by Sohan Ahmad
Cairopa, the Holy Wasteland, was a mere shadow of the northern capital. Its narrow streets and dirt-filled alleys were silent and unique in their emptiness. Spice merchants dared not squander their efforts to bathe the wastes in their aromatics. They feared their wares would melt away into the void before ever finding a buyer’s coin. Silks and satins were as rare as rainfall, immune to the charms of the south’s sweating gray sky.
What homes still stood had rotted like scorched lumber. Their worn and battered walls were bruised and fractured, as if decades of flying boulders had assaulted them. The once vibrant wood and stone chipped and faded as erosion crept across their surfaces. Unpaved dirt painted Cairopa as a desert rather than a city as the few mongrels and cats that survived the heat found less than scraps to eat, feeding often from the meat off their very bones.
Cyrus nodded in agreement. “Of course, My Prince.” But, what about Mother and me? Will you ever give us the lives that we deserve? Isirians take great pride in their struggles. Faith in His Holiness and the Divine Serpent is all that keeps them from giving up. They are no different from slaves, so why can’t they understand?
True though his claims may have been, they fell upon deaf ears, for even as the stitching of tunics and dresses ripped, the residents labored to rejuvenate the soils. They lived each day with famished smiles and hardy hearts, cherishing their homes as if they were castles. No matter how violently their hunger roared, they spared the lives of their sacred snakes. Horses were unharmed as well; they were essential for farming and transport, and too few could successfully breed within the South’s harsh climate. Slaves were without such good fortune.
Though Cyrus loathed his circumstance. Despite the cheap and tattered quality of southern fabrics, weavers and dressmakers continue to display their love for sacred Isiris. He could not hide his admiration. Each scrap of cloth and leather still bears the crest. A crimson snake binding a golden hawk as it buried its fangs deep within the feathered gullet.
The sigil was a great source of contention between North and South that continued to fuel the hatreds of old. However, Ramses refused to change it. As my grandfather taught my father and as my father taught me, our crest will serve as a reminder to future generations of what was taken from us over the centuries.
As the royal party continued toward the castle, they passed through the capital’s noble district. Unlike its reflection in the North, there were no statues, vast gardens, or needless luxuries. The villas were just large enough to suit the needs of their inhabitants, carved from polished white marble to deflect the blazing sun with foundations rooted deep within the earth to withstand the violent winds of the south. Sadly, only a handful of manors remained intact, surrounded by the stripped ruins of abandoned plots.
Beyond the graves of crumbled marble, Cyrus and his countrymen cleared their way through a concealed yard of shriveled shrubbery. The deeper they went, the slower his steps became until The Silent Cathedral was finally in sight. We’re home. It was an ancient chunk of stone built upon the most sanctified grounds in Isiris before the days of nations and kingdoms, when the War of Forges ravaged the Earthly Mother.
Each time Ramses returned from foreign lands, one thought lingered in his mind. Ancestor. How did you lead us through that vicious era? The old and gray still speak of the first Cardinal and his blade-tipped whip.
“Geno, do you know of our founder’s greatness?” Marcus recalled the stories his father liked to share.
“No, My Prince,” the young Drake said, shaking his head.
Cyrus sighed. Not another history lesson.
The prince’s yellow eyes lit bright. “They called him the Exalted Viper. He wielded Faith, the most cunning of the Beast Kings’ blades. After each battle, he would soak the barbed lash and jagged emerald tip in the holy waters of the Scarlet Sea to inspire his comrades. His long hair was the color of blood and his skin even paler than mine.”
Geno brushed his yet un-calloused hands through his violet strands. “They never spoke of him in the North, My Marcus.”
Marcus slapped a hand against his forehead. I’ve told him so many times already. I give up. “Of course not! Northerners know nothing of true greatness. Many of his accomplishments may have happened long ago, but the royal castle has stood all these centuries. It was constructed atop the graves of Elijah’s fallen warriors as a testament to their sacrifice and would protect their bones until the end of time. The entrance is a massive gate of reinforced iron that stops any enemy from entering.”
Cyrus couldn’t help, but remind. “There is also a garden of healers’ herbs inside, My Prince.”
“Yes, yes,” Marcus mocked with a flippant wave of his hand. “More importantly Geno. Within these walls of charred granite, he raised a titan’s tower, built with thousands of red stones from the Scarlet Sea. And along the perimeter, he sculpted hardened battlements to look like mountain vipers slithering above our quilted banners of blood and holy light so they could strike fear in our enemies.”
Geno’s dormant eyes finally sparkled. “Truly, My Marcus? Are all castles this way?”
“No castle can compare to ours,” the prince answered. “We’re finally here.”
They approached a thin patch of ivy that grew along the granite exterior. Behind it, the stone face churned as a large engraved panel slid open. From within emerged a crimson-mantled knight, his face caged within a mask of silver scale. He approached the Cardinal’s party slowly with a wide-bladed broadsword large enough to cleave a horse in two. The crimson knight plunged the massive sword into the earth, placing a hand on each side of the guard as he knelt. “Welcome back, Your Holiness. The Queen awaits.”
From the shadows of the vacant stone two handmaidens appeared to guide the sickly Slithering Queen, Diana Jacqueline-Elijah, to her husband and son. Marcus’s eyes illuminated like a burning star. “I missed you, Mother!” he shouted, leaping forward to embrace his mother tightly.
The force nearly knocked her to the ground. “It warms my heart to see you return.” She was a pale shade of her former glory. Bags of saggy skin grew under her sleep-starved eyes as a piercing pain twisted and stiffened her once elegant frame, yet she mustered what strength she had to smile for her son.
Archonis patted his fellow knight on the shoulder, “Greetings, Sir Boah. You may return to your post, my friend.” He then saluted Her Holiness as the returning slaves bowed their heads and murmured, “My Queen.”
Ramses, however, raised his tone. “Diana, what are you thinking? You should be in bed.” He added, motioning to Isa, “Take the Queen to her chambers at once.”
Isa glanced at the queen with a cowering eye before complying with the Cardinal’s command. As she approached Diana’s hand, however, the queen brushed her aside like rotted fruit. “I do not require a slave’s aid in order to reach my own bedchamber. Apologies, my lord husband, for the burden of my presence. I shall take my leave at once.” She reached down to grab her son’s hand as her feeble legs quivered at the knees. “Come, darling, entertain your poor mother with tales from beyond the Cathedral. Your father seems to have learned new manners in the North.”
Marcus gripped her palm firmly as he shot a puzzled look at his father, forcing Ramses to rub slender fingers over his pulsating temples. “Go, listen to your mother.” Isa turned to him for her commands as well. “Keep your distance, but follow behind them. Make sure she takes her rest,” he whispered.
Isa dipped her head. “As you wish, Your Holiness.” Though her words quivered ever so slightly.
Cyrus followed closely behind with the Drake in tow. “Geno, there is much work to be done. I will show you to your chambers.”
Once the slaves vanished, the Cardinal’s voice burst out without care, “Why can she not see my concern? Am I wrong for wanting to preserve her health?”
Archonis and his crimson son dared not share their thoughts on the matter, but the commander spoke as only he could: “Your Holiness, perhaps you too require respite, it has been
a long journey. Do not concern yourself with my lady Diana. Isa will ensure that she is well taken care of.”
Ramses placed a hand on his Paladin’s broad back. “I pray you never take a wife and forfeit your wisdom, old friend.” He entered the castle with a servant on each side; his steps trembled with the stress of rule and compassion. Before he entered the belly of stone, he issued one final command: “Send word of my return to the council.”
The Paladin presented the royal salute. “At once, my lord.” He and his crimson son rushed to the aviary, delivering the Cardinal’s message in sealed parchments on the pink feet of pigeons. They were simple creatures, too dull to flee bondage yet diligent to their tasks, the perfect courier between the four kingdoms and their respective cities.
Upon entering the Cathedral, Ramses arrived in a grand hall of vibrant darkness. An absence of windows allowed little daylight to penetrate the granite interior; however, serpentine sets of burning wax revealed the brilliance of this sacred corridor. Rich velvet, trimmed in a dim bronze, blanketed the cold floor as the giant serpents of antiquity danced across its wool surface. Pale, empty crystals hung from the ceiling like shards of transparent ice, absorbing and scattering candlelight throughout the vast space. The entrance was a colossus of lumber that required two men per door. Just above hung a pristine painting of the Exalted Viper, its reds and yellows as glorious as the day they were first inked.
Along the walls, lifeless suits of armor stood atop stone pedestals, each slab bearing the name of a hero from the Silver Cross, from “Samos Gerard, the Spear of Light” to “Magnus Xavier, the Radiant Sword.” Only one plinth stood vacant in the center of two skyward slithering stairways. It read “Shrine of the Holy Ghost.”
As the Cardinal neared the elevated pathway, a sharp pain shot through his gut like a thousand needles. “Damn these steps, they grow higher with every visit. Snakes belong on the earth; leave the skies to the cursed Hawks.” The slaves shared the weight of his burdens, crawling like snails ascending a tree.
Lady Diana had not fared much better. Thick patches of sweat oozed through her pale green gown as she begrudgingly returned to the supple clouds of her bedding. Isa hid her gaze at all times as she and two others dried the moisture from Diana’s pale skin. She lay still, staring about her walls. A chapel of Isirian history. Cardinals of each generation watching eternally from within their bronze-framed coffins of colored parchment. What do you see when you look out upon the lands? All I can see is pain and family.
Only four windows existed within the keep, forged as the eyes of a snake to keep watch over the other kingdoms. The southern glass was crafted twice as wide as the others, forever connecting the Cardinal to his lands and people. Shelves made from the bark of white ash trees lined the interior as hundreds of tomes, bursting with the personal accounts of divine rulers from the first, Elijah, to Ramses’s father, Seti, the Seer. Diana lay her weary bones on an island of rich, scarlet silk, floating amid a sea of black birch.
She listened quietly as Marcus regaled her with tales of their adventures, from the marketplace scuffle and the graceful swordsman to the defeat of the Crowned Skulls. “Praise the Goddess that you returned free of harm,” Diana said, her fever rising with every word of her son’s story. “Why was the commander so poorly prepared?” she asked, staring at Isa.
“Apologies, Your Holiness,” the slave answered with a stutter. “I was by your husband’s side. When Sir Archonis brought them home, I was terrified. Thankfully, Cyrus stood at his side—he would protect the prince from any harm, of that I am certain.”
On any other day, Diana might have stayed her tongue, however, the harsh greeting from her lord husband had loosened the binds of her restraint. “Isa, I cannot deny that you have served me well for these many years, but do not think for an instant that I would entrust the safety of my child or this country’s future to filth like you and that bastard. You are both fortunate that no harm came to my son, otherwise I would not have offered the courtesy of a conversation.”
Marcus’s heart wrenched with guilt. He’s not a bastard, he’s my brother. “Mother, they are innocent, do not blame them for my mistakes. I promise that it will not happen again.”
Diana looked to her child with strained eyes, whispering loud enough for all to hear, “Never apologize to or for a slave, my son. You are beyond their grasp. They exist to serve and protect you.”
He did not share his mother’s feelings. Now is not the time to argue, Mother needs her rest. But, instead he remained silent.
The queen then turned back to Isa with a glare. “Why do you think my husband, your master, purchased the Drake boy? Clearly, your tainted seed is not fit for such a task, and perhaps neither is Archonis. Is there none whom I can trust?”
Isa dared not protest. Her hate is as fierce as ever. I tremble to think what she would do if she learned the full truth. What a vile creature I am, hiding within my shame. She bowed, offering what meager words she could. “Apologies for my ignorance and rudeness. I meant no offense, my lady.” Isa continued to avert her gaze as she continued with her duties. “If you would allow it, my lady, I need to cool your fever.”
Marcus caressed his mother’s forehead. “You’re burning up!” His guilt now replaced by panic. “Please let her help you,” he begged.
The queen would share her eyes with none, but her son, even as she answered Isa, “Fine. Bring me a cloth and bowl of water, I can do it myself.”
Isa replied, “At once, my lady.”
“Now go. I would speak with my son.”
Despite her fears, Isa’s first command was from Ramses so she remained by her lady’s side, hidden in a corner while two frightened maidens delivered food and water to calm the unholy temper. Marcus did his best to aide them. “Mother, do you believe I could become a great swordsman?” Drawing her focus back to his words. “I wish to protect our lands just as the Sword Saints do.”
Diana listened, humoring the childish whims of her son as she slowly regained her composure. She massaged his strawberry hair gently as her voice softened with fatigue. “You can become anything, my dear. Why do you ask?”
Before Marcus could answer, Ramses completed his climb up the skyward stairway. “Leave us; I would share words with my wife.” The slaves heeded the command and quickly made their exit until the Cardinal clarified, “Isa, you are to remain here until Diana is ready for slumber.”
The young prince protested, “Father, please allow me to stay.”
Ramses shook his head. “There are important matters we must discuss that are not for the ears of children. Go down and play with your slaves. You can return once she has had a chance to rest.”
Diana still stewed over her husband’s earlier coldness. “Obey your father’s wishes, my darling.” But conceded to his request. “I shall see you shortly.” Marcus kissed his mother on the cheek before leaving her side.
Once her son had departed, she leered at Isa as a jailer would. I don’t want to be here either. The slave thought, hoping the queen would understand, but instead, her annoyance reached out like the shadows of wooden limbs in the darkness. Where else can I go? No corner is safe from your gaze.
Ramses sat beside his wife and removed his bronze crown. It feels as if the weight of a million lives has lifted from my shoulders. The naked ruler placed his head on her lap, embracing her moist and frigid hands. “Apologies for my earlier words, my queen, my wife. It frightened me to see you so far from your bed.” He further explained, “I cannot appear weak in front of my subjects, even when the opponent is the mother of my son.”
The King of Hardship shouldered many burdens, but once he removed the crown, he stripped himself of the duties and expectations that bound him. Allowing his ever-vigilant guard to shed, he spoke to his queen as husband to wife. “My love, I am in a constant state of anxiety. I worry about our country, our people, and our innocent son, who will one day take my place, but mostly I worry about you. You are the one being in this world who truly kn
ows me, the only one with whom I can share my heart. If I were to lose you, I do not know what I would do or how I would survive while bearing the weight of our kingdom’s future.”
Diana teared at the confession of her husband’s true feelings. “Dear husband, it may be wrong of me to say, but I only worry about you and our son.” She continued, “Our land, our people, and our power . . . I would willingly throw them all aside if it meant that we could live peacefully as a family. However, as you say, I know the man you are. I cannot wish for something that falls outside of your desire to protect Isiris. Please forgive this wretched soul for not understanding the weight you bear.” She glanced at the locked door that protected them from the world and laughed. “Are you aware that our son wishes to become a Sword Saint?”
Ramses’s eyes rose as he lifted his head, bringing his hands together in prayer toward the Divine Serpent. “Archonis informed me of such nonsense. I tried to warn the boy that he is not yet ready for combat, but I fear he is too stubborn to follow my wishes.”
Diana brushed her hands softly through her husband’s strands of aging auburn. “Every boy must eventually become a man, especially in the eyes of his father. Ramses, you are a good man and father, so there is no need to worry about Marcus. I have no doubt that he will grow up to be a strong and wise ruler, just as you have.”
Relief washed over his troubled mind. Ramses placed a kiss against her pale forehead before smiling into her tired eyes and pressing his dry lips to hers. “Rest now, my queen.” He donned his crown once again and glanced beyond the southern window over his kingdom for a moment. As he gazed over the weary citizens and parched soil, his eyes glistened with the moisture of a somber tear. Tears will not save my people; they need a strong leader. A soft heart will not rescue Diana from her illness. Be strong for them. Be strong for her. With his resolve renewed, he departed, leaving his wife to sleep’s embrace.