The Enemy of the World Chapter 1 Knowledge

Knowledge

A DEAD ORDER OF SEEDNESS AND NUMEROLOGY NEVER received visitors. Its members were the greatest devotees of Tanna-Toh in the entire world of Arton, even more faithful than the clerics of the Goddess of Knowledge. The Dead Seers were not clerics; they did not receive the favor of the goddess, nor were they ever chosen to spend eternity at her side after death. Nevertheless, their loyalty was ironclad. They accepted a life of seclusion within their monastery, born to mothers and fathers who belonged to the Order, growing up among the Order's children, working within its confines throughout their lives, and finally being cremated there, with their souls imprisoned for eternity in metal and glass artifacts. All because their power was too great to share.

Members of the Dead Order of Clairvoyance and Numerology had long understood that a pattern permeated all existence, encompassing the lives of mortals and the actions of the gods. Thus, they could predict the future of the universe through numbers. Their infinite equations, complex beyond anything known, calculated the possibilities and variations of Creation's destiny, producing omens based on probabilities and statistics. Prophecies were calculated and transcribed onto long parchments filled with numbers. Consequently, they were dead to the world; in fact, they had never truly been born.

The clerics of Tanna-Toh could never fail to answer any question. It was the doctrine of the Goddess of Knowledge, the law by which those favored by her were meant to live. In stark contrast, the life of the members of the Dead Order of Clairvoyance and Numerology was one of refusal to respond. The Helladarion, the artifact that served as the high priest of Tanna-Toh, possessed all the knowledge of the greatest clerics of the goddess who had lived and died. The knowledge of the Order had to be beyond Helladarion's reach; hence, its members could never be clerics. Even in death, they could never risk revealing what they knew, imprisoned for eternity within glass globes, a dark and immobile infinity. This was the price of knowledge and supreme devotion to their goddess.

The visits from Tanna-Toh, the only being among gods and mortals who knew the Order, were the culmination of any member's life, although several generations had passed without the goddess appearing. Still, the work continued diligently: the numbers, the calculations, the future and destiny of the world, and the very destiny of those born into the Order traced from the beginning. Death in infancy awaited those whose numbers indicated they would be rebels. The Dead Seers prayed they would never miscalculate. Yet Tanna-Toh never responded.

Given all this, panic ensued when a visitor arrived at the monastery shrouded in mists from the Dead Order of Clairvoyance and Numerology. The elf walked distractedly among the many humans, almost all dressed in gray cloaks, who were running in every direction. Soon, she was halted by a dozen men wielding swords, halberds, and bows.

"You have two choices," said what appeared to be the leader, armed with a sword nearly as tall as he was. "You can live here for the rest of your long life, or die right now. The existence of this place must not leave these walls."

The threats were real. Some members of the Order trained fanatically in the use of weapons to eliminate any intruder who, by some misfortune, stumbled upon the monastery, hidden from mortal and divine eyes by impenetrable mists. The sword-wielding man knew that elsewhere, other Dead Seers were poised to destroy all the Order's records should the intruder prove too powerful for their armed brethren. Better to obliterate the work of ages than to reveal forbidden knowledge.

The ten guards awaited a moment of silence. In the absence of any response, they prepared to attack. The elf looked up, and everyone could see more sadness on her face than they had thought possible. Some fell to their knees, crying in convulsions. Others merely stood motionless, overtaken by an overwhelming urge to comfort the creature of infinite misery before them. Weapons fell to the floor. The elf's short purple hair, carelessly falling across her face, did little to hide her tears. She continued walking, shuffling her feet, leaving a trail of tears in her wake. Where her tears fell, flowers bloomed only to wither, turning brown or blackened. The elf's beauty was paralyzing, yet everywhere she went, desolation followed, accompanied by the stench of dead roses.

The commotion soon ceased as the Dead Seers realized who their visitor was. None of their equations had predicted this event. The monastery fell silent; even the children silenced their little voices, babies stopped crying, and animals became still. Not even a cricket nor a mouse dared to make a sound. Only the elf's footsteps and the sobs of those who felt her sorrow echoed in the stillness—a sorrow born of death and the meaningless, purposeless destruction it wrought. It was the sadness of a race that had, just days prior, begun to die. All the mothers who divined their dead children from the mismatched parts of their bodies, all the children who witnessed their fathers spit blood, and all the husbands who buried their raped and dismembered wives cried alongside the elf, joined by the Dead Seers.

The elf climbed the long stairs, spreading her unbearable pain, and arrived at the room of the Master of the Dead Order of Clairvoyance and Numerology. A large book, nearly as tall as two men and as thick as the trunk of a full-grown tree, dominated the room, supported by a massive iron structure. Thousands of other books and parchments filled the space, alongside quills, ink, and abacuses—more numbers than a man could count in a lifetime. A musty, pungent smell lingered in the air. In a corner, an old man, wrapped in his gray robes, curled up on the floor, his body heaving with painful sobs. He managed to look in the elf's direction and utter just one word.

"He arrives..."

The woman sighed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, displaying the inelegance of someone who no longer cared. Her clothes were quite dirty, and her sadness was neither dignified nor heroic. It was simply profound sadness, and no words could ease it.

"Then tell me what will happen. What can I do?"

The old man composed himself, drying the tears, saliva, and mucus that had spread across his face amid his desperate crying. He picked up a small pair of glasses from the floor, looked at the figure before him, and decided it best to remain in the blur of myopia. He straightened up with a sigh, swallowing his sobs. He was about to do what hundreds of his predecessors, along with his parents and grandparents, had sacrificed to ensure would never happen. Finally, he answered her question.

"There will be a storm..."

The elf returned to her home. Almost all her trees were dead, and she gradually discovered that she no longer had the strength to care for those that still lived. Twilight had lingered for several days, and everyone feared what might happen when darkness finally fell. An old human woman sat on the ground amid a pile of dead leaves. She rose slowly when she saw the elf approach.

"And then, Glórienn?" the old lady asked. "Did you find out what you wanted?" Glórienn, the Goddess of Elves, looked at her visitor and felt, at that moment, another of her children die. She grimaced in pain.

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth. "I discovered a weapon. I will win."

Tanna-Toh looked at Glórienn with helpless pity. A few days prior, the elven kingdom, Lenórienn, had been devastated by the Dark Alliance—an immense and terrible army of goblinoids no one had thought possible. Led by the monstrous general Thwor Ironfist and faithful to the god Ragnar, the Alliance had slaughtered thousands of elves in a short time, and because of this, Glórienn consumed herself with hatred. The Elf Goddess was the type of victim who continued to hurt herself even after her tormentor was gone.

"Ragnar will fall," Glórienn declared with a certainty and cruelty that even startled the other goddess. "Ironfist will die. Your entire race will perish. All goblinoid races. Each of them..."

Her anger transformed into physical pain—a choking sensation, a feeling of drowning. Glórienn clenched her teeth until they ground together and dug her nails deep into her palms, blood running freely from her closed fists.

"Child," Tanna-Toh began, but was soon interrupted.

"If all the elves die, I will become the Goddess of Revenge. I will be crueler than Keenn."

Tanna-Toh understood those empty threats. There was little she didn't know. "You know that's not possible. You are the Goddess of Elves; you always have been and always will be. Before elves existed, you were the goddess of the concept of elves and elven values, and before you created them, you were still the goddess destined to do so. We cannot change. You know that."

Glórienn remained silent, clenching her fists and teeth, letting out a weak moan.

"Just as Khalmyr was the God of Justice even before he invented justice, and I was the Goddess of Knowledge even before I created him. We are immutable. That's why mortals will always be superior."

The other goddess relaxed her hands and mouth and opened her eyes, breathing with difficulty, still feeling as if she were drowning.

"It's not true. It can't be. Mortals worship us."

"Mortals do what they want, Glórienn," Tanna-Toh replied. "And they are what they want. They can be blacksmiths, shoemakers, wizards, or guards. While we are forever trapped in our cells of immeasurable power, we can never change."

The Elf Goddess seemed ready to collapse again, her whole body trembling. "It might be easy for you to say. You are the Goddess of Knowledge, worshiped by all races. But what will I do if all my children die?" Glórienn now resembled a confused child, asking the older woman questions while hating her for knowing the answers.

"Believe it or not, we are all as fragile as you. If all the libraries burn, all the knowledge in the world will last no more than a few generations of mortals. And we know how quickly they die. If Nimb makes any bolder moves, all of Khalmyr's justice may disappear, and even he will have difficulty teaching it back to a chaotic world. That's why we are all so fragile, and that's why we must maintain balance."

Glórienn anticipated the next sentence, but she couldn't help grimacing in disgust upon hearing it. "And that's why you can't, never, destroy Ragnar. If one of us falls, no one knows—" She was interrupted again, this time by the Elf Goddess's roar. Tanna-Toh waited patiently until Glórienn fell silent. She continued looking at her with her grandmotherly gaze until Glórienn spoke.

"I am scared. So scared... What if I..."

"To die?" Tanna-Toh said, her tone impassive. In fact, a tiny spark of curiosity shone in her eyes, with the ruthlessness of a dedicated scientist. "Nobody knows. We never found out what happened to Sszzaas. If any of the Greater Gods die, then we will finally discover our fate after death. And there will be new knowledge."

The conversation with Tanna-Toh did nothing to dissuade Glórienn. Tanna-Toh owed her, as did everyone else, for not intervening when the Dark Alliance destroyed Lenórienn. The revelation of the existence and location of the Dead Order of Clairvoyance and Numerology had only begun to repay that debt. But Glórienn knew that now she would have a weapon if she could put her plan into action. The storm that would come from afar would sweep away all her enemies.

She had moved the first piece. Years before, somewhere in Arton, a half-elf girl was adopted by the clerics of a temple of Lena, who decided to name her Nichaela.