A Tale of Three Lives, An Austur Novel

Prologue

The Lord of the House paced back and forth in front of his bedroom like a caged tiger. His nerves were shot and his emotions frayed. He ran his aging hands through his dark raven colored hair. A million thoughts raced through his frantic mind, and his formal, sharply cut goatee seemed to develop more specs of gray by the second. He had no doubt, that by the time his son was born, his hair would have morphed into a crown freckled snow. While his retainers had tried their best to calm him, to assure him everything would be fine, that the Lady Maria would give birth to a healthy heir, they had long since ceased doing so. They had chosen- quite wisely- to give the tiger space, and let him stalk and roam.

He, being the Lord and Master of the greatest house in Shiryu, knew much more than his retainers, as was rightfully so. And it was this knowledge, this hoard of information, that plagued the Master on the happiest day of his life. He was aging. As much as he loathed to admit it, as much as he could claim otherwise, he was aging. His muscles were prone to stiffness after a normal day's workout; he could not wield a blade or shield as well as he once could. His eyes had begun to rebel against their owner, and he could no longer spot the sparrow in the distance, against the dark treetops, or pull the bowstring back far enough to make the shot. For the first time in his almost five decades of life, he could not hit the mark when he fired an arrow. His belly had found the sudden need to bulge, if only slightly, and his armor- armor that he was feared far and wide for- was not as loose and fitting as it had once been. He knew this. And his enemies knew it too.

While his retainers and kin saw this as a wondrous occasion- And that it was, make no mistake- he also saw it as his House's darkest day. For the past thirty years, ever since outlasting his older relatives in the timeless game of thrones and words, he had been building his House and expanding his legacy. He had claimed the seat of power before his first shave, and his iron grip on the armrest had never lessened, even once. He had warred and fought, bled and cried to make his House what it is now: the greatest lineage in Shiryuan history. His dream to unite all of the Great Houses under a single banner, the banner of the First Dynasty, the banner of the Oda, was finally nearing fruition. And now, after trying for years and years, after pleading with the Gods every night, after his own wife had been unable to produce an heir, he was to finally have a son. His son. The heir to his legacy. But still, he knew. This was his one chance, the Gods would not grant him another. If something were to happen to the babe, his House would die with his son. And while his son would eventually become his greatest triumph and lead his country into the future, for now, that tiny child would be his greatest weakness. His enemies would not stand to see an Oda on the throne of Shiryu; they would burn his House, nay, the entire country to the ground first. And so, until his son could fend for himself, until his son possessed the strength to lead and rule and conquer and fight, the tired and sore arms of his father, Oda Nobukatsu, would have to shield him from his enemies.

The cries of his mistress and consort, the beautiful Lady Maria, suddenly ceased. Fearing the worst, he burst into his chambers. As he did so, his heart leapt, and his thoughts scattered, as relief washed over him in waves. The Lady Maria lay panting in bed, sore and exhausted, but smiling and unharmed. She held his son in her pale, slender arms.

"Come, Master Oda, and hold your child," said his lady, her smile every bit as serene and beautiful as Lady Mecia, the moon goddess for which she was named.

The great warrior approached tentatively, listening to the cries of his babe, fearing something was wrong with the child. "Why does he cry?" He asked the nursemaid, startled. The nursemaid, an elderly woman who had served his family for nigh on seventy years, delivering and nursing untold babes, merely smiled. "Do not fret, my good Lord. That is a good omen. Your child is healthy and full. You have nothing to fear."

He trusted her words above all others in these matters, and so he sighed. She had even been the one to nurse him, when he was but a babe, and while she could nurse babes herself no longer, if she said his son was healthy, then her word was as absolute as the goddess of fertility Herself. The Lord Oda accepted his son from the arms of his mother, holding the boy gently, carefully, terrified he might drop him. The babe was so small... Had he ever been that small? Surely not.

The boy paused in his wailing and looked up, blinking. He looked into his son's eyes, eyes that were a beautiful, dark blue, like the ocean under a starry night, and he smiled. Everything could not have been so perfect, not if the Lord of the Heavens Himself had come down from his starry throne to bless the birth. All was in order; his wife and next of kin were present to witness the Naming. His retainers were on hand to record the babe as the heir to the House. His chief nursemaid was present to offer advice, and should something happen, and her handpicked nurse- a sweet, young thing of bright golden hair and kind brown eyes- was there to offer the Lady Maria relief. The Oracle and Seer of House Oda, an ancient, wise woman, was there to interpret the babe's destiny in place of the Gods.

"My Lord, have you decided on a name?" Maria asked, reaching out to link her hand with his. Her forehead glistened with beads of sweat, but she could not have appeared more happy.

Lord Oda gave it some thought, and inclined his head. "I have, Mias," he said, using the Shiryuan word for precious. "He will be known as Vincent Oda, my priceless treasure. By the power I possess as Master of the House of Oda, I name him Rightful Heir to all I own, and to all I will own. And to him, I give the future. To him, I give the land of Shiryu."

It was a bold proclamation, and it did not go without a few shocked looks from his retainers. He had just openly declared his intention to conquer the land, in front of many witnesses. The Lord Oda scoffed at the thought. Any fool would have known his intentions beforehand; had they not gone to war for it already, and on several separate occasions? But declaring it in a Naming Ceremony was, perhaps, an even stronger, possibly stupider move. The Ceremony of Names went as far back as the Great Houses themselves. It was an ancient and powerful tradition, and it was always invoked under the oath of the Gods. Just now, he had made the first real step towards a unified country.

"Are you sure?" Maria inquired hesitantly, suddenly bashful. "Vincent is a western name... Would it not be prudent to name him after your Ancestors, as tradition dictates?"

He shook his head, now more sure than ever. "I will lead this county into the future, Mi'Mias, and our child will be the Harbinger of that grand new age. An age where tradition is second to the people it serves. An age where technology and ideas will rule, an age where outdated customs and hypocritical laws will have no place. In this new Shiryu, foreigners and outsiders will be welcome, and their trade will be encouraged. Our son... He is the personification of those beliefs... Of our beliefs. He who is both Cleatian and Shiryuan, foreigner and not, shall be the first Emperor of Shiryu."

A few retainers gasped at this, but he paid them no mind. With the Naming almost complete, Lord Oda handed his newborn son to the Oracle. He waited in breathless anticipation for her to pass to pass the judgement of the Gods. The babe smiled and cooed, clawing affectionately at the old woman's rough hands. Then, the Oracle's eyes went dark, her pupils disappeared, and she spoke in the collective voice of the Fates, magnificent, and terrifying.

"When Lady Moon blushes crimson, and the Waters of the East run red with the blood of man, he who is born of both God and Mortal shall inherit the land of the Rising Sun."

"His power will eclipse the Heavens, and hurl his place of native birth into an age of unprecedented darkness. The Gods themselves will fall before him, and Lady Plague will rise to claim what is rightfully hers. Her wrath will sweep across the realm, laying waste to all, and reducing the world to ash."

"He shall be named Lazarus, God of Death, who has risen from the beyond, and his word shall be law. He will be granted the Knowledge and Truth of all things, and to him, the land of his mortal mother will rise or fall."

"He shall rule the Land of Rock and Fire, and he will bring about it's destruction. They will call him Genocide, and they will call him Savior."

"When West and East doth meet, and their two Suns do wed, the Eternal Serpent shall be born anew, and the Old Ones shall return once more. The World Tree will burn, and the Stars will lose their light. We, the Fates of all, mark this day as a Day of Omens. We celebrate and bemoan the birth of the one who is destined to destroy us."

The Oracle's eyes returned to normal, and the Fates left her. The room was silent. No one dared to speak. The Oracle returned the baby to his mother. And then, as prophesied, all of chaos was turned loose.

The Oracle suddenly screamed and collapsed. All around him, desperate cries of fear arose and were given voice. His loyal retainers called for the death of his only son. His kind and gentle mistress looked terrified and refused to hold her own child. His proud and noble wife fainted, and the old nursemaid's hands shook, hands that had delivered a thousand mewling babes. Rage and fear consumed the old master; anger and rage against the Oracle and her prophecy, rage and fear for his mistress and his son, his family and his House. But most of all, he raged against the Gods who had cursed him so. And in his grief and fear, he did what most would: he raged against those closest to him, for he could not strike the Gods.

"You broke faith with me with a God?!" He bellowed, railing on the mother of his child, the woman he had swore to love for all eternity. "You shared my bed and opened your legs FOR A GOD?!!!!"

"I did no such thing!!!" Maria wailed, tears streaming down her face. "I have always been true to you! Always!!!"

He was mad with grief, true, he had just heard the words that would doom his family, his life and dreams, and his only son. But that was no excuse for what he did next. "Guards!!! Guards!!! Take this Western w**** and hang her from the courtyard! I want her gone!!! Now!!! NOW!!!!"

His retainers tried desperately to stop him. They crowded around him, pleading with him for reason's sake, for mercy's sake, and they were met with harsh words and spit and fists and the butt of his sword. The guards swarmed in, their expressions a mix of horror and reluctant obedience- they too had families! They loved Lady Maria dearly, but they and their families would be executed for high treason if they disobeyed!- and the guards dragged her from her bed, naked and bloody.

"Please Katsu, don't do this!!!" She begged, and her pleading fell on deaf ears. They dragged her into the hall, kicking and sobbing, and he watched them go. The young nursemaid took opportunity of her Master's momentary distraction, and she grabbed the young heir, who was sobbing uncontrollably. She ran with him, thinking only to spare him from his father's madness.

And in his madness he raged and raged, until finally he was spent, and his rage turned to sorrow upon realizing what he had done. He rushed to the courtyard, but it was too late. He sank to his knees and wept, as her body dangled limply beneath a scarlet moon. He wept for days and nights, and the Gods themselves heard him. Death came to him shrouded in the blackest night, and her mocking laughter echoed across the stone walls.