Yon and Ken led them to the local cemetery where bodies were buried in mounds surrounded by givzash-trees, each containing verses from the Tamitvar. On one mound were found the words: ‘Sapya Bishkwa, daughter of the Priest Effi Bishkwa, son of the Priest Gutvku Bishkwa, son of Bishop Tseim’. Plant Man fell to his knees and embraced the mound like it was a living person, tears raining down his cheeks. Arwa embraced him from behind and Shem patted him on the shoulder.
“She loved me!” he cried. “She loved me!”
“She truly did,” said Yon. “In her dying breath, she cried ‘Ifunka’. Her daughters wept much over her.”
“Daughters!” he stood up abruptly, supported by Arwa who clung onto his arm. “My sisters?”
“Indeed,” said Yon. “Two of them. They were born after you, so they are slightly younger, but they live with me. Come to my home. It is the home you were born in, after all.”
They walked back to the workshop and then ascended a stairway leading into a large tvagshaff housing hundreds of workmen and their families. It belonged to the Guild of Stonemasons and Concrete-Workers of Ffantplain, where each workman paid a nominal fee for bed and board such that it were as if they all belonged to a single corporation. Indeed, the head of the guild worked to ensure that retired workers were taken care of and, when profits were low, distributed from its treasury to the impoverished among them. These bodies of co-operation and mutual welfare operated as the bedrock of civilized society on Tremn, ensuring that the extremes of poverty were avoided, in line with the ethical and moral framework of the Holy Tamitvar. On the fourth floor, they found one small flat accessed through a singular round wooden door which creaked on its hinges. Entering, they found Yon’s wife, Magda—a shrivelled old woman with a grey headscarf and beady little eyes who was too old to speak. She merely croaked a greeting and pressed her palms to her breast and extended them towards the guests in a sign of peace and welcome.
“My daughters,” Yon called.
Two beautiful young girls with green eyes and silky-smooth bright ginger hair emerged, bowed and greeted them.
“Is this the new king?” asked one. “Whom they call Plant Man?”
“Indeed, it is, my darling,” said Yon. “This is Ifunka Kaffa, your brother, who is the true High-King of Tremn.”
“Does that make me a princess?” asked the other. She giggled.
Their ponytails bobbed as they spoke with an air of delightfulness and charm, yet their accent was atrocious, having been raised as stonemason’s daughters, lacking in refinement and good vocabulary.
“Ye are both my princesses,” Plant Man answered them. “And I love you both.”
He embraced his sisters with great affection and Arwa joined them.
“We are delighted, Majesty,” said the one.
“Call me sister, please,” said Arwa. “I am your sister-in-law, Queen Arwa.”
“All right,” they agreed.
“My name is Pumi Kaffa,” said the first one and, “My name is Kelff Kaffa,” said the other.
“We are pleased to meet you, your Highnesses,” said Ushwan.
“Indeed, we are,” said Shem. “We are friends of your brother.”
“Highness!” Pumi exclaimed. “Imagine that! Ain’t it posh-like?”
“My lace and garters!” Kelff yolped. “We are high-folk now. And to think I thought of marrying Tod, the anvil-maker’s boy!”
“We’ll have to work on your poise and diction,” said Plant Man. “It does not befit a lady to speak so.”
“Ladies are by blood,” said Pumi. “I has had the gumph of a lady long before I knowed it that I be one.”
“Charming,” said Ushwan sardonically. “Tell me, good sir”—he addressed Yon—“Who was this Lord Kandaspu?”
“He told me,” explained the man. “That his mother’s name was Lady Welda, the daughter of Kventa the Second, Protector of Okayeshvi, and that she died in childbirth with him, such that he was her only child. Now this is the interesting bit: she was married secretly to her lover, the Protector of Wadakit, Benad. Benad’s wife, Liyan, had borne him no son—only a daughter called Lady Daffla, and she was married off to Weshob II, Protector of Ffantbav, so when Benad died, Weshob took over Wadakit and his heirs are thus protectors of two provinces at once. Benad had loved Welda with all his heart, but he kept their affair a secret and the marriage was also performed in secret, but the priest drew up a certificate so that, in good time, any son born to Welda might claim to protectorate of Wadakit. When Welda died, he named their son Kandaspu, for that the boy had a long nose and, when he was ten years’ old, sent him to Ffantplain, as far away from Wadakit as he dared send him. With Benad’s death, the secret went with him and only this remains as proof.”
He opened an old wooden chest and took out a parchment which bore the seal of the officiating priest as well as the Seal of the Protector of Wadakit, imprinted in wax. It was definitive; Benad and Welda had married. He also produced a birth certificate for Kandaspu, who is called ‘Lord Kandaspu of Wadakit, Prince of the Royal House of Ishmael, son of His Grace Benad, Protector of Wadakit, Heir of King Ishmael Gan, and Lady Welda of Okayeshvi, daughter of His Grace Kventa the Second, Protector of Okayeshvi, Prince of the Royal House of Ishmael, and Lady Pumi of Tremael’. Finally, he showed them the marriage certificate of Lord Kandaspu, who is called merely ‘Kandaspu, son of Benad of Wadakit’, and ‘Sapya Bishkwa, daughter of the Priest Effi Bishkwa and Kelff Bishkwa, his cousin’.
“It’s all clear now,” said Ushwan as Plant Man inspected the documents. “You are the true King of Wadakit and the Kings of Wadakit descend in the male line from Prince Mael, the 1st Duke of Wadakit, who was the second son of King Sfetva, High-King of Tremn. The Dukes of Wadakit were given kingship during the reign of Kubba Gven, and then all the provincial kings were reduced to symbolic ‘Protectors of the Realm’ during the time of Baku, the first Head of the Theocracy. Now that the Age of the Theocracy is over, your kingship must be restored. You are the true King of Wadakit, Ifunka, and the King of Wadakit is the true heir of Ishmael Gan; thus you are the High-King of Tremn by right of blood.”
“Kings are made by blood,” Plant Man opined. “But they reign through force of arms. These documents shall legitimize my authority, but we shall only succeed when the Theocracy is overthrown; else, why did Benad not claim his crown, if he was the true heir? Yon—” he turned to the poor old man. “You shall be a noble and rich man. You and Ken are coming with us, as are Princesses Pumi and Kelff.”
“Yes!” they rejoiced.
“Bring your wife as well. Our galad only has effectiveness so long as we hit hard and fast, before the Theocracy can arm and deploy a large army against us.”
“Where are you going next?” asked Yon.
“Ritvator,” he replied. “Shall feel the wrath of the High-King!”
Yon quickly gathered some things while Ifunka’s sisters packed two leather bags with their belongings, ready to leave. Yon’s wife, Magda, had few possessions of her own.
“Arwa,” said Ifunka. “Please take my sisters and the Kaffa family to the galad and help them find an appropriate ffentbaff. I must show these documents to Lord Kven. You can join me for congregational prayer in the temple before the army departs.”
“Yes, my heart,” she replied.
“And do pick up some appropriate clothing for them at the market on your way.”
They walked together until they reached the centre of the city where Lord Kven could be found observing the demolition of the Episcopal Headquarters. Arwa continued with the Kaffas to the army without.
“For thousands of years,” said Kven. “We’ve had a bishop. Then, one day, it all comes crashing down like toy blocks.”
“There’s no need to wax lyrical, your lordship,” said Plant Man. “But anyway. There’s something important I must tell you. Have a look at these documents.”
The lord examined the birth and marriage certificates attentively.
“Remarkable!” he exclaimed. “So you are indeed the true king, the real King of Wadakit even!”
“Indeed,” said Plant Man. “What do you think? Does this change anything?”
“It changes everything,” he replied in eager tones. “Don’t you see? Your legitimacy is established! The line of Wadakit has the best claim to the throne, excluding the House of Tsilel, which was barred, and the line of Saffik, which has never held the high-kingship. If your father, Kandaspu, was the grandson of the Protector of Okayeshvi, that makes you the great-nephew of Tvak, the current Protector. His sister was Lady Welda, your grandmother.”
“Will they support us?”
“I cannot guarantee it,” said Kven. “But we should try. My clerk can copy these, along with a letter signed and sealed by me, declaring my allegiance to you as High-King and asking for his aid. If Tvak can raise an army large enough, the Theocracy shall splinter.”
“What of Wadakit? I am its king.”
“I do not know if Benad II will give up the protectorate so easily. He is the only lord to have symbolic authority over two provinces and he surely believes himself to be the true Protector of Wadakit. He may even believe himself entitled the role of High-King. After all, Ffantbav, of which he is the head, was the seat of the High-Kings from Ishmael the Great until Gven Dakit, and was also ruled by Princess Pumi, Gven’s daughter, until she married Kubba Gven, the first emperor. If they prove antagonistic, we can use Okayeshvi to strike at Wadakit, unseat Benad and seize the throne.”
“Who shall take the letter to Tvak? It is a dangerous mission which requires the utmost secrecy, as the bishop and patriarch of Okayeshvi must not know about it, until that same patriarch can be captured and executed.”
“I will go,” Kven volunteered. “As I know Tvak personally. I went to school with his son and heir, Lord Trel, in Kubbawa. I cannot bring any Shaffu with me as they will be suspect.”
“Take Ushwan with you.”
“Majesty?” said Ushwan, perplexed.
“You are a sophisticated gentleman, old friend,” said Plant Man. “I hereby appoint you as my Lord Emissary to Okayeshvi. Lord Kven shall find you appropriate attire, I’m sure. Take your knights with you, Kven.”
“I shall,” Kven accepted. “But Ffantplain shall need a ruler in my absence.”
“Shem!” he called his friend over. “You are hereby appointed as the Lieutenant-Governor of Ffantplain. Where is Ffen to make note of all these things?”
A bespectacled clerk addressed him.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “He is in the treasury with the other clerks, surveying the finances.”
“Very well. You may draw up the relevant documents. When they’re ready, Kven shall affix his seal and mine. Also see that these are copied.”
He handed him the certificates.
“Go with Ushwan, Shem and Lord Kven and make all the necessary arrangements. Also, send a message to the Lord Chancellor. Tell him to give each soldier, including the new recruits from Ffantplain, a silver zitv each, two loaves of bread and a supply of dried fruit and nuts. Is that understood?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” said the clerk, who scurried off to find a messenger.
When Arwa returned, he and she entered the temple, along with Jyoff. Hundreds of citizens had already begun to assemble for the kashatvin—the midday prayer; but there was no priest, as they had all been rounded up and interrogated, so the king escorted Arwa and Jyoff to the lord’s prayer-box, and himself proceeded to the head of the congregation, all of whom faced the direction of the Tower of Inta—the tsula as it is called—which is the common direction of prayer for all the followers of the Right Religion. Before long, soldiers, merchants and others filled up the massive building until there was a congregation ten thousand strong. Those who could not fit inside the building prayed in the smaller shrines dotted around the city while most of the galad prayed in the open field, led by Tesh-Khan. Demolition of the Episcopal Headquarters was paused. The markets closed, workmen ceased their labours and, for the duration of the prayer, the city was silent, save only for the hum of verses recited in melodious tones in praise of the one Creator and Sustainer of the entire universe, the Lord of all the worlds and Tremn.
The temple was a large, circular fane, with a central dome supported by eight massive columns, a glass oculus pouring light from the sun into the centre of the hall. The worshippers stood on a huge carpet woven from the finest woffgi-silk, with colourful geometric patterns in hues of deep blue, jade and cyan, indigo and pearl-white, while the ornate mosaics on the walls formed calligraphic representations of select verses from the Tamitvar in cursive script—the ffogat—designed for such ornamental purposes and often used in correspondence and dictation. Light streamed through the hundreds of stained-glass windows while, within the central prayer-hall itself, givzash-trees could be found, forming a ring at the periphery, stretching around the circumference of the hall, containing the entire Tamitvar, carved into the living bark. At the centre of the hall was a single yeshmelek (‘root descendant’). As in all temples of the Right Religion, this was said to be an offshoot or descendant of Melekraffu, the Primal Tree from Kultvum Dian. When he had reached this tree, Plant Man gave the kvaila—the call to prayer—which was only used for the three prayers that are preferably said in congregation: the kashatvin, kashashom, and kashammanaffob, while the kashroim and kashofftishatvin are preferably said at home or in private. It went as follows:
“Tesayeim yoshkimmin! Wabak Kakaneim yoshkimmin! Kash ffonitavtilei, ay yikralishwazinya! Intvkrafi kashemkrafi, ay yikralishwazinya! Ramut iosint lemin! Cacansa Vaba iosint lemin!”
(God be praised! Great Spirit be praised! The prayer is beginning, O faithful ones! Come and pray, O faithful ones! God be praised! Great Spirit be praised!)
He performed the prayer and all those assembled followed his movements. When they had finished, he turned and addressed the crowd.
“O my people!” he said. “Today, you are free! Today, the Theocracy has departed from this city. Your bishop has fled and abandoned you. His headquarters are being demolished. But you have nothing to fear! Kven is now the true Lord of Ffantplain and shall rule over you without any obstruction from priests or theocrats. Taxes have been lowered to one tenth, excess wealth in the treasury shall be distributed to all those that are impoverished. The gate shall be repaired, and our dead shall be buried in honour. I know some of you have lost loved ones, but grieve not, for they are in Ganka—the Paradise where death and old age, sickness and want, suffering and pain, have no place. Some of you must see me as a foreigner or a monster. But I am a man like you—” he removed the Verdant Coin and appeared once more as his own self, nude save for a loincloth. The congregants gasped, Jyoff quickly throwing his overcoat over Ifunka so that he could appear modest.
“And I tell you this,” he continued. “Which I have only just discovered. I was born in Ffantplain, in the stonemason’s district, to Kandaspu and Sapya. The former was the son and heir to the Protectorate of Wadakit and true heir to King Ishmael the Great, while the latter was a descendant of the Bishop of Ffantplain, of the line of our Seer, Votsku. So, I am one of you and I am the true King of Wadakit and the High-King of all Tremn. Lord Kven must depart on a special mission so I leave Shem Effga as your Lieutenant-Governror until he returns. My people, all shall be well. May the Great Spirit be with you all.”
“God save the King!” one old man cried, while a thousand others took up the cry, “Long live the King!” and “All hail the King!”
The temple thundered with their cries—cries born of a new loyalty. The tax cuts and generosity, the mild manner of his tone, and his association with Ffantplain fuelled their enthusiasm, while his humble origins in obscurity fed their delight. It was like a fairy-tale; too good to be true. As the story and his speech were rep
eated throughout the city, loyalty to the new king was cemented. Soon it would spread to the surrounding villages, and then from town-to-town—even to Ritvator—where the unity and integrity of the theocratic system would begin to deteriorate. When the troops had had their midday meal, they made ready to depart, now a mixed host of Shaffu warriors and Ffantplain troops. This detachment of citizens had now, as a result of the speech, swollen by another three thousand, such that they had some six thousand new soldiers, armed with all manner of weapons—even pitchforks and sharpened trowels. Not counting the Shaffu forces who remained in Shaffnâ, the army was now fourteen-thousand strong, with six thousand mounted on ffentbaffs from Shaffnâ, and an additional four thousand mounted four abreast on a thousand ffentbaffs gathered from the lord’s stables or purchased from surrounding ffentbaff-herders. The other two thousand new recruits were positioned on newly-purchased biffbaff-carts.
Ffens’ clerks had finished making a full account of the treasury, divided the money, and loaded a large amount thereof on the baggage-train. They also hired a hundred blacksmiths to accompany them in order to make weapons during camp, when they should pause for eight hours or more. Shem was attired in robes of state and bade farewell to his friends as they left. Meyla was clad in a splendid woffgi-silk dress which she delighted over. Ushwan was dressed as an officer of state, in majestic flowing robes, and set off with Lord Kven and his twelve knights, a personal secretary to assist him, a dozen squires, and Yobid and Ffelka, who were made to drive the biffbaff-cart which held the supplies for their journey to Okayeshvi. Plant Man mounted his royal ffentbaff, along with Arwa and Jyoff and, with a last glance at the city of his birth, ordered the galad to ride on, with all haste, to Ritvator:
“March, my army; march for Ritvator!”
“Dhôm-krâ (march)!” cried Tesh-Khan. “Shkhî-krâ (ride on)!”
“God save the King!” his army cried, even the newly-minted soldiers of Ffantplain.
The Rise of Plant Man, Lord of War, Conquest and Revenge: Green Monk of Tremn, Part II (Coins of Amon-Ra Book 2) Page 25