Chapter 3: Real as Memory

Where Vekaya’s story begins with fear and confusion, mine began with the simplest of understandings. Unfortunately for me and those closest to me, that understanding was like many simple understandings of the world: completely but comfortably incorrect. My village was called South Hall, and it sat on Arkana’s eastern border. I doubt whether any of my neighbors could have found our tiny collection of farms and streets on a map, even after they finished what little education the small King’s School provided. Few could read. Few needed to. Those who lived in South Hall rarely traveled any farther than the provincial capital of Hammercleft, two days away on foot. They were farmers, smiths, bakers, herbalists, carpenters, and hunters. There was a time when I probably could have named every single field hand and candle maker in the entire town, told you who their relations were, and how quickly they might tell my father that I was getting into mischief if they had seen me. But, that was a long, long time ago. You have never been to South Hall. You will never go there. What little I remember of it is all that exists.

It was, I suppose, like many other small towns. The problem with gauging the experience of one’s youth against that of others is simply that we can only ever know our own. It all seemed so normal to me. It all seemed so real.

Many days’ travel to the north, Korskovyr's frozen tundra was the setting for tales of the last two long wars there. The Korsks were fierce in battle, and our little town would certainly have been considerably larger if more of our young men had returned. It was as if those who did had been infected with a sickness of the world. Having seen the world, they could not stay in South Hall any longer and left. Or, they succumbed to drink, accidents, horrors of the mind, or some combination of all three. Few actual veterans remained by the time I was your age. Of course, we didn’t know it at the time, but more wars would make widows of wives and orphans of children soon enough.

The steaming jungles of Ossyphia several weeks’ travel to the southwest were still largely unexplored. What had been charted had been done during the constant state of battle with what were thought to be tribes of savages, bent on stopping Arkanians from spreading the word of Civius and his so-called justice. You can form your own opinion as more of these pages pass. Honestly, no one in Arkana really knew anything about those people or their lands at all. Any maps or histories from that period are certainly full of errors or guesswork.

To my knowledge no Arkanian had ever laid eyes on ground that wasn’t in those three places. Lonia was a completely unknown word to us, though we did know of dragons. A lot of people believed that they were myths. Sailors and adventurers who claimed to have seen them we often seen as mad. We knew nothing of the homeland of those great winged beasts, its people, or anything beyond. The substance phoesalia was largely unknown in the countryside, though I now know that scholars at the Misarine Idz in the capital had been studying it for years already. But even if I had known about any of these things, they wouldn't have been real to me. How do you tell a cave frog about the stars? How do you teach a mouse that the book where she has made her nest contains entire lifetimes of knowledge?

For me, the hills, meadows, and forests surrounding South Hall were real. The houses of wood and thatch were real. Our worship at the House of Civius, the god of our civilization, was real to me. My parents' promises and descriptions of Caelum, Civius' reward to his faithful followers after death - they were real to me. Many of my earliest memories involved a constant refrain from my father:

If you are faithful to him, Civius will bring you through any challenge. Do not deny Civius. Any who deny him deserve whatever comes to them. Theirs, eventually, will be the harshest of punishments. You must have faith that everything happens for a reason, and that reason is only known to Civius. You must have faith in this. You must have faith. You must have faith. You must have faith.

My father would go on to extol the virtues of our god, saying that everything in the world exists because of Civius, and it is all ordered the way that he sees fit. Even if there is difficulty, he has put it before you to see you through it. Disorder is an illusion because Civius orders all things. Disorder is a lie and a twisting of reality. Order is real. Planning is real. Everything happens for a reason. Everything happens because it was meant to happen. I was told all of these things, and I believed them because I had no reason not to.

The sights of wind rippling through farmers' crops and cows returning from grazing were real. My father’s constant tirades about Arkana’s poor and the disservice that they did to themselves and their country were a reality. My mother’s sighing and weathering of these unaimed barrages was real. My brother, Caedrus, who at the time was eight, and his candril companion were a constant, unrelenting responsibility. Should they have come to harm or even the possibility of harm, the suggested consequences of this were as much a reality as the brittle herbs that my father dried on nails at the back of our house. I can still smell them now if I think hard enough.

My friends and I played rough games, wrestling each other to the ground or battling with sticks we imagined as swords. We talked about who would be apprenticed to whom, what we would do in our lives, who we might marry – though we were at an age where talk of that could still color our faces. We all had dreams of grandeur beyond South Hall. We spied on the tavern to see whenever any of the very, very few travelers would pass through town. Rumors about people with what we called the Power of Aizo were as real as their narrators could make them sound. There were wild stories of mysterious men and women who could burn things with tongues of flame that leapt from their hands, speak to animals, soar through the sky with the speed of a falcon, or anything else that you can imagine. Again, you know much more than I did when I was your age. You know of this power, its truths, and a great deal more.

What you may know but cannot possibly yet understand is the simple fact that people of every size and shape are afraid. They are terrified of a great many things, but the greatest of these is the unknown. Your mother and father have surely told you about the treatment of people with the Power of Aizo. It’s true. I have seen wielders treated with devoted admiration and the ugliest suspicion and malice that a race can muster. When I was your age, rumors about people with such powers generally involved their having made deals in opposition to Civius; these people were somehow trying to upset the balance of his great scales. They had denied his plan. Simply because of how common the power is now, I feel somewhat certain that there were more people with the Power of Aizo in South Hall, but while its gates were still standing, I never met a single one. If they were there, they kept it hidden. After all, the fear of them was real.

We had a school. I remember it being a white, wooden building near the center of town. Boring lessons at the small Arkanian government building were real - we learned to read, write, add, and subtract. We learned the history of our country’s kings and about the races that inhabited this kingdom and of the Korsks, Volprins, Lanerres, and such. I had seen a few of them in Hammercleft, on trips with my father. My father told me that all races that were not men were not to be trusted.

“Evil is what they are,” he had told me. “Civius has only plans for men. Men, and men alone.”

All of these things were real to me because I believed in them.

I know that this must seem so strange to you, so silly. You are surely wondering how a person could trust or mistrust another simply because this one is a Korsk or that one is a Lanerre. But this was the world where I grew up. That world was the one that gave birth to this one. It is my only hope that you will find truth and strength and reason in these pages to help you create a world that is better than the one to which you have been born. Many have fought for it. Many are fighting for it. And, many more will fight for it. As for our story, here, at last, is something you will recognize...

There were those things, and there was the Carrowind. The Carrowind was a vast, mostly flat, vacant steppe that stretched from the Vo River to, for all anyone knew, the sky. The Vo flowed southward from Korskovyr, and during the last war there had been an expedition to see if an open flank could be found, using the Carrowind. No soldiers ever returned from it. For all anyone knew the Vo was the eastern border of not just South Hall, Arkana, or Korskovyr, it might have been the border of everything. It flowed past our town all the way to the great Sea of Chaleef. There were shallower parts that could be crossed easily on foot at most times of the year, but rarely did anyone ever think of breaking its cold clear surface to do so. I had never heard of any explorers that had returned. The closeness made it real, but everything else was like some great unimagined terror.

My friends and I had a spyglass that my father sometimes used to watch his workers from afar. Its polished brass surface was a constant reminder of the fact that I was not supposed to have it at all, let alone outside of my parents’ house. We used it to spy into the Carrowind, and sometimes to light things on fire, as Kabil had shown us. It was probably the only benefit that had ever come from his father being Instructor Dofa.

Once in a great while, shapes would appear in the distance. They were always watched vigilantly by any townsperson who had a spyglass until they disappeared again, but raised all manner of questions and theories. Everyone was too afraid to go look. What were they? How big were they? How far away were they? Were they coming closer or going away? No one I had ever met to that point was intrepid enough to try to find out. Again, that will sound familiar to you, no doubt.

Some talk held that the shapes were strange beasts, all of whom had names and characteristics that were as real to us as if we had seen them, though none of us ever had. Some said that the land curved up ever so slightly and that there was a valley not far into the Carrowind, dipping down suddenly, and making it so that we couldn't see that far. Towns and people thrived on the other side, just beyond our view. There was even talk that Caelum was just on the other side. Regardless of what they believed, everyone in South Hall was afraid to check.

All of South Hall's livestock was kept on the western side of town. There was more to the Carrowind's danger than just rumor. Twice that I can remember, Farmers lost animals and the entire town spent days speculating and inspecting enormous claw marks on the wooden fencing or looking at huge footprints in the dust. There were plenty of tales of travelers and livestock being eaten by monsters from the Carrowind. It would be difficult to say how many of these stories were true, but what could be seen in the flat expanse to the east did less to make people curious than it did make them afraid. You know of the Carrowind. When I was young, this was what we thought. This was what was real to us.

It would be easy to ask why anyone would live near to such a place. Why would anyone risk his or her life to make a home in view of something so dangerous? To be honest, it seems foolhardy now because I have seen more of the world than I ever believed that I would, but the fact remains that it was what we knew. I believe that South Hall’s residents were probably as much afraid of moving west to points unknown, as they were of the untold terrors in the east. South Hall’s citizenry was content with the present, and if it was a bit dangerous, they could live with that. The danger was something we understood but dared not speak of. After all, wasn’t one as likely to be murdered by a thief or run over by a cart in Arkaeus as devoured by a monster near their home? Knowing what I now know, the very notion that Arkaeus was as dangerous as living near the Carrowind seems to be lunacy - the punchline to an absurd joke, perhaps. But it is not with men to take stock of their own beliefs based on whether or not they are preposterous; it is more often onto which belief they have grasped first.

Children were, of course, threatened into being good with tales of monsters that lived tthe Carrowind. A worm higher than our great hall and made entirely of corpses. Creatures with a thousand faces whose screams drove men to madness. Living lakes that ate passersby alive. Creatures that could take any shape, confusing wives and husbands, driving people to murder. Any story with a creature that had muscles the size of barrels or teeth and claws like swords whether it flew, galloped, or burrowed underground would cause uneasy glances to be cast eastward.

My friend Farras held a record of a hundred steps past the opposite bank of the Vo River. Because there were no other landmarks across the Vo, steps were the best way to record the distance. No one was crazy enough to try to go farther. And if our parents had found out, we all would have been punished severely.

Had things had stayed this way, my life may have gone on much as my father’s, and I might have had sons like myself. However, early one autumn, something happened that changed South Hall, and Arkana for that matter, forever. I have often asked myself how I was one of so few to have seen so much, and I have never really come up with an answer other than that which saw me through the beginning was what saw me through till now. There are plenty of other possibilities, but after having experienced what I have experienced, they all seem to be the property of children’s stories and tavern gossip.

We had been at the House of Civius, listening to something about one of His Pillars. Caedrus and I usually found the entire exercise tedious but could never have admitted anything even approaching that kind of truth. As an adult, I doubt that my parents, in their innermost thoughts, would have even disagreed. But so it was taught: if you wanted something from Civius, respecting his Pillars and attending to his house were necessary. That particular morning, I am sure that my father prayed, just as he always had, that the workers who stole from him would be delivered up to punishment.

It was a cool, cloudless late morning, and the chilly tang of fall was already in the air. Laughing, we padded down the stone steps of the House of Civius. I remember it as the only stone building in South Hall aside from the mill. Despite the devotion to our god that our parents reinforced, the moment that we could leave, every child bolted for the doors. On that particular day, Caedrus and I happened to be first. He wanted to get home to Sarcen. A day without school or responsibilities beckoned to me.

There were print boys just outside, selling papers about the goings and comings in the towns surrounding Hammercleft. Carts came once a week from Tragel and dropped them off with Ryn, Bayot, and Felder at the town's western gate. The boys left the House of Civius early every week and made up for this by keeping the House clean and painted and its grounds groomed. Nearly everyone in South Hall bought the papers and talked about the stories for the rest of the week. I had already made arrangements with my father, who believed in coin nearly as much as Civius, to become a print boy when Ryn went into the army. The idea of having a job, like an adult, made me feel important, responsible, needed.

Caedrus and I were a good fifteen paces from the House of Civius when the first adult head emerged from its great pointed arch. At this, Bayot called out, “New detachments of soldiers heading for the eastern provinces to guard against Carrowind! South Hall is on the list for the end of this week!”

Caedrus and I stopped so quickly we almost pitched forward off of our feet. I can remember the excitement at the thought of soldiers in my town. In moments, the print boys were overtaken by a crowd of curious villagers.

It was toward the end of the reign of King Clanton III. He was getting on in years, and supposedly, soldiers were being garrisoned to protect towns along Arkana's borders. Many of the small towns in our province already had a small outpost or barracks. South Hall's citizens were waiting for theirs. We had known, from talk that had drifted in from Kyrahsberg, Tragel, and Hammercleft, that South Hall would have soldiers in it soon. Now that the paper said it, it seemed more real.

As we walked away from the crowd of villagers who babbled about what it could mean, my father could not hide his joy.

“This place was good for me to make my fortune, but finally!” he said, gesturing broadly toward Caelum, “finally, we have grown to a size where the government is recognizing us! A House of Civius is in every hamlet with twenty houses, thanks to King Raykyn – Civius' honor on his grave. A school, thanks to that ridiculous King Kardoh, pumps every child in a village of forty or more houses with absurdity.” I smiled, liking it whenever my father talked badly about school. “But now!” he roared, “that fool Clanton has seen fit to commit some men to South Hall!”

“We will be safer from the Carrowind,” my mother suggested.

“Carrowind, ha!” said my father. “I'm more worried about those blasted lazy workers in my fields trying to take what isn't theirs! Now that Arkaeus can find South Hall on a map well enough to send us soldiers, maybe we'll get some peace officers and night watchmen that are worth something.”

With that, my mother was silent.

Caedrus turned everyone's attention with a squeal as he ran forward to throw open the door and scoop up the yipping Sarcen. The reddish puppy hopped out of the house, wobbling on his hind legs and flapping his wings. He had the snout of a mane of a wolf cub, but his reddish fur made him look almost like a fox. One of my mother’s friends had given him to us. She had supposed that he would teach Caedrus some responsibility and, maybe, keep rats away.

“If you don't teach him to sit, he'll always do that to guests!” shouted my mother. She sighed, “And if you get your tunic filthy, it won't be me washing it!”

Sarcen was only about three months old and still had down covering his all white wings. Unable to fly at the time, he waddled his fat puppy body clumsily into chairs and doorways. Caedrus doted on him like he was a human child, and Caedrus was his mother. My father had always been disgusted with this behavior.

“That child is more girl than boy,” my father would growl.

“He is just a child,” my mother would say, “and a smart one at that. He’s learning responsibility. Isn’t that manly?”

I openly spurned my little brother’s “weirdness,” in imitation of my father. Caedrus never asked to join in our fierce wrestling matches or mock sword fights, but there were times when those things were foisted upon him. I believe that our father had wanted it to toughen him up, and any scolding that I received from my father for this was typically half-hearted and at the very obvious request of my mother.

Our house had been built by the best carpenters in Hammercleft when South Hall was founded. The Bolingards hadn't been the richest people there, but they were not without means. We had no family remaining that we knew of, as my grandfather had coughed himself to death not long after my mother and father had been married. My grandmother was seldom ever spoken of and any of our questions about her went completely unanswered.

Ours was the only house I had ever known, and I think it was a good house. The vague awareness that I had then, that it was enormous and that we were lucky to have it, has changed over time. It was huge for our area, but I have since seen dwellings both palatial and less than humble. Ours was similar to neither. Immediately inside, a great wooden staircase ascended to a second floor where we slept. There were two bedrooms, my parents' and the one that Caedrus and I shared. The staircase’s timber, though a few years older than I was, still smelled new, and my father was very protective of it. Caedrus and I were scolded more for damaging the floors and the staircase than any other trespasses that I can remember.

In my room, I changed out of the clothes that I only ever wore to the House of Civius. The tunic was a delicate white fabric onto which my mother had embroidered the yellow Scales of Civius. I didn't like wearing it because I had to be careful not to get it dirty. I realize that it must have been expensive and was probably of much better quality than anything else I owned. My mother always explained to Caedrus and me that we were lucky to have several sets of clothes when many children only had one.

After changing, I zipped past my little brother, Sarcen, and my parents and out the door of our house. I simply had to know more about the soldiers.

I found my friends, Farras, Garren, and Kabil behind the smithy's hut, where we used to watch him make metal tools. Sometimes, but not often, he'd let us help him.

“You heard about the soldiers?” asked Farras.

“I think everyone heard,” I said.

Farras was barely a year older than me but spoke as if he were a hundred. It was irritating, even if he was the only one of us old enough to be apprenticed. He still went to school with us, but his evening hours were at Sarben, South Hall’s tanner. Farras acted like he was making saddles for the king himself.

“My mom says that they're going to make everyone go to the House of Civius! Every week!” said Garren.

“Who doesn't go to the House of Civius?” Kabil, Farras, and I asked in unison.

“I heard that Morek doesn't go,” replied Garren. “I never see him there.”

Morek had gone to the Misarine Idz in Arkaeus, the capital of Arkana. We didn't know what it was then, but it was supposed to be special. Everyone talked about him having the Power of Aizo, but no one really knew what that even meant. Morek had strange ideas about things and was often at the center of rumors at the Wolf's Head tavern. I have since wondered once or twice what he made of all of the goings and comings of South Hall, but I never was able to ask him. I know now that he was probably very intelligent. But as I mentioned, in small towns like South Hall, any difference is usually looked at with suspicion. So it was with Morek.

“When are the soldiers going to be here?” I asked, having missed the general gossip because I had had to change out of my clothes.

“The paper that I read said that they'd be here by the end of the week, but you know how things get held up on their way here. I guess it'll be next week some time,” said Farras.

No one really knew – probably not even Farras – what he meant by things being held up on the way to South Hall. But, his affected age made him irritating to challenge, so we didn't question it. After all, that was what good, obedient, Civius-fearing children did. This feeling of trust and confidence in my elders would change for me in the coming weeks and months. My friends would not be lucky enough to get to change their attitudes.