“In, a different world, a different time and a different plain of existence– perhaps, there would have been the sweet and scrumptious melodies of trumpets of victory, that would have cascaded their way through these snowy peaks.
Alas, our world is a cruel mistress, and thus instead of joyous revellery, it was the discordant orchestra, of cries of horror and sighs of sorrow, that roared its way through these rocky passages.
Today, there would be no frolicking. Today, there will be no more spoken words. Today, there shall be no sound that would pierce through this oppressive silence. Today, shall be the day that, for the first time since our march from the south, there would be naught but silence that would reign over this camp.
At times, when I pass by her tent, the shrieks and sobs that escape the tent fill my heart with sorrow. For, I know that had, dear sister, Ishtar been in my place, she would have known how to comfort her. I would've too. But, something has changed since yesterday; something, I abhor so vehemently that my heart burns with disgust. Yet, I am powerless to overcome it.
I wish, so desperately, to comfort Willow. I truly do. But how can I comfort mine own blood, mine own sister– when, tis her pain and failure that brings me a deep, sickening, joy.”
-An Excerpt from Yang's personal diary.
WILLOW III
Amidst the monstrous peaks of North, hidden betwixt the highest peaks of this accursed wasteland of snow and ice, far from any curious southern eyes, rests the Catacomb Pass.
It is said, and believed by many, that it was through this untrodden and forgotten Pass, that Elena and her followers reached the south; And, had it not been sought after by her grandfather, the Pass would have gone unused for a thousand centuries more. Existing blissfully, far from any curious eyes, far from any taints of the mortal realm, far from any disturbance of time, itself.
Tis was humbling to stand upon the very snow, that her ancestors had, once, marched upon to find themselves a new home. To think, the very snow that crunched beneath her horse's hoofs, had been the very same upon which Elena had delivered her first sermon, was astonishing.
It made her curious– what did these primordial mountains and forests, think of her and her army? Or, would they think naught about her. She being, rightfully, insignificant; It would not be, far-fetched to think so. For, how could she, something so young to their ancient gaze, measure up to the many legends that must have, at one point, ventured through this gallery of time.
Perhaps, even the ever enigmatic Arya had explored this Pass; mayhaps, it had been them, who had named it.
Undoubtedly, others in the south would bellow with laughter at her thoughts, but, then again, they had never felt the pressure of gazes, older than time itself. When one stood surrounded by such monuments of nature, their thinking would be akin to hers; one full of humility and submission. When one would gaze upon these, forgotten, peaks, their hearts would chill with fear– for, they would, surely, realize the insignificant nature of man and the futility of all his conflicts.
Many, a man must have been felled here– many, a man must have lost their innocence, their dreams.
The mountains must have witnessed this and more. No doubt, their avalanching minds must hold profound wisdom. Wisdom, that none may ever obtain; lest, man be able to converse in their primordial language.
Did you feel this, grandfather?, She pondered within her mind, gazing towards the snow covered Pass. Did he wonder, of the nature of these mountaintops? Did he, too, question the wisdom that they, undoubtedly, held? Did he mimic her awe at their sight? Or, did he feel superior– staring defiantly back at their judging gaze? The latter, seemed more akin to her grandfather.
Tales of his legend, painted him as a fearless beast of nature. Perhaps, had he not perished, the North would have been tamed; and, she would be resting amongst the warmth of her sheets. But, he had perished and now, she was here. The thought brought with it, a certain deep expectation. Expectations of triumph– of glory.
The sound of snow crunching beneath hoofs, brought her out of her tiring mind. She was thankful for it. Had she remained lost, a while longer, her mind would be undoubtedly throbbing in pain.
“Awe inspiring, is it not?” A warm voice– Belisarius, spoke.
“Indeed. It truly is, humbling. These old monuments of nature mocking our foolish hubris, whispering words of ancient warnings,” She replied lost, to a certain degree, within the philosophical maelstrom of her mind.
“Profound words, My Princess. It seems, that your sister inherits her love of philosophy from you,”
She let out a laugh, “Oh, tis the opposite. It is, I who borrow Ishtar's philosophical ideas,” Belisarius chuckled at her admission. Although, she iterated in her mind, I have, since then, built up mine own ideals of philosophy. Perhaps, a philosophical exchange with her dear sister was in order. Once, she returned, of course. Mere, letters simply couldn't suffice.
Belisarius, suddenly, sighed. Ah, the formalities were over then. “You have not… changed your mind, yes?”
No beating around the bush– Belisarius's signature ideal; and, also the reason why she preferred him over the rest. He was open, in a way that she could predict him. Other's, wrapped themselves in the cloak of false pleasantries and would, often, speak in dizzying riddles filled with barbs, lies, half truths and praise. It would confuse her, and, more greatly annoy her. Perhaps, so was their intention.
“I have not. And.. even, if I had, tis too late to turn back. We have to commit, here and now.” She replied and Belisarius nodded in agreement and, to some extent, approval.
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“Then.. I trust, you have a plan of action?” She nodded, opening her mouth to speak, only to pause. Belisarius, while being extremely loyal, had his own ideologies and edifices of morality that remained unshaken; soo unlike hers– her's, who had changed with every passing moment. Morality was a, mere and largely inconsequential, suggestion to her.
Morality, she began mentally as a headache assaulted her, is a drawbridge between glory and defeat. One, could not gain glory without abandoning morality; to take a chance at glory whilst maintaining morality, was a vain undertaking. It would be much better, to remain idle than attempt such a foolish undertaking.
Talks on morality, aside, it was highly likely that Belisarius would vehemently disapprove of her method. He had, not done so, till now. But one, never knows.
“I have a plan… it is, it's a bit,”
“Yes?” Belisarius pressed.
“It is unorthodox,” Belisarius raised an unimpressed brow, “I went through the camp, taking stock of the men and the Houses. And, well, from my observations, I reached a conclusion. It is a bit horrifying, or would be to many. But, in layman's words, we order House Blackhand to lead the way through the Pass; We make their numbers, by way of strawmen dressed up in our liveries, appear larger. If there is a trap, an avalanche…. they will be buried under it, and our larger host, shall be safe.”
Belisarius remained still as a statue for a long while. He wouldn't accept such a proposition, fool. He values humanity, a fact that a monster like yourself doesn't realize, a whisper wormed it's through her ears. Her horse neighed, agitated, his head trying in vain to gaze upon her. A fond smile bloomed on her face, such a caring creature. The horse neighed again, although this once, it was of glee– she could feel it. He was, most likely, joyous that his mistress's mood had been sweetened. A light chuckled wound its way through her throat.
It was then, that Belisarius finally spoke, his voice marred with grim acceptance, “You learn much, My Princess… whether, morally correct or horrifying, a plan is a plan. It is, meant to be devoid of any connotations. And, yours….. yours is a great one. Scarily so. But, humor me, will you? Why, House Blackhand? What, heresy– What sin, have they committed to have incurred such a punishment?”
“Why, why, why truly. Perhaps, it is because of their less than agreeable participation, I mean, their contribution in manpower is high enough, so as to not entice my father's ire, yet, low enough so that a potential defeat does not hinder their future prospects. Clever in the short term, yes, but.. Here we are, about to pawn their fates off to Celeste.” She chuckled sardonically, the sound of amusement sounding more sinister than joyous, “And, that is without pointing out the quality of their men. Downright pathetic! Drunkards, fools and asinine pigs, the lot of them. This act…. No, this sacrifice, will be their atonement for all the headaches, they've caused”
“An astute observation, My Princess. Had we, been in a more relaxed conversation, I would have praised you heavily. But, alas, our conversation is everything but relaxed, and if I do speak honestly, my heart whispers of the unsettling dread that your words do inspire within me. Yet, my brain… my guide, whispers of the untold amounts of pride that you inspire within it.” He sighed, “My soul, it seems, is at a quandary, nevertheless, your plan is sound, very sound..,” Belisarius took a strange, fleeting pause, his eyes gazing into the distance with the blankness of a blind fellow.
Abruptly, akin to the suddenness of an earthquake, he continued, still lost somewhere across the sea of time, “If it was, my blessings that you sought, you have them.. And, would have had them, regardless of whether you had consulted me or not. Afterall, the final call is yours to make, as it should be. Not mine, My Princess.”
She hummed; The words spoken, while being true, did not inspire much confidence within her. The plan was sound according to him– at least she had that, as a boon. A part of her, or honestly speaking, her entire being wished that he would have been the one to make the call. Alas, reality was anything but sweet and thus, it fell to her.
Belisarius could still make the call, she knew that, but that would go against his wishes. From the look within his sunken eyes, one could easily gleam the disturbance that her words churned within him.
That was, without considering the whispers. The biting wind, whispered within her ears, incessantly, The tragedy, that is yet to befall, is yours to bear. Not Belisarius! The words would play within the depths of her mind, the jeering voices growing louder alongside the headache. Your plan, your burden.
Your destiny is yours to bear.
Your choices have consequences, girl. Face them or perish!
“Lady– My Lady! My Lady!” The troubled shout resounded across the mountains, the windy whispering stilled and her mind was cleared. She gasped, in shock– in relief, as her Bear's turbulent hands anchored the wavering soul back to reality.
“I- I am.. Ahem, I am fine,” She breathed deeply, “I am fine,”
“You look anything but fine, My Lady! Allow me to take you to the heal–”
“Enough!” The words left her mouth, before they could have been held back. Augustus reared back in surprise, his coal-like eyes shining with hurt. No.. no, no, what have I done.
“I.. I, need some time to recollect my thoughts,” He nodded and made to leave, but she caught hold of his arm, “Visit me in my tent, before you fall asleep. I, I need to talk with you,”
“I understand, My Lady,” Bowing his head, an action she never thought would ever disturb her, his horse walked away into the snowy horizon, slowly heading towards the camp.
Across the Pass, where Anchorage lay amidst fields of dead snow, where fauna and flora beyond human comprehension awaited– from the distant north, she could feel mockery, jeering, laughter, and everything in between. Lost, another piece of yourself have you? Puny little child, ahahhahahaha–
When morning rose, 2 days later, it was to the enraged roars and malicious shrieks of cascading snow; the camp stilled in horror, none speaking or even drawing breath, as they watched the ancient mountains shed their cover, burying House Blackhand and it's legions under innumerable layers of bloodthirsty snow. Lilith, the mother of all life, had shown her the price of her folly.
As the sun rose, bathing the primordial white peaks in shades of lilac and reddish orange, she watched in horror as her dreams were submerged under the cruel snow. Dreams, of conquering Anchorage before winter. Now, she supposed, they all rested with Blackhand legions. Rested in eternal cold, trapped forever in a frozen hell.
All throughout the horror, the visage of her younger self, a visage that only she could see or feel, laughed mockingly in her ear, spoke such biting words that the cold winds could never hope to match its bite, and jeered at her dreams of grandeur. All without pause. Endless torture. For, she deserved nothing else, nothing else but torture could serve as penance. Truly, a just punishment.
A lonesome whisper made its way to her, even through the rising shouts and mounting pandemonium– she could hear it, as clearly as she did her thoughts, Now witness, foolish child. Witness, the consequences of your foul choices. Witness and cower in fear of glorious winter..