In which Diran engages a mysterious foe.
Diran jumped to his feet and the bed creaked painfully as he leaped towards the intruder with great speed. As he made to strike them, however, there was a silvery flash before his eyes and he hastily drew up an arm before his face. The dark figure jumped away and he found himself sprawled on the floor. As he pushed off the floor to take to his unsteady feet, Diran felt a sharp pain run across his right arm and, in the scarce light from the window, made out a fearsome cut that had been dragged across his arm, surely aimed for his face.
Past his arm, he became aware of and, for the first time, properly beheld the figure before him. His eyes widened and he shouted, “Nomil, servant of the kind Lady Poranda, what madness is this? To trespass on my quarters with readied arms and bring harm to my self—at whose behest do I bleed?”
The maidservant, whose blade shone brightly but whose other features were darkened, pointed the dagger towards the injured man and then produced from her other hand a small token—the silver thread! She spoke with contemptuous pomp, “You, so humble born, for whom fortune should never shine, speak of trespass as your feet sully the ground on which you tread. I have come, bearing righteous arms, to right your presence in this land.”
With quick glances, Diran reached behind himself with his dominant, uninjured hand and took up the unlit candlestick that stood by the bedside. He forced down his fear and replied, “Is it not an affront to dignity that a servant might speak with malice of humble birth?”
The maidservant lunged at him and he parried desperately, flinching as sparks flew from the sharp clash. The two distanced themselves and circled one another as Nomil spat, “My station is such that you should not be my equal even having amassed what is below a grand fortune! I am by leagues your superior and so, under the law brought unto us by nature itself, I shall take from you what I want and do with you what I may.”
With that she again struck out, her bloodied dirk whistled through the air and threatened Diran’s neck before he beat it down with his brass stick. Although he earned a nick on his finger for the effort, Diran dashed forward and made his own swing with the blunt instrument. Although the maidservant retreated before his charge, her leg glanced off the side of the bed and Diran struck her a blow across the head before a swing from her blade caused him to fall away.
As Nomil stood unsteadily putting her knife hand to her temple, Diran declared, “What hubris, see how I rise above my origins! I stand before you by the blessings of many below! My station is made not by my feet but by the ground on which I stand, and we two stand on ground equal. Theft will do naught but obscure this truth!”
He stood firm before the maidservant’s seething glower as she hissed, “I am not moved by your nonsense! But no matter, with this thread, I shall strike you down where you stand, rat, and rise above even your delusions! A servant no more, I shall be a Lady in my own right on this land! Life can be made richer only through ambition—and Alinov, so carpeted by gloom, knows no such thing as principled ambition!” She telegraphed another strike as she shouted him down.
Diran braced himself for the assault that was sure to come when, from behind him, a mature, measured voice shattered the tension in the room, “You know neither principle, nor true ambition, Nomil.” With that, Lady Poranda, with strength that seemed to exceed her modest form, hurled a heeled shoe with great precision. Diran felt a gust of wind pass him by as the shoe arced through the room and struck the enraged maidservant squarely on the forehead.
There must have been a tremendous force behind the throw, for Nomil’s grip on her dagger loosened and she promptly slumped over; the woman was only spared further injury by a swift hand from Diran. He took her limp form and laid her carefully on the floor. It was only when his eyes fell upon the bloodied dagger that had fallen beside her that he recalled his own injuries. He turned towards his benefactor in the doorway but his mind was already escaping him; in short order, he, too, was senseless.
When Diran awoke, the air was thick with the fragrance of tea and his ears picked up a soft humming to his right. When he glanced over, he first noticed that his arm had been covered in a large bandage that, so wrapped, must have made him look silly. He saw, past the bedside, Lady Poranda sitting in a finely cushioned chair. When she became aware of his gaze, she smiled and said, “Good day, Diran, how are you feeling?” The concern in her voice seemed genuine but the tranquil atmosphere made him wonder if he had not dreamt the whole ordeal. However, when he made effort to move, a sharp pain in his arm reminded him of his reality.
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“I feel much better,” he said—and it wasn’t necessarily a lie, “but what happened? I must have lost my senses.” Lady Poranda nodded. “I’m afraid our maid, who I had assigned the duty of your service, has committed a most condemnable act. I do apologize, Diran.” It took Diran a moment to fully recall the events of what he assumed was the night before.
“I was attacked,” he stated plainly. Then, after a moment of reflection, he shouted, “The thread!” and began checking over his person for the precious silver thread. At this, Lady Poranda stood and approached his bedside. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to calm the man and proffered her palm, in which rested the shimmering thread. After a moment, Diran took it in his hands tenderly.
“It was almost stolen by the maid…” he began—but then, suddenly, he sat upright, “maid…ah-Nomil! What has become of her now?” He started to peer around the modest room when suddenly a third voice chimed in from the far corner with venomous contempt, “Spare me your concern, rat.” He looked to see, tied to a chair near the far wall, the form of the maidservant Nomil, whose glowering features were swollen in parts. Perhaps it was the ample light or on account of the ropes that bound her, but she seemed to him far less threatening.
“Nomil, you see,” narrated Lady Poranda, “fell victim to the delusions of a small fry who thinks herself ambitious.” Diran cocked his head and the lady continued, “For it should be clear that, although we both occupy this land, this maid and I are not of equal standing. So low is she that in pursuit of wealth and luxury, she can see only myself a short distance ahead. So blinded by her middling status, she resents those of marginal superiority and seeks at every turn to reinforce her place above the lowest creatures. On the contrary, true aspiration is to gaze beyond such strictures, to turn to the sky and chase paradise with no other regards, to look ever forward.” As she finished her explanation, Lady Poranda turned her eye towards the bound Nomil, who lowered her head.
Diran stewed in the lady’s words for some time and for a good while the room was silent. He would stare for interminable periods at the silver thread, which glistened softly, beckoning him to take it ever higher. After a long time had passed, he looked to Lady Poranda once more, “I must pursue paradise, I must go ever higher. This is my ambition.” She nodded her agreement, “You are unique among all those I have yet met. I believe you will reach great heights.”
With that, Lady Poranda stood and approached the seated Nomil. She took the maidservant by the arm and stood her up. Diran watched as the Lady marched the sullen maidservant towards the door and spoke up, “What is to become of her?” Perhaps he was concerned by the resignation that was painted across the maidservant’s face.
“Officer Welvet is due to arrive, having made inquiries regarding your journey. I shall turn her over to his custody; she will likely be left to make her way onwards from a lesser station. We have no use for violent servants, and one so lacking in ambition at that.” Lady Poranda casually derided the captive Nomil, who made no retort. It was at this that Diran spoke up, almost out of reflex, “Then, could she not accompany me?”
The proposition, thrown into the air from seemingly nowhere, caught all present off guard. Although he could not see her face, he could feel that Nomil’s eyes had narrowed in a demeaning glare. Lady Poranda cocked her head curiously, “And why ever would you say that?” Diran himself had to take several moments to collect his thoughts, which were one or two beats behind his mouth. After a while, he motioned with his bandaged arm, wincing a little, “I fail to see how one wholly lacking in ambition could inflict such a wound over a mere thread. If you do not find value in Nomil’s company then, might she offer her services to one who does?”
Lady Poranda seemed intrigued, “Offer?” she parroted. Diran nodded, “Yes, offer. To accept life at a lower station, aspiring only for what is directly in front of yourself or to cast all restraint aside and seek out true paradise, true ambition. The choice must be yours to make—for just as there is no principled ambition, there is neither such a thing as forced ambition. It is up to each person to gaze upwards at the golden spire of paradise with their own eyes.” At some point, he pointed his speech directly to the maidservant.
There was a long pause where time seemed to stand still. Then, without looking his way, the maidservant Nomil spat icily, “Chase your fantasies alone, rat.” With that, she was led out of the room and the dark wooden door swung closed with a soft clunk. A sigh escaped his lips as Diran was left to nurse his wounds in solitude.