NOTE: The long delayed chapter appears at last. Please enjoy.
THE EXILE A Gay Fantasy Experiment
Chapter Nine
The work of recreating Carmathen's government continues, and predictably has taken longer than I would have liked. I have refused to associate my rule with the pomp and regality that was connected with the traditions of the Council, and have therefore chosen not to base the center of my government in the majestic Assembly building. That grand structure was built to intimidate the common man, to make him feel his own insignificance before the political might of the oligarchy. Kings and Queens can be dangerous idiots, as my experiences in Fermanagh certainly taught me -- but worse than a dangerous idiot with political power who inflicts his or her will on others are two hundred dangerous idiots with political power who can't agree on anything. The people of Carmathen are better off without them. By avoiding the Assembly (except for occasional ceremonial celebration) I hope to send a message that times have changed, for good.
Instead, I have chosen to base my own center of operations, at least temporarily, in the building that was once the Consulate of Fermanagh, and have placed my own offices in those rooms that once belonged to Ambassador Hollis himself. It was my hope that some of his wisdom and compassion might have seeped into the walls and would in turn inspire me. I have thought of him much lately, for I cannot look at this desk at which I now write, or gaze upon these walls, without being transported in my mind to the first time I entered these chambers and found him, a short, gray bearded man with tired eyes and a tight smile, furiously writing a letter. At his side stood a young page, perhaps a few summers younger than I, with a handsome face and who appeared to always be blushing. The poor boy was staring at me (at my hairless features, as I then imagined) and trying very hard to pretend that he was not. I in turn pretended not to notice. I remember being weary, but still on edge. Our entrance into Carmathen had not been peaceful or easy - I suppose I knew it could not have been, given Golmeir's appearance. In many ways it would have been better to leave him once we reached the populated areas, but we could find no one who would help us carry Cedrik, and both of us together could not have transported him to the Consulate as fast as the giant.
And here at last I stood before Valen's representative to Carmathen for the first time. I was not alone at that first meeting, of course. Alek shuffled nervously at my side but said nothing, as usual. It was rare that he ever spoke his mind. His hair seemed to have grown somewhat since we had left Fermanagh, providing a glimmer of hope that one day there would be no trace of the short cut that had marked him as a slave to the Queen. I suppose I ran my hand over own smooth head and reflected that no such new hope or growth was likely to happen for me. If Alek saw me do this, he would have shot me a tight smile or patted my shoulder comfortingly. I do not remember if this happened at this point exactly, but unspoken exchanges of that sort were common between us. It was our silent communication and understanding that I grew to miss the most, later.
The Ambassador paused in his scribbling. "Forgive me," he said, "But I must finish this before we can speak further." He began writing again. "You made quite a stir on your entrance into the city, and the Council will need to be placated. They'll want to know that you pose no threat to the peace."
"Thank you," I mumbled, unsure of what else to say.
He looked up at me, smiling grimly, "Don't thank me just yet, lad. It's very possible that my letter will be ignored or get caught up in some ghastly bureaucratic nightmare. Let's not celebrate the victory until the fight is done, eh?"
With a few quick strokes, he signed his name and finished the letter.
"There," he said, folding the parchment and handing it to his page, "Make sure this gets to the Assembly quickly." The page nodded and hurried out the door.
"Now," he said, facing us, "Let us begin at the beginning. What are your names?"
"I am Markis," I said, "and this is Alek, Cedrik's brother."
"Cedrik is the wounded man?" he asked, "And this is the same Cedrik who was the clerk to King Valen?"
We both nodded. "He was on a special mission to you from Valen himself," I said, "but we were attacked on the road by amazarii."
Hollis grew serious then, and motioned for us to be silent. He rose from his desk (now my desk) and crossed to the door of the room. He opened it and peered out, looking up and down the hallway for signs of any eavesdroppers. At last he appeared satisfied and closed the door, turning to us.
"So, it has happened at last," he said, "The Queen has declared open warfare upon us?"
"Not yet," I said, "but I know personally that it is her intention to do so, and with the aid of Broxbourne."
He grew pale. "Tell me everything."
And so I did, relating to him nearly everything I have already written in this account, omitting only Damon. In this I was greatly aided by Alek, who added details and further confirmation of facts from his own experiences as the Queen's consort.
"So," I said, by way of summing up, "Valessa seeks dominion over the men, but behind her is the Archbishop whose motives are still anybody's guess. He has been seeking ancient Anatherian relics, particularly this sword that I now carry."
"That is not so surprising," the Ambassador said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "Of all the great cities of our lands, Broxbourne has remained the most attached to the past. Their commitment to the memory of the ancient empire is unmatched. Perhaps his interest in these relics is merely for the preservation of history."
I shook my head doubtfully, "I fear it may be more than that. There is the matter of Golmeir and his people."
"The giant?" Hollis replied, "The one who nearly terrified half of Carmathen into a riot and is now sleeping in my stables?" He shook his head, bemused and bewildered. "What part does he play in all of this?"
"He is a piece of the puzzle," I said, "According to him, he and many of his people have been captured and enslaved by the Broxbourneans by some magical means. For what reason, I do not know -- but it can`t be good."
"This is worrisome," Ambassador Hollis rubbed his eyes, sighing, "but I'm afraid I cannot spare any thoughts on what the Broxbourneans may be planning at this time, beyond their aid to Valessa. My priority must be in helping Valen prevent a full out attack. You understand."
"That's why we're here," Alek said, "Valen wants to ask Carmathen to stand with him."
Hollis laughed ruefully. "A fool's errand, I'm afraid. The Council can barely help its own people, as you probably have noticed."
"We must try," I said, with naïve conviction.
He regarded me thoughtfully. "Very well," he said at last, "I will make arrangements, if I can, for a special session with the Council. The First Minister may very well owe me a favor. But we must act quickly."
I agreed. "Valessa might not wait long."
"There are other reasons for haste," Hollis replied. "Currently I am the only Ambassador from Fermanagh in the city. The Queen's representative, Liana, left for home a few days ago, and may return at any time. It would be better if she were not present when our accusation is presented to the Council. She would certainly make things... difficult." He spoke in dry understatement, and I found myself imagining with dread the kind of woman Valessa would send to represent her interests.
"How long will it take you to arrange an audience?" I asked.
He shrugged and scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Two days at least, if I can work miracles. Probably more. Things move very slowly here, politically, if they move at all. In the meantime, you can tend to your brother." He spoke this last to Alek.
"We need a physician," my companion said, his voice tense with worry.
"I've seen to that already," Hollis replied, "Most of the medicians of the city are either the exclusive property of some noble household or up to their necks dealing with the city poor. Disease and malnutrition have been worse than ever lately. Fortunately, I've been in Carmathen for a long time and I have my connections. I've arranged for one of the finest in the city to see to your brother."
Alek looked relieved, but I asked, "How is it you enticed this person away from their regular practice?"
Hollis coughed and, if my imagination did not fail me, grew a few shades redder. "Well, actually, her medical license has technically been revoked by the Council, at the moment."
"Oh, great," Alek said, "That's reassuring." There was a pause, and then he did a double-take. "Wait, it's a woman?" he asked with displeasure.
"Yes," Hollis replied, "Is that a problem?"
Alek furrowed his brow and refused to speak, so I said, "We've not had good experiences with women lately, Ambassador. But we won't refuse the aid, if you say she is trustworthy."
The older man nodded emphatically, "The women of Carmathen are not our enemies as the women of Fermanagh are. Jelena is one of the best practitioners of medicine in the city, I assure you. The nonsense with her license is purely political. It does not reflect her actual talents."
Alek still held his tongue. I placed my hand on his shoulder reassuringly and thanked the Ambassador. We excused ourselves from his presence and were shown to a room which had been provided for us, where Cedrik had already been taken. The room is still there, and it looks much the same as it did then. Several of my higher ranking officers are staying in it now. They do not realize, I suppose, that their King once slept in the very room, in the very bed, where they do -- just as my people never fully knew the extent of the history that existed in their village, beneath their very feet. If walls could speak, how much they could tell us!
The room I speak of is long and rectangular, with three beds. When first I entered it, Cedrik was lying in one of the beds where several of Hollis' local housemaids were tending to him as best they could, applying fresh bandages and trying to get him to drink. This task was proving to be difficult, since Cedrik had not drifted back into consciousness beyond an occasional dream-like fluttering of the eyes and flailing of his arms. There was no sign of any doctor. To my eyes, Valen's clerk looked weak and half-dead already, but still I tried to comfort Alek. He shrugged me off, preferring to stand alone. I sat down in a chair and yawned, but did not even think of trying to sleep. Instead, I watched Alek, and Alek watched his brother. In this way we waited for some time.
"Markis," Alek said suddenly, breaking his solitude and approaching me, "I have to ask you. Do you really believe Valen allowed us to escape?"
"I've been thinking about that," I replied carefully, "And I'm still not sure. Something tells me it was not exactly his intention that we got away, but that he's not particularly unhappy that we did."
"So you have forgiven him?" Alek said. He sat down on a bed near me, looking at me with pure curiosity.
"I didn't say that," I said, "It still feels very much like a betrayal, whatever the motives or outcome."
"And yet you are helping him and his people as if they were your own," he said, "You could just as easily walk away from this responsibility."
"I could not do that," I replied.
"But why not?" He grinned sheepishly. "I fear I would, in your place."
I took a moment to consider my answer. "His people are your people," I said at last, "And I swore to your brother that I would help."
He seemed touched by my reply. He rubbed my smooth head affectionately, then with sudden impulsiveness leaned in and kissed me quickly on the lips, drawing looks of shock from one of the maids tending Cedrik who happened to notice. She tried rather unsuccessfully to cover her reaction and to go about her business, clearly confused. Alek and I exchanged guilty looks, like two children who had been caught in a mischievous game, and then, despite our best efforts and our concern for Cedrik, began to laugh.
"Is something funny?" came a brusque voice behind me, and Alek's eyes focused beyond my head and widened in response to what he saw there. I turned to look, and saw Jelena for the first time.
I have sat here in long silence trying to determine what I should write about her. I should be as objective as possible, I suppose, and simply attempt to describe her accurately and without judgment. And yet, even now after so much time as passed, I feel it impossible to do so. She is the type of woman who makes neutrality of opinion impossible, you either love her or hate her. At various times, I have done both.
Very well then, here is my best attempt at a description. Her hair was at times a dull brown, but in the right light there were flashes of red, while her eyes were deep green. She had the roundish almost chubby face common to the people of Carmathen, a striking difference from the women of Fermanagh, who are angular and hawkish. Her clothes were simple, unassuming, well-worn, and practical. She had a small, innocuous looking bag hung from her shoulder. There was no reason that the sight of her should have caused me anxiety, but still it did. Her beauty made me nervous. She was not as elegant as Valessa, perhaps, nor as striking and as bold as Shara. Indeed, on first glance Jelena seemed almost plain. But there was to her features the suggestion of great beauty hiding underneath, leading a man to believe, I suppose, that here was a rare treasure that he alone had discovered, a diamond hidden in the earth that only he could make shine. I knew at once that she was the sort of woman that many men could fall in love with easily. Perhaps this is the real reason that I distrusted her from the beginning. Perhaps it was because no man would even look at me with more than passing regard as long as she were in the room, and the attention I craved would be impossible to find.
I looked at Alek and saw him staring at her as though he had forgotten I was there.
"Is this my patient?" Jelena said, moving to Cedrik's side swiftly without bothering to wait for a reply.
"Oh. Yes," Alek replied belatedly, standing and moving towards his brother,
"No, no, no," she said, batting away the maids impatiently, "What do you think you're doing? You can't bandage the wound like that."
"We were just trying to help," sniffed one of the housemaids.
"How very nice of you," Jelena said sweetly, and then added, "Now get the hell out of here before you kill the man." She shooed the women out the door before they had time to protest and returned to Cedrik.
"How does he look?" Alek asked, while she was inspecting the wound.
"Not good," she said, her voice full of practicality, "He is not healing well." She rummaged through her bag and pulled out several vials. "We need to wake him up."
Alek shook his head. "He's been out cold for a day now. We haven't been able to rouse him."
Jelena looked at him levelly. "Did you try?"
I looked at Alek, and he looked at me. "Well, no."
She rolled her eyes, then leaved over and smacked Cedrick across the face quite hard. "Wake up!" she shouted into his ear, "You got to wake up, unless you want to die today."
Alek looked at me in disbelief and muttered something I couldn't really make out.
To my surprise, however, Cedrik stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He looked about in confusion and then winced in pain.
"Yes," she said, "it hurts like a bitch, doesn't it? You're lucky you can still feel anything. Here--chew on this. It tastes like cow feces. You`ll love it." She had removed a few black leaves from one of her vials and now began shoving them into his mouth. He looked about to gag and spit it back out, but she pinched his nose together and held his mouth shut until he had no choice but swallow.
"What is that for?" Alek asked.
"To dull the shock," Jelena responded, digging through her bag again.
"The shock from what?" I asked, curious.
"From this," she replied shortly, pulling out a sharp looking knife. Alek yelped. She held the blade over a candle for a few minutes, then plunged it into Cedrik's wound as casually as though she were cutting a piece of fruit. Even I, who had already fought and killed several men (and would go on to fight and kill many more) looked away, unsettled. When I at last summoned the courage to look again, Jelena was usings some kind of metal device to remove something from inside Cedrik's wound. Blood stained her fingers and her clothing, but she did not seem to notice anything but her task. She commanded Alek to hold out a cloth that the maids had left, and with a smooth motion deposited some blood-covered lump onto it. I leaned in over Alek's shoulder to get a look at it, and realized at last that it was a sharp piece of metal that was almost certainly part of the amazarii's spearhead.
"You," she said, referring to me but keeping her attention on her patient, "If all you are going to do is crowd me and gawk, I'll put you to use. Go fetch a basin of clean water and more cloths. Hurry!"
Her voice assumed such natural authority that I found myself leaving the room before I knew what was happening. I exchanged glances with Alek once again, and saw my shock and surprise mirrored on his face. Both of us had become so naturally obedient to her commands, that it was as if we were slaves again back under the power of the Queen. From the look of him, Alek was thinking the same thing. I gave him my best reassuring smile and then hurried to find a housemaid. _______________________________________________________________________________
After completing that one errand for Jelena, I decided to stay clear of her while she continued to work, thinking that my presence served neither to aid Cedrik nor to comfort Alek, who was so distraught with worry for his brother that he barely noticed when I spoke to him. I would have liked to speak further with Ambassador Hollis, I believe, but he had left already to visit sympathetic members of the Council and to play the political games necessary to get our case heard in the Assembly. Instead, I visited Golmeir in the stables, where the few horses left were still shifting nervously at the presence of the giant.
"I wish you did not have to stay here," I said, "but getting you out of the city will cause too much trouble and distract the Council from our pleas for help."
He nodded stoically and spoke in his rumbling voice. "I am well here. I will wait."
"It would be far better if I could just free you," I said, fingering the amulet, "Is there nothing you can remember about this that might help us know how to destroy it?"
He shook his head. "As I have said, I know nothing of the amulets save that they are very old, from the time of the King of the Mountain."
"Who was he?" I asked, curious. Though Alek was often tight-lipped and silent, Golmeir made him seem to be a blabbermouth. It was an exciting opportunity to learn more of the giant and his people on those few occasions when he did deign to speak.
"He ruled my people in times long past," he said, "We served and protected him, but in the end we failed him. That is all that I know. My memory is..." He scratched his head sadly.
"Because of the spell?" I asked.
He nodded in reply and closed his eyes, and I felt sure he would answer no more questions at that time. I made sure he would be provided with food and clean water, then bid him farewell.
I began to walk back towards our room to check on Cedrik's progress, but found I could not bring myself to face Jelena again. I asked one of the housemaids to provide me with a cloak that had a hood and, my bare head safely concealed in that, went out onto the streets of Carmathen to walk, explore, and clear my mind. There was nothing now to do but wait -- wait for Hollis to return, wait for Cedrik to heal, wait for Alek to relax enough to notice me again. I had to keep myself moving or the nothingness of the waiting would drive me mad. The open sky outside unnerved me and for a moment I wanted to change my mind and hide myself inside the building. I had still never confessed this fear to a soul save Damon, but in this case my restlessness far outweighed my anxiety. The first few steps were the worst, but as I continued I found I grew more and more used to the feeling, and to the presence of the empty nothingness above me.
I wandered the festering city for several hours, letting my feet guide me wherever they would. The Consulate was located in one of the relatively prosperous quarters of the city, so I erroneously thought I would not see any signs of the wretchedness and poverty that had so disturbed me upon our entrance. I could not have been more wrong. I was swarmed with haggard beggars, pleading to me in desperate tones for coin or even just a little bit of food. At first I tried to explain to these poor people that I had nothing to give them, which was entirely true, but they did not believe me and only pressed me further. Eventually I was forced to ignore their pleas altogether, and merely walk past those who were hungry and suffering as though I could not see or hear them, as I could see so many others doing. It pained me greatly to feign such indifference, to squash the human impulse inside of me to aid those in need. But there was nothing I could do, and I cursed the wretched city for making me feel guilty for that which was not my fault and which I had no power to fix. I knew it was folly to take their suffering so personally -- but in my heart of hearts, I could not forgive myself for abandoning them to their misery.
Perhaps the changes I have brought to the city will expunge that guilt at last, in time.
Eventually I entered an upscale market district, where crowds of people were gathered despite the fact that the sun was slowly sinking and the shops were surely getting ready to close up for the day. I passed merchants with exotic and fragrant wares, saw strange and unusual people in fancy clothing and listened briefly to small snippets of their bizarre conversations. I was a quiet observer, drinking in everything and slipping through the crowds unseen and unnoticed. I marveled once again at how large the city was; there must have been a dozen market areas such as this, each visited by hundreds upon hundreds of residents per hour. Everywhere I turned I was pressed in by a crowd, and found it impossible to stand or walk anywhere with the personal space that I was accustomed to. The sheer size of the area and the amount of people in it made what happened next all the more improbable. But perhaps it is not so surprising - ever since I had left my village and begun my exile, I had found myself often stumbling into trouble and into destiny. Nothing save my mere whim had led me marching north from my village to the place I first encountered the strange man named Errold, and just so my aimless wanderings had brought me before him once again. My fate was tied to his, perhaps, or his to mine. All I know is that none of what has happened could have occurred if we had not met, once in the southern forest outside the tomb and then again in the streets of Carmathen. It is more than possible that some higher power knew this and orchestrated it all, or perhaps some power within me called out to him, for he held the key to the next stage of my journey. I do not know, and will say no more on this matter - such speculations are not for men such as me, who know how foolish and ignorant we really are.
I heard a disturbance in the market, men yelling and causing a commotion, and turned to see a merchant roughly pushing a strange-looking young man away from his stall. I was busy trying to follow the accusations of stealing and disgrace in the shouting, and so I did not at first recognize the young man as Errold. When the recognition came, it came in a flash, shooting with anxious energy down to the tips of my toes. I pulled the hood of the cloak further forward lest he should recognize me in return, but I was swallowed in the gawking crowd and his attention was on his accuser.
Errold seemed to have no desire to defend himself. His eyes rolled about at the gathering crowd of onlookers, and he licked his lips nervously. I could see his lips moving as he mumbled to himself continuously, and realized that the madness of the curse had not lifted. How he had escaped from the Broxbourneans and what he was doing in Carmathen was beyond my ability to guess. I barely had time to ponder these questions before Errold turned and fled, bolting off into the crowd and attempting to put distance between himself and the man he had apparently tried to rob. In a second, I was after him, knowing somehow intuitively that this chance meeting posed an opportunity that I could not afford to miss.
Pursuing him was not easy, for the market was crowded and I was forced to dodge and weave to cover ground and keep a clear view of my target. I was aided by my height, which while not gigantic (I have met many men who look down at me) is nonetheless somewhat greater than average, especially in Carmathen. Several times I thought I had lost him, only to see him for a brief second as he turned a corner and headed down another street.
At last I saw him enter a building, a small, rather unkempt dwelling whose door had been left partially open. This particular building, as I remember, was adjacent to a small alleyway, just large enough for one man, which ran towards the rear. Along the wall that faced this pathway were several small, dirty windows. It was to these that I crept carefully, not wishing to alert Errold to my presence, and peered in. It was dark inside, but I could make out that Errold was moving about frantically, turning over furniture and opening drawers, clearly searching for something. Through the glass of the window I could hear him mumbling deranged curses. After a few minutes I was satisfied that he was alone. I went back to the front of the building, pushed open the door. I pulled out my silver sword and pointed it at him. When Errold turned to see me, he let out a yelp of terror and fell to the ground, cowering.
"He has the sword, Bert!" he shouted to nobody, "Help me! Save me from the little girl whose eyes are so blue, so blue, and then we get the sword and then we get paid and then we go home. Eh, Bert? Easy money, you says. Tell the man not to hurt us and to give us the sword and then we get paid and then we go home. Tell him!"
"Stop your babbling," I said, sheathing my sword. The man was clearly no threat to me. "What is it you are looking for? What are you up to?"
"Tell the man, Bert, that we don't know. Tell him we only do what we are told. Bert, tell the little girl to stop staring! So blue! So blue!"
I sighed in frustration, then shook the amulet that hung about my neck at him. "What about this, Errold? Golmeir's amulet? Where did you get it?"
He looked at the stone curiously. "He wants it back. Bert, we will be punished if we don't bring it back. He loaned it to us. Tell the man to give it to us, Bert! Give us back the giant man!"
He tried to attack me then, but I rebuffed him easily. He was so distracted within himself by the curse's madness, that it was a wonder he could walk or talk at all. He went sprawling to the floor, howling and weeping, and I paced the room nervously wondering what I was going to do with him. Clearly, I would have to bring him back to the Consulate for further questioning. Perhaps Hollis or one of his men might get something useful out of him. I tried to pick him up and lead him out, but he resisted me and flailed his hands at my face, making it awkward to keep control of him. I was standing and tapping my foot in frustration, and Errold was on the floor weeping like a child, when the room suddenly filled with men in the blink of an eye.
The first thing I noticed about them was that their faces were obscured by veils that wrapped about their heads and covered all but their eyes. The second thing was that they each wielded long daggers that appeared as quickly and mysteriously into their hands as they themselves had appeared into the room. There were at least half a dozen of them, and each of them pointed his weapon at us. Errold went still and covered his head, and I looked about quickly to keep my eye on them all and to prevent being attacked from behind. But no attack came.
"Who are you?" I demanded. "What do you want?"
"We would ask the same of you," spoke one of them, his voice only slightly muffled by the veil about his mouth, "It is you who has invaded our territory. This one we have seen before," he flicked his blade towards Errold, "But he was always alone before. Why do you disturb this place? You will find no sign of the man you seek here."
"I seek no man but this one," I said, standing near Errold, "If you let me leave with him, neither of us will ever return to trouble you."
The tension grew thick. The men edged slightly nearer. "We cannot risk that you will divulge this location to the authorities," their spokesman said.
"I do not want to fight," I replied, "But I will if I must." Here I threw back my hood and pulled out my sword.
It's silver gleam flashed through the room, and there was an audible gasp from the men who threatened me. In a moment their daggers went limply to their sides, and their heads bowed in respect. Errold giggled nervously. I looked about in confusion
"Our apologies. We have heard of you, the hairless warrior from the south who bears the ancient sword," the man said in awe, "Our leader desires very much to speak with you."
"Heard of me? How? I've only arrived here today."
"Word travels fast in Carmathen, especially to our ears. We have been waiting for a sign such as you." The man who spoke pointed at my sword. "The blade you carry is famous among us."
"You know of it?" I said, running my finger along its edge protectively.
The men nodded eagerly. "We know many things of the past. Our leader will tell you more. Please, follow us."
I shook my head and sighed. I was not sure what would come of this, but I felt it was a distraction from my task and a complication that I would rather avoid. I wanted to argue, but the attitude of the men was so solemn and reverent in my presence that I found I could not.
"Follow us, mighty one," the man said again, "Please." _________________________________________________________________________________
I had just written the word "please" when there was a knock at my office door. I hate to be interrupted while I write in my account, and had instructed my ministers not to allow anyone to disturb me, so it was with great annoyance that I put down my pen and set aside this manuscript (already a sizeable stack of parchment) to tend to whatever matter had been brought to me. I am writing about this here because, as it turns out, the interruption directly relates to the part of my story that I was about to write next.
The officer who entered came to report that another of the fugitive Council members had been caught and brought into custody. After I declared them enemies of the people, many of those we did not capture immediately fled the city, but I suspected that some of them had remained in Carmathen in hiding, hoping to sabotage my efforts at creating a new order. I set aside a squadron of some of my best men, many of them veterans from the War, for the special purpose of tracking down these hidden Council. I have been reflecting on this part of the story in preparation of writing it, and so the tunnels and caves that wind their way under a large portion of the city were understandably on my mind. I suspected, rightly as it turns out, that these caverns (where the veiled men took me to meet their leader) would make a likely hiding spot. After all, most of them are empty now that the Tharonites no longer exist as the secret cult they once were. The Veruvians, too, have abandoned discretion and have moved their insatiable activities above ground openly.
This particular rogue Councilman was hiding with several dozen followers in one of the remote caves of the network. My men tell me there was only a brief conflict with few casualities, and the former political leader will now be brought to trial by the people of Carmathen. I wonder if the cave in which he had chosen to hide could have been one of those that I myself traveled through when Errold and I were led by the veiled men towards their headquarters. It seems unlikely. The cave system is surprisingly vast -- how the massive city manages to rest on top of it without collapsing into the earth I cannot fathom. Nevertheless, I cannot deny that there has been a clear symmetry in my time here in Carmathen, and that my past seems to be repeating in upon itself. I sit now in the office where Hollis once interviewed me, I sleep within a few rooms from where I once slept, I walk the same streets, I have visited the same market, and now a political enemy has been caught in the very undercity into which I was taken by the veiled men and where I met Gavril, Stepan, and many others. Perhaps the Councilman's cave would be familiar to me, after all. It would be the least of strange coincidences that I have encountered in my life. _____________________________________________________________________________________
That distraction dealt with, I can return now to my account. There was a innocent looking stairway in the back of the house that led down into a sort of cellar, dug into the earth. Here the men revealed a hidden pathway that led to a tunnel. One minute there had only been a solid dirt wall, and the next it was clearly a vacant opening heading gradually downward. Whether this was accomplished by magic or by some visual illusion (as seems more likely) I do not know, but the effect was impressive either way. The tunnel led into a surprisingly large underground network of man-made caves which, as I was to learn later, came to the surface in a number of secret locations throughout the city.
I myself was taken back at how many people seemed to live here in this secret undercity, less of course than in any given block of the city above, but nevertheless enough that it seemed to be a community of its own. Some of these inhabitants wore veils about their heads, like the men who escorted us, but some, especially the younger ones, did not. Many of the men and women we passed looked at us with confusion and suspicion, but a few seemed fascinated by me particularly and stood with their mouths hanging open without shame. I was uncomfortable with these stares, but did my best not to show it.
Eventually we reached a larger cavern lit by many torches where we found a group of men dressed and veiled exactly like those who had guided me to the place. Errold was incomprehensible with fright, and screamed for Bert whenever anyone came near him -- fortunately for him, no one was the least bit interested in harassing him. All eyes were upon me. One of the men approached me, and I knew at once it was their leader. There was no outward sign of it. His clothing and veil matched the others exactly. But from the way the men treated him, and the way he himself walked toward me with certainty and authority, I knew.
"I had been hoping we would meet, stranger from the south," the man said, "We have much to talk about."
"So your men have told me," I replied, "Though you have an advantage: you seem to know much about me, but I nothing of you."
"An inequity I plan to fix," he assured me, "Come, follow. We will speak in private."
He started to lead me into a smaller passageway in the back of the cavern, but Errold grew so distraught at seeing me leave that the men were hard pressed to keep him under control. Whether it was because he recognized me, feared the veiled men, or, more likely, desperately wanted to get his hands on Golmeir's amulet once again, he would not consent to being kept from my presence. In the end I advised the leader to allow him to accompany us, and explained that he was afflicted by a curse and would not understand much of what was said anyway. It was the truth, as I understood it at the time.
After we had made ourselves relatively comfortable in the small cave that served as his private chambers, the man introduced himself. "I am Gavril."
"My name is Markis," I said cautiously, "Though I suppose you knew that already."
Gavril chuckled and began to remove his veil slowly. "No, I did not. I know less of you than you think, only rumor and speculation."
"Who would waste time speculating about me?" I asked, quite sincerely.
"Those with an interest in the unusual, and in history," he replied, and added, "Like me."
By this time he had finished unwrapping his veil and stood before me uncovered. He was older than me, certainly, perhaps about the age of Valen or slightly older. His hair was a ruddy brown, and his face sported a short, clean kept beard. He smiled at me warmly, and I could not but feel that his warmth was genuine. Having seen his face, I found myself trusting him more and feeling more relaxed. Such is the way of us human creatures. The face is the keystone for our communication, I believe, and this is why a mask is so often unsettling and so effective.
"I'm sorry if my men startled you above. They had orders to protect that building from any further interference. Your friend has been seen snooping around there before." He pointed at Errold, who babbled away to himself in the corner.
"He is certainly not my friend," I told him, "He held me prisoner once, before a curse drove him mad. Do you know what he was looking for?"
"Of course," he replied, "The house belongs to a rather important member of our order. It would seem your former captor wanted to find him. Though what a madman would want with Stepan, I have no idea "
"What is this order?" I asked, confused. "Who are you?"
Gavril sat down opposite of me and crossed his arms across his chest. "We are called by many names. After all, names are easily given -- but the thing named is always itself, no matter what you call it. None of our names matter, for none of them are the reality of who we actually are. Do you see? We call ourselves the Disciples of Purity, but we are known more commonly in the city as the Tharonites. They have other names for us, I believe, that are far less flattering - and yet, from a certain point of view, they are just as arbitrary and inaccurate as anything we might call ourselves." He paused, thoughtfully. "We fallow the teachings of a great leader named Tharon. Surely you, who wields the sword of the princes of the ancient empire, are well versed in history?"
"Less than I thought, it would seem," I replied, "But I'm learning quickly."
"You know, then, of Alander the Unifier?
"I know of a great man named Alander in the legends of my people, and I have learned he was once prince of Anatheria -- but I have never heard him given that title," I said.
"He was Crown Prince, as you say, and eventually King of Anatheria," Gavril explained, sitting back in his chair, "We call him the Unifier because under his rule all the lands were united -- from the forests of the south where the Anatherians originate, all the way to Broxbourne and the mountains in the north and the sea to the west. It was a feat of diplomatic and military genius, which he accomplished with the aid of five trusted Generals. United, our lands prospered in war and peace, and survived trials that would otherwise have destroyed our ancestors -- invasions from across the sea. "
I leaned forward, my interest peaked. I realized somewhat guiltily that Damon must have already known all of this, especially since he claimed to have formerly served a man named Alander as he now served me. No doubt he would have told me many details from that time had I asked, but I had tried to dissuade him from speaking of his former master as much as possible, uncomfortable with his assertion that I was to be heir to Alander's glory. As I think over that time, I now believe that I was much too reluctant to learn more about the past because each new fact I learned seemed so wildly different from the traditional history of my people that I did not know how to reconcile the two and only grew confused. In my heart, you must understand, I still thought myself as one of them, despite the fact that I was certain I would never walk amongst them again. My fragile mind could not yet consider without discomfort the possibility that our traditions had wandered so far from the truth. It was only here, in my discussion with Gavril, that I felt the first stirrings of curiosity.
"Tell me more about these invasions," I said, but Gavril shook his head.
"There is not much to tell - the details have been lost over time, and I am no expert," he said, "Stepan could explain it much better than I."
"Who is this Stepan?" I said, turning to check on Errold, who was picking his nose and talking to the wall. He showed no sign of interest, even now that we were speaking of the person he had apparently been looking for.
"One of the oldest members of our order," he said, "and a scholar of ancient things. But we have strayed from the point. We were speaking of our history."
"Please, continue," I said.
"After Alander's death, the lands that had been united and strong fell into division and strife. It was much the same among his Generals, who separated and settled down in various regions of our land. Two of them settled here, in the city we now call Carmathen: a great man named Tharon and an insidious woman called Veru. I'm unsure of the names of the other three -- perhaps Stepan would know."
"They are Lestra, Damon, and Iotor," I said, things falling rather unexpectedly into place.
Gavril smiled and shook his head. "Why am I recounting this history to someone who clearly knows more than I?"
"I promise you, I don't," I returned, "In the traditions of my people, we revere five Angels who gave Alander wisdom. I had no idea they were real men and women until now."
He rubbed his chin. "Interesting. No offense to your traditions, but angels they most certainly were not. They were full of human frailty and weakness. The difference between them was in how they dealt with these imperfections. Tharon sought to master himself through discipline and will, while Veru preferred to give in to and revel in her desires. You have visited the city above. What do you think of it? Vile, lascivious, filthy, miserable -- in a word, corrupt. Tharon grew weary of the corruption of the world and believed that the way to bring about social change was through the mastery of the individual self. We of our order honor Tharon and his way, and seek to purge corruption both outside and in."
I considered this. "That sounds like a noble goal, but easier spoken than accomplished. How do you expect to do it?"
"We do not speak of this often to outsiders, but you are no ordinary man. I cannot hold anything back from you. You must know who we are." He stood, then, and turned away from me. Gently, he lifted his shirt up to reveal his back, which I was shocked to see was covered in scars and wounds, some freshly made and barely begun to heal. It appeared as though he had been beaten and whipped.
"The man who did this to you should be punished," I said without thinking.
Gavril faced me again and smiled grimly, "He has been, I assure you. You see, I have done this myself."
My face must have shown my distaste. "But why?"
"We believe the mutilation of the flesh and the denial of desire allows the purity of the soul to shine forth in full glory. We abstain from pleasure, eat simply, work hard, and clean our bodies regularly."
"And you all inflict pain on yourselves?" I asked, astounded.
"Every day," he replied, "I know it may seem strange or even barbaric to you. But I would invite you to stay and observe us, see how my people shine in purity through adversity."
"Is this why your people must hide away down here?"
"The people above do not understand us, and what they do not understand, they fear. It is natural, I suppose. We stand in opposition to the few physical pleasures that many of the poor wretches will ever have. " Gavril stood and paced while he spoke, "But it runs deeper than that. Because we abhor the moral and physical corruption of the Council's rule, he have spoken out against them publicly. That led to the Council branding us as enemies of the city and traitors. We hide down here because their City Guard would wipe us out without hesitation if they could. Anyone known to be a member of our order, which they call a cult, may be executed, and our families made to suffer. Even my distant relations have faced persecution merely by being associated with me in some feeble way."
"The more I hear of this Council the less that I like them," I commented. "Isn't there any city in our lands whose leaders are sane and truly in the service of the people they rule?"
"Not in Carmathen," Gavril replied somberly, "At least, not since the time of Alander. A leader like that would mean the ancient times of glory come again. I do not hope for such things anymore. I do not think that I shall live to see such a day, or such a man."
I said nothing, but I remember clearly insisting to myself that such men did exist, and that once my many tasks were completed I would find one and serve him for the rest of my days.
"Come," Gavril said, interrupting my thoughts, "I will introduce you to Stepan. He will be eager to meet you, and especially eager to inspect that sword you carry. He can explain anything that I have left unclear. Can you persuade your rather eccentric companion to join us?"
Errold did not seem to notice my approach, but continued to babble incoherently in the direction of the wall. I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him gently, and slowly he turned to look at me. His face broke into an enormous grin which was both so genuine and so sinister that I remember it clearly to this day. It troubled me, especially since for the first time since I had re-encountered him that day he grew quiet and did not speak but merely smiled with satisfaction and surprising lucidity.
"Come with me, Errold," I said, "We're going to meet someone new." It was my hope that by treating him like a friend I might be able to keep him under control. It seemed to work, for he stood and followed me without causing trouble.
As we left Gavril's cave, I could hear him begin to mumble behind me:
"Bert, Bert, we go to meet someone new, Bert. Easy money, you says. Then we get the sword and then we get paid and then we go home. He is coming soon, Bert. Soon. And then we go home. Follow the plan you says. Follow the plan says the man. Follow the plan says the man. And then we get the sword and then we get paid and then we go home. Easy money. He will come for us. Easy money." And so forth.
His words were the ravings of a madman, foolishness and stupidity, and so I did not listen.
It was a great mistake, mysterious reader. It was I who was foolish.
Sorry for the long wait. I hope you still continue to read and enjoy! Shoot me an e-mail at thephallocrat@gmail.com