by Jon Monson
Aydiin laughed quietly to himself and turned back to stroking Askari’s head and neck. Within a few moments, his friend began to stir. A soft noise – it was somewhere between the purring of a cat the growling of a dog – announced that the kerton was pulling out of his slumber.
Then his eyelids flashed open, and Askari’s large, yellow eyeball made contact with Aydiin’s. The purring grew louder and Aydiin gave the kerton space as Askari leapt to his feet.
“When his eyes open and the purring grows louder, he’ll jump to his feet,” Aydiin said to Byanca, his voice returning to a normal volume. “Kertons like to be awoken gently – yet when they decide it’s time to be up. They tend to lack patience.”
Askari stood, muscles taut and ready. His mouth, filled with razor sharp teeth, seemed to be perpetually smiling.
“See how his mouth always looks like a smile?” Aydiin asked Byanca, who nodded. “It doesn’t really give an indication to his mood. The eyes – those are the real indicators of how he’s doing.”
“So what are his eyes saying right now?” Byanca asked.
“They’re wondering who you are, I think,” Aydiin smiled. “He’s also glad to see me, and wondering where I’ve been.”
“You got all that from his eyes?” Byanca asked, a small amount of awe in her voice. There might have been a hint of incredulity there as well, but it wasn’t strong.
“Kerton are smart,” Aydiin said. “They are fairly good at understanding you. Not the words, necessarily, but what you mean. They can tell a lot from very little.”
“That’s fascinating,” Byanca said, taking a step forward. Askari’s purr turned into a growl as she did so.
“That’s not how we treat her,” Aydiin said, grabbing Askari’s head and pulling his face down until the two were eye to eye. Those yellow orbs blinked in submission.
“This is Byanca,” Aydiin said, pointing to his betrothed. “You need to treat her as well as you treat me. She’s very special, and she’s going to be your friend.”
Askari gave off a soft, throaty groan – his usual signal of understanding. Aydiin motioned for Byanca to come forward as he began rubbing the kerton’s head with more vigor.
“Are you sure about this?” Byanca whispered.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Aydiin said. “You just need to be more confident. In the wild, male kerton live in packs – they respect dominance.”
Byanca straightened slightly, and strode over to Askari. Aydiin could tell the fear and hesitance weren’t gone, only conquered. Her hesitance was as strong as ever, but she somehow forced it down enough to fake it. This woman really was remarkable.
“Now, let’s have you stroke him for a bit,” Aydiin grabbed her hand and gently placed it on Askari’s nose. The nostrils flared slightly, but the kerton remained calm. Byanca’s eyes widened as she began rubbing and scratching softly.
“He’s so smooth,” she whispered. “I expected his skin to be rough.”
“I think that surprises most everyone,” Aydiin replied, his eyes drawn to Byanca’s face, drinking in her changing expressions. “Kerton are like a good mother – calm and gentle to those they love, but ferocious to those who pose a threat.”
“They sound nothing like my mother,” Byanca said. “You must have had a better example.”
“My mother was rather like Askari,” Aydiin said. “She was sweet and loving, but Divines help the man who crossed her or her children.”
“I’m so sorry to bring that up,” Byanca replied. “I knew she had passed. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, it’s quite alright,” Aydiin said, turning to face Askari. “It was a long time ago.”
“I lost my grandparents when I was young,” Byanca said. “There was a bad outbreak of influenza that year. I know it’s not at all the same.”
“Loss is still hard,” Aydiin said. “I lost my mother to a broken heart.”
An understood silence settled over the two. Askari continued purring as both Aydiin and Byanca caressed his head and neck. The kerton sure seemed to be enjoying himself.
“It was just after her death that I was able to snatch Askari,” Aydiin said.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you about that,” Byanca said. “I can find very little information on the kerton. I have heard they don’t breed well in captivity.”
“Actually, they generally don’t breed at all in captivity,” Aydiin smiled. “Kerton who can reproduce are – how do I put this? – unruly.”
“So they’re all –“
“Yep. Almost as soon as they hatch,” Aydiin said, moving to grab Askari’s saddle and reins.
“So how do you get more kerton? I assume they’re not immortal,” Byanca smiled, her eyes following Aydiin as he began strapping Askari’s saddle.
“It’s called the Snatching – it’s an annual event,” Aydiin began. “The kerton make their home on the Surion Plateau, in the very center of Salatia. It’s rugged and difficult to reach, but every year dozens of noble families make their way to the plateau where the kerton gather to breed and make their nests.”
“So you steal their eggs?” Byanca asked.
“Not all of them, obviously,” Aydiin said. “A mother will always make her nest as isolated as possible – female kerton really aren’t very social. A group of men on horseback and kerton will draw out the mother, leaving her egg exposed. Then, someone runs in and grabs the egg while the mother is distracted.”
“That sounds absurd,” Byanca gasped. “I can’t believe people would do something so dangerous.”
“That’s not even the worst part,” Aydiin said. “Snatching an egg is a rite of passage for the local tribes. At least it used to be in the days before the country was civilized by Oosman the Great. Now, it’s really only for high ranking noble children, and they often have a servant do it for them.”
“But you snatched Askari’s egg yourself,” Byanca said. It wasn’t a question.
“I was just twelve years old,” Aydiin nodded. “My father insisted on it being done according to tradition.”
“That’s either very brave or very stupid,” Byanca said.
“I’d say it’s a little bit of both,” Aydiin smiled and shrugged before lifting up his shirt to reveal a white scar that stretched diagonally across his abdomen from his right breast to his left leg. “Askari’s mother certainly wasn’t happy about it. I barely escaped with my life.”
“Oh my,” Byanca said, looking away. “I probably shouldn’t be seeing that much of you until after the wedding.”
“Oh, sorry,” Aydiin blushed. “I got so caught up in the story. Please, forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Byanca said. “We are, after all, going to be married in just a few weeks. I’m glad you told me.”
“I can’t necessarily say I agree with the tradition,” Aydiin said. “But I’m certainly glad to have Askari as a part of my life. I would have died half a dozen times by now without him.”
“Actually, you would have only died once,” Byanca smirked. “I’m not sure you understand how dying works.”
“I think you’re right,” Aydiin laughed as he tugged on the last strap, securing Askari’s saddle to his back. “I’ve always had a way of finding trouble.”
“Well, a little trouble now and then is fine,” Byanca smiled. “It keeps life from getting too dull.”
“I’m so glad you feel that way,” Aydiin said as the two made their way out of the stables and into the open, sunny air. “Because you’re going to ride Askari.”
“I somehow knew I would someday regret those words,” Byanca said, biting her lower lip. “I just didn’t know it would be so soon though.”
“You’ll do fine,” Aydiin said. “Just make sure to show him proper respect.”
“How do I do that?”
“Well, you’ve already gained his trust enough to touch him. That’s a lot more than most people ever get. There are men who have been tending the royal kerton their entire lives who have never laid a ha
nd on one.”
“Then I guess I should feel quite honored,” Byanca said, her eyes growing slightly larger. Aydiin wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he certainly didn’t complain. “So what’s the next step?”
“Well, until he’s comfortable, you just need to explain your actions as you go along. A calm, reassuring tone will help him. When I was young, narrating my actions helped me remember them and calmed my nerves. This time, I’ll just say it so both of you know what’s happening.”
Byanca nodded. Aydiin found himself becoming more and more impressed with her. Few women – or men for that matter - in Salatia had the courage to ride a kerton. It may be her inexperience with the creatures that gave her courage. Either way, he admired her bravery.
“Alright, Askari. Byanca is going to put her foot in the stirrup,” Aydiin said, grabbing the leather as he helped Byanca slip her foot into the strap. She nodded for him to continue.
“Now she’s going to hop up onto your back and throw her free leg onto the other side,” Aydiin said as he continued to rub Askari’s head. Byanca lifted herself up onto Askari’s back, planting her bottom firmly on the saddle. Askari opened his mouth in a yawn.
“Now I’m handing her the reins, and she’s going to take control,” Aydiin said.
Byanca’s hands shook slightly as he handed her the leather straps used to direct the kerton. Despite the shaking, she grabbed the reins firmly, with an air of experience. She had of course spent her youth riding horses. Aydiin nodded at her to continue.
“Okay, now we’re going to take a little jaunt around the courtyard,” Byanca whispered and she nudged Askari gently in the ribs. As if sensing her inexperience, Askari took off without his usual strength, instead loping gently. Byanca yelped – the gait of a kerton, even when gentle, was far different than that of a horse.
The two new friends made a large circle around Aydiin. After a few moments, he could see Byanca’s grimace change to a smile. He found himself slightly jealous, but he was mostly happy that Askari was now an experience he and his future wife could have in common.
Byanca pulled up on the kerton’s reins as they approached Aydiin. Smiling and obviously less nervous than she had been at the beginning, Byanca descended from Askari’s back. Askari purred and she began patting his face with much less hesitance than she had previously shown.
Aydiin couldn’t say why, but Askari’s approval of Byanca meant a great deal to him. Perhaps it was because he had found himself deeply enamored with her, and he was looking for validation that he hadn’t lost his mind. As he watched her stroke the purring kerton, he knew he had never been more sane.
Chapter 14
Aydiin picked at his finger nails as he sat in the plush bench of the rumbling limousine. His stomach churned at every bump in the road. Yet he knew his discomfort wasn’t from the ride – rather, it came from the destination.
Unlike the one that had taken him from the harbor to the palace, this vehicle was made to seat a larger group. The spacious rear of the vehicle was filled with benches that stretched along the sides of the vehicle. Aydiin sat next to Byanca, facing Marcino and Lissandra.
“You look so much better in your new tuxedo,” Lissandra said, smiling. “That old rags you showed up wearing were most definitely not suited for tonight.”
Aydiin didn’t quite know how to respond and looked down at his new clothing. After Barrick had interrupted the fitting, he’d believed himself able to keep his preferred clothing, but the Divine-forsaken tuxedo had been delivered that very afternoon. Aydiin silently cursed the short man who had put off his other contracts to rush his order.
Aydiin had always avoided coats – they were generally useless in Maradon - and the thickness was difficult to get used to. Of course, the jacket wasn’t the only reason he felt stifled.
He was on his way to his first ball in years. He had successfully avoided formal events whenever possible in Maradon, and still disliked the idea of spending his evening in such a manner. The discomfort he felt at being on his way to a ballroom full of stuffy aristocrats was only slightly offset by his companion.
She was wearing a stunning black gown that offset her brilliant eyes and smooth skin. The silk garment clung tightly around her torso, accentuating her curves while being pleated and flowing below her waste. The sight almost made him regret skipping out on dance lessons during his youth – Byanca was much too beautiful to be seen with him on the dance floor.
The limousine rolled to a stop, and the chauffer opened the door. Lissandra and Marcino exited, followed by Byanca. As Aydiin stepped out, his jaw dropped at the sight.
The Farnese mansion was almost larger than his father’s palace. Its grey granite walls stretched five stories into the air. Large windows of clear glass glowed from the electric lights within.
The building’s cold stateliness was complemented by a perfectly manicured lawn and square-trimmed hedges. Not a single blade of grass was out of place. Everything was as it should be – a feat only made possible by vast wealth.
Dozens of vehicles, all luxurious machines made custom by local craftsmen, crowded the circular driveway. Their occupants spilled out onto the lawn, and a mass of lords and ladies glided up the pathways towards the mansion’s front entrance.
Two servants sat directing large spotlights into the air. The white light bounced off the clouds, alerting everyone in the city that something spectacular was happening. Of course, only a small percentage of the population would be in attendance.
“Why does nobody seem impressed by this?” Aydiin whispered to Byanca as she took his arm and the two began walking towards the mansion. The various lords and ladies entering looked bored, their faces lacking the sense of awe that Aydiin felt.
“Because this is normal for Palmas,” Byanca said.
“Buildings in Maradon are just now starting to get electric lighting,” Aydiin said. “My father still refuses to use anything but kerosene lamps in the palace, and most of the city’s nobility follow his example.”
“People are sheep, no matter where you go,” Byanca chuckled. “Here, they spend vast amounts of wealth to keep up with each other. When Duke Farnese put in electric lighting, everyone else did too. When my father ordered the first limousine, local shops were flooded with orders for something similar or even better.”
The couple walked up the steps and strode through the open front doors into the warmth of the electric light. The brown marble floor practically glowed in the yellow light and a gilded ceiling boasted the largest crystal chandelier Aydiin had ever seen. Wired with light bulbs, the crystals magnified the light throughout the entire room, reflecting off a fortune’s worth of glass windows that lined both sides of the hall.
He felt a gentle tug on his arm as Byanca directed them further into the hall. The edges of the room were filled with tables already set with fine china and silver. On the far side of the rectangular room, a band was playing soft music. Beyond the band was an entrance to the rest of the mansion.
“Byanca, does this room really serve no other purpose than to host parties?” Aydiin asked, trying to keep his voice down.
“Of course,” Byanca chuckled. “That’s what a ballroom is for. You’ve seen the one at my father’s palace.”
“Yes, but your father is the head of state,” Aydiin responded. “He needs a place to hold official functions. Duke Farnese has this room for no other reason than to host the city’s nobility.”
“Welcome to Palmas,” Byanca laughed. “I don’t think this will be the last time that the city’s excess will surprise you.”
Byanca led him to one of the many tables that lined the room. It was set with fine china and a cloth table cloth, complete with a vase of flowers in the center. A small card contained the words “Doge Marcino” printed in gold ink.
A servant dressed in a fine black tuxedo and matching bow tie pulled Byanca’s chair away from the table as she sat down. He did the same for Lissandra, who was almost too busy making polite waves to e
veryone she could see to notice. She eventually did sit down, and the servant moved on to other tables without a word.
“Is it odd that we aren’t sitting at the head table?” Aydiin asked Byanca. “Your father is the Doge, after all.”
“Duke Farnese is a prominent member of the Senate,” Byanca whispered. “He and my father are bitter rivals, and I think losing the election still eats at him. Putting us at a small table that only fits the four of us was no accident.”
Oh great, more political games, Aydiin thought. Despite its many strong points, a system that required elections to gain and maintain power did encourage even more politics than what he was used to in Salatia. No matter the culture, the rich still felt they should have more power and influence than their peers.
Putting the Doge at his own table could be interpreted as a sign of respect, allowing him privacy. However, it also removed any opportunity to build relationships with other leaders during the dinner portion of the event.
“Oh, I see Baron Loyala,” Marcino said, giving Aydiin a wink. “Lissandra, let’s pop over and say hello.”
“As long as the Baroness doesn’t try to invite me to her book club,” Lissandra said, rising from her chair. “She always chooses the most horrible works to discuss.”
“Oh, Father,” Byanca said. “He’s always trying to give us some alone time.”
“I’m okay with it,” Aydiin said. “I have so many questions that I didn’t feel comfortable asking in front of him.”
“Well go ahead and ask them,” Byanca said. “I won’t judge.”
“Why do I have the feeling that everyone is looking at me, but trying very hard not to?” Aydiin asked. “Your mother said everyone was used to foreigners.”
“They are,” she responded. “They’re just not used to foreign royalty coming to marry the daughter of the Doge. This is quite unusual.”
“The Republic has only been around for a few decades, and the only other Doge before your father didn’t have any children,” Aydiin said. “How can they have any basis to decide what’s unusual?”