Riven Earth, page 39
Zonia looked at the fruit, turned, and glanced at the collection of children watching anxiously from the huts. She met Maisades’ eyes for a second. Then she spoke to the merchant. “No, thanks. We’re not interested. Please leave.”
Maisades’ eye twitched.
“What?” Akthar stared at her for a moment. His eyes darted to Maisades, blatantly obvious. “How about these clothes? Look! The finest pyol wool! Crafted in Bouro…”
Maisades wriggled free of Isha’s vexatious grip, scratching furiously at his stump.
“No, thank you,” Zonia said. “Please leave.”
“But…”
“I said leave.” Acid dripped from her voice. Her eyes narrowed, and the glow around her strengthened.
The collection of men stumbled back, hands raised. The pale merchant squealed. “Stop! Please! He told us! He told us you were ready to make a deal! Please don’t hurt me!”
“Shit!” Maisades looked away, pretending to not be paying attention.
“Who told you?” Zonia followed the four pairs of eyes that stared in Maisades’ direction.
“I’m sorry!” the pale bastard wailed. He turned and ran into the forest, arms flailing like mad. The two burly men glanced at one another and followed suit. Akthar stood a moment longer, eyes lingering on his lost goods before he bent over in a hurried bow and scrambled after them.
Zonia turned. Her golden glare pierced through Maisades. She marched across the field with her face set hard and her fists clenched.
“Back to work!” she snapped in the direction of the gaping children. They scurried away from her fury.
Maisades almost ran too. He felt dizzy and short of breath. Sweat tickled his brow, dripping into his eyes and sticking his tunic to his back. The sun bore down on him, fueling the very fire Zonia would use to cut him up.
Isha squeezed his hand, almost as scared.
Maisades inhaled a deep, ragged breath. This wasn’t the plan. Zonia wasn’t meant to reject the deal. It was ludicrous that she had. She wasn’t meant to know he’d arranged it. But the stakes were too high. He needed her. He would have her. So, he put on his most sheepish grin and brought his hand to the back of his head.
“Strange folk, those four. Don’t you think?” His voice seemed higher pitched than he remembered.
“Isha, go work with the others,” Zonia said, deadly cold.
“But…”
“I said go.”
The girl squeaked and hurried away.
“How dare you!” Zonia shoved a finger in Maisades’ face. “After I let you in! After I let you spend time with my children! You dare invite others into our home?”
“I was only trying to help…”
“Did I ask for your help?”
“No, but…”
“We don’t need it!”
“I’m sorry, I thought…”
“This was a mistake,” she said. “I risked the safety of my entire family by inviting you in. Leave! Now! And never return!”
Maisades’ eye twitched. His stump itched. His back ached. His feet throbbed. His head pounded, blood rushing in his ears, skin flushed with it. He was terrified. And he was angry. This pudgy black whore thought herself above him? Him? Maisades Fareses, the man who wrote the Codex of Law? She thought herself worthy of ordering him about? Of bullying him with her black magic? Her? This ugly cunt of a peasant?
Unacceptable.
He exhaled through gritted teeth. He’d come too far, worked too hard to let his saplings wilt now.
“Zonia, I can explain—”
“I said leave!”
Maisades stared at her. His eyes grew watery. A tear made its way down his cheek. Zonia frowned.
“Please,” he whispered. “I was trying to help…”
“How many times do I have to tell you! Leave our home, or I’ll kill you!” She raised her hand, fingers held straight as light coalesced at the tips.
Maisades fell to his knees with a shrill wail, sobbing into his only palm. “Kill me then! I have nothing to live for anymore!”
“They took her!” he cried. “My little baby! My little girl! My little Lilly! They took her from me! They murdered her!” He collapsed to his side, curled up like a child, quivering and shaking with all the passions of grief. “My life is nothing without her! Nothing without my Lilly!” He choked on his tears, coughed, hacked on his sobs. “Just kill me now! Please! It would be a mercy!”
Zonia made a flustered sound, staring down at him in bewilderment. The moment stretched. He resisted the temptation to open his eyes, instead curling up ever tighter and weeping. His voice fell to a hoarse whisper. “My little Lilly. My little girl.”
“Uhm.” Zonia’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“She reminds me of her, Isha does. So playful. So happy. So innocent.”
Zonia cleared her throat. “Your daughter was sunblessed?”
Maisades nodded. “They took her. I always told her to be careful. But the other children…you know how they are. They hurt her and beat her, and when she was scared…” He swallowed and sniffled. “She glowed. Just once! She was scared! She didn’t mean to hurt them! Oh, she was so young! So sweet! So innocent!”
Zonia’s strong arms cradled him to her warm chest. “They took her the next day,” he sobbed. “I was there. I tried to stop them. But they took my hand with a sunsword. Then they took her head with the same blade. In front of me, they took her head!” He howled in wordless agony, clutching the woman tight and trembling all over.
Zonia patted his back. “I know how you feel.” Her voice cracked, and he saw that she was also crying. “Your daughter loved you. She will always be with you.”
“Why do they kill our children?” he moaned. “Why?”
Zonia sniffled and held him tight. The smell of her was all sweat and spice. He ignored it and cried until the tears grew scarce.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered through his aching, dried throat. “I was trying to help.”
“I know,” she said.
“They sell your pendants for so much. I thought you should be getting more.”
She sighed and let him go. Maisades sat back, wiping tears on his stump. She crossed her legs and absently scratched the ground with a wandering finger. “I only trade with Hunzu. I’ve known him since I was a child. I trust him.”
“But you can make so much more…”
“How do I know one of those men didn’t poison the food?” She inspected her dark arms in the space between them. “This skin is a curse. So many want us dead. It is hard just to live. I try, Maisa. I try to make life normal for my children. We brought them here to make our own little world. But the world outside is always poking at our gates, always trying to find a way in.”
“The followers love you,” he muttered, unsure what else to say.
She scoffed. “Love? They try to squeeze us into their strange worship. We don’t want to be worshipped. We just want to be left alone. I want my children to live normal lives, to enjoy their youth in the way I never could.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to put as much sincerity as he could into the words. “I should have talked to you first.”
“And I’m sorry for threatening to kill you.”
“You don’t seem like a killer to me.”
She smiled, a sad and small smile. “No.”
“I used to work with money,” Maisades said. “Let me help you. I can make sure there’s enough food for the children, enough supplies for the babies.”
She studied him with those golden eyes. He squeezed her hand. “I’m lost without my Lilly. Finding Isha and your family has given me new purpose. I feel I can honour her memory this way. I understand you may never trust me. But please, let me help. Let me do the work you can’t.”
Slowly, eyes still studying him, she nodded.
Maisades smiled. Trust took time. Time, little gestures of goodwill, and apparently, a tragic backstory.
One Year Ago
“How could we let this happen?” Kaido slouched over his sofa table and rubbed his temple. A tepid cup of tea sat by his quivering knee.
“Their village was burned because they sided with us.” Galtus slumped back into the sofa across from him and folded his arms over his belly.
“I know that.” Kaido didn’t meet his eyes. He couldn’t stand the thought of the man’s smug stare. “Why was nothing done about it? How did Caedric recruit so many so fast? And why didn’t the villagers fight back? Why didn’t they warn us this was coming?”
“What’d you think they’d do? Poke the bastard with their trowels?” General Otto wheezed out, sitting at the edge of the sofa beside Galtus. The old man had shrunk. He seemed almost half the size of Galtus now, hunched over and far skinnier than he used to be, but still scowling. “Told you, kid. Should’ve quashed the green shits a month ago.”
“Don’t call me kid.” The older men exchanged a glance, but Kaida ignored them. He grit his teeth and stared at the report on the table. The eastern hooligans had burned down one of their own villages. He’d never expected they’d stoop so low. The village council had stood up to Caedric. As punishment, the councillors had been locked up in the largest hovel and set alight.
“Caedric’s gained a lot of support since we enacted the suntouched law,” Galtus said. “The easterners are livid with it. Rumours run rampant. They say the king is suncursed, that he hides it the way his mother used to. They say he’s raising an army of black children to march on the soldiers of Astea’s Army.”
“Shadows take me,” Kaido said. “Is that what they call it? Astea’s Army?”
“Whatever they call it,” Galtus said, “the point is that we won no favours…”
“There is nothing of an army in that law! And for them to think me suntouched! Are they blind?”
“Given your parentage, it’s not so far-fetched. The easterners have always been close to Astea…”
“Viceroy.” Kaido let his voice drip with ice. “We’re not going to redact that law.”
Galtus calmly raised his eyebrows. “I never proposed we do so.”
“But you’d like nothing better, I’m sure.”
General Otto’s sword hilt smacked the table, startling both of them. “Focus.”
Galtus cleared his throat. “Caedric must have at least two hundred followers by now. There’s resistance against his ideas, and this village burning may work against him. But we’re past the point where the Crown can ignore him.”
“He did this to get our attention,” Kaido said.
“Yes.”
Kaido locked his fingers together and finally met his viceroy’s piercing blue eyes. “So, what do we do?”
Galtus glanced at Otto, then spoke slowly. “There’s only one choice now. They’ve murdered innocents and burned Crown property. We must send the army and arrest them.”
“Arrest them?” Kaido lifted his eyebrows.
“If they come willingly,” Galtus said.
“They won’t,” Otto said. “We go to kill.”
Kaido shook his head.
“We send an overwhelming force,” Galtus pressed. “We corner them, take them out, and end this farce before any more innocents die.”
“So you’re proposing we kill two hundred citizens?”
“Citizens? These are traitors and criminals!”
“They were tricked by a false prophet,” Kaido said. “They are my people, just as much as you are. I will not have undue bloodshed. Oh, don’t give me that look, Viceroy. Violence begets violence. What happens after you kill these men? Their children will rise against us, that’s what.”
Galtus’ lip curled and his cheeks flushed with red. But when he spoke, his voice was eerily calm. “A month ago, we faced a similar decision. If we’d acted then, we’d have easily put down a merry band of hooligans. Our inaction cost lives, and now the problem is far greater. We must take decisive action. Now. Before it gets out of hand.”
Kaido nodded. “I agree. I was wrong to ignore this problem. I should have listened to your counsel sooner. But I’ve no appetite for blood, Uncle. This can be solved with dialogue. Arrange a parley with this Caedric. I will talk to him and negotiate a peace.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Galtus said through bared teeth.
“Dangerous game,” Otto said. “Bastard’s got nothing to lose. You got the whole kingdom.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Kaido said. “It’s just a simple parley.”
Chapter twenty-two
I grow weary. Were it not for Galtus, our kingdom would have long collapsed. He is the unsung hero of my reign.
Reflections by King Isaiah
Raia’s pen teetered, wobbled, and rolled out of her sore fingers. She sat back, rubbing her eyes. Her tinel plant’s leaves had turned white. The flickering of the hearth-fire was gone, replaced by the pulsing glow of embers. Outside, the night was cool and quiet, chirping crickets the only sound.
When had that happened? When had the protesters forsaken their clamour for the compulsions of sleep? She almost walked to the window to gaze out at the view she’d avoided all day. Their tents had taken over the promenade. The keep was besieged by a sea of flimsy canvas. No violence, yet. But she’d tripled the guard and tensions were high.
They were builders and lumberjacks mostly, gathered from across the kingdom, organised by teams and accompanied by sympathisers. She felt for them. Most had lost their livelihood overnight. Her Deforestation Codex had included provisions for work in the replanting teams, but the Crown’s resources were limited. She could not help them all.
Even if she could, she doubted it would slow their protests.
A gradual enactment of the law would have worked better, but they didn’t have time. Trees had to be planted now if they were to be grown and ready for what was to come.
A map of the kingdom hung on the wall across from her, covered in scribbles and lines to mark protected zones. The replanted forests would eat vast swaths of arable land. Trees would occupy soil that currently fed the kingdom. Farmers had been compelled to turn valuable acreage unproductive. They were livid. And the western villages were rife with their discontentment.
The situation was impossible. How could Raia communicate the necessity of these changes without announcing news of the sun’s movement and causing mass hysteria?
She worked quietly instead, bartering with the power brokers that funded and controlled the protests. The trademasters and nobles had crushed her week with back-to-back meetings and mind-numbing negotiations. They sensed blood in the air. And they were coiled, ready to strike for every morsel of profit. She bargained with few resources, bluffed, and threatened the army if they didn’t fall in line. She handed out low-interest Crown loans like candy to children. In return, the trademasters made feeble promises to start new ventures and keep their workers employed. All the while, she begged the banks for more chips. The Crown debt ballooned.
But what else could she do? Better broke than dead, her father used to say.
Speculators had spiked the price of lumber. The eastern villages were being plundered by opportunists. Incomplete builds were torn apart so the wood could be sold on a burgeoning black market. The people of those villages were still too broken to protest. Confined now to their tents for the winter, they quietly lost what little faith they’d had in their king.
It was all coming apart. The kingdom her father had built, she’d unravelled with a single stroke of her pen.
And yet, what else could she do? Even this murder of their economy seemed a meagre defence against the sun’s impending wrath.
It was in these rare moments of peace and quiet that the weight of it became real. She could not let herself dwell on what was to come – there was naught but despair in that exercise. They were doomed, and she was beyond tired. But she could not stop. For if she did nothing, who would?
With a sigh, she sipped her tea and squeezed her aching eyes. Papers slid down from the pile next to her, conquering the last vestige of free space on her desk, and soaking in a brown ring from her cup. The stacks had grown steadily, now rising past her seated head. So many problems she’d shunted aside. Earthquakes in the north, storms in the east, floods in the south. How many other fires smouldered amidst those reports? How badly were they burning the kingdom?
The mess of it weighed on her, boxed her in like a suffocating cave. But she refused to throw them out. She’d get to them. Eventually, she’d get to each report, each ledger, each memo.
A nasally snort caught her attention. Mari was buried in an even greater mess, keeled over drooling asleep on her desk. Raia sighed. She’d not told the girl to go home. She’d not forbidden it either, but Mari never went unless Raia told her to.
She stood, her knees stiff from a day of sitting. How she longed to dance with her swords. Instead, she stretched her back, then walked over to Mari. The girl moaned quietly as Raia pulled her out of the chair and into a soldier’s carry. “I’ll file the report, don’t you worry, Your Grace,” she mumbled.
“I know.” Raia carried her out of the office. Two doors down was a guest room Mari had claimed as her own. Bags lay open against one wall, their contents spilling out to drown the floor in a swamp of silly clothes and smutty novels. The bed was a veritable disaster. Crumpled sheets fell off one corner, and the rest of it was covered in a motley smattering of discarded undergarments.
How anyone lived in such clutter, Raia hadn’t a clue. She resisted the temptation to tidy up, and instead cleared only enough space to lay Mari on the bed. The girl curled into a tight ball. Raia pulled the sheets over her and undid the knot in her hair to save her a morning headache. She patted her shoulder, closed the curtains, and left.
The hallway was empty, but sunlight cast a long shadow on the wall. Someone sat on the bench outside Raia’s office, hunch-backed and stooped.
“Master Katel.” Raia’s voice echoed through the stone corridor, hoarse and unused.
