Act 1
Chapter 9

The Archon

Within a month of returning the capital, Tyhr spoke his first word.
It sounded an awful lot like, “Tiel,” though it could also have also been, “T’bweal,” in which case his actual first word was, “dad.” Three months after that he stood for the first time, and then only four days following he was strutting around the palace like he owned it.
Though the Archon wasn’t sure how old Tyhr had been when they had first met, most everyone mistook Tyhr for being at least twice as old as he was. At one year old, people would mistake him for two, and at two, people mistook him for four. The Archon had known Tyhr wasn’t a normal child, and had been prepared for some degree of strangeness. To keep the general populace from finding out that strangeness, the Archon kept Tyhr in the company of his servants and confined him to the campus surrounding the palace.
Tyhr did not seem to mind. He appeared content to spend every passing moment poking this and prodding that. As soon as he was able to form sentences and ask questions it became the only thing he did.
“What is this for?” and, “what does that do?”
His voice was soft and gentle like a spring wind, and his demeanor was always pleasant and calm.
The Archon would respond, trying to answer each question in turn as best as he was able. Tyhr would look up with his big green eyes, the sun glimmering against the golden flecks on his cheeks, and nod, beaming with delight.
Though the scar tissue on his arms, legs, and face never healed, he scarcely seemed aware of it in his endless pursuit of new and interesting things. Tyhr payed little mind to his appearance, though he clearly had an affinity towards things that sparkled. On more then one occasion the Archon found piles of coins and silverware hoarded beneath his pillow. His appetite for knowledge was bottomless yet never grating. To the contrary, the Archon found the child endearing and, as time went on, grew ever more fond of him. The Archon was not the only one either.
Anyone who happened to come into contact with the child would typically find themselves grinning from ear to ear before long. Shidai, despite initially trying to keep himself at arms length, found Tyhr showing interest in his collection of books and scrolls enough times that the big monk eventually gave up.
“I recognize a fellow scholar when I see one,” he said one day, radiating what the Archon could only describe as pride. “That boy is something special.”
Tyhr’s attitude towards the world was childlike and filled with wonder, which made sense seeing as he was a child. Yet, the Archon felt there was more too it then that. Everything was a curiosity to the boy. Whether it was how a particular food was made, to how the mechanisms of any given device functioned. He was fascinated by things that anyone else would have considered mundane. It was as if Tyhr was cataloging everything and locking it all away for future use. What use that might be was a mystery save to Tyhr himself. This peculiarity was not lost on anyone, and was a frequent topic of conversation amongst the palace staff.
As Tyhr grew to schooling age, the Archon took it upon himself to hire tutors, informing Tyhr over dinner one night.
“Only the best for my son.”
At first he hired mathematicians, historians, and other men and women of scholarly professions. Tyhr consumed their knowledge as if it was the sweetest thing in the world. Then came farmers, craftsmen, hunters, and other tradespeople. Tyhr showed no bias towards them, and was just as interested in what they had to teach. In the beginning the tutors and instructors assigned to Tyhr were slightly put off by the boys strange appearance, but that never lasted. Inevitably, those very same tutors would be tussling the child’s hair and telling him how good he was doing. Tyhr would thank them with a smile.
Tyhr always smiled.
No one seemed to find the boy’s ever present smile concerning, save possibly for Shidai and the Archon himself. It wasn’t that the Archon suspected anything malicious, but he sensed there was something beneath the surface. Though Tyhr almost never slept, when he did would wake screaming in the night. It wasn’t from night terrors, or from fear of a monster under the bed. His screams were different, deeper, darker. They sounded like the screams of a man trying to tear out his own throat. The screams were so filled with pain and loss that they left the Archon in a cold sweat. On nights where it happened, the Archon would make his way to the boy and wrap him in a firm embrace until he would eventually calm down.
When the Archon tried to question Tyhr about the screams, the boy would just stare off into the distance, tears still drying on his cheeks, that ever present smile still on his lips.
“It wasn’t worth it,” he would mutter, over and over again.
“What isn’t worth it?”
“Any of it.”
The Archon and Shidai had also tried to question him on several occasions about the Ruby Way, but it was obvious the child had no idea what they were talking about. That particular incident, as well as how the Archon had become younger, were kept secret from the public. Rumor’s as to the Archon’s sudden youthfulness abounded, but in a world of Blood Will and Arts, it wasn’t too long before people came to their own conclusions. It probably helped that the Archon disseminated a few rumors of his own just to mix things up. There were also rumors about Tyhr, but most of them just posited that the Archon had a child out of wedlock and was raising him in the citadel.
The truth of what had happened on that fateful day was known only to the Archon, Shidai, and a select few others. The disappearance of the Ruby Way, and the mobilization of the army for more frequent border patrols, were common knowledge though, and the people were uneasy.
While all of this was going on, Shidai busied himself with research between forays and scouting missions. The big monk sank ever deeper into historical texts and folklore, but never turned up anything of substance. Shidai had his theories, of course, but they were hard to substantiate.
“There are only three things I know for certain. The first is that the round symbols on the sword and rod you brought back from the Ruby Way are the same alphabet used in Ryedyn. I can’t read enough of it to make heads or tails of the alphabet itself, but it definitely is one.” The big monk furrowed his brows, his frustrations at his own lack of progress written on his face.
“And what of the second and third things?” The Archon asked.
“The sword, well… Maybe it’s not a certainty, but I am confident. I don’t think it’s a sword at all.”
“What is it then.”
Shidai shrugged.
“Hard to say, but if I had to guess, it’s a key. There are two words written on it that I’ve been able to translate thus far based on the limited texts we have pertaining to Ryedyn, “key”, and “memory.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If I knew I would tell you. We’re entering into wild theory territory here, but I think it unlocks something in people.”
The Archon stared at his old friend incredulously.
“Are you suggesting it’s a key you stab people with?”
“Think about it!” Shidai exclaimed as he began pacing back and forth. “You and I both know that blood holds power. Blood will is an expression of our desire that manifests inside of us. Your arts allow you to make promises, or “contracts,” as you call them, in exchange for new abilities or applications of blood will. You were only able to do this after the promise you made with your wife became your driving sense of purpose, your “will,” as it were.”
“What are you getting at?” The Archon drummed his fingers against the desk, his eyes following the big monk.
“Again, it’s just a wild theory, but I think the sword unlocks something in our blood.”
“Are you suggesting that stabbing people with it gives them blood will?”
“No, I’ve tried that.”
“You did what?!”
“I assure you that my assistant is fine.” Shidai paused and held up his hands in supplicated. “It was just a little prick, and it didn’t do anything.”
The Archon rubbed at his forehead. Suddenly he felt very tired.
“And the third thing?”
“Well, if the sword is a key, then I suppose you can think of the rod as a lock.”
“Go on.”
“When applied to the body, you can’t use your arts. It prevents blood will, sort of.”
The Archon regarded the big monk, and Shidai lifted his shirt. Around his waist was a series of bandages, a spot of dry blood on one side.
“It worked?”
“Partially. It’s a suppressant. I’m just hazarding a guess, but that man you saw in the Ruby Way, the one you think is, or became, Tyhr. Whatever his arts were, I suspect they would have allowed him to escape on his own.”
“Continue looking into it.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“And Shidai?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t stab your assistants anymore.”
After Shidai had left the room, the Archon walked to the balcony and gazed down at the many colored roofs of the city below. He had a responsibility to protect these people. He had even gone so far as to make a contract. Despite that, despite his obligations, he had brought a potential danger among them. Worst of all, was that he didn’t regret it in the least. Were he to find himself in the same position again, he would make all the same choices without a second thought.
“Dad?” came a voice from behind him. The Archon turned to see Tyhr standing just inside the office, a broad smile on his face. He was covered in mud from head to toe, and in his hands he held a toad from the lotus pond in the courtyard. “What is this?” he asked. The Archon returned his smile and walked over. Crouching down, he looked Tyhr in the eyes.
“That, my son, is a very unhappy toad.”
Tyhr was an odd child.
Yet… The Archon was rather fond of the little oddity.
The more time they spent together, the more they became something of a pair.
Wherever the Archon went Tyhr was usually only a few steps behind. It did not take long for people to expect him to always be with The Archon. Gradually the questions shifted to his absence instead of his presence. This was helped by the fact that the boy seemed to understand when it was okay to speak up and when it was not. He sat in on meetings with dignitaries, meals, and even late night combat training.
Tyhr was not a fighter.
Despite his ability to excel as almost everything, he was clumsy with a weapon in hand, and as likely to hurt himself as someone else. Four years after returning from the Ruby Way, The Archon enrolled him in spear practice with Shidai, only for Tyhr to come home with a big smile on his face, a black eye, and a welt the size of goose egg on his head. When the Archon had questioned Shidai about it, the big monk has responded.
“I didn’t do it! The boy practically beat himself! I didn’t even know you could hit yourself with the butt of your own weapon. I say this with due respect, my lord, but he should stick to what he’s good at.”
Tieran was the country of scholars, and so, despite his lack of coordination or talent for fighting, he was generally accepted as a bright young star amongst his teachers. Despite this brilliance, Tyhr has a special preference for botany and biology, though he didn’t seem to attach any ambitions to them.
He was, in the Archon’s eyes, out to do whatever he wanted at any given moment.
Tyhr had no goals the Archon outside of enjoying himself, and just so happened to find learning amusing. He wanted to take life in stride, tasting everything that it had on offer. To him knowledge was more of a spice that enhanced the tasting than a means to an end. The Archon asked him on occasion what the meaning of life was, just to see what the boy would say, and Tyhr had responded with…
“I don’t know. Who cares?”
Finally, there was the matter of his experiments…
As with any true scholar, Tyhr had a propensity to test theory. Unfortunately, those tests frequently resulted in explosions and general mayhem. On several occasions the Archon had to have the rooms of his compound cleaned and scrubbed. A couple of times he and his staff had even had to put out fires. Each time Tyhr was suitably repentant and apologetic, yet sure enough he would be back at it the following day. He was often seen traipsing about the compound with a fresh burn or some mysterious rash.
“It’s for the betterment of Tieran, father,” was always his excuse. The Archon had never thought of himself at doting or prone to favoritism, but when Tyhr looked up at him with that hopefully expression and sparkle in his gaze, he always found himself folding.
Five years after returning from the Ruby Way, the Archon announced his decision to officially adopt Tyhr as his son to the general population. Most of them had already heard the rumors by that point, so the Archon no longer saw any harm in it. Tyhr was already famous amongst the denizens of Ahkari as the Archon’s unusual bastard, so removing the bastard part of the equation felt like a logical step. He also made the decision to allow Tyhr free access to the city, which the boy responded to in his typically jovial fashion.
“Now I can finally buy materials directly instead of having them imported.”
It didn’t take long for Tyhr to develop the same reputation amongst the citizenry that had been previous held by the palace’s staff, and even less time for the reputation to spread to the nation at large. Stories of the strange prince became popular among the common folk, sometimes told as anecdotes to scare children from bad behavior, and other times simply because they were amusing. Some of these stories painted him as mad, while others highlighted his generosity and carefree nature.
Tyhr was generally liked, and people began to refer to him as, “the dandelion prince.”
Yet, no matter how old the boy got, he still awoke screaming in the night. No matter how bright his disposition, he was carrying something beneath that smile of his. It was always there, just beneath the surface, struggling to get out. The Archon did not know when the time would come, but he knew that it would. Someday, Tyhr would do something impossibly risky and stupid. It would be his first foolish act among many, and when that time came, the Archon wasn’t sure how he would react.
Suddenly the sliding door behind him flew open as Shidai rushing out, panic and alarm writ plainly on the monks face. The giant was breathing heavily which the Archon would have thought impossible for the man considering his stamina.
“My lord,” he cried. “The young master is in grave danger!”
The Archon spat out his tea all over some Camellia’s.
“Damn it.”