KGWrites

Violet

The Village, Spring District, Fallen Kingdom of Aldiron

Freezing rain fell gently over the ashen corpse of the city, soaking into the deep blue cloak worn by Violet Hills as she walked along paths she had known since childhood, her head down and her blonde hair hidden beneath her cowl.

Around her, people moved in an almost mindless trail, each following the feet of the one in front. They came from the palace, and from the Spring and Summer Districts, survivors of the siege who, like her, now lived as prisoners in all but name to the city’s new ruler.

That might actually be an unfair comparison, Violet supposed, as she looked upon some of the people surrounding her, taking in the bruises and barely healed cuts and lacerations on their skin. She’d gotten quite lucky following the siege, many others hadn’t.

In the chaos following the palace’s fall, Iona and Violet had hurried to reach the escape from the dungeons but, after running afoul of enemy soldiers, Iona had told Violet to run and keep people safe. Which she had. Or at least, had tried to.

When the panicked crowd had emerged into the main courtyard and been set upon by bloodthirsty Accursed warriors however, Violet had been able to do very little to save them. The panic had endlessly driven them forwards, and trying to stop them was like redirecting the tide.

Not that I tried too hard. Violet thought bitterly, shame biting at her chest as she remembered how quickly she had fallen to saving her own skin. Scrambling back into the corridors and chambers of the main palace, searching for another way out when she had eventually, inevitably, been cornered.

Luckily for her though, the soldiers that had surrounded her had not been the monstrous Accursed and instead had been warriors of her father’s treacherous second legion. And their commander had recognised her. He’d ordered her captured and escorted to her old chambers, where she had remained, under guard. It appeared her father was willing to betray and murder all that he had ever stood for and held dear, except for her.

Lucky me. She shied away from the low, hyena chuckle of an Accursed that closed in on her right side, holding her hand to her face to block the smell of old blood from the creature as it moved through the crowd. A calmly swimming shark amongst a school of fish. Violet watched the crowd part fearfully around it, a young woman actively clutching her elderly mother in terror at the sight of it. Lucky, lucky me.

Ahead of her, the crowd was coming to a stop as they reached the Village itself, the city’s “high temple”. It was, as its name suggested, a village, built within the expanse of green parkland that stood at the eastern edge of the Spring District. Thirteen buildings stood within the space, each one an approximation of some form of building that would be seen in villages around the world. Each building represented a god of The Village, and each god held a role within society.

Bless the Builder, who taught us to raise our homes. Bless the Farmer, who brought us the land’s bounties. Violet fell into the prayer unconsciously as she approached the Village.

Bless the Sailor, who showed us how to brave the sea winds. Bless the Scholar, who granted us wisdom. The crowd moved into the space, corralled by soldiers of the Second Legion, and the Accursed with them.

Bless the Physician, who taught us to endure and heal from pains and sickness. Bless the Minstrel, who brought us love and laughter. Violet and her personal escort of Legionnaires moved through the space, towards an open area at the crowd’s centre, where many of the others were already waiting.

Bless the Hunter, who guided us through the wilderness. Bless the Smith, who granted us invention and craft. Violet came to a stop by her father, who stood tall and horrifyingly proud amongst the new lord’s court. She could not even bring herself to look at him.

Bless the Merchant, who took us from rags to riches. Bless the Innkeeper who brought us to warmth before the hearth. The Accursed began moving along the crowd, making them shy back in terror, carving out a wide courtyard at the centre of the village.

Bless the Soldier, who trained us to protect ourselves and our homes. Bless the Bailiff, who taught us the laws and remains our just protector. These were prayers she had once offered to her father, when he went to war. Now Violet prayed the Soldier would strike the traitor from next to her, even as he bloated with pride.

Bless the Gravekeeper, who leads us home to family, when the endless night comes. The Gravekeeper, the god of death. Now more than ever, Violet supposed, They had Their part to play in Aldiron.

Bless Them all apart. And Bless Them all together. It takes a Village.

Violet raised her head from the silent prayer, and her breath caught in her chest with a horrific gasp, like some great invisible hand had snatched it from her mouth.

Here, in the centre of this place of the Gods, stood a demon.

Lord Draconeus looked to all the world to be a simple old man. Tall and pale skinned, with a thin, sharp face and pale white hair that was swept back from his head. His robes were ornate, black and white with wide sleeves and long flowing trails. He wore a black iron circlet atop his brow and his face was set in a bored, neutral expression. He looked perfectly natural, just a bored old man at the centre of the open space.

Were it not for his eyes.

Even from here, off to the side, Violet knew those eyes were scanning every face in the crowd, committing the moment to an endless, faultless memory. And, as she watched people shy away, she knew what it was like to look back into them.

Draconeus’ eyes looked out from beneath a shadowed, heavyset brow, pale and lifeless like a corpse’s eyes. Irises a horrid milky white that betrayed nothing of what their owner was thinking and that stared into your soul, unblinking, until all you were was laid bare before them.

Violet shuddered at the memory of her first meeting with him, summoned alongside her father the first morning after the battle. She had done all she could to avoid encountering him since. Especially since I found Zephyr and reached out to Marius.

That had been a stroke of luck. She’d found the bird hunting in the gardens in the days following the siege. It had taken a lot of careful wordplay to convince the soldiers that accompanied her everywhere that it was her bird, but they had been gullible enough to fool. And seeing as they’d been ordered to keep her safe and to provide her what comforts they could, they had helped her recapture Zephyr and take the bird to her quarters.

She’d spent the next while training Zephyr to recognise her scent, and to recall to her across a room as he had once recalled to Iona across miles of open sky. She was glad she’d spent so much time at her friend’s side while the Princess had trained the bird, it seemed to speed up the process.

When she’d felt confident enough, she’d written Marius a letter, coded in a way she knew only he could translate using a made-up language she, Marius and Iona had used as children growing up together. Then she’d found some clothes of his from his old royal apartment and let Zephyr scent them, attaching the letter to the falcon and letting him fly.

It had taken nearly three days for Zephyr to return, but return he had, and with a message from Marius back to her, written in that same language.

And so, Violet’s own personal rebellion had begun. Remain close to Draconeus and the court and tell Marius all she learned.

She was dragged back to the present as she became aware of Draconeus talking to the crowd.

“Bring forth your High Priests and Priestesses of this place. Let them kneel before me.” He called out to the crowd, his voice deep and cruel. At first, no-one moved, then the crowd parted in places, allowing a few figures to pass through. Most seemed to push back against the crowd, resisting being moved forwards. But then they reached the side of the open space and the Accursed stepped up to them, dragging them from the crowd and throwing them down to their knees.

Violet craned her neck to see who had come, recognising a few of the priests and priestesses from previous meetings, and others by the outfits they wore. She quickly took stock.

Eleven. Eleven of the Village are represented. But there is no-one for the Physician here, and no-one for the Bailiff.

If Draconeus had spotted the missing people however, he made no sign of caring. Instead, he raised his hand towards the gathered clergy, pointing a single skeletal finger towards the ground.

“Kneel.” He commanded simply. At first, no-one moved, the people before Draconeus all slowly looked at each other, none wanting to bow first. But slowly, beginning with the high priestess of the Gravekeeper, a cowled figure in a dark cloak, they all dipped to their knees and bowed their heads in reverence of the new ruler of Aldiron.

Draconeus let out a single, satisfied chuckle. Next to her, Violet’s father echoed the sound, nodding to himself like he’d just been privy to some private joke. Violet wished, not for the first time that Iona had taken a second to confirm his death after she’d defeated him during the battle.

“It is good to see that humankind still remembers to bow before their betters.” Draconeus began, walking forwards to pass between the priests, his hands held low at his sides. The long fingers ran along the shoulders and faces of the kneeling figures either side of him, caressing the cheeks of the priest of the Soldier and the priestess of the Minstrel. The priestess dared not move, shaking slightly in terror as his fingertips traced her ear, but the priest of the Soldier pulled quickly away. Draconeus looked at him carefully, giving a half nod and a small smirk of some personal satisfaction before he turned and moved on again.

“I want each of you to speak to the gathered people here. Loud enough so that they can all hear you. I want each of you to give a sermon.” Draconeus’ wanderings ceased and he came to a stop before the priests again, his fingers steepling together and tapping slowly off one another.

“You will speak of the falseness of your ‘Gods’. Of how they are nothing more than a fairy story, invented to help you sleep at night. Of how they were a creation of primitive minds who could not understand the true gods had been usurped from their throne. How you denounce them and yourselves as baseless liars and charlatans and that the time of truth has returned to Aldiron.” Draconeus announced, sending ripples of shock through the crowd that could hear him.

Violet’s hand went to her mouth, her blood freezing across her body and her hair standing on end. What Draconeus was demanding was blasphemy, a very rejection of the Village itself. No-one would ever agree.

“None shall speak the lies you spout demon!” The voice was commanding, a loud call that drowned out all others, cutting as deeply as Draconeus’ own. Heads turned as one towards the source.

A man, perhaps thirty years of age, was walking through the crowd towards Draconeus. He wore grey robes, simple in their design and yet on him, elegant and regal. His red hair was tied in a bun towards the top of his head, before falling into curved waves further down. He had a thick beard that covered his chin. His eyes remained hidden however, by a thin strip of grey cloth tied across them.

The High Priest of the Bailiff made blind like the justice he had to administer.

He showed no sign of blindness however, as he approached Draconeus, tall and broad shouldered. Indeed, it appeared even through the blindfold, he could see the demon clearly as he kept his gaze locked to him.

Draconeus though, simply scoffed and shook his head as the priest came to a stop opposite him, blocking Draconeus from approaching the other priests.

“There are no lies to speak, blind fool. No falsehoods to preach nor deceptions to teach. These things you all worship as Gods are nothing but usurpers and traitors.” Draconeus’ voice was calm, like chastising a child for not attending to their lessons properly. The Bailiff priest stood defiant.

“You are not of the Gods, you are a perversion of them, of their justice and truth.” He retorted. The words held for a second as Draconeus tilted his head to the side. His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering beneath the pale skin of his cheek as those milk white eyes focussed on the priest.

“Justice? Justice, is it?” He repeated, his voice emotionless now. Not calm, just… hollow. Every instinct Violet had to run lit across her body and she began to shake. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. Step by step, Draconeus began to move towards the priest.

“Is it just to rise up against those who ruled before you? Is it just to plot with the enemies of your rulers to devise weapons to kill them? Is it just to slaughter them to a man like beasts carrying some plague?” Some cold rage had entered that hollow voice, ancient and unfathomable. Violet was amazed as the priest remained standing.

“My kind ruled this world, little blind one, long before your Gods were more than cave drawings, painted by some tribal fool. My kind ruled and we were your Gods, we helped you rise and granted some lucky few of you a fraction of our power. Power with which you carved your homes, with which you learned to scrape together your grunts and hoots into words.” Draconeus reached the priest, and Violet suddenly realised why the man had not retreated or moved.

He couldn’t.

Draconeus’ eyes were no longer white but glowed a blazing blood red fire. Shadows seemed to stretch from him with no regard to the absence of the sun in the rain. They coiled around the priest and held him rigid, squeezing around him so tightly that Violet could make out the blood vessels beginning to burst across his cheeks as he struggled for breath that would not come. He twitched in panic and terror as Draconeus reached forwards to take him firmly by the chin, tilting his head upwards to stare into his burning eyes.

“And when we had given your wretched ancestors knowledge and power, you sought to usurp us. You named us “demons” and raised false gods to take our place. You burned our homes and slaughtered us and called us monsters! And now you hide, snivelling behind statues of Farmers and Soldiers and Gravekeepers.” Draconeus lifted the priest from the ground, showing no effort at all at the movement. He drew the priest up until he was at eye level with him.

“You wish to see justice, blind fool? You wish to know truths? That is the truth of your Gods. And this is the God’s justice!” Draconeus’ eyes burned so brightly the red light spilled from him, casting those horrible shadows in all directions.

And then the priest began to scream.

At first the sounds were moans, pained and stressed. And then they rose in pitch and volume until the sound pierced deep into Violet’s very soul and lodged itself there.

There wasn’t even a clear cause of them to begin with. And then, beneath the robes, the priest’s skin began to light up from within. It was as if an inferno blazed within him, held at bay only by his skin.

The man thrashed and wailed and clawed at his face, tearing away his own skin and revealing that there was nothing beneath but hot blood red fire. The blindfold burned away to ash as flames erupted from his eyes and mouth. His screams rose again one last time, blending with the roar of the flames as he began to flake away as blazing embers, rising into the stormy grey sky.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over.

Violet wasn’t sure how long had passed, had it only been a few seconds? Or had Draconeus stretched out the torture over minutes, paying back the priest’s defiance in full. However long it had been, she was quite certain the moment would be burned into her mind for eternity, and that no amount of pleasurable, hopeful moments would ever overcome it.

Draconeus stood at the centre of the space, his hand still outstretched as it had been. Only now it didn’t hold a red bearded chin but instead a blackened, charred skull. The pitted eye sockets, now truly blind, stared forwards endlessly and the jaw was jammed wide open in an unending, agonised, scream.

Draconeus stared into those eye sockets a moment longer, the red light flowing back into him and dying away until he had returned to the pale old man he had been a moment before. And then he scoffed once and tossed the skull aside, a toy that no longer interested him. It thudded into the mud with a wet splash a short distance in front of Violet. Then his pale gaze fell back to the gathered priests.   

Not a sound came across the space. It was as if even the rain itself feared making sound as it silently fell.

And then the high priest of the Builder stood and turned towards the crowd.

“The Builder and the Village are no more Gods than I. They are charlatans, usurping the throne of godship from those who came before us, and I renounce Them and all They stand for as false!” He called out, his voice choked with tears, but it did not waver.

Violet felt tears sting her face and her stomach twisted violently. This was wrong. She knew it. And as the other members of the priesthood one by one followed suit in denouncing the Village, all Violet could do was stare into the eye sockets of the skull screaming up at her from the mud.

Another who defied Draconeus for the true Aldiron. I wonder how long it will be until I join him.

As the last of the priests finished their sermon, Draconeus stepped up amongst them.  

“As we have clearly established, this place is no temple or place of worship. It is a home of falsehoods and blasphemies and thus, it shall be torn down!” Wails of anguish rose from the crowd and heads snapped towards the broken people of Aldiron, unable to hold back their cries of fear and loss any longer. A few of the Accursed began their monstrous chuckling, already moving to enter the crowd and hunt the protesters. Sharks with blood in the water. But Draconeus held up a single hand and they all froze in place, awaiting their master’s orders.

“However, I am not without sympathy. This place, though the premise was a lie, was a centre of community for the people of our fair city. And so it shall continue to be. A place of gathering, of entertainment.” He chuckled to himself, his gaze briefly falling over the charred skull in the dirt. “Of justice.”

“Rubble from the battle, and the remains of this village, shall be put to good use to erect a grand arena here on this spot. If this place was one of judgement and justice then so it shall continue. Fights here shall be held to settle disputes and to bring forth equity in all judgements. The victors will be righteous and honourable, and the losers…” He trailed off with a sick smile.

“This place shall be the beginning of my restoration of Aldiron to truth and the ways of old, long forgotten. Do not despair, this order I bring shall keep us all as we should be kept. In our rightful places.” Draconeus turned and walked away, approaching Violet, her father and the other members of court that had thus far survived his rule.

The cheering began from the Accursed, spreading into the crowd around them like a wildfire as everyone hurried to agree with the monsters.

And then a sound that to Iona was so much worse, began to join them. Her father began to rhythmically slam his fist against his steel breastplate in salute. And soon after him, the sound echoed from every second legion soldier around them as they repeated the beat. A horrid metallic drumbeat that sounded like the marching feet of death.

I cannot stand idle. Violet realised. I cannot afford to look like I do not agree.

And so, supressing the shaking only by biting so hard into the inside of her cheek that she tasted copper, Violet joined the beating salute. Her fist slammed hard into her breast, over and over. And yet she felt nothing.

Draconeus reached the group and stepped up next to Violet’s father, seemingly taking so little notice of her presence that he actually put himself between her and her father. But that suited her fine, as she did not need to strain at all to hear what was said between them.

“The Physician?”

“My men report that the temple has been empty since the siege My Lord. But multiple reports have come to me stating that followers of the Physician have been seen accompanying rebel fighters throughout the lower city.” Hills reported back. Draconeus let out a low growl.

“The continued defiance of these rebels does not look well upon your promises of delivering me a pacified Aldiron, Grand Marshall. I remain… unimpressed.”

“With all due respect My Lord, my legion and I are a battlefield force, the keeping and knowledge of the city was not our duty. We do not know it as well as the former city legions or guard forces that make up the rebels.”

“Then you and the second legion had better learn the city quickly. Or find me an alternative way to crush these dissidents.”

“That, My Lord, may be something I can help with.”

It was a new voice, not her father’s. It was smoother, though still held the superior, cold nature of the upper city of Aldiron. It could almost be described as attractive, even seductive.

If it weren’t for the fact that Violet recognised exactly who it belonged to even before she and the rest of the gathered courtiers turned to take in the gaggle of newcomers.

They were armed with a variety of crude weaponry, clubs and axes mostly, and their armour was leather and padded cloths, poorer and worse equipped than the second legion. Men and women of different sizes and looks, some pierced and others tattooed, they stood with no sense of uniformity. They looked so ragtag that the Accursed around them looked almost like a well-trained army.

At their centre stood two men. The taller was a mountain of a man, a unit of muscles that seemed barely contained behind the leather armour he wore. His hair was so short he seemed bald, and his cruel face was pinched into an angry sneer. His left ear was missing, little more than a ragged stub of flesh left where it should be. A brutal, thick-headed iron mace hung at his side.

And yet, despite the terror of the larger man’s appearance, it was the other that made Violet’s stomach sink through the ground.

The other man had been the one that had spoken. And at first glance, it seemed the appearance matched the silken smoothness of the voice. He was well dressed and groomed, with a teal blue coat that complemented dark eyes. His sand brown hair was swept back from his head, and he smiled an easy, confident smile that showed neat white teeth.

But the effect was marred by the twisting, pitted burn scarring that spiderwebbed up the left side of his neck and stopped just below his eye. Like his companion, his left ear was missing, lost to the burns that had consumed his left side. He hid his left hand beneath a black leather glove.

His right hand was missing, the sleeve pinned back to reveal that he had lost all of the arm from just below the elbow.

And as Lord Draconeus turned to address him, and former traitor to the crown Lord Aaron Trident and his followers bowed low in reverence, Violet knew the letter she would write to Marius tonight would be long and detailed.

And maybe even my last. She thought as her gaze met the empty eye sockets of the rebellious priest once more.