Prophecy Series Ii

'.... I saw from my high lookout three coming quickly across the sands. Spreading from the Tower my daylight guardians converged as a single entity to meet them. One of the three held a staff in the air spinning it clockwise causing the advancing army to burst into flames...' And dawn broke, day reigned, night fell: one day of captivity over: one more day after several all the same. To say I was perplexed would be a severe understatement. Each moment my mind became more transfixed upon the mystery surrounding my confinement. As an adept I was, under normal circumstances, able to transform matter and access doors to hidden space or communicate over vast distances. Now however a former refuge had become a prison preventing any form of high magic. Each spell cast that might bring freedom or attract aid dissipated in the still air. Fortunately the Watcher had prepared a vast store of provisions knowing we would have been at this stronghold many months. I estimate enough perhaps for one mortal life. Surely I could not be here for longer than 100 years. I thought back to my first night of captivity. Loki had left the Tower with his dark angels and the sphere containing the life force of my friend and mentor the Watcher. My brother had been cast into some other dimension and my friends imprisoned within the very walls that surround me now. My mind numbed as I sat for hours with tallow lamps my only light. A chill dampness had moved around the room finally rousing me forcing me to move. Despite the events that replayed within my mind my instincts for survival sought heat, nourishment, and rest. I located a room, which judging from the furnishings and clothing, had been prepared for me by the Watcher. I lay upon a soft litter of fur and wool falling into fitful dreams punctuated by brief moments of peaceful sleep. My movements for several days were limited by fear of Loki's return and hollowness of emotion as if my purpose for living had been drained. As days became a week then more days become a month that same instinct for survival called again. I had visited this Tower a few times in the past for brief periods. I had forgotten how many rooms were contained within. The Tower was a good physical representation of the Continuum I decided then. My people for travel used the Continuum to cross great distances of space and between time. A traveler entering the Continuum is able to enter into any place at any time within or outside of the known universe. Why I could not access the Continuum puzzled me immensely. In my training I was once imprisoned within a structure guarded against escape through the Continuum yet with fairly simple spells I was able to attract aid; not here, not now. I saw them again. Men in robes of red and gray with silvered trim. Slowly they moved in tight circles chanting strange words even I could not decipher. I see them in the morning as an army advancing in all directions. Their movements never cease as they approach and I know at midday they encircle the hard stones. I imagine their shoulders brushing

the rough granite leaving threads behind. Perhaps, one day, I will sweep the surface casting those threads into the dirt. At dusk when I can no longer see the figures in gray I know my next round of guardians is close. Often I stand outside the Tower on one of several parapets to feel the warm breezes of this arid land and my nocturnal guardians appear before me. Strange creatures with powerful wings and glowing eyes: a soft blue that seems to penetrate my soul. My abilities have not lessened although I am unable to leave here. I watch in the mirror as the armies meet again and again in terrible confrontation. Neither side has gained yet each has lost: time, energy, and strength. Walls closing in again must breathe; breathe deeply, calming breath. I lay upon my bed of feathers and fur to sleep fitfully. The dreams have started again: of victory, of defeat and horror beyond belief. I see my brother, our friends, and myself judged by them and they being judged by us. I wake staring into the night sky glimpsing wings, blue eyes, and the hideous grin, which appears frozen on their demonic faces. My heart races then slows as I gather awareness of my surroundings. My main rooms are about three quarters up the Tower, I estimate from memories from time spent here as a child. I am unable to reach the ground floor as the staircases have been removed. The topmost portion I can access and, were my abilities to fly operative I could escape from the high parapets. It would seem my adversary planned for most, if not all, contingencies. All abilities that would have been of use have been eliminated, or at least, muted. I am able to float above the Tower but attempting to escape its diameter is not a good idea. I do not think I'll attempt it again; parachutes have not been provided. I roam the Tower more freely now. Doors once locked to me are now open allowing access not only to space but also to the knowledge contained within. I fear the knowledge even as I devour and digest it; embrace it. The library has proven to be a challenge. Although many volumes are familiar the curator of this collection was a master. So much is alien to me: words, ideas, kept secrets; yet nothing to aid me in the quest of leaving this Tower. A book floated across the room and settled in my lap opening to a specific page. I recognize the language as ancient Arcadian. My third mentor, Aramthyr, instructed me in all the languages I would need. Arcadian, precise and beautiful as well as an integral part of my genetic history, has always been my favorite. This book is someone's journal. There is no inscription to tell me who the author was yet the fashion of script is familiar. This person was a guest here, not a prisoner rather a traveler who was in need of refuge and stayed for several years. I looked to the case from which this volume came and saw many similar volumes. The page before me told of a dream: a dream of a wanderer who was brought to the Tower under false pretense and held prisoner. "A prison of will, mortar, and stone; her abilities bound."

Was I this wanderer? Yet I had not been brought under false pretenses nor had I been wandering. In reading more of these volumes I have learned there was another held here perhaps within only a few hundred years past. The journals of this person were inscribed as "Enlil". At first I thought the name referred to the ancient Babylonian god worshipped for his power over wind and storm as a pseudonym for the author. However the Enlil trapped here was a woman who I came to see as the wanderer spoken of in the first journal. Enlil brought with her a mass of journals, maps, and texts of ancient earth. Aramthyr once told a tale of an ancient force that constructed the Tower as a stronghold for any master who possessed it. Much as the lost Ark of the Covenant making an army invincible when it was carried before them: an object does question the intent of its master. Enlil, mortal though long-lived and gifted in the arcane, came for refuge. The master of this Tower welcomed her but then would not allow her to leave without passing on her knowledge to him. Perhaps I was to share a similar fate? During the next several days I read the journals of the unknown author comparing similar descriptions of the Tower with Enlil's and my own. The internal structure had not been altered significantly. The area surrounding the Tower however had once been a verdant paradise abundantly producing fruit, vegetables, and livestock. Streams of pure water flowed from each of the four corners to fill a common sea at the center of which was an island upon which this Tower was built. Eons have passed beneath, around, above and within this space. Each new master drew energy from the land and sea: the good master replacing what he could but never able to match the energy depleted by a dark master. The bleak scene that greets my eyes each morning is the result of excessive consumption. If only I were to open the power of the Continuum in this place and let the rejuvenating power of the Waters restore this place to its original splendor. One day after I am free, I decided then, after this battle is finished all of this shall be restored; the fabled Camelot reborn. I read more of the unknown author trying to determine his or her identity. "Water spell to see beyond." Could it be so simple? I hurried to my chamber and found an earthen bowl. Filling it with water I peered beneath the surface speaking the words, "Dawning light breaking day surface calm and dark. Pierce the same with knowledge. Show me truth to know." At once darkness filled the water and form appeared. Shadows with substance reached out to me showing presence, thought, directed energy, and consciousness. Concentrate: Enlil, did she have knowledge of... a woman's face, dark hair, dark eyes, bold features, and piercing gaze. Wandering across a verdant plain intersected by patches of gray desert and surprise at the terrain; Tower in distance, glimpses of sky, visions in mist the view above beautiful. Books in cases trapped lost author. There find lost author. Author known: script, references to Arcadia before the sea; Aramthyr. And the bowl was silent. Aramthyr. Even now her presence fills me and her knowledge flows through my being. Even now I can feel the winds from the ancient mountains now buried beneath the sea.

My mentor of old had been ancient even then: age unknown, origins cloaked in secrecy, knowledge as vast as time. The Continuum, was any part unknown to her even the dark spaces where none had ventured in millennia? I wondered. Could she be the true author of the old journals who dreamed those visions? Did these journals hold visions of my captivity? I must read more! A dictionary of sorts was left with this collection to decipher words that had little meaning to me; even a code to decipher alien words in a tongue, however dead, living in these pages. Painted on parchment a reality lived which now was only captured within the Continuum: "I am Aramthyr. Ancient Arcadian. A wanderer. Some say I am an eternal though I can neither confirm nor deny their beliefs. My origins remain mysterious, even to me. This Tower is guarded, secluded, divided, cataloged, and contained. Energy is focused, expelled, raised, compelled, conjured, injured, and bound. Power harnessed by the ancients is formed, molded of dark matter; all endless, open, eternal." "The waters I recall teem with life. Skies reddened by fire tempered by cool breezes and mist spraying as sea life breaches the surface. The sky is alive with motion: wings beating against white clouds ascending to dizzying heights." "Days of wandering not aimless but with no real intent or direction. The Tower was more than myth and loomed as if a mirage filtering from light and dark. Near there are patches of darkened earth intersected by lush forests. Had the stories been true? Were some of my ancestors to blame for energy theft? Did the Waters feed this place or from it? Was the gradual disappearance of life linked to their greed for power? I wonder: did Erizikal visit this place and steal from it before visiting Arcadia to provide the Atlantean people knowledge which resulted only in their destruction and that of my first home on this world? Should I think of preventing such an act? Paradox such a far gone yet perilous conclusion." "Fatigue taking me. Calling to me as a silent voice beckoning me to continue toward this refuge for rest and solace. A single thought as a presence fills my mind with insight as a kindred meets me with welcoming arms." "This place has been my home for several years. A library to rival that of Alexandria or Arcadia, with direct avenues to the Continuum, is a constant source of knowledge. Rooms filled with volumes of literature, scientific and philosophical knowledge as well as blank books free for my use. Dangerous, perhaps, to leave so many thoughts in one place yet I have left only daily thoughts and few spells of major importance. Masters have and will change here; I will not be a master in this place but as a guest I feel fulfilled and comfortable." "My dreams have become most vivid with alarming, though enlightening, detail. I believe they encompass future events. I have written some of them and in ink they appear less real. I have chosen to record most of my thoughts in Arcadian as it is more flexible than the Latin, though beautiful in its own right, can be too rigid for personal expression. I dream again and again of a wanderer without purpose yet searching. Certainly she is of the future, as she has not been born yet her energy is immense. The knowledge she, unwillingly, brings to this place will aid a dark master who will one day confront and imprison someone close to me."

"My own mother had dreams of destiny which occurred in my own time. She was ancient when I was born and I suppose I am ancient now. I will, but cannot see when, know a death and rebirth, a transformation. The potential frightens me as the dreams of this event are so obscure." "The master here transfixes my attention when we converse. He is at peace with this world, his soul is old and was unknown to me before I came to this place. He has shared with me sadness as he is dying. Upon his death energy will flow into this place to replace some of what he took from it. Yet his replacement will take back that energy and more as he knows already it will be a dark master of unthinkable power." "Will that wanderer suffer at the hands of this dark master? Will that person, whom I cannot see, who will be close to me suffer the same? I go to a quiet pool outside the Tower and peer into its silent depths. In seconds I observe the flow of the world beyond this place within images that intersect with one another causing changes with the Continuum setting in place events to come. These images though cloudy include disasters yet to be: a great conflict, earthquakes, and devastation among my own people. I see a dark form growing near as I feel the death of the present master. Rising to my feet I feel the ground beneath my feet moving as energy is already being consumed. Leaving my possessions in the Tower I run from this place as blue skies give way to storm. Loki wakes." "I have decided, after my recent vision, to leave this place and again join my people. If I can be of any use in preventing these images from becoming reality I must try. I cannot reveal them. To do so would disturb the basic tenets of our beliefs with regard to causality: all actions cause equal, yet opposite, reactions." "I wish anyone who reads my journals to know they are welcome to these thoughts I leave behind. I wish you a blessing given to me before I found this place, "May the gods watch over you in all the dark places you may walk.'" Feverishly I sought passages that might aid me in this quest to escape; which might now be actual rather than fictional. Although I was certain news of my imprisonment had spread I needed to convey a message to someone who could unravel the spell surrounding this place. Raisa was such a person: a healer, a sorceress, and, perhaps, a demon in human form. Although in the past we had had our disagreements we each respected the other for our individual abilities. Could the charms I see in these pages penetrate these walls sending a message to her? With every fiber of my being I rejoiced, anguished, desired, and gathered energy into focus. "Lords of light and darkness see the plight of those hindered. Prevail to winds, seas, and clouds, light a message to carry this night. Raisa, come Tower desert sea. Protected day and night. Elektra cannot flee. Protections bring. Charms carry. Seek Aramthyr." My message I repeated seven times at sunrise and sunset each day for three days. I sit waiting, observing. Do my guardians know what I have done? Does Loki? Is Raisa, and anyone she brings, to be captured as I? Is a plan unfolding? Am I aiding? (I hate

conceptual time theory: paradox, dark matter, time stream, existence, consciousness, self.) Tired, I sleep to wake refreshed, to repeat the charm. Twelve days after repeating the charm for the last time, I saw from my high lookout three coming quickly across the sands. Spreading from the Tower my daylight guardians converged as a single entity to meet them. One of the three held a staff in the air spinning it clockwise causing the advancing army to burst into flames. Darkness fell over the desert. A leopard crossed in front of the three to join their journey toward this Tower. Omens covered the sky as the winged watchers of night flew to avenge the deaths of their brethren. The staff was raised again and the demons were engulfed in a blaze of white fire. The leopard raced ahead breaching the Tower. Closer I heard him approach: stealthily yet swiftly, surely finding me until at last he circled my feet, purring and changing his form. My brother emerged from spots and fur to stand before me. Embrace. Freedom. Within space there exist pockets of unformed energy, dark matter void of form; areas where each mass collides to become.. .At that moment the embrace of my brother was dark matter coalescing into form. Months of captivity and separation were ended. His embrace was my anchor however unknown or unrealized. My brother was as myself and we were, are, will be as one. My captivity ended, my life redirected to join the war with my people against Loki. The war raged for months ahead. We stood side by side to fight as only we could: to the best of our abilities without compromise. No looking back. Regrets only in the numbers lost. Friends, as with the attack by Erizikal in Greece, lost to the cold grip of time. Over and again the similarities plague me. Can any of this ever be recovered? We have won but at such cost. Earth is in recovery. Loki's armies have retreated to the abyss. They wait for the next Armageddon. I have returned to the Tower of my captivity to place my journals with those I found here. The Waters continue to work their healing upon the land as a sea slowly returns to encircle the rough stones and the sky once more is filled with birds. Camelot reemerges.

And the fires burn down in the old grates. Lazily, half asleep, I move to poke the dying embers forcing trace heat to emerge. The Tower holds warmth well despite its exposure to the gathering snows. Winds rise penetrating minute cracks in the stone, which may be alive. Days are longer here in the silence. A few others live within these ancient walls and more are expected soon, yet, for now, days may pass between us seeing one another. I have continued to keep my journals. Hundreds of once virgin pages burn with the ink, never in short supply. Each finished book replaced by a fresh volume ready to accept my thoughts.

I long for the spring when once more I will walk the gardens lying dormant beneath the snow. Snow is lighter here, more translucent, alive with light. I drift from consciousness as my spirit self soars above the parapets over the inland sea to lands beyond this island. Torn cities beneath; are they being rebuilt? Do the people who live there dream as I, leaving the prison of flesh or are their minds still cloaked in shock unable to pierce the night? I will, likely, never know. As much as I am free in comparison to my time of captivity I am, in some ways, even more a prisoner in this refuge. My brother roams as a man and as the leopard returning, every new moon, with stories of the new Earth. Once I became the hawk of my youth to follow him to see nature in the wild. Rebirth is as frightening in its bleakness as the destruction that forced a new evolution. The old walls around Arcadia in Greece still stand though in disrepair yet holding some essence of the peace we enjoyed then. My journey taught me a valuable lesson: my past world has been replaced. A new Arcadia is forced to rise. The prophecies speak to new ears.