Empire of the Sun

[Joos]

NOTE: While this story has numerous influences from mythology and religion, it is completely my own creation and is not to be mistaken with any moral tale. Please feel free to comment, commend or condemn.
WARNING: This story contains explicit language, graphic violence and other adult topics.

Empire of the Sun. A secret dream. A dangerous phrase.

When a crazy self-styled teacher dies a gruesome death in the Hall of Sacrifice, he is just another rebel put to the stake. The debauched city of Alsan has seen many and will see more.

But unlike the mad man, his words fail to die. They are taken up, by men and women enslaved for generations by the unstoppable Turmen Empire. In the impoverished Missene villages, in the decadent city of Alsan, the oppressed now cherish a fervent hope - that their Divine Spirit will come clothed in flesh to usher in the Empire of the Sun.

Part 1 - The Rising
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3

[Joos]

Chapter 1

"Blessed is he who comes after. Blessed be his name on the tongues of men. Blessed be his feet on the parched earth. Blessed be his words on ignorant ears."

The words droned incessantly, grating his ear. The Milaen's voice was a rat squeaking in its trap, hissing and spitting. Samnos could feel the rat's raw terror, the pungent aroma of its impending death. And yet it squeaked.

Samnos hated squeaking and bawling and weeping. He lifted his fat hand and slapped the Milaen hard across his face. He felt the teeth crack behind the cheek. The bound man gasped momentarily, coughing up the broken tooth. But his liturgy continued unabated.

Samnos grunted in irritation and slapped him again, harder.

"Hail the Liberator, blessed be his name on the minds of the Missenes. Hail the Dismantler. Hail the Emperor of the Sun!"

Samnos rubbed his palm on the cloth offered by the young kronto and motioned to the Captain. Immediately the armoured men moved in muttering dirty oaths and nasty promises. They did not use their weapons. Two of them grabbed the Milaen's hair and in one long and slow motion, ripped it from his scalp. That stopped the infernal drone.

"Apparently even mythical prophets scream like pigs," Samnos noted with an air of indifference.

"I assure you, Lord Governor, he is a heretic. We do not support his views one bit! He is no prophet!" The Mahdi protested as he prostrated, staring devotedly at Samnos's knees.

"And if he was?"

"Lord Governor, it's… My lord, you must understand. He is a blasphemer! A heretic! What he says goes against the doctrine of the Sura, of all the things we hold sacred. Never…" he sputtered. "Never will we ever think of sedition! The Emperor, may He-"

What the Emperor may was cut out by another piercing scream from the Milaen as the soldiers were now resorting to their knives for the finer cuts. Despite himself, the Mahdi turned to look at the spectacle. Samnos could see the curiosity, disguised badly as revulsion, on his swarthy face.

The soldiers were skinning the Milaen. And not with skill, Samnos saw. "Shepherd boys in Damora can do a better job than you clumsy girls," he chided. "I ask the Emperor for soldiers and he gives me bloody Missene-loving village idiots!"

"The Empire of the Sun is at hand!" screamed the Milaen. "He is coming! Aaaah! I can see his gleaming chariot! I can see his luminous eyes! Father!"

Samnos laughed gleefully, thoroughly enjoying the lunatic's babble. "He is going mad! How extraordinary! He is seeing his father, poor rat!"

"Show them, Father! Show them your Empire! Show them your light! Burn these oppressors and liberate me, Father!"

The Milaen's flesh from the neck down was exposed and the soldiers were clumsily working on his chained feet, cutting off his soles. They also seemed to have cut some vein or other, for there was a growing pool of blood under their captive. His eyes, however, glowed. White fire. They were staring up ahead in rapture. Glistening. Samnos tried to peer at whatever it was that the Milaen was seeing but only saw the stained stones of the Hall of Sacrifice.

"Yes, show me father," Samnos said, getting into it. "Show us this fantastic Empire of yours! We never tire of hearing about it!" He looked at the soldiers and the men all laughed and jeered. Even the Mahdi managed a weak smile. Bloody Missene degenerate! He would have to go too.

The Milaen was slow in dying. Many of his veins had ruptured, owing to the clumsiness of the soldiers. It was said that when a Damoran horseman skins his prisoner, he would do it with such care that the death screams would seem unwarranted to any onlooker. But there was no finesse in the Turmen soldiers. They skinned like they fought. With no love.

Samnos waved his hand and the soldiers stepped back. Lifting the hem of his embroidered tunic, he picked his way across the bloody floor and looked into the hallucinating face of the Milaen. He felt a phlegmatic cough welling up – no doubt a result of the bottle of wine he had consumed earlier, not to mention smoking all that maltahil. He worked his fat throat muscles, and spat on the Milaen's murine face.

"I want his head placed at the Temple entrance. Cut the rest into pieces and feed them to the dogs. All his accomplices are to be impaled upside down and displayed on Mount Buku. The village of Milee is to be razed to the ground. The men are to be castrated before they are killed. Sell the women and children."

The Captain did not flinch even once as he rigidly placed his fist on his heart. "As the Lord Governor commands!"

"Where will you hide…" It seemed like the Milaen still had his vocal chords. "When the Master flays your soul? Where will you hide, puda?"

The Captain hissed in anger at the foul word and made a move towards the Milaen, but stopped short at Samnos's gesture.

"I have no reason to hide, kunta. I will be waiting for your master right here in your filthy temple! And when your master arrives, he can clean my urine from your holy altar!"

The soldiers cackled.

"Matre tu kunta!" shouted one of them. They laughed louder.

Samnos patted his forehead with his scented towel. This was getting rather tiresome. The Mahdi was again hovering anxiously near him, bobbing up and down stupidly.

"Lord Governor… I… I petition you. The Temple has nothing to do with this…this disturbance or this heretic. There is no reason to desecrate the sanctity with his head hanging in the entrance. The Market Square will be better suited-"

Samnos quelled him with a look. The man had the nerve to demand! He certainly had to go.

"I don't care about your heathen temple. If I had my way, you Missenes will go the way of the Gurgs and the Balenians and renounce your fake gods. If I had my way, this whole temple will be turned into a whorehouse for lepers!"

The Mahdi continued mumbling under his breath. Something about the Emperor. Samnos would deal with this boneless maggot later.

"See to it," he said curtly to the Captain. Taking care to not get any blood on his tunic, he walked out of the room.

Behind him, a crazy man sang songs about an imaginary hero while his body was chopped up carelessly.

[Joos]

Chapter 2

Fariah walked as quickly as she could without rousing suspicion. The guards on city patrol still had not been alerted about the Temple attack. But the Turmens hardly needed a reason to harass a seemingly vulnerable Missene woman. She needed to be out of the city before there was a general alarm.

She had no illusions about what would happen. Samnos Heganon's fury would descend on the city. Even the slightest hint of suspicion could land you on Buku. Worse things had been done for much less.

She turned into one of the smaller streets branching off from Temple Street, noting the almost invisible sun symbol behind a pile of crates as she did so. At least some of the rest were free.

It was well past the Second High at night but light from the massive street torches of Temple Street penetrated the darkness of the tiny lane. This close to the center of the city, the houses were those of the elite - Temple priests and Turmen nobles and a handful of Missene nobles. The opulence was evident even in the weak light. Fariah could see it in their ornate columns and alabaster walls. Several houses had gardens with gazebos in them. Gardens in this land of dirt! With flowers whose names she didn't even know. There was even a marble statue of the Emperor's son in one of the gardens.

She stopped suddenly. She thought she had heard something other than the ambient noises of the night. A steely clang, casual in its timbre. She tried to not think about the stakes on Buku.

A fleeting movement to her right; somewhere in the maze of shadows. A cat? Keep walking, she told herself.

The deeper she went into the lanes, the darker it became. She was still in the Temple district, still around nauseating opulence, but the cobbled stones were more uneven under her feet. A few more streets and she will be relatively safe in the Outer district. Relatively.

"Who goes there?"

Her heart stopped cold and she felt bile rise up her throat. She forced herself to stop naturally, to turn slowly, ensuring that her body communicated her submission and her terror. The terror part was not difficult for Fariah.

It was not a soldier. But he was a Turmen. That much was clear even in the semi-darkness from his high forehead and his pale skin. He was emerging from one of the noble residences through a side gate.

"You there? Who are you, girl? What are you doing here?"

Fariah quickly fell to her knees.

"Pardon, my lord. I work at Lord Magon's manor. The lord is holding a banquet tonight and we are out of wine. I am heading to fetch them, my lord."

Too fast. It sounded like what it was, a memorized story.

"Ah! Carus's ball. I had been meaning to attend myself. Very well. Off you go, woman." He was turning back to his residence.

"Is there a problem here, my lord?"

Fariah didn't dare lift her eyes from the ground, but she could see the heavy boots of the city patrol. Her heart had started working again and it was hammering madly in her breast.

"What's that, patrolman? No, no problem. I was just questioning this Missene maid. Nothing to worry, boys."

The patrolman didn't seem to have heard the assurance. He approached Fariah.

"You. Stand up."

Fariah stood and looked up at him with what she hoped was a meek expression.

The patrolman looked at her intently, studying every feature of her face. He was a lean Turmen with hollow cheeks and hungry eyes.

"What's your name, Missene?"

"Tamara of Barria, sendi. I work for Lord Magon, the Treasurer of-"

"I know who Lord Magon is, girl. Hold her men!"

Fariah let out a small scream as the other patrolmen quickly grabbed her hands and legs and spread them.

"Really, patrolman, there is no need to do this," the Trumen noble was saying in slightly scandalized tones.

"Pardon, my lord, but we have reasons to believe she may be a rabble rouser. We need to be sure." He then knelt in front of Fariah. She did not try to free herself or resist, but every sinew of her body was protesting in revulsion and fear.

The patrolman lifted her robes over her legs and one of the other guards sniggered softly. "P-please, sendi," Fariah whispered through clenched teeth.

"Shut up!"

He lifted her woolen robe all the way above her thighs and inspected them like a goat trader. Fariah cringed at his touch. His rough fingers were prodding her inner thigh, pinching the skin.

"Hmmm… nothing," he murmured.

"Patrolman! What are you doing," the noble asked. "Is this really necessary? Must we debase ourselves like these barbarians?"

The patrolman dropped the hem and stood up, clearly not happy with having found nothing.

"There is no place for decency with these Missene rebels, your lordship." He turned to Fariah. "I know your name, Tamara of Barria. Don't let me catch you again. Let her go."

She was surprised to see her legs didn't give way. She produced a sniffle for their benefit, made hasty bows and walked hurriedly towards the Outer district.

She was disoriented. Was this third street? She suddenly didn't care about being nondescript. She broke into a run, hearing clangs and jeering cat calls behind her. Or was she imagining? The dark windows of the wealthy mocked her. How many saw her dishonoured? How many saw her thighs exposed like a cheap puda?

She ran like a little child, petrified of the salivating monster in the darkness. She was dimly aware of narrowing streets, of dirt and garbage and the stench of people and goats. As if through water, she saw the rickety walls and straw roofs of the Outer district. Even at this time of the night, there were people about – porters and couriers, storage men and maids. The Outer district never slept.

But she didn't feel safe. The narrow streets were closing in on her. Even here, the people were eyeing her sideways. She found it difficult to breathe. She was drowning in a sea of wool.

Abruptly, she wept. She gasped and gulped and wept. She didn't know how she came to squatting on the gutter cover, but she cried and bawled, wishing for her dead father's lap. His scent of musk and sweat and spices. He would have fought the perverted guards. He would have embraced her and held her close, away from those beasts.

"You need a shoulder to cry on, pretty thing?"

She flinched. She didn't even wait to see who it was. Like a snake, she unwound, bringing her legs crashing against the speaker's thin shanks. She heard a yelp of surprise as a toothless old man fell like a sack of sand.

"Aargh! No! I didn't mean to-" he backed off from her looking quite miserable.

Fariah quickly walked away, wiping her cheeks. She felt strangely relieved. There would be a time for tears later. Time for mourning. But she had to find the others.

It took a while for her to find the fish-seller's stall. It was boarded up for the night, of course. She checked the lane to make sure she wasn't being watched and ducked behind the salt crates. She felt with her palm along the bottom crates until her fingers found a metal ring resting in a groove. She tugged at it and the false crate's side swiveled down to reveal a ladder in the darkness leading down.

She lowered herself on the ladder, closing the crate-door behind her. She stepped down the rungs carefully, counting in her head. The eighteenth step. She stopped. She knew the ladder ended there, and nothing but the void below. If they had been compromised, she would know in a moment.

She took a calming breath and let go. She dropped twelve feet into the darkness. She felt her stomach leap up to her throat.

With a soft thump, she fell on a bed of hay.

Dusting herself up, Fariah silently thanked the Divine Light.

She had landed in a tiny room with a heavy wooden door. Hoping against hope, she pushed the door open.

[Joos]

Chapter 3

The room within was cheerfully lit, almost perversely so.

"Kazim!"

Waves of relief washed over her as she saw the hulking, bearded man turn. Her expression reflected on his face as he walked around the table and hugged her. Despite herself, she found tears welling up again.

"Oh Kazim da! Thank the Light! I was so scared you-"

"Mileka! I thought I wouldn't see you ever again!"

He broke the embrace and looked at her, concerned. He looked her up and down, checking.

"Mozim told me they had doubled the guards. Did they trouble- obviously not. But, mileka! I was so worried!"

"Kazim da, we failed. They caught the Teacher! The soldiers were waiting for us and-"

"I know, Fariah. I know."

"- and they slaughtered. I saw… I saw them! I saw them and couldn't do anything. The Teacher. They… they took him inside. Kazim da, they-"

"Fariah. Listen to me!" He shook her by the shoulders. "There is nothing you or I could have done. Do not chastise yourself. I forbid you to."

She fell silent. Kazim, the Rock. Of course he was right. She nodded.

"Now. We have to get out of Alsan. The city is too dangerous for us and it is only going to get worse."

He rolled up the parchment he had been perusing when she had walked in. As he spoke, he was clearing the table of various herbs, pouches and amulets, stuffing them into a leather sack.

"They are not going to let Teacher live. He will be impaled and displayed like a trophy, if they haven't done so already." He sounded forcefully casual as he spoke about the Teacher's death. "Kurman and Benair are dead too. They were found with their throats slit."

For a moment, Fariah's world shook around her. Benair. Dead?

"No," she whispered.

"I am sorry, mileka." Kazim suddenly looked very tired, his wide shoulders slumped, his eyes rimmed. "There is just you, me and Mozim."

"But Benair… Why? Why kill them like this?"

"I don't know. You are right, it is suspicious. But without asking more questions, we cannot know. And we do not have the time for asking questions right now."

Benair. Fariah closed her eyes and let the tears flow, silently remembering Benair. They had grown up like sisters. Shared clothes and secrets and jokes. She would wail for Benair later. For Kurman and Benair and Tamir and how many others?

"How are we going to leave, Kazim da?" Her voice sounded hollow, like she had died a thousand deaths. "The gates will be watched."

"There is a man… I don't trust him completely, but he is our only hope."

"Who?"

"A guardsman at the South Gate."

"A Turmen?"

"No, no. Missene. But he is selfish and greedy and a greasy pig. As I said, I don't trust him, but he's our only hope."

"I don't like it."

"Nor do I, mileka. But we have no choice. Mozim is already at this fellow's place, awaiting us. I have a cart full of dried fish. If we have to move now, in the darkness, we have to look like we have reason to be out."

"And what am I supposed to drag?"

"Me. You will be my nagging wife." For the first time since they met that night, Kazim flashed her a toothy smile.

"Labourers don't work with their wives in tow, Kazim da," she replied dryly.

"Thankfully not. But a suspicious wife not wanting to let her handsome husband lose in the big, debauched city of Alsan will definitely be in tow."

"You do think quite highly of yourself."

Kazim made a face as he finished his packing. "Let's hope it will be enough to see us in this guardsman's place."

"He has a place of his own? I thought they lived in the barracks."

"Apparently, Missenes are not allowed in the barracks, even if they are City Guards. They are building a new barracks outside the city, but until then, the Missene guards are left to fend for themselves in the Outer district. Their discrimination will be their downfall, Fariah."

"It will take a lot more than that to drive them out."

"Getting cynical already, mileka?"

"No. Just… Just realistic. I don't know. I don't know anymore. I mean, how right were we to place our faith in the Teacher in the first place? What if… What if the Teacher was just a crazy old man?"

Kazim did not move, but his expression brought her up short.

"Please don't speak ill of the Teacher in my presence again. I will not take that from anyone. Even you. The Teacher knew. He saw. He opened our eyes and told us the Truth. The Empire of the Sun is at hand, the Divine Spirit will come to us clothed in flesh. I don't doubt that for an instant and I don't doubt my master, the Teacher. His death will be a sign. He is making way for the one who comes after."

Fariah held her tongue. She didn't want to pick up this fight again. But she wanted to scream at Kazim for his blind faith, for his stubbornness. Why couldn't he see? The resistance was in total disarray, down to the last three members. And the Teacher, this Milaen – what did he really do? Did he not divert them from their original plan? Did he not take over the movement with his fiery words and empty prophecies?

They cleared the room of anything incriminating, including many sheaves of the Teacher's writings. If they were found on them, they would die for sure. But Fariah knew it was hopeless to try and convince Kazim to burn them.

"Let's go, Fariah. Before the day dawns."

"Oh why can't we just stay down here? We'll stay here till they forget about us!"

Kazim gave her a stern look.

"Mileka! Do not be childish. The sooner we get out of Alsan, the longer we live."

They exited the room through another door. A long and winding stone corridor led them across the underground tunnel. The Turmens knew about these tunnels, of course, but deemed them unusable. It was not the ideal secret location, but as long as they did not invite attention, they were safe. Despite herself, Fariah realized Kazim was once again right. They would come knocking in the morning. They would sniff us out, Fariah thought bleakly.

The tunnel gradually sloped up. Here and there were other doors, leading to other rooms. All were small storage rooms, meant for weapons and grains in the time of a siege. Built by a long-forgotten ruler, during a time when the Missenes ruled their homes. Fariah hated the fact that every part of this forsaken city served us a reminder of their humiliation.

Long stretches of the tunnel were shrouded in complete darkness. In many places, the roof had fallen in, forcing them to crawl through narrow gaps in the rubble.

"Aren't we getting out at Murad's shop?" Fariah asked as they went past their usual exit out of the tunnel that led through the tailor's shop.

"No. Too risky. Murad is a sympathizer, and I don't want to jeopardize his anonymity should we be spotted near his place."

"What kind of sympathizer stands and watches while we die?"

"We need all of them, mileka. We'll look for allies even among the San."

Fariah assumed he was joking. He had to be. The San? Might as well initiate a Turmen noble.

"Here we are."

They stopped in front of a stone wall that looked like it had been standing there for centuries. There were no doors to be seen.

"Is that wall supposed to open?"

"Yes. And two durams to you if you can tell me how." Kazim was grinning indulgently.

"Seriously? Now?"

"No teacher like experience," he quoted the Teacher. "The way forward is right in front of your eyes. Open them and see."

Fariah turned to study the wall. Made of the heavy stones that litter the rocky hills around Alsan. She tapped the stones. No suspicious hollow sounds. She pressed her cheek to the wall, trying to feel a draft. Nothing. She pushed the stones, but they didn't budge.

"As above, so below," Kazim said cryptically, thoroughly enjoying himself despite the dreary setting.

As above, so below. Above? The trapdoor behind the crates! The inset ring. Of course. This time, Fariah looked at the wall from the side, looking for the tell-tale groove. There was nothing. Frustration mounted inside Fariah.

"Kazim da, there is no time to play games!"

"Then I suggest you not waste it, little sister."

She muttered angrily under her breath. As above, so below. Then it struck her. She looked down, at the floor near the wall. She got down on all fours and examined the dusty floor.

She found it, hidden carefully amid the jumbled tiles on the floor. A circular groove, smooth with age. Resting within it, a metal ring designed like a sunburst. She lifted it and pulled. The tile swiveled open. Within it, she found a compartment housing a heavy metal gear with a handle. She looked up at Kazim and grinned.

"You can keep one duram for the hint."

She tried to rotate the gear but it proved too tight for her. Kazim bent down and lent his strength. With a heavy grating sound, the gear began to turn and the stone wall began to slide slowly sideways.

"Incredible," Fariah breathed as they stood facing the open wall. Beyond it, a large cart laden with dried fish stood blocking the alley.

"To think the ancients built this years ago!" Kazim shook his head slowly. "So much has been lost to us. Can you believe it? It's like magic! It even closes by itself! Mozim believes it is because of a massive coiled metal buried underneath that drinks our strength and uses it to close the wall again!"

Fariah absently touched her chin and murmured "The Divine Spirit protect us all."

They watched as the wall rumbled back to its original position. It was truly magical. She had just walked through a solid wall!

Outside, the sky had lightened considerably and the sounds of the waking city rose steadily as they made their way to South Gate, with Kazim dragging the cart behind him.