Darkness Fights Back

 Warriors of Transcendence, Part 47
 
“They appear to be quite real!” said Tzalaii in surprise. “Why are they called Shadows?”
 
The Master of Transcendence sat upon a flat rock in the center of a large clearing in the forest. His warriors had performed their tasks loyally, and the Land of the Northern Forests was free of the Shadows. The Storm Dancers were now scattered along the eastern slopes and the Descendents of the Emperors had been struck repeatedly.  Their pride was shattered; they had lost their ability to attack. During a short respite, the Master of Transcendence, Sihara and dozens of Transparent Ones gathered together in the heart of the forest. A soft green light emerged from the vine-covered trees.  The forest was so tranquil; one could almost forget the battles taking place down below, in the great valley.
 
“A Shadow,” answered the Master of Transcendence, “is the lack of light. It is a place that conceals and inhibits the light from being revealed to us. The Shadows are composed of dark places, of light- inhibiting spirit fragments. They have life and motion, and their movements are a replica of their owners’ movements.”
 
Sihara was curious. She inquired, “The shadows are created in the Abyss of the Shadows, but are they created in any other places?” A shiver ran down her spine.
 
“In the Towered City, of course!” answered the Master of Transcendence. “Most of the Shadows are created from the fire-worshiping slaves of the Tower.”
 
“If fire has no shadow,” pondered Tzalaii, “why would its worshipers create Shadows?”
 
“That is a good question,” the Master of Transcendence answered, smiling.
 
He closed his eyes in an attempt to form a clear answer to this complex matter: “Fire has no shadow because it is not concrete. But its worshipers, flesh and blood like us, are concrete, material beings.  Worship of the fire causes bodies to be sealed, and the Light of the Transcendor can no longer enter their hearts, thereby creating Shadows within them.”
 
“But the fire- priests promise liberation from the Laws of Transformation and all other forms of enslavement!” Tzalaii stated. “Truly, they are liberated from them,” answered the Master of Transcendence scornfully “like a silent stone, they freeze the strengths of their spirit, like dead dust in which the seeds of light lay dormant, and transformation is unable to shake them of their inner frost. Only the Transparent Ones, by melting the Shadows, can enter the hearts of the fire worshipers, remove the dust covering the seeds of light, and train them to open up to the Men of Borders.” 
 
Tzalaii and Sihara were unable to thoroughly comprehend his words, and when the Master of Transcendence noticed this he added: “The only way to gain control of the Shadows is by uncovering the inner light in the hearts of their creators. But those who have the power to uncover it are few, so very few…”
 
The tall trees swayed silently in the wind. “Have you wondered about the significance of the tree and roots engraved upon the blue Magnathought Crystal?” the Master of Transcendence asked them. Tzalaii became utterly embarrassed by the question. Not only was he unaware of the meaning of the Crystal etching, he knew nothing at all about it:  To whom did it belong? Who had used it and for what purpose? Why did it end up in his hands? Sihara, in contrast, sensed that she knew the answer to this question, but was unable to recall it. The Master of Transcendence smiled and said: “There were many holy artifacts in the palace of the King of the Ancient Progeny. Their sanctity was created through their use- pure holy use, devoid of arrogance”.
 
Tzalaii recalled the king’s cloak and blushed with shame.
 
“The image of the tree was etched upon every holy artifact in the palace of the Ancient Progeny,” explained the Master of Transcendence. “Sometimes revealed and sometimes concealed. Everything yearns for its roots. Children yearn for their parents, as do the animal young, the earth yearns for the sky and everything in it yearns for the celestial bodies. When the holy tree and its many roots are engraved upon the sacred artifacts in the palace, they all become united, testifying that sanctification connects everything to its roots.   Branches, trunks and leaves.  The heavens and the earth. All and nothing.
 
A cluster of sun rays pierced through the treetops, illuminating the Master of Transcendence, who was sitting on a tree stump. Under the nearly transparent golden cloak, Tzalaii and Sihara witnessed an amazing sight of great splendor; they could only bear  it for the blink of an eye: They saw the tree, shining and glowing, its roots, branches and countless leaves united. The Master- the Master of Transcendence himself was the tree! Sihara recalled, with great clarity, the words her Transparent Master had spoken as he held the blue Magnathought Crystal and gazed at her: “All living things, apart from Khivia and his servants, exist in this tree. The root of the tree is the Transcendor. It is from Him that everyone receives life. The servants of the Transcendor are the branches- they receive life from Him and pass their strength on to those dependent on them, the Storm Dancers and the villagers. Even the Descendents of the Emperors, unless utterly devoted to serving evil, receive life from the tree, the way weeds receive pleasure in the shade of a tree, even if they are not a part of it.”
 
There she was, one of the branches of the majestic tree, witnessing it with her very own eyes! The Transparent Master ended with these words: The tree shall clarify all mazes.
 
While the three of them sat in the clearing, the Transparent Ones continued their battle in the valley. Near the Land of the Northern Forests, on the western front, hundreds of them created an insurmountable wall. Their golden capes gleamed and their inner flames were illuminated with sharpness and clarity. Farther down in the valley, troops of courageous Transparent Ones advanced, and it was there that the Shadows appeared. The movements of the Shadows were as fast as lightning, sharp and sudden, flashing forward all at once, as if tossed by a storm. They appeared in groups, suddenly exiting their deep burrows in the valley, and approached the Transparent Ones and the golden wall that had been created along the forest slopes. Shadows of Light flickered here and there in the great valley, but the danger to the Transparent Ones was minimal.
 
Fog covered the sky, concealing the sunlight and disturbing visibility. These were the Cloud Shadows. They concealed even greater forces behind them; the Shadows of Fire, too, spun around and provoked, igniting, burning red. But the most dangerous of all were the Shadows of Illusion. These Shadows were able to liken themselves to the Transparent Ones, and only the Master of Transcendence and several of his warriors were able to perceive the counterfeits. They appeared as a single Transparent One, or as a lost villager, and they would slowly approach a troop of Transparent Ones or a lone Transparent One, gaze deeply into their eyes, and whisper voicelessly: Come. This calling invoked excitement in the Transparent Ones, and even worse- compassion. When one would become trapped in the confines of his compassion, segments of his body would be torn off and gathered into the outstretched hand of the Shadow and lost forever. More experienced Transparent Ones, sensing the trap set before them, would close their eyes immediately and enter within themselves, like the finest Warriors of Transcendence. The light surrounding them would grow brighter and the outstretched hand of the Shadow would fade away, involuntarily shedding its human costume, and its body would shrivel up like it had been consumed by fire. When encountered by a Transparent One with great inner light, the Shadow would turn into black ash and wither away.
 
Meanwhile, the ten Obliterators hid in the distant part of the Land of the Southern Cliffs, not far from the copper mines. Their presence sustained their joint creation, wandering far below in the distant villages. No one knew where the old man had come from, but the few who merited seeing him reported that they had never seen a face with such a glow. His gait was slow and royal, his clothes and beard were white.
 
The children were the first to see him. He told stories, with gleaming eyes, of a wondrous man whose voice was soft and whose words were magical. Slowly, his presence became known amongst the dwellers of the villages by the sea. They, who hoped with all their heart for a better world, sought his presence and awaited his words. Considering the fact that the war in the Lowlands had been raging in full force for several weeks now, various threatening reports constantly streaming in, what could have been more natural than for the villagers to view the enchanted old man as a savior? The old man kept his identity concealed. He was full of mystery. His stories always described the coming redemption.
 
Gradually, an idea took hold and then spread like wildfire in their hearts: He is the Master of Transcendence!
 
When the youngsters mustered the courage to ask him about this, the old man remained silent, a modest smile on his face. 
 
To be continued.
 

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