Letters to Eksovaham, Chapter 3

What's Thira up to?

Thira

They were in the highest room of the central library, and while the seamster completed his work in his chair, she stood. She who had been named for humanity. The youngest of three, and the best of an empire. Pa Asov Thira Kovske’e-Asov. Princess. Paktevta. And as of now, the High-Librarian of Ancients and Translation.

It had been two days since the Iepa troops threatened to take Ethoa, and the librarians felt that action needed to be taken to adjust. Esri had been retired, in favor of someone younger, yes, but better-read in military strategy, politics, and most importantly, marked with the lines of the sacred promises.

Thira didn’t know why her mother had sent troops to Ethoa, she felt she had been doing a fine enough job infiltrating it. Perhaps it wasn’t her mother who had sent them, but a lower-ranking commander who wasn’t as well informed as they should have been. In any case, it was clear the empire she was loyal to was becoming more overt in its efforts to expand. So Thira needed to be seen as extremely successful in her ascension through the ranks of Ethoa to become the obvious choice over her sisters for the throne.

That would be simple enough. The Librarian of Ancients and Translation is traditionally the one chosen to ascend upon the death of the Highest. And accidents happened. She knew how to avoid suspicion, no matter how hard it could be to hold back. She would wait a month or so. That should be plenty.

She took E’eis’s bow, tilting her head slightly forward, placing her south leg behind her with one fist on her heart, and the other on her leg. This gesture indicated respect while acknowledging that she was the holiest in the room, even if she didn’t have the highest position within the libraries. The Highest placed Thira’s new headdress over her face and tightened it on the back of her head. Her curls made this action slightly harder, but it was nothing the Highest couldn’t handle.

The seamster had added a red fringe around the perimeter of the headdress. It tickled against the skin on her face. Thira ignored it. Over the years, she had become practiced in ignoring unpleasant lingering bodily sensations.

Her eyes met with those of the Highest. Riake was her name. And although she was no paktevta, she was still referred to with pronouns indicating respect. In only her twentieth year, she wouldn’t look particularly young in most contexts, but twenty was childhood for her rank. This posed another obstacle in Thira’s path. Should Riake die, the Quorom of Scrolls could opt to break tradition in favor of someone of a more appropriate age. Then she would be at risk of being retired by the new Highest.

She ended her bow, broke off eye contact, and said “I thank you for, and promise not to squander this opportunity given me.” She paused, then she smiled broadly, opened her arms wide, and embraced Riake.

The Highest whispered in her ear “I’m proud of you Pa.”

Thira broke off the hug and gave Riake another wide smile. She felt she had done a good job at coming across as genuine. But she worried internally. Those words made her truly happy.

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It felt almost as though Thira’s hands were translating the scroll, as she put her mind to more important work. She wanted to become the Highest before the months turned cold. After having given it more thought, it became more obvious what she needed to do to achieve this goal. 

She didn’t know if or when the Iepa troops would next return, but ideally, she would be Highest upon their return so she could hand over the city, and prove her worth. To do so, she needed to acquire, and make it known that she had acquired the knowledge and skills necessary to be a successful Highest. This mostly entailed leadership, which was mostly manipulation, and Thira already had a good handle on that. If she worked with a famous text on the subject of leading, that would be a good way of spreading the word. There were some important translations she could do of scrolls written by well-known rulers of the ancient past. 

The Kilocandle of Ashieti, named for its length, was particularly long and faded, written by an ancient King in the mountains of Sektar, it was well-known, but not well-understood by many of the librarians. Ancient Sektari was a gap in the knowledge of many in Ethoa. But Thira, raised in a closer sea to the Sektar, had studied the language as part of the effort to convince her mother to allow her to go to Ethoa at such a young age. The translation wouldn’t be simple by any means, but it would be possible for her, which was more than it was for most.

Then she would have to kill some of the louder voices advocating for practical but non-traditional decisions in the quorum. Tiase’e, the High-Librarian of Economics would have to go. He had advocated against Thira’s recent promotion, and his opinion was well respected by many of the librarians. If they opted to make someone besides Thira the Highest, it would be him. 

She would also probably have to kill some of the High Librarians in the South-West Library. She wasn’t yet sure which ones, but she did know the South-West library in particular had often voiced anti-traditional viewpoints. This would mean she would need a good excuse to visit that library to better understand who among their politics. That wouldn’t be hard to do, it was easy to find a reason to visit any of the libraries for translation purposes.

She should probably limit the amount of people she’d kill. There was always a risk in doing so. She had only killed four people during her five years in Ethoa, and it had taken a great deal of work to ensure they appeared to be accidents. Tiase’e wouldn’t be hard. He was very old. The South-Westerners were unknown as far as Thira was concerned. Riake’s death would most definitely be suspicious, but Thira felt confident she would be free of suspicion as her close relationship with the Highest was well known.

Still, potentially doubling the amount of people she’d kill in a short span of time would have risks. If she were caught she would be banished, and her marks would be undone. If that were to happen, she probably wouldn’t survive the following ten days. And even if she were to pull it off, there would be no guarantee of her becoming the Highest. But she would have the best shot at it.

She put her focus back on her translation. She hadn’t made much progress, and she had scattered the page with simple Vte errors. Mixing up the order of subjects and verbs, and writing vowels in certain places. Mistakes that no native speaker would make. With her focus divided, she had reverted to her base way of working with words. This was unacceptable. She looked around, making sure nobody had seen what she’d done. Other librarians were sitting at the desks around her, but each was focused on their own work.

Thira repeatedly folded and ripped her scroll until it lost all legibility. She took her scribe’s claw and restarted her translation on a new scroll, disappointed that her mind wasn’t as brilliant as it should have been. But she made the disappointment evaporate. It wasn’t an efficient thing to feel. Maybe if she were going to translate the Kilocandle, she should better perfect her Vte. And any practice would help.

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Tiase’e made it far too easy to plan his death. Before ascending to the position of High-Librarian of Economics, he had taken an interest in cartography. He had journaled his habits of walking down different paths, going through different forests, and meticulously detailing his actions at precise coordinates. When the mapping floor was mostly empty, Thira read these journals. On their own, each entry was mostly useless, but when read together, they revealed a tool.

Tiase’e was a habitual man. He went on the same routes annually. Charting out the slight differences in the landscape. And though he had no longer mapped out the land, he still went on his favorite routes with the same schedule.

So on her way to the trading port in the South, Thira took a detour west of the main path. She wore a librarian's headdress to cover her pakt marks, but she didn’t wear her own for it was far too distinctive.

Thira had come here once before to hunt birds. She wasn’t successful on that day, hunting had never been her strong suit, so Thira decided she would cope with eating only plants. She walked perpendicular to the Southern path for a few centicandles of time, until she came upon the Buried Angel, a boulder that somewhat resembled a face. It was easily recognizable. Thira had seen Tiase’e’s sketches of it. There were legends about this rock, that it was once alive. A giant, petrified. Some people believed that. Thira was half thrilled and half disappointed that those around her were so incapable of separating truth from falsehood.

Thira hid behind a tree near the boulder and took some money out of her bag. sunstring was the sturdiest. It was worth a lot, but Thira was well-paid. And she waited.

The forest was silent. The birds had ceased their morning songs, as it had turned to the late afternoon. Thira would want to be back before nightfall as she had agreed to sit at the herb fires with the other paktevtas. Time slowed to a frustrating pace. Thira reassured herself. She was confident Tiase’e would be walking down this path, but it was no certainty.

As she waited, her legs began growing tired. Thira sat against the trunk of the tree. It had a smooth texture, but its roots didn’t provide a perfect place to sit without feeling some discomfort. The insects that seem to be scattered across the floor of the woods also contribute to the imperfection of the situation. Thira reminded herself what she was doing this for. Her home. Kovske’e Asov. Those perfect islands and beaches.

Was she crazy? Surely this was a drastic action. Was murder truly the most logical and efficient step towards becoming the Highest? No. She shouldn’t question herself. Her first instincts were usually correct. She imagined for a moment a scenario in which she wouldn’t kill Tiase’e. He would be selected as Highest in her stead. He would have her retired. With no hope of advancing in Ethoa, Thira supposed she would return to her homeland, and retake her position as princess. And abandoning all hope of being Queen.

She would not be ruled by her sisters. Thira would win. 

She heard a noise in the forest. An old man. He was calling for help. Was it Tiase’e? Thira thought about what to do for a short moment, before resolving to place the sunstring in her bag, take off her headdress, and run toward the voice.

They weren’t far. It was Tiase’e and an old woman, maybe his wife? The woman had fallen unconscious. Tiase’e saw Thira running towards them, and she saw hope in his eyes.

“Pa Thira!” His voice sounded desperate. “Can you help? She just collapsed–”

Thira knelt and checked the pulse of the woman. Her heart was still beating. Thira didn’t know much about medicine, so she said, “Make sure she can breathe. I’ll run back to town and get a medic.”

Tiase’e nodded, fear still painted on his face. Thira began running back towards Ethoa. If she saved this woman, maybe she would gain Tiase’e’s trust. He could advocate for her good nature.

Eighteen steps in, she found a worry. Why would she be in this forest? She could tell people she had been on her way to the port when she heard Tiase’e’s cries. She kept running. That excuse would hold up. Was there a plant she could pick up on the way to give as proof that she had bought something? No, that probably wasn’t necessary.

She ran to the edge of the forest, and slowed to a stop. She put her mind to work. The world had just given her a perfect opportunity. She had wanted fewer deaths in her plan. Now not only would she take one life less, but she could save one.

Then why had she stopped?

She knew why. There was no certainty in this change of plans. She couldn’t guarantee Tiase’e’s word of support for her if she saved that woman. But she could guarantee he wouldn’t say anything to her detriment if he died.

She turned around. She was breathing deeply. She hadn’t realized how tired she was. She began running back towards Tiase’e. Time seemed to speed up. Taking back what it had given when Thira sat by the tree.

The couple came into view. Tiase’e had tears in his eyes. His eyes met Thira’s, and he shook his head.

“A priest is coming, she needed to grab some things.”

The High Librarian repeated the same word over and over, his voice trembling. “Maroa. Maroa.” He looked away from Thira.

The two carried Maroa’s body to the Buried Angel. Her eyes were open, but there was no life in them. Tiase’e knelt down in front of the rock and prayed, asking desperately for a miracle. Begging the trapped god to end his suffering. Thira took out her sunstring.