“Yes, you and only you, Esgona. You seem to be the one out of all this madness who wants to talk with me the most, so here's your chance. I'm just laying the ground rules and making sure you listen.” He nudged the blade tip closer to emphasize his point.
No answer came before someone in the crowd shouted again, “They're coming! Over by the council building, by the Gods, people, run!”
The screaming and madness resumed as people looked over to where the voice indicated. Aryu could see nothing in the chaos, and he opted to keep the sword fixed on Esgona, making sure he had no funny ideas while the masses dispersed. Esgona, to his credit, stood his ground and made no move this way or that. He only glanced around at the spectacle, trying to see the council steps. Aryu slowly followed his gaze, intent on finally seeing what the madness was all about.
Answers are like rain. Sometimes you get what you want, sometimes not enough to satisfy, and other times you can get a flood when all you wanted was a trickle.
Esgona’s mother, Sia, head of the council of the village of Tan Torna Qu-ay, was coming down the stairs, watching Aryu hold her son at bay with a very impressive sword. Aryu barely saw her.
All Aryu saw was the robotic beast in the shape of a man that was lumbering after her like a grotesque motorized puppet, walking at her side as she approached the scene. Two blue lights where a man would have eyes spun about wildly, the centers locked on Aryu.
Aryu’s sword dropped to his side as Esgona shied back away from the approaching monster as he did so. Aryu’s mouth went dry as they came to him, the sound of gears and pulleys grinding to a halt until the machine stopped.
“Hello, Aryu O'Lung’Singh,” it said in a voice so pleasantly human it made Aryu gasp as he fell to his knees, terrified beyond words. “I've been waiting for you, sir. I am the Herald, and I believe we have some rather important things to discuss.”
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Nixon hid away in the shadows of an inn on the outskirts of the mob scene. He was wracking his brain trying to understand everything he'd just been witness to. There, not more than a stone’s throw away, was the bearer of the sword. He could see it on his back the moment he landed. He could watch it clearly emerge from the sheath as the bearer drew it against the other man (Or are they just lads? he wondered. They've not been out of infants’ clothes for long.).
He could see the perfection, power, and history of the blade, just as he could his own. Yet the owner did not turn to meet him. Even more interesting, the owner didn't seem to know he was there at all.
Through all the hunts and all the bearers of that sword, all of them had used its powers and their own to grow more dangerous than the world could handle. That was Nixon's purpose. If the darkness and evil intentions welled up enough in someone to have them be a danger to the natural order of things, Nixon awoke from his slumber, began his hunt, and tracked his prey to the ends of the earth until, should he meet them, the moment in time that was dedicated to their battle. If the bearer saw him coming, even if he didn't know about Nixon and his charge by name, he knew a fight was looming. They could sense the power of the phoenix, knew it was against the path of their own, and began the battle until one fell.
Nixon, of course, had never fallen. Not until last night.
His abilities had always been the purer. That was his edge. A bearer of the sword always had great power but would never have had it long enough to grasp the level of mental understanding required to wield it. Even the false god often questioned if he had the Power fully under his command, and he'd been alive as long as Nixon.
Now, in this place, Nixon watched a young man, who had likely not even been in possession of the blade for long judging by the inefficiency with which he was using it, ignore him completely. The young man was focused on the argument he was currently engaged in with an obviously handicapped opponent, only to collapse at the sight of an old woman and mechanical man.
Nixon needed time to ponder all these things. Eons of life had never brought about such a scenario.
Jus' wait, he told himself. I'm not beyond understandin'. I need more time t' know wha' is goin' on.
He drifted deeper into the shadows, a thousand new possibilities dancing through his mind. Not one of them making the slightest bit of sense.
Chapter 6
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The Cleansing Wind
The next few moments of Aryu’s life were a blur of scattered images and feelings: mostly painful, largely fearful, and entirely negative.
Aryu remained on his knees as the machine came towards him. The sword was at his side but never fell from his grasp.
He wasn't aware of any crowd noise as some stood in horror and others ran for their lives, but his mind (somewhere in the back where unimportant things were stored) recognized that the shouts of anger and fear had begun again. The words were meaningless. There was only Aryu and this thing from another time and place. A thing that, as far as Aryu was concerned, was an incarnation of the Devil Himself. A bringer of the darkness. A messenger of the apocalypse. Machines and Embracers: these things were the enemy.
He could have deduced that the thing had been here a while, seeing as how the crowd did
