Awakenings

Four years before the fall of Unstoma, BFU 4

The sound of my split heels was a cold comfort as I moved down the hall to the balcony that I knew 'she' was at. Cold dread filled my mind with each step. The ritual had awakened her just as it was supposed to, but it did not make me feel any better. For the last eight hundred years despite ups, downs, and even horrors happening within our own empire, no one had dared to do such a black deed.

The Empress was once again among the living, may the god of all have mercy upon the world.

My mind turned to the shoes I wore as I walked. The shoes I had worn since I was eight, or at least the same style shoes. I had worn shoes like this for over thirty years. It's funny how things like this play out in your mind. When I first received them, I was told to meditate upon them and their meaning. Black leather to go against my white skin. Twin spikes of polished wood sprouted from either side of my heel, they curled like the horns of a dragon, only to come down into dagger points where they met the ground. To be fair there was a support that ran under my foot that placed the load of my weight on those two spurs. They hugged my feet and calves in a vise of highly polished leather. My dew claw hung out the back of them, the twin heels were almost seven inches high now. This new height forced me up and onto the balls of my clawed feet. Their black leather laces and straps held them securely, if not comfortably to my feet.

I had always assumed they were meant to hobble us, to prevent us from running on all fours comfortably. A way of making us stand tall, to show we had no need to run. We were after all in service to the Empress herself. I received my first pair at the temple when I was accepted, they had started out a much more modest two inches so that I could learn to move and fight in them. They grew longer as we aged, longer spikes that I, and others, were expected to walk on at all times when we took our place at the Citadel.

That fantasy of mine about standing tall because we were 'hers' was shattered when the high slaves, the ones meant to look after her personal affects during her sleep, got out her clothing.

I should introduce myself, as well as my position. I am Salien, a LeatherWing priestess. I am a born white, and I have the task of seeing to and looking after the needs of the Empress in all things. It is one of the highest ranks I, or anyone, can hold. It's a position I wanted and earned, only her personal Slave outranks me. Until last month both the Slave positions and that of Handmaiden, my position, were seen as important, but largely ceremonial.

Veka, leader of the Slaves and a human, would do the tasks seeing to the needs of a woman we knew would never wake. She and I have become great friends over the years. She earned the title of Mouse that Roars just last year. The duties even when she is 'asleep' may be strict but are open for a lot of interpretation. When your champion and master is 'dead' and in her tomb you don't really have to do the day-to-day stuff. Mostly we cleaned, took care of things, and advised. We had access to the library and both of us were well versed in history, laws, and the like. Mostly we listened at conical meeting, me being the voice of reason, Veka kicking doors in and demanding the ‘least’ always be remembered and treated, not just well, but as the revered people they should be.

For our society, how we treat those at the very bottom of the pile, the worker, the slave, the poor, says far more about a civilization than the lavishness of the rich. When even the poorest had money, food, and comfort, a kingdom runs well.

My partner made one hell of a Mouse who Roared.

Normally I would also help the Great Mother; the highest-ranking priestess for the Imperial LeatherWing, make her day-to-day judgments. Now I would have to see to The Empress's bath, her food, make sure she ate. If stories were to be believed that last one would be important as she was supposedly notorious for not eating unless made to. My first duty was helping her acclimate after her long slumber.

As to why I now found myself at the beck and call of this woman? I think I should explain further. This woman was the Empress, I had watched the flesh grow back over her bones, but in the end, she was just a woman. We revere hero gods, people, who despite the flaws we all have, lived lives dedicated to causes. We don't worship them, but their ideals, their philosophies of life. The worship of them is to live up to those ideals, not them as a person. The Empress was as much a flawed flesh and blood creature as the rest of us.

As to her being alive? A trick of the gifts her God gave her made her virtually immortal. She uses this to usher us through dark times. Only when needed, otherwise wisely she leaves us and the world alone. Hard to learn and grow if you don’t risk failure, and who wants to risk pissing off a god who is standing right there?

What ideals do you practice if you follow her? Freedom, accountability, helping everyone who is in need, and killing those who threaten the freedom of others. She was born in the age of entitlement, or what she calls the "me" generation. She tried to help, well, she did after she broke herself of being one of the evilest most vile of the humans at the time. The dark one showed her a better way; the way of helping people and boy did she run with it. She added on to his ideas and tried teaching others. Then as she fought under his banner, she fell. Killed by the corrupt.

However, for her dark deeds, the true gods sent her back to this plane as the first of us, the first LeatherWing. The fall finally happened, as it was meant to, the cycle must continue after all. Out of the ashes of that fallen world she carved a bloody domain, our domain. The start of the Empire. When it was built, she gave it to us.

Well, us and the others. Together we are known as The Five Races: Humans and all their kin, LeatherWing, GrassLord, SkyLord, and the Heard.

Once things were stable, she went to her tomb, laid down, and went to sleep. She promised us she wasn’t dead and left us the ritual needed to awaken her. In all of our history it is used only in the most trying of times. For if she wakes, the world bleeds.

Now she walks the world once more. Gods pity the world, and god forgive us.

The primary thing I had to bring her at the moment was the elixir we all need first thing in the morn. Its blackness cut by cream and its bitter taste soothed with fire powder. Coffee, I drank it every dawn myself.

See? A perfectly normal, mortal woman.

Now if I can just get myself to believe that.

The deck of the balcony was much brighter than the hallway; it took me a moment to adjust my eyes. The white marble of the floor polished to a shine from centuries of care and use didn't help. This balcony overlooked the city itself. Our city, the capital of our lands, is often just called The Citadel after the building where all of our governance took place, but it was so much more than that. Rings of walls blossomed beyond, each larger and in a different style as the city outgrew each set in turn.

All of the five races complete with the full rainbow of humanity lived sheltered in the wings of the Citadel. The Elven district is beautiful, but I have to say it's the Dwarven district that I enjoy the most. Trade town with its gnomes always has the best stuff; exotic goods from the tropics like coffee and fire powder, neither of which would grow in our frozen land, as well as spices and peppers. They were the beating heart of trade for the city.

The temple that was the Citadel proper was cut into a mountain, the building was the product of the Architect. A mad man whose gifts with stone, design, music, and all things mathematical drove him to obsession. The Temple proper was a hollow statue of a LeatherWing from the waist up. Her outstretched arms gave bounds to the courtyard and the outstretched wings the bounds of old town. The city had grown quite a bit since it's temples construction.

I had always thought that the face of the woman was that of the Empress herself. Now, looking at her I knew that wasn't the case. I wonder who was immortalized in that white stone, an old lover of hers perhaps?

I found her leaning on the railing overlooking the city, her city. What must it have been like then, in those first days, or even the last time she was awake? Her thoughts seemed to be far and away from here. The look on her face was serene with a dreamy quality to it. Her nine horns had almost no wrinkles around them, her skin was the color of soft lavender, it too was without trace of time. Her violet hair had not yet been cut; as such it hung down to the floor and snaked out a few feet behind her.

Her clothing, fittingly I suppose, was from another time. The top was an odd thing, very out of style; the leather of it only covered to her ribs but stretched all the way up her throat and down to her hands to form fingerless gloves, her claws could be used at a moment's notice. The back piece went down between her wings, and I could only guess how it was tied, her hair was in the way. With her stomach bare the rings of steel that sat at the hip to hold her flowing loin cloth were a stark black on her skin.

It was her boots that let me know that my thoughts on why we wear split heels were wrong. These black leather boots went up well past her knees, almost to mid hip. They encased her legs like armor, they too had the same split heels I wore. I was in a pale imitation of her own foot ware.

It hit me then, I was imperial!

Why run when it was your duty to lay your enemies still bleeding hearts at their own feet.

Her magic belt was the only thing she was not wearing. It was a belt with three silver life-sized half skulls, top teeth to crown of head. They would lay flush against her bare skin, one for each hip, and one over her mons, The Belt of Lightning. It was her weapon of war. While she wore it, all injury, even death itself would not touch her. She would heal any wound. What's more her hands could become lightning. It is said that with her belt she could flow like water, moving from one place to the next in a flash of light and heat. I looked into the eyes of a woman I knew to be a cold-blooded killer, and she smiled at me.

"Hello, I'm sorry, your name I don't know yet." Her voice was the sweet voice of a young adult, not yet into their second decade. That voice, like her skin, was ageless.

With both hands, head slightly bowed, I held up to her the clay mug, hot from its aromatic contents.

"Salien, ma'am, I am your Handmaiden."

She took the cup lightly from my fingers, and slowly brought it up to her nose, her hands still shaking slightly due to her long 'nap'. Inhaling its aroma and enjoying it with closed eyes, a benevolent smile crossed her face. When her mouth parted and her lips touched the hot liquid, a sound came from her, the same type of sound heard in most morning breakfast halls. If it was too hot her features didn't show it.

"Yes, Salien, you were there... forgive me my mind is always a little foggy when I first wake. Veka speaks very highly of you." She turned back to the sun and let its warmth and light embrace her. "It is good to be awake and of the world again. What year be it?"

I winced. "The one hundred eighty seventh year after the reclaiming." She turned towards me slowly, one eyebrow raised slightly. That look was obviously a question. "The Imperial city fell into madness when a new male priestess decided to 'codify' a few new laws."

I cast my eyes down awaiting her displeasure. It may have been my job to tell her, that didn't mean I had to like it, or wasn't terrified of what would happen.

"Really?" she sounded almost amused. "How many new 'Laws' did he decide the world needed?"

Understand, the Empress felt breaking the law should be punished with death, to that end, she only made five laws. Everything else is merely a guideline and subject to change as a culture grows.

"Before we rebelled? I think over six hundred, my Empress."

Have you ever watched someone choke on, then spit out of their nose what they were drinking? Imagine it is hot coffee, and imagine it is someone you just woke up to kill a bunch of people. Courage did not keep me rooted there, fear did.

After she got done coughing, choking, spurting, and wiping the droplets from her face, she wheeled on me.

"What in the hells took you so long?"

I took a deep breath, stood my ground, reminded myself that I wasn’t born yet, and it was not in fact my fault.

"This was done over about six months, and he started this madness in winter. It was nearly a year before we managed to breach the walls. He burned a lot of the texts before we got to the citadel, and we were scared he was going to harm you. We or rather my ancestors found him weeping over your body saying that the city needed him…” I stopped not sure how the next part would be taken, “to continue the cycle so the city could be reborn. He was apologizing to you for those who died and begging your forgiveness."

"What became of him?" Her words were quiet, soft, haunting. She was facing away from me, arms and wings tucked arounder herself.

"His skull is by your throne, all nine of his horns removed, Empress." I bowed low.

She merely nodded.

Then she turned to address me, "One, don't do that. You are my Handmaid, I may have to put up with that from the others, but I won't put up with it from you. I need people who can look me in the eye, if they are to guide me in this new age. That brings me to two. If you are going to be close to me, call me Jess, or my lady if you insist."

I blinked, stunned. Formality is one of the things I had always been taught was important when addressing her, that her slightest mood shift might mean your death. Formality was supposed to be the armor that protected you from her wrath.

"Jess?" it was more a breath than a word, an exhalation of my confusion. Certainly not a question I was asking her. She answered anyway.

"Jess, Jessica, my name. My name before all of this began. Didn't anyone teach you that my court here was meant to keep me grounded, to keep me here instead of my head being in the clouds. Meant to keep me a servant, the lowest of servants, answering to everyone? You are here to make my job easier, to serve me as I serve all. That is what a ruler is after all. The lowest of servants. I don't deserve gold; I need gold to make roads, to build walls to keep people safe. I don't make laws to enforce my whim, my morality, or my vanity. I do so to guide and to draw a line in the sand that says, 'No More.' I don't need slaves to tickle my lusts; I have slaves to make my job easier."

She looked back out unto the city, her city. "I built this, so you, my children, all races of men and beast could know peace. I sleep soundly when I know you are safe. I wake to protect and stop those that would take from you, what was taken from others when I was a girl. I watched one ruler after another take away responsibility from the people in the name of security, then take away freedom in the name of safety."

She was looking up into the sky now, tears starting to color her violet eyes. "Do not pick up a sword and defend yourself, call a guard." She shook her head. "What I gave you, it is not perfect, it is meant to grow and change, to become more with each generation." Her last word trailed off, sorrow, I think, creeping into her voice.

I had been taught to expect a flawed person, a normal person, but the legend of what she did colored my perceptions of her.

Now here she was, as she had probably been the day she woke from her first death changed, a scared confused uncompromising dreamer. Someone that believed in people, not lords, ladies, or priests. Those, by her own words, were only there to help guide people along, not tell them what to do.

With hope replacing the fear that had gripped me since I had watched the horrors of her awaking, I began to realize we had not called forth some battle god, a god of destruction, but a person like any of us.

With a tremble in my voice, I called to her. "Jessica, the council awaits your pleasure." Lords help us, the council. What had been a forgone conclusion to me moments before, was now my job. I had to help the council convince a dreamer, a woman who built a kingdom on high ideals to go to war.

Damn that priest, how much more did he destroy if we had gotten it so wrong? How much knowledge was lost in his madness? Would something in there help us convince her of the need? Or would she go back to sleep?