Six Heirs

by Pierre Grimbert

  Forthcoming titles by Pierre Grimbert in The Secret of Ji series:

  Oath Orphan

  Shadow of the Ancients

  The Eternal Master

  The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious.

  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 1996 by Les éditions Mnémos

  English translation copyright © 2013 by Matt Ross and Eric Lamb

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  The Secret of Ji: Six Heirs was first published in 1996 by Les éditions Mnémos as Le Secret de Ji Volume 1: Six héritiers.

  Translated from French by Matt Ross and Eric Lamb.

  Published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2013.

  Published by AmazonCrossing

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781612184593

  ISBN-10: 1612184596

  Publication Date February, 2013

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Book I: The Road to Berce

  Book II: The Forgotten Island

  Short Anecdotal Encyclopedia of the Known World

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Translators

  To my clan.

  You’re not in the story, but you’ve always been there.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  At the end of the book, the reader will find a “Short Anecdotal Encyclopedia of the Known World,” a glossary that defines certain terms used by the narrator and provides supplementary details that don’t appear in the story, without giving the story away, of course—far from it!

  Therefore, the reading of the “Short Anecdotal Encyclopedia” can be done in parallel with the story, at moments the reader finds opportune.

  PROLOGUE

  My name is Léti. I come from Eza, the fifth-largest village in the southern province of the Kaul Matriarchy. One hundred and eighteen years ago, an unknown man presented himself to the Council of Mothers, saying he carried a message of the utmost importance. He claimed his name was Nol, and that he did not come as an ambassador from any of the known nations. However, many among the Mothers thought him a Levantine: a Wallatte, Thalitte, Solene, or some other inhabitant of the Levant. And so it was with suspicion that they prepared to listen to him.

  Nol expressed himself with ease. He observed the customs and rules of the Council as though he had spent his whole life in Kaul. The Mothers returned his respect, listening to his speech without interrupting him, as Tradition demanded.

  The debates of the Council were not recorded in that era, which is why it is difficult to give an exact transcription of their words. Here is an approximation:

  “Honored Mothers, I stand before you with good intentions. The wisdom of the Council members is legendary, and I hope to earn the honor of your trust, though I must keep secret a great number of things.

  I cannot say why I am here, nor where I come from. I am bringing my message to all of the rulers of the known world, and I can only hope to convince them to lend credence to utterances I know to be strange.

  At last, here is my declaration:

  For a purpose that I cannot make known, I ask that you choose one person from your people, one who is reputed to be among the wisest, and one worthy of representing you. I will meet her on the Island of Ji at dawn on the Day of the Owl, along with the emissaries from the other nations. We will be safe thereafter, so there is no need to bring too great an escort. They cannot accompany us on our voyage anyway.

  The wise one whom you choose will only be absent for a few dékades. A boat shall await her return at the same place, on the Day of the Earth.

  What will happen upon her return is not yet written. I can only tell you that an important decision will have been made, and that the outcome will be shared with you.

  I have finished and I sense your questions. Do not ask them in vain, Honored Mothers, as I cannot answer them.”

  Nol was still questioned, of course, but he maintained his silence as he had promised. Once he had departed, the Mothers discussed which action to take. Some of the younger ones, whose husbands were still fighting alongside the Lorelien troops, demanded that they hunt down the stranger, or hold him prisoner until they learned more. Others thought they had been confronted by a harmless madman, and that nothing should be done in response to the incident.

  Only some of them, driven more by curiosity than by anything else, judged that sending an emissary to Ji would not cost much and that it would be the best way to shed light on the mystery. They proceeded to vote, and it was this wise proposal to send an emissary that was finally agreed upon, under the condition that Nol indeed transmit his “message” to the other nations.

  Confirmation came from the Junine ambassador, who some days later reported a similar encounter between Nol and an assembly of barons from the Small Kingdoms.

  Then it was time to choose the emissary. It seemed obvious to the Mothers that the wisest people of the Matriarchy were members of the Council. Furthermore, choosing one of their own allowed them to act with total secrecy.

  All of them turned respectfully toward the Ancestress, who was the wisest of all. Fortunately, shrewd as she was, she knew she was too old for this adventure. Hence, she asked for volunteers to come forward, not those who called themselves Wisest, which would have been vain, but those who considered themselves to be the most devoted. Four Mothers offered to represent Kaul, and Tiramis was elected from among them.

  Tiramis is my ancestress; she is the mother of the mother of the mother of my mother—the grandmother of my grandmother.

  It was decided that a man would accompany her for protection. They chose Yon, who was the third son of the Ancestress and who they knew to be strong and devoted. To convince Nol to accept the second emissary, Yon was put forth as the representative of the masculine population of Kaul, which could have been true after all. As a final measure of security, they decided that only one schooner would distantly follow the strange man and the other Sages.

  On the Day of the Owl, Tiramis and Yon landed on the Island of Ji, just off the Lorelien coast. It was a small, uninhabited land that could be circled on foot in a single day. It had very little vegetation, only rocks upon rocks, and sand between them.

  Nol, looking solemn, but seemingly satisfied by the number of people who had come, was waiting for them on the beach. Tiramis knew some of them by sight or reputation, and a Goranese chamberlain, a self-proclaimed master of ceremonies, took on the responsibility of introducing her to the others.

  There was King Arkane of Junine, the representative of the Baronies; young Prince Vanamel of the Grand Empire of Goran and his councilor, His Excellence Saat the Treasurer, the two of them representing, of course, the Grand Empire; Chief Ssa-Vez, who had come from the distant Jezeba; His Excellence Rafa Derkel de Griteh; Duke Reyan Kercyan, sent by King Bondrian, of Lorelia; His Excellence Maz Achem, representing Ith; His Excellence Moboq the Wise, representing King Qarbal of Arkary; and finally Their Excellencies the Honored Mother Tiramis and Yon of Kaul, representatives of the Matriarchy. Each of these distinguished luminaries had arrived with considerable pomp—especially Prince Vanamel—such that the only strip of beach free of rocks was overrun with banners and makeshift camps, decorated with colorful pennants, which swarms of servants and soldiers in all liveries skirted or shuffled past.

  Nol welcomed each emissary, thanking them for their trust, which was a good omen, and informed them that he would
wait until nightfall for the arrival of the other emissaries. He offered no additional information.

  Rafa de Griteh objected to the unequal representation of the nations present. To resolve this misunderstanding, Nol asked if the Grand Empire of Goran and the Kaul Matriarchy had some reason to each send two emissaries. Tiramis gave him the half-truth about Yon representing the men of Kaul, and Prince Vanamel protested that because the Grand Empire was much bigger than most of the others, it was fitting that it should be represented by two people. His Excellence Moboq the Wise, for whom the debates had been translated, objected in his own right that Arkary was much larger still than the Grand Empire, and that King Qarbal should have sent three or four representatives. Nol made a discouraged face and cut short the dissension by making it clear that a superior number of emissaries would not give a particular advantage to any nation in any case; the limit was simply a question of practicality. Rafa de Griteh declared himself to be satisfied. At that moment, no one seriously wanted to contradict Nol.

  The stranger spoke everyone’s native tongue with disconcerting ease. He listened to everyone, but firmly and politely swept away the objections of these nobles who had all come to recognize him as an extraordinary person. When he had seen the last of them and declared a desire to meditate alone, they all stifled their impatience and watched respectfully as he slipped away.

  When night came, Nol regretfully declared that neither the Land of Beauty nor Romine had sent an emissary, and that these two kingdoms would not be represented. Some also remarked that not a single Eastian diplomat was present, but they did not know what to conclude from that.

  The stranger invited the Sages to follow him, and set out on foot through the rocky labyrinth that was the Island of Ji. After a brief moment of confusion—they had all been expecting to go by sea—Tiramis followed him and Yon, then Duke Kercyan, then the rest, all in lockstep.

  Various officials, guards, and servants remained on the beach, unsure of what to do. Then they hastily put several ships to sea, thinking that the emissaries might embark from the other side of the island.

  At first, the crews, who were practically adversaries, quickly organized themselves to patrol their own sectors. But no unknown embarkation point was discovered that night.

  In the gray light of morning, armed men were sent to the interior of the island. The soldiers scoured the labyrinth all day, and continued through the following day, finding nothing save some grottoes used as warehouses by nondescript Lorelien smugglers.

  By the end of the fourth day they had lost all hope of finding the emissaries’ trail. One by one the delegations regretfully left the island, each suspecting the other nations to have concealed some information about this strange adventure, or worse: to be behind it all.

  Four dékades passed, and no ransom was demanded. Some had suggested abduction, though that notion was slowly abandoned. The Day of the Earth arrived, the boats were sent to the island once more, and in the palaces, those left behind began to hope for the imminent return of their Sages.

  On the dawn of the Day of the Bear, one dékade and a half after the Day of the Earth, seven people emerged from the rocks, stumbling along the same path that they had taken two moons earlier. The soldiers who were on guard watched incredulously as an exhausted Duke Reyan, eyes empty of all expression, and Rafa de Griteh, his hair burned and face blackened, carried King Arkane of Junine on a makeshift stretcher. There was a wound on his head and a red tourniquet pressed over the stump that was his left arm. They saw His Excellence Yon of Kaul staggering as he carried an unconscious Honored Mother Tiramis in his arms. Finally, they saw Their Excellencies Maz Achem of Ith and Moboq of Arkary limping as they finished the march.

  Prince Vanamel, Saat the Treasurer, and Ssa-Vez of Jezeba were missing from the roll call.

  Nol the Strange did not return, either.

  Ramur was a happy man, for it had been a good day. Not yet the third Day of the Lorelien Fair and he had already sold more than two-thirds of his cargo of Lineh spices. And he hadn’t even needed to haggle.

  A full purse at his side, he headed toward the city center with a smug swagger. He was hoping to celebrate his success in a fitting manner, and maybe make one or two more sales, if the occasion presented itself.

  Maybe he would go down to the less respectable neighborhoods to see if a certain young woman he met every year was still generous with her charms.

  Of course Ramur gave a thought to Dona, the Goddess of Pleasure and Opulence, his favorite divinity by far. He promised himself to make an offering to her cult later, as a thank you for his good luck. Perhaps during the next moon, upon his return to Lineh. Or better yet, in three moons, after the harvests. It was better to honor Dona all at once, he thought, after several good ventures, than to waste—no, what he really meant was—than to disturb her priests with consistent but insignificant offerings.

  If he were honest with himself, he knew he wasn’t going to make an offering until he wound up at death’s door. That way, he could enjoy his possessions as long as possible. He also recognized that he was loath to give his terces to the representatives of a cult that wouldn’t hesitate to steal them.

  Despite the arrival of the Season of Winds and the coming darkness, the sun shone brightly on Ramur and he gave it a smile. His smile was one of his gifts. Experience had taught him that people were less inclined to haggle with someone with a friendly face.

  He wasn’t very far from the city center by now, and the mob, which had thinned out at the edge of the fair near the old port, began to grow thick. Out of habit, Ramur kept a hand on his purse, carefully watching everyone who crossed his path. Thanks to his vigilance, he had avoided pickpockets until now, but it only took a few moments of negligence to find oneself relieved of a few hundred terces.

  Several times he had seen pockets picked from behind his stall, but he wasn’t about to interfere. People should mind their own business. It wasn’t as if someone would return his purse to him, if it happened to disappear.

  The crowd was becoming quite sizable, and many of the onlookers he passed seemed more frenzied than usual. He began to regret leaving his hired hand at the door. If one of these poor souls decided to make some money off a corpse, it could easily be his...

  A man walking in the opposite direction bumped into him. Ramur quickly turned and followed the man with his eyes, taking a rapid inventory of his purse and jewelry as he did so.

  The tactless man wore common priest’s robes. The hood covered his face so completely that Ramur couldn’t see the color of his hair, or if he had any at all.

  Ramur’s terces were still in their place, but the alarm had been raised, and he regretfully gave up the simple pleasure of parading about with a fat purse at his side. He started untying it to slip it under his clothes when he was knocked again, only a few moments later, this time from behind. His hands clenched the decorated cloth bag, while a painful sting set his back aflame.

  The man who ran into him this time looked exactly like the first one. He simply whispered in Ramur’s ear: “My name is Zokin. Tell it to Zuïa.”

  As if paralyzed, Ramur watched Zokin leave, his eyes wide open but unseeing, his hands still clutching the purse to his chest. With horror, he realized the implications of what he had just heard. Then his vision clouded, his legs gave way, and he collapsed.

  He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Upon the return of the Sages, once the initial moment of astonishment had passed, each delegation wanted to interrogate its own emissary. Rafa de Griteh declared with an aggressive tone that it was out of the question to separate them.

  Not right away.

  He walked over to the Ithare tents, where he locked himself away with his companions and two Eurydian priests trained in the art of healing. The priests dressed the wounds of the injured in respectful silence. It wasn’t until Rafa had walked a few steps outside their retreat that he was questioned about the missing Sages.

  He responded simply that the
y had died, giving no other details.

  During the days that followed, the survivors didn’t mingle much with the colorful crowd of kings, barons, and other such notables who had come for the event. They kept silent or simply claimed not to remember anything when questioned. Eventually, it was only this last response that was given.

  The nations in mourning—Goran and Jezeba—quickly packed up their belongings and left the island on bad terms with the others. One could imagine that a new war between Goran and Lorelia was possible, but Emperor Mazrel seemed to have held Prince Vanamel in such low esteem that he could not justify the reopening of hostilities.

  One by one, each of the Sages returned home. They were interrogated again separately, but responded only with silence. Several of their liege lords took them to have a prolonged influenza.

  They relieved Maz Achem of all his responsibilities at the Grand Temple. Thereafter, he abandoned all religious activity and left Ith.

  Rafa de Griteh was dismissed from military command, which was a major humiliation, for he had been the personal strategist to the king. He stayed in the army regardless and served so well that in his final years his title and honor were restored.

  Arkane of Junine, himself a king, experienced only public disapproval from his peers in the other Baronies. Knowing that the power of the Lesser Kingdoms was in their union, he prevented any disagreement by abdicating the throne in favor of his son.

  Moboq the Wise returned to Arkary, simply announcing that it would be better if everyone ignored what had happened. As he was a Sage, everyone accepted his decision and quickly forgot the incident.