Nights of Villjamur lotrs-1

by Mark Charan Newton

  They would try to lose them, Eir and Rika, try to vanish and cause panic. Once Eir managed to hide for an entire afternoon on top of a bookcase in one of the libraries whilst soldiers trotted along the corridors, checking every room, and their mother would vacillate between annoyance and worry. Knowing where she was, Rika would slip in every hour with some sweets for her.

  'Are you coming down yet?'

  'How long has it been?' Eir had said, brushing down a cloud of dust with the side of her arm.

  'You should come down before they clip you round the ear. Eir. Ha! Ear Eir! You're named after an ear!'

  'Shut up or I'm never coming down. Worse, I'll say that you scared me up here, and made me stay here and cry for ages.'

  'You wouldn't,' Rika said.

  'I would. So how long has it been?'

  'Four hours.'

  'Give it at least two more. This book is good. The sweets are good. Anyway, I like the fuss being made. Makes a change.'

  Eir had always been the one less likely to follow instructions, the younger sibling, testing the rules that had been first set for Rika. And she had a point: they would often be ignored. They were children, so she should not be so harsh on them. Their father was busy being Emperor. A tough man, he shouted at them and their mother for no noticeable reason. Then there were the beatings, memories she tried to repress. One could see the neglect upon her mother's face, the withered features while in conversation with him, occasional bursts into tears as she sat staring out of the window. She had been beautiful. Sleek black hair, a pretty, oval face, tall and regal. Such dramatic clothing. Girls would help her select outfits, make-up, jewels, perfumes. Every bit the Emperor's wife. To Rika women were worth more than just sporting trinkets, being repressed by a man, trapped by a family. Back then Rika would sit on her bed, dazzled, feeling lucky if her mother tried some of her items on her, smiling. She remembered her breath smelled of mint leaves-

  A knock at the door.

  For a moment she considered not answering. If she remained seated here by the window with her memories, it was possible that her day wouldn't even begin. As soon as she got up, events would inexorably be set in motion – events that would lead to her being declared sovereign of the Jamur Empire. Instead she could just sit here and stare out at the city, allowing the hypnotic flakes of snow to take her mind away.

  Easy to understand why her father had eventually become insane.

  'Rika, are you awake? It's Eir.'

  'Just a moment.' Rika rose to let her sister enter, pleased it was not another stranger.

  Eir marched to the centre of the room, a heady waft of perfume following. She was wearing an outrageously fashionable red gown, high collar, black sleeves, her hair slick with oil, her face made up like nothing Rika had ever seen before. A fake red tundra rose nestled on her breast.

  'You're not even dressed,' Eir observed.

  'No, I'm not,' Rika sighed. 'I was watching the snow and just thinking.'

  'You'll have plenty of time for that,' Eir said. 'We've got decades yet to go blind from the whiteness of it all, they say. The Night Guard and Council are assembling, as are all the major families.'

  'I've got a little while yet before I need to get there,' Rika said. 'I'm not sure how I'll cope here, with all the fuss they make. How does one get anything done with so many other people interfering?'

  'I simply don't know,' Eir confessed, now sprawling across the windowsill. 'It's kind of fun to have such a bother made of us from time to time.'

  Rika smiled. 'You've become such a spoilt little brat.'

  'Don't… you're sounding like Randur.'

  'Who's Randur?' Rika demanded.

  'No one.' Eir clenched her hands in a nervous manner.

  'Indeed.' Rika took a step closer. 'He wouldn't be that young braggart strutting about these halls flirting wildly with every woman he meets, would he? I have certainly noticed him. Don't tell me you're predictably falling for his charms too?'

  Eir laughed. 'You've hardly been here so how could you even think that. No, I can barely stand having to dance with him.'

  'So you're close to him, are you? Is this a frequent occurrence?' Rika folded her arms.

  'He's only my instructor.'

  'Is he at least any good?' Rika enquired.

  'He seems to think so, at least.'

  'He's certainly a pretty man,' Rika conceded, inviting her sister to open up to her obvious infatuation.

  'Don't let him hear you say that. He'd not let you forget about it in a hurry. Anyway, I don't want to discuss him.' Eir stood up. 'Now how soon can we expect you to bless us with your presence?'

  'Just give me a few minutes. I'll be down.'

  Eir kissed her sister on the cheek, went to leave.

  'One moment,' Rika said.

  So many years had passed, and she now considered how her little sister had developed into an attractive young woman. Rika walked over to her, grasped her hands. It felt easy to be open with her. 'Eir, I'm scared, at times, that I don't think I can ever be an Empress. I'm not strong enough to do this. I just don't have the experience-'

  'Rika, you're the bravest, most sensible woman I know. You left this city to spend your life on a fringe island with nothing more than a few peasant farms and Jorsalir structures for company – that in itself takes quite some strength of purpose. You have spent time studying religion, so you possess a moral code that frames your thoughts. And, besides, now that father's gone, it may be fun because everyone will want to impress you.'

  After a brief silence, Rika said, 'Are you sad? I mean, that he's gone?'

  Slowly, Eir put her arms around her shoulders, and Rika enjoyed the warm embrace. To be able to be close to her sister again moved her. They held each other for a minute. Eir whispered, 'I only feel upset because of the relief he's gone, and because now I might have to start growing up and taking responsibility.'

  *

  To Rika's surprise, hundreds of people turned to face her as she stood at the top of the stairway leading down from the balcony, and the noise they made was alarming. It wasn't as though this would be quiet, the death of the only person in the city that had been known to everyone.

  Those who weren't military wore vivacious dress, like her sister, that strange tradition in Villjamur to wear the brightest colours to see off the dead. There would be no morbid reflection here, guaranteeing a funeral day more colourful than any normal one.

  At the foot of the stairs was a wheeled catafalque bearing a wooden casket.

  Her father's body.

  Although she knew she should, she didn't really feel all that much for him any more, but why was that? Had she spent so long alienating herself from the more basic human emotions that now she didn't know what to think, or was it a relief at the passing of this man who had been so cruel to her mother, a man who had loved no one but himself?

  Standing in a row immediately behind the casket was the Night Guard, what was left of it, just eleven members currently. Commander Lathraea stood to attention at the front of them, a vision of darkness in his black uniform, his pale face shining like some ghostly beacon.

  Councillors loitered behind him, and then various nobles, in bright robes, further back. Ordinary citizens from the city had been allowed access to this privileged level, so crammed themselves, shoulder to shoulder, into any adjoining street that provided a decent view. All around the city she could see people watching from balconies, standing on walls, leaning from the windows of countless towers. Many of them were waving to her, and there was an element of excitement about the entire city. There would be narrations tonight, as there always were – they would linger on Emperor Johynn's life until the red sun rose. There would be wine, beer, dancing. A few late-night walks where people would be saying how lovely she looked or what a sad time for her to follow in her father's footsteps.

  Rika strode down the steps to join her sister by her father's casket. Some part of her wanted to lift the coffin lid, to see what his face looked like
one more time, to wonder if her anger would be rekindled, or if she would open up her heart to him only to be met with a cold silence.

  Commander Lathraea stepped forwards with a nod and some whispered instructions.

  The procession journeyed along the twisted streets of the city, Rika the only one on horseback, elevated so all could see their new ruler. Her mount towing the deceased was somehow vaguely symbolic. Despite the freezing weather, the crowds cheered. Old women threw tundra flowers across the passing carriage. For nearly two hours they progressed, a sad trail of sodden flowers marking their passage towards the underground crypt.

  *

  Anyone who was anyone in the Jamur Empire made themselves present there in the darkness of the crypt. Every Emperor of the Jamur lineage was buried here, four thousand years of blood kin. It had begun with Jamur Joll, who had first led his people into the ancient town of Vilhallan, as it was known then, after a legendary battle, there proclaiming himself Emperor and ordering the three encircling walls of Villjamur to be built. Johynn would be buried alongside his father, Emperor Gulion, the one who drowned twenty-six years previously with more than a little rumour surrounding the incident. Rika looked on with a strange realization that this is where she herself would be buried, amongst these hundreds of candles, in an eternal stone prison.

  *

  'War?' Rika gasped. She leaned back in her chair, stared into space. The word echoed in her mind, summoned up feelings of guilt, of shame. War meant death, and she would be complicit in causing it. It didn't even seem her decision to make – the Empire would do what it needed to without her say in the matter.

  Two lanterns burned in the room, and a candle on the table and a fire. Animal-head trophies hung on the wooden-panelled walls, which bore the carving of ancient runes. The sense of history here was humbling.

  'It's an essential, I assure you,' Chancellor Urtica said. With one upturned hand, he gestured at the maps spread out before them, then moved the candle to cast a light over the Empire's islands of the western Boreal Archipelago. 'Our armies have gathered here on Folke, near the garrison town of Ule. It's our largest fortified area in the east. I'll admit that initially my concerns about war were as yours clearly are. But we've reason to believe there will be a serious attack on our territories from these tribes.' Urtica clutched the edge of the table. 'I've taken every step I can to defend our lands, Empress. You need not worry on that count.' He stepped back to warm himself by the fire.

  Rika stood up to get a better perspective on the geography. Seven nations, dozens of islands and rocky outcrops that once meant nothing to her, and even now were abstract, a collection of lines and colour on paper. 'Chancellor, what does all this mean, precisely?'

  'It means, my lady, we're sending thousands of troops over a period of time, the first of whom are marching or sailing east even as we speak. It is quite necessary to protect our people.'

  It seemed rather odd, defending people by launching an assault on another island. 'Can we afford such an enterprise?'

  'That should not be of concern. We councillors have made sure that coin has flowed into Villjamur regularly. It is mainly cultists who are expensive when deployed, but we've little choice but to use them from time to time. I have taken measures to ensure that our tax revenues increase by cutting Veteran Pay, and taxing the well-stocked pensions of those already in the military.' He turned to present her with an earnest expression. 'Essential, if this Empire is to protect itself.'

  'Well… if you're absolutely certain it is necessary. And the Night Guard?' Rika enquired, thinking of how useful Brynd had been. 'Are they going too?'

  'They are…' Urtica hesitated, 'required to tackle separate incidents, Empress.'

  He told her of events on Tineag'l, a genocide, a potential refugee crisis on a scale never before seen.

  She nodded, didn't want to admit any further lack of knowledge and, being a woman, felt that this was a particularly important position to maintain in a male-dominated arena. No matter how enlightened a civilization was, she felt that war always seemed to bring out some primitive urge in men, a need to demonstrate strength.

  'My lady, I know there's a lot to take in.' The chancellor smiled knowingly.

  Perhaps he didn't mean to sound patronizing, but he did. And he was right: there was such a lot to take in. 'Then I'll leave this matter under your control, chancellor. Although I would be very grateful to be informed of every military movement undertaken.'

  He gave a gentle nod. 'As you wish, Empress.'

  'On another matter, I would very much like it if food could be sent out to the refugees.'

  'Sorry, my lady?' Urtica replied, his eyes showing something like surprise. Or humour.

  'I would like those people to be fed as best as possible. Even if just this one time. Think of it as a welcoming gift from their new Empress. Just because they're outside our gates and homeless does not mean they are not our responsibility.'

  Urtica's expression remained calm, yet contained a glint of something she couldn't read. 'An excellent suggestion, Empress. I'll draft up orders to put to the Council, although it may take some time. I can see you have your mother's compassion.'

  'Do I?' Rika's reply was full of melancholy.

  'You do indeed. It was a great shame that she died in such… suspicious circumstances.'

  'There was nothing suspicious about it.' She said the words before she had a chance to consider them.

  'You think,' Urtica said, 'that you know who the killer was?'

  Again, the ghosts returned.

  As a child, one day when her father was looking for her mother, Rika told him that she was with one of the guards in the private gardens. Such an innocent comment. She didn't think he might see something sinister in her contact with this other man.

  'It was suggested by many that my mother was having an affair with a soldier from the Dragoons, and somehow my father found out. Very soon her body was found in one of the lower levels of the city, lying flat on the streets. She bled to death, my father told us, tragically whilst on official business – whatever that may have been.'

  Urtica gave a brief gasp. 'Surely you don't think your father was responsible for it?'

  Rika remained silent. Yes, she did, but she wasn't going to let him know that.

  Urtica pressed on. 'A price was offered to find her murderer, wasn't it? Forgive me, but this was quite some time ago. I'm sure the matter was thoroughly investigated.'

  'The Inquisition found only more paperwork, chancellor.'

  'It must have been a difficult time for everyone.'

  'That was probably the year that father began to find it difficult to trust people, preferring his own company for great lengths of time. I remember that servants would take bottle after bottle of wine to him. As the months went by he was less fussy as to the quality, just that it was still coming. I suspect that was the start of his deterioration.'

  'Perhaps,' Urtica agreed. 'The mind does suffer greatly under the stresses experienced in office. But I hope you will trust people in Villjamur a little more than he did.' A smile. 'Things are very different these days.'

  *

  A quarter of an hour later the chancellor sent a request for a garuda soldier. While he waited, Urtica began writing down a list of orders. Eventually one of the city's bird-soldiers entered the chamber. Urtica examined the creature, its white visage startling, even in the dreary light of the room.

  You requested to see one of us? the flight lieutenant signed.

  Urtica tried to remember the appropriate words and the symbols, what the hand shapes meant, unused to having to read them himself. He was no mere soldier after all. 'Yes, take this order to the military garrison at Ule, Folke.' The chancellor handed the garuda a document. 'Show it to every captain you see. Should my note be destroyed en route, memorize these words: "At the command of Empress Jamur Rika and the Council of Villjamur, you are commanded to organize a front line facing across the northern and easternmost shores immediately adja
cent to Varltung. A total of two thousand troops must be placed in key positions ready to receive long-ships that will set sail from all the military bases on Jokull. Mission summary: ensure total submission of the Varltung race with as few prisoners as possible." '

  The garuda made a harsh squawking sound in his throat. Sir, is this correct? You wish all of them to be killed?

  'Who are you to question my orders?' Urtica could see the frustration evident on the bird's face. 'You've been bred specifically for military use, so don't let emotions get in the way. Anyway, we cannot afford to look after prisoners during such times as these.'

  So be it, the garuda signed, then gripped the scroll in his human-like hands.

  Urtica eyed the tiny feathers that grew on the creature's arms, then looked him straight in the eye. 'Did you memorize those instructions?'

  The garuda signed, They are not easily forgettable, sir.

  'Good.' Urtica sat down on the chair before the maps and regarded the garuda casually. 'I'll send follow-up instructions, but the scroll you possess contains details of troop allocations and movements, and none of this is up for discussion. Every captain will understand and act accordingly. Now, go.' He waved him away with the back of his hand. The flight lieutenant twisted sharply, generating an unnatural breeze somehow with his body shape, then left the room.

  Moments later, Urtica stepped over to a tapestry on the wall, peeled it back. A view of the city was unveiled, and he watched the garuda flying off across the spires and bridges, gliding out towards the east.

  Urtica brooded on the predicament. He could tell no one of his negligible manipulations, of course – people just did not like to see the bigger picture. Because of the evidence provided by hired tribal thugs at Daluk Point, this Empire had now been offered an excuse to expand. The loss of a few Night Guard soldiers proved only that they weren't as wondrous as they liked to think they were, the posturing idiots. The Empire now had an opportunity to take more resources, more wood and food and ore, in defiance of the Freeze. They could claim another nation in the east, and this ancient Jamur Empire would become even more glorious.