The Revolution

The Revolution

            Aljandrr turned up the lamp and found a man straddling him in bed, holding a knife.

            “Hello,” he said, forcing his mind to alertness. “Can I help you?”

            “The revolution is here, my prince,” the man whispered and leaned forward into Aljandrr’s face. “And I know who you are.”

            He moved the knife through Aljandrr’s thick hair, parting it and grazing his scalp.

            “You have the royal tattoo, sire” he said.

            He spit into Aljandrr’s eye.

            “Your time has come. For the revolution!” He screamed and brought the knife down.

            Aljandrr bolted up, throwing the man off the bed. He leapt to the bedside and kicked the man in the crotch several times. The man shrieked and dropped the knife. Aljandrr grabbed the knife and stabbed the man’s heart. For seconds the assailant gurgled and choked on blood, and then his eyes rolled back. Aljandrr stood and stared at the body. Then he heard the crashing and screaming from the brothel’s floors below. Cursing his heavy sleeping, he bounded to the bedroom door; slamming it shut and praying nobody heard the fight.

            The revolution. The talks and rallies in the city center and at the docks for the past several months actually led to something. The Communalists cried for a change. Cried for an end to what they deemed to be mistreatment from the royalty and aristocracy. They swore for a bloody and fiery end to the status quo. And the throne waved away the concern. Nobody took it seriously. But now it was happening.

            Aljandrr ran to the window. A cry began to leave his lips, but he clasped a hand over his mouth. Outside was fire. There were bodies on the street. A crowd gathered in front of the brothel; mostly scared women clutching children and confused men deciding whether or not to join the mob tearing the building apart. The floor vibrated as the activity continued through the floors below. Aljandrr’s mind raced. No thoughts fully formed and he continued to stare out the window, his hand wetting with his breath. The door slammed open.

            “Brother! You are free! The revolution is here and you are no longer a slave to your whoredom,” a woman shouted to him and then jumped back out of the room.

            Aljandrr glanced at the body behind his bed. Thanking the gods the woman hadn’t seen it, he bundled it up in blankets and shoved it beneath the bed. He dressed and ran outside.

            “Dear lords,” he said as he saw the condition of the building.

            The doors were torn off and burning in the street. All windows were smashed, and fires were lit on the bottom floors. Companions were standing together, some dressed, some naked, and some bundled in their bedspreads. Some were crying. Some were shocked. Too many cheered and encouraged the destruction. A shrill scream of terror echoed from the building. Lady Antebi, the brothel mother, was dragged by her hair into the street.

            “We’ve found her,” howled a man grasping her head. “She tried to hide, but the fires choked her out!”

            He lifted her up against a wall, and two more men grabbed her arms and held her to the bricks. Aljandrr wanted to run and defend her. The woman had been good to him. She had been good to all her house children. She had been good.

            “This noble has been anything but! She has enslaved men and women of our city to a life of sleaze and contempt. She taught them it was right to give their bodies to the pleasures of others,” the lead aggressor continued to shout. “Her quarter of the city has been one of perversion. She collects profit from pawning people!”

            Lady Antebi cried and screamed for help. She fought the men holding her arms. More revolutionaries jumped in and held her still. The chief walked up to her, grabbed her hair and shoved her head up. He slid a blade against her exposed neck. Lady Antebi’s cries silenced and her eyes faded with remorse as her nightclothes sponged red. Aljandrr balled his fists to keep from reacting. He wanted to murder every revolutionary there, but instead bit his lip and shook. The revolutionaries let go of Lady Antebi’s body and let it fall onto the concrete. A pool of blood poured from under her.

            “All you who were caught in her disgusting claws are now free! Join us as we find the next noble! The revolution continues,” the chief called and stepped off down the street.

            “You’re monsters! You’re all monsters,” a companion screeched.

            Aljandrr sprinted over to her, and slammed a hand over her mouth. Those encouraging the horrendous acts glared at them. Some stepped toward them. Aljandrr shushed the woman.

            “Be quiet or you’ll be next,” he whispered into her ear.

            “She’s a supporter! She must be killed,” some called out then.

            “No! She’s merely shocked by the violence. She’s merely reacting,” Aljandrr called back. “I know her and I will calm her! But go with our leader, brothers and sisters! The revolution continues!”

            The crowd smiled like devils at his words, thrust their hands up and yowled into the night, and ran to catch up with the rest of the mob. When they were far away enough, Aljandrr turned to the woman and those who stayed.

            “Go to your families. Wait this out,” he said.

            “But we can’t just let this happen! We have to do something,” a male companion said.

            “There’s nothing we can do,” Aljandrr hissed. “We are outnumbered. We are in danger. Go to your homes, and keep your loved ones safe.”

            They hesitated. Their anger filled the air with and furious vapor.

            “Now!”

            They parted and ran to their homes. Aljandrr wished gods’ blessings on them. He then thought of his loved ones. Where was his husband, Ijordi? Where was his friend Pori and his family? As if summoned by his thoughts, Ijordi was running down the street to him. Aljandrr ran up and clasped on to him. He let some tears fall and some wails escape him.

            “You’re scared. I know,” Ijordi said and ran his hands through Aljandrr’s hair and rubbed his back. “It’ll be ok. You’ll be ok.”

            Aljandrr pulled back and looked into Ijordi’s face. “How would you know? What’s keeping me from being next?”

            “Nobody knows who you are still. You’ll be fine. Go home and wait for me there.”

            “Where are you going?”

            “I’m joining in.”

            “Ijordi, no. Please, no.”

            “The revolution continues, Aljandrr. I will be part of it!”

            Aljandrr let go of him and stepped back. He fought the impulse to smack Ijordi right there. To pummel him. But he remembered the words he gave the companions. He calmed himself and spoke in low tones.

            “If you must, then go. I’ll be at home,” he said. “But…”

            Ijordi turned to run, and halted.

            “What?”

            “Nothing. Just go.”

            Ijordi ran off. Aljandrr kept his thoughts controlled. Now he knew where Ijordi was, but where was Pori? A new vicious thought then mangled his mind. The royalty. His family. He looked toward the Manor, but buildings and trees blocked the view. An ominous orange glow shined into the sky above. Aljandrr’s stomach tightened.

            “Of course,” he said.

            He needed a better view, and ran to the Crest Tree. He could see the entire city if he climbed to the highest branches. He grabbed the rope ladders and scurried up to the canopy. He was greeted by fire. Half the city burned; boats in the marina, the villas in the hills. The Manor. The royal seat was surrounded in huge, high flames. Most of it lay in embers.

            “Of course,” Aljandrr said again. “That would have been the first place.”

            He was alone and let himself cry. He let himself shake. He let his thoughts careen. He didn’t know what to do. His family would all be dead by now. He may have abdicated and abandoned them, but he still wretched when he thought of his parents and siblings, no doubt in the same condition as Lady Antebi. He clutched to the thin veil of security in his secrecy. He had done well to keep his identity hidden. But how long would that last? The man who attacked him knew, didn’t he? He heard the rope ladder bang against the tree as someone else climbed up. Pori.

            “Aljandrr! What are you doing?”

            “They’re all dead.”

            “Yes, probably. Maybe. Come on,” Pori said. “We have to hurry. We’re going to grab a boat and sail into the harbor. The fishermen on the water haven’t been touched yet.”

            “What? Why?”

            “You’re not safe.”

            “I know.”

            “No, you don’t,” Pori said. “They’ve figured out who you are. They’re searching for you.”