Prelude
It started in a time before ours. Before oil burning cars clogged the airs with their poison and destroyed the lush green rainforests of the equator. It was in one such rainforest that a vast civilization grew from the trees and waters. They called themselves the Mayans and build large, stone pyramids and strange mechanical devices that allowed them to gaze at the stars in the dark skys at night. They were a tribe of peoples who, even today, could be considered one of the more advanced cultures of human evolution.
It was there, in one of the great Mayan stone pyramids, where the sceptor was forged. A high priest, dressed in long, red robes hand-made from the hemp plant stood in front of the cold, smooth, grey altar. Before him, written on parchment were the instructions for constructing a devise unlike any known to his peoples. This device would allow the holder to transcend the binds that tied them to the earth and allow them to become more. Much much more. The high priest was thirsty for power and was tired of preaching the lore and legends of the gods to his peoples. He believed that it was really they, who were the rightful owners of the title of god.
And if it were not for the sword ruling-edge of the kings and overlords the high priest would have rule over the millions of Mayans. No, in order to rule his peoples, the high priest needed something more powerful that steel and cocoa to rule over the world. He needed a device so powerful that it would draw the peoples to him and force them to bend to his rule.
He thought about all the things his culture had attained. The great calander which stretched far out into the vastness of time, a powerful device in its own right that would survive long after he, himself was dead and buried in the traditional rights. He thought about the long mirrord tubes he and the Kings used to read the stars and keep an eye out for the raids. As they were coming more and more these days. When he gave the rites to the babies, with there eyes full of innocence, hungry for knowledge and growth, or to the recently deceased, their bodies sometimes elequently wrapped in long sheets, adorned with the finest gold linked necklaces, rings and bangles, he thought about what could give him a the advantage over the cycle of life.
Then, one night, while he was looking through the star gazing tube, it came to him. A bright flash of creativity, of inspiration, popped into his head. He would create a sceptor so powerful that he could rival the gods themselves. It was only with such a devise that he could possibly take his rightful place among the stars as a new god, the wisest and most powerful of them all.
The high priest worked day and night for 3 years on his sceptor of power. He bade the lesser priests to venture out into the farthest reaches of his people's territories. He tasked them with finding almost seemingly impossible items. He sent them down into the deepest gold mines where the gold shone brightest, untainted by the touch of the air above ground and light of the sun. He sent them into the deepest parts of the jungle for large gemstones. He even sent his most trusted minion, Tikal, into the jungle far outside the controlled lands of his people on a search for the feathers of a creature he did not know might exist. The fabled red and purple feathered pheonix whose mating grounds were hundreds of miles away. The high priest believed that if such a beast did exist, and did carry with it the power to defeat death, then if he could use the feathers of such a creature, binding them into a tool that only he could weild, then he too could transcend death and take his rightful place amongst the heavens. Unlike the other priests of his order who believed in the words of the tales they told to the peoples, the high priest did not believe in the stories. He thought they were all made up. Stories written by the first of his order, to tell the peoples how interconnected everything is and that through death, everything was reborn. It was such a silly story,for such a powerful and legendary beast.
At least he thought it was all a story, until Tikal returned, six months after he left in search for the great beast. He was the last of 17 priests sent out into the eastern lands, in search of the pheonix. Tikal could barely utter a word, his chest bore the telltale signs of malnourishment, caved ikn chest, ribs showing through lose skin. His skin had been bruised and bloodied. And his robes had been torn until they bore no resemblance to a priest of his peoples. His hair was long and there was a small beard on his chin and cheecks. In Tikal's hand were 5 long red and purple feathers. Tikal smiled at the high priest, held out the treasure he fought so long and hard to find for his elder, inhaled shallowly and promptly died. The high priest gave Tikal a fitting burial, worthy of the gods praise.
With the last ingrediant finally in his hands, the high priest smiled and said a quick prayer to the god Xbalanque in that his plans and the device would and could be made quickly and switftly without fault. He then secluded himself in the inner temple of his order at the top of the stone pyramind and began to fashion his scepter. It was not an easy process. First, he carefully unwrapped the priceless gold that his minions uncovered deep from the depths of the mountains and blessed them with strength and inbibed the power to channel the earth's energy down into the cool metal. Next, he smelted the gold down over bright, red and yellow hot coals and flickering flames of fire that he took great pains to create from his own hands. The high priests hands boiled and blistered from the heat when he removed the glowing liquid metal from the fires. The liquid was then poured out into a mold made of the very same stone that was also used to create the largest of all the pyramids his people had built, the great Kukulcán Pyramid at Chichén Itzá; whose steps bore the shadowy figure of the slithering serpant god down them each year as the sun reached its equinox.
The high priest smiled as he recalled the seasons spent at the great pyramid learning the words and the magicks of his Order. He was fortunate enough to bear witness to the slitering steps not too many seasons ago. It was during the middle of the day, when the sun moved high above the temple. All the priests of the Order were ushered outside to witness the greatness that was their peoples. There, on the steps, as the sun passed directly above them, that the snake did slowly move from right to left and back again, as if it were one of the giant, green serpants who took residence out in the jungles near the city. Shivers ran down the high priest's back as the thought of the etherial snake winding its way down the stairs entered his mind.
The priest closed the mold case and tied it shut with a ceremonial wrapping. He placed the mold casing out on the moonlight ceremonial altar, where the rays of the white moon could empower it with the mysteries and magicks contained in the minds of the moon and stars that are only unleashed when the heat of the sun disappears from view. Then he tended to his burns, putting aloe and cool hemp wraps on his fingers and palms, while waiting for the shaft of the sceptor to cool and form. The high priest polished the various gemstones his minions gathered for him. The sleek brown veins set deep in the heart of the sage green bloodstone shone brightly once he was done polishing it. The piece of quartz, picked for it's almost sheer sword-like tip became almost transparant when he placed it in his hand. It's smoooth surface was warm, almost as if the stone was still connected to its spot in the ground. It sparkled and reflected thousands of tiny square rainbows when he held it up to the flickering light of his candle. Lastly, the high priest held the pyramid shaped amethyst. He felt it odd that such a magnificant stone was found in such a shape naturally, without having a craftsman carefully chip the shell encasing the beauty of the pyramid inside. Again, he thanked the gods for the luck that such a gift would grace his creation.
After the third night of the mold sitting out under the power of the full moon, the high priest lovingly picked the bundle up off the ceremonial altar. It was time to crack the case open and take a flint stone to the the rough stem of the sceptor smoothing it until no barbs or sharp spots remained. It was a slow and painful process. The high priest remained vigilant and dutiful to the chore and thought of the process more as a meditation, rather than a chore. While he stroked the golden rod with a roughened stone removed from a nearby volcano, he thought of the power his sceptor would contain when all the toil and hard work was done. Visions of godlike aspirations crept into his mind and he soon forgot about the pain in his fingers and wrists. By the time the shaft was smooth and free of all blemishes, the skin on the man's wrists were worn thin.
Next, the high priest took out the three finely polished stones and a long strand of finely pressed copper wire. He tied the pyramid shaped amethyst at the top of the golden wand using a series of intricate knots that would amazing even the best of the basketweavers with their patterns and knots. Because the wire was so fine, it took all his concentration and patience to tie the pyramind down to the shaft of the sceptor without the wire breaking. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he wove the wire around the stone and down the core of the shaft. Forsaking the laws of his order, he used his sleeve to wipe the salty, wet sweat from his brow. His elders would shame and mock him for such an action of descricration to his Order. But when he was done, all three stones were securly fixed to the shaft. The amethyst and its intricate knots at top, closely followed by the one inch long quartz point pointing downwards at the purple pyramid. Finally, the bloodstone sat tied near the base of the quartz crystal, it's deep brown bloodveins reflecting back and up through the clear stem of the stone.
The high priest stepped back and looked at his device progressing. It had been months and years since he first penned to parchment the idea of this devise. And here he was, older and perhaps a little wiser, and staring at the first visual step of his creation. A sense of pride filled his body, warming it. The feeling made him stronger and he pushed his hunched body up so that it stood a little more straighter and taller than it had ever done so before.
The high priest looked at the red and purple colored pheonix feathers. Running his fingers over them revealed the softness and fibery stretchyness of the feathers. At first he was a bit concerned that the feathers would lose their sheen and vitality after being taken from the creature, but after months of being wrapped in the finest cloth, protected from the color damaging rays of the sun, the priest discovered he had nothing to fear because the feathers were as vibrant and strong as they would have been being on the feathery beast.
He grabbed a few soft straps of leather cut from the sinews of an ancient black panther. They were strong to the pull and dyed only the darkest black to match the color of the fur from the owner. He examined the leather, rod and feathers once more, almost as if he was getting the mental image of how to tie the feathers onto the solid metal stick. Once the high priest figured out how he wanted the feathers to grace the base of his device, he proceeded to strap them down. One by one at a time, gently and lovingly onto the base of the wand. He wound a bit of leather around the base, nestled a feather into the soft leather, then wrapped another length of leather around the scepter, and then tucked another feather in, next to the first. And when he was done adding feathers, he smiled. He had successfully built the core devise.
Now all that was left for him to do was to perform the sacred rituals and say the incantations to breathe new life and godly purpose into the scepter. Then, his people, like peoples all across the land, would bow down and tremble as the living god took his rightful place amongst the litany of the gods.
Before the high priest could perform his ritual, he needed to consult the time charts one last time. He has to make absolute certain that the season and stars and planets brought exactly the right energies into his scepter. The high priest wandered into the star temple and looked through all the parchments containing calendar events and dates and then looked through the star gazing devices. He jotted his own notes down on his own parchments and then reconsulted the calendar pages once more.
A curious smile washed over his face, the Gods surely were pleased with his progress and wanted such a new God to take place. If they had not deemed him worthy and the timing so perfectly, then they would not have allowed him to get as far on constructing his device as he had gotten. They would never had allowed the idea for him to become a God into his head.
He looked down at his parchment and circled a hieroglyph. Three days from now, he would perform the sacred rites and incantations and seal his fate for all eternity. He laughed with glee, which caught a few glancing looks from other members of the order. He regained his composure, brushed some imaginary dust off the cuff of his red robes and nodded in silent acknowledgement to his peers. Then, he quickly walked out of the temple of the stars and headed back to his chambers. He had much to prepair.
The tree days passed by quickly. The high priest was physically tired and his soul weak from all the preparation. He had used up many parchments scrolls describing all the items necessary for the ritual and all the incantations needed to inbue the scepter with godly power. And after all the meditation and prayers to the Gods for their advice and direction, there was only one thing left to gather. He needed a sacrifice, a willing soul to take and place inside the scepter. All the words and all the good intentions would amount to nothing without the proper blood and sacrifice.
Having a soul not only unlocked the powers placed into the scepter but it also marked his transition from being an ordinary servent of the Gods to becoming a God himself. He had to prove himself worthy to the other Gods in the skies as well as strike fear into the heart of his peoples if he were to rule over them as a proper God would.
And on the second night, he found his soul. He was sitting in the dinning hall of his Order when she walked into the room. She was a servant to his Order, a commoner who traded her skills as cook and whore in exchange for clothes, food and a warm bed to sleep in. Her long, black raven hair flowed naturally over her shoulders and ran down to the small of her back. She was thin and not very strong. She wore simple, white servent clothes and tied handmade hemp sandels to protect her feet from the terrain. The high priest did not know why it was this girl who caught his eyes and not one of the many others he could have chosen. Maybe it was the glint in her eyes as she performed her duties with grace and humility, never once complaining about the dirty things the other priests of the Order asked from her.
So that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, fat with food from dinner, the high priest crept downstairs to where the servants and slaves quarters were. He quickly and stealithly located the cot that his dining servant girl slept on. Her breath pushed her chest up and down ever so slightly, rhymatically. He watched her sleep for a little bit, wondering what dreams she had. Then, he gently covered his hand over her mouth and woke her up.
The girl woke with a shrug. But because the high priest's hand was placed over her mouth, she couldn't speak. Her eyes watered in a sleepy haze of confusion and worry. The high priest put a finger from his other hand up to his mouth, in a gesture of silence, and slowly pulled the hand covering her mouth off. He smiled to show his good intensions towards her and reached out for her hand. Like a willing lamb, she followed him back up from her quarters to his chambers. When they got there, he allowed the girl to gaze around the rooms as she pleased. She went over to the window, looking out at the full moon resting high above the city. As her back was towards him, the high priest took his chance and grabbed a candle holder. Holding it high above his head, he drove it down upon her head as hard as he could, knocking her out cold. She crumpled to the floor, unaware of the fate to befall her early the next morning.
On the morning of the ritual, a giant monsoon blew in from the skies. The high priestess peered outside the same window as the girl had hours before. Darkness swept across the lands, making it appear as dark as the skies are when the moon hides it's silver glow behind the blackness. While the sudden change in weather was a sudden surprise, the high priestess was not afraid of the rain. Turning his head, he looked over his shoulder at the still unconsious but tied up girl in his bed. He was determined that today, along with the howls of the wind and the pouring rain, would mark his transition to Godhood. He decided that the rainstorm was a boon in disguise for it would also quell the screams the girl would make as he cut her heart out during the ritual.
The high priest took a ceremonial bath, the waters warm and scented with flowers and sage. As he poured the waters over his body, he envisioned the ceremony going smoothly, all the right words said at all the right times and all the energies going into the scepter, making it become the ultimate tool for his transition to Godhood. As he dressed in his finest black ceremonial robes and hung the gold necklaces around his neck, he hoped that he had enough time to get the girl to the altar without being seen. Since the sun was blocked by the rains, he had no idea what real time it was. He also hoped that no one missed the girl as it was commonplace for such girls to go missing for days in the chambers of certain priests.
He opened the door to his outer chamber and looked around. No one was around, the hall was clear. He closed the door again and picked up his satchel which held the scepter and ritual scroll. Then he carefully picked up the girl in his arms and was surprised at how light she felt in his arms. He pushed open the door again with his shoulder and stepped out into the hall.
He blessed his luck once more when he safely arrived to the temple ceremonial altar. The high priest strapped the girl down on the sacrifical bed and made sure the bonds held her tightly. She gave no sign of waking up and the high priest thought it best that she did not wake to the dagger. A small pang of remorse hit him as he glanced down at the growing patch of black and blue skin creeping over the back of her neck from where he hit her with the blunt candlestick. But it passed as quickly as it entered his body and he readied himself for the ceremony.
The high priest closed his eyes and began calling out the blessings of the Gods. The scepter laid before him on the altar, ready to receive the energies of the Gods. The ritual started. He spoke the magickal words and light the candles and burned the incense at all the right times. And with each step of the ceremony, he felt the power grow more and more in the scepter. The Gods were certainly pleased with his actions.
Finally, there was one thing left to do. The high priest grabbed the atheme, a jet black colored dagger whose blade was curved and wavey and held it high over his head, above the girl strapped to the
sacrifical table. It was time to claim what was his. He closed his eyes and he started speaking the words that would escort her to her death and reawaken her spirit in the scepter. And just as her brought the dagger down upon her, her eyes opened. Their blue color went wide when she saw the dagger. Her mouth opened and screams rose through the binds that he used to muffle her cries. He ignored the screams, focused on his chore, feeling a surge of power build around him and the room, he was so close.
And then, the high priest plunged the dagger deep down into her heart. Blood splattered and flowed everywhere. The door burst open. In poured three guards of the Order, dressed in their gold plated armor, and the First. Anger and shock crossed their faces as the First barked orders to the high guards to secure the high priest.
"You fools," the high priest cackled at them, "it has been done. There is nothing that can stop me now from taking my rightful place amongst the Gods. You are too late to save her and yourselves."
One of the youngest guards, plunged his swword into the high priest who let out a gasp of shock and horror. As he felt the power and life surge out through his body, he cried, "But I did everything right, the power was mine. This cannot be happening to me. I am a God. You cannot kill me."
The First turned from the high priest, whose body laid on the ground, now to the scepter. He passed his hand over it and lines of worry etched into his forehead. A great and evil power coursed through the scepter. The high priest had indeed done what he set out to do, but before he could unlock the power pulsing through the scepter, the First and the guards stopped him. The First wrapped the scepter up in cloth and looked at the guards who stood before him, awaiting new orders.
"Do not speak a word of what happened here today. This is pure evil and we must never ever let it known that this weapon was created. Here, take this bundle and take it deep into the jungle. There is a temple to the South, hidden amongst the trees and vines. Bury it deep inside the center of the temple. No one must ever know it exists. For if the power of the scepter is unlocked, no one is safe from its destruction."
The guards nodded their heads in silent compliance and took the scepter deep into the green jungles never to be found.