by Boykin, Alma
Once the prayers ended, Pjtor stood and left the death chamber. He would pray and hold a vigil tomorrow, once the women had prepared his mother’s body for burial. For now he would eat a little and sleep. He looked at the painted wood and heavy furnishings without seeing them. His mind travelled elsewhere, south and east.
Two days later, as a warm, soft snow fluttered down, Pjtor knelt in the great Cathedral of Godown’s Grace, listening to the choir of priests sing the ancient hymn “Sleep Well, Faithful Servant,” their deep voices rolling through the incense-sweet air, almost making the candles bow with the weight of their words. “Oh holy Godown, let Your servant rest in peace, according to Your promise, for she has seen the coming of Your Salvation which You have given freely to all Your children who choose to hear Your word and follow.” His mother’s body, wrapped in fine white cloth, lay on a simple bier before the altar and the Gates of Grace, candles at her head and feet. He had helped carry her here and marveled at how little she weighed, as if without her spirit, nothing remained of her.
“Hear the words of Godown, giver of grace and peace,” Archbishop Nikolas chanted, his voice weaker than it had once been. “Come to me, all you who labor, and I will give you rest. As I sheltered my faithful from the Great Fires, so will I guide and protect you. I who brought your fathers out of the house of bondage, out of the land of the Eegipteeans, who led you across the stars, I will give you rest.” He changed books and verses, reciting the Shahma’s Song. “Godown is my shamah-herder, I shall lack for nothing. He leads me to lush pastures, He leads me to sweet water, He lets me rest. Even though I walk through scorched and burning lands, He is with me, His guide-stick and crossbow reassure me. He spreads a banquet for me, even among unbelievers and those who hate, He heals my wounds, He provides me with drink enough for all time, sweet water and precious wine. Surely, goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will live under His care and in His bounty forever.”
“Ah-meen,” the worshippers sang.
Pjtor listened as the cleric recited Nancy’s works, praising her as a good woman and faithful follower of Godown, devoted and quiet. “For a good woman is without price, the heart of the homefold and the household, the spirit of the family and a guide to her children, a comfort to her husband and a good mistress to her women.” That she had been, as best Pjtor could tell. He heard Strella, standing with the other women, sniffing. Thanks be that Strella had taken so many of the duties onto herself already. Pjtor wondered a little why Tamsin had not become the manager of the homefold, but perhaps her father had not allowed her to learn how. And Strella had no child to watch and care for. Perhaps he should start looking for a husband for Strella, but did he want the daggers and danger that such a match might entail? And could he risk her having a son until he had at least one more, Godown forbid that anything happened to Little Pjtor? Who was swaying on his feet beside Tamsin, tired and starting to act fussy, Pjtor noticed. Once they finished this part of the service, servants could take him back to the homefold, since he was far too young to take the elements. Pjtor tried to remember if he had been allowed to take them before he came of age to make his first profession, but could not remember that far. All he saw was his father, but fuzzily, as if he were looking at his father through wet glass, and Grigory holding his arm, and Isaac hiding, and poor dead Alyx, son of the wrong man, bleeding on the carpets.
The sound of the hand chime pulled Pjtor back to the present. He bowed as the Holy Writ passed. Little Pjtor disappeared, trotting out with a servant, one of the women. “Blessed be Godown, Giver of Mercy.”
“Blessed be Godown,” the family and court sang.
“Godown, lord of stars and souls, hear the prayers of Your children, scattered like shahma without a shepherd, lost in the cold between stars without Your presence. Blessed are You, merciful Lord.”
“Blessed be Godown.”
“Blessed is Godown, and blessed are His gifts of bread and oil, food always abundant and oil that heals and eases, the visible signs of His unimaginable love and mercy. As He has taken Nancy His servant to His endless realm, let us be glad, and sing His praise.”
“Blessed be Godown.”
The snow had stopped by the time the priests carried her body out of the church, across two courtyards, through a small side gate of the citadel that opened only for burials, and down to the burial field. As Pjtor watched, the priests lowered Nancy’s body into the ground, returning it to the dust from which Godown had made all creation. He wondered what the dust of stars looked like, if it glittered and danced like the stars themselves did. The Landers had known, and perhaps his people would know again, Godown willing.
Pjtor returned to the palace. A plain, but hot and hearty meal waited, thick soup made from ground-gourd, dirt-pea butter, and warming spices, along with smoked fish and spiced apples roasted with butter and tree-sweet, the expensive and hard-to-find sap of the mapple tree. Do mapple trees and apple trees come from the same place? Is a mapple just a different kind of apple, like the blue and golden apples are different? He had more soup, drank some beer, and let his mind drift where it wanted to. Concentrating was difficult and he was tired.
At midwinter Pjtor stood once more in the Cathedral of Godown’s Grace, looking at another white-wrapped body, this with an archbishop’s triangular hat and shahma-herd stick resting on top of it. Archbishop Nikolas had begun coughing not long after Nancy’s death, and a slight fever turned into wet-lung. He had over sixty years when he died, and Pjtor admired his determination and stubborn refusal to quit. Pjtor also had breathed a sigh of relief when he heard of the old man’s passing. Nikolas had become more and more irate with Pjtor’s refusal to punish Lords Tabor and Arkmandii. “No wonder your wife is cursed with barrenness,” Nikolas had thundered, or had tried to. “You flout the will of Godown. Just as He sent the Fires to punish unbelief, so He is punishing you as well. Until you destroy the heresy, convert the corrupt ones or put them to the sword and flame, you will not prosper and He will turn His back on NovRodi because of the people’s corrupt shepherd.”
Pjtor had not said anything more than, “I see,” at the time. Now he growled, If Godown is withholding His favor, why am I here, victorious? Why did we do so well in battle? Why did Godown send two fat years to balance this lean year, and even then He provided nuts and sheep and shahma and pfiggies in abundance? We’re almost out of space for smoking meat, thanks be to Godown, and we have had fresh meat every night until just a few days ago. Forgive me, Godown, if I am wrong, but I think You have Your own plans for the heretics. Nikolas had said that the True Spirits were worse than the Harriers, but the True Spirits did not murder women and enslave believers. They just drowned themselves, entire villages all at once. And they lived at the edges, between the Harriers and the right-believers, and if Godown wanted them gone, well, the Harriers would take care of the problem. Pjtor refused to take steps against them, especially not in midwinter.
This time he did not accompany the body to the burying field. Instead, after breaking his fast, he went to the library. Geert Fielder joined him not long after. Pjtor opened one of the books brought back from the east, a copy of a Lander-era work about cities and harbors. The men studied one picture that supposedly showed a city built under a curved glass cover called a dohme. “Why would someone want to live in a place where you have to shut the wind and water out?” Pjtor wondered aloud, tapping the page.
“Because they don’t like other people? Because they needed to control the land but it was too harsh, like up on the northern snowfields that are supposed to exist north of the Cold Sea? No idea, Pjtor Adamson.”
Pjtor turned the page and his eyes flashed open. “That, is that the Sweetwater Sea?”
Geert nodded. “I believe it is my lord, which is why Captain Anderson told me to try to find a copy of the book. If that is the sea, then this here, on the islands in the river, must be the place the Harriers come from, or it was what that place looked like before the Great Fires.”
The ci
ty had grey and white towers, wide streets, and lots of gardens growing in it, or so the pictures showed. People in pale colored clothes stood here and there and Pjtor wondered who cleaned all those white things. Maybe the women had machines that helped with the wash, or lots and lots of servants. Pjtor did not see any horses or oxen, but perhaps the artist had left them out for some reason. Or perhaps it was like inside some monasteries, where animals stayed outside at all times. Pjtor did not really care.
“Anderson says that the archivist he talked to about this book, many years ago, said he thought the animals had been left out to make it look nicer and to convince more people to buy houses and fields there. Like fathers say wonderful things about their daughters and fail to mention that she can’t cook or that she likes to wear clothes made of expensive fabric and that her dowry is in fishing rights and not in cash.”
Pjtor shook his head but smiled as he did. “And that lovely horse has a small problem about chewing the stable doors.”
“Exactly, my lord.”
Well, we never change, so why not? He turned another page and blinked hard. “Where is this?”
“It is, or was, in the south below the Belt Sea, or so the map at the back of the original book said. It is modeled on an ancient city on the home world, built by a king who tired of the politics in his capital. At least, I think that’s what this says. Whoever wrote this used a strange dialect, maybe even a different language like the Turkowi use. They even copied the statue of the king, in a way.”
Pjtor squinted at the words, tried to sound them out, and ignored them in favor of looking at the pictures. A city made of stone that had been colored pastel pinks and yellows and greens and blues stretched across very flat land by water. Ships of some kind sat in the water, and there was a statue of a man on a horse off to the side. The statue perched on top of a large rock, dominating the area around it. “Saint Michael-herdsman,” Geert said. “I think the city had been dedicated to him, probably because the founders raised horses or something like that.”
“Makes sense,” Pjtor said, thinking, When did Saint Michael raise horses? He was a builder, founded that long-lost town in the south. Easterners are strange, getting his story wrong.
Pjtor straightened up. He tapped the page with one finger. “This. After I defeat the Harriers, I will build this, Godown willing.”
NovRodi had been left alone for centuries, but Pjtor had a sense that things might be changing. Frankonia . . . and what lay beyond the Harriers? Better to be ready than to find out by surprise. His people had been driven to the forests and swamps once. He would not permit it a second time.
“This will be mine.” Not tomorrow, alas, or next year, but he would have his port, and ships, and reclaim for Godown what had been stolen so long ago.
About the Author
Alma T. C. Boykin was born in the Midwest, moved to the Great Plains, and after a brief period living in places where trees almost outnumber people, returned to the plains. She escaped college with a BA, worked for a living, then returned for an advanced degree some years later. When not writing or rotating the cat, she teaches and does a few other odds and ends. Hobbies include cooking, reading, hiking, geology, astronomy, and music.
Visit Alma’s blog at AlmaTCBoykin.Wordpress.com
The Colplatschki Chronicles
Elizabeth of Starland
Book 1 of the Colplatschki Chronicles.
Stubborn as a mule? No, stubborn AND her mule.
Colonial Plantation Ltd. abandoned ColPlat XI, writing the planet off as a tax loss after a series of severe Carrington-type events. Now, four hundred years later, Laurence V of Frankonia wants to write Elizabeth von Sarmas out of his kingdom, but like her Lander ancestors, Elizabeth refuses to roll over and die.
To survive, she needs to cross the continent, thread her way through a holy war, and find friends in the Eastern Empire—an impossible task for a sheltered gentlewoman. Or is it? Never underestimate a woman with a mission and a mule.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/Elizabeth-Starland-The-Colplatschki-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B00HFEWKXY/
Elizabeth of Donatello Bend
Book 2 of the Colplatschki Chronicles
Elizabeth grows into her duties as colonel and lady of Donatello Bend, and makes a fateful enemy.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/dp/B00KKY2G1M
Elizabeth of Vindobona
Book 3 of the Colplatschki Chronicles
Ten years after Elizabeth reaches the Empire, court politics and military command aren’t the only things she has to deal with. A marriage proposal, an assassination attempt, and a siege on the Imperial Capital bring new challenges... and new opportunities.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/dp/B00LNE7D2U
Elizabeth and Empire
Book 4 of the Colplatschki Chronicles
Twenty years after the events of Elizabeth of Vindobona, an untried emperor sits the throne while courtiers scheme. Elizabeth must navigate politics, religion, her relationship with Lazlo, and the Frankonians’ wrath in this fourth book of the Colplatschki Chronicles.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/Elizabeth-Empire-Colplatschki-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B00PNW640U
Peaks of Grace
Book 5 of the Colplatschki Chronicles
Margurite deSarm knows that she cannot govern the Sarm lands alone. But her husband, Gregory Berlin of Louvat, refuses to fulfill his duties. As Marta attempts to undo her marriage, Odile Rheinhart discovers her own unique calling. In their own complimentary ways, over ten years the two women work to keep the Sarm Valley free from the machinations of Phillip of Frankonia while balancing family, duty, and desires.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/dp/B00S1XGJSA
Circuits and Crises
Book 6 of the Colplatschki Chronicles
The Turkowi begin their advance from the south as a fight between brothers threatens the Empire.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/dp/B00UZP7QFM
Blackbird
Book 7 of the Colplatschki Chronicles
Charles Malatesta will defend his inheritance or die trying.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00YHXJ3A4
Marie’s Tale
Novella
Another side of the story of Duke Aquila Starland.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/dp/B00MW7YODI
And more...
Keep up with all the latest books by Alma T C Boykin on her blog: AlmaTCBoykin.Wordpress.com
The Cat Among Dragons Series
(Listed in chronological order from the perspective of Rada Ni Drako.)
Hubris: The Azdhagi Reborn
Book 1 of the Cat Among Dragons prequel series.
When the Azdhagi overreach the limits of their science, only a few individuals stand between them and chaos. Three interlinked disasters start a chain reaction of tragedy and triumph leading to the re-creation of Azdhag society.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/Hubris-Azdhagi-Reborn-Alma-Boykin-ebook/dp/B00J8UCN9O
Renaissance: A Novel of Azdhag Survival
Book 2 of the Cat Among Dragons prequel series.
When the Empire calls, dare an Azdhag disobey? Two generations after the Great Relocation and the Azdhag Empire threatens to pull apart as Great Lords, colony residents, and Freetown inhabitants struggle to control their worlds. A ghost from the past forces the King-Emperor to send the Prince Imperial and a most reluctant Tartai of Tarkeela to the colony on Pokara. Trouble, madness, and carpentry await.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/Renaissance-Azdhag-Survival-Alma-Boykin-ebook/dp/B01E0CKMX8
A Cat Among Dragons
Book 1 in the Cat Among Dragons series.
They started it
. Rada Ni Drako just wanted to do her job, but her father’s people declared her a corrupt half-breed, one unfit to live. Now she’s on the run and in need of a new identity and a job. When she fled back in time to join an interstellar mercenary company, she did not anticipate becoming the Pet of House Nagali, becoming the student of a mysterious but very well connected Healer and diplomat, and fighting her way into power as the only sentient mammal in the court of a reptilian empire. And falling flat on her face several times in the process.
This collection of short stories, the first in the Cat Among Dragons series, begins the saga of Rada Ni Drako and her odd assortment of allies. Join the adventure as Rada takes on her father’s people and tries to keep her head, and the rest of her, intact.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/A-Cat-Among-Dragons-ebook/dp/B00AMNB0N6
Hairballs
Short fiction from the Cat Among Dragons series.
Rada, Yori, and some of the other Scouts are unwinding from a mission when they hear that the Division is testing new battle armor. Yori gets the idea that someone needs to put the armor through its paces, and against Rada’s better judgment, Yori ropes her into the adventure.
Available from Amazon.com at:
www.amazon.com/Hairballs-Among-Dragons-Story-ebook/dp/B00B1DR544
Justice and Juniors
Book 2 in the Cat Among Dragons series.
A collection of short stories following the exploits of Rada Ni Drako in a universe full of danger, excitement, and strange alien species.
Available from Amazon.com at:
