O Saga: Part One: Book of Origins

As he looks over the city, the past weighs on Tsar Miro’s mind. Once upon a time, everything that the sun used to touch belonged to the Ishvaran Empire. Now Ishvara stands as the smallest of the Seven powers. Miro, the latest in a long line to rule these lands, plots to change that.

As a child, he loved hearing stories about the glorious knights of old and their legendary battles. Those were rulers with ambition and honor. To Miro, they were the Gods he worshiped.

His parents died when he was ten under violent circumstances. These stories were often the only refuge from the vultures picking at the pieces of power left in the void. The aristocratic Boyars of the Duma, who claimed to be noble, took advantage of his age and built their wealth. Many of them would taunt and torment him as a child about it.

They’d laugh as they dangled Miro’s impotent power before him. Miro endured many things when he was young, but he never forgot his torments or tormentors.

The Boyars had tried to outmaneuver him and limit his authority as rightful heir. Many were surprised when he proclaimed himself Tsar Absolute on his coronation day. It had been nine years since that day. Since then, he’s had a son, Keir, heir to his throne.

Some saw his move as a petty way of getting back at the aristocrats for their past cruelty towards him. In some ways, they were right; Miro took pleasure in revenge games. They don’t realize he genuinely believes the world needs a strong leader. The One True God had sent him to save his people.

In naming himself Tsar, he immediately weakened the Duma’s powers. They were all forced to pledge loyalty to the Tsar, or he would send Commandant Toto’s “Hathauda” on them. The people and military were on his side, for now.

“The Hathauda” (hammer) was the Tsar’s secret guard. Miro wasn’t afraid of spilling blood to keep his lands secure. The Commandant and his “Hauthada” were utterly loyal to Miro as he promoted them from the lower classes. They had no love for the Boyars, an all too common feeling amongst the common folk. These Guards were an extension of the mighty Tsar’s growing power. The Tsar will have order and allegiance.

After taking power, Miro immediately organized a military campaign to annex the Kingdom of Sayana into his control. Sayana was their neighbor to the East, and they shared the Ishvaran Peninsula. Miro was looking for ways to expand.

Ishavara was a long peninsula that shot out from the Tikiya Continent. The Garadan Mountains formed the nation’s spine. The Bay of Altifir ran the entire Western coast, and the Sea of Tikiya was the Eastern coast.

Ishavara has a high alpine climate in the mountains and North. Temperate woodlands and scrublands descend to the miles of coastline that form most of the country. The warm sea air keeps the growing seasons long and the pace of life slow.

There are a few large cities, but farmers and ranchers tend to the lands. They supply the cities’ lifeblood. A drought has plagued the last couple of years and catalyzed conflict.

The Ishavaran people range from pale skin to light tan on the coast. Brown and black hair is the most common. They are known for their grain, citrus, wine, and olive products. Seafood is central to their cuisine; many fishing villages and sea farms dot the coasts. Goats and sheep herders are more common in the central mountains.

Horses are used to travel in and around the country. They also comprise the bulk of beasts of burden in the orchards and farms. Most trade is brought to centralized cities and then shipped by merchants to the Dhara or other capitals worldwide.

The Realm of Hanwi shared the Bay of Altifir. They had a friendly trade relationship, but their political world was strained. The northern border led to the Tribal Lands of Qamata.

Qamata offers a chance for expansion as it has the resources Ishvara needs. In the Tsar’s view, it was a vast land with no centralized government, making it a logical place to start a military campaign for expansion.

The Kingdom of Sayana was the first step, but they had a shared history. The Duma hadn’t even fought against the Tsar when he annexed Sayana as many of them had old familial ties to the land, and they would benefit. The people of Sayana did little to resist due to shared ancestry.

They quickly captured the Sayanan Royal Family and essential aristocrats. Miro sent “The Hathauda” to secretly kill all the members of their Royal family. Miro knew it would be endless war if he didn’t. The official report is that the Royal Sayanan family died when their ships sank trying to escape in violent seas. People didn’t have to know the Sayanan leaders were beheaded and ships burnt until they plunged into the depths.

Field Marshall Ramsey, a trusted friend from childhood, was to oversee Sayana. Miro needed resources and land to build his military. The drought made mass food production difficult. The Tsar saw this expansion as something he was doing for his people. If Miro benefited, it would also help his people. More lands meant more wealth and food to go around.

The Boyars have done nothing but profit from over-taxation and the spoils of others’ back-breaking work. The peasants have little reward, are starving, and are growing impatient.

Miro was seen as a champion of the lower class when he took some power back from the Duma. Some feel the Tsar is part of the problem, too. Revolution among the peasants is growing.

——-

Dhara was the seat of power in Ishvara. The giant sea walls were just one part of the fortification. The first level protected the old city, which belonged to lower-class housing. The sandstone brick walls, wood, and terracotta roofs mixed with merchant markets. The poorest classes lived in tents outside the city’s fortifications.

Sandstone cobblestone roads and steppes led up and down the hillside inside the protected structure. Outdoor cafes and restaurants popped out around every corner. The sunny weather kept the citizens lurking about outside most of the year.

Terracotta pots filled with local flowers and spices sat randomly for anyone to plunder. The Tsarina had ordered them out around the city to enrich its ambiance.

A moat filled with seawater surrounded the city, making it almost an island. Access to the town was through three bridges and gates, each with drawbridges. Towers and the remainder of the outer walls enclosed the city.

An inner wall separated the Duma (parliament) and where some aristocrats kept apartments. It sat above the old city. A second inner wall led to the keep and The Tsar’s residence, The Arx Suprem. It was the highest point in the city.

The smell of foreign spices, grilled meat, baked bread, and human sweat traveled on the winds to the Tsar. He’d often walk the markets, feel some fine linens, taste the exotic fruits, and listen to people arguing over prices.

The Boyer filled the Duma’s seats. They were landowners and merchants who had inherited long lines of wealth. They collected taxes and hired labor to work their lands.

The drought in the countryside had put pressure on the Boyars as workers grew frustrated with working conditions and rent. Even the Tsar was suffering from the food shortage it caused.

The Tsar always felt inspired and contemplative as he gazed at his subjects scurrying about. He’d watch from his high vantage point in the city. Some might call it his ivory tower, but he tried to understand his people’s plights.

The Tsar was still a young man, his wife even younger. He had a well-kept, long, pointed beard that he treated with potent scented oils from exotic Western lands. His long brown hair was well-groomed, and his clothes were fine. Miro took pride in his overall appearance. He wasn’t vain, as he didn’t consider himself attractive. He felt that looking the part of a leader was half the battle.

Miro summons the total weight of his power as he waits for the guards to bring in “The Snake” and “The Worm.” He has given these nicknames to the head of the Duma, Boyar Vicinia, and Bishop Rastan, Head of the Church.

He knows that they both hate his guts, but it is mutual. He also knows they think they are manipulating him, but he enjoys their political mind games. He is mindful not to let his anger show when they belittle and condescend to him.

They were leaders of two institutions Miro would like to dissolve. They are only alive because Miro hasn’t found a way to kill them without risking a civil war in the streets. As much as the people hate the aristocrats, people can have a primal reaction to sudden change.

Vicinia came dressed in plain, long black robes and wore an ornate head covering that revealed her old, shriveled face. She never made an expression that didn’t look covered in bitterness and aggressive contempt for others. She had tried to put her Son on the throne when Miro was young, but neither she nor Miro had forgotten this.

Vicinia wanted to be the one on the throne but couldn’t. Trying to elevate her Son was just an attempt for her to be the puppet master. Miro had foiled her delusions of grandeur. He wanted to separate her judging face from her neck most of the time.

Bishop Rastan was a tall man who busted out the seams of every piece of clothing he wore. He was a repulsive and greedy man who served himself above any God he supposedly represented. He was typical of the Bishops who had served their Kingdom for years. They only cared about comfort and social standing. Rastan made Miro sick to look at. He wanted to shove a knife into his big fat belly every time that fool opened his mouth.

“Your Imperial Highness, you honor us by offering an audience with you,” Vicinia said as she bowed to the Tsar.

Miro thought, ” The bee makes her sweet honey right before the sting. ” Vicinia then bowed to Rastan, “Your Holy Grace.” Rastan made a gesture of blessing back to her and then to Miro. The Tsar wanted to laugh in their faces at their silly theatre. He knew wolves in sheep’s clothing when he saw them.

“I do delight in the good company you bring me. What may I do for your High Honored Graces?” Miro said, trying to hide his crocodile smile.

“If I may, Your Highness, we’ve been hearing reports that the military has been actively recruiting, almost as if a war was imminent.” Vicinia tried to inquire delicately.

Miro liked watching her squirm.

“Is there a question you are asking?” Miro said, playing innocent.

“Is there something happening? Are you planning a military campaign?” The Bishop was more straightforward. Rastan thought his position as Bishop would protect him, so he was often bolder than most. He was far from safe, but let him believe it.

“No, I’m not planning anything. I take the security of our lands very seriously. That’s all.” Miro didn’t bite on their accusations.

“As Tsar, you can declare war whenever you want, but the money still needs to be approved by the Duma.” Vicinia no longer hid her meaning.

“Yes, of course. I would never want to be on the wrong side of the Duma.” Miro may have said it in a friendly way, but he knew they understood his sarcasm. It was well known he had undermined the Duma at every turn since becoming Tsar.

“Forgive me of my idiocy, Lord, but I am just confused about how we pay for the increase. I thought we were facing shortages of resources?” Vicinia tried to be diplomatic.

“Vicinia, you are many things but have never been confused or idiotic. I will inform the Duma of these mundane details in due time.” The Tsar moved to shut her down.

“May I speak freely?” Vicinia asked for permission.

“Always.” Miro sardonically replied.

“Is this military increase to deal with the rising unrest among the lower class? Is it to suppress rebellion?” She cut to the point.

“Yes,. You’re right, Vicinia; I cannot fool you. I think it wise to put out fires before they spread. Don’t you?” He mocked her, but she wasn’t sure what about just yet.

“Of course, my Lord. One only had to state it, and we would have supported it.” Vicinia prickled.

“Well, that’s that; we should be on our way and let Your Highness deal with more important matters,” Rastan interjected, sensing an argument might escalate. They both bowed to the Tsar and were about to leave.

“Vicinia! Give my affections to your Son. Is he well?” The Tsar asked curiously.

“Yes, My Lord, thank you for your inquiry.”

“That’s wonderful; I’d hate for anything tragic to befall him.” The Tsar said with a bit of venom. He knew she understood him from the look on her face.

“Yes, we all are vulnerable because of those we love.” Vicinia fired back. Miro knew her meaning all too well.

——

Tsar Miro entered his private chambers and saw his wife, but the Tsarina was too busy to notice his entrance. He stood and observed her for a moment. Her every motion was like poetry to him.

He had married Salma for love and not personal gain. She didn’t bring him more land or a better reputation. She was the only person in the world allowed to see him for who he truly was. She’s the only one he let all defenses down for. She loved him despite who he could be because she always tried to see the good in all. The only person he ever loved more was his Son, Keir.

“Oh, I didn’t see you standing there. You gave me a bit of a fright.” Tsarina Salma said as she was hemming part of her dress.

Tsarina Salma was beautiful and elegant but also known for her kindness. She didn’t treat people as inferior, not even her servants. Salma didn’t like having others to do for her what she could do for herself. Sometimes, Salma had to hide in her chambers like this to do things she enjoyed. Otherwise, a servant would pester her to let them do it.

Salma had the kindest eyes of anyone Miro had known. Big and brown, they just had a magic about them. Miro didn’t know about magic, but they put a spell on him.

Salma wore headdresses during the day, but Miro would be mesmerized when she let her golden brown hair out at night. Her beauty captivated him in ways that left him completely exposed and vulnerable.

“My most beloved, how you soothe the beast in me. I was out dealing with dragons hidden in fine clothing. They bring out the worst in me, which makes me grateful I have you to bring out the best.” Miro serenaded her.

“You mustn’t let them get to you. As long as you keep fighting for the good of your people, that is all that matters.” She advised him.

Miro sometimes had a guilty conscience around his wife because of her goodness. He has done and still plans to do things he knows she would disapprove of, but he believes it is for the greater good. He thought when she saw the end product, she would understand. Salma was too pure of heart to see it.

“Where is the dragon that we are raising?” Miro inquired.

“He is tending to his studies. So most likely, he is daydreaming of conquests and glory while his tutors talk.”

“I was the same at age ten.”

“You are the same now.” She joked.

“Unfortunately, I have another meeting to attend to, my love. Some days, I wish I could waste the hours with you and Keir.”

“No, you don’t. You enjoy your politics. You think about your next moves even when you’re supposed to relax.”

“As always, my dear, you win. You’re the only person I enjoy losing to. Give Keir a kiss on the forehead for me.” Miro kissed his wife for as long as he could let it linger and gently touched the back of her shoulder with his left hand. One last sense memory to take with him: stay grounded. She put her soft hand on top of his almost as a reflex. He began to walk away, and his fingers slipped away from her touch.

He often thought of his right hand as “the power .” It was the hand of judgment and authority. He always touched his wife’s face, shoulder, and hands with his left hand so that he could take her with him. It would carry her scent and wisdom. He was meeting with Field Marshall Ramsey, and it was an occasion to lead with his right hand.

——

At the official residence of Vicinia, the head of the Duma, Bishop Rastan, had followed to have a secret meeting with her.

They both are wary of the Tsar’s intentions for the future. They both fear what the Tsar may be capable of.

“It was a not-so-veiled threat to me, Bishop. One I do not take lightly. He threatened my family, but he would find his tree just as easily felled. He is not God. He is not my Emperor. The Tsar is an arrogant man and can be replaced,” Vicinia hissed.

“We must keep our heads, Vicinia. For us to make mistakes because of our emotions is what he is waiting for. He is a spider setting his traps. We must not get caught in webs of our own making on top of the ones he made.” The Bishop tried to calm her down.

“There is revolution spreading amongst the peasants and a tyrant growing inside the walls of Arx Suprem. Many noble families are already showing sympathy toward the revolt. We must choose our side if the Tsar continues to turn on us,” Vicinia spat out.

“We must put our faith in the One True God, Isashua. May he guide our vision. Revolution! It is too far a step. We must fight against it for now.” Bishop Rastan proclaimed.

“You must attend to your stable and I to mine. The Tsar must be stopped, or we will all suffer greatly. I must rally other nobles against him. We might save these lands if we can put a Tsar on the throne with allegiance to the Noble class.”Decreed Vicinia.

“I was one of the few people the Tsar would listen to when he was a child, and I think he’ll still listen to me.” Bishop Rastan

“If you haven’t noticed, he is no longer a child. He mocks you behind your back. The only person he listens to other than himself is his wife.”

“Can we reason with her? Will she convince him to restore the powers of the Duma or the church? He doesn’t respect either right now.” The Bishop asked out loud but mainly was asking himself.

“It is worth the consideration, but if the Tsarina fails, we must prepare for extreme measures to deal with extreme times.”

“I will ask the Tsarina to talk with me at the church. I will see if she will aid us.” Bishop Rastan said with a hint of doubt in his deep voice.

“We will do what we must. May God help us,” Vicinia said as she turned from the Bishop to head down her hallway. She was too distracted by her purpose to say her proper goodbyes.

——

“My friend, I have the most important task for you.” The Tsar informed Field Marshall Ramsey.

“Anything you ask, my Lord. Thy words are my bidding.” Ramsey said, kneeling before the sitting Tsar. Ramsey kissed the Miro’s outstretched hand and then stood.

“Our great people require expansion. We need more resources. You may have heard of revolution gossip spreading in the lands.” The Tsar began.

“My men and I are working to suppress it, your Highness.” Ramsey tried to defend himself.

“No worries, my good man. Revolution is not what I had in mind for you. I will leave that to my loyal guards. Commandant Toto will soon lay an iron fist upon the traitors. I am looking to the North, to the Tribal lands of Qamata.”

“To the North? I thought we had a treaty?…” Ramsey said, confused.

“Yes! Yes, we do have a treaty, but when my people are starving, I will not let a treaty stop me from feeding them.”

“Yes, my Lord, right, you are my Lord. Forgive me,” Ramsey backtracked. “I will tell those who wish to go to the North to grab free land. With my blessing, I will encourage them to seek farming and mining. I want it spread everywhere about these opportunities. I will tell them that I’ll send armies to protect them. Ramsey, you will ensure they have protection until I tell you not to protect them.”

“My Lord, what do you mean?”

“The heathen tribes from the North might take exception to the new settlers, and violence will break out. Let these tribes attack our people, at least for a time. People have a primal reaction to tragedy. People rally around something so wretched and horrible. When innocents get slaughtered, it makes even enemies seek peace.”

“The myths and legends of old tell us of times the One True God, Isashua, asked for blood sacrifice. There were even stories in which Isashua used natural disasters to wipe clean areas of sin to start anew. With murdered settlers, even the Duma will support my invasion.”

“A universal anger will make us all unite. The settler’s deaths will forge these lands. People will turn to help one another for a time. The revolution will die as their attention turns to the North. The Duma won’t resist the opportunity for them to increase their riches. We will have access to more resources and feed our people. They will die patriots, noble in their sacrifice.” The Tsar finished.

“And what about the witches that are said to live there?” Ramsey tentatively asked.

“Witchcraft is nothing but superstition. We don’t believe those frauds who say they have some power. Those witches are just trying to frighten people away. Besides, they live in the far North, on an Island. Leave the Witches to me.”

“Yes, my Lord. If the tribes don’t attack, do we attack them first?”

“You do what you must. If those inhuman animals don’t attack, give them a reason to. Attack them first if necessary. We need that land if we are to grow as a people. If we are to survive, we cannot remain stagnant. I know this sounds brutal. Creation is a violent process. We will forge an even greater nation. In a thousand years, they will sing songs of praise. The victim’s blood and tears shall be forgotten in time by the masses. I ask this of you with a heavy heart, but I still ask.”

“I shall do what I must, Lord. I will set out immediately for the North.”

“With the grace of Isashua, I send you.” The Tsar made a sign of prayer and excused the Field Marshall.

The guards sent Commandant Toto in to see the Tsar after Ramsey left. “Commandant, my protecting angel. I am hearing more rumors of revolution and revolt. Take swift justice on anyone speaking out. I want this disease to stop now!”

“We will not rest until my Lord is satisfied.” The Commandant obeyed.

“Another thing. I have my eyes on a certain Boyar, Vicinia. I want her and the Bishop watched. If you find any reason to be suspicious, arrest them.”

“With pleasure, my Lord.” The Commandant smirked.

Wheels were now in motion as sometimes we ride, and sometimes we are ridden upon.