City

 

I

Stairs, stairs, a bend... more stairs, and another bend, and then the door. Every morning begins the same. Well, maybe not the same, but it all comes down to climbing the Tower. And that day for Nyam, it was definitely too early and too high. He didn't like these morning climbs, especially since Lysias sent him right back. Of course, he only did that when he noticed him, and that was sometimes a problem. Mostly, he just stood there, lost in thought, staring somewhere. But now Nyam had important letters to deliver to the Tower, so at least he was climbing for something.

Finally, the Commander's chamber. Eon Lysias waited as usual by the window, silent as a statue, still gazing into the distance. His heavy gaze searched the distant horizon intently. The northern stars twinkled, fading in the already brightening sky. The sea outside was calm, as was Lysias's stony face. Nyam had often wondered if the Commander drew this peace directly from the ocean, or if the waters were rather quieting under his steady gaze? Surely nothing could have disturbed the eon's peace, and it certainly wasn't Nyam's entrance. The squire left the letters on the table, eager—as usual—to leave the Commander's Tower. The eon's low, almost sepulchral voice stopped him.

"A storm is gathering, boy. Time to go out to meet it..."

Nyam instinctively glanced out the window. Outside, however, a crisp, clear day was dawning. Silence fell again. This time, however, it seemed unbearably heavy.

"What are people talking about in the City?" Lysias added unexpectedly, this time in a completely different tone.

Nyam's surprise gave way to a wavering confusion. He didn't really know if he should answer at all. He had been eon Lysias's squire for barely three months, but he had grown accustomed to his sparse duties and his master's silence.

"And what do you want to know, sir?" "He finally managed to choke out.

Eon stood motionless, staring at the blue sky beyond the window.

"About what? People talk about everything. About the embassy from Nithregen, the war on the Eastern Isthmus, the changing sea seasons... about my ill-fated expedition?! They have to say something!" He added louder. "

Nyam Edyanel's greatest adventure, the 'ill-fated expedition.' Truth be told, he knew little about it, though he himself was supposed to sail with it as Eon's personal companion. That is, he knew no more than the common folk of the City. And on the streets, one could hear as many opinions as one could possibly express on such a subject.

"People... in the City...

" "That's exactly what I'm asking," Lysias repeated, a little impatiently.

"So... some say it's an unnecessary risk..." he began his answer cautiously, "but most are happy about it, and are also pleased with your leadership of Eon." He added quickly.

In reality, it was merely the opinion of Tycen, a page serving alongside the Lykkin aeon. Nyam liked him mainly for introducing him to Imys. And Imys... well, she was the only person he didn't want to leave alone in this vast city... In any case, he was pleased, almost proud, with his answer. At least until his master finally turned away from the window.

Lysias glanced at the squire, then approached the table. He sighed heavily.

"They are pleased with my departure. Nothing more." He said bitterly, and opened the first of the letters Nyam had brought.

The squire felt strange and wanted to leave. But he was afraid to move.

"Why would anyone want you gone, my most eminent aeon?" he asked timidly.

"My most eminent aeon?" Lysias laughed sadly. "Perhaps because I am a 'eminent' aeon of the Tymh family?" Or maybe it's just the members of the High Council whose legs are too short and their arms too long? No, Nyam, no one wants me to stay in the City. That's why I've been given the honor of leading this expedition." Bitterness vied with resignation in his voice.

"After so many years of wandering, I must leave the City again..." he added, almost in a whisper.

His broad, slightly gray face expressed as many emotions as a granite boulder. But those gray eyes... that tired gaze, with which he slowly examined the letter's page... Lysias no longer looked young, as his heavily graying hair reminded him, but now Nyam felt as if he were an old man. The boy felt a pang of pity for his master. He had often tried to imagine what Lysias's life might have been like while he traveled the world. Before he became the aeon of his line. He knew little, however, of his past, though he himself dreamed of similar journeys, of adventures on distant seas... But when he reached the age of myqel, that is, a young man, he was afraid to set out into the world himself. A world he so enjoyed reading about in the memoirs of ancient travelers and old atlases. And since he could no longer benefit from the protection of his family tidyum, he enlisted in the service of the Fleet Commander.

"Forgive me, sir," he said, embarrassed, and quietly opened the door.

Lysias, as if waking from a deep sleep, looked in his direction with slight surprise.

"It's not your fault," he said warmly, trying to adopt a more serene expression, "but please, tell me everything. Anything interesting you hear on the street, at the port, or wherever you go. Now go. I won't need you for now." As he spoke, he made a careless gesture with his hand, then immersed himself in reading another letter.

II

The sky was pale and clear. In the harsh sunlight, the white walls of Ygit Kaa irritated Nyam's eyes, as he stood at the High Gate for a long time. In the full light, his clothes were almost white, and his hair had faded from auburn to dark gold.

All around, the growing crowd pressed against the gate with increasing urgency. The last few days had been filled with tension. The inhabitants anxiously awaited the arrival of the storm season. However, the city was busy with other matters. Today, the High Council was to hear the complaint of the merchants from Nithregen. Also today—according to Imys's predictions—the Council chairman would repeat his appeal to the Fleet Commander, Aeon Lysias. Nyam sometimes wondered how Imys knew so much about the City's affairs. After all, she was only a ward of the Kazkyet family's tidyum. Moreover, she hadn't even lived through fifteen cycles! In any case, Nyam wanted to see for himself what would happen in the Square of Loud Whispers.

People thronged in front of the gate, eager to present their cases to the High Council, as well as a crowd curious about the newcomers from Nithregen. The guard finally let Nyam pass. The squire moved to the right side of the square and stood in the shadow of the Blue Building, where the city archives were located. On the same side, just at the far end of the square, stood the small, oval Temple of the Sea. Opposite, along the entire length of the square, stood the old Wyllos Building—the residence of a multitude of officials. At the far end of the square, towering above the others, was the snow-white Ygit Kaa—the seat of the High Council and the City's Grand Treasurers. Everyone was looking in that direction, where, on a raised platform in front of the white steps, the seats of honor for the Council members were set.

The square on both sides was packed with people as the Word Master announced the arrival of the City's long-awaited leaders. Nyam stood too far away to see clearly. However, he did make out two rows of people dressed in long, beige robes, who, spreading out in both directions, took their seats on the dais. The last of the procession, dressed in blue and gold robes, sat in the center of the dais. This was—Nyam guessed—the chairman of the Council, an aeon of the Brekann clan named Kytios. Looking at the Council, the boy involuntarily noticed the thick, short legs of some of its members...

"Today's Council audience will begin by hearing the complaint of Thegolius of Nithregen," the Master of the Word said in a loud voice.

Eon Kytios waved his hand, and three merchants from the foreign city appeared before the Council. Nyam recalled yesterday's conversation with Imys.

"First, so as not to irritate Nithregen, the Council will hear its envoys," she said in that sly tone, "then the shipowners and banks will submit their complaints. Perhaps they will also allow a complaint from a small merchant or craftsman to be heard. Then someone will probably mention the approaching storm season, someone else will say that there's a war going on in the Eastern Isthmus...

" "But everyone knows that," Nyam protested. "Why would the Council listen..."

Imys gave him a look of you-know-nothing. Nyam paid no attention. He loved the dark glow of her eyes, a deep purple in which he could drown.

"If anyone mentions war, Aeon Kytios will speak up." She continued, ignoring his remark.

"I have a discovery too," the impatient squire said. "He's the chairman, after all!

" "But you don't know what he'll say tomorrow." Imys sighed slightly and looked toward the sea, feigning boredom.

From the bench in Kisylia Garden, there was a magnificent view of the City and the sea shimmering beyond. Nyam followed her friend's gaze, and for a moment they were silent, gazing at the distant horizon.

"If you want, I'll go to the Square of Loud Whispers tomorrow and tell you later what was really being talked about," he said firmly, straightening his back to add a note of certainty to his words.

"If you want, you can sail to Nithregen too," she said angrily. "I'll know beforehand what's going to happen there!" Imys rustled her dress, stood up, and walked confidently forward.

Even now, Nyam could see her walking away along the garden path. The way her dark golden hair flowed over her delicate shoulders. He feared she wouldn't want to speak to him for the next few days. He was even more surprised when he received a note from her that morning. "Please don't go to the audience. Imys." She probably didn't want him to see she was wrong. At least, that's what he thought as he walked to the square. He hoped she'd have something interesting to say to Lysias.

He was roused from his reverie by the laughter of the crowd, which was clearly bored with the audience. Nyam leaned forward, but he didn't know what was so amusing. A flurry of conversation erupted around him.

"Yes, the solstice is approaching," said the fat man now standing before him.

"I don't know what the Commander is waiting for; is he plotting something?" the older gentleman replied.

"By Orkyra!" someone from the crowd shouted.

"By Orkyra!

" "The Eon Tymhów is a traitor!"

"Down with Lysias!"

Voices merged, then fragmented again.

Nyam moved through the crowd, amid hostile shouts and a general tumult. He tried to push his way toward the High Gate. When he finally emerged from the thickest crowd, he saw the aeon Kytios rise from his seat in the distance and slowly raise his hand. The crowd gradually quieted.

"Lysias Tymh must leave the City! The choice is his: either he sails out as Commander or as traitor!"

The crowd raised loud cheers, but after a moment Kytios silenced everyone with a gesture.

"The High Council grants the Commander three days. Expedition or exile!" He repeated his threat.

Shouts of joy and hate-filled screams merged into one mighty roar. Nyam ran toward the gate. He stopped, narrowly missing a guard.

"Where are you in such a hurry?"

The breathless squire stared mutely at the guard.

“May I pass?” he finally stammered.

A man in a dark green caftan and a green velvet cloak stopped nearby.

"Wait, isn't that Lysias's bodyguard?" the man in green asked the guard.

"Boy, turn to me," he ordered.

Nyam simply glanced at his attire. On the light gray caftan at the chest was a griffin embroidered in silver thread—the Tymh family crest...

III

Nyam remembered only that sound. The steady clatter of a hundred feet combined with the clatter of metal armor. Silence enveloped the rest. They walked, silently, through the City. Aeon Lysias walked first, then he himself, followed by the remaining commanders, some with their own bodyguards. On either side were two rows of halberd-wielding guards from the city guard. The farewell escort of the High Council. As they passed under the Golden Gate, Nyam saw the harbor below and the ships anchored around them—heavy, tall cogs and sleek galleys. He had never seen so many ships gathered together.

The Heroes' Road—Isya Imyasis—curved gently into the harbor. A few people had gathered here, silently watching them go. They might have exchanged some comments, but Nyam preferred not to look to the sides. He listened only to the measured footsteps of the marching soldiers. Gazing at Lysias walking before him, he wondered if he was a hero or a traitor. Why did the Council distrust Lysias so much? Why, so unwelcome in the City, was he being sent to lead the expedition?

The commander marched confidently, as if no doubts would be his lot today. Dressed in his elegant white-and-silver uniform, Lysias no longer resembled a tired old man. He was the Commander as never before.

As they descended, the eon stopped before the Last Gate, which closed the Isya Imyasis. According to ancient ritual, it was here that the Master of the Word should bid him farewell, concluding his speech with the sentence inscribed on the gate:

"Yt themne hysis anyfezye komtus

Lye orby Maurys y pamekye sotus."

This sentence, like all the names in the City and the names of the aristocracy, was written in the ancient Ygyt language. The inhabitants did not use it daily, but the secrets of writing were learned in the lyklesium by all who could afford it. Nyam, too, could read and write in this language with ease. He also knew the meaning of the words on the gate. He felt even more sorry for his master when he discovered that there was no one to bid them farewell at the gate. This formula had not been uttered for perhaps a hundred cycles. In any case, no one in the City lived who remembered the farewell of a military expedition.

Aeon Lysias knelt at the gate, bidding his homeland farewell in silence. Nyam could not bear the silence.

"And may your deeds, undertaken amidst the waves, bring glory and prosperity to the City," he recited aloud for all those gathered at the gate to hear.

"Ksys ym ostuus. So I swear," Lysias replied, bowing his head.

For a moment, the only sound was the howling of the wind, which was steadily gaining strength. The white cloak of the aeon rose briefly, filling the air with a dull flutter. The guard members remained standing, but they did not hide their impatience. Finally, the Commander rose, and everyone left the city walls. After a moment, they reached the quay, where a stout man in a heavy, hooded cloak waited for them on a wooden jetty. As they approached, Nyam recognized him as the captain of the Golden Eagle, the Auresys Fezyl, the City's flagship, hailing from Kentobor. The captain bowed stiffly to Lysias.

"Fulfilling the will of the High Council, I, Decius of Ecbatana, grant you custody of the Auresys Fezyl and the entire fleet. "

After a moment of silence, he finally uttered the words of the oath.

"My power is yours." He is loyal to you, and through you, to the City.

After these words, he knelt before Lysias and handed him the golden admiral's baton.

"I take command in the presence of witnesses and before the sea. May my name be shamed if I fail the City."

The commander turned away from the assembled people and, walking to the end of the jetty, began to survey the ships gathered in the bay. The sea roared restlessly. The ships rocked on the foaming waves, creaking and cracking loudly.

For a long moment, no one dared to speak. Finally, Decius stood and looked sheepishly at the assembled people. Nyam heard mocking conversations behind him, barely audible in the wind.

"He could fall into the sea, then perhaps we could set off...

" "And who would command? Don't say it was you.

" "Looking at you, I'd choose that thin, red-haired man."

"It's just Lysias's footstool, he probably doesn't even know how to board..."

Nyam no longer wanted to listen to them. He approached Lysias when he heard Decius's voice behind him.

"Sir, Auresys Fezyl is waiting! "

Lysias, not for the first time, seemed absent.

"Sir, the commanders are waiting," Nyam said quietly.

"We're going," eon said without conviction. "Nyam, and you, Tyskys," he turned to those standing further away, his tone now commanding, "we're boarding the Est Elma! The rest of the commanders, according to previous orders!"

Decius's barely audible protest was ignored. Nyam wasn't sure whether to be surprised or not. He only regretted not seeing what the Golden Eagle really looked like from the deck. As he was about to follow everyone toward the boat, Lysias's voice stopped him.

"Nyam, I have one more task for you."

The boy's heart skipped a beat. His adventure begins!

"I know you're skilled in the art of writing." Observe everything carefully. You will be keeping a logbook...

The commander smiled faintly and moved toward the boats. His white cloak, spread in the wind, momentarily obscuring Nyam's entire life. A logbook?