Zealot

by Joshua David Smith

  “Of course, he is currently in one of the back rooms. I will be but a moment if you will excuse me,” said the young man as he retreated beyond sight, searching for his employer.

  The men sitting at a table on the northern side of the moderately large room suddenly erupted in a chorus of laughter for an undefined reason. Then, after they quieted down, Eleven, who was still present, said to Tiberius, “If you have no objection I will make my way to the library announcing your arrival to Jaimus.”

  “That suits me fine, I will be with you shortly,” Tiberius responded.

  Never before had Tiberius ever seen Eleven eat, as he only ever ate in private, no doubt due to the full faced mask complete with two eye slits and a vertical mouth slit that hid his face from the world of men; or rather whatever was underneath.

  As Eleven departed, Tiberius smiled turning his attention to an old friend that now approached with an even brighter smile, as if his day just turned for the better. Walking around the front counter, Grundon quickly embraced Tiberius before turning to address his employee who was presently still standing behind the counter, “Bring us a fresh apple pie, then take care of the costumers for a bit while I have a talk with the Protector of the Empire.”

  “Lord Tiberius? Forgive me I did not know,” said the kid as he bowed low.

  “Oh give me a break; he’s not the damn emperor yet. Just get the pie,” said Grundon as he rolled his eyes.

  “Of course, right away.”

  “You see what being friends with such an influential celebrity has done to my once humble bakery. It used to be a quiet place where a man could think, now look at it. I haven’t been able to sit down in years thanks to your heroism. And where in the hell have you been? What, you don’t like my apple pie anymore,” asked Grundon in a faked exasperation.

  “Yeah, it is good to see you too. I am curious though, how is it, if you have not been able to sit for so long as you claim, that you have managed to put on all that weight,” teased Tiberius.

  At that remark Grundon laughed replying with a smile, “It is good to see you kid, you haven’t changed.”

  As Grundon Motioned to a nearby table they had a seat. Then a pie appeared as the paid servant arrived with the delicious late morning breakfast. Tiberius’ mouth began to water as the sight of his favorite treat beckoned him to bliss.

  While Tiberius took a slice of pie, Grundon broke the short silence, “So I heard you were summoned by the Emperor.”

  “How did news of my recent summons reach your ears so promptly?”

  “I live and work in Northside; news like that travels quickly among the wealthy, and people talk. So what was the purpose of your summons? I thought you were busy ending the rebellion in Gahnen?”

  “That is privileged information my friend, you should know that,” responded Tiberius.

  “Very well, have it your way,” said Grundon with a chuckle, followed by, “So who is your replacement?”

  Tiberius responded to the question with a sly smile after finishing another delectable bite, “Who said I was being replaced?”

  “Come on kid it isn’t alchemy. Everyone knows you aren’t on the best of terms with Emperor Maximilian, and your appearance in Kingsgate can only mean one of three things: You were stripped of rank, which we both know won’t happen do to your increasing favor with the Lords and the public; not to mention the fact that you are exceedingly competent at war and politics. You completed your mission, which I know, due to the talk I overheard from Lord Gundrid of Wintersbane, is not possible. The only other reason is that you have been replaced. So again my curiosity beckons you to answer my question?”

  "Well I suppose you will find out in a few days anyway seeing as how you are so well informed. In answer to your inquisition, Legatus Malcus has been assigned to deal with the rebels in my stead, and I have in the emperor's words been… placed on leave.”

  “Damn, really? He’s sending Malcus the scarred? If it wasn’t for his going around sacking and burning whole villages to the ground in search of a small band of thieves and traitors, you wouldn’t have needed to go to Gahnen in the first place,” said Grundon, appalled by the prospect.

  “You say nothing I don’t already know... (Sigh)... But unfortunately I have no say in the matter. Most of the time my job is just to clean up the mess left by the emperor and men like Malcus, it’s what makes me hated by them, and yet absolutely necessary. But with each consecutive war and rebellion, thousands more are orphaned, creating twice as many enemies of the Empire than years past. I mean, when does it end, you know? How long until the Empire’s enemies outnumber its friends when men like Malcus keep coming along to throw wine on the fire.”

  “You sound tired kid; perhaps you should take advantage of your… unexpected leave. Go visit the luxurious cities of Librium to the west, or the sandy beaches of Ni’usii in the south. You are too young to be so burdened by the trifles of old men; and yet I suppose for some we have a say in what we become, but for others, like you… you were born to be what you are.”

  “Perhaps,” responded Tiberius with another sigh.

  Tiberius finishing another slice continued, “Well enough about me, I see your business is doing well, how is your family?”

  “Well for starters my wife won’t get off my back about the weight,” Grundon started with a chuckle, “In fact I told her just this morning, ‘Hey I'm a baker, without it I wouldn’t look the part’. Then my son, who just bought his own ship, now transports goods between here and Librium. And also, my grandson, whom you just met, served you your pie.”

  “You don’t say; he is a strong looking lad.”

  “No, no, don’t even think about trying to recruit him. He likes the bakery and he doesn’t need someone like you filling his head with delusions of grandeur.”

  Tiberius laughed before devouring his last tasty bite, “Alright, I promise not to make a hero out of your grandson; I mean, if I wound up on your bad side, from where am I going to procure a pie as good as this.”

  “That would be difficult.”

  “Well old friend, I am afraid I have to leave,” said Tiberius as he stood.

  “Yeah I need to get back to work anyways. Come by more often will you, it increases my profits,” responded Grundon with a wink.

  “I will try, and hopefully next time it won’t be with such brevity,” said Tiberius as he shook Grundon’s hand one last time before venturing back out into the cold.

  Tiberius walking down the mildly busy snow covered street glanced at one of the large sculptures standing to his right as he passed by. It was a beautiful, tall, clothed sculpture, created over two hundred years ago that stood in the middle of the wide walkway. It was supposedly of the great Emperor Tiburon from which the Empire derives its name. As the Minister of Education claimed, “He is the great man who took all of the barbaric nations by the hand, bringing them unification and peace under one banner. Before Tiburon the nations were divided for ages, squabbling amongst each other with war after war until one man was born with a vision; that vision was a vision of peace which would be obtained by uniting them by force under one man, one emperor. Then, after the great Tiburon war which lasted over thirty years, his vision was accomplished.”

  Tiberius had heard the minister quote this particular piece of the Empire's propaganda enough times to be able to recite it word for word in his sleep. However the truth was that the Empire, as Tiberius had seen, was not at peace. It’s Lords still squabbled and its idealists still died for their ideals; Tiberius should know, he had killed many of them. But it was not that which troubled him the most. No, it was Tiburon’s following order to burn all the old books. The ministry teaches that the order was given because the ways, beliefs, and teachings of the past, of barbarism, no longer held any validity. But in Tiberius’ experience the only reason to burn a book was because you desired to hide something from someone, not because it was worthless, but because it had value. A truly worthless piece of literature is cast away; burned for w
armth by those less fortunate maybe, but not by kings.

  Recently Tiberius had grown suspicious of Tiburon’s true purpose, a purpose that was hidden, and kept hidden by those who came after. Was there something valuable he was trying to hide? If so, what was it? The question was beginning to plague his mind like an unrelenting splinter, an annoyance, a pain which could only be numbed by an answer.

  As Tiberius continued on, moving toward the library which was now a mere block away, the wind chill suddenly became intolerable, causing Tiberius to wrap his coat tighter around his body as the snow began to fall.

  Books lined the shelves of Tiberius’ close friend and Master of Messengers' library. It was perhaps the largest library in Kingsgate, boasting books dating back to the writings of Talisius the poet, who wrote over five hundred years prior, chronicling the earliest days of the Empire.

  One of Talisius’ most prominent writings was that of his poem chronicling the battle of Summer’s Spring as he stood on a nearby hilltop overlooking what became known as the defining victory which ultimately decided the fate of Tiburon’s new empire. The battle was named in conjunction with the poem sometime after the event.

  At the opposite end of the brightly lit room sat Jaimus and Eleven, while Zackarius, apparently making it back before his arrival, piddled with the fireplace, nudging at the logs before he too sat. Tiberius, after closing the door, began to set his stride toward the warmth of the fire which was encircled by the other three. There was no one else here, as Jaimus no doubt appropriately sent them out due to their meeting. As Tiberius walked towards them, Zackarius looked his way, even Eleven made a glance if only to acknowledge his entrance. But Jaimus just continued to sit still, head stuck in a book, his attention consumed by whatever he was reading. Tiberius never took offense by this as he understood that the older man probably didn’t even notice his arrival.

  As Tiberius took a seat, Jaimus looked up, suddenly aware of his attendance, “Praetor, welcome, forgive me I did not notice your arrival until just now. I need to place a bell on that door.”

  “Don’t worry, besides I seriously have doubt as to the effect a bell, no matter the volume of its ringing, will have upon your alertness when preoccupied with books,” responded Tiberius with a grin.

  “Your doubt might be proved correct,” said Jaimus, a smile appearing on his face.

  “Well Jaimus, what is the reason you requested my presence?”

  “There are two reasons, the first is potentially troubling, and the second is, well…quite exciting,” Jaimus responded.

  “Alright, I’ll hear the troubling news first.”

  “Very well, as you wish Praetor. Unfortunately the disconcerting news is that one of my spies has recently reported the arrival of Malcus in Kingsgate late last night. I thought you should be informed as the purpose of his arrival is unknown. Although it has been confirmed that his arrival is indeed due to a summons by the emperor, a hasty report brought to me just before sunrise. This seemed rather out of place as I was under the impression, due to the correspondences I had sent to your forces stationed in Gahnen, that Malcus was set to takeover your commission in the Northern lands upon your arrival to Kingsgate. If that is truly the case, then what is the reason for his return. After all, I heard that Malcus had met with his highness weeks ago to receive his new assignment.”

  Tiberius began stroking his beard after he and Eleven shared a quick glance. He was very troubled by his rival’s mysterious appearance, as it was out of place. It was a sign of... something. Normally he wouldn’t be so bothered, but under the current circumstances.... Malcus had arrived for what could only be personal business with the emperor right after Tiberius had lost his assignment and before he had had a chance to leave the city. To a commoner such things would seem like nothing, but one who had been raised into power, intermingling with the powerful, learned that death and destruction came to rulers who dismissed other ruler's actions as subtle coincidence.

  “Yes, you were right to bring this news to my attention. Your assertions are correct; his appearance here at this time is indeed puzzling. Inform me immediately if your ears fall privy to new information on the subject; make it a high priority,” ordered Tiberius.

  “Of course commander; now to news far less off putting. Let me just say…I found it,” announced Jaimus in a flash of subtle excitement.

  Immediately knowing the next topic of conversation, Tiberius turned to Zackarius reaching into his coin purse. He removed three gold pieces and tossed them to his messenger, “You are dismissed. Go have some fun, and I suggest you not follow Cristoff's advice; stay away from the whore houses. Go find yourself a decent girl if you must, or do whatever it is you do, just stay out of trouble and meet me at Five Spires in the morning.”

  Anxiously Zackarius stood, and after slipping the coins into his pocket, he moved excitedly for the door. As he exited, Tiberius turned to Jaimus saying, “Oh to be that young again.”

  Jaimus replied with a laugh, “What in the gods' creation are you talking about young man. You’re only twenty nine; I was your age when you were nursing.”

  If Tiberius was straining to hear he almost thought he heard a chuckle come from the hidden lips of Eleven who was sitting to his left.

  “Damn, you are getting old. I think later this year when your birthday rolls around I will send you a beautiful gold encrusted walking stick to replace that dusty old cane of yours,” replied Tiberius with a friendly jab of his own in less formal speech.

  Jaimus sat back with a more serious expression, “It’s not dusty.”

  “Pardon me, I stand corrected, it’s well used,” followed Tiberius with a lingering smile as he continued before giving Jaimus a chance to respond, “The friendly banter aside I am eager to see the book you have uncovered for me.”

  A gleam appeared in his eye as Jaimus stood before walking over to Tiberius. Placing the ancient tattered book in his hands, he pointed to the image placed on the cover below the title, “Look, after all these years I found it; that symbol is the same as the mark on your palm.”

  Jaimus was referring to the inch wide, and tall, mark that was imprinted right below the thumb on Tiberius’ right hand; the mark which he had always kept hidden under a special cloth for fear of what its discovery might or might not mean.

  Tiberius had been born with the mysterious mark, a symbol made up of four runes, unknown in origin, inside of a circle. It appeared to be more than just blood vessels, but not quite a tattoo or brand. On occasion the mark glowed with a luminous blue light, and the cause, or reason for it was a complete mystery, a question that needed an answer.

  Upon meeting Jaimus some time ago, the man claimed to have seen a book once with Tiberius’ strange mark on its cover. This was that book, but Tiberius’ excitement turned to slight disappointment as he began to flip through its pages.

  “I can see the pictures and diagrams, but what language is it written in? I don’t think I have ever seen this writing before,” queried Tiberius with a puzzled expression.

  “That’s because the language has not been spoken by men or written by his hand since before Tiburon gave the order to burn the books of barbarism,” said Jaimus before following with a question, “I know where to look, but before I tell you, you must ask yourself a question. How far are you willing to go to find the answers you seek?”

  Tiberius was silent for a moment or two before responding, “You speak a spy's riddle my friend.”

  “Perhaps that is because I am one,” said Jaimus as he put a note in Tiberius’ hand; the writing written on the note being perfectly legible.

  Tiberius again stroked his beard as he began reading the message written on the note. It was as follows:

  He was with us, one of us, but in our presence he left us, lusting after power as his love for himself grew insatiable. Hating the ways of the one he claimed to serve, he found her in the night as he sought out a way to bring about our destruction. She gave him a way, though it came with a price. But to
him the reward was worth more than the cost, a testament to the darkness inside of him. He is the one; he is the one who murdered us. I am the only survivor, I am the last of us, but my failure haunts me, and it will be the death of me.

  I have hidden this book and the message you now read in the hands of a man who calls himself Zealot. I hope that one from the continuing line of Kings goes on to finish my task. If one with the mark reads this; it’s the box, you must destroy the box; the secret lies with the Feyliimn. And if Zealot should fail, God help us all.

  -King Halvar

  When Tiberius looked up Jaimus spoke, “The note was tucked inside the book.”

  Eleven spoke up after he too read the note, “Even I do not know where to find the Feyliimn, if they yet remain in existence.”

  “That’s just it isn’t it, the Feyliimn, according to my understanding, are little more than myth. Even if they do somehow exist or did exist as this note suggests, what happened to them,” asked Tiberius to no specific person.

  Jaimus continued, “Yes, I thought the same until I remembered a correspondence which I recovered many years ago by happenstance. Its apparent date was near the time of Talisius which is why it stood out to me as something unusual aside from its contents which are equally noteworthy. Until today I have never spoken of it to anyone else. I believe the correspondence contains the location of whatever remains of the Feyliimn. It read: Your orders have been seen to completion. All of those expelled from the Empire will now be forgotten beyond the wall.”

  Silence followed as Tiberius and Eleven sat in surprise and careful contemplation of the words which had just made their presence known. Jaimus also refused to break the silence, letting the full realization of the words which had just been spoken into existence only be disrupted by the crackling of the fire. Eleven was the first to speak, “Beyond the wall… You could only be speaking of one place.”

  “The message spoke of it,” Jaimus quickly corrected.

  “The unnamed island,” said Tiberius in nearly a whisper.