The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing

by T. Josiah Haynes

  Fal scooted closer to Laebm’s cell. “There, Gaerhall, let Uncle Lionheart hold the boy.”

  Laebm hesitated but gave in. The babe poked at the peppered stubble across his jawline. “He’s handsome.” He handed the boy back to little Gaerhall.

  “He’s grandchild number eleven, if you can believe it. And we haven’t lost a single one to infancy sickness. Hrash watches over us.”

  “Fortune smiles down on your house.”

  “You have a grandson, right?”

  “Laebmhill left his wife and four-year-old son in Eangd. Hrash knows what became of them.”

  Fal touched his hand through the bars. “Nieces and nephews, though. I remember you have a whole litter.”

  “Yes, the sister. Baelhadn had nine. Before she… Before Uandem…”

  Fal squeezed his hand. “I remember. You don’t have to.”

  Laebm grabbed her soft hand with both of his. “You enjoy your family. For every moment you can.” And he sat on an upturned bucket in the corner of his cell.

  Kraekhill visited another day, with his four-month-old daughter. Balweanhadn came alone later that day. She returned that Jeufynbly with her two sons.

  Traamis prayed over them once a week. Yrnhill and his pregnant wife came one day to pray. Cleric Jeulcaln came another evening to pray. He brought his wife, also called Laebm. She had only been called Laebm a year or so, since her second child married the bastard Rudlaarhill. To differentiate, people called her Laebm the Maid.

  Fal sat in prison fifteen or sixteen days before Drea and the congress came to release her. But they also revealed Theral had been hit in the head with a rock. Laebm went to draw his steel, but his diminishing waist wore no sheath, no belt. Only kisses with Fal. Much more with Theral.

  As Fal left the prison building, she kissed Kraek. Laebm remembered the night Fal had come to his bedroom, back in Baeldaan. Her kisses had been as passionate as they were now. It still proved odd to watch Kraek and Fal express any sort of affection for one another.

  After everyone had left, Laebm roared at the boy Baljesshall, “News of Theral! I demand to know what has happened to Theral!”

  The boy scoffed and fingered at his bronze hilt. Laebm and Kraek shared a derisive glance, but their agency had been stolen away.

  The door creaked open. Denhall tried not to disturb the prisoners’ sleep, but Laebm awoke nonetheless. Denhall escorted Baljesshall from the building. Whether it was Baljesshall, Denhall, or Rudfynhill, Laebm and Kraek always had eyes on them. Until now.

  Laebm ran for the iron bar partition, and Kraek did the same.

  “If I don’t make it out of this,” Kraek began, “tell Fal I have always loved her.”

  “You will be released. I know it.”

  “You must know — my wedson Gaerhill is stockpiling enough poison to take out the entire congress. We’ll wait until the Segchyhah leave. Then, it’s you and me in charge.”

  “Kraek, please—”

  “We’ll reestablish the rich traditions and customs that made us great. We’ll bolster our defenses against foreigners who would have us compromise our—”

  “Enough. This is out of hand. You’re talking about massacring half a dozen leaders in the community.”

  “They are evil.”

  “We all ran away from the Profane King.”

  “Brothers in arms we may have been. But the war is over. Now it is time to govern. And Drea, Falhill, Balgray, Denhall, Yrnhill, now the girl Sarahedeen — they are governing this colony into the ground!”

  “I will take no part in the murder of innocents.”

  “We can arrest Sarahedeen and Yrnhill— What has gotten into you, Lionheart? Balgray’s wedson killed your only son, and in defense of some foreign invader.”

  “Laebmhill was a souse and a deviant!” Some enormous weight lifted from Laebm’s chest. “I should have beaten him to death myself, for the sins he committed. Hrash above, I’m certain his soul is thirsty for a drop of water in the Eternal Desert.”

  “Snap out of this madness!” Kraek whisper-shouted. “I need you. Between the two of us, we can rally every soldier under our cause. Even Primhill — Falhill’s own wedbrother. He will follow the both of us before Falhill.”

  “Brother against brother. Do you hear yourself? Is killing our own some time-honored tradition?!”

  “We are the heirs of history, cousin! We do not decide what is passed down to us! But we must do what is best for the greater good!”

  “I will take no part in—”

  “Hey!” Denhall shouted, walking through the door, Baljesshall in tow. “Stop your whispering!”

  Kraek and Laebm separated — filled with contempt for Denhall, but also one another.

  “Conniving…” Denhall mumbled as he left.

  Baljesshall pursed his lips. “Good news for you two. The Segchyhah are headed out in two weeks. You might just get out of here before you starve to death.”

  “It’s ginger beer,” Theral said, pressing the covered tankard into Laebm’s hand, through the iron bars.

  “Thank you, but it might be too strong for my stomach.”

  “Ginger is good for your stomach. It’s unsweetened. And it’s watered down.”

  Laebm sought permission to drink Theral’s gift, and Baljesshall acquiesced. He sipped at it. Bubbles danced down his throat. He felt the paradoxical cold warmth radiate in his stomach. “It is nice.”

  Theral nodded and walked over to Kraek’s cell. Laebm’s smile turned sour. Even in front of me, she favors Kraek. Laebm couldn’t listen to their conversation.

  In Baeldaan, Laebm, Kraek, and Theral had hidden for four months before the kingsmen discovered them. In those four months, tensions blanketed the rebel effort.

  Laebm felt a shallow sense of pride that he had not harbored any romantic thoughts of Theral until years after his wife drowned herself, and that he hadn’t acted on those impulses until after Theral’s husband died in battle. But when their rhythms synced, sparks flew. At least for Laebm. Theral was the strong woman he always needed beside him. His marriage to Laebmhadn had been arranged and proved a futile effort. But after her suicide, Laebm could have chosen Theral as his new bride.

  A month passed, and their heated nights together ceased. When supping with Laebm’s wedbrother, Governor Baelhill, Theral started to prefer Kraek’s proximity. Another month in, Kraek’s wife Fal followed rumors to reunite with her husband in Baeldaan. Yet Theral continued to pay Kraek more attention than Laebm.

  After a few more lonely nights, Kraek’s own wife came to Laebm’s room. Potter Fal worried that her husband was unfaithful to her before she had reunited with him. She accused Theral, though Laebm would not support the accusation. Fal proposed some sort of twisted revenge, and Laebm declined.

  But a kind woman with gentle hands kissed him. He could not refuse. Only when she unlaced his shirt did Laebm stop the madness. As kind as possible, Laebm requested she leave him.

  Laebm did not believe Kraek would sleep with another woman besides his wife. Nor did he believe Kraek knew about Fal’s vengeful kisses. But Laebm had never fallen out of love with Congresser Theral.

  “It’s healing nicely, thank you for asking,” Theral said to Kraek as she stepped back. “I must say my goodbyes. The harvest banquet will begin very soon.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Laebm parrotted, “Goodbye.”

  Theral departed without another word.

  That night, Laebm fell asleep on a bed of hay on cold stone, hoping to dream of the beautiful Butcher of the Bloody Courtyard.

  But he only dreamt of battle.

  Laebm and Kraek stood armored, riding chariots. Their sons followed. The only commander at a higher position of authority was the king’s eldest son. Two thousand chariots trod down the West Duim Road, as they had in real life. Just as many footmen trailed behind.

  Over the multicolored horizon emerged Landfisher’s Keep, the squarish fortress at the center of Anang. Its citizens had abandoned the
landlocked city of Anang since Prince Yaangdhill the Twisted slew half the men, women, and children two months prior with his mismatched arms and oversized greatsword, looking for Traamis the True. But Gaer, Theral, and the congressers’ threatened families had retreated to the empty castle.

  Treachery had been on Laebm and Kraek’s lips for days. Congresser Gaer was their close friend. The king grew too vicious — not to mention the crown prince. It felt bizarrely righteous to turn cloak against king and country. No, not country. Only against king.

  Slowed by a swift gray storm, the king’s thousands arrived outside Landfisher’s Keep at dusk. Vile Prince Yaangdhill meant to frighten the rebels. He set up camp and showed the two hundred or so rebels how vastly the kingsmen outnumbered them.

  But Laebm and Kraek turned a thousand charioteers, a thousand footmen, and a couple hundred archers to the rebel cause. Just under half of the king’s forces — but they burned the prince’s encampment to the ground. The Second Battle of Anang illuminated the night sky like some sort of heavenly magic.

  The rebels opened the gate to Landfisher’s Keep to join in the night battle. Though Laebm had not witnessed Gaer’s death at the prince’s hand, he always watched on in his dreams, unable to help or even move. I’ll take care of your wife, he tried to tell his friend. I’ll take care of Theral.

  In reality, they won the battle decisively and captured the prince. Most travelled with Laebm and Kraek when they took the Twisted Prince to Baeldaan. Such as Traamis’s daughter, some retreated to the homes, to let the commonfolk know of the Profane King’s descent into insanity.

  But this never played out when Laebm dreamed it. Every dream would end with Prince Yaangdhill flexing his mismatched arms and breaking free of his fetters and killing either Laebmhill, Laebm himself, or the freshly widowed Theral.

  This night, though, Yaangdhill did not break free. Theral set him free. All of a sudden, Laebm sat in attendance at their wedding. And he held Theral and Yaangdhill’s newborn. The newborn stood tall, a man grown. And the child knocked Laebm’s teeth out.

  He awoke from the scratchy hay he had to call a bed. Laebm still occupied a cell. His dreams offered a bittersweet taste of freedom.

  Commotion. He blinked away the rheum in the corners of his eyes. He sat up and turned to find a new neighbor inside Kraek’s cell. Outside the cells, Denhall held Kraek’s sinewy arm. “House arrest. You’ll join your wife.”

  “What of Laebm?”

  “The Segchyhah are leaving tomorrow.”

  “This is—”

  Denhall pushed Kraek out of the prison building. Baljesshall left as well. Laebm found himself alone with some foreign man.

  This pale man’s milky skin clung to his bones for dear life. His long silver hair reached for his gaunt waist. His emerald eyes peered into Laebm’s.

  “Hello?” Laebm whispered.

  The old man was plainly confused.

  “Segchyhah?”

  He did not recognize this word either. Laebm did not sleep the rest of that night.

  “Basialy — that’s his name.”

  “There are people less inclined to treason who can speak with him.”

  Laebm stood, which required more effort than Laebm liked. “For now, at least, I think he’s more inclined to speak with me.”

  “And why is that?”

  “He sees us as equals. We’re both sitting behind bars.”

  Baljesshall grimaced. “It doesn’t matter. You are not to speak with him. Do you understand?”

  Laebm crept towards the cell door. “Boy, I have had it with the way you speak to me. Over the past six weeks, you have condescended, disrespected, and tried to make yourself look big. But I’ll tell you something your father didn’t get to before he died because he didn’t know how to use a sword. Do not talk down to your elders, lest Hrash curse you and whatever’s left of your house.”

  Baljesshall drew his steel and nearly pissed himself. His voice quivered. “You can’t talk to me like that. I’ve got the keys to that prison cell. I’m in charge.”

  “You’ve got a lot to learn before you shed the title Apprentice.”

  “Shut up! When Denhall gets here, you’ll be sorry. He should already be here by now, in fact. Any second, and he’ll burst in. Then you’ll see.”

  “Then I’ll see.”

  Baljesshall nodded and sheathed his shortsword. “I’m ashamed to have ever called you war hero.”

  That struck a nerve. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for me. It would take me all day to list off the names of the human souls I saved! But I didn’t fight in Anang and Baeldaan and Enesma so some smart-mouthed boy could whine at me!”

  The foreigner Basialy whimpered as the voices grew louder.

  Baljesshall just stood there. Jaw clenched, he sat on his corner stool.

  Laebm leaned against the iron bars for some time.

  Minutes slogged by. The air seemed to turn to jelly. To Laebm’s shock, Falhill entered the prison building — his cheeks stained with salty residue.

  “Alright, Laebm, it’s time.”

  Baljesshall stood and whined, “Where is Denhall? He was supposed to be here.”

  “He’s missing, but I’m sure he’s alright. Probably hunting for old time’s sake.”

  “Missing?”

  “I shouldn’t have said missing. In any case, I’m here to see Laebm is released.”

  Laebm’s face loosened. “Released? Into house arrest?”

  “You have caused no trouble. The Segchyhah are all but gone. Ganjinhill is headed for the other side of the world. You’re simply free.”

  Laebm couldn’t help but think of his slain son. Honor compelled him to avenge this kin. But Laebmhill… He did not deserve vengeance.

  Falhill gestured for Baljesshall to unlock the cell. “The congress expects your full cooperation. There aren’t any problems we should know about?”

  Laebm Lionheart stood still as stone as the iron bars swung open for the first time in six long weeks. He thought of Kraek’s plan to poison the congress, including the lanky man who stood before him. “No problem whatsoever.” His weakened muscles ached as he stepped forward. The hinges shrieked like a dying cat as the prison cell shut behind him.

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Bereft

  “You remember your son Denhall, right?”

  The middle-aged woman couldn’t open her eyes, but she groaned. Falhill lightly shook her shoulder, but Scribe Denhadn could not stir from her half-slumber.

  Farmer Shelaarfhall cleared his throat. “Please don’t wake her if she doesn’t want to be woken.”

  Falhill and Balgray looked at the farmer. “She needs to know,” Falhill insisted. “Her son is missing.”

  “Presumed dead, I know.” He made a prayerful gesture. “And a nonbeliever, Hrash bless his soul.”

  Balgray touched the farmer’s arm and donned a sad smile. “Congresser Sarahedeen claimed to have seen him entering the Northwood, well west of the Azure Boulevard. That was the last anyone saw him.”

  “Died doing what he loved, most like,” Shelaarfhall whispered, holding back his sour tears. “Hunting. He missed it ever since he became Enesma’s governor, then a congresser and sheriff. He would complain to his mother that he wished politicking was as simple as hunting.”

  Falhill sighed. “If she awakens, you must tell her.”

  “It will be easier coming from me.”

  Falhill knew Farmer Shelaarfhall and Scribe Denhadn had grown close since Denhadn was widowed thirteen months ago. “Make sure she knows that — even if he hated it — Denhall was the one who stood up to the Drysword and made sure Hrashhill became a member nation in the Segchyhah Collective. Denhall ensured trade would make its way to Independence, so we would not starve.”

  Balgray added, “And hopefully the Segchyhah will return by the time the Unholy King eventually finds us. So we aren’t defenseless.”

  Falhill examined Denhall’s sickly mother. Only forty-five years of age, a
nd her face had yielded to innumerable wrinkles. Denhadn’s hands trembled slightly, without cease. Her eyes squinted, and her lips parted so she could mumble nonsense. Bedridden, her stomach had puffed up, and her chin hung fleshier than usual. Her sanity had fled. To hear Denhall tell it, she had been declining for some time. He didn’t relish watching his mother slowly die before his eyes.

  “We will continue to search for him in the Northwood,” Falhill assured Shelaarfhall, “but it has been two days. Soldier Rudlaarhill is still recovering from the bear attack that he faced when searching for Denhall. I don’t know if there’s hope or not.”

  “Give our regards to Rudlaarhill. And let me take care of Denhadn.”

  Falhill and Balgray said their goodbyes and prayed over Denhadn. They left.

  “Probably for the best she’s not lucid,” Falhill whispered outside the hovel.

  But Balgray shook her head. “Hope is important. It gets you through the unknown.”

  Only five days had passed since the Segchyhah feast, where a non-Segchyhah foreigner had snuck in with Jiridhill’s picture message. The implication was clear. Whether this foreigner, named Basialy, had murdered Jiridhill or simply swiped it off his corpse, Balgray’s son was surely dead. The language barrier appeared insurmountable, but Falhill would continue trying to communicate with him every day.

  The day after the feast, after the Segchyhah departed, Falhill and Drea had addressed the few hundred gathered, informing them of the non-Segchyhah infiltrating their colony. “The Segchyhah soldiers who remain will guard the northern border.” Hunter Fenhall burst into fiery tears. Not only had Balgray lost her son Ambassador Jiridhill, but Fenhall also lost his elder sister Ambassador Freily. Fenhall will not fade gently into the background, Falhill worried. He’s one outburst away from murder.

  All at once, a tide of memories inundated Falhill — his days as a royal scribe, moving to Haarzul, then to Enesma. All containing Falhadn. He had said farewell to her only four days ago.

  “This is it,” he had said.

  “I can’t say I’m upset,” she had replied.