Prologue
From the Memrecord of Mikkol Bandy, taken Chicago of the year 2532
Back when my granda was young, and one of my gret gret grandas was an old man, nearly to his end-time, he told my granda of the way things had been when the world began. He told him of the great fertilization, a thing he’d never seen, it had happened too long ago. No one could remember that far back, and everything they knew had been passed down to them from their grandparents. By measuring in years it had been more than four hundred since the fertilization, and my grandfather was seventeenth generation. What his grandfather told him, he passed on to me, since my father was selfstart man who didn’t take to religions.
The story was ancient, and my grandfather told me with great pride that our line of men, the Bandys, had kept every word the same as that which they’d heard from their ancestors. The tellings differed, he told me, on the skirts, where men raised families in isolation, cut off from the rest of the kingdom by distance and mountains. He told me that our version was the most pure, and that I would learn it well to pass on to my children and grandies as well. Then he set me down and said, Mikkol Bandy, you are about to hear the music of truth.
There was, in the beginning, a land. It was filled with a people with skin dark and scaly, whose whi’balls were covered in glass. They lived in needles that poked at the sky. They rode giant beasts that flew and breathed fire. They worshipped the god in the box. And it was, that one day the god in the box told them to build it a shrine. The land was dying, fire from the flying beasts was poisoning the air. Without the shrine, it told them, there was no hope for the land. The building began, and went on for fifty years before the shrine was completed. Its space was mammoth, and on the inside every thing from the world as they’d had it was removed. Grass grew clean, trees rose up and streams flowed clear as they’d never done before. The god in the box told the people to fill the shrine with beast, those that did not lay dead forever from the way the land had begun to rot. Horsas entered the shrine, along with dogs and catos, and soon after the god in the box made another request. It would allow seventy men and women to enter through its walls, and make a life in its paradise. It is said there was a great war over who should have such privilege, and in the end great metal beasts with immortal minds would choose randomly from all the dark-skinners to find the ones it would allow to enter. Thirty-five of the woman side and the same number of men walked through the gates beyond the skirts and began the fertilization.
There was more, and I listened to remember, you can be sure. But to tell a body every word my granda told me would take days, as the history of whom got on with whom and made child with and such is quite full. I like to squeeze it down smaller, so I tell the main points and not all that maybe doesn’t matter so much.
Like what’s important is the god in the box came with the chosen ones for a time, and spoke to them of the things they needed to do. Building a town was one, and the seventy began and when they finished they’d added a dozen babas to the population. The god in the box made them crown a king and his name was Lawrence Jehrooz. Soon the eighty-two had risen to more than a hundred, and those whose babas had reached their second and third years started making more. The god in the box watched all this and told the people what they should do next and they did it. They made tools of the metal they found in the ground, and learned to smith it into many shapes. The god in the box taught them all a manner of tradeskill, and soon the king had a castle of stone cut by the masons. The hundred became fifty more, and those who had been babas began to marry. The first of the fertilizers began to die some short years after. Then, one day, the god in the box was no longer there. It refused to speak, and from inside the box there was no sound. King Jehrooz died and his first son Hatha seated himself at the throne. Hatha dubbed the clear land Meil, and chose three of the kingdom’s strongest men and mounted them on horsas, then had them ride out in exploration.
The kingdom grew, and as the second and third generations built the surrounding wall, smaller groups of people left to pursue their lives somewhere else. In this way the nearby trading town of Mercha was founded, and also saw the attempt at creating a rival kingdom across the big river, one they called Bretha after their king, Bretha Smith.
King Hatha was an old man by then, and he let Bretha grow, as Smith had been one of Hatha’s playmates as a child, and he harbored no ill will against him. And so the kingdom of Bretha grew, at least until old King Hatha died, and his heir Marka took the throne. And after not too long it became apparent that Marka was a bad king.
He sent two hundred men trained in combat to Bretha, ordering them to destroy the kingdom and kill all those they found there, including the King.
Four days later they returned, signaling success. They’d burned Bretha to the ground, and had taken no prisoners. Many of the men who’d been sent were tried for treason as they’d refused to murder women and children as the others had. Marka had all of the men beheaded, and displayed his trophies with pride on the castle gates. It’s how Marka began his reign of fear.
Back when my granda was young, and one of my gret gret grandas was an old man, nearly to his end-time, he told my granda of the way things had been when the world began. He told him of the great fertilization, a thing he’d never seen, it had happened too long ago. No one could remember that far back, and everything they knew had been passed down to them from their grandparents. By measuring in years it had been more than four hundred since the fertilization, and my grandfather was seventeenth generation. What his grandfather told him, he passed on to me, since my father was selfstart man who didn’t take to religions.
The story was ancient, and my grandfather told me with great pride that our line of men, the Bandys, had kept every word the same as that which they’d heard from their ancestors. The tellings differed, he told me, on the skirts, where men raised families in isolation, cut off from the rest of the kingdom by distance and mountains. He told me that our version was the most pure, and that I would learn it well to pass on to my children and grandies as well. Then he set me down and said, Mikkol Bandy, you are about to hear the music of truth.
There was, in the beginning, a land. It was filled with a people with skin dark and scaly, whose whi’balls were covered in glass. They lived in needles that poked at the sky. They rode giant beasts that flew and breathed fire. They worshipped the god in the box. And it was, that one day the god in the box told them to build it a shrine. The land was dying, fire from the flying beasts was poisoning the air. Without the shrine, it told them, there was no hope for the land. The building began, and went on for fifty years before the shrine was completed. Its space was mammoth, and on the inside every thing from the world as they’d had it was removed. Grass grew clean, trees rose up and streams flowed clear as they’d never done before. The god in the box told the people to fill the shrine with beast, those that did not lay dead forever from the way the land had begun to rot. Horsas entered the shrine, along with dogs and catos, and soon after the god in the box made another request. It would allow seventy men and women to enter through its walls, and make a life in its paradise. It is said there was a great war over who should have such privilege, and in the end great metal beasts with immortal minds would choose randomly from all the dark-skinners to find the ones it would allow to enter. Thirty-five of the woman side and the same number of men walked through the gates beyond the skirts and began the fertilization.
There was more, and I listened to remember, you can be sure. But to tell a body every word my granda told me would take days, as the history of whom got on with whom and made child with and such is quite full. I like to squeeze it down smaller, so I tell the main points and not all that maybe doesn’t matter so much.
Like what’s important is the god in the box came with the chosen ones for a time, and spoke to them of the things they needed to do. Building a town was one, and the seventy began and when they finished they’d added a dozen babas to the population. The god in the box made them crown a king and his name was Lawrence Jehrooz. Soon the eighty-two had risen to more than a hundred, and those whose babas had reached their second and third years started making more. The god in the box watched all this and told the people what they should do next and they did it. They made tools of the metal they found in the ground, and learned to smith it into many shapes. The god in the box taught them all a manner of tradeskill, and soon the king had a castle of stone cut by the masons. The hundred became fifty more, and those who had been babas began to marry. The first of the fertilizers began to die some short years after. Then, one day, the god in the box was no longer there. It refused to speak, and from inside the box there was no sound. King Jehrooz died and his first son Hatha seated himself at the throne. Hatha dubbed the clear land Meil, and chose three of the kingdom’s strongest men and mounted them on horsas, then had them ride out in exploration.
The kingdom grew, and as the second and third generations built the surrounding wall, smaller groups of people left to pursue their lives somewhere else. In this way the nearby trading town of Mercha was founded, and also saw the attempt at creating a rival kingdom across the big river, one they called Bretha after their king, Bretha Smith.
King Hatha was an old man by then, and he let Bretha grow, as Smith had been one of Hatha’s playmates as a child, and he harbored no ill will against him. And so the kingdom of Bretha grew, at least until old King Hatha died, and his heir Marka took the throne. And after not too long it became apparent that Marka was a bad king.
He sent two hundred men trained in combat to Bretha, ordering them to destroy the kingdom and kill all those they found there, including the King.
Four days later they returned, signaling success. They’d burned Bretha to the ground, and had taken no prisoners. Many of the men who’d been sent were tried for treason as they’d refused to murder women and children as the others had. Marka had all of the men beheaded, and displayed his trophies with pride on the castle gates. It’s how Marka began his reign of fear.
Like I said before, none of this really has much to do with life now, but I always thought old Marka was a rather interesting fellow. Filled with a sense of power so strong he couldn’t help himself but to use it.
All you really need to know is that Hatha is the largest kingdom in Meil. There are others, fourteen other kingdoms whose kings pay Hatha fealty. Far out, beyond the mountains to the south and on the skirts, men have turned away from Hatha and have created their own regional kingdoms. Distance keeps any Hathan from doing much about any of them, and for the most part that’s all right, but in the south, where the Agrotian kingdom prides its warriors for their killing efficiency. Hathan scouts have come back from the Agrotian plains reporting the vision of an army so large and so organized the talk among the peasantry is that they’d be able to take Hatha down. Our King, Regynold, is a nervous man who likes the power he’s got, and isn’t very keen on losing it. It won’t take but a few more years, though, and I s’pose he might.
Is that enough? What more can I tell you?
Oh. Tomorrow, then.
And after that I can leave?
Good.
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