Avarice Blacksteel

The Price of Pride

Xonereth beat his fist with force against the basalt table top. The sound of his anger boomed like thunder in the blackened chamber. Why had he not seen the signs, one of his omnipotent greatness, surely must have, why!

The prophecy he had read, and reread. It was there for all eyes to see and follow, yet none of it had made any sense even to his expansive mind, until after the event had transpired. What good was it!

He threw the great book across the chamber, the hard, bejeweled cover scraped with a whining scream as it sailed across the spotless ebony tiles. The pages fluttering like the wings of a broken dove before it came to rest at the foot of a stone library case full of more such volumes.

He retracted his knuckles from the desktop, and turned sharply to pace about the chamber, his straight, waist length hair forming momentarily a graceful arc as he moved. Sandals silent on the highly polished tiles.

Would she die his beloved? The Nethris were immortal were they not? Beyond such fears and pettiness. Yet the blood that coursed through his veins was no longer the ichor of blackness. His beloved Sheharizade was now aged, and her once straight frame twisted and bowed with infirmity. The incident had thrown his usually serene people into chaos.

What of the idea immortality in decrepitude? It did not bear thought, to live an eternity in a broken and ravaged shell? It would be better the release of death. He was beginning to see why the petty humans craved finality and worshiped it even. These were such foreign thoughts, almost heresy.

The Nethris were so focused on perfection, pride, and beauty. What would this new revelation do to his people? In his soul though he knew one thing, at least at long last he was not the only one here who basked in indifference.

At first on seeing her he had flown into a blind rage, how could she have done this? Why risk her very being, and bring this upon HIS people? Was Sheharizade just as mad as the long ago exiled Valefor in her careless ways?

She had merely gazed up at his seething anger that boiled like steam clouds about him and communicated to him in one of her clear eyed gazes.

“My Lord you simply do not understand...” The princess was courting a dangerous anger as she spoke quietly. “Though you may have sired one of those above or even as many as a vast field of summer grain, a Father’s attachment isn't at all like that of a mothers. l could not have left my only son to perish no matter what the price. He is one of my body, he is one of my spirit. I feel for him, even though he is weak and dull compared to our own people. It is my duty to make the sacrifice that he may live...”

“Sheharizade!” He screamed. His subjects though distant shrunk away from his anger. The cowed figure sat firm.

“It could be no other way,” she countered softly in the face of his fury. “Do with me my King as you will, but I did as I must.”

Xonereth in a pure rage fell silent then. He turned away, it seemed even the black waters turned momentarily to lap backward on themselves before once more resuming their endless rhythm.


It was later, much later he had again come to her in private. His anger much subsided. He had taken her into his arms, he could feel her twisted bones beneath his grasp, her frailty.

“Oh my Sheharizade.’ He had lamented. “To go about on earth in the light, fearless as always.” He had held her tightly, inconsolable.

Clasped together they had remained sometime. Two become one.

Slowly Xonereth pulled back the dark and full cowl that shielded his beloved’s face from view. Black coal eyes that still shone bright devoid of sclera or pupils met his. Dark veins traversed the once fine and beautiful skin which now bore the texture of easily rent rice paper. Lips full and sensuous in his most recent gaze, now drawn in a hard tight line. Hair brittle, dry and snowy white cascaded over his hand. His beloved, his Sheharizade.

Xonereth Lord of all he surveyed did something then unimaginable to his proud mind. He sunk to his knees in penitence before her. “Oh my love! If only your King had been less conceited and blind...” He spoke those words to her toes.

‘The unending oceans shall continue to rise, until the first leaf of Nethrizil graces the earth.'

'The unassailable shall witness another hue come to pass; and those beautiful, straight and true will be bowed in a mantle of white.'

'As ebon tears cascade, bled by shadows below and above. He who will not grieve shall find it in himself.'

One by one the lines of the prophecy are made truth.