The North PacificBoard

Nadir sat beneath a grand pergola that stretched down the long and wide balcony of his personal Villa on the very fringes of the Thelenassian domain. To the north, south, and east, nothing but the endless sands of the Zaragoysan Desert- separated by thin lines of civilization that grew increasingly sparse the deeper inland it went. A light rain, far from the hard rains of the Monsoon season, sprinkled down upon his estate; not wetting, but mere moistening, everything it landed upon. But under the dated yet beautiful pavilion, where the winding vines of desert plants slivered around and upwards, he enjoyed the quaint rain from afar.

The smoke from his cigar fluttered upwards into the roofed pergola before slipping out through a raised gap in the room or assimilating into the open air. It was a quiet, bonny evening, and his dear friend and trusted shaman, Thabit of the Pale Heavens, had just departed after meaningful conversations of philosophy and leadership. During this conversation, Nadir retold their last meeting at his home within the Capital- and informed him of the premonition he had later that night. An Archial, Arama- an indescribable figure clad in white, wearing a silver native Hyena Mask and holding a similarly silver spear- how the Archial had warned him of the influence of greed and corruption, and the inevitability of whatever was to come. Nadir’s mind couldn’t help but flash back to the concerned face of Thabit’s as he recalled the vision as he sat alone, looking towards the setting sun.

Every passing day, with every major decision he made, whether he made it towards political allies, or his friends or family, the vision of the Archial would flash in his mind like a parasite feeding off him.

Nadir held the Herbal Cigar away from his face limply, closed his eyes, and attempted to picture of the Archial. But now the ever-present spiritual being was nowhere to be found, seemingly only appearing on its own terms and at its own transgression. He took a deep breath, held it within, and exhaled slowly, opening his eyes at an equally slow pace to gaze upon the sun, which continued to paint the sky with increasingly warm and vivid covers. His mind drifted towards what laid beyond the horizon, Antiyard. No- the other side of the Gulf Strait; it did not matter who was the master of the untouchable lands. Just that they were out of Thelenassy’s control.

It irked him, but he shook it off. The far side of the Gulf Strait had never been a part of the many interactions of the Borunate, and he had no clue as to why his heart fluttered as if he was looking towards a lost slice of clay. He drew the Herbal Cigar up to his lips and rolled the smoke in his mouth, blowing it out gently and remaining unchanged, gazing towards the creeping sun.

To him, the thought was a toxin.

He had done much thinking since the Archial came before him, warning him of his future, and caused him to reevaluate the cards he had righteously been dealt and his plan moving forward. His ambitious dream was now tainted by uneasiness. And even though he could not picture Arama, he could recite the words with ease.

“I am the Archiel, Arama, and I tell you of a not so far future. One of your creation, crafted hand-in-hand with menial friends and vindicated brothers as a divine Borun. This future is no stranger to the dangers of greed and pride, with palaces of gold built upon blackened graves of the dead. You may mold the future, but destiny shapes it.”

Yet, he had continued on with his divine path. He had joined the ranks of the Sibylline Confederacy a mere week after the vision, as the sublime Gothilum Hand figuratively parted the clouds in the sky and beckoned the Borunkognausean State to join in its quest of a new political order. Just as the Archial had foretold, those same words echoing through his mind as he penned his letter to the Gothilum Empress on behalf of the Borunate and his brotherly government within Hignausea. And every day, the voice in his head refused to relent.

The stress and anxiety upon his shoulders got heavier and heavier, and it continuously drained him of his energy. Every night, he would collapse upon his bed and fall into a deep sleep as quick as his body could, before getting through his days with a noticeably different tone from his body. He hoped his Shaman Thabit’s advice would give him some peace of mind and allow him to relax, but his quest was trivial. The once open-for-interpretation words of his dear and trusted friend did little to answer his many questions both literally and spiritually.

And such, he reserved himself alone. As always puffing upon a Herbal Cigar, and looking out towards the sun that was fading below the horizon. Its rays painted the sky, but were soon drowned out by increasing darkness. The sky went from a light blue, dotted with pink clouds, darker… and darker… before being consumed by a deep blue turned black. His Villa remained lit, with lightbulbs and rope lighting illuminating it in the darkness. Nadir ashed his cigar and sighed once again. Another evening spent lost deep in thought- for nothing.

He got up from his comfy chair, groaning as he forced his body to move after seemingly hours of sitting in one place, his behind sore from his unchanged positioning. He walked over to the sandstone railing of the Villa, the waves of the Saldahna crashing against the walls of the cliff not too far below. He took one last puff of his favorite Cigar and flicked it out into the dark waters below in one swift motion- the lit cherry of the Cigar slowly fading into darkness being the only sign of its existence until it was swallowed by the waves.

Nadir turned and passed by the seat where he had sat, beyond the pavilion and into the west doorway of his Villa, saying goodbye with a final look back towards the open balcony before closing the door behind him as he made his way deeper into his estate. He passed by room after room, painting after painting, show-case after show-case, ornament after ornament, trophy after trophy, scripture after scripture- All this profound history and knowledge behind every piece, just to end up being mounted upon the walls of a Villa as decoration by Borun’s past. He gazed at these fabled treasures with tired eyes as he passed by them. Each of them were older than him, but could never tell more than the history or emotion behind them.

The door of his room let out a long creek as he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. On the other side of the elegantly beautiful and ordained room, two of his many wives, Afra and Nadiyya, turned their heads on a swivel as he entered the room limberly. Their faces lit up and continued to brush their hair as they welcomed the Borun into his own chambers. Nadir walked over, giving each of them a kiss on their head and walked over to his closet, quickly taking off his Oriental robe and cuffing his shirt. The wives that were with him returned to their self-care, brushing their hair and washing their face while Nadir slowly took off his layers. He pulled jewelry piece after jewelry piece off his fingers, wrists, neck, and ears, placing them in neat order on one of the shelves near his massive closet.

He unfurled his turban, threw it on the shelf and pulled a pick out of his hair that it was wrapped around, letting his slightly-beyond-shoulder-length-hair flow freely, although dampened by sweat and slimily clumped together. Nadir quickly changed into his sleep attire and threw himself into bed, crawling underneath the first layer of blankets.

Afra climbed in to Nadir’s left and Nadiyya to his right, surrounding the Borun, who gave each of them another kiss, this time on the lips. Afra rubbed Nadir’s back slowly and softly while Nadiyya ran her finger down his arms. After their moments of relaxation and comfort, sleep soon beckoned them all. And despite how affectionate they were, they all slept not touching each other- as Nadir could never really sleep with the feeling of someone else’s weight on top of him. But it was no matter for the above-king sized bed. The lights dimmed, and soon the soft exhales of his wives and the brushing of the gulf winds against the window were soon the only thing the Emperor could hear.

But sleep did not consume Nadir’s consciousness despite his tired soul. He stared upwards at the dimly lit bleached-wooden ceiling with not a thought behind his eyes. For weeks he had thrown himself in bed and fell asleep within moments, and now it seemed that like tens of minutes were passing and he couldn’t force himself to sleep. Closing his eyes, he just felt this itch to keep them open, even if his brain screamed at him to fall asleep.

Stillness and silence…

…

…

…

The door of his chamber creaking open ripped Nadir out of his trance, his head shooting up and looking towards his now fully opened door. His heart skipped a beat. That door was sound, and wouldn’t just fling open unless someone had pushed it open. Very carefully, he drew himself from his bed, making sure not to wake his wives as he climbed over the foot of the bed.

He hastily threw on a nighttime robe and approached the door, poking his head out into the doorway. He looked left, and was hit in the face by a foreign blast of wind out of nowhere that caused his head to look right, seeing the last frame of a misty cloaked figure turn the corner. He knew who it was… The Archial, Amara. With a final look towards his wives sleeping soundly in bed, he ventured into the halfway after the being, hastily rounding the corner to see Arama round another.

“Damn this big house.” Nadir remarked to himself as he held onto the robe with one hand and swung the other as he went after the Archial with movement only described as being between a fast walk and a light jog.

He seemingly chased Arama through the main corridors of the villa and sooned seemed to be retracing his steps he took earlier on his way to his room. He passed by the same room after room, painting after painting, show-case after show-case, ornament after ornament, trophy after trophy, scripture after scripture. Yet, as he drew closer to the balcony, the actual paintings, ornaments, and displays faded in color to an ever increasing white, no matter its true contents. It unnerved him, and he felt as if he was in a dream, yet he pushed on, desperate to come before Arama again.

Nadir flung open the West door he had gone through earlier and came upon his lit-up pergola. He continued through it towards the balcony that overlooked the Gulf Strait. As he walked forward, she came into view…

Floating out over open air, the physically short body of Arama was dwarfed by her long ethereal-white cloak that stretched down another few feet like an oversized cape or wedding dress. Standing on nothing, the deity fluttered up and down as if she was swimming through the open air. Her face was covered in the silver native Hyena-mask he had seen her wear before, and in her left hand, her silver spear. Although not reflective, it seemed like she herself glowed in the light.

Nadir’s breathing was heavy, and he looked up in awe at the supernatural being who gazed down at him behind the Hyena mask. For weeks she had fluttered within his mind after that fateful encounter, and now she stood before him once again.

With no distinction of gender, Arama spoke, “Nadir Nasrallah, Son of the Borun Turay Nasrallah and Yaminah Salik, You heed words well. Your internal dialogue and thoughts now stand challenged by one side of your brain while your ego commands the other. My first words provoke something within you- a deeper insight of thought of your place in this world and in the next– your role in the societies of the aristocrat and common man. Your newfound ethics and morality is a pleasant sight.” Nadir swore he could see a hint of a smile beneath the mask.

You know my name-” The deity said, Nadir muttered “Arama” to himself in return. “Lest it be forgotten, I will speak divine commands upon your ear and stand as a protector of the everyday. I am nothing but a capsule of knowledge and benign power. My physical form is only for you to see.

You are not the first Borun I’ve graced with my presence. Yet unlike your Father before you, you contemplated my appearance as a stroke of divine intervention. While he ignored his visions and my insight allowed himself to be a victim of his own will.”

Nadir stood dumbfounded, seemingly incapable of fully comprehending the supernatural power that spoke to him, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that what they said was true. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t form any words. Just empty breaths with a star-struck look on his face.

“This won’t be the last time you hear from me.” Arama said- and in a grand poof of smoke, she disappeared. The glowing white smoke remained for a few seconds before collapsing in on itself like a black hole swallowing matter before no more than a speck of dust existed.