The Prolegomena
In just one place, there are countless stories; stories of travellers and settlers, of poverty and wealth, of glamour and gold, of rebellion and oppression, of loyalty and betrayal, tales of freedom and slavery, of lovers and companions, of happiness and misery, of tragedy and comedy. In Meggidoh, all that is good, bad and evil must come to an end for something higher and beyond it all. In Meggidoh, the future is the prelude to the past.
Seeking her, travellers descend their own mountains – mindful of the fact that everything that they considered serious was, once upon a time, a game. As the traveller drew closer, the violent, hot winds of the desert finally began to subside. When the dust settled into a moment of pure serenity, the traveller stood atop a scorching sand dune, lowering the hood of his cloak to clearly behold where the journey had brought him.
From afar, she effortlessly held his gaze and shaped his thoughts. Time flowed seamlessly around her; to her left, a full moon and the diamonds of starlight lit the clear waters of the bay; by the right, a Sun pierced the sea of the skies and bore down upon the desert. Beyond her lay the passionate horizon of a fiery sunset – an inferno of red gold. Behind him, the Sun was rising and the day was just beginning. So it was that they were suspended in reality and immersed in illusion.
The White Palace rested atop the colossal mountain city. To people, the city embodied power and wealth on Earth; the heavens revolved around her and hell pervaded through her. Her slumber conjured lucid dreams and vivid nightmares. Dressed in the finest silks, adorned with jewels and pearls; merchants and sailors of the world loved and loathed her. By that peculiar celestial arrangement she was at the mercy of, she always felt the four times of the day; at any one time, morning, noon, evening and night lit her four faces. Though she felt it all, it was only from the White Palace that one could feel what she feels. Only from atop the mountain could one see what she sees.
She is Meggidoh, the mountain city. She is civilisation. Meggidoh – a torrential mountain of souls. Within and around her, the future is the prelude to the past. The traveller stepped forward. He raised his hood in the peaceful desert, venturing deeper through the savage wilderness and toward her.
*
The deep, underground caverns that underlie Meggidoh are wherein the life-giving cosmic ocean is churned. As Dante was guided by the hand through the secret winding tunnels of the city toward the churning ground, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to see.
“You wanted to know why Meggidoh has the peculiar celestial arrangement it does. You wanted to know how it is possible for Meggidoh to always experiences the four times of the day. This is why and this is how.” His guide told him. In the middle of the chamber was a colossal, rotating stone pillar. Protruding from this thick, primary churning pillar were at least tens of thousands rods that a countless variety of unknown, previously unseen creatures that pulled the great pillar and churned the cosmic ocean. In that ocean, one could see suns, moons, stars and all else imaginable in the cosmos. “Before I tell you anything more, you should know that it’s exceedingly difficult to speak about specifics here. What you see, what you hear and what you feel here are uniquely determined by your own imagination and sub-conscious. The nature of the creatures, objects, mechanisms, patterns, lights, darkness, time, sensation, emotions and their interaction are entirely self-dependent. There are certain patterns experienced here that seem to be common to all people that come but let me tell you that it is, by and large, expressed differently.” Then the guide heaved a big sigh, looked around the great chamber and then turned back to a bewildered Dante, “If I’m being honest though, I’m still trying to figure out exactly how this all works. When I think I’ve figured it out, some other complication pops up and I have to make sense of that in a way that the mechanics of the world become increasingly complex… I guess that what I’m trying to say is, I really don’t know what’s going on here.”
“Never in my wildest dreams…” Dante trailed off.
“Ah yes – dreams! Now that you mention it, they definitely have something to do with this entire setup.” The guide interjected and added.
*
It was night and the song of storms played flashes of lightning whilst singing rain and thunder to the gathering. Soft candlelight illuminated the room whilst the stained-glass windowpanes allowed white lightning to periodically blind them. Raphael stood up at the long, wooden table and addressed the rest of the company, whom he had called forth for the meeting. In that room were thirty others, most of them did desire the same thing as Raphael, albeit not all for the same reasons. Amongst Raphael’s distinguishing features were healthy, blonde hair, a lean physique, a gold filigree eye-patch and a fine rapier. “Friends, most of us have gathered here because we want the same things,” he upheld a silver goblet of red wine, “The death of Domitian, the capture of the White Palace and the end of Imperial rule.” There was an overture of general agreement but pessimism did inevitably emerge.
“Raphael, you know as well as I that Domitian’s legions number well into the millions.” A battle-hardened General from the Western countries spoke, “Storming the White Palace is no trivial matter. Three tall, thick, white stonewalls surround it. The first, circular, the second, square and the third, diamond-like.” He had captured the attention of the entire company. “Strategically placed on each of these walls are many castles, each with garrisons of several hundreds of thousands. To capture the White Palace is akin to capturing the castles of all other nations all at once. Then, there is the problem of entering the White Palace itself – you must know that the Emperor’s personal, elite retinue is at least one million strong. You have all, no doubt, heard countless stories of this invincible army. Furthermore, it would be an uphill struggle. Tell me now, do any of you know of an earthly army in this world that is capable of capturing the White Palace?” Many felt dejected.
Raphael spoke defiantly, “Yes, you’re right. We do not have an army of suitable size, strength or skill.” A passionate, controlled anger emanated from his face and body, “But the fight for freedom will begin somewhere. There are people who are willing to fight with us! I guarantee you that, together, we outnumber the Imperial Armed Forces. To recruit and train these freedom fighters will be a complicated process and I do not pretend that this War will be anything less than long, protracted and bloody. Initially, to confront the Empire directly would mean sending many good people to certain death. We must, therefore, at the onset, opt for methods of unconventional warfare.”
“What is this ‘unconventional warfare’ that you speak of?” Lucia asked. Lucia was a priestess sent by the Greek Houses of Worship. Accompanying her was a Turkish priestess, Sofya.
“Guerilla warfare.” Raphael answered, “Our operations’ foundations must be covert, strategic hit-and-run jobs, careful targeting and constant harassment of the enemy from all fronts so that they find no respite, so that they are constantly vigilant and so that they exhaust themselves in a war of attrition which they cannot possibly win against our swift, ideologically-motivated guerrilla warriors.”
“Hidden warfare.” A fat man wearing round, black-tinted glasses reclined comfortably on a chair as he spoke, “Guerilla warfare was common during the era of tribal wars in my homeland. You must know, however, that there are many other methods of hidden warfare besides this, Raphael… But it is too early to discuss such things, please do continue.”
“My people will not partake in such warfare.” A strong King from the Northern countries told Raphael, “If it is only a temporary measure whilst you gather strength for a proper confrontation, then it is understandable and we will join you all for that proper confrontation.” Several other representatives from powerful and noble houses concurred.
Sierra, a lady revered as the Bandit Queen (a reverence which she owed not to lineage but which she had earned from her Bandit kin for her deeds), spoke to the gathering. “I can easily recruit several hundred who have sworn allegiance to me and who are already familiar with the skills required for guerrilla warfare.” Many in the room, however, looked at Sierra in disgust. They disliked the idea of working with violent thieves even if it was for the sake of a greater good. Raphael had anticipated this.
“Thank you for your most gracious offer, Sierra.” Raphael answered, “However, in order to be recruited into the Guerilla army, I must insist that they cease their banditry immediately.” Raphael could almost feel Sierra’s eyes pierce through the air like sharp daggers. “I know what it means for someone to give up their livelihood so I will compensate them generously for it.” By these words, the Bandit Queen was calmed.
“And you suppose these bandits-turned-mercenaries will be loyal to our cause?” The Northern King scoffed. Sierra scowled but restrained herself. Raphael had anticipated this.
“No, I do not suppose that all will be unwaveringly loyal at first but I do believe that, with time, many, if not most, will become loyal to and willing to die for what they believe in.” He gestured toward Seth and Dante, “With us here today is the legendary mercenary Seth and his young discipline. They too, have agreed to be on my payroll. However, I am well aware that only a mercenary’s skills are for sale – not their loyalty.”
“Raphael is right.” Seth said, “Loyalty is priceless.”
“Nonetheless, mercenaries will initially be necessary before we can hope to recruit the ideal warriors,” Raphael continued, “to become invincible, we must first be weak.”
“Any of my bandits will be yours for the right price, Raphael. Now, I’d like to know your plans for the first target.” Sierra said.
“Listen closely…” Raphael answered, “In a fortnight’s time, blood will flow through the Golden Street of Meggidoh.” All were astonished at his proclamation, all except Seth. At that moment though, a blinding flash of white light filled the room – this light was something infinitely more divine than the lightning storm. The candlelight was extinguished to give way for something greater. The music that the light played in their hearts had a spiritual resonance unlike that of the storm song or any other song they had ever heard, for that matter. It was from that music, the sensation of heightened awareness and the sight of a magnificently luminous figure, that all realised it was none other than God who appeared before them. So it came to be that God visited the gathering of freedom fighters. The entire company showed respect – everyone except Seth.
“Raphael,” God, in the form of an elegant, old, wise man with a long, snow white hair and beard spoke with a soundless voice, communicating through the warriors’ own thoughts, through their beating hearts, “I understand what you feel. I know your pain, I weep for you. But know this – bloodshed is not the way that I would advise. Instead, please do obtain what your heart desires by peaceful, virtuous and faithful means.” The company were stunned at this message of an all-loving, all-knowing God whose radiant smile brought even the most tumultuous life to ease. They turned to each other and then to Raphael who, with contemptuous eyes, proceeded to address the Supreme Being.
“You say that you know our pain and that you weep for us, that you understand us… And yet, with all your knowledge and power, you have remained silent until now. Silent while lovers of freedom are enslaved and slaughtered, while the beauty of life itself is butchered, disfigured and mutilated. And now, you ask us not to spill blood?”
“Raphael,” God responded, “I understand your confusion but I ask you to understand that it is not for you to comprehend the mystery of divine ways.”
“The mystery of your divine ways!” Raphael sneered and held his goblet up high, “My friends, I propose a toast to a cause that is entirely of our endeavour. I ask for neither blessings nor favours from this coward, this inhumane spectre. For that is what God is to me – a mere spectre! What is God without us? A toast to humanity, dear friends, to freedom!” Those last words were said with an intensity that warped time and space as he violently threw red wine all over the face and beard of God. This was met with gasps amongst the gathering and the stunned expression of the Supreme Being itself. “I will fight for what I believe in, in any way that feels right.” Raphael grabbed the Supreme Being’s beard, pulling him close before resentfully throwing him through the window and shattering it.
On the rooftops above, two masked figures in dark cloaks watched the commotion. The Tragedian and the Comedian watched, each wearing their respective and appropriate black and white masks. “So it came to pass,” one spoke and the other looked on, “that God was thrown out of the house of the freedom fighters, left swimming in storm songs and stained glass.”
“Undoubtedly then, the most profound tragedies are the best comedies.”
“Well this is hardly comical. It is, therefore, an appalling tragedy.”
“I’m sure we’ll find something to laugh and cry about before the end of it all.”
Back in the house, a tense darkness filled the room since neither candlelight nor divine light remained. Seth broke the silence. “You know you’re going to Hell for that, right?” Raphael unsheathed his fine rapier and held it resolutely in response.
“Rather be free in Hell than a prisoner in Heaven.”
*
“A flying vessel unlike any other!” Dante exclaimed as the Clockwork Crystal Ship sailed through the sky amidst the full glory of the red gem sunset that lit the bay of Meggidoh. “I can’t believe that I’ve never heard of the sky pirates who commandeer that marvel.” Seth felt compelled to correct Dante on account of the boy’s unknowingly doing injustice to the Captain of that ship.
“Dante, the absence of a military or merchant flag on a vessel does not mean that it is a pirate ship. The Captain of the Clockwork Crystal Ship is well known to me.” The sea was liquid gold but even the beauty of the bay paled in comparison to the magnificence of the ship. Shocked by this revelation, Dante pressed Seth for more. “The crew of the ship is no ordinary screw. They are Valkyries – beautiful, virtuous, divine, warrior-maidens. Some say they are daughters of the God of War since their prowess in combat surpasses entire legions known to mankind, their voices titillate the senses and what they speak puts the most ‘noble’ amongst this scourge that we call civilisation to shame. Since they all fly, many deem them to be angels. For an earthly warrior to encounter even one Valkyrie in a lifetime is a tremendous honour and indescribable pleasure – but you must know now that the Clockwork Crystal Ship is manned by thousands of them! They have sworn allegiance to the Captain.”
The ship was made of a transparent crystal that exposed inner workings that were powered by fine, delicately jewelled, intricately interwoven clockwork. The cogs’ sizes ranged from microscopic to gigantic proportions and Dante admired them from the bay as the Clockwork Crystal Ship sailed past the blood Sun and dispersed an array of colours and a living shadow of intricately moving clockwork through the air on the Ocean. On the decks, the Valkyries busied themselves, ensuring that everything was in place; inspecting the cogs, working with ropes and wheels, carefully calibrating the sky-faring ship’s wings as and when the Captain requested. The Captain stood pensively at the ship’s helm; he wore clear, brass goggles to protect his eyes from the wind that flowed through his black, curly hair. At any one moment, several Valkyries were waiting at his side, eager to obey him. For the Captain’s quest, the ship was never short of crew.
“And who exactly is the Captain? Why do Valkyries serve him? How did he get that ship?” Dante asked.
“Who is he?” Seth held a warm, reminiscent gaze toward the ship, “The Captain of the Clockwork Crystal Ship is the greatest lover to have ever lived – that is why the daughters of War serve him, that is why the Valkyries have pledged their eternal loyalty to him,” Dante was stunned at Seth’s proclamation and asked many more questions. “Your questions can only be answered if I tell you the story of the Clockwork Crystal Ship.”
“Then please do.” Dante looked longingly for the truth.
Seth, though aware of Dante’s interest, kept his eyes fixed on the sky-faring ship before he turned his gaze back up to the mountain.
“I will explain properly some other time. I must be elsewhere right now.” He stood walked along the beach toward the city gates. Dante silently followed, all the while turning back intermittently to watch the ship sail across and away into the sunset horizon, casting clockwork shadows across the Ocean surface. Seth wanted to tell the tale without butchering it whilst in a hurry to meet Raphael. Explaining what he understood of the Crystal Ship required careful thought and time. Addressing both Dante and himself, he spoke once more, “Think of what it means for us to be so free that we choose to be shackled.”
*
Naked in the lagoon, enveloped by the moonlight and dancing through the starlight; until he had met her, he would have never believed that a lady could make the curtains of heaven part on earth. Yet there they were, weaving a divine tapestry on earth. Sculpting reality in the form of dreams. Painting poetry on a canvas of sensation. Blurring the lines between art and life, together they were creating something higher than both.
Even that sweet promise bore by the light fragrance of the gentle wind could not distract them from each other. Gliding on water, through the ripples of time; no rehearsal here but if this were a stage, actors and audience alike would weep. On that fateful autumn night, natural familiarity was all pervading and their senses freely submitted to its warmth.
Yes, her smile, her laugh, her hair and her skin were all perfect but it was really her soul that held his. So their souls drifted in unity and if, as they say, eyes are windows to the soul, his gaze was held by the luminous spirit that shone forth from them.
The moon had never been so close to the earth as it was on that night. It sought to watch their movements closely. With envy, the stars descended and scattered across the lagoon, the silent rippling water reflected their celestial light and captured their harmony alongside the honey amber moon but nothing could avert his gaze from her eyes. Nothing could tamper with the oneness of their movement as the world was laid aside in that moment, as they made a moment higher still than perfection, when time itself stood aside and knelt before the immortality of it all, when Gods and Goddesses on high beheld their creations with awe as they surpassed even their infinite imagination, when the essence of humanity was gracefully and effortlessly held by naked, dancing lovers.
What did it mean to be living through a daydream at night? What does it mean when love, fear and time submit to something higher than life and art? Something higher was more romantic than love, more frightening than fear and more eternal than time – something higher that they had created. How was it possible for all the flawless imperfection and flawed perfection of the world to dissolve into supreme, perfect flawlessness when their eyes freely locked in that eternal, perfect moment?
Transcending the realms of heart and soul, naked in starlight and moonlight, something higher emerged, blossomed and flew freely.
*
When the Imperial Garden of the White Palace was built, it was said that it was the only place in Meggidoh where one could turn full-circle and witness all four times of the day in that one, single turn. Emperor Domitian ensured that a fine selection of exotic flowers, grand trees, sculptures and ornaments were tastefully arranged to accompany the sight. Today, he sat playing his treasured organ in a minor scale; the mystical music resonated throughout the palace grounds. It was said that the organ possessed beautiful souls within it because when certain keys were struck, an angelic choir accompanied the earthly organ song. When he finished his piece, he stood up and walked over to his two guests.
Attending to him and his two guests were two red-haired maidservants, Ella and Isla. The Emperor wore his thick, azure armour with amethyst trimmings. His distinguished guests were Private Detectives renowned for their skills in deduction; their names were Hercule and Delilah. They all sat at a large, oval, marble table. Hercule and Delilah were positioned opposite each other whilst the Emperor faced South. To the North, the Sun was rising. Behind Delilah, the backdrop was a clear night sky emboldened by a sharp crescent moon whilst her face bore the fragments of both the Southerly sunset and the afternoon Sun of the East.
“It is a real pleasure to be in such fine company.” Domitian began, “now, there are thousands of other private detectives available for commission in Meggidoh but it was each of your reputations that had a decisive influence on my invitation.”
“My Lord, it is a great honour you have bestowed upon me here today,” Hercule responded, “if I can be of any service whatsoever to your excellence, I will happily oblige.”
Domitian smiled wryly at Hercule and he briefly glanced at Delilah, who continued to listen, before proceeding with the matter at hand, “Yes, well, before I discuss the details of the investigation, I will first ask a question that I beseech you both to answer truthfully… are there rumours of rebellion in Meggidoh?” Both Hercule and Delilah’s eyes simultaneously widened.
“It is true, my Lord… but let me assure you that they are spread solely by the poorly bred! Meggidoh has never known such prosperity as it has under your rule! Thoughts of rebellion could only occur amongst savage, shameless ingrates.” Hercule answered.
“Thank you Hercule,” Domitian then turned to Delilah, “Do you have anything to add, dear lady?”
“Nothing whatsoever Emperor, it is true that there are rumours of rebellion.”
“Excellent.” Affirmation of that which he already knew served several purposes. “I wish to commission both of you for to find and identify the rebel leader. I know this much: that they are led by a figure known as ‘the White Knight’. There are countless theories about who this masked figure may be but I would like it if both of you investigate.” Hercule agreed most enthusiastically. Delilah was, however, more anxious and remained silent. Sensing this, Domitian addressed her, “What say you, Delilah?” Though Delilah was usually confident and unafraid to speak her mind, she was, understandably, rather nervous when speaking to the Emperor.
“Emperor Domitian, you repeatedly mention that the task is for both of us. Do you mean to say…?”
“The commission requires you to work together during the investigation.”
“Emperor, I am happy to work independently if it so pleases you and I mean no offense when I say this but I would rather not work with Hercule.” Hercule was astonished; he thought Delilah insolent. Domitian smiled and stood up before responding.
“I will not force you on the matter, Delilah, but if either of you are interested, you should know that it must be a joint-commission. Neither of you, considering your reputations, will be able to independently fulfil the commission’s purpose effectively.” He gazed at the clear night sky beyond Delilah, “I neither know nor do I wish to inquire as to why you are reluctant to work with Hercule. The offer still stands if you change your mind.” He dismissed Delilah and Hercule from his presence. Their departing words were polite and graceful in manner.
Domitian bade Ella and Isla serve him a goblet of spiced mead and to accompany him as he inspected his exquisite collection of flowerbeds. “You have permission to speak freely as always. Do you have any questions about what just happened?” Ella and Isla were two of three slave-girls that were gifted to the Emperor by a King from the Northern countries; after passing some time with them, the Emperor proceeded to free them from their bondage. He proclaimed to them that, as freewomen, they were free to do as they pleased in the city. At the same time, he offered them jobs as maidservants in the palace. Ella and Isla accepted the offer but the third politely declined; she chose to forge a new life for herself outside of the palace. Ella and Isla remained eternally grateful to the Emperor for his kind gesture and, with time, they came to be amongst the Emperor’s most trusted staff.
“Why do you insist on their working together, my Lord?” Ella asked.
“The White Knight guards his identity meticulously. Only a synergy of Delilah and Hercule’s characters will enable fruitful investigation.” Emperor Domitian strode over to a large flowerbed of tulips. This particular flowerbed was a dazzling spectacle and the most marvellous, unique tulips sprang forth from it. He had acquired valuable tulip bulbs sold by florists from the Rhine countries. There, he was told, they had caused a mania. Each tulip differed from common tulips in that it was multi-coloured and the colour arrangement was unique to each bulb. Some had ‘feathered’ appearances, others were like the stained glass windows of a monastery, there were flame-like streaks, patterns that resembled calligraphy and various architectural styles. Some appeared plain but, on closer inspection, had faintly speckled colours and texture so smooth that the petals must have been the paper that nature had provided to poets for their verses – the paper on which love poems and letters should be given. Streaks, flames, dots, flowing water, droplets, bars, mosaics and lightning strikes were just some of the ways and things that the patterns resembled; each one different to the other, each one blossoming freely in that perfectly organised chaos. Domitian saw two tulips entangling each other, one with fiery streaks of red, yellow and white, the other with blue, purple and black that were like flowing water. The way in which they danced together led the Emperor to believe that they were made for one another. It was, however, the black and white tulip that he prized; like a stained glass mosaic, the black and white tulip stood adamantly in a sea of dazzling, bright and brilliant colours. That proud tulip showed no contaminant shades of grey. “One is a morally upstanding individual and the other is an immoral scoundrel. Without either one, the investigation would be useless.”
“So,” Isla interjected, “whereas one has character traits that would hinder the investigation, the other will compensate for these deficiencies?”
Domitian gently smiled and knelt. He reached out to the black and white tulip, though being careful not to touch it. “Do you know what causes these variegated, uniquely coloured tulips to become what they are? Do you know what makes them abnormally beautiful and entirely different to their common, mass-cultivated peers?” He paused, as if to invite an answer though fully aware there would be none, “It is a virus. Each flower has its own unique strain of this virus. This flowerbed is diseased. Of course, these tulips are abnormal but they are, nonetheless, highly valued and pleasing to see. When a person is abnormal, when they are a unique strain of a virus, can the same be said to happen? If humanity were a flowerbed, how would it look? Think of how the infected, colourful flower would look if it were in a healthy, plain community – think of how these precious, infected flowers look amongst each other in this diseased flowerbed of mine… If people were a flowerbed of tulips, would they be diseased?” He focused on the black and white tulip.
“What if they were, Emperor?” Ella asked.
The Emperor laughed, “What do these speculations matter?” He plucked the black and white tulip from the ground, “What do speculations about humanity matter when the war games have begun?” Domitian unsheathed and swung his sword, Requiem, through the air; its large, thick, black blade had a distinctive, accentuated broad edge at its end that shone proudly in the sunlight. Domitian impaled the ground with it, narrowly missing the flowerbed.
*
Then and there, in the Supreme Court of the White Palace, the Harlot delivered her speech. In the courtroom, there were designated areas wherein the nobles from both within and beyond Meggidoh would sit and observe the proceedings. There were pre-arranged seating arrangements for countless bureaucrats, political advisors, wealthy business owners, distinguished intellectuals, artists, foreign dignitaries, Kings, Queens, Princes, Princesses, political representatives of farmers, of miners, factory workers, craft and trade guilds and independent members of various communities. Ultimately though, Domitian’s word was law. It was in the Supreme Court, with such an audience, with the Emperor’s permission, that the Harlot did speak freely.
At times, she even slandered the Emperor; when this happened, protests erupted from many of the Emperor’s devotees and some threatened to behead her. Domitian bade them to “sit down”, to contain their anger and to “let the Harlot finish speaking”. So it came to pass that a Harlot, representing the world’s oldest profession and the world’s oldest criminals, delivered her speech in the Supreme Court of the White Palace.
“A palace of innocents,” she proclaimed, “if such a thing were to exist, no doubt that all those whom we call whores must be the purest virgins. Criminalise the brothels but know that the most undignified sale of virtue and fidelity occurs here, Domitian! Can you put a price on integrity and virtue? Those politicians – your servile scum – certainly seem to think so.”
*
On the way to the rendezvous with Raphael, Seth saw a particular arena that he felt a natural longing to compete in. He definitely had time to spare before the meeting. Dante agreed to fight alongside his master in the arena. Raphael would just have to forgive him if he was slain before the appointed time. The waiting room was lavishly decorated. Impeccable cuisine was on offer to the fighters willing to risk breathing their last in the grand, gladiatorial arena.
“When it’s our turn, we’ll be escorted into the arena and introduced to the crowd whilst our opponents stand at the opposite side. Then, the announcer will tell us when to start the fight. It ends either when one of the duos are dead or when they are no longer able to fight.” Seth told Dante.
“What happens if the combatants are still alive but unable to fight?”
“Then they would be at the mercy of the spectators. All have a choice to put money toward one of two pots; one is a vote for their execution and the other a vote for their liberation. The money from both pots is gifted as bonus prize money to the victor but whether the crowd wants execution or liberation depends entirely on which pot outweighs the other.”
“How often are people liberated?”
“Not very often. The crowds usually favour execution but there are instances where a sufficiently wealthy noble decides to donate generously against popular opinion and buy the freedom of the combatant. In that case, the loser’s life is forfeited to serving the noble that spared their life.”
“What if it were the crowd who saved them?”
“That’s unlikely but, if it did happen, the resigned gladiator would be set free with no strings attached. Ultimately, however, it all depends on the victor.”
“What do you mean?”
“The victor can do as they please with their opponent’s life. They can refuse either public or private money to do whatever they feel is right.” At that moment, one of the arena ushers called Seth and Dante toward the door that led to the area. Seth sensed that Dante felt uneasy. “Relax Dante. For many, the arena is an acquired taste. I am certain that you will come to feel at home here.” The master-and-protégé duo strode through a tunnel into the light of the arena and the ecstatic roar of the crowds. Dante was astounded by the cheering reception that their entrance elicited. Thicker than the fog of war, was the air of solemnity and apathy that was Seth’s demeanour. Seth wore regal, purple-plated armour with silver-gilded edges and Dante wore black and red leather armour. Dante held a short sword and a large kite-shield whereas Seth held a broadsword and a smaller round-shield. On the other side of the arena were two lean opponents. One was armed with a curved blade – a scimitar – and the other with a bow and arrows.
“After the introductions are over, a countdown will begin. Immediately after the bell rings, I want you to run to the left and follow a curved path to our opponents. In the meantime, I’ll run straight at them. Got it?” Seth told Dante. Dante agreed.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to what promises to be a very special afternoon! The legendary mercenary, Seth, and his young protégé Dante are fighting today. No doubt many of you will be familiar with the Chronicles of Seth; in a bygone era when both God and the Devil were lovers, Seth was born unto them out of wedlock. Witness the prowess of an unmatched hero killer and unsurpassed villain slayer – a man unlike any other! Neigh, a War God in human form! And his protégé…” Dante looked up at the crowd and nearly lost his nerve as he spotted the Emperor and thousands of noblemen and dames observing from above the masses – he refocused his attention to the introductory speech when he heard mention of his opponents. “Their opponents are two slaves from the Far East. Their determination and valour has brought them to this great arena, within which only a few of their bonded brethren could even dream of setting foot. Their sponsor has informed them that this will be their liberation match – if they win, they gain the right to live freely. There you have it, ladies and gentlemen; mercenaries and slaves, the latter will be fighting for freedom and both will be fighting for their lives.” Dante would have ordinarily sympathised with his opponents’ plight were he not due to fight to the death with them. The countdown began and when it finished, the arena bell rang.
Dante followed Seth’s orders by sprinting left and following a curved path. Seth ran straight ahead, dodging the rapid arrow barrage. ‘I rarely miss shots,’ the archer worriedly thought, ‘but he evades them so easily…’ His blade-wielding partner looked on in despair as arrow after arrow failed to strike the agile mercenary. The legend darted seamlessly in various directions, turned sideways, sprinted forwards and recovered quickly from rolls in effortless elegance. Occasionally, he would allow an arrow to hit his shield. As Seth neared his prey, the slave felt fear. He felt it seep through every inch of his body, the distinct pulsation of his heavy heartbeat made him acutely aware of impending doom. On the last leg of the sprint, Seth leapt high into the air and blocked the Sun out of the slave’s view – helpless, he dropped his bow as Seth descended rapidly and forcefully upon him. Seth’s broadsword impaled him into the ground with such a firm force that any other man would have taken a few moments to withdraw the blade. Seth withdrew the blade in what seemed like seconds, perhaps even a fraction of one. Dante had nearly completed his run but stopped in when he saw Seth threaten the remaining, trembling slave.
Seth held the blade up toward the other slave. “Drop your blade.” He proclaimed. The blade-wielding slave, like his late companion, felt his heart race as he watched the War God. There were no thoughts of vengeance – only fear. Moreover, the fact that the outcome determined whether he lived in freedom or slavery now and forever more hung heavy in the air. “Drop your blade or I guarantee that you will meet the same fate as your companion.” Seth told him. He had, however, dreamt of freedom for too long. So though a superhuman now stood between him and his dreams, he was aware that it was his last chance to live a free man. He steadied himself, took a deep breath, prayed to the Gods and charged at the mercenary with all his energy. He felt himself inching closer to freedom. Anticipating this, Seth quickly turned sideways and stuck his leg out – tripping the slave up mid-charge and causing him to fall face-first. The crowd jeered. Dante retrieved his scimitar whilst Seth propped him up on his knees. “You’re at their mercy now,” he said.
“So close... I’ve always dreamt of being free. I fought so hard, I was so close…” The slave snivelled, looked up at the heavens and then back to the silent, stone-faced War God. The votes were tallied and the weight of gold was overwhelmingly in favour of execution.
“Despicable creature… Don’t worry, you will be free.” Seth scowled. He swiftly beheaded him and strode away from the miserable corpse, “You’ll just never live freely.” Dante was upset by the outcome but followed his master, nonetheless. Seth requested another fight and, once again, waited at one end of the arena with Dante.
“Alright, Seth put those slaves out of their misery with ease, but can he handle two mighty warriors from the North? Ladies and gentlemen, here is Skadi and Sigi, brutal brothers-in-arms from the Viking countries!” Two massive Viking warriors entered the arena. They were muscular men who proudly displayed arrow wounds and blade-inflicted scars across their bodies as if they were trophies. Both were bearded and had horned helmets but one wore an iron mask that covered the top-half of his face.
“Seth!” Skadi, the iron-mask-wearing Viking bellowed, “I will never forget our last encounter. You will pay for what you did to my people!” Dante looked at Seth in confusion.
“We have some history, Dante, but right now that’s not important.”
“Tonight, I’ll have your head on a platter – you filthy dog.” Skadi roared and his great axe gleamed in the mighty Sun.
“And I’ll hack your filthy pet rat to the ground.” Sigi laughed violently. Dante felt more self-conscious than alarmed by the warrior’s threat; he wondered whether his hygiene was that questionable – no one had really derided him on the basis of cleanliness before.
“The subtle pride of humility seems to elude these Vikings…” Seth said, “Regardless, it seems they’ve decided on their course of action. They’re big but they’re also slow. I’ll toy with Skadi for some time to entertain the folks. When you’re done with Sigi, I’ll finish Skadi.”
The bell rang and both duos walked to the centre of the arena. Sigi and Dante sized each other up before engaging in combat. Skadi and Seth glared at each other before Skadi swung his great axe at the mercenary. Seth gracefully evaded the swing. Skadi swung once more. Again, Seth dodged with ease. This continued for some time and Skadi began panting in frustration whilst Seth was unperturbed. “You think you’re making a fool of me but you won’t be laughing when I eat you alive you miserable little worm.” The Viking snarled. Seth, still unaffected by Skadi’s remarks, continued to employ acrobatic, evasive manoeuvres with the grace of a dance. The crowd was mesmerised. His display, however, had to come to an abrupt end. He had heard Dante scream and the sound of weapons falling to the floor. Dante had sustained a flesh wound from Sigi’s axe and was disarmed. Sigi strode over, preparing for the final, fatal strike on his helpless prey.
Seeing this, Seth quickly knocked Skadi off his feet with a sweeping kick to the calves. He sprinted to Sigi and thrust his blade through the Viking’s back and heart, thereby saving the helpless Dante. Rotten way to kill a man, Seth thought. Seth drew his blade from the fatal wound and both master and protégé watched life gradually vanish from Sigi’s eyes whilst he was laid twitching and bloody. By the time Skadi had got back up on his feet, it was too late. When he saw his dead companion, a wild rage overcame him. In that berserk fury, he charged at Seth with a pure, bloodthirsty hatred. As he neared, Seth leapt into the air and, with surgical precision, sliced open a vital shoulder muscle; Skadi immediately dropped his axe and wailed in pain, being unable to lift his right arm and continue fighting. Seth proceeded to kick Skadi in the face and to the floor. He pinned him to the ground with his foot whilst threatening to kill him. The outcome was clear. Once more, the spectators voted in favour of execution. Seth, however, hesitated for a moment. Sensing his hesitation, Skadi laughed and looked up at Seth.
“If I live, I will kill you. You know that this is the rule of honour, Seth.”
Seth pricked the Viking’s throbbing throat with his blade and looked him in the eyes. “I’d like to see you try… Scurry along now.” He sheathed his broadsword. Arena guards arrived to escort the wounded Viking away, much to the displeasure of the jeering crowd. “Weak men…” Seth spat, “Instead of cultivating real strength, they insist on trying to mask that very same weakness. If only they themselves could see their masks.” He looked back at Dante. “Do you have the energy for another before we call it a day?”
Though still a bit rattled, Dante knew that it Sigi had only inflicted a flesh wound upon him. “Sure, I can handle one more.” Seth nodded approvingly and then signalled to the announcer. Their final opponent, however, would prove to be far more interesting than those in the previous two rounds.
“This man fights against all odds,” The announcer said, “He chooses to fight solo against two at once. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome the admirable newcomer, Joshua.” It was rare for combatants to volunteer to fight more than one opponent at a time. Seth’s eyes narrowed and a smile crept across his face as he saw Joshua – a fair young man who wore black and gold attire. He sported medium-length, dark red hair and wielded two steel swords, one held over the shoulder and another touching the ground. The announcer asked Joshua if he still wished to fight, given that he now knew his opponents. Traditionally, in matches where one volunteers to fight more than one other, they have the option of backing out when they see their opponents. Most would, understandably, have done just that in these circumstances. Joshua held one sword in his mouth by the hilt and flipped a brass coin high up into the air. He observed the result and pocketed the coin, proceeding to point a sword at Seth. The people cheered for this brave, faithful, enigmatic warrior.
“Did he just toss a coin to decide whether to fight or not?” Dante asked.
“It would seem that way.” Seth responded, “I’m intrigued; I would like for this fight to be my own, Dante.” He strode toward Joshua whilst Dante stepped back.
“It’s an honour to finally meet you, Seth.” Joshua said, “Though you must know that, today, the world will see that even War Gods can bleed.” Seth did not respond but held his sword high and shield low. Joshua sprinted so swiftly dust clouds were kicked up from the explosive propulsion. As he neared Seth, he ducked low and leapt spirally with his twin blades. As Joshua’s blades clashed with Seth’s shield, though unharmed, Seth was surprised by the young man’s power. Joshua’s subsequent mid-air backflip left him a few paces away from the legendary mercenary. “To rattle you of all people! Damn, I must be getting good.” Seth swung at Joshua who quickly blocked and attempted to parry – Seth proceeded to counter-parry and pulled Joshua close enough to lock his arms.
“It would be wise to waste fewer words when you’re so accustomed to gambling.” Seth glared into Joshua’s blood red eyes.
“Gambling’s what I live for. With my money, with people, with lives… I know how to gamble.” Joshua replied, “A lot of people can’t handle losing. Me? I lose plenty. I never weasel out of a bet though. Means I can never lose myself.” Seth listened intently before pushing him away, stepping back and preparing for the next bout. Joshua continued. “People tell me ‘don’t you know that plenty of folk cheat?’ and they ask me ‘how can you tell who doesn’t cheat?’ and you know how I answer? I tell them, ‘they all cheat’.” Their blades clashed in powerful, artful and agile movements.
‘This is no ordinary swordsman’, Seth thought, ‘he is more skilled than I expected’. They held back once more. “People say I shouldn’t gamble – it’s too risky. ‘Think of your life, there must be a special purpose for it’, they say.” Something unexpected and previously unimagined happened. Suddenly, the crowd fell silent as Seth was lightly cut across the cheek and drops of his blood fell to the arena floor. Then and there, with a swift, calculated swipe, a young, gambling swordsman showed the world that even War Gods could bleed. Dante looked on in horror.
“Life ‘has a special purpose’, they say… Why, then, when I breathe the air, does it taste like steam from a steam train, going nowhere?” Those words were heard in an arena that had fallen silent, where nobles and peasants alike gazed in awe, where even the Emperor himself was astonished. Seth saw the scarlet droplets on his fingers. When the blood of a warrior falls, the War God is ever present. Seth proceeded to unleash an onslaught on Joshua, slicing him and wounding him in ways that left him functionally capable but heavily scarred. Flesh wounds were strewn across Joshua’s chest, legs and arms but the young swordsman continued fighting against the War God’s relentless fury. Suddenly, Seth realised that the fight had become progressively easier; ‘he’s going easy on me’, he thought. Following that thought, Joshua fell to his knees and dropped his weapons. “I can fight no longer. I yield to you.”
Seth was taken aback. From experience, he knew those wounds were not enough to incapacitate Joshua. Though bleeding heavily, the young swordsman’s face expressed unwilling capability. The announcer gathered contributions and saw that the masses wanted Joshua killed. Seth, however, was puzzled but to the people he still seemed unperturbed. “Stand up and fight! Both you and I know you can. Raise thy sword!”
“Of course I can but that wasn’t what I bet myself… and I never weasel out of a bet.” Joshua said.
The spectators’ decision in favour of Joshua’s execution was announced but though Seth’s blade was firm, the War God’s mind was racing. He did not know what Joshua’s intentions were – what was the whole idea behind this? What was this bet? ‘This is ridiculous, if he was going to tell me, he would have already told me’, Seth thought. The barrage of thoughts in that overwhelming confusion dazzled him but his blade remained steady and ready for the kill. Then the announcer bade him to stop, “Someone has paid for Joshua’s life, Seth! He pays seven times what the crowd offered for his execution!” The offering was enough to feed and build several townships or even to purchase and maintain a small army. Seth looked up at the man whom Mother Mercy worked through.
There stood Raphael, donning his distinctive, red satin silk cloak, brandishing a fine rapier and wearing his golden eye-patch. If Raphael wanted Joshua alive, Seth would spare him. “You’re fortunate to have a friend of mine as a friend of yours, otherwise you would be no more.” Seth proclaimed. As he turned away, he saw a silver glint in Joshua’s hand that caught his eye. Once more, Joshua tossed his coin high into the air to see the result when it landed. “What did you wager?” Seth asked.
“Nothing in particular.” Joshua said, “I simply asked a yes-or-no question.” Seth walked away. He met a bewildered Dante at their original end of the arena. “It seems we still have time to spare before Raphael’s meeting. You know, there’s a good brothel nearby… we could swing by with the prize money before we pay Raphael a visit.”
*
Time surrounded the White Knight as he fell unmasked into oblivion. Everything that mattered was disappearing and the vanishing began with the rapid force of that kick to his chest. Blood in the Imperial Garden; the rhythm heartbeat with which it flowed throughout the White Palace was synchronised with the continuous slaughter. Corpses of comrades, enemies and innocents were strewn across the Battlefield Garden and though colours from across the spectrum were scattered everywhere by the Clockwork Crystal Ship as it encircled the Battlefield, the world was never so black-and-white as it was in that grey, dissonant moment.
Beyond the Emperor, he saw a crimson sunset, to his left the scorching afternoon Sun and to the right, a red moon. Falling, he felt the Emperor’s scorn alongside the red moon. Falling over the precipice, this was what the White Knight saw. Screams of his comrades echoed dissonantly in madness, disbelief and sorrow as their leader and the freedom they had been fighting for seemed to slowly dissolve with one forceful blow. Those screams entwined with wails of slow suffering, with battle cries from the afterlife, with redemption songs; falling into nothingness, this was what the White Knight heard.
Falling during the four times of the day, our shifting, conflicted world and the Supreme Lord God Almighty watched. At that moment, perhaps as always, the mountain city must have seemed an anthill to the heavens. In the loving heartbeat of eternity, celestial motions were the Grand Architect’s clockwork. In our ever-expanding desert Universe, space, time and space-time are mirage. Throughout the grand plan, falling is the masterpiece.
Dancing through space during the four times of the day, the Knight felt the divine heartbeat.