Sacrifice: The Magic Within

Chapter I
Mr and Mrs Lorenz of Alpuscar

Located approximately 250 miles to the northeast of Vancouver is a little farming town known as Alpuscar. It has a population of close to five hundred people. So tiny and insignificant to the outside world is this town that it hardly appears as a dot on the map. Only a handful of residents of the province of British Columbia have heard of it, let alone other people from distant provinces or other countries. And just as the people of the outside world took no notice of the place, the dwellers of the town took no notice of the outside world, to such an extent that their technology was noticeably dated. They were pretty much content with their conservative but simple way of life.
Mr and Mrs Lorenz of Alpuscar, (which, by the way, was how they wanted to be addressed, if they were to be introduced to "out-of-town" people, thank you very much) were a one hundred percent normal and typical couple of Alpuscar. Or so Mr Lorenz would very much like to think. To the rest of the villagers, he was an odd and eccentric man, despite being a third-generation "Alpuscarian" (something that he was very proud of) who had just celebrated his fifty-fifth birthday two days before. Mrs Lorenz on the other hand was not a native born Alpuscarian; she was indeed an "outsider." Story had it that Grumpy-Old-John (the nickname attached to Mr Lorenz by his fellow villagers) first met her some twenty odd years ago when he was helping his father to do a special delivery to the big city of Vancouver. That was where and when John met Marie-Anne Singleton, whom they now called Mrs Lorenz. It was an event that the villagers talked about for over half a year: the then hunky "Grumpy John" going out into the world single and coming back hitched with a pretty princess. Marie-Anne loved John despite his grumpiness; nor was she bothered by the fact that John was almost fifteen years older than her. She was exactly the opposite of John. The old saying has it that opposites attract, and Marie-Anne wore a beautifully heart-warming smile on her face, and was always sincere and kind; unlike her husband who worked on his grumpiness full-time, and who not a single day in his life so far had ever had a smile on his face for any length of time.
Children were afraid of John. They called him a zombie, for in public he was always either yelling or muttering indistinctly. This was not a speech impediment -- just grumpiness. It was not uncommon to see young children suddenly breaking into tears when John came near, a condition that the villagers had come to call "Johanitis."
It was almost their silver jubilee anniversary, but they still had not had any children of their own. Villagers speculated that it was of course, John's fault.
"He never likes any kids anyway!" gossiped one of the fellow villagers.
"Can't even begin to imagine what sort of poor life a little kid would have with him as a father!" a petty old lady mumbled.
The couple however seemed to be unconcerned about not having any children, and like in a fairy tale, were content to live happily together ever after. It was not animosity that made the villagers gossip -- the need for children was prominent in their minds, for they were very determined to propagate the blood-line of this proud little isolated town!
Autumn somehow had managed to sneak into Alpuscar a little earlier than usual this year. It was still early October, but cold breezes had already begun to fill the air and the maple leaves had turned a magnificent red -- hinting that soon this land would be engulfed by winter. However well adapted the villagers were to the harsh winter coldness of this land, they still muttered to themselves that the summer had come and gone a little too quickly. Rain was pouring down as if from a leaky cauldron in the heavens when Mr and Mrs Lorenz woke up one dull grey, cold Thursday morning. There was exactly nothing, nothing at all, not the rain, the cold or the saddening greyish sky to suggest that their lives would soon change forever.
As usual, John with his typical grumpy look sat down in his squeaky chair by the dining table in the kitchen, waiting for Marie-Anne to ladle him a bowl full of porridge. Marie-Ann of course was cheerful as always, hummed as she readied breakfast for her husband, then pecked on his chin and went on to do her other chores.
For a few seconds, a shiny-silver whirl, like the stirring of a pot of quicksilver, appeared in the eastern sky just above the horizon. It could be clearly seen from the window behind John, but no one noticed; it then disappeared abruptly into the dense dark clouds. Lightning momentarily brightened the sky.
"Oh dear..." Marie-Anne sighed as she came into the kitchen holding a basket full of dirty laundry, looking through the window just above the basin, "Holy Lord in Heaven, this rain does not seem like it'll stop at all, I dare say!"
John's face was obstructed by his newspaper, he muttered a few words from behind it but they were inaudible.
"What was it that you just said, my dear?"
"Rain is not going to stop me," John grunted, "Never has, never will," and he gave a determined nod.
"Oh yes, I know that dear." Mary-Anne glanced at him with a little smile. "Though you must take care when you are out there in this weather. Good Lord, I am sure it's going to flood again!" And she carried her laundry basket out of the kitchen.
John kept digging in his porridge bowl and scooped out the last of it before standing up and turning around to put the bowl into the sink.
Looking down, something for a brief moment caught his eye and he froze. For a second, he thought he saw some one's reflection in the dishwater. The reflection was not his. A pair of crystal-clear blue eyes; a long silvery beard. John shook his head and peeked into the sink again, but he did not see anything other than the soapy water and the dirty dishes.
"Mad! I must be going mad!" grumbled John as he quickly walked away from the sink, thinking that somehow the sink might be haunted.
"I am mental! I'm damn hallucinating!" John chanted repeatedly as he walked out of the kitchen through the back door into his shack in the back yard. It was eight o'clock in the morning and time for John to get ready to go to his farm. Punctuality was always a big thing for him. He had never been obliged to work to a rigorous timetable, but routines satisfied him. Every day he would leave the shack at half past eight sharp to get to his farm, and return home for dinner at half past seven. He had done so for the last thirty-five years. On Sundays, he and Marie-Anne would leave the house for church at nine o'clock sharp. Nothing was different this morning. John put on his old ragged foul-weather gear and the waterproof black cap.
Don't dwell on it! Don't think about it, John told himself. He wanted to reassure himself that it was just that old brain of his playing a little trick on him.
"Bloody rain!" he said aloud, with sincerity.
"HAMPY!" yelled John and with a loud whistle, he called for his sheepdog.
Actually his dog's name was Hampa Zulu, a pretty weird name for a dog -- or anything at all for that matter. On Marie-Anne's protest, John finally agreed to call him simply Hampy.
Not an easy morning at all for John, to walk for thirty minutes down the sloppy undulating muddy road in this weather, though he had been doing it for the last thirty-five years. He had inherited the farm from his father, who had inherited it from his father. Recently there somehow seemed to be more wolves roaming this area. He had already lost a few of his sheep, a good reason for him to carry his rifle along with him nowadays.
"Howdy, good old fella!" Albert O'Brien waved to John as he passed. John muttered some indistinguishable words, tilted his cap in reluctant acknowledgement and walked on. Certainly, there were no traces of a smile on his face.
All a sudden, Hampy began to bark like mad at a large maple tree fifty feet away to the left. Out of curiosity John turned and looked; a chill ran up his spine. He thought he saw someone under that maple tree who vanished with his next blink. He was sure there was a... well, an old man under that maple tree, though he did not manage to get a good view of him because it was a brief glimpse and some distance away. But he was certain of one thing -- the long silvery beard. He could recall seeing weird attire, a long brown medieval monastic robe with hood and a long stick in one hand. John was trying hard to hold onto the mental picture of what he had just seen but it seemed to fade away all the more quickly.
That long silvery beard. I saw it before.
"That's impossible!" John grunted. "Just a shadow under the tree in the heavy rain... yes... just tiredness, a wild imagination, that must be it. Who on earth would wear this sort of ridiculous robe anyway." He snorted. "C'mon Hampy, heaps of work to be done!"
Hampy followed John from behind; he was still carrying on his growling and barking as though something really was bothering him.
"That beard... that long beard." The thoughts still churned through his mind, despite himself.

Marie-Anne loved children, and although she did not have children of her own, she  treated the children in her childcare centre just like her own. Marie-Anne had devoted many years of her life to that childcare centre which was located near the school in the town centre. Even as speculations were flung around in the town about her childlessness, no one ever doubted Marie-Anne's devotion and love for children.
"Henry!" Marie-Anne called out aloud, "You're to draw that on a piece of paper, not the wall!"
"Yes, Mrs Lorenz!" smiled Henry, a three-year-old boy happily showing the gap where his two front teeth had been.
"What have you got to show me, Henry?"
"Daddy and Mummy brought me to zoo!" declared Henry proudly.
"Zoo! That's right..." said Marie-Anne enthusiastically, and looking at his masterpiece, she thought she might be able to tell one was a zebra by the look of it; the black and white stripes were the tell-tale sign perhaps.
"BENJAMIN! You are not cleaning that window with your ham!" said Marie-Anne; the whole class broke into laughter when they saw that their classmate Benjamin was professionally polishing the class window with the ham from his sandwich.
"Oh, aren't they such cuties?" said Rowena O'Brien as she walked into the classroom when Marie-Anne was tugging Angelina Whitecoft into bed.
"C'mon Marie-Anne dear, let those little angels have some sleep, it's lunch for the adults now!" said Rowena.
"By the way, that lovely and delicious beef stew of yours, I swear, Albie just couldn't get enough of it, and he was eating it like there was no tomorrow!" Rowena giggled.
"That's lovely; I could always make more you know!" Marie-Anne volunteered.
The day passed and the rain was still pouring down with no sign of stopping. By four-thirty, the children were already packed up and ready to go with their parents who were eagerly waiting outside. Rowena and Marie-Anne were always the last to leave; they had to tidy and lock up before leaving.
The Lorenz and O'Brien were "neighbours" in a broader community sense although their houses were actually half a mile away from each other. Theirs were the only houses on Piscari Lane. Every day after work, Rowena and Marie walked home enjoying each other's company; they never seemed to run out of topics of conversation.
"Good gracious!" muttered Rowena in frustration as the cold wind blew  her umbrella inside out. She and Zach were now soaking wet as she clumsily tried to fix the inside-out umbrella.
"Ah-choo--!" Zach sneezed and shivered under the cold rain.
"Oh dear!" said Marie-Anne pityingly, and grabbed Zach in a warm hug under the umbrella while awaiting Rowena who was still trying to flip the umbrella back the right way, which was not an easy task as the wind was as strong as ever.
For a moment, Marie-Anne felt a chill and her stomach turned. It was not the cold that caused it. A strange feeling, she thought. She peered behind her, looking rather suspicious and unsettled.
"What's wrong, Marie-Anne?" Rowena asked, looking at her pale face.
"Nothing... thought I saw someone!" said Marie-Anne with uneasiness.
"Who?" Rowena stopped and looked about her.
"Nothing... really! Rowena. Nothing to worry about!" said Marie as she started to walk again.
Marie-Anne felt rather peculiar. She could not shake off the feeling that someone was staring, and tailing them from some distance. Funny, she thought she could actually feel someone's gaze piercing her. She kept scanning around: she was sure they were the only three walking up the wet muddy slope. She stared intensely all about her, straining her ears for any unexplained noises.
It was only five o'clock but the sky was rather dark and gloomy now. The dense and miserable clouds made the sky appear almost black.
Perhaps we ought to be careful, maybe it's the wolves, Marie-Anne thought.
"It's getting dark. Perhaps we should speed up. Don't want to bump into those wolves!" she said aloud.
"You're right, Marie-Anne."
The three of them accelerated their steps though the mud. The slippery slope was not making their journey home any easier.
The uneasiness did not resolve even when she got home.
Distracted, making dinner was turning into a draining task. She would peek through the window upon hearing the slightest sound from outside.
"It can't be it! It has been a long while now!" mumbled Marie-Anne while she was peeling the potatoes.
"Impossible! Not here! Not in this place!" she muttered as she kept on shaking the jar of cinnamon powder. She intended to put only a teaspoonful of cinnamon powder into the beef mince but she ended up adding half the jar.
"Oh Lord..." yelled Marie-Anne suddenly as her mind came back from wondering; she quickly scooped out the extra bit of cinnamon powder.
"Impossible, the very thought of it is ridiculous! Just plain ridiculous!" Marie-Anne spoke out loudly as though this would be enough to convince herself.
It took her twice the usual time to get dinner ready. Well, of course that was after the drama of her chucking away the peeled potatoes instead of the peeled skin; cooking for twenty minutes before realizing that the stove was not even ignited; the  cinnamon accident; and pouring two shots of whisky into the gravy.
It was then nearly seven. John would be home soon. Everything would be all right as soon as he got home, Marie-Anne was so certain of it. Oh, Marie-Anne loved John. She always told everyone that John was nice and kind to her. Although the villagers might think of John as a weird or eccentric man, for Marie-Anne, John was the best husband in the world and she couldn't be any more proud than she already was. The thought of John coming home made her churning mind miraculously calmer. But she did not intend to tell John of these weird feelings; she just couldn't bear to worry John about something so trivial.
"I'd better go and set up the table!" She took out the cutlery from the drawer and placed it on the dining-table. "Perhaps a pair of candles would be nice. Oh yes, John always like a glass of that brandy with his shepherd's pie. I'll--" Her flow of thought was interrupted. For a moment her heart sank.

Rain was still pouring. It was already dark. The wind blew as though unwilling to let go of this Earth until it had blown away every particle of dirt and sin in living things. The porch of the Lorenz residence was not well-lit. Only a small dim lamp on the wall next to the door lit the doorway outside the house. The door remained shut.
There was someone in a long dark brown robe with a hood over his head, slowly walking towards the Lorenzes' house.
He was holding a long wooden staff, elegantly carved, and decorated with jewels. His face was invisible under the hood. But a long, silvery beard was spread over his chest.
He reached the front door and stood there motionless, staring at the door as though admiring it. But he was not. A few minutes later, the door was opened. Marie-Anne stood before that robed long-bearded man. Startled, she wanted to scream out from the top of her lungs, but she couldn't make a sound. She covered her mouth with both trembling hands.
The long-bearded man whispered softly to Marie-Anne. Her face turned pale until it looked like that of a cadaver. The man paused for a while and Marie-Anne's eyes filled with tears. She nodded vigorously for no obvious reason.
The man raised his right hand with the long staff, mumbling in his cold low pitched voice, and spoke in a rather strange language: "Ilurum nostral mastaduk alil saksyur ram kalpur."
"Aaahh..."
In Marie-Anne's world, everything suddenly came to a stop; it was pitch black in a second before she collapsed to the ground. Everything went quiet. Even the rain fell silent.

"Oh Lord! What's going on! Marie-Anne!" screamed a familiar voice in panic. "Marie-Anne wake up... wake up!"
"Albie, do something! She's not responding!"
"Marie-Anne! C'mon! Open your eyes!" commanded a man's voice.
"Albie, it's not working! Not working at all!"
"Would you stop panicking!" yelled the man whose name was Albie. "Well don't you just stand there like a damn statue! Grab the phone and call the ambulance!"
"Yes... yes... ambulance!"
Footsteps stomped away from the door into the house. After a few minutes, footsteps stomped towards the doorway again.
"The ambulance won't be here for ages! Lord! Why the hospital has to be so far away when one needs it!"
"Stay here with Marie-Anne, Rowena! I'll go and get John!"
"Oh Holy Mother full of Grace! Please let Marie-Anne be alright!" trembled Rowena's voice.
It was fourteen days after the incident when Marie-Anne woke up from the coma. She had no memory of the worst part of the event; in fact she felt as though she had just had the most peaceful and wonderful sleep in her life. She had never felt so calm before. Of course, she had no idea that John had been crying his eyes out for the last two weeks. Rowena on the other hand had been yelling at every single hospital worker who had attended Marie-Anne, accusing them not taking Marie-Anne's illness serious enough.
"They did nothing! Nothing at all!" protested Rowena, "except keep a close eye on her!" said Rowena angrily.
"What sort of doctor d'you call that! I could have done a better job myself!"
A few times she was about to be booted out by the hospital security guards. Only the threat of banning her from visiting Marie-Anne did the trick of making Rowena behave.
When Marie-Anne woke up, she saw John sitting beside the bed and holding her hand tight.
"Oh dear! I must have overslept. I'm late for your breakfast!" was the first thing Marie-Anne said when she opened her eyes.
John came back to life when he saw Marie-Anne awake from her coma. He had to forcefully hold her down and demand that she was not to do anything before he had a chance to explain that she has been in coma for two weeks.
Poor Marie-Anne was so confused.
"Coma? What? How? When? Why?"
"Easy girl! You worried the heck out of us for the last two weeks. You have no idea!" said Rowena though she sounded relieved.
"Oh my dear, tell me what happened to me? Where am I now?"
"You collapsed, the door was open, you were wet through--" John answered.
"Oh Christ, John... let me handle the explanation!" growled Albert O'Brien.
"Marie-Anne, you fell unconscious about two weeks ago. Your front door was wide open and you were lying on the ground soaking wet. Rowena and I went over to your house to return you the pot from your lovely stew and found you... well the doctor said it was a coma! Rowena called an ambulance and I went to get John and so everyone is here!"
"Why did I collapse?" asked Marie-Anne innocently.
Everyone stared at each other.
"We sort of hoping you would tell us..." said John
"Those lousy doctors here have examined you over and over again. They keep saying you're perfectly healthy and normal... except you're in coma with no clear explanations," explained Rowena promptly.
"I... I..." stuttered Marie-Anne. "I don't know! I can't remember!"
There was a moment of blankness and haze in Marie-Anne's eyes.
"My love, no worry! Not to worry at all! Everything is fine now!" said John still with no extra facial expression.
"Oh yeah, here comes that doctor again," announced Rowena sarcastically.
Well, he was a rather young doctor, maybe in his mid twenties. Albert had once referred him to as Kiddo.
"Get someone a little more senior would you please, this is a serious matter here kiddo," Albert had said when Marie-Anne was first brought in.
The moment the young doctor walked in everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on him. Dr Dukakis threw everyone a big smile, maybe a smile of victory. After all, Marie-Anne had been placed under his care, and since he couldn't explain why she was in coma the family had concluded him to be incompetent. But not today -- now that she was awake, this would definitely lighten his burden.
"Hi Marie-Anne, I'm Dr Dukakis, it's good to see you are awake now! Everyone has been so worried about you!" Dr Dukakis gave another smile to Rowena who turned away to avoid making eye contact with him.
"How're you feeling today, dear?"
"Oh, thank you very much doctor! I'm perfectly fine! Now, can I go home, please? I have so inconveniently disturbed every one's life, which makes me feel so guilty," said Marie-Anne.
"Oh no. Not home yet!" emphasized John rather seriously. "You are not going home until the doctor here says you are okay to go home!"
"And why can't I remember anything that happened to me?"
"Well, Marie-Anne, sometimes amnesia can happen in a situation like this, it's not something that you should read too much into, alright?" said Dr Dukakis.
"So can I go home today?" asked Marie-Anne like a little girl awaiting approval from her parent.
"Honestly, I would see no harm in your going home if not for the test result that I just got today! I'd rather keep you a few more days because I think this is rather a ‘serious matter' for a lady your age!" explained Dr Dukakis professionally and calmly.
"What is it?" asked John and Marie-Anne in surprise, as though awaiting a verdict from the judge.
"Now, Marie-Anne, I have personal news to announce to you and Mr Lorenz here... and your friends..."
"Oh doctor, they are my family too!" said Marie-Anne, "I won't want to keep whatever you're about to tell me from them!" Marie-Anne emphasized while eyeing Albert and Rowena.
"Very well then Marie-Anne," said Dr Dukakis, glancing at John to get his opinion. John nodded.
"I just want to tell you that..."
Every one in the room was all ears and had their eyes stretched extra wide.
"...that you are pregnant!"
Upon hearing the news, every one in the room except Marie-Anne shared the same facial expression.
For a moment, Marie-Anne did not register the word; perhaps Dr Dukakis did not emphasize it seriously enough.
"Oh thanks, there is nothing wrong with me right? So I can go home... wait a second! What did you just say there Dr Dukakis?"
"You're pregnant, Marie-Anne!" announced Dr Dukakis again, "with a baby; you are going to be a mother," explained Dr Dukakis as if to someone who had never heard the word before.
"This is a miracle for your age, Marie-Anne. I want to make sure that you fully understand there are risks associated with peri-menopausal pregnancy, serious risks for you and the baby! Of course, now that we have the technology..."
"That will do just fine, doctor! Thank you so much!" Marie-Anne embraced herself with happy tears as John kissed on her cheeks affectionately.
"Marie-Anne, I don't think you quite..."
"Yes, doctor!"
"I want you to know--"
"Oh doctor, I wouldn't worry too much about that! After all, as you said, this is a miracle!"
"Oh John dear, we're going to have a baby! I'm so happy!"
Apparently, this was the most wonderful news for the Lorenz family, something that John should get excited about. But still, there weren't any changes in his facial expression; the very same old dull grumpiness tightly clung to his face.
"Oh for Chrissakes, John!" yelled Albert. "Your wife is now pregnant; the least you can do is to put on a smile!"
John was speechless. He did try very genuinely to put on a smile. Yes he did! He wanted to show it for Marie-Anne. He stretched his mouth opened showing his yellowish front teeth, but what happened was only a few twitches on his facial muscles. He looked rather like a roaring zombie from a horror movie. Would this be a joke from his creator? John did not want to be grumpy for sure but he was seriously deprived of the "smile reflex", a little something that perhaps God had forgotten when He was designing John.
"Oh Albie give him a rest, would you! John is so happy. I knew it!" said Marie-Anne protecting John from the embarrassment.

The Lorenzes were expecting a miracle child, so eventually the whole town knew. Everyone was seized with joy about Marie-Anne's pregnancy. It was something that the folks could do some bragging about again, just like twenty something years ago when John came back to this town with Marie-Anne as his wife. Only this time, they came back from the outside world with a baby inside Marie-Anne.
Everything went back to routine. John went to his farm every day on schedule and Marie-Anne was still working in the nursery. So, weeks after weeks and months after months, winter came and went, it was spring then summer. Finally the month of July arrived. This was the month, the month in which the doctor predicted Marie-Anne would be expecting a newcomer to her family.
Again, it was a Thursday morning. A Thursday morning in the month of July, but not like in that particular morning nine months ago -- the sky was clear, the sun shone beautifully in the morning sky, birds were chirping, flowers bloomed around the house. There was something unusual happening in the Lorenzes' house. It was only nine o'clock in the morning but the house was now already crowded with people. That early morning at dawn, Marie-Anne felt the contractions beginning, and John ran to get for help, shouting like a madman all the way to the town centre. Eventually, the news spread to the whole town: the miracle child was on its way! The town folks had begun to congregate inside and outside the house in order not to miss the opportunity to witness the miraculous moment. For once, no one thought about the grumpiness of old John and children were not afraid of him.
Marie-Anne was inside the bedroom screaming in agonizing labour pains. Poor old John could see the sweat droplets on her forehead. He wished he could take all that pain away; a dark cloud seemed to be in his mind; maybe he was having regrets about agreeing with Marie-Anne's suggestion to have their first child at home. He had a few extra worry lines on his forehead, and all the worst possible scenarios were gushing through and through in his mind; one thing for sure, he would have loathed himself till the day he died if something happened to the baby, or worse, to Marie-Anne. However, all of his worry ended by eleven o'clock when the cry of the newborn broke the dreadful silence. Every one in the house stood up to cheer, there were a few lady guests who broke into tears of joy and leaned on their husbands' shoulders.
It was Rowena who ran out to spread the wonderful news.
"It's a boy! It's a beautiful baby boy!"


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Chapter II
Deavenrale

Nothing here seemed real.
Have you ever had a dream that felt like waking? In this world, the Ethereal Realm, and in every piece of its land, such differences did not exist. In this world, all material things owed their integrity to consciousness. To talk of the difference between fantasy and reality was to talk nonsense. This was a world as far removed from our own as could be imagined.
The sky was dingy and twilit; the earth was meat-red in color. Neither houses nor buildings were to be seen. There were many different kinds of trees and plants, but hardly any of them were recognisable. Not too far to the northeast of a wide, flat stone was a tree just about eight feet tall and dark maroon in color. The trunk was thick, and the many branches bore leaves which were brown and fleshy. It seemed to be breathing. If one looked at it carefully, its trunk wall was expanding and contracting rhythmically; and in fact there was a nostril-like structure just underneath where its branches began.
What caught the eye was not the breathing tree; it was rather the man sitting under that tree. He had a long, frizzy, silvery beard and a wooden staff leaning beside him. His grayish robe and pointed hat together with his old wrinkled face and crooked nose gave him a rugged worn appearance. His crystal-clear blue eyes stared blankly into the distant sky, as though he were deep in thought.
"My dear old friend," said a tired and husky voice.
The old man slightly raised his head.
"Yes, 'tis am, my dear Mithras!"
"Yanuk!" said the old man, as he took his staff and slowly rose from the ground to face the person who had just spoken to him.
Young and wide-eyed in appearance, he was as tall as Mithras and was also holding a long staff in his hand. He approached, looking exhausted as if he had been on a long journey.
"Am need a rest now," said Yanuk as he sat down by the big breathing tree.
"You have been long gone, Yanuk," said Mithras with inquiry and compassion in his voice.
"Yes indeed, I have, Mithras."
"So..."
"'Tis not good, Mithras!"
"So, it is as I have been expecting then?" A long silence ensued.
"Am afraid have grave news for you Mithras. Terrible, terrible, old friend of mine!" said Yanuk at last.
"What is this terrible news? Tell me."
Mithras plucked two thick leaves from one of the branches; the branch squeaked as though in pain. He courteously handed one to Yanuk while he put one in his mouth. Thick green sap coated his lips as he was chewing the leaves.
Yanuk put the leaf in his mouth, and drew in a deep breath before he spoke again.
"Deavenrale is no more!"
A clatter broke the conversation. Yanuk turned to have a look; he saw that Mithras had thrown his staff to the ground upon hearing the news. He did not even bother to conceal his despair. Tears were in his eyes.
"The Emperor has consumed the once peaceful land to the very last soul of it, Mithras!" Yanuk carried on. "'Tis no more! Horrible, no more! 'Tis covered with death and total destruction."
"The end is near, Yanuk," groaned Mithras. "It has arrived soon."
"Am afraid so my dear Mithras, it is as predicted by the Seer, Old Athelas." Mithras made no reply. "The Emperor will soon succeed in conquering and destroying every piece of land in our Ethereal Realm, there is no one else to stand in his way. Yes, no one is strong enough to fight against him and his immortal dark legions!"
"How dare you!" said Mithras, in a sudden fury. "How dare you speak that way at such a time!"
"The Order has risen so powerfully and strong as no one ever seen before! Mithras, ‘tis not wickedness am speaking off, ‘tis fear!"
It was a forbidden fact that no one would dare speak of since the rise of the Dark One in the Ethereal Realm, whether it be in the lands of Elysium, the lands of Goddess Persephone which were green and fertile, Empyrea, the lands of Mighty Stratos which were the frozen tundra for countless eons, the Glebe, the lands of rocky mountain and plains mastered by Lord James, Pyroborea, the hellish lands full of volcanoes and churning lava governed by Lord Pyro, or Stygia, the land of vile and putrid ground running with rivers of blood (which legend said were formed by flesh of the dead from eons ago) in which dominion was held by Lord Charnel.
Only a handful of powerful wizards and witches knew the origin of the Dark Emperor. Since he was called into being in this realm, taking over power from Lord Charnel the God of Slaughter and Lord of Strife, he had gained tremendous and unexpected power and was feared by all creatures that walked or flew in these lands. No one other than his immediate inferiors had ever seen the true face of the Emperor. All others who had faced him were cruelly slaughtered and none had ever lived to tell the tale.
"Yanuk, son of the Great Umduriel," said Mithras calmly, though there was still a tremor detectable, "we must not despair. There are many, oh yes, many things that we can do."
Yanuk stared at Mithras; he did not know how to respond to him.
"Were you in Deavenrale when the Dark Emperor invaded?"
"No, Mithras. I was not! I was on the way to Empyrea, ‘tis at Peasantville where am saw the glimpse of the Dark Legions, led by the Great Dark Emperor himself..." He shivered when recalling their numbers. "Great legions they are! ‘Tis like death covering the very piece of lands where they stood. Am followed far, yes, indeed very far away from behind, they were marching and advancing towards Deavenrale, destroying everything along their way!"
There was a long pause. Perhaps Mithras was thinking about what went on in Deavenrale, images of the slaughtering of innocent lives, destruction of the once beautiful, green and peaceful lands of his beloved Deavenrale.
"I dare not approach Deavenrale. Am was waiting there in Ralecross, waiting there for a long time, very long time."
Ralecross was the domain belong to a tribe known as the Gutraks. They were small creatures that dwelt in the desert land at the frontier of Ungkorat, the gateway to Deavenrale. They lived a semi-nomadic life: burrowers who had built their only city underneath the desert.
"Curious, very curious!"
"What is, Yanuk?"
"No one came out from Deavenrale. Not even the Dark Legions. Everything was... was..." Yanuk stuttered and lost his chain of thought.
"Hmm... curious indeed."
"There are more to it, Mithras. Deavenrale was vanished!"
Mithras stared.
"That's impossible," he said at last. "No wizards, witches, lords or gods are powerful enough to obliterate a land entirely! That's merely impossible!" Mithras shook his head hard.
"Hear me now, Mithras!" said Yanuk. "'Tis true of what I saw. Darkness descended upon what lie beyond Ungkorat. It has swallowed the land. Sense of death and fear fill every inch of air; Ralecross was completely silenced, no Gutraks dare to appear to the world above, and across the lands no creatures were to be seen." Yanuk gave a long sigh. "Am have waited there for six days in the honours of the Great Umduriel, still there was no one to be seen. Tis then when am decided to get into Deavenrale... but..."
"But what, Yanuk?"
"But... am cannot get in. I could not find the way in, no way in at all! Deavenrale is no more!" He struggled to continue. "And am continue to stay on in Ralecross; waiting for hopes or any sign of lives. But hopes gone. Am then decided to leave and hence couldn't be bothered to carry on my journey to Empyrea no more."
There was a long pause again. Mithras sat down facing Yanuk. Mithras was stroking his fingers along his beard, in deep thought.
"Yanuk, you must carry on your journey to Empyrea," said Mithras suddenly.
"Eh?" Yanuk was a little confused by Mithras' sudden request.
"You must seek for Lady Abraxus in Empyrea and tell her everything you saw!" Mithras demanded firmly. "Then make your way to the Glebe and inform Grakkus of this tragedy. He will then convey this terrible news to Lord James and I assume Lord James will immediately send for a delegation to Elysium! And you Yanuk my friend, you must send word to Agothera to warn your people! The Emperor has conquered two of the six dominions, first Stygia followed by Pyroborea! Now he is advancing his force into the Dominion of Elysium, he certainly would not stop at Deavenrale!"
Mithras got up and paced. He still felt that a few pieces of the puzzle were missing.
"Mithras?"
"I have to get into Deavenrale!" announced Mithras in his serious tone as he continued pacing.
"Am beg your pardon?"
"You must journey again my dear friend!" said Mithras as he patted Yanuk's shoulder. "I deeply regret that we do not have proper time to celebrate our reunion, but Yanuk, understand this, time is now a luxury that we can no longer afford, a lot of work needs to be done! Go and meet them and ask them to come forth and gather in Idylliac, I shall be there when the star of Minerva shines!"
"Very well then," Yanuk agreed, "Am shall therefore immediately set foot once again on my journey without any further ado! I will spread the news to the rest of the domains, yes indeed, they shall be warned!"
"Take good care, my dear Yanuk."
"Ye too my dear Mithras and may the Fyllid guards you!"
"May the Behemoths of Thryhring grant you the power and wit." Mithras farewelled Yanuk.
Yanuk rose from the ground and nodded to Mithras. He knew it that it was Mithras' determination to explore Deavenrale; he had no inclination to try to persuade him otherwise. Furthermore, he understood the seriousness of the fall of Deavenrale and its impact on Mithras. Deavenrale was the second largest dominion of Elysium under Goddess Persephone, now that Deavenrale has fallen, it meant that Elysium as a whole was in peril.
"Peraksyur purba kobel animus ram Ikarus." Yanuk raised his staff and waved it in a circular motion.
As the incantation filled the air, slowly a creature came into being before them. Gradually it took the form of a giant bird: the Ikarus. It would be the transport for Yanuk. As he climbed onto the back of Ikarus, he yelled, "To Empyrea and forth!" Ikarus flapped its wings and leapt from the ground. Within seconds it was soaring into the sky.
Mithras raised his staff to summon forth another flying creature: one with the body of a giant caterpillar and a pair of wings: the Brainiac. Mithras whispered something to Brainiac and sent it on a mission. It made a bow to Mithras and flew off. Mithras stood and watched the Brainiac vanish over the horizon.

Pitch-black darkness, as though the sun had been ripped out of the sky. Mithras could not see his own hands. Born and raised in Deavenrale, with a detailed mental map, there was no way he could find his way in such complete darkness.
"Majorative kurpa era solare!" Mithras raised his staff and enunciated the familiar incantation. Beams of bright light shot out from the tip of his staff like a very powerful light globe, instantaneously lighting up the area surrounding him.
There was nothing to be seen, neither signs of the dark legions nor the army of Deavenrale, and deathly silent. Mithras could hear his own heart galloping hard.
"Nothing!" muttered Mithras.
He slowly strode forward, using all his powers of concentration to focus on his hearing and vision. This was no longer the World of Deavenrale that he had grown up in. It was nothing more than complete death and destruction.  As he continued to stride forward, he began to smell something strange that filled the air: the smell of ash. Soon, he realized the horror before him. Just six feet ahead of him the ground was covered entirely by corpses. There were so many that he had mistaken flesh for earth. Even with his knowledge and experience, he could not comprehend what he saw. He knew that Deavenrale was destroyed and that every battlefield has numerous casualties, from the invaders, the defenders, to the innocent civilians. But how could everything be dead, the legions together with his beloved people of Deavenrale?
"In the name of the Mighty Fyllid, what has happened here? Why would the Dark One destroy his own troops?" Mithras wondered in shock.
"The Emperor..." A chill ran up his spine. Quickly he scanned around, maintaining all his concentration to look for the common enemy of all the Ethereal Realm. There was one thing of which he was certain; he was no match for the Dark Emperor. Not one single wizard, witch, or any creature for that matter, who had stood in his way had ever survived his presence.

Losing track of time, no longer sure how long he has been wondering in this darkness that seemed to be indefinite, he felt relieved to have not yet met an enemy, but at the same time his heart sank as he could not find any sign of survival of his people. Although it was difficult to be certain, Mithras felt sure he was heading in the right direction: to the centre of Deavenrale, the ultimate destination of the dark legions if they were to conquer the realm. To Mithras' surprise there were no signs of the presence of the Dark Emperor so far.
Mithras slowed his pace as he approached Eimeria, the centre of Deavenrale.
"Nastrak gotrel dum katu." Mithras raised his staff and gave it a wave above his head. The air around him was set into a twirling motion, forming a small twister to cover himself: a protective shield that would repel incoming weapons as well as some minor hexes or jinxes.
Not too far from where he stood, he managed to get a glimpse of something shiny reflecting the light from his staff. He proceeded forward taking step by step. As he approached nearer, the object came into view when the light shone upon it. It was a huge golden chariot. There were four dead centaurs at the front, in harness to pull that majestic chariot.
Centaurs were proud and arrogant creatures. They took pride in their knowledge, particularly in astrology, their magical powers and their tremendous physical strength. Centaurs served no one and of course did not pull vehicles under any circumstances. Unless--
"The Dark Emperor! No doubt this is the Dark Emperor's chariot!" Mithras' heart was thumping and racing like never before. If the chariot was here, he could not be far away because he would stop for only one thing, the Altar of Deavenrale, a sacred place that bound the existence of Deavenrale and Lady Satori, the Supreme Ruler and Keeper of Deavenrale.
Mithras abandoned the golden chariot and strode forward hastily.
He paused in front of a weird structure. Then he realised it was the four remaining pieces of the gigantic pillars that encircled the sacred altar. Originally, Mithras thought he might find clues to whereabouts of the Dark One, indeed he had even expected the worst, that was to come face to face with him. He would have wanted a glorious fight with the Dark Emperor, even knowing he stood no chances of winning. But his thirst for vengeance had deprived him of his common sense. Until now, there was still no sign of The Dark Emperor. He could not explain what had happened here other than the clear fact Deavenrale was destroyed.
The Altar of Deavenrale had been desecrated and there was nothing he could do to change that fact. It was not a surprise for Mithras any more. But there was something else that caught his eyes. There was a dense black cloud of smoke covering a dim sphere hovering above the ground of the desecrated altar. He approached it with great interest and caution, not knowing what it could be.
He stood and examined the floating sphere carefully through and through; he walked around it a few times, looked at it from the top and from the bottom; it looked the same from all angles. He was wise enough to know there were frequently deadly traps hidden within something mystical that appeared harmless and innocent. Many greedy wizards and witches had paid for their lives. He raised his long staff and slowly but steadily reached for the sphere, but just as the staff was about to touch the outer rim of the churning cloud, the cloud began to spin at a tremendous speed and expanded rapidly in its size. Mithras realized the danger, but before he managed to take a step back, the dense cloud exploded and gave a deafening wail. Mithras was propelled backward at least twenty feet before landing on the ground. He could not move any part of his body; he felt weak and debilitated as his life was drained away with every second that passed by. The agonizing pain had started to envelop his whole body until deep into his every single bone, he felt like he was being carved alive. Gradually, Mithras felt a sense of defeat; his mind was churning with thoughts of hopelessness and despair.
"It will be over soon... very soon... " a soft and feeble voice kept repeating by his ears.
Mithras lay motionless for a full minute. Then, all of a sudden, the thought struck his mind that his pain was not due to the fall, but rather the wail. The wail was draining the very essence of his life.
"Peraktu Nastrak gotrel dum katu..." With all his remaining energy, Mithras struggled to cast a spell to conjure the protective shield. He was once again covered up by the twister. Inside the twister, he was insulated from the deadly wail. He managed to regain his strength; he raised his staff pointing at the cloudy wailing sphere and cast another spell. "Nilurum kazam." A beam of red light shot out from the tip of the staff and hit the dense cloud. The wailing stopped instantly. Mithras once again was on his feet; he walked towards the floating sphere holding his staff with both hands and bringing it close to his forehead, shutting his eyes and chanting softly.
The dense cloud dispersed and revealed a bright spherical object. The light from the sphere was much brighter and lit up a much greater area than the light from Mithras' staff. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he winced, unsure what to make of this. But the light quickly died away, leaving behind nothing more than a dim, unremarkable sphere on the broken steps of the altar. Silence fell. No longer afraid, Mithras knelt to pick up the sphere, and lifted it to his face to get a closer look.
He was astounded by what he saw.
A humanoid foetus was floating inside the sphere.