The wind howling through the canyon whipped at his hair, but he was too spent to restrain it. He tumbled onto the steppes and there fell to the dust, wondering if his night would bring more then sleep. He closed his eyes and welcomed the rush of darkness. He would not resist. He knew it would be easy for the Despised to take him if they found him this close to the battlefield and prone as he was. He didn�t care. Let them come. Let the scavengers of the Desert take him. Let the sun bake his skin to blisters. Let his lifeblood drain out into the sand. He was tired of fighting. How many years had it been? How many?
�Artemus�
The wind howled, as fairy-things danced in the dust clouds over the steppes.
�Artemus� it called again.
He had lost a lot of blood. He must be dreaming. The wind. The wind doesn�t know his name. Why should she care whose slumber she torments?
�Artemus� the call came once more.
He started from his daze, skin caked with sand and blood pulled free from his flesh as he rose. Squinting at the sun he shielded his eyes. Sunlight. How long had he slept. It was full night when he clawed his way up the plateau, seeking rest from the battlefield below. The light drew nearer. How much blood had he lost? Perhaps this was it. Finally he would meet his bride once more. Maybe this light marked his ascent from the mortal hell that was his life, to the sweet forgiveness of death. Squinting, he peered into the light, hoping to divine some answer. It grew. This truly was not the sun.
�Artemus� this was not the wind, but a woman�s voice. The woman who would meet him at death�s door and lead him to the Lady and her Lord.
�Kulani!� his exclamation was more of a plea for his long dead wife.
A female form materialized in the light, which seemed almost to dim in contrast to her own brilliance. �No, not your Beloved, she is with my Lord and she awaits your ascension; but for now you are in my charge.�
Tendrils of light shining all around the female form began gathering themselves about her, somehow shielding his mortal eyes from her glory. Light embraced light, until it faded into a dim glow. Artemus drew a shuddering breath through what he recognized as broken ribs and bloodied lungs. He looked upon her and all words escaped him. Even �perfection� was somehow an understatement. He bowed himself on aching joints, reopening wounds. He could not look upon her for he knew he was nothing. All the Despised he had killed for her, all the men he had lead to battle, they would never be worthy of her.
�Arise, my child. Walk with me.� Her hand touched his shoulder with such grace no human hand could ever hope to imitate. His skin warmed and glowed. Blood rushed through his body, filled every vessel, and carried the light from his skin into his body, mending his cells. In an instant Artemus arose, refreshed and healthy as if he had rested for months. He marveled as his vitality returned. He stood and accepted the Lady�s outstretched arm. He lead her-or rather was lead by her- onto a steep rise overlooking the valley below. He saw the battlefield. A river ran through the canyon filled with the blood of True Men and the Despised. A cloud rolled over the battlefield and corpses decayed, flesh rotted, fell from bones, and returned to the earth as if by the passage of time.
A vast sea of deep sapphire blue replaced the valley below. Debris and from the surrounding area gathered itself into a sphere. Artemus looked at the Lady who seemed intent that he should watch. The sphere became dotted with blue and green specks, covered with mists and vapors, then grew until it filled the whole of his vision. Irth. He understood. Animals, plants, and people with skin the color of the steppes glowing as the sun, covered Irth. They built cities, which became empires and then crumbled into dust. He saw the light of the stars appear and the skin of the people dim. The sun took its place in the heavens. People changed, became more ferocious. They killed, maimed, raped. Everywhere the ground was littered with dead. Artemus was all too familiar with the later scenes. His life was spent wallowing through fields of corpses irrigated by rivers of blood. He shook his head in disgust, looked down at his own battle worn armor, and sank to the ground. He crouched in shame. How could he condemn a people whom he helped to create? How could he condemn what he had become?
The Lady, seeing his anguish placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently lifted it off again. He arose to meet her touch like a marionette, his flesh too weak to disobey her. She pointed once more to the valley below and he had no choice but to look. He saw the history of her Irth, as clearly as if he had lived it. Every major event was played out before his eyes. He even saw the battle in which he most recently fought; the battle he had hoped would be his last.
�Oh no, my child, you have many more battles to be fought.� She spoke softly, almost pleadingly.
Artemus could barely speak. His throat constricted as if to swallow. How long had he stood here unable to move, unable to swallow? His throat was pebbly with dry desert sand. �How?� He managed. �How can I continue?�
�Think Artemus, think about your past. Where do you come from?� The Lady enticed his mind with her words. She coerced memories to the surface like breaching whales.
�I-I don�t know. I have always just been.� Artemus thought back to his mid-twenties when his long hair was not the color of steel. �Fighter. I have always fought.� In truth he could not recall a time when he did not fight.
�Were you never a child?� She asked.
Was I never a child? He scolded himself. It must have been so long ago. �I don�t know I must have been; I just don�t remember.�
�What then, do you remember?�
The Lady was mocking him now, he was sure. She had almost laughed. �Fighting. Always fighting. So many�. Years� fighting� nothing more.� He shook his head, crestfallen that such a simple thing as childhood would have escaped his memory. How long had it been? Thirty? Forty years?
�One-hundred and eighty years Artemus. You are a true man, one of the last of your kind. Seed of my Lord given to me to bring forth a people who would remember me, fight for me, preserve me, and in so doing save mankind for me.�
�What? It can�t be!� It just wasn�t possible. How could he have lived that long? He should have been bone and ash after nearly two centuries on Irth
�You were selected from the beginning. You have a great purpose and a divine heritage, part of a great legacy.�
�I am but a common fighter�
�You are a warrior, a true man, nearly immortal.�
�No. It�s not possible� the thought of being anything more then mortal was just too much. So long had he lusted after death.
�Have you ever been ill?� She commanded a lifetime of memories to the fore of his mind.
�Never�
�How long before you heal an injury? Have you ever suffered the effects of strong drink; alcohol, coffee, tobacco wine? Think, Artemus� She chided him. His mind reeled at her command. �How old was Sir Montrose when you met him?�
�He must have been forty at least� Artemus recalled one of his greatest friends and mentors whom he had admired above all men and whom he would have died for a thousand times over.
�And Arundel, his son?�
The mind-picture of the father changed as if aged backwards and was replaced by the son. �I saw him as a babe. Held him in my arms. Sparred with him. Later fought with him. I think he is married now. Maybe has a son of his own, I lost track��
�Arundel-son is long dead. His heirs still serve me faithfully. Few fought for my cause as nobly and valiantly as your friend who has been dead one hundred and seventy years now.
Artemus recalled as if a day ago his good friend falling on the battlefield never to stand again. Such a sharp memory for fallen friends and still no memory for childhood.
�You never had a son, did you, Artemus?� Was her tone mocking or was she simply stating fact?
�No. We never did. My wife died when we were still young� so young� Artemus recalled that day too as a tidal wave of memory and emotion welled within him. How this lady drew things from a person. Her tone so loving could tear a man to pieces without so much as a strain. The meaningful pause between words, the way she stressed certain syllables. She spoke the way he fought. She cut men to their very core. She could have found weakness in any armor.
�One hundred and fifty-three years.� She stated flatly.
He knew without asking she referred to how long his wife had been dead. �No! It can�t be,� he protested, weakly. The strength of his tone could not have crushed a gnat.
�She died of a stab wound to the stomach. Stabbed by a spear. You saw her assailant coming towards her. You ran. You dove in front of her. You threw yourself against her body.�
�I tried!� Artemus crumpled, hands threw over his head to protect his face as the tears rushed on. Assailed by grief, he did not have the nerve to fight back. His heart bled.
�You could not have saved her. The spear pierced you both; ran you through. As the spear was withdrawn you collapsed to the earth. You lost consciousness to the pain but you would not-could not die. You��
�I lived� Artemus despaired. He hated his own flesh and wished nothing more then to be free of it. He fought with all the ferocity of a dying man. Every day since that day he numbed himself to mortal pain. Driven by the pain of his soul, he waded through the enemy severing heads from bodies, limbs from torsos, souls from flesh. He hated himself so much more then the accursed Despised and yet somehow he knew he could not die; so he killed. He brought others to the mercy that he would never know: a final end.
�After the battlefield lay cold, you lifted her corpse and carried her to the cairn. You lay her with her fallen brothers and sisters and then you fought on. You became a machine�my machine. I know the reasons for which you fought but you fought all the same for me. You built armies to me. You conquered cities for me. You adorned streets with my banners, doors with my flags, armor with my sigil. And I owe you this at least.�
Artemus raised his head to look upon her. His eyes plead for death, they were pained, haunted.
�Death will claim you soon enough. You will lead an army- a final army. You will carry out my final commands and we will seal the world from the agents of Bahaal. When that time comes I will offer you a final choice. You must choose carefully for your choice will determine many things on Irth and in heaven.�
Artemus sat on the ground, head in hands, sobbing like a child. He wondered if she enjoyed his torment. She was so calm, so sure of her every word, betrayed no emotion. His head snapped up with sudden realization. �Death! You will offer me death!�
�That is one possibility.�
�That is all I would ask for. You cannot even guarantee it?�
�There are many things that will become clear to you. When the choice is required, you will see. It will be more difficult then you think.�
�I don�t understand�
You will. It is nearly dawn and I must go. Before you leave this place, go down among the dead. You will find one who stirs. He is badly wounded but cannot die. Take him to safety and when his fever has left him, ask of his father.�
Ryen
After the Lady left, Artemus slept for three days. When he awoke, the battlefield below had been left to the scavengers. Dust had settled over the tracks left by those fleeing for safety. Remembering the Lady�s words, Artemus picked his way down the canyon to where the sea of corpses crested on the lowest rocks of the steppes. Picking his way through the corpses, memories of the Lady�s picture-show mingled with memories of his own battles. Too many times he had walked through such seas of corpses. He wondered what the count would be if he tallied all the dead he had seen his whole life.
Artemus marked the age of corpses and picked out the various fronts where skirmishes had originated. Walls of men had gathered defending these fronts and were rewarded by being trampled by footmen and cavalry. Their flesh had long fallen off splintered bones and compacted into the ground like some fruity pulp. Here and there an eyeball grew fat with maggots or an appendage was pocked with bites from carrion birds. Everywhere the wind carried the stench of death. How had he grown so sour that he no longer smelled it?
Further from the front lines, fresh dead lie where they fell. The generals concentrated on organized formations and whenever possible a broken rank would retreat to join another to reinforce a new frontline. It appeared both sides did their share of pushing the lines. Both the scarlet plumes of the Lady and the ochre (now the reddish color of clay) serpents of the Despised lay in equal number soaked in gore.
Choices
The orb pulsed with a pale green light. A humming unlike any he had ever heard resonated. Around the orb were the tokens taught to the Lady�s followers. The Code! He understood what he was to do. When he aligned the tokens with the position of their coordinating constellations in the heavens around the orb, the device would be activated.
�Halt!� This was the Lady�s command. Artemus froze, unable to disobey. �You must now choose, my child.�
�Choose?�
�This device will kill even True Men. It is the last resort saved for a time such as this. You cannot kill Prometheus, and neither can he kill you. In your present state, this will kill you both.�
�Then I made my choice. I will die!� Artemus placed his hand upon the first token.
�Wait! You do not understand!� The Lady commanded once more and Artemus froze. �This device will kill everyone here; you, Prometheus, Ryen. Bahaal still has influence on this world and the people cannot fight him off for long.�
�But the True Men, they will help.�
�No, Artemus. You and Ryen are the last of the True Men. He was supposed to stay behind. I left the sign. Now you and he are all that is left. When you destroy Prometheus, you will destroy me.�
�Damn!� Artemus slammed his fist to the stone fixture that held the orb.
�This choice I offer you, my valiant warrior. I will exalt you. You will become as a god. You will survive the destruction to fight Bahaal another day. And Fight him you will very, very soon.�
�But?� Artemus knew there was something more, he heard it in her voice; the way she hesitated.
�But you will lose your wife.�
�No! I refuse! I will die in the blast!�
�Artemus think! If you die so do I. When I die, my children will have no place with my Lord. Your wife, any of my children will become vulnerable to Bahaal. You can see her any time you like.�
�But I can�t be with her?�
�You would have to die to join her. You know that. You would be exalted, skip death entirely. But you would survive the blast, you could save me, save your wife from Bahaal�s clutches.�
�Is there no other way?� Artemus sobbed? His fingers outlined the tokens on pedestal next to the orb. How he wished he could align them, arm that damn device and blast them all!
�I�m afraid not. Take your time to think, Artemus. Prometheus is too weak to fight for some time.�
If he chose death, his son and the last of the True Men would be taken with him. Prometheus will have perished, but Bahaal would not be sealed fully from interfering with humanity on Irth. If he chose immortality, he would not be able to be with his wife. He would be exalted like a god and allowed to live in the presence of the Lady and her Lord but he would be able to do Her work on Irth and help to end Bahaal�s influence among men. His wife would remain in the after-world where he could visit but not dwell. It wasn�t fair! He looked at the crumpled form of Ryen, his son, the son he should have been allowed to be a father to.
His son! �My son!� Artemus shouted, nearly jumped over the orb to go to him. �Ryen, my son! He has no reason to die! He has fought just as bravely as I have. Is he not good enough for you? Take my son! Make him a god. I will activate the device and return to my Beloved and he will join you and your Lord to fight Bahaal.�
The Lady seemed to retreat within herself for several heartbeats, pondering this idea. �Is this what you wish, Artemus? To give up your only son?�
�He would have died in the explosion anyway. This way he gets to live forever, right?�
�In many ways, yes. Though it is more correct to say, he will be beyond death.�
�I should have been able to be his father. I should have been able to provide for him. I was not myself when I fathered him and I only hope he does not hate me for that.�
�A terrible thing will be removed from Irth this night. A miracle will replace it. Arise, Ryen.�
The Lady lay delicate palm upon the young man�s shoulder and as she had done for Artemus so many years before, lifted him with her will, filled his body with her grace, and caused his natural healing process to be hastened. Ryen stood and his body was transformed into something more then perfect. He became like the Lady, refined, purified, brilliant. He did not have to ask what had happened for he understood with perfect clarity the change he had undergone. His mind continued to expand, knowledge redoubling and senses sharpening. He saw the eternities pass in the space of a single heartbeat. He knew what his purpose was and how it was to be accomplished. He knew what the gods knew. He heard laughter in the universe, the sneering laughter subsiding into protests and then screams as the realization of what was happening reached Bahaal. And he knew that mocking laughter, that sneering, was one who offended Law and Order. This was an entity so cold and uncaring it mocked everything the Lady and her Lord stood for. The Lady! Her Lord! They had names, and he knew them all! He knew every title given them by every generation of men on every planet in every universe to have been created.
He understood the laws of creation and what governed them. He understood the eternal principles of Order and Law and all things that sprung from them. He sensed Prometheus in the room beyond and the tendrils of corruption tying him to his master who was waiting. The tendrils receded and the power that had been given to Prometheus from Bahaal also receded. Prometheus was alone, more then mortal but not god. He would die and Artemus would be the one to kill him. Artemus! His father! The knowledge had always been there in the back of his mind. Or perhaps it was his body�s own cells which cried out to him. He loved this man and would grieve his death but he understood the pain in his eyes when he looked there. He saw also concern for a son that he had never had the chance to raise.
�Father� the Ryen-god said to Artemus. �You never told me. But now I know. I would never fault you for living a life that was thrust upon you in the best way you knew how.�
Artemus� vision blurred with tears. Forgiveness was the ultimate gift a child could bestow upon a parent.
�Are you prepared to meet your Beloved?� He asked, gently. �There is little time. I sense Prometheus stirs at his master�s absence.�
Artemus choked on his own tears. �I have waited so long for this. Come see us some time, I�ll introduce you to her. She would be proud of you.�
Ryen embraced his man-father. Artemus turned from him, and began setting the tokens around the orb in the designated pattern. The hum grew louder and the pulse quickened. With the final placement the orb flashed a brilliant white and all was destroyed.
The blast covered a large section of Irth. A continent broke apart, scattering itself into the ocean. Many followers of Bahaal and a few of the Lady�s chosen had been taken in the cataclysm. A new token appeared in the heavens and when the Lady�s followers saw it, it was unanimously named �Artemus�.