And the Rivers Sang: Spring and Autumn

By T. E. Waters

Five brothers. One throne. And a humble boatman.

 

The unexpected death of Prince Mukkuen's eldest brother, the king of Sra, sends the entire country into tumult when Mukkuen's vicious second brother kills the young heir and seizes the throne for himself. Mukkuen and third brother Pieh flee, fearing for their lives; youngest brother Khesjit stays behind, pretending to swear loyalty to the usurper.

 

As the fourth son, Mukkuen has never been a particularly ambitious man, and soon resigns himself to a life of exile. Pieh, on the other hand, plots obsessively to return and overthrow their usurper brother. As their paths drift apart, Mukkuen sets off on a journey down the southern rivers together with a mysterious but captivating young boatman who opens his eyes to a world of magic and wonder…

 

But these days of idle paradise cannot last. Pieh sets his plans into motion. Khesjit, too, makes his move. Mukkuen, torn between family, duty, and love, comes to realize that even the power of the rivers may not be enough to change his fate.

 

A novella of the Spring and Autumn universe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. E. Waters
• Release date: Jul 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393678175

Book preview

AND THE RIVERS SANG

A Spring and Autumn Novella

T. E. WATERS

Copyright © 2020 by T. E. Waters

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, by any means, without written permission from the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Five brothers. One throne. And a humble boatman.

The unexpected death of Prince Mukkuen’s eldest brother, the king of Sra, sends the entire country into tumult when Mukkuen’s vicious second brother kills the young heir and seizes the throne for himself. Mukkuen and third brother Pieh flee, fearing for their lives; youngest brother Khesjit stays behind, pretending to swear loyalty to the usurper.

As the fourth son, Mukkuen has never been a particularly ambitious man, and soon resigns himself to a life of exile. Pieh, on the other hand, plots obsessively to return and overthrow their usurper brother. As their paths drift apart, Mukkuen sets off on a journey down the southern rivers together with a mysterious but captivating young boatman who opens his eyes to a world of magic and wonder…

But these days of idle paradise cannot last. Pieh sets his plans into motion. Khesjit, too, makes his move. Mukkuen, torn between family, duty, and love, comes to realize that even the power of the rivers may not be enough to change his fate.

Barebones Pronunciation Guide

I’m no linguist, so this is really only how names (usually) sound in my head, not some definitive guide. Feel free to read in whatever way feels most comfortable.

TU STYLE

Mukkuen: Two syllables, neither particularly stressed. Unlike most other instances of m, this M is closer to Hm. Similarly, k in Muk is almost silent. A simple approximation is mu-kwen.

Cze prefix: Between an English ch and j sound. For example, Czesiek is approximately jeh-syehk. These names are always two syllables, stress on second.

Mieh (rhymes with Pieh): One syllable. myeh

Hiom: One syllable, breathy initial. hyohm

Tau: One syllable. Beginning of tower.

Wei: One syllable. way

Khesjit: Two syllables, stress on first. Kh between English k and g. First syllable rhymes with less. KESS-jeet

Klanh: One syllable. The a from father. Otherwise read how it looks.

Kuiz: One syllable. Close to quits.

Naslin: Two syllables. Rise-fall intonation. Lisped sl. Closer to NAH-hleen

Trawnua: Two syllables, first rhymes with draw. Rise-fall intonation. TRAW-nwah

Slaz: One syllable. Close to slots, sl less articulated like Naslin.

Zhae: One syllable. Approximately English jay but ending clipped to be more of an elongated eh.

(LOOSELY) SRA

Krengsra: Two syllables, unstressed falling intonation, rolled r in sra. krehn-srah

Awat: Two syllables, stress on second. Like the unit of measurement, but the w is closer to English v if you’re talking to a tribesman. Basically, ah-WAHT or uh-VAHT

Khonua: Two or three syllables, stress/intonation varies. Kho similar to the beginning of corn, same k as Khesjit. Mostly koh-nwah

Rathai: Two syllables, stress on second. Soft t, ai like eye. ruh-TAI

Nanue: Two, almost three syllables for tribesmen. nah-NWEH or rising nuh-n-weh

TRIBAL

Aoka: Three syllables, stress on first. AH-oh-kuh

Khobishne: Three syllables, stress on second, last one clipped. Same kho as Khonua. koh-BEE-shneh

Dangdukais: Three syllables, stress on first (almost rhymes with song), second barely voiced. Rhymes with nice. Approximately DAHN-d’kice

Palhem: Two syllables, stress on second, otherwise rhymes with fathom. puh-THOM

Ti-Muah: Three syllables, stress on last. tee moo-AH

Makabis: Three syllables, stress on second, rhymes with fleece. muh-KAH-beece

Kuozslu: Two syllables, stress on first, soft z. KWOHZ-loo

Dhuktan: Two syllables, stress on first, dh like the start of they. THOOK-tahn

Table of Contents

Synopsis

Barebones Pronunciation Guide

1. Flight

2. Exile

3. Crossroads

4. Return

Author’s Notes

Name Glossary

Mieh Family Tree

Connect with me

1. Flight

Year Four of the Reign of the Twenty-Fourth High King of Tu

By all rights it had been the worst year of Mukkuen’s life. Worse than that stormy spring when swamp fever claimed the lives of nearly a quarter of the capital, including that of his favorite sister. Worse than that disastrous faraway summer when the armies of Sra and Cziens met at the plains of Dranpan. Worse even than the stifling autumn that followed, when lingering demons from those blood-drenched fields claimed his left eye. And yet as Mukkuen gazed out upon the shimmering waters of the river with his remaining vision, all grief and fear seemed as distant and intangible as the familiar landmarks enveloped by morning mist on the far bank.

His older brother Pieh, standing only a few strides away, was not so at ease. The wide set of his shoulders was tense with frustration, and his foot was tapping visibly beneath the layered skirts of his robes. To his credit, he had so far managed to restrain the usual thunder of his voice, but Mukkuen knew that would not last long.

Sure enough:

What did you say? Pieh roared, startling a flock of wintering geese into the air.

The ragged servant boy they’d brought with them — a eunuch who had been intended as a gift for the Inner Court (no longer, now) — immediately dropped to his knees, bowing and whimpering as if he thought such a display would move his master’s heart. But Pieh was not even looking at the boy. The full power of his fiery gaze was trained instead upon the lithe, tattooed boatman wading knee deep in the water beside the reeds where his craft had been secured.

They’d not expected to come across anyone here. Not so soon. Not with such convenient timing. Ten years ago Mukkuen would have thought such a coincidental encounter to be luck, perhaps. A blessing. A sign that the heavens were indeed still on their side, that the justice of gods and men was still aligned.

Mukkuen was not so sure of that now. A blessing might very well be a curse in disguise. He’d learned long ago that the heavens had more of a sense of humor than any of the great sages of yore ever suggested.

Either way, Pieh’s glare was a force of nature itself. Mukkuen was rather surprised, therefore, when the boatman simply returned his brother’s gaze, lips still curved in the slight, inscrutable smile that had graced his face ever since their initial exchange of greetings.

And even more surprised when Pieh was the one to break away first, turning to his servant boy.

How dare this lowly barbarian demand payment from us! Does he not realize whom he addresses?

Mukkuen didn’t bother reminding Pieh of the need for anonymity that had forced them to dispose of chariot and horses for a pittance at the last settlement they’d passed.

This humble one offers his deepest apologies, my lord, piped the servant boy in his quavering, childish voice. But the good sir insists that he cannot serve as our guide without some form of recompense. It would be — it would cause much offense to the lords of the river, otherwise.

Cannot? Will not, I’d wager! Pieh spat, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Lords of the river, my ass. And just who is it all the rivers of the south pay tribute to anyway? Why don’t you ask him that, huh?

The boy bowed again and did so, murmuring softly to the boatman in an awkward, lilting patter.

He says the rivers run where they will, my lord.

Evidently it was not the answer Pieh had been expecting, for he muttered, after a brief stunned moment, Well, he can go to the dogs!

Oh, just pay him, won’t you? Mukkuen snapped, his usual even temper beginning to fray at last despite the haze that had blanketed all his senses for days. The man’s got a family or a village to care for, no doubt. Think for a moment what you are asking of him!

Easy for you to say, Little Muk! Just how much do you think we were able to take with us on such short notice? Just how much do you think we’re going to need in the coming weeks if we are to —

Pieh broke off, beard trembling, eyes stricken. Whatever anger had been arising in Mukkuen dissipated at once, replaced by cold, aching clarity.

Brother, he said quietly. We are alone. Away from our domains. Separated from our most trusted men. You cannot expect a single stranger to step into their place so easily. He owes us nothing.

I’ll just find another damn boatman. Throw a stone and hit one, in these backwater wilds. Won’t take long to find one whose loyalty still holds true!

True to what or to whom, Mukkuen did not ask. Instead, he said, Even more than goods and valuables, it is time that we cannot afford now, Brother, no matter how little. His fingers reached for the familiar comfort of his sword hilt. Besides, is it not said that the men of Wat know the rivers of the south better even than the heavens themselves?

Pieh scowled. Mukkuen relaxed, knowing he had won.

Negotiations went as smoothly as one could hope after that, considering their rocky start, and soon enough the two lords and their curious entourage were gliding off into the waters through the mist, like immortals questing for the gods.

* * *

Mukkuen woke gasping from a nightmare of tiny flayed hands and featureless heads bobbing in a lake of blood and maggots. He pulled himself weakly upright and draped his torso over the boat’s edge, heaving.

Ah, the boat. He remembered now. They’d hired a boat. And just in time, too. Though neither he nor his brother would admit it out loud, they had spent the entire day straining for the echo of hoofbeats and the clatter of wheels, the heavy squelching tread of spearmen, the whistling of arrows through the mist.

But all was quiet on the river, and in the end both of them had fallen into deep slumber for the first time in days, too exhausted for discussion or conversation.

He rubbed at his face. His fingers were numb with cold. He had forgotten how harsh winter was in the wild, even in these milder climates that were the secret envy of the neighboring states of Tu.

You are sick? asked a soft voice.

No, I’m fine, Mukkuen responded automatically. Just a bad dream.

The voice chuckled. Same thing. Sickness of spirit.

Too late, his senses drew back into alertness. He straightened, hand grasping for his sword, and found himself staring straight into the smiling, tattooed face of the boatman of Wat.

You know the tongue of Tu, said Mukkuen, unable to keep the accusation entirely out of his voice. The man was cleanshaven, his hair cropped short in the manner of his people. The image was not irreconcilable with this new revelation, and just hours earlier would not even have been startling.

But in the darkness, all turned uncanny.

A little, only, the boatman replied after a brief pause.

Why did you not say so? Why insist on a poor go-between who must struggle to communicate your intent?

You greeted me with the river’s words. ‘Twas only proper to respond in like.

It was a moment before Mukkuen understood. When they’d first seen the boatman wading among the reeds that morning, a ghostly silhouette against the silver waters, it had been Mukkuen who, instead of adhering to appropriate etiquette, called out one of the traditional greetings of the riverfolk: How go the currents this morn? It was the only line Mukkuen knew in their tongue, picked up in the past from an old retainer, a brief snatch of a phrase he’d thought long forgotten. But in that moment the words had come bubbling to his lips, as clear as the day he first heard them spoken, and it had seemed only right, fitting, that he should have chosen them.

Thinking on it now, it all seemed terribly strange. Unnatural. But the natural order had already been upset for months — all the more so now. What difference a humble greeting, a mere handful of words?

Something must have showed in Mukkuen’s face, for the boatman lowered his gaze and backed away. Beyond him, Pieh was snoring lightly at the other end of the boat, his servant boy huddled at his feet. A slight breeze ruffled the grass on the shore.

Mukkuen took a deep breath. What is your name?

The boatman crouched down and readjusted the woven hemp coverlet that had slipped from Mukkuen in his waking panic, but still did not look him in the eye.

This, too, struck Mukkuen as odd, after the man’s earlier confrontation with Pieh. He reached up to reassure himself that the patch covering his empty socket had not shifted out of place. It was indeed still there.

I am called Aoka, the boatman replied at last, settling back into his own cramped position at the center of the boat.

Aoka. A name typical of the river tribes. The syllables rolled off Mukkuen’s tongue, both familiar and unfamiliar at once, so used was he to the formal speech of the Sra court over the common dialects of his people.

And how am I to address my lord?

Mukkuen blinked, unsure he had heard correctly. What did it matter, out here in the wild, how a wetland barbarian should address a man who had lost everything?

Only then did it occur to him to be suspicious. He and his brother were alone. Entirely at the mercy of this stranger. Who had pretended to be a common boatman, one unfamiliar with the ways of the lords of Tu, ways shared only by the elite of their own kingdom.

Had not Mukkuen found the timing of their encounter most peculiar? Had he not wondered if this were not, after all, some cruel trick of fate?

And yet the news should not have traveled so quickly.

And yet the capital’s affairs were hardly the only motive for which a man might choose to act.

Traveler beware. All the more so in times such as these.

I am no lord, said Mukkuen, not quite lying, well aware that the quality of his clothes spoke otherwise. Address me however you wish.

Your name, then.

By the time the words registered, Mukkuen realized that the boatman was looking up at him again, solemn expression enlivened by a hint of playful daring in his clear, bright gaze.

Before he could stop himself, he said, You are the only one who has ever faced my brother’s fury and…

And what? Survived?

No, replied Mukkuen, momentarily perturbed. Czekar may shout and rage, but in the end it is all bluster. He is not a man overfond of the blade, unlikely as that must seem to a stranger.

Oh?

What possessed him to continue, Mukkuen could not say, but continue he did. Had it been one of my other brothers, it would have been a different story. Had it been one of them, you would not be sitting here before me now.

Hm.

This revelation seemed to bother the boatman little, if at all. Perhaps the man hadn’t understood a single word, despite his claims.

If only it were so.

Softly, he said, Mukkuen is the name my mother gave me.

Then Mukkuen I shall call you.

Hearing his birth name from the lips of a stranger sent a chill down Mukkuen’s back.

Still, he had made his choice.

* * *

I still think we should have fled east, to my domains rather than to yours, said Mukkuen after two or three days of following the waters of the Hans north. It’s not too late to turn back. We would be safer there, better able to prepare our next move.

As safe as chickens in a fox den! retorted Pieh.

He won’t send men after us if we head east. He cannot afford to split the kingdom’s forces further than they already are. Your domains, on the other hand, are surrounded by the lands of the lesser lineages, whose loyalties are now uncertain.

What difference does it make? Our main priority is to regroup with our men. We must act swiftly — before Wei’s had time to establish his authority.

Mukkuen tilted his head, glancing uneasily toward the boat, where Aoka and the servant boy seemed to be chatting. He had long suspected Pieh’s true motive in heading back north, but simply pretended not to notice. You mean to raise arms against him.

Pieh shot him an incredulous look. Of course. He is a usurper! A traitor! Child murderer! One who has defied the will of Heaven!

He is our brother.

So was Tau!

But it was not Tau who had been killed.

Mukkuen clenched his hands at his side, forcing them to still.

I know.

Then you must know that this is our duty. We are the last remaining sons of the line of the great Hegemon, Tsranh the August. We cannot let that monster drag the kingdom down with him!

There are those who would favor Hiomwei, Mukkuen replied reluctantly, ignoring his brother’s hyperbole. Those who would say that it is a strong king we need now, in these times of turmoil, rather than some dewy youth like Wran.

Strong! Pieh’s voice cracked. He opened his mouth, then shook his head, as if to chase away some unseen fly or mosquito buzzing about his ears.

Was Hiomtau not strong enough for them? he whispered at last.

Mukkuen could see his brother’s broad shoulders quivering, and knew that it was not what he had been about to say.

I mean only that we should not be hasty. Hiomwei may be cunning, but his is the cunning of a wild beast. We don’t know what he might be capable of should we corner him too soon! And if the consequences of our actions spiral out of control, what then? Are you prepared to bear those consequences? Better instead to wait out the winter, gather our strength slowly, observe how the states of Tu react to this development. Brother, we simply can’t afford a civil war, with the kingdom still unstable and outside forces hounding our every move!

All the more reason to act now, Little Muk! growled Pieh. I don’t know how many of my men will survive the purge that’s sure to come. Or how many have turned on me already for false promises of wealth and glory. And the bulk of your men are still trapped beyond the walls at the Drenh border. Damn it all! Just how long has that bastard been planning this for? Ever since Little Wran fell ill? Ever since Hiomtau’s passing? Or perhaps the rumors were true —

Their eldest brother, recorded somewhat fallaciously in the bamboo scrolls as King Klanh the Peaceful, had died still in his prime, like their father before him. But unlike their father, Hiomtau had seemed hale and whole at his sudden passing, and even now, four years after the fact, the circumstances of his death remained unclear to all but a select few. This had naturally given rise to a whole mountain of rumors.

Those select few, however, included both Pieh and Mukkuen. The old chief physician had diagnosed it as an apoplexy — the result