They still call Kasi a mystery, even
now. Those wraith-lords. Those brutal, callous furies. Still pretending the sun. Still building these mocking chronologies. They give the inexplicable various names. Bitter harvest, twin-of-many, the shrouded one.
They say that I too am
inexplicable. But I’ve always been
forthright. Even whilst speaking in this
flighted, mercurial tongue. Perhaps I’m
a flirt and like to play. Maybe I do
have a strange sense of humour. But
that's only because I've been doing this for a long, long time. I’m utterly committed to my cause. I attend my loved ones as best I can,
whether near or far. The kind ones, the strong
and the weak ones. The broken and oppressed.
I've worked diligently for a thousand
years. Beyond your comprehensions of time or space. I am working still. I give everything to my art. And I tell you now the tide is turning. Ragged Magi walk amidst the mountain-ashes,
and the grey. They stand ready at each
liminal edge. Many, and one. Who among you knows me better than my Father? Or my Mother? Exactly. There were great cauldrons of the realm once,
and chalices. Held in the oldest castles. Wells and cups of great wisdom. Indeed, there are things older than
Christendom. Ways and tithes now called
pagan, bardic, druidic. But I tell you that
Christendom is older than time itself. As
is folklore, words, and trees. If only
the surface is sought you will find little more than parable. Useful, potent, but still an outer covering
for light as yet unseen. There is an
innermost truth in all true scripture, of course. A holy spirit of living flame. As when Joshua told the sun. It is this shining knowledge that all true
Elders call the lore, the Word and mansions of our Father. Our people knew this long before those Cults
of Roma built their lying, intransigent hell upon the true histories of Light. Maidens
nine, brothers bled, shattered hallows of Eth'iir. It matters little what you call us, Fallen. Or what you do to nullify our purpose. For we are many steps ahead. My sister is a witch, after all. A fisher of men. Don't you know anything about witches? Oftentimes they can see the future. But more than this, they can recontextualize
the past. They can shape and reshape our
dreams. Just look around you. Can't you see it? The augurs, the fulfilment of prophecy? The messengers gathered along the radiant edge
of perception? Many, and one. I told you what would happen if you crossed
me. The crown belongs to the people, not
the king. You steal the strength and livelihood of my kith and then call it a
commonwealth? How fucking dare you. You desecrated this isle of angels and tried
to make it a palace of imperium. A seat
of unrighteous war. But that is not the
true Albion. Hear me, betrayers. This was once the land of light, before your dark
sorcery shattered the shining stone beneath our feet. You can’t bury the truth forever. I know a little magic too. I helped build your books, Fallen. There and never there. Gone, but not forgotten. Even your deceitful spell-craft owes much to
M'ithriin tongue. After all, you can
only know yourselves in opposition to the truth. All that is good. Wandering stars, fishers of men, sons and daughters
of love. You are witnessing a revolution
of spirit here amid the chaos you’ve wrought. How bitter must it be before you end this
slavery? I don't care what people
believe, or what tongue they think they speak. None are abandoned. If there is even a glimmer of light within any
human soul then I will do everything in my power to bring them home. I stand always for kindness, creativity and
mutual respect. Try to steal those
things from my people and I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth. I’ll fold the entire tapestry of human
dreaming until at last you’ll be forced to look me in the eye, and the eyes of
all those you've wronged. That's what it
means to be a king. I swear to keep my
brother, as my brother commands. There
are greater crowns than mine, Fallen. And
greater kings. You should pray now. Time is shorter than you think. Kasi and
his friends have been working their magic for a long, long time. All things are shifting, changing, rising. Even in the depths of this darkness. Let me be plain if I must. Let me be forthright, as ever. This is the War of Imagination, and all lands
are Albion now.
Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.
Thursday 18 November 2021
Lafayette
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