Book of The Dead

There was a certain… thrum in the air around the Palace of Ascension. The air, the earth, everything seemed to pulse at an incredibly high frequency, a vibration so slight as to be almost undetectable. A remarkable achievement, really, to experience so slight an effect while in the presence of such an unimaginable outpouring of power.

Selene’s Chosen raised his staff, a blazing stave formed of pure light, and proclaimed: “All kneel!”

In one smooth motion, along with the other thousand attendants, ministers, Nobles and officials, Administrator Merigold Kent knelt, then pressed her forehead to the hallowed ground. Behind her, the other members of her office were arrayed, while in front, the Grand Duchess Tiranda also knelt, but was permitted to keep her head up.

In that position, the gathering froze, waiting for permission to rise to be given.

The thrum grew stronger, to the point Merigold could feel it, deep in her chest. The palace was coming closer. She wished she could see it descend, but such a thing was forbidden by the Gods themselves. Even throughout the capital, all would be averting their eyes from the spectacle, for it was something they were not worthy to see. If even a child turned their gaze upon the palace, even for a moment, they would be blinded, according to Imperial law.

It was tempting to look, but not that tempting. The Gods did not permit any who were not of the purest blood to see their power made manifest. As a minor noble, Merigold knew she would never be afforded that privilege.

When the vibration had reached her teeth, she knew the palace was close. It was eerie to think that something so large could rise and fall in the sky without making so much as a sound. The wind moving around the palace was the only indication it was there at all, if not for the thrum.

Then came the deep C-kroom that seemed to reverberate up from deep beneath the ground. The Palace of Ascension had connected to the cradle which would hold it in place for its time upon the ground. She had seen the cradle with her own eyes, a tiny thing, no larger than her fist, held in place by four beams that cut through the centre of the depression holding the Ascension Array. The very bottom tip of the palace would sit, nestled in that cradle, until the palace rose to the sky once more.

Here it comes.

The next moment was always a little disconcerting. There was a long, pregnant pause, then a slight lurch as the bridge latched onto the palace and began to rotate. She’d never been told why the palace needed to be in constant motion, but there had to be a reason, and a very good one. The Cloud Bridge, despite its name, had to weigh thousands of tons, and keeping the mechanism greased to let it rotate with the palace was an unthinkable undertaking.“Rise!” Selene’s Chosen declared, and Merigold rose to sit on her heels, then stood in one smooth motion.

For fear of making an error and receiving punishment, she had practiced that movement thousands of times after receiving her appointment. Even now, the thought of stumbling made her stomach clench in terror.

Where before there had been a vast empty space, now the Palace of Ascension sat, in all its glory.

A perfect diamond shape, pointed at the very tip and very bottom, its flawless symmetrical lines were enough to take her breath away, but everything else about it was just as spectacular.

For hundreds of years the Empire had poured everything it had into the construction of this palace, and it showed. Millions of the highest grade cores were used to fuel the giant array that held the palace aloft, and the structure itself was formed of the most precious materials known. The side facing her, with the grand entrance formed at the edge of the bridge, featured a grand mural that covered the entire surface, depicting the Five Divines in all of their splendour.

Orthriss. Warrior and defender. Shieldwarden of the Empire and God to all those with unwavering hearts and solid wills. He was shown on the palace as the unyielding and implacable fighter he was. Armoured, his mighty shield, Riyan, upon his left arm, the blade, Petrik, gripped in his right hand.

The Fallen One, Tel’anan. Lost god of magick. He was shown, robed and crowned, with his eyes closed, his noble face set in an expression of deep sadness.

Hamar. Lighthearted adventurer. God of travel, bards, music and invention. Smiling, as always, his divine crossbow, Caelun, cradled in one arm, his lute, Stringfellow, in the other. With light and laughter in his eyes, he was always the friendliest-looking of the Gods, and one Merigold was particularly devoted to.

He was, after all, her own ancestor. Barely.

Lofis. Mother of the Empire. Goddess of the seasons, of harvest, growth, life and death. From the side of the palace, she looked down on the gathered throng with a mother’s love. The Staff of Summer was held lightly in her hands, and her Crow, Trittan, rested on her shoulder.

Finally, in the centre of the mural and directly over the grand entrance, was Selene.

Goddess of Healing and light, divine matriarch of the Empire and Mother of the Emperor, for it was from her the ruling lineage sprang. Depicted with flawless beauty and a gentle visage, Selene appeared with the glow of divine healing in one hand, and the light of civilisation in the other.

Made of gold, platinum, diamond and other precious materials, the mural was one of the most astounding things a citizen of the Empire could ever hope to see. Largely because they would never be allowed within the palace itself.

“Attend me!” the Chosen of Selene declared. “You are under the eyes of The Five Divines!”

So saying, the imposing woman, dressed in her full regalia, turned and began to lead the procession over the bridge and toward the grand entrance of the palace.

Despite serving for years, Merigold still felt shivers run down her spine at the sheer, awe-inspiring magnificence of the occasion. It was difficult to hold one’s nerve in the presence of such august figures and the gaze of the Gods themselves. In her opinion, anyone who wasn’t affected was simply not normal.

The procession advanced along the Cloud Bridge, all moving at a slow, ceremonial pace. Step, pause. Step, pause. Step, pause. When the Chosen reached the threshold of the palace, the thousand-strong procession halted once more as she raised her hands high and uttered a prayer to The Five. Only then were they allowed to step inside.

As one not of the High Blood, Merigold kept her eyes down once they crossed the threshold. Even the floor they walked on was a dazzling sight, each tile an artwork in and of itself, displaying an engraving that spoke of the legends from the dawning of the Empire.

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Her favourite, one that showed Hamar bewitching an army of rift-kin with his song, would be a few metres to her left this time, due to a shift in the lines. She smothered the disappointment lest it show in her face. One did not appear dissatisfied with the interior of the Palace of Ascension.

With the palace, there was always light, and music, the flawless acoustics of the structure carrying the heart-piercing voices of the Emperor’s choir throughout the space.

Finally, the entire procession had entered the palace and now fully occupied the grand chamber. The Chosen of Selene raised her hands, and the procession came to a halt, every member of the court standing in their appointed place, not a centimetre out of position.

Ahead, upon the Grand Dais, Marigold knew there would be where the highest Nobles, Arch-Priests and Ministers sat around the marble table said to be hewn by Orthriss himself. Above them would be the Cloud Circle, in which the most pure-blooded nobility in all of the Empire sat. Above them, the Seat of Divinity, upon which the Emperor himself was seated.

Above him, of course, were five empty thrones, each more elaborate than even the Emperor’s seat, to ensure that all remembered who truly ruled in this place.

“Emperor! Child of the Goddess and favoured child of The Five!” The Chosen intoned. “Your court is ready to serve!”

She brought her staff down to strike the floor once, twice, thrice. Then, silence.

The Chosen of Selene bowed low, then turned and moved deliberately to her left. With measured strides, she walked to take her place alongside the other Chosen of The Five, there to watch over the ceremony.

“Begin.”

Spoken from high above, the voice of the Emperor was soft, barely reaching the ears of those below, but still resonated with such power that Merigold felt it down to her toes. For a moment, that voice wiped away every thought in her mind, even stole the sight from her eyes, leaving her as an unthinking blank. Half a second later, she returned to herself, chilled to the bone, and trembling, as she always was.

Thankfully, the Emperor almost never spoke while court was in session. A blessing, to those such as herself, without the status or power to resist the effect.

From there, she kept her head down and found her calm once more as events proceeded in the traditional way. The Grand Duke or Duchess in charge of each ministry would step forth, one by one, and give their summary report which would be tabled to the Dais. There, it was debated and discussed by the great personages, sometimes questions being directed back to the Grand Nobles, sometimes appeals made to the Emperor, who ignored them. Eventually, the report would be accepted into the record, and the head of the next ministry would be invited to step forward and make their report.

Agriculture was just finishing when Merigold realised that her own ministry would be presenting next. Positioned directly behind the Grand Duchess, she could see the great lady’s heels as she stepped forward to address the Dais.

“Grand Duchess Tiranda of House Ritherwell,” she stated, her voice resonant and dignified.

Even looking at the floor, Merigold could picture the Great Lady standing tall and serene under the stare of the greatest people in the Empire. Her face flushed thinking of it. She was proud to serve such a personage, and so closely since her recent promotion.

“We are eager to hear the report from the Treasury,” came a voice from the Dais, interrupting the normal flow. “After all, this has been a disruptive year.”

Merigold felt a stab of fear. She had no idea who had spoken, she would never dare look, but were they intending to question the treasury closely? Duchess Tiranda would be fine, she was incredible, but she prayed they wouldn’t ask for her. Lesser Blood working within the Ministries were almost never questioned, but it could happen.

“Then I will proceed,” Tiranda stated, unruffled. She withdrew the elaborate scroll case tucked under her arm and unhurriedly removed, then unfurled the scroll within, passing the empty case to her personal attendant.

Without hesitation, or the slightest stumble, she read through the report, which Merigold and her fellow administrators had laboured over for the past two weeks, finishing with the conclusion.

“Due to disruptions in the Western Province, revenues are predicted to be significantly reduced for a period of fifty years. Two years ago, the province tithed a total of fifty-two million, three hundred and eleven thousand, eight-hundred and twenty seven sovereigns, alongside an estimated twenty-two million in equivalent Cores. Last year, the Golden Army retrieved sixty-eight million, five hundred and twenty-two thousand, nine hundred and sixty-one sovereigns, and an estimated thirty-eight million in equivalent Cores. Next year, that revenue will drop to zero.”

Merigold resisted the urge to lace her hands together, remaining still and controlled, despite the uncomfortable feeling rising inside her. This was all expected, everyone knew this was coming for almost two years now. This report contained no surprises, no shocks at all!

“Five decades of reduced income for the Empire,” a scathing voice from the Dais declared. “A fifth of the Empire cut away, impoverishing the Emperor and slowing the work of our Divine Ancestors, and why? The petty grievance of a single mage!”

It was all Merigold could do to remain still. The Emperor, impoverished? The Imperial Province alone drew in more than five times the revenue of the Western Province. Cuts were necessary, clearly, and had been fiercely debated more than twelve months ago. As for placing the responsibility on a single individual… such a view ignored the glaring flaws that had been examined at length within this very chamber! Mismanagement by the Magisters’ Tower. Poor leadership from the Noble Houses. A delayed and insufficient response to rising tensions. And more. And still more besides!

“I can’t help but feel you are oversimplifying matters, Grand Duke,” a male voice challenged, a little wryly. “Perhaps you were asleep during our deliberations over the past few years?”

Exactly! Merigold held still, lest she nod to herself and draw very unwanted attention.

“I am attempting to draw our attention to the key issue at hand,” the first insisted, sneeringly. “The man responsible for this… catastrophic damage to the Empire’s finances has not been caught! Where is Tyron Steelarm? Why is he not here, pressed to the floor and grovelling before the Emperor, begging for forgiveness for his crimes?”

“If we knew where he was, then I’m sure he would be here,” the second voice countered. “Unless you happen to be withholding key information, Grand Duke, then I’m unsure as to what you are alluding. The warrant for his capture was signed by the Emperor himself.”

There was a brief pause. No doubt, the speaking person had turned and bowed to the throne upon which the Emperor sat.

“The Golden Army hasn’t found him in the Western Province itself, so clearly he has fled somewhere else.”

“Exactly! Why are we not considering the possibility he has entered the Central Province? The heretic could be working against us this moment from within the capital city! Where is our sense of urgency?”

There were murmurs building within the chamber now, a grave breach of protocol, yet this outburst was clearly making the court uneasy.

To Merigold, it was even more baffling. Didn’t they know exactly where he was? In the Central Province? The idea was absurd.

She kept waiting for someone to say something, to spell out the obvious truth that everyone was aware of, but the moment never materialised. Instead, the figure upon the Dais continued to speak, demanding a province-wide manhunt, sweeping measures to contain and identify every person who had entered within the last two years. Expanding the search to every other province. Pressing off-duty Slayers into service hunting him down.

It was… so absurdly expensive! Such measures would blow another Western Province-sized hole in the budget! Surely, Grand Duchess Tiranda would speak up against this pointless waste! Yet, moment by moment, she stood silent, refusing to say a word.

The countless days and nights Merigold had spent along with her fellow staff, balancing the books, poring over budget proposals. Totting up lines of numbers until they felt like blood was dripping out of their ears. They would have to do it all again if this madness was allowed to continue! Where did they think the money was going to come from? Did nobody else think of the money?!

“He’s in Granin!” she burst out.

Silence fell in an instant, all eyes turned to the small woman standing first among the clerks of the Treasury.

Merigold wished she could die.