The Blood Oath
What is divinity, if not death surpassed?
What is love, if not madness embraced?
What is control, if not a mother’s devotion?
What is hate, if not anger combined with knowledge?
What is submission, if not strength made manifest?
Submit or Die
Five different voices whispering to me, across time and space.
Five shadowed faces, slowly fading in the Mists.
My father, blood dripping from tears in crimson plate dying from his enemies.
My mentor, flesh sloughing off his form in order to obtain mastery over his enemies.
My master, resting comfortably on the heads of his enemies.
My superior, who looks away as the Dark Lady consumes Her enemies.
My servant, his stout neck straining a blackened steel chain having made himself his own enemy.
Submit or Die
A Hazlani summer is a scorching heat indeed. The Rashemi serfs break their backs in toil at the perfectly symmetrical fields of Ramulai, free in technicality but living the Hell of Slaves. One, bearded and worn, browned and wrinkled, takes a moment to wipe the sweat out of his face. He looks up and happens to look into my eyes. Shock, horror and fear flash as he immediately puts tool back to magically treated soil with added fervor.
With admirable efficiency Hazlan grows and thrives. The forests thrive with exotic life: krenshars screech as they chase down gremishka, owlbears hoot at fleeing goats, massive bees flit from hawthorn flower to golden aster. A man is not unlike a golden aster, awakening in the day to greet the sun, closing himself off to the night. He is oblivious to his fate: through toil his eyes fade, his back weakens, until one night he is plucked. A distant scream and wooden crash as a tree moves to crush a Rashemi rebel; a man is freed from this Hell of Slaves.
Submit or Die
Five thorns carve into my flesh.
Five serpentine heads tear at five faceless women on my flesh.
Five sword cuts across my abdomen.
Five whip scars on my back.
Five chains that bind me to the Hell of Slaves.
Love will guide me.
Hate will empower me.
Patience will reward me.
Order will bind me.
Toil will set me free.
Submit or Die