Chapter 8: Chapter 8 – Cultural Exchange

Word of what I had done in the Slajo encampment spread like wildfire throughout my expedition’s caravan. The people I had gathered were mostly those who either were my subordinates in the Archive or those who were subordinate to them. I hardly had to do any scouting for members of this journey- which perhaps only aided the word of mouth. I had merely done what I needed to do for the purposes of my journey. Anything else that happened was just a bonus. Including the eagerness of Stephanie to crawl into my tent and hear about exactly what happened. Every last detail had turned her on to the point of throwing herself at me- even more than she usually did.

 

So the morning after our night of enjoying one another’s company in my private wagon, I awoke to the cold morning air that once again dared to surround me. It didn’t take long for me to gather my bearings. I was nude, as was the sleeping Princess next to me- my arm around her midsection playing as her big spoon, my bare chest pressed against her equally bare back. Our skin peeled apart as I rolled away, already intent on travelling back to the Slajo encampment to hear what progress had been made on my hiring of a Mage. I was missing most of my travel outfit- though I had brought a few changes of clothes it was hardly the veritable wardrobe Stephanie insisted on having us lug around. I took one look at her where she slept- passed out, breathing deeply on the feather-stuffed mattress and cotton pillow, underneath the woven wool blanket I used.

 

“Farewell, Princess.” I whispered, letting that last look at her face linger for a bit before I stepped out into the cold wind, my boots hitting the ground hard in search of a groom. I needed my horse.

 

“Grand Archivist.” A girl approached me as I walked towards the herd of horses I saw across our little compound. Even so early in the morning, a dozen or so women- mostly cooks it seemed- were milling about preparing for the day.

 

“What is it?” I asked, long since having been accustomed to responding to voices trying to keep up with me.

 

“I was told to inform you upon your waking that our women have begun entering the Slajo camp. They intend on trading with the tribeswomen.”

 

“And who am I to stop them? I’ve performed the Rite of Winter, I’ve granted them access to do as they please here.” I said. We approached the horses where they’d been tied up overnight. A few small piles of hay sat roughly in the middle of the line of them, a flimsy wooden fence the only thing keeping them from galloping away through the treeless plain.

 

“I was not given this errand in hopes of you preventing them, merely of informing you.”

 

“Is that all?” I asked her. I reached out towards the fence and began untying the first horse whose reins I could reach. This was the first time I’d taken a look at her, giving a face to the voice. She was young, no older than fourteen, wearing a thin outer coat, arms clasped tight into her chest, her ungloved hands gripping her body tight.

 

“Y-yes ma’am.” She said, bowing.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Alicia, ma’am.”

 

“And what reason have you come on this expedition?”

 

“I am the servant of Archivist Hilda.”

 

“Tell Hilda to get you some gloves. Has she no concern of the modesty of her servants? After what happened last night I’ll suffer no further embarrassment on behalf of any of us. If Hilda has issue with this then she can speak with me herself.” I said. I knew it may have been a bit hypocritical of me to suggest the first half without the second. The girl- Alicia, apparently- bowed. 

 

“Of course, ma’am.” She said. It was a shame only the Sisters of the Stars used ‘Your Grace’ to refer to their superiors. I rather liked it. 

 

It was often considered the trait of a loose woman to go about her day in public with her Marks on full display. The girl seemed innocent enough that she probably didn’t know of such things. I’d wager her Marks had only appeared within the year. They were prominent on her hands, but had some of that adolescent faintness to them, still. No doubt they’d glow just the same as mine, though.

 

I finished untying the horse and hopped on bareback, not bothering to search for where the saddles were stored during the night, before riding towards the. Slajo encampment. The girl had run off, hopefully in search of her ward. I rode across the encampment, noticing it had begun to awaken in the few minutes it took me to reach the horses. Women were sitting around fires, huddled close to it for warmth as they ate their breakfasts.

 

I briefly wondered how many of my women had paid Slajo women for warm beds last night, but shook off the thought. Just because I tasted of the local cuisine didn’t mean everybody else was interested in doing the same. Alihjn tribes were hardly the most accommodating. I’d wager the few tents that would be open to foreigners in the cold would sell other services as well. It was how Alihjn women often made a living in Wicsey. When I was a child, my Sire spoke of a Duke further south of us who had a few Alihjn women in her harem. At the time, I didn’t know the full meaning of that- but I had no doubts any Slajo who I’d tell this story to would be ashamed those two would stoop so low as to do that.

 

They didn’t understand how much of an honor it was to serve in a Telbian harem- even one of a Duke.

 

I rode once more to the outskirts of the city, at the same spot I’d entered it from yesterday afternoon. The two guards that had greeted me previously were nowhere to be seen. There was no need to protect the village from outsiders now that their initiation Rite had been completed. 

 

Knowing what I knew about Slajo culture, the outer rings of tents would be mostly shops, storerooms, and other such locales. In the event of violent attacks- since they had nothing in the way of fortifications- the Slajo often let their goods be taken before their lives. Life out here was peaceful, human conflict during the winter was unheard of for Alihjn tribes. They rarely fought amongst one another, and when they did, it was understood the war would be on hold during the days of encampment.

 

As I passed these, I spied women sitting in front of some of the tents, flaps open. Some had displays of handmade wares carefully crafted from what natural resources their religion allowed them to take. Mostly animal parts- bone, hide, fur, sinews- though they did take from what shrubbery existed further into the Hinterwastes. Sparingly they did, wood was a treasured commodity amongst these people. Others had pots atop magical fires, lit by the energy of the Mage who they’d paid to do so, hoping to sell breakfast to eager travellers.  Most were closed, those being the ones out of which no shop operated, I assumed.

 

“Good morning, Resawn.” I looked down as I rode further into the heart of the city to see an Alihjn woman standing next to me. She had the silver hair of her people, though it was cut short, barely reaching her shoulders. She wasn’t as tall as the guards from yesterday, perhaps about a head shorter. She wore the Gjorm- a thin sleeveless shirt that went to her thighs with runic symbols on them. I squinted at her, thoughts churning through my head.

 

“How do you know I am she?” I asked, looking down. The markings on her shirt were a powerful enchantment that kept her warm- most of the upper and middle classes of Alihjn cultures owned at least one. The elders owned four or five each, it was commonly said. It wasn’t the warmth I was interested in, but rather their design. I owned no history book that spoke of these symbols, though I had seen them once before.

 

They were the same circular pattern of my stone tablets. Not quite the same, as these circles on the woman’s shirt were of different sizes and shapes- some were oval, some were nearly square, but the same pattern was present. I had never seen this before, and yet it was worn so publicly by what was surely just a common middle-class woman?

 

Impossible. Surely we in Telbud knew more of the Alihjn tribe than this? However, no book in the Royal Library nor in the Archives documented this style of writing. I was sure of it.

 

“Because only Resawn would shine so brightly in the waning light of the moon.” She said. She looked up at me with a smile as she placed her right hand on my thigh. Her Gift Mark was shining gently up at me.

 

“Do you intend on selling your body to me, woman?” I asked her. She turned away quickly, removing her hand from my leg and holding both behind her back.

 

“I was told that my socialization needed work. I was hoping my words to be a tad more subtle.” She said. 

 

I was on a mission. My Mage, the one who I’d be bringing back to Castle Telbud, was waiting for me somewhere in this town. More than anything else, I was interested in asking the Elders the name of the one they volunteered to me. However, this woman’s shirt… it held a piece of this puzzle I needed.

 

“Bring us to a tent where we can be alone, and unheard. I can be rather loud. I’m willing to pay you well for what I require of you.”

 

“You are most kind.” She said. 

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The woman led me to a tent in the third ring- where the residential tents commonly were- and had me stop in front of one. The first time I’d passed through here, I didn’t have a chance to look at the smaller tents in much detail. I had never seen them in person. White fur of the Hinter Wolves made up its walls, supported by beams of stalks of grass- magically enhanced to stand tall, tips of the blades pointed skyward out of the center of it. The beauty of this style of living is the ease at which they can be taken down. All this woman had to do was break the spell on the grass, and her walls would tumble to the ground to be folded and carried in a pack. Genius.

 

She opened the flap to the tent, and I walked in. It was warm, just as warm as the Elder’s tent yesterday. Inside was a homely place. A small fire at the center, sleeping bag to one side and reed pack to the right. A few provisions sat next to the fire, as though she had procured enough for herself for the day and nothing more.

 

“We shall discuss my fare later.” She said. I watched her slowly sit down on the sleeping bag, where I got a good look at. The rest of her outfit. She wore a loose skirt that barely passed her Gjorm, and a pair of sandals. Wearing an outfit better seen in summer was a surefire way to attract a lonely woman here, however it wasn’t the attraction that had me sit down in front of her.

 

“I may have been misleading in our introductions.” I said, putting out a hand to gently grab her wrist, keeping her from lifting the enchanted shirt from over her head. “I am not here to bathe in oils, it is your shirt. Tell me about it.”

 

“My Gjorm?” She asked. I nodded. I felt her body tense as I kept my hand on her wrist. My body steady, breathing even, we made eye contact for a moment before she relaxed, moving her hands to keep them in her lap, both of us sitting cross-legged on the ground. I watched the soft light of her Marks flicker and fade, easing back into the pale skin of her hand.

 

“I am an Archivist, I have come here seeking information. I’ve recently come into possession of an artifact with markings on it similar to your Gjorm. I am here because I had hopes of your people helping me decipher it.” It appears I was more right than I could have ever hoped to be. If an evolution of that same writing system was used on a woman’s magical shirt, then what else could I find here? I came to seek not translation but meaning in the translated words.

 

“I see. Well… I know some about it. I know enough to know that the runes on my Gjorm should be invisible to Telbians. What allows you to see them?”

 

What indeed?

 

“Invisible?” I asked. “Were they written with magic that disallows outsiders to see them?”

 

“I don’t know too much about it, but I do know that it can only be read by those who have been infused with our magic. As Resawn, you were painted with-“

 

“I never said I was she.”

 

“Alihjn magic is something I do not understand entirely, however I did not lie when I spoke of you shining as the moon does.”

 

“So that wasn’t flattery.” I said, musing for a bit. Out of my depth though I was, my lust for knowledge propelled me forward, my mouth moving faster than I could think of questions. “How does one become infused with this magic?”

 

“As I was saying earlier… The magical paint you wore as Resawn yestereve was a potent spell- like many we have, I’m told it keeps you warm while it lasts much like my Gjorm does- but I was under the impression it wasn’t enough to induct you into our tribe.”

 

“Induct me? You mean to say I’m to be made a tribeswoman?”

 

“Y-yes. It’s already happened. You are one of us.” The woman nodded at me sheepishly, looking away as she did.

 

“Impossible. That hasn’t happened since the days of Estermul.”

 

“I’m told it’s been a thousand years.” She said, and I nodded.

 

“Queen Sofia of Estermul- the last of her lineage- made a pact with the Alihjn people to aid her in the war efforts against Telbud.” I explained. My terminology was a bit casual, but I needed this woman to follow my explanation. “She was betrayed, however, and with their dying breaths, Estermul’s Mages cast a spell on- fuck.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” I said quickly, standing up. I reached into my pockets and quickly found my money pouch. I tossed a few Gold Cubes down on the sleeping bag where I had sat. I didn’t see how many, it didn’t matter. I had more at the encampment. “Thank you for your time, I’m afraid I must be off. If you travel to the Telbud camp at dusk and ask for the Grand Archivist, I will come find you. I’ll have more questions and Cubes for you. Perhaps you may yet find work with your body in my company.”

 

“I see. I shall seek you then, Grand Archivist.” The words had been spoken to my back as I strode out of the tent, quickly jumping up onto my horse. The quest to find my Mage forgotten, another opportunity to rid myself of this Prophecy seemed enticing.

 

Of course. How could I have forgotten? As Estermul’s capitol city was being attacked by Telbud, the Alihjn nowhere to be found, Sofia’s Mages cast a spell on the tribe, cursing them. The prostitute didn’t know the ancient history as I did. She didn’t know that Sofia’s dying wish had been to ensure there would be no communication between the Alihjn Nation and Telbud. Over time, the two cultures met by chance, a rediscovery of something that had once been common knowledge. The Alihjn had been made to be wary of those who came from the South- whether by the curse or by isolation. Probably both, but as time passed, that spell’s limits were pushed. The Rites of Winter became tradition in all four Alihjn Tribes as of about two centuries ago- the closest Telbian women could get to induction into their ranks. 

 

Of course. How could I not have seen this? While the message on the tablets is surely ancient, just how ancient are they? A thousand years? Was the woman who carved them lying when she said she was of the First Women? Who were the First Women? Telbian knowledge of history trails back three thousand years to the origins of Ro- Telbud’s first settlers who came from a land to the south. If the tablets are at least three millennia old, then I had no doubts the Mages I was hiring could tell me about the older form of what I knew now to just be an older form of what the Alihjn used today.

 

It was commonly accepted in Telbud that the Alihjn had no writing system. Oh, how wrong we were.

 

I rode hard, thoughts flying through my head faster than the horse I rode could carry me back to the encampment. The wind was biting cold, my nose a trickle of moisture, my lips dry and cracked, my eyes watering from the wind. I kept on.

 

Estermul’s culture revolved around its writing. It was everything to them. The most skilled calligraphers were celebrities, ink makers and glass blowers were highly respected. Their idea of ‘no communication’ simply meant no writing back and forth to one another? I knew at some point the spell seemed to have failed, and Telbian accounts of the matter suggested the spell had long since been broken. Perhaps it hadn’t. Perhaps that spell had only just been broken today. By me. When I looked upon a prostitute’s clothing as she sought to win my Cubes in her bed.

 

But if I could read them now, then could the tablets back home be read? Was there an implication here that the First Women were not the ancestors of the Alihjn Tribes as we thought in Telbud? So many questions, so few answers.

 

I reached the camp and threw myself off my horse before it came to a stop. A woman- probably not a groom, but one who recognized my face and its importance- greeted me.

 

“Grand Archivist.” She said.

 

“Find a messenger, have her ride to Castle Telbud. I need every book from the Royal Archives that speak of the Last Stand of Estermul. I need information of Queen Sofia, on Sofia’s Curse, and on Estermul’s Magic. I need them as soon as possible. Send word!” I said, speaking fast and excitedly. I could feel the smile on my face grow as I talked.

 

There might yet be another way to avoid this Prophecy. My path to the Throne may be clearer than I thought.

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