MAP OF THE CITIES OF THE REALM OF NARHETSIKOBON

The Mothers of BroduhoduThonu gather beneath the moonlight. They sit in the Birch Courtyard, far removed from the tehibemi. The city of Pātsäseki had benefited from the reign of Narhetsikobon, it is true—the growth in trade benefits all the Mothers, and so too has the expanded taxes and corvée. The nidnjanarān built in the bay are just one rather visible example of this.

Narhetsikobon has not been as gracious as they claim their path dictates, however. The taxes they so conveniently collect go first to sustain the tehibemi which crop up throughout the land like cancers; and the ‘advisors’ sent to ‘guide’ the city in its affairs increasingly speak both first and last. It’s all well for them to speak as to the path—the Kacätasäla are well read and frequently quite wise, but to dictate last is to usurp the honour and authority of the mothers.

Kacätahamä is all the worse. They clomp around as if they own the place. The Melisālänēn is not even appointed by the mothers of Pātsäseki anymore—rather, a new favourite of the Mothers in Narhetsikobon appoint him for them.

Narhetsikobon was supposed to simply speak-last of the cities of the path, not to dictate without discussion.

And these ill-mannered men seem not to know their place. The Melisārätōn is frequently even worse: deciding for the mothers what is to be built, rather than enacting the wishes of the mothers. It is intolerable.

BroduhoduThonu is a great clan. Their kilns produce intricate tilework prized even by the pompous Mothers of Narhetsikobon. Their woodworkers and bowmen are perhaps the greatest in duHōdju, if the path allows for a little vanity.

But how can a clan be great, how can a city be great, if these robed rats keep usurping their authority?

PelihemiThemi was never the greatest of the clans of Boturomenji. The city’s fall to Narhetsikobon did not harm the clan as much as those in DjamäThanä said it would—or as much as Narhetsikobon harmed them.

In truth, many sons of Pelihemi ended up advancing far in their Kacätsadramä, and many returned to Boturomenji as servants of KobuThonu.

NaräthātsäThanä shared a similar experience—what felt apocalyptic proved to be less of a change than expected.

Sure, the Temple of the Soldier demanded a few years of paddy-labour—but it does demonstrate the glory of the great city of Boturomenji. And a second-feather is as beautiful as the first-feather in the hair of a well-behaved husband.

Still, the demands of the tehibemi have increased in scope over the past two dozen years.

Each year the tehibemi seems to expect more labour from their clan. Each year the tehibemi seems to expect more in tax.

It is true, the choice to pace the tracks to the inland villages was a stroke of genius. The path demands clear paths, after all. But so much time and labour spent connecting tehibemi, while the Mothers of the clan could have put those hands to work on tobacco or spices.

The worst of it, however, is having their children taken from them for twelve years—service to the path, they call it, yet it’s really service to KobuThonu. The path is corrupted by these greedy mothers. Even worse, the Mothers of KobuThonu presume to arrange marriages for their daughters. After three years training as a scribe or weaver or potter in Narhetsikobon, a daughter returns with a low-born husband who’s just now finishing his period in Kacätahamä. And yet she raves about the luxuries of the capital, all while saddled next to a decrepit wreck at twenty-eight solstices. What’s a mother to think?

Yes, Narhetsikobon may take our taxes, but they have no right to take our daughters.

Rheripadrämarä is a queer city. For one, the majority of the inhabitants were born featherless—even if those who finished their Kacätsadramä received pseudo-feathers. Second, it’s a young city. The influence of its tehibemi looms large, with its square blocks and regular wells. The winding warrens of the old cities are banished to within the blocks of white-washed brick.

It’s also a clean city, with regular sewage ditches draining into the lake—thankfully emptied by the frequent rains.

The voices of the city are varied—Rhadäma, Menidān, and more barbaric tongues can all be heard.

It is also a city without Great Mothers. Yes, it is true the Mothers of the clans present hold courts in their gardens, but these are little more than ins or pottery-workshops. They do not weigh in on law or governance. Those realms are entirely within the power of the tehibemi. Entirely within the power of Narhetsikobon.

Other cities are like this too. The new ones developed around the tehibemi and brought prosperity by the peace and stability afforded by the dominion of Narhetsikobon. Sekinenjobru, Thobrutsokuko, and Rheripadrämarä all began as tehibemi. And all serve as host for large garrisons.

Of course, life so far from the capital is a little more relaxed—in part it means that talent and work leads to advancement, rather than birth, in part it means that leaders can look the other way when convenient. Still, prosperity walks a simple path.