The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing

by T. Josiah Haynes

  But Falhadn didn’t care about Laebm Lionheart’s tales of bravery. These were her students.

  Falhadn walked into the clearing where Laebm shouted commands at the children, and the others followed her. “General Laebm? I wondered where our students had wandered. But I see they have been taken.”

  Lionheart let out a booming chuckle. “Not taken, no. Their parents brought them here.”

  Laebm’s son Laebmhill and another soldier Shelraadifhall also ambled about directing the children. “And why, pray tell, would our students’ parents bring these children here to you instead of where they have brought their children for two weeks to be taught?”

  “The congress has decreed that children must be taught soldierly discipline. When offered the choice, every parent we were able to talk to wanted to bring their children here.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” Falhadn cocked her head. “Are you sure you didn’t threaten them?”

  “That is quite the accusation.”

  “It seems more likely than your cockamamie story.”

  “I find it strange that you did not know this was happening — since your husband is a powerful congresser.” His sarcasm sat plain. Laebm Lionheart had about as much respect for Falhill as Falhadn did.

  “And isn’t Congresser Kraek your cousin?”

  “We remain close as brothers. Neither of us had the privilege of growing up with siblings.”

  “Nor I.” She pointed her finger at the general. “I insist you conclude your soldierly lesson.”

  “Do you?”

  “And I ask that you do not return, nor any of your henchmen.”

  “I am here by congressional decree. You must obey the law, Teacher Falhadn. So must I.”

  “Then, I demand you take your leave.”

  “I don’t mean to be combative, but how do you intend to compel my retreat?”

  Falhadn turned on her heels and looked to Zannahill behind her. “You try and speak with him. I’m going to speak with the congress.” She stormed off, fists clenched and heart racing.

  Falhill held up a salmon he was gutting. “Fresh caught.”

  Falhadn shut the door, untied her waistpouch, and threw it across the room. “What is the point of having a congresser for a husband if he doesn’t warn me of decisions which directly affect me?”

  Primhill and his son sat in the kitchen. Their eyes widened, and they scurried outside.

  Falhill tried to ignore the embarrassment. “I try to tell you what’s relevant.”

  “When I went to teach my students today, I found General Laebm instructing them in swordplay.”

  Falhill stood. “What? Lionheart?”

  “Don’t use that ridiculous name. Each one of the kids had a little shield. Why would we have a stock of small shields, if they hadn’t been specifically constructed for that use? Laebm and his bosom buddy Kraek have planned to undermine us from the start. They must have diverted workers who were working on building homes for families. For children!”

  “I swear I didn’t know anything about this!”

  “Kraek sent a clear message this morning when he had Balweanhill’s head off.”

  “That was the congress’s decision.”

  “King Kraek shouts, ‘Don’t mess with me,’ to all who can see. Meanwhile, here you are preparing a salmon.”

  He slammed the mangled salmon upon the table. “I suppose the congress did try and deny his request. But Balweanhill was beating his wife. Any day, he could have gone too far.”

  “Do you hear yourself?”

  “Balweanhill should have been arrested, not beheaded.”

  “Hrash above, Falhill! Kraek killed a man. It’s a threat. To anyone who ‘challenges’ his rule. Kraek knows that Drysword has recovered, that Traamis’s health is improving. He’s posturing to put himself at the head of the Marble Slab.”

  “Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing that children are taught to defend themselves.”

  Falhadn stomped, and the clay bowls in the kitchen rattled. “Not with my students. Not on my time.”

  “When my father was alive, he made leading look so easy. And my mother made it look effortless.”

  “They were symbols, not leaders. Not once did your parents create or enforce law.”

  “My father would know what to do.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.” Falhadn waved at her husband. “Your father was a good man. A good farmer. A moral compass. But he was not a leader. Not like you can be.”

  “Drea and Kraek — they served as royal congressers for years. They know what they’re doing. I’d appreciate if you stopped trying to make trouble for me!”

  “Kraek is the enemy. But if your stomach churns at the thought of killing a fellow congresser, then turn your eyes on Hrabhill. Have his head off, and Kraek will look at you differently.”

  “You speak of enemies and beheadings,” her husband replied, “but we are all pilgrims — all protestants. We cannot tear at each other’s throats.”

  “You are naïve!” Falhadn wanted to grab something to throw at him. “Has Kraek lopped off your member as well as his wedson’s head? Aren’t you tired of old men with older ideas telling you what to do?” Falhadn slowed her breathing. “Be the man your father wanted you to be. Fal the First stood up for what was right. Kraek means to put swords and shields in children’s hands, instead of scrolls and spades. He must be opposed, stopped. And executing Hrabhill the elder will send a clear message.”

  “Execute Hrabhill for what?”

  He’s opened up to the idea. Falhadn smirked. “You and Denhall were tasked with investigating Traamis’s attacker.” Falhill only stared. So she continued, “Men and women will drink toasts to your name — when you discover his attacker’s identity.”

  Chapter nine

  Head of the Table

  “Soldiers, stand down.”

  Drea and his grandson stood resolute next to Falhill. The roar of the Azure Artery droned behind them. The morning sun painted Independence pink.

  The Cavern of Congress sat burrowed in the steep banks of the riverside. Drea, Falhill, and Dreahall were descending the steps carved into an outcrop when they stopped abruptly. Falhill’s skin was already crawling from the conversation he and Drea had just had, but the coming exchange would prove just as disturbing.

  “Good morning,” Yeznahill had offered with a smile. Yeznahill had lost his arm in the fight against the Unholy King, but he could still swing a sword twice as well as Falhill. Yeznahill looked at the three soldiers beside him, encouraging them to smile. Falhill smiled in return, but Drea’s face darkened.

  “Soldiers? What is this?”

  “Congresser Kraek requested General Laebm send his finest soldiers to guard the congress for its first full meeting.” Yeznahill took a step forward. “I am beyond pleased at your recovery, Drysword. Er, rather, Congresser Drea. My family prayed for you every morning.”

  “Soldier Rudfynhill has been assigned to protect the congress,” Drea spit back, shooting glances at Soldier Shelwyn. “Your priorities lie not with the congress, but with one congresser.”

  Soldier Laebmhill stuttered, “You can’t— My father— Kraek does not control us. My father is in control— in command of this colony’s soldiers.”

  Kraek’s own son spoke up. “You think my father would command us to arrest you or kill you? Your head has swollen huge with pride, old man.” Soldier Kraekhill couldn’t help but smirk.

  Slow as syrup, Drea breathed in and out. “Let us enter, so I can order Kraek to send you away.”

  “I’d like to see that,” Kraekhill replied as he stepped to the side of the entrance.

  As Drysword passed Kraek’s son, the old man whispered too loudly, “Kraek isn’t the only one who can have a head off.” Drea stomped into the Cavern, followed first by Soldier Shelwyn.

  “Balweanhill beat my sister bloody,” Kraekhill grumbled as Falhill passed by.

  Falhill and Dreahall acted as a frame for Drea’s momentous ing
ress into the Cavern of Congress. Kraek and Theral stood in one corner with Yrnhill the younger — Yrnhill the Yellow, Falhill tried to forget — but their conversation halted as they turned to Drea Drysword. Rudfynhill stood sentry inside the entranceway. Denhall and Balgray sat beside Apprentice Baljesshall, who tried to stand upright on his uneven legs when he saw the recovered septuagenarian walk in.

  Drea looked to every member of the congress — as well as the two scribes and two apprentices. His ensuing sigh sounded heavier than a hunk of stone. “So silent? It’s not a funeral!” Chuckling to himself, he ambled towards the far end of the Marble Slab. “Quite the opposite, I am happy to say.”

  Kraek rushed up to meet him at the head of the table. “You’ve been away, Drysword. I have occupied this seat in past meetings.”

  “One meeting, I have been told. And now I am here. You may occupy my right hand. Kraek, you are aware of our traditions.”

  “More than anyone here.” Kraek looked to the entrance, where five soldiers stood stiff as stone.

  “Apparently, that is not true. Sit down, Kraek.”

  Kraek laughed. “You expect me to relinquish the head seat? I will not cow to courtesy.”

  “I do not wish you to cow. I wish for you to surrender your stewardship so I may express my gratitude.” The old man looked to everyone else. “Come, sit. I would like to hear the voice of the committee describe the state of our colony.”

  The congressers sat about the Marble Slab as Apprentices Baljesshall and Dreahall sat at the entry. The two silent scribes sat farther into the well-lit cavern. But Kraek and Drea continued to stand over the head seat.

  “Congresser Kraek, we are on the same side. We are of the same intentions.”

  Kraek laughed once more. “You speak falsehoods on all counts.”

  “I will hear no more, Kraek. I shall not allow quarrelling to become my first act in this cavern.”

  Theral made a soft noise, and Kraek sat next to her — his face a profanity. Falhill looked to Kraek’s son, who tried and failed to hide his shame.

  Drea swallowed loudly. “Now, dismiss your soldiers.”

  Kraek started to stand, but Theral grabbed his arm. “It’s not worth it, Kraek.”

  Kraek wore every ounce of hatred on his face. “Kraekhill, take the others and patrol the riverside. If there is another assassination attempt, I will defend Drea myself.”

  “Rudfynhill will remain here.”

  Rudfynhill allowed no emotion to show on his face. He didn’t even look at his fellow soldiers as they filed out of the Cavern.

  As Drea sat, he spoke tenderly; “I would like to begin with thanking Congresser Kraek for his expert stewardship during these significant days. His contributions will never be forgotten.”

  All but Kraek hit the table once.

  “And now, I would like to hurry on to more urgent matters—”

  “I hear Glaadhedeen and Calnhall wish to marry before the Dragon’s Moon wanes. More than a month away, but Dreahall has given me four separate letters to the congress all penned by the anxious young couple.”

  Falhill noted, “They were in the middle of their wedding ceremony when Theul Jadeflame and his False Priests attacked Enesma. Their families were killed or captured.”

  Drea cleared his throat. “I suppose the issue is: Do we grant rights to marry — in general? As Yaangd and his ancestors have for centuries?”

  Kraek struggled to keep the ire off his words. “A centuries-old tradition? Perhaps the king was given that responsibility for a reason?”

  “Kraek, you and I both know that Yaangd didn’t personally grant permission to marry. By the time this Yaangd became king, it was his steward or a subcommittee of the royal congress who approved unions.”

  “Do you suggest we do away with it? Brothers will marry sisters, fathers will marry daughters. Give a heathen the chance to blaspheme Hrash, and he will blaspheme loudly.”

  “A fine point,” Drea answered, unfeeling. “I elect this congress will approve of any marriage rituals. All in support?” All hands raised. In the darker recesses of the cavern, a pair of widows scrawled by candlelight every issue discussed. Falhill did not like that both scribes held relation to a congresser:

  Scribe Denhadn was Denhall’s mother, a wrinkled gaunt widow a year younger than Theral — though Denhadn looked ten years older.

  Scribe Henhadn of Irinaal was Kraek’s once-removed niece, a twenty-three-year-old widow whose platinum hair hung to her waist.

  Drea continued, “I also elect we allow Glaadhedeen and Calnhall to marry in one month. All in support?” All hands raised. “Good. I shall speak with them. Perhaps since theirs is our first wedding ceremony, the congress can contribute to its preparations. It’s symbolic.”

  Yrnhill the younger sniffled like a sick child. “Traamis should officiate the rites. He’s walking nowadays. He should be healthy as ever by that time. What you said about symbolic.”

  “Agreed. And give him the congress’s regards when he next awakens.” Drea shuffled some parchments in front of him. “Ah, the idea of popular elections.”

  Kraek spoke right away. “The people of all seventy-two tribes would elect their congressers. That’s how it’s been for, do I have to repeat myself, centuries. Don’t you think there’s a reason for that? Let’s put that power back in the hands of the people.”

  “I have several concerns,” Drea spit back. “We’re only a colony of fifteen hundred people — near half of them children. If the eight hundred adults voted for their favorite congresser, I assure you chaos would ensue. And let me tell you why it’s different from Hrashmaad — excuse me, Old Coast.” He cleared his throat. “Numbers. Sheer numbers. Because there were one million citizens voting for two hundred congressers, there was margin for error. We do not have that luxury. But, we can substitute the check on power that the people had in Old Coast with a check on power given to each of us.”

  “And what would this new check on power look like?”

  “If four congressers believe one congresser to be engaging in illicit deeds, that congresser will be expelled.” Drea put forth his decree, and everyone supported it.

  But this did not satisfy Kraek. “Give the people one congresser, one citizen selected by popular appointment.”

  “If it comes to that, then perhaps. But I do not wish to…give people the taste.”

  Drea and Kraek argued for a few minutes, but the Drysword got his way; a congresser would not be elevated by popular vote any time soon. The thought of what Drea said about Kraek before this meeting of the congress gave Falhill the shivers.

  Earlier this morning, after Dreahall had tried to entertain Falhill with exaggerated stories of the war, Drea stopped Falhill a few strides from the riverside. Before they even saw Kraek’s soldiers guarding the entranceway, Drea knew: “Kraek is dangerous. If half of what I’ve heard is true, he will stop at nothing to get his way. I worked alongside him in the royal congress. He thinks he knows what is best, and anyone who disagrees with him is worthy of imprisonment or execution. A war hero he may be, but when there is no glory to win, he is simply a killer.”

  “What if Kraek tried to kill Traamis?” Falhill had replied. In hindsight, he should have been more careful with his words around Dreahall.

  “Why would he have done that?”

  “Because Traamis threatened Kraek’s power, in your absence? It could have been a family member, on his behalf.”

  “You think Kraek was trying to consolidate power since I was out of the way? Interesting.”

  “Denhall and I can look into it.” Falhill gasped. “What if he poisoned you?”

  Drea resumed his canter. “If I was poisoned, remember.”

  Falhill started to follow down the steps, but his skin had crawled nonetheless.

  Kraek discussed the colony’s defense, Yrnhill discussed its spiritual health, and Denhall gave an empty update on Traamis’s attempted murder.

  Theral thanked Denhall. “Your work is appreciate
d.” She turned to Kraek, then Drea. “I believe Denhall’s position of sheriff and justice, as well as congresser, merits a greater salary.”

  “Salary?” Drea repeated. “We do not use coin in this colony, not yet.”

  “As you all know, I understand what it is to be the royal justice. There is more than just beheading the odd criminal. A lot goes into the work. Investigation, managing the dungeons and its gaolers, not to mention the inhuman looks you get from passersby when they recognize you. You all know what they call me. The Butcher of Eangd. Sometimes, it is a sobriquet of ironic love. Other times, it is fear. Or loathing.”

  “When we mint our own coin, this will be taken into consideration.” Drea sighed. “I never got to thank you, Theral, for what you did in the Bloody Courtyard.”

  Theral held her chin high. “My proudest moment.”

  Kraek joined in, “My little Balweanhadn owes you her life.”

  Apprentice Dreahall spoke from his chair near the entrance. “And I owe my life to you as well.”

  Drea donned the most genuine smile. “You defied your king, risked your life. When the Unholy King decreed a member of each royal congresser’s family lose their head, my heart dropped. Thank Hrash for you Theral.”

  Yrnhill the Yellow squeaked above them all. “Traamis told me that you saved his daughter, Fenhadn, that day as well. And how the king told you, ‘Justice Theral, do your duty,’ then you swung your sword around and slew his own wedson, General Bartemhill.”

  Theral blushed. “I think we’ve exchanged appreciation quite enough now. Let’s get back to…”

  Balgray — herself named the Hero of Meireer — rapped her knuckles on the Marble Slab. “The Butcher of Eangd does not clearly express your heroism. Theral, you are the Hero of the Bloody Courtyard!”

  Though few ever saw Theral smile, the Hero of the Bloody Courtyard beamed.

  The congress discussed several other issues, but Falhill elected the final item on the agenda. “In our effort to connect with any potential neighbors, I propose we send ambassadors in every direction with a picture message that transcends any language barrier, so these new neighbors will know where we are. The sooner we begin trade, the less likely we are to starve.”