《The Man with the Gilded Face》


 I. Calm before the Storm

    The sky was spotless today, without a cloud to be seen. The sun shone its light on the whole city, from the peaks of the distant mountains down to the white sand of the beach. Red tiled roofs dotted the landscape, topping the tanned earthen walls of the buildings they belonged to. The canals were busier than they''d been all summer, almost completely covered over by the boats travelling through them. On days like this, Markos'' father would tell him that the sky was almost as blue as his eyes, and playfully tussle his hair. Then he might take the whole family from their villa down to the beach, and all the servants that could make the journey too. The men would catch fish right out of the ocean and the women would cook them up into a great feast they''d enjoy while the sun set over the horizon. Markos missed those days desperately, even though they''d been so long ago. Before his father had gone to the capital city, Illia. Before the Emperor got sick.


    All that was about to change, though. Father wasn¡¯t going to be in Illia anymore. He had sent a letter a week ago telling the family he was coming back home. He was coming back to Archopoli. At first, Markos couldn¡¯t contain his joy, but now all he wanted to do was sit and watch the summer sky. He was practicing that same ritual in the meadow outside the villa when his silent contemplation was interrupted by a particularly irritating voice.


    ¡°MARKOOOOS!¡± his brother shouted, running up the hill at a breakneck pace. Barefoot and barely dressed, he was running around in his nightshirt, with his wild brown mop barely moving in the wind from all the oil it had no doubt accumulated since the last time the servants had been brave enough to try and bathe him. Theodotos was his name, and wrecking a quiet afternoon was often enough his idea of a game.


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    Markos still sprung to his feet, however, stopping his little brother in his tracks. ¡°What are you doing out here, Theo? You know that mother doesn¡¯t like it when you run out of the house in your bedclothes.¡±


    ¡°Huh? Who cares about that! You¡¯ve gotta come back to the villa!¡± Theo said, winded but still very much enthused about something.


    ¡°What? Why? Is it news about Father?¡± Markos asked, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow in anticipation.


    ¡°Yeah! Him and Uncle Ignatios! They¡¯re both coming, and soon! We got another letter that says they passed into the province yesterday! C¡¯mon! They¡¯ll be here any minute!¡± Theo was practically bouncing at this point, and started tugging at Markos¡¯ arm as hard as he could, but failing to make his brother so much as budge.


    ¡°The province border is miles away, Theo, but I¡¯ll go inside if you promise to put some pants on.¡± said Markos, looking off to the side at a few onlookers on the road who were chuckling at the two of them.


    ¡°It¡¯s a deal!¡± Theo said, and he ran back down the hill toward the gatehouse, never once looking back to see if his brother was following after him.


    ¡°I guess Mother will be pleased, if nothing else.¡± Markos muttered as he slowly made his way back too, running his hands through his thick, black hair. Father couldn¡¯t come soon enough.

 I. Calm before the Storm (Cont.)

    Markos hurried back to the villa- the only home he''d ever known, it was as stately as it was ancient, having been built by his ancestors over many centuries, or so grandfather''s stories would say. The manse predated the rise of the Eldinn family, and even the toppling of the dragon-riding Kings of Dubia. By the time he and Theodotos arrived, their mother was standing outside the door. Lady Artemisia Nemos was tall, dark, and beautiful- she could be as imposing as the fiercest of men when she wished, but today her countenance betrayed nothing but joy.


    "I assume little Theo told you the good news?" she asked, looking to Markos with a soft gaze.


    "Yes, ma''am." Markos replied, turning his own view down to his feet.


    "Is something the matter? I should expect you''d be overjoyed! Your father is coming, and your uncle too." she said, her sweet voice to a more characteristic tone.


    "No, ma''am. I just-"


    "Good, then get yourself ready immediately. I expect you to be looking your best when your father and uncle arrive. I''ve had the servants prepare your supper clothes, and I expect you''ll be in them and on your best behavior when you are summoned, am I clear?"


    Markos simply nodded in agreement. There was little point in trying to speak to her when she was in this state. Mother was nothing if not particular when it came to planning a party. Woe unto the poor soul who sought to dissuade her from the course she''d chosen. His next stop, then, was his room. Once, Markos had been in the nursery with his brother, but that had all changed when Father left for Illia. Half the household had left with him, and Mother elected to give Markos a spare room so he might study in privacy. When he arrived at his chambers, Markos found the clothes in question- an old, red woolen tunic with gold trim, and cream colored trousers to go with it. A pair of fine slippers were also placed at the foot of his bed, which he had not seen before. Mother often gave gifts in this way, seeing little point in ceremony but gaining some small joy in surprises. Markos found the new slippers quite comfortable, though the wool of his old tunic irritated his arms, which were not covered by his undergarments. Would that he were able to roll the sleeves, but Mother wouldn''t like that one bit.


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    To take his mind off the discomfort, Markos perused the books his tutors had left on his desk. A copy of The Farkanlied was still half-opened from a history lesson the day before, with an annotation on some battle that Markos did not feel compelled to remember.  The Elf-king it sung of won every battle but his last, so the minutia were easy to forget, though the imperial examination was not kind to those who chose not to study topics such as history or poetry, least of all historical poetry. The other books were treatises on law, architecture, and medicine, however, so Markos read the Farkanlied all the same, turning his eyes toward the page on the defeat of Farkan''s enemies:


    In the hills of SACTIS, his enemies made their stand


    The last of the forces the Helvani could command


    Slain in full, the path was open for the new Sylvani liege


    For all the world to witness a new kind of siege


    ...


    I can''t believe I need to memorize this, Markos thought. Poetry was one thing, but ballads like this stirred something of a disdain in the young man''s mind. There was something so untruthful and self-satisfying about it. What really happened? he wondered, closing the book in a huff. Nobody in the real battle knew they were going to be defeated. They all thought they were going to win, surely, otherwise they wouldn''t have bothered fighting Farkan at all. All the elves in Helvania wanted to kill him, now they worship him as a god. It''s stupid...


    Before Markos could finish that line of thinking, a rap came at the door. It was time to go downstairs. It was time to see Father.

 Chapter II. Reunion

    The carriage that brought Lord Nemos and his brother was carved with flowing symbols of the Emperor¡¯s authority- yew trees with long branches that had eagles perched atop, and peacocks feeding down below. The panels were brilliantly realized, but faded, no doubt weathered from age. Markos had learned of this symbolic scene before from his tutors: it was a joyous commemoration of the end of the civil war, showing the three symbols of imperial authority in harmony with one another. The war had ended well before Markos was born, but its scars still ran deep for many of the older folk.


    The occupants of the carriage stepped down carefully, with gangly Uncle Ignatios stepping out first, and helping Lord Nemos down shortly afterward. Father looked older than he had during his last visit. Much older. The black hair that was the pride of any Nemos had turned a solid gray, only peppered with reminders of its former color. As he drew nearer, Markos also noticed the bags under Father¡¯s eyes had grown even darker, though that was hardly a surprise. The capital always seems to take its toll on him, Markos thought, but he dared not mention it. Mother would surely be furious if anything uncouth was said on these occasions, as if she was afraid Father would leave if he were displeased even a little. Markos did not understand why it could not be as it once was, but he had grown tired of pondering the hypothetical. We do not live in the land of ¡®what if¡¯, as Mother used to say.


    Once the baggage cart had been unloaded, Father finally made his way towards the line, no, throng that was waiting to greet him. Every member of the family, every servant, and every freeman that Father patronized was ready to say something sweet, yet perfunctory to Lord Nemos on his arrival. They did just that, too, as they always did. Smiles, handshakes, and banal platitudes quickly filled the atmosphere before dissipating at Uncle¡¯s wave of a hand, as if to say the customary flattery is done, back to work. It was only then that Father stepped toward Markos, and spoke to him for the first time in a year:


    ¡°Markos¡± he said, ¡°I¡­trust you have kept to your studies?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Markos replied coldly. Before another word could be said, Mother mentioned his tutors¡¯ opinions on his work, mentioning the progress he had made in the subjects of Elvish language, Imperial history, and natural philosophy. Lord Nemos smiled at this, though his eyes seemed more sad than joyous.


    ¡°Good, that will serve you well¡± he said, before placing a hand on Markos¡¯ shoulder. ¡°A shame I could not see it for myself. Would that we were fated to live in less interesting times...¡±


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    Lord Nemos then turned toward Mother and Theo, and embraced them warmly. Their conversation was much less gloomy, and quickly they ushered Father into the dining room where a great meal had been prepared. Markos was ready to join them when Uncle stopped him.


    ¡°Too big to say hello to your uncle, Markos?¡± he asked, sharing Father¡¯s same sad eyes but a far more genuine smile. Uncle Ignatios was Father¡¯s only brother, and their sisters had married and moved away to the provinces long ago, leaving him the only paternal relative Markos had whom he knew well.


    ¡°No, Uncle Ignatios, I just thought-¡±


    ¡°That I was busy? I am, do not doubt that. I¡¯ll have my work cut out for me, trying to set up shop here!¡± Uncle said. He let out a sad chuckle, before briefly stretching to crack his back. It was not Ignatios¡¯ way to let servants handle the mountain of books he had stowed away as luggage, though the spindly scholar was not much good at hauling them around either. After clearing his throat, he turned to his nephew again.


    ¡°Do you like it here, Markos?¡± he asked, stroking a short, patchy beard.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know Uncle, I haven¡¯t really lived anywhere else.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes, that¡¯s right. How silly of me! But you know, I hadn¡¯t lived anywhere else when I was first shipped off to Illia, but I made a good life for myself. I just needed to push ahead of my doubts and strive for success! I host your father in my own villa, did you know that?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Uncle, my father told me that before, when he wasn¡¯t in the capital as often.¡± Markos replied. Ignatios had left the family villa as a young man, studied at the university in the capital, became a valuable courtier, et cetera. Before Father was called away to court for most of the year, Uncle Ignatios had been something of a figure of pride for the family- the mysterious younger brother who had friends at court. When Markos was young, Father almost seemed to idolize the idea, but now it seemed more like the family curse than the family pride.


    ¡°Right, of course.¡± Ignatios said, adjusting his glasses before returning to grab a box of books that had been left behind. ¡°Help me with these, would you? The servants have gotten the rest, even though I told them! I told them not to handle them without my explicit supervision!¡±


    Markos complied, and trudged along carrying the box to Ignatios¡¯ room, where several other boxes had been strewn about.


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re all wrong!¡± Ignatios pouted, before stopping in his tracks and letting out a deep breath. ¡°Mmmm, I¡¯ll have time to be furious later, I suppose. Where was I? Oh yes! Your father, he wanted me to ask you about your ambitions, given you are getting closer to manhood. Not much younger than myself when I left Archiopoli.¡±


    ¡°My¡­ambitions?¡± Markos paused, and his heart skipped a beat, if only for a moment. Could it be possible? Could Father, at long last, be considering it? Could it finally be the year that Father took him to court?