Awondo was a king, though not a Mighty King as was Arun. Awondo wore a crown, though not so lofty a crown as Arun. He ruled over the city of Windaji, in the verdant land of the green lion, whose deep groves devour Sunlight. The pinnacle of Windaji was the onyx totem, a pillar of reverence with the head of a jaguar. Awondo alone could stand there and live, as that height looked directly on Avon Lasair, the Holy Mountain. The high walls of that blessed domain rose almost to the mountain's summit, but from the base of the onyx totem, Awondo could see the citadel where his king sits in splendor.
Only a proud city could bathe in the shadow of the holy land, and Windaji was the proudest of cities. Many legends attempted to describe its founding. Some said it was made by Arun himself, as a testament to the mother of his begotten. Others say a maiden of light and poetry died there, and gave her essence to the Green Lion Valley and Windaji was born from her remains. It was noble and beautiful, whatever its origin, and Awondo was humbled to be its master. Here in the shadow of the mightiest of the Mighty, nestled in the green womb of the world, he was a man who wanted for nothing.
That morning he praised the Sun as the grey of smoke turned to the grey of the sea. Then he woke his beautiful wife and they were as one until the Hour of the Ram. She went with him on his hunt, and won herself a fine pelt through the prowess that is common to the wild jungle women. His chest swelled as he watched her skin her kill, which she'd claimed with her spear in close quarters. The mighty Sun painted shadows on her rich, carob skin, digging deep into her strong muscles as she worked. Her chest was bound by a narrow hide bandana, her loins sparsely girded, and the sinews of her hips rippled with her every move. As a king, Awondo may have been humble, but as a husband he was proud.
They were as one again before she returned with the hunters to their city. Awondo stayed behind to think his grateful thoughts, especially of the fine welcome he'd receive when he returned. Windaji, a pyramid three hundred feet tall and thrice as wide, would be lit by torches as high as his totem, and his people would be dancing to the thunder of drums while he ascended the broad steps of his stronghold. Once there he would look upon the bounty the Mighty had given him, and his heart would be filled with love for his generous king.
Splendor to Arun!
"Indeed," said a Mighty voice.
Awondo was standing on his high place and looking at the citadel of his king, when a warrior of fire descended from a ring of red and orange light. Awondo could feel the heat of her as she landed near him. He prostrated himself at once, wanting to speak praises to her, but he knew the sounds of Mortal mouths were too crude for such a one, so he spoke with silence.
"You are Awondo." she walked slowly around him as she spoke, her feet singing the earth where she tread. "You serve the Heir of Fire, and it has been his joy to reward you."
Awondo bowed his head till he kissed the dirt.
"Do you know who I am?"
A daughter of Arun.
"Of course you know."
He saw her feet pacing about him, bright embers left embedded in their prints. They were gracefully shaped, unshod, her toes ringed with red jewels and bands of gold. Glowing tattoos traced lines of fiery lace up her ankles.
"Lift your eyes, Heir of the Hunt."
He did as bidden, and was stricken by the fierceness of a heart-shaped face split by lips that never met or ceased to smile, and the man's flesh prickled in the warmth of eyes enkindled so that at all times they looked into flames. She was Kari, second daughter of Arun, who sat a molten throne beneath the mountains of tumult where the anger of the world is held like a spear.
"Rise," she said, beckoning with her hand.
Awondo stood and saw himself in the polish of her golden breastplate. Embarrassed by the awestruck look on his face, he tried to narrow his eyes and tighten his jaw. The leaves of her copper fauld clinked as she stepped closer, and a wind meant only for her billowed her saffron colored cape. Beyond those three pieces her body was bare; a sinewy form the color of lava cooled by a fleetingly gentle breeze. She looked deadly to the touch, and, as with the Sun, he could only gaze at her for so long before his eyes were pained.
"I come to you to offer you my father's thanks and affection,” her voice split the air, even when calm. “Your many years of faithfulness have given him great joy. While the stone pygmies and shadow sprites hide from the splendor of his crown, you and yours have built a pyramid so that you may dwell closer to it. For this, you are known among the Mighty as the People of the Sun. My father has seen fit to gather all of your kindred to you, so that you may rule over them so long as you remain in this world."
Awondo's heart pounded in his chest. He would have loved nothing more than to see his kind all brought together. A new pyramid would need to be built to fit them all, but the labor would be joyful.
Splendor to Arun!
"Indeed," said Kari. Her smile widened and cinders came from her lips, dancing like dust motes in the beams of light that pierced the golden firmament. "You are a good subject, Jaguar King. Will you give yourself yet more fully to my father than you already have? There is dire need of one to lend his body and soul to challenge an evil threat. Has my father not given you everything you've ever desired? Has his thought not always blessed you with perfect days? Will you refuse the most perfect gift he has ever offered? Or will you put your cherished life aside for a brief moment, and bear his light to war against the dark one?"
Awondo felt his eyes watering, and his heart threatened to burst from his breast and beat upon the ground.
Kari sighed. "Your eyes speak more sweetly than Yuluru ever sang. You will be my father's champion. Here...", she opened her hand and stooped, so that she might pressed her finger against his throat. He burned where she touched him, and his mouth was filled with wisdom. "A gift from me."
My queen, he thought, so intensely he may as well have spoke it.
"Silly creature," she laughed, a frightening sound. "Only Selenne is queen, and the wind will speak of our treachery if I do not correct you. Though, if you feel impelled, you may think of me in an exalted way, if my gift has special meaning to you."
Awondo nodded, but in his heart he shook his head. You will forever be my queen.
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She placed her Mighty hands on his Mortal shoulders, then cradled his head and pressed him against the space just beneath her navel. Her skin was as hot like fire, and manliness surged within him at her embrace. She then withdrew and showed him her back. A golden halo shone around her, and when she turned there was a piercing yellow light between her hands.
"Take this," she held it down to him. "Lift your head and close your eyes."
He did so.
He felt her hand on the back of his head, and then there was an intense burning in the center of his brow.
"Now you are an Heir of Fire." There was lust in her voice.
He felt as if he'd been travelling for some time, carried by wind through a tunnel of changing light. Kari was with him always, peering down on him from above, her glowing hands poised to catch him should he fall. They plunged through a door in the mountains and he saw a golden throne. Lions paced about, one red, one white, one orange, one green, one pale blue. He saw nothing, then heard a symphony of elegant music; the harp, the bagpipe, the zither, the viola. When the music reached its crescendo, a brilliant white light filled his thought, then split into two; silver and gold. As the two lights parted from one another, two Mighty beings gazed longingly upon each other. There was a man with skin like pitch whose hair and beard were ringlets of flame, and a womanly haze who wore a net of clear gems over her flowing white hair. They reached to touch each other, but a sphere of emptiness spread like a blanket to blot out the lights. They joined hands, drove away the dark herald, and fled to the safety of strong fortresses.
Awondo found himself floating over a thriving metropolis of high walls and gemstone spired towers. The emptiness returned and spread like a disease over the city, until at last the Pale Queen and the Heir of Fire came to vanquish it again. When their victory was won, the city was a smoldering ruin beneath a blistered sky. Its denizens had turned to statues of ash, carried limb by limb on a slow wind to oblivion. A crypt was dug into the bones of the deep world and the emptiness was kicked into it by the Heir of Fire. When it fell into its tomb, the emptiness took the form of a man clad in cruel black armor stained with blood. A promise of sleep was sung to him by the Pale Queen, and an aegis of gold was the lid for his tomb.
This is he? Awondo wondered.
"This is him," said Kari. "He is Othomo, the dreadknight. He is a relentless shadow and enemy of life. He hungers for all beauty, and will not stop until the world is completely unmade."
How am I to stop such a one?
"Fear not, my father's gift has made you Mighty."
Awondo looked to his hands. Golden spheres glowed within his palms, and he felt tremendous heat coursing through his veins. The power was enough to melt mountains, but his body reveled in it. His dark brown skin turned to gleaming bronze, and a gold halo shimmered about his entire form. Power and spirit pounded within his chest, and he felt as if the hearts of all living things were pumping blood into his limbs.
He felt the urge to speak, but was afraid of sounding foolish to his new queen, so he thought what he would say, ashamed of his arrogant impulse.
But it is just a portion of his strength, and I am not accustomed to it. Your father fought the Enemy alongside his bride, the Pale Queen Selenne. How am I to do what they could not, while they were in full splendor?
They were standing amidst golden clouds that swirled like honey as it dripped from the comb. Awondo felt his gaze drawn downward, but Kari touched his chin and tilted back his head. Her eyes blazed.
"You have the lion's share of his fighting power, and you are a hunter of dread beasts. Is not the pelt of the fearsome jaguar your royal gown? Did you not slaughter the animal with your bare hands? You are well equipped, Awondo, and I will guide you. Together, you and I shall complete the work of the Pale Queen and Mighty Arun. Do not fear Othomo. He has risen, yes, but he languished in an isolating prison of my father's design, not the deep nigredo from which he draws his strength. What power he can lay claim to comes from afar, and his voice does not ring so loudly as it once did. You are alive with vigor and youth, and long to be one with your wife again. I do not blame you, she is beautiful. Are not all my father's gifts perfect? The emanations of his mind are precious indeed. I should know."
Awondo's eyes opened and he was back on his high place with Kari, second daughter of Arun. Her fires had calmed, and she stood before him now in a silken white gown. Her orange skin was supple and beaded with sweat. She touched Awondo's shoulder and his heart quickened. Never had he imagined he would be so blessed, as to share such intimate company with a daughter of his beloved master. And now he was to be his avatar, and champion his cause against the relentless shadow.
"Look," Kari said. Her hand caressed the muscles of his shoulder with her fingertips. He looked down and his eyes opened wide. They had traveled in vision, but now the dream was real. Awondo had grown to terrible size and was made of living bronze. The heat of the Sun was wrapped about him in an everglowing mist, filling him with the nourishment to both dispense and endure great harm.
"You are beautiful, Awondo. I would be one with you, if you wished. Think of the children we would make!"
He stood quiet, looking down at his new form. My wife. Would Nadarzana still know me if I stood before her now?
"Doubtful," Kari answered. "Come."
She took his hand and rose from the ground. Awondo rose with her, by her power at first, then by his own. They flew to the river Rakta that mingled with the fires of Avon Lasair. Awondo stood upon the open air over a still space in the river, far from either bank and untouched by wind. In the still surface he saw his face, the bronze visage of a jaguar, savage and proud with eyes of clean metal.
What am I? He held up his clawed hands. Cinders glowed in his palms, and with a thought they brightened.
"You are a thing of beauty, the hero of the entire world."
He wondered with sudden fear if what had been done could ever be undone.
"Come. I must train you to speak and fight as one of the Mighty. We will find a place far from any dwelling, so that your newfound splendor will bring no innocents to harm."
As they flew he looked down upon Windaji. With eyes of clean metal he saw from afar as if he were near, and all the city was frozen. The men with the drums, the women with the tambourines, the children with the flowers, all were still as stone. Birds perched on their arms and flies landed on their cheeks, but they neither blinked nor flinched.
My people! He made to fly down to them, but he felt himself restrained.
"My father's gifts are perfect, but they come at a cost."
He looked at her and he felt sad.
"Fear not, Awondo. They await you. Kill the dark one and if you wish it, you may return to them as you were. Does not the Sun cast light over darkness, chasing it away where it hides in what those less than us call shadows? Does not the Sun give life to wasted lands and cause dry rocks to give sprout? And does the Sun not also burn the fields and torch the trees? There is nothing my father can do that he cannot undo. Now put aside your thoughts of Windaji. We have a great work before us. I will teach you to wield Sunlight as you wield your spear. Then, we will hunt."
He looked again at his bronze hands and their claws.
Kari laughed. "So eager to be a Mortal again. Give it time, and you will grow fond of Might. We will hunt smaller game first, some scampering fiendspawn; an imp or other such beast. Then we will find a proper Fiend, and when you can hold your own against a strong foe, we will stalk our real game."
They continued their flight, far beyond the Green Lion Valley and far from the blood river and far from the savage fields that Awondo knew. Over a sea of scorched earth and blasted hills and into a valley of tortured hovels, beyond the ruins of the first palace and within sight of the cold domain of the Pale Queen, until they found a quiet place bordered by a ring of white trees as tall as the clouds. The sky there was milky white with faint streaks of cherry red. The Mending Wall was not far to the west, and before they landed Awondo saw the thing he'd only heard of before this day. Silver and cold, glowing like a crystal of ice, the Moon shone from afar like a blinded eye.