Keybearer

Fantasy: Consecutive Substack Story 1090

Photo by Kiwihug on Unsplash

Hands scarred from years of practice with Nkorro blades turned the pages of The Flamewords.

The stooped Keybearer Mayummat watched from the desk with admiration and sadness.

The young Trykattu must wear his formal gloves during every interaction with his father.

He absorbed volumes of The Flamewords as though they were simple cake recipes.

Trykattu–Yka to his friends and family–was the finest son of King Unamattu by far.

But he was the youngest, and as such would never be asked to fight with Nkorro blades in the RiverBeyond, nor would he be required to memorize The Flamewords in the unlikelihood he would ascend to the throne.

The King had Keybearers like Mayummat to translate and put the diplomatic traditions of The Flamewords into practice.

Mayummat set the fountain pens she was crafting, her inks and her whetstone aside and watched as Yka lowered the ancient book so that the library mice could nibble the edges of the Kullbark pages.

It was an old Keybearer practice dating back to the earliest of the Frostyears, when the Keybearers didn’t wish the mice to starve along with them.

Yka would make a good Keybearer, if only–

The doorlatch at the back of the Vault of Knowledge splintered, the iron twisting like a pine bough in a typhoon.

Mayummat grabbed the nearest candleholder. Protecting the Prince was now her duty above–

The beast who stepped through the door was Bashmuit.

The King’s private guard.

The King behind him.

Mayummat dropped the candle holder on the desk and made the sign of The Three at her neck.

Her brilliant mind whirred like a gnome’s winch.

There were dozens of things she could say, and none.

Best to let the King unleash his fury the way he saw fit. And that fury must be immense to demand that his massive guard break into the Vault of Knowledge, rather than the King simply request access.

Bashmuit moved the splintered ebony door to the side as though it was a small rabbit.

The King stepped in.

“Tuth reports that you have been training with Nkorro blades.”

Mayummat didn’t believe that the young prince could don his gloves. His father would certainly notice.

Rather than cower, Trykattu stood, holding his hands in front of him.

“Read the scarring, Father. Do you see? I am fifth tier.”

The King placed his hands on his opposite shoulders, arms crossed in front of him. Until he removed them he was forbidding his son, or anyone else present, to speak.

“You were not bred to be a warrior, Trykattu Nowensolangu. You are my final son.

You will serve one of your older brothers who shall become King as Agricultural Overseer.

You know this. You have known it since your tenth autumn feast. You shall marry a daughter of Livvo, Ruusuun Mountain or Bbyassio, securing trade agreements until your nephews can do the same.

The King glared at his son’s scarred hands.

“I will get the healers to soak your hands in Callior nectar from sunup to sundown so that you are fit for a-”

“No father, you will not. I have earned my right to compete in the Rakko Nkorro Tournament and be granted land rights in the RiverBeyond.”

Mayummat felt her insides turn to ice.

It was King Unamattu’s prerogative to put his youngest to death and choose a new bride to bear him a final son.

It had not happened in thousands of years, but there was precedent.

“You must win the tournament outright to be granted land rights, you fool!!! You are my son. You will oversee more land than the RiverBeyonders could ever grant you!!! What ails your mind so that you would think such a pig’s cunt idea!!!”

Bashmuit picked up half a wheel of cheese from the Vault’s small serving table and consumed it in two bites.

Any other time it would have been both comical and infuriating.

Now it was just a slight distraction as Mayummat watched the royal and his son stare each other down.

“You wish me to take a Livvoian, Bbyassio, or Ruusuuni bride…”

“Correct.”

“It wasn’t a question father, it was a statement.”

The King’s face went more fuchsia than his robe.

“You could be put to death for your insubordination, young man!!!”

Yka nodded.

Mayummat realized that if she survived this encounter without being executed by the King she would be the lone eyewitness historian.

She would have to write the scroll, submit it, and more than likely flee.

She wondered briefly if Bashmuit could write in his language. She knew the Muntuth had a written language though the males never spoke.

In the instant that she let her mind drift there, the King noticed her for the first time.

“Mayummat. Did my own Keybearer–you or any of the other nine–put these ideas in–”

“No, father, they did not,” Yka interjected as Mayummat considered her response. “They granted me access to the books, which was my right to demand. They have done nothing wrong. And I learned what I needed to know in the first chapter of the first volume.”

“What might that be Trykattu? You were not content with the knowledge from the tutors?”

“The Livvoians, Bbyassio, and the Ruusuuni have slaves working their fields. My potential marriage to a woman for diplomatic reasons sickens me. My potential marriage to a woman at all sickens me. But my marriage so that humans can continue to be enslaved is something that travels beyond illness, beyond sanity. I will not. I will leave and compete in the-”

“You will do no such traitorous thing!!!” the King bellowed, slamming his fist down on a shelf of books, scattering them and whatever mice remained.

The King tugged his ear with his ring finger and thumb and nodded toward his son.

Bashmuit stepped forward, extending his long thick arm.

Mayummat straightened and cleared her throat.

“Your Excellence, I am one of ten Keybearers, advisors to the King on matters of law, diplomacy, and domestic stability, am I not?”

The King glared at her.

“This,” he said, voice as thick as a Cutchyan Forest pie, “is my son.”

“And as such, Exalted One, he is a citizen of this kingdom. If you are accusing him of traitorous acts not resulting in death, he must be granted a 12thday to flee past the border. Should he exceed that 12thday then, and only then can he be apprehended.”

Bashmuit raised the boy off his feet by his tunic. The brainy and brave lad of sixteen knew better than to struggle.

Mayummat knew that a strong runner could be to the border in less than half a 12thday. She herself felt like she could probably even make it given a full 12thday. No Keybearer had ever fled.

The King glared at the advisor.

“Release him,” he said to Bashmuit.

The behemoth set the boy down.

“Will you really, lad? Will you really flee your own father’s kingdom.”

Yka stepped forward, almost daring his father to strike him.

Mayummat took full stock of the scene so that she could accurately describe it in her scroll about this possibly historic act.

“I will father, if you force my hand. I have trained for this opportunity. You may give me leave, you may execute me, but you will never force me to marry, especially not to a slave owner.”

Mayummat looked upon the boy with deep respect.

He wore light clothing, and poor boots for running, but the sheaths at his belt were empty. He would make good time.

“You’ve a 24thday, traitor,” the King said. “Piss what the law says. Make good of it, because I never want to see your face again, not even swinging from a noose.”

Mayummat drew a breath. She could call the King on the alteration of the word of law but felt it would fall short of the angry mind of the crown.

“I am gone then,” Trykattu said, and began to walk toward the destroyed door.

Mayummat hung her head, staring down at the desk.

“Prince Trykattu,” she called.

He stopped.

“Thank you, wise one, for everything.”

The Keybearer stepped forward, holding the candlestick, the whetstone, and a vial of oil.

“Your scabbard is empty, my Prince. Even the bravest and smartest of Nkorro fighters cannot win without a blade.”

Yka took the gifts, gave a last look to the behemoth, but not to the King,stepped through ruined doorway and ran.

***