Our Little Gods 1: RABATEA, the first World of the Daughters.

Chapter 3

Suspended in the shafts of sunlight coming through the window into what Limero used for office and classroom, little specks of dust floated up and down in a slow miniature ballet. Ambers were dying in the fireplace radiating the last of their heat from the morning's fire. The seasoned tutor in Limero knew that too warm a room and the three teenagers facing him would fall back asleep, too cold and they wouldn't pay attention. 'I should write a pamphlet on the underrated art of temperature control.' He thought and started giggling at his own silliness. To hide his spontaneous merriment he motioned Maasil to come and help him unroll one of the precious maps of the Keregan archives.

The grandfather of Roras had suffered from a strange ailment that stopped his legs from functioning and no healer had been able to fix them for him. The sedentary man had while away his time as Tall House Lord reading and exploring maps of the world he was never to see. Thus he had legated an unusual wealth of documents to his house when most Mark Lords only had genealogical volumes on their own family or treaties about hunting.

Once the map was hanged and unrolled Limero turned to face the three boys that composed his audience and cleared his throat to attract their attention.

"Can one of you tell me where the Mean Mark of Mainland Limore is situated on this map of the world? You are the most concerned by this Terrey, do you know?"

The boy had been staring in the general direction of the map, his mouth half-open, his head heavily resting on his hand as if it was too much to bear for his own neck. At the monk's question, he snapped back to what was happening in the room and stuttered.

"It's... it's just there, by the seventh loop of Redane River, pretty much in the middle between the sea of Minkhi to the Rising side and the Sandrin Mountains on the Setting side."

"Correct, Maasil please?" Limero reached out and the little boy handed him a green cloth rosace that he pinned to a specific point on the map.

"Farenn, can you tell me where your family's estate is situated?"

This time the boy was paying attention. Actually, that was the thing with Farenn, he always paid attention to what happened around him. He had been a very quiet baby when the wet nurse brought him here with the news of the fire that had destroyed the Menekigg's Tall House and its ring, killing all but the baby boy.

"Our Mark is a forest Mark. It's just above the one of the Keregans in the woods."

"Thank you Farenn." Limero placed a blue rosace on the map and turned to face the one he called the bright one, but Oneg was not paying attention, there was a volume on his lap and he was looking at it but Limero could tell he wasn't reading it.

"Oneg, your turn."

The boy did not even look up and mumbled.

"On the Redane directly below the two others, protecting the pilgrims' road to and from the Peninsula of the Triad from bandits attack."

The bitterness in the voice was ageless. The tutor had heard the tale of Oneg's brothers all eight of them being ambushed by a small army of outlaws praying on the caravans on the road between the cities of Salit and Rek. And of how their father had rushed in to help them and how none came back. The raiders drunk on their bloody victory had ridden to the Tall House and pillaged it, killing and raping at leisure for there were only women and folks to protect it. The tale of little five years old Oneg demanding audience of Roras in his hall and standing in front of Lord and Lady Keregan pleading for asylum until he would be old enough to go back and rebuild his father's house had become that winter's sensation. He had walked with two servants on foot all the way here because his mom had been Sithane Keregan's aunt. So yes, the topic of the Tabben's lands and their inability to hold on to it was a complicated issue for Oneg.