A Fine Black Sky
“There is no fear but the fear I create myself -“
CHAPTER ONE
He was a Father, a Lord and a Ruler, inhabiting all three abundantly at once. He had three Sons; First of the Line was his namesake, Rapio, who was given the moniker Eighteen, for reasons that would soon become clear. His Second was Muet, who sadly died in adolescence through no fault of his own. His Third was the boy who nearly died, when he was dropped accidentally from a Tower window as a child. He shouldn't have lived - yet he did, and survival left him with immeasurable scars that tarnished his face, and gave him a limp to a leg that never completely formed. This one’s name was Fuscus, but people simply called him Kid, because people were fickle like that. Their Mother, who was some time gone, was called Reisa, once and eternally the Wife of that man who walked about the Halls, carrying his book, dragging his coat and stroking his beard, in that order.
The man was Praefuscus XVII, Lord of the North Tower, therefore Ruler over the other Three, and Governor of the below, where to cover the gap between the Towers of the North, South, East and West was built the City called Unity by committee, yet once was named Kombayn when the Old Gods walked amongst their people - their creations. But now, theologically speaking, there were more commonly the followers of the static MonoGod, while some even worshipped the all encompassing Veiled One, because the Old Gods were by now falling out of favour.
This great man who wore the fine black coat, carried the fine black book and was adorned with the fine black beard - the coat was of the finest fur and velvet, the book was beautifully leather bound by the most skilled craftsmen and the beard was indeed bushy, tended by the great man himself - lived in Grand Rooms embedded within a Grand Tower that thrust to unimaginable dimensions high above natural sight, where he would rule with the fear of the predictable unknown; fear of the wood, the trees, the birds and the beasts - so effective was he that the people feared venturing beyond their City. And there was a fine atramentous blackness to the sky; a semi-perpetual night, which kept away the gargoyles and morbid creatures of the light, that would tear and rip with claw and tooth, given half a chance. Maybe less.
Upon the tide that bowed in the wake of the Lord, walked the Veiled Man, hidden from all but the deepest of shadows, which comforted him in their all encompassing blanket of anonymous blackening. Following him was the child, called Kid, now of thirteen years.
Kid was curious, cautious and broken; Kid was curious as to why the Veiled Man would be following his Father, but his curiosity then ended with cautious abstinence when he reminded himself that it was nothing to do with him. It wasn't his business, because he had no business to speak of, just a clear instruction to talk with his Father at his earliest convenience. Which was why he was but a short distance from the Lord himself. The Veiled Man stopped, sinking into the shadows, which were vast in these darkened Halls - but Kid could see him. Kid could see the Veiled Man, though it seemed the Veiled Man could not see him. Kid was nothing, a no one. Kid was a simulacrum, of forgotten passion and lonely, long nights. The Veiled Man turned and left, slinking into the walls, blending with the furniture. Kid hobbled on, blankly motivated.
No comments:
Post a Comment