The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing

by T. Josiah Haynes

  Balgray howled. Falhill swallowed his vomit. One of the soldier’s heads gave into the wind and fell towards Balgray, who leapt backwards shrieking. Where is Rynyr? thought Falhill for an instant, but the question was gone as quickly as it had come.

  Baljiridhall led the Slumswain swiftly towards the carnage. “Balgray? I’m so sorry I left you. I had to get—”

  “I know,” she cried. “I kn—ahh!”

  Baljiridhall held Balgray tightly. Rudfynhill threw up violently. Falhill inhaled, shaking. “Balgray, Baljiridhall, stay here. Make sure no one further desecrates the— Just—”

  Baljiridhall nodded. “Go. Fetch him. We’ll make sure Baljesshall brings his headsman’s axe.”

  “To the courthouse! To the courthouse!” Falhill shouted as he stomped up the Azure Boulevard. “Witness the dark deeds of Kraek the Conniver! Kraek the Conspirator! Kraek the Traitor!” Behind him, doors opened, but he plodded forward.

  Slumswain also shouted a few rows over. As instructed, he met Falhill outside Kraek and Fal’s hovel. At the door stood Soldiers Primhill and Rudlaarhill. “Falhill? What is going on?” asked Primhill.

  “You are my wedbrother, are you not?” Falhill allowed time for him to nod. “Then trust me.”

  Falhill briefly described what he had witnessed on the shore as Rudfynhill unsheathed and pointed his sword at Rudlaarhill. “Do you really want to defend the man who treats your family as outcasts?” The bastard soldier flared his nostrils but stepped aside. Primhill hesitated but stepped aside as well.

  Rudfynhill kicked down the door to Kraek’s hovel. “What is the meaning of this?!” Fal shouted, seated in a wingback. She threw her knitting needles at Primhill, but he ran and kept her in the chair.

  Kraek walked around a corner, holding a half-eaten apple. “Hrash above!” He dove for his greatsword, but Falhill tackled him. Kraek writhed beneath Falhill’s slender frame. King Kraek dethroned. Falhill raised his fist and dropped it into Kraek’s jawbone. A satisfying crack. Falhill’s knuckles bruised, but Kraek moaned in anguish. The old man’s jaw cracked.

  Sword drawn, Rudfynhill helped Falhill up. Falhill dragged Kraek from his hovel, by the leg. Rudfynhill pointed his sword at the former war hero, shadowing Falhill. And Primhill jerked Fal by the hair to follow behind.

  “You can’t!” Kraek mumble-shouted. “The people won’t let you!”

  Fal abandoned her grandmotherly demeanor. “I’ll kill you, Primhill! Curse you, Slumswain! Where is Rudlaarhill?! Falhill, you’re a dead man! You take your hands off me!”

  Down the Azure Boulevard, past town square, past Sarahill’s tavern, past the Cavern of Congress, turn right, past the temple, and there sat the courthouse. Falhill had attracted a tail of some threescore. When Kraekhill charged at Falhill from nowhere, Rudfynhill challenged him. Kraekhill wept tears of fire, and Rudfynhill stood his ground.

  Falhill continued as Rudfynhill’s steel met Kraekhill’s. Kraekhill slashed furiously, but Rudfynhill blocked every blow. Kraekhill spun and sliced at him with full force. But he missed, and the momentum pulled Kraekhill to the ground. He had just awoken, drunk with fatigue. Rudfynhill kicked the young man’s sword from him. From amongst the myriad who trailed behind, Congresser Sarahedeen picked up the sword. Farmer Shelaarfhall picked Kraekhill up and restrained him. They followed.

  Falhill stomped on, courthouse in sight. But Theral’s son Gaerhill Graymatter tried to stop him. “That is our true leader,” he yelled, sword drawn. Unlike his soldier wedbrother, Gaerhill was but a glorified herbalist. But he wanted to fight for his wedfather. “Draw your steel, Falhill.”

  The morning breeze danced up Falhill’s bare legs beneath the white fur robe. “Alas, I have no sword.” He stepped aside, and Rudfynhill rushed towards Gaerhill. Their swords sang a short melody before Gaerhill Graymatter let go of his hilt. As the blade stuck upright in the sand, Teacher Zannahill restrained him. On his way past, Falhill grabbed the blade.

  Somewhere behind Falhill, Rudrud played his harp and shouted nonsense. Then, the sound of fighting. “Out of my way, foul cretins!” Falhill turned to find Old Henhill brandishing a pitchfork. But it was his eldest living son, Balhenhill, who grabbed him from behind. And the sorceress Balhenhadn took the pitchfork.

  Falhill looked to Kraek, half-conscious. “Tearing families apart — is that one of your traditions you hold onto so dearly?” Falhill continued to drag him by the leg.

  Ahead of him, some fell to their knees weeping, and others fled at the sight of the carnage at the courthouse. Falhill arrived at the base of the courthouse — a wave of dread and horror blanketed those who followed. Those who brought their children bolted. Fal cursed at the sight.

  Laebm and his former apprentice Rudlaarhill ran towards Falhill, swords drawn. That may give the Slumswain a challenge. But as the two approached, they saw the fourteen heads. Rudlaarhill had fetched his old master, despite allowing Falhill into Kraek’s hovel minutes ago. But Kraek’s dearest friend, General Laebm Lionheart, seemed even more conflicted. He surveyed the bloodbath at the foot of the courthouse. He looked from Kraek to the heads to Kraek.

  “Laebm, strike them down!” Fal shrieked. “They mean to have our heads!” She eyed the boy Baljesshall, whom Baljiridhall had collected, next to his headsman’s block.

  Gaerhill trembled within Zannahill’s grasp. “What are you waiting for, Lionheart?”

  Laebm approached one of the soldier’s heads. He looked into the dead eyes of what was left of the Segchyhah.

  “They killed your son!” Fal howled.

  Kraekhill even shouted at him, “Kill him! Kill Falhill!”

  Laebm stroked the fetid cheek of the Segchyhah soldier. The Lionheart sheathed his sword and knelt. He mouthed some prayer. “Do what you need to do,” he uttered.

  A rush of blood. Breath returned to Falhill’s lungs. The Lionheart stepped aside and looked away. Falhill threw Kraek onto the headsman’s block. Half awake, Kraek tried to get up, but Baljesshall kicked him back down. Kraek’s throat cracked against the block. He choked and coughed and flailed.

  “No,” Fal cried out, her fury turned to desperation. Kraekhill’s scowl was wet with tears. And his wedson cursed Laebm.

  Drea and his grandson had arrived. Dreahall vomited at the sight. Yrnhill held his wife tight. Theral wailed as Laebm held her tightly. If she had worn a sword, Falhill expected she would have drawn it. But Theral had appeared in naught but a crimson dressing gown, and Laebm would not let her go.

  Falhill bellowed, “Hrashhill! This is Kraek, a former congresser, a former war hero. Now, he has killed these innocent Segchyhah, in cold blood. Dalnommeth was my own houseguest. These were our neighbors. More importantly, our allies. Our food. But Kraek wishes for you to starve. He is a threat to this community. For the crime of murder and treason, this congress sentences Kraek to death.”

  “No! Please!” Fal bayed like a wolf. “He didn’t do it! He’s innocent!”

  Falhill nodded at young Baljesshall. The fifteen-year-old boy, who had to replace Denhall as the colony’s headsman, drew Denhall’s ceremonial axe from his back. The axe was as big as Baljesshall. His first execution, Falhill mused.

  Fal, Theral, Kraekhill, Gaerhill, Old Henhill, Rudlaarhill, and many others — Kraek’s friends screamed hatred and terror. But it could not stop the tide of justice.

  Falhill’s eyes met Drea’s. Shelwyn, they acknowledged with a nod. Baljesshall held the headsman’s axe steady, his young muscles bulging. He hesitated, fearful. What more should I expect? He’s fifteen.

  Falhill pushed the boy aside and grabbed the headsman’s axe. His lungs filled with cool air. He could have sworn that Falhadn smiled at him from the crowd. Falhill lifted the axe, let it fall.

  Kraek’s skin split where the axe fell. Kraek grunted, then went limp. Falhill had to strike the neck again. A warm spray against his face. The crimson mist made his cheeks flinch, perhaps a smile. Kraek’s head dangled from a thick thread of sinew and flesh. Gore dripped onto Falhi
ll’s bare feet. A third fell strike, and Kraek’s head plopped onto the rocky shore. Under the shadow of the courthouse, Kraek’s head wobbled its way to Falhill’s feet. He stooped to pick it up by the hair. He held it in the air. Blood turned his white fur robe a ghastly pink. The crowd had swelled to two hundred — everyone now quiet as a corpse. His wife could not have been among their number, but he knew she wouldn’t be disappointed this time.

  Silence, except for the soft strumming of a harp, the whistle of a cool autumn breeze. And Falhill knew King Kraek’s treason had ended.

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Eradicated From Memory

  “My husband was innocent.” Fal’s grandmotherly smile had faded. “I am innocent.”

  Drea Drysword rapped his knuckles on the Marble Slab. “You will answer the questions given you, Potter Fal.”

  “The question? You asked me if I ever conspired to kill Segchyhah. I did not. I am innocent.”

  “And your husband?”

  “Innocent.”

  Falhill, who now sat at Drea’s right hand, raised his hand. “Was it your husband’s cronies who painted blood across the front of my house? Two separate occasions.”

  Fal lifted her fettered wrists. “Yes. Is it a crime punishable by beheading?”

  “And you painted on Hunter Fenhall’s hovel?”

  “And others.”

  “And the assault on Herbalist Balhenhadn?”

  “The witch? Yes, Kraek and I believe in… believed in the true faith of Hrashianity. Fenhall is chief amongst the faithless, and Balhenhadn is a False Priest.”

  “That is untrue,” said Greishadn. “Balhenhadn was a holy woman before the war. But she gave it up.” Greishadn sat in a wooden chair, next to her husband.

  Seven commoners lined the inner wall in the Cavern of Congress. Greishill, Greishadn, Aerhall the Amputator, Sarahill, Baljiridhall, Zannahill, and young Baljesshall — Drea had recruited seven Hillites to hear Fal’s trial.

  Most notable to Falhill, though, was the attendance of Theral — Kraek’s right hand woman. Fear painted her face pale, it was plain to see.

  “Enough,” Drea bellowed. “This is your trial, Fal. Not Fenhall’s or Balhenhadn’s.”

  “You have more questions? I’ll answer honestly. What do I have to lose?”

  “Your life, woman.”

  “Without Kraek? I am finished with life.”

  “Did you or your husband have anything to do with the massacre at the courthouse this morning?”

  Fal’s nostrils flared. “No.”

  Falhill couldn’t get it out of his nose — the stench of gore and decay. Defeated, he and his allies had removed each of the Segchyhah’s heads from atop the pikes earlier this morning. Though Hillite custom called for a burial at sea, the Segchyhah believed in ground burials. The Hillites who never sought to know anything about Segchyhah burial customs dug up plots in front of Falhill’s manse, where all the heads would be interred.

  However, Falhill laid a flame as hot as his fury to Kraek’s head and body. The ashes dusted the courthouse steps.

  “My husband and I had nothing whatsoever to do with the massacre this morning. There is nothing I can do to make you believe me. So I wish to face my sentencing.”

  Drea looked to the other congressers about the Marble Slab, then back at the accused. “Potter Fal, this congress sentences you to life in prison. When the Segchyhah return, you will be given to them as payment for those lives lost.”

  “A pittance,” Yrnhill said. “You claim to follow Hrash, but this is not the way. Those were innocent lives.”

  “I am an innocent life. As was my husband.” Fal pursed her lips. “No matter. You will do whatever you want with me. There is no justice in this world. I pray Hrash has mercy on you all.”

  “Baljesshall.” Rudfynhill helped young Baljesshall bring Fal safely to the prison building. Drea looked to the remaining commoners. “Have you any objections to the sentence?”

  Baljiridhall chortled. “It’s too lenient.”

  Zannahill shook his head. “It’s Kraek’s children I’m worried about.”

  Sarahill scratched his forehead. “The Segchyhah will not be happy with whatever we offer them, upon their return.”

  “Thank you all.” With a flick of the wrist, he gestured towards the cavern’s exit. “Your words will be taken into consideration. Thank you for making this trial as impartial as possible.” The commoners funnelled out of the cavern. All that remained was the congress. And a pall of queer dread.

  Balgray fretted about the Segchyhah alliance, and her wedson. Yrnhill complained about the state of the temple. Drea and Balgray bickered about food supplies. Yrnhill’s younger brother now occupied the cell next to the foreigner Basialy — accused of robbing the storehouse. Fal would have to share a cell with one of the prisoners for the time being.

  Sarahedeen and Dreahall only nodded along with Drea. The sight gave Falhill a twinge of ire, aimed at his father figure. Stacking the congress, and we’re letting him. Dreahall was not yet a congresser, but Drea made it sound like a foregone conclusion.

  But what Falhill was most interested in was Theral. The middle-aged woman had no expression written on her severe face. No emotion. She sat in her marble-hewn armchair, a husk.

  That morning, Theral had screamed curses at Falhill. But once Kraek’s head rolled onto the rocky shore, her tears dried up. “You will attend Fal’s trial,” Falhill had demanded of her, “or your family will not have a home to sleep in.”

  She obeyed him. Falhill remembered back to when Falhadn suggested he kill Hrabhill the elder. He had doubted it would make a difference in how people respected him. But he was wrong. Falhadn was right.

  As Yrnhill whined in favor of mandatory prayer before congress meetings, Falhill stood. “Kraek’s treason is finished. Finally. We need to rip out the weeds he left behind. Any trace of his legacy must be eradicated from memory.”

  Despite her better efforts, Theral let herself weep.

  Falhill’s fingers tingled. “Line up every known associate and family member of Kraek. If they will denounce Kraek’s deeds, they will be rewarded with their life.”

  Balgray touched Falhill’s arm. “And if they will not denounce him?”

  “The headsman’s block.”

  Theral cried out and cursed Falhill. Half the congress stood and shouted at one another. Yrnhill rejected the systematic execution while Sarahedeen cited the horrors Kraek had wrought on the colony. Dreahall looked to his silent grandfather, and Theral beat her breast. Balgray pled with Falhill to show mercy, but Falhill reminded her of Dalnommeth and Urawil.

  In the corner of his eye, Falhill noticed Drea did not contribute to the debate. His sagging jowls hung still as a breezeless morning. His eyes stared down at the Marble Slab. Drea looked utterly dead inside. What made him finally look up was the blaring of horns.

  War horns, Falhill recognized. He had heard the royal navy barrel down the Duimwater, in Old Coast.

  Outside, the setting sun ducked behind a massive warship. On its dark brown hull was painted Harbinger in auburn hues. Six smaller ships trailed Harbinger. An evil harmony washed over Independence.

  Falhill’s heart struggled to find its rhythm. His belly ached. His throat dried up. At least Kraek isn’t here to see this. Falhill held his chin high. “Where is Laebm? The soldiers? It’s time to fight.”

  Chapter thirty

  Horns

  “Kraek wanted to poison the congress, instate himself as ruler. And he wanted us to enforce that rule.” Laebm raised his hand. “But I refused to be a soldier under the command of a slaughterer. I saw a flicker of Yaangd in my friend.” He shook his head. “More than a flicker.”

  His whole body tense, Kraekhill clenched his fists. “Did you have to let him die? Is Falhill any better?”

  “Falhill has good in him. More than Drea, I suspect. I don’t intend to bow down to anyone who can’t prove himself to be a good leader. A just ruler.”

  A
ll the soldiers in Laebm’s hovel grumbled at one another. Primhill shook his head. “Falhill is a good man. Almost as good as his sister.”

  Yeznahill nodded along. “And his wife was always a fine teacher to my daughter.”

  Primhill sighed. “But Kraek stood for something. Tradition. What does the congress stand for?”

  “I don’t know. But I hope it’s the good of the colony.”

  Rudlaarhill slammed his palm against a side table. “The congress made us part of the Hrash-forsaken Segchyhah Collective.”

  “I have more reason to despise the foreigners than any of you.”

  “When Kraek took off the heads of the Segchyhah who deigned to remain, he sent a clear, irrevocable message.”

  “I doubt Kraek did each one of them in. He had help.” Suppressing the difficult memory of his refusal to save Kraek from Falhill, Laebm looked to Kraek’s son. “Kraekhill, do you—”

  “My mother says he didn’t do it. Any of it. I have no reason to mistrust her.”

  Laebm Lionheart had convinced his cousin to spare the congress’s lives for two weeks, hoping the congress would peacefully cede control of the colony over to Kraek. But Kraek had waited long enough. It made sense to Laebm that his close friend would slaughter the Segchyhah, to both eliminate his foes and establish dominance. But if Kraek didn’t kill the Segchyhah, then Laebm had allowed his friend to die for nothing.

  Laebm breathed in the dusty air. On his left, Kraekhill, Primhill and Rudlaarhill sat beside one-armed Yeznahill and the atheist Shelraadifhall. On his right, Farmers Berut and Sithill shifted uncomfortably. Shepherd Eadnfyhill and Seamstress Nudntryhadn sat in a second row of stools. Those four on his right had taken on the occupation of provisional soldier.

  When Falhill had released Laebm from his prison cell, Laebm quickly learned that his score of provisional soldiers had dwindled since the Segchyhah set up camp. Was it because they felt safe enough to resign? Or was it because they didn’t want a target on their backs when foreigners attacked?