Autumn Harvest

Elravia. The end. The autumnal equinox celebrations were muted that year, a rare depressive mood settling over the home world of the Elravian Empire. The King made no formal proclamation, his mind too-addled to even recite the words written for him. The Queen was distracted; enemies seemed to be pressing in on the frontier, somehow aware that the Empire’s champions were gone. The people were restless, the festivities marred by violence. For the first time in thousands of years, the capital no longer felt like the pinnacle of civilization. Despite the glamour, for the Queen, the palace had always smelled of decay. The throne room was dark and empty that night, no parties held within the great hall, the traditional feast left unprepared. The King had been sent to bed before sundown, Royal advisors turned away for the night, the other members of the family tucked away in the Western Tower. Aside from the guards, only the Queen remained, maintaining a lonely vigil over her sleeping infant son from her bed chambers. The autumnal equinox had once been one of her favorite holidays, full of merriment and joy, parties and feasts, dances and tournaments. So much less solemn than many of the other celebrations throughout the year. But, time away in her teens, away from noble life, out amongst the colonies, had dispelled some of her romantic notions. For much of the Empire, autumn was no time for revelries; it was a last gasp before the cruel winter set in, a final chance to reap what had been sown in spring, to ensure survival for another year. The city lay below, quieter than she had seen in years. She had anticipated another night filled with commotion, but it had proven decidedly uneventful. Even news from the border regions was light on blood and discontent; the galaxy had decided to rest for the evening. Yet, she remained troubled. It had been weeks since the Royal Guard’s most fearsome warrior, Arial Vaharic, had vanished. She had returned from the 50th Legion’s latest conquest, an unusual malaise afflicting her. She and the Queen had spoken at length, and she worried her words had left the ancient soldier more distraught. By the next morning, she had disappeared without a trace. Trackers and hunters had been dispatched to find her, but with nothing to show for their efforts. The Queen felt relief on her behalf, even if it meant nothing but danger for the royal family. And then there was Soren… The Queen glanced at the sleeping prince, resting quietly nearby. He was less than a year old, but already she could sense his temperament; exuberant, gentle, but firm. Very different from her other children. Very different from the King. The King had ordered Soren out to bring Arial back. He was likely the only Elravian that could possibly ensnare her alive, making his mission a necessity in the eyes of the monarchy. She had dreaded giving the order, dreaded sending him away… but it was what was best for everyone. Off he went. And then he, too, had vanished. There had been one credible sighting, from a retired general who had served with Soren in his earliest days. He was now on Kythera, and swore the Elravian champion had brushed past him in the market. He has sent word directly to her, through reliable back channels, pointedly bypassing the King. It seemed improbable, but - She wasn’t sure about the first scream. Was it one of revelry or terror? From below, or elsewhere in the palace? A one-off, or the start of something more? She was quickly answered with another cry of horror, and another, and another. Shouts, choked off mid-sound. Coming from inside the palace grounds. Coming from the Western Tower. She sprang from the window, past the sleeping child, to the intercom. It was already lighting up as she slammed the alarm. “Your Highness! Are you alright?” Came the breathless response from Gróa, her chief handmaiden. She was posted just outside the door, but protocol dictated she would only enter if summoned. “I am fine. Come in, come in. Bring your bow.” The Queen rushed to her wardrobe and rifled through the contents. Silken robes were tossed aside, until she produced a shining suit, which shifted and flowed under her grasp. “Have the guards been alerted?” “Yes, ma’am, they’re preparing the defenses now.” Gróa hesitated, averting her eyes. “I do not know what has happened to the Tower Guard.” “Call the Constable,” she commanded as she slipped out of her nightgown. She stepped into the suit, the material pulling taut and resolving into distinct armor plates. “Have a ship made ready. If anything steps through the door after I leave,” she growled, producing a silvery case from the dresser, “kill it.” Gróa nodded, fidgeting with her bow. She looked on at the case with trepidation. The Queen sighed, and opened it. The inside was black as night, even darker than the skies above. Within lay a long pole-arm, the handle wrapped in tendrils of metal. At the top was a gunmetal hammerhead, an ornate ring of runes imprinted on its surface. The Queen hoisted her war hammer, the Liana, from the case, prepared to do battle. She stepped into the hallway outside her chambers, the door slamming shut behind her. It was bedlam: guards rushing to take up positions, members of the court, clad in their nightclothes, weeping and flailing about. And the King… nowhere to be found. She headed there first. The Captain would likely already have gone there. Guards were posted at the threshold, weapons at the ready. They nodded solemnly as she passed. She could hear the King before she could even pry open the doors. “Raise the banners! Summon the peasantry! Alert the priests! Whatever it takes, the King must be preserved!” He was hiding under the bed, waving a walking stick out from beneath. “Somebody save me!” The Captain of the Guard stood by anxiously, attempting to coax the monarch out. His lieutenants looked on, confused. “My Liege, please, you must come out! There is still time to evacuate and take you somewhere secure! Please, just -“ “No! No no no no no!” He climbed out from underneath, brandishing the cane at his servants. “You will make your stand here! You must! For the glory of the Empire!” “Sir, the Western Tower has already fallen. My soldiers can hold the passageway for a time, but -“ The Queen broke in. “The Tower… has fallen?” The King and Captain both turned, noticing her for the first time. The Captain looked stricken, the King ecstatic. “My Queen! My darling! You have come armed, I see! Tell these fools the misery you will inflict upon our enemies!” “Shut up, Carolus.” She turned to the Captain. “Did anyone escape?” The Captain swallowed hard, hesitating to answer. “Ma’am, I -“ “Never mind,” she cut him off, tears welling in her eyes. “What’s done is done. Guard the King. I will handle this myself.” She turned to storm out. “Your highness!” The Captain called after her. She paused at the door, and wavered, wondering if this is where her resolve would leave her. No, not yet: there was one member of her family still worth fighting for. “The attacker, ma’am: She’s channeling air elements.” It seemed unlikely to be a coincidence. The family’s heritage, the assassin that had been stalking the lesser nobles. It should have been impossible, but there it was: the last member of the Sévoss family had come for vengeance. The Queen stormed out for what would be the last time. Through the windows, she could see the Tower now engulfed in flames. She ran. 

***

The Grand Gate was not a gate, but it was grand. The spot had once been the entrance to the palace grounds, taken out and replaced with a large passageway as the fortress was modernized and the Western Tower added. The royal family had lined the hall with trophies of their conquests, and portraits of their most prominent members. It was a reminder of all the Elravians had accomplished across their millennia of rule, a testament to their triumphs. It had always disgusted her. She supposed it would be a fitting place for a decisive battle. Leaving the King’s chambers, the Queen had contacted her handmaiden. “Summon the Constable. Have the ship meet you at the window. Take the prince, and the red bag from my wardrobe. There is enough of the royal treasury in it to guarantee your freedom.” Gróa had begun to cry on the other end of the line. “My Queen, where should we go? I have spent my life within the household - with you. I am not savvy in the ways outside these walls.” She had paused. This seemed like the end of days, an inevitable catastrophe drawing closer by the moment. If she could not stop the lunatic who was slaughtering her family, her soldiers, who could? Not Gróa. Not the Guard. Certainly not the King, lost in his infantile madness. There was only one she could trust to protect her son… “Go to Kythera, in the far corner of the Empire. Seek out General Wrangel. He has always been loyal, and will not steer you wrong. He can help you.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “He will help you find Soren.” “Ma’am, are you sure? If the King finds out -“ “No! Promise me you will do this! Either the King survives the night, or he does not. Either way, my days are near their end. But the prince’s are not. Do you promise?” “I promise ma’am, I promise.” “Thank you, Gróa. For everything.” “Goodbye, my Queen.” “Goodbye, my friend.” The passage was dark, lit only by the fire raging in the adjacent tower. She had tread this corridor thousands of times, but had never seen it cloaked in such shadow. She could navigate it by memory, yet her senses screamed at the unfamiliarity of it all. And especially at the figure, completely out of place, standing at the end of the hall. “Finally!” a woman’s voice rang out. “I had hoped to kill them all in front of you and his majesty, but I got a bit carried away. Just couldn’t wait.” The Queen tested the weight of her war hammer. Liana had never failed her, but this would be a battle like no other. She struggled to concentrate. “How could you? They were children, defenseless!” The woman sauntered into the hall, casually swishing an enormous scythe before her. A breeze began to build in the space, rattling the pictures on the walls, tapestries billowing in its wake. “You’re funny! Such a jokester! Or are you serious?” She slammed the scythe into a piece of furniture, cleaving it neatly in two. “Where was this sense of outrage before? This care and concern for the wee children?” She sliced into a cabinet, trinkets pouring out and clattering to the floor. The wind grew, buffeting the Queen. The Queen was struck by how young she looked, mid-twenties at most. The sneer across her face, though… that was a face of anger practiced over decades. “You’re of the Sévoss family, I am to presume?” She needed to keep her talking, waste enough time so that she could control the battleground. Maybe even get her off balance. “I don’t know what happened between our families in the past, but it was before my time. Before the King’s time.” “Oh, then I guess it’s all just okay, huh? ‘Time heals all wounds,’ right? Nonsense.” The wind was building to a gale, the windows rattling in their frames. “You married into this nightmare of a family. You chose to be complicit in their crimes.” The Sévoss family had once been a noble house, but one built upon the business of assassination. It was a bloody trade, one that had made them deeply unpopular. When the Queen was a child, Arial had been dispatched to end their lineage. Apparently, she had been less thorough than normal. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking: my family, so terrible. And I admit, they did some truly awful things, a number of them in the name of the royal house, I might add! But they were my family.” “And yet, here you are, alive.” Concentrate. “Unlike the millions your empire has murdered and subjugated. For what? For this opulent little pleasure palace? For your very spoiled, very dead kids?” “I will not let you do this.” Concentrate. Feel it. “Meh. Just one more of you to tear apart on the way to finishing off the royalty. Who’s left? You, that idiot King… oh, and the welp, right? I promise, I’ll do a better job finishing him off than your pet did with me.” The woman charged, closing the distance with remarkable speed. The wind howled at her back, gusts propelling her into the air as she swung her scythe. The Queen dodged as it fell, missing by inches, the blade buried deep into the floor. Again, the scythe came up, slashing sideways. The Queen blocked it with her handle, throwing a shower of sparks across the room. She swung again, the Queen ducking under its arc as it sailed past. A rush of wind pummeled the wall opposite, ripping the cladding from the walls. Another slash caught the barest edge of her armor, shredding the nano mesh, missing her skin by millimeters. The armor would be no match for a weapon this dangerous. The woman continued her advance, striking blow after blow. The Queen stumbled under the assault, using the shaft of the war hammer to block and deflect. She was as relentless, crazed. The room shook with each clash of their weaponry, the masonry crumbling around them. A swift kick to the attacker’s ankle dropped her to the ground long enough for the Queen to retreat to the other end of the hall. If she was to stop Sévoss’ rampage, she had to end it here and now. Focus. Concentrate. Feel it. The woman rose, eyes wild, silvery hair whipping in the wind. She twirled her scythe end-over-end, building into a cyclone. With a piercing crash, the glass windows lining the wall imploded, shards enveloping Sévoss in jagged, shimmering cloud. She looked… happy. “You understand now, Queenie?” She called out over the roar. “Your family gave me one purpose: murder Arial Vaharic.” Concentrate. She stepped forward, never stopping the swing of her scythe. “And since she’s gone bonkers and disappeared, you lot will have to do.” Feel it. Sévoss charged. There. The Queen swung Liana in an uppercut, the hammer end arcing like a pendulum towards the sky. Below them, the ground quaked, a monstrous bellow sounding from deep within the planet. Sévoss tripped, crashing to her knees, the shards of glass raining down to the floor. The tiles buckled, a column of basalt erupting from beneath and rocketing towards the sky. It carried Sévoss up and away, bursting through the ceiling, the passageway left in ruins. She could see the conflagration in the Tower, now fully engulfed, the edifice falling away. Behind her, the main palace loomed, still intact. For the moment. The Queen picked her way carefully amongst the wreckage. The wind still howled through the ruins of the Grand Gate, the clouds overhead circling like scavengers. The strike of her hammer had been devastating, but had it been enough? The answer came as a funnel descended from the sky, ripping apart the column of rock. The Queen was flung back by the force, blinded by the swirling cloud of dust. And from the center of the storm, a voice called out: “I never took you as a geomancer, Queenie! Figured you wouldn’t want to get dirt under those fancy nails of yours.” The attack came out of nowhere, Sévoss sailing through the air on an invisible column of wind, blade carving a path through the sky. The Queen rolled, putting debris from the palace between the two of them. Sévoss skidded, turning her momentum to curve back towards her target. The Queen was faster this time: the hammer caught Sévoss square in the shoulder, knocking her to the ground in a crumpled heap. The Queen lifted Liana high, bringing the hammer straight down towards Sévoss’ face; but it was her turn to block, the scythe handle absorbing the tremendous impact. She pushed off, her scythe sending a blinding cloud of dust into the Queen’s eyes. The Queen stumbled back, trying to clear her vision with one arm, while defensively parrying with her other. Sévoss disappeared into the storm, the tempest obscuring her movements. Giving her time to strike. If she could continue this vanishing act, the Queen thought, she was bound to find an opening. This had to end, now. Concentrate. “I have to give you credit,” Sévoss taunted from inside the morass. “I’ve cut my way through half the nobility on the planet, not to mention their guards, and not a single one has given me this much of a workout. You’ve got some fire in you, your highness!” Concentrate. “You have no idea, foolish girl.” She could feel it. Could she reach it? Concentrate. “Me, foolish?” Laughter came from somewhere else inside the storm. “I’ve trained for this since I was a child.” Focus. It is there, waiting. “I’ve conquered every challenge set before me since I was barely able to walk.” Almost have it. “I’ve waltzed into the heart of your disgusting empire, obliterated your royal guards, and destroyed everything you profess to love. Without breaking a sweat! And I’m the fool? From where I stand, only one of us looks foolish!” “Don’t worry,” the Queen replied through gritted teeth. “The view from where you stand is about to be very different.” There. Now. Before Sévoss could respond, the ground split open, a hiss of superheated sulphury gas unleashing in a torrent. There was a flash, as rock was instantly vaporized, followed by a tidal wave of boiling magma. The blast traveled high into the atmosphere, while the land below collapsed into a new crater. The latest Elravian volcano had emerged, beckoned by the monarch. Waves of lava cascaded across the palace grounds, igniting the plants in the royal gardens. It flooded into the lower levels of the fortress, encasing everything within in layers of molten rock. The pond where the family had once gathered boiled, a cloud of steam scorching everything it touched. The foundations of the Western Tower could take no more, and with a sickening crunch, lurched over, the ruins toppling to the ground. Only the old palace remained relatively intact, just outside the zone of destruction. The Queen lay amidst the sea of death she had unleashed, gazing at the ashen plume rising high above. She couldn’t move; she wasn’t sure if she was injured, or if her strength had left her. It didn’t really matter either way: she had done what she could. She saw a twinkle at the peripheryl of her vision: the Ullr, one of the family’s fastest - yet most discreet looking - long-range yachts. The perfect getaway vessel for someone wanting to disappear. Ever-faithful Gróa, carrying out her promise. The Queen smiled. A shadow hovered above her, a figure she couldn’t quite make out. Amidst all the devastation, there was only one person it could be. “I should thank you,” Sévoss growled. She sounded pained. “I studied her endlessly, but I didn’t really know what to expect for when I finally face Vaharic. You’ve given me a much better idea of what a cornered animal is capable of. Of what I’m capable of.” The Queen’s vision cleared slightly. Sévoss stood above her, injured but alive. Her left arm was a mangled mess, her left leg burned up to her hip. Bloody wounds and burns pock marked the rest of her body. She was alive, but the prince was long gone. “I should thank you. But it’ll be much more satisfying to kill you instead.” The Queen smiled. The scythe came down. 

***

Nisse. Seven years later.  The weather was wonderful, warm sunshine tempered with a cooling breeze. Golden crops rippled in the light wind, covering the rolling hills as far as the eye could see. It was a perfect autumn day. Harvest time. It was still such an odd thing to see, the farms and fields. The Elravians had always celebrated this time of year, but there hadn’t been a farm on the planet in centuries - everything was outsourced to one colony world or another. It was a holiday to celebrate something that no longer existed. Fitting, considering the fate of the planet. It was seven years to-the-day since the Imperial Palace fell to Luna Sévoss. Since the rot at the center of the Elravian Empire had erupted to the surface. Seven long years of decline and ruin. Seven years since she had died. Of course, the Empire had not collapsed overnight. Far flung regions hung on under one warlord or another, all too eager to establish themselves as the next legitimate capital. Some planets, like Nisse, had thrown out their conquerors, remote enough that local governments and militaries could stand on their own. Others were not so lucky, immediately sliding into war and civil war. Trade went on. Exploration went on. Life went on. The capital, the Elravian home world, had swiftly descended into chaos. Much of the wealth and luxury of the planet was tied up in the subjugation of others, and without royal enforcers to ensure compliance, things quickly fell apart. The peasantry had revolted across the galaxy, the Elravian species forced to take to the stars, exiled. The most well-to-do managed to bribe their way into comfortable accommodations, but the majority were suddenly refugees. Their home changed names, changed cultures, the monuments and history torn down and replaced with new ways. The rest was left to be claimed by the savage jungle. The Elravians may not be gone, but their way of life was. He figured the name ‘Elravian’ would stay in use for a few hundred more years, the species remaining distinct for a few thousand more; eventually, though, it would meld into whatever came next. Just as she had warned would one day happen. She also would have said, ‘good riddance.’ The Queen had been fascinating: born into privilege, betrothed to the second-in-line to the throne, she was never expected to become a ruler. So, the royal family had tolerated her eccentricities, her quiet condemnations of their wars and ridiculous pageantry at the expense of others. When the crown prince was assassinated, and her future husband thrust into the role of king-in-waiting, she had been mortified. But, she would say, she bore responsibility for her being complicit. She could have argued more forcefully, objected more passionately, bent the monarchy to a gentler, more noble path. Not that it would have mattered in the end, but perhaps the fallout of the royal family’s demise would have been less severe. Looking at the quiet fields, Bård couldn’t help but agree: good riddance. He had come to enjoy foraging. It reminded him of the hunts of old, without the violence and death. Ranging through the woods, being out amongst nature, felt like the truly old days, before he began his bloody work. Before she had gone off to court, to chafe under the destiny laid out for her. Simpler times. Today would be a good day, however. One way or another. The sound of small feet running on gravel carried up the road to the small hilltop where Bård was seated. He let slip a smile; Áki’s exuberance never failed to elicit one. “Bård! Bård! Guess what?” He skidded to a stop, kicking up a cloud of dust. The young boy beamed, clutching two sacks in his hands like they were the most precious things in the world. “Guess what?” “What?” “Guess!” “The sky is going to turn purple tomorrow.” “No!” “You’ve discovered a hidden treasure trove of paper bags.” “No! About the lunches!” He lifted the sacks up high. “Guess!” “Hmm… Gróa made cookies?” “No! Wait - yes! How did you know?” Áki giggled. Bård grabbed him and gave him a squeeze. “You’re not usually excited about lunch unless there’s cookies in there,” he laughed. “And I could smell them baking from all the way out here.” Áki wiggled away, still laughing. He plopped down next to Bård, and handed him a sack. ‘Bård.’ The name he had claimed as his own, what he used every day. But his old name had not totally disappeared from his mind, from his identity, even if it had faded. He had grown to love the name ‘Bård,’ and the break with his past that it gave him. But there were times, like today, when the memories flooded in, and his given name rose to the top again. “Did you finish your schoolwork?” He asked, retrieving a roll from the bag. “And your chores?” Áki was already stuffing his face full of cookies. He gulped before he could answer. “Yep. All done.” “Even the multiplication tables?” “Yep! Especially the multiplication tables.” “And cleaning the coop?” “Yeah, and - oh, wait. No, I forgot. Sorry.” “That’s okay.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’ll help you when we get back.” “Thanks, Bård,” he sheepishly replied. They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the view. “Bård, can you tell me a story about my father?” He continued to chew away at his lunch, small hands gripping the oversized roll. “Well, yes. Actually, that’s why I wanted you to come out here today.” Bård rummaged through his rucksack, before finally producing a slender case. It was a beautiful silver, almost white, made of a metal that looked plush to the touch. It was inscribed with Elravian glyphs, and although Áki did not know them as well as he should, he could still discern what they said: 

‘The Roses of Soren.’

The case clicked open, the lid rising silently of its own volition. Within, a pair of distinctive Elravian pistols seemed to float atop the darkness inside. The boy looked on intently. “Have you ever seen these before?” “No.” “Do you know what they are?” “Guns. My father’s guns.” “Yes, but much more than that.” Bård almost reached for one, then stopped himself. “These are conduits. Do you remember what that means?” “Yeah. Yes. A condwit -“ “Conduit.” “Con-du-it. Right. A conduit gives an Elravian their power.” “Close. The conduit channels their abilities, connects them to a greater power. These,” he gestured at the case, “were your father’s. The Roses.” “What do they do?” “Nothing good, I’m afraid. Maybe one day someone will figure out a better use for them. But they can connect an Elravian pyromancer to their element.” “A what? A pie maker?” Bård laughed long and hard. The boy took it in stride. “A pyromancer. Someone who can use fire. These are attuned to the element of fire. I suppose there’s some scientific gobbledygook about ‘thermodynamics’ and ‘heat transference,’ but… fire. It’s someone who can control fire." “So… what if that’s not your element? Or you’re not Elravian?” “Well, those are good questions. Someone who is not Elravian would be unable to use them. An Elravian who channels a different element would also be unable to use them.” “Okay. So, my father could use fire?” “Yes, very much so. And today, we’ll see if you can, too.” “What if I can’t?” Bård’s smile screwed up ever so slightly. It had crossed his mind. If the child was not connected to fire, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to find another conduit he could attune to. Most of the necessary materials had been lost during the exodus, and he had yet to come across anything Elravian in the wild. He likely never would. “If you can’t, then that just means you’re meant for something else. There’s no harm in being different from your family.” “Okay.” He picked up a pistol. It looked enormous in the boy’s hands. He examined the curved blade underneath, and ran a finger along the tooth-like thorn protruding front the grip. “Take your time. Do you feel anything?” Bård asked. The boy looked at the ornate grip, pressed into his palm. “It’s cold.” “That’s fine,” Bård reassured him. “Take your time. When you’re ready, line up a shot with the rocks down there.” He pointed towards the small boulders lining the edge of the creek that ran through the area. Áki turned the pistol over again, and held it out at arm’s length. His arm quivered under the strain, but he adjusted to steady it. Looking down the sights, he pulled the trigger. Nothing. “It… didn’t work.” “That’s okay, that’s okay! Next time, we’ll try a different conduit, okay?” “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Next time.” There would never be a next time. As the years passed, Elravian technology became Elravian artifacts, and those became fewer and further between as the galaxy moved past the imperial era. In their travels, neither Bård nor Áki would come across a conduit to attune, or a device Áki could activate. Eventually, the boy became a young man, and then an adult, and then Bård was gone. Áki had a life, not an easy one, but a life. He no longer had time to search for relics, to be disappointed in not accessing a power he wasn’t sure really existed. He forgot the quests and travels, and settled in. But he didn’t forget the stories. Those he would ensure were passed down, one Sorensen to the next. On that autumn day, Bård quietly closed the case, sensing a flash of heat under his palm as he did so. It triggered memories he was not in a hurry to relive. Oddly, it came as a relief that the boy would never know the Roses’ power. They sat in silence; an autumn afternoon spent watching the waves of grain ripple across to the horizon. “Bård, can you tell me about my mother again?” The boy was naturally empathetic, sometimes almost supernaturally so. Of course he knew what Bård was thinking of. “Of course, of course.” He pulled the boy closer, a reassuring hug. “ I first met her on the moon of Hejio, on a day not altogether different from this one…”