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Introductions
The Breech.
4010 A.C.
Théhad peered through the morning fog of the crisp island river, hearing whispered heathen gaggles ahead. Once found, the Relic had been returned to the Holy Island, and neither the black Castlers or the yellow Amazons had apologized for accusing the other of stealing it. King Namodakar’s second son Théhad now approached the nearest Amazon tribe, white silk draped over him as a sign of peace.
“Do you hear that?” whispered his escort, also swathed in white. “Like animals.” The gaggling hushed in the foggy banks, and a mass rustling moved ahead of them.
Théhad had last seen Amazons in a rabid warring state--no more than wild women foaming at the mouth, wrapped in loincloths, and singing like a great axe through his troops. He remembered almost laughing at their thick stubbles of jet-black hair. Castler veterans now advised soldiers to shave their beards and tresses, having been dragged across battlefields till all the hair had been ripped out of them.
“Watch out!” His escort caught an arrow with his shield. Théhad touched his back to his escort’s, elbowing up his shield. The escort knashed his teeth. “We come in peace!” A flint arrowhead had embedded itself through his shield and barely nicked his arm. He seethed, watching a small red trickle drip and dissolve like smoke into the clear, quiet ripples next to the boat.
In the thinning fog, Théhad heard a mocking giggle and peeked over his shield. “Zhami?” Glancing over his escort’s shoulder, he stared hard at the unveiled shades of hawthorn and pine.
“They sent a child--” Zhami bit his tongue. Bloody savage, he thought, smiling. From behind a rustling ivy patch, a pale-white amaryllis emerged and began following their boat along the bank. Zhami kept his shield arm readily bent.
Near noon, Théhad and Zhami spied a small, raft-like jetty jutting out of the bank and into their way. The white amaryllis flower had disappeared. “Who in Amust’s name...” murmured Zhami. On the jetty stood a ivory-skinned woman wrapped in a crimson cloth, tied tightly to her by ankle-long cornrows. She held up two blood-red amaryllis cuttings as Théhad and Zhami tied their boat to one of the posts. The two castlers eyed the blood-red flowers, exchanged glances. Théhad took one, meeting the woman’s slit-shaped eyes, and Zhami followed suit.
She stared at him, hands still outstretched, as Théhad touched his heart and bowed twice. “I am from the Kingdom of Wheatreaping.” He rose, observing her décor of long, graying cornrows. Her face breathed with new wrinkles, and a gray ring had grown around her brown irises. Théhad averted his eyes, looking down at her wet bare feet. “We come on behalf of all Castlers--”
She interrupted, etching her words into the chilly fog, as grating as a crow, as sharp and high as a robin.
Zhami translated: “Do not speak for all Castlers.”
Théhad nodded, bowing. “The Kingdom of Wheatreaping apologizes for wrongly accusing your people of stealing the Relic.” Théhad saw a mocking glint in her eye. He looked down at her open hands and began to unknot his white silk. Zhami followed his lead.
“Please.” She shook her head warningly. “Until you take my hands, you are not under our protection.” Her Castli was perfect. The two men hesitated, glancing at her raw-pink palms, and warily extended their hands to her.
