"Legendary Power"

The storm beat down on the huge land of ice, ravaging the ground which had never seengrass for half a million years. The snow fell downward, then up, pushed by the wind, than pulled downward again, the storm adding to its number. Blowing harshly, the wind wasrelentless against the young man who huddled by himself, crouching over a small fire he hadmade of the last of his tinder.

Huddling over the fire to keep it from blowing out by the wind as much as warmth, theman's teeth chattered against the dark night. Pulling his tattered cloak around him, the manreached around him and pulled his long dark hair free of its ponytail, letting the hair fall freelyagainst his back for at least a little warmth. Oh, sweet heat. How he had taken it for granted.

Yet, as he sat there trying not to freeze to death, he reflected that he would rather be herein the middle of nowhere, than back. . . back in Nisan. Too many memories. Perhaps RoniFatima thought he was running away from what he could not fix, but he didn't care. PerhapsKrelian, his old friend, thought he was running from her. Perhaps he was jealous, perhaps not.

I will find it, the man reflected. I will find the Legendary Power.

The Legendary Power. Legends of legends only whispered of its existence. Said to havebeen created when God fell to earth, the Zohar was the driving force behind all ether ability. Something that strong could surely make him powerful, surely with that much power he couldbring her back. He would bring her back.

"Forgive me, Elly," he whispered into the night sky, into the terrible darkness. "Please,forgive me. I wasn't powerful enough. . . to save you." He shuddered, wracked with sobs. Itseemed all he had, now. He had lost it all when she had piloted her ship, the Excalibur, into theSolarian battleship, ending the war of Nisan. His faith in God, his love, his existence. Nowthere was only the lust for power, and the cries of a man for his beloved. And the darknessinside him. Krelian always had called him the "peacemaker", but that was before the last daysof the Nisan War, when Sophia had gotten between them. He, just a small painter, in town whenthe Nisan Monestary was looking for an artist to paint their beloved Mother, Sophia. Roni hadcalled it fate. Perhaps it was.

She hadn't really wanted a portrait, not at first. But when she heard who would paint it,she said yes right a way. As if it was important to her. "What did you see in me, Elly?" hisvoice breaking from the chattering of his teeth. "And why can't I see it?"

He had promised himself that he would search for power, enough power to bring herback. It was his fault for not being there that she set off for that suicide assault on Solaris. Itwas his responsibility to bring her back. He was close, he felt. Close to Zohar. Close to hissalvation.

The next morning, shivering in his cloak, waking with the shock that his left arm wasnumb and black, frostbite setting in over the cold night. Wincing in pain, he pulled himself up,wondering if he would find the Legendary Power before he died. Leaving the exhausted dregs ofhis camp fire, he stood and walked northward, snow crunching beneath him.

The sky was clouded and gloomy, swollen with snow and rain. He had about two hoursbefore the new storm hit. He walked stiffly, trying to keep the blood flowing through his legs,which were almost as useless to him as his arm. Nothing to do but walk, and remember. Eversince Elly died he had lost all faith in humanity. A dim part of him thought that there were nohumans, only Elly was a true human, and now she was dead. Humanity did not exist for him.

Those bastards. We trusted them, we actually thought Shevat would help us. But theywanted power. A false, insubstantial power. Not important, but it had destroyed Nisan, his oldfriend Krelian, and now him.

For airspace and control over parts of the land, Shevat had signed an agreement withSolaris, and the Soylent System. For those rights, Shevat only had to give them the rebel army,and their holy Mother. He would destroy them all. He would avenge his love's death, andresurrect her with the Legendary Power.

***

The storm falling, freezing him to the bone, and darkening the land before him, he couldbarely make out a beacon of bluish light emanate from the ground. His left leg frostbitten aswell as his arm, he crawled toward the light, pulling himself with his good arm, pushing with hisgood leg. Using the last of his Chi ability to keep himself alive until he met his goal, he pushedforward.

"There. . .That is what I've been searching for!" He cried to himself as he neared thelight. Every cell in his body screamed that this was it, the Power he wanted, that this was Zohar. Even the dark, empty self that had began to manifest itself lately was telling him to strive harder. Funny, he thought, that this new self was getting stronger. Ever since his own mental abilitystarted to decline when Elly destroyed herself, this new being inside him began to talk. Normally he was not afraid of anything much, but this new sensation filled him with fear. Thecloser he got to Zohar, the stronger the other being inside him grew. Pulling further, exertinghimself to the limit, he pushed himself over the rise and into the deep trench which housed theLegendary Power.

A great flash of light blinded him, not from outside in the cavern but inside his own head.

"But wait! That's not what I want!" he cried, feeling the Power rip through him.

"No!! It is my very desire!" a new, cold voice cried behind him. Turning around, hestared upward. Himself was looking down at him, smiling a cold, cruel ghost of a grin. "Whoare you?" he stammered.

"Ah, Lacan." The mirror image said. His lips rasped, and his voice reminded him deadthings, cemeteries and gravestones. "Don't you know? I am you." He walked forward, stridingpurposely toward the half-dead man on the ground. "But you, my dear Lacan, you may call meGrahf." Grahf reached down and drew his hand lightly around Lacan's face. "Zohar hasresponded to my call, and has brought forth life to me. I now longer have to live inside you. Iam free of your body, and mind."

"What are you. . . saying?" Lacan whispered, the cold finally killing him.

"I have the Power. God joined with me, and I can see the past, the present, and thefuture." Grahf paused, thinking.

"I will live to the end of the world, Lacan," he replied nastily. "Or, if it does not end, Iwill bring about the end myself! I could consume your soul here and now, but I am you. Andyou will die soon, anyway. How fitting. You came to save her, and you can't do anything aboutit. It seems you were always powerless, Lacan."

"No. . .wait. . ." Lacan whispered, his sight diminishing.

"Pitiful." Grahf disappeared, leaving no trace that he had been there.

"Elly. . . I'm sorry. . ." Lacan whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks, and he said nomore, as he finally gave in to the cold. The tears froze on his face.

The End