Kijani put a leash on his temper with a few deep breaths. I find any excuse, imma put my foot so far up that oxygen thief’s arse, it’ll come out the other end. Then he mentally stuck is foot up his own arse, because he was sitting watching his wife shaking like some jellyfish new recruit. He better get himself a cup of ‘suck it the fuck up’ because this was the real world and he wasn’t in the barracks.
In the barracks, he knew exactly what to do. Policies and procedures were clear as was the chain of command. He didn’t have to think. He just had to follow orders. Kijani’s blood broiled between simmering resentment and boiling rage. The soldier had been looking forward to spending his wedding night with his wife. The crown heavily hinted they wanted their wives knocked up fast, and his mother and father were feeling the pressure.
The Crown fucked up by starting an ethnic cleansing, and the remaining old blood had to iron it out. Kijani should just have to ease his wife in to bed and plant a child in her. She’s in my house now, why can’t she just get over it already.
A gust of cold night wind knocked him out of his selfish bullshit and his temper settled to a boil. His eyes settled on the scars on his wife’s wrist, just visible in the dim light emanating from the kitchen. They built up over time. How fucking long does it take for scars like that to build? Likely years. No one could get over years of torture that quick. Torture didn’t have to leave scars to leave a mark. The ‘best’ kind of torment was the one that didn’t. The spiritual torture he heard about in whispers. The crown didn’t like threats to order.
The hairs on the back of the soldiers neck stood to attention and he wasn’t sure it was just because of the cold. How sadistic you gotta be to do that to someone who relies on you?
The soldier gave himself a second and reached out a comforting hand, but she flinched. Kijani took the hint. He’d tried to keep the pressure off her, but her nerves were dancing on a knife’s edge and physical contact was too much. Kijani rubbed his thinning lips and marched through the kitchen into the hall where he kept his bedding and the weighted blanket they used when his grandfather had a panic attack. Kijani wasn’t sure that’s what it was, but it was worth a shot.
Kijani rushed back to his wife and put the blanket round her. The soldier didn’t say a word and left her some space to make a pot of tea, but he kept one eye on her. It took a good 20 minutes for his wife to calm down and another 30 for him to get her inside.
He slept on the couch that night.
~*~
Kijani woke up to the mouth watering smell of bacon and eggs. Wiping a bit of drool from his mouth, the soldier carefully sat up, but it didn’t stop his rib from sending a shooting complaint up his side. Military training and habit forced him to fold and stuff the pillow back in to the hall cupboard. He briefly thought about getting dressed, but his stomach ordered him to get some breakfast. The soldier walked into the kitchen with just his pants on and found his wife by the stove. She was dressed in the blue dress he first met her in. It brought out her pretty blue eyes. She hadn’t put her hair up yet and the black curls framed her face.
Kijani chuffed back a laugh when he realised she was blushing. “Mornin’.”
“Good morning,” she said putting a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of him.
Kinda slapdash, but I don’t have a lot in the cooler. “So, what’s the plan for today.”
Chantria stared stubbornly at her bowl of porridge. “I wanted to drop by the registry for my new documents first. That will take a good chunk of the morning. Then I was thinking we could stop by my uncles.”
The soldier paused and then nodded. Kijani knew the type, there was no way her uncle was going to handover those documents. Her uncles type liked to hold on to any control he had even if it was a shred of nothing. Chantria probably just wanted to check on her sisters. “That's fine. The treasury is near the registrar, want to sort your accounting out first?”
“That will take all day and multiple rounds of administration. I’d rather get some shopping. I’ll just get stuff for lunch and breakfast since your mhathair takes care of dinner.”
“You know, Iniko and Adjo will be out by the end of the day. They’re going to be pissed we went to your sisters without them,” Kijani said, building his egg and bacon sandwich.
“I’m sure they will be,” Chantria replied, the note of uncertainty in her tone made him balk.
“Come on. I got no idea what your uncle told you ladies to make you this skittish, but most men I know would die before they hurt their families.”
Chantria finished her breakfast and stood. “We should really get going, we have a lot to do today.”
We ain’t in that much of a rush. “What? Don’t you like what you see?” He said gesturing at his military chiselled chest.
“You are objectively not unattractive, Kijani, but we need to get going.” Chantria replied carefully.
Kijani sagged and finished his breakfast in silence while his wife walked to the bathroom. He lost his appetite in seconds, but forced the food down anyway. His body needed the fuel if he wanted to go up a weight class. Not that his fitness goals would help him get closer to his wife. Her fucking uncle put her through hell and he didn’t know what to say to calm Chantria’s nerves. In some ways, he knew she’d slip in to the role laid out for her, but that’s not what he wanted. He didn’t just want her to ‘perform’ because she had to. Kijani wanted the kind of relationship his father had. Maybe I could ease her in? Worth a shot.
~*~
The marble registry building of Divinity rivalled the university in grandiosity. It’s grand pillared entrance gave the impression they were entering the palace of the gods, but the space within the building was given to carefully organised paper. The space for visitors looking to register a birth, death or marriage was limited to one rectangular room with four desks. To signify status of those working behind them, each desk sat on a podium making the people behind them appear taller than most. Kijani could barely look the black clad master registrars in the eye. However, for the comfort of the guests, there was a small café, which sold cheap coffee and lunches that functioned as a kind of waiting area. Administration of documents was thorough and careful. It wasn’t uncommon for people to wait half a day for copies or records of birth and death to be written up and notarised.
The request to merge family tree’s documents wasn’t as smooth as Kijani would have liked. It seemed someone changed the father’s name on his wife’s birth certificate to that of her uncle. Chantria was livid. “That is my uncle, not my father,“ she said her words clipped.
“Many apologies madam, but that’s what the record says,” the bald registrar said looming over them from his expensive oak desk. This exchange had been going on for about 15 minutes and Kijani could see the frustration was about to break his temper. Registrars were akin to gods and usually came from the priesthood, they weren’t accustomed to being questioned.
“Is that the original certificate?”
“No madam, but everything is copied precisely. An error of this magnitude is unlikely. I know this must come as a shock, your dear mother was married to his brother, but it isn’t uncommon if a couple want to have a family and the husband becomes infertile.”
Chantria’s lips thinned. “Please produce the originals.”
The balding man’s brown eyes bulged and the soldier saw a vein on the registers neck pulse. “That will take some time madam.”
“I’m happy to wait, there’s a coffee shop. Perhaps take a look at my sister's birth certificates while you’re in the vicinity. There may be more errors to be found there.”
Kijani was sure the old owl was about to open his mouth to argue, but his wife gave him a look that could command a room. “I am entitled to request the originals Master Registrar.”
The registrar gritted his teeth. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” the old man stalked off. His black robes flapping behind him.
Kijani chuckled. Not as meek as I thought. “Come on, I’ll get you a coffee.”
“I can get my own.”
The soldier tried to look her in the eye, but she stared stubbornly away. “That ain’t the point.”
He took Chantria’s sigh as resignation.
The cafe attached to the registrar was seperated by an ornate iron gate and slightly bigger than the office. The kitchen, a box room hidden behind the glass counter. The busy period had passed and the cosy cafe was empty, save for an old couple at the other end of the room. Kijani found them a table near the gated door to the registrar. There was only one boy manning the clunky iron register. The red haired boy looked to be about 14 and so bored he seemed to be counting the slats on the herringbone floor. He turned to Chantria. “Do you want anything to eat?”
“We just ate two hours ago.”
“Yeah, and you need to gain some pounds,” the soldier said.
Chantria paused. “I could probably manage something light.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“I’ll get you a salad then.”
The soldier came back with a tray of two black and a simple Abacha salad. Kijani wasn’t a fan of the spicy grated root salad, but it was nutritious and Chantria didn’t complain.
“Hey chan? Why are you so desperate to get this sorted now?”
Chan cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. “Because Ayele’s guardianship is limited by my parents instructions in their will. If records are changed to reflect his name as the father, he can do as he pleases.”
Kijani paled. Order was prized above all else in Divinity. Records of fact should not be changed under any circumstances, but errors could happen. When a mistake was made it needed to be traced and erroneous records destroyed to avoid mix ups. However, because documentation was so important registrars and archivists were practically gods. So, if her uncle were planning something, Chantria may have avoided a trap. But... she just challenged a god. “what if the certificate’s right?”
“It isn’t.”
Something tells me I better not argue. Kijani was about to change the subject when the old owl walked through the gate. The registrars face was corpselike. “My apologies madam, we recently had a new intake of registrars. It didn’t take me long to find the error. It seems your uncle was removed from the family tree before your conception. He is, indeed, not the father of you or any of your sisters.”
Kijani and Chantria looked at each other. That’s strange. If Ayele was officially excommunicated from the Keita family, then he shouldn’t have been given guardianship of his wife or her sisters. It could be a quirk of law, Ayele either claimed guardianship, or the girls went into the care of the city, and the city did everything in their power to avoid that. It was so unusual for children not to have an abundance of extended family to go to, that the city treasury didn’t have the budget or a system for fostering. The situation had gotten worse since the breach 16 years ago and what little infrastructure they had was failing.
The soldier looked at Chantria and the smile fell from his face piece by piece. She looked she was about to strangle the registrar and a much more sinister thought crossed his mind. Because of the importance of records and bloodlines, such a mistake was grounds for execution.
His wife was far from stupid and took a long drink of her coffee before responding. “Thank you, sir. However, I find it hard to believe that my parents would allow someone who had been excommunicated from my family tree to gain custody of my sisters and I after the breach. If I may take up a little more of your time, I would like to see their last will and testament.”
It wasn’t a question and the registrar didn’t argue. He walked back out as if walking to the gallows.
If her parents original will didn’t reflect her uncle as guardian, Kijani might have his sisters-in-law under his roof for a while. His wife would have every legal right to take her sister’s and the house leaving her uncle with nothing. If Ayele resisted, Kijani would take pleasure in executing him where he stood. “Hey Chan, you know your sister’s could stay with us right?”
Chantria held up a hand, her sapphire blue eyes were sharp. “Careful, there’s more beneath the surface.”
Kijani’s eyes widened and his gut clenched with anxiety. Her uncle didn’t seem like the type who could have organised entire records changed, and bribed officials to cover it up. He’s just a foot soldier. If we go in and just take her sister’s we’d be a sitting target for an unknown army. Kijani was chained to his seat with the weight of this revelation and in awe of how level headed his wife remained.
The old man returned with his wife’s parent’s last will and testament, his arthritic step was solemn and Kijani had a good idea what the registrar was about to say. “Forgive me madam. I took the liberty of having a look over the records encase of further errors. The original will states you and your sisters were to remain with a family friend. Your home and your sisters were to be maintained with a regular stipend from the inheritance. Any remaining funds were to be part of your dowry’s as a security when you married.
Chantria took a couple of deep breaths. “Thank you, Master Registrar. I would enquire what the falsified document states. However, I, frankly, don’t have the emotional capacity for any further ground-breaking revelations. Please write up a notary of error. My new sisters of the canopy will undoubtedly have begun a background check, and I don’t wish to combat public gossip without proof.”
Kijani’s expression was as grim as the reaper’s. She ain’t wrong. Chantria was merging with Canopy stock. The canopy ladies will have already started a background check. If they ‘found out’ she was the daughter of a disgraced soldier it wouldn’t matter how talented she was the canopy would make life very difficult for their family. Normally, he would feel an unholy amount of satisfaction in a member of the authority being knocked off their soapbox of superiority, but in this situation he couldn’t muster it. A registrar was going to die within the week. It wasn’t just the person responsible who would be executed either, the master registrar in charge of the would be as well. The master was probably wondering if it was one of the men under his supervision.
The old owl seemed to get the point “Of course madam. I’ll get that written up along with your mergence certificate. I promise you this will be investigated rigorously. May I enquire as to whether you will be keeping your last name? As the eldest daughter and no brothers in your family line you have the option.”
Chantria looked at him and he shrugged. Ain’t up to me.
“That would be preferable. It means there’s less to change from an administrative standpoint.” Chantria replied slowly.
While this would normally be grounds for disapproval, the old owl simply nodded. “Very well, I will be back momentarily.”
It took another hour for the old owl to come back with the papers and his wife skimmed them before they left for her family home.
~*~
Kijani always thought the middle class homes were strange. They had gardens, but they chose to fill them with flowers, rather than grow food. A tenant of the canopy was charity and if you had the land you grew as much food as you could yourself and gave up the rest to feed the masses. Growing a bunch of flowers was just wasteful.
The soldier took the liberty of knocking and stood between the door and his wife as he reached for the knife he kept underneath his loose brown tunic. Pausing with his fingers on the hilt, he drew the simple blade and handed it to Chantria. “Put that in your bag, I don’t trust myself with it and I’m betting you don’t know how to use it.”
She didn’t say a word, but he heard her satchel clasp snap shut behind him as the door opened. It was tradition for the man of the house to open the door and the Keita house wasn’t any different. Ayele stood in the open doorway with what would seem a charming smile to the average stranger, but after what Kijani found out today? He looked like a leech grinning in the dark. “Good afternoon, I was expecting you earlier. You’ll be happy to know I found the documents. That will save you the bother of going all the way to the registrars. Come on in. Tara has the kettle on.”
Kijani planted himself between Ayele and his wife the second he passed the threshold into the Keita house he checked the entrances and exits. Every house in this neighbourhood was built the same way. The downstairs was built in an L shape. When you walked in the front door the first thing you saw was a wide livingroom. A long brown sofa obstructed the exit. The kitchen was situated on the left and was dominated by a large oak table. The place was spotlessly clean and the white walls freezed the room. Kijani shifted uneasily. Normally, the middle classes gave everything a personal touch, but there were no pictures, plants, or decorative objects on the shelves. Everything looked as if it were a show of perfection. “Thanks, but we’ve got a load of stops to make today. We can’t stay long.” Kijani said, and stopped his wife from passing more than two metres in the room. If they had to make a quick exit he wanted to be as close to the door as possible.
“Such a shame, but you can come in for a cup of tea.”
“Nah, sorry.” Kijani replied in an effort to keep the room at a civil temperature and his temper under wraps.
Kijani saw Ayele’s eyes flash with unhinged anger and the soldier regretted giving Chantria his knife, but her uncle pulled himself together. “Very well, Master Abara, before I forget, here are all Chantria’s documents. She’s a married woman now and has every right to them.”
Her uncle pushed them across the oak dinner table and Kijani risked a glance at the names on Chantria’s branch certificate. Fucker has the right names on the certificates. He probably didn’t want us going to the Registrar and finding out what his fucking posse had done. He passed the thick cream stack of paper along to his wife. She went through the documents one at a time as Ayele watched. “Is there a problem darling?” Ayele said his voice sharpening a tone.
Chantria filed the stack of papers away in a red folder picked from her satchel. “No uncle, I’m just making sure everything is here. Bits of paper can get lost very easily.” She replied, but her eyes were on her little sister sitting with her head in her hands at the other side of the table.
Kijani was surprised the blond young lady hadn’t said a word yet. “You alright miss?”
“Yes, I’m very sorry. I have a horrible headache.” The sister said, rubbing her muddy green eyes.”
Chantria stared from Ayele to her sister. “Taraji? Where’s Liseli? She’s usually up by now.”
“She’s not been well since yesterday night.” Taraji replied.
“Has the doctor been called uncle?” Chantria said without taking her eyes off her sallow skinned sister.
If you were sick in any way, the government required you to self isolate to keep the rest of the population safe. With the city under near constant siege by the chaotic parasites, the government couldn’t afford a mass outbreak of any kind of plague. Doctors therefore went from house to house. Anyone found breaking the law was put into enforced isolation and they weren’t given a stipend for their period of illness. Divinity was brutal underneath the veneer of order.
“Of course, Chantria. The doctor is due within the next few hours.”
“I understand.”
Kijani wasn’t nearly as understanding. “You should have told us before inviting us in, Master Keita. You’re breaking isolation law’s. Chan, we gotta go.”
“My apologies Master Abara. I wasn’t thinking. I must be coming down with the same.”
Kijani ignored the Ayele’s obvious attempt at victimising himself. “I won’t inform city welfare this time. Chan, we gotta go.”
His wife nodded, but her sympathetic eyes still rested on her sister. “You and Liseli get well soon. Would it be ok if we came by next week Uncle?”
“Of course! You must tell us all about your little debut into the crown. It’s all over the gossip column. The eldest batchelor of the Abara house, finally getting married. Your father must be relieved. I’m sure Chantria will do her job,”Ayele said.
“Debut? Why didn’t you say? Liseli would have loved to make your dress,” Tara said weakly.
“It’s today Tara, you’re both sick. Don’t worry, there'll be plenty of pictures,” Chantria replied.
Kijani wanted to punch the slimy smile right off her predatory uncle's face, but a prickling of unease set in. The fucker’s trying to keep us here. “Chan, we gotta go,” he repeated and herded her out the door. He didn’t ease up until they were lost in the crowd in the centre of town and the hairs on the back of his neck stood at ease. Someone was watching us.