Yara
As quickly as the elation of the previous night had run through her body, a dark cloud had fully obscured it, leaving no trace of the brightness she once felt.
She had made a careless mistake in her haste, and although it was unlikely, perhaps she had underestimated the historian. Lydee had known she was coming, and had disappeared into the night. It was Yara’s first error in the unraveling of the mystery. It would be her last, as Lydee would soon learn.
As the object of her dark mood was elsewhere for the moment, Yara shifted her attention to the hapless prisoner she had captured. Marshaw was down in the dungeons, having survived the tonic and knife wounds she had given him. Guards had transported him at her orders to what they affectionately referred to as the polishing rooms. When a gem is imperfect, it must be polished so as to remove any tarnish. If it cannot be salvaged, it is discarded.
She would have to hurry with her activities as her requested audience with Oslian was to be held in less than two hours. That only gave her enough time to work off some of the edge. She would have to come back later to polish the tarnish off of her dark mood.
“Councilor,” the guards by the entrance said in unison as she approached. Yara glared at them, halting them in their efforts to attend to the gate. She recognized them both. One was gaunt and tall, the other his opposite. They both chewed that revolting plant, lavonen, the juices of which had turned their teeth and tongues yellow. Lavonen gave off the odor of rotten cabbage, but gave its users a slight lightheadedness akin to a mild alcoholic drink. Yara was disgusted by the men, their habit, and their lack of respect.
“Grand Advisor,” she snapped.
“Beg your pardon,” one said.
“Forgiveness,” the other added, lowering his gaze.
“Be thankful I have not cared to learn your names,” Yara said before entering the gloomy stairwell.
Perhaps if I have the time, I will visit some old friends. Assuming they still live, it will be enlightening to see their conditions.
A smile briefly passed over Yara’s face as she recalled the triumph of placing her two old nemeses behind bars. It had been an act of genius to punish her rivals and use their plight as advancement for her own career. She hoped to replicate the accomplishment one day, and she had a few names on her list.
The staircase led deep into the earth, four floors below ground level. The gray stone walls and haphazardly laid mortar were an indication of the changes in the realm since the construction of the dungeon. During Oslian’s reign, Vinredor had grown wealthier at a rapid pace, and its leader made sure that his every deed glorified that progress. The ongoing draft for the new palace featured lavishly expensive and ostentatious details at every level, even in locations where no one would likely ever set their eyes after its construction. Down in the dungeons, one had no idea of how prosperous the outside world had become.
Yara did not know how many cells there were, and as the palace had been constructed seven hundred years ago, it was likely no one else did either. Nevertheless, she was certain the dungeon held no fewer than half a thousand individuals. In her time as a councilor alone, over two hundred people had been imprisoned, never to see the light of day again. It was Oslian’s policy of choice to keep criminals alive. He had not given a reason for this, and no one had challenged him.
Only certain individuals were granted the privilege of residency in the royal dungeons. Commons crimes such as theft, murder, and rape would see the guilty losing limbs or their life. The dungeons were for those people who had committed acts of treason or inflicted pain and suffering on the royal family. These criminals were the vilest, for their acts would upset the order and safety of the entire kingdom if they were not punished justly. Down here, they would have time to reconsider their actions, and beg for a mercy that would never come.
The final level of the dungeon was so far underground that Yara could see her breath plume in the light of the oil lamp she carried. It had been so long since she had been away from Oslidor that she had forgotten how vicious the cold could be. At least she did not have to live down there.
The guards who delivered Marshaw said he was in the first cell on the floor, a space saved for those still awaiting formal conviction. Yara had insisted the man be placed on the lowest level due to his role in a religious conspiracy against the state. The other cells on the lowest level were likewise occupied by traitors and seditionists of the highest order. Yara’s old nemeses were on the first floor, as she had not had the pull to have them placed further down at the time of their incarceration. Fortunately, that meant they were more likely to still be alive. She could not imagine anyone surviving long in these temperatures, especially when the guards would invent excuses to get out of delivering meals.
The first cell was directly ahead of the end of the staircase. Yara steadied herself so that she would not shiver in front of the criminal, and then approached his cell, lamp out in front of her. “Good morning,” she said. “It is morning, despite what you may believe.”
There was no response. This was not the time to play coy with her. Yara stood inches away from the cell and held the lamp up as high as she could to fully illuminate the small living space. In the back left corner lay a body. It was not moving, and beneath it was a pool of blood, frost beginning to form along its edges.
Yara cursed and withdrew a key from her pocket. She opened the door and stood over the body to see that its wrists had been slashed vertically along the veins. The man’s face showed a look of contentment, in one hand a tiny blade which would have been used for shaving. Yara knew the prisoner would have been checked before entering the dungeon. Someone had given him the blade. The conspiracy ran deeper than she had believed.
She left the dungeon in haste, only breaking her stride before the guards so as to keep up appearances. Before leaving for the palace, she would rest in one of the royal gardens to collect her thoughts and think on how to present all she had learned to the Divine King.
The heat of the morning had swept away the cold from her body, and she sat now beneath the shade of one of the meticulously pruned bright green palm trees which made up the perimeter of the garden. Yara thought on the most recent development, as well as the disappearance of the professor. She had to reach Lydee before she found Woller. Already she had tasked an aide with finding copies of the holy books of The Path and bringing to her all information on the supposed Haven of Light. The books were illegal, but enforcement had been scant and if there were as many believers as it now appeared there were, it would not be difficult to find the books. But it needed to be done quickly as Lydee could already be headed north. Yara would not mention all of this to Oslian, only the sections of her tale that presented her work in a favorable light. She began to formulate her plan, word for word, practicing in her mind the emphasis she would place on certain words and the pauses she would take between revelations.
From where she was seated in the shade of the giant fronds, Yara could not see the sky. Thus, her confusion was even greater than it otherwise would have been when she began to hear the burgeoning uproar from outside the garden walls.
It began as a murmur and grew steadily. Then there were hundreds of voices, shouting, laughing, crying, a range of emotions and outbursts which she could not track. Yara stood and approached the nearest guard. The man did not see her walking towards him as his head was tilted straight up, one hand shading his eyes, his mouth hanging wide open. “Impossible. Impossible,” he kept repeating.
More idiocy from the guards? Or…
Yara stopped less than an arm’s length from the man. She slowly looked up.
No. That cannot be. It simply cannot be.
Far to the east, an intense white streak hung in the sky. It was the brightest object Yara had ever seen, with the sole exception of the sun. And it was enormous. Although much thinner, it was longer across than the moon, and it had been moving, for it carried a tail in its wake, a slightly dimmer version of the main body.
The Hero’s prophecy she had been so quick to dismiss, the signs she had ignored out of contempt and arrogance… she had been wrong. The prophecy was correct. A light in the sky, just as the believers had declared. Yet, how could it be? How could anyone have predicted such an event?
She needed to reach Oslian immediately.
Yara ran to the garden’s entrance. Outside, the common folk were staring above, pointing and gaping. Yara saw others huddled together, crying tears of joy. Still more citizens were shaking each other back into coherence.
“An evil omen. We are forsaken!”
“The Divine King has died and ascended into the sky!”
“Plague! A plague has arrived!”
“The prophecy! The Hero was right!”
Yara rushed past them all, hoping she could make it to the palace before the guards shut down the city and enacted a curfew before true pandemonium could grip the streets. Yara needed to be safely inside the palace walls before the rioting and the clashes between believers, agitators, opportunists, and guards. It had been decades since the last days of mob warfare in the streets of Oslidor. Yara was old enough to remember the panic of those times, days waiting until night fell, and nights spent wondering if she would live to see another day. She had been on the other side of the melee back then, and had inflicted her own share of pain onto the guards and soldiers who had been called in, as well as the common men and women. It had been a time to settle scores, steal, and jockey for position among the lower classes. It had been efficacious practice for the world of politics. Now, she had others to do the work for her. As long as she was behind the thick palace walls, and in command of thousands of armed guards and soldiers, she could watch in curiosity to see if the believers would overextend their hand. She was looking forward to this, despite the unease she felt when she looked at the bright object in the sky.
Come nightfall, it will stand out all the more, presenting itself as whatever sign one wishes it to be. And then, we will have to react sternly. The people will see that the true power still lies in the hands of the Divine Representatives.
The question would be raised all throughout Saltion; “If the prophecy was true, when will The Hero return?”
The answer would come in the form of a mailed fist.
Yet, in her own mind, what did Yara believe? The riots of four decades ago had likewise been because of the proclamation that a prophecy had been fulfilled. It was dismissed as a lie in the aftermath of the carnage, but had it been? Was it possible that two prophecies from the same religion were in fact accurate? What did the holy books truly state? Yara did not know, as she had never read the scriptures. For her though, did it truly matter? Had The Hero declared that she was his Grand Advisor? Had The Hero taken her as a protégé and converted her into one of the most powerful people on the continent? He had not, and therefore, she would side with the man who had. After all, a mailed fist delivers quite the message.
Do not let your thoughts betray you, lest they show on your face. Oslian has no sympathy. It is one of his greatest strengths, his unwillingness to bend out of compassion. He does what is needed to maintain order, as any ruler should. I will stand by him and punish those who do not.
She entered the palace as the guards were forming into lines of five, fully armed with sharp and blunt weapons, shields, and tonics. The faces she saw looked eager to get to work, mirroring her own she knew. She passed them and walked swiftly to the council room where she was ushered in after being informed that the Divine King and the Royal Herbalist awaited within.
The two old friends were looking out a window when Yara entered. Neither shifted their gaze.
“Your Excellency,” Yara said in a neutral tone.
“Come to the window, Yara,” Oslian said, his eyes still fixed on the glass.
Yara swallowed, then approached. Both the Divine King and the Royal Herbalist appeared so frail now, the two of them having to lean against either side of the window frame to stand upright. Yara stopped two paces back from them. “I have news that will prove to be of greater use to you than it would have been but an hour earlier,” she said.
At that, the two sets of eyes met her own. “Yes?” Oslian said.
“I know where Woller was headed, and I know that his former colleague has left to find him. And I know all of this because I located a follower of The Path. A man named Marshaw, who gave Woller information which his friend is now using to find him.”
“Where is he?” Oslian asked, his voice shaky.
“He ran to the far north of Ebanigan to a hideaway known in the holy books of The Path as the Haven of Light.”
“Did this man tell you why he fled?”
For the briefest of moments, Yara was tempted to twist her story in an attempt to learn why Oslian sought his former acquaintance with such gusto. Thinking better of it, she simply shook her head.
“Then you must go after him, and arrive before his friend.”
Yara waited for more. She did not want to leave without hearing Oslian’s thoughts on the object in the sky. Was he intentionally being obtuse? Sensing he would add nothing, she gambled on speaking.
“The man I interrogated to obtain this information, ended his own life while in the dungeons. There was a shaving blade in his hand.”
Oslian looked unable to speak. Esther looked over at him, and then to Yara. “Anyone who had contact with that man must be questioned.”
“Agreed, Royal Herbalist. I must also inform you that he was writing a letter to someone. This conspiracy runs deep. I now believe the professor Lydee is a part of it as well. She sought this man out. Woller as well could be involved.”
“No,” Oslian said. “He would never be involved in such an organization. But he needs to be found. He is more dangerous than any ignorant believer.”
Outside, Yara could hear the first rumblings of clashes between guards and civilians who were not apt to retreat to their homes during this once in a lifetime event. Still, Oslian did not comment on the noises.
“I will need an armed escort,” Yara said. “Will men be available?”
“Yes. This will not last. All contingencies have been planned for after what occurred forty years ago. The streets will be cleared by morning, and you must leave then. It may not be possible later.”
Yara did not understand the comment. If the streets would be cleared, why could she not leave later? Oslian must have correctly interpreted the look on her face, for he elaborated.
“I have heard from the gods, Yara. They are not pleased with the other royal families. This display of light is a sign of the gods’ displeasure. The weakness of the other divine rulers will be their own downfall, not mine. The gods have told me as much.”
Of what is he speaking? What is Oslian planning?
Oslian straightened himself. “I thought of your words, Grand Advisor.”
The breath left Yara’s lungs. It was the first time he had referred to her by her title. It made the position real in a way it had not been before.
“If I am not to live much longer, why should others who have failed continue on? Take Sayel Ebanigan and her family. Their nation is in economic decline. They lost the most prosperous city they owned, and their most capable citizens flee there. Yet, she is hale. It is unjust. I mean to correct this. And what of Xu and its pitiful ruler Octavius the Neurotic? He is a young man with many more years of ineptness ahead of him. I mean to correct this oversight in justice. I will absolve the two nations of their useless rulers, by uniting them with our own.
Of course, they will never accept this. Therefore, I will lead our nation to war. We have the largest and best equipped military. We have the funds. We have the will. Most of all, we have the right. Just as the gods desired that I be the sole holder of my family’s jewelry, they have deigned to fight the infamous Hero by creating a hero of their own- Oslian Vinredor, the only man capable of uniting the three royal nations of Saltion.”
It was a thought that had crossed thousands of minds before, she was sure, but one that had never been spoken aloud. It was a bending of the code of Divine Representation, and an assault of the ties which bound the royal families together. It was ambitious and audacious.
It is just what is needed as a response to this.
“You will not only unite the royal countries,” Yara said. “You will unite our own people, bringing them away from the false path.”
“You understand,” Esther said.
“The war cannot wait long, as I am sure you also comprehend,” Oslian added. “The plan has been in motion; it only needed your sage advice to cross the threshold into reality. I thank you for that. You will have all the soldiers you need, and horses for a swift journey. Return with Woller alive, Grand Advisor.”
“I will, Your Excellency.”
Back outside of the council room, Yara headed to her office. She was pleased to find two of her agents, along with copies of the holy books of The Path. They appeared to be newly printed, a detail that would have concerned her more before her meeting. Now, she was sure Oslian would crush this false religion as he would an insect beneath his boot.
I will find Woller, and I will bring him to the Divine King. The only Divine King. It is happening. I am reshaping the world.
All that stood in her way now was a former academic who was traveling into the wild alone.
Fantastic story!