I am pleased to say that this week’s edition has been much easier to write. Often, new ventures have a ‘honeymoon period’ where it goes really well; when I write novels, the first few thousand words are enjoyable, and then it gets more difficult. So far, short stories have been easier as I never quite reach the point where it becomes a slog as I quickly switch between planning, writing and editing. I also enjoy writing about different topics with various stories set in completely different genres. This one, however, is set in a time inspired by Ancient Rome and includes various supernatural elements.
- APRIL 2024
Maxim Sylberous slept badly. Neither wine nor good company seemed to make any difference. His legionnaires probably slept better and it was their job to sleep lightly.
Bright sunlight streamed through several arched windows, transforming the room into a greenhouse despite the early hour. Despite being naked among the sheets, sweat clung to his skin along with her scent, herbs and roses, tickling his nose; the touch of her fingers, still vivid in his memory.
He sat up, letting the sheets fall away and yanked on a thick rope, hanging just within arms reach. A muffled gong rang somewhere in the tower. When the panelled door remained closed, he pulled it again. The door swung open, revealing not an army of servants bustling in, but a woman so tall she had to stoop to sweep through. Folds of pale blue clung to her shoulders, trailing behind her. For a moment he thought that the light had just caught her but as she passed in front of him, he realised that her skin and hair were fairer than he’d ever seen.
Maxim’s mouth fell open.
The woman did not so much as acknowledge him as her gaze swept past him. He yanked the sheets up around himself. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
He cleared his throat as she settled down on the window sill, “Is this how you greet your emperor?”
An icy stare met his own, “My emperor?”
For a moment he urged to apologise, to bow his head to her. Instead, he laughed, who did she think she was? Unless they’d chosen a northerner as his replacement, she was quickly warranting her death. Her complexion wouldn’t help her either. Her types were uncommon in Valaria and for good reason. If the gods didn’t trust them enough to gift dark hair, he wouldn’t either.
“Where are my servants?” He wrapped the sheets tightly around his middle and shuffled to the edge of the bed, “Who are you?”
“I thought you would be a difficult one, that mouth of yours won’t help you where you’re going.”
“If you’re just going to stand there, open the window!” What did she mean about where he was going?
Sweat now slicked his back but she didn’t oblige, rather she straightened and, pausing to look down at him, made for the door.
The high court moved behind his back, but they would never defy him face to face. When he found out who she was, he’d have her punished immediately.
She glanced back, “Get some clothes on, we’ll talk then.” The door banged shut.
Maxim flushed, finding his feet on the floor. Nobody, not even his closest friends talked to him like that. His mother would if she was still speaking to him. “I’ll have you in a cell before the hour is out!”
Dropping the sheet, he yanked the window open. A breeze rippled the drapes but did little to dispel the heat. He opened them as wide as he could. Now for his servants.
The bell rang four times but nobody came. He dared not open the door for fear that the woman was waiting outside. The idea of it was preposterous, the guards would have her by now. And yet why had nobody answered his bell?
He cursed and turned away from the door. His Discarded nightclothes lay by the bed along with a nightgown and a summer robe of pale blue. Galia wouldn’t have left the room naked? Would she?
He picked up his own. Herbs and roses clung to them like a bad memory. Dropping then, he stepped through to his dressing room, a full-sized room filled with robes of every colour for every occasion. The pillars around the room were carved to depict the many Valarian gods. He pulled a set of robes out at random, a crimson undershirt and dark robes. It would not do for the weather, though it ought to show her who he was, perhaps she just made it to the wrong room.
He snorted, a hundred personal guards were stationed at every entrance to his quarters. Nobody got in or out without his permission. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his stomach. The heat, the forgotten nightclothes and the northerner.
When he slipped on the shirt, was unable to button up the back, leaving it hanging loose at the front. He grunted and, after much fiddling, ripped it off.
By now it was soaked with sweat anyway. His skin was sticky as if he’d just run under the scorching sun. Even in the hottest months of the calendar, Valaria didn’t get this hot. In the highest room of the palace, it was always cool. He glanced at the god carvings, what had he done to deserve such treatment?
Once he found out who had caused all of this, they would be lucky if their head wasn’t adorning the battlements by the end of the day. He would put it there himself.
Finally, Maxim donned the outer robe, pulling it tighter than normal to cover his exposed chest. For some reason, it didn’t look nearly as imposing in the mirror as he’d hoped. At least go and find someone to do it properly.
Maxim marched back into the bedroom, now slightly more collected, he would figure out what had gone wrong. His hand closed on the door handle leading from his room. If that woman was still there, she would know his wrath. Yet, even that thought didn’t seem to dispel the odd feeling in his stomach.
“Good, you’re dressed.”
Maxim spun to find the pale woman perched on the windowsill, one leg dangling down, the other resting on the stonework. For a moment he was lost for words. Never, in his ten years of rule had anyone ignored his authority so.
Instead, he wiped his forehead with the end of his robe. Gods, the heat in here was horrendous.
“What do you want?” He instantly felt foolish, emperors didn’t ask questions, they demanded answers.
She smiled as if it were the correct thing to say and rearranged her skirts, “I see you are learning.”
Maxim felt heat rush to his ears. He would not take much more of this. “Woman, if you do not explain yourself soon, I will put your head on a spike myself.”
Her smile faded and he shivered despite the warmth, without that knowing glint, she was cold hard steel.
“I see you’re not ready.” She swung her legs onto the floor and stood up, “I’ll leave you to figure it out.”
It was too much for him. In five steps he crossed the room, eyes narrowing. Nobody, not even his mother could treat him so. He struck out his hand, reaching for her throat.
Just before he touched her skin, her long-fingered hand closed around his wrist and twisted. Maxim shrieked, falling to his knees as pain shot up into his shoulder.
Desperately he grabbed a fistful of her skirts but, in one fluid motion, her knee connected with his chest and he was on his back on the floor. He groaned, reaching for his concealed dagger.
She just watched as his hands closed over the hilt. Then just as his fingers tightened, she stamped down with a sandal.
Maxim whimpered, yanking his hand back and clutching it. She stormed out, muffled footsteps echoing down the hall.
Emperor Maxim Syberious lay on the floor, cradling his hand, breath coming sharply. Something was very wrong, he knew that much and it had everything to do with the northerner.
Groaning and climbing to his feet, Maxim pushed open the rest of the windows running along one wall. Still, no cold air seemed to reach him.
Finally, he leaned out of the largest, looking over the city of Valeria. It lay in darkness, the sun not yet risen enough to touch the red-tiled roofs and white-painted walls. He frowned. He’d been awake a while, surely the sun rose quicker than that. The gnawing in his stomach intensified when he noticed the lack of noise. There were no voices, no distant cry of crows, no clang of armour from the practice fields. The only sign of movement was a dark plume of smoke rising from one of the poorer districts. He glanced down at the battlements and, to his shock, saw them empty. As far as he could see, there was nobody.
If someone attacked… He slipped on his sandals, he would get to the bottom of this. The woman now the least of his problems, Maxim pulled open the door and hurried down the corridor. Still nothing. He stepped onto the elevating platform. It didn’t move. He cursed himself and glanced over the side. The ropes swung freely below, with no manpower to lift him up and down.
His feet thudded down the grand staircase. Three flights of stairs and he had to stop, bending over in exhaustion. Still nobody. Panic was in full flight now, making away with his stomach.
Finally, he reached the bottom floor, the breeze blowing in through open doors. He stumbled out into the training grounds. It lay empty, stacks of spears and square shields lying where they should be. To his left the orchard’s many benches empty. The battlements were still bare.
He sank to his knees. Despite the shade, the heat had not lessened. If anything, it seemed to be getting hotter. He touched his forehead to the ground in a prayer he hadn’t made since he was a boy.
“Didactra, if you are listening, I bid you explain my wrongdoings, I bid you enlighten me!”
“Dida won’t help you here.”
He straightened to find the same woman as before perched on one of the orchard benches. For a moment he was glad of the reminder that he wasn’t completely alone. It vanished with the next throb of his shoulder.
Maxim took a deep breath. His ears felt hot and the black robe had not been his best choice of clothing. Worse still, the woman seemed completely unaffected, her skirts not even crinkled from knocking him to the floor.
“Can you explain what is happening to me?” He asked finally.
She shrugged, “Why don’t you ask Didactra?”
He frowned, she spoke in such a flat manner it was difficult to tell if she was mocking him. Finally, he just turned towards the gate that led to the outer courtyard. It stood ajar.
The palace gardens and huge iron gates stood open as well, the odd spear leaning against them. Here and there a hand cart lay discarded as if its owner had just dropped it and ran. He shook his head in a gesture that was beginning to hurt his neck, this had to be a dream, there was no plausible explanation for all of this.
He stopped between the gates, looking beyond to Emperor’s Street and then, out into the city. Had he ever ventured out alone? His childhood had been sheltered, he’d even known that and even as a teenager, his two bodyguards had gone everywhere with him. Becoming Emperor at forty included escorts of half a legion everywhere.
Maxim ventured into the city proper. The further he walked, the stranger it became. Street carts and belongings sat on the street, several bakeries still held bread, the smell of the oven emanating from their chimneys.
For this short time, it was almost fun to explore. Then came the smoke.
As the wind shifted direction, the acrid smell of burning reached him. He paused remembering the plume of smoke from earlier. The poorer neighbourhoods were all made of wood and if he and the northerner were alone here…
It wasn’t long before the smoke was thick enough to turn him back. Yet when he found himself back at a crossroads he found himself completely lost. Unfamiliar buildings towered over him and the distant roar that was surely a fire was growing. Just what he needed.
Maxim began to run as he had not in a long time. He switched left and right, chest heaving with exertion, but as fast as he could run, the closer the crackling seemed to come.
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The buildings grew smaller and dirtier but every time he turned back towards a wealthier-looking area, he was dissuaded by the smoke and the occasional glimpse of flickering orange. The sun still hadn’t touched the tops of the buildings and yet temperature was still growing. At one point he thought he could see the top of the palace, the sunlight catching the stonework. A wisp of smoke rose from that too. This had to be a dream.
At long last, he stumbled upon an old fountain, half of the statues around it missing heads and limbs. He collapsed under the flowing water, closing his eyes and relishing the chill. When he opened them again, he was staring at the northerner, standing on the edge of the fountain watching him. Still, she appeared completely unaffected by the heat.
Behind her smoke completely concealed the sun, and none of the blue sky was visible.
“Valaria is burning,” he choked out, “Did you do this?”
She shook her head, “I presume that it started with an unattended fire spreading naturally. Everything here is natural.”
Maxim sat up, determined not to appear weak in front of her. She had some power here
“How can you say this is natural, there is nobody here.”
She nodded, “You’re correct.”
Maxim narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t seen it before, but now… “You’re Nimaya,” he said suddenly. He cursed himself for not realising sooner. Only one of the gods was so tall with pale hair.
She smiled, though it twisted at the corners, not meeting her eyes.
He cursed realising what he’d tried to do to the goddess. Yet he couldn’t help the relief that flowed through him. This was a dream, or at least some kind of vision. Nimaya was, of course, the goddess of remorse.
He dropped to his knees. He’d threatened her and tried to restrain her. He touched his forehead to the marble beneath her feet, “I beg your forgiveness, I had no—”
“Get up!”
Maxim jumped and quickly straightened.
She turned away, “I don’t know why you all act like this, it is hardly honourable. I’d rather you paid more attention to what we say.”
“I practice all kinds of prayer,” Maxim assured, “Morning and night.”
“Is that so?” By now the fire was licking the windows of the houses surrounding the fountain, the smoke plunging them into semi-darkness. She watched it, almost mesmerised.
“You brought me here!” He said, taking a few deep breaths, “To teach me something.”
She shook her head, glancing at him, “I am not Didactra, for the second time.”
Maxim looked around, “You’re showing me what would happen to the city if I were not here to rule?”
When he turned back to her, she was gone. Damn! He spun around again but he was completely alone. All of the buildings were burning now, though a small gap still lay to his right between the roaring flames. These wooden houses would not stand long against such heat.
“Nimaya!” He shouted as he took off again, the water instantly evaporating. Sweat didn’t even have a chance to form as he passed through the flames. It felt ten times worse. Luckily, he was out of it quickly, stumbling and coughing.
He was right, that’s why she’d left. This was to show him that the world needed him. That he had a duty to do! And yet why was he still here?
An earsplitting creak stopped him in his tracks as the building to his fore collapsed onto the street, the roof tiles skittering down the cobbles to his feet.
Almost immediately flames leapt up, concealing his last chance at escape. He looked over his shoulders but flames and smoke filled that too.
This was it, the end of the vision. The flames would conceal everything like in the legends. She would appear before him once more and he would wake up in his bed, beside Galia.
Yet, as the heat continued to increase, the roar of flames filling his ears, he dropped to the cobbles which were only marginally cooler than he.
“I’ve learnt my lesson!” He shouted, face pressed against the rocks, the smell of cooking dirt and grime filling his nose, “I will do better. My empire needs me!”
For a long time, he continued to shout. Then his throat began to hurt and he could feel the soles of his sandals grow hotter and hotter. He curled tighter and tighter, wondering if he would have to experience such a death to return from the vision.
He thought back to where he’d seen Nimaya, what she’d said. This was a lesson, he was sure of that, but perhaps he’d got it wrong. As pain prickled all over his body and his gasps for air became more frantic than ever he realised that he wasn’t getting out of it. Whatever he was meant to do, he’d failed. Alone in an empty city, he’d been unable to… Empty city. Of course! This wasn’t showing the world where he was absent, this was a world where everyone else was absent.
He thought back to where he’d ignored the fires for someone else to take care of, where he’d stopped at the top of the elevating floor just to find that there was nobody to man it. No guards to protect him, no servants to dress him. Nobody to serve him. He felt foolish and disgusted with himself. Was this what he’d become?
He opened his mouth one last time, words coming out in gasps, “I get it now, it’s the other way around. I see how much I need others.”
For a moment he thought he could feel a presence and then… Bliss. The pain vanished, the heat vanished all of his sense of place vanished. His burning soles were gone, but so too was the sense that he had feet.
He opened his eyes. He was not back in his bedroom. Instead, he sat on a stone bench, though he could not feel it. It was as if he were floating above it. Around him, thousands of people lined what he recognised as the Valaria Amphitheatre. It was completely silent.
By the black robes everyone wore, he was at a funeral. And… by his side sat the same woman from before, Nimaya as he knew her now.
“I knew it was not real,” He said, “I know what you meant to teach me, can I not return now?”
She glanced at him and shook her head, “I wouldn’t say it was not real, you would have been consumed by the flames.”
“I would have died?” In a way he wasn’t surprised, it had felt all so real.
She shrugged, “And I do not give out lessons. I wish you would stop comparing me to Didactra, we are quite different.”
“But in the stories, you and she…” He trailed off when she pressed her mouth into a thin line.
“The stories,” she said scornfully, “along with your prayers only skirt the truth. Only your simplest definitions and a few of your philosophers know anything. All those preachers… well, at least mean well.”
He sighed, “Then tell me why I am here?” He was wearing a black robe, common of those who would attend a large funeral, though once again he could not feel it. He frowned looking up again. It was a large funeral, and to be in the grand amphitheatre… “This is a royal funeral, but of who? Did someone die?”
She snorted. Fine, if she was going to be difficult, he would at least have some answers. He shifted to the right a bit and touched the shoulder of the woman closest to his left. She was obviously of a low family for she wore heavy cloth and her hat was tilted to the side to expose a cheap broach. His hand stopped but he could not feel the coarse linen, the warmth of her skin underneath. She was as hard as stone. She shifted and moved as though he was nothing, shoving his arm about. He realised that despite the number of people, he couldn’t hear anything save for Nimaya’s breathing.
“Hey!”
She didn’t respond. He swallowed. The fire was bad enough, would this be worse? Was there a second lesson?
He stood and moved in front of her but she looked straight through him as though he wasn’t there. He touched her face but again it was as hard as rock.
He moved back to Nimaya and put a hand on her shoulder before he could stop himself. She felt very much alive. Realising what he’d done, he got to drop to the floor again when she snorted, “For an Emperor, I would have expected a better memory.”
He winced and sat back down. There was no doubt now that it was indeed Nimaya. But he knew relatively little of her stories, though maybe that was best.
She placed a hand on her arm and beckoned him to follow.
With no other choice, they threaded their way past spectators before reaching the wide steps leading straight down to the centre. The touch was oddly comforting, the rest of him felt only half there.
The lower they descended, the wealthier the spectators got. By the time he was on the lowest floor, level with the main arena, the seats were split into groups of five. Each was filled with people he recognised and covered with a sunshade. His sister and mother were in one with several guards. Even as he walked around he caught sight of Galia, her long legs crossed under a velvet black dress, tears sliding down her cheeks.
Maxim felt something twist in his stomach. For all of these people to be here… He pulled from Nimaya’s grasp and stumbled towards the priests and preachers reading from lecterns. Between them lay a body open to the gods, the sunlight just catching the bare feet.
His breath came quicker as one of the preachers stepped out of his view. He lay there on that stone bench, bared to the sky. This was not just any funeral. It was his own.
“This is not real!” he shouted at Nimaya who stood off to the side watching patiently. Her expression didn’t change. “This is just one of your visions.” He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a plea for help.
He looked down, his body could still feel, though it didn’t feel like it was there. He was knocked to the side and as he stumbled away his view was cut off by a large hollowed-out stone.
“No!” He dashed forward, grabbing hold of his arms as they lifted him, his body. He was thrown to the side easily as they laid his body down in the open tomb. It was all that he could do to avoid getting his arm trapped.
Then, another group of men brought in a large ornately carved lid. He pushed against it but finally gave up, watching limply as his body was cut off from sunlight forever.
For a long time, he stared at the stone box. This was it all? This was all he would come to. That was it, Nimaya was showing him the end of his life. “I will value my life more,” he said, “I will not waste time on stupid things.”
Nothing happened. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. He thought back to his first vision, if he could call it that, he still could feel the flames burning him. It had been a world with only him. It had not lasted long.
Something bumped into him and he looked up. His tomb was being carried away. The preachers let their black robes fall to the floor revealing white ones. Of course, at the funeral of an emperor, another would be chosen.
He looked around, and then to his surprise Tulvana Sulsan stepped up onto the floor, approaching the preachers now in their white garbs embroidered with scrolls of gold.
“No,” he said looking to Nimaya who was watching it all from the side with a slightly amused expression.
All around people were clapping though he could not hear it. Even his family, even Selene and his friends. They wiped away a few tears and stood as wreaths were laid around Tulvana’s feat.
Maxim’s breaths came raggedly. His tomb was gone. It had barely taken half an hour and he was gone. This was how he would die, with barely anyone to notice or care. A new emperor would be chosen and the world would move on without him.
Of course, the first vision had been a world with only him, this one was a world without him. A tear slipped down his cheek as he moved around the floor, looking at everyone’s faces. Only a few faces remained grave. Many looked bored and a few even looked happy.
His sister, looking older in the months he hadn’t seen her was smiling at something her mother, their mother whispered in her ear. He felt sick. This was it. His entire effect on the world.
When he turned around, Nimaya was standing beside him.
“I get it,” he said, “This is a world without me.” He glanced around with different eyes. The shine in his mother’s eyes, gods, she was older in the five years he hadn’t seen her. His sister’s stomach bulged beneath her robes. He wondered who the father was. A tear slid down his cheek, the sensation barely registering. He glanced back at Tulvana and the wreaths around him, was that all he’d worried about?
Nimaya nodded, the smile fading from her lips, she even looked a touch regretful, “Indeed. I am surprised, to begin with, I thought you’d never figure it out.”
He turned to meet her blue eyes. No longer did they seem so different, he felt like he knew her just from these moments as odd as it sounded. “I do understand, when I return, I will repair that which I have broken, ignore that which I have wallowed in.”
She smiled sadly and shook her head, placing a hand on his, “Dearest Maxim, I am the Goddess of Remorse, I do not give out lessons. This…” She gestured around them, “…Is real.”
His stomach turned to ice, “What do you mean?”
She squeezed his hand and his vision began to darken, “You’re already dead.”
I hope you enjoyed that, for I certainly did while writing it.
The most common questions I get about writing are, ‘Where do your ideas come from?’ or, ‘How do you come up with so many ideas?’ Most writers will tell you that ideas come easily, it is the skill of the author which makes them into great stories. That, if you are writing consistently, the world is full of inspiration in the oddest of places.
My first idea for this piece was the final sentence, ‘You’re already dead.’ From that, I created the character of Maxim who is unable to accept that he’s dead. It is almost cruel that Nimaya, Goddess of Remorse, must help him accept his death before he can pass away, that he gets no second chance.
I believe that art is incomplete until experienced. For example, a book is only half completed by the author. Only when a reader imagines the words in their head does it come to life fully. Therefore, it is maybe unwise for me to state my intent as that might undermine a thought sparked in the reader’s mind while reading.