TheT/IzokasPrelude

The Little Market in Nexus is a busy place. Busy enough that Ausra is compelled to keep her young son next to her at all times. Children can often disappear only to reappear in a whorehouse years later... or never reappear at all. There are closer shops to the House of the Silver Stars, ones that Ausra's son might be more familiar with, but Ausra has come all the way out here for a particular reason, for a particular purpose. She hasn't bothered to tell Izokas what that purpose is yet, though. As he's only five or six, he doesn't really have much choice in the matter, at the moment, anyway.

Izokas watches the crowds with wide eyes -- he's seem them before, obviously, but never in this part of town. He's old enough to realize that staying close to his mother is safer than not, so no chance of him running off to stare at something shiny for the moment. He just follows, waiting to see where they're going.

No knickknacks or clothing or food... but books. Ausra combs the market for books. Not just any books, but books on history and the Immaculate Philosophy, on Threshold and Realm politics, on mathematics. "Tonight," she informs her son, "you begin your education." Some other children, likely a pack of orphans, titters from behind a swell of passers-by, but disappear quickly at a stern look from Ausra.

Izokas blinks at his mother, looking a little confused, but he simply nods. The tittering makes him blush for a moment, throwing a dark scowl in their direction before he asks his mother slowly, "What...am I learning?"

Ausra smiles at that. She has a beautiful smile, though there are times when it's rarely seen. "To read, Izokas. And then, whatever I can teach you. Remember always that your mind is your most important possession. It is the sharpness of mind that made a common soldier into the Scarlet Empress. It is the focus of mind that makes a common boy into a priest of the Immaculates, or a censor of the Thousand Scales. Your mind is whwat will determine how great a man you will grow to be." High words for such a young boy, but Ausra would repeat them often, in one form or another, as the years went by.

That little boy blinks up at his mother -- the other girls at the house may be cousins and aunts, but only she is truly, consciously -family-. The only one he has, in a way, utterly trusted. Izokas tries so hard to really understand all those words, but in the end, at this age, loses some of the subtlety. He's left with one answer, given quietly but sincerely, "I'll do my best to learn, mother."

"I know you will," Ausra says, already proud, even before the lessons have begun. It takes several hours, but she is eventually satisfied with her selection of books. The very next day she puts them to use, teaching Izokas his letters and numbers. There isn't a terrible amount of privacy in a whorehouse, even one as nice as the House of Silver Stars, and Ausra never tried to keep Izokas' education a secret anyhow. It wasn't long before she was essentially teaching classes, at the behest of the madam, bringing a whole new level of culture to an already well thought-of house.

As for Izokas himself, he is all his mother hoped he would be, intelligent and curious. It remained to be seen, however, just where he would go from the House of the Silver Stars as the years passed. It was when customers started asking if the boy was for sale that Ausra took him to Hobb the blacksmith, who has been known to do work for the House of the Silver Stars in the past.

His shop is humble, but his work is very good. He and Ausra talk for a while, before the smith asks Izokas himself, "You have a reason why I should take you on, boy?"

Izokas stares up at the man -- he's yet to come anywhere near the height he'll have as an adult, but he's far from short for his age. He and his mother may not have spoken directly about why they'd come, but it's clear he's picked up on it anyway from context. He spares Ausra a brief glance, as if asking her permission, before he turns his attention to Hobb and the question. "Because I learn quickly; everyone says so. Because I'll work hard."

Hobb eyes the boy, rubbing his chin, making a show of inspection. "You'll have to work more than hard," he finally says. "You're going to hate me for the next few weeks. You're going to swing a hammer until you can't feel your arms anymore. You're going to have burn scars from the sparks on your arms, and when you go to sleep at night, you're going to still hear the ringing of the anvil in your ears. You willing to try and handle that?"

Ausra looks on silently.

Izokas stares over again at his mother, but clearly gets no help there. This is his obstacle to face, then. He looks around the shop thoughtfully, then looks up at Hobb again and apparently decides the straightforward answer is best. "I'm curious, how this all works. I'm willing to try, sir."

"Go ahead and leave him with me, Ausra," Hobb says. "I'll show him what he needs to know." And so began Isokas' apprenticeship, and it was everything that Hobb said, and probably a little worse. But in time, muscles strengthen, and skin toughens, and the ringing of the anvil is more music than din. The day comes when Izokas is allowed to do his own work -- simple enough, it's hammering nails out for sale the next day. It's late afternoon, however, and the bucket with the finished nails is hardly half full.

"I know you're not one to shirk work, boy," Hobb says, upon inspecting the bucket, "but where are the rest of the nails?"

Izokas stares up at Hobb with a frown, then says slowly, "Those are the ones I got finished. I can keep working, if they're not good enough."

Hobb picks up a nail, then another, then another, inspecting each in turn. "These are fine. These are..." He holds one of the nails up to the light, squinting. "This is the straightest damn nail I've ever seen. Smooth, too. I'd tell you good work, but..." He drops the nails back into the bucket, "...this isn't art. They're nails. They don't have to be -perfect-, just hammer-worthy." The smith grunts, shaking his head in wonder. "You've got a fine eye, Izokas." Not one for lavish praise, that's something of a glowing commendation from Hobb.

Izokas blinks, then coughs and tries not to break into a big smile. Ahem. "Um...thank you, sir. I...should spend less time on the nails next time, then? I was just trying to do them like you showed me."

"Right. This is quick work. We're not making anything fancy here." Hobb pauses. "Well, not yet, at least. Finish that bucket before you leave, now." With that, he moves back out into the shop proper, to check on the other apprentice.

Izokas bobs his head quickly, but keeps staring out after Hobb until the man's out of sight before he actually returns to work. Maybe he's trying to figure out if he dreamed the praise.

After that, it is only a few years until Izokas is easily Hobb's equal, with less work. And still the lessons go on every night, no matter how tired Izokas is. Languages he rarely hears spoken in Nexus, history of places he'll likely never see, the nuances of politics in the Scarlet Empire. One day, when fortunes turn again, he will be able to return to the Realm, head held high. Or so Ausra maintained.

That day is slow in coming, however. Though Hobb is reluctant to let the best apprentice he ever had go, he is honorable enough let the young man become a journeyman in his own right. And his mother could no longer teach him any more than the world itself could.

Izokas does his best, and never complains to his mother about the lessons -- not at this point, not nearly an adult. It's all something to learn, even if he doesn't think he'll ever see the Blessed Isle, much less take the family honor back. But it makes mother happy, so he learns until she has no more to teach. Hobb's nearly a father at this point, the only male role model he's probably had besides customers for his life. He's reluctant to leave as well, but he's never going to learn more unless he does so, unless he leaves the nest and makes room for more apprentices.

There is probably work in Nexus, but it is not nearly so interesting as the road. With a portable forge and a wagon full of tools, there is more learning to be done on the road. The road is a dangerous place, but less so for one with big muscles and a ready sledgehammer than many others.

Izokas gains a name for himself, traveling from village to village, becoming an itinerant blacksmith. Yet, even good smithing doesn't stop a bit of misfortune, specifically a cracked wheel on a rugged road. It's two days away from the nearest village and the sun overhead is brutal, unusually warm for this time of year in this place in Creation.

Izokas frowns at the odd sound the wheel's making -- the crack could have been a branch, but the strained noises it's giving now. He scans the road up ahead for someplace flat, then pulls the wagon over. Hopefully under some trees, as shade would be a blessing right about now. Whatever he finds, he climbs down off the driver's seat and moves to inspect the wheel with a critical eye.

It's quiet out here, eerily quiet. No sound of birds or animals... not even the wind is stirring. On the other side of the wagon, a figure moves by, at a stroll, across the road, then up a rise. Somehow, the sun always seems to be shining in just such a way to obscure details. Whoever the figure is, it seems to be heading slowly up a nearby hill, walking as easily as one might walk a perfectly flat street.

Izokas kicks the broken wheel with a grunt, then sets about unloading enough that he has a chance to jack up that side of the wagon at all. As he comes out of the back of the wagon again, he catches the figure out of the corner of his eye. Something registers as strange, and he turns to stare up the hill while shading his eyes from the glare, trying to get a look at the figure.

The walking figure doesn't seem to block the glare so much as intensify it. It pauses and seems to look back at Izokas, waiting.

Izokas winces, and looks away slightly -- too much for his eyes. Even as he does, though, he calls out, "In need of some help, traveller?"

Whatever it is, it lifts an arm, pointing toward the summit of the hill, then resumes walking at its slow, easy pace. There seems to be something up there, glinting with the sun's light.

Izokas frowns briefly at this little bit of a mystery, then gives in to his curiosity and climbs down off the wagon. Time to follow up the hill and see what there is to see.

The figure in the sunlight makes the climb look easy. It isn't. He walks up at a slow pace, but Izokas is forced to go slowly. The treacherous slope and the punishing heat make it a long trip. Whatever it is at the top seems brighter, though, shining like the purest gold. The figure disappears into the light, after beckoning one last time. It seems to speak. "Follow your curiosity, and knowledge shall be your reward."

Izokas pants as he climbs, grunting as his fingers fight to find holds to pull himself up by. Now he's -definitely- curious, though a little wary as well. He pauses to mop the sweat off his brow just shy of the top, looking up just in time to see that figure disappear. He blinks, then murmurs, "Let's hope this isn't a mirage..." And up he goes again, struggling to reach the top so he can see just what's there.

Mirage seems very likely. Lightheadedness nearly overwhelms Izokas, and the glare of the sun is all he can see, by the time he reaches the summit, sweat-drenched and exhausted. But here, the heat is no longer painful, but warm, almost comforting. The figure is still indistinct, still cloaked in brilliance, difficult to see, even though Izokas is now at its feet.

"Izokas do'Ausra, you take the difficult path to attain perfection. You take the torturous route to gain knowledge. Would you seek glories greater than any man in Creation knows today? Would you uncover secrets unseen since the end of the First Age of Man?"

Izokas shields his eyes from the glare, but even then tries to peek past and make out the figure. He takes a deep breath in that heat, and asks slowly, "How do you know who I am? How do you know my name?"

"I am the Unconquered Sun, and I Exalt you." The light and the figure fade to normal sunlight, but a new light is burning, emanating from Izokas himself, flaring like a heatless golden flame.

Izokas stares -- down at himself, now, turning his hands in front of himself as if he's seen them only for the first time. A moment later a great and bellowing laugh erupts from inside him, wild as he lifts his head to the sky and shouts toward the Sun, "My answer is -yes-!"

The light around Izokas flares all the brighter and his forehead burns as if branded, though there is no pain. Memories that are not his own flood his mind, and there is a name: Bahaz al Za'im, Anvil of the Sun. Those memories belong to that man, and then they belong to Izokas, too -- along with the memories of a woman, just her eyes. The image of those eyes will haunt Izokas' dreams for a long time to come. There are other memories, too, of great shining cities of glass, and of foundries that build wonder after wonder, and the shining demigods, the Exalted. There is blood and terror, too, and fire and death. The very Dragon-Bloods so admired by Ausra are the betrayers, casting down their rightful rulers and taking the high places they were never meant to have.

When the visions pass, twilight has come, and the heat of the sun has dimmed along with its light. Izokas' light has faded as well, though his forehead still burns with the mark of the Unconquered Sun.

Izokas stares around him in the twilight, and groans as he slowly rubs at his head. It hurts with more than the burn, after all. He stares off in the direction that the sun has set, expression thoughtful before he turns and starts carefully making his way down the hill. There's clearly a lot to think about, but he's still got a wagon wheel to fix.

Always good with his hands, Izokas is now more sure-fingered than ever, and by the time he's done, all the pain is gone. Indeed, he likely feels better than he's ever felt in his life.

Izokas stares at the new wheel, then huhs before he quickly sets up a fire. Too dark to go any further, it's time for dinner and going over the day in his head, especially all these old memories. At least there's a -reason- he was sure he was never reclaiming the family honor, at this point.