Hey there friends! I have been writing all sorts of different stories for my fictional universe The Knots, and my family have heavily encouraged me to start publishing a chapter a week, so… here it is! Chapter 1 :) (Plus some stuff before the chapter)
Keep these papers stored in seeds. They live not without life.
Map of the Vtesa Sea
To Eksovaham,
I know what you are. A distant reflection of a power that once made worlds. Intentions stamped onto weakness. We are similar in that way. I hope you will come to see that as you read, for I hope to build a kinship with you to increase our chances of surviving the coming conflict.
To prove my utility as an ally, I will explain the circumstances that led to the appearance of that tower in your fields. I’m sure you have noticed its shape; there is no larger blade in the Knots. In telling the stories of the people who have wielded it, or died by its edge, I hope to not only ease your confusion but offer you insight into the world it originates from. There is power here you can learn.
The tale of the blade’s journey is long and winding, so I do apologize for having to split my message into multiple volumes, of which this is only the first. Although it may not yet be obvious, I promise that the details of the blade’s arrival in your lands will eventually be told.
For this page, I hope the general details of the blade’s creation will suffice. The weapon’s name is Lifereader, and it was not always so tall. It was the femur of a large land predator once. Sharpened by a bonesmith. Enchanted and lost by a wizard wielding the chisel borrowed from a great serpent long ago.
It was picked up by a farmer on the coast of the sea known as the Tokov, who gave it as a gift to his dear friend Ivaketa as she was leaving to settle down in the distant West as a scholar. This woman then went on to gift the blade to her daughter and namesake who had just completed the initiation ritual of a Pakt, which is involved in one of the more prominent faiths in the Vtesa Sea. Pay attention to the fellow Paktkeepers and friends of this girl. They have become quite dear to me.
You’ll notice that I have provided you with a map of the Vtesa, as it is the location in which the majority of this volume of the tale takes place. I hope you find it helpful in giving you a sense of geography as the journey progresses.
I understand you are a busy man, but I cannot overemphasize just how useful this information will be to you. If you do not read this, I urge you to have an advisor read it for you, it is not a simple advertisement for allyship, it will give you tools to defend against the imminent invasions.
1. Iva
The waves crashed with the gentleness of their god, the sun began sinking into the horizon and the faithful offered their hums. While her mother sat in respect of the speaker at the altar in the water, Pa Ivaketa Ethoa stood above her. Pvesota’a or another malicious spirit would surely burn her should she kneel while someone of a lower station than her stood. And the One of Wetness who stood in the water with the dripping chisel, conducting the ceremony, was not marked with the lines of a Pakt.
So it was better to stand towards the back of the beach, where embarrassment could be avoided, but the gods would still be appeased. However, Iva still feared the wrath of the demons, for the other Paktevtas weren’t attending, save for Pa Pevro who stood at the edge of the water, blocking the view of some of the more devoted followers of the Waterlord and his daughter.
Pevro was dedicated to his oaths, but sometimes he wasn’t good at understanding the environment around him. Iva was usually able to help him in that regard, but not in this scenario. The ceremony was too important to interrupt by stepping over all of the faithful, inevitably brushing wet sand on them.
It was the final day of the year. The warm days were encroaching. The Childlord Soveta would be in her weakest months, so the ceremony was one of mourning. The speaker, Perai’i shed her tearblessings as she let her sun-coloured blood from the prongs of the chisel drip over the altar and into the blue water of the Vtesa Sea.
The crowd ended their humming, bringing a potent silence to the beach, and the elder began to speak with a deep resonating voice as she imparted wisdom from the heavenly depths upon the crowd. “Watch as my shining impure blood disappears in the clear and pure domain of the Waterlord! Take this as proof of his power. For even though Pvesota’a may infect the water inside us, the sun will never overpower the greatness I stand in!”
It was nothing Iva hadn’t heard before. She had vivid memories of enjoying this ceremony in years past, in those simpler times before she had taken upon the holy responsibilities. Maybe the experience from her position of power made it less compelling to her. Even as the One of Wetness threw the pink powder into the water, transforming it into a blue foaming substance, she couldn’t help but feel bored.
She was annoyed that even as she entered her ninth year, her nine-thousandth days, there was nothing new to witness. And Pa Pevro blocking everyone’s view bothered her more than it should have. She found herself rapping her fingers over the blade on her waist. She placed her index finger on the blade’s edge and contemplated. She estimated Parai’i would continue her speech for another decicandle. That would be plenty of time.
She dug her finger into the blade. As the blood touched the metal, Iva’s eyes went black, and she was taken from the beach, and moved inside a body that felt unfamiliar. In a strange coincidence, she found herself kneeling in a small pool of water in front of Perai’i, her four fellow Paktevtas standing behind the One of Wetness, facing Iva, each one bearing their first Pakt line. They were all so young. Those red burns would never be brighter.
Iva found herself to be very nervous. She remembered this moment, so she could anticipate the pain. She heard herself swearing the first promise. Her voice was higher than she had remembered, “F-for today and each day I sh-shall live I do swear–” Iva took a breath to reassure herself. “That I shall never break the oaths of this Pakt. I seal this oath with a mark on my face.” As she said this, Perai’i placed the hot wire upon her cheek, Iva moaned in pain but continued what she had rehearsed with wet eyes. “Should I break my oath, may the lines be broken too.”
The elder had a sadness hidden under her face. She didn’t enjoy mutilating children’s faces, but a request to forge a Pakt couldn’t be denied. Iva stood and walked out of the pool and fell in line with the other Paktevtas. Avram went and stood in the pool, ready to receive his next line. Now that he was officially a Paktevta, he would not kneel in front of the elder.
Iva couldn’t bear to look at Avram as he swore to only partake of meat if it came from an animal he killed. Her cheek still burned like the sun. She focused on the state of the room around her. She reminded herself that this wasn’t real. This was a memory brought on by her sword. She just hadn’t anticipated that the memory would be so physically painful.
The room was high up. As she looked through the opening she saw the buildings below. They were in one of the tallest buildings in the city, the shrine to Vte. It was three times the height of most of the structures below. The libraries were the only things that stood taller. She looked to her south to see Thira who gave her a worried, yet comforting smile. Her friend had not cried during the ceremony. The new line was so noticeable. It was so blatantly on her face.
It was only at that moment, upon seeing Thira’s face that it hit Iva. Her life would never be the same after that day. This was a serious action they were taking. And she still had four more oaths to make.
Iva found herself back on the beach. She looked down and saw a line of blood had dripped down the blade and was now slowly dripping into the sand. She pressed her bleeding finger against her thumb to stop the bleeding. It stung, but Iva had dealt with worse pain before. She then shifted her foot to cover the drops that had fallen with loose sand.
The elder continued conducting the ritual. Iva took a deep breath. She felt her face with her unbloodied hand. It no longer hurt, but she didn’t have full flexibility with her north cheek anymore. She paid attention to the sitting positions of the faithful. At the beginning of the ceremony, most had sat in Karson’s bow with one knee on the ground and the other crossed over it, one hand on the ground, and the other on their face, indicating total respect and supplication. But at this point, almost all had uncrossed their legs and let their arms rest.
Then everyone’s heads shifted to face the ground, even Pa Pevro’s. Iva hadn’t been paying attention to what Perai’i was saying. She began listening again. “–return to whence we came, into the black depths we shall sink when our time comes. I know that pain still lingers from four years–”
Iva stopped listening. Her mother, Neiva, turned around to face her. She had a worried look on her face. This was not something Iva was ready to face again. She slashed the tip of her middle finger across the sharpness of the blade, willing it to bring her to a happier place. It dug deeper than she had anticipated. Blood touched metal. Her eyes glowed black.
The body she found herself in was much more familiar. This was a more recent event. She was standing outside the library. She seemed aware of her Pakt marks. It was awkward to have people stare at or take Karson’s bow in front of her in such a public setting. Thira was standing next to her, wearing her librarian’s headdress. It covered her cheeks, hiding her lines, and displaying the many scripts and languages she could translate.
Oh, how she admired her friend. Thira was telling an anecdote about her and her colleague. “So we spent, and I’m not exaggerating when I tell you this–” Thira looked into Iva's eyes. The librarian had dark, slightly pink eyes. “Three candles! Three candles looking for the crate. And you’re never going to guess where we found it… It was on. Her. Desk. With a note signed to her! ‘To Kassai, here are the scrolls you asked for–’”
Thira went on rambling. Her smiling and exaggerated expressions gave Iva a sense of comfort. As they walked down the street, they weren’t Pa Ivaketa and Pa Thira. They were simply themselves, and that was all they needed to be. Iva looked into Thira’s eyes once more. That’s where the memory ended. Thira’s eyes. It was a vision Iva could gaze at for the rest of her life.
But then she found herself back on the beach. Her mother’s eyes were sad. She knew what Lifereader was capable of, it had once been hers. Iva glanced at her hand to see redness flowing from her two fingertips. She made her hand into a fist and repeatedly squeezed. She did not listen to the elder as she forced herself to think about the comfort found in the gaze of her friends.
The sun did set, and the sky matched the sea, radiating blackness. The elder did sit, granting Pa Pevro and Iva the ability to do so as well. In any case, the ritual was over, and the etiquette of who stood and who knelt mattered much less. Iva sat next to her mother who placed an arm over her as Iva laid her head on her shoulder. Neiva took Iva’s hand and gently opened it up. The blood had dried, but the cuts would still need to be bandaged, especially her middle finger.
“Would you like to tell me what happened there?” Neiva said.
Iva shook her head.
Her mother continued in a voice of reassurance, “Iva, the Composition farewell is a time to feel close with those we–”
Iva lifted her head, and cut her off, “I’m going to head back home, I need to wake up early tomorrow. Many preparations need to happen before the Iepa ambassadors arrive.”
Neiva sighed, then said, “I think that’s good. I’ll stay here for a little longer, I think Kiathe could use some help carrying her baskets back into town.”
Iva stood and nodded to her mother. She looked into the crowd and spotted Pa Pevro, when he looked at her they both nodded. They would see each other the following morning. Iva gathered and lit her torch, and began walking back towards Ethoa.
Iva did awake early the next morning. She would have liked to sleep for longer, but feeling groggy for a short while was a small sacrifice to pay for more time awake. She did all of her morning grooming, rebandaged her fingertips and even placed charcoal powder from the fallen Iethala Tree on her pakt marks. She ate two pit fruits and left to the wall before her mother awoke.
Even though she was the Guardian of the Northern Post, Iva went first to the Eastern Post to receive instructions from and pray with Pao, the High Guardian of the City Wall. Iva was the second guardian to arrive at the Eastern Gate Tower after Pa Pevro. He was the only other Paktevta in the City Guard, and in truth, did not deserve his position.
Pakt marks were prestigious things to bear, allowing Pa Pevro to ascend to his ranking at half the standard age. Iva knew this privilege had also applied to her, but seeing as she worked so much harder than Pa Pevro, she considered it to be less of an issue in her case.
Before entering, Iva waited just outside the command room and listened. Pao and Pa Pevro had exchanged greetings, and now Pevro was offering his compliments to the High Guardian’s new headband. “I’ve yet to see a finer piece of linen, who had it made for you?”
Pao seemed excited to respond, “My eldest son’s daughter had it made, she embroidered it herself.”
Pa Pevro offered a surprised look. “That’s exquisite craftsmanship! Does she aim to speak for the Followers of the Weaver?”
“Actually no, she finds them too competitive for her tastes,” Pao said.
Iva entered the room. It was an open square room with a table in the centre and desks and shelves riddled with scrolls and seeds around the perimeter. The room was illuminated by the harsh morning sun shining through the eastern window, The High Guardian offered Iva a bowed salute. “Greetings High Guardian.” Iva said, “May you be sheltered in this warming season.”
Pao lifted his head and said, “Pa Iva, allow me to wish the very same unto you.” He offered a small smile. Iva liked the High Guardian, his old moustached face granted him an air of friendliness.
Pa Pevro nodded at Iva in salutation, then gestured to his Pakt marks and smiled widely. His had also been marked with charcoal. The Guardians of the East and West entered the room, bowed and saluted to the High Guardian and the Paktevtas, and stood over their chairs at the table. Everyone took their seats.
High Guardian Pao began going over the plans for the day. Some final repointing had to be done on a few sections of the wall, mostly in the West, so it wasn’t necessarily a top priority. Even though the Iepa Sea where the ambassadors were arriving from was West of Ethoa, they likely would not be travelling through the mountains, meaning they would be arriving by boat, and would therefore approach through the Eastern Gate. That is unless they opted to dock at the smaller Northern or Southern ports, in which case they would be arriving at those respective gates.
It was important to make a good impression on the ambassadors, and although most of that responsibility would likely fall on the librarians, the Wall would be their first sight of the city. It would be important to not appear weak. Many in the city remembered a time of conflict with the Iepa. In fact, everyone in the room except for Pa Pevro and Iva had been alive during the War between the seas. Even though Ethoa had remained uninvolved, hearing news of the battles had been a prominent source of stress.
“Remember,” Pao said, “Promises aren’t as sacred to our friends in the West. We would do well not to create any temptation for Queen Asov Mekar. This is why I need each of you to heavily drill your guards today. They must appear disciplined and organized, and it will fall upon you four to ensure that happens.”
Iva's mind began running through different possibilities. The thirty guards at her post weren’t the finest warriors in the realm, but they knew to obey her and knew a variety of salutes and songs. Currently, they served on a rotation with only a few guards on the wall at a time. With a higher number of guards all working the wall at the same time, they would need to be properly spread out across the wall.
She would want to speak with the other Guardians to ensure they all employed similar tactics.
A horn down below sounded. In all her life Iva had never heard it sounded, save for the time they sounded it to teach the guards to recognize it. Danger was approaching. Pa Pevro jumped out of his seat and looked through the east window. Iva followed suit, using her hand to block the sun.
Numbered in the hundreds, and bearing blade and the Asov banner, troops were marching towards Ethoa.