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[Tommos]

There was Morning and Evening on the Last of all Days

It was on the Bridge, the smooth arch of rock over the Pit that they met. Two sides of a coin, opposing, equal. For years Evening had been stretching his fingers, spreading his inky black wings across the sky of the realm. And for the same number of years, Morning had been fighting back with his own brand of wild, untamed magicks. There had been battles, and wars, and greater wars, but still the conflict had not been resolved. But finally the two had met. Morning riding his white stallion, Evening with no need for a stallion, floating on powerful demonic wings. And with them they brought their artefacts.
Morning had a dove on one shoulder, a spear made of fresh yew wood and a drop of crystal that held in it a powerful light. He was seven foot tall and dressed in white robes and armour. Evening was nine foot tall and wreathed in smoke and fire. His wings were like those of bats and he had huge muscles and a pair of sweeping, demonic horns. He held with him a Lance of white-hot iron, white hot but still solid, held together by dark power. And he carried the Stones, age old relics of a world long gone. When broken with Evening’s power, the Stones would release creatures to slow down Morning. They could never destroy him, but they could hold him back.
From the East came Morning and his hosts of loyal beings, powered by old magicks. They were serene and reliable, unfaltering and implacable, like an ice-white glacier. Morning commanded the Églatain, a people born in ice. But they brought life where they walked, as their ice melted and sprayed seeds across the stony ground. A seed watered by the ice of the Églatain would grow in any place.
From the West came Evening and his rabble, huge and mighty. The Moroth hungered for blood and were adept at shedding it, born as they were in fire. And they brought only destruction. They were powered by Evening’s new magic, untested and faltering but still no less powerful than the old, wild magicks. And where Moroth fire touched, the ice of the Églatain would lose its power.

And to think these mighty armies had been fighting for centuries brought a tremble to the limbs. They could have devastated the Earth with their titanic struggle. But at the climax of the last great war, the Old Ones had intervened. They were called the Vistar and they forbade the two armies to destroy the Earth. Transported to a realm where they could do battle, the hosts would fight till one side was victorious. This realm had started empty, but both hosts had created their own firmament out of raw power and set it among the stars of the new world. Vast swathes were full of life and green, growing things, created upon the rock by the Églatain. But there were swathes of fire, of burning pits and hellholes left by the Moroth. More wars had been fought in this place than on any other sphere. And today it would end.

Morning faced his adversary on the Bridge above the Pit – the divide between two halves of the realm. Beneath them, the bowels of the universe lay, too far down to even glimpse. The depths of all places met there, everything deep and dark, all things that should have been left forgotten. It was not empty, but a maze of catacombs and tunnels, full of crypts and tombs. If either opponent fell, it would take them a long time to reach that dank, solid world of ancient things – things left over from the creation of the Earth, the creatures used to carve the world, to shape the continents and the magicks used to write the laws of everything that Is, Was and Shall be.

“I know thee, Evening.” Said Morning.
“And I know thee, Morning.” Came his adversary’s reply. “Shall we fight again for another thousand years, before the Earth was made and we took our battle there?”
“Nay, thou speak falsely, Evening. Thou fled from me and the stars of Heaven, overpowered by my hosts. Like a coward thou came to the refuge that was built not for the likes of thee and me, but for the New Race, the men that have so recently awoken.”
“And so frequently been killed, in great number.”
“If thou would but relinquish the hold on the Lance, all this can come to an end!” There, the words were out. The plea Morning was so sure Evening would refuse. Because he knew his brother well. Morning and Evening had once sat in balance behind the Throne of Heaven.
“Relinquish? Me? My hold on the most powerful artefact of destruction ever to be loosed?”
“Yes, Evening. Thy place in behind the Throne awaits and there is room for us both! Thou can still come back, brother. I will always be able to find forgiveness in my heart for thee!”
For a moment, a battle was going on in the mind of Evening. It was so tempting, the prospect of being reunited with his brother. But the Lance held so tightly in his grasp had a more immediate call.
“No, brother. The Lance gives more power than I ever enjoyed behind the Throne of Heaven. When the spear was thrust into the chest of the Christlord, it was I who retrieved it. It is I who will loose its power on the Earth, when thou are dealt with.”
“The Spear of Destiny will destroy thee, brother. It will not let thou have rest.”
“That day is a long time in coming, and thou shall not be here to see it. Now fight me and let us decide the fate of worlds!”


Battle on the Bridge

Evening spread his wings as wide as they would stretch. Morning dug his heels into the flanks of his stallion and it reared up, glowing with white, cleansing fire. The dark infernos of Evening were lit up by the revealing light of Morning. Like thunder, they fought!
Evening struck out with the Lance, also called the Spear of Destiny. The length of iron that was so much more powerful than when it had been wielded by a Roman Centurion rushed down with inexorable force to strike a killing blow on Morning’s pale forehead. But even the Lance was matched. Morning’s yew spear took the blow and sang with power as they two weapons struggled. Evening’s usual brooding air was shot through with a tremble of fear. His supposedly unstoppable weapon had been met with something that did not look remotely empowered by Magicks.
“How have thou done this?” he roared. “What do thee wield that had the power of the Lance? What is thy weapon, that it thwarts me so?”
“I will not tell thee, brother, for thou do not need to know.”
“But there should be no such thing that can withstand the Spear of Destiny!”
“But there is. And it is such a thing that thou shall not suspect its origin.” They drew apart and Evening cast three of his six Stones down on the narrow bridge.
Three creatures bloomed into being. There was just enough room on the bridge for them to stand shoulder to shoulder. They were covered in jet black armour and dark scales. They had long hair, like a woman’s, and scorpions’ tails. Morning knew he could not fight both them and Evening at the same time. He snapped his fingers and whistled to the dove on his shoulder. It flew from his shoulder and dove among the creatures from the Stones. As it flew it wreathed Magicks around the creatures in a dazzling net. They soon vanished under the power of the Dove. It returned to his shoulder and the two were matched again.

Could there be a resolution to the battle of Morning and Evening?

They fought again on the Bridge, always reminded of the grim drop into ancient catacombs that they stood above. But the two brothers could not overpower one another. For every newfangled Magick that Evening threw against his brother, Morning had an age-old counter to it. And for all the reliable Magicks that should have no match when used by Morning, his brother turned aside the power with some arcane power. Their weapons did not just do physical damage, but sank their blades into the fabric of reality itself. Strange worlds swam into view and vanished in an eye-blink, while a storm began to rage.
But this storm was no natural creation. Ghostly-green and yellow plasma glowed within its clouds, that gathered in impossibly precise concentric rings girdling the sky above the two combatants. Rains poured down, only to evaporate on the skins of the Moroth or freeze on the armour of the Églatain. Winds rushed from both sides of the world and collided above the Bridge, threatening to topple both brothers in a swirl of confusing eddies. Lighting raged down on both sides of the cavernous Pit and caused chaos among the ranks of both Églatain and Moroth. They tried to protect themselves with Magicks but it had no more effect than trying to turn back a hurricane by shouting at it.
And through the terrible wounds in reality, visitors were coming. They waited in utter darkness and oblivion, separated from the real worlds by a fabric of power. But the battle between the brothers was spilling Magical shrapnel that pierced the fabric around them. The visitors had seen and they wanted to taste life.
The Églatain were confronted by the first creatures. They resisted Magick and could only be overpowered by the strongest individuals working in concert. The Moroth fared much worse as they relied on physical weight of numbers and few of their weapons could harm these strange beings.
This was when Morning faltered. Even though his Églatain Host were holding back the creatures, many of them were still dying. he lost concentration against Evening for a second, but it was enough for his brother to catch him a sideways blow with the Spear of Destiny. Still the wards of protection around Morning held, but he was blown sideways. He teetered on the edge of the Bridge, one foot dangling over the depths of the Pit. He fell back slowly, but there was enough time to reach out with the yew spear and draw Evening to him. He and his brother grappled together fiercely, both sustaining wounds as they fell into the Pit.

Plunging into the Pit

The brothers fell as one being, fighting all the while. Yew spear still prevailed against iron Lance and with no distractions from the rest of the world, the fighting was even fiercer. And only a tip of the battle was even visible or comprehensible to human minds. A vast portion of their fight was mere power, flowing and coalescing as both titans made their own patterns in the fibres of All that Is, Was, and Shall Be.
But soon they both began to notice what they were falling past. Down in the pit, all dark places met. Not just areas on maps, but dark feelings, terrible thoughts and holes of depression. The two brothers found their strength sapped by the darkness. They fell past a maze of caverns full of dead Kings, spotted vast catacombs and graves. But they had not reached the Deepest of all Places. That endless warren where many things began, and an equal number ended.
Then they were attacked. Wingéd beasts rose out of the ink below them like whales leaping out of the sea. Both brothers now had to stop fighting each other as the creatures attacked them both indiscriminately. Great scores of the winged things soared up to attack the falling brothers. They struck them down with Lance and yew spear, and when the numbers were great, used arcane magicks neither would have dared unleash upon the realm above.
As soon as all the wingéd beasts were dealt with, the brothers began to grapple once more. They fell faster and faster, still increasing in speed as there was nothing to stop them in this place. Particles of dust whipped past them like tiny bullets. They glanced off a rocky wall and tumbled wildly through the blackness. The only illumination now was the fait glow of fiery torches that seemed to follow the brothers and the light they themselves gave off. Then, with a blur of movement, they were crashing through tangled reams of architecture.
Spires and arches shattered as the two plummeted down. Everything was carved out of rock and the stairs, walkways and passages began to grow thicker and thicker until they felt like they were no longer falling through a pit, but were among the bowels of the Pit. A chance collision with a statue flipped them over and suddenly they could see the bottom of the Pit, an icy pool of water. With inevitable speed it came rushing to meet them and they were swallowed, smothered in its icy grasp…

Duel in the Darkness

Morning knew not how long he had been in the water. It oppressed all memories, all thoughts and feelings. But there was a tiny place inside him where his conscious mind retreated and battled the numbing power of the water. He fought to reach the surface and gasped as he pulled himself out on to the lip of the pool. He was separated from his brother and could see nothing of his usual smoky presence. He rose to his feet and wielded more magicks, reinforcing runes and protections, casting others anew. He made himself dry and warm, for at the bottom of the Pit there was no heat. All he could sense was worlds and worlds of thick, oppressive rock, riddled with small tunnels and gargantuan creatures. It was like an ants nest the size of a galaxy. Morning wondered how he would ever find his way out.
He looked down and saw a trail of scorched rock left by his brother. He began to follow the trail, hoping he could catch Evening before he came across any of the Magicks hidden in this subterranean world. Although Morning called his magicks ancient, and through of them as such, the word was only relative. His Magicks were only many millennia old. But the Magicks down here were ages old. They dated from the beginning of everything, like the pit itself. As long as there had been creation out in the void, the Magicks had been stored here, the put had grown as each new world was created. It was rumoured you could find your way into any dimension through the Pit. It was not an experiment Morning wanted to try. If Evening found any of those age-old Magicks, he would have something that could tip the balance between them.
He caught up with his brother three days later. Most of the Magicks were too heavily protected even for Morning and Evening to penetrate. But there was something ahead that was different. Morning called to his brother quietly, not daring to disturb the silence of the Pit.
“Cease, brother. We are not finished yet.” Even as a whisper, his voice sounded unnaturally loud.
“We will never be finished, unless one of us finds something down here that can tip the balance.”
“Unless thou give up the Lance. We don’t have much time, brother. World-Carvers are moving towards us through the strata of the Pit. Separate, we cannot fight them in any way. Only together will we survive. There is evil down here. Great Evil, and greater power than we can imagine.”
“I, too, sense the World-Carvers. But they will not trouble us.”
They walked as they spoke, entering a hall, like a bubble in the worlds of rock. Huge machines lines the walls, many hundreds of them. They were like sleek silver shells, the mouth of each one filled with arms and claws and tools. Evening shook his head. He could not use these machines so he walked on, deeper into the Pit.
Morning followed. Now the presence of the World-Carvers weighed down on him like an oppressive blanket. No one had ever seen a World-Carver. Or at least, no one had lived to tell the tale. The hall began to narrow and the brothers passed under a low arch. They stood side by side now, for there was little point in fighting as they were so evenly matched.

Abruptly, the arch opened up into a long tunnel, too long to see either end. And it was at least five thousand kilometres across. The roof was domed and at the highest point, perhaps a thousand kilometres. All the stone was grey green, huge tiles more like scales than anything else.
But before they could decide which way to go, the ground began to shake. It was just a tiny tremor, but it strengthened and grew into a powerful rocking of the tunnel. The brothers, who had walked some way into the tunnel were thrown to the floor. They managed to get into crouching positions as the tremors intensified. A section of the tunnel began to bulge upwards like a blown-up balloon. The strata of the Pit began to crack and crumble as something came up.

The World-Carver burst into the tunnel, magnificent and deadly beyond description. It was like a huge, ribbed worm with lines of spikes all the way down its side. Only a thousand metres of it could fit in the tunnel. It moved swiftly, arching over the brother’s heads. Morning and Evening trembled as it passed, seeming to take an age. Never had there been anything so massive, so powerful. It must have been three thousand kilometres in diameter. And it was coming back.
Now it travelled down the tunnel towards them, parallel with the walls. They could see its endlessly churning maw ringed by mountainous, razor sharp teeth and glimpse the glow of fires hotter than a thousand stars in its belly. It moved without thought, straight towards them. The two brothers leapt at the same time and only just managed to land on its back. Even then, they had to duck to avoid hitting their heads on the rook as it streaked past.
How long did they ride the World-Carver? No one knows. Who can say how many long ages passed as they travelled in places where none had ever set foot? After all, down in the Pit, time seems stretch and slow, perhaps even stop, in a manner. But when they were finally thrown from its back, they were deeper than any being had ever travelled, aside from the World-Carvers themselves. The strata was oppressive and they could feel it bearing down on them.

And all was utterly black.

They battled again, yew spear meeting iron Lance and illuminating the strata of the Pit in brief, incandescent glory. The fight arched back and forth, down tunnels, across precipices, beneath ridges. Only the distant roar of the World-Carvers lent any background ambience and that was few and far between. Their harsh breathing, the clank and scrape of their weapons, the clatter of their footsteps gave the battle a distinct tempo. And they talked between the fights, learning what each other had done since Evening fled the stars of Heaven.
“And so thou thought to retrieve the Lance? Thou thought thou had the right to wield the Spear of Destiny?” Morning asked of his brother.
“Indeed. I am at the end of things so it was fitting to have a weapon that was the same as I. But what of thy weapon? What is this yew wood that resists fire and counters the Lance?”
“My brother, it is not much older than the Lance and it is to my great fortune that thou did not retrieve it when thou took the Lance. My spear is carved from the very timbers that carried the Christlord to his death, and it is such that it will dog thy every step, even if I am dead.”
“I will find something down here, and thy spear shall not avail thee.”
“Oh, it shall. To the end of time it shall be firm.”
They fought again, but there was no malice in their battle now. They had fought for too long in the blackness. And they finally came to the same conclusion.
“We cannot settle this.” They both said. “Let us arise and take our battle to another place. For we were not meant to tread here.” They saluted in agreement, but when they took another step, the ground fell away sharply. They had found one of the great tunnels of the World-Carvers. Both brothers began to ascend on pillars of light that grew too dim to be seen before it touched the bottom, if even there was one. The tunnel levelled out many kilometres above them and they were able to walk. They found a tunnel they recognised from their ride of the first World-Carver. Little did they know that that first encounter had merely been to size them up. Soon the World-Carvers would return in greater number.

Ascension to Absolution

They came to the largest opening they had yet seen in the Pit. And in the centre of the roof was a tunnel that held a tantalisingly tiny view of daylight. They began to cross the floor of the great hall, which was worlds across, so far that the distant wall vanished in a haze of vast distance, thousands upon thousands of kilometres. And when they reach the centre, three World-Carvers sprang up from the rock around them.
Morning and Evening stood back to back as the creatures circled nearer. The path up was blocked by a fourth World-Carver. All had opened their gargantuan maws and they roared, deafeningly loud. Evening and Morning directed their Magicks at the World-Carvers but nothing could touch them. They ignored Magicks and physical assault was out of the question given their staggering size. There was only one way…
“Brother, we must work together. Combining our forces and wielding Lance and spear in concert must surely damage them!”
“I agree, brother mine. For now, we shall be as one. And remember the forces that assail our warriors above! They will need our combined strength.”
“Then let us be joined.” They clasped hands for the first time in aeons and felt their Magicks join and intensify. They melded together, flowing, shifting to create a being more mighty than anything else in the Pit. The powerful figure addressed the World-Carvers, unflinching as one tried to snap at him.
“FOR A SHORT WHILE, MORNING AND EVENING ARE NO MORE. FOR NOW, I AM TIME!”
Time was huge by the standards of the realm so far above, but still small compared to the vastness of the World-Carvers. He had immense wings, wings like those of a raven. He was garbed in black armour, like a huge, dark warrior angel. His weapon was a fusion of both the Spear of Destiny and the spear of yew which had been carved from the wood of the cross. Time was unstoppable…
He deigned to strike at the World-Carvers and instead leapt into the air, beating his mighty wings. He shot into the gullet of the World-Carver that blocked the way up and exploded from its tail after a few hours of frenzied travelling. He began to glow, his armour still black but giving out an impossible pearly radiance. Behind him, the World-Carver began to die slowly. It might not have even registered the passage of Time through its immense body, so sluggish were its thoughts.

Time rocketed upwards, propelled by the infinite power behind him. he rose past layer after layer of strata, crypt and catacomb. The bewildering complexity of the Pit was soon nothing but a seamless blur as he flew straight up. Then, abruptly, he was out of the upper reaches of the Pit and into the void beneath the Bridge. He continued to fly, conscious that the remaining World-Carvers were following him, much fast than he expected. The nearest one was only a thousand kilometres below him so he pointed the Spear straight down and uttered a word of power. A titanic blast of energy flew down from the Spear and killed the World-Carver instantly. It toppled slowly back, taking the others with it.

Time finally reached the Bridge. It seemed like an age had passed since he had fallen in his separate forms into the Pit. Now he was rising out of it. His hosts were still there, joined, allied against the creatures that had entered the realms through the wounds made in the structure of all things by the early battles of Morning and Evening.
With an outstretched arm, Time banished those creatures back whence they came and closed the rifts even more tightly than before. The Moroth and Églatain looked up in wonder at the mighty being, as they could both see reflections of their masters within his armour.
Then he spoke, laying down laws.

“ÉGLATAIN AND MOROTH! HEAR ME, THE COMBINED FORM OF YOUR MASTERS! I BEQUEATH UNTO THEE THIS REALM, TO DO WITH AS YOU WILL. BUT I BIND THY POWERS AND MAKE THEE ONLY A LITTLE MORE POWERFUL THAN MEN. YOU SHALL NO LONGER MAKE WAR IN THIS PLACE.”

Then Time began to shake, and split into Morning and Evening. But they looked at each other and knew they would fight no longer. As Time, they had enjoyed power greater than what was given to them by the Lance and the spear. So they rose together, separate but joined in a way they had not been before.



Soon Morning and Evening sat once more behind the Throne of Heaven,
And there was Morning and Evening on the next day…
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