9. The Living Torches
Accounts about this dreadful period vary. Tresmo didn’t experience most of it.
Some historians, like Sinnika, write that Empero went on a mad spree. Whenever asked about anything, he now decided to blame the Krystians. This new religion had never been particularly liked, but actively murdering innocents because of their belief was unheard of for the Amor empire. It was a disgrace. It was terror.
Other historians however … go even further. They continue the narrative of Empero as a mad scientist, who merely played with fire—and lives—to continue his experiments.
As he paraded through Amor, he sent soldiers to search all the homes and drag out any Krystians. Several thousand of them lived in Amor, but many had wisely fled the city months ago.
And when the soldiers came back, dragging with them a rabbit child, or fox parent, or hedgehog grandfather, Empero would do the unthinkable.
He set them on fire.
Along Amor’s main road, which stretched from one end to the other, Empero placed his “living torches”. Burning animals, neatly spread out, to light up the night. He was immune to the screams and pleas of his citizens, Krystian or not, and laughed gleefully as he created the Lane of Living Torches.
Entire districts of Amor fled the city, afraid of what Empero might do next. Even faraway cities within the Amor Empire heard of this dreadful event and declared that “Empero was not their emperor anymore”. The northern territories were the first to cut themselves off, and even march on the city to kick out Empero themselves if needed. The Elite in the Senate, all of whom were rich and owned their own provinces in the empire, were preparing to do the same.
As Empero cannibalized his own city, he was mumbling and muttering. Theories. Realizations. Accusations.
All his life, he’d been controlled by others. His mother Gatagrip had whispered her own plans and wishes in his ear. She had groomed him since birth to want that throne, whatever the cost. Then Sinnika came, and pretended to be a tutor and guardian, but he whispered in his ear all the same! All that talk of freedom, and moral code, and giving slaves more rights—only for those slaves to plot to kill Empero based on false rumors!
Whatever Empero tried, Gatagrip would be there to pull him back in line. Whatever Empero tried, Sinnika would be there to yank him back into a jail cell of “morals” and “being a wise emperor”. It was exhausting. Those days, as he created the Living Torches, he felt as if he could finally let go. Be himself. Be his true self, and enjoy the power of the emperor. No more yanking back. No more trying to go one way, only for whispers to pull him back in line. Like … like a dog on a leash! Empero was no dog!
He wondered … he started to see for the first time …
As the final Krystian burned, the number of torches reached one thousand. One thousand. One thousand innocent lives gone. If anyone had floated through the atmosphere then, an unfortunate alien or surviving godly bird, they might have seen Amor as the brightest speck on Somnia.
And Empero stood next to his victims, and watched them die. Muttering. Eyes glazing over.
Heat and light. Light and heat. Always together. By setting something on fire, you received light for free.
Indeed, dear reader, even as Empero unleashed terror on his own folk, his mind merely saw it as an experiment and was drawing conclusions. Perhaps it was this fact, the casual nature with which he killed others, that pushed the final Elite over the edge.
Empero noticed that his Living Torches burned in different colors. They were orange and red—mostly, magical beings could burn in different colors. But thunder was bright yellow, as was the sun.
But … different things burned at different temperatures. The heat seemed to determine the color and intensity of the light. As Empero unleashed terror on his own folk, his curious mind made a connection. All things have a temperature. So, logically, shouldn’t all things always be emitting light? It’s just that much of the light is in a color that they eyes of wolves and foxes can’t see.
“Eureka!” he yelled. “Call Sinnika here. Tell my teacher to come—I have new knowledge for him!”
His soldiers were quick to obey, despite their growing dislike of the emperor. They didn’t want to be added to the Living Torches themselves. The Elite still listened to him as well—there weren’t Krystian, so why would they care?—and had no trouble fetching Sinnika.
As his tutor approached, slowly, his beard sweeping the floor, Empero saw him as he was for the first time.
Old, yes.
Also a slave-loving, fire-setting, Krystian-helping, lie-writing traitor.
“Oh Sinnika,” said Empero with a soothing voice. “I’ve improved my theory of heat and light. Come here, let me show you.”
“That is great, my boy,” he said. His words were calm and calculated. “But I refuse to discuss this further unless you stop this madness!”
“What madness? I have punished the ones responsible for setting Amor on fire. A good emperor doles out justice.”
“Where is your proof?”
Empero’s smile dropped. With one leap, he was in Sinnika’s face, and his old guardian was too slow to respond now.
“Where was your proof,” he whispered, “when you accused me of setting Amor on fire on purpose?”
“I did no such thing. I merely write—”
“Your truth. Not the truth.”
“If that were so,” said Sinnika calmly, “why would I ever write any ill words about myself? Why would I ever go against you, knowing it might cost me my head?”
“Perhaps …” Empero looked at the man who had been his guardian for all his life. The one who taught him the sciences, taught him to philosophize and explore, taught him how to be a good emperor. The one who would sit in father’s vacant chair during banquets, and who would help him escape from Gatagrip’s foul clutches. “… you are far more stupid than I ever could have imagined.”
“My boy?”
Empero ripped the final Living Torch off of its wooden post, and threw it at Sinnika.
The old fox ducked away just in time. He fell on the floor and rolled to the side, snapping a bone and struggling to get up.
“Help! Someone help!” yelled Sinnika, but the soldiers were still far away.
“Your whispers have soured my reign long enough!”
A solder approached Sinnika to help him, but Empero used his strength to push the soldier away and steal his sword.
“My whispers made you blossom!” cried Sinnika, his face contorted. “For just a little while, you were the best emperor we ever had! But the moment you stopped listening to my … advice, was the moment it all went wrong.”
Empero could not hold Sinnika’s gaze. Somewhere in that mad heart, a spark of love for his tutor was still left. He raised the sword high, but couldn’t make himself bring it down.
“Please! Help!” yelled Sinnika again, crawling backwards over the cobblestones. Only the Living Torch gave light, and it took only several steps to vanish into darkness. “At least give me tablets on which to inscribe my will. My considerable wealth should go to my wife—”
“I will not give you anything any longer!” screamed Empero. “I am emperor, not you!”
Several soldiers had now arrived, but they kept their distance. A wide semicircle around Empero, as if they were more likely to protect him than Sinnika.
“Where,” asked Sinnika again and again, to everyone around him, “are your morals now? Your maxims of philosophy? So many years’ study against the evils to come? Who knew not of Empero’s cruelty? After his mother’s murder, and all other family members …”
Sinnika was out of breath. His old body gave way and he sunk deep into the cobblestone street. His voice was a sob held back. “… nothing remains but to add the destruction of a beloved guardian and a tutor.”
Empero swung his sword. But he couldn’t bear to kill Sinnika himself, at least that’s what the soldiers later claimed. It became an awkward swing, misplaced, the sword rolling out of Empero’s jaws, which merely gave Sinnika a nasty cut.
Sinnika would bleed to death, but very slowly, and Empero didn’t have to see it happen.
Before Sinnika passed away, he scrambled to write down what happened here tonight. He finished his current work, creating an impressive legacy of writing and philosophy. He tried to steal back Alix’ book Studies of the Universe, as Empero was not worth it anymore, but the emperor had the book with him at all times.
In the end, his final achievement was one of revenge, a major stab in Empero’s heart. His writing spared no page in describing how Empero was the worst emperor there ever was, and certainly had to be either reviled or forgotten.