Brothers of Kalathan: The Kalathan Chronicles, #2

By Kate le Roux

Identical twin brothers Jandrin and Jameth are representing the royal family of Kalathan in hot, muggy, Cedropolis when they uncover a plot against the young Empress, Lydia. While Jandrin's passion for a beautiful girl earns him the fury of a powerful man, homesick Jameth enlists the help of burly exile Korbin and the mysterious, dutiful Mira, in the hope of saving both the life of the Empress and the hopes of the oppressed masses of the Great Western Empire. 

 

This book is a clean, romantic adventure with Christian themes, sutable for young adults as well as adult readers. 

 

The Kalathan Chronicles:

Kalathan - an isolated land established by Germanic conquerors of Eastern peoples, a land of snowy mountains, fertile plains and vast lakes, dominated by a powerful Temple, is about to discover the rest of the great Continent. The series follows the six sons of the King of Kalathan and the family of the devilclaw Trina as an unexpected journey across the bounds of their land begins to open it up to adventure, danger and redemption. All novels and novellas in the series are clean romantic adventures with Christian themes. 

 

This book is the second in the series. The Curse of Kalathan should be read first. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate le Roux
• Release date: Dec 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201241544

Kate le Roux

Kate le Roux lives in Cape Town, South Africa, where if she stands on tiptoes she can just about see Table Mountain from her kitchen window. She grew up on a diet of CS Lewis, LM Montgomery and Louisa May Alcott, and since being allowed into the Young Adult section at the local library at the age of thirteen she still hasn't really left. She spent a good number of years marking mostly horrible English essays and getting high school kids to act out bits of Shakespeare which she loved, leaving only to focus on being a mom to four crazy kids.

Book preview

Chapter 2

"O h come on , Hadrus! Jandrin said, as his opponent dropped his sword and bent over double, leaning on his knees as he gasped for breath. You can't tell me you’re tired already!"

I ... can’t keep up with you, panted the boy, wiping his pale face with his sleeve, his dark hair already wet with perspiration. You’re older than I am, Jandrin, and taller too! Jameth, watching his brother and the Empirian youth from where he leant against the fence of the palace sparring ring, smiled to himself. Hadrus was only seventeen, and at least a head shorter than the twins. He was, in fact, a contrast to them in almost every way – his hair black and short where theirs was golden and long on their collars, his skin much darker than theirs, his shoulders narrow and his skinny arms lacking the strength necessary to be any good at swordplay. Despite his status as the Empress Lydia’s first cousin and only blood relative, he lacked confidence and had followed the princes around like an adoring puppy since they had arrived early in the summer three months before. The more Jandrin treated him like an annoying insect, the more he begged and wheedled to ride and hunt with them, and to accompany them on sightseeing trips and diplomatic visits whenever his controlling father, Natius, would allow him. Jameth did not mind – he was used to having younger brothers around and he had to admit that being forced to communicate with Hadrus had vastly improved his shaky Empirian. But it did seem that the more Jandrin teased and insulted him, the more he seemed to crave their company.

You are heir to the throne of the Empire, you weasel! Jandrin poked at Hadrus’ arm with his practice sword, making him cringe backwards. Pick that up and fight! What kind of a man are you, collapsing like a grandfather after five minutes? What would you do in a real battle?

I’m tired! Hadrus whined, stepping backwards away from Jandrin. Fight with your brother for a while and let me rest. I’ll try again when I’ve caught my breath, I promise!

All right, Jandrin said, shaking his head. He stepped forward to pick up the sword that Hadrus had dropped on the ground and held it out to Jameth. Your turn, Jay. Show this rodent how it’s done.

Jameth hopped down from the fence, taking the sword. Easy on him, Jan, he said, quietly, in Kalath so that Hadrus wouldn’t understand. As you said, he’s the heir. Perhaps you shouldn’t be calling him names.

I still can’t believe that squirrel is Lydia’s only relation, Jandrin said grumpily, looking over to where Hadrus was standing with one of the palace servants, his hand over his chest as if he was still struggling to breathe. "God help the Empire if something happens to her and they put a crown on his head."

Jameth tossed the sword up into the air a little, testing the weight and catching it deftly. It’s not as if he would actually rule himself, he said, putting his weak arm behind his back and bending his knees slightly to face his brother. Not until he’s older, surely.

That’s what makes me so mad, Jandrin said, lunging towards him. Jameth stepped back quickly, avoiding the blow and swiping at Jandrin’s side in one agile movement. He’s not a bad fellow really, but I can't see him ever being able to stand up to his father. And Natius— Jandrin attacked again, almost managing to make contact with Jameth’s chest this time, will be a tyrant worse than Cedric.

Strong words, brother, Jameth said. His bad arm was aching and burning as it did most of the time, and he had to concentrate hard not to let it distract him. Before his injury he and Jandrin had been so equally matched they hardly bothered to keep track. Now, even though his wounds had healed and he had returned to what appeared to most people to be full health, holding his own against his brother in the sparring ring was a distant memory. He kept it up for a few minutes before he stepped away, shaking his head. Sorry, Jan, he said, as a cramp seized his stomach, forcing him to drop the sword and lean on the fence.

Jandrin dropped his own sword and approached. What is it? he asked. Your arm?

Jameth shook his head, straightening slowly as the spasm passed. No. The pain was bad last night so I took two drops of kamsinth instead of one. Sometimes this happens when I do that. He turned away from Jandrin again as another spasm gripped him, not wanting his brother to see his face.

Jameth? Hadrus had come over now too. Should I ask Grigor to fetch a doctor?

No, no! Jameth took a deep breath and stood up straight again, but he felt dizzy and light-headed. He kept a firm hold of the fence pole. No doctors. It’s just the medicine for my pain disagreeing with me a little. I’ll be all right in a moment.

Enough fencing for today, Hadrus, Jandrin said curtly, waving his hand at the boy. Ask Grigor to show you some exercises to strengthen your arms and we can try again another day. Perhaps you should ask the armory for a lighter sword, too.

Hadrus seemed to get the message, turning his disappointed face away from them.

Lords go back to apartment? asked the young servant, Grigor, who despite the fact that the brothers could converse reasonably well in Empirian insisted on speaking to them in his broken Kalath. He had learnt it, he said, at his previous job in a Kalath-style tea house, and he enjoyed speaking it. I bring something? He pushed his floppy dark hair out of his face, which was rather unfortunately always covered in uncomfortable-looking red spots.

Yes, thank you, Jameth said. Perhaps you could arrange some tea, Grigor. And some of that soup you got me yesterday.

Grigor nodded enthusiastically, rushing off to pick up the swords to return to the armory. You go home, lords! he called, as he clutched them to his chest. I bring food!

Jandrin and Jameth walked back towards the palace side by side, Jameth thinking that he had been unwise to try to fence today. His stomach was still tender, his arm and shoulder aching worse than usual as they made their way up the steps leading towards the three-storey block of apartments surrounding the square that bordered the vast palace.  They stopped to sit for a moment on the edge of the huge square fountain in the centre. Jameth leant over to dip his hands in the water and splash his face.

I’m worried about you, brother, Jandrin said, as they sat side by side looking out over the enormous arches that held up the stone building which had been their home for the past three months. You were doing so well, but you’ve got thinner since you started taking those herbs.

I was hardly sleeping, Jan, Jameth said, remembering how he had paced his bedroom through the long, lonely hours, incessant burning pain preventing anything more than a few restless hours of fitful dozing. Until Mother found that priest who gave me the kamsinth I was desperate.

But you can't take it forever! Jandrin looked so concerned that Jameth had to look away. When was the last time you ate a proper meal?

I don't know, Jameth said. But you don't understand, Jan. Kamsinth is the only thing that has ever helped me sleep. You remember – all the healers and potions and cleansings – nothing helped. You can't imagine what it was like before this. He put his hand into his pocket and brought out the tiny glass bottle of opaque brown liquid. Even now, looking at it made him long for evening, when he could take his tumbler of water, add one, or perhaps two magical drops, watch them swirl their darkness through the water for a few seconds, then drink. It was terribly bitter, and most days he woke with the taste of it still in his mouth, but it was a small price to pay for the blessed weight of the lethargy that overtook him once he had drunk it.

You need to stop taking it, Jandrin said.

Jameth looked up, towards the old stone tower where he and his brothers had been imprisoned almost two years before. Well, I can’t, he said, after a while. Do you know there was a night where I climbed up into the east tower of the palace at home and sat on the windowsill of that room at the top? I must have been there for an hour before I changed my mind.

What? Jandrin stared at him, appalled. You never told me that!

I wanted to die, Jameth said. That’s how crazy I felt. Kamsinth has saved me. A sore stomach feels like a small price to pay for sleep. I can live with pain during the day, when I know there will be relief at night. I can’t stop, Jan. You mustn't ask me again.

Jandrin did not reply for a while. He sat, arms folded, frowning. Maybe your body will adjust, he said, eventually. Maybe your stomach will get used to it.

That’s what I hope every day.

If we were at home I would go to the Temple and pray for you, Jandrin said, his voice faltering a little as he said it. I would ask the Spirit of Victory to help you to triumph over your pain.

Jameth hung his head, still holding the bottle in his hand. Thank you, Jan, he said, quietly. But I don't believe God, or the Spirit, would do anything for me. I survived what happened on the battlefield, and I should be grateful for that.

"You came back from the dead, Jay, Jandrin said fiercely. I’ll take you any way, as long as you’re alive."

Jameth closed his eyes. It was hard to think about the despair he had felt that night on the windowsill and many times since. Kamsinth had helped, but he still lived with pain and loss every day. To look at Jandrin now, to see his brother strong and well and whole, his fingers moving nimbly over the frets of a lute, controlling a spirited horse with both strong arms, putting on his shirt and doing up the buttons without a struggle, was like looking at a ghost of himself, at the man he would never be. He did not resent it, and he meant it when he said he was grateful to be alive, but it was still hard to accept what he had become.

The brothers sat in silence for a while, and when Jameth opened his eyes and looked up he saw that they were no longer alone. Kilian, their Empirian tutor and translator, stood a few paces away, hands behind his back. His dark hair always neatly combed, his black and purple palace uniform so perfectly neat and pressed that Jandrin had once joked that he probably stood dead still in a corner most of the day to prevent creases, he was a stark contrast to the permanently hurried, often scruffy Grigor.

What do you want? Jandrin asked harshly, swiping quickly at his eyes.

I have a message for you, Kilian said, in Kalath, his usually blank expression darkening; omitting, as usual, to address them by their titles.

Spit it out then. Jandrin stood up. We don't have all day.

The Empress requests your company this evening after dinner, Kilian said. In her private chambers. She asks that you bring your parcha board. He said it as if the words tasted bad in his mouth, and reached up to pat at his hair, his small black eyes flashing.

Aha, Jandrin said, rubbing his hands together and winking mischievously at his brother. "She wants to see us, Jay! In her private chambers!"

I doubt ... Kilian began, although he stopped when he saw Jandrin’s face.

You doubt what? Jandrin snapped, stepping forward towards Kilian.

Nothing, Kilian said, holding his rather weak chin up high. I simply ask that you speak respectfully of the Empress.

Oh, I respect the Empress. Jandrin took another step closer to Kilian, glaring down at him. Kilian was not as short as Hadrus or Grigor, but Jandrin was still taller. "The question is whether or not you respect me. You seem to have forgotten to use proper address."

I apologise, Kilian said, coldly, pausing before he added: My lord.

You’re not sorry at all, Jandrin said. And we won’t be needing a lesson this afternoon. My brother is not well and I am tired of learning pointless lists of farm animals and irregular verbs.

But Madame–

Madame can go and jump in the river, Jandrin said, rudely. We don't want a lesson today and that’s that. Now go back to the kitchen or wherever you came from.

Jan, Jameth said, feeling sorry for the poor young man. He had done well to teach them Empirian, even though he was a clerk in the counting house and not a teacher, and had already endured more than his share of Jandrin’s terrible attitude. Jandrin was upset now, and it was making him behave even worse. Enough.

I did not come from the kitchen, Kilian said, his tone icy. I was–

Oh yes, I forgot, Jandrin said, impatiently. You single-handedly ran the finances of the entire Empire from your little desk.

Come, Jameth said, pulling Jandrin away. Thank you, Kilian. We will be there after dinner with our parcha board. He tried to smile reassuringly at Kilian, but Jandrin began to walk off so fast that he had to trot to keep up.

Wait, Jan, he said, as they neared the ground floor door of their apartment.

Idiot, Jandrin was saying, as he pulled open the door and took the steps up to the living room on the first floor two at a time. By the time Jameth had walked up, he was lying on the sofa, hands up behind his head.

You don't need to be so rude to him, Jameth sighed, sinking gratefully down into a comfortable chair.

Stupid cursed half-breed, Jandrin said. His mother is a devilclaw exile and his father a low-born Empirian. He should be grateful that I speak to him at all. Now where is Grigor with your soup? You are going to eat it, brother, even if I have to feed it to you myself." He sprang up again.

Jameth leant back on the chair and closed his eyes, hands on his stomach. The palace kitchens made a decent soup but what he really wanted was a bowl of tiprashka, the chicken stew with soft dumplings he and his brothers had eaten in their own palace nursery as children. He could almost taste it now, salty and savoury, perfectly spiced. He wanted to sit across from his mother as she poured tea for him, to talk to her about how he was feeling, to ask her advice on how to manage Jandrin and his embarrassing arrogance. He wanted to walk through the grassy courtyards among the roses, breathing in their fragrance. He wanted to speak Kalath, not Empirian which he felt had no poetry to it, no subtlety. He was managing better all the time, but it was tiring to be constantly translating in his head. Just another few months, he thought to himself, picturing the return journey down the river from Fahlat. They could stop at the herb market in Dehras to restock his kamsinth.

Ah, home – he longed for it, but at the same time he knew that wherever he was, here in Cedropolis or in Kalathan with his family around him, his struggles would follow him. He would always have his scars, and his pain. He would never again hold a flute or a lute, never sleep without kamsinth, never again slip his arm around the waist of a pretty court girl to pull her close on the dance floor. He could barely dress himself or hold a fork at the dinner table. Who could ever love him, scarred and damaged as he was? His old pursuits seemed empty now. Victory did not bring peace, and plenty could not satisfy. He was as useless here as he would be anywhere else.

When Jandrin returned with Grigor, Jameth sat up and put on a cheerful face, forcing down the soup and pretending to enjoy it. He drank his glass of warm, fragrant white-bell tea, its smooth sweetness calming his stomach. But when Jandrin left later to ride out with Hadrus, leaving him to rest before dinner at the palace and the appointment with Lydia, he sat in the window staring out over the spires and towers of the city, aching with loneliness and loss.

Chapter 3

Mira lifted her head , her voice joining the others in song. The music, just unaccompanied voices raised in a familiar hymn, filled the simple wooden building, any lack of refinement quite made up for with sincerity. She always enjoyed church, but it was the singing she loved the best, the way simple songs could lift her spirit, words and music working together to teach her, comfort her, inspire her. Korbin was on her left, his arms folded, his attention focussed on the plain wooden cross mounted on the wall in front of them. Prisca was on her right, her strong, clear voice ringing out above Mira’s own.

Isn’t this strange? she whispered to Mira between songs, her long earrings dangling, her colourful headscarf tied tidily over her head as usual. Church in the middle of the week, in the afternoon!

Mira nodded, looking down at her best dress, the short-sleeved dark blue one with an embroidered bodice and lacings of pretty twisted braid. It was strange to be dressed up when it wasn’t Sunday, but she had decided that the occasion demanded it. Somehow in between hearing the news and succeeding in getting Korbin to agree to shut the shop for the day to let her come along to the village, Prisca had managed to get back to her small apartment near the tea house and put on her best clothes too, her finery decidedly brighter and more colourful than Mira’s. At twenty-five she was childless and already a widow, but she had not in all the years Mira had known her ever let that get in the way of looking smart and cheerful. So the Eastern Tea House had been closed on this seemingly insignificant weekday afternoon, its proprietor and staff five miles away after a bumpy ride in the wagon, standing in front of rough benches, singing thanks to God for answering the prayers of lifetimes.

As they sang Mira looked around her, studying the faces of the forty or so people who had flocked to the church when they had heard the news. Most were Kalath exiles, others their local families. There had been much excited talking, many unanswered questions, and not a few tears. And now that the initial surprise and shock had subsided, the atmosphere was one of sweet thankfulness and relief. Even the children were quiet, the little ones leaning soft heads on the shoulders of their tearful parents as if to comfort them. This was a momentous change for Kalathan, but how it would impact the community of exiles practically was less clear. There was freedom now to return to Kalathan as a devilclaw, but as far as any of them knew it was still against the law to practice Christianity.  But there was hope now – hope that if one impossible wish had come true, the other might too, some day. Perhaps it meant that the hold the Temple faith held over the king and the state was loosening, and that could only be good news for those who had had either the courage or the misfortune to have fallen foul of one or the other.

After the service, Mira and Prisca walked the short distance to old Uncle Lastis’ little wooden house on his small farm while Korbin drove Lastis and his wife Erma in the wagon. Still tired and dozy after her busy night, Mira enjoyed the breezy stroll over the sandy paths through the grey-green scrub, through the grove of olive trees that the old man had planted years before. Although she still felt very ambivalent about it all, she was excited for her friends, and encouraged in her own hope that slavery in the Empire would be abolished one day just as suddenly.

Did Korbin say anything about returning? Prisca asked as they approached the house. I haven’t stopped wondering about that ever since I heard the news, but I didn’t want to just ask him.

He said he had made a new life here, Mira said. And that he would not leave me here masterless.

Of course he would say that, Prisca said, fondly. Has there ever been a time that man has not done or said just exactly the right thing?

Mira shook her head. But I feel he will want to, Prisca, perhaps not yet but some day. He left his family there – how can he not want to see them again?

Oh child! Prisca said, turning to Mira as they reached the open front door, and taking hold of her shoulders. You left loved ones behind there too, remember. I was born here; I have Empirian family but you—

No, Mira interrupted, shaking her head. My loved ones are gone. There’s nothing there for me, Prisca. The only life I have is here.

Prisca looked as if she wanted to say something but she was prevented by the appearance of their host, who had put on a faded yellow turban and a pair of positively ancient-looking tall boots in honour of the occasion. Such wonderful news! he said to them, clasping Mira’s hands, his eyes dewy with emotion. That God has spared me to see this day! I am so blessed!

Yes, Uncle, Mira said, laughing at the picture he made. You look so handsome in your Kalath clothes.

I’m so glad today that I don't even mind that it’s too late for an old devilclaw like me, he said, moving to Prisca and clasping her hands too.

But it’s sad too, Uncle, Prisca said. So many of our friends will leave. Karatas just won’t be the same any more.

Mira nodded. Already three of the little girls she taught in her Sunday class had said their families would be travelling to Kalathan as soon as they could arrange it. She could not imagine the little church so empty.

Lastis shook his head. We will miss them, yes. But they must go home, if they can, and take the faith back to Kalathan. The Lord will use this, girls, to bless our homeland. Now come in, come in!

Mira tried to smile, for his sake, as they entered the living room, colourfully decorated with scrap quilts and Lastis’ many carvings. Prisca went off to the kitchen to help Erma, while Mira and Lastis sat down on the prettily engraved bench beneath the one large window.

Now Mira, Lastis said, when he was comfortable, his watery blue eyes looking tenderly into hers. If Korbin goes home, so can you.

No, Uncle, she said, shaking her head. This is my home. And I have work to do here.

But sweetheart, he said. In Kalathan you will be free. It will not be difficult to get you across the border.

I am free now, Uncle, in every way that matters, she said. And even if I can be free somewhere else, there are those here in the city who do not have that chance.

Ah yes, he said. Your sewing club.

Yes. Mira smiled. Where very little sewing ever happens.

You do not wish to leave them.

It’s not that I don't wish to, she said. "It’s just that ... when we manage to help someone, I feel that I am doing what I was meant to do. When I find a doctor to help a slave who is sick, when I am part of finding donations to feed and clothe the masterless, when we rescue an abandoned baby or help someone to escape, then my life means something. How will I find that in Kalathan?"

There are many in Kalathan who need aid, child.

Not aid that I could give. I would be a stranger there.

I hear you, the old man said, nodding slowly. I am too old to make the journey on my own or with my dear wife, but I would love to see the mountains again, just one more time before I die.

Well, I am staying, Uncle, Mira said. And remember – there is hope for the future of the Empire, now that Lydia is the Empress.

We must pray for her, Lastis said. She is just a girl, and the changes she hopes to bring will not be unchallenged.

She is brave, Uncle, Mira said, thinking of the small, delicate-featured woman she had seen a few times in the public square in the short time since her coronation. She had been quite struck by how similar Lydia was to herself, in age and appearance, and had felt so hopeful when she had heard her speak, her child-like voice ringing out across the crowd, promising justice and peace for every nation in her Empire. She spoke about ending slavery in her last speech.

An excellent, yet dangerous ambition, child, Lastis said, raising his eyebrows.

I do pray for her, Uncle, Mira said, earnestly. Every day!

No doubt she needs it, Lastis said, scratching at his hair beneath the turban. Now come out to the coop to see my new baby chicks before our celebratory dinner. You always loved them when you were a child and Korbin brought you here to stay with us.

Mira got up to follow him. How strange it was to see him in a turban, and those odd boots! It reminded her that Kalathan was an alien place, and that life there would be nothing at all like life here. The thought of having to choose between following Korbin there, and remaining in the Empire without him made her feel ill. As she crouched down in the chicken coop, careful not to dirty her dress, she picked up a baby chick with shaking hands and held it against her cheek, feeling a little like a fraud.

Chapter 4

After lunch Mira wandered down to the beach alone. She sat in the shade of the gnarled, leafy bushes at the edge of the sand, her feet bare, the strong breeze whipping her hair around her face. When the dinner was over Lastis had begun to warble out some Kalath folk songs, joined enthusiastically by Prisca and some other neighbours who had dropped in, but she had not wanted to join them. And she did love to be by the sea, to smell the salt in the air and let the gentle sound of the waves soothe her soul. She was just thinking that she would like to have a swim and had got up to walk back to the house to fetch her swimming clothes, when she saw that she was not alone.

Kilian! She wondered how long he had been standing there, only a few feet away from her. I thought you would be working today.

He shook his head. Not today, he said. Madame gave me a day off. I need it, after all the trouble those princes cause me.

Mira stood still, wondering what to say. Kilian was Prisca’s brother and she knew him reasonably well –  he had worked at the tea house for a year before getting the clerk job at the palace. He was nothing like his sister – Prisca was energetic, affectionate and kind to everyone around her. She sang as she worked, cleaned like a demon and prided herself on being able to make pastries that rivalled those of the city's best bakeries. Where Prisca had vitality and energy, Mira thought, Kilian had colder, harder ambition. They were both dark-haired with small black eyes and rather sharp noses, but the resemblance ended there.

Did you come ... to swim? she asked, feeling silly even as she said it. She knew very well that Kilian did not like the sea.

No, he said. I came to Karatas today to celebrate the news but also ... I was hoping for a chance to speak to you. Alone.

Why? She could not think of any reason that Kilian might want to speak to her alone.

Please, he said, gesturing to the sand. Shall we sit?

Mira sat, her legs folded, her back straight. She did not have a good feeling about this at all.

I should probably have spoken to Korbin first, he said, settling himself gingerly on the sand. The wind whipped his hair in front of his face, and he pushed it back, impatiently. I hope he doesn't mind.

Why would he mind? she asked, very confused. You know Korbin isn’t that kind of master.

Oh of course, of course, Kilian said. It’s just ... I want to do this the right way. That has always been my aim.

Always?

When I got the job at the palace, I saw it as my chance, he said. I planned to work hard and move up the ranks until I could provide for you.

He looked at Mira expectantly. She said nothing, too shocked to respond.

Having to translate for and tutor the princes has put a halt to my hopes of advancement for now, he said. But I have reason to believe that when they return to Kalathan in the autumn I will be offered a better position. I will continue to work as well as I can until my station is suitable.

And then? Mira thought she knew now what he was trying to say, but she could not believe it.

Then I will ask you to marry me, Mira.

How, she marveled, even in her astonishment, could he say that so easily, so glibly, as if it were not a ridiculous thing? I thought you knew, she said, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Surely you know that is impossible for me?

Of course I know there are obstacles, Kilian said. But many slaves find a way, Mira. And there is talk that Lydia will change the laws soon—

Obstacles? Mira’s feelings were beginning to shift from shock and surprise to anger. "Is that how you think of it? I am a slave, Kilian. I belong to Korbin by law, just as he owns his press or the tea house. Unless the laws change I can not marry. I thought everyone knew it."

"But you can, Mira! he said, shifting closer and turning his body towards her. We can marry in the church, even if the state doesn’t recognise it. We can be married before God.