Blood and Gold: Epilogue

[jiminee]

Hey I do still exist! And here's the epilogue.
Sorry it took a while. Writer's block hit me hard, but it's finally done! I hope you all enjoy, even if it might be a bit different to what some of you were expecting. Anyway, thank you all for reading! <3
Chapter list | Map

It was 150 years ago to this day that a minor revolution occurred in the now-abandoned city of Corax.

Corax. A city that has fascinated historians for decades, given her close-kept secrets and aura of disturbing mystery that always surrounded her walls. The recent excavation of a number of documents from the palace’s library revealed a surprising amount of history that was not known. Her rise and fall from an outsiders’ perspective is saddening; those who know of her origins may believe she deserved what she got.

Corax was founded from the turmoil what we now know of as a genocide. There is no argument about it; something was sinister about that city from the start. She flourished as a mining city, the rich deposits of gold hidden beneath the desert sands drawing people from all over Aextanis, building the little settlement in a corner of the vast Orskard into a beautiful, wealthy city.

And then, I need remind nobody, she fell from grace. This is what Corax is infamous for; her wealth caused a huge decline in the price of gold, and soon became the most hated city in Aextanis.

Somewhat withdrawing from the world, the city saw many princes, some more competent than others, take the crown. When the Abaddon line came into the palace things began to look up – maybe Corax had a chance to restore her former greatness. But she still slowed, and soon crime spread like a rash through her streets.

This is Corax’s other legacy. Crime – particularly thievery – blossomed so easily in her streets that her population went steadily down, and flat-lined at a point, when only those who felt very connected to the city saw point in staying there. Hope, too, was a factor. Many believe that the reason Corax did not fall apart was the hope people had, that someday Corax might become beautiful again.

Of course, it must be said that Corax was beautiful, in an aged, damaged way. And we historians do often speak as if she was a living creature; many accounts from the time agree. She breathed with her people, and embraced them in her old, tired warmth.

It was late summer when a small group of escaped, convicted thieves, known as Naziv, famously exposed a sixteen-year long con the prince of Corax had perpetuated. After killing his father, who had kept he and his twin sister locked in the palace for thirteen years, Kara Abaddon had run the city from a detached, insider perspective. For sixteen years he held the fort, pulling the strings of the city like a puppet, and nobody thought to inquire into the palace’s silence. He killed all of the people living in the palace too, the only person he spared being his sister.

And then Erin Abaddon returned, along with a half-Grax named Zisteau (not the only Grax-blooded soul to live on in Aextanic history, but certainly the most well-known), and another man called Nebris. Zisteau was the self-appointed leader of what he expected to be a rebellion against monarchy, but turned into something quite different.

We honour those three today. Analysing source documents from the time tells us that Naziv were not accepted as heroes or anything of the like at first. Only years later did people begin to recognise the gravity of their actions.

In particular, it is important to remember and recognise that Zisteau was half-Grax. He faced a lot of prejudice as a result of just existing on this continent, and is considered a hero in the Grax community today.

This is not to forget the other important figures in the Corax revolution. Vechs, a man from Kyfez, who died in the course of events. Blame, his partner. There were so many more besides, and many died, all part of a secret guild of criminals known as the Underground.

From a modern perspective, they were heroes. They took down a corrupt and shaky system, holding together a falling-apart city with a tenuous grip. They exposed just how much treachery can go on behind closed doors that nobody bothers to open. They brought to justice a tyrant. But when it happened, you must understand, we are talking about a group of convicts, aided by a criminal group that resided right under the city. Most were unaware of its existence, and so many were angry.
But I don’t believe anybody can argue that Kara Abaddon’s crimes weren’t much larger than Naziv’s.

Corax now, is sadly deceased. She was well into a graceful sleep by the time the group Naziv scattered away from her. And then, the natural course was for those still living there to leave. Erin Abaddon declined to take the crown after her brother’s death. Having no children, the Abaddon line ended with her decision. Nobody took it after that, and Corax, in all her worn-out glory, slipped into the sands of the Orskard desert, crumbling away as her people left, themselves scattering like grains of sand in the wind.

Those who visit Corax now find it a ghostly place. Explorers love it. The tunnels below the city that once served as a miniature network of criminal activity now lie abandoned, and parts of the city sink into the hill on which it rests, crumbling into the subterranean caverns.

Sand has blown into her streets, and parts of the hill are indistinguishable from the desert. The city’s walls are worn down, and the gold that once adorned the palace’s spires has, over the years, been looted. Now, only black rooks adorn the spires, their caws dissolving in the wind.

Perhaps Corax’s spirit lives on in a way, or perhaps she has scattered to the desert and dissolved among the sands. No matter the case, everybody knows that her influence and legacy, although a frequently misunderstood one, is one of the most important tales in Aextanis’ history.

So today, on this important date, remember that it has been a hundred and fifty years since the death of a monarchy, of a city, of a community. Reflect on the fact that it was for the better, despite everything.

Danika Lense for Mes Weekly, Friday August 13, 244PA.

 ***

Danika folds the report and pushes it into a brown envelope. She hopes it’s readable – some of the pages are wrinkled and aside from that there are a few coffee-stains and shaky words where she’s fallen asleep in the middle of writing.

It’s not her best work, but she hopes it’s enough. She seals the envelope and puts it in her bag, then wipes a smudge from her glasses with a thumb. There’s no time to make a coffee before the report is due so she resolves to buy one while she’s in town, and grabs a small bag of money to shove in her bag before leaving the door.

Danika swears she isn’t usually this disorganised. She’s just tired from staying up late working on the report, besides spending all week stressing over it. Plus, the genealogy results are supposed to be ready today and her hands have been shaking from excitement over that.

Stop making excuses for yourself, she thinks as she steps out into the sunny day. The central district of Mes glows in the distance. Her house sits on the edge of the city, within walking distance. The river runs behind her house, winding around towards the city and into the sea.

Danika’s always been glad she doesn’t have to walk far. Although she doesn’t mind it, she’d rather take shortcuts wherever possible. She does now, crossing through someone’s garden and into a small lane.

This takes her to a street that leads more directly to the city, and from here she follows the street. The street, in turn, follows the river, running parallel to it, brown beside green.

Although hot winds sometimes blow in from the desert, today is softened by a cooler breeze from across the ocean. Danika’s always preferred the seaside. If her job paid more she’d buy a house by the beach.

But with the growth of Mes recently, housing has become expensive. Danika’s lucky to have her parents’ riverside home to live in, and she only has that because of her father’s merchant job bringing in enough money to keep it.

Still, if this piece is good enough, maybe Danika will get a raise, or even a job at the newspaper. She’s trying to curb herself from being too hopeful, but sometimes hope is all she has.

Her mother taught her to hope. Her mother taught her that people like her had lived on nothing but hope for a hundred years.

Danika’s lucky to have her job anyway. Even with her decidedly human features, her heritage is evident in small things, like the point of her ears or the way her nose turns up and her round cheeks curve under mismatched eyes.

She’s hardly Grax, and she often forgets that she is, but it’s there.

 

When Danika reaches the tall stone building just inside town she stops. She hates approaching it because even the impressive façade sets a standard that taunts her to try and reach. Polished stone, rows of windows, columns at the entrance.

Still, she grits her teeth and goes up to the dark wood door, pushing the golden handle down to enter.

Inside is even grander. Beyond the tall columns and shiny marble floors, the most intimidating thing to Danika is a simple wooden desk with a woman sitting straight-backed behind it.

Danika realises she’s shaking as she walks towards the desk. The receptionist looks up as she approaches her, and Danika knows she’s taking in her appearance, her hastily thrown together outfit that she hopes looks professional enough, the worn leather bag beneath her shaking arm.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m er, Danika Lense? I’m an independent historian and I was asked to write a report on Corax for the anniversary?” She says it like a question, fumbling in her bag for the envelope.

The receptionist nods sharply once. “Sure. Hand it over.” She has a name tag that says Jessie on it.

Danika inhales as she passes the envelope over the desk. “Thanks… Jessie.”

“No problem Miss Lense. Is this your first time writing for Mes Weekly?”

Danika nods. “I – I hope it’s good enough.”

“I’m sure it will be.” The receptionist smiles.

She’s kinder than she looks.

Danika practically runs out of the building, but keeps up a walk until she’s out on the street. She exhales, and giggles.

She doesn’t know why. But she’s done it, something she can hardly believe.

Danika’s heart has no time to slow down as her next stop is the genealogist. Again, she’s trying to stop herself from hoping too much. It’s likely she’ll be disappointed.

But still.

Danika walks further into town where the buildings get denser and the crowds do too. Danika keeps a firm hand on her leather bag and the other on her glasses – they’re constantly in danger of slipping from her face – as she steps through the street.

The genealogist is in an office in one of the newer buildings, those that are growing taller and taller as Mes expands. Danika has often wished she lived before all this growth happened, before the city grew so crowded and work became harder to find.

She steps into the building and takes the stairs up to the third floor, running out of breath almost as soon as she mounts the first flight.

She knocks on a door and is greeted immediately by the smiling face of the genealogist. He’s unsettlingly human, as if he tries harder to perform his human-ness in the face of people like Danika. He’s older than her but his skin is perfectly smooth, his smile practised, his blond hair carefully combed.

His neatness always catches her off guard, despite having seen him several times before.

“Lense,” he says. He always calls her by her surname with no ‘Miss’, unlike the receptionist. At first she wasn’t sure whether or not to do the same, but eventually settled on doing so. He seems not to mind.

“Hey Clarke.”

“I’ve finished your full genealogy report. It’s very interesting, but I’m sure you were expecting that. Come in.”

He pushes the door open fully and she steps into his office. Once again it’s too clean and neat. Danika wonders where he stores things, for beyond a chair, and a wooden cabinet behind his small desk, there doesn’t seem to be any other furniture in the room.

She sits down on the chair at his gesture and he sits behind the desk, pushing a fat envelope towards her.

Danika E. Lense. The name on it is typed.

Danika doesn’t know many people that have a typewriter.

“Want me to go through everything with you?” Clarke asks, steepling his fingers as Danika’s own tremble, picking up the envelope like it’s more precious than gold.

She nods. Her glasses slip again.

“Okay. Go on, open it.”

Danika opens the envelope. Inside are two wads of paper, clipped together.

“Your father’s line is there too. Interesting, but probably not as interesting as your mother’s.”

Danika nods again. She’s only ever cared about her mother’s line. She puts the papers with her father’s name to the side, and holds the one with her mother’s name in front of her.

Electra Lense.

Clarke’s face is unreadable as Danika scans the first page of the report, hardly reading the words. She’s more interested into getting to the family tree, the easily laid out diagram that will tell her exactly what she wants to know.

Clarke stays silent as she goes through the pages, mostly full of explanations and sources. In the centre of them is a folded page.

She opens it. At the bottom is her name, beneath the sepia photograph of her face – her headshot. Above that, her parents.

She’s tempted to look straight to the top of the page, but she curbs her curiosity and traces a finger along her mother’s line, noticing the fractions underneath indicating how much Grax blood is in each generation as they recede.

Her heart jumps as she reaches the top. She hasn’t kept track of how many names back she’s gone, but there it is.

Zisteau [surname unknown]

½ Grax

­“I knew it!” She hears her voice squeak as it reaches the end of the sentence. “I’m related to him!”

Clarke nods slowly. “Look.”

He points to the name beside Zisteau.

Kurt J. Mac

Human

“Wait, wait…” Danika frowns. She’s heard of Kurt before, but this confuses her. They’re both male. She pushes her glasses back up and inspects the name below theirs.

Seren V. [Surname unknown]

Grax

“I don’t understand.”

Clarke sighs. It’s a short, clipped sigh. “Although you are directly descended from Seren, Zisteau’s adopted Grax daughter, you have no blood connection to Zisteau himself. Sorry.”

“I didn’t know he married Kurt Mac,” Danika says. Her eyes widen as she looks at the names again. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I don’t know how they met, but congratulations. They adopted a full-blooded Grax child and raised her as their own.”

“Hold on,” Danika says. “A full Grax, you say? How did she get from her homeland to here?”

“I don’t think she did,” Clarke says. “Not at the age that she was adopted, anyway. From what I’ve found, there’s a lot of evidence to suggest she was born and raised in her homeland. She emigrated to Aextanis at around age twenty. Suggesting…”

“Suggesting I was right!” Danika’s voice squeaks again. “Zisteau and, and the others did escape to Peyal!”

Clarke nods. “Another thing. You may have guessed, but her middle name was Vechs.”

Danika’s mouth drops into a small ‘o’ shape as she places a finger by the V in Seren’s name. She’s read enough about Vechs to know that he meant a lot to Zisteau.

“Thank you!” she says, meeting Clarke’s clear eyes. “Can I take this home? I’ll have a better look.”

“Sure. If you have any questions come and see me,” he says. Danika stuffs the papers back into the envelope with trembling hands, standing up too quickly. She says thank you several more times before leaving, her whole body shaking as she leaves the building.

Blyx, she curses as she descends the wide steps into the street. She’d agreed to meet her best friend after picking up the family tree, and now realises she may have kept him waiting.

She turns down a street that leads towards the beach, breathing in the sea air as it slowly drifts over the city. She pushes the envelope into her bag with some difficulty, tightening the leather straps for safekeeping.

She and Cay have been best friends ever since they were thirteen. They share the mutual understanding that comes from being slightly different. Cay has background that’s not human either, his own being from the Demons that began moving to Aextanis not long ago.

He too, gets the treatment of judgemental gazes and condescending language that Danika knows well. Towards him, they are usually provoked by the two small horns protruding from the sides of his head, although he tries to hide them with his hair.

Because of this, Cay and Danika have stayed friends even out of school.

When Danika gets to the end of the street, it opens onto a boulevard parallel to the beach, a wide grassy lawn between them. The beach is really just part of Mes’ large harbour, where cargo and passenger ships come in and out all day.

Danika spots her friend sitting at a picnic table at a rise in the lawn. She’s a little out of breath when she gets to the top and sits opposite him. The wind whips his blue and black hair back, exposing the stubby horns he tries so hard to hide.

Her own too-long wild hair lashes against her face, and she reaches to tie it back into some semblance of a ponytail with the band around her wrist.

“While I was waiting I took the liberty of buying us both ice creams,” Cay says, handing her a dripping cone. “I also took the liberty of taking a few bites of yours.”

“Thanks,” Danika takes the coffee-flavoured ice cream and eats it distractedly while she fiddles with her bag.

“You got the goods?” Cay raises a pierced eyebrow.

“I got it,” she says. “I also delivered my report to the newspaper.”

“Good on you! They’ll love it.”

Danika slaps the genealogy report on the table. “I really hope so. I mean, it surprised me when they asked me to write it. Me, a kid barely out of school.”

“You’re not a kid,” Cay says. “You’re twenty. And you’re the leading expert on Corax around here.”

“I’m not,” Danika says. “Although, I might be the leading expert on Naziv. I might also be the descendant of Zisteau’s adopted daughter.”

Cay’s other eyebrow shoots up to meet the first. “Really?”

Danika pushes the envelope towards him. “Please don’t drip any ice cream onto it.”

Cay stuffs the rest of his lemon sorbet cone into his mouth and wipes his fingers on his shirt, reaching for the report. “Okay.”

“You’re inhuman,” Danika mutters.

“Tell me about it.” Cay opens the report and scans the front page. “Alright where’s the good stuff?”

“In the middle,” Danika says. “The folded one. Family tree.”

Cay unfolds it. “Okay, I’m too impatient for this. Just tell me where to look.”

Danika sighs. “Top left corner.”

Cay narrows his eyes at the paper then widens them again. “Well then, it’s true. Wait. Kurt J Mac? That Kurt J. Mac?”

A smile creeps onto Danika’s face. “Yeah.”

“Oh my- are you serious? Zisteau and Kurt?”

“Keep it in your pants, Ganymede.” Danika only ever uses Cay’s surname when she’s joking.

He narrows his dark eyes at her. “I’m just finding out that you’re descended from not only your hero but mine, so I shall not ‘keep it in my pants’, Lense.”

Danika giggles. “Not directly descended,” she reminds him. “They adopted Seren.”

“Well that’s just better,” Cay says. “Means they chose to be your ancestors.”

“That’s not how it works, Cay,” Danika says, still laughing. “But yes, it’s pretty amazing. I can’t believe it.”

“The greatest Grax hero and the father of astronomy. What a pair.”

“And their descendant is me, a socially awkward half-blind amateur historian who drinks too much coffee.”

“The greatest historian of our generation,” Cay corrects. “Who’s soon about to get her big break in the newspaper and then get a job there as a journalist and travel the world.”

Danika snorts. “I’m content to stay here and research Zisteau and Naziv.”

“Whatever, Lense.” Cay smiles at her. “Whatever happens, you’re going to go far. Buy that beach house you always wanted.”

Danika looks out at the bay, the ships still coming in and out, kids playing on the beach, gulls cawing as they fly overhead.

She finishes her melted ice cream and draws her feet up onto the bench, looking at the family tree sitting between she and Cay. A breeze threatens it to blow it off the table so she grabs it, holding it before her face for a second to stare once more at the names right at the top.

Her hero. The Grax who exposed Corax, the greatest to ever live in history. The one who gave her hope.

She folds up the paper and pushes it back into the envelope, that going safely back into her bag. She knows as soon as she gets home she’s going to research Kurt, find out if he’s ever written about Zisteau. She makes a mental note to ask Cay if he has any biographical works about the astronomer.

For now, she’s going to mull on the fact that her ancestor was raised by her hero. It’s perhaps not as important as she’s making it out to be, but it excites her. She wishes she could have met Seren, but she knows that’s not possible.

For now, she’s going to hold the thought in her heart, and remember Zisteau; her own secret memorial for him, for his adventures, and for what he did.

She turns and looks towards the sea and thinks of Peyal, as always, wondering about the past.

Comments

sadie sol

[(Anonymous)]

interesting interesting

[(Anonymous)]

That was amazing. But I have a few questions. Is Etho mentioned in the history books? Or Guude? Did Erin, Nebris, and Arkas stay with them, or did they all go their seperate ways? This is one of my favorite series, and I hope you continue to write great things like this. (::) (::) (::) (::) (::)
-Observing Anon

[jiminee]

Thanks, I'm glad you like it! That's a really nice compliment, and it made me happy. ^-^
There are some things you'll have to decide for yourself; I'm happy with any and all reader interpretations of the ending. It's left open for a reason c:

[(Anonymous)]

Ok then. Just so you know, they are now all reunited happy ghosts who still go on adventures.
-Observing Anon

[jiminee]

Good stuff! *claps*

[scara]

Excellent Epilogue Jimmy :D

[ruddiestbubbles]

I KNEW KURT AND Z WOULD HET TOGETHER!!!! *giggles and dances happily*

But, this was an amazing story and I'd love to see a sequel where maybe she does research and maybe goes to Corax????

[jiminee]

A/n: It has come to my attention - oh no it was /brought/ to my attention, by people who actually wear glasses - that one does not simply wipe a smudge with their thumb
er sorry about that, glasses-havers

[ruddiestbubbles]

It really isn't that simple >.< wipping it only makes it worse

[sunsetmondays]

-wipes teary eyes and gives a round of applause-

[jiminee]

*blushes gently and bows*

[tanadin]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA <3