“Weather Update: It’s Hot”
And here’s another update that’s not about the weather: I’ve been busy because I started a new job! And it’s been weird adjusting to being a normal functioning member of society again instead of an Animal-Crossing-playing, YouTube-watching, quarantine-eating sack of dirt. But I’m back, baby, and boy is it weird to suddenly have to learn how to code machine learning in Python after all I knew how to do was make some maps. But hey, that’s what YouTube tutorials are for.
I actually have a couple of “new” short stories, and I say “new” because I wrote them last year but I’m only transcribing them now, but I’m not sure they’re ready for “publishing,” and I say “publishing” because putting anything on here has the same industry merit as screaming underwater. But it’s something! And I’m going to revise those stories a little bit first. But until there, here’s another installment of that ongoing series about not-German not-vampires, Spectral Crown. It’ll take off one day.
Anyway, here’s the preceding chapter. Follow those links back and eventually you’ll reach the start. Or you can click on that tap that says “From the Vault” up at the top and scroll down!
Spectral Crown, by Andy Sima: Chapter Three
My mother and I made our way down the spiral staircase and out into the castle’s great foyer without seeing a single other soul, Uradel or otherwise. Upon reaching the entrance, we prepared ourselves to step out into the Stalpert Valley afternoon.
I glanced around the entranceway again, taking note of the arching, gothic ceilings and statues lining the alcoves. Much like the tapestries littering the walls of other parts of the castle, the statues seemed to stare in an uneasy fashion. I never particularly enjoyed the foyer area, though the nobles in the court always seemed to get a kick out of it.
My mother and I stole quietly through the stone walls of the chateau and made our way out not through the castle door, but rather through a smaller servant door off to the side. The door was creaky and old, and worn down by years of use. It probably had not been replaced in generations. My mother and I exited through it and closed it behind us. We shielded our eyes against the sun high in the sky.
It was that odd time in afternoon between the sun’s highest point and the point at which one considers the sun to be setting. One might call it late afternoon, and the sky was a brilliant blue, with that giant flame of a star somewhere far overhead, pleasantly bathing the mountainside in its warmth. And it bathed more than the mountainside; the entire valley below seemed to be wrapped in the sun’s heated blanket of light. The Arch River gurgled through the middle of the valley, and on the river’s side, the largest village of Stalpert Valley squatted in the sunlight. Muddy roads and wooden homes made up the town’s character and played contrast to the stone mountains surrounding it. The crop fields, spread out far below, beyond the river, shimmered in the light breeze like waves on a lake and lapped at the forest banks. Farther across the valley there were stray homes of farmers and the mountains on the other side. Up and down the river, were smaller towns, though I could not see them. I doubted I ever would, as I only ever dealt with the Stalpert village. The entirety of Uradel’s holdings resided in this valley. What an odd country it was.
My mother and I took a quick moment to appreciate the valley that lay before us, and began picking our way down the side of the mountain by means of a trail I had traveled quite often. It was partially a road, partially a dirt path, and once had been significantly larger, but years of neglect by the royal family had left it to become overgrown at its edges. The only people who used it with any regularity were the servants and some traders who bothered to make the trek up to the castle. We walked, passing through splendid pine trees and light-spangled underbrush without giving it much thought.
It was a relatively steep trail, twisting and turning across switchbacks, which is why the royalty rarely left the castle. Once the trail began to level out, we were in the Stalpert village proper. We could see a distinct line of demarcation that told us at what point we entered the town, since the road became wider and far more traveled than the trail leading up the mountain retreat. This wider road had a greater sense of life than the abandoned forest path. There were wagon wheel ruts, horse prints, and dirty children tumbling about in the afternoon’s dust and grime. Off the street, on the front porch of houses, inside blacksmith shops and general stores, older individuals stood and talked or worked on whatever it was that they had made their craft. Painted signs and carved pieces of wood proclaimed what each individual had to offer, from horse saddles to what seemed like fine jewelry. All went about their daily lives.
It occurred to me, as I turned back once and glanced up at the castle on the mountainside, that these men and women birthed, lived, and died under the careless eye of the Uradel family. Those rulers that were supposed to be their God-ordained protectors sat up in their chateau on the mountain and collected their taxes from the people who had otherwise nothing to do with them. These people did not know the ruling family, and the ruling family did not know the people. But, at the very least, the Uradels did protect the valley, after a fashion. No one with half a mind of curses would dare invade the Stalpert region.
I was thankful not to be the King’s attendant. The king’s current attendant, Simon Taylor, was the tax collector and the one of members of the castle that the people knew and hated with a passion. Poor Simon, coming from the west, represented the only things that the people knew about the Uradels; taxes. I certainly couldn’t blame their resentment, either. The Uradels didn’t do much else.
While Simon was a nice enough man in person, he was suppliant and would do as he was asked, regardless of what it was. He was easy to control and the perfect man to be the king’s attendant. There was not a drop of revolution in Simon. Maybe that was another reason that the villagers hated Simon. My mother and I, and the other servants, would do business with the villagers and pay them in fair currency, and often expressed our own distaste of the aristocracy. Simon kept mum, preferring instead to show up once or twice a year and collect taxes with a word and a document signed by the king. And yet despite all this, there was still one man in the King’s entourage more hated; Richter Reinhard.
Though he lived at the bottom of Stalpert Valley, Richter Reinhard was as much a member of the court as the Uradels themselves. He served as mayor of Stalpert village and direct correspondent to the king. He attended the royal court whenever he got the chance, if only to report on the wrong-doings of the townsfolk. This usually boiled down to petty theft or some sort of tax evasion, but every so often there would be murder or talks of treason, and Reinhard would run up the mountainside, fingers and eyes swiveling and his rat-like face smiling evilly to relate what had happened. The king, believing he ruled with an iron fist instead of the laissez faire actuality, responded by sending legions of uneasy soldiers into the valley to arrest the offending individual. Once the suspect was arrested, Reinhard became judge, jury, and executioner. He seemed to revel in the executions, the treason charges the most, and he personally hefted the axe that ended many a life in Stalpert valley. The soldiers, having been raised in the castle and trained by the court’s resident tactician, were uncomfortable with the ordeal but unable to do anything besides hold the prisoners and present their necks to Reinhard. Every so often, this extravaganza would dominate the village square, and besides taxes, it was the only interaction the villagers maintained with the Uradel family.
So it was that we appeared in the village, a world apart from the chateau on the slope, and made our way through the village’s rutted streets towards the tavern at the center of town. We had been told to seek out the Schulze family, a kin of wealthy merchants, and this was most likely where we would be able to find one of their family members. Their wealth afforded them the ability to celebrate merrily.
I pressed open the door to the Stalpert tavern, grimy wood peeling away ever so slightly in my fingers, and was hit not only by the darkness but also by the odor of decaying hay and urine, which emanated from the floor of the dirty bar. But this was a smell typical of village life, and much of the castle, too.
Conversations in the tavern lulled as my mother and I entered. Our dress, though a bit rundown, was still the dress of royalty, and it made us conspicuous. But we were known about the village, and our faces put the drinkers at ease. As they recognized us, they returned to their laughing and grumbling amid steins of dark beer. A barkeep, bearing a smudged apron, manned the bar.
“Josefa. Saelac. What’ll it be today?” The barkeep asked my mother and me.
“We aren’t here to drink today, Rudolf. We’re looking for Johan Schulze. Is he about?” I asked the barkeeper, a portly middle-aged man with a tomato-red nose.
“Johan? Of course he’s around here. I believe he’s at that table in the corner, with his wife and brother. What do you need from him?”
“The king has a proposition for him,” I said, unsure of how to respond. This would have to be a matter of privacy, all things considered.
“A proposition, ay? Well, Godspeed to you, but more so to him. I’m far from jealous of his position,” Rudolf the barkeeper said and returned to his job.
“I am not jealous of Johan, either, to be frank,” my mother said under her breath. “Poor Treasa. I hope she refuses.” Treasa Schulze was the one daughter of Johan Schulze, and approximately the same age as both myself and Prince Maynard. The queen had not even known that the Schulze’s had a daughter.
As we made our way over to the table in the corner, where a part of the Schulze clan sat, I couldn’t help but notice a fellow bar guest’s head perk up as we passed. I didn’t get a good view of him, but I got the impression he was listening to us.
Upon reaching the Schulze table, I addressed Johan, the eldest Schulze member and father of Treasa. With him sat his wife, Otilia. They were all large, burly people, a trait that villagers in Stalpert valley shared in spades. This was contrast to the castle dwellers who employed me.
“Mr. Schulze, how do you do?” I said to the big man.
“Otilia, Johan, good to see you again,” my mother added.
“The Bergmanns!” Johan Schulze exclaimed. “I’m well, I hope you are, too. To what do I owe this unexpected… pleasure? You just traded with me last week.”
“We aren’t here to trade, Johan,” I said. “Not this time. We have something more intriguing to ask of you.”
“Well?” Johan said. “What is it?”
“We would rather we talk in private. May we speak outside?” My mother asked of the assembled group. Johan and Otilia glanced at each other, and then at Sebastian.
“No, I would rather we stay here,” Johan said, eyeing me with distrust. Perhaps I was less familiar to the villagers than I supposed I was. “You may speak frankly. Whatever it is you say, I can guarantee my wife will know sooner or later, anyway.”
“We aren’t worried about your family, Mr. Schulze,” I said, thinking back quickly to the hint of movement and impression of eyes on my back.
“It doesn’t matter who you’re worried about, Mr. Bergmann,” Johan said. “We would prefer to remain seated.”
“Alright, then, we can make do. May we be seated?” My mother asked.
“Go right ahead,” Sebastian answered, after a moment’s pause. My mother pulled up a rickety wooden chair and sat at the beer-stained table with the Schulze clan. I remained standing.
“So? What is it?” Johan asked as soon as we had been seated.
“By order of Queen Annalise and King Adalbert Uradel,” my mother said, as if reading from a script, “we have been requested to locate a bride for Prince Maynard.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Johan asked.
“Queen Annalise’s first choice would be your daughter, Treasa,” I finished.
There was a moment of shocked silence as the import of that settled in on the faces of the Schulze family. They looked at each other, at my mother and I, and then at each other again. After this pause, Otilia spoke. “And what if Treasa doesn’t want to marry Maynard?”
“She is not required to. However, the queen has instructed us to offer incentives to your family to encourage her agreement. We would like to discuss it further with Treasa, given your permission,” I said.
“What kind of incentives?” Johan asked.
“The queen did not specify. Perhaps money. Food. Fine clothes,” My mother said.
“We don’t need your incentives. We’re doing perfectly fine as we are now,” Johan said indignantly. “But what’s in it for us if Treasa says yes?”
“Besides the incentives?” I said.
“Besides the incentives,” Johan answered.
My mother spoke. “Well, you would all become members of the royal court, and would receive all the luxuries that go with it. You would be welcomed into Chateau Uradel at any time, and would even be offered rooms in the castle. You would be present to witness the King’s signing of documents and could speak with him personally. Treasa would eventually become Queen, upon Prince Maynard’s ascension to the throne. On the condition that Treasa is able to produce an heir, that is.”
Otilia’s face twisted into a snarl. “That’s the catch, isn’t it?” she asked. “They don’t want Treasa. They want a baby. Why doesn’t that impotent Prince just have the soldiers abduct a girl and impregnate her?”
“The king refuses to have a bastard grandchild,” my mother said. “They want a marriage and a legitimate heir.”
“That would make Treasa just a vessel for their bloodline, then?” Johan said, disgust in his voice.
“And a vessel for their curse, too, I reckon,” Otilia added.
“Please, there is no such thing as a curse,” I said, but Johan just chuckled. The chuckling caught in his throat as he glanced over my shoulder, though. I felt cool air breathing down my neck, and a voice like ice at the bottom of a lake.
“Oh, there is most certainly a curse,” the voice said, from behind me. My mother and I spun around to face this new voice, and as I suspected, it was the man from the table who had perked up to listen to our conversation.
He was wearing a dark black cloak, wrapped in the night sky, and it masked his body so that I could make out no discernible details. The cloak’s hood covered his head so that only his mouth was visible. And it was this mouth that spoke to us, with full red lips surrounded by an uncomfortably pale shade of skin. But this white skin, unlike the sickly look of the Uradels, seemed to contain its own ironic form of life.
The stranger pulled back his hood to reveal the rest of his face. The skin covering his skull was the same shade of white that I had seen earlier, and his eyes practically glowed in the low light of the tavern. He had raven dark hair that was sleek and oily, falling down the side of his face in a shadow cascade. But what struck me the most, besides his snow skin, was that he was beautiful by any standard of appearance. He had a face of an exquisite being, and it seemed to almost shimmer in the half-light of that building. As if every time I blinked, his face was slightly different, but equally as beautiful. And as his neck, strong, well-shaped muscles languidly carried the wonderful head of this stranger.
He blinked at me once, and I shook my head to regain my focus. “What makes you so sure there is a curse, sir?” I said, hiding my shaking voice. I found myself staring at his eyes and being unable to look away. There was something hypnotic about them.
“I have a great deal of experience with such matters,” he said. “And I know a cursed family when I see one.”
“Who are you, exactly?” my mother asked, her voice the same quiet resolve that it always was.
“Who am I? That does not matter. It is who I represent that makes a difference,” the stranger said.
“Then who do you bloody represent?” Johan said, tired of the melodrama. But the stranger was unfazed.
“I represent the Blestemat family, of the nation of Umbra, to the east of here. I was passing by when I overheard your little… proposal,” the stranger said. I had never heard of an Umbra nation before, or the Blestemat family.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, but the Uradel family is not currently looking for a bride outside of the valley.”
“You misunderstand me,” the stranger said. “The Blestemat family are the rulers of the Umbra nation. They are royalty, and they, too, are looking for a marriage to produce an heir. And they would be quite interested in a union with the Uradels, I believe. Blestemat daughter and Uradel son. Sounds like quite a nice wedding, don’t you think?”
Something about this beautiful man put me on edge. Against my logical judgement, I had the insane urge to run as far away as I could and have nothing to do with this representative from the east. But I had to maintain a level of diplomacy. “I’m sorry, sir, but the Uradel family is still not looking for an heir from outside the valley.”
“You might want to take this man up on his offer, Saelac,” Otilia said. “I don’t believe Treasa is going to want to marry Prince Maynard.”
“Otilia is right,” Johan said. “We want no business with curses. We built our trade from the ground up, and we aren’t about to let that useless Maynard ruin it with his cursed blood.”
“Very well,” my mother sighed. “Thank you for your time, Johan. Sorry to bother you.” And then she turned to the stranger. “But you. Let us take this discussion elsewhere, shall we?”
“I quite like that idea,” the stranger said. “May I?” he said, and offered a chivalrous hand to my mother to help her up from her seat. My mother stared at it, and pushed it away.
“I’m fine on my own, thank you,” and she stood up, staring at the young man and his gorgeous smirk warily. “Come, Saelac, we have business to discuss.”
“I suppose so,” I said. “So long, Schulze family. Good luck.”
Johan raised an eyebrow and glanced from the stranger to me. “You’re the one who needs it.” He chuckled softly and sipped at his beer stein.
Chapter Four to come the next time I’m too busy to write a full post…
