The Seeker and The Queen

By Sean Robin Hughes

The Shahadim usually travel the world as monks, spreading the religion of their people and bringing others under the love and guidance of their Many Faced Gods. A young Shahadim boy from the great Shahles swamp is put onto a different path when he stumbles across an old Mreshi woman bleeding to death at the edge of his village. The Mreshi shows the boy that the world is far larger than he ever thought...

Queen Faru Der Chanress of the Mysian State has lead a blessed life, where she bloodlessly conquered her birthright from her despot Uncle and established a golden age for her family's empire. As she has been fighting illness, little does she know a sinister threat lies within the heart of her Queendom looking to cause her rule to fail. She will need the help of someone she has never met to save her...

The right path will be found by the seeking, and the right seeker will always find the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Robin Hughes
• Release date: Dec 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005484729

Sean Robin Hughes

Sean Robin Hughes was born and raised in Colorado, which among the people that live in Colorado, makes him a certified unicorn. He has four kids, two dogs, a saint for a wife, and writes in his free time when he is not at work. Ironically, he is in IT, so he is always working in a fashion, so that is not a fair assessment.Sean Robin Hughes enjoys writing, playing with his kids, eating apple pie, enjoying the mountains, and solving problems. Not necessarily in that order, but we don't need an ordered list at this point in the relationship.

Book preview

Together we carry a song of far off places

We all sing proudly of Uan's races

Oligar are strong, their fur shimmering in the cold

Nanehopa are small, their four eyes are old

Gaeris are smart, armored bodies to fold

Shahadim are swimmers, their memories are told

Mreshi are fighters, the forest their stronghold

Cadelim are singers, their horns dressed in gold

Ferruani are wanderers, their history is bold

With this song we remember our friends

And forgive all debts and make amends!

- UNKNOWN AUTHOR

INTRODUCTION

Come and sit before me, my child.

The Oligar gather stories, like some races gather rare treasures or fine art, they are treasured and remembered. We are gifted with the ability to hear stories and never forget them. We truly know the value of our storytelling.

Today our story is about a Queen, a Duke, and a Seeker.

The Queen of Myse, First Citizen of the Citadel of the Western Horizon, Holder of the Lands of the Mysian People and Keeper of her Ways, Queen Faru Der Chanress was not herself.

She came and went as she pleased, among the halls and rooms of the Mysian Citadel, which she wandered often. That was not strange by itself, but the fact that she spoke to herself in a hushed whisper as if she was carrying on a conversation with a bird at her shoulder bespoke of a malady of the mind gone undiagnosed. Her Court at first gave the Queen a wide berth for such eccentricities, as the rich and idle usually do. It allowed a wide circle in which the Queen could spin, providing the most entertainment for those in the Court that valued spectacle and gossip more than appropriate leadership of the people or guidance for the Mysian holdings of the Queendom.

Others in the court worried about their Queen, who they had supported through their own lives and had observed the Queen go from a calm, thoughtful, and kind head of state to a seemingly irrational, panicked, and isolated figurehead. They worried about the Queendom, and the future leadership of Myse, but not as much as they worried about the person of the Queen. The little blonde-haired girl that had grown up to wrest control of an empire from her cruel and perverse uncle was the kind of story that made epic poems worth telling, and her supporters knew that the Queen was an individual, with her own feelings, her own thoughts, and all the complexity of a normal Ferruani woman. A woman who was a loving warrior of equality and justice at her heart.

There was one person in the court that could not care less about the Queen, the leadership, the gossip, or the intrigue. They were there to force the Mysian rule to fail. If that meant interfering to cause the wretched Mysian state to fall alongside its Queen, then that was the cost. No one could have known that the Queen was under attack so subtly from the shadows in her own Court.

However...

Across the Aerian sea, residing within the twin city capitol of Aer, the magnificent cities of Issus and Tal-Issus, was the Duke of Aer. His tribe was beyond wealthy, being the largest landowners on the Aerian subcontinent, and he was in turn the commander-in-chief of one of the largest navies in the world. The Duke of Aer was also a Shahadim, which was rare among the ruling elite of Uan. Not because of the Shahadim predilection towards isolationism, but because the Ferruani typically liked carving the world into kingdoms and empires. The Shahadim doing it themselves, and doing it well, was unheard of outside of Aer. The Greadan had its Oligarian Council, a matriarchy of guidance and wisdom that held dominion because of the remoteness and brutality of the northern wastes. The Gaeris had their Clans in the Halls of the Gaeris upon an isolated high desert plain, and they were content unto themselves. As were the Mreshi Tribes of the raging, vibrant, and unbelievably deadly walking forest. That left the merchant Cadelim and otherworldly Nanehopa to fall in with whatever local population they chose to be a part of. So having a Shahadim that was doing a Ferruani's work was a strange thing indeed.

The Duke of Aer, the Pillar of the Eastern Sky, a Water Holder for the Many Faced Gods, was named Onakisa. He had heard rumors of the Queen of Myse and her health, and since Issus and Tal-Issus were major trade partners with Myse, Onakisa gradually became more and more worried. When his spies provided a strange report about the dealings between Myse and one of Aer’s own southern neighbors, the nation of Dorani, Onakisa knew he had to take action. He would have to intervene in a way that he had never before in order to protect his people and the people of Myse, whom he valued. Aer’s neighbor to the south, Dorani, was a country historically full of civil and ruling unrest, and the Duke Onakisa knew that if the Dorani were taking aim at the Mysian State, there were a great number of potential horrors that could be realized.

Onakisa had to act, but he could not act on his own, for it would be the spark to a conflict that the Duke had prevented for decades. A dangerous spark, that if set, would cause uncounted lives to be lost in a war between Aer and the angry festering neighbor Dorani. A war that was being sought and pursued, and driven by forces the Duke himself did not quite understand. The Duke had to be careful, and he had to be clever.

In his wisdom, he called upon his eldest child to take up a secret mission to save the world.

However, he could never have accounted for the Seeker.

THE SEEKER

Chapter 1

The small bursts of scrub were sharp against her calves, poking through the fabric wrapping her legs. The thorns insistently pulled at her skirts as if coaxing her to lie down, to rest, and to die. Her side was cracked, and she felt the pink bubbly foam of her blood slowly spreading outwards as it soaked her clothing. The blood turned to layers of crust the further outwards it traveled from the wound, as it dried in the oppressive heat of the day. It was her own fault, she knew; the injury, the pain, and all the things that burdened her. Lie down, the ground sung softly to her, lie down, for it is a fine thing to lie down and rest. Rest among the fridda, rest on this hard earth, the scrub will welcome you...

No, she spit in a harsh whisper. She felt a dribble of saliva run down her chin, and the word meant almost nothing in itself, but it quieted the imaginary lure of rest. I have to...

With out speaking it aloud, she knew she had to reach some milestone, but she did not know what. She only knew that she had to push forward, with no reason to believe it would be worthwhile. Yet, the belief itself was something. It was an ember of a fire yet to be born, a spark of something that would become worthy. She had to believe in the promise of this unknown thing being born and becoming beautiful because of her own inevitable withering death.

The scrub grew thicker as she walked, turning from the greys and browns of an unforgiving hard dry earth to the greens and blues of plants not withering from dehydration in a hot sun. As she moved forward, the plants grew more vibrant and alive and the trees morphed as well. Intermittently, sizeable trees stood sentinel in the gently sloping fields, yet all were but stunted versions of the great trees of the walking forest that laid at her back. The underdeveloped trees of the swamp seemed to watch each other warily across the empty distances spread between them. She made sure to give the old trees nods of respect as she passed them in her shuffling injured step, hoping to provide them an appropriate level of honor for their brazen solidarity standing so far removed from the comfort of the larger forest.

Shuffle, step step, shuffle, step step. Her gait was a staccato beat in the empty air, accompanied only by the buzzing noises of bugs on the wing. Her hand pressed firmly against her hip, as her elbow cradled the crack of her carapace on her side. The pain was not bad if she walked slowly and took care with the pressure. She had water, and a little food, among a few other things to help her survive, but she only had days left, perhaps a week. She understood that everything was meant to happen for a reason. Things are born, they grow, and they die. Hopefully in the middle, they learn well, they love well, and they live well.

Hana believed she had lived well. She was old, and had many healthy broods in her own time. She had watched her daughters grow and become queens of their own, with their own broods, and their own loves, and their own grace and beauty. She had taught as best as she could, showing her little ones and their little ones how to care for the forest around them, taking care of the Reens in their cycle, keeping the Reen grubs safe as they grew and provided their silk-filled milk, and eventually their meat for the continuance of the tribe. She taught her little ones how to take the Reen milk-filled cocoons and to squeeze them gently from one end to the other to get all of the milk out, into a sieve made of Umbara leaves to drain the milk from the silk strands, and then how to gather the silk itself. She then would show them how to spin the silk into thread, and thread into clothing, and clothing into the forms of the dance. She showed them how to take the milk, and turn into many foods, the whey, the curds, the cheese. Everything with a purpose, and its purpose being served, as it was meant to be.

Now, Hana stumbled slowly away from her home, across the long cracked fields outside the walking forest towards the east, following the rising sun as she ate what little cheese she had left. Always she was reminded that her wound was growing, that it was fatal, and there was nothing she could do but keep moving. There was no time for sleep. There was no time for rest. Only moving forward.

After so much time in the silence of the larger world ignoring an old Mreshi walking to her death, the first calls sent upwards into the morning air immediately caught her attention. It was more than a shout and less than a song, the rhythmic pulse was a far off chanting, and she felt drawn to it. She had never heard the song of the Shahadim working their fields, or the song of the mother or of the father or of the sun and moons. Her mother had told her that the swamp-dwelling Shahadim had a song for everything, including songs for a hundred different types of rain. There was slow rain, soft rain, hard rain, the rain that came down at night, the rain that barely made noise, or the rain that pummeled the face of the earth in fury. Every kind had a song, and the Shahadim always sang of their love for all of it. Hearing the chanting song of the Shahadim in the far off distance, the call of their voices raised up together in a stirring harmony, Hana felt her gait change as she moved with a new purpose.

Hana formed a new resolution. She had to see these Shahadim before she died. She had to see them with her own eyes.

Hana walked for hours as the sun rose slowly before her. The sun’s early heat was strong, but not as bad as it could have been, as it was not quite summer yet, and spring still walked slowly northwards. The afternoon rains tended to be colder than warm, and as the rain fell, it filled the basin of the Eastern Shahles Swamp with the runoff that slowed the growth of the Shahadim's crops. The full heat of summer would finally drive the cold air away and the sun would cook the swamp, making the crops explode into fervent, wild growth, which would carry the tribes into the fall, then the winter, and back again to the chilly spring to repeat the cycle again.

At midday, Hana reached the point where the ground sucked at her feet with each step, and it exhausted her all the more. She stumbled slowly over to a massive rock of glinting starlight, standing in shallow rings of earth artificially erected around it, as if forming intermittent defensive moats only a handspan deep. Each concentric ring seemed to emulate the pattern made as if the boulder had been casually tossed into a pond. Each ring appeared to be traveling outwards, ring after ring, leading back to a point in time when the thing had impacted the surface without warning.

Hana leaned against this strange metallic artifact, and prayed quietly that she would find a source of comfort in this small Moment. She touched the rock with her hand, feeling its warmth of the sun, and felt an old Word rise in her. She pulled at the memory of it, the feeling of it, and spoke it aloud for the world to hear her voice. The word was of love, of care, and of all the things that provided comfort in a fierce storm. Her Word of power Shaped the air around her, forming a sense of peace, and even the small insects that buzzed around her slowed, landed, and rested on the rock at her back. This small part of the world seemed to be at peace.

How did you do that? A small voice called out from a small stand of reeds nearby.

Hana shifted her gaze slowly, and saw a small set of green eyes watching her carefully from the protection of the reeds. She was weaker than she thought if she had not sensed the youngling approach, or even if she had stumbled by the child on her way to the strange boulder without noticing.

It is a Word for love and comfort. I spoke it with my children, to give them peace in the storms that would visit our home, Hana replied to the eyes in the reeds.

I felt it, the youngling returned, his voice carrying his smile. It felt very nice. It scared my playmates though, and they all swam back to our mothers.

But you stayed, Hana remarked.

I did. You are hurt, and you said a nice thing. I do not think you are scary.

Observant as well. What is your name, young Shahadim?

I am Kass, the youngling attested, as he stepped from the reeds, his legs and small tail still dripping with water. He was taller than she was expecting, and must have been at least ten or twelve cycles old.

You are larger than I thought, young Kass. How do the Shahadim hide so well in water? Hana laughed carefully, her side injury complaining brightly in her consciousness.

The swamp accepts us, and moves out of the way. We can submerge if we wish, and find the secret paths through it. We are a part of it, and it is a part of us, Kass stated matter-of-factly.

That is how my home is too, young one. I live in a forest that stretches to touch the sky, making the canopy like a great roof over our heads. Everything that lives under that roof is a part of us.

Like the trees here? Kass sat down, nearby, folding his legs in front of him. Hana noted that he stayed well out of reach, even though he had commented that she was not dangerous.

My little friend, these trees are thick and wide, and carry much moss, but they are only malformed runts compared to the giants that make up my home, Hana smiled warmly.

I cannot imagine trees any bigger.

Someday, you might see the trees that I speak of.

Probably not. My people do not leave the swamps, unless they are on their wanderings, singing the praises of the Many Faced Gods to strangers in other lands.

Do you wish to become a monk for your gods, Kass? Hana looked upwards, stretching her spine as best as she could against the rock. The felt the pain, the old pain, the pain of growing and age touching all her joints. But above it all, the screaming of a sword wound under her arm.

No... Kass shook his head, his gill folds standing prominently off his neck. I am not of the right caste. I am of the planting.

So you plant and care for and harvest the crops?

Oh no, just the planting. The planters are always planting in some way. The threshers harvest, the caretakers tend. The planters move from field to field, from place to place, and teach the soils to love our seeds, and to show care of them. We sing to the plants to help them take. It takes much skill.

A worthy task. Your work feeds all your people.

I guess. Kass squinted his large eyes inquisitively. The injury is bleeding.

I was... attacked. This cut was given to me in my haste.

Did you win? Kass asked solemnly.

Did I?

Win? Kass reiterated.

Hana smiled. Oh yes, I won.

Good. You seem nice, Kass remarked off hand.

Kass! Go to your mother! A stern voice ordered. A large male Shahadim adult arose from the same reed bank, and strode powerfully towards the injured Hana. Stay away from the Outsider.

Yes, Ubiki. I apologize. Kass replied, immediately rising to slink back towards the reeds. Kass scooted backwards on all fours, but kept his eyes on Hana. She is injured, Ubiki. She needs Powwat.

I will determine if she needs planting or threshing, Kass. Swim to your hut.

Kass moved back into the reeds and was gone.

You are not welcome, Outsider, the man accused, measuring Hana at a glance.

Hana sighed heavily and met eyes with the tall bare chested Shahadim, noting his gills were flush with his neck, and his large eyes were impassive at best. His skin was the color of mottled green glass, with flecks of blue spreading outwards from his chest, turning a solid blue towards the ends of his long muscular arms.

I am only resting, Master Shahadim. I am very old, and was attracted to the songs of your people. I... honestly... I am close to death. My time is not much longer, and I only wanted to hear and see beauty of your people before I passed, Hana admitted, resigned to her fate.

The Shahadim looked her over carefully, and his eyes went wide seeing the blood staining the clothes heavily all down her side. Kass was correct, you will need Powwat. I will carry you.

Hana decided that was probably not a bad thing, as any healer could lessen her suffering before death, and she nodded wearily at the Shahadim. Ubiki strode over the rings towards the rock as if he was going to break into a run at any moment, but stooped gently to gingerly lift old Hana into his arms.

I hope I do not weigh too much, Hana grimaced, feeling her side stitch painfully in the upwards movement. Her plates had been impacted inwards, which forced the wound to stay exposed to the air.

You weigh nothing, Master Mreshi, Ubiki replied calmly. You speak our language well.

You are a flatterer, Ubiki. You may call me Hana.

Welcome to our home, the Shahles. It is the arms by which we sleep.

Thank you, Ubiki.

Ubiki ran over the swamp as if it was not even below his feet. Hana felt as if she was flying in his arms, the ground all but a blur below them.

By the gods above, you are strong, Ubiki.

I am of the warriors, it is my purpose.

You are well served then, Hana whispered, trailing off as sleep seemed to come from nowhere, pulling at her eyes.

Stay with me, Hana of the Mreshi. It is not yet your time to meet the Many Faced Gods.

I am tired, Ubiki. A worn thread.

Stay with me and sing. Ubiki raised his chin and a heavy rumble startled Hana as the vibrations traveled through her carapace. She felt the rumble start deep in his chest, traveling upwards to his throat, including his gills, making the as air vibrate as it traveled all around her. She felt the touch of Shaping in it, but the variance of the wind around her changed, as the Shahadim chanted what sounded like a fighting song.

"Hut Hut Ni Shi Ah-wa, Ah-wa

Neh hut Ni Shi Ahhhhh-tok tok

Hut Hut NEH wah! Ah-wa! Ah-wa!

Hut Hut Ni Shi Ah-wa, Ah-wa, Si!"

Hana felt her heart speed up, her awareness increase, and she laughed shalllowly, for once not feeling her broken side hamper the drawing in of a rattling breath.

Sing with me, Hana, Ubiki said again.

I will try.

And they chanted together as Ubiki ran with the small frail Hana in his arms.

Chapter 2

She sleeps well. Her side is gravely injured, and without medicine of her people, I am not certain what we can do, a voice softly spoke from nearby.

Ubiki sings? Hana whispered from the simple pallet.

Ubiki leaned over Hana's face so that her slitted eyes could make him out. I am here, Hana of the Mreshi. Our healer is with us as well. But Powwat is not familiar with your kind. Can you tell us what you need?

I need the little one, I liked his voice... Ka-? Kaz? Hana whispered.

Kass? He is but a tad, Ubiki said, frowning tightly.

How is Kass tied up with this Mreshi? Powwat asked.

He is one of the tads that found her at Sings-of-Sky.

I will send for him, Hana, Ubiki replied with a nod at Powwat. Powwat turned and gave a series of hand signals to one of the planters milling outside the hut's entrance.

Powwat leaned down carefully to the pallet and spoke quietly, Can you tell us what we need to heal you, Master Hana?

Clean water. Do you have any Marro? Hana grimaced as she shifted slightly and felt her wound chew at her side.

Yes, we have a fresh harvest of Marro from our traders, Ubiki said.

Make a poultice of the oldest fibers and clean boiled water, until it is thick as old blood. Use a small fingerlet of a boiled Marro branch and push the poultice into the crack on my side, as far as the branch will allow you to reach without my body pushing back. Pack the wound until it bulges the edges of my plates upwards. Then you will have to sit me up to bind me.

Bind you? Powwat asked, scratching the instructions with his fingernail across a clay tablet.

Yes, as tight as you can. You will have to pull the plates together, Hana coughed thickly. The pressure will force the Marro to act like a plug since I am past the age of another molt, and I should get better, for a while.

Ubiki looked up to meet Healer Powwat's eyes. Hana believes she is at the end of her life.

I thought I was... but it seems your people are not as scared of outsiders as I was lead to believe, Hana said shallowly.

The reputation serves a need, Ubiki affirmed. A need that protects us.

I am at your mercy, Master Ubiki. You honor me.

Rest Hana. Our elders need to be informed. You will need to sit with them.

I would be glad to tell stories, Hana smiled. And hear their songs.

Ubiki? A young voice came from the doorway.

Kass. Come. Sit with Hana while we gather what she needs. Powwat, I will go inform Misstil, although she probably knows already given the crowd milling at your door.

Powwat absentmindedly murmured assent as he gathered bowls and ingredients to start the poultice. Kass approached the pallet cautiously, walking on all fours from the doorway, crossing the heavy woven floor mats.

Hello again, young Kass, Hana said, watching him approach.

Hello Hana. Kass watched her blanket rise as she breathed shallowly and quickly. You are in pain.

I am. But your healer will have me feeling better soon. I wish you to speak with me. Tell me of where we are, Hana let her head drop and closed her eyes.

Uh... We are in Powwat's hut. It is in the middle ring of our village. Only the elders’ is closer to the center near our memory. And… the ceiling is higher here for the smoke of Powwat's work, and it is drier than most of the tribe would prefer. The floor is much heavier than other huts; it does not flex or sway with the winds. It is wood, not reeds.

It sounds very nice. Mreshi love strong woods. Do you have questions for me?

Mreshi don't ask questions. And you speak our language, Kass replied.

Hana noted that the youngling replied with statements, and not questions. Yet his tone was enough that Hana understood what he meant. I do, young Kass. And you are correct, Mreshi do not ask questions in their native tongue. We believe the world is always changing. Questions are moot. We are raised to not think in questions, but rely on observation. Our language and our culture reflects that.

But… you can speak like a Shahadim?

The world is filled with many people, young Kass. A person has to learn languages to make their way in this world. Traveling requires many languages.

You have traveled far?

I am a walker-of-the-forest that has traveled further than many of my kind. Do you wish to travel? You did not answer my question earlier at the metal rock.

I... am a planter, Kass frowned.

You are not. You are a Shaper.

Hana, I am not. I am a planter. My mother has told me many times, Kass said with the dedicated conviction of a child.

Do you have Shapers among your people? Hana asked.

Yes. Some, but they do not stay once they learn of it.

So you have heard of the Word? Hana smiled.

Yes. It is false teaching and against the Many Faced Gods. We do not believe such things.

Those do not sound like your words, Hana admonished.

Kass shook his head, and his pink-to-white gills riffled at side of his green and blue mottled neck in embarrassment. That is what my mother tells me.

Kass. If you were to meet another Shahadim from another village, would you be able to tell if they were a planter like yourself?

Shahadim can always tell, Kass said proudly.

Of course, Hana opened her eyes slightly and grinned. And I am a Shaper. I can tell when I meet another Shaper.

Kass squinted his large eyes as he thought about it. That makes sense.

You will have to learn other languages if you wish to travel. The Word will be among them.

False teachings? Kass said with a frown. My mother will not approve.

Think of it as a new language, not a new religion. You can still believe in your Gods.

There is no one to teach me such things in our village.

I will teach you, Hana declared firmly.

Really? Kass's frown turned upwards to something resembling a smile.

Really. It will be hard work.

I can do hard work. I am a planter.

Hana laughed thinly. Yes, I suppose you are.

Powwat entered the hut again, with a steaming pot in one hand, and a narrow stick with the other. Hana reached for Kass's hand and squeezed it tightly.

You do not need to be here for this, Kass. But I would like you to hold my hand if you are willing, Hana swallowed heavily.

I will hold your hand, Hana, Kass said.

Powwat knelt carefully at the side of the pallet and pulled the thin blanket back, exposing a knitted mat of stained leaves at her side. Powwat pulled at the edge of it gently, and the wound made a soft sucking sound as the bandage was freed. The wound leaked immediately again, with pink foamy blood oozing from the wound, bubbling and running in small rivulets down the lined and scarred plates. Kass did not look away, but instead leaned forward and put his other hand on Hana's forehead, squeezing her hand tightly as he began to sing.

"Nowa Si Nowa Si urr val wahna

Shi wah hi ah Shi wah hi ah

Nowa Si Nowa Si urr val wahna

Shi wah hi ah Shi wah hi ah

See ni otta di na?

Na wah urr vatta di na

Nowa Si Nowa Si urr val wahna

Shi wah hi ah Shi wah hi ah!"

Powwat leaned over and pushed the first branch of the marro into the breach at her side, but Hana did not scream. She only squeezed Kass's hand tightly and nodded through the pain.

Sing again, young Kass. I love the promise of your voice.

So Kass did.

Chapter 3

Hana, are you awake?

Yes, Hana replied quietly to the dark. The embers of the grate were only glowing bright enough to illuminate themselves. Where is Powwat?

Powwat is a day south to visit a sick family. My mother gave me permission to stay with you. She is not happy with me spending time here, but she said, 'the Outsider was only an injured elderly Mreshi', Kass imitated his mother. How did you get injured?

You continue to ask. Hana replied, her smile unseen in the dark.

You said you were attacked, but not why.

Is it important that you know?

A pause and a soft sigh. Yes.

I made a choice, Hana returned. Every choice has consequences.

Kass remained silent. Hana continued.

I am old. It is a custom of my people to walk into the forest when they feel the call.

The call for what? Like a war chant?

Nothing like that. The call to pass from this world. I headed into the forest to die.

But you did not die.

No, I did not. I was preparing myself to be accepted by the forest. I found myself in the trees above some lost travelers, Hana explained quietly. Ferruani and Nanehopa. They were not... the type of merchants that I approve of.

"Merchants