PART III:
THE EMPEROR
Power is not a means; it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship.
Nineteen Eighty-Four
…
…
"Please, Lady Karin, I beg of you…"
"Silence. I have made my decision."
The head of the Valliere family sat upright on a throne in the main hall of her estate, which was absolutely Spartan in its lack of decoration and pomposity. A single long wooden table was in the room, and above Kartin's throne rested the Valliere coat of arms. There were no further decorations. Sunlight streamed through a high window and shone on the person in front of her.
This person was the Count of Noyon, the ruler of an unremarkable and small peerage. Now he prostrated himself before the Duchess, not even daring to look on her face as tears crumpled down his cheeks.
"It was just a mistake! A small mistake, by a young boy who was just having some fun!"
"A mistake? Young?"
Karin's expression had been a mixture of boredom and contempt, but now she flared up. Even as he refused to look at her face, the Count could feel her eyes bore into his body.
"Your son went on a drunken rampage! Torched several buildings in one of my villages! Killed my people through his fire magic! Had his way with some of my peasants! And he's 14, Noyon! That is an age at which one should be held accountable for his actions!"
"Of course he should, Duchess! I understand, and if you just release him into my custody, I promise to treat him with severity! I'll forbid him from leaving the castle, lock him in the dungeon, I'll do whatever you desire! But you're going to execute him! Execute my son! You can't even do that, you don't have the right!"
"What are you talking about, Noyon? You know I can. He destroyed my territory; therefore I have the right to do what I want with your son. That is the law which we nobles have. If my daughters break the law in your so-called estate, then you could punish them. And thus the same applies for my estate and your son."
The stern voice of the Duchess, without a shred of mercy, indicated a tone of finality, but Noyon chose to ignore it. He wailed again and groveled even harder on the throne.
"Please, Duchess. I'll give you my lands, my wealth, anything you want! Just let my son go!"
And then Noyon forgot to breathe. Karin had been angry at him before, but now she changed to a pure killing aura, one which oppressed and fell on the Count like a pile of bricks. With all of his effort, he lifted his head up to take a small peek at the Duchess's face and instantly regretted his decision. Her eyes had literally turned red in their fury as she ground out her next words.
"Are you suggesting that I am a person who will let justice escape for a piece of land, Noyon?"
The Count was far too terrified to give a proper response. He crawled away from the Duchess on his back, his mouth quavering as he whimpered like a dog. No intelligible words came out. He was halfway across the room before Karin extinguished her killing aura. Nevertheless, he still continued to crawl out of the room in terror as Karin stared at the Count with utter contempt.
"Leave right now, Noyon. You can come back in a few days to give your last farewells to your son. But do not appear me before then, and do not attempt to stay my hand."
The Count finally got to his feet as he reached the entrance, but the expression of terror did not abate. He stumbled to the door, and pushed them open. Then he stared at the Duchess one last time and shouted.
"Her Majesty will hear of this, Duchess! Mark my words!"
And without waiting for a response, he ran out of the room. Karin listened at the fading footsteps, her expression still stern. Still, she couldn't help but wonder as she thought about the Count's words.
"How long has Her Majesty been toying around in Albion now?" She wondered aloud.
"Well, as today is the thirteenth day of the Silver Pentecostal, I would say that it has been about nine weeks, My Lady."
She heard familiar footsteps come from a room behind her. It was her butler, Jerome. He walked towards the Duchess while pushing a cart with a tea kettle on it. Stopping at the same spot where the Count had been groveling before Karin, he began to prepare the tea for his master. In the meantime, Karin watched her butler and continued to talk.
"I still don't know what Her Majesty is doing. She should have known better than to go fight in a war directly. We have enough of an advantage that she doesn't need to be there anyways. Their fleet is destroyed and their armies are outnumbered. As arrogant as he is, General De Poitiers is fully capable of handling this by himself."
"Her Majesty is protected by the best troops Tristain has to offer. Do you trust in Brimir to keep her safe, My Lady?"
Jerome handed the cup of tea to Karin. Even as it was still boiling hot, she did not give the slightest wince as she clasped the hot china. One who followed the Rule of Steel as fervently as she did had to close her mind from little things like pain anyways.
"I trust in Brimir, Jerome but I also trust in weapons and strategies. They are the greatest protections one can have."
The Duchess finished her speech and finally took sip from her cup. She raised an eyebrow.
"This is a new flavor, Jerome. Where did you get this from?"
Jerome bowed at those words.
"I thought you would like it. I've managed to secure a crate of special tea plants of Rub al Khali. I hope her Majesty will enjoy the flavor."
Karin simply took another drink, her eyes closed.
"I will admit that I enjoy the flavor. Include it every now and then. By the way, Jerome, where is the guest?"
Jerome stopped at that question. For once, he refused to look at his master.
"She is at the usual place, My Lady."
"I see," Karin observed. "I understand why she remains there. But business comes before all else. I will need an update soon and I would like to speak with her. Jerome, make sure that she attends tonight's dinner."
"Your Ladyship, perhaps it would be best to give her a little time."
Karin shook her head.
"No. I went to a lot of effort and used a lot of men to get them out, and I managed to do it without any of the other nobles finding out. I want it done as soon as possible."
The butler bowed and departed, pushing the tea cart away. Karin remained on her throne. It was only when she knew the butler was gone that she murmured a few words.
"Brimir. Please, protect Her Majesty no matter what."
…
After he cleaned and washed the tea cart, Jerome left the kitchen and went outside. The Valliere family kept a large private garden by the estate, and he always enjoyed walking through it. The plants were currently sparse and bare given the winter climate, but he thought about how when spring came, the workers would begin planting herbs and flowers. Here, the new parsley. There, some rosemary. He had managed to obtain some of those tea plants as well. Ensuring that his master had access to all sorts of flavors was an important duty, after all.
At the far end of the garden was an orchard, the trees barren of both fruits and leaves. But at the orchard's edge, by a small brick wall which served as a boundary for the Valliere estate, the guest who Karin had asked about stood by herself. Jerome could see her blue skirt and white blouse, and he walked closer to the girl, stopping only when he was right behind her.
"Her Ladyship wishes to speak with you tomorrow night, Siesta."
The former maid did not turn around to greet the butler. She continued to gaze at the walls of the estate. After a moment, she responded, her voice distant and cold.
"What does she want, Jerome?"
"Her Ladyship is interested in hearing about an update about the translations for the books. She's a bit worried that it's going slowly."
"It is difficult work. If she wants it to go faster, than perhaps she should hire someone who can do it better."
Jerome shook her head, even though he knew Siesta couldn't see it with her back turned.
"Siesta, these are your books. It would not be right to have someone else attempt to translate them in Helgekinian. Besides, no one else we've tried has been able to make sense of them. Even Her Ladyship has attempted to peruse their books and discover their meaning without success, and she has never failed at anything she puts her mind towards. But as she desires to know of their contents immeadiately, she also wishes to know how you are progressing."
"You know perfectly well that if I had never told her who had been the first person to look at these books, she wouldn't have cared about them in the slightest."
"I do not believe that," Jerome said. "Her Ladyship is always interested in expanding her library."
"These are no ordinary books, Jerome. Karin will not just have them sit in a dusty library, and we both know that."
There was a moment of silence that followed his words. Then the butler spoke up, his tone softer towards Henrietta.
"Are you afraid Her Ladyship will break her promise?"
"Promise?"
Siesta scoffed at those words, and then turned towards the butler. He couldn't help but wince. She had a major scar on the left side of her cheek, one which deformed her lovely face. But that wasn't the worst of it, Jerome thought. It was the eyes. They were dead like a fish in a market, filled with sorrow and anger and hate.
"Why should I trust her, Jerome? The minute I get those books completely translated into Helgekinian, she'll throw me out of that castle. She'll have no more use for me."
"Her Ladyship will not do that, Siesta. You know that she promised. She said that she would take care of you and your brothers for the rest of their lives in exchange for this task. Even if that wasn't true, I can vouch that you are a more than capable maid. She has no reason to abandon all of you."
Siesta gave a sarcastic and bitter grin at those words.
"Do you think she's the first person who promised me a better life, Jerome? I remember when I worked at that academy. There was a nobleman who showed frequently, who talked about giving me everything I desired if he just worked for me. But I liked the castle, and refused to work for him.
Two months later, Andre Giono wrote an article about that nobleman. How he whipped his servants, put collars which manipulated their minds and ravaged their bodies, and that was only the top layer of everything he did. Sure, Henrietta arrested him after that furor. But suppose I had gone to work for him?
That man lied to me. Karin will lie to me. All of them lie. All of the nobles, all of the rich people, they lie. No, not just the rich people. Everyone lies."
"But-"
"Are you telling me they don't? Can you tell me that Karin, over the course of her entire life, has never lied?"
"Well…"
"You can't, can you?"
Well, the butler thought, he couldn't, but not for the reasons Siesta thought. But after mulling it over for a bit longer, he finally gave his answer.
"I can say that Her Ladyship has not lied ever since becoming the Duchess of the Valliere estate."
Siesta shrugged at those words.
"Perhaps. I have no reason to trust her. Or you, for that matter."
Jerome bowed his head in sorrow at those words.
"Siesta," he said. "I could plead with Her Ladyship. Tell her to give you some time to rest. You could use the time to heal, to play with your brothers. I've been told that in the Academy you were a bright young girl. It would be good for you to return to that."
"Heal?"
Siesta's voice quieted down significantly, but there was something dangerous in it. Jerome took a step back, but the former maid advanced upon the butler, her voice barely above a whisper.
"'Heal', you said? This scar can never be healed, Jerome. Nor can my memories. There is no escape from what happened to me. Do you have any idea of the hell I've been through after Tarbes?"
"Well, I-"
"I'M ASKING IF YOU KNOW WHAT I WENT THROUGH, JEROME!"
She rose up to a scream, and Jerome inadvertently shrank back. But then she stopped, once again looking out at the garden.
"I'm sorry. I have no right to yell at you. But you don't really know, do you?"
The butler hesitated for a moment, and then slowly nodded his head. Siesta gave a dark chuckle at the gesture.
"That's honest. I like that. So I'm going to tell you.
I watched my village, my home, burned to cinders by a friend and her magic, by someone whom I had let stay in my home and with my family for months. I watched my parents murdered by Albion soldiers. I watched the nearest city to my home, where refugees like me hoped to retreat to find a place to stay, burned to the ground by the Princess who was supposed to protect us. Her and my friend's partner, the first person I let have those books that Karin wants. And I saw them venerated for it. I saw the pamphlets which were printed out which showed them as heroes.
Who made them heroes? They weren't for me, or for any of us who lost everything. I had no home, nowhere to go. I couldn't even go back to my old job at the Academy, as now I had to care for six siblings by myself. All I had were my brothers, my sisters, and a bunch of useless books which I couldn't even sell as no one could understand them.
I ended up travelling with a soldier going home from the battlefield who said he could protect me. I didn't have a choice. But after a while, he tried to force himself on me. I resisted, and I got this."
She pointed her finger at her cheek, to the scar.
"And so I ended up wandering around Helgekinia with my family. No food, no work, nothing. I left the books in the forests near Tarbes, carrying one volume as an heirloom. When the Duke found me and the rest of my siblings, we were starving and almost completely without options. Heck, if it hadn't been for him giving us bread on a whim and then noticing the book I did carry, he wouldn't have helped me. I don't know what I would have done otherwise. I don't even want to think about it.
I lost everything because of my friends and because of our Princess. Tell me why I should trust anyone after that, Jerome."
She finished her story and turned back towards the garden. After thinking about it, Jerome quietly responded.
"I know people have done terrible things to you. But you must forgive. That is what Brimir tells us, that we must forgive those who do evil to us. Mercy is the highest charity that we can bestow, Siesta."
"Brimir, huh?" Siesta scoffed. "What right does Brimir have to tell me anything, Jerome? Do you know how much I prayed to him for deliverance, for aid? He did nothing. He never came to help me when I needed it, Jerome."
"Well, Brimir heard your prayers. That's why the Duke heard and helped you."
It happened in an instant. Siesta whirled around and took a few steps towards Jerome, her face blazing with rage.
SMACK.
It wasn't a slap. Siesta actually punched Jerome in the face. The combination of shock and the butler's old age caused him to topple, only for Siesta to seize him by the collar.
"He helped me, Jerome? Are you saying that Brimir helped me now with the Duke? Is that what you're telling me?"
"I-I didn't… I'm sorry, Siesta, I didn't mean to…"
"HE HELPED ME FAR TOO LATE!"
She slapped him across the face again. Hoisting the butler up, Siesta swung him around and half-dragged, half-pushed him to what she had been looking at. She pointed at four little mounds of earth, each with a cross on top and a name inscribed on them.
"Did Brimir help them, Jerome? They prayed as hard as I did. They worked as hard as me to try to get food or a place to sleep without getting rained on. So why did I survive, and they died? Why did Robin and Jean and Marie and Paul die? Why did Brimir not protect my brothers and sisters?"
"I…I…"
Jerome was too frightened by the young girl's anger and strength, and he stuttered helplessly. With a final push, Siesta flung the old man on the ground and watched him pick himself up and dust himself off.
"You don't know anything, Jerome. Don't ever mention Brimir to me. He doesn't exist. Or if he does, then he's just a vicious pathetic clown who mocks everyone, good and evil. If I go to heaven when I die, and encounter that man for the first time, I will spit in his face and dare him to punish me."
Jerome continued to stumble as he continued to raise one arm in self-defense. Instead, Siesta turned back towards her siblings' graves.
"Leave, Jerome. I'll return to the mansion shortly and have dinner with Karin. But I'm going to talk with Pierre and Emile, the only family I have left, before I discuss anything with Karin."
The butler nodded, but he did not leave. Instead, he adjusted his collar for a few moments before he spoke.
"Siesta. I have served the Vallieres for my entire life, and I do not envision ever leaving their side. But I know Her Ladyship extremely well. She does care for you and your brothers. And I absolutely promise this. She will follow any deal she makes to the letter. If she promised to take care of you and your siblings in exchange for you translating those books, then she will do so. I swear this to you, on my honor as a butler and a servant to the Valliere family.
So please, trust Her Ladyship."
"Jerome, I asked you to leave."
It was a crisp and rapid response. Siesta still did not look at him, and the tone of her voice indicated that the conversation was final.
Jerome gave a bow and then tromped off, leaving her alone. Siesta still stood there, watching the graves of her siblings. It was only when she could no longer hear his footsteps that she broke down sobbing, both for those she had lost and for herself.
He didn't deserve it, she knew that. He hadn't attempted to fight back, and Siesta knew that he wouldn't mention to Karin the fact that she had attacked an elderly man. He had just sat there and taken her attack. And what was she doing, just fighting another commoner anyways? There were others she wanted to hurt. Make them realize just what they had sacrificed on their altar of victory and glory.
She thought of her siblings, the ones who rested in the earth in front of her. She tried to remember every detail of them. How they laughed, cried, played with her when she had come from the academy. She had to remember everything. The happy days, when they had made a garland of flowers for her, as well as the moments when even as they lay starving, had prayed to Brimir for forgiveness and mercy. She had prayed alongside them on those days. But ever since those four had taken their last breaths, she had never prayed since. She had to protect Emile and Pierre with her life, ensure that they could find happiness. And only then could she think about the only thing that she wanted now with her own life.
Revenge.
…
May Brimir be merciful to us, bless us,
And cause his face to shine on us.
That your way may be known on earth,
And your salvation among all nations,
Let the peoples praise you, Brimir.
Let all the peoples praise you.
Oh let the nations be glad and sing for joy,
For you will judge the peoples with equity,
And govern all of Helgekinia.
A group of nobles sat around a table, their heads bowed and their eyes closed in prayer. They finished the chants for the night of the thirteenth day of the Silver Pentecostal, and then opened their eyes. They glanced at each other, their hearts filled with good cheer for this holy night. And then they looked at the head of the table.
It was empty. Some of the nobles groaned, others shrugged, and some put their hands in front of their face. Only one person close to the head of the table stood up. She was a beautiful woman with lovely blond hair, but now her expression was flustered and irritated.
"Are you telling me that he slipped out while we were all praying? What is the matter with him! Everyone, wait here while I go find His Majesty!"
Some of the nobles continued to grumble, but they did nothing more. The woman ran out of the main entrance. After wandering around the room leading to the dining hall, she saw that her king was by the balcony of his palace. That would normally be fine. However, he was standing on top of the narrow balcony ledge as opposed to the balcony itself, and the woman gave a shriek at seeing her lord do such a thing.
The king turned around, his blue hair and a fine blue beard framing his face. It was handsome and rugged, almost as if it had been chiseled from pure marble. He was 45 years old, but in fact he looked younger, as if he was in his thirties. Such a beautiful and youthful appearance was not helped by the childish trick that King Joseph of Gaul was playing.
He balanced himself on the ledge and looked at the woman. Then with a loud roar and a grin, he waved towards her with delight.
"My dear Madame Molliere! Are those stuffy prayers over and we can get back to feasting?"
While he had used the word "Madame," Molliere was in fact Joseph's mistress. Born to a wealthy family, she was a pious woman. Normally, she would have reproached Joseph for skipping out on the prayers, but now she was far too concerned for his safety. She waved her hands frenetically.
"Yes, yes, Your Majesty, it's over. Now please, leave the balcony at once! That's dangerous!"
Joseph gave a casual shrug at her quavering voice.
"Oh, I'll be fine. Besides, what does it matter if I do fall? It would be an interesting change."
"That again, Joseph? It seems that in at least half of your conversations with me you joke about yourself dying. It's really quite morbid, and I think you should stop it."
"I don't think so", the King of Gallia responded. "If I get to see you squirm, I don't intend to stop doing it."
Molliere blushed slightly at those words, and then Joseph laughed heartily again.
"I am joking, my dear madam, only joking. Now, I'll get down from this ledge and we can enjoy this fine – WHOA!"
Joseph slightly slipped on the ledge and began to rock his body back and forth as he sought to keep his balance. Molliere shrieked again in panic.
"Oh, no no no no!"
She ran up to the balcony ledge to try and rescue him. However, at the last minute, Joseph jumped off the ledge and onto solid ground. Before she could react, he wrapped his arms around her.
"Frightened, dear?"
He gave a ferocious grin, and Molliere's face again blazed a bright red. Then, as tears filled her eyes, she struck her King's chest as she cried out.
"Y-you brute! Don't frighten a lady like that!"
"I told you, Molliere. I like watching you squirm."
He gave her a kiss on the forehead, and watched her delighted yet embarassed. Then Joseph spun her around, keeping her hand in his own the whole time.
"Now, dear, why don't we go and have a wonderful dinner? We must do our best to worship Brimir."
Molliere giggled in delight and the two walked hand in hand towards the dining hall. But then a messenger burst forth through the doors.
"Sir, you have a message from Albion. It is top secret, for your eyes only."
Joseph gave off an exaggerated sigh. He turned towards Molliere.
"My dear, will you please return to the dining hall. I am dreadfully sorry. Do tell the rest of the nobles they can begin their meal, I'll arrive shortly."
Molliere gave a small sniff of discontent, but bowed in acceptance. Joseph watched her leave as he took the envelope, and then with a single gesture he indicated that the messenger should also leave. Afterwards, he opened the letter and began to read, his brow furrowing as his eyes moved downward. As he finished the letter, he looked up at the sky and then muttered something to himself.
"I see. That was not as planned."
He read it over several times. Then he ripped the letter up and tossed the remains over the balcony before heading to his study. On the thirteenth night of the Pentecostal, King Joseph never appeared to feast with the Gallian nobility.
…
Boots trampled over shattered glass and Albion soldiers gingerly picked their way over rubble. Just last night, they would have softly treaded through the greatest church in Saxe-Gotha. Now the wonderful building was rubble. Two of the walls remained the standing, but the rest was broken stone and ruin.
It was not just the church. Much of the entire city of Saxe-Gotha had been ruined in the fighting last night. What the Tristain soldiers had lacked in organization from the evils of that magic which controlled their friends, they had made up for in ferocity and the courage of despair. They had fought throughout the night, and apparently a large amount of the soldiers had organized themselves and evacuated even in the face of the enemy attack.
However, as Oliver Cromwell walked through the ruins of the church, none of that mattered to him. He giggled like a little child as he skipped through the ruined church. A small piece of rock brushed past his foot, and he kicked it, laughing a little harder as the rock zoomed and crashed through a window. Sheffield followed behind him, her expression dignified and calm.
The pulpit for the head of the church had been left undamaged, and Cromwell made his way behind it. Assuming the role of the preacher that he was so used to, he lifted his hands to the sky. Sheffield stood to his right, and a small group of soldiers that had accompanied him as a bodyguard stood in front of him.
"Soldiers of Albion! The war is over! We have secured a great victory!"
His voice boomed like a thunderstorm. It was just like the old days, Cromwell thought, when he ran that dingy old church in the backwater mountains of Albion. Now he was the ruler of a kingdom, and had come within a razor's edge of losing his throne. But he had won. He just wanted to laugh without restraint in front of his men, but he had to remain dignified like a proper priest or ruler as he continued his speech.
"The foreign invaders came onto our soil. They took our cities and our lives! But we fought back! And with the power of the Void which Brimir has granted to me, we have saved our country, our glorious Republic! Look at this sign of victory!"
He gestured to his left, and the soldiers cheered as they glanced in that direction. There lay Princess Henrietta in all of her beautiful dignity. However, the pure white dress she wore was stained with blood from the multitude of wounds she had received, and her head was not actually attached to the rest of the body. But rather than mourn and think of their own mortality, the Albion soldiers cheered as they saw her corpse draped on the floor of this holy building.
"The whore of Tristain, who fought not for her country, but out of selfish desire and a lust for power, is dead! Now we shall never be threatened by Tristain again.
And what of the Tristanian puppet, the man who fled his country rather than fight? Bring him forward!"
The men gave out yells of approval, and in the back, one could see pushing and shoving. After some time, the Prince of Wales was brought forward, his hands tied. He was alive, but his face was heavily bruised from his treatment at the hands of the Albion army. Still, he ignored Cromwell and looked at the body of his beloved for a moment first.
"You will pay for this, Cromwell." He snarled. "Brimir will strike you down, you fake priest."
With an easy grin on his face, Cromwell slapped him across the face. The Prince fell down on his side, as Cromwell looked out towards his soldiers.
"The prince says that Brimir will stop us. I will show him mercy as befits a leader. I will not execute him until Tristan is defeated, until he realizes that his cowardly actions will not stop our glorious Republic!
For who will stop us now, soldiers? There is a small army of Albion soldiers to our south who escaped. But they are outnumbered and all of their leaders are dead. They will have no chance, no hope of victory. All they will do is die like leaderless rats."
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and waved it aloft.
"I promise to you soldiers. Go forth and do your duty. Crush the foreign invaders! The amount of blood we will lose in this upcoming battle would not soak even this handkerchief! Furthermore, I, Oliver Cromwell, your leader, will lead you personally to secure our final victory over these vicious invaders!"
The men cheered again, both at the proud boasts their leader made and in admiration of his decision to fight with them. Cromwell continued his speech, with constant applause from his men. As he did so, Sheffield waited to his right. She did not say a word, but simply moved her eyes back forth between the leader and his men, and continued to watch them carefully.