Chapter 36
YUMA
The Host’s send-off feast, the final meal he would prepare for them, was strangely peaceful.
Everyone said they would miss the Host, who had overseen their funerals and weddings and festivals, who had cooked for them and protected their city and orox herds from the Grim King, but no one tried to stop him.
No one threw themselves across his path, begging him not to leave.
The Imperial delegation arrived before their army, and a few of its members wasted no time in taking the Host and leaving Danras.
After the farewell, Yuma went back to her room in the Feast Hall, troubled and worried for the Host. He had said that, without the Grim King, Danras had no need for him anymore.
But if the Host was no longer needed, was the Feast Hall?
The Spear of Hope? That was when she noticed that the spear was missing from her room.
Yuma went to the Host’s room, to find the spear’s leather wrappings among the discarded ceremonial garb.
Old Vella was there gathering her own things, as she no longer had a Host to take care of.
Yuma asked Vella about the Spear of Hope, and the old attendant explained to her that the Host had taken it with him.
After Vella left the room, Yuma stood there looking at the feathered garbs abandoned in the corner. Something new was coming to Merseh, just as promised. But she had never thought it would be like this.
Not long after, a meeting was held concerning the absence of the Host. Bruden spoke of dividing the land outside of the city walls.
From that summer onward, Imperial machines much like Fractica would cut, dry, and transport the tall grass for a small price.
There was no more need for oroxen to be herded across Merseh.
Herders no longer needed to live over half a year out on the steppe.
They only needed to go out to the “ranches” in the mornings and come home in the evenings.
Experienced herders would be given a share of the city’s common herd to work these ranches.
Just as the Host had lived with them to protect Danras from the Grim King, the Chief Herder had existed to protect the oroxen.
Once the Grim King was gone, Yuma would only become another rich orox owner like Bruden or Jesska.
Only the ones who did not own enough oroxen to form their own ranch would roam the steppe in the old way.
Everything would change, especially for Yuma. Which was why everyone waited for her disapproval. But she had no objections—Yuma was more than happy that everyone would be safer and more prosperous at least.
The Fifth Legion sent a herald announcing that their arrival would be a day earlier than expected.
Yuma and Lysandros received the herald in the Feast Hall, where the Host no longer resided.
The herald called Yuma “the great King of Danras” and the Feast Hall a “grand palace,” but Yuma knew that this wasn’t a palace and that she was no king.
Perhaps this city was no longer Danras either.
Later that night, standing next to the still-empty cradle, Yuma asked Lysandros what was to become of Merseh. Her tone was so serious that Lysandros’s ever-present smile faded from his face.
“There must be a prefect here. I shall discuss it with Chief Herder and others, but I want Chief in that position. The Senate will follow my recommendations.”
“What does the prefect do?”
“The prefect would rule the country and liaise for the Imperial Capital. Set trading rules, collect taxes … But don’t worry about the taxes. Compared to what the Grim King collected, it’ll be nothing.”
Yuma nodded and sat down. She had not heard from the Grim King since that conversation where he’d stoked her fears, but as long as she was pregnant with Tychon, the possibility of him slipping into her mind was always there.
She looked at Lysandros. His expression was earnest, a hint of that beautiful grin on his lips.
She looked down and said, “Remember when you were fighting the Grim King’s giant, and there was that casket that fell out of Fractica?”
The grin was gone once more. “That again. I think the matter is better undiscussed. It’s Imperial magic, a secret one.”
“Well, I’m discussing it. I can’t put it off anymore. As I’m resting here, Danras is changing beyond recognition. So this is something you can talk about with me, isn’t it?”
Lysandros sighed. “Chief Herder already knows it’s called a Power generator. When a sorcerer dies, the body is processed in a particular way and converted into a generator. It’s a source of almost limitless energy. Danras and all of Merseh will soon benefit.”
It was just as Eldred had told her in that dream. He’d called it a debasement of all sorcerers. Yuma had tried to ignore it—so what if the Grim King was offended?—but between the Host and her unborn Tychon, she found herself unable to. And there was yet another thing that bothered her.
“What I really want to know is who that was in the casket. Was Fractica the name of the sorcerer?”
Lysandros shrugged. “Who the Power generator used to be isn’t important. It’s just a body now.”
“You said you were a sorcerer as well. If you die, will you be turned into a Power generator?”
Lysandros averted his gaze, but not before Yuma registered a hint of discomfort, and even fear, in his eyes.
“Probably,” he finally said. “But there’s a way to avoid it. If that’s what Chief Herder wants, I’ll try my best.”
“And our child? Tychon?”
“Why … It isn’t known if Tychon will have Power. The signs don’t appear until a few years after birth. Unless both parents are sorcerers, the possibilities are low.”
“Just assume he does!” she shouted, no longer caring to be patient.
Lysandros seemed surprised at her outburst, but answered calmly.
“… Well, Chief Herder, that would mean Tychon would be in the same situation as I am.” Lysandros gently laid a hand on her belly.
“This child will be born, grow up, meet a wonderful person like Chief Herder, fall in love, and have children. Tychon will be surrounded by sons and daughters and grandchildren and live out a long life. The only difference between a sorcerer and ordinary folk is that a sorcerer is placed in a lead casket, not a wooden one, upon death. Isn’t that better than being buried in the ground? It’s certainly not any worse.”
“Then the Host?” she pressed on. “Is that what’s going to happen to him? Wrapped in bandages and laid in a lead casket?”
“Yuma—”
“The soul of the Host is passed on from person to person, that’s why they’re called ‘host.’ It’s been this way for hundreds of years. But how can the next person receive their soul if he’s a generator, as you called it?” she asked, desperate for him to understand.
Lysandros stared for a moment before slowly giving her an answer.
“I was glad the Host volunteered to leave for the Capital, because I thought it would save me from saying this but … Chief Herder … to worship something above people is wrong.”
“Wrong? Why would that be…?” she spluttered. “Besides, the people of Danras do not ‘worship’ the Host.”
“The Host protected Danras from the rage and harassment of the Grim King. Danras sent oroxen as tithes to the Grim King. In Danras and other parts of Merseh, the way things are done has always revolved around the Grim King. But now the Empire can end the tyrannical reign. The Empire has the means to liberate the world. But the traces of the Grim King must be cleansed by the people of Merseh, or the scars will never fade.”
Yuma felt her eyebrows twitch.
“Are you saying the Grim King is the god of Merseh, and the Host is his priest?”
Lysandros hesitated. “In the eyes of the Empire, yes. It’s a rare, but not unprecedented, form of god worship. This was why I was tasked with finding the Chief Herder, and not the Grim King, to make an alliance.”
She now realized what Lysandros had meant on the steppe—that it wasn’t Eldred but Yuma who was the king of Danras. Because the Grim King was the god, the Host his priest, and Yuma the king … And none of these three were deemed acceptable by the Empire.
“You swore to me, in the pouring starlight,” she whispered as her voice shook. “You swore.”
Every word of what he’d said was clear in her mind.
Those words had comforted her on nights she was kept up by thoughts of fighting the Grim King.
I swear, as an emissary of the Empire, that I shall use all my power as an inquisitor of the Imperial Office of Truth to aid Yuma, the Chief Herder of Danras, to save Merseh from Eldred.
“I remember,” he said, his eyes looking into hers. “And I’ve done what I’ve sworn to do so far, have I not? Only months remain until Merseh is saved from the Grim King forever.”
“But the Merseh to come is not the Merseh of now. And I am not the Chief Herder of Danras in that Merseh.”
“Yuma…” He gently took hold of her shoulders. “I’m sorry this isn’t what Chief Herder had in mind. But the world changes. And the reign of the Grim King will be over. Danras will prosper with the Empire. As unexpected as it is, haven’t the fortunes of all Merseh improved in the end?”
Yuma didn’t answer. She could not think of anything other than the steppe, and the wind in her hair.
Merseh would soon change into something else, like Lysandros said.
Yes, Merseh would become Mersia, as the outsiders called it.
And there would be no place in Mersia for the Chief Herder, the Host, or the Grim King. It turned out she had made sure of it.
“Let’s go to the Imperial Capital together,” he said. “I can stop this wandering and get a post there. Chief Herder can become a councillor in the Commons. Chief Herder would represent Merseh in the Capital. And we could be married.”
The form of “we” he used was perfect and affectionate. His words were earnest, his voice soft. There wasn’t a shadow of suspicion or regret. Tears rose in Yuma’s eyes.
“Danras is a great city, but the Imperial Capital is different,” he continued.
“It is the largest and busiest city in the world. Chief Herder could meet with the Host any time. We would pick from the people of Danras for the prefect’s seat, and Chief Herder could sell or lend the share of oroxen to them.
And whenever Chief Herder misses home, we could always come back and ride the horses. ”
Yuma swallowed her tears and said, “Can the Host officiate our wedding?”
“Of course! The Host is not a prisoner after all.”
“And the ceremony will follow our traditions.”
“It never occurred to me to do it otherwise.”
Yuma smiled weakly and quickly wiped away the tears that managed to escape.
Lysandros, reassured, hugged her. “I’ll be off then. I need to oversee a few things before the Fifth Legion arrives. I will see Chief tonight.”
She nodded. Lysandros kissed her on the forehead, laid another gentle hand on Yuma’s stomach where Tychon lay, and left the room.
As his footsteps faded, Yuma opened her wardrobe.
She took out her clothing from the herding, washed and neatly mended since their arrival.
The chaps were a little tight, but they had been a generous fit to begin with, so she could still slip them on.
She put on the white tunic, tied the string around her neck, and put on the vest. Her leather belt still had her dagger on the side.
She put on her boots, her spurs having recently been polished to a shine.
Finally, she reached deep into her closet to retrieve her brown wide-brimmed hat, and placed it on her head.
She put her hand in the vest pocket. The two stones the Grim King had given her were still there.
Coming down the stairs into the hall, she came upon Old Vella once more.
“Going out, Chief Herder?”
Yuma nodded. “Please tell the stables to ready Aston.”
Vella nodded and left the room. Yuma stood by the doors. They had fought the Grim King’s undead army here in the beginning of winter. She opened the cupboards and packed some of the winter-dried meat.
A boy whose name she didn’t remember came with Aston to the doors. Yuma hitched her sack of dried meat to the saddle and hoisted herself up. Getting on the horse was a little harder than the last time she had done this.
“Chief Herder, where are you going with all this food?”
Yuma smiled and patted the child’s head. This child would never have to fear the Grim King again.
But neither would he go out to the herding or receive the blessing of the Host.
Yuma lightly spurred Aston to move forward and was soon galloping toward the castle of the Grim King.