O Saga: Part One: Book of Origins

Tsar Miro can always find an escape from a troubled mind by walking in his private gardens. The feel of the terracotta pavers against his sandals makes him mindful of his steps and thoughts. The smell of fresh herbs and blooming flowers fills his soul with thoughts as positively charged as the sun that nurtures the plants. He helped tend to the lavender, lupin, lilacs, and violets that shone in the hearts of visitors. Purple is the color of royalty, and it flows in the blood and spirit of the Tsar’s garden.

Cyprus trees and junipers clipped into artistic topiaries highlight pergolas and fences. Sensuously sculpted statues thirst for the beauty of the female form. The garden is never still in sensation. Ponds filled with fish, waterfalls, and fountains add movement to this living painting.

The Tsar sits on a simple wooden chair by a table under the pergola for shade. The guards bring Commandant Toto to him, and he invites Toto to sit opposite him at the table. The guards leave them to their privacy.

“What is the state of revolution against my house?” Miro causally asks. The Commandant seems uncomfortable with being so informal with the Tsar. Sitting at a table together is something you do with an equal.

“We apprehended many of the leaders and executed others. I must admit this plot’s mastermind did escape to the North. We presume he is going to head for the border. I accept full responsibility and consequences, my Lord.”

“There is no need for censure. Who is the mastermind?”

“Flaero.”

“Are the ones in custody being properly interrogated to locate this, Flaero?”

“Yes, we are using all methods, my Lord. We’ve only gotten the leader’s name under the hardest interrogation. We have no physical description, but I am working on it, my Lord.”

“Reinforce the borders immediately. Dispatch troops by ship before the sun sets on the city. We might get ahead of this coward. We will hunt him down like a dog. Even if he escapes, I will need troops in this area for the upcoming war. Keep him alive, as I’m curious to meet this Flaero.”

“We have yet to obtain where this Flaero is from or what nationality he is. He has a clouded past shrouded in mystery. He may have been born to another name, and Flaero might be an alias.”

“Follow the ash trail, and we’ll find the furnace. He will have left a trace by some measure—triple the arrests. Put pressure on the weak and vulnerable. Secrets won’t stay hidden for long. Offer rewards. End this loose thread of fate by any means.”

“Understood. All that you ask will be done.”

“Before you leave, some other concerns. Any information as of yet on Boyar Vicinia’s activities or the Bishop’s?”

“I have changed the men following them every day so that they don’t spot them, but as of yet, nothing to report.”

“That’s fine. About Vicinia, I’d like you to find her Son.”

“Roderick?”

“Yes, I want you to hire pirates to capture him. Have them hold him for a time. I don’t want him killed; I just want Vicinia to see what she will do when she is desperate. I want her to error in panic. She is becoming a great threat to the stability of our lands.” Tsar Miro said.

“It will be done, my Lord.” Toto stood up and bowed to the Tsar. He then took his leave.

The Tsar went back to his stroll through his lovely garden.

——-—

Tsarina Salma was meeting Bishop Rastan in Basilica Sophdu. He greeted her with all the usual formalities, but the need for privacy took them outdoors. The Bishop liked to sit in the lovely, cozy chairs by The Fountain of Life-Giving Waters.

His favorite artist, Othocelli, designed the Fountain. Many paintings and sculptures on the Church’s lands had Othocelli’s works. The Bishop wished for simpler days when Othocelli might have been the reason for his conversations with the Tsarina.

The Bishop admired the Tsarina greatly; the whole Tsardom did. She had a grace about her and a genuine, pure soul that often made the Bishop feel he was spiritually inferior. If anyone embodied the nature of Isashua, The One True God, it was her. Rastan had a secret crush on her, but it would be his undoing to admit.

The Tsarina was beloved by the unfortunate for her charity. She rarely wore expensive fabrics or jewelry. Admired for her simple fashion and humbleness, Salma was an icon of the nation. Tsarina Salma’s image appeared in paintings and trinkets in the markets.

The Tsarina dipped her hand in the Fountain’s water. She still had a youthful playfulness to her countenance. After all, the Tsarina was only twenty-four. The Tsar and Tsarina married when she was fifteen. The Tsar is six years older but had lost his youthful sheen long ago.

The Tsarina wore a white toga that flowed as joyfully as her spirit. It had a light blue flower pattern on the hems. Her hair was a darker brown shade than most, making her seem even younger. She had her hair braided very formally, and even a Bishop could take notice of her captivating brown eyes when they turned their gaze your way.

“Greeting your Holiness.” The Tsarina said as she stood and made a gesture of prayer.

“A pleasure as always, Your Highness.”

“What did you want to see me about?” Salma said, hand signaling that they sit in those cozy chairs. Rastan was all too happy to oblige.

“It’s regarding the King, I’m afraid.” The Bishop got right to the point. They were now seated.

“I had a feeling. What’s my beloved done now?” Salma said with a smile that lit up one’s spirit. The Bishop wondered just then if she could see the bad in anyone. He doubted it.

“Well, how can I put it delicately? Many Boyars are unhappy with how the Tsar keeps them out of decisions. It is different from what they are used to. Some are so indifferent, they’re becoming sympathetic to the revolutionists.” The Bishop hoped he didn’t give himself away. The Tsarina seemed troubled by this revelation.

“I see why you have come to me. It is a delicate matter. Are the people with these rebels? ”

“I don’t think so. Not yet.”

“What exactly did you have in mind? What kind of persuasion do you think I can offer?”

“Honestly, my dear, I don’t know what I want you to do. I just trusted that you might have answers that won’t reveal themselves to me as easily.”

“And what makes you think I want to help you?” The Tsarina said whimsically.

“I just…, I.” The Bishop stumbled, caught off guard.

“Relax, I’ll help you.” Salma put her hand on his arm and smiled. The Bishop relaxed.

“I don’t expect you to talk politics or change his mind. I know you’re the only one who can soften his heart. Our world is becoming more fearful and dangerous. War has already broken out, and people can’t see it yet.” The Bishop wondered if he said too much just as quickly as the words escaped.

“I think I understand you. You are a man of God; you don’t want to see bloodshed. I love my people and my God. I don’t have much of a stomach for war either.”

“You are young but wise, my Tsarina. I know there is much to consider for the Tsar. If only he’d release some of the burden. I only want to see our people rejoice in peace. We have much to be thankful for despite some of the problems we face.”

“Your Holiness, I am glad that you came to me. I trust in our friendship, my dear Rastan. I trust in our Tsar even more. But my love for my people should always come first. I don’t always know what that is.”

“Trust your heart. Yours is a true compass that our nation can follow.”

The Bishop left their meeting with a new hope growing inside him. He must tell Boyar Vicinia hope remains.

————-

Vicinia didn’t spend much time on her family estate, which was a few miles from the capital, very often. Like most of the other Duma members, she kept a small dwelling inside the Arx Suprem while fulfilling her duties to the Duma. Otherwise, traveling by carriage was too much.

She came out here to meet with Bishop Rastan without having too many unwanted ears listening in for gossip.

For thousands of years, Boyar Vicinia’s family had owned farmlands. The vineyards had a reputation for producing one of the best wines in the country here. Olive orchards produced oils and spreads. Apple and lemon trees produced juice and liquors for her family stocks—endless wheat fields made for large cash crops. The wheat was sold in the city markets to make fresh pasta. They had a variety of tomato vines, but they were mainly for the family’s cellars. Vicinia’s siblings ran the farm’s day-to-day operations, but she was still the head of the family. She retained the final say.

She arranged to meet The Bishop in the stables for a private conversation. They weren’t taking chances even here.

“Like the pests in the fields, we hide from our Master. We are afraid in our homes, afraid to be caught speaking out against the Tsar. He has become a great threat to the stability of our nation,” Vicinia lamented.

“These are strange days. We must keep the faith.” The Bishop tried to comfort her.

They both looked comical, standing in fine linens in a stable. The smell of horse manure and filth surrounded them. They may have felt ridiculous, but their discussion was anything but.

“Have you had an audience with the Tsarina?” Vicinia probed.

“I did; she will speak to the Tsar.”

“I have little confidence it will matter. I think the Tsarina is even powerless to change the chain of events. I hope you didn’t give anything away that might expose us.”

“There is little to expose so far. But I don’t think so. I mostly just said we were concerned about war.”

“I guess we’ll see. Things have worsened since the Tsar invited settlers and prospectors to look to the North and find free land. I think it’s clear he means to go to war with the Chieftains of Qamata. He means to expand with or without the support of the Duma.” Vicinia stated.

“I was as surprised as everyone when he told the settlers to go and find land. There are a great many who see an opportunity for a new and better life. Dreams can be a dangerous thing.”

“We must remind the Tsar of our power. The Duma consists mostly of landowners. Farms like these supply the capital. The people who work on land owned by the Boyars are the same ones pondering revolt. Paying taxes to your boss to allow you to work, eat, and live is an old system. People don’t want to go through the Boyars; they want to own their future and lives. The Boyars are in a good position to negotiate this. We can give people land, too.”

“I am not as sure. Many Boyars won’t give up land when there is free land to the North.”

“Until the Tribes start attacking these settlers. It will force us to go to war or give up claims. Either situation is dangerous for the stability of the region. We must find the leaders of the revolt and negotiate for the future of this nation.”

“I thought we were going to wait before siding with them? Isn’t that dangerous, Vicinia? Isn’t that doing what the Tsar wants? He will have the proof to arrest and destroy us.”

“Yes, and no. If people had land here, there would be no need for fighting in the North. If the Duma were united, we would have the people’s hearts and money against him. Everyone could walk away happy.”

“Except the Tsar. There is a lot of ifs.”

“That is a danger. That is why it’s essential to time this right. Keep it secret until all the deals are in place.”

“It’s too risky, Vicinia. I feel the situation sits on a knife’s edge sometimes. I still say the Tsarina is our best bet.”

“You are right, but we must plan carefully. The Tsarina has time to soften Miro; negotiating with the others will be a process.”

——-——

Lentil soup, someone was trying to get on his good side, the Tsar thought. It was his favorite meal, and his wife knew it. She must be up to something.

“Keir, how do you like your soup?” Miro asked his Son. Keir just nodded, flashed a smile, and slurped another spoonful.

“How about you, my dear? Is there an occasion I forgot about, or am I lucky to have my favorite meal tonight?” The Tsar said, amused with himself. The Tsarina pretended like she didn’t hear him. He thought about asking again but lost interest in his teasing for the moment.

“Can I have some white wine? Thank you.” The Tsar asked one of the servants. He was usually very polite and kind to the servants. When Miro was a child, they were some of the kindest people to him. Of course, it was part of their duty, but he felt it was a genuine fondness for each other.

The young man returned with a bottle and filled a half-full glass for the Tsar.

“Thank you. That will be all for tonight. You can tell the others they are free to retire.” The young man and they were alone.

If the Tsar wasn’t hosting dignitaries, he preferred to dine in an intimate setting with his family. He leaned over and grabbed the wine bottle for closer examination. Miro saw Vicinia’s family label on the bottle. He paused, wondering if the glass might be poisoned, and then he dismissed the thought. Miro raised the glass, swirled it, and stuck his nose in to smell. He lowered it to his lips and tasted it. He gave it a minute to soak his flavor buds. No poison this time.

“I have to hand it to the woman. No matter how much I despise Vicinia, her family makes delicious wine.” The Tsar proclaimed.

“Who?” The Tsarina feigned ignorance.

“Vicinia, her family. They make good wine.” The Tsar hated repeating himself.

“Oh.” The Tsarina said, disinterested.

Isn’t this a fine thing? He could command everyone in the Tsardom but couldn’t get anyone to listen to him in his home.

“Keir, sit with me before you head off to bed.” At least his Son listened.

The young Prince sat on his lap, and he ran his fingers through his hair. He hugged his Son and kissed him on the cheek.

“All right, give your mother hugs and kisses as you stay goodnight. Young Princes need fresh minds for their studies.” Miro took another sip of wine as his wife and Son embraced. Salma walked out of the room with Keir and put him to bed. She came back a minute or so later.

“It seems you are extra tense these days.” The Tsarina said.

“Whispers of revolution are in the streets. There are reports that the Northern tribes are planning to attack the settlers, and I’ve got the most beautiful wife in the world. Problems everywhere.”

“I see how the first two might stress you; why the third?”

“Because I know every man who sees you wants to be in my place. So naturally, it’s a burden.” He jokes.

“If only half of what you said were true, I might believe it.”

“You got me.” He pauses to sip some more wine. “Why the concern tonight? It isn’t because of the Bishop?” Miro slyly says, seeing if she reacts. She doesn’t.

Salma walks behind him to lean over, draping her hands over his shoulders. She places her chin atop his head.

“Now I know you’re up to something.” Miro teases.

She doesn’t say anything. She closes her eyes, and Miro lets his body relax after a minute. She starts to caress the back of his neck gently. It could be the alcohol kicking in, but he senses he needs that bit of calm Salma brings. She moved away when he thought he was about to fall asleep.

“I know a lot is spinning around your head, my love. Maybe it’s time to let others take some of the burden. You put the world on your shoulders, but it’s OK to let some others have some of that burden.” If it came from anyone else, The Tsar might have rejected it outright, but her words had some truth in it he knew.

“Is this what the Bishop asked for?”

“No. It is what my heart tells me. You can always trust in that.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. I don’t always know how to trust others.”

“You grew up with people always manipulating you and lying to you. It’s only natural you don’t trust easily and think everyone is against you. They might be; think about listening to what they say first. Right now, it seems it’s a one-way conversation.” The Tsarina said, putting her hand on his. She kissed his cheek before heading to bed.

The Tsar knew about her meeting with the Bishop. He had her closely watched for security and a bit of jealousy. He trusted her to do the right thing, so he was not worried too much about it. The Bishop wouldn’t find it easy to manipulate her. He was satisfied the meeting was harmless.

The Tsar just sat in his chair, sipping his wine, thinking about her words. I can at least extend an olive branch to the Boyars, for her sake, the Tsar thought. How easily she played him like an instrument. Miro wanted to be the good man she saw in him. He found some regret in his thoughts that evening. His plans were already out of the bottle; it was too late to put them back in.

————

Vicinia surprised the Bishop. Had he forgotten about a meeting?

“My son is missing,” Vicinia growled.

“Your Son? When did it happen?”

“A couple of days ago. Roderick went to the harbor to check on one of our shipping interests. Then he just vanished.”

“Vanished? How?”

“I don’t know. Some people heard loud noises of a struggle in the shipping yards, but nobody witnessed it.”

“What do we do about it?”

“I only know I’m angry; I’m livid. Somehow, I know the Tsar is behind this. He made a threat, and now this. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

“Do we have proof?”

“No, not yet.”

“We should go to the shipping yards. Look around, see what we find.”

“That’s not a bad idea. I fear what I might find.”

Vicinia and The Bishop searched for hours but didn’t find anything.

“If The Tsar’s killed Roderick, I won’t stop until that man’s destroyed. His Majesty’s family will not be protected from my rage.”

“We don’t know he did this. Let me look into this and see what I can find.”

“You do that. I will look into other arrangements. It’s best that you don’t know about it, Bishop. I don’t think your God would approve. I don’t think I even approve. There will be blood spilled. My hands won’t be clean. I may bleed too before the end, but so will he.”

“Vicinia, at least give me some time. Your Son might be still alive.”

“I feel an awful pain in my stomach. Something bad has happened to Roderick; I know it.”

“Please, Vicinia, don’t do something dramatic until I can at least do some digging.”

“I’ll give you time. It’ll take a while for me to figure out things right now. I must go to my estate. I have many choices to consider.”

“Make them the right ones, or our world will collapse quickly.” The Bishop coldly reminded her.