The Past Returns(UC/CC/Slash Adult) A/N 04/08/08 [WIP]

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 3: Part 1 of 4

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 3: More Secrets
~Temple of the Lost Souls ~

“God is not willing to do everything, and thus take away our free will and that share of glory which belongs to us…” “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli


Two years had passed, two year of mourning, two years of tears, two years of sorrow, two of blackness that covered the Kingdoms of Antar and Kandahar. The period of mourning was finally drawing to a close, soon veils of death would be folded up and the banners dropped after the ritual of death was performed in the Temple of the Lost Souls.

The final rituals would absolve the family of guilt, release the bounded soul, and embrace the purity of the heart. This would then mark a new beginning for Adair and Pondather; neither had seen the other since the interment of the bodies.

The dawn rose early that morning as the Palace of the Silver Rose was once again in the sight of Pondather as his armies landed within the Palace complex. A thousand warriors, dedicated to the death details, would be present to perform the final sacrifices to ensure their Queen and the Princes would be forever embraced and loved by the people.

Adair was present to greet his friend, his confident, his lover, a fellow victim in this senseless tragedy. They embraced and held each other for a long time, as words of sorrow, loneliness, and love was spoken between them. Releasing one another, their eyes said the rest of the story, their hearts were still broken, Pondather most of all because unlike Adair he could never express his feelings when his sons were alive and now they were dead, he truly regretted his actions as a father.

They began the walk, the last walk they would take in remembrance of those that had died; a walk to the Temple of the Lost Souls located just outside the Palace complex atop the Mount Sidal.

The original temple was built by Atarh when he first landed on Antar, even before construction of a new Palace or city had begun. It was with reverence to all who had died in the wars to ensure their freedom for a new way of life. The people were eager to begin their lives, to rebuild their civilization in this new fresh land, full of unspoiled beauty, immense physical wealth, fertile lands, waters teaming with life, and clean pure air.

That ancient temple has since fell in disrepair as a new larger temple further up the mountain was built over a thousand years ago.

Silence was observed as the Kings flanked by the thousand warriors and those of the nobility whose duty it was to accompany the party, passed within earshot of the carved ivory facade.

The wide steps where King Atarh once stood with his alien wife as they gazed at the new Palace upon their wedding day were now titled crazily, the marble platforms sticking up in all sorts of directions. The walls, where once bright and colorful frescos were now dingy covered in moss, still looked upon the alter of joining, where Atarh and Rose were joined in marriage. Their souls were joined one to another in front of those who died, in front of those who scarified their lives, in front of those souls whose lives were taken so unjustly.

No animals, no vagrants, no enemies took shelter there as none dared intrude past the intangible ring of sacred ground that marked the holy site. Despite the passage of uncountable years, the divine force that had consecrated the temple was still enforced. Adair and Pondather could feel the power radiating from within the inner sanctum as it brushed against their faces, the power of the ancients, the power of Atarh himself.

Beyond the complex of the fallen temple, the ground rose sharply, the path to the present Temple of the Lost Souls was a winding one, stretching over the rocky landscape as they ascended above the timberline reaching into the abode of the gods themselves.

Adair and Pondather had been here many times before both personal and on state affairs. Each time the pilgrimage grew harder, the weight on their shoulders heavier, theirs’ had not been an easy life, but then again no King’s life is easy for they belong to the state.

As they passed the next rise in elevation, the temple came into their sights, the golden dome shone in the morning sun. The outside walls carved elaborately in marble depicted scenes of martyrdom of the Majestic Kings of Antar. The stories were reenactments of the creation of Antar by Atarh, the destruction of the racial civil war by Suliuluma, the domination of the galaxy of Pyrthic and even the nefarious deeds of Uthrox; though demonic and evil, Uthrox did make Antar the greatest force in all the known galaxies, a force to fear ensuring freedom from outside attacks.

A granite wall allowing a courtyard for the pyre and room for those who will witness the final rites surrounded the temple. The temple itself was set back from the main gate; the rose-colored stones glistened in the sun, light bands reflecting off the mica particles that occur naturally in the rock.

The Kings mounted the granite steps as they passed under the jewel-encrusted arch. On the floor in front of them, written in and forever cemented in place in a mosaic pattern, was the ancient language

<center> Hatopth ithef nyb imy sirth
Peace in front of all who enter</center>

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 3: Part 2 of 4

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 3: More Secrets
~ The Cry for Redemption ~

… so that the country was full of robbery, quarrels, and every kind of violence; and so, wishing to bring back peace and obedience to authority…” “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli


The prayers and rituals inside the sanctum are of a private affair to be attended to only by the family, while outside the public mourning continued. Adair opened the door; the hinges creaked from the year of nonuse. The air was stagnant, as if death itself inhabited the room. Adair and Pondather entered and closed the heavy bronze doors behind them. Ivy covered the white alabaster walls, bringing life into death, the circle reminding all, with life there is death and with death, there is life.

In the center under the golden dome, a dais prominently displayed with smooth shallow steps in a circular pattern encompassing it. The room itself is circular, every element, every pattern; everything visual and non-tangible was reminiscent of a circle; the circle of life, the circle of death, the circle of everlasting reincarnation, the very essence of Atarh himself.

Taking the large leather satchel he had carried up the mountain, Pondather pulled out the items needed for the rituals as he laid them on a side greenish blue marble table. The first step was to address the braziers and bring about the blessing of the ancients.

Circling the edges of the room were four large copper braziers set upon bronze tripods. Into each these braziers, Pondather placed the incense of life, the coals of eternity, the ashes of death, and the wreaths of myrrh. As he lit each brazier, the call for the blessing was chanted:

<center>In the circle of sacred space
We invoke the Ancients’ holy grace

to guard our solemn ritual
to guard our sacred rites

to bless the life
to bless the dead
to bless the circle

We light the braziers of hallowed light
Let the sky above and land below unite </center>

Once the braziers were lit and the incense of life had begun to fill the room, Adair and Pondather came forward climbing the stairs to the dais bringing with them the ritual elements. They knelt upon the frigid marble slab as they began the prayers of life:

<center>Ancients we beseech thee to lead those lost souls
From the dreams to reality
From the darkness to the light
From war to peace
From life to death
From death to immortality</center>

Adair poured the water of life from the gold pitcher into the beaten copper bowl, as he and Pondather scooped up the water; three times they covered their eyes and faces with the liquid:

<center>Hatopth, Hatopth, Hatopth,
Peace may there be to their souls
Peace may there be to our souls
Peace may there be to all souls</center>

They spoke in the ancient tongue of Antar, once the Lingua Franca of the known galaxy, now only spoken by the Royalty of Antar. The words were difficult, twisted, yet melodic in their surreal fluidity. This was the language of the ancients, the first language as given by the Ancients to the first beings created in the universe.

While Adair and Pondather were taking care of the prerequisite sacraments, outside the warriors built the funeral pyre from the cedar-infused logs, each one carried up the long mountain path. A thousand logs for a thousand warriors, myriad for myriad, the number needed to confuse those spirits that would interfere.

Once the pyre was in place, two warriors approached carrying between them a bronze brazier suspended by heavy chains on log poles. The fire brought from across the ocean, taken from deep inside the volcanic cauldron of Retchir where the last of Antar’s ancient enemies were cast into by the hand of Uthrox himself. With pomp and circumstance, the contents of the brazier was scattered into the center of the pyre amid stack of kindling.

As the flames grew higher, the sacrificial animals were brought forth; their cries echoed that of the mourners as they were slaughtered quickly and painlessly. Their carcasses were then thrown on top to appease the demonic spirits and draw them away from the Lost Souls so that they could fly towards the north, the land of the pure souls, the land of bounty, the land of peace. As day turned into night, the flames heralded the spirits onward.

Back inside the temple, Pondather prepared the final prayer. Taking the prayers beads from around his neck he continued in the tradition of Kandahar as he counted one bead for each line of the invocation. The beads felt smooth and cold in his hands, as cold and void as his heart was. The black onyx beads characterize the eternal damnation of the darkness, the solid silver beads represented the purity of the words, the beads of blood red jasper stood for the blood soaked battlefields, and the while the sacred firestone beads expressed the desire of hope trapped inside all mortal beings.

<center>In the name of the Ancients, I seek the true path.
In the name of the Ancients, I have woven my life with the threads of death and eternity
In the name of the Ancients, I have bonded my final words

In the name of the Ancients, I seek ecstasy of love and strength of the blade
In the name of the Ancients, I seek my home to the pure north
In the name of the Ancients, I seek redemption for those Lost Souls

In the name of the Ancients, my strength has defended thee
In the name of the Ancients, my skill has been honed for thee
In the name of the Ancients, I have walked with true honor in the world

In the name of the Ancients, I learned to offer sacrifice with grace
In the name of the Ancients, I have maintained purity of mind and body
In the name of the Ancients, I learned loyalty in love

In the name of the Ancients, I have spoken the words of the faithful
In the name of the Ancients, I have recanted the stories of the ancestors
In the name of the Ancients, I learned to remain silent

In the name of the Ancients, I have learned to focus
In the name of the Ancients, I have learned determination
In the name of the Ancients, I have learned of my senses

In the name of the Ancients, I have defended justice
In the name of the Ancients, I have looked upon death and have not faltered
In the name of the Ancients, I do not fear the Dark Waters

In the name of the Ancients, I walk in the deep places
In the name of the Ancients, may all that I seek be shown to me?
In the name of the Ancients, may all that I asked be granted?</center>

As soon as he had finished saying these words of redemption, these words of sanctification, these words of salvation, and alas these words of vindication, the room was bathed in a brilliant white light as the hand of the Ancients descended upon the pair and entered into them with a tremendous presence

“Sons of Atarh.” A deep divine voice shook the marble walls with its resonance. “Sons of my heart, followers of the True and Rightful Path, go in peace, for those you loved have entered into the abode of purity, the land of virtue, the breath of righteousness, and the faith of the pious."

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 3: Part 3 of 4

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 3: More Secrets
~ Life Renewed ~

"It's better to act and repent then not to act and regret." “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli

Horizontal bands of turquoise, rouge, and saffron streaked across the sky heralding new day over Antar, as the blackness of night, the blackness of death, the blackness of hopelessness dissipated, beams of light struck the ground unshackling the bounds of mourning. With this simple act of nature, the voices of grief, the tears of lost, and the lamentation of the bereaved moved out of darkness into the ancient, ageless, newborn morn embraced in memory.

Once again, the atmosphere in the villages, cities, farms, and coasts, sparkled and shimmered reflecting the images of life. The winds throughout the lands roared with the voices of life and birth instead of the wailings of death. Birds called to their mates, domesticated animals of the countryside bellowed in contentment, those still in the wild lands growled at their enemies.

Men, young and old, made way to the small watercrafts that dotted the western edge of the inner sea. They readied themselves for a good catch today for the stomachs of Antar would be grumbling for tender, succulent, fresh catch of the day from the teaming oceans. Their voices sang the songs of the water; the songs of safety, their songs of a free life echoed off the ancient walls and thatched roofs of the homes located within the massive palace complex as they sauntered one by one through.

The day was already old for those of the land, root crops torn from their homes sat in boxes ready to transport to market. Bags of grain thrown one by one into the giant milling machines could be heard grinding and crushing creating flour to be used in the staple of life. Fruits from the trees, their heavy scent permeated the air as bushel after bushel were filled to capacity.

Across the inner Palace complex, the morning bells of vespers rang for those who began the day with prayer. For others the day was already long, those responsible to keep the massive political and civil substructure of palace life running smoothly were preparing dinner and readying for bed.

Stores were bursting open as the owners cleaned the windows and sidewalks off to receive the first of many patrons that day. "Smell this…" a baker said, breaking open a dark sensual round loaf as he shoved it under a patron’s nose "…a heavy rich bread made for a man such as yourself." The sweet smell of molasses struck the nose and the coarse grains were tempting visual for the eyes.

Across the plaza, those who dealt in fragment blossoms carried basket after basket outside to bathe in the radiance of the day. Their sexually induced scent brought people eager everywhere to sample joy and lust in their beds that night.

Inside the palace itself, servants were busy cleaning every nook and cranny, the air once again smelled of fresh flowers, the smell of just baked pastries was intoxicating as the joy was upon everyone’s lips. A far different look from a week ago where none smiled, laughed, wore bright clothing or spoke in loud tones. Even jewelry forbidden, personal adoration was frowned severely upon during mourning. Now with the mourning officially ended, the women once again were visions to behold in their golden bracelets that jangled and the bright-jeweled clothes that caressed their forms. Jubilation was prevalent everywhere, they were now celebrating the souls retuned to the abode of the ancients. The heavy black coverings were removed from the mirrors and the palace was once opened to the public for state visitations, dispute mediations, and official government work. During the period of mourning, everything was keep low keyed; offices and all government business had been moved to the outer complex areas. The Palace of the Silver Rose, the seat of Antar, was outwardly closed to all but the King and his son for two long hard years.

The sun’s radiance flowed into the Kings chamber, the black drapes and shades having been removed the night before, casting a soft glow upon the occupants sleeping. Those first rays of light were enough to disturb the slumber of Pondather as he stirred and rolled over encountering the sleeping warmth next to him. He wrapped his arms about Adair’s, his body relaxed and sedated after being away from his lover for the two years while he did penitence for the death of his wife and children.

Adair felt the bed shift weight, as firm tight muscles covered by warm smooth skin, enveloped him in a strong embrace as he inhaled Pondather’s perfumed aroma. He smiled to himself as he let the soft kisses immerse him in an erotic dance; their dance, a dance of comfort, a dance of passion, a dance of love. This dance of erotica is an old ancient fire that burned with as much intensity on this day as it had on that first night so many decades ago. Adair held onto his lover, his confident, the one he had given his soul to as they soared into the sexual ecstasy that washed over the room, the frenzy was heightened as the climax took hold, each body trembling in the aftermath.

---------------

“What should I do Pon?” Adair asked over a late breakfast of pastries and strong hot drink. “Must I remarry again, take another chance?” The pain was still prevalent in Adair’s coal black eyes; the streaks of blue rarely were visible anymore. His hair was beginning to show the signs of age as the sunlight highlighted several white strand nested in this dark flowing locks.

“Adair the kingdom needs a female role model, a Queen; you must marry for that purpose if for nothing else.” Pondather moved his chair to face his lover taking his hand, “It will be hard, I know you loved Noraya, but it is good for the kingdom to see a stable happily married King, take one or 20 wives, show them you are still a virile man, young and strong. The man that I know you are,” He leaned to him and kissed him deeply, “Produce a hundred children, all males, those who speak against you will be muted by the proof of your stamina.” Pondather then smirked as he sat back, drinking in the sight before him. Adair was an incredibly handsome man, no doubt of his virility or stamina; he had a powerful essence that filled Pondather’s soul and heart.

“But what of the prophecy, have we failed?” Adair eyes shifted downward as he felt the weight of the crown bear down upon him.

"No, I will consult the ancient genealogies there must be another pure line left. You must produce a daughter Adair, Trusein needs a wife.” Pondather got up from the table and walked to the balcony overlooking the gardens. He looked first to the heavens above as if waiting for divine intervention before he returned to Adair’s side. Kneeling down he took his hand, “Zan and Tellydine must produce a son, Trusein must produce the daughter but he cannot alone, he needs a wife and only your daughter is encoded.”

“Are you sure about the interpretation of the prophecy that the two houses must become one is intermarriage of our children.” Adair looked questioningly into Pondather’s eyes, “Are you sure?”

“Yes Adair for it will be their children who are to marry and produce the savior … he who is born of the two; the two that must be one, the warrior must become the King, King to be warrior. There is no other way for the savior to appear.”

Pondather reached up and took a golden loaf of bread into his hands. “This bread whole is hope, this bread whole is encouragement, this bread whole is strength.” He then ripped the circular domed shaped loaf into two. “Now broken into two, no longer does it represent hope instead fear and aggression. No longer dose it represent encouragement, but slavery and destitution. No longer does it represent strength, for now it is weak and fragile.” Pondather handed one section to Adair, “Broken this bread no longer is strong, no longer encourages man or gives hope. Do you understand Adair?”

“I know what you are saying is the truth. As Kings we must appear strong to the people and ensure the means for deliverance.” Adair took Pondather’s hand in a kiss, “And what of you Pon will you remarry or is Kandahar too arrogant to again feel a woman’s heart.”

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 4A of 4AB

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 3: More Secrets
~ The Birth of Vilandra ~

“…that whilst men in buying an earthen or glass vase would sound it first to learn if it were good, yet in choosing a wife they were content with only looking at her.” “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli

The old tower was dusty and smelled heavy of mold and mildew, not a safe place for these records to be kept thought Pondather as he walked up the long spiral staircase. He had come to The Temple of The Blood Red Sun where originals of ancient documents had been stored away hundreds of years ago. The old masters that lived in the Temple complex had begun to take an interest in these documents, taking care to archive them properly and modernize their contents for distribution to the library system on Antar.

There were thousands of documents and only a handful of men who chose to dedicate their lives in learning the ancient tongues needed was for translating the parchments. Even though these masters had accomplished a great deal of work in a relative short period of time, hundreds of documents still lay in heaps, within the many rooms of the crowded tower

Pondather opened the heavy oak door as the hinges creaked and moaned his arrival. He stood transfixed in the entrance to the great room as he marveled over the thousands of books lining the walls. Let alone those stacked on the floor.

“My Lord,” an older man, dressed in the simple black garb of the Shadow Warrior, approached King Pondather, he was bent over from age, his afflictions were noticeable as he struggled in his gait.

“Please Master, do not trouble yourself.” Pondather noted as the man attempted to kneel down. He gently helped the elderly man back to his feet and graciously walked him back to his desk strewn with dark tan parchments and a large magnify glass.

The old gentleman sat down in his comfortable chair, and stared up at the tall, impressive sight before him. “How may I be of help to you my Lord?”

“I have come here today to ask if you have seen any of the old genealogies that existed at one time of the branches of Atarh.”

“Yes I believe I did come across some of those lineage books. Let me see,” the old man began to rise again.

“No my elder, please allow me to gather them for you. In which direction would I seek them?”

“There, to the left,” he pointed with a gnarled and shriveled with age, “there by that alcove, there are several bound volumes.”

“Thank you. May the ancients praise and bless you with an abode in the next life.” Pondather bowed to the master and turned to find the volumes.

The old master smiled at the King, he had heard unfavorable reports about Pondather, his temper and stoic disposition, but he could feel a difference, something else about him, something that was just and honorable. The King knew the ways of the Temple, of the Shadow Masters and the unwritten code of protocol. Then suddenly in a flash the old master realized King Pondather was a master himself, not any master but an Assass’inay. The Old Master said nothing but lowered his eyes, he knew now why the King had come looking for the genealogies. The Assass’inay were once again controlling the destiny of Antar and what was to come.

Pondather pulled three large leather bound books from the shelf, finding an unused table he sat down and began to examine them one by one. He was tracing the hundreds of lines backward looking for a connection to Atarh through Zandorath and not his sister. Finding nothing, he returned those books and selected three more. Flipping through the second book, Pondather suddenly stopped on a water stained section printed in very old Antarian. A line started by Sathen who married Lanesse one of the daughters of Zandorath from his fourth wife Tasserea. The House of Sathen, “that sounds familiar”, Pondather whispered aloud as he pondered for a few minutes when he remembered seeing that name recently, “yes Lord Ganthro,” a follower of the old ways. He had his children sent to live at the monasteries in the Mountains of Branda. Pondather jumped up, “Yes!” he shouted.

“My Lord?”

Pondather turned forgetting he was not alone. “Forgive me for the outburst my master.” Pondather started for the door, at the last moment he turned to the Old Master. “Of course I was never here, correct?”

“I am sorry sir but do I know you.” The old man nodded his head and smiled.

Pondather acknowledged the actions and exited the tower quickly. The Old Master rose slowly and went to the book Pondather was examining, “Sathen” he whispered as he closed the book and returned it to the shelf.

A few weeks had past since Pondather’s visit to the depository. The Palace was busy preparing to receive the first formal occasion of the year, the Festival of the Red Sun that nobility from all over Antar were invited to attend. This year a special invitation was sent to Lord Ganthro, from none other than King Pondather himself.

“Why father? Why are we attending the festival this year?” asked Elsiya as she struggled with the long train of her dress, “We have never attended before. You yourself said these things are not essential in life but our obedience to the ancients and a pious life are what is necessary.”

“I know my daughter but King Pondather himself has asked us to be present, and our obedience to our King is our duty as well.” He gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek, turning to his two strong young strapping sons, “Othra, Laso, be sure to escort your sister in, remember what the protocol measures are. All of Antar will be judging us today, and do not admonish me again for being prideful. Every man does have some and you my children are my downfall.” Lord Ganthro spoke with a wink in his eyes.

The state hall was immense in size; Elsiya had never seen anything like this in her life. She felt so small and minuscule as she and her family were introduced. She was in awe of the colors, the subtle tones of blue deliberately used to create a peaceful ambiance. There were so many people; she had never seen so many in one place before. Thousands as they milled about dressed in their finest strutting like peacocks looking to be mated.

Suddenly the drums announced the arrival of King Pondather accompanied by his sons and their protectors. Within a few minutes, the drums once again were sounded as King Adair entered the hall; the protector carried his son who was just shy of 3 years of age.

Taking his place on the dais Adair watched the events of the evening unfold. The music was delightful as the guests busied themselves in dance and frivolous behavior. For a while, the crowd settled down as a special play “The Evening of the Red Sun”, presented by the art guild, based on the ideology forgiveness and renewal since the festival of the Red Sun was a time of rejuvenation as Antar once again comes forth in life and bounty.

Pondather watched closely the movements of Lord Ganthro and his daughter. She moved like springtime, soft and gentle. She was chaste in her actions, demure in her words, and regal in her appearance. She politely refused dances from the men as she clung to her brothers’ arms, protected in a veil of chastity.

It was almost an hour before Pondather climbed the stairs and sat next to Adair “So Adair what do you think of Lord Ganthro as a representative of the House of Sathen.”

“Which one is he Pon?” Adair looked over the crowd.

“There next to his sons and daughter, her name is Elsiya.”

“I do not know, is he a good man and patron to those under his house?”

“Yes it appears he is very pious, he has raised his children in the monasteries. Elsiya, a precious jewel, is chaste, demure in public and she is beautiful, do you not think so?” Pondather smirked as he looked at Adair.

“Pon what are you up to?” Adair felt the warning signs prick up on the back of his neck. “Pondather are you making a match.” Adair shook his head. “Pon no!”

“Well she is the right age for children and is one of the last few remaining lines.”

“She is but a child, I am twice if not more her age.”

“Does that matter Adair, she is strong and young but hardly a child, most her age have grandchildren by now.” Pondather looked behind him, “I stress again a great beauty. Her daughter will be a vision.” Pondather leaned in closely “Meet her first at least and then decide.”

“Will it make you happy and keep you off my back?”

Pondather smiled as he exited the dais, during the evening many of the nobles are allowed to approach the dais and meet with the King. Therefore, the presence of Lord Ganthro and his family would not seem unusual or out of place. Palace gossip could be brutal causing undo attention.

Pondather was direct in his movements as he walked over to Lord Ganthro. “May I escort you and your family to meet the king?” Pondather nodded with his head as his arm motioned the way to the throne. They followed King Pondather up the steps. “King Adair, I have the pleasure of presenting to you Lord Ganthro of the House of Sathen, his sons Othra, Laso, and his daughter Elsiya.”

“Your majesty,” Lord Ganthro spoke but Adair’s eyes could not leave the vision that was before him as Elsiya dropped to one knee balanced by her brothers, her eyes lowered, her head gracefully bent. “We are in your service.”

“Please sit and join me here,” Adair snapped out of his adoration and motioned to the chairs that had been placed by him on the dais for such informal meetings.

“Lord Ganthro this I believe is the first time you have visited my court.”

“Yes my King, I have elected to raise my children as pious offerings to the Temple.”

“And you find my court not pious?”

“No your majesty I did not mean to indicate that.”

Adair let out a small laugh, “That is quite all right Lord Ganthro it is true this court does lack a sense of being humble but not in piety.” Adair turned his attention to Elsiya, “But I am angered that you have hidden such a beautiful flower away, your presence my dear graces this court.”

Elsiya dropped her eyes as she blushed her cheeks were a flamed. Carefully she raised her eyes just enough to see the King staring at her, his eyes were so kind looking and he was handsome. Older than herself, yet she found herself entranced by his manners and his voice, so soft yet powerful.

Pondather leaned back in his chair as he smirked, he could sense that Adair was attracted to this beauty. He watched the conversation as it progressed, several times Adair attempted to engage Elsiya to respond to no avail. Finally, the audience was over as Pondather stood to escort them back.

Returning, he sat down and waited for Adair to say something. “Well?”

“Elsiya,” the word flowed off Adair’s lips. She was a great beauty so strong and regal in her stance, yet she was the most feminine flower he had ever laid eyes on.

“Well?” Pondather reiterated, “What do you think?”

“She is incredible!”

“I do my best.” Pondather stood and started to leave.

“Where are you going?”

Pondather stopped and turned around “To make the betrothal.”

“Pondather please,” the King’s pleas fell upon deaf ears as Pondather was already down the stair. Adair smiled secretly to himself at his good fortune his mind already in a daze.

“Lord Ganthro would you and your family, please follow me,” Pondather indicated for the scribes to accompany them also and they retired to one of the private staterooms. Adair watched from the distance, he was now praying that she had found favor with him, and Pondather could make a betrothal.

“I will be blunt and to the point Lord Ganthro.” Pondather began as he stood directly in front of the man who had begun to grow pale out of fear. “The House of Sathen is one of the last houses that can be traced back to Atarh and the House of Rath. Although your line is a secondary line with no primary lines left, yours qualifies for royal marriages. The King of Antar needs to marry to bring a Queen back into the Palace and to provide royal heirs, your daughter has been selected as a candidate. Do we have a betrothal or not?”

Pondather motioned for the scribe to bring over a sleek silver chest. Placing it on a table to the right of the King, Pondather turned and raised the lid revealing the bride price. At one time, the brides’ families were compensated, demonstrating the ability for the groom to afford a wife. The tradition has remained as symbolic, the price paid is no where near the value that a King could spend but rather a token. Inside the box were gold coins, both new and ancient, jewels, rings, necklaces, bracelets, deeds to land and property, and a betrothal crown.

“Our family is honored King Pondather, but I must speak to my daughter first.”

“Then talk,” Pondather crossed his arms and waited

“In private?”

“Your house is being offered the honor of having royalty through the marriage of your daughter to the King of Antar. Does this truly need to be discussed?”

Lord Ganthro was not quite sure what to do, Pondather is one man you do not question. He had to answer yes or no immediately. He stole a glance at his daughter.

Elsiya had always expected to be married off to some minor nobility, a soldier of her father’s, or worst yet remain in the service of the temple never to marry or know love, at least here, she would have status, and King Adair was very handsome. She gave a slight nod to her father; it was for the best she knew that.

“Elsiya will be honored to marry King Adair.”

“Good then the match is secured. After the festival ends the King will meet with your family in the private chambers upstairs.” He nodded to Lord Ganthro as he turned to leave.

“And who are you to my future husband” spoke the small timid voice belonging to Elsiya, her boldness surprised all.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 4B of 4AB

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 3: More Secrets
~ The Birth of Vilandra continued ~

“… how many promises made,
have been violated and broken by the infidelity of Princes..”
“The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli

Pondather glared back at the young woman, “That is between the King and myself.” He slammed the heavy oak doors open with a wave of his hands as he exited.

Adair was waiting as Pondather joined him on the dais.

“Well?”

“Now you want to know?” teased Pondather, “A few minutes ago you were begging me not to.”

“Okay I was wrong come on now tell me.”

“It is done, after the festival you will meet with your future bride. First, I need to talk with you about something.” Pondather winked as he motioned to the exit.

Elsiya and her father had just entered the great hall when they saw Pondather and the King exit the dais and retreat behind the private doors; she could swear she saw Adair place his hand on Pondather’s waist as they went through.

“I guess that answers that question,” she snorted.

“My daughter I warn you not to interfere with King Pondather, he is not a man to be toyed with or crossed in any way.” Her father looked at her pointedly, “You will be made Queen but Pondather runs the King’s bed.”

Elsiya bit her lip, she could not back out now as her marriage would have to take place, her family‘s honor was now at stake. However, she did not know if she made the right choice in a husband.

The meeting that night was fairly brief and uncomfortable for both parties involved. Adair and Elsiya talked semi-privately as her family looked on. Their conversation was centered on small mundane items of interest, what food they like, what books they had read; even what season of the year was most enjoyable. The night ended with an agreement that the betrothal would be announced at the next public gathering, The Festival of the Blood Wine, appropriate since this was celebration of love, lust, and desire. Until then Lord Ganthro and his family would stay in the northern section of the Palace, where Elsiya could be educated in Palace protocol, mannerisms, politics, all the trappings and paraphernalia that would be essential to the duties of a Queen.

Pondather had excused himself early on and had left the room when Elyria and her family arrived. The next morning Adair found Pondather lying prone, his naked body wrapped in furs and satins, in a valley between two very voluptuous women. He’d taken both his pleasure and his frustrations out on the royal harem the night before.

-------------------------

Before the days could be counted, the time of the betrothal was upon them. The Festival of the Blood Wine, held during the Blood Moon, was a devil-may-care jubilation, celebrations were held in all cities, countrysides, seashores, and mountaintops. It was 72 hours of pure carnal pleasure and for those who participated felt the fire and the ice of sexual gratification. Bonds were made during the sacred hours, holy words spoken between lovers, between married, between confidents.

The grand hall, decorated in blues, greens, and gold, the colors of Thardan was a spectacular sight for the guests who welcomed the betrothal announced with a rousing sound of glee; the happy couple was in display for all to see.

Elsiya had been trained well by the aged women of the court. They taught her to behave properly, to stand erect and proud, to keep a smile upon her face even if her heart was breaking, to keep her eyes clear even when angered. She was taught the duties of the wife to a King, how to be gracious, polite, subservient, and demure.

All of Antar was scrutinizing her; Elsiya could feel their gazes upon her, waiting for her to royally screw up so they could berate her among themselves. She was an excellent student though and did her future husband proud as she stood stoically by his side, elating in a false smile when needed. By the end of the day she was exhausted, she and Adair had not even spoken that night, in fact, they barely had spoken at all in the several weeks she and her family had stayed at the Palace.

At the end of the evening, the date of the wedding was announced, three months henceforth on the day of the Summer’s Eve. There were many arrangements to be made before the day of the wedding. Consultants skilled in the art of state functions took over as they manipulated and designed each and every single element.

--------------------------------

Elsiya had little to do except improve on her waving style. She took many long walks alone, except for the battalion of guards that followed her every waking movement, in the ancient gardens and forests of the inner palace. Rarely did Adair accompany her as his time was consumed by the many obligations the kingdom still suffered as they attempted to rise above the severe recession and waves of fresh violence.

On one of these walks inside the maze, sculpted from dense foliage bushes, one of the few places she was allowed entirely by herself; here in that sanctuary she came across Pondather resting against the aged bark looking out over a small lake. She was barley on speaking terms with this man, she found him to be her rival for her future husband’s attention and that did irk her. However, she was not one to back down form a confrontation and in this, she would have her say.

“King Pondather!” her voice was crisp and sudden in the air.

Pondather was deep in thought and the sudden disturbance snapped him to attention, drawing his sword he prepared to kill the intruder.

“Are you planning to use that to kill your future Queen?”

“You are not my Queen, I am the King of Kandahar, I am loyal to Adair and Antar but I do not obey or bow down to its Queen.” His eyes sparked with fire as he spoke, their silver essence drew her in, she had not seen many of the old lineage.

“Maybe it would do you some good to begin that ritual,” countered Elsiya as she plopped down upon a log, in a not a very lady like manner

“Maybe it would do you good to remember that a queen is on display at all times.”

“Really and who is here to see me,” as she reached down and pulled off one slipper and then the next. “You are invisible to the Throne of Antar are you not?”

Pondather smiled at her, she was an inferno. Adair would have a handful with her. “To the throne yes, but apparently not to you.”

She looked up smiling; he was a handsome man, so virile and seductive looking in his ebony pants and shirt. So mysterious were the royals of Kandahar, she had heard many stories of their sexual and robust nature. She began to giggle to herself, catching herself as she hopped off the stump and began to run through the edge of the water, cooling her feet in the midday heat.

Pondather stood there gapping; he could not believe this woman was running through the lake, a future Queen of Antar, as if she was a child. ‘Oh the scandals that will come of her,’ he thought to himself. The sun bounced off her soft hair as she tossed her head in glee at the fish that milled around her feet, she looked back at Pondather laughing as he suddenly realized she was very young. The wind started to blow as a storm was on the horizon, it blew against her raising her skirt to mid-thigh, Pondather found himself suddenly uncomfortable in the lower extremities as he watched her merriment.

“Come we must go there is a storm approaching.” he ordered, trying to maintain himself from grabbing her in an impetuous kiss. He wiped his mind of such thoughts as he threw her slippers and started back out of the maze.

Pondather found himself thinking more and more about this beauty, prohibited fruit, luscious, desirable. He found himself stalking her accidentally bumping into her during her afternoon constitutional. Within days, they began to meet more often than not in the gardens where they could walk and talk. She found herself attracted to this man who was her rival for Adair’s affections.

-----------------------------------

“Tell me Pondather what do you and Adair do together?” she asked one balmy day while they drank wine in the Garden of Forbidden Knowledge.

“What?’ Pondather sputtered out, “What do you mean?”

“What do you and Adair do in your private room, I have heard tales of Kandahar lovers and their mates. Are the stories true?” She looked up seductively, her eyes glistening in the sunlight.

He looked at her incredulously, his relationship with Adair had always been their time, personal not even the business of the state was allowed to interfere, and now here was his lover’s future wife wanting to know what they did in their bedroom. Pondather unfortunately had a short temper when it came to things between him and Adair.

“That is none of anyone’s business!” he blurted out before he stormed off.

Elsiya jumped up from the blanket on which the two had been sitting on, as she ran towards Pondather, catching him just before he reached the stone arches that lead to the path outside the maze. He whirled around suddenly surprising her as she stumbled backwards; he reached out quickly capturing her in his strong arms. He held her for what seemed liked hours, when in actuality only seconds had passed. Finally he let her go, turning he walked out of the maze.

-------------------------------------------

In the weeks before the wedding Pondather had returned to the Cremsian Castle, he felt that he had become to close to Elsiya and needed to be away before something happened that would endanger not only her future but his as well.

The day of the wedding was cold; a brisk gale had swept down from the adjacent mountain range. Pondather spent the night before with Adair, he would return to Kandahar the next day, he found it difficult to accept Adair with Elsiya even though they would be man and wife. He tried to convince himself that she meant nothing to him, a feat that was difficult.

The wedding was blissful and as serene as any royal wedding could be despite the outward appearance of chaos. They spent their marriage night at the Palace, Elsiya was a nervous bride but Adair being older was skilled in the ways of romance and knew how to calm his wife on this night, after all, it was not his first.

-------------------------------

As the first few months of the marriage commenced, Elsiya found Adair an attentive and loving husband winning her love as they spent time together. Elsiya grew to love Adair deeper and deeper, yet she harbored a secret passion for Pondather back deep in the recesses of her mind.

Then one day while attending a formal function in the Great Hall, Elsiya saw someone out of the corner of her eye; a tall dark handsome figure. Almost seven months had passed since Pondather had been at the Palace of the Silver Rose, she watched as he glided through the room towards Adair, they hugged each other briefly before adjourning for the evening.

It felt good to be back in the arms of Adair, Pondather sighed as he dropped lower into the sheets, Adair’s body was heavy upon him, but he chose to endure the discomfort rather than remove the warm naked flesh. Pondather adjusted in his sleep, his mind was not content as it had been in the past, someone else was slowly occupying it, someone forbidden to him.

The next day was gorgeous, one of those summer days that comes only briefly in one’s life. Pondather had taken to the gardens; Adair had left the Palace on a diplomatic mission to the Council of the Five Planets. He had planned on leaving for the Cremsian Castle later than afternoon, but for now he wanted to stand in the ancient garden of Atarh, where he planted the first alien flower on his return to Antar, a complex piece of art, so delicate, so pale blue in color it almost shone with silver streaks in the light.

Pondather never heard the old stone doorway open, he never smelled her perfume until she stood next to him, he never felt her presence until her hands came upon his arm. What happened next he is not sure, all he knows is that they ended up on the grass together, locked in each other’s arms, reveling in love making that would seal their fortunes if found.

She had never felt such passion, such love, in her life. Whereas she did find Adair a passionate and loving husband, she was madly in love with Pondather and as time wore on their rendezvous became more and more frequent, more daring as the two fell further into an abyss of sensual desire.

However, with all things, even love had to end.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 5 Part 1 of 3

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 5: Death of the House of Rath
Timeline: Ten years after Zan’s Birth
~ Death revisited ~

"For a prince should have two fears: one, internal concerning his subjects the other, external, concerning foreign powers.” “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli


“Whose child is it Elsiya, it cannot be mine, say it is not so.” Pondather was pacing the corridor; it had been two months since the birth of Vilandra, three months since they were last together. Pondather had been off fighting, commanding his troops in the northern regions where an insurgence had grown strong. Mountain rebels had infiltrated and secured one of the many valleys that was inaccessible to technology; their numbers were growing by the day. Even Pondather with his might and military mind was unable to rid Antar of its threat.

He had rushed to the Place as soon as the battle was won, fearing that the consequences of their actions would be evident in that child.

“No, Pondather the child is Adair’s.” Elsiya replied, happy at the birth of her child but saddened it could not be Pondather’s, “He explained that your son, Trusein needed my daughter for the lines to continued, so I complied like a good wife.” Her tone was acidic, she felt as though she was a conspirator in some plan contrived by these Assass’inay. “You did not have to woo me, to gain my confidence or trust. I would have had the child, you and Adair will have your blessed savior.” Elsiya had tears in her eyes, for she had found out the plan, the secret plan of the Assass’inay and now she felt used.

Curious about the snake tattoo on Pondather she had gone to the library in the Palace where she spent a majority of her pregnancy reading, one day she happened on to the very information she had been seeking. An ancient journal, written in the old script, which described the snake coiled around Pondather’s leg, the secret rites that one had to endure, and finally the meaning of the Uraeus. She also learned of the Assass’inay that their strange beliefs including the prophecy that one day the House of Thardan and the House of Rath would become one and from that union the savior would be born.

Now it could have been the hormones or the truth, but Elsiya took those mere facts, mixed them up inside her mind and concluded that Pondather had been romancing her to ensure her compliance in this conspiracy. Moreover, as misunderstandings happen, words are spoken, feelings are hurt, and before the damage can be assessed and repaired, the foundation crumbles to dust.

“Elsiya it is not like that I swear,” Pondather pleaded, “I swear upon the sacred seals I did not plan to fall in love with you. I did not use you.”

Elsiya though turned a deaf ear to Pondather, the hurt in her heart was great. He stood there dumbstruck as she turned from him, walked away, down the great corridor to her private chambers. Pondather just stood there in shock at her actions. Suddenly the translucent blue windows, located close to the ceiling began to explode as glass rained down upon Pondather, and he abruptly spun about on his heels and quickly stamped out of the Palace.

-------------------

“Trusein wait up for me,” called out Zan trying to keep up with the 15-year-old boy. Zan had grown tall and strong in the last ten years. He excelled at school, sports, and combat. His tutors were all quite please with his progress. Trusein had come to that Palace to study almost 5 years ago, about the time Zan’s sister Vilandra was born.

Trusein was a typical Kandahar warrior, his hair was light brown while his eyes were ebony, but he did posses the trademark Rath temper. Already having fought in many a skirmish, Trusein was becoming a dashing figure at court and in the military circle. The council of Antar had great hopes for him.

“Come on Zan, Certis, we will be late,” yelled Trusein. Certis being 3 years younger had more of a devil may care attitude than his older brother, and being late for functions was part of his personality profile. Certis and Zan were good friends being closer in age and were the cause of many a rumpus in the gardens, let alone the commotion caused throughout the Palace, especially those resulting from carefully laid out traps.

However, Certis and Zan were not the only ones laying out traps, there was someone else with access to the Palace, something evil bent on the destruction of the Royal line. However, these traps, they were not slapstick humorous gags, but true sabotage that would result in death and mayhem for all.

Trusein stopped, turning he saw the two of them still far off down the hedge lined walkway. “We are sure to be late,” as he shook his head. “Come on you two.” It was obvious the two were planning to race, “Oh please, grant me the patience these two will be the death of me,” sighed Trusein as he kicked the ground with his foot and waited for the boys to have their childish fun. It would be soon that they would be expected to behave as adults.

The race was on, Zan got off a good lead, Certis was momentarily detained as he noticed a man in the bushes, a figure dressed in black, his face was concealed. “Odd,” thought Certis, as he glanced back to Zan wining the race “Oh shit!” Certis took off in a dead run, he never saw the glowing red neon triangle that was thrown out in front of his path, he never heard the explosion, he never felt death.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 5 Part 2 of 4

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 5: Death of the House of Rath
Timeline: 10 years after Zan’s Birth
~ Three down one to go ~


"… little recognizing the benefits that he had received from him, had by treachery sought to murder him, and for this ingratitude he was compelled to punish him” “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli


Trusein watched in slow motion, it was if time itself had slowed down, one frame of his life passed in front of his eyes at a time. He saw Certis begin to run, then from the corner of his eye he saw the figure, a shadow warrior but not. He saw the triangle being thrown out, his mind racing. Trusein started forward, “Nooooooooo!” escaped from his lips as he screamed until his lungs burned with pain. In front of his eyes, he saw the triangle first implode then sending a shock wave forth that decimated his brother upon contact. Zan being just a few feet ahead, was caught in the reaction zone as he was hit with the aftermath and sent hurdling face first into the cobblestone path.

Acting on instinct, unable to save his brother, Trusein dived forward to grab Zan pulling up sharply and throwing him over an embankment covering him with his own body. He held Zan’s head down and away from the sight while Trusein himself stared coldly at his brother’s body, torn apart in the blast.

Trusein had no idea what was at work here, the Palace was under attack as far as he knew. His duty now was to protect Zan, his brother was dead, the soldiers would soon be here to cover them as they escaped down to the caverns beneath the Palace and to freedom by the underground path set up centuries ago for the Royalty.

Within seconds of the explosion, the courtyard filled with soldiers; orders were being yelled right and left. The Chief of Palace Security, Captain Haldran saw Trusein covering Zan body only a few feet from the remains of his brother. The Captain ordered a guard immediately to watch the Princes as they were whisked quickly into the underground passages, where Vilandra and the Queen where already waiting in one of the countless bunker styled rooms. Elsiya ran to Zan, his face was bruised and bloodied from the fall on the stones.

“Zan what happened?” She began to clean the blood off with the hem of her dress. She looked around, puzzled, “Trusein where is Certis? Where is your brother?”

Trusein said nothing, his face spoke the volumes of shock and hurt. Captain Haldran appeared mere seconds later and took the Queen aside to explain to her the circumstances in the courtyard above. She was shocked; Certis was dead, the third child, a third brother, from the House of Rath had died. She felt so guilty for having treated Pondather so badly these last few cold hard years.

Up in the courtyard the Death Seekers had already arrived and were preparing the body for ritual burial, in accordance to the laws and traditions of the Kandahar warriors. The King was observing under heavy armed guard from one of the towers close by. Adair had already notified Pondather who was coming with full military escort, from the Cremsian Castle. This time it was evident, this was no accident. Trusein had informed Captain Haldran that a man dressed in black had thrown out a detonation device and fled into the ancient forest. Every man, woman, and child was being scanned for radioactive residue that is the direct result from handling those devices. There is no way to hide the small amount of residue that remains, the scanning equipment is sensitive enough to pick up those small atomic particles.

After an extensive search, the royal family was allowed back in to their apartments, under heavy guard of course. Nothing was found in the courtyard, nor the surrounding area. Every single person was accounted for in the Palace and on the grounds which had been cleared of any residue. Whoever it was, a ghost, a specter of evil, had simply vanished under their very noses.

Within a few hours Pondather had arrived, his son’s body had already been removed and was being held in the Chapel of the Souls where Queen Noiraya had laid in state. Elsiya watched from her balcony as Pondather made his way across the field to the courtyard. He looked briefly up to where she was standing, he looked so pale, drawn, his face was aged; grief hung heavy upon his shoulders.

Once again, in such a short time Kandahar was in mourning, this time it was intensified because this was assassination.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Hi there thanks for the great feedback… I am endeavoring to finish Rath’s birth and send it and 3 more chapter off to my beta who makes my poor “grammar and spelling challenged” chapters readable, BEFORE the enigma begins tonight resulting in my brain being turned into mush as I lay upon the battlefield of words and trivia. So just in case I am in a coma later here is th enext chapter till I revive.

Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 5 Part 3 of 4

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 5: Death of the House of Rath
Timeline: 13 years after Zan’s Birth
~ All dead there is no more ~

"Before all else, be armed.” “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli

Over the next couple of years, Pondather retreated more and more into himself. Rarely did he leave the Cremsian Castle except to go to war. He became an intolerable creature, even Adair found it difficult to be around Pondather for more than a few hours. His disposition and temperament were in a constant state of flux and he would go off the handle at the slightest provocation.

Adair thought maybe a woman’s touch would be in order for Pondather, a beauty to soothe the savage breast, so to speak. It just so happens that a cousin of Elsiya, her only living relative, had took a fancy to Pondather, boldly and openly announcing her feeling to Elsiya and Adair. Elsiya felt pangs of jealousy when she heard her cousin, Sabura, speak of Pondather in glowing terms. However, she fought down those feelings as they arose, now was not the time to interfere in his life again, no matter how much she regretted her actions and would do most anything to win his love again.

Speaking on behalf of Pondather and well within his rights as a confidant may by law have the authority to do so, Adair arranged a marriage between the two; she was after all from royal stock and was young enough to bear more children for Pondather, maybe sons to help heal the broken warrior’s heart. Needless to say, Pondather was outraged at Adair’s plans of having committed him to a marriage he did not want or to a woman he did not choose, yet alone seen. He ranted and raved at Adair who just sat there with a smirk on his face, waiting for the infamous Rath temper to fizzle out and for Pondather to concede that this was in his best interest. Finally, Pondather cooled off as a meeting between him and Sabura was agreed upon.

A week later he arrived at the Palace where he met his future wife, he was taken back at her beauty and delicate features. Her hair tipped in platinum and her eyes laced in silver, a throwback to the old lines, mesmerized him. He smiled at that; he was always intrigued by the old stories of the original Antarian race, and always strove to honor and propagate their memory, even though that pure bloodline was almost nonexistent.

They were married in the Chapel of the Martyred Souls in the Cremsian Castle, in the warrior’s ceremony of the ordinary Kandahar people. Pondather was never one for pomp and circumstance, preferring to be close to his warriors, on the same line with them. Sabura was ecstatically happy; Pondather was everything she had ever wanted in a man, including a great lover. Of course, she had not experienced any other man, considering she had also been raised in the same woman’s temple that Elsiya had been raised in.

Adair was right about the marriage being good for Pondather, he started to change back to the mannerisms he had before the death of his wife, Othalia. Adair even caught a smile here and there from his old friend and lover, the times between them had returned, love was again relevant in their words and actions.

**************************

In an ancient cave, high in the mountains of the north, accessible only by foot through a long narrow crack in the sandstone layers known as the Entrance to Hell, they gathered quietly, nary a word spoken between them. Lining the smooth polished sandstone walls were shelves upon shelves of books, apothecary jars, and various oddities one would find in a laboratory where alchemy was practiced.

In the beakers over the burners brewed a concoction that would seal the last of the House of Rath. This was their mission; these men sought to bring down the very monarchy of Antar itself. Lead by a Master, a half blood, who by some quirk of nature had retained the ability to shape shift, inherited DNA from a father who had deceived and bedded his mother.

The men added herbs, blood and sweat of various reptilian creatures, and salts until the mixture glowed a ghastly yellow. Pouring the mixture into a tall clear glass cylinder where several barbed metal tipped arrows were standing erect. If the poison on the metal failed in its duty, surely the poison in the wood would be effective, just taking longer to the eventual outcome, death.

**********************

Trusein had remained at the Palace of the Silver Rose after his brother’s death, where he was engaged in battle planning with the generals and various advisors to King Adair. Antar and its military were training Trusein for the position of Commander, a title and position his father had refused. Trusein was a natural leader, strong, intelligent and a fair temper, considering he was of the Rath bloodline.

He saw personally to help train the average soldiers, to prepare their bodies and minds for the task that they were assigned to. Being extremely disciplined himself, he felt he could add to their knowledge base. He would spend most mornings out on the training field observing the men in actual combat action. Although this was dangerous, he was careful always to stand behind the men, out of the line of fire.

It was a cloudy day that fateful day; the wind was making the simulated battle more difficult as the sand used for soft landing was being whirled about, making the techniques harder to master for the soldiers. Trusein was standing back, in his usual position with his back to the ancient forest. He was not pleased that day, he had been yelling at the clumsily way these new soldiers attempted to counteract an enemy.

Tired from the sand, wind, and the cold air that crept into his very bones, Trusein knelt down on one knee with his head in his hand. He was in deep concentration thinking on what he could do to encourage and strengthen the comradely and military interest of this new batch of recruits from the eastern lands. They had to be the best, as imperial soldiers their job was to protect the Palace and King first.

Trusein failed to hear the bow being drawn taut. He failed to hear the whistle in the air as the arrow came directly at him, hitting the target from the back. In rapid succession, five more arrows flew, each hitting within centimeters from the first.

Trusein died instantaneously when the first arrow struck, the poison was excellent in performing its duty. The soldiers, busy with the battle, had not noticed the arrows nor the man who fled quickly through the trees to the secret passage in the stonewall; a passage forgotten, even the architect’s plans of the Palace failed to note this feature. It was not until one of the captains thinking Trusein had fallen asleep in the most odd manner, had walked over and shook his shoulder. When immediately Trusein fell over, the color of death was evident.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Thanks guys for the feedback:

To Mareli: thanks for the kind comments on “Gone but Not Forgotten”. I agree it is a tough read, but for those who make it through by book four they are going to see a stronger Max and Michael, more united than their past selves ever were and they will need it to face Ki'var and even more deadly enemies to come.

Maybe I should make up special buttons that say I read through Book one and survived…..

In addition, I cannot thank you enough for the nominations you put “Gone But not Forgotten” down for… I am still jumping up and down … no really I came out f my chair and screamed when I saw it … thanks so very much….

s_e_r



Finally Rath’s birth or is it?


Book 2: Section 2: Chapter 5 Part 4 of 4

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 2: With Life, There is Death
Chapter 5: Death of the House of Rath
~ The Birth and Death of TellymonRath ~

Timeline: 15 years after Zan’s Birth

"For a prince should have two fears: one, internal concerning his subjects; the other, external, concerning foreign powers." "The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavell

Almost two years had past since Trusein’s death, Pondather was beside himself with grief, he had lost everything all four sons were dead, all the heirs to Kandahar and to Antar itself were dead. He was not one for having multiple wives, which was common knowledge, especially among the royalty, he found too many people in his life was stifling. His relationship with Adair was stressful enough let alone women who confused him to no end.

The prophecy that was to bring forth the savior was dead. The way of the Assass’inay was dead with no prophecy to be fulfilled. The Kingdom of Kandahar was dead with no heirs. The House of Rath as dead, the purest blood, the oldest house, descended directly from Zandorath himself, was dead. The knowledge that he had failed was avoirdupois upon Pondather’s neck.

Sabura knew what had to be done both to save the kingdom when Pondather died and to save his sanity while he was still lived. Gingerly she approached the subject with him, she knew how his temper could get the best of him, and while he never would touch her or harm her in any way, she was still cautious as she approached the delicate subject of wanting a son.

*********************

“What do you mean, there is a child” the scrawny figure cowering on the floor pleaded for his life as he felt the sudden and vicious slap from his master’s gloved hand. The hooded face scowled, “You were to make sure that she could bear no children.” Another slap resounded in the cave.

“My Lord forgive me,” the figure tremble, prostrating himself, “I did as you said I added the ingredients to her food everyday. But…”

“But what?” the black figure struck his follower again across the face, “But what! You failed she is with child. You know the penalty for failure.” His hand began to glow red as he laid it on top of the man who proceeded to scream and writhe in agony. Soon his body ignited and within minutes, he was but a pile of dust up on the floor.

The other men present in the cave, who watched the murder of their comrade, immediately dropped to their knees proclaiming their unwavering love and devotion to the Master.

“Yesan, now with Harlan gone having taken off into the hills after being found out to be cheating at gambling games thus provoking the displeasure of the local entrepreneurs, understand? You will be ready and willing to take over his duties. Understand; be sure you do not disappoint me. I do not like to be disappointed.” The Master turned a he kicked the dust pile out of his way as he returned to the old wooden table where he was brewing up another formula.

“It will have to look as though it is a miscarriage; we do not want to unduly alert the royal families before we have had a chance to kill Adair and Pondather.”

On the table next to the Master, a book laid opened a book of poisons and spells that could bind one soul to another, to enter a being with his knowledge, and even the secret of life everlasting. The pages were well worn, no longer sharp and crisp; instead, the parchment was fragile and abused with age and use. The pages were turned to a poison, vile in its duty to abort a fetus, deceptive in its manner, treacherous in it commitment to succeed.

<center> Concerning the Creation of the Gold Lion with Green Breath

Take the vitriol of the Green Breath, which you have carefully prepared in accordance with the laws, and regulations of the Separte Rule. The solution must be purified for four days, until the Green is separate from the Yellow, for it is the Green that is needed to complete the formula. Be careful for the Green tincture of the vitriol is powerful and if allowed to seep into the skin may cause death to the preparer. The act involved in the separation is equivalent to the sun being separated from the three moons, where the stars are separated from the galaxies, where the medicine is separated from the poisons, where that which is useful is separated from that which is not. Take care what you use for evil and what you use for good, once administered there is no turning back.

Add two drops of this tincture to a base of the Balsam of the Heavenly Stars, stir until the mixture take on a slight green tinge. At that point, add the Sulphur of Sol until a rich green hue is acquired. Now let the mixture cook until liquid is evaporated off and all that remains green dust. Add to this dust the dust of the Gold Lion, given in full dosage within hours the child will have had been aborted. </center>

“Take this vial.” The Master trusted the container into Yasan’s trembling hand, “You are to add a few minute sprinkles each day for a week. No one will detect the poison in such small amounts. The child will die within the womb, a week’s time. Go now and secure your place in the Palace kitchen and begin to execute your duties, for she is already over two weeks along, another week and the child could be born and our plans to rule Antar ruined.”

***********************************

“I do not understand, why can’t she be healed, what has happened.” Pondather’s voice raised, the walls began to quiver in his wake.

“Your majesty we have done all we can, no powers, no healers, no prescriptions can stop the child from being stillborn, his heart has already stopped. Please forgive me for being so candor but those are the facts. I am sorry.” The healers turned and walked away the sight.

Pondather threw a fit, in his grief he tore apart the room, Adair tried desperately to stop him, but Pondather turned even on him almost killing him in their altercation. Deciding the best thing was to leave him alone in his bereavement for awhile until his temper cooled down, Adair left the room, deeply angered that he was unable to help his lover in his time of need.

Pondather sealed the doors allowing none in, he sat by his wife as she was in a deep coma; death was prevalent upon her lips. The small bundle lay next to her, cold motionless; air he never breathed.

“Why?” Pondather screamed to the heavens above, “Why have you deserted us, the signs are there, what has Antar done to deserve this punishment.”

It was then, that Pondather noticed a small twitch from the edge of the blanket wrapping his stillborn son. He blinked his eyes; he must be going mad, deranged from grief. Then he saw the blanket move. Jumping up quickly he took the bundle in his hands and opened the blue toned blanket revealing not the dead son the healers had deemed but a breathing entity, his son alive.

“Sabura,” he cried over to his wife, only to discover her breath had finished; she now lay still upon the bd. Thinking quickly to protect and conceal his child, Pondather took the one chance that he had. The doors being sealed tight; he took the child and exited through one of the ancient passages that weaved maze like through under and through the Palace. Finding a safe room, Pondather secured the child in a small open box where he could be safe for a scant hour while he searched for a replacement.

Acting expeditiously, Pondather left the castle aiming for a shantytown that had sprung up about 10 miles from the Palace itself. The inhabitants were mostly refugees from other planets that heard of Antar’s wealth and prosperity. They had come by thousands; unfortunately, many were unskilled peasants who had escaped persecution. They were uneducated not only in their native tongues but also in Antarian, the only language used for all government and official business.

Being a stubborn group of immigrants they had refused to learn Antarian ways or the language thus barring them from most upper level positions. While they did excel in labor-intensified work, they still live largely poor existence, resulting in steadily growingly unhappy populace. They were a strange lot; their religion was foreign to the Antarians, who held life precious, especially the life of any and all children. Homage, still enforced today, to the ancient times on D’wath when times were so brutal for children that the Antarians pledged never to let a child suffer again.

These recent immigrants, also held life sacred, but they also believed in supreme sacrifices. As commanded by their prophet to bear first a daughter, any males were to be sacrificed, since this was a painful experience for new parents many of the children were left to die in garbage heaps. The boys rarely lasted a few hours, especially in the cold months. The government of Antar unable to curb this religious fervor of these people did manage to intercede and save a majority of the births by keeping watch on the garbage dumps in the city. Of course, many children did fall through the cracks, but the majority by far were now being raised as orphans.

Within minutes Pondather found what he was looking for, a child, having been born but a few hours ago, death already had claimed his soul. Saying a prayer to the Ancients for redeeming the soul of one so innocent and returning him to live his life that was taken from him at such a tender age. Pondather then carefully took the child and disappeared back into the shadows as he made his way back to the Palace. Once there he took the blanket from around TellymonRath and covered the dead child in it.

Once again, he secured his son in the small box, as he returned to his wife’s room. There he placed the child in his wife’s arms praying that what he was about to do would be the solution, the only chance his son had to staying alive. Pondather then unsealed the doors making the notification that his wife and son were dead. None would question the child, who had already been declared dead by the healers, none would check to see if his eyes were silver or if he was of the House of Rath by DNA standards.

Pondather was certain that someone had killed his wives and children to gain control of Kandahar and maybe even the very throne of Antar itself. He would take his son to a safe location, where he could be raised in secret until he was powerful enough to act on his own. What Pondather had never told Sabura was that he had the child inside her womb genetically enhanced, the same DNA, that was given to Zan was also given to his son, but he did not filter out the warrior elements. His child would be the avenger of his brothers’ deaths. Not even Adair knew what Pondather had done, and now Adair would not know this neither. Pondather knew from now on he must steer clear of Adair, break his ties and for now his love. It was the only way to ensure complete control; he would lock himself in his Cremsian Castle not to speak or see anyone until TellymonRath turned the legal age of 16 and was declared a man in both powers and status.

Acting crazed and distraught, Pondather left the room at the shock and dismay of the staff. He brushed past Adair, fearing a connection, as he left the area. Once in his own set of rooms, he entered the underground system. The King picked up his son, he wrapped him in an old piece of cloth that the founding the garbage was wrapped in; no hint of royalty could be associated with him. Pinning a piece of crumpled paper he also found he wrote the name Tymin on it. The name of the last Assass’inay before the law was placed into effect banning them. Taking the child in his arms, he hastened from the Palace and made his way to the Temple of the Shadow Moon.

As the mountains of Dandler came into sight, Pondather stood upon the path, which his armies had once trodden and on which future armies would tread looking towards the mountain range, which shielded the temple complex from view. The child in his arms squirmed and cooed, pangs of hunger were prevalent but the child was already learning to be stoic in his demeanor, never letting on his true feeling or intentions.

The sky was possessed of dull lifeless clouds monotonous in their colors of gray, white, and black. It was if the clouds themselves died at the very second his wife did. Soon darkness was upon him as he made his way down the steep craggy path through the pass, stepping over the dead limbs and rotting branches that littered the once immaculate path. The air was damp; a musty vapor was sickening to the nose.

Once free of the mountain pass he silently stole his way to the gates of the temple complex. Darkness right now was his friend, no one saw him place the small child, still covered in the blood of his birth, down upon the slate steps. He took one last look at this delicate frame of flesh where the ancient warrior Uthrox’s heart now beats, the avenger of his brothers’ death, he whom would be called upon to take vengeance on behalf of Antar and to smite it‘s enemies. Reaching up he pulled on the horsehair rope signaling the sentinel inside that a visitor had arrive.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Book 2: Section 3: Chapter 1: Part 1 of 1

The Past Returns: Book Two of the Chronicles of Antar
Section 3: Temple of the Shadow Moon
Chapter 1: The Rebirth of Atarh
Timeline: Fifteen years after Zan’s Birth
~ Time of Parchment ~


Master Galawen looked to the sky, the stars have come into balance, the five planets were in the V formation for the first time in three thousand years, the time of the prophecy had come; the time of the ancient rites will once again be heralded. For the next one hundred and fifty years, time will stand still as the planets remain aligned, awaiting omens that will facilitate the end of Antar and the rebirth of the saviors.

Taking a parchment and ink in hand Master Galawen wrote down the complicated concatenation of events as they were dictated to him decades before, the ancient religion of the prophets, the Dark Waters, which had been banned for centuries remained vigilant, wakeful, conscious; sacred wisdom passed from master to master, from mouth to mouth, from memory to memory. Now the time has come, the ancient truth must be encoded, the end is near.

<center>Behold, Ancients, Oh Lord of the Sacred Land
On the Name of the Great Ancients
In the Name of the Lord of us all </center>

I am Master Galawen, a poor and lowly slave to the Ancients in whose image I now write the words of wisdom. I ask that the Ancients guide my hands in purity, I beg that the Ancients stand by me and drive away all evil as I endeavor to write what is true. The Ancients detest all falsehood, the ink in my quill defends our Lord of All, Master of us All, Lord of the all the known Worlds, Lord of Justice, Lord of Peace. I write in your name. Grant me your protection to a poor man, dispel the darkness and clear the away the storm.

<center>I come to you with my hands bearing Truth, and my heart has no lies in it.
I place Truth before you, for your inspection. </center>

Before Antar came into being, the Ancients lived, the Great Lord of all. From his celestial being all life, all beings were called forth, by his voice, into creation, to do his bidding. Our Lord was already Ancient, time immortal, from the beginning he was created onto himself, none stands above him. It is from that Antar owes its existence and we pledge loyalty and fidelity.

Antar’s fifty-seven ages commenced with a rock, a blue stone set in the pitch-blackness of space. This was the first age, the Age of Silence. Then from deep inside our planet red liquid, hot molted rock gushed forth onto the blue stones, this was the second age, the Age of Fire. In the nothingness a single luminous glow was created, this was the third age the Age of Warmth. The next four ages came as each of those planets in our federation was birthed; these were the Ages of Neighbors.

Then in the negritude, in the vacuum a small drop of water that formed from a single ice crystal that dropped from the black void, this was the Age of Beginnings. In time, Antar was blanket by a cushion of air in the Age of Breath. With air came the fours winds as the ages ten through thirteen were brought into being, they are known as the Ages of the Tempestuous.

The next three ages came about when our three moons representing the past, the present, the future, were from debris that surrounded Antar; these were Ages of the Shadows. In the sky, white clouds formed giving rise to imagination this was the seventeenth age, the Age of Imagination. Soon Antar shook from the assault of the Age of Terror in the form of lighting ripped the fabric of space and quaked from the sound of explosions created by the thunder defending the next age, Age of Explosion. Rains pelted Antar; this was the twentieth age, call the Age of Nourishment. The rivers ran, lakes were formed and the seas rose, these were the Ages of Turbulence.

In the morning, mountains were thrust upwards and by evening valleys were formed. This was the Age of Upheaval. Suddenly Antar was split apart as great cracks appeared across the surface, pulling and tearing at our world. This was the twenty-fifth age, the silver age, the Age of Violence.

The twenty-sixth age saw the changes in temperatures, snow now formed where water had once stood. This was the Age of the Seasons coming into being. The oceans gave birth to the first organisms in Antar’s twenty-seventh age; this was the Age of Birth of existence. Soon plant material filled the banks of the rivers, spread across the lush fertile valleys, and crept up the mountainsides as the twenty-eight age, the Age of Verdure came to an end.

The once blue stone rock, now teamed with polychromatic life as the next three ages brought forth red, blue, and yellow; red the Age of War, Blue the Age of Peace, and Yellow the Age of Life. These colors refused to be separated and mixed freely with the blackness of the void and the whiteness of purity. These were the Ages of Pigmentation.

The richness of the land, the sweetness of the plants, and the colorfulness of the flowers brought forth animals whose existence was tied to the land. In the oceans, the rich nutrients call forth animals that were sleet in body, graceful in movement, able to turn and accelerate with great speed. These were the Ages of the Animalia.

In the thirty-four age the Ancients brought sentient life into creation, this was the Age of Man. To help man, the Celestial Lord sent the religion of the Ancients to guide man in his path. This is the Age of Religion. Next was the Age of Instruction as man was baptized into the great wisdom, making him a vessel of the Celestial Lord’s word. Man was giving ears in the Age of Hearing so that he may listen to the voice of the Lord’s word. He was given a brain to know justice from depravity and a conscious so that he would know honor from immorality. He was given a heart to know love from hatred and he was given a soul so that he may rest eternal in the bosom of the Ancients, his energy never to fade. The end of the thirty-eighth age brought man the ability to listen and be instructed, as the Age of Obedience drew to an end. Unlike the animals, man was blessed with the ability to reason and rule over the animals and plants of this world. Man became the guardian of this world in these the Ages of Logic and Dominance.

Language followed speech as man progressed along during the Age of Civilization. Words were formed; eternal powerful words that when written would change the face, structure, and mentality of society itself. This was followed by the arts, music, literature, and a surge in intellectual proficiency.

During the next four ages, Antar learned the elements of guardianship. The first, the Age of Plant Guardianship, was teaching of the soil, the plants and their function, the foods that are for the body to grow strong on, the herbs and medicines to cure the wounds. The second, Age of Soul Guardianship was to learn of the Dark Waters and the spiritual advancement required to avoid the temptations concealed there within. The third, Age of Sensual Guardianship, was that of sexual exploration, elements of love for pleasure and for continuance of the species, the bounding of souls, of bodies, the duties and joys of commitment. The fourth, Age of Prognostic Guardianship, was the age of visions of the sacredness of all living elements, the rise of prophecy that is destined in the end.

The forty-eighth age saw the seed of the Ancient spread to the four corners of the known universe, were they became guardians of the stars, planets, and life contained there within. They took the original instructions as given forth by the Great Celestial Almighty himself and set off to share their knowledge, wisdom, and understanding so that all may live in peace and contentment. Books forged out of sacred living metal, contained the destiny of each and every world. As the years passed these books updated themselves, kings and kingdoms changed. In the millenniums to follow, the races mixed one taking from one another what was pure and healthy, making the blood lines strong and secure. This was the Age of Amalgamation.

The forty-ninth age, the Age of Tears, saw the destruction of the original home of the Royals and the fiftieth, The Age of Enslavement, in which the new Antar was subjugated by the Royals. The House of Rath, a powerful warring faction that brought peace, stability, and great wealth to Antar, dominated the next four ages. Each of the ages began as a halcyon era only to fall. The first was the Age of Atarh, when that age fell it was the rebirth of Atarh in the form of Suliuluma, in whose time civil war created the divisions in the races. The Age of Suliuluma also fell after many generations. The Fourth resurrection of Atarh, the Age of Prythric resulted in the great architect, builder, and warrior known as Prythric. Finally, the House of Rath relinquished its hold on Antar during the Age of Uthrox, to the House of Thardan, which ushered in the fifty-sixth age, the Age of Thardan.

We are now living in the fifty-seventh age the last age of Antar before slavery, ignorance, and greed will replace the House of Thardan. We will wait for the prophecy now to finish. The fifty-eighth and last age of Antar is upon us, we await his rebirth and the joining of the Houses of Rath and Thardan. We await the return when the Warrior becomes the King and the King becomes the Warrior. We await the return of when two will become one.

I who live in this last age, before the age of slavery I humbly beseech you Lord of All, Master of us All to take into your heat and bosom the souls of those who will suffer unmercifully in the next age. I ask thee, Lord of the all the known Worlds, to bless those who remain pious in your name. I prostrate myself before you Lord of Justice, Lord of Peace that those who die before dishonor will be granted a seat in your kingdom. In your name, I have written the forbidden history.

<center>In all that is just
In all that is merciful
In all that is honorable
I write that your name will be victorious above all others.</center>

Master Galawen put down his ink and rolled up the parchment marking it with the seal of the Master. Placing the sacred history into a clay cylinder, he filed it away in a cabinet for the day would be here soon.

The day had just broken as the bands of turquoise and orange streaked across the sky. The air would soon turn hot, sweltering under the summer’s sun; the coolness of the morning was refreshing. Master Galawen strolled across the room as he surveyed the temple complex below him. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, he saw a student come running from the direction of the gates up the stairs.

“Master! Master! Come quick there is a child on the steps outside the temple complex.”

<center> It had begun </center>