Swans Over the Moon

by Forrest Aguirre

  They came to a pair of immense oaken doors at the top of the stairwell. Painted on the door was a caricature face, as tall as a man, of the jester. The representation had been painted over several older portraits of past jesters. The paint was two inches thick, in places, and the Judicar wondered how much history lay in those layers of paint, if only they could be peeled off one-by-one. The jester turned to the pair, dwarfed by her own face behind her, and spoke in an artificially-deepened voice, half sinister, half ridiculous, entirely deranged: “Come,” her face grew dour, “My Lady awaits you.”

  The jongleur swung open the doors, then fell to her knees, crawling and barking like a dog. She rushed to the throne on which sat Lady Euler, the former Basia Pelevin, the Judicar's daughter. The fool sat up, begged, then pointed at the visitors, as if hunting pheasant.

  “Begone, dog,” commanded Lady Euler. The jester rolled-over out of the chamber, stopping momentarily to scratch her back against the floor, then disappeared beyond the throne-room door, closing it shut behind her with her teeth.

  Lady Euler stood up from her throne, a stately figure who wore her office well. Blonde hair cascaded down over the folds of her firelight-colored dress, past the backs of her knees, in a golden cape. She was, by anybody's estimation, the most beautiful of the Judicar's daughters. But the Judicar saw little of beauty. Lady Euler's blue eyes pierced her father from beneath the diamond tiara that encrusted her brow. She pursed her full red lips and squinted malevolence at the Procellarian ruler. Her voice was like ice:

  “State your business.”

  Heterodymus stepped forward, bowed, then spoke. Dexter and Sinistrum's words were haunting, when spoken in unison, a kounterpunkt confluence of newborn and ancient, infant softness and geriatric croaking brought together as one voice.

  “In token of the everlasting covenant betwixt our peoples, and beneath the blue planet that shines on both our fair regencies, we greet you, hailing you with multitudinous blessings, in purpose fixed to maintain peace and goodwill forevermore. These many generations we have enjoyed co-operation and mutual benefit by remaining good neighbors. Come, let us continue in our bond now and forevermore, rejoicing in one another’s success, consoling each other in failure and sorrow, enfolded in friendship, eternally protected in togetherness, one always.”

  Heterodymus knelt, heads bowed before the Lady.

  She stepped down from her dais and place her hand on the twin's shoulder. “You, my friend, may be forgiven,” she spoke slowly, clearly, as if every word she spoke was heavy with importance and difficult to bear, “for your offenses are not your own.”

  The bowed heads stole a look at each other, each a distorted mirror of the others' puzzlement. No one had ever replied in such a manner to The Eternal Proposal. The ritual response, according to eons-old tradition, should have been “I wed thee, on behalf of my people, in an unbreakable bond.” But this response was not forthcoming.

  “No, Heterodymus, you cannot be blamed for the Judicar's offenses, for this breach of covenant.” Puzzlement turned to astonishment on both of Heterodymus' faces. “though you might suffer for his sins, it will not be at my hand. Arise, my old friend.”

  The Judicar watched as Heterodymus, horribly confused, was helped to his feet by Lady Euler – another breach of proper conduct.

  “What madness is this?” the exasperated Judicar asked. “And where in hell is the Baron?”

  “He will not be joining us,” she raised her voice dramatically. “He has deferred this sour duty to me alone. I represent the Barony in this matter. And as to your accusations of madness, you shall soon see madness!”

  She clapped her hands twice and from doors on either side of the room, a flood of drunken revelers entered, quickly filling the room with bodies, laughter, and a cacophony of voices. Music, wine-soaked breath, juggled pins, even the flaming explosions of fire-eaters filled the air. The carnival ruckus echoed off the chamber walls at an almost intolerable volume. The Judicar became dizzy with sensory overload. He spun to avoid the bumps and jostling of the dancing press, inadvertently joining the dance himself while trying to pass through it, caught up in the churn.

  Heterodymus was doubly vexed by the movement and soon fell to one knee, overcome by a wave of nausea.

  The Judicar briefly spotted his servant just as Dexter, quickly followed by Sinistrum, disappeared beneath the whirlpool of bodies. He pushed toward the twin, indiscriminately groping arms, clothing, and clumps of hair in a desperate attempt to reach his adviser. He slipped in a pool of some liquid and immediately plunged to the room's dark marble where he slid amongst a thick puddled mixture of beer, blood, wine, and other, less-identifiable fluids. He tried to claw his way back up again, but the seeming hundreds of boots and sandals refused to let him stand. He looked up into a sea of legs that threatened to trample him like a vineyard grape into the slurry beneath. His breathing quickened as his fingers, arms, and legs were stepped on, sometimes intentionally stomped on. He suffered a battery of kicks, accidental and otherwise, to the ribs, face, and groin. Panic buzzed behind his eyes, a beehive of “Get out!” resonating in his skull. He went numb, his vision temporarily blacking out as he made one last attempt to stand. He succeeded in getting to all fours, but was almost immediately thrust flat to his belly again, with several feet to the back and neck.

  A gong sounded – in his head? Or was it really the sound of a gong somewhere beyond the din of the deadly crowd? His ears had become unreliable because of the ringing that stung his drums.

  Instantly, the noise subsided, like a candle-flame doused by an ocean wave. The voices grew somber, hushed, then completely silent. The revelers left the throne room without a word, leaving footprints behind in a layer of mixed alcohol and bodily fluid as the only evidence of their passing. The Judicar was surprised to find Heterodymus, whom he thought incapacitated, or worse, and helped the counselor to his feet. He leaned heavily on the twin, head still reeling. His knees nearly buckled as the doors once again opened in response to Lady Euler's hand clapping. Her face continued to show a stern, unemotional resolve.

  The Procellarian pair braced themselves for another onslaught, but were surprised when only a handful of figures emerged from the side doors, all, save one, with black stockings pulled over their heads to obfuscate their identities. The masked ones were the behavioral opposite of the crowd that had just left. They carried themselves with a grim air of circumspection and dignity. The Judicar recognized, with an audible shock, the lone un-masked member of the party – his own Deputy of Commerce. He was bound in iron manacles and leg chains. Two of the five hooded figures handled him roughly, pushing him to his knees on the slick floor, which caused him to tear leg muscles as he slipped in the muck. The deputy was terrified, eyes large with fear and body pained from the lashing he had received earlier, as evinced by the bloody stripes that showed beneath his tattered clothing.

  “My liege!” the quaking deputy said in a trembling, pleading voice.

  “Vadrich?” the Judicar asked with concern more than reassurance. Then, turning to his daughter, he said “What is this?”

  “The prisoner will answer. Speak well, mongrel!”

  The shaking deputy spoke in muted tones, deathly afraid to say the wrong words in the wrong manner.

  “My liege, most high Judicar, after your departure for this place I was accosted in the basements of the ministry while searching for a set of records regarding our trading relationship with Marius C, the prince your daughter was to marry . . .” He stopped in mid-sentence, caught in the shock of what he had just said, suddenly realizing that he had crossed a boundary he ought not to have crossed. From behind one of the black-hooded figures, the jester emerged, cart-wheeling between the Judicar and his deputy, chanting “Who's the fool now? Who's the fool now?” The masked men showered brutality on the deputy, beating him with fists, feet, and knees, tearing at his hair, scratching his open wounds, and kicking him repeatedly in the crotch until the Lady called “Halt!”

&
nbsp; “Prisoner, continue . . . carefully,” she ordered.

  The deputy, winded and aching from the effort it now took to speak, obeyed, though every word was laced with pain.

  “I was taken by an unknown hand and brought on horseback, with no protection for my eyes, to a darkened chamber where I was . . . questioned regarding the lotus trade.” he looked at Lady Euler, trembling, anticipating more pain. She simply smiled at him.

  The judicar turned to his daughter, utterly flabbergasted. “Is this true?”

  Her smile dropped and she turned to him. “He has said so. Do you not believe your own servant?”

  “You vile bitch! What is so precious that you would jeopardize the relationship between our kingdoms? You selfish cur!”

  She paused, then spoke carefully, with great purpose behind her words.

  “My father, the man I used to call 'father,' attempted to force my hand in marriage to Prince Marius C some years ago,” the prisoner's eyes flitted to either side in anticipation of blows that did not fall, like a hare watching and waiting for an owl to strike out of the night. “I refused, professing my love for Baron Euler. Then my father's wife died. She was no longer there to disappoint, and I thought that my father, being, up to that point, an innovator, might see the ridiculousness of the old ways and take the Baron as his own son. Instead, he embraced empty tradition and rejected me. So I married the man who accepted and loved me, the good Baron Euler. In time, my father finally received my oft-rejected entourage, but only begrudgingly, because tradition demanded it.”

  “Within the past few months, the Procellarian army, with the Judicar leading the charge, smashed the resolve of the people of Scaramouche by killing their leader, Cimbri Pelevin – the Judicar's own daughter; my sister. Wandering bands of Scaramouche, now reduced to abject poverty since their delicate social structure was shattered by the casualties inflicted by the Procellarian knights, searched to and fro seeking sustenance and protection, or the means to attain such by force, if needs be.”

  “This disorder was introduced to the once-stable trade routes that covered the plains like a spider's web. Raiding parties spread from Rüinker Plateau north, across Sinus Roris, and southeast, across the Sharp-Marain foothills. This disruption has severely staunched the influx of the lotus flower to our kingdom, a kingdom whose very social structure depends on the balance between noble austerity and the hedonism of the masses. Any fool,” she pointed to the jongleur, who was sitting on her haunches like a begging dog, “can see that this threatens to destroy the barony from the bottom up.” The jester wagged her head up and down in agreement, slobber flying across her smiling face.

  “You, Judicar Pelevin, have introduced chaos into our merchants' dealings, upsetting the scales of social propriety. I will not see my people destroyed by your toyings with our commerce. You value order so highly. I think you will appreciate the removal of stochasticity from the system.”

  She nodded to the masked men.

  “It is time.”

  The masked ones removed thin, black truncheons from under their robes, then beat the deputy until his blood flowed freely, reddening the already slick floor under his slumped body. A few short convulsions later, the body ceased movement and was dragged out of the room by the snickering murderers to the cheers of a crowd that had been waiting outside. The jongleur cart-wheeled out behind them.

  Lady Euler strode up the few steps to her throne, then took her seat. She looked to the doors of the chamber, then quietly wept, careful to muffle her cries so that they could not be heard by those without.

  “Father,” she whispered in a sad tone of familiarity, the voice with which she spoke to him when she was a little girl, when they were both a little younger. He looked at her, chocked, unsure if he had heard her properly. “Father,” the voice was genuine, “I am so sorry.” She shook with sobs.

  “It is a bit late for that,” he said flatly. “How dare you order the execution of my subject before my eyes. I swear I will have the records scoured for precedent to crush your precious Barony. I swear it, foresworn on my servant's blood, and will not rescind the oath.”

  “But father. He, your deputy, was only a scapegoat. An effigy.”

  “Effigy?” He glared at her, not understanding.

  “The merchants' guild – I told them that they must take out their bloodlust on the deputy . . .”

  “Because they cannot get enough of their precious lotus?” he bellowed.

  “No, father. I sacrificed your deputy to them because they wanted, instead, to kill you. And this will only forestall them for a little while.”

  “It shan't matter,” he seethed, “I will never set foot in this place again.”

  “It does matter,” she cried, frustrated at his stubbornness and lack of understanding. “You can't hide from the chain of events you've set into play. Only a part of those masked men were members of the merchants' guild. Some of the murderers were your own men.”

  Chapter 7

  Their ignominious departure from Euler was the antithesis of their stately arrival. The Judicar and Heterodymus left without an escort to find their carriage besotted with feces, rotting eggs, and vegetables. They gathered their drunken pygmies, some by the nape of the neck, and hitched them to their posts. When the Judicar opened the door to the carriage, the severed head of his deputy rolled out.

  The carriage moved through Euler's winding streets, lolling and yawing with the inebriated stumbling of the portagers. The motion, combined with the sewer-stench of the layers that coated the vehicle's outside, gave the Judicar severe nausea. He vomited twice before they reached the city gates. The vehicle was pelted with rocks as they passed through the main portcullis, a cloud of insults following them out. Sinistrum laughed despite himself at the creative suggestions for the use of their bodily orifices. Dexter shook his head in disgust at the crowd and his brother. The Judicar, dumbstruck, simply stared at the carriage floor, mute.

  After an hour of silence, Heterodymus lit the lanterns inside the carriage that would illuminate the dark-curtained space during their journey home. The Judicar stared at the flames for what seemed an unhealthy, almost blinding interval before he spoke.

  “What can be done?”

  Sinistrum, sensing his intent, spoke decisively: “Nothing!”

  The Judicar turned to the other head, spots mingling with Dexter's face in the close press of the carriage-box. “He is right,” the infant face spoke, his words registering in the Judicar's mind long after the mouth stopped moving. “Nothing is to be done.”

  “Our treaty is eternal, unchanging,” Sinistrum concluded.

  “I will find a way,” the Judicar vowed.

  “Is that wise, M'lord?” Dexter dared.

  “Wise?”

  “M'lord,” Sinistrum snapped, “what of order?”

  The Judicar looked into the flame again. “Order,” he sighed. “Yes, order. You are right, my friend. Order.”

  The carriage tipped and swayed under the intense light of the blinding sun. An occasional dark speck fell to the ground, picked itself up, and lifted its portion of the carriage again. A long, uncomfortable journey lay ahead for the occupants of the battered coach.

  Hours after they had arrived home, the Judicar still felt the pitch and roll of the carriage. Although he was seated on his firmly-anchored throne, the room wheeled about him. Heterodymus and Selene appeared to shift and jitter before him. The nausea he had experienced in Euler returned.

  He finally focused his gaze on a trio of robed men sitting cross-legged on the floor. They were wizened old sages, surrounded by stacks of books and baskets overflowing with scrolls. They murmured amongst themselves, pointing to bits of text and arguing inconclusively about their meaning, drawing diagrams in order to explain their arguments to one another, emphasizing their systems of logic with hand movements that resembled the somatic component of some long-dead ritual.

  Selene approached the throne, then, pointing to the three men, said, “Father, your l
awyers are cunning, the best in the land.” She smiled at him, but her face turned sour as she turned to look at them. “But even they will not find what it is you are looking for. War with Euler is forbidden and has been so since the generation after Procellarium's founding.”

  Sinistrum and Dexter looked at each other with surprise, then nodded in affirmation to the Judicar, impressed by her knowledge of the nation's laws. They simultaneously looked at the Judicar with a touch of haughtiness, arms folded, heads cocked to the side, as if to say “You see? We told you so!”

  “I suggest,” Selene continued, “that rather than struggle with the letter of the law, which man cannot break, though they may break themselves against it, that we instead turn to the meaning of the Law of Sustaining, which is that disorder must be recompensed with order.” She walked about with an air of confidence that stunned the three lawyers. They looked up at her, unable to argue with her simple, yet profound logic.

  The Judicar looked at his lawyers, who nodded to him that this was so.

  “Your carriage, not to mention your deputy, came back in much disorder. This must be rectified or, rather, re-ordered. Those who caused the disorder must be made to fix the situation. If they cannot restore the life of your deputy, they must pay with their lives. The scales must be balanced.”

  Heterodymus unfolded his arms. Sinistrum's face showed astonishment, Dexter's showed suspicion.

  Selene's Tarans flew over from an unseen corner of the room, draping her in white ribbons as she continued.

  “Therefore, father, use your recent victory over the Scaramouche to impose order on a region that has none. Station a group of your knights on the trade route between Euler and Scaramouche. Bring stability to that area and, while doing so, tax the merchants of Euler for their impetuosity. Tax them with their very lives, if you see fit.”