A Poisoned Land (Book 1: Faith, Lies and Blue Eyes)

by Craig P Roberts

  Three long rowing boats approached from the Fair Blue Maiden and drew alongside the wooden dock of the Dilly. The oarsmen didn’t utter a word. Instead, they would bow their heads politely whenever spoken to. Londenia stepped into the foremost boat and sat next to Minister Eeliro. Behind them, Celóndas and King Stewart’s healer, Sandunion, sat next to each other. Queen Tanya was behind the healers next to Pauline, who still seemed to be in a state of constant shock ever since the death of her husband, or perhaps it is her guilt that paralyzes her, thought Londenia.

  The other two boats were filled with what remained of Londenia’s guard—ten strong in total, five from Last Kingdom and five from the Wetlands. She watched the moonlit coast grow smaller as their boats cut through the calm waters of the Bay of Blue.

  “My ladies,” Minister Eeliro addressed both Queen Londenia and Queen Tanya, “I must warn you that King Hardol does not see women on the same level as men. When you speak, you must speak firmly to him and command his respect. I will front for you as much as I can but I fear if I take the lead too much, it will only make you seem weak in his eyes.”

  Tanya shook her head and laughed. “I am used to battles of wits with kings, minister. I have had over fourteen years of it with King Stewart!” Her words had clearly upset Pauline, so Queen Tanya added a prayer, softly saying, “May Hal let his soul rest.”

  “I have no doubt in both of your abilities as diplomats and I also do not doubt King Hardol’s honor and nobility,” the minister went on. “However, he will be expecting to meet four kings and instead, he is to meet with two of their queens and…” He hesitated, looking towards Pauline, who was hugging her own knees tightly. “…some fragile creatures, shall we say?”

  I am sure Romarus’s never ending intelligence would have impressed King Hardol, of course, Londenia wanted to say. “Minister, King Hardol will have no choice but to listen to us, as two of the kings are dead, another is missing and another is off on a crusade to save our dying world.” She didn’t mean to snap but her words definitely came across as snappy.

  The old man huffed and turned to watch their approach to the ship. The Fair Blue Maiden loomed over them—her four tall masts lit by Scarred Nahar. As the rowing boats approached the hull, it towered above them. Londenia’s boat edged closer. She wanted to reach out and touch the massive lengths of wood of the great carrack but three oars stretched out, bracing against the hull, stopping the boat’s approach. Water lapped and splashed in the gap between the long rowing boats and the huge mass.

  On the other side of the boat, the sea was silk and still. Above, the night sky was bright with stars. Ropes thrown down from the deck were attached and pulled taught. With some aching creaking, the rowing boats began to rise out of the water. The salty smell of damp rope and wood filled her senses. Londenia’s stomach flipped whenever the boat swayed or halted on its journey up the side of the Fair Blue Maiden. With her eyes fixed on the hull, it was as if the ship was sinking down into the Bay of Blue.

  As their boats crept up the side of the hull, Londenia saw three figures above, waiting at an opening in the bulwark. A tall, thin, hooded figure was flanked by a small woman and man on either side. She didn’t know how to formally greet other royals whilst seated in a rowing boat suspended from the side of a ship. She thought it best to stare straight ahead, not making eye contact, until they were at a stop. They edged past a row of small portholes framed with circles of brass. None of these, along the entire length of the ship, had any light glowing from inside. They were just still circles of black. There were shouts, the sounds of heaving and the grinding of metal, wood and rope, as they drew level with the people. They came to a stop, level with the deck. The boat gave a small but gut-churning jolt as it settled.

  Minister Eeliro spoke, making his introductions as the boat was secured and tied. “Queens Londenia and Tanya, may I introduce Queen Se’rel of the Bay, and King Anthony of the Dead Cities.”

  “Minister Eeliro, it has been too long,” said the small woman that must have been Se’rel. She leaned into the boat and held both of the minister’s hands. The Queen of the Bay had a slight shake in both her arms as she reached out.

  Londenia went to steady herself on the ship’s bulwark but her hand was intercepted by King Anthony’s long, dry fingers. He helped steady her and his lips curled into a polite, closed smile. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, “you are most kind.”

  She expected the usual pleasantries in return. However, none came.

  Minister Eeliro whispered in her ear. “My dear, remember that the Kings of the Dead Cities take a vow of silence when they are crowned.”

  The stresses of her journey had made her forget her history lessons. This was all part of their tradition of never speaking the secrets of the gods. It is strange why they must take such a vow, when they do not enter the cities, which contain the knowledge of the gods. If they do not have the knowledge, then why must they take a vow to never speak?

  She stepped onto the deck and was confronted with Queen Se’rel, who welcomed her, saying, “What a beauty you are, Queen Londenia.” Her hands were gripped with a warm, yet clammy, embrace from the mature queen’s hands, and the lady then turned to Tanya. “And how are the Wetlands treating you, Queen Tanya?”

  Tanya froze. There was indeed, much to explain on their part. Londenia was surprised at the lack of curiosity and questioning from their hosts. Why do they not ask of our kings? And where is King Hardol? Her thought was soon voiced by Minister Eeliro.

  “Pardon the interruption, my lady. Might I enquire to the whereabouts of His Grace, King Hardol?” Minister Eeliro studied the unknown man standing to the right of King Anthony as he spoke.

  Londenia’s attention wandered and she found herself gazing at the fascinating, tall, slender King Anthony. The King of the Dead Cities had a ghostly and wise feel to him. A clean, sweet smell radiated from the man. He stood two heads higher than most on the deck and his long face was pale in the light of the broken moon. He was unshaven with black stubble on his jaw. His high cheekbones gave him an almost feminine look. It was his chin that drew Londenia’s attention, as it reminded her of a miniature arse. As that thought entered her head, she must have let a slight smile loose, because King Anthony began to grin too.

  She felt the color drain from her face. First, two sharp points were revealed from behind his thin lips. They were joined by another pair, until a full set of pointed teeth were grimaced at her. Londenia’s eyes burned and her chest tightened.

  “Ten Gods! It was you!” Londenia screamed and threw a punch to the king’s gut, which was quickly snatched by the man next to him. He too, flashed his pointed whites from behind his cold lips. “You murdered them all!” she shouted, her voice shrill and broken.

  King Anthony’s thin arm locked around her neck, pinning her to his body. Her nose was filled with his sweet-smelling musk. His heart beat in her right ear, turning her cold from the toes upwards.

  As she peered along the deck, Queen Se’rel cried out to Queen Tanya, “I’m sorry, we had no choice! He killed so many and threatened to kill more.”

  Londenia’s guards, one by one, were seized and held at knifepoint by countless hooded figures.

  The King of the Dead Cities took a breath as if calming himself from nerves. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Queen Londenia,” he said, ignoring the other two royals, Tanya and Pauline. The nervousness of his voice surprised her. It was softer than she imagined evil to sound like, but had all the remoteness and detachment she expected.

  Londenia’s fingers tingled and her head felt cold. It was as if the whole world spun around the horror happening on the deck.

  “King Anthony, I must protest—” Minister Eeliro’s pathetic attempt at calming the situation was quickly stopped by a blade through the throat. His eyes fixed on nothing as he collapsed to the floor.

  The tingling in her fingers moved up her arms. Londenia did not scream—Pauline took care of the screaming. A heavy weight hung in her chest
and her neck throbbed as she watched the life fade from her father’s trusted aide. Dark red pulsed from Minister Eeliro’s neck like a heartbeat. There was little sound—just a gentle gushing.

  “Look at me.” King Anthony’s skeleton-like hands held her head by either cheek. “Wonderful true blue eyes.” A pointed smile followed. “I am glad that I must not take your life. I detest bleeding those of blue-sight but sometimes that must be done.”

  “Why must you bleed anybody?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.

  However, she was given one.

  King Anthony spoke as if he was proud of his work. “Our world is in ruin. By this, I mean the pure ways of the Ten. We have true-blues lying with brown-eyed scrotes and runts. Then, worst of all, we allow their abominations to become high lords. And as if to shit on the face of So’Chor himself, we allow them to become kings and queens.” His fists were clenched. Veins strained on his thin neck. “Take King Stewart. He chose a scrote as his queen. Not only that, but he decided to marry one too and produced a little runt that would one day become king if he hadn’t done us all a favor and ran away. To add to it all, his body wasted and he himself could no longer function. Yet he chose to remain one of our ten kings.”

  Pauline stepped forward. “Well he’s dead now, you will be happy to know!” she screamed at the top of her voice through floods of inconsolable tears.

  King Anthony walked over and slapped her face. “Yes, I was pleased to hear that we were successful in ridding the kingdoms of that weakness.”

  This moment should have been a dark one, but part of Londenia felt like sunlight kissed her face, even in the gloom of this horrible night. Romarus, I’m sorry. She willed her thoughts to be heard by her boy king, so far away, whom she had doubted ever since Stewart’s death. In her mind, Romarus’s face was that of the charming young man who had tried to protect her in Hal’s Forest.

  “You bastard,” Londenia spat as she pointlessly slapped and punched the King of the Dead Cities. “Stewart was a good man! He never did you any wrong.”

  He pushed her to the deck. “That is where you are mistaken. He did us all wrong. He did every kingdom wrong and the High-Ten wrong—when his body failed and he chose to remain king and every time he took that scrote into his bed.” He pointed at the broken mess of Pauline. “And anointing this one as his queen.” He stood in front of Tanya, who was unusually quiet. “Kill these abominations.” He nodded at Tanya and Pauline. “Take this one to my chambers.” His sharp eyes made contact with Londenia.

  Londenia tasted sick at the back of her throat. Weight pressed on her lungs and her ears rang.

  “No!” she screamed. She tried to reach Tanya but King Anthony’s men pulled her away. Pauline gave no fight as her and Tanya were surrounded by a cloud of black robes. Londenia was glad she couldn’t see behind that curtain of black.

  If something is too good to be true, it probably is…

  King Stewart of the Wetlands

  Baskie

  Quickly, Better Start Praying

  They both looked across a large valley, five days’ walk from when they left Redhorn. By walking, it meant that Baskie had to practically carry his companion through grass fields and rocky hills. Owin complained that Baskie was being cruel making him walk so far everyday but each evening, when they set up camp, he thanked his made-up-Mother for gifting him with Baskie’s guidance and knowledge of the land…fuckwit!

  It truly was a beautiful sight—land completely untouched by any mortal, except for the fort ruins they currently stood in. Back in the Wetlands it seemed that no matter how far away from the cities, towns or villages, there would still be at least a stone wall or a field that some man felt the need to define so his land was clearly marked. Owin and Baskie stood on a broken square of rock with four ancient pillars at each corner. Crumbling images of the Ten Gods were carved into each of the columns. The ruined fort sat between two rock faces. Through their steep sides, the hill sloped down to the valley onto rolling green mounds, a dark lake in the distance and snowcapped hills far off in the purple haze. To their right, was the coast. Through clouds, the afternoon sun cast vast moving shadows across the land.

  “If that isn’t proof of the Mother’s work then I don’t know what is,” Baskie’s idiotic companion announced, with his annoying curly hair gently blow in the wind.

  “The people who built this fort would probably disagree with you.” Baskie had started putting less effort into his arguments against Owin’s ridiculous fantasies. He understood why Owin thought in such ways and in a sense pitied him. If you were told since you were young about ghosts and goblins, you would probably believe in them too.

  “Who built this then? It looks over a hundred years old.” Owin looked the crumbling pillars up and down, touching the chiseled face of—what Baskie assumed was supposed to be—Beverine.

  “It’s over eight-hundred years old, actually. This was one of the forts of the traitor, Jarod. He was the brother of High-King Meltane. Prince Jarod tried to form an eleventh kingdom on this island.” Baskie recited his history lessons.

  Owin continued to stare at the carvings of the Ten, then asked, “So why did his kingdom fail?”

  “Because the other kings thought it would be against the teachings if there were more than ten kingdoms. They see eleven as a curse, because they believe there was an eleventh High-God called Soju.” Baskie couldn’t help but feel how ridiculous it all sounded. “Soju was the Fallen One. And he keeps with him the souls of those who have gone against the teachings of the Ten, in the Soju Expanse.”

  “Maybe they were right, the eleventh kingdom did fail,” Owin said, as a bit of rock crumbled off the pillar in his hands.

  “It failed because the Ten Kingdoms marched against Jarod and crushed his armies. It had nothing to do with gods.”

  “Thank the Mother for clearing them off this land. And thank the Mother for such a wondrous sight before us.” Owin waved his arm over the valley below. “How can you not thank the Mother for such a sight?”

  “Did you thank me for the breakfast you had this morning?” Baskie asked, hoping to get the response he wanted.

  “No, because you didn’t make it.”

  “Exactly.”

  Owin huffed. “Well, I think the Still Cities you talk about just sound like boring thankless places. It sounds like they have no faith in anything.”

  And what’s wrong with that? “Actually, there are some people there that believe in higher powers: some who keep the faith of the Land of the Old Ways and I know of some streets that worship the Ten. Others are even stranger. They make paintings of people, then push nails into their faces and think they can curse the person they drew.” He didn’t believe in all that shit though.

  “And you think the Still Cities are clever and better than us on the island?”

  It frustrated him that Owin just wouldn’t understand the point he was trying to make. “I don’t think less of you as men. I just think that people have a right to choose what they believe and that some faiths, like what’s happening on your island, are dangerous. They fuck people up and make them do things out of fear.” He tapped one of the ruined pillars with his foot.

  “Pushing nails through somebody’s face on a painting to curse them sounds dangerous to me,” his fuckwit companion replied.

  “It’s a painting and, as far as I’ve heard, has never actually worked. And people there don’t push their beliefs onto others and keep them well away from politics and shit.”

  “Politics?” A blank look was on Owin’s face.

  The Mister’s wonderful and full teachings again… “Yes, the people that…rule the place.” He couldn’t think of the proper word.

  “Only the Mother should rule.” Owin said stubbornly.

  I think I’ll peel my own skin, Baskie mused, trying to hold back his frustrations. “Great idea, I’ll tell the magisters of New Haven next time I’m there to just leave it up to the gods.” He felt a rant coming on. “Pick any of them,
there’s shitloads. You could have the Mother handling all of the monies for the healing centers. One of the Ten could count all of the taxes from the cities. I’m sure Yod’Herem is great with numbers. You could get Beverine to deal with all the rapists and murderers. It makes sense. They don’t seem to have anything else to do.”

  It was absurd that people could have so much faith in something but when it came to actually having to take action, they would have to act. If a murderer is so guilty, then why not let the gods deal with him? Surely if those believers felt they had to deal with that criminal themselves, they would have doubts about these mythical beings who look like us, meddle in our affairs and answer our every beck and call.

  Owin was clearly getting frustrated too. “So you are saying that the Ten rule the Ten Kingdoms?”

  “No.”

  “So how is faith in their…politics?” Owin mocked.

  “Because the rulers do it with just their beliefs in the Ten in their heads, or bend the words of the Ten that was made up by some mad fucker called Maran nearly a thousand years ago!” Baskie was sure his voice was beginning to be raised but didn’t want to show he was getting annoyed. In the midst of a storm, be calm as a lake on the surface as a torrent swarms inside you.

  “The kings rule it then?” Owin asked.

  Baskie couldn’t help but laugh, this time not at Owin but at the thought that the kings actually had any real power. “My arse they rule the Ten Kingdoms! They are merely messengers. The Ten Kingdoms are truly ruled from the Beast’s Eye by a council of rich lords chosen by the High-King of First Kingdom.” He could see he was losing his arguing partner in all the detail. “Just imagine somebody ruling your island from a thousand leagues away. They control your money—”