by TJ Muir
Your son,
Kirrin
He folded the letter up and put it in the drawer, then hurried to the kitchens. Kip came in almost right behind him, picking up a meat pastry and popping it into his mouth. Cook’s eyes narrowed, as though he wanted to rap Kip’s knuckles for helping himself without asking.
“So’har sent for you,” Kip said, mouth full of pastry, and reached for another, flicking an amused glance toward Cook. “Still the best sausage pies anywhere.” Cook frowned, but looked less angry now.
Kip looked back at Kirrin, scanning him from head to toe. “Go clean yourself up, first.”
Kirrin hesitated, unsure if he should go when he still had so much work to do. Shouldn’t he finish measuring the flour and salt out? What about the pots and dishes?
“Hurry up about it,” Kip said, shoving Kirrin’s shoulder, aiming him towards the door.
Kirrin dashed off to his room to grab fresh clothes and then ducked under the shower, trying to keep his hair dry. Dripping hair was not ‘presentable,’ as his mother would say.
When he came out, Kip was waiting for him.
“I should probably bring the box,” Kirrin said, running back to his room to grab his pack.
Kip waited for him to get back, and then led him up to the house.
“What does he want? Do you know?”
Kip shrugged. “Didn’t tell me. Prolly somethin’ about your challenge.”
Kirrin chewed his lip, worried. He hoped he had impressed the So’har. Kip led Kirrin through the house, and handed him off to the steward.
The steward led Kirrin into a large study. “Wait here,” was all the man said, as he turned on his heels and left. What was it with these people and lack of directions and conversation? Kirrin looked down at the plush carpet- a rich burgundy and dark green, wondering if he should sit down. He had no idea how long it might be, but the steward had not instructed him to sit.
Kirrin stepped over to the bookshelves, close enough that he might have something to look at. He noted a few of the classic titles, on philosophy and government, including The Art of Citizenship he had just finished. He also saw a large atlas lying flat on the lower shelf - too large to stand upright.
“You like to read?” A deep voice sounded behind him.
Kirrin spun around, startled and feeling like he had been caught trespassing. But when he saw the So’har, the man did not look angry. But then Kirrin remembered the man had not looked angry even when Kirrin had been caught trespassing and stealing.
Kirrin watched Hak’kar, noticing more about the man now that he wasn’t afraid for his life. The So’har was younger than Kirrin had thought. Older than twenty probably. Maybe twenty-five? While that diminished Kirrin’s fear, he was also in awe.
Then he realized that the So’har had asked him a question. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he lied. “I like understanding how things work and ways to think about them.” Closer to the truth.
NEW CHAPTER
Kirrin woke up early and spent a while re-reading Citizenship. He read it again, keeping in mind some of the things Hak’kar had said. Was there a difference between power and laws? Wasn’t power used to maintain the laws? Kirrin thought about magistrates and the city watch and councils. They were the law. He had always considered that as power. But he remembered Hak’kar’s words when he first came - Kirrin was his to do as he saw fit, whatever he liked. If Hak’kar had whipped him no one would have objected. What if Hak’kar had chosen to kill him? Would anyone object to that? He tried to imagine the city council or magistrates confronting the So’har. It probably wouldn’t ever happen. They had no power over the So’har. Only over the people.
Kirrin looked up, saw how bright it had gotten outside, and scrambled into his clothes. As he ran out, he grabbed his pack, shoving a book in it.
Kirrin grabbed the pot Cook had used to make the creamy cheese sauce served over the eggs. He dunked it into the soapy water, licking the rich goo off his fingers. He tasted the sage and cumin and smiled, thinking a hint of lemongrass and pepper would bring out the flavor more. Then he picked up the scrubbing brush and set to work.
He was up to his elbows in soap, scouring away, when he heard voices coming from the prep area.
Cook bellowed, “You’re wanted in the main house.”
Kirrin dropped the pot back into the hot water and grabbed a towel off the counter to dry his hands. He hurried out into the main area, where Cook was scowling and grumbling to himself about pots and sweeping. He looked up at Kirrin, who was rushing out the door. “Don’t be goin up ta the house looking like that! Go wash yerself up first.”
Kirrin stopped in the door, looking down at himself. His shirt was covered in cheese and soap, and it was soggy from doing dishes. He sighed as he realized Cook was right. “I’ll finish cleaning up afterwards,” he said over his shoulder, and then dashed off to his room.
He ran headfirst into Miral as he rounded the corner of one of the small sheds. The two of them sprawled flat into a tangled heap on the ground. How did she always know where to find him, he wondered. Maybe it was just a coincidence.
“And here I thought you had been avoiding me,” she said as he reached a hand down to help her up.
“Ummm. No, not really. Honest,” he lied. “I’ve just been really busy because I promised to keep up with my studies while I was here.” He made a note to do something nice for his mother for unintentionally providing him with an honest alibi. “And I don’t really have time to talk right now, either. I have to go wash up. I’m expected up in the main house and I can’t go like this.”
Miral had hung onto his hand the whole time, and was running her fingers along the inside of his arm. “Well, I’m so glad we ran into each other. I’ve missed you.”
“You have?” Kirrin asked, surprised, and a little suspicious.
“I have. This much,” she said, kissing him.
Kirrin resisted, remembering Fin’s advice. But her lips were so soft, and she tasted like cinnamon. Against his better judgment, he kissed her back. She guided his hand to her waist as she pressed up against him, and the kiss became more intense. A voice in the back of his head reminded him he had somewhere to be but he pushed it down. He backed her up against the wall, kissing her harder, one hand holding her close, the other braced against the wall.
At first she kissed him back, then suddenly he felt her fingers claw at his shoulders and she pushed him away.
“Ouch,” he cried out, rubbing his shoulder.
“I should go,” she said, pushing away from him, laughing.
“No you don’t. Stay here...” he said, trying to sweet talk her, kissing her neck and putting his hand up under her shirt. He wished he had those candies with him now, to soften her up to him.
She stiffened against him.“I have to go,” she said, pushing him away harder and ducking out from under his arm.
“Nine hells!” he swore, breathing hard, as she ran off. “Teasing bitch.”
Then he remembered his summons and hurried to grab fresh clothes and head to the shower.
SOFT BREAK
The steward led Kirrin back into Hak’kar’s study. This time Hak’kar was seated at his desk, pen in hand, and looked up as they entered. The steward nodded toward the So’har and left. The So’har turned his attention back to the paper in front of him and began writing.
Kirrin stood there, chewing his lip, unsure what he should do. The So’har hadn’t even said a word. Kirrin turned his head to look at a map of Chanmyr on the wall, then tilted his head back, allowing his gaze to slide up to the ceiling, which was made of carved plaster. He continued glancing around, his head completing the circle. Hak’kar hadn’t looked up from his writing. Kirrin tried not to fidget, and did another visual circuit of the room. A pile of books and papers were strewn across the table. he took a few hesitant steps forward, trying to get a closer look. He glanced over to the desk, but the So’har didn’t look up.
Kirrin shrugged, took another step. He saw t
he atlas, and the book of myths. Both of them were opened. The atlas showed Tatak Rhe, but Kirrin stopped. It looked completely different. He wondered when this map had been made. He didn’t see a date, and didn’t want to touch anything. The book of myths was opened to a story about someone named Yttuva. The name didn’t mean anything to Kirrin.
He twisted his neck, trying to read the story. It was opened to the last page of the tale,
Yttuva fought against Takkara - both men wielding sword and magic. Yttuva glowed in bright violet and silver-blue. He called upon Breshan to feed his magic. Yttuva hacked at Takkara, as Breshan dipped behind Triappa.
Takkara roared, knowing triumph was at hand. Without Breshan to sustain Yttuva, his magic began to fail. Yttuva leapt from mountain peak to mountain peak, struggling to gain back his advantage. Yttuva cast spell after spell, weakening his foe.
Yttuva could not leave the battlefield, bound as he was to the land by the gods and magic. In a final act of valiant defiance, he slammed his sword into the land, draining the magical force that flowed naturally. Takkara raised his sword to strike the killing blow. As he swung the sword, Yttuva released his mortal form, and flowed into the landscape, causing the earth to shake.
Takkara howled in anguish, thwarted. Then the ground heaved violently, and he was thrown, knocking his head.
When he woke up, the land had changed. The mountains in the west had shifted, receded. The city around him had crumbled and the land was no longer flat, but had become a giant hill. He stumbled to his feet, exhausted and bleeding from numerous wounds. He had won, but as he had been warned, it was not a victory.
Everything was destroyed, and his enemy fled rather than killed.
Kirrin had never heard this story. He wondered when and where this epic battle had taken place, or if it was just a children’s story. He looked up and saw that Hak’kar was watching him intently. Kirrin took a quick step back away from the table, flushed, caught prying into the personal belongings of the So’har.
But the So’har didn’t look angry, just curious.
“Did it really happen that way?” Kirrin asked, forgetting himself.
The So’har put down his pen, shrugging. “That is the question, is it not?” He leaned back, turning sideways to face Kirrin and draping one arm over the back of his chair. “Does anything ever happen the way it is recorded? Is that a true story, that happened exactly as it was told? Or perhaps it is a story much-changed over time? Or yet again, perhaps it was nothing more than a fantastic tale that never happened at all.”
“Is the Takkara of the story the same Takkara in the sky? Is that where Takkara’s divine spirit lives?” Kirrin didn’t completely understand the science of how the gods travelled across the night skies. He wasn’t even sure he could pick out any of the four if he had to.
Hak’kar tilted his head, a thoughtful but curious frown on his face.
Kirrin wasn’t sure what the man was thinking and began to worry that he had asked a bad question. “Perhaps, being a god, it is both? He is capable of walking among us as a mortal, but his greater essence resides in the sky, watching down over us?”
Kirrin watched Hak’kar for a moment, aware of the dark hair and dark eyes that stood out even against his skin, which was nowhere near as light as Kirrin’s. The burgundy and dark green he always wore created an imposing figure. For a moment, Kirrin envisioned Hak’kar in the epic battle.
“What are you thinking?” Hak’kar asked.
Kirrin blushed, embarrassed. “I just had a vision of you, as Takkara defeating Yttuva,” Kirrin said, unable to think of a lie fast enough.
Hak’kar threw back his head and laughed.
Kirrin blinked, confused, but the So’har seemed genuinely amused and pleased at Kirrin’s words.
“I am not so great as to oppose a god,” Hak’kar said. “But it is a delightful notion.” He stood up, stretched, and walked over to the table, across from Kirrin. He looked down at the book, flipping the page to show an illustration of the final battle.
He placed a finger against the page, holding it open, but also drawing attention to the two heroes, locked in combat. “That is Yttuva, and that, is Takkara. Do you think there is a resemblance?”
Kirrin looked at the artist’s rendition. Yttuva was golden fair, with a silver sheen like starlight, violet streaks making a divine halo. Takkara looked almost godlike, but with might and muscle opposing Yttuva, as he held a staff glowing with magic flowing in one hand, and a sword that glowed with the same magic, in the other. Magic weapons!
Kirrin looked closer at Takkara. There was little resemblance to the So’har, except for the imposing aura. Kirrin glanced back and forth between the So’har and the image a few times, considering.
“In likeness, I would not say it was there. But to stand up and defy the gods…” Kirrin’s voice trailed off, not sure if his words would get him into trouble now. He stared at the picture, but peeked up at the So’har. The man was smiling, amused.
“You think I would defy a god, then?”
Kirrin shrugged, one shoulder raising slightly. “I wouldn’t want to be there, to find out,” he said, evading the question.
Hak’kar laughed hard, hearing that. “You are a clever speaker. Bring me some wine.” He waved his hand over to the sideboard that still contained heated trays of eggs with cream sauce and sausage. Next to the trays, were several decanters filled with different colored liquids.
Kirrin hesitated, unsure which one was the wine, but then he recognized some of the shapes from the inn. The So’har’s glassware was much more intricate, carved and ornate, but Kirrin recognized one he thought was for brandy. He opened it and sniffed carefully, confirming his suspicion. He looked at a few bottles, dark green glass that hid the color of the contents. He picked one up, larger than the brandy. A quick sniff told him it was probably wine. He looked over his shoulder quickly, and when he didn’t notice a glass at hand, he picked one from the sideboard, and carried them over to the So’har. He placed them on a clear spot within Hak’kar’s reach, then stepped back, nervous.
He watched the So’har as he poured himself a glass of wine, but continued to stare at the image in the book. Kirrin watched his movements, precise, casual, and arrogant. Yes, Kirrin realized, he could almost see the man standing up to a god. The So’har and Da’har were almost like gods to Kirrin - elevated and unquestioned power throughout all of Chanmyr.
SOFT BREAK
Barely a week had passed before the So’har summoned Kirrin back to the main house. When he entered the room, Hak’kar was bent over a book, muttering to himself.
“Rashpar dolnir.. Aja nu--could mean walks over or rises above..” until he heard Kirrin cough. Then he covered whatever he was looking at and stood up and walked over to pour wine for himself.
“What did you think of the book?’ Hak’kar asked, sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his arms resting on his legs.
Kirrin missed a step, and almost stumbled in surprise. He was used to Hak’kar being busy and having to wait until the So’har had finished whatever letter he was writing, or reading, to acknowledge Kirrin’s presence. Those earlier conversations had felt staged, as though Hak’kar were testing Kirrin. Now, Hak’kar sounded eager, impatient.
Kirrin was also tired, having stayed awake half the night trying to read enough of the book to understand what it was about. He struggled to follow the long and winding sentences that parsed the evolution of power in Tatak Rhe and the role of the ruling Houses. Some things he knew, from his history lessons, but those were facts: events and outcomes. This book was about the theory of power, and the author was long-winded. Parts of it made a little sense, reminding him of the conversation several months earlier, about the nature of power and its role in politics and governing.
“Evidently, government is a sort of consolation, and a small way to assure a balance, that offsets true power,” Kirrin said, then added, “I think…”
Hak’kar laughed, waving Kirrin toward the ta
ble, pointing to a chair with the glass of wine in his hand. “Sit. Tell me what you think.”
Kirrin only had his own limited experiences to go by, he was too young to have had any real encounters with governing or law. Mostly, he listened to customers at the inn grumble and argue among themselves when there were events that stirred them up. He remembered when there was a dispute over land boundaries that affected several merchants in the city.
“Well, it’s difficult in places, because he talks about ideas and theories, but almost never uses examples.”
“What would you use to create an example?”
Kirrin outlined the land dispute. Hak’kar nodded thoughtfully, sipping his wine. “So, these land owners,” he said, “they tried to go to court to prove to the city governor the land belonged to them, correct?”