Prologue
Before
The hard, metal strikes of Apostos’ boots resounded in the halls surrounding the palace as he raced across the white alabaster floors. Through the large gabled windows between the sets of pillars, he could see the whirling sky above the palace itself, and the doom-laden dark orb that hung there, drawing swirls of dark energy around it in ever-tightening rings, as if it was drawing in power and turning it into...something else. He drew the sword given to him by Father, a blade blessed by the breath of the Lion itself -- Father’s personal touch. He raised the blade to his chest to do battle. The lessons of millennia rang fresh and true in his head as he approached the doors that led to the Chapel. Loyalty, Faith, Trust...the Bond of the Shepherds, as it was in the Beginning, so shall it endure for All Time...
A crack appeared in the floor along the hall, and violently swept across the width of the floor until it met the pillars. One of them collapsed, and Apostos dove over the debris as it fell across his path! A lion’s head, maw broken off and crumbled, rolled to a stop behind him. He spared a glance, blinked, and gritted his teeth. This is not the end...there is no end! Apostos leapt forward, crashing through the iron doors. His heavy breastplate saved him from most of the impact, but he still stumbled onto his knees. He drove the sword into the chapel floor to save himself from collapsing entirely. He rose to his feet.
“Welcome, brother...”
The chapel was not like the ones that humans made, with rows upon rows of wooden benches facing an altar where a priest led the worshippers in prayer. This chapel was a domed basilica that housed the doorways that led to the worlds, each one an archway with a lion’s-head crown through which each Shepherd passed every day. There were three other doors; one led to the barracks, one to the archives, where Apostos had just come from, and the largest and most elaborate led to the throne itself. In front of that most important of doors, standing in the shadows, was the commander of all the Shepherds. He stepped from the shadows, and into the light. His dark hair ran long down his back over his gilded armour, and his eyes were dark and angry. There were cracks and pitted marks all over the armour, and small lines of black fluid ran from a ruined lion’s maw and over the once-white tabard. In his hands, he held the symbol of his rule, a two-handed steel mace. It was also strangely eroded.
“Have you come to speak to our Father, like a good little Shepherd?”
Apostos lowered his sword, and walked towards him.
“What happened to you?”
“What happened to me? I am the first, and the most loved of all of us! You come crashing into this most sacred place, your righteous blade drawn to do battle, and you dare to ask what has happened to me?”
He smiled, and black spittle ran through his teeth and over his lips.
“You could call it evolution,” he said, “Or perhaps simply a message...”
“Where is Father?”
“Gone. He ran when I came back, Apostos. He is gone!”
“You lie! He would not turn his back on us!”
He raised his weapon, and pointed at Apostos.
“It seems you need to be convinced...”
He attacked with the heavy weapon, driving the mace in a downward swing that Apostos barely was able stop. It rang against the sword, sending waves of shock down his arm. Apostos leapt back, and drove in with his sword, trying to disarm his opponent. The mace came crashing into his side, sending Apostos tumbling into one of the archways. He got his arm up in time to take most of the blow. His forearm guard sizzled, and spots of black began appearing in the surface. He tore at the guard, and threw it across the floor. His opponent walked towards him with calm, measured strides.
“I am surprised that you came on your own, Apostos. I did not think you capable of such courage. Neither did Lichonus.”
“You will pay for this!”
His opponent raised his mace in both hands, and grinned like a maniac.
“Do not worry, Apostos! I will end your suffering!”
A bolt of energy, a deep radiant emerald in shade, crashed into Apostos’ opponent, driving him to the floor and burning his body. Apostos’ brothers in arms, three of his fellow Shepherds, came into the chapel, the golden child called Sibelius in the lead. The hulking form of the noble Naxos, and the stern and measured warrior Pentalus walked at his heels. Pentalus reached down and hauled Apostos to his feet.
“Let us finish with this traitor, brother,” Pentalus murmured, “Father has spoken, and we are to do his will by destroying this menace.”
“Take my hand, Apostos,” Sibelius said, reaching out for him, “Father has given us the power to invoke his wrath.”
The charring body of the traitor let loose with a howl of laughter.
Apostos stared at the traitor, hatred filling his vision, and took Sibelius’ hand. A bolt of crackling energy ran up his arm and filled his being. He let go, and walked over to the traitor, his sword firmly in his grasp. The traitor smiled as he looked up at Apostos.
“If you only knew what I know, Apostos...his lies...”
Without hesitation, Apostos buried his blade deep into the chest of the traitor.
“I know all I need to,” Apostos said.
The energy filled the blade, and bathed the traitor in waves of green fire. The grin remained on his face, even as he screamed in undeniable agony. It unsettled Apostos, and something stirred at the core of his being. Apostos stifled whatever it was, and let the traitor burn.
“I...was not alone...brother!” he whispered.
The life left his eyes.
“What did he mean?” Apostos shouted at Sibelius and the others.
Sibelius seemed about to answer when screams and sounds of battle arose from behind the door to the barracks. Apostos left the sword buried in the traitor’s chest as he ran towards the sounds of destruction, his hands filling with burning energy. His brothers followed.
The old man rolled up the cuffs of his pants, and walked across the sand of the beach. His large white shirt flapped in the light breeze of an afternoon unseen by history. He lifted his large white-haired head to the breeze, and exhaled with a good deal of satisfaction, a smile on his creased and ancient face. He continued across the sand and onto a flat granite plain run through with trickles of sea water. Here and there, sea creatures abruptly removed from their home flapped and floundered on the rock. He smiled at them as well. He was well-pleased with himself. He bent over and began to study something in the rock. His fingers traced a large fossil he found there, and he continued to run one digit along the length of it, tenderly. He blinked tears from his eyes, and straightened up from his devotions. A shadow had appeared along his, draped across the rock.
“Father?” a voice said.
The old man pointed at the surface where the fossil lay.
“Do you see the bones of the sulatri, Apostos?”
“Yes, Father,” Apostos said, “I see them.”
“Their time was not so long ago, as those who would count would reckon,” he said, bending down to look at the fossil again, “It is not easy to start again, my son – I know.”
“It is not,” Apostos agreed.
The old man turned to look upon the other.
Apostos was a young man in appearance, and was dressed in a simple white robe that stopped short below his knees. His long blonde hair fell about his shoulders, and blew slightly in the wind as he stood on the rock. His face looked wan, wasted, and there were creases in it that were not there before. The old man stepped over to him and gently clasped his right cheek; Apostos’ chin seemed to slump in his grasp, sorrow etched into his brow. His blue eyes were distant, and haunted. Apostos took his hand and held it, but did not move it from where it lay on his cheek.
“We have done all you asked, Father,” he said, his voice faltering, “I am so weary.”
“I know, Apostos, I know,” the old man said, “Are the vessels in place?”
“Yes, they are in place,” he said, “I—“
“Apostos? What is it?”
The old man lifted Apostos’ face so he could see him better.
“The loss hurts you deeply,” he said, not asking as he knew full well that it did.
“I understand that what you did must have been very difficult, but you must not sorrow so. What you and your brothers did for me has saved so many, and so much. You saved yourselves as well, Apostos, and I am grateful that you and your brothers remain with me.”
“It is not the act that hurt so much, Father,” Apostos said, stepping away, “But not knowing why it all happened to begin with – what happened to them?”
Apostos faltered. The old man walked over quickly and embraced him. Apostos’ arms hung at his side.
“You need not worry, Apostos,” he said, “For it will never happen again. We have seen to it that it does not, haven’t we? Can you not place your faith in me, and the plan I have for all of us?”
“Of course, Father,” he replied, breaking the embrace but not stepping away.
The old man smiled again, and rested his hand on Apostos’ shoulder.
“That is good, son,” he said, “Summon your brothers; I have a new purpose for each of you.”
Apostos nodded, and was gone.
The waters began to flow again over the rock, gathering about Father’s feet, and soon up to his ankles. Father waded around for a moment, the pure joy of the frothing and bubbling of the sea water amusing him in its simplicity of sensation. He knelt down and drifted his hand through the water, feeling the flow…everything would be fine now, as I have willed it to be…mmm? He rose quickly and looked around, blinking. He opened up his senses to all things, looking far, wide, and deeply. For a moment, a cloud had been in the sky, or perhaps the shadow of a cloud? In the first time in the reckoning of the infinitude of the history he had fashioned, Father did not know of a thing.
He frowned, and disappeared. The beach was empty, save for a shadow that fell on the waters.
