MY EPIC BOOK

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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

GATHER NOW

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

ECHO

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

MITHAR

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

SONG

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

FORGET

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

LESSER

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

MOUTHPIECE

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

THE TRUTH

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

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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.”

. . . . . . . . . . .

MY Story: INTRODUCTION

____________

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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THE STRANGE JOURNEY

Since his wife died his world was utterly undone. Nothing was the same for Sulimeth. The fisherman of eighty-three years gave up fishing and seldom even boarded his boat except as a place to slumber. The old man’s strength was spent as he watched his four grown sons lay their mother in the ground. Three weeks after Nunessah’s passing he abandoned his seacraft and took up residence in a small stone hut, with a leaking thatched roof. The house was far inland from the shore, away from sad memories and loss. The one-room hovel was no home without Nunessah in his life. His dog, her dog lay on her grave and refused to yield to Sulimeth’s pleading. Dog and master both were heartbroken, changed by what their world had become, a lonely place without his love and dearest friend.

One night before a cold plate of beans Sulimeth cried aloud, “Evishkah! Evishkah! Oh, Goddess of the cold Night Shade, this life has become too much to bear, guide me to your realm and ease my suffering for I am nothing without my Beloved. Oh, Lady of Sorrow what meaning is there for a man without his mate? Frail is this mortal existence – all is but a vein illusion of smoke without purpose. To do it all over again, I would but do anything to have her back in my embrace.”

Upon the heels of that prayer, a knock came at the shack’s battered door. Opening it Sulimeth saw a hunched man, hooded, and shrouded in a dark cloak blacker than midnight. Though the day was nearing dusk its light was not yet gone. The shadowy figure before him brought the suddenness of winter’s cold. The fisherman asked, “What is it you need old man?”

The reply came above a whisper, “At the behest of my Mistress am I to lead you to her. Come.” With that, the eerie figure turned aside quickly retreating to the road before the stone hut.

Perplexed by his speed, Sulimeth closed the door behind him, then turning back to the road found the old man had gone further ahead of him. The fisherman ran to catch up with the stranger as he topped a hill heading for the cliff village of Slavath. “Who is your Mistress, old man?” But his new companion remained silent as the last light of day faded, leaving only the sliver of a crested moon to guide their steps.

Up ahead the two strangers spied the nearing haunted woods of Kinderval with the Blue Mountain range looming behind it. Pointing, the shadowed figure announced, “She lies there, deep within her cave beyond the forest road, and there shall your answers be forthcoming,” then the cold figure added, “I am Cirvron her Messenger, he that brings her children before her feet.”

Sulimeth did not speak the many questions that arose within his pounding chest but continued beside his new companion, nonetheless. An hour passed as the chill of deep winter followed the fisherman, but knew it was only midsummer’s day after. “Before her, the Gate Keeper awaits your three answers for your coming. Be warned and be truthful without hesitation.”

“I – shall,” came Sulimeth’s slow reply.

“Before Kudgroth’s Gate, you must battle the zealous Beast who shall challenge your cause. The creature must be defeated by the living before the journey of the Dead is met.”

“Am I dead, Cirvron,” Sulimeth’s voice cracked.

“Nay, you are very much counted among the living. Indeed! The entirety of this venture is most strange even to the Neitherlings below. Come, remember this saying: Alone as a seeker in humility I come.”

Only in that moment did the fisherman catch the faintest glimpse of his companion’s face. “I see on your face that same comforting smile of my own, long-dead father, but how is that possible,” Sulimeth asked?

“You only see that which appeases your fear. Now, be at ease until the Zealton is fully formed before you.” The moon slid behind whisps of clouds, covering the stranger once again in shadows.

The gnarled olive trees and knotted oaks stretched far overhead as the road turned eastward. Beneath those jutting branches the moon’s resumed light shone elsewhere, but not for those two travelers who entered the midnight of Kinderval.

Soon they came to a break among the thick tree line on their right where a wide space between two, towering white elm trees stood. Sulimeth boldly took that entrance into the great forest. The woodland path was marked with pebbled, white river stones whose way soon became lost beneath a carpet of withered foliage and an endless entangling of roots underfoot.

His hooded guide said, “From here, oh son of Man, you go alone to face your fear and speak your truth. For alone is this way that all men must take who enter the realm the Dead.” Then Cirvron vanished among the surrounding shadows of the trees.

With his companion’s absence, the strange warmth of summer came over the fisherman who suddenly heard the sounds of tree frogs, owls, and crickets of the night. An odd peace came over the wanderer. Still, Sulimeth went forward. Seeing a thin branch lay across his path, he picked it up, using it as a staff to steady his way through the dark trunks. Infrequently patches of moonlight beamed in from overhead and to his surprise, even the stars dared to glitter above.

Many long hours passed without any change to his surroundings, and then Sulimeth smelt an overwhelming stench filling the air. The woodlands grew quieter and darker. It was then his clear pathway abruptly ended with two great olive trees. They stood like black, gnarled sentries whose emptiness between them was a silent void.

From out of their twisted bark’s shadowy nothingness fear took shape in the growing form of a hideous nightmare. The monestrous blending of various creatures, smoke and shadows, fierce looming eyes, and far-reaching limbs ending in clutching claws. The Beast roared, unlike any living thing! A shrilling screech caused all the nesting fouls to flee the forest canopy.

Sulimeth stood his ground, “My cause is just even amid this sinful world. You are nothing to me and my way leads well beyond you. Stand aside!”

But the shadow took form and tossed the frail man aside instead. A weathered Fisherman of great age he might have been, but Sulimeth fought like a warrior in his youth! Beating and thrusting, pounding, and swinging against the dissipating smoke, which unyieldingly reformed and resumed its attack against him. Again, and again the man took brutality’s blow. With each clawing hit the man’s clothes were shredded. Again and again, he was beaten until his bleeding body stood naked. Then, standing one last time Sulimeth saw the massive creature lying upon the ground. Unmoving and defeated, the thing began to seep away into the ground like water on the desert floor until nothing remained of the creature in that moonlight.

Just beyond the gnarled gateway a troll-inspired; disfigured thing stepped out of the night’s gateway. Its red ember-like eyes blazed through the man before him, “Speak, creature, of the living – who are you with, why and for what cause hast thou cometh? I am Kudgroth, and none enter without my leave before my Mistress!”

Recalling the words of his guide, Sulimeth answered all three at once, “Alone as a seeker in humility I come.”

The goblin, half his size stared at the man for a long time, then sighed with grave disappointment, “It passes too easily from this life to the next, oh man with no purpose -- follow me.” The tiny figure turned back into the pitch void. Sulimeth followed. With staff in hand, the other followed what he perceived to be the curved walls of a cave. The tunnel was only measured by his steps which soon fell silent, “Come, do not falter now.” Came the echoed voice of Kudgroth far ahead of where Sulimeth could not tell. Still, he went on, tirelessly it seemed. The walls of the cave felt like a dirt pit, jutting rocks and jagged cut roots against the man’s searching touch. Numbness turned to unfeeling as the rough became a smoothed paved way, and what seemed like endless days later the walls grew wider and wider apart to where footfalls were all Sulimeth knew. If his steps slowed or stopped the only voice he heard was far in the distance like a faint whisper, “Come now, none that.”

On and on, without rest or sleep, without food or drink for all desire and sensation left Sulimeth. For his footfalls were all he knew and the urging to go on. So, he did. All he had in his thoughts was his past existence for nothing lay ahead, for him all had ended. “Come, do not falter now – she is here.”

Sulimeth’s reaching fingers felt the rough cave wall once again, and now even the roof overhead came down and brushed his head.

On and on he went as sensation came to his naked skin as he began to crouch beneath the narrowing tunnel that soon had him crawling on his belly with only outstretched arms to aid him to claw his way forward. Ever so slightly the narrow passage gave way to the faintest of a flickering light ahead of him. Sulimeth felt himself scratching his way out of his collapsed grave. Suddenly before him were two clean, unshod feet.

His nails scratched and clawed their way out of the earth. Sulimeth burrowed his way out of the side of an earthen wall, out into the expanse of an endless, underground cavern. Several arm lengths away from him there stood the beautiful figure of a nude woman. He quickly averted his eyes from hers, which were inspecting his nakedness, covered with caked-on dirt. Though Sulimeth had fully tunneled his way out of the wall he had not the courage to stand before the woman who towered over him, "Rise Sulimeth for you have come all this way for some cause, speak it now."

After the old fisherman, by trade stood up, he instantly covered himself with both hands, which the woman's smirk found amusing, "Just another filthy, naked creature whose rotting corps comes before me. It wants to beg forgiveness, or beseech its way into bargaining out of some misunderstanding."

Finding courage the frail man stood boldly with, "Nay, Vishkah, Caretaker of the Dead. In all my guilt I would deserve whatever eternity you would have for me, yet I am not yet dead and my course may be changed. My only barter request is to be a substitution for one newly come, my wife Nunessah by name." With his pronunciation it was then that his wife appeared, standing beside and behind the Goddess.

Suddenly the beautiful flesh of the naked Vishkah had become a horrid mass of half-rotting and half-scorched meat, she roared with a burst of fierce laughter that echoed throughout the cavernous hall. "There is always that one person who thinks they are more deserving than all the rest! Brief mortals who believe the lie that only they will never die, that it is always someone else's story. So you think you can switch fates with another? Eru gave you over to me."

"I am not dead and yet I stand before you as such, let it instead be my fate instead of hers, let me but embrace her once again, and then let fall whatever comes afterward. Make me your thrall, only release her."

The Goddess resumed her fair form but was now clothed in a gown of black. Her upturned eyes gazed sideward as if she were listening to an unheard voice, then to the small man before her, "So be it."

Sulimeth jerked himself upright, from the dining table, startled by an infant's crying from another room. Running to the bedroom he saw his wife sitting in bed half-beneath the covers, breastfeeding their first newborn son.

Bursting into tears Sulimeth raced over to her, collapsing beside the mother and child. He was weeping profusely. After a frightened moment of trying to console her husband, she asked, "I and the baby are alright, husband. Tell me true, whatever is the matter that has you so torn in this manner?"

Looking up at her with tears of great joy, Sulimeth began caressing the baby's forehead, "No longer am I a desperate old man dying without you, and pleading for the Keeper of the Underworld to exchange our fates, but I have returned to this very moment in time to relive a better life. Know beyond all knowing that I do truly love you, and here is all that matters!"

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STORY: Arastat Meets Shay (The First Prophet-Priest)

 

Arastat meets Shay ................................................... Arastat was a Healer from the city of Lindol and his skills were so renowned that he was requested by many throughout the realm of Eriduah. He trained and learned from the likes of Evasun from the river town Elosh. It was from Elosh that he had returned, very exhausted from his long trip on foot. Relaxing in his upstairs bedroom, looking out his window down onto the shoreline beach he was suddenly startled wide awake! On the stretch of sand, he saw a woman dressed in a sheer gown walk out into the thrashing waves all alone. The outgoing tides pulled her under its currents. Arastat jumped to his feet watching in horror. He barely heard the shouting voice of what must have been her calling husband running over a grassy dune. Rushing downstairs and running to the shoreline, Arastat was overwhelmed to see the man carrying out of the frigid waters the limp body of his drowned wife. Arastat arrived as the man collapsed weeping over his loss. Desperately trying everything he could think of to do, the exhausted Healer became distraught. Suddenly the two men looked up watching the overcast night skies roll away as a haloed, full moon was lost among an ocean of innumerable stars that scattered across the velvet black. Ararstat looked the crying man in the eyes and slowly whispered, “I am so sorry, she is gone.” Unable to render aid, Arastat could only watch as the man struggled to his feet with the woman’s limp form in his arms. The silent husband said nothing to the stranger as he left behind him at the water’s edge. When he was gone from sight, Arastat rose to his own feet and stood looking at the now calm water, even as the skies were covered in rolling clouds. He said aloud, “Fickel is the water god Ulmo, and bizarre are his unknown ways.” “Yes. Strange also is the unfolding plans of Eru Himself,” came a voice directly behind Arastat. Startled that he was not alone as he thought, Arastat turned with, “What; where did you come from?” A strange, older bearded man, with one eye looking around, and a half missing ear, said, “I was here, watching you wanting to help that woman come back to life.” Arastat was confused, “She - she was dead before I even arrived.” The stranger corrected him, “She was dead even before she entered the waters,” the odd man’s eye was looking around. “She was,” Arastat was bewildered by such a comment? The stranger explained, “Only a few days ago she lost her only son in childbirth.” “Who are you anyway and how do you know such things?” “Arastat I am Shay, and Eru told me,” the man’s eye was looking up at the haloed moon overhead. “Ah - so - God talks back to you?” Arastat was not interested in religion at the moment. “Do you,” Shay answered with a question of his own? “Well, of - course I do, does not everyone in a crisis? But Eru has never talked back, seems he is like that.” Arastat smirked at such a concept. The stranger persisted, “Are you sure you are talking to Him? Eru has much to say.” Shy’s lone, wandering eye now stared directly back at both of Arastat’s own. “What an odd thing to say,” Arastat sounded indignant. “There were no wild waves when the two left, now were there?” Shay’s look almost demanded an answer in return. “Do people really believe in all the old gods anyway,” Arastast retorted as a turned aside to leave his company? But Shay drew him back with, “They believe in whom they speak with, those same people who expect answers in return.” Then he added when Arastat turned to face him again, “You are a Healer, so where do you think that gift came from? It was not just training and hard work.” “Well - .” Shay cut him off, “Which is what I thought.” “There! You did it again. How do you know such things, like I am a Healer? If your Eru and you talk, and He knows everything why did He not save that woman’s life,” Arastat’s words bit back? “As I said before, ‘she was dead before she even entered the water’, Arastat, Eru knows all things.” The Healer shook his head, “Interesting how the conversations always turn to His favor, too bad it was not in that husband’s favor,” Arastat said, dismissing the last vestiges of any faith in the old gods he may have had remaining. Again he shook his head, turning to leave. But upon a new question, Arastat saw he was alone on the moon-lit stretch of shoreline. ……………….