The Art Of Queens

MAGNUS

MAGNUS

“Her skin is white, like chalk powder, the whitest I have ever seen.” Zibah replied with a wonder in her eyes as if she could see of whom she spoke soaring over them.
“She is like me.” Magnus said as Zibah’s words painted a canvas in his mind. She waited to reply, probably wondering if agreeing would alter Magnus’ mind to think lesser of that race, his half race.
“She is nothing like you. You have our blood, my sister’s blood, the blood of the Kekkehs from Isle twenty one. Our blood makes you different from your father’s kind, and her kind as well. It makes you better than the cruel white skinned men.”
Zibah cleaned the knife on her palm and the tiny brown red hairs clung together wet like a paste. She took another scrape of Magnus’s blooming head of ten and three, and he knew just then that it was as hairless as Zibah’s. She was tall for her age they said, almost six feet, and as thick and plumped as any fully grown woman here. Her skin was as black as the ripest berries and as hairless and smooth as an egg. Sheep skin covered her breasts and below her waist to her knees, red dyed powder was dotted from her flat nose up and over her forehead to her mole, and her neck was decorated with the fangs of pythons on a string woven from horse hairs.
“There, e frefa ziboh.” She complimented dusting his head with her fingers. The ocean sang whips of breeze on his bare head now. It felt weird, and to think that this was how everyone else felt made him wonder again if he really belonged.
“Father’s ships brought good news about her this morning.”
“Good news?” Mag wondered.
“She has no family, Evvan Rushayde cut them all. Her escape and survival for so long remains a mystery. Father needs silver to buy more ships and food, and her head is worth just that to the king of Bezaly.”
“He cannot kill her, and that king is a usurper, the usurper of her family.” Magnus replied springing from the stump on which he had sat.
“She is white Magnus, she is our enemy and will always be for as long as the black god reigns over this world.” Zibah told him, a pressure rose into her face and a puff of steam escaped her nose the way it always did whenever Magnus crossed the line.
“I am white too.” Mag replied meekly.
His aunt, just two years older than he, walked right up into his face and stared down at him.
“Look at me Magnus Grithansas. You may have the name of a cruel white man that rode dragons, but you are one of us, not of them. Our people lived among themselves for thousands of years quite contented on our own lands with our own fights before your forefather came. Their dragons poured fire upon those who were brave enough to fight. The white men are the usurpers Magnus, not King Evvan Rushayde. May this be the last time you dare speak of our kind this way. Ru e verpaler?”
“Yes I understand.” He answered.
“Or I will tell my father.” She told him.
No good would come of that, especially now that he was realizing his great mistakes, perhaps he would soon think of Magnus as one if not the greatest of them all.
“Clean this, and clean yourself. You look like a pig with all these brown red hairs sticking to your skin.” She pinched off a few from his bare chest and rubbed them between her fingers before flicking them away into the ocean breeze.
“Hurry, you do not want to keep your rabbi waiting much longer.” She told him as she picked the shaving knife from the coastal rocks and scampered along into the village.
Magnus watched her galloping, it was a strange thing to see a full grown woman run like a child, but Zibah was only a child in truth, an overgrown girl with a passion for grooming, and a fathomless hate for races that were not black. Mag looked at his hands and belly. They were as white as they could have been and the brown red hair shed from his scalp hugged his body like an odor. They were soft and straight and flexible. He knew he was born of a black woman, of Zibah’s sister who died the night he was born, but he was different.
Everyone stared at him wherever he walked on this mountain isle. The other children never spoke a word to him, not willingly at least and whenever he opened his mouth near them, they would quiver fearing his curse. His grandfather Merkon Kekkeh, the head of the Kekkeh clan, the father of Zibah and twenty three other children, was a clever old man. As ambitious and wise as he was, there was not a day when Magnus would not think of him and be confused on the simple fact on whether he was a good man, or the very wicked that he proclaimed the white race to be.
Thirteen years ago, Merkon’s men captured Wesson Grithansas from the coast of Bezaly and brought him here on Isle twenty one. He was a drunken fool with a magnificent house name at the time, the name of the first dragon of Grithantis. He was believed to be wanted by the conqueror of the continent at the time, the king of Duragoseth, King Samwell Fyrstone who was destined on a mission to eradicate the dragons and the Grithansas name. Merkon had him washed and drunken enough to marry and lay with his fifteen year old daughter in the sight of every eye available at the time. Everyone called him traitor to allow his eldest daughter to bed the bitter enemy. It was said that during the making of Magnus on that night, his father poured out the wrath and hate he bore for the black race from his gut as he filled his black wife with his drunken seed. They were separated soon after, and he was held prisoner. When sober, he cursed and whaled about what had happen. He cried, tried multiple times to escape, even killed six guards on his various attempts. More and more of Merkon’s people demanded his head as the days progressed, but Merkon kept him alive to fulfill one specific task, to impregnate his daughter. Merkon wanted a right to lands, a right to Volryvansys, and that land was rightfully the Grithansas’ he believed. A Grithansas son born of his own kin was all the right he needed for his people and race.
Fallon never slept with Wesson again, she was conceived on her wedding night in the eyes of all, even her father, and for nine long months she carried Magnus into the world. They said Wesson denied ever laying with her and denied the unborn child for the nine months until it was born, the spitting image of he, a child so white with his hair tone and grey eyes. That night, his anger calmed him. He was soon to be burnt alive before the people who for so long yearned to see his death promised by fire since his ancestors murdered the blacks the same way. They said he was never so meek and mute, lost inside himself when Merkon showed his son to him. He denied it, but in a tone that knew he was wrong. Wesson escaped that same night and strangled Fallon with Magnus crying by her breast before he was killed by Merkon’s men.
Magnus hated his father for murdering his mother, he was just as cruel as he was taught of the white race, but he was still his father, and he wished to at least see him once, see him and his mother Fallon. Magnus often prayed to the black god to allow him to dream of them just so he could see them at least once. He often prayed in doubt that the black god would listen to his prayers because he was not dark skinned, and he had proved time and time again that the black god listened not, and if he did, he did not answer him on purpose.
He walked off the rocky gray coast where the water rushed salt and black. The black god engulfed this isle they said, nestling his people inside. Magnus often feared the Hungry Sea, for it was as greedy as the men it bred. Before the past three centuries, there once existed a great land here, the greatest continent the world has ever known. Castraland was its name, the land fattened with gold and silver, the land of rich black soil, the land where thirty two blue mountains touched the skies and the land that attracted the greediest and the wicked.
The black race dominated Castraland since the beginning of time. The black god made this land for they and they alone, and this was proven the day when Jermyn Grithansas rode his six dragons to take it away from the black race. No man of Castraland refused to fight for their families and home, but no man of Castraland could save them from the power of fire. Jermyn Grithansas rested not for an entire day and night. He conquered Castraland acre by acre until his dragons needed to rest. But the black god had not forsaken his people as many believed. He waited for this moment, and in that very instant, Castraland sank beneath the Hungry Sea drowning off Jermyn Grithansas and his six exhausted beasts. The survivors eventually found themselves settling on the remains of Castraland, the thirty two mountain peaks were now nothing more than a few rocks sticking out from black salt water and they had no choice but to try and survive here.
Magnus held a breath deeply and sank beneath the dark. His eyes had gotten use to the salt, and his head stung all over for a mere moment. He rubbed and itched it until it stopped burning then he swam to the top, wiped his eyes and looked out at Isle twenty one. The crooked gray rock looked like the hard dead stump of an old oak tree. Bridges of rope netted smaller islands to the mother isle and small boats were tied around them. At the top of the mother isle where the lanterns burned at night, sat the small wooden house of the Kekkehs where Magnus slept, and on the far left past house Okran sat the cages where animals and prisoners stayed. The islanders did not keep prisoners for long, for they were just extra mouths to feed.
The Surranathayne girl was inside it still, but Magnus could not see her. His grandfather Merkon banned him from seeing prisoners of the white race for he believed Magnus was not ready. It always annoyed him whenever Merkon said those words. It made Magnus feel trapped, as if there were things trapped inside him, and those trapped things wanting to get out were the very things that trapped him. He heard tales of the phoenix a few times from his rabbi Avron, and he was fascinated by them almost as much as he was fascinated by the dragons. Without the phoenix there would be no suns, and the Surranathayne girl, Layra, was the last phoenix alive.
Merkon believed not in the stories of white men and Magnus was certain that he would not think twice about killing the girl just to prove them wrong. If Zibah was right, then things were going to change for Merkon and Magnus. Evvan Rushayde will reward Merkon for assuring him an unthreatened reign over Bezaly without worry or wonder that the Surranathayne phoenix would return for his head in his sleep. Magnus did not want her to die, but he was as powerless as any other man here who was not named Kekkeh or Okran. He had even less power than the new born babes here, at least they were allowed to see the phoenix laying in her cage with the hounds or pigs, whichever cage they held her in today.
The thought of what that poor girl survived and what she was surviving now tore Magnus’ humanity. He felt even sorrier for her now when he thought deeply about it. Evvan Rushayde beheaded her bloodline in their own castle and mounted them on spikes around it for the kingdom to see the vultures feast. He could only imagine what she underwent to escape alive and if he knew the plunderers that brought her here well enough, she was raped everyday by them until she came here, and even here there were cruel men who would force themselves on her. Probably killing her would be a favor, maybe she yearned for a grave, or maybe revenge…Magnus intended to find out now. He gargled a mouthful of the sea and swam back to shore with an idea.
He went to his chamber and sat there staring at Avron Sakab, his rabbi, a black man of forty and four. Seven feet he towered as hairless as a child. He was one of the few educated men here, said he once served a lord in Volryvansys who taught him to read and write. Most men here thought he was a wizard, for he had the power to tell words from markings on paper. On calm nights Avron would tell tales from books he read around the bon fires outside house Kekkeh and for his time of tale telling, the entire isle was silent. The ocean would grow louder and the waves would chatter thinking they were alone. Tonight would be another of those nights, and Magnus was going to use it to his advantage.
He listened to Avron’s teachings about monarchs, and his tongue was tempted to question the Surranathayne girl’s fate, but he feared them keeping him locked in during the hours of Avron’s tales tonight. On random occasions, Magnus often glimpsed Avron and Zibah sneaking around. He knew something was going on between them, but he would never let them suspect his knowledge of it. He just nodded when required, ask questions that were expected, and practiced the grammar of the common tongue after his lectures on arithmetic. Avron asked him to select a book for tonight’s telling and he did just that. The Art of Queens was its title, and it was thick enough to keep Avron’s tongue occupied four many hours tonight.
Everyone stared at him now, for it was the first time since birth that his head was shaved, and his aunts commented on how hansom he now was. his uncle Abben, the last living son of Merkon Kekkeh said nothing to him, but this was expected, as he hated Magnus since his birth, for his father loved Mag more than he. Some boys from the smaller isles around the mother watched him with spiteful eyes and they laughed whenever he was not looking. It made Magnus angry, but he always walked away thinking about burying an axe inside their empty skulls. The girls were sometimes difficult to tell apart from the boys especially in the dark when they were almost invisible, but they always watched him carefully with eyes wanting to know him. He never mustered enough courage to say a word to them, and his uncle Akrem Kekkeh would often tell him to stay away from them for they were not meant to be with the scum of a dead white man.
They nicknamed him Dead White, and he hated it, but his grandfather’s new wife Drifzi told him that every great man of the Hungry Sea has an alias that drives them the same way his drove him. Like king Evvan Rushayde, the Grey Shark.
The black god must have read Magnus’ mind today and saw he was dying for dusk to fall, for the day was the longest he had known. The hours passed slowly and the people worked lazily. Merkon brought him dinner, a fish as long as his arm, and told him he earned it for Avron gave a very positive review of his work today. Magnus thanked him, but he told him to thank the black god for providing it. All good things cometh from the black he always said, and Magnus would then wonder if there was another god, a god of the white men. Maybe that god was the one to answer his prayers, but that god would be false…
He cut the fish in seven, covered it with a silver plate, hid it inside his basket and placed it by his window. He watched the bright fires burn down on the crags of Isle Twenty One as the crowd multiplied under the full moon. The time was nearing finally, and excitement tickled his chest rendering him nervous. He could feel it in the sweat on his fingers. Someone came to escort him, it was Zibah. She wore those bright eyes over a well pleased smile again, the same natural accessories Avron placed upon her face every time she left his warmth.
“Fi e caventi ziboh hai?” She asked.
“Yes.”
She stood by the doorway awaiting him. Magnus fixed his red waist cloth and followed after her. He wore nothing on his back or head tonight and he knew that everyone would think he was trying to blend in which was a good thing Zibah always said. But the truth was, clothes would make him easier to spot when he snuck off later to the cages on the other side of the isle.
“Avron said you picked the book for tonight.” She mentioned.
“Yes. It has a good title.”
“What does it say?”
“The Art of…something. I don’t remember.” Mag replied as they came upon the exit door cloth.
“I bet you remember that girl father will burn.” Zibah pulled the brown goat skin away from the door and the scent of sweet smoke diffusing into the air swooped into their faces.
“Burn her? Alive?” Mag asked out of mere fright.
“Not alive of course. King Evvan wants her head intact. Maybe father will behead her first…or maybe burn her legs up to her chest then behead her. That would be more pleasing.” She peeked outside then looked at Magnus gazing into thoughts. They say you did well today with your rabbi Avron, father was very proud to hear him commend you, even I got jealous for a moment. Don’t let him down now.”
“How will I?” Mag asked.
“Do not do anything stupid, especially not at the burning.” She told him.
He looked away then at her with a thought on his lips.
“Tell me aunt, what is the stupid thing to do? Try to save her, or watch her be burnt alive for a beheading?”
Zibah slapped his face. Mag’s hand reached the reddening cheek as his eyes fearfully watched her to dodge the next, but her face changed from insulted to sorry.
“I should not have done that, am sorry nephew.”
Magnus felt and rubbed it. He wanted to strike her back, but if that happened and anyone saw, they would demand his hand be cut off to strike the daughter of Merkon Kekkeh. She took his hand from his cheek, pulled him from the house and they joined the night crowd at the back where everyone sat. The story had already begun, but Magnus cared not about that from the start. He sat there by Zibah and his other aunts as they all listened to Avron’s deep and loud voice. Merkon, Drifzi, the Okrans and their hand servants all sat on a board at the front where they could hear clearer than the rest.
He waited patiently for a time, until he knew they were all hooked on the story and Avron’s spectacular expressions, then he asked his aunts to excuse him. They paid him little to no mind, just Zibah who looked up with regret for slapping him earlier. Magnus left and walked by the crags where everyone wanting to take a leak or do similar business on these nights. No one would follow him after giving that impression. More so, the story was better than smelling his waste.
As soon as he escaped their eyes, he dived off into the sea from a ten foot cliff and swam quickly to the Rope Bridge connecting a small isle to the mother. He used it skillfully to return to house Kekkeh and he snatched the basket of fish from his chamber window. Getting to the animals caged on the western end of the isle was never easier. No one was around to catch him. As he walked upon the first pens, his nose wrenched on his face, they must have not been cleaned in weeks. Pigs squealed and goats cried as hens clucked from everywhere around him. Carefully he scanned each coop and sty for a girl, she was white like he so it should not have been difficult to spot her under the moon light. Coops after coops, sties after sties yet he saw no signs of any one. He scanned them again, and disappointment quailed him like a leaf tossed into fire, but then he heard a sound so strange in a place like this. Another cough far harsher than the first followed and that one sounded as if it lifted the cold from her chest.
Magnus rushed to see, and it was someone lying in a corner of a pig sty. He knew it was her, and he now saw why she was difficult to spot under the moon. The pigs littered her body entirely and coated her hair black. As Magnus found his way steadily around to her corner, she coughed again and this time it just would not stop. He needed to help her, she needed to be washed, fed, and that cough was life threatening.
He knew not what the first thing to say was, he imagined being her and wondered what could anyone say to make him feel better in this situation. The pigs came up to him sticking their noses through the gaps of the wooden bars. They grunted loud looking forward to the feed they expected. Magnus threw a rock and struck one sending him weeing away as warning to the others then he tried to see the Surranathayne girl’s face. She just sat there facing the other side of the sty as if she saw no one.
“Princess…” Magnus called in a whisper, but she did not seem to notice him.
He found himself behind her, placed the basket and knelt there searching for the fish he brought.
“I…I brought you some fish If you are hungry…” His kind hand entered the cage, and still she did not notice.
“It is the best of today’s catch…my dinner, but I could not have it knowing you were here and…hungry.”
Magnus shoved the basket cover inside and rested the wrapped fish on it. He wondered if the girl thought he was like the others, maybe it is why she refused to speak or accept his kindness. For a moment he just sat there by her observing. The only thing she wore was of the pigs, but he avoided seeing her parts for he knew it was the well-mannered thing to do. Her hair was so different from what he was used to seeing here, it was like what his used to be before this morning. Long, wavy and beneath the pig mess clinging to it, were the essence of gold, like the daily suns. He could not see her face, and he really wanted to. The hair cloaked her head leaving her straight nose pointing forward. It was also messed up, but he could tell that her skin was toned just like his. She was the first person of his father’s kind that he had come to know, and it could not have been clearer that like her, he did not belong on a mountain Isle among these people. Magnus reached carefully to touch her hair, but he paused and considered touching her hand first.
“I will not hurt you princess. I want to help.”
His fingers barely brushed the back of her hand and she pulled it away gently. Slow and steady her head turned to see him and finally he saw her eyes. They were emeralds that sparkled like magic.  Her face was swollen, badly beaten and her nose appeared broken and fixed. Magnus felt tears rising in his eyes as they stared down into hers. She was just a child, a girl of ten and two or three. The windows of her soul were shattered. Blood, smoke, hate and pain were all that remained with them, and when Magnus realized this, he knew just then that she hated him just as much as she hated the people who did this to her. Those swollen green eyes saw him the same way they saw every man of the Hungry Sea, and Magnus understood why.
“I will not hurt you I promise-I…I just brought you some fish.”
He showed her, and she did not take her eyes from his for a moment. He unwrapped it, pulled a warm juicy fillet from the bones and placed it on his tongue as gravy drizzled down his fingers. She watched him chew until he swallowed. Then she looked away without uttering a word.