Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 17 – Duna

Note: I run the risk of backlash from faithful readers jumping away from the witch here, but I could not go much longer without bringing the Perde brothers back into the fold. I hope this doesn't drag too much after a riveting last part.

Disc 1
Track 17: Saving Us – Serj Tankian

“You’re tearing us, you’re tearing us, you’re breaking us, you’re breaking us, you’re killing us, killing us, you’re saving us...”

Hanging on the corridor wall that led to Union Hall were the portraits of every King of Satar. Ewam stood before the last two in the long line. The one of his father, sitting upon the throne with a goblet in his hand and the heavy red-and- white-jeweled crown of Satar upon his head, hung in a silver and black frame next to the one of Ewam and his brother. His father, of all the other Kings in the long corridor, showed the most emotion. A slightly, upturned lip was almost a grin when compared to the stern, staunch faces of his predecessors. His father had the humor to snub his nose up to tradition. The portrait had been done at the beginning of his reign before the birth of his sons, but the painting radiated that the man had a very good idea he was going to knock down the walls of tradition.

When it came time to commission a rendering for Eden and him, the two had wanted to honor both tradition and their father. It was no secret that nobles and others around the kingdom where still nervous about accepting two kings. Some had maintained and even lobbied for one brother or the other to step down. One man, a cousin on his father’s side, Randall Cortobrane had worked hard for Eden to claim the crown, promising more than fealty, but also a large army in case Ewam resisted. Ewam had been tempted by many of the offers, if for no other reason, he did not want to sit upon the throne, but the two brothers had pledged to their father to rule united. The first order of business when the two assumed the throne was sending their dear cousin Randall to manage the city of Stra in northwest Satar.

The two chose to stand back-to-back in the portrait in front of the throne, facing the artist and curling their lips in jest to all who thought the arrangement was destined to fail. The portrait had turned into quite the scandal as ladies in the court started spreading the rumor that the brothers already could not look each other in the eye.

Ewam studied the portraits often trying to determine how honestly they represented the men they portrayed. The artist had taken liberties in cleaning him up for instance. He had to hand it to the man, he had made it seem like Ewam belonged before the throne. Even so, he paled to Eden. His brother brimmed with confidence and strength. The reality that Ewam was inferior to Eden rarely left his mind. He spent most days striving to reach that level.

“Lord Ewam,” the voice, despite sounding like a mouse, made him jump.

He wondered how long his serving woman, Meriam, had been behind waiting for him. The woman was a few years younger than him with plain brown hair accentuated by the long brown hair that she wore in a bun. She was devoted to him, to her duty. It worried her beyond anything else to break decorum, but she had an ability to sneak up on him. She glided lightly along the floor no matter the surface.

“I truly apologize, my lord,” she curtsied far enough for her long skirt to fold twice against the tiled floor. “I would never have interrupted your important thoughts, if the not for the urgency of the message I carry.”

“What is it, Meriam?” He adjusted the black vest he wore over a white shirt. He should have been wearing some sort of jacket to be proper, but he sweated like a pig in those. He knew Meriam had one waiting for him before he entered Union Hall.

“A foreigner arrived this morning pleading to see the Kings of Satar. Lord Eden is with him now and requests that you join the audience as soon as you are able.”

“From where does this foreigner hail?” Visitors from other lands were rare.

“I do not know, my Lord. All I know is that he smells as if he hasn’t washed in his lifetime.”

“Smells?” Ewam tugged at the tufts of his beard. The woman removed his hand out of habit. At times she was devoted to formality, others she was like an older sister rebuking an uncouth younger brother. In a fluid sequence of movements, she was ushering him toward Union Hall, slipping a blue jacket with maroon stitching and folded cuffs over his shoulder, and calling for the doors to be opened for King Ewam. Sometimes he wished she could pull more strings to handle the many other tasks set before him.

The doors snapped shut behind him and Meriam was gone. He sighed without his little general pushing him toward duty. Before him was the great hall with the clean tiles and tall columns. Old Moon and New Moon floating in a sky of stars were depicted in a mural behind the thrones. His brother sat in one. Before him a man was kneeling and he did not look up when Ewam entered.

Checking to make sure the jacket was properly buttoned, Ewam started forward trying his hardest to mimic his brother’s stately gait. He was sure he was failing. Ignoring the man bent on one knee, Ewam studied Eden as he traversed the long hall. As always, Eden stood straight backed in the throne without a hint that perfect posture was nothing but perfectly comfortable. Despite that, Eden’s eyes were all wrong. They were red with a hint of fear and something else that Ewam could not quite put his finger on. Eden’s jaws were clenched, his hands were held tight to the throne. It was like he was being held there against his will.

A great gulp of fear eased down Ewam’s throat into his stomach as he took one look back toward the doors that now seemed impossibly far away. Why in the world would Eden see a complete stranger unattended? Ewam grasped for a sword at his waist that wasn’t there. They did not wear weapons in the throne room. They barely wore weapons at all with the only exception being when they traveled in the countryside.

Ewam was close enough to peer over the kneeling shoulder to see what lay on the floor before him. It was a long, curved blade with what looked like a glass hilt filled with sand. The sword’s appearance pulled at his memory, but that was kicked away by an even greater sense of urgency. He was incensed that any of their guard’s had allowed an armed man into a private appearance with one of the kings much less both. And Meriam? She’d never allow such a risk. Unless. A new fear swirled in his mind. Was this some sort of treason?

He didn’t have time to think or worry about the causes of the situation; he had to intercede. His brother was obviously shocked beyond action. Ewam changed his gait into a gallop. The man on the floor never flinched as Ewam jumped between him and his brother. If this man was looking to assassinate the kings, Ewam was going to shield his brother long enough for him to escape.

“Flee Eden, I will not allow this rogue to harm you,” Ewam words came out as a shout and he was shocked to see that the man on the floor never reached for the sword.

“Brother, that is not necessary,” Ewam could hear Eden rising to his feet behind him.

“A man armed before you and you do not see the threat?” Ewam thought about lunging toward the blade if his opponent was not going to make an attempt for it. He thought he might be quicker than his foe.

Ewam felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder. For the first time, he noticed the odor lingering around the thrones. It smelled of urine mixed with some other indescribable filth, both impossible for Union Hall. He couldn’t help holding the thick cuff of his jacket to his nose.

“He has vowed not to harm us,” Eden tugged on Ewam’s shoulde trying to get him to look away from the sword. “I believe him. Please, trust my judgment brother.”

Ewam took a few steps back trying to escape the smell. He studied the sword and then his brother’s face. He trusted his brother’s judgment more than his own, but this felt all wrong. Backing up more, he found his own throne and then forced himself to view their visitor.

The man wore a tattered brown jacket with what was once a white shirt below. The shirt was stained a dark yellow from ware and sweat. He had brown pants on underneath that had tears in a half dozen places. He was on one knee allowing Ewam to see that his leather boots with a thick wood heel were now fit for nothing more than a hot burn pile. The man’s entire outfit would find the same flames if Ewam had any say in it. He considered sending the man out immediately to bathe before he saw them. It was an odd thought form him, one more suited for his better-groomed brother, but Eden had not forced such a condition meaning the man’s presence was urgent.

Ewam focused on the clothes, trying to avoid the face and the dark hair that dangled in knots and twists. The man’s face sagged and was lined with terror and exhaustion. Ewam guessed he was nearly the same age as he and Eden, but whatever he had gone through to get here had aged him ten maybe twenty years.

“Brother,” Eden started once he was sure that Ewam was settled on his throne. He then returned to his own throne. “This is Banik Tarn from the city of Noce in Nocnil. He brings disturbing news from out neighbors to the west. I believe you’ll want to hear it.”

Ewam eyes shot back to the sword as recognition of the blade finally settled into his mind. His fingernails sank into the wood of the throne. To think, he thought, it was only hours ago that he was disturbed by a nightmare.

“Please Banik, tell my brother what you have told me,” Eden did not wait for any more reaction from Ewam.

The man started with the thick-accent that hung on end consonants like honey on the sickle, which was commonly associated with the men of the sand.

“Lords of Satar, the watch has failed,” the man’s eyes never left the floor. “The scourge of the sand walks again. Nocnil is no more. If nothing is done, the rest of the world will fall soon with it. I come here for retribution and forgiveness, even if you cannot provide both.”

“Forgiveness?” Ewam’s voice came out as a croak.

Banik’s eyes finally rose from the floor and met Ewam. Two dark orbs edged in brown shown up.

“In my heart, I know my father is to blame and that the demon walks in my son’s skin.”

Banik’s head dropped again. Ewam was sure it was to hide tears.

Despite the pain that the revelation obviously caused the man, Ewam’s eyes went to the blade and he had to ask.

“And that?” Ewam pointed to it.

Banik raised his head and almost saw the sword for the first time. The dark rings around the man’s eyes grew.

“Only men of the Sorna Watch knew where that was stored. No king was trusted with it for an age. When the demon took Noce, I had to take it. I could not let him have it.”

“This can’t be true,” Ewam turned to Eden, who was still straight-backed but the look from before had returned from when Ewam entered the room. Ewam understood the third emotion mixed with weariness and fear. It was panic.

“It was called Duna in the days of old,” Banik continued without being asked. “Duna was a mythical oasis in the Sorna. When the blade was forged in Rion, it was thought that the sword would deliver us of the sand to that paradise.”

Banik almost reached out to touch it, but then thought better of it.

“Why did you bring it to us?” Eden said it, but Ewam had been on the verge of asking the same thing.

“As a prize,” Banik stared up at both men.

“A prize.”

“Help me deliver retribution against the demon and ye may have it all. The sword, the lands, all of it I offer to the Lords of Satar.”