Oh Margarete, my precious pearl, captive of Kraist, enraptured
afar in the shadows of Repugnikratia and its realm of unilluminated darkness,
please believe I did not know. Lying atop your burial mound, I feel as empty as
your grave.
---
My name is Cotton Nero A.x, last of the Demokins. Or so I
thought until I broke the sacred seals and peered into the Domesday Book. Our
people had fallen long ago, first in fire, then in blood. Now our mark has been
all but erased from this earth. Kraist and his barbarians would say cleansed.
My journey began when I returned from searching the southern
upland wilderness for artifacts. A salvage crew had claimed they had stumbled
upon a cache on the outskirts of the ruined Yellow
City Yellow
City
As I returned to the seat of the Scient, I saw smoke rising
from the Villa of Ashes, drifting through the broad river valley like a
poisonous fog. From an overlook near the ancient parkway, I stood witness to
the aftermath of the Demokins’ final battle.
I interviewed the survivors as they fled. Most averted their
eyes and ducked their heads as they hurried past, shunning my visible badges of
office. Only a few paused to relate the tale.
I pieced together how Repugnikratia’s lightning raid had
fulfilled the destiny of our mountain stronghold like Kraist’s accusations of
topomancy. The zealot’s forces had flowed through the valley like a flash flood,
inundating everything in their path. Even our northern enclave of The Boon with
its catacumbal niversity had been overrun. Now, our scoles and corts and libers
were indistinguishable from the ancient ruins. We’d grown complacent behind our
walls.
Where Kraist styled himself as a warlord and a savior, the
people of the Scient saw only the dimming of an ancient light. With the fall of
the Villa of Ashes, I knew the Demokins as a united people would cease to exist.
All of our cathedrae had fallen silent. Kraist’s heralded edicts now replaced
our sacred lore. Our salvaged knowledge had come undone. Our Reluminescence had
been eclipsed.
Quickly, I got swept up in the refugees’ exodus to the
mountains. Any unsecured chattel was being put to the sword.
---
Days later, I awoke alone at Capel Sion in the place of
Hanging Dogs, not knowing how I came to be there. The other refugees had
scattered like fallen leaves before a winter wind.
A decade past, Capel Sion had marked the highpoint of our
Reluminescence. Now, the abandoned Manuprint workshop afforded me scant
sanctuary, a final refuge in my flight. All the procurators and copywrights
were gone. Slain or fled, I did not know. The vineyard lay fallow. The herb
garden was overgrown and clogged with weeds. Rapeseed obscured the burial yard
beneath a yellow carpet. That softened the blow of seeing your and your
mother’s graves again after so many years away.
I knew then I’d come to say goodbye.
After I revived myself with rations from the valedictor’s
hidden stockpiles, I unsealed the Domesday Book. First, I searched its square
pages for clues to the workshop’s sudden demise. Finding none, I next scoured
the index for your gravesite. Kraist’s marauders had claimed you and your
mother in one of their first raids a decennium ago. Mistra Nero A.x had been a
Valkyrie assigned to our protection. I was an adjunct procurator on my way to
becoming an authenticator. You had only just emerged from infancy a year
before.
They came by night, circling through the mountains. I only
remember the smoke and blood and tears. Valedictor Velim Faustina wouldn’t let
me see you. He said it was for the best. He told me that you had died within
Mistra’s arms and that was how I should remember you both.
Soon after the burials, I threw myself into righteous work
to re-illuminate the night. Each passing year only dulled the pain a little
more, but the wound of your and your mother’s absence never fully healed.
And yet, the Domesday Book still bore your name. Valedictor Velim
Faustina had lied. Why I didn’t know. I only knew your grave stood empty. As I
skimmed the pages, I found yours was not the only one. I discovered a host of
others, all girls, none older than twelve. Kraist had abducted hundreds of the Otho
generation. Perhaps that solved the riddle of why the valedictor had fled.
On my knees at your graveside, the tears returned unbidden.
I wondered if you were still alive. I wondered at the young woman you might
have become. I knew that in my ignorance I had failed you. Kraist had stolen
everything from me. If you yet lived, I vowed to get you back.
Weary from the bright sunlight, I curled up and fell into an
uneasy slumber.
---
The scent of the rapeseed overwhelms me like sweet incense.
Plucked music like a memory permeates the air. The euphony drives me mad. It
refuses to leave my head. But is my journey just beginning or have I already
reached its end?
---
When I awoke, sunlight was fading. Crepuscular rays
illuminated a previously hidden arbor set in the shadow of the forest. A path receded
into the darkness like a vision. It called me like a dream.
I gathered my scant belongings and provisions for the
journey. I strapped on my black Evlar breastplate and my iTanium dagger, the
badges of my now nonexistent office. I was no Martial or Valkyrie but I knew my
way around a blade. Scrounging through the Manuprint workshop, I added a Polaris
stone, an ancient copper penny, and a polished magnifier as clear as a mountain
stream. The Polaris stone would guide me. The copper would buy me aid. The
magnifier would help me see.
The arbor track descended from the mountains. Two score days I wandered through the upland
forests. Beneath the canopy of trees with boles as dark as indigo, only the
Polaris stone kept my path toward sunrise true. Every farm and freehold and
fastness I passed was eerily abandoned like the ancient ruins. Or a pile of
charred timber and artificial stone. I encountered no other soul on my journey,
living or dead. As if every man and beast had been taken up to the heavens just
like Kraist’s fanatics said.
But from the shadows I sensed eyes upon me. Ten years as an
authenticator had honed my instincts. Without them, I never would have
survived. Predators, two-legged or four, I was certain of their presence. I
could feel their piercing stares. Hair bristled on the back of my neck for no
reason. Startled birds rose into flight from deep within the trees.
I scanned the wilderness and ruins with the magnifier but
saw not even a flicker of movement. These moss-troopers never revealed
themselves to me. Once or twice daily I called out a hail but received no
reply. After I time, I stopped. Yet I still drew comfort from their presence, my
unseen traveling companions.
Then, a few days before I reached my destination, all traces
of them disappeared. I was once again alone. Perhaps they had sated their
curiosity. Or had I passed beyond the borders of their territory?
My journey through the uplands ended atop a high bluff
overlooking a river that snaked through the pristine landscape like a thread of
gold. Beyond stood the verge of a verdant garden, reborn in our long absence.
The far shore was lined with fruit trees. I counted a dozen varieties at least.
The scent of apple blossoms drifted across the water like sweet nectar. The
border of Kraist’s territory. The Eastern Venom Zone.
This was not how the valedictors had described it. No word
had filtered down that the lowland waste was free from the burning sickness
never mind flourishing and green. What other vital data had the valedictors
kept hidden?
I once again pulled the magnifier from its leathern case and
scanned along the river. Its water flowed quick and deep. I traced the
shoreline seeking a ford or ferry. My copper should see me safely to the other
side.
Across the water, I spied a carefree demoiselle in a white dress
on a rock outcropping with her legs curled beneath her. She was plucking the
petals from wildflowers and tossing them in the water, watching as the current
swept them downstream. Her golden hair was loose and glistened like the river. Her
pale skin shone in the sunlight like the ancient porcelain we so rarely found
intact. She was yet a maiden but displayed woman’s grace.
In the middle distance, I spotted a city perched upon a
hill, its walls shining like a vision of Kraist’s mythical heaven. Her home, I
assumed. A new city , not an
improvisation built atop the ruins. Kraist’s city.
I needed to investigate. This girl was the only person I’d
seen in weeks. Hers wasn’t an extension of the upland wilderness that buffered
our separate worlds. Perhaps her aid would see me to the other side.
I descended the bluff along a sweeping, switchback trial. At
its base I found a gravel path that shadowed the near shore. I followed the
path downstream. When I was nearly across from the young woman, I hailed her.
She looked up, startled by my presence. A large, unblemished
pearl lay at the point of the shallow v of her white, embroidered bodice. Even
from a distance, she was as beautiful as Mistra. As if I was seeing a much younger
ghost. My breath caught in my throat. Margarete.
She watched as I approached the shore, curious but unafraid.
No recognition dawned within her eyes. Of course she would not remember me. She
would have been much too young. I knew I had to approach her carefully. I
needed to be certain.
When we were separated by a stretch of swirling but silent
water, I called out to her. “Do you hail from yonder city?”
“I do but nearly all my life,” she cried back boldly. Many
young women would be afraid to converse with strangers. Not her. Though her
face held a curious expression.
“I seek a crossing,” I said. “Is there a ford nearby?”
“All the fords are guarded by my master. None may cross
without his permission.”
“Then perhaps a ferry.” I held up the ancient copper coin
and made sure it caught the light. “I carry the standard fare.”
She gently shook her head. “No ferryman will bear a stranger
from Gilead . Only death or a pass from my master will
see you safely across the river. What business calls you to this side?”
I seized on her curiosity to keep the conversation going. “I
search for my daughter. She was lost to me half a score of years ago. I
recently discovered she may have found her way here to live.”
“Many daughters have been blessed to find their way to Capel
Hill.” She laughed spontaneously as if her mood had bubbled up from a secret spring
that fed the river. “What does she look like? Perhaps I know her.”
I wanted to say, she looks just like you but I knew I needed
to woo her into acceptance, if indeed this was truly her. “In all honesty, I do
not know. She was lost to me when she was very young. She would be about your
age, perhaps. Her mother had fair hair, pale skin and was slim like you.”
She laughed again, a sound as high and sweet as trickling
water. “I suspect you attempt flattery to gather in my trust. All that you can
see from where you stand.”
“But I cannot see your eyes,” I called back quickly. “Hers
were as blue as still, deep water reflecting a cloudless sky.”
She glanced at her image in the river. The tiniest furrow
marred her brow. “Did this daughter bear a name?”
“Margarete,” I called across the water, as much an answer as
a plea. “Although I can’t say in honesty whether she would remember what we
called her.”
“Margarete is my name,” she said in a cross between
astonishment and dismay. She eyed me as if seeking similarity to the reflection
she’d just studied. I knew I had to tread carefully if I was still to earn her
trust.
“How did you come to be here?” I asked, approaching the
problem from an oblique angle like an artificer.
She misunderstood my question. “My master told me to wait by
the river this morning. For what purpose, he did not say. He commands; I obey.”
I did not like her lack of independence. Her mother would
not approve. “And you do all he tells you without question?”
“How could I do otherwise?” Her smile turned radiant. “I am
his bride.”
Bride? I struggled to keep my feet steady even as my mind
reeled. What kind of beast was I dealing? I knew in that moment I must liberate
her. “You are too young,” I stammered.
“The first fruits are appointed to the lord,” she responded
as if by rote. “The Master of Might.”
I regained my composure. I knew that moniker. It was
scrawled in ash across the Scient, the land she called Gilead .
“I have heard of this Master of Might. Kraist is his name.”
She nodded. “I was very young when Kraist took me into
marriage. Destiny chose me as his sister-wife.”
“Has he treated you well?” I felt I whispered but my voice
must have carried.
She looked away. Had a flush tinged her cheeks? “He washed
my robe pure in blood, and crowned me in virginity and pearls.”
Now choler stained my face red.
“I am happy and unharmed,” she quickly continued. “The Queen
of Courtesy has settled me beneath her wing.”
I knew I must set my emotions aside. I thought furiously a
moment. “They say he is a seer and a prophet. If he sent you to the river,
perhaps he intended us to meet.”
Her expression turned from guilt to something bordering on
shame. At first I thought she desired to flee. Then I heard a pair of metallic
cracks behind me as the springs of two Domani rods locked into place. My pearl
has merely served as the distraction to allow her companions to sneak into
place. But how to interpret her look of remorse?
I turned to find myself confronting a trio of Kraist’s
soldiers. Two gripped their anno-fiber control batons low but at the ready. The
third, lingering behind, clutched a catchpole in the shape of a shepherd’s
crook with a corded noose and drawstring. All three wore short, white tabards emblazoned
with a staurogram in red. Like a bloody basket-handled cutlass pointing down. That marked them a squad of Kraist’s Defensors
Fidelis, his personal bodyguard. Were these my shadows through the wilderness?
Thankfully, none were armed or armored with bangsticks or transparent
tower shields like his elite raiders. In my Evlar breastplate, I stood a
chance.
I drew my iTanium dagger and assumed a fighting line before
the skirmishers could close. I relied on the treacherous footing across the
rocks to either side of the trail that led to the water to ward my flanks.
The first skirmisher advanced with his Domani rod forward. I
thought he might be preparing to probe my armor for weakness until I noticed a
full section of his control baton remained retracted, ready to punch through armor
and then bone with a flick of his thumb.
Behind a quick series of circular parries, I gave what
little ground I had to narrow his attack front and keep his companions out of
distance. I resisted the urge to glance at Margarete behind me across the river
but I did allow my eyes to flick away from his face briefly. That was all the
water needed to allow the mustard seed of his overconfidence to blossom.
The moment I saw a smile shadow the corners of his mouth, I
lunged beneath his guard. With a
lightning strike of beat parry, riposte, I scored a line of blood along his
right side. A trick my wife had taught me. Though I knew the wound was surficial,
I hoped it would provoke him.
It did almost faster than I could react. When I saw his backswing
forming, I dropped my hand and lowered my body beneath his counterstrike. As it
passed over me, I stabbed upward with my blade. The razor-sharp iTanium scraped
along bone, nearly severing his thumb. He screamed as his Domani rod clattered
to the ground. Reversing my balance point as I kicked back onto my line, I
snatched up the control baton with my now trailing free hand.
My first opponent stumbled out from in front of me, cradling
his ruined thumb to staunch the blood. He whimpered like puppy. I adjusted my
stance to a Florentine style to face the second man.
This skirmisher approached warily. I exploited his
hesitation to close distance and regain an extra step or two between me and the
river should I need it. Too late, I realized this was a counter-tactic to draw
me out to where the third man could harass me, effectively neutralizing my
newly acquired offhand weapon. A mistake my wife would never have made.
Before I could rectify my error, I found myself pressed from
two sides. The second man lay into a series of attacks, while the third darted
in and out of my guard with the catchpole, seeking to snare either a limb or
weapon within his noose.
In a press of coordinated feints, attacks and parries, I
desperately tried to slice through the catchpole’s cordage and render it
ineffective. The third man was fast and prepared. I had just pulled back to
slip my knife hand free from being caught when I felt the iTanium grab and nick
the cordage. I had no way to assess the damage before I was forced to retreat
back toward the river and the relative safety between the rocks.
Now my only chance lay in defeating them in detail. The
second man seemed to recognize this, too. He began a series of probes and
feints to wear me down. I knew it was a delaying tactic but delaying for what? Did
he have reinforcements on the way?
My answer came as I heard a skittering of pebbles among the
rocks to my left. The injured first man was trying to flank me along the river.
Something small and sinister lay concealed within his unbandaged hand.
I quickly swung a beat against the second man’s Domani rod
and sought to readjust my facing. As I turned to gauge the distance, a
malodorant stream shot forth from the first man’s hand. It struck my Evlar breastplate
and splashed up onto my face, burning my eyes and searing my nose and throat.
Gasping through a veil of tears, I stumbled toward the
river, escape my only thought. With neither sight nor breath, I knew this
battle was lost. Half-blind, I waded into the river, my arms outstretched
toward Margarete as if she alone could save me. Waist-deep, with water tugging
at my legs, I felt the catchpole’s noose loop around my neck. The frayed
cordage held as it yanked me back to shore.
Darkness swallowed the look of horror on Margarete’s face as
the water swirled over my head.
---
I awoke to find my body swaying as if transported on
rhythmic waves. My lungs were raw and sore. Had the cordage finally broken? Was
I floating free downstream?
It took me a moment to orient myself and realize I was lying
face down with my ribs resting on a curved, swaying platform. The smell of leather,
livestock and dust quickly filled my nose.
I opened my eyes to find grass sashaying beneath me. I was
slung across the back of a beast of burden, my badges of office stripped away. I
struggled to rise only to find my hands and feet were tied. A captive then. The
memory of Margarete’s betrayal came crashing back as I once again slumped down.
Within moments, the moke beneath me came to a rest. Two pair
of hands hauled me to my feet. One each remained firmly on my shoulders.
I stood before a white pavilion perched on the grassy hilltop
before the walls of the shining city. A banner fluttered from its center pole,
the same staurogram that adorned the Defensors Fidelis serving as its scarlet
blazonry. A man stood in the open entry in a white robe freshly stained with
blood. Kraist.
He waved someone toward him, whether myself or my captors I
could not say, then retired into his tent. I felt the grip on one shoulder
tighten. The other guard drew forth my stolen iTanium blade and sliced through
the bonds at my ankles. A shove in the small of my back sent me stumbling
forward, my hands still bound before me as if in prayer.
A gravel path led to the canvas praetorium. Small,
iridescent pebbles as bright as tiny pearls shone in the slanting afternoon sun
among the broken shards of common stone. My leather clad feet crushed them into
dust.
Surrounding the city stood row upon row of orchards, some
heavy with fruit. A host of demoiselles in white gathered that bounty into
woven baskets. Rapturous birdsongs no instrument could imitate filled the early
evening air.
Beyond the pavilion, a gravel road led to the central of
three gateways adorning this side of the shining city. Twelve shallow steps
glistened like gemstones just inside the portal. Twelve levels ascended from
the foundation in a perfect square. Its shining white walls rose above the
orchard-strewn hillside like polished glass, running a mile and half again on
each side. Strains of plucked ethereal harps notes emanated from within.
In that near distance, the city appeared so beatified and
unaggressive. How could such an idyllic structure serve as the womb for all the
Scient’s woes?
At the threshold to Kraist’s pavilion I hesitated to survey
the space inside. The furnishings were simple yet struck me as opulent in their
near perfection. A well-carpentered narrow wooden table stood to one side. Atop
it lay a pewter ewer and cup, and a pewter plate piled high with bread and
ripened pears.
A scissor-folding chair stood opposite the entry,
intricately constructed yet unadorned. Its arms and slide-in back shone like
honey in the rays of sunlight streaming through the entrance. Tapestries and
weavings carpeted the grass beneath its feet. Sweet incense wafted forth in
waves.
“Welcome to Capel Hill.” Kraist beckoned me inside. “Come.
Refresh yourself while we speak. I have been waiting for you.”
I stepped into the shadow and waited for my eyes to adjust.
The incense nearly overwhelmed me. I swayed a moment before I steadied my
resolve.
Kraist rose and poured clear liquid from the ewer into the dull
chalice, offering it to me. I clutched the cold pewter in my bound hands. Kraist
made a sweeping motion to the plate on the table before ensconcing himself back
upon his throne.
No scent from the cup permeated the perfumed air. I took a
long, deep draught. What I thought to be water transformed in my mouth to clear,
sweet wine. I drank no more, instead setting the cup aside before facing him, turning
my back on the remainder of his hospitality.
Kraist eyed me intently. “How have come to stand before me?
Men from Gilead and the Scient are barred from crossing
the river from the Citadel to the Southern part of Heaven.”
I feigned ignorance. “I did not know I trespassed. I came in
search of my lost daughter. And I think I have found her. I wish to take her
back.”
“You have lost nothing,” he replied almost quietly. Even
though they were softly spoken, his words were infused with authority. “All
fathers must eventually give up their demoiselles.”
“A daughter should not be taken from her family.” I
insisted.
“Even by her beloved?” he asked, his eyebrows rising in mild
surprise. “Your daughter is a rose in bloom. She would have withered without my
hand.”
“No girl should gain a husband by abduction,” I shot back. “She
was just beyond her infancy, incapable of being wife to any just man.”
“So you say I receive my payment unjustly?” He did not raise
his voice as he steadily held my eye. “She is the Guerdon of Bright Heaven. She
was promised as my bride. You forfeited her with your deeds and worries. Such
is the price for access to my orchard.”
The wine fortified my resolve. “We have sampled nothing from
your garden, so our familial rights remain unbound. She was stolen from us, her
absence masked as death. My wife gave her life defending her.”
“Your valedictor signed a contract,” he replied dismissively.
“Your people were allowed to prosper until they transgressed against it. Why should
you complain now?”
My mind reeled. What had Velim Faustina done? “I was party
to no agreement with Repugnikratia.” His expression clouded when I voiced that
name.
“You Demokins always try to seize a greater fortune than
belongs to you. You arrive at the eleventh hour and demand a full day’s wage.”
Anger crept into his voice. His face reddened. He looked as if he might set the
contents of the tent askew. And just as suddenly it passed. “And I shall grant
it. Yet first you must work for me.”
“Why would I consider that?” I asked, defiant.
“Because your daughter has pledged herself in body, mind and
spirit. Greater mysteries await her but only if you yield. If not, perhaps I
will allow her to become my bride in deed as well as word, as is her most fervent
desire. From that day, she would remain cloistered. You would never look upon
her face again.”
I stared at him aghast. I could not believe even he was such
a monster as to make good upon that threat. “She is just a little girl,” I
whispered, pleading.
He stared back at me openly. His eyes were soft and sad,
almost piteous. We stood in silence a moment before he asked, “Did you see the
gateway to the city as you approached?”
I nodded, uncertain where he was taking this sudden turn of
our conversation.
He arose and walked behind his seat. He pulled back a panel
of the pavilion and motioned me over. When I stood beside him, he pointed to
the city through the gap.
“Each gate is inscribed with the names of all the girls who
have found their way to me. They call themselves my sister-wives. They are
glorified around every portal into the city. They know no jealousy. They are
bound together by their common desire to please me any way they can.”
He gazed out wistfully.
“One day, twelve thousand names will adorn each of a dozen
gates. One hundred and forty four thousand pearls, none different from your
Margarete. Each of their names will be scribed into the Book of Life. And that
day, the prophecy will be fulfilled.”
I thought about trying to kill him in that moment. Just
wrapping my bound hands around his neck and squeezing his throat until life fully
fled him. I knew I could crush it before his guards could pry me away. But I
hesitated, thinking about what would happen to Margarete. I could not let my actions
spell her doom, not after I had been reunited her, however briefly.
By the time I realized that path might be the better one,
the moment slipped away. Kraist let the panel drop back in place and walked across
the tent toward the entrance, leaving me in stunned silence in his wake.
He paused there a moment, haloed by the crepuscular sunlight
streaming through the opening.
“There are many manors in my Father's empire. I go to
prepare a place for Margarete.” His eyes pierced to deep within me as if he had
read my mind. “I will prepare one for you nearby as well. Bring me the Balm of
Gilead and I will return her to you unaltered.”
Unhurried, he departed, leaving me to wrestle with my
thoughts alone in the falling twilight. Just outside the tent, he issued
instructions to his guards.
---
Ill fortune befell me that day at your mound, Margarete. Once
again bowed with grief among rapeseed, I am stretched across your grave, longing
only to lie here forever. Either to be reunited like Kraist foretells or be
relieved of the burden of my vows. I know it is mad to strive against him, but
I also know I must somehow resist his will. Through my love for you, my
daughter, and my inaction, how many others have I condemned to your fate?
The heretical priest emerges from Capel Sion to fortify me with
sacramental wine and bread. Two Defensors Fidelis stand watchful sentinel
nearby. I rise to face him but only make it to my knees before defeat settles
over me like a rain of ashes once again.
The bread he offers tastes like it has moldered, the wine
now tastes like blood. As I choke down this final repast before I embark upon
another journey, the priest whispers Kraist’s final words like a catechism in
my ear.
“Grant us this man become Kraist’s servant and suffer the little
children, innocent and undefiled,” the priest intones. “Verily, let him bring
our lord the Balm of Gilead and delight him with precious pearls.”
If that’s what it takes to save you, Margarete, so be it. So say all men.
