A lovely hum.
That’s what Hygeia sounded like at these hours.
The closing dusk did not interrupt the chattering, the conversations… The cafés glowed warm, housing the bubbling talk-of-the-times, and voices both miserable and sublime.
Be it high up the Asphodeli, or tucked away in some wretched corner of the south-side, many found time —from where, who knew? —to waste away their days, to prattle them out on whatever took their fancy.
The tea houses followed much the same pattern —A recently growing phenomena, aided greatly by king Alphonse XVI’s colonial expansions; the price of tea leaves had lowered to an accessible standard; though many were still skeptical, thinking them some sort of loegrian cultural import, or labeling them as overtly-feminine; a truth, at least partial, as it were women who attended and occupied most of tea houses.
Irrespective, tea flowed with growing vigor, mixing its airs among the streets, swirling with the aroma of roasted coffee as pair.
Theaters clamored, as plays opened, and others rolled well under way. Beautiful actors swiveled on the stage, kissed or drew blood upon each other. Some playwrights prayed, as to have their scripts blessed, beloved by demanding critics and praised by the public, others found themselves oddly calm… and the ones already dead, surely trembled with ire at seeing their works brutalized, or smiled contentedly, somewhere, at ease with their art’s immortality.
The gardens and fountains were swarmed with lovers and their sightseeing, hand in hand, ready to be eternalized by the capital’s painters. However, in some frigid slum, cut up and eroded by the autumn winds, frail sickly children huddled up, lulled to black sleep by a drunk’s cries as he struck his wife, cheap liqueur held firmly in hand. Past the corner a blind beggar held out his hands, boils on his soot-tinted feet, the greatest irony of all: those who passed by were as miserable as him; beggars were not allowed on the Asphodeli, after all.
A dusty flat was left empty, open to the winds and ransacked, as its former occupant, a starving painter, had one day dreamed of the end of the world. Possessed by some future light, the man had gone out in pilgrimage, as others go out to lunch, to take the life of this earth’s end. Another one, besides it, was also unoccupied, the door locked —pointlessly—, as it’s tenant, saving up for who knows how long, today visited the Odéon, to see, in a mid-way seat, one of Atanasio Alcides Amandus Landaverde Buendía y Cienfuegos de la Rosa’s —Or simply Alcides de la Rosa’s— plays, a great Illuminé; once part of the Hellian’s close circle, and made nobility by grace in recompense for his art, now buried… Today, this nameless tenant journeyed to the theater, wishing, in his mind, for de la Rosa’s genius to bless him.
Across the street the glow of a rundown café lit up the otherwise darkened way, where pedestrians passed —their clothes hugged tight to their bodies—, hurried, as if scared. Inside, a strangely merry uproar —the air filled with joy—: men gathered round a table, when one —a smile fueled with melancholy adorning his face, and breath smelling of wormwood— stepped atop it, then addressed the café.
“Comrades, friends, friends… listen! Here, the new canto of my verses… No editor deigns read them… much less put them to print!”
“So what!” One echoed.
“Let us hear!” another one pleaded with a smile.
“Oh, the idler Garcin… show us!” A third one commented in jest.
“My friends, well, then… These verses come to me after a letter… my father up north has demanded of me to return, to sell rags...”
“Well, will you go?” A new man asked him.
All those present laughed.
“Ha! Hahaha!” Gracin then entered the chorus of laughs, holding his belly as his eyes teared up.
Crossing city blocks as one crosses the stones scattered on the road, another café made itself clear. Its quiet nature was less homely, although the warmth remained. And seated along a corner table —cups of steaming coffee in front to ward off the cold— a group of friends conversed. One, looking out a window into the chilly street, focused an ear firmly onto the conversation the other two carried along.
“Roderin has been oddly absent lately…” Mikael commented, wondering for the cause of his friend’s sudden busyness. “Perhaps he’ll leave the continent soon…?
”Maybe he took on that job he talked about…” Frederik answered back, yawning after. Then, took a swig of his coffee.
“You think…? Wasn’t that… a year ago, was it?”
“He could have said yes then… and is only starting now.” Anton interjected, eyes still on the window, and the street behind it.
“I wonder what it is…” The still yawning man held a slightly trembling cup in his hand.
“A lecturer position at Vanus…” Mikael seriously speculated… however, soon, a small smile crept onto his lips.
The two other men laughed.
“God that’s comical…” Frederik managed to state between chuckles.
On a particular heavy snort his hand slipped, spilling a trickle of boiling coffee on his hand, dribbling, then, onto the table.
“Fuck…”
A couple streets down, snaking its way through the alleys flowing out of the Asphodeli, an unmarked carriage scuttled about. Clearly luxurious, though indeterminate and evidently made for the covert, it clapped along the stone lanes, its driver carefully taking a discrete path towards the red-blooded streets… the Quartier Fiévreux, la Rue Rouge, the Rue sans nez... or whichever other name one may prefer. Inside, emerald eyes looked out, impatient.
The city flowed in this manner, unceasing, as if possessed by the spirit of all who had once walked its skin, and yet… superimposed onto this miracle of human Geist, this great collage of eras and stone, of layers of civilization made detritus and compacted into earth… another city inhabited its blind parallel. Invisible doors hinged on mundane, solid walls of brick, made of light and leading to miraculous apothecaries and alchemist’s dens; floor subdividing into themselves, to allow the passing of scholar-astrologers, with telescopes in hand, to witness the stars from some vantage and in this manner foretell, enchant and invoke. Colleges full, like beehives, of apprentices, students, magi… researching all the forms of the fantastic and wondrous; grand plazas with arched vaults like skulls, where crowds convened to listen those who dared; some stood on podiums, others atop stones, and others more presented and defended esoteric theses, discussing back and forth with the crowds… and further down, as the flow of the impeccably dressed —some levitating, others flying— led, more stores were abound; among shapeshifting marble, stone and brick, with ornate architecture coming alive, grafted with the passing of the eras, as their styles flowered along the street’s body: the maximalist, immense and glorious form of the Hellian’s reign, the irregular and ostentatious shapes of the era solar, the austere stone carvings and cyclopean slabs of the days before the era of discovery, the academic, intellectual and tastefully wood accented architecture of the current wave… marked by signs of endless variety, and services unthinkable, wondrous, and insane, as some conversed… others window shopped and many more entered and left, haggling or buying outright… bronze instruments for indeterminate purposes, miraculous liquids, and metals, mundane to the simple eye, but marvelous to the mage… cinnabar, sulfur, blood treated iron, sun-like amber with flames spilling out if its cracks, herbs and budding flowers of strange form and iridescent colors… all was sold here. And further, further down, a simple looking man, with a strange, thin frame and a blind eye walked into an imposing castle, a building transported from some chivalrous past… the half-blind man was respectfully bowed to and greeted by those who saw him: clerks, officials, visitors, servitors, students, delegates… as he blinked further and further into the structure, short distances where he would appear and reappear, much like other men trot when late to some meeting. His hand kept in his coat. ensuring something would not fall from its inner lining, as he finally reached the castle’s tallest spire, devoid of any others, and entered a sublime room. Its form was of rich, deep, mahogany wood, and pale gray stone… banners and candles eternally burning lined its walls, and chandeliers lit by wax hung from its beams atop. Grand windows of paneled mosaic like glass opened as well, obscured by the dusk. And, at its center, twelve tall chairs of some, strange, near black wood curved along a round table. All were occupied, except for one, where the half-blind man sat. And as he made contact with its bare shape, the fires flickered, and a deep voice rang.
“To convene this meeting and arrive late…”
The thin man rebuked.
“I am a rather depended upon individual, sometimes unexpected situations call for me…”
What looked to be a youth, hair like wheat, with bored light brown eyes posed on the recent arrival, seated in a central position, talked, his cheek rested on his hand’s palm.
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“Now we commence a new meeting… State the relevant… and so on…” A bold accent colored his words.
The man pulled a small leather-bound notebook out of his coat, placing it in front of himself… the only thing that adorned the round table.
“Recently, I was called upon by the old galdr…”
“That’s scourge…?” A woman’s voice cut into his sentence.
“Yes…” He answered.
“Is he finally leaving…?” Some other voice, vaguely male, asked, only slightly interested.
“I would not think him to respect traditions over dominion… If anything, did he call upon you to mock us or something of the sort?” A new echo made its way into the exclamations, steady and unimpressed.
“No, no… listen… he desired to talk about an important matter. The man seems to have taken interest in a prospect… most likely a future apprentice.” He shook his hand as if to cut the noise.
The room became silent, then boiled in sound.
“Is this some declaration of war?”
“An apprentice… is he mad?”
“What? And he said this?”
“So it was an insult… hah…”
“The idiot. Why not keep it a secret?”
“Silence.” The “youth” ordered, his voice mystically enhanced. Sitting up straight, then, holding his brows in clear annoyance, he spoke once more. “I assume this has something to do with this… manuscript? you have with you… or was it just some pleasant walk you had with the faerian?” He pointed at the notebook.
“Yes… you see, although the animosity you all hold towards the man is understandable, I do believe a close relationship with notable, powerful magi, in one’s holdings is of utmost importance. Thus, as you know, I’ve kept a… communicative partnership with him across the years…”
“Hah!”
Another voice snorted.
A head drooped onto the table, confused.
“And because of this, I believe to have averted a possible confrontation between the Comitatus and the galdr, and even netted us benefits… in a manner that promises further gain across the future…”
“Are you not being tricked?” Someone asked.
“First, hear… then we can deliberate.” He cleared his throat. “In recompense for ending any “needless hostility” toward him, or his apprentice, as he put it, he would give us ownership of a desidere…”
Once again, a silence drowned the room. This one, however, turned the air heavy, and made clear a bubbling tension now settling on the peers.
Even the “youth’s” eyes widened, ever so slightly, lighting for an instant his dispassionate expression.
“This madman owning a desidere all this long… how has the city not gone up in flames?” Someone lamented, a hand over his eyes.
“Really? A desidere… what is its purpose.” A more inquisitive voice asked.
“Never mind that! Is it not some igneous mechanism? I am sure, we will take into the vaults for it to suddenly combust… kill one of us as well, surely…” A rather paranoid assertion clamored.
Someone, still holding their wits, interjected.
“Hmm… if this is true, then have we not misjudged the galdr? Holding a desidere for this long…”
The half-blind mage found an opportunity to continue.
“I agree, this was partly what I realized during the conversation… Also, a desidere in payment for one more galdr in Hygeia and some influence… Is it not a worthy trade? Who knows, we may even be able to draw this apprentice of his into service for the city. Nevertheless, I do believe it correct to keep caution…” He picked up the notebook, waving it in one hand. “I have read over his notes on the artifact, and it is actively useful and fulfills a worthy purpose.”
The notebook flew as if carried by the wind onto the hands of the peer to his left.
Someone did warn, as they waited their turn for the manuscript.
“They are, surely, only the notes he wishes us to see… If we do acquire it further study would have to be conducted… That considered, this shows quite the serious disposition for this… trade, taking the first step…”
A valid concern jumped into the fray.
“I do not wish to act the paranoiac, yet, does this not smell of beguilement? Who knows what he would teach to this apprentice, atop, what he would do… In fact, who is the apprentice? Is he notable?”
“Well, he is… although in the secular. It is the newest prince of Romanse.”
“The babe?” The same concerned voice asked.
All the peers had their thoughts, going this or that way, ready to presume the worst or reevaluating the past, suddenly muddled by this revelation.
“So was it a joke all along…?” The youth asked.
“No, you see… This is another matter on which I wished to ask for your opinions… The child is a year old, yet, was able to see both me, and the galdr…”
Eyes widened, and more than one sigh was heard.
“And seems to have a vinculum with a soul-bound symbolic familiar… a man-sized swan… since his birth, most likely.”
One rubbed his face in exasperation.
An increment of sighs, uneasy tapping and rapid thinking, echoed about in the chamber.
“You jest?”
“No…” The half-blind mage assured.
“Should we just kill him…?” A voice tiredly proposed.
Some looked at the mage, and his suggestion, as idiotic. Not because of steady morals, but rather because of the ensuing conflict if such an act were put through.
“He was clever… now we risk confrontation if we move to secure the child…”
“Quite distressing.”
“A mage born of that family… Ha…”
A steady voice interrupted the confusion, having just read the manuscript.
“If these are the functions and mechanisms of the desidere, I believe the compromise to be favorable… Besides, he is an old galdr. I am sure he did not explicitly tell you he wishes for an heir… even so, I suspect it to be the case…” The voice turned its eyes towards the thin mage.
Once again, he had an opportunity.
“I theorized so during this walk… It almost seems like assurance, this deal… perhaps he wished his apprentice, or heir, inducted into the general culture of the era, thus, into Hygeia. Which is why I suggest this will benefit us years past…”
“Is this what you truly believe?” The pair of discerning light-brown eyes burned a hole onto his countenance.
“Yes.” He told no lie.
“Should we not move to, at least, contest his stake as the child’s master? A vinculum like this is as rare as can be.” A concerned tone wondered.
“Hah! And wrangle some Geist-drunk brat for thirty odd years?” A heavy male voice mocked.
“Do not forget the temperament that these… mōnstrum usually bear. Which college will you stuff him into? to wreak havoc… ”
“I disagree… you are all worn… fatigued from bearing too many an apprentice… I see a future inheritor of the peerage here. We should contest, if not… move so as to secure his allegiance in a future.”
“Which is why I have stressed a closer relation with the galdr, if he holds no hostility towards us, he will rear an apprentice neutrally. Or… we could simply approach the child and persuade him. It would not break any vow we make…” The half-blind calmly insisted.
“So you’ve given up on contesting?”
“I believe it to be for the best if he is left with the galdr… Still, I can think of many who would be better teachers to the child than him… especially in a more, contemporary setting.”
“I say let it be. Those born with weight in familiars and attendants are usually insane. A pair of madmen, they suit each other.” A random jab aimed at someone not there.
The “youth” raised his hand, quieting the hall.
“Finish reading the manuscript, then vote… I know now what I will choose. If you decide to honor some deal, I will prepare the according chains, a vow will not suffice… if not, then coordinate to prepare a form of suppression, involve me if the need arise.”
“You seem indifferent to this… the child could augur a resurgence of the galdr’s magic.” Someone questioned.
“No, not this far south of the Riphei. All that this augurs for me is a headache.” He once again rested on his palm.
“I believe no one has mentioned the incumbent… a galdr passing magics on to an apprentice will call the Healdan into Hygeia. I do not wish to see ourselves encumbered by their presence.”
“Are they not busy in the new world? They won’t come…” A wave of the hand seemed to dismiss the issue.
“Was the old galdr not a problem they left us with…? They may come… to settle old accounts.”
“I will intercede... vote as if they do not exist.” The “youth” spoke, slowly, to make his words take on crushing weight.
“Will you vote without seeing the desidere’s operation?” The half-blind asked the “youth”.
“It is unnecessary…” He answered, his eyes closed.
The leather-bound journal made its cycle across ten of the twelve peers, before arriving back at the thin mage’s hands.
“You were right, it is… it makes one wonder what else could be gleaned from its study…”
“What college should be given custody of research over it…?”
“Hmm… I nomin—”
“You all talk as if forgetting what is to be permitted in exchange for the desidere… I’ve read the notes yet still feel unmoved… Although interesting, you must admit, to consider it worthy payment for the host of problems to arise from this galdr… free to take on an heir, and for us to limit our options against him… It is not enough.” A skeptic intervened.
“Yes, I agree. Have you all forgotten to haggle?” Someone echoed.
“He is not a man to haggle… I could come with the proposal… Although I find it counterproductive… Straining relations, and worsening possible future benefits… No… The desidere is beyond payment enough. I would like to disagree, however…” The half-blind mage countered, ending with a sigh.
“To squeeze out more when given a desidere? Please, curb your greed… perhaps the stars smile and he leaves with his apprentice, then the problem becomes someone else’s.”
“Do not kid yourself. He would not leave after gaining such benefits in Hygeia.”
“I do consider it relevant that the apprentice is a prince, as no one has commented further… it means strong ties to Romanse, mirrored in strong ties to Hygeia; If he can be interred into one of the colleges, and then onto the Comitatus, a wealth of knowledge only privy to galdr becomes our own… this I find even more appetizing than his apparent Geist in servitors, especially if the old scourge is treating him as an heir… once dead he will not steer the child’s life.” A rather scholarly voice made sure to remind.
“We are being hasty, to conclude this conundrum in a single session…” A more reasonable voice warned.
“It is really not complicated… either we accept, or we do not… I say take the risk.” Some indifference marked this tone.
“If he is to give up the remnants, then the gains from this heir will be greater than the loss of the desidere, consider, all of you, this.”
“Well, yes. That this gain will be harmful to the Comitatus, to Hygeia in general…”
“Oh? You’ve changed tune on this madman so suddenly… researcher's greed appears to have taken hold of this hall.” Someone mocked.
“Hah, so what? You have read the notes…”
“Like a dog, you act… being so easily led by petty recompense…”
“Petty?!” A chair scraped back as someone rose, more afflicted at the dismissal of the desidere’s worth than their comparison to a measly dog.
“Silence.” The “youth” stilled the hall, still resting, his eyes unopened. “Vote. None of you are imbeciles, weigh the scales, consider all and choose. What results from this meeting, what it may… trust in yourselves and in this city. Are you all so puny as to be thrown into disarray by a single mage?”
The fires flickered; the banners moved as if rustled by breeze.
“Then… which seats desire to carry out this trade?” He asked.
Six raised their hands.
“And those opposed?”
Five rose then.
“I cast my vote in favor of the trade… Now, we would hold further discourse and salvaments… They are, sadly, futile in this case… it is, fundamentally, quite a simple matter…” He opened his eyes and sat straight. “Prepare all that is relevant within the phase…” A yawn escaped his lips. “This meeting ends. Be blessed…”
All rose, mingled, caught up, laughed, some left, others discussed still, loitered about, wielding this or that argument to its logical end.
The moon hung as a silver tear in the sky, cloaking both cities in its pearly veil.