As the hours ticked by, or what Aja guessed were hours, as there was no method to tell time in the Astral Chateau, she had already gone through two books on N’Jarosyl from cover to cover. Common Tongue was more or less a universally known language by this point, its writing was fairly simple to discern even to societies without much value in the written word. Aja excelled at acquiring new languages as a child, so her process of reading must’ve seemed quite odd to Brexton. She so ravenously flipped through books that a few pages ripped, which would usually elicit a stutter of concern from Brexton, followed by a quick tap on her Tilik to mend the parchment back together. The books she’d read were accounts of N’Jarosyl’s arts and leisure culture, as its positioning at the end of a peninsula into the Azurian Sea made it a highly cosmopolitan region. She set the journal down, shot up from her seat and leapt off the central dais, plunging back into the aisles of books.
"You might do well to find books of propriety standards for the Reikmar Republic," Brexton called after her as he delicately retrieved an art journal.
"Why?" She called back, scanning the shelves, "N’Jarosyl is not part of the Republic."
"Not anymore," he replied, "But as a former territory, its standing in the world is somewhat…delicate."
"I am delicate as a stream," she confidently shot back, clearing an armful of books off a low shelf so she could climb up to a higher one. She heard Brexton groan distantly.
"I only caution it because when we get there, we'll meet dignitaries from the Republic. There’s a man there — well, not a man, but…it’s important that he not be able to read you."
"‘Read’?" She balked from her perch on the shelf. "Is that your only word of import?"
"One reads to decipher knowledge. This…this person," he went on, pinching on the word, "He reads men. Deciphers them. Unravels them. It’s best you know to guard yourself."
"From what?" She hopped down, a book of poetry in her hand. "The Republic is an ally, is it not?"
There was a pause, before she heard back from the distant dais. "Yes," he hesitated, "Ostensibly. But N’Jarosyl is called ‘stolen land’ by a great many."
Aja chose a new aisle, absentmindedly trailing a hand along a row of books, quickly reading each title. "Stolen from whom?"
"Not literally, but…it is complicated."
Her hand stopped, her finger lingering on the spine of a single book. She looked past it, down the rest of the row and saw similar titles. At the sight of the words, blurry sense memories flooded her mind, visions and sounds of her home, looking up at the domed wicker ceiling and furniture, much taller than she knows them to be now. She remembered Sabati pacing around each day, nervous as she’d never seen her aunt. She remembered her father coming home wrapped in bandages, breathless and grim, never staying more than a day. Promising her he would be home to stay soon. Promising her this was necessary. She read the titles to herself.
‘First Strikes of the Dracar Shogunate’
‘Venom of the Serpien Holy State’
‘Shadow of the Cobalus Dominion’
At last, her gaze traced to the first book in this sequence, the title cascading just above her fingertip.
‘The Tempest of Nations: A World at War’
Aja emerged from the aisles, slowly pacing back toward the central dais.
"Something catch your eye?" Brexton called, measuredly dipping new bags of tealeaves into his pearl and gold cup.
"Tell me about the war," she said in a hush, as if talking too loud would wake the books. Brexton’s hand slowed to a stop, looking up from the tea station.
"I, ah…we need not get mired in times of calamity, it is yet early in your—"
"It was not a question," she gently cut off, "My family fought in it, and now I serve the keepers of history. I have a right to know."
"Your father never told you of it?"
She looked down, "He wanted to forget." She took a glance back at the aisle she’d found, taking in the sheer breadth of writing on the war. Could death and destruction truly happen to such a degree…that it filled an infinite space?
Brexton sighed. "What do you know already?" he posed as he waved a hand and muttered a quiet spell. The book Aja held floated from her hands, along with over a dozen others from the shelf she had left. They opened to precise pages and laid themselves out on the ornate desks and music stands in the central dais.
Aja absentmindedly followed the drifting books, "Stories I would hear from other children when I would sneak out. Snake Men from the jungles crawling into the Trade Cities across the bay, burning their boats, feeding them to a giant serpent."
"Hm," Brexton nodded slightly, "Exaggerated perhaps, but kernels of truth." He waved a finger, flipping multiple books’ pages at once. She joined him on the opposite side of the Steelgrain. He whispered something into his graphite diamond, it glowed once again and he nestled it within the pit. A ripple coursed through the metallic sand, and with a direction of its own, it took shape into a map of the world, with all manner of grooves for mountains and trees, and tiny recreations of cities. She recognized the writing rising above the landmasses, labeling the Kingdom of Tilibulo, and a handful of the Trade Cities she’d seen from across the gulf — Verdánta, the Emerald of Tyrege and Arahad, the Citrine of Tyrege. "We called it the Tempest of Nations. A storm that swallowed all the world."
She looked at him, his face knotted in reticence. She nodded for him to continue, then looked back down at the map. The rest of the lands seemed foreign to her at first, but her recent months of education filled in the gaps: to the north, a vast landmass spanning from the world’s Frozen Peak down to the calm Azurian Sea above Tyrege. The continent of Ekstam, ancient homeland of the Old Vÿrgards, which then evolved into nations the map labeled: the northwest Imperiya Korova, the small Oreborn Kingdom nestled in the dense mountains, and branded over most of the central, southern and eastern land, was the Reikmar Republic. But in the north and northeastern lands, the grains rippled like wind kicking up leaves, and they turned to black. The fourth and final nation upon Ekstam, blazoned with white writing: The Cobalus Dominion.
To the west rose a handful of tall, rocky islands, collectively about half the size of Ekstam, surrounded by dozens of smaller jagged islands reaching out into the Rime Sea, to Ekstam's west. This was the continent of Mônah Khûn, the ancient home of the dragons, and their final resting place when the last of them perished. Aja knew from both lesson and legend, this place was brutal and unforgiving, conditions reflected in its inhabitants. Just as the thought entered her mind, Aja watched Brexton wave another hand, and the gray sands rippled again, turning black all across the islands of Mônah Khûn, and more writing sifted to the top: The Dracar Shogunate. With his map now complete, Brexton leaned his hands on the edge of the pit.
"It began at the intersection of great innovations and terrible thoughts," he took a somber breath, raising another hand. Upon the surface of the map, black grains swirled together to form miniature people, all in different positions. He paced towards the side of the Dracar Shogunate, Aja following. Her mouth gaped slightly at the sight: a gathering of bipedal humanoid creatures…but certainly not humans. Rows of sharp reptilian scales covered their bodies, angular and pointed like the tooth of a shark. Their heads had thick brows sporting curved horns and elongated snouts, knife-like teeth emerging from their thin lips. Aja had always heard folk tales about the Dracar; men who descended directly from the dragons, and bore much of their forebears’ features, but when she grew up she assumed the tales were — as Brexton had put it — exaggerated. If this was not what he meant when he used the word, she wondered what he did mean by it.
"The Dragon Men of Mônah Khûn…they were real?"
"They still are," Brexton raised impassively, "Despite what some may wish. They have a…definitive reputation amongst most humans. That they’re some sort of aberrant creation. Black-hearted, evil things. The truth is, as always, more complicated. They are not evil by nature, neither the Chapter nor myself believe any creature is. Instead their malice came from quite a…human place, pardon the expression."
Aja watched their image shift: a handful of Dracar now stood atop a looming parapet, one reading from a scroll, another carrying a flag bearing a circle with the silhouetted face of a dragon. They rippled with muscle beneath heavy plate armor and billowing capes, as row after row of Dracar soldiers stood before them, arms and swords raised in a frozen roar of applause.
"Shogun Keziré and the leaders of his Chroma Clans introduced a new religious doctrine: Descendant’s Destiny. It was a supposed holy writ from the Draconic God, stating that as the descendants of the dragons were chosen inheritors."
"Inheritors of what?"
"Everything. Born to be the masters of land, sea and sky, as the dragons were in the early ages of the world."
Her eyes shot to him, noting the visible contempt in his face. "Inherit the land?" She pondered, "Land is here long before us and long after we die, what is there to own?"
He shrugged slightly, "A logical fallacy, but one they would call heretical and punishable by death," he pressed on. "The Dracar were powerful, formidable warriors. Their ambition was stoked by a sympathetic ear of the worst kind…" He turned his left palm upwards and slowly raised his fingers.
The Cobalus Dominion’s territory materialized miniature human men, but different from Aja, different from Brexton and the sailors. These men were considerably broader and stockier, wrapped in crisp, functional armored uniforms, a far cry from the artistry of Tilibulo warrior attire or the ornate finery of the Dracar’s plate mail. Their large, squared heads were shaved along the sides, the hair that remained on top dark, waxy and and pulled back, distinct in texture from the straight locks of Brexton and her own wavy curls, Aja couldn’t find the right way to describe something so unfamiliar. And along their cheeks and jaw, what she initially thought were beards were fields of small spikes, some sort of facial hair. Clearly natural, but distinctly non-human. They all stood impeccably rigid, hands clasped behind their backs, their stoic, knotted faces carrying none of the grandiosity of the Dracar. Aja noted the positioning of the two groups: the Dracar stood before a sea of followers, but these men circled a map with measured contemplation.
"The Cobalus Dominion. Secretive, ice-blooded militarists."
Aja’s brow furrowed, "What are they?"
"Relatives of humans, it’s surmised, or at least a close cousin. Stronger and faster than us, and of a highly organized and combative predisposition. Penchants for conquest and military science. Burdened, they would say, with the vision of a perfectly organized world."
"Warmongers?" Aja inquired.
"Yes, but seldom directly. They operated in the shadows for most of their history, making people disappear, using fear and intimidation to turn settlements into servants. We never did discover who commanded them, they seemed to be led by a cabal of generals who never used their true names. It was these upstanding ladies and gentlemen who reached out to the Shogun, sharing common short-term goals. The Dracar had reached the edges of their territory and needed more space, while the Dominion’s reach had grown to such an extent that their neighbors began bumping into them more and more. And with their eyes on the wealth in the south, our bedfellows found a promising underclass…"
Brexton glanced at Tyrege and raised another palm, this time forming shapes of men that Aja recognized from drawings in Tilibulo: lithe, muscled humanoids covered in much smoother, bumpier scales than the Dracar, clad in clerical robes, wielding curved scimitars and bearing the heads of massive cobras, thin fangs and forked tongues flicking outward as they were frozen in a charge out of a tree line.
"The Serpien," Aja piped up before Brexton could speak. She moved closer and crouched to the level of the pit, studying the miniature snake men with great familiarity.
"The Cobalus are cousins of ours," Brexton nodded, "it stands to reason the Dracar could have the same. The Serpien religious insurgency was…less regimented than its allies. Less equipped. However, the warrior discipline of the Dracar and the generous funding of the Cobalus made them an elegant puppet army. Zealous theocrats like their draconic cousins, they seized the Trade Cities with the fervor of a great crusade, a tribute to their god, the Endless Coil. They burned the trade fleets and performed mass sacrifices in his name. That gutted commerce, hobbled all of Ekstam’s economies. Thus, the Trinity of Triumph’s full war effort struck a vulnerable world — the Serpien held the south, the Cobalus struck from within, the Dracar from the west." The grains rippled again, displaying scenes of war. "The Dracar decimated the western half of the Republic, breaking most of their border into disparate war zones. The Cobalus cut into the heart of Korova and the Oreborn Kingdom, chasing most of their people into their labyrinths of mines. They weren’t seen again for years. Then, the Cobalus began building…" new scenes rose from the grains, showing deforestation and the rise of ugly slabs of steel and stone with chimneys belching smoke into the sky.
"What do these temples do?" She pointed out the smoking structures.
"Not temples," Brexton corrected, "Factories. Places of industry that took wood, iron and raw magic and refined them into instruments of war. The weapons they produced gave a steep advantage."
More scenes of ash-strangled skies, burning cities and mass executions. Aja forced herself to keep looking. Her father sheltered her from this side of the world, but she could not waver now. "All of these scars upon the earth, all these lives taken" she shook her head, taking in every awful detail, "To put a flag in the soil?"
Brexton looked on the standing tapestry in disappointment. "This is the way of empires, I’m afraid."
Aja slowly shook her head. "Am I only here because my father and the Faama killed for you? For the Republic?"
Brexton hesitated. "The truth is somewhere between absolutes. It does not make for a rousing declaration, but I find it the most accurate. Tilibulo was the last stronghold in all of Tyrege, and they held the line. The Serpien never once crossed their borders. As they housed refugees and pushed the Serpien back, the rest of the world eventually caught up to them. The Oreborn, Korova and the Republic regained their footing, and the Cobalus Dominion fell first," he sliced a hand horizontally, the Cobalus Dominion’s soldiers collapsing back into gray sand. "The Korovians harnessed some sort of terrible, ancient magic — Divine magic, mind you, Arcana is never so crude — and crushed the Dracar Navy. Without the Cobalus, and their navy crippled, the Shogunate abandoned the Serpien to focus on their remaining warfront, at which point Tilibulo—"
"The Skinning of the Serpent," she nodded, "…This one I do know."
Brexton glanced at her uncomfortably, then back at his diorama. "Before long, the Shogunate was driven off Ekstam’s shores, chased back to their heartland and smashed to pieces."
Brexton slowly looked back at her, uncertain of her state. Aja leaned on the edge of the pit, fierce gaze piercing into the images playing before her. After a long moment, she clicked her tongue. "So this is why I am here."
Brexton raised his hands placatingly, "No, no, it’s not so simple—"
She pushed to her full height, still fixed on the sand pit. "Yes. It is," she finally looked at him. "The ones who came before me, they destroyed. I am here to rebuild. In my life, with the power in my hands, this will never happen again."
Brexton hesitated, then lowered his hands. He allowed a small smile. "Perhaps this once…the answer is just so simple."
Aja nodded back, but even as he fanned a hand and swept away the gray sands, something ate at her: Brexton went into great length about the ambitions, dogma and atrocities of the Trinity of Triumph. Yet when the time came to describe their fall, details became broad and vague. He painted quite a narrative picture for a man so scholastic and factual. The valiant powers of humanity…what, suddenly had the courage and strength to fight back and win? This conversation began as history. It ended as a story.
"And what did the Chapter do?" She posed as he turned around.
Brexton halted, the question throwing him. "The Chapter has a standing policy of neutrality. As individual viziers for different leaders, we were bound by oath to advise against violence and suggest diplomacy."
"But you did not," she looked hard into him.
"Where did you hear that?"
She slid one of the books his way. "I did not hear, I read. The Chapter stood against the Trinity of Triumph," she poked, not overly aggressive, but interrogative. "You took sides, did you not?"
"No."
"No?" She repeated, "Do your books lie?"
"No, we did not act as one. In fact, the Tempest of Nations split our union as well. Gave rise to—"
"The Blood Transmuters," she finished for him. At those words, Aja watched Brexton’s face twist in true disgust for the first time.
"Opportunists and corner-cutters looking for instant gratification," he dismissed.
"They formed much of the science tribe of the Cobalus Dominion, yes?"
"‘Division,’ they would say. Not tribe," he reflexively corrected, "But yes, they were well versed in scientific Arcana, but lacked the patience to study with integrity."
"Patience is not always the most important virtue," Aja challenged, looking off.
He looked at her, seeing her introspection. He bit his lip, realized what he’d implied by disparaging impatience. "It was more than that, you are right. Blood Transmuters disregard scholastic pursuits and hard spell craft, they instead opt for the raw power inherent in a living creature’s blood. It’s not dissimilar from your Animism, but far more corrosive. They draw their own blood and are able to transmute it into any substance in an instant," he snapped his fingers, "A cut on their palm and they can draw a steel blade. A slash on their tongue and they can spit fire. They shortchange hard work and desecrate their bodies for easy access to power. And for those of darker dispositions, a Blood Mute can easily manipulate the blood of another."
He paused solemnly, Aja’s eyes opening wider at the prospect he suggested. "That is not Animism," she defied, "That is profane."
"So it is," Brexton concurred, looking off. "And yet, many within our younger class embraced the practice. It was a time of war, a time of...decisive actions. Blood Transmutation does yield powerful results, meshes well with military-industrial pursuits. But what it was doing to the people we swore to bring light…the Chapter nearly collapsed into civil war trying to root them out."
"How was it done? How did you deal with them?"
Brexton looked down into the sifting grains, unable to meet her gaze. A new look waved across his features. Was that shame?
"I think that’s enough for today," he took a shaky breath. "I will be in my quarters, come find me when you’re ready to return."
Without waiting for a reply, he pushed up from the pit and strode purposefully away. Aja knew not to press him, not this early. The architects of enlightenment had indiscretions of their own.
Again, Aja learns something new.
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