by Bridie Blake
The Jewel of Kamara
Bridie Blake
Text copyright © 2013 Bridie Blake
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9923517-1-7
DEDICATION
To mum and dad.
For everything.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
IN A TIME BEFORE THE PALACE
BEYOND THE IRON GATES
THE THIEF, A COMMONER & THE PRINCE
A ROYAL COURTSHIP
PRINCE HALLAM OF LENTHIR
THE BLACK & WHITE WOMAN
A ROYAL VISITOR
FAMILY TIES
THE FIRST SHIASA
THE TRIBES WE JOIN
A LEADER IS BORN
A CURSED LIFE
AND NOW WE FIGHT
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
~1~
IN A TIME BEFORE THE PALACE
The moon sat high above the convent of Kamara. Silence had fallen over the region and surrounding villages. The only sounds to be heard were the soft hooting of the creatures of the night and the gentle rustling of the leaves as a light wind settled in.
A sleek black dog stood motionless in the courtyard. His eyes darted back and forth from one side of the courtyard to another, as if searching for something. His tail thumped into the dirt as he saw a cloaked figure slipping out of the dorms, sweeping their fingers over the stone wall as they crept along, sticking to the shadows. The figure came to a stop at the wall and pushed one of the stones forward to reveal a hole. The dog ran forward and leapt through the wall. The figure followed him through and together they set off into the surrounding trees.
Their feet moved quickly yet made no sound on the dirt below. The ground inclined the deeper into the trees they went, until they were completely immersed in the dense forest. The dog, Tilaw, hated this part of the journey. His feet began to drag and his breathing became more labored. But he wouldn’t give up.
He soon felt the breeze on his tongue and quickened his pace. Just ahead of them was the clearing they were headed for and the stream he longed for.
“You’re late,” a gruff voice hissed as they broke free of the trees. Tilaw ignored the newcomer and bounded over to the cool water.
“Be grateful I’m here at all. I’m being watched closely at the moment. I wouldn’t be surprised if I woke up tomorrow shackled to my bed.”
Tilaw sensed the anger in the soft voice and trotted over to show his support. His owner sighed and removed the cloak. Long black hair fell over slight shoulders and down to a slender waist. Tempani of Amarill shook it off her face and out of her big brown eyes.
“Let’s get started. I don’t have long.”
“Did anyone follow?”
Tempani rolled her eyes. “I haven’t been followed in five years. Why would they start now?”
“You’re being watched. Why?”
“I don’t know,” she hissed. “There are whispers that a palace official is on their way to the convent. They’re probably just worried that I’ll bring shame to my fellow novices.”
The man couldn’t help but smile. It was true that this young lady was no model novice. She wore the white shift and headpiece, but beyond that she followed none of the rules set out before her.
“Are we working with our swords again?”
The man shook his head and thrust a bow into her hands. “You must learn to shoot.” He stepped out of the shadows, allowing his eagle, Kwahi to swoop in and perch on his outstretched arm.
Nika was an imposing man. He was tall, his copper skinned body was lean and his muscles strong. He wore his long black hair pulled back from his face and held in place by a band, and he wore nothing except for a tattered pair of breeches. But it was the markings on his back that she admired the most. The name of his Kalaowin tribe, the Ikra tribe, and below that, a symbol. A circle with a jagged line through the middle. She asked him once what the symbol stood for. Did it have a meaning?
“The future.”
And that had been the end of the conversation. She had tried to push him further, but he wouldn’t have it. When Nika was done, that was it.
“When am I ever going to need to shoot? I’ll never have to hunt for my own food,” she whined, sounding more like the privileged young noblewoman she could have been instead of the serene daughter of the convent she was.
“Life is full of surprises,” he muttered. He fitted an arrow for her and pointed towards the red circle he had marked on an oak tree. “Widen your stance, drop your elbow,” he instructed.
She huffed but did as she was told. Like she always did.
“Pull your hand back so that it’s touching your mouth. Good,” he said. “Now breathe and release.” He knew she wouldn’t miss. She’d excelled in every skill he had taught her since she had stumbled across him five years ago.
It had been a cold winter’s night, snow was but a day away, yet this young girl had decided to go for a wander that evening. Trailing behind her was a black dog, panting as they wound their way through the trees. She reached the clearing where they stood now and sat down on the muddy ground. She sat for some time. She didn’t move, didn’t fidget. She just sat and hummed a song to herself. A boy, a few years older than she, stood silent in the trees and watched. He knew who she was; they all did. But he was told to stay away. The dog had whined and pawed at his mistress.
“Shh Tilaw. He will come,” she whispered.
Her humming grew louder until she started to sing. The boy gasped. The song was sacred to the tribes, and they had been told that she knew none of their ways. That she lived the Kamari life and had renounced her Kalaowin roots.
She heard his gasp and smiled. “See Tilaw, he’s here.” She stood and walked to where the boy stood. “I am Tempani.”
“Nika,” he said nervously.
“Did you like my song Nika?”
He nodded.
“You’re to be my friend then. I had a dream last night that I sang that song and a friend came along. You must be that friend.”
And from that night they had become friends. Each night he waited in the clearing for her, and most nights she turned up. First they just talked. He only spoke Kalaowin, and she loved talking her mother’s tongue with him. She told him stories of her childhood and her new life in the convent, and he in turn told her stories of his tribe. She loved his stories, and it was after one such story that she demanded he teach her how to fight like the people of his tribe. With a sword, her hands and her body. In return she would teach him to speak Kamari. And thus they began their lessons.
—
Tempani woke to the sound of bells chiming at the first sign of daybreak. She groaned and rolled over, stretching her arms above her head. Her muscles ached as they did whenever Nika taught her something new. She listened as the other novices rose from their beds and filed into the bathhouse silently. It was reflection time in the convent. Not a word would be spoken until after the morning’s prayers and lunch was served. It was the longest part of Tempani’s day.
With a sigh she pulled herself out of bed and followed the other girls. Soundlessly, they removed their robes and sunk into the hot springs. And like every other morning Tempani tried to ignore the stares from any newcomers in the group and some of the old timers.
Even in the convent, the most understanding and forgiving place in the kingdom, it was not accepted by all that a half-blood should share a bathhouse with pure-blooded Kamaris. Over time the novices would find peace with it. Well, Mother Chennai believed they would. But the stares still unsettled Tempani.
After the bathhouse they shuffled off to the Chapel of the G
ods. This was the only chapel in the kingdom that worshipped all the Gods combined and therefore attracted pilgrims from across the lands. She shivered as she entered the cold Chapel before dropping to her knees in front of the shrine to the Goddess Allarah and beginning her morning prayers. During her afternoon prayers she would kneel before the shrine to the God Windel. It was part of her daily routine to pay homage to the Goddess of her mother’s people and to the God of her father’s people.
Tempani wondered if she was cursed or blessed by the fact she was a half-blood. Most of the time she was proud to come from two strong heritages, but every now and then she wished she was a pure-blood, either of her mother’s blood or her father’s. When she was younger she would place her arm between both of her parents’ and ask them why they all looked different. Her father would laugh and say “I came from a God, and your mother from a Goddess, but you, you came from somewhere even more special than that. You came from the two of us.”
That was back when they were happy. Before the incident. She used to think her father was the greatest man in the kingdom. The famous Sir Otto of Amarill, whose good deeds stretched from one end of the kingdom to the other. But then all of that changed in the blink of an eye, and the love that had surrounded her from the moment she was born was gone. And she was sent here to the convent. Ripped away from her home, her brother, the villagers she had grown up with and everything that she knew. She was handed her white shift and headpiece and went from being Tempani of Amarill to Daughter of the Convent.
The bells chimed to signal breakfast, and she followed the other novices to the hall. She held back a groan as her bowl was filled with the same bland porridge she had eaten every morning for the past five years.
She forced down each bite and wondered why the nuns didn’t keep some of the fruit and vegetables they grew here for themselves. Instead they sent them off to the estates that struggled to feed their people. She knew it was a kind thing to do, and the right thing to do, but surely they could keep some for themselves.
Around her the novices sat with their heads bowed as they ate, thanking the God Windel for each mouthful. Tempani thought it was a bit extreme and never joined in, but she would never mock it aloud for fear of slighting the Great God. She was just thankful that it took their attention away from her.
She wiped her mouth clean and handed her bowl over to the nuns who cared for the kitchen. She snuck a glance past their shoulders and frowned. Stew for lunch. Again. She missed the feasts she used to take for granted at Amarill and when they visited the city. She would groan and grumble about certain foods she didn’t like, but right now she would eat them in a moment.
They were to attend to their chores before returning for lunch, which for her meant cleaning the stables and mending her clothes. Mother Chennai had assigned her there not long after she had arrived. She had a fondness for animals, and they took to her without much of a fuss. It was in the stables that she had met Tilaw, and the two had been joined at the hip from then on.
After lunch she would work in the vegetable garden, and in the evening she helped tend to the sick. The convent was the only place in the kingdom of Kamara that allowed women to heal. It was a sacred place, and it was here that Mother Chennai taught those who showed glimpses of magic how to use it to heal.
It was when Tempani was helping people that she felt a sense of purpose. When she was younger she hated her lessons in being a lady, and at the convent she despised her reflection times. But as soon as she took her first step into the infirmary with Mother Chennai, she knew she had found her calling. She wanted to be a healer. The only problem with that was the law that said any woman who practiced magic outside the walls of the convent was to be arrested and hanged in the city. And if King Wimarc had his way, the sacred protection of the convent wouldn’t exist.
Tempani was in the infirmary late that night when Mother Chennai approached her. She reached out and took the young lady’s hands. “My daughter, shall we take a stroll together?”
They walked around the grounds, taking their time and enjoying the unusually mild night. It wasn’t long before Tilaw fell into step beside Tempani. She absently patted his head.
“Your time with us is coming to an end, my daughter. You have heard whispers no doubt that someone from the palace will be paying a visit to us shortly. They will be here on an order from your father to deliver you to his manor in Fenella.”
Tempani came to a stop and stared at Mother Chennai in disbelief. Surely this was not happening. Sure, she didn’t belong at the convent, but Fenella would be even worse. All she wanted was to go home to Amarill.
The older woman smiled sadly. “I know your relationship with your father is not what you want it to be, but this will be your chance to rebuild it. He wants you with him in the city. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“He only wants me there so he can marry me off, and we should not pretend it is for any other reason. I knew that as soon as I was of age he would come calling. At seventeen what other option is there for me?” She had been expecting this from the moment she had turned fifteen. It had been two years of not knowing if she was staying here or leaving.
“What is there to fear from that? You can marry a nice man, settle on his land and raise your children. Is that not what you want from life?”
Tempani met her eyes. “Look at me. Look at my skin,” she said. “What is the point of pretending that anyone will see past these things?”
“Have you heard the tale of the First Council of the Great Gods?”
She nodded. “My mother used to tell it when we were little.”
“Do you care to tell it to me?”
“Why?”
“Because everything the Great Gods do is of importance.”
“All right,” she said. “At the creation of the world of Delthenon, all the Great Gods gathered together and chose the land they wanted to create for their people. The Goddess Hiunto, with her brown skin and hair as black as night, liked the deserts of the south. This would be Horatio, home to the black skinned Hories. The God Sviena chose the cold mountains to the north. His blonde haired Euphemians would find peace in the cooler climates of the land he would call Euphemia. The God Mohari liked the swamps and the barren plains in the east. This would house his white skinned, black haired Galens. The high cliffs and green pastures of the west would suit the God Brona and his plans for the kingdom of Octivin. His pale skinned Octins would fish and harvest the fields. The Goddess Yiamo waited patiently to claim the Pentian Isles to the west for her cream colored people. As each god chose their land, they walked away from the Inner Circle and got to work on creating their people. They left one by one until only two were left seated.
“The God Windel turned to the Goddess Allarah and asked ‘we have but one land left. What are we to do?’
“The Goddess Allarah smiled, ‘it is but simple, kind brother. We are to create our land together, as one.’
“So they discussed this idea long through the night until they agreed on how best to execute this. The God Windel wanted white skinned children, who would build a kingdom that would be the envy of the rest of the world. They would be known as the Kamaris. The Goddess Allarah wished for nothing more than for her copper skinned children to be one with the land and the creatures it was home to. They would take to the mountains and forests of the south and live off the land and be known as the Kalaowins. And so it was decided. Two races on one land, living harmoniously side by side.”
Mother Chennai smiled. “You remember the tale well.”
“Chae loved hearing it and made her tell it to us most nights.”
“And you were not so fond?”
She shrugged. “I never understood why it was so important that each land had different colored people. Mama would say that it distinguished each person until the kingdom got a personality of its own, but I still didn’t like it. And didn’t Windel and Allarah foresee what would happen by creating two races on one land?”
&nb
sp; “It would seem they were misguided in their hopes for a united kingdom without anything to unite them. But Gods do not think as we do.”
“Clearly not.”
“Do you remember the rest of the tale?”
She frowned. “There’s more? That was all she ever told us.”
“It got added to over the years.”
“How does the rest go?”
“The land known today as Kamara is not the land it once was. The luscious green fields and flowing streams remain, as do the high mountains and dense forests. But what lies before the Inner Circle now is a kingdom shattered by its differences - torn apart by their prejudices against one another. Where once united in their stand against foreign invasion, they now fight internally. Neither victorious.
“The copper skinned Kalaowins were one with the land and animals. The white skinned Kamaris valued wealth above all else. It wasn’t long before the strong desire for wealth brought the Kamaris onto land that was sacred to their cousins. They stole what did not belong to them; horns from unicorns, furs, jewels from the depths of the mountains, people. And sold them to anyone willing to pay a fee. And they killed what they did not understand. Centaurs, satyrs, harpies, fauns, wyverns, ogres. Anything they deemed unnatural. This sparked the beginning of a long battle between the inhabitants of the kingdom.
“A Kamari would not live past his first breath on Kalaowin territory. Cut down before he could swing his sword, his blood seeping into the ground that did not belong to him. Kalaowins who trespassed on the soil of the white man were met with a lifetime of servitude. Once in, she and her children that followed were never free again.
“The Goddess wept as her people were forced into slavery while the God felt despair as his were killed if they ventured too far south. Yet the God faced trouble within his own people also. His common born children also suffered. Not at the hands of the Kalaowins but by the restraints and injustices placed on them by their own kind.
