Prologue/Chapter 1, Winter in the City

In which we meet Sabin Guiscard, Anna Tierste and an unknown but very unfortunate fellow.

 

Prologue:

 

Ever since he heard the news, he had known they would come.

 

There was nothing he could have done, really. Eventually one had to face up to the consequences of one’s actions. He had become aware long ago this would someday happen, especially as the years trudged onward and he discovered there wouldn’t be anyone better suited for the job. Or really, anyone else at all.

 

Just him.

 

The long-held knowledge could not banish the dread fogging his mind or the sweat collecting in his palms. They couldn’t know the truth, not yet. And when they found out, nothing would save him. Not who or what he was.

 

He fancied he could already hear the scratching of their feet upon the stone floors outside. The heavy drag of malformed appendages not inclined to bear their own weight hissed an uneven counterpart to those rhythmic clicks of long claws. He could run, but what would be the point? They were faster, and stronger, and someday he would have to face it. He owed them that much.

 

When the door opened, they were more cordial than he had come to expect, and let him come with some semblance of dignity. It was only several days later when the agony tore through him that he understood what they had done, pain chewing its way out from his innards.

 

That night, his screams echoed through the crisp, cool desert air; that night, and for several following cycles of the sun. In two weeks, there was silence once more, and the desert mice were no longer troubled.

 

***

 

The faint cold of the always-mild fall mornings embraced a small, bare patch of ground. A rolling hill of dirt, formed into an unmistakable shape and size, further advertised its contents with a simple slab of granite. "Adrian Guiscard", it read, etched in impersonal capital letters that told nothing more of life or death.

 

It was only ten feet by ten feet, a tiny plot tucked between streets deserted and forgotten, decorated with sparse grass, but he knew in his rare spare time he could make it more. Just because this had been the limit of his equally spare funds did not mean he was obliged to let it flounder. Hard work had always seen him through as well as money had.

 

The tiny willow tree that draped heavily over the new-minted grave might one day grow into a fitting memorial on its own, too. Adrian would have enjoyed the thought of roots settling into bone and flesh, taking the sustenance he no longer needed. Perhaps one day when he was no longer alone here, the idea would seem as pleasant to further occupants. By then, no one would look on this square of dirt with disdain at how tiny and empty it was. He would make it a garden to celebrate life.

 

“Sabin Guiscard?”

 

The man jolted to attention from some deep place within. Bulky without being graceless, he was an unmistakable presence at a couple of inches above six feet tall. That height was supported by hefty musculature more powerful than polished, conveying a massive strength in its every line. A halo of shaggy hair framed a craggy but open face, dark eyes currently wide with startlement.

 

His attention was slowly returning at the sound of his name, the name it took a moment to become accustomed to. His father’s advocate, of course, would have never known him by any other. The dapper little man had no idea this conventional funeral had been preceded by a ritual that might have earned the corpse his death all over again.

 

The nameless advocate was regarding him expectantly, probably tired of waiting by a covered grave half an hour after Sabin had lowered the last shovel of dirt. He easily stood a full head shorter than his sizable companion, but his dignified expression showed neither chagrin at craning his neck upward or sign of the impatience he must be feeling. With an inward sigh, Sabin reckoned he couldn’t blame the man for getting antsy. It was time for him to get things together.

 

Mustering up his scattered wits, Sabin forced himself to ask, “So.. is it the will?”

 

The sharp and ill-favored features of his father’s old friend and confidante softened slightly as he nodded. “It’s unusual in that I don’t know what it says. He made me promise to never open the envelope. If you need my help, you can ask. I had the impression you’re the one selected to carry out any and all wishes.”

 

Sabin nodded in return, far from surprised. Six o’clock every morning saw him at work, and four o’clock had seen him home every afternoon to care for his father in the last year. This routine was unbreakable but the single day of rest he took every Sabbath; now that his father was gone, those early evenings would simply be given to other duties. It was how he lived, by the clock.

 

Reaching for the packet, he tugged it open, noting out of the corner of his eye the Advocate’s slight bow and withdrawal. The lawyer-counselors were in wide use among those with the money for their engagement; Adrian had always been poor, but sheer friendship had kept the man coming until today.

 

The first thing to tumble out of the large envelope was a photograph. Sabin stared in disbelief; the last time he’d seen a photograph was his father’s one treasured shot of the family. The image now in his hands bore an uncanny resemblance, a black and white reflection in negative space.

 

Instead of his mother, a tall, pale and haughty figure, this woman by his father’s side was a strikingly attractive, dark-favored young lady with what looked to be strangely light eyes. She cradled a small child in her arms lovingly, smiling for the camera.  The warmth of her face struck him with unnatural force, perhaps because it reflected something lacking from the version in which he was the one held.

 

Too distracted from the manuscript accompanying it for the moment, he turned the photograph over. “Adrian and Julian Guiscard,” he softly read, “and Momma makes three.” The date was 916, twenty years ago… and dating back to when his own mother had been alive.

 

A particular sick feeling was rising in Sabin’s throat as he contemplated the photo for a long moment of silence. Finally, he stuffed it back into the envelope, and turned to the manuscript.

 

It began rather as he had expected, really. “Sabin, there is something I must tell you.”

 

REVEILLE.

 

Chapter 1: Homecoming

 

It was early winter in the Kaptal of Novater, in the beginning of the year 936, bleak and cold. If the weather elsewhere was more pleasant, no human eyes saw it; an island of habitability within a great desert, the city stood alone.

 

Its warren of streets was remarkably crowded as usual, one dusk evening much like any other. Here and there the oldest buildings lay dilapidated and unmourned; but mostly, even crumbling relics were occupied by someone. Be it street children or the elderly tenaciously clinging to a family home, eyes shone from tumbling corners, suspicious and narrowed. Nameless and faceless, crowds seethed within the shadows, pulsed through the streets in a mishmash of foot travel and horses. Forcing her way through the mass of people in the Middle market, one woman much like any other noted a scruffy man hacking away at a new well. She didn’t have the heart to tell him no one had had any luck with them lately in this part of town, not even the government.

 

Anna didn’t often come through these slums on her daily paths, though she was very familiar with the lifestyle in the middle ring of the Kaptal. Caught between the opulent center of the city’s historic buildings and the outer ring of its newest construction, the trapped streets had degraded to nothing fit for human habitation. And yet so many people lived there that sometimes it seemed children sprang fully formed out of the cracks in the road.

 

One passed by, looking up with piteous eyes as his skinny form bumped into her. With one hand, she pressed a coin from her pocket into his sweaty palm; with the other, she smoothly took her coinpouch back and smacked his pilfering little paw. Wide-eyed at both failure and unexpected fortune, he scuttled off while she replaced the purse.

 

She was overcome, just glancing around, by her knowledge of the futility of it all. How many times in the last ten years had she played back that same scenario? A single coin could do nothing, and never had. Anyone's well-meaning charity just got swallowed by the entropy of a nine hundred-year-old city, breaking down bit by bit. At times she felt the misery was something palpable, crushingly balanced on a scale against good deeds as small as a thrown rock into the Endless Sea.

 

The heaviness of the air did little to help. Again this year it was a Dark Season, the haze hovering in the sky both night and day. The strongest were chilled by the dampening of the sun, and the weakest got sick from the sooty chemicals that tainted the air. One of the Agriculture professors had recently proposed it was the volcanoes doing this, but it was another of his typically useless beliefs that no one could substantiate, based on old records that no one truly understood. All she knew about the Dark Seasons was that being out on an evening like this soured her mood until she couldn't see anything bright in the world.

 

Down the road, in the distance, the sputtering purr of what had to be an automobile roared through the night. From all sides, children appeared out of alleyways and houses like spontaneously generated rodents, chasing it down the road for a glimpse of something they would see perhaps once or twice in a lifetime.

 

Anna smirked slightly, even as her brows lowered to a heavy line. Some of those children would return home, insisting someday they would be one of the few and the proud who actually knew how to service the things. She’d heard them carp, though, the technocrats. They were always whining to the students who were bright that they had better expect to get their hands dirty for a job whose only real glamour was in its money. They weren't inventors, like supposedly they once were; they were just mechanics.

 

That was, after all, the official position of the University of Novater, and nowhere else could teach a technocrat his or her skills half as well. The head of Technology always insisted if a student somehow managed to master the workings of all of the necessary support machinery of the world, then they could have the freedom to waste their time attempting to improve on the ancients.

 

She had to agree, herself. Sure, the kids pouted, but who –was- going to invent anything they couldn’t have done better back then? Without blueprints or records of how they did any of it, it took all the skill of the best and brightest to jury-rig ways to keep it running. Nine hundred years. They’d done pretty damn well for themselves as it was, and she knew whom to thank.

 

Soon, her walk would take her out of the Middle. The children were falling behind, unwilling to chase the distant automobile deeper into parts of the city where right angles still held sway. She well remembered that feeling, the terror that somehow They would know with supernatural certainty as soon as you crossed the line into the Center. As foolish as it was, they were pretty good at catching-

 

Her train of thought derailed when exactly the scenario on her mind unfolded. A sneaking urchin, face shadowed by dirty and matted hair, was creeping stealthily back towards the Middle with a suspiciously bulging sack over one shoulder. What she overlooked  was the enforcer heading directly at her from a different angle, face already set in a scowl.

 

She stepped back out of the way before either had seen her, drawing the hood of her mantle over her hair. The bright color was shockingly noticeable, unique in the city. At times it could be a problem, but when she emerged from a pocket of shadow, she could have been any tall woman shrouded in a plain jacket.

 

In the interim, the little thief had finally seen her pursuer. A few faltering running steps got her nowhere, as the much larger man pounced, seizing the girl roughly about the neck and lifting her off her feet. Anna quietly circled around the scene, certain neither of them was paying the slightest attention to her.

 

Just a moment’s reliance on old skills and she was ready, the gleaming metal grill slid over a hand carefully hidden by her long sleeve. Directly behind the enforcer, she gently tapped on his shoulder twice, voice panicked. “Sir! Sir! Sir, there’s-“

 

The reaction was even swifter than she’d hoped, the man dropping the urchin and turning for a moment to face her. “Woman, what do you-“

 

She needed no more time than that to strike. Her left fist jutted out in a short and vicious strike, jabbing at his kidneys. The sudden blank look of pain on his face only persisted for a moment before her right hand came in high, a longer punch thrown with the force of her not inconsiderable strength. The urchin barely scrambled out of the way across the uneven cobblestones as the man’s body fell backward at length, firmly into Middle territory.

 

Glancing down at her right hand, she winced slightly. It would probably be a little sore from the force of that, even if the metal took the impact directly; still, it was worth it to leave those massive bruises emblazoned on his chin. They'd probably still be bright red on his face when he woke up, too.

 

Somehow, the streets had gotten markedly empty, devoid of witnesses. She admired the common sense of the Middle and its people’s sense of community.

 

On the ground, the urchin was beginning to inch away with her sack clutched tightly and livid fingermarks around her neck. Anna crouched down and plucked away the bag peremptorily, peering inside.

 

Jewelry, a lacquered box or two of something or another, some little techno-gadget probably worth a good deal… nope, nothing of hers. Satisfied with that, she handed it back and whispered, “If I were you, I’d fleece the Enforcer real fast. He ain’t waking up for a good ten or so. Hope you’re quick about it, though. Thanks for not hitting my place.”

 

Climbing to her feet, she stretched out, entertained by the blank and disbelieving regard the young girl was giving her. She suspected she’d just inspired a child to a lifetime of bucking laws, rules and all of the Kaptal's stupid, abusive authority, with whatever means were necessary. Perhaps she’d even see her as a student in a few years.

 

Tossing off a casual wave, she headed back down the street, throwing off her mantle and tucking it into her backpack. Underneath it, she was still nothing more than a tall and muscled woman, features not particularly appealing but at least less than hideous: chin sharp, nose long with a curling tip, lips thin but a garish slice  across her pale face. Cheerful blue eyes were her best feature, as half-hidden as they were under messily cut hair dyed to match her shade of vibrant pink lipstick.

 

Whistling a merry tune, Professor Anna Tierste of the Novater University College of Martial Arts continued to make her way home. She’d been gone for over two weeks, and by now, Yan was probably utterly lost trying to take care of himself. Hopefully he’d at least had the sense to pick up some groceries.

 

Just because she wasn’t sure, she stopped herself to buy bread and milk, hefting the clay jug into her knapsack while she idly twirled the loaf in her hands. She probably shouldn’t tell him about the Enforcer. Any child could see the officers of the law were good for nothing, but not Yan. Well, one of the things that had always been so endearing about him was the way he spluttered and hemmed and hawed when she honestly answered how her day had been, but never did anything about it. It wasn’t as if he was going to turn his own ward in, even if she was long into her own adulthood.

 

One of these days she’d have to move out. Twenty-six and still living with the man, really. Everyone seemed to assume that when her majority came and passed and she didn’t go anywhere, the ‘parenting’ relationship had simply become sexual. It wasn’t as if he was that old anyway... or as if she would have minded, but he'd always turned her down.

 

Ah well, she quietly ruminated as she turned down the side street that led to their comfortable apartment. It also wasn’t as if she needed to be anywhere else, or as if she could afford anywhere half as nice without his higher salary. He probably wouldn’t even complain if she brought men over. And it wasn’t as if there was any real reason she went to their homes, instead.

 

Strangely enough, however, the room was dark when she entered. It was late enough by now he should be home, and if for some reason he had decided to spend the night at the office –again- grading papers until the morning… well, she’d had enough of that. The man was pale and haggard from it, and he couldn’t have that many papers to do, but every time she went to check on him at midnight he was there and asleep.

 

Sighing and putting her groceries away- well, perhaps he had stocked the fridge- she strode back off towards the University. It wasn’t a long walk, and Yan was just going to have to come back home to do his work for once. Had he forgotten she was coming home today? He’d even promised to cook her something special from the days before she knew him, when he’d hinted with a wink he hadn’t always been a terribly boring linguist.

 

Damn it, she didn’t think he was particularly boring now, she groused to herself as the footfalls of her practical boots rang out heavily on the marble hall leading to offices for senior faculty. Sure, perhaps he had no social life to speak of, but that was only his own damn fault for hiding inside all the time- and for stunts like this.

 

By the time she’d gotten to his door, she’d worked herself into a right indignation, but flinging it open revealed no one to receive her prepared tirade. His office was as utterly empty as their home. It wasn’t nearly as spotless as usual, papers strewn all about the desk, but he definitely wasn’t there.

 

The faintest stirrings of alarm rose in her chest. Yan never went anywhere. If it wasn’t an errand, he was –always- at work or home. Even when he left on errands, there was always a note taped to her door detailing when he left and where exactly he was going.

 

The door slammed behind her as she broke into a run, somewhat unaware of her own panic. Long and well-muscled legs carried her easily to the Provost’s office, the one person she was sure would always be still at work this late. Luckily this time she was not disappointed, throwing the door open dramatically and closing it at a near slam.

 

The fat businessman he was talking to looked rather alarmed at the hefty Amazon in the doorway, piercings and all, but the Provost merely looked resigned. This was hardly the first time Anna had threatened to break his door with a grand entrance.

 

“Provost, where on Novater is Yan?”

 

As she saw the alarm spread over his expression, her sinking feeling deepened. “You mean you don’t know? He hasn’t been at any of his classes since the day after you left. We assumed- with irritation- that he decided at the last moment to go with you. It’s not as if he doesn’t have the vacation time built up, but… That means no one’s seen him in.. fifteen or sixteen days.”

 

“-S**t- on a stick!” Anna cursed loudly, completely ignoring the rather uncomfortable expression on the face of the Provost’s guest as she began to pace with wide strides  “How could he run off somewhere without as much as a note? What’s he doing, going on a week-long bender? He could’ve at least left a note. It’s not that hard. I know he can –write-. For f**k’s sake!”

 

Mild reproof broke through the Provost’s alarm as he addressed her calmly, “Never in the nineteen years that he’s been affiliated with us has Yan Albrecht ever gone anywhere without proper documentation. I’m certain you’re aware of that.”

 

Anna’s shoulders slumped as her anger abruptly deflated. “Yeah. I know,” she confessed much more quietly, after a moment’s silence. She knew very well the ridiculous unfairness- and unlikelihood- of her spouted accusations. “You know what happens to missing people here.”

 

The provost’s lips compressed into a thin line as he slowly nodded. “You know more about him than any of our files, probably. And I’m sure you know asking the Enforcers for help would be more trouble than good.”

 

Anna pretended she didn’t hear any reference to her record with them in that statement.

 

“So...,” he continued on a heavy sigh. “I’ll give you everything we have in terms of contact numbers and his history here. We’ll even pay you for finding him-“

 

Anna scowled darkly, the furrowing of her brows still able to signify another spat of intimidating temper despite their bright pink shade. The provost hastily corrected himself “-if you want. Either way, I’d like you to know we want him back as much as you do, and the University will provide all necessary help.” Pulling out a card, he signed a quick note and slid it across the table to Anna. “…I trust you not to misuse my carte blanche.”

 

Exhaling slowly, Anna nodded. “I know where the personnel files are. I’ll pick his up.” She lifted the card, staring at it. It was a small thing, but more power was compressed in that card than she’d ever wield in her own life. And it was possibly the gateway to solving this unexpected… problem. Her other hand rubbed at the wetness prickling her eyes. Of course there was nothing to cry about, just the exhaustion of a long trip and a sudden shock. It wasn't as if Yan couldn't take care of himself, or as if she couldn't take care of herself without him.

 

Feeling suddenly acutely uncomfortable under the businessman’s uneasily fascinated gaze, noting the provost could not meet her eyes, Anna turned abruptly on her heel to leave.

Reviews

[Nicholas Whitney]

Hey what gives? I get to the bottom and there aren't any more words. Don't leave me hangin!

Seriously though, I think you've got a fine thing going here. A mystery book hidden inside what seems to be a fantasy setting. A novel approach to a, uhh, novel. Hah!

I love the Character of Anna. She seems like someone you'd like to know but at the same time are just a little afraid of.
Not blowing any smoke whatsoever, you write more of this, you let me know. I'm waiting.

[Gandré]

I enjoyed your prologue very much. And, I loved this idea of "He would make it a garden to celebrate life." Perhaps I like it so much because I once wrote a poem and the title was Celebrating Life what I think is the purpose of life. I also thought, this book is going to be interesting, it is written vividly, it makes me curious and that's what a good book should be, the beginning is of course very important, it has charme. I also like how you structured the paragraphs. well, a dishy book I guess. thanks a lot for taking time to read my poem, and yes, you are right, I posted a comment, my expression is clich� (but I need to dream words in order to change it.) how about to read my "Dreaming" poem? Prosa poem?