Kingdom of Deceit Read online

  Given that we all wore masks, I took small pieces of the fish and turned around when I ate them, raising my mask only slightly. The Violets did the same. For once, I was glad that the Collective Laws were being observed, even in this remote corner of the territories.

  We sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the wind and waves while we drank a refreshing, lavender tea which Jhute had brewed himself. He then began to speak of their city, Papylia, with great fondness. I learned that the Violet territory lay on a huge plateau, covered in lavender, and that at the very end of the plateau was Papylia, nestled in a quiet lagoon near the sea.

  “You should see it, Fulgor. It’s the most beautiful city in all the territories!” Zimdie said.

  “More beautiful even than Ayas?” I asked.

  “Ayas!” snapped Jhute with sharp contempt. “That wasteland? You’re touched in the head if you think that’s beautiful. It ain’t nothing more than a big market with walls!”

  Zimdie explained that the Violets scattered to the four winds over the seasons to trade, returning only at the end of the year to share their fortunes. “That’s at the time of butterflies,” she said, clapping her hands. “Once every solstice, butterflies from all over the territories make their way to Papylia. The sky’s full of ‘em!”

  “It looks like a rainbow’s exploded.” Jhute chimed in. “It could only happen in the most beautiful city in all the territories.”

  “Have you ever been to Ayas and the Harvest Faire?” I asked.

  “Yes, but not this last one,” said Zimdie. “And by all accounts there was a right old to-do! The Blues found a Harlequin, right there in the middle of everything, brazen as anything! They put him on the Wheel of Chance!”

  “Really?” I said, trying to remain calm, “And what happened to him?”

  Zimdie and Jhute told the story of how the arrows shot by the blind executioner all veered away from the supposed Harlequin, proclaiming its innocence. It was so strange to hear it all told by someone else; and with so many embellishments added to the story.

  “The Harlequin’s aura flared around him like a wall of rainbow colors, protecting him from the arrows,” Jhute told me. “Anyone who tried to look at him was blinded!”

  “Then he was gone! Vanished, right in front of everyone.” Zimdie squealed.

  “What do you think it all means?”

  “Only the gods know,” Jhute said. “One thing I can tell you for sure is it’s a portent of something.” He paused before adding, “Something big.”

  “Was the Harlequin ever heard from, again?” I asked, amused by these new twists.

  “Not a sight of him,” said Jhute. “Everyone was terrified, expectin’ he’d have his vengeance on the lot of ‘em!”

  “But so far, last we heard, there’s been no babies had their hearts eaten, no storms in the Great Blue Pyramid” said Zimdie. “Can you imagine it?”

  “I reckon his freedom’s punishment enough for them Blues” said Jhute. “We heard there’s a lot of ‘em wanting to get rid of that Vizier and his crowd, anyway. Corrupt and greedy, the lot of ‘em. They’ll be lining up to smash that dreadful Wheel up, I reckon!” said Jhute.

  “Maybe they should give their Vizier a ride on it before they do,” I said. And they both laughed again.

  Companionable days passed quickly as the three of us roamed the woods, but all too soon it was time for Jhute and Zimdie to move on. They were heading to the mountain territories shared by the Orange and Yellow chromes. They invited me to come with them. For a homeless Green, this would have been no problem, but always in the back of my mind was the hope that Chtomio would return. We celebrated our last night together with a lavish dinner. And perhaps because it would be our last time, Jhute made a peculiar request.

  “Greens are supposed to be singers,” he said. “How about sharin’ a tune with us?”

  Now I was in a bit of trouble. I didn’t know a single Green song. In fact, after seeing their faces, I’d almost forgotten I’d told them I was a Green. Thinking quickly, I said “How about I do better than that? Why don’t I sing you a ritual song I pilfered from the Black nation?”

  I could see them both wide-eyed with curiosity through the slits in their masks. Black rites were kept secret and almost nothing about my nation was known by other chromes.

  “Go on, then,” said Jhute.

  Luckily for me, I have a good voice. I began a song about our Great Shepherd God – a sweet, melancholic ballad I’d learned from my time at the seminary in preparation for the Rite.

  Behind my mask tears fell down my cheeks, as my emotions overtook me. I realized that through the song I was voicing the loss of everything and everyone Black I had known. The mournful sound of the waves and the wind accompanied me. The Violets must have understood on some level how personal this song was for me, because as I finished they remained silent for a while. When they spoke, I could hear the emotion in their voices.

  “That was beautiful,” sniffed Zimdie.

  “I never knew Black chromes had that side to ‘em,” agreed Jhute. “Who’d have thought it, such a lovely piece all about a primitive ritual.”

  I had to control myself. Jhute had just offended me to my very core with his casual blasphemy. “Why would you say that?” I asked him, trying to keep cool.

  “Because there’s no such thing as a path to maturity,” he replied.

  “There’s no rite that prepares you for that,” added Zimdie, nodding in agreement. “The only way you learn about life is living it.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” I replied.

  “Well, let’s take you, for example,” said Jhute. “When we first met you, we could see you already knew how to live on your own. It was plain as day.”

  “And anyone that can live alone in the territories at your age certainly don’t need any rites to prove himself,” added Zimdie.

  They must have sensed my misgiving.

  “You don’t believe us,” said Jhute, “but you only need to take a bit of a look at yourself. You’re a nomad. You’ve always gone your own way, whether there’s a path there or not. Your life’s what you make of it, no more and no less. And we respect that, don’t we Zim?”

  She nodded her agreement. “We certainly do, young Fulgor.”

  That night I was restless. My Violent friends could respect the Green chrome Fulgor all they wanted, but I was bothered by their opinions concerning Blacks and of their dismissive attitude towards the Rite. Of course I needed a Rite! Or at least a path to follow! Everyone did!

  The next morning, I helped Jhute and Zimdie pack up the bundles of plants we’d found. They gave me a vial of rare Purple Flox Butterfly dust as a gift.

  “It has many healing properties,” Jhute assured me. “Mark my words, it’ll serve you well.”

  Before we bid farewell, Zimdie came out from the house on wheels carrying a gift basket of powders and dyes, a purple mantle and lilac colored clothes made of soft wool. “It’s goin’ to get cold soon,” she said, handing me the basket. “These will keep you warm.”

  “But I’m not a Violet,” I said.

  “You’re here all alone,” she whispered, “Who’s going to know?

  Then we hugged each other one last time. Avala and I watched with regret as their home clattered and rumbled away along the beach, pulled by their sturdy ox team.

  A few days later, just like Zimdie predicted, cold harsh winds came from the inlands and snow began to fall. I was not surprised when Avala took a mate and wandered off with him for higher ground. I was happy to see that she could now survive on her own, but her departure, combined with the dreary cold, sat heavily in my heart and left me bereft.

  Where was Chtomio? I understood that he wanted to protect me by keeping me in isolation, but I could feel a bone-deep rebellion rising in me under the restriction of it. Jhute’s words also continued to haunt me: ‘You’ve always gone your own way, whether there’s a path there or not.’

  I studied the horiz
on. The dark clouds that threatened more snow were dissipating. The sun came back to shine over the infinite shore in front of me. I looked at my beaten down wooden mask and the violet mantle Zimdie had given me and knew what I had to do.

  With the chalk powder the Violet chromes had left me, I painted the whole of the mask white and then used a red powder with water to paint it with blood colored diamonds on each of the two cheeks. I used the red dye I’d received to change the color of the mantle from purple to crimson.

  I put on my new mask and mantle and returned to my lean-to, to pack my few possessions. Then I set off walking, away from the woods and out onto the beach, smiling inside my mask. From there, I decided to head north. If I followed the seashore, it would lead me all the way to the Red kingdom and Samaris.

  I set out once more on my journey. And I would never look back.

  14. Ferya

  On the fourth day of my journey along the shoreline I came upon a number of white mounds. At first I thought they must be made of sand. Two long stakes jutted out of the larger one. The sky around it was dark with circling birds. As I drew closer, I could see they were vultures feasting on two bodies impaled on top of the two sharp pointed wooden poles. On the mound, between the poles, a stone plaque read:

  This is our just punishment

  For trying to steal the fruit of the Sea,

  The Sacred Salt,

  Of which only the King,

  Divine descendant of Adio and Adia

  May use as he desires.

  These must be the precious reserves of salt Chtomio mentioned when he spoke of the Reds. Turning away from the abominable sight, I moved on along the shore line. I had naively thought that the Red kingdom was different from the other territories, less violent and more just. I would be proven wrong yet again.

  The salt reserves meant I was now deep inside Red territory. As I moved beyond the last mounds a mountain came in to view. It had been blasted in half by nature and dominated the flat land all around it. As I drew closer, I realized that what I taken to be a natural protuberance at its peak was really a rose colored palatial tower. Excited and intrigued, I quickened my pace towards it.

  The tower loomed horn-like out of the rock itself. Below it lay a city spotted with crimson minaret-capped towers. A ring of tremendous statues sprang up from the imposing outer walls and circled the entire base of the rock like an enormous belt of stone, the same pale red color of the tower. The closer I got to it, the more imposing the city and the statues’ astounding size became. Each was at least as tall as twenty chromes put together. I had arrived at Samaris.

  I remembered the stories my father regaled me with, about the first war he fought against the Reds. But he had never mentioned Samaris in his tales of battle. The Collective Laws stated that cities of every color were sacred to the gods, and were not to be attacked.

  Glancing down at my garments, I grew nervous. I had a new mask and mantle. While they would help me to pass for a Red chrome to anyone glancing casually at me, would they be enough to see me into Samaris and the scrutiny that would inevitably mean? For a moment, I fretted about my Black chrome aura too, before reminding myself what Chtomio had told me about them.

  I wondered what his reaction would be to seeing me. He had forbidden me to come into the Red kingdom, but surely he could not expect me to stay in the forest all this time? While I hoped my presence would make him happy, a part of me feared that he would not be pleased.

  The masks carved in to the huge statues imperiously scanned the horizon. A large crowd had gathered in their shadow at the entrance to the city. As I drew close, I got more nervous. After all, I was entering a city which had twice been the enemy of the Black nation in recent times. If my true identity were to be discovered, I was in no doubt of what would happen to me, especially with the image of the two impaled bodies still fresh in my mind.

  The gateway to Samaris consisted of two separate tunnels underneath a couple of the wall’s gigantic statues. The statue on the left depicted a female chrome who rested her arms on a large bow. A quiver full of arrows had been sculpted onto her back. The statue on the right was a male javelin thrower riding a chariot drawn by two giant fish. Both statues looked rather threatening, so I assumed they had been erected to intimidate rather than to please.

  I noticed a stream of chromes appearing along a road that led off to the west and snaked around the side of the mountain. Oddly, none were either going in to or coming out from the passages under the gigantic statues.

  On reaching the crowd, I was struck by a foul stench of sweat and grime. Everyone was poorly dressed in old and dirty patches of red cloth. I hadn’t necessarily expected lavish robes like those worn by the Blue merchants, but I was surprised to see so many clothed in little more than tattered rags which even the lowest Green would refuse to put on.

  Most of the masks I saw were made of straw, with unusually large holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth. They reminded me of the scarecrows our Black farmers placed in the fields below Axyum. Perhaps these are not Red chromes, I thought.

  Taken as I was in my study of these chromes, I soon realized many were equally intent on scrutinizing me. Someone yanked my mantle from behind. I swung around to be confronted by an old chrome with his back bent almost in two, shouting incomprehensible words at me.

  “Ashi! Sayi! Noble one!” He turned a trembling palm up to me and suddenly it became clear: He was a beggar; they all were.

  “Ashi! Sayi! Noble one!” he repeated, “A token of your generosity for an old chrome!”

  “Ashi! Sayi! Noble one!” shouted a younger chrome, charging forward. “Show me mercy!”

  Soon, the entire crowd moved in around me. I had to struggle to make my way towards the walls of the city. As I did, a piece of my mantle got torn away. Fortunately, my father’s dagger and my black mask were tucked firmly in my robes and my mother’s medallion still hung around my neck.

  One of the beggars came from behind me and kneeled in front of me. “Please, Ashi! Take me inside with you! Please, I beg you. Let my eyes see the wonders of Samaris at least once before I die!”

  “Come back here, you old fool!” shouted someone from the crowd before a female chrome moved past me and grabbed him by the arm.

  “Forgive him noble one, he does not know what he is saying.”

  “Let go of me!” he cried out. “I will go in to Samaris! It is my city as much as it is his!” he said, pointing to me. I was confused and didn’t know how to react as he wrested himself loose from the female and made towards one of the two tunnels, disappearing inside the dark passage underneath the statue of the female chrome. The female chrome and the mob behind me implored him to stop and come back.

  It didn’t take me long to understand why. A terrible shriek of horror echoed out of the tunnel, silencing the mob. A moment or two later, two chromes in blood-red cloaks and grey, skull-shaped masks emerged from it. One of them had something in his hand. It was the head of the old chrome, its eyes frozen open in a mask of death, blood dripping from its neck.

  “Anyone else?” shouted the skull masked chrome.

  The mob fell silent. Everyone backed away more from the walls. Shocked and sickened, I did the same. No sooner had the guards gone back inside the walls that loud horns began to trumpet from within.

  “Why don’t you go inside?” I heard a high-pitched voice whisper behind me. I turned and looked down to see a young female chrome staring up at me. Dressed in soiled garments made up of different patches of red like the other beggars, she wore a pink mask too small for her face that was stained by grime. She could not have been more than six or seven solstices old.

  “You’re too well dressed to be a Janis. Anyone can see that,” she said. “You must be an Ashi or a Sayi. So why are you here with us?”

  “What’s a Janis?” I asked.

  “How could you not know what a Janis is?” she said.

  The trumpets sounded once more. This time, the mob surged and pressed closer to the w
alls. I almost fell and the little female would certainly have been trampled if I had not pushed the wave back to protect her.

  “Hey, watch it!” I threatened one particularly eager chrome, who backed off.

  “Thank you,” said the little chrome.

  “This doesn’t seem like a safe place for you,” I said.

  “I’m used to it,” she said. “Every Ferya is like this, although I don’t come here for the food.”

  “What food?” Just hearing myself say the word out loud had set off craving in my stomach.

  “The food the King gives out!” she replied matter-of-factly. “You are strange.”

  The horns’ incessant blaring continued and was soon accompanied by the sound of hoof beats echoing from one of the passageways. A moment later, to the excitement of the crowd, an entire squadron of cavalry guards emerged from the left tunnel. They were dressed in flaming red mantles and golden masks and carried spears tipped with jaunty red pennants.

  The horses formed two long lines on both sides of the road while the Red beggars comically scrambled to position themselves near them. Only this was no farce. If some came too close - and many did - the guards didn’t hesitate to thrust at them with their spears; their own brothers.

  Then, after yet another round of trumpets, a red chariot with golden inlay, drawn by two white horses with red feather plumes barreled out of the right tunnel. A red mantled chrome in a shiny red mask and golden garments held the reins while a female in a lavish red and white silk gown and luminescent pearl mask waved to the crowd. Her long black hair whipped around her face in the wind.

  “Hail King Quadrio! Hail his daughter, Princess Cestia!” cried the horse guards in unison. The crowd repeated this, though a little half-heartedly.

  “Princess Cestia!” the little female chrome cried out beside me. “Isn’t she beautiful? Do you know her mask is made of a single pearl given to the King by the god Adio, upon her birth?”

  A sleek, somewhat smaller black chariot with red wheels followed the royal one out. Its sole occupant was a tall, slim chrome in a somber silver robe and silver mask adorned with red ruby brows that gave him a stern visage.