy the False High Priest…they’ll still kill us all. We’ll be nothing but slaves. We cannot, no, we will not, live like that!”
And you shall not. For my daughter has one more gift to offer the People. I must go now, and rejoin our Ancestors in the Myriad souls. But, W?
“I…yes, Theresa?” Wiš'adel managed, opening her eyes, and meeting Theresa’s gentle gaze.
I always loved you, my child. My daughter. You have done well. But the time of the Steward, of the Speaker, has passed. Do not let Amiya bear this burden alone. She shall have need of you.
“I…OK. I’ll try. One more time. For you, I’ll try,” Wiš'adel said, slowly nodding.
Thersa smiled, and dissolved into smoke, which flowed back into the black crown.
Slowly, Wiš'adel got down on her knees. “If you betray us, I’ll kill you, Ears. If its the last fucking thing I do.”
“I know,” Amiya said with a nod. She slowly walked up to the throne, and sat down upon it. Wiš'adel stood, walking to her right.
“Behold!” Wiš'adel said, her voice shaking slightly. “One chosen by the Souls of the Ancestors is among us! Kazdel has a king once more!”
I don’t know what I expected. Explosions? That was more of a Laterano thing. A cheer? Clapping? Something, at least. Instead, everyone just got back to their feet, and waited in silence.
“Messenger Odda,” Amiya said, sitting at ease upon the throne. “Summon my Knight.”
Odda nodded, then jogged off. The silence was awkward, but Amiya didn’t sweat, or shift. She sat on that throne like she belonged there, her expression grave.
A minute passed, then Odda returned, followed by a figure in shining silver, a shield in one hand, a sword in the other.
“That’s your knight?” Wiš'adel said skeptically, even as there were angry mutters amongst the crowd. “Wow. Real fucking smooth, Ears. You picked a Kuranta. I’m sure that will go over well.”
It was Maria Nearl, dressed in her tournament armor. She walked with poise and grace, eyes fixed on Amiya, even as there were angry mutters amongst the Sarkaz. The Knights of Kazimerz did not have a good reputation with the Sarkaz. In no small part because of their involvement in the First Kazdelian Crusade. Uh, well, I mean…there aren’t a lot of nations that Kazdel doesn’t hate? But Maria is a Nearl, and, well, they have a reputation.
“My Liege,” Maria said, kneeling before Amiya’s throne. “I come to serve at your pleasure.”
Slowly, Amiya stood. “Have you learned the secret arts of our enemies?”
“I have, my Liege,” Maria said, lifting her head, her voice clear. “But I can use them not. I am free of the crystal’s taint, and though I have learned the secret arts, I am unable to use them.”
There were mutters of confusion, but Amiya continued forward, raising her hand. “Wiš'adel . Step forth.”
“Uh, OK?” the former speaker said, looking skeptical. “And what’s this about?”
“I am going to grant you the lost arts of our people,” Amiya said, taking Wiš'adel ’s hand. “You will be able to teach others these arts, for I shall give you a special dispensation. It shall be your burden to go forth, to other lands, and teach our people these arts.”
Fury purpled Wiš'adel ’s face, and she tried to jerk her hand away. “If you think I’m going to turn the Sarkaz into slaves for others oripathy, you’ve got another-”
Then, Amiya drew forth black Crystals from her own body. Maria lifted up her hand, and Amiya infused the originium into the Pegasus knight. Black lesions formed on her cheek, but she didn’t whimper once.
For her part, Wiš'adel stood there, frozen, her jaw slightly open, her eyes wide in shock.
“Now, go and heal the sick, and teach those of other nations the secret arts, Sir Maria,” Amiya said gravely.
“As you command, my liege,” Maria agreed, and turned. “Who would learn the secret arts?”
“I would learn!” Hibiscus said, stepping forward, dressed in a lab coat.
Maria shook her head. “I cannot teach you. You can learn only from your own people. I must see to others. But, my crystal will run dry, ere long. I must have another with me, to draw forth the crystals of others, and keep my arts unlocked.”
“I cannot do so. I do not know the secret arts of my people,” Hibiscus recited. Wow. She was good.
Amiya glanced at Wiš'adel, who was still standing there, gaping. She gently nudged Wiš'adel, who blinked. “What? Are you serious? I’m not going to act in your little passion play!”
“Very well. Then I shall call upon another. Lemuen Exusia. Step forward.”
Uh, I hadn’t been told about this either! I swallowed, then hastily stepped forward and saluted. “Um, yes, your Highness! Majesty? Um, Leader! What can I do for you?”
“Once, I showed you the arts of our people. Now, I grant you leave to teach others,” Amiya said, and took my hand in hers. I nearly let out a gasp of pain, as she passed a sliver of originium into my palm.
But, as the crystal slid into my skin…I saw it all. It was like…lines of code? I could feel a password being entered…not into my brain, I think, but I guess my soul? And I just…I knew how. Not just how to push and pull on the originium, I’d known that already, but now, how to show other people.
I stepped forward, and took Hibiscus’ hand. “It’s not that hard! Here, it’s easy, let me show you!”
And, I slipped just the barest fragment of originium between us. Hibiscus gasped, but not from the pain. I could see the information flooding into her mind and spirit. She turned to Maria, and very visibly, pulled a chunk of Orignium out of her own body, and pushed it into Maria’s hand.
“There. I can take upon the burdens of others, and then give you my own. Together…together we can do it, Blemi! We can cure oripathy! We, we did it! It’s, it’s over! We, I’m not, Lava and I…we’re not going to die!”
Then, Hibiscus broke down crying. Maria took Hibiscus in her arms and hugged her. I stood there with a stupid grin on my face. This was it. We’d done it. Well, James had. I just sort of stood there with a stupid look on my face.
“Lemuen Exusiai. For millennia, your people have been lost to us,” Amiya said, her voice cutting through the excited chatter.
Once more, everyone fell silent, and I turned back to Amiya. “Um, well, you see…we sort of forgot we were Sarkaz. But it’s ok! I remember now! And, and I’m going to tell everyone! We, we can all be a family again!”
Ok, look, I know I sounded delusionally sappy and stupid at that moment, but I was a bit delirious with the whole “we just cured oripathy” thing. Where was James? He had to know about this! I mean, I’m sure he did, but he’s the one who did this! I had to tell him!
“That is good. For it is to the Sankta I give this burden and gift,” Amiya said. She turned to the assembly. “A Sarkaz cannot learn both the gifts of the Precursors and the gifts of the Teekaz. Nor can an Ancient or an Elder learn both. Except…for those who are children of both.”
She turned back to me and smiled. “You are the first of the Returned. The first of the Sankta to come back to the Sarkaz in 10,000 years. You shall be the leader of your tribe, and the founder of your nation. I recognize you now as the Lost Tribe. The Twelfth Tribe. The Returned. Those who were lost, but are now found.”
I felt a bit woozy, but nodded. “Um, that’s good, but, uh…there’s only two of us, you know?” I glanced over at Mostima, then did a double-take. “Wait, Fred and Ria?!”
“I believe there has been a mistake,” The Law’s Most Autistic (Fallen) Angel said in his stupid robot voice. “Once again, my name is Federico Giallo. Not Fred.”
“Hello, Lemuel,” Arturia said, smirking at me in that irritating and endearing way of hers. Both she and her brother had cracked halos and broken wings. “It seems you began quite the trend. How could I resist the call of one so true to her own emotions? Come, let our songs join as one, in a symphony that shall drown out all fears and sorrows, becoming a sweet ecstasy of passion!”
“Yeah, what she means is, they’re in too, El,” Mostima said with a grin. “Well. Maybe this has a shot after all.”
Then, they too went over to kneel before Amiya, who gave them the cheat codes to the universe as well. I laughed, I cried, I kissed Odda, and he kissed me back. There were plenty of hurt Sarkaz, and we had dozens of Rhodes Islanders with us who could learn James’ arts now. We didn’t cure all the Sarkaz of oripathy that day.
But that night, as I lay with Odda in our tent together, our flesh pressed together, our arms entwined, I felt his tears in my hair.
“Hey, are you OK?” I asked him. “We should be happy! We’re going to do it!”
“I am happy,” he told me, and kissed me again. “I just…Exu, don’t you get it? No more orphans in Kazdel will have to die of Oripathy ever again. This…this changes everything.”
“It does,” I said, and pulled him on top of me. I kissed him deeply, then whispered, “Just don’t forget about mine too, OK?”
“I won’t. Lemuen is my sister, too,” he told me.
I don’t think he could have said anything sexier.
I’m going to pretend that’s why I ‘forgot’ about the condoms. The reality is…well, we had a future, you know? And the best way to celebrate that is to pass it on to the next generation.