“BASILICA”
by Gio Basco
Copyright © 2017 by Giovanni Carlo G. Basco
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any money-making or credit-building scheme without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of quotations in a critical work.
For inquiries about this work, email the maker at giobastayunayon@gmail.com
Yellow-eyed Tidings
The court remained silent as the tall, yellow-eyed commander walked the carpeted marble floor, his uniform ornaments flashing under the ambient lights of the flag chamber as he strode towards the soft, lion mane chairs at the far end of the hall. He was truly a Scali-dragian; he towered over the commanders around him, men who were of decent human height, who were already half an arm’s length taller than me. The commander walked quite casually, his arms dangling at his sides easily at each step, while maintaining a solid, regal posture and a diplomatic smile.
They say people of the Scali-dragian race were descended from a peculiar mixing of human and dragon blood, which explains their height. Their dark complexion, the bright-colored eyes, and the massive strength and resistance to heat these are all said to be characteristics of dragons given to humans through a blood pact made a very, very long time ago. It is not hard to believe the United Dragon Estates is the only country to breed and utilize dragons nowadays, one of the most effective military weapons in the whole Enna-Gaea but those are not the same dragons of the old, which have knowledge and can speak to men and beasts, the ones who made the blood pact with men.
I joined a couple of Gelerdrian officials and knights who hid behind the decorative flags of the room to watch while chief Sword and Sail Commanders paid their courtesies to the Scali-dragian top brass. Upon reaching the principal seat, the commander swept the blue-and-white halfcloak covering the right side of his body and courteously kneeled in front of the Gelerdrian Lord Commander, Duradore Whitehair III who stood in front of the adjacent seat.
It is rare to witness a Scali-dragian Army commander visiting the Callyx Seat. The Gelerdrian and Scali-dragian military have been in friendly terms for more than a century now, but top commanders seldom visit personally the seat of command of each other. Usually, personal correspondences were done in other friendly countries. I guess it was a customary rule, to prevent any unintentional interpretation of the visit. I do not remember the last time a Gelerdrian Lord Commander paid a courtesy call to the Scali-dragian Army Overlord during his visit to the United Dragon Estates and they rarely do so now. Last year, a controversy was raised when five Sword Commanders of the Gelerdrian Military Forces went to the UDE for a supposed military conference with their Scali-dragian counterparts. Thousands of Suns’ worth of receipts was discovered in their official traveler’s fund list, all spent for mere lodgings and unspecified “miscellaneous” expenses. More suspicious records were traced when a fact-finding committee from the Council of Vines investigated the matter. Until today, the Sword Commanders are still being held for the unexplained spending.
“Hey, Basilica. Move.” It was my boss. I forgot why I was in there for a moment.
“You can occupy that seat beside the knight there,” the boss pointed at the empty stool ten feet away from the comfortable seats the commanders were sitting at. “The Lord Commander would want to see a scribe present today, with a sound orb at hand. Mind you, we need important points from this conversation.”
“Yes sir.” I did as I was told, walking briskly towards the chair as soon as the boss’ gauntleted hand tapped my shoulder hard. I met the cold gaze of the young knight who slightly moved sideward to give way as I plodded clumsily towards the stool. As I settled on my seat, I heard soft mutterings starting from the seated commanders in the middle of the huge flag chamber. I sit on the stool awkwardly, pulling out the sound orb from my pocket and eyeing it helplessly. I need to put it somewhere near to record what they are saying.
“You can put that there, on the post behind the Lord Commander’s seat,” the knight beside me gestured towards a marble pillar decorated by a relief of flowers and plants with many grooves, good for placing small things, say, a sound orb, on.
“Can I go near them?” I looked uneasily at the knight, who only nodded and urged me to go with those cold eyes.
I stood up and walked awkwardly towards the cloaked party, all of them sitting on soft cushions and mumbling softly, too softly I cannot hear a thing. I was about to put the orb on one of the curling vine relief carvings when I caught a bit of the conversation. It was the Lord Commander, speaking intimately with the Scali-dragian commander Wing Commander Gustvayne, the highest chief of the dragonrider division of the Scali-dragian Army.
“Now Wing General, concerning the recent naval activity of the Emerian Empire to our immediate North, we have been receiving reports of aggressive attitude…” I didn’t see the Lord Commander’s face, but I noticed his uneasy shifting on the seat, his bright green-and-gold cloak sliding a little off his shoulder to reveal a four-petalled insignia signifying his rank.
“Oh, about that…” I saw a vivid change in the bright yellow eyes of the Scali-dragian commander, as his slightly aging face suddenly turned a bit grim. I think I saw a little flicker, as if a small ember started inside those eyes, while his forehead wrinkled in deep thought.
“Hey, scribe!” the knight hissed behind me.
“Basil.”
The sound orb did not register anything audible clearly for a few minutes, even as I pushed the hearing strings deeper into my ears. I stared at the scales of the black, round thing, its scratched, old surface mute and pathetic. All I heard was static and a few more mumblings of Scali-dragian accent and a more incomprehensible sound coming from the Lord Commander. It was frustrating.
“Basil, hey.”
A sharp tap on the shoulder shook me off my hopeless attempt on transcribing what I just recorded. It was Prospero.
“What is it?” I lowered the volume of static I’m hearing to look at the plump, young man sitting in front of the next desk. He looked baffled.
“I’m sorry, I need to ask you something,” Prospero took some papyri from his desk. He fumbled with some of the pieces until he found what he wanted to show me, and then pointed at some written words on a papyrus document.
Looking at him, I thought I must have been too much of a heckler to complain of being an inexperienced scribe around here; I should have acted more professionally at the flag chamber, even if I’ve only just started, had only been working for forty days in my job as orbreader/scribe. It’s that young knight’s fault. I’m not used to taciturn soldiers, only hot-headed or funny ones. Anyway, my forty days of learning is better than Prospero’s twenty; he hasn’t memorized protocols in writing letters and papyrus document formats yet. He’s simply interested in the potential of obtaining much information around here.
“This bit confuses me. It says here in the reference that we should address Chief Sail Commander Toncross as ‘admiral’ in the letter, but officially him and other admirals are recognized as ‘Chief Sail Commanders’.”
“Hmm. Let me see,” I took several of the papyri from him and a few more from his desk, which was just an arm’s length away to my right. It appears that several letters were being passed to the Lord Commander, all asking permission to hold an audience or to even conduct a distance correspondence with the Gelerdrian Military Forces Research Center and its director, Master Solence Quill III, a gold-grade Orb-keeper. Like Admiral Toncross, the Red Admiral of the West. Apparently, he found supposed dragon weapons around his area too, just like Admiral Wakemast last winter.
I pulled my table drawer, took out the small reference scroll, and unfolded it, searching for military official titles.
“Here, look.” Prospero looked at the chart and nodded twice.
“What I don’t understand is why they use a different title in official documents,” he blurted out as he put back the papyri in his hands on his desk. “I mean, Chief Sword Commanders do not style themselves differently in official titles and calls.” He looked concerned, his wide, pale face turning serious and wondering at the same time.
“I think it’s because of the seafarers’ tradition,” I told him, completely turning off the sound orb and pulling the hearing strings off. “Sailors, pirates, merchants, and other sailing men have a universal system of titling unique to them.”
“Oh?”
“Well, anybody who owns a fleet of sails and has more than ten ships to command in the sea is called an ‘Admiral’. Under him, a ship commander is called a ‘Reis’,” I said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“That doesn’t answer my question still,” Prospero continued browsing through the papyri in his hand. “Why a system of their own?”
Yeah, why? I didn’t think of it before too, particularly because it’s just useless information to know for my work here. “Well, they have their own law and court…”
“Yes, the admiralty court, which abides by the law of the sea. I know that. It still baffles me why they must be independent at a certain level though.”
“It’s the tradition, I think.” I said helplessly. Prospero still looked hungry for answers. I just stared at him, then back at the black sound orb lying listless on the desk. “I’m not sure. I haven’t read that much.”
“Me too. Maybe I can find something around here about that,” he looked around, staring at the data orbs stored on the walls of the whole office. “One of the history reference orbs here could tell us why, don’t you think?” I felt the excitement in his voice, while he looked back at me, grinning mischievously.
“Oh man, don’t you dare tinker with one without permission from the boss. We’ll get killed.”
“It’s just a thought, don’t worry.” He smiled warmly, and then got up. “Let’s get our food ration, it’s almost break time.”
“I can’t eat yet; I have to finish transcribing the Lord Commander’s meeting with the Scali-dragian commander. It is wanted at the third turn of the sandclock after this food break.”
“You’ll still have two turns before that if we eat for an hour. Come!”
“The bastard sound orb is broken. All I hear are garbled voices. I have to listen longer to the recording.”
“We could clean the sound later, Rice the technician might know how.” He took the black scaly ball and examined it half-heartedly. “Come, for your hunger’s sake, let us eat! I don’t want to get caught in the middle of the old hags’ conversations in the mess hall.”
“Alright, alright.” I chuckled. I pushed myself up from the seat, pocketing the black orb.
The mess hall was indeed full of old women who were neither knights nor military officials; just normal citizens like us hired by the Gelerdrian Military Forces as utility personnel logues ago. The noise was already at its peak when we got there; an image-transmitting orb was turned on near the hall entrance, showing funny imageries at which a couple of knights and senior female employees, huddled in front of the projections, were laughing at.
At the far end of the hall, on an elevated platform in front of the vast wall with a huge silver and jade Flower-and-Sword themed insignia of the Gelerdrian Military Forces flanked by flags on both sides, stood the Commanders’ Table, where all office chiefs eat with the Lord Commander himself. That day, however, the Lord Commander’s seat was empty.
“Must be having a private meal with the other chiefs and that Commander Gustvayne,” Prospero quipped.
“Probably,” I walked towards the water drums at the right wall of the hall and got myself a glass. My companion has found a seat among the half-empty long tables near, two food boxes on the table in front of him. I approached and placed the black sound orb I took with me near one of the food boxes.
“Do you think the rumors were true, though?”
“Rumors?”
We’re having roasted pork with brown sauce, and a small pile of buttered sungrains and sea herbs. The smell that wafted to my nose made me regard less what my companion was saying.
“I mean the Emerian invasion. It’s all over the news,” I was busy spading down my grains and herbs when Prospero groaned. “Oh man, pork.”
“Oh yeah, they must have forgotten you’re Mok-dragon-sonwhatever. Or was it Non-Porkian? Religion thing, right?”
“Mokshan, screw you. I think I’ll just go outside to buy food later,” he said, with a wink.
“So, can I have that?” I pointed at the closed food box.
“All yours,” Prospero pushed it to me and laid his hands on the table. “I’ll just talk about something while you devour all that but listen to me, so I won’t look dumb.”
“Hmrk, g’head.” The pork skin was too sumptuous to let go for a moment to speak audibly.
“You know I’m going to ask you about the meeting, don’t you?” He took a sip of water and stared at me keenly. I look at him, mouth full, and nodded absently.
“Well, I gave you my lunch ”
“And it’s out of goodwill so there’s no need to pay back anything “
“But it’s still a good favor to pay back.”
“Ahuh, sure.” I began scooping spoonful of grain and herbs into my mouth. It’s a sad fact that they serve soldier-sized rations in military offices, even those reserved for non-military employees.
“Tell me something about the conversation, Basil.” He stared straight into my eyes, unflinching and with all seriousness. “I want to know.”
“Everything’s in the recorder.” I retorted sternly, eyes on the food I was busily diminishing.
“You must’ve heard a small bit at least.” He shifted in his seat forward, his elbows on the tabletop. “Did they talk about the Emerian warships recently deployed in the Great Bay of Gungnir last week? And what about the new fortress ships being trained for combat by the Emerian Military, were those mentioned? Oh, and that ramming incident involving an Emerian trade ship and small Mesteri patrol sails within Mesteri territorial waters? What do you think?” He spoke too fast I almost did not understand his words; the only clear fact is that his sentences were interrogative.
“I told you they were speaking in hushed voices then; I didn’t make out a thing from all the conversation just by listening.” I have finished half the roast pork, and all the buttered grains are gone. I pulled Prospero’s food box closer. He put a hand over to stop it.
“Tell me something I want first.”
“I told you, it’s all in the fucking recorder.” I pulled the box away from him, frowning.
“I’ll get the technician,” he stood up and was about to go back to the office chambers when I pointed my spoon to one of the far long tables.
“Rice’s still eating.” The fat, bespectacled orb technician, ten logues or more senior than us is busy chatting with one of the old women on the table, absorbed with a joke he seemed to be telling his companions. His food box is nowhere in sight. I was about to correct myself aloud when Prospero sat down abruptly.
“Stupid sound orb.” He gulped the remaining water in his glass, looking a bit flustered.
“It’s an old model sound orb. Five logue-old at least.” I glanced at the black orb, and then returned my eyes on the second food box. “You sure
you’re not saving this?” I glanced up at him; he was still staring intently at the orb.
“It’s as useless as a broken sword,” he said sullenly, looking at the black, scaly object resting on the right side of my empty food box. “Can we request for a new sound orb? I’m sure we can, it’s an office necessity.”
I looked at him, now at ease as I grinned. “Of course,” I said, opening the food box merrily.
I always feel a bit awkward and suspicious around Prospero, although I do not show it to his face. He was accepted here just a few days after I got in. A former Academian, Prospero Grape is a relieved student from the Gelerdrian Knight’s Academy. He got kicked out, or so I heard, because he failed the speed run exam. Our office chief, White Knight Sir Eredere, found his appeal letter and convinced him to work in our office so he can monitor his appeal’s state. I thought he was just like all Academians that I see on orbcasts cold, calculating, highly loyal to the Knight’s Code, seriously strict but he proved to be a different sort. He always asks questions, about stuff that I think if I ask myself would get me apprehended. Good thing he’s well-versed with Knights’ lingo, just like all the other Knights around. The bosses, knowing that he is acquainted with the Knights’ code of loyalty and secrecy, took his queries lightly. However, the fact that he is into military conduct did not help me relax.
“There’s this new sound orb model, I forgot what it’s called, but I found its features very good for efficient recording,” he pulled the hearing string from one pole of the small orb and stuck the earpiece in his right ear. “Dragons, we really need a new one. How far from the conversation did you place this?” he said, pulling the string off. A soft buzzing of static sound emanated from the detached earpiece.
“An arm away from the Lord Commander’s back,” the last few scoops of buttered grains saddened me as I shoved them into my mouth. “Not a very bad distance if you ask me.”
“Orbs used in this office should be upgraded. I think Rice should report this to the bosses.”
“Well about that, Sir Eredere has instructed the office branches to cut down spending. You know, austerity program and all that shit.”
“We could should¬ spend for utility stuff like these,” he spun the black, scaly ball on the table with two fingers. “That is a fair investment for the government. Unlike that new image-trans orb,” he pouted, pointing his lips towards the chair-sized silver ball in front of which a couple of old women still lingered. “That one’s a waste.”
“I know. I just hope the bosses listen to common citizens like us around here.” I sighed, and then took a swig from my glass. “Orbs are expensive.”
Orbs are expensive, but for scribing and researching duties they are absolutely important. Since orbs round creatures of different material body composition found originally in the wild were discovered to have organic bodies that can store and transmit information, communication and data archiving has improved a lot. Unlike before when papyri and ink are the staple, materials that were harrowing and timeconsuming to use, information could now be easily recorded, written, projected, and even transmitted, and so on.
But orb processing is a tiresome task; each type of orb is cultured and prepared differently and intricately. Sound orbs, for example, are preserved for a minimum of two logues inside soundless chambers and put enchantments on after being cleaned so they could become sound-sensitive enough to absorb audio information at a given signal, say, a press of a thumb. Then, hearing strings are attached to it. The process takes more than two years and a lot of manufacturing effort, which is why they rack up huge prices.
“How did you find the Wing Commander?” Prospero walked from the table and was holding a full glass of water upon his return. “I only saw him walking at the main corridor this morning.”
“Hmm… just so-so, like any Scali-dragian, I guess…” I closed the last food box and pushed it away. “He was not particularly special, yelloweyes, tall, a bit muscular…”
“As if you’ve seen a lot of Scali-dragians,” he rolled his eyes, his fingers tapping the table.
“I have, mind you. I went to a Dualian Religion Youth Summit when I was still studying at the Orb Academy. I saw a lot of them there.”
“Oh? And what did they look like?”
“Well, they really have those brightly colored eyes,” I stared at the huge stained-glass windows decorating the high ceilings of the mess hall, lingering on the warm colors, the yellows and reds and oranges bright with the sun’s glow outside. “When they became excited or wildly interested, those eyes would burn fiercely, like a glowing golden memory orb.”
“Did you see any dragon insignia on him? I heard Dragon Regiment Commanders have that. Oh, and did he have those fancy dragon bone chains on his shoulder?”
I kept thinking of the Scali-dragian Commander’s fiery yellow eyes. Why were they burning? Was he excited, or just wildly interested of the Emerian matters? What was he thinking? Or perhaps, my more specific question: why should he be excited or interested with the news? My eyes wandered across the wall, until they reached the sandclock on the wall opposite the Commanders’ Table.
“Grape. Time.” I glared at Prospero.
He took a gulp from his glass and looked back at me with a pained expression. “Uh, two turns after mid-day?”
“Dragons be damned.”
The orbs lining office wall doesn’t appear entirely interesting after closer inspection; they are mere data records of documents that passed through our office, uninteresting information without enough details. Just lists, that’s all.
Prospero was busy with his work, listening to his own sound orb filled with music while he scribbled away a letter on his desk. I was busy tinkering with the old, scaly black orb with a pointy instrument while an inked quill and papyrus lay near my right hand. Rice the office technician told me I could adjust the sound quality by poking the small hole on the orb with a special tool he lent me. The procedure worked quite well, except that the voices only cleared up whenever I poke the hole, leaving me with no free hand to transcribe what I’m hearing. “ oh, about that “
“This shit’s gonna work but I hope the bosses don’t mind nonverbatim documentation,” I sighed, adjusting the earpiece. Only patches of conversation came out, incoherent, but distinguishable, nevertheless. There are many military terms, snatches of international Knights’ lingo, some Scali-dragian political names, military projects, and things like those. My situation was hard, with the strict time requirement, although what I had then was less terrible than transcribing static sound.
“ we can provide, certainly, but matter of base commodities for economic cycling. After the world-wide economic crisis, the UDE implementing cost-cut “
The routine involved poking the sound orb for a while, listening attentively to segments of the half-a-sandclock’s turn-long conversation. Then, I would pause and quickly take down what I heard on the papyrus. Curse the old orb, I kept thinking.
“ your opinion, Commander warships? Fortress ships? Or a small squadron of patrol dragons, perhaps? no, we cannot afford direct involvement too risk keep negotiating “
The two different voices were distinct enough, although the Lord Commanders’ voice was still a bit muffled. Must be the positioning of the orb during recording, or something.
“ comes to worse? trade route safety exactly my point won’t do anything. Yet. Keep the diplomatic for covert or secondary measures? What do you think? good point “
The office sandclock said I still had a quarter turn, and the transcription was turning out quite well. I might finish in a while. I should not have worried too much; I worry too much about work, I guess. The insistent Prospero, on the other hand, has become too engrossed with his work. Good thing. No one is being nosy at present, although I doubt he’ll be less adamant for information after I finish this.
“ King Strad the Project ongoing? Yes, but with little results bone remnants? Surrendered to us, confidential information from admirals, directly to us three for reporting ah yes, Minister of Shields Master Quill? Sometime this week, maybe yes, discuss findings, the Catalogs yes, yes… “
There’s a certain quickening of speech from the Scali-dragian tongue. He did sound like a calm man at the start of the whole recording, but halfway through the conversation it seemed his sentences became quick breathed, and somewhat asking. The Lord Commander’s tone also shifted; he sounded like an old man reporting something.
I retraced the things I have scribbled, gaging the amount of information I have written as the pieces came together to make sense. I read silently, marveling at what I’ve written.
“ yes keep confidential yes, of course, we have in our possession hold court with the King himself? the Crowned Draconian himself, not a mere commander like me (chuckles) keep this within small intelligence circles yes, we can’t afford “
“Is the recorder scribe here?”
The young, snob-looking knight from the Flag Chamber appeared between the wooden walls of our office’s entrance. Both Prospero and I jumped into attention. I drew up a hand.
“I’m almost done sir, just the concluding paragraph and it’ll be “
“Get the report and follow me.” He looked at me with those I’mwaiting-hurry-up eyes. I snatched the papyri on the table and pocketed the sound orb in my garb pocket, turning to Prospero.
“Grape, not a word after this, alright? The Commander must be waiting to behead me himself.” I looked at the sandclock. I’m late, and military heads are known to dislike tardiness.
“Sure. I do not wish to see a head rolling off from this office. Religion thing, you know.”
“Not funny.” I strode toward the waiting knight who instantly bolted into a well-measured walk, like a march, the sound of his armor beckoning me to follow quickly.
“Hi, I’m Sir Glint. And you are?” The other knight beside my immediate boss, Sir Crossof, wore a chain of black dragon bone around his
left shoulder and the standard UDE military uniform. On his right chest was pinned a black, winged sword, signifying his Black Knight rank.
“Basilica, sir.” I replied meekly. I looked at Sir Crossof, hoping I could read an explanation on his face as to why I was called by the Wing Commander’s aide-de-camp. He merely adjusted his spectacles and fingered the black, leaf-like sword insignia on his right chest. Then he tried to stifle a cough but failed.
“Yes, Basilica, yes. Your boss and I were discussing certain things about you a while ago, which I think we should inform you of immediately,” he shifted in his seat to a comfortable position and sipped a little from his cup of hot, brewed black berry. “It has something to do with the conversation you documented this morning. You recorded the meeting at the Flag Chamber, is that right?”
“Yes sir,” I looked at him as he examined the papyri I handed him a while ago. He had the same, yellow-colored eyes and dark complexion as the Wing Commander. What does the Wing Commander want with the report? I looked at Sir Glint, whose eyes slowly flickered inside.
“Very well-written, scribe. Very good indeed…” the dragonrider looked up and stared straight at me. Sir Crossof coughed.
“Well, Basil, I received an order immediately after the conference this morning, through Sir Eredere,” my boss sounded serious, too serious, for the knight who would usually joke around with us in the office. I guessed it was because of the Scali-dragian knight’s presence. He’d usually turn more formal whenever a government official or a higher-ranking military person’s around. “You’re being commissioned for a re-assignment to another unit.”
“Sir?” The two knights looked at me coolly. Me? I just started working here, and now a re-assignment. The bosses must be crazy.
“Yes. The Lord Commander himself signed your commission order this morning. You are going to be transferred to the Gelerdrian Military Forces Research Center as a scribe-researcher. You really write well, if you ask me about your outputs. Good job.” He sounded grave as he said these things I almost laughed. I thought he was joking.
“At the GMFRC? But why?”
“Because of this ” Sir Glint held up the report I wrote, smiling strangely. “Where is your recorder?”
“Here Sir,” I extracted the old sound orb, feeling its old scaly skin as I handed it over. I looked at Sir Crossof again, but he remained stoic, as he started to scribble something on a parchment.
I stared at them who were both silent; the Scali-dragian’s eyes burned as it inspected the orb, while Sir Crossof, his bespectacled eyes emotionless, concluded whatever it was he was writing. “I’m done here, good Sir, go ahead.”
I remained speechless as the papyri and sound orb suddenly burst into flames on the hands of the smiling Scali-dragian knight. Everything the thin, brown fiber of the papyrus, the hardened, black scales of the orb were incinerated to dust. So, this is Scali-dragian pyromancy, I thought in awe as I watched the small demonstration of power. I thought it was just a myth connected to the dragons. Sir Glint shook off the fine dust from his hands and took the parchment Sir Crossof placed near him. He waved it slightly at the other knight.
“You can get a new sound orb for your office now.” The Scalidragian’s yellow eyes glowed with a peculiar gleam, spreading all over his grinning face. “And you, good scribe, good luck on your new assignment.”