Twelve Thrones: Khiz

1214-04-28

WAH !

Many people ask, "Why would you believe in something you can't see?" I always wondered the same—until I considered the wind. The spiritual realm works much the same way. It's not always visible, but its influence is profound.

You see your body every day, yet your soul can remain stagnant, hidden from view. I often ponder the purity our souls start with. Babies, for instance, are the purest forms of human life. I would know—I've watched my little girl grow and change as time flows relentlessly forward. I'm so proud of her. Although I can only see her body, I know her soul. I know what she'll become. I know the strength she'll endure.

Many people wish for an easy life, or they wish to be great. But few realize the truth: to achieve those things, to become the person you want to be, you must face trials. If you wish for wisdom, you will encounter challenges. If you wish for strength, you will endure hardship. Everything worth having comes with a price.

"WAH!"

The sharp cry jolted me from my thoughts.

"I'm awake … I'm awake," I mumbled.

I rolled over in bed. For a moment, I thought about how much room I had—but Amanda didn't leave me time to dwell. I looked to her.

The room was simple but filled with love. On the floor sat a toy dragon she adored, its soft fabric well-worn from countless adventures. A white blanket embroidered with "Amanda" in blue letters hung on a string, drying after a wash. By her crib, a candle flickered gently, its dim light illuminating a necklace I treasured—a delicate aquamarine gem set in silver, a gift from her father. He always said it was expensive, a stone so rare that many doubted its existence.

Amanda's tiny frame squirmed in the crib. Brown, patchy spots speckled her head, and her pale green eyes glowed faintly in the dim light.

"If your hair keeps growing like this, I'll have to cut it," I teased softly, scooping her up.

The house meant everything to me. It was small and cozy, a labor of love for my husband and me. Two floors, just two rooms—enough for now. Someday, when Amanda is older, she'll have her own space. For now, she sleeps with us, her presence a comfort even on restless nights.

This is our home on Barta, a small island with just one town. Compared to places like Herto, sprawling with hundreds of cities, Barta felt like a hidden gem. Quiet, simple, ours.

I carried Amanda downstairs and lit the fire, its warm glow pushing back the early morning chill. I checked our food supply—there wasn't much. Just some salmon and a bit of milk. Cutting the salmon into tiny pieces, I fed it to her. But she remained hungry, whining for more. I gave her the milk, and finally, she calmed. Her little eyes fluttered shut, and she began to doze off.

"I really need to go to the market," I whispered, glancing at Amanda as she slept soundly.

Once I was sure she wouldn't wake, I returned to my room. Gathering my things, I reached for her blanket, feeling its soft fabric.

"It's dry," I said with a small smile, folding it neatly.

Next, I picked up the necklace. The blue aquamarine gem, encased in silver, gleamed like ice in the morning light. I always wore it when I went out. Some might think it foolish, that it would attract trouble, but the people of Barta were good—kind, honest, and safe. Over the years, I'd made many friends here.

I walked back downstairs, moving quietly to avoid waking Amanda. Carefully, I wrapped her in the blanket, leaving only the letter "A" visible. Once the swaddle was snug, I laid down on the sofa with her. The sun began to rise covering the house in a warm glow.

I gazed at Amanda as she slept, her tiny chest rising and falling. "Where will you go, little one?" I wondered aloud. "Who will you become?"

Her father is a brave man—a soldier fighting in Rali. Not a day went by that I didn't worry for him, imagining the worst. But I clung to hope, trusting that the Lion would protect him. If Amanda inherited even half of her father's courage and character, she would grow into a remarkable woman. 

Amanda stirred, her amber eyes flickering open. 

"Are you ready to go?" I asked, as she cooed in response.

Barta is a small fishing town. Boats lined the docks weathered by salt and time. The scent of fresh fish lingered in the air. The town's streets were simple, paved with cobblestones, and the homes were modest.

Unlike Disla, the pride and joy of the UIK where monumental decisions were made, Barta was tucked away—far from combat and far from danger. It was a safe haven, a quiet place where life moved at its own pace. It was the perfect place to raise Amanda away from the chaos.

The market was alive with energy, more bustling than usual as preparations for the Festival of Tides approached. Scheduled for the 10th, the festival was a celebration of the sea, honoring its bounty and the sailors who braved its waves. 

Barta's fishing town square, a collection of weathered wooden stalls and bustling vendors, was alive with chatter. I held Amanda close in one arm and carried a sturdy woven basket in the other. The blanket wrapped snugly around her made it easier to carry her through the crowd.

The first stop was the fish station. The fisherman, a broad man with a scruffy beard. His stall was lined with freshly caught salmon, haddock, and mackerel. 

"Morning, Ma'am," he said. "What'll it be today?"

"Ten salmon, five haddock and five mackerel, please," I replied.

"Twenty? Stocking up, are we?"

I smiled. "Something like that. She's been eating more."

He nodded, expertly wrapping the fish in thick paper and stacking them into my basket. "That'll be … 30 var."

I handed him the coins, the weight of the basket increasing with each purchase. "Thank you."

The bread station was next, and the smell of fresh loaves pulled me in before I could even greet the baker, a cheerful woman in a flour-dusted apron. The stall displayed all sorts of breads—dense rye loaves, soft rolls, and sweet honeyed bread.

"I'll take ten loaves," I said. "And one of those honeyed ones, too."

The baker grinned. "A treat for the little one?"

"More for me," I said with a laugh, but I knew Amanda would enjoy the bits I gave her.

"That'll be 20 var," she said as she tied the loaves together with twine. I counted out the coins and added the bread to the basket, its warmth radiating through the woven fibers.

My final stop was a merchant from AHK, his stall filled with fine goods: polished brassware, delicate trinkets, and sturdy tools. What caught my eye were a set of metal candle holders. Their design was clever—a small, automatic cover that fell into place once the candle burned low, snuffing it out without risk.

"How much for these?" I asked, pointing to the candle holders.

The merchant, a wiry man with an accent from Ahk, smiled. "40 var for the pair. A practical choice for a mother, no?"

I looked down at Amanda, who was watching the merchant with curious eyes.

 "They'll be useful."

"How old is she?" the merchant asked as he looked at Amanda

"She's 16 and a half months old," I replied.

"She's got your eyes," he said with a nod. "A strong child, I'd wager."

I smiled, pulling out the coins. 40 var was a fair price, especially for something so well-made. "Thank you."

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, carefully wrapping the candle holders in cloth and placing them in the basket.

With my purchases complete I lingered briefly to look at some dried fruits and nuts. For another 15 var, I added a pouch of dates and a small bag of almonds to the basket.

By the time I was finished, the basket was heavy but manageable. Amanda rested quietly in my arms, her amber eyes taking in the sights as we began the walk back home. The market noise faded into the distance, replaced by the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore.

The house greeted us with its quiet warmth as I nudged the door open with my hip, balancing Amanda and the basket. Amanda stirred in my arms.

"It's alright," I whispered. "We're home."

I set the basket on the table. Carrying her upstairs, I laid her gently on the bed. The blanket covering her.

Watching her, I lingered for a moment. Her peacefulness reminded me of how simple life once felt before war and worry.

I kissed her forehead. "You'll be safe here."

Downstairs, the room felt alive with the aroma of fresh bread and fish, the fruits of my morning spent at the market. I carefully put everything away, arranging the salmon in neat rows to be smoked later. The bread went into the cupboard, and the almonds and dates into jars on the shelf. The new candle holders sat on the table, their silver-blue sheen catching the dim light.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky. I lit one of the candles, watching as the cover shifted slightly, ready to fall into place when the time came. I carried the second holder upstairs, placing it on the bedside table.

I stepped onto the porch, letting the evening air wash over me. My thoughts wandered, as they often did at this hour.

Would Amanda grow up to know this peace? Or would the war find us here too, no matter how small and remote Barta was? The archipelago had always been a tangle of shifting alliances, but it wasn't until my husband left for Rali that I truly understood the weight of it all.

I clenched my hands, my thumb brushing against the aquamarine necklace. 

"A strong stone for a strong woman," my husband had said when he gave it to me. 

But I didn't feel strong. Most days I felt like the waves that beat endlessly against the shore.

"We don't war against flesh and blood, but against spiritual wickedness in high places." my husband would say.

Yet, the truth that hurt the most was not knowing his fate. He could have died long ago, and I might be clinging to nothing more than a fleeting hope. Or perhaps he was still alive, holding on just as I was, waiting for the day we'd be reunited.

This is our sanctuary, our safe haven. But how long could it last? Amanda would grow, and so would her curiosity. She would ask about her father, about the world beyond Barta. Would I have the answers she needed?

"I'll keep going," I prayed to the night.