A/N: Chap 23 review responses are in my forums as normal. And now for the longest chapter of the story.
Chapter Twenty-Four: On the Flesh of Fallen Men
Melisandre returned the next day. She looked far less confident when she entered the House of Knowledge and found Taylor at the same bureau as before, once more absorbing books by touch.
Taylor watched the priestess come even as she continued to summon and return various books and scrolls from their shelves up into the tower. Melisandre watched as each book or scroll flew down, or flew back up. She came to a stop further away than before, and then bowed her head.
"I have been instructed by the high priests of my order to assist you. A train of pack animals and slaves have been prepared for the journey. But we must know what happened to the avatar of R'hllor."
Taylor sent all the books and scrolls back. She stepped over to the corner of the alcove behind the bureau where her travel pack and staff lay. She never actually sought a room. She gathered both and turned to study the priestess. "You will come as well?"
"So have I been ordered."
Taylor nodded, and then walked out of the lounge. The attendant bowed from the waist. "Until we see you again," the woman said.
"Until then," Taylor said. "Please lower the warding."
Melisandre said nothing as the attendant chanted and deactivated some of the protections on the door. Only when they were lowered did Taylor step through. Just as before, a low cloud of demons flittered over every surface she could see. She flared Hel-wind about her bare feet and cast the demons away.
Melisandre stumbled as she saw the display, but said nothing as Taylor focused on the distant train of pack animals. She ignored the low, constant hiss of the demons as her steps disrupted them across the wide, paved center of the city.
The priestess followed in silence.
The pack train consisted of a strange hybrid animal that bore characteristics of both horses, but also the faded stripes of zebras. Their fore shoulders didn't even reach Taylor's own; they appeared to be strong animals, though, and carried heavy packs across their backs. Two men serviced the animals–they had black hair and the narrowed eyes common to YiTi and far Eastern Essos. They wore dark cotton breeches and simple brown tunics. The only extravagance was that each wore heavy boots linked in shadow tongue sigils to protect their feet from the demons.
The zorses too wore odd metal rings about their hooves with similar sigils in place that warded off the demons.
Two more men stood just to one side. These wore loose crimson robes cinched tight under leather hauberks with sword belts at their waists. Each carried a long bow and three quivers across their backs. They're faces were covered by heavy black cotton veils, and their hair covered by intricately wrapped black turbans. Their souls were intact, but drenched in blood and pain–both their own, and those they've harmed.
"There are many threats in the Shadow Lands, Telos," Melisandre said as she observed Taylor's attention. "Shadow cats and dragons, demons and basilisks. Even during my first trip, we had Shadow Hands with us."
The two soldiers were slaves themselves. Their conditioning was beaten into their souls as thoroughly as the two YiTish slaves. They were not just captured, but they were raised from their youths to know only obedience and obeisance. Not only would they die for a priest of R'hllor, they would gladly fall on their own swords if Melisandre asked them to.
They would not even hesitate.
"How long will the journey take?"
"It will take at least a month to reach Stygai," Melisandre said. "Perhaps a month and a half. It is a long, difficult journey."
"Then we should get started," Taylor said.
"As you wish."
Melisandre stepped past Taylor, and the wagon train. Like the four slaves, she wore heavy boots enchanted to protect her against the demons. Taylor continued to go barefoot and let her native magic drive the demons back while the barren earth cushioned her steps.
She'd already been traveling for six months. What was another two?
"And the Avatar?"
"I'll tell you as we go."
They moved on foot while the slave servants guided the pack animals. Melisandre told her the trail would soon become too narrow for horses. Taylor accepted this with a nod as they left the heavily warded city gates and moved north into the harsh mountains of inner Asshai.
"How is it that you recognize me?" Taylor asked.
"I was there when you were reborn to this world," Melisandre admitted. "Only I and Kinvara, my high priestess at the time, were there and still live. It was so long ago."
Taylor looked deep within Melisandre's fractured soul. "Show me, Melisandre. Show me what happened. Open your memories to me, like you would to your fire."
The priestess considered for a moment, obviously unhappy with the request. But Taylor could see the burden of a mission on her soul, and knew the woman was compelled to do whatever she had to in order to find the truth of their god.
"Very well." And just like that, the memories crystalized within her fractured soul, and Taylor saw…
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
"I'm afraid."
Ya Tso's words were almost lost in the roar of the storm around them; only Melisandre heard. She pulled her sister acolyte closer in the rocking cot they shared, but said nothing. Even to feel fear as an acolyte of R'hllor was a terrible risk; but to admit it was all but a guarantee of death. In the long, low-ceilinged hold of the ship that carried them from the Most Holy Asshai to the Endless Empire, she could hear the whisper of voices that had no bodies; of feelings that had no source.
"Lead us from the darkness, oh My Lord," Melisandre whispered to the younger acolyte. "Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path. R'hllor, you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our loins. Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night."
Ya Tso sucked in a breath. "Lord of Light, defend us." She whispered back the response. "The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect us."
The two fell silent for a moment as they huddled in the crushing darkness of the ship's hold, while in the darkness beyond night and ocean alike roared for their lives. "We are R'hllor's will," Melisendre told the younger acolyte. "We are his servants and his children. Through him, all is possible. Even death is but a moment before his light brings us purity and joy. Don't be afraid, my sister."
Ya Tso said nothing, but she clutched at Melisandre's arm with both her hands. After a time, the younger acolyte slipped back into a shallow, troubled sleep. Melisandre knew she should do the same, but sleep didn't come for many hours.
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
When the priestess came down into the ship's hold, she did so in a shimmering column of blinding sunlight that illuminated the otherwise dark hull. "My daughters, we have arrived!" Kinvara exulted as she spoke, beaming with joy and purpose. "Come, now! The road to the Lord of Light has never been closer!"
They disentangled themselves; a hundred priestesses left Asshai in the hold of the ship. Even with spells of preservation; even with the citron paste and blessed water, only ninety-four survived the journey. Melisandre said her morning prayer as she knelt down at her modest travel chest and removed the red satin gown of her status as a senior acolyte. She stripped out of her filthy travel gown, washed with a sponge as best she could, and then dressed.
On the other side of their shared cot, Ya Tso did the same. All around, the surviving acolytes of R'hllor followed suit. The priestess watched from the ladder with a beatific smile, her hands hidden within the cloth-of-gold and crimson Qaathi silk of her high priestess robe. Motes and spirits danced in the brilliant sunlight that shone like a halo down over her long, dark tresses.
When all were ready and assembled in the center of the hold, Kinvara bowed to them, and they bowed back. With that, she turned and led them up into the light.
After so long in the hold of the ship, the light hurt Melisandre's eyes. Thus it was not the sight of the great eastern port city she encountered first, but the sounds. The smells. She heard men shouting as they worked; the waves of the water as it broke against the fused black stone of the wharf. In the far distance, she could hear a screeching roar that made her stomach clench with both fear and longing. Overall was the faintly putrid smell of the sea, the sewer, and the stench of sweat and fear. This was Aquos Dhaen, the great eastern port of the Valyrian Freehold and the place of her birth.
A crack of a whip made her eyes snap open against the light. On the broad unloading area of the wharf, between the dozens of wood and rope gantry cranes, she saw slaves. Hundreds of them were being led off the slave ships. Most were barbarians from the Rhoyne or further north on the continent. But among them she saw silver hair like her own; girls and boys sold by desperate Freehold families huddled together in fear against their chains while their overseers leered.
Melisandra remembered all too well what it was like; it took all of her cantrips and training not to weep for those walking now where she walked just ten years before.
The tableau was shattered before the shockingly loud shriek of something utterly alien. Despite their faith, the acolytes of R'hllor all bent low as the dragon braked over the wharf with a massive sweep of its wings that caused a gale of wind to tug at the hair of all that stood.
The dragon lord atop the great beast looked to be the epitome of Valyrian nobility. He wore his silver hair long, but with a Valyrian steel circlet and a ruby that hung over his forehead to announce which of the twenty-four families he belonged to. The dragon itself was easily forty feet in length-not one of the massive war dragons that won the Great Wars against the mighty Ghis or Roynish, but still more than a match for any mortal mount.
The lord himself wore a boiled leather cuirass and thick linen pantaloons over which hung strips of additional leather armor. He carried a long, bejeweled blade of the same enchanted steel as all the dragon lords and ladies of Valyria carried.
His dragon glistened in the morning sunlight with scales that ran from light jade on its belly to a dark, forest green on the long spines of its back. Two large, primary horns stood out from the lesser horns that framed the long, fierce snout. The great beast lowered its long, serpentine neck and brought its wing up to form a step for the rider. He turned to face the monster's eyes and rubbed the line of its jaw affectionately. The lord then looked across the wharf at the nearest line of slaves. The slave master there wore a steel collar-he himself was a slave, but one of high enough value to rule other other slaves.
"Aejorax hungers," the dragon lord called over the sound of the port. "Feed him."
Melisandre watched along with the other acolytes as the slave master picked an unfortunate, terrified slave. His fellow masters released the man from his chains and dragged him kicking and screaming until they physically tossed him to the dragon.
His screams ended with a pained gurgle with Aejorax's first bite. The dragon lord, meanwhile, approached the acolytes with his hand on his blade and a determined look on his face.
Kinvara bowed at the waist, exposing the nape of her neck. What their priestess did, the acolytes did in kind. Melisandre as well bowed until her own silver-white hair parted and hung about her face.
"You were expected two days ago." The Dragon Lord spoke to Kinvara as if she, a high priestess of R'hllor, were nothing but a slave. What startled Melisandre is that Kinvara took no umbrage from the insulting tone.
"The Lord of Light saw fit to test us with storms, Lord Gaeryon."
Deep violet eyes bordering on black looked over the ninety-four acolytes. "At least you had more survive than the last. Transports come-you are to go straight to Syraxalas. The others are two days ahead; your god expects you to catch up."
Kinvara bowed her head again. His piece said, the Lord Freeholder Gaeryon turned and walked back to his now fed dragon. The great beast moved its wing obediently at his gesture, providing him an easy step up onto its back.
Once mounted on the ornately carved and bejeweled leather saddle that fit so perfectly between the dragon's spines at the base of its neck, the Freeholder lord called out a word Melisandre could not hear and the dragon pushed itself into the air with flaps of wings as large as the ship that carried she and her fellows to the land. Shortly after the dragon left the wharf, flying toward the many topless towers of Aquos Dhaen, horse-drawn wagons made their way through the black stone streets to gather up the acolytes.
The acolytes climbed into the wagons, ten a piece, and sat watching the city unfold around them with wide eyes. Even Melisandre stared in fascination. She had only vague memories from her childhood, but she could not recognize much.
The wagons began trundling down the main road-like everything else the road was made with the enduring dragon-fused stone. Beside it, the Blood River made its way languidly to the bay, where it would stain the summer sea for miles with its filth. This close to the river, the fetid smell of it began to overpower the stench of the ocean and the wharfs.
"Why is it red?" Ya Tso stared at the water in fascination. Her eyes drifted to the far side, where a matching road held still more heavy traffic. Mats of vile growing things clung there, secure against the thick ooze of the river.
"The river comes from the Dragon Waters, near Argolaxa," Melisandre said. She thought back to her childhood lessons. "That's where the first and greatest mine is located. The water is tainted from the mining, and the poisons from the flaming sister. It is death to fall in or drink it."
The wagons continued, unheeding of the heavy press of slaves and people crowding the road. Everywhere Melisandre saw signs of wealth to rival the finest palaces of YiTi, and far beyond anything the barbarians to the north or west could even imagine. Such wealth used to be hers, she knew.
Their path did not take them toward the Freeholder Forum-the great stone dome plastered with gold leaf that shone in the distance in the midst of the various topless towers, but the wagon did come within sight of the Traitors Gate.
Though they were too far to see details, Melisandra spotted a head on one of the pikes. Silver hair, gaping jaws and a crow picking at it. Another victim of the Great Game.
Her father's head occupied that spot-they made her and her mother look as they marched them toward the slave market. Father wanted so badly to be a Lord Freeholder; instead he lost everything. Including Melisandre.
She tried not to think of him calling her by her old name, before the priest cast bones to decide her fate and bought her to be trained in Asshai.
The splendor and riches of the city conglomerated around the great palaces and towers of the Freeholder Lords and their client families. Once they passed those, the poorer sections of the city held fewer attractions. Slums held free families working to keep themselves from slavery, while further out still were the estates that provided the Lords their homes away from the stench of the city.
Beyond that lay the endless, rolling green hills of central Valyria.
Cradled like the palm of a massive fourteen-fingered hand, the center of the peninsula held such rich, fertile soil that it was often reputed that the Freehold could feed the whole of Essos. Behind and to the south, Argolaxa belched a little train of black smoke into the sky. The high cone of the flaming mountain was little more than a smudge on the horizon, but served as a reminder that they were in the middle of the Fourteen Flames-the most dangerous and magic-infused place in the world.
Kinvara took Lord Gaeryon at his word. The wagons did not stop for the night; instead they reached a small farming town and switched out the horses before continuing through the night. After all, there were no predators left in Valyria but the dragons themselves.
The rocking of the wagon lulled Melisandre into sleep; when she next woke it was to a deep rumble. Her eyes opened to bright morning sunlight strained through a distant black cloud.
"Syraxalas?" Ya Tso whispered.
Melisandre could not see the source of the black plume that rose so high, but it seemed to be where the wagons were going. "I think so."
It still took the entire day, stopping only long enough to change the horses out at another small farming village. In the light of the morning, Melisandre felt violet eyes staring at her curiously-she turned and saw a handful of children watching the priestesses. With their fine silver-blonde or pure white hair, and their prepubescent ages, it was difficult to tell boy from girl.
They looked just like she did at their age.
They ate a slice of cheese and bread as they traveled. Toward the late afternoon, the tall, exquisite cone of Syraxalas rose majestically from the plains. They had to go off the road to avoid recent lava flows, but in so doing finally caught up with one of the other caravans of priests that preceded them.
High Priest Lobaro greeted them with a joyful call. "I worried the Lord grew jealous of your beauty and called you home, Kinvara."
The high priestess laughed. "He has a role for me here yet, my old friend!"
Their destination was the Syrax mining village-a collection of black stone huts plastered with whitewash. Barracks held both mining slaves and the harsh slave masters and soldiers that drove them into the unforgiving depths of the mines from which Valyria's great wealth was derived. The town wall held a painting of a ruby over the main gate, identifying it as belonging to Lord Freeholder Gaeryon's family.
Within, they found more of their number. Lobaro and Kinvara both led acolytes of R'hllor; the first caravan held actual priests, priestesses and unaligned shadow masters of Asshai. More than a third of every being of the Shadowlands capable of magic gathered within the walls.
They ate their fill of a rich, hearty stew filled with vegetables and lamb, thickened by barley. They drank the heady Valyrian wine until their heads spun. As half-starved, burned and sickly slaves were marched back from the mines to their barracks, Melisandre ate her fill and drank more than she had ever drunk.
Tomorrow, they would meet their god.
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
When Melisandre opened her eyes shortly before dawn, Ya Tso was not in the wagon. She sat up and looked around at her other acolytes. Lissae stared back at her knowingly. "She was chosen," the other girl said soberly.
Though it took all her will, Melisandre refused to show any worry for her sister acolyte. Friendship was forbidden among the acolytes of R'hllor in Asshai-by-the-Shadow, but the two of them arrived from their various homes on the same ship as young girls, purchased by a priest after casting the bones. Melisandre from Valyria-Ya Tso of YiTi.
For ten years, they shared a bed and the lessons of the Shadowmasters. They learned the dark tongue of Stygai and Ur-Kadesh. They worshiped the flames of R'hllor that kept the demons of Asshai at bay; all this they did side-by-side. They woke together, they fell asleep together, and always took comfort from the other in not being alone. When the time came, she knew they would bind their first shadows together as well.
All those plans ended when the High Priestess announced the Lord of Light had summoned them to the land of fire and magic.
"Blessed is the Lord and those who follow his path," she intoned.
Lissae nodded. "Blessed be they."
In the open grounds within the city walls, all the acolytes, priests and priestesses bathed themselves. Dressed, they left their wagons behind, walked from the shelter of the village walls, and stepped onto the desolate, blasted land in the foothills of the flaming sister that dominated the land.
Though dawn approached, the heavy cloud of the flaming mountain cast much of the land in shadow. Under this odd twilight, acolytes of both genders walked together behind the elder priests and shadow masters. Over three hundred came until they assembled before the bonfire that would welcome the day.
Melisandre did not stumble when she saw Ya Tso on the stake in the middle of the pyre. She did not stumble, but part of her mind shut down entirely so that she moved by habit and training, rather than through any will of her own.
Nor was Ya Tso alone. The young acolyte, barely five and ten, was joined by a squirming, shouting male acolyte in the middle, and an older shadow master initiate who hung from his pole with a blank expression. Ya Tso did not scream or writhe, but she looked out across her sisters with a rictus expression of terror on her face and hot tears in her eyes.
Kinvara stepped forward, and her colleagues from the other groups did the same. High Priestess, Supreme Shadow Master, High Priest. The three stepped to where the wood was piled, and they raised their hands. "Oh great R'hllor, we have heard your call!"
The High Priest opposite Kinvara called out, "We hear, and we obey, and follow the path you have set us!"
Kinvara raised her hands over her head, arching her back ecstatically just as the sun breached the horizon and hung in that narrow sliver of sky between the horizon and the cloud. Sunlight shone directly into their faces.
Melisandre kept her face down as the pyres exploded into hot flame. She clenched her hands so tightly her fingers and joints popped as Ya Tso's screams joined the screams of the other two sacrifices. In one voice, the three leaders began the morning prayer.
"Lead us from the darkness, O my Lord," Kinvara screamed. "Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path. R'hllor, you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our loins. Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night.
Melisandra did not cry. She told herself it was a joyous thing, that her sister was chosen to empower their journey, and to join R'hllor in the cleansing flame. She forced herself to believe that her sister would rise from the flames a more perfect being to serve at the side of the one true God. With her sisters and brothers, she raised her head and let the brief, precious sunlight shine on her face.
"Lord of Light, defend us. The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect us!"
The screams continued; and would continue far longer than one would expect. The smoke would not suffocate them-the magic that lit it would preserve the sacrifices for as long as possible. Their agony would fuel the journey for their brethren, and give protection from the creatures of the shadow and fire that resided under Syraxala. And so her sister's screams continued unabated as they prayed.
"R'hllor who gave us breath!" The three leaders continued the call of prayer. "We thank you. R'hllor, who gave us the day, we thank you!"
Melisandre's was just one of hundreds of voices. "We thank you for the sun that warms us. We thank you for the stars that watch us. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches, that keep the savage dark at bay."
"Accept our gift of life and pain," Kinvara intoned. She sang the words joyfully. "Let the light of their cleansing shield our steps as we come to you! Let their cries of joy and life fill our ears so we heed not the whispers of the Other. Let the light of their souls guide our steps to your side. Oh Holy of Holies, Lord of all, we come to you this day!"
The distant sun slipped into the cloud cover. All around, the smoke stopped rising and the and the angry, sibilant calls that echoed not in their ears, but in their minds, died back down to a discontent whisper.
The screams finally ended from the fire.
Kinvara turned with her fellows to face the assembled initiates and acolytes. "Let us begin our most holy of journeys!"
They began the march to the mine entrance; no workers mined that day. Melisandre, being far back in the line of pilgrims, did not see at first the preparations made to enter, but she stood with the others for some time before they began to move forward slowly. When she reached where Kinvara stood next to a sitting Initiate, Melisandra saw that the man had sliced his own wrist and was bleeding into a bowl.
"With this blood, I grant you my love and blessing," the dying acolyte said weakly.
Kinvara pushed Melisandre's hood back, and with fingers drenched in the man's blood, painted powerful runes of protection on Melisandre's forehead and her cheeks. "Accept Ohlarim's love, so that it may preserve you in the light of our Lord."
The blood was not enough. Melisandre looked at the man who knowingly, and willingly died to protect them, and in that moment loved him. "I accept his love with love of my own. May the lord's light receive you, holy Ohlarim."
The man blinked weakly at her, and then smiled.
"With your prayer, surely He will."
Kinvara took her shoulders. "Be strong, my daughter. My sister. It is great work we do."
The moment passed, and Melisandra continued behind the others into the mine entrance.
Almost immediately came an intense, stifling heat unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It hit with near physical force. Breathing actually hurt, even with the protective magic that covered them all. The sharp, almost glass-like black stone around them formed a strangely circular tube that allowed them to walk freely, even if the heat made that walk punishing.
They came to the first chamber, lit by blue-green flames of ever-burning Valyrian alchemy, and it was there that they found Lord Gaeryon waiting, flanked by two Valyrian dragon priests. Kinvara and Lobaro stepped forward and bowed.
"Your protections are in place?" Gaeryon demanded imperiously. "The flame does not touch me, for I am dragon-kin. But for those not of the blood, the depths bring quick death."
"We received the blessing of a dying mage's blood," Lobaro said. "And the cries of our own children burned to Rh'llor to guide our steps. We are as protected as magic and faith can provide."
The Freeholder lord sneered. "Then surely your safety is assured. Come. Your god awaits, as does my payment."
The tubes they walked through became narrower, more treacherous, and even hotter. Melisandre wondered if the magic that the morning sacrifice and the bloodletting provided were enough to keep them alive.
It wasn't just the heat, though. They could hear rumbling behind the walls; strange growls and clicking sounds of beasts beyond description that lived within the melted rock bowels of the flaming sister.
Still they continued down, further and further. Melisandre's robe remained dry-it wicked away her sweat, but the heat was so intense it dried it immediately. Still they continued down, deeper and deeper. The only light was the alchemical torchers that could burn without air or apparent fuel for hours or even days.
The air pressed down like a weight, joining with the intense heat to make every step a chore. And yet still they continued.
They came to a chamber unlike anything Melisandre had ever seen or imagined. She did not understand why their steps slowed until she reached the entrance herself, and walked into what almost felt like a wall of magic. The blood on her face grew even hotter, almost burning, as she ducked her head and forced her steps forward. They passed through intense shadow that moved, writhed and caressed any exposed skin, until, abruptly, they passed into the light.
It was not a warm light, and the intense, crushing pressure she encountered when she entered did not change. She glanced up just under the hem of her hood, and for one brief moment feared she'd been blinded. A brilliant, painfully bright figure sat on a throne made of diamond on the far end of the vast, cavernous space.
Lord, my God!
They continued inward, and Melisandra felt her feet guided through no choice of her own. They formed a circle and then walked inward, acolytes, initiates and priests and priestesses alike, until the circle closed. Her fellow acolytes stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her. The painfully brilliant, unsparing light that cast no shadows made her eyes water.
Something huge and inhuman moved among them. The glowing being stood almost half again the height of a man, and twice the width of one. Heavy boots made of a metal beyond the arts of men rang with his steps as the living avatar of mighty R'hllor himself stepped into the circle. Though she longed to stare and embrace his glory, the brilliance of him hurt her eyes and mind too much. Easier to stare into the sun until blind than to glimpse even a second at her god.
+My children, you have come.+ The voice spoke painfully into her mind, and the minds of all those around.
The strength from Melisendre's knees fled and dropped her to the floor. Nor was she alone-the entire circle prostrated themselves on the strangely smooth surface of the great pyramid as their god spoke to them directly.
+For many thousands of years, I have watched and guarded against the Other, the Anathema that threatens all. He is powerful, and his wickedness and spite knows no bounds. For every blessing I bestow upon man, the Other uses his vile craft to sow curses. For every heart that takes the light of my love into its breast, five are turned to darkness. But still I struggle on, such is my love for you, my children.+
Melisandre's eyes watered-her tears fell on the floor below her and boiled instantly away under the intense, magical pressure that surrounded them.
+For many thousands of years, since the Great Betrayal and the teaching of Azor Ahai, I have sought for the means to end this ancient battle. And finally, I have found it.+
Something fluttered down through the air-a small scrap of cloth made smaller by distance. Melisandre watched it intently as it settled to the floor near the boots of her Lord God. It was a piece of faded white fabric, with an arcane symbol in cloth of gold sewn into it. It was not a symbol she recognized.
+Behold the last known artifact crafted by the Maiden Made of Light! From before the Lion of Night, before the God-on-Earth fashioned the Great Empire of the Dawn in the ashes of Man's Fall, the Maiden Made of Light was the source of all life and light in the world. From her came healing and restoration. She was Hope incarnate and wrath unending.+
The physical avatar of R'hllor strode slowly around the tiny strip of cloth.
+With this cloth, I have learned the last true name of this ancient god. With your voices, we shall summon the most Ancient to our cause. She will restore what has been made dust! She will join with me as she joined with the Lion of Night, and together we shall bring forth the Prince Who Was Promised to lead this world into the light. Will you join with me, my children? Will you open your hearts and minds and souls to be my hands? To be my voice?+
Nothing compelled them, now. It was Kinvara who spoke first, screaming aloud against the force of the magic pressing against her. "I will submit, Oh Lord my God!"
Others called out their affirmation. Melisandre's heart beat so hard it hurt, and the blood runes on her face burned, and she too screamed out, "I will submit, my Lord!" just like all the others.
Something indescribable-something powerful beyond anything she'd studied-seized Melisandre's mind and body. She felt herself stiffen and lean back on her knees, as did the thousand other acolytes, initiates, priests and priestesses of R'hllor. Within her, she felt something huge and terrible and powerful push into her mind and body alike, causing painful heat to bloom in her chest such that she could scarcely draw breath.
+HEAR MY WORDS, AND KNOW THIS TRUTH! WE SUMMON THEE! FROM BEFORE THE DARKEST AGES OF MAN, ACROSS THE SEAS OF SPACE AND TIME, WE CALL YOUR NAME AND COMMAND YOU COME!
+WE CALL YOU FREYJADOTTIR, MAGIC-HOST AND SOUL TAKER! WE CALL YOU WAR-DAUGHTER, WAR-ENDER AND BANE TO DRAGONS! WE CALL YOU MYTHRUS-THAT-WAS, PEACE-BRINGER AND WORLD-SAVER+
Melisandra's throat burned. She didn't know the language that poured out of her mouth, but through the power of the Lord God in her mind she understood the meanings. The names seemed to burn into her very soul, branding her and all those around her.
All around her, the magic pressure increased to levels that should have destroyed her, but with the god inside her, she had no choice but to persevere. She could not cry or scream, though her eyes watered in agony.
Still the god continued, speaking in a thousand voices the various names of the Maiden of Light. One after the other, dozens and then hundreds of names of a goddess over the centuries and millennia. In her mind, the names and the magic unpooled streams of visions she could not understand, of places that could not exist and objects like mechanical dragons that could fly through the stars themselves.
I am dying, she realized. The sheer magic that their god drew from them as he spoke the names of the goddess in their voices was killing them all. She could feel her heart straining against the hold and sweat pouring from her skin.
Still the names came, until in the center of the space, over the cloud of gold, the air in the center of the chamber began to shimmer.
+HEAR OUR WORDS, YE WHO ARE CALLED VIRGIN QUEEN, SHE-WHO-CALLS- THE- RAIN AND FATE SINGER. COME TO US NOW, RULER OF ALL AND SEA-KIN. BRING YOUR POWER, YOU WHO ARE CALLED TWO-TREES, HEALER OF MAN AND SAVIOR OF WORLDS. COME TO US NOW, OH BRINGER OF HOPE, AND SAVE THAT WHICH WAS TAKEN! RESTORE THAT WHICH WAS MADE DUST!+
The shimmer split with a sound like the cracking of a vast stone, and suddenly from her angle Melisandre glimpsed into madness itself. She felt her soul recoil and her mind snap, and all around she heard groans of agony as many collapsed to the ground, passing beyond the Lord of Light's control as they perished.
+RUNE-GODDESS, STAR-WEAVER, THE SINGER OF LIFE AND DEATH, I CALL YOU NOW. TELOS! COME TO US, TELOS! WE SUMMON THEE FROM THE MOUTH OF CHAOS! TELOS, HEAR OUR CALL!+
Melisandre screamed inside. She did not understand why she was not dead. How could she live with such agony as what the Lord of Light delivered? Still she remained, watching as all around her fellow initiates collapsed screaming with bleeding eyes from the impossible sight of the tear into chaos.
Suddenly heat blasted out of the tear, a stream of starfire as thick as an elephant. The Lord of Light moved far faster than any being his size should have moved to avoid the thick column of energy. Though she could not move, Melisandra watched in horror as the thick burst of solid fire swept over a large number of her sisters. They did not catch fire; rather their bodies disappeared so thoroughly nothing remained of them, not even blood. The light was so intense it darkened everything else. It was so hot her skin blistered and her hair burned, and her heavy robe caught fire.
Abruptly it ended. Everything ended.
Melisandre fell back, and with a throat thick with blood, she gurgled out the spell to douse the fires that burned her. All around, she heard cries and moans, and smelled the stench of death-loosed bowels and bladders. How many of her brothers and sisters died? How many joined the Lord of Light's embrace?
She wondered if Ya Tso's was the kinder fate.
Her eyes stung fiercely as, with trembling arms and badly cramping legs wet with her own spasmed bladder, she forced herself to roll over and look.
The light that cast no shadow had gone, burned away by the column of sun fire. In its wake, she saw a tall chamber of cursed, weeping black stone as if they were back in Asshai. The stone writhed with unbound shadows and other demons. In the center of the space knelt a creature that had to be the living avatar of R'hllor, but whose appearance seemed so at odds with what she knew that her mind could not grasp what her eyes beheld.
The Avatar of R'hllor was encased in armor of a kind she had never seen, its surface glistened green and gold. It was the size of the armor, though, that defied understanding. The shoulders alone were three times the width of a man. Some strange, arcane horns rose about the helmet from the back of the armor, framing a pale, bald head larger than any human's.
This being was a god, of this she had no doubt. But staring at him without the light-that-cast-no-shadows, in this hall filled with bound demons, Melisandre felt a tendril of doubt as the creature knelt down over…
...over
Her breath caught in her bleeding, cracked throat. Blinking back blood and tears, she stared at the small, horribly mangled form on the floor that R'hllor-on-earth knelt over. With a hand large enough to crush a man's skull, the armored figure gently turned the girl onto her scarred, burned back to reveal scorched, unkempt black hair and a pale face besmeared with blood from empty eye-sockets. Arcane symbols, like the one from the now-lost piece of cloth, ran down her bare back between the long scar ridges until they reached a terrible, seeping burn on the base of her spine. But her eyes–cold blue stars shone from the sockets where a mortal's eyes should be. The glimpse lasted only a moment before the eyes closed.
The goddess from before time breathed, albeit weakly.
"Lord, how may we serve?"
Somehow Kinvara lived. Her fellow masters were gone, but Kinvara lived. A few others stirred as well. The High Priestess stumbled slightly on jellied legs as she approached the god.
+You have served well, my daughter.+ It was the same voice as before, but without the blinding light somehow he sounded less divine. +And for your dedication, I will share with you that the secret of eternal life can be found at Stygai. Fetch your disciples, those that live, and go forth from this place. Spread my word and prepare the way."
Kinvara bowed while tears fell from her eyes. "I will do as you command, Lord."
Melisandre did not understand what the god did with his touch to Kinvara's forehead, but her cry sounded ecstatic. When the god gently lifted the broken goddess in his massive hands, Kinvara made her way weakly toward Melisandre.
She saw no sign of the Valyrian Freeholder lord.
"Come, my sister," the high priestess said. "We are the last, but we will be the first as well. The Lord of Light has gifted me knowledge of eternal life. We shall leave this doomed land and herald the coming of Azor Ahai!"
Melisandre did not have the strength to answer; the two women clung to each other as they began leaving the chamber. She glanced back to see the giant god disappear opposite, while all of her fallen sisters littered the demon-infested floor of the chamber.
The ground under their steps rumbled ominously, as if a great beast approached.
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
Taylor broke the connection with Melisandre's soul. The ancient priestess gasped from the loss, stumbling slightly until she caught herself on the back of the nearest beast of burden.
"I understand now, I think," Taylor said as she considered what she saw. "The sorcerer called himself Sennecherib. He told me my rebirth caused many deaths. Now I understand what he meant. My rebirth destroyed Valyria."
"Yes." The priestess's voice sounded raw. "And now that you know, tell me of his fate. What became of the Avatar?"
"We remained within that place," Taylor said. "It was a godly place, where time flowed differently. But the molten rock threatened it. Sennecherib had a special magic that was supposed to take us far away from it. Something went wrong with the spell. I found myself far north of the Wall in Westeros, and Sennecherib was dead, buried deep inside stone. When I attempted to call his soul to question it, his god claimed him. That is the truth of it, Melisandre."
The priestess stared for a long moment before bowing. "I shall share your words with my order in the flames. For now, we must go."
A/N: This was the original opening chapter of Voluspa. I ultimately decided it would be more effective here, where Taylor as the character would understand it better. Thanks for reading.