Nameless

The sun is just about to rise, as I climb the twisting, winding stairs of the castle’s tower. My lungs strain with the effort and my arms tremble with the weight of the bag I am carrying. The muscles in my frustratingly weak, human legs, already sore before I started climbing, strain. No matter how many times I trudge up these stairs, it never seems to get any easier. This morning however, I am grateful. The intense physical exertion forces any thoughts of Tora out of my head. Up, and up, and up I go. 

I make it to the top landing of the tower just as the first fiery fingers of dawn creep across the horizon. I can see the pale golden light filtering through the windows of the rounded room at the tower’s top, as I open the door from the stairwell. Ducking under the low frame, I walk across the floor and to another door- situated on the far east of the room. I lay my shoulder against the door, and push hard. It creaks loudly, and suddenly I am bathed in the most beautiful yellow and pink light. I clamber out onto the small deck, and plomp myself down on the cold stone floor. My woven sack lands beside me with an unceremonious crash and I wince. Sebait would not be pleased with that.

It used to unnerve me, the fact that a balcony so high up had no railing, or any form of protection against sometimes tumbling to their death. I’ve grown to appreciate the lack of barrier however, as it offers a completely unobstructed view of Nomi S’ikozi, for as far as my human eyes can see.

From my vantage point, one of the four highest points of the castle, I can see the Capital, spread out beneath me. A great wall surrounds the city, built hundreds of years ago. There are 5 gates that go in and out of the Capital. As old as the castle, and the Capital themselves are, the five gates were built less than a century ago. The iron of the eastern gate I’m focused on seems to gleam a cold pink, as the sun’s first rays kiss it. Somehow, the beauty of the sunrise makes the jagged metal teeth that line the bottom of the drawn-up gate look even more fearsome- a hungry iron mouth eager to crush anyone unwelcome.

Crossing my legs, back against the tower stone, I draw a large, delicately bound book from my back. The book is old, the pages starting to yellow and the writing growing faint. The binding has been rebound at least three times, from the looks of it. I trace a finger across the worn, brown leather cover. It’s hard to believe such a heavy, ancient book has lasted long enough to be bound 3 times.

Flicking the book open, I find the page I’m after. A map, drawn roughly by hand- detailing some of the landscapes in front of me. I draw a thin sheet of parchment and a pencil from my bag. I place the parchment over the drawing in the book, carefully aligning edge on edge. As the sun creeps higher, the land in front of me is thrown into a gorgeous light of pink, golds and yellows. For a moment, I pause. No matter how many mornings I spend up in the Castle’s towers, I never tire of this sunrise beauty. The change of the sky, gold and pink and yellow streaks. The light bathes the castle courtyards below me, and beyond the castle walls- every house, every alley, every tree, every market stand, and the countryside stretching far beyond the Capital’s walls. It feels as though I am the only one alive in this tranquil world. Tora would have loved this.

It feels like someone is squeezing my heart.

Drawing my attention back to my task, I force myself to study the open map in my hands. Each of the five Capital gates open into one of the five different regions of Nomi S’izoki. Each region, by design, is roughly equal in size, and they’re all situated to surround the Capital. Like slices of a pie, the regions are somewhat triangular, and each one of them has direct access to the Capital at their centre most tip. This was done by design. 

The Capital is where the Council holds government, and the Castle is the home of the Council and other important heads of industry. The main military base is also here, hence my being here with Dad and Frey. The Council is made up of two elected leaders from each of the five regions, and these ten members govern Nomi S’izoki. No singular Council member is higher in status than another, each of the 10 leaders have equal say in all matters of governing. This is law, undebatable. Not for over 100 years, since the land was torn apart by war. 

My finger traces the rough sketch of the map, as I let my mind immerse itself in the history I’ve been studying. Like the physical exertion, the mental distraction is a welcome relief. I’ve learnt that these last three years.

Men had started the wars 100 years ago, it was said. Driven by desire, greed, a hunger for power and a thirst for dominance, the country was torn apart in war and poverty for years and years and years. No male has ruled Nomi S’ikozi since. Our laws simply don't permit it. When it comes time for the five regions to elect their Council representatives, only female candidates can be considered. Not that the majority of males mind terribly, from what I hear. Council members surrender their rights to marry, own estates, and have families; they spend their lives in servitude of the Council, and of Nomi S’ikozi. 

My hand starts to sketch out the view in front of me- focusing on the area surrounding the Eastern gate.  I concentrate on outlining the gates on my map, capturing all the intricate details that the book beneath my parchment left out. I sketch the roads leading to the gate, the iron teeth of the gate itself, the great square just before it, and the road leading away. Carefully, I copy out the rough sketch of the marketplace from the book beneath my parchment, and then fill in the smaller details from the scene in front of me. The twisting alleyways, the entrances to the drains beneath the city, the different roofs and chimneys. Each section of the map takes me at least five mornings, and I’ve saved the eastern gate till last. I want to savour this morning sunlight, to draw out this task for a little longer, if I can. As my pencil dances and skips across the page, I feel the crease in my brow soften. I relax into the careful rhythm of my mapping, until the memory of my nightmare is faded, safely tucked away in the recesses of my mind.

A cool breeze drafts past me, and wisps of my hair dance before my eyes. Impatiently, I tuck the tawny strands behind my ears- and turn my head to the north, the origin of the cold wind. Directly north of the Capital lies the Wolf territory. This is the coldest of the regions, and the wolves were honoured in their claim to this area as they’re by far the best suited to the climate. In warmer months the wolf creatures can transition between their human and their wolf forms, however in the bitter cold of winter most remain in wolf form for months- opting to ride out the freezing temperatures with the protection of thick fur coats. I wouldn’t mind having a fur coat right now, while waiting for the sun to rise fully.

Despite the name of the region, some humans do live in the southernmost part of Wolf Territory, near the Capital’s wall. Humans like my dad, and like I did for the first 19 years of my life. The southern part doesn’t get as bitterly cold as the north, but still, the last two years I’ve spent in the Capital have been the only years of my life where I didn't seriously wonder if I would lose a toe to frostbite.

I’ve heard the Southern regions are much warmer, even becoming almost unbearably hot near the border of Nomi S’ikozi and the Red Sands Desert. The heat near the border is said to be blistering; so intense that no wolves can even go near. From where I sit in the tower, even squinting south, I cannot see the beginnings of the Red Sands- it is too far for my human eyes. Nobody from any of the five regions has entered the Red Sand Desert in living memory, to do so is a death sentence. Those who do have been said to meet horrible, painful, mutilated ends, theatrically told, and have never returned.

Although, I reflect wryly, my pencil moving deftly across the page, someone had to have made it back to spread all the tavern tales of sphinxes, griffins and other terrible creatures that keep little children up at night.

Nearly two hours later the sun has fully risen, my drawing hand is cramping, and my tummy rumbling. Sitting back against the sun-warmed stone tower, I observe my work. I’ll never win any artist awards, but what I’ve drawn is accurate, detailed, and hopefully to Sebait’s satisfaction. Carefully, I tuck the parchment between the yellowed pages, close the old book, and stand, stretching. 

Back down the tower, all those thousands of stairs. Breakfast better be substantial.