Journey to the Forgotten Island

Chapter 33 - Wooden spears

The great hall had drafts so strong that unless all the fires were raging in the hearths, it was warmer to be outside. Toma rarely spent time in the great hall, even when they had guests. But the attendant had insisted that Toma not take the meeting in his personal rooms or office. Toma sat alone at the long table, feeling the ice creeping up his fingers, waiting for the knock on the door.

When the head attendant came, he tried again, 'I apologise unreservedly, Sir. And I do not wish to speak out of turn – but it is not the done thing for a governor to grant audience to a mere foot soldier. I urge you to send him away.'

'Let him in and go,' Toma said.

The attendant nodded stiffly and brought the man in. He indeed looked the same age as Toma. He had a youthful face with a few bright scars on his forehead and cheek. This made Toma at ease – since he had become a noble, he rarely saw other men with scars, surrounded, as he was, with merchants and nobles who had never fought a battle. He often went days without thinking of the thin scar across his own face and was only reminded of it when a new acquaintance would glance at it for a fleeting moment. The soldier was the same height as Toma, though more muscular, as Toma had continued to lose his muscle and grow softer and wider recently. He had short tight curls of a gleaming chestnut colour and his skin seemed soft and youthful and was darker than his hair, though lighter than Toma's. As usual, it was impossible to tell where a man came from by his appearance. Only names, dialects, and customs could tell a man's origin.

'Welcome, Keondre,' Toma said. 'Please, sit.'

The man did a bow so low that it was clear he never met with nobility or high merchants. He sat, rigid with nervous excitement.

'It is an honour, Governor, Sir,' Keondre said. 'I have heard such stories.'

'Your name,' Toma said. 'Is it from the lower Sola lands?'

'Yes, Sir, Governor, Sir,' he replied, his eyes darting around, fearful of meeting Toma's gaze. 'Though it is a common enough name in the rebellious lands, my ancestors, as you say, are from the lower lands. We are Duro through and through, Sir, I swear on it.'

'I trust the empire not to send me Sola rebels. Fear not,' Toma said.

Keondre nodded and looked at his feet. A silence followed where only the sound of the drafts, billowing the curtains, rocking the creaking chandelier, fanning the flames of the hearth, were audible. Toma knew why Keondre had requested an audience and he knew why he had accepted it. But he did not want to be the first to broach the subject.

He noticed that Keondre was shivering, dressed only in his crimson and gold silk robe.

'You did not bring a coat?' Toma said.

'I did not know if it was proper, Sir, Governor,' Keondre said.

'Get this man a coat,' Toma called to an attendant at the other end of the great hall. 'Come, Keondre, let us stroll through the gardens. It is likely to be less gusty outdoors.'

They left the mansion through the back kitchen, where several cooks prepared stews and broths. Despite Toma's habit of using the kitchen rather than the grander exit through the second hall, the cooks were always surprised to see Toma and bowed deeply as he passed. They passed through the orchard, which was a much more miserable sight than it had been during the long summer days. The leaves had all fallen and the apples and pears had been harvested. Now, the long rows of trees appeared dead and bare, reminding Toma of a graveyard or the remains of the burnt forest.

The cold winter was fast approaching. It had been over a month since the villagers had been sent to the temporary village. Toma had barely left his estate during that time but reports from Ami confirmed that the settlement and town were growing and sustaining without his input. Merchants continued to come on the ships every halfmoon. They were establishing timber yards and gold smelting smiths, building taverns and shops. Slaves from the mainland continued to be shipped over too, to chop trees, work the gold, construct building. Esteban's mine had turned out to be bigger and more plentiful than he had expected, and all the villagers were not enough for his mining works. Another wooden mining village had been constructed for Sola slaves to work in the mine with the villagers. It was said the villagers, more adapted to the cold weather, faired better. Many of the Sola slaves, struggled in the growing cold and fell ill. Many died. Toma often told Ami to skip this part of his reports, unable to listen to the stories of the mine. He hadn't stepped foot in Ntsiag since the evictions and saw no reason to. He knew what a mine looked like – a pile of earth and stone and a giant hole. And he knew what suffering looked like – he had seen it in his home as a boy and in every place he had conquered with the Duro army. There was no need to see what he had seen countless times before.