Keeping the Fire: Ancient Forefathers, Old and New

Don't know what this is? Check out the Pages section to the right to learn more about the Keeping the Fire project. 

╩      17     ╩

A crowd of ministers, petty nobles, and people of import waited outside the entrance to the Way of Honored Forefathers. Their clothing was awash with brilliant color, fiery oranges and reds, verdant purples and green, and here or there the starkest of whites or deepest of blacks. Only two figures wore gray, the subdued color of a Luminary's formal robes accented with sashes of navy. They matched the color of the walls around them, yet for their austere appearance, Polena felt that she and Coralm stood out more than any in the crowd. As they waited to be ushered into council, Polena muttered in a whisper, trying to keep in mind every detail, every carefully worded phrase, every witty barb she had written for herself. Coralm just stood quietly, staring at the door, his composure fixed but mild, as if knew the lay of the next few minutes as well as his lines in a play. As the Knights of the Rose, those private guard of the royal family, called the assembled to come to order Coralm leaned towards her.

“Keep your eyes open and watch your breathing. You will gain more from quiet and poise than any scrap of knowledge.”

“I am calm,” replied Polena, “this is how I prepare.”

“You are not calm, and it is clear, and furthermore I would be worried if you were calm. Just remember, Comae, that any prepared phrase is useless if you are so flustered you cannot remember it. Be here. Be now. Breathe.”

Polena did, a long frustrated sigh. It was good advice he gave, she knew that. It did not make it any easier to hear. She focused her will on the task at hand, focused her mind to her breathing, swept her hands around in one of the great calming circles of Poentry's method. It did help. Yet, as the doors opened her breathing was again disrupted, for she could not have predicted the glory she was about to behold.

Unseeing eyes of statues glowered down onto the Way of Honored Forefathers. Nearly fifty feet tall was it's arched ceiling, and alcoves were set from floor to ceiling as close as they could fit. Each held a statue of almost lifelike quality all of the same green marble. These were monuments to the ancestors of the Fortress, its family, ministers, and allies and with each of the nearly five hundred statues came a story. For centuries it had been added to, its members arranged from oldest to newest. Near where they entered, was Edgar of Mire who had given his name to the fortress. At its far end was an empty alcove cut deep enough into the wall that it acted as a window into the council chamber beyond. From where they entered one could see the king's seat, as if the live monarch sat amid the statues. Polena mused that the effect must have taken a master of engineering to conceive of, but of course, if anywhere, they would have one here. They walked together with the crowd of about thirty down the hall. Coralm stayed very close to Polena's side.

“It was to be a living monument, never to be finished, ever added to.”

“I had heard of this place, but the stories cannot do it justice,” Polena said, gawking all around.

“So indeed,” said Coralm adjusting his stride so as not to collide with one of the ten plate-mailed guards that escorted them. They were dressed for effect more than elegance in armor too heavy even for the field and could hardly walk straight. It sent a clear message. “they had made this hall,” continued Coralm, “never to be finished, with alcoves left open all the way until the end of time. But lords and ministers being what they are, it was filled up almost two centuries ago. See, look there, some are newer than others. Less prominent figures have been replaced over the centuries by those deemed more glorious or at least, closer to memory. Now there is only a single empty alcove near the front. Remember this Polena, these People do love their past, do cherish it. But now, as always, at their hearts they have only ever been People. Just humans like us and quite as frail.”

She did not need to be told this, but Coralm spoke to her so rarely that the memory stuck with her. It puzzled her that he should speak so now.

“Don't look too openly, but your Flinish companion is watching the procession. Above, by King Shehi's ear.”

Polena looked sidelong as they walked. There were halls about ten feet above them to their left or right concealed by the wall. You could only see into the Way of Honored Forefathers from behind the statues through small gaps left deliberately for those who wished to watch a procession more modestly. Tavya was close by an ancient Fiedjan Poet King, peering down on Polena with a smile. She was clearly excited for this council, but the nature of her excitement unnerved Polena. It was the look of a duelist, a skilled and clever face that relished the promise of violence. The Kight Luminary took Polena's shoulder to keep her from looking fully up.

“Do not look too long. Listen closely to me, there is one other thing. You may not be able to win this point with the Djaught.”

“I know that, Comae, but at least I should try.”

“No, that is not what I mean. I mean that there may not be time before war becomes inevitable.”

“That will be a sad day for Free Westa.”

“No again,” replied Coralm, and leaning to her ear he whispered, “I mean a war between Fiedjan and the People's Alliance of Creace. War between West and East.” Polena stumbled and then stopped. The thought of a war like that was ludicrous, she had explained to Coralm all the reasons why herself. The distance was too far, there were too many countries in between them, the nations simply could not be at war. Unless the Fortress were to fall and Flin were to set itself with the Proper. But for that to happen would require so great of faith or so great of treachery as to fit a legend. Yet, it was Coralm's certainty that convinced her. It was as certain of words as if he had said “there will be a dawn tomorrow.” But that certainty gave way suddenly to fear. Coralm's face was filled with it as his eyes darted up above her.

“Down!” he tried to shout, but the clank of crossbow being fired beat his words.

[to be continued...]

╩          ╩