“Corinn, that mural in the hallway, what story does it tell?”
“Which one?”
“The one that’s like-that’s like the entire world, so large and detailed. But it all centers around one boy-looking person. You know the one I mean.”
Corinn did. She answered that it was a depiction of the world in the days of Elenet. She gave no more willingly, but after being probed she said that it dramatized the moment just after the Giver had turned away from the world. That, she said, was all she knew about it.
“Such a strange belief system,” a young woman named Halren said. “It’s built into your faith that your god abandoned you, right? He loathes you. He spurns your devotion, and for centuries your people went on halfheartedly worshipping him. On one hand you say, ‘God exists and he hates me,’ and the next instant you shrug and carry on your life, without even trying to win back his favor. Do you not see the folly in this?”
Corinn shifted, glanced at Larken, shifted again, and mumbled that she had not thought much about it.
“Why even ask her?” one of Rhrenna’s maidens said. “She’s not a scholar-are you, Corinn?”
The princess was not sure if this was meant as a friendly gesture or as a slight. Either way she felt her blood rise to her face.
“If I’d lost the favor of the Tunishnevre, I’d do anything to win it back,” Halren said, looking furtively at Hanish. “Fortunately, though, I feel they’re quite content with me. With all of us, really, thanks to our chieftain.”
This did nothing to lower the red from Corinn’s cheeks. She turned her gaze to Halren, to the silvery sparkles on her forehead and her pale features. “You’ve been ‘blessed’ for what? Nine years? That’s a sneeze compared to the Akaran reign.” Corinn might have said something even sharper-something she would have regretted afterward-except that Hanish chose that moment to become the center of attention.
“The princess makes an indisputable point,” he said. He seemed to consider this for a moment, his gray eyes thoughtful. “Corinn, have you heard the tale of Little Kilish? Little Kilish was a giant of a man, named ironically, you see. He was a farmer who made for himself a scythe so massive only he could wield it. He loved to swing it in great swathes, cutting free grains of wheat by the millions. He crafted a second scythe and danced through the wheat fields slicing circles and patterns, each stroke like the work of ten men. He became famous all around the countryside. He had a contest against others to test who could cut the most wheat, but he always triumphed without question. Soon nobody would even contest him.”
Hanish paused as a servant replaced his used plate with a clean one. He went on, explaining that one day a stranger arrived, a small man with dusky skin and mischievous eyes. He was a soul harvester. He had built some sort of machine that had already felled the greater part of the world. It was a great frame that stretched across an entire field from edge to edge, attached to wheels to move it about. At a hundred different points all across it he positioned mannequin figures, hinged and intricate like true humans but made of oak. Each of them gripped a sickle. When the people saw this they laughed. What sort of massive toy was that? What use are people made of wood? But this soul harvester knew some of the god’s talk. He whispered spells that stole souls out of those who were laughing at him. He placed one soul in each of the wooden figures. This brought them to life. They began to swing their tools just as real people would. The soul harvester slapped his mule and the beast pulled the contraption down the field. All the wooden people worked for him, and in just a few moments he had cut down more than Little Kilish could have managed in an entire day.
Another servant tried to refill the chieftain’s glass, but Hanish brushed him away, impatient, it seemed, with the constant attention. “The people were amazed,” he said. “They praised the stranger. All agreed that he had won the contest and to him went the honor. Little Kilish, however, hated that machine, hated the man who’d built it. All the fuss annoyed him greatly. Why were people applauding so vile a thing?”
“For a moment they forgot their own souls,” Halren said.
“Didn’t they notice the soulless zombies that now stood among them? Before he had thought through what he was doing Little Kilish swung his scythe and sliced the soul harvester’s head clean from his shoulders. It fell to the ground and chattered on for some minutes yet before the tongue inside the thing realized all was lost. Little Kilish looked around him, afraid lest he be called a murderer and criminal and find himself banished. But the people did not banish him. They rejoiced. They said, ‘Let Kilish harvest our wheat, for he is strong and has no need to steal our souls!’ And so it was.”
Hanish motioned with his hand that there was no more to tell. Several voices praised his telling of the tale. Halren beamed as she looked about, as if Hanish had told the story particularly to her. But the chieftain kept his attention on Corinn. “We’ve told this tale for many, many years. You understand its significance, don’t you?”
“You say that Little Kilish was a giant of a man, but I suspect at least one feature of his body was not so large,” Corinn said. “That, surely, is how he got his name. One shouldn’t trust a man called Little. No man wants to think any part of himself small. It makes him bitter, unjust, and petty-”
Rhrenna said, “Corinn, you’ve such a way of-”
“Little Kilish,” Hanish said, interrupting both women, “was of the Meinish race; the soul harvester was Acacian born. That’s the significance. We may be new to power, Princess, but we did not sell our souls to get it. It just took us a bit longer to achieve by honest means what your people won through treachery.”
“You’ve just now invented that tale,” Corinn said. “And, ‘honest means’! Are you-”
Hanish threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve angered the princess. I doubt she’ll admit that what surprises her is how accurately an ancient tale unveils the current truth of our two people’s history. It’s almost like a prophecy, isn’t it? My joy is in having had a hand in making it come true.”
This received murmurs of approval around the table, but Corinn said, “That may be your joy, but it’s my sorrow.”
“I don’t believe that,” Hanish said. He stared at her. “I think you say such things simply because you feel you are supposed to. But in truth, Princess, we have done you little harm. Yes, there’s your father. I won’t ask you to forgive me for that, but I will ask you to remember that in the same few moments you lost your father I lost a beloved brother. They were each instruments of a cause, of conflicting causes. This is just the way of men and there’s no crime in it.” Hanish drew back, picked up his glass, and sipped. “Beyond that we’ve done you no harm.”
“No harm-” Corinn began but was cut off.
“Exactly so. We never touched a hair on one of your siblings. Never. And we never would, not to harm them, at least. We’ve only ever wanted to bring them home, to the palace where they belong. They could live beside us, just like you do. Look at yourself, Corinn. Look at the life you have. You are the center of a court of women and men who adore you, despite the barbs you throw at us. You have all the luxuries of royalty; none of the responsibilities. I only wish you would warm to your position more. I would, truly, like to see you…content.”