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The Kahanne
Part 1
The federal parliament in Hansehaven was the oldest and most majestic building in the Hanse. The main keep was three times larger than the district and municipal keeps in the twin cities of Rugen and Lubec, and it was surrounded by its own protective wall. Beyond the wall were administrative and financial offices, the national treasury house, and the high courts, not to mention the residences of the top officials who operated these institutions. All this was surrounded by a second wall that was broken up by bastions along the sides and two-story towers at the corners. Numerous spires poked up at the sky from various parts of the complex, a tribute to the ancient city of Halcyon from the Golden Age.
This whole area was situated on an island in the middle of the River Odra. A single bridge extended from its main entrance to the city of Hansehaven, which sprawled along the northern bank. It was second in size only to the combined population of Rugen and Lubec. Most of the people who lived here were connected in some way to the central government, and thus Hansehaven was a city comprised largely of civil servants.
Unlike most capital cities, which tended to reflect the latest fashions and trends imported by the local aristocracy, Hansehaven, like much of the Hansic Alliance, clung to the past with stubborn determination. It was impossible to tell which buildings were old and which were new because the architectural style hadn’t changed in centuries. Music, art, theater — these cultural elements had remained virtually unaltered since the Great War.
Tradition was at the heart of this day’s festivities. Citizens from every part of the Hansic Alliance, along with a contingent from Khadash, had been arriving in the Hansehaven Region for over a week. To accommodate this visit, the day was declared a holiday for Hansehaven. Municipal planners had predicted two hundred thousand visitors, and the local garrison had been supplemented by regiments from other regions as well as an entire Praetorian division to keep the peace. They quickly discovered that it was a conservative estimate.
The visitors and the inhabitants of Hansehaven lined the main street leading to the central cathedral. A dozen militia regiments and four Praetorian battalions were stretched well beyond their capacity to keep the citizenry away from the center of the street. The place was supersaturated with well-wishers and onlookers who wanted to catch a rare glimpse of the Kahanne of Assize.
It was well into midmorning and the crowd was growing restless. The sky was clear, the sun was bright and the temperature was cool but not cold — the perfect day for such an event. In spite of the overwhelming number of people, the noise level of the crowd was surprisingly low. The street wound its way through the city and into the outskirts, and the thick mass of anxious believers followed it the whole way, forming a living buffer between the middle of the road — which was empty — and the businesses and homes which lined its curb.
Soon the blast of a horn was heard in the distance, a trumpet that was echoed by several others. Those at the very edge of the throng were the first to see what the Hansic Alliance had been awaiting for a decade. The Kahanne’s entourage slowly crested a hill surrounded by a cloud of Ghaultian militia: the Guardians of Assize. Their polished steel armor gleamed brightly. The ones in front bore twelve standards representing each of the Spirits. They marched slowly and proudly with their eyes trained on the crowd, ready to deal with trouble if it arose. Standing on top of a dozen chariots, over the heads of the surrounding soldiers, were the High Clerics of each Spirit. They were draped in differently colored robes corresponding to their affiliation. These clerics formed a loose circle around a thirteenth chariot, one that was twice the size of each of theirs. It bore a tall platform with an ornate throne. Upon it sat Arlyne Corbonne, representative of the Forum, Kahanne of Assize.
She had dark eyes that absorbed everything around her. Her hair was light, though it was difficult to tell specifically what color it was because it was cut so short that she was almost bald. Arlyne’s visage was accentuated by high cheekbones, a small nose and thin lips — a face that would be considered pretty on any other person. She wore a smoke gray robe over a tall, well-developed frame. The neutral color was designed to emulate the idea that this office bore no allegiance to any one Spirit. Despite this, it was well known that Arlyne’s estranged father — the Padishah of Ghault — favored Rasqu’il, Spirit of Nature and Fertility. In truth, the Kahanne had not visited her old home in many years, and if she bore any special feelings toward Rasqu’il, she never let it show. She had a higher calling now. She represented the entire Forum, whereas each High Cleric only represented a single Spirit.
Arlyne acknowledged the crowd on either side of her with a nod, a smile, sometimes a wave. Her face and body language expressed the perfect mix of composure, affection, wisdom and charisma. She was the ultimate politician. She could gauge a crowd and present herself as whatever they needed her to be.
Trailing the Kahanne’s entourage was a mass of Khadashite pilgrims. They were dressed in frocks of assorted colors that corresponded to the twelve Spiritual orders. They marched in groups according to the orders they supported, and each group was singing a hymn to its own Spirit. What resulted was a cacophony of misbegotten notes and keyless harmonies which completely ruined the atmosphere for the hosting Hansickers, who preferred to view this occasion with due solemnity. It was a testament to the patience of the hosts and the sanctity of the moment that the Khadashites weren’t driven from the city.
The Hansickers on either side of the street formed in behind Arlyne’s entourage and the trailing Khadashites as they passed by, marching with quietude and dignity. Very soon, the Kahanne had an enormous following, one that stretched back as far as she could see.
Closing her eyes, Arlyne let her senses absorb the smells, sounds, and feel of this city. Every place had a unique character. The foods people ate, the songs they sang, the way they spoke, and how they mourned and celebrated revealed much about how to relate to them. Arlyne always tried to attune herself to the natural rhythms and signals of the places she visited. As Kahanne, she could do nothing less.
Opening her eyes, Arlyne looked around and gazed into the faces of believers. How far will their faith take them? she wondered. There were no apparent signs, yet her instincts told her that the Time of Meeting was nearly upon them. Would their faith be strong enough to support them through the inevitable destruction?
As these thoughts crossed her mind, she heard a soft chant. At first, she dismissed it as another Khadashite song and she winced at the possibility of yet another addition to their tumultuous discord. However, as she scanned the crowd lining the street, she noticed scores of mouths moving in synch. It took her a moment to recognize the gentle melody: Elren’s Madrigal. Elren was the Spirit of Wisdom, and the hymn was written centuries earlier by a devout follower who likened his reverence for the divinity to the love between two people. It had since become a staple of the daily prayer rituals and it was taught in most schools at the elementary level.
The Hansickers continued to sing, repeating the poem over and over again. Arlyne was spellbound by the crowd’s reaction to her (though she realized that it was probably a reaction to the Khadashites as well) and she was held in awe of the emotion of the moment. Few events instilled such an overwhelming response in her. The recitation quickly spread ahead of her entourage so that by the time she rounded a bend or crested a hill, the oncoming bystanders were already chanting. The Khadashites were quickly drowned out, an action that was met by hurt and offended expressions, though most of them abandoned their own singing and chimed in:
My soul is bound to you, my love,
With you, my heart resides.
I sacrifice myself to you —
Emotion overrides.
I therefore pledge my servitude,
My will, you galvanize.
I bear this burden like a shield
‘Til Chaos is excised.
With alacrity, I give myself,
In affection, realize
Your reverence grants me favor,
My fortune coincides.
In you, I find my one true faith,
With devotion I reprise —
My soul is bound to you, my love,
With you, my heart resides.
As Arlyne’s entourage moved on, more people joined the chanting so that when she finally reached the central cathedral after a long trek through the city, Hansehaven thundered with the religious fervor of hundreds of thousands of voices.
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
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