Digression 3: A Monster's Regret
38th Day of Ope in the Third Month of Snow's Fall
4633 A.G.G. (Present Day)
Castle Įcħor-Nåbįlå, North of the Yavan Mountains
The Continent of Kazakoto
3:25 P.S.R. (Pre Suns' Rising)
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Aoleon
Walking bare foot had always been a modest pleasure for the high princess. There was something about constant tactile contact; indoors, outdoors, it didn’t matter. The texture shift between stone floors and carpet; prickly grass and trickling water; soft earth and grainy sand. It was a small, constant reminder of the beauty of the world around her. A reminder that she was alive.
Her mother used to call her “little forest elf” or her “forest child”, as fervently not wearing coverings on their feet was a staple of the woodland beings’ culture; constant contact with the earth. However, she was decidedly not an elf. And moving about as a human on bare feet had left them oddly calloused and spottily discoloured. Her souls up to her ankles were visibly a few shades darker than the rest of her body; causing them overall to resemble some reversed form of vitiligo. Not that she cared as there were few things that brought her more simple joy.
Yet even with an entire lifetime of happiness feeling a multitude of sensations moving about with nothing protecting her feet, never had she been so relieved to feel the warmth of plush rugs beneath her as she did now. As was evidenced with the joyous breath she took once she exited the red room near the library tree with her father and Ayashe in tow. Never had she been so happy to smell the musk of hundred year old books, or feel the topside air.
Before she’d realized it, the trio found itself climbing one of the library’s grand staircases which followed the curb of the rectangular room’s protruding circular center that cradled the space’s mighty graywood tree on either side. Both stairways were partially covered in a thick strip of soft carpet held fast by beautiful brass rods which complemented the rug work of the library’s main floor. Aoleon slowly rubbed her fingers along the extravagant and painstakingly detailed wood and ironwork of the banisters as they continued upward. Working their way from one set of stairs to the next as they maneuvered their way up around and over to the far end of the room. Moving past the royal guards stationed at the foot of the final set of stairs leading to their destination.
On the third above ground floor was where they eventually ended their trek; the entirety of this mezzanine along with the two above it comprising the royal study.
Here in its position of prominence sat the king’s massive immovable desk which he approached with much haste; a neat stack of papers sitting importantly on its surface surrounded by a plethora of loose documents, drawings, maps and books. Much like all the furniture on these upper floors, it was accented in dense woods and weighty brass. Made after the style of the Dwalli of the Great Kingdom of the Pyramids.
“I see that you put everything to sleep for me.” Samahdemn signed as he noticed that all of the physical screens were dormant and that the projections which were normally above his desk of three large, faintly visible ones cast from projectors and suspended in space; two white and one a greenish yellow, were non-existent.
“Yes. Again.”
Waving his hand through the empty air over an uncluttered space atop the desk, he watched as the white and greenish-yellow holographic displays sprung back to life. Physical manifestations of transparent matter. And a few quick taps on his corporeal keyboards caused the physical screens to whirr softly to life. Projections of a white directional access sphere and both a white and a greenish-yellow keyboard also flickered into reality on the desk’s surface near their physical counterparts. As he settled into the desk’s throne-like chair, he removed his weapon holster and hung it on one of the seat’s wings; freeing himself to feel a higher level of comfort.
Ayashe meanwhile walked languidly behind the kingly seat and flopped down on the rich Dwalli-styled area rug that lay between the desk and a great curbed couch made of brown rawhide leather and redwood. Small green stained glass lanterns hung to either side of said couch bathing the area in soft light with their tiny gas fueled flames which had gone purple since their arrival; their overall designs akin to the wicc lanterns hanging from the graywood tree’s branches. Lending to the study a very homely atmosphere.
Aoleon watched with interest as one of her father’s ebony coloured hands flew from the white keypad to the directional sphere, twisting it this way and that. Causing information on the corresponding screens to appear, shift and move about at his command. While the other breezed near a double sided jigger which sat next to an empty glass. Reaching into a drawer under the desk, he produced a half empty bottle of absinthe and shook it before Aoleon’s eyes. “Care for a dance with the færię?”
“You know I don’t…drink.”
“I know.” he said as he poured a small amount of the green liquid into the jigger and transferred it to the glass. “It just felt rude not to ask.” Over his now ready-and-waiting glass of alcohol was a tap which ran from a glass and brass absinthe fountain filled to the brim with ice cold water. Placing a finely detailed absinthe spoon across its brim and placing upon it a cube of sugar, he turned the tap and allowed the slow drip to dissolve the cube while filling the glass.
To her father’s right stood a seven foot tall black stone and metal water pipe. Brass fixtures accented its handsome features and gold inlay traced itself along four wide black velvet covered smoking tubes which had wooden hand grips that were about three fists in length; each capped with large mouth pieces made of engraved green glass. One of which was placed thoughtfully across the desk’s surface. Palming it as his drink prepared itself, he took a long, stress relieving pull and filled his lungs with smoke.
A healthy dose of freshly placed mint shisha was sitting in the bowl atop the apparatus underneath a heating coil and its decorative brass wind cover from what she could tell by the smell of the cloud that he exhaled. She surmised from his habits that there was likely a 60/40-ish mixture of water and peppermint flavored alcohol half-filling the thick glass encased center as that was normally how he preferred his base set. Beads of condensation coating it showcased that fact that it, like the fountain which fed his beverage, was also full of fresh ice.
Katherine’s chambermaids work fast. Aoleon thought to herself.
The chambermaids themselves were nowhere in sight however. No doubt they’d something else that required their attention once they’d started the water pipe. They were tirelessly working women for her father. And not only them. It didn’t escape Aoleon’s notice that the castle staff also seemed to be making good headway on the yearly cleaning of the miscellany and the sentimental artifacts that surrounded them.
The miscellany being a trio of beautiful and ancient stained glass windows which had survived the degrading of the castle over its unoccupied years. Windows which started on the castle’s first aboveground level behind the king’s office-like area and reached all the way to the ceiling three levels up. And unlike the plethora of windows in the library’s sister-room that cradled the throne and depicted all manner of Ångël, Dæmön, Drågon, reverence or conflict, these particular three depicted only the Goddess Åmbrosįå on the left, the God Sånįgron on the right, and the Tree of Life in the center.
Aoleon often wondered whether in Oratory temples, Sånįgron was ignored in the same way Lumå’įl was all but forgotten in seminal works of worship in abbeys.
How did the Fallen grow so far apart from their Ǻngëlic brothers and sisters? How was so much love lost between them? Why would the Goddess allow such a division? she wondered. Questions best left to the theologians I suppose…or of dad should he ever decide to broach the topic with Her.
To either side of these monumental glass masterpieces, reaching all the way from the fearfully high ceiling past the topside levels to the cold stone floor under them were large granite alcoves carved directly into the walls which contained the afore mentioned sentimental artifacts; groupings of the king’s two most cherished collections. To the right was one of the finest personally owned collections of Swalii and Dwalli relics outside of any formal gallery. Consisting of items of all sizes and types made from all manner of earthly material. Among them were burial and war masks. Inscribed stone tablets and pottery. Rugs and smoking pipes. Statuettes and children’s toys. Tapestries and jewelry. Tribal horns and articles of clothing. It was a celebration of his home; of his people and his culture and the culture they share with their long-estranged cousins.
To the left was a plethora of weapons and armour pieces. Legal and illegal alike. However, unlike the others displayed elsewhere about the library, each of these held a particular personal significance; swords personally collected from battlefields, weapons that had been used against him or his loved ones, shields that belonged to fallen comrades, damaged breastplates that had absorbed what could’ve been a lethal blow to him personally, the list went on. There were hammers, knives, maces, staffs, grease guns, pistols and the like from points in time that covered the last four centuries. There was even a bow or two. And displayed in a place of prominence at eye level behind the study sat a sword of extreme technological lineage; severely bent and most likely stuck permanently within the remains of its sheath. Yet nonetheless a beautiful and obviously important piece…
As she waited patiently for her father to retrieve whatever it was he wanted to talk to her about, her gaze drifted lazily about the library. She took in the sounds and the warmth of the hearth which shared the third floor with them. She contemplated the different colours and thicknesses of the books on the shelves around her. She took note of imperfections in the wooden banisters. Then her eyes settled on a set of heavy wooden eluvian-styled sliding doors along the third floor wall. Doors which emulated a forest of trees in its design with frosted glass filling in the gaps between branches which lead out to the family’s private central courtyard which had long been converted into a sunset garden of eluvian sensibility. Complete with the lone ivy covered standing pillars and arches that were almost stereotypical staples of the culture.
It felt as if the moons' light outside were calling to her tonight. She breathed it in as it rested on her body from the mosaic and felt…exuberant. She wanted to run to the doors and burst them open. Go outside and wade skyclad in the courtyard waters as she used to in her youth. Especially now, no longer alone. Maybe with her lover.
Goddess, I wish that was possible. she thought as she sighed inwardly to herself; fighting off the desire that threatened to consume her. But it does little to dwell on what can’t be helped.
“There we are.” Samahdemn exclaimed after he grabbed the glass of green liquid ready to be consumed; throwing all of it down in a single motion. Aoleon could almost see the tension from the crypts easing out of his body; the calming of his thoughts. And he expressed as much with a relaxing sigh.
His fingers danced swiftly over the white keyboard and after a few moments, he shifted to another. And another. As he did, words sprang up on the greenish-yellow holographic screen.
Surreptitious Information Access.
More keystrokes.
Please Confirm.
He placed one hand on the directional sphere and began to rotate it this way and that while using his fingertips to press in on it at erratic intervals. Then came a brief flash of light that seemed to scan his Amalgamate-infested eye from somewhere about one of the screens.
“Samahdemn Astaroth.” he spoke to the air.
The system was still. There was nothing. Then across the screen flashed the words-
Voice print accepted.
Fingerprint analysis complete.
Retinal scan comprehensive.
Please state your password.
“Restraint.”
The computer processed the information for a moment.
Password accepted. Welcome back Lord Astaroth.
Aoleon sneered at the impersonal nature of the computer’s protocols. “Are you ever going to update this thing? This system is so archaic that it may as well be analog and those protocols are-”
“It’s all a little outdated. I know.”
Aoleon scoffed. “A little?” She pointed at the screen. “Astaroth? Really?”
“I’ve been busy. Besides, I’ve never really liked dealing with the black market types I have to in order to update my tech. They’re great for guns, low-end scavenged tech and some of my harder smoke…but not so much for this.”
“That just sounds like procrastination. Technology bans are slowly being lifted. Governmental infrastructures are being developed. There’s no excuse.”
“I’ll get around to it.”
Aoleon threw her hands up. “You could always hand it over to me. I’m just saying.”
“I know.” Samahdemn said lamely.
“Because this is sad.” Aoleon pressed.
Previously undisclosed information flooded the chartreuse screen as Aoleon continued to yank her father’s chain. And it wasn’t long before his legendary senses allowed the king to apparently hear the guards below allowing someone to approach the study.
“Ignoring the ever increasing age of my computers for the moment daughter, -” the king nodded towards the stairs behind Aoleon. “-we have a guest.”
Turning to face the person in question, Princess Aoleon saw the woman who almost acted at times as the family’s third joint majordomo beneath the butler and under-butler. Mannor-Keep Katherine. As she walked straight-backed up the stairs, she seemed to be the very picture of composure and primness.
It was apparent that this was a survivor. Born into slavery as she carried herself as a woman who’d subsisted through a great deal of strife and had risen to a position that allowed for a certain level of authority among the slave cast and it wasn’t hard to see that she was very proud of her status.
Hers was a station obtained through more than just a little pain, hard work and hardship thrust upon her on the part of her former slave owners...and even some of her fellow slaves. She was a singularly focused woman with a hard work ethic and she was rarely easy on herself. Regardless, there were some who unfairly believed that her rise through the service ranks had much more so to do with her birthright than her work acumen. Yet hidden underneath her clothing, she bore the many scars of treatment so detrimental, that such claims of favoritism due to skin tone could easily be dismissed as preposterous were she ever keen to allow anyone to see them.
Which she was not.
Katherine was a mulatto. Thought by some to perhaps be a product of slave rape, which was a sadly common occurrence. It was a state of being that many people viewed in the same light as they did a ma’jong’s mutt. Not so often put to the sword as the mixed animal people, but not usually looked upon very favourably either.
It was a realm of existence that Aoleon was far too familiar with. Her father’s status, and later her family’s eventual influence, had shielded her from much of the brunt of such public nonsense. But it had been far from uncommon for her to have to deal with her fair share of judgements, ignorance and racism because people thought her to be one thing due to her snowy aspect when she was in reality the other.
Interestingly enough, it was rumored among many of the servants that Katherine may have been different; that Katherine’s father, a plantation owner somewhere in Murrlel, may have actually loved her mother and not taken her by force. Whether or not these supposed feelings were completely mutual was a matter of debate, as was the truth of the belief. But as the story went, she didn’t complain whenever he snuck into the slave quarters to take her. Yet then again, how many would protest when under the possible fear of death if you fought? Regardless of the weather-tos and why-fores, this affair wasn’t a very favorable idea with the plantation owner’s wife or his family.
After Katherine was born, her father’s wife insisted that she go. He insisted that she shouldn’t. And all the while, her slave mother sat in silence. And so, Katherine’s life was doomed to be one of pain and misery. Beatings from the master’s wife. Sexual abuse from visitors to the plantation. Disingenuous affection by her peers, scorning and resentment, and Goddess only knows what else. And through it all, her father did nothing because he could do nothing. Such was the world she was born into.
Yet, through it all she survived. And she’d become an immensely strong woman because of it.
Her black dress and conservative black jacket top were impeccably kempt; its high neck serving her well as it covered the brand that scarred her skin that was given to her by her former owner/father. A gray dickie covered her bosom containing a much smaller coat of arms at the neck identical to the servant girls’. A rope of keys, to include a set of unique oversized steel cast “master keys” dangled from her waist belt; as much as a symbol of her status as it was for simple convenience. Her short brown hair, naturally curly and graying with age, was in a neat flowy spherical style; her green eyes staring out fiercely beneath it all.
Her left arm still displayed her old slave bracelet; the uniform ornament that all slaves wore to identify them and their owner to others. The skin about her wrist was permanently discoloured and bruised from its constant presence and weight over the course of her life.
Samahdemn had long since informed all of the former slaves who called his lands home that they could utilize the keys he’d received upon their acquisition to remove the heavy steel linked bracelets; some of the very keys which rested upon Katherine’s keychain now. But old habits, or in this case ingrained behaviors, die hard…if they die at all.
At first, all refused as if it were some cruel joke or trick. Frightened to death of a master’s whip which was no longer present. But, over time, they did drop them. And afterward, they danced on them, pounding them into the ground with their feet out of joy. Some buried them along with the past that they represented. Some threw them as far as their arms, strengthened by weeks of consistent solid food under the king’s protection, would allow. Others scorched them in bonfires while others still kept them close as a reminder of how good and blessed their life now was.
Sadly, as it was with Katherine, there were some who’d made it plain that they didn’t feel “right” not having one. And they refused to take them off. Institutionalization was a strange and cruel concept to Aoleon. And she still held to hope that their thoughts would one day change. Her father never pressed the issue however and allowed them all to do as they pleased with them as long as they felt comfortable.
“Good morning My Lady.” she signed as she curtsied low to Aoleon, glancing ever so briefly at the silvery appearance of her isilivere arms.
The king had long since the early days of Aoleon’s life decreed that all of those who held positions of authority within the castle or delt with the royal family on a continual or personal basis were to learn hand speak. It was his wish that his daughter never be at a loss for information or unaware of what was happening around her.
“Good morning Katherine.” she responded with a smile. “I trust that you didn’t give Tana and Ta’Esuini a difficult time. I’m sure they passed you at some point on their way back to their quarters; likely with sweets in tow. I know how tight of a ship you like to run with the girls.”
“They both informed me of your…orders. I didn’t see the harm in it. It’s, of course, your prerogative to do as you please with us My Lady. We’re yours to treat as you see fit.” Katherine’s hand speak had always been as impeccable as her diction. She was a smart woman and Aoleon always wondered where her life may have led her had she not been burdened by the colour of her skin.
The high princess shook her head at the mulatto’s comment. Of all of the people who worked for them, of all of the freed people that lived under their collective roofs, she loved this woman the most. Her reserved cunning; her pride. While there were many mulattos among the former slaves on the castle grounds, Katherine was one of the few that managed to retain a great majority of her self-respect despite her horrendous circumstances. She was well spoken and educated; possibly, and quite believably, under the secret direction of her illegitimate father since he could do little else for her publicly.
Nearly unheard of.
Aoleon wished that she could share with Katherine her own struggles that she might come out of her cocoon a bit. That she might feel a bit more comfortable and safe in her station. But the manor-keep kept a purposeful distance from those she considered her “betters”.
As regrettable as her lack of trust was, in some ways, Aoleon still looked up to Katherine. She was made of much sterner stuff than most.
She may never truly feel comfortable with us. With me. Aoleon thought. More’s the pity. But maybe one day…
“Good morning Katherine.” the castle lord signed kindly.
“My Lord.”
“What brings you here manor-keep? I didn’t think your chamber maids needed supervision.”
Katherine’s hands, showcasing a skin tone which wasn’t dark enough to be accepted by slave owners, and not white enough to be fully accepted by other slaves, produced a thin stack of documents that she held out to the king.
“Here’s the report that you requested yesterday morning.” She stated once the stack was removed from her grip. “I apologize for not bringing it to you yesterday afternoon. However-”
“No apology necessary. Your duties take you hither and yon often. I’m far too aware of this condition as I suffer from it as well. Besides, this wasn’t your burden to bear.”
“You’re too kind Your Grace.”
“In point-of-fact, this was a matter that my seneschal was instructed to look into. You were meant only to be a messenger in all of this. Where’s he?”
“True My Lord. He, in fact, just bedded down for the night. He’d apparently spent the entirety of the afternoon with the Captain of the Guard in a meeting with your Council of the Crown. He was complaining about something concerning…times tables? I’m afraid it was beyond my knowledge My Lord. He requested of me to deliver to you these documents before he retired, rather exhausted I may add, to his chambers.”
“Ah yes. The timetables for the new guard rotations now that the three watchtowers have been restored along the northern border.” Samahdemn affirmed.
“Likely staffing updates also. Weren’t you supposed to be at that meeting?” Aoleon asked.
“Please Aoleon. If I attended every meeting that was ‘required’ of me I’d live my entire life within them.”
Katherine seemed to want to speak further, yet was slightly afraid to. After all, she had been raised all her life to know that giving bad news to their masters usually ended up badly for the slave delivering the news. But her expression soon reflected that she’d concluded that it was her duty to inform him that- “There’s another council meeting scheduled for just past suns’ rise my lord. You’re…required to be at that one as well.”
Samahdemn looked at the current time on his displays. “All of this during the week’s end nonetheless.” he stated snidely. “What’s the time of the morning meeting?”
“Half past the tenth hour Your Grace.”
Samahdemn rolled his eyes and looked back and forth between Aoleon and his computer interfaces. “What’ll be addressed?”
“If I’m not mistaken, it’s likely about allocation of coin and contracts for the reconstruction of the western hold.” Aoleon said assuredly after seeming to think on it for a moment.
“That’s to be your mother’s holdfast. Her people are wishing to occupy it. Should she not be there?”
“Mom is still out on the hunt.”
“Still? She has been gone some three nights. Surely she’s found her quarry by now.”
“No doubt. And more the like I’d imagine. But you know her.” Aoleon said with a smile. “She does love her sport. And the weather’s been favourable.”
“I suppose. Though whenever she takes on these…extended expeditions of hers, I wish she’d go with the company of a full hunting party instead of going at it alone.”
Aoleon’s laugh escaped her before she’d even had time to register it. “Mom would be mortified if she heard you doting over her like that. If there’s a woman alive who can look after herself, it’s mother.”
There was wisdom in that statement that she knew her father recognized. Truth. And Samahdemn nodded at it.
“If anything, I fear less for mom’s safety and more for the life of the being who would try to impose themselves on her. Man or Mer, beast or otherwise. Besides, you and I both know she’s never alone when she goes out; always in the company of her two protectors.”
The king nodded. Though likely not fully convinced. He never was when it came to his wife; over protective as he was. “She’ll be…vexed that she missed the meeting covering the hold’s future.”
“The discussion was recently rescheduled to be discussed now from its previous date because of the diplomatic envoy arriving next month. Plans need to be made.”
“Hmm. Still…not good.”
“Speaking of mom,” the high princess continued, “if memory serves, and it always does, there are also proposals on her desk pertaining to the rebuilding and eventual habitation of the eastern hold under Kŵanza’s governance.”
“Oh I’m sure that’ll go over well with the people.” Samahdemn signed reflexively.
The albino let out a quip of a laugh. “We’ve already started receiving letters of protest from the grain and sugar cane farmers in the farmlands to its west; all of whom are requesting audiences.”
“Of course.” he signed in an almost exasperated way. “I’ll be…'indisposed' unfortunately. I want to finish this.” he stated as he pointed to the floating screens. “Besides, I’d be loath to make a decision concerning the queen’s people without her being present.”
“Our people dad. Our people.”
“Yes. Of course Love.”
Aoleon rubbed her forehead. Dealing with her parents was sometimes akin to dealing with children. Especially when it came to the tedium of rulership. Aoleon busied herself with matters of state so often that sometimes she’d forget that she wasn’t the crowned queen. “I’ll attend in my father’s stead.”
The mulatto bowed her head at the statement. “As you will My Lady.”
“Keep the proposals for both holds tabled until your mother returns. I know you’ll be there in my stead speaking with both our voices, and that your brother will be the authority over the northeastern hold, but your mother is still queen and she’ll likely want to hear what the farmers have to say about Kŵanza’s soon-to-be township, as well as what Åålįÿåħ’s subjects to the south have to say about her would-be hold across the lake.” Samahdemn ordered. “But we need those towers. That can’t wait. We need all of the necessary documents signed and the structures need to be manned within the next fortnight.”
“I’ll handle it father.”
“And the clean-up with the incident at the mines?” the king asked the manor-keep.
“Things are progressing as you expected they would My Lord. It’s all outlined in the attached report.”
As Samahdemn skimmed the papers before him, Aoleon noticed how the manor-keep seemed to be studying her father. A mix of curiosity and, maybe, the same adoration that Tana had shown earlier. No matter how well people knew him, staring never seemed to subside much among the common folk. He was a living blasphemy, much as the rest of their family was. A curiosity in every sense of the word.
He was said by many Drågoons to be easy on the eyes amongst their kind in a rough kind of way. And the commoners had no doubt that this was a true statement…or they were too frightened to say elsewise. Unlike the rest of his kind who’d mostly achieved a sort of beauty-through-closeness with the Goddess, his physical appearance was far from flawless. While many of his lifelong scars and physical imperfections were healed miraculously years ago upon the acceptance of his Drågoonhood, the most grievous of his accumulated injuries still remained.
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Those closest to him knew that he carried more than a few shadows of deep lacerations, bullet wounds, gashes, curious bite marks, burn scars and aggressive looking surgical wounds underneath his clothes.
There was little doubt that he was a hard man.
Aside from the well-known racial Swalii plugs in his right arm and back, visible to all were a set of particularly nasty scars that ran from the nape of his neck over and around his head which combined across the top of his skull to fall as one from under his hairline to nearly touch his artificial eye. An eye that was reconstructed with the same manner of technological knowhow that led to the development of Aoleon’s arms.
In stark contrast to all of that however, there were the more attractive aspects of his being. The beautiful things that people always seemed to notice above all. Such as his teeth, which were perfect. Very nearly too perfect in the typical fashion for his kind. Save for the sharper than normal canines and lateral incisors which caused him to be mistaken for an adzæian on several occasions which lent much to fear and speculation from those who didn’t know him.
Then there was his mane; thick and long. Long to an almost elvish extent. Once again, not uncommon for a Drågoon. It was always boisterously styled; prominently decorated with all manner of heavy kingly yellow, white and rose gold hair cuffs and precious stone accents with isilivere ropes. Not unlike her own. He was wearing the jet coloured mane in dense dreadlocks tonight; the copious, nearly buttocks length tresses were tied together tightly at the nape of the neck by a lone loc which was completely wound in red rope. Save for all of the embellishment, it was a traditional style for Swalii men when they did decide to grow to such an extreme length.
“All the injured men are expected to be well enough within a month’s time or two to return home I see.” Samahdemn signed suddenly.
“Yes My Lord. They were fortunate.” Katherine replied; finally freed from her spellbound gaze by his query.
“Investigators still looking into the cause?”
“Yes…although, I don’t believe that Master Simgrim thinks it to be as dire as the schedule he’s wanting to keep.”
“And what leads you to believe that?” Samahdemn asked with a sideways glance in her direction; producing some important looking papers from the stack and beginning to vigorously write with a nearby fountain pen.
“The collapse of the tunnels, and the damage to the section of old coliseum wall that they once held up were cited on the whole by Master Simgrim as being ‘of little consequence’. Mostly because there wasn’t any loss of life or any mangled bodies seeing as how all seven of the buried personnel were rescued from the rubble with all of their parts.”
It was an understandable thing for him to say from a cultural point of view as, for dwarves, digging was as much a societal commonality as any subsequent underground accidents. They simply didn’t view such incidents with the same sense of urgency as other cultures. But, this wasn’t the depths of the Yavan Mountains. These were the open lands of Castle Įcħor-Nåbįlå; regardless of who laid the original stones. The dwarves didn’t govern it. The king did.
Stopping the drip of his absinthe fountain over another drink he’d set up, the castle lord dipped the absinthe spoon into the glass and stirred it gently in thought.
“Really now? Is that a fact?” He challenged as he turned his gaze to Aoleon. “Love? Would you please?”
She, nodding in understanding, took a seat on the couch near the leopardess. Kicking her legs out to the side and crossing her feet at the ankles, she lightly stroked and scratched Ayashe’s head as she gave the manor-keep a stern look. Looking every bit a lady in power. Every bit her father’s daughter. Every bit a princess giving a decree. “Please inform that stone-headed dwarf that every accident in the mines, the quarry and the excavations below our very feet are of the upmost ‘consequence’ to us even if it’s not to him. And he’s to redouble his efforts to ensure the stability of the earth in which he digs and the safety of every new passage dug in the future. Especially any tunnels built near or under the foundation of the coliseum walls. No more overestimating the solidity of old stone. No one needs lose their lives there for greed or impatience. And if he doesn’t want to listen, I’ll see to it that he’s put personally in charge of finding his own replacement as overseer and that afterwards he’ll spend the rest of his days in our dungeons for his negligence.”
“Of course. I’ll ensure that one of the messengers takes that missive to him before the council meeting.”
“Thank you Katherine.” Samahdemn added.
“Thank you Your Grace.” She stated with a curtsey. She then stood locked in place as she waited for Samahdemn to finish his review of the documents as he wrote notes and addendums all over them. While doing so, Katherine’s eyes seemed to suddenly find the sidearm that hung from the back of the king’s chair. The way her eyes inadvertently widened, it was obvious she’d not noticed it before.
“Don’t mind it.” Samahdemn stated, realizing that the mulatto had fearfully taken notice of the sentimental weapon. “It can’t hurt you on its own.”
“Of course My Lord.” She signed with noticeable nervousness, glancing between the king, his daughter and the weapon.
Aoleon was unsure if she was more afraid of being shot or by being struck down by the Goddess for being so close to the taboo instrument. But, then again, she’d no fear of the computer, or the high princess’ body, so maybe that was unlikely.
Finishing up briskly, Samahdemn signed the papers and removed his signet ring from his right hand. Pulling an embroidered metal bowl from his desk which was full of red wax, he channeled his gifts lightly through his palm. The purple flames produced thereof lightly licked the bowl and began to melt the wax. After pouring the viscous substance sparingly near each of his signatures, he took his ring, dipped it into the malleable substance and stamped his coat of arms over them all. He then handed the completed stack of documents back to the manor-keep.
“Please see to it that the seneschal has our financiers ensure that all recompense for the collapse victims are awarded at twice their promised payout amount via my order. You’re dismissed Katherine.” Samahdemn ordered. “And get some rest. You’ve tomorrow off as of now. You’ve earned a break.”
“As you command.” She curtsied deeply. “Thank you my king. Thank you my most honourable princess.” And with that, she turned and left.
“That was nice of you.” Aoleon stated once the manor-keep was well on her way to exiting the library.
“I’m pleased that you thought so. Seeing as how the current overseer is a little bit of an ass, I figured the families were due something.” He once again drew the hand cannon from its resting place by its angled redwood and black leather grip. “I suppose I should really learn to not keep this thing around me all of the time. As you said, the war is over.”
“And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up scaring the poor staff half to death.”
“I don’t know.” he sighed as he placed the weapon out of view in a lower desk drawer. “Is there nothing we do that doesn’t scare them?”
She shook her head sadly. “No. Nothing we do will stop them from fearing us on some level…and everything that we are keeps them distant.”
“True.” he concurred as he cleaned and returned his ring to his finger.
“On a separate note, you seem to be improving in your handling of statecraft.” Aoleon said proudly.
“How? All I did was turn the matter of the mine incident over to you, pass the next council meeting over to you, and signed a couple of documents.”
“I know.” she affirmed. “Like I said, you’re getting better.”
Laughter was as music to the daughter/father duo. And so together, they sang at the statement.
“Heavy lies the burdens of kingship.” Aoleon said prolifically.
He shrugged. No matter how many times he was called as such, he simply couldn’t get used to being referred to as a king. He’d said that he never felt as though it fit him. Not in his mind. He was just a former nobleman and an old Knight…fallen from grace in both instances.
“I suppose it does.” he answered.
“So…what is it that had you so wound up that you felt compelled to both call me and take a walk to commune with the saber?” Aoleon asked after allowing Samahdemn another drink, a few more draws from his pipe and several long moments of silence.
“Hmm. You ready to work then?”
“I’m always ready to work.”
“Good. I called you because I’ve been working on a project for a while that I needed you to see. And, for whatever reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to wait until the suns were up.”
“How long is ‘a while’? Since the war?”
“Before the war. Have a look.”
Aoleon focused her attention intently on the chartreuse screen; drinking in all of the information sprawled before her. “Well you’re a little scattershot here aren’t you?” The albino exclaimed. “You’ve been busy”.
Aoleon’s eyes continued to scan every ounce of information they could rest upon. She then did a quick cross reference with everything that was already present on the desk; her face becoming grimmer the further she read. “Very busy. Your introspections seem to be running the gambit from the twelve most important Drågoons of the Dįvonësë Realms to some of your older weapons modifications and everything in between. I don’t really like the relations that I’m forming in my head.”
“You don’t?” he asked. Obviously interested in her interpretation.
“I mean, is…” Aoleon’s felt her eyes widen and she looked about cautiously before returning a sharp gaze to her father. “Is He planning something outside of Åmbrosįå’s decree?” she whispered as her more deliberate hand motions seemed to mirror the same hushed tone of her distorted voice.
“No.” he signed with a loud, hardy laugh. “Nothing quite as sinister as that.”
“Well, thank the Goddess for small miracles.” She said behind a sigh. “If that’s the case, why are you working so intently more than three hours past the morning-”
Her words cut off abruptly as the king reached for a neat stack of papers which had been sitting patiently on the desk, waiting to be acknowledged. Taking the rather weighty bunch, he placed it all on the couch next to Aoleon. She in turn promptly thumbed the pages to see that none of them were typed. They were all hand written. The penmanship looked immaculate. And although it seemed to be written with great care, there were many words and phrases that were stricken out in red ink alongside an abundance of circled sentences which were attached to arrows leading to side notes on the margins. Several pages were completely struck out with the words rewrite or remove written across them.
There were also a copious amount of sketches spread throughout the pages.
“You’re experimenting more.”
“Yeah.” he answered shortly. “I’m trying to anyway.”
She knew that her dad had been practicing sketch art for quite some time under the tutelage of Mr. Woodward; an old man who’d stopped practicing art formally many years ago and who now lived a life of quiet retirement in the town below the castle. But she hadn’t realized that her father had become so proficient in his practice. She knew he’d become quite adept at canvas and paint long ago. Abstract art as well. He’d even tried his hand at sculpting. Many of his early still life paintings and sculpts were in the formal drawing room for public viewing where he tended to leave them once he was done.
Mostly.
Drawings of tables covered in cloths and half-filled wine glasses. Books covered in gold coins, keys pens and other miscellaneous objects. Incomplete drawings of bowls of fruit and such. Amongst them were sculptures of stone and clay of differing sizes depicting animals, objects and busts of people. But the sketches she was looking at now were much more varied; the people captured within them brought to life in amazing detail. Surreal.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of the edge of a drawing among the mass of papers sprawled about. A sketch of mohawked locs. Slowly, she pulled the drawing free and smiled a little too sweetly at the woman whose aspect was reflected in the artwork.
“Feeling a certain kind of way Aoleon?”
She snapped-to and quickly became defensive. “What in the name of the Goddess are you on about?”
Shades of anger and annoyance. The old Aoleon coming out.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t poke at you like that. It’s okay you know. There’s nothing wrong about the way you feel.”
As if suddenly caught up in a lie, Aoleon cleared her throat and ran her fingers absentmindedly over her ear and started to fidget with one of the brass accents in her snowy hair.
A very common nervous reaction.
“No…I mean…well I was…uh...”
“Aoleon, I know about you and Arjana.” he admitted outrightly as he pointed at the drawing.
She coughed, stuttered, smiled, but could bring herself to fully say nothing. Words escaped her as she looked about the room for answers.
“My sight is Dįvįnë, lest we forget. I knew you were growing close.”
“Yes. Well…she’s…something else.”
“Indeed?” he responded.
Images flashed briefly in Aoleon’s head of her father’s old friend. Verging on her fifth decade of life. She was a fierce woman by all accounts. One who’d just as soon cut you with words as she would a blade. Yet, she was darling and caring towards those she held close to her. Lovely to a fault; in a wild sort of way. Dark skin, the colour of walnut stained wood. Thick, kinky hair fashioned into black locs with stately streaks of gray that faded into reddish-brown tips that were dyed with Assamian henna; the sides of her head shaved bare in an undercut fashion. Tattoos and gauged ears. Very comfortable with her sexuality. Dwalli by blood, but a native of the Link by birth although she wasn’t a Magi. Heka was her mother’s gift.
“I heard her say something very much the same about you once Aoleon.”
“Really?” Aoleon perked up right away. “Did she?”
“Yes. After she first met you in fact. Nearly exactly.”
Aoleon’s smile widened and she beamed happiness. She sat up assertively and gave a curt nod. “Well, of course she did.”
“She’s held such a torch for you for so long that I was starting to wonder if anything would actually come of it.”
“Yeah. Both you and Prince Asshole.” Aoleon exclaimed with a certainty that was absolute as she once again tightened up with defensiveness.
Samahdemn walked his statement back. “Peace daughter. I didn't know your brother had been giving you a row about her. Then again, he is your brother. So anything is possible.”
Aoleon sighed and nodded. “Not so much problems as he’s been giving me the silent treatment over it. Kŵanza. It’s always Kŵanza.”
Samahdemn nodded knowingly and waived a dismissive hand. “He’s just jealous. He always has been.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“Why would you hide it? Why not tell me?”
“I don’t know.” she said; shrugging her shoulders. “I didn’t know how you’d take it I suppose.”
“Seriously? You were afraid of rejection? From me? Love, have I ever held your individuality against you? Have I ever not supported you or your siblings?”
She shook her head quietly, but then eyed him inquisitively. “Exactly how long have you known? About us.” she asked.
Samahdemn smiled at his daughter. “Known? I didn’t know so much as I strongly suspected. But at least since you stopped wearing your gloves. She changed something in you. You started becoming a lot more comfortable in your own skin; not so concerned with others seeing you as you once were. There was a…shift between you two. A change in energy; the way you talked to each other and looked at each other. It wasn’t hard to see the affection there. Besides you’ve always worn your feelings on your sleeve.”
Surprise washed over her face. She hadn’t realized that she’d been so transparent. “And you kept it to yourself this long?”
“Well, I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. And even if I hadn’t known, gossip spreads like wildfire among the servants. It’s hard not to overhear their talk from time to time.”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Aoleon felt betrayed in the most personal of ways. It never occurred to her that they knew. “They know? And they never talked to me?”
“Of course they know. By Lumå’įl’s rings, from what I’ve overheard, they probably didn’t want to say anything because of your brother...” His words trailed off. “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much.”
“My brother, what?”
“Nothing. It’s best you ask him about what he knows yourself. It wasn’t my place to say. In any case, I’m surprised that you approached her. Glad. But surprised. Arjana’s always come off as a little…intimidating.”
The albino, shelving both her hurt feelings and her questions about her brother for the moment, shook her head shyly. “I didn’t really approach her. Nor she me. It was more of a…mutual happenstance. One minute we’re alone together; talking, laughing, and having a good time as is often the case. Then, before I knew it, the mood just…changed. She put her hand on mine and when she-. Well, it just-”
“Felt right.” he said.
She nodded to the accuracy of the phrase. “Yeah. It felt right.”
“And she’s ok with you…well…with your past?”
She nodded again happily. Then suddenly a kind of joyous sadness overtook her. “It never occurred to me that she was…” Aoleon put her hand over her heart. “…like me. That she liked women. By Brŭmal, I never thought anyone could ever want me with the shadow of all of my oddities looming over me. The freak that I am.”
Despite the peculiarity of her isilivere arms, the appearance of her skin or the loss of her hearing, Aoleon was still a very striking and proud albino; something that was commented on constantly by even superstitious or hateful fools who were normally wary of people who were born with such a condition.
She was a woman who by all accounts was no more than in her thirty and fifth year with an aspect that was more often associated with someone quite a few years younger. Many were her features that she shared with her chocolate skinned father. Her ability to carry an Amalgamate for one. And the exposed plugs of naturally petrified bone along her spine and at the small of her back as well. Not to mention the plugs in her forearm which, if not for her accident, would also have been formed of bone instead of metal. The shape of her face and eyes. Maybe even her eye colour (as she liked to believe) if it hadn’t been for her albinism would’ve been as dark as the ocean at night. Just as his were before his rebirth.
On the other hand, her mother’s softer accent tended to spill from her lips more so than her father’s. Likewise were her generous nose, lips and hips which oft proved to be plenty enough to turn a man’s eye as well as the occasional woman. All gifted from her Dwalli mother. She often found herself wishing that she could have shared in her suns kissed skin tone as well, but alas.
“Never say that.” He said supportively. “You’re not a freak. Quite the contrary. You’re a unique beauty. And damn anyone who believes otherwise. With all of the evil and ugliness in my past, you and your siblings are the best and most beautiful things that have ever existed in my life.”
Aoleon smiled with renewed confidence.
“I can still remember when you were younger, just out of your ten and first name day, and you started showing an interest in other girls your age. It meant little to me at the time. All children go through a gender bending phase of one kind or another early on. But by the time you’d seen the end of your ten and fifth year, I knew that it wasn’t just a phase for you.
“And when you asked your mother and I about it-”
“-Oh Goddess no!” She’d no interest in reliving that personal embarrassment. “I’ve never felt so awkward in my life.”
“You and me both Love. Though we were very proud of you. You were so scared to tell us that you were shaking. But you still did it. Bravely. Look, your happiness has always been the most important thing to me. Especially after…” He motioned to indicate the princess’ arms. “You fell into a depression so deep during the years following your incident that we feared you’d never completely recover.”
Aoleon shook her head. “I still can’t remember any of it.”
It’s funny the way life works. The changes that it sends you through. When Aoleon was young, she was much like her father. She was brash and quick to anger. She aspired to following him down a similar path in life; being a hired murderer. It was all she knew. But after the loss of her limbs, a change that she couldn’t quantify took place in her. A change for the better. And by the time her physical scars had healed, she was no longer the same woman.
Her father had given her the gift of her mechanical arms so that she could live some semblance of a normal life. He’d told her that he’d had them crafted to be as beautiful and elegant as possible so they could reflect her new-found nature.
“You know, I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve always hoped that you’d be able to find someone who could look past religious zealotry and racist bigotry and see the woman behind your ‘sacrilegious’ arms. Behind the ghostly white skin and hair. Behind your inability to hear. People need someone in this life. A partner. Good people deserve it.
“You’re a good person. And I’m very happy for you Aoleon. I’m happy for both of you. I want you to know that.” he signed to her with a smile.
“Yeah. I know.” the princess signed in return, giving the smile back to him.
“And what about Khadijah? How’s she feel about you and her mom?”
Aoleon smiled so widely that it looked like it should hurt. “She’s smart for one who’s still so relatively young.”
“Young? Well…I suppose she is when compared to us. But still, isn’t she all of twenty years now?”
“Just. Her name day was yesterday. Regardless, she’s open minded. Supportive even. She actually expressed to me once that as long as her mom was happy, she was happy. But, then again, we always got along swimmingly together so...” she shrugged with a smile.
“I always knew I liked her.” the king said happily. “Still mute?”
Aoleon nodded silently. “I’m starting to think she may never speak. Too traumatized. But she’s otherwise a happy and well-adjusted young woman all things considered. And she’s taken very well to hand speak. I don’t want to push her. You know?”
Samahdemn nodded. Seemingly content. “I know all too well.”
“Dad, can I ask you a personal question?” the high princess signed nervously after a few silent moments of contemplation.
“If you can’t, who can?”
“How did you know that you loved mom? How did you know it was…real? Especially after you lost…you know?”
The question seemed to catch him a little off guard. “Why? Are you saying that you love Arjana?”
She shrugged again; feeling much like an unsure teenager in that moment. “I think I do.”
Samahdemn stroked his beard then reflexively started massaging his old gunshot hand. “I didn’t.” he answered honestly. “I don’t think you ever really know until you do. But what I can tell you is that when I first kissed her, it was much as it was with you and Arjana. We were talking, and I felt like we’d come to a ‘now or never’ moment in time. And as I slowly took her head into my hands it all, like I said, just…felt right.” He seemed almost wistful as he spoke about it.
His daughter nodded. “I see.”
“Speaking of your mother, does she know?”
She shook her head.
“You should tell her. I’ve no doubt that she’d be just as thrilled for you as I am.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so.”
Joy and relief became her. “I hope so.”
The ruler squinted and tilted his head not unlike a dog attempting to ration out a quandary. “There’s something else here, isn’t there? Another reason than fear of rejection that you’ve kept you and her so close to your chest.”
“No! No. Of course not.”
“I’m sorry. If you say so. Would you rather go back to Arjana now than be here? There’s nothing we’re doing that can’t wait. No need to hang around your old man for no reason. It’s not that important.”
The question weighed heavily on her mind for a moment before she finally responded- “No. It’s ok. She’s asleep anyway.”
“You certain?”
“Believe me. She’s asleep.” It was a statement dripping with inuendo.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Samahdemn said waving his hands vigorously. “In that case, I’ve been trying to put the finishing touches on this project and needed your help with the final proofing.” he continued.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
The king looked back to the screens. A click or two on the holographic sphere brought up a previously minimized window on one of the physical screens.
“This was the last thing I was working on before I went down stairs. Take a look.”
She did so, reading aloud as she went; forgoing her handspeak.
“Bolts of plasma of all the colours of authority within the Order struck all about me and splashed off of my protective spellcraft. The overwhelming fire was almost enough to drag me down, but as fate would have it, my weave was already complete; my will was done. And my hastily devised plan was coming to fruition faster than the rate at which my protection was failing me. Lapsing into common speech, I screamed out my chant over the sound of the multicoloured destruction about me.
“Bring onto me the powers of the forgotten, the strength of the spirits, and the will of the Drågon-kind. Fire be created by energies of my hands!”
Her eyes left the screen. “Is this some type of story?”
“Yes. Actually, it is. Kind of.”
Shifting her attention back to the stack of papers she was handed earlier she dug a bit deeper. Paid more attention to how things connected. Cross-referenced it with the more haphazard drawings on the table. Sketches of the HMS Valkyrie, the castle library, even the Goddess’ Great Tree. She saw a Queendom that she imagined could only be one of the lands of Ëmpÿrë, as she’d never had the pleasure of seeing them firsthand. There were further likenesses of old friends, self-portraits of her father, her siblings, people she once knew…even herself.
She stopped on her depiction for a moment and admired it; a recreation of her royal portrait which was hanging in the great hall alongside those of the rest of her family. Well, not a true recreation, but an adaptation. Surprisingly beautiful and lovingly drawn. Aoleon had never seen herself look so unique. So…fierce. Her face was full of determination. Her posture was one of strength and power. Her weighty forearm length gloves lay on an ornate accoutrement next to her with her artificial limbs fearlessly exposed and lightly clutching a scepter; one of the only times she’d allowed them to be seen openly before Arjana came into her life. She wore her royal formal dress and her mother’s royal gele which covered her billowy hair in traditional Dwalli fashion; the way she wore it in the days before she decided to start wearing her hair out in the Eastern way.
I haven’t worn mom’s headdress since… “…I can’t really recall. Strange.” she whispered to herself.
Looking at the likeness now, she wondered why she ever stopped wearing her gele in the first place. She’d always had an affinity for all of her mom’s headscarves in their many forms, styles and fabrics. After all, they were as much a part of her heritage as anything else among her mixed Swalli and Dwalli roots. But, in the end she supposed, she’d just needed a change at the time.
“You‘ve grown so much in your art.”
“Still needs work?”
“No. Quite to the contrary. I like it quite a bit. It’s…beautiful.”
The king couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know about all of that. But thank you. I tried. I’m pleased that you like it.”
Laying all of the pages flat again and refocusing on the writing, Aoleon found the coversheet and read it aloud.
“Reflections on the Dįvonësë War? Dad, what is all of this?”
“They’re a Drågoon’s mémoirs. My mémoirs.”
Aoleon stifled an almost involuntary laugh. “Are you serious?”
“What in the name of Brŭmal’s so funny? This is important!”
“No no, I’m sure. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to clarify this in my head. I guess my question would be, why? Why now?”
“It’s just something that I feel that I need to do. I have people under my care, people who depend on me; Ayashe, you, your mother and siblings first among them. And there are things that you all need to know about me. I don’t want anyone to misunderstand me or the things that I’ve done to get where I am.
“I always figured that one day you, or your brother or sister would go to your mother if I didn’t do this and ask what type of man I truly am. I know that sometimes, even though you know for whom I’ve killed, you sometimes wonder why.”
“Well, we know who you’ve killed for most recently anyway.”
“Fair. True it wasn’t always for Her. I’ve admitted as much myself. And that aside for the moment, little birdies tell me that the commoners ask why I’d still choose to kill if it came down to it even though the war is over. This is true, no? Tell me I’m wrong.”
Aoleon’s silence spoke volumes.
“Exactly so.” he continued. “Your questions deserve answers, and you’ll have them. It’s my job to teach you all about the path I followed, and the one you all will have to tread eventually; both the blessing and curse of being a member of this family. And our people deserve to know the man that leads them; the family that represents them.”
She nodded after a moment of contemplation which ended in understanding. “Noble.”
The king focused his gaze on Ayashe for what seemed like an eternity before the beast roared and Samahdemn burst into laughter.
Aoleon cocked her head at the outburst. “What?”
“I expressed to Ayashe that I’m noble. She expressed to me that I was full of shit.”
Aoleon looked down at the dire leopard. And as she did, the feline let out a soft confirmative verbalization. “It continues to amaze me how you two just…understand each other.”
“Well, our bond lets us communicate. But I doubt we’ll ever fully understand each other.”
Samahdemn Looked to the feline. “But I love you anyway.”
By the way Ayashe roared and flopped her head down heavily on the floor Aoleon could’ve sworn that she’d understood his spoken words.
“Not to mention” Samahdemn said before Aoleon could refocus on the book, “that you and your siblings all play very heavily into this project.
“I name names.”
Aoleon looked up sharply. “You mean to say that there are passages in here about us directly? Personal things?”
“More than a few passages. More like several chapters. Which is another reason I wanted you to brush over it. It wouldn’t have been right otherwise.”
“What does mom think about all of this?”
“Your mother already knows and has allowed it. She understands, if not begrudgingly. So does Ayashe.”
“Kŵanza and Åålįÿåħ also, I assume?”
“Of course. But none have fully read it yet. You’ll be the first.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re my eldest. My little girl. My favorite child.”
Aoleon gasped at the reveal. “Favorite child? Really? Not Åålįÿåħ? After all, she’s-”
“She’s a wonderful daughter. Important to all. And I love her dearly. But she’s not you. Nor is your brother who I fear still has yet to forgive me for the things I’ve done to him in the past. We’ve always been closer of a kind, you and I. And our…mutual oddness has always bred that closeness between us.”
She couldn’t deny the truth of the statement. She’d always been a daddy’s girl through and through.
Save for the times when she had to do things like backhand him with his own gun out of fear.
“But don’t tell anyone I said that.” he added. “Your sister would get horribly jealous.”
Aoleon smiled wide. “True.” The thought tickled her to no end.
“It’s also important that you understand something about all this. I’ll not be just skimming the surface of the years of my life thus far. This is much more of a full disclosure than it is a character study or a cautionary tale. I mean to tell everything.”
“Everything?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, nearly everything.”
Aoleon was slightly dumbfounded. Many people wrote what they claimed were unbridled biographies, but people rarely ever actually did that. No one tells everything about themselves. “Dad, I’m not telling you what and what not to do, but from what I know, I think that there are things in your life that you and mom have done that you’re right to have kept to yourselves. You could quite possibly grant yourself, and us, the ire of…unsavory people.”
Samahdemn craned his head back and breathed deep. Once again seeming to reach out to the feline through their bond.
“Ayashe agrees with you.” he eventually said. “As do I coincidently. Of this, there’s no doubt. Enemy and friend alike will hate us after these scribbles are revealed to the public.” He smiled nervously. “But all must be a matter of public record. If we’re going to be a family that leads, the people must be comfortable with who they’re following. And building a kingdom on a foundation of lies is the surest way to ensure its demise. We risk chaos should people be left to their own devices and hear unjustly exaggerated things about us second and third hand. I’d rather they hear the truth from us first.”
“Touché. Touché.”
“I need your blessing. I trust you nearly above all others. And if you say no, then I’ll stop.”
She smiled and nodded. “In that case, I too give you my blessing to add to mother’s. And I’m honored you’d let me see it first.” She did a mock bow from her seated position.
“Thank you. Besides, who else is going to transcribe this to a publishable format?” the king asked. “Other than me, you’re the most gifted of us with computers and Ayashe lacks opposable thumbs.”
Sam laughed as Aoleon flipped her middle finger to an insulting position.
“So, where are we supposed to start?”
“We start here!” Clapping his hands together, Samahdemn reached over and once again picked up the glass tipped pipe. He put the hose to his lips and inhaled deep; the pull causing the water and alcohol mixture in the large apparatus to churn and bubble. And as he breathed out sweet smelling smoke, his muscles relaxed and he sank into his chair. “Want a pull?”
“No. Felt rude not to ask again?”
He shrugged. “I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”
“Are you ready for me to explore the depths of your soul?” she asked with a grin.
“Which one?”
“Well, if I’m being honest, I’m more interested in the one that was shared with you by the otherwise immortal creature from the Dįvįnë Realms. Besides, you’re almost two score and thirty years removed from the prior. It’s so far in the past that it begs the question if it’s even relevant anymore.”
“Really? It can’t have been that long?”
Aoleon nodded her head. “Give or take a decade or two.”
He pondered that for a moment before saying anything further. “Love? Have you ever felt like an outside observer to your own life; like you’re looking at the accomplishments of someone else entirely?”
She nodded again. “Asking yourself, ‘This life can’t possibly be mine, can it?’.” she confirmed. “No. You’re not alone.”
“Sometimes I look at my old pictographs and ask; ‘Did I really do that? Did I truly achieve these things myself? Am I truly the man I am?’”
Aoleon had attempted many times to comprehend her father’s life, but his experiences were so vast and beyond scope that it was honestly unfathomable. There was no frame of reference. Nothing that compared. Talking with Drågons, summoning the principals, flying on Dįvįnë wings like the Ångëls themselves… “What’s it like? What’s it like to be a Drågoon?”
Samahdemn looked to weigh the question carefully. “It’s a difficult thing to quantify. I don’t quite know how to explain it. Would you be able to explain to someone what it is to be Swalii? Could one of our countrymen describe what it’s like to have an Amalgamate living inside of them, sharing their life? Could you describe color to the blind or sound to those born deaf? Love to the unfeeling or hate to the naïve?
“Dįvįnë and secular; immortal and mortal; inhuman and human. They all converge somewhere inside of me. I’m all of these things and yet I’m none of them. The lines between what I used to be and what I’ve become are…gray. I try to separate the two and it all becomes foggy. Distinctions between the two vanish like the morning mist. Not that any of it really matters anymore. I simply am what I am.”
Aoleon nodded. He was right. A bit purple in his prose maybe, but right. “It seems that I could never know without becoming one.”
“Unfortunately. It’s a gift that I would gladly bequeath to you if I could.”
Aoleon shook her head somberly. “Not worth the cost me thinks. But I think I understand the…beauty of it nonetheless.”
“Maybe. And that’s the thing. I’m not always sure that I do.”
She grimaced. “Questioning your humanity or your human-ness?”
“I tell you Aoleon, the things I’ve with equal measure witnessed and caused to happen have caused me to question everything.”
“You’re a good man.”
“Am I?”
“I think so.”
“I’m a monster.”
“You’re no monster.”
“Really? I’m not so sure-” He paused mid-thought momentarily; obviously swimming in thought. Talking with his friend again. “At Ayashe’s request, I’ll acquiesce.” he said at length. “But I’ll tell you this. Killers, rapists, bigots, slavers and thieves are numerous. And it’s a lineup of undesirables that I’m ashamed to say I was once a member of.”
Aoleon nodded begrudgingly. “Maybe. But that’s not really fair dad. You chose to move beyond the things that feed that sickness. To fight it. You didn’t continue give yourself over to it. And you’ve since made up for your sins a thousand times over.”
“Have I? I’m not so sure.”
“You’re not a monster. Not to me. Not to Kŵanza regardless of what he may say to you, and you’re not to Åålįÿåħ or mom. Period. Full stop. The Goddess doesn’t care who you were, you know. She only cares about who you are.”
“Possibly. Although I’d venture to guess that how Kŵanza feels changes with the same frequency as the weather.” His head slumped a bit. “I pray you’re right. And I hope you still feel that way after you’ve read deeper.”