[center][b]Elements: Fire[/b] by [name]JustLurking[/name][/center] Igxy had been an initiate of the Cult of Mehzo for two months when it happened. That is to say, Igxy had been a [i]prisoner[/i] of the Cult for two months. The ten year old, castor-furred, rabbit boy had been well treated by the priests—a fact that they reminded him of whenever he ‘talked back’ to them, usually when he questioned their orders, or asked what had happened to his village–but ultimately he was their captive; no longer free to go where he wished and kept in line by their vague, but ever present, threats. So for two months he had worn the robes of an initiate, and carried out the tasks he had been set along with all the other captured boys in ‘his chapter’. He hadn’t cried much, just the first 3 nights, and after that only when something caused him to remember home. The other boys hadn’t been much better, though they all (like Igxy himself) insisted that they hadn’t cried at all. (He had wondered what it was that made all of them lie when they had been locked in the same dorm crying themselves to sleep together, but weeks of captivity had worn away his interest in such a useless question). This particular morning the bunny boy had just finished the waking rituals under the watchful eye of a stern looking adept. He rolled out of bed in just his underwear; a loose loin cloth tied around his hips and bum in a way that almost resembled shorts. Then, trudging into line with the other boys, he waited for his turn at the bowl so he could splash water over his body in an imitation of something that resembled washing. The boys in front and behind of him in the line were mostly, though not exclusively, from the same village as he was. As he scanned over their blank faces he could almost hear the flames crackling over the thatched roofs. A blink later and he was back in the far corner of the cellar of the store hut. Huddled up with all the other cubs of his village; young bodies shivering from the cold and sweating from the fear. He could hear the hoof beats as the priests rode into town. Igxy could smell the smoke and the damp now. He could hear the sound of metal on metal and the cries of angry or stricken men as the battle was joined. It got closer. More fell. The heat seemed to grow stronger. His heart beat raced faster and faster. Panic welled within the small rabbit’s chest as the world seemed to constrict. What about his family? His uncles and aunts? His mother? His father who would be out fighting the invaders with the other able bodied men? Who might be among the fallen now. Who he might never see again. His father. Father! “Father!” Igxy took a second to realise he had called that last out loud. His arm was still outstretched as if reaching for something or someone. His breath was short and shallow. He tried to take deeper breaths and calm himself down. There weren’t many heads turned to face him. Cries among the cubs were common enough that they no longer paid much attention to them. Father, mother, daddy, the names of loved ones, pleas not to be left alone, to be saved, to not be forgotten; they were all common among them. The skinny bunny boy was relieved to get his splash of cool water to wash away the sweat of his waking nightmare. He quickly got his fur wet, then went to pull on the heavy, sleeveless, red felt tunic that the priests made them wear and tied it closed with a black belt in a bow knot. It was as he was walking through the sharply-pointed, stone archway that his day deviated from the routine of the past eight weeks. Normally he would follow the other boys out of the room and be given some chore to do around the temple by whatever priest (Igxy didn’t know their names) happened to be in charge, but today his eternal routine was at an end. Today a trio of priests were waiting at the door. They were somewhat better dressed than the priests the boys usually ‘interacted’ with (if you could call being given orders interacting). Their red robes were more ornate with gold-threaded embroidery on panels of black felt. They even rated beaten bronze shoulder pads, which Igxy assumed meant they were high ranking members of Mehzo’s Cult. Igxy barely had time to hear them say, “He is the one, bring him.” before he was plucked out of the queue of unwilling initiates by a pair of firm hands. He was marched down the corridor, away from the puzzled looks of his fellows, with those bony paws on his shoulders; gripping tightly. He walked ahead of the priests, being careful not to make a noise that sounded anything like dissent. Blank, unthinking obedience was the way you managed to continue on here day after day; just going through the motions and letting the situation wash over you. They walked onwards. Initiate followed by his retinue of overseers, down the cold stone corridors. The cult of Mezho was big on stone—especially metamorphic stone. The floor beneath the bunny’s bare foot paws was made of small hexagonal roughly finished basalt tiles. Fluted pillars of the same material polished to a shine held the rough hewn roof above them (had Igxy had a modern education he might have supposed that the Cult of Mehzo had hollowed out the conduits of a dormant volcano, as it was he merely considered himself in underground caverns). The walls likewise gleamed. They were covered by slabs of red and amber marble. Red on the bottom half, amber above. On either side of the corridor were stone archways to different rooms. Some were closed off with curtains, others were open, none were fitted with doors. If the Cult could be said to be big on stone then it could also be said to be down on wood. Igxy hadn’t seen much of the mundane material at all since he arrived here, and stone doors were very impractical. The only passage that had a ‘door’ that the young buck knew of was the temple entranceway. After two days on the sun-baked road, with barely sufficient quantities of water, he had finally found sleep. So he had missed the moment when the cage (which contained him and all the other cubs from his village) rolled up to the massive stone gate. In fact, he thought at first that the other boys had been dreaming too when they told him how the walls, five grown men tall, had parted as they were sighted and then glided closed again once they were through; sealing them away from both sunlight and the world beyond. Later on he had snuck off to see the gates for himself. The bastards didn’t even bother to guard them; they were far too heavy for anyone to move on their own. The worrying number of handles carved into the metres thick walls showed just how many men were required to open the gates. The groove cut into the floor beneath the gates’ tracks showed just how hard it was even for them. The priests guiding Igxy turned and ducked into one of the archways, which meant that Igxy had to turn and enter the room first. They drew the curtain shut behind them. It was a sort of chapel the boy surmised. The room was a circle with a large pit in the centre, a walkway around the pit was made of stone. A basalt statue of the cultist’s muscled jackal god Mehzo hunched over the pit. His thick arms encircled it as if reaching greedy for something only he could see. There was a large bronze plate suspended from a chain in the ceiling which Igxy supposed might serve as an alter to the god, so maybe he was reaching for whatever was placed on that. Igxy found the statue of the god who was not his own to be repulsive, but beyond that he was also puzzled by it. The statue was only of Mehzo from the waist upwards. It confused the cub why the priests would not carve a full size statue of their god. Had they run out of materials? He wasn’t given much time to think on the matter as the priests behind him seized his tunic and roughly shook/pushed him out of it. He stumbled forward surprised teetering on the edge of the pit with his bunny toes curled around the lip. One mighty shove later and he had landed hands and knees on the alter in just his breechcloth. In an instant he understood and was filled with repugnance at the implications of his subservient role: he was on the alter; it was him, in a position of supplication, that jackal lord Mehzo was reaching for; he was the property of this evil god who’s followers had destroyed his village. It was too much for even an enslaved and broken boy like Igxy to take. He started to straighten up; using the chain to pull himself to his feet on the unsteady platform. He was [i]not[/i] going to take this. They could do whatever they wanted to him—he did [i]not[/i] belong to their god. Igxy’s building indignation had almost reached his lips. He was ready to break two months of sullen near-silence and reclaim some of his stolen self-worth. So it was terribly unfair that the priests chose that moment to say “Lower Mehzo’s chosen to the pit.” thus pre-empting and cutting off the bunny’s insult; denying the world forever of what would surely have been the greatest put down of all time. Then his footing vanished from beneath him. The alter wasn’t so much ‘lowered’ into the pit, rather it was ‘allowed to plummet’. It came to a jarring halt some 6 feet lower. The bronze platform swaying chaotically; a pendulum on the end of a chain, with Igxy back on his hands and feet. He clung to the alter with a white knuckle grip and fearful-wide eyes. His small tuft of a tail up high and his heart racing like it hadn’t since his home burned to the ground. A cool breeze wafted upwards between the edge of the metal disc and the stone wall, suggesting that the pit went quite a long ways down beyond this. The rough concrete brick wall was cracked and blackened. Five circular holes spaced equidistantly around the pit were level with him now and in front of him was… Igxy’s eyes couldn’t widen any further. He discovered where the lower half of the statue of the god Mehzo was kept. He averted his eyes in shame. Looking upwards he saw Mehzo leering down at him possessively; arms still spread as if to take possession of the small cub kneeling and shivering at his ankles. Up above him the poor rabbit could hear the muttering of the priests but not their words. If they had intended to make him feel small and frightened and to take the last of his dignity then they had succeeded. Igxy was small, oh so small, and he was so frightened right now. With a roar, flame gushed out of the holes in the walls engulfing the helpless cub. Igxy screamed. Someone was beating on the door to the cellar. The other cubs were crying or huddling closer in the corner. There were screams and tears all around him. It was no longer dark and cold. The ceiling was on fire now. The flames had eaten the upper level of the storage hut! The hut was burning! The whole village was burning! A boot passed through the door; a boot that belonged to one of the invaders. The flaming wooden door disintegrated. The intruder walked in; smiling cruelly, smiling confidently. His clothes were red; in places blood red. Igxy shuddered as his eyes slid past the priest and past the burning wood at his feet. His eyes locked with those of an older rabbit, one who lay on the floor pulling in the heavy clouds of black smoke with his dying breathes. “Father…” Igxy reached up to the leering god above him, not realising what he was doing. The priest strode down the small steps. He had to stoop slightly to enter the cellar. He held out a paw to the cubs as he told them not to panic; that he was here to save them, and that they were going to be taken care of. He just wanted them to come with him calmly and in an orderly fashion. The flames didn’t seem to register with him once during his whole speech. “It is all right my son,” the bunny heard a strong soothing voice that sounded so much like his father’s, “you are safe. For my followers shall be wreathed in flame; yet live. My flames will not visit harm upon my children.” “I…I don’t want to burn.” Igxy’s whine was that of a child much younger than ten. It was an honest and primal fear of a four year old clinging to their parent’s knee fearfully. “I won’t let you. You are safe with me my son.” The voice was deep and masculine. It sounded stronger than his father’s voice now. It made him believe it could keep him safe. It was nothing like the voice of the man who had fallen failing to protect his son outside the cellar. “Look at yourself.” The bunny boy opened his eyes (he still had eyes!) and looked down at himself. Everything was glowing. The walls of the pit were glowing, the bronze alter was glowing, even the legs of the basalt statue had a slight glow to them, but he was glowing brighter than any of them. It was as if he was lit from deep within. Each strand of brown fur on his body was lit from base by the golden light his skin gave off. It felt like molten metal had been poured just under his flesh. The temperature was greater than he had ever felt before, yet it didn’t hurt. He looked up at the face of the jackal god through the haze of heat and poison gasses. “I don’t understand.” He whimpered. In a way the boy and the god were now equal; his loin cloth had turned to ash, leaving his body bare save for the flames that licked over it. “You are special Igxy.” The voice was firm, strong, commanding. The voice of a father-god. A paternal god of flames and conquest. One who lead his children; his followers. Not a god you could ever be an equal too. The rabbit hung his head in shame for even daring to consider he might be the jackal’s equal in even a minor respect. “Soon you will cross over into my realm, and then I will take you as my child if you will accept Me.” “My Lord? Father? I…I am nothing special.” The boy felt a heat in his cheeks that he was sure was nothing to do the flames still jetting from the walls. It was getting harder to breath. His chest felt tighter. Slowly he sunk to the metal plate and shut his eyes. The smiling, possessive god figure was the last thing he saw before his young body gave out. “You are my son.” The voice assured him, and all his shame melted away. All he wanted to do was obey that voice forever. “You are.” There was a rabbit now. One made of insubstantial, but immense, golden fire. A feral rabbit that moved on all fours, that leapt and bounded with great speed and distance. A rabbit with a body that was almost proportioned like that of a jackal. This was the spirit of Igxy set free. He found himself in a plane of endless billowing clouds of smoke. He could feel a tug on his heart, a force calling him to the centre of this new world. Igxy felt free. He no longer had a body weighing him down, and lifted of that burden he felt full of boundless energy. With no thought at all he was off, racing deeper into the clouds and the smog. His feet never touched the ground; they didn’t need to any more. Igxy didn’t even know where the ground was, or if this strange dimension even had a ground. Occasionally he would catch sight of a glow in the clouds and almost be able to make out the form of another like himself heading for the centre, but then the smoke would billow out and the form would be lost. Eventually he came to the middle. He didn’t know how long it took him; maybe forever and maybe just seconds. The smoke was a little less pervasive here, allowing greater visibility. Slabs of marble hug in the air, appearing and vanishing on an order known only to themselves. They appeared clean and pristine, then quickly their undersides became caked in soot. When they vanished the soot would crumble apart and fall into the shadowy depths. Inside the ring of marble was the throne of [i]Him[/i]. The jackal god Mehzo. It was made of stone and metals (different marbles, bronze and iron mostly, but it was difficult to make out under the thick black blanket of soot that clung to it). Beneath it was a mighty furnace holding the fire from which all other fires were surely birthed. The flames, which towered up for miles, licked around the legs and back of the great fire god Mehzo. In the flesh Mehzo was much larger than his statue had suggested. His throne was almost too large to contemplate and Mehzo dwarfed the structure he sat upon as if nothing in this world were allowed to be greater than [i]He[/i]. Ixgy alighted on one of the marble slabs in the ring that floated about his Lord Mehzo. There were the souls of other boys here. All faced Mehzo. All were held rapt by him. “So you’ve arrived My son.” Mezho spoke without moving his lips, and Igxy could tell (though he couldn’t say how) that he wasn’t the only one the god was speaking to at this instant. That each flaming spirit was engaged with their own conversation with the god of war and forge. Igxy lowered his forearms so that his chin touched the marble island beneath him. In the situation it seemed like the right thing to do. It certainly seemed to please Mehzo, and it made the former rabbit feel strangely small and submissive. Although being smaller than one of the jackal’s finger pads might also have played a part in that (Igxy suppressed a shiver as the image of being crushed like a gnat crossed his mind). Every so often a spirit would be bidden to fly over to the throne. The fortunate cub would be allowed to sit obediently and contently on the lap of their Master. More rarely a spirit would turn away from Mehzo and fly downwards into the darkest black smokes that emanated from the mouth of the forge beneath Mehzo’s throne. The cubs who looked away tended to be the newer arrivals, and they never returned. “Tell Me Igxy.” The god asked after he had given the jackal-rabbit a second or an eternity to contemplate his surroundings. “Will you accept My offer and become one of My beloved sons? You will never be alone again with My love and the love of your brothers.” “You…” Igxy felt a spark of defiance in him, but he repressed it quickly. “I mean your followers destroyed my village.” Mehzo chuckled a deep, cavernous laugh and stroked one of the spirits on his lap with a single finger. “Your village exists yet son. It was not destroyed only conquered and set free from the yoke of a false god.” “It is?” The former rabbit’s heart leapt. “But my friends…why couldn’t we go back?” “They must learn the proper ways to worship Me and forget the ways of the old god before they may leave my temple.” Mehzo growled. “It wont be long, but among them you were special. You care deeply for your village and your heart is fire like Mine.” “My heart is like yours?” There was only confusion. He could not compare in anyway to the living god before him, but the jackal’s voice was truth as his father’s had been. “Yes, when you become My son you will be the guardian of your people. A demigod beneath Myself. Under your leadership your village will prosper or wither.” Mehzo smiled possessively. “You will raise up followers for My armies. You will lead your people to conquests in My name. You will be loved forever if only you accept My offer…son.” “Yes [i]Father[/i].” Igxy said as he flew over to take his proper place with the others.