At the middle of the lifeless Crimson Plain is a hollow, bowl-like crater whose size is comparable to one middle-sized country stretching farther than what the eyes can see. However, this time of the year, at the start of the dry season, it was not at all lifeless for swarms of armies had marched across the plain with their eager thirst for glory and blood. The Crimson Plain had become a battlefield where nearby countries have waged their battles to settle their scores. The warlike people of the Visayan Continent perceive war as not conquest of lands but rather as an opportune moment to gain honors and prestige. For what is greater than the honor of attaining godhood, gaining the right to stand before the ancient warriors who have ascended into the upper realm. But it was more than that, for this time a large ancient ruin had been discovered between the border of the two kingdoms. Because of its location, it ensued a major conflict as the two kingdoms dispute for the exclusive ownership of the ruin. Ancient ruins are regarded as world class discoveries; oftentimes, relics, artifacts and precious items can be found inside temple ruins and olden royal abodes. And as such, ruins are directly owned by the kingdom once it is discovered on its land; thereby once an instance where an expansive ruin overlaps a border occurs, ownership is usually settled through a massive battle.
The Rajah of Castel, who first arrived, and had stopped at the top of the crate's rim, glanced around the Red Plains, squinting his eyes towards the distance to the center of the crate as if searching. The surrounding field sparkled scarlet red under the sun like a sea of fresh blood, and as if the sky itself was a large mirror it gleamed with a light haze of red.
As what he had expected, the Rajah of Oksidental had not yet arrived. He grinned in victory, royally swept his fully tattooed hands pointing forward, then ordered 40 of his light cavalry, the reconnaissance unit, to survey the surrounding area on top of the crater around the rim while another 40 towards the center and the surrounding concave.
"... we will meet at the center of the crater three days from now!"
"Yes sir!" The leaders of each squad barked in unison, then departed.
Then with a loud flick of his fingers, he summoned the 5 datus, all adamantite ranked warriors who will serve as generals in the battle with each of them having 50, 000 men as agreed. And all together, with his 70,000 warriors, the army of Castel has 320,000 able-bodied and fierce warriors who have a considerable amount of battles under their belt.
"Dranreb!"
The Rajah of Castel, Dranreb, acknowledged his closest friend, Nosrac, from afar by waving his hands in genuine excitement. They have only seen each other during battles, but with countless battles that come as the days pass. Their bond is sealed by bloodshed in battle, and it is only through battle that their friendship is partaken.
"Brother!" Dranreb, went off from his horse which was then taken aside by a servant, and approached the arriving young Datu. "How have you fared so far?"
Nosrac elegantly got off of his horse with an acrobatic maneuver and landed in front of the Rajah. "Excellent!"
But seeing the regal stature of Dranreb up close, he was suddenly rammed with the sense that he is in the audience of the mighty Rajah. Dranreb, one of the few thousand warriors who have attained the Rhodium rank awaiting the Bloodstone test for demi-godhood, which will be set at the Festival of Gahuman at the end of the year. So he cleared his throat and cordially kneeled. "I am grateful for your kind concern, O Great Rajah!"
"Oh I see, you have become sharper than ever!" Dranreb scrutinized his friend's hulking body while kneeled down. The black Adamantite mark gleaming with a green sheen mixed with a hint of crimson reflected from the color of the ground as the early noon sun basked them with an eerie ray of light red.
Moments after, the other four datus arrived at the same time with their clattering horses decorated with hanging human skulls, pledged their loyalty, and the meeting began.
Angast is the strongest when it comes to raw physical power, and, well, also the loudest. With his tremendous strength, everyone who faces him in close quarters is merely crushed under the brunt of his force. It was said that one sweep of his large sword can kill ten large men standing side by side. Next to him was Eeyad, who was nicknamed the Carnage Flash. He had earned the title because of his ultimate combat style which involves flashing across the battlefield like a bolt of lightning leaving carnage in his wake. An unstoppable force in large scale battlefields because of its effectiveness in breaking enemy ranks in an instant. And beside him was Rasel, the datu involved in long-distance projectile support. With his mastery of channeling destructive spells and allied healing with massive areas of effect, his force is a necessity in battles. And finally, Galgo, a master with the art of the spear together with his affinity for wind magic. With his unique fighting style, he remains unmatched as he can strike a flurry of sharp attacks with his spear if combined with wind magic.
"We will proceed down towards the center, camp near, and we will have our battle three days from now as agreed with the Rajah of Oksidental," he ordered.
"I have sent the reconnaissance unit to survey the area for any chances of planned ambush, and for anything unusual. When we meet up with them two days from now at the camp, we will discuss our placement in battle."
The datus agreed in unison.
"Alright. We move out!"
No sooner had the datus headed back towards their armies, the Rajah of Castel marched forth at the head of seventy thousand men, 10,000 cavalry men and 60,000 infantry at his tail, and further behind the armies of the datus marched briskly eager to catch up. Forward on, the army went deeper into the conclave of the great crater. The ground trembled and the sound of their march echoed throughout the vast conclave broadcasting their descent. Not long after, The Oksidental army, who had just arrived at the rim, had also started their descent inwards the crater, opposite them. Dranreb took note of this and grinned. Both parties have stayed true to their words.
The armies marched on, only stopping to rest every noontime for an hour, then marched again until the early twilight to camp. Once the dawn breaks and the eastern skies have lightened, the armies march again. Two days, then, breeze by with no outstanding events.
The night of the second day finally arrived, and both Rajahs ordered their men to camp. The reconnaissance cavalry have also returned safely bearing information about the enemy ranks.
The preparations were certainly slow as the men had to find good placement, unload their cargo, pitch their tents and by habit sharpen their own blades. But as the twilight passed on, the sounds of men working were finally replaced with the distant laughter of soldiers in drunken merriment, and talks of victory and the spoils to be gained filled both vast camps of warriors.
But others found their peace in the quietude of the night by writing letters, while others huddled alongside others facing campfires in silence but their faces absent dread only by the comfort of the moment. It was as if talking about death was taboo, and whoever does so is whacked on the head.
The men of Castel believed that to die in battle is merely the start of being a true warrior. According to an old tale that has been passed down from their ancestors, the souls of the warriors who died in battle are sent to the Rainbow realm where the war god Varangao will reward them according to their feats and add them to his mighty ranks of warriors. However, rumors that had dripped down from other realms had said that the god Varangao had been killed a thousand of years ago, but it never swayed the hearts of these warriors.
Meanwhile, seven huge lavish tents with exquisite ornamentations, one for each leader and one serving as a council tent, were pitched at the center circled by thousands of plain tents, stood out even during the nighttime. A pillar of torches surrounded the vicinity creating the impression that it was a giant ball of amber-orange light if seen from a distance. Far up closer, the fabric of the tents were richly decorated, tendrils and flowers were elegantly sewn in well-designed tiled panels covering the entire tent and its interior. A fitting nighttime abode for rulers.
However, within the council tent's walls the air was heavy. And as if a single squeak from their mouths is forbidden to seethe out of the tent, six men with deep graved faces with clenched fists and tightly locked jaws were discussing in tight-lipped whispers sitting around a light wooden table, with wine and the royal food served on top merely untouched.
It was supposed to be a meeting about their battle placements for tomorrow, but the news that a messenger bird had arrived from the kingdom's babaylan, a shaman, whose expertise lies in deep magic and in the study of spirits has suddenly veered them off from the topic at hand. A babaylan is highly esteemed and deemed as the Rajah's highest advisor when it comes to waging wars, rituals and sacrifices for the gods, magic, and prophecies. Kingdoms fear their powers and revere them. But scroll messages from the country's babaylan before battles are rare and shall always take precedence more than anything for it will often affect how the campaign needs to be done or reveal anything that might change their course in battle.
Not long after the word about the message was received, a slave opened the entrance of the tent carrying a silver platter with the scroll on top. The slave approached the Rajah all the time bowing, holding his breath, his legs conspicuously tottered but it was outweighed by the value of his delivery and no one had a drip of humor left to laugh. He muttered under his breath, reminding himself not to breathe, and continued on walking straight forward. But--
Clangg…
The silver platter circled along the ground a few times, ringing out a sharp sound, and the heavy eyes of everyone shifted to the scroll which was also dropped.
The hapless slave immediately crawled on the ground frantically following the platter to silence it. But the scroll was nowhere to be seen. He slowly turned his gaze upwards, trembling in terror that his knees were knocking together, his fluids uncontrollably pouring out his body, urine and sweat. Nosroc, the infamous datu who uses the mysterious dark magic, who had caught the scroll glared at him which was enough to send him running away in fear while screaming at the top of his lungs. However, once he reached outside, the guards who had peered inside the entrance when the scene happened, seized the slave and sent him away for torture.
Galgo, who was exceedingly superstitious, stooped down from his chair and picked up the silver platter.
"Tsk. A bad omen." He muttered under his breath as he set the platter aside. But no one took notice. The scene was merely forgotten, and everyone's attention was on the scroll, now resting on Nosroc's palm.
A different slave popped his head inside the entrance waiting for the signal to go in to clean up the mess, but with a wave of his hand the Rajah sent him away. And then the heaviness of the air started sinking in again.
After a long moment of pause, like waves after waves, every sound inside the tent was drowned by the overpowering silence and the scene of before flushed back in. Nosroc, then, with the scroll gained everyone's careful but sharp attention. It is customary to have the Rajah read the scroll from the babaylan first, and Nosroc was not alien to this. He instantly knew his place, and as he cleared his throat he handed the scroll to the Rajah seated beside him. 'Brother".
Dranreb obligingly took the scroll, rotated it with his fingers inspecting it. It bears the official seal of the babaylan, and the message was written in an unremarkable plain scroll, which at once put the mighty men at guard. They know for once it was of great urgency.
Dranreb cleared his throat as if swallowing a huge clump of spit. And with utmost care, he broke the waxed seal which crumbled down toward his lap, unrolled the scroll and read its content. Anxious eyes followed the sideways- downward movement of his eyes and the movement of his lips as he muttered under his breath.
Dranreb silently gasped. Everyone tensed up.
"What is the message?" Galgo whispered between his gritted teeth.
But the Rajah did not oblige himself upon that request for reasons of secrecy. He simply passed the letter to Nosrac, who in turn read it. The other datus shook their legs in impatience.
Eventually, the letter was read up to the last man.
The letter goes as this:
A prophecy from the Lord of Darkness, Saragnayan, the harbinger of a great catastrophe. He said it concerns the campaign. Extremely rare. He has said more, but our channel was intercepted by someone strong enough to contend with my magic. I trust that you will understand the message in this scroll Dranreb as you are a wise ruler. All that I know is that your campaign will certainly be a tragedy. Much more than this, I am none the wiser about how things shall unfold so take great heed with your decisions.
The march of the hungry locusts shall soon end.
Silver in the first step, but the last will be darkness.
Drown in the lake of blood, as offering to the great god.
The day of plenty has come for him who slumbers.
"The Lord of Darkness?" Eeyad cried out in disbelief.
"We should return at once!" Angast with a deep voice exclaimed. "Whatever that prophecy means, I know it is a message of death!"
"This is too much. Why is this happening?" Rasel murmured in despair. "This was surely meant for us… it's a message of our demise!"
One by one the datus expressed their greatest fears. Certainly, no man is immune to the fears of foretold impending death which gnaws on the soul ever so slowly. This was a time where even the strongest men in the kingdom shuddered in fear at the thought that they had become the subject of the Lord of Darkness' dark prophecy.
The commotion from inside was caught on by the startled slaves and the guards stationed outside, and soon like a spreading wildfire strange and different rumors about the disturbance on the upper echelons were whispered among the warriors. Although, it was evident that no one, for certain, knows what is really happening.
Meanwhile, inside the tent, the once silent atmosphere has evolved into bursts of panic and angry arguments. Everyone was speaking out their minds about the matter carelessly blurting out answers and plans.
"Everyone! Calm down. Please." Nosrac exhorted in a voice enough to overpower the other datus. With a flicking gesture of his head, he nodded towards Dranreb who was all the time in silent contemplation. The datus mumbled their apologies and sat straighter.
Now everyone was staring at Dranreb as if seeking out an answer. Their eyes blatantly wide and full of questions. No one dared to speak out their thoughts again, careful not to disturb the pondering Rajah.This went on until the silence was deafening that one could hear the unbending flame of the scented candles fluttering, and the slightest sniff of air by the men. The pleasant smell emanating from the scented candles however was overwhelmed by the smell of fresh sweat lingering in the heavy air as the temperature inside the tent seemed to rise up. It was only until Dranreb breathed out a deep exhale and spoke that the tension decreased a little. "Perhaps he knows the answer to these strange lines" were the first thought of the datus.
With the voice of a man burdened by the weight of the world and with dropped shoulders, the Rajah spoke with a heavy heart. The datus further straightened their backs and bent forward with full listening intent.
"Tonight--have the men prepare for departure...We forfeit this battle to the enemy... When the sun is high enough in the eastern sky... I shall arrange a meeting with the Rajah of Oksidental... and have him dismiss us from this yearly battle... If there is a need, I will prostrate myself before him…"
The five datus gasped and loudly objected. Nosrac shot his body up, and gripped on the table's edge. "Never!"
But the Rajah put up his hands signalling them to calm down. Everyone obediently obliged, and Nosrac lowered his body to sit still reluctant. Then with a heavy heart he voiced out, "To avoid the upcoming battle due to a dark circumstance, we shall appeal to the Rajah of Oksidental and pray that he will consider our request. We have prepared them for battle, but circumstances have changed, and the only thing we can do to appease their heavy disappointment is through a recompense as stated on the terms of what our ancestors have agreed upon when dealing with disputes. And we will pay them with gold to request that we move the date of battle to another time and preserve the status of the ancient ruin as still disputed... As we leave for battle from the homeland with excitement, we return with nothing in tow, not even honor, so this year's festival will be cancelled. Once we reach the homeland, we prepare for the next date of the battle at once. So give your men no rest, and beat them with the stick of discipline and training. However, pay no worry, for I shall explain our dire situation, and pray that they might be lenient with our request or even help. But I will make sure to have the babaylan further explain this urgent matter concerning what the Lord of Darkness has prophesied. For now, our priority is reaching home."
The Rajah pounded his fist on the table with an impeccable control of force so as not to break it which made the porcelain dishes clatter and a few chalices tumble rolling until an outside force stopped them. He held back his tears and swallowed a lump of spit in his throat.
"Everyone is dismissed." The Rajah said hoarsely.
Speechless and confused, everyone left with heavy thoughts. All except Nosrac who returned to his seat after he sent the other datus off to their tents with words of hope.
Why is this happening? The Rajah ceasely asked himself, tightening the grip of his hands on his head. What's worse, the Lord of Darkness is notorious for its dark prophecies which have foretold great catastrophes that had marked itself in history. Even the gods fear every word that comes out of his mouth. No one is a stranger to it. It has been taught for generations since who-knows-when. His thoughts whirled deeper and deeper, and several possibilities ran through his mind.
The Rajah's stomach churned in despair. He stared at the tent's floor made up of affixed smooth wooden slabs of the finest lumber raised inches higher from the ground like a platform. And as if looking for an answer, his eyes focused beyond narrow gaps on the floor towards the unearthly darkness underneath. Darkness. That damn darkness. Answer. The future is dark. Lord of Darkness? Damn that Lord.
But then he felt a light touch on his shoulder. That warmth. The Rajah knew in an instant that it was Nosrac's hand.
"Everything's gonna be alright brother." It was the most comforting voice.
After a long moment, the Rajah looked up and smiled at his closest friend after regaining his regal composure. "If you say so".
Then Dranreb reached out for two chalices, poured it with wine, and slid one to Nosrac who took it shortly. As if having all the time in the world, they drank.
"But damn it. Here I was hoping I could reach the Rhodium rank after this battle. This could have been the largest battle of the year. Phew. Three hundred thousand strong from both sides. "
The Rajah nodded in agreement. "Yeah."
"Y'know, my Adamantite mark has been itching to evolve. Feels like my upper body is burning." Nosrac caressed the outstretched mark on his right arm.
"Oh really? Good for you!" The Rajah exclaimed, genuinely expressing his happiness, but somehow Nosrac felt an undertone of sadness.
Obviously, Nosrac knows the reason.
Silence.
"Brother."
"Hm?"
"All this time I have been working hard to finally catch up to you, y'know. Ever since the day I have met you, I have considered you as someone freaking-ly unreachable. That's why I have to haul my ass to battles after battles just to be someone worthy to sit by your side. And when the moment came that I could finally sit beside you, even just a subordinate, it was one of the happiest moments in my life. And I thought to myself, no woman can ever give me as much happiness compared to what I can have when I'm with you."
"You're sounding like a queer…" Dranreb forgot his worries for a brief period and heartily laughed for the first time today.
Nosrac, flustered with embarrassment, stuttered as he tried to reason his way out.
Sure enough, Dranreb knew what sort of path Nosrac had been. Although Nosrac was rather too young, as he seems to exhibit an impression like that of a juvenile. However, this young man had proven himself in battle over and over again despite the sneering glances of the veterans. And with that, he had the pleasure of accompanying the Rajah in a number of battles. And Dranreb had felt a strange connection with Nosrac, perhaps because he had no son. The incessant battles all year long had kept him far from such thoughts. But maybe once this is all over, he thought, he shall spend more time with his wife and produce a son.
"I know. It's not like that." Dranreb settled him down. "More so, your presence here is certainly reassuring my friend. My heart fills up with joy knowing that I had the chance to walk along a path beside a good friend."
Nosrac sighed and deeply inhaled shortly after as if savoring the victorious moment when he made the Rajah laugh. And only a select few can, mind you. But it was only short lived.
There was a temporary but rather long silence as both men contemplated while sipping on wine. The sinister hush of the night was indeed unnerving as the men on the surrounding tents have now resigned themselves to rest. There was neither sound of crickets, nor occasional squeaks of nighttime bats, only the rhythmic fluttering sound of the candle flames on the candelabrum placed at the center of the table and the flames of a few torches which were placed around the corners of the tent.
"It's hard being a Rajah…" Dranreb, as if full of regrets tilted his forlorn head to the side avoiding Nosrac's gaze and stared intently at the ground stirring the hush. "I never knew it could be like this."
Nosrac remained silent but he was grief-stricken at the image of the always majestic Dranreb drooping like a hopeless withered leaf hanging on its last thread filled with despair. He felt his chest tingling in pain like he just gulped down a cup of needles, the pain traveling towards his legs which started to quiver under the table. A well of delicate tears formed in the lower part of his eyes which could any time roll down with even just a heartbeat.
"And I always wondered why everyone wants to be a ruler. I, too, am guilty of it." Dranreb went on with a near crying voice that cracked. "I tried so hard. And when I finally got the role, I reaped the good things it promised. And all we had were good times. We go to battles, once it's done, load the dead bodies on the carts, go back home, and at the festival the babaylan performs the Ritual of Growth to acknowledge those who have stepped up at the ranks. But recently, allowing a mischievous thought, I said to myself. 'Ah, it's always the same thing, and I kind of hoped for something more challenging to happen'. The news that the Rajah of Oksidental will be leading more than 300,000 men made my heart thump in thrill. But I never thought that on a whim, with just a fancy arrangement of words, I can feel the weight of the country suddenly dropping down on me. Fuck that lord of whatever…. "
Dranreb broke down into tears. "It made me wish I was not the Rajah and thought that at least I don't have to see this all the way through, I can just escape. You know what that feels like Nosrac?"
No answer. Nosrac was now wiping his eyes dry while staring at the Rajah bowing in defeat.
"Everyone wants to be a ruler… but when the weight of the crown settles in your head and everyone's hope lies with it, you know you'll never be the same again. And at times of despair, it becomes unbearably heavy. And all that a ruler can do is prioritize his own safety and flee...." Dranreb went on with a deep, tired voice. "What can I do against a god?"
"Oh let's just hope the prophecy was not meant for us," Nosrac said in encouragement, regaining his composure. He knew that it was not the time for both men to indulge in despair, but for one to lift to another in need of a hand.
"I hope so." Dranreb weakly smiled.
The night went on, and finally the men acquiescently departed to their tents to rest for the night. But what drove them to greater despair as soon as they went out was seeing the nighttime sky completely devoid of glittering stars and the bright silver moon. A chill ran along their spines.
Nosrac frowned. "A bad omen. Or is it just there's storm clouds covering them? But I can't sense rain or feel a whiff of breeze."
"Fuck it. I thought we made sure we won't fight after the night of a new moon," Dranreb whispered right beside Nosrac, somehow managing to hold in his frustrations. The new shift of guards are around, breaking their morale for the upcoming battle won't do.
"Strange."
"It's like the prophecy is coming to pass whatever we do."
'I fear."