Chapter 2: A Scenery of Life
If anyone around Orron was found talking about a person who hated the very idea of youth, they were certainly discussing Rraos Arroxath. Even if most of this potential Arroxath heir’s personal details remained a mystery, one of those that he never managed to hide from the public was his utter disdain for his own youth. This belief baffled the old and the young alike. But anyone who had a chance to converse with him would receive a straightforward answer in this matter.
In Rraos’ own words, what could youth offer that wealth could not? If he had enough money, he could keep himself fit regardless of age, hire enough security to be mostly safe, be in the finest circles for both friends and lovers; in short, there was nothing afforded to him by youth that wealth could not surpass. On the other hand, youth came burdened by expectations. Youths were expected to work hard and build the strength of character, of mind and body, and of whatever else people decided to tack onto this never-ending list. So why must he not disdain his youth?
While most of his blood-relatives disagreed with this notion, they too were in possession of other peculiar ideas and sharp gazes. Like him, they too were notably tall by the standards of Altrakh[1]. And like him, they too revelled in their wealth and high standing within the empire.
But here ended the similarities, as Rraos, unlike any other Arroxath, placed a much greater emphasis on the spending of money over its distribution. To him, the balance between effort, earnings and expenditure was the key to life’s equation, summed up as – ‘The lesser the effort for greater the income, the greater the value for being able to spend a greater sum’.
Simply put, Rraos did not believe in the work ethics ingrained into the rest of his family. If he toiled endlessly, when would he spend money? And if he did not get to spend, why bother earning in the first place? While reasonable at a glance, these ideas often proved problematic in practice for those around him, especially coupled with his detachment towards many aspects of life and connections. Only those painfully close to Rraos could see him for the totality of who he was – a swindler born to a family of respected and learned merchants.
Today was a special day for Rraos, just as yesterday had been. Because today, just like yesterday, he was worried about being swindled himself.
It may not happen this very day, or even a few days after, but what about in a few weeks? What about in a month? Was this possibility of him being hoaxed a divine retribution for all these years he had spent making unfair trades and causing others losses? More realistically, was this a plot of revenge by someone he had manipulated for a profit? Maybe someone from his own family? Or was this a ploy by one of his ‘siblings’ to eliminate him from the race of succession? If it was, then he dearly hoped he would know before its completion. He would personally give the perpetrator a written declaration, renouncing any intention of being the Arroxath head. Why would he want to be the head when he could be the stomach, digesting profits from both his family and outsiders?
Sitting on his black velvet adorned couch, Rraos released a deep sigh. He had been feeling a curiosity nibbling him for some time now. The recollection of a wild young man casually bending the world to his will haunted him. It made him itch with the desire to compare. It made him petty.
This feeling had persisted right from the day the impudent young guard of the foolish merchant Vaong’rr had caught Rraos’ eyes. The meeting had not been anything special. Just another profitable day convincing just another easy merchant. But one mannerless guard had stuck out like a sore thumb. He had smiled too much. He was too confident. Too young. Too unknown.
Living where he had for so long, Rraos just could not accept that attitude. How far away from himself could one country bumpkin really even be?
“Be limited!”
The young Arroxath’s intonation stirred only himself. Managing the slightest tug on the world felt like it would tear him to shreds.
Tired and unsettled, Rraos buried himself in the softness of his couch. He should have known that the obnoxious boy wasn’t comparable! Cursed beast in the form of a man! Now, he would have to ask one of their xamosa for their opinion. How strong was the nobody?
Rraos couldn’t bother now, though. These two days had been exhausting! No matter how vigorously he had ransacked his brain pursuing a good explanation, nothing beyond unstable speculations took form. How did such a no-name boy acquire so personal an information?
Not only did Rraos not have a good answer, his brain was now refusing to cooperate too. Any further agonizing, and Rraos was likely to turn himself insane before arriving at a conclusion. But did that mean he would give up? Not a chance! His preferred lifestyle was at stake! If he didn’t think things through, he risked his lifestyle being pried away by unfamiliar, clammy hands. What he needed was to start his mental investigation anew, preferably after a short break!
Rraos stood up from his couch and stretched, his muscles relishing the movement after rolling around for so long. A pleasant sensation spread through his limbs, washing away some of the tension that had built up in his mind. Then, he shook his arms and legs before rummaging through the deep pockets of his baggy trousers. His fingers brushed against familiar objects – a pen, folded paper – before settling on what he sought. A large case of cigarettes and an ornate, expensive-looking lighter emerged from his pocket.
With a thoughtless, practiced motion, he flipped open the case and pulled out a long cigarette, letting it dangle between his lips. And then….
Rraos’ already drifting mind had sailed away completely towards a blank thoughtlessness. The cigarette hung precariously, forgotten by all but the instinct of his facial muscles keeping it hanging. His mind had emptied itself so suddenly, so completely, that he had entered a state of raw perception. He saw without comprehension, felt without thought. He was aware of his heartbeat, of the slow rhythm of his breath. He noticed the subtle weight of his clothes pressing against his skin, the cool air moving in the space around him, and the extremely faint smell of things borne aloft by it. There was the metallic chill of the lighter in his fingers. The steady, cold contact of the floor beneath his feet. The unnatural weight of the cigarette between his lips waiting to be lit….
A slow blink; a deep breath; a flicker of amusement; with this, the voyage of his mind was complete. The feeling of refreshment in Rraos’ mind was phenomenal. He was accustomed to working his mind over his body, so such moments of reprieve were a rare and priceless welcome.
Rraos finally lit the cigarette, smoked a puff, then made an ash-bowl available for himself. Deciding against sitting back down immediately, he inhaled smoke again, stepped over to a water jar, then exhaled long and deep. Instead of pouring into a drinking glass first like any normal person would, he tilted the glass jar and let the cool, refreshing water dribble directly down his throat. Only after quenching his thirst did he bother to fill up his drinking glass.
Manners held little weight in private, so he held the glass in the same hand as his cigarette, only holding the ash-bowl in his other minding convenience. Returning to the centre of his spacious room, he set down the ash-bowl and drinking-glass on the tiny smoking table there, then sunk into the soft cushions of the sofa awaiting his return. Another slow drag preceded another deposit of ash at their designated destination.
Then, he was ready to think again.
The first idea in need of consideration was a familiar one. The boy who called himself Jyevodirr could have been bluffing. Of course, that would mean that Rraos had given himself away. The boy had at first merely asserted a couple of times that Rraos did not intend to be the Arroxath heir. Perhaps it was all a rehearsed charade.
But the problem with this theory was the boy being without any significant standing. Sure, he was strong and so could have picked up some backer along the way, since that really happens all the time. But Z’xalorr was there. His trusted captain of the guards would have known the boy had he been connected to anyone in any way. Or at least, Z’xalorr would have found missing pieces form the boy’s life. Surprisingly, none of that had happened. Now, Z’xalorr just knew too much about the boy. And yet, evidently, not enough.
Suddenly, a hitherto unthought of idea struck Rraos’ mind. It was a dangerously treacherous thought, but it still lingered very strongly.
This Jyevodirr know too much, but Rraos himself knew too little, no? Comparing all the resources available to both, it was not too farfetched to claim the boy should have been as good as blind, while Rraos near omniscient. So how could the opposite happen? Unless it was his own family that had turned against him?
Dread pressed down on Rraos with its skeletal hand, but he nudged it aside for now. He needed to consider the whole idea first.
With the strength of the boy’s assertions that Rraos wanted to be more than the heir, considering any of his siblings to be the culprit was wishful thinking. None amongst them could ever suspect his personal stance. And while it could be a guesswork of someone else from the family, or even an attempt to frame him, Z’xalorr would have known at least something. The meant the only two suspicious people were Z’xalorr himself and his mother.
But why the secrecy then? Why use a some-none?
An unexpected shiver tore through Rraos’ body. He felt tiny, like a droplet of water caught in a storm.
With an abrupt motion, he rose from his cosy lounge, his mind made. Walking closer to his wardrobe, Rraos threw it open and sifted through his formal attires. He quickly picked out one of his finer ensembles.
A sandshell-coloured, high-necked and full-sleeved shirt was paired together with a tan-coloured, tough yet flexible, pair of trousers. Over them, he donned a form fitting off-white robe that split at the waist, its flowing fabric ending at his calves. A pair of fully covering cloth gloves, thick grey boots, and an imposing white mask, its upper half sloping back and lower jutting out like a shield, completed the look. Every piece bore the emblem of the Arroxatha.
Then, the curtains were drawn shut and the air-adjuster powered down. Every task meticulously completed, Rraos now stepped out of his room. A guard, newly promoted and having served him no longer than two months, was lounging around the waiting room outside. No one else was in there.
So where was Z’xalorr?
The trusted man’s absence made Rraos’ stomach churn with unease. He beckoned the guard, who was now standing at attention, to approach.
“Where is the captain of my guard?” Rraos asked.
“The captain said he would be investigating the target, Qaiz’rra,” was the reply.
While a reasonable answer, it only further discomfited Rraos. Now that he had dared to point a questioning finger at his own shadows, it was turning him into a very paranoid young man. If not incorrect, he was about to stumble upon a scenery he had for long been running away from.
“Then get ready to move. I want to get back to our estate as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Qaiz’rra. Should I –”
“Look here, my man. I know you are hesitant about protocols, since it hasn't been long that you were promoted. But time is ticking and I am in a deadly hurry.”
“Deepest apologies, Qaiz’rra…. I’ll make haste. Qaiz’rra, please wait for a few minutes.”
The guard hurried out.
Had Rraos’ concerns been any lighter, he might even have chuckled at the nervous fellow. But as things stood, he had no time for this comedy snap. A beast at good health may mock the worms, but a sick one had only the leave to worry about them.
Rraos did not get to tire his brain too long. Four guards marched into the room, three of them falling-in behind the vice-captain that had left earlier. They looked sharp and up to attention.
Rraos nodded at them, and it was their cue to move. With practiced efficiency, they cleared a path through the room for him, then followed him outside in formation.
In the city block that lodged Orron’s most powerful, the movement of such a party as theirs did not attract any inquisitiveness. Regulars and workers barely glanced at the party, while the unaccustomed could not stand around slack jawed for every important looking retinue.
At the end of the painstakingly maintained front lawn, a carpet of regularly trimmed grass, agaves, yuccas, and year-round blooming flowers from around Orron, waited a large, dull-white carriage with four powerful Moyeganeni[2] horses harnessed. Rraos ascended with sprightly steps; the doors shut firmly behind him. The guards took up their respective positions, with three on the open back-seats behind the carriage, and the head of the unit behind the coachman in his special seat. When all were seated, the coachman issued a loud command. The carriage rumbled down the streets of Orron.
The journey from the city walls to the Arroxath estate cost less than ten minutes. As soon as the carriage drove inside the outer gates and stopped, Rraos wasted no time in getting down and hurrying through the inner ones. It was unlike him to rush, but impatience gnawed at him today.
He sped through the estate grounds in a hurried gait, not caring for the puzzled eyes he drew upon himself. The main building felt particularly distant today, but he persevered and crossed the central avenue without outright dashing. Just when Rraos finished his upward climb through the stairs, stepping onto the raised courtyard, he was impeded by a figure he had no desire to meet, especially at such a moment.
“Oh my! Look who decided to show up here?”
The boy, Radus[3] by name, was the youngest Heir Candidate of the Arroxatha; he was also by far the most infuriating. Clad in his usual immaculate attire, the boy cut a form of effortless poise.
Rraos mentally debated wordlessly flouncing past this prickly stick.
“What? No witticism today?” Radus deliberately skipped over into Rraos’ personal space. “No silly attempt at a banter at all, dear brother?”
Rraos frowned. He did not have time for this venomous rodent.
“Get out of my face and my way, you smelly little crotch-biter! I don't have time for your barbed tongue today.”
Radus' smile widened like a predator catching scent of easy prey.
“Oh? And why is that, I wonder?” Radus stepped back a little, tapped an index finger between his brows, and frowned. “Why is our dear brother, so unaffected, so naturally carefree, flapping around like a headless bird?”
Rraos made to sidestep Radus, but the younger brother moved too. Still a little beyond reach; still blocking the path.
Rraos would have ordinarily brushed him aside, but Radus’ behaviour – his abnormal persistence, his barely tamed glee – gave Rraos a pause. Radus did not miss this chance.
“Could it be, dear brother, that you did something…. irreversible? Is that why you're in a hurry?” The younger Arroxath’s voice lilted in mock-innocence as he took another measured step back. “Is that why Z’xalorr decided to rat you out?”
Rraos lunged. He would have had Radus down on the ground by his throat, but his brother had constantly made sure to remain out of reach.
“I dare you to run your mouth again, brother,” Rraos growled, angry beyond measure. At whom? He did not know. It did not matter. He would break whatever his hands fell on. Preferably starting from the smug little parasite before him.
Radus sneered back mockingly, calculatedly. “Are you so drunk on yourself that you are blind? How many times has your precious captain of the guard visited the head’s office in these two days?”
His voice finally sharpened with real emotion. “She may be your mother, but do you think you won't be cut and thrown away from the family if you become a death-tumour[4]?”
Rraos nearly flew into a fit of rage again, but his anger fizzled out, leaving behind a sickening sense of dread and hurt. It was relatively easy, a little fun even, to entertain thoughts of betrayal against oneself. But to have it thrown unceremoniously into one’s face as a reality was a world-shattering horror no amount of prior contemplation could prepare anyone for.
Somewhere behind him, Rraos may have heard his dear little sister, Xilasya[5], call out his name. Maybe she was delighted by his visit. Rraos might even have heard Radus throw a few more verbal jabs. He was a poisonous little thing, after all. But none of them mattered. None of them were heard. The only sound he could hear was the pounding noise of blood in his ears as he thundered up the staircase of the main building. He needed to get to his mother’s office. Immediately.
A worker stumbled out of the way as he shoved past. A maid yelped as he crashed into her. People scrambled out of his way. But that did not matter as well.
At the end of his lone stampede, he was gently stopped by a guard of his mother’s office. He shoved that man in through the office-room door, but the guard managed to drag him down while falling. He ended up being pinned to the ground by the stronger man, and he did not resist. That did not matter too. What did matter was Z’xalorr’s presence here alongside his mother.
The tall Arroxath matriarch waved a finger, and the pressure of being held down vanished. Rraos neither not get up nor retrieved his mask that had been knocked away during the scuffle. All he wanted now was answers.
“Don’t lie down on the floor like that, Rraos. You look foolish.”
His mother's voice was strong. Commanding. “Get up. Tell me what brings you here.”
Rraos felt nauseous. He wished he could bury this place with money and be done with it. Even so, he had to sit up.
“What are you planning, mother?” he asked, his voice serrated with accusation. “Why is Z’xalorr hiding around you these days? Why are you both disrupting my life?”
At first, his mother only stared, silent as a grave. Then, she sighed and seemed to shrink.
“You are so difficult, Rraos.” His mother's voice, so unshakable moments before, now sounded a little frail.
Frail? His mother? Rrianxi[6] Arroxath, the head of the Arroxath family? One of the most powerful people of Moyegan[7], if not of the entire Arrkad’vla[8] empire? The woman who had known only strength? Feeling weak?
What an absolute joke.
“What can I do about you, son?” She continued to speak to him. “You’ve always been such a free-spirited child. What would you ever be satisfied with?”
Rrianxi walked up to her son and crouched down before him. Her crimson eyes locked into his own, and he saw in them something unexpected. He saw pity.
“You caused some losses for us, and I let it go. You abandoned your education, and I overlooked it. You caused people grief, and I tried my best to mend what I could. I understood.”
She rose again, turned away, walked up to a window. All the while, she was still speaking.
“We are the Arroxatha. We are born with power in our blood and responsibilities upon our shoulders. After the Dosiloth[9], we are one of the four rulers of the Moyegan. Even the Dosiloth is so often chosen from among our family! The Dosiloth! The person with the highest standing in our sy’vethrron[10]! How could there not be pressure upon us? And endless expectations? Not in vain do we train our body with discipline, our mind we sharpen with knowledge. Above it all, Mayyux always guides us through everything. That is how we are strong.”
Rrianxi turned again to look at Rraos. The fire was back in her eyes, and whatever little vulnerability she had allowed was quashed.
Rraos knew he would get the answers he came here for now.
“I know you reject this path, Rraos. I understand that. Even when I never knew what path you wanted to walk, I was supportive of you. I provided all I could.”
Rraos scowled.
Of course she did. She also gave him things he had never asked for. Like training. And unspoken words. Secrets just as furtive as her sudden flicker of eyes towards Z’xalorr right now.
“Tell me then, son,” Rrianxi continued, her voice suddenly growing cold, “why did you believe your way to strength would be to turn back on the family?”
What?
What was she talking about?
“What were you conspiring with that country boy? Whose hand have you clasped behind my back?”
What was she even saying? How did the conversation suddenly turn to this incomprehensible nonsense?
Something was very wrong here. He needed to understand. He needed to –
“Mother, I –!”
“I will hear nothing more from you. You are my son, my only weakness. You lied to me countless times; I chose to believe you each time. A knowing fool I was. But I cannot listen anymore. I cannot protect you as my son. Not when I don’t know what is at stake.”
Rraos opened his mouth again to protest, but Rrianxi mercilessly shattered all his hopes. “The Questioner will hear you.”
Rraos yelled furiously.
He wanted to rage and break things. He wanted to wrestle his mother, knowing he stood no chance, just so he could be heard. But he wasn’t allowed.
Z’xalorr, who was always at Rraos’ back, now stood in front of him.
“Take him away, Z’xalorr.”
Rrianxi’s command was abrupt. Before Rraos’ mind could register it, his trusted partner had him turned around caught by the back of his neck. His arms were twisted and pinned behind him, and his legs forced to march towards the door. Rraos squirmed as hard as he could, trying his best to break out. It unsurprisingly did not work.
“You’ve got it all wrong, idiots!” He was still shouting, his voice cracking like a child’s tantrums. “I was never planning anything! Someone is deceiving us all! Someone wants me gone!”
Of course they were all being fooled! By Z’xalorr maybe! Or someone else! Someone dangerous! So they needed to listen! They needed to know!
But no one listened.
By the time he was forcefully shoved out of the door, Rraos could only choke on his own despair. His mother standing still, looking out of the window again with a frown, somehow just enraged him. What a heartless woman!
Through this haze of fear and anger in Rraos’ mind, a whimsical thought suddenly made an appearance.
Was this the promised time? Would the boy come for him?
But whimsy was whimsy; it had no place in reality.
Rraos was still being forced to walk without any hope. Step by step. Bawling and screeching. Feet dragging. Neck hurting.
Through the corridor outside his mother’s office. Down the stairs leading out from the building. Through lost luxury. Through a blur of horrified looks. Stripped of his dignity with each step.
Out onto the courtyard. Where Xilasya looked devastated. Where Radus smirked. Where others….
He did not know. He did not look. He could only walk past them. Past many others.
Till he halted.
He halted?
It was a confusing moment. Rraos looked around and saw everyone looking elsewhere. Even traitorous Z’xalorr had loosened his grip.
Eyes quickly passing by everyone, they glanced at the windows of his mother's office. She still stood and still looked where she had, a grim smile being the only addition now. And suddenly it occurred to Rraos – everyone was looking in the same direction as his mother was.
He nearly looked away, but his mother’s eyes flicked to him and held his gaze. Her eyes softened, and an old smile accompanied a nod.
The smile was kind. It was as kind as her from his childhood.
For the second time that day, Rraos was hopelessly bewildered.
And only then did he finally hear the faint commotion.
The solid stone underneath his feet were irregularly rattling. Weaker workers were shouting and retreating towards the office areas. Guards were streaming out and away in the direction of the estate gates. And, to his shock, too many xamosa were walking out together.
The Xamosa! The champions of the empire’s people. Those who dedicated their entire lives to strength. People who almost never crowded together, unless it was an important or threatening matter. These were the people gathering in large numbers now!
Rraos wondered who the intruder could even be. No foreign enemy, no close competitor, nor even the Kraturr or his Mag’rra[11] fit. Had any of them wanted to make a move, there would have been formal notices, and their xamosa would have been the only ones fighting. Else, they would have moved with shadows and whispers, waging silent wars ever beneath the thick bedrock of peace. In the same way he had been taken down today. But on the surface? No one resorted to unbridled violence. Things were good as they were. No one would profit from tearing down this centuries old system.
Except someone unreasonable. Maybe as unreasonable as that wild boy.
There was a flash of light somewhere. Then, a violent shockwave rippled out through the estate, shattering unreinforced glass and damaging unprotected structures. Rraos would have tumbled away like many others had he not been restrained by the traitorous loquerron. It made him feel sick.
He was sickeningly uncertain of what his mother was up to. He was sickeningly uncertain of Z’xalorr’s loyalty. He was sickeningly uncertain about whom he could trust, what could happen next, or where his path would lead. And he was sickeningly certain of the scenery before him. It was the one he had been running away from; the one he had tried to shut out with comfort and wealth; the one he never intended to see in full. It was a simple scenery that ruined the boundaries he had painstakingly defined. It was the irrational scenery of life.
Another burst of power went off close to Rraos, and Jyevodirr appeared in front of him. Rraos lurched back wildly, spun out of control, then jerked to a groggy stop. Jyevodirr was now at his side instead of Z’xalorr. And there was another wild man he did not recognize.
“Are you okay?” Jyevodirr asked.
Rraos forced on a smile. “I’ll live.”
And nothing else mattered.
[1] Pronounced as ‘altrax’.
[2] Pronounced as ‘mɵʝeɣaneni’. Denotes something, or someone, belonging to Moyegan.
[3] Pronounced as ‘ɽadus’.
[4] Cancerous lump.
[5] Pronounced as ‘xilaça’.
[6] Pronounced as ‘rianxi’.
[7] Pronounced as ‘mɵʝeɣan’.
[8] Pronounced as ‘arkadɘvla’.
[9] Pronounced as ‘dɵsilɵθ’.
[10] Pronounced as ‘çɘveθrɵn’.
[11] Pronounced as ‘magɘra’. Plural for Mag’rrus.