-=-
CHAPTER FIVE: CRIMSON RED
-=-
A single road and a cobblestone path cut through the forests beyond the Thasmon Line and made its way to a magnificent landform. The mountain of Athalymos towered above the forests of Roendavar and the forests of the Great Lorason were alight with an orange glow as eighty thousand people gathered at the slopes of the mountain. It was the Night of Erosithegon, the night when the people of Roendavar gather on the slopes of Mount Athalymos and rejoice their greatest blessing, Life. Music and laughter reverberated through the night, the sound of thousands celebrating the Festival of Iralia, kilometers away from civilization, surrounded only by the great life of this Earth.
“I hope you can still keep up with the rest of the festival. It’s going to become midnight soon.” Caeren called on Athreil, holding two cups of fruit wine he got from a stall. “Got us grape and rosemary wine with orange peel.”
Athreil scoffed at his partner’s jest, playfully hitting his shoulder in the process. “Shut up, Caeren. We’ve been doing this festival since I was a child. This isn’t going to be different.”
“Eh? You spent the past two years cooped up at your job at the Veleus. Maybe you lost some of that energy explaining musty paintings to uninterested foreign college students.”
“They’re art students. They’re interested.” Athreil took the cup of fruit wine. “But regarding the current situation in Roendavar, I thought, hey, might as well attend this year.”
“Oh come on. This is the only time of the year where we get inside the Thasmon and, with a bunch of people, we can party atop a mountain in the middle of nowhere. Big plus that they predict the aurora will fall on this date. That would explain why there are so many of us here. Call me a patriot because I love this country!” Caeren exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in a mocking tone.
“First of all, this isn’t just a ‘bunch’ of people. Literally 80,000 estimated.” Athreil corrected, gesturing at the caravan trudging slowly in front of them. “And second… may I remind you that the town of Thersos was massacred just last week and yet we’re still here going through with this event.”
“It’s going to be fine. They deployed the Roendavarian Royal Guard. They can protect us.” Caeren grinned, earning a scoff from Athreil.
“Right. They failed to eject the Balniki from Faronna and prevent Thersos from getting invaded by Iralia knows what. I feel very safe.” Athreil rolled his eyes, eliciting a laughter from Caeren.
Caeren took a side beside Athreil as they watched the crowd move through the festival. They watched solemnly, taking in the common festival celebrated by Roendavarians every year. They watched as dancers swayed through the open spaces, their golden jewelry clinking across their pure white fabrics of cloth and fur. Many sang songs, telling of the stories of both ancient and new. Athreil tuned his ears to a specific song, an exaltation, one all Roendavarians are familiar with. The description of Erosithegon, the event that would alter the course of Roendavarian history forever.
Ei i eraliath ialAthalymos therisalra cin oarena ratarith elea Davaril
Ei canath vilisin i Feliath oth xain aalacthii, oth xain xelioni, oth xain thiirasi leferil
And the skies above Athalymos burst open with all the colors of the universe
And they bathed the people in its wonder, in its glory, in its ethereal beauty
“I heard that the aurora would be making an appearance exactly tonight.” Caeren said. “I mean how rare is that?”
“Not quite rare as people think. Though, I do see the meaning in it.”
“Why are you so negative? Can’t you just say ‘yes definitely rare would love to see it with you Caeren’”
“It looks like they’re playing more music at the main stage. You think we can go there?” Athreil stood up, only for Caeren’s hand to stop him in his tracks.
“I’d rather stay here. Please. I’m tired.” Caeren smiled. “Plus we’ve got a nice enough view here. We’re far enough to see the whole festival but near enough to hear it.”
“Okay, okay. You didn’t have to explain it so technically.” Athreil turned back to watch the festival from their vantage point. The crowd then began to cheer and grow excited.
“It’s starting. Look up, Ath.” Caeren pointed up at the sky.
An aurora shone through the sky. The crowd exploded into cheers, the drums getting louder and louder. The orchestra on the main stage began playing the familiar song of the Erosithegon once more. A reverie of bells, strings, and percussion. Athreil looked up at the sky as colors and light streaked above the festivals. His mouth agape at the wonder, both at the scenes above and around him. He turned to Caeren, eager to share this moment with him, yet a single emotion was etched on Caeren’s face. Despair. A single tear sliding down from his eye towards his cheek. Athreil could feel his smile slowly melting into that of confusion. A thrumming miasma seemed to hang in the air, its danger and poison drowned out by the music and the cheering. Athreil felt it. An evil creeping. Time seemed to slow around both of them and it was only time when it was broken.
Ei caleria! I thescai elea Arveim thericani ain i stharath
Eth oerla i Feliath oth xain xelioni, neruicani Eleiai ilanath
And behold! The city of the Arveim burst forth from the rift
To bask the people in its glory, come forth change once more!
A blinding light. An ear splitting explosion. A great force tore through the crowd and threw them violently to the ground. The music grinds to a sudden halt and the once joyous cheers were silenced, replaced by a shrill ringing and a faint rumbling. The smell of smoke, earth, and ash descended upon them. Athreil groaned as he tried to stand up, the entire chaos unfolding before him. Far beyond the panicked crowd, the makeshift stage was gone, blown into pieces and its wake were scars on the earth, the black ash from what Athreil knows were bombs bathing the ground in a pitch black. From afar, he could see bodies strewn everywhere, torn apart and flung far by the explosion, though he could not ascertain how many there were. All he knew was that they were many. He was roused from his shock by someone’s hand grasping his. Tensing, he quickly turned around, only to find the worried face of Caeren staring at him.
“Athreil! Are you okay?” Caeren asked, calmly. Athreil could not reply, let alone mutter a single word. All that ran through his mind was a great tragedy unfolding before him. He tried forcing out an answer, and when a small whisper escaped his lips, a shrill tone erupted from the forests surrounding Mount Athalymos. Bells? It was music. A haunting one. Caeren’s face darkened, his grip tightening on Athreil’s hand.
“We have to go, Athreil!” Caeren pulled Athreil into a frantic sprint, weaving through the panicked and terrified crowd. Athreil allowed himself to get pulled along, his senses slowly returning to him.
“What the fuck is happening, Caeren?! What the hell was that?!” Athreil growled.
“I’ll explain later. We need to leave now before they arrive. They’re going to come out of the forest.” Caeren refused to look back. “We need to get away from the fleeing crowd.”
“No. We need to leave!” Athreil stopped, pulling Caeren back to a halt. “This is insane, Caeren!”
“Just… please trust me on this. We need to stay away from the crowd and from the main areas.”
“Look, Caeren. I am trusting you right now even though it’s clear you know something about this. ” Athreil asserted, staring Caeren down.
Caeren turned around and sprinted towards the forest, pulling Athreil along with him. There was no ounce of resistance from Athreil as they separated from the fleeing crowd. The sounds of bells were now louder and the crowd from afar was becoming more panicked and concerned. Athreil heard Caeren calling his name and they stopped behind an empty tent. Caeren gestured to the thicket of trees a few paces to the right of them. Athreil could not see anything at first, not until a peculiar figure emerged from the forest. They were dressed in pristine white cloaks, a black half mask covered the left side of their face. On the other half, jewels decorated their right eye, shaped in a tear. On their right hand was a small golden bell that they continuously rang, producing a timber melody that betrayed their garish look. On their left, a grooved knife. A vircanis, each groove producing a poison when pressured. Caeren gestured for Athreil to stay silent and he followed. They snuck their way behind the tests and once the cultist had reached the opposite side, they raced towards the edge of the f0rest.
Screams and gunshots could be heard from a distance. Athreil looked to his left down the slope and saw two Roendavarian Royal Guards and three police engaged with three cult members and what seemed to be a mercenary, their clothes common yet they wielded weapons that simply cannot be bought in Roendavar. Despite having the advantage of numbers, Athreil watched as one of the cult members produced a semi-automatic rifle and began showering the police with bullets, hitting one in the head as their corpse slumped to one of the tents. Everywhere Athreil looked was the same scenery. Cult members were going after the crowd and shooting randomly at fleeing people, some getting dragged to tents or back to the forest. Another explosion ripped through the mountain, a gust of force throwing them both off balance. From afar, a pillar of smoke rose beyond the fleeing crowd.
“They bombed the exit path.” Athreil realized. Caeren’s decision was right. Fleeing with the crowd was dangerous.
“Waited for the crowd to flee down the mountain and towards the single cobblestone path. Once a lot of them were there, they detonated the bomb.” Caeren explained, guiding Athreil through the edge of the forest. “There’s a third and final bomb mid-way where most of the people would have gathered after this. Also helps that we're far away. They may have placed something in them.”
“So you knew about this?! Then why didn’t you say something?! Tell them that they’re literally walking to their deaths? Notified the Roendavarian Royal Guard?!” Athreil shot, his voice growing heated.
“Because I can’t, Athreil! Because if I did I would be dead like them!” Caeren snapped. “I’m already risking everything by fleeing with you!”
Before Athreil could respond, another flash of fire and the third and final explosion boomed through the air. Athreil watched as the crowd were now racing down the mountain in a dash for survival. The same white cloaked figures ran wildly in and out the crowds, targeting the weak and those that were falling behind. Athreil tore his eyes from the scene of chaos and death, of fire and gunshots. The screams and gunshots grew fainter and fainter as they moved deeper into the forest. Caeren refused to look back, his attention solely focused on what was ahead of them. This was far beyond anyone in Roendavar could have ever imagined.
“Well, what do we have here?” A voice called out from the trees. Athreil and Caeren froze as one of the cult members stepped out of the trees, knife in hand and their glistening eye peering through the darkness. “Two lovers traipsing through the woods.”
“Get back, Valcriai. You will not have us.” Caeren challenged. Athreil watched as Caeren reached from his shoe and pulled out the same grooved knife as the figure, albeit thinner and a single sapphire in their hilt.
“You’re one of the Eleianthas. Yet, you are not partaking in the orders. Are you defying your Arveimeion?” The figure slowly approached, their knife pointed forwards.
“What is he saying, Caeren? What orders?” Athreil demanded.
“Oh, did he not tell you? Was he too busy having fun with you at the festival?” The cult member mocked, pointing his knife at Caeren. “We all had jobs to do, yet here you are, disobedient. I wonder what your Arveimeion will say?”
“I care about the Arveimeion. I don’t care about the other’s orders.” Caeren growled, surging forward with their knife outwards as well.
Athreil could only stand and watch as the two blades collided, the screech of metal upon metal cutting through the woods. Athreil observed that the figure was wild in their movement, random and without pattern, while Caeren was quick and smooth, like he was flowing with the wind. Each of them parried, never hitting each other. Their movements suggest that they have been doing this for a long time, from the way they strike to the way they dodge. It was all practiced, movements made by memory. With a sleuth to the left followed by a slice to the hand, Caeren gained the upper hand, forcing the cult member to drop his knife and howl in pain.
“Stand down!”
A voice ordered. Athreil turned his attention to where the voice came from and saw another person standing, watching the fight. He was a lithe male, with medium length curly hair and he was wrapped in a blue coat. Around his neck was a sapphire pendant that shone even in the dark night. Upon recognizing the figure, the two men immediately halted their fight as they scrambled to kneel, placing their curled fingers on their heart and bowed down. Athreil froze in his spot, unsure if he would follow their example.
“Arveimeion Theremiel! Was not the order to do as we please and to wreck as much havoc?” The cult member asked, his voice direct and challenging.
“And you follow them more than the authority of your religion? There are plenty of others out there. My followers are my own.”
“As you wish.” The cult member conceded through gritted teeth. They bowed once more before dashing back to the mountain.
“Caleira! Thank you.” Caeren proclaimed.
“I’m glad you heed my request, Caeren. To not participate in this bloodshed.” A smile spread across Theremiel’s face. “Most of ours did. The others did not. Mostly the Valcriath. Though I assure you that my companions tried as best they can to dissuade this.” Athreil felt something different. A hint of sadness in the Arveimeion’s eyes.
“I am sure Arveimeion Valeris tried his best. And the others as well.” Calaeren assured, breaking his salute and standing up.
“But you of all people know that we cannot be controlled.” Theremiel said, gesturing at Athreil. “You knew what you wanted, and you went against what was needed. We are all the same.”
“Arveimeion…” Athreil called out, the figure turning his attention to him. “Why are you all doing this?”
“Ah… That is a question that I wish I had an answer to. But I cannot. For long we have power on this land, yet now we play servants to powers who use us. Killing the same land we swore to protect and rule over.” Theremiel looked up at the stars, his face melting into one of solemnity.
“Then you should have stopped it! Any of you could have just walked away or refused to participate in this altogether!”
“Perhaps.” Silence broke out between the three of them. The Arveimeion continued looking at the sky, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. After a minute, Theremiel looked back at Athreil and offered him a weak smile. “You must go. The cults shall be leaving soon, along with the mercenaries. Continue through the edge of the forest and make your way to the road. It should be cleared by the Royal Guard now. Do not look back.” Theremiel turned around and slowly walked towards the mountain, leaving Caeren and Athreil alone once more.
Athreil was the first to walk, with Caeren following him shortly after. They remained silent throughout, listening to the sounds of gunshots and frantic screams. It continued on for minutes, endless, deep into the midnight the chaos that engulfed Mount Athalymos continued to rear its ugly head. After an hour of walking through the edge of the forest, they finally arrived at the foot of the mountain with the familiar cobblestone path. Athreil watched in horror as he observed those who fled and survived the attack.
Most of them were unscathed, yet their scars were not physical. Some stood dazed, shocked, afraid, shivering in the cold night. There were those who directly hit. Some were bloody from gunshot wounds, some bearing stab wounds from small knives, creating small yet deep holes. One had his entire arm missing. All of them bore the same emotions. Despair. Athreil looked up at the mountain, Caeren beside him in melancholic regret.
The aurora shone bright in a multitude of colors, dancing high above the night sky. Athalymos stands in flames, ruined, and scarred. It was said that when the Davari gathered atop this mountain that the heavens opened and all the colors of the universe poured out. Yet, only one color marred this night. The color of blood. The color of pain. The color of death.
Crimson red paints the Erosithegon into a new age. A new age has been ushered, and unlike the one that united the people, this might be the start of their end.