The Deathliners

Warriors of Transcendence, Part 58
 
The Master of Transcendence sat upon a flat white rock and gazed compassionately at Tzalaii, who sat opposite him. He shut his eyes and his face became very pale, almost transparent.
 
“Sihara has reached the entrance way,” he said. But Tzalaii did not understand.
 
The Master of Transcendence’s features hardened, causing him to look very old, as he said: “The Deathliners discovered her just a moment before she was to pass through.”
 
Feelings of rage engulfed Tzalaii and his hands became clenched fists.
 
“Did they harm her?” he asked.
 
“Even worse,” replied the Master of Transcendence. “They gave her black water to drink.”
 
They both fell silent.  As the light of the Transparent Ones faded, Tzalaii was overcome by feelings of doom and destruction. His world was crumbling.
 
When the Master of Transcendence resumed speaking, his voice seemed projected from a distance: “The battles continue. The Warriors of Transcendence, aided by the Essences of Soul Concentration, are attempting to prevent a mass infiltration into the Tunnels of Time. You must go to rescue Sihara. You will need to recall all of your Memory Shields in order to find your sister and you will be escorted by…..”
 
Suddenly, a pleasant faced old man with a high forehead appeared behind Tzalaii. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said in a deep, melodious voice. “I am Sihara’s Transparent Master.”
 
The Transparent Master stood beside Tzalaii as the Master of Transcendence spoke: “Everything our warriors have done until today has been a preface to your mission. You must return Sihara to the gate.”
 
Tzalaii understood that he would not be receiving directions. He would have to call forth all of his knowledge and devise a plan to accomplish his quest. The Master of Transcendence’s hand rested upon Tzalaii’s shoulder, transmitting an intense flow of heat. The light of the Transparent Ones intensified as they accompanied Tzalaii, and the Master of Transcendence’s blessing became a pervasive, melodious echo: “Do not be deceived by appearances.”
 
Tzalaii was silent. The Transparent Ones were silent. Nothing remained to be spoken.
 
The Master of Transcendence walked silently into the depths of the forest and began performing Unification, the most powerful since the beginning of time.
 
“Master of everything in existence,” he began, raising his arms to the heavens.
 
“Your creations are very small and frightened. They ask that you grant them bread and water, a roof, protection and shelter, some serenity and rest. They do not know where they come from or where they are going. During the gray days of their short lives, they were uninformed of your glory. But,” he pleaded, as if in a song, “as small and helpless as they may be while facing mountains of evil- you have chosen them to establish your royalty, and it is from their trembling souls that you desire the return of their hearts. Receive their cries, which you have undoubtedly heard. Gather their lost words. Listen to their secret melodies. Adorn your head with crowns fashioned from their deep longings. Be filled with mercy for them. Illuminate them with your light.” He fell silent for some time, gazing toward the heavens.
 
Finally he said: “Sihara,” as if pronouncing a sacred name, and then again: “Sihara. Remove the mask that is not your own, reveal your strength, toss away the crown of darkness. Entire worlds are waiting to hear the story of how a fragile, delicate soul with pure intentions, without weapons, transformed molten steel into still waters. Sihara- Many worlds are attentive to your teachings, to your strength, to your splendor which creates palaces from hissing ashes and shattered fragments.”
 
He continued speaking for a long time, like water with no end, and the Transcendor answered him and spoke within him, until it was unclear who was asking and who was answering, who desired and who fulfilled.
 
That night twelve figures descended from the upper slopes of the Northern Forests, heading towards the concealed northern entrance to the Tunnels of Time. They walked swiftly, continuously for endless hours through beautiful trails going deeper and deeper into the earth’s core. They stopped only to quench their thirst with pure water or to eat hurriedly. Tzalaii was deep in thought, his spirit disheartened since the moment he had separated from the Master of Transcendence. Even the presence of the creatures of light and the tall Transparent Master did not provide encouragement. He felt a deep responsibility weighing him down, disturbing his peace
 
“All sadness emanates from luxury. That is the first rule of the Warriors of Transcendence,” he recalled the sentence he had heard in the past, right there in the Tunnels of Time.
 
“Sadness is a delicacy for the Shadows,” his Memory Shields grew and multiplied.
 
To the best of his knowledge, Shadows were incapable of functioning in the Tunnels of Time. But who knew how powerful Sihara’s captors were?
 
“To relinquish means to relinquish everything,” a new thought consumed Tzalaii. What must he relinquish? If he could, he would relinquish this mission, from beginning to end, and perhaps he could have relinquished his encounter with the Warriors of Transcendence, and remained with Sihara in their distant village. And then he understood: It was precisely these thoughts that he was to relinquish, these shadowy, doubtful, weakening thoughts that created fear and shame.
 
“A Warrior of Transcendence transforms all of his desires into the will of the One,” another Memory Shield appeared, clearer than its predecessors.
 
At once, Tzalaii let go of his fears and doubts, and felt embraced by a sense of blessed serenity. He felt a calming, quiet acceptance. He would proceed and accomplish his mission with precision and humility.
 
At that very moment, everyone came to an abrupt halt. Tzalaii noticed the light in the tunnel growing faint and that the air becoming murky. The Transparent Master pointed towards a bend in the cave, leading to a deeper darkness, and his voice cracked as he said: “She is down there.”
 
Tzalaii understood that from now on he would be alone, aided only by his Memory Shields.  He gazed appreciatively at his entourage, expressing gratitude to them for their escort, as they blessed him and turned back toward the illuminated areas of the Tunnels.
 
All was silent, but soon a distant murmur, an echo of human voices, began rolling in from the depths. The trail descended into the core of the mountain, and the light within gradually increased. Beneath the soft white light filling the upper spaces, there was a harsh, red light.  As he neared the voices, Tzalaii was surprised to hear the sounds of a cheerful festive meal. He was even more astonished as he reached the end of the tunnel and saw beyond it a large, unguarded torch-lit chamber.
 
Ten dark skinned, white clad men sat around heavy wooden tables, thoroughly enjoying their feast. Their hair and eyes were dark like a winter night, and white cloth bands adorned their foreheads.
 
In an alcove sat two musicians playing drums. The tables, laden with meat and bread, were presided over by Sihara who sat dressed in white. Her unkempt hair, which was in wild disarray, was adorned with a fiery red crown. Turning her gaze away from the feasting men and towards the hall leading to the chamber, she was not at all surprised to see Tzalaii standing there. But he seemed to be astonished, stunned. The Deathliners were amused by the two of them, as if they were an expected part of a premeditated game. They did not draw their swords as Tzalaii approached them, and did not attempt to conceal or protect Sihara from him. Tzalaii looked at his sister. The delicate features he had known had become sharp and intense, and a foreign fire glistened in her eyes. Sihara arose and came toward him, but there was no gleam of recognition or gladness in her eyes.

“Sihara.” he addressed her, while trying to enlist all of their shared memories. “It is me, Tzalaii,” he said. “Your Tzalaii!”
 
“No, you are not Tzalaii,” replied Sihara. “Tzalaii is in there.”
 
She pointed towards a closed iron gate in one of the corners of the chamber.
 
“They are in there,” she said, “all of them.”
 
Tzalaii felt his knees buckle. The pain caused by this event was far worse than anything the Deathliners could ever do to him. The desire to protect his sister and rescue her from this demonic fortress of evil pulsated through his being, but he felt as weak as a baby. The Deathliners carried on with their feast, not even glancing at the hapless pair.
 
Sihara entered through the iron gate first, followed by Tzalaii. The sharp transfer into another world left him breathless. There he was, sitting on the shore by the village of their youth, tossing stones into the turquoise sea. Sihara stood by his side like she used to, when he shared his experiences with her, as she listened with deep concentration. For a moment his yearnings brought tears to his eyes, but when he examined the figures more closely, he was shaken. Their eyes were empty and their expressions frozen like icy glass.
 
“This is my brother, Tzalaii,” said Sihara, “and there is the village elder and his wife, and there in the wooden home on Green Isle where my Transparent Master resides. I am not alone. Everyone is here. But it is all over and done with. Everything is dead.”
 
Something in the way she said ‘everyone’ terrified Tzalaii even further. He gazed at her.
 
“Everyone?” he asked. “Everyone?!” he looked around at the village, and walked deeper into the room. Farther on, in the most distant corner, stairs led to a carved door. It opened automatically as they approached, revealing a royal throne upon which sat the Master of Transcendence.
 
“I once visited him,” said Sihara slowly, in a hollow voice, “but it was a long time ago, and now nothing more remains.”
 
“No, Sihara, no!” shouted Tzalaii in terror. “Who told you these words? Who caused you to believe them?!”
 
“You see, everything has turned into nothingness,” Sihara nodded her head as she pointed to the figures in the cave. “You, me, the past, the present, the future…this is reality.”
 
“That is wrong, Sihara!” Tzalaii said, raising his voice. “We must get out of here, both of us, and never return again! Do you hear me? You must come with me!”
 
He rushed out, holding onto his sister’s arm, dragging her along. When they reached the entrance, he guided her in front, walking behind her, slamming the gate with all his might and jamming it into its hinges.  Once again, they were surrounded by the cheerful feasters. Tzalaii lost his grasp of Sihara as she approached them.
 
Suddenly a hard object fell from her cape. It was the purple branch adorned with green streaks and leaves, a white pulsating line running through it. The branch smashed to the ground, its fragments heated up momentarily by an inner flame that immediately became extinguished.
 
The purity of heart, Tzalaii recalled Sihara’s words when he had first seen her holding this object in her hands.
 
The purity of heart?The juxtaposition of these words and Sihara’s image were utterly contradictory. As if on cue, two of the dark-skinned men began beating the drums. Tzalaii felt the sharp, insistent sound pervade every organ in his body, the same sound that had driven his spirit mad during his trial in the Tower. Now, too, he saw how the entire chamber filled with fog, from which spirits began to emerge: Spirits of the sea and spirits of the sand, spirits of fish and spirits of the skies, spirits of stone and human spirits, spirits of the past and spirits of the future- all reaching out to him, begging for their souls: “Creator, Father, you have touched us- give us life.”
 
Myriads of pleading hands reached out from all directions, and above them were Sihara’s hands, spread out in the red light, controlling, inviting and awaking the creatures of darkness and the waves of the Marker of Tumult.
 
The ten Deathliners neared Tzalaii who lay prostrate, helplessly on the ground. They tied him to the large support beam in the chamber and stopped their drumming. The waves retreated, the fog dissipated, and only terror remained.
 
They can do it again, at any given moment, and Sihara is helping them! Tzalaii realized.
 
“Well, my dear friend” said one of the Deathliners, mockingly, “since you are so amusing, we shall allow you, just for the sake of fun, to reveal your strengths. Not that you stand a chance to affect our new kingdom, but we shall give you one last opportunity.”  
 
Tzalaii looked over at the drums in terror. The speaker laughed, pretending to express concern, as he said: “No. No drums this time. Simply remain here with us. We can share experiences.”
 
They turned away from him, returning to their wild feast. The drums were put aside in a far corner and Tzalaii, realizing that he had been granted a few moments of grace, used the time to attempt to remember.
 
Close your eyes, he told himself. Remove yourself from her extinguished eyes!
 
He searched for his world, for the beach where he had met his inner Tzalaii, for the thousands of candles he had seen, pulsating with life, but he found nothing. He cried out voicelessly to the Master of Transcendence, but found no answer in his heart. He rallied all of his strength attempting to recall a Memory Shield, but his mind was empty and hollow, like the drumbeat that had seared his flesh.  His only remaining option was to perform Unification using the last vestiges of his ebbing strength.
 
To be continued.
 

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