For Cherra Adha
Part I

Evil men deserve to die, for their very existence becomes a murder weapon. Evil is like a disease. The one who touches it, even when trying to destroy it, will catch the pure stupidity of it. It is good that people wish it did not happen. It is foolish that people deny that it does. 

I never met Lito Anasino, or at least, he never met me. I am not surprised at this. I am of the lower class and am not connected to the Temple or the Royalty, but I live, or at least did live before now, in the heart of the capital city. I was a scribe. I wrote down what great people dictated to me and they paid me for my work, so I was generally well known in higher circles. Sometimes it amused the architects or deacons to invite me to their parties or councils, just to sit in and watch for my amusement, or theirs. Of course, if the conversation got politically dangerous, or if a family at one end of the table had a grudge against a certain lord at the other end of the table, it’s always advisable to have some bystander there to record every word in shorthand on a tableau of paper, hiding one’s hands under the tablecloth, while watching passively without drawing attention. This happens to pay very well. 

My name is Reladol. I have no last name for I was never given one from the Temple and I certainly wasn’t born with one. I don’t know who my parents were. I was raised by a kind family; though I believe that was mostly due to the father wishing to train someone in his secret shorthand, for he didn’t have a son. I never married; and though I love a woman, I have not told her. Perhaps I should. If you read this Cherra Adha, know that I, Reladol, love you more than any woman in the world, or any monument made or that will be made in days to come. I would have gone anywhere and done anything with you. There. It is done. I can move on with my story. 

I never met Lito Anasino, but I saw him once. He was walking up the steps of the palace, clothed in black, solemn robes. He was tall and august, but not as wise-looking and penetrating as I had imagined. Perhaps he is only as fevered and holy as they say in certain situations. I recognised him, however, and called to him. He looked up and stared around vaguely but didn’t see me. I felt embarrassed and flushed. He noticed me then, and though his eyes rested on me, he did not see me. He seemed to be in a reverie. He walked up the steps like a god ascending into the heavens. Perhaps he is a god.

Everyone knows who Lito Anasino is, so why write on his achievements? There are pages and tableaus and walls all dedicated to words about him, and he is not even dead. Of course, he is the turning point of most of my story, so you will hear of him later. He is the Centre Column of the Temple, at least for now. I pray the Temple will never be destroyed.

A few weeks after my encounter with Cherro Lito, I was invited by my good friend Atteo Salacheo to a feast at one of the many famous architect's estates on the cliffside, north of the capital. Though it was advertised as a grand feast with entertainment and show of the sea eels (they swim close to shore every two years on a certain day and their glowing bodies can be seen for miles at the dusk hour. I tell you this so my story will feel more complete, though I know it is not an event people will ever forget), everyone involved knew it would be a discussion between several great names and families with political interest or power in the capital, and the conversation would cover Lito Anasino and his relations to the Queene and her court. 

I was younger then, and didn’t understand the positions very well. I don’t really understand them now. But the Queene…oh, the Queene. The great Evalave, our devotion, our symbol, our living country. If she is on the throne it’s because she was put there by much higher powers than the Temple. If Lito Anasino was a god, then the Queene was the high goddess, with even the sub-gods as her servants. The Temple often acted like her servant. They are both descended from the ancient gods. Both orders read the same texts, both know the taste of holiness and inspiration. I cannot understand why they were in a silent, unspoken war. The air in those days was heavy with it. There was no reek of bloodshed yet, but the tension was like the silence after lightning and before the thunder. 

Yet there was one other reason I was so eager to go to the feast: Cherra Adha would be there. She is a high lady, even though she is young. She was given a last name for her brilliant design of the new fountain in the centre palace. It really is a beautiful thing, though it isn’t finished yet. Oh Adha Tsavha, how I adore you. Though your fountain will live longer than you, its beauty will never outshine yours, since it is only a reflection of your soul. A reflection can never be as good as the real thing.

She was the only good reason to go. However, there were several reasons not to, mostly people. Some repulsive people would be there, such as Benti Ruzhetti, Goné Hattiché, Lipam DeChavidam, and Gita Margharita. The world is full of repulsive people, though some don’t see it that way. Secondly, I am loyal to my friend, Atteo (I leave out the title, Cherro, for we are close), but I would be there as his secret scribe and protector against later possible false accusations, which put pressure on me and meant I couldn’t enjoy myself as much as I might have. I would be listening and recording every conversation Atteo would be in. 

I agreed to come after a bit of thought. Why not after all? I walked slowly through the busy streets of white stone; some old and worn and some new. People hung curtains, coloured fabric and lights along their windows. I wish I had looked at it more, for it was quite pretty, especially when the dusk hour descends and the white stones are given a bluish hue as the quivering aura of the rose planet, Emanor, shines for its scarce hours. I had to walk past the courtyard of justice on my way. This is the only place where the cobble stones aren’t white. They are red. Stained red. I prefer not to look.

I pushed myself up the small hill and met Atteo at the doorway of his home. He half noticed me, quickly shoving something under his cloak,

“Reladol!” He said cheerily enough, “You are here. Do you have everything? Are you ready?”

“I am ready, Cherro Atteo.” I said obediently.

“Excellent, excellent. Give me a few moments. We must wait for Dea, she is coming too of course. I say, have you seen the list of guests? There’s some interesting faces. You’ll be especially precise with your shorthand, won’t you? Times are changing. What stands as strong now won’t last forever. Actually, I’ve been quite busy these last few days. The…well, the state of affairs in town is much more complicated than anyone would think. I have been in and out of everywhere; seen practically everybody. You can’t imagine. A lot of interesting faces…yes. I hope you’ll be especially attentive?”

“Of course, of course, anything you say,” I smiled wearily, the light gone out of my eyes. My soul was starting to dread a long night. 

“Ah, here she is. Dea! Are you all ready? Do you need anything?”

Cherra Dea is Atteo’s wife. She is grand, like any high lady, but she is kind too, which isn’t always the case. 

Atteo is one of those people who can say things so beautifully and passionately when speaking directly to one person alone, but in a group of persons, his power of speech fails him, and his words and thoughts become somehow half-formed. I don’t know if it was because he was nervous, or just his way of talking. 

We headed down to Atteo Salacheo’s boating house. The house of the feast was up a boating channel that connected to Atteo’s estate. It was a short ride. We sat in the boat as the oarsman steered up the current. It’s very clever what the architects have been able to design with the boating channels. They are swift and efficient. 

As we neared, I began to feel more tense and reddened. I was afraid of catching a glimpse of Adha, or worse, her catching a glimpse of me before the proper time. I didn’t want to kill what little I would see of her that night. I glanced at every face passing by, both wishing and fearing it was her. Atteo noticed my distraction and tried to make me focus once more. I checked my writing things and decided to simply look down until we arrived at the hall. 

The Hall is really a beautiful thing. It’s high on the cliffside, as high as a building can be, looking out to the sea. It has huge paned windows looking to the seaside, hundreds of cubits below, so that almost an entire wall is a glass view of the ocean. The table stretches down the whole room. It’s lit with candles and sea lights, but tonight the Emanor and the moon would be enough light for anything. The ceilings were tall, but most ceilings are tall in this country. It’s a sign of dignity. 

Even as we approached I could already hear Lipam DeChavitam’s loathsome tones. My stomach revolted. The town idiot. The old fool. He was always talking, always in a sputtering nervous voice. He always sounded like his voice was about to break into sobs or hysterics; I don’t know what. I furiously hoped Atteo wouldn’t go to greet him. Luckily, we slipped past into the main room and were given our spots at the table. My heart beat a hundred-fold when I saw Cherra Adha was at least sitting on the same side, and wasn’t at the far end. She sat with a group from the artisan school she was attending. They looked joyful and engaged, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The people around Atteo and I were of a different sort. 

“Did you hear that Lito Anasino actually tried to veto the Queene’s temporary suspension of the project?” It was Goné Hattiché, of course. She always starts with the bad news and makes sure no one ever moves on from it.

“Oh! Really! That is terrible! Surely there is some mistake, haha.” Lipam DeChavitam said, his voice quivering. He was old and disgusting. Everything I wish not to be if I grow that old.  

“Of course he did, the Queene pushed him to it,” Santi Aphrodi replied quietly. He was the only sane man there I believe. 

“What do you mean the Queene pushed him to it? The Queene does not push anything. She does what she does. She does not push people. If she wants someone to do something, she’ll make them do it.” Goné Hattiché replied. 

“The Queene doesn’t have as much power as all that, Cherré Goné,” Atteo chipped in. He nudged me, but I was already writing everything down. “The Queene must stay within the limits of the constitution which she upholds herself, within reason, within the parameters of the ancient laws. Besides, she has some subtlety. If she showed all her motives she wouldn’t have as much power would she?”

“And why,” Said Goné Hattiché in an obnoxious tone, “would she not have as much power? The power is in her nature, Cherro Atteo, not in her subtleties. She was anointed for the throne. She had no need to ensure her powers as you say, as long as she keeps to the ancient laws, the Temple must sustain her.”

“Keeping to the ancient laws is not so easy a thing,” Santi Aphrodi interposed quietly. 

“It is if you’re Goné Hattiché,” the sarcastic Benti Ruzhetti said. Goné Hattiché ignored him. 

Atteo spoke up, “Well that’s obviously what the whole…issue is about, isn’t it? How are the ancient laws to be interpreted in the actions today? They’ve been carried down for centuries one way and another way, but now there are two sides to it. Lito Anasino isn’t the only one who’s been pushing for the expansion of the underground city. The Queene doesn’t disagree but she’s cautious of Cherro Lito’s motives. She forwarded the suspension for a meeting of the council and historians, but Cherro Lito appeals to the ancient laws and says it must move forward despite “terra disputa” as the poem says. It all passes away…”

“Cherro Lito is the Queene’s slave and servant, everybody knows it. What motives could he have? He got his position from the Queene herself, in fact, he was her closest councilor. Do you think they wouldn’t have come to an agreement on such an important issue before this? You’re telling me to believe the Queene gave her closest counselor the position of Centre Column without knowing his motives! It’s insanity! It is all perfectly obvious to me! They are working together somehow to undermine the revolution.”

“What, the…the revolution?” Lipam DeChevitam leaned forward, clearly following Goné Hattiché’s every word with prudish curiosity. 

“Yes, the revolution, you fool, you can’t deny it anymore. It’s gaining more followers every day. I really don’t have faith in our country if its people start questioning the oldest of laws simply from a little rift between the Royalty and the Temple, which, of course, is all a conspiracy anyway. I can’t believe what idiots some of the great lords have become! It’s one extreme or the other. No faith! No faith! Undermine the Temple or undermine the Queene, you choose! A revolution is a foolish idea. As if they could ever fix anything? Where did they come from anyway?”

“It’s not really a revolution Cherré Goné,” Atteo said, hotly, “It’s not overthrowing something, it’s more a movement—“

“Of course you’d say that Atteo Salacheo, we all know your loyalties lie with them. But it’s obvious why the Queene would cease the work on the underground halls, because that’s exactly what the revolution wants most badly to happen! Lito Asanino has pretended to take their side for now, but it won’t last long, you’ll see.”

“Oh bravo, this makes everything clear, Cherré Goné. We are obviously all stupid and you are not.” Benti Ruzhetti remarked with acidity. 

“Cherri Benti, I have yet to hear one original word from you tonight, or really your whole life, before I dain any of your comments with a reply,” Goné Hattiché spat. 

“That’s all very well,” the calm voice of Santi Aphrodi interposed, “But Cherré Goné, where did you get the information that it was Lito Anasino himself who tried to veto the suspension? Isn’t that what much of the Temple has been clamouring for? How do you know it was the Centre Column himself?”

Goné Hattiché mumbled a few things and desperately tried to regain her ground. The conversation went on this way. Always the Temple, or Royalty, or Lito Anasino, or the Queene. Suspension of the work on the underground city though? I wondered vaguely if that would affect Cherra Adha’s fountain project. No, no, that was clearly an over-world project. It was the centre of the palace after all. I looked at her. She was too far away to speak to. By some miracle she happened to glance at me at the same time and she smiled slightly. I said something with my eyes, I don’t know what, and quickly looked away as if I had only accidently locked eyes with her. Oh, how stupid I am.

The dinner was splendid, but it’s hard to eat and record conversation at the same time. Lipam DeChavitam blabbered on about how the underground cities were a technological advancement but continued to deny any possible alternate motive. Goné Hattiché disagreed with everybody and continually inferred how stupid everyone else was not to have known the key to the whole issue like she did. Why did Atteo have to choose the most unpleasant circles to make conversation? His wife Cherra Dea seemed to be in the same mind for she stared mournfully at me, sitting on the other side of a furtively gesticulating Atteo. 

Atteo suddenly nudged me, more like slapped. 

“Are you getting everything? Every word?” He violently whispered in my ear.

“Yes, yes, of course.” I replied. I was not getting every word, but this was a small sacrifice. After all, Atteo had only used my transcriptions twice in the past, and one of those had been an argument with his wife about what type of fish he had ordered for dinner. He was wrong of course. Wives tend to know these things. 

Half of the party decided to move outside and half decided to stay inside after supper and chat by the towering windows and the fireplace as the sky became a violet mauve of silver and gold and deep blue. The eels could be seen from the house just as well. Cherra Adha followed the half going outside. To my great sadness, Atteo remained inside with the others, and being chained to him, so did I. Oh well. She didn’t look at me when she went. Maybe she secretly hates me?

A circle of the party had formed, standing near the drinks and under the floor to ceiling windows. I followed Atteo into their midst. Goné Hattiché was speaking to some noble woman in the corner so we all had a moment's peace. I filled my cup with sparkling wine and managed to find a way to look on absentmindedly, leaning against a table of drinking glasses, while still secretly transcribing the dull conversation that was grinding on my nerves intolerably. 

Atteo was speaking to Santi Aphrodi on something about the aqueducts and boating channels and their importance. Standing near me was a very interesting person. Her name is Cherra Sola. She’s a lady of great dignity and she was standing, looking into the fire, her figure outlined in grace and age. She is past forty at least, but was so pensive and so mysterious, that it was hard to place her age. She appears to be alone and unmarried, at least that’s what people assume. But she has more of the air of a wife who’s husband has left her forever but whom she still loves. She doesn’t speak much. I certainly had never spoken to her. A dry male voice broke my peaceful reverie. 

“What are you chatting about, fellows? The aqueducts? What monotonous conversation that must make! Frankly, I’d like to know what you think of Goné Hattiché’s ravings. The Queene and Cherro Lito in secret league? What utter raving nonsense! They’re bloody enemies; always have been I think. At each other’s throats every day. No religion and state has ever been able to be ‘in accord’ for more than five years. Idiots!” Benti Ruzhetti thrust his cynical self onto our corner of the room, and I still loathe him for it. 

“What…no! Nonsense! But that’s simply…simply unpleasant!” Lipam DeChavitam’s quivering voice broke, “The State was made by the Temple! They must be in accord, or there would be no government. You must be joking! You must! To doubt the Queene? Why...why…that’s against the scientific method isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

Lipam DeChavidam has an infernal cane he always carries around and has the habit of leaning on whenever he is nervous, which he always is. I’ve seen him pick it up and hold it, so he must not need it to walk, which makes it more loathsome. It’s a sign of his disease of insecurity and squeamish fear of anything unpleasant. He fidgets with it and plays with the top, which is a round ball of iron or something. When he leans forward in simping curiosity, he uses it as balance. 

“What child fantasy are you living in, Cherram Lipam? You don’t know what goes on in the halls of the palace or what gets decided on councils! I have, or at least, I try to actually figure things out. I say there’s been murder in the palace! Yes, you remember the accident of the messenger? They hushed it up so well, but there’s no denying where it came from.” Beni Ruzhetti towered over Lipam with menace. This was the moment Goné Hattiché decided to rejoin the circle, but Lipam DeChevitam has already started speaking again, 

“Child fantasy? I…how dare you…in a noble man’s house! In front of all these people? I’ll…I’ll fight you, Cherri Ruzhetti. Yes! Murder too? Accuse the Temple or someone…someone of murder of that messenger? You are out of your mind, you are!”

Goné Hattiché exploded, “Murder in the palace is right, right as can be! But not from you, Cherri Benti. I see what you’re inferring! The Queene trying to prevent the decision of the council from ever reaching the outer world? Or better, Lito Anasino himself stopping his own grant of rank? Haha! You fool! You try to figure things out? Figure this out; The revolution murdered the messenger! The revolution destroyed that paper! Because the revolution wants the underground city for their own uses!”

“What do you know of the revolution, Goné Hattiché? What do you know of their cause? Their movements?” Atteo couldn’t stop himself from saying. 

“I know perfectly everything about them. They aren’t secret, Cherri Benti will agree with me. They want the freedom of the slave class to start a revolt against the Temple! They don’t believe in religion, or inspiration, or art! They want to destroy the monuments and kill the architects to try and be gods themselves. Isn’t that right?”

“What art do you make that you are so concerned about?” Benti Ruzhetti sneered. 

“Oh no! No!” Lipam DeChavitam cried, “No, that’s ludicrous! Preposterous of you! I’ve heard these rumors and conspiracies, but they aren’t real…the Prime Arche told me so. Not real! Not in this town at least. Perhaps in the slave class somewhere, but that would be perfectly terrible! How could they? We have the militia, and then there are the ancient texts! Could they profane it, could they?” He wrung his hands madly.

For some reason, Benti Ruzhetti looked straight into my eyes after that moment, and smiled the most sinful grin I have ever seen. He quickly looked back and the moment was gone. But I never forgot it. 

Atteo stumbled out a few words, “It’s not profaning, no, that’s all wrong! That’s not what the ‘revolution’ stands for at all!—If you must call it that. No, it’s about broadening society into more than just the ancient texts. Everyone agrees we can survive without the slaves! In fact we can build without the slaves just as well! But why haven’t we done it? It’s not destroying, it’s adding on. Like…like a turret on a tower or something. Don’t you see?” 

“Like a turret on a tower? Ha!” Benti Ruzhetti scoffed. 

“What nonsense that is from you Cherro Atteo, I always thought you were more intellectual than that.” Glared Goné Hattiché, “Besides, do you really think the revolution that poisoned the Common Hall’s well is actually going to liberate any slaves, even the innocent ones? Will they actually make them free people? Of course not! The only person I see in this whole world who’s trying to do that is the Queene, and what does the revolution want? Less powers for the monarchy! Aha! What do you say to that Atteo Salacheo?”

“The slave question is secondary—“ Atteo began. 

“Secondary? Secondary? What of the poisonings? What of them? The murder of the messenger?” Goné Hattiché persisted. 

“My dear Cherré Goné,” Lipam DeChavitam interposed weakly, “Surely you don’t know what you’re saying? The revolution is still a myth, it hasn’t been proved. There’s nothing to it! What has it done in reality? It’s simply a culmination of questions that have been brewing in society over the years. You mustn't infer these things. The Temple and the Queene are as they should be…yes the slave question is of course, very pressing, but that’s what the councils are for. Just look, the underground city is in the works now. That’s proof that it’s being dealt with, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” I hated how he always repeated his last question. 

“You amaze me, Cherram Lipam, that a person can speak so many words and say nothing.” Remarked Benti Ruzhetti, always ruthless. 

“Shut up, Cherri Benti,” Atteo shot. 

“You’re one to talk, Lipam DeChavitam,” Came the quiet voice of Santi Aphrodi, much to everyone’s surprise, “I would have thought you had more interaction with the revolution than most.”

“What does he mean? What is he saying? What do you mean, Cherri Santi? Explain yourself!!” Goné Hattiché hysterically threw herself at Santi Aphrodi, who gazed back, unmoved. 

“You are all mad! You are all mad!” Lipam DeChavitam cried to the ceiling, furiously clutching his cane and rolling it in between his hands in spasms. 

It was then I caught a glimpse of Cherra Adha’s hair through the window. Then I saw her walk into my plane of vision. It was like a breeze. She stared down at the sea, unconsciously, ignorant to the fact she was being watched. Her hair was so long and red and it blew so freely in the wind. The wind. There was so much wind on the cliff sides. There was wind everywhere, but the monuments were designed to keep it out. My hand stopped moving along the tableau. I tried to imagine what she was thinking, staring at the waves…staring out to sea, at some future…unattainable. The colours in the sky were numerous and softly dark. She was standing next to her master, for she was an apprentice architect. I could feel the grass under my feet just by watching her. It was like we were the same person, and my body was left behind in the stuffy room, dead, while we both stared out to sea, pondering, watching. It was a light…so far away…untouchable. 

I was shocked to my senses at the sound of a glass pane breaking. Goné Hattiché seemed to have thrown her cup at Benti Ruzhetti and it had missed, breaking the window. The cold wind rushed in, but everyone continued shouting. I started sweating when I realised I hadn’t written anything for a full minute. I’ll make up something later, I thought quickly. 

“Slanderous fiend! You are a wretched piece of sarcasm, Ruzhetti! His family? His family? The DeChevitam line? In the revolution?”

“He isn’t wrong, Cherré Goné,” Santi Aphrodi spoke, “It’s his brother.”

“What? What? What are you talking of? My brother? I know nothing of my brother! We barely see each other? He? Lead conspirator? But this is…but this is…not good! It’s wrong! Impossible! In my house? In my house?” Lipam DeChavitam was white and ghastly, looking like he was about to collapse. Atteo was in spasms about something, shouting down Santi Aphrodi. Benti Ruzhetti was laughing his heart's content out. Goné Hattiché was throwing abuse at everyone and all while shouting to the servants to clean the broken glass, which for some reason she didn’t seem to register was her fault. Cherra Sola had risen from her gazing at the fire and looked like she was on the point of going up to Lipam DeChavitam to calm him, which I can’t blame her for. He did look shaken. 

“And what’s so bad about having a connection to the revolution? Answer me that!” Atteo was in the middle of everyone now, “It is a people’s party! An honorable movement! It’s idealism and a future! The lies about its crimes are just that: lies! So what? What’s to stop a people from thinking? Surely thinking isn’t forbidden? Surely new theories and plans are all part of the scientific method? There is nothing destructive here! No conspiracy!”

“Intolerable!” Lipam DeChavitam gave an exclamation. 

I couldn’t keep track of people’s words. My hands kept writing something, probably scribbles of nothingness. Cherra Adha had turned for one split second and I almost believed our eyes had met but it was much too far away. 

“Well, well! We see now what happens when a people think! Or better, when they don’t!” Benti Ruzhetti said, still laughing. However, as he began an arrogant walk over to the window he tripped over a chair and sprawled on the floor. It was Goné Hattiché’s turn to laugh. I felt so sick by now that I was on the point of leaving Atteo to his luck. Ruzhetti cursed because he had fallen on some of the broken glass and his hands were cut all over. The servants trembled. 

The Royals were insane, the Temple was insane, the revolution was probably just as insane. I put my tableau away under my cloak and walked away. I caught the eye of Cherra Sola. She sympathized. I went out into the wind. 

I was so dazed that I didn’t have enough energy to feel any more anxieties about myself, so I simply walked over to where I saw Cherra Adha. She was on another part of the cliff, looking down. 

I walked up behind her, put a few cubits of distance between us, then went to look over the cliff as if I just happened to be there, also looking over the cliff, at that exact moment, admiring something, curiously aloof. Perfect. 

She looked up at me, “Oh, hello Reda—Re—I’m so sorry, what is your name again?” She sounded really guilty about it. 

“It’s Reladol. That’s fine. It’s harder to remember without the last name. You are Cherra Adha, yes?”

“Yes, and of course I remember now. I see you everywhere. We’ve talked many times before. I suppose I’m not used to the higher class of all these noble people anyway,” she laughed, “But it’s all worth it for this view. Not everyone gets to be on the cliffside like this and see the raw ocean.” 

“That’s true.” I replied. Raw ocean. That’s exactly what it is.

“What happened inside? I saw the broken glass.” She asked.

“Oh, they were arguing about politics and the state of things. I think some of them had drunk a little too much. There was no harm done though.” I couldn’t say this for sure, of course, but I wasn’t lying.

“What politics?” She asked me. 

“Oh, the revolution.” I replied, hoping she didn’t ask any in-depth questions. 

“Oh yes, the revolution. I would have thought so. What do you…what do you think of the revolution?” Her eyes looked quizzically straight into my soul. I started to perspire. 

“The revolution? I don’t know much about it I suppose. I…I know it has some good ideas. Ideas one can get behind. It has the freedom to say things the Temple or the Royalty can’t exactly say the same way. I suppose I admire them a bit for actually trying. At least they can challenge some viewpoints in society that need to be challenged to make things better. They are…well they’re just people trying to fix problems and have new ideas.” Most of this speech I got from things I had heard Atteo say to me. 

“Would you join them?” She asked.

“I…would I join them? Why, why I don’t know. I’ve never been asked to.” 

“Really?” Her eyes widened, “They’ve given me papers on their ideas multiple times and two people at the art studio have tried to get me to “join”. I haven’t said yes but I haven’t said no. Like you said, I admire them. But I want to know more about the system first. I’m so new to it all.” 

“Oh! Well, that’s interesting! I…I think I am the same. I wouldn’t say yes or no now, but I want to learn more. It could be the changing point, couldn’t it? They have so many grand ideas that seem beautiful and good.”

“That’s right,” She said, “I admire them for their beautiful ideas. It’s because of beautiful ideas that people can make beautiful things. But of course the beautiful ideas come from beautiful things. I wonder what the first source is? I’ve read some of the ancient texts, and they say the One God, the Primo Artist. I believe that.”

Her face was looking out at the glowing planet Emanor, both moon and sun, something different and in between. Its pinkish golden light reflected on her face as it set beneath the ocean. 

“I think I believe that too.” I said, quietly. 

“I wish I could go somewhere where I could know for sure. But for now, one can only sit and…behold. Behold it all.”

“That’s a good way to say it.” 

Emanor was gone. The moon began to rise. I looked down the cliffside and saw a strange-looking architecture that seemed to be sitting in the ocean. 

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to it.

“That’s the ocean château. It’s a curious building. I studied it once for its design. It’s quite brilliant.”

“What does it do? What is it for?”

“It’s designed in a way that it can withstand the tide. Sometimes in the year it’s completely submerged. It has a draining system running up the walls and all the water flows down into a system of aqueducts under the floors. It’s like catacombs down there. I went once. They never flood, it’s like a thin layer of water running down a stream. Honestly, the aqueducts underneath are just as mysterious and profound as the actual building.”

“If it’s completely submerged, then it must get cut off. I wouldn’t want to get stuck in it.”

“Oh, the tides are only that high for a few days, and even then, it would only be half a day for the tide to go fully in and fully out.” 

“Yes, I can see that. Well, that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

She smiled, “No. I think it would be…sublime. For a day.” 

She sat on the grass, overlooking the ocean and rested her head on her hand, staring out to sea. I sat down on the grass too. We both sat and watched the moon rise and turn everything to black and white. One could see giant creatures moving in the waters and it inspired both terror and awe, and oddly, a great longing to be one of them.

“Would you ever want to…sail all the way that way? Far away? And see what lies beyond?” I asked, my voice trembling.

She didn’t reply for a moment. My face flushed. 

“Yes,” She said at last. Quietly, decisively, “Yes I would. Very much.”

I breathed in and out, not knowing how to respond. It lasted too long. My thoughts weren’t coherent after the trying evening and I was tired, but so alive. I turned to her. It was on the tip of my tongue. 

“Reladol! Reladol, you idiot, where have you been? I have needed you a thousand times. Come on, we’re leaving. I’ll need an explanation. Oh, Cherra…Adha. Cherra Adha, yes? I’m so sorry to bother you. Hurry up Reladol, Dea is waiting for us.”

I scrambled up and tripped and followed Atteo who was huffing and clearly angry and worn out. We left. That’s all I have left to say in this section. The next part should explain it all. 

Except we didn’t leave. I thought we would head to the boats. No, Atteo grabbed my arm and brought me back to that blasted looming hall. I saw that most of the party had left by now. I wasn’t surprised. It had been nasty. 

The servants by some divine talent had drawn the curtains over the enormous windows. I could not believe so much cloth existed in the world. It was a light fabric, but one couldn’t see through it by the way it shimmered. I did not like it since it made the room stuffier and hotter and it felt like one was walking into a cathedral with evil intent on one’s mind. 

By the fire was Cherra Sola, which surprised me. She stood, silent, straight, sad. She was part of the room. Near her were chairs set up around the fire. Atteo Salacheo led me to them. One could hear the servants in the other rooms, but we were alone, besides Cherra Sola. I found this very strange. 

Atteo ushered me into a chair,

“Where is Cherra Dea?” I asked, looking around. 

“She has gone back already.”

“But the boat?”

“We’ll take another.”

“How long will we be here?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I was silent. 

“Reladol, first of all, why did you stop recording the conversation? You were there! Didn’t you see how important it was!”

I thought of the violent room, high with emotions and hate. I thought of Goné Hattiché’s large teeth and bulging eyes. I thought of Lipam DeChavitam’s old and mincing voice, breaking every second. I thought of Benti Ruzhetti’s sinful grin. 

“I’m sorry. I had a headache.”

“If we were not very good friends, Reladol, and I didn’t know you to be a reliable and loyal person, I would never ask you to come with me again.” 

I swallowed, “I’m sorry Atteo…I just…I just…”

“You just want something more?”

That wasn’t what I had been going to say, but it was better. 

“Yes.”

“Do you still want something more?”

“Yes.”

“I saw you during the conversation. You looked at people like Lipam and Goné with such contempt. But you admire someone like Santi Aphrodi do you not? Or Leta Margharita?”

I nodded. 

Atteo drew closer, “I think you realise by now, Reladol, that the revolution is a much larger thing than anyone suspects. It’s everywhere, it’s working, it’s changing everything. The new age is here. I think you would agree?”

“Yes.”

“The revolution, though, can’t survive off rich or high people who sit in their homes and curse the secret lies of the Temple or intrigues of the Queene’s court. They need people who act, who can do, who have a conscience and know what is right and what is wrong. It’s not an easy path. It’s almost…heroic. It’s the sort of life where one would die on a balustrade under a banner shouting, ‘I die for the good and the beautiful, and with my death, I ensure the life of the good and the beautiful!’ And your death wouldn’t be a snuff. It would go on…forever and ever…and people would remember it. Your life would be the cornerstone to greater monuments.”

Curse you, Atteo. You do know how to talk sometimes. 

By now I was in his hand. I wanted it so badly, more than he probably expected. I saw myself dying on a balustrade and a red haired spectre reaching for me, weeping and rejoicing, looking up into my eyes with love as I closed them forever, my blood staining the white stone for a millennia to come. 

I nodded. 

“You realise what I’m going to ask, do you not?”

“I…I think I might,” 

“It won’t be an easy thing to decide.”

“All right?”

“Reladol,” His face was so close to mine now. I had a hard time looking into his eyes. “Will you join us? Will you join the revolution?”

My body felt like a dream.

“How can I?” I asked, whispering.

“How can you? Why, you’re a free man, freer than most. You decide what you fight for.”

“No, I mean, how do I?”

“Just say yes, and I’ll make all the arrangements. You’ll become one of us. You’ll become a part of the cause.”

My mind flashed back to ‘I admire them for their beautiful ideas.’ Adha Tsava had said that. She was wise.

“Yes…” I said, unemotionally. 

“You’ll…you’ll join?” Atteo asked again.

“I will, I want to join you.” I said with more confidence. 

Atteo smiled, “Yes! Yes, this is perfect! Reladol, you’ll be part of us now! You won’t be in the dark. They’ll be so pleased…so pleased…think of what you can do! All right, now, think about it carefully. The revolution doesn’t take half hearted people who just join for show. You really believe it? Do you need a day to decide?”

“No. No, of course not.” 

“Excellent, excellent. I am…so happy Reladol. Listen to me; in a few weeks I’m meeting with the lead strategist and thinker, the ‘recruiter’ so to speak. You can come with me, no? He’ll explain it all to you much better than I could and he will tell you everything you need and what you can do. It…it will be a surprise, but it’s worth it a hundred-fold,” Atteo sighed, “I’m actually…I’m actually rather jealous of you Reladol. The recruiter will find so much use for you. You are a useful person. I…” He thought for a moment, “Well, however that is, this is splendid. It will be so good to have you on our side.”

“Your side?”

“Well, I mean, in on everything, you see?”

“Oh, yes.”

He held me warmly by the shoulder, “Now, my good friend, listen. We’ve arranged to meet in three weeks time. Locheday, the 32nd, just after dusk hour at that little building down by the ocean, actually quite near here. It’s got a dome and some strong glass and it’s half submerged in the ocean. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

“The ocean château?”

“Yes! That’s the one. How brilliant you are! We’re meeting there, got it? Will you be there?”

“Yes, of course.”

He smiled and gazed into my eyes. I looked away, ashamed of my excitement. This building felt like a strange place for this conversation. 

“Well, let’s be off then,” Atteo stood up, “You will come with me to the boat?”

“No, no I’d rather walk through the town to my place. Thank you.”

“All right, sir. As you wish.” He mock-bowed and left the room, pleased with his results. I smiled to myself. At least life wouldn’t be boring anymore. At least I had something to get behind. 

This is exactly what I wanted. 

I felt a burst of energy and stood up, ready to fight or charge or be given some task. I picked up my hat and began to head towards the other exit, elated, energetic, living, curious. What could it all mean?

I was nearly out when soft hands suddenly seized me from behind. It startled me in the highest and I wrenched away terribly but they still held on. A moment later I saw it was Cherra Sola. She had been by the fire the entire time. I had forgotten. She was very close to my face. I relaxed slightly, but only slightly. 

“Sir,” I had never heard her speak, “Sir, listen to me. Don’t do it. Don’t join them; the revolution. It’s a lie.” Her voice was nothing and everything; a painful whisper, quivering with fervor. 

“What? I…I…”

She looked so pleadingly and earnestly at me. She was so tragic and so romantic. It startled me more. 

“Why, why shouldn’t I?” I whispered, my words trembling. It was dark and still and warm from the fire. 

“They’ll eat you alive.”

“I don’t understand—“

“The revolution isn’t what they say it is. It was once good and pure,” She shook her dark head, “It isn’t any longer. Don’t get caught by it. They’ll suck your blood. They’ll sacrifice you. Sacrifice you to their fake gods. It’s a façade. I wouldn’t wish it upon you for all the world. Please,” Her face was no longer middle-aged and sombre. For a moment I saw her in her youth; fiery, free, revolutionary…

I couldn’t say any words and the tension rose. I broke free from her grasp, inhaling through my teeth, my head full of questions. 

“Who are you?” I breathed.

“What does that matter? Will you sell your soul to them too?”

“I…I don’t know.” Could I say yes? Could I say no?

She grasped my hand and pressed it to her lips as a last appeal. She never took her eyes away from me, “Don’t do it…don’t do it.”

I shook my head, pulled away, and stumbled out of the room.

Even now I don’t really understand her. What could her mystery be?