Chapter IX - Into the Unknown

Swarms of people flooded the street, bouncing back and forth like dunes in the breeze. The city came alive. People of all ages gathered in front of the Primary, where Zykon presently stood, eyeing them. Some had hope in their eyes. Smiles beamed at him, cheers and rounds of applause caressed his ears. Almost like their lives depended on it, they abandoned what tasks they had to do for the day, just so they could be present for the moment in question. Purely for them. He smiled as he thought about it. The boy who once froze in fear now sat next to the most fearless of them all. Master Delemon. To be on the same level as him felt thrilling. Now the world saw him not as a simple child, scared to death to take action. Undoubtedly, he would now be seen as having great courage. There would be eyes looking up at him, just as he looked up at Master Delemon.

He shook his head violently. To think this way was wrong. Sinful. Proudness was not something It was fond of. Zykon could not allow such things to trouble him. The body was meant to be resisted, not embraced. As a member of the covenant, he could not fall into such desires. He had to portray what the covenant meant, he had to embody the faith in It further than he grew accustomed to. He had to make his master proud.

Next to him, on either side, a row of young acolytes stood shoulder to shoulder, glancing outwards. Examining their faces, he took notice of how they dealt with the pressure. Some smiled so brightly that their whole lives led them up to this point, standing with confident shoulders to show Kaluh’a’jul they had who to count on. Others were more reserved, the attention garnered not what they hoped to receive. What struck him as intriguing and he found strange to have missed it before, was that his brethren were all resembling him. Young. Inexperienced. Both terrified and excited at what laid beyond this point. Tradition stated that only men were allowed to join the covenant and devote their lives to the teachings of It. Why that was the case bewildered Zykon. Presumably because men were supposed to protect the city while women protected the households. There was no difference in it though. Both did the exact same thing – protect. Nevertheless, rules were rules. They had to be obeyed.

For a group of people that rarely made that much noise, the people of Kaluh’a’jul were oddly loud today. There were fists thrown in the air, launched forward by vengeful eyes. In another corner palms waved eagerly, jolting sideways like shifted by a powerful storm. Further to the right stood hopeful stares, stirring the same feeling in those that would notice them. No one gathered in front of the Primary for the same reason. The more Zykon examined them, the more troubled he felt by his findings. While some were hoping for Primal’s plan to succeed, others seemed to see the covenant as a sort of improvised army. They yearned to get revenge for what they endured. It reverberated from them as powerful as a tremor. Who could blame them? Famagh’ugh slaughtered innocents, ruined people’s affairs, wrecked the walls and houses that sheltered them. Forgiveness was a hard prospect to take into account when such agony was inflicted upon them. He clenched his jaw as he remembered that night. It stung harder than a deviant scorpion. Justice must be served. Those bastards took away so many things from him. His city. His confidence. His mother. They stripped him of any manliness he barely portrayed and left him naked on the side of the street. How could they be allowed to exist anymore, to taint Bahar with their treacherous presence?

He shuddered. The body once again took control. Sweat dripped down from his brows. Was the sun always this scorching? No. It was him. Standing before a multitude of people, all which viewed the covenant as their salvation, how could he allow those thoughts to subdue him? To make him focus on such trivial matters? Judgement came from It and It only. Famaugh’ugh may have wreaked havoc in Kaluh’a’jul, but he was not the one tasked with judging them. Blessed be It for only there laid such power.

The excitement died down. In the corner of his left eye, he noticed a figure marching forward. As it became more distinct, he noticed the gracious movements of the silhouette, brought forward by a trusty cane. Primal Zehn. A sense of awe swallowed Zykon and he wasted no time in latching his sight onto the elder. There was an undeniable majesty in the way he moved. Figuring out exactly his age was a difficult task. Taking into account the hair, whiter than the moon and the long beard that almost scraped the floor, the Primal had to be older than seventy. No, eighty. And yet, the wrinkles on his distinguished face swore he was a hundred. Someone that age moving so fluidly was a monumental task. What was his secret? One could argue the primals have always been this way, this powerful and commanding, this majestic in even the smallest of actions. Perhaps the grace of It laid on them with such force it wouldn’t allow the men to be anything but this. After all, they were chosen by It to lead Kaluh’a’jul. A primal didn’t just simply happen to receive that title. It was bestowed upon him.

Mutters began to emerge from the now peaceful gathering. Compelled to hear what they had to say, Zykon focused his hearing. They were astonished. Seeing the Primal himself join the ceremony was to be expected, as he was the one who came up with the plan alongside Master Delemon. Expectation didn’t diminish the impact whatsoever. Many people were amazed to see members of the covenant walking around Kaluh’a’jul, let alone the man chosen by It to guide them.

Primal Zehn halted in front of them, facing the crowd. With one gesture of the hand, the people stumbled as they hurried to bow. His brethren did so as well, leaving Zykon the only one standing. His heartbeat quickened and he rapidly crouched down on his knees.

“Children of It!” he shouted, his velvety, articulate voice carrying immense strength even if the old age was noticeable “Today we march for It! For the love granted to us by It’s never ending grace.”

Even the whispers vanished. The sheer scale of power radiating from the Primal sent shockwaves amidst the crowds. It was almost as It’s very own spirit laid atop the elder, strengthening him beyond what humans know possible. Such supremacy! Not even Master Delemon was this powerful. Whatever Primal Zehn did to be granted this had to be utterly significant. What then was Zykon meant to do to be on the same level?

“Famah’ugh may have tested us. Brought us to our knees in such a violent manner, below even the most sinful of men. It knows what you have endured. But don’t let your souls be dragged to their level. For It’s love is with us all and it shall never leave us!”

“Blessed be It’s name!” the crowd replied, their voices echoing so powerful it could have shaken the sands themselves.

With the thump of a cane, everyone climbed back on their feet. Primal Zehn swiveled and met the covenant. Zykon could smell the fear flowing from some of his brethren like sand falling into the caverns of Bahar. How could someone be afraid of such a man? There was no intention of wrongdoing in his eyes, no amount of evil that could take hold of him. He was chosen by It. To fear such a man meant to not fully abide by It’s teachings. If not even the covenant of Kaluh’a’jul – the bastion of faith in It – could follow It with their whole hearts, who then could? Such things should not be allowed to exist in the covenant. What would Master Delemon think of their fearfulness?

The elder marched forward, every new step he took building up anticipation in Zykon. What was he about to say? The mission was fairly simple – recruit as many people as possible from the neighboring towns and cities and bring them to It. Entrust that It will save them from their unbelief. From the sinful nature they possessed. But the way they were supposed to do so is disputable. At least in his eyes. Physical conflict was to be avoided. Which meant they would step forward blindly and without the permission to defend themselves. Given the way Famagh’ugh turned their city into a cluster of stones, it was hard to envision another encounter being more friendly. No. There could be no peaceful negotiation with them. Not with monsters such as them. Master Delemon had to be somehow swayed to understand the danger that loomed ahead. But to go against his wishes… was not a wise choice. The covenant was led by him, he was their leader. Maybe he knows better than Zykon does.

“Young acolytes!” the Primal blustered, nudging them to tense their muscles “You have been given a very important task, my dears. Today you embark on a perilous journey, across those very sands we’ve been living on for generations upon generations. Do not let yourselves be discouraged by the trials you will face, for It shall guide each and every single one of you. And…” he reached one hand backwards, pointing to the crowd below “they will pray for you to succeed in your task.”

White robed hands fluttered in the air, empowered by the Primal’s gesture. Their clothed heads, wrapped in the same garments as their bodies, reflected the light from above in a blinding manner. Their roars made lions watch in envy. Zykon realised he never experienced a moment when those people were as excited as today about something. Maybe the times a new primal was chosen came close, but not even they were this intense. Unconsciously, Famagh’ugh released a long-forgotten beast onto Bahar. The tales of the past sounded… intense. Bloody wars changed the landscape of Bahar, painting the sands a deep red and turning men into crazed lunatics, caring only about the next person whom they would fell with their blades. While it’s been a long time since those things occurred, a handful of the people of Kaluh’a’jul gave Zykon a hint of what that past could have looked like. Terrifying. But perhaps needed? Perhaps conflict could be beneficial. If Kaluh’a’jul were to emerge victorious from it, then everyone will understand that only It is the One true God. The One that deserved the title of God. Not whatever abominations Famagh’ugh and San’themonio came up with so they can try and persuade others to join them. But wasn’t that the main motive for the wars in the first place? Master Delemon spoke at length about the expansive nature of all the major beliefs in Bahar and how each of them longed to extend their reach. To add more numbers to their belief. Which ultimately led them to each other’s throat. Besides, Primal Zehn despised conflict. If the man chosen by It was against the prospect of war, what gave him or the people of Kaluh’a’jul the right to differ? Nevertheless, Famagh’ugh was dangerous. That was without question.

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“Rejoice, people of Kaluh’a’jul, the people of It, for your prayers are listened to by It. I know it may look like we are not in the best of times, and you may question yourselves: why has this happened to us? Was this a punishment from It?”

Voices cried out, acknowledging Primal’s words. There was grief in the poor people’s souls. Sorrow caused by individuals that had no respect for human life. Zykon’s eyes shifted downcast and his posture slouched slightly. So much had been lost. So much had been destroyed. Presently, his own mother still laid unconscious on a bed, cared for by healers that did their absolute best to bring her back on her feet. What for? The woman suffered enough already. In a way, he hated the idea of going on the journey the covenant was supposed to undertake and to leave her behind, fending for herself. But she wasn’t alone. Master Delemon assured him she would receive the best treatment possible. He knew he spoke truthfully. Besides, there wasn’t much he could do if he stood behind, he would only anger the woman further. She always pushed him to follow his dream, even if that meant leaving her and going somewhere else to achieve it. He already disappointed his mother once – when he was unable to protect her. To save her. Not anymore. His chin quivered. Tears threatened to flow down on his cheeks. It was not the right moment for emotions to come out. Steadying himself, Zykon brushed aside the thoughts, forcing a smile to hide his grief.

“I assure you, It is with us. It never left us in the first place. We are his children and our sorrow will be wiped away by the warm hand of It.”

The elder grinned, filling the crowds with hope. Just a glance was all that was required for their anguish to be cast away. One simple smile. Fascinating.

“Therefore, steady yourselves in your faith. It is here, has been here and will always be here for us. Today we march into a better future, one that would put aside unnecessary conflicts. Famagh’ugh may loathe us, but we shall give them love. For that is the way It teaches us to be in our lives. Full of love.”

Another cane thump echoed. Steps approached from behind. Zykon turned, noticing a group of guards, their bodies wrapped in loose pants and shirts. A golden chasuble hung from their shoulders, dropping as low as their knees. Scenes from the Gama’khoro were portrayed on them, outlined in black paint. They wore golden masks, made out of iron, with white accents, giving it depth and an intriguing pattern. The Guard was meant to protect the city, but these were no regular guards. Primal Zehn had a set of highly skilled warriors by his side, constantly shielding him from any threat. It is said these men were so cautious, they could sense trouble coming from at least three thousand feet. Probably why Primal Zehn simply vanished when the city was attacked. Zykon found the legends hard to believe. One such man, so aware of his surroundings, so strong in his senses could not exist. But with It’s aid, they could surely achieve said strength.

They halted in front of the covenant, a man for each member, hands clasped behind their backs.

“By It’s grace and love, I hereby bestow upon the covenant of Kaluh’a’jul the sigil of It.”

The guard before Zykon reached for the pouch attached to him, pulled out an interesting looking sigil and placed it on his chest. They all swiveled in a stiff manner and returned from where they emerged, back into the Primary. Glancing downwards, Zykon examined the sigil. The face of Hrrysthoo beamed at him, surrounded by a golden, shining background. He gasped. Master Delemon never mentioned such an honor being given to them. To carry the face of It was not something taken lightly. That was precisely why only members of the covenant were allowed to have their renowned capes with It’s face embroidered. It was the greatest honor a regular person could be granted. He smiled genuinely, placing a hand on the sigil, feeling its smoothness, its weight. He would not disappoint It in the mission ahead, no matter what was to come.

The Primal strode leisurely before them. “Go! March forward, my dears. Bring people back to the light just as It brought you back to the light. Let the sigil of It be a reminder that you must carry out the task handed to you and bring it to completion. All in the name of It!”

Primal’s cane thumped the floor again. The crowd jumped in awe. A marvelous scene unfolded before Zykon, people applauding and cheering them like they were all that mattered. They were Kaluh’a’jul’s hope. A group of young boys, guided by Master Delemon. He was part of something important, something meaningful. They were seeing him as courageous. Not the terrified child of the night of the attack. But someone different.

Zykon jolted, once again having to pull himself back from the dangers of sin. The dangers of proudness. He was meant to serve It and carry out the task for It, not for himself.

A pathway was formed before them, people eagerly moving aside, creating a road that led all the way to the main exit from the city. Master Delemon strode forward then stopped by the stairs below. Turning his muscular head, he eyed them all and smirked.

“Come. It is time.”

They glanced at one another, uncertainty in their eyes. Then, one of them faltered, walking past the master. One by one, they stepped forward, forming a line, until Zykon’s turn came. Master Delemon watched him, gesturing forward. This was it. The journey of his life was about to begin. He breathed deeply and marched forward, keeping his eyes on the master as if trying to receive his approval. His guidance. Before Zykon knew it, they were already at the main gate. Still shaken by the invasion, it was now somewhat rebuilt, restored to a glimpse of its former glory. It towered over them, casting a massive shadow over him and those beside. A group of people hurried to go before them, aiding others in pulling the doors open. A loud creak pierced through the crowd, making Zykon squint as the doors opened, leaving trails of dust behind.

“Say goodbye to them. We won’t return anytime soon.” Master Delemon attested, pointing towards the multitudes.

Turning in unison, the covenant proceeded to wave at them. A farewell until they shall meet again. The flocks responded, their hands waving harshly in the wind. In the distance, a figure emerged from a building, a long piece of medical cloth wrapped around her head. Zykon received an elbow from behind, turned, only for one of his brethren to redirect his gaze towards the figure. His eyes widened. Hidden behind the crowd, carried forward by a tall, young man, his mother stood. She was awake. Zykon leaned forward, readying himself to go to her, to talk to her, to make sure she was alright. Determined, he took a step forward and quickly lost the will to continue. He swung, meeting his fellows’ curious gazes. This was not the right moment for him to go to her. There was something far greater that required him presently. At least, he was able to see her before leaving. He would be able to lift a stone from his heart.

Zykon looked at his mother, grinning. The woman lifted her head sluggishly and peeked around, disoriented. Then, she saw him. He lifted his eyebrows, his arm bouncing forward, waving at her. Hesitantly, she eventually waved back. He couldn’t blame her for being this way. After all, she still had ways to go before being completely up on her feet. The healers were wrong after all. She still remembered him. He knew her mind would not break so easily. She was his mother after all – the strongest woman of all.

Zykon faced his brethren and stepped outside the city and into the deserts of Bahar. He glimpsed back at his birthing place, taking in the majesty of Kaluh’a’jul for one last time. He would miss this place. Sighing, he whirled and trailed behind his fellows. And so they marched. Into the unknown.

The crowds dissipated, all returning back to their day to day duties. Her head still throbbed. She could barely see between the blurriness. Was that a building or a wall? Even in the faint instances when she could see, there was no understanding of where she was. What had happened? And who was that strange kid that waved at her?

End of part one.