Page 5 of The Concubine King
“I… can.I don’t think I’m too good at it, though.”
“Your calligraphy?”
Ethyr furrowed his brows.“Callig…?”
“Oh, Langath help me,” the priest groaned, rubbing his eyes.“Do you at least know how to read?”
“I can write the alphabet,” Ethyr offered.
The priest lifted his gaze to him in tired exasperation.He stared back, feeling like he ought to be apologetic or ashamed but, really, he couldn’t care less.If the gods wanted someone who could do all that, they wouldn’t have chosen him.And if they had chosen wrong, then maybe he could return home.
“I suppose it makes no difference, then,” the priest said, resigned.“A year wouldn’t be long enough to refine you, so we will do what we can in the time we have.”
“How much time is that?”Ethyr asked tentatively.
“Six days.”
“Six days?”he repeated, appalled.“Until we reach the palace?”
“No.It will take five days to reach the palace.It is six days until you must be presented to the gods.”
“Why?They’re gods, surely they don’t care about time.”
“It is the agreement,” the priest said sharply.“A king is to serve them at least once a month, more if they demand it.Usually a king serves them within days after their choice, but they were munificent enough to grant an exception for this.”
Ethyr barely kept track of years, let alone the months.Time had always been dictated by the seasons, the livestock, and the crops.Anything more specific was useless.He couldn’t imagine a god keeping any better track.Time seemed an inherently mortal concern.
“What happened to the previous king?”he asked.He never really heard about past kings.Even the current king had little bearing on village life.Palace news was simply entertainment, and then they went on with their lives.
“That is of no concern to you,” the priest said dismissively.
The numbness that had frozen his insides warmed to sour unease.“Is he dead?Did the gods kill him?”
The old man scoffed.“Of course not.He simply did not please them anymore.”
“And what will happen when I do not please them?”
“You will be given land and fortune and live out the rest of your life in luxury.”
“Could I return home?”
The priest wrinkled a nostril, looking him over.“If you have a desire to return at that time, then I suppose there’s no reason you could not.”
Ethyr exhaled, sinking against the cushy back of the bench.It was not comforting, necessarily, but it was a glimmer of hope.
He watched the landscape change through the lattice, from crop fields to boggy wetlands to tree-crowned hills with patches of marsh interspersed between them.Slowly the dirt roads grew more even and manicured, until familiar buildings popped into view.Unlike the small round huts his village lived in, the market was filled with square houses made of carefully cut stone, abutted by several rooms that popped out from the main building like suckling pups.Ethyr knew they were used for all sorts of things, from storage to living space to altar rooms.
The main street of the market was much wider than the village’s, and the center—featuring a much larger well—was paved with rocks carefully laid out and packed in place with dirt.Foot traffic over the years had worn them down to soft nubs, but they still made the carriage bump and shudder.Merchants and civilians going about their day all stared as it passed by.
And then that, too, was behind them, and they trod steadily onward into land Ethyr had never stepped foot in.At first it was much the same: wild wetland that transitioned to crop fields before they passed through another small village.Ethyr recognized some of the people as those he had seen or spoken to during festivals.They too gathered by the sides of the street to watch the carriage like it was a show for their entertainment, murmuring amongst themselves.
Crops faded to a large marsh, which even in the driest spell of summer had sections of the road covered in murky water.Wooden planks had been laid over the worst areas between the tall, wild grasses, and they squelched into the mud as the horses’s hooves clopped noisily over them.
The farther they traveled, the sicker Ethyr felt as reality sank like a hot stone deeper into the pit of his stomach.He was really in a rattling carriage, getting farther and farther from home and closer to a place he could not even imagine, all while sitting on fabric worth more than he could hope to make in his entire life.This was real.It was happening.
“What would have happened if I refused?”Ethyr asked.
The priest jerked awake from nodding off.Ethyr had no idea how he could sleep.Even if the seats were more comfortable than anything he had sat on before, the swaying and occasional lurch of the carriage put any notion of relaxation out of mind.
