Well. I wish I had the image from Elisabeth that really inspired this story, but alas, I do not. Keep in mind that what you are about to read is not only not proofread, edited, or even coherant, but it had good stuff in it.
Mauve Empress
She stared out across the dunes of a sandy wasteland, trying with every fiber of her body to ignore the despair and sense of foreboding that threatened to overwhelm her. The heat was oppressive to one raised in a cool, seaside manor half a continent away. Unusual violet eyes scanned the vista before her; the party was perched on a dune overlooking the massive keep, half carved into the cliffside. Three towers soared into a perfect blue sky, each flying a different colored banner. There was the solid black of the Dunes. And, she supposed, in honor of her own arrival, the plum colored banner of her own homeland, Arbinia. The third was the brilliant white flag, edged in gray, which annouced a time of mourning - it had only been six days since the death of The Dune's previous ruler. Five since the heir's ascendancy.
And it was for the Heir to the Dunes that she stood here, rivulets of sweat slipping down her pale cheeks, sand and dust creating a fine film upon her (formerly) pristine white leather trousers and matching riding gloves, her thin lavender silk blouse. At his request- No, she thought bitterly, His command, she had come five days across three kingdoms with half a day's notice. She had been bid to wed him, for no Emperor had ruled the continent unmarried for seventeen generations; since a seven-year-old heir had taken the throne after his Uncle's murder. That very murder had lead to the House of Sierra's dynasty in the Dunes. For each following generation, the eldest male son - legitmate or not - of the Emperor had taken the throne. Violet eyes narrowed as the enormous iron gates opened far below. She had been dragged half-way across the Realm, she had been commanded to marry a man she had never met let lone fallen in love with, and she would indeed, be required to breed him up the next generation of Sierra's emperors.
Fury seething beneath the calm facade she presented, Lillith - First Daughter of the House of di Pasqua, a powerful Lordship on the southwestern coast of the Realm - ground her teeth as she watched the party approach from below. He was the very image of his long dead mother, Empress Fualle, with her dusky-rose complexion and iridescent green eyes. The features were hers, though refined to create a more masculine profile. He was attractive, none would deny that, with a body kept lean by long days on horseback and a shock of silvery hair - the only discernable trait inherited from his father. It was common in the Sierran House, though most often it was a single streak. Emperor Sefiro was the first Sierran, male or female, in ten generations to inherit a full head of silver hair. His twin however, a young sister who had died tragically a decade ago, had also borne the silver mane.
"I will not be a broodmare," she had argued, when her mother came to her suite to relay what she considered to be happy tidings. "I am a woman with feelings as well as a womb! I have never met the man, how can he swear undying love to me?"
"But Lillith," her mother had said, eyes aglow, "You will be Empress of the Realm! You cannot refuse such an honor. To even be considered by his Highness, ah! And love may come later...in time. The important thing is that he chose you to be his wife. Can you not show even a smidgeon of excitement? Think of what this will do for Arbinia, to have its First Daughter become Empress."
She had snorted, "And that is all that matters, is it? Not my feelings, not my desires! Was I ever consulted before my destiny was set in stone? Of course not. First Daughter, I may be, but as I have no cock between my legs, my opinion is worthless!" Lillith had watched with satisfaction as her mother shrank back, shocked by her daughter's outburst. "You will listen to me well, Mother. I will go to him, for I can do nothing less. But I will not be commanded to love, I will not be ordered to marry, and I will not be relegated to the bedroom with no more purpose to my life than welping a brood of Sierran heirs!"
At her side, a horse twitched and Lillith heard a familiar voice speak softly to calm the mare. Tarine was her best friend - scandalous not only because Tarine was low-born, but a bastard as well. Tarine's mother had been Lillith's Governess and it had been only natural for the two girls, born only weeks apart, raised together to become friends. It was rumored, but never proven, that in addition to their friendship, the girls may have been family. Tarine's mother, Gaille, had been secretly meeting Lilith's paternal uncle Lechrirad. Practically since birth, it had been Tarine to calm Lillith's tempestous nature.
"You may find you love him, you know," Tarine said sensibly, her velvety brown eyes fixated upon the man at the head of the procession. "He is rather handsome, and it isn't as if you've found a single Lord in Arbinia to marry."
"Tarine, beloved, you do not understand. You are lucky to be lowborn, free to love and marry as you choose, to spend your life at pursuit of your passions. Because I had the misfortune to be the only child of the King of Arbinia, my life is not my own. I will wed this man to promote my homeland in the realm-wide arena. To bring affiliations and ties to my House. To the benefit of my people." She sighed. "But they are not really my people. I could never preside there, make laws, bring order and prosperity to them... simply because I was born female. I have the wits and the drive, I understand the needs of my homeland; but for lack of balls, I am forever relegated to the bedroom? I think not."
"It is our duty as women," the younger girl whispered, "To birth a new generation and to serve our husbands however they require."
Lillith cast a disgusted look at her friend and shook her head, blue-black hair curls cascading over her shoulders. "Not I, dearest, not I. I may have been silenced at home, but here... I will make my voice heard. And my daughters will be borne into a world that will not ignore them based solely on gender."
"Pretty words, my Lady," the man to her left muttered. "I shall be rather amused to watch your attempts. Sefiro will not willingly give up even a whisper of the power that he has waited twenty-five years to wrest from his father's dead grip."
Lillith regarded Paskan with a frown. He was right, afterall, it was common knowledge that Sefiro had despised his father and longed daily for his deliverance. Still, she would not be dissuaded. She would have her hands in all the workings of the Realm, nothing could convince her otherwise. And certainly not the mindless babbling of her Honor Guard. Paskan was a bitterly sarcastic man of some thirty years who liked nothing more than needling the very woman he was sworn to protect. They had a love-hate relationship that had, several years ago, just after her fifteenth Birthing Day, nearly escalated into a romantic affair. Only Tarine's stubborn prudence had been able to convince Lillith that soiling herself with a lowly Guardsman would not improve her situation. A trumpet sounded as the party climbed the hill.
"His Highness, Emperor Sefiro of the House of Sierra," a scrawny man who possessed a booming voice that was completely incongruous with his appearance shouted as the fair-haired man slipped gracefully from his horse.
He gave a low bow before her, then startlingly green eyes met her own and she was certain her heart had stopped. A crooked smile crossed soft pink lips and it took all her self-control to resist touching them.
"My Lady," he reached for her hand and kissed it. "You have arrived at last..."
A moment passed as she composed herself. Suddenly, she found her voice. "Yes, your Highness. I have indeed arrived."
~ST
The knowledge of a spring gathering was very reassuring to Casandra, she had hoped that such a meeting would happen before Emperor Sefiro invaded her homeland. Although a gracious ruler by many citizen's standards, Sefiro was uncommonly ambitious. She had heard many of the locals discussing invasion for many months now, propelled on the heels of Sefiro's recent accension to the throne. Casandra knew that she would have a bit more time to create a defense plan, now that the gathering for the betroth was underway. The thought, however, prompted her to ponder her own safety if the event of an all out war happened. She was, afterall, a Nahalan, and by nature her race were resourcful and cautious. She knew that her father would not help her. His duties had him away from Nocture, her homeland, for some time now. Her uncle, Jehob, was managing her house in his stead, since she was still too young, by law, to rule . Her uncle was a slovenly unmotivated fool, and she had realized early on that she would have to secure matters on her own.
"I need more workers, to reenforce the hold," she whispered to herself. "If there is a party leaving for the gathering, then..." she trailed off. Before she could hope to attract folk to work in her father's high mountain hold, she would have to supply basic needs, and legitimately. In one trip to a spring gathering, she could quite possibly acquire all she needed. She was already making plans as she waited for the men to leave so she could sneak to the greenhouses and help herself to the seedlings.
As she proceured her bounty in the sully darkness and shadows, Casandra devised a way to establish herself amoungst the team leaving for the Sierra homeland. "If I manage my cards right, I can take from the blind love-birds everything I need to defend my home. It's perfect!" She smiled in spite of herself. "Everyone knows that the betroth Lillith destests this joining. but she is too prideful to avoid it all-together. She will have to assume her position in order to cinch the delegation. There will be plenty of time for pilgrimages...and for me."
Casandra felt the cogs of problem solving solitify into a well oiled solution. With her bag of seedlings under her arm, she slipped away into the darkness of Summerstall.
~HP
The Spring Gathering was a tradition older than the House of Sierra's dynasty. It was said that the First Emperor met his chosen lady in a field of tulips and daffodils on the thirty-second day of spring. Legend portrayed her as a bountiful Earth Mother incarnation, with flowing brown-gold hair the color of fertile soil and eyes the color of the sea; she was beautiful of face, graceful of movement, and softly rounded of hip, breast and buttocks. And each generation since, the new Emperor, or heir, had brought his bethrothed to this very field, an oasis in an otherwise barren desert, here to give her to his council for approval.
Sefiro sighed, remembering his history lessons very well indeed. But it was not a voluptuous matron he had chosen to take to the field. From the corner of his eye he could still see her thin figure standing on the battlements, holding herself in rigid control as the Empress-Dowager spoke softly to her. Occasionally she nodded and a raven-colored curl swept across her pale neck. He bit his lip and turned away, banishing a desire to caress her, to run fingers through that wealth of hair, to- Sefiro grabbed for his chalice and quaffed the rest of the wine almost desperately.
It had started the moment he set eyes on her. Sitting her mount almost regally on the ridge, fury seething from her very being, she had been shadowed by a small honor guard which surrounded her in a semi-circle. His own eyes, a bright emerald, met hers, like twin amethysts fluttering beneath thick lashes and he had had to struggle to breathe. He had known that he would love her, the Sage had said so, but nothing had prepared him for the lightening that flashed across every nerve. The young Emperor was not a stranger to women, but at twenty-five years of age, he had never felt love. Scrupulously careful in his few affairs - for though a bastard may ascend the throne, it was not looked upon favorably and the Sage had once warned him that a child out of wedlock with his bride would be his downfall - Sefiro considered himself well-versed in the art of love.
It only took a split second when their eyes met, for him to realize that the art he had mastered was not love.
Shaking himself, Sefiro turned back to the parchment before him, signing each summons personally and afixing his newly cast seal. These would summon the council to a Spring Gathering, the first in thirty years, and if the Kings approved of his choice, a new Empress would be crowned on the First of Summer. They would sanction the marriage, it was unthinkable that they may deny him. She was highborn, and quite lovely, and her family showed ample proof of fertility in its history. Sefiro frowned. Though legally the bride was permitted to refuse a man who sought to wed her, Lillith's family had been so honored at the news of his choice, they had signed her away without a second thought. Her voice reached his ears on the warm desert wind and a tightening in his loins sent a flush of embarassement to his cheeks.
I feel like I am fifteen again, he thought glancing out the open window again. How can I feel so deeply when I haven't even had a moment alone with her, to know her... what if Sage was mistaken? What if she cannot become the Empress I need to fulfill my ambitions?
Lilith rolled her eyes, grateful that her back was facing the Empress-Dowager, who no doubt felt it was her place as grandmother of the groom, to instruct the new Empress on proper conduct and running of the household. Lilith had to bite her tongue a dozen times; she had no intention of running the keep. Her lot was shape and mold the realm. To see that the world her children would come into was a better one than had seen her commanded to marry someone...
She hesistated. Someone she didn't love... except that, based solely on physical reactions, she thought that maybe she did, or at least would, one day, love him and... More confused than she'd ever been, and ready to vomit before listening to another condescending word from her majesty's ancient, wrinkled lips, Lillith made a sudden curtsey and hasty excuse. Moments later she found refuge in a darkened corner of the gardens. The Gardens was the inappropriate name given to a patch of carefully tended prickle grass with two scrawny apple trees, some half-wilted flowers, and a few dozen flowering catci with a small man-made spring.
"Greetings, milady," a deep, gravely voice spoke.
Turning, Lillith came face to face with The Sage. She opened her mouth to greet him, but he silenced her.
"Peace, Lillith, for there is much you must know and little time before his majesty will seek you out. He is an ambitious man, and many will see his ideas as a threat. Unification of our Empire is a complicated matter and the Kings will oppose him at every turn. He will require all your wits to conquer the realm."
"And what exactly, in your omniscent knowledge of my character, makes you think that I will bend to his will?"
"Firstly, my dear, I am not omniscent. I see only what the Gods see fit to show me. However, I do know what you should become. What should transpire. Your goals are not so different from ours-, " he quickly edited himself, "from his. One day your son will rule over a single, coheasive, equal Empire instead of this chaotic, oppressive confederation your husband rules."
Lilith lifted an eloquent eyebrow. "I see your visions are clouded, m'lord. No son of mine will rule the Empire at all."
~ST
The forest stank of deak foliage, rotting and decay. Casandra covered her nose. "Tablind," she hissed to a man nearby, her voice muffled by her hand. "Please get into your bag and retrieve that salve that will lessen this stench."
Tablind, a tall, fair-hair man with long slender arms and angular features, huffed and searched through the contents of his pouches. He produced a small vial and handed it to Casandra. She took it and quickly applied the cream to her nose. "Ah, much better." She handed the vial back.
"I don't see why you perfer to be such a gripe."
"I'm not being a gripe, Tablind. I perfer to be comfortable on this trip, that's all. Believe me, I can't understand how you can tolerate this bog with all its death and decay." Tablind smiled softly, looking out into the bushes and stunted trees. "I recall when it wasn't so bad. It was long before you were born, Casy." He paused, lost for a moment in the past. "This land has transformed since I was small."
A handfull of chosen pesantfolk, traveling to the Spring-Gathering, moved past the two companions. "Saum Nocture dali-lie," one old lady addressed them. Casandra adjust her head-dress, making sure that no one noticed her, and bowed in reply.
"Tali Nocture nobrum-dal," Tablind answered, speaking the offical chosen greeting. The pesants moved off to a cluster of tents in the distance.
"You best keep yourself hidden behind that dami-nada," Tablind admonished, motioning to Casandra's head-dress. "If you intend to make it to the Dune Kingdom, you must keep your nobility a secret."
"I know, I know." Casandra shook her head. "You don't need to remind me. I was the one who contacted you in the first place."
Tablind seemed to ignore her, finding a place to sit down, next to a belching mire pond. "I have to agree that this bog is not the most attractive spot to make camp. Older Midst use to be the center of commerce between Nocture and its sister nations. It's a shame that war turned it into a barren swamp. Now only the chosen travel its trails." He sighed. "And even they do not stay long."
"It is only a means to an end, Tablind. You've said such a thing many of time. I don't admit I know much about this land, only what my father has allowed me to learn, and perhaps a few tid-bits I've picked up on my own." Casandra gathered her robes around herself and moved closer to her companion. "I do admit, however, that if we can use these trails to get us to the Spring-Gathering, and accomplish my objective, then I'm grateful that they are still here."
Tablind reached out and patted her arm. "You do have a sense of purpose, don't you?"
"Don't sound surprised, old man. I may be too young to rule my father's house, but I'm well aware of my duties. I intend to discover what I need to, and aquire what I need to in order to assist Nocture when Sefiro decides to turn his attention our way." "And you think that he is intent upon that end?"
"Yes, I do. I am not naieve, old man. I take heed of the news, the rumors and the more reliable information. It all shifts through the city, like wind in a firestorm, igniting everything in its path. It is only a matter of time before Sefiro turns his attention on us. Don't you see it?"
"What I see, Casy, is a Chancellor's daughter taking a great risk." His earnest eyes met hers. "You are not meant to take a chosen pilgrimage, no nobel has ever taken one. And minipulating it to gain an advantage in a suppose invasion. I can not say I agree with it." "Then why did you assist me, Tablind? Why did you provide me with the robes and the access. I knew you could help me, but if you don't agree with what I am doing, why did you agree to help me?"
There was a moment of silence, broken by a flurry of laughter and disembodied voices from the chosen gathering yards away. "I assisted you for reasons I can not share with you right now."
Casandra was caught off-guard. She has assumed that Tablind didn't agree with her motives, but she didn't understand why he needed to keep something hidden from her. He was a long time firend after all, a father figure of sorts. He had always explained himself to her in the past, why now was it so different? The fact that he had helped her come so far with her plans already, dissuaded her from probbing further. Instead she satisfied herself with studing the landscape, and recalled what she knew.
Older Midst was broken by a chain of tropical mountains in the north and boardered by the Evergreen and Streamline rivers on the east and weat. It was virtually cut off from the rest of the land save for a gatewar that the Elder Nocturians had built called the Risenling that used to ward against intruders until Nocture became a feudel kingdom. It was the only reasonable passage into Maggunfield and the Dunes beyond. The only other passages were through the high mountains in northeast and northwest. A chosen party would never survive a trip through those steep passes.
"It will be another week until we reach the oasis of the Gathering," Tablind said, unexpectantly. "Are you prepared to march like this for that long?"
"I don't know what you mean." Casandra tried to look indignite, but failed.
"You are a nobel-blood heir, Casy. I do not doubt your determination, you have already demonstrated that to me. I am concerned about you stamina, that's all. I've made many of these trips, though I dare say that this one is the first that has broken all the rules."
Casandra smiled in spite of the situation, and managed a quick laugh. "Well, I can't say that I haven't taken some pleasure in this." She paused, making sure that they were still out of range of the other chosen. "If my father knew that I did this, he would be terribly anger."
"Without question." Tablind winked. "I have always enjoyed your character, Casy. You were a tenacious child, and you will be a proper Lady Chacellor."
Casandra was about to comment on Tablind's comment, when a member of the chosen party ran over to them. "Master Tablind, Norina has spotted another group heading towards the camp. You may want to take a look."
Tablind motioned for Casandra to remain where she was, and followed the man back to the camp. He was only gone for a moment when he returned.
"I have a feeling that breaking the rules has cause bad energy for our trip, Casy." Casandra rose from her seat and quickly followed Tablind to a spot closer to camp. "It's a raiding party, probably from Qaugro higher up in the north pass. They usually keep a distance from the chosen, for religous reasons, but it seems they aren't respecting distances on our journey." He quickly turned to the same man who had approched them earlier. "Nicholi, take my niece Rosealyn with your family." He pushed Casandra in Nicholi's direction.
"I hope that we have enough time to break camp and make for the Hilbrone road. If we get seperated, meet us there." Casandra turned to Tablind, her eyes displaying uncerainty. "Do you think it is wise to seperate?" she spoke softly.
"I'm afraid that there may be more then one raiding party, and we pose a tempting target. We have plenty of supplies and some valuables. If we are spread out, we may be able to keep a distance between us and the Quagrofolk." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Trust me, Casy. Now go with Nicholi."
Tablind watched Casandra move off to join with a small party of chosen breaking from the camp. He waited until they moved too far into the night shadows to make out, then he waited.
"Are you sure she is the one?" Tablind turned to see a dark figure materialize, drifting out of the bits of black like liquid fog.
"I am sure, Deminthia. She will walk your path to Sefiro's destruction."
"Good," the dark figure hissed. "It is, after all, what her father wants. And what Lillith will need." Then the figure melted away, leaving Tablind in the darkness of Older Midst.
~HP
Across the Empire, Kings chose as few as five and as many as fifty commonfolk to make a pilgrimage to the Spring Gather. They would serve dual purposes by attending; firstly, they would bring lend religious weight to the ceremonies, their voices would rise in chant and song as the Kings and Regents proclaimed the Emperor's Chosen a fit Empress and secondly, when they returned to their homelands, they would spread the news, events and descriptions of the new Empress like wildfire, faster than any legitimate method of dispersing information.
It was a great honor to be chosen, at least for those who hadn't purchased their way into the party. Dunikor glanced resentfully at his companion, a young man called Roper, who had done just that. The son of a wealthy merchant in the free state of Annin, he had spent half his sister's dowry to acquire one of the coveted spots in the party. It galled him, as a loyal servant of the Regency, to know that of all the honorable people who would have fallen to their knees in rapture to have been chose to travel to the Gather, this viper of a 'gentleman' had been given the right.
Dunikor himself was the son of Regent Withgrin's Chief Steward, Benzon. He had followed his Lord since he could walk, attending him as squire, and eventually, as trusted friend. He was privy to political information that would stun the commonfolk. He knew about the increasing fear amongst the Kings that Sefiro's rule would be filled with war and turmoil, that the new Emperor would take all the lands together in his hands out of lust for power. He knew that many of their neighboring Kingdoms had sent not commonfolk this time, but spies and diplomats to investigate the young ruler and his bride. And he knew that he was expected to be more subtle than the other spies, that his position as friend and advisor to the regent would garner him the attention of some very important people, and that he must return to Regent Withgrin with official word on Emperor Sefiro's plot and ambitions. Would he really try to take the entire Empire into his own hands? Would he breach the contract, now five generations old, that gave Annin as a free state to the House of Mierre 'until a day dawns from the west'?
Dunikor sighed, trudging along, trying to ignore the tedious babbling of his companion. He understood why Withgrin had allowed Roper to purchase passage - the Regent, not yet thirty but still unmarried, had finally decided to take a wife and Roper's sixtreen-year-old sister was his choice. Though quite young, Ravina was undeniably lovely, all clouds of blonde curls like clouds in golden dawnlight and huge brown eyes, deep and velvety. She was a willing party to the arrangement, though she had never met Withgrin personally, his reputation as a fair and wise ruler had not gone unnoticed - and besides, what better match could be made for a lowborn, if wealthy, woman? Still, her father balked, she was his youngest child and favorite daughter. Withgrin had hoped that by allowing his eldest son to join Annin's party - a priviledge for which Roper had been eager to pay - the man would relent and allow the marriage.
"...and he'll slowly spread tentacles across the land, overtaking Kingdoms stealthily, the way the very Dunes he rules have been growing, sliding sand and heat into the border regions of its neighboring lands! The Emperor will stop at nothing, nothing they say, to rule us all." A quivering female voice declared from ahead of him.
Dunikor scoffed. "He already rules us all, he's the Emperor, for Goddess' sake. Why should we assume that he wants the day-to-day problems of twenty Kingdoms on his shoulders when he has his own people to worry about?"
The old woman turned, eyes wide. He didn't recognize her, and assumed she was with the contingent from neighboring Remeidile, whom they had met up with only last night.
"How can you be so naive? His father spent thirty years spinning his web, trapping our laws and our way of life into his own weave! He changed things to better suit him!"
"Oh do shut up old woman!" Roper growled.
"Roper, hush." Dunikor admonished the man, who at twenty-four was only a year his senior. "Madame, Emperor Jenok was not some spider, trapping its prey for later devourment. He was a noble man who sought only to simplify our laws. He did, and now his son does rule over the entire continent, with only three exceptions and even the free states are sworn unto him. Yes, perhaps he did change things during his rule, but only for the better, I say!" Dunikor was on a roll now, his voice growing louder and the people of three lands stopped their own conversations to listen to his speech. "Emperor Jenok saw a unified Empire, where the punishment for crime in say, Arbinia was the same as in Remeidile, so that when he was forced to step in - as did happen from time to time, there would be clear guidelines. He did not want to have his hand in every stewpot from Shadowater to Sunrisewater! And I think we do wrong the new Emperor, but deigning to not only know what he thinks and desires, but assuming it to be detrimental to the Empire!"
Several people burst into applause as he finished, and Dunikor felt blood rush to his cheeks. But despite his passionate words, he shared worry with the old woman and those who thought alike, they had no proof that the new Emperor was at all honorable. Dunikor frowned. A lot rested on the Spring Gather, probably more than the new Emperor was aware of...
For a moment he pitied the woman Sefiro had chosen, for she was an unknown and would be thrust into the center of attention. He wondered if she shared his goals, or if she was just a meek figurehead that Sefiro had chosen simply because he needed a wife to bear his sons.
Doubt filled his mind suddenly, could he play the part his master wished him to play? Could he weedle enough information from the new Empress and her retainers? Would Sefiro be the monster everyone feared? Dunikor glanced over his shoulder, the green forests of his homeland barely a speck on the horizon, then forward, to the golden sands that loomed ahead. In only a matter of days, he would know.
In only a matter of days, everyone would know...
~ST
An old woman looked over the vast, shifting waters of the great ocean called The Wash, and thought about life.
She reflected on the forest that drew in close behind her, and the sandy shoreline that ran out to meet the water. As she thought, she began to understand why life was so mysterious. She remembered her prior years, those she had spent among the citizens of the land. She knew that even though she was still alive after they had all died off, or been forgotten, she was very close to death herself. There could be no more spells to prolong her life. It had been that way with many of the creatures they had called spirits. She was strong, but old, and her age was finally outweighing her strength.
As she looked out over the choppy waves, she was aware of her sadness. A seagull cried out above the ocean, answered by many others flying nearby. The air was alive with the scent of salt, and she sighed.
"The past is the past," she thought. "But, if it is forgotten..." She paused, not caring to finish the thought. Soon the Gathering would convene, and an age old prophecy would come to completion. Eyes, full of knowledge and uncertainity, again looked around. She was one of a few women left who realized the significance of this Gathering. Some of her comrades were beyond her ability to detect, and she assumed them already dead. Those that still lived on, were altered and consumed by what power the prophecy foretold. They had forgotten their true purpose; to keep the past alive, so those who lived today would not make the same mistakes.
"Midethra, they are waiting."
The old woman turned, noticing a slender young man emerge from the forest. He was dressed for a long trip. A trip she too was about to embark upon. "I will be along in a moment, child. Let me gaze once more on The Wash. I fear this is the last time I will see it." The young man moved over to Midethra, placing his hand on her shoulder. "If you fear you will not make the trip, why did you accept passage as a chosen?"
"I will make the trip, child, and I will see the Gathering. I assure you of that. But," she shifted slightly, bending down slowly to pick up a walking stick in the grass. "I do not hold faith in my return."
"You still, however, choose to go?"
Sad eyes, uncertain eye, filled with knowledge, fixed on the young man's face. "It is not my choice, child. I am walking the only path still visible to my old eyes. And it is the only path I must walk." Midethra patted his arm. "Now, child, lead an old woman to the caravan. I believe you are right, we have waited to long. The chosen from Remeidile are going to the Gathering."
~HP
The Sage stared out the tower's enormous window, taking in the entire scene below. From this vantage, he could see the entire meadow, artificially strewn with tulips and transplanted daffodils to hide the barren land a terrible year-long drought had left lifeless this spring. Most of the Dunes was golden sands and cacti...desertland, but the southern hills were still green and in a small valley lay the same meadow used by Emperors going back hundreds of years. Sefiro's Chosen would be the first in recent memory, however, to walk upon sod carefully nutured on its trip from one of the greener Kingdoms instead of natural, spring-grown grasses.
Everything was coming together, he thought, watching three separate herds - so far away as to appear like ants on the horizon - move toward the Spring Gathering from three different directions. More would follow in the morning. He turned from the window, cracking his knuckles restlessly. Sefiro had studiously avoided Lillith, and she him, for reasons neither cared to confide in him. The Sage rolled his eyes, attempting to soothe his anger.
Too much rests on this, for them to act like a pair of silly children, he grumbled inwardly. He paced the tower room, the cool evening air refreshing after a long, hot day in the desert. Tomorrow was the thirty-first day of Spring and by dusk, all the pilgrims will have assembled. Then, at dawn, the chanting would begin and at high noon, with the sun and both moons carefully aligned... the new Emperor would take Lillith as his Empress and the games, he chuckled inwardly at the reference, would commence.
Always assuming, he chided himself, that the people all consent, and that Lilith herself does not refuse him, and that... With a resigned sigh, The Sage began the long trudge down the spiral staircase. He had done all he could, he had followed all the signs and he had prayed assiduously to the Gods who had set him on this path...
Its in their hands now....
~ST
Journal Entry
Day 5 of our Holy Pilgrimage; Casandra Ruse
It's unbearably hot today, and I am uncommonly moody. I've lost all sense of direction, as we meander through the pass of Lourdani. I've attempted to restrain myself from ordering my comrades to turn back and look for Tablind.
No one seems to be interested in joining up with the rest of the Chosen. Nicholi and his wife Norina were leading the small company that had broken from the chosen encampment on a solid march past the watch-towers of the Quagro village, hoping that the raiding parties were not in the vicinity. With only a few soldiers manning the towers, Nicholi assures me that we will slip past unnoticed. I am not so sure.
I've managed to keep up with the party for two days now, with no sign of anyone else from Nocture. Our water supply is in sore need of replenishing, but Norina has been able to allot just enough to each of us to keep us going for another couple of days. I am painfully aware that storm clouds are threatening us from the east, and we may have to make camp well before Nicholi intends us to. I am afraid that Tablind made a mistake when he sent me with this group, but I feel that it is best for me to keep my opinions to myself while I am traveling with those that are unaware of my true nature.
Five marks to the maple tree. I need to keep a log of each place I write, so that I will be able to understand the course of our progress. I believe it is wise to continue to journal this trip, in case, by some circumstance, we are unable to make it to the Gathering.
Casandra Ruse
~HP
Dunikor strode around the encampment, his eyes and ears taking in details and conversations with an unconscious ease. Sefiro will conquer all twenty kingdoms in the next year .... This his is a Witch bringing all the powers of the dark Gods into alignment ... The Sage has seen visions of death and destruction ... Emperor Sefiro is a kind young man with no such intentions and he still mourns his father ... He killed his father. ... He murdered his mother, and his father and drank their blood! ... He's Evil ... He's a saint...
Conflicting opinions flowed across the campgrounds, one blending and clashing with others until he thought his brain would shut-down completely. There was only one group of pilgrims left to arrive, those from Nocture, and Reimedile, he thought, counting the spread of tents and haphazard shelters. It was a rainbow of competeing hues, the colorful pennants and silken tents of all the kingdoms spread across a small valley.
He stopped for a moment, talking idly with a young woman from Arbinia whose eyes lit up with pride at the mention of Lillith, who it turns out, was her distant kinswoman. She was the only person he'd heard with anything good to say about the future Empress, though he doubted anyone would speak up with official complaints.
Smiling graciously, Dunikor moved on, interacting with dozens of other pilgrims and, of course, Stewards and servants of other Kings. He would get all the information, rumors, fact, gossip and the rest, in service of his land, his people. A smudge appeared on the Northern horizon and Dunikor grinned. A lot of the information he wanted would be coming from Nocture and Reimedile. The clever rulers would know what was going on...
~ST
"They are coming, my child."
Dellerion looked far into the distance, past the gathering of tall oak trees that the Chosen from Remiselle were using for camp. "I don't see anything, Midethra."
The old woman bowed her head, wisps of white hair fluttering around her forehead. Her breathing was low for moments, causing Dellerion to think that she was asleep. "Midethra?" he questioned. When she spoke again, her lips barely moved. "She is coming. Ill winds, my child. Ill winds." Then she rose quickly, the act beling her age, and moved away from him. He did not follow, sensing that it was wise to remain at watch.
"Dami-fala."
He turned, and noticed a woman approching. "Dami-ramidel, Chosen Loreena." He bowed briefly to acknowledge one of the older Chosen among the group. "Midethra believes that the Chosen from Nocture are approching."
"She did not tell me who they were," Dellerion replied. "I assumed that much though." He looked around breifly, managing to see only a faint hint of the hills in the distance. "I have to admit, Elder Loreena, that without the light of the moons, I find it difficult to see anything beyond the watch-fires."
Loreena smiled. "You know as well as I do that Midethra does not look at the world through common eyes. It is best to heed her words. If she believes they are coming, then we shall prepare for their arrival." Loreena motioned for Dellerion to follow her, but they were stopped by a series of sudden screams. "Elder Chosen?" Dellerion waited for the woman to say something.
"Tayiron," she called to another Chosen nearby. "Gather a handfull of men and see to those screams. If the Chosen from Nocture are in trouble, then we must assist them." Tayiron nodded quickly and disappeared into the trees. Loreena turned to Dellerion. "Chosen Del, please come with me. We must break camp."
Casandra ran as fast as she could, tree limbs and vegetation slapping her arms and legs. Behind her she heard Norina scream. Faster, she urged herself. A party of Quagro had found them camping two days out of Lourdani pass. With still no sign of Tablind or the rest of the Chosen from Nocture, they were forced to defend themselves with very little assistance. Nicholi had given them as much time as he could to escape. Norina and her daughter followed Casandra into the valley, but Casandra held little faith that they would manage to out smart a party of Quagro following them. Faster. Where was Tablind? Suddenly a hand reached out of the trees and pulled her down. She struggled and tried to call out, but someone placed their hand over her mouth.
"Don't yell." A deep voice advised her. "I am from the Remiselle Chosen. You are safe with us." He waited until it registered with Casandra, then released his hand from her mouth. "I am from Nocture. We were ambushed by Quagro-folk outside the pass of Lourdani." She couldn't make out much of his face in the darkness, but realized he was shaking his head. "I am Tayrion." He did not wait for her to answer. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up. "Follow me, we must get moving."
" But what about the others?"
Tayrion moved close to her face. "I'm afraid that your comrades are dead. It seems that your delegation will be rather light this year." He motioned ahead. "Please come with me. Quickly."
Loreena stood with Dellerion at the back of the caravan, waiting for the small party to return.
"Do you think that they found anyone?"
Loreena shook her head. "I can't say, Chosen Del. The roads to the Dunes are not friendly paths. No one has dared interrupt the pilgrimage of Chosen in hundreds of years, but this...." she trailed off.
Dellerion was the first to noticed Tayrion emerging out of the woods. Another figure moved with him. Loreena ushered them over. "Get her into the caravan. Quickly." She exchanged a few words with Tayrion, much too low for Dellerion to over hear. Then she nodded. "We move out. Quickly!"
Casandra looked over at Dellerion for only a moment, before she was pushed into the back of a caravan wagon. The gravity of what had just occured started to register, and she felt faint.
"Steady child." Old wizened hands reached out to help her sit down, as the caravan started to move.
"Amush-dalu," Casandra thanked the woman in the Chosen language.
The hands reached up and touched her face. "The darkness makes it hard to see," the old woman said. "You're the last one?"
"Of my party?" Casandra nodded.
The hands suddenly gripped her chin, pulling her close to the old woman's face. "You are not the last, my child." Her words hissed by Casandra's ears. Then she released her, shrinking back into the darkness.
"Noble-blood." Casandra heard her say. "You will destroy us all."
~HP
The man wiped his blade on the torn shirt of a corpse, spitting on it. There was a sickening sucking sound as one of his companions ripped his own sword from the soft, round belly of an old man nearby. Someone grunted a question and the man turned to him.
"Arrows, lord. Not ours. Do what, we should?"
The man stifled the urge to roll his eyes. Of course there are arrows here that aren't ours! Four of my men are dead because you lazy fools didn't catch up to the party before dawn like I commanded! I should leave you here to rot with the Chosen.
"Feh!" He waved his hand, motioning the man away as one would dismiss an insect. "Z'axirgrib! To me."
"Victory." The man said smugly as he approached, long-lidded eyes gleaming with an unsatiated bloodlust. "What require you, lord?"
"What Victory when four men lay dead? For your insolence you will take their wives and daughters."
For a moment Z'axirgrib's face flashed with pleasure. Two of the dead men were possessed of exquisitely lovely - and fertile - young brides. The cold expression, however, in his lord's eyes made him hesitate.
"All?"
With a smirk, the leader shook his head. "The ugly ones. The shrews. And their bitch daughters. I shall see the beautiful ones with men more deserving. The duty to get our men to battle at the required time was yours. Your failure will not be your death, this time."
Z'axirgrib bowed his head, acquiescing, and for just a moment the leader wished he would resist. His people had a lust for war and blood and killing that was unsatiable, and absolute obedience was the only way keep them fighting the enemy instead of each other. Still, he thought whimsically, it would be refreshing to see someone with a mind of his own. A fighting spirit.
The leader left his men to finish their work, burning their own dead and stripping the enemy corpses of any valuables. He climbed a nearby bluff nimbly, and stood at the edge of the limestone cliff gazing down into the sandy wasteland. Beyond that, he could see the entrance of the green valley where the pilgrims would assemble in only a matter of days to introduce a new Empress.
The marriage, he could not prevent. But the Gods help him, he would see the Emperor and his bitch strung from the Sacred Tree in his own Marsh before the year was out.
With a mighty roar, one that very well might have echoed all the way to the encampment, the leader cursed the marriage, and promised his God that he would succeed.
"Death comes for Sefiro and his whore! Your bones for Vix'la!"
~ST
Path of the Chosen
Entering the Dunes
I'm afraid. For the first time since the start of this trip, my body is completely exhuasted. I've managed to plot our course through the valley and out into the desert. The raiding party that took my entire assembly has not ventured to pursue us. For that I am grateful. As I've been given thr liberty to walk around camp each night and talk to the Remiselle Chosen, I've realized how few warriors or guards they have among them.
...Traditonally, it is not manditory to bring guards on a pilgrimage, but most kingdoms insist. My own party had a few, but they were regretably not enough to save anyone. In fact, from what I've been told, the raiding party was much larger then anyone had ever encountered. Some of the Remiselle Chosen were returning to the Gathering for a second or thrid time. No one could remember a Quagro pursuit outside the Lordani Pass. Furthermore, I was told again that it was extremely rare to be destrurbed while on a pilgrimage. Even the Quagro-folk recognized the significance of the Chosen. Hearing this information over and over again has increased my sense of foreboding. I simply can not afford to turn back, but every fiber in my body urges me to reconsider, to heed what the old woman told me the night I was rescued.
"Ill winds," she said. I was beginning to understand, although I remained as far away from the old woman as I could. She knew I was nobel-blood, but thankfully had not spread the word. I didn't know what game she was playing with me, I still don't, but the other Chosen revere her, and I dare not undermind my welcome.
.......
We've stopped for the last time, before we enter the Dunes, and are recieved by the Emperor, his fiance and the royal court. Everyone is much livelier today. Most of the expressions I've witness are a mixture of reliefe and anticipation. I'm still slightly worried about the fact that I'm the only survivor of the Nocture Chosen. It does not bode well for me to have so much attention on myself. I've asked Loreena, who seems to be in charge of the Remiselle Chosen, if I can identify myself as one of them when we arrive at the Gathering. She was a bit reluctant, not wanting to encourage subterfuge, but Dellerion pursuaded her to accept my plea. Hopefully I will go unnoticed, if the Emperor believes that all the Nocture Chosen are dead. It's regretful that I have to be so secretive, but I've resolved myself to the understanding that it is the only way.
.....
It is midday, and we are ready to depart. I've spent most of the time brushing up on Chosen formalities. My greetings, traditonal invokings and appearence. I was so confident when I left my home, but I've found myself lacking in that area increasingly more often. My hopes and plans seem terribly difficult without Tablind, and I know I can not rely on the Remiselle Chosen to understand my motives. Only the old woman realizes I'm not common-folk, and I want nothing to do with her. I'm afraid that she may already know more then divuldged. That prospect only increases my need to keep quiet.
I've shared a few choice details with Dellerion. He is very interested in Nocture, and I told him a little about our way of life. He was impressed, and a bit confused.
"You live in darkness for most of the day?" he asked.
Actually, Nocture has only three shifts of the moon that are light. I don't think he understood what I meant, but it facinated him nonetheless. I also told him that our kingdom was lossely ruled by a governing board of Chancellors, who acted more or less like kings of their own land. Our High King wasn't as influential as other kings are, but he was able to veto some of the governing Chancellor's rullings. It was a just system, I told him, but he didn't seem to agree.
I learned that Remiselle was vast, and surrounded by the great Wash, or ocean. I figured that it was a large penisula. Dellerion explained that they were an absolute monarchy. The king made all the testimonies, and carried out all the affairs of state. The Queen was equally influential in matters of science and magic. She was solely in charge of the education process in Remiselle, and made the final decision about the Chosen. I was informed that she was a very powerful magic-user. Unfortuneately, our conversation didn't get much further then that.
....
We are here! I am scribbling down this final passage, before the caravan moves into the city of Scorchu. Dellerion has already moved to the front of the party to assist Loreena with the ceremony. I will soon have to make my way to the front as well, to greet the other ambassadors. I am still afraid. Now that we have finally made it, I don't know if I have the ability to see this through. If anyone finds out about my heritage, I will most definitely be arrested. That's the last thing I need. I'm sure that I will write more, once I've tested the waters, or the sand, so to speak.
Casandra Ruse
~HP
Silver fire erupted from the tips of her long fingers, dancing and writhing throughout the room, as the old man looked on quietly.
"Thema Justi Mad Gran," she chanted with a fevered intensity. "I call upon you to witness the end of the Sierra Dynasty."
The old man continued to watch, mildly surprised by the glittery show. Funny, he thought to himself, she knows me better. I can call the silver fire as easily as she can, and yet she puts on a performance, as if she intends to garner my respect. He smiled, but remained quiet.
Rintherill, Lady Priestess of the High Church of the Divine Mother, continued to weave her spell, her aged face bathed in the glow of the fire. She crossed her arms back and forth, connecting the piece of magic in the air until they formed a figure. "Come forth." she called again, and the form took shape. Tiny flecks of silver fire still clung to its cloaked body and dripped like droplets of rain from it cowled head. "Maker Syn," Rintherill bowed deeply, acknowledging the figure before her. Her eyes strayed over to the old man. "Repect him, Fashton." Her words hissed at him sharply, and he nodded. "I see him, Rintherill, I am not blind."
"Then show some respect!" She lifted her eyes to meet the dark hood, and waited.
There was a shuffle of fabric as Syn turned to Faston. "How long has it been, old one?"
Fashton felt himself shudder slightly, and for the first time since he'd agreed to meet with the High Priestess, he was unsure of his posture. The sound of the Maker's voice caused his previous state of mind to dissolve, replaced by an unexpected fear. As if he already realized what he needed to say, his lips parted. "A thousand years, my lord. The Dynasty has the aura of completion and rebirth hanging on it like a golden robe. It is not common knowledge, my lord, but the pieces are moving into place, and the next zenith shall see your Light Daugther created out of the dust of her destruction. Lillith, Holy Child of the Divine Mother, is to wed the Emperor at the moons fullest."
"The Gathering is to take place?" Syn's words scraped over the chamber like nails on the hard floor. Fashton nodded, momentarily eyeing Rintherill.
"We have broken the pilgrimage, Maker." Rintherill moved closer to the dark man. "Without the complete invoking from the corners of the kingdom, your Daugther will not be able to reach the surface. She will need their power to break the shield."
Syn turned and moved with swift steps to one of the chamber windows, staying well conceled in the shadows, and looked towards the stone walls protecting the city of Scorchu. "I sense a great power. A formidable force. Are you certain that you broke the pilgrimage?"
"Certain of it, Maker." Rintherill move a few steps closer to Syn, her hands coming up to touch his robes.
"Fool!" Maker Syn spun on the old woman, and plunged his hand into her chest. Rintherill's face froze in a look of complete shock. "Master!" she cried, then her body trembled, rippled violently and exploded into a cloud of dust.
Fashton backed away from Syn, now sure of himself again. He should have never entertained any of this. "You!" Syn pointed a deeply draped finger at him. "You are a Holy Brother, are you not?"
"I...I am."
"Take her wisdom and use it. There is still a connection in the Chosen that I sense will ignite my Daugther's coming. Your foolish Priestess relied on her contacts too heavily. I desire a more convincing result to this situation. Are you prepared to avoid what brought your Preistess' demise?"
Fashton merely nodded, terrified to meet the same fate.
"Be quick then!" Syn motioned to the chamber door. "I sense the Gathering is at hand. My Daughter will not open her eyes, nor shall she hear the song. Now go!" His scraping voice, like clawed fingers thrusting Fashton towards the door, sent the old man running.
"You will not see the light again, my Precious Daughter." Syn weaved his fingers quickly and faded into the room's shadows.
Terrible and dark, his departure was felt by an old woman somewhere in the city below.
~ST