There were two things wrong with Stadie Nove. The first was the smell; rubbish filled
trenches and alleys brimming with piss crisscrossed over the rust-colored city. Dozens of crooked towers pressed up against each other from opposite ends of the narrow streets blocking light in the lower levels of the city. Occasionally, a drug addled freak staggered out of shanties into the dark smelly road singing grossly off-key or hurling up their insides - a common side effect of smoking kevisch leaves. The sweat, tears and smoke congealed into an unbearable odor. One which I had never grown used to even after seven long years.
The second, were the Batauri. According to father, there were more Batauri in Stadie Nove, than anywhere else in our country. Matter of fact, there were more of them here than anywhere else on the whole island. Hundreds and thousands of men, women and children who felt nothing but hatred for my kind. Like a shadow I just couldn't shake, it was all around. Ever present. In the cold eyes that followed my father's carriage wherever it passed, to the cautious murmurs that swept through any marketplace I stepped in. Their hatred overflowed, like a rampant venom.
"You know, there was a time when Stadie Nove was a gem of the new country." Father
broke the silence. His voice was scratchy, like he suffered from a perpetual cough. Probably after countless years of shouting in the council house. His eyes glistened as he looked at nowhere in particular. "Great halls, and gargantuan feasts. Pearly streets and safe homes. Noble, peasant, warrior. All
sat at the same table. We were all safe."
"Are we not safe now?" I asked.
"Not all of us," His eyes darkened. They usually did. "Not all of us, Nile,"
"It's a good thing we stand with the emperor then," I never much liked talking politics. Especially with him. Yet somehow - of recent- the topic found its way into every single one of our interactions.
My father was a burly man. His shoulders were as wide as two grown men and his arms were large and muscular. His eyebrows were bushy and turned upwards making it seem like he always wore a frown. And then there were his palms. Wide and full of scars. It wasn't hard to imagine him having been on the frontlines fighting for the new country. He never spoke about it but I could see in his face. There was something he left behind in the fringes. Something he loved. Maybe even more than us.
"That means nothing." He retorted. "Remember he who birthed two daughters?"
"I know the story, father." The one every Incharan child grew up listening to. The
one of callous ladies and fickle lords. Glorious bastards and heartbroken mages. Desperate treaties and endless conspiracies. And, at the root of it all, blood magic.
Most lower house noblemen, my father inclusive, despised blood magic. They viewed it as a wicked thing that twisted the natural order. Never once did they speak
ill of it in public, though, lest the higher nobles use them as practice dummies for draining techniques. I always wondered why it was so. Why they despised it.
Growing up in Samir Manor, right next to the barracks of the Duke's Army did not help. I grew quite fond of the blood mages. Every morning at the crack of dawn, I'd sneak onto
father's balcony to watch their morning drills. Hidden between the vines that crept all over the edge of his balcony, I'd watch in silence. As the golden hues of dawn hit their crimson cloaks, they appeared to be on fire. Coupled
with their graceful movements and elegant fighting techniques, one could easily believe that they were dancing in the middle of a furnace, untouched by the flames. I'd watch for hours without so much as a whimper till the sun reached its peak. In the evenings, I'd try to repeat what I'd seen. It was a fickle effort, but none the less, I enjoyed it. The feeling of power. Before we moved to the city, I never once missed a day.
Father turned to face me, his voice now rising. "You do not seem to understand the essence of telling that story," He spat out. "Do you really believe the emperor has the best
interests for you, Nile?"
"Father -," I tried to cut him off, well knowing what would come next.
"Why do you bring me such pain, my son?" He turned back to the intricate silk embroidery that encircled the emperor's sigil; a white Incharan serpent. "Why do you wish to drag our family back to that monster?"
I sighed. It had been a long four weeks since I got my letter. Father had been in denial when the courier first dropped the black envelope at our doorstep. So had I, to be honest. It wasn't everyday that a lower house got invited to the
Imperial Academy. In fact, even among higher houses, the invitation was a privilege. But here we were, being ridden by the emperor's guard through the bumpy cobble roads of Stadie Nove, straight to the Grand Castle. To the emperor's second in command.
"Why did you do it, Nile? Why did you apply?"
"How long do you intend to keep us away from him?" Finally, I spoke. "To the Batauri, we are all the same. Oppressors. And to our subjects, you are still a noble, just like him. Do you really believe we are so different?"
He slumped his shoulders. "I shouldn't have come,"
"On that, we agree."
Looking out the window, I could see the blood mages who had been assigned to us. When they picked us up, father had barely spared them even a glance. Yet, here they were ready to lay down their lives to ensure we reached the palace safely. Travelling in Stadie Nove, especially by carriage, was never safe. Doing so through Mtauri-dense suburbs was a whole other problem. Whenever we stopped moving or slowed down, my hands curled into fists readying myself for battle. Not that it would matter anyways. By the time a threat overpowered more than half a dozen of blood mages, there was nothing my human
hands could do.
We slowed down into a turn. From the overpowering scent of spices and kevisch, I
could tell we were in the central market. The din of haggling and idle talk between the hawkers seemed to diminish into a low thrum of murmurs as the carriage came to a stop right in the middle of the square. The blood mages disembarked from their carriages and marched into the midst of the marketplace.
They pulled onto the large bell that sat in the middle of the square and began to speak. I could not hear what they said but from the tension in the hawkers' eyes, I was sure that they were yelling. The hawkers were forced into two lines. One for the Incharans and the other for the Batauri.
The sea of people separated in two leaving a path where our carriage would pass. The
hawkers stood aside from their stalls as the blood mages scrimmaged through checking
under every tarpaulin. Some Mtauri traders shouted insults and jeers above the
murmurs, like a defiant chorus. It was quelled instantly. In typical blood mage fashion, quick and efficient. There were those who were silent though. The older ones. The ones who had probably seen the war. They dared not beckon the wrath of the mages.
As the soldiers subdued them, my gaze landed a couple meters from the lines, in
one of the slums adjacent to the market. There were three children. Two boys and a girl. One of the boys was way littler than his two companions. I could tell from their dark hair and olive skin that they were pure-blood Batauri. Siblings too. They looked too alike not to be. Perhaps children of one of the hawkers. The younger boy looked unsettled. His large brown eyes darted around the lines of people being rounded up by the blood mages. His little features trembled in the wind, like he was about to be blown away. He whispered something to his elder sister. Her eyes widened. It wasn't something good. When she told their brother, his reaction was the same. There was some pointing, at one of the taller buildings. Their faces went pale as they turned to face it at once. I tried to look up but from my vantage point, I couldn't see a thing.
Father had closed his eyes. I could tell he wasn't sleeping because his fingers kept fidgeting with his signet ring. When that wasn't enough, he opened his eyes, and poured himself a glass from one of the emperor's assorted wines that came with
the carriage.
"What's wrong, Nile?" He asked, noticing me staring at him.
I thought for a moment. A part of me felt like it was just jitters. After all, I was going to the Grand Palace for the first time. Very few people ever met anyone on the imperial council, much less the emperor's second in command. Regardless, I said it.
"Something feels wrong,"
"You've only just realized?" He scoffed. "All this business of being a blood mage reeks."
"No. Not with the invitation. The marketplace. Why are we stopping?" He didn't
answer.
I turned back to the children. They were now staring at the building. The older boy tapped his sister. One of the blood mages was coming closer to them. They quickly stood straight as everyone before them had been forced to. The youngest still held their hands. His eyes were now closed, like he had just
seen a monster, and thought that maybe not looking at it would make it vanish. The blood mage looked straight at them. Hidden behind their masks, the graceful mages did, in fact look like faceless beasts. I saw a flash of raw fear streak across the girl's face as he passed by them. When his back was turned to them, she locked eyes with her brothers. They nodded once to each other. And then, they ran. The blood mage turned to them. He yelled, I'm sure of it. But they did not stop. The older boy carried his younger brother as he ducked and jumped over stalls. They crashed through wheelbarrows and cages of live animals. The blood mage yelled once
again. It was a muffled sound. This one, I heard. Stop. They did not.
In one smooth movement, he reached out in
their direction and clenched his hand once. They fell down without hesitation. Dead. It took less than a moment. One of the hawkers in the Mtauri line shrieked. She did not look very old, but had an ancient disposition about her. Darkened eyes and a frail bony structure. She crumbled in a heap. Wailing as loudly as she could. Another blood mage went to her. He was yelling orders but she was too distraught to listen. He raised his hand towards her, but she was unmoved even with the threat of death. Her neighbors
tried to calm her down to no avail. The blood mage yelled out one more order, but before the last words came out of his mouth, it happened. Everything was so fast.
A sharp white light flashed from one of the taller buildings. Where the kids had
been looking. The blood mage clutched his throat violently and collapsed to the ground. The one who had killed the children was next. Another flash, and he was down. More flashes came from other buildings, and more blood mages fell. The crowd got uneasy. Some of the Mtauri traders who had been restrained earlier yelled in their native languages. I could not understand what it was, but sure enough, it seemed to agitate the crowd. The last five blood mages stood in formation right outside the carriage. I could see them bracing themselves for the fight. That's when the first explosion hit.
It was a loud rumbling, followed by tremors in the air all around. It rocked the carriage so hard that it flipped onto its side. Father reached out for me just as the windows of the carriage shattered inwards. Something
heavy hit the back of my head sending blurs through my vision. I couldn't see
anything. Just the sounds from outside. Screams. From whom, I do not know. But
they were guttural - like those let out by animals that had been trapped. There
were ripping sounds. Ripping and screaming and whinnying of horses. It continued for no more than a minute. Then it all went silent.
"Do not make any sound," Father whispered shakily.
In that moment, I was back at Samir Manor. Under the vines watching the blood mages train. The next, I was hearing one of them dying right next to the carriage. Choking on her own blood. I heard footsteps. Metal clanging against the cobble. They were slow and alluring, like the sound of the city bells. When they stopped, a heavily accented voice boomed in a deep foreboding tone. "Stadie Nove. This is your hour."