The Alpha and the Omega: Act III | Chapter 1
03 Sep 2018User1355
ACT III - HEROINECHAPTER 1
Years passed, and all was well for the Clan Morgana. Maximilian and Sola ruled from their thrones at Dinas Wrach, a city that was not a city but a monument to the power of her clan. There the Crone was worshiped and Sola’s intrigues made flesh, not commoners but priestesses and nobility comprising its population. Even slaves were adorned in finery, for the Matriarch would tolerate no blemish upon her prize jewel. The city was a mix of the ancient and the contemporary; great stone temples rose into the sky as those within were treated to the latest technological marvels from the Core. To look upon Dinas Wrach was to look upon a skyline of white and gold; white to symbolize the purity of their purpose, and gold trim to symbolize the Quirium that was the foundation of the clan’s wealth. Great statuary of the Hag looked down upon all who walked its courtyards and promenades, nobility, priestesses, and slaves selected for their loyalty mixing below.
Yet for all the picturesque beauty of Sola’s retreat, it was built on a foundation of blood and theft. Morgana raiding fleets struck ever deeper into the Bubble, its empire of outlaws requiring more and more Quirium to maintain their position. Dinas Wrach itself was a bookkeeper’s nightmare; it devoured resources and credits like a starving titan. Yet in return it also belched forth something unique, a novelty among Pegasi clan society: decadence. Decadence, and the pretensions of backwater royalty.
Fear and rumor spread along the Federation border, yet the Earth-based Congress did little more than posture and preen. The cold war between them and the Empire of Achenar occupied their attention more than a sector of degenerate savages. The corporate string-pullers that controlled the superpower were reluctant to go to war over a problem that was Gal-Cop’s and Gal-Cop’s alone; the greater supply of Quirium was never in jeopardy, and thus was the clan left alone to continue its raiding without serious opposition.
The Wheel turned and turned, and in time Arcturus came of the age where his mother cast an eye to finding a suitable warrior mate for her son. In truth her priority was to leverage the occasion to extract maximum benefit for herself and her clan’s power; in the maelstrom of Pegasi clan politics no less was expected. Every clan in a hundred light years sent their most beautiful daughters to Dinas Wrach; the public courtship was as endless as the private negotiations. For an entire year the intrigue continued, much to Arcturus’s irritation. He had come to love the life of a deep-space buccaneer; the prospect of settling down even a little odious to him.
In the end a suitable match was found, a sixteen-year-old beauty named Aelina. She was of the Clan Cadiz, closely related to the Ortegas which had been so thoroughly assimilated into the Morgana line. The union was deemed a natural match; Arcturus and Aelina recited the ancient oaths, their palms split and pressed together, mutually drenched in cow’s blood with the heart of a mutual foe prepared for them to consume.
From a place of honor Sola observed the ceremony, clustered with Maximilian and the heads of the Cadiz clan. Yet her heart was a mixture of maternal pride and womanly concern. Here was her firstborn, the memory of his birth fresh in her mind yet the grown man receiving the mark of the warrior-mated. Gone were thoughts of politics and leverage, replaced with more inward concerns. Her other two children were still young; Cadfael and Aeron were by now in the care of a tutor, the traditions and nuances of clan society formally passed from old to young. Cadfael excelled in the physical arena, pushing himself to exhaustion to prove himself worthy of being his mother’s son. Auron was less overt and more cerebral, her eyes bright with childhood craftiness. Both enjoyed their mother’s affection in a way that their older brother never did.
A great cheer arose as the ceremony drew to a close, Arcturus and his new warrior mate receiving the congratulations of the assembled clan nobility, disappearing into his personal raiding barge, an Anaconda that bristled with both weapons and the ingenious tools of all pirates. Yet Sola did
not join in the final cheer for them, and only partook in the following festivities enough so that none could claim she didn’t. Before the New Cambrian sun had even set she retired to her private suite, in the tallest tower of Dinas Wrach, overlooking the celebration far below her.
For a long time, Sola Morgana gazed into her reflection, a life-sized holographic snapshot of her rendered in real-time. With the unforgiving eye of a woman evaluating her own looks she stalked around it, frowning at every imperfection that marred her beauty. Maximilian had recently spoken of more
children, a prospect that was less appealing than it had once been. Arcturus was at that moment consummating his new union; Aelina was young and fertile, and her belly would soon grow with royal of spring. What would others say if the same were true for Sola, and at virtually the same time? Would
they marvel at how blessed she was to enjoy continued fecundity into middle age, or raise their eyebrows at her unsubtle attempt to upstage her daughter-in-law?
The woman ran her hands through her long black hair, the odd strand of which was now tainted with silver. Her eyes, though intelligent and proud, now both rested atop nests of crow’s feet. Her breasts, never large to begin with, were slack without the proper support. Her belly and hips were more round than before, the task of carrying Auron depriving her of the girl-like slimness to which she had become accustomed.
Sola Morgana closed her eyes, inhaling the wisdom of the Crone and exhaling- with difficulty- her vanity. Her days as a blushing maiden were well behind her, young and naive to the ways of gods and man. She was a mother, the captain of her children’s lives, and through them the architect of their- and her people’s- future. The gods had seen fit to give her two healthy sons and one healthy daughter, and though her red moon still flowed it was the better part of prudence to embrace what she was, rather than what she wished to be.
The Matriarch turned, walking to her bed and pulling open the drawer to her nightstand. She reached inside, a tiny glass vial in her hand. She held up the slim vessel, her eyes filled with wonder. Within were progenitor cells, a wonder from the Bubble that when regularly injected defied the natural course of aging. For months they had sat, the gateway to renewed youth, saved until the time was right. Were Sola to use them she would be a wonder to behold. She would cling to her youth and sensual beauty. Her body would remain supple, age spots and wrinkles held at bay, hair untainted by streaks of silver.
Yet to indulge in such naked vanity would be to defy the Crone. Sola looked into her own eyes and saw the future. She saw dignity. She saw a Matriarch freed of carnal concerns, her eyes cast to higher planes than those of flesh and pleasure. She saw the hypocrisy of erecting a city dedicated to the Crone, yet the woman herself fleeing her natural processes. The Matriarch stepped with grace onto her private balcony, the festivities in full swing far below her. In her hand was still the vial, the priceless progenitor cells within. With the surety of the Crone herself she opened her fingers, allowing the vial to slip from her grasp. Downward it fell, and so lofty was Sola’s perch that no shattering of glass could be heard. Her mind was clear and her decision final.
The woman again ran a hand through her still-black hair, no longer regarding the odd trace of silver within as an onerous curse to be forestalled. She turned away, back to the hologram of herself, taken only moments ago. With new eyes she gazed upon it.
Sola Morgana beheld her aging self, and at last saw only beauty.
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