The opaque fog billowed out from Plesippus and filled the entire temple, before fading away to show the same setting once again. The nine of them were still seated there, though in different positions and clothed in lighter cloaks.
“Well, on with it, Akakios. I’ve students waiting to learn phlebotomy back at my institute,” Sophus muttered, rolling her eyes.
Akakios simply stared at her, his aged eyes narrowing in apparent frustration. His mane had faded from that dark brown to something closer to dried clay, and the wrinkles about his face were more pronounced, more numerous. He cleared his throat, earning the silent attention of the Order.
“Are you so accustomed to such duties as to treat it so flippantly, Sophus? Have you no sense of reverence or compassion for your oath any longer?”
“Wise one, I—”
“I shall not hear it. We have all witnessed time and time again the ripe power of the Origin, and instead of fuelling fear for its misuse in all of you, you’ve all become complacent to it.” His words, while spoken through a slightly shaky voice, had echoed off the infinitely high ceiling as if he had been an opera singer.
“Regardless,” he continued, seating himself, “I appreciate you all making arrangements to answer the summons. We’ve been beseeched by an empress from the east. She states that an advisor of hers with wicked ambitions has usurped her via nefarious means.”
“Oh, this again?”
“Quiet, Hesperos. This was not a request written for petty vengeance. She states this advisor has been dealing with Tartaurs, casting forbidden spells and forsaken rituals to scheme together with them. Her empire’s entire standing army was wiped out in an instant with the snap of a cloven hoof.”
“A Tartaur had been summoned to the physical plane? But what creature could command such magic? Not one of us alone could survive such a feat.”
“Not via forceful summoning, no… but if this advisor has been worshipping the denizens of Tartaurus for years, they may have infected his mind, twisting and warping his brain to follow their own goals.”
“Is the empress here?”
Akakios shook his head. “She is currently hiding in exile within my personal study.”
Eumelia spoke up, curious. “How are we to verify her claim then?”
“And what is she requesting we do?” Isocrates asked.
“We can verify her with the Origin, as we’ve done before. She need not be here, it is the Origin, after all… And in regards to your question, Isocrates, she has requested we banish the Tartaur, revive her army, and restore her seat upon the throne.”
Philokrates stroked his beard, frowning. “I can’t see why that wouldn’t qualify. It is restorative in nature, a resetting of balance. Plus the need to keep a Tartaur off this existence would be worthy enough a reason to invoke the Origin, no?”
There was a murmur of agreement.
“How come you did not just verify her before issuing our summons, Akakios?” Plesippus snapped. “I was studying within my temple when your call reached me, and by your design it is near impossible to reach and return from!”
“You should not be spending such time there to begin with for that very reason,” Akakios muttered, his shoulders slumping lightly. “Again I must reiterate the importance of keeping our own distance from the Origin. And furthermore, that would have required me to use it without the rest of you present, which I shall not do!”
His shout echoed about the chamber, lashing back at the order again and again before the cavernous room finally consumed the sound.
“I apologize, wise one,” Plesippus said, not meeting Akakios’s eyes. “I shall endeavour to be more diligent in practicing the required reverence.”
“There will be no more endeavouring nor attempting nor working towards. Not from you, nor any of you! There shall only be obedience to the oath, or expulsion from the order!”
Stunned silence gripped the room, until finally Euthalia spoke.
“But that—”
“Means the undoing of your soul, as well, yes. It is not a fate I wish upon any of you, and when we forged the contract all understood there would be no renegotiations nor amendments. You must understand my position, members… friends. In both keeping the Origin from misuse and protecting your lives from corruption.”
“You’ve a greater burden than the rest of us combined, old friend,” Hesperos said, rapping the table in emphasis.
“Hear hear!”
“We do not wish to disappoint you, Akakios. We thank you for keeping our aim true,” Euthalia said cheerfully. “Now, let us move on to business, with renewed purpose in mind.”
“Rightfully so,” Akakios said, waving a staff over the triangular table. The altar at the back of the room pulsed once, and where once was wood was now a vision, true to form as if they were looking through glass. Upon it, a more horse-like creature, skinnier and taller than the members of the Order, sat upon a blackened throne. Cinders still rose from the charred seat, though the heat didn’t seem to bother the mare.
“Tell me again how this helps you,” she said.
“Our purpose is beyond the understanding of any creatures from this plane. Rest assured that all I have promised you shall be true and without misinterpretation, so long as you honour your bargain first.” It was a horrible voice, like gravel being compacted into dust, that rasped and caught at odd times as if the speaker weren’t yet used to the mouth it was using.
“Were it to be so lovely I should believe you. Machinations of this style typically involve types who wish to profit off the backs of their co-conspirators. I’ve been after that damned throne for a hundred years, Karlek. I’m not some rabble tricked into summoning you because Father took my favorite toy away.”
Akakios swirled his staff silently, rotating the view away from the empress to view her surroundings better. The vision moved strangely, unfocussed as it panned past a destroyed castle with smoking stone and still-burning tapestries. When it finally centered on the opposite side of the room and crystalized into focus again, the equines of the order gasped in horror.
Standing within a hideous circle of blood and salt, lined with corpses stacked crisscrossed in a nine-pointed star, was a centaur. The upper, mandrill-shaped half was flayed, devoid of skin, and green-tinged blood slowly oozed onto the gore below, sizzling with each drop.
“A fact I can appreciate. Regardless, to understand how it impacts my kind it would invoke death from intangible comprehension. Just know that your rule will be unimpacted—when our plans come to play, you shall have long faded to dust.”
“Fair enough, I suppose. It’s the last chance I have to remove that damned Goldenheart, and so I shall attempt it anyways. I take a slight bit of comfort in knowing we’re so truly inconsequential to you that you have no reason to betray me. Very well. Remind me one last time.”
“You must seek out the Order of Origin, in the western valleys, just north of the endless ice. There, tell them you have been deposed, stripped as rightful ruler by Goldenheart, had your armies decimated, and been sent into exile.”
“And who is Goldenheart to be to them?”
“You’re clever. Think of something. Or do you need me to provide every facet to you?”
“Give me some credit. Even a poisonous ant can kill a stallion.”
“Once they have taken you in, request in as pitiful terms as you can that they unmake Goldenheart and restore your armies from death. The sheer number of corpses within this land is…” Karlek licked his lips, pulling some of the ichor away from the skinless mouth. “...Delectable. When you return, half your army can be sacrificed to complete my formation, and the other half will still be ten times the size of any other upon this continent. You and I shall both be unstoppable.”
“It shall be done, goat. I’ll depart immediately. Try not to burn any more of my throne away, shall you? I’ll be needing it the moment I get back.”
Once more Akakios waved his staff, returning the table to wood.
“Well, that’s easy enough then, isn’t it?” Philokrates laughed. “Allow me to form the motion. Order, I call upon you!”
“You are heard, Philokrates!” the reply came in unison.
“Given the revelations we have seen before us, I motion to invoke the Origin!”
They all started pounding the table, the hardwood knocks filling the air before Akakios held a hoof up, bringing silence again.
“Explain your process, Philokrates,” Akakios orated, “Enlighten us with your plan.”
“I motion we invoke the Origin on two counts. Count one: Disperse the hoofhold Karlak has upon this land and ban him from ever communicating with this plane forever more! Count two: send our ‘empress’ to Tartaurus, where she may be in joyous and perpetual relations with the Tartaurs for time unending, until her very soul be eroded away by their cruel torment.”
“Members of the Order, the motion has been heard. As is custom, mark your yea or nea upon your parchment, and we shall deliver the verdict to the Origin.”
They nodded solemnly and quickly scratched off a mark on the leather before them before folding and sealing it with a stomp. Once all had completed their task, Akakios stood tall, levitating the ballots together into a stack and bringing them before himself. He turned, walking slowly to the agate altar at the back of the temple while the other creatures watched, muted.
He pressed the stack against the altar and muttered something under his breath, and they slid inside the stone.
There was a moment where nothing happened.
And then there was a moment where everything happened. The altar rang once like a bell, a deafeningly loud boom that ripped through the temple. Multiplicitous light rippled out with a veracity that blew the manes back of all nine equines, seemingly pulling a bit more of the saturation from Akakios’s at the same time.
“Right then, Akakios,” Sophus announced, dusting her cloak off casually. “Send us home, would you? Seeing as you brought us all the way here on hoof for almost nothing.”
Akakios lowered his head and sighed deeply, his voice even shakier now than before. Upon the end of his exhale, he lifted a hoof forward and punched the altar, and the eight of them around the table were gone.