Ages Unending_Dusk Into Dawn

by William Fewox

  “Your crew wanted to be entertained,” Matthias said bluntly.

  The ambassador pursed his lips, shaking his head. “My apologies. The crew were once slavers. Old habits die hard, I suppose.” He returned to his seat at the table, and poured a dark liquid out of a pot into two small, ceramic cups. “Sit, please.”

  Matthias lumbered over, gingerly sitting down. He looked suspiciously at the drink he was offered. “What is this?”

  “It’s called tea,” Bai Feng explained. “This is a special kind, should help the pain. Careful, it’s hot.” He grinned slightly as Matthias drank. “I am so sorry about all that has happened. As you can see, I’ve yet to start planting my crops again.”

  Matthias grunted and began scanning the room. Just as Derogynes said, he soon spotted his sword and shield, propped up next to a silk tapestry of twin crescent moons.

  Bai Feng’s violet eyes flitted over to where Matthias had been staring, but he quickly moved on. “You are supposed to be Stefan’s son, yes? That means your mother was Zhen Suyi.”

  Matthias nodded.

  Bai Feng leaned a little closer. “Can you describe her to me?”

  The warrior blinked, thinking for a moment. “She was very beautiful. Skin like yours. She had copper hair, like mine, and she had these eyes, they were like bright gems. I’ve never seen a color like them.”

  The Ambassador nodded, leaning back in his chair and sighing. “Yes. That was her.” He was silent for a moment. “Forgive me, I knew your mother. She belonged to a great family, you know. The Zhens of the Hulong Province have ruled that land for over three thousand years.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Bai Feng chuckled. “Yes, of course. When would you have had the chance? I was quite smitten by your mother. In a different life…” the ambassador shrugged. “I never quite understood what she saw in that scruffy, unkempt former slave.”

  “My father was—is—a great man,” Matthias said.

  The Jaoren nodded slowly. “Yes, yes, I suppose he is.” He paused to pour more tea. “Humans look at Stefan, and they see a redeemer. A liberator. But in Qingren, we know him as a reckoning.” The Ambassador looked up to Matthias. “I don’t blame him for what he did. Enslaving humanity was a terrible injustice. And I suppose after thirteen hundred years, we—Qingren deserved some form of humility. We had no idea a human could do the things your father did. He brought the greatest empire in the world to its knees, and he was relentless until the Hegemon finally set the human slaves free. Twenty years later, there are still deep scars from your father’s onslaught on the land itself.”

  The warrior’s face fell. “That doesn’t sound like my father.”

  Bai Feng grinned ruefully. “I suppose not. But it was him. Maybe you just haven’t seen the full extent of his power, but it was terrifying to behold. Done for a righteous cause, yes, but terrifying nonetheless.”

  Matthias nodded grimly. “Is this why you called me? To tell me this?”

  The ambassador shook his head. “No. My friend, I don’t like this business. I don’t want to sell people into slavery.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Bai Feng laughed. “You’ve never met Hegemon Kazan, have you? I must follow orders. The Hegemon is owed my loyalty.”

  “Any leader who makes you go against your principles is not worth following,” Matthias growled.

  Bai Feng looked the warrior over studiously. “I suppose you might actually believe that. There’s nothing to be done about it now.”

  “There’s always something to be done.”

  The Jaoren smiled sadly. “You’re young. You’ll learn that the world is more complicated than that. I am well aware that many, like you, do not deserve this fate. I am trying to soften the blow as best I can. Most of these slaves will not be sold to the mines or plantations, but will be taken as tokens of status by the great sage lords. They will, at the very least, be well cared for.” Bai Feng tapped a letter on his desk with an elaborate wax seal. “I’ve been in touch with the Zhens; they might even buy you, to spare you the indignity. They are, after all, your family.”

  Matthias glowered at the Jaoren, rolling his broad shoulders. “They are not my family.”

  Bai Feng shook his head. “But they are, Matthias. You can’t change that. Their blood is in your veins, and it’s not going away. Make peace with that. You have learned about your human history, but you are half Jaoren. You always will be. It would behoove you to learn your mother did not come from a race of evil demons.”

  “No, just slavers and tyrants,” Matthias sniped back.

  “We are more than that, my friend,” the Jaoren sighed. “Just as you are. We made some very big mistakes, and now, with an army of human slaves at our doorstep and the human king going mad with power, we are responding as best we can. If humanity need not suffer for the sins of its past, neither should we.”

  Bai Feng looked over his shoulder at the sword and shield Matthias’ eyes kept drifting over toward. “I beg you to stop thinking such violent thoughts when it comes to my people. Maybe in a few years, things will change. Kazan is not altogether a bad man; he’s just trying to protect the dignity of his people.”

  “I didn’t know Qingren had any dignity left to protect.”

  “Ah, yes. That sounds eerily like Suyi,” Bai Feng sighed. “I can see you’re in no mood to discuss this further. Return to the hold with the others. Believe it or not, Matthias, I’m trying to help you.”

  The warrior stood to his full height. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “You act as if I have a choice in the matter. I’ll send the ship’s healer to look after your wounds. Try to rest; we stop in Torinus, and then, we sail for Qingren.”

  Chapter 22

  The City of Man

  The Qingrenese chuan sailed the Altadarios for weeks before it reached Torinus. The human prisoners were allowed few comforts, but at least the fights had stopped; after Matthias left a hole in the deck, no one dared touch him, and the crew was in no mood to think up excuses to any further damage to the ship he might cause. During the days, the strongest, a list which usually began and ended with Matthias, were forced into menial work: scrubbing the ship’s decks, raising the sails, and anything else the crew were not particularly fond of doing. Any resistance was answered with a bolt of lightning from the commanding officer.

  Nights, however, were far more merciful. Bai Feng was quick to call for Matthias, and eventually Magnus, as well. The ambassador spoke little beyond idle chat, usually asking if they had been mistreated. At times, he would speak of things he missed about Qingren; magnificent palaces of jade and marble, tea gardens that had been enchanted to always be in bloom, and the quiet, still nights on his family’s estate.

  Magnus listened politely and added little, but Matthias never spoke. Every night, he would stare out at the horizon, where a single pinprick of light showed where his father was. Only, with each passing night, Cyril’s ship grew farther away, and the light fainter, until at last, Matthias could no longer discern the light of Cyril’s ship from the stars across the sky. Bai Feng barely noticed Matthias growing even more sullen; if anything, the Ambassador seemed desperate to prove himself friendly to the two of them. Two more days after losing sight of Cyril’s ship, Matthias was roughly woken up by the crew, as all the prisoners were gathered on deck, lined up, and locked in chains and manacles.

  “Alright, you dull-eared, pink-skinned chattel,” a Jaoren officer barked. “Torinus lies before us on the horizon, and we will dock within the hour. You are to be moved to the Qingrenese consulate, where you will be fed and cleaned, then we set sail for Qingren. As you know, we are here to serve, so, if there’s any complaints you would like to register…” the Jaoren smirked and flexed his fingers, sparks of lightning dancing in the palm of his hand. “Please do not hesitate to speak up. If there is any disturbance during your transfer, well.” He held up his other hand, and a ball of fire ignited to life. “You know we’re more than cap
able of dealing with the situation. Welcome to Torinus, my friends,” he extinguished the fireball, and gestured grandly behind them. “The City of Man.”

  Stoic though he was, Matthias’ jaw fell open as the city stretched along a sandy coastline in front of him. Under the rays of a sun tempered by winter winds, stout stone walls ringed around a collection of houses, temples, palaces, and markets dwarfing anything he had ever seen; Stefanurbem looked like it could fit in Torinus’ walls three or four times over. As the ship glided along the water, he could see ancient, tottering stone houses, huddled and piled upon one another, squatting in the shadow of monumental structures, palaces topped with domes of shimmering gold, and temples lined with towering columns and statues of strange, animal-headed men.

  “This is what Altun was like?” Matthias muttered in amazement, leaning down to Magnus next to him.

  The curly-haired man scoffed. “A husk of something long since dead. Don’t be fooled by the strong walls or the golden domes; this place hasn’t prospered for thirteen hundred years, and its soul was forfeit not long after.”

  The ship sailed into a harbor shaped like a crescent moon, and guarded by two eroded statues of dragons, their fangs and claws chipped and their features weathered away by time. On closer inspection, Matthias soon saw Magnus was correct about Torinus; the harbor’s cavernous arcades, used for storage, were in a poor state, with crumbling arches and some filled with refuse.

  As the Qingrenese ship weighed anchor, a crowd of hawkers and beggars swarmed the gangplank, only to be chased away by the harbor guards. Dressed in rusted armor and helmets with chain mail coifs that hid their faces, they batted the crowd away with swords in the shape of sickles and tall, square shields stamped with a sigil of two red dragons facing each other. Once the dock was cleared, the prisoners were led off the ship, and the ship’s officers began herding them into the city proper.

  Matthias, as always, earned more than his fair share of curious glances as he was led through the crowded streets. The people of Torinus were different from both Altani and Fosporian, with darker skin, loose, airy clothing, and a strange black paint that lined the eyes of both men and women. They moved with an air of superiority, throwing disdainful looks at the chained Fosporians shuffling around their city. Even as they were marched through streets filled with refuse and beggars with outstretched arms, it seemed that even the lowliest man in Torinus considered himself higher than the Fosporian captives.

  “Why do they stare at us with such scorn? What have we ever done to them?” Matthias muttered.

  “We’re slaves,” Magnus replied glumly. “They look at us that way because it’s easier to believe we deserve our fate than them admitting their guilt in selling us.”

  The overcrowded and decrepit houses of the poor neighborhoods clinging to the harbor gave way to the teeming markets of Torinus; here, Matthias was nearly overwhelmed with new and exotic sights. There were not only the humans of Torinus here, but the Jaoren and Tsuriin, Andrathi, and people he had never seen before. There were bearded men with horns and the legs of goats, giants that stood taller than even him, with tusks and skin like stone, and yet more strange men with the lower bodies of horses. For one fleeting moment, Matthias felt something akin to fear at all these strange, alien creatures around him.

  “Are these all people, like the Andrathi and us?” he whispered to Magnus.

  His friend smirked sardonically. “You’re looking at distinguished, noble races all; each with a history stretching back thousands of years. From the Centaurs of the Senatii Confederation and the Ollmhor tribes, to the Satyrs of the Kingdom of Beraket.”

  “The world can hold so many different peoples?”

  Magnus looked the warrior over. “You didn’t think the world ended at Stefanurbem’s harbor, did you?”

  The markets were crowded with stalls selling everything imaginable, from fruits and grains to weapons, ivory figures, silks, and animals. The wealthy of Torinus paraded around the markets, men and women in silk robes and gold jewelry born on litters carried by grim-faced servants. One watched with particular interest as Matthias and Magnus were marched past her. As a special guest of the Magisters and daughter of a king, Floriana had been afforded every luxury; the simple, elegant dresses she favored had been exchanged for a lavish gown of gold and white, with her red hair braided and wrapped around a gold diadem with a fluttering silk veil. Borrowed servants carried her litter, and guarded by three Inquisitors as she was touted around the market, but all the sights of Torinus fell away when she saw her friends being led through the streets in chains.

  The princess had to think quickly, as already, Matthias and Magnus were being led away. She signaled her servants to move directly towards the slaves, while quietly tearing a piece of silk off her clothes. Gently gripping her wand hidden in the folds of her elaborate dress, she seared a message into the strip of cloth before balling it up in her fist. She gave her wand the slightest of flicks to make her servant stumble as her litter was brought next to Matthias, and with a great, dramatic cry, Floriana flung herself out of the litter to make it look as if she had fallen.

  “Oh!” she cried, leaping to her feet after landing in a crumpled heap beside the warrior. “You great, stupid oaf, do you know who I—you!” With a display of disgust and anguish, she balled up her fists and began pounding on Matthias’ bare chest. “Heretic! Savage!”

  “Floriana?” Matthias stared down at the Princess in shock.

  “Do not address your betters!” She had to jump up to slap the huge warrior’s cheek. “I have seen the light of my father’s words; because of you, blasphemer, my aunt is dead!”

  Matthias sputtered. “What?” He caught her hand before she could land another punch. “I didn’t—I tried to protect Irene!”

  “You led her to her death, by twisting her mind against her own family!” Floriana put on a great display of blubbering tears, and only nodded her head slightly to get Matthias’ attention as she opened her hand. Matthias’ brow furrowed as he felt the silk bundle pressed against his palm.

  The princess spat in his face. “May you rot in the Tyrant’s Hell for your sins! My father was too merciful with such a beast as you!” She screamed, before storming back to her litter.

  “Move it, you great lummox!” a Tsuriin slaver shouted, and a shot of lightning hit Matthias square in the back. The warrior let out an angry grunt before continuing the shuffling march through the city.

  “What was that about?” Magnus asked. “You don’t think Cyril actually won her over, do you?”

  Matthias looked over his shoulder to make sure the slavers were not watching him, then unfurled the strip of cloth in his hand. “No.” He dared a grin. “She’s too smart for that.” He had some trouble deciphering the letters, but practicing with the primer had begun to pay off. Seared in the silk were six words. “Be ready. I will free you.”

  The ultimate destination for the three hundred captives was the Qingrenese consulate. It was an estate much younger, and, by the looks of it, far better cared for than most of Torinus. A tall, sprawling complex made of multiple buildings, its tiled roofs were sloped to an elegant point, and its walls were painted in hues of bright red and white. A large, iron gate swung open to admit them, and the slaves were herded into a cavernous warehouse.

  “Welcome, my friends.” The same smirking Jaoren who had overseen their transfer through the city appeared on a balcony overlooking the mass of humanity below. “These will be your lovely new accommodations. Do get comfortable, and stay quiet, because if anyone tries to leave, well…” The slaver chuckled, and then threw a burst of lightning above his captives’ heads, shattering a window high up the cavernous wall. Some of the captives winced, hiding their faces in their arms as shards of glass rained down on them. “Glad we’ve come to an understanding. Do make yourselves at home.”

  When the officer left, Matthias frowned. “I don’t like that man.”

  “What are we to do now, then?” Magnus asked.


  The warrior rolled his shoulders, looking around the room. “We get ready as best we can, like Floriana told us to.”

  Ambassador Bai Feng was the highest ranking official in the consulate, so it fell to him to decide what to do when Princess Floriana was announced on the consulate’s doorstep in the middle of the night. He was intrigued by what could bring a princess to her father’s political rival at such an hour, and so ushered her in. She was led to a lavish tea room, decorated with silk tapestries, giant ornate vases, and jade statues. She sat opposite the Ambassador on overstuffed cushions, as tea was served to both of them on a low table.

  “Will your guardian need anything, Princess?” the ambassador asked, glancing to the Inquisitor looming behind them. He was tall and imposing in his black robes, and he stood stock still, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

  “Ah—no, he’s fine,” Floriana said quickly. “He’s fasting. A religious obligation, you understand.”

  “Of course.” Bai Feng paused, trying to read the princess as he sipped his tea. “So. What brings you to me at this hour?”

  “There have been murmured whispers that the Hegemon grows tired of the game he and my father have been playing, that he is going to take more drastic actions.”

  Bai Feng showed no emotion as he calmly finished his tea. “The Divine Love of Heaven guides our Hegemon. Who can say where Providence will lead?”

  “I’m worried about my people, about Fosporia,” Floriana stated.

  Bai Feng arched a quizzical brow. “But not your father?”

  The princess balked. “I—” She cleared her throat, starting again. “My father is capable of protecting himself.”

  An aide stepped in, bowing low before whispering in the ambassador’s ear. “So he is.” Bai Feng rose, bowing to his guest. “Excuse me for a moment, Princess. I must attend to some small matter, then we can continue our discussion.”