Genesis [malexmale]

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

I stood in Geara's garden, staring up into the purple leaves of the massive tree overhead, watching sunlight fade in and out between the swaying leaves, the fruit long having shriveled and fallen to the ground, becoming sun-baked raisins that would dissolve into the soil.

It had been days since war had been declared. No sign of battle on the front. No more murders. However, sides were being chosen and they were being chosen quickly. After Satanika and I had traveled far and wide to converse with the population, we'd learned that many had defected to Atlan, both out of fear and rebellion against the Source. The loyalists, however, had all begun to congregate to our fortress, seeking protection and willing to pick up arms against the rebellion.

Death still refused to leave his home. He'd locked himself away and nary left, even in search of food, telling me he'd stocked well for the coming war and was prepared to do naught, but carry souls to their final resting place.

Geara still searched for a way to seal Xiphrus. She conversed with the Source frequently, and with Starkin's help, they had turned the former home into a true fortress.

I dragged my eyes to the twelve foot stone wall that surrounded the property, above which sat black barbs wet with poison that not even the rain could wash away. We'd elected guards to manage the wall, and I could sense their movements on the other side as they walked the perimeter. It was no longer a garden of peace and meditation, but one that felt suffocated and hollow.

Unable to stand the feeling here, I left the garden and went through the fortress, which was now a flurry with activity as creatures walked every which way, carrying maps or battle strategies, some carrying weapons, others simply walking about in order to clear their minds in preparation for the first attack that had yet to come.

They were waiting for something, I realized only day laters. The rebellion was waiting for a signal of some kind.

I left the fortress, unable to stand the suffocation of so many people in one structure. Instead, I vanished from my place in the main hall and appeared on the trail that crept along the meadow and forest. I stared down the path, now shadowed by skeletal trees. The air was cold now. No snow fell, not yet, but the air was bitter and nipped harshly at my cheeks. The last of the leaves were peeling away from their places on the branches, floating down to the path, covering the stamped grass and unrooted soil with a layer of brown, decaying leaves.

The scent in the air was moist, moldy, and cold. Most of the fauna had disappeared for the season, or maybe they, too, sensed the impending war and ran for cover, leaving behind ransacked nests and burrows.

The only creatures that remained to watch the carnage were the birds, and not the song birds either. Instead, large black birds had come to rest upon the branches of the trees, watching with beady black eyes the scenery unfold. They made not high chirps or croons, but rather deep croaks, grave chatter as they muttered amongst themselves, black feathers ruffling.

The sky overhead became dim with clouds and I tilted my head back to gaze up at the black and gray clouds that rolled over one another as if in a race to get seats for the coming entertainment.

Yes, I thought bitterly, come one, come all, watch now as the Source's once great creatures battle to the death for nothing more than one creature's foolish mistake.

And I wondered now, who truly made the mistake.

Xiphrus was naive. He always had been. He was a slave to his emotions. When he felt joy, all felt joy. He threw his hands in the air and danced, bathed in golden sunlight, his laughter making the birds sing. And when he felt sorrow, even the flowers in the garden wilted. His tears fell freely and his sobs broke even the stoutest of hearts.