The Tears of Kas̆dael

*Eaurgh*

Tēmānu thrust away from the railing with shaky hands and swiped at his mouth. His treacherous stomach gurgled unhappily as he stood up, but there was nothing left in it to expel. He staggered as the ship crested a particularly big wave and hit the railing with a crack as a torrent of icy water washed over the ship's side. The wave crashed into the deck and, as the waters fled back to the angry sea, their tendrils dragged him toward the edge. With a yelp, he grabbed hold of the railing, but his fingers were numb from the icy wave and his grip weakened. Mere seconds away from washing into the sea, a warm hand wrapped around his arm, and yanked him back.

Tēmānu coughed up water as the captain of the Horned Serpent slapped him on the back, shoving him toward the center of the ship. “I think it’s time for you to head inside,” the man roared above the winds.

Though his stomach rebelled at the thought of retreating to the ship’s bowels, he was too tired, cold, and miserable to resist the captain’s orders. He lurched toward the latch, swaying vicariously as the ship was tossed to and fro, and slid down the ladder that led into the hold.

His teeth were chattering by the time he crawled into the swaying hammock and, wrapping a thick wool blanket around him, he closed his eyes and prayed for the storm to pass.

When he finally awoke, the ship was still. As he rolled out of the hammock, Tēmānu felt remarkably better, save for the gnawing pit of hunger that filled his belly. On his way to the deck, he snagged a piece of hard tack; in truth, the bread was nearly inedible, but it did help ease his stomach’s complaints.

The sailors ignored him as he climbed out of the hold, too occupied with repairing the damage to the ship that the storm had wrought, to care about what their resident diplomat was doing. Unperturbed, he wandered over to the railing, still gnawing at the hard tack, and gazed with relief at the blessed sight of land that stretched before him.

The shore lacked the sandy beaches he was used to along Hapīya’s northern shores. Instead, in most places, a dense evergreen forest continued right up to the edge of the water, the land rising in a short, 3-5 foot bluff, above the Apīyan Sea, although there were stretches of rocky, muddy flatlands that were the closest things to beaches he saw.

In the distance, craggy peaks rose above the arboreal forest, their tips still coated in a layer of snow, even though spring had nearly turned into summer. Though there was no sign of human habitation yet, Tēmānu knew that, unless the storm had driven them far off course, they had to be finally close to Strythani.

I hope this is worth it. His spirits sunk slightly as he questioned, for perhaps the hundredth time, if he had made the right decision when he accepted the emperor’s offer to appoint him as the new diplomat to the Strythani.

The truth was that Tēmānu knew his opportunities to advance back home were limited. While still technically nobles, the lands his family had once ruled over were in the province of Têmtu, land that had been lost to the stoneflesh for well over a century by the time he’d been born. And by that point, what little wealth his family had managed to bring with them when they fled had been drained dry. Sure, they were still nobles but they were penniless ones, and in the Empire’s current state, there were few opportunities for unlanded gentry to advance that didn’t involve active combat. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a realistic option for him. Not with his withered arm.

I made the only decision I could, he consoled himself. No matter how much he’d have preferred to stay in the Empire, the position of an ambassador could bring him honor, wealth, and even an outside chance at arranging a decent marriage. He’d just have to freeze his ass off in the north for a few years.

Despite his original optimism, it was another two days before they finally reached the port city of Kār-Apum. He waited impatiently on the deck as the sailors secured the ship, eager to return to the safety and stability of dry land, but the deck did offer him a decent view of the city.

Kār-Apum, despite its imperial name, was nothing like the cities he was used to. Granted, there was a small district directly beside the docks that featured stone or wood houses built in the fashion he was familiar with, but those were the work of the many foreign traders whose ships filled the harbor. The rest of the city, however, was built in the Strythani fashion.

Tēmānu had read, of course, of their unique style but had never seen them in person. Though still built of wood, the homes were sunk into the ground with three of their four sides and their roof covered by a layer of earth that protected them from the elements, and a sunken courtyard in the front of the house that sheltered their livestock in winter.

Despite being a sizable city, the homes were widely spaced, with small pockets of forests dotting the landscape, where the giant crescent-fanged spiders - supposedly mortal descendants of Selene’s spectral kin - were farmed for their silk. That, along with the furs their forest abounded with, was enough to make the northern kingdom extremely prosperous despite its harsh conditions.

“Lord Tēmānu?” Now that they were back in civilization, or at least, sort of in civilization, the captain observed social niceties as he approached him. “Emissaries from the Council are here to greet you.”

He followed the captain down the gangplank, where a dozen men stood waiting on the docks. Despite the stiff wind blowing of the sea, they wore nothing but the thinnest of linen garments. Their arms and legs were covered in thick, coarse hair, so thick that they could almost be mistaken for fur coats, though Tēmānu knew better.

While the common folk might believe the stories of the Strythani’s abilities to be little more than rumors, he knew from his studies that those stories were no mere exaggeration. While he doubted all of the Strythani could change, he suspected their leader, a giant of a man who towered two full heads above the others, might be blessed with the powers of old. Are they men who can turn into beasts or beasts who can turn into men?

Discarding the idle thought, Tēmānu approached them briskly, doing his best to cradle his withered arm out of sight, and offered them a cordial nod. “My Lord, Emperor Eligon, sends his regards to the Council and your king. We have brought-”

“Does your king seek to give offense,” the giant interrupted him.

“Pardon?” To his credit, Tēmānu managed to keep his voice bland as the man pointed at his arm with an obvious sneer.

“Does your king seek to give offense by sending us a cripple, an unwanted cast-off from his throne?”

Irritation flared in the pit of his stomach, but Tēmānu had been prepared for this. Eligon had warned him before they departed that the Strythani valued strength, and he’d likely be forced to prove himself. Fortunately, while his arm may not have been fit to wield a sword, that didn’t mean he was helpless.

His left hand rose and his lips moved as he called on Vāya. The wind’s howl increased as a massive gust of wind buffeted the group, with enough strength that many of the men were forced to step back. But the leader remained unmoved. “Is that all you got? A little wind?” The man demanded.

“I could start removing limbs if you like. Give you one arm like me,” he said wryly. He held his breath as he finished, praying he hadn’t pushed the man too far, but the leader only chuckled.

“Aye, you’ll do. Arm or no arm, you’re much better than that tub of lard they sent the last time. I’m Dabûl, head of the Das̆pû clan, and I bid you welcome to Kār-Apu.”

“Come with me,” the man turned to head back toward the shore, and waved for Tēmānu, “we’ll get you settled into your quarters and tonight, you’ve been invited to join King Ḫaḫḫūru and the Council, if you’d like. I reckon you got caught in the storm a few days back, so if you’d prefer to rest a day or two, the Council won’t be offended.”

“Just the council?” Tēmānu asked, and Dabûl chuckled again.

“Caught that, did you? I assure you, you won’t be committing any grave sin if you sit out the feast tonight, but King Ḫaḫḫūru is a bit on edge these days. After the unpleasantness with our former queen and the rumors going about awakening gods, he’s eager to prove himself.”

“Awakening gods,” Tēmānu questioned with false innocence.

“You know, the First Man, err, the Ilrabû, I think you’ll call him.”

The rumors had been well-documented in the dossier the emperor had given him, but even Eligon hadn’t been sure if there was any truth to them. “I didn’t realize the Ilrabû was a real man,” Tēmānu lied.

“Oh, he was real,” Dabûl replied confidently. “If you want, I’m sure I can arrange for you to visit some ruins ascribed to the man himself. It’s the nature of his death and, if the rumors are to be believed, his return, that’s a bit murky, not his existence. You can understand why Ḫaḫḫūru is a bit nervous - after all, if the Ilrabû shows up, who’s going to follow a king over a god?”

Dabûl paused near the end of the foreign quarter, beside a weathered stone house. “Ḫaḫḫūru had this house set aside for you; figured you’d prefer the sort of house you’re used to, but you’re also welcome to use the old ambassador’s hall if you’d like.”

Tēmānu wondered if the offer was a test, and stalled for time. “Is the ambassador’s hall closer to the Council’s Chambers?”

“Aye,” Dabûl confirmed. “But it’s built in the style of our homes, set into the earth. I know a lot of your folks can’t stand the lack of windows.”

He hesitated a moment longer, torn between the desire for a home above ground and the desire to make a good impression on his new hosts. If I’m going to be stuck here for several years, it’s best they like me, he finally decided. “I’ll take the ambassador’s hall,” he told Dabûl.

The man brightened at his words, although a second later, a touch of worry flooded his eyes. “Aye, we’ll be more than happy to put you up there. For tonight, though, perhaps it’s best you stay here. It’s been a few years since the last ambassador visited, and I don't think the hall was prepared. We’d thought you’d prefer here,” he said with a shrug.

“Anywhere will be fine,” he replied quickly, and Dabûl nodded. “I’ll leave you here then, and send someone to bring you to the Council around seven. You can represent your gifts to the king and whatever messages your Emperor brought at the feast.”

With a final wave, Dabûl and his men departed, leaving Tēmānu to examine his temporary lodgings on his own. While the house looked old and weatherbeaten on the outside, the interior was far more luxurious than he’d expected. Thick fur rugs covered the hardwood floors, and the bedding and curtains were made of fine-spun silk nicer than his own back home. I hope I can bring these with me to the ambassador’s hall, he thought wistfully, beginning to regret his decision to leave the home their king had offered him for the sunken chambers of the ambassador’s hall.

A knock came at the door, and he retreated down the steps to find his manservant waiting patiently, a large chest cradled in his arms while, behind him, a handful of sailors approached with the rest of his gear. “Just leave it in the entry,” Tēmānu commanded, “we’ll be moving soon.”

He waited until the crates had been piled up and dug through them, pulling out the gifts Eligon had sent for the King and Council, and setting aside a new set of clothes for the feast. This was the right decision, he told himself, yet again.