The Pages of the Mind

by Jeffe Kennedy

  I pulled out a few loose pages and set them in a stack next to the journal. Laying a hand on one, I said the Dasnarian word for king, then put a hand on the other and used the Nahanaun word. Nakoa frowned in puzzlement, then called over the long-haired man, who seemed to be in charge, then indicated I should repeat myself. I did. Then added “Dasnarian” on the one and “Nahanaun” on the other. The man’s serious face brightened. His assistants brought several maps and laid them on the table, bowing and looking hopeful.

  “Yes!” I said, spying the volcano on a detailed map, then another on a smaller scale that showed what might be the Sentinels. “Thank you.”

  Nakoa spoke approvingly and they beamed in obvious relief. I studied the second map and Nakoa set a hand on the back of my neck, caressing me absentmindedly, looking over my shoulder. The head man returned with two scrolls and set them before me, unrolling them and setting weights to hold them in place. They looked to be the same length. The one in Dasnarian described a tale, a myth involving the creation of the world that sounded quite similar to one common among the Twelve Kingdoms. The other scroll . . . I had to sigh. The undeniably beautiful script used what looked to be pictographs instead of an alphabet.

  But it was a start.

  “Thank you.” I folded my hands over my heart and started to bow, but Nakoa stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

  “Queen,” he said, giving me a slight smile, adding the word he’d used when correcting me on illegal moves in the game of strategy. The librarian kept a straight face but seemed amused. I nodded my acquiescence. I would have to get used to this kind of thing. Nakoa tapped my journal again, raising his brows.

  “Mo’o?” I asked, using the word he’d taught me. Several of the attendants murmured. In dismay?

  “No,” Nakoa replied, sounding regretful. Though it wasn’t clear to me if he meant that there were no books on the dragon or that I could not see them. If the latter, I would find them myself, once I regained mobility.

  “Then this will keep me busy. Thank you.” I laid my hands on the documents, palms down. Nakoa sounded satisfied and gave some final orders, which I interpreted to mean they should give me whatever I asked for.

  He picked up my hand, turning it over and placing a formal kiss on my inner wrist. “Good day, mlai.” And waited.

  “Thank you, King Nakoa KauPo.” I smiled sweetly and he shook his head, huffing out a laugh, to my relief.

  He left, meeting several people who waited anxiously by the doors—and who started asking him questions immediately. Salving my guilt with the resolve that I’d be less of a burden if I educated myself, I turned my attention to learning his language.

  16

  The man who seemed to be the head librarian sat himself down at the table also, clearly prepared to devote his time to getting me whatever I asked for. He put a hand over his heart and introduced himself. “Akamai.”

  “Greetings, Akamai,” I tried, working on my tonality. He didn’t seem confused, so I’d at least said something reasonable. “I am Dafne.”

  He flashed me a bright, easygoing smile and shook his finger at me. “No. Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo.”

  I stopped myself from arguing and instead bent my attention to the scrolls before me, while Akamai quietly copied some document. It seemed forever ago that I’d given myself the same task, copying those missives, when my biggest concern was finding the right temple priests and priestesses to bless Ursula’s coronation. Not worth contemplating the irony of all I’d made Ursula go through for a formal coronation, not to mention all those discussions of matrimony and who could and could not elevate a spouse to the throne. Nakoa thought he’d made me queen by tossing a flower garland around my neck, and no one seemed inclined to argue.

  As I worked, I made notes of likely Nahanaun words that might correspond to Dasnarian ones. I added a third column of the Common Tongue translation, to help keep my thoughts straight. Between those three languages and the Tala I’d acquired, it became easy to forget which one I attempted to translate to. Half the time, instead of the Dasnarian word I sought, the Tala term popped into my head. As if my brain offered anything for “foreign word for this concept” rather than from the appropriate language.

  Not at all useful. The fact that the Tala also used a kind of pic-tography instead of an alphabet also just confused things further—particularly as it seemed to share nothing with the Nahanaun one. Tremendously annoying. How could the realms be so relatively close geographically and share so little culturally? Though the same was true of Annfwn and the Twelve and they at least shared the same landmass. In the past each of the Twelve had their own language unique to that kingdom, but they’d all shared certain commonalities of structure and etymology. Common Tongue had arisen long before Uorsin, driven primarily by trade. Some scholars argued that Common Tongue used to be the language of all the Twelve and the individual languages of the various kingdoms were dialects developed during periods of isolation.

  I tended to agree with the latter interpretation, more so over time, as I encountered these wildly different languages from other places.

  This effort felt almost more like cryptography than anything else—something I wished fervently I knew more about. I listed the pictographs that occurred most frequently, comparing them to the same in the Dasnarian document and trying to line them up by location in the text. It would be a bad assumption to think that Nahanaun word order was the same as Dasnarian. In fact, I knew it wasn’t. The Nahanauns tended to, at least in speech, put an object first, then describe the circumstances around it. Dasnarian had been easier to learn because it used a structure like Common Tongue, typically subject, verb, object. In both Dasnarian and Common tongue, I’d say “I ate an apple.” Dasnarians added descriptors after the object where Common Tongue generally put them before—“I ate an apple red” as opposed to “I ate a red apple.”

  In Nahanaun, though, they seemed to say, “Apple red I satisfied have eaten,” with the concepts for past tense, “red,” and “satisfied” expressed in the pitch and tonality. All in how it was spoken, and I knew well from studying Tala that what they spoke and what they wrote down could be substantially different. I’d always attributed that to a written language being an afterthought for the Tala, but now, beating my head against this Nahanaun scroll, I reconsidered. How did they designate tonality and pitch in a pictograph? Slight deviations I detected in the same character might indicate that. Or might be only variations in handwriting.

  And I was getting nowhere.

  If hope is the absence of despair, then that explained how quickly my hopefulness eroded as the frustration grew. It chewed at me, distracting me and increasing my certainty that I could not win out of this situation. Not a good place to be.

  By way of taking a break, I set my lists aside and looked at the maps. The Nahanauns drew in a more florid style, an artistic sense that echoed through all the sculptures. Almost more liquid, with few straight or bold lines. That’s part of why Nakoa’s sketch of me had seemed odd to my eye. He’d drawn me smaller, slighter, more feminine than I thought of myself. My face more piquant and my eyes large and lightly shaded. Like the nyrri Kral had taken to calling me. Perhaps my eyes, though brown, seemed as odd to him as his opaque ones did to me.

  Likewise the maps showed land edges in light lines and the ocean in varying shades of gray. Perhaps to show depth, as Shipmaster Jens had taught me his navigational charts depicted, though in a different way. Instead of names to indicate places, small sketches appeared at salient points. Not exactly pictographs, but definitely images. Those had to be the Sentinels—their stark, sharp edges unmistakable. They stood amid a depiction of a scattering of islands at the far eastern boundary of the map. Larger islands at the top right corner were likely those at the western border of the Northern Wastes. Where Annfwn would be, or anything else of the west coast of the Twelve, Nakoa’s map showed only ocean. His island chain sat in the middle of the map—and took up the entirety of the larger, more detailed ma
p of Nahanau. I found the volcano on the detail map and compared the shape of the island to find it on the big map. Not the first in the chain or the biggest, but the farthest east of a long archipelago of islands.

  There had to be hundreds, streaming easily as far as from Elcinea to Erie. Surely they weren’t all under the same rule? At the far left edge of the map, however, seemed to be a land mass that had to be Dasnaria, from what Jens had explained.

  “Akamai?” I asked and he raised his head, bowing slightly.

  “Yes, Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo?”

  I nearly grimaced. No wonder Andi always resisted being called by her title and full name. “Is this Dasnaria?”

  He came over to look. “Dasnaria, yes.”

  I put my finger on the island I’d identified from the detail map. “King Nakoa KauPo is king here?”

  Akamai drew a circle around the entire archipelago. “King Nakoa KauPo,” he said, pitching the words with pride and the tonality I associated with the sense of pleasant weather. Maybe it meant more “flourishing.” I made the change to my list of words. Akamai watched, head cocked. “May I?”

  “Yes.” I pushed the list over to him and he braced his hands on the table, studying it.

  He tapped a pictograph next to a Dasnarian word. “This is not correct,” he told me, a phrase I’d learned well from Nakoa teaching me the game. Taking a fresh sheet of paper, he drew the pictograph and wrote the Dasnarian word next to it.

  I stared at it, almost unable to believe what I saw, realization overcoming doubt. Could I truly have stumbled on such a stroke of incredible luck?

  Akamai gave me a worried smile and bowed. “Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo? I did not mean to offend.”

  I knew that one, too, from Inoa’s ladies—though it seemed only lower-tier people said it to those of higher rank. “No offense!” I switched to Dasnarian, almost afraid to hope. “Do you speak Dasnarian?”

  He hesitated, then shrugged and answered in the same language. “Some. I am not perfectly fluent, Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo.” He used the Dasnarian word for “queen,” confirming that much. I’d really hoped for a translation problem there. But the aggravation was minor in light of this enormous development.

  “Why doesn’t King Nakoa KauPo employ you to translate for him when the Dasnarians visit?”

  Akamai seemed torn. Probably not supposed to say—as this had to be deliberate obfuscation on Nakoa’s part—but also forced by protocol, and a direct command from his king, to answer my questions. “Perhaps you should ask King Nakoa Kau—”

  “No. I’m asking you. Explain this to me, please.”

  He sighed, resigning himself and pulled over his chair to sit beside me. “It serves King Nakoa KauPo’s purposes to allow the Dasnarians to believe we don’t understand their language. They can be . . . overbearing.”

  I laughed, both at his word choice and with the sheer delight and relief that I’d found a teacher. “I agree. Akamai, will you teach me your language? If I’m to be queen here, I need to know.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m meant to, Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo.” He frowned, deeply troubled.

  No way would I let him off this hook. I’d found a teacher, one I desperately needed, and I’d have to be ruthless in securing this opportunity. Coaxing would only weaken my position. Drawing myself up and giving him my best version of Ursula’s steely stare, I said, “King Nakoa KauPo commanded you to assist me. This is the assistance I require. I’ll take responsibility for any consequences.”

  “Thank you, Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo!” The sheer relief on his face, the way he bowed and kissed the backs of my hands, seemed like an overreaction, which meant I’d possibly promised him a great deal more than I’d intended. Still, whatever that might be, it would be worth it to gain this knowledge. Knowledge might be my best fence against the world, but it could also be the active weapon that might gain me my freedom.

  Akamai proved to be an excellent teacher, using the scrolls he’d brought me to demonstrate the bridges between the two languages. Profoundly grateful I’d followed my whim—or hlyti—in learning Dasnarian, I soaked up the information, putting together a number of fragments fairly quickly.

  We worked for hours, me snacking on the ubiquitous platters of fruit, meat, and breads servants kept refreshed. Akamai refused to partake, abashed that I offered, but also wouldn’t leave me. It seemed wrong to take advantage, but I’d learned so much already that I hated to stop.

  I did only when Nakoa arrived, a relief, as I very much needed to answer the call of nature and had been at the point of trying my feet. He hadn’t thought of that, I suspected, in his dictatorial insistence that only he carry me.

  “A pleasant afternoon to you, mlai.” He had shed his entourage but wore his armor, making me wonder what he’d been up to.

  Unfortunately Dasnarian had no good corresponding term to match “mlai”—or Akamai didn’t know it—but he had verified that it meant something like beloved or lover, shaded with possessiveness. No great surprise there, but increased incentive for me not to say it.

  “A pleasant afternoon to you, also, King Nakoa KauPo.”

  An arrested expression on his face, he processed that. “You have learned much this fruitful day.”

  “It has been an educational day. Akamai is most happily gifted and wise.” Nakoa’s brows drew together and Akamai quailed.

  Nakoa spoke sharply to him, going too fast for me to catch it all, but questioning his decision.

  “Am I queen?” I interrupted, earning a glower from Nakoa and an alarmed gulp from Akamai.

  I refused to let him intimidate me. I have stood up to Uorsin, far more of a tyrant than even you, and to Ursula, as well.

  “I have said so, mlai. Why do you unpleasantly question me?”

  “I do not mean . . . an unpleasant question. I have learned much, yes, but am as a child in understanding.” I fumbled my way through, but some of Nakoa’s dark frown lightened. “If I am queen, Akamai is to obey me, yes?”

  Nakoa nodded. “Though he obeys his king wisely first.”

  “I told Akamai I would take responsibility for . . .” I looked to Akamai for assistance and said the Dasnarian word for “consequences.”

  Hesitant, he offered several words to Nakoa, bowing humbly as he did. Nakoa looked astounded but no longer angry, shaking off the further discussion. “I would not undo your gift. Are you ready?” He held out his arms in the gesture of offering to carry me.

  “Yes, thank you, King Nakoa KauPo. I shall . . . be here”—I’d forgotten how to shade for the immediate future, curse it—“another day?”

  “If the sun shines, Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo.” Akamai bowed deeply and Nakoa lifted me from my chair, carrying me from the room.

  “It will be a pleasant day when you . . . are not required to carry me,” I offered, hoping I’d gotten all of that right.

  Nakoa looked down at me and flexed his fingers on my thigh and just under the curve of my breast. “Not happy. Perhaps I will forbid you to walk, so I may always carry you.”

  At least, that’s what I thought he said. Something that simultaneously pissed me off and made me flush, both of which Nakoa observed.

  “A king of so many islands is too . . .” I trailed off, not knowing the word for it. “Responsibility?” I tried.

  “You are mlai,” he replied, with a shrug that edged his hand so his finger brushed the bottom of my breast.

  “I don’t understand.” I’d made Akamai teach me that phrase. I’d no doubt be using it a lot.

  “I have not pleasantly shown you?” He stopped, bent his head, and, since I turned my face away, kissed under my ear. Taking my earlobe in his teeth, he nibbled at it, making me gasp while he murmured something against my skin that involved pleasant demonstrations.

  “Not here, Nakoa.” I pushed at him and he chuckled warmly. But he resumed carrying me to my—his—no, our rooms. I couldn’t have it both ways, claim right of rank and also deny my new reality.

  To my r
elief, Inoa and her ladies were waiting for me, Inoa simmering with impatience. “You go unhappily slow, young brother,” she scolded him, and I was pressed to keep from smiling.

  “My burden is precious,” he replied, setting me carefully on the bed. “We shall play kiauo, Dafne mlai?”

  “Yes, Nakoa.” Though I felt suddenly tired enough to collapse back and sleep. Working the mind so hard could be as exhausting as riding all day at Hawks’ speed.

  “You have to—” was all I got of Inoa’s next words, though I guessed well enough what she was telling him. Especially when he cut her off.

  “I am wise in this. You are unhappily not,” he told her, teasing, but firm, then sent me a look to see how much I’d understood, smiling at my blush. Nothing like having everyone discuss your sex life.

  As soon as the door closed, the ladies blessedly helped me use the chamber pot and then to bathe. To my surprise, my feet felt tremendously better, barely hurting when I bumped them. They chattered as they worked, but now I could decipher much more of their conversation. With Nakoa gone, they dropped some of the formalities, speaking to each other quickly. And about me. I gathered up the fragments, letting them think I still understood no more than I had before.

  Unhappy luck that he has not bedded her.

  Stormy days loom.

  What shall happen to us if?

  He is not wise in this. That last from Inoa, accompanied by pursed lips. She is beautiful but does not understand the importance.

  They gave me much to ponder, especially the word mlaipua, which I thought meant “beautiful.” Nakoa had used it when he bared my breasts and Akamai had translated the Dasnarian word as such, in relationship to the description of the birth of Glorianna in the scroll. Still, no one ever in my life had described me as beautiful, not even my prospective bridegrooms or Zyr, the rumored master of seduction.

  Inoa hopefully offered the transparent nightgown, commenting to one of her ladies that if I’d only put it on then her little brother—she might be saying baby brother—would see a . . . truth? And the sun would shine again. They used so much metaphorical language, mostly tied into good and bad fortune, that deciphering meaning became nearly impossible.