Melina Marchetta - Froi of the Exiles

Trevanion asked for a translation. Rafuel was speaking too fast.

They turned to Tesadora, whose cold blue eyes looked even more sinister.

‘What is it?’ Finnikin asked her.

Tesadora shook her head. Perri let go of her arm and for the briefest moment Froi saw her lean against him. He knew they were lovers despite a savage history between them, but like Tesadora’s Charyn blood, no one spoke of it.

‘There are no children,’ Tesadora guessed quietly. Lucian repeated the words in Charyn and they all looked to Rafuel for confirmation. Rafuel nodded.

‘Where are they?’ Finnikin asked, stunned.

‘They’re all grown up,’ Rafuel said.

Finnikin advanced towards him again with frustration. ‘I’d prefer not to have to guess, Charynite. If you’ve gone to all the trouble to get me up this mountain, then make it clear to us. Speak to us as if we are as ignorant as a Charynite.’

Something in Rafuel’s expression flickered. ‘We’re not all ignorant, Your Majesty,’ he said coldly, ‘and I don’t know how to make it clearer to you. Our women are barren. Our men, seedless. A child has not been born to Charyn for eighteen years.’

Again there was a stupefied silence as they tried to grasp Rafuel’s words. Froi caught the confused look that passed between Finnikin and Trevanion.

The Charynite turned to Lucian. ‘It is probably yet another thing that shames Phaedra,’ he said. ‘That she believes you spoke the truth when you called her worthless all those times.’

‘You seem to know too much about my wife,’ Lucian said, fury in his tone.

‘Last I heard, you denounced her as your wife,’ Rafuel of Sebastabol said. ‘So one would presume you forfeit the right to be indignant about my knowledge of her feelings.’

Froi marvelled at this fool’s lack of fear.

‘That first time I visited with Sir Topher,’ Finnikin said, his voice full of disbelief. ‘I remember children in the streets. There was one in the palace as well.’

‘If you were ten at the time, the youngest child in Charyn would have been six,’ Rafuel said. ‘Her Royal Highness, Princess Quintana,’ he added.

‘I never met her,’ Finnikin said.

The Charynite took a deep ragged breath. ‘It’s where the story of the curse begins. With her birth.’

‘We’re not here for a story,’ Finnikin said, frustrated. ‘Go back to the part where you get us into the palace without betraying us.’

‘I want to hear what he has to say,’ Tesadora said, flatly. ‘More importantly, your wife will want to, my lord,’ she said, turning to Finnikin with slight mockery in her expression.

‘I thought you wanted him dead a moment ago,’ Finnikin said.

There was little love lost between Tesadora and Finnikin. Froi put it down to jealousy. The Queen shared a bond with Tesadora, and Finnikin was envious of anyone who had a bond with the Queen. Froi knew that more than anyone.

Finnikin turned to the Charynite. ‘Then tell us a story, Rafuel of Sebastabol, and make it quick.’

Rafuel kept his eyes on Trevanion. ‘Could you perhaps ask your father to step back, Your Highness? I’m a small man and it’s not as if he can’t snap me in two from the other side of the cell.’

‘He’s more comfortable where he is,’ Finnikin said.

Rafuel sighed. ‘The year before the birth of Quintana, the Oracle’s godshouse was attacked and the Priestlings were murdered,’ he began. ‘The Oracle Queen survived, but her tongue and fingers were cut off. So she could not speak or write the truth. A young Priestling named Arjuro of Abroi was absent from the godshouse on the night of the attack and was charged with assisting the murderers.’

Finnikin quickly translated.

‘Your Priestking is your spiritual leader, but the Oracle of Charyn was more than that for us. Since the beginning of life in Charyn, most decisions made by the King and the provinces had to be sanctioned by the Oracle. The Oracle and the godshouse were Charyn’s moral and intellectual beacons.’ Rafuel’s eyes flashed with fervour. ‘You’re a scholar, I hear. Then you’ve not seen anything until you’ve seen the books once translated by our Priestlings. They will take your breath away, Your Highness.’

‘I have seen ancient books, you know,’ Finnikin said defensively. ‘In the Osterian palace. I spent more than a summer there.’

Rafuel made a rude sound. ‘Osteria? A more tedious race of people I’ve never come across. I can imagine their translations. You know what we say in Charyn? That man learnt to snore by being in the presence of an Osterian.’

Froi could see that Finnikin was trying to hold back a smile. Finnikin and Isaboe’s favourite pastime was outdoing each other with insults about the Osterians.

‘But everything changed nineteen years ago,’ Rafuel continued. ‘The Provincaro of Serker died, his successor refused to pay taxes to the palace. The Serkers claimed that the palace was robbing them blind. The King, in turn, stationed his army outside Serker. It was a step towards a war where Charynites would kill Charynites, and the Oracle’s greatest fear was that the other provinces would take sides in such a war. The Oracle ordered the King to remove his army from outside Serker and she ordered the Provincaro of Serker to pay his taxes to the King and swear allegiance. If not, she threatened to remove the Oracle’s godshouse from the Citavita and the sacred library from Serker. You could not imagine a bigger insult to the capital or Serker.

‘That spring the Oracle’s godshouse in the capital was attacked and we lost the brightest young minds of our kingdom when the Priestlings were slaughtered. They were young men and women trained to be physicians, educators, philosophers. They died unarmed and savagely. On that day, every Priest, Priestess and Order went underground and have stayed there.’

‘Mercy,’ Finnikin said.

Froi knew that Finnikin was a lover of books and history and stories. It was Finnikin who had written the chronicles of their kingdom in his Book of Lumatere that was now being added to with the stories recorded by Tesadora and Lady Beatriss. When Finnikin stayed silent, Froi translated the words.

‘The Palace blamed Serker,’ Rafuel continued. ‘As punishment for the godshouse slaughter, the King of Charyn razed the province to the ground. It sits in the centre of Charyn and has been a wasteland ever since.’

‘What about the people?’ Lucian asked. ‘Where did they go?’

‘How many Forest Dwellers do you have left after the Charynite invasion?’ Rafuel asked.

Froi saw the stunned look on Finnikin’s face.

‘No Charynite has ever claimed that the five days of the unspeakable were part of a Charyn invasion,’ Finnikin said, huskily.

‘The palace has never claimed it,’ Rafuel corrected, quietly. ‘But what took place in Lumatere thirteen years ago is Charyn’s shame. Mothers wept for the sons forced into the army that was sent into your kingdom alongside the man you call the impostor King. Now, a generation of lastborn sons weep for the stories they have heard of what their fathers did.’

Rafuel’s eyes met Finnikin’s. ‘Silence is not just about secrecy, Your Majesty. It is grief and it is shame.’

No one spoke. No Lumateran wanted to see worth in a Charynite. Especially not a Charynite who had taken a dagger to one of their women.

‘Fifty-four,’ Tesadora said.

The others turned to her.

‘Fifty-four Forest Dwellers were known to survive the days of the unspeakable.’

Rafuel was pensive. ’The number of those who survived the Serker massacre nineteen years ago is even more heartbreaking. We know there to be one for certain. The King’s Serker whore. She lived in the palace at the time of the attack and is the mother of the Princess, Quintana.’