I, Atesh Ayuan Ashiphiex
Noble son of Aegtrys
Stormlord sired
shall brave the Gods and seize the stars
— Entry from crown prince Atesh Ayuan Ashiphiex
Year 1 of the Conquering
Incessant squawking forced the shells of Asho Ashen Ashiphiex’s eyes open. The prince cast one ocean blue iris towards the cloudless sky and hissed. His fingers dragged along sunburnt cheeks and trailed the falcon’s dark wings as she circled the mainmast of the barge. Asho groaned and pushed the silver circuit back into his mass of golden brown curls. He clumsily seized the memory of stumbling onto the Firefayer’s deck to hurl before collapsing under the stars.
Asho turned his head towards where the neptori took up their morning stations; cleaning up spilled jugs and mopping the wine soaked deck. The previous evenings entertainment; poets and prize fighters bought with Asho’s hefty allowance, were passed out. His helmsman Ronas nudged a neptori with his boot before noticing he was awake.
Yawning, Asho stood and matched the peregrine’s shrill call. The bird corkscrewed towards his outstretched arm. Hot air punched his face as she landed. The bird cooed affectionately, sticking out her leg. Asho slit the wax seal with his thumb. Ocean eyes lazily roamed the page before a clarity pierced the fogginess of his mind. “Just perfect.” He rubbed the falcon’s feathers for a moment as he took in the horizon line. Exhaling, the prince released the bird. The peregrine dived over the side of the Firefayer, sharp wings cutting against the surface before she disappeared beneath the gentle waves.
Asho wiped his mouth, nose scrunching at the acidic scent. He walked, as straight as he could, towards Ronas. “Take us to harbor.” He ordered.
“At once prince.” The helmsman kissed his knuckles.
Tapping his teeth, Asho dropped below the upper deck, the cool darkness that enveloped him an immediate relief from the scorching sun.
“Aye! Look our patron lives!”
“Hail our patron lives!” The bench parroted.
The oarsman’s leader, a barrelchested neptori named Pontus gleefully leaned forward. “What say you prince? Now you’ve gotten your beauty sleep? It’s never to early to begin enjoying Inusgi’s bounty!”
“No, no-” The prince’s mind was far to distracted to deal with his alcoholic crew. “I have to get to Aegtrys.”
The bench deflated. “My arms hurt!” Someone complained.
Asho scowled at the scrawny oarsman. “Just row the damn boat!”
“You heard our patron!” Pontos said, grabbing for his oar. “We row ashore.”
The captain’s quarters, unfortunately, were at the back of the cramped oarsmen’s deck. The prince marched past the benches of complaining oarsmen as they changed course. His skin prickled with the knowledge of dozens of eyes on him as he opened the door. Cheeks hot, he squeezed through the opening.
The Firefayer’s office remained undisturbed, mostly. A back wall was lit by two oil lamps displaying the Perimar family crest, a spearfish. Bones of an ancient hammerhead shark, likely older than Trajan Perimar himself, were strung up from the ceiling over a dust covered desk. What definitely did not belong to his older-than-time uncle was the naked woman dozing on the small cot.
Asho’s limbs scattered in different directions to find his discarded neptori armor. The stranger rolled over, pressing her palms to her eyes. “What are you doing?” She grumbled.
Asho stared at her blankly. I could ask you the same question. “I’ve been summoned ashore.”
“So soon.”
Remain composed, Asho. “Unfortunately so, love.” Asho heaved the bronze breastplate over his tunic. He finished with a rather rebellious fastening over his shoulder blade before pressing lips against her warm temple. “The Conqueror waits not even for the gods of the Skytops, you know that.”
The woman, who looked several years older than Asho’s twenty, swallowed her response. The blonde watched Asho lean down and tie his sandals before asking. “What do you think the Conqueror wants with you?”
Asho glanced up from where he was admiring his reflection in the bronze of his legionnaire helmet. His hands ran across the cracking leather of its cavern. “I’m heir to the empire.”
“The Conqueror named you heir?” The stranger propped her head up with an elbow, her brown eyes gleaming hungrily.
“An heir.” He begrudged. Asho raised an eyebrow at his disheveled reflection before settling the helmet at his hip. He cleared his throat, suddenly flushed. “About this.”
The woman’s flush spread through her entire body. “Don’t say it.”
Asho coughed into his hand. “I’ll see to it that you are brought back to Aegtrys discreetly, Talia.”
“Talia? TALIA!” The woman sat up enraged, her tiny fist strangling the blanket. “That’s my sister’s name!”
So that’s why she looked so familiar.
Asho narrowly ducked her shoe and turned on his heels for the door. He tilted his head back in the office as not-Talia angrily reached for her stola. “I’ll see you again?”
“Seriously!” Not-Talia screeched.
“I’ll take that for a no.” Asho slammed the door shut.
“YOU ARE A WORTHLESS DOG!” Came the muffled outburst, followed by another thud, as if she had thrown her other shoe. “CURSE YOU, YOU BASTARD! I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS! I’M GOING TO-”
The bench of oarsmen stared at him agape, oars stilled. Asho straightened and marched past as Not-Talia continued screaming. Above deck, he sidestepped around a pair of neptori hosting the ship’s massive sail and ran towards the bow.
“Ronas! Ronas!” He hissed.
“What?” The man asked irritably. “Why do you look like you just met the Maiden herself?”
“I’ve just had my royal person threatened by Not-Talia.”
“Not Talia?” Ronas asked.
“She’s. Not. Talia.” Asho enunciated.
Ronas blinked twice. “Oh. Sisters? Twins, maybe?” Asho recoiled as Ronas asked. “Did you not get her name?”
“Are you even listening to anything I’m saying? That woman just threw her shoe at my head?”
“Well, my prince.” Ronas appeared almost meek. “Does it truly matter?”
“Of course it matters!”
“No, I just.” Ronas sighed. “You will not have the woman hanged for throwing a shoe. Besides, we both know these escapades are—”
“Do not say it.” Asho held up a finger.
“Heard.” Ronas nodded. “The shore’s ahead my prince.”
Asho peered past the older sailor and towards the shimmering white cliffs of Aegtrys. A cluster of small islands broke from the sea and shot into the sky. At the tops of the reflective white rock, lush greenery nestled against the marble and along the terra-cotta roofs of buildings. Nearly afternoon, the polished bronze of the temples and palace encased the capital of the Ashenian Empire into a halo of warm light.
An empire that would one day be his. Asho’s grip tightened on the leather of his helmet. His gaze lingered on the bridges and walkways that connected the cluster of islands as the oarsmen exerted the last of their energy. Their ship glided past rows of carefully terraced farmland and fisheries towards the northwest harbor. Asho tapped his teeth as their ship entered the bay. The Firefayer was met with two stern guard towers. A guard glanced down at Ronas.
“Only neptori ships are allowed past this point.”
“I understand.” Ronas hollered up. “This vessel belongs to Senator Trajan Perimar and travels his highness Prince Asho Ashen Ashiphiex.”
The neptori squinted down at them. “I do not see his highness.”
“I am here.” Asho stepped forward and raised his voice. “The Conqueror has summoned me. It is best not to delay the matters of the empire.”
Asho couldn’t tell for sure, but the neptori seemed to visibly pale. “Very well.”
There was a groan of heavy machinery as the net was lowered. As they sailed past, Asho glanced down at the algae covered rungs as they sunk into the bay. The Firefayer glided past the shipyard of newly constructed triremes and past the outgoing ships of the first neptor.
The Firefayer docked beside the Serpent. Asho openly glared up at the large pristine warship and its proud purple sails before directing his disdain down the gangplank. Just as he had suspected, his cousin was waiting. Asho inwardly groaned: if Admrilia had been also summoned from her post blockading the silver islands, this meeting with the Conqueror was more than a request.
Admrilia’s sandal tapped as Asho took his time disembarking. Her permanent scowl deepened as he offered a careless smirk, knowing how much she despised wasting time. Her obsidian eyes hardened as she searched Asho’s frame for an untucked layer of cloth. As usual, Admrilia was effortlessly composed: her armor spotless, weapons neat. She had changed her hair since he had last seen her; her raven locks pulled tightly against her scalp in a series of headache inducing braids.
Standing next to him, Asho’s cousin equaled him in height and build— it paid to have a general as your father and the genetics of the Conqueror coursing through your veins. In a cruel twist of fate, the cousins shared a birthday, and worse still, Admrilia had been born mere minutes earlier.
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Admrilia’s thin mouth twisted upward. “Took you long enough.”
“I went to enjoy the ocean breeze”
Admrilia narrowed her eyes. “Whose ship is that?”
“My uncle lent it.” His cousin grunted, unconvinced. Asho stifled a yawn as his neptori formed an honor guard. Hopefully their helmets could hide their building hangovers.
“The Conqueror summoned me.” Admrilia’s cool voice had a grating quality on Asho’s ears, which was that it barely ever changed pitch. “I’m so glad to see you could make the time for him, cousin.”
“I aim to please.” They moved down the wooden walkway and deeper into the cove. Around them, the contained chaos of construction was evident at every turn. Large timbers of pine were heaved on ramps towards the noisy shipyard. Laborers marched to their morning stations, scraping off the ice that had formed the previous spring evening. At the end of the cove, their neptori handed the pair off to four of the palace’s awaiting centori.
Asho’s men turned back towards the Firefayer. Asho was confident that Ronas could sooth Not-Talia and smuggle her back into Aegtrys undetected.
“You need to respect your position.” Admrilia admonished after the centori had moved out of earshot. Their guides led the climb up the weathered ladders back up the steep cliffs.
“I respect my position as much as a man respects his lovers.” Asho quipped.
“Of which you have none—”
“That you know about.” Asho bit his tongue as they reached the top of a ladder’s rungs. He heaved himself onto the dirt path. Asho wanted to punch his own teeth in as Admrilia’s abyss-like eyes widened.
Admrilia darted her attention towards the four centori. “So the rumors of your exploits are true.” She said quietly.
Asho continued on the trail. “Why? Are you jealous you weren’t invited?”
The murderous growl Admrilia emitted made Asho quickly step back from the cliff she was about to push him over. “Enough.” She snapped. ‘How would your betrothed react to such talk?”
“Ah yes, princess-” Asho drew a blanch for the name of his betrothed, the fourteenth child of the Pi-Yenjan Emperor. He had not seen the princess since two summers ago for his eighteenth birthday, when a delegation had come to Aegtrys to pronounce their upcoming union. Which was, by far, the worst birthday gift ever.
“Princess Iriku.” Admrilia supplied. Her shoulder drilled into his back. Asho spluttered as he stumbled towards the ledge. “It’s best you remember it.”
Asho opened his mouth, but it was clear that Admrilia was done talking. He followed her broad shoulders up another switchback before they arrived at the lift. He squeezed in between the giant centori as they rang the bell. As their platform was hoisted up the final cliff, Asho watched the figurines of the ships and men in the harbor shrink below his feet.
The lift dropped them at the sharp marble walls of the back gate. The Emperor’s sprawling palace sat at the Northernmost point of Aegtrys’ largest island, its slanted marble walls tall enough to be noticed miles off at sea. The centori, the elite honorary guard of the Emperor himself, manned the barricaded gates at all hours of the day. They were cleared through. Admrilia marched through the greens of olive trees and cultivated wild flowers with little interest. Her pace quickened as they passed underneath a shady portico and into the towering palace.
Although early, the lower floors bustled with magistrates and nobles who quickly stopped and showed their respect. It was far to early for Asho to car. He suffered the throb of his burning calves as Admrilia outpaced him up four flights of stairs. Asho swallowed his panting breaths as they stopped outside the intricate brass doorway of the Conqueror’s private quarters. He straightened his spine. Their guards stepped aside and they were ushered into the atrium.
The Conqueror’s atrium was an imposing, rectangular room, the walls whitewashed with elegant murals depicting horses rising from the Semperimar and chariots stampeding over fallen enemies. Rugged blue paint outlined the doorframes of hidden chambers. Against the far wall, two grizzled centori stood in lockstep outside the Conqueror’s study. Their long spears brushed against the low ceiling while their outer hands rested a hair’s breadth away from the Conqueror’s prized hunting dogs. Their tall ears perked up at their arrival.
The back wall featured tightly packed alcove shrines to the lars — the family ancestors. Incense were lit in offering. Asho soured as he overlooked one figurine in particular— but the Conqueror quickly demanded his attention.
He sat hands folded in his lap on a short bench at the foot of the atrium’s pool. His head rose; his mouth a thin, ever unsatisfied line. Today, he was outfitted in billowy purple robes and was barefoot. The Conqueror was cusping the edge of his seventh decade and it showed; streaks of white hair layered like stray strands of wheat against his skull. The skin of his forearms were folded like the the thick papyrus sheets of a sea ledger; and while his legs were covered in sunspots and scars, they still retained the lean muscle of a much younger man.
“Glorious day to enjoy the waves, is it not?” His sturdy, commanding voice jolted Asho and he met his eyes. The Conqueror’s eyes were piercing black, blacker than the very depths of the Semperimar. They saw all, missed nothing, rattled even the most fortitudinous of enemies. Atesh Ayuan Ashiphiex undeniably possessed the eyes of a god. They peeled back Asho’s nakedness; his weakness; until Asho’s throat was nothing but a gutted fish carcass.
Admrilia replied cooly. “It is indeed. Thank be to the Stormlord.”
“Come.” He commanded.
They marched around the wide pool that separated the atrium. The prince kissed the Conqueror’s knuckles first, lips rubbing against scar tissue. The Conqueror’s nose scrunched when Asho rose, and he shuddered with embarrassment.
The Conqueror’s focus burned into the entryway of the atrium as if he could envision his collective territories spread out before him. “The Fourth Triumph approaches.” He said in his usual measured tone. “Guards, the items.”
Asho swiveled his head to watch the older centori retreat to the back office. They returned with bundles covered in cloth. Asho accepted an awkwardly shaped package, his curiosity bordering on concern as the centori exited the atrium.
The Conqueror waited until the door was locked. “Go stand to the north and south.”
Asho backtracked to the northern lip of the pool and stared down at the sprawling map of the Ashenian Empire in vibrant ceramic tiles. It featured the names of every noteworthy territory and city in blocky Sheni script. Some, like the coastline, spanned centuries back. Others were fresher, only fifty years old, thanks to the Conqueror. Asho felt a surge of pride as he envisioned his own conquest; perhaps to the North, or further West, and the honor that awaited him.
Atesh slid off the bench and knelt. His fingers reverently trailed the red script above Aegtrys before leaping out towards the continent. When the Conqueror began barking out the all too familiar myth, Asho painted his face neutral.
“In the beginning, mother Skytops bore fire children for herself. First, she crafted Thrysne from the black salty tears of her loneliness. Next, she molded her daughters: Sachmis, from the heat of her palms; Inusgi, from the lining of her stomach: and Ceolymne, from the enamel of her teeth. Finally, for her youngest Apki she gifted her tongue.”
The Conqueror leaned over the lip of the pool and trailed the nearest ridge of the Skytops— the mountain formation that separated the edge of his empire from the barbaric tributary of Thrys. “And yet, Mother Skytop’s children did not stir. The goddess called out to the Wyrd— the dark abyss of the heavens, and anchored the sky to herself.” Asho scrunched his nose and quickly recovered at Admrilia’s sharp glare. “... and the gods awoke.”
This, Asho knew already. He half listened as the Conqueror talked, counting the number of dolphins on a nearby column. His arms burned from the bundle he carried.
“Hunger grew in the heart of Apki, and he weaved lies to his sisters. Together tye plotted to break free from their mother. One night the four gods climbed to the highest peak where their fingertips could barely brush against their father’s skin. Apki punched against the heavens shattering fragments that dropped to the earth in comets of great fire. Thrysne rose form his slumber and ran swiftly up the mountain, leaping in front of his siblings to protect the union of earth and sky.”
The Conqueror’s voice dropped an octave. “Apki punched Thrysne into the dark waters far from their home. The others escaped Mother Skytops in all corners of the world, carrying the fragments of their father with them.”
The Conqueror rose and stepped into the shallow pool. Crystalline water rushed to his bare ankles. He made an unfolding motion, and the cousins quickly untied their bundles.
“Inusgi went south to the flatlands and planted a piece of the sky. The star nourished the soil and crops grew.” Admrilia hastened to put a loaf of rye bread in the middle of Sugia Territory.
“Sachmis fled west and swallowed her stolen star. It poisoned and twisted the once beautiful goddess’ body. She retched flames over the land, scorching it and contorting its people.” The Conqueror pointed to Ker with disgust as Admrilia lowered a slab of sandstone.
“Ceolymne traveled north to a land of snow and ice. She buried a pierce of the sky so deep that it touched and awakened the dead.” The prince knelt and placed the wolf skull in the water. The Conqueror’s voice sharpened. “Apki found home in the hills, and used the wyrd to shield themselves within a cloak of darkness. Thus the life of traitors and those who dwell in his forests.” Asho placed the cedar log down on Iornore Territory and rose to meet the Conqueror’s displeasure. Sweat trickled down his back.
“Thrysne emerged from the waves of the Semperimar, angry and agonizing for mother Skytops. He longed to return home, but his legs were lodged in the seafloor. In his palm was a piece of the stars he had tore from Apki as he fell. After a time, Thrysne claimed the sea as his domain. He searched for his cowardly siblings. His sisters would mock him from the shoreline, and his brother would hide in his forests. But still Thrysne the Stormlord vowed to avenge the murder of his father.”
The Conqueror tilted his head upward at the open ceiling. His weathered hands rose to his neck, unclasping a silver chain. For all of Asho’s training, the sight of the stone turned his bones to clay. “Is that?” He asked, unable to finish his sentence.
A geode was fastened to the silver chain the size of an infants fist. Its edges were dark and pockmarked, like the dark volcanic rock that ran along Aegtrys’ shoreline. The geode was cracked open, revealing a polished slice of otherworldly meteorite— a frozen tide of unearthly blue.
The Conqueror nodded. “The wyrdstone. Yes. It is time for both of you to embrace the truth of our empire’s success.” Asho was enraptured by the wyrdstone. A true piece of the stars. He was so close to the star that Asho could swear he could hear it hum. He could nearly curl the wyrdstone in his fist, raise it high above his head at the front of an approaching army, use it to call forth a storm, whisper the language of gods and men.
With the wyrdstone, Asho could become a god.
Atesh the Conqueror observed his heirs cooly as they salivated over the wyrdstone. “My sons and daughters’ connection to the wyrd was not strong enough to hold this star. Even your fathers,for all of their promise, could never wrestle the power of the mighty Stormlord.” His lips tightened somewhat, as if betrayed by one dead son and another living with paralyzing guilt. “Now, only the two of you remain. I have decided that you shall both accompany me on the Triumph through the continent.”
Wait, what? Asho thought quickly, his eyed darting from the wyrdstone up to the Conqueror. He was actually going?
“By the end of the year, I shall decide which of you will be my successor. I will train you in the wyrd, but there is no guarantee that either of you will show any promise.” He allowed his words to resonate. “After the others, I thought it was best that neither of you have access to the wyrdstone before adulthood. But it is time. The Stormlord is a powerful god, and one must earn his mercy to use his gift.”
This lecture was unlike the countless others. The seriousness of the situation began to settle over him as the Conqueror looked them over each in turn. Asho straightened his spine. Admrilia’s eyes were greedy and animalistic. She looked ready to run Asho through with a spear then and there and be done with it.
“I will only consider you if you pledge your lives to the Stormlord. It is an oath that all of my children have sworn before you.” The Conqueror grew solemn. “It is an oath were we must allow our god to lead our path and allow the injustices of our enemies to spur us onward. Whether to the South, or the West, the North, or even the East—” The Conqueror gathered teh objects and placed them in the center of the pool in a meticulous cairn: stone, wood, bread, bone. “We swear to overcome all others and instill order.” His palm lowered the wyrdstone onto the pile.
“Conquest is sacred. Our sky cannot brook two suns, nor earth two masters.”
Asho took a half step back as the pool’s still water began flowing towards the sandstone. The water ran up the cairn of cedar and rye. The Conqueror’s dark eyes narrowed as the pool rose to meet his fist. The snap was so violent it took Asho a moment to register what had happened as the pillar shattered into hundreds of ice shards. The water receded. Bone fragments floated towards Asho’s feet.
“So now-” The Conqueror’s voice floated in and out of Asho’s ear as the wyrdstone consumed his attention. “It is time for you both to pledge your lives to Thrysne. May our great Stormlord bestow you with his gift, and see you as worthy as a champion for his great people. As the Semperimar is the Salt and Sea of our blood, you shall vow to fulfill the legacy to the Stormlord until your dying breath.”
Atesh the Conqueror took a stiff step towards the prince. His weathered fingers unclasped Asho’s fingers and curled them around the wyrdstone.
The wyrdstone was frigid, colder than a northern icelake. The cold seeped through his raw skin and plunged its teeth straight into the bones of his hand. Numbness spread down his arm. Asho clenched his chattering teeth.
The Conqueror’s wet fingers pressed against his sternum. The bitter cold pierced his center, ice gripping his lungs. Asho gasped out for air in flighty breaths as if he was drowning. And then a powerful, ancient voice resonated deep in his chest. Wyrdling. It intoned. It was not the deep rumbling of the Conqueror. The voice was darker, dangerous, ancient. As if spoken long before Sheni had been uttered. Its inflection crashed and rose with the current and the undercurrent.
Asho’s aching lungs screamed for air as he sunk into the gyre. He screamed from the Firefayer along the coastline. He screamed as he ran through a forest of cedar trees, laughter ringing through the branches. He screamed as he was handed a bronze helmet with a cracked leather cavern. He screamed, adrift from harbor, as the tall figure of the Conqueror turned back to shore. He screamed at the shroud of a missing body. He screamed as he trailed clay horsemen around the ridges of the Skytops, the plateaus of valleys, and drove his armies forward into the Dunelands as his father and the Conqueror argued behind the closed door of the study. He screamed the one phrase he knew since he could run alongside his father’s tanned legs. He screamed as he was born: to the stars! To the Stars! To the Stars!