by Reece Dinn
The Exile's Redemption
The Heart of a Tyrant: Book One
Reece Dinn
To Tom,
for having faith.
Prologue
Predemadga
The City of Denistas
(Present Day)
Saima nervously scratched the tiny fingers of her deformed hand hidden within her robe. Today was the day she'd been dreading.
The garden was packed with people dressed in white robes that were painfully bright as they shimmered in the sun. Through the glaring, reflected light Saima could see people's pitiable and sorrowful expressions. Every person's eye she caught brought her closer to tears. Why do we need so many people here? This is my father's funeral. It should be family only, thought Saima.
Her mother, Lerama, stood beside her on the dais. Her mother's soft, elegant features betrayed no emotion as her loose brown hair swayed in the gentle breeze, strands of it standing on end. Her white robe, scattering sunlight as the wind whipped it. You'd never know she was attending her husband's funeral. She hasn't shed a tear since he died, the cold blooded, heartless bitch. Has all the emotion of a mastapane.
Paulu, the Socrae-al of the Predemagdan army, stood on her mother's other side. His white and gold armour was polished to the point of brilliance. Even his gauntlets and leg plates gleamed. He should spend less time polishing his armour and more time finding a woman of his own, rather than sleeping with other men's wives. Paulu stood proudly, like any Socrae-al should. He was tall, muscular, tanned, strong jawed, with short, light brown hair, the embodiment of a famous hero. Doesn't he know it though. He turned to Saima's mother and smiled, his white teeth gleaming even brighter than his armour.
Though she could only see the back of her mother's head Saima knew she was smiling. Saima cringed, turned away and spat out the vile taste that suddenly filled her mouth. My father's not even in the ground and they're flaunting their affair in front of everyone already.
Koma, stood behind Saima, snorted in disgust. Her handmaiden's pretty face twisted in outrage, creases appearing in her light brown skin. She clicked a finger at Saima then pointed to the spit on her light blue robe. Koma barely hid her contempt at the best of times, but now it showed through clearly, if only for a second before disappearing from her face. It remained in her dark eyes though. Saima hated those eyes, the constant glares Koma gave her when she thought she wasn't looking. The snorts, sneers, tuts. They ground her down, but her mother liked Koma because she kept her on her toes. When I'm Saban the first thing I'll do is send her back to whatever dirty little country she crawled out of.
Saima produced a handkerchief from the slip in her own robe and begrudgingly handed it to her handmaiden. Koma took it, wiped the spit off her, then threw the handkerchief away. She was about to demand Koma go pick it up, but she saw Paulu move again, the light glimmering across the back of his armour.
His hand moved to her mother's lower back and he kept it there for a moment, a moment too long. Her mother's affair with the Socrae-al was a poorly kept secret. Everyone in the palace knew of it. Her father must have known too. If he did, why did he tolerate it? The question angered her, more so because now she'd never get an answer. Her parents were siblings too, which made her mother's infidelity all the worse. How could he accept it? And how can she now allow the whole country to see it? Here. Now. My father isn't even gone yet. Has she no shame? She looked away to hide the tear in her eye. It was hard enough to remain composed, the last thing she needed was to be dealing with her mother's indiscretions.
Everyone of importance was there to mourn her father. Hontonu, the Qotan of Predemagda and her father's oldest advisor, stood at the foot of the wooden dais on which Saima and her mother stood. The top of the old man's head was bald, the hair remaining on the sides of his head thinned and white. Hontonu had served as her father's second in government for at least two decades, and her mother had already asked that he remain serving as Qotan while her family were in power.
Over by the bederes plants, to the right of the dais, stood Shonmu and his family. His daughter's pink dress matched the pink petals blooming on the bederes as she played with them. She better not pluck one. Shonmu was Tekan of the city of Denistas, Predemadga's capital. He was a hard looking man with dark, close cropped hair. His skin looked like milky brown trobaam leather, and it was creased with wrinkles, despite barely being forty. It was well known Shonmu coveted the Saban's Seat. The Qotan had no living family, so when he died it was expected that Shonmu would be made Qotan in his place, putting him one step closer to becoming Saban himself. Saima had only spoken to the man a handful of times and he'd always seemed pleasant enough, but she'd heard many rumours to the contrary. Still, he'd always openly supported her father. He was a good man in Saima's eyes.
She couldn't see the Konar-kas amongst the crowd, to her surprise. He'd always been considered a good friend of her father's No doubt he's had to deal with another gang related incident down below in the lower tiers of the city. I'm sure he'll be at the wake.
The rest of the gathered mourners were composed of Nobans of Denistas and their families, most dressed in white robes or dresses, but Saima spotted yellows, pinks, and even one or two people in black. She didn't know any of these people, which made her uncomfortable. She scratched her deformed hand again, a nervous habit that if her mother saw her doing would warrant a slap to the face from her.
She spotted a family of yegeyor amongst the crowd, each a head taller than everyone else. Saima had never been able to tell the difference between the male and female yegeyor, all of them looking the same to her; tall, muscular creatures with long faces, stone white, leathery skin, and thick, black bone fins running along their arms, their legs and from the back of their heads to the bottom of their backs. They had to keep them sheathed in leather at all times, a law that remained in place long after the yegeyor had been released from slavery. They looked out of place here, but Saima didn't dare voice that opinion.
The Saban's Guard were spaced equally around the edges of the palace gardens, rigid and straight in their white and yellow painted armour. They held their silver rifles with one hand, barrel resting against a shoulder, while their other hand rested on their sheathed short swords. Their presence was reassuring.
Up on the altar, on the far side of the garden, stood the Koku-rai, the spiritual leader of the Shadar faith. The old man's bald head shone brighter than even Paulu's teeth. He was dressed in a light green robe that glowed in the brightening afternoon light.
A gong rung, silencing everyone.
Saima glanced up at the sun. It was directly over head now. Sulchai was watching. Time to begin.
The gold painted doors of the palace opened and six Koku emerged carrying her father, his body wrapped tightly in a brown burial robe. Each Koku was dressed in different coloured robes, the colour they wore signifying what element they were a scion of. The front two were dressed in light and dark blue to represent they were scions of water. One was clothed in red and orange, for fire. Another wore white and light blue, for wind. The fifth wore brown and dark green, for earth. The sixth white and gold, for light. All Koku had shaved heads, and walked with their heads down to show they were in service to the elements, and the world.
They slowly passed through the gathered mourners, making their way to the altar. When the Koku had passed by the dais Saima and her mother stepped down and fell in behind them, leaving Paulu standing alone, with only Koma for company. Saima's handmaiden looked less than thrilled by this.
The Koku slowed further when they ascended the stairs up to the altar, taking great care to carry the body u
p safely. Saima and her mother followed, one slow step at a time. By the time they reached the top her father rested on the altar and four of the six Koku were heading back down the stairs, forming a line at the bottom. The two that remained where the water scion, for her father had been devoutly aligned with the element and its god, Qwobed. He'd had many pools built all around the city in honour of Qwobed, and he'd even talked of carving a river in the land to run past the city gates too.
The Koku-rai positioned himself before the altar, bowing his head.
Saima and her mother moved to either side of the altar. Their eyes met for a moment. Even now, with her father between them, lying dead, she still saw no emotion in her mother's green eyes. She looked away from Saima as the Koku-rai stepped away from the altar to face the mourners below.
'We are here today to purify our beloved Saban, Lomobu of the Damna family,' the Koku-rai began. 'Our Saban was one of the most righteous and wisest rulers that has ever graced our land. It was he who, after thirty years of war, made peace with the Benigradans, negotiating a truce so that the sacred Olsap Plateau was open to all. It was he who gave the yegeyor equal rights with man, and brought Predemagda back into the Trade Circle in the north. He was a man of many accomplishments, and a dear friend of mine. It saddens us greatly that he has passed, but we must return him to the world, so that he can begin again anew.'
The Koku-rai bowed his head, hands clasped at his waist. Saima bowed her head too.
The Koku-rai cleared his throat. 'Earth, fire, light, water, wind. These are the five elements. Without them life would not exist. Each of us are made of these five elements. From them we come, to them we return so life can begin anew. This is the cycle of life. We mourn those lost, and rejoice that their next journey has begun. We rejoice that they have reunited with the gods and that, one day, we too will join them on this journey. For now we must help our dearly departed to leave this world.'
Saima raised her head.
The Koku-rai approached the altar. He ran his hands over Saima's father's burial robe, up to his head.
Saima's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't dared look at her father's face, for fear of bursting into tears at the sight of him. To her relief she managed to remain composed, and made herself keep looking. His small features were calm and serene, as though sleeping peacefully. There was colour in his face still, no doubt the embalmers had applied make up before they'd enshrouded him. He looks like he could wake up at any moment. I wish he would. Please, father. Don't leave me here alone. I need you. She went to touch him, then realised that she would expose her deformity, so pulled her hand back.
She caught her mother's eyes again. Her mother shook her head, evidently annoyed.
The Koku-rai took a sword from behind the altar. It was long and extremely sharp, the blade shining in the afternoon light. He placed the blade on her father's neck. Even knowing he was dead Saima still cringed.
In one fluid motion the Koku-rai raised the sword and brought it down. The sword sliced right through, severing the head from the body. No blood was spilled as it rolled away, stopping short of the altar's edge. A large fire burnt behind the altar in a large brazier. The Koku-rai placed her father's head carefully in the fire, then returned the sword to behind the altar.
One of the Koku lit a grill behind Saima's mother, while the other parted her father's burial robe, exposing the spot where his heart should be. The Koku-rai produced a small knife from his robe. He began to make incisions around her father's heart, the area of skin precut by the embalmers, the ribs underneath already removed. He lifted the skin, exposing the heart, then proceeded to cut the heart out. Carefully he lifted her father's sticky heart out of his body and handed it to the Koku by the grill. The heart signified the emotional part of the soul. Purifying it on the grill released the soul inside, returning its energy to the world. Once the heart was purified the Koku placed it on the altar at her father's feet. The heart sizzled on the stone, juices oozing from it. It smelt like any other cooked meat.
The four Koku at the bottom of the stairs came back up to the altar and joined the other two in lifting her father's remains and carrying him back down the stairs. Saima and her mother remained at the altar with the Koku-rai.
They carried her father to an open grave near the big dregi tree far to the left of the altar, the tree's delicious, pale yellow fruit in full bloom now. It had been her father's favourite place to sit and listen to stories, or philosophical accounts. Saima had spent many an afternoon with him under that tree, listening to grebbin recite.
A tear ran down her face, she didn't wipe it away.
The Koku-rai stepped in front of the altar again to address the crowd. 'Now we return our beloved Saban to the earth and water, to bring strength, wisdom, and knowledge to those born after him.'
The Koku carefully lowered the body into the grave. A mound of earth and a spade lay beside it. The scion of earth picked the spade up and shovelled mud into the grave. When the body was covered, but the grave not full, the two scions of Qwobed filled large buckets of water from the nearby pool and emptied them into the grave. The others joined in when it was clear the grave was taking too long to fill.
When it was finally full the Koku-rai turned back to Saima, her mother, and the heart that lay between them on the altar. The heart had cooled now, but its pleasant scent remained.
'Now the family of the deceased will consume the heart, to absorb our Saban's soul, so that a piece of him may live on within them. His emotions will become their emotions, the essence of his being will become one with them, so that they can draw on his strength, vitality, constitution, conviction, kindness, compassion, and love.'
The Koku-rai gestured to Saima and Saima's mother to begin eating.
Her mother went first. Gently, she placed her fingers underneath the heart and lifted it off the altar. She was reluctant at first, but then her grip on it tightened and she raised it to her mouth. Juice ran down her chin as she bit into it. She chewed, her face not revealing whether she was enjoying it or not, then swallowed, before carefully placing it back upon the altar.
Saima felt everyone's eyes fall on her. She hated eating in front of people at the best of times. Its your father. Deal with it. She glanced across the garden to Koma on the dais. Though it was difficult to tell from a distance she could have sworn her handmaiden was smirking. Saima looked down at the heart.
Do it. She picked it up with her non-deformed hand, it was squidgier than she'd anticipated. Do it.
She bit into it. To her relief it wasn't too bad, relatively flavourless, but chewy. She kept chewing until there was little left of it, then swallowed as she placed it back on the altar.
There was a strong after-taste that she hadn't expected. What is it? Blood? She gagged and instinctively covered her mouth with her deformed hand, then immediately covered that with her good one.
Her mother glared at her as she picked the heart back up and ate some more of it, not putting it back down for Saima.
The Koku-rai moved around them to the brazier. He picked up a metal poker and began prodding her father's scorched head, rolling it around in the flames. Saima gasped in shock, and he shot her a quick look, then placed himself between her and the brazier, blocking her view. Using the bucket of the water left beside the brazier he extinguished the flames, then stepped aside. The head was gone. From behind the altar he took a silver urn, unscrewed the cap and, with a small brush, brushed the ashes into it, before sealing it.
Saima's mother had eaten more than her half of the heart, so placed it back on the altar. Saima knew she needed to finish it, but she was already feeling full, her small appetite making her task difficult. This is your father. You have to do this.
Ignoring the discomfort in her stomach she picked the heart back up and ate some more of it. She tried to do it as quick as she could, barely even chewing it before swallowing, hoping that if she crammed it in she'd manage. She coughed, then shoved the last piece of it into her mouth. Done. Thank the
gods.
The Koku-rai placed the urn on the altar, and stepped back in front of it to address the crowd again. 'Now that the Saban's mind has been purified we must wait for Nogram to send us the wind, so that we can scatter it to the four corners of the world, to bless it with his wisdom and knowledge, his foresight and his vision.' He bowed his head, sunlight beaming off his bald pate.
The six Koku had returned to the foot of the stairs and too had their heads bowed. Do I bow my head too? No one else had their heads bowed. They all stood, waiting patiently. This could take a while.
The trees and plants ruffled and swayed as a gentle wind blew across the garden. It quickly grew stronger, until it'd become strong enough to send ripples across Saima's dress. The wind was surprisingly warm, soothing almost.
The Koku-rai raised the urn over his head. 'Nogram has sent his wind. Now we release the Saban's mind.'
The wind blew harder. The Koku-rai ripped the top off the urn and threw its contents up into the air. Ashes flew up in a cloud, then were blown away. Some of the ashes scattered across the garden, but most rose up into the sky, vanishing from view.
Nogram sent the wind. He actually sent the wind. She hadn't expected that. The only other funeral she'd attended, the wind had taken a good half hour to come. My father is far more important than some Nobans. Of course Nogram would respond swiftly.
'It is done,' said the Koku-rai, raising his hands in the air. 'The departed has returned to the world. He is free.'
Saima looked to her mother. She looking over to the dais, smiling. Smiling at Paulu. She could tell he was smiling back, his big, beaming grin visible even from this distance. She looked back to her mother. There was something in her eyes Saima had never seen before. Love.
They did this. They killed him. I see it now. Suddenly she saw them together, her mother and the Socrae-al plotting her father's death so that they could be together. It all made sense. It wasn't a burst appendix that killed him. It was murder.