The Royal Messenger

Being the Third Part of the Tale of Kutava

(Continued from Part II)

As I walked home alone that night, I repeated the phrase in my mind that Zêstika had said, forming the words with my lips but not speaking them aloud. ‘”Ĝevishlêjak vonê eterĝu, Return ye unto your home.” Thus said the hunters of the zintushe, and they heeded the command,’ I thought.

That night I could hardly sleep, as I turned over in my mind what the old man Zêstika had said. ‘They came from across the sea, from the Land of the Zintushe.’ I was young then, much younger than thou, and as young boys are wont to do, I dreamt of all manner of voyages I would take when I grew older. I would someday sail the Svôsivik [the Specific Ocean–bb], and voyage on to the land of the zintushe, where I would see the dragons with mine own eyes! I knew that it was unlikely that my dreams would become manifest, for Stalshi was many leagues from the seashore, but I believed them with all my heart.

Thus for the next several years of my life there in Stalshi I dreamt, since I could not do then what I longed to do. Those four years I continued to grow, though not greatly in stature, for my people are a short folk.

One morning, as I was in the fields tending the crops with my father and the other men and boys of the village, we heard a shout from the hill, calling us to come quickly. We left our hoes and ploughs, and hastened to the village on the hilltop. In the common area, we found the women and young children already gathered, and before them stood a well-dressed young man with his llama. His clothing was of fine cloth, red and black, and the hat which he wore clearly identified him as having come from the Royal City. His bright eyes scanned the crowd, and when he had ascertained that all were present, he began to speak, clearly proud of the fact that he had memorised his lines and needed not the scroll which hung from his llama’s saddle. I do not remember his exact words, but it was something like this:

‘Hearken, ye people of the kingdom, to the words of our highly esteemed and honourable king, Vetakishli Lata, Man of Ĝimlu, the Meztuvalt [for he was of that family].

‘Having observed the lack of learning among his people throughout the kingdom, our illustrious king hath issued a mandate to the Kroats (who, dwelling in the land of Ĝimlu, are subject to him), that they should allow any Ĝimluvian to enter their houses of learning and be instructed therein, whosoever willeth of the native people of Ĝimlu. Let it be known then, ye children of Vetakishli Lata, that if any of you wish to be educated, ye may go to any of the Kroats’ houses of learning, by order of the Man of Ĝimlu, free of charge.’

The royal messenger finished his speech with little enthusiasm, and received little from the crowd. When he had tipped his head back to indicate that his announcement was finished, the boys and girls ran off to play before they were summoned back to their duties, and the adults began to talk amongst themselves as the messenger mounted his llama and rode down the hill to his next destination.

I heard one man say, ‘Old king Vetakishli had better be careful ordering those Kroats around like that. They may get back at him when he least expects it.’ A woman nearby said, ‘Vetakishli Meztuvalt is not even worthy to be king, with all the preposterous laws he maketh. Next he will order us to get an education!’

I wanted to go with the other children my age, but first I wished to find what my father thought about the king’s new law. I found him speaking to my mother a short distance away from the crowd, and as I approached I overheard their conversation.

‘Thou knowest how bright our son is, surely an education would be very good for him,’ said my father. My mother replied, ‘But he is so young! How could he go to Kroatelmia alone?’ ‘He will be fourteen years of age in seven months. Moreover, some of his friends may be going as well who could accompany him.’ ‘If he wisheth, I suppose he may go. Let us let him decide.’ At this point they noticed my presence, and my father simply told me that it was time to return to the fields, and we went down in silence.

The remaining part of the day, we worked the ground in the low plain below the village, preparing for the planting. That evening when we had returned, my father spoke to me after we had dined.
‘My son, as thou hast heard the king’s messenger today, there is a possibility that thou mayest perhaps have the opportunity to go to Kroatelmia to receive an education. Wouldst thou pursue this?’
I responded with much enthusiasm and excitement. I do not now remember my words, but my thoughts were such like, ‘Who knoweth but that I might learn something of the zintushe from the Kroats? And it is one step closer to the sea.’ However, my joy was soon dampened by my father’s response. ‘My son, though we know that thou wouldst certainly excel if thou wert to journey to Kroatelmia now, thou art yet young, and thy mother and I will not suffer thee to go alone. However, once thou hast attained the age of fourteen, thou mayest go, provided that someone else of our village accompany thee.’
The next seven months seemed to pass very slowly. The moon waxed and waned, the crops grew and were harvested, and a new year began. During that time, I worked in the fields, dreamt of all that I might learn in Kroatelmia, and continued to listen to the tales of Zêstika. He had waxed quite old by then, and death seemed near at hand. However, he insisted on continuing his storytelling for the children.

Most of the townspeople in Stalshi did not wish to send their children to Kroatelmia, but fortunately my friend Taeĝan was given permission to go. He was a bit older than I, and shared my interest in the great dragons of old.

None of us in Stalshi were educated, as was the case with most of the Ĝimluvians in those days. The mindset of many was this: ‘We know how to grow our crops, we know how to ride our llamas, and we know how to build our houses. In short, we know how to live. What more need we?’ On the other hand, the Kroats were quite learned in all fields of knowledge, and to impart it unto their children they built institutions called ‘houses of learning.’ These were unknown to us Ĝimluvians, for we learned at home all that we needed to know.

In the 32nd year of the reign of Vetakishli Lata (for this is how we counted the years that passed), I and my friend, Taeĝan son of Reva, set out on our llamas along the old road that led south, bound for Kroatelmia. The road itself began in Aneĝim, the chief city of that region, and passed Stalshi as it wound through the gently rolling countryside. It eventually led to the town of Nuĝim, which was hailed of old as the home of that great fisherman and dragon slayer, Terimla Kon.

Along this road we travelled for four days. We met few other travellers, though several leagues from Nuĝim we met a man coming from the south. In those days, the road was a lonely place, so we stopped and made conversation with him for a while. He said he had just come from Kroatelmia, and upon hearing our destination, he informed us that there was indeed a house of learning in the town of Krotil, just over the river. ‘But I warn you, lads,’ quoth he, ‘be wary of the Kroats. Though they may treat you kindly, in their hearts they dislike us Ĝimluvians, and especially our good king Vetakishli.’
‘Speakest thou in troth?’ said I. ‘For I wot that our own king’s sister, even Ovêjat, is the wife of a former leader of the Kroats, and dwelleth among them to this day.’ ‘Aye, it is so,’ said he, ‘and peace shall remain while she yet liveth. But it is no secret that the Kroats resent the new laws our king hath laid upon their shoulders, and hate the king himself as much.’

‘’Tis a pity,’ quoth Taeĝan, ‘that these Kroats came to our shores in the first place, and that when they did come, His Strength did not drive them away.’

‘A pity, yes,’ said the traveller, ‘but naught may be done to repeal past actions or inactions. I only warn you to be on your guard whilst ye are in Kroatelmia. No doubt they will teach you many good things, but do not give them all your trust. However, I advise you to look well upon them, and whatever ye do, mention not the king nor his laws, if at all possible. Fare ye well; I wish you luck.’

We thanked the man for his advice, and then travelled on. As we rode in silence, I considered in my heart what the man had just told us about the Kroats. I myself knew little of them, though I had gone to Kroatelmia once with my father when I was younger. I had always envisioned the Kroats as a peaceful, simple folk, minding their own business and content to be under the rule of Ĝimlu, for when they arrived in the land, some 75 years earlier, all that land which they now occupy was Ĝimlu.

Now, the kingdom of Ĝimlu originally stretched a great many leagues along the coast of the Svôsivik, and a good ways inland as well. When the Kroats arrived in their great ships from across the sea, they took the central portion of the country for themselves, effectively dividing the northern part from the southern part, wherein was located the Royal City. Although I knew it not when I was young, this division was to cause great grief to all the people of Ĝimlu, including the Kroats.

Thus I thought on these things as we travelled upon our llamas, my friend and I, and I prayed that we might find a favourable welcome when we crossed the river into Kroatelmia.

As we approached the river valley, the land fell slowly before us, allowing a far view of the river and also the great range of mountains beyond it, the Kutvête. At one point our llamas refused to go any further, so we stopped and rested for a moment before going on.

‘Kutava, my good comrade,’ said Taeĝan, ‘what thinkest thou that they shall teach us in yon house of learning?’

I replied, ‘I must say I haven’t the least idea. Perhaps they shall teach us to write letters, as do the Knowing Ones.’

‘’Twould be quite interesting,’ said he, ‘though I know not what it would profit us.’

‘Just think of the possibilities, Taeĝan!’ said I. ‘We could write something now, and then read it many years later, after we have even forgotten that we wrote it!’

‘And what good would that work?’ he asked.

I responded, ‘I know not. However, I am sure that knowing to write would be of great benefit to the both of us.’

‘Whatever thou sayest,’ quoth he.

That evening we arrived in Nuĝim. Now Nuĝim, unlike the town from which we came, was built with a wall surrounding it on all sides, save one; for it was built on the banks of the Great River (which the Kroats call ‘the Krotelmian River’). Instead of a wall covering the side of the town which faced the river, a bridge was built, which was only accessible through the town. Thus the people of Nuĝim were able to control the traffic as people travelled across the bridge.

As we drew nigh to the gates of the city, I noticed figures carved upon the gates which recalled to my mind childhood dreams. There, carved masterfully into the wooden pillars were several images of a man fighting a great dragon single-handedly. In one picture he was shooting arrows at it, and in another the warrior wielded a spear. In yet another image, the dragon lay dead, and the warrior held in his hand its dreadful head. The terimla was the symbol of Nuĝim, and I saw many renditions of it upon doors throughout the town.

As I gazed at the decorations on the gates, Taeĝan pulled a rope which hung from above, and the clear sound of metal striking metal came to my ears. A gruff voice from within said, ‘Ĝimluvians, or Kroats?’ Taeĝan replied, ‘We are Ĝimluvians, of the town of Stalshi.’

We were soon admitted, and were easily able to find the inn, where we stayed that night. We found the townspeople there quite jovial, and eager to hear news of other parts. They deemed our endeavour worthy, although they were quick to add that they themselves would not undertake such an adventure. All seemed to think well of the Krotelmians, and I even noticed a small group of Kroats off in a corner in the inn, but they kept to themselves and did not join our group of jolly Ĝimluvians.

That night before going to bed, I looked out from the window and realised that our room in the inn directly faced the river. I gazed out upon the tranquil waters, and watched the reflection of a lamp hanging from the outside wall as the water gently rippled from a fish catching a careless insect. I thought of how, in these very waters, the great hero Terimla Kon once fished, years ago before there were any Kroats. I only wished I had been born at an earlier time, when the terimlae and zintushe yet dwelt there. The opposite shore was far away, and nought could I see of it but darkness. The next morning we were to cross that wide river into the land of the Kroats. We were going to another place that we had never seen before.

Continue reading: The House of Learning