Nothing but lies.
Оверман
4
Smell of Serf - The Coming of Aria - A Stick Becomes a Man
A LOUD TAN-TAHHH-RAHHH BOOMED AND ECHOED in the Great Hall of Bärenthoren, almost as loud as the guns of the Anhalt World Stormer. Those present who survived what happened next by holding on to their fragile sanity were nonetheless later subjected to the blackest of oblivion-cursed nightmares.
It all began with a troop of masked actors parading into the space between the two rows of long dining tables, waving to the audience and lifting their legs high as they stepped. The nobles, accustomed to such trumpets, behaved as if they barely noticed, so consumed were they with chatter and food and bad memories of the World Stormer. The actors, however, were determined to correct this mood. A half dozen of them blew into big black serpents—musical wind instruments covered in black leather and looking like slithering snakes. They blew and tooted and the remaining actors, at least twenty, skipped and marched.
Freddie watched them while finishing her soup and straining to remain polite to the young noblewomen to her left and right: Princess Hermine Reuss of Greiz and Princess Théodolinde de Beauharnais. Both were seated by Princess Johanna to "provide fitting company," but in reality to torture Freddie. Hermine wouldn't stop whining about her "scratchy bodice" and "the smell of serf" on the soles of her feet, while "Théodo the Terrible," as Freddie nicknamed her, blathered on and on about Prince Whoever of Whatever and how rumors said he often donned a golden codpiece etched with a Zeus hurling lightning bolts.
"Perhaps, dear Théodo, this cod-piece Zeus of might hurl a bolt at Hermine's feet and burn the smell of serf from them?" Freddie said. Both princesses stared at her as if she were impossibly difficult, for they wished only heaping doses of astonishment and sympathy for their petty ills and ambitions. Nothing else would do.
Another blast of trumpet. TAN-TAHHH-RAHHH.
Freddie welcomed the opportunity to ignore the princess duo and relieve herself of the desire to slap them. Before her eyes, the actors, in black masks and wearing clothing that symbolized both royalty and peasant class, staged a silent performance while the six serpent blowers stood outside the circle and played a mournful dirge. This performance, Princess Johanna's favorite, symbolized the ascension of royalty over chaos, and therefore, the establishment of rightful order in the universe. The peasants, fleeing chaos, found the stable and regal royalty waiting for them and fell to their knees in gratitude. Freddie had seen this stupid performance way too many times and it bored her to death. It dragged on like smallpox and gratefully ended as the third course of the meal was being delivered, a course that included boar, turkey, and peacock pie.
Before the performance ended though, as the servants scurried like mad and the general noise level in the Great Hall increased because Empress Elizabeth was braying loud as a drunken donkey, one of the actors in sack-and-rope peasant garb removed her mask and stared at Freddie from across the room. She was old, surprisingly old, especially since actor troupes were usually composed of young and penniless peasants. As Freddie watched, two of the other masked actors, both men, broke away from the group and escorted the older woman towards her.
The woman stared at Freddie as she walked forward, her eyes never straying until she stood a few feet before the table. Her two escorts, still masked, released her without a word and returned to join the performance. The old woman's eyes dropped to the floor and Freddie looked her over. There was nothing special about her. Her garb plain, hair white and roughly brushed, her face resembling a water-starved desert of lines and cracks, as one would expect.
Before Freddie could speak, a voice nearby said:
Sing the body young.
A voice from the old woman? No. The voice belonged to a man, and it sounded strange and deep in tone.
Sing the body young.
Again. She looked around. Nothing. Only Hermine and Théodo acting witless as usual, and not even paying attention to the old woman. Why are they not seeing her? Do they not realize how odd this is?
The voice once more:
O poder é a vida ea morte, Princess von Anhalt.
Freddie knew that language. Galician, yes. A rare language of Spain, heavily influenced by Roman Empire. It translated to "The power is life and death."
Sing the body young.
Her fingers pricked for a moment and she realized the source of the voice: Temujin Gur. It must be him! And as she made that realization, she abruptly felt the heat well up within her. She reached for a goblet of water and gulped it down in an attempt to quench the heat and stop the voice. But she could not. It formed words and they rose up from the depths of her being into her throat, each word like a ball of warmth blowing onto her tongue:
"Meu segredo está oculto."
My secret is hidden ... He made me say it. That spell crafting demon! She strained her eyes for him. Zolo, Willie, or whoever was right. Tricks, illusions. And what did the words mean? What secret was hidden?
Sing the body young.
The words forced her to look at the old woman again. Now the woman's eyes lifted and bored into her. Freddie's face began to burn. Her skin felt as if dozens of small fingers walked lightly over it, almost spider-like. What in Beelzebub's name? The woman's eyes implored Freddie to act, as if a terrible thing would happen if she did not.
Sing the body young, Princess of Anhalt!
Upon hearing this, she felt more words heating in the oven of her being, desiring to erupt from deep inside, and this time with an aria-like force. As before, the Galician song words brimmed above her eyes and rushed beyond her lips even as they moved:
Como os ollos de Ahriman luz dadaaaa
Deixe a maldición do temmmpo
Ser levantada a partir de ti.
(Like the eyes of Ahriman given light / Let the curse of time / Be lifted from thee.)
With an operatic voice, Freddie sang, and the words sounded alien-rich and blended, as if another voice sang them, a nonhuman voice perhaps, though waving rhythmic and repeating with clear vibrato, stressing and held:
En nome de Deus e Saravastraaaaaa,
Eu restaura-lo á belezaaaa!
(In the name of God and Saravastra / I restore you to beauty!)
Freddie and the old woman locked eyes. The old woman's face flushed red and twitched, her eyes watered, and as Freddie watched, the face began to change. Like a ripple that begins from a stone striking water, the water of the old face shook. A transformation began. It flowed out from the center and spread to the edges. The desert of her skin softened, the cracks dampening and evaporating, on and on, until her youth was restored.
But only for a few moments.
My God!
The woman's body began to shake terribly. Tears ran more heavily from her eyes. Her face quaked and sagged again, as though the magical force that stretched her skin had evaporated, and she grew old once more. Freddie gasped. Still, not as old as before. Then all was quiet—the woman having gained at least 20 years of youth. She now appeared 50 or so, and Freddie appeared stunned.
Was it all a trick?
You are a World Maker. Your powers will not be denied.
The voice again. My powers? Powers now or more trickery? And who or what is Ahriman? Freddie turned around to futilely search for the source of that irritating voice, believing Temujin Gur hid behind her, but a shrill scream brought her around. Princess Hermine bellowed like a wounded warthog, lurching up from her chair to point downward. Freddie looked to see the woman collapsed dead on the floor.
My God and father! Have I done this?
From out of nowhere, the two masked actors appeared again and whisked her body away. Freddie felt dazed, stammering inside herself. Hermine simply sat back down, her face baffled for a moment, then stuffed a cheese wig into her mouth before resuming her prattle. In the background, the black serpent horns continued to blow. The nobles never stopped their chatter and posture, and the castle servants never stopped scu
rrying back and forth with drinks and plates full of food.
The woman's death was of no more importance than that of an insect.
Before Freddie could react, the trumpets blasted again. TAN-TAHHH-RAHHH, TAN-TAHHH-RAHHH. The actors turned and high-stepped out of the Great Hall, waving to the nobles and bowing before Empress Elizabeth as they passed. Empress Elizabeth shouted out, "Long life to all of you!" Her left hand raised a wine glass as if toasting the troupe while her other hand banged on the table—her expression portraying the amount of fun and wine she'd been gulping nonstop. The two hundred or so European nobles in attendance likewise raised their glasses and banged their hands, harrumphing and "Long Life" muttering like a bunch of stupid sheep.
Freddie realized the callousness of it all. Long life, yes, except for those who drop dead before your eyes! But seriously, did she need to grow up? Was it realistic to expect the momentum of the royal banquet to slow and stop for the death of a peasant? Or to expect the selfish sheep to care? Of course not. Still, that did not justify the absolute invisibility of the death, represented most profoundly by that damnable cheese-wig munching Hermine. As for the other princess, she had acted absent, as though the woman were invisible to her the entire time.
TAN-TAHHH-RAHHH, TAN-TAHHH-RAHHH.
Empress Elizabeth rose up from the table, her left hand lifting a wine goblet into the air as if to toast. Most of the nobles hadn't noticed yet. Prince Christian, a few places down from Freddie, stood and thrust his wine glass into the air, calling across the room, "Empress Elizabeth!" The nobles turned and stared at her. She held the glass in the air, saying nothing.
TAN-TAHHH-RAHHH.
Finally, the Empress spoke: "A toast to the marvelous company here and the hospitality of Prince Christian and Princess Johanna of Anhalt!" The crowd of nobles raised their glasses and echoed her toast, almost in unison. Prince Christian opened his mouth to say something, but Empress Elizabeth cut him off. "As a treat for all of you, my personal aide and friend, Prince Gur, heir to the throne of Mongolia, will provide more entertainment! I know you will enjoy it!"
The room went silent. Freddie froze. Her eyes scanned for the spellcrafter. He was not beside the Empress. Where was he? She looked over at her father, Prince Christian, and he appeared surprised. A glance further to her mother confirmed the surprise. None of this was planned.
The Empress sat back down.
TAN-TAAAAHHH-RAAAAHHHHHHHH.
The blast, even louder and longer than the others, shook Freddie. Prince Christian turned in the direction of the trumpets, his face curious and annoyed, as if he were saying to himself, 'Who keeps blowing those damn trumpets?'
Then everything changed.
A gigantic black stick, at least twenty feet long and three feet thick, entered the Great Hall. It twirled end over end in the air from one side of the hall to the other. Back and forth between the rows of tables it went, way above the heads of the nobles—all of them too dumbfounded and fearful to say a word. It was round as a peg and inscribed with Chinese-like symbols etched in light red gold. It made no sound. Only the air whooshing as it revolved on an invisible axis.
On the fifth pass, it halted and behaved like a windmill above the space where the actor troupe had performed only minutes before. It turned faster, and faster, and a whirlwind began in the Great Hall. The dresses of the ladies fluttered and men's wig tails flapped, and the candles winked out, hundreds of them. The Great Hall sunk into a hellish, firelight darkness. Long and monstrous shadows were cast by the castle fireplaces now roaring even hotter due to the wind while all present watched in awe. Still, no one spoke, though a few of the women began to moan as if possessed, Princess Hermine among them.
Freddie watched the thing whoosh-whooshing, hovering and spinning in the darkness, and within moments it began to glow, end to end with the pale light of old parchment, a jaundiced light of yellow-eye sickness. Freddie looked down to see the face of Empress Elizabeth in that pale light, and she was grinning. Apparently, the phenomenon not only failed to surprise the Empress, it actually amused her. This fact dampened Freddie's alarm a bit, though not entirely. Too many questions to ask, and that giant stick whipping about in the air, glowing like a mad magician's disease. And the wind, and the threat.
A man's voice shouted, "By Joseph's beard, look!"
The stick began to slow and stop. For a few seconds of silence it rested in the air, parallel to the stone floor, and it growled. Yes. That was what Freddie heard. A loud and earsplitting GRROWWRRRRR sound exploded from it, louder and more savage than the growl of any earthly animal. And once the dragon-like echo of it died, a single dropped glass broke the silence that followed. Dozens of servants fled to the kitchen, the sound of smashing china reverberating in the air as they fumbled stacks of plates in their rush to escape certain doom. A noblewoman shrieked too. Then another, and Princess Hermine began shrieking, and Princess Théodo, and the air in the Great Hall went shrill with one big shriek as the noblewomen found their courage for terror—all except for Freddie. Though shaken like everyone else, she felt an echo of her previous power and wished for words to sing the thing to black ashes.
TAN-TAHHH-RAHHHHHHHH, TAN-TAHHH-RAHHHHHHHH.
The return of the trumpets drowned them out to whimpers and sniffles, the voice of Empress Elizabeth arriving next like the voice of a Titan:
"BE SILENT AS A DEAD MOUSE, ALL OF YOU!"
Behind her, Freddie heard a clanking commotion of steel. She turned to see her father, followed by a contingent of the castle guard armed with muskets, racing behind the tables and curving around to the back of the Great Hall. Did they plan to restart the World Stormer of Anhalt and pit it in battle against the giant stick? But no time to consider. The thing began to glow brighter, the once-pale light pushing out to jaundice the eyes and flesh, to make all faces in the Great Hall appear wan and mummy-like; and too, fetid odor accompanied the light, arriving as if from a place of death.
Freddie felt the urge to gag. Princess Hermine doubled over and vomited out her cheese wigs. Freddie reached for a goblet of water, and as Hermine continued to heave, Freddie watched the floor before her evaporate. The stone tiles of the Great Hall, directly below the floating black stick, sizzled and steamed to nothing, leaving a giant black hole big enough to drive five World Stormers into at once. And neither Freddie or anyone else could have prepared for what came next—indeed, no mortal could, not even Empress Elizabeth who now jerked her head around as though desperate to find someone important who was inexcusably missing.
Freddie gasped. A swarm of black things blew suddenly up from the hole.
They flew into the air above the stick and swooped back down. Seven of them. Each a black shadow shaped into a human-like body. Thin threads of soft light interwove within the limbs, head and torso, like glowing webs of nerve shimmering a delicate blue. No mouth or eyes, though small, soft balls of bluish-green luminosity floated in their heads. A home for a soul? They made no sound, only rushed past each other in the air, circling and diving, up and down, forming a big ball of frantic yet deliberate movement in the way of black crows when attacking a predatory hawk.
Everyone in hall just stared, utterly stupefied, until the Duchess of Saxe-Altenburg shouted, "Satan's servants are among us!"
Then the music began.
It emanated from the hovering black stick, eerily similar to the music played by the actor troupe on their serpent horns, but a mind-twisting version that grew louder and louder, and as it did, a few of the nobles began to violently lose their minds. The pale jaundiced light, the fetid odors, the macabre apparitions darting about, and now this sickening music proved all too much for them. Despite the order of the Empress, new screams broke out. Freddie heard a banging sound and saw the Prince of Halberstadt on her right, several places down, ramming his head into the table. Two other noblemen, stirring up much clatter as they did so, sprang up and ran in a panic from the Great Hall—one of them, the immensely fat Duke of Oldenburg, tripping and falling, l
osing his wig in the process, though scrambling to his feet like a frightened pig to resume his bolt to the door.
Princess Théodo shrieked out, "Our escorts to Hell!" and began to weep hysterically. And the Empress heard and saw all this. Freddie watched her eyes go flaming mad, and she rose up, high and regal as the goddess Hera, and shouted:
"I SAID BE SILENT, YOU WHIMPERING CROCODILES!"
As though in response to the Empress, the music stopped.
The seven swooping black figures halted also. They lowered their arms to their sides, and as they did, a thunder shook Bärenthoren Castle. Freddie heard it and felt it in her feet and up to her eyes; and in the midst of the thunder rattling Princess Johanna's priceless china, as well as the nerves of all present, downward the figures drifted towards the open black hole. As they drew near, the floor reformed itself in a moment, became whole again. The black figures landed soundlessly, standing erect in a circle, their faceless heads turning about as if taking measure of the considerable fear and awe in the room. A moment later, they swiveled to face each other and began cavorting about, high stepping and leaping in a grotesque manner that made no sense to Freddie until she realized:
They’re mimicking the entertainment troupe.
Was the intention to mock the nobles? They poked fun at Princess Johanna's beloved chaos-to-order theme, and the Empress began to laugh. Those nobles closest to her on the Russian side stared at her and tried to laugh in imitation, and in a few moments, the entire hall was engulfed in throes of weak and strained laughter. Even if forced, it provided some form of relief, and yet, it all struck Freddie as so very dark and bizarre.
Are we all dead then and in no need of escorts to Hell?
War of the World Makers Page 7
