by Erik A Otto
Still, there could be much worse Announcements…
Suddenly Hella didn’t feel comfortable talking to Granth anymore, despite the fact that he might be her future husband, or maybe because of it. She knew little of flirting and courtship, since her parents had kept her so removed from any chance at meeting eligible men.
Hella stuck her chin out. “Well, whatever my Announcement may be, keeping me uninformed seems to be a game my parents and their friends like to play. You will have to excuse me, General. I must get changed for the occasion.”
As she stood to go, she immediately regretted the comment. Her discomfort had made her testy. And, no matter his station, it felt profoundly unfair that the general knew what lay in store for her.
Granth didn’t seem to take offense, however. He only laughed. “Yes, by all means, Princess. I look forward to the ceremony. I’m sure you will enjoy your new assignment.” He winked at her.
She did a quick curtsy and made her way back up toward her bedchamber. Strange man, she thought. Perhaps it was encouraging that he would wink at her so. It could be a flirting gesture, or on the other hand…maybe it was patronizing?
She could hardly know.
She returned to her chamber feeling more uncertain than ever.
Hella weighed whether it would be appropriate to be fashionably late to her own Announcement. Of course, what was fashionable depended on the nature of the Announcement, of which she knew little. She considered keeping the same outfit as at dinner, but her parents would never forgive her, and she’d told Vanaden Granth she would change. She ended up wearing one of her most conservative outfits. It was a long dark formal dress with subtle maroon features of the Pomerian crest embroidered into the sides.
As she made her way to the audience chamber, she noticed there wasn’t the same fanfare she’d seen at Aisha or Petra’s Announcements. With Aisha, many of the townsfolk corralled outside the doors with hors d’euvres being served and string musicians strumming tunes. Petra’s was even more festive with a formal party before and after. But here it seemed an ordinary day with only servants bidding her well-wishes through the hallways.
When she arrived at the audience chamber, it was no more lavish. It seemed to be only the dinner guests plus a few clerics to record the event. The lack of pomp made Hella’s neck feel clammy, but she gave her most brilliant smile. She stole a glance at the general out of the corner of her eye, but his eyes were unreadable.
“Hella, welcome. Please come before me, Princess.” Her mother beckoned her forward with a perfect smile. Hella glided onto the low platform before her mother and curtsied.
The queen asked an unusual question then. She broke her smile, losing her regal air momentarily. “Are you ready, Hella?”
Hella didn’t know what to make of it, except to note the seriousness of such a departure from formality. She remembered what she was supposed to say. “Yes, I’m ready, your eminence. Please, tell me how I can honor Pomeria with my service.”
Her mother nodded to the cleric on her right.
The cleric began by tolling a bell three times as a formal proclamation of the Announcement. Then he unraveled a parchment and projected his voice into the room. “Here on this 329th day of the 716th year of the Age of the Crossing, the king and queen of Pomeria hereby have the honor and privilege of announcing the appointment of their daughter, Princess Hella Pomerain, to the role of royal emissary for the kingdom. Henceforth she shall be known as Envoy.”
Hella’s heart jumped with joy at the first paragraph of the recital. Her title was exactly what she’d hoped for. Her mind raced thinking of which of the great nations she would be assigned to. Perhaps her father had tired of traveling to Belidor and Thelonia. She also felt some relief that she wouldn’t be married off to the general, especially after their uncomfortable meeting.
But the next paragraph so crushed her that she could barely breathe.
“For her first assignment, the princess will be representing Pomeria in the lands of our respected neighbors to the west. She will reside in Judud Jawhar and be an advocate for peace and economy with our Jawhari neighbors.”
Judud Jawhar? A torrent of childhood tales of blasphemy and wartime atrocities assailed her, making her stomach turn uncomfortably.
As the audience was mostly seated just across from the queen, she could see many of their faces. Her siblings all reacted with incredulous glances at one another. They clearly hadn’t known. But all the others were like stone. They must have known at dinner. They might have even been complicit in this… travesty. Granth was there as well, donning a knowing smirk.
Her face felt hot as her stomach turned.
The cleric continued, “Respected guests, this first appointment of an emissary for the Jawhari nation marks an important milestone to ensuring a lasting peace and prosperity for us and our neighbors. Before we finalize this appointment, do any of our respected guests wish to speak regarding the matter?”
There was a moment of silence.
The cleric continued, “We then urge—”
“I have something to say,” a man interjected, standing. It was Mr. Pontrain, one of the noblemen representatives from the Jawhari borderlands she’d met at dinner.
Mr. Pontrain cleared his throat. “With respect to you, my queen, put simply, Hella is a young girl. That has ramifications both in terms of her suitability to this task and how the Jawhari will treat her. Shouldn’t we consider a senior military officer or someone more seasoned in diplomacy? I beg forgiveness, but I speak candidly from my knowledge of the Jawhari.”
Pontrain’s objection was unusual. The solicitation for speakers was just a formality. No one ever actually said anything during the announcements.
Her mother paused, but kept her poise. She then responded with an icy glare at Mr. Pontrain. “The princess is a lady perfectly suited to this task, I assure you, nobleman. We will be ensuring a protective escort for her given our…more delicate history with the Jawhari.”
Mr. Pontrain seemed about to differ, then reconsidered. “Yes, your eminence. Beg my pardon.”
Mother turned to look at the cleric impatiently.
The cleric read from the parchment again. “We…we then urge you to congratulate the princess for this prestigious appointment. Thank you for your fealty and service.”
No one clapped, and no one came up to her after to congratulate her. She heard harsh whispers among her siblings. Mr. Pontrain confronted her mother again, but she dismissed him with a look of quiet hostility that Hella had rarely seen. Then Mother moved toward her.
As Mother navigated her way through the small crowd, the urge to flee became too great. She couldn’t look into her eyes. Mother reached for her, but Hella could offer only a muddled “excuse me” and had to turn away. She moved as fast as she could from the audience chamber without tripping, evading guests, servants, and clerics alike, even running up the spiral stairs until she could finally collapse safely on the floor behind her chamber door.
Chapter 6
The Truthseeker
Forefather ruins could be full of many dangers. Besides silverstone, there were smelly chemicals and materials that could cut and sicken you, not to mention the animal infestations that the Sandaliers were loathe to speak of. Ultimately this was why the monks had cleansed them from the realm.
But that was just the physical, present danger. Sebastian was more concerned about how this would be judged by the Sandaliers. Simply withholding knowledge of an undiscovered Forefather ruin from the Sandaliers was a crime. To explore one without monk supervision…that could be considered a greater insolence.
Perenna stepped back into the stone corridor that led to the shelf at the water’s edge, her head bowed in prayer. Again, Perenna remained pious, ever true to protocol. Sebastian was sure she would stay where she was, and when they returned to the keep, she would diligently report on the existence of the ruin, just as the Sandaliers required.
As for Timothur, he looked cautious. He wat
ched Perenna step back, then he surveyed the expanse of the ruin slowly, as if it was some Jawhari enemy he was watching advance on him. “We will need to report this at the Old Keep,” he said. “I’m sure you understand, Nala.”
Nala only shrugged. “If you think so. It’s only a bunch of weird stuff and old houses people used to live in. I don’t care if they come take it away. I just thought you would want to see it.” She maintained her focus on Sebastian.
Sebastian was interested. But he was also torn by the strict doctrines of the faith. Yes, he could stand aside and report the incident with Perenna and Timothur, but there was something burning in him that made him want to explore. Wouldn’t it be better to give a detailed account to the Sandaliers? Was there something here that might shed light on the narratives in the Book of Canons? His father had to fraternize with naustics and savages during his quest, and he was lauded as a visionary. How was walking through a Forefather ruin any different?
Sebastian’s curiosity won out. “I agree with you, Timothur. We need to report this, but we should give an accurate account. What if this is a Fringe encampment from long ago instead of a ruin? What if there is another, more accessible point of entry? This could help the monks decide how many monks to bring, and how to approach the ruin. I recommend a brief examination of the surroundings before we leave, so that we can provide a detailed report.”
Timothur squinted. For a moment his breathing could be heard, his exhalation channeling noisily through his broad nasal cavity. Then he responded, “I will not agree or disagree with you, Harvellian. You know the Sandalier ways better than I.” He crossed his arms aloofly.
Sebastian read his response to mean the risk was his alone to take. Perhaps, but then the reward was also his to reap.
Meanwhile, Nala had been smirking as if their discussion was woefully unimportant. Her face brightened once it was clear Sebastian would be joining her. “Let me show you a few things!” She motioned for him to follow.
Sebastian hesitated, glancing at Perenna and Timothur one more time, then he walked toward Nala, fronting an air of confidence.
At first Nala showed him the jagged remains of a metallic wall where they could see their distorted reflections. He’d seen silverstone in swords and on the jewelry of traveling Fringe, but never like this. This silverstone shined, not even a bit mottled and tarnished. He touched the material where it wasn’t covered in vines or mold. It felt unlike anything he had ever touched, like silvery ice, but ice that didn’t wet your fingers.
They passed through and around a number of old foundations. There were several walls that had fallen, covered in moss and vines. In one place a stubby tree pierced through an old windowframe, its trunk expanding the aperture.
He couldn’t tell where the center of the town was, if there was one.
Nala danced through much of the ruin without paying much attention. She was headed toward a depression in the terrain, where there was a squarish basin covered in sparse grasses. It was about as deep as a man, or in some places a little deeper, depending on where one descended from the periphery. One corner of the basin was slick with mud where it looked like rainwater had drained down over many years, escorting dirt in with it. The walls of the basin were made of the same metallic silverstone material, but these featured a number of geometric patterns that extruded from the surface. As he toured around the outside and looked down from above, he also saw what was clearly a door with writing and symbols on it.
The writing held his attention. It could be something important.
He arrived at the shallowest portion and looked for a way to climb down. After considering the situation, he rolled several larger rotting wood beams into the basin to ensure he had enough height to get back out again. Then he descended.
The ground was waterlogged, causing his feet to stick in halfway up his ankle. “Euwww,” Nala exclaimed when she experienced the same phenomenon on her way down.
Sebastian carefully made his way across the basin toward the door while extending his hand back to Nala to help her through. His footsteps were exaggerated in order to traverse through the mud without getting stuck. Once he was close enough to the door, he could see there was a placard that was old and worn beside it. The writing on it was clear enough, in perfect Belidoran. Beside it was an inscription marked in a foreign language, faded and unintelligible.
Maybe this inscription was the language of the Forefathers? He couldn’t make sense of it, so he read the clearer placard instead. It read:
Day 19, Year 512, Age of the Crossing.
Here in this vicinity is a condemned ruin by order of Conductor Balladuros and the Matagon Monks. The site will be cleansed imminently; any trespassers and abrogates will be prosecuted.
Humblest,
Zaquarias Reid
Sebastian’s recent studies of the narratives in the Book of Canons rushed back to him. Zaquarias Reid was one of the most famed Matagon Monks, part of the group of five. These monks worked to remove the strange artifacts of the Forefathers, and brought an end to many of the blasphemous practices of the dark ages of two hundred years ago.
If he recalled correctly, Reid had been one of the four monks who died valiantly in the Second Jawhari War. The Jawhari had sent a surprise attack force against Belidor when the Old Keep was undefended. A group of four monks and twenty townspeople intercepted the raiding party at the town of Rios and fought them for a day and a night. Of the twenty-four Belidorans, all except one died, but they decimated two hundred of the three thousand–strong Jawhari army. Reid was among the dead.
But if this story was true, was it possible that Reid was held up in the battle of Rios and never had the chance to remove the ruin? Did he even have the chance to report the ruin’s existence?
Sebastian looked at the foreign script on the left again. He could understand “Mattean ordinance of…and maintenance…district…” but half the words were illegible.
The grip of his curiosity only grew tighter after reading the placard. He needed to find a way in the door. Scanning it from top to bottom, he first tried the obvious: a handle embedded in a semicircular indentation. The handle felt loose and pliable, but when pushed, the door wouldn’t move. When he pulled, the door gave only a little.
Looking down, he saw the door’s path was blocked by sedimentary dirt. Without seeing any useful digging implement nearby, he knelt and began to scrounge away at the base with his hands. Nala joined in the task.
Knowing that Timothur and Perenna might be watching him, he felt sheepish, like a child digging in a sandbox. He told himself he shouldn’t feel embarrassed. He was doing this for the benefit of the realm, to learn more about the Forefathers and their strange ways.
At one point, when pulling away the wet, sandy dirt and spindly roots, he developed a slight feeling of vertigo, but he thought nothing of it. Perhaps it was because of the exertion, or perhaps the exhilaration of what he might find behind the door.
Eventually the soil was cleared away. He again tried the handle, and the door moved slightly more than the last time but then hit some unforeseen impediment embedded in the doorframe.
Nala stated the obvious. “I think it’s locked.”
Frustrated, he tried the handle more forcefully, hoping the lock would have weakened, perhaps even rotted, after all these years. The door didn’t appear to move, but again he had another feeling of vertigo, this one stronger than the last.
Nala spoke, her voice taking on a higher pitch. “Do you feel that? I don’t know if the ground is stable here. Maybe we should go back.”
It was the first sign of caution he’d seen in Nala…ever, and for that reason, Sebastian considered her words carefully.
Sebastian grabbed Nala’s hand, and they backed away from the doorway. Then Sebastian paused to contemplate the situation. Nala kept walking back toward the rotting wood blocks, and one of her footfalls went deep into the mud, twice as deep as on their way in. “Sebastian, can you help me?” She sounded anxious.
Sebastian reflexively moved over to Nala. She reached down and tried to extricate her foot again but was unsuccessful.
“Hold my hand,” Sebastian said. Nala looked up and extended her hand to his. He positioned himself for maximum leverage in the mud and pulled her toward him with both hands.
And the ground fell out from underneath them.
Sebastian’s clasp on Nala was lost in a flurry of mud, bone masonry, rotten wood, and silverstone. He landed on something, somewhere, in a bruising fashion.
He was face down. With a violent push, he threw a mess of material from atop of him and wiped away dirt from his eyes. Blunt pain emanated from his chest and hand. His push had made a sufficient enough opening to clear his upper body, but there was still debris on his legs. He gasped for air and examined the surroundings.
As far as he could tell, he was in an underground chamber, although little could be discerned beyond the confines of a shaft of light cast by a rent in the ceiling above him. Twisted silverstone and wood fragments dangled from the aperture.
Nala lay on the ground next to him. Unlike Sebastian, she was fully on top of the rubble, rocking back and forth, holding her foot. She wasn’t making a sound, yet her face was a mask of anguish.
Sebastian shifted his body left to right, making enough space around his legs to grab at some of the structural pieces that were trapping him. There were a number of solid rectangular blocks that seemed to have been between the silverstone layers of the ceiling. These weren’t made of wood but rather a wood-like material. They appeared rotted on the edges, which may have ultimately caused the collapse.
“Nala, by Matteo’s grace, are you all right?” he called to her while prying the remaining material off.
Nala was wiping something from her eyes. Whether it was tears, dirt, or dust, he couldn’t be sure. “I think my ankle is sprained. I hope it’s just sprained.” She mustered the nerve to stand and test it out. It looked weak, but she was able to put some weight on it with only a little wincing.
