When the Fire Nation Attacked
Year of the Golden Gilled Boar, 1983, Kliloln, Nictu 22nd
“Your Royal Highness, they’re dead. The King and Queen. Dead.”
Silence fell in the hall, only the messenger’s heaving was audible. The soldiers looked around nervously. My arms dropped and I turned to face the other direction. Litoc’s and Jakeli’s eyes were glued to the messenger. Tukru’s and Hanni’s were pinned on the two royals.
“When was this, boy?” Litoc’s voice finally broke the silence.
Unnaturally calm. Litoc’s ability to hold himself back in tense situations was unnerving. He removed his arm from the prince’s shoulder and walked towards the messenger.
“Get ahold o’ yerself. There will be time ta grieve.” He said, stooping down.
The messenger gazed at Jakeli, confused. The prince could only nod.
“Listen ‘ere boy. I can assure ye anythin’ ye say ta ‘im ye can say ta me. Now, when did they die?”
“I… I’m not sure. But it was after dark.”
“Dinnertime?”
“Yes. They… I think that was the last time I saw them.”
“’as it been announced? Does everyone in the castle know?”
“No. Yes.” The messenger looked up but his eyes danced. “I’m not sure.”
Litoc stood up and extended the hand to the messenger. He faced us as the youth got to his feet and stared at Jakeli for an uncomfortable amount of time. Jakeli motioned to his soldiers to lower their weapons without taking his eyes of his cousin.
Even with the turn of events, I could not help but notice that Tukru and Hanni were still quite on edge. I was the same, but not like them. They have positioned themselves such that if ever the events turned again, we would not be caught in a pickle. Hanni had her back to the column of soldiers, Tukru was within reach of the prince.
“What are you thinking, cousin?”
“I’s thinkin’ this is quite the quandary we’re facin’. But we can’t deal in possibilities now.” Litoc turned to the confused messenger. “Ye know how they died?”
“Lam uh-” the messenger cut off, unsure how to address Litoc.
“Hmmm. Abrak odoi, I’m knowin’ the river can be ‘ard ta cross in the dark but I must ask you ta ‘ead back tanight. Can ye do that?”
The messenger nodded. I made my way towards the front, soldiers giving me berth. Tukru and Hanni stood by the corridor.
“San. San.” Litoc nodded in return. “Jak, the old basterd still right in ‘ere?” He pointed at his temple.
The prince raised his brows at the question, temporarily reflecting on who Litoc meant. His face was ashen. Even the sweat and bruising on the left side couldn’t hide it. His brows dropped and spoke.
“Juwen? Ha. Slowed by age but still sharp.” Jakeli replied.
“Good. Boy? Ye are ta go back an’ stop fer nothin’. Straight ye ‘ear?” The young man nodded. “Ye are ta find the old basterd an’ tell ‘im this, exactly this – No one is allowed ta leave Bariststal until the king, well-” he paused, looking down, “the new king arrives. Anyone who insists shall be housed in the donjons until matters are cleared. Anyone. Ye got that so far?”
The boy acknowledged. He appeared to be younger and despite his heaving, looked very much in shape. His hair was dark, with straying locks coming to his face. The young man also seemed embarrassed by his lack of decorum for falling into his knees in the presence of the prince who is, for all purposes, going to be the next king.
“San. Ye also tell ‘im that news o’ the death of the king an’ queen must be kept secret. He is ta find anyone who’s got wind of the passin’ an’ left Bariststal an’ brin’ them back immediately. By now ‘alf if not all o’ the castle’s knowin’ about this so tell ‘im he is to tell everyone not ta talk ‘bout the ‘ows or why’s an’ they are all sworn to secrecy. Any violation means the gallows. Lastly, tell ‘im the soldiers are ta be mobilized in quarter-day patrols. No part o’ the castle or the grounds spared. Words o’ Prince Jakeli, the next King. Repeat.”
“No one is allowed to leave. The passing of the king and queen must be kept secret and talk about how or why is not allowed. The soldiers shall patrol every part of the castle and its grounds in quarter-day shifts. Everyone in Basriststal must be reminded of that they are sworn to secrecy. All offenses will be under penalty of death.”
“An’?”
The messenger squinted at Litoc.
“And anyone who’s left the castle knowing of the event must be found and brought back.”
“An’?”
“That’s it. That’s all you tol- oh! And anyone they told about it too?”
“Good lad. What are ye called?”
“Cheki.”
Litoc clapped him on the shoulders and turned to face the mass of soldiers behind me and the Prince.
“Who’s nurto ‘ere?” Litoc called out.
There were exchanged looks among the ranks. A soldier from behind Jakeli came forward.
“The nurto, Your, err, Your Highness, has fallen. From earlier. I am, I mean we,” he motioned around us. Three other soldiers took a step forward, “are tratsus’.”
The words, as they were spoken, formed in my head. My understanding of its meanings did little to diminish my confusion. Nurto meant something like someone under a general, and tratsus a rank below it. I could not think of a word for general, but nurto was something like a captain and tratsus, a lieutenant.
“Right.” Litoc examined the captain’s underlings. “Pick three o’ yer men an’ one o’ ye, an’ accompany our boy Cheki ‘ere. Now go.”
The messenger’s eyes looked like they would pop as he witnessed the soldiers obey Litoc’s commands. The lieutenant who answered Litoc wasted no time in picking three from the line of soldiers behind and motioned for the messenger to follow him.
“Litoc?” I called.
He fixed me a stare as I jerked my head in the direction of the Prince.
“Jak, show us the children, ailian.”
Litoc motioned for Jakeli to lead while his other hand rubbed his forehead. When the Prince moved, limping, we followed.