The Kingdom of Orange

Day 360: Year of the Elk

Today Madre and I tended the fields vigorously. The frost from the other night came by surprise to both us and the crops. Many other local farmers said the same. We were lucky to keep at least half of our yield. Her old, crooked hands shook from the cold. The days continue to grow colder and colder, the Elders say we should pray more. “Kilth is angry, she weeps in her frustration and her tears land on the earth as frost.” They say. I don’t know if I believe them. Last week I snuck out of the village and sat on the ridge overlooking the sea. If anyone is angry, it is the twins of war. The sea was littered with skeletons of ships with flags I didn’t recognize. Bright flashes went off in the smoke, like a thunderstorm. It was nothing like our wars; it was fast, brutal, and loud. There were no spears, no prayers. It was like a volcano was erupting from their ships, fire and explosions spewing from their ships. I pray, but not to Kilth. I pray to Alesia, goddess of the waters, that her currents do not bring them here. 

Day 361: Year of the Elk

I built up the courage to go back to the ridge beyond the village. The sight was terrifying. There were more ships, more flags, and more bodies. I went down to the water and the beach smelled like a rabbit corpse you find in a bush. Our land was unrecognizable. The beach was a rusty red from the blood, and the sea was stained black. I have never seen anything like it. I fell to my knees and prayed to any god that would listen. 

Day 362: Year of the Elk

A scout came back to the village with fear stricken eyes. Mother and I were in the market talking to the other farmers and vendors when he came. He yelled out to the whole village about the sea. “Black! The sea is colored black! There are ships fighting each other miles away! They… They bring plague!” The village bursted into whispers until one of the Elders came. She assured everyone it was not plague, but war. Mothers jaw tightened, as she always believed war was a plague. I think if Padre was still with us, he would disagree. The little memories I have of him are of him being a proud man. He told me what pride he had for being a soldier, and dying in battle was the ultimate honor. I do not mourn him much, as I know his death in battle is what he wanted. His sacrifice ensured the village's safety. The Elder continued, reassuring everyone that war was part of the cycle, and we would be okay. The gods were looking over us. We left quickly, Mother’s frail hands grabbing my arm and taking me away. She did not care for the Elders rambling of war. As I write this, she has not gone to bed. She stares at the fire with a hard look on her face. 

Day 364: Year of the Elk

More scouts were sent out, and they all came back with frightful news. The thunderstorms grew closer. The smell of smoke and ash tickling their noses on the beach. Mother did not care to wait for the news, I sat by the village fire alone. The scouts each came back with bits and pieces of different flags in their hands. One was pure black from the ash, and part of it looked like it had been signed. Another was an olive green with stars in a circle. Two more were similar, a burnt orange with two halves of a circle. One had the left colored in, the other had the right colored in. Twin nations the Elders called it. We know nothing about the nations, just that they are fast approaching. The Elders continue their preachings of war and the gods. Many villagers suggest we continue with scouts and the fast approaching celebrations. “Maybe the gods will be merciful if we continue with their celebrations.” One man said, and others murmured with agreement. I stayed quiet, I do not think the gods care about my opinion. Again as I write this, Mother has not gone to bed. She keeps the same look staring at the flames. 

Day 370: Year of the Elk

The first day of celebration was today. For ten days until the end of the year, we celebrate the ten gods. This year, the village went all out due to the war and cold. Everyone is in fear of the gods this year. The first day is dedicated to the father of all gods, and therefore all life, Fue. Mother and I helped set up and helped cook. Fue enjoys all life. The adults usually cook and hunt while the children craft and write. I pleaded with Mother to take a break, and I could handle the stall. She just scoffed and said what she usually says, “Fue hazan! (Gods above!) I am perfectly capable, Xera, as I always am.” I write this tired from the festivities. We cooked and ate and danced the night away. Children laughed and screamed and ran around fueled by sweets. 

Day 371: Year of the Elk

The second day of celebration is dedicated to the twins of war. Legend has it that they were villagers like us, one taken by the father and the other by the mother. Separated by family feuds and territory, when they day came they faced each other on the battlefield. Looking across the war torn land, they saw their own face staring back at them. When they eventually killed each other, their spirits rose as gods. Riken and Rashan are forever doomed to be separated by war. Our family are patrons of the twins; Father prayed to them every night. “Riken, bless me with ope (wisdom). Rashan, bless me with lashan (strength). Twins above, bless my family with safety.” When Mother misses him, she recites the same prayer. I say this same prayer as this very well might be my last time writing. Scouts came, all heading the same warning. War was on our shores. 

Day 373: Year of the Elk

I write quickly from the bowls of a ship. Everything has been burned, and everyone has been taken.

Day 376: Year of the Elk

We are hungry and cold. The gods do not answer any of our prayers. Madre weeps and says things like, “I wish your Padre was here.” I do not recognize the people that have taken us. They are not tribesmen. Instead of light skin from the moon or dark skin from the sun they are neither. Rosy almost, like a newborn baby. Fue hazan, save us all. 

Day 377: Year of the Elk

The strange rosy people talk of being close to home. They speak as if they do not have human cargo saying things like, “I could use a drink.” “Do you think he could drive this thing any slower?” The Elders continue their preaching. I feel like Mother now- angry. How can you say things like we simply need to pray more? How can you single handedly blame and excuse the gods? This was the work of the godless. 

Day 379: Year of the Elk

I continue to recite my fathers prayer. Our captures woop and cheer as land comes near. I do not know what my future holds. 

Day 4: Year of the Squid

Mother and I have been separated. I do not know where she is and I pray she is not dead. The young women and I have all been taken to some sort of work camp. We are mothers to grown men. They come in and complain about being hungry and their clothes tearing, and we are expected to cook for them and patch them up. One girl rebelled. She screamed and yelled that she is not just a woman but a child of Fue. She demanded to talk to someone in charge and threatened the wrath of the gods. She was beaten to a bloodied pulp while being laughed at. A rosy man sneered, turning to us and said, “Let that be a lesson to you all. Your gods are dead. And so are you if you step out of line.” 

Day 10: Year of the Squid

I have forgotten to write. The days blur together. We continue to be hungry and cold, given the bare minimum to survive. We continue to pray and tell stories of the gods. I hold hope for Riken and Rashan. They were always there for my father, maybe they will come to my aid. I still do not know where Madre is, and I fear I will forget her face. 

Day 20: Year of the Squid

A girl by the name of Leif has fallen ill. She is still expected to work even though she can barely breathe. We tried tending to her and praying over her. As I write this her labored breathing becomes more and more shallow.

Day 21: Year of the Squid

Leif was lifeless when we woke. Hours later, a man with robes that touched the floor came in. He claimed to be something or other- I don’t remember. What I do remember is the half colored circle inked on his skin. The twin nations have taken us. 

Day 53: Year of the Squid

Our forced labor has been moved outside for the warmer months. We are only allowed to go inside when we sleep in the dormitories. Prayer is discouraged. Speaking in our tongue is discouraged. When a man heard me say my fathers prayer, his lips curled in disgust and his eyes were set ablaze with hate. 

Day 155: Year of the Squid

They took my journal. They said a soldier saw me writing and it needed to be “reviewed”. I have been given it back from, “The good graces of the king.” They said I do not speak of rebellion and freedom and are therefore a “good one”. Since day 53 the labor is more intensive and we are required to look after more men. There are quotas now, and we check in and check out. There are roll calls, and we are no longer allowed our names. I am no longer Xera but Leer. I wear a name tag with a name that my mother did not give me. 

Day 160: Year of the Squid

We are no longer allowed to speak our language or allowed to pray. The man who watches us, Veran, told me to be careful what I write- my journal will now be checked every week. I asked if I was allowed to at least write in my tongue- he laughed. 

Day 167: Year of the Squid Year 33 of King Alan III

I was told that writing “Year of the Squid” is writing in my language and I need to change it. Veran took me to his supervisor tent and kept me there for an hour where I was given a “lesson on the Kingdom of Orange”. He spoke to me as if a child. “The twin nations! Ha! Clever. No no no, we are the Kingdom of Orange and the Kingdom of Red. Two rules, different rules, same land. Get it?” I did not get it. “You’re smart for a tribesman, you know that?” I didn’t know we were stupid. “Aw you wouldn't know any better, I’ll let it slide. Next time just put Year 33 of King Alan III, that’s the real date.” I didn’t realize dates were right or wrong. 

Day 179: Year 33 of King Alan III

I have fallen ill, like Leif did. My breathing is labored and my whole body feels on fire. I can barely write in this language, and I am quickly forgetting my own. 

Day 182: Year 33 of King Alan III

Veran has let me rest. I collapsed while working and he said I was his favorite and would be allowed to rest on two conditions. It was in his tent, and I continue to write. He finds my entries amusing. My pain and suffering are funny. I hope this sickness kills me so I have at least taken something from them. 

Day 190: Year 33 of King Alan III

The illness persists. My last sentence earned me a beating. I believe I may die.

Day 191: Year of the Squid

Fue haran, take me to Pare.