The great bonfire sent fountains of sparks into the night air, casting a great orange glow onto the face of the old man sat cross-legged on the ground before it, his spiderlike frame throwing a long shadow on the ground behind him.
The man sat with his eyes closed and his head bowed, gusts caused by the hot air from the fire tugging gently at his long white beard and the few wisps of silver hair that clung to his sun-darkened scalp.
Although they were just dim silhouettes in the firelight, he could feel the presence of the others. Thousands of them sat just as he was; in a great circle around the fire, waiting silently and contemplating that which was to come.
The old man new just a fraction of them by name, but he knew that seated around him were men and women, ranging from those that had barely reached their adulthood to veritable living ancestors even older than himself. They
all bore one strange thing in common, however; they were different. Different people had different names for them; Shamans, Medicine Men, Wise Women. In the end they were all the same, they shared the inner eye that saw into the
lands of madness, where red monsters screamed their fiery praises to a bleeding sky. They were all silently meditating, eyes closed, heads bowed, waiting for would happen. All seated in perfect concentric circles facing the great bonfire.
And the tiny old man who sat before it.
He was known by many names to many people, to himself alone did he keep the secret of his first name, given by his mother and father when he was born. Ur-nazam he was to the tribes of the east, Ashu to the people of Çatalhöyük,
but to most, he was simply known as 'The Old Man'. He had seen more winters than four grown men put together and for each year of his life he has felt the presence of those who live beyond, clustered around the world of men like the
shamans were sat around the circle of firelight.
The Old Man has seen what may yet come to pass. He has seen the race of men enslaved by fanged horrors, he has seen piles of skulls heaped higher than mountains, he has seen men, women and children tormented for the amusement
of dark gods.
They have all seen this, all those now sat in the firelight. But they have also seen hope.
They have seen the darkness driven back by a single man. A man wreathed in the light of heaven leading an army of giants. They have seen mankind spread to the very stars themselves, to the very edge of the night sky. They have seen great fortresses
and temples built of stone and gold, an empire that will last until the death of time itself.
The Old Man knew that it was time for all this to begin.
Slowly, he raised his head and opened his eyes, although he could not see them he knew that the others had done the same. At this signal servants, young volunteers from surrounding villages, began silently moving between the seated ranks, placing a simple
clay bowl before each sitting person. Finally, when their work was done, the volunteers left the circle and returned to their villages, forbidden to see the remainder of the events that were to take place. Only one remained, a young woman who could not have seen
more than 20 summers, outwardly there was nothing about her appearance that would distinguish her from any other girl in the world, but all those present knew that she carried the key that would save them all.
The girl made her way nervously to the center of the great circle until she stood before the Old Man, the immense heat from the bonfire causing sweat to bead on her skin. She helped the Old Man to his feet gently and handed him the final bowl, a dark green liquid filled it,
glistening in the firelight.He took it with one hand and lay the other on the girl's belly, feeling the stirrings of unborn life within. It would be a long while yet before it would come forth from it's mother into the world, but a few more moons was little when compared to the length
of the task ahead for this child. Nodding with apparent satisfaction, the Old Man removed his hand and sat down on the ground again, motioning for the girl to do the same. He let his mind reach out to those around him, letting them know that now was the time.
One by one, the assembled shamans lifted their bowls to their mouths and drained their contents. On some of the older men and women the effect was almost instant; they sagged slowly to the floor as if falling asleep, though they would not wake in the morning.
A small sadness filled the Old Man's heart as he felt the lives around him slowly extinguish, but he knew it had to be. They had all agreed to give their lives for the greater cause. Their sparks would fuel the great fire that would burn to all corners of the earth and sky. The Old Man
did not drink from his bowl yet, he knew that he must be the last. As more and more shamans succumbed to the effects of the poison, the Old Man felt a thickening of the air around him, he fancied that he could see a faint white glimmer on the edge of vision; the soul-spirits of the
dead gathering for the completion of their great work.
The girl seemed to sense their presence as well and she shivered in spite of the heat of the fire, the Old Man reached out his hand and she took it, drawing comfort from the touch of his leathery skin. Now, the Old Man knew, the final part had come. The white glimmer had now grown
to a great glow that infused everything around him, seemingly driving back the night, he reached out with his mind to the great mass of souls and drew it towards him like a fisherman drawing in a catch.
Great joy filled him as he felt the tide of essence surge through him and through his arm into the girl, she gazed in wonder has her womb became wreathed in silver light. The bonfire flared even higher, though it did not burn the two tiny figures seated so close to it.
At last the Old Man felt the final flame of life gutter out in the darkness around him and he knew that his own time had come. Still adrift on the tide of the dead he lifted his bowl to his mouth one-handed; never letting go of the girl's hand so as not to break the link. The drink was cool
as it flowed down his throat and he quickly felt it's chill spread to every part of his ancient frame. He dropped the bowl to the floor, feeling the last of his strength leaving him. He clung determinedly to the girl's hand, knowing that he must not let go until every last soul had flown through
him into her, his own must be the very last. To his side the great bonfire suddenly went out, though the Old Man could still see quite clearly by the radiant light of the girl and the child she bore.
The Old Man died smiling, the last thing he saw was the girl and the undeveloped child in her womb, he who would bring salvation to men and drive back the horrors of the beyond, wreathed in the light of heaven.
