The First Five Days: of the Lionean Saga

by John O.

  “You seem to have closed all paths to my victory,” she sighed.

  “You seem to have done likewise,” he replied smiling. “Perhaps you truly merit your claims.”

  “Save your praises till I defeat you fair and square,” she laughed. “Another round then?”

  “Sure,” he replied as she reshuffled the pieces on the board for a rematch.

  “Oh Zach,” she teased. “You patronize me and for that you will pay.”

  “Dear gods, I’m terrified,” he replied in mock fear.

  “Of what?” came the voice of Ron Riten who had stealthily joined the pair.

  “Ron, when did you return? Rahel here was just telling me how she would ensure that I lose the next round at Strag. She plays so well, holding me to a draw at the first round. Ordinarily I would not even be−−”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself,” Ron interjected calmly. “Certainly not to me.”

  Realizing that she had somehow caused Zach to lose composure, Rahel smiled victoriously and said, “Leade Ron Riten. Forgive me for distracting him. I just could not help but accept his challenge at a game I pride myself on being the best at.”

  “No way. It was you who challenged me,” Zach Sen replied with an incredulous smile.

  “Are you sure about that? I seem to recall minding my own business when you walked my way…”

  “You are absolutely impossible!” Zach exclaimed in laughter, Rahel joining him.

  Ron could only watch in amazement as his usually reticent friend suddenly showcased a loose tongue. For some peculiar reason, he was more troubled for his friend than he was happy. Noticing that they no longer took note of him, he left the pair and made his way towards the Leade’s meeting room.

  Roy Ni arrived at the Helesp, brandishing the stone-filled moneybag as though to show everyone that he had actually gone to collect a debt. As he entered the building, he noticed that his cousin, Rahel, was knee-deep in a game of Strag with Zach. It was not abnormal for cousins to wed in Lionea, and Roy had long set his sights on Rahel. To see her eyes sparkle as she anticipated Zach’s next move disconcerted him greatly. Compared to Zach, Roy was a far cry in the department of comeliness. If Rahel had her eyes set on this man, it would be highly unlikely for her to ever notice me, he reasoned. Looking for anything to distract the pair, he blurted out, “I hadn’t realized you played Strag, Rahel.”

  “You’re back,” replied Zach. Leaving no sign that he was privy to Roy’s true reason for visiting the Even province, he continued, “Did Ruck Ludo make good on his debt?”

  “He wouldn’t dare defy me. Rahel, tell me, who taught you to play?”

  “My father.” She replied, barely looking at him for she was intently focused on the board.

  “Really? How long ago was this?”

  “Since I was three.”

  “And she’s quite good at it you know,” Zach interjected, determined to maintain a three-way conversation. “We drew the first game and seem to be on course to repeating that outcome on this second game.”

  Surprised, Roy was forced to relinquish his negative sentiments towards Zach for a moment, “It is amazing that anyone could be at par with Zach Sen in a mind game.”

  “This man has not played since he was fourteen. You should be more shocked that he is faring well against one who has been at it constantly since the age of three,” countered Rahel.

  The fondness with which she referred to Zach reminded Roy that he should be on her side, lest she take no real notice of him.

  “Apologies dear,” he replied. “It is you who should be admired here. I would love to play with you, though I can already foresee my losses.”

  “You flatter me, Roy,” she replied with a smile as she decided on her next move, shortly after which the other Leades returned from practice.

  “What do we have here?!” exclaimed Karl Izzy, for not once in his life had he thought Zach to be anything other than a misogynist. “A dream this must be. Pinch me somebody.”

  Dan obliged him, pinching him hard on his ears. “Owwww! Curse you Dan! Don’t you understand rhetorical statements?”

  Everyone except Roy laughed at this, for he was piqued that with the others now present, the moment he had so desperately attempted to create with Rahel was now gone. He would have to find a more opportune time, he thought resignedly.

  “Another draw, it seems,” Zach said to Rahel as he realized that, once again, all paths to victory were closed to both parties. “Interested in one last round?”

  “Of course,” Rahel replied.

  “We will have to take a brief pause for lunch though; it appears food from the palace has arrived.”

  Rahel smiled, pleased, “Fine by me. I am famished.”

  Yosi Sint stopped at the gate of the Ispris compound where he met two Aisprises. “I go by Yosi Sint, HN of Lionea. May I come in to see the Ispris?”

  “Please come in, she’s expecting you,” they replied while opening the gates.

  Yosi Sint rode into the premises, stopping by the side of the veranda of the white building. He was ready to make for the entrance when a lady clad in white emerged. Almighty Spirit! he thought, amazed, as he beheld her beauty. And here he was, thinking the Spyinmes were beautiful. What manner of beauty is this?

  The woman stood at about five feet ten inches tall. Clad in a close-fitting dress, her hourglass figure was fully accentuated. Golden hair, eyes a mix of sea green and rustic brown, carefully sculpted nose and full lips, only an angel of the Spirit could rival her beauty. Behind her were six Aisprises who stared at him as if to divine his true intentions towards their priestess. Noticing this, he realized he must have been staring rudely at the Ispris.

  “Greetings Ispris. Forgive me for not maintaining decorum in time,” he apologized.

  “I know not of what you speak,” she replied smiling, fully aware of the effect she had on him, for it was the same with most men. “Welcome to my humble abode, HN. Please enter.”

  “Thank you,” he replied as he ambled in behind her.

  The room was large, occupied with ten white chairs arranged in a circular fashion. Near the walls were shelves containing scrolls and manuscripts organized in a manner that reminded him of his days in the temple’s library. The walls were white while the floor was made of marble decorated with blue flowery patterns. The ceiling was such as the floor, except that its pattern appeared to be more like the runes of an ancient civilization. Ornaments adorned the walls: sculptures, paintings and even the map of Lionea. Centered on the north wall was a painting of Hinary Rosento. It caught Yosi’s attention, for it differed from all other portraits of him.

  Noticing his wonder, the Ispris explained, “From the days before the Great Conquest. It’s amazing isn’t it? The painter who made it refused to join Hinary on his Lionean quest, it is said. Otherwise, the art world of Lionea might have been greater than what it is today.”

  “I see. Not many scripts present in Lionea discuss his life before the Conquest. That is an area I wouldn’t mind delving into, should I come across any texts.”

  “I quite agree,” she said as she suddenly realized she hadn’t given him leave to sit. “Now it is my turn to ask for forgiveness for my lack of decorum, Yosi Sint. Please have a seat.”

  Smiling now, he replied, “I know not of what you speak but I shall sit indeed.”

  Hearing her words come right back at her, she laughed before saying, “Would you like anything to eat or drink? You must have departed the Helesp before the lunch hour.”

  “Yes I did. But water will be enough,” he replied. Despite her warm smile and alluring looks, the woman before him was a Foté, he reminded himself.

  “As you wish,” Motioning to one of the Aisprises to attend to him, she watched him carefully before asking “So, what brings you here today, Yosi Sint?”

  “It is customary that upon assumption of office, the HN must visit the spiritual leaders of Lionea within the first week. More than that, I have come to see h
ow you and your household fare. Despite the fact that you once lived with my father as a healing apprentice, I never made your acquaintance. My father considers you like a daughter and as such, it is only natural that I look out for you.”

  “How thoughtful of you. It is true that I once lived with your family. Yet, for some reason, we always missed each other on your rare visits. As to how we fare, I guess it is evident. The Almighty Spirit has been good to us. The Ishe has also been benevolent, ensuring that we lack nothing.”

  “That’s good to know. If you don’t mind, can you tell me about yourself?”

  “There’s not much to tell. If dear Maya can be believed, you seem to know a lot about virtually everyone on the Island. How about you tell me what you know so I can help fill in the gaps, if any?”

  “If I recall correctly, twenty one years ago, you were born unto Aishe Foté and his wife, Tis, who died right after giving birth to you and your late twin sister, Priess. Having shown some predilection towards healing arts, your father sent you to live with and study under my father at the tender age of six. From then on, you practiced as a healing apprentice until you were fifteen, when you became the Ispris upon the declaration by the Ispri that you had the gift of the Spirit. You are also a skilled swordswoman.”

  Prisca was impressed that he had essentially summarized her entire existence. “There’s hardly anything left, other than the fact that I started painting three years ago. The wonder of nature is…”

  As she spoke, Yosi was once again caught in her beauty. She had a regal touch, speaking calmly and with confidence. He found himself oddly aroused by the heaving of her full well rounded breasts, which moved rhythmically, harmonious with her breathing.

  Controlling himself, he asked, “Your paintings are especially beautiful. That one over there, is it also one of your works?”

  “No. It was actually by Nico Hart,” she replied with the realization that he hadn’t been listening. However, she took no offense, for she figured he must have been perusing her like he did when they’d first met outside.

  “May I see your paintings?” Yosi asked

  “I was hoping you would ask that,” she laughed. “Forgive me, I am always this eager to share my paintings with any who is interested.”

  “Why then, do you not display them on the walls?”

  “Why would I? They are nothing compared to the works of Nico Hart. To display them alongside would be an affront to his dexterity.”

  “Allow me be the judge of that.”

  “Very well, HN. Please come with me.”

  Lector Stev Even and his Studes rode the Outer Main Road with extreme haste as they made for the gates of the Foté Province. Among his Studes were the sons of Late Marc Even, Joff and Jeff Even. The failed mission to avenge their father had brought Joff near the brink of tears as they fled. Remembering his mother’s face as she came home to deliver the news to them, he felt his heart sink. Always selfless, Joff’s pain was not so much as a result of his Father’s death, but was more so due to what his mother would have to endure as a widow. Crying will bear nothing, he cautioned himself. Despite his young age, he was widely acknowledged to be a Leade-class swordsman. His younger brother, Jeff, was taciturn in comparison. Nevertheless, he was just as forward-looking and also had the promise of becoming a force to reckon with as far as skills at the sword were regarded.

  “Who comes?” asked one of the guards at the gates of Foté Province.

  “Lector Stev Even and his Studes. Here to see Lector Johatsu Foté.”

  “What brings you and how long will you be?”

  “That is none of your concern. The Even’s and the Foté’s are too close for this sort of interrogation,” Stev replied in pique.

  “I cannot let you in Sire, till you answer the mandatory questions. I mean no offense, but I will lose my job if I allow you entrance like this.”

  “Your job or your head then?” Stev was livid.

  “Kinsman, have you still not learnt to keep the lid on your anger?” came the familiar voice of Johatsu Foté, strolling towards the gate.

  “Johatsu, your province guard would have met his end if you did not happen to come by this minute.”

  “I did not ‘happen’ to come by. I overheard the grunts of a belligerent man claiming to be Stev Even. These guards would have had your heads had I chosen not to intervene.” Johatsu turned to the guards, “Open the gates!”

  Stev and his Studes rode in, grateful to be in friendly territory. Looking squarely at Johatsu, Stev inquired of him, “How can you be so vivacious? You just lost your brother and yet here you are making jokes.”

  “Anger is a demon. It fouls your thinking, causing you to tread dangerous paths with no caution. Ultimately, it will lead to your death,” Johatsu became serious, “Where are you coming from?”

  “The important thing is that I’m here, isn’t it?” Stev replied, dreading the upbraiding that was sure to follow.

  “Beau sent word of your rash decision to retaliate so quickly. I admit that I was worried. But now that you are trying to implicate me in your attempt at treason, I’m not so sure I’m happy to see you alive.”

  “Quit worrying. The HN still lives and only circumstantial evidence can be leveled against me. In fact, no attempt was made, for we never met him on our way to train with you and your Studes.”

  “I see,” replied Johatsu. “So this is your planned cover story.”

  “It is not unusual for close clans such as ours to inter-practice is it? My Studes need some variety, lest they become only accustomed to the Even way of fighting.”

  It was believable, Johatsu thought. “Very well then, order your Studes to the training ground. Let them be warned. The Studes of the Foté province now have cause to best all swordsmen in Lionea. Expect to have worn-out Studes at the end of the exercise.”

  “Have you heard, boys? Go now and be sure not to disappoint me.”

  As the boys obeyed, Johatsu gave Stev a warning look, not regarding the Studes. His expression clearly told Stev that Johatsu would not hesitate to cut him down should Stev get in the way of his revenge. Johatsu was indeed ruthless and was not one for idle threats. Stev made a mental note to heed his warning. Perhaps it might even pay him to join forces with Johatsu against the HN.

  “Come out of your reverie and come join me for some wine,” Johatsu beckoned with an abrupt effervescent manner. As they departed, the Spyinme who had witnessed the encounter but could not hear a word they exchanged, scribbled down her accounts and bid her pigeon for the Helesp.

  6

  Surita Stone regarded the now pale blue face of her late colleague and friend, Ziri Lenny. She had dug a shallow grave for her, weeping with every motion and lost memory. Now numb, she packed a mound of soil with her palms and sprinkled it over the lifeless face, murmuring a prayer as she did so. With resolve, she began to make her way towards the Main Farm. It was likely to be around the Sun’s Hour, yet the tall trees had shielded the sun, so that it looked as the early hours of the night. At least she was able to see, for Spyinmes were well trained to operate after dark. Using her short sword, she marked the trees as she proceeded, leaving a trail that would enable her to find her way should she get lost. The Main Farm was more than a few deer-runs away and as such, she would need to steal a horse if she were to return before the perils of the night reared their ugly heads. Perhaps I should take my chances with the villages of the wild, considered Surita. Populated mainly by what used to be the Icasa people, the small villages were further south from her current position. Known for their fierceness, xenophobia and use of dark arts, it was by all accounts foolish to even consider stealing from them. Barter with them perhaps? she pondered. No. That would prove just as fatal as stealing from them. What then can I do? Perplexed with deliberation, she decided to toss a coin. Heads−steal from them, tails−barter with them. To travel on foot was no option so she didn’t even contemplate it. Taking a deep breath, she tossed the coin high, dreading the moment it would lan
d on her palm. Heads it was. Sighing despairingly, she cast aside her fear and proceeded towards the south.

  Treading softly, Surita began to detect whiffs of civilization in the air, telling her she was close. A few minutes later, she appeared in front of what seemed like the backyard of a poor family’s home. These people wouldn’t own horses, she thought regretfully. But she could at least steal Icasa attire from those that had been hung out to dry. That was something. Then it occurred to her that her beauty could never be passed for a full-blooded Icasa. Pulling out her knife, she contemplated on how best she could disguise herself. She had heard of the facial marks amongst the various tribes within the Icasa. Permanent marks. If her sense of direction hadn’t failed her, she was somewhere around where the Nimusha tribe resided. Focusing hard, she remembered faintly the pattern of the Nimushan facial marks. Slowly, careful not to make mistakes, she pierced her face somewhere around the left cheek bone and began to draw out the pattern of a serpent. Intense pain followed the hot fluid that flowed down her cheek unabated. Steeling herself as she had been taught, she staunched her wounds with soil, while proceeding to disfigure her hair to further mar her beauty. When she was done, she sat under a tree to allow the pain subside as best as it could while reminding herself that if she failed, then all would be for naught.

  About an hour later, she decided it was time. With the stealth of a night cat, she stole into the backyard and pilfered a long dress and a scarf from the clothe line, without stopping to evaluate whether or not it was her size. Safely back within the woods, she doffed her garment and donned the stolen dress. To cover her tracks, she buried the cross-shaped scabbard of her twin swords, while shredding her garment into ropes that would enable her tie her lethal arms to her body in a way that concealed them. Satisfied with her new guise, she made her way lightly through the periphery of woods until she came upon a cleared path. She stepped out slowly and began walking with a gait that displayed no shred of fear, for to do otherwise would rouse unnecessary suspicion.