CHAPTER TWO
The first day of September in the 943rd year a.g.l.
I’m writing these words from the patrol hut, which is chilly tonight, since the autumn winds have already started. It is likely, I think, that the snows will begin earlier than expected this year, but the patrol soldiers, having been forewarned by their earlier brush with death, will no doubt take appropriate cautions and retreat from the mountains in time. Of course, I will not be here to witness that.
Carle is here tonight as well; I can just hear his voice rising up in triumph as he wins another Law Link over the others. Their fire is beyond my view from where I sit, but it is comforting to hear their voices, raised in the ancient game of law that will no doubt continue long after all of us here tonight are gone. Even the last link that I heard no longer frightens me, though earlier today it seemed for a while as heavy on me as the chain that binds an unwilling slave.
My first clue to its arrival came this morning, when I received word that Captain Radley wished to speak with me. I went to his tent and was surprised to see Carle standing outside, awaiting entrance.
“I thought that you had left for Koretia,” I said.
Carle shook his head. “My mission was cancelled; I’ve no idea why. Perhaps the captain thinks that matters are too unsettled there at the moment, what with the recent fighting near the border. I vow, if the Koretians don’t find some way of controlling their blood-thirst, we’ll eventually see this war spill over into Emor.”
“Perhaps it would be well if it did,” I responded. “Then the Chara would be forced to bring Emorian civilization to that land.”
“Perhaps,” said Carle, but I could see that he was distracted. His mind, I knew, was still on his recent meeting with the Chara. He brought himself back to his surroundings with an effort and said, “What dirty mission does the captain have planned for you?”
“I really don’t know,” I replied. “Do you suppose that he has called us both here so that we can work together on—?”
“Lieutenant!” It was the voice of Radley’s orderly; Carle and I both looked his way. “Lieutenant Carle,” the orderly clarified. “Oh, and you might as well go in as well, Lieutenant Adrian. The captain is expecting you.”
Carle raised his eyebrows at me, then stepped aside and allowed me to enter the tent first. I took advantage of his offer, and that was my first mistake. Perhaps it was my last one too; I don’t think I could have changed anything that happened afterwards.
As I entered the tent, I realized my mistake from Radley’s expression. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. By the time that Carle entered, though, Radley’s expression had taken on a curious blankness, the sort of look he usually reserves for distinguished but not high-ranked visitors to the headquarters. “Ah, Lieutenant Carle,” he said, fingering the document in front of him. “I have a message that needs to be taken over to the Great Council’s quarters. It is highly confidential, so I am depending on you to see that it reaches the right person. You are to give it to the council clerk and wait for an answer. No doubt,” he added, spreading his lips in a thin smile, “you can find ways to occupy yourself while awaiting the reply.”
The slight twitch of Carle’s dagger hand revealed his thoughts, but he said no more than, “Yes, sir,” and took the sealed letter from Radley.
I carefully avoided Carle’s eye, lest he make the mistake of exchanging glances with me. The way that Radley had failed to acknowledge my presence while Carle was there told me that trouble was coming. And in fact Carle had no sooner left than Radley’s eyes narrowed once more. His voice growing thin and unpleasant, he said, “I see, lieutenant, that you have taken it upon yourself to elevate your rank to such a degree that you not only precede those senior to you but you also enter a captain’s tent unannounced. I congratulate you on your advancement.”
I remained silent, not wishing to reveal the orderly’s error in allowing me entrance. Radley drummed his fingers on the table as he squinted at me. Then he said, “Well, Koretian spy, I have been going through your records, and I see that your multitudinous talents have been wasted in one respect.”
He was obviously waiting for a response, so I asked, “In what way, sir?”
“Why, here we have a spy whose greatest value – I might say your only value, but I do not want to be prejudiced – is your ability to assimilate into Koretian life. Yet it appears that Captain Wystan never took full advantage of this fact and sent you back to your own village.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again at Radley’s look. He continued, “I hear from other spies that there has been considerable unrest in Mountside and its neighboring villages because of the recent fighting in the borderland. I want to know whether the Jackal has been to Mountside recently. You are to go to your village, find some old acquaintance there, and uncover this information. It is an easy and quick mission, so I will expect you to report here seven days from now – eight at the most. You are dismissed.”
After a while, he looked up from his papers again and said sharply, “I said that you were dismissed, lieutenant.”
“Sir, may I have permission to speak?”
“No, you may not. I have this” – he indicated the pile of papers on his desk – “to get through before noonday, when I am to meet with the subcommander. If you have any questions about your mission, you may ask my orderly.”
“Sir—” My voice was so dry that I had to stop to swallow, and this gave Radley time to cut me off.
“Lieutenant,” he said, his voice thinning to a whine, “I know that you have a difficult time understanding orders, but this one is clear enough: Leave.”
I swallowed again and said rapidly, “Sir, I am sorry, sir, but I really must speak. I have additional information that may affect my ability to complete the mission, sir.”
There was a long pause in which the loudest noise in the tent was my heart, which sounded like a Marcadian war drum. Then Radley said, “Very well. Make it short.”
I knew he would not stand for a long explanation, so I tried to compress a month’s worth of lessons about Koretian customs into two sentences. “Sir, when I left the village, I broke a blood vow I had made to my family. In the eyes of my people, I am god-cursed, and because of that, there is not a man in the village, not even my own father, who would not capture me the moment he saw me and turn me over to the priest for execution.”
Radley looked at me through thin-slitted eyes. “I see. Well, lieutenant, I will offer you a choice. Either you go on this mission as ordered, or you can deliver to the army court summoners my request for your summoning on the charge of disobedience to an army official. Such a charge would be entered into your records and, if you were found guilty by the army judge, you would be sentenced to up to thirty lashes. Which action do you prefer to take, lieutenant?”
It was a warm day, and the sun streamed in brightly through the tent flap, but the day suddenly seemed very cold and dark. Almost, I thought, I could be sitting in a cave, watching snow whirl to the ground. And if that were the case, I would be listening to myself speak certain words that were more powerful than any blood vow.
“I will obey your orders, sir,” I heard myself say.
A smile crept onto Radley’s face. “I knew that you were lying,” he said.
“Sir?”
“I was testing you, Koretian spy; you fell right into my trap.” Radley leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together in a satisfied manner. “I do not know what your true reason is for not wanting to return to your home, and I do not care. You had your chance to tell me the truth. I know that what you said was a falsehood, because if you really feared for your life, you would not be scared at the idea of being beaten instead.”
I felt a painful hollowness in my chest, as though a great weight of stone was lying upon my ribs. I knew that it would be of no use to speak further, but I said, “I was telling the truth, sir. I just do not wish to disobey your orders.”
“I am sure that you can come up with an expl
anation for what you did.” Radley leaned forward again and took up his pen. “I have no intention of wasting my morning listening to your pathetic Koretian deceits. I am finished with you, lieutenant. You may go.”
“Yes, sir.” I doubt that he heard me; my voice came out as no more than a whisper this time. I turned and walked stiffly to the tent entrance; then I looked back. Pulling my dagger from its sheath, I held it flatwise against my face for a moment before sheathing it once more. Radley did not look up.
o—o—o
Four hours later, Carle said, “By the law, I’m glad that you’re still here. I thought that you would have left me by now.”
I didn’t look up as he sat down next to me, both of us leaning back against the exterior of the inner palace wall. My eyes were fixed on a mountain near the horizon. I said, “Do you think that you’ll be buried in your family’s graveyard, Carle?”
“I expect so. What makes you ask?”
“I was thinking that must be nice, to have your whole body in a place of rest like that. I like it better than the Koretian custom of burning bodies.”
“What gloomy thoughts for a beautiful day! Here, have this to cheer you.”
I took the bag automatically from his hands; then I saw what I was holding and was startled out of my thoughts. “Where in the name of the dead Charas did you get these, Carle?”
Carle chuckled as I stared down at the nuts. “That’s what took me so long: I was driving a long, hard bargain with a Daxion merchant at the city market. I managed to bring him down to a price that did not deplete all my savings. No, keep them,” he said as I began to hand them back. “They’re for you – they’re a birthday present.”
I gave him a blank look.
He misinterpreted my look and laughed. “Did you think I’d forgotten what day it is? I remembered you had said that you’d like to try Daxion nuts some time. Look, are you headed back to Koretia on a mission?”
“Yes,” I said faintly.
“Good!” Carle laid his arm over my shoulders. “Because I have news that I want our old unit to hear. I’ll tell you first, of course, but I’d rather tell you when we reach the patrol – or rather, when they reach us. They’ve grown so good, I doubt that even you or I could slip by them if we were trying to break our way into Emor.”
“Well,” I said, my gaze returning to Carle’s home near the horizon, “you don’t have to do that. You can return to Emor any time you want.”
“Your command of the Emorian tongue is slipping, lieutenant – watch the number of your pronouns. Come on!” Carle jumped to his feet. “Let’s start back, and you can tell me all about your new mission.”
I stood up, my look lingering on the northern Emorian view. “I’ll tell you tonight,” I said. “We can exchange confidences, and then we can try those nuts and see whether they’re as good as they’re supposed to be. Thank you for buying them for me.”
“I’d thought of waiting till next year, when I’ll have more money,” said Carle, springing down the hillside ahead of me. “But then I thought, Why wait? Life is too short. —Adrian, you’re becoming slow in your old age; I’ll race you to the gate.”
I watched him for a moment, leaping forward with his light, smooth rhythm. Then I began to run also, and in the end, I beat him to the goal.
o—o—o
It was an odd journey to the mountains that day. I remained silent most of the time, but Carle scarcely noticed. He was chatting away about rank, about even the least important men in the empire contributing to the empire’s welfare. It was the sort of topic we had discussed many times before, and I wondered what had brought the subject fresh to his mind. In an odd way, I found his words comforting, especially when he said, “You know, even the smallest duty is worth fulfilling. You never know how a tiny job you do will link itself up in such a way that you bring glory to the Chara and his law.”
I nodded, unable to trust myself to speak.
Quentin, though, did not need speech to read me. He was on his way out with the night patrol when we arrived, so he would ordinarily have done no more than exchange a greeting with me, but I saw his gaze rest on me as Carle began to offer the others his friendly insults about how lax they had become in their performance since our departure. After a minute, Quentin said, “May I have a word with you, lieutenant?”
I nodded, and he waved ahead the remainder of the night patrol, taking me outside of the hut to stand by the tunnel. Nearby, the day patrol was starting to build a fire.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked without preliminary.
My head had been slightly bowed – I told myself that this was only in order to keep my eye on my step – so that my gaze rose with what must have been a sudden jerk. For a moment I stared at Quentin; then I realized that he had no more than a vague notion that I was in trouble.
Well, he was only a lieutenant, and we were not even under the command of the same captain. Telling him would do no good, but would only distress him. “I don’t think so,” I replied. “It’s something I’ll have to deal with alone, I think.”
Quentin tilted his head. Even at this moment, his eyes were scanning the horizon, and I knew that he was hearing more than I was. “Can Carle help?”
I stared at the ground again. “I’m not sure.”
Quentin turned his head suddenly, and a moment later there came the low sound of a whistle rising, then falling again. Quentin lightly touched the hilt of his sword and began to slide away from my side. Then he stopped and placed a hand on my arm. “Ask him,” he advised quietly. “I know he’ll help you if he can.” He paused, unsheathed his sword, and saluted me. “Good hunting.”
With no more sound than a soft breath, he was gone.
Carle was over by the fire, beckoning to me. As I came forward, he showed me two flasks. “Wall-vine or wild-berry?” he asked with a quirk of a smile.
I wondered whether, if I asked for wild-berry, he would be startled out of his obliviousness. “Wall-vine, please,” I said, and took the flask he offered me.
The others were sitting on the rocks within the hollow, but Carle gestured me closer to the fire, where we would not be heard over the fire’s rumble. The nut bag was awaiting us there. I picked it up and handed it to Carle, saying, “You first.”
Carle rustled around in the bag until he had found a nut that satisfied him. He cracked and peeled off the shell, popped the meat of the nut into his mouth, and chewed on it for a while, his face adopting a look of careful judgment.
“Well?” I said.
“Fairly good. In fact,” he added with a grin, “if I had a nobleman’s income, I might want to eat these all the time. Now you.”
He offered the bag to me, but I shook my head, saying, “Let the others eat their share. I’ll take whatever is left.”
“Generous man,” commented Carle, claiming another few nuts out of the bag. “You’ll regret it, you know. Hold a bit—” He got up and went over to where the others were sitting.
I stayed where I was, staring at the tongue-red flames before me. For some reason, it was the thought of fire that bothered me most – having my corpse burnt, being eaten by the Jackal. Then another thought came into my mind: perhaps they wouldn’t wait until I was dead before they brought the fire. This had all begun with a young man burning alive; perhaps they would consider it fitting to end it that way as well.
I huddled my arms around my knees. The autumn winds had already begun in the mountains, and I was without a cloak. Not fire, I thought. Please, not fire. Let it end with a blade.
A shadow fell over me: it was Carle, standing above me with a wine flask in his hand.
“So tell me about this mission,” he said, settling himself beside me again.
I hesitated. He was smiling so easily that I did not want to see that expression end yet. “Tell me your news first,” I said. “Does it have to do with your visit to the council quarters?”
He nodded. “By the law-structure itself, what a place! We didn??
?t see the half of it when we sneaked in last time. We didn’t even see the law library.”
“The library?” I said in an automatic manner, fiddling with my flask as something to do. “The council has books, then?”
“Books! By the wisdom of the Charas, Adrian, you have never seen so many books in your life! They told me to wait in the library when I first arrived there, and I had the place to myself. I was just trying to figure out whether the Chara would place me under the High Doom if I touched any of the books when in walked a man – one of the council workers, I assumed – and asked me what my favorite law was.”
“Just like that?” Somehow, I managed a smile.
“Just like that, no preliminary. I figured that, in a place like the Chara’s palace, this was as conventional a greeting as asking a person’s name. So I told him, of course, that the Law of Vengeance was my favorite, and we talked for a while about why, and we exchanged bits of gossip about the latest law cases, and we even discussed the tutoring I’d received from Fenton, and what fine handwriting he had, and it took me an entire hour to figure out why the man named Godfrey was asking me all these questions.”
My mouth slid open. I think I had entirely forgotten everything but the tale I was hearing. “Carle!” I said. “You don’t mean—!”
“Fool, fool, fool!” Carle slapped his forehead three times, grinning broadly. “As though I hadn’t made enough of a fool already with the Chara, I had to go and make a fool of myself with the High Lord! I can’t imagine why he decided I was worth it in the end.”
“Worth what?” I practically toppled Carle over, grabbing his tunic. “Carle, what did he want?”
“Oh, nothing important.” Carle suddenly looked sheepish. “A council scribe suddenly quit, without warning, and the council has a new set of documents that need to be scribed this week, and not enough scribes with which to do it— Adrian, you’re strangling me!”
“I knew it!” I flung my arms around him. “I knew that you’d end up working for the Great Council!”
“For love of the Chara, Adrian, it’s only a scribe’s job.” Carle’s face had turned deep red, and he was avoiding my eye. “A tremendous honor for someone such as myself, of course, but I’m the lowest of the low. —No, no, listen, here’s the important part. I assume that the Chara must have mentioned me to the High Lord – how else would he have learned of my existence? – and I suppose that I must have chatted on endlessly about you as well, because the first thing the High Lord said after he offered me the job is that he wants you working for the council as well! He said the only reason he didn’t hire you this week was because Captain Radley said he was about to send you out on an important mission, but the next time a scribe’s job is open, the High Lord will offer it to you. Isn’t this wonderful, Adrian?”
I was silent, all of my joy doused by the cold water of my memory. The Chara, yes – he had no doubt played a role in my hiring, but it was likely that the High Lord remembered me and Carle because of the conversation Lord Godfrey and I had held in the council chamber. Because of Carle’s arrest, I had never given Carle more than a brief summary of that talk.
I remembered the High Lord saying, “A lover of the law, are you?” And I had replied, “I try to be, High Lord.”
How could I go to the High Lord and say, “I am a law-lover, but I refused to follow my official’s order because I feared for my life”?
Carle hadn’t noticed my silence. “Just think of it, Adrian. You won’t have to stay a scribe forever. There are opportunities for elevation within the council. You can rise in rank, and someday – someday, I swear, you’ll sit in the chamber of the Great Council. Someday you’ll be a council lord.”
I said nothing. Across the fire, the day-patrol guards chatted and laughed. An autumn wind made its way down from the cold mountain peaks and sent me shivering.
Nudging my hand with the wine-flask, Carle said, “Here, drink up. You look cold. What was your news? I know that it will be an anti-climax to mine, but still . . .”
I stared down at the mouth of the wine-flask. “You already heard the news. I’m being sent on a mission. Carle . . . do you remember how, last year, we talked about the possibility of doing one last mission together?”
“Mm?” Carle was peering at the guards, who were playing tug-of-battle with the bag of nuts. “Yes, I remember. It’s a shame we never did that.”
“I don’t suppose . . . I don’t suppose you could do it now? For this one last time?”
“Adrian, I’m sorry.” There was genuine regret in Carle’s voice as he turned his attention back to me. “I’d like to, but the High Lord made clear that the only reason he’s hiring me is that he needs a scribe right away. Otherwise, I’m sure, he would have given the job to you or some other worthy candidate.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You know I’d go if I could. What’s the mission? Something filthier than usual?”
I opened my mouth. I still don’t know what I would have said. But at that moment, Fowler appeared at my elbow. “Here you are, Adrian. We saved the last for you, so that you could have one more.” He slipped away.
“One more? One more?” Carle bounded to his feet. “You cursed thieves, what do you mean, gobbling up Adrian’s birthday present? I will hand you over to the Chara’s torturers personally—!”
He left my side, roaring like a mountain cat in heat. I didn’t watch to see how the guards reacted. My eye was on the fire, leaping and crackling.
If I told Carle the truth, I thought, he would either come to Koretia with me, or he would go to the Chara and risk angering our ruler with tales about Radley. Either way, he would likely lose his chance to work for the council.
So telling Carle was not an option. But what options did I have? I could go to the Chara myself. I tried to imagine explaining the entire history of Koretia’s blood feuds to a man who had ordered that a feud victim be delivered to his murderers. The Chara, as Carle had once told me, was human. In all likelihood, the Chara would be so angered by my refusal to follow his brother-in-marriage’s orders that he would order my dismissal from the army.
Did it matter? Was it of any importance whether I was regarded with dishonor by the Chara? Wasn’t that better than losing my life in order to gain information that would probably make no difference to Emor?
I heard myself then, saying in the cave, “The best path to take is to obey orders, even if it seems that Emor will receive no reward for our sacrifices.”
A log fell in the fire, sending up sparks of fire, like the Jackal’s eyes. I pulled out the lone nut left in the bag. Three years, I thought. I had served the Chara for only three years. Surely I was born for more than this? Surely, as Carle believed, I was meant to climb to higher paths in life? Was it right for me to deprive the Chara of my gifts, simply in order to fulfill my oath of obedience to the Chara?
“We can never know the full consequences of disobeying orders,” Carle had said as we sat in the cave. I thought of that: saw my disobedience rippling forth, destroying my honor, destroying Carle’s work, destroying the reputations of Quentin and Wystan, who had trained me.
And against that— What? What reward lay in dying as a dog does? What was this thing called “sacrifice” that I had spoken of so lightly on so many occasions, when balanced against the pain and horror of death?
The nut was warm in my hand. The sparks flew upwards. I curled my palm around the nut. God of Judgment, I prayed, I have only the judgment of a mortal man. I am neither god nor High Judge. If you ever loved me – if I ever served you, as either god-lover or as cousin – help me to know whether I have made the right decision.
I threw the nut above the fire. It cracked, clear and clean.
The relief swept over me like cool air on a summer’s day. I was not such a child any more as to believe that I could receive a sign from the god by hurling a nut into the fire. But my feeling of relief when the nut cracked before it reached the flames told me all that I needed to know. I had made the right decision. I knew that
this was what I should do.
“Thank you, Jackal,” I whispered.
I became aware that someone was standing next to me. I turned my head and saw Carle, staring down at me with puzzlement in his face. “Why did you throw the nut into the fire?” he asked.
I looked back at the fire. “For good luck,” I said, and felt the pain again, still present under the relief.
I heard him pull in his breath. In another moment, I think, he would have spoken. Perhaps, if he had asked me to explain, I would not have been able to hide my secret from him. He was too skilled at being able to read men’s thoughts.
But at that moment, Devin appeared on our side of the fire. “Lieutenants, we were wondering whether the two of you would be willing to join us in a game of Law Links. We could use your skills.” He smiled at me, and I knew that this was the guards’ attempt to apologize for having eaten nearly all the nuts.
“All right,” I said. “Carle?”
He was looking uneasy, sensing, I think, that more lay here on this night than he had been aware of before. But Devin was already drawing me away, so he nodded and followed me over to where the guards sat, waiting anxiously to see whether I would forgive them for their unintentional greediness.
I knew only three of them: Devin and Levander and Fowler. Payne was killed by a breacher nine months ago, not long after he and I made our peace together over the misunderstanding about the attack on Quentin. When the news arrived of his death, I’d been grateful that our last conversation had been a good one.
Now I sat down on the guards’ side of the fire, while Carle announced his news, and all of the guards raised their cups to toast Carle and me for our good fortunes. I thought Devin was watching me rather closer than usual, but I must have passed muster with him, for as soon as the toasts were over, he launched us into the game. I sat silently, listening to the exchange of links, and feeling the questions I had asked before tumble unanswered in my mind, except for the most important one: what I should do.
Finally, I became aware that the link had been passed to the man next to me. Carle paused to take a sip of the fire-warmed wine, then turned to me, and with the steady gaze that he used when he was challenging me to the limits of my power, he said, “‘And being as it is gravest of all—’”
“Too hard, too hard!” called out Fowler. “Give him an easier one, lieutenant. It is not fair to make him recite one of the Great Three when he has only been learning the law for three years.”
“He is up to the test,” Carle announced calmly as he handed me the wine. “The final subsection. ‘And being as it is gravest of all that anyone should attack the manhood of the Great Chara—’”
“‘—the sentence for such a crime shall be mercy or enslavement or the high doom.’” I took a deep breath and leapt to the end of the Justification to the Law of Vengeance: “‘For it is yet another of the Chara’s burdens that he should at all times be prepared to sacrifice himself for the sake of the people. And this he must be willing to do whenever the task is required, whether in the day or in the night, whether in Emor or in foreign lands, whether in old age or in youth. For the land cannot endure unless its High Judge be willing to give all that he has to it, even if he should be required to sacrifice his body or his spirit or his life’s blood. And in this respect also the Emorian people—’”
I paused, and in the silence that followed I could hear nothing but the crackle of the fire. The night patrol’s whistles had long since died out; the hunted had been captured. Carle was watching me with a faint smile, and as I met his eyes, I felt all the fear and unhappiness in me drain away. Whatever I could have contributed to Emor, I thought, Carle will do for me, and he will do it far better than I could have done. That link will remain after I am gone.
I took a final sip of the wine and felt it warm my blood. Then I smiled and handed the bottle back to Carle, saying, “Complete the link.”
I think Carle realized that I knew the rest of the passage, and that I only wanted to give him the pleasure of reciting his favorite law. His smile deepened, and he kept our gazes bound together as he said, “‘And in this respect also the Emorian people are an embodiment of the law, for, like the Great Chara, they too may be called upon at any time to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the land. This is the way, above all, that they demonstrate their love and obedience to the Chara and his law. And it is only through their willingness to make such a sacrifice that the people receive true peace from the Lawmaker.’”
For one moment more, our eyes remained linked. Then Carle turned the chain; facing Levander he said, “‘And being as it is gravest of all that anyone should be disobedient to the Great Chara—’”
There was a general hooting and protest. “We will be making this chain forever if you do not pick shorter links, lieutenant,” said Devin.
“All right, all right,” Carle responded, laughing. “Here is an easier one. “‘And being as it is more grave that a soldier should be disobedient to his official—’”
“‘—the sentence for such a crime shall be mercy or reprimand or beating,’” said Levander. “‘For however small an order it may be that the soldier is given, his obedience is necessary in all things, firstly so that he shall serve as a model for the people’s unswerving obedience to the Chara . . .’”
I rose, unnoticed by anyone except Carle, who was still listening to Levander recite the Justification to the Law of Army Obedience and who therefore acknowledged my departure with no more than a smile and a nod. Since Carle was watching, I took out my blade and held it over the fire for a moment. Then, when no one was looking my way any more, I tossed the dagger into the bushes where I had once hid and started to walk away.
When I reached the edge of the firelight, I looked back. Levander had stumbled on some minor words, and Carle, to much laughter, was demonstrating how that tiny change could cause a disastrous imbalance of judgment in the court. I stood awhile, listening as Carle’s words relinked the broken chain and the recital passed to a new man, but Carle did not look my way, so I turned finally and walked back into the darkness.
POSTSCRIPT
Forty-four years have passed since the final words of this journal were written, and during all that time, I have never had the courage to look through this manuscript, fearing what it would reveal about me. For the last images I retain of this time have been hard enough for me to endure over the years. There is the image of the two of us sitting by the mountain fire while I babbled on about my good fortune, and Adrian sat in unusual silence. There is the image of me standing several days later in Captain Radley’s tent, where I had been summoned back from my new work to search for a missing spy, and where I had the cold satisfaction of seeing Radley turn pale as I told him what he had done, and paler still as I recited the charges I intended to place against him.
But the last image of all, the one I have tried most to erase, is the one that remains most vivid: the moment when I knelt by Adrian and closed his eyes, then lifted him into my arms for the start of his journey home. The blood from his throat had dried by then; he made no mark on me.
But of course in another sense he made a very great mark, and as he had guessed would happen, it is through me that he continues to contribute links to the chain we both revered. Looking back on his words now, I can see how, even in my small roles over the years, I have taken what he said and did, and used it to bring about great changes in high matters.
Because Adrian was who he was and because I knew him, Koretia became a dominion of Emor twenty-six years ago. Because of Adrian, Koretia regained its independence eleven years ago, retaining the Emorian courts but rejecting the Emorian view of the gods. Because of Adrian, the Jackal now sits on the Koretian throne, serving as High Judge and High Priest, and combining Emorian law with Koretian religion in a way which I will never understand but which would have pleased Adrian.
Whether or not he now dwells with his gods, I cannot help but believe that Adrian is still alive through what he has g
iven to Emor and Koretia. Because of this, I no longer dread to visit his tomb in my family’s graveyard. Though those last, terrible images will always remain, I now have another image to set beside them: that of a young Koretian-born Emorian, sharing my wine and smiling as he offered his small but golden link to the chain of the law.
Completed on the first day of September in the 987th year after the giving of the law, by Carle, High Lord of the Great Council of Emor.
o—o—o
o—o—o
o—o—o
=== More Three Lands fiction ===
Excerpt from
DEATH MASK
I was holding in my hand the piece of paper giving me the time of my appointment to see the council clerk. Under cover of trying to read the paper, I stepped near the torch. If I kept my body turned slightly to the left, I would be able to see everyone walking in the courtyard, but with the paper placed before my face, they would not be able to see me speak.
The slave did not turn to look at me as I came to stand beside him; his attention was focussed on the sputtering torch. Holding the paper up, I said in a low voice, “I am seeking information.”
A direct approach; I did not have time to be subtle, and I doubted that a slave would understand subtlety in any case. This slave, at least, was intelligent enough not to turn my way. He continued to stare up at the torch as he sought to increase its flame.
“I am seeking a kinsman,” I said. “A village baron named Griffith. He may have visited here with his sister a few days ago. They are both borderlanders, with streaks of golden in their hair.”
The slave made no reply. Perhaps he was deaf; perhaps he was more loyal to his master than slaves usually were. Or perhaps he was simply waiting for proper incentive. I began to slip my finger under my tunic in preparation to extracting one of my remaining gold pieces.
And then turned away, alerted by the same instinct that had kept me from being murdered by dozens of border-breachers over the years. I took care to appear absorbed in the paper as I did so.
I had had a full view of the courtyard all this while; I had not had a full view of the north entrance to the courtyard. A necessary risk, but one that had cost me. I was now facing a Koretian lieutenant, a sublieutenant, and no less than eight guards, all of them evidently on their way to relieve the present guards from their duties.
They were all armed with swords; the lieutenant was gripping the hilt of his. He waited long enough for me to raise my eyes from the paper and look startled at his presence. Then he said crisply, “What is your business here, sir?”
Using my racing heartbeat as a guide, I timed my answer. Too short a time, and the lieutenant would be suspicious that I was so eager to reply. Too long a time, and it would appear that I was preparing a tale.
“I have an appointment with the council clerk, sir,” I said, resisting an impulse to give him the free-man’s greeting. I was not a fellow lieutenant – not here. “I was checking just now to see whether I had arrived here at the correct time.” I showed him the paper.
He did not bother to read it. “You’re from the borderland?” he said.
“I am,” I said, praying that none of the men in the guard were from the borderland and would be able to tell from my accent which side of the border I had arrived from. “I travelled down here recently, due to the troubles up there. I was separated during my journey from a kinsman, whom I hoped the council clerk might know.”
The sublieutenant, about ten years younger than the middle-aged lieutenant, had been watching me with unwavering eyes during my recital. Now he leaned forward and whispered something in the lieutenant’s ear. The lieutenant nodded, then asked me, “Which village are you from?”
“Mountside.” The reply came easily to my mouth. This had been Adrian’s village, and if need be, I could provide details about life there.
“And your kinsman?” said the lieutenant. “He is from the same village?”
Too late, I realized that I had spoken hastily. Adrian’s father was of the new nobility, kin to the King, but Griffith was a member of the old nobility; that was why their villages had been in a blood feud together. I dared not claim now that my kinsman was kin to the King. My story might be checked with the clerk.
Behind me, the slave was continuing to struggle with the torch. I thought to myself that he had the easier of the two tasks, pretending that he had not noticed I was there. Clearing my throat to gain time, my mind lit upon the true story of how Adrian had come to have a kinsman in the village his family was fighting.
“He is a kinsman by blood vow only,” I said. “My mother was born in a village nearby; my cousin in that village took a blood vow of friendship toward the village baron, whom I am seeking.”
“I see.” The lieutenant appeared to consider this fact, giving the sublieutenant a chance to whisper in the lieutenant’s ear. Beyond the two men, the guards were beginning to look bored.
“I apologize for the reading light,” said the lieutenant suddenly. “I trust that you were able to read your paper properly.” He smiled.
I did not trust the smile at all. It was obvious that the lieutenant wanted an explanation for why I was standing beside the slave when I was found. Perhaps the only thing that could save me was a direct acknowledgment of the peculiarity of my situation.
“I do seem to have picked the wrong place to stand,” I said, looking back at the masked slave, who was continuing to show great skill in ignoring the conversation. “That slave does not seem to be having much luck in lighting the torch.” I turned back, and my world shifted.
I did not yet realize to what a degree it had shifted, but I knew that something was wrong. The guards were exchanging looks with one another, while the sublieutenant, for the first time, had placed his hand on his sword hilt. He moved his free hand slightly, and a moment later, the guards had moved as well. They were slowly moving to the back, to prevent me from escaping that way.
The lieutenant, less skilled than his sublieutenant at hiding his expression, was gazing upon me as though he had just happened upon me ravishing his sister. I cursed myself inwardly, wondering what mistake of mine had revealed my true origins. Probably it was the reference to Adrian’s family link with Emlyn. Koretians, with their concern for blood ties, have a passion for genealogy that is reflected in their language. The Common Koretian tongue contains no less than one hundred and thirty-four separate words for the relationship that could only be translated into Emorian as the word “cousin.” If I had used the wrong word to describe Emlyn’s relationship to Adrian, it would be immediately obvious to the guards that I was an Emorian.
The sublieutenant spoke for the first time. His voice was as cool as the evening breeze blowing upon the sputtering torch behind me. “The reading light does seem to be poor,” he said. “Perhaps we should offer to help that slave with the torch.”
The liutenant gave him a sharp look; I felt a yet sharper blade of concern enter my belly. It was the slave, then. They had thought they had heard me talking to the slave, and now they were trying to ascertain whether this was indeed the case.
I could deny it, of course. They must not have proof at this juncture; if I denied firmly that I had spoken to the slave, they could not hold me.
Deny it like the villains in the tales. I had no doubt now that the slave would be questioned for his part in this affair. If his story contradicted mine, then he was the one most likely to be punished. He might even be suspected of speaking back to me, and I had already seen the consequences of such an act.
I could not risk having the slave placed on a funeral pyre for my sake. On the other hand, neither could I risk being taken in for close questioning. I hesitated, torn between two evils.
I hesitated too long. The lieutenant, exchanging another look with his sublieutenant, said politely, “This is a chilly place to discuss matters. Will you come with me, sir?”
I would have sooner followed him into the Land Beyond. I could see the guards reaching for their
swords, and I knew that the questioning to follow would not be an equally polite enquiry into the best taverns in the borderland.
I stood very still. The lieutenant had not yet disarmed me, but I knew that was of no significance. It had taken one of my patrol guards a dagger thrust through his side to learn why you do not relieve a Koretian of the symbol of his manhood unless he is under formal charges. I did not want to make any movement that would suggest to the lieutenant that I about to resist arrest.
And then, on second reflection, I decided that I did. To gain time, I put on my best lieutenant’s voice and asked quietly, “Are you placing me under arrest, sir? And if so, why?”
My best voice appeared to work. One of the guards took a step backwards, and the lieutenant looked less certain than before. He hesitated before answering. I could guess why. Prisoners can be questioned more effectively if they are ignorant of the precise charges placed against them.
Finally he said, his voice still courteous, “We have reason to believe that you are not from this land, sir. We would like to know what brought you to Koretia, so that we may best serve you.”
A reply worthy of one of the Chara’s spies. I smiled, but my smile was not directed at the lieutenant’s courtesy. Rather, he had given me the opening I needed. “Now, really, sir,” I said. “You accuse me of being a foreigner, yet what else could I be but a Koretian, wearing this tunic?” With my left hand, I waved the edge of my tunic back and forth to demonstrate the cloth.
And moved my right hand toward my blade.
The lieutenant’s eye, just as I had hoped, followed my right hand. With a flicker of motion, my left hand had flipped under the tunic edge and was pulling my thigh-dagger from its sheath.
A thigh-dagger is a tiny, thin blade, easily concealed in a thigh-pocket, and honed to a razor-sharp edge. It is the favored weapon of spies and murderers. It can be concealed in the palm, though if you try to run with it that way, you will slice your hand open, as I had once learned. It is utterly inadequate for dagger-play with another blade; its only purpose is to kill, and to kill quickly. Placed in the right spot, its very touch is death.
The easiest way to wield it – as my grandfather had taught me long ago – was to slice it straight up from the thigh-pocket. If your enemy is close enough, the result will be a wound that extends from the testicles to the breastbone.
My grandfather had cautioned me to use this defense only in the direst circumstances; patrol guards are supposed to capture, not kill. But I had remembered the movement of the blade, as I remembered all the movements of my grandfather’s thigh-dagger, which had passed a finger’s span from my flesh during his demonstrations. I had endured many nightmares about blades that cut into my privates.
Now I brought the blade upwards in one swift move.
o—o—o
Stories from The Three Lands are available at:
duskpeterson.com/threelands
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o—o—o
o—o—o
Excerpt from
BLOOD VOW
As I stepped into the corridor that ran between the Map Room and the Court of Judgment, the Chara’s guards took no notice of me, frozen as they were on each side of the doorway I walked through. I turned right and began to make my way down the dimly lit passage, its only illumination being the high clerestory windows. On each side of the corridor were rooms belonging to council lords, court officials, and palace guests. I knew that those rooms looked much the same as the Chara’s quarters, which would have been inconspicuous but for the guards.
I passed lords as I walked, some of them nodding to me in greeting, others with their gazes on documents that they read as they walked. I met the Chara’s court clerk, a young free-man struggling to keep a pile of papers in his arms. He nearly lost them all when he saw me and touched his heart and forehead with his fingers. I returned the gesture; it was one of the few Emorian customs that had come naturally to me, as it was of Koretian origin. Or so I had suggested one day to Lord Dean, High Lord of the Great Council of Emor, but he had maintained that the gesture derived from the Emorians’ custom of placing their weapon-blades to their foreheads when they swore their oath of loyalty to the Chara. Whether in Emor or Koretia, the free-man’s greeting was meant to be exchanged, not between a master and his servant, but between equals.
I passed by more open doors leading to rooms – the quarters of the Chara’s historian, the slave-quarters – and then I came to the quarters that belonged to the senior council lords. These rooms were generally silent at this time of the day, since the lords were busy elsewhere in the palace, working out the day-to-day details of running Emor, for which they were responsible. The quarters were silent now – all except one.
The girl’s cry was so piercing that, without thinking, I pushed my way through the door. The door opened only to a passageway that led to further rooms, so I did not expect to see anyone. But I found myself facing Lord Carle, who was in the midst of disciplining his Koretian slave-girl.
The girl had fallen to her knees weeping. I could see the red mark on her cheek where Lord Carle had hit her. He was bent over her as I entered, and as he looked at me, I saw a fire spark in his eyes.
He barely managed to contain the fire in his voice. “What do you want?” he asked abruptly.
Having no good reason to be in his quarters, I said, “I apologize for disturbing you, Lord Carle. I was searching for the Chara; I thought he might be with you.”
He stiffened up and assessed me for a moment, leaving the girl sobbing at his feet. Finally he said, “You ought to know where your master is. Why are you absent from him?”
Something about the crouching girl, whose presence the council lord was ignoring, caused me to say coolly, “Because, Lord Carle, I am not the Chara’s servant and so am not required to know his every movement.”
Lord Carle stepped forward. As he did so, the girl stopped crying and began looking between her master and myself, as though she expected to witness a duel. Lord Carle stopped a few feet from me. Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he said with malevolent softness, “If you are a loyal Emorian, Andrew, then you are his servant, as I am his servant and all Emorians are. If you do not believe this, then disobey the Chara’s commands again and see what follows.”
I made no reply, and found a moment later that my gaze had drifted away from Lord Carle’s eyes. He turned away then, as though in disgust that he had wasted such a deep dagger-thrust on so unworthy an opponent. I took the opportunity to slip back to the corridor.
I stood there for a moment with my eyelids closed and my head tilted back, as though I had just emerged from red-hot fire. Then I walked the remaining distance to the Map Room.
This was at the direct end of the corridor. Its silver doors reached to the ceiling; standing on each side were two guards with their spears crossed in front of the doorway, in order to indicate that the Chara might not be disturbed on penalty of the high doom. As I came forward, they uncrossed the spears. Being less strictly trained than the Chara’s personal guards, they nodded me a greeting as I opened the doors and walked through.
The Map Room was not as large as the Court of Judgment, but it had a ceiling just as high, reaching up, it seemed, halfway to the clouds. The Chara used the scantily furnished room as a place to study military information and as a chamber in which to receive guests with formality but without full ceremony. On rare occasions, it was also used as a small Court of Judgment for cases that he tried in private. Like all Emorian rooms, it was dimly lit; the main illumination came from the hearth centered on the far wall. The hearth was now ablaze with fire in order to stave off the coolness of the Emorian summer morning.
The Chara was standing a few spear-lengths from me, looking out one of the southern windows. He was dressed formally with his silver tunic and his Sword of Vengeance; his cloak was t
ossed onto a chair nearby. He was only twenty-six, but his face had the look of an older man: severe responsibility had gouged deep rivers of age into his skin. As the door closed behind me, the Chara turned his head and said, “I was just wishing that I could wander over the black border mountains right now. It seems a shame to stay inside on a warm day like this.” I made no reply, and he added, “I see that you brought the map. I couldn’t remember this morning where I had put it.”
“So I surmised from the state of your sitting chamber, Chara,” I said, coming forward and placing the map in his hand. “You ought to have woken me.”
He turned and put the scroll down on the table nearby, which was already cluttered with a dozen maps. Without looking up, he said, “I thought that you might need the extra rest.”
There was a pause as he unrolled the map and began examining it. I said, “I did not mean to disturb you, Chara. Perhaps I ought to sleep in other quarters.”
“Don’t be foolish.” He leaned over, traced a line on the map with his finger, then sighed and allowed the map to roll up once more as his gaze drifted back to the view at the window.
I followed his gaze toward the tiny slice of scenery. I could see a portion of the capital city surrounding the palace, a sliver of the river-threaded fields beyond, and a patch of Emorian sky – which, for a change, was blue and cloudless. Towering above them all were the black border mountains that separate Emor and Koretia.
The Chara said, “I seem not to be able to keep my mind off the mountains. Perhaps I have acquired some of your Koretian blood.”
I said rigidly, “Chara, I am Emorian.”
A smile crept onto his face then, erasing the lines of worry and making him appear even younger than he was. “That fact,” he said, “had not escaped my notice. I was joking. Now stop being so stiff and formal and come sit with me.”
He waved his hand toward two chairs sitting under a small patch of sunlight falling through one of the northern windows. I felt the seldom-used muscles of my mouth turn up . . .
o—o—o
Stories from The Three Lands are available at:
duskpeterson.com/threelands
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o—o—o
o—o—o
o—o—o
=== Chronology of the Great Peninsula ===
This timeline is a chronology of the stories, major characters’ birthdates, and political events in the Three Lands series. The chronology is divided by Emorian periods.
Prehistory
Immigration into the northern portion of the Great Peninsula by “barbarian” people from the northern mainland. Immigration into the southern portion of the Great Peninsula by desert people from the eastern mainland.
The two groups meet at the black border mountains, which divide the northern and southern peninsula. The people begin to intermarry. The language they form to communicate with each other becomes the borderland tongue (“Border Koretian”), the most ancient language in the Great Peninsula. The languages of the Three Lands are derived from the borderland tongue.
Just to the north of the black border mountains, a territory is established that will become known as Emor. The Council of the Charas is in existence during this period.
The Early Charas (1-300)
Ancient Emorian is spoken in Emor during this period. Immigration continues from the northern mainland into the Great Peninsula, with more people settling to the immediate north of Emor.
Year 1: The Giving of the Law. Appearance in Emor of the law-structure and the original division of powers. The Chara Ysaye is appointed High Judge by the Council of the Charas. The southern peninsula is split into Koretia and Daxis.
100 (approximately): The Great Council of Emor (the new name for the Council of the Charas) and the Chara (the new title for the ruler and High Judge of Emor) go to war with each other.
The Middle Charas (300-600)
Archaic Emorian is spoken in Emor during this period. Immigration continues from the northern mainland into the Great Peninsula, with more people settling to the immediate north of the area that would become known as the Central Provinces.
300 (approximately): Reign of the Chara William, who makes a peace settlement with the Great Council through the second division of powers. The first law books are written. The Chara’s palace is built (later extensively renovated).
321: Christopher son of William becomes Chara. His reign ends abruptly, for reasons that are hidden from later generations.
Year 322: Lionel son of William becomes Chara – the so-called twenty-fourth Chara. The Battle of Mountain Heights takes place during his reign, with Emor narrowly victorious over an alliance of small lands just to the north of Emor. The conquered lands become dominions of the Emorian Empire, and later become the Central Provinces of Emor. The original territory of Emor is eventually renamed Southern Emor.
The period following includes the reign of the Chara Luke, who argued with his council over a proclamation changing the Law of Succession, and the reign of the Chara Rufus, whose brother abdicated the throne and who himself died from stepping on some nettles during wartime.
568 (approximately): The Chara Rowland issues a charge under the Law of Vengeance. The Emorian palace is renovated.
The Late Charas and the Transitional Government (600-1050)
Old Emorian is spoken in Emor to about 900.
875: Purvis becomes Chara. He requested a Slave’s Death for a free-man and later died of an assassin.
899: Duncan son of Purvis becomes Chara. He suspended his High Lord from office and issued a proclamation allowing the transfer of a prisoner’s care. The Koretian Ambassador stole candlesticks from the Council Chamber during his reign.
902–6: The only remaining territories between the Emorian Empire and the northern mainland – Marcadia and Arpesh – are conquered and become dominions of Emor.
911: Birth of Fenton.
915: Birth of Quentin.
919: Births of Nicholas and Emlyn.
920: Birth of Griffith.
921: Birth of Carle.
922: Birth of Hamar.
923: Anthony son of Duncan becomes Chara.
924: Births of Adrian and Siward.
928: Birth of Erlina.
940: An unexpected chain of events give rise in the following year to civil war in Koretia.
Law Links. Set in Koretia and Emor between 940 and 943.
Wildfire. Set in Koretia in 940.
949: Nicholas son of Anthony becomes Chara. Beginning of the Border Wars.
Death Mask. Set in Emor, Daxis, and Koretia between 949 and 963.
950: Births of Peter and Brendon.
951: Birth of John (at midwinter).
953: Birth of Andrew.
955: Birth of Brian.
961: Koretia is conquered and becomes an Emorian dominion. End of the Border Wars. Koretian resistance to Emorian rule begins.
Blood Vow. Set in Emor and Koretia in 976, with flashbacks to Koretia and Emor, 961–975.
962: Birth of Ursula. A threatened rebellion in Arpesh is subdued by Emor.
964: Unrest occurs in Arpesh again.
Law of Vengeance. Set in Emor between 986 and 987, with flashbacks to Emor and Koretia, 964–976.
Re-creation. Set in Emor in 965.
966: Peter son of Nicholas become Chara.
976: The Koretian resistance against Emor reaches its peak.
986: The Chara Peter expels the Koretian court officials from Emor, causing the threat of war between Emor and Koretia.
Guise. Set in Daxis in 985.
Breached Boundaries. Set in Daxis in 985 and in Daxis, Koretia, and Emor in 990.
992: The Golden Chain of Peace begins – an unprecedented period of peace between all of the lands of the Great Peninsula.
998: Birth of the man who will become known as the Lieutenant
.
1004: Birth of the man who will become known as the Commander.
1019: Birth of Dolan.
1020: Immigration into the Emorian Empire is halted by the Chara. Pressure builds on the northern mainland against the anti-immigration policy.
1034: The Golden Chain of Peace is broken. The Northern Army – an alliance of Marcadia, Arpesh, and some mainland tribes – declares war against Emor.
Bard of Pain (The Three Lands). Set in Koretia in 1050, with flashbacks to Emor, Koretia, and Marcadia, 1008–1042.
The Long Night
A long, undated era following the fall of the Three Lands. The God’s Language, descended from the ancient borderland tongue, is spoken throughout the Great Peninsula during this period, initially only by priests. Tribal tongues arise, descended from the various languages of the Three Lands.
Mystery (The Three Lands). Set in the northern peninsula, near the end of the Long Night.
o—o—o
o—o—o
o—o—o
=== Back matter ===
AUTHOR’S WEBSITE, BLOG, E-MAIL LIST, AND CONTACT INFORMATION
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E-BOOKS BY DUSK PETERSON
All of the e-book series listed below are available at major e-bookstores and at:
duskpeterson.com
The Three Lands
Koretia, Emor, and Daxis were all founded on the same day, but as the centuries have passed, the Three Lands of the Great Peninsula have become increasingly divided by religion, government, and culture. Koretians worship many gods, Daxions worship one goddess, and Emorians revere only their law. Emorians claim that Koretians are vicious and superstitious, Koretians think that Daxions are vile oath-breakers, and Daxions charge that Emorians abuse their children and slaves.
If a god were to appear in the Three Lands, would his appearance bring an end to the fighting between nations? Or would he merely help to spark an inferno of war?
As the inhabitants of the Three Lands struggle to adjust to the appearance of an unexpected visitor into the human world, two people will play crucial roles in the conflict. One is a young Emorian – clever, courageous, and affectionate – who will come to understand the Koretians with a depth and intimacy that few others of his land can match. The second person is a young Koretian whom the Emorian will seek to destroy.
The Three Lands. He vowed himself to his god. Now the god is growing impatient . . . ¶ The Three Lands is a diverse fantasy series on friendship, romantic friendship, romance, and betrayal in times of war and peace. The series is inspired by conflicts between nations during the Roman Empire and the Dark Ages.
The Three Lands series resources.
Turn-of-the-Century Toughs
Tough (noun): a tough and violent man; a street ruffian; a trouble-maker.
Turn-of-the-Century Toughs is a cycle of diverse alternate history series about adults and youths on the margins of society, and the people who love them. Set in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the novels and stories take place in an alternative version of America that was settled by inhabitants of the Old World in ancient times. As a result, the New World retains certain classical and medieval customs.
The Eternal Dungeon. In a cool, dark cavern, guarded by men and by oaths, lies a dungeon in which prisoners fearfully await the inevitable. The inevitable will be replaced by the unexpected. ¶ The Eternal Dungeon is a speculative fiction series set in a nineteenth-century prison where the psychologists wield whips.
Dungeon Guards. In the Eternal Dungeon, there are only two types of guards: skilled guards or dead guards. But one guard has been both. ¶ Dungeon Guards is an alternate history series set in a nineteenth-century prison where guards seek love and companionship as they fight together against danger.
Michael’s House. In a world where temples are dying and sacred theaters have been replaced by brothels, what will happen when a hard-headed businessman joins forces with an idealist? ¶ Michael’s House is a speculative fiction series set in a Progressive Era slum.
Life Prison. They are imprisoned until death, and their lives cannot get worse . . . or so they think. But when an unlikely alliance forms against their captors, the reformers risk losing what little comforts they possess. ¶ Life Prison is a speculative fiction series about male desire and determination in nineteenth-century prisons.
Commando. The nautical nation is backed by the military might of an empire. The mountainous republic is populated by farmers and shopkeepers, and it has no standing army. The nautical nation is about to make the mistake of attacking the mountainous republic. ¶ Commando is a speculative fiction series that imagines what the South African Boer War could have been like if it had been fought on American soil.
Waterman. How can a youth from a bay island boarding school survive when he is sent to a futuristic prison? ¶ Waterman is a speculative fiction series set in an alternative version of the Chesapeake Bay region during the 1910s and during the future as it was envisioned in the 1960s.
Young Toughs. During the turbulent years between the cannonballs and the atom bomb, life is not easy for young people. ¶ Young Toughs is an alternate history series about the struggles of youths in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
Dark Light. Only in the dark can one truly see the light. ¶ Dark Light presents short reads from Turn-of-the-Century Toughs.
Turn-of-the-Century Toughs series resources.
CREDITS
Editor: Kathleen Livingston.
Editorial assistant and mathematics consultant: Jo/e Noakes.
Geography consultant: Parhelion.
Proofreader: Loyal Reader.
Cover art (border): William Morris (1834–1896).
Cover photography, cover design, and interior design: Dusk Peterson.
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