From the journal of Queen Gwendolyn Edgewood
Year 4188, Tell-Allal | Planet Bain
The outside sunlight reflected from off the heavy mahogany doors still ajar. I could see the leathery beige shape of a heel preventing the door from shutting, and then the attached body of that heel pulling itself inward, jerking, the arms holding two heavy bags. They were slid inward with a slight grunt as the heavy door closed with the soft deliberateness of the mechanized hinges that hummed and clanked with the brass auto-locking tumblers.
Harland, my father’s man, dressed in his splendid beige and brown fatigues, looked up as I approached and was visibly startled. With a twitch of Harland’s head, the loose locks of his bangs were tossed to one side of his forehead, away from his eyes. I grabbed the handle of one of the bags to which he protested,
“No, no, no, ma cheri. These are most heavy.”
“I can handle it, Harland. I’m not a little girl anymore. Besides, I want to help.”
With a tug I learned just how right he was. The bag, made of strong black leather was indeed most heavy, but I could manage and intended to. Harland always recognized the moment when it was pointless trying to talk me out of something, and so in that moment he left me to make good on my intent and suffer the consequences.
“Ooof. What’s in this thing?” I groaned “A body?”
Harland had already grabbed the remaining bag, and leaning deeply to one side, he walked, dangling the bag from a clenched fist. He disappeared beneath the deep shadows of passages, beneath our twin curved staircases to disappear. Only his voice remained.
“Candle sticks, platters!”
Two fisting my share of the load, I followed Harland down the oaken corridor that led beyond the dinning rooms, past the ballrooms, to the brick archways of the large kitchen. It was empty, the sun assaulting thick silvery panel windows. Only Harland’s silhouette could be seen contrasted by the gleaming steel of a central island cutting counter on which Harland began emptying out his bags.
I slowly dragged mine back over toward him. My arms protested! I could not lift it to the counter. I did not try, being so worn out by hauling the bag the length of the north end of the house. My shoulders burned deeply. Harland bent, and hoisted the bag with a grunt, and then there was that corrective head-twitch to replace his fallen light brown locks to their place. I noticed the rigidity of muscles in his forearms. He was a strong man, and old Ephrasian warrior for sure. Today though, Harland was a handy man, fetching candle holders from an old supply room for our head maid.
He wore his spectacles and inspected the candles, grunting.
“This one’s gotten scratched.” He sighed.
“Harland these are solid gold!” I said, lifting a candle holder off the counter.
“And not just regular old gold, girl.”
“Stenite?” I marveled. Gold from another galaxy!?
“Precisely ma cheri,” He winked.
“How long have we owned these?” I asked.
“For a generation. Cathryn, was given them as a wedding gift from the Duke.”
Taking a few steps back from the counter, I started for the back staircase. Having the attention span of a gnat, I had grown bored, and desired to run about the house. Sensing this Harland said;
“My lady. If you happen upon Thalia or any of the maids, please direct them my way, would you?”
“Of course, Harland.” I said, grinning at him.
“And Gwen, thanks for your help.”
My mother’s prized candles meant a place setting was being made for more foreign interference in our otherwise quiet lives.
“My pleasure, uncle,” I said. He was not my uncle, but I considered him one and always wanted him to know that. As I made my round to the back-winding staircase, a narrow, burgundy carpeted passageway upward, I gripped the mahogany and gold banister and yelled behind me,
“Looks like another fine dinner with nasty Rumarians is underway! I hope we impress them?”
Harland’s retort,
“Only if we are impressive, and not impudent.”
“Chess later, mon frer?” I asked.
“Of course, my dear” Harland said, yielding the affection I wished from him.
As the hustle and bustle of the maids and cooks, and of Harland’s barking orders at them could be heard from below the floorboards, I hid in my father’s study, surrounded by his many many books. I perused them. Red cherry wood shelves lined the walls, the only source of natural light was the one four paneled stained-glass window directly behind my father’s empty chair. Before the thick leather chair was his heavy desk, cleaner than usual, the brass shinier, the deep stained finish deeper, the scent of cleansers beating down the usual cigar smell that usually permeated the place.
These were the usual signs of House Edgewood preparing for another audit from Rumaria, the fatherland. Tonight’s event was the King’s usual brand of psychological torture of my father, our families being old rivals. The reason House Edgewood was here in the eastern continent of Ephrasia, was to keep us out of the way of the royal family. Now, centuries later, our slightest whim such as my father’s marriage to Cathryn, or my fathers developing strong political ties with the local Ephrasian governments, was like shaking a hornet’s nest.
Rumaria interfered with everything. They sent to us again their minister for us to host, entertain, to suffer his insults and petty demands as he measured our compliance to expectations. The case of installing another military family in Ephrasia was the latest talk. The emphases on my fathers technical title as Viceroy, enforcer was apparent on many of the documents and letters sent overseas. They were slowly stripping my father of his Rumarian heritage, rewriting the history of our name.
I recall the evening’s dinner, where the Minister, Volkalur, sat with us. My head hurt, listening to him, each phrase eschewed from his slimy mouth laced with subterfuge. He was daring us to resist him. A fight with him could see the end of our days here—or at least that’s what I feared, being only eleven.
Volkalur’s uniform was charcoal grey, and the ridiculousness of a brass monocle was attached to his face via a clinging blue eye. My father endured this, man and was getting worn down. A prominent memory of the night was how mother sighed.
To me, the dinner conversation was almost a muffled, tiring gibberish.
“There is of course the question of… eherm… peerage,” Volkalur coughed.
I had lost track of where the conversation had led to. I focused more on how pretty the candles were, and how the table was set. I then heard that sigh and my mother say.
“Only from where you sit are there any questions, but please, Herr Volkalur do enlighten us as to who you think we are.” The tone unmistakable. My mother, Catherine could be a force with her words.
“Well, yes lady Edgewood it would seem that though a many century long and celebrated tradition, the concept of House Edgewood was a creation of the crown, one eherm expected to adapt to the wishes of the King.” He nodded, patronizingly, wide-eyed. I noted the green threads in the place mats, the way they captured the candle light.
“You have an interesting, and yet flawed interpretation of the written history.” My mother hissed.
“As we all do, Catherine. Let’s not…” my father tried to prevent it.
“No, my dear, let’s not. Let us not allow these poorly veiled attacks to go unanswered! Let me remind you, Herr… Volkalur that if it were not for this House, your precious Rumaria’s capital would still be here in Tel-Allal.”
“There is no question of this, my lady.” Wide eyes.
“Then why do you imply that we are an expired product of the King’s will, since as I have been educated on history, Lord Henry Edgewood was never made one by any Dauphile? Do you think we would allow you to dismantle us, and shelve us away?”
My mother rose and left the table.
“May I leave?” I pleaded, eyes rolling, begging for mercy to my father. He ignored me.
Harland’s glance at me seemed to say, Just a little longer, it gets better…
There was silence for a good while. The color on Volkalur’s face was redder than the shells that rested centrally on the gold platters. I saw the expression I knew only so well of Rumarians who were corrected by strong women. I saw the gearing, turning in that head as he drew the stratagems tightly in that thick skull. The sweat on my father’s temple revealed that he saw it to. A few of Volkalur’s men sat wide eyed, stupefied.
I glanced at Harland, who grinned as he cheerily cut meat on his plate. He winked at me. Check, I thought.
Then Volkalur’s color subsided. He patted a wet greasy lip with his napkin and returned to a cool reptilian composure.
“Duke Edgewood.” Volkalur hissed, “It is very peculiar, how you are unable to even control your wife, never mind an entire continent of savage Goddess worshipers. How is it then, you are supposed to be the enforcer of his Majesty King Dauphile? During these… times… If you cannot control your women, how will House Edgewood ever succeed here?”
My father, to my horror, could not speak. He was paralyzed. Mother had explained the burden he carried.
Harland however rose. He still chewed his meat. He swallowed and dropped his napkin to the plate below.
“I will show you exactly how we already have succeeded.” He growled and hovered over the minister. Harland grabbed the back of Volkalur’es chair and pulled it slightly out from under the table, more than hinting to the brute strength in his thick arms.
Volkalur’s eye widened the entire slick and reflective surface of his round monocle like a distorted fisheye in a misshaped aquarium, and that shellfish redness deepened in his face. He looked about as his men did nothing. They only stared at Harland.
“I will demonstrate the Edgewood best, Herr Minister, I’ll show you how an Edgwood’s trust in his compatriots has worked for four centuries; to inspire them to do their duty and rid the house of vermin.”
Volkalur rose in shock, and standing a whole head beneath Harland’s menacing stature, he seemed naked without his Rumarian airs.
“You’ve worn out your welcome, man. We’ll be expecting you and all of them, on your shuttles, and out of here before the sun rises.”
Later I eavesdropped on my father and Harland’s discussion, an ear to my father’s unclosed study door.
“Lord, Im sorry, but a snake like that just needs the axe. Did you know, Thalia caught Volkalure’s men scanning the rooms and digitally-projecting that weasel’s own furniture and belongings into it as if our home were for sale?”
“I did not. He did seem to have a thing for my study. That… bastard.”
“He was was right only about one thing; that we have to adapt. Times are changing. The dynamic is shifting. This is a sign that the old peace between the families, Dauphile and Edgewood may be finished. Dauphile thinks you are too Ephrasian, always has. Dauphile will make his move soon.”
“I know you are right Harland. I’ve lost quite a lot of sleep over it. Only the dead have seen the end of war. Cathryn. Damn her tempter.”
“Lord, it was not her that was in the wrong. You curse her for killing the snake that has bitten you.”
There was a long pause.
“Yes… yes. You are right. I was parlayed. I’m… so… embarrassed. I should not have tolerated that man as long as he stayed in our home. Gwen must be so ashamed of me.”
“No. That girl only loves you, lord. They’ve… gotten to you, have been in your head these long years. Now at least we know that the fight’s surely coming. We don’t know from what front yet, but it’s coming. We have friends here though, many many powerful friends thanks to your own work, and thanks to Catheryn’s work. That has always worried the crown.
“It’s been so long since I’ve looked to you to be my man-at-arms.”
“Don’t you worry Lord. For me defending this house, my family, is like riding a bicycle… as you saw.”
“I did see. I am grateful, Harland, really.” My father laughed.
“Glady sir. Gladly. From tonight on, we are on our own, and we will show them; We are not going anywhere.”
Harland, turned to the door of my father’s study, grasped the crystal door nob. I ran down the back stairwell quickly to avoid being discovered.
Harland later entered the kitchen where I sat eating dessert. He grabbed one of the remaining silver cups from a nearby tray.
“So, Harland.” I began, “Was that impressive, or impudent?”
He laughed.
“That, cheri, was a bit of both, and also… great fun.” Harland loved a good challenge. One certainly was coming.
He poured himself a glass of wine, and for me the usual. That was the beginning of it all, the troubles that would set our course.
First Lesson: Wandering
My Grandmother, Edowina, was a treasure. Her olive colored face, with its wrinkles at the edges of her kind and yet stern eyes were an image burned into my memory. While my father was calm, brooding, my mother fierce and direct, Edowina was both, a veritable image of balance and poise, as she struck or stroked when the moment called.
“How is it you know what to do in every moment Vo-ma?” I asked her, calling her by the Ephrasian customary name handed down for little girls to call their grandmothers. It never failed to turn the shape of her eyes into tiny grey suns over their squinted horizons as she grinned.
We would walk the orchards together in the mornings, to her favorite tree, a large birch surrounded by a circle of smaller ones. Each day as we walked toward the tree it was as if my grandmother carried on a silent conversation with it. She’d place a wrinkled and spotted hand against its firmness and patted it.
“You interested in my secrets, my girl?”
“Yes. You seem to have them all.”
“Oh… well I’d say your mother has quite a few of them too, though perhaps under lock and key.”
“All she seems to have is the trick of getting out of sorts with…”
“Ahh! Tut! None of that. No demons in my orchard, I say.”
She would say these things, things so far afield to me but deeply penetrating. In that moment, after silencing my complaining, Edowina did her mysterious and daily work with the tree.
“Vo-ma, what is this tree for?”
“Why girl, it’s for… being a tree!”
We laughed.
“I mean, why do we come here every morning?”
“I’m teaching you all my tricks, Gwen, by planting our tree, your tree. The language I’m speaking to this one tree here seems mysterious and coded to you now, but the truth is darling, it is the purest of languages. The language I speak to you and your parent’s— the worldly languages — well, in my opinion those are the only coded languages—always stopping the flow of being, of what is, to describe. To learn the pure language my dove, you must wander for a while.
“Wander?!”
“Wander child, walk the great patterns, the branches of the great tree of the cosmos!” Old Edowina would say to me all the time. “Only then will you learn, misstep, see, and deeply locate yourself in the heart of it all. Then, child the true language is uttered in your heart, and the true actions follow” I did not fully understand what she meant.
“When you get as old, and as practiced, as me,” Edwina, or Vo-ma said, “You let go of this,” And she pointed to her head, “And rest in this,” she said and placed a wide and opened wrinkled hand against chest. “Then knowing what to do is as simple as blinking an eye. Then no demons utter words for you.”
She was referencing the start of my bad words against my mother. I was frustrated with her that day for not letting me wear what I wanted that morning.
I followed Vo Ma with urns full of water to give to the tree, and her surrounding siblings. We poured it into the moats of dirt surrounding their trunks.
“Certainly, a dry dry summer. Poor dear. We will get her through, eh?” She waved for me to pour my urn’s supply into the moat that surrounded the trunk of her tree.
After I stopped pouting, I asked her.
“How, does a demon speak my words?”
“Just like a thief will spend your money.” She muttered.
After she waited out my angst, for the very moment I stopped resenting her corrective form, she then said;
“We are all born with the treasure of life force, my dear. When you don’t look after your life force, tend to it, cultivate and clean the spaces of your mind to better serve your force, to serve ‘what you are here to do,’ that force is wasted. Demons are like scavenger birds only what they eat is the space within you.”
“Like a parasite?” I asked, grinning.
“Yes. See how smart you are? Demons are parasites, claiming access to your person, stealing your vehicle, and using it to their end. They are terrified of brightness, so they dim the minds of growing souls to maintain a status quo of survival in the lower ends of the astral planes.”
She stepped over to me and waved for me to follow her with my emptied urn. Her hand rested on my shoulder as we headed back toward the pond nestled deep in the orchard, a half a mile’s walk. I dropped my inner complaints against it as I considered what she said.
“Vo Ma, that description of demons sounds like the Empire of Rumaria, of Bain, and how they use my parents.”
My grandmother laughed with such a proud delight.
“So young! So smart! Now! Now you are on to something real there my crumb. Don’t let anyone steer you off such good insight. Walk the pattern of it with me. Tell me how you see the patterns of our culture?”
“They make my father worry, that we will lose our house, his station, and so he does what the King demands.”
“Yes, and what does the King demand?”
“He demands that my father make all those here in Ephrasia worried that they might lose their homes.”
“Yes all under the illusion of what, my dear?”
I struggled for this answer.
“It’s so obvious, but hidden, eh?” Vo-ma nodded her head. She removed her habit to reveal waves of silver hair. She waited patiently for my response as she bent over the urns and dropped them into the still pond.
“Well, a part of the illusion is that the King owns the world?”
“Yes. Now why was that difficult to zero in on?”
“Because we hope to own our own piece of ‘his world,’ like House Edgwood.
“Very good. Yes that any of this… greed and power… is a good idea!” She encouraged. “Collective greed. That is the seed of the poison tree that grows an empire such as King Dauphile’s.” Vo Ma said.
“Is greed a demon?”
“Greed, suspicion, vanity are all destructive qualities. The demon simply suggests these qualities are good in order for you to act in a manner suited for their own purposes of slowing you down, of growing trees of chaos, of contrast. If you burn too brightly, believe in yourself, love and shine all the time, well boo hoo for demons. They cannot touch you. However, if you are dim, or loveless, if you choose to say and do bad things, well you become their plaything, vexed by the riddle your life seems to become.
You might begin by complaining about your mother, and later neglect her, or worse. See now how a bad idea can lay latent within a mind and create dark dreams others suffer? A bright wanderer walks all the patterns, all the branches until they merge into the deepest place”
“Where is that?”
“Where? Well where the wanderer discovers herSelf, uniquely designed and empowered within her divine authority… already. She finds her gems and discovers herSelf!”
