The Island of Rodoka
The 21st of Ídamet, 135 KV
June 12th, 1626 CE
“You can’t bring that in here! Take that away! Get on the other side of the gate!” Drova shouted at the man while waving his arm in the direction of away from here. He knew the man could barely understand what he was saying, but he could tell what the hand motion and the disgusted look on Drova’s face meant. The man, who carried the carcass of some poor animal on his cart, frowned and turned away from the village. He knew he was not welcome. “Disgusting,” said Drova as he turned away. He could still smell the stench of rotting meat. “Just disgusting.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on them,” said a voice to his left. Startled, Drova turned and saw the Priestess, Ilara, standing there with her long white robe flowing just slightly in the wind.
“Your Grace, I just-” Drova stared down at his feet. It was rude to look a Priestess in the eye.
“I know you meant well, and you are right not to allow the body of an animal killed for sustenance in our village,” said the Priestess in an understanding voice. “Our people learned the way of Akrona long ago. We have known not to kill land animals for their meat or their pelts for over a hundred years. But the people here are only beginning to learn. We shouldn’t speak harshly to them. We want to welcome them.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Drova was still staring at his feet.
“And Drova? Chin up. You are a gift, and so is today.”
“As are you,” said Drova, lifting his chin as the Priestess commanded.
“I was on my way to the harbor for today’s blessing, would you care to join me?” Ilara gestured to the “harbor,” as it was, which was a rather rickety pair of wooden docks.
“Of course,” said Drova. “I was headed there myself. Supplies from home are due.”
“Indeed,” said the Priestess. The two walked, mostly in silence, down towards the docks. The sound of the waves gently lapping along the beach was calming, and in the distance, the sound of gulls crying as they flew over the village felt familiar. There were people haggling over the price of fish as they walked, and the smell in the air told him that most of the good items from today’s catch were long gone. But it was a comfortable smell, like that of any Acronian harbor back home. The village here was really beginning to feel like a real place, a real home.
The docks really did need some work done, though. And that was Drova’s job as the harbormaster - but lately, the problem had been building enough homes for the people who were coming here. Along with the next shipment of supplies was a contingent of at least 20 new settlers. Or pilgrims, as they sometimes called themselves, because the Church had begun to tell people that going out into the world to spread the word of Akrona was as holy a pilgrimage as visiting any temple. He would be grateful for the extra labor they would provide, but he worried about where they would live or what they would eat.
Of course, Akrona had provided very well for them these past few years. With hope, and with the grace of the Goddess, they would continue to prosper.
The village, which they had taken to call “Lantaž” (an old word meaning “Paradise”) was six years old now. There were four other villages nearby, and if the rumors were true, the Church was preparing to send three whole ships to come build a fifth by the end of the year. Lantaž had been first, and it was the largest. At last count, there were 400 or so souls here, people of all different kinds. There were fishmongers and potters and brickmakers and lumberjacks and stonecutters. Every kind of person a village needed. Drova had been a fisherman as long as he could remember, and truth be told, now that he was in charge of the harbor, he missed being out to sea. It was nice to come see the blessing with Ilara.
“I prefer the west dock,” said the Priestess with a smirk. “It’s more stable.”
“We’re tryin’ to get 'em bolstered, Your Grace. We’re short on wood.”
The Priestess walked nimbly down to the end of the dock. “That’s quite alright. If I fall in, well… Akrona first appeared before women wading in the sea, so perhaps something interesting might happen.” She laughed. How strange, and how beautiful, to hear a Priestess laugh. But as she reached the end of the dock, she fell silent, as her work was about to begin.
“O Goddess, O Goddess, thy blessings are many, thy wisdom and grace know no bounds…” The Priestess knelt to place her hand in the sea and bring up a handful of water as she began to chant the Canticle of the Benefactor. Drova stood well behind her, silently, with his hands clasped together. Every day, the Priestess came to pray and bless the harbor. Surely, the fact that Lantaž had such a committed, noble, faithful Priestess was part of why the village had done so well. Truly, all this place was a blessing.
Rodoka was a very different place than Acronis. It was hot - and dry. Much drier than Acronis, and with far fewer trees, it meant there were fewer places to hide from the sun. The dry air and the blazing sun had taken the longest to get used to, but once you got past that, one could see the real beauty in this place. The land rolled, almost like a sea in itself, with light-green grasses dotted with the occasional tree. There was a thicket of trees not too far from the village that grew a strange new fruit - not sweet, but salty. Olives, they were called. The villagers were sharply divided on them - some hated the olives, some loved them. Drova liked them pretty well, although he didn’t like the pits.
Out on the sea, he could see a few boats coming back into shore. Most of them were Acronian fishing boats, but he could see a Rodokan sailing ship in the distance. They were small, almost like rafts, but with huge cloth sails. The natives loved the sea, they spent more time on it then they did the land it seemed. Drova respected the hell out of them. He had gone on one of their sailing boats with them before, and they were surer navigators than any Acronian he had ever met. They were better fishers, too, and they had introduced him to so many delicious new kinds. Sometimes they even went out and hunted whales, although they used bigger ships for that. They loved the water, and that was good, because surely it meant that Akrona loved them too.
And the Rodokans, for their part, loved the Acronians. They had bonded initially over fishing, even before they had started learning each other’s tongues. Drova had been among the first settlers to land here, and he had fished and dined with more Rodokans than they could count. The Rodokans were amazed with tales of the big, colorful fish that you could catch in Acronian waters, and they loved sharing whaling stories. Beyond fishing, however, they had bonded even more - foremost, through fruit.
Rodokans were used to salty olives as fruit, or tiny little purple orbs that they made into a drink. Drova couldn’t remember the name of those. But Acronian fruit? Passion-fruits, and guava, and bananas, and everything else that came from Acronis was sweet. Sweeter than anything they had ever had, and that was before they knew about adding sugar to things. The Rodokans called Acronians “the sweet people” in their tongue because of all the sweet things they brought with them. Especially chocolate. They couldn’t get enough chocolate. Drova didn’t really care for sweets, but the Rodokans were just enthralled with chocolate. He was glad they were able to share things together - his particular favorite thing to share was rum. The drink Rodokans made was strange, and somewhat bitter, and you could drink goblets of the stuff and only get a little lightheaded. But give the Rodokans just a taste of spiced Acronian rum and they about fell over. Always good for a laugh.
Their village, called Rodoka just like the island, was just down the coast to the east, perhaps a monai or so. People walked to and from all the time. Rodoka the village was easily the largest settlement of people on the island, or at least that’s what the locals said. It was the base of power for the locals, where their High Chief and High Council sat and discussed the “matters of state.” Rodokans were a loosely-organized people who preferred to listen to their local leaders, but apparently for at least a few generations now they had all been united under one High Chief. It would barely pass as a town in Acronis proper, of course, but for what it was, the village of Rodoka was a fine place. They had allowed the Acronians to build a temple and a school in their village, and Drovai was told even the High Chief came to take lessons in Acronian. For his part, Drova knew a few words in Rodokan. Most of them he would never dare say in the company of the Priestess.
“Thank you for coming with me,” said Ilara as she turned back around. She gave a slight bow, which Drova practically fell over himself to return.
“Of course, your Grace.”
“The winds are strong today. I think it’s a good sign.” Ilara stepped back onto dry land and Drovai felt himself following her. “A strong wind gives ships haste. I think we will have new souls here soon.”
“That’s good,” said Drova. “We could use the help.”
Ilara, smiling, turned back to face the harbormaster. “Yes, we can, but you know, Drova, they will be helping in more ways than just building you stronger docks.” She gestured broadly, across the horizon. “We’re here to help them, Drova. Help the whole world.” She sighed deeply, but it was the pleased, satisfied kind of sigh. “Oh, I’m just so excited, Drova. Things are going so well. Oh, Drova, we’re really standing… standing upon the edge of history, don’t you think? Today we’re just a few villages on an island, but soon… soon we will be a bastion. A fountain, cascading knowledge and blessings across the land and onto all the people. We will get to help these people come to know the Goddess. As Akrona herself appeared before those women and bestowed upon them her blessing… so too, in a way, do we bless the Rodokans.”
Priestess Ilara was brimming, even overflowing, in happiness as she spoke. Drova daren’t interrupt her, not that he would know what to say anyway. But in his heart, he could feel a spark. He felt good. He felt that Ilara was right. That they had a chance to do something great on this island.
“When Akrona appeared before the First Elders that day and gave them her Mandate, she said that she had blessed the Acronians as a nation. Our nation was born that day, with that blessing. And now, something new is being born, Drova.”
“And what… what would that be, your Grace?”
Ilara, grinning, turned back again to face Drova. She placed two hands on his shoulders and gripped them. With her eyes alight in excitement, she sighed again and then answered “An empire.”