A Rule of Queens

Gwen noticed all the bonfires being erected everywhere, and she wondered.

“Why all the fires?” she asked.

“You arrive at an auspicious day,” Bokbu said. “It is our festival of the dead. A holy night for us, it arrives but once a sun cycle. We burn fires to honor the gods of the dead, and it is said that on this night, the gods visit us, and speak to us of what is to come.”

“It is also said that our savior will arrive on this day,” chimed in a voice.

Gwendolyn looked over to see an older man, perhaps in his seventies, tall, thin with a somber look to him, walk up beside them, carrying a long, yellow staff and wearing a yellow cloak.

“May I introduce you to Kalo,” Bokbu said. “Our oracle.”

Gwen nodded, and he nodded back, expressionless.

“Your village is beautiful,” Gwendolyn remarked. “I can see the love of family here.”

The chief smiled.

“You are young for a queen, but wise, gracious. It is true what they say about you from across the sea. I wish that you and your people could stay right here, in the village, with us; but you understand, we must hide you from the prying eyes of the Empire. You will be staying close, though; that will be your home, there.”

Gwendolyn followed his gaze and looked up and saw a distant mountain, filled with holes.

“The caves,” he said. “You will be safe there. The Empire will not look for you there, and you can burn your fires and cook your food and recover until you’re well.”

“And then?” Kendrick asked, joining them.

Bokbu looked over at him, but before he could respond, he suddenly came to a stop as before him there appeared a tall, muscular villager holding a spear, flanked by a dozen muscular men. It was the same man from the ship, the one that protested their arrival – and he did not look happy.

“You endanger all of our people by allowing the strangers here,” he said darkly. “You must send them back to where they came from. It is not our job to take in every last race that washes up here.”

Bokbu shook his head as he faced him.

“Your fathers are ashamed of you,” he said. “The laws of our hospitality extend to all.”

“And is it the burden of a slave to extend hospitality?” he retorted. “When we cannot even find it ourselves?”

“How we are treated has no bearing on how we treat others,” the chief retorted. “And we shall not turn away those who need us.”

The villager sneered back, glaring at Gwendolyn, Kendrick, the others, then back to the chief.

“We do not want them here,” he said, seething. “The caves are not far away enough, and every day they are here, we are a day closer to death.”

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