Chapter CDII: The Forsaken People ~Markior (by Lich)

The water was calm as the dusk light stroked it, turning it into a mirror of the pink and grey sky above, the cotton tops of its clouds painted gold with the dying sunrays. There was a roar and hiss of a wave crashing against rocks in the distance, but in this little harbour, protected from the ocean, the only disturbance was the ripples of a pebble struck across its surface. It skipped once, twice, three times, before it performed a double back-flip with three-quarter twist and fell into the water with a plop.

Markior looked out from the cove’s beach and sighed, his Archonic hands moving with the heaving of invisible shoulders. He took another look at the water, and then closed his eyes.

Three thousand years ago, I would never have expected it to have all come to this, he thought. They seemed so…grateful. But now…no, it is different. How five centuries can change so much, is amazing…

The world of G’lirer seemed to stretch before the Grey Archon as he stood on the crest of another mountain. A large valley grew from a gorge beneath him – along one of the tributaries was where Lich and the others were.

Such a beautiful place, he thought. Yet it is a place of misery…

Down below, the tribal Yoshies would be continuing life as they had always done for the past few centuries, unaware that their lifegiver was standing on the peak above them. The only exception was the A’gul, Lich’s tribe.

The A’gul seem to have taken Lich’s presence well. But what of the other tribes his ancestor banished? Lich will have a lot of work before him.

It was then that a familiar presence appeared in the clouds above him. A small gold dot could be seen descending. Artanis had arrived. This was good news. However, it alarmed the Archon as the Scout continued on a path down towards where the river valley disappeared over the horizon.

It was not long before there came a plea of Help, Markior! I have landed on G’li–

Yes, yes, I saw from up here on a mountain, Markior reported back. En Taro Adun, Artanis. I will be with you shortly. Natives a bit restless?

They’re threatening me with spears and ordering me to some sort of pole, probably to…yes, they’re going to tie me up, Artanis replied back, his tenor tone worried.

I will be with you shortly. Until then, hold on.

Shortly?

He changed back into his Yoshian form, and with a cry of “Recall!” Markior was back in the A’gul village next to Lich’s hut. He entered, and listened to the conversation unfold.

“By the Place of Eternal Suffering, I am Professor Alex Highland,” an unfamiliar voice came out. “And I come to offer my services.”

“Whoa, back,” Lich’s answered. “Professor? Of what and where from?”

“I’ve noticed that there have been a lot of unusual occurrences around here lately,” the one called Highland answered quickly. “Among such, there’s been a large metal brute who’s made off with another being resembling yourself, and if you would like this being back, I may have an idea as to doing so.”

“Just…just…answer my question. Please.”

Lich was awake – this was good – but he seemed troubled by this Highland, thought Markior. Perhaps it was not the best idea to come storming in right now. He needed the practice in leadership. Besides, it was surprising how this person knew about the last night’s events. Lich seemed equally surprised.

“Would you like to hear my idea?”

“Well, yes, of course, but firs–”

“Theoretically, we could camp out in a place I know where we are likely to run into both of them at once.”

There was a pause. This Highland seemed to be offering assistance.

“That is all.”

“I am very sceptical when people come out of the blue to me like a door-to-door salesman.”

“That is natural. After all, if the KBT were always on my tail, too–”

“How do you know about the KBT?” Lich snarled. There was the shuffle of feet as he stood up.

Markior winced. This person had been doing their research, or at least known about him for a while. How could he be trusted? He could not do anything really to help at the moment – Artanis was in some hostile tribe’s village. Time was too short to engage in some sort of battle, if it got that way.

“I wouldn’t undertake that sort of behaviour in your current state of being,” Highland warned.

He could hear the rustle of leaves as Lich sat back down.

“Your choice, Lich,” Naaro spoke after a few moments.

This Highland seemed to be striking a good deal, and playing the right cards. He knew the emotional attachment Lich had to his younger brother. Markior knew that if things involved Ark, Lich would do anything to get involved.

“I’m not someone who tends to trust people who don’t answer questions I ask them.”

“Then I shall go.”

“But,” Lich added hastily, “given the circumstances, I am prepared to ignore my prejudice.”

“Then I am glad to be of service.”

“We start tomorrow.”

Markior frowned. Something bad would happen because of this. But, Artanis was, more or less, in danger. He would have to rescue him, and then return here. So, seeing that the conversation had ended, he entered the doorway and saw Naaro and a Terran with the chieftain. That had to be Highland. “Lich,” he spoke.

Lich turned his head to him. The Terran turned around, revealing that he was lacking a face. This was rather odd. He put the thought aside quickly. There was no time.

“And you must be Markior,” greeted Highland.

“Indeed,” he replied. “I heard everything, Alex Highland.” He quickly changed the subject. “Lich, Artanis has arrived on G’lirer–”

“He has?” Lich asked quickly.

Markior nodded, knowing that Lich could see it as an escape route. “I have just received a mental signal from him. However, he has arrived in the wrong village, and the Yoshies there are a bit restless.”

“Then it’s time they realise the Spoken of Recugrian’s Blood has appeared,” Lich stated, standing up.

“No, no, don’t,” Markior said quickly, raising a hand. He did not want Lich to collapse again, especially with this Highland around. Lich sat down, a puzzled look in his face. “I shall go myself. I am their Guardian, after all. Also, you are not well.”

Lich nodded, biting his lip. “I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“Yes. Adun Toridas.”

Markior guessed that the Yoshies there at the village would be religious as well, seeing as the A’gul were. He needed a big entry, and the best place to do it would be to appear above the village.

Therefore, that is where he Recalled himself to.

And that is where it began.

“I am the Markior!” he proclaimed as he appeared above the village’s central area.

His eyes widened and flashed with surprise, before he winced. His profile of God of the Mind kicked into gear. Where the A’gul had been overjoyed with the fulfilment of long expectation, here was resentment and bitterness.

The Yoshies turned and looked up at him with surprise, some gathered around the Scout, while a few brave warriors had ventured onto its wings. They were also daubed in paint, their symbols different than the A’gul’s, but still retaining some common features like the moon on each hand. Referring back to pre-Banishment times, he recognised them as the Ll’tosh’gln Tribe. They had lived on the shores of the Great Lake in the east of the Main Island, and seemed to emulate their previous lifestyle here on the banks of the river. Towards the back of the crowd was Artanis, his wrists tied around a wooden post.

Their chieftain appeared in the doorway to his hut and forced his way through the now dumbstruck crowd. He looked at Markior up and down.

“Thou art the chieftain here?” Markior asked him, slipping into their dialect.

“Yea,” was his gruff answer. “Who art thou?”

Markior blinked, taken aback. “Didst thou not hear my call? I am the Markior, he who gave thee life after the great Cataclysm.”

The chieftain shrugged. “It concerneth not my people.”

Markior frowned. “And why is this so?”

The Yoshi walked out from the doorway towards him. “If thou truly art the Markior, then we forsake thee, just as thou hast forsaken us.”

There was a fizzle from the Scout, followed by the loud cry of a Yoshi. Markior looked at it as the Yoshies moved away from the ship, lowering their spears, as a lone Yoshi jittered out of the cockpit.

You just broke the dri-ow, Artanis cried, as he was poked by a spear into silence.

Markior returned his gaze to the chieftain. “Forsaken you? How be it, that I have forsaken you?”

The chieftain laughed. “Long have we, the Ll’tosh’gln, waited for the day we give thee our burdens. It is a great day, for finally, thou shalt hear the cries of all the tribes of G’lirer. And, pray, where art the Spoken and the Hunter?”

“With the A’gul, his people by blood,” Markior answered, his pupilless eyes staring deep into the chieftain’s, “Yo’gar, hatched Jl’gang.”

The chieftain jumped. “Then thou art the Markior, if thou knowest my name without my speaking it. Or art thou? Art thou a trick of a sorcerer? Speaketh thou his name,” he pointed to what appeared to be his youngest warrior.

Markior frowned and looked at him. “Lng’go, hatched Yi’shng. But, enough with the parlour tricks, Yo’gar. Wherefore have thy people forsaken me?”

Yo’gar twitched.

“Thou art nervous,” Markior spoke, grinning inwardly.

“We have forsaken thee because thou hast forsaken us,” he replied quickly, still maintaining his bravado, but betrayed by his slightly faltering voice. “The Spoken and the Hunter appeareth to the A’gul, as thou hast said. It is no doubt that they would, as Recugrian was of A’gul blood, and thus, thou favourest them.”

“They have shown me their respect,” Markior told him.

“Perhaps this is so, but, why not to the Ll’tosh’gln?”

“Because the A’gul found us first.”

“That answer holdeth no water.”

Markior glared. “I am the God of the Mind. Thou shalt not question my answers!”

“Why should we not? Thou hast forsaken us.”

“But I am here now!”

Yo’gar chuckled. “The Markior may be here now, but, do tell, why hath thy travel here taken nine or ten generations? If thou art the Guardian of the Yo’shi, the Protector of the Yo’shi, then why didst thou not spare our ancestors from Recugrian’s wrath?”

“Because the Prophecies requireth fulfilment,” Markior answered. “The Spoken and the Hunter will lead all peoples of G’lirer and between them, they shall bring prosperity. So speaketh the prophet Aggli.”

“Ah, but will they lead us home? Who shalt lead us home? The Prophecies do not speak of the Homecoming we long for. Thou art God of the Mind and Protector of the Yo’shi. Thou art above prophecy; thou art the god who giveth the prophets their visions. Sayest thou unto us who shalt lead us and when we shall go.”

“Release your captive, for he is a friend,” Markior replied.

“No, givest thou thy answer first.”

Markior glared once more. “I have secrets that I shall never pass on to any and others that are given only to a trusted few. Thou art not of the trusted few.”

The chieftain clicked his fingers and Artanis was subjected to another poke. Do something, Markior! he begged. I do not care for these people!

But they are mine, Markior answered with a sigh. As much as they hate me, they are mine.

“Thy secrets, or thy friend, Markior,” Yo’gar answered.

Markior looked around him. The Yoshies were now looking back at him; their spears raised angrily, scowls on their faces, their war-paint depicting death and decay, and as he looked closer, a grey smear on their tail-tips. It was him, erased.

He thought back to a time three thousand years earlier, when Yoshies were gathered around him this way, but they were bowing and giving praise and thanking him for restoring them from the Cataclysm. He had given those Yoshies life, consuming half of himself in the process. This could not be the result of that sacrifice, those years of watching and guarding and protecting.

And then he realised, as he had done in the past, that he could not protect them from themselves.

But that could not be. He was the Markior! He was their Guardian, their Protector, their God of the Mind! Their mind!

“This can not be happening,” Markior growled, starting to change form into his Archon one. “You have forsaken me: me, who gave you life; me, who gave you your mind; me, who protected you and guarded you; me, who sacrificed my self for you! And this is how you repay me, me, who has done all of this for you?! What I can give, I can take away! I. Am. The. Markior! PSIONIC STORM!”

Channelled through the Left Path, Mana was converted into lightning, shot out of his hands and into the ground around him, striking Yoshies at random. Discharged, he yelled again, and turned to the tribe’s boats, splintering them with a blast of psychic energy. Across the river was a small forest of the same wood as those boats, and that was levelled by another blast.

Then, he turned to Yo’gar. “You crossed me! Now, you must pay!”

The chieftain turned to run but found Markior before him. He dived into the river and started to swim, and swim, his face terror-stricken.

“The Ll’tosh’gln have paid enough for their sins,” Markior declared as he strode forward, releasing Artanis from his binds with the swipe of his Psi-blades. “Famine shall set in without your boats. As you have taken from me, so I take from you. I now depart from this horrid place, but know that I shall return. I shall return.”

* * *

Markior, time is getting on, Artanis told him. You have sat there for an entire day.

Markior sighed and looked up at the starry sky. “I…I suppose so. Lich must be getting worried about us. Let’s go back.”

The two of them boarded the Scout and set off for the A’gul village, Markior still deep in his thoughts.

I think it will be best if we do not land in the village itself this time, Artanis spoke with a slight chuckle.
“Hmm? Oh…oh, yes,” Markior replied. “There’s open land to the south of the village.”

Soon, the valley was beneath them and they landed where Markior instructed.
“Wait here,” he said, changing into his Yoshian form.

He moved up to the village and saw the A’gul gathered around the centre of the village, heads bowed and praying.

“I have returned; what troubles you?” he asked them.

Ung’grl raised his head and turned to Markior. He bowed and answered, “Oh great one, the Spoken hath departed us for a time, as the prophet Pul said he would. We are praying for his safe return.”

Markior cocked his head. “He hath gone? Did he say where?”

Ung’grl closed his eyes for a moment. “It was a place with a name foreign to my tongue…Dee-fah-el, great one?”

Markior blinked. “Dost thou mean Fa’Diel?”

“Yes, that is what I meant; pardon my error, great one. He hath taken with him the Guests of the A’gul: the God of Warriors and the Goddess of Healing, their Yoshette friend, and a strange being with wings; he chose Hl’garng to go with him also.”

Markior nodded. So Sixtyfourhundred and Sapphire were here? That must be how he’s got out of here. But who’s this person with wings? “I thank thee. What of Naaro, the other Guest of the A’gul?”

“A blue Yoshi who moveth like the wind hath taken him to search for the Hunter.”

Vector was here too? “I see. Did the Spoken say why he was departing?”

“No, great one. I did not question him.”

He thought over the situation. Vector and Naaro were searching for Ark, while Lich had gone to Fa’Diel. It was not like Lich to depart suddenly for no reason, so he must have been informed about something happening there somehow, probably through psychic means. So if he had already departed, he was probably travelling through the Shadow Dimension with Sixtyfourhundred, Sapphire, and who had to be Kuroihoshi. He knew Lich would get sick along the way, so it had to be pretty urgent if he was willing to warp. And if it was urgent, something bad was probably happening. It would be like a Twilighter to attack at the heart of something. That was where his help was best given.

“I shall go to Fa’Diel now,” Markior announced.

There was a cry of displeasure from the crowd.

“Yes, I know you are overjoyed by my presence,” Markior explained, “but, there are great evils that I need to vanquish. I am thy Protector, but I cannot do my work here. I must depart, but, I shall return.”

“May your return be swift, great one,” Ung’grl bowed.

The A’gul rose and also bowed to him.

Markior nodded. “Thank you. I shall return.”

He recalled himself back to the Scout and entered it.

“How far is it to Fa’Diel?” he asked.

Why do you wish to know that? Artanis replied.

“Lich has gone there.”

Artanis pressed a few buttons on the console of the Scout, and a map of the galaxy was displayed in the screen of the craft. Protoss writing appeared down the bottom, indicating that it was tracing their current position. It’s taking longer than normal, he mused. We must be–

There was a beep and a little indicator showed around a star, far out on the rim.

–on the other side of the galaxy.

He pressed a few more buttons, and another star was highlighted: Fa, about halfway out on the opposing arm.

“I will recall us there.” Markior nodded.

Don’t, the Praetor interjected. Those tribals damaged the drive. We’d explode before we made it there.

Markior frowned. “What about Aiur?”

A box appeared around where it could be found, in a different direction than Fa’Diel.

“It is much closer. We can go there and get it fixed.”

It is still risky, Artanis frowned, his eyes flashing worriedly.

“Where else can we go? We cannot go to Yamauchi, because it is even further out than Fa’Diel.”

Aiur it is then. Adun be with us.

Artanis fired up the Scout’s engine. Markior nodded, closed his eyes, sensed the location of the Protoss world, and cried out “Recall!”

With a flash of light, they were gone.