by Richard Nell
He put his forehead against the cool stone wall and breathed. Much of what had to be done had already been done. The game had begun, the future hurtling forwards faster than any man could plan. Farahi had designed it.
This was the moment all his friends, enemies, everyone in the isles, and soon the coastal nations and beyond would see his opening gambit. Despite his visions and many predictions, he could not truly know how they would react.
Finally he stood tall and walked with his hands behind him. He had chosen hard leather shoes with a metal layer under the heel, so his steps would clack through the arch and all along the path to the dais. At his slow, clicking steps the court began to notice and quiet. By the time he had crossed the halfway point, he walked in silence.
He climbed the steps with great care, then looked out at the court as if he’d only just noticed they existed. He sat in his new throne—a simple, metal chair with a thin cushion. He sat erect with his arms and legs spread at ease, and nodded to the speaker, who gestured to the priests.
The Alhunan priests from Sri Kon’s temple lit their incense sticks and waved their chimes, and the Batonian monks began their throat-chant. Both rituals would be familiar to the guests—though something they only experienced at temple. The priests placed their bronze statue of the first Alhuna—the first benevolent spirit, who had helped protect men from the gods, and a sort of stand-in for the Enlightened.
At last the sweating priests turned to the attendees just as they did at temple. The speaker asked if the families rejected violence—they did. If they rejected lies—they did. If they embraced the central path that connected all things, and believed that only the race of men could protect the world from destruction. They did.
“Then with courage, and humility,” said the speaker, “let us seek the wisdom of the Enlightened.”
“Alhun,” spoke the court rotely, though with an awkward pause and not in unison. From the rear of the pack of monks stood an old master holding a purple cloak—the Cloak of the Traveler—though, of course not the original. This was a ceremonial artifact said to be worn by the Enlightened when he first arrived in the isles, and was only ever put on display. Farahi stood and bowed his head, and with proper solemnity accepted the cloak around his shoulders.
The monks and priests took their places, and Farahi returned to his seat to observe a silent, staring crowd.
By their expressions, it seemed they had no idea what to make of this. No king had ever worn the cloak. It had always represented a link to the divine, and to the spirit world—to the destructive power of the gods themselves. Pyu rulers did not associate themselves with the priests save to pay their respects, and ask for protection, because no man dared tempt the gods by claiming influence beyond the realm of men. Many would think doing so was the very height of hubris, and that doing so was to invite disaster.
“The king thanks you for your attendance,” said the speaker, his voice well-controlled, his bearing strong. “He has asked you here for two momentous reasons. The first, to receive a copy of new laws which will affect all islands. And the second, to hold an important vote.” Here he bowed, and withdrew with a hand extended.
Farahi waited, and did not rise. He watched the royals in attendance bristle at the word ‘laws’.
“You will all understand,” he said at last, keeping his voice low enough the audience would strain to hear, “that pirate raids have become as common as raindrops, both on land and sea.”
Already many in the crowd shifted. ‘Pirate raids’ was now all but short-hand for ‘nobles making quiet war on their neighbors’ while the great kings quarreled and didn’t stop it.
“Trade in the isles suffers,” Farahi continued. “More importantly, trade with our coastal neighbors suffers. This can not be allowed to continue. I have therefore drafted several laws of the sea to return our waters to order.”
He gestured to the Speaker, and thirty servants entered with stacks of scrolls to be distributed to every attendee. Farahi waited as they received them, knowing they would think it all meaningless and no one would obey them anyway. He imagined himself a stone jutting from the waves, and wondered which wave would crash first.
“With all due respect.” Tama of the Keala—King Molbog’s cousin and a powerful Orang Kaya from the Eastern islands—stood. When he spoke he looked more to the gathering than at Farahi. “We are not your vassals. Halin’s ships protect us. And while we appreciate your concern for trade and peace, we are not subject to your laws.”
This was, of course, true. Nearly every island had its own system of laws and governance and allies. None of the islands owed the Alakus official loyalty and never had. For a hundred years all recognized their ascendance and obeyed them informally, but not always. Farahi did not so much as blink.
“It is a shame King Molbog was unable to attend. How his island is ruled or indeed yours is none of my concern.”
Tama’s mouth quirked in a sly smile, and again he spoke more to the court than to Farahi. “Oh I’m sure he deeply regrets his absence, great king. But may I ask, if you do not mean to apply your laws to his island, why he should regret it?”
Many in the crowd snickered. Farahi waited until long after it ended.
“The laws before you are sea laws, Tama, and will now apply to every sea that bears my name. Halin is surrounded by those seas, as are the Eastern islands. But have no fear, you need not read that entire document, these laws are quite simple.” Farahi finally raised his voice. “Piracy is now punishable by death. To give safe harbor to pirates is now punishable by death. To purchase supplies or goods knowingly from pirates is now punishable by death.” The crowd was already murmuring and rising but Farahi kept speaking. “Every merchant, every city, and every king who uses an Alaku sea will now pay a sea-tax to help keep these laws enforced.”
Even Farahi’s allies looked tinged with red as the Orang-Kaya and petty lords and ladies looked to one another in astonishment, or perhaps offence. Tama’s face twisted.
“Perhaps we should unburden the Alaku family from such responsibility.” No one quite dared to cheer this on, but it received a few grunts. “I expect my cousin will be happy to protect our seas without any ‘tax’ on his neighbors. But thank you for the offer, great king.”
Farahi smiled now, and he could see it unnerved his enemy. He gestured at the speaker, who waved at the far entrance to the court.
Eka entered alone and in the robes of a priest, which Farahi had to admit suited him best. Before him, balanced on a large, silver tray, he carried the severed, slightly eaten, decomposing head of King Trung.
He walked so smoothly and calmly, Farahi reminded himself the man was a master of the Ching. With the long fabric dangling to the floor, he almost drifted more than walked, hovering down the aisle until he ascended the dais and placed the tray on one of several small, round tables.
The crowd stared, and Farahi spoke into the silence with a tone of barely held contempt.
“It saddens me to inform you, that King Trung is unable to protect anything, because King Trung is dead.”
Tama stared along with everyone else, all eyes roaming the gruesome scene and no doubt trying to determine if it was real. Farahi stopped smiling.
“Crown-Prince Trung is also dead. And Prince Turi. And Prince Rata.” He paused, and raised his brow. “Alas, a man could sail for many days in any direction, and he would not find a single person bearing the name Trung. It seems even the women are gone.”
Tama blinked, looking again and again at Trung’s head, his face sweating as the crowd watched him, as if hoping he would see that it wasn’t truly his ally and some kind of trick.
“You’ve attacked a peaceful city?” he whispered, then raised his voice. “You’ve slaughtered women and children? In the last few days?”
Farahi bristled. “I did not say I killed them. But then if I did there would be no laws forbidding it, would there? In any case you will have all seen Sri Kon’s navy has not left her port, and has fough
t no battles.”
Farahi had made sure of that. Everyone in attendance had been invited to arrive at his royal port, which currently housed his entire navy—complete, and freshly maintained, without even a speck of damage.
The strangeness and the brutality of the head was still doing its work, and the court officials were dabbing at sweat and looking at exits, no doubt growing concerned how all of this would end. Trung had been the second most powerful man in the isles. His family lineage was as old as Pyu.
“We all know Trung was a man of unwholesome tastes,” Farahi said with a shrug. “He loved violence, and ignored the Way. The temple of Halin is crumbling and corrupt. If people accept such behavior from their king, surely they invite calamity. We must be wiser, my friends. We must be pious, and civil. We must obey the laws.”
Tama remained on his feet. “If you didn’t kill him,” he said without a shred of belief, “how exactly do you have his head? Did it fall from the sky, my lord?”
Farahi sighed as if repentant. “I’m embarrassed to admit. But you all know King Trung and I have been having our differences. In a low moment of frustration, I freely admit I whispered into the darkness, and once asked the spirits for Trung’s head. I did not mean this literally, you understand, and on reflection regretted it at once. But words are important, oh yes, and intentions. One day, while eating my breakfast and playing with my children, here it arrives. I feel responsible. I have already begun to atone as the priests command.”
Throughout this speech Tana looked increasingly disgusted. He looked at the attendants around him, spewing air and perhaps spittle. “You asked the spirits? Spirits brought you the head of a king? You expect us to listen…”
“Yes.” Farahi’s voice snapped short and harsh and brought silence. “And spirits left Halin in flames, Tana, which I expect you will be hearing reports of very soon. Speak to the survivors. Speak to the guards. They will tell you what they saw. Some have already brought me word from Halin’s navy. The admirals too seek atonement for their previous ways, their lawlessness. They wish peace with Sri Kon on behalf of whichever new family is chosen to rule them. Of course I accepted. It seems Halin’s treasury was also emptied, so I have offered to maintain Halin’s fleet, and pay her sailors. I will continue do so until order is established.”
At this, even Molbog’s cousin was struck dumb. To lie about such a thing would make Farahi a fool, and whatever the men in this room thought of him, they did not think him a fool. They would think it must therefore be true.
That Farahi could afford it would be terrifying enough. That it had been agreed to and already done—that the Alakus could now command the second greatest navy in the isles to at the very least remain idle, and perhaps even fight for them, made Sri Kon untouchable.
And now the killing stroke.
Farahi looked one of his few remaining public enemies in the eye. “I have also informed our great partner, Kapule of Nong Ming Tong, that no more pirates would interfere with his grain ships on my seas. To give him comfort, I have promised to guarantee all his shipments from my treasury. He will therefore no longer be trading rice with the other islands. But have no fear, you may purchase through Sri Kon, and I will ensure my merchants are fair. I will take a modest fee, of course, but as piracy ends, you will see prices will still go down.”
At this pronouncement, the court no longer murmured or complained, for this was not politics as usual. If what Farahi said was true, the major source of conflict and opportunity in the seas was gone. Coastal piracy was a great source of island income, but he had promised death to anyone who tried. He had forced every island to rely on him for food, which they required every year, and he had killed his greatest enemy, all in the space of an afternoon.
Farahi decided it was time to make his exit. A king’s words should be violent, not torturous. He rose, and at this signal the speaker smiled at the crowd and cleared his throat.
“The king thanks you all for coming, friends and allies. He has prepared a feast in your honor. He looks forward to seeing you and all the other members of the royal families next gathering of the court, which will be taking place more frequently in the next several years.”
Farahi had already stepped from the dais. He smiled at the thought of the final course of the feast—a very specific type of fish heads, found only near Halin.
“You said there would be a vote,” Tana called, a bit less fire in his voice, perhaps, if no less hatred. “I must return to my family immediately, so what is it.”
Farahi stopped and turned with a tap of his metal soles, and smiled politely.
“I give you a great responsibility, my lord. Please lead the discussion with my blessing. You must decide whether we meet now for court at Matohi, or some other time of the month going forward. Whatever you choose will be acceptable, but please consider everyone’s convenience.”
With this he signaled the speaker to bring the first course and walked from the hall, already thinking on the future and relying on the silent Eka to watch for danger. The ex-monk had already begun to hire his own network from pirates—pirates that would soon need other work. He had a devious mind, and no compunction with getting his own hands dirty. Farahi could not have been more pleased.
Next he would deal with the Molbog, perhaps surrounding their ports and sinking a few ships to make his point. Then a few of his own more disloyal lords needed to be tamed, because he was positive at least Lord Sanhera was actively against him, and had been the third ‘king’ in the so-called ‘Three-kings’.
He had little fear, however, at least in the short term. The ‘war’ of the isles was over before it began. Word would spread of Trung’s death like wildfire, and though no one would know what had happened or how, they would assume Farahi did it. They would hate him more than ever but he had learned he could not overcome this with reason or good governance, so he would rule with harsh laws, and fear.
Soon he would accept a ward from King Kapule to seal their bargain, which was expected in such an important agreement. He would take a young, and meaningless daughter to signal his trust, perhaps a girl Kale’s age. He would ask Kikay to be responsible for her because she had never had children and perhaps it would help temper her.
Farahi found he could not even look at Kale without thinking of Hali. A single glance sometimes reignited the dwindling love still fighting for life in his chest. Unfortunately, he could not afford it. He had given the boy siblings, now he would give him a play-mate and an aunt, and later the best tutors in the world. It was not a replacement for a father’s love, he knew, and unfair, but such was life.
He knew he must be quick and focused now, and turn his attention South. Ruka had asked for supplies come spring, and the timing would be difficult. He would have to push Kapule for large shipments early, then operate with as much secrecy as possible, perhaps letting Kwal lead the ships with skeleton crews and swear all to secrecy. Eka would ensure they didn’t talk too much.
Farahi followed the threads of his venture South as best he could as he walked through his halls, the silent Eka drifting beside him. There were many possibilities of disaster, including storms, betrayal, even the failure of Ruka before Farahi’s ships ever arrived.
Far beyond this and overlaying all were the oppressive strands of the Naranian empire, covering all as if unstoppable, heavy as iron chains, no further than fifteen years away. There was so much to do. Only a powerful people united and ready could resist the empire.
Still, Farahi would try. And at least now he was not alone.
He wondered where Ruka was and what he was doing. The image of the man’s threads sprouted before him, terrifying and radiant, the sea shining with a rising dawn.
No, Farahi was not alone. Incredibly, defying all the many threads of treachery and doom, now he had Ruka. And in the time he had, in the decade and a half or more before disaster, Farahi would wrest control of his rebellious islands, then stand between two threads and try to balance one against the other. Though Ha
li was dead and the greatest hope of a pure future gone— if he managed it, perhaps, his people would survive.
Chapter 66
Ruka stood on the beach of Kormet as Altan fell into his daughter’s arms. The farmer had returned from the peninsula, his face slick with tears the moment he’d seen them from his boat. Ruka left them to their reunion, but later his retainer had come to him and Egil in Folvar’s hall
“Things are progressing as planned,” Altan spoke in private, “though the farmers fear what will happen come harvest.” He shook his head and shrugged. “We should use more of the bloody North for farmland, shaman. Most of Orhus is on good, rich soil, and so are some of the other towns and villages. The lines were drawn by city folk who knew nothing.”
Ruka nodded and had thought the same. “Then we will move them. And I’ve been thinking we will split Bray’s river. Two, maybe even three forks should be sustainable. That should help with irrigation and several other things.”
He grinned as both the skald and farmer’s mouths gaped. “All is possible now.” Ruka looked to the hearthfire, eyes and mind far away as he worked in his Grove. “What we must do will take many years. Maybe even a whole new generation of ash that can sail, read and write, and fight like soldiers. We’re going to build pipes beneath the earth,” he almost whispered, “vast works reaching every house, so we can move water further South without it freezing, and dispose of waste in one of the riverforks. We’re going to hunt whales further out to sea. We’ll build better, warmer houses with clean beds, and show our people ways to keep their teeth, and clean their water, and prepare their food.”
The bewildered men said nothing, until the Midlander frowned. “What are ‘pipes’?”
Ruka blinked, and laughed. “Nevermind. One day at a time. We will re-build this place, cousins, even as we prepare to go to new lands. You will see.”
