Seven Suns in Twilight
The temple of Anu Maht was forbidden to mortals. Those that entered its hallowed grounds uninvited would spend their final moments as ornaments along its inner walls. Flayed and broken, the tangled mass of trespassers struggled in vain against the black temple stone. And so it seemed as if the walls were alive with writhing agony, and that they sang softly with the subdued moans of the mutilated. At the center of this macabre chamber lay a stone dais, scrawled with runes, and upon this dais stood a great table whose surface was marked with the territories of Malorum, each holding several carven figures.
Two great powers faced one another from either end of the table. They were opponents in a game beyond the reckoning of mortals, a contest that spanned millennia. One was adorned in black finery and stood as tall and proud as a prince. His features were angular and drawn, as pale and hard as ice, and his eyes shone like silver coins. The other, stooped and hunkered, was bundled in a weathered cloak and wrapped from head to toe in strips of linen stained with leprous fluids. His head trembled erratically within its cowl, softly chattering overlarge teeth that shriveled lips failed to cover. The rest of his face lay hidden in bandage wrappings.
The Fetid Prince swept his hand in a gesture toward the table and spoke. “The white knight will ride south. The Crimson Sign will be purged from these lands.” At the sound of his voice, the bodies on the walls cringed and fell silent, their agony replaced by terror, and an alabaster figurine of a knight slid across the board, stopping near the southern tip of the western continent of Isoth.
The leper’s head tilted slightly, still trembling, and followed the path of the knight. For a long moment he said nothing, then slowly raised a trembling hand, clutching it into a fist and showing even more of his already exposed teeth. Across the southern lands of
Isoth, a blood red sigil burned into the board, and all the figures in that area, including the white knight, were stained pitch black. The echoes of a thousand distant screams filled the room and then faded to silence.
“The world of seven suns will sink into twilight,” the leper spoke, a strained a tremulous voice. “Islirith will rise in a crimson dawn.” His shriveled lips drew into as much of smile as they could manage. “You have lost.”
The prince looked down at the now darkened figure of the knight, expressionless. “A masterstroke,” he finally replied, “but this is not the future.”
“You lie…” the leper replied.
“Do I?” The prince stared his opponent down, and slowly the leper’s faint smile faded. “Keeva, come to me,” he commanded. A pale beauty stepped from the shadows. Her raven hair and white robes flowed about her as if underwater, and their outermost boundaries billowed into wisps of smoke that trailed her motions. She moved soundlessly to stand by the Fetid Prince, staring ahead with deep black eyes.
“You brought a herald?” The leper said, tilting his trembling head toward the woman. “Does your lord now find you unworthy as messenger?”
“A banshee is much more than a herald,“ the prince said, running an icy white hand through her raven hair, which pulled away in smoky wisps that evaporated between his fingers. “Can you not see what her presence foretells?” The leper jerked his hidden gaze from the banshee to the prince and back again, sharply snorting with each movement. “Or does your lord find you unworthy of the truth?” The prince circled behind her to stand on her other side. “No matter… Keeva will give you the revelation.”
“That which you see as yet to pass, already has,” Keeva spoke, her every word echoed by faint whispers, “There is no future. No past. No present. There only is.”
“Then tell us what is, Keeva,” the prince said.
Keeva’s black eyes locked onto the board, and the leper craned his neck toward her. For a moment, no one spoke, and then the banshee gave her omen. “Black stars cast across a lake of blood… a leper king rises… men chant his name as twin suns sink into dusk… I see the Crimson Sign… I see death.” Hearing this, the leper’s imitation of a smile returned, and a rattling sigh of satisfaction sounded in his throat. The banshee’s eyes left the board and stared ahead once more.
“What do you see of death?” the prince asked.
Keeva said nothing, but returned her gaze to the board. Her hair and robes began to flow faster, rising as if caught in a great current. “I see…” she began. Her face knit with strain, and her boundaries thrashed in a vortex that wasn’t there. “The white knight rises, now stained deepest black. A mighty house is built on hatred’s back. Death undone will ride against the Crimson Sign. And by its darkness shall the stars align.”
“The banshee lies!!” the leper shrieked, viscous spittle flying from his mouth. Keeva’s head snapped to face her accuser. Her body began to lift from the floor, and she pointed at the leper as her mouth stretched into a grimace wide enough to swallow a man’s head. A horrid shriek poured from her gaping maw, a voice that was not her own. It was a deafening wail, full of anguish, and its reverberations distorted the air of the chamber so that every solid surface seemed to tremble and waver, a temple built of many waters. In the presence of the otherworldly voice, the Fetid Prince knelt, and the leper staggered backwards, reeling as if suddenly struck. Keeva’s body buckled under the force of the shriek, bursting into wisps of white and black smoke that swirled
away with the fading echoes of the terrible wail, and the temple returned to solid form.
“What a shame,” the prince smirked, standing tall once more. “It seems your lord has little more use for you… or perhaps it simply sees less than you thought.”
“It sees more than you know!” the leper spat.“ It knew you would break the rules.”
“The rules have been rewritten.”
“Then they can be rewritten again!”
“Given enough time, perhaps. But that is something you no longer have,” the prince said, stepping backward into the shadows so that only the silver shine of his eyes remained. “Farewell, old friend.” The eyes faded away.
The leper found himself alone in the chamber except for the tortured mass of bodies along the wall, His lips curled into their hideous smile once more. “Time is but a dream, and I a dream of time. The dreamer sees more than you know, old friend. Farewell indeed.”
—
Lord Lucian Armin opened his eyes, staring at stone columns. Dark shadows danced from the torches upon the gargoyles meant to protect the wounded from evil spirits. This night, though, they had failed. His wound was nothing compared to some he had suffered in the past, but the dreams that came when he slept unsettled the white knight.
When his squire removed the fragment of the blade that had pierced him, it turned to smoke. As troubling as this was, the wound was so minor that Lucian did not pay it much heed. It was a nick at best, but lo, the dreams it wrought. He was certain he had never heard of a world of seven suns, or Islirith; their meaning eluded him. He would seek interpretation of these unholy visions through the counsel of elder priests, and determined to take extra care to remove any evils the wretched weapon may have laid upon him.
But it would not matter.
“There is no future. No past. No present. There only is.”
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