Book 1, Chapter 1 version 2.25 (aka The Zhevesti Draft)

The hard part about being in editing and revision is that it's not exactly a process that's super-friendly for sharing as part of an online serial. With serials, there's an expectation that the story keeps progressing, whereas the editing process is much more... uh... Well, put it this way: There have now been three different major versions of the first few chapters of Book 1. On the bright side, we're pretty sure we've nailed down this story with this draft, which means the editing cycle after this one will be mere nip-and-tuck detail.

But yeah, there's been some huge overhauls, as you'll see. And we've got a lot of huge overhaul to go.

For what it's worth, the story is still the same; we've just placed the pieces a bit differently in parts, and we've found gaps in the story and have filled them accordingly. The Peacock King now carries the worldbuilding details that developed later in the serial all the way through to the beginning, which is making things so much smoother. Even though Irk's hair has probably halved in volume from the rewriting process (and I am definitely noticing a lot more white in mine), we're both really excited about how well this is turning out.

All this, and we're also majorly overhauling the site. That's going on in the background, though, so nobody has to worry about the site breaking until I push the new site live, at which point EVERYONE can worry about how badly it breaks. :D God I love web development.

Anyway, here's the new and next-to-final version of Book 1, Chapter 1. It's still a bit raw (just glancing over it to post, I noticed a few more things I need to flag), but aside from nipping some grammar and tucking a few details, this is (probably) what will be heading to print.

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1
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Gerald
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Picture this:

An eight foot tall man with a crown on his head stands in front of Court.  He's on the dais, as if he needed the height, and as if he needed anything more to draw attention to himself.  His hair, straight and black, is so long that he's twisted it up in an ornate knot just so that it won't drag.  His robes reach to the floor, black with gold ornaments, cinched with a peacock green sash.  The bell sleeves accentuate every graceful sweep of his arms as he addresses the room.

He draws the room's attention like a magnet.  He's the ultimate reason this room is even here, the reason it's filled to capacity with courtiers, servants, messengers and nobles.  They're all here because Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, commonly referred to as the Peacock King, decided that his Palace ought to be thousands of miles north of my home city.

That's why I'm in the very front of the crowd, standing where the most elite of nobles may stand, at the side of the highest-ranked courtier in the Court.  That's why I'm wearing a dress.

Well, to be fair, no one in Aurocale knows what pants are.  Maybe the Peacock King banished pants when he ordered the Palace City to be built.  If it weren't for the dancers on the entertainment schedule, I wouldn't have laid eyes a human leg since I took this assignment three months ago.  The job sounded so exciting then; a secret investigation, undercover.  If I'd have known it was under cover of makeup, I might have reconsidered.  The Poet King said that I would be on the arm of an important Aurocan noble.  He didn't mention the dress I'd be wearing.

Three months of this.  Three months, and I've listened to the Court trade secrets, watched the King order insurgents executed, and done almost anything asked of me by the noble giving me cover.  Still, no leads, and nothing I could report on as necessarily illegal.  Rumors of the King's corruption stretch far and wide, but his actions in his own throneroom have been above reproach.

Every time I voice my impatience to Zhevesti, my Aurocan noble sponsor, he tells me that we must wait and watch.  I'm waiting, I'm watching.  I just wish the Peacock King would hurry up and break the Law.  This makeup makes my face itch.

Zhevesti's fingertip brushes my elbow.  The tiny gesture is enough to summon my attention in time to bow.  The Peacock King has turned his attention on us.  On Zhevesti, rather.  I'm not worth a glance from the monarch.  My patron is, though.  Zhevesti's of such high stature that he need only bow his head in deference to Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, instead of the waist-bow that was required of me.  Not only that, but he commands so much genuine respect from the King that the monarch chooses to bow his head in turn.

The King looms over us.  I keep my gaze low, though with his height that just means I stare straight ahead and inspect the fine embroidery on his robe.  I'd have to crane my neck to look him in the eye.  It's strange, being so close to him.  He radiates power and confidence.  It's like standing before a narcissistic star.

"Beloved ancestor.  I thank you for once again gracing our Court with your presence."

Zhevesti nods again.  His hair reaches to his mid-back.  Solid black, the mane is darker than his skin, but just barely.  Several streaks of white shoot through the mane.  As his face is unlined, the white streaks are the only indication of how many centuries he's watched over Audiva Rocale.  He barely looks forty.  "You are welcome... Nephew."  His yellow eyes flash as a smile perches on his lips.

The King's facade cracks for a moment, revealing surprise and a tiny bit of dismay.  It's not the first time I've heard Zhevesti address Jhe o'Audiva Rocale as such.  It seems to be his favorite name for the King.  Considering my patron's age, the usage might even pre-date the King's reign.  It never fails to fetch a reaction, even if it's just a pause in the King's speech.  The King recovers himself, pretending that he'd never been addressed as anything lower than his station.

"It would please you to be informed of a change in my schedule today.  It happens that one of my purchases is being delivered within the hour.  Far faster than I expected, but that is simply my good fortune.  However, it has not escaped my notice that you do not care for this particular pursuit of mine.  It would not offend me if you were not here to witness its delivery."  The King waves his hand as if to dismiss any concern.

Zhevesti's brows draw together, creating a tiny frown-line above his nose.  "What sort of animal have you bought this time, Ebrellin-i?"  Forget the King, I jump a tad at hearing his proper name spoken.  It's a rarity to hear it at all, much less bare of any honorific.  Zhevesti has the kind of stature that allows for such a brazen omission.

The King has no reaction to his ancestor's usage of his name.  He smiles, pride showing through his aloof mask.  "A very rare find indeed.  A creature which needs my protection more than any other.  If you would like to see him up close, I shall permit the liberty.  To you, and none other."  His eyes narrow as if he's imparting some sort of secret.  "It would be too dangerous to let others come close to him.  Too dangerous for those onlookers, of course.  But you, I trust to know self-preservation."

My patron's face is stern and resolute.  "I will be present for the delivery of this animal that you would permit me to see."

"Ah, in time, in time, good Uncle.  First the motions must be danced through, as it happens with all trade.  If you will excuse me."  The King floats away without another word, silken robes fluttering behind him as he approaches his throne.  The great golden chair stretches upward.  Any chair that would seat the King must necessarily be tall.  The peaked arch back stretches  over a foot above the top of his head when he sits.  As he awaits his delivery, he turns his attentions to the two peacocks perched on either arm of the throne.

One male, one female, they were the first animals he ever tamed.  His first beloved pets.  His face is painted white with black stripes over his eyes, in honor of their faces.  Without them, he'd never have been called the Peacock King at all.  It's eerie to look at them, sitting so quiet and docile at his sides.  They haven't uttered the smallest peep since I started attending Court.  Peacocks are such loud, proud birds, but these two might as well be mute sparrows.

The King raises his right hand.  The male peacock caresses it with his cheek.  The King smiles, charmed, and tickles the underside of the bird's beak with his long, sharp fingernails.  "Such an attentive boy, aren't you, Elete?"

To my surprise, I feel Zhevesti shudder.  I raise an eyebrow at him.

He shakes his head.  "Later," he whispers.  He slides his arm behind me and rests his hand on my hip.

I remind myself for the hundredth time that I'm supposed to let him do that.  It makes my appearance in this Court seem natural.  Being a courtesan is my cover, and unless Zhevesti and I seem close, it just won't be convincing.  In fact, I might want to work on my body language, because the King's giving me an odd glance right now.

His eyes meet mine. The right one fades gold-to-red, the left fades purple-to-green. In the middle of that rainbow visage is a gray-violet catseye teardrop set into his crown.  The ashen slit running down the center of the eye winks at me.  I keep my gaze from locking with the thing.  It's dangerous, enchanted.  Look at it too long, and the King looks into you.  Thankfully, the King's gaze slides over and past me, and I'm out of his line of fire, forgotten.  He meant to look down towards the entrance, and just glanced at me in the process.

What's gotten his attention?  I turn as Zhevesti does.  A procession of about ten foreign servants trails into the throne room, led by a short man with confident bearing.  His richly-embroidered vest and jacket mark him as wealthy as he is foreign.  Judging by the patterns and sash-like belt, he's from Astoniarche.  It's strange to see someone from outside the Aurocan Empire just walk right into here with his nose in the air.  I only made it here because I have such good cover.  Then again, he's not a spy - probably not a spy, in any case.  And I'm from deep inside the Empire of Crux Radia, where the people are starkly different from Aurocans.  Astoniarche, during some political and military shuffles, has been a part of the Aurocan Empire at a few points in its history.  So, it makes sense that he can just walk right in.  And, from the expectant look on the King's face, it's obvious that the two of them have business to discuss.

That must be what the cart is for.  The procession's gotten far enough along that I can see it clearly, and can also see why the man brought so many servants with him.  Not that it's heavy enough to need more than one servant pushing it at a time.  Box-shaped, it comes up to about waist-height on an average person, and isn't much wider or longer than that.  The thin metal bars are made of steel, but most of the structure is ornately carved wood, and the four wheels on it are finely tuned and appear to steer well.  The snarling load inside the cart is the real trouble.  It lashes out at anything or anyone that gets too close to the bars, forcing one servant to jerk away from pushing it while another pulls it from the front for a moment.

I try to get a good look at just what is in that cart, but so does everyone all around me, and I'm stuck with only a few glimpses of fur, hair, and what might be claws or might be fingers.  The King orders a few guards to keep the crowd well away from the cart, obscuring a better view of its contents.  Whatever is in there, it's very angry, and it moves fast.  The King said he was purchasing the animal for its own safety, but this doesn't sound like a creature that needs protection.

The cart must be enchanted.  It doesn't look sturdy enough to hold something that energetic.

The procession stops before the King's dais. The servants endeavor to keep the cart still behind the merchant.  He executes a slow bow in the manner of the Aurocan Court.  "Your excellency, I have traveled far and wide to deliver this rare jewel safely to your Court."

The monarch tilts his head just slightly, barely acknowledging the gesture.  He then reaches one long-fingered, manicured hand into the folds of his robe.  It comes out holding a token-box. It's fine carved wood, I can see from here, decorated with a copper and gold acorn. There's more gold inside, surely, or some fine commodity of equal expense.  It's a traditional way of conferring payment for unique items.  The token-box is made specifically for the item it's used as payment for.  Its design, materials and craftsmanship becoming part of an intricate object that doubles as the contract of sale.  Such tokens can become priceless artifacts in and of themselves.

"The agreed upon amount for the agreed upon merchandise."  The King slides the box back into the folds of his robe.  "But before I can pay you, I must first inspect the goods."  He gives Elete's head a pat, then rises and walks to the cart.

The merchant scoots aside, lest he be trod over.  "I took every precaution that you indicated, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale."

"Of course you did.  Otherwise you wouldn't have been able to get him into the cage.  My, but he is noisy, isn't he?"  He chuckles.  "Did you find him to be a handful?"

The merchant flushes.  I squint, spotting a faint pattern of scratches across his nose.  "I admit that it posed a challenge to transport, at times, but such difficulties are to be expected for tricky cargo."

The King motions for the guards and servants to back away from the cart, giving himself, and the rest of the audience, the first clear glimpse of whatever is trapped inside it.  "Tricky cargo indeed.  Hello dear.  Have you missed me?"

Silence replaces the snarls and growls inside of the cart.  The thing inside grows still, then looks up at the King.  He has the face and body of a young man, his features almost childlike, save for the firm jawline.  His hair is shaggy and short, a sandy brown mess that is unkempt but clean and free of tangles.  The fur that I caught a flash of before was from his cloak, which is made from the pelts and tails of foxes, squirrels, and deer.  His fingers are capped in nails that taper to claws, and the tips of his ears are longer than a man's, ending in round, foxlike tips.

He opens his mouth wide, revealing teeth sharper, longer, and wilder than a man's could ever aspire to be.  As he does so, his ears flatten back like a cat's.  His loud hiss is an answer to the King's question, but it also convinces any possible stragglers to give up on any thoughts that he just might be a weird-looking human.

My hands each twitch once at the wrists.  I manage to stop them from dropping to my sides, where my guns would be.  Not wearing my Bruce and Wagner into Court was an inspired decision.  This is not the place to think with my guns.  All they ever want to do is shoot people, after all.  They never just want to talk.

That's not true.  I've got plenty to say about you standing here and watching this happen.

I mentally shush Bruce, or at least I imagine that he's the sort of gun I can shush.  The problem with guns that can talk is that they've always got something to say.

Bruce has a point.  Wagner's voice weighs in, calm and cold.  You know who that is in the cage. We all know him.

"Wonderful," the Peacock King says to his captive.  "I feared you had forgotten the last time we met."  He turns his gaze back to the merchant.  "Strange.  He is less talkative than I expected."

The merchant blinks, confusion passing over his face like a splash of water.  "It can talk?"

What was cold smugness in the Peacock King's expression shifts into something colder.  The smile remains on his face like a curved sword held at the ready.  "I find it strange that you would not be aware of such an unmistakable trait in a creature that you have transported such a long way.  He does indeed talk.  If I were to ask him how he was treated during his journey, what would be his reply?"  His eyes narrow as he watches sweat bead on the merchant's brow.  "Why does such a question frighten you so?"

The merchant's pallor says more than his own words could possibly convey, were he able to stammer out anything comprehensible in response.

The King stands there, silent, as straight and tall as the gallows.  A minute passes during which no one in the court dares make a sound, let alone move.  A low growl from the cart breaks the silence.  The King draws his hand out from his robe.  I expect a dagger, but instead he holds the box from before.  He extends his hand to the merchant.  "I would know if he were injured.  You are lucky that he is not."

The merchant takes the payment, relief flooding to his face in a flush.  For a moment, he's only glad that he's alive.  Then, his brows draw together.  He lifts the box, testing its weight.  Then he opens it.  One doesn't need to be trained in the arts of subtlety to know what his shift in expression means.

That box is empty.

He opens his mouth, then sees that the cold smile on the Peacock King's face hasn't warmed by even half a degree.  Whatever the merchant was about to say, we never hear.  He must have realized it would be the last thing to ever come out of his mouth.  In less than a minute, he and his entire retinue clear out of the throne room.

I have the merchant's features memorized.  Perhaps his name was never announced so that it would never be on record that he was here.  That would make it convenient for both parties.  They've just traded in some of the most illicit goods in the world.  But I've a good memory for faces, and I can spread word around.  He'll get caught, eventually, and brought to justice.  A pretty token-box won't be worth the troubles that are ahead for him.

If it seems like I'm dwelling on that, it's because I have no idea how I'm going to arrest the Peacock King for buying an Animism.  There's not even a Law against that.  If Laws have been broken here, certainly the merchant would be guilty of something, but the Peacock King has managed to dodge the bullet.  Of course, if anyone would ever think to cage and buy an Animism, it would be him.  He's known as a collector of animals, and skills in training them are rivaled by none.  One needs only look at his peacocks to know that.

But Animisms aren't animals.  They're not humans, either, though they may look a little like us.  Animisms are guardian spirits who protect the living creatures in their territory.  If an Animism suffers an injury, all the creatures under its protection suffer that same injury.  That's why the Law states that to harm an Animism against its will, or to attempt harm on it, is punishable by death.

The Law just never thought that anybody would go so far as to buy an Animism as goods.

But why that Animism in particular?  It can't be coincidence.  Jhe o'Audiva Rocale said himself that they're old friends.

Wagner is right.  That's what's been gnawing at the back of my mind while watching this: we recognize this Animism.  His name is Faun, and if an Animism could said to be famous, he'd be the one.  Most Animisms don't bother with humans except to defend their territories from encroachment by our kind.  They all can speak, but Faun is the only one who'll attend court and speak with humans on human terms.  He's got better etiquette than most people.  He's even spoken to the Law directly a few times.  Faun has tried to build a bridge between Animisms and humans, to establish a peace between civilization and the wilderness.  I can't recall any history between him and the Peacock King in specific, but Zhevesti would know.

Speaking of Zhevesti, the temperature around him has dropped at least a degree, and his face is pinched.  His yellow irises seem to glow gold.

The King approaches the unattended cart with his hands folded in front of him, almost lost in the long belled sleeves of his imperial garb.  The cart is still and quiet.  Instead of struggling and voicing his dismay, Faun simply crouches low in his cage and watches the King with gold unblinking eyes, every muscle tensed.  The King tsks.

"Such distrust.  Poor little thing.  You know I'll never hurt you."  The Peacock King leans low, his nose almost brushing against the bars.

Zhevesti raises his fist to his mouth, then clears his throat in one short bark.  His fingers are so clenched that the knuckles have paled.

Jhe o'Audiva Rocale steps more than an arm's length from the cage before turning to Zhevesti.  His face is composed, pleasant, polite.  Expectant.  "Ah, of course.  My beloved ancestor, I believe you had some interest in today's purchase.  Would you care to come inspect him?  He is a prime specimen, and in good health."

My patron pats me on the hip, a silent prompt for me not to follow him.  He walks to the cage in quick strides, anger sizzling in the air around him.  He swings down, hands on the cage, looking at Faun through the bars.  "Are you well, little Forest King?"

Faun blinks, calm now that Zhevesti is present.  "For thousands of years, I tell your kind that I am no King."  His ears slant back.  "Now I am in a box."  Rather than being in angry in tone, his voice is flat, emotionless.  Animisms can be hard to read at times.  Their faces and voices don't express emotion in ways we always understand.  Still, I could swear that he just practiced sarcasm.

"I know, and I am to do something about that, am I not?"  Zhevesti rises and faces the Peacock King.  "I should hope that you're not about to give me a reason why Jhe Faun will not be released in the next instant."

The long sleeves of the King's robe ripple as he crosses his arms.  "Sadly, I must disappoint you, beloved ancestor.  It so happens that I have every reason to keep him."

Zhevesti's mouth draws into a flat line as clouds brood on his face.  His yellow eyes hold Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's rainbow ones.  He raises one hand towards the throne.  "Is it an important reason?"  As his fingers twitch, Elete's feathers ruffle.  He lifts a finger, and Elete lets out one unruly cluck.  The normally docile bird begins to scratch and peck frantically at his tether and cushion, as if he's just discovered that he's been collared and kept.  "Your pet won't last long in the wild.  He's been pampered, coddled," Zhevesti scowls, "and overfed."

"Uncle.  Please.  Don't be crude."  Jhe o'Audiva Rocale looks down his nose at his elder.  "Sending the wild into him will do nothing but make him suffer.  Why kill an innocent animal?  I've done nothing wrong, and will do no harm towards the Animism.  If you would but hear me out, it would spare us both some time and a dear animal its life."

The Ouric Lord snorts.  "Crude?  Myself?  You've paid money to cage the sacred.  You should lose a pet or two simply for your arrogance."

"If you feel that it is best to put an animal to its death for your feelings, then I've no means to stop you."  The Peacock King stands in front of my patron, unmoving, towering like a statue.  "Threatening an animal in the name of an Animism, right in front of it, is something I don't have the gall for."

By the way the yellow in Zhevesti's eyes sparks, I think he might strike the King for that remark. Instead, he lowers the hand he'd raised towards Elete.  The bird calms and quiets.  "Your horses, then.  They shall go wild, and throw their riders, and bolt.  Every horse on the Palace grounds.  Every horse in the city, if that is the way it must be."

The King's gaze is cold as stone.  "I can buy more horses."

"You will free this Animism.  I will order you if I must."

The King's head tilts up one degree.  "I will disobey you, if I must."

Zhevesti's eyes narrow.  "You don't have the power to disobey me.  Not on this, of all things.  Free him.  Now."