Intermission: Anor and Aula
The Return of the Derp:
And we are back again after a long and unexpected hiatus. I don’t have another chapter ready for my audience, but this issue will still be a treat! Following, we have a short story written by Elisabeth Giem written in the world of Sunlock, set in the darkward land of Anor that has been subjugated by the Aulan Empire. Also included is some world-building from yours truly, detailing an ancient legend of those who dared rise up against the empire of Hazu I and met some success.
Enjoy, everyone!
For the Dead Scream With No Voice:
Ran adjusted his bustle belt as he climbed the stairs of the Gloaming Tower. Ever since the new Viceroy had been installed by their great Aulan overlords and all of the Venerable Ones had been moved to new quarters in the Tower, it had been a great deal more work for Ran and the other caretakers to prepare for the annual Feast of the Ancestors Honoring the Venerable Elders.
The Feast of the Dead, the heathen Aulans called it. And moved the banquet hall as far from the quarters of the Venerable Ones as they possibly could.
Stairs upon stairs. His calves already aching, Ran didn’t look forward to the trip down any more than he did the journey upwards. Then he’d have a Venerable One, Elder Hleengchin, only Venerable for slightly over ten sun-cycles and therefore not yet divested of most of her weight as some of the others were, seated firmly on the bustle pad and strapped securely in place to the harness around his back. Elder Hleengchin had not troubled herself to keep slim before she became Venerable, either. Ran shook his head to rid himself of the disrespectful thought. As a porter, it was not his place to judge the Venerable ones. It was his place to carry them to the feast. Down the miles of stairs in the tallest tower in the city.
And then back up again after. He tried not to think about that.
Better to focus on the task at hand. The Elders were not at fault for this. They certainly had not requested the move to the highest tower, so drafty and cold. How they must miss their usual quarters in the insulated halls of the Cinder Palace, heated by the geothermal energy that coursed beneath the foundation rock of the City on the Edge of the Shadow. Ran surely missed it. His footsteps clattered in the empty stairwell, unmuted by any carpet. He missed the sound of the flash-frozen geysers outside the Cinder Palace clinking against the walls when the ice winds howled down off the glaciers. The view of the sliver of sun just barely peeking over the horizon from the top of the Gloaming Tower was a poor trade.
As he neared the top of the tower an additional set of footfalls echoed off the stone staircase behind him, these much more hurried. He turned and saw Nin, the new porter, running up the stairs behind him, running for Elder Lenighhlo’s quarters. How did that man have that kind of energy? All the way up the stairs? Well, he was ten cycles younger at that.
Shaking his head, Ran made for Elder Hleengchin’s quarters, opening the door. In the Cinder Palace they had been luxurious, spanning multiple rooms and decorated in the finest furniture her family could craft or buy. Here she had just the one bedroom, with only a bed and one chest to contain her clothing. Tears came to his eyes at the indignities the Aulans heaped upon them. He turned away so that the Elder would not see and be affected by his distress. She must be infinitely more aware of her decrease in situation than he was. Adopting a falsely cheerful voice, he bustled over to the chest and opened it to help the Venerable One select her great overcoat and fur mantle for the Feast of the Ancestors, keeping up a stream of innocuous prattle. Elder Hleengchin was not particularly formal with her porters, and would not mind.
“Ah, Elder Hleengchin, May You Live In Peace Forever! It’s so good to see you again! Let me tell you what’s happened since I saw you two rhythms ago. Vat’s wife has given birth to a beautiful baby girl! I know you will want to see her, so as soon as she can survive the cold, I’ll ask him to bring little Minrhsee to see you. Narhlo has been having to fend off even more cuts to the porter staff, and our pay has been frozen by the Viceroy. We can’t earn an increase for five years now. But don’t worry. Narhlo is very resourceful, and has asked the families to contribute to a fund for training new apprentices since Palace funds can no longer go towards anything for Venerable Ones. Can you believe it? That sun-slag has really got it in for the Elders. You’re right, I shouldn’t curse. Ten apologies, my error grieves me. But, you know, he’s possibly the worst Viceroy we’ve ever had. The last one wasn’t nearly so bad. And he’s provoking the Night Tribes, stationing troops on the border of the Nightlands. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was only his own men, but he conscripts from us and then says we’re Aulan regiments and have to fight for the Emperor. We didn’t start out poking the Nightlands, why do we have to fight?”
As he sorted through the chest of furs, his running update was interrupted from outside.
“Ran? Elder Lenighhlo seems out of sorts and I can’t—oh.” Nin’s hesitant voice grew louder as he approached the door, poking his head around the corner. He came inside and made a low bow, stammering. “I—I, uh, my apologies, Elder Hleengchin, I can come back later.”
So of course Ran looked to Elder Hleengchin. She was screaming, her mouth a rictus. The wires holding her jaw shut had been cut, and he saw what a porter should never see. Every tooth stood out in relief against the black line of her gums. Horrified, he could even tell that she had replaced five of them with sunstone, although one looked like it might be a cheaper topaz substitute. He ripped his eyes away from the indecent sight, lowering them to the floor.
“By the Scales!” He grabbed the first cloth that came to hand, a Nordecker scarf woven in thread of gold that had been a gift from Elder Eenegi’s descendants, and gently wound it around Elder Hleengchin’s head to protect her from prying eyes. “I apologize a thousand times for my inattention. I will burn fifty sticks of incense to the Great Eye and offer fifty velfruit to the Night as punishment.” With this material apology for his inexcusable error offered to the Elder, he hastened over to Nin and hurried him out of the room. There was no need for the young man to see the Elder in that state, even covered.
Nin let himself be rushed out, but then turned to him and grabbed his arm. “Ran, stop. Elder Lenighhlo… she—she’s like that too.”
Ran blanched. “Screaming?”
Nin nodded, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, gods. I haven’t been trained for this. I don’t know what to do. Why are they upset?”
Ran didn’t want to tell him that it wasn’t a case of being upset. You knew when an Elder was upset with you by the tone of the silence they used. They communicated it in other ways. You just knew. This was screaming, a raw, ripping howl that rent the soul of everyone who heard it.
Ran put a comforting hand on Nin’s shoulder, hoping the younger porter didn’t notice that it shook. “We’ll get the Journeyman. They must be in pain, she can help.”
Without further discussion, disturbed by the agony of the Venerable Ones, they hurtled back down the stairs together to summon the Journeyman. Once there would have been many Journeymen, perhaps as many as several per Elder for the very oldest, but that was when they were quartered in the Cinder Palace and not the Gloaming Tower. There was no point in having so many medicine men for the Venerable Ones, said the Aulan Viceroy, and since the Aulan Viceroy was backed by Aulan guns, the Journeymen had gradually been whittled down from hundreds to tens to one. One Journeyman to help all the Elders of the Palace on their journeys, and what would happen once she began her own journey? She had no apprentice.
A problem for another time. They found the Journeyman in her rooms, backed by thousands of tiny drawers holding the herbs, spices, and other dried mysteries of her craft. She was already talking to Vat and Lal, and Ran could see On rushing up the corridor from the opposite direction. The Journeyman frowned at Nin and Ran as they came in, and held up a finger to silence Vat. “Are your Elders screaming?”
“Yes,” Nin burst out, sounding as if he could not wait to get it off his chest to someone who could help. “Please, Elder Lenighhlo, I don’t know what’s wrong and I can’t stop it. I put a shawl over her but I don’t know what happened. Help me, please—”
Ran found himself caught up in the unsettled terror of the younger man, and found it difficult to hold back and give any more measured or detailed a report. “Elder Hleengchin. She’s only Venerable ten sun-cycles, it’s not like some of the more irritable ancient Elders, there’s no reason for this.”
The Journeyman pinched the bridge of her nose. “These two as well,” she gestured at Vat and Lal. Ran tried to remember who they attended. Elders Anaghi and Hlemeenle, he thought. Also women less than twenty sun-cycles Venerable. He had known Hlemeenle before she began her journey; and old, old woman who sometimes visited Elder Hleengchin to chat about their great-grandchildren and had given him snacks while he had carried heavy weights in a training bustle, thinking that porters should be well-fed. He missed her cheerful voice a little, and the thought of her screaming sent chills down his spine.
The Journeyman disappeared into the back of her rooms to gather together a kit and then gave it to Nin to carry. “I’m still not used to the stairs,” she said by way of explanation, and all of the porters nodded acceptance. She never would be. She was almost seventy sun-cycles old. They would carry her when she became Venerable sooner or later, but it would be the height of insult to suggest it now.
When they made it to the top some time later after many stops to rest, the Journeyman went into Elder Hleengchin’s room, allowing only Ran to enter to help her. He kept his eyes resolutely on the floor as she removed the cloth to examine the Venerable One, shut his ears to both the screaming and the horrible clicks, scrapes, and dry raspings as the Journeyman did whatever it is that Journeymen do. They were trained for this sort of situation.
It would not be so alarming, perhaps, if Hleengchin was the Eldest, or near to. The Eldest and the Most Venerable were very dry and near to falling apart, their bodies about to give up their spirits and their power to be passed through the final bone tea. They were very justifiably somewhat cranky, and often yelled at the porters or indeed anyone who came to visit, purely through fragility of body. The supporting wires and cloths could no longer provide enough strength. But Hleengchin was only ten sun-cycles Venerable. Something was very wrong for this to happen. And to so many newer Elders at once.
The Journeyman stepped away from Hleengchin, the Elder restored to if not good humor, at least a passable state of composure. “Someone cut the jaw wires, Ran.”
He didn’t like to hear of such things, but he steeled himself. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“I could not say at this time.” She turned back to Elder Hleengchin. “A hundred apologies, Elder Hleengchin. I have too many to help to give you a full exam at this time, and the Feast is imminent. I recommend that Ran carry you down, and after the Feast I will examine every binding and assess your health.”
The Elder’s silent consent passed to the Journeyman, and after the usual pleasantries the Journeyman left Ran to carry Elder Hleengchin to the banquet. Down the miles of stairs they went, slowly and carefully, for he was not Nin of the boundless energy and apparently pain-inured calves.
He made sure to keep up a conversation with Elder Hleengchin, pointing out the sun slipping behind the mountains as they walked down the tower stairs, remarking on the increasing warmth the lower they went, and commenting on the beauty of the entrance to the grand Hall of the Ancestors. It was a massive door, tall nightwood slats fitted expertly together so that not even the tiniest crack let light shine between. Intricately carved with the lineages of the Great Families, only those who welled from such blood could feast here. Two porters that he didn’t personally know, their Elders either already inside or just unassigned at the moment, opened the door for him and a couple of other porters he could see coming up the Hall.
This let out a burst of both heat and the most wondrous smell from the Hall of the Ancestors, and he saw laid out before him the Feast, with over two hundred Elders in attendance already. Servers were bustling around the table, already groaning with a plethora of food, dodging around porters attending their Elders and bringing in new arrivals. Ran carried in Elder Hleengchin, trying not to let his mouth water. The porters would have their own Feast after all the Elders were in attendance, in a separate hall, but before the families arrived to the Hall of the Ancestors to join the Venerable Ones. In this way, the porters would always be fresh if families needed help. He could see his boss, officially titled Speaker for the Servants of the Elders but really just Narhlo, waving some servers with platters of fresh-baked starbread into the side hall.
Yet it was difficult, with the whole roast weevilboars being set on the table right in front of him, glorious crisp skin crackling with the heat of the kitchen fires. And there was bielfly baked in a pie, just like his wife made, but this one decorated with streamers of delicate fried tuber slices arranged into the forms of nightflowers. He could not even imagine the skill of the Palace cooks, even though he had worked here since he was a boy. Fruits, vegetables, meats of all types adorned the table and he was only able to rip his eyes away when he passed a toy that had been set out for the Elders’ amusement.
It was a little metal man, two feet high, that walked along the table unassisted. Its movements were jerky and imprecise, but it was a miracle of modern engineering. There was no way that a person that small existed, so it actually was a man made of metal, that walked like a real man instead of just being a pretty doll to look at.
Too bad it was an Aulan toy. It would have been better if it was something that Anor had come up with.
He found Elder Hleengchin’s place setting, glazed velfruit and crispberries already set out as pre-feast tidbits. Unbuckling the straps holding her to his back, he gently slid her from the bustle belt carry harness into the chair at the table, moving it back into place and arranging her furs comfortably about her. He made sure everything was to her liking before he retreated to the side hall where the porters would eat, discreetly stretching his back.
***
When the Feast of the Ancestors had been going on for some time and it was only about an hour until the families would join the ancestors, the porters began to wrap up their own feast. The last of the roasted weevilboar was picked over and the white water and ice rinds snatched up by eager hands. The porters began to trickle into the Hall of the Ancestors. Ran had just wiped the last of the juices from his hands and dunked them in some melted icewater to clean them for service when an uproar started in the Hall. He quickly joined the press of porters heading to see what the commotion was about. It did not take long to find out once he was inside the Hall, because Jor was shouting at the top of his lungs at Narhlo, who had also joined the clustering of porters grouped around the end of the great table.
“I’ll cut the eyes out of the man who did this! I’ll take your fingers and throw them in the fire pits! Whoever did this, whichever one of you it was, you will know no peace! You hear me! You are cursed! I will take you from your family and give you to the acid goats to eat! You will have no peace! No peace!”
Narhlo had four other porters take Jor away, still shouting dire imprecations, as Ran craned his neck to see what was the matter. He stood a good hand taller than most porters and was able to get a clear view of Jor’s Elder, Onohle, sitting slumped at the table. She was howling, her mouth hanging open in a ragged shriek of pain. That was bad enough itself, but he could see something besides her teeth glistening white in her mouth, and her clothing had been torn from her body, her bindings open to the air of the Hall. Everyone could see them. And which ones were missing.
He found his voice added to the general commotion. This was an outrage! Jor was right to swear revenge: only Ran could not imagine a man among them would do such a thing. This was criminal, animal. Narhlo was trying to calm down the crowd of angry porters, but how could he hope to succeed when they were righteously incensed? Such a violation of an Elder was a thing no porter could conceive of. Ran shouldered forward through the crowd, reaching the front by dint of his greater size. His hand was shaking as he reached forward past Narhlo to cover Elder Onohle’s exposed body with her discarded furs. As he laid the hood of her robe over her screaming face as a temporary shield, he was able to formulate his fear in his mind, to articulate the terror that numbed his mind and made his motions as mechanical as one of those silly Aulan toys that had clanked away for the Elder’s amusement.
This must have happened to Elder Hleengchin too.
While she was in his care. While she was under his protection. And he had left her screaming because he didn’t even notice, it had taken Nin to point it out to him, he hadn’t even recognized what she was trying to tell him. The crushing hand of guilt seized his heart, and he let out a shout of rage and helplessness.
This seemed to galvanize Narhlo, because he raised his own voice and shouted, “Everyone! I swear by the Burning Eye that we will find who did this and bring him to justice! But I need order now! We need to bring in the Adjudicators, we need to bring in the law and bring this before the Oldest One. I need your help to protect the rest of the Elders while we investigate this. I’m going to cancel the rest of the Feast and ask the families to return home, and I’m going to need your help to make sure no one enters the Hall. I need every porter on the job and I can’t have everyone standing around in an angry mob!”
The crowd quieted and rumbled assent at the logic of this proposed plan: they were not happy, they were not placated, but everything must take second place to protecting the Elders from suffering further.
Narhlo began to call out orders. “I need everyone on duty. Kal, Pob, you go and roust out all of second shift.” The two men pushed through the crowd and left. Narhlo would increase his army of porters by five hundred men. Narhlo turned to the remaining men, hardly decreased in number, as almost everyone from first shift had arrived in the Hall by now. “I’m going to be honest. There has been some trouble among the Elders for a little while, but we couldn’t figure out what was going on with the Viceroy’s moratorium on Journeymen. We just didn’t have the staff, and it was, uh. Well, uh, it was more, uh, discreet, shall we say. Than this.”
There was an immediate angry roar from the porters, not least from Ran himself, who stepped forward to remind Narhlo he was there and still wracked with guilt about Elder Hleengchin, not that Narhlo would have any way of knowing the second part. Narhlo held up his hands. “I’m not saying it wasn’t also criminal! We’ll get to the bottom of it! I’m just saying there was no way we could have known, not with the staff cuts and the… anyway, I need any porter whose Elder was found screaming without explanation to separate to the side. Later, you will need to give a full accounting to the Adjudicators of the situation you found your Venerable One in. Go to Preparation Hall 3 to wait for them. The rest of you, find your team leader and split into groups. If your team starts with Sun, Cloud, Ice, or Cinder, you’re on guard duty until we can get proper guards from the Adjudicators in. If your team starts with Gale, Fast Rising Star, Night, or Star, come with me. We have to explain to the families that the Feast has been canceled and they cannot go in to see their Ancestors.”
Narhlo continued giving directions and more detailed orders, answering questions that team leaders came up and asked, but there was a general outbreak of movement now that he had formulated and enacted a concrete plan. Ran headed toward Preparation Hall 3, wondering with a sick feeling in his stomach how many would be there waiting for the Adjudicators with him. It ended up being two hundred and six men from first shift, with an accounting of one hundred and fourteen from second shift who had not yet arrived. Ran felt his anger growing by the second. A problem for a while? How long of a while? Why had Narhlo been letting this go? Was he responsible? Was it him? Ran’s fingers twitched with constrained violence inflamed with guilt, and it was work to maintain any sort of hold on himself until the Palace Adjudicators could arrive to take a statement from everyone in the hall, a long and boring process of waiting because there were only fifteen Adjudicators to process over two hundred statements. He went to sleep very late in the off-rhythm, and hardly got more than a couple of hours because his own mind kept spinning him the worst possibilities and assigning guilt to everyone he knew. Mostly himself, for failing in his service.
***
The rhythm after the banquet Ran woke to find the case had moved up to Aseptic Hazu Ummhedir, the Aulan in charge of Narhlo’s porters.
If you listened to the Aseptic he was named after his ancestor, a fine tradition in itself, but not one that reflected well here because Hazu I the Sun Crowned was an Aulan who first breathed at least six lifetimes of the Eldest ago, and was famous for brutally murdering all those of any dissenting religion within his lands. He also had a harem of three hundred and twenty concubines, chosen by having his vassal lords send him the five most beautiful women from their lands and executing the four runners up. Hazu I had executed the ten lords brave enough to object to this behavior and hung them and their families from his walls, split open like moths from the top of their heads to the base of their bodies, until they dried to husks in the never-ending light of the sun. Hazu I had decided to go on a hunt with the Five Favored Lords one morning, and insisted that a road be built for them in front of him so that they might travel in comfort. Ten thousand people died making the road. Hazu I had hunted four of the Five Favored Lords during the trip as well. Hazu I had a million such tales surrounding him.
The Aseptic was proud of this legacy, which was how Ran had come to know of it: the man boasted of his terrifying namesake constantly. He seemed to think it a perfectly fine history that fit in with his family name, which apparently meant “of the Righteous” in his native Aulan.
Yet the Aseptic was constantly rumored by the Palace staff to have been sent to Anor for considerably less-righteous reasons. The current favorite was that he had been improperly close to his pet andironback. The Aseptic was some minor lord in the Aulan lands, and his job here had been created by the Viceroy specifically to oversee two departments in the palace and city overall. Service to the Venerable Ones, and the maintenance of the sewers.
Ran’s mouth twisted, a dour mood settling over him as he prepared to meet Narhlo, who had summoned him to give a witness account to the Aseptic. The Aulans were setting the tone by assigning the case to the Aseptic. They had already indicated their opinion of the Venerable Ones of the Cinder Palace by putting them under the care of the Aseptic.
***
The meeting went exactly as he expected. The Aseptic was not even slightly interested in what was happening to the Elders. They were dead, was his argument, some Aulan concept that once the body stopped breathing it stopped housing a soul. Utterly ridiculous. But the Aseptic would not let go of this argument. Narhlo argued himself blue in the face philosophically, and did not succeed in budging the Aseptic from his blasphemous Riverrun-derived folly in any measure.
At least he could argue, because the Aseptic’s command of the Anoran language was impeccable. Ran was not confident Narhlo’s ability in Aulan was equally good. While it was fairly easy to understand, it was devilishly hard to pronounce.
Eventually, Narhlo switched arguments, asking if at least the Aseptic could see that, regardless of the status of the Elder’s souls, a crime had been committed against their bodies. Once he avoided using the term “persons”, instead of “bodies”, the Aseptic was happy to agree that indeed there was a gruesome crime committed, and seemed riveted by the account provided by Narhlo and then Ran and the other porters who had been chosen to provide accounts to him. He pressed for extremely detailed descriptions, to the point where Ran was past uncomfortable giving or hearing them, and did not seem at all distressed by what was an appalling set of crimes. When he had finally gathered whatever it was he wanted from the witness accounts, writing it down in a little book he pulled from his desk, he abruptly ended the interview with, “Well, well, let us go inspect the quarters.”
So up the Gloaming Tower they went, the Aseptic managing to keep up with the porters surprisingly well. At the top, they found Elder Hleengchin’s door open again, and Ran let out a cry, bounding forward angrily. Hleengchin was shrieking, moaning her devastation. He reached for a cloth to cover her.
The Aseptic grabbed his hand. “Now now. What are you doing?”
“Covering her! There has been a crime here!”
Ran could see Narhlo coming into the room behind the Aseptic as he said, “Well, but you can’t interfere with the crime scene. You’ll disturb the evidence.”
“I don’t care about your Aulan procedures. This is about decency!”
The Aseptic drew himself up to his full height as more porters crowded in behind him, which was not impressive against Ran’s great height and porter’s build. “Now now! By the authority of the Aulan Empire, I must require you desist! You’ve asked for an investigation, and if I am going to investigate I must require that you not interfere with my evidence. Nothing can be moved. Proper criminal procedures. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but do try not to impede!”
Ran’s face darkened. “Evidence? Elder Hleengchin isn’t evidence, she’s a victim! Where do you get off on treating people like that, Aulan? Don’t think I didn’t notice your perverted interest in—”
He broke off, because he could see Narhlo waving his hands for attention. Then he saw why, as Narhlo moved out of the way and the Viceroy of the Aulan Empire, Eyase Dacausir, walked into the room accompanied by several clanking guardsmen. It was now quite crowded in the room, with all the porters in there as well, who were dropping to their knees…
Ran blinked, his mind blanking from surprise for a good five ticks before he dropped to the floor and assumed the proper pose of subservience to one so far above him in status, hands on his knees and head curled down to touch them. It put stress on his back, but he kept the pose, even as he saw Narhlo copy the bow from a standing position, touching his head to his knees, and the Aseptic perform some strange Aulan obeisance involving a flourish of his hands and a nod of his head, and removing his hat for some reason. Ran had never got the hang of their forms of acknowledgment. He saw Hleengchin, her bare face screaming to the world, and wished he could have preserved her decency in front of their overlord. His hands curled into fists.
“Rise,” said the Viceroy, in Aulan. Ran did as commanded, but kept his eyes on the ground. The great ones never meant for you to look in their eyes, even if these Aulans always insisted on being weird and trying to bob their heads around to get in your face. What was he doing here?
As if in answer, the Viceroy said, “The Lord Attendant of the Adjudicators has informed me of a spate of crimes among the Venerable Ones. I came here to inspect the situation, and I have found my Aseptic arguing like some kind of servant. What is going on?”
Ran kept his mouth shut. Obviously a porter was not meant to answer that, not to an Aulan, even if he would have had the right to talk to the Oldest One himself in such a situation.
Instead, the Aseptic explained the general gist of the situation, lingering on the most unfortunate details that Ran and Narhlo had related, even pulling out his little book to make sure that he had got them right. He walked over to Elder Hleengchin and handled her like some kind of melon, pulling her head this way and that to show the Viceroy that indeed there was evidence a crime had been committed. Ran stepped forward to stop him at that point, and the Viceroy’s guards easily and smoothly punched him in the solar plexus and then took him under the arms as he folded over, holding him up.
The Viceroy and Aseptic did not even notice, continuing their conversation. At the end, the Viceroy told the Aseptic that there was nothing that could be done, as the investigation could not continue unless a proper complaint was made along formal channels. At this, Narhlo broke in, and as Ran had thought, his command of Aulan was not equal to his native tongue. “No, but, please, you must help. There is obviously a crime against the Elders, you have seen the… you have seen this yourself.”
The Viceroy looked at Narhlo for a long while, then said, “I must do nothing. Unfortunately, the paperwork asking for Imperial resources to be dedicated to this investigation, and as you know the Adjudicators fall under Imperial purview now, not independent Palace funding, classified this as a crime against, if I recall correctly, three hundred and twenty living women. It is clear to me that this is an inaccurate report. I cannot justify a manhunt for a criminal when the filing charges are obvious lies.”
Narhlo looked stricken as he realized he would have the same trouble with the Viceroy as he already had with the Aseptic, but that the Viceroy would not bend at all. He did his best, but he was hampered by both his lack of ability in Aulan and the stonewalling of the Viceroy. Eventually he stood with his head bowed, the Viceroy victorious. Ran, still held by the guardsmen, summoned all his linguistic skill, the Aulan drilled into him with more or less success by hours and hours of listening to the mandatory sermons the missionaries of the Riverrun held every five rhythms of their ten-rhythm pattern, purposefully barbaric and at odds with the normal eight-rhythm pattern of life. “Cannot you hear her? She is screaming, sir Dacuhsir, May You Live Forever In Peace. Not she is living in peace! Help her!”
The Viceroy looked at him, eyes cold as the waters of his River. “I hear nothing. The dead have no voice.” He turned back Narhlo. “If you want to claim property damage to these esteemed and valuable objects, the Aulan Empire will be happy to assist you. We respect all traditional rights and rituals of our vassal states and will spare no expense in apprehending the culprit. Such a vile crime against venerable religious totems cannot go unpunished. You only need an appropriate authority to make the claim, fill out the correct paperwork, and we can start our investigation the next minute.”
Ran struggled in the grip of the guards. “Cannot you do this! This is blasphemy!”
“I am impressed at your vocabulary. The priests are to be commended on their teaching. The Aulan Empire of course would not wish to disrespect the customs of our vassal states, therefore I will leave the decision to you.” It would have been bad enough if the Viceroy had left it at that, but he had the nerve to tack on a traditional bow and the formal Anoran farewell of the Oldest One, dripping in superiority, “I grant you peace this rhythm and forever.”
He turned on his heel and left, the Aseptic with him. The guardsmen released Ran and followed, Narhlo’s “Peace to you this rhythm and forever,” echoed down the stairs of the Gloaming Tower. Soon the only sound left was the fading clip of boot heels on stone.
Ran closed his eyes as Narhlo tried to chivy everyone back to work. There were still Venerable Ones to care for. The matter had been brought to the Viceroy’s attention. Things were being taken care of at the highest levels. It was out of their hands, the most they could do now was attend the Elders with the utmost respect.
It was all true, but none of it mattered just now. He could see how this would play out. The Viceroy’s plan was clear to him. He looked at Narhlo, and found Narhlo looking back at him, his eyes dead. He was beaten.
“Don’t do it.” Ran said.
“How else can we seek justice?” Narhlo said.
“Even if they find him, even if they didn’t do this themselves, how will that be justice? Can’t we guard them ourselves? Can’t we protect them?”
“Don’t you hear yourself? If they did it, how can we guard them?”
“I will give up my peace for Elder Hleengchin.”
“I know you would, Ran. I don’t question your devotion. I question our ability. They have already conquered us. They can take the Elders and toss them to the acid goats if they want. We can protect them best by following their rules. We don’t have the power here.”
Ran tasted blood as he bit his tongue. It felt wrong, but he did not have an answer for Narhlo. Perhaps he could think of something before Narhlo filed the paperwork agreeing to the Aulan’s demands.
***
The next sun-cycle, Ran came to Hleengchin’s room to carry her to the banquet hall for the Feast of the Dead. There was nothing he could do for her except carry her. He could not even call someone to help since the Journeymen had been laid off; she was needed to care for people, and not for venerable objects of religious significance. He looked over her head as he straightened her clothes in preparation. Her chest of furs had been taken, as the living had more need for them than the dead. He concentrated assiduously at the straps as he placed her on the bustle pad and affixed her to the harness. He carried her down the stairs without a word. Her mouth gaped, screaming.
Yenkumide of Silent Death and Ievi the Mace of Gazanha:
Excerpt from Yenkumide of Silent Death and Ievi the Mace of Gazanha, author unknown
(Translator’s note: Hazu is referred herein as “zan” as a way of insulting his legacy instead of the more familiar “tanzan” – commonly translated as “emperor”)
It came to pass in the sixth year of the reign of Hazu of Midtelden that he issued forth a decree among the sunward dwelling-houses of his kin, declaring that the worship of Gazanha Thrice-Blessed was to be removed from its place of honor among the cities of that place. The zans of Alencu, Yadie, Esnunu, and all the places of Erpieten, bent to his will and cowered before his might. Thus it was that Hazu was named in the secret places as Hazu Thrice-Cursed, for he sought to supplant the honored place of his ancient forebear, and take for himself the glory and reverence that rightly belonged to Gazanha.
Now there lived in Erpieten among the folk of Yava a priestess of Gazanha, Erede child of Asyunance. When the men of Hazu came to enforce his will upon Yava, Erede stood amidst the doors of the temple and would not let them pass into the sanctuary beyond. The captain of Hazu stepped forth and struck her to the side. Where she fell, she lay slain from the blow of the captain’s fist, staining the flagstones with her wine-dark blood. The treasures of Gazanha among the folk of Yava were carried off to be prostrated before the Thrice-Cursed Zan.
Now Erede had borne two auspicious children of Yava. Their names were Ievi, child of Agman, and Yenkumide, child of Erede. They were twins, and both were born under the Fast Rising Star. The blessings of Gazanha followed in their wake as they traversed land and river in Erpieten, and their curing of ailments was much remarked upon and reknowned in all Yava.
When they returned home, their mother’s dwelling-house was draped in gray, and there was an unceasing sound of wailing from one end of the temple to the other. None had dared to lay a hand on the priestess of Gazanha, so she lay on the flagstones, covered only by a gray mourning cloth. When Ievi saw this, he rent his clothes with agony and grief, swearing an oath of vengeance on the murderers of Erede. Speech did not find Yenkumide, whose hair transfigured from sable to white like the snow on Yten.
The blessed of Yava mourned for a rhythm before rage overtook Ievi and he ran from his mother’s dwelling-house. Yenkumide, her boots laced with cords crafted from Erede’s hair and blessed with speed, ran after her brother and together they chased the men of Hazu for three rhythms. When the captain of Hazu looked behind and saw the children of Erede following after him, his face turned ashen white, for they were as wild beasts. Ievi taunted the men of Hazu: “Eels of Hazu, the furious intent of Erede finds you!” With these words, Ievi smote the captain upon the brainpan with his mace while Yenkumide cut through his vocal cords. It was said that the captain of Hazu spread his grayness and his redness upon the sands of Erpieten the full distance of three Zan’s arms.
The children of Erede slew the entire company of Hazu’s men, of them all a score and ten. Having avenged their mother, the blessed of Yava returned to their mother’s dwelling-house with the possessions of Gazanha and restored them to the temple.
It was said of that time that word of the mighty deed of Yava spread through Erpieten. The righteous of Erpieten gathered from their cities and made pilgrimage to Yava to pay homage to Gazanha at the temple. There too did the strong and just among them rally their arms to the banner of Erede to defend the honor of Gazanha and swear their service to Ievi and Yenkumide. Then it was that the blessed of Yava made war on the house of the Thrice-Cursed in the perihelion of that year.
The tale of heroic deeds made its way unto the ear of Hazu, and he called for his uncle, Eciun the fourth esteemed vizier, to come forth and offer unto him his wise counsel. Eciun spake unto his nephew and gave to him the words Hazu desired: “Zan of thousands, conqueror of the skies, and beloved of the gods, there is none like you on this world. The ground shakes at your passing. The predators in the forest are still in reverence. Your member causes ecstasy among women. If you would rise before your enemies, they shall fall like hewn forests. They shall be laid before you to trample upon like the dust of the road. On their headstones shall be written solely the word Infamy, and their memory shall be forgotten.”
Then spake Hazu: “It is said among the wise ones that the heart of an honest man has seven chambers. If I am to take your council, beloved uncle, I must discern if your words are indeed righteous.”
Then Eciun was laid low in the presence of the zan, and his heart was taken from its bed and raised for his nephew to examine. And Hazu determined that the words of his uncle were indeed spoken with sincerity.
In the Warming of the next year, Hazu gathered together the banners of Midtelden. Under the sign of the Sun-Crowned they marched together in formations great and terrible. At their approach it was said villages fled in terror, for the wrath of Hazu made little distinction between those dwelling-houses of his enemies and those of his friends.
All the gods in heaven and all the ancestors under the ground gathered in awe at that assembly of persons arrayed before the Ever-Watchful Eye. One hundred subordinate zans, of each a full compliment of subordinate soldiers, were mustered against Erpieten. In those days, the Midtelden was near the first heights of its power, and the fruits of the Sun-Crowned were laid bare for all to see. Even when bringing forth only the finest of men and women to the battlefield, the cream of the children of Midtel measured one hundred thousand persons in total.
Their bronze mail shone orange in the light. Their multi-colored helms were a rainbow sea flowing across the scrub. Likewise the sun glinted off their many spears, which became like to the stars in the darkward firmament. The banners were raised proud and erect against the wind, each one a sigil of a great dwelling-house. The zans of Midtelden rode their raptors at the front of their armies, clad in splendor and bedecked with proud wings that rose from their saddles.
The Sun-Crowned sign was front and center of this formation. It was carried forth by a score of honored slaves. All next to its semicircular form kept the sacred distance.
Never had such a noble army been raised in the service of such an ignoble cause.
When word of Hazu’s army reached the children of Erede, they numbered their persons. Altogether they could arrange a formation of twelve thousand, of which few were zans themselves. It was the righteous alone of Erpieten who had assembled to defend Gazanha, for fear still reigned wide among the breadth of the land.
Yenkumide was not discouraged, for she knew the will and strength of Gazanha was there to guide his force. In the span of a ten-rhythm, the temple at Yava was disassembled and taken away from Erede’s dwelling-house to preserve its sanctity. It was built again in the mountainous country, where it remained hidden to all but the righteous in Yava.
The children of Erede withdrew their strength to the wide plains, and from there encamped along the Erbfu. The land whereon they staked their tents was far into the depths of Erpieten, and the host of the Thrice-Cursed marched for many rhythms beyond the outermost reaches to smite them. Through their travels, Hazu’s men made many more foes from their infamies. Those on whom the burden fell to give provision to the great host began to gather in the secret places and whisper conspiracies against the Sun-Crowned legions.
The ire of Gazanha struck blow after blow against his enemies. Pestilence marked those on whom his favor deserted, even those great zans of old whose loyalty to the Sun-Crowned doomed them. Behind the army of the Thrice-Cursed stalked the spirits of Death, their hands covered in diseased emission. Thus Gazanha did sap the strength and the will of the Midtel to fight.
When heat lay upon the ground, the legions of Hazu arrayed themselves upon the wine-dark banks of Erbfu, his flow diminished. Opposing them, the children of Erede drew their line thinly across Erbfu. The glory of the righteous was not diminished by its paucity. For each person among them were clad in raiment of pure green and orange. Underneath, the warriors among them secreted bronze armament to match their foe. Spear and shield, and helms of noble height towered across the Erbfu, and gave pause to their enemies. Yenkumide of the Silent Death and Ievi the Mace of Gazanha, with their captains and chief lieutenants, stood atop the hill that centered their force. Above them rose two banners, one noble and of grace untold, bearing the mark of Gazanha Thrice-Blessed. And one banner, too terrible to look upon, with the skulls of thirty men hanging from it. The one divine and orange. The other gray and black, signaling their vengeful intent.
The Sun-Crowned sign drew forth before on the opposite bank, and lay in prideful decadence. Where once it had been carried from Midtelri in honor, its glory had left it. The surface of the sign was diseased with rust, like the persons that had followed it into Erpieten. It lay in challenge to Gazanha and to his avengers.
From the depths below, Gazanha cried out to the gods in wrath against this sacrilege. For the sign that the Thrice-Cursed had brought forth into combat had once been gifted by the Ever-Watchful Eye herself. Over many Gapi had it traveled to the present. When the first zan had arisen, there had been the Sun-Crowned sign. When the entire ground had trembled before the judgment of the gods, there had been the Sun-Crowned sign. When plants had begun to rise in the fields of Midtel, there had been the Sun-Crowned sign. Now the unrighteous perverted its history to justify madness and all manner of wicked things.
The Ever-Watchful Eye heard the protests of Gazanha, and was moved to action against the host of the Thrice-Cursed. Her gaze came forth upon the ground and smote the Dishonored Icon.
There upon the banks of Erbfu, the Sun-Crowned sign was melted into dust by the edict of heaven.
The army of Hazu faltered in astonishment at this intervention. Seeing their divine favor, the children of Erede spread forth their arms against the host against them and called forth the wrath of Erpieten. Then did sword and spear clash against mail and shield in the stream of the Erbfu. The persons in the stream were felled by the hundreds, and the ferocity of combat was not exceeded for many centuries across the breadth of Erpieten. The hosts fell against each other with great weight, to crush those at the front.
The thin line of the blessed bent back upon itself, and the bulk of Hazu’s men pushed forward. These are named unlucky in the annals, for the wings of Erede closed in around the legions and crushed them together, sealing them in a tomb from which there was no escape.
One hundred zans had ridden against the children of Erede. And one hundred zans had fallen in battle.
With great triumph, Yenkumide of the Silent Death and Ieve the Mace of Gazanha rode to Yadie, where they raised the banner of Gazanha, and all Erpieten soon joined them in the mortal combat against the Thrice-Cursed.
P.S.
We’re back, not entirely unscathed. I experienced a loss last week, and prior to that was consumed with my duties at the new job, as well as a move to a new rental.
I’m continually reminded that life is finite, and that there are a multitude of things you can spend it on. I know that first among these has to be the people closest to you. Luckily, my friend who passed away last week and I shared a lot of time together during which we formed memories that will live on well into the future. She was always a positive person, who was full of love for anyone that walked through her door. To honor her memory, I have decided to include a button on this issue that will take you to the page of a local organization here in Bloomington that she believed in very strongly. Once there, you can donate via PayPal on the button in the upper right. Beacon is the parent organization of Shalom Community Center, a homeless shelter that also offers housing and job search opportunities to those who need them in the Bloomington, IN area. Please consider donating what you feel is appropriate and responsible.
For those of you for whom this hiatus was worrying, I hope I can reassure you by saying that this project is one of those things that I intend to spend a lot of my remaining time on. Ever since I was very young, I was always fascinated by world-building and writing. Going through my old stuff, I recently rediscovered concept art and diagrams, as well as hand-written chapters for a project that never got off the ground. In spite of its failure, there was still a considerable amount of lore written for it, including first attempts at creating a conlang. If I had a set of goals or missions in life, I feel as though communicating stories through this medium of deep world-building has to be one of them.
All of this to say, stay tuned, and we’ll see you (hopefully) in two weeks!