Prelude:
Tihana
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Set days prior to the events in A Chronicle of Crowns, Book 4
Time passes so strangely. Here I be, about to be a woman of forty-five. Forty-five years… so few an’ yet so many. It does not seem so long ago dat I was just a wee thing runnin’ through de grasses o’ de plains. It seems like yesta’day when Nikolai was born, screamin’ and tossin’ while de night be stormin’. Some memories I be wantin’ to forget. Others I wish to re-live. She cradled her belly, grown in the last few weeks. Forty-five. What a strange age. To be so young an’ be so old. A life ahead an’ a life past. I enter into de unknown now. Past de eyes of deh obeah, my three seasons be spent. Who knows what be comin’ next.
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“Mistress, it be de princess again. She be cryin’.”
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Tihana sighed and looked away from the cluttered documents and letters strewn across her desk. Dese will ‘ave to be looked after in deh mornin’. Yeshi, one of her serving girls, stood in the doorway. “An’ Nikolai?”
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Yeshi shook her head. “Sosinna followed ‘im into deh town, but I ‘ave not ‘eard from her eyes.”
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He is probably wit dat sellsword, she thought. Not dat I can blame ‘im. Deh heart be wantin’ what deh heart be wantin’. She sighed a second time and pushed herself up out of her chair. Forty-five, and yet her bones felt much older. It had been this way with Nikolai too, the stiff joints. She could remember her mother complaining of brittle bones and sore joints at a young age, but by forty-five she’d had ten times as many children as Tihana.
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“I will go to ‘er,” Tihana said, sweeping the documents from her desk and stacking them in a neat pile. The pile grew each day. Reports from captains within the Cartel about their quarrels with the remnants of the other powers in the Tropic Cay were mixed with local law ordinances from Portau Lagoon or the other small towns in the Cartel which needed amendment. There were letters from spies she had placed in rival powers, and some on allied ships under captains she was hesitant to trust. There were complaints from captains at Jamison’s alliance with the Halfmoon Empire, and congratulations on Nikolai’s wedding to the Halfmoon Princess. Piles upon piles of reports and tedious law-work that would never get done if left for Jamison. James’s heart belonged to the sea, to adventure, and Tihana loved that about him, but at a certain point these mundane details of governance had to be addressed, and she had taken it upon herself to have them seen.
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On swollen feet she made her way through the damp halls of the Cabin. It was not a mighty palace, this wooden house on the rain-drenched cliffs. But it was more of a home than Tihana had ever known. “I’ll build you a keep,” she could remember Jamison saying to her all those years ago. “One on a cliff overlooking the ocean.”
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“On a cliff, in deh dessert, by deh sea, it does not matter where so long as I am dere wit you,” she had replied.
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The Cabin was quiet tonight. Both Nikolai and Jamison were out in Portau Lagoon, no doubt both drinking in raucous company. They would both come stumbling home at some ungodly hour, and slump into a drunken stupor until mid-morning.
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The princess had taken over Nikolai’s old rooms at the back of the Cabin. They were small, and no doubt much different than what she had grown up with in the mighty palaces of the Halmoon Empire, but she had been welcomed and treated with kindness and warmth, at least on Tihana’s part. Nikolai, however showed very little interest in the girl. Tryphea Condravian was a beauty, even Tihana could admit, despite her troubled past with the empire. The princess had long, black hair with lashes to match, smooth, olive skin and delicate fingers and feet, that always jingled with the sound of golden jewels and bells. At sixteen the princess still looked young and gentle, but she pouted and cried as much as a girl half her age. Tihana had been against the pairing. Nikolai was her only son, her treasure, her world. Also sixteen, Nikolai was brash and adventurous, strong-willed, but deeply gentle. It was no secret that Nikolai preferred the company of his seamen to that of his new wife, and it was not a fault of his character despite what James believed. Jamison Cerian came from a backwards kingdom of laws and procedures that cast him out for failing to follow those same laws. And yet why he still clung to those constricting beliefs, Tihana could not say. What brought Nikolai happiness and health, brought Tihana happiness and health. That was her charge as a mother, to accept and love her son. No more, no less was expected of her.
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However, as she walked through the dark halls of the Cabin, headed towards Nikolai’s weeping wife, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance at her son for not attending to the princess. If not lovers, they could at least become friends.
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The princess’s cries, just like her, were gentle and sweet. They did not ring through the Cabin in some grand performance, but were quiet and honest, a display of her deep sadness and bottomless loneliness. Tihana gently knocked on the door before letting herself in. Daji Kaden, the princess’s governess, stood up and bowed deeply. “Trade Princess,” she said in her thick, Eltnai accent.
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Tihana waved her aside. “It is Tihana, none of dis Trade Princess nonsense.” She turned to the princess, looking small and demur on her bed, her head held within her hands. “Tryphea my dear, still you cry?”
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The princess peaked through her hands. “I cannot help it,” she squeaked. “I think of home, of my sister and brother, and I am saddened by it.”
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“Den you must not be thinkin’ of it,” Tihana replied.
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“This place is just so… strange,” Tryphea continued. “I feel so out of place here. Like I do not belong. I am not accustomed to Portau Lagoon or this house. I do not belong here.”
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Tihana nodded and looked the room over. The princess had decorated it with her Eltani silks and wall-drapes, vases with wilted papyrus reeds, scrolls and incense smokers. Lush colours splashed across the once barren room transforming it into an Eltani palace, albeit as much of an Eltani palace as the small rooms of the Cabin could afford.
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“I wish I had things from home to decorate me halls wit,” Tihana said, reaching up to a nearby chime and gently feeling the weight of it in her hands.
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Tryphea wiped her eyes and asked, “Did you not bring anything here with you from your home?”
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Tihana smiled. “My home,” she said warmly. She walked over to Tryphea’s bed and sad down beside her. She took the princess’s hands in her own, noting the darkness of her own fingers as they danced across the youth’s olive skin. “Let me tell yeh a story,” Tihana said. “A story of home…”
***
I was born in deh rushes an’ deh reeds when deh sun was high an’ blisterin’. The tenth and final child of me ma. She named me Tihana, a name meaning one born of the afternoon sun. She would say I was kissed by deh sun since deh moment I was born, and thus blessed to live a life of heat an’ brilliance. When I was a wee gal, me mother would say to me, “Ah, little reed in deh wind, always bendin’ dis way an’ dat. Be ye careful now child, lest deh wind catch you in ‘is fate. Aw, but go wan. Be ye young an’ mindless fer a-now. So fleetin’ be youth.”
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And so I would go. Racin’ across deh endless plains wit me brothers and me sisters, playin’ at gazelles and bucks without a care in deh world. We did not have much, nay, our village was quaint an’ we lived quiet lives. Deh land sustained us, an’ prayin’ to Migwandid, deh Mother, gave us strength to hunt an’ live.
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When I was but five years old, I was out in deh wilds wit two of me brothers. We ‘ad spotted a mighty elephant, towering over deh plains, four, five men tall. Deh wisemen in our village said dat deh largest of dem be female, fer dey have deh best memories of dehir kind to lead dem to water an’ food. But wit deh beasts came a wind from deh south, warm an’ fast, but different. Dere was a smell on deh wind, I can remember it still fer I ne’er smelt it since. It was like burnt cinnamon, barky an’ heavy wit a memory of lightness. When we got back to deh village we found a stranger dere among the wisemen. She had skin as dark as deh night, hair as wild as deh storm, an eyes as sharp as deh eagle. In her hand she carried a mighty staff of bent an’ gnarled wood, topped wit trinkets dat jingled and sang in deh southern wind.
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At first, I was afraid of dis woman. I had heard stories of obeah’s an’ witches in deh wild, waitin’ to snatch up young’uns to feast on dey’re flesh. I cowered in me mother’s dress fer fear dat dis wild woman would see me an’ know I had been sun-kissed.
But my mother laughed. She pulled be from her skirts an’ presented me to deh woman.
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“Be ye an obeah?” I squeaked.
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Deh old woman laughed, but it was not malicious as an old witches might be, no, ‘er laugh was full an’ deep. “I be an obeah and so much more, young’un,” she said. “I be a traveler, a teacher, a student. I be younger den dis world an’ older den deh soil. I be mother and sister to none and to all.”
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My own little head spun at her words. Dey were strange. She spoke in riddles.
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“My name be Oteshha,” she said, “What be yours?”
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“Tihana,” I replied.
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“Tihana,” she said back. An’ she spoke my name three times. Each time she said it, she rolled it in ‘er mouth, tastin’ my name as she thought. She leaned down den, and looked me in deh eyes. I saw stars sparkle within dem, like deh night sky be reflected in dem despite it being day. An’ she said to me, “Tihana. Three seasons of fifteen I see fer you. One dry,” she said as she passed a thumb over me forehead. “One wet,” she said, as she passed deh same thumb down both me arms, from deh crook of me elbow to me hand. “An’ one fertile,” she said, passing her thumb across me neck.
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“An’ what next?” Me mother asked from above me.
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Deh obeah looked quizzical at me before saying, “What lays beyond, cannot be seen. Forks in deh road, strings wit different paths. Some cut short, some long.”
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“Pray dey be deh long ones,” me mother said.
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“Indeed,” was all deh obeah said back.
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I was sent off to play wit me sisters den an’ when I came back to deh village, deh obeah was gone. I ne’er seen her again. An’ in time I forgot her words, fer dere was too much to explore an’ be in my little world.
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As I got older, I be hearin’ more from deh grown-ones. Dey would sit around deh fire at night, worried about things outside o’ our borders. Stories of villages razed by fire, dehir people stolen in deh night by lighter men in dresses of metal. But we had ne’er seen such men, and so I slept peacefully. Dat peace was nearin’ its end.
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It was my fifteenth year. I had celebrated it wit deh same small, flour cake me mother would make us all. My sisters gave me gifts of straw dolls, their insides pokin’ every which way, run wit colours made from dried bark an’ roots an’ leaves. My brothers gave me gifts of flowers dey’d plucked while huntin’ wit deh men. Me father gave me a kiss on deh forehead, claimin’ he be deh sun, Sudeni.
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I remember when I first saw deh light-skinned men. Dey lined deh horizon, not more den thirty o’ dem. Some rode on deh backs of plain, brown zebras, while others on pale camels. Dehir clothes were rich an’ layered an’ dehir armour glinted in deh sun. I wondered den what dat metal felt like on deh skin, was it cold? Did it make dem cold? Was dat why dey looked so angry in deh heat of deh afternoon? Because dey were bound by dat metal, weighed down an’ ‘eavy.
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Words were not spoken between dem an’ our village. One-minute dey lined deh horizon, deh next dey had descended into our village, our homes, burnin’ an’ takin’ whatever dey pleased. I had ne’er seen so much blood in all my fifteen years as I saw dat day. Deh villagers blood fed deh dirt in deh centre of town, it seeped between tents an' pooled together until deh entire village was red. Deh older people o’ deh village were killed. Me mother and father’s lifeless bodies lay in deh oasis of blood alongside others o’ me kin. Brothers, sisters. Dey were all me family, no matter if dey came from me mother’s womb or not. I, dey kept alive along wit some of me sisters and brothers who were closest in age to me. I was not sure why. Dey bound us in metal chains, an’ me questions about deh metal’s cruel coldness were answered.
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Dey took us from our home, nothin’ now, but ashes an’ blood, an’ paraded us through deh heat of deh plains. We joined others of our kind who had met similar fates to dese pale men. Some would speak to each other in hushed tones about what dey wanted wit us. Were we being punished by deh gods? Had dey set dese men upon us for some misdeed? Some said so long as dere had been deh moon, dere had been dese men, takin’ our people, rapin’ deh women an’ bleedin’ us for dehir evil gods. Dey were demons to us. Evil creatures, not men, not like us.
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Dey forced us to walk on the plains day an’ night, until our little feet were red wit blood an’ blisters both. Fer months we walked until we reached deh sea. Deh Maze Delta dey called it. A large swath o’ salty marshland dat separated the mighty plains of my people from deh desert home of dese demons. It was ‘ere, in one of dehir cities of stone dat I saw me sisters an’ brothers last. I was separated from dem, stripped of me clothes, and paraded round like a doll fer deh men an’ woman to poke an’ pinch an’ judge. I thought I had learned deh true cruelty of deses Eltani peoples, but dehir cruelty had only just begun.
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Later, I had learned dat I was sold as a slave in deh city o’ Methiros. I was not sent to deh slave markets in Petrosius or Hethros fer I was not deemed as beautiful as others. I was kept to be sold as a slave fer deh kitchens o’ lesser houses or fer work on deh shipyards.
Dere was a man who came round, a slave like one o’ us, only olive skinned, Eltani. He was tall, an’ thin and e’eryone shuddered at ‘is look. He was called Ahvydah, an’ it was whispered dat he worked fer a dangerous man with an appetite fer young boys. My brother, only a year older den me was taken by dis man. He pleaded, an’ said he was sixteen, far too old fer dis man’s master, but he was sold to ‘im just deh same.
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I was bought alongside many others by a plump, little priest from deh Temple of Cheo. Hundreds o’ us were piled in deh bottom o’ deh priest’s skiff and sent off to sea. But I ne’er saw deh sea. Dere were no windows in deh bowels of dat ship. It was darkness an’ weeping an’ deh stench of death for an entire month before we saw deh light of day again. Many of us died. When I close my eyes, I can sometimes remember deh stench. I can sometimes remember deh touch of one who had died. Dehir skin cold, firm to deh touch. We could do nothin’ fer dem, but mourn, an’ both wish we ‘ad joined dem in death, and celebrate dat we still ‘ad life to live.
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Deh Temple of Cheo was far from Methiros on deh western coast, east of deh many tiny islands dat dotted deh western shore of deh Halfmoon Empire. High Priest Vibenki was a malicious man fer one being so plump an’ squat. I was told deh temple was home to Cheo, deh god of the sun. At first, I let myself be hopeful, dat one sun-kissed as me, had been bought by deh sun god. Cheo was not a god o’ my people, but perhaps he knew Sudeni an’ Migwandis an’ all the gods of me kin. Cheo did not.
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I was kept wit deh other slaves in deh bowels o’ deh temple. Out o’ sight an’ out o’ trouble. Cheo was a demanding god. He asked much of his followers, an’ even more so of me an’ me people. E’ery week deh priests of deh temple would bleed us. You look shocked. Have you not seen me scars? Dey run, from deh crook of me elbow to me hands, deh same as deh obeah’s thumb. My blood dey offered to your sun god. I often wondered why Cheo would ask fer deh blood of pagans. We did not believe in ‘im. How could our blood bring ‘im any kind of power? Perhaps, I reasoned, Cheo did not know dat deh blood he was offered was not of his followers.
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For fifteen years I toiled in the dungeons of the temple, serving your gods wit my life blood. Dere were many of us who did not survive long, an’ I wondered why so many around me died, while I kept on. Perhaps Sudeni saw me plight under another sun god, an’ fueled me wit spite to keep me alive.
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Slowly, I began to know some o’ deh other slaves. Dere was a young harem of boys who belonged to High Priest Vibenki. Ragged, terrified, little things. I became a mother of sorts to dem when I could. One o’ dem was named Xaygar, he was deh smallest of deh boys, and often treated deh worst by Vibenki’s appetites. Deh boys gave me purpose in dose years. I was but a lowly blood-letting slave, but in time me station improved. I co-operated wit deh priests. I showed respect, though false. An’ one day I was taken from deh slave pens where derh other blood-letters were kept, and brought to deh quarters of deh cleaners. Me days o’ blood-letting were behind me, I thought now, truly, Sudeni an’ Cheo had come to an understandin’ of my sun-kissed birth. Deh days as a cleaner were long an’ hard, but me arms healed an’ were ne’er opened again. I lost count o’ deh years. E’ery day was deh same in an’ out. My boys grew, and High Priest Vibenki grew crueler in his old age.
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Xaygar grew defiant as a youth. He was often whipped when he slapped away deh high priest’s hands. He and deh other boys were getting older an’ too wild fer deh high priest to control. But it wasn’t until deh high priest killed one of dem when we decided to escape. Bindo was not much older den Xayger. He had been serving deh high priest since before he could speak. It was deh only life he had e’er known. Deh high priest strangled deh boy to death in deh heat of passion, right before deh eyes o’ deh other boys. Dey came to me weeping an’ afraid fer dehir own lives.
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Though me arms ‘ad healed, an’ me place in deh temple had improved since first comin’ dere, I knew in my heart we had to leave. But deh question was how.
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Deh Temple of Cheo is far flung from deh capital of deh Empire. But deh islands on the coast are still far enough away from deh Tropic Cay dat piratin’ be rare in deh waters. Deh only merchants who came to deh temple be Eltani, an’ I knew I could not be counting on dem to help some run-away slaves. An’ e’en if we were to get away, where would we be goin’? I didn’t know deh way back to my plains, an’ besides, what home was dere waitin’ for me? It had burned to deh ground.
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But dere were whispers here an’ dere. Whispers of slaves who’d made it out o’ deh empire an’ into deh waters of deh Tropic Cay. Dey’d say dat slaves dere were free. Deh empire didn’t go after slaves who fled so far. Slaves were not worth deh effort. If I could get us dere, to dose waters, I knew we’d be safe an’ more importantly, we’d be free.
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Now, I don’t ‘ave to be tellin’ you princess dat deh Temple of Cheo sits on deh coast, I am sure yeh know yer geography of yer own home. But dere is a smaller town wit an ancient shrine on an island ‘bout a day’s sail away. Divine Waborah it be called, named so for deh goddess of fishes. E’ery year dere is a celebration in dat tiny town, where it is said Waborah once appeared to bless her shrine. I knew it would be easier to escape into deh islands while dere, den it would be at deh temple.
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E’ery year, High Priest Vibenki travelled to deh shrine to lead deh celebrations. An’ where Vibenki went, dere too went ‘is boys. I pulled some strings wit deh head slave, an’ weaseled me way onto deh boat as servin’ crew fer deh High Priest. Securin’ my chance to escape wit deh boys.
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It was deh first time in fifteen years since I had left deh temple. I turned thirty as deh skiff bobbed through deh waves toward deh shrine. Deh sun was hot dat day, I remember. An’ I stood on deh deck o’ deh skiff in deh mornin’ an’ asked fer deh sun to kiss me again, fer good luck, an’ a quick escape.
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Divine Waborah was deh third, an’ would be deh last, town in deh empire I had seen. It was tiny compared to Methiros, an’ e’evn smaller den deh Temple of Cheo. It was nothin’ more den a fisherman’s town wit a painted, coral statue of Waborah at its docks. An’ yet deh town had swollen wit visitors comin’ to celebrate deh goddess an' hope to see her visit her shrine once more. Dere were priests from deh Temple of Shi’lao, deh sister temple of our own; villagers from nearby Tijjina an’ Tayoutta; deh Governor of Medousa Island ‘imself was dere wit a mighty retinue of slaves an’ servants. It was a spectacle of colour and celebration like I ‘ad ne’er seen from dese Eltani people. I thought surely enough, a few slaves slipped between deh cracks would go unnoticed.
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We did not stay in Divine Waborah fer long. On deh first night, while deh high priest was supping wit his fellow ungodly men, I took deh opportunity to escape wit my boys. Xaygar clung to me like a barnacle as we slipped from deh skiff and into deh village. It was surprisingly simply all things considered. Slippin’ away in deh night. I had half expected a fight an’ had stolen a fillet knife from deh skiff’s kitchen, prayin’ to Migwandis I wouldn’t ‘ave to use it. But what do to next, I did not know. My mind was bent on gettin’ to deh Tropic Cay, to freedom. We stole a raft, just big enough to carry us to sea, and I paddled away from deh island. Divine Waborah grew smaller an’ smaller, until it was just lights on deh water.
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Now I knew little of deh ocean. I ‘ad ne’er seen deh massive waves as a girl in deh plains. We ‘ad ponds and oasis, but nothin’ as wide as deh sea. I paddled and paddled, but deh further I got from deh islands, deh rougher deh sea got. Night passed to day, and I could see nothin’ before me, but sea. Nothin’ behind me, but sea. I prayed for Migwandis’s guidance, an’ hoped fer a rescuer. It was dat she led me to James.
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As e’enin’ approached Xaygar cried out. His eyes ‘ad been watchin’ our backs, and on deh horizon he saw a ship. As it sailed closer, my heart sank, fer I knew it was deh high priest’s skiff. I could not paddle fast enough to outrun it, but I refused to give up. Deh sea grew rough, an’ deh waves knocked us about. I can remember deh sea rising an’ falling. One minute it was empty but fer deh waves, deh next, a great galley appeared before us, cresting deh waves like a bird in deh sky. Deh men aboard looked frantic as dey ran too an’ fro across deh deck. Deh lowered ropes to us, an’ urged us to climb dem, up onto deh ship. I forced deh boys to climb first, watchin’ in terror as deh high priest’s skiff came closer an’ closer. When it was my turn to climb aboard, I was met by an outstretched hand. Deh sun sat heavy in deh sky behind ‘is right shoulder. His beard was short, but messy, an’ his face was burnt from deh sun, colouring ‘im red, but ‘is blue eyes were gentle and kind. I grabbed ‘is hand, and Jamison pulled me aboard. I could not speak Aralian at dat time. I had barely begun to understand deh sharp tongue of deh Eltani. I know when deh skiff arrived dat Jamison and deh high priest shared words, but I could not tell you what deh were. Dey were vicious, accusatory, angry words. An’ when talkin’ escalated to battle, I felt deh same rush as any man when I saw deh high priest’s skiff sink to deh ocean floor. I shouted at its remains like an animal, an’ Jamison smiled, shocked at me viciousness. He joined in, an’ together we cried out fer deh wrong-doings done to us both.
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Jamison was kind to me after dat. It was only days later dat we were smitten wit one another. Nikolai was convinced on dat boat, one clear night under deh stars. I can still remember how tender James was wit me. We spoke broken Eltani to each other, whisperin’ our passions as best we could. I saw in ‘im somethin’ I hadn’t seen in many years. Respect. Awe. Adoration. He was a great man, dis I knew. Life has been rough on ‘im. He was cast from his home, just as I ‘ad been, forced to make a new life o’ his own. He ‘as seen betrayal an’ hardship, but he has turned dese unruly islands into a better place. He allied together deh boisterous pirates of deh Tropic Cay, formed dem into somethin’ greater den dey were. An’ I vowed to be dere, by ‘is side as he rose from his own ashes into somethin’ new. I saw in ‘im deh strength to wish deh same fer myself.
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Fifteen years of dryness, of calm, of simplicity. Another fifteen of wet, bled fer foreign an’ cruel gods. An’ fifteen years of fertility, of blossoming growth an’ establishin’ a home. I turn forty-five in a few days. Forty-five. I ‘ave lived many lives in forty-five long an’ short years. But me next season be mine own to choose. Deh obeah said dere were many paths open fer me. Just as dere are fer you, princess. Home will change again an’ again through deh years. So right now, it is ‘ere. Together we will make it a home fer deh both of us.
***
Tihana left Tryphea in her rooms, the princess’s tears spent, and slowly walked back to her own, gently rubbing her belly as she went. An old tune whispered its way into her mind, something her mother used to sing, the words now long forgotten. She hummed the notes gently to herself. The old Cabin didn’t feel as damp and cold now as it had earlier. The braziers in the hall were lit, and the cozy warmth wrapped itself around Tihana. Yes, she was entering an unknown, an unwritten part of her life, one beyond the eyes of the obeah. But she was born sun-kissed, wild, and free. She decided then that this next chapter of hers should be one of home.
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The story continues in A Chronicle of Crowns.