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edenfallingAfter eight months of driving myself nuts re: cultural differences, hereditary hatreds, history lessons, sibling relationship, etcetera, I essentially gave up and did a more low-key equivalent of having random ninjas break down the door. In other words, hello there, unplanned plot twist! Thank you for getting me out of the world-building bog. Next up, Bree's POV and, with any luck, actual stuff happening.
Anyway. They have the same blood, same face, same home. So why can't Corin make Cor understand what it means to inherit Archenland? (1,825 words) And yes, this chapter's title was blatantly stolen from the Robert Frost poem.
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Mending Wall
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Corin led his brother up to the western watchtower, which looked out over the back of the castle toward the rich, green sweep of mountains and forest he'd seen nearly every day of his life. Before Cor had reappeared from his long might-as-well-be-dead absence, Corin used come up here and watch the wind in the trees every few weeks, to remind himself why he couldn't duck out of his responsibilities. The land didn't need people's presence; the plants and animals could get on with their lives perfectly well on their own. The land needed people to keep other humans out.
He set his hands on the edge of a crenel and pushed himself up to sit in the gap between two merlons. Cor leaned out through a gap on the opposite side, looking down at the steep roof of the great hall.
"Where do you want me to start?" Corin asked, mostly because he had no idea where to begin. How did you explain something you'd known your entire life? And how did Cor not know this already? Were the Calormenes so proud and blind that they didn't even realize everything they'd done through the generations?
"The beginning," said Cor, being monumentally unhelpful.
But Corin had promised not to hit him. He sighed. "Archenland was founded in the year 180, by King Col. He established the Great Council--"
"I know that," said Cor. "Skip to the parts about Calormen."
Corin pried a flake of loose stone from the slate cap of the merlon and threw it at his brother. "Fine. King Frank and Queen Helen were the first humans in the world, but in the old days people stumbled through gates all the time. Not everyone who fell into Narnia liked living with Talking Beasts, which is one reason people were willing to follow Col over the pass to Anvard. After a while, some of them decided to make Archenland a kingdom of men, not just a kingdom ruled by men. In the year 204, Col finally defeated them and the remnants fled south across the desert. But they'd done damage -- a lot of Beasts and other people didn't trust humans anymore. They went back to Narnia, which is why most Archenlanders are human, though we welcome all people."
Cor made a face. "That sounds nasty. But even if the rebels ended up in Calormen, I don't see why it matters today. Hardly any countries besides Archenland and Narnia welcome Talking Beasts."
"You're not listening," said Corin, tossing another piece of slate at Cor. "The rebels let the Calormenes know we existed. They learned our land might be worth taking. When Idrath Tarkaan united Calormen and declared himself Tisroc, the next thing he did was lead his army north."
Cor looked skeptical. "It couldn't have been any easier for him to bring soldiers across the desert than it is now."
"True. But Mergandy, Sarovence, and Telmar weren't proper countries then. Idrath moved his army one piece at a time and built forts as he went. How do you think Telmar was settled the first time? Then he marched east toward Archenland. No one could stand against him." Corin clenched his hand on the sharp-edged stone of the battlement, thinking of how close his country had come to disaster, both then and more recently. "The Calormenes were within ten miles of Anvard when Idrath's horse threw him as they crossed a gorge. Idrath died from the fall and Prince Ziranool rushed home to fight his brother for the throne."
"The First Brothers' War," Cor murmured, eyes closed as if tracking a half-remembered bedtime story to its lair. His accent slipped further south than usual, into the lilting rhythms of turbaned merchants. "Fire and sword harried the land; no man lived to harvest. Famine and plague ravaged the land; no woman lived to succor. Achadith reaped a mountain of souls; no pity stayed her hand." He shook himself, snapping back to here and now. "The war was a disaster all around. What does it matter now?"
"It matters because Calormen nearly destroyed Archenland," said Corin, hating that he could hear a difference between his voice and his brother's. "Do you understand that? It wasn't just a war. It was almost the end of our country, our way of life. When the Tisroc takes a country, he doesn't let its laws and customs stand. He makes it into another piece of Calormen."
Cor frowned, turning a piece of slate around and around between his fingers. "I don't think that's as bad as you're making it out. The Tisroc and Tarkaans take rents and levies and the priests build temples to the nine gods, but nobody makes anyone give up their customs. You can worship any god you want. You can keep your own laws so long as they don't break the Tisroc's decrees. And no one can keep Aslan from going wherever he wants."
"Slavery," said Corin.
The slate stilled in Cor's hands, his fingers tightening around its edges. "Point," he conceded, after a long moment. "But Idrath World-Conquerer didn't take Archenland, and he died seven hundred years ago. The Great Council can't still be angry over that."
Despite himself, Corin laughed. "You have no idea. Father says we picked up grudges from the dwarves -- they hold them for sport, you know, like heirlooms. Someone always knows a song or a story to bring the insult back to life. But no, that's not the main problem. Mostly people hate Calormen because of the Long Winter."
Cor looked blank. It was a remarkably stupid expression on him, and Corin made a note to avoid it himself. "I don't see what the Winter has to do with anything," Cor said after a long pause. "The refugees stayed here, sailed to the islands, or settled in the Western Wild. Even the humans didn't go to Calormen."
"Who'd want to?" Corin asked, rhetorically. "But before the refugees left or settled in the western and southern marches, how do you think King Tellin fed twice the people Archenland was ready to support?"
"By importing food," said Cor, frowning. "That must have... oh. Right. Archenland went into debt. To Calormen? If you hate Calormenes, why give them any hold on you?"
"We only borrowed from Galma and the Seven Isles," Corin said hotly. "Great-Grandfather gave his word of honor to their bankers and they agreed in person on the terms. Then the bankers sold our debt to Calormenes without asking Great-Grandfather's permission. The Calormene merchants expected us to act as if we'd made agreements with them when they hadn't even met Great-Grandfather. They sold our debt on to the Tisroc, as if the insult meant nothing."
By King Tellin's death, Calormen might not have conquered Archenland in battle, but the Tisroc owned the land -- he held the honor of king and country in his hands. The humiliation, the dishonor, and the worry of how to repay the compounding debt, ate at the heart of Archenland like poison.
"What insult?" said Cor, still frowning. "It doesn't matter who you borrowed from; you pay whoever holds the debt when it comes due."
Corin gripped the merlons with white knuckles to keep himself from punching his brother's face. "You can't sell your word of honor," he said tightly. "If you don't know the person who holds your debt or who owes you recompense, how can you trust anyone to repay anything?"
"Because that's how business works. Besides, the imperial auditors oversee the harbors and markets to enforce the laws and punish debt-breakers," said Cor. "I still think Father should do something about that in Archenland. Honor is silk, but law is steel."
Now he was quoting Calormene aphorisms.
"How did Father and Grandfather pay back the debt?" asked Cor. "I've seen the accounts; the treasury is full."
Corin grinned. "Now that's a story! Haven't you listened to the sea ballads the harpers sing? Calormene slavers had taken to buying children from the poorest refugees, and then to stealing once the famine eased. King Sol, our grandfather, issued letters of marque and reprisal, on condition that the captains would only intercept slave ships and free all their captives. In return, they kept whatever other cargo the slavers carried, less a percentage for the crown. Lots of younger sons went to sea until the slavers learned to leave us alone. I wish I could have helped them fight," he added, staring eastward toward the sea, invisible beyond the mountains.
Cor didn't answer. Curious, Corin turned and saw his brother's face had gone bloodless under his summer tan.
"Now what's wrong?" Corin asked.
"When I was seven," Cor said slowly, "a pirate fleet sailed into Firoz, the city south of my village. They killed the Tarkaan and the imperial governor, and raided up and down the coast. After a month the Tisroc sent an army to kill them and everyone who'd dealt with them."
"So?" said Corin.
Cor looked south, as if he could see that prison village despite the distance. "If the army had come two weeks later, I'd be dead. Arsheesh would have sold me to save himself and the army would've killed me with the pirates. I didn't realize then, but I can see it looking back."
"You still don't see what's wrong with Calormenes?" Corin demanded. "They would have murdered you."
"The pirates were northerners," Cor said, angry color flushing his cheeks. "They're nearly always northerners. Now I know why. Don't you see? Our grandfather paid sailors to raid certain ships under certain rules, but they learned they could make more profit by raiding anyone they pleased. That's why we called you barbarians, you know -- the pirates take everything they can carry and burn the rest. They take women and children, too. Maybe they started by freeing slaves, but they've been selling slaves for a long time now."
We, he said. That's why we called you barbarians. As if Cor were Calormene, and lawless, foresworn pirates were any true sons of Archenland.
"We aren't pirates," Corin said, raising his voice to keep himself from hitting something. "Grandfather would never have condoned piracy. Father doesn't. I don't. How can you lump us in with those monsters?"
"How can you lump Aravis in with Rabadash and the Tisroc?" Cor snapped back. He threw his hands into the air. "I give up. You're all mad. I'm going to find Aravis and the horses, and we'll elope into Narnia where nobody cares about her family. The Narnians will marry us, and the Great Council will have to live with it or make you heir again. Tell Father I'm sorry, but I made a promise to Aravis and I wouldn't be worthy of his throne if I broke my word to her."
Cor spun and clattered down the spiral stairs before Corin registered what he'd said and gave chase to his brother.
By the time he reached the bottom of the tower, Cor was long gone.
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Back to The Law That Makes Him King
Forward to You Can Choose Your Friends
Read the final version on ff.net. (Trust me, you want to read the final version. The journal version is a beta draft, with all the boneheaded mistakes that implies.)
---------------------------------------------
The ending is, obviously, too abrupt. If you have suggestions for smoothing it out, I would love to hear them!
As for the world-building... look, I really wasn't kidding when I said I was having trouble writing a story instead of an abridged dissertation on the history of Archenland. This is as compressed as I could get it and still make the points I think need to be made. If you have any ideas for trimming the exposition, I will love you forever and a day. Seriously.
Anyway. They have the same blood, same face, same home. So why can't Corin make Cor understand what it means to inherit Archenland? (1,825 words) And yes, this chapter's title was blatantly stolen from the Robert Frost poem.
---------------------------------------------
Mending Wall
---------------------------------------------
Corin led his brother up to the western watchtower, which looked out over the back of the castle toward the rich, green sweep of mountains and forest he'd seen nearly every day of his life. Before Cor had reappeared from his long might-as-well-be-dead absence, Corin used come up here and watch the wind in the trees every few weeks, to remind himself why he couldn't duck out of his responsibilities. The land didn't need people's presence; the plants and animals could get on with their lives perfectly well on their own. The land needed people to keep other humans out.
He set his hands on the edge of a crenel and pushed himself up to sit in the gap between two merlons. Cor leaned out through a gap on the opposite side, looking down at the steep roof of the great hall.
"Where do you want me to start?" Corin asked, mostly because he had no idea where to begin. How did you explain something you'd known your entire life? And how did Cor not know this already? Were the Calormenes so proud and blind that they didn't even realize everything they'd done through the generations?
"The beginning," said Cor, being monumentally unhelpful.
But Corin had promised not to hit him. He sighed. "Archenland was founded in the year 180, by King Col. He established the Great Council--"
"I know that," said Cor. "Skip to the parts about Calormen."
Corin pried a flake of loose stone from the slate cap of the merlon and threw it at his brother. "Fine. King Frank and Queen Helen were the first humans in the world, but in the old days people stumbled through gates all the time. Not everyone who fell into Narnia liked living with Talking Beasts, which is one reason people were willing to follow Col over the pass to Anvard. After a while, some of them decided to make Archenland a kingdom of men, not just a kingdom ruled by men. In the year 204, Col finally defeated them and the remnants fled south across the desert. But they'd done damage -- a lot of Beasts and other people didn't trust humans anymore. They went back to Narnia, which is why most Archenlanders are human, though we welcome all people."
Cor made a face. "That sounds nasty. But even if the rebels ended up in Calormen, I don't see why it matters today. Hardly any countries besides Archenland and Narnia welcome Talking Beasts."
"You're not listening," said Corin, tossing another piece of slate at Cor. "The rebels let the Calormenes know we existed. They learned our land might be worth taking. When Idrath Tarkaan united Calormen and declared himself Tisroc, the next thing he did was lead his army north."
Cor looked skeptical. "It couldn't have been any easier for him to bring soldiers across the desert than it is now."
"True. But Mergandy, Sarovence, and Telmar weren't proper countries then. Idrath moved his army one piece at a time and built forts as he went. How do you think Telmar was settled the first time? Then he marched east toward Archenland. No one could stand against him." Corin clenched his hand on the sharp-edged stone of the battlement, thinking of how close his country had come to disaster, both then and more recently. "The Calormenes were within ten miles of Anvard when Idrath's horse threw him as they crossed a gorge. Idrath died from the fall and Prince Ziranool rushed home to fight his brother for the throne."
"The First Brothers' War," Cor murmured, eyes closed as if tracking a half-remembered bedtime story to its lair. His accent slipped further south than usual, into the lilting rhythms of turbaned merchants. "Fire and sword harried the land; no man lived to harvest. Famine and plague ravaged the land; no woman lived to succor. Achadith reaped a mountain of souls; no pity stayed her hand." He shook himself, snapping back to here and now. "The war was a disaster all around. What does it matter now?"
"It matters because Calormen nearly destroyed Archenland," said Corin, hating that he could hear a difference between his voice and his brother's. "Do you understand that? It wasn't just a war. It was almost the end of our country, our way of life. When the Tisroc takes a country, he doesn't let its laws and customs stand. He makes it into another piece of Calormen."
Cor frowned, turning a piece of slate around and around between his fingers. "I don't think that's as bad as you're making it out. The Tisroc and Tarkaans take rents and levies and the priests build temples to the nine gods, but nobody makes anyone give up their customs. You can worship any god you want. You can keep your own laws so long as they don't break the Tisroc's decrees. And no one can keep Aslan from going wherever he wants."
"Slavery," said Corin.
The slate stilled in Cor's hands, his fingers tightening around its edges. "Point," he conceded, after a long moment. "But Idrath World-Conquerer didn't take Archenland, and he died seven hundred years ago. The Great Council can't still be angry over that."
Despite himself, Corin laughed. "You have no idea. Father says we picked up grudges from the dwarves -- they hold them for sport, you know, like heirlooms. Someone always knows a song or a story to bring the insult back to life. But no, that's not the main problem. Mostly people hate Calormen because of the Long Winter."
Cor looked blank. It was a remarkably stupid expression on him, and Corin made a note to avoid it himself. "I don't see what the Winter has to do with anything," Cor said after a long pause. "The refugees stayed here, sailed to the islands, or settled in the Western Wild. Even the humans didn't go to Calormen."
"Who'd want to?" Corin asked, rhetorically. "But before the refugees left or settled in the western and southern marches, how do you think King Tellin fed twice the people Archenland was ready to support?"
"By importing food," said Cor, frowning. "That must have... oh. Right. Archenland went into debt. To Calormen? If you hate Calormenes, why give them any hold on you?"
"We only borrowed from Galma and the Seven Isles," Corin said hotly. "Great-Grandfather gave his word of honor to their bankers and they agreed in person on the terms. Then the bankers sold our debt to Calormenes without asking Great-Grandfather's permission. The Calormene merchants expected us to act as if we'd made agreements with them when they hadn't even met Great-Grandfather. They sold our debt on to the Tisroc, as if the insult meant nothing."
By King Tellin's death, Calormen might not have conquered Archenland in battle, but the Tisroc owned the land -- he held the honor of king and country in his hands. The humiliation, the dishonor, and the worry of how to repay the compounding debt, ate at the heart of Archenland like poison.
"What insult?" said Cor, still frowning. "It doesn't matter who you borrowed from; you pay whoever holds the debt when it comes due."
Corin gripped the merlons with white knuckles to keep himself from punching his brother's face. "You can't sell your word of honor," he said tightly. "If you don't know the person who holds your debt or who owes you recompense, how can you trust anyone to repay anything?"
"Because that's how business works. Besides, the imperial auditors oversee the harbors and markets to enforce the laws and punish debt-breakers," said Cor. "I still think Father should do something about that in Archenland. Honor is silk, but law is steel."
Now he was quoting Calormene aphorisms.
"How did Father and Grandfather pay back the debt?" asked Cor. "I've seen the accounts; the treasury is full."
Corin grinned. "Now that's a story! Haven't you listened to the sea ballads the harpers sing? Calormene slavers had taken to buying children from the poorest refugees, and then to stealing once the famine eased. King Sol, our grandfather, issued letters of marque and reprisal, on condition that the captains would only intercept slave ships and free all their captives. In return, they kept whatever other cargo the slavers carried, less a percentage for the crown. Lots of younger sons went to sea until the slavers learned to leave us alone. I wish I could have helped them fight," he added, staring eastward toward the sea, invisible beyond the mountains.
Cor didn't answer. Curious, Corin turned and saw his brother's face had gone bloodless under his summer tan.
"Now what's wrong?" Corin asked.
"When I was seven," Cor said slowly, "a pirate fleet sailed into Firoz, the city south of my village. They killed the Tarkaan and the imperial governor, and raided up and down the coast. After a month the Tisroc sent an army to kill them and everyone who'd dealt with them."
"So?" said Corin.
Cor looked south, as if he could see that prison village despite the distance. "If the army had come two weeks later, I'd be dead. Arsheesh would have sold me to save himself and the army would've killed me with the pirates. I didn't realize then, but I can see it looking back."
"You still don't see what's wrong with Calormenes?" Corin demanded. "They would have murdered you."
"The pirates were northerners," Cor said, angry color flushing his cheeks. "They're nearly always northerners. Now I know why. Don't you see? Our grandfather paid sailors to raid certain ships under certain rules, but they learned they could make more profit by raiding anyone they pleased. That's why we called you barbarians, you know -- the pirates take everything they can carry and burn the rest. They take women and children, too. Maybe they started by freeing slaves, but they've been selling slaves for a long time now."
We, he said. That's why we called you barbarians. As if Cor were Calormene, and lawless, foresworn pirates were any true sons of Archenland.
"We aren't pirates," Corin said, raising his voice to keep himself from hitting something. "Grandfather would never have condoned piracy. Father doesn't. I don't. How can you lump us in with those monsters?"
"How can you lump Aravis in with Rabadash and the Tisroc?" Cor snapped back. He threw his hands into the air. "I give up. You're all mad. I'm going to find Aravis and the horses, and we'll elope into Narnia where nobody cares about her family. The Narnians will marry us, and the Great Council will have to live with it or make you heir again. Tell Father I'm sorry, but I made a promise to Aravis and I wouldn't be worthy of his throne if I broke my word to her."
Cor spun and clattered down the spiral stairs before Corin registered what he'd said and gave chase to his brother.
By the time he reached the bottom of the tower, Cor was long gone.
---------------------------------------------
Back to The Law That Makes Him King
Forward to You Can Choose Your Friends
Read the final version on ff.net. (Trust me, you want to read the final version. The journal version is a beta draft, with all the boneheaded mistakes that implies.)
---------------------------------------------
The ending is, obviously, too abrupt. If you have suggestions for smoothing it out, I would love to hear them!
As for the world-building... look, I really wasn't kidding when I said I was having trouble writing a story instead of an abridged dissertation on the history of Archenland. This is as compressed as I could get it and still make the points I think need to be made. If you have any ideas for trimming the exposition, I will love you forever and a day. Seriously.
