[February 25th] [Original Short Story] He Was Simply Too Early

[principessar.livejournal.com]

Title: He Was Simply Too Early
Day/Theme: February 25 -  the sea king's palace
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Lady Racha Terayan/Keiti Mihanen... and some other people...
Rating: PG-13? 

Note: Umm, here I used the theme in about a million different ways. The legend that is referenced is based on an Isaac Beshevis Singer short story I read as a kid. This takes place in the year 1528. 


            Once, when Racha Terayan was a child, she’d heard this tale. She no longer remembered who’d told it to her; perhaps her nursemaid, perhaps her mother. She’d been very young, then, perhaps more attracted to the fantastic than she was now. The story wasn’t all that improbable, though. For a folktale, she had to admit, it was remarkably realistic. It had gone something like this:

            A long time ago there was a kingdom, a kingdom or a tribe, it hardly mattered. They lived near a river and once a year they would give the most beautiful maiden in the land to the river. They’d throw her in, hands tied behind her back, and it was believed that she would become one of the brides of the river god. Although the people did not like this ritual, they felt obligated to continue it. One year, however, it was the king’s own daughter who was chosen. She was beautiful and sweet and just about near perfect, the way heroines of folktales always are. She was ready to accept her fate, though she was terribly afraid, when a handsome stranger came. Immediately falling in love with the girl, he vowed to save her. “Listen!” he cried to the people, “don’t you see the foolishness of what you’re doing? No river god saves these girls and marries them! Look, when the water is clear you can even see the bones of those you’ve sacrificed in the past! That’s what it is, sacrifice! And my god, the one god, won’t stand for it!”

            The story went on about how the young man engaged in some kind of spiritual battle with the spirits of the river god and all of the evil spirits that lived in the surrounding area. Of course, he was victorious. The villagers no longer had to throw anyone into the river. And, of course, he got to marry the princess and live with her happily ever after. They may have left her father’s kingdom or they may have stayed, Racha no longer remembered and it hardly seemed to matter. She’d heard it a long time ago, but the gist of it had stayed with her.

             Okay, the spiritual battle part was improbable, Racha now reflected, but then amended her thought; it was only really improbable to an atheist. When she’d been small, when she’d believed in the god of the story, then it seemed perfectly conceivable for a young emissary of her god to go off and make war on the other gods. When she was older, though, and could see through faith’s veil to all of the vices it concealed, such a concept became downright ludicrous. All the same, it could have really happened. A war by nobility, fought with cannons, back so very long ago when most people fought with little more than rocks and sticks, could have been seen as magical. Political events often get blown out of proportion, so it wouldn’t be surprising if this story had some roots in real history.

            The years had passed, though, since she’d first heard it. She hadn’t thought of it for a long time. Now, though, she could not help thinking of it.

 

            A party. That’s all they called it, for lack of a better word. It should have been a ball, but with Lady Terayan being dead and the young lady of the house still quite young, there was no-one experienced at organizing these sorts of things. The men were too busy with the war; in fact, the guest list seemed more like one for a summit meeting than a social gathering. Of course, it would have been the same group even if it had been a real ball, for nobles did everything together. More women and children would have come if it had been a peacetime celebration, though. As it was, Racha was one of the only girls there. She was newly sixteen years old. She looked resplendent in a velvet gown, a small tiara upon her head. She was terribly bored.

            “Announcing Lord Asyanicha and his attaché, Mihanen.”

            She peered over at the newcomers. Lord Asyanicha she’d met before; he was probably related to her in some way. He was old, well, not really old, but probably more than forty, and as such inherently boring. The attaché though, she’d never seen before. He was young, probably no more than a few years older than she. She couldn’t see him well, because he walked on the other side of Asyanicha, but she could tell he was tall. His face was solemn, but of course! Mihanen, though—no title? They didn’t even bother to give his first name, Racha reflected.

            Lord Asyanicha found Racha’s father and soon enough engaged him in conversation. Mihanen stood by them, listening, perhaps, saying nothing. If he really was a commoner, why he must feel so uncomfortable at this gathering of the nobility! Racha furtively made her way over to that side of the room. Soon enough, she stood not more than twenty feet from the boy. He didn’t notice her as she perused his face, fixing her gaze on his dark eyes. He’d have a nice smile, she decided, if he would smile. As it was, he was frowning slightly, undoubtably in concentration. Neither Asyanicha nor her father paid him much attention. Soon enough, his attention began to wander. Catching sight of the girl, he smiled, and it was just as nice as she had expected.

            Quickly, she grabbed a pitcher and a glass. “Would you like some water?” she asked.

            He shrugged. She poured some and he took it. “Thank you,” he told her, then, “Haven’t you got servants to do that kind of thing?”

            “They’re busy serving the others,” she pointed out. At this, they both looked away, understanding all too well what that meant.

 

            A few days later. Asyanicha was still there, along with his staff, including the boy. Racha found him in the garden. He was looking at a tree, touching a twig, running a hand along the wood. He noticed her this time, though, and turned around as soon as she arrived. He smiled at her again. She bit her lip, not sure what to say, when suddenly it came forth: “Are you bourgeois?”

            He laughed. It was an awkward laugh, maybe more of a snort, though less harsh than that. “I don’t know what you mean,” he told her.

            “Well,” she began, then realized that she didn’t know what she meant either. “I don’t know. You’re not a noble, are you?”

            “No,” he replied. “I grew up on Lord Asyanicha’s lands. My mother was a peasant. He took a liking to me, though, and he wanted me to do something with my life, and for  peasant the best way to do that is to gain military honors. So, here I’m his attaché and the Ilenis have done us the favor of making sure we’ve got actual battles to fight.” He smiled sheepishly at this.

            “I’m Racha Terayan,” she said, not sure how else to respond.

            “I know,” he told her, “Miss Terayan. I’m Keiti Mihanen.”

 

           He was around an awful lot over the next few months. At first, they simply met in the garden, in the hall, exchanging a few words that made them both think for hours afterwards. They were impressed by the other’s friendliness. The system in Kichen at this time wasn’t really strictly feudal. The cities had a decent-sized middle class comprised of nobles and commoners alike. The fact that she was rural nobility, and more than that, first cousin to the queen, and he was a rural commoner did make them less similar. They didn’t really, however, stop to think of the impossibility of it all until after the first time they’d spent a night together.

            “We can never marry, you know,” she said. He’d barely opened his eyes, but she’d been up for a few minutes. It was early enough; he had to be out of her chambers by at least eight.

            “Huh?” he’d mumbled, blinking, beginning to stretch.

            She held sheets up to cover herself. “My father would never permit it.”

            “I know,” he told her, once he’d opened his eyes, his tone perfectly calm. “I figured as much.”

            “But we can do this again?” she asked.

            He shrugged. “If you like.”

            For the rest of her life, Racha remembered this conversation, but she never thought much on it. Which of them had initiated their intimacy she no longer remembered. If she had thought more, though, perhaps she would have been surprised by the fact that she’d never asked him why. Clearly, he knew it was futile, it couldn’t go anywhere. Why, then, had he agreed to it, agreed then and after? But, to wonder this was to question whether he’d really loved her, so she did not wonder it at all.

 

            “Ooh, a new uniform,” she remarked. He’d returned after a two-month absence. He smiled at this, not entirely a happy smile, though a genuine one. “What did you do, save Asyanicha’s life or something?”

            He smiled more truly now. “Nothing quite so grand,” he told her. “They’re promoting everyone.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yeah, they’re running out of people to fill the upper ranks, so they’ve got no real choice but to use us,” Keiti explained, his tone more than a little sarcastic. “If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll make general before I get killed.”

            “Keiti!”

            He shrugged, so she shook her head and tried to forget it. Like so many times before, though, his words refused to leave her mind. People were careful not to discuss the war around her, as though she was simply too fragile to be bothered with such unpleasant thoughts. She could tell, though, that it was not going well. The Ilenis were gaining territory, the Yasits were losing countless troops. Everyone wore a fatigued, worried expression these days. Racha was not sure when it had started, nor when it had started to go so wrong, but she knew that the end could not be good. She’d rather the struggle continue than it meet the end everyone seemed to expect.

 

            The end came only a month after her seventeenth birthday. The whole household had been preparing for battle; last farewells were said furtively, everyone pretending that they were not saying farewell at all. Keiti, who’d been around more often in the last few months, around but always preoccupied, came to see Racha one last time before he was to depart. They embraced for a long while, saying nothing. He stroked her hair and she held back tears. “When will you be back?” she asked him.

            “Racha…” he began, but didn’t have words to finish.

            “You will come back?”

            “I…”

            “You must come back, Keiti! I…”

            “Don’t be selfish, Racha,” he snapped. Shocked, she broke away from him, gazing up into his eyes, hurt. His gaze was far away.

            “Don’t you… want to come back?”

            “Of course I do,” he assured her. “What I want though doesn’t matter anymore. I just don’t think I’ll be coming back, and besides, this could never have lasted. You’ll marry some prince and…”

            “That’s over, now!” Racha insisted. “We’re going to lose, you know! The Ilenis will annex our land and there’s nothing we can do about it! You know we can’t win! Why not surrender, or… or, defect to them or something? All you’d lose is honor, whereas if you continued to fight them, you’d lose everything! I’d run away with you, Keiti! I…”

            He shook his head, sighing sadly. “You make me seem so brave. I almost wish I could be that lone soldier you dream of, one who can so easily defect from one, choose another, choose life, choose to marry a girl whose parents would never accept me. As is, though, I love Kichen. I love my army and my country. If Kichen is to fall, I shall fall with her.”

            One expected a grand tone to accompany heroic speeches, expected a clear, confident voice that would send words ringing out. One expected strong gestures and a certain look on the face of the speaker, a look of absolute righteousness and conviction. As it was, Keiti’s words, words Racha would never forget, seemed out of place with his soft tone and the sad look in his eyes.

            He rose to go. Racha stood as well, slipping a hand into his. He turned. “Racha?”

            “I…”

            What could she say? I haven’t bled in two months, Keiti?

            “I love you, Keiti.”

            “I am grateful.”

 

            Her hands were not bound, but they could have been, the way she felt. She rode in a carriage, not to the river or sea, but to a place just as strange. Things had happened so fast after that last meeting. Of course, Keiti was dead. Her father and brother were dead, too, but it was Keiti she mourned the most. Her cousin the queen and the five royal children had died as well, killed by Ilenis, taken from their own palace and shot, perhaps, (she thought of guns because, given the choices, it seemed the least gruesome alternative.) She, Racha Terayan, was going to marry King Tassi Rasinkiya, the man who was now king of nothing. Her purpose was to be providing him with an heir.

            So I sacrifice myself to duty, to my country. Just like all those girls in the story.

            Why doesn’t a foreign prince come to save me?

            He came. It was just, … somehow fate timed it wrong. He came too early to save me. As is, he’s dead and I…

            The Racha Terayan she’d been… those were maybe her last words.

-END-