"Song of an Exiled Proxy" by Diogo Dionisio Teles

Song of the Exiled Proxy

The song spoke to their minds with images from the same planes where they now stood and slowly, they felt themselves drifting through time. They looked in awe as the Silver Void seemed to dry into nothingness before their eyes but, wait, was it really drying? Or was it just a river returning to its youth? Soon it became but a little stream and then, it vanished. The city changed, towers disappeared and gardens turned into farms, farms into plaster huts and then, nothing. But in the rolling fields of green something remained unchanged. The tall tower made of metal and carved with patterns, which seemed like the result of many lifetimes of metal working, stood there watching over an empty shore. At its top the strange gargantuan gem remained, red and similar to a ruby pulsing with inner fire. Then with a flash the tower vanished, all that was left were the planes of green grass and a long shore with small beaches giving way to an endless ocean of dark blue waters. And finally the sun rose behind them as clouds floated and swirled on a blue sky, daylight shone once more even though they had just laid down for a night’s rest.

            The song went on. They were now in a state of half conscience; a dreamy haze clouded their thoughts. The words were incomprehensible but the melody they weaved made them feel like they were floating, a soft wind smelling of pine carried them on its wings and then they were indeed floating. The realization of this was slow to their pensive minds, and as the smile broadened on their faces they noticed that Davien was not amongst them. Cliven admired the womanly figure of Lady Prania Fellnord, yet she was strangely blurred and translucent, looking as if she were a spectre or some other phantom form. Looking at himself he noticed that they were not alike, he was solid and felt more vigorous and merry that he had ever felt before. It seemed that, for the very first time, he truly was…alive.  

            A few white clouds rode the wind under the clear heaven; the sun was still fresh and far from reaching its peak. Then, something changed. The clouds moved away hastily diverging from a single point in the sky and then there were no more clouds. It was as if suddenly a wind of storm had blown out in every direction from that single spot high above, repelling the clouds violently and then dissolving them. Then they saw it. Appearing first as a cluster of glimmering lights it then took the shape of a creature formed in white radiance: the face of a women became distinct and after it the bust of a body covered in some kind of tunic. Cliven felt crushed as the gaze of the goddess fell upon the planes, probing time to find space. Then the face moved, the woman’s lips formed soundless words as she pointed down from the sky to a place on the shore. Her expression was that of a worried mother, a glint of panic was in her translucent eyes.  As she pointed a circle of light appeared above, far above but close enough for them to know it was real. It was small at first, but then it grew to be several yards in diameter, it shone like the surface of a calm lake in mid air, reflecting the shore and the land in tones of green and blue. Suddenly and with great speed, a figure emerged from it causing violent ripples on the watery surface. And then, spreading a pair of feathery wings which span large and wide, the figure abruptly stopped, hovering at a distance above the shore line. It was a womanly figure exhaling a radiance of kindness which filled Cliven inside and painfully seared Prania’s skin; an unexplained feeling telling him that the women he saw could be forged of nothing less than pure goodness and perfection, a feeling he dared not to think of in terms of words. Prania shivered under the stars as her conscience gave away under the pain, her ghostly figure vanished from the song-world.   

            Them something seemed wrong, Cliven sensed evil, for the air suddenly became heavy and hard to breath as the sun itself seemed to become fainter, its brightness just a fraction of what it was a moment ago. The woman of light looking from above faded and vanished, her mouth was shaped into a silent scream of despair as a grey darkness fell over the land.  

            Black mist rolled over the horizon and soon it covered the entire once visible ocean, upon reaching the shore it formed undulating tentacles which seemed to climb unto the green land. As the mist approached the grass’s green turned into a dull grey and the shores were soon filled with masses of dead fish, some still moving with the uncontrollable last spasms of live. At the time of the next breath they rotted into carcasses of scales and bone, leaving no hint that there had been life in them just a moment ago. The stagnant stench of death filled the air making it stale and nauseating. The winged women waited.

            It was but a minute before the black mist started to move strangely, it started to spin around the spot on the shore pointed before by the motherly woman that had watched from above. The mist started to rise as a whirlwind struggling to gain form.  Then the dark vapours took the shape of a huge man, from the distance Cliven calculated him to be as tall as a siege tower, no less than thirty yards. He was covered in a dark cloak of mist, his head, a skull covered with white leathery skin and the hands were plain bone, ending in vicious black nails sharp as claws. His cloak merged with the mist below making him seem to float in a dark cloud. Then it all happened very fast.

            From the circle of light behind the winged women came hundreds of other flying humans. Their wings were white and their body seemed far stronger than hers. These figures wore nothing but a single white tunic strapped at the waist and leather sandals to cover their feet. Each carried a sword enveloped in blue and orange flames, flying at great speed they charged the dark man in packs. But their swords never landed a blow, before they could reach the target of their wrath a bony hand was outstretched in their direction and stated that they should be doomed…and so they were. A wail of agony rapped the silence and echoed through the world. The wings that once stood white and pure became grey as their feathers became wrinkled with decay and then fell in a shower of dust. The angels fell down to the ground where the dark mist awaited them, although, they never reached it.  Their moans grew into desperate yells of pain when their bodies started to rot. The skin was torn apart by a grim wind of death, filling the air with putrid flocks of dried out crusts. The wind blew stronger as they neared the ground and their flesh was torn from their bones; no blood dripped for it was already dark and coagulated amongst the fibres of muscle. And on the land no part of them fell, bone dust was all that remained, hovering for an instant before the voracious dark mist engulfed it, vapours of decay feeding on the remains of what once was pure.

            The tall man hovered in silence as the mist grew bellow him, raising him up towards the sky. It took the form of a hand that carried the baleful figure at great speed, cutting the distance to the winged woman which stood flying in front of the bright portal. And from it more men emerged flying with blazing swords, but one stood out amongst them. From the circle of light came a man of great size, at least eight feet in height; his wings were undistinguishable for the light shining out of them was blinding, although golden and refreshing. At his waist was the silhouette of a sword and, on his back, a quiver and a bow stood emerged in the brightness between the wings. Behind him followed the other fifty celestial humans that had just arrived through the gate, waiting I formation, ten lines of hovering angels. The one that shone approached the woman and after trading some silent words she imperiously gestured towards the silvery circle of the gate behind them. The man seemed reluctant and sad and for a moment stood looking at her. He pondered and then bowed. She smiled in return, a smile masking the pain of a farewell that would be forever. His lips uttered two short words and then he turned to fulfil his orders. Facing the waiting martyrs he led them with an order back into the gate. The woman looked as the last of them went through it and then, with a wave of her hand, shuttled herself with the beast, the gate was no more.

            Slowly she turned back; the hand of mist was close, carrying its master. Her expression showed despise and then, pity. She flew higher up into the sky and then suddenly her wings joined and she dove, a bird of prey falling upon its victim. The clash that followed was overwhelming; Cliven’s mind ached as it failed to comprehend such confrontation. It was beyond the mortal soul, beyond mortal imagination. Time seemed distorted as flares of light and power shredded through the absolute darkness shrouding his frail human mind, silhouettes of unintelligible forms took shape in the blaze. Sound erupted for the second time making Davien’s words of song grow in power, echoes of a civilization rippled by the clash of their ideals, the sound of battles, battles fought over time, meaningless for they were but one, the only one. Priests died and temples crumbled as the gods fought and finally, one had to perish. It ended. The sound gave away to silence and silence whispered of death, no, worst, it whispered of incarceration. Forever broke she was to stand, an example and a memory to be no more. Exiled the proxy of the mother must be, forevermore.  

            The madness stopped and Cliven’s mind was whole once more, one thought lingered droning, an emotion not of his own. It was strong in the air, in the land covered with mist bellow him, in the grey sky and on the dying sun that failed to brighten the darkness. An urge filling all but coming from a single source, the intent of that huge black morbid form of a man: murder. Her reaper stood over the hand of death vapours with his arms wide open, tentacles of mist reached above and around him, there were gashes on is cloak which looked like cuts and burns, holes that revealed the skeletal body beneath covered with white skin like leather and injured with fresh black cuts. She was in front of him, her breath was heavy and fast, stamped on her face was the smile of battle madness, the eyes of the berserker. He looked surprised at his own body. He was harmed, how dared she…how could she? The woman laughed insanely and flew at him once more. Cliven could not take a second clash, his mind would break. The dark man seemed desperate; death saw death approaching by the hands of life. The irony devastated him and drew him to a change. He yelled and the words he uttered made the ocean recede, the land opened and the earth vomited fiery red fluids beneath them. The sky opened and showed darkness from which came the glint of metal. The point of a sword larger than the highest mountain forged from the metal of despair and hilted with the rage of the outraged flew against the body of the woman slayer. She glanced up and stopped. Aghast she saw doom coming from above, the instant of empty time gave her only the final option, her soul of creation would be the shield against the blade that would destroy her. The blade touched her and the force ravaged the magical wall of force she had conjured above her. She was driven through the scorched earth into the pools of molten rock that flowed bellow, the stooped body was thrown into the depths and before it could vanish, the ghostly white form of her will left it and flew away from the blade’s path. The blade carved itself on the earth with the angel’s body at its tip. The molten rock became solid and the earth itself froze around the sword’s hilt, the body’s jail was sealed but the soul remained free. The dark man saw it. At first the red light in front of him retained the shape of the body that once housed it, but then it became unclear and blurred until only a sphere of red light stood floating above the darkened obsidian land. He uttered a word in silence and behind him the air itself was ripped open as a gash opened showing a gate to his world of death. The void behind it sucked the reality out of this world. The air moved in surreal speed towards the open vortex and the tiny speckle of red light started to be pulled towards it. But her will was too strong, she refused, she would not go. Hades stood in awe and disbelief, how could this insignificant whelp of a goddess stand mighty before the rift of unlife? Then he would state the same fate for the soul, as he did for the body. The final words were uttered, audible and terrible to Cliven’s mind:

“Evran Tanteikoren!” The hissing voice screeched over the silence and a rumble filled the air when the earth trembled again. The metal at the end of the sword’s pommel melted and reformed itself into a dark gem. The struggling soul could not resist anymore, using her will to avoid the rift’s pull she failed to fight the power of the dark gem. The spark of red light vanished but the darkness of the gem was obliterated by the red light of the passion for life. A red radiance now pulsed inside it, rhythmically, continuously, a heartbeat. A celestial spark of soul incarcerated and doomed to forgetfulness, by those who judged her guilty of taking life to where life was needed. And so remains to this day she who faced the lord of death and survived: exiled.