Difference between revisions of "BurgerSlave/InterestingTimes"

Revision as of 11:23, 10 February 2005

Interesting Times

“My place is of the sun and
This place is of the dark and
I do not feel the romance
I do not catch the spark
My place, my sun grows stronger
And I will not be a pawn
Of the prince of darkness
Any longer”

--Indigo Girls, ‘Prince of Darkness’

The meal had been sumptuous, certainly far better fare than Captain Flint was accustomed to. He had sampled succulent fishes from the West, delicacies from the Blessed Isle, and dishes seasoned with the finest Southern spices. Dessert had been a lime sorbet kept frozen by ice from the utter North.

Whenever one wants something from somebody, one uses many bribes. Captain Flint had not been the commanding officer of the Jade Company for ten years by being naïve. The Jade Company had served the city of Nexus for centuries. Having once been the Company's Annalist, Captain Flint knew that the Company had its origins in the time before the Great Contagion had decimated the city of Hollow. There were hints in the earliest Annals, even, that it had been founded by one of the long-lost Solar Exalted.

As fanciful as this might have seemed, Flint had other things to consider. For instance, why was it that the Council of Entities had taken such interest in the Company, all of a sudden? Such to the point that the Emissary had invited him to this soiree to discuss business personally. There was any number of mercenary outfits in Nexus they could consider. Why his?

He pondered this as a silken-clad girl less than half his age offered him a tray laden with jars full of fragrant herbs for his pipe. He chose an exotic blend of Southeastern tobacco, trying not to notice that the silver-masked visage of the Emissary was watching him.

"Let us speak plainly, Captain," the Emissary said at length. "The Council wishes to retain your company's services. There is a place to the west of here, some week's march down the Yanaze River. A city called Thorns. You have, perhaps, heard of it?"

Flint nodded. Who hadn't? "And once we arrive there?" he asked, trying to keep his attention off the girl and on business. Damned if the Council didn't know how to sweeten a deal. As any soldier can tell you, the way to a man's heart is through his britches. His wife would not have approved.

"There is a warlord there. A sorcerer of small consequence who calls himself Mask of Winters. We believe that he may one day pose a threat to the city. We wish for your soldiers to put an end to that threat." The Emissary slipped a velvet-gloved hand into its robes and withdrew a folded slip of rice paper. "Here are the terms of your employment. We believe you will find them most satisfactory."

Flint coughed up a lungful of pipe smoke when he saw the figure. "Five man-weights of jade?" he asked, thumping his chest. "Venus’ tits, man. All this for a 'sorcerer of small consequence'?" He shook his head. That was enough jade to completely refit the Company, build their own permanent compound in the city, and have enough left over to keep them in all in geishas and sake for the rest of their natural lives. It was too much. Too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

The Emissary simply shrugged. "Will you take the job or not?" it asked. "Your men are uniquely suited to this task, and it would please us if you would accept."

Flint's mind raced. If he turned the offer down, his men would never forgive him. Five talents. A full ton of jade, just for a week's march and what promised to be an easy scuffle. He'd dealt with sorcerers before. At best, they were able to curse a few bowstrings or summon rain to turn the battlefield soggy. And if they happened to have a Dragon-Blooded sorcerer among them, well, Trina was competent enough a sorceress to use Emerald Countermagic to protect the men. Even so, something nagged at the back of his mind. It was too easy.

The Emissary seemed to sense his hesitance. It reached beneath its side of the table and placed a thick sheaf of scrolls upon the table’s black-laquered surface. “Our librarians discovered these in a vault deep in the catacombs beneath the city,” it stated, pushing them over to Flint’s side. “We believe you would find them interesting.”

Flint leaned over. The top page was dusty, and the ink was faded. But he could just make out the graceful strokes of Old Realm heiroglyphs. He forced his brain to translate the first few characters. Those were enough to put his heart in his throat. “The first volume of the Annals,” he whispered.

The Emissary nodded. “It is known that your company has searched for these pages for some time,” it stated. “We will include them with your payment.”

Flint took a deep breath. It was all too convenient. Five talents of jade and the long-lost first volume of the Annals of the Jade Company? No man was blessed with such luck in a hundred lifetimes. "Double the retainer, and we’re in," he stated at length. “Half in advance.” There. The Council would be daft to accept such an outrageous demand. They had to be.

"Done."

Flint closed his eyes and kicked himself. Damn and double damn. Now they were committed. Once the Jade Company accepted a commission, they never backed out. They had a reputation to defend. He tried not to let his consternation show as he signed his name to the contract and pressed his personal chop into the wax to seal the deal. "Be ready to march in two day's time," the Emissary was saying. But Flint barely heard. His whole body was turning numb with dread. There was something desperately wrong here.

How did that old curse go? May you live in interesting times; may you attract the notice of those in high station; and may all your dreams come true.

Damn and double damn.

I have never questioned my place in the world. Like so many others, I was born in the slums of Nexus. I am told that my father was a roaming mercenary and that my mother was one of the city’s many whores who died of syphilis when I was still a babe. I was fortunate enough to have been taken in by a charitable old man as a child. He named me Flint, after the stone that holds fire. Gentle River was a physician by trade. I learned later on that he was also a defrocked monk, thrown out of the Immaculate Order for an unfortunate habit of buggering the serving lads when the priors weren't watching. Sure, he took a pass at me a couple times, too. But if it meant a roof over my head and a warm blanket by the hearth, I didn't mind taking a shot in the mouth now and then. In Nexus, you learn practicality early on.

Gentle River did his best to educate me. I learned how to read and write in both the common and noble language of the Realm, and memorized a few of the sutras from the Immaculate Texts. He tried to teach me his trade as well, but I would have none of that. I did not have the patience to be a physick. What did I know? I was a boy, and eager to have adventures, as all boys are. I remember watching the mercenary companies marching by, dressed in their bright armor, swords and spears at the ready, their standards snapping in the wind. They'd always have a smile and a wave for the young lads who flocked along the streets, pretending to be soldiers themselves. I knew that that was what I wanted: to see the world, and earn fortune and glory with my sword. When I was fourteen, I left Gentle River's home and found my way to the Jade Company's barracks.

At first, Captain Rolan was dubious of taking me on. He didn't care for runaways and street rabble. But he changed his tune when I demonstrated that I was literate in not one, but three languages. He took me under his wing and made me the Company's Annalist. In the mornings, I was up with the men for daily drill and calisthenics. I spent my evenings studying the Company's Annals. Once a week, the Captain would read a passage from the Annals to the entirety of the Company, to remind us all of our shared heritage and the things that made us what we are. We, who have no family, turn to each other for brotherhood. Us against the world. That's the way of the Jade Company.

I remember the day Nefvarin Trina joined our number. It had been some years since a Prince of the Earth had marched with the Company, but there was precedent. She was an Aspect of Air from Lookshy, on the run from her family and seeking to make her own fortunes. I don’t claim to understand how those sorts of things go, but I was smitten at the first sight of her. She turned me into a gaggle-tongued schoolboy whenever she came around. I think she enjoyed making me blush every time I tripped over my own words. I thought, perhaps, to court her, until I found out that she was old enough to be my grandmother.

Sure as hell didn’t look it. But who can tell with the Exalted?

Even despite that, a curious romance blossomed between the two of us. I think it started when Trina told me that I was ‘cute’. As the years rolled on, we grew closer. She tried to teach me sorcery, but I have not the head for such things. I leave occult learning to those suited to it. I am simply a soldier, even if I happen to be a particularly literate and well-read soldier.

I was forty when Captain Rolan went the way all mortals must. It was a difficult passing for us all. He had been the only father many of us had ever known. Every soldier in the Company kicked in to have him sent to Sijan for burial with all the bells and whistles. After that, we drew lots to see who would step up to be the new Captain. I’m not entirely sure why we troubled ourselves with it. Some things are destined, as they say. I did not want to be Captain, but the men would follow no other. So, I tied my hair in the topknot, began teaching young Mist how to read and write High and Low Realm, and took over Captaincy of the Jade Company. Oh yeah, and I married Trina, but that was more because she insisted. After all, some things are destined.

After but three years into my captaincy, the rumors began to filter into Nexus. We would hear them here and there. One of the mercs who spoke to a Guild dominie who heard it from an itinerant monk who had overheard two Dynasts talking about how the Scarlet Empress of the Realm had been missing for fully a year. At first, I passed it off as idle chatter. People talk, as it might be. Besides, what did we care what happened on the Blessed Isle? I sure as hell had never been there, nor did I ever plan to go there. I’ve met the captains of some of the Scarlet Legions. Their sticks are crammed up so far, it’s small wonder they don’t shit splinters. I bet the Wood Aspects do. Admittedly, the blokes I’ve spoken to in the Vermillion Legion are all right, but they’re still lackeys of the Scarlet Dynasty, so far as I’m concerned. Personally, I can think of a dozen more interesting places to vacation in Creation.

But then, the rumors became gossip, and the gossip became talk. The Empress’s disappearance had everyone’s tongues wagging in the taverns and teahouses. All the while, the Company picked up contracts and earned its keep. When the city of Thorns was sacked, none of us paid no never mind. These sorts of things happen in the Scavenger Lands. The Hundred Kingdoms were always shifting around. If they didn’t, then a lot of us mercs would be begging for our bread in the streets. Another day, another obol. Same thing when the Bull of the North started his little hoo-hah up in the North. Heard tell that he kicked the Tepet legions’ asses clear from Gethamane to Greyfalls. That was good for a hoot or two. It was good to hear that the high-and-mighty Dynasts were having it stuck to ‘em a time or three. There were some that said that the Bull was one of the Anathema, but folk say lots of things with enough warm sake in their belly.

Two years ago was when things got interesting. The Realm decided that they’d like to have Nexus for themselves, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. They must have been desperate, considering the fiasco they’d suffered with the Tepets not long before. That Regent of theirs must be every bit the dipshit they say he is, since he sent a full five-dragon force of troops to lay siege to the city. I’m sure they’re glad to be rid of the blathering idiot. They blockaded the three rivers, and even fielded a few warstriders. That was interesting. Trina had told me all about warstriders, but I’d never actually seen one before that day.

What was more interesting was the artifact that they launched to hang over the entire city. Every now and then, it let off a wave of some sort of strange-colored light. It didn’t do anything to us mere mortals, but Trina told me that it did something strange to the ambient Essence, and made it impossible for her to use her Charms or cast spells. That right there told me that whoever was commanding that army was an even bigger fool than I had imagined. Sure, their toy disarmed the Exalts in Nexus. But it also disarmed their own, and likely made their warstriders useless as well.

The night the siege broke was the most interesting part of all. I was there, leading the Company in defense of the southern gates, when I saw what looked like a falling star. Only this one was bright gold, and fell up, instead of down. It arced over the city walls, and I wondered if the shitheads in the rear were using catapults, or some sort of First Age weapon. But the star hit the floating sphere above the city and clove it in twain. Then, it dropped into the slums near Nighthammer, and that’s the last we saw of it. After that, all the fight went out of the Dynasts, and they promptly tucked their tails like good little mama’s boys. All the mercs who participated in the defense of the city were paid handsomely, and that was the end of it.

And so it went for some months after that. We took our contracts. We enjoyed our off seasons. Every week, I read from the Annals while the men listened. I’d see to my wife when she got frisky, which was often. But who the hell am I to argue? It’s not easy being the mortal spouse of a Prince of the Earth, but the benefits sure as hell are nice. It’s not like you can tell someone like her that you’ve got a headache when her blood’s running hot.

It was after one such memorable toss in the sheets, right at that moment when the passions are cooling to warm embers, when I broke the news about our latest commission to her. She shared my misgivings, but she, too, was lured by the smell of jade. It had been a lean season for the Company, and we were desperate for a rich contract.

“Besides,” she said. “It’s time our luck changed for the better. And I need to practice my sorcery anyway.”

I made some saucy comment that she could always practice on me, since every little thing she does is magic. Her response was equally saucy, in more ways than one.

God damn, I love that woman.

As I write this, I am holed up in a cave somewhere between Thorns and Sijan. The rain’s coming down in sheets thick as lead. I will try to relate what has happened over the past few days as best I can. My words will not be adequate, but they are all that I have.

We headed out from Nexus in the first week of Ascending Wood. At first, the troops’ spirits were high. It was an easy march along the Yanaze. Plentimon smiled upon me during our nightly games of knucklebone, and my wallet got a little heavier with each toss of the dice. We all boasted what we would do with our share of the payment when we got back to Nexus with Mask of Winters’ head in tow.

Gods save us. We should have known better.

At the first hint of shadowland, we should have turned back. We should have returned the first half of the retainer. If I had known then what I know now, I would have burned the first volume of the Annals, and Company tradition be damned to the coldest hell in Malfeas. Damn us and our greed. Damn me for not knowing better.

But the Jade Company never backs out.

We were met at the outskirts of Thorns by a creature that called itself ‘Bearer of the Chalice Filled With Tears’. It claimed to speak for Mask of Winters, and welcomed us to join his legions. We laughed in the Bearer’s face, and told it to tell its master that we were coming for him. The Bearer just shook its head and spurred its pale horse back to the citadel.

After that, all hell broke loose.

When the mortal troops started marching out of Thorns, we met them steel for steel. They were well-trained, that was clear, but we had the advantage of seasoning and superior equipment. Indeed, their equipment was pitifully maintained. Their blades were rusty, their armor unpolished, their arrows missing half their fletching. Anyone who fielded such a force should have been ashamed, I remember thinking.

Then, the dead started to get up. And they took up arms, and started to fight. Skeletons clawed their way from the ground. Men wearing Jade Company colors turned on their brothers. Now, we had fought armies before that were other than mortal. We had crossed blades with Wyld-tainted barbarians. We had battled with spirits and little gods. We had even once met the forces of the Fair Folk with swords coated in cold iron. Nothing could have prepared us for this.

For the first time in recorded history, the Jade Company broke and routed. The men fled for their lives, and were slain where they stood, only to rise up again. I heard Trina’s voice thundering across the battlefield as she summoned her magics. The Death of Obsidian Butterflies turned great swaths of the field into red pulp. But such magic cost her, even as her anima lit the field like a blue bonfire.

Mist, gods bless his heart, refused to let the standard fall, even as the greenest troops were hacked to bits by their own fallen comrades. I could see Trina, fighting her way through hordes of zombies, trying to reach the standard. We both cheered her on, hollering her name, jumping and shouting like idiots. I could see her icon, a great blue dragon, riding the winds of her anima.

Her way was blocked. The Bearer stepped out of a shadow, holding a daiklave of hematite-colored metal that whimpered and moaned. Blood poured from its forehead, and hateful black fire curled around its form. They fought, but it was no real contest. Trina was exhausted. All her Essence was gone, and she had nothing left. The Bearer’s daiklave shrieked as it clove through her jade breastplate and cut my wife’s torso in half.

Then, it turned, and spied Mist and I, clutching the standard. And it smiled. When I saw its fangs, wet with my wife’s blood, I nearly unmanned myself then and there. But it didn’t advance upon us. Not yet. Then, I looked past the Bearer to the citadel, and I saw why.

The buildings moved. They rose into the air with a groaning of stone and timber. Up, up they went, the hill beneath them rippling as if in an earthquake. Then I saw the rotted face beneath the citadel, and realized that the hills were shoulders. Shoulders a mile wide. The face lifted up, and let loose the most godawful moan. That was when my bladder chose to void itself, and did so quite violently.

I dropped to my knees. Mist clung to me, sobbing. We were both doomed. What could an old man and a lad barely old enough to shave do against that? I readied my knife as the Bearer advanced on us. They might have our bodies, but I’d be thrice-damned if I let them have the pleasure of taking our lives. I had enough courage left for that, at least. “Close your eyes, son,” I remember whispering to Mist, who whimpered in my arms.

That was when I heard the voice. “BE NOT AFRAID,” it thundered in my heart. “RISE UP, MY CHOSEN. TAKE UP YOUR SPEAR. PIERCE THE DARKNESS.” I looked up at the noonday sun. It had been pale and watery green before, an effect of the shadowlands, I imagine. But now, it shone clear and golden, and drove back the stormclouds that had been gathering. That same light was shining from my forehead, and it drove away the despair.

I rose, picking up the standard. I knew its name, now: Passion Flame. In another lifetime, it had been mine. I drew a deep breath, and tasted the Essence Trina had told me about so many times. With an exhalation, I drove back the darkness, calling upon the Unconquered Sun to smite my enemies. The walking dead were hurled back by the power uncoiling within me. Corpses that had not yet begun to walk crumbled to ash at my touch. Soon, a clear circle surrounded me and Mist, and only the Bearer stood against us.

It hissed and leveled its daiklave at me. Then, it charged, moving faster than my eye could track. I set Passion Flame against its advance and steeled myself. I knew that the Sun would not abandon me.

Passion Flame’s shaft buckled as the Bearer impaled itself upon the head. It squirmed and shrieked as I reversed my grip and drove it into the ground, mingling its blood with that of my brothers. When it finally stopped moving, I yanked my weapon out of its guts. Then, I brought the Flame’s head down on its daiklave, shattering the blade into a hundred screaming fragments.

Silence enveloped the battlefield. The walking dead prowled the edge of my anima, not daring to approach any closer. In the distance, the Juggernaut lifted one massive arm and reached towards the northwest. With a thought, I was able to sharpen my vision, and I was able to see Mask of Winters standing at the crown of Juggernaut’s head.

A sorcerer of small consequence my ass.

Then, the behemoth had pulled itself away, and out of the range of my newfound sight.

I looked down at Mist. He was staring at my forehead. I put a hand up, which did nothing to dim the light that was pouring out of me like blood from a wound. I opened my mouth to speak, when I heard a sound. I turned my gaze upon the hills to the east, and saw a rider galloping away. Towards Nexus.

It all dawned on me in that moment. The Council knew. They knew what Mask of Winters was, the bastards. What they didn’t know was his capabilities, what he could field against an armed and disciplined fighting force. Officers would pay much to gain that kind of intelligence. The price tag for the Council: five talents of jade and the lives of my men.

I heaved myself to my feet, leaning against Passion Flame. Despite my newfound vigor, I felt every one of my fifty years, and I knew those were merely a drop in the bucket compared to how long I have ahead of me now. “Let’s go, Mist,” I said. While he gathered provisions, I saw to the bodies of our dead, burning as many as I could before I was utterly exhausted. For Trina, I gave her a battlefield funeral, burying her with the shards of her killer’s daiklave. I didn’t have any more Essence to burn her body, but I think the Unconquered Sun heard my prayers all the same. I can only imagine how she’d feel knowing that her husband was now Solar Anathema and was performing pagan funeral rites for her. Still, it’s the best I can offer her. Gods know I would have given her so much more, had I had the chance.

So here we are now, five days later. We swam across the Yanaze and headed north. The Linowan people revere the Unconquered Sun, and I hope to find shelter among them. I’m worried about Mist. What with the rain we’ve had the last three days, there’s been no game and little forage. What scraps I’ve found, I’ve made sure he eats. But it’s not enough. I’ve had to carry him the last few miles.

We found this cave and I managed to find enough dry wood to get a small fire going. I could study the first volume of the Annals, but I already know what they say. I’ve been having dreams every night since my Second Breath. I dream about the man named Tal Sheung, Golden Voice of the Sun, Keeper of Passion Flame and Chosen of the Zenith Caste. He founded the Jade Company with his retinue of Terrestrial Exalted and their mortal followers. They were holy warriors in service of Heaven, striking down the infidels who dared to challenge the sacred dictum of the Unconquered Sun.

Then, the Terrestrials turned upon their general and slew him during the Usurpation. When their treachery was done, they abandoned their mortal soldiers and returned to the Blessed Isle, leaving them to the tender mercies of the Great Contagion and the Fair Folk. They hung together, forming a brotherhood that would stand for fifteen hundred years. They swore that they would not have a general, but only a Captain, and they would sell their swords to earn their keep. They would be loyal only unto themselves. Thus would the Jade Company find shelter and sanctuary in the ruins of Hollow. And the rest, as it is said, is history.

So this mantle has fallen upon my shoulders. The Unconquered Sun has chosen me to be His priest and mouthpiece in this world. His voice admonishes me to rebuild the Company and to take up our sacred duty once again. By His direction, I am to rekindle the light of virtue in this sore and weary world. It will be a hard path to tread. I have no holy texts save the Annals. I have no sutras save our motto. But I will not falter. I will avenge my brothers. The Council owes us big. Five man-weights of jade and blood besides. No one crosses the Company and lives to tell the tale. Conquering Nexus in the name of the Sun is only the beginning. Beyond that, who can say?

Once word gets back to the mercenary companies still in Nexus, then they, too, will know the Council’s treachery. I hope some of them, at least, will join up with Mist and I. I don’t expect many will flock to our standard. These are mercs, after all. I didn’t get to be a mercenary Captain by being naïve. But somewhere in that city of a million souls, there must be some that thirst for justice and ache to see righteousness restored. Those are the soldiers I want serving under me. Those who serve me serve the Unconquered Sun. Somehow, someway, we will restore the rightful order of things.

This, then, is the end of the Annals of the Jade Company. Now begins the Annals of the Sun Company, First of the Free Companies of Nexus. It’s time for me to hand the brush over to Mist. The kid’s ready. He knows enough High Realm kanji to read what few Annals are written in that tongue, and he can fuddle his way through Old Realm enough to get by. His last words to me were, “I’ll follow you anywhere, Captain,” before exhaustion got him. So yeah. I trust him to write down the story of our deeds.

I can only pray they’re worthy of his brush.

Flint drew the last few characters onto the scroll, then rinsed out his brush in a puddle of rainwater. His weary gaze looked over Mist. The boy was too gaunt by far. He shouldn’t be so skinny after only three days. His time in the shadowlands must have done something to him.

Resting his head against the back of the cave, Flint closed his eyes, and spoke quietly. “Sun-Father, hear your unworthy servant’s prayer. I’m an old man. It’s all right if I go. But he’s still a boy. He hasn’t lived yet. Don’t take him away now.”

As he drowsed, the faces of his fallen friends came to mind. Cheerful Dicey. Clever Tanji. Surly Blue Boar. And Trina.

Flint listened to the rainfall, and he quietly indulged in the luxury of tears as he bade farewell to those who had been his family. Then, when his grief was spent, he curled up in his bedroll and drifted off to sleep. Truly, these were interesting times. But tomorrow would be a new day, and he would be ready to face it, no matter what. The Sun always rises, after all.

Commentary?

Really excellent work. - SMK