Chapter 6 - Firestorm

Years went by. Tu`il and Te`ara had children, who had children, who had children. For years, Cortalia was in a constant, though unsteady, state of peace. The Children of Man lived at relative peace with each other, though many walked away from Craos. The Altars in the temples in Hell glowed night and day with the sacrifices of the many heathens. 

As Man walked farther from Craos, he forgot Craos' laws. Murder became common; assault a daily occurrence. Towns became bastions of evil; good men had to keep their families far away from the rest of Mankind. Even so, their wives and daughters were kidnapped and sold as slaves; and their sons were struck down by the hundreds. Chaos was taking over the world. By the four hundredth year of the world, only one family worshiped Craos. 

There were two of them; father and daughter. Berius was his name, Martea hers. He was two hundred years old; she was only twenty. They lived together, ten miles from the city of Burdoun, in a ruined tower. None of the evil men of the city knew of the tower, or the young girl would have been long gone. Berius was a cripple. He could barely walk, and his left arm was useless. He was, despite that and his age, a handsome man. His beautiful wife had passed ten years earlier, taken by the men of the city they had lived near at the time. Berius and his now dead brother had spirited little Martea away to the Tower, praying for her safety. 

Now, ten years later, they lived simply, depending on each other, she on his wisdom, he on her strength. They grew what they ate, celebrated the Holy Days, and worshiped Craos. 

Then came the Year of Tears, the year Martea turned 17, full grown. The year was so named because the slave trade met with the most efficient slaver yet: Dubaios. 

Dubaios was an Easterner, born in the harsh Jodai Desert. He was 18 when the Year of Tears began; all the most astonishing when men learned of his exploits. He came to Burdoun in the spring, his vagabond band trailing behind him. His first visit was not to the town square though; it was to the slums. There, his pillagers took every woman that looked remotely pretty captive. They left the city for a few hours to visit a nearby Oasis. There, they cleaned the slaves and dressed them up with the silk that they had carried from the East.

Then, the richly dressed women were paraded in by the vagabonds, straight to the marketplace. All of them were sold for more than their poor husbands and brothers would make in their entire lives. The poor wretches watched as the girls were led away, never to be seen again. 

But Dubaios wasn't done there. He began casting around, searching for beautiful farm girls. He was so successful in Burdoun that within a month, no one would buy from anyone but him. Berius got the news from a friend of his in town; a single baker who didn't worship Craos, but was still trustworthy. 

Berius knew that it was only a matter of time before Martea was taken. He prayed night and day for her safety; but, one day, as he knelt on the towertop, he saw a band of rogues loping up the path from the forest. He knew her time had come. Rising to his knees, he cried out once more for Craos' aid. The sky remained silent. 

All was a haze as he heard the door being knocked in. He heard her gasp as she heaved herself up to hide behind him, the only protection she knew. They came up the tower steps, hobnails grating on the stone. One by one, they leapt up to the wooden platform that formed the towertop. Their leader, not Dubaios, but a lieutenant, stepped forward. 

"Hand over the wench, Ancient One."

"Nay, ye will have to get through me."

The lieutenant shrugged. Drawing a knife, he stabbed Berius in the chest twice, sheathed the knife, and grabbed Martea. "That was easy." Laughing, the vicious band retreated down the steps, loping back towards Burdoun with the gagged Martea slung over the leader's shoulder. 

Berius' ancient frame began to shudder; he had been weak before the mortal wound. He slumped to his knees; then fell over on his back. He felt the sticky oozing as his life blood worked its way out of his body. As his eyes closed, a flash of light brightened his tired irises. However, he did not have the strength to open them.

In the city, Dubaios was doing inventory. Thirty-five women had been taken that day; the best catch of his career. He admired each one of them, assessing beauty and strength, ordering each to be taken to a specific location for best sale opportunities. As he closed his scroll, Martea was brought in. 

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen; and keep in mind that he had seen quite a few. He went up to her and ran his rough hand down her cheek, gently. She was shocked into silence, but even though she was terrified, she realized that Dubaios may be evil, but he was not cruel. She saw all the slaves were treated very well while in his care. However, that realization did not change the fact that she hated him. 

"Take her to my quarters; clean her up, and dress her in something fitting."

She was led away.

At the ruined tower, Berius was not dead. A man knelt over him, a huge man, twelve feet tall at least. Berius must have been hallucinating, because the man appeared to be on fire, and had wings. However, the man had healed his wound somehow, and was giving him some wonderful food; food that made his body go limp from how delicious it was. His strength came back to him; strength he had not known for many a long year. 

Then, with a shock, he realized that his crippled limbs were responding to his mental commands. He stood, and felt that his body was younger. The belly that had grown with his age had disappeared. His body was covered in muscle. He was powerful again. He turned to face the man. 

No man stood before him. An Angel did. And, though Berius did not know, it was not an ordinary angel. It was Falior, Archangel of Fire, Guardian of the Garden, Right Hand of Vira`il the Brave, and Messenger of Craos. 

"Thank you, kind Angel."

"Craos has heard your prayers, son of Tu`il. He has answered your prayers, spoken and unspoken."

"What prayers?"

"A husband for your daughter, and deliverance for your world." 

Falior ordered Berius to follow him to the courtyard. The Ancient One almost had a heart attack. There sat Vira`il, his hammer resting against his thigh. "My lord Vira`il!" Berius fell to his knees.

Vira`il raised him up instantly. "Don't worship me, Son of Tu`il. I am but a Helper. And today, I am here to help you."

Berius looked confused. 

"Today is the Day Mankind pays for his wickedness."

Berius' eyes grew huge. "Martea!" 

"Son of Tu`il, that has been arranged. Your daughter will be safe. Falior will see to that."

Back in the city, Martea awaited Dubaios' coming with dread. Her father had told her a little about what it meant to be a female slave. Her heart sank every time she heard a sound outside the lavish room.

Finally, she heard a soft tread coming up the steps. The latch raised softly, and Dubaios entered. He looked at her, arrayed in a beautiful satin gown, and nodded, a slight smile lighting up one side of his face. Martea noticed that he looked sad, and for a moment, pity for this young man warmed her heart. 

She crushed the feeling instantly. This was a slaver, a man who ripped families apart and sold girls into tortures beyond imagining. 

He left the room into the bathroom, and she heard him bathing in the marble tub she had washed in hours earlier. After ten minutes, he returned to the room, clad in a kilt made of fine linen, with a gold ring in his right ear. As much as she repressed it, her heart gave a flutter as her eyes ran over his sturdy form. He noticed her stare as he walked over to a seat and gave the sad little smile again. 

She blushed violently and got a sudden interest in her feet, the nails painted a dark red. When she looked up at Dubaios, she saw he was looking at her, not a lustful, evil stare, but an interested look. The shame she had felt melted away; she realized that he was not an cruel man like most slavers. 

"What is your name?"

His voice broke the silence. She looked down again, afraid to answer. "I mean you no harm, young one. I want to talk with you."

She looked up, again, her fear stilled by his demeanor. "My name is Martea, sir." 

"It is a beautiful name. I presume you know who I am?"

"Dubaios the Slaver."

A look of slight confusion crossed his eyes. "Slaver?"

"Don't you tear people from their homes and sell them like cattle?"

"My dear, no! I pay the families and put the girls in mansions as servants! Who told you I'm a slaver?"

He lifted a slender glass jug and began to pour two drinks.

"They didn't pay my father. Unless you count a knife in the chest."

 Dubaios stopped mid-pour. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I will deal with that lieutenant later. He is new to my business. But, to show you I am not a liar, here is a bill of sale."

He handed her an official document, signed by a magistrate. It had how much Dubaios had paid the family, the family the girl worked for now, the conditions at last visit, and the pay amount. Martea looked up at the 'slaver'. "This is official?"

"Yes, young one."

"Then I am sorry for misjudging you. Why do you do this?"

"Because these girls will have no chance at a better life unless someone gives them a leg up." He offered her a goblet. "Drink?"

"No thank you." 

"As you wish." He took a sip. 

"That is why I do this. I am truly sorry that your father was hurt, but I can't be everywhere. You and I shall ride at once to find him."

Dubaios called out the massive window to the grooms in the yard. They began to scurry around, preparing Dubaios' charger. He turned to her, frowning at her dress. "We'll need you to change out of that vanity." He called for a servant, and told Martea to meet him in the courtyard in ten minutes. The servant dressed Martea in a plain riding dress with matching cloak and shooed her down the marble steps to the courtyard. 

Dubaios, dressed in a black cloak, was waiting for her. He offered her his arm, and she looked at him, confused. It took him a moment to realize that a man had not offered her his arm before. He gently lifted her small white hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. In that position, he aided her across the rough courtyard to the mighty black stallion. 

"I've never ridden a horse before." Martea's tone was full of consternation. 

"We're riding the same horse, young one."

He hoisted her gently up onto the charger and leapt up behind her. He wrapped his left arm around her and gripped the reins in his right. He was about to ride out when another horse clattered into the courtyard. 

The Rider was taller than Dubaios, at least six foot five. He also was riding a black horse, but instead of Dubaios' exposed chest and arms, he wore a full body cloak and hood. He was also wearing, despite the heat, a full set of leather armor. Twin katanas adorned his shoulders, ready for quick deployment. Various knives were placed on points on his armor, at least ten of them. His face was covered by a mask, with only his eyes exposed. 

"Storm, you're early. How did it go?"

The Tall One drew his right katana. The blade was blood red. Dubaios sighed. "Oh well." Storm pointed at Martea and lifted his hand palm up, fingers spread. "I'm taking her to her father." Nodding, Storm led his charger into the stables. Martea noticed that everyone avoided him. But, as Dubaios touched his sandals to the horse's flanks a moment later, she had no time to think on it. 

The ride was glorious to her. The wind rushing in her face, the occasional words passed between them regarding landmarks, the feel of the horse and the arm around her. But, when the tower came into view, her heart sank again. She hopped off, stunning her feet, but she ran towards the gate despite the pain in her feet. Dubaios followed as soon as he tethered his charger. 

She ran up the steps and into the first floor room, then began to climb the ladder. On reaching the second floor, she turned toward her father's table and stopped cold. There were three men. Two were dressed in armor, one in a simple hooded monk's garb. It took her a moment to realize who that one was. With a little shriek, she ran around the table and threw her arms around him. His strong arms held her close. 

The two in armor rose as they heard Dubaios' step. Falior shrugged and leapt out of the window. Vira`il picked up his hammer and stood by the opening. 

Dubaios heard the thud and scuffle of Falior hitting the ground and rolling to absorb the impact. He turned, and saw the tall man, thirty feet away. Falior and Vira`il had taken on human appearances in order to enter the tower and converse with Berius. Dubaios drew his kris, a wicked Eastern dagger with a waved blade, and prepared for battle. Falior laughed heartily. Dubaios, angry at the other's behavior, threw the knife. Falior swung his arm. As it flew through the air, a sword materialized in it. It connected with the knife, shattering it. After the impact, it disappeared from the Angel's hand.

Dubaios stared. He began to back up, looking for a weapon with his left hand. It hit Vira`il's chest. Dubaios' eyes widened as he turned to the figure behind him. Vira`il began to return to his Helper form. Dubaios let out a squeak as the man turned into a giant, and the giant into a god. Vira`il picked him up by the legs and held him before his face. 

"What have we here? A little slaver, methinks."

"I'm not" *gasp* "a slaver!"

"Falior, what think ye?"

"I think he's a killer. We should do away with him." Dubaios, turned away from the Angel, couldn't see the twinkle in his eyes. 

"No! Please! Have Mercy!"

"Son of Tu`il, we mean you no harm. I wanted to know if you desert rats feel fear."

"Obivously!"

Falior let out a peal of laughter. Dubaios wiggled around and saw him, now twelve feet tall with thirty-foot wings, and passed out. 

Dubaios awoke in the tower, the once more human-sized demigods standing over his bed. He started and sat up, backing up till the wooden backboard was pressing into his back. 

"We have a question."

"Yes?"

"Do you believe in Craos?"

"I didn't this morning, but now I'm not so sure in my doubt."

"Believe, Dubaios, and you will be saved."

"From?"

"The Firestorm to come."

Dubaios and Martea rode back into town later that afternoon, with a mission given my Vira`il: to save as many of the people as he could. He dismounted in the courtyard, leaving Martea in the courtyard, only to return, hours later, hot and exhausted, alone. No one would listen. 

As he mounted, and was about to turn their horse out of the courtyard when a soft *thud* made him turn. 

There stood Storm, outfitted for battle. He nodded to Dubaios, who looked at him, confused. Storm walked into the stable and brought out his two horses, a charger and a filly. He gave the filly a long rope, tied to the saddlebow of the charger's saddle, mounted, and inclined his head to Dubaios. 

Dubaios returned the gesture and the three horses clattered out of the courtyard. They wound down the city streets, coming to a halt at the Gate. There was a crowd there, all armed with various makeshift weapons. On seeing the three, they all booed and shook their various implements of war. 

A leader walked forward, the only well armed man. He was dressed in long robes, and he carried a spear. 

"You will not go to the Ancient One.... not with the girl, at least."

Dubaios was about to speak when Storm dismounted. 

"Oh, who have we-" A katana thrown at his head ended his question. The body fell to its knees, then slumped over softly. Storm walked over, yanked the sword out of the body's head, and wiped the blood off on the clothes. Looking at the crowd, he drew his second sword. The first wave lowered their weapons and charged. 

Storm calmly looked at the advancing horde, then began the bloodbath.

Dubaios wheeled his horse and began to gallop to the smaller gate. Falior had given him two hours. An hour and forty five minutes had elapsed, with a ten minute gallop between them and safety. Dubaios shed a tear at his faithful follower's sacrifice, but he could not help Storm. He had to get Martea to safety.

He rushed trough the gate, down the path around the walls, out onto the main road, and towards the hills surrounding the town. Martea looked back, but all she could see was an angry mass of people. No sign of Storm. Dubaios urged his charger to greater speed for the last mile, till the poor brute was wet with lather. They reached the courtyard of the Tower as Vira`il was counting down the final seconds. 

The Helper stood, his full height of thirty feet. "Stay in the Tower." He walked away, heavy footsteps shaking the stone of the building. Reaching around fifty yards from the tower, he lifted his Hammer. 

Falior turned away from Vira`il, facing the humans. He spread his wings wide to protect them. Then, a branch cracked in the woods.

Time slowed for the three humans in the Tower as Storm, riding hard and covered in blood, broke from the tree cover. Vira`il's swing was too far into motion to cease. Down came the Hammer, and on came Storm. As the Hammer, FireStorm, hit the ground, Storm's horses made the jump over the low wall, dashing under Falior's wings. The explosion that followed the impact of the Hammer was so close behind him that the shockwave blasted him against the Tower walls, knocking him unconscious.  

The world was bathed in heat. Fire consumed all. Towns and cities, villages and farms. Vira`il's hammer blow created a crater whose edges reached the walls of the Tower. The humans watched as the world they had known fell to fire. 

However, from the Ashes of the Old Cortalia,

New Cortalia rose.