Chapter Twenty-Two: Uninvited Guests

I'll admit, I was kinda surprised at how the Desert Fires lived. From what Scales said about them, they were supposed to be a nomadic tribe of clans who roamed the Golden Grasses, living off the buffalo herds. Well, they still seemed to live off the buffalo…but they were by no means nomadic. Unless these stone cities could move on their own, which they could not.

Bleh, this was just ten kinds of confusing.

The interior of the temple was a pretty nice setup. There were two levels to the place, but we were only meeting in the bottom floor. There was only one wall on the bottom floor, making up the southern side of the temple. Set on the floor in front of the wall were several small pots of paint, all of varying colors. All the other sides of the place were open to the outdoors. Scales guessed that this was so the light of Skaia was always shining into the temple.

I guess that would've made more sense if this hadn't been a planet renowned for its eternal rain. But that's just me. I'll just be smart and keep my logic in the storage room for the time being.

In the center of the lower chamber was a stone brazier which was roaring with flame. A desert version of a council fire, it seemed. Sitting on the opposite side of the fire, coiled on elevated seats, were three gray-scaled elders, including the slate-scaled individual who'd nearly sacrificed me just a few minutes ago. There were also a dozen or so younger consorts sitting around the fire, all of varying color. The white-scaled dude was here, too.

Scales and I were made to sit down on the opposite side of the fire from the three elders. And because we were technically guests, it was customary for the elders to tell the Story of their people, just like the elders of Clan Nathair had done for me back in the Knightswood, a lifetime ago. I settled in, getting ready for a potentially lengthy tale.

Then again… Then again, the Story that I'd been told at the Clan Nathair council fire had actually been pretty short. Maybe I wouldn't have to wait very long, after all.

The slate-scaled elder in the middle began to speak. "Ssince the timess of the earliesst ssongss…"

Like the Clan Nathair council fire, the slate-scaled started by describing the time of the First Songs, the Age of Legends. It was the hazy, mostly-forgotten era of the ancient past which ended ten thousand years ago. It had ended with the time of the Old One, who was a mysterious figure of my consorts' history that I really hadn't had much of a chance to learn anything about.

We were a simple people once, living in the three clans of the Great Fires—the peoples of the Forest, the Plains, and the Sands. Our lives were simple, our thoughts were simple…our very minds were simple.

This was the Age of Legends, the time of the First Stories. A time before even the arrival of Hyperion.

We were raised up by the Old One—a maiden, She Who Walks Tall, with eyes of deepest red. Sent down to us by the Great Sky Flame, the Old One gave us the gift of knowledge, and the power of Force, of the energies that drive all things. Our minds were ascended, our senses sharpened. We were capable of thoughts and emotions and actions that had previously been unknown to us, in our limited perceptions…in our simplicity.

The Old One was given visions, glimpses into the past, the present, and the future by the Great Sky Flame, and she gifted them in turn to our elders. They foretold a great purpose that our very world would one day help fulfill. A great creation. A Garden in the Eternal Darkness.

They foretold the arrival of Hyperion, and the sundering of our rivers. They foretold the sorrows and darkness that descended upon our peoples. The arrival of the underling swarms.

Even now, we—the Clans of the Desert Fires, descendants of the People of the Sands—live in isolation of our world. Watching. Waiting.

We were a strong people. A proud people. Unrivalled. Respected. We dwelled in the deserts, as was right and proper. Then the Cataclysm darkened our skies, rained fire upon our homes. We were broken. Decimated. Ravaged.

But not destroyed.

The People of the Plains abandoned their home in the Cataclysm. Fled to the north. Lived in the hills and mountains. We accepted what they left behind. Made the Golden Grasses our own. We flourished, prospered. Regained our pride, our vitality, embraced our new life.

Until Hyperion took it from us.

The Denizen's hordes descended upon this world as would a plague. None were spared from his conquest. The Treefolk retreated to their forests, the Northerners fell under the yoke of slavery within half a century. We were the last to bear the Denizen's ferocity, and we were the last to fall.

For three centuries, slavery was the life our people lived. Forced to mine the quarries to build the Denizen's Wall. Hope was an unknown concept. Life had no meaning. We entered the time of our darkest Stories.

This time was ended by the White Warrior. He Who Ended the Dark Stories. The White Warrior came to us in our time of greatest need. He reintroduced the concept of hope. He reminded us what it meant to be People of the Sands. And so we broke our shackles and rose up, destroyed the accursed quarries.

Then we reclaimed that which we had lost. We reclaimed the Sands, home of our ancestors, where we now dwell to this day. Seven clans, seven cities…united as one by Aztlán, the City In The Center.

And together, we the seven clans of the Desert Fires watch and wait for the arrival of the Knight. Eyes of blood, He Who Walks Tall.

Has our wait finally come to an end?

The question snapped me out of my reverie. The Story was completed, and the three elders now sat silently across the fire. I realized that I'd fallen into an almost trance-like state. I glanced around, half expecting to see the Phantom lurking around in the shadows, somewhere. Thankfully, it was nowhere to be seen.

Damn it all, this is exactly what happened at the Clan Nathair council fire. When the elders began telling their Story, I ended up zoning out…and then as the elder continued to tell the Story, foreign thoughts began to worm their way into my mind. I ended up hearing the story in my head even though I was not directly listening to it. I heard the Story…and experienced it, too, in a weird sort of way…

I had no way of being sure if the question at the end had actually been asked by the slate-scaled elder, or if it was just my mind playing tricks on me, again… Either way, it was enough to snap me back to reality.

"And now comess the time of truth," the slate-scaled elder declared. "I call forth Matlal, our wisesst Shaman, He Who Sees All. He will decide if you are who you ssay you are."

"Uh…" I frowned. "Don't I get any say in that? What if he's wrong?"

If the slate-scaled elder was offended, he did not show it. Instead he gave a slight grin, his tongue flitting from his mouth to taste the air. "Matlal iss never wrong."

Drums began to play—first one, then a second joined in, then a third and fourth. They kept a slow, steady beat. Gradually, the latter three drummers began to deviate from the original rhythm, adding in their own variations, but still keeping in time with the first drummer.

Then the oldest consort I've ever seen appeared. He must've been upstairs, because he came slithering down one of the stone ramps, brushing aside the buffalo hide curtain that obscured the ramp, entering the lower level of the temple. He slithered in a very peculiar way, always moving from side to side, and occasionally around in circles. It wasn't long until I figured out that he was performing some kind of dance.

His scales were a dark green color, which surprised me because most elders I've seen have had gray scales. His eyes, however, were completely white. He must have been blind…but he also did not seem to have any trouble knowing where he was going. Though he was blind, he could still see.

Matlal the Shaman hummed and chanted as he slithered over to me. I remained perfectly still. The old, green-scaled consort circled around me three times, tasting the air around me, before coming to a stop right in front of me. He stared straight into my eyes and became still as a lake on a windless day. He did not even blink.

The Shaman then drew an obsidian dagger. I felt his Vis grip my left wrist, but I did not fight it. I allowed the Shaman to draw my hand out towards him. Matlal then took his dagger and drew it swiftly across my palm, leaving me with a tiny cut. It had been quick, and the pain was gone within seconds. I didn't flinch, thankfully. The Shaman had done all of this without moving or breaking eye contact. That shit took some real focus.

Matlal brought the obsidian dagger to his mouth. His tongue flitted out, tasted my blood. For a while, the Shaman continued to remain still. I wasn't sure if I should move, or say something, or… I don't know. I decided it would be safest to simply remain the way I was. No talking, no moving. Can't go wrong there, you know?

Then the Shaman began to hum and chant once again, his neck hood flaring out, his head swaying in rhythm with the drums. He circled around me three more times before he slithered off to the southern wall and started to use the paint in those small pots to create an image.

I never got the chance to see what he was drawing.

There was a faint flash of red light, followed by light, off-kilter footsteps. The consorts around the fire all uncoiled themselves, hissing in surprise and confusion. The guards drew their weapons, but no one made a move quite yet. And throughout the whole ordeal, Matlal continued to draw.

I sprang to my feet, whipping around to see what the source of the commotion…only to come face to face with the last person in the universe I wanted to see. She was dressed in weird red clothes—a long, flowy kind of robe with a hood, and a curved, rope-like cord that was tied around her waist. The symbol of a red gear was emblazoned on her chest. She wore small, cyan shoes, which also happened to be her favorite color.

"Heey, cutie," Anna Carrero flashed me a grin, carefully making her way across the chamber towards us.

"What iss the meaning of thiss?" the slate-scaled elder exclaimed. "Who are you? How dare you tresspass in our ssacred-"

"Yeah, uh, I'm sure you're all probs a bit pissed off and confused, and maybe I'd be too," Anna paused only to regain her balance when she almost tripped over her own feet. "But, uh... I jus' need to borrow your Knight! It'll literally take a minute! Well, a minute for you, not ezzactly a minute for-"

"Anna, what the fuck are you doing here?" I interrupted. Oh my god, I was so not in the mood for this right now… Or ever, for that matter…

Anna stumbled again as she reached me, steadying herself by resting her arms on my shoulders. She then reached forward with her right hand and tapped me on the tip of my nose. "I'm here for you, silly! And your friendz!"

"Don't…don't ever touch me like that," I delicately extricated myself from Anna's arms, pushing her away to arm's length. Jesus, I was almost getting drunk just from her breath…

"Ohh, c'mon!" the Bitch pouted. "Are you ever gonna get over last year?"

"Go home, Anna. No one wants you here."

"Yeah, see, that's where you're wrong," Anna chuckled in reply. "You may not want me here, but Skaia does. And what Skaia wants, Skaia gets…" she added, her voice turning bitter all of a sudden. "I've come to take you back. You and your two friends."

"Enough of thiss," the white-scaled cobra drew his sword and cleared the council fire, lunging straight towards Anna.

"And that's my cue!" Anna snapped her fingers before I could even make a move.

There was a bright flash of red light, followed by one of the most intense headaches I've ever felt. And I've had some killer hangovers, before, too; I know all about headaches, so believe me when I tell you how shitty this one felt. I blinked, clutching at my head, trying to alleviate the pain that was pulsing around my temples.

When I looked back up to get my bearings, I instantly recognized the light woods, giant Baobab trees, and rolling hills of the Golden Grasses. We were no longer in the desert. We were back in the savanna… Glimmering Scales had been brought along with me…as well as Mr. White Scales.

I glared over at Anna, who was steadying herself against a tree, sipping out of a flask. "What the fuck did you just do?"

"I took you back, like I said I would!" she continued to grin that smug grin that I'd grown to loathe over the months. "Three hundred years in the past, to be exact."

END OF ACT III