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The Tragedy of the Goddess Irkalla
- The Tragedy of the Goddess Irkalla -
Upon the desolate sands of the great desert regions of the planet Ra'qia, there was a place accursed, a domain out of sync with time and space in the traditional sense of such things. Even on planet Earth so many such places are said to exist... but in this case, the place on that other world was even more darkly peculiar. The ruins that dotted many places in those wastelands were long neglected by the living, and the dead who had been interred in their tombs there, could say naught of what previously existed ere the end of things came for them. This was a rough place, a harsh place, a place abandoned by life. Yet still did life of a kind exist in that hellish expanse. If ghosts haunted the blasted, orange-hued sands, no one who had the gift of sight to behold them ever came hither to learn of their existence. Only the mad may think to trek across that domain, and only the foolish would think to discover aught there of interest. Of old, a great civilization had existed there... but it was no more, for ancient wars had claimed it. Wisdom was not in the hearts or minds of they who made their way across the desert upon this one day that I am able to recall. They were, for all appearances, but the occasional travelers in search of shelter form the impending sandstorms and fierce winds that lashed the desert with fury to rival a lash or a scourge upon hapless flesh. They were heedless of the legends regarding this part of the land in which they traveled... knowing naught of the tales of certain skeletal fiends emerging from ancient crypts half-hidden in the rocky cliffs or crags that popped up from the sands like the bones of felled giants. Tales told to frighten and to caution the careless traveler! Once, a certain family had made their way into that forbidden area. A family of witches and warlocks, steeped in sorcery and blood! The gods they worshiped were even in that time nameless, and said to be devils. Their last child was a little girl, who legend said was a vessel for one of those lost deities of the ancient times. One day, the cosmic horror that dwelt within her body escaped its' confines, laying low her parents who had sought to tap into the being's power. Their bones were never uncovered, the child herself never found. She had lived, they said, but only because in her yet remained a vestige of the escaped divinity's power. People said she was now the guardian of all that land, an embodiment of the desert itself. Some claimed to have glimpsed her there, but those were oft regarded as mere flights of fancy. It was said that she would choose a champion from among certain of those who came to her domain and struck her fancy. Such a one was called the Scarlet Chosen. Of old, I had been one such. And so, I had made my dwelling at a place in that wasteland near to her first temple. The temple was a part of a great palace of tall spires and mighty walls, of gleaming domes and jeweled corridors, and yet all of that was buried by the sand. All save a series of towers, where one rose higher and taller than all the rest. Over time, only that one was left! For it was too lofty for the sands to fully devour. It was in that tower that I had come to dwell, abandoning my initial place of refuge. Within the tower there was a place in which a great black door was set into the wall beneath a decorative archway. It was her place, and even I dared never to disturb it. Perhaps the stories of her survival were myths and this was her final resting place! Yet, had I not glimpsed her and been changed? It was more than merely a glimpse, and yet I could not clearly remember the details of what transpired. The day I am recalling in this work you now read, was a dark and terrible day. Like actors playing their roles, the travelers made their way towards my dwelling place at the tower in the fading light of the afternoon. Soon it would be night, and they would seek refuge there I suspected. How, would I receive them? I had so few visitors. A black desert owl perched on a petrified tree near where once an old road had been... a creature that is more akin to a flying lizard than any owl known on Earth. Its' tongue flicked like a snake's as if eyed the land before it, even as I eyed those who hastened towards the edifice in which I dwelt. The land felt sick sometimes, to me... so many terrors had beset it, so many horrors occurred within its' bounds. Yet there was order here now, an order created out of chaos. The owl knew, for in its' long life it has seen all that I speak of and more. It could sense the coming of nightfall, and I watched as it flew off to wherever one such creature makes its' den. As it flew hence, it passed another petrified tree that had been a great oak.
From that tree's hardened branches hung many corpses, every one had been either a criminal or a man or woman who had offended me in some manner. Their empty eye sockets were now homes to carrion snakes, whist desert insects and carrion birds had long ago devoured their flesh... leaving the hot sun to bleach their bones mercilessly. Those slain rocked back and forth upon the ropes that bound them to the fingers of the tree. A grotesque end for equally grotesque individuals! The owls shunned that grisly tree. As my new visitors approached, a great beast known as a waste hound ran past them with much haste as it bounded for its' lair beneath the sands, a human bone clutched in its' mouth. Likely found by that animal in one of the lost tombs of the region. Yet, before it disappeared the beast stopped and seemed to notice something about one of the travelers. I had never beheld such a reaction in those hounds before! It was far from a bleak looking day, for the desert held often a savage and lonely sort of beauty. But on this occasion the wind was almost chill as it blew in barely contained fury. All while the last sunlight of the day ebbed away in a kind of golden splendor, the rays of the sun being like unto the spears of gods piercing through the gathering twilight, attempting to slay the night even as it descended. But the night rose eternally! I was watching all of this from a balcony in the tower that I often frequented because of the spectacular view. My guests were arrival as I had imagined they would, and I did not wish to appear impolite and so I went back inside, dressed in my finest gown, and made my way to the main doors so that I might receive the newcomers. As I made my way hence, I passed interior gardens containing vast collections of beautiful flowers and plants of wondrous variety. There were vaguely human forms that lay entwined like serpents among the vines and greenery, vines that grew into the eye sockets of some, only to emerge from more tender places on the victims' bodies, or form their mouths. This too had been a just punishment, for these had sought to rob me or to force me to reveal the secrets I kept. They were not worthy of such secrets! Or of leniency. Thorns tore their flesh, while the fangs of carnivorous plants devoured them slowly. Ironically, the flesh of these wicked dead were green with putrefaction, blending them with the foliage in various places. They could no longer scream, and if any yet lived they suffered in silence as their internal bones broke and their organs were shredded by the greener tendrils that found their way into the fools' bodies. Such silent agony reminded me of how I kept my own pain hidden from those whom I had the rare dealings with. And my pain ran deep! Out of one of the windows, I noticed a distant high dune, and atop it stood the apparition of a little girl... with platinum blonde hair, and bangs that came to just above her coldly piercing green eyes. She wore a long flowing green dress, and bore in her hands a golden chalice filled with blood. “The red hour is fast approaching!” she said to me without moving her mouth, and with no regard for distance. “I shall be watching on as Hell is opened here. I am patient, after all.” she warned. Her eyes then blazed like fire, as she raised the cup to her nose to inhale the blood's scent. She wept in that hour, her tears like emerald fire, a look of some sort of transcendent ecstasy upon her face, which was not quite human looking and yet still beautiful. She licked the blood from the cup, her tongue thus changing into that of a serpent as she did so before adorning her lips with the red nectar of life. In the past, I had made sacrifices to her, so that she might bless me and the place of my habitation. I had not seen her in so long, and yet now she was there! It was a sign, surely. And all at once, she vanished as if she had simply stepped beyond all seeing. I opened the tower's main doors, even before my new guests could knock upon them. The floor of the entry chamber was tiled in a blood red and snow white chessboard pattern, while to either side of the doors were two pillars topped with glow globes, providing a pale but adequate illumination. Before my eyes were three people: a man who wore a green robe with a hood, a woman who was dressed in a dab gray dress, and a young girl wearing a black cape and riding hood, which she clutched about her nervously, concealing whatever she had on beneath it. They were a dreary looking party, to be sure! The man spoke first: “We have come from very far abroad, sir... or madam if that be the case with you... and your dwelling is the first sign of refuge we have spied in this part of the land. May we lodge here, just for the night? Twilight, brings such perils!”
I eyed the man carefully, and replied: “Twilight never dawns, it falls like a curtain! Enter. I would not have your blood become prey for some beast of the wastes, while I might be able to spare them such a cruel pleasure.” The man in green thought me rather peculiar I could sense, but he said nothing, rather instead introducing me to himself and his family. “I am Karth of Menthur, and this is my wife the lady Candra. The child is named Irkalla, though the choice of name was not mine. We are refugees from our native village, which has been conquered by the armies of the old city of Tirganth, which lies far, far to the south and west of this domain, well beyond the farthest mountains. You know the perils of this land I am sure, and what we must have faced just to get here. Wherever here even is!” I remarked to him: “I do indeed know the perils, Karth. My own name is something very few speak openly, and so you shall forgive me if I choose not to give it freely. Instead, call me only Ashatur. The three then stepped into the entry chamber, as the man said honestly: “I have never heard of you in any case.” I then chuckled, in a way that came off a bit sinister, before explaining: “I choose to live a solitary life, away from the royal courts of the land if it can be helped. I hunger for company, you might say, and so I am happy to receive you tonight.” The little girl, Irkalla, kept staring at me intently and said in a strange tone: “I too hunger as you do!” and her voice was not normal for a child of her age, perhaps no older than ten or eleven. It was hard to reconcile such a contradiction. The girl then licked her lips and fidgeted a bit with her cape. She seemed to be thinking deeply on something, but there was something else that she could not begin to articulate. I did not mention that I noticed her peculiar behavior. She then said in all too cheerful sort of tone: “You are not alone, you know! I am sure others have felt as you do. I know I have...” and her words trailed off into mumbling after that before she quieted down. There was an awkward silence after that, with the odd wind picking up outside, its' moaning echoing through the tower's halls. On that wind was carried the laughter of another little girl, the one from the ancient legends whose spirit I had seen. Candra then asked me: “Who could that be? If you are so alone as you claim... then, there must not be any children here running around surely.” But the laughter continued, finally fading as the wind began to die down. I replied to the woman: “I can assure you, Candra, I have no offspring.” And I saw that she shuddered a bit just then. The air was cooler in the tower than outside, thanks to the machines that kept the air at a comfortable level. Her body was getting acclimated to the change in temperature. Candra at once noticed the various tapestries and frescoes that hung here and there upon the stone walls of that great room. Images on them depicted subjects out of history, mythology, religion, and epic tales that of old were particular to the nation that the ancient palace had once belonged to. They had a twisted sort of quality to them, as if made by unsound minds and hands. One large mural depicted several people who were surrounding a little girl who held an emerald between the palms of her hands. At the side of that girl was an angelic looking figure of indeterminate gender with six wings emerging from its' back that seemed to be a mixture of brilliant fire and darkest shadow. The being's eyes were solid black, and had a way of staring out from the image uncannily. Candra pointed to the mural, noticing: “That angel... or whatever it is... had facial features similar to yours.” she said to me. I replied: “Perhaps an ancestor of mine, deified by the ancients, is all.” She shrugged it off, and thought about that odd matter no further.
Before retiring for the night, we had a late supper. The family was hungry after their journey, and all gathered in the dining room that I showed them to. My mechanical servants spread a sumptuous feast before them. Candra was particularly impressed, while Irkalla seemed utterly bored by it all. I saw that the mother still wore her somber gray clothing, while the little girl was at last without her cape. She had on a frilly black dress with a black ribbon tied about her slender waist. Her dress shoes were black, and her long, straight hair was likewise black, the bluest and darkest black I had ever seen, parted neatly in the middle. The girl had peculiarly black eyes, as well. All in contrast to her chalk white skin that I had noticed did not match that of either of her parents. The man retained his green robe, and seemed chilled.
He was a plain sort of man with tanned bronze-like skin and a shaved head, and had the look of some kind of priest. His wife was a mousy sort of woman with honey blonde hair and deep hazel eyes, while her skin was the same color as the man's was. Karth had eyes only for the paintings in the dining room. “Not one of those women or children on the walls resembles you.” she said to me. “Who were they? I am sure they were not your family or anyone in your ancestry.” I sighed a bit, and said sadly: “I have no family. I am quite alone here, save for the metal servants. You might say... I am the last of my lineage, at least to my knowledge.” Candra then remarked in an accusatory tone: “Yet, you were in that mural. I do still find that strange! And why would you keep these paintings if the people in them are strangers... do you even know who they were?” I had lost all taste for food by that point. I replied, in an irritated tone: “Those people in those paintings were old friends and loved ones of mine... not relatives as such. They are sadly no more, and I have no wish to speak of them any further, lest it fill me with grief again.” At this turn of conversation, Irkalla seemed to feel very ill at ease. Candra politely apologized and said she would not pry any further. Her husband was distant for the whole night after that, and neither of them had noticed the way that their daughter had kept staring at me ever since their arrival. Enough that even I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Every so often, Irkalla would lick her lips again and always as she was looking at me. Was this the nervous habit I took it for, or something less appropriate? A hint of desire in one too young to properly understand it, perhaps. One time, Candra noticed this and smacked the little girl on her arm. “Child!” she screamed, adding: “It is not polite to lick your lips in such a vile manner. Act like a lady! Not like a whore.” and the mother's choice of such lewd phrasing bothered me. That was not a way to discipline a little girl, or any child for that matter. Not using that sort of language I felt. I chuckled a bit and remarked: ”Children these days!” But to be honest, Irkalla did not act at all like a child, not a normal one anyway. She had a maturity to her, and I sensed that she was hiding some sort of inner darkness that she did not wish her parents to learn of. She may have been young, but she was far from innocent, I would come to realize. Rather, she had a perversity to her nature that she did not inherit from either of her parents. I began to doubt that she was even their real child at all. I simply assumed that she was adopted, and I left it at that and never brought up the subject. It was not polite.
We were gathered in one of the tower's studies, when as they sat on a couch together I saw that the man, Karth, had lewdly grabbed his wife's thigh and then proceeded to whisper obscenities loudly into her ear, which made her blush and cry out in shock. He seized her between the legs, which so caused Candra to cry out angrily: “Karth! Now is not the time, my dear. Act like a gentleman, if you are able.” His face turned beet red as he withdrew his hand. He smacked his own face hard, and said in a highly embarrassed tone: “Forgive me! I know not what came over me just now.” There was a statue of a man, or it may have been a woman, in that room. The being wore a long flowing robe with a cowl, and over its' face it wore a mask attached to a tall crown it wore around its' head. Karth then asked me: “Who is the subject of that statue... if you know it?” and I offered: “It is of an ancient god, also a goddess, who was revered as the emissary of a certain child goddess who herself was worshiped in these lands during the times before the sands devoured the palace that lies beneath our very feet. The main doors are new, as are a lot of other additions my machine servants saw to creating in order to make my life here a great deal more comfortable. That is all I can say of that statue.” Candra then complained: “Who would ever worship a child? It is hard enough trying to raise one!” to which I remarked: “People who saw in them a certain beauty, grace, and divinity. It was a different age, I suppose! You would not understand.” But the little girl, Irkalla, laughed out loud, delighted at the idea. And, at her mother's discomfort with it. Seeing this, the mother struck her daughter again and I felt so enraged at watching this abuse that I exclaimed: “That will be enough of that in my home! Do not strike her like that again in my presence.” to which her husband meekly suggested: “Candra, let us not anger our host! Restrain yourself... just this once.”
An animal cried out, outside the window. Irkalla seemed attentive to the sound... in a strange way that made it seem she understood the beast's howling language. Her mother was about to scold her, but then looked at me and stifled her rage. The woman was abusive towards her daughter, I realized. I hated the sorts of cowards that treated children so cruelly! And so I came to hate the lady Candra, deeply. I said to the woman, my dislike of her evident in my voice: “Have you never lain in bed at night and heard such sounds, that you had to look in their direction and wonder what they might be? It is a mockery to your daughter, that you would have her ignore her sense of wonderment... that all children should possess! They say that those hounds only cry thus when they are lonely... have you never been lonely, my lady? I can see that your daughter very clearly is, despite that with one's family a child aught not feel so alone.” This struck a chord within the harsh woman, and she fell silent, while her little daughter looked towards me with a desperately grateful look upon her face. I nodded, and she nodded back in understanding. I would protect her, for so long as she was within my home. She winked at me and went back to amusing herself by looking through some of the picture books in the study. I so wondered if her parents had ever even taught her to read. The little girl called me aside, and she whispered to me while her parents were busy talking and paying little heed: “You are handsome, and beautiful too in a way. A man or a woman, I have no idea which you are, but your face! It reminds me of some ancient tribe I once read about from an age before people started keeping records. Yes, I can read! My mother forbade me from it, but I had learned from my father all the same. Your skin is a very different shade than my parents and the people where we come from. Mine is different too, as you can see! I... am different. Mother hates me, for that. But in your eyes, in your kind looking eyes, I can see something gentler. But something sad, too. Would you be my friend, if I decide to be yours?” I agreed, whispering in reply: “Friends it is! But we must not tell your parents, especially your mother. She is too mean.” thus we agreed, and our bargain was made. She was, after I had spoken to her at this length, clearly no child however she appeared. She spoke with a maturity even beyond my own in many ways! This was cemented in my view when she suddenly said to her mother in a perplexed manner: “Why must we have so many rules in society, and sometimes all too freedoms... mother?” and with the way she said 'mother' there was a kind of verbal jab. Candra said to her in reply: “It is all that separates us from beasts like that hound outside.” The mother eyed me with a seething hatred as she said that. After that, my own gaze was fixed on the little girl, who seemed to be like a fairy tale princess held captive by a wicked stepmother and bound by rigid traditions. Karth went over to the window to look outside after that. Candra then called me over to her and said cuttingly: “So tell me... whatever you are... what do you personally think of society?” to which I whispered in her ear: “Let me show you!” and all at once I forced a mad, passionate kiss upon the woman's lips, my tongue entwining with her own like a lover while my hands seized the woman's breasts, squeezing them lustily. I then smacked her across her face exactly as she had done to her own daughter. I exclaimed: “That... is what I think of any society that breeds such as you, you witch!” at which her husband rushed forward as if considering coming to his wife's defense as she told him of what I had done to her. He grew red in the face, once more acting meekly as he said: “Forgive my wife... for her rudeness, and crude behavior. We are in your house and lands, after all, not our own. But, please, take your anger out on me, if you must! That is still my wife, and I would prefer that you refrain from dishonoring her further.” Yet had she not dishonored her daughter? That is how I knew, Irkalla was not her daughter. Seeing what I did, the little girl blushed and giggled a bit, trying to stifle it. After that, it was time for everyone to retire and so I had shown the two parents to their guest rooms, and the little girl to one she could have to herself. This, I felt, would separate her from her abusive mother. As I closed the door to the child's room, I noticed she was staring at me and attempting to appear as if she was not. I whispered to her loud enough for her to hear: “You do not have to be ashamed of anything! Just be yourself, I will not judge you for it.” I made the decision to turn in for the night myself, but strange nightmares kept waking me up from any repose.
The sound of a leathery night drake resounded outside my bedroom window. I was unclothed, and did hurry to put on a pair of bloomer like shorts and a midriff top as I roused myself to wakefulness. I eyed the whip that sat in one corner of the room... remembering all the times I flogged myself bloody with it, all to purge myself of ancient angers, past pains, and hidden passions. Over time, I came to understand that I was not evil, but rather simply a product of the civilization that had produced such as I. This day, I had seen evil in the heart of a mother who should have known better. It filled me with rage I had known for many long years. I thought about the little girl, and how I wished she were my own child. And how crass and foolish her supposed father acted! They did not deserve such an angel for a child. In knowing the flaws within myself, I was keener at observing the flaws of others. I thought of the paintings of my past loves and of their kin, which hung throughout the tower. I was tired of being alone... mourning for the long dead. I needed to act, to do something decisive, to change things! And so I did. I decided to but think a little bit longer, although I felt furious at waiting even this long. There were no clocks, not any sort of time keeping pieces in the entire tower, but I knew it was well past midnight. Just as I was thus engaged with my thoughts and beginning to make plans, there was a knock on the wooden door to my chambers. I rushed over to it and saw that it was Irkalla standing there, smiling cheerfully with her big dark eyes and soft pink lips. “May I come in, Ashatur? I cannot sleep tonight, I keep having nightmares of the most bizarre sort. Very real-seeming and terrible!” I smiled and replied: “Call me Asha. And yes, you may come in, I would be delighted to so receive your company. I too have had similar nightmares, and they have filled my mind with many... thoughts... which need consideration.” The child then said in a rather mysterious way: “What makes me come to you, when we both share the same dreams?” And I knew that we did share them. I offered: “Perhaps we are alike in some deeper fashion, my dear! I would wager that you were adopted, am I correct?” she nodded her head in agreement. I then asked: “Do you know the meaning of your name?” and she shook her head, showing she did not. I told her: “It is a very old name for the Netherworld... for the realm of the dead.” I motioned for her to come close to me. We both sat down on the bed together, with my having my arm about the girl's shoulders. I whispered: “Do you know what I see in your black eyes? Not death! I see beauty, like the night sky or the void between the stars.” Irkalla looked up at me and gasped. “No one ever called me beautiful before.” she admitted, adding: “Only things like pale, and awkward.” Her hair looked a mess, and I brushed it out of her face, saying: “Never hide your eyes from the world! And never from me. Be proud at your being different... at your special uniqueness. Here, if you were my own, you would be as a princess.” to which she then confessed: “I would rather be a queen... your queen.” and she did not say that like a child who has some crush. Her voice was filled with a far deeper longing. I kissed her on the forehead and told her to wait in my chambers for the time being. As I looked the door, I heard her singing from behind it: “A wind is stirring in the desert...” and after that her voice seemed to trail off for a bit. My last sight of her before I attended to the business at hand, was of her dancing around the room wildly, a mad gleam in her eyes.
It was well into the third hour past midnight... when I had ordered my mechanical servants, to clean up the bloody, horrid mess they had made when they tore apart Karth and Candra. They had originally been created for war, as servants of the ancient Titan race, and had no issues with being commanded to take human lives when the need arose. I did not feel guilty about this... those two had been abusers and probably worse in their time. Now, they would feed the plants below. I rushed back to see to Irkalla, for I was concerned at having left her by herself for so long, given her peculiar state of mind, despite that I was growing increasingly able to comprehend her eccentricities. She called out to me as I unlocked the door and entered the room. Her mad dance had ceased, it seemed, for she was simply pacing about with a grave look of concern about her face. She had clearly not been able to get back to sleep for even one hour. Her voice was soft and angelic, as she said the name I had told her to call me by: “Asha! I worry.”
She seemed truly terrified as she exclaimed: “I could hear my parents screaming! Are they alright? I could not get back to sleep once the screaming started.” I tried to explain it to her gently. “They are very much not alright, child. It seems they had managed to run afoul of some of my guard robots, and I must tell you that the machines were not gentle with them. They have died, as a result.” The little girl neither wept nor screamed at this revelation. She merely asked: “Did I cause this, somehow?” and I assured her that she did not. “Why would you blame yourself?” I inquired, to which she answered: “They hit me so much over the years, and were so hurtful and angry towards me all the time... that I kept wondering if it would not have been better had I been taken in by other, kinder and gentler parents. But now I am alone and have no one to care for me. And I feel... sad, not for them for for myself. Is that wrong of me?” and this line of self blame and worry was a very adult one, something no child should ever have to think on. I walked over to her, and sat down on the bed, urging her to sit next to me again. I told her softly: “You do not have to be alone, not ever again. I will take you in, and you can stay here with me for as long as you like. I will never strike you, never yell at you, and never hurt you. So do not worry! This is not the end of your life, but a new beginning for both of us.” She smiled, contentedly, saying: “No one will hurt me, not ever again? Thank you so much!” And she kissed my cheek. I confessed to her: “I could never see you come to harm, child. It is for you to be safe, that I allowed all of this to transpire as it did. Now do you have any regrets before we set about with getting on with things here?” She shook her head, and said only: “None whatsoever.” She then said to me in a low, frightened tone: “I share your darkness.” to which I replied: “I know you do.” I caressed her hair, then her face, with the utmost tenderness and very evident compassion in all my mannerisms. The girl nearly swooned, so used to harsh treatment was she. “I want to scream, to cry out with tears of joy, but I cannot seem to be able to weep right now!” said the peculiar child that I had come to adore. I kissed her on the cheek, whispering kindly: “No tears, sweet little girl! You are a princess now, and princesses do not need to weep. Simply joy is enough! Be true to what you really feel, always.” In the gardens below the upper floors where that room lay, the plants had fed well that night. It was impossible to discern where the remains of my new daughter's “parents” had begun and where the mangled remnants of them ended, so savaged were they by the living creatures in the guise of plants. It was as close to a decent burial as they deserved! I noticed outside the window just then, the strange little girl with the blazing emerald eyes staring inside, floating in the air by some weird power. She still held, the golden blood-filled chalice. She appeared to be laughing, silently and joyfully. So ferocious were the desert winds on that evening, that the hanged dead upon the petrified tree were as one torn from the ropes that had held them for so long, the bones scattering off into the sands. A terrible force was at work, the living expression of an unspeakable force. The child goddess, had chosen at last her destined host! For Irkalla had been an emanation of the goddess's own spirit, and that is why all the days of her life she had been so mature beyond her years. During the possession, the child's breath had quickened swiftly, swifter and swifter, as she was rocked by strange convulsions. I kissed the girl upon the side of her neck, caressing her raven black hair and whispering words of encouragement to her. “Do not be afraid! This rite shall pass soon, and you will be complete and whole once again. My goddess!” I placed in the child's hands a porcelain doll that had been on one of the shelves, a doll that bore quite the striking resemblance to Irkalla herself. “For you... for the daughter I never had, and the princess I have been seeking for what seems an age now! Please be strong, and please awaken from this transformation soon. I cannot bear... to see you in such a state.” and I was crying a bit, worrying for her safety. I could not bear to lose this one, to have to paint another portrait to remember her beautiful face by. Her eyes had been closed during the possession rite, but suddenly they snapped open. They were green now, and black no longer. She had ceased convulsing and was breathing normally again. “Lie next to me, oh my sweet scarlet angel.” she begged, plaintively, before adding: “It was cold, where I was... separated as I had been... but now I feel warmer than ever before. Thank you... so much! Let us share, in this victory.”
That night, we were both oblivious to the wind outside the tower, as the little girl's body was a child's no longer. She had removed her clothes and by some power that I could not begin to understand began to age until she was exactly twenty years old and not a year older or younger. The goddess decided now was finally the time to mold her flesh to suit her spirit, and so it was accomplished. She kissed me then with a savage fury, and with unbridled passion. She sucked a bit on my tongue, during that kiss... and I had no doubts where things were headed. “I have waited, so long... for this!” she exclaimed fiercely as we made love with a primal ferocity to match the winds outside the bedroom window. At the height of all our lovemaking, she clutched me with a savagery that drew blood, licking the blood from her fingers while giggling childishly with delight. Our bodies were slick with the sweat of the hot desert night, and at last we allowed the darkness of the night to rob us of what remained of our reason. The night was so dark! And when we fell asleep together, at last... we dreamed not of death, but of the life that lay ahead. If all that I had done on that day was evil, then what is goodness! Good and evil do not have as stark of lines to separate them... as most people commonly believe. If what we did was mad, then perhaps I was but mad with love, and smitten by the passion of a goddess whose beauty now shone as pale moonlight.
Upon the morrow, after we had dressed and made our way to the library to talk, Irkalla asked of me at last: “Was it all a fever dream, a wish made by my heart, that caused me to slip from being a girl to now being a woman? Or was it a deeper, feral instinct of the wilderness within me, that drove me to embrace my adopted parents' death with nigh unto joy! I cared not for their suffering. And now, am I still to be as your daughter in your eyes? Or something more profound!” I admitted to her: “You are no longer to be my princess, Irkalla. You are to be my queen! Even as I am the king of this place, after a fashion.” She replied then: “We are as twin serpents, then! Entwined together forever.” It seemed a part of her was yet the child she had been before, and yet she was at the same time, that ancient and terrible goddess I had for so long served. She was holding the doll I had given her in her hands, while she herself was dressed in a long black silken gown that flattered her slender figure, well. I put my hands around her waist... as she placed her arms upon my shoulders. She was still shorter than I, even as an adult. Later that day, I had ordered one of my mechanical servants, one programmed to be an artist, to create a new portrait to hang upon the walls of the dining room in a special place of honor. I took Irkalla in to have a look at it. She gasped, a look of pleasant, elated surprise upon her beautiful face. “So how do you like it?” I asked her. It was a painting of her in the regal clothing of a queen... no, of an empress... holding her doll in her hands with a look of serenity upon her face, her sparkling green eyes aglow not with flame but with joy. She exclaimed joyously: “I love it, my darling, my beloved scarlet king!” I was wearing a long flowing blood red gown of diaphanous design, with only a pair of bloomer-like yellow shorts beneath it, on that occasion, so her calling me that made sense. We both wore sandals, mine red and hers black. We were like twin serpents, one of darkness the other of blood. Later that night, I decided it was time to show her the countless hidden places within the tower, the portals and doorways that led to other worlds, planets, dimensions and planes of existence. An ancient civilization's long forgotten technology had made them, for ease of access to myriad places to which they could travel, and have dealings with. Now, only I and those I chose to take with me had any access to those gateways. It would be the first... of many journeys into those places... for the goddess Irkalla, and myself. One day, however, we returned from a singular excursion to a distant planet where the sky had been a deep green rather than an azure blue, and where great bridges linked massive industrialized cities where one could obtain pretty much anything. It was a glorified shopping trip. Waiting for us inside the tower's entry chamber was a stern looking woman with very short, curly blonde hair. She wore the armor of a soldier, but from no lands I recognized. She said unto me in a cold voice: “Greetings! I, am known as Valethea of Xor'zonmere. A little girl and her two parents were said to have come this way, never to be seen again. I, was hired... to discover their fate.”
We lied to the lady soldier, telling her that no such people by that description ever came by the tower. But then she grew wrathful, shouting: “So, you lie! I found the parents' remains in the gardens, or what was left of them anyway. Their faces remained intact, so I was able to identify them. And that woman at your side looks peculiarly like the description of the child! Yet, where is the little girl?” Irkalla tried to explain: “I am she, and as you can see... I have decided it is time I grew up. And so, I have!” I then told the woman the whole story, including how the child's parents had abused her, and that their deaths were a just punishment in my lands for those who harm children. She did not believe us, however. Rather she drew her sword form its' scabbard and and swung at us with fury. “Murderers and liars, both of you! In my country, this is the punishment for murder.” she cried out, mad with rage. I grabbed a sword of my own from its' place hanging upon the wall above the great mural. It was a ceremonial blade, one I had not used in many centuries. For I was longer lived than was natural! It had indeed been I, in that mural. The woman wore no helm, and so I aimed for her head as I attacked her, while she raised her sword to meet my attack with a strength I realized I could not match. Irkalla rushed forward, with a long dagger that she picked up from a nearby table, and tried to stop Valethea from doing me any harm. I cried out for Irkalla to step away and get to safety in one of the other rooms, but she was so intent on defending me that she heard me not. Seeing an advantage, the lady soldier pushed me back as I spun around to deliver a blow and then she quickly dove towards Irkalla, plunging her sword through my love's heart. I screamed until my face was red, and fell to the floor in grief, dropping my sword as I did so. I could not hope to best this woman in combat, could not hope to avenge my fallen queen. I now wished only to die and be united with her. But before either I or the lady soldier could do anything further, Irkalla's body at once transformed back into its' former child form. In that instant, Valethea realized she had murdered a little girl, the very one she had sworn to find and bring to safety. Withdrawing her blade from Irkalla's quickly dying form, the woman began to weep, crying: “Oh gods! What have I done? It was all true, all that they said was true. I was so blind! So foolish... so rash.” Irkalla was bleeding out... breathing now, her last breath, as she tried to say: “I loved... you... Asha! My... scarlet king.” And that last word turned into a hideous gurgle as the sounds of death filled her throat. “Get out of my way, Valethea!” I growled at the lady soldier, my voice inhuman sounding in my rage and fury. I added: “I have a burial to see to.”
Within the tower, there was a place in which a great black door was set into the wall... just beneath a decorative archway. It was the goddess's place, and even I dared never to disturb it until now. I carried Irkalla, her mortal child form, in my arms and I laid her down upon the floor as I cast the door open. I could never know the last time it had been opened thus. The woman who had taken Irkalla's life, was at my side, her own heart broken by unspeakable grief... only, her own grief was tinged with guilt. Within the chamber, there was totally nothing but an empty sarcophagus which had never had a body interred within it. The tomb, for a tomb it clearly was... was unadorned, never decorated, and never made use of. The sarcophagus was ornate, with a beautifully realistic looking carving of a goddess-like woman upon the lid, whose face bore a shocking resemblance to how Irkalla's looked when she had become an adult. It was carved out of very heavy white marble, that sarcophagus, and it took both the lady solider and I together to slide the lid open. We could not get it all the way... but, it was enough to allow us to lay the slain girl into it. I kissed Irkalla on the cheek one final time, and broke down in sorrow as we closed the lid, covering forever that unique and tragic person I had loved, and lost. In time, I would decorate that tomb in a manner befitting a queen. No, an empress! Never again would I see the spirit of the goddess, and her legend faded from the desolate land. Valethea quit being a soldier, renounced the sword, and in time decided to become a priestess of the old gods... seeking to atone for her terrible deed. I never truly forgave her, but neither did I seek any vengeance. She was already broken, already dead in all but body. I was likewise, and it would be long before another would touch my heart as profoundly as had Irkalla.
Upon the desolate sands of the great desert regions of the planet Ra'qia, there was a place accursed, a domain out of sync with time and space in the traditional sense of such things. Even on planet Earth so many such places are said to exist... but in this case, the place on that other world was even more darkly peculiar. The ruins that dotted many places in those wastelands were long neglected by the living, and the dead who had been interred in their tombs there, could say naught of what previously existed ere the end of things came for them. This was a rough place, a harsh place, a place abandoned by life. Yet still did life of a kind exist in that hellish expanse. If ghosts haunted the blasted, orange-hued sands, no one who had the gift of sight to behold them ever came hither to learn of their existence. Only the mad may think to trek across that domain, and only the foolish would think to discover aught there of interest. Of old, a great civilization had existed there... but it was no more, for ancient wars had claimed it. Wisdom was not in the hearts or minds of they who made their way across the desert upon this one day that I am able to recall. They were, for all appearances, but the occasional travelers in search of shelter form the impending sandstorms and fierce winds that lashed the desert with fury to rival a lash or a scourge upon hapless flesh. They were heedless of the legends regarding this part of the land in which they traveled... knowing naught of the tales of certain skeletal fiends emerging from ancient crypts half-hidden in the rocky cliffs or crags that popped up from the sands like the bones of felled giants. Tales told to frighten and to caution the careless traveler! Once, a certain family had made their way into that forbidden area. A family of witches and warlocks, steeped in sorcery and blood! The gods they worshiped were even in that time nameless, and said to be devils. Their last child was a little girl, who legend said was a vessel for one of those lost deities of the ancient times. One day, the cosmic horror that dwelt within her body escaped its' confines, laying low her parents who had sought to tap into the being's power. Their bones were never uncovered, the child herself never found. She had lived, they said, but only because in her yet remained a vestige of the escaped divinity's power. People said she was now the guardian of all that land, an embodiment of the desert itself. Some claimed to have glimpsed her there, but those were oft regarded as mere flights of fancy. It was said that she would choose a champion from among certain of those who came to her domain and struck her fancy. Such a one was called the Scarlet Chosen. Of old, I had been one such. And so, I had made my dwelling at a place in that wasteland near to her first temple. The temple was a part of a great palace of tall spires and mighty walls, of gleaming domes and jeweled corridors, and yet all of that was buried by the sand. All save a series of towers, where one rose higher and taller than all the rest. Over time, only that one was left! For it was too lofty for the sands to fully devour. It was in that tower that I had come to dwell, abandoning my initial place of refuge. Within the tower there was a place in which a great black door was set into the wall beneath a decorative archway. It was her place, and even I dared never to disturb it. Perhaps the stories of her survival were myths and this was her final resting place! Yet, had I not glimpsed her and been changed? It was more than merely a glimpse, and yet I could not clearly remember the details of what transpired. The day I am recalling in this work you now read, was a dark and terrible day. Like actors playing their roles, the travelers made their way towards my dwelling place at the tower in the fading light of the afternoon. Soon it would be night, and they would seek refuge there I suspected. How, would I receive them? I had so few visitors. A black desert owl perched on a petrified tree near where once an old road had been... a creature that is more akin to a flying lizard than any owl known on Earth. Its' tongue flicked like a snake's as if eyed the land before it, even as I eyed those who hastened towards the edifice in which I dwelt. The land felt sick sometimes, to me... so many terrors had beset it, so many horrors occurred within its' bounds. Yet there was order here now, an order created out of chaos. The owl knew, for in its' long life it has seen all that I speak of and more. It could sense the coming of nightfall, and I watched as it flew off to wherever one such creature makes its' den. As it flew hence, it passed another petrified tree that had been a great oak.
From that tree's hardened branches hung many corpses, every one had been either a criminal or a man or woman who had offended me in some manner. Their empty eye sockets were now homes to carrion snakes, whist desert insects and carrion birds had long ago devoured their flesh... leaving the hot sun to bleach their bones mercilessly. Those slain rocked back and forth upon the ropes that bound them to the fingers of the tree. A grotesque end for equally grotesque individuals! The owls shunned that grisly tree. As my new visitors approached, a great beast known as a waste hound ran past them with much haste as it bounded for its' lair beneath the sands, a human bone clutched in its' mouth. Likely found by that animal in one of the lost tombs of the region. Yet, before it disappeared the beast stopped and seemed to notice something about one of the travelers. I had never beheld such a reaction in those hounds before! It was far from a bleak looking day, for the desert held often a savage and lonely sort of beauty. But on this occasion the wind was almost chill as it blew in barely contained fury. All while the last sunlight of the day ebbed away in a kind of golden splendor, the rays of the sun being like unto the spears of gods piercing through the gathering twilight, attempting to slay the night even as it descended. But the night rose eternally! I was watching all of this from a balcony in the tower that I often frequented because of the spectacular view. My guests were arrival as I had imagined they would, and I did not wish to appear impolite and so I went back inside, dressed in my finest gown, and made my way to the main doors so that I might receive the newcomers. As I made my way hence, I passed interior gardens containing vast collections of beautiful flowers and plants of wondrous variety. There were vaguely human forms that lay entwined like serpents among the vines and greenery, vines that grew into the eye sockets of some, only to emerge from more tender places on the victims' bodies, or form their mouths. This too had been a just punishment, for these had sought to rob me or to force me to reveal the secrets I kept. They were not worthy of such secrets! Or of leniency. Thorns tore their flesh, while the fangs of carnivorous plants devoured them slowly. Ironically, the flesh of these wicked dead were green with putrefaction, blending them with the foliage in various places. They could no longer scream, and if any yet lived they suffered in silence as their internal bones broke and their organs were shredded by the greener tendrils that found their way into the fools' bodies. Such silent agony reminded me of how I kept my own pain hidden from those whom I had the rare dealings with. And my pain ran deep! Out of one of the windows, I noticed a distant high dune, and atop it stood the apparition of a little girl... with platinum blonde hair, and bangs that came to just above her coldly piercing green eyes. She wore a long flowing green dress, and bore in her hands a golden chalice filled with blood. “The red hour is fast approaching!” she said to me without moving her mouth, and with no regard for distance. “I shall be watching on as Hell is opened here. I am patient, after all.” she warned. Her eyes then blazed like fire, as she raised the cup to her nose to inhale the blood's scent. She wept in that hour, her tears like emerald fire, a look of some sort of transcendent ecstasy upon her face, which was not quite human looking and yet still beautiful. She licked the blood from the cup, her tongue thus changing into that of a serpent as she did so before adorning her lips with the red nectar of life. In the past, I had made sacrifices to her, so that she might bless me and the place of my habitation. I had not seen her in so long, and yet now she was there! It was a sign, surely. And all at once, she vanished as if she had simply stepped beyond all seeing. I opened the tower's main doors, even before my new guests could knock upon them. The floor of the entry chamber was tiled in a blood red and snow white chessboard pattern, while to either side of the doors were two pillars topped with glow globes, providing a pale but adequate illumination. Before my eyes were three people: a man who wore a green robe with a hood, a woman who was dressed in a dab gray dress, and a young girl wearing a black cape and riding hood, which she clutched about her nervously, concealing whatever she had on beneath it. They were a dreary looking party, to be sure! The man spoke first: “We have come from very far abroad, sir... or madam if that be the case with you... and your dwelling is the first sign of refuge we have spied in this part of the land. May we lodge here, just for the night? Twilight, brings such perils!”
I eyed the man carefully, and replied: “Twilight never dawns, it falls like a curtain! Enter. I would not have your blood become prey for some beast of the wastes, while I might be able to spare them such a cruel pleasure.” The man in green thought me rather peculiar I could sense, but he said nothing, rather instead introducing me to himself and his family. “I am Karth of Menthur, and this is my wife the lady Candra. The child is named Irkalla, though the choice of name was not mine. We are refugees from our native village, which has been conquered by the armies of the old city of Tirganth, which lies far, far to the south and west of this domain, well beyond the farthest mountains. You know the perils of this land I am sure, and what we must have faced just to get here. Wherever here even is!” I remarked to him: “I do indeed know the perils, Karth. My own name is something very few speak openly, and so you shall forgive me if I choose not to give it freely. Instead, call me only Ashatur. The three then stepped into the entry chamber, as the man said honestly: “I have never heard of you in any case.” I then chuckled, in a way that came off a bit sinister, before explaining: “I choose to live a solitary life, away from the royal courts of the land if it can be helped. I hunger for company, you might say, and so I am happy to receive you tonight.” The little girl, Irkalla, kept staring at me intently and said in a strange tone: “I too hunger as you do!” and her voice was not normal for a child of her age, perhaps no older than ten or eleven. It was hard to reconcile such a contradiction. The girl then licked her lips and fidgeted a bit with her cape. She seemed to be thinking deeply on something, but there was something else that she could not begin to articulate. I did not mention that I noticed her peculiar behavior. She then said in all too cheerful sort of tone: “You are not alone, you know! I am sure others have felt as you do. I know I have...” and her words trailed off into mumbling after that before she quieted down. There was an awkward silence after that, with the odd wind picking up outside, its' moaning echoing through the tower's halls. On that wind was carried the laughter of another little girl, the one from the ancient legends whose spirit I had seen. Candra then asked me: “Who could that be? If you are so alone as you claim... then, there must not be any children here running around surely.” But the laughter continued, finally fading as the wind began to die down. I replied to the woman: “I can assure you, Candra, I have no offspring.” And I saw that she shuddered a bit just then. The air was cooler in the tower than outside, thanks to the machines that kept the air at a comfortable level. Her body was getting acclimated to the change in temperature. Candra at once noticed the various tapestries and frescoes that hung here and there upon the stone walls of that great room. Images on them depicted subjects out of history, mythology, religion, and epic tales that of old were particular to the nation that the ancient palace had once belonged to. They had a twisted sort of quality to them, as if made by unsound minds and hands. One large mural depicted several people who were surrounding a little girl who held an emerald between the palms of her hands. At the side of that girl was an angelic looking figure of indeterminate gender with six wings emerging from its' back that seemed to be a mixture of brilliant fire and darkest shadow. The being's eyes were solid black, and had a way of staring out from the image uncannily. Candra pointed to the mural, noticing: “That angel... or whatever it is... had facial features similar to yours.” she said to me. I replied: “Perhaps an ancestor of mine, deified by the ancients, is all.” She shrugged it off, and thought about that odd matter no further.
Before retiring for the night, we had a late supper. The family was hungry after their journey, and all gathered in the dining room that I showed them to. My mechanical servants spread a sumptuous feast before them. Candra was particularly impressed, while Irkalla seemed utterly bored by it all. I saw that the mother still wore her somber gray clothing, while the little girl was at last without her cape. She had on a frilly black dress with a black ribbon tied about her slender waist. Her dress shoes were black, and her long, straight hair was likewise black, the bluest and darkest black I had ever seen, parted neatly in the middle. The girl had peculiarly black eyes, as well. All in contrast to her chalk white skin that I had noticed did not match that of either of her parents. The man retained his green robe, and seemed chilled.
He was a plain sort of man with tanned bronze-like skin and a shaved head, and had the look of some kind of priest. His wife was a mousy sort of woman with honey blonde hair and deep hazel eyes, while her skin was the same color as the man's was. Karth had eyes only for the paintings in the dining room. “Not one of those women or children on the walls resembles you.” she said to me. “Who were they? I am sure they were not your family or anyone in your ancestry.” I sighed a bit, and said sadly: “I have no family. I am quite alone here, save for the metal servants. You might say... I am the last of my lineage, at least to my knowledge.” Candra then remarked in an accusatory tone: “Yet, you were in that mural. I do still find that strange! And why would you keep these paintings if the people in them are strangers... do you even know who they were?” I had lost all taste for food by that point. I replied, in an irritated tone: “Those people in those paintings were old friends and loved ones of mine... not relatives as such. They are sadly no more, and I have no wish to speak of them any further, lest it fill me with grief again.” At this turn of conversation, Irkalla seemed to feel very ill at ease. Candra politely apologized and said she would not pry any further. Her husband was distant for the whole night after that, and neither of them had noticed the way that their daughter had kept staring at me ever since their arrival. Enough that even I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Every so often, Irkalla would lick her lips again and always as she was looking at me. Was this the nervous habit I took it for, or something less appropriate? A hint of desire in one too young to properly understand it, perhaps. One time, Candra noticed this and smacked the little girl on her arm. “Child!” she screamed, adding: “It is not polite to lick your lips in such a vile manner. Act like a lady! Not like a whore.” and the mother's choice of such lewd phrasing bothered me. That was not a way to discipline a little girl, or any child for that matter. Not using that sort of language I felt. I chuckled a bit and remarked: ”Children these days!” But to be honest, Irkalla did not act at all like a child, not a normal one anyway. She had a maturity to her, and I sensed that she was hiding some sort of inner darkness that she did not wish her parents to learn of. She may have been young, but she was far from innocent, I would come to realize. Rather, she had a perversity to her nature that she did not inherit from either of her parents. I began to doubt that she was even their real child at all. I simply assumed that she was adopted, and I left it at that and never brought up the subject. It was not polite.
We were gathered in one of the tower's studies, when as they sat on a couch together I saw that the man, Karth, had lewdly grabbed his wife's thigh and then proceeded to whisper obscenities loudly into her ear, which made her blush and cry out in shock. He seized her between the legs, which so caused Candra to cry out angrily: “Karth! Now is not the time, my dear. Act like a gentleman, if you are able.” His face turned beet red as he withdrew his hand. He smacked his own face hard, and said in a highly embarrassed tone: “Forgive me! I know not what came over me just now.” There was a statue of a man, or it may have been a woman, in that room. The being wore a long flowing robe with a cowl, and over its' face it wore a mask attached to a tall crown it wore around its' head. Karth then asked me: “Who is the subject of that statue... if you know it?” and I offered: “It is of an ancient god, also a goddess, who was revered as the emissary of a certain child goddess who herself was worshiped in these lands during the times before the sands devoured the palace that lies beneath our very feet. The main doors are new, as are a lot of other additions my machine servants saw to creating in order to make my life here a great deal more comfortable. That is all I can say of that statue.” Candra then complained: “Who would ever worship a child? It is hard enough trying to raise one!” to which I remarked: “People who saw in them a certain beauty, grace, and divinity. It was a different age, I suppose! You would not understand.” But the little girl, Irkalla, laughed out loud, delighted at the idea. And, at her mother's discomfort with it. Seeing this, the mother struck her daughter again and I felt so enraged at watching this abuse that I exclaimed: “That will be enough of that in my home! Do not strike her like that again in my presence.” to which her husband meekly suggested: “Candra, let us not anger our host! Restrain yourself... just this once.”
An animal cried out, outside the window. Irkalla seemed attentive to the sound... in a strange way that made it seem she understood the beast's howling language. Her mother was about to scold her, but then looked at me and stifled her rage. The woman was abusive towards her daughter, I realized. I hated the sorts of cowards that treated children so cruelly! And so I came to hate the lady Candra, deeply. I said to the woman, my dislike of her evident in my voice: “Have you never lain in bed at night and heard such sounds, that you had to look in their direction and wonder what they might be? It is a mockery to your daughter, that you would have her ignore her sense of wonderment... that all children should possess! They say that those hounds only cry thus when they are lonely... have you never been lonely, my lady? I can see that your daughter very clearly is, despite that with one's family a child aught not feel so alone.” This struck a chord within the harsh woman, and she fell silent, while her little daughter looked towards me with a desperately grateful look upon her face. I nodded, and she nodded back in understanding. I would protect her, for so long as she was within my home. She winked at me and went back to amusing herself by looking through some of the picture books in the study. I so wondered if her parents had ever even taught her to read. The little girl called me aside, and she whispered to me while her parents were busy talking and paying little heed: “You are handsome, and beautiful too in a way. A man or a woman, I have no idea which you are, but your face! It reminds me of some ancient tribe I once read about from an age before people started keeping records. Yes, I can read! My mother forbade me from it, but I had learned from my father all the same. Your skin is a very different shade than my parents and the people where we come from. Mine is different too, as you can see! I... am different. Mother hates me, for that. But in your eyes, in your kind looking eyes, I can see something gentler. But something sad, too. Would you be my friend, if I decide to be yours?” I agreed, whispering in reply: “Friends it is! But we must not tell your parents, especially your mother. She is too mean.” thus we agreed, and our bargain was made. She was, after I had spoken to her at this length, clearly no child however she appeared. She spoke with a maturity even beyond my own in many ways! This was cemented in my view when she suddenly said to her mother in a perplexed manner: “Why must we have so many rules in society, and sometimes all too freedoms... mother?” and with the way she said 'mother' there was a kind of verbal jab. Candra said to her in reply: “It is all that separates us from beasts like that hound outside.” The mother eyed me with a seething hatred as she said that. After that, my own gaze was fixed on the little girl, who seemed to be like a fairy tale princess held captive by a wicked stepmother and bound by rigid traditions. Karth went over to the window to look outside after that. Candra then called me over to her and said cuttingly: “So tell me... whatever you are... what do you personally think of society?” to which I whispered in her ear: “Let me show you!” and all at once I forced a mad, passionate kiss upon the woman's lips, my tongue entwining with her own like a lover while my hands seized the woman's breasts, squeezing them lustily. I then smacked her across her face exactly as she had done to her own daughter. I exclaimed: “That... is what I think of any society that breeds such as you, you witch!” at which her husband rushed forward as if considering coming to his wife's defense as she told him of what I had done to her. He grew red in the face, once more acting meekly as he said: “Forgive my wife... for her rudeness, and crude behavior. We are in your house and lands, after all, not our own. But, please, take your anger out on me, if you must! That is still my wife, and I would prefer that you refrain from dishonoring her further.” Yet had she not dishonored her daughter? That is how I knew, Irkalla was not her daughter. Seeing what I did, the little girl blushed and giggled a bit, trying to stifle it. After that, it was time for everyone to retire and so I had shown the two parents to their guest rooms, and the little girl to one she could have to herself. This, I felt, would separate her from her abusive mother. As I closed the door to the child's room, I noticed she was staring at me and attempting to appear as if she was not. I whispered to her loud enough for her to hear: “You do not have to be ashamed of anything! Just be yourself, I will not judge you for it.” I made the decision to turn in for the night myself, but strange nightmares kept waking me up from any repose.
The sound of a leathery night drake resounded outside my bedroom window. I was unclothed, and did hurry to put on a pair of bloomer like shorts and a midriff top as I roused myself to wakefulness. I eyed the whip that sat in one corner of the room... remembering all the times I flogged myself bloody with it, all to purge myself of ancient angers, past pains, and hidden passions. Over time, I came to understand that I was not evil, but rather simply a product of the civilization that had produced such as I. This day, I had seen evil in the heart of a mother who should have known better. It filled me with rage I had known for many long years. I thought about the little girl, and how I wished she were my own child. And how crass and foolish her supposed father acted! They did not deserve such an angel for a child. In knowing the flaws within myself, I was keener at observing the flaws of others. I thought of the paintings of my past loves and of their kin, which hung throughout the tower. I was tired of being alone... mourning for the long dead. I needed to act, to do something decisive, to change things! And so I did. I decided to but think a little bit longer, although I felt furious at waiting even this long. There were no clocks, not any sort of time keeping pieces in the entire tower, but I knew it was well past midnight. Just as I was thus engaged with my thoughts and beginning to make plans, there was a knock on the wooden door to my chambers. I rushed over to it and saw that it was Irkalla standing there, smiling cheerfully with her big dark eyes and soft pink lips. “May I come in, Ashatur? I cannot sleep tonight, I keep having nightmares of the most bizarre sort. Very real-seeming and terrible!” I smiled and replied: “Call me Asha. And yes, you may come in, I would be delighted to so receive your company. I too have had similar nightmares, and they have filled my mind with many... thoughts... which need consideration.” The child then said in a rather mysterious way: “What makes me come to you, when we both share the same dreams?” And I knew that we did share them. I offered: “Perhaps we are alike in some deeper fashion, my dear! I would wager that you were adopted, am I correct?” she nodded her head in agreement. I then asked: “Do you know the meaning of your name?” and she shook her head, showing she did not. I told her: “It is a very old name for the Netherworld... for the realm of the dead.” I motioned for her to come close to me. We both sat down on the bed together, with my having my arm about the girl's shoulders. I whispered: “Do you know what I see in your black eyes? Not death! I see beauty, like the night sky or the void between the stars.” Irkalla looked up at me and gasped. “No one ever called me beautiful before.” she admitted, adding: “Only things like pale, and awkward.” Her hair looked a mess, and I brushed it out of her face, saying: “Never hide your eyes from the world! And never from me. Be proud at your being different... at your special uniqueness. Here, if you were my own, you would be as a princess.” to which she then confessed: “I would rather be a queen... your queen.” and she did not say that like a child who has some crush. Her voice was filled with a far deeper longing. I kissed her on the forehead and told her to wait in my chambers for the time being. As I looked the door, I heard her singing from behind it: “A wind is stirring in the desert...” and after that her voice seemed to trail off for a bit. My last sight of her before I attended to the business at hand, was of her dancing around the room wildly, a mad gleam in her eyes.
It was well into the third hour past midnight... when I had ordered my mechanical servants, to clean up the bloody, horrid mess they had made when they tore apart Karth and Candra. They had originally been created for war, as servants of the ancient Titan race, and had no issues with being commanded to take human lives when the need arose. I did not feel guilty about this... those two had been abusers and probably worse in their time. Now, they would feed the plants below. I rushed back to see to Irkalla, for I was concerned at having left her by herself for so long, given her peculiar state of mind, despite that I was growing increasingly able to comprehend her eccentricities. She called out to me as I unlocked the door and entered the room. Her mad dance had ceased, it seemed, for she was simply pacing about with a grave look of concern about her face. She had clearly not been able to get back to sleep for even one hour. Her voice was soft and angelic, as she said the name I had told her to call me by: “Asha! I worry.”
She seemed truly terrified as she exclaimed: “I could hear my parents screaming! Are they alright? I could not get back to sleep once the screaming started.” I tried to explain it to her gently. “They are very much not alright, child. It seems they had managed to run afoul of some of my guard robots, and I must tell you that the machines were not gentle with them. They have died, as a result.” The little girl neither wept nor screamed at this revelation. She merely asked: “Did I cause this, somehow?” and I assured her that she did not. “Why would you blame yourself?” I inquired, to which she answered: “They hit me so much over the years, and were so hurtful and angry towards me all the time... that I kept wondering if it would not have been better had I been taken in by other, kinder and gentler parents. But now I am alone and have no one to care for me. And I feel... sad, not for them for for myself. Is that wrong of me?” and this line of self blame and worry was a very adult one, something no child should ever have to think on. I walked over to her, and sat down on the bed, urging her to sit next to me again. I told her softly: “You do not have to be alone, not ever again. I will take you in, and you can stay here with me for as long as you like. I will never strike you, never yell at you, and never hurt you. So do not worry! This is not the end of your life, but a new beginning for both of us.” She smiled, contentedly, saying: “No one will hurt me, not ever again? Thank you so much!” And she kissed my cheek. I confessed to her: “I could never see you come to harm, child. It is for you to be safe, that I allowed all of this to transpire as it did. Now do you have any regrets before we set about with getting on with things here?” She shook her head, and said only: “None whatsoever.” She then said to me in a low, frightened tone: “I share your darkness.” to which I replied: “I know you do.” I caressed her hair, then her face, with the utmost tenderness and very evident compassion in all my mannerisms. The girl nearly swooned, so used to harsh treatment was she. “I want to scream, to cry out with tears of joy, but I cannot seem to be able to weep right now!” said the peculiar child that I had come to adore. I kissed her on the cheek, whispering kindly: “No tears, sweet little girl! You are a princess now, and princesses do not need to weep. Simply joy is enough! Be true to what you really feel, always.” In the gardens below the upper floors where that room lay, the plants had fed well that night. It was impossible to discern where the remains of my new daughter's “parents” had begun and where the mangled remnants of them ended, so savaged were they by the living creatures in the guise of plants. It was as close to a decent burial as they deserved! I noticed outside the window just then, the strange little girl with the blazing emerald eyes staring inside, floating in the air by some weird power. She still held, the golden blood-filled chalice. She appeared to be laughing, silently and joyfully. So ferocious were the desert winds on that evening, that the hanged dead upon the petrified tree were as one torn from the ropes that had held them for so long, the bones scattering off into the sands. A terrible force was at work, the living expression of an unspeakable force. The child goddess, had chosen at last her destined host! For Irkalla had been an emanation of the goddess's own spirit, and that is why all the days of her life she had been so mature beyond her years. During the possession, the child's breath had quickened swiftly, swifter and swifter, as she was rocked by strange convulsions. I kissed the girl upon the side of her neck, caressing her raven black hair and whispering words of encouragement to her. “Do not be afraid! This rite shall pass soon, and you will be complete and whole once again. My goddess!” I placed in the child's hands a porcelain doll that had been on one of the shelves, a doll that bore quite the striking resemblance to Irkalla herself. “For you... for the daughter I never had, and the princess I have been seeking for what seems an age now! Please be strong, and please awaken from this transformation soon. I cannot bear... to see you in such a state.” and I was crying a bit, worrying for her safety. I could not bear to lose this one, to have to paint another portrait to remember her beautiful face by. Her eyes had been closed during the possession rite, but suddenly they snapped open. They were green now, and black no longer. She had ceased convulsing and was breathing normally again. “Lie next to me, oh my sweet scarlet angel.” she begged, plaintively, before adding: “It was cold, where I was... separated as I had been... but now I feel warmer than ever before. Thank you... so much! Let us share, in this victory.”
That night, we were both oblivious to the wind outside the tower, as the little girl's body was a child's no longer. She had removed her clothes and by some power that I could not begin to understand began to age until she was exactly twenty years old and not a year older or younger. The goddess decided now was finally the time to mold her flesh to suit her spirit, and so it was accomplished. She kissed me then with a savage fury, and with unbridled passion. She sucked a bit on my tongue, during that kiss... and I had no doubts where things were headed. “I have waited, so long... for this!” she exclaimed fiercely as we made love with a primal ferocity to match the winds outside the bedroom window. At the height of all our lovemaking, she clutched me with a savagery that drew blood, licking the blood from her fingers while giggling childishly with delight. Our bodies were slick with the sweat of the hot desert night, and at last we allowed the darkness of the night to rob us of what remained of our reason. The night was so dark! And when we fell asleep together, at last... we dreamed not of death, but of the life that lay ahead. If all that I had done on that day was evil, then what is goodness! Good and evil do not have as stark of lines to separate them... as most people commonly believe. If what we did was mad, then perhaps I was but mad with love, and smitten by the passion of a goddess whose beauty now shone as pale moonlight.
Upon the morrow, after we had dressed and made our way to the library to talk, Irkalla asked of me at last: “Was it all a fever dream, a wish made by my heart, that caused me to slip from being a girl to now being a woman? Or was it a deeper, feral instinct of the wilderness within me, that drove me to embrace my adopted parents' death with nigh unto joy! I cared not for their suffering. And now, am I still to be as your daughter in your eyes? Or something more profound!” I admitted to her: “You are no longer to be my princess, Irkalla. You are to be my queen! Even as I am the king of this place, after a fashion.” She replied then: “We are as twin serpents, then! Entwined together forever.” It seemed a part of her was yet the child she had been before, and yet she was at the same time, that ancient and terrible goddess I had for so long served. She was holding the doll I had given her in her hands, while she herself was dressed in a long black silken gown that flattered her slender figure, well. I put my hands around her waist... as she placed her arms upon my shoulders. She was still shorter than I, even as an adult. Later that day, I had ordered one of my mechanical servants, one programmed to be an artist, to create a new portrait to hang upon the walls of the dining room in a special place of honor. I took Irkalla in to have a look at it. She gasped, a look of pleasant, elated surprise upon her beautiful face. “So how do you like it?” I asked her. It was a painting of her in the regal clothing of a queen... no, of an empress... holding her doll in her hands with a look of serenity upon her face, her sparkling green eyes aglow not with flame but with joy. She exclaimed joyously: “I love it, my darling, my beloved scarlet king!” I was wearing a long flowing blood red gown of diaphanous design, with only a pair of bloomer-like yellow shorts beneath it, on that occasion, so her calling me that made sense. We both wore sandals, mine red and hers black. We were like twin serpents, one of darkness the other of blood. Later that night, I decided it was time to show her the countless hidden places within the tower, the portals and doorways that led to other worlds, planets, dimensions and planes of existence. An ancient civilization's long forgotten technology had made them, for ease of access to myriad places to which they could travel, and have dealings with. Now, only I and those I chose to take with me had any access to those gateways. It would be the first... of many journeys into those places... for the goddess Irkalla, and myself. One day, however, we returned from a singular excursion to a distant planet where the sky had been a deep green rather than an azure blue, and where great bridges linked massive industrialized cities where one could obtain pretty much anything. It was a glorified shopping trip. Waiting for us inside the tower's entry chamber was a stern looking woman with very short, curly blonde hair. She wore the armor of a soldier, but from no lands I recognized. She said unto me in a cold voice: “Greetings! I, am known as Valethea of Xor'zonmere. A little girl and her two parents were said to have come this way, never to be seen again. I, was hired... to discover their fate.”
We lied to the lady soldier, telling her that no such people by that description ever came by the tower. But then she grew wrathful, shouting: “So, you lie! I found the parents' remains in the gardens, or what was left of them anyway. Their faces remained intact, so I was able to identify them. And that woman at your side looks peculiarly like the description of the child! Yet, where is the little girl?” Irkalla tried to explain: “I am she, and as you can see... I have decided it is time I grew up. And so, I have!” I then told the woman the whole story, including how the child's parents had abused her, and that their deaths were a just punishment in my lands for those who harm children. She did not believe us, however. Rather she drew her sword form its' scabbard and and swung at us with fury. “Murderers and liars, both of you! In my country, this is the punishment for murder.” she cried out, mad with rage. I grabbed a sword of my own from its' place hanging upon the wall above the great mural. It was a ceremonial blade, one I had not used in many centuries. For I was longer lived than was natural! It had indeed been I, in that mural. The woman wore no helm, and so I aimed for her head as I attacked her, while she raised her sword to meet my attack with a strength I realized I could not match. Irkalla rushed forward, with a long dagger that she picked up from a nearby table, and tried to stop Valethea from doing me any harm. I cried out for Irkalla to step away and get to safety in one of the other rooms, but she was so intent on defending me that she heard me not. Seeing an advantage, the lady soldier pushed me back as I spun around to deliver a blow and then she quickly dove towards Irkalla, plunging her sword through my love's heart. I screamed until my face was red, and fell to the floor in grief, dropping my sword as I did so. I could not hope to best this woman in combat, could not hope to avenge my fallen queen. I now wished only to die and be united with her. But before either I or the lady soldier could do anything further, Irkalla's body at once transformed back into its' former child form. In that instant, Valethea realized she had murdered a little girl, the very one she had sworn to find and bring to safety. Withdrawing her blade from Irkalla's quickly dying form, the woman began to weep, crying: “Oh gods! What have I done? It was all true, all that they said was true. I was so blind! So foolish... so rash.” Irkalla was bleeding out... breathing now, her last breath, as she tried to say: “I loved... you... Asha! My... scarlet king.” And that last word turned into a hideous gurgle as the sounds of death filled her throat. “Get out of my way, Valethea!” I growled at the lady soldier, my voice inhuman sounding in my rage and fury. I added: “I have a burial to see to.”
Within the tower, there was a place in which a great black door was set into the wall... just beneath a decorative archway. It was the goddess's place, and even I dared never to disturb it until now. I carried Irkalla, her mortal child form, in my arms and I laid her down upon the floor as I cast the door open. I could never know the last time it had been opened thus. The woman who had taken Irkalla's life, was at my side, her own heart broken by unspeakable grief... only, her own grief was tinged with guilt. Within the chamber, there was totally nothing but an empty sarcophagus which had never had a body interred within it. The tomb, for a tomb it clearly was... was unadorned, never decorated, and never made use of. The sarcophagus was ornate, with a beautifully realistic looking carving of a goddess-like woman upon the lid, whose face bore a shocking resemblance to how Irkalla's looked when she had become an adult. It was carved out of very heavy white marble, that sarcophagus, and it took both the lady solider and I together to slide the lid open. We could not get it all the way... but, it was enough to allow us to lay the slain girl into it. I kissed Irkalla on the cheek one final time, and broke down in sorrow as we closed the lid, covering forever that unique and tragic person I had loved, and lost. In time, I would decorate that tomb in a manner befitting a queen. No, an empress! Never again would I see the spirit of the goddess, and her legend faded from the desolate land. Valethea quit being a soldier, renounced the sword, and in time decided to become a priestess of the old gods... seeking to atone for her terrible deed. I never truly forgave her, but neither did I seek any vengeance. She was already broken, already dead in all but body. I was likewise, and it would be long before another would touch my heart as profoundly as had Irkalla.
Published 7th Jun 2022
Author's Note
This work is based upon some of my past-life memories.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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8th Jun 2022 3:21am
This was a very sad story to read, especially since now I know what happened in that tower before I came there to live with you later on. I never knew it even had a tomb behind that door, I just thought it was an old cellar nobody ever went in or something. You were very lonely there! I recall that too. I feel so sorry for Irkalla! Her mother reminds me a little of mine, but mine was more verbally abusive to me. Not really physical. Lots of deep things you touch on here! I like deep reads, so I love yours. Just like I love you, never forget!
8th Jun 2022 4:01am
It was indeed a tragedy, what happened to Irkalla back then. Yeah, as you know my mother was also sometimes a nasty piece of work, but as nasty as she could be... my grandmother was even worse in her final days, when she came down with dementia. I am delighted that you are enjoying reading my deeper works, beloved! Worry not, I could never forget you, or the love we share together. Some things are eternal! :D
