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CHAPTER THREE

Jaydit couldn’t believe what was happening. A few moments ago, someone explained to her that she and 20 more people had been chosen as candidates to become the new queens of Curame. She looked around at her competitors. She saw some magic wielders, some psychics, even soldiers. But, they were all women. In past eras, women AND men ruled Curame. Maybe this time, the elders lost their trust in men. ‘After all,’ Jaydit thought as she took a seat by the wall, ‘the last male ruler we had, made one of the biggest mistakes a ruler could make… he started a war.’ The war, of course, was the war between the palace and Talagar. At one time, Talagar was a separate country. But, they decided to merge boundaries to become one nation. They could not agree however, and began to fight. It was this war, which cost Curame its kings and queens.
Jaydit watched as others walked in the door and were briefed on what was happening by “greeting people”. There wasn’t a real name for them, so that was how Jaydit referred to them. Jaydit closed her eyes to do a little math and figure out her chances of winning. ’20 competitors + me = 21 ÷ 7 queens = 3. Therefore me ÷ 3 = a 1 in 3 chance.’ It wasn’t bad. Jaydit was smart enough. Now confident that she would be one of 7, Jaydit opened her eyes and continued to watch people walk in the door.
The next three people to enter were a psychic and two young girls with “the eyes of the black night”. There was no way that immortal eyes were enough to get you into the running. There was something more. Looking around again, Jaydit did a quick head-count including herself, there were ’24 people – 3 greeting people = 21 people exactly.’ They were all there. Looking around again, there were 3 psychics with their eyes cut in half by a thin black line, 3 white haired magic wielders, 1 lazy girl from school, 5 people with “the eyes of the black night”, and 8 others Jaydit did not recognize nor categorize.
The Palace’s Grand Hall was spectacular. The floor was a white and grey polished marble. It was so shiny and polished, that Jaydit could see her double standing upside down under her feet, as well as the doubles of many of the people standing around her. The ceiling was about 25’ high and made out of the same material as the floor, but the greys of the stone were lighter than the floor. Light flooded into the room from a giant, circular skylight in the center of the ceiling. The glass of the skylight was tinted with a blue grey color, giving the hall a bright sense of power and good. The whole hall was circular and was probably close to 50’ in diameter. The walls were a white stone with several red drapes that were long enough to reach from the ceiling to the floor. Just below the skylight, there was a ring of silver thrones. Each throne was at least 10’ tall and the actual “seat” of the throne started about 5’ up. On the front of each throne, just below where a king or queen’s feet would go, there was the symbol of one of the sevenths of government.
The seven parts were psychic, magic, war, agriculture, treasury, civil rights, and Jaydit’s favorite, the department of science and education. In past eras, there would be one king or queen per seventh. And each ruler would control their part in their own way. In Jaydit’s opinion, this was the flaw in Curame’s government. If there were no real rules, eventually, the whole thing would fall apart. Which, of course, has happened many times before.

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Nyrri woke to the sound of loud knocking. Drowsy, Nyrri got up to answer the door. Out of habit, she looked at herself in the mirror and cringed. Her grey hair was in disarray, and her clothes were wrinkled. Groggily, she yelled to her uninvited guest, “Who is it?” the reply, woke Nyrri up completely from her tiredness.
“A messenger from the High Talagar Quart with a message for Nyrri from Talagar Rokoro!” the man said with a tone of urgency. Suddenly awake, Nyrri rushed to smooth her hair and clothes out a little before answering the door. After making sure she was in a half-presentable state, she ran out of her room to answer the door. Unfortunately, her socks slipped on the hardwood floor of her hallway, causing her to smash into her front door loudly. She rubbed a growing red mark on her forehead as she opened the door. “Uh… are you alright?” asked the concerned messenger.
“Fine! I’m fine! Now, you were here to deliver a message?” while she talked, she tried to fix her hair so that her bangs would cover up the soon-to-be bruise on her forehead.
“Yeah… uh… Master Rokoro wants to see you… uh… are you sure your ok?” the messenger couldn’t help but think he gotten the wrong address. He could tell that this person had issues with answering the door.
“Is it urgent? Can’t I get ready first?” Nyrri didn’t want to go to see her boss and adoptive father when she looked like crap.
“I guess so. But Master Rokoro wants to see you today.”
“How long do you think it takes an accomplished worrier to get ready? I’ll be out in 3 minutes. Would you like to come inside?” The boy nodded and wiped his feet before walking in. Nyrri gave him a glass of water and went back to her room to get ready.
She figured that ceremonial battle clothes were a good choice considering that the meeting probably concerned a mission. A Talagar’s battle clothes depended on whom he or she was fighting. Wearing armor means that you respect your opponent. Wearing something that showed as much skin as possible was a way of showing disrespect for your opponent as if saying, “you won’t be able to put a scratch on me, so I don’t even need to wear armor!” Nyrri couldn’t think of any enemy that she respected so she picked a small sleeveless shirt that showed her stomach and a pair of thin shorts. She finished brushing her long hair and put on some sandals before deciding she was presentable at last. She started to walk out of her room and then cursed herself for forgetting her most prized possession. Her sword.
The weapon was leaning against the side of her bed. It was about as long as one of her legs and about and inch across at its widest point. Sharp enough the hack through bone and protected with a magic seal to never dull, it was an everlasting weapon. But, if the blade were to break, the end of the hilt had three spikes on it that were drenched in poison. She strapped the sword across her back with the strip of leather sewed to the sheath and preceded to exit her room.
“Ready to go?” asked the messenger when Nyrri appeared by the door.
“Yeah.” Nyrri replied with a smile. It had been a week since she saw the one she called ‘father’ and was anxious to hear what he had to say. Another thing that made her want to talk to him was the fact that he had a condition that would eventually take his life. Nyrri wanted to be with him while he still held his dignity as a Talagar warrior and leader.