Princeps

Sleep seemed to be a hard to obtain luxury for the second night in a row. He had some shut eye, but the toll of two nights spent in trepidation has bored into his demeanor. Sluggish to lift from bed, his eyes felt as heavy as the heaviest load he’d ever lugged in the pit and his limbs ached as if they were imbued with shattered glass. Akin to a living husk, he was a bag of meat that slowly dressed itself and invoked instinct to get through the day. There were many like these in the pit, unwanted cycles of wakefulness that converged and blurred until the spirits would pick up and life made a little more sense again. It took a jolt of his mind, its imperious rallying cry for Atef to remember the significance of today. And as the remembrance sparked, so did Atef’s body reinvigorate, his purpose turned to quenched steel and propelled him out onto Jarat’s streets.

He didn’t wait for Erleia or Ervel, he didn’t care after last night. He was out of lavender scented, busts cluttered, porcelain encrusted, shimmering-glass encased tavern area of Muslin kiss and out on the street. The tavern was a wonder in its own and observing it last night provided some distraction to Atef as he ate, but the streets in the morning glow easily overshadowed his most lucid dreams. Jarat was also known as the city of color, the hub of trade in fine materials that made the most renowned and richly adorned gowns, dresses and attires. No one knows how it came to be or who recognized in Jarat the potential to be the fabric capital of the Empire; but the fact is that there is money to be made here and everyone’s pockets sing or scream in its praise. As Atef savored his first breath of fresh air, he got stunned by the cries of traders who offered their wares on the stalls all around him. As far as he could see down the street and back at the gate, the multicolored stalls were in front of the houses that seemed a moment from being flown away by the multitude of cherubs and similarly divinely-charming, winged beings crowded all over them. There was no expense spared in one-upmanship, however it was commonly agreed that the house of the Asmer family balanced best the artistic sense with the beloved motifs such as cherubs, dryads, fairies, and muses. Atef stood there, stupefied and insignificant in the bustle of men and women who bought and sold, exchanged gossip and cajoled, all with the aim of securing the best crafted for themselves or their lords.

The general business in the street reminded Atef of the pit’s main artery, the grand corridor, where nothing but a flow of ore and return of empty carts took place, all the time. Just that in Jarat a form of nobler material flowed in an out in an endless stream. As soon as something was bought, workers would mysteriously come out of nowhere to replenish the stalls. With so much rich fabric lying around, the city looked like a proper tinderbox. Silks and linen, exotic wools, and hair of animals Atef knew nothing about. Scales that looked as thin as threads, skin-like fabric shed by a plant endemic to elven lands and a little further down the road actual skins and furs. Pearl-weave, amethyst-thread, whalebone-lace. All there to satisfy the greatest follies of vanity. As Atef gingerly took his first steps on the street and gathered his bearing towards the light, he started noticing who this city was for. Those who were buying were as equally richly dressed as those they were buying for. Some had a regal demeanor about them, as if they were nobles who liked doing their own shopping and were sufficiently gifted to visualize what the fabric will be turned into. Some, on the other hand, foolishly thought they had this talent. They were usually accompanied by their flamboyantly dressed tailors and wives or handmaidens, since the minute dance of a woman’s eye or a short sigh could impeccably gauge the desirability of the future wearer if this or that fabric was to be chosen. Juxtaposed to these male-led possies, countesses, princesses and noble women of all kinds led investigations of their own, as women more often wanted to see and feel for themselves before allowing the tailors to do their bidding. They were all shadowed by a healthy number of armed-to-the-teeth guards of various stature and regalia which made Atef very nervous. In his shabby clothes he looked foreign, an intruder who shouldn’t be there, who is not worthy of even walking in the steps of all these highborn. So, he lowered his gaze and paced, scurrying away from the groups of nobles, or tailors, or trusted servants or anyone who looked important or of high stature. He avoided the stern gazes of the guards who considered whether he can be a threat for no more than a heartbeat before looking ahead for the next piece of filth who is getting too close to the air of their sovereign.

Fleeting away, towards the heart of the city, Atef came to a fountain. It was one of Jarat’s many, but perhaps the most peculiar that Atef will ever see. Two giants leaned their chins on clubs and out of their mouths each birthed a water-spurting bird into the world. The heads and necks of these birds looked like those of a crane, the wings of colorful parrots and the bodies and tails as if those of a pheasant. It all looked weird to Atef who was oblivious to this particular Creation story told through the fountain; just one of many mumbled regularly in holy sermons and prayers across the world. He stopped in front of the fountain, letting the cool air of the running water tenderly bite his skin. It was already hot; summer will not let go for another couple of months and its peak was just around the corner. So, the respite was welcome, an insidious bubble of comfort that was averting his eyes from the prize. Skittish kids were playing around it, dousing their feet in the basin every now and then and letting the miniature fish bite their toes. There was laughter and carefreeness, and joy. There was something that touched Atef’s soul and told him how it could be. How it should’ve been. A sudden choleric surge made his stomach twirl, he almost vomited.

- Snap your noggin’ out of it! This is for kiddos, nah for you! Your time is better there, in light!

Self-castigating anger thundered in him as he stepped away. The few children who noticed him and cared to pay attention couldn’t understand the deep-set frown on a peer barely a few years their senior.

It grew, it radiated majestically in the distance. He caught the first glimpse of it as he conquered the small hill that separated the commercial part of Jarat from the area which was dominated by the Town Hall and the Trader Guild. Tucked between them, limiting the red-stone paved square big enough to fit about a quarter of the town’s population stood it. Mimicking the Jarat walls it had a high bell tower gazing towards east, and three smaller ones facing Atef, brimful with statues of bearded men and young lads heroically trying to climb the summit. Some were connected to the towers by just one or two of their marble limbs, seemingly moments before the maw of the void below would claim them. Atef couldn’t understand the concept yet, but it was a temple. A vast, majestic temple worshiping something larger than life. And on top of the high tower, which ventured the winds well above the bell’s nest in the mid-section, Atef’s light glowed. He saw it from the top of the hillock, brighter than any of the stars that heavenly smiths wished for their forge.

- Wish upon a star! – Atef remembered one of the ma’s telling him whenever he’d be sad.

Without hesitation he rushed forward finding himself soon under the temple’s bell-tower. The searing white glow shone from above piercing his eyes, causing pain that he happily embraced as he tried to understand the light. He stood there as if mesmerized, brain-dead, a town feeble-minded fool who is the target of kids’ cruel games. The light emanated from something, it was the consequence of something divine.

- Wha’s above? – he asked the first passerby pointing to the top of the bell-tower.

- Tower, boy – the passerby, a master weaver on his way to the guild hall, pointed out the obvious.

- Top, top of tower?!

- I don’t know, eyes don’t see that far.

- And you, wha’s on top? – Atef proceeded to feverishly ask the next person, a clerk at the Town Hall who just wanted to enjoy the sunlight before going back in to comb through tax ledgers from a decade ago.

- Don’t know, barely care.

- Who care?

- Those inside. Now piss off lad.

- The shit’ead has right. Best to ask inside.

Atef approached the main door that was as grandiose as the temple’s main tower. Fit for giants it could easily handle a sizable vessel through its frame and most likely provide safe harbor inside. To Atef’s misfortune it was closed; even the small inner doors cut in the frame of the big one to save on opening effort. He glanced left and right and chose to round the temple from the left. At the opposite end, facing another small square with a well he saw someone stepping out. The monk was a colorfully dressed elder with blue and purple dominating over the hues of red and black. He could’ve easily passed as one of the nobles from the market had it not been for a twin-suns amulet around his neck and a small, holy-looking, carved baton elongated by a small bunch of wheat and flowers expertly attached with golden string. It waved as he walked, sitting comfortably in a ring embedded in his belt.

- Wha’s on top of big tower? – asked Atef as soon as the monk’s eyes met his.

- A day dawned I thought I wouldn’t live to see! Does not a child feel shame to approach a servant of gods and address him like this? Does not child see that it is insulting whilst immersed in their divine glow and does the child not fear their watchful gaze?!

Atef fell silent and instead of apologizing just looked up innocently at the light that tortured him. The monk observed him for a bit, peering into his soul.

- I see your soul hasn’t been illuminated by the blessings of the Twin Suns. Tell me child, am I mistaken to claim this?

- I know nadda. Maybe, I reckon couldda be.

- I am certain it wasn’t. You seem as a feral creature, torn out of the dark which glimpses the holy light but is not brought into it. You know not how to embrace it, how to be part of it, how to pray for it. That ought to change so that the greatest of transgressions can be forgiven.

As soon as those words were uttered, the monk produced a small container carved with runes incomprehensible to Atef. The monk opened it and a strong etheric oils scent plunged forward to Atef’s nostrils. Before he could come to, the baton was off the leash, doused in oil and smacking all over his face.

- May your soul come into the light! May it embrace the stern gaze of Sur and withstand Baor’s truth. May it cherish the law from divinity given. Unto us as the celestials have dreamed. Shine young soul as today is your birthright seized. Live, live as commanded and question not the divine nor the imperial, lest your soul turn to ash.

Language skill: 57 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +1 to speaking ; current level 16/50 - subpar

Atef’s induction into the creed, some creed he knew nothing about, attracted a few viewers who laughed at the ridiculous contortions of his face as he was smacked around by the monk. The mellow voice of the chant flowed through him though, reaching him and clinging on. Atef felt sure that for some unbeknownst reason he will be able to call back the truth of these mystic words in the future.

- Now then, welcome child, all is forgiven.

- I… thank ya… master? Or thank ya, boss? – Atef finally stuttered out not sure what address would be right in this instance. Being walloped by bosses since he could remember, he thought the boss designation was the most appropriate.

- Vaelzar child, the title is vaelzar.

- Boss vaelzar wha’s top of that tower? Really up there, up, up, the top!

The monk looked up not sure himself anymore. The temple was a matter of fact to him, a constant established long ago which didn’t need reexamination. Besides, he cared about its sacred innards where true holy secrets resided. He hasn’t looked up in a while, years even, instead finding interest on the ground, in the faces of the congregation, the bleating believing who didn’t dare question anything about the Twin Suns or their divine house.

- A sign of the Twin Suns I suppose. Why do you keep yearning to know child? – he said as the wrinkles showing his ancientness appeared around his eyes which struggled to focus.

- You sure boss? – Atef anxiously responded forgetting the proper addressing.

- Of course I am sure! Never question my word child, for I speak for the divinity! Now begone, cherish your baptism and live a life of virtue as the gods and the Empire command.

The holy man stood sternly, wanting Atef out of sight. The boy felt compelled, just like in the mines, to obey, to disappear from the gaze of authority he could not withstand. He walked away, turning only once to make sure he was still watched. The distance provided enough comfort to look back angrily, express all his curses in one scorching gaze. The monk retaliated with pure admonishment and a step forward, as if he’d give chase to a trespasser. Atef went around the corner and peeked back. The monk was still there, looking up again, scratching his head in wonder.

While waiting for him to leave, Atef asked every living soul about what secret is at the very top. “The Twin Suns”, some would say; those kind enough to see past his rags, his grubby look and the sunlight glare at the bell tower’s polished top. But it didn’t feel good enough. He could see Sur and Baor in all their might every single day. There must have been more to it, more to the guiding light which became his sole purpose. One of the passerby informed him that the temple is open tomorrow, after the last bell toll.

- Inside! I wouldda finally learn inside!

Armed with this knowledge, he peeked around the corner once more and saw that the monk wasn’t there anymore. He rushed to the middle of the square and looked up again, challenging the light, willing to sacrifice his eyes to find out what was his purpose. The brilliance tortured his eyes, as if asking for an ancient riddle or formula to be answered before the cogs of mystery would shake of the dust and ratchet to reveal the truth. He tried blinking rapidly, suppressing the pain for precious instants before rejoining the fight with the unknown. And then it started appearing. There were the Twin Suns, undoubtedly, but something smaller was below them, a sign of sorts, a hallowed, haloed mark of Atef’s purpose. A premonition of glory and deceit, of lasciviously promised grand destiny. A roiling mess of incomprehensible ways and paths that lead to the same predestination. And all of it hidden behind a blinding light that wouldn’t let up, wouldn’t reveal its secrets yet.

He was poised to find out. If no one in this damnable square wouldn’t help him, he will seek out those who would! If they don’t help him he will scale up and reach for the sign himself, ripping it from its protective aura and waving above the head in spite to all the gods who dared challenging him with such a nauseating and unworthy quest.

Atef expanded his circling around the temple and asked even more people alternating between being subservient, aggressive, pleading or pragmatic in his approach. However, none of the asked revealed anything new. He then looked at the Guild and Town Halls inspecting their towers, visualizing how he could scale them, get closer to the truth. Expert subterfuge and violence seemed like only options to gain access, and he knew he was not up for either. Discouraged, his heart sank, unnerving him, making it impossible to wait all the way until tomorrow evening for a slim chance to learn something more from some other monk. And then, hope shattered the icy barrier in his heart where Erleia now resided.

- She wouldda see and tell me!

He dropped his pointless effort and rushed back to fetch one person he trusted enough to aid him.