The Right To Rule

Chapter 11

Aamon Berdal didn’t remember the last time he had stepped outside the city walls. It had been long his mind cannot tell him the exact date. It might have been three years ago when he mounted three heads on the spike on the main city gate. Three years.

Those years were everything to a Vulcan, it was life, it was also death; torture of tearing or happiness of seeing your son took a first step, a first word, and first father-son trip to the High Palace. Three years seemed like forever to Aamon, an unending stretch of time. Now just five days after Daylight Crane he had stepped outside the city walls, and forever vanished like a fog during Daylight.

Aamon was six feet tall with a strongly built body, strong-jawed face, and intense light brown eyes. He walked with an aura of command, his head held high, and his chest forward. It was clear to distinguish him among the men he was with.

Aamon wore a dark coat long to his keens, it has fine red markings on the sleeves and a single flame embroidered on the back. On his waist was a Moonstone sword with a golden hilt, three feet long and wide as his arm. Moreover, the men who had flanked him were also armored with Moonstone. Any men, women, or beast with wit knew who there were; Moonstone was not deadly to an ordinary man.

Aamon paused and looked at the structure two hundred yards in front of him. The stone walls were about fifty feet high with a tower on the front of the main gate. Every corner of the wall held a tall steel pool with white lights beaming brightly. Inside the center of the walls was a three-story red manor with five golden spires. Although Weib Manor was two miles outside Amalthea Aamon felt like it was challenging High Palace. It was hard to move about without feeling the heat of politics, Amon thought as continued his walk.

“I for one who has never been to this part of this city, I will say I am impressed,” Tom said with a faint smile.

Tom the Mastermind grow up on the streets of Amalthea stealing from second citizens and ignorant elites. Tom was a lanky fellow, quick as the wind and a deadly assassin. He always wore his dark cloak hiding within it, his long dark hair with a faint touch of gray was in a bun and wide brim hat to top it off. He was thirty years old, and a gray hair was a reminder that the end was near, but Aamon knew Tom rarely put his mind to it. It was Vulcan’s fate.

“I wonder how much Radiation it will take to melt those stones,” Reydal whispered but it was audible to all men.

“Elite Reydal your desire to destroy things is always unfounded,” Tom replied with a burst of laughter. “The commonfolks of Amalthea will die of fear if they ever hear the whisper that their elite thought of nothing other than burning things.”

Aamon raised his hand to silence them. They were approaching the gate, Aamon can see there were four soldiers waiting for them. None was a Radiator nor he had expected there will be one. Any Vulcan who was at Hamal was within his grasp as long as he had not gone rogue.

“Would you fellows be kind enough and show us where we might find Elite Weib?” Reydal said kindly yet forcefully.

He was the only one among them who had been born commanding citizens of different ranks, Aamon had to learn how the society of elites work and the likes at the peak of his life.

A soldier in the front looked at them up and down.

“I would like you to leave all your weapons here,” the soldier said.

“I am Aamon Berdal,” Aamon said softly and the soldiers took two steps backward. He knew his name can open doors and demand an audience with anyone. “Where can I find him?”

“I am afraid Elite Weib is occupied at the moment, Vulcan Aamon,” a voice spoke behind the soldiers. “However, I would be delighted to show you around while you wait.”

Aamon craned his neck to locate the source of the voice behind the soldiers. It was Lady Florence Weib. It was a long stretch from the manor, about a quarter of a mile, yet she was here at the gate. She had ears and eyes at the city no doubt, that meant Weib was not occupied but he wanted Aamon to wait. I will play their game for now and soon they will be dancing to my tune.

Aamon left the soldiers without a word and walked towards Florence. He studied her, flanked by tall men in steel mail and longswords on their waist. Her face held a welcoming smile, her white-gloved hands didn’t tremble, even slightly, and her shoulders were broad and her head high. She was not afraid. Not now at least.

“Lady Weib you look lovely as the sun in the sky,” Aamon said with an acknowledging nod.  

Florence stood tall as Aamon. She wore a fading red dress of Hamal fashion which meant it was short-sleeved and bare shoulders however Florence wore a silk golden cloak. Weib colors. Her face was clear and her eyes shade of green. If her line can be traced back, her origins will be at Barren Lands.

“How is Lady Berdal? I heard she is with child again,” Florence said, she began to retrace her steps backward.

Aamon didn’t notice until he started walking that there were three paved roads, one they were talking and others on both of his sides. And noise. Different kinds of it. He touched more Radiation lightly and felt his body tense and his senses fully awaken. He can hear children playing, drunk men arguing; he can smell sweat, the dung of horses and mules. Weib Manor was more like a town. Aamon turned his head to the right, the road he took was lined with tall pine trees. He cannot see clearly beyond them; he only saw flickering shadows of movements.

“She is doing well. She is due in six weeks,” Aamon replied with a smile.

The prospect of being a father again excites him. Some Vulcans steer away from family or anyone that might be kin to them.

Florence nodded and frown slightly. Aamon was certain she was thinking of what to say next. Either politic or the latest court gossip.

“I can hear of both activities on both sides of those trees,” Aamon said, “I never knew Weib Manor was in fact a small town.”

“I won’t go as far as to suggest that, Vulcan Aamon. Everyone inside these walls is part of House Weib. We are just one big family. We soon ran out of rooms at the manor itself and we started clearing some space and build houses. I am fond of those pines, I don’t have the heart to see them cleared.”

“How many people do you have if you don’t mind me asking?” Aamon asked.

Florence didn’t seem to be disturbed by Aamon’s question. Probably everyone at Hamal knew how many commonfolks Weib has expected me, Aamon disapprove of his ignorance. He hates politics and the likes, and he always vowed he will pay more attention to it, but there was always something to do.

“Hundred and forty-four,” Florence replied. “Ever since I heard you have an eye for art I have been dying to show you a mural in the gallery room.”

“It seems keeping secrets at Amalthea is unheard of even if that secret is a hobby,” Aamon sighed, he nodded to Florence to lead the way.

Florence smiled and walked Aamon to the manor without saying another word. Her detail was still following behind her, from the corner of his eyes Aamon can see they had their hands on the hilt of their swords. He wondered who threatens them worst, him or his men following behind them.

Aamon stepped inside, stopped on his tracks, and examined everything. There were servants in Weib colors waiting with trays of refreshments. Tom and Zacrian stroll to the servants with grins on their faces, those two never passed free food. The floor of the main hall was tiled by shiny brown marbles with a pattern of streams all going in different directions with some overlapping each other. The walls were light brown hanging silk tapestries of Weib colors. The masterpiece of the hall was high painted glass roof which throw different colors at the hall. There were few white lights that shone on them so they can always show their flashy colors without the sun. It was magically, now and then Aamon had seen images of people flashing. He cannot put his mind to it, the imagines came quickly and disappear in a heartbeat. One of the flashes was a man dressed in dark red breathing fire dark as the Pulser. The image linger for a second or two, and it was gone.

“Such a strange artifact, Lady Weib,” Reydal spoke by Aamon side while his eyes were still focusing on the roof.

“I don’t think it's an artifact…uh…Vulcan Reydal,” Florence replied, “Pardon me but I never knew which title I should use Elite or Vulcan.”

“Any title you see fit, Lady Weib. Yes, it might not be an artifact but it surely behaves like one with those images.”

“If I am correct, does it also works perfectly during Daylight?” Aamon asked before Florence can reply Reydal.

“That’s correct, Radiator Aamon. To clarify, no artifact can use both energies, Celestial or Radiation, that’s the reason a Moonstone on itself is not an artifact; and to be an artifact, an object has to use energy, and the roof use none. It only needs to be reflected by light and it cast those images.”

“Where are those images come from?” Tom asked as he hand Aamon a glass of red wine that smell slightly of grapefruit.

“That’s the curious thing about it. The images are not clear even during Daylight, they are flash and blurry almost like a hallucination.”

I still cannot fathom some of the things elites enjoy.

None of the men said anything more. Aamon nodded, take a last glimpse of the glass roof and flourish his hand to Florence to lead him to the gallery room.

The gallery room was a big room with benches around all three walls with a ceiling embedded with bright white lights. The room was filled with paintings and murals, different kinds of them. Aamon moved from a painting to a painting not lingering long, he will come back to them at a second glance, he first wanted to see Weib collection. He stopped on the northern wall, he didn’t need Florence to tell him this was the mural she wanted to show him. It took half of the wall with precise detail and emphasized color, it was not an original, but the painter was exceptional. There was no sky on the painting which made it hard to tell the exact time on it.

“What do you think about it, Vulcan Aamon?” Florence asked eagerly.

Although Florence was trying her best to hide her excitement, her voice was laced with and her arms moved in an animated manner

Aamon took his time before answering her. His focus was on the corner of the mural, there was an old man beaming on the ball of fire in his palms. The old man cannot be a Vulcan; nonetheless how in the Illuminator’s name the old man was holding a flame. It was impossible for anyone who was not a Vulcan to hold a flame, even Watchers got a burn from flames. Yet, the old man was defining the properties of fire and fundamentals known of a Vulcan.

There was no need for Aamon to give himself unnecessary headaches with fiction.

“Strange creatures,” Aamon noted big creatures with long stone-like teeth with a woman riding them. He had never heard of such a creature. The woman was not detailed, only her dressing indicated that. The original painter cared less of a woman, his intention was the creature which somewhat has a relationship with a woman.

“If you may look at the woman right above the creature,” Florence said pointing.

Aamon shifted his focus and found the woman whom Florence was talking about. She looked like she was flying, standing upright high in the air reaching for the stars which were not there. Her arms were stretched to her side, her face looked up at the further sky. The woman was certainly a Watcher, those undying women seemed to know how to fly, or at least try to. On the woman’s head was a crown, or a hallow crown to be exact which look like a crescent moon. Aamon cannot fathom the meaning of the woman's posture; she seemed to be pleading with her gods regardless of the fact she was graced with the power of the moon. She was offering herself as salvation. She wanted to save something more precious than the crown on her head.

“The secrets of the world before Origin is lost to us,” Aamon said, “she looked like she is offering herself to the higher being, a God; a deity greater than the moon she possessed if we are assuming that her crown is indeed a moon.”

“The mural is complex, I will admit, but a timeframe is after the Origin. On the left, there, yes, I wager that’s Ceres.”

“The old man with flames is the Illuminator himself,” Aamon chuckled softly. “Looks like Ceres, but the direction is off. That’s looks to be the side of Calm Waters rather than southwest. Nonetheless, the shape and size are definitely Ceres.”

Aamon added after a moment of consideration.

“You won’t mind if I can have my painter come and paint a copy for me, I would like to study it more. Flames, I didn’t even study it; I want to do more than to browse through it.”

“I have copies, I will let you borrow one,” Florence replied.

“You have my thanks, Lady Florence,” Aamon said with a nod and turn as he heard footsteps approaching, his senses were still keen from the Radiation he was touched from earlier. It was a servant coming to inform Florence she can usher him to the audience hall.

***

“Vulcan Aamon I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Manuel Weib spoke without bothering to stand up from his throne as Aamon stepped into the audience hall. “Once you live to serve the good citizens of Hamal, there is always something to be done, I am sure you can relate, given you are the king’s justice.”

Aamon nodded and said nothing. He studied the audience hall. It was not a very big hall; it has a welcoming air, unpainted walls with no paintings. The floor was dark-gray even stone, sixteen feet ahead of him was a sort of a throne sitting on elevated three steps to give Weib a vintage view of his subjects.

The throne itself was a wooden chair painted in red and gold with black cushions. This was the only place Weib didn’t splash his wealth, strange, Aamon thought it will be the most expensive room in the manor. On the bottom of the steps were four soldiers in decorated armors with their gloved hands on their longswords and behind them, there was one standing next to his master. Florence had fallen behind with her two guards but she was still in the hall. Aamon’s men stood behind him, Tom still nursing his fourth drink, Reydal stood closer to Aamon as closer he was allowed.

“I couldn’t disagree,” Aamon finally replied, and since he was not one for small talks he went straight to point. “And as the King’s Justice, that’s the reason I am here. Rumor has it you hosted some visitors a few months back, unwelcome visitors.”

“You will have to be specific, visitors came and went at the manor it’s hard to keep count.”

Aamon studied Weib weathered face, his eyes looking down at him leaning forward from his throne.

So you are not old for childish games of cat and mouse?

“Come now Weib, don’t you think I will come here to ask about Ken Zimmerman visit? You know who I am asking about,” Aamon said starting to lose his patience.

“Do I? I certainly don’t, Berdal.”

At least I tried to be civil, Aamon sighed with disappointment.

He touched Radiation, his Well an ocean of raging fire and drink from it; he felt his body filled with an energy that tore his body from inside. He felt it rush into him, took away his breath and he heard screams which he didn’t know where they were coming from. To anyone he looked clearly composed but within he was fighting to still himself, not to fall to his knee as Radiation flood him. He touched enough for a fight, not barely to light a small fire, but enough to burn half the building to ashes.

He controlled his Radiation, he willed it to still, to be contained. It was like taming a beast, you can’t let it rampage, it has to know who held the power.

Aamon felt a surge of power, his body was light at the same time it was dense. His body was burning like he was within an inferno. He saw clearly, how Weib’s soldiers have tightened the grip of their sword’s hilt, he can hear their slow breathing, feel the temperature of the room, how the air bend and danced around him waiting to be burned.

Aamon held his finger up and pointed it at Weib. The soldiers in front of him shifted their boots but they didn’t draw their swords, one soldier even looked back at Weib for an order, but Weib was too focus on Aamon.

“Three Watchers were here on the fourteenth day of Dragon. I am sure now you know who I am talking about.”

“Watchers are banned at Hamal, I won’t be so foolish to break the king’s law,” Weib replied, still unmoved.

“Are you so certain? Well, maybe I should jog your memory. You are old, you must forget things here and there,” Aamon said with a crooked smile.

Aamon willed his Radiation; his eyes see weaves of it in the air, golden lines coming together forming a pattern, twisting and turning while it burned the air. A flame came to life at Aamon’s finger, bright like stars in the sky and big as a fist.

The color drained a little from Weib’s weathered face, his lips were drawn into a line, and his eyes didn’t blink away from Aamon’s hand.

Two soldiers in front of Aamon drew their swords and fell into a stance, both hands balancing their huge blades in front of them; the other two stood ready if Aamon tried anything else. 

“Three Watchers who were here, tell me their names,” Aamon said.

“How dare you! You cannot walk here and threaten me, boy,” Weib said, his face a storm of fury.

Aamon inhaled deeply, extinguish his fire and let his arm fall to his side. He didn’t let go of the Radiation he was holding, not yet; he still needed answers and the old man was going to give them one way or another.

“Happy? Now we can stop playing games,” Aamon said taking a step forward until he was inches away from the swords which were pointing him. “I am not here for threats, I am here for answers, and I will let you know I won’t stop at nothing to get those answers.”

“Tell me this boy, has dear old Javan sent you or this was your idea?” Weib asked as he leaned back to this throne. “Before you came to court, we had a prosperous and wealthy relationship with different Orders of Watchers and the whole nation of Hamal enjoyed the fruits the relationship provided. I wonder what you said to convince old Javan, I am certain it was not the little stunt you just pulled just now.”

Aamon smiled, turned his back to Weib and his soldiers. Florence and soldiers were standing behind his men. Tom was leaning against the wall not far from them, he had somehow drained his glass and he was looking particularly bored without it. Reydal looked at Aamon eagerly, waiting for order as his veins course with Radiation. All his men held enough Radiation to do anything allowed with Radiation. He nodded for them to stand down, it was his fight.

“I suggest you start talking or there will be a whole lot of burning bodies,” Aamon spoke as he turned back to face Weib. Aamon can tell that now the old man look rattled, his hands trembles and he was not sitting still.

“There will be retribution for this,” Weib spat.

“Tell me the names.”

Weib stared at the ceiling for a moment, his lips moving slightly; it was not time for prayer but Aamon let him have his moment.

“Skyladies Ingrid Ironhill, Mary Parker, and Jaclyn Seven,” Weib replied in a whisper almost like he was wounded.

Aamon remembered, fifteen years ago. The first thing he saw was flames devouring his farmhouse and the fields around it. He was expecting his father’s anger and punishment, he had no thought he found them in flames, ashes beyond his recognition. He remembered sinking to the ground and cried until his lungs gave out, he cried until his body started to shiver in cold and rage. His family was gone. Even from a distance, he knew there were no survivors, he felt it within him. The void, the loneliness finding comfort in his heart.

“Ingrid Ironhill?” Aamon said tasting the name on his lips. “She is the Order of Light.”

Aamon knew all the sisters who ran all Twelve Orders of Skies. Ironhill was at the very top of their Order, she was the one who held the Silver Key and she was at Amalthea. Endless Night! That’s strange. The Order of Light was free as a wind, a docile Order in Watchers’ standard, but Aamon never thought he might see them close as Hamal. One thing he knew about Order of Light was they stay far from fighting as possible and they never forced their welcome.

Where are you SPIDER?!

Aamon was enraged, full to burst with Radiation, and his hand start to swum with it like he had too much wine. He needed to release it. No, he wanted the Spider. His Radiation was meant for her and her Order.

He launched forward his feet light and his speed lightning because of the Radiation he was holding. The first soldier hesitate, caught off guard. Aamon punched him to the chest, steel armor and all, and the armor grunted and bent inwards as the soldier took three steps backward and tripped on the steps behind him.

The second soldier who had the sword out initially swung it at Aamon. Aamon dodged it sideways, the force which the soldier had swung his sword propelled him forward. Aamon didn’t have time to think, he was a raging storm of Radiation, a thought came second and action always led the way. He kicked the soldier on the back of his keen, the soldier fell on one keen and cursed as he balanced himself with a sword; Aamon kicked him on the back of his head with his Radiation-enhanced kick. He heard a c***k sang to the silent hall.

He jumped backward as he heard a click of metal approaching him. Still, in midair, he can see the soldier’s eyes from his closed helm were furious and seek blood. There was hatred in those eyes. I wonder which Vulcan story he has to tell. When his feet hit the floor Aamon pushed himself forward with a help of Radiation, he launched at the soldier like he was diving at him; the soldier reacts quickly and leaned to his left swinging his sword with much power he can manage. But the soldier’s reaction was nothing compared to one enhanced by Radiation. The air hiss differently, it speaks and Aamon knew how to listen. Instead of landing on his legs, he rolled on the floor his hands first, and find himself standing.

He ran forward before the soldier can recover from his swing or regroup with his fellow mate. He punched him repeatedly until the armor was torn like a piece of paper and he shoved him to the soldier which was coming to help him. He didn’t intend to shove them against the wall, it didn’t matter, he was giving them lessons.

He jumped on the steps until he was inches from Weib with a soldier between them.

“I can kill your men if I wanted, I suggest next time I ask you a question you answer as quickly as you can,” Aamon warned him.

Aamon cannot see Weib’s face because his guard was blocking him but he was certain Weib nodded. He took three consecutive deep breathes willing his Radiation back to his Well, it was a hard process than touching it. It strained the mind, the breaths helped the mind to keep calm and slow down the heart rate; slowly from his mind he can see it been pulled back. He gritted his teeth, steel his nerve and draw it by force back to where he found it. He felt a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, his breath quickening, his legs felt like a boulder of rocks. It will take a moment or two to feel back to his former self and the numbness of his joints will fade.

“Step aside or I kill you,” Aamon said looking at the soldier directly. The soldier didn’t move an inch. Such dedication.

Weib murmured a command and the soldier made a way for Aamon. The color was totally drained from Weib’s face, his hands shook violently and he was bathed with sweats.

“You broke the king’s law,” Aamon said picking his words carefully, “however. there is something I might need from you which will serve as your penalty.”

Aamon hide his smile as he saw that color was slowly returning to Weib’s face and his eyes didn’t hold much fear.

“Yes?”

“Tell Ironhill you have a favor to ask of her, I am sure she might owe you a few. Ask her the location of Agatha Seaworth and if you can provide that information, proven valid, you will be pardon.”

Weib nodded still processing the information.

“It will be an odd favor to ask, from where I hear Light and Justice don’t see eye to eye,” Weib murmured to himself. “It will be done as you wish, Vulcan Aamon.”

Aamon nodded and turn to the exit.

“Well, that answer a few questions and raise other ones,” Reydal said they walk towards Florence who was still rooted to her spot. “I am convinced those women as old as they are, they don’t get bored of plotting.”

“That raise few questions indeed nonetheless Light is not a plotting type,” Aamon said as he thought of the Order of Light.

Aamon watched as Tom return his empty glass to Florence. He closed his hand around hers as he gave her at the glass, and whispered few words of apology. Aamon smiled when he saw that the ring which was on Florence’s hand was missing. Once a thief always a thief.

Aamon nodded to Florence trying to hide his smile as he passed.

“And Elite Reydal was thinking you were getting rusty,” Tom said as he joined them, “ask those armor-clad men and they will sing a different story.”

Reydal raise his arms to show he was defeated. It’s not that Aamon didn’t want to fight, he was just reserving his strength. Now, what might the Order of Light want at Hamal?