Chandler, Sylva
He dreamt an old dream, one of dark blue water under a midnight sky, with only the pale light of the full moon to illuminate his surroundings. He could feel the cold water against his pale flesh, lapping against him ever so casually. He floated in the water upon his back, staring up at the moon above. His mind was free of its troubles, at least for the time being, comforted by the silence, and finding solace in the watery abyss that stretched out in all directions as far as his eyes could see.
The sudden blue of the water enveloped him as his horrified fingers slipped under the surface. An iron grip held his shoulders tight, softly holding him in his space. Like blankets, the water wrapped tightly, coldly shocking his body into warmth- a gentle glow upon the skin. Tearing open his eyes, he saw a long far away world of blue, stretching away from him, taunting him. Oblivious to his struggle, to his panic, he saw legs and arms and excitement over some concept lost to him.
The water had neither the time nor patience for his panic, and insisted wholly upon the hands on his shoulders and liquid glass now pervading his lungs. The water seemed to hold him under its own thumb in an attempt to extinguish his blatant nonconformity. The clicking of his heart was strained now, and veiled in bubbles of oxygen, his vision was obscured. He noted the valiant white bubbles straggle away, across the blue world, and more importantly, away from him.
The words he heard where only a muted bass now held down oppressively by a harsh droning sound. Such an uncontrollable sound, such a rampant all consuming bodily humming that drove him insane. The hands stayed firm but ceased to exist, Slipping away from him not unlike the precious oxygen which had so recently evaporated. His lungs, heavy with hydrogen, reacted slowly, and like drinking a long smooth flame, the chlorine burned his insides, like knives eviscerating his corporeal form. He realized his skin had dissipated, bursting open like a translucent sac, and flowing like the water, he was no more. Only a single fading window of consciousness, desperately clicking and wanting, and with one drowsy struggle, gave up. He looked skyward, making amends with his Gods, preparing for death, preparing for serenity. He released my muscles and relaxed. There was one final click,loud, foreign, and invading.
And it was then he realized it was a gunshot.
The water had neither the time nor patience for his panic, and insisted wholly upon the hands on his shoulders and liquid glass now pervading his lungs. The water seemed to hold him under its own thumb in an attempt to extinguish his blatant nonconformity. The clicking of his heart was strained now, and veiled in bubbles of oxygen, his vision was obscured. He noted the valiant white bubbles straggle away, across the blue world, and more importantly, away from him.
The words he heard where only a muted bass now held down oppressively by a harsh droning sound. Such an uncontrollable sound, such a rampant all consuming bodily humming that drove him insane. The hands stayed firm but ceased to exist, Slipping away from him not unlike the precious oxygen which had so recently evaporated. His lungs, heavy with hydrogen, reacted slowly, and like drinking a long smooth flame, the chlorine burned his insides, like knives eviscerating his corporeal form. He realized his skin had dissipated, bursting open like a translucent sac, and flowing like the water, he was no more. Only a single fading window of consciousness, desperately clicking and wanting, and with one drowsy struggle, gave up. He looked skyward, making amends with his Gods, preparing for death, preparing for serenity. He released my muscles and relaxed. There was one final click,loud, foreign, and invading.
And it was then he realized it was a gunshot.
King Juan Sebastian de Campana II suddenly awoke in a burst of energy, shooting up from his bed and staring around the dimly lit room. He was no longer in the water, but in his chambers, with a sheet atop him. The stench was the first thing he noticed…it reeked of death. He wore only a thin white silk bedgown, but in spite of that he felt hot and feverish. Breathing hard from his nightmare, he wiped the sweat from his brow with a heavy hand, and flicked it out towards one of the gilded walls.
“Bad dreams again?” a girl with long braided dark brown hair and eyes in a pink gown asked. “I know when you have them, because you wake up feverish.” With a swift motion, she dunked a large sponge in a bucket of water sitting on the floor, and proceeded to dab his forehead with it. The water was cool, and most refreshing on his pallid skin.
“…Yes,” Juan Sebastian muttered as he breathed hard under the wet sponge, feeling the cool water run down the side of his face onto the bed sheet. “Why are you here, Isabella? You should be off, enjoying your youth. Before long you’ll be old, and tired.” Juan Sebastian sniffed the air and cringed. “You shouldn’t have to suffer the air in here anyway…it stinks. I stink.”
“I don’t mind the smell, father,” Isabella told him with a faint smile. “Where else can I go and what else can I do? Ever since Aunt Katalina came to stay with us, things have been tense. People at court are worried…the Western Coalition, the Turov Pact...no one seems to want to be friendly to Sylva these days.”
Juan Sebastian chuckled, before it ended in a cough. “We are not so easily influenced by foreign powers, dear daughter,” he consoled her as she continued to wipe his forehead with the cool wet sponge. “Sylva is made of sterner stuff. We will persevere, as we always have.”
“…That’s easy for you to say, father,” she responded worriedly. “But you’ve been cooped up here in your chambers for some time. People are in the streets…it is spilling over, slowly but surely it seeps in like water.”
Like water. Juan Sebastian found the thought ironic, and began to wonder if his dream was prophetic in some fashion. “The people are always uneasy over something,” he began to explain to his daughter. “Stefan Navarro has been First Minister since 2000. His Conservative Party has won four straight general elections, and with each one he’s become more and more…abrasive in his politics. The people want change, and are tired of his Prime Ministry. His policies have driven people…farther to the left.”
“Are you afraid that those people will turn against us, father?” Isabella asked, fear in her voice. “That they will want a republic, like the rest of Casaterra has been gravitating towards?”
Juan Sebastian shook his head after Isabella pulled away the sponge from his face. “The people want good weather, food for their children and labors to keep themselves busy. If the king can make sure people get those things, then they will have no reason to cast him aside. This is what I have done as king, and will continue to do until I die. It will be up to your brother to continue to so after that.”
“…But Eduardo isn’t interested in such things,” Isabella pleaded as she dropped the sponge back in the bucket. “He wants Sylva to go back to the old ways, and be more aggressive in Casaterra. He wants to make Sylva powerful and rival the likes of the Organized States and Letnev, and bring back the Empire…”
“…And Eduardo will learn that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” Juan Sebastian spoke as Isabella trailed off. “The people won’t accept wars with every nation in the world. They won’t tolerate it if we send people to die for wars that they see as lost causes.”
“We will survive, as we always have,” he told her as he propped himself up using his elbows. “We will adapt and grow as a family, as a people and as a nation. The alternative is doom, and we are not so easily forsaken, daughter. If we were, we would have succumbed long ago, if not to ourselves then to another. Yet here we are, still here, and none the worse for it.” Juan Sebastian winced in pain, and added “help me get out of bed…I mean to see this state of affairs that you speak of. Knowing your brother, he’s already acting as though he were king. I should remind him that I’m not dead yet,” he flashed a grin.
Isabella looked at her father incredulously. “Are you sure, father? Didn’t you say that you didn’t want the court and nobility to see you in such a weak state?”
“…That would be better then them all thinking and behaving as though I’m already dead,” he laughed as he gestured with his hand. “My wheelchair…bring it forth, Isabella.”
Doing as her father bid, Isabella fetched the wheelchair from the other side of the room. Juan Sebastian watched the small flames burning from the tall wax candles, the only source of light in the room besides the fire burning in the fireplace. There were no windows, and where there might have been there was artwork hanging, dark and dreary. Everything of late reminded the ailing king of death, even those things that had once brought him joy.
Juan Sebastian had taken to drinking during his illness, with the drained flagons sitting empty on the table beside idle dishes of fruits and vegetables. He was once a large man, portly and rotund, though now he had been growing thin and gaunt. He loathed looking at himself, finding the sight of his pallid, loosely hanging skin to be most appalling. Last time he looked in the mirror, he could see that his once lush dark brown hair had turned a dull grey, and his beady brown eyes sunken into his face.
His daughter fetched the wheelchair and returned with it promptly, letting it come to a standstill beside her father’s bed. “I will help you,” she told him as she helped pull him up and swing his legs around. Then she helped him rise from the bed and into the chair, wincing a bit as he did so, for the smell that arose with him must have been most foul, Juan Sebastian suspected. He wore only that long bedgown and nothing else, and it fell just past his aching knees. It was dirty too, though it was only put on him the night before.
“Where would you like to go?” she asked him then.
“…Anywhere but here,” he said firmly. “If you would be so kind as to push me.”
Isabella nodded, and then they were off. She pushed her father along through the dimly lit, stench filled chambers, through one quiet room after another. They arrived at the large double doors that led out into the palace interior, and Juan Sebastian reached out feebly with his weak arms to push them open. Statues of knights with raised halberds stood on the other side, and guards posted around them. They turned and looked at the King as though they had seen a ghost.
It wasn’t the statues or the guards that Juan Sebastian concerned himself with, however. The light shining through the tall windows made him squint in pain, for his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness. Have I been in the dark so long, that I am now afraid of the light? Still onward they went, in spite of the light. Slowly but surely the King’s eyes adjusted to it, and of his surroundings.
Statues, busts and paintings lined the way, the hallways colored of blue and white marble. It was a palace that Juan Sebastian always felt was better than his house deserved…when it was built in the late 18th century, it was so done in order to convey the power and prestige of not only the royal family, but of Sylva. Now it served only as a grim reminder of how Sylva was a country out of place and time, growing more isolated with each passing year.
Through more double doors and past more shocked guards, Isabella pushed her father along, until Juan Sebastian began to hear voices. Courtiers… he thought. And many of them at that. “The reception hall, Isabella,” Juan Sebastian commanded to his daughter.
“…But father…” she stammered, prompting the king to furrow his brow.
Juan Sebastian rasped his hand on the handrail of his wheelchair. “Take me to the reception hall. I command it.”
Gulping, Isabella did just that. When they had arrived at the grand reception hall, Juan Sebastian narrowed his eyes and ran a hand through his long grey hair. Courtiers were present, dancing to the sounds of orchestral music, with wine in their cups and grapes in their hands. The overall atmosphere was one of merriment, and all of it was centered around a young man with dark brown hair and hazel eyes dressed in an extravagant court uniform.
Slowly, Isabella pushed Juan Sebastian into the room, though at first no one seemed to notice. Once someone did though, they all seemed to. The music continued to play, though everyone stopped and stared at the dying king as Isabella pushed him in the direction of the young man at the center of the room. The courtiers surrounding him began to whisper to each other. They flock to my son and heir like vultures hover over a dying animal, he thought. I am not even dead and yet they treat him as though he is king.
“…Father,” Crown Prince Eduardo said as he bowed slightly. Not far behind him were Queen Urraka and Princess Katalina, Juan Sebastian’s older sister. The former was a northerling with a handsome face in spite of her barbaric proclivities, her hair still long and raven black with blue eyes. Katalina had short, graying brown hair and hazel eyes with a look of contempt on her face.
Isabella brought the wheelchair to a halt, and Juan Sebastian sat there with his limp wrists resting on the handrails. “What’s the occasion?” he asked his son.
“…There is no occasion, father,” Eduardo answered as he handed his father a glass of wine. “We are only happy, can’t you see? What is there not to be happy about?”
Juan Sebastian looked around again. He noticed his contemptuous sister and his scheming wife. He observed the whispering nobles and the lurking military brass. Juan Sebastian saw them all, and then he looked at his son again. “If there is no occasion, then why is there a party?”
Juan Sebastian’s wife the queen answered for their son. “A reception, my husband, for the realm to become better acclimated with their future king. Is it not wise, prudent even, to groom our son for the throne that will be his…” her voice trailed off.
“Soon?” Juan Sebastian finished the sentence. “I’m not even dead, Urraka. Not yet. I wasn’t even aware of any…celebration taking place, under my roof, between my walls and within my halls. Who’s idea was that?”
“It was mine, father,” Eduardo said, standing tall and proud, defiant before his father, but still offering the wine.
“Stop the music,” Juan Sebastian commanded, and the orchestra obeyed. “You are not king yet, not until I die. Do I look dead to you?" he asked him as he snatched the glass of wine from Eduardo’s hand. “What treachery are you all hatching, hmm?”
Eduardo matched his father’s fury. “You do nothing but waste away and drink, while the realm grows uneasy and our enemies usurp our allies, one by one. Now we are surrounded and their knives are at our throats. A burden is being thrust upon me by our enemies, for you will not live long enough to see the war that is to come. Our enemies would drag us out into the streets and beat us to death, and take everything that we hold dear. And I hate them for it.”
Juan Sebastian laughed, and looked at the glass of wine in his hand. “Hatred is a poison, and keeping it is like drinking it and expecting the person you hate to die.” After he spoke, he threw it against the wall, causing the courtiers to gasp collectively. “You may drink of poison and sup on hate all you like, but while I am still king, you will respect me. The realm is growing unstable by the day, and animosity grows against the throne. Throwing frivolous parties does nothing to abate that.”
“Understood.” Eduardo narrowed his eyes with a scornful look on his face, and inclined his head while stepping aside. “Shall we cancel the party then?”
“No,” Juan Sebastian chuckled curtly. “By all means, enjoy yourselves.” Juan Sebastian threw up his hands, and told Isabella “take me outside…I need some fresh air.”
Isabella obeyed, and as she pushed him past Eduardo Urraka went to her son, while Katalina went to Juan Sebastian in order to walk beside him as he was pushed along. “It’s easy to speak of respect when you’ve done little to earn it,” Katalina snapped at him. “It’s easy for you to speak the way you do when your family is safe and secure. While every day, the bastards in Turov devise new ways to bring the rest of the continent under their rule.”
The nerve of this fucking bitch. “What would you have me do, Kat?” Juan Sebastian said softly as the three of them exited the ballroom into the courtyard. “Would you have had me fucking invade Letnev?”
“…Father would have,” Katalina countered. “He would have not stopped until the bastards were hanging from a rope.”
“And Sylva would have been destroyed, and been no different from the rest of Casaterra,” Juan Sebastian roared. “You’re delusional if you think we could win against Letnev by way of force. We would have been crushed. What I’ve done I’ve done to keep this country and its people safe. I’ve worked towards peace, I’ve engaged in diplomacy. I’ve made sacrifices for the good of the realm. For the good of the people.”
Katalina threw her head back and laughed dryly, before looking back at her brother and shaking her head. “You’re a fool, Juan Sebastian. Did you know that father never wanted you to be king? He always thought you were weak. The throne might have been yours by right, but you never deserved it. A shame really, that you won’t live to see the damage you’ve done to this country come to a head. I’d give much so that you could see the end of us.” With one last shot of daggers from her eyes, Katalina walked away, leaving Juan Sebastian to stew at his sister's words.
In a way, she was right. Juan Sebastian never wanted to be king, but alas he was all the same. It had dominated his life in such a way that left him feeling overwhelmed, the burden of delivering the corpse of his dead little sister to their mother and of having to console the woman afterwards, before having to bury her too. Watching his family perish and their fortunes unravel all around him. It made tears well in Juan Sebastian’s eyes.
“Take me to my baby sister,” he said to Isabella. “Take me to Seina.” Silently obeying, Isabella pushed the wheelchair through the courtyard of many flowers and blooming plants. The paved cobblestone paths had little plants budding through them, while wooden arches were adorned with flowers. An ocean breeze flew threw the air, caressing his face while birds chirped and flittered about under the morning sun.
The Acropolis courtyard was the by far the palace grounds most famous feature. It was an expansive complex of plants, statues, fountains and landscaping. A person could spend an entire day in it, lost in idyllic daydreaming. Seina used to do that when she was a girl, often spending entire days lost among the hedges, singing with the birds and reading her poetry books.
The path that led to Seina’s final resting place was a long tunnel of arches covered in pink and white roses. In the tunnel the air was still, the flowers unmoving. “Sometimes, Alejandro and I come here to see her,” Isabella said, speaking of Juan Sebastian’s second son Alejandro. “Alejandro and Eduardo don’t get along anymore. Eduardo is so far to the right, and Alejandro is…more to the left. He wants peace too, like you father,” she said sweetly. “Though Eduardo calls him weak.”
Juan Sebastian looked straight ahead through the tunnel, and remarked to his daughter that, “Two things define a man. His patience when he has nothing, and his attitude when he has everything.” Then he sighed. “All I wanted to was be a king worthy of it. There isn’t much time left…but I intend on make the most of the time that remains to me.”
Juan Sebastian de Campana II
King of Sylva
To: Governments of Septentrion Nations except for the Allied Nations
From:His Royal Majesty Juan Sebastian de Campana II, by the Grace of God King of this Realm and of His other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith.
Subject: Sylvan State of Affairs
Encryption: Low
To whom it may concern,
No doubt you are aware of my deteriorating condition, as well as various unrests ongoing in Sylva. I fear that I am not long for the world, and I wonder if I will live long enough to see the general elections this year that will most likely usher in a changing of the guard of Sylvan national politics. I fear that this state of affairs could put my country into a state of fragility that will be beyond my ability to address should I perish.
All of this has given me many sleepless nights while I was on my sickbed, on top of my personal suffering. I have found that after all these years—during which circumstances and conditions have changed both in our region and at the national level, that my ultimate goal for Sylva was to achieve a high level of credibility, confidence and international recognition, and to work tirelessly and sincerely to provide the chance for young people to succeed.
Politics aside, I believe that is something that unites us all, regardless of our persuasions or proclivities. The dream of providing a better future for our children, and I believe that with this goal in mind, we can work towards that future together. I’ve encouraged the people of Sylva to remember these ties that bind us before they take to the streets in protest against the First Minister, or against the monarchy, for we all value that very thing.
As such, I would like to invite foreign leaders to come and meet with me in Chandler. To Sylva’s allies, I would like to reaffirm our friendship. To potential allies, I welcome you to come and break bread and see the merits of my country. To Sylva’s enemies, I would like to at last try to bury the hatchet, so that I can die in peace, knowing that my country is free from threats of harm. For that is how I come to you. As a dying man wanting to die in peace.
Sincerely,
by the Grace of God King of this Realm and of His other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith.
