by Jeremy Dwyer
“Staying here is clearly not going to help,” Count Terzo said.
“Who are these other people?” Duchess Sarita asked.
“I am Stafford, a commodities trader from Oxatrissa. I witnessed the start of the fire, and I know who caused it,” Stafford said.
“I am Gisella, Chronicler of six thousand eight hundred sixty-one (6861) years,” Gisella said. She had been writing down this exchange into her book all along. She even recorded the information about the burned bodies as well as she could personally observe them.
“Who caused the fire?” Duchess Sarita asked.
“Baron Thurston, who used a crystal to focus the light of the many suns near the tree line, so that it would catch fire. It spread across multiple villages,” Stafford said.
“We must return now, Duchess. The fire continues to spread,” another one of her guards said.
“Come with me, Count – or whatever rank you now hold – Terzo. Also, Stafford, as you are the witness to the arson, perhaps you can explain this to His Majesty,” Duchess Sarita said.
“Under the authority of the Chronicler’s Oath, I will come with you as well,” Gisella said.
“Of course. I want this entire affair to be remembered for what it is,” Duchess Sarita said.
The eleven (11) guards escorted Duchess Sarita back to the Sky Lion. Count Terzo, Stafford and Gisella followed them and boarded the ship.
“Never a dull moment in Waderav. Getting mighty hot out there,” Captain Lusala said as the passengers came on board.
“We must return to His Majesty at once,” Duchess Sarita said.
“Yes, my lady,” Captain Lusala said. He and his navigator worked to sail the Sky Lion to the Bazavadoran Isthmus along the route they came.
~~~
Governor Lux was sitting in a meditative position on the floor in his private office in the Trading Center Five building on Haza’Kedro’Maral Island in the Pirovalen Ocean. The door opened and a pair of men appeared from under the cloak of darkness.
“I trust that you have valuable information, Erlend, seeing as you barged in here and disturbed me,” Governor Lux said.
“I do. Many of the more esoteric details of the constructor’s design are written here, and I’ve been analyzing them,” Erlend said, holding out a stack of papers. Erlend was a forty-nine (49) year old man with a thin build and a strong understanding of crystals given by drinking the waters of the Kazofen Ocean. He struggled to understand the book of castles, and believed he finally made sense of some of it.
“So, do you know enough of the details in order to complete the replica constructor?” Governor Lux asked.
“I believe that I do. But I will have to conduct tests, to be sure that all of the components interoperate correctly,” Erlend said.
“Then, you must get to work immediately. Fulvius – you will give him cover in the darkness. Do not attract the attention of Duchess Uliana, if at all possible,” Governor Lux said.
The other man – Fulvius – said: “Yes, they do not have the power to see into the darkness. I can hide a smaller machine under a shadow.” He then drank anew of the waters of the Ikkith Tar Ocean from his vial and was energized. He created a cloak of darkness, enveloping himself and Erlend. Fulvius was a thirty-two (32) year old man with a large build who was particularly adept at hiding himself and anyone – as well as anything – around him in the deepest darkness.
Once Erlend and Fulvius disappeared from sight, they left the office of Governor Lux, closing the door behind them.
CHAPTER 23: Heart of Vengeance and Cruelty
In the central region of Waderav was the Duchy of Jovan, a four hundred eighty-three (483) square mile region, whose southern border was one hundred seventy-five (175) miles north of Cinder Valley, centered on Mount Rurik. At the center of the duchy was a large castle, like that of so many other duchies, baronies and counties in Waderav. The castle was surrounded by many villages, where workers toiled at cutting stone and planting in fields.
Duke Jovan sat upon his throne and did not acknowledge the other man, who was kneeling on a small rug in the throne room near the Duke. The thirty-nine (39) year old duke looked around the room at the bones hanging on chains from the twenty-two (22) foot high ceiling: one hundred seventeen (117) pairs of femurs, skulls, sets of ribs, pairs of hand bones, pairs of foot bones, sternums and clavicles were all part of his collection. A shelf around the room held as many silver cups. His rage still boiled – it wasn’t enough that many of his enemies were dead. He wanted more of them dead, and he wanted them more than dead.
“Massa,” Duke Jovan said after what seemed like an hour of angry contemplation.
“Yes, my lord?” the kneeling man – Massa – replied.
“Are you sure that their spirits are not present?” Duke Jovan asked.
“I have checked, and I will gladly check again, my lord,” Massa said. He stood up and drank anew of the waters of the Zovvin Ocean from his vial and was energized. He reached out into the spirit world around him and found no signs of any spirits lingering, despite all the murder that had taken place here over the last eight (8) years since Duke Jovan assumed the throne. Massa was twenty-nine (29) at the time and found this Duke Jovan to be more bloodthirsty than the previous duke, whom Jovan personally disemboweled.
“I see no signs of any spirits here, or nearby, my lord,” Massa said. He was relieved that the answer was negative so as not to arouse the anger of the duke, and he remained in service to preserve his own wellbeing. He had the innate potential, multiplied by the Zovvin waters, so that he could sense spirits – and even dispel them – but he could not summon them into service, or he would have done so to drive away Duke Jovan, or at least to calm him. Massa believed that the man was too violent and too angry most of the time. While Massa respected that fear kept villagers in line so that they would work the land and pay taxes to the duke, Jovan frequently took it so far that there were fewer people working for him: this wasn’t the only room in the castle with bones dangling from the ceiling. While Duke Jovan paid Massa handsomely for his service, he feared that the duke might one day turn on him, or simply murder all the remaining villagers and have no profit from which to pay him.
“Where have they gone, Massa? Did they descend into the Maelstrom as a righteous punishment for their treachery? For their betrayal? For neglecting the cries of the needy? For denying the powers of the waters?” Duke Jovan asked, his voice filled with rage as he remembered his own plight.
“At the times of their deaths, some of their spirits certainly descended into the darkness of the Maelstrom. Yet, others disappeared from the limits of my spirit senses. Their judgment is elsewhere, my lord,” Massa said.
“I was their victim. I should be their judge, Massa,” Duke Jovan said.
“Indeed you are, my lord, as you executed them according to your own laws,” Massa said.
“I mean judge of their spirits, Massa. I should be the one to decide whether they are banished into the Maelstrom of Vengeance, where they will suffer eternally for their cruelty toward me and for their lies. I wish to send each and every one of them into the Maelstrom. No exceptions. The cup from which they told me to drink was a cup of empty promises and lies,” Duke Jovan said.
“By the powers of the Zovvin waters I drink, I can sense which spirits vanish and which ones descend into the Maelstrom, my lord, but I cannot affect their destinations by that power. That is beyond me,” Massa said. And he was glad that it was beyond him, because this duke was asking for far too much.
“Perhaps your water is not pure enough, Massa. Perhaps a more refined potion of the Zovvin waters would allow you to grasp their very spirits and cast them all downward,” Duke Jovan said.
“My innate potential is not so great as to permit that, my lord,” Massa said.
“You disappoint me, Massa. I had high hopes for you,” Duke Jovan said.
“You have succeeded in defeating your enemies, my lord. I can verify for you which of them also
fell spiritually, so that you might have confidence in your double victory. Yet, I cannot achieve the extra victory for you. For some, their own spirits are weighed down with corruption, which is why they descend,” Massa said.
“They are all corrupt, Massa. Every last one of them is corrupt and deserving of the ultimate ruin – eternal suffering in the Maelstrom,” Duke Jovan said.
“You are victorious no matter what, my lord,” Massa said.
“True victory is only from the annihilation of all enemies. Merely killing their bodies in unsatisfying: I count that as only a partial victory,” Duke Jovan said. He then stood up from his throne and approached the hanging bones, peering at them and pushing on them so that they swung back and forth.
Massa was uncomfortable – he knew that the duke was signaling a desire to kill once again.
“In what way have the remaining villagers grieved you, my lord? Might you send them a stern warning?” Massa asked. He knew the answer from having heard it so many times, but hoped that he could lead the duke to tire of his violent anger through repetition.
“When I needed them, they turned on me, and refused my pleas for help. When my own harvest failed, and I was unable to pay taxes to the former duke, they would not share their surplus with me. Then, the duke took my wife and my children, and murdered them. He then jailed and tortured me to set an example for the other farmers, lest they fall behind in their payments,” Duke Jovan said.
Massa knew that this was true, and he felt no pity for the prior duke – in this case, Jovan was actually justified in killing that duke, and he watched it being done. “Yet, you have all that you need, and so much more, my lord,” Massa said.
“I no longer pay taxes to the duke, for I am the duke, so the peasants pay taxes to me,” Duke Jovan said.
“You have succeeded, then, my lord,” Massa said. He recognized the hypocrisy, as well: Jovan was now just as cruel as that prior duke.
“Yet, money is not all there is, and it is certainly not enough. Souls, Massa, I want souls…to be tortured and murdered the way my family was physically tortured and murdered. Their suffering will be so much worse, because they knew what would happen and refused to share even a little of their harvest,” Duke Jovan said.
“You were wronged, my lord. Each day they toil at working on your land is a day of difficulty they deserve,” Massa said.
“I was wronged many times over, Massa. While some of these betrayers refused to share their crops, the others are the very reason my harvest failed. Had I quenched my thirst with the Gradaken waters, I certainly would have had a rich harvest. No, they insisted that the ocean waters were sinful because of the magic within them. They insisted that I wait to quench my thirst at the Silver Cup Banquet – when the pure and righteous water would be served. My mother believed that lie, and told it to me in my youth: she made me wait and drink only of the Dead Waters instead,” Duke Jovan said.
“Yes, my lord, that is tragic,” Massa said. He heard this story before. The evil was real, but the duke’s bitterness and anger never abated.
~~~
On a tract of farmland in the interior region of the Duchy of Jovan, a man named Hayyim toiled twenty-one (21) out of thirty (30) hours each day at planting seeds in carefully arranged patterns. He drank anew of the waters of the Gradaken Ocean from his vial and was energized. As a result, the seeds took root immediately and yielded high quality crops quickly.
Hayyim was fifty-two (52) years old and quite efficient at his work, except that was all that he did, aside from sleeping. His time was not his own and he found himself unable to concentrate on the unceasing farming labors. The Gradaken waters made the harvest rich and robust, but they did nothing for his stamina. The lord over all of this farmland – Duke Jovan – demanded everything: a large share of the crops, high taxes and no excuses.
He ate well and certainly had ample physical activity, so that he was slender and strong, but that did not prevent the occasional chest pains. Hayyim knew that this was a sign that he needed change. He looked back over the field he worked – that day and every day – and felt a sense of despair: his own share was small, and his best days were behind him, because the Gradaken waters did not add stamina or extra years to his life. Occasional rest was one of the keys to prosperity, and he found himself needing more rest than usual, so that the pains would not flare up. Hundreds of other men and women in nearby fields and in nearby farming villages in the same duchy experienced similar difficulties, and many of them were much younger.
~~~
Noam drank anew of the waters of the Kazofen Ocean from his vial and was energized. He placed his hands on the side of a mesa and molded its stone like clay, extracting a portion of it, which he then dissected. He was looking for diamonds, rubies or any other precious gems. He found three (3) rough but sparkling gems and began to assess their quality. With some manipulations, he made these gems clearer and purer, so as to please the demanding lord of this land and its resources: Duke Jovan. The duke demanded high taxes, which Noam paid by selling the gemstones to merchants or by giving some of them directly to the duke.
At forty-one (41) years of age, Noam was healthy, except for the excessive hours working in this mining village. The Kazofen waters he drank made his work straightforward enough, although there was never a guarantee of finding any gemstones in any given extraction of stone from a mesa or from the ground. He could purify the gems when he found them, but he had to work hard to find them. Fortunately, the stone itself – limestone, sandstone, even granite – was also somewhat valuable when used for construction, so he could separate that and cut it into blocks, but they were heavy and tiresome to lift. His experiences and hardships were like those of the other miners in this village and other villages like it. Noam knew that there was no good reason that he should have the long hours, aches and pains that he felt except that the old duke was a greedy tyrant.
Noam rested, and rested some more, hoping to recover his strength and focus. Many other miners did the same, alternating work and increasing amounts of rest, because working twenty-one (21) out of thirty (30) hours a day was simply too much.
~~~
In Duke Jovan’s castle, a figure appeared out of the darkness, kneeling in the throne room in front of Duke Jovan, who was walking among the dangling bones. Massa stood near the duke.
“What news do you bring me, Vadim?” Duke Jovan asked.
“I have been watching and measuring. Many of the peasants in the villages just south of here are resting more often than before, my lord, so that less work is being done, either in the farms or in the quarries,” the kneeling figure – Vadim – said.
“Rise, Vadim,” Duke Jovan said.
Vadim stood up at attention and asked: “Yes, my lord. What are your orders?”
“First, answer my question, Vadim. Why do I work these people so hard?” Duke Jovan asked.
“Because they were ungenerous to you in your time of need, my lord,” Vadim said.
“Correct, Vadim. They had surplus crops which they did not share when my own harvest failed. When I begged them to share – even to lend to me for a short while – so that I could pay my taxes to the previous duke, they refused, knowing full well what was in store for my family. That duke murdered them and tortured me, Vadim, because I was unable to pay my taxes: unable to pay because my crops failed. He wanted to send a warning to everyone else: failure meant death or torture,” Duke Jovan said.
“Yes, my lord,” Vadim said.
“The stone cutters in the quarries are no different from the farmers in the fields. They are all ungenerous, which is why I treat them the same, working them all to the bone. When I deposed the duke before me, I vowed to do worse to these miserly serfs. I vowed to make them pay more than I paid, to lose more than I lost, to suffer more than I suffered,” Duke Jovan said.
“Yes, my lord,” Vadim said.
“I have orders for you, Vadim. Take me to them – to the laziest, most slothful of these peasant workers
– so that I may tell them what they need to hear,” Duke Jovan said.
“Yes, my lord,” Vadim said.
“We shall not go alone, however. Fenella! Guards!” Duke Jovan said.
From another room, a woman entered, followed by five (5) armed and armored guards, all brandishing crossbows.
“Yes, my lord, I will accompany you, to probe their thoughts, should any of the Silver Cup cultists be among them,” the woman – Fenella – said. She knew his thoughts, as she fearlessly probed them. Fenella was twenty-nine (29) years old, and completely trusted the duke, sharing his hatred for the Silver Cup Banquet cult.
“The Silver Cup Banquet is still a false promise in which some of them believe. They think they will be welcome guests at that banquet. Yet, it is a feast which will never come. We must eradicate that lie, along with the spirit of defiance and sloth,” Duke Jovan said.
“I will know if any are nearby. They cannot hide their beliefs from me, my lord,” Fenella said. She drank anew of the waters of the Elanatin Ocean from her vial and was energized.
“Guards, prepare to crush a rebellion. Your aim must be true,” Duke Jovan said.
The five (5) guards each drank anew of the waters of the Nabavodel Ocean from their vials and were energized. Their strength and speed were increased, so that they could react in case of conflict. The readied their crossbows to destroy any dissidents if the duke so commanded them or the situation called for it.
“Vadim, this shall be a surprise inspection,” Duke Jovan said.
“Under the cover of darkness, then, my lord?” Vadim asked.
“Yes, Vadim. Bring the darkness,” Duke Jovan said.
Vadim drank anew of the waters of the Ikkith Tar Ocean from his vial and was energized. He created a cloak of darkness over Duke Jovan, Fenella and the five (5) guards, but not over himself. He then guided them out of the castle, across its bridge over a swamp and onto the dry land around it.
