Chapter 13. The Choosing
One is to live and one is to die.
That is the choice that you must make.
But do not weep for those that are gone.
For they will live forever at my side.
From the book of Isarie.
The ritual of the Silver Moon was now over and it was time for the tribe of the Madrigal to begin their journey once more.
It took a full day to pass through the door in the Great Wall, the barrier was meant to keep intruders from the lands to the East and only the strongest could pass. The Madrigal had come this way before and they knew how to open the massive portal.
First they took up the long steel chain that lay before the stone rampart. They could have attached it to their Trofar, but it was their tradition to open the door by themselves. So the warriors gathered up their strength and when all were ready, the King gave the order and they pulled with all their might.
Andra also pulled for she was a warrior, and if she had not, she would have to suffer the scowls and rebuffs of the tribe.
At her side, the King added his strength to that of the tribe. As he pulled, he looked into the face of his mate; she is strong and she is mine. As he saw her eyes widen with effort, he could not help think of other eyes, eyes that were not dark, like Andra’s, but green and filled with fire. Will those eyes still know me? Then he drove those eyes from his mind and shouted out to his people.
“Pull! Pull until your backs break!”
Hearing the command from their King, the warriors dug in their heels and pulled with all their might.
Osh had calculated the strength of a full-grown Nomad, to be the match for any two strong humanoids of the Outer Rim. The warriors of the Outlanders numbered in the hundreds, still it took three attempts before the doors moved. With each pull, the Madrigal prayed to their Gods and promised offerings of gold and silver. The effort was immense and blood flowed from the hands of many as they gripped the huge chain. Muscles that could break a man in two, were taxed to their limit, some warriors fell to the ground, exhausted, yet still they pulled. Finally the gate began to move and with shouts and cheers from the warriors, it opened and the Outlanders passed from their land into the domain of the Norgonie.
When all the wagons had moved through the portal, the Nomads marched to the other side and took up another great chain, and again pulled with all there might. When all their strength was all but spent, the door closed, and the Madrigal looked once more to the East, and the green forests that lay ahead.
They traveled for two more days and with each passing day there was fear for the children.
It was known to all the tribe that their offspring were not acting as they should, and their behavior became more erratic. They would scream when no danger was near or sleep as if they were in the cocoon of the crystal spiders. When they awoke they would fight among themselves, or sit for hours unmoving. There was nothing the Touchtenders could do, they had tried all combinations of herbs and concoctions to no avail.
When all the medicine of the Outlands failed, they asked the Gods for help. Even the wisdom of the Holy Mother, with offerings of field flowers and Meadowcane heaped before the statue of Isarie, could not heal the sickness, afflicting their young.
Now there was nothing more to be done.
They continued to pray as they moved into the lands of the Norgonie, it was unlike anything, Andra has ever seen. The land was green, and grass grew high, great fields of Kasha-wheat were everywhere and the Nomads filled their supply wagons with ease. There were fat Rimar in great numbers, they were smaller and without the thick armor of the Outland beasts. This made them easy to kill and every night the warriors feasted on their succulent flesh.
There were also great twisted trees, hung low with fruit, was as sweet as any Lovecake that Andra had ever received. Overhead could be seen flocks of Lake Birds and Sun-droppers. Huge outcroppings of Eul were everywhere, so the Ironworkers filled their fire bins with the burning rock. Mothers knew, their Washa fires would burn brightly. As in the lands of Gorn, there were remnants of great machines, and skeletons of creatures, not recorded in any Datacoms of the Outer Rim.
As the Nomads traveled they passed by crumbling ruins of deserted temples and the altars of forgotten Gods. At last they came to the place where they would rest. It was by an outcropping of red rock that rose high into sky, around it were scattered many great stones. Each one carved with ancient writings and symbols that not even the Elders could translate. It was a peaceful place without demons or their shadows, it was a place where one could sleep in contentment and listen to the singing of the stars and for this reason they named it the Place of Dreams.
So the Madrigal rested and cared for their young. Even this quite place could not chase away the darkness, slowly moving over the souls of their children. For three more days and nights the Nomads prayed.
On the fourth day the Gods intervened.
“My child is dead!” was the cry from a mother who held the lifeless body of her daughter in her arms. Beside her stood her mate, and together they shed tears of grief. The woman, whose name was Tarrana, looked up at the sky through thick clouds and cried out, so all could hear. “The Gods have forsaken us, Isarie has turned her face away!” She looked down at the lifeless face of her child and repeated the song, her mother had sung to her.
I look into your face and see the past of my life.
There I see the days of my young and the nights of my love.
In all this world there is none that I love more.
In all this world there is none that holds my heart.
I look into your face and see all that I am.
But all that I will ever be.
When the song was done, she shed more tears of sorrow.
The father of the dead child was a strong warrior of the tribe, for all his strength, he could not hold back his pain. He stood with his armor glowing in the light from their Washa and lifted his great war-ax in his hand. “Come and fight me!” He shouted, “battle with me for the soul of my daughter!” The angel of death did not come to fight. In frustration he beat his weapon upon the ground and wept more tears, because he could not shed his blood, to see his daughter live once more.
His were not the only tears to fall that night, all through the camp, shouts of dismay echoed like the Western Sea in the Caves of Tomorrow. Children were dying and there was no one who could stop it.
Arn walked through the camp, beside him the woman he loved. When they first heard, the offspring of the Chosen were dying, the King summoned the wisest of the clan, and listened to their explanations as to what was happening. Some said it was a plague, they could not say, why only the children were affected. Another said it was the spell of a witch, so they put out talismans and lit ritual fires and made offerings of Burrow babies and the hearts of Rimar, still the dying continued.
Now Arn gathered the Elders and the warriors and they all sat round a large fire. The air was heavy with incense and the soft beating of drums. Again they talked and after that was still more talk, nothing seemed to satisfy the minds of the tribe.
The oldest of their people, a man by the name of Lacanor came forward, he was tall with a long beard and sharp features. Once he had been a mighty warrior, and had killed many enemies, so his words carried weight among the tribe. Now he waited until all was quiet then he spoke.
“The death of our young is surely the work of a demon, for we have done all that was called for by the Gods”.
The words of the learned man were strong for he had seen many cycles and his mind had not yet turned into that of a frail leg. He stood for a time and let his voice hold in the air, then he spoke again, “if we are to save our children we must seek out this demon and kill it!”
Those words brought a loud cry of approval from the warriors and they beat their weapons on the ground.
“Kill the demon!” one shouted.
“Death to the killer of our young!” cried another.
Arn who had sat quietly, listening to the talk, stood up and raised his hand, there was quite once more.
“If it was a demon, then go into the night and find it and destroy it!” This brought cheers of joy from the warriors, again the King called for silence. “ If it is not the work of a creature from the dark gulf who shall we fight?”
These words did not bring shouts of approval, the men and women warriors were trained for battle not for riddles of the mind.
Lacanor shook his gray head, “what can it be, a demon from the pit?” he asked. “All that can be done has been done, there surly must be an evil spirit among us!”
There were more shouts from the warriors.
Arn listened to his people; they want to fight; he thought; they want an enemy to destroy; before he could calm there hot blood, Andra rose to her feet.
“A demon is not the cause of their deaths,” she said loudly, “it is something in their bodies”. The tribe was not prepared to have the mate of their king speak. “It could be some kind of virus or a genetic flaw, it’s not some supernatural creature”. She waited for a response from the tribe, as she did there was a great crack of thunder and a flash of lightning from overhead.
“The Gods are angry!” cried the old warrior, “you have insulted Isarie!” Hearing this the other warriors began to cry out again.
“She has angered the Gods!”
“Isarie will punish us for her words!”
“Cast her out!”
All this the King heard and it made him raise his voice in anger, “SILENCE!” he shouted. Then he waited until the voices lowered, “we are not at the talk stone, all may speak”.
The tribe knew well the law of the Talk Stone, the sacred rock that sat at the middle of the Eye of Isarie in the plains of Darmock. There all could come forward and speak their minds without being challenged. The stone was far to the East and there was no Holy Stone where they sat.
Again there was thunder from the sky and with it followed streaks of lightning, with the sound rumbling in their ears, the old warrior spoke again.
“Perhaps the King has grown weak and does not have the strength to fight demons?”
Hearing what the Elder said, sent whisperings through the throng of warriors, they knew it was a shaded threat towards his Kingship
When the whispering had faded he spoke again, “I am too old to fight, is there a warrior who will stand up for me?” the old man asked.
For a moment, the King thought, he would not have to answer the challenge; there is no one foolish enough to risk death. Before he could calm the anger of his people, a man came forward and spoke in a voice that could not be dismissed.
“I challenge!” the warrior said.
A flash of lightning bathed the man’s face in light and the King could see it was Yan-Orbano, a strong warrior who bore a grudge against the King.
Yan has come forward to fight; he thought; he cannot let the past sleep.
Everyone knew, there had been a storm between the King and Orbano, he was the older brother of Thorm, the young warrior who had walked the path of pain. The tribe knew, it was a just punishment but still it hung heavy in the heart of Yan. Now he saw a way to avenge his brother and find respect with the tribe.
Andra did not know of the brother-ship, between Yan and the young man who had died. All she understood was that her words had somehow put her lover’s life in danger; why did not I keep my mouth shut; she thought, then she remembered the words of her mother.
“Choose your words before you speak them”.
That time was past now and the woman knew it. Once a challenge was made it could not be forgotten, she turned to her mate and spoke quietly, so no one else could hear. “It’s my fault, I’m sorry”.
Arn did not say anything, he put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes; these are the eyes I wish to see; and in that moment they were one.
The moment passed and it was time to kill or be killed.
There was no challenge pit for the combatants to enter and there was no Sun-Gazer to mediate. Never-the-less the battle would proceed and soon there would be victor and vanquished.
Andra could do nothing as she watched the warriors make a circle with their bodies and clear the area of rocks, so that the challengers would not stumble in their battle. Behind the warriors the Elders stood silently and prayed to Isarie to guide the hand of the righteous, no matter who that might be.
As they were doing this, Dietas the Rain Goddess began to drain water from her jug, and warm rain began to fall over the tribe of the Madrigal.
The gift of the Gods would not halt the life of death struggle, about to begin. The circle was complete and the two warriors came forward to fight, to let fate decide who would be the victor.
Arn knew, Yan was very strong and skilled with the warrior’s ax, he had seen him kill many enemies and he never saw any weaknesses. He also knew, hatred was a powerful drug and would shield him from pain or surrender. He would have to kill him that was certain, and while he did, he would have to keep his own head attached to his neck.
Orbano's thoughts were plain to see, his eyes shone with vengeance and his heart beat only for a vendetta.
It was Lacanor who called out for the battle to begin.
Yan struck the first blow, he raced forward like a charging Rimar with his weapon held high, then swinging it with all his might at the King's head. Arn deflected the blow with his ax, as he moved past his opponent, he struck out with his fist and hit the man on the side of his face. The blow did little damage and they both turned to face each other again.
Andra watched the fighting technique of Yan, gripping the handle of her weapon tightly; he is quick but he leaves his right side open when he charges. It was not something that anyone could see. Endless hours of training in hand to hand fighting had made the Selcarie woman an expert at finding weaknesses and taking advantage of them. If Arn strikes fast, then moves quickly he could win.
Arns movements were like those of a Sagar Cat, although he was strongly built, with heavy arms and massive thews he still was very quick. It was a trait, all Nomads had, they were made for fighting, the ultimate soldier. Breeding had resulted in the fighting machines that now battled for their lives.
The King circled his challenger; he is strong, I am stronger; and with those words in his mind, he shouted out the battle cry of his people and rushed forward. Yan barely escaped with his life, Arn's swinging ax, missed his head by a fraction, sending a flashing spark, as it bounced off his heavy helmet. Orbano swung his weapon, it glanced off the leg armor of the King, doing little damage, again they drew back to take stock of each other.
Andra watched her lover fighting for his life. It made her heart beat fast; if only I could help; she thought; if only I could help. She knew if she came to the aid of her mate, she would be cut down by the other warriors for intervening. So she held herself back and gripped the handle of her war-ax even harder; strike at his left; she called out with her mind; his left is weak.
Arn again readied himself for a charge, as he did he suddenly heard a small voice in his head; his left is weak; it said. Hearing those words, the King suddenly knew what to do; let him charge, then when he passes, strike at his weakness.
The rain continued to pour and the sky flashed with lightning, but it could not drown out the shouting of the warriors. As another lightning bolt broke from the heavens, Yan moved forward.
This time the King was ready, Arn deflected a mighty blow with the side of his ax. As his opponent passed him, he turned and in a blinding movement of speed, he struck out and his weapon bit into Yan's right side. For a time, Andra did not think the blow had found its mark, for Orbano still remained on his feet. He turned, raising his weapon and was about to charge again, when he suddenly froze in his tracks. He stood like a statue, letting the rain wash over him, he seemed to smile for a moment, then fell forward on his face.
As he lay there, a great cheer rose up from the warriors, they had seen a good
fight and the Gods had decided, their King would remain so.
“Arn is victorious” one called out.
“Our King is strong,” said another.
As the shouting continued, Lacanor came forward and stood before Arn, he bowed his head. “I was wrong in my words”, he said solemnly, “you are not weak and the Gods stand at your side”.
Another King might have raised his ax and cut off the old man's head for questioning his rule. Arn was not such a leader, instead he put his hand on the man’s shoulder and spoke softly, “you spoke your heart, and that is the mark of a true warrior”.
The kind words from his King, made the heart of the old man feel content, it had been a long time since anyone had called him a warrior. In all the remaining days of his life, he would tell the story again and again and know, he was not forgotten.
The rain was still coming down as they took the body of Yan-Orbano away to prepare it for burial. Now, the King and Andra stood in the empty place, where Arn had fought for his life.
“I heard your voice in my mind”, the King said, as he looked into the eyes of his mate.
Andra smiled and held Arn tighter, “and I will always hear your voice in mine”.
They stood without saying another word and listened to the sound of thunder crack from the heavens, it rolled over the Place of Dreams and shook the ground with its fury.
They only heard the beating of their entwined hearts.
The morning found the sky clear and the twin suns drying the dew from the waving grass. A soft wind blew from the East and on it hung the scent of forest flowers and woodland vine. None of this mattered to the Nomads, for the air was filled with the cries of Mothers whose children who were no longer alive.
All through the night the men and women, who had born young during the Burning Time had to watch as their offspring died. One by one they simply closed their eyes and passed from this world into the next. There was no pain and they did not cry out, the life in them simply vanished. The Elders deemed it a mercy from Isarie, for they had watched, as their young had been tormented by demons of the mind, now at last their torture was at an end. That did not soften the pain of their parents, when they held the lifeless bodies of their beloved. There was something, no one could explain.
Not all the children died.
As the Madrigal cried and prepared the small bodies for burial, they also noticed, only one twin had perished. In no case, did both of the twins cross over into the Afterlife, only one.
A fact noted by Osh.
“It must have been connected to the practice of the choosing”, he said, as he sat near his Washa fire. “In the past, they would have made the choice of letting one live and casting out the other to die”.
Andra was sitting near the fire with her old friend and Endo, she did not want to deal with the preparations, being made before they buried the children. Although she was a strong woman, her heart could not bear the sight. So she decided to share a cup of warm tea with the old man and try to forget the ritual to come. “So what you’re saying is, since they did not follow their traditions it somehow caused the deaths of the children?”
The old man nodded his large head, “that is exactly what I am saying”. He took a sip of his warm tea, “you see the Nomads were made for warfare, and their makers devised a unique plan for eliminating the weaker of their species. They would give birth to twins or more as they slept in the cocoons of the crystal spiders. Then after they emerged they would start to grow at a greatly accelerated rate”. He took another sip of his tea. “then after a time, they would have to choose which of the children would live and which should die according to who was the stronger. This past cycle they did not continue that tradition and the consequences were disastrous as you can see”.
Andra let the words of her old friend sink in, “so they let the children live and somehow it caused their deaths?”
“Correct”, the Callaxion said bluntly, “it must have been some sort of mind-lock connection. They had been acting erratically for some time now, it must have been an intrusive linking of their neural pathways, caused by being in proximity, to each other”. Again he sipped his tea, “it sometimes happens with our kind also, when we link with very powerful Tollacian computers, there is a feedback wave that causes...”
“Wait!” interrupted the woman, “you're saying that when people can read other peoples thoughts, it might kill them?”
Osh was not all together happy with the summary of his comments but he had to agree. “Well yes, or drive them mad, I think that is essentially the case”.
This set Andra to thinking; am I becoming linked with Arn? Did the time we lay with each other in the cave cause this?
She remembered the Burning Time, when the Crystal spiders came out of the darkness and wrapped them in their silk, then they slept through the fires. She knew, something was different since then, she did not realize, it might cause their deaths. Will I put an end to his life? Then she remembered the people of the dark.
“The Shadowmen are the brothers and sisters of the Nomads, how can they still remain alive?” she asked.
The old man did not have a clear answer to this question but he did have a theory. “Well it could be, they were far enough away from their counterparts, distance could be the prime factor. Or it just might be the ingestion of Black Grana or Tral as it’s known to the Outlanders. Mothers give it to the one who is to die, to hasten the process and save them from a long agonizing.....”
Andra put down her cup of tea and suddenly rose to her feet, “I’ve heard enough”. Then she turned and walked away from the Washa fire in the direction of her tent.
Endo, who had sat quietly as his mother and father spoke, now turned to look at the old man, “mother is afraid”, he said openly.
This caught the Callaxion off guard, “why do you say that?” he asked
“Because I can smell it”, the Sandjar replied.
It was near Sunfall when the Nomads were ready to bury their young.
The sky was open and clear, and the day moons shone with a brilliance, not been seen in a long time. They hung in the heavens, looking down on the creatures that moved upon their mother, for they were the children of Gorn.
How old the largest of them was, no one could tell, for it and its brothers and sisters had traveled through the heavens for as long as there were Nomads to see them. They did however know the age of the smallest, the tiny moon called Andra had been created not yet one cycle before. Now the children of the stars watched as the tribe of Madrigal paid homage to their kind.
All the people of the tribe, were gathered near the great red stone, at the center of the Place of Dreams. The warriors had cleaned their armor, and now it gleamed in the setting sunlight like the stars in the night sky. The Elders wore their best and held the sacred Ancestor-chests in their hands. The Ironworkers had fashioned small war-axes, because even though the dead children were not warriors, they still wished to send them into the Afterlife, with the sanctioned weapon in their tiny hands.
The Holy Mother, also came to show her respect, Egmar was dressed in the traditional black robes of judgment. She held the staff with the large golden eye, in her other hand. She did not carry the small stone hammer used to drive the Journey-Nails into the hands of a fallen warrior. So he or she could carry their weapon through all eternity. Next to her stood Kela, she was dressed like her mistress and held a golden bowl of Grana in her slim hands. Around them stood the Handmaidens, they were not naked, as they would have been for a warrior's burial. They wore white robes and their hair was held up high with ivory pins and bobbles, made from shells and feathers of the Onyx bird. They did hold smoking bowls of burning incense, the smoke drifted up lazily like a whisper wing on the wind.
With the Holy Mother stood the Thungodra, they had also cleaned their dark armor and polished the horns on their helmets to look their best.
Kuno and his Spikeback warriors did not attend the ceremony, it was their duty to guard the tribe a
nd they would so to the end. Kuno ordered the long range weapons and the disrupters, be pointed outwards and made ready in case of attack. He did allow any man or woman who had lost a child to stay by the body. Even though he was known as a man who cared little for children, his eyes still showed tears from the pain in his heart.
To everyone's surprise there was another who came to stand with the tribe.
Anais had come out of his tent and into the light.
He wore a plain dark robe with no other adornment. It was strange to see him this way. In the past, he had always dressed himself in the costliest attire and prided himself on the best silver and gold jewelry. Now he could be mistaken for any Outlander and not one of royal birth. He walked alone with only a staff to lean against and help guide him in his steps. Although there were many who remembered his cruelty, they still cleared a path for him as he came near the King.
Arn watched his brother come close; he has come to stand with us; he thought; he still remembered his treachery and the role he had in killing his other brother Agart. He can stand, I will not catch him if he falls.
Beside the King stood Andra, she also saw Anais slowly walking towards her but her heart, was not hardened by the days of the past; he is blind and should be pitied.
There was one other who saw the blind Prince, and although the sight should have moved her heart it did not.
Egmar watched her son, slowly walk to stand near the King. It should have been enough to make her soul leap with joy, but there was a cloud blocking the sunshine from her soul. As she looked at him, she heard again the voice that was now always with her, in her eyes, she seemed to see the same dark spider sitting on her shoulder and whispering words in her ear.
This is the son who betrayed his people; the dark aberration said; this is the son who wished you dead.
Although she did not want to listen, she could not shut her ears; he has suffered much; she thought; he deserves my love.
The dark creature continued to speak; he deserves nothing!
Hearing this in her mind, caused the Holy Mother to speak, “all deserve love”.
Kela looked over at the one she called Enor, “are you ready to begin?” she asked.
Egmar nodded her head (yes), and by doing so, the young Handmaiden motioned to the Thungodra by her side, who in turn lifted his weapon to signal, all was ready.
There are many drums, the Nomads use for their rituals. There are the red stained war drums that call the warriors to arms, there are the large mating drums, whose sound fires the blood under the Breast of Isarie. There are smaller drums, used for dancing under the stars. The Outlanders use all these instruments and they do so with pleasure. There are some drums that are beaten with pain, those drums now sounded.
The Nomads heard the death drums and they shed tears, for they sounded not for warriors who had battled and given up their lives in defense of their tribe. This was for innocent children who had not yet begun to live.
The Madrigal had cleaned their small bodies and dressed them in robes of white. They put the small iron axes in one hand and a carved wooden toy in the other. Beside them were tiny bowls filled with meadow cane so they might enjoy its sweet taste, as they made their way to the Golden Hall of Isarie. There was also a small offering of Grana salt, to show respect for the gift of the Goddess.
When all was made ready, the Handmaidens came forward and sang a song of remembrance.
You were my love that walked the earth.
You were the child of my rebirth.
I will see your face in all my dreams.
I will feel your love in sunlight beams.
Wait for me in the golden hall.
For I will come when darkness falls.
But when my soul is without desire.
All will sit beside the fire.
Together and together throughout all time.
But all shall know that you were mine.
With the ending of the song, the Holy Mother lifted her staff and all was quiet, she stood for a time and looked at the golden glow, coming from the setting suns. It seemed, she was trying to find words that would speak the emotions, everyone was feeling in their hearts.
Kela looked at the women beside her; her heart is too troubled to speak; when Egmar did not come forth it was the Handmaiden who spoke.
“There is too much pain in the heart of our Holy Mother to let her speak. So let us say the words, all might understand, garnog cortrex horcon unarnis-balnor lun rator pollartex intarius sinuous troben seth. You are the Gods of the Heavens and we are your children, guide those who come to you and take them into your heart”. It was an old prayer, one the Nomads understood.
When his tribe repeated those words and there was silence once more, the King came forward and spoke, so all might hear. “They were the children of our hearts, they will not be forgotten.” He lifted his ax and pointed it at the great red stone, standing at the center of the Place of Dreams. He spoke again, “from this day forward the great rock that stands there shall be known as ratash unnorco almadra. The Heart of the Madrigal, and all who see it will know, the love we bore for our young”.
So the children were buried near the great stone, each had meadow flowers heaped upon their graves. The Elders came forward and each spoke a prayer, to help guide them in their journey to the Afterlife. The Handmaidens sprinkled Grana and spoke comforting words from the Holy Book and shed more tears to show their grief. When darkness came, the warriors stood guard through the night, least a demon come and try to steal the souls of the dead.
Egmar too stood before the tiny mounds of earth and spoke a prayer to the Goddess, asking her to allow them into her Golden Hall, and to let them sit on her right side, for all eternity. It was a strange thing, for although she prayed and spoke soft words, there were no tears in her eyes. It was a simple thing to go unnoticed and only one saw, her cheeks were not wet. Kela was standing near her and only she wondered at such a curious thing.
At last the ceremonies were completed and the grieving mothers and fathers returned to their tents. They tried to ease the pain in their hearts, by holding the children who remained, close to them. Still throughout the night, sounds of crying could be heard and the soft beating of sacred drums.
In ages to come, Nomads will pass the Place of Dreams and see the homage, paid by the tribe, to those who the Gods had taken. How those Gods decide who shall live and who shall die cannot be known by mortals, for their wisdom is beyond the reach of their minds.
For thousands of years the Elders of the Outlands have sat and talked of things past and things that are yet to come. They read the words set down in the Great Book of Isarie and argue about its merits and shortcomings. They prayed and ask the Holy Goddess to grant them power, because they are the Chosen, those most worthy of her love. When someone speaks words, they do not agree with, they say it is the work of demons and the one who spoke them, should be made Outcast. When someone dies they say it is the will of Isarie and one must accept her judgment. They say all this because they are true believers and the only ones smiled upon by the Gods. All the wisdom of the ages and all the words spoken by the holy cannot mend a broken heart.
All the suns in the heavens cannot dry the tears of a mother for the loss of her child.