Sowing the Seed

Ambassador Avalus Berisalzon shuffled from aching foot to aching foot, thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and wrapped his snowbear-fur coat closer about his body. The Great Hall was vast and magnificent but freezing cold. He stifled a sneeze as another waft of incense rose into his nostrils. His ears were ringing with the chanting of a phalanx of monks up in the gallery accompanied by tambours, cymbals and horns. They had not paused since the first hour of the day and the sun was now high in the sky, its faint rays piercing the dappled glass of the eastern clerestory.

From his place at the end of the Hall, among the palace staff and other commoners who had given the court lifelong or outstanding service, the Ambassador could see the Regent on his gilded throne atop the dais half a dozen broad steps above the floor beneath. He sat slumped, his elbow on the throne’s ornately carved armrest, cheek resting on one hand, flanked on either side by his mother and sister, his sword-bearer standing guard at his shoulder. Not for his mother the Regent’s slouch, but even her straight back had to be flagging. His sister, no less stoic than her mother, cradled her infant daughter on her lap, the poor child so exhausted with waiting that not even the cacophony above her head could disturb her sleep. The Regent and his womenfolk shared the same fair hair, pale skin and light eyes, unique to the royal line, yet so strange in this court of dark-skinned, black-haired people like himself.

The Regent was surrounded by every member of the royal line, all in splendid costumes of gold and brocade. The knights, ranged in two straight rows behind him, wore jewel-encrusted ceremonial swords at their hips, their long hair in myriad braids beneath pure white hats made of the fur of the snowbear each man had hunted and killed to mark his coming of age. The ladies sat on stools on either side, their fair hair loose and crowned with a simple circlet of pure gold adorned only with incised figures tracing their royal descent. Only that of the Regent’s mother was encrusted in gemstones as befitted the widow of the last Kiralus.

The long wall to the Ambassador’s right, beneath the gallery, was lined by rows of still and silent monks in heavy pikka-wool robes, their hands clasped and invisible inside their voluminous sleeves. On their shaven heads, each wore a coloured skull-cap denoting their order. The block in the centre wore blue for the Taivuskira, the order of the Sky God, the most powerful order from which the Court Monks were drawn. To their right the Saluskira, the order of the Sun God, wore yellow caps and to their left were the Gairuskira, the order of the Fire God, in red caps. Among the Taivuskira, the Ambassador recognised Va Botar, the monk who had been assigned to him as tutor and guide on his arrival six months earlier. A dull murmur rose from the crowd milling along the wall to the Ambassador’s left. Dressed no less splendidly than their cousins of the royal line, the nobility were accompanied by their children, even babes in arms, who could not be allowed to miss this once in a generation event.

In the centre of the Hall was a low platform displaying an array of precious objects. There were three strings of jade prayer-beads — one a deep green, one a pale lavender and one a translucent white — three bronze hand-bells, each crowned with a precious stone — sapphire, ruby and emerald — and three prayer shawls of cloth-of-gold, each embroidered with verses from the ancient texts.

Just as Berisalzon felt his heavy eyes closing, the tall carved wooden doors of the Hall were thrown open with a resounding crash. For a moment the chanting paused and the murmur of the crowd ceased. A procession of monks glided into the Hall. The three at their head wore high hats hung with gold tassels marking their status as Vadonus, each in one of the three colours denoting the order they governed. They paused three paces from the platform while the long row of monks entering behind them joined their brethren. Ahead of them, the Vadoni ushered a small boy in a miniature version of his elders’ robes. The bright, sturdy child entered the room eagerly, avid blue eyes taking in every detail, undaunted by the crowd, noise and smells.

The Vadonus Taivuskira offered the child his hand and led him to the platform. The boy laughed to see the pretty objects. He picked up each string of prayer beads, rubbed them between his hands and then gave the white set to the Vadonus who took them without expression except to urge the child onto the hand-bells. The child picked up each one and gleefully rang it, then after studying them for a moment, handed up the emerald topped one. He held each of the prayer shawls up to his cheek before passing one to the monk.

The Vadonus held the three objects up for all to see. The chanting stopped. The audience held its breath. The Regent sat up alert, intent. The Vadonus’s voice rang out in the silence. ‘He is found. Our Kiralus has returned to us.’

The monks repeated his words three times in unison, their massed voices vibrating the very air about them. The nobility clapped and cheered and echoed the monks’ words. Horns sounded and the chanting resumed. When finally the prayers ended with a cacophonous fanfare, the Regent’s sister rose and led her little daughter to the new Kiralus. Urged by her mother the child shyly kissed the Kiralus on the cheek. He frowned for a moment, then, laughing, tugged one of her long braids. She snatched at the end of his sleeve and ran away, the boy giving chase.

Her mother breathed in relief. Exchanging nods with the Vadonus, she returned to her seat and watched the children impassively. Tension and decorum dissipated as other children joined in the game while their parents laughed and chatted. Even the monks had broken ranks, some seeking out friends and family among the laity. On the dais, the knights and ladies of the royal line laughed and embraced. Only the Regent and his family remained silent.

‘Great days, Erra Avalus, great days.’ Berisalzon’s tutor was at his shoulder.

‘True, Va Botar, true. Great days.’

‘How did you find the Confirmation, my son?’

Berisalzon smiled at the designation. Botar might be in his middle years, but he could not be more than a year or two older than the Ambassador. ‘It was just as you described it, Va.’

‘As it is, so it ever was…’

‘… and so it shall ever be. Yes, I remember, but I must admit I was surprised that the child chose the correct objects so… easily.’

‘He knew those items intimately for he had used them every day during his previous life.’

‘Of course. Forgive me for being such an obtuse student, Va, but may I ask you a few questions.’

‘Ask, my son, and I shall endeavour to answer.’

Berisalzon refrained from raising an eyebrow. If anything, Botar had tried his best to deflect the Ambassador’s many questions. ‘The boy-child, what is his name, the new Kiralus…?’

‘The Kiralus Reincarnate. He will not assume the title until he is crowned in his sixteenth year. The child’s name is Saamar, may he be ever blessed.’

‘Was he one of several candidates?’

‘No, he was the only one. We knew it was he. The Lord Taivus would not lead us astray in finding his own avatar. He would not risk the very existence of his people.’

‘So, how did you find him?’

‘The Vadoni and a number of distinguished scholars studied the prophecies in the sacred texts, the Kiralus’s dreams as he lay dying and the signs in the stars. It took them six years, but they finally tracked him down in Estygar Province.’

‘Estygar Province? Why that is in the very south of the country, hundreds of leagues from the capital.’

‘Time and distance are nothing to Lord Taivus. It was his choice to be reborn there, the son of peasant fathers. And he did well in choosing so. Did you not see how healthy and sturdy the child is? Long will Saamar reign over us. May he be ever blessed.’

‘When was he brought to Taivaros?’

‘About two phases ago. The Vadonus Taivuskira went there personally three moons ago to fetch him.’

Two phases ago, Berisalzon mused. That was about the time Botar began urging him to leave the capital and journey about the countryside, preferably to the north, though the spring melt was making the roads impassable. He remembered the way Botar pursed his lips when the Ambassador told him he had been invited to the Confirmation by the Regent himself and the clumsy way he covered the fact that the clergy had not wanted a foreigner to attend the ceremony.

‘His family will miss him,’ Berisalzon remarked, just as he was missing his own grandchildren.

‘They have been blessed and well-rewarded for raising the child. One of his fathers has accompanied him and will act at his attendant. See, there he is.’

Saamar had taken the hand of a sunburned young man and was urging him to join in his games with the other children. He joined in happily, little more than a child himself. Among them was the Regent’s niece who had shaken off her slumber and her shyness.

‘One thing I did not understand, Va Botar, is why the boy-child was so deliberately introduced to the Regent’s niece.’

‘Little Paalavi? She is destined to be his wife. The Kiralus always marries a descendent of the previous Kiralus through the female line, as is decreed. They will be married soon after he is crowned.’

‘And if he were to have sons, could one not succeed him?’

‘Of course not. Any son of his would have been conceived before his death and so could never be his reincarnation. No, his sons can never be Kiralus but before his death the Kiralus will designate one to act as his Regent until his return. After the Coronation the Kiralussunis takes a seat on the Privy Council.’

‘So after having complete power for at least sixteen years, the Regent must step aside when the Kiralus Reincarnate is crowned. Is that not dangerous?’

Botar looked at him quizzically. ‘How so?’

Berisalzon thought it politic to change the subject. ‘Will the child be raised here at court?’

‘Not here, but in one of the monasteries in the capital, once he has chosen his tutors.’

‘How is a child of four to do that?’

‘He is given three sacred scrolls to choose from. The one he chooses will determine which order his tutors come from, and from there, of course, stems the choice of monastery.’

‘Just as he was tested for the Confirmation?’

‘Similarly, yes. But here is the Regent’s Stolnika. I believe he has come for you.’

The Stolnika bowed. ‘My lord Ambassador. The Lord Regent would speak to you. Will you follow me.’

Botar pursed his lips. ‘You are indeed privileged, Erra Avalus.’

Although the Stolnika had moved a respectful distance away, Berisalzon spoke in a low voice. ‘Tell me, Va Botar. Do you know of any reason why I should distrust the Regent?’

Botar looked flustered. ‘Jalmar is an able young man.’

‘I have always found him so in the few audiences he has granted me. Astute and open-minded. Nevertheless, would you advise me to be wary of him?’

Botar took a moment too long to answer. ‘As you say, he is able and astute. It is just that he relies too heavily on his mother. It is she you should be wary of. If she were to have her way we would be dragged back into the dark ages and the worship of false gods.’

Berisalzon bowed and followed the Stolnika, smiling to himself. From the moment the Ambassador had stepped foot in the kingdom he had felt dragged back into the dark ages, or at least five hundred years into the past, into an age where the greatest fear, the greatest anathema, was change. The one verse of the ancient texts Botar had pressed on him again and again was ‘As it is, so it ever was and so it shall ever be.’ It must have been difficult for him to admit that there had been a time in the past when things were different and other gods were worshipped. For all its innate perils, the rule of the reincarnated Kiralus had lasted for two thousand years and the kingdom was nothing if not stable, too stable in fact. In truth this ancient, innocent world held a certain charm the Ambassador had not expected, a charm he would fain preserve. But his very presence proved that change was inevitable. All around them was change, change that could not be kept at bay, change that put the kingdom at a disadvantage and in grave peril.

The Stolnika led him to the dais and up three steps, stopping him where he still needed to look up to the seated Regent. Berisalzon bowed as the Stolnika announced him. ‘The Honourable Avalus Berisalzon, Ambassador to the Royal Court of Kiralussats, appointed by the Lord Gerazon, Johtalla of Orsakanza.’

The Regent nodded. ‘Great days, Ambassador, great days.’ Yet his scowl belied his joyous words. Was it disaffection the Ambassador detected in the young man’s eyes, disaffection and thwarted ambition? Or was it fear?

‘Indeed, my Lord. Great days.’

‘I’m so glad you could make it, Erra Avalus. How did you find the Confirmation?’

‘Most interesting, my Lord. And I am deeply grateful for the privilege afforded me by your invitation to attend.’

‘It is, after all, a once in a generation event. If the gods sent you here at this time, they must have wanted you to witness it.’

‘No doubt, my Lord.’

‘Let me introduce you to my family. My mother, Kiralussiva Demeni.’

The Ambassador bowed deeply and straightened to meet the eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He had seen her from a distance at state occasions and had indeed been intrigued, but up close, her fair skin was luminous and her green eyes like pools of water. Her long auburn hair, which showed no trace of white, shone in the noonday light. He had seen peasants with her colouring, their skins well-tanned and their hair matted and bleached by the sun. But what in them was steeped in the light red soil of this barren land, in her reflected the translucence of the country’s vast skies.

She was scrutinising him narrowly. ‘Welcome to Kiralussats, Ambassador. How have you found our country?’

‘Fascinating, my Lady.’ He returned her gaze and saw her eyes soften.

Jalmar turned to the young woman on his left, no less beautiful than her mother but lacking her assurance. ‘My sister, Kiralussida Surani.’

Surani nodded. ‘Welcome, Ambassador.’

Jalmar indicated the man behind him. ‘Surani’s husband and my Mikkollar, Lord Heimar.’ Tall and broad-shouldered, the Mikkollar met him with a good-natured grin which belied the fierce impression given by a long scar down his cheek. ‘Greetings, Ambassador. I wager my brother’s been keeping you indoors all winter. What say we take in a bit of hunting now the weather’s eased? The first herd of tarabeast should be coming through soon.’

‘I would love to ride out with you, my Lord, but my hunting days are long over.’

‘Not to worry. You can still enjoy a good hard ride. I’ll let you know when next we venture out.’

‘I shall look forward to it, my Lord.’

‘My dear boy,’ Demeni intervened, ‘I’m sure the Ambassador has better things to do than go chasing about the countryside. He is a courtier and a scholar. Hear how quickly he has mastered our language.’

‘It was not too difficult, my Lady, once I realised that our languages, like our religions, have common roots.’

‘Then you have found much that is familiar in Kiralussats.’

‘Much that is familiar, yes, but much, too, that is wondrous, my Lady.’

Demeni met his eye for a moment, then looked away with a smile.

Jalmar beckoned the Stolnika and conferred with him in a whisper. ‘Ambassador, it seems I am free tomorrow evening. Would you dine with me?’

Berisalzon bowed. ‘It will be a great honour, my Lord.’

‘Good. I have many questions to ask you. Let us say the second hour of the night.’ With a gesture, Jalmar signalled the Stolnika to lead the Ambassador away. He too had many questions for Jalmar he could never ask Botar, and much to ponder on. Once on ground level he turned to give one more bow and was gratified to find the Lady Demeni’s eyes on him.

A serving woman was waiting for him at the top of the stairs that led to the Regent’s private apartments. ‘Erra Ambassador, please come. The Lady wishes to see you.’

Intrigued, Berisalzon followed the young woman down several candle-lit corridors to a tapestry-hung room where Kiralussiva Demeni was kneeling in prayer. Hearing him announced she closed the doors of the small shrine before rising to her feet.

‘Erra Avalus, thank you for coming. I know my son is waiting on you so I will not detain you long.’

Berisalzon bowed. ‘I am at your service, my Lady.’ He felt his cheeks glow at her smile in return.

‘I am glad to hear that for I would ask your help.’

‘Anything, my Lady.’

She indicated a chair for him and sat down. ‘Erra Avalus, my husband was a good and kind man, but he did not have his son’s intellect nor his ability. He was raised and educated by monks and knew nothing more of the outside world than the hunting tales his father told him. Indeed, when we were married he had no idea what women were for. I have striven to do better by my son. I found him tutors who would teach more than the ancient texts, rare though they be, for apart from a few sons of the royal line, only monks are allowed any education in this kingdom. Tell me, Erra Avalus, is it the same in your country?’

‘No longer, my Lady. Every son of good family is educated and so are many of the daughters. And we learn much more than the ancient texts.’

She reached out and touched his hand. ‘It is just as I thought. I could see it in your eyes.’

‘Do you wish me to teach your son, my Lady?’

‘No. More than that. I want you to wrest him from the grasp of the sky-worshipers.’

‘You forget, my Lady, that I too am a sky-worshiper.’

She smiled. ‘Then why does Va Botar find you such a sceptical student, always asking questions he does not wish to answer?’

‘I do it partly to test him, my Lady.’

‘Let us say, the clergy, then, shall we? My dear Ambassador, while my son is under their sway, you can have no influence here. And why did you come if not seeking influence? I believe we have the same goal.’

‘But not for the same reason, I think.’

‘Does it matter?’

He felt the warmth of her hand resting on his. He looked up into her emerald eyes and let them hold him, overthrow him. ‘Nothing matters but to please you, my Lady.’

‘It will please me, Avalus,’ she breathed. Then she stood and he with her. ‘My son will be waiting. My serving woman will show you the way.’

Berisalzon bowed and followed the girl without seeing.

Berisalzon was surprised to find just the Regent and his Mikkollar assembled for dinner and with only the Stolnika to serve them. Jalmar must have wanted to speak freely and that suited his own purpose well, but they had finished eating and were drinking clear, strong tuviz before Jalmar touched on matters of any importance.

‘Erra Avalus, you often mention that your people share our religion.’

‘It is true. We in Orsakanza are also sky-worshippers, though we call our gods Tevus, Sarrius and Gallus and many of our ways are different.’

‘Do you choose your king as we do?’

‘We once used a similar system for selecting our Vadnivus, our god-king, centuries ago, but he was very different to the Kiralus. He remained a celibate monk. He did not marry and have children as the Kiralus does. However, perhaps yours is a better way. One of the reasons our Vadnivus had to cede power to the Johtalla was because the long periods between the death of one Vadnivus and the ascension of the next led to great instability in the kingdom. At least with your system, the Kiralus leaves a son behind him to act as Regent until he returns.’

Jalmar shook his head. ‘But that is by Custom, not by Law, as Elfodar the Vadonus Taivuskira often points out. The Kiralus may choose anyone to act as his Regent. I was fortunate that my father was old-fashioned and clung to Custom, for if Elfodar had had his way, he would be Regent now.’

‘Nor would my daughter be the next Kiralussiva,’ Heimar added, ‘for by Law, the Kiralus may marry any woman of the royal line provided she is descended from a previous Kiralus.’

‘My mother has not endeared herself to Elfodar and he fears her influence over Paalavi.’

Berisalzon pondered his next question. ‘Tell me, is the Kiralus Reincarnate always discovered among the peasantry?’

Jalmar nodded. ‘For several generations at least. My father came from the mountains to the north where his people herded pikka. The Kiralus before him came from fishing stock on the Great Lake, and the one before him was the son of miners.’

‘So once he comes to Taivaros the Kiralus Reincarnate has no one to rely on but one peasant father and his tutors.’

‘And your Vadnivus?’

‘He always came from amongst the nobility. It was one of the causes of the instability as his many clan-mates vied for power during his minority.’

Heimar chuckled. ‘While here it is the three clerical orders who vie for influence over the child, though I don’t know why as it’s always the blue-caps that have the raising of him.’

‘Oh,’ the Ambassador said, ‘I thought the child chose his own tutors.’

Heimar just grinned and raised an eyebrow.

‘I see. I was wondering why the child had been in Taivaros for two phases before the Confirmation… and why we were kept waiting so long.’

Jalmar studied his empty beaker. ‘What are you implying, Erra?’ he asked in a low tone that belied the hostility of his question.

‘The child is bright and eager to please. It should not have taken so long to… test him.’

Jalmar smiled. ‘You can speak freely, Ambassador. You mean it should not have taken them so long to train him.’

‘Then I am not the first to have such doubts.’

Heimar laughed. ‘Gods, no. We all know it, though no one dare say it aloud. The monks pick a son of ignorant parents, bring him here with only the most useless of his fathers for company, stuff his head with all their nonsense and make a puppet of him. And if the Kiralus should begin to show some spirit… well, you’d be surprised how many Kirali die young.’

‘Not that their power is any the less during the minority,’ Jalmar continued. ‘The clergy dominates the Privy Council and there is always the threat that the Kiralus Reincarnate will ‘choose’ a new Regent if one should prove intractable.’

‘And they don’t like Jalmar much. He’s of too independent a mind for them.’

‘And now that they have installed a Kiralus Reincarnate, he might just ‘choose’ another?’

Jalmar nodded. ‘Exactly.’

They pondered this in silence for a moment until Jalmar asked, ‘Tell me, Ambassador, what became of your Vadnivus?’

‘We have him still, though these days he is merely the head of our one clerical order.’

‘And how is he chosen?’

‘On the death of his predecessor, he is elected from among the senior monks.’

‘Do you no longer believe in his reincarnation?’

‘We do, but we believe that if the gods want the reincarnation of a previous Vadnivus to lead the order they will make it so.’

‘And the Johtalla,’ Heimar asked, ‘how is he chosen?’

‘By heredity. Each Johtalla nominates his most able son and he has many to choose from as he has a wife from every clan.’

‘Really?’ Heimar chuckled. ‘Thank the gods we’re only allowed one.’

‘He is the only one in the kingdom with such a privilege. I believe it began as a way to guarantee the loyalty of the clans.’

‘But does it not lead to competition between his sons and their clans?’ Jalmar asked.

‘Indeed, once. Competition, conflict and sometimes civil war. But it did guarantee us a strong king.’ Berisalzon paused to take a breath before venturing further. ‘When the first Johtalla came to power, the nobility was divided into many clans, each with a powerful clan-lord. War between the clans was a way of life. Of course, the circumstances are different here. We had no royal line as you have, nor was descent traced through the female line. I doubt there would be the same conflicts here.’

Jalmar was silent for a moment. ‘Once, you say. And now?’

‘Now, Johtalla Gerazon’s choice of heir will not be challenged. He has a standing army, well-armed, trained, disciplined and loyal only to him.’

Heimar grinned. ‘Now that would come in handy.’

Berisalzon sighed. ‘We have need for unity now. Our neighbours to the south and west are encroaching on us and they have new weapons of great power.’

‘Do they threaten war against you?’

‘Yes, against us and all their neighbours. Even you.’

Heimar scoffed. ‘Let them try.’

‘My Lord Mikkollar, until now your mountainous terrain has protected you. None would dare attempt to penetrate its treacherous passes. But these armies will follow orders to the last man and are equipped with weapons that can kill a multitude from a great distance. Weapons that give no quarter, nor show any mercy. Not even you will be safe from them.’

‘Is that why you have come here, Ambassador, to seek an alliance with us against them?’

‘Not as such, for, to be honest, your swords and arrows would be of no help against them. No, I have come seeking trade, trade in copper, tin, iron, saltpetre and such elements to make weapons like theirs for our own defence.’

‘And in return?’

‘And in return we could give you weapons and a pact of mutual defence.’

Heimar shook his head. ‘The monks would never allow such trade or such a pact. They would have nothing to do with the outside world.’

‘But, if what the Ambassador says is true, we would have no choice,’ Jalmar said softly.

Heimar looked at him gravely and nodded.

Jalmar stood. ‘Thank you, Ambassador. You have given me much to think on. We must meet again soon.’

As Berisalzon reached the head of the stairs a figure rose from the shadows. The Lady Demeni’s serving woman. He nodded to her. ‘Tell your mistress the seed has been sown.’