The Usurper

16

“I cannot see it!” cried Otto, reining the horse up suddenly, it squealing, the clawed forefeet raking at the sky.

“Steady!” cried Julian.

The horse was spun about, jerked forward again, reins taut, mouth bloody at the bit, eyes wide and wild, the clawed feet tearing at the turf.

“Steady, steady!” said Julian.

“Why have you brought me here?” demanded Otto, standing in the stirrups.

“That you might know,” said Julian.

“Where is it?” demanded Otto.

“Gone,” said Julian.

“No!” said Otto. “It is there, somehow, as the mountain itself!”

“No longer,” said Julian.

“From the beginning of the world!” said Otto.

“Those are stories,” said Julian.

“For a thousand years!” said Otto.

“Perhaps,” said Julian. “I do not know.”

“I cannot see it!” said Otto. “I cannot see it!”

“It is gone, dear friend,” said Julian. “Like the village, remembered only by rubble and charred shambles.”

“See!” cried Otto, pointing. “There should be path guards, trail watchers!”

“They no longer stand their posts, no longer keep their rounds,” said Julian.

“They are remiss,” said Otto. “They must be reprimanded. Let them be nailed to boards!”

“Things are no longer as they were,” said Julian.

“Discipline!” said Otto.

“It does no good to reprimand the dead,” said Julian. “The dead are done with discipline.”

“Dead?” said Otto.

“It seems, all,” said Julian. “Hold! What is your intention?”

“It is to ascend,” said Otto.

“I encourage you to remain here, at the foot,” said Julian. “There is less here to stir fearful rage.”

“I shall ascend,” said Otto.

“Better not, dear friend,” said Julian.

“Do not fear,” said Otto. “It is day. The invisible eyes will not be open, the fences will not be alive, the lightnings will not strike.”

“Even were it night,” said Julian, “even if beasts were to prowl, or Heruls to intrude, the defenses are inert.”

“I ride!” snarled Otto, and struck heels into the startled mount, and the great beast leapt forward.

Julian, astride his own mount, hurried in the wake of his friend, beginning the long, steep, winding climb to the summit.

In less than an hour they dismounted their driven, gasping, trembling, unsteady, chest-heaving, worn beasts.

The boots of Otto and Julian ground into the cold gravel of the path.

They sucked the thin, cold air into their lungs. If they had turned, they might have seen the green, summery expanse of the Plains of Barrionuevo, of the Flats of Tung, far below, stretching even to the Lothar.

“The gate was here!” said Otto.

“No longer,” said Julian.

A light coating of snow covered the area, common here throughout the year.

This imparted to the scene, despite its jumbled, jagged outlines, an appearance of passivity and serenity.

“It is lovely here,” said Julian.

“This place was chosen for it remoteness, its stillness, and beauty,” said Otto.

“A fit place for the prayers, the contemplations, the meditations of the brothers,” said Julian.

“What is it that the snow so innocently, so gently, veils?” said Otto.

“Let us return to the plain,” said Julian.

Otto drew back, and struck the snow from his damp hand on his jacket. “The stonage is black,” he said. It seemed a scar lay on the snow.

“From the blast,” said Julian. “Within, it is worse, toward the center, where rock melted. One can still see where it flowed, where it cooled, like the spines of snakes.”

Otto scraped his boot in the snow, and the side of his boot was rimmed with brittle crystals and chill ash.

“Serviceable timber, even half-burned, was salvaged,” said Julian, “by peasants, and Heruls.”

Wood, as one might have surmised, was a precious commodity in the area.

There was a stirring, and scratching, to the side.

“The horses are uneasy,” said Otto.

“Yes,” said Julian.

The men regarded their mounts.

One of the beasts lifted its head, its nostrils distended. There was a susurrating, uneasy rumble in its throat, answered by a similar sound from its fellow.

“They smell death,” said Otto.

“No, dear friend,” said Julian. “It has been too long. What could be found of death was borne away, long ago, by peasants.”

“What could be found?” said Otto.

“Not a great deal,” said Julian. “The leavings of birds, the discards of filchen.”

“I am angry,” said Otto.

“I encouraged you to remain below,” said Julian.

The heads of the horses turned about, uneasily, nostrils distended. They stirred in place. There was mud about their paws, where snow, trampled, had melted.

“They are restless,” said Otto.

“Not from death,” said Julian.

“A vi-cat then?” said Otto.

“Probably,” said Julian.

“The beasts return,” said Otto.

“They always will,” said Julian.

Otto and Julian mounted.

Julian turned his horse toward the backtrail. “Let us descend,” he said.

But Otto, asaddle, continued to regard the calm, terrible scene before him. The broad reins were enclosed in massive, clenched fists.

Julian turned his mount once more, and drew his beast up, beside, but a bit behind, that of his friend.

“What happened here?” said Otto, speaking quietly, as softly as the darkening of a sky in the north.

“The wars,” said Julian.

“I cannot understand this,” said Otto. “It is pointless, there is nothing to be gained here. This is incomprehensible carnage, inexplicable, wanton devastation.”

“Explicable in terms you might not understand,” said Julian.

“Why would Abrogastes attack this remote, isolated place, of no political or military significance? Why would he, or Ingeld or Hrothgar, or Ortog, or a hundred other chieftains, kings, and commanders, waste resources here?”

“They would not,” said Julian.

“I do not understand,” said Otto.

“This was done by no barbarian fleet,” said Julian.

“I do not understand,” said Otto.

“It was done by imperial cruisers,” said Julian.

“By the empire?” said Otto.

“By imperial forces,” said Julian.

“You said ‘the wars’,” said Otto.

“Faith Wars,” said Julian.

“Civil war?” said Otto.

“Of a sort,” said Julian.

“I do not understand,” said Otto.

“There are numerous sects and cults, some larger, some smaller, each purporting to be the one, true institution founded by the Ogg, Floon.”

“But Floon did not found an institution,” said Otto. “He was outside institutions, even opposed to institutions. He appealed to individuals as individuals, urging them to look into their own hearts and live their own lives well. He was opposed to artificiality, to artifice, to convention, to government, law, taxes, marriage, family, money, many things. Such things were denounced as unnatural. Many conceived of him as posing a threat to rules, to order, to civilization itself. Thus, it seems, he was brought to his miserable end. Certainly he would have been opposed to any institution which would presume to interpose itself between the individual, an Ogg or not, and the face and blessings of the god, Karch, who may or may not have been an Ogg, or any other god.”

“Nonetheless,” said Julian.

“It is hard to understand,” said Otto. “Are they unfamiliar with the teachings of Floon?”

“Perhaps only unfamiliar with the meanings,” said Julian.

“Or do not care to be familiar with them,” said Otto.

“Perhaps,” said Julian.

“It would not be convenient?” said Otto.

“Presumably not,” said Julian.

“It is all very strange,” said Otto.

“There are many views,” said Julian. “Perhaps the most benign is that Floon was a sweet, pleasant, compassionate, benevolent, normal Ogg, sincere and concerned, who wanted to help people live better, happier lives, and he made the mistake of going ahead and attempting to do so. The difficulties arose, as I understand it, in trying to understand what relationship might obtain between Floon and Karch. Was Floon an ordinary, normal Ogg who would speak for Karch, who seemed unwilling to speak for himself? And, if this was the case, did he speak on his own prerogative for Karch, or was he directed to speak by Karch. Or was there some more mysterious relationship involved? For example, was Floon related to Karch, as a nephew, or brother, or cousin might be related, though in some unusual sense, not well specified? Perhaps Floon was an attribute or property of Karch? Or, if Floon was Karch, or a part of Karch, and Karch was perfect, might not the seeming Floon have been an illusion, as Karch, or his progeny or relations, or such, would presumably not be allowed to feel pain? Too, why would Karch allow himself, or such, or his emissary or representative, or such, to feel pain, at all? Then there is the Emanationist theory which is that Floon was an emanation of Karch.”

“The brothers were Emanationists,” said Otto, “whatever that might mean, or however it might be understood, if at all.”

“That is accounted a heresy, one of several,” said Julian, “and heresies are accounted dangerous to the welfare of the koos.”

“I have heard of a koos,” said Otto. “But I do not understand it.”

“No one does,” said Julian. “The notion is unintelligible.”

“What is a heresy?” asked Otto.

“It is a departure from orthodoxy,” said Julian.

“And what is an orthodoxy?” asked Otto.

“A heresy from someone else’s point of view,” said Julian.

“I understand little of this,” said Otto.

“It is all nonsense,” said Julian. “It is only necessary that one learn to manipulate the terminologies, to utter certain words in certain sequences, approved sequences, of course, that is important.”

“Words that merely float about, and never touch earth?”

“They are safer that way,” said Julian.

“How is it that folk can hate one another, and burn and kill one another, over such sillinesses?”

“It is apparently easy,” said Julian. “And there is nothing silly about being burned alive.”

“But Floon preached peace and love,” said Otto.

“Forget about Floon,” said Julian. “He has nothing to do with it. You do understand, I take it, how men might fight and hate, and burn and kill, for gold, power, prestige, and influence?”

“Yes,” said Otto.

“Well,” said Julian, “there are many roads leading to such things, some more obvious, others more subtle, and it is tempting to follow such a road, particularly for some, if you can draft others to clear the way for you, to accept the risks of removing obstacles from your path, to bloody their hands while yours remain sanctimoniously clean.”

“What occurred here,” said Otto, surveying the gentle snow, which so softened the contours of what lay beneath, “wants righting.”

“In any event,” said Julian, “the more important theories, depending on the rulings or the councils, creating truth by decree, or majority vote, seem to maintain that Karch and Floon, in one way or another, are identical, except that they are different, as well. These views seem to be the orthodox views, orthodoxy indexed to numbers, position, wealth, power, or influence.”

“Why did you not inform me of these things?” asked Otto.

“What good would it have done?” asked Julian.

“Abrogastes, and others, had no hand in this?”

“No,” said Julian.

“Then my enemy,” said Otto, “is the empire.”

“No,” said Julian.

“Its ships have done this,” said Otto, sweeping a hand forth, a gesture that hinted not so much of the brushing aside of a cloak of snow which, with its chill covering, might conceal memories best left neglected, as of the darkening of stars and the striking of worlds from their orbits.

“Direct not your rage unwisely, dear friend,” said Julian.

“How many ships can you command?” asked Otto.

“The empire has made tools of others,” said Julian. “Now others make tools of the empire.”

“A hundred ships, two hundred?” asked Otto.

“Dissidence racks the empire,” said Julian. “Worlds secede, barbarous fleets arm themselves. Citizens turn away from ancient altars. Want roams barren fields. Faiths spring at one another’s throats. Vultures wait with patience. Weakness and rottenness festers at the core of power.”

“May the empire fall,” said Otto. “And may I strike the blow of its death!”

“Rather let the empire be cleansed, and live,” said Julian.

“Give the Otungen ten ships and they will hurl themselves against a thousand.”

“And fruitlessly scatter their bones in the airless fields of space.”

“You council patience,” said Otto.

“That of the lion waiting in the shadows, by the watering hole.”

“You have been here, have you not, before?” asked Otto.

“Once,” said Julian. “To learn of you.”

“One here, Brother Benjamin, was as a father to me,” said Otto.

“I met him,” said Julian. “You were brought to this place as an infant, nearly newborn, by a Herul, one named Hunlaki, in the month of the god, Igon, in the year 1103, of the Imperial Claiming Stone, set at Venitzia.”

“I know some of this,” said Otto, “but not much. I was not told much. I did not know the name of the Herul. I gather it was not deemed necessary to tell me much.”

“One gathers so,” said Julian. “It was probably just as well. One must be careful of what one speaks, and to whom one speaks. Princes seldom sow grain. Few kings remain at the handles of the plow. How foolish it would be for one to seek vanquished and vanished worlds, to seek thrones which no longer exist. Is it not best to remain ignorant of glories which are unattainable, from which one is barred? Let the peasant be content in his hovel. Let him not glimpse far-off golden walls.”

“You speak strangely,” said Otto.

“There was a medallion and chain, deeply cut, profoundly formed, weighty and gold, with the babe, the found infant,” said Julian. “I saw it. Brother Benjamin had held it for years. It is the symbol of office of the King of the Vandal Nations.”

As I may have mentioned, the most likely origin of the word ‘Vandal’ is from “Vanland,” or “woodland,” or “forest land.” The Vandals, thus, would be the “woodland folk” or the “forest people,” or such. Later semantic accretions to the term should not be allowed to reflect on the etiology involved. Such accretions have more to do with historically acquired associations.

“The Wolfungs, of whom I am chief, and the Otungs, of whom I am King, are Vandal nations,” said Otto.

“Yes,” said Julian, “and so, too, are the Darisi, the Haakons, and Basungs.”

“True,” said Otto.

“And there are other nations, too,” said Julian, “who are related to the Vandals, or look up to the Vandals.”

“Perhaps,” said Otto.

“The greatest threat to the empire,” said Julian, “is the threat of the Aatii, as they are referred to in the imperial records. You know them as the Alemanni, a nation which consists of eleven tribes, though I fear it influences and enleagues others, as well. As you are well aware, the largest, the mightiest, and most fierce of the Alemanni tribes is the Drisriaks.”

“The Vandals and the Alemanni are traditional enemies,” said Otto.

“That is known to me,” said Julian.

“You would use me for your purposes,” said Otto.

“For our purposes,” said Julian.

“But, perhaps, trained and armed, we will turn on you,” said Otto.

“Do you think the Alemanni would share worlds with the Vandals?” asked Julian.

“No,” said Otto, “nor with the empire.”

“The empire is sick with a thousand poisons,” said Julian. “Men do not love her. They hope to thrive in her body as parasites. They suck blood they refuse to replenish. Virtue is mocked; honor derided, trust forsworn. Weapons rust; barracks are empty. Patriotism is jeered, loyalty scorned. Incense no longer perfumes our temples; the smoke of burnt offerings no longer rises to the sky; ancient altars are bereft of gifts.”

“The empire is done,” said Otto, “even if it should take a thousand years to die.”

“No!” said Julian.

“Small men,” said Otto, “will not do the work of giants. They will concern themselves with small things.”

“The empire was the work of giants,” said Julian.

“The giants are no more,” said Otto.

“A miserable fate, that the heritage of lions must be bequeathed to filchen.”

“There are few lions, many filchen,” said Otto.

“I fear the sky will become dark with the coming of ships.”

“What is that to me?” said Otto.

“The loss of civilitas, the beginnings of chaos and tramplings, the rise of a thousand tyrannies,” said Julian.

“You would pit Vandals against Alemanni,” said Otto, “your enemies against one another. Let them erode and exhaust themselves, and then, wounded and weak, drained of blood, succumb to the mace of the empire. It is an old trick, one remembered in the tents and halls.”

“Rather,” said Julian, “let fresh blood enliven the empire, let forceful, clean winds sweep rot away. Let new giants be enlisted in noble, antique causes, let new swords be forged.”

“Where is the medallion and chain?” asked Otto.

“You are interested?” said Julian.

“Where is it?” asked Otto.

“You could use it for your own ends, but I would that it be used for the needs of worlds, for the promotion of civilitas, for the cleansing and rebirth of the empire.”

“The empire,” said Otto, gesturing to the cool, white, quiet, desolate expanse before him, “did this.”

“Forces within the empire,” said Julian, “which must be thwarted and overcome.”

“Let the empire perish,” said Otto.

“And with her the walls beyond which hungry beasts lurk, walls which for ten thousand years have kept the thoughtless, encroaching, teeming forest, and its creatures, at bay?”

“Where is the medallion and chain?” said Otto.

“I do not know,” said Julian. “I have had it much searched for. Officers have combed the ruins, moved stones, sorted rubble, pried up tiles, raked and sifted ash, all to no avail.”

“Then there is nothing to be done,” said Otto. “Without it the Vandals cannot be gathered. The empire must deal with the Alemanni, and its allies, as best it can.”

“It must exist,” said Julian. “I saw it. It would not be destroyed.”

“It must be concealed, perhaps in the ruins,” said Otto.

“It was not hidden. Brother Benjamin kept it in a box, a leather case, in his cell. I saw it there. The attack was not anticipated. It was sudden and unexpected, fierce and thorough. There would have been no reason, nor time, to hurry it into hiding, to take special precautions on its behalf.”

“Then it was destroyed in the attack,” said Otto, “the blast, the heat.”

“The search was thorough,” said Julian. “Not even a droplet of gold, not even a bead, was found in the ruins.”

“It was stolen?” said Otto.

“I fear so,” said Julian.

“By a brother?”

“Unlikely,” said Julian.

“After the attack, by peasants, by Heruls?”

“Perhaps,” said Julian. “But there is no reason to believe so. Inquiries have been made, rewards offered. Nothing has materialized.”

“Then by whom?”

“A visitor, a spy,” said Julian.

“It matters not,” said Otto.

“It matters much,” said Julian. “He who possesses the artifact might rally the Vandals to any cause.”

“Not the Wolfungs, not the Otungs,” said Otto.

“Perhaps even they,” said Julian. “You do not know the portent of the medallion and chain.”

“I knew not that it existed,” said Otto.

“If nothing else,” said Julian, “its loss might well prevent another from rousing the Vandals.”

“Such as Otto, King of the Otungs?” said Otto.

“Yes,” said Julian.

“Look before you,” said Otto. “See white snow. It covers blackened stone. Where there stood a mighty edifice now reposes a bleak summit. The wind here is cold and the clouds bright. A hawk soars overhead.”

“I am sorry, dear Ottonius,” said Julian.

“Do you think the empire can be conquered so easily?” said Otto.

“Not easily conquered,” said Julian, “but easily seized.”

And then the two men turned their mounts to the backtrail, leading down, far below, to the Plains of Barrionuevo, or the Flats of Tung, leaving behind them the ruins of a great house, the festung of Sim Giadini.