The Holy Trinity
The colossal void of the Dead Moon engulfs every glimmer of light, as the last sliver of the Great Moon's brilliance succumbs to encroaching darkness, leaving only an impenetrable cloak of pitch black.
Time halts its perpetual flow, and the world of Avos freezes in a suspended state of animation. The once-vibrant melodies descend into haunting silence; the strings lose their resonance, frantic drumbeats fall into a lugubrious pulse, and the notes decelerate into elongated strains until each sound is extinguished. Caught in summer throws, the dancers drift into cosmic suspension; midair pirouettes become crystallized whirls of frozen time, and leaps and bounds now hang in the air like suspended dreams, their expressions a paradox of movement arrested, flash-frozen in the silence. Avos stops dead, succumbing to celestial enchantment, where man and beast enter stasis, becoming living statues with bodies as heavy as stone. All eyes turn obsidian black, spellbound by the lunar eclipse, once vibrant with life; their eyes now mirror the heavens above, where a halo of cobalt blue and amethyst purple collide, battling for divine authority. Existence shimmers in a celestial tremor, halted from perpetual motion, with each element arrested in its movement in a cosmic stillness. Throughout Avos, rivers freeze like ice, rainfall hangs motionless in mid-air, transforming into crystalline diamonds suspended against the pitch-black sky, and the towering waves of the tumultuous seas climb for the heavens, grasping upward on a petrified tide. The wind holds it breath.
A slender slither of bright silver light cuts through the eternal night as the Great Moon escapes the Dead Moon's lunar embrace. Time unfurls, and all life is released, caught in the fluidity of time. The melodies quicken back into a frenetic pace as dancers resume their airborne flights. The world bursts with movement and life, and the people, reanimated, remain ignorant of the celestial vice, released from their trance-like state.
Autumn breathes as the gentlest hue of the distant, pale sunlight sits between the passing moons. The first sun rises, with the moons hanging on either side—one the brightest silver, the other forever impenetrable black—a sacred trinity in the sky. Autumn's first sunrise awaits in the argent light.
a rapid river of flowing stringed instruments that sweep, vibrant and free. The rhythm builds into a hypnotic ensemble, and the dancing crowds’ pulse with life as they gaze up at the celestial trinity in the sky.
Cardinal Lehon rolls through the hedonistic crowd, accompanied by a beautiful Baruci alongside him on each arm. A torrent of mutters and grunts spew forth in time with his waddling feet. The music fades as he finds the edge of the massive crowd, and, with pomp and bluster, he pushes through the dancing stragglers. He strides towards a looming shadow in the palace orchard, where a dark silhouette of a man loiters, standing tall as a bear, encircled by dancing Baruci courtesans.
“Ladies, you have work to do,” Cardinal Lehon says as he walks toward the shadowed man, his hands clasped together in pious prayer. As he comes face-to-face with the man, a wall of courtesans’ folds in around them, creating a shield of bodies. To the outside world, they are just another crowd lost in summer’s last reverie.
“You took your time, Lehon. You know the risk of me coming up topside and rubbing shoulders with these rich cunts.” The Beggar King says, then spits a huge glob of phlegm onto the grass, half of the sticky yellow mass hangs from his unkempt beard. “Look at me. I’m dressed up like a right twat. Thank fuck for the mask. At least I can hide my shame.” The Beggar King fidgets with his silver eye mask. “Let’s make it quick, Lehon. This topside air is clogging up my sinuses.”
“A pleasure, as always,” Cardinal Lehon bows, forcing a smile through gritted teeth, his words rasping. “The gold?”
“Unmarked bars, as agreed.” The Beggar King reveals a grim grin of rotting teeth, his breath reeking of decay.
“Excellent, everything is proceeding as planned,” the cardinal nods to himself. “The Baruci whisper that our illustrious king plans to strike a deal with King Eiden. He will offer farmlands and titles to persuade the Galtish lords to unite under Thiel. But he just wants all their gold, of course.” Cardinal Lehon sneers behind his mask. “Adal holds the kingdom by an unraveling thread; the loyalty of his lords is waning, and the imperial treasury is all but dry. The king needs gold before the kingdom falls into the hands of the bank.” He rubs at his round jelly chin. “Adal is no fool. If King Eiden returns to Galt before he strikes the deal, it will force him into more desperate measures.” Lehon’s fiendish eyes gleam with corrupt glee.
“So?” The Beggar King barks with a perplexed scoff, scratching at his beard.
Lehon sighs as if he’s schooling a stupid child. “The king is broke, and when Eiden returns to Galt, his last peaceful card is played. He will be forced to march on Galt and take the gold mines while he still controls the armies. He must choose between surrendering the kingdom to the bank or taking all of Galt’s gold for himself. Adal won’t surrender his legacy, and Galt will never yield.”
“Those are a lot of big assumptions, Lehon.” The Beggar King sneers with a disgusting snort of snot.
“The Galtish gold has bought our uprising. Thiel will fall to the people, and I will restore the true faith,” the cardinal nods to himself.
“What about the Galt prince?” The Beggar King frowns, looking less than convinced. “He sounds like a right cunt. He’s fucking his own father in the arsehole.”
“You’re right on both counts.” Cardinal Lehon licks his blubbery lips. “King Madon has claimed the throne and united the lords to reclaim their ancestral lands. War is coming to Thiel. Arm the people; prepare them for the uprising.”
“What about the king’s armies? Even twenty thousand well-armed rats can’t take a manned city.” The Beggar King stares down at the Cardinal. “They’ll be slaughtered.”
“Going soft?” Cardinal Lehon raises a single quizzical brow. “The armies of Thiel will march to Ossan, and what remains to guard the capital will be only a few thousand reserves. They will never expect an uprising. Thiel will fall to the people, and you, my friend, will leave on a ship that will carry you to any distant shore of your choosing.”
The Beggar King gives a slow, forced nod through gritted teeth. “What about blades? We ain’t got enough smiths in The Slaughters, and none that will keep their mouths shut.” He scratches at his thick beard and picks at an ingrown hair.
“A ship is docked at The Planks. Its cargo holds twenty thousand Tivanian blades,” responds Lehon. “Bought and paid for on my orders, hidden within bags of very expensive grain for the needy. The cargo will find its way to you under the guise of my temple escorts.”
“Sounds risky,” snorts The Beggar King. “What about the inspection guards?”
“I have bought the inspection guards, and I am assured the blades are hidden well,” Cardinal Lehon says, wiping his sweaty brow. “Unless you have a better idea?”
“I do.” The Beggar King leers down at the Cardinal.
“Pray tell,” Cardinal Lehon purses his lips.
The Beggar King lets the silence draw as he sniffs and sniffles. “Bring the grain bags and blades through the sewers. On the eastern wall, there’s a cleared-out sluice gate, away from prying eyes. It worked for the Galt gold; it’ll work for the blades too.”
“Then we have a plan.” Cardinal Lehon grunts with a hint of admiration. “The blades will arrive in two turns. I’ll send word to the port master at The Planks that the convoy is to be escorted to the eastern wall.” Cardinal Lehon muses and rubs porky fingers over his fat chin. His cheeks shake and wobble like blubber. “Call the congregation; bring them word that the king is selling them out. He plans to give their rightful lands to the Galt’s.”
“I’ll summon them to a sermon, but the rats will want quick justice.” The Beggar King rolls his shoulders.
“Justice,” muses Lehon. “We need patience. I’ll tell you when the time is right, but for now, the mob must simmer. Let the anger build. Some minor rioting is long overdue, but you must keep them in check.”
“Don’t get above your station, Lehon.” The Beggar King’s spittle flies into the masked face of the cardinal. “I know how to keep the peace.”
“Calm now,” Cardinal Lehon stands as tall as his low stature allows him, facing up to The Beggar King. “We both strive for the same outcome. Adal’s hand is being forced, and he must act soon.”
“If the king suspects, he’ll mount our fucking heads on spikes,” growls The Beggar King.
“Fulfill your end of the bargain,” Cardinal Lehon chokes with a sardonic laugh. “Arm the mob, wait for my word, and wage your war. Take your gold and leave. In the meantime, we need the city watch out of the slums; they have prying eyes and inquisitive hands.”
“What the fuck will you do?” The Beggar King kicks at loose dirt under his boots.
“I will send a message to The Planks that the grain is to be brought to the eastern sluice gate and inform King Madon of our plan. Cardinal Lehon rubs his fat belly and pats down his gaudy silk robes. “I will support King Adal’s plan for war and make ready The Order of The One. It will be I who brings the misled masses back to the faith when the kingdom falls.” He raises his head with enraptured eyes, looking up at the passing moon eclipse.
“Faith,” chides The Beggar King. “Does burying your cock in whores help your faith?”
“We all have a part to play,” Cardinal Lehon grunts. “The king can never doubt me. They must perceive me to be won over by their wickedness,” Lehon nods a parting farewell. “Our business is concluded. Wait for my rat.”
The surrounding wall of dancing Baruci courtesans’ part like waves as Cardinal Lehon turns and leaves, waddling back through the dancing masses with a courtesan on each arm. He wanders as a man corrupted, lost from the faith, for it is known to all.
The Beggar King clings to the darkest shadows of the orchard as he slinks his way back to his underworld kingdom. His journey brings him to a secluded alcove in the royal orchard, where a small regal fountain trickles with water. He scans the area, then fixes his gaze on a hidden sewer gate discreetly positioned next to the fountain, concealed in plain sight. He unlatches the sewer gate and steps down through the secret hatch, descending into a passageway that spirals deep into the earth, down the underworld of Elsan.
The Great Palace teems with music and dance. A soothing melody wafts through the air, carried by the gentle sway of strings, heralding autumn’s first dawn. The first pale sun rises, suspended between the black void of the Dead Moon and the bright silver light of the Great Moon. Intricate drums pound with a fevered rhythm, accompanied by the resonant echoes of chimes and the lilting melody of flutes, all heralding the imminent sunrise. The atmosphere swells into a hypnotic crescendo, captivating Thiel’s affluent masses as they stand spellbound by the coming light of the sun.
“We need another drink,” King Adal slouches amidst rivers of spilt wine, scattered fruits, and discarded platters.
King Eiden’s aging eyes drift to the dancing crowds, where hundreds of bodies sway, twirl, leap, and strut to the rising tempo beats. The drums roll, the flutes pipe exultant tunes, and the strings zip and weave.
“Our kingdom’s peace seems assured through the liberation of wine,” Queen Aina quips, her tone playful yet laced with a firm undercurrent of truth. Queen Aina and Nuria approach the kings, arm in arm, their masked gazes fixed on the tangerine glow heralding the imminent sunrise.
“My love, the sun rises; let us dance to greet its arrival.” King Adal bows gallantly to his queen, his cheeks flushed with wine.
“I fear I lack the vigor to match your dancing aspirations,” Queen Aina sighs with fatigue, her hands subconsciously coming to rest on her womb.
“Lady Nuria, do you dance?” King Adal flashes a charming crescent of white teeth.
“Your grace, I fear I’m an ill-suited dance partner, for I do not know the steps.” Nuria casts an embarrassed glance at King Eiden.
“Nonsense.” King Adal approaches Nuria with dancing steps, high on his own enthusiasm. “I’ve taught countless ladies the art of the dance. I’m an exceptional dancer and a better teacher. Follow my lead, and the dance shall flow like Thielian wine.” He extends his hand in an inviting gesture.
Nuria glances at King Eiden, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. King Eiden responds with a nod of acceptance and a warm smile.
Sweet melodies emanate from the strings, and the dulcet tones of flutes rise as the distant sun's glow bathes the palace gardens in dawning light. The masked crowd falls into silence, their palpable anticipation hanging in the air. The sunlight begins to encroach, flowing like a molten river of gold, gradually illuminating every corner of the palace gardens. The once-shadowed alcoves, mazes, and pathways now embrace the golden hues of morning, casting a warm and enchanting spell over the awakened palace gardens.
King Adal extends his right hand, palm up, to Nuria. She takes his hand as he pulls her to a wide clearing in front of the circle of guards. “My lady,” King Adal guides Nuria to a spacious clearing, then wraps Nuria’s slender waist with his hand, positioning her right hand on his shoulder. “Follow my lead.” Adal pulls Nuria closer, and they take a leisurely step forward, then to the side. Their fingers entwine, and their lips are tantalizingly close. Nuria’s feet follow suit, moving in synchronized steps with their bodies aligned and their hips pressed together.
The music erupts into a resounding chorus.
In the rising sun of autumn, the couple dances. Bodies locked, lips brushing, a gentle whisper in the rich flow of music. “Queen Nuria has a certain ring to it,” King Adal whispers into Nuria’s ear as they sidestep forward, then back.
“King Eiden is a good man, and I consider myself most fortunate,” Nuria whispers back, her lips touching the king’s ear. Sidestep forward, sidestep back.
“He envies every touch, every glance, and every whisper I share with you.” Adal glances over Nuria’s shoulder and catches Eiden’s suspicious gaze. “I hope you will be enough of a reason for Eiden to remain here in Thiel. It is my command.” Adal lingers on the last word as he locks eyes with Nuria, then blinks at the captain of the King’s Guard.
The Kings Guard march forward, drowning out the music with the clanking of their metal armor, forming a tight circle around them.
King Adal locks enraged eyes with Nuria, his charming facade crumbles like sand. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, whore,” he says, taking a step back, breaking their dancing embrace. “Do you take me for a fool?” Adal reaches into the folds of his silk gown and withdraws a short, thin, needle-like dagger that gleams in the rising peachy sunlight. He steps forward, and he presses the flat of the cold, slender, polished blade against her neck. “A woman of modest means arrives in my kingdom in search of silks without wealth or escort. A woman soon to be a queen.”
Beyond the circular wall of guards. King Eiden and Queen Aina exchange a strange glance of suspicious uncertainty.
Nuria lowers her head, surrounded by a wall of shining armor, their spear tips brushing against her silk gown.
King Adal’s dagger traces a path down her body, skipping between her breasts. “I could bleed you out right here and gut you like a stray dog,” Adal’s words spit into her masked face. He grabs Nuria’s face, tilting her head upward until the tip of his dagger rests just below her chin. “Or should my guards fuck you bloody and then feed you to my pit dogs?” Adal tugs on her silk dress until it falls to the floor.
Nuria stands as naked as the Great Moon above her, the King's Guard eyes leering down at her, their gaze exploring every inch of her nudity. “Or you can tell me why the fuck you are in my kingdom, courting my most valuable asset.” King Adal takes a slight step back, his wandering eyes expectant of an answer.
“You’re right, my king.” Nuria fixes Adal with an unwavering stare and steadier words. “I am a poor farming girl with nothing to my name. I came to Thiel in search of opportunities, and an opportunity presented itself.” She places a delicate hand on his arm and holds her head up high with pride. “I have grown to love Eiden as much as he loves me. I only hope to please my future husband.” She lowers her humbled gaze and says, "And to please you, my king.”
“You clever little bitch.” A hint of admiration flickers in Adal’s piercing eyes. “Eiden must stay in Thiel. Ensure this, and your rags-to-riches scheme shall endure.” The sharp tip of the blade of the dagger drops from her chin, and he runs the blade between her breasts to her navel before he takes a full step backward. “Should you fail, you will disappear in the most gruesome manner you can imagine. Do not flee, or I’ll hunt you down for sport myself. Do we have an accord, Nuria, Queen of Galt?” Adal tucks the narrow, polished blade back into the folds of his immaculate silks.
“Yes, my king.” Nuria picks up her silks from the grassy floor and reties them, regaining a modicum of dignity.
King Adal steps forward, draping his hands over Nuria’s shoulders. He leans forward, and his lips brush against her ear. “Go now and do as we have agreed. You will both remain in Thiel until I say otherwise. Should it not be so, I’ll put you on the butcher’s block myself.” He takes a step to the side, then to the front and back, reclaiming his most charming grin. “Excellent.”
The dance resumes, and the circle of guard’s marches backward with heavy metallic thuds that gouge through the pristine lawn. The music quickens into a frantic beat as the strings teeter on the edge of sanity. Bright morning sunlight bursts into the dance. Their steps quicken, and the crowd erupts in applause, cheering as pale autumnal sunlight shines upon the dancing couple.
King Adal leans forward, tipping Nuria back, so their backs arch in unison. He pulls her forward and takes a step back, offering a deep, humbled bow.
The crowd erupts in applause. The warming sunlight illuminates their enraptured, masked faces.
Nuria forces a shallow, bittersweet smile and bows to King Adal.
“Brother,” King Adal turns away from Nuria and strides toward King Eiden with strides of graceful charm. “Lady Nuria is a most accomplished dancer, although I must take credit for being an excellent teacher.”
King Eiden’s suspicious eyes shift to the guards and then back to King Adal.
“Forgive them, King Eiden. The King’s Guard are overprotective. It wouldn’t be the first instance in Thielian history that a king was slain at his own summer ball.” The kings burst into jovial laughter, and the tension breaks.
Nuria takes King Eiden’s hand, resting her head on his shoulder. “My love, we have celebrated the arrival of the new season, and now I believe it’s time for a woman’s rest.”
“As you wish, my queen.” Eiden runs a comforting hand through her long strands of raven hair.
“King Eiden, there’s no rush to return to Galt. Stay for a while longer.” King Adal strolls toward Queen Aina, and they both ascend the dais to their marble thrones. “Let us have breakfast together in two turns. I have some new plans to discuss with you.” He looks down at King Eiden with regal eyes. “Take your queen to rest. We will talk soon, in a more private setting.”
The mingling masses in the palace gardens gracefully part, creating a path for King Eiden and Nuria as they depart from the thrones, walking arm in arm. The hum of the crowd surrounds them like the gentle buzzing of bees, while the golden touch of the sun casts a radiant spell over the gardens.
Half a dozen indiscreet King's Guards follow at a respectable distance, escorting them towards the main palace gate.
Cardinal Lehon strolls discreetly behind Eiden and Nuria, obscuring the King's Guards' view. His pair of Baruci courtesans peel away from the Cardinal's arm. They approach the King's Guard, swaying on enticing hips, bare-chested; they embrace each other, lost in a lustful display; they catch the attention of all. The King's Guard's gaze is drawn to the frolicking courtesans.
“I see you’ve mastered some of Thiel’s more ambitious steps.” Cardinal Lehon’s plummy voice calls from Nuria’s side, rolling forward with a waterfall of sweat streaming from his bald head. He stops, clasping Lady Nuria’s hands in his own. He pushes a discreet vial of liquid into her palms and wraps her delicate fingers around it. “Go in the light of The One.”
Nuria pulls King Eiden closer, glances back over her shoulder, and watches the portly cardinal blend back into the crowd and the ogling masses watching the courtesan’s lurid display.
King Eiden’s household guards stand waiting before the ornate palace gates. Their green robes flutter in the morning breeze as a new set of schemes takes flight.