Chapter 46 - Great Ones
The separate minds that were once Tymos, Kryslie and Llaimos had merged into a single united consciousness, a living force that was bodiless like the wind. The radioactive residues that were poisons in the air and sickly glowing patches on the ground and in the oceans could not harm them. The creeping, dense poison clouds of chemical origin were blown aside by their passing. More subtle damages that had been done to the world were discerned by ripples in the planet’s aura.
For a time unmeasured, the living force circled the world, feeling the aura, gaining power, learning how to wield such unimaginable force. They waited for the subtle guidance of the Guardians of Peace who had made them what they were.
The living force hovered over the ocean, knowledge coming to it of the life still surviving in the depths that were threatened by the poisons circulating in the shallower levels. In their lives as mortal humans, they had been unaware of the life there yet the Elders had known. A whole civilization existed there, independent of the civilization that lived on the land: almost completely separate – except for a few meetings over many, many centuries.
The living force merged into the water and dove into the depths, learning the nature of the oceans. This ocean civilization was the reason why the Tymoreans seemingly ignored the bounty of the seas and relied on lakes, dams and water storing plants for their moisture needs. The living force reached out to the consciousness – their form was of little importance as communication with it was possible.
Yes, the ocean consciousness was aware of the poisons in the ocean and had felt the tumult in the aura of the world. No, the poisons had not reached the depths yet, they were in the shallow waters, trapped by a cold, almost frigid layer – the water layers had not mixed.
Yes, they sensed the nature of those with whom they were communicating. The lore of their kind told of their ilk; trusted their benevolence.
“What of the dwellers in the shallows?” the living force asked.
“Those lesser entities were already doomed,” the ocean consciousness replied. “Our juveniles retreated when the first traces of poison were sensed and we can survive in the depths without harvesting the shallows. It has been told in our lore that in times before most of the lesser beings perished, but the eggs of new beings survived to grow when conditions were right. It will be so again!”
“You are still learning wisdom,” the ocean voice had an ancient feel to it now. “We felt the power seeping into the oceans from the land. The cold layer is rich with power; it protects us. The ocean could freeze and we would still survive in the depths.” There was a sense of millions of years of life and evolution, but time was no longer binding on any of the beings that conversed.
“Thank you,” the living force communicated, knowing now that whatever had to be done to cleanse the planet would not harm the ocean consciousness which was truly one of the great treasures of Tymorea. Without formal leave taking (for none was needed or expected) the living force rose from the depths.
Above the water, the temperature of the air was rising, and the surface of the water was evaporating. The hurricane force winds became multitudes of individual whirlwinds – over land and over the oceans. Power fed the winds, and they began to whirl faster, drawing in air, water, surface soil – everything above the protective layer, that wasn’t fixed firmly to the ground.
Day became night, and after some unmeasured time, darkness blanketed the whole planet. Clouds heavy with moisture that would not fall, trapped dust, poisons and radioactive particles, and began in turn to glow.
No structures, except those of metal or stone, or those protected by Tymorean power – survived. Anything still alive outside of the protected places – died. Then the whirlwinds began to merge back into large hurricanes – until there was no longer anything to sustain them. Near the planet surface, there was an almost perfect vacuum.
The living force, needing no air to breathe, moved over the planet’s surface, seeking any remaining traces of poison.
Heavy black clouds reached up high into the stratosphere, all over the planet. They began to swirl and mix, but still did not dissolve into rain. Lightning flickered from point to point in the clouds. At the planets surface, the temperature began dropping.
The living force became part of the dark clouds – aware of the potential energy waiting to be directed. Lightning forked from the clouds – not in random surges, but in accurately directed strikes. Some hit the alien aircraft where they lay after being thrown around by the winds. The craft exploded, the remaining fuel igniting and burning until the weapons in the craft reached critical point. One of the weapons was Burnfire and once freed, it spattered in a circle around the fiery inferno and began to crawl along the ground. It became a creeping red glow in an ever-expanding circle. The low temperature and scarcity of air controlled its virulence, but not its insatiable hunger for organic fuel.
More lightning struck the myriad of places where the Great Ones had cached canisters of Burnfire stolen from Ciriot ships and garrisons. This too began to burn in expanding circles. It licked the surface soil, cleansing it of poisons. It could not burn through the soil layer protected by Tymorean power.
Occasionally there was a ‘flare’ of flame as the Burnfire found fuel or pockets of poisons, but the slow onward creeping continued relentlessly over land and frozen ocean. It took time days, years, decades or centuries – there was no way to know and when the whole planet glowed with the redness that was Burnfire, it finally began to rain.
When the water/dirt/air falling as frozen drops landed on the glowing surface it flared into brilliance. The living force waited, slowly circling the planet. They sensed a protected place, rich with power, high above the rest of the land.
There they hovered, half way between energy and human flesh, needing neither food, nor water nor air – aware of their separate parts, but also part of the world beyond the protective shields.
An itch began in the minds of the Great Ones, they sensed human minds in one of the protected forests. An overwhelming yearning for companionship and contact with their physical kind, drove them to seek the people out.
They left their protected place and ranged in their combined energy form until they found the sleeping people. Finally, the living force slowed, merged with the energy of the protective shields and slipped through them. They let the energy drain away and the controlling minds separated as they reached the ground – reforming into their human shapes and feeling then like a very, very minute part of the universe.
Each took a deep breath of the clean air of the forest and felt the vibrant life surviving within the shields. Their work was not finished yet. The world outside the shielded places must be made like this again.
Loathe to wake their friends, Tymos, Llaimos and Kryslie sat nearby and waited.
Pyr awoke first, immediately aware of the presence of others. He looked around, and with a cry of elation ran to hug his siblings. His cry woke Jonko and Keleb and they scrambled to their feet with equal enthusiasm, relieved that their friends were still alive.
Great Ones they were but the simple joyous embracing brought tears to Kryslie’s eyes and her brothers were not too proud to betray tears of their own.
“I never thought we would be human again,” Kryslie admitted. “What we were – I don’t know what we were or how long it’s been. I think you are here to remind us of our true form.”
“We tried to keep track of the days,” Keleb admitted. “When it grew dark we had no guide and it seemed that when we slept it was many days between awakenings.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tymos told them.
“Have you finished your work?” Jonko asked, wishing desperately that he could talk of his failure.
“For now,” Llaimos answered. “The land and sea are being cleansed, the process will continue without us. When the Guardians wish it, the planet will regenerate. We must simply wait.”
“How long?” Pyr asked.
“Years, centuries?” Kryslie suggested. “I don’t know.”
The prospect of such a long time appalled Pyr. “Will I ever see my Father again?”
Kryslie felt her brothers’ minds merging with hers – without conscious communication – their thoughts completely attuned. A brilliant light began to illuminate the trees – pushing aside the darkness. Figures began to appear in the light, which was the portal of Dirakee. Pyr looked awed, then he seemed to recognize one of the figures – he pulled on Tymos and Kryslie trying to bring them into the light.
“No, little brother,” Tymos said softly. “We must stay here, you must go!”
Without further urging Pyr ran forward and into the embrace of his true father – Tymoros. No further proof was needed that he was worthy to enter Dirakee.
“Go Jon, go Kel,” Kryslie gave her friends a gentle push but they resisted and she sensed the cause of their reluctance.
“Jonko, there is no blame attached to you or Keleb. You stalled our enemies until we were ready. The Temple had to fall to free our power. The Guardians work in strange ways; even our enemies were used without mercy. The Ciriot thought they had achieved our final destruction. Instead, they were our liberation. The most potent weapon they had for destruction, Burnfire, is even now cleansing this world.”
“Go Jon, go Kel,” Tymos repeated. “Look you are being called and we cannot maintain this gate much longer.”
Slowly at first and then with resolve, Jonko and Keleb moved forward into Xyron’s embrace. As they turned for good-byes the forest was fading.
The Great Ones watched their friends moving into the light. One figure still stood near the interface of Dirakee and the forest. President Reslic met their combined gaze, bowed to them, and then smiled with intense pride at the beings they had become. Then he turned and followed his fellow Governors.
There was no speech through the portal but the mental touch of Tymoros reached them; full of praise, full of wonder and overwhelming love; finally the stirrings of a Prophecy.
“Children will come at the beginning of the New Age.”
The brightness faded once more as the Portal of Dirakee closed - leaving the Great Ones alone. A feeling of total weariness overcame first Kryslie then Tymos and Llaimos and they fell into a deep sleep.
Time passed.
The forest was full of life, burgeoning like springtime. Tymos lay awake, relishing the sense of new life until he realized that the shimmering barrier was no longer over the forest. He was looking up at a pure azure sky with no clouds. He leant over and shook his brother and sister awake. In one mind, they stood and ran to the edge of the forest and looked over a completely barren landscape!
Llaimos knelt and lifted a handful of dirt and let it trickle through his fingers.
“The land is waiting,” he told his siblings. “Waiting to be reborn.”
“The animals can leave the forest,” Tymos noted. “The plants can start spreading.”
Kryslie disagreed. “No! Not yet! There is no wind or weather cycle; nothing can live out there!”
“There must be a catalyst,” Llaimos considered. “We drew power from the aura to preserve the seeds in the ground for the rebirth and to seal the cities. The power of all our Royal cousins was freed for us to use when the Temple of Dira was destroyed…”
“Then we must return there – to Dira – to bind the power again and find the catalyst for life to start,” Tymos completed the thought.
The three Great Ones joined hands and merged their consciousness so as a single force they teleported into the Temple of Dira, materializing amongst the rubble that remained.
The picture of the Temple as it had been was in their mind and indeed the basic structure remained, though the balcony walls had collapsed and fallen to the lower level and the roof, all over the Temple had shattered into glass and tile shards.
Kryslie and Tymos knew every part of the Temple. They shared their memories with Llaimos who had seen only a small part of it. Incredible power still obeyed them and they called all the broken glass and tiles back into their original shapes. Three merged minds lifted the solid matter back into place and sealed it in position. Now they could explore the Temple once more to see what other changes had occurred and perhaps learn how they must act to bind the power again.
Burnfire had cleansed it too, since all the shields protecting it were gone. The bodies of the dead Warlords were gone – all that remained was solid puddles of the metal from their armour. Other things were gone, burnt away – the privacy curtains from the sleeping cubicles, the wooden benches from the meeting room and the furniture in the smaller rooms, the wooden doors of cupboards and all the things once stored with in.
The lack of foodstuffs did not concern the Great Ones, for their power sustained them. Each did share the thought that fresh clothes would have been welcome. Anything they had once carried was gone, unless it was in the pockets of the brown travelling garments they wore, and those garments showed the wear and tear of their previous tasks.
Llaimos was intrigued by the circular tile murals on the floor of the different sections of the Temple. He studied each of them, noting details that his sibling’s memories had not given him.
“Have you really looked at these?” he asked Kryslie, who was crossing the lower meeting room. “They have incredible detail.”
“Yes, the Elders spoke of them when we came here for the first time. They portray events from the distant past. The Elders all had a different interpretation of their meaning,” she called over her shoulder.
“There are three of them, or four if you count the glass mural near the beam-in point upstairs,” Llaimos thought aloud. “Do you know why they are here? In each of the rooms of the Temple?”
“That was something the Elders did not mention,” Tymos realised. “But they still thought of us as children then.”
Kryslie stopped to look at a part of the stone floor. A number of the stone slabs forming the floor were speckled with silver and gold flecks. She crouched down to touch the surface, and a vivid image came into her mind. She saw the final moments of her elder sister’s life and sensed her brothers shared it.
“Vila died here,” she told them. Her voice sounded odd in the still air.
“The Guardians freed her spirit,” Tymos murmured as understanding came to them, in a whisper from the Guardians of Peace. “She chose death, to protect Pyr. Her true essence remained pure, in spite of the Ciriot and their control of her.”
“This rock is sacred,” Llaimos said with awe. It had been touched by the Guardians. “We should make it part of the Altar room.”
Tymos glanced up towards that highest part of the Temple, as Kryslie stood up, still looking at the changed stone.
Ideas flowed between three minds, as they realised that the Altar room had not been restored when they had cleared the other rubble. Knowledge came to them.
“The Altar was destroyed when our power was freed,” Tymos spoke slowly. “The Altar was the focus – the capstone - and Royal blood was spilt there.”
They recognised the need to go up to the ruins of the Altar room and teleported without needing to use the metallic devices.
The remains of the Altar, mostly hand sized pieces of marble, glowed with mauve light. They were rich with Tymorean power, and were also speckled with gold and silver. They had found where Jordan had died.
Kryslie did not touch the rock this time. The truth of events was apparent to them.
“The Guardians used him,” Kryslie acknowledged. “He was truly of Royal blood, and he had to die for our power to be freed.”
An idea began to form in her mind, of a monument to recognise his sacrifice. Now Kryslie began moving the glowing speckled rubble into a pile. Her brothers came to help her, and they shared ideas between them. They would use this sacred rock to form the new capstone, a new Altar.
As they worked, the round tiled mosaic in front of the Altar was cleared. Tymos and Kryslie recalled the Elders speaking of the picture worked into the design. The artist had been greatly skilled, working in tiny tiles of a myriad of colours. It showed three figures with a mauve aura outlining them looking at a column of bright light as other figures knelt in homage.
Yet as they looked at the picture, the figures seemed to move – as the images did in the room of the Seven Ages, in the Royal Palace – but now the three tiny red headed figures might have been themselves. The figures vanished, and others replaced them, as a picture emerged of what had happened here, but in reverse, from when the Great Ones arrived in the rubble-filled room back through the time when the Ciriot became incandescent torches, the light erupting from the centre of the planet emerging through the altar, Jordan’s death. It showed Jonko, Keleb and Pyr, fighting to keep the Ciriot out of the Altar room, centuries of peace, flashes of dark and colours of people passing, then again three distinct figures, two blonds and a redhead – building the Altar and creating the mosaic they stared at.
Understanding came as a sudden revelation. Those they saw now were previous Great Ones who bound the world’s power as they created the Altar. They had not created the mosaic, but restored it – for their power had been freed when this mosaic had been defiled.
The new Great Ones sent their awareness out into the other parts of the Temple – sought the other mosaics and felt the fading residue of death and blood on them.
“It makes sense,” Tymos murmured. “The Aeronites would have had old legends of this world. The Ciriot would have learnt about us from them. No doubt they believed they could destroy us by destroying the Temple – and achieve that by defiling the mosaics.”
“But our predecessors changed the power focus to the Altar,” Kryslie mused. “Was it deliberate? Or did the Guardians plant the idea with them?”
“It is not important – that change confused our enemies for long enough – for us to understand what we became,” Llaimos concluded.
The image of the intact Altar came back to them, reminding them of the need to rebind the world’s power. Yet it did not fit with the feeling shared by the Great Ones. Yes, they must rebuild the Altar, but…
Tymos stepped up to where the Altar had been and considered the picture memory of the bright light blasting through the stone. Now, the only light was from the repaired roof and the unglazed window behind the Altar. He saw a circle of glassy, fused rock. He adjusted his eyes to see the energy patterns and saw a faint wash of mauve light over everything except that circle. At that point, he had the sense of a very deep hole. Curious, he went to study the mosaic, and realised that the tiles covered another circle of fused rock. Once, that area had been a power conduit too.
Kryslie interpreted the picture in Tymos’s mind and spoke aloud. “The energy is now spread throughout the world – in the air, in the ground, in the protected areas and the protective shields. We cannot gather it to return it here. We must find another place to draw it back to. Somewhere outside, since we can feel the aura more strongly by touching the ground.”
“I would prefer to use these stones elsewhere,” Llaimos admitted. “Jordan died here, and while I know his sacrifice was necessary, if we were to build a new altar with them, changed though they are, it will seem like remembering his death, not his life.”
“The marble is attuned to our power,” Tymos pointed out. “It will attract it and ground it.”
“Then we can use it to bind the power…but in a different place and a different form - something that would also embrace and celebrate life,” Llaimos insisted.
“We still need an Altar,” Kryslie pointed out. “As a place to focus and attune the minds of our people to the Guardians’ wisdom. But I too share your view. What if we use the stone from below. Vila died to give Pyr a chance to live on. Creating the new altar from where her blood touched – will be a way of remembering her life and sacrifice.”
“Yes, in that way she will be a part of our victory too. It feels right,” Llaimos decided. “Let us bring the stone up and build the Altar first.”
Piece by piece, the three Great Ones lifted six huge slabs of flecked slate from the floor of the meeting room and transmitted them to the Altar Room. Two roughly semicircular in shape and one nearly square were placed against the back wall. The others would form the base of the Altar.
Kryslie and Llaimos held the largest slab on the circle of fused rock. Tymos held his arms around the slab, felt his siblings join their power to his, and then felt the rock moulding itself to the picture in his mind of a four-foot high circular column, that melded itself with the fused rock. From the two other slabs, they created two more supporting pillars – not as wide – and placed these on each side of the first.
After that, Tymos, Llaimos and Kryslie each lifted one of the last three slabs and balanced them on the supports. They merged minds again and became semi-solid figures as they moulded the rock pieces into the shape of an elongated oval – by breaking and reforming the atomic bonds within the rock structure. When they separated again into their individual physical forms, they saw that the brown slate had been bleached to the colour of marble, but still sparkled with the gold and silver flecks.
Llaimos went to where two oil lamps lay on the floor – battered and broken. He returned, placing one at each end of the Altar. The oil reservoirs were empty, the glass reflectors broken, but when he set them on the Altar a flame ignited in each.
The Great Ones each bowed to the presences they sensed hovering around the Altar. They recognised that the essence of the Guardians of Peace had returned…watching, approving, not interfering – merely waiting for their advocates to take the next step.
The vast power of the aura of the planet was a part of them, but now they needed to draw it back from ranging freely in the atmosphere – into the soil and rock and water of the planet’s surface.
Pictures, images, ideas flowed between the minds of the Great Ones.
“Let’s study the mosaics,” Tymos suggested.
Kryslie summarised their impressions from them, “These did indeed previously bind the power. Each tile as it was laid in place, bound more and more – like bricking up a doorway. The Altar too, was formed originally, stone by stone.”
“We don’t want to wall it away from us – we still need it to stimulate and nurture the new growth and create weather,” Llaimos contended.
The idea had been there, and now it flowered. “We take the stones from the old Altar, outside…use them to create the focus. We can build a fountain, and bring water there to nourish a new garden…”
“And mix the static power protecting the planet’s surface with the free power, get both to begin circulating…”Kryslie continued.
“What of the portal of Dirakee?” Llaimos considered. “I know we are the portal – but should there not be a structure to symbolise that…for our kin?”
“Yes…” they all agreed. Then, without further delay, they went outside.
The black ashy soil puffed up and settled as the Great Ones scrambled up the terraced section of the dead Temple gardens. They paused where the ground flattened on the level of the Altar room. Instinctively, they kicked off the worn out footwear and felt the aura in the ground with their bare feet. The protective layer, existing some six inches below the surface, felt warm. Around them, the blackened and burnt soil stretched for miles – broken only by the light stone of the Temple and the mauve glow about the City of Dira. Moving instinctively, they walked to a place between the Altar room and the south chamber. They had the sense of ‘here’.
They looked around with the vision of their new structure in their minds. As they faced the south chamber, the arches and pillars along the outer walkway slowly, gently, collapsed.
The Guardians of Peace had shared their vision and approved – withdrawing their power from the protections on the Temple structure and giving them the means to create their vision.
Thinking and acting as one, the three Great Ones lifted the columns and arches, and erected them in a new position. When they had moved all the parts, they had created a roofless, hexagonal structure of pillars, topped by the arches, surrounding an area of ashy ground twice the size of the Altar room.
With their vision still not complete they returned into the Temple, carried out all the stones from the old altar, and arranged most of them into a roughly circular shape. Once again, they moulded stone as if it were clay, forming at first a circular slab that was six inches thick and then they separated the circle into six, elongated oval petals around a circular centre. Each part was then recessed into a bowl and they formed a hole in the very centre.
The Great Ones stood back and considered their creation, seeing the gold and silver flecks glinting in the sunlight. Then, standing to one side, they again became one consciousness as they dove down deep – past the central hole in the rock fountain, past the layer of ash, through the protective layer of static power –drawing on it, stirring it to life and taking it down through the layers of rock. Following cracks and fissures, the combined consciousness moved within the deep places of the planet until they found a trickle of water seeping down from one of the high mountain water storage lakes. The water, placid under a layer of power, stirred and seeped faster, following the will of the consciousness as it retreated back and back to the central hole in a new rock structure. Pressure from the water in the high lake sent the trickle spurting six inches into the air. The drops fell to fill the central bowl, to overflow into the petals, and then to the ground around the new fountain.
The overflow soaked down into the soil, turning black ash into rich brown loam, until the nascent garden within the hexagon looked to be created of newly turned soil.
In the minds of the Great Ones was a vision of what the garden would