Rebirth
I am Lars Turenidi. I am an immortal. Yes, in time, my body will grow old and feeble. I will lost sight and cannot stand straight. I might be even killed in a battle or disease may take me. Though, all this is but my mortal shell. One day, i shall return. I shall walk the streets of Vesnth, walk up the sacred mountain, to the temple of Voltumna. And then, looking at my beloved city, i shall remember.
Remember this very moment, when i picked up the stylus, and decided to start writing. Remember by childhood, when i grew up in Vesnth. Remember my childhoods before. Remember me, holding a spear, standing in line with my fellow citizens, sweating in fear, watching as the Romans approach and the screams of terrified soldiers as the Etruscan and Samnites were defeated by them. Remember running for my life. Remember my first love. And other first loves of all the other mes. Don’t ask, this is personal. Remember my first sip of wine and my last breath.
Then, i shall watch the ancient city of Vesnth and feel my past lives flow through me. And I thank the Goddess, kneeling in the dusty stairs. Then, I shall rise up, walk to the temple and tell the priests. “Open up the gates, I have arrived”. And they shall kneel before me, no matter what rags i wear, no matter how poor or dishevelled i look. They shall wash my feet, they shall feed me, they shall bathe me, and they shall cover my body with fine linen, for i have returned. For I am the favourite of Voltumna
After that, I shall walk to my tomb. Look at the brightly colored frescoes, depicting my previous life. Images of me feasting, hunting, warring. And then, I shall look at my sarcophagus. With me, all alone in the cover. And i realize that there is a price to pay for my immortality. I shall be alone. Alone in life, alone in death. And I shall kneel before my remains and cry the bitter tears of immortality. As I have done again and again. As I will do in the future.
If anyone ever reads what I have written, them I am certain that you are confused, but have a basic grasp of who I am. This is but an introduction though, for there is one thing I am not. Important. I do not lead the nation. I do not hold political power, nor do i lead armies, steer ships or rule over hearts and minds of men. I simply am, for the Goddess has willed so. This story is not about me. This is about Etruscans, or Rasenna, as we call ourselves.
It was the day before. At around the noon, when an indescribable sound, like a thousand trumpets, pierced the cloudless sky, forcing everyone to their knees. It pierced the hearts of men, woman and children alike, making everyone cry in anguish.
It ushered the end of an era. For this sound will be heard only once in the one’s lifetime. It means that all who last heard it are dead and none among the living shall hear it again. It meant that the old Year of the Gods had ended and a new begun, new in deeds, new in customs, new in thought.
For Etruscans, this spelt the end. For Gods have granted the Etruscan twelve cities twelve Years of the Gods, and this was the twelfth. The ancient prophecy, passed down since the Etruscans were taking their very first steps in Italia. For we are an old nation, having lived in our beautiful hill cities since time immeasurable. When the Rome was but several villages of mud huts, each encompassing one hill, we had stone cities and sanitation and wealth and culture and cool shade on these summer months. And now, with the new Year of the Gods, we shall end.
As people grow old and feeble, so do nations. New, younger ones will compete, while we slowly wither away. Our cities will burn, our men die in hopeless battles, our women and children cry in slavery. This is the way of this world, as cruel and unforgiving as it might be. It has been such since the ancient times and will continue to be so in the future.
The sense of impending doom filled the streets of Vesnth yesterday. No laughter, no singing. We looked at our beautiful city in silence, looked at the countryside and imagined it all in ruins. Or on fire, with the enemy breaching our walls and bringing death or misery to all within. It was not a happy day. Despite the sun shining and making everything golden with her rays, I felt a chill down my spine and felt gloom. As did everyone in our city. As did everyone in all the cities and villages of the Etruscans.
It was I who gave them hope again. Not because of what I did, but because of who I am. For that is also way of the people. They cling to hope, even in the utmost darkness. If there is a chance, they will take it. Even if the chances are slim. I love them for that.
“It is the end of 12 cities of Etruscans,” bellowed Elbio Vulturreno. “New era shall begin. With new thinking, with new customs, with new deeds and thoughts.”
People gazed up on him. Elbio Vulturreno. The ruler of Vatluna. The greatest of the 12 cities. My friend. He had climbed up to the podium of the temple of Voltumna. It was already nightfall. Few lights were flickering in the city below, as the people had gathered to the temple to pray. Not just citizens of Volsini, but from the other 11 cities of Etruscans. For the temple of Voltumna was where the 12 cities gather, and for the time was for the meeting when the Gods announced our doom.
Despite the people, the mountain was engulfed silence, where sudden suppressed weep came out as thunderous. Never have I seen so many people and such silence. Even the creatures of the night stayed away from the holy mountain, leaving us humans to our misery.
The voice of Elbio Vulturreno cut the silence like a well-aimed ram cuts through the enemy trireme. The sound of the crash, as the ram ploughs herself through the thick wooden planks with full force of the ship. The screaming of men as the ship starts to sink, trying to take her passengers to the watery grave. Startled, everyone looked up, only to see the figure of Elbio Vulturreno, only moon lighting his face in the darkness.
“The once mighty Etruscans shall wither away and die,” he continued, now enjoying the full attention of the audience. “Yet,” he continued, making a dramatic pause and then, pointing at me, sitting in the front row.
“Death is familiar to him,” he said. As the people looked at me, I felt discomfort. My friend, not r caring, continued. “Lars Turenidi had died. From old age. From disease. From cold iron. Yet, here he is. Always does he come back, and always does he find way to the arms of Voltumna.”
Though I was common knowledge, the people still stared and slowly moved away from me, giving me a circle in the crowd. Once again, i realized that the life of immortal is a lonely one.
“Times are changing indeed,” he continued. “The Rome in the south is growing stronger, while we are getting weaker. As the priests said it, the time of 12 cities of Etruscans is over. And I say- let it be over!”
With that statement, the last curious eyes left me alone, concentrating on Elbio Vulturreno.
“Let them die!” Elbio Vulturreno was now enjoying the full attention of everyone. “For we deserve to die. We are like oxen, pulling plough in different direction. We are like sheep, squabbling amongst ourselves, while the wolves gather in the woods. We are like mice, playing blindly in the grass, while an eagle approaches from above.”
The silence of the crowd became thick enough you could cut it with a knife.
“Let them die!” Elbio Vulturreno continued. “Let them die, for they have lived past their age. Let them die, for the Gods told them to! Let the old ways and the old systems fall. But let us emerge from the ashes and, in rebirth, become stronger and wiser! Let the twelve cities die and let us be reborn as a single nation, of single purpose!”
“Divided, we fall. United, we rise!” the voice of Elbio Vulturreno, risen now to volume that seemed beyond human capacity, filled the entire Fanum Voltumnae. “Let us cast aside our differences, and stand against the world”
He gazed at me again. “My friend Lars Turenidi, the immortal. Are you with me?”
So enticing were his words. So promising seemed his concept. So dreadful seemed the alternative. So, without hesitation, I rose. He held out his hand and pulled me next to him. Then, as the crowd started cheering, he embraced me, yelling “Thank you, my friend” to my ear.
Next to me, rulers of Tarchuona, Velcal, Sena and Velathera climbed up and joined Elbio Vulturreno. With a bit of a hesitation, the others followed suit. Tlesna Fulu, the ruler of Vesnth, being the last.
The Gods were right. That night, the twelve cities of Etruscans died. Sooner then anyone could expect. Makes you wonder. Did the prophecy became true because the Gods willed so? Or did the prophecy fulfill itself simply because it existed and enough people wanted to believe it?
From the ashes, Etruscan League rose. More then a loose alliance between cities. Less then a nation. Born out of desperation, in order to avert the incoming doom. In the North, skies darkened and clouds gathered, and soon, lightning pierced the skies. Again again, lighting the night sky bright and filling the air with roar of thunder. Thus, the Gods showed their approval. It is now up to humans to be worthy of that approval.