“If he causes further disruption,” Kraek vowed, “I will personally release Rudfynhill from his vow. Dismissed.”
Aerhall bowed and quickly led Pangder from the hall. Aerhall the Amputator was Falhill’s neighbor. He knew the physician was a courteous and civilized man, laden with education yet bereft of arrogance. Falhill felt terrible, but Kraek had settled the matter.
Before Rudfynhill could gather up his mettle and speak again, Falhill looked to his fellow congressers. “I remind my associates that this congress will decide on all matters as one unit.”
Kraek’s voice cracked with fury. “Then let us vote on it. All in favor of giving the dotard one last chance before striking off his head—” Kraek’s hand raised violently. Theral, Balgray, and Denhall raised their hands. Seeing he wouldn’t serve as any controversial tiebreaker, Yrnhill the Yellow raised his hand as well. “Please, Falhill, allow these proceedings to continue shorn of further interruption.”
Next, Greishill and his wife asked for clarification on the naming of newborns. The new parents posed little objection to the new customs and decided on the name Gaalhim.
Sailor Henhall accused the congressers of sending the ambassadors off to certain death, and he had to be removed. Falhill recalled how he had kissed Ambassador Balsithedeen before she set off. I can’t even remember how it feels to love someone so unabashedly.
Herbalist Glaadhedeen petitioned to adopt her husband’s name, as they had recently wed. Balhenhadn’s dream about Falhadn, he remembered. She argued that “hedeen” had distinctive connotations, and she contended that she had dreamt of assuming her future husband’s name since she was a little girl. The congressers hesitated to allow such a break from new custom. But they permitted the newlywed herbalist to change her name to Caln Glaad. We just set twenty years of precedent, Falhill bemoaned. But they commenced.
“If we are rewriting our customs,” Fenhall petitioned, “then let us rewrite the naming of bastards. The prefix ‘rud’ is a blight on generation after generation. The father’s sins should not pass down to his grandson certainly. But I argue that it should not even be passed on to his own sons.”
Fenhall’s petition threw the congress into bedlam.
“Time-honored tradition!” King Kraek shouted. “This is centuries-old custom, and you would throw it into the sea.”
“We have declared that parents shall name their child whatever they please,” Drea Drysword reminded him, “as long as it isn’t what they were called as children.”
Kraek’s second mouth, Theral, slammed her fist into the arm of her marble carven chair. “These are illegitimate children born of adultery or rape. I implore this congress to reconsider.”
Falhill held his hand out. “There is no reason to exclude these families from our new naming customs. According to our own decrees, these children’s names shall be decided on by the parents.”
Hunter Fenhall interjected, “What about prenames?”
“Prenames?” Falhill parroted.
“Like Rudfynhill here or Balrudhenhedeen? Will they change their family names from Rudfyn and Rudhal to Fyn and Hal?”
“Preposterous!” Kraek objected.
But Falhill frowned. “We have just granted Glaad Glaadhedeen permission to change both her names.”
“Yes,” Drea mediated, “but only upon marriage.”
Denhall the Debauched spoke in support of his fellow atheist Hunter Fenhall. But in the end, all seven agreed to allow “rud” to be removed from a family’s prename. But only Denhall voted to allow full name changes, though Drea did look conflicted. Fenhall’s bastards will have to endure one more generation of the taint.
At least when Fenhall’s eldest living son passed the balustrade, he only asked that places of healing exist outside the temple. It seemed a reasonable request though Yrnhill, Kraek, and Theral disagreed. It passed four to three, and the congress agreed to provide Physician Aerhall with the means to annex a healing center to his own home. The thought of sickness lingering so close to Falhill’s home brought to mind thoughts of the Great Epidemic and his stillborn son for the second time that day.
Falhill’s spine tingled when Slumswain called the next petitioner. “The congress will hear Miner Hrab Hrabhill.”
The gruff fifty-four-year-old toddled to the front of the courthouse. “My congress, I bring forth an appeal to Hrash and his servant.”
The Drysword cleared his throat. “His servants listen.”
“Thank you, Congresser,” Hrabhill the elder forced through gritted teeth. “Our high cleric was nearly killed. And we know not who attempted on his life.”
Falhill interrupted, “Congresser Denhall and I investigated the matter. There is no easy answer. This congress will continue to provide a guardsman to protect him day and night.” Even now, Falhill could see Cleric Traamis’s guard, hand on hilt. Today, it was Soldier Laebmhill. “If you have no new petition, then we would have you—”
“You will discover who is to blame,” demanded Hrabhill. “This is the most important member of our community. The high cleric prays for each of you every day. You too, Falhill, even though you refuse to solve this attempted deicide.”
“Choosing your words is important,” Drea advised. “This was not ‘deicide’ for Traamis is not Hrash. And I take it Traamis would prefer you not call him as much.”
“But Traamis is Hrash’s representative in this mortal plane.”
“Again, Miner Hrabhill, your words. It is we the congress who are Hrash’s appointed — designated to lead this people—”
“If you have nothing to say, Drysword, shut your mouth.”
Even Kraek rose to Drea’s defense. “Hrabhill, you will hold your tongue. You will respect Hrash’s servants on this congress.”
“Yrnhill, you speak for the faith. Do you support these heathen’s views?”
Falhill pitied Yrnhill the Yellow. The young cleric-turned-congresser squeaked, “They conducted a— We conducted a thorough investigation. When the trail grew cold, we insisted on a personal honor guard for our high cleric — at our own expense. What else can we do?”
“Find the culprit! I have several suggestions as to how you can root out the truth.”
Falhill stamped on the oaken-slatted dais. “There is more than one unsolved delinquency in this colony, Miner Hrabhill. Our fellow congresser, Drea, fell ill upon arrival to these shores. What a curious time to fall ill, don’t you think?”
“Are you implying I poisoned the old man?”
“I would never.” Out of the corner of his eye, Falhill spotted his wife perk up.
“Falhill, you are only a congresser because your parents were decent enough to hide Traamis from the False Priests and stupid enough to be discovered and hanged!”
“Enough!” Drea shouted.
Yrnhill tried to whisper, “Hrabhill, calm down.”
Drea continued, “Fal the First and his wife Maalnud were pillars of our rebellion. Without them, the Unholy King would be god over all of us. Rudfynhill, I believe Hrabhill has overstayed his welcome with us.”
“Yes, Congresser.”
But Hrabhill placed a calloused hand on his pickaxe, and the courthouse filled with garlic whispers and cinnamon ire. “Don’t you remove me from this courthouse. Don’t send your dog to do your bidding. His father worships the Unholy King by night. And you, Drysword. All you achieved in the rebellion was to let Jeufyn be recaptured. An eleven-year-old girl — you tossed her into the hands of the False Priests and the false king!”
“Enough!” echoed a voice from the spectators. All turned to find Traamis the True had risen from his hewn bench in the rear. Falhill could only hear his own jackrabbit heartbeat. “Enough, Hrabhill. You embarrass yourself. You do not speak for me, and you do not speak for Hrash. Go to the temple and pray.”
Hrabhill was fourteen years older than the high cleric, but he acted as if his father had just spoken. “As you command.” The devout miner fled the courthouse, bereft of dignity.
> Traamis approached the balustrade but waited for Rudfynhill to announce him to pass the threshold. Once at the tall thin table, Traamis addressed the congress. “My congress, I bring forth an appeal to Hrash and his servants.”
Drea uttered, “His servants listen.”
“Thank you, Drea. I do not wish to lead. I did not want to govern as a congresser. And I do not advocate for a High Prophet. I do not enjoy the moniker of ‘high cleric’. But Hrash has thrust upon me some responsibility. I wish to provide this congress with spiritual guidance.”
Drea nodded, hesitant.
Traamis continued, “I pray for my attacker to be forgiven. And that he will not attack anyone else. I pray that this congress will not endorse violence or injustice. And that you seven will truthfully represent Hrash’s wishes for the governance of this colony. I have been given visions of Hrashhill flourishing into an empire to rival Old Coast. I have seen images in the night tides of martyrs sitting on this very congress. I have had dreams of beautiful newborn children filling the boulevards. And I have had nightmares of hell beasts stampeding up and down the river. This colony will endure for generations, for millennia. Let us fashion a society with that future in mind. A future wrought with thriving trade and cycles of drought. Decades of peace and earth-shattering war. Spiritual warfare invisible to the human eye. Hrash’s guiding hand, an open palm. Yet also his closed fist, a sign of disobedience. Let not the world frighten you into inaction. Let it inspire you into wisdom.”
Drea nodded once more.
But Falhill stood. “Tell us what to do, Traamis. Or stay in your temple.”
Several voices on the dais overlapped; “Falhill!”
“That man refused to govern this colony. Yet he spews vague balderdash before hundreds and calls it a prayer.”
Traamis began to leave the hall.
“And now he leaves. These people need legal governance, not spiritual guidance. And they flock to his side because he is mystical.”
Drea ran to Falhill and hissed, “You will stop this now. There is no good to come from this tirade.”
The people agreed. Rudfynhill did what he could, but men climbed over the balustrade. Though the aggressors were likely on Yrnhill’s side, Yrnhill pissed himself and ran towards the rear of the courthouse. Balgray grabbed Falhill’s sleeve to follow her out, but Falhill pulled away. Balgray ran. Kraek and Theral tried to calm the riotous crowd, standing atop their marble-hewn seats. Denhall and Rudfynhill held their swords ready to strike.
Drea grasped Falhill’s wrist. “You’re fighting fire with pebbles. Get out of here, and we’ll fix this later.”
“We listened to them! But Traamis can walk up and command the whole—” But a fist collided with Falhill’s jaw. Drea pushed back the assailant, Theral’s own son Gaerhill. Drea helped Falhill up and fled. Falhill grabbed Denhall and dragged him outside. Rudfynhill followed. The sound of upheaval behind them.
The soft blanket of clouds blotted out the afternoon sun. The cool sea breeze washed the red from Falhill’s cheeks. Rudfynhill sealed the rear egress. “Foolish,” Drea grumbled.
Balgray came to Falhill’s side. “You had to antagonize every man and woman who prays over a meal.”
“You heard what he said about my parents. Lies.”
“That was Hrabhill. You spoke ill of Traamis.”
“Traamis thinks he can stand and everyone will listen to him.”
“He was the first to speak out against the Unholy King — before anyone knew Yaangd had gone insane.”
“And that gives him the right to govern? Over the congress? That sounds a lot like Yaangd to me.”
Balgray rubbed Falhill’s shoulder. “Traamis doesn’t want to govern. He wanted to diffuse the tensions.”
“‘Doesn’t want to govern’? Sounds to me like the temple wants to make the rules.”
Still fuming, Drea interceded, “We are Hrash’s servants, or have you forgotten?”
Denhall threw his sword to the ground. “I am not Hrash’s servant. Why would I serve something that doesn’t exist?”
Falhill’s heartbeat began to normalize. “Hrabhill is a danger to this colony. And Traamis a threat to every leader who wishes to govern.”
Drea chuckled. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees that.” He gripped the back of Falhill’s neck and pulled him close. “But he’s got a hundred times more supporters than you or I.”
“I want to fix problems.”
“And you will. But you have to play the game.” Drea released him. “And you’re going to have to play the game exceptionally well for a few weeks to make up for that fiasco.”
“Shall I behead an enemy to gain respect?”
Drea held his chin high, and his eyes watered. “Give me time to mourn Shelwyn before you make your comments. How do you think it feels to lose a friend to Kraek’s scheming?”
“I’m sorry,” Falhill hesitated. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Kraek will pay for Shelwyn’s head, but this is not the time.”
Just then, Falhadn appeared from around the corner and ran into Denhall’s arms. She looked around, then ran to Yrnhill. She hugged Balgray and Drea, then kissed Falhill.
“Are there more coming?” Falhill asked.
“Kraek and Theral are subduing the people. Kraek said he is a religious man and wants Traamis to be heard and respected. Theral suggested you were unfit to be a congresser.”
“Me?! Unfit?!” Falhill repeated with a sneer. “Theral only says what Kraek would say if he could talk nonstop for fifty years. Me, unfit?”
“We’re going to have to keep our eyes down for a few days.”
Denhall picked up and sheathed his sword. “You can stay with me for a few days. Until the heat dies down and we figure out what Kraek and Theral are planning.”
Falhadn nodded. “Thank you, Congresser.”
But Falhill put his arm around his wife. “I can take care of myself and my wife. I will speak with Traamis, apologize. But I will explain my grievances with him.”
“Please,” Drea pled, “only discuss this with Traamis if you two are alone. You’ve met your maximum quota of induced riots for this lunar cycle.”
Falhill held his wife close and said a prayer of protection to Hrash. He whispered in her ear, “You’re right. It has to be Hrabhill.”
Chapter thirteen
A Dove Painted With Blood
“You will never live up to your father. And you will never achieve half of what my father did!”
“Your father is a crook! And—! I saw your mother’s bruise the last day we met. At their daughter’s wedding. All the powder and crushed clamshell couldn’t cover up your father’s abuse!”
“He is the man of the house, and my mother speaks out of turn. Good for him to let her know her place.”
Falhill stopped for a breath. The smell of night rain from outside filled his nostrils. This marital bout had reached unintended new heights. Thank Hrash Primhill and Primhall aren’t living with us anymore. Falhill spoke with calm and care. “Would you like me to beat you? Would you like me to hit the woman I love?”
His wife rolled her icy blue eyes. “You wouldn’t draw another breath.” She stepped closer. “Is that a threat?”
“No, Falhadn, I’m genuinely confused. I haven’t heard you defend your father. Ever.”
“Perhaps I’m realizing this very instant how strong he truly was. Next to you, a newborn girl might seem a proper man.”
“Stop it.” Falhill tried to put his foot down, but it felt odd — infantile. “Just because I will not go to an innocent man’s home and murder him in cold blood, does not mean I am less a man than your disgusting father.”
“You will never amount to anything.” Falhadn drew nearer and nearer, her whispers barely audible over the inundation without. “I will leave this night. Get out of this sham marriage. How will Kraek and Yrnhill and Theral react to a broken marriage when this colony’s leadership is at stake? Sure, Drea fancies hims
elf your surrogate father, and Balgray thinks you’re her dear friend. But the rest of them would have brain enough not to allow such an embarrassment to continue as congresser. I swear on our dead children’s unmarked graves, I will leave tonight!”
Falhill swallowed his emotions. Whatever Falhadn could accuse him of, she would not ridicule his emotions. “I don’t care about the congress. I care about you.”
His wife scoffed. “If you care about me, then do as I command.” Falhill hesitated, but Falhadn did not let him speak. “It’s for the best, for both our sakes.”
He stared into her icy gaze, and he saw fire — a blue inferno of contempt and bitterness. What have I done to you? he thought. Hrash above, have we ever been happy? But all he said was, “For both our sakes.”
Without realizing it, the couple had joined hands. Falhadn flared her nostrils. “How will you do it?”
Falhill bent his head to rest against hers. He deliberated for a full minute before replying, “Dagger, same as Traamis. But Hrabhill won’t live to see the sunrise.”
“It’s raining hard.” Falhadn let go and scurried about the small parlor. “You’ll catch a chill. Last thing we need is for you to die in a storm, before our work is even begun.”
How could his wife conceal that blue inferno of contempt and bitterness on command? Only a minute ago, Falhadn filled with unbridled ire. Now, she calmly looked for an overcoat. But, of course, the argument had begun just as quickly.
His wife had run into the hovel half an hour past — beating the sunset as well as the thunderclouds. Her face looked dire, and her neck throbbed. She rushed straight from Primhill’s, where she learned some disturbing news.
Falhill had been a public part of the decision to allow the Hrashhill’s citizens to elect a new congresser — subject to the congress’s approval, of course. But what he hadn’t known was that the people had already unified their voice. Kraek had his secret ears, and Kraekhill drank with Primhill nigh on every evening over at Sarahill’s tavern. Primhill had informed Falhadn that the people’s choice was none other than Miner Hrabhill the elder.
The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing Page 16