Prologue
Sparkbound
Destiny of Light
Guardian of the Spark
_ "Crom
Cruach, step forward."
Crom, did not move.
The other Godlings looked to each other, and then collectively took one step back, placing their halfling-brάthair in front of them to stand alone.
T’was an old trick, but an effective one.
Crom looked over his left shoulder, then his right. Loathing and disrespect spewed forth from between his lips in the form of a strange, half-croaking-half-wheezing cackle, before he turned his attention back to the God who stood stoic before him.
“It is time to deliver your punishment.” The Sovereign simply stated without emotion.
The Halfling smiled. Though his hands were bound at the wrists by the glowing rings of Branaugh, Annwyn’s blacksmith, preventing him from working maigery beyond their field of power, his talent was strong, and as such, he was still capable of manipulating his own body. In an instant, his torso elongated, becoming almost vermicular and rising to a height that towered over his siblings. Cracking and groaning emanated from his neck as he bent and thrust it forward, pushing it grotesquely beyond its limits to meet the Sovereign face to face. To make a further spectacle of his wickedness he began weaving his head from side to side to prove to them just how undaunted he was by this so called God and his punishments.
A maniacal laugh slithered from between his lips, “I do not acknowledge you or your laws, old one. You are losing your grip upon this world and becoming well and truly past it. What use is a God who cannot sway freewill? What use are such powers if not to bend those you rule to your every whim? Soon it will be I who stands in judgement of you! My own Athair has no idea how powerful I have become. But soon, oh, so soon, you will all know the bounty of my will.” In a further show of impudence he wound his neck back in, deliberately slow, until he stood himself again.
The eleven siblings standing behind him, shifted uncomfortably, sharing looks between them, shocked and awed by the Halfling’s behaviour, that he would dare speak to their Athair in such a mocking and insolent manner.
The Sovereign, unmoved by Crom’s display, continued, “I, the Sovereign, by the Spark bestowed upon me by the Fates of Ages, they who designed me and brought me into being; and by our laws, composed by we, the Eldars of the Spark, and embraced by the Council of Ages; I, as God over all others, designer of all worlds and races, banish you, Crom Cruach, for your crimes against my design, to a prison, I alone, have devised for you.”
The Halfling retched, “YOU! have no authority over me Sovereign, and no prison you have designed will ever hold me for long. You are not my,” Crom sneered his distaste, “God.” The last word hissed through his clenched teeth.
His Athair, Dhragmor, who stood silent beside him, placed his hand upon his arm to quiet him before he made things worse for himself, but Crom wrenched from him, gnashing and growling his contempt for the personal contact.
“That, unfortunate Halfling, is where you are mistaken. Your arrogance is your folly, same as it was your Athair’s, for from the first glint of his existence, he too, sought more than what was to be his own. By his own jealousy and greed, he has brought about his undoing. However, it is for your own atrocities that you must suffer. And suffer you will, as you will be cast into a barren wasteland, devoid of my Spark’s healing illumination, deep within the hidden realm of the Nod, where you will remain, for all time to come. Allow me to make clear what this means for you. A sentence served in darkness will render your impure Spark, weakened and useless for anything more than the most cursory of maigeworks. As the centuries pass, your dark flame will continue to dim, and finally, cease to be. It may take an eternity, but eternity will see that all things cease.”
“Noooo!” Crom raged, “You cannot do this! I am a God! I am Crom Cruach!” He beat his chest, “My Spark is written in the Foretelling Stones to be the greatest of all Shadow legends! Athair, do something! You must not allow this to befall upon your only son!”
Dhragmor bowed his head in pious silence.
Crom sneered down at him, “You brought me into being only to fail me as an Athair. You are weak, and you will suffer my wrath, alongside your sistars and bráthairs, and your piteous excuse for a God. I swear this oath upon my life’s blood that boils beneath my skin and seal it by the Shadow Spark, you yourself bestowed upon me, as I gestated beneath the crust of this hideous excuse for a womb that He has named the Mάthair.” His eyes lit from within by the horrible glow of the ebony flame that blazed within him. He spat upon the ground at his Athair’s feet. Dhragmor stepped back as the ground sizzled and burned before catching alight.
With but a look, the Sovereign extinguished the flame, then with the slightest twitch of his hand, Crom’s words were silenced, and his lips, sealed. His Halfling eyes became wide with anger and filled with the promise of retaliation as he clawed at his mouth to remove the God’s maigery.
“You are an aberration Crom; spawned by the will of my first born due little more than petty jealousy. Your Spark glows with an ebony flame that devours all the goodness that is light. You are the very opposite of nature itself. This cannot be allowed to continue. Your crimes of rape, torture, and murder are of the most heinous of acts that this, my design, has ever been made to bear. In consequence, I and your halfling sistar, Oria, who you also sought to rape and take from her the very Spark of her existence, are the only beings within this vast time and space continuum, who possess the knowledge and location of the nine gates that will steel you away within the walls of your doom. For the charge of bringing your army, The Hague, into existence and reining them down upon my Humankinde, each gate will own a unique key, without which, will never open. Each of these keys will be scattered amongst nine of the Eleven Branches/Realms of the Spark.”
The Sovereign allowed a sigh, weighted by the wisdom of ages, to escape before he spoke, “There are those amongst you, who would think these drastic measures.” He looked down upon his beloved Godlings; the childelings of His design that were born of His own image, each owning special attributes he bestowed upon them so that they may aid him to watch o’re the Mάthair and his Humankinde. His heart was heavy, for he knew their thoughts and their Sparks. They were so young; merely thousands of years old.
Two of the eleven heads sank lower.
“In response, I put to you this question. Who amongst you would suffer that which my Humankinde and our fellow Spark kinde have been made to suffer at the hands of this abomination against me? Our laws, carved into scripture long ago, dictate that we, as higher beings, must care for and keep safe the origin of the Spark, the Earth Mάthair and all her kindes, be they with Spark, or without. However, this does not mean, that we as the Eldars, or our offspring,” he perused Crom’s snarling form, “are immune from accountability. As beings of light, we must be governed by a higher court, held to a greater rule, and live by the laws scribed into our very Sparks by the Fates of Ages. I command it.”
There was nought but silence.
“There are also those amongst you who believe that Crom’s dark flame should be extinguished forever. That the punishment I have designed does not suit his crimes. There are many amongst the tribes of the remaining kindes who still look to us for protection from the Shadowrealm, and would beg that we should eliminate all darkness from the surface of our beloved Mάthair. Whilst I might agree, you know, as well as I, through the teaching stones, handed down to us by the very Fates themselves, that to eliminate all darkness would render the Earth Máthair null and void, for Light cannot exist without the Shadows. And that, my Godlings, is where evil resides.”
Another long sigh stirred the winds and ruffled Oria’s hair as she appeared next to him, and took his hand for support as he voiced his regret, “I must admit, I have been naive in matters of athairhood, and what childelings, left to their own devices, could get up to. I have myself to blame, for it was I, who left Dhragmor in charge as Eldest Godling, without council, whilst I tend to the needs of my newling design to insure its survival.”
“Why then Athair,” Dhragmor stepped forward, “if you blame yourself, must I be punished? You said yourself that it was you who left me to rule without council. Why would you punish your Prince? Your first born? Is it to cover up for your own failings as Sovereign? You recount my so called crimes, what of my sibling’s crimes? Do what you must Athair! Get on with this farce of punishment and dispense your wrath! Be done with this recount of history! It will change nothing!” Dhragmor bellowed as his face turned ruddy in his ire.
Oria Stepped forward with a charging Spark bolt in her hand, “How dare you speak to Athair in such a manner!”
In answer, Dhragmor summoned his own bolt that sparked erratically due his anger.
“That will be quite enough!” The Sovereign raised his right hand to quiet Oria as at the same time He brought up his left and squeezed his palm into a fist shattering the bolt in his son’s hand while simultaneously causing the ground beneath Dhragmor’s feet to crack and rumble with His impatience.
Piously, Oria extinguished her bolt and lowered her head, ashamed that she had allowed her bráthair to provoke her.
Shadows of disapproval filled the Sovereign’s face as he thundered, “By the Fates who made me, you tax my patience Dhragmor! You will listen as I recount your misdeeds because, as your Athair, it is my due to rant!” His temper grew to match His Godling’s cheek, “Mayhaps you should try listening for once in your youngling life instead of strutting about like some swaggering foptoff, so sure of your own worth! You might just learn the err of your ways sometime this Millennia! Now stay your place and remain quiet!”
The ground roiled, pushing up under the Godling’s feet to topple him forward as if something living was stating its opinion.
“It seems, the Mάthair is in agreement,” The piercing light that flashed within the God’s eyes was a warning that Dhragmor knew all too well. He stepped back as he was commanded, thoroughly stripped of his dignity and firmly put in his place.
“I may not have left you council, but I did ask that Oria watch over you and your siblings.” He looked down the line of his Godlings. “I bequeathed to her my silver horn, so that if need arose, she could but sound it, and I would come. But your pride,” he singled out Dhragmor and Anuoka, “always seems to come just before you fall, does it not my childelings? So enraged were you both, that your sistar would dare spy upon you, that you snatched from her the horn with the aid of your unwitting siblings, and imprisoned her in order to prevent her from thwarting your plans to design and create, no greater a folly, than Crom himself. Though I could not, at the time, understand why, it was his dark origins that sent me racing against time itself for nearly 100 years to balance what took Me an age to design. I bent the very havens to save species after species that began to perish seemingly without cause. Why my Godling son? Why would you hate me so much, that you and your Halfling would then summon forth The Hague to destroy my Humankinde? The darkness they sowed in their wake threw the Mάthair into an unimaginable chaos as they reap, from all those who possess the Spark, the very source of their life and maigery. All this devastation was for nought but to appease your indignation that I would dare gift your sistar that which you felt was your due?”
The Sovereign sat upon his throne and did not speak for so long his Godlings wondered if he ever would, “In our haste to restore equilibrium and set right the Mάthair upon her true axis we wrought the Fellowship/Circle of the Spark, our newling soldiers of the Light to match the strength of the Shadowkinde. The only way to destroy such darkness now, is to destroy that light. Could I, as God, tear asunder all you designed to fight back and conquer the Hague? Do those beings not deserve to continue for their service to my Humankinde? To us? If there is one amongst you who has the Spark, to eradicate our recent follies and all those who stood beside you in the battle to balance shadow and light, I say to you, step forth and deliver their fate.” Three heads looked up hopeful, “Before you do, my childelings, let you not forget, t’was your own bráthair and sistar, Dhragmor and Anuoka, who in their haste and greed, created this halfling. Is it not they who should suffer the first strike? Perhaps, one of you would sling the blade that would take from them their Spark to restore balance.” He pointed at the three hopefuls.
The three heads of his eleven Godlings bowed once more with shame.
“What of poor Arawn?” His youngest son bowed his head, “What punishment could you deliver that would make amends for the devastation his Otherworld suffered? The Hague wiped out an entire race and all but two of his Micklefaye kinde? Could the tearing away of Crom’s Spark compensate for the suffrage of so many? Oh my dear childelings, you are still babes who have much to learn, and your rash thoughts have no place here. Do you think it a simple charge to stand before you knowing what should be done, but not daring to do so, as not to become that which we abhor? Revenge is not the answer. Steps must be taken to secure Crom’s Shadowflame, not just for the ruination he has brought,” He turned to Crom, “but to prevent any future havoc you intended to reap upon mine beloved Humankinde and the Mάthair Earth.”
Crom still could not speak, but the loathing that seethed through his eyes told all.
“As a boon to my youngest son, for your crimes against him, I have granted that Arawn may impart to you his Seeing well. When you wish to peer within, it will reveal to you life’s continuing evolution whilst still remaining safe from your ill intentions. This will be your only possession, other than the clothes upon your back, and your only link to the outworld.”
“Crom, do you have anything to say on your behalf before I carry out your sentence? This is your final opportunity to express your remorse in what you have done.” The Sovereign waved his hand to allow Crom to answer.
Crom’s face distorted with hatred as he spoke, “I will see that your Humankinde and your precious Godlings suffer for this Sovereign!” Then he broke ranks and turned to look at Dhragmor and his halfling sistars and brathairs, “And you! You my Athair who brought me into being and spewed me upon this world to do your bidding so that you may win power over your God, I wonder what end did you see for me? Did you think yourself a God who would lord over this,” he beat the centre of his chest with his fist, “this Godless creature standing before you? There is not one of you who is worthy of being my God, for I am a God! Did you spare a moment of thought, oh witless one, that your son might become more powerful that you, and one day, see to your doom?”
Dhragmor stepped back awestruck as the ebony flame from within his son ignited and flashed behind his eyes, catching them alight with a strange black glow just before his entire body became consumed. The other Godlings staggered as they felt the light being drained from their Spark. Before Dhrag could act, weakened himself, Crom shifted and was suddenly embracing his youngest sistar, Ashkara, from behind. Never before had he witnessed his Halfling son exude such power.
The Sovereign kept his arm to his side whilst letting his Spark pulse down his arm and into his hand, but Crom caught the movement from the corner of his eye, “Don’t even think about it old one,” Crom’s laugh was tainted with warning, “She would have even less time to live than I was prepared to give her.”
Crom manoeuvred himself and Ashkara to a more desirable position of defence, “Are you proud Athair? Did you not know I could summon my dark flame?” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were mere childeling’s play, “It’s just a little something I learned during the course of your teachings. I stumbled upon it quite by accident, when I slaked my lust with one of Arawn’s sweetling faiys.”
“You bastard!” Arawn tried to stand, but barely had the strength to speak, “You forced your filthy darkness upon one of my faiys?”
Crom closed his eyes and his face filled with pleasure as he relived the experience, “Oh the power that rushed in as the light left her eyes, as I took from her, her innocence. It was all quite intoxicating I can assure you. That I, a mere halfling, could deplete my foes as long as my powers were peak and the Sovereign’s Light illuminate the day.”
He held Ashkara closer, more tightly to him and breathed deep the radiance of her eternal light, “Her Spark is pure and will feed me for nigh on a century. Sadly, I do not have time to take her innocence, though the very thought brings me near to spasm.” Crom looked up at the impotent God beneath his heavy brow and said, “I take from your daughter of love, that which you were about to take from me, oh Sovereign.”
The Sovereign could not act, for he knew the Halfling would only choose another of his childeling once he had used Ashkara. The pain struck Him deeply as He made the decision that she must forfeit her light.
And then is was that Crom growled and reached into Ashkara through the middle of her back. She arched back screaming her pain. His eyes rolled back into his head as his Shadowflame consumed all that she was. When he had used her completely, he let her limp form slip from his fingers onto the ground, a hollow sparkless shell. The Halfling’s insidious laughter sent a wicked chill through the Godlings as they watched in horror, too weak and powerless to aid their sistar.
Without warning, darkness fell upon the landscape of their home, the Máthair shook beneath their feet, the clouds boiled in the sky and the winds whipped about them. A shaft of light came forth from the Havens and cast itself upon the Sovereign. His eyes became consumed by the white fiery light of the Fates. The Godlings gasped and shielded their eyes for they knew, though they had only heard about it through tales recounted many times by their Athair, that this was the very fire that brought Him into being.
The hand of their Athair gathered energy from the fiery shaft of light coursing through his Godly form and turned it upon Crom, encasing him in a column of dead space severing his ability to feast further upon his Godling’s collective illumination.
Oria felt the release and ran to her sistar, as did her bráthairs Dom and Arawn. She knelt beside her and cradled her limp form to her bosom. She knew it was too late, for the inner light that illuminates each of their Sparks had left her, leaving her an empty shell. Tears flowed freely as she rocked her, instinctively chanting the mourning words to send her loving essence upon the winds, “Oh my sweet sistar. I send thee on your way. May the light of the Sovereign and the Fates of Ages guide and protect you.” She continued as her bráthairs each placed a hand upon her shoulders to lend their Spark if she found need.
The Sovereign spoke with a voice that thundered with the vengeance of a grieving Athair and the contempt of a virtuous God, “All I am tells me to smite your foul Spark here and now! How do I find mercy where there can be no mercy? You have ripped away my Godling of Love and have tipped the scales of balance, once more bleeding strife upon my Humankinde!”
Then he pointed to his Eldest son, “And you Dhragmor! You have failed me thrice! First by your lies and coercion of your siblings to aid you in the designing of your bastard Halfling, then by imprisoning your own sistar, and now, by your ignorance! How could you not know that your Halfling’s tainted Spark had become so powerful?”
The eldest Godling could not speak due the wide-eyed shock of his son’s revelation. He threw his arms up to protect his face from the blistering heat of his Athair’s anger.
“My patience has come to its end! Be gone with you Crom and n’er return!” With a final wave of The Sovereign’s hand, the Halfling felt a lightness about his body as he began to shift and his feet left the ground.
He screeched, “NOOOOOOOO!” and clawed at the air as his body was ripped by unseen forces from this, the talamh go bhfuil; the ‘land that is’.
And as his screams dropped to merely an echo in his own ears, he found himself falling, then striking the ground with bone crushing force, well and truly forsaken to the Nod, that which he had heard the Humankinde name - the talamh sin cuireadh nár; the ‘land that never was’.
He himself had thought it nought but fable. He was wrong, and now he was alone, with only the darkness and his dwindling Shadowflame to keep him company.
And it shall be said, that for nearly one thousand of the Humankinde’s years, Crom’s screams of pain and agony, as he was torn from this world, were heard to echo within the mysts of Cloch a bhile, the sacred Silver Orchard nestled upon the western isle, Nematona, of the Otherworld, where the Godlings and the Sovereign made their home.
“Thanks be to you my Athairs,” The Sovereign whispered to the Fates of Ages who were the very Havens themselves, “for your assistance. I am, as I have always been, your obedient son, and I am eternally grateful.”
The searing white light left him, and all returned as it was.
He turned his sites upon his Eldest Son, “Dhragmor step forward.”
The Godling obediently stepped forward.
“You—my first born son--Prince of the Godlings—are hereby stripped, from this day forward, of your powers for your crimes against me and my Humankinde, until a time of my choosing. For your unlawful design of the hideous evil that is Crom, for the inclusion of your sistar Anuoka and your siblings in your devious plans to gain Spark in an effort to overthrow my throne, and for the harm you cast upon my wife, the Earth Mάthair, and all her inhabitants, you are hereby sentenced to the Netherworld to spend some, quality time, with your brάthair Dom. You will be imprisoned there for no less than one thousand of my Humankinde's years. During your confinement, you will feel time passing, and will suffer a death for each life you have laid to ruin. You will learn the human emotions - of humility, regret, acceptance, and forgiveness. Above all, you will learn to respect Me, my laws, and all races, especially My Humankinde.”
“Your will be done Athair,” Dom said with a bow of his head. He turned and placed his hand upon Dhragmor’s shoulder, “Come brάthair, let us bond.” and the look in his eye revealed to Dhragmor that he was muchly in favour of the Sovereign’s design.
“Nae Athair, pleeeaaassseee . . . Forrgggivvvveee . . . !” The Godling screamed as he reached out for the salvation of his Athair’s mercy.
But none was at hand. The Sovereign gave the final nod . . .
And they were gone.
“Anuoka, step forward.”
Anuoka obeyed.
“Anuoka—my first born daughter—Matron of the Godlings—it is with an Athair’s regret that I hereby strip from you your powers, from this day forward, for your crimes against me until a time of my choosing. For your conspiracy with Dhragmor in the creation of our greatest evil thus far; for using the gifts, I bestowed upon you at the moment of your birthing to lure your siblings into the sacred Circle of Life, holding them against their will so that Dhragmor could ill-use their collective Sparks to bring Crom into existence; and for your heinous acts of harm forced upon Arawn’s kinde’lings and my Wife, your Earth Mάthair; you will spend no less than one thousand of my Humankind's years upon the Otherworld where you will atone for your heresy by your servitude to your Bráthair, Arawn, and his kinde’lings. You will also feel time’s weight as it passes and you will die many a Humankinde’s death. You will learn kindeship, familial loyalty, humility, and the right of all others to make their own choices without your interference. And Above all, as with your Bráthair, you will learn to respect Me, our laws, and all races, especially My Humankinde. Do you have anything to say daughter before you to begin your sentence?”
Anuoka shook her head and bowed. She made no effort to speak, nor scream, nor beg her Athair’s mercy, for she knew there would be none offered.
Arawn placed his hand upon his sistar’s shoulder. There was no animosity in his eyes, no promise of retribution, only pity, as he spoke, “Your will be done Athair.”
The Sovereign nodded, and they too, were gone.
Oria gently lowered her sistar’s head to the ground and rose to meet her Athair. Her voice was soft and whispered as a sweet zephyr in the Sovereign’s ears, “What of Ashkara Athair? Can you bring her back to us?”
A tear traced down his weathered face as he replied, “No sweetling, I can restore her body, but that which made her who she was, Crom has consumed and is gone forever. She would have no memory of the being she was.”
“Oh My Athair. That which made Ashkara who she was is You. You made her the loving free spirit that filled our lives with joy. She can be again.”
“As always daughter, I am undone by the wisdom of someone so young. It shall be done.” The God walked to Ashkara’s lifeless form and knelt beside her. Ever so gently, he moved a tendril of her golden brown hair from her face. It was time to design anew and the prospect of bringing such goodness back to his design made him giddy as a newling Athair. He cupped his hand and within it grew a radiant sphere of light that burst with the promise of life and as it found its rightful place the Sovereign spoke the words of Light and Ashkara was reborn.
Bewildered, she sat up and looked about. She smiled up at her Athair, and then to her sistar. She was indeed pure innocence and hope, “Who am I?”
The Sovereign gave her a tender look and then a wink as he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, “That my childeling, I will leave to your sistar Oria to explain.”
Then the Sovereign summoned his remaining Godlings to gather round them to meet their sistar a second time. She stood, and each gave her a hug and welcomed her back into the fold.
"My childelings, this has been a sorrowful day, and one I do not wish to repeat.” The God began, “Though Ashkara’s birthing is a joyous occasion, we must insure that Crom never escapes his prison. In my hand I hold nine amulets. I ask that each of you choose one to safeguard. You must never be parted from this amulet for each contains a spirit’objet, or spirit-shard of one key. T’is the only guiding force to the artefact. If the key is disturbed, your amulet will glow as does the Spark within you. Should the need ever arise; all you must do is speak the words inscribed upon each amulet and it will lead you to its resting place so that you may defend it. The keys must never come into contact with each other.”
The God bid each of his childelings to gather around the dais where the amulets rested. The Nine Godlings formed a circle and looked down upon the amulets as they began to glow; then they rose whilst spinning and twirling in mid air. He spoke the Joining words and when he was finished, each amulet chose its owner.
Three Humankinde days later . . .
“Do you have need of me Athair? I feel your angst.” Oria said softly as she appeared just behind Him.
“I did not realize, as I designed the Netherworld, that it t’would be for mine own son. But to ignore Dhragmor’s crimes would be to tear asunder the very fabric upon which my designs were created.”
“Oh Athair,” Oria knelt by his side at his feet and looked into the wealth of wisdom that was her Sovereign, “you had no choice but to banish him. Both of them. Was it not he, of his own free will, who designed our most darkest of evils and brought that abomination into being? Was it not my sistar who added him due her misplaced loyalty and twisted love far him? In your mercy, you did as any Athair would do, you punished them. I do not wish to see you now, punish yourself for their wrongdoings.”
The God looked upon his daughter with an Athairs love.
She continued, “Did you not design this world, your last, to shine above all your others, knowing that freewill must be the only constant? Let no otherkinde, nor Godling, put asunder all you have design and created with your very Spark Athair. That is the decree. Is it not? What you did was just. It does not make you a merciless God. Do you remember when you created the Netherworld and my Brάthair, Dom Honran? That also, was a dark moment far you. You lamented because you created a world of punishment, before ever having created your Humankinde.”
“Yes, I remember that dark day. But Dom has proved himself a wise and just Godling. You are right my daughter.” He took her hand and held it to his Godly chest. “As your Athair, I have been blessed with your bountiful wisdom and the beauty of your eternal Spark.”
He kissed her hand then He looked closer into her eyes and saw that something was worrying her, “Speak Daughter. There can be no secrets between us. We share a special bond, above all my other childelings.”
Oria hesitated. She did not want to ruin the tender moment between them, but she knew she must, “It is foretold Athair. You know of what I speak. You knew before I ever had the foretelling dream.”
He Sovereign nodded his head, “Nothing is forever Daughter.”
Oria stood up before him, “Then we must act now Athair!” She pleaded.
The Sovereign held his hand up to gently quell her keenness, “No, not yet childeling, there is still time. However—I would ask that you do something for me Oria.”
“All you must do is ask Athair.” Her eyes brightened at the prospect of helping her Athair.
“I need you to design the final two keys. Only two others, those who you would trust with your own Spark, may know the location and design of each. They must not be known to me.”
Oria was stunned by her Athair’s request, “But Athair, did you not already design the nine keys?” She looked down upon her own putting her hand over it. “They have chosen their owners already. Before — you said —.”
He shook his head, "Two of the keys I forged are false. An unfortunate ruse, but a necessary one I assure you. I am not as trusting as I once was. Here I am, passing judgment upon those who do not obey my laws, and I dodder upon the edge of disobedience myself.”
He laughed, and the song that was His laughter warmed Oria’s Spark, for she knew He allowed himself very few moments of mirth. As its sweet sound faded, the glint in His eyes dulled, and the look upon His face became drawn and forlorn, “I know the Sparks of my childelings better than they do themselves. I also know that there are those of the kindes who stir with the notion that my punishments where Dhrag and Anu are concerned were too harsh. They do not even know it themselves, but they will think to disobey. Eventually. There is darkness in all I have designed, even you my sweetling.” He stroked Oria’s cheek, then clenched his hands together in his lap as a tear slid down his cheek. “There must be, to balance what I weigh; and it breaks my heart each time that darkness stirs.”
“Oh Athair, let me help —.”
“Not yet.”
“But Fathair, I—,” Oria started to say.
The Sovereign shook his head and his voice rose slightly to impress upon her the seriousness of his wishes, “Please Oria, you must heed my words!”
Oria bit her lip, for her Athair had never raised his voice to her before.
The God sighed, “Forgive me Oria, but you must have patience dearling. All will fall as it should. For now we must make certain we are prepared to protect the kindes from this newling force your bráthair has created; this Shadowflame the Halfling carries within. It cannot be allowed spread and put into ruin all we have wrought. The only way to answer it’s coming, and it is coming, is by combining our Sparks and standing united. As you know, I have but one law by which I am bound, placed upon me by my makers; I must never meddle in matters of freewill, so in this, I am bound by The Fates of the Ages, and am not permitted to interfere. To do so, would undo all that is. Those who you choose to aid you, must not include your siblings.”
Oria nodded her acceptance.
The Sovereign looked to the havens above, “Oh my Athairs, what have you done? Why have you placed such a tide upon me, binding my hands so that I can do nothing to stop it?”
Oria stood beside her Athair and stroked his hair to sooth him.
“An Athair should not have favourites amongst his childelings, but you are mine. I place you upon a dais most high and I now make you my General to protect that which we hold sacred where I cannot.”
Oria heard the hidden meaning in her Athair’s words resonate through her Spark. She took his weathered face between her hands and touched her forehead to his, weaving the thought mind to mind, so that he may know she understood, “Your wisdom is great my Sovereign,” she then put her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “and by your will Athair, it shall be done. This I promise,” and then kissed his cheek.
The Sovereign’s Spark swelled with pride for his daughter. He placed his hand upon hers for but a moment, before she walked away into the myst.
You may not be able to dabble in such matters as the freewill of your beloved Humankinde and your Godlings, but I can Athair. Oh yes, and by my will, and my will alone, it shall be done, for I am not bound by that law of your makers. I will design for you a defender of the Spark. A defender who’s Destiny shall lead us to a victory that is the goodness of Light. I will summon all who carry the Spark within and we shall rebuild and strengthen our Fellowship of the Spark. Our glorious Army of Light. I will design the two final keys for you my Sovereign.
She walked away from her Athair with a newling determination. He needed her; and she would see to it that his design did would not fail. She swore the silent oath and sealed it with the solemn gesture of the Fates over her Spark.
She had much work to do.
And suddenly, she felt alone.
Utterly so.
Crom, did not move.
The other Godlings looked to each other, and then collectively took one step back, placing their halfling-brάthair in front of them to stand alone.
T’was an old trick, but an effective one.
Crom looked over his left shoulder, then his right. Loathing and disrespect spewed forth from between his lips in the form of a strange, half-croaking-half-wheezing cackle, before he turned his attention back to the God who stood stoic before him.
“It is time to deliver your punishment.” The Sovereign simply stated without emotion.
The Halfling smiled. Though his hands were bound at the wrists by the glowing rings of Branaugh, Annwyn’s blacksmith, preventing him from working maigery beyond their field of power, his talent was strong, and as such, he was still capable of manipulating his own body. In an instant, his torso elongated, becoming almost vermicular and rising to a height that towered over his siblings. Cracking and groaning emanated from his neck as he bent and thrust it forward, pushing it grotesquely beyond its limits to meet the Sovereign face to face. To make a further spectacle of his wickedness he began weaving his head from side to side to prove to them just how undaunted he was by this so called God and his punishments.
A maniacal laugh slithered from between his lips, “I do not acknowledge you or your laws, old one. You are losing your grip upon this world and becoming well and truly past it. What use is a God who cannot sway freewill? What use are such powers if not to bend those you rule to your every whim? Soon it will be I who stands in judgement of you! My own Athair has no idea how powerful I have become. But soon, oh, so soon, you will all know the bounty of my will.” In a further show of impudence he wound his neck back in, deliberately slow, until he stood himself again.
The eleven siblings standing behind him, shifted uncomfortably, sharing looks between them, shocked and awed by the Halfling’s behaviour, that he would dare speak to their Athair in such a mocking and insolent manner.
The Sovereign, unmoved by Crom’s display, continued, “I, the Sovereign, by the Spark bestowed upon me by the Fates of Ages, they who designed me and brought me into being; and by our laws, composed by we, the Eldars of the Spark, and embraced by the Council of Ages; I, as God over all others, designer of all worlds and races, banish you, Crom Cruach, for your crimes against my design, to a prison, I alone, have devised for you.”
The Halfling retched, “YOU! have no authority over me Sovereign, and no prison you have designed will ever hold me for long. You are not my,” Crom sneered his distaste, “God.” The last word hissed through his clenched teeth.
His Athair, Dhragmor, who stood silent beside him, placed his hand upon his arm to quiet him before he made things worse for himself, but Crom wrenched from him, gnashing and growling his contempt for the personal contact.
“That, unfortunate Halfling, is where you are mistaken. Your arrogance is your folly, same as it was your Athair’s, for from the first glint of his existence, he too, sought more than what was to be his own. By his own jealousy and greed, he has brought about his undoing. However, it is for your own atrocities that you must suffer. And suffer you will, as you will be cast into a barren wasteland, devoid of my Spark’s healing illumination, deep within the hidden realm of the Nod, where you will remain, for all time to come. Allow me to make clear what this means for you. A sentence served in darkness will render your impure Spark, weakened and useless for anything more than the most cursory of maigeworks. As the centuries pass, your dark flame will continue to dim, and finally, cease to be. It may take an eternity, but eternity will see that all things cease.”
“Noooo!” Crom raged, “You cannot do this! I am a God! I am Crom Cruach!” He beat his chest, “My Spark is written in the Foretelling Stones to be the greatest of all Shadow legends! Athair, do something! You must not allow this to befall upon your only son!”
Dhragmor bowed his head in pious silence.
Crom sneered down at him, “You brought me into being only to fail me as an Athair. You are weak, and you will suffer my wrath, alongside your sistars and bráthairs, and your piteous excuse for a God. I swear this oath upon my life’s blood that boils beneath my skin and seal it by the Shadow Spark, you yourself bestowed upon me, as I gestated beneath the crust of this hideous excuse for a womb that He has named the Mάthair.” His eyes lit from within by the horrible glow of the ebony flame that blazed within him. He spat upon the ground at his Athair’s feet. Dhragmor stepped back as the ground sizzled and burned before catching alight.
With but a look, the Sovereign extinguished the flame, then with the slightest twitch of his hand, Crom’s words were silenced, and his lips, sealed. His Halfling eyes became wide with anger and filled with the promise of retaliation as he clawed at his mouth to remove the God’s maigery.
“You are an aberration Crom; spawned by the will of my first born due little more than petty jealousy. Your Spark glows with an ebony flame that devours all the goodness that is light. You are the very opposite of nature itself. This cannot be allowed to continue. Your crimes of rape, torture, and murder are of the most heinous of acts that this, my design, has ever been made to bear. In consequence, I and your halfling sistar, Oria, who you also sought to rape and take from her the very Spark of her existence, are the only beings within this vast time and space continuum, who possess the knowledge and location of the nine gates that will steel you away within the walls of your doom. For the charge of bringing your army, The Hague, into existence and reining them down upon my Humankinde, each gate will own a unique key, without which, will never open. Each of these keys will be scattered amongst nine of the Eleven Branches/Realms of the Spark.”
The Sovereign allowed a sigh, weighted by the wisdom of ages, to escape before he spoke, “There are those amongst you, who would think these drastic measures.” He looked down upon his beloved Godlings; the childelings of His design that were born of His own image, each owning special attributes he bestowed upon them so that they may aid him to watch o’re the Mάthair and his Humankinde. His heart was heavy, for he knew their thoughts and their Sparks. They were so young; merely thousands of years old.
Two of the eleven heads sank lower.
“In response, I put to you this question. Who amongst you would suffer that which my Humankinde and our fellow Spark kinde have been made to suffer at the hands of this abomination against me? Our laws, carved into scripture long ago, dictate that we, as higher beings, must care for and keep safe the origin of the Spark, the Earth Mάthair and all her kindes, be they with Spark, or without. However, this does not mean, that we as the Eldars, or our offspring,” he perused Crom’s snarling form, “are immune from accountability. As beings of light, we must be governed by a higher court, held to a greater rule, and live by the laws scribed into our very Sparks by the Fates of Ages. I command it.”
There was nought but silence.
“There are also those amongst you who believe that Crom’s dark flame should be extinguished forever. That the punishment I have designed does not suit his crimes. There are many amongst the tribes of the remaining kindes who still look to us for protection from the Shadowrealm, and would beg that we should eliminate all darkness from the surface of our beloved Mάthair. Whilst I might agree, you know, as well as I, through the teaching stones, handed down to us by the very Fates themselves, that to eliminate all darkness would render the Earth Máthair null and void, for Light cannot exist without the Shadows. And that, my Godlings, is where evil resides.”
Another long sigh stirred the winds and ruffled Oria’s hair as she appeared next to him, and took his hand for support as he voiced his regret, “I must admit, I have been naive in matters of athairhood, and what childelings, left to their own devices, could get up to. I have myself to blame, for it was I, who left Dhragmor in charge as Eldest Godling, without council, whilst I tend to the needs of my newling design to insure its survival.”
“Why then Athair,” Dhragmor stepped forward, “if you blame yourself, must I be punished? You said yourself that it was you who left me to rule without council. Why would you punish your Prince? Your first born? Is it to cover up for your own failings as Sovereign? You recount my so called crimes, what of my sibling’s crimes? Do what you must Athair! Get on with this farce of punishment and dispense your wrath! Be done with this recount of history! It will change nothing!” Dhragmor bellowed as his face turned ruddy in his ire.
Oria Stepped forward with a charging Spark bolt in her hand, “How dare you speak to Athair in such a manner!”
In answer, Dhragmor summoned his own bolt that sparked erratically due his anger.
“That will be quite enough!” The Sovereign raised his right hand to quiet Oria as at the same time He brought up his left and squeezed his palm into a fist shattering the bolt in his son’s hand while simultaneously causing the ground beneath Dhragmor’s feet to crack and rumble with His impatience.
Piously, Oria extinguished her bolt and lowered her head, ashamed that she had allowed her bráthair to provoke her.
Shadows of disapproval filled the Sovereign’s face as he thundered, “By the Fates who made me, you tax my patience Dhragmor! You will listen as I recount your misdeeds because, as your Athair, it is my due to rant!” His temper grew to match His Godling’s cheek, “Mayhaps you should try listening for once in your youngling life instead of strutting about like some swaggering foptoff, so sure of your own worth! You might just learn the err of your ways sometime this Millennia! Now stay your place and remain quiet!”
The ground roiled, pushing up under the Godling’s feet to topple him forward as if something living was stating its opinion.
“It seems, the Mάthair is in agreement,” The piercing light that flashed within the God’s eyes was a warning that Dhragmor knew all too well. He stepped back as he was commanded, thoroughly stripped of his dignity and firmly put in his place.
“I may not have left you council, but I did ask that Oria watch over you and your siblings.” He looked down the line of his Godlings. “I bequeathed to her my silver horn, so that if need arose, she could but sound it, and I would come. But your pride,” he singled out Dhragmor and Anuoka, “always seems to come just before you fall, does it not my childelings? So enraged were you both, that your sistar would dare spy upon you, that you snatched from her the horn with the aid of your unwitting siblings, and imprisoned her in order to prevent her from thwarting your plans to design and create, no greater a folly, than Crom himself. Though I could not, at the time, understand why, it was his dark origins that sent me racing against time itself for nearly 100 years to balance what took Me an age to design. I bent the very havens to save species after species that began to perish seemingly without cause. Why my Godling son? Why would you hate me so much, that you and your Halfling would then summon forth The Hague to destroy my Humankinde? The darkness they sowed in their wake threw the Mάthair into an unimaginable chaos as they reap, from all those who possess the Spark, the very source of their life and maigery. All this devastation was for nought but to appease your indignation that I would dare gift your sistar that which you felt was your due?”
The Sovereign sat upon his throne and did not speak for so long his Godlings wondered if he ever would, “In our haste to restore equilibrium and set right the Mάthair upon her true axis we wrought the Fellowship/Circle of the Spark, our newling soldiers of the Light to match the strength of the Shadowkinde. The only way to destroy such darkness now, is to destroy that light. Could I, as God, tear asunder all you designed to fight back and conquer the Hague? Do those beings not deserve to continue for their service to my Humankinde? To us? If there is one amongst you who has the Spark, to eradicate our recent follies and all those who stood beside you in the battle to balance shadow and light, I say to you, step forth and deliver their fate.” Three heads looked up hopeful, “Before you do, my childelings, let you not forget, t’was your own bráthair and sistar, Dhragmor and Anuoka, who in their haste and greed, created this halfling. Is it not they who should suffer the first strike? Perhaps, one of you would sling the blade that would take from them their Spark to restore balance.” He pointed at the three hopefuls.
The three heads of his eleven Godlings bowed once more with shame.
“What of poor Arawn?” His youngest son bowed his head, “What punishment could you deliver that would make amends for the devastation his Otherworld suffered? The Hague wiped out an entire race and all but two of his Micklefaye kinde? Could the tearing away of Crom’s Spark compensate for the suffrage of so many? Oh my dear childelings, you are still babes who have much to learn, and your rash thoughts have no place here. Do you think it a simple charge to stand before you knowing what should be done, but not daring to do so, as not to become that which we abhor? Revenge is not the answer. Steps must be taken to secure Crom’s Shadowflame, not just for the ruination he has brought,” He turned to Crom, “but to prevent any future havoc you intended to reap upon mine beloved Humankinde and the Mάthair Earth.”
Crom still could not speak, but the loathing that seethed through his eyes told all.
“As a boon to my youngest son, for your crimes against him, I have granted that Arawn may impart to you his Seeing well. When you wish to peer within, it will reveal to you life’s continuing evolution whilst still remaining safe from your ill intentions. This will be your only possession, other than the clothes upon your back, and your only link to the outworld.”
“Crom, do you have anything to say on your behalf before I carry out your sentence? This is your final opportunity to express your remorse in what you have done.” The Sovereign waved his hand to allow Crom to answer.
Crom’s face distorted with hatred as he spoke, “I will see that your Humankinde and your precious Godlings suffer for this Sovereign!” Then he broke ranks and turned to look at Dhragmor and his halfling sistars and brathairs, “And you! You my Athair who brought me into being and spewed me upon this world to do your bidding so that you may win power over your God, I wonder what end did you see for me? Did you think yourself a God who would lord over this,” he beat the centre of his chest with his fist, “this Godless creature standing before you? There is not one of you who is worthy of being my God, for I am a God! Did you spare a moment of thought, oh witless one, that your son might become more powerful that you, and one day, see to your doom?”
Dhragmor stepped back awestruck as the ebony flame from within his son ignited and flashed behind his eyes, catching them alight with a strange black glow just before his entire body became consumed. The other Godlings staggered as they felt the light being drained from their Spark. Before Dhrag could act, weakened himself, Crom shifted and was suddenly embracing his youngest sistar, Ashkara, from behind. Never before had he witnessed his Halfling son exude such power.
The Sovereign kept his arm to his side whilst letting his Spark pulse down his arm and into his hand, but Crom caught the movement from the corner of his eye, “Don’t even think about it old one,” Crom’s laugh was tainted with warning, “She would have even less time to live than I was prepared to give her.”
Crom manoeuvred himself and Ashkara to a more desirable position of defence, “Are you proud Athair? Did you not know I could summon my dark flame?” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were mere childeling’s play, “It’s just a little something I learned during the course of your teachings. I stumbled upon it quite by accident, when I slaked my lust with one of Arawn’s sweetling faiys.”
“You bastard!” Arawn tried to stand, but barely had the strength to speak, “You forced your filthy darkness upon one of my faiys?”
Crom closed his eyes and his face filled with pleasure as he relived the experience, “Oh the power that rushed in as the light left her eyes, as I took from her, her innocence. It was all quite intoxicating I can assure you. That I, a mere halfling, could deplete my foes as long as my powers were peak and the Sovereign’s Light illuminate the day.”
He held Ashkara closer, more tightly to him and breathed deep the radiance of her eternal light, “Her Spark is pure and will feed me for nigh on a century. Sadly, I do not have time to take her innocence, though the very thought brings me near to spasm.” Crom looked up at the impotent God beneath his heavy brow and said, “I take from your daughter of love, that which you were about to take from me, oh Sovereign.”
The Sovereign could not act, for he knew the Halfling would only choose another of his childeling once he had used Ashkara. The pain struck Him deeply as He made the decision that she must forfeit her light.
And then is was that Crom growled and reached into Ashkara through the middle of her back. She arched back screaming her pain. His eyes rolled back into his head as his Shadowflame consumed all that she was. When he had used her completely, he let her limp form slip from his fingers onto the ground, a hollow sparkless shell. The Halfling’s insidious laughter sent a wicked chill through the Godlings as they watched in horror, too weak and powerless to aid their sistar.
Without warning, darkness fell upon the landscape of their home, the Máthair shook beneath their feet, the clouds boiled in the sky and the winds whipped about them. A shaft of light came forth from the Havens and cast itself upon the Sovereign. His eyes became consumed by the white fiery light of the Fates. The Godlings gasped and shielded their eyes for they knew, though they had only heard about it through tales recounted many times by their Athair, that this was the very fire that brought Him into being.
The hand of their Athair gathered energy from the fiery shaft of light coursing through his Godly form and turned it upon Crom, encasing him in a column of dead space severing his ability to feast further upon his Godling’s collective illumination.
Oria felt the release and ran to her sistar, as did her bráthairs Dom and Arawn. She knelt beside her and cradled her limp form to her bosom. She knew it was too late, for the inner light that illuminates each of their Sparks had left her, leaving her an empty shell. Tears flowed freely as she rocked her, instinctively chanting the mourning words to send her loving essence upon the winds, “Oh my sweet sistar. I send thee on your way. May the light of the Sovereign and the Fates of Ages guide and protect you.” She continued as her bráthairs each placed a hand upon her shoulders to lend their Spark if she found need.
The Sovereign spoke with a voice that thundered with the vengeance of a grieving Athair and the contempt of a virtuous God, “All I am tells me to smite your foul Spark here and now! How do I find mercy where there can be no mercy? You have ripped away my Godling of Love and have tipped the scales of balance, once more bleeding strife upon my Humankinde!”
Then he pointed to his Eldest son, “And you Dhragmor! You have failed me thrice! First by your lies and coercion of your siblings to aid you in the designing of your bastard Halfling, then by imprisoning your own sistar, and now, by your ignorance! How could you not know that your Halfling’s tainted Spark had become so powerful?”
The eldest Godling could not speak due the wide-eyed shock of his son’s revelation. He threw his arms up to protect his face from the blistering heat of his Athair’s anger.
“My patience has come to its end! Be gone with you Crom and n’er return!” With a final wave of The Sovereign’s hand, the Halfling felt a lightness about his body as he began to shift and his feet left the ground.
He screeched, “NOOOOOOOO!” and clawed at the air as his body was ripped by unseen forces from this, the talamh go bhfuil; the ‘land that is’.
And as his screams dropped to merely an echo in his own ears, he found himself falling, then striking the ground with bone crushing force, well and truly forsaken to the Nod, that which he had heard the Humankinde name - the talamh sin cuireadh nár; the ‘land that never was’.
He himself had thought it nought but fable. He was wrong, and now he was alone, with only the darkness and his dwindling Shadowflame to keep him company.
And it shall be said, that for nearly one thousand of the Humankinde’s years, Crom’s screams of pain and agony, as he was torn from this world, were heard to echo within the mysts of Cloch a bhile, the sacred Silver Orchard nestled upon the western isle, Nematona, of the Otherworld, where the Godlings and the Sovereign made their home.
“Thanks be to you my Athairs,” The Sovereign whispered to the Fates of Ages who were the very Havens themselves, “for your assistance. I am, as I have always been, your obedient son, and I am eternally grateful.”
The searing white light left him, and all returned as it was.
He turned his sites upon his Eldest Son, “Dhragmor step forward.”
The Godling obediently stepped forward.
“You—my first born son--Prince of the Godlings—are hereby stripped, from this day forward, of your powers for your crimes against me and my Humankinde, until a time of my choosing. For your unlawful design of the hideous evil that is Crom, for the inclusion of your sistar Anuoka and your siblings in your devious plans to gain Spark in an effort to overthrow my throne, and for the harm you cast upon my wife, the Earth Mάthair, and all her inhabitants, you are hereby sentenced to the Netherworld to spend some, quality time, with your brάthair Dom. You will be imprisoned there for no less than one thousand of my Humankinde's years. During your confinement, you will feel time passing, and will suffer a death for each life you have laid to ruin. You will learn the human emotions - of humility, regret, acceptance, and forgiveness. Above all, you will learn to respect Me, my laws, and all races, especially My Humankinde.”
“Your will be done Athair,” Dom said with a bow of his head. He turned and placed his hand upon Dhragmor’s shoulder, “Come brάthair, let us bond.” and the look in his eye revealed to Dhragmor that he was muchly in favour of the Sovereign’s design.
“Nae Athair, pleeeaaassseee . . . Forrgggivvvveee . . . !” The Godling screamed as he reached out for the salvation of his Athair’s mercy.
But none was at hand. The Sovereign gave the final nod . . .
And they were gone.
“Anuoka, step forward.”
Anuoka obeyed.
“Anuoka—my first born daughter—Matron of the Godlings—it is with an Athair’s regret that I hereby strip from you your powers, from this day forward, for your crimes against me until a time of my choosing. For your conspiracy with Dhragmor in the creation of our greatest evil thus far; for using the gifts, I bestowed upon you at the moment of your birthing to lure your siblings into the sacred Circle of Life, holding them against their will so that Dhragmor could ill-use their collective Sparks to bring Crom into existence; and for your heinous acts of harm forced upon Arawn’s kinde’lings and my Wife, your Earth Mάthair; you will spend no less than one thousand of my Humankind's years upon the Otherworld where you will atone for your heresy by your servitude to your Bráthair, Arawn, and his kinde’lings. You will also feel time’s weight as it passes and you will die many a Humankinde’s death. You will learn kindeship, familial loyalty, humility, and the right of all others to make their own choices without your interference. And Above all, as with your Bráthair, you will learn to respect Me, our laws, and all races, especially My Humankinde. Do you have anything to say daughter before you to begin your sentence?”
Anuoka shook her head and bowed. She made no effort to speak, nor scream, nor beg her Athair’s mercy, for she knew there would be none offered.
Arawn placed his hand upon his sistar’s shoulder. There was no animosity in his eyes, no promise of retribution, only pity, as he spoke, “Your will be done Athair.”
The Sovereign nodded, and they too, were gone.
Oria gently lowered her sistar’s head to the ground and rose to meet her Athair. Her voice was soft and whispered as a sweet zephyr in the Sovereign’s ears, “What of Ashkara Athair? Can you bring her back to us?”
A tear traced down his weathered face as he replied, “No sweetling, I can restore her body, but that which made her who she was, Crom has consumed and is gone forever. She would have no memory of the being she was.”
“Oh My Athair. That which made Ashkara who she was is You. You made her the loving free spirit that filled our lives with joy. She can be again.”
“As always daughter, I am undone by the wisdom of someone so young. It shall be done.” The God walked to Ashkara’s lifeless form and knelt beside her. Ever so gently, he moved a tendril of her golden brown hair from her face. It was time to design anew and the prospect of bringing such goodness back to his design made him giddy as a newling Athair. He cupped his hand and within it grew a radiant sphere of light that burst with the promise of life and as it found its rightful place the Sovereign spoke the words of Light and Ashkara was reborn.
Bewildered, she sat up and looked about. She smiled up at her Athair, and then to her sistar. She was indeed pure innocence and hope, “Who am I?”
The Sovereign gave her a tender look and then a wink as he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, “That my childeling, I will leave to your sistar Oria to explain.”
Then the Sovereign summoned his remaining Godlings to gather round them to meet their sistar a second time. She stood, and each gave her a hug and welcomed her back into the fold.
"My childelings, this has been a sorrowful day, and one I do not wish to repeat.” The God began, “Though Ashkara’s birthing is a joyous occasion, we must insure that Crom never escapes his prison. In my hand I hold nine amulets. I ask that each of you choose one to safeguard. You must never be parted from this amulet for each contains a spirit’objet, or spirit-shard of one key. T’is the only guiding force to the artefact. If the key is disturbed, your amulet will glow as does the Spark within you. Should the need ever arise; all you must do is speak the words inscribed upon each amulet and it will lead you to its resting place so that you may defend it. The keys must never come into contact with each other.”
The God bid each of his childelings to gather around the dais where the amulets rested. The Nine Godlings formed a circle and looked down upon the amulets as they began to glow; then they rose whilst spinning and twirling in mid air. He spoke the Joining words and when he was finished, each amulet chose its owner.
Three Humankinde days later . . .
“Do you have need of me Athair? I feel your angst.” Oria said softly as she appeared just behind Him.
“I did not realize, as I designed the Netherworld, that it t’would be for mine own son. But to ignore Dhragmor’s crimes would be to tear asunder the very fabric upon which my designs were created.”
“Oh Athair,” Oria knelt by his side at his feet and looked into the wealth of wisdom that was her Sovereign, “you had no choice but to banish him. Both of them. Was it not he, of his own free will, who designed our most darkest of evils and brought that abomination into being? Was it not my sistar who added him due her misplaced loyalty and twisted love far him? In your mercy, you did as any Athair would do, you punished them. I do not wish to see you now, punish yourself for their wrongdoings.”
The God looked upon his daughter with an Athairs love.
She continued, “Did you not design this world, your last, to shine above all your others, knowing that freewill must be the only constant? Let no otherkinde, nor Godling, put asunder all you have design and created with your very Spark Athair. That is the decree. Is it not? What you did was just. It does not make you a merciless God. Do you remember when you created the Netherworld and my Brάthair, Dom Honran? That also, was a dark moment far you. You lamented because you created a world of punishment, before ever having created your Humankinde.”
“Yes, I remember that dark day. But Dom has proved himself a wise and just Godling. You are right my daughter.” He took her hand and held it to his Godly chest. “As your Athair, I have been blessed with your bountiful wisdom and the beauty of your eternal Spark.”
He kissed her hand then He looked closer into her eyes and saw that something was worrying her, “Speak Daughter. There can be no secrets between us. We share a special bond, above all my other childelings.”
Oria hesitated. She did not want to ruin the tender moment between them, but she knew she must, “It is foretold Athair. You know of what I speak. You knew before I ever had the foretelling dream.”
He Sovereign nodded his head, “Nothing is forever Daughter.”
Oria stood up before him, “Then we must act now Athair!” She pleaded.
The Sovereign held his hand up to gently quell her keenness, “No, not yet childeling, there is still time. However—I would ask that you do something for me Oria.”
“All you must do is ask Athair.” Her eyes brightened at the prospect of helping her Athair.
“I need you to design the final two keys. Only two others, those who you would trust with your own Spark, may know the location and design of each. They must not be known to me.”
Oria was stunned by her Athair’s request, “But Athair, did you not already design the nine keys?” She looked down upon her own putting her hand over it. “They have chosen their owners already. Before — you said —.”
He shook his head, "Two of the keys I forged are false. An unfortunate ruse, but a necessary one I assure you. I am not as trusting as I once was. Here I am, passing judgment upon those who do not obey my laws, and I dodder upon the edge of disobedience myself.”
He laughed, and the song that was His laughter warmed Oria’s Spark, for she knew He allowed himself very few moments of mirth. As its sweet sound faded, the glint in His eyes dulled, and the look upon His face became drawn and forlorn, “I know the Sparks of my childelings better than they do themselves. I also know that there are those of the kindes who stir with the notion that my punishments where Dhrag and Anu are concerned were too harsh. They do not even know it themselves, but they will think to disobey. Eventually. There is darkness in all I have designed, even you my sweetling.” He stroked Oria’s cheek, then clenched his hands together in his lap as a tear slid down his cheek. “There must be, to balance what I weigh; and it breaks my heart each time that darkness stirs.”
“Oh Athair, let me help —.”
“Not yet.”
“But Fathair, I—,” Oria started to say.
The Sovereign shook his head and his voice rose slightly to impress upon her the seriousness of his wishes, “Please Oria, you must heed my words!”
Oria bit her lip, for her Athair had never raised his voice to her before.
The God sighed, “Forgive me Oria, but you must have patience dearling. All will fall as it should. For now we must make certain we are prepared to protect the kindes from this newling force your bráthair has created; this Shadowflame the Halfling carries within. It cannot be allowed spread and put into ruin all we have wrought. The only way to answer it’s coming, and it is coming, is by combining our Sparks and standing united. As you know, I have but one law by which I am bound, placed upon me by my makers; I must never meddle in matters of freewill, so in this, I am bound by The Fates of the Ages, and am not permitted to interfere. To do so, would undo all that is. Those who you choose to aid you, must not include your siblings.”
Oria nodded her acceptance.
The Sovereign looked to the havens above, “Oh my Athairs, what have you done? Why have you placed such a tide upon me, binding my hands so that I can do nothing to stop it?”
Oria stood beside her Athair and stroked his hair to sooth him.
“An Athair should not have favourites amongst his childelings, but you are mine. I place you upon a dais most high and I now make you my General to protect that which we hold sacred where I cannot.”
Oria heard the hidden meaning in her Athair’s words resonate through her Spark. She took his weathered face between her hands and touched her forehead to his, weaving the thought mind to mind, so that he may know she understood, “Your wisdom is great my Sovereign,” she then put her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “and by your will Athair, it shall be done. This I promise,” and then kissed his cheek.
The Sovereign’s Spark swelled with pride for his daughter. He placed his hand upon hers for but a moment, before she walked away into the myst.
You may not be able to dabble in such matters as the freewill of your beloved Humankinde and your Godlings, but I can Athair. Oh yes, and by my will, and my will alone, it shall be done, for I am not bound by that law of your makers. I will design for you a defender of the Spark. A defender who’s Destiny shall lead us to a victory that is the goodness of Light. I will summon all who carry the Spark within and we shall rebuild and strengthen our Fellowship of the Spark. Our glorious Army of Light. I will design the two final keys for you my Sovereign.
She walked away from her Athair with a newling determination. He needed her; and she would see to it that his design did would not fail. She swore the silent oath and sealed it with the solemn gesture of the Fates over her Spark.
She had much work to do.
And suddenly, she felt alone.
Utterly so.