On 5 Waxing of the 4th Month of the 226th
Year of Paraceln's Age, Ruriko Minamet celebrates her 43rd birthday.
That night, the Cosmos provides her with its own unwelcome present: a night sky
empty of stars.
On 4 Waning of the 8th Month of the 226th
Year of Paraceln's Age, the other heavenly lights die.
It happens at night. In an instant, fingers of
shadow engulf the gibbous white moon, snuffing its reflected brilliance. In the
city, scarcely anyone notices the moment of its death: candles still flare, and
lamps still glow, shedding their golden light on cowards, liars, and honest
men.
But in the countryside, the verdant expanses of
fertile countryside where miles divide a man from his neighbors, there suddenly
rages an ocean of darkness.
* * *
"And you destroyed it, Your Holiness?"
"I did. It was far too dangerous of a thing to
be kept. It took me years to understand how that could be, but I do now."
"Before you destroyed it, did you read
it?"
The man blanches. "I understood your warnings
clearly. How dare you ask me such a thing?"
"You did not answer me. Did you read it?"
"You forget yourself. You are not the master
in this place. Do not presume to command me so."
"Did you read it?" The tone is colder
now.
The man shivers. "Your arrogance offends me.
No, I did not read it. I demand that you leave now." The man points to the
exit from his chamber. "Go, before I call the guards and have you
removed."
The man feels the weight of consideration upon him.
Each passing moment shrieks and claws its way past, unnaturally persevering in
a way far more keeping with life than simple, measured time. At last, after
twelve howling seconds have shredded his nerves, the voice speaks again.
"I don't believe you."
"I swear that—Guards! GUARDS—!"
* * *
Morning does not come.
The cycle of day and night is fundamentally
ingrained into humanity. Before dawn fails to break, Komaru City knows that
something is profoundly wrong. The cries of wailing infants, the troubled
nightmares of sleepers – in these the truth is known before it is known. Only
the insectile spines of clocks welcome this new day.
There are no words that can evoke a world gripped
in the death of light.
One cannot simply speak of a mariner, star-blind
for three score days, now stripped of even knowledge of east and west, for
Komaru knows nothing of such things.
One cannot simply speak of the spires of the
Distant East, where maidens clad in golden feathers are sacrificed for a sun
that does not rise, for Komaru knows nothing of such things.
One cannot simply speak of hunters that stalk the
streets of the Royal Capital, searching fruitlessly for the fires that do not
burn from the earth, for Komaru knows nothing of such things.
One cannot simply speak of the emptiness and pain
in the heart of a man who has shed the blood of his kinsman and now knows it to
be in vain, for Komaru knows nothing of such things.
All this is but a piece of the darkness, for by its
very nature, none can perceive its totality.
* * *
Ruby Touraine, Royal Champion of Komaru, lifts his
alcohol-fogged head as Adriana Komaru's quiet footsteps carry her back into her
chambers. Cautiously, he asks, "Is your brother any better?"
She shakes her head. "No."
Ruby sighs. "Shit. I'm sorry, highness."
She manages a wan smile. "I think you might
actually be." Unsteadily, she staggers across the room and flops into a
masterwork of Komaran carpentry. "He woke up, and we talked. He does not
approve of you taking me drinking." She glares at Ruby, but her hiccups
dampen the force of Royal Disapproval.
He chuckles. "Did you tell him where I took
you drinking, princess?"
Adriana flushes red. She ducks her head, spilling a
torrent of dark amber across her eyes. "No, I did not. Nor would I have
gone with you if I had known where you were taking me."
Ruby chuckles again. "I did at least provide
you with a disguise. I am quite certain neither of Their Graces recognized
you." She starts to snap at him, but bites the retort back. He watches her
compose herself, admiring the way the red fades so quickly from her face. Not
for the first time, he notices the enticing delicacy of her eyelashes, the
youthful swell of her breasts beneath her kimono. As much to distract himself
as her, he adds, "I half-expected them to invite you to join them, you
know. Women their age often enjoy more youthful companions."
Now she is impassive before his teasing; his
disappointment is mingled with ever-growing respect. He watches her consider
her words before calmly stating, "You are a terrible, terrible man."
He begins to speak, but she cuts him off. "I say that not in a casual,
off-handed way, but with the full authority of my position. Hideo believed that
the whole point of the Royal Tournament was to put someone young and desirable
next to me, so that I might fall in love with them, be wed, and do my best to
demonstrate fertility to equal dear old auntie Glory. If that was indeed the
plan, then it failed in ways beyond all possible comprehension, for I find you
to be a boorish cad with the manners of a desert lizard, the bloodline of a
goat of questionable ancestry, and the same physical appeal that I hold for the
finest stallion in my stable – which, I might add," she quickly inserts,
as he smirks and attempts to speak again, "is substantially less than I
expect you have for it." She takes a deep breath, and adds, "I also
enjoyed tonight, something I have not been able to say at any other point in
the last two and a half days, nights, whatever. Thank you."
Ruby grins at her, and bows his head. "You're welcome,
princess. Next time, if you want to get more hands-on experience, just ask. You
pay me well enough that they let me run a tab. Or you could ask for a part-time
job—"
The pillow hits him squarely in the face. "Did
I mention that you are also an asshole? Let me expound upon this." She
thinks for a moment, and he takes the opportunity to tuck the pillow behind his
head and put his boots up on another priceless piece of carved wood. This earns
a look of disapproval, and the profoundly sincere declaration, "You are an
asshole. I am not selling myself to anyone, be they a customer of your
exclusive brothel or a hoary old Yuasa eunuch puppet!" She blinks, and
then adds, "I feel like I should add some more expletives to that, but I
know I'm swearing because you're such a terrible influence on me, and I refuse
to feed your ego any further. Asshole."
When he finally stops laughing and is confident
that he is not going to throw up on the irreplaceable silken pillows, he
teases, "Well, I happen to know he isn't all that bad. His mistress has
pretty good evidence he's no eunuch."
Three days later, Ruby admits to himself that he
underestimated how drunk he actually was. It is the only explanation he can
imagine for failing to miss the steel in the princess's voice. "'His
mistress?' Tell me about 'his mistress.'"
"She's… I forget exactly how we're related,
but she's a distant cousin of mine. Providence Touraine. She's married to some
old Yuasa count, but I guess your fiancé hates the guy, so I hear they take
every opportunity to cuckold him. I think they have a kid, too—" He
glances over her and starts. She is standing next to him, staring at him with
feral intensity. "Hey, uh, you really didn't know about this, did
you?"
"No, I didn't. But very soon now, everyone will."
Afterwards, Ruby swears he saw her eyes glitter in
the dark.
* * *
The darkness that swallows Mourn is palpable. Where
no light shines, the air becomes more viscous than fog, muffles sound, and
clings to the skin with an adhesive wetness. But whereas night's darkness
brings a chill, the roiling shadows seem to gather heat. Twenty-four hours
after the darkness envelops Komaru, the Royal Capital is as dank and humid as a
southern swamp in the summertime. Forty-eight hours later, even the touch of
silk against skin is unbearable. Hundreds of city folk suffer from heat
exhaustion. Dozens, particularly the elderly and the young, die from it.
Three and a third days after the light goes out, a
feeble illumination shines again in the sky.
* * *
Prince Lucien Komaru kneels before the Crown
Princess, flanked today by the Regent and the Royal Champion. "Your Royal
Highness," he murmurs, "it seems that this trial may be at an end at
last. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your role in keeping the
nation's peace during this crisis of night. Let me also congratulate you on
your engagement. I am certain it will bring Komaru benefits that I cannot
measure."
The Crown Princess's lips press together tightly.
"As surely as your example inspires all of Komaru. What brings you before
the Crown, Your Highness? Surely this is no social visit."
Smoothly, Lucien agrees. "It is not. With the
recent chaos brought upon us, a matter I have long considered has once again
come to my attention. I am certain that your mother is aware of how the stars
seem to grow darker after her yearly visits to the Castle of the Sea? Clearly,
something of that place or what is done there is detrimental to Komaru. It is
my hope that by offering you the Castle of the Sea as an addition to the Royal
Holdings, you may gain some insight into this mystery. Perhaps you will succeed
where others have failed." He tips his head to the Regent with studied
obeisance.
"Ah," answers the Crown Princess.
"Your generosity is a thing that shall not be compared, Your Highness. We
will send emissaries to the Castle of the Sea at once to inspect Our new
holding. It seems We may already have some men in the area."
"How fortunate, Your Royal Highness," he
replies. "Doubtless they will enjoy their stay there." He bows again
to the Crown Princess, who dismisses him with a gesture.
As he leaves, Lucien fancies he can hear the sound
of grinding teeth.
* * *
At first, some wonder at the new light. Is it truly
the sun, they ask, or just another disaster?
Within two days, it is certain: it is the sun, and
at night, Lucien again shines in the sky. But the blackness does not recede
fully: a dark pall hangs from horizon to horizon, and its tendrils yet reach
out as if to smother the light from the sky.
There are still no stars.
In the wake of the thinning of the darkness, the
citizens of the Royal Capital turn to an unexpected diversion: theater. Despite
the destruction of the Soltezzi Theater in the previous year, no less than
seven major theaters remain to serve Komaru City, and within three months more
than a dozen shows are underway, ranging from the Church-inspired works of
Rianna Bellatrix to the celebrated modern pieces of rivals Komaru Mikomi and
Soron. Even the fugitive Erilk de Rhine's last composition finds a stage, although
it is quickly canceled after the inexplicable appearance of several large
organs in the theater.
* * *
Cordelia Vain takes a deep breath, and then
another. After three hundred performances, it still happens every time: her
stomach flutters madly, while her hands turn as cold as ice. Behind her, the
rest of the cast strains in expectation. Ruefully, she confesses to herself
that her best performances may be hiding her anxiety from them.
From beyond the curtain, a sudden fanfare echoes
through the theater, drowning out the expectant buzz of the crowd. She starts
inwardly at the unmistakable sound of a Royal Appearance, but schools her
features and turns to scowl at the powder-faced Ricardo Velin. "Doubtless
Her Royal Highness is here to recognize actual theatrical talent. Do try to
remember your lines this time." His obscene gesture is no surprise.
She prepares another cutting remark, but stops.
Just beyond the curtain, she hears a sharp inhalation, and then the heavy thump
of someone jumping onto the stage. She frowns, and elbows Ricardo, murmuring,
"Looks like we might have an unexpected guest. Get your finger out of your
nose."
Ricardo snorts. The young stagehand in his lap
squeals with quiet indignity as he dumps her onto the floor and stands up. As
she straightens her skirts, he mollifies her by whispering something into her
ear and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Flushing red, she scurries away.
Cordelia's attention is drawn from her by the
booming voice that echoes from just beyond the curtain. She admires the man's
obvious theatrical background even as she curses him for making a scene before
her play. Then she realizes what he is saying.
"Lords, ladies, and gentlefolk of Komaru. On
behalf of the Crown Princess, I request that Seraphine Komaru, Marquess of
Nikko Hayashi, please stand." There is a pause, and some whispering from
the audience, before the man calls out again, "Aha! Your Grace, it is my
distinct honor to present to you the challenge of the Crown Princess of Komaru,
for a duel to the death, to be held here and now. I do hope that among the
selection of weapons Her Royal Highness has brought, this time you will find
one that allows you to demonstrate the honor of a member of her family. Pray,
ushers, please guide Her Grace onstage?" Cordelia strains her ears, and
makes out a distant, strangled note.
As an artist, she can appreciate the man's dramatic
timing when he calls out, "Oh, if that's the marquess Hiroko Sone beside
you, Your Grace, please do ask her to join us as well. When our business is
concluded, the Crown has requested that I make an example of her as well."
He pauses, and then adds, "Have I mentioned that I enjoy my job, Your
Royal Highness?" Cordelia finds no trace of humor in the thin laugh that
answers him.
Fifteen minutes later, Cordelia Vain faces her
greatest theatrical challenge: performing on a stage slick with blood. The
stink, intermingled with the odor of burnt gunpowder, turns her earlier nausea
into heaving, lurching sickness, held at bay by only one thing: her utter
certainty that Cordelia Vain, diva bitch of Komaru City, would never, ever
break character to vomit on stage.
The moment the curtain closes, she races to her
changing room. One of the understudies tries to stop her, but she shoulders
past him, plowing shoulder-first through her dressing room door. She stops long
enough to kick the door shut behind her, wraps a cloth around herself to
protect her costume, and is violently sick.
When she turns around, she sees that she is not
alone in the room.
Ruby Touraine rises from her couch, his fine
doublet still spattered with blood. He smiles at her sympathetically, hands her
a bouquet of very expensive irises, and takes a handkerchief from his pocket.
Before she can do more than gape, he expertly wipes her face clean with it,
smiles again, and says, "I'm a terribly huge fan of yours, Mistress Vain.
I hope it's not an imposition for me to be here. I feel awful about disrupting
your performance, though, and hoped I could make it up to you somehow."
Dazed and queasy, she searches for a cutting remark
as he leads her into a chair. "You were magnificent despite everything,
you know. Truly, this has been the best day I've had since fighting Cole
Soieko-Sone-Komaru-Miller-Smith." He drops to a knee before her, his
sea-green eyes twinkling. "I hope it's not over just yet."
Trembling, exhausted, she surrenders to his
unabashed proposition, and weakly laughs. "Have you ever considered a job
in theater, my lord? You're a natural." When he rises and pulls her to her
feet, she does not hesitate before following him.
Hours later, they lie together on silken pillows,
garbed in candlelight and the fragrant steam of a courtesan house spa. As he
presses his lips against the damp skin of her throat, he whispers, "I
could never work as an actor, my lady. It's not violent enough."
Her skin tingles beneath his lips, and she wraps
her arms around his muscular body. She feels his teeth graze her neck, and
bites back her gasp. "Oh?" she manages to murmur as her body
surrenders to the sensation. "If you think that, perhaps you're destined
to direct."
* * *
Soothed by the sun's light and the theater's
distraction, the people of Komaru seem to walk in a time of good tidings. News
comes from the East and the North of victories over Komaru's foes: the capture
of the fortress of heretics in the Shielder Mountains, the Veiled Guard's
sacrifice to banish the Pharaoh Annikhaton in the eastern river valley.
For a time, it seems as if everything is back to
normal.
* * *
Patric Sone drones on, "Furthermore, although
we cannot honor him as the general, I am certain we are all aware of the
pivotal role His Grace Faust Yuasa played in organizing the triumphant victory
over the profoundly mysterious northern menace. In celebration of his
tremendous accomplishment, we wish to present to him this glorious
trophy." He prods the covered box at his side with a booted foot, and
laconically adds, "Your Grace, please come down."
The Crown Princess's lips curl into a sharp-toothed
smirk. "Yes, Your Grace, please do, for We have another recognition to
bestow upon you when His Excellency is through. Truly, your efforts on behalf
of Our future marital happiness are noteworthy."
As the reluctant-looking duke makes his way to the
floor of the Royal Council Hall, Patric Sone lifts the weighty box from the
floor, bows gravely to Faust, and removes the box top with a flourish. The
members of the Royal Council stand and crane their necks, murmuring among
themselves as they strain for a better view of the weird bronze lump in Patric's
hands. The mystery is at last explained when cantankerous old Shiro Minamet
loudly proclaims, "'Tis a bronzed chicken for His Grace – and unless my
eyes mistake me, do I not see the Yuasa mon inlaid in silver into its flank?
How wonderful for you, Faust."
The Crown Princess primly folds her hands in front
of her, and addresses the uncle of her fiancé with obvious satisfaction.
"You seem reluctant to accept it, Your Grace. Perhaps Our gift will be
better received."
Beside her, Ruby Touraine rises, draws his blade,
and calls out, " Your Grace, it is my distinct honor to present to you the
challenge of the Crown Princess of Komaru, for a duel to the death, to be held
here and now. I do hope that among the selection of weapons Her Royal Highness
has brought, you will find one that allows you to demonstrate the honor a true
noble of Komaru must possess." He pauses, studying Faust, and adds,
"I am afraid that I do not have metallic poultry, if that is your choice
of weapon, but I am certain I can find a particularly ancient baguette
somewhere."
Faust looks down and discovers to his chagrin that
he is holding Patric Sone's trophy.
* * *
For a time, it seems as if everything is back to
normal, but for me, no piece of this evokes that word. How can they not see it?
The sky is cracked, and the blood of the world drains out through it. How can
that be normal?
It is the winter of the 226th year of
Paraceln's Age, and I think this as I watch her climb the familiar thousand
steps to Shinma Castle. But though I know the path, where it leads is no longer
known to me. As she ascends, her bleached hair is bright in the shrouded winter
sun. She is scarcely eight years old, and I wonder what will happen when she
reaches the last step, knocks at the door, and in her tremulous child's voice
calls out, "Mama?"
I know only one thing. Nothing will ever be normal
again.