The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing

by T. Josiah Haynes

  “That sounds fine.”

  “I hope you’re craving trout. Or salmon. I’ll fish upstream, in the forest. I’ll fight off grizzly bears if it means roasted salmon tonight.”

  “Don’t go too far into the forest.”

  “Just far enough to catch some salmon.”

  If you’re unwilling to grasp the power Hrash lays at your feet, you may as well sit at the bears’ supper table. Her husband’s inability to profit from the simplest of opportunities wore on her nerves. Falhill had disappointed her once again.

  Falhill continued to speak, and Falhadn continued to nod and mumble, until he finally slipped his ceremonial robes over his lanky frame and left — accompanied by his wedbrother Soldier Primhill. Falhadn arose from her bed, bare-skinned in the early morning warmth. She slipped into a simple brown frock with embellishments about the wrists and hem. She thought the dress a benign choice to appear before the parents of her many students. She had never borne a life — “Nearly” doesn’t count — but Falhadn’s children were like sons and daughters to her.

  Falhadn’s twenty-five students gathered in the town square, where they met five days every week. The town square did not bustle this early. It hardly bustled even at high noon. The congress rationed all foodstuffs, and nobody used silver or gold coinage like on the mainland. No wonder, since every coin bears the face of the Unholy King and the deeply ironic expression, “And Hrash be praised.”

  Only in indulgences did anyone have a reason to trade in the town square. Jewelers and miners with their precious gems, seamstresses and tailors with purple-dyed gowns, Gaerhadn selling her mother’s pottery and her husband's tinctures. Women offered up their ration of basil for another woman’s ration of thyme. A cleric would stand on a flagstone to pray over the colony. The simpleton Rudrud would strum at his lyre, crooning nonsense.

  But the morning sun had just peeked above the western shores, and the town square sat empty — save Falhadn’s students and their lingering parents.

  “My daughter was cranky this morning. Make sure to treat her gently,” one mother said to Falhadn as she passed. Another woman charged at Falhadn, “Be certain to push my grandson. He responds best to a harsh disciplinarian.” A gaunt young mother shook as she spoke, “The congress ought to assign you a guardsman. They still haven’t found Traamis’s attempted assassin — Hrash be with him.” An older man approached her; “My grandson is orphaned. He watched as his parents were disintegrated on the docks of Enesma. So why are you pushing him so hard?”

  Falhadn smiled and assured the parents and grandparents that their children were in good hands, as she did every morning. In her head, she cursed them for instructing her how to best teach her students. She hated them for pushing overbearing philosophies on their sponge-minded children.

  She found respite in her pupil, though. Ulmhall had studied under her for a few months in Enesma, intent to become a teacher himself. He had it in him — the level head, the friendly tone of voice, the expansive knowledge to answer any question the budding minds could throw at him. Ulmhall had read double the books and scrolls that Falhadn had.

  In Enesma, Ulmhall had been with Falhadn and Falhill when the False Priests burst through the city gates. He had left them when he entered a burning cottage to save some widow and her three children. The widow had thanked him with a kiss, and they all successfully escaped to this new coast. Falhadn had heard from her fellow teacher Zannahill — who taught the widow’s eldest daughter — that Ulmhall had spent many suppers at the widow’s hovel.

  To poke fun at Ulmhall for courting a widow five years his senior was in Falhadn’s nature, but she forced herself to allow the boy some hope for happiness. I wish someone had convinced me not to marry my husband, she couldn’t help but think, before remembering, My mother and father certainly tried.

  The parents dispersed, and the students flocked to Falhadn. There were only ever three things in life that could coerce Falhadn to don a genuine smile. And the glee on her students’ young faces was one of them.

  The twenty-five children, aged seven through nine, walked alongside Falhadn and Ulmhall up the Azure Boulevard, which followed the river towards the Northwood. On their right roared the mighty Azure Artery — some named it the Independence River. And on their left sat hovels and cottages. Then, farmsteads and a couple ranches. A tall outpost marked the northmost manmade structure, then the forest began its sovereignty.

  Within view of the outpost, Falhadn sat her children beneath an ancient yew, whose thick gnarled branches stretched twenty meters in every direction, only two or three meters off the ground. The shadow of the twisted behemoth offered relief from the early spring sun. The equinox passed only one week ago while the fugitive fleet was still afloat. But the weather had warmed remarkably quickly.

  “Can anyone tell me what word we learned yesterday?” Falhadn asked when Ulmhall had quieted the rowdy rabble.

  Falhadn pointed at Yeznahedeen, whose single arm hovered high in the air. “Sovereign — holding absolute power, often referring to a leader or leaders of a society. Like a king.”

  Balgaerhall scoffed. “We’ll never have a king again. It’s the congress who’s sovereign.”

  “I said like a king, not a king.”

  “Whatever—”

  Falhadn pointed a sharp glance at Balgaerhall, and the pigheaded little boy shut his wide mouth. “Today…” and Falhadn gave her lecture on etymology. She couldn’t hide that the fundamentals of language and etymology were her favorite subject.

  In the middle of her lecture, she recalled having first connected with her husband over their shared interest in language. But she drove the jovial thought from her mind and got on with her lesson.

  Today was the first Ednbly on this new continent, and the teachers had agreed to adopt a similar custom to their homeland. On the sixth day of the week, students would study until midday, when they would go to their homes early and help their parents with their trades. Duimbly served as a day of rest, and Hrashbly as a day of worship, so Ednbly lunchtime marked a multi-day reprieve from one’s daily life.

  But before the children left the shadow of the yew, Falhadn — as she did after most lessons — encouraged the young children to ask any question that nagged them. Yesterday was Falhadn’s first day teaching on land in some time, so the children grew tired and needed to be sent home. Now that they seemed more awake than the day before, Falhadn anticipated innumerable inquiries.

  “Am I an orphan?” asked Jeulberuthall, who had watched his parents and three siblings turned to dust back in Enesma.

  Falhadn kept her composure and answered with dignity. “Unfortunately, yes. But that doesn’t mean your mother and father aren’t watching you from Hrash’s domain.” How can I comfort this poor boy? “And you'll live for a very long time. And your grandfather loves you very much.”

  Jeulgaerhall asked, “Can Grandpa be king?”

  His older brother pushed him over. “Grandpa doesn’t want to be king. Kings are evil.”

  Falhadn shot Balgaerhall a venomous glance, then answered Jeulgaerhall’s question. “Your grandfather Kraek serves as congresser — one of seven. The congress governs our people, with Hrash’s blessing. Your grandfather does not wish to be king, but he is the closest thing.”

  “What about Drea Drysword?” Zannahall asked. “Is he king?”

  “No,” Falhadn answered, “when Congresser Drea gets better, he will also serve as congresser — one of seven. There will be no king on these shores.”

  Yeznahedeen waved her single hand above her head. “Will Congresser Drea get better?”

  “Let us pray he does. Only Hrash knows.”

  Balgaerhall crossed his arms. “I hope he doesn’t get better. That means more power for Grandpa.” Falhadn kept a level head, and Ulmhall pulled the boy aside to flog him red-cheeked.

  “We do not wish ill on anyone,” Falhadn instructed. “Does everyone understand?”

  “What about King Yaangd?” Zannahall asked.
“Do we pray for King Yaangd?”

  “King Yaangd,” she began, “is a man like any of your fathers. But he has made a lot of decisions that hurt innocent people. It would be appropriate to pray to Hrash that he loses his power or his proclivity for causing suffering. But you should not pray for his death. That would not be right.”

  Rudfynhall commented, “My grandfather says we should respect the king.”

  Seeming to pray for a fresh flogging, Balgaerhall pushed Rudfynhall to the ground. “Your grandfather is an idiot. My grandpa would be much better—” And Ulmhall pulled him aside yet again.

  The bastard girl Rudfalhedeen raised her hand. “We both have ‘Fal’ in our names. Are we related?”

  Falhadn had to keep from laughing in the ugly girl’s face. “Your mother and my husband must be distant cousins. So, in a way, yes.” Rather, my detestable husband and your unwed whore mother.

  Zannahall shouted out, “Your husband is Congresser Falhill, right?”

  “That’s right. He serves along with their grandfather Kraek.”

  Rudfynhall added, “My father says that Falhill and Balgray are the smartest people in the congress.”

  Balgaerhall pushed him again. “Teacher Falhadn?!”

  “Balgaerhall, we do not push people. But, Rudfynhall, that was rude.” And revealing.

  “My daddy disagrees with mommy,” one-armed Yeznahedeen put in. “Daddy says Kraek and Theral represent our truest traditions. But Mommy thinks it’s Yrnhill the younger since he was Traamis’s apprentice.”

  A gasp from Jeulgaerhall. “Is Traamis the True going to get better?” The children appeared more concerned for Traamis’s health than for Drea’s.

  Jeulberuthall drummed his hands against the grass. “My grandfather says Yrnhill is the only congresser who knows what’s best, since he was a cleric before he was a congresser.”

  Rudfalhedeen opened her eyes wide as walnuts. “My daddy says Traamis is not a war hero like everybody says.”

  “Yes he is!” Jeulberuthall yelled back.

  “No he’s not!”

  “Yes, huh!”

  “Nuh-uh!”

  Ulmhall tore the two apart, and Falhadn donned her calmest demeanor. “We will not fight, you two. Nor any of you. What our parents say might be an opinion. Parents are allowed to have opinions, and other parents are allowed to have different opinions. That doesn’t mean someone is wrong, and someone is right.”

  Rudfynhall raised his hand. “When my grandfather isn’t sleeping like he does a lot, he wishes he could go back to Hrashmaad. But I don’t wanna go back there. It’s scary.”

  Jeulberuthall nodded his head. “The False Priests killed my parents, and my brothers and sister. I don’t wanna go back there either.”

  Balgaerhall put his arm around his little brother. “My family went from Eangd, to Anang, to Baeldaan, to Enesma. And it was all really scary. Please don’t let them send us back.”

  “Never,” Falhadn promised. “No one will ever make you return there.” She took utmost solace in that the children all agreed that their new home stood superior to their old. Even if they had to adjust to new hovels, a new town, new neighbors, they grasped that to remain in Hrashmaad would have spelled death for them and their families. How early did I have to learn what death was? She pitied her students. “I think it’s time to return to the town square.” She checked the sun and turned to Ulmhall. “I don’t mean to throw this at you, but could you escort them south without me?”

  Ulmhall’s eyebrows lifted. “I suppose so, yes. What shall I tell the parents?”

  “My husband and I planned to meet in the woods for a picnic, and I lost track of time.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  Falhadn chuckled. “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of the congresser to prepare you a midday meal under the trees.”

  “I thought so as well. Thank you, Ulmhall. I don’t know how I’d function without you.”

  He put on a perfunctory grin and started the children down the Azure Boulevard.

  Falhadn greeted a dozen fishermen and lumberers on her walk. Up the half-paved portion of the Azure Boulevard, beyond what they had managed to construct, into the uncorrupted forest. The humid air palpable. Her heart pounding with ardor.

  She had crafted a fleeting pretext for why she travelled so deeply into the dense woodland; “I’m meeting my husband, if I can ever find him.” And she would say she couldn’t find him on her return trip. “How foolish I am. But I had better beat the sunset, else the bears will get a hold of me. Ha!”

  She saw no torchlight behind her, heard no voices on either side, smelled naught but sap and sod. Twigs and acorns crunched beneath the weight of her accelerating feet. She hastened to her desire.

  Was she lost? The location of her rendezvous had to be near. She followed marks on the trees she had made last week. But the afternoon sun shone dimly through the trees by this point. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for the dual circles she had carved into a hundred oaks.

  She tripped over a thick root and landed on her elbow. She propped herself up on the nearest tree. Blood coursed through her veins and arteries. She caught her breath and found dual circles whittled into the bark not two feet from her face.

  The ground stayed beneath her feet, and Falhadn managed to track the carvings she had left herself. At last, through the tight-packed trees, she could make out the beige stone structure where awaited her companion.

  The rounded structure stood two stories high, ringed in ancient hieroglyphs. The indecipherable runes glimmered a dull blue in the afternoon sunlight. The muted beige of the smooth outer stone showed no signs of erosion.

  But dust blanketed the innards of the bizarre edifice. Time had swept through the winding halls, and Falhadn crept up the creaking spiral staircase.

  When she emerged on the second floor, her companion sat up. He had awaited her advent from atop the massive circular table which filled the room. Only a basket of freshly caught and roasted venison covered his most private parts.

  Falhadn sauntered towards the thick, hulking table. Her light brown dress slipped down off her shoulders to reveal she wore nothing underneath. She left the frock on the floor and climbed upon the table. “Keep the venison for later,” she commanded, and he pushed the basket aside.

  His sinewy chest grew dark brown hair. He is no Falhill, she knew. She crawled closer.

  “I was two minutes from running into the woods to look for you,” he remarked with a coy smirk. “I would have leapt into the forest without a stitch to keep me warm, if it meant finding you.”

  Falhadn giggled. She never giggled around her husband. “I was lost for a moment.” She pushed him against the table. “But I always find my way.” And a genuine smile sprawled across her face.

  Chapter five

  Marble Slab

  “I believe it is an affront to our most prominent member to meet in the midst of his crippling illness.” Kraek did not love Drea, but he loved tradition. King Kraek, Falhill couldn’t help but recall. “This pilgrim congress numbers one twentieth of its motherland counterpart. Every member should sit in attendance in our congress’s inaugural assembly.”

  Falhill distracted himself from Kraek’s rant by basking in the Cavern of Congress he and the other congressers had worked so hard on. The long cavern sported a hundred smoothed stalagmites, even more stalactites that hung a few feet overhead, and an extensive wooden structure to ensure the cavern would not cave in. Torches leaned lazily from sconces, and Soldier Rudfynhill stood still as stone at the rounded front entrance.

  At the cavern’s center sat the Marble Slab, a massive vein of marble carved into a long rectangle for congressers to sit around. On one side of the solid marble, Hrash drank the seas to reveal the colorful land underneath, already teeming with livestock and vegetation and man. On its other side, twenty-two ships sailed from Enesma — behind them, a giant wave met jade flame.

  Five gathered in the
brightly lit cavern, but the seat at the head of the Marble Slab sat empty.

  “It has been five days since our landing,” argued Theral, a pepper-haired woman of forty-six years. “The congress must govern. The Drysword is not the congress; he is but a member. And it’s not as if he represents a tribe of Hrashmaad, as in the motherland. He was only chosen for his experience and proven political mettle.” Falhill wondered if any of them would mention how Denhall had not attended in protest to Drea’s exclusion.

  Yrnhill the younger’s voice cracked; “I think it disrespectful to our people’s most beloved hero, Traamis the True, to meet while he recovers from the attempt on his life.”

  Falhill placed his open palm upon the Marble Slab. “Let us begin with a moment of silence for our comrades who lay abed in illness unexplained.”

  Kraek and Theral grunted in agreement as Yrnhill nodded lazily and Balgray closed her eyes. Falhill bowed his head, waited an appropriate amount of time, and sighed heavily. “Onto business.”

  Yrnhill jumped in as Kraek opened his mouth to speak. “Who tried to kill our beloved Cleric Traamis?!”

  “Really?” Kraek blurted. “Is that business?”

  “Denhall volunteered to be the colony’s justice, did he not? We should give him the tools he needs to investigate the attempted murder.”

  “Agreed,” Kraek mumbled at the young cleric. “Denhall will begin his duties as chief officer of the peace effective immediately. All he needs is officers beneath him and a budget of a thousand silver pieces every lunar cycle.”

  “This is not the mainland,” Balgray pointed out. Although Balgray had led the innocents of Meireer away from slaughter at the hands of False Priests, Balgray was no politician. Though the commoners of Meireer hailed her as the Hero of Meireer, Balgray remained as grounded as ever. Falhill considered his former neighbor Balgray to be the most selfless member of the congress. “We have not the men and women to make officers for Denhall. Nor the silver to fund such an endeavor.”