The First Tale of the White Maiden

 

Many, many years ago: before men had learned to talk, to build, to create; there were the Prosaic Ages.

In these times, two mighty Demons ruled supreme over the World. They were quick, cunning, and their mighty influence reached all corners of the land. However, for all their immense power and will, they were without physical bodies of their own through which to enact their schemes.

In these times, man was forced to rely completely on the Five Ken. They were unaware of imagination or inspiration; incapable of ingenuity or development. They didn’t have the means to create or the power to change; Men were good at only one role, and it was that of manual labour. That of a worker.

The Demons were mind without muscle, Men were muscle without mind. A simple solution surfaced.

And so, the two demons seduced these early, primitive men with promises of food, drink and shelter; bribed them with ideas of tools and machines that would help them. And through the machinations of their clever tongues, and their simple solutions to common problems, the Demons enslaved the race of Man.

For a short time, there was peace. The Humans had their most basic of needs settled, and the Demons were free to exert their will on the physical World in return.
But discord began to arise between the Demons: differences in opinion and points of view; opposing values and ideals; clashing desires and objectives.
Unwilling to work as one, the two decided to separate. They divided the Humans into separate colonies, and each took an equal share in the Humans under their control.

However, it soon came to be that these equal shares of Humans were not sufficient for the Demons to enact their grandest of plans. And with this as the catalyst, the Demons mutual disagreement grew and morphed into bitter loathing, resentment, and ultimately hatred. And so, ever looking as they were for ways to act out their immense will, the Demons invented War.

Whereas before they had used their knowledge and skill to create tools used for harvest, they now used it to make weapons. That which was used to create new buildings for shelter, they now used it to construct armour. And the Demons’ bewitching words were now used to persuade Man to turn against Man; Brothers to turn against Brothers; Father to turn against Son.

The armies were built. Legions of Men were to fight one another, kill one another, for reasons they did not truly understand.

It was during this age that two men met, out in the wilderness. In many ways, these two men were very similar. They were of a similar age, and a similar build. They both had families waiting at home for them. They were both armed with swords and shields, and garbed in armour of similar functionality. However, they were each under the control of a different Demon. This was evident to the men by the emblems emblazoned upon them. And so, driven by the invisible whips of their masters, the two were locked into battle.

The battle waged on for days; the two men equally matched, but unable to stop, bound as they were in their unseen manacles. When eventually, hunger, thirst, and exhaustion proved too much, and one man let his guard down at a crucial moment, and felt icy cold steel slide into his body... but in the same reckless act, he plunged his own sword into the other man’s stomach.
No word was spoken, but both Men knew that this was a draw.
Mustering untold reserves of strength, the two Men fled clearing that they had drenched scarlet in their struggle and went their separate ways.

But they were still gravely injured, and stood no chance of making it to any of the Human colonies without aid. They begged passers-by for help, but to no avail. Those under rule of an opposing Demon wouldn’t dare aid an enemy, and those under the same rule feared singling themselves out as active opposers of the enemy.

Two days passed; and on a bitter cold night, their deadly wounds by no means supported by their debilitating hunger and thirst, it seemed that all hope was lost. But then, the men saw in the distance a brilliant pure white light. It filled them once again with hope, and gave them the tiny morsels of strength they needed to move towards it, following this amazing beacon. And at the end of their path, the two men each found a clearing filled with this wholesome, untainted white light. They plunged themselves into it, giving their bodies to the light... but then the light dimmed. And the men looked upon the clearing they had found. It was covered in dried blood. And it was already inhabited...

But they no longer possessed the will to fight one another. They were dying, and it seemed that no-one was going to help them. And so, they decided to co-operate. Tasks that had seemed impossible for one proved easy for two sets of hands and continued encouragement and support. They managed to salvage food, collect rainwater, and erect barriers against the harsh and biting winds. However, they could not hope to treat their wounds. And although their combined efforts made their struggle much easier, there was still no doubt that they would die. More days passed, and the men needed means to pass the hours and distract themselves from the pain of their injuries. So, they told each other of their families, their homes; any topic that would keep their minds off the bleak situation. The imbued hatred that had caused them to fight melted away, and they began to reach an understanding, and eventually a friendship.

But finally, one night, it got to the point where both men knew that they would not live to see the sunrise. It was as the two were preparing to say their final goodbyes to one another that they each spotted something in the distance. It was that beautiful white light that they had seen before. Agreeing that this was their last hope, the two men strived together to reach this brilliant beacon.
When their journey was finally ended, they once again happened upon the clearing where they had met, had fought, and had reunited. And this would be the place where they died.
The dried blood, trampled ground, and dead plants that were the results of their battle still remained. But in the middle of the clearing, they saw the source of the Light.

It was a beautiful maiden, garbed in white cloth. Her skin was pale, smooth, and flawless; her body beautifully sculpted; her shimmering white hair ran down to her waist; and peering through her hair were two wide, silver eyes.
Silently, she beckoned the two men approach, and they found that they had the same strength that they had had before their savage ordeal had begun. They followed her call, mesmerised by her gentleness and her beauty.
She waited until the two men had entered the clearing, and then suddenly signalled them to stop.

She then spoke.

Her voice was very unfitting with her appearance. It was cold, cruel, and unforgiving. It cut through the air, sharper than the most piercing of winds, and penetrated the body with a shiver that could never be reached by mere fear.

“You find yourselves now in the exact positions you were in when first you laid eyes upon one another.”

She raised a hand to the stars, the moonlight making her bare arm shine slivery-white. And in an instant, the traces of their battle had disappeared, leaving the clearance at peace. And the men found their armour back to its original strength, and found blades in their hands, the condition they were once in.

“The strength you feel now in your bodies is but an illusion. The dreadful consequences of your struggle still ravish your bodies. Before this night is over, you will be dead.”

For but an instant, the men felt once again the tremendous suffering that they were enduring but mere moments ago; the suddenness of it, in contrast with their current strength and satiation, made it all the more real and deadly.

“But I can help you.”

The evidence of their battle flickered back into sight for but a few seconds.

“I have removed your influence from this place. You are going to replace it. You are going to fight each other once again. The loser shall have his wounds treated. The victor shall die. You will begin.”

The horror of the situation flooded the men. The clear solution would be to let their opponent win. That way, they would be healed, and would be spared the unsavoury act of having to fight their new friend. But the memories of the days past skewed this. They remembered the great aid their partner had given them. The sacrifices they had made for their wellbeing. They remembered the stories of the other man’s life. They remembered the families who would be without fathers and husbands. They remembered the villages that would be robbed of their chief source of food. And each man knew that he could not be responsible for the death of the other. And so, using all of their new-found strength, they battled with all their might to be victorious, and allow their friend to live. For countless days this fight raged on, always under the watch of the maiden in white. But the men were too equally matched, and neither was willing to give in. Until eventually, the strain and the weight of memories flooding their minds - their own, and those that had been given by their partner in times if need - proved too much, and one man let his guard down at a crucial moment, and felt icy cold steel slide into his body... but in the same reckless act, he plunged his own sword into the other man’s stomach.
No word was spoken, but both Men knew that this was a draw.

Neither man could look the other in the eye as they slowly sagged to the ground, conjoined into a single body by the Demons’ steel.

When the men awoke, everything was different. They were in the same place as before. They wore the same armour as before. They held the same blades as before. But everything was different.

They could Think.