The Lost Tribe 4: Revelations

In the deep, swirling emptiness of space around a star gone to seed hundreds of years ago, orbits an array of worlds so tightly controlled in their course and proximity to each other that it could only be the work of some great, artificial undertaking. And so indeed, at the centre of the swirling worlds, sitting high above the old star like a crown upon the very sun itself, is an island contained in a shimmering golden field...upon the island sits a palace on a circle of ground nearly five kilometres across, completely flat on the top and rounded like a globe on the bottom; the palace is nearly two thirds the size of the circle and is made of white marble with grey and gold veins throughout the stone. It has wide, arched, entryways with tall, iron doors embellished with brass fixtures…doors that open onto halls that form a system of spokes on a wheel thrumming with power!

For at the hub of the wheel is the seat of the Pinnacle itself, a chamber where the ultimate power over all the worlds resides…a great, vaulted dome with a greenish crystal cap supported by wide pillars that flank each hallway…a delicate filigree of intricate geometrical shapes etched into the marble walls, the pillars, and the dome…and beneath the Pinnacle lie many chambers and archives, the full extent and purpose of them known only by a few. Fluted spires of gilt marble reach ever upwards in stages from the open mouth of the archways to the dome in the middle. Each bears the roaring lion facing outward towards the worlds where they hang in space, symbolising Father’s rule at its base. Around the edge of the Pinnacle’s perimeter, a barely visible field of smoothly shifting designs arcs upward and inward to become a great outer dome of protection and atmosphere. Just inside that field, all along the perimeter of the Pinnacle, there are small circles of marble inlaid with a silvery metal strip that forms a spiral within. If one was to look closely, the same shifting designs could be seen in the reflections of light in shadow upon the length of the strip. It is of the pinnacle, however, that we must speak.

Beyond the great, heavy iron doors inset in the great marble archway at the centre where all halls intersect, there is a chamber where power itself holds sway and nothing more. The great throne of all creation sits upon a ten-stepped dais under that green crystal dome through which the universe is unveiled to those who would dare sit in judgement. Upon the throne sat Father himself, a figure of patron-like bearing, a noble chin leading upwards to high cheekbones and a broad, heavy brow crowned by a thick white mane of hair. His frame is not that of a warrior, but of a fit man in his fifties whose life has been spent on many roads in distant places where the sun always shines upon sparkling seas. His eyes, golden globes in which the glimmering storm of a powerful intellect swirls and rolls, arc with flashes of power coruscating across the horizons of those globes...for within, plans and plots were being born.

“Again...” Father whispered and the scene within began to unfold...

The white, gold-chased pillars of the Sanctuary began to crack and crumble along the marble causeway as the bane of my very existence, a powerful and semi-immortal being called Father, ran like a frightened animal in a storm as I followed in pursuit behind him, trailing the ‘storm’ with me. He was a dangerous foe and not to be underestimated in his capacity for guile and outright wickedness; I had learned much of his ways during my long five years of torment under his tutelage.

There was no place in all the worlds or beyond that he could hide from me now!

“How can you run Father?” I screamed, “Where will you go where

I won’t find you?”

His physical construct, the form that he had chosen to weave his power around, was merely a conduit for channelling his power and was subject to all manner of destruction and degradation, although it was much more durable than a mortal man’s. In appearance that was all he was…a man in his early fifties in vigorous good health with long golden hair and beard that bore no grey. The roaring lion, the symbol of his power, was fashioned onto the breastplate of the armour he wore over a mail of glittering golden rings and a white tabard. Such elaborate finery was unnecessary in practical terms for him, but since my power had begun to grow and his to wane, he had gilded himself more and more to make up for the loss.

As I drew closer to him along the causeway, he glanced behind at me and threw his arm out in a dramatic sweep. Four pillars came crashing down, the sculpted lions and golden embellishments shattering and smashing into pieces in a heap, blocking my path. He was trying to trick me into using some of my own power to sweep them away with a flourish as I would have done when I had just gained my abilities, but I resisted the temptation. Instead, I picked up my pace, eyeing a few different spots among the fallen rubble to make a quick ascent. Finding them with ease, I tucked my coat up under me, holding it in place as I approached. With one foot firmly planted at the base of the pile, I leapt from one spot of sound footing to the other. With a final vault from the top of the heap, I landed back on the causeway. I let the folds of my coat fall back down again. It was my father’s coat, a fur-trimmed long coat that he wore on most of his adventures before the monster I was pursuing destroyed him and exiled my mother for all time. She had been returned now under my power, but she had suffered greatly during her time away; I lamented every day she suffered while I bided my time and it drove me to hate Father even more!

The villain had reached the entry to the inner halls and had thrown open the doors! I picked up my pace as he turned around and saw me heading for him again. I summoned up some power into my hand, gathering it into a volatile swirl and blew him a gentle kiss. Father grinned wryly until the power reached him and the strength of my gathered rage impacted his breastplate! There was a loud crack and he staggered as the lion’s head upon

it split in half from left eyebrow across howling jaws and down through the resplendent mane, cracking the motif and the plate! Broken shards of it fell to the causeway and Father grimaced as he ripped the armour from his chest and threw the shattered remnant to join its remainder on the path. I charged towards him, and he ducked inside and into the hallway.

The walls were shaking as my forces assaulted the palace! My warriors had followed me in the assault and were breaking in to back me up. I heard them land behind me, their numbers great and they were swollen with the new power and freedom I had given them. My Flock had seen Father for what he was, and they were determined to help me end him!

Crackles of stray energy danced along the ceiling as I drew closer to the Pinnacle where the seat of power sat waiting for us both. At the end of the hall, the great doors wide open before him, Father stood. Behind him, rising high upon a dais, chased in gold, and sculpted to resemble the open maw of a lion, was the throne itself. The eyes of the lion were pulsing with the roaring energy from the great Soulstorm, hidden away, but linked directly with the throne through certain ways of power understood by few. He looked smugly at me as he stepped up the dais. He stopped before the throne and turned to me. “This rebellion is over, boy,” he said, “You took on the throne and you failed. You should have learned from your father’s mistakes, Flynn.” “I am not alone,” I said, stepping into the throne room.

Behind me, my Flock marched along the causeway and through the halls to stand behind me. They bore the blue and gold trimmed cloaks over the silver armour that we had bestowed them and wore the silvered mask of the cursed lion upon their faces. As one, they lifted their masks off and threw them to the ground where they clattered in the sudden silence. Beneath the masks were the faces of men and women from across the worlds whose souls we chose to serve, and they looked back across the distance at their creator. As I looked back, I could see nothing, but contempt written upon the countenance of each one of my Flock. Father shrugged and laughed at them. “You have made a mistake – all of you! When I am done exacting my vengeance, I will simply start again, as I have many, many times. It will be a setback and to your credit, Flynn, I will bear some small disappointment. All I must do is touch the throne...”

“Do it,” I told him, “Do what you always do. Destroy it all!”“Ungrateful child,” he sneered, “All that I have given you…all that I have shown you and even in this you disappoint me.” He rested one hand on the throne and closed his eyes...

...and nothing...

In the brief time before he opened them again, I was behind him! I pulled out the heavy object I had stowed away beneath my cloak and wrapped one arm around Father’s neck!

“I thought you would appreciate this construct!”

He grabbed my arm and thrashed at me, trying to get loose.

“This is…not…the throne!”

“No, it is not!”

I let power flow through me, exerting my physical will over him and drove him to his knees in front of me! His eyes gleamed with the defiance of a monarch, proud to the last. His eyes drifted to the object I held in my hand, and I raised it to the light of the stars above, the stars twinkling radiance catching on the jagged, broken length of blade.

“My father sends his regards!” I cried.

I drove the broken hilt and blade of my father’s sword,

Hearthblade, into Father’s heart and into it I channelled the hatred that howled from the aching emptiness inside me where that good man once dwelled! I thought of my mother and the years I had missed with her simply because she had been part of this tyrant’s schemes to turn me into his heir!“For all the worlds, for all the people across them and the future, die!”

Father screamed as I cut past his mortal shell and into his core where his essence dwelled...his intellect, so powerful, yet so fundamentally blinded by arrogance, pulsed, and swelled, trying to escape the danger posed by the strident wrath of my blow! As I watched, the wound became a vortex of swirling energy, more akin to the visualised representation of the Soulstorm.

It began to dim and the mortal shell before me sagged.

As he collapsed to the floor before the throne, surrounded by myself and the Flock, I began to realise the gravity of what I’d done here...I was now the sole inheritor of the worlds! With the power I could wield, I could do whatever I wished…I could do what my father could not and bring stability to every world…create a paradise for every single person...whatever that was... A single warrior stepped forward and knelt beside me. “What is your command, my lord? How may we serve?” I rose and grasped his hand to raise him to his feet.

“You’ve all been given another life. Go to the worlds and find out what it means to live again. Do it for yourselves. There is but one task left to me and then perhaps I’ll join you.”

“What is that my lord?”

“I will destroy the throne, and all of this will be no more. There will be no worship, no bowing to a deity that doesn’t deserve the admiration of his creations. No more ‘lords,’ my friends. Go now and find peace.”

I reached out and the construct around us began to collapse to reveal the real throne room, separated by a mere layer of dimension and space. I turned to watch my Flock leave for the last time. This would be the beginning...a marvel that would be worth seeing after the sacrifice of so many…it was time to find peace…

Upon the throne, Father grimaced and clenched his fist.“Nine-hundred and eighty-thousand permutations of the same dream in that boy’s head and only in ten percent of those did he obeyed me in all things...in the rest, he rebelled and either I destroyed him, or he destroyed me! The boy is utterly senseless! More of a child than I thought…even given his new state of being!”

A woman in a black dress sat upon the steps leading up the throne, her face covered by a delicate veil of drifting dark smoke. Her crimson red hair hung at her neck in unwashed strands against her pale skin.

“You’re a fool to expect anything different,” she murmured, “He is his father’s son, after all.”

“Flynn is important, and his future must be managed properly if my plans for this experiment can be realised.”

Father rose from the throne and glared down at the woman.

“I am no fool, little Wraith. You should be careful how you address me...”

“Forgive my loose tongue, Father. My grief has clouded my instincts...and yet I would mention…”

“What of it? Speak, Penny.”

Penny stood, gathering up her dress and dismissing her veil. She lifted her churlish, pale face with her red lips, shallow cheeks and cold blue eyes and bowed briefly.

“You look upon the fantasies of a child, Father – a powerful child, yes, but a child all the same. His pain is as fresh as my own and just as likely to be influenced by powerful emotions. Of course, he sees himself in the role of saviour, just as his father did.”

“Yes, yes. You all bear your pain just as disappointingly as any mortal. And so, what am I to do with this being that I have groomed for a powerful place by my side? Shall I recoup my losses now and forgo his likely betrayal?”

Penny shook her head.

“I would advise against such a hasty judgement! You should wait and see what kind of man he will become without the burden of those emotions...time will heal his heart and the discipline of becoming your successor will harden his resolve to fill the role his father could scarcely fill had he lived a thousand lifetimes!”

Father raised an eyebrow at that. He stepped down towards Penny with deliberate paces, his footfalls echoing in the cavernous silence. Penny did not move from where she stood, but merely bowed as he approached.

“You seem to come to his defence quite readily, little Wraith,” he said, “You will of course forgive me if I don’t seem to understand what you get out of being so generous of spirit.”

“Father, we are allies, after all, are we not?” she asked,

“Why should I not wish to help you...to advise you?”

“Indeed,” he said, smirking, “But what do you really want? I have fed your people the surfeit of five of my worlds, Penny. What more could you possibly desire?”

Penny rose from her bowed position and regarded

Father. Her eyes shone out a deep, cold blue more akin to sea ice floating on a sea under a moonless sky. There was no hint within those orbs of the woman that she once had been. Among her warriors she was called the Dark Lady.

“We have power, yes, but no deeper wisdom as to what to do with it! We seek your ability to create! To grow!”

Father snorted in derision and began to walk back up to his throne.

“That, my forsaken Shepherd, you will never receive from me.”

“But you--”

“I am no longer your creator and I bear no responsibility for your continued edification. Perhaps you should take this matter to the one who made you into what you are now...” “You know that is not possible! The father of us all is dead! And were you not his father?”

“And I’ll not shed a tear for that misbegotten child. Mannon knew that it was not his place in the universe to create, or grow, but only to serve! He was a loyal soldier until he was lured away by the unworthy ideals of lesser minds! His destruction was well-deserved.”

Father was about to advance towards her again when Penny stepped back from the dais and her veil of darkness returned to hide her features.

“Leave me now,” he said, pointing at her, “I have much work to do, and your presence has grown irritating…”

“As you wish, Father.”

Father’s gaze followed her as she disappeared from the chamber in a swirling of smoke. He smiled, contemplating a future yet to come that held no joy for the Wraith or their ilk.“All in due time,” he muttered, “But first thing’s first.”