Date: Tue, 16 Apr 2013 15:51:07 -0400
From: M Patroclus <thephallocrat@gmail.com>
Subject: The Exile 23: Final Chapter

Chapter 23

There's a time of change coming. I can smell it in the air. There is
turmoil and confusion ahead. One era is ending and another is waiting to
begin. I know, for I have seen it happen before. The last time ushered in
my reign of power; this time, it shall bring my end. This is right. This is
as I expected, and as it should be. My time is ending, but the world will
continue without me.

In the manuscript I found within the temple of my people, Alander had
written these words of wisdom: "We have inherited a universe that is
ever-changing and inconstant. It is the nature of all things to change,
human beings most of all. You who shall come after me, know this: you
cannot create a perfect world where all wrongs are righted
forever. Anything you build will not last long past your death, and usually
not even until then. One day, a day not as distant as you believe, the
effort and struggles and triumphs of your life will be no more than a
memory and a legend. Make it a good memory, then; make it a legend which
might in some small way encourage the world to be better, long after you
are gone."

And this is the very reason why I have written of my life, sparing nothing,
not even the most intimate details. I have held no delusions that my empire
would last, indeed have been preparing for its safe and secure dissolution
since almost the beginning. Like Alander before me, this document, this
story is my legacy, not my kingdoms or my crown.

There is very little left to tell. This is how the War ended and how I
gained my lofty throne. This is my great secret and shame. The time has
come at last to write of it all, and then be done.

In the end it was not armies or military tactics that brought our victory
against the Archbishop and his supporters, but at the time such things were
all we had and all we thought about it. Emboldened by our victory at
Carmathen and the addition of the giants to our host, we swept northwards
into Broxbourne with the fury of the righteous. Eventually, when the
conflict was over, the separate factions that had united to form my army
would struggle to work together, competing for my attention and for the
limited resources of our post-war world. But for the moment, at least, all
of my people, whether of Fermanagh, Carmathen, or Broxbourne, whether male
or female, whether rich or poor, whether Veruvian or Tharonite, whether
human or giant, all were united in our cause.

The journey marked one of the most terrifying and yet, I think, happiest
periods of my life. The days were filled with hard travel, mixed with
meetings with my generals, difficult decisions, overseeing of the million
details that make an army possible. The lives of my soldiers weighed
heavily on my conscience. Each skirmish with the enemy brought
casualties. I found myself hoping (with some prescience, perhaps) that
there would be a way to bring the conflict to an end without a violent
confrontation. Ultimately, I wanted simply having an army to be enough
without ever having to truly use it. Such an outcome I learned (as you will
will, mysterious reader) is possible, but the price is heavy indeed.

My nights were given entirely to dear Pavel, my little Pasha who had come
to mean so much to me in his own way. He was no longer the brash young man
driving himself to the greatest excesses of pleasure, as I had first known
him. Every day in a hundred ways he showed himself to be maturing, capable
of deep introspection and maturity. I began to take his role as my clerk,
which had been an indulgent formality at first, more and more seriously
until he was intricately bound up in how I ran the affairs of my forces. He
earned the grudging respect of my generals, including even Gavril and
Stepan, his father, all of whom had once seen him as no more than my
favorite who I kept close so that I could take him to my bed. Well, he had
become that, of course, but they could see that he was much more than just
their leader's toy. He was a respected leader in his own right, one that
would become a respected force in my government, a position he maintains to
this very day.

Every moment was filled with so many pressing concerns and distractions
that I could almost forget the pain and emptiness that losing Alek had
marked into my heart, if it had not been for Jelena. It seemed that every
time my mind wandered too far from how I had failed my friend, she was
there, saying nothing but staring accusingly with red and puffy eyes. It
was common knowledge that Pasha now shared my bed, and I always felt that
in Jelena's stares there was the implication that she felt I had in some
way betrayed the love I felt for Alek. Madness, of course. I had all but
given him to her, renounced all claim so that he would be free to take and
marry her, as he had claimed he wanted. How then could she blame me for
finding solace in another? I tried to convince myself that it was my own
guilt that led me to such thoughts, not her. And yet she was always there,
and I could not shake the feeling. I tried to speak with her a few times,
at Pasha's urging, but there was nothing either of us could think of to
say. We had loved the same man, intimately, and the knowledge of that fact
left us both awkward and without words. She had little enough to say except
canned promises to serve me, clearly unwilling to speak her mind. Not at
all like her usual self. I did my best to push her from my thoughts, and on
the days where her presence particularly upset me, I would make love to
Pasha all the more passionately that night.

One night, days away from the city of Broxbourne, Jelena vanished. I
received the news with some surprise, since she had often professed her
commitment to my cause and to me.  However, it was not so strange that she
would long to be with Alek, but I had thought she had more sense than to
run off after him alone. I could do little except pray for her safety and
hope that she would be well when we finally took the city.

Which, it turned out, would be no small feat. Though our numbers outmatched
the enemies three to one by the time we reached Broxbourne, I quickly
discovered why the city had never fallen to an enemy. I remember my first
sight of the city and thinking how well it lived up to its
reputation. Accompanied by Pasha and my closest advisors, I climbed a
wooden observation tower that had been erected to survey our preparations
for the siege. Nestled into the mountains on one side and its majestic,
thick stone walls on the other, they city seemed truly impregnable, but
even more daunting was the heart of the enemy's stronghold, the palace of
the Archbishop himself. Built midway up the mountain, it looked as though
it had been carved out of the rock by the hand of a god. From where we
stood observing, there did not seem to be any way to reach it short of
flying like a bird.

"We cannot expect the Archbishop to relent easily," one of the Broxbournean
generals under my command said, "The city is designed to withstand a long
siege. We could be here a very long time."

"We have the men and the fighting power to succeed in a frontal assault,"
Gavril pointed out. "The addition of the giants makes that sure."

"But even with them, the loss of life would be staggering. It would be like
lining up men to be butchered," replied the general.

Gavril sniffed but said nothing in reply. The others could not understand,
as I did, how little a Tharonite such as Gavril cared for his own life when
weighed against a cause he thought just.

For my part, I would not have allowed a single man to shed one more drop of
blood on my behalf if I could prevent it. The Archbishop was the
key. Removing him would melt away all resistance, as removing Valessa has
won us the city of Fermanagh. My eye passed over that seemingly impossible
fortress looming over the city and my heart sank. There did not seem to be
any way to reach the man if he was holed up in there.

And yet.... there was one way. I knew it in the back of my mind. I could
almost hear Damon laughing once again, was suddenly certain I could feel
his breath on the back of my neck. With a sudden start, I whirled to face
him but found nothing there. In the exact moment that I turned, however,
there was a sudden rush of air as something soared through the exact spot I
had been standing, thudding with a sudden jolt into the person who had been
standing behind me. Into Pasha.

My young lover tumbled backwards, and with all the sudden commotion it took
a few moments to notice the shaft of the crossbow bolt sticking out of his
shoulder, his shirt stained with blood around it. He had gone pale, but his
eyes were open and looking around in shock. Still alive. I finally took a
breath, not realizing until that moment I had been holding it.

"He is well, he will live," said one of the soldier who was inspecting the
wound, but I pushed him away and knelt to cradle Pasha's head in my hands
and stroke his sweat-dampened hair.

"Ouch," he said with a wince and a smile.

"I am so sorry. It was meant for me."

"This?" he said, "Oh this is nothing. You've caused me far worse pain than
this in your time."

I kissed him and turned him back into the care of the soldiers, already
calling for a medic - how I wished Jelena had not left! My eye traveled
back to the Archbishop's fortress, and then the anger came, burning first
in my belly and then slowly expanding until every part of me shook with
rage.

"We caught the would-be assassin," Gavril said. I had not noticed him
appear at my side. "It seems you've well and truly frightened the
Archbishop."

"He does not yet know what it is to be afraid," I muttered through clenched
teeth, "I will show him."

Enough was enough! I would end this, once and for all. No more battles, no
more bloodshed, no more wrangling over power. "Take me back to my tents. I
need to be alone. Now!"

As I had expected, the moment my guards had left me in my tent, Damon
appeared, naked and as beautiful as he was the day I had first freed him
from his prison.

"The time has come, Markis," he said, "The eve of your final
greatness. Have I not always told you that you would go far? And look at
you now. Look at how much you have changed from the frightened boy who fell
into my tombs and into my care. Your legend will never die. You will
outshine Alander himself, now."

"Enough," I said, trying to hide my fear of him in my firm voice, "I have
one last need of you. After today, after this battle, we are through. For
all you have done to aid me, I thank you. But I hold no illusions that
there is any love between us. You are loyal, because you need me to obtain
the glory you crave, but your goals are not mine, and your values are not
mine. I will not become your pawn, I will not let you make me into a
monster.  I will feed you again, one final time, and then it will be
over. You'll need to find another `master,' do you understand?"

His face was blank, his lips tight, but he nodded. "I understand
perfectly."

I drew a deep breath, then nodded, submitting to his power. It was the
signal he awaited. Faster than I could have thought possible he had
disrobed us both, pushing and pulling me with an inhuman strength. My mouth
hung open and I trembled in fear. He had always played the passive part,
allowing me to control, allowing me to dominate, even as he drew my life
essence out of me. That pretense was gone now that I had angered him. He
forced me to my knees, bent me forward and entered me, as only Alek had
before, and I could not have resisted. My pleasure crested almost
immediately, filling my entire body with a kind of unearthly euphoria so
intense I could feel my eyes rolling back into my head and thick strands of
saliva dripping out of my mouth. Slowly, bit by bit, I felt my strength
draining out of me and into him, until I was empty, and when I felt empty
he drained even more, until I could almost expect myself to deflate
completely and be left on the tent floor a flaccid bag of skin, no more. He
cried out in triumph, and at last I was pushed away roughly.

The tent was bathed in his light so brightly that I could not see, and
instead clenched my eyes closed so that I would not go blind. Outside I
could hear the shocked voices of my guards, who could apparently see it
too. In a few seconds they would enter to investigate. But in a few
seconds, it was too late. We were gone.

With Damon inside me, controlling me, I was unstoppable. None saw us pass
out of the camp, and the massive closed gates into the city could no more
keep us out than if they had been made of straw. Where we passed, men saw
nothing or else did not live long enough to know what they had seen, let
alone raise a cry of alarm. Like a whirlwind, Damon and I, one being,
passed through Broxbourne like an arrow aimed directly at its heart, at the
Archbishop himself. Once, months earlier, I had forbidden my followers from
attempting to assassinate the Archbishop, sure that doing so would rob our
movement of whatever moral high ground we possessed. Now, in my rage, I
cursed myself for naivety and wondered how many lives could have been
spared if I had only taken it upon me to do what clearly had to be
done. One man dead by my hands would spare thousands more. I did not know
if these were my own thoughts or Damon's. There was no way to tell when he
stopped and I began.

Finding our way up to the mountain fortress was easy, but took a long
time. There are lifts installed to make the ascent easier, which I have
always used since first I took residence here, but they must be worked by
one at the top. There were some limits to Damon's power, and we felt it
easier to take the endless stairs carved out of the mountain. It was near
evening by the time we reached the fortress proper, but though we had been
climbing most of the day we did not feel weary in the slightest. There was
work to be done.

We stalked the halls of the Archbishop's palace like an angel of
death. Generals, officials, and high ranking clergy of Broxbourne's twisted
religion died before they knew they were in danger, and each death seemed
to swell us with power and satisfaction. Never before had Markis gloried in
taking the life of others, but now together it seemed the sweetest thing
imaginable to us. After all, these men were no more than bugs before us
that we had to step on to reach our prize. They were barely worth thought
other than the reassurance their weakness gave us of our own strength.

Finally, we rounded a corner and found ourselves face to face with that
last person either of of us could have expected. Jelena let out at a scream
when she saw us. Our silver blade was drawn, dripping with blood, and our
fingers twitched at the sight of her as though we might attack. No, she was
useful. She might have information.

"Markis!" she hissed, "What are you doing here?" We regarded her coldly,
and she blushed.

"I am a prisoner," she hurried to explain, "or, well not a prisoner
exactly. More like a servant. But I can't leave. I turned myself in, you
see. It was the only way I could get close to Alek, or try to, and I
thought they might kill me but Valessa seems to enjoy using me a
servant. She knows about Alek and I, she uses it to torture me.... Are you
alright, Markis?"

"Take me to the Archbishop," we said. Our voice did not sound much like
Markis, we noticed. It was colder. Oilier. Jelena eyed us in fear.

"He's in his council chambers," she said, pointing the direction. "Valessa
is with him. Markis, you can't go there, he'll call for the guards. How did
you make it this far?"

We swept past, ignoring her, leaving her to follow sputtering in our
footsteps. There was no time for chat, we had a purpose to accomplish. The
door to the council chamber was guarded by two soldiers, but they were dead
before they had time to blink. The thick wooden door itself could not stop
us. Our power flew out of us and our kick turned it to splinters.

Inside, Valessa was strewn across a massive wooden table, naked, and the
fat fleshy body of the Archbishop was mounted on top of her, thrusting
eagerly. Her moans of pleasure became screams of terror when the door
exploded and revealed us standing as calm as death itself. The Archbishop's
heart seemed to stop, he might easily have died in that very moment at the
sheer sight of us. He did not have long to live as it was.

"This war is over," we said, "It ends today."

"You!" The Archbishop finally managed, stumbling backwards. His manhood,
rapidly dwindling, flopped wildly with his every
movement. "Guards. Guards!"

"The guards are dead," Valessa whispered. "Don't be a fool."

Nothing would stop us from obtaining our goal. We strode forward with stern
purpose. The Archbishop backed away, taking deep breaths of terror.

"Stop, please!" he shouted, "There must be some arrangement we could come
to."

"You were right, you know," we said, "To become Alander's Heir requires
force of will. It takes strength."

The once proud man who had watched me tortured was now a babbling, naked
creature who could not even form a single word in defense of his own
life. Tears and snot tumbled down his face, but we felt no pity. We did not
even know what pity was.

"You were not strong enough," we said simply. A swipe of the blade fueled
with inhuman strength took off his head.

Valessa screamed in terror and collapsed against a wall, all her beauty and
dignity gone. For what she had done, she deserved a slower and more painful
death, but there was no time. We turned to her, intending to leave her head
rolling on the floor along with her co-conspirator, but abruptly Alek was
there in between us, sword raised and face twisted with conflicting
emotions.

"It's over," he shouted, "The Archbishop is dead and you won. There's no
need to kill her."

We raised our blade into a ready position. His face twisted with
confliction and pain.

"Dammit, Markis. I beg you, for the love you once bore me, to spare the
Queen. I... I could not live without her. Please."

Deep inside of us there was pain, a pain so strong tears fell from our eyes
before we could stop them. "You should not have mentioned the love I once
bore you," we said, bitterness twisting from our words, "You might have
lived another day."

My sword flashed at him, quicker than he must have thought possible for he
only brought up his own blade to deflect at the last minute in a clumsy
motion. I pressed the attack further, allowing no reprieve. At once Jelena
was there in the doorway, shouting, begging, and pleading, but we did not
heed her words any more than we heeded Valessa's wailing from the corner.

It was not a long fight. It was not epic and drawn out as when Markis had
fought Jacek in the burning temple. That had been a struggle between two
equals, two human beings who remembered well the love they had once had for
each other. There was only one human here. There was only one who
remembered love. For our part there was only bitterness. Jealousy, rage,
and bitterness. Nothing more.

Jelena came between us, but I pushed her to one side. Alek's eyes grew
wide. Seeing her put into danger drew something of his true self out of the
power Valessa still had over him.

"Stop!" he shouted, "I love her! I love her!"

And these words hurt most of all.

"We know it," MarkisDamon said, and we stabbed him through the heart,
barely pausing to watch him sink dead to the floor. We turned to Valessa
and ended her miserable life with a casual, almost contemptible flick of
the blade.

Now there was only Jelena.

Eyes wide with shock, shaking with pain and grief, Jelena crawled away from
our approach. "No! Noooooo!" She wailed. "This can't be... Markis, you are
not yourself. Something is wrong. What has happened to you?" She found her
feet and ran from me to the other side of the table. "You loved him. I know
you did. You loved him as much as I. You would not do this."

Wordlessly we rounded the table. Shuffling away from us in terror, Jelena
grunted as her back suddenly struck up against the corner of the room, and
she knew she was trapped. She began to speak faster, desperate tears
burning across her face.

"Markis, whatever has happened to you, I know you are still in there
somewhere. Somewhere inside of you there is still the man that Alek loved,
the only man that Alek loved. The man who loved Alek so much that he let
him go to be with me. You must spare me!"

We raised the silver blade. One more swing and it would be over. We would
be a King greater than Alander, and all who had wronged us would have
received their just reward.

"Spare me, Markis! I carry his child! I carry his child!" She went on and
on, shouting it over and over.

Shock rippled across our consciousness. Slowly, I became aware of two
thoughts: one of complete apathy, bloodthirsty still despite this
revelation, and the other one of shock and horror. Two thoughts, for two
separate entities. And even more slowly, in the tiniest part of one second,
I realized which entity was me, was Markis, and which was my enemy. I
gathered my strength and in one last attack I pushed with all my might at
that Other than had taken residence inside of my own mind. It squealed in
anger, it clung with all its might, and at last it slipped away and was
gone.

A sudden breath. I was myself again. My sword ran with more blood that I
could have imagined, blood more precious than any treasure in the
Archbishop's palace. Jelena had sunk to the ground before me, cringing in
expectation of my blow, weeping for her lover and her child more than for
her own life. In the corner of my eye I could see Alek's crumpled body, and
then I truly knew what I had done.

The Prince's Blade of ancient Anatheria clattered to the floor. I sank to
my knees and howled.
____________________________________________________________________________

Heaving for air, my legs and lungs burning, I pursued Damon through the
quiet hallways and corridors of the mountain fortress, never seeing another
soul. I never even caught a glimpse of Damon, but I could sense him just
out of reach, just around the corner, always gone just as I got there. I
had little strength, for he had taken it all, but my fuel was rage and pain
and hatred, not just for the creature I chased but for myself above
all. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so blind? From
the first moment I had freed him, Damon had slowly been growing in power
and darkness, seeking the destruction of all I loved so that I would have
nobody but him and no choice but to pursue the course he desired. The signs
had been there, and I had ignored them. He had preyed on my every weakness,
showed me what I wanted to see, told me what I wanted to hear. I had been a
fool, and now I had payed the ultimate price. The Archbishop was nothing, a
madman with delusions of grandeur. I had carried my true archenemy with me
since the beginning.

I stopped to lean against a wall and catch my breath. "I will destroy you!"
I shouted. Distantly I could hear his echoing laughter. It came from
somewhere up ahead, somewhere above the level I was on. He was
ascending. Nearly stumbling over my feet, I explored nearby rooms until I
found a long, spiraling staircase. I began my climb, one slow step at a
time. "You can't run from me forever," I shouted, gasping for air.

"You were nothing when I found you," his voice echoed back, "Nothing! Look
how far you have come with my aid. Look at what you have achieved!"

In my exhaustiation I failed to raise my foot enough to clear a step,
sending me sprawling to the stone and skinning my arms. I quickly scrambled
back to my feet. "But at what price?"

"At what price?" he mocked, "You are weak. You have always been weak! Such
power, such glory is worth any price!"

I merely snarled in response and reached angrily for my sword. Only then I
remembered that I had left it on the floor in a pool of blood near Alek's
body. I was defenseless and alone, as I had been the night I was exiled. It
did not matter. This was not a battle that would be fought with a blade. I
continued upwards, one painful step at a time. At last I found myself on a
balcony of the fortress that jutted outwards from the mountain face beneath
the open, starry sky. The sun had set, but I could still make out the wide
expanse of the valley below, the flickering lights from the city and from
the camps of my forces beyond. None would die in a lengthy siege. With the
Archbishop dead, a truce would be negotiated eventually. I hardly cared
anymore - such concerns seemed to belong to another life, another man.

He was waiting for me there, a bemused smile on his perfect face. Unable to
keep going any further, I collapsed to my knees in front of him.

"You are a lie," I spat out in between ragged gasps, "Your beauty, your
power, your promises. All nothing but a lie. You are a monster."

He threw his head back and laughed with real mirth. "You are wrong as
always, master. I am nothing but the truth, the truth you have always tried
to hide. You have never allowed yourself to truly accept exactly who and
what I am. Shall I explain it again to you? Shall I show you my true form?"

I shook my head, afraid. I knew. Somehow, deep inside, I had always
known. Once, in the darkness of the tombs on the first night of my exile,
his form had revealed a secret that I had kept hidden even from myself. Now
I feared what his physical shape might yet uncover, and for good reason. I
would have covered my eyes if I could, but in my weariness I could barely
move at all.

His body rippled, shifted slowly into something new. He now took the image
of another young man, not too tall, not too handsome. There was not one
hair on his head, not even eyebrows, and in his eyes was the pain of one
who had recently experienced a horrifying, total loss. I was looking at
myself as I had been on the eve of my exile.

He was me.

"No," I said.

"I told you from the beginning, master," he continued in my own voice, "I
have no form but that which you give me. Everything I am comes from you. I
am your ambition. I am your envy. I am your selfishness. I am your hatred,
your bitterness, your rage. All I have done, I have done because secretly
it was what you wanted."

"No!" I shook my head stubbornly, whispering denials over and over as if
they could form a kind of catechism to protect me from his terrible words.

"It was you that wanted power over your former brethren. It was you that
wanted Ambassador Hollis out of the way so that you could face the Council
of Carmathen directly. It was you that wanted a new tongue so you could
speak again and revel in your own righteous superiority over those you
found lacking. It felt good, didn't it? Yes, Markis the orator, Markis the
noble idealist. You always have the perfect thing to say, the right speech,
the acts of nobility and courage to show off for all the world. Displaying
your wisdom as you walked the fine line between the extremes of self-denial
and self-indulgence. You would have the world believe you strong, brave,
perfect, all the while knowing that inside you was still just a boy severed
from all he had ever loved. Am I monster, Markis? Perhaps I am. Perhaps WE
are. But we are the monster THEY made us into."

I covered my face with hands, horrified and ashamed. "My people..."

"They exiled you! They treated you as less than nothing, and left you with
a void inside your heart so vast that nothing could fill it, not all the
power, all the glory, all the love in the world. I am that void. And now,
we have destroyed them utterly! We broke their traditions, split them into
factions that will never reunite, ruined their line of succession and
pulled them from their smug isolation. We have had our revenge!"

I sobbed. "And Alek..."

"The worst of all, who got no less than he deserved. He betrayed us again
and again, he was capable of nothing but betrayal. We loved him, and he
spurned us. He rejected us. He chose another."

"But I... I had accepted that. I had let him go!"

Damon's smile (my smile) made me shudder. "Are you so sure?"

"I did not wish him dead! Never that!"

Again that terrible, evil smile spread across the reflection of my own
face. "You do not know your whole self as well as you think. You never
have."

My stomach felt so twisted up with guilt that I believed I would start
vomiting blood at any moment. I looked away, at the sky, the stars, the
distant light of my army, the ground, anywhere but at him. Anywhere but at
the truth.

"No, Markis!" he snapped suddenly, "Look at me. Look at yourself. Look at
what you truly are."

Slowly I raised my eyes until we were staring at each other, barely
blinking.

"Now what?" he whispered, "Now that you have seen the truth, what will you
do? Will you run away, like Alander did before you? The fool thought that
by hiding away in the forest and starting a life of spiritual contemplation
he could make up for all he had done, and in doing so he started his
descendents down the path that would eventually lead to you and your exile
and all the pain it has caused. Will you repeat his mistake? Or will you
accept your destiny, accept your true nature and become the greatest
monarch this world has ever seen?"

He turned slightly to look at the nearby precipice, the sheer edge of the
rooftop that lead to a drop all the way to the valley floor, far far
below. "Or will you choose another way out?"

And for a moment indeed I wanted nothing more in the world than to do as he
suggested, throwing myself over the vast drop, a quick rush of the fall
before all my pain would end immediately, forever. For all I had done,
there could be no forgiveness. Worse, my followers thought me noble and
brave and admirable, a thought so unbearable I did not think I could
survive it, as though my body would stop all its functions out of sheer
horror. Death was all I deserved, the last noble act left to me. It was
time to end it.

Of all the ironies that I have faced in the strange journey of my life,
none was more potent than this: what saved me in that moment, what drove me
to spare my own life, bringing one tiny spark of light into the darkness
that had consumed me, wer the teachings of my people, the very teachings
that had led them to reject me.

Despair, I had been taught, was ignorance. It was a willful denial of all
the good that had been provided for mankind. It was spitting into the very
eye of God. I clung to that thought, even though I no longer even believed
in the same notion of a Creator as once I had so fervently. Instead, in my
thoughts I was transported back to the evening when my mind had transcended
the visible world and peeked into eternity, when the curse that had been
laid upon me had finally been broken. My vision of eternity had shattered
and reformed me, left me shaken and weak and yet somehow stronger. It was
that strength that suddenly appeared now, in my darkest moment.

The universe I had seen was limitless and infinite, capable of good and
evil without truly being one or the other. And the universe, as infinite as
it may be, was no more than a reflection of the human soul, or vice versa,
or both reflections of something else, something eternal and unknowable and
unobservable to mortal eyes. In my mind's eye my father appeared again
before me, saying the words of wisdom passed down amongst my people since
the time of Alander himself: "All that you could possibly want and need,
you already have and are." To this pearl of wisdom, I suddenly realized
another equally true thought could be added: "All that you could possibly
hate and fear is already a part of you, is already inside of you." This
Damon had proved beyond all doubt. As I meditated on this thought, some
semblance of a calm settled upon me deep in the core of the self-hatred and
hopelessness that still assailed me.

"What will you do?" Damon repeated, "Will you still seek to deny what I
am?"

"No," I replied tonelessly, empty, exhausted, silent tears still running
down my face. "I know you for what you are. You are a reflection of my own
soul."

A wicked smile of victory spread across his face, causing me to wince.

"But not a complete reflection," I added, "Once, long ago, I told you that
in every man good and evil co-existed in equal measure. In every man is the
capacity for both. You are no more a complete picture of who I am than the
image of the noble king and flawless spiritual leader many of my followers
have made out for me. I am both and more. What will I do? I will accept
you."

He flinched, his face grew dark and angry. "That is all?"

"I accept you as part of myself. I accept that I am my own worst enemy. I
accept that I am a man capable of evil deeds, a man who has indeed done
evil, a man who has done his best whenever he could but made terrible
mistakes along the way."

"You accept it?" he sounded shocked, truly shaken by my response. "You
accept that you killed the man you loved?"

My tears flowed all the harder. "Yes," I whispered, "I will spend the rest
of my life regretting and suffering for it, but I accept it. I am what I
am. I have done what I have done. That is all."

And inside me, my war with myself stopped. I closed my eyes, taking a deep
breath, and as I released it I felt all the tension in my body begin to
melt away. When I opened my eyes, Damon was gone. I have not seen him since
then, though I have felt him near and will, I think, soon face him once
again. With a long sigh, I collapsed into a heap and lost all
consciousness.

Three weeks later I was crowned King of Broxbourne.
___________________________________________________________________________

There is little left to tell, since the rest is, as they say, history. For
these past three decades I have sought to rule as wisely and as best I
could. It hardly goes without saying that I have made mistakes. I have hurt
people when I would have spared them. I have destroyed where I would have
created. But I have done my best, which in the end is all a man can do.

Pasha (or Pavel, as he now insists on being called) shared my bed often in
those early years. But to be the lover of the great king Markis, called by
men the Uniter, the Great, is no easy thing. In the end, we grew apart
though we have never lost that special connection that had first bound us
together. It took many years, but he found another, and I am glad for
him. Much of the good that I have accomplished during my years of reign can
actually be laid at his feet. Together we have ended the persecution of
both the Tharonites and the Veruvians, though both sects have dwindled as
their adherents learned to be less enchanted with extremes and find their
own middle way. There is little of the nervous, love-sick boy left in him,
but he will always be my Pasha, to whom I owe my very life. May he have a
long life, and a happy one.

Golmeir succeeded his father and united his people under his rule as I did
mine. With his leadership, we brought a new age of peace and cooperation
between our subjects, and now it is not at all uncommon to see giants in
the cities of men. They are a long-lived people; I pray Gol will remain for
many many years, and that his influence keeps the peace when at last I am
gone and my empire breaks apart. He is wise and noble, and I was lucky to
have known him.

As I predicted to Damon, not a day of my life has passed in which I have
not remembered Alek and suffered for him. This pain has been mitigated in
part, for the universe saw fit to give me one final, overwhelming chance at
redemption. I went to Jelena, wounded and ill and traumatized by the whole
experience, and told her everything, about Damon, about my love for Alek,
how the darkness in me had taken on a life of its own and demanded his
death.  I asked for no mercy or forgiveness and she offered none. I never
saw her again after that. She was fiercely proud and stronger than I think
any of us ever realized, but she was only mortal and she had suffered
much. Within a few months, I received word that she had struggled through
her misery to bring her child into the world, and did not live long
afterwards, leaving the son she and Alek had created with no
guardian. Gavril brought the child to me along with his mother's final
words, which still make me weep when I think of them:

"I do not forgive you for what you have done. But if you would truly seek
penance for your sins, then let it to be to care for our child in Alek's
place. Raise him well and love him as you loved his father, and we will
welcome you with open arms in the world beyond this."

And thus I have done. The child has been my world these many years. He is a
man grown, now, but to me he will always be my special one, my precious
boy. My son, please know that it pains me to go, and forgive me that I must
leave you.

And I must ask your forgiveness as well, my mysterious reader, for here I
must leave you too. You have traveled far down this road with me. I have
unburdened my deepest secrets and sins and laid them on your shoulders.. I
pray you profit by them. Two things I would have you know before I rest my
pen for the final time, two pearls of wisdom from a man who has seen and
lived too much.

Know this, and do not forget it: there is a darkness in you. A darkness in
us all. It would tell you to hate and to fear everything, it would separate
you from all you love. It would have you believe you are unworthy of love,
or that other people are. It would have you turn your back on the world and
let it all burn. It is part of you, and it always will be. You cannot hope
to destroy it, and will only make it stronger if you try. But all is not
lost. This darkness will only have power over you, my friend, if you feed
it.

And lastly, remember this: do not fear exile. Though you should lose
everything you have ever known and loved, there is still cause for hope. So
often it is true that it is only after we have lost everything, given up
the stable, easy ground, that we can discover new and wondrous things. All
I am could not have been without my exile, and now I go into exile once
again, one I have given to myself. For that is what I know. That is who I
am.

I am the exile.

__________________________________________________________________________

(Translators note: the following postscript has been written on a separate
page attached to the end of the manuscript, written in a different hand)

The archivist who discovered this could have destroyed it. Many of his
peers would have. By luck, however, some sense of loyalty or, more
strangely perhaps, a true devotion to the truth caused him to save these
writings and bring them to me. They were discovered amongst the many
possessions and records left behind when the Great King vanished, but even
so, according to the archivist, their authenticity is
questionable. Certainly the narrative contained within does not agree in
many points with commonly accepted history. For that alone it could have
been discarded as a fraud almost immediately. But I have read it all and I
believe that it is true. I believe that Markis himself wrote it all.

He left us suddenly, and as he predicted his absence left a void that
brought chaos and confusion. And yet, things did not go as badly as they
could have. Perhaps it is because, as he claimed here, he had prepared for
this very eventuality. The individual kingdoms and city-states fell back to
their own rule eventually and with only small bumps along the way. And yet,
the generation that knew the King and his peace is growing older, and the
younger ones are restless. By the next generation, I fear, there will be
war and strife again. And poverty and division. All he worked for will have
vanished. When first I realized that inevitability, it made me sad, but now
I see that he himself knew it would be so. It makes me feel a little
better.

He was always kind to me, loving and devoted. Firm with rules and
punishments for wrongdoing, but always there was love and a desire for me
to truly learn from my mistakes. He taught me to love myself the way that
he loved me. It was many years before I could really understand that he was
not my father, though he never tried to say he was. Even once I knew that I
came from another man's seed, I could not think of him as anything but
Father. Before reading this, I never even thought of him as a man, he was
larger than life and beyond all human flaws in my eyes.

Reading this story of his life, I now know the truth. He loved me because
he loved my father. He loved me all the more because he had failed him. But
he loved me too because I was his, and he was mine, and we had no one
else. He made mistakes and committed evil acts. He was flawed. And knowing
that I love him all the more, because I am too. I had not imagined we could
be so alike. I was angry with him for a time for leaving us, for leaving
me, but I think now I understand. He went to face his demons, to stand in
final judgment for the actions of his life - as all men do in the end.

For his sake, and for my own, I will preserve and distribute these
words. It is his story that matters. The man who brought me this manuscript
thought he was offering no more than a strange curiosity, and interesting
bauble. He has no idea the significance of the words written herein. For
this I would have given up all I possess and love, as he did. Now that it
has come to me, perhaps I can ensure that it lives on, that all who wish to
may read it and learn what sort of man he was - and what sort of people we
all are.

This write I, Alek, once ward in the care of Markis the King, whose memory
already fades into legend. Read his words, for they are true. They are
true.

(Here the manuscript ends)
__________________________________________________________________________

****And at last it ends. Questions, comments, e-mail
thephallocrat@gmail.com. Thank you all! ****