If you were to charter a ship from the Anglish capital city of Darnell and turn your sails roughly west-southwest across the ocean, you would need to make port in either Yamato or Toledo to rest and resupply.

The Yamato would not give you a welcome, for foreigners are not allowed to to set one foot on their sacred soil. Resting there would certainly guarantee an early death.

The Toledoans are great fans of foreign trade and, as long as you weren’t shy of losing a few crewmembers to mysterious circumstances, the Toledoans would likely welcome you, offer you food and shelter and a chance to relax.

Once resupplied, you would need to once again point your ship west-southwest and sail until your food was gone and your water barrels ran dry, sail until the teeth loosened in your sockets, sail until delirium made you spot the shores of a great smoking plateau in the ocean, the last remnants of a dead and decaying empire, a land that was a thousand years dead and gone when the Anglish Empire was young.

If you were foolish enough to weigh anchor in those dread waters and lucky enough to survive the rest and resupply on those shadowy shores, lucky enough to patch your leaky hulls the best you could, cry to the heavens at how long you had spent at sea, and set sail once more, once more pointing the prow of your ship west-southwest-

When the shattered hull of your boat beached itself and pitched your decaying corpse into the sea, there was a chance your body might wash ashore on a small land that was, from shore to shore, almost entirely comprised of desert.

That’s where your tale would end, though nobody would be alive to tell it.

*****

Carlo flew backwards through the dojo, feet trailing behind him. It was surreal; he could feel the texture of the mats on his heels as he flew from the impact.

He hit the floor, muscle memory and reflexes forcing him to react, making him tuck and dip his shoulder in the same way he’d done thousands of times. He rolled over and over and came up into a ready stance, eyeing his sparring opponent warily.

After a moment, he relaxed his guard and let out a long sigh and raised his hands.

“Enough, enough, I surrender.” He waved his hands a little, palms open and shaking his head. “You’re too much. I can’t keep up with you anymore.” He grimaced and brushed his sweat-sticky hair away from his face and regarded his opponent.

She was taller than him, with regal looks, disheveled sparring clothes, and a long fall of completely white hair; his adopted daughter, Eirawen.

“It used to be that I was both stronger and faster than you.” He complained a little, moving to a small shelf and grabbing a pair of towels, tossing one to her. “But you caught up to me.”

She gave him a very tiny smile and mopped her face though it was free of sweat.

“Then you caught up to me.” He repeated. “Your reactions are faster than mine, so the only thing I could do was decide which of your moves I could accept until I could counter with my own- but I can’t even do that anymore, since your strength is leagues above my own, now.”

He sighed. “I have nothing more to teach you. You’ve exceeded me in every way.” After a moment he smiled at her warmly. “Shall we go get some cake?” He gestured to the door leading upstairs from the hidden sparring room.

She nodded.

“Your father would be proud of you, you know. As proud of you as your mother is.” He said over his shoulder as they went up the stairs.

“My mother could not be proud of me.” She responded coolly. “And my father is dead.”

Since Carlo was leading the way, Eirawen couldn’t see the frustrated, bitter way Carlo’s face twisted at her dispassionate remark.

Eirawen was like that, though. Everything she said and did was though all of her emotions had been dialed down and muted.

“You say this because she gave you into my care?” He asked, moving from the hidden dojo into the building proper, which was a bakery. She nodded her assent, but because his back was to her, he didn’t see it.

“We have had this conversation before, Eirawen. It’s politics. She has to keep her feelings as a mother and her responsibilities as a queen separate.” He knelt in front of a display case and pulled out a large cake, mounded high with fruit toppings. He pulled out a knife and cut a delicate slice for each of them.

“The peace we have now is thanks to her. She can’t afford to jeopardize it- not for you, or for anyone.” He explained for what seemed to be the thousandth time. “As her brother learned to his undoing.”

“You said my uncle was a warmonger.” She stated flatly.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

He nodded. “So he was. But our King wanted peace as much as she did, and so they had to make ... some very tough choices. We all have to make tough choices.”

“And my father?” She pressed. “My real father?”

There was an intensity to her voice whenever her real father was mentioned, something that was absent in anything else she’d said. Some things were able to touch her heart and move her in ways that other things didn’t.

“He made the hardest choice of all.” He replied with a snort, reminiscing. “He made it so matter-of-factly, I doubt he believed it was a choice at all. He simply decided, and that was it.” He exclaimed, chuckling. “He was nothing if not straightforward.”

He gestured for her to sit at one of the tables. As she moved, he was forcibly reminded of her father.

“You have been very evasive with me before.” She said just as flatly as she had before; though through long years of living with the largely dispassionate girl had revealed her subtle emotional states. She was reproachful and perhaps frustrated. He eyed her critically.

“About what?” He asked evasively, but he knew already.

“My father.”

“I think I've been very open about who and what he was, Eirawen.” He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s hard to dissemble. You resemble him well.” He snorted. “You resemble the both of them. You have your mother’s elvish beauty and your father’s strength.” His eyebrows twitched and he smiled. “You have his hair and eyes, too.” His smile twisted into something predatory. “I wonder how he would have reacted if he learned of you.” he chuckled again, in a teasing way.

“You have not told me anything.” She repeated. “You tell me things I can learn by going outside.” She added, an obvious note of anger in her voice. “But you haven’t told me anything about what he was like.”

“What he was like.” Carlo mused, rubbing his forehead. He knew what she wanted, but he didn’t want to tell her. There was so much about her father that he didn’t want to say, because it was hard for him to face it himself.

“It’s not something I can speak of lightly, Eirawen. He changed this land so dramatically, so ... so brutally, it can’t be spoken of so casually. I wanted to wait until you were old enough-” he tried, but she immediately frowned.

“I have been old enough for some time.” She seethed.

Oh, she’s mad now, is she? he thought to himself.

“I-” He started, and then sighed. “Eat your cake.”

She took a small bite, but her eyes were fixed on him, icy blue and unmoving.

It was like the first time he’d met Nolan. Eyes straightforward and unflinching, unwavering. Just as he was the first to look away from Nolan’s gaze, he was the one to look away from Eirawen’s.

“We’re afraid, Eirawen.” He finally admitted in a low voice.

Eirawen was surprised at the frustrated admission from Carlo, the man who, officially at least, was her father.

“... tell me.” She finally managed.

“In the center of our city is the site of the First Well.” He replied, tossing out something that the meanest child should know. “It’s the only one that’s flourished as it has. You’ve seen it: It’s a lake. All of our water comes from it. The forests that surround it give us our food. Both nations depend on it for survival.” He explained as if she didn’t know it already.

She watched him as he struggled to explain.

“We need it.” he stressed. “But what was the first thing Nolan- your father- did to stop the conflict between us?”

Eirawen shook her head.

“He tried to destroy it.” Carlo replied, and gave Eirawen a terrified, bewildered look. “Nobody- nobody on either side would dare do something like that!” he protested.

He threw himself back in his chair and tossed his fork to the table with a clatter. “He didn’t care. He didn’t care what such a thing meant to anyone. He was a monster, Eirawen. He...” He trailed off with a sigh.

“He was... He had principles. He had a sense of honor. Dignity. He worshipped his Goddess with unwavering fervor. Some people- myself included- called him a zealot, and he was. Everything happened as a result of his Goddess. The assault on the palace was a test for his courage. His victories were a testament to the Goddess. The morning was a gift from his Goddess. His meals were a boon from Her.”

He picked up his fork and turned it one way, then the other.

“Even his assault on the First Well was a test.” He managed, and then finally took a bite of his cake.

“Your mother the Queen brought that monster to this city. Oh, he saved us, yes.” He barked a jagged laugh, “but he murdered us to do it. If that’s salvation, then...”

He set his fork down again. “Your mother gave you to me because if you were seen with her, it might mean... it might mean something like the second coming of Nolan. You would have been strangled in your crib.”

“It took years to rebuild what was lost. No one speaks of what happened willingly; not because we are ashamed, but because we are all afraid. Our city has stood for six thousand years, daughter. Has withstood wars both civil and foreign, has withstood plague and army and demon. The thing that nearly eradicated us wasn’t an army or a plague or a demon from the Abyss, or even our wrathful Holy Ancestors come back from the grave to punish us for everything we’ve lost, everything we’ve forgotten. No. It was one man that brought us all to our knees.”

He looked up at her; she could see the naked fear on his face. “The worst part of it is that he might wake up and start his engine of frozen death all over again.”

Her mouth dropped open at this statement. Everything that had been revealed to her throughout her whole life was that Nolan, the strange giant knight from beyond the ocean, was dead. Now there was this sudden revelation-

“He’s not dead?!” She blurted, launching herself to her feet.