Authors: Vera Nazarian
Because for the first time in their lives, they were illuminated with
white
light.
They stared, all of them, Elasirr, Ranhé, Masters of the Light Guild, Bilhaar, and commoners. They looked, and their pupils narrowed protectively from the new radiance. They gazed, and they could see the Tilirreh in their midst, and the ancient King.
“
You have healed me. Just as it was promised to me,” said Alliran Monteyn to the one that was
Andelas
. “And yet, I have been brought here for another reason, I see now. Not a personal reason, as I first was told, back in another time.”
“
My gods,” whispered Elasirr suddenly. “It is the paradox that they had told us about, when we were within their own worlds. . . . The paradox of existence. One could not be without the other. That’s why none of the Tilirr could return before!”
Ranhé, standing a few feet away, looked at him, seeing his face simultaneously illuminated by the glory of the one who stood before them, and by the dawning of understanding.
And she smiled on the inside, because she had known this for some time now, ever since she first touched
white
.
“
True,” said
Andelas
to the King. “I healed you because that is in my nature. And yet, without your presence in this world, I could never have returned on my own, no matter that all of you mortals called me as one! It was you, taken from a place and time of Rainbow, who had anchored me here, in this time and place, in this world. For, you carry a part of myself inside you. And by healing you, I heal and reinforce myself. Thus, I am fully present among you once again. And the gates are open. We come now, in our fullness, and we bring with us the Rainbow!”
The incarnated god turned his human face up to the dull sunlight, and let the wind sweep over him, bathing him with its soft presence.
“
Tilirr!” cried the god to the skies, and in the silence of the place of battle, his voice of a man carried out and beyond, became a shrill cry of a hawk, a whisper of a hummingbird, and then trailed off in a breath somewhere far, on the wind, and resounded in the mind.
“
Lords of Rainbow! I have come here before you, and I call upon you to return!”
“
Werail!
”
Ranhé blinked, because there was a bright flash, and it struck her eyes with intensity, with real pain.
A flash as bright as the world.
Red
.
There was a burning upon the face of the sun. They looked up as one, the soldiers, for the sun was now a fireball of strange intense
crimson
, an impossible sight. It had become a great
red
orb, pulsing with volcanic brilliance.
The sky bled
red
, a flood of it, fading out into monochrome black at the edges of the horizon. And it was a smooth transition, for the light blended evenly, was swallowed and integrated by the very fabric of the air above them, sank and permeated the cloudless abyss overhead.
A
man
stood before
Andelas
, a great figure of
scarlet
, somewhat transparent, for one could see through him to the other side, like a ghost. And yet, he was no shade, but a warrior, dressed in ancient armor—armor that was far older than that of the King himself, armor out of the deepest antiquity of the human age.
At last, impossibly, I come!
thundered
Werail
, and his face ignited with a fierce smile of joy. He reached forward eagerly, and
Andelas
touched him on the fingertips, drawing him in, pulling him by one pale
white
hand. In that place where they came together was a small spark.
And in that instant, all soldiers who lay bleeding on the field of battle were given an instant of recognition. They looked and saw that the blood which flowed from their wounds, which gleamed wet upon their blades of steel, which poured in rivulets upon the ground of the square, was
red
—blood was
red
in nature, not ebony. They saw it now, as clearly and impossibly as only moments ago they had been blind. They saw that it had always been thus, this blood. It held
color
inside itself, the
color
of pain and intensity, of passion and life.
Color
was anchored within it, and they recognized it now, the richness. . . .
The
red
one laughed then, with a deep bass of power, and began to dissolve literally into the air around him, spilling eddies of
scarlet
fire. Only echoes of his voice remained for moments afterward.
But the world remained red, and the sun pulsed like a heart.
Andelas
, bathed in the red blood glow, said, “
Melixevven!
”
Another explosion, this one
orange
, and in place of
Werail
stood a slim young
woman
with tight curls like dandelion, and a mischievous volatile smile. She cried with laughter, reached forward to touch
Andelas
, and a tingling spark flowed between them. She giggled with pleasure, and drew her transparent arms up to feel the sun’s warmth upon her
tangerine
skin. The sun pulsed in succession from red to
orange
, while the sky was
persimmon
in zenith, and flowed in perfect homogenous transition to blood red at the horizon.
It is good to be back!
exclaimed
she
of the pixie smile, and her voice bubbled like a spring, bringing smiles to their lips, and a definite hue to their skin, like warm summer peach.
Melixevven
spun, hands outflung, and her little girl form dissolved also into the air, in a funnel of a bright tornado.
The world was in a dichotomy of orange and red, a universe of flame.
Andelas
gazed at the flames of the air, and said, “
Dersenne!
”
And there was universal
gold
. The sun bubbled forth
topaz
light like a bowl of boiling honey, and in seconds it spilled evenly, permeating the sky.
It shimmered, and became
his
hair, streaming outward to the edges of the horizon, and the
man
-in-the-sun smiled down upon them, then suddenly began to fall. . . .
The crowd in the square shrank involuntarily, breath struck from each man or woman, for the sensation of vertigo was incredible—sky rushing toward them, or they, the whole of Tronaelend-Lis, flying up to meet the sky.
And
Dersenne
transformed as he fell, growing smaller, growing mortal, and then landed with his feet on the ground, the size of a human man, clad in nothing but his long sun-hair. He took the hand of
Andelas
, and in that instant pale
yellow
lightning fractured the honey sky with hairlines of power.
Ranhé thought she saw
him
pause and look at her for a moment, with intimate eyes, gifting her with the essence of inspiration, so that she wanted to laugh and weep simultaneously, and yet could do neither. She stood at Elasirr’s side and watched the god silently, her face impassive and stilled in the profundity of experience.
And she thought she heard the whisper in her mind,
I am here now, always. Always, within you. Therefore, be yourself!
Then, like a bit of amber,
Dersenne
’s form dissolved also into the air, leaving the sun rich like that same amber stone.
The sun now pulsed with a wider spectrum of red, orange, and yellow. And Ranhé suddenly saw another instance of the yellow, saw it shining forever, in Elasirr’s bright hair.
Andelas
lowered his gaze upon the earth below him, and spoke, “
Fiadolmle!
”
There were
green
fireworks in the sky.
Somewhere in the ranks of the guildsmen, a woman’s voice burst out in a sob of emotion. Erin Khirmoel sat in the saddle, tears streaming down her cheeks, underneath the metal visor of her helmet, for she was seeing the
green
rich velvet sky of her dream, her childhood dream fulfilled. . . .
Elasirr looked on into the distance where
Dirvan
sprawled in the heart of the City, and he saw the fireworks of
malachite
rain down upon the Gardens, and the
color
blend with the growth of cypress and cedar,
green
supplanting black. The trees were suddenly brilliant
olive
, and the grass danced in the pallid light like a carpet of
jade
.
A
woman
, like a bountiful forest, stood before
Andelas
. She drew forth her supple hand, touching his palm, and where their palms had come together, a branch sprouted, and upon it a
green
jewel of a flower, a blossom of pure
emerald
hue.
The woman took the blossom, and brought it to her lips, and the
emerald
petals came apart, wafting on the wind like an autumnal fall, while at the same time she paled, shimmering, and began to melt into the fabric of the world.
The sun’s spectrum expanded, pulsing red, orange, yellow, and green. And the distant gardens remained verdant like
Fiadolmle
.
Andelas
smiled, and called forth, “
Koerdis!
”
A flash of electricity, and
blue
rain came down upon their heads, a downpour of light. It washed the scene of battle, droplets of sky water, pieces of sky, tumbling down in an endless paradox of origin, mingling with the red blood spilled on the ground, diluting it into
azure
softness. . . .
A
man
formed of that very intangible rain, great and translucent, with hair like sea foam. He moved his liquid fingers and reached to touch the hand of
Andelas
, leaving in his wake a sprinkling of dew.
I come in the fullness of truth, in the living breath
. Thus spoke
Koerdis
, his voice cleansing like a downpour.
At the same time, the sun, at last, was washed of its veil of twilight. And now, it was spilling over, like an overfilled cup, with a liquid light that traversed the sky, and imbued it with a permanent hue of
cerulean
.
Koerdis
dissolved like salt into the intangible fabric of heaven, and his essence remained, as they stared overhead, and watched the airy expanse. And yet, there it was, the blue, also hidden in the dark shadows below, lurking in the crevices, sliding along the earth. . . .
The sun now pulsed red, orange, yellow, green, and blue. And the wind was blue also—seemingly colorless, and yet permeated with its hidden soul.
Andelas
looked around him, with the eyes of Elasand, and saw their receptive expressions, each one and all. And then, because they were ready, he whispered, “
Laelith!
”
The sun opened, bright as a rose, into
violet
. Gentle
lavender
poured upon the universe in even languor, smooth like cream mists over a hidden forest swamp. Sweet light came to blanket the sky, and before
Andelas
bloomed a
woman
, more beautiful than hope.
I come to you in silence
. . . whispered
she
, and took the outstretched hand of
Andelas
with both her own, drawing small
lilac
fingers softly over his
white
palm.
With her touch, silence indeed came over the battlefield.
Soldiers who had fought for this City, Qurthe soldiers who had come to wreak destruction here, upon someone else’s orders—each was alone suddenly, aware of the beating of his own heart, the sweat pouring softly over tired flesh, the aching of torn skin, slashed muscle, the flowing of moist life juices, potent and red.
Each was aware of his own flesh, and the state of the enemy’s flesh, as if there were no boundaries of identity, and the other’s flesh, pain, and life, was his own. Here, a dark-skinned Qurth drew in breath sharply, because his long heavy sword of iron bit into his own arm—no, the arm of the City soldier opposite him, the one with the pale skin and watery blue eyes. Here, a Bilhaar wiped his own neck, rubbed it unconsciously, in an attempt to remove the choking, the stifling sense of drowning that had come to him suddenly—no, it had come to the dark-haired alien invader, the soldier whose neck he held in a tight noose with cruel rope and leather.
Here, among a pile of war rubble, discarded weapons and broken carts, an old soldier with worn City armor lay dying, breathing deeply and raspingly while he still could, sweat glittering at his pale temples, while the contents of his gaping stomach twisted like the innards of a torn overripe fruit, spilling forth like discarded remains of harvest. And standing over the soldier, a young Qurthe giant paused, a grimace of sudden sensation drawn on his bared face, his helmet discarded. He stood, feeling cramps of agony within his own abdomen, cramps within his laboring lungs, and he too drew the slow rasping hypnotic breaths. . . .
Ranhé watched enthralled, the form of
hyacinth
pallor, the woman holding between her own two palms the pale elegant ones of
Andelas
, or maybe Elasand. . . .