A Queen, a Cafa
In this story, Cadovis is a young man traveling on the seas. They have set dock in the foreign city of Aruk-Nai, and here Cadovis first meets two important characters in his life. The story is mostly mysterious without much in the way of answers, providing context to the novel. But it can also serve as another peek into Roda.
A quick glossary of terms:
Kana — a race of humans, short for Kanadrim
cafa — a hardy small being, often shallow underground or high in trees, known for courage and architectural oddities
hol — informal for "yes" in Aruchke (soldier’s tongue)
ghen — do you see? do you understand? literally, you feel it inside you
ennuh — "all right", a state of being, often a question, from Kawas (language of the Kana)
nür — respectful male address
a’kvan — a common rod worth about 250 copper mean, used by the Kana
varikine — a game of rolling stones in a semi-circle, avoiding certain obstacles, and knocking opponent's stones into the obstacles
scurnie — an insult name that refers to a scavenging bird; a scoundrel
Calair — all sentient physical beings, including humans, cafa, and jenalun
halor — a drink of milk, hops, honey, and bresili (a spice)
A Queen, a Cafa
city of Aruk-Nai
Year 866 Red Moon
The Kana pushed his stone and it settled against the right side, above the four.
Cadovis smiled grimly. "Another. One more."
The Kana shook his head, showing a toothy grin. "Win. I keep."
"Right, right, you keep it. It's yours," Cadovis begrudged, handing over the last of his money rod, the a'kvan.
He sulked over to the bar and laid his head in his arms.
"You ennuh?" the barkeep said. "What is your drink, nür?"
Cadovis shook his head slightly from his hands. He was not all right. His head raged at him. "Not ennuh. Never ennuh. Nothing. It's not the varikine, you'll ghen." Cadovis indicated the game, the lopsided rolling stones, the various obstacles along the course. "That muler, he just win."
The barkeep chuckled. "He play here often, friend. He know all the grooves. The weight of each impediment."
Cadovis grunted and waved him off. "No, in honesty, it is the sea. It is this place. It is... it is the hacked sun itself, if you must know."
"I tell you secret." The barkeep leaned close. "He more scurnie than muler. His kind be all over this city."
He nodded knowingly as he backed away, and Cadovis couldn't hold back a laugh. He gestured at the barkeep. "I'm the muler, truth be told. A right fool."
"Hol!" The barkeep shared the laugh. "As am I, young man. But he still scurnie."
Cadovis guffawed, picturing the scavenging bird "scurnie" referred to, its loud squawking and forward behavior. A scurnie indeed. He set several copper mean on the bar.
The early sun rimmed the horizon, and long shadows between buildings began to twist and soften. The architecture here in Aruk-Nai engaged the imagination, even in these back-alley scrubs. Inlaid stones curled and sloped to half-hidden drains. Entryways beckoned with vaguely hand-like shapes, then slid around bends and down steps to a grand vestibule. Great parklands rose out of the grime of the deepest city, with lush shrubs and leafy trees overlaying a gentle brook that, upon leaving the parkland, dove beneath the city street. All of it led Cadovis to imagine odd creatures around the next bend, passageways to other worlds hidden in the alcoves, treasures beneath the wide-limbed shade tree.
For much of the morning, he circumvented the city, crossing the mighty river several times. The people kept to themselves, smiling always as they passed, but showing no deference. They were a kind people, he thought, untouched by hardship and blemish at the hands of others. All Calair were in this life together. Cadovis envied them this outlook. Even the street people smiled as he passed, none of them bearing the stench of neglect, none of them unnerving him with barely-concealed hostile glances as those in other cities had done. No, he corrected himself. They were not untouched by hardship and blemish. As with all Calair, it touched these people plenty. But these hardships did not blemish their outlook. That was the difference.
In a few hours, he was due back at the docks. They would be loading the ship with whatever goods this city had to offer. Then back to the open sea. The Gulf of Fondoria was stormy this time of year, which made the ride especially choppy. Sometimes Cadovis appreciated this. Up and down waves like a carriage in the hillsides. Hauling in the sails when the winds whipped up, splash of seawater on his face, the pitch of the ship to one side or another. He would never be a true seaman, he knew, but he relished these moments when danger, when death strode right up to him and brushed his cheek with a crusty finger.
At last he approached the main eastern gate, about which a great crowd pressed. Cadovis too pressed forward, trying to comprehend the hurried Kawas the native Kana spoke. He picked up a word or two, but not enough to piece it together.
His progress stymied, Cadovis turned heel and found high ground nearer the city wall. A procession appeared from deeper inside the city, heading toward the gate. Judging by the swords--the thin pointed whoeps rather than the flat scorlins of Noroc or the broad curved ozals of the Kana--and the ornate flowing garb, these were Bracha royalty, likely of the neighboring nation of Hariashi.
One of the ladies walked on her own, greeting those along the way. She was young, a princess or lady, lustrous wavy hair flowing behind her. Cadovis strained for a better view, and one of the words he'd heard the Kana speak came back to him--Sheffel. The Lady Sheffel. That was her name.
But hadn't she...? Hol, he was sure of it. The Lady Sheffel had become the Queen of Tarks, a city-state on the eastern point of Fondoria, surrounded by Hariashi, but independent at least in name. They had been talking about her back in Nak Afota, a Hariashi city, on his last port. She’d risen from a Lady in Audergen all the way to the Loft in Tarks. Her people loved her, it was said, and he could see why. She radiated to the Kana here in Aruk-Nai, a foreign people and a distant land. She radiated love and acceptance. She exuded peace and caring and exuberance.
Then she turned and gazed at Cadovis. Smile gone, just deep penetrating eyes, those milky white eyes of a Bracha, jagged stripes stretching from the sclera to the pupil. He teetered and lost her stare. When he looked again, not a split second later, her profile was to him, still a long way off, and smiling as she held the hands of a peasant woman. He'd imagined it, he thought, but the shivers inside him were real.
In an instant, her scrutiny set upon him again. He was ready for it this time, or so he figured. He soon found he was not. It entered him like a stranger in a strange house and prowled inside him. Coldness swelled deep in his chest and convulsed his entire body.
No. She was not gaping at him. Her back was to him, and she was accepting some pendant or medal from an important-looking Kana. He had imagined it all. It was the sleep last night--he hadn't gotten any. Spent all night downing grantin and quin, chased by a bittersweet draft of halor--losing his only a'kvan rod, chop by chop and chip by chip, on various games of grats and varikine.
But there she was again. Staring at him with that unworldly, irresistible gaze that bared his last sorry need, that staggered him and besought him on some level he couldn't grasp.
At the same time, she wasn't staring at him at all. As if with a second eye, he could still see her continuing her greetings, her smiles, her kind words. Simultaneously staring at him, and not. Only he could see it, he realized. To anyone else, nothing had changed in her demeanor or actions. But to him....
I see you, that gaze said. I see you and I want you. The jagged stripes that extended like dark lightning bolts across her irises seemed to shift and reform, as if they were striking the edges of her eyes repeatedly, radiating out from the pupils and retreating.
Why she would want him, he could not fathom. What could he have to do with the Queen of Tarks? This lowly runaway captain in the command of Noroc, former investigator of oddities, current seaman on the derelict ship Ohvnis, deliverer of fine goods and baser ones too, your chocolats and your ale, your silks and your hemps, together for the last time on his ship. What could royalty--not even a princess but a queen--want with such as him?
Her gaze had ceased. She released the hand of her last admirer and mounted the steps into the coach that rolled alongside. One last time she glanced around, and this time her eyes alighted upon him for a mere moment; not that otherworldly gaze, but the eyes of the queen greeting her subjects with all the love and grace she owed them. Aside from a twinkle in one eye and a lift in the corner of her mouth, he would not have guessed she had really seen him at all.
But she had. Not only with her physical sight, but with an inner eye, one that had penetrated as deep as any spirit ever managed. It had left not a hole but a single unavoidable question. With it, a hum rose within him, first a distant buzz, but it grew into a hive, then a ubiquitous note that drowned out all else. Come, it said, in tune with that hum. Find me.
She wanted him. And that scared him.
The procession exited the gate and the crowd filled in behind it. Cadovis, still broken out in a cold sweat, scanned the faces in the crowd more out of distraction than anything. His sight fell upon a cafa, its round pudgy face and tiny stout body standing out amidst all the tall and dark Kana. The cafa, also, stared at him. Had been looking at him. No, not looking--gaping.
He started toward it, and the cafa scurried off between legs and under rails. It stood less than half a man in height, its head too large for its short stature, and its eyes too large for its head. Capable of quickness and change-of-direction that would make Cadovis's head spin, the cafa would be difficult to follow.
Cadovis hurried, the Arukians parting before him or politely excusing themselves as he bumped or brushed against them. He caught in his peripheral the cafa turning a corner down a street. When he reached it--a path along the river where fish markets arose--the cafa was gone.
The roadways were emptier than normal, many of the city folk congregated at the main gate to see the Queen of Tarks depart. Cadovis slowed, his gaze darting around for anything out of place. But everything was out of place here. So many ornaments, so much fancy stonework and beautiful mahogany or blackwood. So many friendly faces, uncommon for the deep interior of most cities, but the Kana were a different folk. Always a broad smile to greet you.
The cafa had hidden behind a sculpture, but now darted down another path, farther into the heart of the city. Cadovis hurried after. The buildings rose up close on both sides. He slowed, seeking doorways and concealed passages. From one of these concealed ways, behind some ivy draped like a robe over the legs of a great Kana, a monument was built into the side of the structure. A scuffle and a scattering of pebbles ushered forth. Cadovis brushed the ivy aside and jogged after it. Several deeply engraved doors spurred off, but all were heavily barricaded.
He continued on to a spring in the middle of an otherwise dead-end chamber. The spring bubbled out of an ornate stone daisy and pooled into a round basin where someone could come and drink from it with copper cups or wooden buckets. Cadovis searched around the spring, behind it, inside the water. He fingered the rounded edges of the chamber, prodded the moss, moved the vines, sought beneath wood benches, but found no sign of the cafa.
It had gone, and with it, Cadovis's last vestige of sanity and energy. He collapsed onto one of the benches, exhausted.
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