North & South

by K T Munson

  North & South

  K.T. Munson

  ISBN 978-1499531176

  Copyright © K.T. Munson 2014

  3rd Edition

  Third edition printed June 2018.

  The right of K.T. Munson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the writer. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Cover art by Jennifer M. Riddle (White Noise Graphics)

  Edited in part by Caitlin M. Hawthorne and Hydra Productions.

  Dedication

  To my beautiful reader who has always been a constant supporter.

  To my family; who always encouraged me to keep writing.

  To the love of my life who always helped motivate me.

  To my friends who always said I could.

  Happy reading.

  Other Books by K.T. Munson

  1001 Islands

  Frost Burn (Coauthored)

  Unfathomable Chance

  Zendar: A Tale of Blood and Sand

  The Gate Trilogy

  The Gate Guardian’s Daughter (prequel)

  The Sixth Gate

  The Nowhere Gate

  Chapter 1

  Otto Deckard

  “Unlike the desert that we call The Dunes, the north and the south is well divided,” Otto Deckard told the individuals in the lecture hall.

  The room was large, with five rows of seats with cushions. Each student held a wooden tablet that was covered in parchment. Each held a portable ink dispenser that had been one of their better inventions. Ink was held inside and forced through a metal tip that many just called a PID. Catchy really, Deckard wished he would have thought of it first. A young man of twenty and two had thought of it; it made Deckard recall his age.

  He was not an old man by any means, but anyone who had lived for one and forty years can feel old. Yet, he was one of the youngest to teach in the greatest academic university in the world. Tiam was a place of peace that believed in two things: money and knowledge. They were a capitalistic city with great wealth which they spent to fuel greater knowledge that they then sold back with inventions and ideas that they could profit from. It was a very successful cycle that kept them out of the squabbles of the north and south.

  “There are many stories that sing different songs. One says that the Sea of Sand was once a great body of water that ran around the center of our great planet. It feed into the smaller lakes and was crossed by ships of wood. One day, the sun grew so hot in the center of our planet that all of the water dried up,” he said with flourish, all of his students watching with wide eyes. “Others speak of the Water God paying homage to the Sun God by gifting all of the salt water to her. Another says that the Sun God took it as punishment from the Water God. Yet the only truth is that The Dunes are littered with salt mines. Can anyone tell me what else the People of The Dunes trade in?”

  Hands shot up, but the first was a large boy with a fat face, freckles, and curly brown hair, so Deckard pointed at him. The boy stood up and said loudly, “The People of the Dunes trade in glass, some mineral ores such as copper ore and opal ore, and most famously, their healing potions.”

  “One cannot help but mention those,” Deckard said as the boy took his seat. “There is no child in Tiam who doesn’t grow up on stories of their healing tonics and their mysterious origin. Can anyone tell me what they are made of?”

  There was silence and murmurs around as Deckard waited patiently. Above the whispers a young girl with dark brown hair, large brown eyes, and coppery skin finally spoke. “The infamous healing potions are the infamous, well-guarded secret of The Dunes.”

  “Yes, they are,” Deckard responded, pacing back and forth while he spoke to his students. “No one is quite sure exactly where these healing potions get their power, and many have studied it trying to determine the source. All have failed to duplicate its effects. Tonight, I would like you to expand your minds, and attempt to validate which of The Dunes goods is its most valuable. Be it salt or ore or even the infamous healing potions. Which has most economical impact on the people of The Dunes? You are dismissed.”

  The silence of the hall immediately erupted in chatter as he returned to gather his own instruction material. They chatted as they left the class, hurrying to their final subject of the day. As he gathered his materials, one of his students waited for him at the door. He did not hurry towards the girl but smiled at her.

  “Papa,” she said with a smile. “You had a very interesting lecture today. Were you reading those old books again?”

  “All night,” Deckard admitted as he put an arm around her shoulders and strode from the classroom. “I will walk you to your next class, Evanora.”

  “Evie,” the girl responded, and the look in her eyes suggested there was no room for argument. “Reading so late is not good for your heart.”

  “But it is good for the mind,” Deckard countered, as they came to the next lecture hall. “I will see you at dinner.”

  Deckard watched her go into the classroom, his lovely daughter. She wasn’t really his, but she was his. It was difficult to explain. Deckard turned and began making his way towards home. His thoughts tried to stray, and yet he could not help but remember Edna.

  Evanora’s mother had come to the university when Deckard was just beginning his final year before he would begin teaching. He was a brilliant and cold man back then, without any sense of anything about the world beyond his books.

  Edna had been so bright to him, so talented, and Deckard had been quite taken with her, though she was fourteen years his junior. He had created plans in his mind of marrying her and breeding brilliant children. He had never gotten the chance. Edna had been attacked at the university by four boys her age. Her brightness had died that night, and a child had formed in her womb.

  Deckard had barely been able to keep her safe; Edna had wanted to end her life and had nearly succeeded a few times. After Evanora was born, Edna had walked into The Knife and let the rushing river take her. Deckard had begun to raise the child as his own, naming her Evanora which was a variation of Vanor, a type of mathematical mapping of the stars. Vanor Stellar Mapping was named for Viktor Vanor of Roanoak who had come to Tiam in his elder years and devised his greatest work. It was used to travel at night without any other indication but the time of year and the stars.

  Evanora was his map to the heavens; she had given him purpose after Edna. More than anything she made him into an inventor because of his wish to make her world a better place. She was fourteen now, the youngest allowable age to attend classes. She had passed her entrance examinations without fault, and Deckard had never been more proud.

  Deckard looked around the streets, the great city of learning and progress rose up around him. The sandy colored stone was smooth and worn as were the cobblestone streets. Tiam was one of the oldest cities, and yet its buildings were the envy of the world. He veered down the alley and went past a fountain where children were playing. Rotting oranges littered the ground; their blood red juices leaked from the bright orange exterior, as though the ground had wounded them.

  He listened to the children laugh and play as he passed behind a building, and their voices faded. He passed a flower garden where the White Women said their prayers. They moved around like ghosts, dressed in white, tending to their gardens as their voices sang their prayers.

  He came to a
residence with an elephant head knocker before opening the door and walking in. He entered the garden area of his own, mostly of stone, simple bushes, and a waterfall streaming down from an elephant’s open mouth. The water was a narrow stream that ran in a square and continued to empty and fill through the elephant. A single bush held blossoms of the desert rose. Its bright pink blossoms winked at him as he took the stairs to the left. He pushed through the gate at the top and past the kitchen.

  “Master Deckard,” Marisol called to him, her hair white and her face wrinkled.

  “Yes Marisol?” Deckard asked, taking a step back and waiting for the old woman to clamber over her bucket of butter.

  “Master Trive came calling,” Marisol said, her worlds drawled out a bit.

  “Did he say why?” Deckard asked, as the older woman peered up at him.

  “Only that he would call again tomorrow in the night,” Marisol responded.

  “Evening,” Deckard corrected absentmindedly as he went towards his study.

  Marisol shook her head and returned to her butter and dinner. Deckard was already lost in his thoughts; they were carrying him away. Master Trive was a fat man with greed in his eyes and ugliness in his heart. Yet, he was rich and kept company with the richest of men in Tiam. Deckard considered himself well off, but he was dirt poor compared to the wealth of Phineas Trive.

  If he came looking for Deckard it was to spend his money in order to get Deckard to do something. Phineas had tried many times already, but he had always failed because Deckard was a man of principle. Yet, even men of principle could be bought; men only needed the right incentive. He knew the older he got, the weaker his resolve became.

  Deckard sat at his desk, surrounded by piles of parchment covered in his inventions and ideas. From the tall ceiling models hung. They were made of wood and nearly clear paper. He had all different kinds, but they were hardly noticeable as he stared at the open book. His eyes skimmed over the picture of an Eagle, and he frowned at it. He had seen them for himself when they were transported from Itan to Vargos. They were a sight to behold for sure, but they could not make the journey from the north or south to Tiam. It was too far and too hot for them. It made him think that if men could but fly they would ascend to the heavens and forget their worldly problems.

  Chapter 2

  Ashira Rohan

  Candles flickered in the darkened temple. Night had fallen all around her, and yet, she did not stir. Ashira stared at the Eye of Sadar and prayed that the Soul of Six, give her guidance. Her father, Rodrick Rohan, had left her to return to the battlefront. Their enemy, the Vargosians, had been pressing at their borders and winning ground for the last ten years. Yet, she knew most of it had been lost in the last three.

  Her mother had been their father’s constant support. Her death had shaken their very foundation, and her father had never been the same. He was once a large man, quick to laugh, with jolly eyes and a double chin. Now he was a hollow, thinned, and grief-stricken man. She had hoped it would fade with time, but it had only gotten worse.

  “Mother give me guidance,” she whispered as she knelt with her hands in her lap.

  Looking to the statue of the Eye of Sadar, she let her gaze slide across the frescos on the walls. She could hear the silence of the night beyond the temple that was largely open, except for this inner sanctum. Vargos and its Water King would not relent; she feared for her people and for her country.

  Her father had not as strong a stance against Vargos as he had when their mother was alive. Ashira had taken on many of their mother’s duties, but her father rarely confided in her as he had done with her mother. He thought her too young to be burdened with such thoughts. He was blind to the truth, but not everyone was. Many came to her for help when their father was busy or away.

  Ashira did everything she could for her people and the country that she loved, but they were losing. They had not as much land, and though they had more money, most of their people were artisans, not soldiers.

  Before King Highlander began to press their borders back ten years prior, they had been experiencing a silent war. Few died, and neither tried to take the offensive outright. For many years it had been a mummer’s farce of a war. Now, it was real, and her people were dying in large numbers.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when her brother knelt beside her. She had been so consumed with her thoughts there could have been a battle right outside the temple doors and she would not have noticed. She glared at him a moment, but he ignored her as he said the standard prayer.

  “May the Eye guide our souls on their rightful path, away from the Six Sins and towards the Six Sacred Virtues. May the virtues light our path in the darkest hour and fortify the goodness in our world.” He touched his cheek below his right eye, and Ashira did the same.

  “What is it, Cain?” Ashira asked.

  “Why do you always think I wish something of you?” Cain said with his broad face and harsh features; handsome in his own way.

  Ashira reached up and pushed the midnight blue veil from her face, letting it tumble behind her like a second layer of hair. She grinned at her brother, a sibling’s smile. As she studied his face, she reflected on the fact that she looked nothing like him. His features were similar to their mother’s uncle’s, like her eldest brother, Rodni. Only she and Tarly looked like their father.

  Her brother Tarly was a large man, with an equally large appetite. Yet, for all of their father’s girth, the girls in his family were voluptuous and beautiful. Her figure was a little thinner, like her mother, but her face was just like her only paternal aunt.

  “That is all brothers know how to do,” Ashira said, sending him a sideways glance.

  “Though you are the People’s Princess, with your pious demeanor, I am not convinced,” Cain retorted, his broad face never flinched. “You are secretly wicked to accuse me without any foundation.”

  Ashira rolled her blue-green eyes, the trait that made her different than all of her siblings, and asked, “Then you don’t want something?”

  “I do, in fact.” His voice was light with amusement. “Though, it is only to ask you your opinion.”

  “My good opinion, you mean.” She too was amused and did little to hide it in her private sanctuary.

  He laughed, his voice as great as he was. Many were scared of her brother, for he was the best swordsman in all of Roanoak. He was a Water Dancer; his body and the sword he held fluid and perfect. The first time she had been permitted to join the festivities and see her brother duel, her breath had been stolen by it. She had begged her brother to teach her, and none of her brothers could refuse her, just as much as she could not refuse them whatever they asked of her. Another of her secrets.

  “Father is looking to fortify our hold on Roanoak. He is worried, and with good reason.” Cain’s amusement died as he turned to the reason he had sought her out. “He is discussing the option of a marriage alliance.”

  “He wishes to end the war by marrying you to a stranger, you mean,” Ashira countered before she stood. “Walk with me, my legs have grown restless from kneeling.”

  “He wishes to send me to become King Eliron’s heir by wedding his younger sister,” Cain said, his face unreadable to everyone but her.

  “You do not wish to leave Roanoak.” Ashira could see it plain on his features.

  He heaved a sigh. “I do not. Though, it is not the girl or the fact I would be in enemy territory. It is that I will never be able to return home.”

  “I would not wish this on anyone,” Ashira admitted and felt as though she had little to offer her brother. “Honestly, I would prefer to lose you to marriage, instead of a death in battle.”

  “I would manage better on the battlefront,” Cain said dryly. “I return there shortly, with Mohit in tow.”

  “This shall be his first time,” Ashira pointed out before stopping to turn and add, “He is a soft-hearted boy, who wishes to show he is as strong as his brothers. Look after him.”

  �
�He should be wishing to be as strong of character as his sister,” Cain said, putting his hands on her shoulders and kissing her on the cheek.

  “If you truly do not wish to marry King Eliron’s sister, tell Father. Speak with Tarly, he was always more suited for ruling and you for the battlefront,” Ashira said, patting him on his cheek.

  “You know me too well,” Cain said, releasing her shoulders. “I shall speak with Tarly, and should he concur, I will speak with Father.”

  “I should speak with Father,” Ashira disagreed as she fixed her veil. “Straight away before he sends his offer; it should be vague so that any of you can become Princess Lesbeth’s betrothed. Besides Rodni, of course, being the first born.”

  “Ah, yes, the blessed first born.”

  “Do not be like that; Rodni is a good man, and is trying to be a good heir,” Ashira smiled, taking Cain’s arm in her own. “He carries a heavier burden than us.”

  “You should be Father’s heir,” Cain whispered. “None of us boys are a match for you.”

  “That is not the way in the south. Here, men rule,” Ashira paused for effect, “and women rule the men.”

  Cain laughed that same laugh, unrestrained as he turned and took both of Ashira’s hands in her own. “You shall make a formidable wife to some powerful man one of these days; I do not doubt that.”

  “There is no man who can match me, as Father is finding out,” Ashira admitted, trying not to smile at the memory of her ill-begotten suitors.

  “I have heard.” Cain’s laughter was greatest in her presence.

  “I am hardly ten and seven. I am not ready to wed anyone,” Ashira commented. “Let alone a man of wealth who means to try and buy me.”

  “You are an expensive purchase,” Cain shouldered her, and she nearly tripped from the sudden nudge. “At least Father will not make you marry yet. Though, I am sure there must be one who catches your eye.”