Chapter 6 - Part II

Travels on the road wore on the city-dweller Cedric much more so than the durable Onion, though their pace was slow. Even among hunting parties, the Soa rarely made trips from their mountain villages without their families. The few Soa who engaged in trade with the city were no different, and the children made slow traveling companions.

They still had a few more days to pass through the increasingly dominant buttes to the mountain pass of Eora Swou. Among the other travelers neither Onion nor her companion had been willing to venture anything in Nüish and Onion was confident her accent in pidgin Eirdren would quickly give her away.

Gregor had not been lying about her new role as Gael the leper. To play a more convincing infirm, he had forced her to don heavy wrappings which had the even more important role of covering her distinct bronze Nü skin. Her attire was vexing in the summer heat and to make matters worse, the shabby cart she and Cedric sat in jostled with every pothole and then some.

Before parting ways, Gregor had treated Onion to a meal together and in the dullness of travel, that is what mostly occupied her thoughts. He had not been shy about expressing his extreme dissatisfaction at the idea of leaving the Nü and Cedric without the bei'thal, without a conduit of communication between himself and Onion, but the decision was not his to make. He told her he could only make it up to her by treating her to some decent food before her journey.

"You see this?" he had commented, pointing to the bulgar dish topped with flower stems and thin slices of rein and boar meat, "Cedric can cook up the best tasting parla anywhere in Eirdred. This parla is not terrible, but it is more worthy for the gulls when compared to the parla of that man. While you two are in such close company, make sure that you get him to cook for you as much as possible. Don't let that man's talent go to waste while it is still yours to take advantage."

Not waiting for a response from Onion, he happily delved into chatty banter headless of her interest in it. "That is how I first came to meet Cedric in Eirdred." He paused. Unseen by Onion, he savored the strange flavor of the words "first met", as if he had buried the memory of their true first encounter under the burdens and joys that had accumulated over the years that passed without his friend. It was as if he truly forgot when the world was flat. But he kept those thoughts in the deepest recesses of his mind, and that was neither here nor there anyway.

"I caught him out at the market in the Durendul District. Rel's host overwhelm me if I don't admit they have the best seafood available, imported from the Outer Crest." Gregor resumed his exited small talk, using the Eirdren term for the archipelago Onion called home, as the Nü had no such term for all of the hundreds of islands. Only to mainlanders was she an Outer Crestan. To herself and her kin, she was a Nü first, and a Deezh'ullan second. Never did her loyalties extend beyond that. Nonetheless, she had come to understand the term over the few years she had resided on the continent.

Chapter 6 - Part I

Two days had come and gone before the cusps of the Eirdred city walls had finally sunk into the dawn horizon. Until then, the city had stood vigilant and strong in the hazy surroundings of fields and woods, like a lone, worn molar in the gums of an old man. Long after the clay quarries had dissipated from the river shores, the scent of wet clay still hung on the caravan's clothing as a smooth aftertaste to the metallic smell of the road.

Onion had not initially understood the need for costly mercenary protection in this fairly gentle but increasingly desolate landscape. As the caravan moved further west, trees were rare among the wide open plains. There were few areas of shelter or ambush. Yet as they passed smaller, less armed caravans, light of cargo and bleeding, Onion felt renewed appreciation for the passive deterrence provided by the mercenaries peppered throughout the caravan. For her part, before the end of the six day week of the Chosen's calendar, Onion would begin to appreciate how danger could infest the lands that laid beyond the tendrils of the City of Eirdred.

On Dagleth'ir, the fourth day of knowing, the day of the keeper of Vem, the monotony of the low gradient plains ended violently. Mighty plateaus of earth hammered themselves towards the sky with cake layered lithology of shale and sandstone. The Eirdred of the Chosen Empire, scholars, explorers and cartographers, referred to this land as "The Explosive Might of Rel's Host"; Rel tau'chuik'ahr Mael elt (Rel, outward-forceful/explosion-adjective, Host (in religious terms only), particle for indicating possession by sentence subject) No mapmaker cared that long before the first Eirdren viewed this desolate land and long after the Eirdren were no more the great buttes would be known to the Soa as the "Tables of the Gods", Soasor Rhux.

The increasingly oppressive new summer sun bore upon the flat buttes and the caravan alike, but the space under eroded shale overhangs and between the cracks of stone slabs lived an entirely different world of greenery and shade. Here, the soils were poor and the indigenous peoples of rural Eirdred province had never attempted to master the land with cultivation. Native beasts, such as the horned butter yak served more use for sustenance than the parched grasses that tickled at Onion's feet could ever provide.

Occasionally the caravan would encounter sparse herds of the butter yak, and even more rarely, see evidence of the Soa hunters' successful kill. As a child, Cedric had read in detail about the minor peoples of Eirdred and their cultures. These quasi-nomadic tribes did well to keep their hunting parties away from the roads, or more specifically, away from the foreigners, including denizens of the city. Hundreds of years after the concession of their conquered lands to the administration of Eirdred City, few Soa claimed kinship with their lord. It was difficult for Cedric to imagine how the arm of the Eirdred nobility could ever reach these remote peoples. They lived in the freedom of anonymity and the chaotic stability of a hunter-gatherer lifestyle; a concept that had always scared the poor man to the core.

But the encounters with a herd or the bones of a yak carcass were very limited. For the majority of daylight hours, the land seemed as looming and empty as the sky; perfect conditions for the bandits of infamy. Still, the outlaws made no appearance to the healthy and robust caravan. Instead, Onion felt her bones turn to jelly when a group of Imperial Guards passed the caravan on Rüern'lir. They stopped the travelers and spoke at length with the Soa man Gregor had spoken to days before.

Even at the distance from which the lepers traveled from the main caravan, Onion could hear the Soa man become increasingly ill-tempered and shout angrily at the Guard in thickly accented Eirdren before the armored group laughed and moved on. As they passed her group of sick and pretending to be sick, the some of the Imperial Guards glared disdainfully but most gave them the courtesy of being ignored.

Chapter 5 - Part VII

The crowd floated in no preordained direction; nameless faces tossed about in a turbulent and ever-changing sea. Today, Onion took a measure of comfort from the anonymity but remained at high alert, knowing that the jaguar always took one in the herd of painted rams.

Caravans and their wagons coalesced on the edge of the shanty town and that is where Gregor and Onion made their way. Groups of wéhkàu, great creamy white and brown, leathery bovines with ivory tusks jutting out from their jaws waited patiently by the ceder wrought carts the Soa peoples used to travel from their highland homes to the city periphery to trade. Native to the central plains, the wéhkàu were the only beasts of Eirdred province that could survive in either the lowlands of the coast or the high plateaus in the west while dragging along a family and their cart. They did not thrive in the Soan highlands, but thanks to their use in travel the Soa were rarely seen without them.

The wéhkàu dragged flat beds of hard woven straw on top of the four wheeled wagons lay exposed as their owners loaded up goods and children for the return ride, but thick sheets of wool adorned with long bell chimes awaited to be hoisted upon the square cart frames.

Onion had never seen the high desert dwelling Eirdren folk before, and had she lived in Eirdred City for 10 years she still might not have met one. Gregor, on the other hand, who had made the trip to Heilth and back several times in recent years, often had the opportunity to learn more about the peoples of the lands he traversed. That the peoples of the western part of the province were called Eirdren, citizens under the Red, held not the slightest significance to the thick bodied, leather-faced Soa. Their coarse, black wool hair, worn long and free, flat noses and black, epicanthic folded eyes held little in common Eirdren kindred. Their customs and tongue held even less in common.

Those who followed the paths of the migrating Soa, merchants and travelers headed to Heilth via the way-point Eora Swou, or Runner's Cross, at the crossroads of Soa territory, at the edge of the Chau'chàr desert. Most traveled in their own parties, avoiding the few Soa caravans that left the their homes to sell to lowlanders. They made their own preparations.

Eirdren merchants haggled with small time mercenaries and former GuardHands, trying to secure their products to the next town as cheaply as possible. Lone travelers and small families in turn haggled with the merchants, or if they were very desperate, with the Soa themselves, trying to seek the benefit of protected passage without the price tag of hired muscle.

Gregor and Onion passed a man, pleading with a gem dealer to afford a slot for his sick son and himself with an Eirdren caravan. The man's eyes told Onion that there wasn't much money to spare, and his cause was dire, but the dealer's visage was rock solid. There was no mercy in her eyes.

But not every interaction was doomed to failure. Another man was engaged in negotiations with a flax merchant not far off. The golden face of the old Scholar Emperor Maglen, known as The Merchant, exchanged hands and both men reached for the left shoulder of the other, signaling that a deal had been struck.

Onion was guided further out to the Soa caravans. Here, Eirdren were not to be seen save a few; the destitute and ill who needed to travel but would not be taken in by their countrymen. They passed a couple of Soa wagons, bustling with activity. Gregor had learned a few words in the tongue Sóa'ràu but the tonal language baffled him past light conversation. He doled out greetings to some of the older women who sat, piecing together baskets of flax and wool while they waited. At the sight of the blond man singing their tongue, they flashed a smile rarely shown to outsiders. They responded in kind, shín'shìr, peace and blessings, not once closing their lips on a word. For this reason, Gregor later told Onion, throughout the empire the Soa are known as the people of the open mouth.

"You will travel among these people," Gregor began, "When you leave at nightfall, you will no longer be Vren, you will be Gael, the leper, and you will be traveling with your brother, Leon to seek healing at the University on High.

Be careful. They will not mourn you if you fall behind. They will find no pleasure should trouble befall you, or should you be mugged or raped. But nor will they make much concern. You and Cedric are to stick as closely to them as they will allow, since that is the only way to ward off those who would do you harm."

"Széetù hau" nodded the huge, gruff Soa, as he caught the coin satchel Gregor tossed to him. The man whose wild black beard covered nearly all of his thick torso, offered a wide grin of stout yellow teeth to Onion, who could only begin to wonder where the winds were going to carry her spider next.

Chapter 5 - Part VI

Nonetheless, Onion felt her heart constrict momentarily as he folds of her linen skirts were examined by prodding hands. That those hands took liberties with the exploration of her body barely registered in her mind. Not many Nü traveled the inner parts of the continent. It would not take much for one of the GuardHands to have heard the recent news...

And before she could take those thoughts to their natural conclusions, Onion was shoved along forward. She glanced back in time to see Gregor also routinely and personally violated, but the shaggy blonde man seemed to pay no heed. They had made it outside of the city with little incident. That was all that mattered.

On the other side of the massive sandstone walls was another world entirely. In a matter of the 25 feet that were the thickness of the fortifications, cosmopolitan life had died out entirely, though the handiwork of humans was not lacking. In the distance, ancient and temperate plainslands rolled out from the coastal oak wood forests located to the north and south of the city. In the vicinity most of the plainslands had been converted to kingdoms of millet, maize and hemp monocultures. Further north Onion could make out the Rein Peaks as a hazy purple backdrop, whereas further west the vague hints of the Ghetan Buttes could be seen.

At the entrance of Eirdred City, however, amassed a conglomeration of canvas covered wagons, tents of various shapes and sizes, and a few outcroppings of lodges and taverns that served at the shanty town's lone permanent structures; the sole needs of a town of transients and day laborers.

The odors of fresh, wet clay could be experienced fro the nearby clay pits that dotted the riverbed. Not far off the sounds of steel against rock emanating from the sandstone quarries orchestrated the ambiance of the day.

The town had no name, and could barely be considered a settlement. It served to support the men and women working daily in the native industries of soil, rock and clay, but over time the outpost had also become a meeting place for the myriad of peoples traveling to and from the city. Onion recalled a mere week ago when she and her party of kinsmen first collected the nervous and twitching Cedric in that nameless tavern, face drowning in a mug of cheap mead.

Today's atmosphere was a little different. Families and merchants gathered traveling companions and goods, preparing to make journeys north, south or west. Others arrived from the west, road weary and occasionally bearing the cute, bruises and emotional scars of the highway.

Chapter 5 - Part V

The Lithenese poem fell on her Nüish ears without comprehension, but it did distract her from the sight before her as she followed the humming blonde man down the packed streets.

The two left the crowd and followed the tan sand and pulverized red clay River Road which led out of Center City to the east. As the number of people thinned out, Onion could better view her surroundings. To the left, the River Eir flowed, constricted by levies and sandstone masonry. The travelers and the river were sandwiched on either side by the towering sandstone and oak supported walls that encompassed the northern and southern districts and exiting highways.

While antiquated clay and wood walls separating each individual district had fallen into disrepair ages ago, the fortification surrounding the city of Eirdred were still prepared for the most sudden of threats. They were maintained diligently, even though the ancestors of the city learned that they could not hold against powers like those of Heilth. The walls nonetheless provided shelter from lesser attacks and if nothing else, were one of the few remaining symbols of unity against the increasingly crushing homogeneity of the Empire.

Seemless sandstone slabs held in place by thick wooden frames and topped with layers of red shale boulders scraped the sky fifty feet above Onion, and from there the City Enforcers or district police could track any move with lethal consequence. The River Road and Coastal Highway paths to Center City had never been sealed to the outside world, yet who would be foolish enough to bring an army through the gauntlet Eirdred offered? Even Heilth had dared not assault the city from the roads and was forced to use a combination of sabotage and naval might to establish their presence.

As they navigated the bustling roadway, Gregor explained to Onion in hushed tones the significance of these walls and their failings. This had brought to an end the rule of the Chosen, the coastal empire spanning halfway through Sandor to the south and encompassing all of coastal Lithen, as carved out by the First of Rel, Taecho Archne. "The Eirdren will tell you that Heilth broke over two hundred years of peace, but that is simply because Eirdren are not Lithenese." he grimaced.

At the exodus of the city stood two Guardhands and two City enforcers. To Onion's great relief, none of the faces appeared to be familiar, but she and Gregor remained alert as the cooperative Heilthian and Eirdred forces questioned Gregor and searched for contraband. Their suspicions were unwarranted. Those who manned the gates outside of the city of Eirdred more often than not, were those at the zenith of their service - the very young and the very old. While certainly not feeble, such a mundane task was useful only in training the inexperienced or maintaining the employment status of those who soon sought to retire by having them keep an eye out for fermented hougrixi reed juice, imported from the Outer Crest, or a powdered depressant known as gegleth moss.

Chapter 5 - Part IV

The activity within Center City had been even more viscous. Gregor and Onion were tempted to forcefully push their way through the thrall of the market, but they did not want to stand out to any casual observers turned eyes of the Lady Archne. Instead they allowed themselves to be pulled by the current of the throngs into the confusing maze that is Center City.

At its inception, the built up Center City was meant to remain as a no-man's land between the 13 districts. It was to be a place of light, occasional commerce, perhaps, but the Heilthian architects had designs that it could eventually become the site of a second High University, if the scholars would but approve. What they did not expect, however, is that the Eirdren would make use of the flat and accessible sandstone and brick laid land. Over the recent generations, Eirdred had become a prosperous place of commerce and her population could no longer be contained in the 13 districts. People, buildings and businesses spilled over the great gates surrounding Center City and like weeds sprung up in chaotic fashion. Aside from the wide cart-road connecting River Road to the South Short Highway, roads of Center City sprouted at easiest convenience of the buildings.

Onion adjusted her cowl, another strange fashion invention of the continent that was proving to be a boon to her now that she needed to hide her strange dark skin from the relatively pale populace of Eirdred. If she had gone unnoticed then it could only be attributed to the strength of the Spider. She felt as a fly, not its predator, in the web of this strange world.

Sun slowly trickled down the messy, multi-story buildings. The light fog of morning began to dissipate, replacing the chilling mist with a thickening blanket of humidity. Stalls and shops opened and prepared for a long day of streaming customers. Haggling and morning greetings cast in various accents and tongues were an ambient music to the scene.

It was all Onion could do to avoid responding to the beckons of the Nüish fishmongers even though their guttural accents marked them as northerners. Nonetheless, it was a pleasure to Onion's ears in such a way that all familiar things are pleasant to those who have been away from home for far too long.

This place could never be home, and it would never be. Home, decidedly, could only ever be described as The City that Sprung Up, Deezhul. Yet in the past three years she had spent in Sandor's capitol, Veradell, Onion had found some place in her heart for the southern province. It was as close to Deezhul as was possible on the continent and sweet little reminders of home were always comforting, even if they never quenched her longing. However, for all of their province's cultural similarities, the City of Eirdred held little in common with Veradell.

Like Eirdred, the capitol of Sandor was the commercial center of the province, but in the wide, sandy streets of Veradell, children flocked far from their mothers' attention, with dogs, monkies, ferrets, and whatever other hapless creature they managed to co-opt for the day in tow. Here in Eirdred, candy stalls were severely lacking and the streets were remarkably devoid of mirthful youth. Aside from an occasional gull, animals were rare to be seen.

Today, moreso than ever, the ambiance of the city was entirely strange to Onion's eyes and ears. With rural and urban lords and ladies gathered for the festivities in the Archne District, their entourages of servants, soldiers and spies had to be fed, housed and entertained. The merchants of Center City rose to the occasion.

Competing street flutists and the walking dancers that accompanied them vied for the attentions and coins of passersby, sometimes quite aggressively. Gregor preemptively pushed aside one young dancer whose hands were a little too close to Onion's pockets than he cared for. The boy grunted as he hit the ground, but he soon got up, unfazed, and looked around for a new, less guarded client.

The two moved onward, west, towards River Road, and as they did the crowds thickened around the entrance of the Archne District. The gates of the district were massive, built of oak, stone and steel. Iron chains with links the size of Onion's head held back doors of equal size, keeping the district open to all. Rusted over from generations of disuse and exposure to the elements, the chains lay dormant.

Closer in, the mood of the crowd had changed from the merriment of the market to outrage and discontent. Jeers and curses replaced the beckons of merchants.

"That's not true at all," Gregor heard a passerby argue with his companion. "Are you blind? It's there staring us all down. Those blood thirsty savages mean to start a war again, only this time Sandor won't be the only province to shed blood!"

"Don't be blind. If it were a fight those islanders wanted, don't you think the Scholar-Empress would have had the city flooded with Enforcers by now? Think about it, don't swallow this drivel. A fishmonger's whore of a daughter got herself caught with the lord but she didn't realize his lady wife wouldn't take that too kindly." his friend rebuked in response.

"Well I guess that's just one for the crows to argue on now anyway, but when those brown devils come on our shores and try to do more than just sell us 3 day old fish, I won't be hearing your apology. Likely you'll be just as dead as I."

Before Onion had a chance to notice the source of their argument on her own, Gregor spotted what hung at the eye of the storm. He pulled Onion away, trying to shield her eyes from the view of her own skull, bodiless and mangled, dangling by the ends of her short deep brown hair.

Too late though, Onion felt her stomach go weak as she contemplated her own mortality once again. The face of death is not glorious, even if the last moments it experienced were. Thoughts trailed further away from that place to that of Rejnev. He likely had no better a facial expression at the moment.

Gregor tugged at Onion's arm forcefully humming a tune he had known since childhood, under his breath, yet directed at Onion.

"On flooded rocks beneath the fish,
Was to serve as watery grave,
The farmer's prize gently purrs
A three quarters mile away.

Though for her labor, he tossed to die,
The smallest of her fold
Now sits the cat,
Returned again
To plan his strike untold."

Chapter 5 - Part III

Onion and Gregor had set out early from the Lilac, the oak wrought tea and sleephouse in Trik District. The Lilac, a two a story wooden building resting on a thick granite cobblestone foundation against the steep river-ward road, was not yet awake. Young women were just beginning to set up the floor cushions and open the sliding panel doors of the first floor where customers would relax, drink tea and smoke fruity and flowery essences from porcelain water pipes throughout the day.

In stark contrast to her existence since the massacre of her brethren, life, energy and purpose floated in the dawn fog as people made their way, completing their daily tasks. Dew from the previous night had made the dull gray cobblestones of the Trik District slick and shiny, but still no match for the hardy footwear of the Eirdren denizens. Even while they passed fishmonger carts and oak and stone build bakeries, the air retained a smell of being freshly cleaned.

The cobbles sloped steeply downward and meandered into a wide sandy main thoroughfare. At its end stood a massive oak and iron gateway that loomed several building sizes tall. The arched door panels were tied back with huge rusted iron locks that seemed to have not moved in centuries. As the two passed from Trik into Center City, Onion felt herself immersed in the oddities of asymmetrical multi-storied buildings and random alleyways that seemed to lead to nowhere. Unlike the stout stone edifices of the districts, Center City had the appearance of a child's toy blocks left unkempt upon the ground.

"Not long ago all this was sand, clay and reeds.", Gregor explained to his naive Nü friend. "This was a place where kings met and drank, bonded as brothers and devised each others' downfall; but that was very long ago."

"What changed to make place?" she wondered out loud.

"This is the power of the University on High.” He gestured at the road ways with no small hint of a deep seeded pride. “At the heart of the empire, power is not doled out to despots looking to better themselves. Its earned by those who push the limits of new and great wonders.

Not long after the conquest of the coast, Uera, the Architect Emperor, finished the first of his great works, his first mandate, the locks and dams of Falloth. Before the end of his reign, he began the second of his great works; turning these marshlands into a city."

"Why would they work so hard for their enemies? Were they not the conquering force? In the days of my father’s father, a clan that was defeated lost its meat, its weapons and its children. We do not work for the weak in the Outer Crest.”, Onion spoke as she deftly avoided tripping over a young boy and his fruit stall.

“The Eirdren are many things, Vren, but they are not weak.” Gregor scoffed, “But they are not the enemies of the Empire, they are a part of it. When any one part of the Empire is bettered, the whole Empire benefits from it. And when the people benefit, they give thanks to their rulers. It is the responsibility of the Empress to be worthy to her people. If she fails that, she loses the right to be called Empress, and instead become tyrant, or despot. The people will not suffer that long.”

“I would follow no leader who loves my enemy as he loves me.”

“Even if he protected you? Kept you free and your children well fed? If your enemy thrives while you prosper, are you hurt?”

“That is not possible. The spider does not eat without the death of the fly. They cannot prosper together.”

Gregor considered the Nü in a harsher light. Where he saw before a naïve and scared girl in a strange land, he recognized the teeth and claws of a cornered jaguar in a Benge-style fight arena. But even jaguars are naïve when they are young.

“Vren, consider the Red Trader.” He waved his palm eastward, towards the rising sun and the River Eir estuary. Beyond landfall lay a small island, an outcropping of granite in a sea of sandstone and clay where the City Enforcers were now stationed.

Even in the distance, Onion could see what he was pointing at. At the westside of the island stood massive cliffs, perhaps 3 or 4 stories high and upon it, the likeness of an ancient warrior had been carved. However, while the granite was mostly grey, the statue was a deep and smooth red.

"Before the rise of the Chosen, these lands were the place where the primordial ancestor of trade and commerce were incubated.”, Gregor began. “The 13 districts engaged in some bartering, but before Eirdred was unified under the signing of the Red, the marsh a no-man's land for the often warring kings and queens of the Ancient Eir.”

“The Red. This word has been mentioned before. This is the promises of your noble lords, correct?”

“The term is a treaty. Promises in written word. That is correct. It is the promises of the 13 districts to come together as one people. Before then, this land was home to 13 small kingdoms. The lord-kings had built up their shares of coveted, fertile delta out lands, but their lots were never enough. They never are.

When the river failed to crest high enough, or crested too high and flooded homes and fields, serf-born militias often rose under the leadership of their lord-king and plunder that which they could not harvest. Certainly, they would later record that their plunder was rigorous, that their cause was just under the god of the Eir, but it was little more than survival and desperation at work."

Gregor nodded his head at the red clay brick walls that encompassed Center City.

"The art of war was never the strong point of the Ancient Eir, but they raped and plundered each other for centuries, in spite of the walls. Here though, in what is now Center City, the old kings could meet outside of the battle field. Extortion, promises or threats could be issued, alliances and betrayals were formed in the red mud and sand. It was known in those days that anyone that drew blood would be cursed by Rel and men, and given to Rel's mighty army, what we call today, Rel's host.

"This changed with the Gerik Nogrem, called the Red Trader, our friend upon those cliffs. After a year of severe drought in the northern kingdoms, Nogrem, Irolok, Archne, Trik and Duredul, he called all 13 to the red clay shores of the old marshlands. The Red Trader offered to the southern six a simple bargain; that the six provide for the beleaguered northern five in that time of desperation with no payment other than the promise of similar aid in the future from the north.”

“Only a fool would agree.” Onion interjected, “The north could simply take from the south and refuse their requests for help in the future.”

"No doubt that was the very sentiments of the southern lord-kings at that time and in those days it was common for kings to talk and talk, and refuse each other at will. But though Nogrem was a fairly peaceful man for the era, he would not suffer no for an answer. He could not. His people depended on that aid.

He was an intimidating man and it is said that he used the power of his actions and words to extract the outcomes he desired. He desired a bloodlessly acquired agreement, but the southern lord-kings refused his pleas. Perhaps they doubted his strength or resolve to take what he needed by force. Or maybe the southern lords at the time simply didn’t care.

To prove his commitment to leaving the marshlands with the help his people and the peoples of the northern kingdoms required, Nogrem was forced to make a great sacrifice, a great show of force to instill fear into his enemies and to get what he wanted.

"He produced his young daughter, a girl of perhaps 5 or 6 winters, and he broke the compact of thousands of years by slashing her throat. Before her lifeless corpse could fall among the reeds, it is said he shouted ‘I offered you promises to trade, now I offer you blood to trade. You will trade with me or it will be your blood with which I trade!’

Nogrem intended to cower the southern lord-kings, but some remained rebellious. With the blood of his daughter, he bought the bent knees of Laefeg Tokal, Jegrek Vrok and Hrem Fegrer. Those of the kingdoms of Shik and Belegael fled but the Red Trader had positioned his men throughout the marsh much earlier in the day. Those two southern lord-kings paid their part of the bargain with their own blood. Of Jaek Tsitul, queen of the sixth kingdom, he received commitment to the bargain in deed, though it is said that later she bargained for her own red trade.

"Gerik Nogrem, mindful of the wrath of god and men, gathered up the remaining lord-kings and the heirs of the slain and developed a new pact, the Red, that never again would the river run the same color as the soil, and that the Eir would come together as one people. The legends say that he begged one year, that the God might hold back his army, to train his heir, and to begin the construction of the House of Red where the 13 would come together and govern as equals. He begged that year to strengthen the walls that would defend the Eir from outsiders, rather than each other, while the dismantling of the walls that kept them apart.

"On the same day of the following year, according to myth, Gerik opened his own throat, giving himself to the host of Rel in a promise that his blood would be the last. According to Tsitul historians, Jrael Tsitul, heir to his mother's people, had done what Rel, in his vengeance, would have demanded.

“But the Eirdren were never again 13 separate kingdoms. Gerik Nogrem loved his daughter, he loved his people. He fought his enemies, but in doing so, he brought them together, though he suffered from it. After the Red was signed, there were no more raids. When a district faced famine, the others were bound by law to help. I cannot see this as anything but a queer sort of love when the line between enemies and friends is being erased.”

“Such busy people with convoluted webs.” Onion observed. “It is hard to understand.”

Gregor shrugged helplessly and smirked. "It is our way I suppose."

As Onion's tired legs shuffled over the bridge causeways of Center City, neither blood nor the red clay of the marsh, nor the soul of the Red Trader touched her feet.

Strangers - Emily Holmes 1

There are countless stories that chronicle the tales of misappropriated passions. Fables tell of the difference between youthful romance and stable, genuine affection. Passion, not love, ignores the truth of relationships. Passion is unconcerned with reciprocity. Passion downplays incompatibilities, emphasizes glorified preconceptions and even has the power to readjust personal values. When passion burns up quickly what remains can be claustrophobia.

Surely, Evan was evidence of that. What Emily saw in Miyuki’s eyes as she came for her Thursday night one-on-one English lesson with Evan was hopeless passion. What she saw in Evan’s eyes was the shadow of diversion. He was polite, even flirtatious with Miyuki, but it was without meaning. There was no promise of a future rendezvous anymore when he saw her to the door uttering “Ja mata ne!”

That is why Emily’s mind was at peace when she pondered the upcoming arrival of Jaden, her boyfriend on and off for the past two years. Together, they had never let themselves become so carried away with passion that they let their emotions steal their future. They had experienced the closest intimacy and long-term separation. This is how she knew she was not addicted to his physical presence.

Throughout their months apart Emily and Jaden kept regular contact. Every Saturday morning she would log onto her computer and Skype with him as Friday evening set upon Beantown. For an hour the two would recount their week’s adventures before he logged off to join his friends downtown at Sunset Bar while Emily left to hike to one of her favorite Shinto shrines followed by her Ikebana flower arrangement class.

The comfortable rhythm of their relationship was never meant to be permanent. They had lived together in the months prior to Emily’s departure to Japan, and it was always envisioned that after two years the two would reunite in Boston and attend Harvard Law School together. Their future plans were a source of security in their otherwise transitioning lives, but they were also safely guarded in the untouchable state of distant dreams.

At 9:00 am, Emily had been waiting at Kansai Kuukou International Airport for 45 minutes. Jaden’s plane had been delayed after an ice storm in his layover city of Chicago prevented the plane from taking off for 2 hours. Emily’s heart felt still even as her brain congratulated herself on her calm demeanor. After 7 months she and the man of her future would be reunited and she felt not a single butterfly. She was at peace, and this even-mindedness could only be an indication that what she and Jaden shared was far more than simple explosive passion.

As Jaden’s plane came closer to Osaka, Emily took her time to reflect and recall fond memories of her life with Jaden. She mused on their future life together as she shuffled through her iPod.

Funny. Neil Young seemed to pop up more than normal and she found this mellow song to resonate with her heart. When all the adventures she was having now, all the adventures she had in store for the future were said and done, this is what would remain. This would be there to cushion her heart as it exchanged a lust for adventure for the love of peaceful, quiet simplicity. In the end, there was a slow dance years in the future when they were celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary. She could smell the wooden floor they rocked their feet on. She could feel his wrinkled hands caressing her arm with familiar affection, starkly in contrast to the feverish lust in the caress of the first night they consummated their relationship.

Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again. Because I’m still in love with you, on this harvest moon.

Tall, short black hair with tired eyes hiding behind reading glasses, Jaden finally came into view. He saw her as well and but maintained his pace. Finally the two met at an embrace that required neither tears nor words. She was where she belonged. He was where he belonged. Their relationship is solid, borne on a foundation of communication and mutual respect. The walls protecting their dreams are in perfect condition.

Strangers - Actor Thoughts - Azuka Horie 1

I am amazed by you, you silly strange incredible person. What are you doing here? A thousand other places would beg for your presence, your talent and accomplishments yet you make your home here, among peasants and fishermen. Before you landed, no one felt the lack of your existence but now you will never be forgotten. You are integral to the fabric of this town, although you were not born here. No one here knows your first steps, and your family is known only through non-descript pictures, but I wonder if this doesn’t simple give the baa-chans greater incentive to adopt you and claim you as their own.

You are the man everyone knows. When I meet a new visitor to this town I am surprised when they are already speaking fondly of you as though you were brothers. Friends of friends cut the middle man and you take them under your wing and make them a part of your life directly. How are you able to trump time, commitment and history and become as important to their lives as your friend? How are you able to turn a chain into a triangle?

And you know how to use these connections. Already I can see if you wanted to, in a decade you could be the second westerner elected to the Diet! If you wanted to. You could go anywhere, and I worry this town is going to suffer some heartbreak over you. You may enjoy it here, but have you ever really been living here?

But I must acknowledge my selfishness. My observations are painted in jealousy, not admiration, and it is tempting to hate you for it. In many ways, your success only highlights my failure.

But to hate you would be to hate motivation, progress and pure, beautiful, intellectual curiosity. You push me to do better merely by the strength of your tale. In the face of failure and emotional disappointment, you don’t persevere. That would imply a change in quality of effort you exert on your life. That would imply a conservative stance. You never exhibit such a shift in perspective. Tragedy and life are not interrelated for you. They exist on two completely separate planes of reality, and you make your home in the latter.

I want to be a stronger, accomplished person because of you. For you? No, that cannot be right. I want to consider myself your equal. Please, can see me as your intellectual sibling?

No that cannot be right.

I want to make an impact on this world, to traverse it and come to understand it. And in exotic adventures, I want to meet you there.

No that is also not right!

I want to use my skills to become as respected as you. I want you to respect me. But this is not at all correct, for to require your approval would automatically make me less than you!

You are no god. I know your failings. I know that for all the amiable attention you receive, for all the time you spent in the lab, on the mountain tops, you have not been able to achieve the one thing you want most. For in your success you are hopelessly dependent on one connection more than any other. For you, she doesn’t have to be smart, she doesn’t have to be pretty, but she does have to exist, and your magic has not been able to conjure more than a temporary dream of her.

I see you, I know you, more than you really know yourself perhaps! You want to dump in her the insecurities that no one ever knew you had. In her you want to find the meaning to why you work as hard as you do. In return, to her you offer your success, and with it the respect that would naturally come from being your bride.

You don’t understand women, and that might be your downfall. What is illegitimate fame achieved under a false pretense of love?

I know what you need too. You need an equal. To have a pet can mean blind affection, but a human pet will just disintegrate into resentment.

I know I cannot be that equal. There is too much I have yet to work on. I cannot risk losing to you in anything.

No this isn’t right either. I need a more aggressive stance.

You do not ask for it of a woman, but I ask it of myself for you. When we meet at the table of equals, when my achievements exceed yours, when I can challenge you on neutral territory and give you a good fight, only then will I deserve you.

But please, as I prepare for battle, wish me good luck with a kiss.”