[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/4wkpjL4.png[/img]
[h3]Yorum 5: Riddles[/h3]

[i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
The story of the hidden poet opened wounds in Edda's heart. She sat with fresh tears streaming from her eyes.

Even so, her level voice had not wavered at any syllable.

"He was the only survivor of Iulyarom in the end. Previously, in King Akol's conquests, there are more survivors, even amongst the defiant states. The warriors of Loralom take slaves regularly at such times. Iulyarom was different. There was too much hate. Not even the mourning undead were spared – they were ground to pieces and thrown in flames by the Lorals, I was told. There are moans on the wind there now. Not djinn. Moaning hain. Unseen. Looking for the crystal trees they were never carried to."

"And the king," Caress interrupted. "He let you take in the survivor?" She was rapt despite the still-frantic knitting action in her lap.

Edda took a deep breath to stay calm. "Yes…"


[i][center]Iulyarom, 6 PR[/center][/i]
"He summoned me to his tent as soon as he heard about my impasse with his warriors. That was well after the slaughter ended. The loot was being collected and catalogued quickly nearby in an effort to draw the army's attention away from burning the rest of Iulyarom polis to the ground. They still needed infrastructure for the mine they intended to operate for the ravenstone.

The king did not speak immediately from his cushion seat. He merely stared at me with two eyes, tired and hiding an emotional ambivalence. He usually had a calculating glimmer to them. This was different.

I looked back at him as resolutely as I could. The last Iulya, the poet, was bound in rope next to me. I would not let him out of my sight. We both sat before the king without knowing what to expect.

We got nothing but silence for long enough to break our stares.

Then he finally began. 'Nothing is…simple…about this, Edda,' he said. 'I know you know this.' He huffed frustration through his nose. I felt the heat of his anger blow across to me. 'You are dwelling in an army that unanimously wishes that hain next to you dead.'

I took the risk of talking over his pause. 'Does that include you, my king?'

His eyes slowly closed. 'I want to be honest with my friends, Edda. I will be honest with you. That hain's life means [i]nothing[/i] to me personally. It suits me to have him killed to keep my army together. Surely you understand.'

'If you could not care for any of those people who were just dragged out of their homes and executed-' I threw an arm across to the pavilion walls. '-Could you not at least care for this one!? Who just lost everything he knows and loves!?!'

'There are tragedies beyond the coping of one hain that a king must-'

'Your men look up to you!' I pressed on in a passion. 'They respect you! Why did you allow them to do this!?!'

He showed his teeth. '[i]Silence yourself![/i]'

I did, whether I liked it or not.

The rational side of me – the part wishing to sway the king – soon returned to press against the back of my eyes. I should not have let myself be swept away with anger. Too late. The king was quick to riposte, as he was wont to do. He did so severely:

'I do not have to remind you that all my family died to a faceless slaughter. I do not have to demonstrate to you that my eyes, ears, and nose remain uncovered to the all the gore, all the screams, all the laments, and all the waste that occurred this morning.' He leant forward with his hands clutching his knees. 'Do [i]not[/i] presume me to negligence while I build my kingdom, Edda.'

After a defiant moment, I faltered, blinking and breaking eye contact.

He straightened and followed up with his wrath simmering down. 'So, you wish to save this one boy's life. Why?'

It felt like a trick question. King Akol likely knew why I would do such a thing. I considered my answer carefully. It only made me look weak.

'Because I do not wish Toun's mission to be stained by the massacre of an entire hain city-state.'

'Iulyarom is gone,' he shot back. 'You cannot preserve it through one man.' 

He was right. Though I was resolute.

'If I cannot bestow mercy upon this boy, why would anyone call me Ramyem?'

He paused. I knew I had to hold back my emotions, but my voice was renewed.

'Listen,' I continued. 'I know you well enough to see you did not want a massacre either. You know I am…I am furious that you allowed it. With this sparing of a Iulya, I am demonstrating to the campaign that I disapprove of this savage display of hate. I cannot allow the [i]Feathers of the Angel of Mercy,[/i] as they chant, to become so swallowed by their vengeance that they forget why they are here! This kind of massacre can occur no more while this kingdom fights. I doubt you have a better way to teach your men this lesson when so few remain innocent.'

He blinked. We entered another staring contest, he and I.

'And if I instead order the boy executed and deal with my men my own way?' He asked.

'Then they will leave,' I declared. 'You know why they marched, why they united.'

Akol shifted his balance and turned to look at me with his other eyes.

An unspoken conversation exchanged in our minds; we both knew the words and did not need to speak them. It was no secret that Akol's army consisted largely of pilgrims and other faithful. If this scar was left untreated with a spiritual touch, not only would his army shrink, but Loralom's faith could regress right back to its aimless depression. He did not have such a spiritual touch.

My riposte landed well.

I could see him weighing up the situation, trying to find another manoeuvre.

'Alright,' he said, before pointing a finger at me. 'But don't ever threaten to leave again…' He let his hand fall. '…I…It wouldn't end well for either of us. I know you know that.' I sensed a twinge of anxiety in his eyes that I had not seen before. 'I do not want to see you go.'

My heart made a strange movement. I did not recall mentioning that I personally would leave. Come to think of it, I probably would have.

Akol sharply breathed. 'But, you cannot simply adopt the boy. He cannot be one of us. Lorals take the conquered as slaves. That will have to do to make sure that your growing faithful don't split in half, understand? They follow customs just as closely as their faith. The boy will fully be your responsibility.'

I nodded quickly. It was the best I could have hoped for. 'That will be fine,' I added.

'And Edda?'

I craned my head, listening.

'We'll do better,' he said. I was surprised to hear him say it. 'I promise we'll do better.'"


[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
Edda was looking down and tweaking the fabric of Caress' so-large-it-was-spilling shawl between her fingers. "To his credit, he did make great changes to the attitude of the army. He found a way to convey to the warriors that succumbing to hate in spite of their goals was a failure, and he did so without brewing resentment." She blinked. "I think enough of them were young and new to killing innocents. He timed his words like a smith timed his hammer: While they were malleable and feeling wrong about what they had done."

"And you clutched the poet as a slave?" The clicking and fibrous tugging of Caress' work flowed on. She gave a thoughtful hum. "It is a chin-scratching thought, what you demonstrate. Slavery is its own kind of mercy, before the slow tearing that is genocide."

Edda peered up and spoke dryly. "I am unsure about calling it mercy, though I understand your point. I admit, at the time, it was intense guilt driving me. Too intense to fathom. It was an instinct to protect him. It was all I could do."

"Guilt, hm?"

A shadow cast over Edda. A near-silent length of fabric settled into a rough covering around her body. Two of Caress' idle arms straightened her half-completed shawl around Edda. It felt scratchy and soft, like a hug from a sheep. Edda realised at that moment how similar the shapes were on the shawl to the events of her retellings. She could not comment before Caress spoke up again.

"I feel the hurt that graces you. I do recall one point on our voyage where you-"

"I remember it," Edda interrupted suddenly.

Caress resumed her frantic knitting, only now having a twinge of guilt on her full lips. "What did this last Iulya point to as a name?"

"…That is its own story. He fulfilled tasks here and there, he would play the lyre for me upon request. But…His name? Well, he did not speak anything when we took him home, let alone his name…"


[center][i]Loralom Palace, 7 PR[/i][/center]
"I tried to extend understanding at first. The poet had no remaining friends or family. I gave him the march back to Loralom as a time to grieve and…only attempted to converse with him once or twice a day. He was silent and blank, no matter my words. No matter the time.

I should probably just recount one attempt to speak with him. The one where I was closest to giving up.

When we returned to Loralom Palace, I resolved to visit him early the next morning, before he began his duties, just so we could talk in private.

He had nothing to say to me.

And that's about all the substance there is. He had nothing to say, no matter what I spoke. I had tried everything.

When I left the room, I had to stand in the hallway to rebalance the sudden burden that almost tore my shoulders with its weight. I thought I was [i]thinking[/i] at that moment, but in hindsight, I was not [i]thinking[/i] at all. My mind stewed with a cloying doubt that transfixed me into swirls and swirls that never ended. I questioned the worth of my decision. I was not exactly full of hope.

Soon enough, a distraction came. My eyes were drawn by little Greng and Sata clapping their young feet down the hallway to my right.

'Sata! Stop chasing your little brother around so much! You'll run into someone!' Sira rounded the corner at a brisk walk and scooped up one of the hain children.

I stooped and showed my palms to Greng, before picking him up as well. Their laughter did brighten my mood. 'Hello there, little one,' I asked him. 'Are you getting into mischief again?'

Greng waved his little arms and giggled like newly walking hatchlings do.

'Good morning Edda,' Sira said to me on approach. 'These creatures get more energy by the day. They'll be outrunning me before long.'

I laughed less than she did.

Sira noticed and craned her head. 'Are you well?' She asked me. 'You look exhausted.'

I looked at Sata gnawing on her own fingers. My hesitation lasted long enough to give Sira a partial answer.

'It's the poet,' I finally said. 'He is…'

'…Still not talking?'

I shook my head and tried to remain stoic. I felt utterly stupid.

Shifting her child in her arms, Sira placed the back of her hand gently on my shoulder. 'He shall open himself eventually. Perhaps…you could try telling him about our mission?'

'-I tried everything while we marched and while he has been here,' I interrupted her. 'Every variation of it I could think of. I do not believe he shares faith in Toun's teachings. He has lost all trace of faith for anything. He just sits and refuses to see the world for what he can make it.'

Sira glanced away and back. She took in a little gasp. 'Perhaps Toun will have to convince him?'

I barely huffed a laugh through my nose. I did not realise Sira was being serious. 'I prayed to him in the Poet's stead. I am unsure that Toun will raise a glistening set of monuments for every doubtful hain,' I said. 'Akol was one prayer out of many by now.'

'I did not mean that, specifically. Not having him pray for new spires. I meant [i]taking[/i] the poet to the spires. He might hear Toun if he sits beneath the blue stone, no?'

My head shot up level with Sira. 'Oh, of course!' I turned up a palm and would have turned up the other had it not been supporting little Greng as he hugged my shoulder. I drew Sira into an embrace with the children between us. 'That is an excellent thought! Thank you! I will take him there today.'

And so, I did."


[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
"Um," Caress interrupted momentarily. "Point me, if you would, to what is special about this blue stone you mentioned?"

Edda was more than happy to explain. "The glowing blue stone in Akol's Spear, the central tower of the Loralom Spires, bestows visions when one meditates beneath it. People see Toun's suggestions on how to improve themselves and the world around them. Even the faithless walk away with more certainty about their lives."

Caress cocked her head. "So, Toun speaks to you this way?"

"Not exactly," Edda said. "We simply see what he wishes us to see. To better ourselves."

With a high hum, Caress continued her knitting. "Toun's feet must be numb to move if he needs his faithful to gather under a great stone to communicate."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh…" Caress let her mouth hang open. "Nothing of import. Us sculptors are never truly without the touch of another, that is all." She smiled sweetly. "Please, tell me, how was the visit to the spires felt out?"

"Well…"


[center][i]Loralom outskirts, 7 PR[/i][/center]
"Poet, as we simply called him after a while, may have been a quiet one. But, he was still young enough to be tireless on our walk out to the spires. I took several monks with me, as I usually do in public, just to help against the more enthusiastic Lorals that come to meet me. Thankfully, there were only a few who made me pause to speak on the streets.

At first, my excitement was dampened upon Poet's reaction to the spires up close. Or, rather, his lack thereof. Every other hain I knew who saw them for the first time pained their necks to bend and see the glimmering white summit of the tallest towers, looking up in sheer awe. Poet kept his eyes down, as always, as if nought was up there but sour grapes.

'We're almost there,' I told him in the small hope of goading a response. 'I think you will like what you have to see. There is wisdom in the walls. You can experience it.'

We ventured across the long white bridge with its many muddy footprints. The pilgrims were sparse in their visits that early in the day, but there were plenty of monks who greeted me with calls from afar. I showed a greeting palm to each of them.

'Perhaps you would like to meet some of the caretakers, Poet? They are lovely people.'

No answer.

I shook my head and moved us on. We entered the central tower under one of its great archways. There, the blue glow of the stone in Akol's spear lit countless sitting pilgrims. They all sat in quiet contemplation, eyes closed and listening. It was odd, I thought, how the blue light made all their shells look like those of the Iulyas.

Already I felt the familiar call to attention that the sitters stopped to listen to. That red texture that lined the inside wall always looked like a voice.

I looked to the last Iulya with a palm open. 'Poet,' I said patiently. 'I will not pester you to talk here. But you will follow my orders as you have done for everything else. I simply wish for you to sit a while. Sit and…consider things. I will be outside if you need anything.'

I gave his shoulder a reaffirming grip, and then I turned to leave him. He sat down in the sombre light as ordered, just as wordless as before.

He spent half the day there before he emerged. I asked him what he saw.

He did not answer.

..."

"But your tongue tasted a hope, hm?"

"Not initially, Caress. I was, all things considered, without hope for Poet. A pit grew in my stomach from the shame of even trying something so foolish. I spent the silent walk back to the palace wondering what I would do with him. He was still my slave. He could still serve, if quietly. But I wanted to do better for him. He would be a constant reminder of my failure."

"But?"

"Indeed. I noticed something.

He was not keeping his head down on the way back to Loralom Polis. He was looking at the fields around us. His eyes twitched to every pattern-breaking detail. I noticed he was not moving his arms in smooth and precise ways.

I did not sense discomfort from him. Not in a simple way. However, I could not be drawn from my own thoughts enough to ask him why he seemed so different. The remainder of our walk was full of second-guesses. All the way back into the polis, through the streets, into the palace, and to the servants' quarters.

At the closed door to his tiny room, he stopped, facing away from me. I sensed another change.

I waited, curious.

His voice, croaking forth from a long-idle throat, bounced off the door in front of him. 'Ramyem, may I play you a song before you leave?'

A tingle ran back over the top of my skull. It was the first thing he said to me since I found him.

He did not turn around. 'I have one in my mind,' he said. 'I believe you should hear it. Please, Ramyem.'

I regained my wits and flitted my head to check the hallways. 'Of course,' I said. How I did not stumble over my words, only the gods knew.

His breath was held tightly, if otherwise shallow. When he took up his lyre and seated himself on his bed, he checked the strings with the look of a man who held a snake biting his heart. I sat on the floor beside the low bedding with my hands on my knees.

The Poet breathed in deep and shuddered it out. His fingers curled above the strings. Then, he closed his eyes and began.

[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmS153YtRqI]Ghosts[/url][/right]
His song was slow. I sat staring as droll, single notes were plucked in slow time.

…

A pause. For a bar.

…

A low note and the song resumed.
 
I found myself wondering, at first, what had taken Poet's mind in such a sudden desire. He never asked for anything since we left his homeland.

…

A pause. For a bar.

…

The song was all unfamiliar to me. Or perhaps I knew it and had forgotten.

I felt it before I could remember anything. The song applied a mournful push to the temples of my head. I dared not speak. There was some dark inspiration in the melody.

Not 'dark' to speak of anything malign, no.

Dark like a cold night, lying awake and almost asleep. But never succumbing. Remembering a fond event while wrapped up in comfort.

I sank.

The song was relaxing in a way that warned my mind against it. The sinking feeling was irresistible.

And as I sank my legs into the floor, I was swept into my own limbs. Previously unfelt tensions slid gradually out of my shoulders and core. I felt my eyes easing and my fingers letting go.

In a wave, my white robes felt cold against my shell. A draft breathed through and chilled me. Made me shiver.

I remembered the voyage. I remembered Xerxian faces I thought I would forget.

Swelling waves rocking the ship around them. Heads covered in crystal lolled hopelessly back and forth with the tide.

I knew them.

My eyes burned all of a sudden. I scrunched them shut to keep the faces out of my mind's eye.

Was the poet summoning ghosts?

It could have been some magic of that witch goddess the Poet worshipped. I had a mind to stop his music and put an end to whatever trick it was.

But as I pushed my eyes open and leant forward in my seat, I stopped. It was no magic.

The poet kept playing with his eyes closed.

It was just music. I took a breath and tried to take my mind off the song.

Now, with [i]my[/i] mind distracted, I saw the Poet twitching. His breathing was slow and deliberate. Though his fingers missed not a single note, his hands shook whilst holding the lyre.

Then, as a barely audible high note was plucked, a sudden pair of clear rivulets flowed down from Poet's eyes to the end of his downcast beak. They joined in a shuddering glassy bead at the pointed tip and fell, leaving a droplet mark on his clothing.

I scraped away the gathering tears around my own eyes before they could fall.

I only then felt the full weight of the melody upon my temper. The Poet's song was never meant for beauty – though it was beautiful. It was a song meant for memories of the lost past. It was a song of grief. He played not for me, but for himself.

Another three droplets fell from his beak. He did not sob, he just kept playing.

I could only imagine the things in his mind. A young life's worth of people, places, events, friendships, ambitions, and loves. All invoked by his song. All gone forever. Leaving him behind.

The song more-or-less repeated its slow, painful self once more. The only way to keep my composure, I knew, was to stare strongly ahead and not listen. It might have been insulting to do so, but better I remained composed than steal Poet's solitary moment to acknowledge what he had lost.

I was patient. I only let a few tears fall from my beak. I wiped my eyes dry immediately after the song completed.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. They were red and glistening. I was unlikely to look any more confident than him.

I took a breath. I had to breathe my words out to keep myself from bursting. 'You were saying goodbye just now, weren't you?'

He nodded slowly.

'I am glad,' I said. 'What changed your mind? You were dead to the world until now.'

He looked at the top of the lyre in his lap. 'I did not die with them,' he murmured. 'That stone. Toun. He made acknowledge that I did not die with them. I pretended I had died so I would not feel the pain. But I had not died. He made me acknowledge that I could honour them with my skills. There are so many beautiful things that I could never see real if I held onto their spirits. My matron wishes us only that we make beauty. Toun only wishes that I do it well. He dared me to let go. He dared me to cease the mace I was knocking against my broken heart. He dared me to make beauty instead. So, I let go.'

I clenched my jaw and relaxed it. 'And what beauty do you wish to make, now that you have let go?'

'If you would allow me,' he asked with his eyes down. 'I would like to document the unification of Yorum. I would like to compose an epic as it unfolds.'

I stared at him. I stood up to my heels and clutched the Poet's shoulder. I clutched so hard it hurt fingers. 'What is your name, Poet?'

'Anzien.' 

'You may begin tomorrow, Anzien.' I let him go. 'Take the rest of the day to yourself.'

I tried walking out of the room naturally and closing the door behind me. I was stiff and uneasy walking through the palace hallways. I could hear myself breathing.

It was a kind of experience where you question if you had just been in a dream. You list about with a dizzying disbelief of reality around you.

I could not reach my bed chambers before I crossed paths with Korom, the advisor. He raised his hands happily and spoke to me. 'Edda! There you are. Thank you for your advice on Greng's cough. The honey helped him to sleep last night.'

I slowed to a stop to regard him.

'Sira told me you took that slave, the Poet boy, to the Spires. How did you…'

I doubled over with a sudden sob, interrupting Korom.

'…fare?'

I fell to my ankles before I could even breathe to sob again. Korom was immediately close with a hand on my back and my arm. He was open-mouthed in concerned shock.

'Edda, what is wrong? What happened?'

My hand went to the side of my head. I could not stop weeping. I could not even talk. Every breath I took poured back out in a deluge.

Korom was a wise man. Wise enough to know that ill health did not send me to this state. He wrapped his arms around me as we knelt on the hard floor. I embraced him in return and wept loudly into his robes.

I wept for longer than I cared to count.


[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
Edda stopped when she heard Caress make a sound. She looked up to the sculptor's face, only to see her pursing her lips hard and sniffing.

"Is something the matter, Caress?" Edda asked. "I did not wish to make you sad."

"No, no…" Caress used her many arms to simultaneously continue her knitting, wipe the tears gathering under her blindfold, and wave Edda off dismissively. "I was thinking I would share your tale and…another sculptor began humming a song in the-…in a memory of mine, while you recounted what Anzien played. It cupped my heart in two palms." 

Edda did not know what that meant. When Caress sniffed deeply again, Edda produced a handkerchief for her.

One of the many arms provided Caress with the fabric to trumpet the worst of it out of her nose. She took a breath through her mouth and spoke again. "Enough about my organs, this your story Edda. Were you smoothed over in the end? I hope the Poet's grief did not inflame your guilt to a painful red."

Edda looked to the sky to search for her next words. "I was relieved at first, actually. After all the punishment I had given myself, I thought he would open up." She bent a stalk of yellow grass between her fingers. "He made friends with some other servants. He was obedient and respectful. His songs and poems were unmatched. And yet he kept the chapters of his Epic of Yorum a secret. Moreover, towards the royal family and myself, he was cold and distant, at least at first. I felt he blamed us. He resented the campaign when it resumed. I was terribly worried about him, let alone the tone his epic would take."

"'At first,' you say?" Caress wiped the last tears from under her blindfold. "What hand turned?"

"A peculiar one, Caress…"

[center][i]Cuumulom, 8 PR[/i][/center]
"The next march was into a city-state of shamans and djinni worshippers. They were lorded over by the lake djinni who referred to himself as Cuumulo. Thus the Yorumglot suffix for describing a home – -rom – allowed the place the name of Cuumulo's home. Cuumulom.

…Why do you giggle, Caress?"

"Because my tongue danced Yorumglot before Yorum's soil first met your toes, Edda."

"Of course, yes. Sculptor. You are correct. It was merely the way it was explained to me. I thought it interesting. But I digress…

King Akol and his council helped me greatly in teaching the army against further hate. It helped us much that the next adversary was a community of hain essentially enslaved by the djinn around them. They were doomed to always be their playthings and projects. Faith was renewed that we might liberate them, and the marching chants took on a well-reminded unity once more. We knew what we were fighting for again.

It was the chants that turned Anzien's head as he accompanied us. One of the rare moments where he risked primally expressing himself.

It also helped to have bronze. The elite formations now glinted in the sun with bronze maces, spearheads, and helmets. King Akol's regalia had been laden with enough bronze to make him gleam like a demigod, with a full complement of arms and armour. He even had a reflective shield in his left arm, winking back at the sun above.

But, it was not only handheld weapons of war that the bronze enabled. The better tools and materials enabled greater feats of construction. Inspired camp followers wrought wooden engines of war so large they moved on four wheels: Horizontal bows three fathoms across that threw bolts and stones large enough to crack hainshell through shielded formations. They made splinters of the palisade walls that protected smaller city-states. The men called them Tarthna, the Yorumglot word literally meaning 'large hurler.'

I even obtained new regalia myself. One of my monks studying the symbols in the Loralom spires discerned the symbol for Toun. It was two red circles in a third red circle, the outlines tapering to invisible points before they touched at their horizontal halves. We took it as a banner, on a white field, just as white as the spires themselves. It was not a perfect replica, but the calligraphy of the monks was improving by the day.

Of course, no amount of cloth or bronze diminished the challenge before us. Loralom had a mighty army, but Cuumulom's shamans were superior. Not to mention, they had powerful djinn on their side. King Akol knew it would be costly, but we outnumbered them enough for a reasonable chance at victory. The only alternative was a diplomatic solution, and while they had proven effective in the past, none of Akol's negotiations had addressed the fickle and enigmatic djinn before.

Such a relief we felt, then, when we encircled Cuumulom polis and heard our parley accepted. 

It was the afternoon during the camp setup. Cuumulom polis was couched between two rocky hills as part of a broad range of such hills. The bulk of its construction was a crescent of buildings embracing the far-side of a large lake. On the long stretch of lakeshore between the city and the rocky lesser hill was a paved road serving as the main ingress to the polis itself. The Cuumuls had built a gate fort to protect it, which we approached. The hills cast a broad blue shadow across the ground, engulfing the area.

Akol rode halfway to the gates of Cuumulom's forward fort on his beasthound chariot, flanked by his best bodyguards on their own chariots. My chariot came forth as well, in the hope that Toun's mission could touch the heart of a djinni as much as a hain. I left Anzien behind for the sake of safety, though I did not like keeping the young man out of my sight.

We were met by a delegation of Cuumuls toting long hammers trailing blue ribbons. The leader of the delegation bowed. He was a well-washed, buffed-to-a-shine hain in a flowing robe and a helmet crested with blue feathers.

'The Great Cuumulo, feeder of crops, protector of our people, welcomes you most humbly to his kingdom,' the crested delegate hain said. 'Cuumulo expresses his gratitude for you fulfilling his expectations. Long has he anticipated the king of Loralom and his people's faith for the Hermit on the Sea to visit him.'

King Akol stood tall and unwavering. He called back to the delegate. 'Cuumul, the messages we sent forward made our intentions clear, yet your lord did only politely decline our requests. It is my wish that he ponders on my earnest army and sees what is best for his hain. I am here to negotiate the terms of our federation.'

The delegate hain had an odd way of splaying his fingers from his happy upturned palms. It was like he was amused. 'The Great Cuumulo knows exactly that your intentions are to force our surrender. Although, will this not be a costly fight for you? You campaign to unite the region, yet an assault on our walls would meet with the wrath of the djinn. You may prevail, but only by tearing off your legs in payment. Your campaign will continue elsewhere, good king, if you wish it not to end.'

Akol had remarkable patience for the smooth-voiced delegate. 'If Cuumulo knows my intentions, then he knows I have weighed the costs. I will not turn back here.'

The delegate urged with his elbows tucked in. 'My good king, the Great Cuumulo does not wish you to [i]leave[/i] so quickly!'

We flicked our heads in confusion. All of us except the king, that is.

'…Nay, he has long been intrigued by your person, King Akol. He wishes to see how one mortal can amass this power with his droll reputation preceding him.'

Akol lowered his beak. Where his patience remained untempered was with confusing rhetoric.

'The Great Cuumulo suspects, of you, a hidden erudition. He challenges you – or your champion wordsmith – to a game of riddles on the morrow. He, along with allowing you to give the first puzzle, shall even speak Yorumglot to give your eloquence a fair handicap against his centuries of practised allegory. If he wins, Cuumulo shall spare the lives of your men and allow you and all of Loralom to withdraw from our borders in peace, forever. If you win, Cuumulo shall swear allegiance to your god Toun, and join you on your mission.' The delegate giggled under his breath like a child who was playing a trick. 'If this challenge is refused, well…come what may. He believes this alternative resolution shall be best for his hain and yours, good king.'

The rest of us were uneasy. This had to be some ploy to delay the army. King Akol crossed his arms and stared the delegate down.

'My king?' I ventured quietly.

He peered back at me. I knew that look even before it was turned my way.

'May we deliberate on this?' I asked.

The king spoke directly to me. 'Why? I have heard of the wordplay djinn engage in. I do not see why I should accept.'

'Please.' I gave him a look he knew.

His eyes softened. Only a sneezing beasthound broke the silence. With his bodyguard waiting for him to act, Akol turned his head and his chariot before making some distance away.

We only rolled a short way from the delegate before Akol gestured for me to continue. 'Tell me why this is not a waste of time, Edda.'

'Akol, why did you come to the hunt with a mace and not a bow here? This is a chance to spare so many lives.'"

"Excuse me…I am not sure my mind rolled past understanding, Edda. When was there a hunt?"

"Oh, it is a Yorumite turn of phrase. You can kill game easily with a bow, but you need a mace to kill a hain. It's a sign of bad faith to carry a mace to a hunt, so the phrase implies bringing bad faith. The king, indeed, appeared to have no intention of ending the parley peacefully with his indifference to the opportunity before him. However, I did not give him enough credit, as I shall explain."

"I see now. My apologies, continue."

"…King Akol's argument back to me was jaded. He spoke thus. 'The Djinni Lord Cuumulo is an ancient being. He would only do this to delay my assault and to humiliate me. There is no gain in entertaining his challenge because there is no winning it.'

'And what if you did win?' I asked.

'Then I would still have no reason to trust him.'

'Is he a dishonest creature?'

Akol paused. 'By all accounts, he is a just ruler. He is no arbitrary judge. But we are not his subjects.'

'If you can still win, you have no mandate to opt for the plan that will take lives from your army.'

The king sighed. 'Edda, this isn't about hate and vengeance anymore. I am a general as much as a king, and it is my responsibility to pick the plan that buys us victory. I can see no strategy that renders victory over Cuumulo in a game of riddles. You know Korom and Sira are better with words than I, and even they are not djinn.'

I looked around, then came to a realisation. 'I know one who can improvise words better than any other in all your kingdom. He can read the spirit and draw it out of one's body with words. I have witnessed it myself. I know he can do it.'

'Who?' he asked."


[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
"Aaaaah…" Caress smiled brightly. "Dear Anzien, the solitary poet."

"The very same."

"Was he willing?" Caress asked. "His disposition was a sneer to you, was it not?" The tapestry in her lap was already depicting the misty greys and blues of water djinn.

"The process was as difficult as it was simple…"


[center][i]Cuumulom, 8 PR[/i][/center]
"…But, you can likely predict his reaction when I spoke to him in our pavilion.

'This war destroyed my homeland,' he said. 'Why should I contribute to it?'

In my excitement, I had forgotten to temper the shock those words would strike me with.

Anzien continued. 'My only wish is to document Loralom's rise. If it fails here, the epic I write shall reflect it in kind.'

I was crestfallen but determined.

'Anzien, I have seen your fascination with Loralom's spirit. Are you sure you wish to see it fail here?'

'Victory or defeat does not influence me here,' he very nearly spat out the words he spoke. 'I will allow no blood on my hands in this march, and that is why I object.'

My breath left me. I knew, Caress, that my little knowledge of Anzien would be put to the test. I could not simply order him as a slave – it would hurt me to do so, and he would not bring his passion to the task.

'I understand. You dislike the coming battle.' I lifted my eyes to his. My first approach began. 'But, this not a bloody fight I invite you to. It is a contest of words. Your area of expertise and talent. I know you can do this. I want to see you accomplished.'

Anzien pondered. He slowly lowered his beak. 'A war is no place to lose humbleness. I do not want to clash wits with a djinni for my egotistic fulfilment.'

'Of course, right. It is no motivation to you here,' I had to concede. 'Perhaps you can see this as a way to prevent what you are dreading. King Akol would rather assault the city in spite of whatever Cuumulom brings to bear. This is your chance to have your say in staying the king's bloodshed. You could save lives like none could in Iulyarom. These may be strangers, though your experience may be one held in common with them by the end of the attack. And I saw what happened. Anyone with half the heart I have would not wish it upon any other hain. And I know you have more heart than I. You were compassionate enough to recite a poem for me during that horrible morning, in spite of it all.'

Anzien pondered again. 'What of the next obstinate city-state? They will not challenge the king to wordplay. I cannot expect the ongoing campaigns to stay their maces if they are victorious here.'

I had to concede again. 'Hm. You still see the remaining campaign painted with blood, I see.'

I was almost deterred. 'I think you should have more faith, Anzien. Not for Toun or yourself, but for the hain around you. They are shaped by their experiences. Their lives are a kind of poetry. This verse, you would write it before their eyes. What shape would you prefer this experience to take? The shape of bloodied sling stones and maces? Or, perhaps, the shape of one hain's skill and determination overcoming a great djinni with nothing of the former violence. They thought they had no other option in Iulyarom. You can show them otherwise in a way they will never forget. Your words are powerful. They can make a difference.'

Anzien pondered again.

And he continued to ponder.

I pleaded with my eyes. 'I care that you feel hope for this. I protected you in Iulyarom so I could give you hope. Please.'

'I…' Anzien ground his teeth. 'Very well,' he sighed. 'I will do it. But only because you convinced me, and because Toun dared me to swim instead of wallow.'

I was so relieved I almost laughed. 'Thank you, Anzien.'

He was a flurry of ideas, not a minute after he agreed. I had not seen the young man so active in all the time I knew him.

He strode about the camp looking for inspiration. He would talk to the soldiers and camp followers. He would find high places to survey the landscape. Nothing was beyond his consideration.

He kept the exact wording of his riddles to himself. I was asleep before he was done. He worked through the night.


[center][i]The Duel[/i][/center]
Anzien walked straight and tall when the time came to face his adversary. All the soldiers around him, the king included, looked his lesser in height. How he, one knowing he faced a powerful djinni, had been so inspired to courage, I could not fathom. I never thought I would feel worried to see him so confident.

Anzien rode on my beasthound chariot in the same procession as the previous day. We were wordless, mostly because my nerves dug at me like they never had before. King Akol regarded Anzien with passing looks. Anzien paid the king no heed; slaves had no words for kings, after all.

Once more, the Cuumul delegate with the blue-crested helmet met the king's procession, flanked with his brace of hammer-wielding soldiers. This time, the two groups rendezvoused near to the lake shore itself. The barely-lapping waves of the lake on the morning wind was oddly peaceful. It was a calm scene, pregnant with anticipation.

How was Anzien so collected? I kept asking myself.

The crested delegate spread his arms as we stopped. 'The gratitude of Cuumulom could never be expressed in the words of just one hain, good King Akol,' he said. 'Your punctuality is a virtue as well. Watch! When the sun glints on the lake, the great Cuumulo shall generously meet your most noble selves.'

We were, indeed, just in time. The light of the sun already painted the entire western hills in a bright yellow. The converse shadows cast a blue darkness over the rest, including where we stood. In the distance, I could slowly trace the darkness retreating from the base of the hill, over the polis buildings on the other side of the lake, and nearer to the shore.

The blue shadow crept away. The yellow hit the shore. The water glinted in greeting.

That was when my eyes blurred. Or, it seemed as such when looking over the lake. I rubbed at the discomfort and found my vision still affected, or the air wending and rippling, I could not tell. The blur resolved to a mist above the lake waters. In a second, it obscured all the polis beyond. Limbs of the mist rose in cloudy tentacles up to the clear blue sky. The tendrils collectively grasped at their tips and spiralled inward to the centre. Their white masses united to form a shapeless beast from another world, growing and drawing cloud from the tendrils that fed it. It solidified, as only clouds could. Two great arms unfolded from what became its chest. A small head between its broad shoulders grew a beak, much like a hain.

The mist djinni. The lord of this lake, Cuumulo, towered above, taller than a brush beast.

His cloudy expanse shrank and moved in our direction with no show of locomotion. His mass condensed as it shrank into an ever-whirling shell of tiny glittering water droplets.

When they take a recognisable form, most djinn prefer the shape of humans. Such beings are not easy to find beautiful. To my surprise, Cuumulo instead took the form of an enormously tall hain. He was smaller than his titanic introduction, of course, but shrank no smaller than a tedar rovaick. The way the water droplets swam like a never-settling waterfall glinting in the morning light made a beauty I would never forget. 

The Cuumul procession fell to one ankle each and lowered their heads in supplication. Meanwhile, Akol's bodyguard shifted in their chariots. None had seen a djinni as large as this. Not up this close.

[i]'Hail, hail, in sheets on earth…
The thrum-drumming hail I heard…'

'Your hailstones white, hainfeet they be…
Hain as you, who I hail, like others…

King Akol, I hail to you, to greet as my guest.'[/i]

The djinni lake-lord Cuumulo had a voice with a cool, needling touch, like drizzle on one's shoulders. His arms curled and gestured in flowing hain body language.

Cuumulo's appearance seemed just another detail to Akol's calculating gaze. The king raised a hand. 'Cuumulo. I have come to answer your challenge. Before we begin, know that your chance to concede to federation has not been lost. I will unite Yorum, make it greater than it ever was.' He nodded forward. 'And you can be a part of it.'

The djinni spread his watery palms in a grotesque hainsmile.

[i]'Consider, hain king, your kills and clamours crying creation of countries creeping and counted…
Speculate, hain sovereign, the silence and speech that slices and sluices smooth siren songs to myself…

To you, to me, they form the tree travellers, tricksters, and trackers ascend to try tracing true targets.
And why?
It is the water in our lakes.

Know you what I speak, mortal king?'[/i]

King Akol nodded as if it were obvious. 'If it is your desire to continue, then your riddles are better addressed to my champion. You promised we could give the first riddle.' He looked to Anzien and firmly waved him over.

Anzien looked at me for confirmation. I nodded to him, hiding my anxiety.

As he stepped off the back of my chariot, his feet looked heavy and his knees light. His confidence was a performance that only his upper half could maintain perfectly, it seemed. But he showed courage approaching Cuumulo in the first place. The great djinni regarded the last Iulya with looming curiosity.

[i]'You face Cuumulo, the king crowned of Cuumulom, colossal and considered.
A word does wend the wake of you when you would word yourself, and it shall be…what?'[/i]

'You may call me Anzien.'

The shimmering lake djinni sighed in approval.

[i]'Both you and me, be given three, of a chance to see, what all words be.
The mystery first, in the best of your verse, be it long or it terse, begins as your curse.

Begin, Anzien, hain king's champion.'[/i]

Cuumulo uncurled two fingers to indicate Anzien had the floor. The rules were simple to Anzien if they were not completely clear to the rest of us. They would trade riddles. When one made a third incorrect guess, that one stood defeated.

Anzien broke his eye contact with the djinni and cleared his throat.

And so, the duel began.

'In Yorum, I jaunt, as I jaunt all the world. My coming stirs dread in all mortal hearts. A certain tyrant with a mace unbreakable.
Every step is a sweeping humour. Every breath tolls a blade of grass, a tree of leaves, a child's life.
The lesser rivers dare not run, such is their sorrow.
And for months I campaign. I laugh and howl.
Then, when my victory draws near, I circle home to the north to let the world go free.
What am I, great djinni?'

I clutched my palms, one of them up. I had to subdue my pride at Anzien's first riddle.

Cuumulo angled his beak back in delight. [i]'Bring you the bough of unbearable breaking about the mortal body? Your words do well to waver unwise ones. Although, which way do you wander to wait for watery spiryts such as we in the wind…but…in…[/i]winter?[i] Winter is your word.'[/i]

Anzien graciously bowed his head. 'You guessed correctly. Your turn, Lord Cuumulo.'

My pride turned to worry. I pressed my closed fist against my chest.

Cuumulo drew in his gently misting arms and spread them in a strange ritual that shed a sheet of rain onto the lake water under him. Then he spoke his own riddle.

[i]'A feaster, famished forever and for all, freely frolics fanatical and furious.
Found in flames, freezes and flurries, furies and famines, the first and last refuter of all triumph.

No sympathy seems to seep from such a seasoned force.
It suckles not for life. See, its silence is the last that will ever be assumed.

Can it care for cries of rovaick? Howls of hain? Moans of men? Anguish of angels? Damning of dwarves?
It listens for none. Its objective is but one. A desire drawing depths and distances back to blind and baleful beginnings.

What have the hain to name this eternal bane they blame, mortal?'[/i]

Anzien looked to the pitiful waves on the lakeshore.

While he pondered, I stood frozen and unbreathing. I had not a hint of what the lake djinni spoke of.

'If you seek to remind me of death, Cuumulo, you will find my fear of it long gone. Death is what you speak of.'

Cuumulo began at a low rhythmic laugh. His beak shook side to side.

[i]'Your mortal mind muddles in muds and mucks that maroon you.
Death is distinct and dares to destroy only by a droll – if dulcet – dance.

Be broader before you belt a blunder as brash as you just bleated!
Answer again, Anzien. Your first flounder has fallen forth.'[/i]

I could hear Anzien's teeth grinding all the way from my chariot. He appeared otherwise calm and collected, for all that mattered.

What had the djinni spoken of? Something airy and abstract, I was sure. One of many reasons I became a chipper and not a poet myself.

Come on, Anzien, I spoke in my mind. You can find the answer.

'Then it is Entropy. Entropy, chaos, destruction.' Anzien spoke without a hint of questioning in his breath. 'While there stands progress and creation, there is uncaring entropy to fell it. Entropy will make the last sound, as it will cease only when nothing else exists.'

The tall hainoid djinni happily threw up his arms, sending a spray of water up and down onto the surface of the lake.

[i]'Yes! Your yoke is alighted, last Iulya!
Entropy ends your erudition only elsewhen from now, it seems.

Wright me now a riddle in return.'[/i]

Anzien's shoulders relaxed.

Hope remained.

'An event I never forgot was one that, before the eyes of all, broke the courage of a still stone.
An immovable thing shows its fear, and we all show as much fear as we ride upon it.
The fear so great, the danger so felt, that this fear roils the seas to a panic to assault the shore.
The fear, as it passes, makes its claim in the deepest of voices, pertaining to forever.
But it passes.
And the fear passes with it, in little echoes.
What is this fear that makes the unmoving move, for which none of us hain ever know the true cause?'

Yes! Surely this would cause the djinni to make a mistake, I thought. 

[i]'…An…earthquake, Anzien.
The sprays of seas and slashes of shores speak shortly after the shattering draws.
[/i]Earthquake[i] is your word.'[/i]

It seemed so obvious with the words he used. My eyes lowered in disappointment. This djinni was just as fast to answer.

Again, Anzien graciously bowed his head, though I spotted him blinking in an anxious way. 'You are correct again,' he said. 'Speak your next riddle.'

Cuumulo brushed a glittering hand across the side of his beak in another strange gesture. These djinn made little bodily sense.

[i]'The habits of hain to hold heartfelt hampers and hassles is ahead handed heresy in this I howl:
For you all can commit a cunning scheme of courting a craven chord.
A chord having heinous hysterical hate hailing into your homes.
Only one single solitary soul suffices to step and descend.
Trust is tried to betrayal.
Intimacy ends in impassion.
…Pause…it Putrefies…and is Performed…
And the absence ever after always alters the outcome…
For the platitudes of cunning and peals of hate sit pale when placed up to the pile of pouring…[/i]pain[i]…produced post hoc.
Recoil, you, reticent reprobates! This act is never absent from the annals of all with animus!
Recoil…
Until, you, driven to desperation, dive deep into this same depraved desire individually.'[/i]

Cuumulo craned his huge head forward to speak nearly above where Anzien stood. [i]'Answer this act in a word, Anzien.'[/i] He hissed exaggerated disgust.

I swallowed. Anzien could be swept away in a blink by this creature. He somehow remained in place.

'Rebellion,' Anzien said. 'Rebellion is your word.'

[i]'No!'[/i] Cuumulo sprayed his arm across soak Anzien from head to toe with water, making him flinch and blink. The blow had not enough mass to disturb the poet's balance – a chastising gesture. [i]'No! Rebellion reeks of ringleaders and rabbles around and about the battle and bears the bothers of boorish beasts, braying! Rebellion is liked by the louts lingering, lascivious on the land. What I riddle is revealed in the range I so respect it with. Air! Sea! Heavens! All are accused.'[/i]

Cuumulo settled back to his large posture. His patience returned in an instant. He probably enjoyed the theatrics for their own sake.

The djinni added. [i]'One more answer with which you wander to wicked invectives will leave you without the victory.'[/i]

Anzien took his time.

How was he so calm? Be careful, Anzien! This is your last chance!

'Murder.'

I winced at Anzien's quick answer. Could he not have pondered for longer? I thought.

'I know murder,' Anzien continued. 'The gods murder their kin, the djinn murder their kin, the hain murder their kin. Everything with a mind does, as you put it. And I understand, now, that desperation you also mentioned. It almost drove me to murder as well. But you are only wrong in underestimating the chance to resist its temptation.' Anzien lifted his eyes to Cuumulo, squinting in the morning light. 'Murder is your word.'

Cuumulo kept his patience in some supernatural way. The mist djinni sighed in satisfaction once more. [i]'You are correct. I anticipate your upcoming utterance. Utter away, Anzien.'[/i]

As Anzien paused to ground himself once more before the djinni, my mind felt coated by a hot wax, dripping and hardening. This competition was not playing out as I had hoped. I saw king Akol on his chariot, already contemplating the broken shells that would furnish the lakeshore soon. I saw his bodyguard lowering their eyes in spare moments as if they knew the duel was lost.

I almost felt I had made a mistake. The crushing weight almost came to my shoulders again. Almost. Anzien was still so collected and calm. I did not know why or how, only that it gave me hope.

[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8xeStLTnhM]Storm[/url][/right]
'Cuumulo, listen well,' Anzien began once more. 'Look at them…' he swept his arm across to the people in both delegations.

'They are hain.

What they are now, you know.
When they age to dust, just so,
They will leave a strength behind.

A strength unseen, acting on worldly matter;
Ambitions build up and obstacles shatter.
Immortal, such lords as it grows.

It moves earth at a whim and brings forth living water.
The air takes its songs to the darkest of corners,
And my eyes are scarred from its burning.

A mercy that fears not failure nor wounds.
With vision, it rises to rise past the moons.
This power to shape like clay,

Shaped mortals here today.

We shall not march away.

Compelled by this, are we, to be free.

What is this mercy, Lord Cuumulo?'

A moment passed before all my heart swelled. There, I saw Anzien's gambit, as did King Akol and all his bodyguard. Their eyes lit like stars. I knew Anzien has summoned ghosts to them as well.

You'll see why, Caress.

The djinni spoke, thinking himself sly. [i]'You, so keen to preen from a theme in a gleam I have seen in your eyes. Winter was first, then earthquake was versed, this natural order now sings? Immortality? Elemental power? We shape the world and not just mortals! Just now you jump forth, a joke of a generation! Your words junk and jive in their injustice for the word djinn. [/i]Djinn[i] is your word, and a jilting gem it is. Pfah!'[/i]

But he was wrong.

'You are misled, Cuumulo,' Anzien flatly answered. 'I was particular to a different power. What djinni shapes all elements at once and shapes mortals in the same way? What djinni of this description [i]has[/i] defined a mortal? You will find none, for the djinn merely define the base matter of the world, and so you must answer again.'

The sparkling droplets of Cuumulo's tall body slowed their swirling. He looked at Anzien and gradually straightened.

[i]'Pride yourself, Anzien. Your pattern did prescribe a path into peril, I perceive. And peril did poke my pelt most painfully.'[/i]

Cuumulo's chest puffed to regain his stature and pride.

[i]'Artful Anzien, I answer thus,'[/i] Cuumulo said. [i]'The good gathered in your grand poem speaks gratefully of a lasting grace. What force goes never-grinding thus in this gormless gravel universe but gods? [/i]Gods[i] is your word.'[/i]

Anzien shook his beak from side to side. 'Again, you are misled.'

My shoulders tensed with subdued excitement. Cuumulo had only one answer left.

But this time, Cuumulo was not so friendly. His arms shed large droplets menacingly into the lake below. [i]'How, hain? Explain.'[/i]

Anzien did not falter. 'You have limited yourself to the most tangible of answers. Gods, it is true, are powerful beings that created mortals and djinn alike. Their touch can shape the elements in impossible ways. But which god [i]compelled[/i] us to be here? Which god raised our thoughts to march here today? Which god made us free? If you think it is Toun, you are mistaken, for he does not compel us at all. No threats, no violence, nothing from him met those that turned their backs on us. We are here by choice compelled by something else, and it is no god. Answer again, Lord Cuumulo.'

[i]'Hark!'[/i] Cuumulo lowered his beak in disgust and pointed a watery finger at Anzien. [i]'Have you, hain, any hint on the hold upon your head by hazards wholly beyond your comprehension!? Hallow only one entity left in your haughty harmonies! Only one exists!'[/i]

'This will be your final answer,' Anzien declared calmly.

Cuumulo bared his misty teeth. His voice lowered to a dire warning. [i]'Your feint is flawed, for I fear your word is…[/i]Fate.[i]'[/i]

Anzien lifted his beak. 'Are we compelled by fate to be free? Are we compelled by fate to stay or march away? If you would claim fate compels all to everything, fate's compulsion is meaningless to the opposite the word [i]compulsion[/i] implies. But that is hardly relevant, Lord Cuumulo, for your greatest failing is assuming fate is a mercy.' Anzien stood on his toes and pointed a thumb to his chest. 'I, amongst mortals, know all too well the cruel weavings of fate! She plays upon the world for reasons incomprehensible to any, least of all for mercy! You are incorrect, and your final answer is spent.'

At this, Cuumulo bent down to lean his large hain hands upon the lake shore. He stared close and coolly at Anzien with his left pair of eyes. [i]'If Fate be not your word, and your answer not absurd, with justice you should gird your word before me, little hain.'[/i]

With his mouth opening for the word 'hain,' Cuumulo looked ready to swallow Anzien whole. Gone was the dramatic and beautiful creature risen from the lake. His proportions grew beastly and textured itself to a roiling mass of nauseating holes.

I could hear Anzien's breath shiver as he gathered his temper.

'It is a concept I know absent to your awareness, Cuumulo.' Anzien jabbed out a finger towards King Akol's bodyguard. 'Ask any hain who marched here today why they were so driven. If you did, you would see my riddle's answer found in their open hearts! 

[i]'They are hain![/i] – creatures forsaken by nature to struggle and harden in the fires of godly whims!

[i]'Unseen, but in actions upon worldly matter![/i] – all the acts of these hain themselves in defiance of their lot! Production! Invention! Organisation! Technology! Tradition! Harmony of their march! They do all this and more for a reason.

[i]'It moves earth at a whim and brings forth living water.[/i] – Such acts are as easy as lifting twigs when done by the many hands of our people. See what we build! What we raze to the ground! Even living water such as yourself rises to our presence, as we are not to be ignored any longer!
 
[i]'Compelled by this, are we, to be free![/i] – Free from the history of pain and rejection behind us! Free from the chaos that defined this generation! Free from the shrinking away we have done before to survive!

'It is an [i]idea,[/i] Cuumulo! A sanctuary of our creation! My word is [i]Yorum![/i] Yorum united by the power of will before you!

'This is our mercy. A mercy unto ourselves, wrought by us, determined by us!'

Anzien turned his head and raised a fist and shouted. 'Mir-zenem dis-shorm!'

[i]We are the spear…[/i]

King Akol's bodyguards replied instantly, lifting their shining maces to the air and taken by Anzien's power. 'Ron statter dis-glar!!!'

[i]…that shattered the earth!!![/i]

'Aum ver fornem dis-leym!?!'

[i]And who shall shape the clay!?![/i]

'Dis-greym hetn hain!!'

[i]The ready hands of hain!![/i]

Cuumulo, escalating himself, opened his mouth in slowly separating films of water like a drooling hound.

Anzien returned Cuumulo's intense and transparent gaze. He did so with the anger that defied the danger he was in. His teeth held clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his fists creaked tight.

In a sudden shrill crackle, spiralling horns of ice tore out of Cuumulo's back and the sides of his arms. He drew himself up as his left hand bulged into the shape of an immense mace of perfectly clear ice. 

Anzien took a single half-step back.

[i]'A little laughable [/i]idea[i] as is, immortal? Hah! It will last little longer than a generation! But, your insolence is easily included in your insults, insect!'[/i] The mist djinni bellowed and raised his gleaming weapon. [i]'You, finally, will fear death from me for your faili-!'[/i]

And Cuumulo became still. I thought for a moment the rest of him had turned to clear ice, for not even the soft breeze rippling the lake shifted a drop of his body.

A second passed. None knew why he stood still. I looked to the Cuumul delegation and they were just as confused.

Then the water collapsed into a fit of pain. [i]'EEEUAAAAAARGH! AAAARGH! YAAAAAAAAAGH!'[/i] The screams degenerated into a fit of thrashing water and foam. In his cry, Cuumulo's mace-arm melted and his arms clutched at his head until his eyes fused with his hands in a horrific display.

Suddenly, the discord halted. Cuumulo gradually reformed. He took on his sparkling hain body with decorum, even brushing his shoulder of a cloud of brown silt.

[i]'Friend…'[/i] The djinni uttered. [i]'You are fond friends, forever. You bested me.'[/i] His icy protrusions melted away. He looked cordially at King Akol. [i]'Either I honour my oath or I oust my honesty. Cuumulom welcomes Yorum's King's coming. Tell all the tale today; Toun is treated to Cuumulo's treasured time and toil, until tribes of Yorum talk together in turn, united. Hermit in the Sea, hear me, I am given to thee.'[/i]

The djinni bowed.

Odd through Lord Cuumulo's concession had been, Anzien had prevailed."


[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
"At the end of the day, I embraced Anzien," Edda said, her throat now gravelly with extended use. "I held him tight. I was relieved that he was out of danger, but much more than that I was proud. He saw what our mission was all about when he composed those riddles. He had to find it, to find something a djinni like Cuumulo would not understand."

Edda looked up and saw Caress sporting the widest of grins. The sculptor looked to be holding her breath to keep a laugh contained.

"Your story is growing the texture of a bardic epic," Caress said. "Complete with bardic embellishment, with the way it quivers out of your beak."

Edda looked down and laughed through her nose. "The version the real bards are telling is already embellished beyond recognition." She turned her eyes up. "But I do not like lying to my friends. That was the real tale, I promise."

Caress lifted up one of the sections of her now-absurdly long tapestry with a spare hand and thumbed over it. "It is a most fascinating tale, denial cannot be thrown of that."

"It's not the most fascinating turn of events to have occurred in the last few years."

"Oh?" Caress showed an elegant surprise. "Was Anzien changed further?"

Caress leaned her head away. "Oh, he continues to be…avoidant of me. He is no longer cold and dismissive, and even makes poems and songs for the royal family now. But, no matter my patient kindness towards him, he keeps brushing me off. Even after four years."

"Hm? Perhaps your wings are stifling to the young man," Caress offered. "You have clung to him like a mother clings a child, Edda."

Edda was silent. Caress noticed the silence in Edda's held breath.

"…Speak if I am wrong," Caress said cautiously. "Those you lost to the crystals…they…"

"It is not the same, Caress," Edda answered as Caress trailed off.

Caress closed her mouth and exhaled. "I interrupted you. Excuse me. Continue with what you were going to say about the more fascinating things." Caress pulled a smile to defuse the tension.

Edda closed her eyes.


[center][i]Loralom polis, 12 PR[/i][/center]
"Peaceful outcomes were far more common once Cuumulom joined us. Loralom's army grew to such a size that almost every city-state capitulated. Others outright joined us on faith alone where my monks could get a head start on the army. They were spreading our mission.

I was drawn to more negotiating duties as we could afford to compromise to get people on our side. In truth, we are all but unstoppable. Some central kingdoms made up stories of a demon in the south building an army to eat the world, but such a fantasy was the only counterargument that anyone seriously held.

King Akol was happy about our progress. We embraced with relieved laughter whenever a city could be brought in without any lives lost. I enjoyed seeing his dour cynicism washed away in those moments. It was as if he had gained the honest hope that I wanted to give Anzien.

I thought it was going well. Then Akol, Sira, and Korom brought me into a private meeting. Just this morning, actually.

I know them personally as close friends, got to know them outside of their public lives, worked alongside them, minded their children, and so on. Had I not, I would have been concerned about the suddenness of it. I was unsure, either way.

They betrayed little in their expressions when I sat down. It was just me and them.

King Akol sat between his partners on the opposite side of the table. He was hesitant to get to the point of the meeting, which was unlike him.

'You probably know already, Edda,' the king began. 'There have been rumours about the court. Our negotiations on the last march were good, do not mistake, but the rumours are inflamed when a parley turns out unfavourably for Loralom. These rumours are that you are…calling too many decisions, undermining our authority.'

I was shocked. True, the rumours existed ever since word of Anzien's riddle gambit got out. That was a risk, true, but I did not think the rumours were so powerful as to force action. Neither had I any hint that Akol, Korom, or Sira disapproved of my decisions.

King Akol averted his eyes. 'All of these new vassal kingdoms makes these politics unwieldy. Something has to change.'

I spoke with care not to stammer. 'I see. What is going to happen?'

'Well, we cannot exile you,' Akol said. 'It shall not help to imprison you. And we cannot kill you-' [i]Click![/i]

Sira interrupted Akol with a backhand to his arm. She gave him a disapproving look.

Akol huffed and rolled his eyes, before looking straight at me. 'We have come to a decision which will resolve everything.'

I did not know what to make of Akol and Sira's behaviour. 'What would that be?' I asked cautiously as Akol hesitated.

Korom and Sira gave each other, and Akol, a look. They turned up both their palms and lifted their beaks in quiet, genuine, excitement.

Akol was always the more subdued of the three in these matters. He was probably nervous. It was no wonder with what he asked me.

'Would you join our family Edda?'"


[center][i]Loralom farmland, 12 PR[/i][/center]
Caress stopped her knitting and drew in a happy gasp. "Oh, Edda! Congratulations!" The sculptor leant over to wrap Edda in many pairs of gaunt grafted arms.

Edda did not struggle against the embrace. She did not return it, either.

"But what hand is over your mouth?" Caress pulled away and looked with her blindfold at Edda's dubious face. "Are you not happy, Edda? You and they have grown close, I could hear it in the way you speak of each."

Edda did not look directly at Caress' face for a moment.

"You are unsure," Caress said.

Edda sighed. "I do feel their affection. And remarrying would be good for the mission, politically speaking. The latter reason alone is enough that I will accept."

"…But?"

Edda looked down past the grass around her. She gently rolled another stalk of it between her fingers, watching it spin this way and that.

"I lost a part of me when I lost my first family, on the journey to Yorum," she said. "That part of me that loved, it's…left a hole. I do not know if I can give Akol, Sira, and Korom the same love. I do not know if I can give anyone that love anymore. And those three? They are going to see more of Yorum than I will. They are younger. This mission is the only reason that I exist, but they have more to live for."

Caress smiled sympathetically. "Edda, my friend, I believe your mission has taken you away from your hainity. I think you should marry and let them help you find what is left. I think then, perhaps, this matter of Anzien's attitude may fade as a problem in your mind." She straightened in her seat in the grass, taking up her tapestry with a wry smile. "I only wish I could pad my feet in the polis and attend."

Edda's hollow look broke into a breathy laugh. "Caress, I told you because I'm inviting you."

[hr]
[hider=Never force yourself to write alliteration, kids. It's horrible.]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/l41lZjIKsVSiowBSo/giphy.gif[/img]
[b]I WIN, FROGGY-BOI[/b][/center]

Alright, so, Yorum is a crappy novella now. Still, I'm glad I finished this post.

We pick up where we left off in the last episode. Edda and King Akol talk over what to do about this young man Edda saved from the massacre that Akol's army just perpetrated. Akol doesn't want people to mutiny, but Edda eventually sways Akol to allow her to keep the survivor as a slave.

The slave, who they refer to as 'Poet,' doesn't speak to any of them. He does what he is told, but he does not engage with anyone socially. This is much to Edda's disappointment because she wanted to help the poor guy and he just seems depressed. Go figure, his home just got burnt down with everyone in it.

Edda decides, after failing to say anything that causes Poet to talk, to take him to the Loralom Spires. This is on the advice of Sira (one of King Akol's partners), who has a couple of kids now; Greng and Sata.

The Loralom Spires, as a reminder, contain a blue stone in the centre that glows on people and gives them hallucinatory critiques of their conduct and prospects.

Poet sits in there for a while, he STILL remains mute when he comes out, but he's fidgety. When they return to the palace, he finally speaks to Edda, asking to play her a song.

It's a damn sombre song. It's such a sombre song that as Edda is describing it to Caress, some doofus sculptor starts humming a Ludovico Einaudi song over the Jvanic network and makes Caress cry! More seriously, it's such a sombre song that it reminds Edda of her dead friends and family dying from acalya infection. She thinks the song is magic for a moment, but it's just a sombre song.

The song turned out to be Poet's way of grieving and letting go of his lost past. He explains to Edda that Toun challenged him to use his talents rather than pretend he is dead. His 'matron,' the unspecified goddess he previously worshipped, only wants him to make beauty, so the two ideologies combined to give him another chance. He decides he wants to write an epic about this whole unification of Yorum and stuff.

He also says his name is Anzien.

Edda says 'kay, walks out, and bursts into tears because of her own held back grief that the song brought up, as well as hearing about Poet's thought process.

Korom, King Akol's other advisor, comforts Edda.

We skip along to the next campaign. This one is against a djinni-ruled hain city-state named Cuumulom. Its lord is a mist djinni named Cuumulo [s]and his dialogue is cancer more malignant than Jvan's primal essence[/s].

Oh yeah, the Lorals have bronze equipment and ballistae now. The new source of tin ore was a real force multiplier.

The Cuumuls parley with the Lorals. The Cuumuls are dicks and challenge King Akol to a game of riddles to try and settle the whole siege thing.

Akol doesn't really want to go toe-to-toe rap battling a djinni, but Edda convinces him to let Anzien have a crack at it.

Anzien needs some convincing as well, but Edda plays to his sense of impact on the world and he does it.

Did this post convey that Edda's a good negotiator? If not, that's a thing, guys. Thought you ought to know.

Anzien and Cuumulo clash the next morning. Turns out Cuumulo is weird because he shapes himself like a hain instead of a human or just a lump of water. Anyway, he likes alliteration and was painful to write.

Their duel is a 'first to three wrong guesses' riddle game in Yorumglot with Anzien going first. The riddles are kinda bullshit in practical terms, but these guys are meant to be super-bards, so I'm going to let my incompetence pass for higher-level expertise that all you philistines cannot comprehend.

Cuumulo's riddles are all dark and discouraging, with murder and entropy and stuff.

Anzien does a misdirection play. First, he offers two riddles which pertain to Cuumulo's lived domain -- earthquakes and winter -- which Cuumulo answers easily. Anzien also makes two incorrect guesses at Cuumulo's riddles but whether this is intentional or not is unclear. Point is, Anzien's [i]third[/i] riddle was answered with 'Yorum United,' or something along those lines.

King Akol, Edda, and the rest of the Loral delegation knew the answer, but Cuumulo didn't. He answered 'djinn,' 'god,' and 'Fate,' all incorrect, as those were the only immortal and impactful things he knew. He was not the same kind of social creature that a hain is and was unable to join the dots.

Anzien gets really fired up when he explains his answer. Cuumulo gets furious. He's about to wreck face when he has a sudden fit of pain.

He recovers quickly and then suddenly becomes amicable in his defeat. He swears allegiance to Toun and federates his city with Loralom.

Why did this happen this way? Read the unabridged passage and it'll be pretty easy to tell.

Anyway, Edda and Caress banter throughout. Caress hints about a possible maternal complex between Edda and Anzien, but the subject shifts.

Turns out one of the reasons why Edda came out to hang with Caress was to invite her to the wedding of Edda into Akol, Sira, and Korom's family.

Oh yeah, they proposed to her, by the way. Edda kinda bonded into their life as she lived in the palace. It's also politically convenient.

Edda is in two minds about this. She'll do it for the politics, but she doubts her ability to love people anymore after she's poured so much of herself into her religious mission. Also, she's still sore about her previous family.

Caress offers some encouragement.

Bubba Gump: "And that's...that's about it."

But it isn't.

Because Mutton has an horrible flagellation kink that he indulges through writing more than he needs to.

So there's a bonus scene below outlining that Ch'eater has gained some power in South Yorum as well. He's kind of a dick. Just a reminder that he's a dick, you know.
[/hider]

[hider=Meanwhile, in South Yorum]
The double doors groaned open in unison, slow enough to give Renna a good look beyond. The vast chamber spanned ten hain high, many more in width, and an unguessable depth. The madder-red carpet used to be more vibrant, flanked by twin rows of granite pillars all the way to the end. There were no guards. Only a few lights.

It used to be lit by the sun through large windows. The new tyrant had blocked them all out with curtains.

Renna entered with slow, cautious steps. She kept her eyes to each side as if monsters would leap out of the darkness beyond the pillars. The doors groaned shut behind her. She shivered.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The shape of a seated cloaked hain on the stone throne was lit up by a single candle. His beak jutted from its raised hood like the tail of some gnarled fish skeleton. The ends of claw-like fingers grasped at the arms of his seat.

Renna walked forward until she eventually reached the step of the dais the throne sat upon.

The cloaked hain looked silently. The two glowing red motes of his right eyes regarded her from several fathoms away.

Renna knelt down and kept her beak down. The tyrant always spoke first.

She stayed still.

"Do you know why you are here?"

Renna kept her mouth shut.

"You wanted the best for your family. That is what you told me." The tyrant's beak opened and shut with a gentle clack. "You could do that as queen of Riwerlom. I let you keep your position, Renna. You have performed admirably."

The smell of rot hinted in Renna's nostrils.

"I want to reward you…Would you like that?" One of the tyrant's fingers twitched up and down. "Answer me."

Renna's eyes darted. She lifted her head to look up at the tyrant. She still avoided looking at his face – not for the sake of tradition. "I would like that, Tyrant Ch'eater. Very much so."

The tyrant's hand crackled around to open his palm. "I thought you would. I have left in your estate enough treasure that you shall not want for anything more for the rest of your life. Your worries are a thing of the past. You can ignore them now."

"Thank you, my lord," Renna said with surprise. "Your generosity is legendary!"

"Trust me, friend. I have my methods."

Renna's heart skipped a beat. Her viscera knotted in spite of her conscious mind trying to feel relief.

"Thank you for your patience," Ch'eater added.

Renna tilted her head. "My lord?"

Ch'eater lurched forward. "You were not addressed, Queen Renna!" He shouted.

Renna shrank down, lowering her head again.

The tyrant's bestial echo bounced off the walls. He continued when the silence returned. "You, Renna, I wanted to show what matters to your life. Your material security is what can keep your power in your hands. Your progeny will simply betray you. In that way, you lied to me when you said you wanted best for your family."

Renna's heart sped up. She did not know what her lord meant.

"You do not believe me? I can prove it to you."

Fabric rustled. The tyrant stood up.

Renna peeked and regretted her eyes, for they could not pull away.

The tyrant's gnarled arms grew in length out of cloak, revealing raw tendons and muscle, unshelled, snapping and stretching. His fingers thinned and snapped back like the legs of two white-and-red spiders, dripping with a dark fluid. The horrifying proportion of his neck elongating in spite of its own flesh breaking and reshaping made Renna freeze in place. His hood peeled back to reveal the head of the horned hain himself, eyes glowing and teeth grinning with cords of thick black mucus between them. The grin widened until his jaw snapped down past its natural hinge. His mouth and tongue were veined with streaks of black and broken flesh.

Ch'eater reached into his broken mouth, two spindly fingers entered his throat such that his rotten breath made a sound to indicate its unnatural stretching. The fingers and hand pulled away, pulling out a length of soggy yellow mass.

When the length was free from his throat, Ch'eater held it forward as his jaw closed and clicked back to its original place.

The tyrant's voice grew a sinister bubbling to it. "This is part of the food you gifted me when you welcomed my army into your city. A little piece of bread amongst the feast…"

Renna's breath quickened.

"The orange stone from the south-eastern copper mines is abundant. It makes not a polite grit seasoning for such food; would you not say?"

Renna tried to speak. No words came out.

"You tried to poison your lord. You know what your lord can do to your family…"

The tyrant's free arm lengthened grotesquely into the darkness. Black blood dripped onto the carpet and stone. The candle flickered as the arm retracted with another hain in the grasp of its spider-like shell-less hand. The hain was a young man, unconscious.

Renna gasped. She recognised his face.

"…You also know my power," Ch'eater continued. "Thus, you betrayed me and betrayed your progeny to death. You never cared about your first son here. Enjoy what I provide instead, what [i]really[/i] matters."

Two of the tyrant's fingers dislocated and pulled open the hain man's mouth. The fingers holding the poisoned bread eased the morsel into the first son's throat.

The guards outside the great double doors heard a bloodcurdling scream. The one on the left shuddered. This was the one weekly routine he could never stand.
[/hider]