“I shouldn’t be having conjugal relations with a married woman. It’s immoral,” Salles told her as she moved towards him. Without another word, though, she was already kissing him on the lips.
“I thought you’d be flattered to have a woman try to seduce you,” she said after the kiss, licking her lips and smiling as she eagerly looked into his eyes.
“I don’t like flattery,” he told her, but she still kissed him again, now pulling him to the floor and tugging at his clothing.
The light of the lamp still glowed in the sitting room, where a now naked couple lay upon the floor, Salles on his back staring up towards the ceiling and Darma cuddling close to him and clinging to his body. She rested her head on his shoulder and gently traced her hand across his chest.
“I think I’ll name him Donell,” Darma said distractedly, “Look at me. I’m already convinced it’s going to be a boy. If it’s a girl, I don’t know, we’ll think of something.”
Darma looked at Salles who didn’t appear to be paying attention to her or to have heard what she’d said. To attract his attention she asked him directly: “Why do the first born sons of the Aresan king become sages?”
Salles turned his head to her at this point and asked her, “What?” Darma had to repeat the question. Salles shrugged his shoulders in response and said, “It’s tradition. They’ve always done it. We’re supposed to be the principal advisor to the Chief Royal.”
Darma then asked: “Why did they start doing it? Why is it a tradition? They can’t have always done it that way.”
“Well, I don’t know for certain,” Salles replied, “But Eloh once told me that they used to just take the first born son away to an isolated school and put him through a strict mental and physical training in order to prepare him to be Chief Royal, since first-born sons were, at the time, automatically assigned to be successors to the throne. But then at one point a very crafty second-born son hatched a scheme so that he could seize the throne. He had a religious advisor declare that any son born during the first consummation of the future Chief Royal and his queen should be considered as a gift of the gods, and should be set aside to live a life of devotion to Anan. Since his older brother had been conceived precisely in this way, they did as he said, and that first-born became the first true Sage. Later some Royals tried to evade sending their favored first son by sending their first daughter, and eventually it settled on sending the first child.”
“So that’s how it began?” Darma asked.
“Well, it happened before Eloh was born, so who knows. We don’t have any written records of it. And besides Noone has a totally different story. She says it began because sometimes the future Chief Royal and his fiancé would become pregnant and birth a child before they were married and outside of Madrus. Though our King and his concubines aren’t expected to respect Madrus, it was before they were married, and so it was considered more than a bit unseemly. In fact, it used to be that there was a formal engagement ceremony not long before the wedding when the two families first agreed to be wed, and it was common for princes to sneak into the bed of the princess before the wedding and sometimes impregnate her. To avoid the shame, they would deliver the child in secret and hide it away. Then as recompense for this violation of divine law, they would give the child to one of the secluded religious orders that we used to have, for life. It eventually became tradition for the groom to sneak into the bride’s bed immediately after the engagement and this became part of the ritual. Later they came to consider children born during this ritual sacred, and made the practice of cloistering tradition. Eventually, they just started to consider the first child of the king sacred no matter when it was born. All the secrets of the sages apparently come down from this original religious community.”
“Do you believe that story, then?” Darma asked.
“I don’t know,” Salles replied, “That’s the story Noone remembers. I don’t know if I trust her memory that much. ‘Memory,’ as they say, ‘shifts like the dunes.’”
“Yes, but isn’t it your job to preserve this history. Shouldn’t you have records of it, and know for certain what happened?” Darma asked.
“We’re supposed to preserve history, but this is not official history. This is not the type of thing were supposed to write down,” Salles said.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Aresan Clan pt 74
After the dinner was completed, Annsi and Alles departed. As they said their goodbyes at the door, Darma and Annsi arranged for a future dinner date between the two of them alone, and Alles reiterated his dedication to speaking with the Closed Table.
After they left, Darma dismissed Onur early for the night, and he promptly left, leaving Darma and Salles alone in her house.
Salles suggested, after he watched Onur go, that he should retire to his room: “I need to relax myself in preparation for sleep. If you don’t mind.”
“I do mind,” Darma told him, “I’m not ready for bed, and you’re the only one to talk to. Please, let’s sit down. Tell me about your life in the Cloisters. I assure you that this will be the last night you’ll have to be alone with me. My husband is supposed to return tomorrow. Tomorrow’s the first day of Madrus, of course, and he’s always prompt to drop whatever he’s doing to return to me for it. So, tell me all about the cloisters. It is, as I imagine a life startlingly different from that which I have here.”
“What do you want me to tell?” Salles asked her as the two of them walked into the sitting room, which was now only dimly lit by the light of dusk.
Darma lit a lamp in the room and said to Salles, “You know what I was wondering, especially tonight after seeing your daughter: how exactly did that daughter of yours come to be? Sages aren’t allowed to get married, am I correct? Yet she has a mother, I presume. She didn’t simply spring out of the ground from sperm you spilled in the dirt, did she?”
“No,” Salles said, settling himself into a couch, “That type of thing only happens in the stories of the gods. Annsi has a mother, Daysha. Her and I produced Annsi together. Daysha was a resident at the cloisters. She was one of the servants we permit to work there in exchange for food and shelter.”
“So, it’s permitted for Sages to have sex then?” Darma asked, sitting herself right next to him on the couch, close enough so that their legs touched.
“It’s only forbidden for us to marry and raise children,” Salles said, shifting in his seat.
“So, are the male Sages one of the employment benefits for residents? If a girl resides there, does she get the privilege of visiting the bed any male sage she chooses?” Darma asked, “Or is it the horny young sages who get to use the servants as outlets for their pent up sexual urges?”
“No,” Salles said, uncomfortably, “Neither of those happen. It was consensual.”
“So who seduced who, then? You don’t seem like the seducer type. So, I’m guessing its Daysha who was the aggressor. Did she corner you in your room, and then press you against the wall and kiss you so hard that it took your breath away? That’s what I’d do if I were her.”
“It was a mutual attraction,” Salles replied, “Her and I simply got along very well and developed a close intimacy.”
“Well it’s good to know that you’re fertile. My husband, Dorin, I think he’s sterile. In fact I’m pretty sure about it. He failed to impregnate me the last two Madruses. And we tried. Boy, we tried. Every night he was inside me. Sometimes twice a day. Wonderful as that was, I cannot afford another barren Madrus. My womb will not stay fertile forever.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Salles responded, “I imagine it might be quite frustrating.”
“Tomorrow I’ll seduce Dorin when he returns. We’ll have sex. And then, three seasons later, if I have a child, he’ll assume that conception was on that first night of Madrus we shared together, the luckiest night of Madrus on which to conceive, as it so happens. But the child won’t be his because he’s sterile. And it will have been conceived on the night before.”
“You mean tonight?” Salles asked.
“Yes,” Darma said nodding her head slowly and looking intently into Salles’ eyes, “You and I.” Darma touched Salles’ arm with one hand and his leg with another and leaned in towards him, craning her neck to reach up towards his lips.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Aresan Clan pt 73
Onur walked to the front door of Darma’s house, summoned by a loud pounding from outside. When he opened the door he saw a square-jawed soldier with a short beard and closely cropped hair standing next to a small, sensual woman with beautiful features and a tentative smile.
Despite that she looked like such a delicate creature, she had the short hair and toned arms of a soldier, and Alles inferred that it was Alles and Annsi and led them inside.
Annsi wore an elegant blue toga which fitted her well and complemented her beauty, even though the fabric was worn and the colors faded. Attached to a leather belt that hugged her waist, she bore a dagger in a sheath, partly concealed between the folds of her toga. Alles wore the same type of shirt and trousers that he normally wore, though he had apparently treated the event as a special occasions, since his clothes were freshly cleaned, he was freshly bathed, and he’d trimmed his beard and hair. Though he looked hardly any different than the forbidding soldier of the battlefield, he did actually look and smell clean for a change.
They were led into a brightly-lit sitting room, where Darma rose to greet them, kissing them both on the cheeks. She spoke with them at length, while they waited for the food, drinking from a cup as she talked. In the expression of her slow and fluid movements was the effortless grace of a person accustomed to having things placed in her hands when she asked, a person accustomed to being able to command and receive that which she wished for without any more effort necessary than the production of a gesture. At the tips of her fingers was a drinking cup resting on the table, and all she needed to when it was empty was to extend it forth for Onur to understand the command and refill it.
It was not until the food was almost completed that Salles emerged from the kitchen and shared a firm handshake with Alles. He presented his hand to Annsi and then awkwardly tried to hug her.
When the four of them sat down, they were each presented with a plate of meat, bread and cheese, with a cup of a sour, fizzy drink that Alles didn’t recognize. He commented, “This is a great honor Sage Salles. I have never had the esteemed privilege of sharing a meal with a Sage before. It is reputed that your food has miraculous powers of longevity.”
“So they tell us,” Salles commented with a sly smile, “In fact, they tell us that there are three pillars of longevity: activity, nourishment and repose. But I can’t tell you about those because they’re supposed to be secret. And I understand you just returned from a mission yesterday.”
“That is true,” Alles replied, “But I can’t tell you about it either, since it too is a secret.”
“Marvelous!” Salles sarcastically replied with a small laugh, “We have nothing we can talk about.”
“If I might say something,” Darma cut in after a short silence, “directed at Miss Annsi here. I must confess that I find the idea of bringing women along as soldiers so odd. I can’t deny I was at first bothered when Salles told me about his daughter, since, well, you know the reputation that female soldiers have. But, after meeting this woman, I really have to admire her for being willing to surround herself with such hard brutes (no offense General Alles) in the lawless wild. That must take some daring.”
“It’s not daring, I just didn’t really have any other options,” Annsi humble replied.
“Why is that?” Darma asked.
“My mother’s a scullery servant. There weren’t many gentlemen banging down my door to make me a wife. Salles tried to arrange a marriage for me, but without any dowry, few men were interested. The army seemed better than being the wife of some poor laborer or working as an unmarried servant like my mother.”
This drew the two women into a conversation, and Salles took the opportunity to speak separately with Alles and segue into the topic he had brought him to talk about: “We had a very serious incident in the Cloisters just a few days ago. I only just arrived in Lamosa four days ago, shortly after the incident. Our main watermill was sabotaged. It was set on fire in the middle of the night.”
“By whom?” Alles asked, turning himself towards Salles as he lifted some food into his mouth.
“The Fourth Order,” Salles answered, “Some agent of the Fourth Order infiltrated the cloisters and set the fire. We’re extremely vulnerable out there.”
“You need more security,” Alles said as he chewed his food.
“Exactly,” Salles concurred, “But the Premier is stingy about these things and has his designs on trying to take us over by essentially putting troops in the cloisters and making us prisoners in our own home. He is not sympathetic to the Aresan Clan.”
“You should’ve told me sooner. I am always willing to help out my clan. The sages especially, who I have deep respect for. You are the true pinnacles of our clan. I will certainly speak to the Closed Table of this.”
“That would be wonderful,” Salles replied, “You are the probably the one person in the entire Omnia that Anders has to listen to.”
Despite that she looked like such a delicate creature, she had the short hair and toned arms of a soldier, and Alles inferred that it was Alles and Annsi and led them inside.
Annsi wore an elegant blue toga which fitted her well and complemented her beauty, even though the fabric was worn and the colors faded. Attached to a leather belt that hugged her waist, she bore a dagger in a sheath, partly concealed between the folds of her toga. Alles wore the same type of shirt and trousers that he normally wore, though he had apparently treated the event as a special occasions, since his clothes were freshly cleaned, he was freshly bathed, and he’d trimmed his beard and hair. Though he looked hardly any different than the forbidding soldier of the battlefield, he did actually look and smell clean for a change.
They were led into a brightly-lit sitting room, where Darma rose to greet them, kissing them both on the cheeks. She spoke with them at length, while they waited for the food, drinking from a cup as she talked. In the expression of her slow and fluid movements was the effortless grace of a person accustomed to having things placed in her hands when she asked, a person accustomed to being able to command and receive that which she wished for without any more effort necessary than the production of a gesture. At the tips of her fingers was a drinking cup resting on the table, and all she needed to when it was empty was to extend it forth for Onur to understand the command and refill it.
It was not until the food was almost completed that Salles emerged from the kitchen and shared a firm handshake with Alles. He presented his hand to Annsi and then awkwardly tried to hug her.
When the four of them sat down, they were each presented with a plate of meat, bread and cheese, with a cup of a sour, fizzy drink that Alles didn’t recognize. He commented, “This is a great honor Sage Salles. I have never had the esteemed privilege of sharing a meal with a Sage before. It is reputed that your food has miraculous powers of longevity.”
“So they tell us,” Salles commented with a sly smile, “In fact, they tell us that there are three pillars of longevity: activity, nourishment and repose. But I can’t tell you about those because they’re supposed to be secret. And I understand you just returned from a mission yesterday.”
“That is true,” Alles replied, “But I can’t tell you about it either, since it too is a secret.”
“Marvelous!” Salles sarcastically replied with a small laugh, “We have nothing we can talk about.”
“If I might say something,” Darma cut in after a short silence, “directed at Miss Annsi here. I must confess that I find the idea of bringing women along as soldiers so odd. I can’t deny I was at first bothered when Salles told me about his daughter, since, well, you know the reputation that female soldiers have. But, after meeting this woman, I really have to admire her for being willing to surround herself with such hard brutes (no offense General Alles) in the lawless wild. That must take some daring.”
“It’s not daring, I just didn’t really have any other options,” Annsi humble replied.
“Why is that?” Darma asked.
“My mother’s a scullery servant. There weren’t many gentlemen banging down my door to make me a wife. Salles tried to arrange a marriage for me, but without any dowry, few men were interested. The army seemed better than being the wife of some poor laborer or working as an unmarried servant like my mother.”
This drew the two women into a conversation, and Salles took the opportunity to speak separately with Alles and segue into the topic he had brought him to talk about: “We had a very serious incident in the Cloisters just a few days ago. I only just arrived in Lamosa four days ago, shortly after the incident. Our main watermill was sabotaged. It was set on fire in the middle of the night.”
“By whom?” Alles asked, turning himself towards Salles as he lifted some food into his mouth.
“The Fourth Order,” Salles answered, “Some agent of the Fourth Order infiltrated the cloisters and set the fire. We’re extremely vulnerable out there.”
“You need more security,” Alles said as he chewed his food.
“Exactly,” Salles concurred, “But the Premier is stingy about these things and has his designs on trying to take us over by essentially putting troops in the cloisters and making us prisoners in our own home. He is not sympathetic to the Aresan Clan.”
“You should’ve told me sooner. I am always willing to help out my clan. The sages especially, who I have deep respect for. You are the true pinnacles of our clan. I will certainly speak to the Closed Table of this.”
“That would be wonderful,” Salles replied, “You are the probably the one person in the entire Omnia that Anders has to listen to.”
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Aresan Clan pt 72
Once Saurek declared his intentions he turned around and proceeded in the direction of the citadel. He was flanked by two guards who shadowed his every step and followed him to the far side of the Congregation Hall where a door led to the path connecting Congregation Hall and the Citadel. The path was shaded by a row of trees, which represented the only plants situated within the central courtyard of the palace. Saurek walked over the uneven path, warped by the roots that grew from beneath the paving stones.
When he entered the ground-level temple to the citadel, the guards remained behind and left him to this sacred space alone. The room was dark, only lit by the light pouring through the single door that led into it and the hole in the distant ceiling far above his head. The citadel itself was shaped like a steep, hollow pyramid, with four walls of corbelled bricks that were only slightly slanted inwards. They extended upwards, gradually narrowing, towards a ceiling some hundred person-lengths high. In one end of the room was a raised platform with a table before it, upon which offerings would be made. In front of the table were two metal bowls raised upon long wooden rods. Within the bowls, aromatic herbs burned, their smoke extending up through the hollow interior of the citadel towards the ceiling.
Behind the platform began the stairway, which extended in a spiraling pattern along the hollow interior walls of this steep pyramid. With a prayer to God and a divine invocation in the form of the words, “May we meet when I reach the top,” Saurek began his long trek up the stairs. He stepped on the first step, which extended out from the wall like the thorn of a bush, followed by another step similarly jutting out, and another. He had one thousand steps to climb in order to reach the top. And only by climbing to that high rooftop temple could he earn the privilege of speaking directly with God and becoming its mouthpiece.
With each passing year, the trek took longer and the weight of his own body as he lifted it up the many steps only increased, gradually and inevitably progressing towards that point when he would fail to accomplish his duty and would have to step down as Prophet.
When he made it to the top, to the tiny Sky Temple, he could see the entirety of the great city of Waldoon spread out in all directions and the palace at the center of it. The Sky Temple itself was only a single narrow walkway, which circled around a central, square hole. It was a profoundly vertigo-inducing position, with nothing standing between him and a fatal fall and with furious winds constantly threatening to blow him from his perch.
All of this Saurek had to ignore, dropping to his knees and quieting his mind so that the words of God could enter. He asked God for advice on how to act in light of all the information he had received: he asked whether he should truly send the armies of the Order summerward to attack the Omnia and the Aresan Clans; he asked whether this man Lipmon was to be trusted; he asked whether the sacrilege of Elden and Still Creek-for was the reason for their destruction, whether it was a just destruction or whether reciprocity (in the form of slaying those who destroyed Still Creek-for and killed its citizens) was due for the crime of destroying this village; lastly, he asked what this status of this boy Tann was, whether he was a magician or prophet or something entirely new and unexpected.
The answers to the questions he sought, never came straightforwardly, and this time, the thought that popped in his head began with an image: he saw the face of Tann, innocent and beautiful, from which light flared from his eyes and silence spilled from his mouth like water. Then he heard the voice of God.
Saurek descended the stairs, a somewhat less strenuous trek. When he finally stepped out of the temple into the daylight, his secretaries were there waiting for him. Saurek simply told them, “I have spoken with God. He said to me, ‘The boy is special.’ That was it. But it’s clear to me what it means. Rescind none of the previous orders.”
When he entered the ground-level temple to the citadel, the guards remained behind and left him to this sacred space alone. The room was dark, only lit by the light pouring through the single door that led into it and the hole in the distant ceiling far above his head. The citadel itself was shaped like a steep, hollow pyramid, with four walls of corbelled bricks that were only slightly slanted inwards. They extended upwards, gradually narrowing, towards a ceiling some hundred person-lengths high. In one end of the room was a raised platform with a table before it, upon which offerings would be made. In front of the table were two metal bowls raised upon long wooden rods. Within the bowls, aromatic herbs burned, their smoke extending up through the hollow interior of the citadel towards the ceiling.
Behind the platform began the stairway, which extended in a spiraling pattern along the hollow interior walls of this steep pyramid. With a prayer to God and a divine invocation in the form of the words, “May we meet when I reach the top,” Saurek began his long trek up the stairs. He stepped on the first step, which extended out from the wall like the thorn of a bush, followed by another step similarly jutting out, and another. He had one thousand steps to climb in order to reach the top. And only by climbing to that high rooftop temple could he earn the privilege of speaking directly with God and becoming its mouthpiece.
With each passing year, the trek took longer and the weight of his own body as he lifted it up the many steps only increased, gradually and inevitably progressing towards that point when he would fail to accomplish his duty and would have to step down as Prophet.
When he made it to the top, to the tiny Sky Temple, he could see the entirety of the great city of Waldoon spread out in all directions and the palace at the center of it. The Sky Temple itself was only a single narrow walkway, which circled around a central, square hole. It was a profoundly vertigo-inducing position, with nothing standing between him and a fatal fall and with furious winds constantly threatening to blow him from his perch.
All of this Saurek had to ignore, dropping to his knees and quieting his mind so that the words of God could enter. He asked God for advice on how to act in light of all the information he had received: he asked whether he should truly send the armies of the Order summerward to attack the Omnia and the Aresan Clans; he asked whether this man Lipmon was to be trusted; he asked whether the sacrilege of Elden and Still Creek-for was the reason for their destruction, whether it was a just destruction or whether reciprocity (in the form of slaying those who destroyed Still Creek-for and killed its citizens) was due for the crime of destroying this village; lastly, he asked what this status of this boy Tann was, whether he was a magician or prophet or something entirely new and unexpected.
The answers to the questions he sought, never came straightforwardly, and this time, the thought that popped in his head began with an image: he saw the face of Tann, innocent and beautiful, from which light flared from his eyes and silence spilled from his mouth like water. Then he heard the voice of God.
Saurek descended the stairs, a somewhat less strenuous trek. When he finally stepped out of the temple into the daylight, his secretaries were there waiting for him. Saurek simply told them, “I have spoken with God. He said to me, ‘The boy is special.’ That was it. But it’s clear to me what it means. Rescind none of the previous orders.”
Friday, November 23, 2012
Aresan Clan pt 71
In the courtyard, Roderick helped Lipmon to his feet and assisted him in walking towards the Congregation Hall. A circle of blood had already formed in the fabric of Lipmon’s shirt and he clung to his side, as the pain of moving with an open wound in his side was constant and piercing. Lipmon hadn’t quite fully recovered from his illness either, and now he felt the energy being sapped from him once more. Those thoughts by which he’d fortified his will during his long trek to Orinda flooded into his mind and he tried to focus on them, on his determination to avenge Tann and his determination to impress the deceased members of his hometown.
Due to or in spite of these thoughts, Lipmon limped along, moving towards the congregation hall, where Roderick expected to find a surgeon or a healer of some capacity. Across the great spans of the central courtyard, several persons ran towards Lipmon and Roderick to help them forward and offer assistance. Soon enough, Lipmon was being carried at a jog towards the front doors of the Congregation Hall and his body was being laid on a carpet inside.
A healer stepped forward and offered his prayers, raising hands in supplication towards God and touching his hands onto the bleeding wound. After him, Saurek’s personal surgeon approached with medical bag in hand. The surgeon grabbed Lipmon’s shirt and ripped open a hole to expose the wound. “We’ll need to close this up,” the surgeon said to Lipmon once he saw the bleeding cut, “I’m afraid this might be a little painful.”
The surgeon pulled out a needle and thread and doused them in alcohol. “A want you both to hold him down,” the surgeon said to two men who sat above Lipmon. They grabbed Lipmon’s arms and held them to the ground while the surgeon straddled his legs and held them in place by sitting on them. The surgeon placed a wooden cylinder in Lipmon’s mouth and asked him to bite down. Once all was ready, he pierced the patient’s skin with the needle. The sharp pain caused Lipmon to squirm and the men holding him down struggled against his strength while the surgeon instructed, “Keep him still.”
The needle pierced the other flap of skin and the thread was dragged through these wounds as Lipmon bit down hard upon the wood.
Saurek had been summoned and he now approached the crowd that gathered around Lipmon and watched the process of Lipmon’s skin being stitched together. The crowd deferentially parted out of Saurek’s way as he was allowed to see the red, contorted face of Lipmon as the needle again pierced his skin.
“An attempt on his life,” Roderick explain to Saurek, “By a citizen of Orinda-for named Aleck. Fortunately, it appears to have been unsuccessful.”
“Have we captured the man?” Saurek asked.
“I don’t know,” Roderick replied, “We saw guards in pursuit, so there’s hope.”
“I take it that we don’t know what motivated this attack,” Saurek asked and Roderick nodded. “Lots of unpleasant possibilities come to mind,” Saurek said, “But I’m starting to think this unfortunate citizen may have been correct in urging us forward without delay.”
Saurek turned to see his two secretaries in red at his back bearing their pens and papers and ready to take down his instructions. “Send immediate notification to all away troops that we will be focusing our energies summerward. They are to return immediately and await further instructions. Additionally, arrange an advance party to investigate Still Creek-for. I want to see from their eyes what happened to the place. Tell them to use all speed.”
The two secretaries rapidly took note of Saurek’s instructions. Meanwhile, Lipmon, sprawled across the ground, was breathing heavily as the surgeon tied the stitches off and dumped some alcohol on the wound before giving Lipmon some follow up instructions.
Just as Lipmon finally could relax and let the pain subside, he suddenly burst into tears. A fit of sobbing convulsed his body and he covered his face with his hands. The crowd around him stopped in silence and those nearest Lipmon reached out to comfort him. After a minute or two the crying subsided and Lipmon told them, while wiping away his tears, “I’m alright. I’m alright now.”
After the silence, Saurek looked in the direction of the citadel and told his secretaries, “I’ll also need to consult with God.”
Due to or in spite of these thoughts, Lipmon limped along, moving towards the congregation hall, where Roderick expected to find a surgeon or a healer of some capacity. Across the great spans of the central courtyard, several persons ran towards Lipmon and Roderick to help them forward and offer assistance. Soon enough, Lipmon was being carried at a jog towards the front doors of the Congregation Hall and his body was being laid on a carpet inside.
A healer stepped forward and offered his prayers, raising hands in supplication towards God and touching his hands onto the bleeding wound. After him, Saurek’s personal surgeon approached with medical bag in hand. The surgeon grabbed Lipmon’s shirt and ripped open a hole to expose the wound. “We’ll need to close this up,” the surgeon said to Lipmon once he saw the bleeding cut, “I’m afraid this might be a little painful.”
The surgeon pulled out a needle and thread and doused them in alcohol. “A want you both to hold him down,” the surgeon said to two men who sat above Lipmon. They grabbed Lipmon’s arms and held them to the ground while the surgeon straddled his legs and held them in place by sitting on them. The surgeon placed a wooden cylinder in Lipmon’s mouth and asked him to bite down. Once all was ready, he pierced the patient’s skin with the needle. The sharp pain caused Lipmon to squirm and the men holding him down struggled against his strength while the surgeon instructed, “Keep him still.”
The needle pierced the other flap of skin and the thread was dragged through these wounds as Lipmon bit down hard upon the wood.
Saurek had been summoned and he now approached the crowd that gathered around Lipmon and watched the process of Lipmon’s skin being stitched together. The crowd deferentially parted out of Saurek’s way as he was allowed to see the red, contorted face of Lipmon as the needle again pierced his skin.
“An attempt on his life,” Roderick explain to Saurek, “By a citizen of Orinda-for named Aleck. Fortunately, it appears to have been unsuccessful.”
“Have we captured the man?” Saurek asked.
“I don’t know,” Roderick replied, “We saw guards in pursuit, so there’s hope.”
“I take it that we don’t know what motivated this attack,” Saurek asked and Roderick nodded. “Lots of unpleasant possibilities come to mind,” Saurek said, “But I’m starting to think this unfortunate citizen may have been correct in urging us forward without delay.”
Saurek turned to see his two secretaries in red at his back bearing their pens and papers and ready to take down his instructions. “Send immediate notification to all away troops that we will be focusing our energies summerward. They are to return immediately and await further instructions. Additionally, arrange an advance party to investigate Still Creek-for. I want to see from their eyes what happened to the place. Tell them to use all speed.”
The two secretaries rapidly took note of Saurek’s instructions. Meanwhile, Lipmon, sprawled across the ground, was breathing heavily as the surgeon tied the stitches off and dumped some alcohol on the wound before giving Lipmon some follow up instructions.
Just as Lipmon finally could relax and let the pain subside, he suddenly burst into tears. A fit of sobbing convulsed his body and he covered his face with his hands. The crowd around him stopped in silence and those nearest Lipmon reached out to comfort him. After a minute or two the crying subsided and Lipmon told them, while wiping away his tears, “I’m alright. I’m alright now.”
After the silence, Saurek looked in the direction of the citadel and told his secretaries, “I’ll also need to consult with God.”
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Aresan Clan Summary - Parts 61-70
Mill tries to ambush and kill Lipmon before he and Roderick leave Orinda, but he is unsuccessful, and has to secretly follow them to Waldoon.
That evening Jule sneaks out of the Cloisters to meet with a man from the Itinerants. The Sages have Jule under constant surveillance, and so witness the meeting. Noone orders Amida to follow this Itinerant courier. She hastily packs a backpack and pursues.
Anders has his three official philosophers of state, Apamix, Taney and Sidd, investigate the powers of Tann, the Prodigal Prodigy. They bring in two soldiers who are afraid of Tann and have heard exaggerated stories about his power to kill with his eyes. They expose Tann’s eyes to the two soldiers, who both have strong, emotional reactions. The philosophers conclude that the child has power to manipulate people’s feelings via eye contact.
Amida follows the Itinerant messenger all night, all the way to Erek-Monte’s camp. She tries to spy on them, but is captured and is taken by Erek-Monte as a prisoner.
Lipmon and Roderick arrive in Waldoon and travel to the grand Palace of Adrus where they meet with the High Priest, Saurek. Lipmon tells Saurek of the destruction of Still Creek and of Tann. Saurek reprimands him because they treated Tann like a prophet of God, whereas, according to Fourth Order theology, the High Priest is the only true prophet of god. But Saurek says he’ll investigate it, and get back to them. Lipmon is frustrated, since he perceives Saurek to be moving slowly wants prompt action.
When Anders returns to his Private House and reclines in his private bath, he is unexpectedly visited by Dylan-Nantes, who hands him the message from Mill. Upon reading the message, Anders is angry with Mill for not killing Lipmon.
At the Palace of Adrus, as Lipmon and Roderick depart, they are suddenly attacked by Mill, who tries to stab Lipmon. The palace guards capture Mill.
That evening Jule sneaks out of the Cloisters to meet with a man from the Itinerants. The Sages have Jule under constant surveillance, and so witness the meeting. Noone orders Amida to follow this Itinerant courier. She hastily packs a backpack and pursues.
Anders has his three official philosophers of state, Apamix, Taney and Sidd, investigate the powers of Tann, the Prodigal Prodigy. They bring in two soldiers who are afraid of Tann and have heard exaggerated stories about his power to kill with his eyes. They expose Tann’s eyes to the two soldiers, who both have strong, emotional reactions. The philosophers conclude that the child has power to manipulate people’s feelings via eye contact.
Amida follows the Itinerant messenger all night, all the way to Erek-Monte’s camp. She tries to spy on them, but is captured and is taken by Erek-Monte as a prisoner.
Lipmon and Roderick arrive in Waldoon and travel to the grand Palace of Adrus where they meet with the High Priest, Saurek. Lipmon tells Saurek of the destruction of Still Creek and of Tann. Saurek reprimands him because they treated Tann like a prophet of God, whereas, according to Fourth Order theology, the High Priest is the only true prophet of god. But Saurek says he’ll investigate it, and get back to them. Lipmon is frustrated, since he perceives Saurek to be moving slowly wants prompt action.
When Anders returns to his Private House and reclines in his private bath, he is unexpectedly visited by Dylan-Nantes, who hands him the message from Mill. Upon reading the message, Anders is angry with Mill for not killing Lipmon.
At the Palace of Adrus, as Lipmon and Roderick depart, they are suddenly attacked by Mill, who tries to stab Lipmon. The palace guards capture Mill.
<-- Summary of Parts 51-60 Summary of Parts 71-80 -->
You can see all parts of The Aresan Clan written so far collected here.
You can see all parts of The Aresan Clan written so far collected here.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Aresan Clan pt 70
After Roderick finished speaking with High Priest Saurek in private, he exited the office and found Lipmon sitting grumpily in one of the long sets of pews that faced the front of the Congregation Hall. It was hard not to notice the overt and intentionally displayed sourness that Lipmon presented: his arms folded across his chest, his mouth contorted into a frown.
“I know you’re impatient,” Roderick said, “I, like you, feel as if this is taking too long, but I’m afraid the High Priest simply doesn’t see this as a priority, like you do.”
“I don’t mind. I can wait,” Lipmon responded in a way that clearly showed that he very much minded. Roderick sighed, walking forward and gesturing for Lipmon to follow him. As they walked along the edges of the Congregation hall, they passed a line of birds, carved in relief into the wall. Above his head a succession of candlelight chandeliers lit his way to the entrance. Pushing through the doors, he stepped out of the dark interior into the full light of day. They were now in the center of the great courtyard of the palace.
Though many people passed through this space, the vastness of the area ensured that the area was never crowded. One was unlikely to randomly bump shoulders with a stranger while walking there. Yet, as Roderick and Lipmon walked, they saw a hooded stranger walking in their direction and moving uncomfortably close towards them.
In a moment, before they even knew to react, the sun was flashing off the blade of a knife that had been drawn. Lipmon rapidly pulled his body away from the knife’s trajectory, which nonetheless tore through the fabric of his clothes and glanced off his side just above his waist. A gash was dug into his side, and Lipmon relived again the pain of his skin being sliced, even as the wound across his face and chest still felt fresh and hadn’t healed.
Roderick recognized Mill in the face of the hooded stranger, and as Mill tried to take another swing in Lipmon’s direction, swiping the knife towards him, Roderick grabbed Mill’s arm and twisted the knife out of his hand where it clattered to the ground. Roderick tried to hold onto Mill’s arm, but Mill was able to strip it out of Roderick’s grasp and speed away in retreat.
“Guards! This man has tried to kill someone. Seize him,” Roderick yelled in the direction of the two guards that stood at the doors of the congregation hall. Having partially seen the skirmish, and immediately understanding Roderick’s urgency, they left their posts without hesitation and chased after Mill.
The wide-open spaces of the courtyard were to Mill’s advantage in this pursuit. Mill had already a large distance between him and these guards, and the only other guards that occupied the place were even further from him. The guards, though, pursued undeterred, following him towards one of the exits where they knew they could find support among the men that manned those doors.
“Stop that man!” the guards yelled out indiscriminately in an attempt to bring some citizen to their aid, yet none was close enough to stop him.
The end of Mill’s escape came once he entered the outer building. The two guards that chased him were able to arouse the attention of their comrades manning that gate. In their attempt to grab him, Mill still slipped through their hands, but he was tripped just as he reached the top of the thirty-two steps. Mill careened forward from the top of the steps and rolled down over them.
When he finally stopped near the bottom, he wasn’t sufficiently master of himself to pull himself from the ground, covered in bruises and the feeling of supreme fatigue suffusing his body. He could hear the heavy boots and clattering arms of several guards jogging down the stairs to fetch him.
When one of the guards reached him, he asked the others, “Do we have something to secure him with while I take him away?”
“Just do this!” another guard said, raising the butt of his sword and striking it heavily against Mill’s skull, plunging him into unconsciousness just as the guard added, “That’s for making us run.”
“I know you’re impatient,” Roderick said, “I, like you, feel as if this is taking too long, but I’m afraid the High Priest simply doesn’t see this as a priority, like you do.”
“I don’t mind. I can wait,” Lipmon responded in a way that clearly showed that he very much minded. Roderick sighed, walking forward and gesturing for Lipmon to follow him. As they walked along the edges of the Congregation hall, they passed a line of birds, carved in relief into the wall. Above his head a succession of candlelight chandeliers lit his way to the entrance. Pushing through the doors, he stepped out of the dark interior into the full light of day. They were now in the center of the great courtyard of the palace.
Though many people passed through this space, the vastness of the area ensured that the area was never crowded. One was unlikely to randomly bump shoulders with a stranger while walking there. Yet, as Roderick and Lipmon walked, they saw a hooded stranger walking in their direction and moving uncomfortably close towards them.
In a moment, before they even knew to react, the sun was flashing off the blade of a knife that had been drawn. Lipmon rapidly pulled his body away from the knife’s trajectory, which nonetheless tore through the fabric of his clothes and glanced off his side just above his waist. A gash was dug into his side, and Lipmon relived again the pain of his skin being sliced, even as the wound across his face and chest still felt fresh and hadn’t healed.
Roderick recognized Mill in the face of the hooded stranger, and as Mill tried to take another swing in Lipmon’s direction, swiping the knife towards him, Roderick grabbed Mill’s arm and twisted the knife out of his hand where it clattered to the ground. Roderick tried to hold onto Mill’s arm, but Mill was able to strip it out of Roderick’s grasp and speed away in retreat.
“Guards! This man has tried to kill someone. Seize him,” Roderick yelled in the direction of the two guards that stood at the doors of the congregation hall. Having partially seen the skirmish, and immediately understanding Roderick’s urgency, they left their posts without hesitation and chased after Mill.
The wide-open spaces of the courtyard were to Mill’s advantage in this pursuit. Mill had already a large distance between him and these guards, and the only other guards that occupied the place were even further from him. The guards, though, pursued undeterred, following him towards one of the exits where they knew they could find support among the men that manned those doors.
“Stop that man!” the guards yelled out indiscriminately in an attempt to bring some citizen to their aid, yet none was close enough to stop him.
The end of Mill’s escape came once he entered the outer building. The two guards that chased him were able to arouse the attention of their comrades manning that gate. In their attempt to grab him, Mill still slipped through their hands, but he was tripped just as he reached the top of the thirty-two steps. Mill careened forward from the top of the steps and rolled down over them.
When he finally stopped near the bottom, he wasn’t sufficiently master of himself to pull himself from the ground, covered in bruises and the feeling of supreme fatigue suffusing his body. He could hear the heavy boots and clattering arms of several guards jogging down the stairs to fetch him.
When one of the guards reached him, he asked the others, “Do we have something to secure him with while I take him away?”
“Just do this!” another guard said, raising the butt of his sword and striking it heavily against Mill’s skull, plunging him into unconsciousness just as the guard added, “That’s for making us run.”
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