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Wanderer snatched the blade glittering in moonlight from the earth; and with a cry of anguish, sobbing pierced the child's heart, and froze bowed, on bended knees near the girl. With hers last ounce Iona glanced at the drooped, smiled shyly, and froze forever. Iona’s face stamped in memory of Scott Renter indelibly, and tears shed at the moment shriveled the soul, and henceforth nothing could cause the tears of Wanderer.
A silky tender voice broke into the silence of speechless suffering. Moonlight lit a virgin in a white cloak; her soft hands pulled back the hood, revealing a high forehead, blue eyes an the face, framed by golden curls. Red lips, half-opened sensually, said mellifluously:
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– You have not changed, Anthony…
– The only person who knows the true name of Wanderer…
– Rise, Anthony; this way is given to the dead. You, who tasted life from
the birth, got the force of the mortals. If you recant the original essence, you will be taken away the life, you will become feeble, you will become just like human beings.
Wanderer gave a sigh, grabbed the sword and approached the virgin. His gaze was stern and voice was cold.
– You rose up from the depths of the past… A
The virgin stepped forward, threw off her cloak, revealing naked body. Gold pendant hung down to her chest, rounded belly stuck out clearly,
– The son of yours will be born…
Light hand touched the face of Wanderer hesitantly; fingers caressed his forehead went down to the cheeks. His mighty right hand covered her hand; Scott Renter closed his eyes and in a moment opened them again gazing at dearest features. His hand slid to A
The sword ascended, the edge penetrated to the womb, the blood gushed from the mouth, and A
– I've changed…
Having returned for the cloak, Scott Renter was going away, and bowed lilac-white snowdrop followed with its eyes the stately figure.
Star placer illuminated a person in a black robe, standing at the edge of the bleak mountains of Tandrod; majestic face with thick beard, balls of beads counted by lowered hand, the black robes – Klim the recluse watched Wanderer and with a sigh said quietly:
– Sui cuique mores fingunt fortunam hominibus…1 1 The fate of each person is built by his character…
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Chapter 2
shone from the darkness
Rus. Year 354 from Great Separation. Second Epoch.
The modern era came in the archaic style of the past; the rudiment of neo-history was based on the collapse of the old world; on the cataclysms of the earth and the contentions of the opposing powers, creating one world, based on nature and socio-political thoughts of people who believed that the basis for the creation of the new world had to be enclosed accumulated experience of the past adapted to absolutely different conditions of modern existence. The history took its rise from the Great Separation of the former foundations into the comprehensive unification of powers, nations, and continents. People had no differences either in the language or in the «roots» of their ancestors. United Nation had appeared, and the new world was called the Birthplace of the Surviving Creatures, receiving the title from the antiquity of the earth, which had centralized continents and powers by the cataclysm in the State of Rus.
Nine people were elected, to lead the Grand Council; and one hundred and eighty-eight years – in the year 257 from Great Separation the Tenth was elected, sublimed by the world, which took him as the ruler of the World. And there was a response in opposition systematization of society, realizing the upcoming step of the totalitarian world. Dissidents were sought and condemned to the death penalty; the world was flourishing in well- being and stability; the illusory nature of universal happiness was denied by widespread failure and unfortunate low level of life, when faced with the locality of justice and order established in the consciousness of humanity.
Darkness had covered the sun and the Realm of Dreams had clouded the minds of the people; in the consciousness of one person a nightmare has been creating.
White endless corridor has appeared. An outline of a female silhouette with a tray held with both hands. The loud echo of the steps, spreading,
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reached hearing of the man held down in a straitjacket. Closer… Closer… a Collision is inevitable. Eyes, overwhelmed by fear, toss about unable to stop; the space is absorbed by a ghostly monotone which oppresses the mind in the vacuum of madness. The footsteps are growing louder and closer. Insanity comprehends the nature, destroying the personality. Shivering look is ransacking confusedly, keeping hope to win out, but the path of apostasy is cut off, only a clash… it is impossible to tolerate… The rumble of the steps sneaked into the brain. The thought is doomed to subjugation. Something else is hidden in what is happening… The Illusion is indistinguishable from Reality, since they terminated the existence of the natural order of things. A man. He is tossing, pulsing blood echoes in his temples, trembling grips the gut; the cry is struggling to get out, but fear destroys human nature, turning it into an ignorant beast. Personality is transforming from «person» to «thing», becoming a substance separate from the unauthorized understanding. It is transforming into a particle, driven by a force emanating from a closed realities of the macrocosm – a composite distinctive function of vital principle of the aggregate merger of material and immaterial in inseparable symbiosis, creating the essence, which is determined primarily as a human being.
And something acting from outside is horrible and disgusting, and the essence of Evil is the ill furious mind in the colossal power of the all- powerful mind.
The noise has stoped.
The man is staring at the void brokenly. Time has completely frozen. It’s quiet… quiet to madness. All attention is focused on the door. Something has to occur outside the internal fears; one ca
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door opens and… a girl in a lab coat appears. She has walked in, tapping her black heels, walked to the wall, pulled out some transparent plane and put her tray on it.
…He's in a straitjacket, in the exhaustion leaning his back to the firmament of the wall, slid down on the floor. His feverish gaze fixedly followed the preparation of a metal-glass syringe; they approached him, squatted, took his hand and plunged the needle into the freed from sleeves vein.