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Brankin Huoh

  Prophecy of the Amber Eye: Book One

  By N.T. Bergeron

  Copyright 2013 NT Bergeron

  Chapter 1

  Lozan stood silent and still; his slender hands clenching the marble railing in front of him, back and neck tense, as his eyes washed over Brankin Huoh. He liked to start each day by looking down at the city. Even before eating, Lozan would don one of his dark robes and watch the city as it came to life. It was his policies that drove the city's engine. His policies that shaped every citizen’s life, right down to the smallest detail and this made him feel good. Good wasn't the right word. It made him feel downright godlike and he reveled in the feeling. Standing outside of his personal quarters, Lozan’s brooding intensity was so fierce, any citizen looking toward the Citadel would mistake him for another of the many statues lining the veranda that served as his perch. For many minutes, oftentimes longer, Lozan lingered and drank in the negative energy that pervaded the city. He soaked up the anger and frustration and misery that his rule forced on the people like desert sand wicking away much needed rain. He used that negativity as inspiration when devising further policies that would squeeze his people even more. Squeeze any thoughts of freedom right out of their bodies; squeeze any ideas of change right out of their heads. Now, closing his eyes, Lozan smiled, almost laughed.

  “Begging your pardon sir.”

  Lozan twitched at the interruption. He closed his eyes in frustration, then turned slowly and fixed a cruel stare on Olkuu. Olkuu Sald was his servant. One of many, but Olkuu was the one who attended personally to Lozan and only to Lozan. It was Olkuu who ensured that Lozan’s other servants remained on task and, more importantly, did not bother him. Time must have slipped away from Lozan because Olkuu knew better than to interrupt his morning ritual. “What is it Olkuu?”

  “Your morning meal is ready, your excellence.” Olkuu swept his left arm toward the grand table that had been laid out.

  Lozan glanced at the table, expressionless and dour, then back at Olkuu. “I will dine in a moment. Fetch me my slippers.”

  Olkuu bowed his head, turned and stumped toward Lozan's dressing room, equal measures of trepidation and hatred roiling through his veins.

  While he waited, Lozan returned his gaze to Brankin Huoh. Smoke had started to rise in black clouds as the forge fires were stoked. The low din of people and horses had all the hallmarks of a beehive, its worker bees prepping to fatten the queen. The city was wakening for another day of commerce and trade. Lozan smiled thinking of the revenue all that work would create. Most of which would end up in the Citadel’s coffers through taxation.

  Olkuu had returned with the slippers and after his earlier rebuke, stood waiting patiently.

  At long last Lozan took notice of Olkuu and turned to face him, watching Olkuu’s crouching form slide the slippers onto his feet. It amazed Lozan how Olkuu could move like a ghost around the Citadel if he chose and he wondered if perhaps a bell wasn’t in order.

  His feet now appropriately shod, Lozan strolled along the veranda to the table that had been prepared for him, Olkuu silent in his wake. Whether it was the white marble that the veranda and table had been constructed from or the bronze statues that surrounded him, opulence and luxury were on display wherever one cared to look. No expense was spared in the construction of the Citadel. A stark contrast to the rest of Brankin Huoh, where most of the citizenry lived in near poverty, scratching out a meager living from what the Citadel decreed they could. It was not by accident. This contrast was a reminder of what was important in Brankin Huoh. The Citadel was above everything and Lozan, as its ruler, was included in that sentiment.

  When Lozan arrived at the table he stopped and waited for Olkuu to pull out his chair for him and waited again as Olkuu placed a beautiful silk napkin in Lozan’s lap and pushed the chair in. Olkuu then stepped back. As usual, he would stand behind Lozan for the duration of the meal.

  Lozan ate at a leisurely pace. He wasn't hungry but pecked at the edges of his meal before demanding that Olkuu throw it all out. Not because it didn't taste good; on the contrary, it was quite exquisite. Lozan was, after all, the Citadel's ruler and he demanded excellence in everything. He threw it out because it pleased him to do so. He found throwing out such a great meal, knowing full well that people below were going hungry, was more satisfying than the meal itself.

  “What of last week?” Lozan asked Olkuu as his servant busied himself returning the breakfast dishes to the cart he had brought them up on.

  “Of course, your excellence.”

  Olkuu put away the last of the dishes, then took a scroll from the top of the cart and handed it to Lozan. Lozan snatched the scroll from Olkuu’s hand and eyed it end to end as he rolled it over and back in his hands looking for any signs of tampering. The wax seal, a depiction of the Citadel itself beneath a blazing sun that looked eerily similar to an eye, remained unbroken.

  Lozan traced a finger over the seal before grasping it between thumb and finger and snapping it with a flick of his wrist. He unrolled the scroll to its full length between his hands and began to read. The usual amounts of gold, silver and bronze pieces had been collected and added to the Citadel’s already bulging vaults. There were some deaths: a few from disease and others who had been executed for disobeying one of the Citadel’s many rules. A few births were recorded as well. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Lozan sighed as he reached the end of the report. The reports had been the same for the last several months and it was time to shake things up.

  “Increase the number of inspections next week.” Lozan rolled the scroll shut and put it down on the table. Yes, that would be good; another reminder for the subjects of Brankin Huoh that he was in charge.

  “As you wish, your excellence.” Olkuu had long ago learned to keep the emotion out of his voice, which was good since he knew what increased inspections meant. They meant more beatings and looting at the hands of the Citadel Guard. And that was if you were lucky. The collectors weren’t above anything, with many guilty of rape and some even of murder. The Citadel guards were much like Lozan; they relished other people’s pain and misery and applied enough force to feed their hunger. If that meant a few people died, then so be it. It was of little concern to them.

  Lozan’s gaze returned to the city beyond the rim of the deck. Yes so be it. If increased inspections kept the people in line he was fine with that. So was Kyriu. Kyriu was the one who gave Lozan his running orders. He was the one who held everything in place and would reward Lozan for a job well done or punish him if he failed.

  “Is everything set for Kyriu’s arrival?”

  “The usual preparations have been arranged, your excellence. The chamber should be ready shortly.”

  “Good, good. That will be all then. And don’t forget about the extra inspections.”

  With Olkuu dismissed, Lozan arose, took one more lingering look at Brankin Huoh, and then returned to his dressing room to prepare for Kyriu’s arrival.

  It had been exactly six months since Kyriu’s last visit and his schedule never varied. He would not tolerate any deviance from ritual. Everything had to be meticulously arranged and prepared. Lozan had been so pre-occupied reviewing Kyriu’s stringent requirements that it was with surprise he found himself standing in front of the open doorway that led to the burial chamber; the journey from his dressing room, through his quarters and down the long hall having been completed out of habit.

  Another check of his robes and then Lozan stepped into the stairwell and slowly descended to the burial chamber. It wasn't fear of falling on the steep stairs or even of what was about to happen at the bottom that slowed his gait. Lozan loved this time. He could think of nothing he would rather do than greet Kyriu and he wanted to relish ev
ery second. Lozan had worked hard the last six months, taking the necessary steps to implement the directives Kyriu had laid out during his last check-in and now he wanted his moment in the sun. He was sure Kyriu would approve of his efforts and reward him accordingly.

  Lozan's robes rustled as he descended and the soft slap of his shoes echoed in the darkened stairwell. His throat was tight, his stomach knotting like a boy going on a first date but he steadied himself and kept moving forward. The stairwell spiraled down to the left and Lozan could see light flickering ahead of him at the bottom. Once there, he stopped at the tomb’s threshold and took in every detail like he was drawing in a deep breath.

  The chamber was round and high, its top disappearing into the darkness far above. The stone had been polished smooth over millennia by an underground river that once ran across it, its shiny surface reflecting and refracting the light in eerie ways, adding a layer of foreboding that made him shiver. After the river was redirected to form the falls, this area was converted into a tomb and now housed the remains of every Citadel chancellor who had come after. Their graves were hollowed out from the wall itself, their remains sealed in with metal coverings. Each cover was unique to the chancellor entombed within; engraved with their likeness, the time of their reign and ringed with pictograms of their accomplishments.

  This was Lozan's favorite place in the entire Citadel. In between Kyriu’s visits, when time allowed, he would lay on the cold floor and gaze up at all the great rulers who came before him and be moved to tears with the honor of being laid to rest among such great men. His visits to the burial chamber reinvigorated him though; gave him a new lease on life. He would emerge from these sessions and work even harder, be even more ruthless.

  Olkuu had been right about the preparations. To Lozan the chamber looked to be primed and ready but a few adepts were bustling about anyway, pouring their nervous energy into final touches, looking to ensure that everything was perfect. The tomb already provided the darkness that Kyriu preferred but there were details of ritual that needed to be adhered to. The marble altar was adorned with black candles, their flickering flames making shadows dance on the walls. The dais in front of the altar was shrouded with black cloth, silver and gold thread embroidered in an intricate pattern on its shimmering surface. The cloth was long and formed a rich skirt around the dais making it look like night was crawling into the chamber. It was here the adepts would kneel and chant in prayer, manifesting Kyriu's arrival. While Lozan knelt directly across from the altar, the nine of them would form a semi-circle around the dais and recant the words that invoked the magic the ceremony was built around.

  Lozan's adepts were getting in position and he moved to do the same. He took a deep, steadying breath as he knelt on the edge of the black carpet. He exhaled quietly and his eyes drifted shut as he painted a detailed picture of Kyriu in his mind. The adepts began to chant. Low and steady they murmured the words in rhythmic unison. Lozan listened intently to the words as they drifted to his ears, waiting for his cue. The chanting increased in volume then grew in intensity as the adepts wove the spell. Three stanzas in all, each repeated three times. Lozan remained silent for the first two, drawing the pulsating energy into himself with each breath, focusing his intention on bringing Kyriu into being. The second stanza incantation cycle was almost complete. Lozan's acuity to the now had no rival as he listened, parsing the words with expectant precision. He was exhilarated, intoxicated by the spell but somehow he had to bridle that passion, had to keep his adrenaline from spiking and ruining everything. If he let his emotions overwhelm him he might blurt out the words or put them in the wrong order and ruin the entire spell.

  The third and final stanza commenced. Lozan and the adepts joined hands and the power of the spell multiplied exponentially. The chanting was hypnotic, encompassing; the energy in the room electric.

  The stanza came to its end and as one; the chant stopped like someone slammed a door. Lozan and the adepts raised their joined hands toward the dais, their gold rings glistening in the candlelight "One lord and ruler," Lozan boomed out in the absence of chanting.

  A repeat of the final stanza began. Lozan swayed to the words as if pushed by a gentle breeze, taking each one in and savoring its meaning. No longer could you tell one voice from another. There was only tone, pulsating and throbbing. Lozan's entire body vibrated with it. It felt as though he was being consumed by energy. It surged around him, through him; penetrating skin, blood and bone with the ease of wind, forcing him to match its intensity. He focused his intention even harder now as the second repeat drew to a close.

  "One land, one law," Lozan intoned, his voice quivering under the housed energy.

  The final iteration began. Words were inseparable now. Swallowed into tone, they formed a single note that ached with heady anticipation; a wall of sound that threatened to crush them with its intensity, stretch them to their physical limit and tear them apart. Now was the time.

  "We are yours to rule, lord. Come forth and command us," Lozan bellowed, throaty and guttural as he and the adepts thrust their joined hands toward the dais a final time, falling silent as they bowed their heads.

  The tone they had created continued to vibrate; rolling around the chamber like it was looking for a release point, a way to escape the confines of singularity. A second passed; then another. Lozan felt like he was lost in a void but he dared not move. Then the tone was consumed, sucked into a central point a few feet above the dais as matter formed out of nothingness. Lozan and his adepts had to brace themselves from falling forward as the energy in the room disappeared. Gone. Like something had vacuumed it from existence. Lozan waited, head still bowed, squeezing the adepts hands in his so hard he was sure their fingers were going to break.

  "Arise, Lozan," a raspy voice growled. Kyriu had arrived.

  Chapter 2