The Chronicles of Heaven's War: Burning Phoenix (55 page)

The clarity of that long ago moment filled
Legion’s mind with dreaded recollection, he hearing his own voice
cursing the
tramp
and decrying mercy’s value. Then his mind
reeled, recalling Erithia’s answer.

She shook a finger in his face. ‘That little
tramp
will one day haunt your dreams, stealing away your
very sleep! She is my
death star!
Angel of madness!
Her sword will rip apart the heavens. My daughter will drive your
armies from the skies, burn your cities to dust, and shall tear
asunder you mightiest warriors! ‘Demon of darkness’ your people
will call her, they quailing at the mention of her name.”

Legion shuddered, the dread in his mind
crying out, ‘The Therioskotia does live!’

Then other words even more ominous drifted
up from long-forgotten memories, too meaningless at the time to
have been noteworthy, but stirred to life this very day by Sirion.
‘It has waked! Pleasant dreams, my brother.’

A nervous shudder suddenly ran down Legion’s
back, recalling Erithia’s pronouncement. ‘Now listen and become
afraid! The child you cut down today will become the dragon-slayer
of your own flesh tomorrow. This
monkey child
will tear from
your living chest your beating heart, and your head she will remove
from off you, making it into a bowl for excrement and urine.’

Legion’s face paled as he pondered how
Asotos’ request to have Darla delivered to him and Erithia’s final
pronouncement she declared against him were related. ‘In the day
your lover request you deliver that
tramp
into his hand, you
will know that the one you murder today has been lifted up to this
world. Your sleep will flee from your eyes and you will dread the
night. Her destruction will haunt your waking thoughts, but you
will find no relief… only the Sword of the Whirlwind, who will
extinguish your world.’

‘Sword of the
Whirlwind?
No!’ Legion
nearly cried out loud. He now understood, understood all too well.
Erithia was not delivering a sword, but swords! That was the
meaning of the prophecy of Sharon and her rings his spies had
spoken about. This day Erithia had revealed two swords, her new
captain of the guard, Trisha, and this creature, Darla - her swords
of destruction with the power of the immortal elements. Were there
more? Yes, but how many, he could not guess.

He looked into Asotos’ waiting face,
confused. With astonishment, he nearly cried out again. Why, even
the leader over the league had no idea of this unstoppable storm
soon to be unleashed upon them. And here Legion knew, had been
cursed by Erithia to know, but dared speak not a word of it for
fear he might be called a ‘traitor and purveyor of false words’,
‘an agent of the Mad Woman’. No! He must tell no one. A secret in
his own heart it must remain.

All Legion could hope to do was stem the
coming storm by bringing this Darla down to nothing. Capture?
Maybe, but if death raised its opportune head, he would avail
himself of that tool as well.

A weak smile crossed Legion’s lips.
“Sharon’s light rises upon this world. We must all do our part to
stem its might. I will do this for you. It must be done.”

While Asotos’ eyes followed him with
curiosity, Legion stood and, after gaining the attention of Colonel
Shuebiddee, taking him by the hand, slowly made his way toward his
stateroom, hoping some sweet interlude might chase away the goblins
in his mind.

* * *

There was little celebration in Mihai’s camp
that evening. Although the prisoners were now safely returned, the
loss of dead comrades weighed heavily on the people’s minds. Also,
news of the Chisamore disaster had cast a sullen gloominess over
everyone. It had been decided the main body was to remain on the
planet for the time being. Captain Asarel was currently preparing
to soon depart with the DusmeAstron and, along with two bilanders,
rendezvous with the Fourth Fleet to help bolster up weakened
defenses caused by the loss of the Chisamore. One of the bilanders,
Docile, carried needed supplies to help with the rescue of the
Chisamore’s crew, and would remain with the crippled ship
temporarily. The carrier sustained severe damage but remained
intact, the crew having suffered several casualties with some loss
of life as well.

By the time Lowenah’s entourage returned,
Trisha and her officers were long departed aboard the cattle
transport, Dogie, she feeling time was of the essence. With four
fighters packed in its cramped hold, and some thirty of Trisha’s
officers and staff, along with two dozen sailors, the Dogie was
making smoke
for EdenEsonbar. It would be well into the next
day before Mihai would hear word that the field marshal had been
faithful to her orders when departing the company. Tonight she
slept the sleep like that of the dead.

The night air was long since chilled, with
few souls adventurous enough to dally outside unless it was on
special business. Tashi, on the other hand, was taken with this
twilight desert world. Being accustomed to the cold, thus well
prepared for it, she had rare opportunity to explore the nature of
such a waterless planet and its numerous little creatures,
especially the ones that scurried about only at night. With
twinkling eyes and cooing entreaties, the woman had managed to get
Ardon’s promise for a walk about the dunes before retiring for the
evening.

Ardon was in splendid mood as he scampered
up the open belly ramp of the Shikkeron to gather a jacket and cap
for his evening walk with Tashi. Other than the dressing down from
Mother, which by now was such a forgotten long time ago, the praise
and adoration showered upon him for so bravely facing down Asotos
lifted his spirits. Even PalaHar and Tizrela noted his bravado in
their late dinner conversation. And Tashi… sweet Tashi? She was
more affectionate this night than she had been the entire journey
traveling here.

Hurrying up to the second deck, Ardon
gingerly made his way down the corridor leading to his former
cabin, remembering the items he desired were stashed behind one of
its bunks. Stopping at the cabin’s panel door, he was caught up
short by sounds coming from inside the room. The quiet tumult of
subdued weeping struck his ears. Who? Oh yes, it must be Mother.
She had traded cabins with him earlier on. Why the tears? The day
had been so successful.

Ardon silently stood outside the closed
door, pondering the moment only as Ardon was able to do. Obviously,
Mother must be weeping with sadness over the terrible injustices
done to the crew of the Zephath, and terrible injustices they were,
too! Mother was so tender-hearted and compassionate, such a good
example for others to follow. The man was saddened to think that
those atrocities were committed, but that was the way of mindless
violence. That was why he promoted the councils so highly, a way to
avoid such evil.

Stepping back, the man quietly shrugged. For
each, must each face his or her own dragon. Mother had sought the
solitude of a lonely cabin, and Ardon chose not to intrude in her
misery rite. He would seek his needs elsewhere and leave the person
beyond the door to celebrate her grief in secluded ritual,
undoubtedly the way she wanted it to be.

With hushed footsteps, Ardon hurried his way
from there in search of his immediate needs. Soon he was holding
hands with Tashi as the two strolled along the sand dunes just
beyond the lights of the nearby camp.

* * *

“Thank you for visiting with me while I’ve
been ill. I didn’t expect to see you again, you know, with your
selling your place and moving away and all.”

Ishtar dug into the bowl of fresh fruit
Hanna had delivered to her.

“It’s so good to be feeling better,
though…”

Finally, after finding an especially
delightful morsel and popping it into her mouth, she looked up at
Hanna, musing. “I don’t really recall having been sick.”

Hanna placed her hand over Ishtar’s fingers
as the girl reached to grasp another handful of fruit, cautioning,
“Do be careful, my dear. It has been a long time since you have
eaten and your system needs to once again become accustomed to
food.”

Ishtar ignored Hanna’s counsel, digging in
and filling her hand, then stuffing her mouth with the juicy
delights. Mumbling as she ate, Ishtar asked, “Hoo lon hav I ben sic
anawa?”

Hanna smiled, resting her right hand on
Ishtar’s upper arm, gently massaging it. After some moments, and
Ishtar’s gobbling of a few more mouthfuls of food, Hanna explained,
“My child, I don’t think I would really call what you have had as
being
sick
. It’s true, you have been sleeping a long time,
and you need to reacquaint yourself with your surroundings. Things
have changed a little since you took your rest.”

She patted Ishtar’s arm, quickly adding,
“Yet you will still need lots of rest because what went on with you
does have the tendency to knock the stuffing out a person. It may
take a while to get your legs back under you.” Standing to leave,
she admonished, “Do be careful with your food. Your stomach may not
like what you’re doing. There’s water on the table next to the bed
and I would recommend you remain here a little while longer.
Tomorrow you will have much greater strength.” Hanna turned and
headed for the door.

Just as she grasped the handle, Ishtar
called out after her, “When will mother visit? I have so much to
tell her.”

Hanna pretended to not hear what the girl
asked, answering, “No worry, I’ll return soon.” She slowly lifted
the latch and slipped from the room.

“
Old
people!” Ishtar huffed, “I’ll
never
understand them!” A sleepy, tired feeling grew in her
arms that slowly crept through the rest of her body. The child put
her now empty bowl on the nearby stand as her head fell back on the
pillow. She made a frown. “I wish I never had to grow old…” She
shrugged. “But what other choice is there?”

She snuggled back in her bed and drifted off
to sleep.

* * *

Darla sat on the edge of the cot, forlorn
and depressed. Her tears were that of self-pity, feeling the loss
of a dream share she had never experienced, and believing she never
would. Lowenah lovingly leaned against her little child, gently
rubbing the girl’s back and shoulders. There were lessons this
person yet needed to learn, must learn. She had survived her
greatest contest up to this time, survived Asotos’ deceptive
advances. Survived? Yes, but had not come off victorious. Indeed!
If not for other dabbling fingers, the girl would have perished in
her own damning self-destruction, threatening the future of all
life in the universe.

Lowenah sadly shook her head. Rachel’s
hatred for evil saved her from an abysmal fate should she have
followed Asotos. Oh yes, her love for Mother was a deciding
influence, and it might have carried the day, but it was not by
love, alone, that the girl had refused the Snake’s advances. And
today was just the beginning of Rachel’s contests. Future days
would deliver upon this child far greater dangers, and Mother might
not be there to pull her out of the fire. Love, alone, would not
rescue her child from damnation. Other weapons were also needed.
They, combined with her love, would become unstoppable forces
assuring not only her survivability, but also complete and total
victory over all her enemies.

“There, there, my sweet little Rachel. The
distress is only momentary. It will soon pass.” Lowenah squeezed
her little girl in a tender hug. “Then things will be all right
again.”

Darla whimpered, distraught, through her
tears, “How is it possible that things will be all right! Despair
is now my only companion, Hope long departed upon the desert’s
breeze. An empty sack of dreams is all that I am, bereft of visions
seen afar off that shall never be mine to possess!” She sobbed,
“How does one suffer such pain and not wish for the swaddling bands
of death to gather up her tormented soul?”

Many were the words Lowenah could have used
to correct her wayward child. Darla was fallen prey to her own
selfish longing, forgetting the nature of the beast that threatened
the very fabric of the universe. The girl was but one very tiny
soul floundering in a frothing ocean of mayhem and dismay. Yes,
Darla could have been chastised and rebuked, deservedly so, but
Mother was not someone to do such a thing.
‘Look into the face
of a man distraught and see your own soul’s reflection should the
tables be turned.’
- AsreHalom.

Fear...
yes, fear was the demon
troubling Darla - a most dangerous opponent. It was fear that could
make a brave warrior throw down his sword and flee in mindless
panic, fear of drowning that caused the rescuer to become the one
needing rescue. Fear is a very powerful weapon, and could be
wielded in so many different ways, thrust bold and forthright in
its attack, or silently slithering into one’s soul, choking the
heart. So many times Darla had faced fear directly, defeated it
soundly, but never before had she faced its strangling tentacles as
it slowly squeezed hope from her heart.

Weapons Darla had to fend off this attack,
but they were tools of war that she, herself, must master, for only
by her personal might could these wondrous weapons be wielded to
bring defeat to fear. Only by her own hand could she succeed.

Lowenah stroked Darla’s long brunette locks,
asking innocently, “My sweet, darling Rachel, do you still love
me?”

Darla looked into her mother’s eyes,
concerned and somewhat curious. “Of course, I love you. Why?”
Lowenah smiled, her eyes revealing hidden feelings. She did not
answer, but asked, “My sweet child of the late hour, Rachel, my
suckling baby, do you
trust
me?”