The Second Archon War: Comoedia Glacialis 8 (Patreon)

Comoedia Glacialis 8: The Queen raises her hands to summon her Court

As-Salam palace had changed greatly in the past two months. For one thing, the entire thing was now overgrown with plant life. Not in a chaotic fashion, but in a sculpted and beautiful way that was awe-inspiring to behold, with a myriad of flowers that painted living murals on the walls and grounds of the palace. 

The other change was the name and purpose. Originally, As-Salam was built with plundered wealth from Kuwait and had been a luxurious private retreat of a dictator and his loyal servants. Now, the grounds were open to the public, with cool gardens and large libraries that anyone could visit, and a kitchen that provided food from the myriad fruit trees and vegetable gardens that flourished under the care of the aranara. 

No longer As-Salam, it was now called Bayt al-Ḥikmah, or the House of Wisdom. Some called it the Great Library of Kusanali, which Nahida was terribly embarrassed about. The library didn’t belong to her: It belonged to everyone. That was the purpose of libraries in the first place. To store and then distribute knowledge to all who sought it. 

Though at this particular moment, Nahida was having to ponder her convictions on that point. Some fruit was forbidden, and some knowledge should not be given away easily. 

“It is good to see you again, Nahida,” Fatoumata said, smiling and offering Nahida a bundle of books as Farasha glared at the American woman from behind Nahida. “I brought these as a gift, a token of our esteem.” 

“Thank you,” Nahida said, opening the bundle. She was quite delighted to find a signed first edition copy of Walden by Henry David Thoreau, several original Abraham Lincoln letters collected in a single volume along with what looked like notes from his time in office, a signed copy of Huckleberry Finn by Samuel Clemens, and very early copies of the journals of Lewis and Clark. “These are treasures indeed. They will have a special place in the House of Wisdom.” 

She looked up at Fatoumata. She was dressed in a white lab coat, with a fern green blouse and ankle-length khaki skirt, with just a bit of makeup on. Her Vision was tucked away in a pocket of her coat, visible through the fabric thanks to its faint glow. She was wearing spectacles with plain black metal frames, and she felt…at ease. At peace. That was good, but Nahida had to wonder why. Most people didn’t feel that way at all when Farasha glared at them. 

“What brings you to Baghdad? It cannot be simply to bring me books, as much as I enjoy receiving them,” Nahida said, prodding gently. She knew, of course, why Fatoumata was here. But she knew that mortals generally found it both disturbing and impolite when she simply had one-sided conversations, just because she knew everything the other party had to say. 

“I think you know,” Faoutmata said, giving Nahida a smile. “But I will ask anyway: What can you tell me of the Cryo Archon?”

Heart full of dread, Nahida slowly walked over to a bench, setting the books down, then moved over to stand beside a bubbling fountain that had small fish and frogs swimming in it along with lotus blooms and lily pads. She dipped her fingers in the water, smiling as the fish came to nibble her fingertips. She could sense Fatoumata waiting respectfully behind her, Farasha having grown bored with simply glaring at the woman, and now juggling balls of fire both to amuse herself and to attempt to intimidate Fatoumata. 

“I am not from the same world as this Cryo Archon,” Nahida said slowly. “Nor do I know her. She is Dantalion, and that is not the name of my own world’s version of her.”

“Really? So, you are not from Teyvat?” Fatoumata asked, surprised. 

“No, I am,” Nahida clarified, turning back to face Fatoumata with a frog resting on the back of her right hand. She let it hop onto her shoulder and giggled, then it splashed back into the pond. 

“Sheesh, you should wash your hands, kiddo,” Farasha commented. “Frogs are gross.”

“I will,” Nahida promised, though she disagreed that frogs were gross. They were quite charming and fun, though admittedly a human should wash their hands before and after handling amphibians. “I am from Teyvat, but not the same Teyvat as Barbatos, Beezelbul, and this Dantalion. It is much the same as Earth Aleph and Earth Bet: We have some shared commonalities but in other ways, are quite different.”

“No wonder you don’t work together then,” Fatoumata muttered to herself, then shook her head. “So, you can tell me nothing, then?”

“I can offer you some insight,” Nahida said, turning back to the pond. “Dantalion is in many ways similar to the Cryo Archon of my world. Both hail from the country of Snezhnaya, a nation far to the north, known for its harsh winters. Both were greatly wronged by Heaven. And both…both have hearts filled with grief.”

“I had been told her heart was full of love,” Fatoumata said, coming to sit down on the edge of the fountain. Farasha hastily adjusted her position to be nearer to Nahida. It was rather touching how much her mother worried about her safety, even though Nahida was in no danger from Fatoumata. She was an adept enough Vision Holder, but she hadn’t spent nearly enough time practicing the arts of combat to pose a threat to Nahida. 

“You cannot grieve if you do not love. I hesitate to draw many comparisons to the Cryo Archon I know, for they are such different people. But I can say that she is dangerous and very driven. Use caution in approaching her, for she is more ancient and terrible than you know, Fatoumata. And though she is the God of Love, her heart has forgotten what love truly is.”

“Is she an enemy of the King of Demons?” Fatoumata asked bluntly. 

Nahida sighed. “The enemy of your enemy is not your friend. That is a piece of folly that is often passed around as wisdom.”

“But she does oppose him,” Fatoumata prompted. 

Nahida met Fatoumata’s eyes. “Yes. And beware of her. For it is upon the head of the King of Demons she has transferred her quest for vengeance. And woe to any who stand in the way of that.”

“My group seeks nothing but the preservation of mankind. She would be a powerful ally,” Fatoumata mused. 

Desperately, Nahida shook her head. “Vengeance is not salvation. Hatred breeds only destruction. I have warned you to be cautious what path you choose, Fatoumata. There are no friends on the path that Dantalion treads. Only tools. Do not choose the same path for yourself.”

“I will choose any path that results in the survival of mankind. Whatever the price. You and the other Archons have given us hope that victory is possible. Now we simply need to map the path to it.”

“Be careful that the path you tread does not also lead to damnation,” Nahida warned, desperately hoping to be understood. “The Cryo Archon’s heart is full of ice. She will not be kind to mortals that are not even hers. If it will gain her revenge, she will sacrifice your entire nation on the altar of her grief!” 

“So would I,” Fatoumata said quietly. “So I already have.”

Nahida felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks. “Then you are already lost.”

“I resigned myself to not surviving the end of the world long ago. So long as I do not sacrifice myself in vain, it is a small price to pay,” Fatoumata told Nahida.

“Well, you’re not sacrificing Nahida or my family,” Farasha broke in, her eyes burning with anger that hurt Nahida to the center of her being. “Damn the world, I’m saving my own.”

“I’m well aware of your attitude, Hutah,” Fatoumata said derisively. “Be grateful that others are willing to pay the price you are not.”

“None of you need to pay that price! This is a matter for the Archons. It is our very reason for being,” Nahida pleaded. 

“No!” Fatoumata and Farasha said at the same time. They glared at one another before both nodded somewhat respectfully. 

“You first,” Farasha said. “I insist.”

“Nahida,” Fatoumata knelt, drawing out a hankie and gently wiping Nahida’s tears away. “If anyone should survive the end of the world, it is you. You represent the best hope for mankind once the world is saved.”

“And I absolutely forbid any more stupid self-sacrifice schemes,” Farasha added. “Or no more bedtime stories.”

Nahida forced a smile at that. “I hope it doesn’t come to that, one way or another. But please. Be wary of the Cryo Archon. Just because you share similar goals does not mean she has any love in her heart for you.”

“We don’t need to love one another. We just need to hate the same target,” Fatoumata said. She stood and bowed to  Nahida. “Thank you. If I may, I would love to attend one of your classes. I have others in my employ who I think would benefit from learning from you. Your class on Basic Elemental Theory looks especially interesting.” 

“You are welcome, though space is limited. Send me any applications you have, and I will review them,” Nahida promised. 

“Of course, I’ll forward them to Dr. Bashir right away. Say hello to him for me,” Fatoumata said, then stepped towards the nearest door. 

“You can depart from wherever you wish. You don’t need to pretend for me,” Nahida told her. 

“I suppose I should have expected you’d see through that little bit of theater,” Fatoumata said with a wry chuckle. She turned to the empty air, then said, “Door me.”

A portal appeared from nothing, a tactless rent in the fabric of reality. It was a rather artless way to conduct transportation, but effective if brutal. Fatoumata stepped through and vanished, and Nahida sighed. She went over as the portal closed, then gently healed the hole in the world. She’d have to bring it up to Fatoumata. Such reckless use of power showed a distinct lack of foresight. A plane would be slower, but would not harm the natural order of things. 

“I don’t like her,” Farasha said, coming over to put a hand on Nahida’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Nahida said, giving her mother a sad smile. 

“Not just because she’s an American,” Farasha added. “She’s a zealot. The sort who will do anything to achieve their goals. And that’s dangerous.”

“And you wouldn’t?” Nahida asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Difference is kid, I do it out of love. Love for you, love for your dad and sister, heck, even love for what you’re building here. Her? She’s doing it for some high-minded philosophical bullshit like the survival of the human race. And nutjobs like that will burn the whole damn world and don’t give a rip about the consequences,” Farasha warned. 

“Yes,” Nahida agreed. “I’m worried about her. And about Dantalion. Has she announced herself publicly yet?” 

Farasha shook her head. “No, but Tessa’s keeping a close eye on her. Says she’s in Mordovia, where the Sleeper is. Depending on what she does, that could be good or bad.”

“The Sleeper will awaken,” Nahida prophesied, dread filling her heart as she did so. “And when he takes the stage, he will make the world tremble at his coming.”

She had so little time. There was so much to do. Hurrying over, Nahida picked up the books Fatoumata had given her, and hurried back to the library. No matter what happened, knowledge had to be preserved. But more importantly than that, life should be as well. 

When the storm dissipated, Anatoly’s heart leapt with joy. The obvious conclusion that he and the men with him reached was that the Tsaritsa had slain the Sleeper. They all cheered, and Anatoly couldn’t help but laugh. “With this, she will have the entire nation behind her!” 

They hurried to the edge of the pit where the storm had been and peered out to see a gray and dreary landscape. A few moments later, it suddenly filled with ice, and Anatoly drew back, worried. Had something happened to the Tsaritsa? 

Then, he spied her gracefully skating across the ice towards them, and he raised a lusty cheer along with his men. But their cheers died away when they realized that the Tsaritsa was not alone: Another figure skated across the ice with her, strong and confident, and wearing a dazzling white uniform. The two of them moved across the ice like professional figure skaters, twirling about one another and carving an intricate pattern on the ice. It was some sort of four-pointed star, but with additional details that Anatoly could not make out from ground level. 

After a few minutes of skating, a stairway of brilliant ice crystals formed, and the Tsaritsa was led up the stairs by her companion. As he grew closer, Anatoly felt the jealousy that had already been festering gain a great deal more substance: the other man was incredibly handsome, to the point he almost didn’t look real. He had a steely blue gaze, a jawline so well defined it looked carved from marble, flawless skin, jet-black hair, and the physique of a Greek god. He looked to be nearly two meters tall and 120 kilograms, but very little of that was fat. 

Anatoly was not a short man himself at 185cm, but as this stranger approached he felt dwarfed, and it burned like acid in his stomach. Who was this interloper, and how dare he usurp Anatoly’s rightful place at the Tsaritsa’s side!

“Thief, this is the Prince,” the Tsaritsa said, indicating the chiseled man as they reached the top step. “He shall be one of your brother Harbingers.” 

“Hello,” the so-called Prince said, his voice a deep baritone. He even sounded like the very model of masculinity. “Ah, I am Ivan Petrov. I am…I was…The Sleeper. But I am awake now, and I serve the Tsaritsa.”

At that news, Anatoly involuntarily jerked back, as did his men. This was the Sleeper? He had imagined a disheveled, shrunken little man with evil eyes and a hunched back. But this Adonis? Anatoly wasn’t a filthy homosexual, but even he had to admit the man was beautiful. 

Despite the shock and jealousy, his mind whirled. “The Sleeper serves you now? That is…well, it could be a PR triumph or nightmare, depending upon how we spin it. The Sleeper is the most feared man in Europe. Only the likes of Ashbeast or an Endbringer are as feared as he. Has he retained his powers?”

Ivan blinked, and turned to the Tsaritsa. “I can still feel my abilities, but…muted. Do I still have them? I will not mourn if I do not, but-”

“You do, and stronger than ever,” the Tsaritsa confirmed. “You would be of little use to me as just a pretty face. The Prince must be mighty indeed, if he is to save the Kingdom.”

The Sleeper frowned, then held up a hand. A bubble of iridescent unreality formed there, and Anatoly swore, drawing up a barrier of ice and putting himself between the Sleeper and the Tsaritsa. 

“Be at ease, my Thief. He will not harm me,” the Tsaritsa said in amusement, but Anatoly did not relax. 

The bubble floated from the Sleeper’s hand, then popped against a bit of rubble, erasing where it had touched utterly. “I…I can control it!” the Sleeper said in astonishment. 

“Wanton destruction has a time and place, but more refined methods are usually preferable,” the Tsaritsa said with a shrug. “You will need practice, and I shall have to edit your script to get you perfect, but you shall be a powerful player, and an excellent Harbinger. I anticipate you will Rank highly among them, once I have gathered them all to me.”

“Harbinger?” Anatoly slowly lowered the barrier, turning halfway to the Tsaritsa, but not exposing his back to the Sleeper. 

“Ah, I have not fully explained the performance you shall render me,” the Tsaritsa said, tapping her pale lips with a manicured finger. “Well, every great play must have its players. This shall be my Frozen Comedy, and you my players upon the stage of the world. The role I have cast you in, Anatoly, is that of the Thief. Clever. Cunning. Working from the shadows to steal that which is precious. Sometimes the Thief is a villain, others a hero, but always an enigma.”

“And the Sleeper…he is to be your consort, your Prince?” Anatoly asked bitterly. Thieves were never the lovers of royalty. 

The Tsaritsa laughed at that. “I am the director of this comedy, not a player. Gods do not take mortal lovers, Thief. At least this one does not. Save your affections for Elena. Yes, the Sleeper is to be my prince: the eye-catching centerpiece granted power by Fate to fight both gods and demons. But where a Prince may die facing his foes in open battle, a Thief may survive from the shadows.”

“I will do whatever is needed,” the Sleeper said, dropping to one knee and putting his right hand to his heart. “I will serve you with utter devotion, my queen. You have awoken me from my slumber and given me back life. I can never repay this.”

“For now, simply serve me. You will learn your duties in time,” the Tsaritsa said. “Rise, Prince. For it is time for you to gather your kingdom unto yourself.”

The Sleeper looked up, confused, but then the sound of sirens were heard. “Your people approach. Go, and proclaim the beast slain, and tell the people of my name,” the Tsaritsa ordered. 

“At once,” the Sleeper agreed, standing and going to meet the approaching police. 

The Tsaritsa turned to Anatoly, who bowed to her. “And I, my lady?”

“You shall do what a Thief does best: Take to the shadows,” the Tsaritsa ordered. “Harness the men of power in this city. Bring them to me that they might swear allegiance to me. And secure the resources we shall need to begin rebuilding this place. It will be good practice for my new capitol.” 

Anatoly looked around at the devastation, then nodded slowly. “I suppose we should start somewhere. Mordovia has certainly been worse than some places.”

“And my people must know I love them. That I am here to soothe their hurts and bind up their wounds. That I will make them strong again,” the Tsaritsa stated. She looked to the Sleeper, who was gesturing to her before a crowd of confused soldiers and policemen. “You have your task, Thief. Go now and attend to it.”

Hesitantly at first, Anatoly backed away, watching as the Tsaritsa walked towards the crowd, the Sleeper bowing to her. The soldiers and police looked on with awe and terror, but raised a ragged cheer. After all, the Sleeper no longer resided beside their city, like a dragon waiting to wake up and devour them. Instead, they welcomed a far more dangerous and terrible creature into their midst. 

But Anatoly did have to admit, she was very beautiful. 

He climbed back into one of the cars, ordering the driver to take him not to the government buildings, but to his acquaintances amongst the city's wealthy oligarchs and thieves. The politicians and bureaucrats were the dog, but the gangsters and rich were the tail that wagged them. 

Hopefully, they would be more cooperative than Viktor had been. He’d make sure to have his men talk in vivid detail about how easily the Tsaritsa had executed him, and that she had awakened The Sleeper. Along with the fact that she intended to flood Western Europe with enough drugs to make them all rich beyond their wildest dreams. The stick, and the carrot. And he had the largest stick on the planet. 

The first person he met with was another cape, the one that most called Baba Yaga, or simply The Witch. Like Anatoly, she was a Vision Holder, in this case, an Electro Vision. She’d been one of the first in Russia to receive hers four years ago, not long after the Raiden Shogun had slain Leviathan. Prior to that, Yelizaveta Mirova had been a librarian working for the Ogarev Mordovia State University. After receiving her Vision, she had decided that some changes needed to be made to the city. 

Thanks to her newfound powers and her encyclopedic knowledge of botany, chemistry, and chemical weapons, Baba Yaga had made herself known as one of the most terrifying capes in the city, at least ones that weren’t the Sleeper. She’d established an iron hold over information gathering not just in Mordovia, but all of Russia. She didn’t tend towards direct confrontation, instead preferring poison, gas bombs, and political maneuvering. 

If you wanted to know something, you went to Baba Yaga. The only question was, what price would the witch demand of you?

“Well cutie, I didn’t expect to see you today,” the Witch said, smiling at Anatoly as he entered her lair. It was a large office, surprisingly well-lit, and tidy. Each wall was filled floor to ceiling with shelves of books, and her desk contained several thick manuscripts as well as two organized trays of documents and manila folders. 

“Oh? I’m quite certain you knew I was in town,” Anatoly said, taking one of the two overstuffed armchairs that sat  off to the side. 

“True enough, but I rather expected you to die when you went to visit the Sleeper. What surprised me was when you came back out,” the Witch said, leaning back in her chair and smiling coquettishly at him. Despite her name and reputation, she was a very attractive woman, somewhere around her late thirties or early forties, though she looked a decade younger at least. 

She leaned forward suddenly, her eyes crackling with a spark of purple lightning. “So.  You found the genuine article. Not just a fake.”

Anatoly held up his Vision in his palm, studying the glowing icy mist within it. “She granted me this. You heard the words when you received yours, yes? Well. She spoke them to me herself. The Tsaritsa is the Cryo Archon, and no mistake.”

“Then Viktor was even more of a fool than I thought,” the Witch said with a tisk. “One does not challenge a being like an Archon to a duel. I thought he’d have learned that from what the idiots in Japan, Germany, and Iraq tried.”

“He saw it as a violation of the Code. Of bowing to authorities, and selling out fellow thieves,” Anatoly said with a shrug. “He was of the Old Guard, and as inflexible as his powers.”

Chuckling throatily, the Witch shook her head. “Out with the old, in with the new, eh? Well, I assure you, I have no death wish. I won’t oppose her. Indeed, I have a feeling you’re here to make me an offer.”

“I am,” Anatoly confirmed. “She wants capable followers, and you’re one of the most capable people I know. I need a propaganda campaign, a message to the people of Russia that she is the savior and ruler of our nation, and that she will restore us to our rightful place amongst the nations.”

“Hmm, that is something I could do, cutie,” the Witch agreed, leaning back in her own plush chair. “But tell me, what’s in it for me? Why shouldn’t I just run off to somewhere warm and sunny and spend the rest of my days reading books while cuties like you serve me drinks with umbrellas in them?” 

“You could do that. If you were capable of leaving a center of power and knowledge,” Anatoly agreed. 

The Witch raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You could have done many things with an Electro Vision. Made yourself wealthy, generating power. Become a hero of justice, or the perfect thief. Instead, you became Baba Yaga. The witch who sits in a library while her little birds bring her crumbs of knowledge from around the world. You couldn’t put yourself somewhere where you don’t have control of the knowledge and information.” Anatoly leaned forward, meeting the Witch’s hungry gaze. “And I am offering you the knowledge of a god. To learn secrets from beyond our world, beyond mortal understanding. Serve the Tsaritsa, and she will give you all that you crave and more.”

The Witch licked her lips, then looked around her officer, her eyes roaming over the many tomes she’d collected. “What you offer me…it’s what my heart has long desired. What my true ambition is. To Know. To have the secrets of the universe at my fingertips…then make reality itself bend to my will.”

“Then agree to serve her. Help me take this city in her name, without a drop of blood spilled.”

“And after that, the country…and the world?” Baba Yaga asked in teasing tones. But her eyes were full of hunger. “My my, aren’t you a greedy one, cutie.”

“The greediest man alive,” Anatoly agreed. He stood, and extended his hand over the desk. “Do we have a deal?”

Licking her lips, the Witch stood and smile. “We do. I look forward to meeting this Tsaritsa.”

“You’ll do more than meet her,” Anatoly promised. “You’ll introduce the world to her.”