The Emperor Awakes

by Alexis Konnaris

  Ruins were re-arranging themselves. One could no longer accuse the city of being a ruin. People started to populate the landscape that had become a hive of buzzing activity. The noises of a busy city sifted through the air.

  It seemed that nobody could see Aristo and Katerina. The scene changed and continued changing. The throng of people multiplied and declined at an alarming rate and the scene was now changing at lightning speed.

  Two hundred years of illustrious history flashed before their eyes and then the scene settled. Aristo and Katerina searched for respite from the spectacle. They saw an inn that took their fancy and they quickened their pace, making a dash for its welcoming cosiness.

  Their destination was within reach when Aristo felt a pull at his sleeve. He stopped and Katerina, who had walked ahead, stopped in her tracks and turned back. Aristo found himself looking down at a tiny old man dressed in rags and beckoning him over to a shop of curiosities.

  They followed and upon entering the shop were surrounded by shelves upon shelves of potions and beautiful-smelling mouth-watering food delicacies. The old man had a face marked with a multitude of scars that drew frightening patterns across his face, scars that gave the impression of movement, or was it an illusion?

  ‘I have been expecting you. I have something for you. A gift and a message.’

  The old man handed Aristo what appeared like a package wrapped in a delicate luxuriant cloth. Aristo unwrapped it, but there was nothing inside. He looked suspiciously and with faint anger at the old man.

  ‘Who gave this to you?’

  The old man was silent and without a word rushed to the back of the shop. After a momentary hesitation Aristo and Katerina ran after him, but as they pulled away the thin curtain standing in their way and separating the public face of the shop from its private quarters, they saw nothing but an empty courtyard with a bunch of ruins and nothing else, totally deserted.

  The surreal quality of the moment and the disappearance of the old man allowed a sneaking suspicion to enter their minds. They were tempted to explore further, but defeated the curiosity bug and declined the invitation. They retraced their steps to the front of the shop and the door to the street they used earlier.

  As they exited the shop, they walked into hushed silence and the silent ruins of Mystras. No soul was in sight. Aristo turned to Katerina.

  ‘Where have all the people gone?’

  ‘Aristo, it’s as if we have come out of a dream.’

  They looked back at the entrance to the shop for an explanation, half-suspecting the shop not to be there. Their suspicion was confirmed. There was nothing there but a gaping hole where the door and the window display used to be.

  They appeared to be back to the ruined Mystras of their timeline as it was at the time that they arrived. The old man had said that they were to receive a gift and a message, but neither of the two had yet materialised. Little did they know that a splendid show was about to commence.

  It suddenly went dark. From amongst the ruins, figures appeared, slowly approaching them. They counted one, two, three … seven … eleven and it went on and on until countless numbers of them started to fill the square. At the same time lightning and thunder split the sky and a light rain began to fall. It felt as if the sky was being bled dry.

  In those brief moments of lightning, Aristo and Katerina got a haunting glimpse into the identity of the figures surrounding them. They were wearing the Vlachernaic emblems of dark purple with the double-headed eagle looking as if it was alive and ready to take a sweep at its prey and blight it out of existence. The figures started to speak with one voice.

  ‘We are the Vlachernae. We are Constantinople. We are the Empire. We are the last Emperor. Open your arms and receive what is yours. Find the heir and bring us life.’

  Katerina turned to Aristo confused and worried, wondering what to make of the spectacle before them. ‘Aristo. They are dead aren’t they?’

  ‘I think so.’

  One after another the figures came and stood in front of them and placed small bags at their feet. They then bowed and walked away, disappearing into the ether.

  Suddenly there was a ray of light that lit up the far Eastern corner of the square revealing the entrance to a previously unseen doorway. Aristo and Katerina collected the bags and put them in Aristo’s rucksack and started to make their way to the glowing doorway.

  They had only gone a few metres when another set of figures, dressed in black cloaks with a strange red symbol on their chest, descended on the square and seemed to be fighting an invisible army, the ruthless vein of hatred and vengeance clear in their violent actions. Aristo and Katerina were ignored, as if they were not there.

  Some of the figures detached themselves from the battle and started to make their way towards Aristo and Katerina.

  ‘Let’s make a run for the doorway. Come on. Hurry.’ Aristo grabbed Katerina’s hand and they ran. They reached the doorway as the black-clad figures fell one by one and the purple-and-gold-clad figures they first saw, appeared, and, after a short hand-to-hand combat, defeated the figures pursuing Aristo and Katerina. The purple-and-gold-clad figures then turned to Aristo and Katerina.

  ‘We are the Pallanians, guardians of the temple of knowledge. Those were Ruinands, our mortal enemies. You are now safe.’

  Aristo and Katerina both mouthed a ‘thank you’ and then turned towards the interior of what appeared to be a tunnel leading away from the doorway. They followed the tunnel to a chamber. Their eyes were drawn to the middle of the chamber where like a lone warrior, like the forlorn leftover of a battle, dominating the space and crashing its surrounding setting, was a statue, a defiant look in its strangely life-like eyes.

  The statue appeared to switch between a standing and a reclining pose. When they went closer, the statue settled into the reclining position. It seemed to be breathing, like a man asleep. The veins pulsated. The chest rose and fell.

  ‘Katerina, I have seen this face before. From images we have of the last Emperor, Konstantinos XI Palaiologos, this face does not appear to be his, but there, nevertheless, seems to have a strong resemblance to him. We are in Mystras, so judging by the man’s clothes and the diadem on his head, I would say that this is Demetrios Palaiologos, the brother of the last Emperor and Despot of Mystras or Morias, as it was also called.’

  Without realising that she was speaking in a low voice, as if she wanted to be careful not to disturb the sleeping man, Katerina turned to Aristo. ‘Shall we try and wake him?’

  They whispered in the man’s ear and gently shook him. They then repeated the action more forcefully, but the man remained sleeping. Suddenly, as if out of thin air, a ghost appeared before them. Katerina noticed a resemblance between the ghost and Aristo.

  ‘He looks like a carbon copy of yourself. I wouldn’t be able to tell you apart had it not been for the different clothes.’ Then the ghost spoke.

  ‘Aristo, I am Michael Symitzis, your ancestor. I am here to wake our sleeping beauty there.’ The ghost of Michael Symitzis laughed loudly before the laugh ceased abruptly and he continued. ‘I’ve heard this tune in the palace of Vlachernae in Constantinople and at the Despot’s palace here in Mystras.’ He revealed a cube that began to vibrate and emit birdsong of the most hypnotic beauty that filled the space and echoed against the threadbare walls.

  ‘Who dares wake me?’ The sleeping man, formerly a statue, had a voice and turned to look at them. Recognition mapped the man’s face. The ghost of Michael had disappeared.

  Katerina and Aristo remained silent and waited, still trying to take in what was being enacted before their disbelieving eyes which thought that they were being deceived and were struggling to absorb the strangeness of the scene, what resembled a play with not exactly the most comprehensible plot.

  The now woken man continued. ‘Ah, it’s Aristo and Katerina, isn’t it?

  Katerina was quicker to recover and reply. ‘And you are Demetrios Palaiologos, brother of the last Emperor, K
onstantinos XI.’

  ‘I am indeed. I just want to remind you about the inscription that Giorgos found in Cappadocia. That is the purpose of your quest. The unit that has been dismembered needs to be reunited and made whole again before the final rest will come. Inside the bags you will find the keys to places you will need to unlock to take you to your final destination. I mourn for my brother and his family and I don’t want to see them restless any more. Please, help us.’ And with that final word he went back to sleep and then, before their eyes, turned into a lifeless statue once more.

  Then a different ghost appeared.

  ‘I am Zozo. My father was Antonios Symitzis. Before you go I must tell you a story. It happened in 1921 A.D. in Smyrna. It was the day that Kostas Vendis …’

  Here the ghost of Zozo paused as she saw Katerina’s eyes expand in surprise at the mention of that name. She inexplicably nailed Katerina to the spot with a piercing gaze that made Katerina feel uncomfortable, as if she was being intensely probed inside the innermost reaches of her brain. Katerina recovered and fixed the ghost of Zozo with a piercing stare of her own.

  Zozo relented from her challenge, turned away, and assuming a gentle expression, resumed her story. ‘… yes, Katerina, that was your ancestor. He visited my father to show him an object that had recently come to his possession. It was an icon, more specifically one of the pair of Likureian icons, thought lost for centuries, since well before Constantinople fell to the Ottomans.

  ‘I was present during the meeting and I asked to hold the icon and study it. At some point, after the discussion had concluded, Kostas Vendis asked to see my father’s famous garden and they went outside. But I stayed behind. I was lost in my own thoughts admiring the extraordinary artistry of the icon when I heard a noise behind me.

  ‘When I turned, Stephanos, brother of Nikitas and Manuel Symitzis, son of the redoubtable Zoe Symitzis, was standing at the study’s garden door, which only seconds earlier my father and Kostas Vendis used to get outside. I welcomed him and asked him to sit with me. But I knew something was wrong when he didn’t extend his usual warmth nor did he give me a hug. He just kept standing there staring at me.

  ‘I didn’t try to go close to him and the awkwardness of the moment transformed to unease when in the next few seconds we had a staring-down match. Then he made his move. He walked briskly into the room. I was expecting that he would come to me and make up for his earlier reticence. However, he moved to the door of the study leading to the rest of the house, turned the key to lock the door and just stood there.

  ‘Realising the danger I was in, I sought a chance to escape and began to walk towards the door leading into the garden. When I reached it and was starting to feel the, as it turned out, premature relief of being outside, my path was blocked by two huge muscle-bound giants.

  ‘They gave me no time to react. Besides, I didn’t stand a chance to keep them at bay let alone go past them. Even if I were an insect, squeezing past them would only have a high probability, in no way would it have been a certainty. They held me, tied me up and gagged me and one of them picked me up as if I was a rug and weighed no more than a feather.

  ‘Before they left with me over their shoulders they turned to look inside the room. Stephanos was absolutely still when he spoke to them. He didn’t even dare to look me in the eye, which I would expect at least out of courtesy for old times’ sake. Perhaps there was a part of him, a human part that was embarrassed that he had to treat me in such a barbaric and humiliating way. “Give my regards to your master.” Stephanos said. “Tell him I will be joining him later today. I have to do something first.”

  ‘With that the two gigantic men left, but Stephanos stayed behind. He took the icon that I had dropped on the sofa. I know that, because I saw it in his hands later that day. This is what happened next.

  ‘An hour later, Stephanos was boarding a ship and welcomed by the attendant to the powerful Malenca Pasha. Attendant was a soft and unsuitable term. Bodyguard was more appropriate, for he was a sequoia of a man, wholly-built of and bursting at the seams with muscle piled upon layer of muscle, all dressed in black and with a menacing posture, leaving Stephanos in no doubt that he was in for a rough ride, if he put even the slightest foot wrong.

  ‘Stephanos knew he would no doubt have to use all his guile and play his cards right to get what he had come for. If the muscle robot before him was hoping to intimidate him, it was not working, Stephanos said to himself. Stephanos, despite his smaller size compared to his welcoming committee of one that looked as if he had devoured a few of his mates, was immune to fear and intimidation.

  ‘His host was relaxing on deck on a plush divan, a throwback to the Ottoman days of old and out of place in the Smyrna and the Ottoman Empire of 1921 A.D. With an almost imperceptible wave of his right hand, bowls with morsels of food and fruit and jugs of wine magically appeared before him. He motioned for Stephanos to sit down on some cushions next to him, but at a lower level than the divan, unashamedly indicating that Stephanos was beneath him.

  ‘Stephanos obeyed. Being summoned by such an important man as the Malenca Pasha, daring to cross him would be foolhardy at best. Even the slightest hesitation would be a challenge to the Pasha’s authority, a grave personal affront and possibly fatal.

  ‘His host looked at him with contempt while his eyes and the corners of his mouth belied his amusement. “Here comes the messenger. What do you have for me? I hope you have not come empty-handed.”

  ‘Stephanos’ nose twitched in a discreet sign of disgust at the arrogance and greed of the man, and resisted from looking away from the gluttonous specimen lying in front of him. Lying, surely, because he could not move by his own volition, on his own fuel, as he could not be bothered to waste the energy to do so.

  ‘Stephanos wondered whether his host ever stepped on firm ground; most likely the Pasha was always being transported on a glorified stretcher with reinforced suspension and undercarriage. Stephanos knew of the avaricious nature and appetite of the man for food, flesh and disposal of rivals or those he did not like and of anyone who dared cross him or merely cause him displeasure after having crossed his path. Stephanos cautioned himself to be careful.

  ‘The Pasha was studying Stephanos with intense curiosity. Was he trying to guess Stephanos’ thoughts? “I can smell your fear. Why are you still standing? Nobody is allowed to tower above me. Now, come and sit down. I promise I will not harm you, at least not on my home ground and not until you have ceased to have your uses.” The Pasha certainly did not mince his words. Stephanos knew the rare and priceless value of the Pasha’s promises. “Zoe does me an honour. Sending her most faithful and favourite lieutenant, or is it perhaps her second favourite lieutenant? Hmm?”

  ‘Stephanos cursed under his breath. The Pasha certainly knew to hit where it hurt the most. Stephanos had always been sensitive where it came to his brothers. And he was prone to constantly playing the game of rivalry with them for his mother’s affections, admiration and respect. But now was not the place to admit his weakness, his jealousy.

  ‘He would not allow himself to get riled or rise to the Pasha’s petty challenge. He would deny the distasteful specimen of a man, if he could be defined as such, lounging before him, the pleasure of being proven successful in his deliberate attempt to force an extreme reaction that would demean Stephanos in the eyes of those present by exposing his biggest weakness. Stephanos kept quiet.

  ‘“Now, I have been told that my other honoured guest has decided to join us and grace our humble gathering and honour us humble servants with her high and mighty presence. Tasty morsel, isn’t she?” At that moment, I, Zozo Symitzis, proud daughter of Antonios Symitzis, was being brought in on a chair carried by the two giants that abducted me, my hands and feet tied. The Pasha paused and looked at me, smacking his lips at a delicious thought, a lascivious expression distorting his face that looked as if it couldn’t hold its shape together and was sagging fast, surrendering to the will and charms of gravit
y to the point of melting, if it did not burst first. “We cannot deny her the pleasure of our company, now can we? Now, Stephanos, do you have my other gift?” The Pasha paused and clapped his palms together with glee. “Oh, I am so lucky, twice blessed in one day. Allah must love me so.” But delivery of the Pasha’s second gift, me, Zozo, being the first, would have to wait a bit longer as shuffling, sighing and whistling (surprisingly as such expression of approval was punishable with death which luckily for them the Pasha chose to ignore) interrupted proceedings with the promise of some kind of entertainment organised by the Pasha. The revelation was more exquisite than even the highest expectations of those present.

  ‘Ten pairs of eyes followed me, fully and beguilingly transformed into a jewel, as I was paraded in front of the crew and then put down on the deck next to the Pasha and, as far as I was concerned, too close for comfort. I made no attempt of resistance to the Pasha’s suggestive and blunt caresses which also indicated to those present that I was his and his alone, and none other had any right to look at me in a hungry way let alone touch me. And of course the prohibition to look at me was literal as my face was half-covered. I knew the Pasha was at that moment my master of mercy that held my fate in his hands, the power of life or death over me. Stephanos kept his counsel and said nothing. But the Pasha was evidently becoming excited and the first signs of drooling were visible.

  ‘The Pasha continued to caress my arm ever more intensely and invitingly, which made it all the more impressive that my self-control kept me from flinching away from the Pasha’s reptilian caress and affection. The Pasha’s actions, his open declaration of his intentions, made Stephanos tremble in disgust at the thought that the Pasha was planning to take me there and then before a cheering crowd, oblivious to the disgust and jealousy such an act might provoke. Stephanos had no doubt his horrible suspicion was not far off from what was going on in the Pasha’s mind at that moment. The Pasha broke the strange moment and partly allayed Stephanos worst fears, or, at least, postponed them.