Open (16 page)

He had been
born into generations of resentment, of loss. Always reminded of
what was, surrounded by faded glories and the legends of his
bloodlines, knowing that his family were now little better than
merchants. Wealth they still had, but only a remnant of power. Upon
the map lay newer marks, river beds, even scars where hills and
mountain tops had been removed, scars from the time of Lightnings,
when the Stars Fell and the Empire was broken. Their people
scattered to join the mass migration that followed that time as
everyone desperately sought some safe place. Always that reminder
of what was, and what is. But he would change that, he would win
back some glory! Once more Farrah would be powerful, and his name
would shine with that renewed glory
…
even if he had to bow to a different power to
achieve it.

Once more an
Empire would reign, and even if he was not the Emperor at least his
family would rule the lands what were once theirs. It was a
compromise that weighed heavily on his pride, yet not nearly as
much as his desire for greatness, for power. And so he found
himself here, thunder thrumming through his heart and the glow of
the lightning reflecting in his black eyes, staring across at Alas,
the General of the Black Dogs, the
Emperor
’
s Personal Guard and
Primary Army. The man to whom seven eighths of the masses below
answered, the man who would lead this campaign to victory. And upon
whose word Teza
’
s reward
would lay.

He was a giant of a man, unusual for an
Imperialist, the ruddy paleness of his skin suggested origins from
an unknown place, but his dark eyes and hair were typical. His hair
was shorn short to his scalp, strange to Teza, leaving a
surprisingly handsome face bare, the cheekbones standing out. Thick
eyelashes framing those dark eyes, which watched everything with a
certain quite calm. He had a powerful thickly muscled frame, not a
scrap of fat left, yet moved with a sense of controlled grace. When
he spoke it was in a clear, quiet way, giving respect without ever
submitting. He never showed any inflection of emotion, his face
unreadable.

Not at all what Teza had expected, yet
watching Alas in control had made him respect him, and he was told
that the soldiers spoke of him with fear, pride and an almost
worship. There were rumours that all of the Black Dogs were slaves,
but nobody ever asked them, and he was willing to let the matter
go.

Around the
map stood his own nobles, and captains, and the leaders of the
Imperialist Legions. All knew the plan, how the campaign would go,
but Alas had called them to gather for one last meeting before they
used the coming storm and night
’
s darkness to hide their attack. Using a pointer he
gestured to Farrahnaan Pass.

“
Here, we
stand, the greatest army the Empire has ever amassed. We will
conquer these lands for the Emperor
’
s glory, as he wills it. I will lead the Black Dogs through
here, the Secondary shall sweep forth from the pass of
Vorath
’
s Way, the Tertiary
from the Aumorran Pass. The Aumorrans are an unsurety, though
unlikely to defend Merida. A garrison must swiftly be formed here.
Each army shall fracture and sweep outward. There are four Great
Families, twelve lesser holdings. These will be subdued by dusk
tomorrow-
”

Teza spat and
interrupted.
“
The Great
Family, here outside my pass, they are treacherous, but brave. I
advise you show no mercy to these, kill them all, except the
daughter. She will be mine. In fact, do it with all the Great
Families, mayhap keep one alive, a small hope. Fear will spread
ahead of us, we can offer to let the Families live, if they
surrender.
”

Alas calmly
regarded him.
“
You believe
such terror will work? The command on high is for a swift
beginning.
”

“
Oh yes, the
Meridans love their Families.
”

“
So be it. We
strike swiftly, and deadly. The Great Families are to be eliminated
in the first offensive, save one to be held ransom, a possible
heir. Any who fight are to be killed. Of the survivors a third are
to be put in chains and sent to the slave block, the rest will be
offered a choice. Death, slavery or indenture. Those who choose
indenture are to be placed under an overseer and supplemented with
our own slaves to work the land. Any produce is to be seized,
tallied and sent to the Empire, save what is needed to survive the
winter. Each holding will be made secure, a squadron, or garrison
left as necessary. I want our backs
protected.
”

His pointer swept to the north to the point
where impassable mountains of Alhion separated the cultured world
from the North, from the Empire, across the top of the Sea of
Sorrows, into Merida, curling around the pasturelands of the
Ceurans, separating the rolling lands of Merida from the North. The
pointer rested near where the jagged mountains joined the
pastureland.

“
Here will
the Eagles Legion descend, from the secret way through the
mountains. The Ceuran are a ferocious people, the Emperor is not
interested in their lands but knows them for the deadly warriors
they are. The Legion will march through their lands, burning their
Trees and taking what horseflesh is in reach. They will not veer
from their path. A sally to show the
Empire
’
s might, to damage
their defences, but not a war that will linger. If they are wise
they will pay heed. To the Vorath they will march. Here, the river
runs wide and there is a good ford. A garrison will be established.
The Eagles Legion will merge with our own, providing a relief, and
the means to push further. By spring I want the locals subdued,
fields cleared and ready for planting. There will be no rest, no
succour. We push, we push hard. We have the element of surprise. We
take it and we deliver them a great blow before they have time to
gather. Clear?
”

A grizzled, hook nosed captain grunted, his
fist tight around the hilt of his sword.

“
What of the
other Great Families? Shall the manoeuvre on the first offensive
hold?
”

“
If they
fight, they die. Let it be known that if they surrender they will
be allowed to live, in servitude to the Empire. My Lord Teza, do
you agree?
”

Teza lifted his eyes from the map, from the
lands that should have been his. The first rains began to fall,
lightnings flashed over head as the storm broke above the valley.
It felt, finally, as if he could breath easy again.

“
Oh yes, it
is done.
”

Notes

Here in reads a shall we
say, much refined and poked at version of my early works that
originated as a simple idea of Mera, tentatively entitled
The Fall
, how her life would unfold
and the difficulties she would face. I was 21, escaping abusive
relationships and an impoverished single mother. I thought of fairy
tales and freedom.

I joined a writers circle, a rag
tag collective of writers, poets and musicians. This was the
decision that guided my literary inclinations and love of reading
toward a career, with priceless feedback. From posting on MySpace
to starting my own blog, and all the endless research, editing, and
revising. Members came and went; the Americans quickly bounding
into the shiny new era of self publishing, as the Brits continued
to tinker away, to develop our styles and artistic direction.
Leanne Moden, spoken word artist, and John Clay, writer and rocker,
without your steadfast support and commentary I honestly do not
think anyone would be reading this.

These are good people, making
good art and you should check them out.

I also spent time lurking around
the online community, indulging in speculation of beloved stories,
understanding how audiences approach narrative, and watching as a
need for social change became increasingly reflected in
discussions. This can be seen in movements such as #DiversityinSFF
and the intersection of community with online activists, feminists,
writers, poets, playwrights, critics, academics, gamers and fans.
Genre is at the forefront in tackling representation, tradition and
illusions. I salute you. To the beta readers found there, not only
did our public convo distracted me from some rather dark days, your
advice led to changes that ensured tropes were examined and not
merely upheld.

After years, and edits,
and edits, and edits, I plucked up my courage and started
submitting to agents and publishers. And was summarily rejected.
Fair play, as advice pointed out, the writing was simply too
verbose and I needed to find the heart of the story. I got
critical, refined and applied a little writerly alchemy.
Open
is the fat that was trimmed from
the bones of that first draft. At first I left it to gather digital
dust in a file, until, exhausted from battling systematic failure
of social systems, loss and hardship, I wrote the words of
Olkis.

Fairy tales, within the
historical context, are arguably the origins of literary endeavour.
As told by and woven into working class oral traditions, until some
middle class white guys started writing things down. with grim
interest, often through christian constrictions. I wanted to pull
through modern awareness and philosophical musings via a framework
of fantasy, which unfortunately is often kinder than reality as
there are more shields. And magic. (Ink is everywhere.)

In the early days of my
blog my writing, perhaps a wee bit grandly, was compared to Kafka
and Angela Carter whom epitomise the blurring of lines between
genre and modern literary philosophy and who remain relevant to
this day. Carter explores the feminine, the strengths, the gendered
enforcement of roles, and sexual suppression and liberation.
The Elf King's
birds yet flutter
through modern syntax, and the teeth of misogyny bite just as
sharply. Kafka's
The Penal Colony
has an eerie resemblance to Serco's immigration detention
centres, including Christmas Island, in Australia where human
rights are abolished, and human life held with such capitalised
barbarity, that the inmates begged to be gassed. To find freedom in
death, when only half a turn of a century before such horrors
provoked a world war.

The royal house of
Rosalind has much privilege but is perhaps on par with the reality
of western wealth.
Open
touches upon class and gender with Mera and Tansy’s
friendship, on gendered expectations and privilege with Llew’s
psyche and the division of knowledge with Tomas. Then there is
Olkis, a contrasting voice who calls out from these conflicts and
offers the reader a critical prism to apply.

What is freedom? What is
reality? Illusion? Is the desire to be free a childish one?

Whilst it may not be truly
possible to be free in absolute we should at least seek liberty.
Thank you to all of those who have read and advised, to those who
have offered friendship and an ear to rant in when chaos got the
better of me. You are rare, and all the more valued for it. I
continue to write, I continue to fight. This story continues in the
OTHERSIDE:
Of Bloody
Reflections
.

In solidarity,

Ashley Fox

Twitter:
@_AFox_

Facebook: AshleyFoxReflections

Blog: ofbloodyreflections.blogspot.co.uk

Smashwords: Ashley Fox

Cover artwork, design, and
illustration using photography and Word Paint, Windows Photo
Gallery and Serif DrawPlus Starter, formatting using Mark Coker’s
excelled guide on Smashwords, and editing were done by myself as I
was too poor to hire. Leanne Moden had a hand in ironing out the
grammatical errors in early drafts, and any that remain are
entirely my own responsibility.

Stay in touch lovely
reader...