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THE WITCHES OF PAGANDOM
THE PEOPLE OF THE CLIFF
. . . . .
The range of Blue Mountains ended before the Bay of Luhun, with a single peak whose face had fallen away long ago. The sheer, cliffside was peppered with caves. Those grottos had always been inhabited for as long as recounted memory; places of refuge for those seeking shelter or seclusion from others.
With the western migrations, that followed the Great War to end all wars, even the empty Gray Harbor had been transformed into a thriving city of Men; led by a Remnant of Fair Folk. When those Fair Rulers increased their control over the realm of Eriduah some men found they could no longer follow such righteous leaders and so were cast aside as Apostates.
One such Apostate was a liar called Salamone. Through whispered rumors and secret signs weak-minded ones sought him out in the forest of Norwood. Such ones accepted that wicked sorcerer’s wayward teachings. For, by means of magical enchantments, and twisted tales would he deceive those dissidents after their loss of faith. Having lost their way, they soon added to their guilt with vile practices not condoned by the true Mitharian Sons of God. Thusly were they denounced as Witches, and apostates they gathered in caves. The people of those cliff caves thereafter refused the guidance of the Anointed Remnant and ever strove to unravel their doctrines with cunning words and slanderous lies themselves.
………………………………
A group of people, who had never met one another before, all found themselves traveling in the same direction along the eastern road. They were strangers who had temporarily set aside their families and responsibilities in search of understanding the greater mysteries in life. They had come from various places throughout the realm of Eriduah, suddenly finding themselves among other strangers dressed as them, wearing simple sandals, and hooded white robes. They all appeared without rank, distinction, or high status, and as equals. To any who may have witnessed the trope pass along, they would have appeared as quiet pilgrims heading for an unknown retreat. Following their initial greeting, each had learned the group was indeed heading for the same destination, the Dim-bar way, after which they remained silent, unnamed seekers even among themselves for the duration of their long journey east.
None of them carried food provisions or walking sticks, but a single white pebble etched with their own name. These tightly held stones were to be a token offered at their journey’s end, for it was a marker that they had indeed fulfilled their sacred task; a once in a lifetime goal, finally achieved.
In that last month of spring, before the summer would reign hot over the land, those twenty-one strangers found themselves rounding the final leg of their journey as the Triple Mount now stood behind them. One at a time, without command they each curiously looked back and gazed high upon the cliffs, at the only entrance into the Last Dwarven Kingdom of Jebul. Before them lay the Gulf of Dim-bar and the mouth of the Blue River. Standing on its banks they turned northward to the left and in time soon came to a sturdy, solid bridge by which to cross over into the ancient Forest of Norwood, and once there, enter the Paharuth-Eru, The Holy Meeting Place of The One.
After three days of fasting without nourishment or sleep, those white-clad devotees found themselves at long last crossing the lonely bridge beneath the cool shade of Norwood’s canopy. A brief stretch from the bridge’s landing those silent, weary travelers saw that two long tables had been prepared for them in advance. One table was adorned with simple flatbread, and either roasted boar or deer. A space apart the other table was well stocked with exactly twenty-one clay goblets and pitchers of water and wine. Seated on the ground, in between both of those tables was an old man whose back was to the new arrivals. He was dressed as one of them. Upon hearing their footfalls leaving the bridge he happily called aloud, “Hail and welcome! You may freely partake of the provided feast and be refreshed.” Then, hearing they had begun to eagerly accept his invitation, the old man continued, “Come, this side, and gather about these spiraling of stones, when all stand ready, we shall begin.” One by one they did as he instructed and soon all had encircled the old man’s encampment. He gestured for them to be seated on the ground as he was.
It was then, when they had begun to enjoy their meal, the host began speaking. “Several years ago, in my youth, many of our people traveled this way as pilgrims, and we greatly rejoiced to have even made it this far. For on this very spot, we gathered as a multitude, and where a most profound event occurred. We had gathered to rest, and then in seeing the need, it was we who built the only bridge that crosses the Blue River, that very one that led you here before me. The following day just before breaking camp, a stranger came among our host. He was a most frail looking, man but spoke bold words even unto our leader.
“He charged us to be true to ourselves, even more astonishing he called us to be single-minded in our allegiance to The One alone! In was in that very moment as he spoke, even a stone’s throw from the Great Sea before us an octopus came ashore, walked on its many legs and did sit upon the stranger’s foot, and began to speak, repeating stranger’s very words. Then from over our newly made bridge a thorned lizard came and sat upon the man’s other foot, and it too spoke aloud admonishing words the man and octopus had only uttered moments before!
“If those deeds were not the most astounding enough to witness, there suddenly came the crushing sound on a roaring wind with the beating of a thousand cicada wings that took flight from the forest’s canopy and they too did light upon the three, from head to foot. The insects covered both man and creatures and began to shrill as with a single echoing voice, saying, ‘Be faithful and true unto yourselves and more so even unto me for I am Eru, THE HOLY ONE, the originator of songs who sang all beings and things into existence!’ It was then that the octopus, lizard, and even the stranger himself -- vanished from sight. For the swarming host of cicadas dissipated in all directions like a wind-driven smoke from a fireless pit!” Instantly the shouting old man sprung to his feet startling all the seated devotees gathered about him on the ground.
The last of them had finished eating even as the old man had completed his story. Then motioning for them to join him on their feet the old man said, “I am Salamone, and am the last of those who remained behind of that departing multitude, and I have outlived them all who did stay behind”, then acknowledging that they had had no plates to bother with the old man added, “You may leave your empty cups on the ground before your feet.”
After they had done so, Salamone smiled, “I vividly recall the miracle that stranger displayed that evening. For that was ninety-six years ago on this very day, when Middle Earth witnessed something that had never been seen before nor even uttered during the long lives of Dwarves, Elves, or Men. This I share with you in truth, The One, Eru had never been manifested in flesh nor even on that night, but His VOICE alone! Neither was it of man or beast. For the VOICE was something utterly unworldly, and divine that was accomplished in the sight of us all and shared with you as truth.” The silent crowd was spellbound before the old man.
Salamone then said, “From the very moment when each of you accompanied one another on the road, you were being initiated into this very moment before you now. For henceforth none of you shall deny or ever forget what is about to occur. Each of you brought a stone, but now it is no longer yours! Look and see! For now, your very name has been erased as you are now in the presence of ERU! Behold the sigil of The One.”
Looking down at the rocks they had brought with them each person let out an astonished gasp of disbelief. The old man’s words were true. Their names had disappeared from the white stones and had been replaced with the black-etched outline of an eye symbol.
After they had done so, Salamone smiled, “I vividly recall the miracle that stranger displayed that evening. For that was ninety-six years ago on this very day, when Middle Earth witnessed something that had never been seen before nor even uttered during the long lives of Dwarves, Elves, or Men. This I share with you in truth, The One, Eru had never been manifested in flesh nor even on that night, but His VOICE alone! Neither was it of man or beast. For the VOICE was something utterly unworldly, and divine that was accomplished in the sight of us all and shared with you as truth.” The silent crowd was spellbound before the old man.
Salamone then said, “From the very moment when each of you accompanied one another on the road, you were being initiated into this very moment before you now. For henceforth none of you shall deny or ever forget what is about to occur. Each of you brought a stone, but now it is no longer yours! Look and see! For now, your very name has been erased as you are now in the presence of ERU! Behold the sigil of The One.”
Looking down at the rocks they had brought with them each person let out an astonished gasp of disbelief. The old man’s words were true. Their names had disappeared from the white stones and had been replaced with the black-etched outline of an eye symbol.
Only then did a young man break the crowd’s silence, and asked, “Master Salamone you indeed have all our collective attention. What is to happen next and where are we to go from here?”
A long pause passed as the old man walked in front of them, looking each one directly in their eyes, “With every twenty-fifth stone that is placed upon the ground a miracle has happened, for as that person stands upon them all as upon a stage they vanish before our eyes, never to be seen again. Or might I say, had never returned here to share their unknown, experiences.” Silence followed.
A woman who was third from the end asked, “Master, is that the reason why some of the stones have been painted red?”
“Most observant my dear, that is the very reason, and as we can all see, six stones from it leaves you as the chosen one among us with the twenty-fifth stone,” he said this, looking at the questioning woman.
“May I decline and be replaced by another?”
His smile faded, “If you so desire, another may –”
“I shall take her place, Master.” Salamone, nodded to a young man at the head of the line, and they switched places. Then, one by one the devotees laid their river stones next in line continuing the spiral upon the ground. One at a time they stood in the middle of the Spiral pathway. When nothing happened, they resumed their place in line. Then as the young man who had switched his place in line stepped up, he was instantly, no longer there! Everyone gasped aloud! The last two in line placed theirs and again as before, nothing happened.
With those remaining believers staring wide-eyed at the old man, he said, “Last night before you crossed the bridge, these red-capped mushrooms sprung up. In carefully taking them up and making a tincture of tea each one of you in turn will be offered a sip. You may all decline, or you may all accept, or maybe only a few shall brave a taste from this poisoned cup. But for those of you who do partake, you shall witness where that one has gone.”
It was then the same woman who had refused before asked, “Have you ever drank of your own tea?”
He smiled, “Cerintha of Kathos, to be honest, my dear, I have only tasted that from my dipped finger.” She was astonished he called her by name.
“Do you know us all by name and place, Master Salamone?”
“I do indeed, Sal’vinose of Mithar, once a Priest in the Third Order.”
An older man asked, “Sir, what about those who drank what had been offered them, what did they see?”
He answered with, ”I have seen what many have shared, but only those who drank did so of their own free will and have shared as they may of their own experience.”
Again, the older man asked, “What kind of stories did they tell?”
Salamone smiled, ”Only they may share if they so wish, in the most limiting of words to express the inexpressible things beheld in that unseen realm.”
A young man spoke up, ”I am Drewmel, son of Dothmel of Slavath. I made my first pilgrimage here seven years ago. I saw a lush field and hummingbird while I was – there, and it spoke to me, saying that he was made a Scribe for the Mistress of that Gazebo; she was a bearer of a God Stone.”
One asked, “Who is she?”
Then another asked, ”What is a God Stone?”
“What else did you see, Drewmel,” This time it was Salamone himself who asked?
“I was standing there,” he pointed to the spiraling of pebbles on the ground before everyone, “and then I was standing there, in the midst of four, huge Standing Stones near the Oasis of Orid, but for some time in-between here and there I was in the lush field speaking to the bird of the gazebo.”
Cerintha said, “There are no standing stones near the Oasis, for I have been there many times to trade with the Bedouins of Orid.”
“Do not ask me how I know, but only that I do; four years from now the first of the great standing pillars shall appear to the wonder and speculation of the entire realm.”
With that Master Salamone added, “As I said before, none of you will be unchanged by this experience, and in answer to your previous question, these are the God stones, and this is their power: to know without knowing how.” All the while he had been collecting and preparing the mushrooms from a small fire that had only now begun to show its light as evening was drawing near. It was then Salamone had completed his tea made from the mushrooms, and slowly walked in front of that gathering a second time and offered a single goblet for them to partake of their own.
A woman who was third from the end asked, “Master, is that the reason why some of the stones have been painted red?”
“Most observant my dear, that is the very reason, and as we can all see, six stones from it leaves you as the chosen one among us with the twenty-fifth stone,” he said this, looking at the questioning woman.
“May I decline and be replaced by another?”
His smile faded, “If you so desire, another may –”
“I shall take her place, Master.” Salamone, nodded to a young man at the head of the line, and they switched places. Then, one by one the devotees laid their river stones next in line continuing the spiral upon the ground. One at a time they stood in the middle of the Spiral pathway. When nothing happened, they resumed their place in line. Then as the young man who had switched his place in line stepped up, he was instantly, no longer there! Everyone gasped aloud! The last two in line placed theirs and again as before, nothing happened.
With those remaining believers staring wide-eyed at the old man, he said, “Last night before you crossed the bridge, these red-capped mushrooms sprung up. In carefully taking them up and making a tincture of tea each one of you in turn will be offered a sip. You may all decline, or you may all accept, or maybe only a few shall brave a taste from this poisoned cup. But for those of you who do partake, you shall witness where that one has gone.”
It was then the same woman who had refused before asked, “Have you ever drank of your own tea?”
He smiled, “Cerintha of Kathos, to be honest, my dear, I have only tasted that from my dipped finger.” She was astonished he called her by name.
“Do you know us all by name and place, Master Salamone?”
“I do indeed, Sal’vinose of Mithar, once a Priest in the Third Order.”
An older man asked, “Sir, what about those who drank what had been offered them, what did they see?”
He answered with, ”I have seen what many have shared, but only those who drank did so of their own free will and have shared as they may of their own experience.”
Again, the older man asked, “What kind of stories did they tell?”
Salamone smiled, ”Only they may share if they so wish, in the most limiting of words to express the inexpressible things beheld in that unseen realm.”
A young man spoke up, ”I am Drewmel, son of Dothmel of Slavath. I made my first pilgrimage here seven years ago. I saw a lush field and hummingbird while I was – there, and it spoke to me, saying that he was made a Scribe for the Mistress of that Gazebo; she was a bearer of a God Stone.”
One asked, “Who is she?”
Then another asked, ”What is a God Stone?”
“What else did you see, Drewmel,” This time it was Salamone himself who asked?
“I was standing there,” he pointed to the spiraling of pebbles on the ground before everyone, “and then I was standing there, in the midst of four, huge Standing Stones near the Oasis of Orid, but for some time in-between here and there I was in the lush field speaking to the bird of the gazebo.”
Cerintha said, “There are no standing stones near the Oasis, for I have been there many times to trade with the Bedouins of Orid.”
“Do not ask me how I know, but only that I do; four years from now the first of the great standing pillars shall appear to the wonder and speculation of the entire realm.”
With that Master Salamone added, “As I said before, none of you will be unchanged by this experience, and in answer to your previous question, these are the God stones, and this is their power: to know without knowing how.” All the while he had been collecting and preparing the mushrooms from a small fire that had only now begun to show its light as evening was drawing near. It was then Salamone had completed his tea made from the mushrooms, and slowly walked in front of that gathering a second time and offered a single goblet for them to partake of their own.
Three refused to rest drink from the cup. To those who refused the old man said, “You may watch from behind the tables where you first entered, and you who have tasted from the cup may now be seated once again.” When all had complied, their host stood in the middle of the spiraling pebbles and raised both of his hands skyward, “Eru Illuvatar! Grand God, you who are alone worthy of praise for whom even the Vala stand in awe, allow us briefly to know your presence for ourselves.” With that, the old man vanished from their sight!
One of the three, a Valinsor by name, ran in fright over the bridge and never looked back. The two others beyond the tables stayed and watched as their companions lay flat upon the ground, even as some had begun to shake uncontrollably as in a fit of fever. Long into the night, they watched even until dawn. Only at its breaking did their fits and fevers subsided. Some awoke and began speaking in hushed whispers with one another, as others sat up tearfully embracing. They all had expressions of joy on their face as the old man suddenly reappeared.
The two near the tables, Tanran and Filasbar, (both of Kathos), who had not drunk of the cup also ran off in search of Valinsor, who had run off before them.
When all had regained themselves, and shared their experiences, Salamone admonished the gathering to never share with outsiders, “For in truth only now do you begin to understand the origin of Witches! Indeed, they began from here, like the Mitharian Apostates, you too have begun to think and see things for yourselves. The Order of that Brotherhood condemns such independent thinking.
“Behold! Eru is beyond man’s simple comprehension even as the Vala themselves are but splintering manifestations of his thoughts, and they are far from understanding the totality of The One!” With many such things did he teach and share with them and they with him. A few weeks later, after they returned home, many found themselves unable to return to the teachings of Varlendur’s Tower cult; for with their many questions, they found themselves cast out and shunned by the very ones who confessed to love them eternally. A year later, another returning group shared that Salamone had been slain, apparently soon after they left, with no one claiming responsibility.
. . .
DOCTRINES and STANDARDS
The Wise Words of Silas
The Quill of Eru
(Blessed Be His Name).
THE ORDER OF THE BROTHERHOOD
of the
Mitharian Sons of God
LISTEN
I
What appeared as confused and bitter revenge misplaced and easily rebuffed was instead the very hand of Eru Illuvatar in his full, unseen power! For he wiped aside what could have been a formidable force, utterly laying to waste his sleeping children. Awake! Arise! Oh, you slumbering daughters of Men to the unseen hand of Eru, and unheard by ears the song blaring within your hearts calling you to heed him. Just as the One-Eru has appointed your King, to be as a ship’s rudder, and lead his people to glory; so too has He anointed His High Priest like the wind-filled sail to guide and encourage the bereft and weary to great heights. Heed that call you children of Lindol in the north and you of Mithlond in the south, do not go astray either. Hear the second chores meant for the hearts of men alone! For elves of Middle-Earth have fled for their Undying Lands to serve their lesser gods, the Vala. But now is the Age of Man come now is the call of Eru, He that Creator of the Vala themselves, there is none greater than Illuvatar!
--Silas, The Quill of Eru
II
There is a secret flame, most imperishable and ignited only from the essence of Eru Himself, not devised nor understood even by the heavenly host of Vala. Animating the heart of Men by His Creator, Illuvatar - The One and Always! For only Eru can unquench that which he alone forged of Himself! Circumstances of sorrow or bliss are like the fleeting moments of dew’s happiness. Yet is there a true joy, well-grounded in Eru alone, that which no man can ever steal away, even if allowed ever so briefly in torment shall Eru’s Light, well up inside as strength unforeseen in the depth of utter darkness. Be of good cheer and despair not you frail-minded daughters of Men. For indeed you are Remembered - Mithar! Follow and gather together as one you Remembered People - Mithar of Eru. You are chosen from among the middle land of Eriduah to rejoice in the truth, now awaken in your time. COME! Embrace the deeper things yet to be unfolded of a more accurate knowledge He reveals to His obedient - Sons of God!
--Silas, The Quill of Eru
III
In the vast agelessness before even time itself there alone was Eru, The One and Always! Eru-Illuvatar alone. He sang, and from that immense song, did manifest the Vala, they who were the very aspects of his person. The Vala sang that which they were and back unto Eru, of their echo they, in turn, manifested Arda’s world and its entirety. The first children of Arda were the elves who later abandoned their treasured place in Arda, and then the second-born came into their own. Instead of revering the Vala they rightfully worshiped Eru alone, Gifter of the Flame of truth. The Men of Mithar are the Keepers of Eru’s truth.
Eru, Vala and Arda; The All. Yet in the last days upon the world following the Great Departure do Men now begin their days in the Fourth Age of Arda. We are the Remembered - Mithar, of Eru. Of this grand Song you have heard before in the eldest of Scrolls long kept by your fathers and those elders of even the Elves but did not understand, come and gather at Mithar, and the truth there shall be unsheathed and taught to your aching hearts, Oh daughters of Men!
--Silas, The Quill of Eru
IV
In the fourth age of the coming of Men, new chores of Eru’s song manifested true joy awakened in the hearts of his children. To them, who were brave enough in courage to heed its call deep within Eru gifted them the right to be called The Sons of God! Oh, listen you wayward one of Eriduah to this new understanding of the most ancient, discarded scrolls left dusty in Lindol’s stone vault. Even as a babe matures, so too is the understanding of a child into Manhood and is awakened from his slumbering thoughts of selfishness and grief’s sorrow. Arise you called to be Chosen unto a new truth that you indeed matter in the wide world of things; for the King leads his people to victory, the High Priest encourages the weary and Eru emboldens His own! Gather unto the city of Mithlond, that gray haven renamed Mithar! For the Remembered are awake in Eru!
-Silas, The Quill of Eru
WATER
V
The Mithar, The Remembered by Eru, you who follow His calling in the depths of your heart’s true Flame. Eru blessed the Mithar, His remembered, and out of all the wandering lost of Eriduah’s wilderness He did gather them unto Himself. Yet, mixed in among the Chosen, do the Lost remain like weeds in a wondrous garden needing to be plucked and removed! Unto you, Mitharians, who gather in that house once called Mithlond, be not ashamed to share the light within you. Though even unfolding even as the light gets brighter and brighter from daybreak to high noon’s gather market, so is the progression of His Word! So too, the more a plant takes in treasured water shall it grow in the dawn’s warmth. Gather unto the Tower of Strong Friends; for at Varlendur shall the Sons of God find Eru’s truth.
-Silas, The Quill of Eru
VI
The Song of Eru was the raised voice that manifested the godly Vala, yet even they were not knowledgeable of its second theme; that which plucked the heartstrings of Man’s purpose. Men alone and their place, and the meaning of their doom escaped the understanding of the Vala. Worship not the Vala but rever Eru alone you Sons of God who resides in the city of Mithar, who within Varlendur’s strong tower find the meaning of His truth. Eru sang, and in the hearts of Men it echoed his love and purpose; those who responded became the Remembered, kept in the palm of His hand. The King's gift is victory during war, just as the Priest shares encouragement, but Eru alone restores the heart from sorrow’s depths. The Song of Eru was the calling forth of Men to hear His voice and awaken to their purpose in heeding His call unto the Order for instruction and guidance is a Light unto one’s feet in the dark of night. Blessed be the Tower of Eru!
-Silas, The Quill of Eru
VII
Hear now! You who gather at the base of Varlendur, you who enter that Sacred Tower to worship Eru, The One and Always; because He touched your cold hearts with love and purpose! The Word of Eru, unto the gathered in the realm of Eriduah, has chosen weak to be the Sons of God, birthed from the foolish daughters of Men. For that indeed is what the blind and deaf and unknowing chat about, behind your backs in their circles, about you who gather at Mithar.
Yet, you who alone learn the Secret Tongue of Sinquinto shall fully understand the purpose of Eru’s Second theme, that which was even unknown to the Vala. Come and learn, you wayward fellows in your camel tents and desert ways, do grow beyond your misgivings and Pagan ways of Haradrim’s Eastlands. Eru alone is who called you from those war-torn lands to feast and partake of His spiritual food. Seek out the city of Mithar and its sacred Tower Varlendur!
--Silas, The Quill of Eru
VIII
Eru Illuvatar, Creator of the Vala, and all they sang into being; even that Dark One who distorted their work for his own jealous motives, were still aspects of The One’s purpose, unknown to all others. Eru’s thoughts were not known to the various aspects of Eru’s manifested thoughts. Likewise, is the truth of that message revealed to Men, for men are slow creatures in understanding His unfolding expression.
Those of the Pagan Nasilian people have traditions of worshiping the created rather than the Creator Himself. The Nasil are no different than the Lindolians in that respect of revering their created idols of the Vala so eagerly sold in the markets for coin and motives. Those immigrants beyond the walls of Mithar, gathered in their Slavathian tents they do worship the creatures of obscurity, such as the octopus, horned toad, and Cicada; for they believe the three voice the word of Eru. Eru does not manifest Himself, yet only the Mithar Anointed discloses His truth to Men today!
--Silas, The Quill of Eru
IX
Wrong is wrong and shall it be denounced ever in more detail by the Anointed of Eru! For, The One has a place among the frail Men of Eriduah His mouthpiece to speak the truth of understanding against the incorrect teachings of those who are misled, namely those who worship the Vala or created things.
For the naked form of a woman, cast in solid gold and called upon to summon the Goddess Yevalanna - is an affront abomination to Eru! Yevalanna is not a created idol and she refutes worship back to The One, to whom even she bows. Likewise, the Nasil should have a corrected view of The One and Always instead of superstition and the manipulated agendas of Men. Only the Mitharians may hold the truth which they alone are the mouthpiece of Eru unto the world!
--Silas, The Quill of Eru
X
The truth is this, Eru declares to His people, and they unto the world even unto Eriduah: Uruk, Sinjar even unto Ipstha and Kathos! The voice of Er has been made known by The Anointed Mithar - The Remembered of The One! His Chosen elite shall teach to the eager, as students willing to grow in their learning. Accepting the truth like spiritual food in due season. Some fruits do not arise out of season but for a brief time, likewise, is truth progressively given over to the accepting of growth as children and their understanding. For Men do not fully understand the mind of Eru; yet, only shall His Chosen dispense in the right time. Come! Oh, you daughters of Men, come and fulfill your thirst for accurate knowledge in due season. In the Tower of Strong Friends, Varlendur is that symbol before Men like a shaft of light burning through storm clouds to offer a way out of the darkness. The truth of Eru’s Mitharians is free and eagerly offered to the weary willing to be a slave to The One!
--Silas, The Quill of Eru
........................................................................
The Book of Tales: "The Forgivers"
"My Lord King, the people still await the arrival of the Kubael," his counselor whispered in return.
Näahdaw heard the escalation in Vendumar's tone.
"Kubael - is a Forgiver, sire," Näahdaw's voice was low and calm. He continued, "Lord, you must not forget that these Bedouins have given up much in their compliance to your crown. Yet are they staunch in their unmoving belief in this unwavering custom."
Vendumar remained perplexed, "Pray, and what custom is this that I must now be made to submit to?"
"Sire, your wife, our Queen is and was first and foremost a Nasilian, and a 'Cicadite most faithful'." A stern smile came over the Counselor's face, "You saw both the gold and copper coins placed over her Ladyship's eyes? They are for more than closing them; they are paying for services rendered by the Kubael. The flatbread dripped with three drops of the Queen's blood, that was placed atop her bosom was to absorb her -- sin, Sire. For all eternity she will be forgotten and annihilated to be unremembered. Yet, it is the voluntary task of the Kubael to accept the fate of being unremembered and eternally banished, until summoned for this task of forgiving the Queen's sin."
"A sin-eater? What is this superstitious rubbish, in our time and age," Vendumar blurted aloud!
"One that in time my lord you may devise a way out of, but as for today without his services the people are content in themselves to allow your wife to rot where she now lays," this Näahdaw did not whisper as all eyes fell on the King in validation.
Vendumar's sigh and slumping shoulders showed his resignation to allow the ceremony to continue.
The murmuring and mourning sobs all fell silent as the rear of the crowds began parting a pathway to the raised dais of the Queen Nalawë. A stranger had entered into their midst. He was dressed, from head to bare feet, all in black; his robe's high, oversized hood was draped back. The man's face was half concealed by the masking of the hood's removal. Only his darkened outlined eyes were seen. The figure's face, slicked-back hair, hands, and bare feet were caked in a cracking white paint. The Kubael smelt unbathed and looked like Death personified.
The strange figure approached the Queen's body and slowly removed the coins with both hands, slipping them soundlessly into previously unnoticed outer pockets. Then, taking the flatbread, he tore it in half and ate it until fully consumed, then turned back and left as eerily as he had entered. A breath later all the sounds of whaling cries continued as before.
Vendumar looked utterly spent emotionally, a changed figure from that moment onward.
........................................................................................
THE LONG HIKE
One of the most feared creatures of the ancient world was the red dragon. Nearly forgotten tales have them from the northern ice lands; yet, older rumors say their origins lay in the Far East. They were monstrous creatures. Enormous, beast-like lizards sworn to have had wings brutish enough to stir up a hurricane! Even their angry voices could bellow forth fires that devasted the whole countryside for miles around. Many other witnesses recounted that such demons would use their whipping tails to slay vast armies with ease.
The last of those fabled worms have long ago been lost, only to be relegated to the campfire pastime or children's bedtime stories. Truth or imagination; all that has survived of dragons today are the fanciful things that spawned wonderment for eager listeners. Among them was the adventure of Moran the Mitharian.
He was a young man from the Bay city of Mithar who had wandered east, deep in thought of all his troubles. Aimlessly he happened to find himself on the outer edges of the haunted woods called Kinderval. In truth, Moran had not desired to meander so far from home but rather had intended to venture to the Gardens beyond Mithar's wall. Even so, he allowed his thoughts and feet to follow a dry streambed, that soon trickled into a watery creek. The quiet stream grew into a wide river watering the forest around him. His heavy thoughts seem lifted with the sweet smell of lavender near a clearing. The clearing slopped down into a secluded bank when the young man sat, leaning his back against the raised mound. Dragonflies skimmed the water's edge. Sitting there Moran took in the view of the leaning willows and calm river's slow-drift. His thoughts begged as to why the woods were called haunted. So calm and serene were his surroundings the boy almost fell asleep. With his worries gone, he felt it was time to return to the bustle of the real world. Suddenly a loud crunching noise startled him to his feet. Moran whirled looking about.
His eyes searched between the many tree trunks and the lush bed of the fern they grew from; trying hard to discern the sound which broke the woodland silence. Moran cautiously stepped about the mound. Standing on the other side of the velvet hillock the sound came even louder. He tried to identify what it was. This time, it was like the crackling of floating embers above a campfire. But there was no smoke or dying fireplace to be seen. Again the chipping sound came to the wander's ear. Then, a few steps on his left in a dirt cleft lay a huge bluish-tinted egg. It moved with earnestness to free whatever inside had begun to shed scales from its shell.
For a long, while he watched the Saphire egg trimmer and the creature inside struggled to hatch. When a huge yellow eye stopped its roving and caught sight of the stranger staring back through the pecked-out opening, the egg shimmered and stopped all its efforts. Fearful of what might come next the boy could only stare back at the unmoving oval. Finally, the young man gathered the courage to risk a shaking hand. Reaching out, he gasped at the touch. It had become a cold, solid thing. The dragon-hatchling, which had only moments before so desperately strove to release itself, had suddenly turned into stone!
Moran had discovered the last Dragon's egg. This was the very one, which many years afterward would be the rare treasure for a King's demanded ransom, but that tale remains for another to share.
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THE PREACHER GALADAIRUS
THE PREACHER GALADAIRUS
In the unwalled tent village of Slavath there was a Nasilian man named Galadairus who lived off of the kindness of people’s giving. He would bury their dead and take upon himself their sin in exchange for food. Galadairus was only known by the people at such trying times of great sorrow; for he remained the forgotten thin man, who sat on the road that led to the city. When the Sin-eating Preacher spoke he was always respectfully listened to by passerby’s who gathered crowds to heed his rare wisdoms.
On one such occasion there stood two men in a loud, heated argument over the new policies of the Mitharian King. For it was in those days when Lord Nuthcorlan had demanded stricter taxes levied upon the realm of Eriduah. Galadairus spoke up, silencing the two men with, “There shall come one from the desert of Orid who will strike fear even in the stone heart of that arrogant King. All your concerns will fall at his feet, and even the crown will be made to heed the words of that Prophet. But I tell you now, he will be but the forerunner of more to follow with even stronger admonishments. Even we here are not alone in kneeling before the demands of truth and accountability. High are the standards of the Divine King we shall all kneel before one day.”
At this one of the men who had been arguing said, “Sir, how is it even possible that you come to know these things?”
“Ask instead, how is it that you do not know such things?” Then Galadairus turned aside and walked back to where he had been sitting on the roadside, looking the other way.
There came a time, again in the tent village of Slavath, when a young girl had lost her grandmother to death and asked the preacher Galadairus what had become of her in the afterlife. Being seated he began to answer the crying child, but as a crowd had begun to gather, he stood and addressed them as well. Galadairus said, “In dreams, little one, you may find both the living and the dead together. They are viewed as the same; for the dead are not seen as specters of smoke but as they were once known. For in death, we are in the realm of the Divine, and are also in all times present, known by the Divine who created the concept of time and death.
But as for the dead they know nothing beyond their life’s closing experience, and the continuance of the living is no longer their care.
Death is the single path which all Men must pass along, and the only door which is shared by all. Through it lies the Realm of the Dead. The dead know nothing beyond their life’s experience, and those whom they have left behind retain only the faintest of their shared experiences, for no one life is known to everyone but to the dead themselves alone.
Nine are the vast labyrinth levels in that realm, and eight gates there are to the only Bridge of Finality. It spans the gulf of Loss. None but the righteous only may pass, as the wicked are halted. Beyond that guarded bridge of the Dead are three doors, free-standing and only after entering are their judgements pronounced.
Through one, the wicked who elude the Guardian find themselves reentering the realm of the Dead and this memory intact. Through one door, beyond the great bridge is the free-standing door known only to he that enters; absorbed into the brilliance of the true Light! Others in that Light who were once known in life care now only to know the Light. Through one of the standing doors, the third unnumbered the dead may pass. On its other side the Bridge Guardian offers the bowl of forgetfulness upon reincarnation. Reborn back into the realm of the living at the moment of their departure with no recall of their journey, if perchance such is eluded none shall recall them and their view changed only to die again, for such is the glorious doom of men.”
Out in the audience, listening to the Preacher of Slavath was a young couple newlywed and madly in love. They embraced one another throughout Galadairus’ sermon, but the young bride became saddened by all the talk of death and separation.
Seeing the welling tears in her eyes the young husband, Marsol took his bride’s face in his hands, saying, “I will love you throughout all eternity, and never forget you.” Then with a beaming smile added, “If, perchance I am allotted to choose that third door, I will spend a lifetime in search of you.” Then taking her right hand said, “You will know without doubt it is me, by his name and this kiss.”
Now, as is the cruelty that life plays at times, three days later the young husband was thrown from his horse frightened by a crossing serpent. Minshana, his bride bitterly wept over his loss, vowing before everyone on the day of his burial never to marry again.
As the years are prone to do, one season followed the other in rapid session until Minshana came into her sixtieth year. On the very day of her only husband’s death a man sat beside her as she drew water from the Square’s main well.
“Stranger,” she asked, “would you care for a cool drink? From the looks of you dusted sandals; surly your travels have been long and difficult.”
He nodded with an endearing smile. But as the older woman reached for the pale to draw more water just for him, the man slowly took her hand and kissed it, saying, “As Galadairus is my witness, I have always loved you Minshana for it is indeed I. I chose the third door and have returned to you.”
They embraced tearfully for a long while, then crying she whispered, “I spent a lifetime loving you always without fail, Marsol knowing your search would find me.”
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MY Story: INTRODUCTION
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THRIYEL
Legacy
From the
Nephilim Age
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INTRODUCTION
This work endeavors to illustrate the causes of the biblical flood, while utilizing the vast world stage of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Legendarium and draws upon various personal experiences of having been negatively influenced by highly controlling religious groups. The era before the infamous Noahic Deluge is referred to as the Antediluvian period, globally characterized as being corrupt, and violent though no example of these adjectives are on display for the readers of the canonical text.
The events that are dramatized in my work of such behaviors were planted ages ago by two evil Dark Lords, who ravaged both the physical world and its inhabitants, and later erupted into a humanity that exploits its worst characteristics upon one another. In the wake of the Great War’s ending a remnant of the Elves, who declined the call to leave Middle Earth, become the sole self-appointed teachers of ‘the old ways’ to lesser Men. From their small community, which stayed at the Gray Havens, a cultic society quickly blossomed with ambitions of wider conquests.
Not only are the Eastern populations striving to heal from the devastations of war, but many are also venturing westward in hopes of creating better lives for themselves, only to be manipulated by a people once held in high regard for their ancient wisdom and longevity. It is from such complex threads of anthologies that a chaotic world tapestry is woven, and from which a hero emerges to stand apart, demanding truth and accountability from his peers and leadership.
Herein lies the very struggle and hope of any would-be survivor beyond the cataclysmic doom long prophesied to befall the world. Yet, it was one of the daughters-in-law of Noah, the lone descendant of that elven hero who secretly carried with her through the flood, what proved to be the only record of that wicked NEPHILIM AGE.
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