Siri: An Alternative Epic

By James J. Webster

Many thousands of years ago, a young boy named Siri grew up in an isolated mountain kingdom. Seeking answers to his past, he somehow manages to escape, joined by an older man who would become his mentor, as well as by his only friend, who would later become his bitter enemy. The three travel north amid a world devastated by a recent cataclysm. Little does Siri realize that his moves are being monitored, having no idea that he is the centerpiece of a bizarre scheme to recover the last remaining flying machine left on earth. They eventually reach the Isle of Britannia. There, Siri meets a young, black-haired priestess who would become the love of his brief life. The story takes a dramatic turn when Siri, among others, departs Britannia by ship, arriving upon the shores of a totally new land. There, Siri takes it upon himself to aid and teach the primitive inhabitants, introducing them to the arts of farming, writing, and building. For a while, all goes well. Then unexpectedly, his past catches up with him. As a result, he learns the shocking truth about his past. Other perils confront him as well.

Siri's story reads like an epic-style adventure. Tall, skinny, and awkward, he is a far cry from the typical sword-swinging hero. Though fiction, the work incorporates a good deal of fact as well as a spattering of science fiction and the supernatural. A sad and tragic ending to his short life. However, one which is intrinsically tied to the rise of myth and legend; as well as the establishment (or reestablishment) of civilization itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798890614575

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Introduction

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

Epilogue

About the Author

cover.jpg

Siri

An Alternative Epic

James J. Webster

Copyright © 2024 James J. Webster

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2024

ISBN 979-8-89061-456-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89061-457-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To those no longer with us. Also, a shout of thanks to Auburn Public Library.

ARROGANT LITTLE FOOL, he spat out the words. YOUR ONLY KINGDOM SHALL BE THAT OF THE DEAD!

Introduction

Removing his glasses, the professor squinted hard at the table of recently excavated papyrus fragments. Taking his magnifying glass, he began to examine each group of primitive hieroglyphics. One seemed to make reference to the City-Of-The-Sun. Another, badly distorted, possibly spoke of the god Osiris. His brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

Opening the case he took out a flask, undoing the top, pouring himself a generous shot of brandy. Already they were in the second season of the dig, at last beginning to pay dividends. The site chosen was Heliopolis, on the eastern banks of the Nile, legendary birthplace of Ra. Supposedly, the project had centered around Late Period burials. But then, quite by accident, they'd come across a much lower level. Without doubt, it dated to an extremely early period—possibly to the origins of civilization itself.

Taking his glass with him, he exited the tent. In the bright sunshine he looked across the row of pottery, centering on the most substantial find to date: a sort of palette or ceremonial stone, obviously carved to commemorate some individual or event.

Easing to a knee, he began to brush off the top portion of the stone, revealing a ship, totally different from traditional Egyptian vessels. Seeing it made him think of the fragments of oak they'd run across, a wood virtually unknown in ancient Egypt. That and other evidence seemed to point to a possible far distant origin.

Finishing off his glass, he took a thoughtful look at the lower portion of the stone. The curious figure of a long-haired individual. In his hand, not a weapon as expected, but a stalk of papyrus. Who was he? he couldn't help but ponder. King? Mythical god? Or was he a combination of both? What was his untold story?

Prologue

circa 5,000 B.C.E.

Twisted streaks of lightning exploded across the mountain peaks. The relentless pounding of energy penetrated the earth, reaching downward into the seemingly endless maze of underground tunnels.

The darkly clad figure known as Dorzia, High Priest to the god Cheva, glided down the corridor whose shadowy walls depicted frescoes of both destruction and creation. Coming up to the massive door, he began to push, hesitating as his head suddenly jerked. At this depth he'd heard nothing, but he was certain he'd sensed a sort of vibration. From his back, the row of lights began to flicker. All went black.

Even alone in a sea of darkness he felt no fear, for the power of his god had always surged from darkness. A sign, no doubt, calmly shutting his eyes, content to wait it out. In what seemed only an instant another flicker, light reemerging.

Pushing through the door, he entered a large chamber of uncertain dimensions. Its eerie, glittering illumination coming from dozens of lamps and candles, symbolically laid out in circles along the floor. The air was thick with the bitter sweet smell of incense, mixing freely with the lingering aromas of previous feasts.

Moving beyond the glowing rings, the massive figure paused. In the half-lights the man's dark, deep-set eyes appeared almost as black coals. Still relatively young, his face was clean shaven; huge bulging nose over an excessively pronounced jaw, giving more the impression of warrior than ruler. Yet few, living or dead, would dare question his ability—or his obsession. Like others of his cult, he wore his jet-black hair long and flowing, an early act of rebellion which had since become canon law.

Sinking into his cushioned seat, he reached for the small flute he always kept near his side. Pressing it to his lips, he began to intone a high-pitched tune he'd learned as a boy. The ironic, almost cheerful melody wafted through the surrounding dreariness.

At a young age his mother had taken him to a holy man, expressing hopes that he might someday join their ranks. In the following years the young apprentice had been schooled and seasoned into the rigid pantheon of gods and spirits associated with the old empire. Yet, only one captured his interest: Cheva, a lesser god, dedicated to the doctrine of destruction and creation. From that time on there would be no turning back, every remaining moment of his life now dedicated to the will and desire of his new found god.

In time the higher class would retaliate, branding him an outcast. Still young, Dorzia the outcast had taken up with a band of thieves and derelicts, preaching the eradication of immoral science and advanced technology upon the earth. Becoming their undisputed leader, he would spend his hours in hiding and meditation, praying that Cheva's wrath, in all its anger, be unleashed upon a corrupt and undeserving world.

In time his prayers would be answered… News of an explosion far into the heavens… The ruling empire was suddenly in turmoil. And then came the first of the fireballs, crashing hard upon the sinful earth, turning night into day and day into night. At long last it appeared the day of reckoning had arrived.

Always would he remember the jubilation experienced by he and his followers. But the celebration would prove short-lived. For the same heaven responsible for wreaking havoc upon the unrighteous, continued to take its toll—even amongst the faithful. No sooner had the plague of fire ended, than a new phenomenon descended to take its place: rain, falling at so unrelenting a rate that rivers swelled into seas and seas into oceans.

Dorzia and his faithful set sail, coming upon uncharted shores. Food and resources all but depleted, they nonetheless continued on. Eventually they would run across a maze of abandoned tunnels located high into the central mountains. Certain that Cheva was guiding them, they entered the dark confines, staking their claim.

An interminable period of time later they would emerge to face the blinding sunlight, Dorzia the chosen now proclaiming himself master of the brave new world before him. Here, protected by snow-capped peaks above, and tunnels below, he would build his kingdom, dedicating it to his god.

And still Cheva continued to nag at him, lest he should somehow forget. All surviving elders—those of the old empire—must be purged from the face of the earth. Then, and only then, could he truly call himself master.

Clanking down the flute, and grabbing his cup, he exited his throne. Only briefly did his robe drag against the cold floor before reaching the far wall. He gazed down on the still figure of a man. The chains that bound him were barely visible, yet the pale, shortly cropped hair stood out with distinction. Standing over him, he gently tipped his cup, the dark liquid oozing down over his head.

Greetings, dear friend of flight, voice echoing as he bent down. "Old friend who departed unexpectedly, and who now returns unexpectedly… No reason why we cannot strike-up a sort of deal now, is there…? I have what you came for, and you have what I want. Once again, tell me where you've hidden the vimana…"

The man's face slightly turned, revealing the cuts and bruises of repeated beatings, only an illogical quiver managing to escape his lips.

Very well, conceded Dorzia in a bitter-sweet voice, producing a small, curve-bladed dagger from his robe, flipping it from hand to hand. No matter, he grudgingly reminded himself. The knowledge would eventually be his… Only a matter of time.

1

A faint silvery glow filtered through the tiny window crack. Though still enveloped in darkness, various objects had begun to catch glow in the tiny one-roomed hut. A patch of wall, revealing the crude outline of stone was slowly manifesting itself. Clothing and other objects, carelessly tossed about, were also coming into focus.

The heavy sound of breathing belonged to the boy sleeping on the floor. Wrapped in a thin wollen blanket which offered little in the way of warmth, his body tossed restlessly from side-to-side.

He was dreaming. It was basically the same dream which had prodded his mind as far back as he could remember. Only now and then the circumstances would change. Humming and crashing sounds, this time coming at him in the form of mountain hawks with razor-sharp claws. It seemed he would always wake-up feeling distant and depressed. Something that he knew would continue to nag at him. As a small child he'd once gathered the nerve to ask a priest as to their meaning, only to be told with the end of a stick that it was Cheva's will that they be immediately forgotten.

Sill in slumber, the boy continued to toss. Now the hawks were making banging sounds. Off in the distance someone was calling out his name.

"Siri… Siri… Wake-up and open the door!"

He awoke in a jolt, opening and closing his eyes… Morning already! he moaned, raking fingers through his long curly locks of flaxen colored hair. Once again he'd overslept.

"Open now!" the familiar voice barked out.

Hold on! he billowed out, rising to his feet. Already he felt tired, trying not to think of the day ahead. He was a sentry now, supposedly on duty from dawn to dusk. At least it afforded him the privilege of living alone, sparing him the constant presence of other soldiers. Despite the chill he dipped his hands into the wooden bowl sitting atop the stand, splashing icy water onto his face, just as he'd always done.

In truth he was nearing his eighteenth year, though he had no idea as to his actual age. In the Land of Cheva dates and ages were of no relevance. He knew only that he'd grown-up in the chevorium, a large above ground structure for the indoctrination of children. Early on he'd been told that it was the Chevorium which had given birth to him. But over the years he'd slowly dispelled such notions. His given name was Siriso. To his peers he was simply known as Siri.

He grabbed for his breeches and padded green tunic, revealing the tiny stone figure of Cheva. Even in the gloomy light, the kneeling god, two arms up and two arms down, seemed to be watching him as he fumbled about. Squatting down on a stool, he proceeded to shake the old, sodden straw from the inside of his thin leather boots, replacing it with a sprinkling of fresh before leaning over to flip the latch.

The door instantly kicked open, revealing the presence of Jeth, stringy red hair hanging down to his shoulders.

Are you out of your mind, he grumbled, gesturing towards the road. We should both already be on duty.

I know… I know, he muttered, grabbing his spear and exiting the door.

Just hope I don't get in trouble again for your sake, complained the redhead as they paced down the path towards the compound. In the frigid morning air groups of female workers, heavily clad, could be seen making their way along the mountain pass to collect bundles of wood and twigs. They were all young, near the same age as the two boys. But all were young in the Land of Cheva, save the black-robed priests and a few others.

You know, Siri, Jeth's eyes were leering out. "If you don't start showing a little more interest in your duties, you may just be lucky enough to end up joining that group…"

Perhaps, mustering a grin to the only friend he'd ever known. In the scrutiny of sunlight, Jeth's long hair seemed to be almost orange in color. Though slightly shorter, the redhead's build was broader and more powerful. His roughish skin was pale and splotchy, as harsh as the mountain weather itself, contrasting sharply with Siri's smoother features. Cold grayish eyes that twitched nervously from side-to-side.

I keep trying to tell you, scowl showing on his face. "You are a soldier of Cheva, understood? There is no room for the slightest bit of disobedience. Besides, you know what happens to those who are judged unfit."

Siri winced. As usual Jeth was right. He'd heard rumors of those who'd simply disappeared, weeded out for being weak—or whatever the reason. With a nervous squirm he shifted the weight of his spear to the opposite shoulder, pale blue eyes momentarily studying the tallest of the ice covered peaks. Soon the winds would start blowing down from the summits, chilling and blanketing the valley till the first faint traces of spring. You know, he said, sometimes at night I cannot help but wonder what lies beyond these mountains.

What are you babbling about now? Jeth wanted to know.

… Just that we're never allowed to question what's on the outside.

Jeth's eyes narrowed with exasperation. "And who are you to so question…? As I've told you before, there is actually nothing beyond these mountains but more mountains, and maybe a circle of sea."

And how do you know that…?

Because I just know. And I'd advise you to quit your dreaming and pay more attention to your duties. You know, we do have a festival coming up.

They approached the midway point of the valley, passing terraces of crudely stacked stone. Said Siri, I've heard talk that they've captured another group of elders… Is that true?

"Maybe yes, maybe no," a dark smile suddenly creasing the redhead's face.

As far back as he could remember, both had been subject to the Lord Dorzia's bitter denouncement of the elders who had once ruled the earth. Stories abounded of Cheva's divine vengeance against such people, and of how those few who somehow survived must be eradicated from the surface of the earth. Vividly could he recall the previous stonings. The raging, intoxicated stir of the crowd, worked into a frenzy over the very sight of their faces.

In truth, he was more than just a little fascinated by the elders, always wanting to know more but afraid to ask. Aloud he asked: "How long has it been since the end of the cataclysm? You know, fire and flooding from the heavens."

Jeth cocked his head. "Probably around the time you and I were born. Why?"

Just wondering. Do you believe what they say… that they were all evil and destructive?

Of course I believe they were evil and destructive. He quickened his pace. "Surely you remember the verses we recited over-and-over as children. The elders had to be eliminated because they possessed knowledge. Knowledge is evil for it possesses the seeds of destruction."

"… Well, does the Cult of Cheva not also preach that destruction is a good thing?"

Stopping abruptly, Jeth was staring at the small detachment of green-clad soldiers emerging from behind the bend. Trailing behind could be seen a raised litter, its heavily wrapped occupant conspicuously elevated above the rest.

The two boys exchanged uneasy glances, painfully aware that the individual was no doubt one of extremely exalted rank. Instantly Jeth backed away, gesturing Siri to do the same.

Both sank humbly to their knees.

Siri raised a worried eye, peeking at the procession as it wobbled its way over the short bridge. Will it stop?

How should I know! Jeth letting go a curse under his breath. Were it not for you I'd already be safely inside the compound.

The stomping of boots was little more than an arm's length away. And just when it appeared that the procession might thankfully pass, someone ordered halt!

For agonizing seconds the man's beady eyes fastened down on the two boys… With considerable effort he cleared his throat. It would appear that the road is full of surprises this morning, he said with condescension, thoughtfully stroking his tiny wisp of a beard. You may rise.

Creakily they rose to the gaunt face of Mishnu, vizier and second in command to the Lord Dorzia himself. The bleak figure of a man whose torn and withered face foretold the many misgivings of advanced age.

"I believe our blessed Cheva teaches that tardiness is unacceptable. Does he not?"

We were, uh, unexpectedly detained, my lord, offered Jeth with surprising clarity. We thought we saw some movement near the second marker, pointing backwards. So we checked behind the rocks, but we saw nothing unusual.

Is that so, adjusting his wraps more snugly. By law he knew that all guards were obligated to inspect any suspicious movement. Hummm, probably just a worker girl out searching for a certain berry, darting a wry smile to those about him. "In any event, you will report the incident to your next in line, that is, when and if you arrive. So be gone, flipping his hand. I wish a word with your bashful young friend here."

Siri could only watch with alarm as Jeth shuttled away, leaving him to face the old man alone.

Do you know who I am, soldier?

Siri swallowed. You are Mishnu.

"And I know you as well. You are Siriso, eh?"

Yes, my lord.

The old man's head edged forward, smiling crookedly as he studied the boy's features. I remember you well as a child. Seems like only yesterday… His expression temporarily clouded. "Oh yes, pulling up some sort of stamped seal. The all mighty Dorzia himself requests your presence within the sunken walls of the sacred house. You will present this seal to the Keeper upon your arrival, he said, extending it to him. An escort will arrive for you this evening.

Stunned, for the longest time all he could do was stand there, watching the curious procession as it wobbled away.

2

The so-called sacred house was an immense underground chamber, lit by crackling rush fires from metal sconces notched rudely into blackened walls. Huge, boldly emerging cracks snaked upward, disappearing at length into the ever present haze of the dome shaped ceiling.

Like the connecting web of passages therein, it had been cut from the living rock by an earlier age for some long forgotten reason. Within its depths, even the slightest of sounds would vibrate freely up and down the evenly spaced archways, opening to a myriad of tunnels and chambers, serving as homes to the Lord Dorzia, his priestly clan, and others of lesser rank.

Almost unnoticed within the room's center, was a small oval-shaped pool. Its waters appeared dark and sanguinary, emanating, so it was said, from various above ground activities. Here was the god Cheva's sacred heart. A forteller of things past and future. True to the power it represented, its mood often changed—sometimes brash and uneasy, others glassy and mysterious.

Strewn about the dark pool were a number of chairs and couches. Uncharacteristically opulent for the pure and simple Land of Cheva, the furnishings glittered with trappings of gold gilt. Thickly cushioned footstools abounded throughout, telling of a room heavily attended.

As expected, a single file of priests was slowly emerging through one of the portals. Fully robed in black, each tapped tall wooden staffs in the likeness of their god. Their above ground lessons to the young now concluded, they wearily flopped down their bulging bodies, chatting idly of coming events.

Presently a young boy and girl appeared from the opposite side. Clad in scant white wrappings, they hastened across well-worn carpets, the boy clutching a silvery wine vessel, while the girl bore a large tray of assorted cups. Both were of the same height and face, presumably twins, carefully attending each priest.

Seated off to himself amongst a gauntlet of pillows was the eunuch known as Ha Sham, Keeper of the sacred court. As plump as any priest, he was swathed in loose, cream colored robes which seemed to compliment his pale skin and thinning black hair done in a multitude of tiny ringlets. As his dress implied, his position was one of rare secular rather than sacred. He carved greedily on the roasted leg of goat which had just been placed before him. His stubby little fingers stuffed a generous portion into his mouth, wasting no time in slicing another.

The stomping echo of boots announced the arrival of Lord Mishnu, accompanied by two of his elite, garbed in the standard green of the land's protectors.

Entering, the old veteran tiredly peeled off his wrap, offering it to a waiting servant. As was his custom, he reached for a cup, gesturing for the two soldiers to do the same. His eyes strained to peer through the haze. He would not disturb the gathering of priests, clannish