The Season of Aries

The only source of light in this eerie background, in a glade lost deep into a forest on the top of the holy mountain, came from the twelve torches held by the young warriors, who formed a wide circle. In the middle of the circle stood the “Wise” as everyone knew them; a group of elders, supporters of the old religion; men and women who had gone through a long and painful journey to preserve the ultimate truth. Through the centuries, they were believed to be merely a legend among the public. Blasphemous, pagan monsters in the eyes of the followers of the New Religion, they had to hide their identities or speak up with fear for losing their own lives since they’ve come into being. But the time had finally come. The season of the false gods had come to its inevitable ending, and the season of Aries would bring back the saviours that this ignorant world had forsaken.

After a short ritual and the silence that followed, the high priest, the oldest and wisest of them all, stood on a rock in the middle of the glade, where everyone could see him, and initiated his speech in a loud, steady voice.

“Woe to the false prophets and the blasphemous kin that tormented our people for countless centuries. The time has come while they’re blissfully continuing their lives, walking on the sacred streets and alleys that our ancestors built. Enjoying the savours of the goods that the land of our honoured ancestors gracefully handed to us through the centuries. Their sinful bodies sensing the gracious warmth of the sun during the long days of summer. Exploiting the gifts of this holy nature that Gods blessed us with. The very same nature that those ungrateful imbeciles exploited to the point of devastation. For respect is a capacity they do not possess. Their false gods were not polite enough to hand it to them.”

At that point, one of the warriors, the one standing closer to the old man, walked towards the high priest and offered him a grail filled with wine. The rest of the Wise have been already holding their grails, all of them full of this especially made for the occasion drink. The speaker continued without changing the tone of his voice.

“It is needless to recall the tortures our people went through on the arrival of those monsters. For the ones who were thrown to the beasts to entertain their bloodthirsty crowds, for the ones who were skinned alive because their opinions differed to the dogmas of the false prophets, for the ones who rot to death in cold, grey cells, forsaken and tortured every day of their miserable lives, but never loosened from their beliefs, for all our heroes who suffered maintaining our faith, raise your grails and drink for them. May they never be forgotten. For every broken temple and statue, and every other piece of art, they either destroyed or robbed. For every library and every scroll that they burned with their unholy fires. For all the knowledge they stole from us and humanity, merely because it raised questions to the well-structured piles of lies that constitute their religion.”

A short pause followed, and when he went on with his speech, he was almost screaming.

“We will not kneel anymore. No more hiding. It’s time for them to suffer now. For the true gods are back. Their time has run out. THE SEASON OF THE FISH IS OVER!”

Loud voices of thrill and excitement raised in the ghostly scenery. The Wise screamed, and laughed, and drank, aroused in anticipation of the new era soon to come. The warriors held the torches higher. As high as they could. The light of the fire met the moonlight. Colours of gold and silver, dressing the chants of the Wise, acting like a spell promising to change reality in the blink of an eye.

But the ritual had not ended yet. The group of men and women would keep on singing and praying in the old language until the first light of the morning sun. A sun that with him would bring what he had promised centuries ago. With him would dawn a new era. The closing of a seemingly endless circle, and the comeback of truth.

If only they hadn’t obliterated Astrology, murdering, and imprisoning every scientist in their domain, the leaders of the New Religion might have learned somehow that the next morning would bring with it in our solar system a planet previously unknown to humanity. A planet that abstained from this solar system for countless centuries. A planet that in turn would bring with its presence a race of beings that in another, long-passed era, had been worshipped by humans. A race of god-like beings that changed humanity and got changed by it, composing a relationship that had survived through stories, and pictures, and metaphors. Stories that recently had been ignored and twisted. And those beings had loved their worshippers and came back eager to meet them. But what they saw was that their creations had been depressed, and destroyed, and burnt, and suffered. Many realities would change with the coming of the season of Aries, and the comeback of the new planet and its sons.

In the days to come, no one could comprehend what was real and what was fantasy. Millions died terribly, and even more repented and asked for forgiveness for the wrongs of their ancestors and their own. The streets of the cities crammed by carcasses and half-dead tormented by their own minds, followers of the false religion.

Even in their last moments, the ones who never repented were their principals. The so-called prophets. The ones that first among the vermin tried to escape, with the hope to avenge with the coming of the new season. But the Gods would not let that happen again. This time they would be obliterated. Not even their young ones were forgiven. Until the corpses were eventually rotten and feed the ground, the bodies of the false prophets would stay hung next to the entrance of every big city within the holy domain. A warning for the times to come, and the snakes among humans whose lust for power never burns out.