NOVEL WEB Interlude - The Bone Tower
“You can’t just sit in your tower and watch any longer, Althus! People are dying!”
“People are always dying, my friend. What makes today so different from any other?”
Two men sit across from one another in a tower of bleached bone. One is tall and gaunt, his back hunched under the weight of age and responsibility. He is agitated, frequently leaping from his chair to pace around the room, gesturing wildly as he attempts to persuade the youthful man before him.
A careful observer would notice that the gaunt man is careful to never press too hard, changing tack and slowing the frantic swinging of his arms in response to unknown cues. Appearances can be deceiving after all, and the seated man is not one to be pushed.
“I understand your reticence to interfere in politics, I really do. But this is our home! These are our people!”.
A slight trembling in the air accompanies the end of that sentence, and the gaunt man sighs and slumps back into his chair.
“What am I missing Althus?” He asks, “What unspoken rule did I break this time?”
The young-looking man leans forward to pour a herbal drink from a delicate decanter into two equally delicate cups, passing one over to his companion before speaking.
“I am not a member of your court, nor one of your military advisors. I have no need for one of your rousing speeches and you will not blind me with sophistry and jingoism. Speak plainly, and tell me why I should care.”
A look of disbelief passes across the face of the old man, and his fingers shake on the grip of the tea set. The trembling in the air returns, increasing in intensity as emotions are processed. Fighting for calm, the old man responds.
“You should care because the entire continent is at war. Every major polity on Tsanderos is at war, either with itself or one another, in the open or in the shadows. We stand at the precipice of destruction and if we do not rise to this challenge, the Tetrarchy could crumble.” His piece said, the gaunt man leans back, enjoying the herbal tea while he waits for a response.
“You have not answered my question, my friend.” The man behind the table replies. “I do not see how the Tetrarchy’s concerns are my own, and I do not share your fear of the future. Give me a reason to intervene, show me that you understand the consequences and are aware of the sacrifice you are asking me to make on your behalf.”
A delicate teacup clatters to the floor, breaking into three delicate pieces. The gaunt old man throws himself to his feet with surprising vigour as he re-joins; “My father always told me you were a fearsome man, but I have seen no evidence of it yet! Do not talk to me of sacrifice! I have watched more men die in the past year than you can imagine. I could build a tower of their bones to dwarf your own, and that still would not account for half the bodies I have buried in defence of the land you now sit within!”
The tower they inhabit shakes to its foundations as power billows from the older man, the earth outside heaving and undulating as it rises from the ground, rearing up in massive waves. “Without my sacrifice, the North Wall falls. Without the continued sacrifice of your own people, this tower won’t last a day. Even now is shakes, unsteady in the face of a fraction of the power required to keep it safe-”
The tower stills abruptly, the rattling of furniture ceasing in an instant. The young-looking man rises from behind his desk and cuts the gaunt man off without a word. His presence is enough to end the tirade, and as the words die on his lips, the gaunt man backs away a half step, eyes wide. Nothing moves outside the tower, the roiling earth locked in place in great waves. No breeze stirs the long grasses, and the very clouds in the sky appear frozen in place.
“I had believed your father to have explained to you the state of things adequately, but I see now that I was wrong. Allow me to once again outline my position.”
While he speaks slowly and deliberately, there is no attempt to hide the anger driving the man’s words. “Your precious Tetrarchy is no concern of mine. I have seen more civilisations rise and fall than you could dream, and I have outlasted every single one. We may look similar, but I assure you, you are no kin of mine. My people died long before you and yours settled here. Their bones litter the land upon which you build, and their ghosts do not care a whit for your pleas.”
The young man stands fully, looking his companion in the eyes. “The enemy at your gates poses no more threat to my tower than an arrogant mage does to the World Tree itself. You will have no help from me and mine. Get out of my tower.”
With that, he returns to sitting at his desk, reaching down to pick up the delicate teacup that has somehow stayed full during the cataclysm only moments before. The world outside seems to twist and buckle upon itself before reverting to its previous serene state. Flat grasslands spread in every direction, and a cold, biting wind chases the back of a single figure, fleeing on horseback into the distance.