Some Kind of Entrance
Year of the Golden Gilled Boar, 1983, Kliloln, Spobi 23rd
Gigantic gates, opening slowly, offering a view of the inside. Large, sprawling spaces filled with people in colorful garbs, waving, cheering. Many-colored flags waving in the wind. A column of armored soldiers on each side. Fireworks lighting up the sky. These are probably what anyone has in mind imagining their entrance into a castle.
Ours was none of that. Probably because it was nighttime. And, maybe, also because this wasn’t a festive occasion.
Some of the lights atop the wall coalesced as we approached. A voice ordered us to stop and identify ourselves as our party slowed down. Jakeli didn’t. He led his magral right up to the barred gate.
“Open you fools.” He barked.
There was some movement behind the crisscrossed bars. Light from a torch came and illuminated the prince. Loud apologies erupted next, followed by creaking sounds as the portcullis was raised.
Scattered greetings were issued as the prince led us inside. The path was lit with torches, some of which looked like they were on the last stages of burning, embers and charred cloth could be seen below them. Time not being an exact thing in this world yet, I wondered just how many torches this castle alone goes through every night. I estimated a torch go for an hour, maximum.
Wouldn’t a small fire be better?
A squad of six, patrolling soldiers crossed our path as the we followed its curve. The squad proceeded a couple of steps before one soldier called for a halt and ran towards us.
“Your Highness,” he bowed, “we’ve been told to expect you.”
“I am here. Move.” Jakeli replied, shooing the soldier away from the path. He didn’t move.
“Your Highness, we were also told to take you to the back instead of going in from the front.”
Jakeli looked down on the soldier then to Litoc who moved up his mount.
“On whose command?” Litoc asked.
“The lord seneschal… my lord.” The soldier answered, unsure how to address the man in peasant clothing yet talked over the prince without hesitation.
“Where exactly?” Litoc pressed.
“By the archives, lord.”
“I know the way. Carry on.”
Litoc steered his steed left without waiting for a reply. We followed behind him. We met two more patrols on the way and while they were a welcome sight, their torches lighting up our path, it did seem a little darker every time they passed. Were it not for the lights up the windows to my right, I would probably have swerved from the path a few times.
Litoc called for a halt and we dismounted. After helping Jibel down, he immediately approached Tukru. I saw Tukru hand something to him as the prince ordered our escorts to bring our mounts to the stables.
“Make sure the avener himself tends to these.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The soldier replied quickly, as the prince handed him the reigns to his own mount.
The others took our mounts and walked the animals towards the back of the castle. I assumed it was the back since we were stopped from going the other way, which I assumed was the front. If my limited tours of castles in my previous life holds true here, none of the places and layouts would make any sense to me.
Like the tight door at the corner of the castle for example. Jakeli knocked several times. Having received no answer or hear any kind of movement from the other side, he began pounding on the door. Only then, moments later, did we hear something behind it. The sound of boots on hard ground came, followed by the sound of metal grating against metal. The wooden door swung open and an apologetic looking soldier came into view. Litoc put on a hat while the soldier offered his apologies and turned to lead us in.
My immediate impression, especially that his helmet looked like it was hurriedly put on, was that this soldier had been slacking. As I stepped in behind all the others, I noted just how tight it was, my shoulders almost touched the walls. The door opened to a set of stairs, that turned into another leading up to yet another door. Thankfully, this one was already ajar.
I entered the door behind Hanni and found myself in a large room lit with just lamps. And only along the middle, mostly concentrated on the rows of tables with slanted surfaces. Beside some of them, soldiers stood. Along all its sides were shelves that reached the high ceiling, the distance between each easily over two feet feet.
The smell of the place was distinct. I have no comparison for it. Even with the scent of burning animal fat coming from the lamps, it assaulted my senses. It smelled like old people smell – woody, earthy, ancient.
“This is the archives?” I asked no one in particular, eyes looking at all the shelves.
All shelves were filled with bound volumes of uniform heights. Even with only the lamps’ lights I could make out differences in color, some appeared to be yellowish, some darker. Whether it was by age or design, I could not tell.
“Ha. Everythin’ o’ import ta the kin’dom’s ta be found ‘ere. Most o’ it anyway.” Litoc answered, joining Jakeli as they approached the dozen or so soldiers that had begun to join at the center of the room.
Litoc’s answer immediately called to question what was written about him in one of the volumes. Did they write him dead or did they actually record that he left? If it was the latter, will it say the actual reason why? The itch to know was strong. I entertained the idea of coming back to this room as I joined my companions but decided against it. First, it seemed rude. Second, it was none of my business, really. Lastly, I can’t read.
God, do I miss Wikipedia.
I followed behind and found that Jibel was lagging too, eyes gazing at the shelves as well.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“What’s written on them. Or how old.” He answered looking up at me.
“Very old, I think. Maybe at least ten or fifteen generations worth. What’s written? Who knows? Records of the kings for sure, of nobles too. Finances, harvest records. Anything really. Some lies even.”
Jibel was nodding slowly as he finally turned his head forward to pay attention where he was going. I was sure he was soaking it in and, most probably, imagining what secrets the volumes had. For the first time, I felt bad for not knowing how to read or write silaronian script. I could just imagine how fast these children would devour this entire archive, Bira most especially.
“Ora, what is an are, aribee-” Jibel asked, fumbling over the silaronian word for generation.
“Arebieltonim?” I asked, almost laughing.
I have very high regard for the mental capacities of the children. At times I forget that just months ago, they were just street orphans with hardly any education.
“You can think of it as the space between parents and children. A father to a son or daughter for example, is considered one generation. When the children have their own children, that’s two generations. And so on.”
He nodded to himself again as we exited the archives into what was clearly an anteroom. Ahead was an opening leading to part of the castle, wooden chairs with elaborate carvings were lined up against the window, and to our right were flights of stairs leading up and down. Litoc pulled the brim of his hat low as we all turned right to head up.
My initial impression of the soldier who opened the tight door to the archives was correct, to a degree. As I closed the distance between us, I noticed that all of them were haggard, eyes dropping and red, faces almost devoid of expression. It’s only been a full day since the death, give or take a few hours. I called to mind Litoc’s instructions at Riverhold. It didn’t seem to jive.
How hard are they riding these men?
“But Your Highness, the Lord Seneschal has instructed us to-”
“We have no need of guards slowing us down. Nor do I need the approval of anyone else in this place.” Jakeli declared impatiently, cutting off the soldier’s protests.
“’salright domi, we can find our way.” Litoc butted in calmly.
The soldier turned to regard Litoc, examining him head to foot. As could be expected, his gaze lingered on Litoc’s weapons. Its alienness prompted the soldier to quickly give the rest of us the same treatment. His brows knotted.
Domi. The word, formally, meant brother. Informally, it had the same connotation as bro, or dude, or man and is used to convey a sort of familiarity. It had no effect on the protesting soldier.
“We don’t know who you are. Your Highness, we are under strict orders to-”
“Let us through or waving mysteries be damned I will have you all stripped down and flogged before the-”
“It’s fine men. Let them be.” The shaky voice of an old man rose over the exchange.
I looked left to find a bent man in green and yellow robes emerge from the opening to the next room. He leaned on a wooden cane as he slowly, and shakily made his way towards us. Behind him were two attendants, and behind the attendants were two soldiers.
“Pardon the inconvenience Your Highness, they are just doing as they’re told.” Said the old man, eyes continuously getting smaller as he came closer.
The sides of his line-creased face twitched as he squinted hard against the light. He gestured repeatedly with his left hand for the soldiers to give way. As they parted, I turned to follow. Jibel and I barely had our foot on the second step when the old man called out loudly in his throaty voice.
“Wait! Hold!”
He was holding up his shaky hand, pointing.
“I… I know you!”
For those who didn’t know, or knew but was ordered to stay within Bariststal anyway, a hundred different thoughts would have been swirling inside their heads until that very moment. The more people whisper about it, and they were bound to, the worse it gets. I had no idea what it would mean if the entire castle suddenly learned this same night that the prince they long thought was dead, was actually alive. I only knew it would be a disaster.
The soldiers on the side of the stairs stiffened. The ones farther up, closed the gap. Even the two soldiers behind the old man hastened to the front. Within seconds their weapons were drawn. Jibel shrank. I stepped in front of him while pulling him to my back. Hanni, Tukru, Jakeli, and Litoc turned their gazes towards the old man again. Only Litoc wasn’t reaching for his weapon.
“It’s you!” Cried the old man. “Annun be my witness, it is you!”
The time it took for me to trace back where he was pointing felt like minutes. He was pointing at Tukru.
“Juwen ye old hound, why don’t ye save yer wonderin’ fer later and let us through, eh?” Said litoc, raising the brim of his hat and a finger to his lips.
The old man visibly straightened instantly, as much as his old bones would allow, like he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. He took two, increasingly shaky steps forward, face leading. His eyes were like slits as he squinted even more.
“No one… nobody… no…”
His jawed dropped as his eyes widened to their limits. The old man shook so much, the attendants flanked him and readied their hands underneath his arms. He mumbled unintelligibly for some time as the soldiers looked on with bewildered expressions.
“Oh Annun! It is not… Oh!”
I felt a deep sense of pity for the old man. Rivers of tears broke through the corners of his ancient, tired eyes. The attendants raised their hands up to his armpits to keep him upright as the cane dropped. He was already sobbing uncontrollably, bordering on the hysterical, when Litoc reach him.
“… not yet my time… not yet my time…” he kept babbling.
“’salright Juwen, ‘salright. ’sme. ’sme.” Litoc kept repeating in a soothing tone, hugging the seneschal tightly.
Yes, I am aware there are words for it. More elegant, colorful, and appropriate if I’m being honest. But, as I looked on with tears of my own warming the corners of my eyes, I could only think of one word to describe the old man.
Shookt.