The Moon, full, bright, seemed to look at the world with its protective and serene eye. Its companions the stars, they too, did not miss the peaceful nocturnal spectacle which took place on dry land. The hooting of owls could be heard, here and there a few foxes were nosing around, yet the rodents did not seem afraid of being devoured. As for the wolves, they didn't seem to have gone out hunting. Everything was calm in the forest which surrounded a tiny house and its stable, located in the heart of a clearing. Nothing seemed to be able to ruin this moment.
When a cry, rang out and broke the ambient serenity. It came from inside the house. It was the cry of a woman, of a woman awakened by excruciating pain in her stomach, swollen by a full-term pregnancy. Her husband, lying next to her in the bed, woke up immediately, got up to light a candle and leaned over his wife. He noticed that the entire side of the bed where she slept was soaked and understood that she had started labour. She asked him to help her stand up. Putting himself together, he took her under the armpit so that she could walk to the stable. Markis had to take her to the midwife in the nearest village!
As soon as he opened the door, the weather turned dark, and a flood fell on the forest. Within seconds a storm had risen and was roaring above them. The wind was blowing very strongly, making the trees dance around the house.
He took a cloak, hanging on a hook near the door, covered her, carried her and began to cross the yard between the house and the stable. The rain fell harder and harder and the earth had become a slippery mud, the wind blew in gusts so violent that you could hear the tree branches clashing, and some falling like straws.
Still, he reached the stable and busied himself with harnessing his draft horse, quite panicked, to a cart in which he put Rayshél down, she grunted at a contraction. "Darling! Hold on my love, we’ll get there! We must!” He said, stroking her hand, before he opened the stable door, climbed into the front of the cart, snapped the reins and set off into the storm.
Arriving in Nost, water was running on Markis’ forehead into his eyes, nose and mouth. But he couldn’t stop. Curled up as she could under the cloak behind him, Rayshél was still holding on. Neither of them could tell how long the ride had been. One hour? Two? Contractions were getting closer and closer, that’s all they knew.
When, he halted the horse in front of a house just outside the sleeping village they had just crossed. He jumped out the cart ran to the door and banged as loud as he could. A woman, opened, she looked at him took a glance outside, saw the wagon, the shapeless pile at the back, understood immediately. She took a step back as a welcome and Markis rushed to get Rayshél in.
They entered a single room cottage, very similar to their own, made of stones with a thatch roof. A window on the right wall, facing South. In front of them, a fireplace with top shelf covered in books and objects of all sorts, a cooking pot hanging in it, and a small fire burning was providing warmth. A solid wood table next to it with a single chair, pieces of cloth astride the back was on the right side of the foyer. On the left a simple mattress with woollen cover and sheets. She was apparently not sleeping before they arrived. A hemp mat on the floor in the middle. On their right a massive wardrobe (or what could be one). On their left, shelves full of jars and unidentified stuff. A bunch of miscellaneous things was dangling from the beams everywhere, Markis couldn’t tell what they were nor what they were used for.
“I was not expecting you until next moon!” the woman broke the silence with a deep, raspy yet warm voice. Markis was standing there a bit lost and dizzy, carrying his wife, he did not answer back. “Well, you can lay her down here”, added the woman sharp but softly, pointing the mat out to Markis, dragging him out of his torpor. He gently placed Rayshél on the ground, kissed her forehead and stepped back to let their guest approach. The mother-to-be looked tired, she was breathing rapidly, on the verge of hyperventilating, she was visibly fighting against her own body to hold the shock of the pain. The woman gently took the mother-to-be's arm, for a few moments she tried to catch Rayshél's lost gaze, "are you ready?" she asked, locking Rayshél's eyes with hers, "come on, take my hands, here, now you're going to pull and squat, can you do that?" Rayshél nodded and then got into position. "Alright, now you're going to have to help me help you, sweetheart, now calm down, breathe in." She took a deep breath with Rayshél. "Now breathe out." She exhaled heavily as well. "And again." She made Rayshél repeat this breathing several times. "Alright, now when you're ready and you feel a contraction, you'll have to push." The woman's voice and posture were very tender, warm and gentle.
Outside the rain was pouring down on the ground, violent gusts caused the shutters to slam and the branches of the trees outside to bang, while inside, Rayshél’s cries echoed as labour was progressing. On the other hand, the midwife was peaceful, and reassuring. It was as if she had created a protective bubble around them. Her energy was focused and allowed the delivering mother feeling strong and supported.
Markis had put himself face to the hearth, his cloths sticking to his skin, dripping on the wooden floor. He was not supposed to attend this, no man was ever allowed to assist a delivery. He had never felt so out of place.
The midwife suddenly spoke kindly, “I can see the head, keep pushing!” Then sharper. “You! Since you’re here, make yourself useful! Bring me some water and a cloth quick!” She had lifted her head towards Markis squinting at him. Finding a pitcher sat on a table next to the fireplace, he poured some water in a small basin that was next to it and put the water and the towel next to the accoucheuse. She grabbed his wrist, pulled him down and added, “stay there next to her, this is going to be tough." Then nicely to Rayshél. "Come on love you can do it!” He held Rayshél’s hand supporting her. She was all wet and sticky.
Suddenly a powerful gust of wind shook the house, rain stopped. Rayshél grunted. The woman cupped her hands under her. Then a cry... A baby's cry! Markis understood his child had just been born. He smiled to his wife. She smiled back and tilted her head back taking a deep breath. She released her muscles and knelt on the mat. She was exhausted. Markis was still holding her hand, he felt a bit dizzy but so happy he wanted to squeeze her in his arms.
“It’s a boy!” the midwife said softly, smiling. She was wiping him gently with the cloth, then she proceeded to cut the cord with strings and a knife she had placed in the apron she was wearing. Warming him up was crucial, she stood up, walk few steps around them and leaned down to present the baby to Rayshél.
The mother cautiously caressed her baby’s cheek and let a laugh burst out. But, as she was going to take him in her arms, she quickly placed a hand on her stomach grunting as her belly contracted again. Markis who was still supporting her lifted his head to the midwife who had stepped back with the new-born. “Unexpected!” she whispered. She quickly installed the baby in a wicker basket that she hung near the fire. Then she squatted in front of the young mother who screamed again at another contraction. The woman palped Rayshél’s lower abdomen, took her hand, looked at her in the eyes and very determinedly said:” There’s another one. Love, you have twins, be strong, you will have to start again!” She turned to Markis and added: “go fetch me some… Rrrr! There’s a small brown earthenware jar on the shelf, you’ll find powder in it. I need you to poor a spoonful of that in a cup of water and bring that to her.” Markis looked at her with round eyes a bit stunned. “Hurry now!” She cocooned Rayshél rubbing her back with one hand, holding her with the other. “Breath in… breath out”, she started, Rayshél screamed and fell forward pushing the midwife who tumbled down on her buttocks.
Outside the storm was still raging on, they could hear the wind whoosh, trees creak and crack and the rain tacking on the windowpanes.
Markis arrived at that moment with the beverage. He lifted the midwife back up on her feet. The young mother was completely out of strength, she was on her elbows on the floor. They both picked her up on her knees, the lady gave her the cup and said: “Here my love, drink that.” She softly passed a hand on Rayshél’s sweaty forehead and in her hair, smiled. The young mother gulped the whole potion up, it was bitter and left her mouth dry afterwards. “There, it’s going to kill the pain you’ll see.”
Next, she turned to Markis, “put yourself here in front of her, take her hands, that’s it,” she was calm but hasty, firm but tendre. She placed herself behind the mother, kneeling, then added, “are you ready?” Rayshél planted her eyes in those of Markis. They both nodded.
She took a deep breath in, she was already feeling dizzy, but couldn’t tell if it was from all the effort she had just made or from the drink. “I’m ready,” she said. “Then push!” replied the midwife. She gritted her teeth and groaned as she pushed as hard as she could, she could feel the baby coming down from the womb. “Keep pushing! Push!” said the midwife. Rayshél’s lower side contracted one more time in synch with her pushing…
She didn't suffer anymore, but she had no strength left, her husband and the woman next to her seemed to be miles away and she could no longer hear their voices. Her vision was getting blurry. Breathing was hard. She was feeling above herself, quickly fading. And then, nothing.
********************
Midaria the Great, the imperial city was bustling at this time of day. The storm the night before had caused chaos everywhere, but there was no serious material damage. At most, a few merchants' canvas stalls had collapsed under the weight of water, or had been taken away by the wind, some tiles had been blown away from roofs, trees had been uprooted here and there. No injuries, nor casualties had been reported. Rumours were already circulating that the city should not have been the most affected by the storms. The population already knew that few miles away in the port of Puer, on the riverbanks, some streets had been flooded. On Great Core Square, the beating heart of the capital, everybody was talking about it.
Lin looked at the sundial above the large gate of the Great Market, “three in the day,” he said to himself. He had to hurry. Why did he had to cross the city at that time of the day to go the Golden Tower? He was a squire not a vulgar page! And he was missing on practice. All that because of a stupid storm! He turned on his right and walked along the Palace of the Counsil into Temple Street. He kicked a rock along the way in disbelief.
Few steps ahead he stopped and tilted his head up. He could see the top of the tallest building in the city. Such a building, its shape was typical to Midarian golden age. Built out of the purest white limestone, the round base of the tower converged to the centre in a thinner “cylinder” with a raised helical thread running around it. The top sharp-pointed and entirely covered in gold, had four large ache openings, facing each cardinal points. It was the temple of the air element where the priest would pray and ask the spirits for good weather. Apparently, the latter didn’t really work.
Lin sighed at the idea that he will have to walk almost all the way up. When he got to the temples gate, he simply showed the folded paper he had in his pocket to the guard, there was the imperial seal on it. The soldier let him pass stepping on the side. Lin looked at him, his shiny helmet, his iron armure, his long spear. Something inside the young man lit up: he knew he wanted to be a knight one day. Not just some guard, a proper knight. He couldn’t say why, he just knew.
On the way up his pace differed to the other servants buzzing up and down. He was slow, despite the fact he had to hurry, he was really bored and didn’t understand why he had been chosen to do this. He sighed again. They were all doing what they were supposed to, except for him. But anyway, he had no choice, his master had told him to bring that message to the Great Priest, so: he had to. In a way, dutifulness was an expected quality for a knight to have, Lin thought to himself.
On the eighteenth floor – yes, eighteenth! –, he stopped in the hall and tried to see if there were any maid or manservant at the Great Priest’s doors. There were three doors, but he couldn’t see anyone. “Obviously,” he mumbled to himself.
He took few steps forward. He knew the priest’s appartements were on that floor, but he had no idea where each of the doors he could see, would lead. He never went further than those stairs. And that was exactly why there is supposed to be someone before the door! according to him.
He had no choices, he had to deliver this letter, he couldn’t just go back now. He could wait. But he was going to be late to sword fighting lessons. And there were the games this afternoon, he certainly couldn’t miss those.
“Hello,” he tried unsure. “Someone here?” he tried again. “I have a letter here for His Eminence.” Was he supposed to say that out loud?
Few steps forward again he whispered, “hello,” but to no avail. He tried to listen down the stairs if he could hear anyone coming up, not a soul. Funny how it was busy ten minutes before.
Suddenly Lin heard a noise. He couldn’t tell what nor where, but it sounded like rumble. He got closer and closer to one of the doors where he figured the sound originated from. When he got just at it, he pressed his ear against the wood.
“Let me go,” begged a man in a strangled voice, almost inaudible. Lin heard the man grunt as if he had been struck in the stomach. Then a thud. Something had fallen on the floor, he heard a woosh. And it became quiet a gain. Lin moved away from the door, slowly. “Hello?” he muffled. Nothing.
Lin staid motionless for about a minute. He didn't know what to do. Something told him to flee as fast as he could, but something told him that it was going to be even worse. Look for hep? But he didn’t even know if help was necessary…
Without realising it, his hand was already on the handle. He couldn’t help it, he needed to know. He held his breath, pressed quietly and pushed the door slowly. It opened silently on what seemed to be an office. From what Lin could see, there was no traces of a fight, no evidence of intrusion. All was in a relative order; one could think there never was anybody in this room earlier. Except, on the floor, next to the desk, a shapeless mass of cloth and skin was lying, few steps from Lin. No sound, no movement, nothing. From that mass, the lad could only see three fingers. Fingers of an old person for sure. On one of those fingers was a ring. A heavy, golden ring, with a blue stone on it. The ring of the Great Priest of Sété.
The young man smothered his own scream, placing a hand on his mouth and pinching his nose. Someone, or something, just killed the Holy One!
In complete shock, Lin stepped out of the office. For a quick second, he leaned on the wall to regain his breath and his composure. What should he do now? What could he do now? What would happen if someone just got up there, right now? Would they arrest him, would they believe him? Who could believe him?
His head in his hands, he just started to walk onwards. It seemed his body took completely over, and had consciousness of its own. As he arrived in the staircase, he just straightened up and walk down calmly. “Nothing happened, nothing happened, nothing happened…” he couldn’t stop repeating those two words, in his mind, as if he needed to convince himself nothing had happened, to help him keep together. It worked, until he crossed path with a young maiden who was going upwards with a clay pitcher.
When she passed his sight, as she tuned up the stairs. He stopped, waited two seconds, and rushed. Again, he didn’t think much of it, his instinct had spoken and told him to run as fast as he could. All he could actually think about was how far down he had to go to reach the ground and flee away from here.
A part of him was making the point he had nothing to do with all this and running would only make him look guiltier than he was, since he was innocent. But it was not the loudest part of him speaking. When he finally stomped on the pavement of the first floor, he crossed the hall and left out so quick, one could have thought they had seen a draft.
He immediately started to walk again, not to be noticed as he traversed the courtyard. His steps were odd and stiff, but it was the only way he could try to make it look like he was not fleeing from a crime scene.
He nodded to the guard on his way out. And started to run again. Down Temple Street, he turned left and abruptly stopped at the corner of the Palace of the Counsil. There, he squatted, he needed to catch his breath and think. Should he go back to the Palace of the Siver Towers? Should he run away and hide for ever? Should he leave the Empire? Who could he turn to help him out of this situation? But, what situation?
All his senses were more acute than usual, he was on alert. From afar behind him, he heard the alarm of a bell chiming. Legs on wheels he dashed forward and crossed Great Core Square like he was drawn by ten horses. But he did not run in direction of the palace. Instead, he went straight into the narrow Barracks Street, still running as fast as he possibly could, slaloming between passers-by, walls, bulky things. He eventually reaches a small plaza in the middle of a neighbourhood he didn’t know.
That is when he realised, he was running through the largest city in the world. A city he was not familiar with, at all. He stopped to take his breath and started to analyse where he had ended. He estimated he had run for like ten minutes, in direction to the West. So, from what he could gather he halted rather far from the palace and the barracks on Great Core Square. Getting lost would be easy, but it also meant he had a chance to run straight to his demise. He had to be very careful if he wanted to get the chance to leave this city without either be robbed, kidnapped, killed or even worst, caught by the guards.
He was pretty sure by now; he was going to be held accountable for the Holy One’s assassination. The authorities were never to let him stand a trial, they will more than likely lock him up in jail, then, execute him the next day if he’s lucky.
He came quickly to the conclusion he had no choice but to prove he was innocent, by himself.
********************
Nilar the Old, the Mokhtar capital was in havoc. The previous night storm had hit the city hard. Earthen houses and buildings could not have withstood the amount of rain that fell, most of them had completely or partially collapsed. The wind had blown away almost everything it could, and the streets were full of rubbles everywhere, in the parks, the gardens, trees were split opened, burnt, broken up, off, on the ground... At the centre, the Temple of Shaam had been struck by lightning, left with a hole in the ground and some burnt beams compromising its structure. However just next to it, the Royal Palace was miraculously intact, even stained-glass windows were damage less.
All around people were desperate, astray, haggard. Women had lost their husbands; men had lost their wives; children had lost their parents… Many deceased would certainly be reported. No one had been spared, but the royal family.
In her appartement Layl, the Malika, was highly concerned. She was pacing in her room, wrapping her fingers in her hands. Someone knocked on the door, a young lady entered calmly looking down, she bowed and announced the princess.
Layl dashed towards her daughter, “oh thank you for coming so quick!” She took the princess’ hands in hers. “I need you to do something for me,” the queen had planted her eyes deep in her daughter’s. Then she leaned forwards and slowly whispered in her ear. The rush in her voice, although hushed, was betraying her worriness. “What happened last night was not natural. I can feel it: war is upon us. Go find your brother and tell him he needs to go to Nost. Right now!” she pushed softly the princess apart and added “I can’t do it myself; it is too risky for me to be suspected of contacting him.”
“I’m sorry mother, but I don’t understand. What is going on?” questioned Mira, her eyes wide opened and scanning her mother’s face for answers.
“I can’t explain it now, all the answers will come in due time. What I can tell you is that you and your brother will have to find your way through what’s coming.” The queen gently caressed her girl’s cheek and added, "but not to worry: you are Mira Elmokhtar Elkhebri, daughter of Fél the fifth Malékh of Nilar and king among kings. No harm will come to you that you will not overcome.” Despite the words coming out of her mouth, the queen had an expression of concern. Mira could see it.
The princess understood she couldn’t hope for more information. She knew her mother and her clairvoyance capacities, she also knew the queen would never reveal too much of what she had seen. “Very well, I’ll do my best mother,” she said in response as she bowed. She lifted her head up quick, caught her mother’s anxious eyes, straightened up and as she was about to leave, someone knocked on the door.
Mira turned around and looked at her mother astound. “Yes?” inquired Layl. They heard the voice of a young woman, likely one of the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, “May I come in, your Grace?” she politely requested. “Of course, my child! Please come in,” invited the Queen.
Layl and her daughter stood up as the young lady came in. She bowed after closing the door behind her, she seemed tranquil. “Speak child, tell me what news are you bringing”, said the queen calmly. The maiden’s look turned to angst all of a sudden. “His majesty… The… His majesty the Malékh, wants to see you. He… he said it’s an emergency. Something… Something happened at the temple”, she smattered out as if words didn’t want leave her mouth.
********************
At noon Esha was as usual, on her way to see her grandmother. The only difference of this particular day, remained in the fact that Sÿbie, port city of the Séwéti people, had been flooded and partially destructed the night before, in one of the worst storms she had ever seen! Part of the city was still under water, along the shores of the Gonznut.
This rather small, but vibrant port had been founded at the confluence of two rivers: the Gonz, running down from the Altvart Mountains to the West; and the Nut, running down from the Rampart Mountains to the East. Thus, forming the Gonznut Estuary, along which Sÿbie had been built a long time ago.
This geographical location, between sea and river, made the city extremely vulnerable to flooding, people were used to the docks, or the fishermen’s neighbourhood, being regularly underwater; when the melting snow meets high tides in spring, or when a cyclone rolls from the Southern Sea. The town had been designed to withstand inundation: there were several levels of quays, diversion dikes had been built upstream of the rivers, the bottom of the estuary had been deepened... But there had never been such overflow, or storm, of this magnitude before!
The young woman was running through the streets to get to her nan as quick as she possibly could. Her night and morning had been horrendous. She had witnessed so many people die, either being carried away by the current, either being crushed by collapsing buildings, either… She tried to stop the train of her thoughts; she couldn’t get around the idea her grandmother had lost her life. The only comfort Esha could give herself, was to know “Aya” lived in a neighbourhood on the upper town, therefore not subject to flooding, she was holding on this weak hope as tight as she could.
Though she seemed to be in her late teens, she was wearing a leather breastplate, with a short leather armour skirt, sign she was a warrior. One of the youngest, yet best, new recruits within the elite infantry corps, actually. With all her fellow units she had been dispatched through the city and had been busy all morning, helping people getting to safety, finding their family and friends. She was exhausted, still she was rushing, weaving through the rubble of buildings and boats along the way.
Her nan, “Aya”, was her only family.
The young warrior finally reached the part of the city that had been preserved from water and mud. Damages were obviously less impressive here. Yet wind and lightning had not spared the roofs of houses around her. Passing by she noticed the frame of the neighbourhood market had been torn off, to be found in debris scattered over a hundred meters. Her heart started beating faster, cold sweat was running down her spine. She sped up. At the corner of the small square, she could see the former magnificent date palm tree, that had stood there for years, had fallen, uprooted. She shook her head and kept forward.
One more turn to the left, then Esha would arrive at her grandma’s… There! She stopped panting. Hands on her knees, she took a deep breath. Just in front of her, the house in which she grew up, was still standing. “Now, where are you Aya”, she asked herself. The young woman straightened back up and started to look at the house. Nothing, no sign of movement, no sounds from inside.
She entered the house, everything was dark, Esha grabbed a small oil lamp on the shelf to her right, she lit it up with a simple fire striker and a flint stone she always carried in a leather purse hanging from her waist. “Hello? Aya, are you home?” No one echoed her call. Why would she go, and where? Esha couldn’t understand. She quickly searched the house, to make sure her grandmother was not somewhere, needing help, or worst. Nothing. as she was leaving, she noticed Aya’s cape was not hanging on the wall, her walking stick was missing too.
She squatted just in front of the front-door, it was time to show how well she was trained in print reading. She easily spotted some lightning impacts on the floor and the walls, here and there. There was rubbish carried by the wind everywhere. On the doorstep she saw the traces of two feet in the dust. The person standing there was neither tall, nor heavy: Esha reckoned approximately ten stones for five feet. They were leaving from the house considering the direction of the prints. They had been waiting few seconds there, probably time to assess the danger in their surroundings. “Aya?” She turned on her left as she could see one foot step forward this way, then a second. Small steps, with the distinct dot left by a walking stick in between.
Following on the trail, she walked for probably a few hundred meters in direction to the lower town. The prints were hard to see in the mud and she sometimes had to speculate where was Aya going before finding herself back on track, this indicated the old lady had left before rain had stopped. Why would she do such a thing? Now really worried, Esha sped her pace. She wanted to yell, calling out for her grand-mother, but she didn’t, she staid composed and focused. A true warrior had to keep their head in any circumstances. And a true warrior she was, at least she was trying her best.
She stopped, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, listened to the sounds around her: people calling, crying, dogs were barking, she could hear the river flowing in torrents… Chaos was all around her. Still, she was concentrating, making abstraction of all that tumult. Her heart beat slowed down, her mind focused, when she opened her eyes again, she knew where was her grand-mother. She couldn’t have explained it to anyone, she just knew.
