Enatic Clans

After the class, Lord Gerðas has already departed from the private box above. With his absence, Durgat and General Clyden make their way to the rendezvous point—some sixty-five steps from the rear façade of the training hall. Under the cover of a tree, I wait, sitting on a weathered stump.

As I settle into my thoughts, Lord Gondola approaches to check on my calloused hands.

"Marshal Aisla." He bows with practiced grace. I can't help but wonder, resting my chin on my palm, 'Is he really Lord Guan's brother?'

His older brother can barely read, yet this young man before me exudes refinement—in his speech, his gestures, the very cadence of his movements. Where his brother remains a peasant, this one carries himself like a nobility. I can scarcely believe Lord Gondola and Lord Guan share the same blood! A grimace creeps across my face.

"How's the bidding?" I ask with a smug expression, standing to meet his salutation as I cross my arms.

"Second breakfast? Or what do you call it here—Jause? And merienda? Those were excellent. Kehina has been generous to me, so I'm looking forward to my..." He pauses, eyes drifting skyward. "Let me see, my twentieth or twenty-first thirty-firstses." He shrugs his shoulders.

"Oh?" I feign ignorance, though the smugness remains planted on my face.

"Indeed, milord. I had bread, cashew nuts, and a vanilla drink at dawn for my breakfast."

"The same—bread and nuts. Though not your drink. I had buttermilk instead."

"And I had porridge made from wheat. Scrumptious fare, despite being humble and home-cooked. Lard and eggs." He pretends to kiss the air, smacking his lips with elegant flourish.

"Yes, I ate porridge, lard, and eggs for my second breakfast as well. For merienda, just light warm milk." He continues his recounting.

This catches my attention, particularly the Jause. "And I wonder who cooked that porridge you were raving about." I eye Lord Gondola sideways.

"It was Lady Jyana..." He gazes toward the distant horizon before returning his attention to me.

"That bitch...!" The words escape before I can stop them. "I mean—that maid..." I quickly rectify, clearing my throat.

"Woah, woah, woah... calm yourself, Lord Aisla. Mind your language, marshal." He catches my slip, staring at me with a mixture of twitching eyes and curled lips.

His measured response follows: "I sense you harbor grievances with that woman. You're not alone in that sentiment. But that's no way to speak of a lady, Lord Aisla." He takes a few steps closer.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "Apologies. She is, admittedly, a skilled cartomancer and practitioner of the moons." I humble myself while acknowledging Jyana's abilities, suo jure.

Her talents are undeniable, though her attitude leaves much wanting.

"So what about the thirty-firstses—rye bread, beans, baked potatoes, more pottage or what?" I shift the conversation back to the menu.

"Later? The report mentions roasted onions, figs, and mead." He shrugs his left shoulder while keeping his gaze fixed on me.

Ah, a light meal before the lunch proper. I see. It's a shame most delicacies have grown scarce since the exodus of foreign culinary masters and cooks. Kehina remains culturally barren—still young from its prior isolation, with no outsiders left to conduct business in this land.

I sigh, looking toward the heavens. "Sometimes I wonder if Lady Wellicia still watches over her beloved people and this kingdom. If so..." I let the thought hang in silence, clicking my tongue.

War looms—no, it's already upon us. The Kehinan locals cower, but I must remain steadfast. Zero casualties for nearly a year now, no direct engagements, yet the threat lingers. One day an armada will appear at our shores.

Fear grips us all, I know. But as a man, I must be braver to protect my people, my charges, the wives and children—hopefully securing a bright future. As their marshal, I must embody courage for those who would march with me to the fringes of Geböþæð, whether in Kigal or beyond. As the queen's consort, I must symbolize fearlessness before Inglovian galleys, cohorts, and magic.

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"Milord...?"

"Aye?" I respond, breaking from my reverie.

"Durgat and General Clyden approaching en route." He nods in their direction.

The orc and my personal lieutenant walk side by side. General Clyden offers his two-fingered salute while Durgat meets my gaze directly.

As we wait, I continue our earlier conversation. "What about supper? What's the evening menu?"

"Ah, what you call 'vespertide' here? Prayer before meals is essential." He touches the cross dangling from his neck, displaying his Croisian devotion.

Right. Lord Guan converted to Hrililal, while this man beside me follows the Croisian faith.

"Whatever you say, Lord Gondola." I tilt my head, replying dryly.

"Come now, Lord Aisla... you know I'm still learning this world's ways. Inglovia exists in both our realities, but customs don't always translate."

"Right—Kehina isn't even on your world's map, is it?" I admit with a chuckle. "Funny how Inglovia persists though. Makes you think we're neighbors."

I add, "Croisism proselytizes in your reality too? I wouldn't be surprised if Croisism and Aslab appear beyond our two worlds as well. Throughout all Geböþæð, to speak broadly."

The two figures continue their approach.

"Honestly, milord, I've been to many places... many worlds. Here in this reality, you have planar lifeforce—the origin of most other lifeforces. In my reality, we discovered that a day consists of sixty-four hours, later adopted by many realities including this one. To answer your question, 'this' land in my reality is non-existent. It is just a patch of a greater ocean."

"True, we also use the sixty-four hour system. Though I wasn't aware that innovation came from your home reality." I acknowledge this revelation.

"Then there's another Geböþæð with four moons instead of three, though I can barely recall which world that was."

"Lunagius, Luna Maior, and Meridiana, if I'm not mistaken."

"Correct—in that reality, the fourth moon is called 'Mōnaþ'. Regardless, in all my travels across realities, Inglovia is always present." He concludes his explanation.

"Tell me, Lord Gondola. Have you visited the origin world of 'Qi' lifeforce?"

"If you mean the Diamond Throne, then yes. Yellow-skinned humans called Diajui inhabit it. In that Geböþæð, their Inglovia is entirely tribalistic and fragmented—independent petty kings and warlords scattered across the supercontinent. The Diamond Throne and that Inglovia are adjacent but separated by ocean. That Inglovia lacks unity, unlike my home world's coalition or this reality's grand empire. In that same reality, orcs and elves are quite rare."

"Let me guess, Lord Gondola. Your 'Personal Orenda ability' allows you to move freely between dimensions." I seem to have struck a nerve—he freezes under my gaze.

The observation makes him stiffen. "Studies show inter-dimensional travel is nearly impossible unless it's a 'personal Orenda ability.' As I suspected..."

He clears his throat, deflecting: "So what's yours, marshal?"

"Lord Gondola, as you know, I'm still working to unlock mine alongside my troops. Under Sir Talbetter's guidance, naturally." I pause. "Of course, I don't possess it as of yet." The obviousness hangs between us.

"Well, you're free to assume whatever seems reasonable. But..." He inhales as the two approaching figures slow their pace.

"But what?" My tone grows intrigued.

"Have you heard of 'the Juichishima'?" He taps my shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Ah, those islands... A few years ago, that archipelago existed east of Fort Quogsagihaxee'e. Then one day it simply vanished. The eleven islands housed Diajui humans as well. Historical accounts say Juichishima reappeared here a century ago east of a sub-continent in Plane One, appeared in Plane Four of this dimension centuries before that, and surfaced near other landmasses a millennium prior. Some claim the Diamond Throne and Juichishima share similarities due to their inhabitants' features and skin tones, though customs and languages differ."

"Yes—in my home reality too. History records Juichishima appearing in the eastern channel of 'Rovendale'—a land absent from this world—fifty years ago. In my travels to another four-moon Geböþæð, these islands appeared east of another uncharted territory ten years prior."

"Cryptic indeed."

"Quite so. Where Diamond Throne inhabitants greet with open quote ni hao close quote and Juichishimans say quote-unqoute konnichiwa." He adds, "If I could travel at will, Lord Aisla, Juichishima would represent a unique case. The timing remains unknown, but anyone within—including foreigners like us—gets carried along. Step onto that territory, and the next day you might find yourself on Inglovia's eastern coast, but something feels different. A different breed of the supercontinent from a different kind of Geböþæð."

"What happens until the next drift, Lord Gondola?"

"You either perish in whatever Geböþæð Juichishima carries you to, or pray that the next migration returns you to your original reality."

That is madness! The traversal timing remains unknown even to scholars, and he admits the drifting pattern is random. This amounts to suicide—existential suicide.

"Is this true, or are you merely testing me?" The concept fascinates me despite its horror. I understand this as either a jest or breakthrough.

"Classified." Lord Gondola winks, refusing further discussion.

For those who might hear my thoughts, forgive this clever bastard for bombarding us with his travel tales, though he provides frustratingly few details.

Regarding my studies and Lord Gondola's confirmation… Well, damn him for not admitting his dimensional-hopping 'personal Orenda ability'—it seems the Juichishima phenomenon occurs roughly every four to five decades on average. The problem lies in predicting where these islands will appear along someone's eastern shore. Two certainties exist: they migrate after forty to fifty years in their current reality, then repeat the cycle, always manifesting off someone's eastern coastline.