by J. A. Day
QUEEN VERA’S VIOLENT DISPOSAL WAS DUE TO THE UNPOPULARITY OF HER MEAT TAX
‘The Book of Disastrous Kings & Queens’ by Isabella Dahlman
Sonja stepped into the storage wagon. The air felt cool and dry. There was an earthy smell from all the vegetables, which made her think of Sigrun for the thousandth time. On both sides of the square wagon were boxes filled with carrots, cucumbers, leaks, radishes, lettuce, and all manner of other veg. Built into the top of the wagon was a large compartment filled with wheat, grain, and oats. The faithful had everything they needed to make a great feast, if you loved salads and bread. But Sonja knew that the farmers would want good meat, and they had none of it.
“We haven’t had meat in years,” the Quartermaster, Sigmund, said, as he showed Sonja around the storage wagon. “Not since the Mattsons took a dislike to us.”
“Wasn’t that when Hannes came on board?” she asked, remembering a vague memory of her mother talking with Rita Mattson and a thin man with brushed back blond hair. “I remember the argument not going well between the two of them.”
“A few days afterwards the Keeper put her first purification law in, saying consuming meat was a shadow,” Sigmund said, checking a few of the boxes of vegetables.
Sonja shook her head. It felt like such an obvious move to ban the consumption of meat when they couldn’t eat it anymore. Instead of looking like a set back it looked like a moral choice. She couldn’t believe anyone fell for it, but then again at the time she had fallen for it, probably because no one knew the real reason behind the move. Her mother never shared, she was very clever like that.
“Well we won’t have a successful harvest festival without meat,” she said.
“You would have to go to the Mattsons for that I’m afraid,” Sigmund said, grimacing.
Sonja also grimaced, and sighed. “Surely they will see this isn’t just for us but for the wagon train as well.”
“You’d hope so, but I’ll warn you there is word that the Mattsons don’t like the Baldurs either now. And they’re going to be the ones mostly coming to this harvest festival.”
“Well healing divisions starts today,” she said, not totally feeling the inspiration behind her own words. But as ever all she could do was try.
The Mattsons, plus their cooks and butchers, had pitched themselves on the west side of the wagon train. They had subtly moved their wagons away from the rest, meaning there was more grass to walk across to get to their little enclave. A declaration to anyone who saw it that they had issues with the rest of the caravan.
As Sonja walked down Rod street she felt a chill in the air. The red haired and freckled faces, standing on their wagon’s front axle or sitting on chairs at the side of the street, watched her with icy eyes. Many frowned or spat on the ground when she walked past. When one Mattson saw her, he widened his eyes and ran down the street.
When she got into Mattson square there was now a crowd gathered to watch her. Though unlike the faithful or even the farmer’s crowd, this group of men and women had hard faces and narrowed eyed stares. Many mumbled to their neighbors, but a few shouted at her to fuck off and get back to her encampment.
She felt a little intimidated. Men and women stepped up to her, shaking their fists. Thankfully she had brought a sword, and gripped it whenever anyone got too close.
She pushed her way to the wagon in the middle of the square. It was painted with bright red and gold colors, with the Mattson runes swirled on the wood. It stood on gleaming silver axles and wheels. Standing at the front, watching her coolly, was Rita Mattson.
Rita was a stick figure of a woman, with a grandma bob to her hair that had gone gray. But her weathered face and hard stare was surprisingly intimidating. It was known that any Mattson that got a point from her finger or a raised voice had to do everything in their power to apologize, otherwise they were going to clean up blood in Slakter Row for the rest of their lives. Sonja wondered whether she could convince a woman like that, and what she would have to give to do so.
She nodded to Rita. “I’m just here to talk. It’s only me. Can you call off your family?”
Rita waved her hand at the crowd, who all gave Sonja one last narrowed eyed look and dispersed amongst the Square and the streets.
Sonja breathed out, and took her hand off the sword. “Thank you.”
“What is it you want to talk about, Keeper?” Rita said the last word with as much hatred and bitterness as she could muster.
“I wondered whether I could get some meat for the harvest festival.”
Rita jumped down from her wagon. “What’s the deal with that? Are you trying to lure the farmers in so you can surround them with your faithful and get them to convert to Sol by the sword.”
“Nothing of the sort, I’m trying to build bridges between us and the wagon train.”
Rita laughed. “You failed with that as soon as you became high and mighty, saying that the things that we found fun in this ice cold world were shadows that should be stamped out.”
Sonja bowed her head, looking to the grass below. “We were wrong to do that. I hope to make amends.”
Rita furrowed her brow. “I don’t believe it.”
“You can come to the harvest festival yourself if you want. If you see it for yourself you might believe it.”
“Nah, I’m good. You're not getting your meat.”
Sonja looked up in annoyance. “Just like that. It’s not just the faithful you are hurting, you know, it’s the people. I know you dislike the leaders but I don’t think you want to piss the ordinary people off. They are Hannes biggest supporters.”
“You’re right, I don’t want to piss off Hannes’ biggest supporters,” Rita said, grinning. “But it’s not me pissing them off, it’s you. If you don’t supply meat they’ll just think it’s the typical faith crap of making them follow your rules, and they’ll never accept you.”
“Why do you hate us?” Sonja said, feeling sad that someone else could have such destructive views about a group of people.
“Did you know that Hannes and my great grandmother came from the same place? And what’s even funnier is they both ran away for the same reason. Because the town of Tro was run by people like you, faithful. They prayed to Sol all the time and followed their bloody codes, but if you didn’t, if you wanted to have fun or be different, they punished you severely. Yes, it is ironic that my great grandmother and Hannes ran away to a faithful wagon train, but at the time your power was waning and they saw an opportunity. I’m just seizing my own opportunity.”
Rita smiled again and climbed back onto the wagon. Sonja wanted to say more, how she was nothing like the faith in the town nor was she like her mother anymore. But it looked like Rita wasn’t prepared to listen/ She waved Sonja off.
The crowd emerged from their wagons again, ready to intimidate her. Once again, she put her hand back on her sword hilt and pushed through a crowd full of hard faces. She walked out of Mattsons’ Square feeling angry and disappointed.
She hadn’t gotten her meat, and it felt like her goal of uniting the wagon train would hit a block when it came to the Mattsons.
GETTING VOTES THROUGH THE COUNCIL IS ALL ABOUT WINING, DINING, AND MAKING TRADES
‘Diary of Jarl Jeanette Arnoldson’
Ever since being revealed to be the Jarl, Sigrun found herself in more and more uneasy interactions with the people of the wagon train. When she joined a group of farmers on their lunch break, the farmers would stare at her fine cloak and brooch with mistrust. The conversation the farmers were having would change to one of mundane matters, or would stop altogether. She tried to use her easy charm and joking manner to get them talking again, but most were not convinced. After a day of constant frustration she asked one group why they were being so cagey, and they told her that she was the Jarl and so they had to be wary of what they said to her. Protesting by saying she would not use their words against them only went on deaf ears.
Her interactions with the importa
nt Baldurs weren’t that much better. Sven Baldur always had time for her, trying to make her feel welcome in the group. But it didn’t seem to ingratiate herself with the other men and women in fine cloaks. They always looked at her with disdain, like they were looking at some horse shit on their shoe. Even when she managed to instigate a conversation they would speak slowly to her, and assumed she couldn’t possibly know anything of value.
Sigrun couldn’t understand this shift. In parties she used to be able to talk to both commoners and important people alike. Everyone seemed to love her attitude and her jokes. But now that she was Jarl she was drifting more and more away from the people she was supposed to help. How would she know what actions to take if they wouldn’t talk with her, how would she get the important family members on board if they looked down on her?
Another question came to her: how was Hannes loved by the people? Because it felt to her, from what farmers and important Baldurs had said, that they both got on with him and even liked him. Whenever they thought she was not around - and sometimes when she was around - the people talked about how they missed Hannes and how he had a better personality. What had Hannes done so differently?
It was a mystery but one that she would have to work out later, as she had more important Hannes business to deal with. She had to stop his army recruiting, and to do that she had to get a vote from Gregor Baldur in the council for her law reducing parties.
The farmers in Bonde Square were hard at work, scything stalks of wheat, corn, or oats, examining bushes for ripened veg and fruit, or bent over pulling out bushels of carrots or potatoes. The day’s temperature was warm, the world had transitioned into spring. All the farmers had sweaty brows and tired looks.
She walked past the farmers, feeling their narrowed eyed gaze. Her new cloak and tunic felt itchy and uncomfortable in the heat, and the brooch kept on banging against her chest. As Jarl nothing felt right anymore: her confident walk had been replaced by a heavy plod, her easy going smile had turned into a frown, and her loving audience had turned into a suspicious clique.
Gregor Baldur’s wagon was as long and wide as two wagons, looking like a town home on wheels. Painted on the side were large white runes, within dark yellow and brown swirls. Jutting out of the wagon was a small veranda, which sat a table and chairs. Sitting on one of these chairs, absorbed in her sewing, was Gregor’s wife Joan.
Joan had a hawk-like face and piercing eyes. Sigrun didn’t announce herself, boldly ascending the veranda stairs. She knocked on the table.
Joan looked up at her, but didn’t seem surprised. “I’m afraid my husband is indisposed at the moment, feeling sick it seems.”
Sigrun had heard rumors that Gregor had not been seen outside for a while. When Sven wasn’t in the group of family members, they talked about how Gregor might have a serious sickness, and he might not even have long to live. As with most rumors, Sigrun took them with a grain of salt.
“I can still speak to you, you have as much power and influence on things as your husband does, even though he does all the voting,” she said, sitting down opposite Joan.
Joan put down her thread on the table. “I guess I’ve persuaded him to vote on a few laws. So what do I owe the pleasure of the Jarl’s presence?”
Sigrun put up her hand. “Please, we are equals here.”
“I know, but you learn to emphasize the importance of people in leadership roles in this place. I find that many leaders just like to feel they are on a pedestal. Hannes definitely loved me saying how great he was and how I was so grateful to be in his presence.”
“I bet he did. But I’m not like that. I come from a muddy background and to be honest I feel uncomfortable in my fancy tunic. It feels itchy around the neck.”
Joan leaned forwards, and whispered. “My advice is if it doesn’t suit you, take it off and go back to your old clothes. Or you will have to lean more into power and prestige, make everyone recognize that you're better than them.” She gestured to the veranda. “Gregor can lean into the grandeur of power, in fact people expect it of him. The worst option is to go half way, people on the lower end will hate you because you act like an important person, but the important people will hate you because you act uncouth and like you are below them.”
That seemed to hit the nail into the horseshoe for what was happening to her. Maybe the way she acted when she was a cattle rancher had a power to it. Her muddy look and drunken attitude showed to everyone that she didn’t care, and that disarmed people and made them comfortable to talk to her. And when they found out that she was actually intelligent and had good ideas it surprised them enough that it made them remember her.
Sigrun felt the fine texture of the tunic and the raised runes of her brooch. Did she have to rethink how she was going about as Jarl? Did she have to really look the part?
“Anyway I’m guessing you didn’t come here to get leadership advice,” Joan said, sitting up straight in her chair. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I won’t deny it’s very nice to get advice,” she said, nodding her thanks for it. “But you are right I’m here for another reason. I’m going to enact a law that limits the amount of parties that the wagon train will be able to throw. It will also stipulate the amount of food and drink that can be used within those parties, and ban the use of food for other parties. I was wondering whether I could get Gregor’s vote for that.”
Joan looked surprised. “You are going to limit parties?”
“I know the irony, the person known for enjoying parties is going to limit them. But it’s precisely because I’ve been to them, know how much waste they create, know how chaotically they are planned, that makes me understand that they need to be more...uniform.”
“Where’s this really coming from?”
Sigrun took a sharp intake of breath. She appreciated how Joan saw right through her plan, and knew that something lay behind this law beyond her excuse. It was a lesson that Sigrun herself was having to get better at: seeing the true reason behind others’ actions.
Unfortunately, she couldn't let Joan know the true reason behind her law. She still didn’t know why Gregor had hidden the fact Hannes had been building up an army, and she didn’t know what he would do if he found out she knew.
“Your husband's passion about the misuse of food and how we nearly starved to death has really gotten to me,” she said.
Joan gave her a narrowed eye look. It had been a lame response, and she suspected Joan knew it was bullshit, but at least Joan didn’t know why and that was important.
“The issue is the people,” Joan said, picking up her thread from the table. “Gregor knows that people love the parties, and hates the past attempts by the faith to get rid of them. So I feel it would be tricky for him to vote on a law like this, something that looks like it comes from the faith. He’s already in the shit with his workers over voting off Hannes with the faith.”
“So that means he wouldn’t vote for this?” Sigrun said, a little deflated.
“Not necessarily, he just has to know whether the people will be on board with it.”
“Of course they aren’t going to be on board with it, even if it’s sensible to do so. As soon as you take something away from people, they are going to be unhappy and demand it back. You see it in children.”
Joan clicked her sewing needles together. “Yes, but as a mother I know ways to convince children on why it's best to not have the thing they want, or to bribe them with some other thing they want more. I would guess the same could be done with people.”
Damn, Joan was good! “Ah, so you are saying I should convince the wagon train to go with this plan.”
“I will tell you I’ve been impressed by your ability to do this Jarl job,” Joan said, giving her a withering glance. “But you are sometimes awfully slow on the uptake.”
ONE LOVER SAYS THAT’S A FINE RIVER BOAT
‘Two Lovers Meet’ Skald Song
The Keepers wagon was always too bright to sle
ep in. Where the Keeper actually slept was through a door on the side of the wall, which led to a small square room with a double bed and a wardrobe. When shut, the door looked like it was one with the wooden wall. The bedroom was where Sonja went when she didn’t want to be disturbed.
Sonja sat on the bed, shoulders slumped. She stared at the jug placed on the bedside table, which held the redhead girl’s gift of a rose. She liked staring at it when she got into bed. It gave her hope that the two sides of the wagon train could be united. But at the moment she stared at its green stem and small thorns.
She hated that Rita would willingly sabotage the harvest festival just to make sure the faithful looked bad. It made Sonja question whether there could ever be unity in the wagon train, when there were elements like Rita who wanted to get rid of one side. Though she had to admit Rita wasn’t alone in that, there was also Britta on her side that wanted to get rid of the non-faithful.
How could she go against these sides that would never move no matter how much you told them what they were doing damaged the people they said they cared about?
Her first thought was to try to get rid of these elements, but she understood straight away that would be just as bad. It would just show others that the faith was intolerant and wanted control. But it would also just be doing the same thing Rita and Britta advocated. Instead of learning to live with your opponents and sometimes having to listen to what they had to say, you just purged them and made sure the rest of your group agreed. Having read the scrolls and learnt what happened to Aileas and the creation of the Mission, she understood that even that would never solve anything for long. Thinking always changed throughout the years, and a group of like minded individuals eventually turned into ones who had different ideas to one another.
