The Eternal Revolution

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Chapter 1: Herzeg

The carriage lurched upwards as a iron wheel rolled over a stone jutting from the earth. The driver cursed but the sleek black horses marched on, their eyes permanently wide for fear of a lash carving a thin red line down their backs.

The carriage itself was an elaborate affair, a carefully decorated wooden box with small windows overlaid with a wooden mesh perched on four large wheels, engraved with effigies and religious symbols. The driver sat on a leather seat with a silk cloth spread above his head to protect him from the sun, which would otherwise burn his neck.

Inside the carriage was a collection of silk cushions, intricately woven carpets and a cupboard full of crystal glasses and wines from halfway around the world. Sat amongst the cushions were two figures - the first a tanned woman, her black hair tied into a loose bun and laced with ornaments, wearing a jeweled shawl that had been pulled down to expose a large breast. Beside her sat a man at least twenty years her senior, maybe more, with cropped grey hair that was plastered to a large head with a thick lather of grease. His eyebrows were overgrown drooping over dull grey eyes spaced far apart emphasising his seemingly bulbous nose. His face would be thin if not for the loose skin that gave him a fleshy appearance. There was an inherent, aristocratic arrogance in his posture emphasised by his pristine bottle-green military tunic lined with gold and adorned with large medals, one of which the woman fiddled with absent mindedly.

The man was Herzeg Zubak, the Vizer of Krajov. He had been summoned to the court of the Zanikoj, leader of the Soziti faith and ruler of the great nation of Variyako. The journey from Krajov had been a long one, winding through the rolling Belwaza countryside. As their destination came into view, it was a truly breathtaking sight to behold. Golden domes sparkled against the setting sun and great marble buildings could be seen peeking over the grey wall that surrounded the city. The Temple of the Zanikoj dwarfed them all, centred upon the southern road that lead into the city, its eight golden spires piercing the very heavens themselves.

Upon approach the illusion of magnificence was shattered, as past the carved Soziti stars of the wooden mesh windows of Herzeg’s carriage a mass of people, destitute and penniless, lined a dirt street pockmarked by potholes, littered with the rotting carcasses and populated by naked children clothed only in their filth.

The young woman gazed out briefly at them before turning her head away in disgust.

“Is there nothing you can do to cleanse this filth?” she said dismissively, scowling as two children chased each other down the filthy streets, taking care to avoid the piles of horse dung tucked onto roadsides.

Herzeg shrugged as he filled a gem encrusted pipe with opium. “What does it matter? There will always be these kind of people.” He sighed, as she returned her attention to him. “Intellectuals in the Ravadi will debate the matter endlessly. Nothing will come to pass.” Herzeg closed his eyes. For a pampered whore, the peasants were the most deplorable aspect of Mestata. He couldn’t blame her. They were a stain to be sure, but one of many stains. Herzeg frowned as he smoked from his pipe. He disliked Mestata. The bitingly cold weather was never welcomed. The shrill clipped accent of the Mestatans grated on the ears. The food was overcooked and tasteless. Mestatans were a slovish, dull people, to the extent that he had to bring his own company. Even the buildings were too lavish for his taste.

He glanced through the windows again. The golden spires of the Temple of the Zanikoj were in sight.

“Pass me the mirror” Herzeg commanded, waving his hand vaguely at the women as he tightened his belt. The women grimaced as he passed him a golden mirror, as Herzeg started to smoke opium through a long pipe. He peered into the mirror as the woman sank into the cushions, twirling her black hair with a bored scowl on her petite face. Herzeg smoothed his greasy hair into a stark side party, before straightening his medals. He turned to the women.

“Stay in the carriage until I am gone. The driver will pay you for your services.”

She scowled again, causing Herzeg to break out into a thin lipped smile. He donned a fez with a white, jewel encrusted feather on top as he heard a muffled voice from the outside the carriage.

“Rise for the Vizer of Krajov!”

The door of the carriage was opened as Herzeg stepped out. A glittering assembly stood in unison as a Herzeg stepped into a gilded courtyard. He gave a wave of acknowledgement with a small, delicate hand to the assembled crowd, a sneering half smile plastered appearing over his wide mouth. The crowd - consisting of the elite of Variyakoi society, associates of the Zanikoj himself - was dressed in a variety of elaborate clothing. Men bedecked in similar military uniforms stood by both their wives and concubines, who were dressed in silk dresses that exposed copious amounts of skin for the eye to see with their hair piled high on their foreheads, with their faces powered white save the blood red lipstick. They stood assembled in a large courtyard, surrounded by high wall covered in mosaics and intricate calligraphy painstakingly handpainted. Guards stood behind elaborate archways, dressed in green uniforms covered with gold embroidery with scimitars strapped to their belts. Despite air blowing into the building (glass was a rarity) the courtyard had a stuffy atmosphere exacerbated by the gloomy lights that provided the only break from the darkness of night.

Herzeg found these people sickening. Unlike himself who was privy to the hub of power, these dignitaries were more often than not sycophants who believed they, in their large country estates, influenced those who held power. Farcical. Most assembled there were landlords from the provinces, men with foreign accents and appalling manners. If he had the choice - which he so rarely did- he would leave these people to his private retreat in Krajov.

Two men, one fleshy with roughly combed black hair, the other gaunt with a wispy white beard with both possessing a chest glinting in medals approached Herzerg. “God be with you, Vizer Zubak” the fleshy man said, clutching his hand to his heart.

“God be with you, Lord Pašalić, Lord Jaković” Herzeg said in a venomous tone, repeating the gesture. The black haired Josip Pašalić, Minister for War, and Veselin Jaković nodded in approval before extending a small hand whilst Veselin Jaković stroked his beard with a pindly hand.“I trust your visit has been fruitful?” Veseli inquired, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Herzeg nodded. He had just returned from Xhangsong, the capital of the far away State of Saeyri. Compared to the bitterly cold Mestata, Xhangsong was warm and vibrant, its people less cynical, albeit its women less pleasing to the eye. For Herzeg, the trip had been a welcome change to the stagnant, hollow nature of Variyakoi “noble” life. Not that it mattered. Hopefully Herzeg could complete his business by day break so he could make the return journey home without issue.

“The expedition has yielded much for our nation, Lord Pašalić.” Josip and Veselin unlike the petty landlords that surrounded them held real power, Josip being close to the fanatical militarists close to the Zanikoj, Veselin one of Herzeg’s own confidents. Josip’s clique was full of these ghastly people most of whom were deluded in their dreams of a greater Variyako. “The Seonmi have agreed to our terms” Well, thought Herzeg, my terms. Your wretched people had no say in the matter. “But, I am tired. What is it that you have brought me, dear brothers?” The last sentence, for all its official protocol, was laced with a barely disguised mockery.

Josip double chin quivered as he handed Herzeg a yellowed document clutched in his meaty hands. “An edict from the Zanikoj himself. He has decreed that the Ravadi should be convened by the weeks end in light of the recent political developments across the globe.”

Herzeg scratched his head. “The tensions between Etruarand and Atraeth are well known. I don’t see what has changed in recent weeks.”

Josip smiled, his black teeth showing through his thick lips. “The Zanikoj has a desire to discuss matters of imperial importance. It is paramount that you attend to his summonings in due course.”

“My mistake, for my ill manners.” Herzeg bowed. “Pray tell, I wish to to retire to my quarters. It was a pleasure to speak to you my brother.” Herzeg turned, but before he could depart a quiet voice spoke in his ear.

“Brother, if you would retire to the smoking room?”

Veselin’s small eyes pierced Herzeg’s own. Herzeg immediately noticed that Veselin had a tired worn look to him, as if the life had been drained from his being. Herzeg gave a small nod, before swiftly following Veselin down a darkened corridor. Azure stone walls cast a gloomy tone as weak candles flickered in the evening air. Veselin’s medals chinked in the darkness as the pair of them walked in silence, before Herzeg whispered in Veselin’s ear.