The Poet Writing the Epic

A hundred years had passed since the founding of the four kingdoms, and people had long forgotten the Yinsai that once was.

Even the second King of Wisdom, Yesael, had passed into myth. The old grudges and hatred between King Eli and Queen Star had faded into distant memory, the kind of story people brought up only now and then in idle talk.

Even older stories had faded from memory bit by bit. What people remembered now were the great and noble names, and no longer what had truly happened in those days.

On this day, two figures returned once more to a small town outside the God-Descended City.

It was plainly a fishing town. Its people made their living from the sea, and the very air carried the tang of brine and salted fish.

"Let's stop here!" Polo stood on the surface of the sea with Star, her hand in his, looking upon the ruins King Yesael had left behind in ages past.

"Not going on any further?" Star looked at Polo.

"No, no further. We've been walking so long. It's time we rested a while." Polo turned back to look at her, his voice gentle.

Polo looked at Star. The pale, lovely carapace she had once worn was rough and coarse now, and the starlight that had covered it had dimmed and dulled.

Star had grown old. Polo had scarcely changed from what he once was.

Both of them knew that this journey of theirs, too, would have to reach its end.

Star smiled. "Then let's stop here!"

They found a beautiful stretch of sandy shore by the sea, and there they built a house, with a courtyard beside it.

Over the courtyard stretched a golden dome, dazzling and beautiful, as though woven out of the flower cups of Sun Cups.

The courtyard itself was planted thick with Sun Cups. To ordinary eyes this was a forbidden thing, a Sun Cup Flower fit only for royalty to possess, though for the two of them there was nothing so very wondrous in its color.

Polo loved flowers, and every day Star would sit in the courtyard, looking out through a window at the sea beyond.

The courtyard, planted thick with Sun Cups, gave off a breath of illusion.

Ordinary people could not see this place at all, still less draw near it.

But on this day, something unusual happened.

Knock knock knock!

A knocking came from outside. Someone had come to call on them.

"Who's there?" Polo asked.

A voice came from beyond the courtyard, respectful and humble.

"I pay my respects to the noble Queen Star and to the Divine Messenger."

"I am a poet and a scholar, come from the God-Servant City, the queen's own former home. My name is Tito."

Polo said, "We certainly never invited you."

The voice answered, "Forgive my presumption in coming uninvited. If I have offended the queen or the Divine Messenger, I will leave at once."

Star lifted her head. "It's been so long since anyone came to visit us. Let him in."

A young trilobite man stepped inside, and offered the two of them the deepest courtesy he knew.

Star asked him, "How did you find us?"

The young poet answered, "I was not looking for you at all. I only happened to pass by and see the Sun Cups. No one but royalty could ever possess such a thing, and yet what noble, extravagant royal family would ever live in a place like this?"

"So I guessed. Only the legendary Queen Star and the Divine Messenger Polo, living here in seclusion, could have brought so dazzling a field of Sun Cups into bloom."

Star said, "You're clever."

The poet said, "No, I believe this was fate's own arrangement."

"Fate arranged for me to come here, and fate arranged for me to meet you and the Divine Messenger."

Star was curious. "You believe in fate?"

The poet nodded earnestly. "I believe everything has its destiny, just as the Redlichia Covenant's divine admonition says, just as King Yesael was destined, in the end, to lose the Crown of Wisdom."

Tito came from the God-Servant City. Queen Star had left it decades before he was born. His mother was a daughter of the Xilong family of the Royal Bloodline, born to a concubine.

He had been born with the bloodline of wisdom ability in him, though he could not awaken it himself. Even so, the shallower kinds of illusion could not fool him.

Tito's name meant "map." His grandfather had drawn the very first map of Yinsai, one that took in all four kingdoms and the whole of the world the trilobite men then knew.

Born into such a distinguished family of scholars, he had not become a mapmaking scholar himself. Instead, he had done everything he could to become a poet.

To that end, he had left the God-Servant City, and wandered from one great kingdom to the next, lingering at every ruin where history had once been made.

"Why did you want to become a poet?"

"Was it a dream of yours?"

Star asked him.

Tito shook his head. "In cartography I could never surpass my grandfather. As a scholar, I would find it hard to surpass my father. Only by becoming a great poet could I ever be remembered by the world."

"I want a story of my own. I want achievements of my own, and a life's work that is mine."

Star nodded. "An honest answer. So then, have you written any great poems yet?"

Tito said, "I am writing an epic about Yinsai. I have written of King Yesael. I have written of King Eli."

"Now... all that remains is your own story."

Aged Star laughed, and the laughter straightened her back.

"Can I be written into your epic as well?"

"The final ruler who brought Yinsai to its end, the one who ended King Yesael's line, the one at the center of the bloodshed and infighting among the houses of the Royal Bloodline."

Tito said, "Let those who come after judge what was right and what was wrong!"

"All I mean to do is set the history down."

"That is why I believe it was fate, and the guidance of God, that brought me here, that let me meet you."

The young poet spoke earnestly.

Hearing this, Queen Star could not help but sigh. "So it is!"

"What was right and what was wrong, neither your word nor mine can decide."

She resisted no longer, and told the poet the story of her whole life.

Her legend and her glory, her hardships and her choices, her laughter and her happiness.

Now and then the poet would ask a question, and Star always answered.

Not until the sun went down did the poet finally rise to his feet and thank Queen Star with deep respect.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Star said, "I stopped being any kind of queen long ago. I'm certainly no majesty of yours."

The poet Tito said, "In my heart, you will always be the noble Queen Star."

The young poet took his leave, promising to return the next day and bring the draft he had written for the queen to look over.

Polo had stood by the whole time. Now he spoke up suddenly. "I wonder what kind of story he'll write in the end. Somehow I don't think it'll be a happy one."

Star didn't seem to mind. "History is always heavy. An epic, a myth, was never made of laughter and light words."

"Our story, and our happiness, we know for ourselves."

"That's enough."

The words said, Star could hold her seated posture no longer. She had been sitting so long that she was thoroughly worn out.

"I'm a little tired."

"I'm old now. I can't even sit still for a little while anymore."

"There was a time I could hold a sword and fight King Eli to the death!"

Polo gathered Star up in his arms. "Let me help you inside to rest."

That night, a sudden storm broke outside, wind and rain lashing without mercy.

Star woke with a start, and called out loudly.

"Polo? Polo, where are you?"

Polo said, "I'm right here!"

Star's hand found Polo, and at last she settled and was at ease.

"Polo, I just had a dream. Somewhere pitch black, just like the Demon Abyss out of legend."

"I was so afraid. Do you think that when I die, I'll be cast out into a place like that?"

Polo shook his head. "How could that ever happen?"

"Don't worry. Even after you die, I'll still be with you."

"I'm the messenger of the divine, the ruler of dreams."

"Within the world of dreams, I'll be with you always. We'll live our adventures and our travels again together, over and over, without end."

A happy smile rose on Star's face, and she began to talk about the funny little things from her travels with Polo, the scenes that had stayed with her most vividly.

The longer she talked, the smaller her voice grew.

Little by little it faded into indistinct, drowsy murmuring.

Star gripped tight at Polo's golden robe, and Polo leaned his ear close to listen to her voice.

"Mm-hm!"

"Mm-hm!"

"I know. I remember."

"I remember all of it."

At last, Star's grip on his golden robe loosened, a contented smile still resting on her face.

But Polo's expression went blank in an instant. He seemed to hear a small, sudden click.

As though something deep inside him had cracked and shattered.