“You do not recognize me, Simon? It is I, Tajah.”
The beautiful young woman came closer. She removed her veil, revealing enticing crimson lips, behind which hid a mouthful of resplendent, yet dangerously sharp, white teeth. Years of brazen authority molded his facial features into a tight callous indifference, which she noted with a wry smile, knowing her beauty did not go unnoticed.
“It seems my warriors did not obliterate all of the Clan of Elke.” Simon mocked, trying to appear indifferent as he subtly pulled on one of the many alert cords shrouded but always within reach.
“We are like the rodents of Artash, impossible to eradicate. What has it been, 13 moon shadows now? How fat and comfortable you’ve become as Dominion. Oh, but that makes me sad, you no longer being a warlord, since I’ve trained particularly for the fight of this day, this meeting, this moment. Now it will be too easy.”
“Not as you believe will it be, Elke dreg.” The Guardians of Sovereignty are approaching as we speak.”
“Wonderful! Witnesses.” Tajah says, moving in closer to catch his scent.
“I am not just Elke, Simon. I was held to rebirth in the Vetus Latina, the old Latin ways. The Abbess Katarina deSalay gave me tutelage and blessings to venture out, right the wrongs. I am held in esteem allegiance. It is that blessing that brought me to you first and foremost. You see, I’m privy to the sacred doctrines, including the Doctrina of Revenge. So my killing you will be held to no contempt or legal disgrace. What say you now?”
“I think you owe me for your good fortune.”
“Of course you do.” Tajah laughs. “Which shall it be? The right or left blade?”
“The left, of course. Then it will come straight from your heart to mine.” Simon retorts, keeping his eyes moving between the woman and the door, anxious for his guards.
“Deus Vult, as God wills it.”
“God is unknowable to your kind.” He stalls. “No amount of spiritual training or bloodletting will make soulless excrement beget a soul.”
“And nothing will prevent you from passing to eternal unrest without yours. This sword, which you picked to my good fortune, is the only one of its kind, sculpted by my fallen forefathers, forged with their unbreakable bones and consecrated in purpose by none other than you know who. With it, I will claim your lifeforce as my own.”
“It cannot be. No such sword exists.”
Tajah does not respond but gives the man his moment of death contemplation. His fear and hostility emitting a savory odor, keening her senses. Still, his cold citrine eyes continued to challenge her.
Raising her sword to the heavens, she speaks the oath, ending with “Simon, God discards you.”
Tajah’s head juts backward by a force not her own. Her eyes roll, leaving white sclera globes facing skyward. The ancient language trumpets from her swift tongue, spittle flicking. The sword quivers and shimmers with an intense white light that rolls like lava up her fingers, over her hand, her arm, until it encompasses her like a great blazing cloak.
Simon feels the room crowd, though he can see no one else there, not even the guards. The sword passes into the core of his naval, opening his third chakra, transforming the color of the light as it mixes with his blood and recedes back in direction. Tajah pulls the sword from Simon’s body and plunges it into her own solar plexus.
“Praise be to God.” she utters falling to the ground. In what most resembles the seizure of true birth, Tajah feels humanness for the first time.