Kraek grunted, “So these foreigners will know where we are? So they can either trade with us, or enslave us? We don’t have the soldiers to defend against that sort of attack.”
“There won’t be an attack.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Our ambassadors will know not to communicate with foreign neighbors who could be a threat.”
“Again, how will they know how to distinguish?”
“We train them, over the next two weeks.” Falhill snagged a parchment from in front of Drea. “We have six ambassadors ready to go — two the west, two to the north, and two to the east.”
“Ready to go?” Kraek parroted. “How long have you been proposing this?”
“Drea and I had the idea on the journey north.” Falhadn had come up with the idea of the picture message. She helped to conceptualize what the parchment would encompass. “We have six interested citizens, of all sorts of backgrounds.”
Balgray sighed, trying not to glower. “My son and my wedson have both volunteered.”
Yrnhill made a gurgling noise. “My father has also volunteered!”
Falhill and Drea further explained precisely what their plans were for the six ambassadors. After everyone had praised Theral for her heroic deeds in the war, Kraek was left alone in his opposition. So he gave in. The congress settled on who would be paired with whom: Ganjinhill and Yrnhill the elder west, Jiridhill and Freily north, Balsithedeen and Eleim east.
“Hrash go with them,” Yrnhill extolled.
The congress concluded their first full meeting, and without a drop of blood.
Chapter ten
Ambassador
Balsithedeen had spent evenings at her lady friends’ homes before. She had camped under the stars in the past, on her father’s farm back on the mainland. She had stayed in an inn one night long ago, when her family journeyed across the kingdom for a census. Never had she stayed away from her own bed for more than a week. Never before had Balsithedeen missed her home.
Now she bid farewell to her family, her friends, her true love. She wouldn’t see them again for a long time.
The parchment with the pictures bulged within her waistpouch. Weeks’ worth of bread and dried seaweed filled her backsack. The waves ebbed, and her parents fought to hug her first.
Her mother Sithadn won the battle and squeezed Balsithedeen’s neck. Her father nearly pushed his wife to the ground to hold his youngest daughter. The farmer Sithill brushed her hair and whispered, “We are so proud of you.”
Her sister waddled up, eight months pregnant. They shared a kiss on each cheek, and Balsithedeen kissed the cheek of her wedbrother Greishill. The nineteen-year-old fisher told her, “I wish you could stay for another month; Greishadn will burst any day now.”
“I know. But it is by the congress’s design. The other ambassadors have already left.”
Balsithedeen had watched as Jiridhill and Freily started north. Then, Ganjinhill and Yrnhill the elder said goodbye to the massive crowd when they left by the western coast. Now, Balsithedeen joined Shepherd Eleim on their trek east. Ambassador, I like the sound of that, she had thought when she first heard mention the congress was looking for emissaries. Ambassador — just another word for adventurer.
Balsithedeen’s mentor gave her a jagged dagger in a fresh leather sheath. “This iron will protect you from whatever lies beyond the horizon,” Henhadn assured her. “I have taught you how to be a woman of import and grace, but I did not know I needed to teach you how to defend yourself.” Housewife Henhadn tied the leather sheath to Balsithedeen’s woven belt. “I hear the howling at night.” She looked her in the eye and whispered, “And I don’t know this Eleim fellow.” Henhadn pressed her forehead against Balsithedeen’s and whispered, “I love you like a daughter.”
“Kraekhadn and Balhenhedeen are like my sisters.”
They separated, and Housewife Henhadn touched her eldest son’s shoulder as he drew nearer. Henhall, Balsithedeen almost screamed, I want to be yours. Sailor Henhall kissed Balsithedeen full on the lips. Though their clandestine courtship had spanned the past year, never had Balsithedeen allowed them to share a kiss. She fell into a passion yet unimagined. Their parents’ gasps were audible, but Balsithedeen’s eyes were shut to the world around her. They would never marry; Henhall’s family had married into House Kraek six solar cycles ago, and Balsithedeen’s family could hardly feed themselves with their annual harvest. But they could kiss. Our first shall not be our last.
Balsithedeen couldn’t bring herself to kiss one more cheek or shake one more hand. She left her beloved Henhall, passed her weeping mother and proud father, then came to the congressers who had gathered.
Congresser Yrnhill had bid his father farewell to serve as ambassador, and Balgray watched both her wedson and her true son disappear over the horizons. But the other five congressers nodded cordially, unperturbed by the goodbyes. Old man Drea nodded knowingly, and Balsithedeen felt the outline of the secret letter in her waistpouch.
She held Eleim’s wrinkled hand. He held a gnarled crook. Together, they walked along the eastern coast. The sun shone in their eyes as dusk approached, so they bore north when Independence had fallen behind the horizon.
“Fifty-nine years I’ve been roaming about these lands and waters,” Eleim began after the somber sunset. “Thought I’d be a farmer, maybe a sailor. But it was the sheep that most interested me.”
“And what did you find interesting about sheep?”
Eleim let out a gravelly laugh. “I would sing to the sheep, and they would gather around to listen to my soft windkeys and my silky voice. I looked in their black beady eyes and I saw myself.”
“Because of the reflection?”
“I saw a wandering spirit in those eyes,” Eleim retorted with a droopy smile. “I saw a carelessness. Of course, I tried my hand at being a travelling singer. But the nineteenth Yaangd enjoyed taxing his peoples a bit too much for my liking, and nobody had coin for a singer.”
“Well, his grandson found a way around that,” Balsithedeen mused. “He wanted to collect more taxes, so he just collected the tithes due to Hrash, praise be.”
Eleim grunted. “All kings are the same — greedy, arrogant, spoiled, murderous. I commend the Drysword and Traamis the True and Kraek, Balgray, Falhill — all of them. I commend them for escaping, albeit with a tenth of those who would have liked to escape with them.”
A soft rumbling rolled over the plains. In the moonlight, Balsithedeen could make out a herd of bison stampeding northwest. A good hunt for Fenhall and Balweanhill. They became Independence’s two foremost hunters when the congress elevated Denhall to congresser. Only, they beheaded Balweanhill, she remembered.
Straining her eyes, she could see the dim glow bounce off the matted gray fur of two rabid field hounds.
She told Eleim, and he replied, “I was hoping we could build our tent soon, but I don’t expect I’ll be able to sleep with those beasts nearby.”
“It’s not even morning yet,” Balsithedeen said, making sense of where the moon now hung in the sky. “The congress thought it best we stay close to the colony for our first night, in case—”
“Yes, yes,” the old shepherd interrupted. “I will pry my eyes open as long as I need to.”
The dogs chased the herd into the distance, and the moon dipped below the rising trees before them. The sky turned a dark shade of pink, and the coastline turned to cliffside.
“Into the Eleimwood we go,” Eleim said, suppressing a yawn.
“The Eleimwood?”
“We’ll name the next landmark after you, my dear.” Eleim breathed in the crisp morning air. “Maybe it will be a mountain or something even more significant than some forest.”
“This is probably the eastern arm of what they already named the Northwood.”
“Well, in that case, it will need to be renamed, don’t you think?”
The two journeyers set up their small tent which Eleim had carried. The tent open
ed towards the forest, but its back sat against a cliff face, marred with ancient roots. They slept on the outside of the Eleimwood — Balsithedeen on first watch.
She faced no trouble keeping awake. The sun had risen, and she had napped less than a day ago, in preparation for the trip. While Eleim snored, Balsithedeen withdrew the parchment with the pictures from her waistpouch.
Unrolling the fresh parchment, the sun illuminated the shapes, and Balsithedeen tried to interpret exactly how the picture message may be received. At the top center stood a man and woman, drawn crudely in dark brown ink. Underneath was a rudimentary map — the coastline, the Independence River, and the Northwood — all drawn in appropriate colors. At the mouth of the river, a thatched cottage stood next to leather hides, wheat stalks, and gemstones. In the blue waters, Scribe Henhadn had perfectly inked Beautiful Yaangdhadn, the largest ship in the protestant harbor. At the bottom of the parchment, two brown hands held one another. Balsithedeen didn’t believe the shaking hands were clear enough to cross any language barrier. Would other cultures even shake hands?
She rolled up the parchment and replaced it in her waistpouch. She removed her diary and quill and sealed inkpot. She had feared the ink would freeze in the evenings, but the alchemist Gaerhill Graymatter assured her this ink would maintain its liquidity.
Her quill dipped into the black drink and hovered over the smooth greenish paper. A sudden temptation to open Drea’s secret letter crept up her spine. “You will be the most vital ambassador,” Drea Drysword had said, after welcoming Balsithedeen into his large, empty cottage. “This contains military secrets.” He had gone on to explain what she might find to the east and why she wasn’t permitted to peek at its contents. “And best not to discuss it with your fellow ambassador, the good shepherd. Eleim is…not as dependable as you most certainly are.”
Balsithedeen felt the outline of the secret letter in her waistpouch. Her fingers tingled. But she knew her duty, and she would not forego her responsibility for some girlish exhilaration. Military secrets, she reminded herself, it won’t even make sense to you — let alone be interesting. Her diary entry came to an end, so she dated it: “2nd day under the Hawk’s Moon, in the 325th year of the Yaangd Dynasty.”
Another hour passed before Eleim emerged from the tent. The old shepherd found her swinging the jagged dagger her mentor had gifted to her. “Have you ever used a dagger before?”
“I’ve handled a hoe that could lop your arm off,” she shot back, though, in truth, none of her father’s farming implements were sharp. And this was indeed the first time she had held the dagger out of its sheath. “I don’t think I’ll be needing any sleep. I’m ready to venture into the Eleimwood.” She said “Eleimwood” like a vulgar word.
“Well then,” he grumbled, “you get out the bread and leaf while I fold up this tent.” The tent folded into Eleim’s backsack, taking care not to crush the gift-worthy furs and wrapped gemstones, and Balsithedeen handed him his crummy wheatloaf and salted seaweed. Physician Aerhall the Amputator had spoken to the ambassadors two days past. He had suggested the journeyers eat slowly, savor their meals. “The food will prove more filling,” he had said.
Bellies full and backsacks fuller, they continued on.
“Have you ever heard the tale of the Wife in the Sky?”
Balsithedeen had to admit, “No. But it sounds like a song.”
“Am I so banal?”
“I am surprised you haven’t sung me a melody.”
He cleared his throat — or, attempted to. He began his musical tale of the Wife in the Sky, and Balsithedeen couldn’t help but notice his eyes moisten.
Long, long ago and surrounded with pearls
A blue-eyed young maid left her husband in misery
Her love had giv’n way to a beautiful girl
But her soul bid farewell to this old world of rock and sea
–
Her husband had taken the girlchild away
And kissed her smooth, unwrinkled head
But a smell in his nostrils, it told of a day
When he was one half of a love-couple wed
–
The girl pointed upwards, not ev’n one day old
And smiled as bright as a flare
The husband, now father, he shivered with cold
And looked where the newborn did stare
–
The clouds had been rolling in, hurriedly
They formed the most curious outline
Though white against blue, all the husband could see
Were his erstwhile wife’s sea blue eyes
Fifty-nine solar cycles had pressed gravel in his throat and bags under his eyelids. But Eleim sang like a bird. “I’ve never heard that song before.”
“It never caught on.”
“It’s beautiful. Sad, of course, but hopeful.”
“That’s what I was trying for.”
Balsithedeen couldn’t reply. Her companion had written the song. She knew little of Eleim’s family — only that he was a royal congresser’s uncle. When the royal congresser Gaer had fled from the capital after speaking out against the Profane King’s heresies, Yaangd had grown furious that the royal congress didn’t arrest him. He had believed his own royal congress to be rebels. So, he gathered one relative of each royal congresser and ordered his executioner Theral to behead them all. Eleim had been among those sentenced to die.
But Theral betrayed the evil king and killed the king’s wedson. She and all those condemned to die escaped to Anang — where Theral’s husband Gaer had fled days earlier. Housewife Henhadn brought her family, including her daughter Kraekhadn, to Anang after Kraek turned his cloak against the Profane King. Since Balsithedeen was Henhadn’s apprentice — and in love with Henhall — Balsithedeen’s family followed. Even though Balsithedeen and Eleim both travelled from Anang to Baeldaan to Enesma, they had never once spoken.
Now Balsithedeen gleaned some hint of Eleim’s life before The Second Battle of the Bloody Courtyard. Eleim had known loss she could not imagine. They continued in silence for a few more hours.
In the Eleimwood, bizarre insects scurried over the twisted roots of green and yellow which lined the forest floor. Balsithedeen spotted a long-armed ape who swung from the dense branches above. Eleim claimed to have spotted an orange serpent as long as two men. He said bright green diamonds adorned its long, scaly back.
Deeper and deeper, and the dirt beneath their feet turned to muck. The leaves turned to vines. The animals grew longer or fatter, though none yet had threatened the two ambassadors. Balsithedeen had drawn her dagger, though. Eleim’s crook had landed on a black serpent’s head, an accident — but they were glad to eat meat that night.
Day and night blurred together in the Eleimwood. Balsithedeen suspected a green-eyed, two-legged creature to be stalking them. She spotted its shining eyes five times over the course of what felt like two nights. They dared not sleep. Eleim started to fall asleep on his feet, so Balsithedeen found a hollowed-out tree trunk that could prove easily defensible.
They did not erect their tent. Instead, they spent that time sleeping. Eleim took first watch since Balsithedeen hadn’t slept since Independence — perhaps three days past. She lay her head against an engorged root while Eleim rifled through her backsack for loaf and leaf.
Henhall’s beige overshirt fell to the floor of the forest, and Balsithedeen gasped. Her overshirt had already fallen away. The young sailor ran to her, ready to reenact their passionate embrace. The more he ran towards her, the farther away he actually was. “Henhall!” she cried. At once, the universe obeyed, and he pressed against her. Their lips touched, and Henhall bit down to ensure they could not be separated. His body warmth passed to Balsithedeen, and her heart pumped harder and harder. She fainted.
She rose from the engorged root, heavy breaths punctuating her heartbeats. Eleim sat not by the entrance to the claustrophobic hollow, and Balsithedeen presumed the green-eyed creature supped on him right outside.
When she arose and checked outside the monstrous tree, Eleim pulled up his breeches. “My apologies, dear. Got to make water when the urges arise.”
Her heart slowed. “I thought you were dead.”
“Again, my apologies. Didn’t mean to worry you.”
“You had better lie down, get as much rest as possible.”
“Right you are, my dear. Pray I dream of…younger years.”
“And love.”
Eleim grinned. “And love.” He resigned to the hollow. His snoring will be the death of me.
After half-stale bread and salty seaweed, another entry in the diary begged to be inked. Balsithedeen penned her concerns about the Eleimwood and Eleim herself. She detailed her dream, pausing in between periods to reminisce on the fantasy. When she arrived at a conclusion, she added to the end of the page: “Thank Hrash I can read and write. Despite my father’s wishes, Henhall’s mother insisted I learn. There are myriad benefits to the practice, chief among them an aid to memory and a respite from the world’s stresses. Ambassador Balsithedeen. 5th day under the Hawk’s Moon, in the 325th year of the Yaangd Dynasty.” She was pretty confident it was the fifth day by now. But she could recalibrate her diary with the lunar cycle once she and Eleim escaped the dense jungle.
Eleim awoke some hours later, and they hurried on their way. The dense forest turned to impenetrable jungle. An hour passed before they could find a passage through a particularly thorny row of vine-covered mahogany trees. Four rat-like primates fell from above, and Eleim fell to the ground — twisting his ankle. The creatures’ hands had one finger longer than the rest, and their massive eyes never blinked. They ran up the thick trunks, climbing past the highest leaves either of the journeyers could make out. The crimson kirtle, which Henhadn had custom-tailored for the voyage, tore on blue razor grass, but Balsithedeen didn’t think a glimpse of her flesh-colored loincloth would induce umbrage. At least not until we’re out of this cursed jungle.
The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing Page 12