The Count

[Pauline_Bonaparte]

Prologue: The Naming

Būratanti Lake, Hlandrin Province
April 14, 2003

Winter, as always, seemed to approach rapidly in this eastern corner of Hlenderia. Only a week earlier, the humid air seemed to sit on one’s chest as it did in the doldrums of summer, and the taiga was teeming with life. This morning, though, Kikamanu saw his breath sit on the air before disappearing. “It is good hunting weather,” Kika’s father said after breakfast, speaking in the archaic Mūni dialect. He used the informal pronoun with his son: “Thou wilt join us.”

The Mūni band in which Kikamanu lived had settled down in their wintering grounds, along the shore of a lake they called Būratanti. Here, a collection of log houses sheltered the three dozen members of his community and their herd of muskox through the harsh southeastern Hlenderian winter. Kika’s band lived on the southern edge of the taiga, before it transitioned fully to permafrost and tundra. This meant that a five-person hunting party could, hopefully, supplement the approaching muskox harvest with bear, perhaps, or even a moose.

Kika’s 19-year-old sister, Chabsiminnu^[1], would join Kika and his father. The party would be rounded out with their neighbor, a young man of 22, and his mother. As the five piled rifles and packs onto a four-wheeler, Chabsiminnu teased Kika. “Maybe thou wilt be named today!” she laughed.

Kika was beginning to resent the jokes. The Mūni named their children in their adolescence, when their personality began to crystallize. Girls usually received their name earlier, but Chabsi – who got her name at 12 – was early-named even for the female sex. At 16, Kika was beginning to feel that he would be Kikamanu - “Thirdborn” - forever. Joining a hunt, however, was a good sign – many a Mūni boy received their name after successfully taking down an animal. Kika had shot a few pheasant, and once even a great fen-grouse, but had yet to successfully take down any mammal.

Kika and his sister rode on one four-wheeler. Their neighbor and his mother took another, with the third being ridden by Kika’s father. The roar of gasoline engines filled the air as the rest of the band wished them good luck, and soon the three vehicles were speeding down a small trail, cut from repeated use by overwintering Mūnim. The settlement was about fifty miles from Hlandrin - the nearest city - and completely inaccessible after the first big snowfall. The adults were careful to watch their fuel use, because to run out meant carrying everything home by hand, and leaving the four-wheelers to rot over the winter.

After riding for thirty or forty minutes, Kika’s father, at the head of the line, put his arm up at a right angle to signal that the group should stop. The three ATVs came to a stop, and all five riders dismounted. Kika and Chabsi walked to the back of their four-wheeler. Chabsi grabbed her rifle, a hand-me-down with a beaten and scratched wooden stock. The scope, however, was new; bought over the summer at a store in Hlandrin with money she earned off-track-betting.

If Chabsi’s rifle was a hand-me-down, Kika’s was a twice-handed-down. It was a lever-action, and the brassy finish of the hardware had turned into a grey tarnish long ago. Atop his gun was Chabsi’s old sight, which she gave to her brother.

“Don’t worry, Kika,” she bragged, “I could take down a bear at 200 yards, even with that old scope.”

Kika sighed and slung the rifle around his back. The group gathered around, and his father spoke:

“Kikamanu, Chabsi, there is a bog about a half-hours walk that way. Look for moose. The rest of us will go over here. Tab-Amari^[2] said he saw a brown bear in this area three days ago.”

Chabsi and Kika followed instructions and headed towards the bog. The pair were dressed in the rustic Mūni style: muskox-wool pants and jacket, colored bright blue and red from local dyes. It was not yet cold enough to wear the traditional fur coat, but one was left on the four-wheeler in case the temperature dropped.

An occasional bird song could be heard, but many of the avian inhabitants of this region had migrated north for the winter already. The silence of the taiga was broken at times by the sound of squirrels scurrying along the forest floor, digging hiding places for nuts. As Kika and his sister approached the bog, the ground began to become waterlogged and muddy.

“Watch thine step, brother,” she said.

“I know,” Kika replied, slightly annoyed at the coddling.

Chabsi detected the annoyance. “Did thou eatest breakfast this morning?” she asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” Kika said through gritted teeth. “You don’t need to coddle me, like a baby.”

“Don’t raise thy voice!” Chabsi scolded. “Thou wilt scare the moose.”

Kika sighed. “Why didn’t thou goest the other way, with thy boyfriend and his ma?”

Chabsi hit Kika on the back of the head. “I am your sister! Do not speak to me like a child!”

Wings fluttered as a murder of crows in the trees above took flight. The two returned to silence, and shortly the trees, already sparse, cleared completely, to be replaced with the reeds and tall grass typical of a bog in this region.

Chabsi crouched, hiding herself in the grass. Kika followed. The pair spotted a fallen tree lying on the ground and sidled towards it.

“We will wait here. Tab-Amari said he saw a bull moose in that pond over there.” Chabsi said, pointing.

---

The pair stayed by the log, alternating between sitting on the moist bark and laying prone behind it. At one point, after lunch, they heard a distant gunshot and cheering.

“They found the bear?” Kika asked.

“Sounds like it.” Chabsi replied. “I’m getting impatient. I’m going to see if I can find a fen-grouse.”

Chabsi turned to leave. “Wait!” Kika whispered. “You can’t shoot your rifle here. You’ll scare the moose.”

His sister nodded and walked to her pack, unlacing a compact bow tied to the side of it. She rummaged through the front pocket for string and, finding it, walked away as she strung the length of it.

Kika continued to wait. The sun’s rays got longer. He knew that the group would have to return to camp soon, and dreaded the thought of going back home empty-handed, eating bear shot by Chabsi’s lumbering boyfriend. At this moment, Kika heard branches break across the clearing. A massive bull moose, seven feet tall at the shoulder, stepped into the pond across the way.

Kika poked his head above the tall grass and raised his rifle to his shoulder, taking care not to make any sudden movements. The bull continued to stroll across the pond. Kikamanu knew it was now or never. He peered through the sights, aiming at the animal’s massive head, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out and the rifle, newly outfitted with high-powered ammunition, hurt his shoulder with its recoil. Through the scope, he saw the bullet make contact in the animal’s neck. It stumbled and began to run towards the other end of the pond. Taking another breath and actioning the rifle, Kiku fired again. The second shot hit the moose in its torso, and Kiku watched it stumble again and fall over into the shallow water. All he could see now was its broad antler, sticking out of the pond.

He heard rustling behind him, and Chabsi emerged from the brush.

“I got it!” he exclaimed, as Chabsi looked through her binoculars. She smacked him on the back.

“Good job, brother.”

At this moment, the adrenaline surged through Kiku and he began to shake. His teeth chattered involuntarily, and tears came to his eyes. At this, Chabsi looked serious. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

“Go to thine kill. Ensure it is not suffering. Don’t let Fa’ see thou cryest.”

Kika wiped his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah.”

When he arrived at his trophy, the moose had already expired. It was now late afternoon, and he waited for about fifteen minutes before an ATV carrying his father and the neighbor’s mother arrived. Chabsi followed close behind on foot.

“Look at that!” Kika’s father exclaimed. “What a catch!”

“Thank you, Fa’.”

“So modest!” Chabsi said with a sardonic grin. She put her arm around her brother. “This one was shaking and shivering after he took it down. It must be four times his size!”

Kika grimaced, embarrassed. His father laughed as he tied the moose to the ATV’s winch in preparation to drag it to the clearing to be dressed. “I remember my first moose”, he said.

The neighbor’s mother, looking serious, dismounted the ATV. Hadū was an older woman, and in her age she tended to serve more as a guide for these hunting trips than a hunter herself. As she approached the scene, her eyes began to water.

“What is it, ma’am?” Chabsi said.

“When Ashium-tun^[3] was dying,” she began, “he said to look for his spirit among the autumn moose.”

Kika’s father bolted up at the sudden omen, letting the half-tied winch fall in the water. “Is that true, Hadū?”

She nodded and wiped her face. In unison, Kika’s father, Chabsi, and Hadū bowed their head in prayer. Kika, not really following along, bowed his head last. A short silence lay among them for a moment, before Kikamanu’s father approached his son, putting his hands on his shoulders.

“Kikamanu. My son. With this prize, thou hast become a man today. A man requires a name.” He paused and then deliberately switched to the formal pronoun used among adults. “You shall be known as Kirubim-araru^[4].” He tightly embraced his son, followed by Hadū and then, reluctantly, Chabsi.

“It is getting late. We must dress this kill and then return home. Kirubim, help me tie the moose.”

---

1. “Abundant Well” ↩︎

2. “Far Sight” ↩︎

3. “Iron Will” ↩︎

4. “Spirits Cause Shivering” ↩︎

[Pauline_Bonaparte]

I: The Meeting

Alpumachir, Meru Province
April 14, 2024

The charter plane in which Kirubim-araru rode was small enough to make the most frequent flyer uncomfortable. Its single engine, nearing 40 years old, sounded less like a purr and more like a wheeze. A spring, loose in the seat, poked Kiru uncomfortably. He had had a bad feeling about the whole thing as soon as he saw the plane on the ground back in Hlandrin; the red stripe along each side of it was chipped in places and faded.

The pilot, a Kwari man who, he admitted gruffly, had moved to Hlandrin three years ago, seemed to give Kiru the evil eye upon seeing the stitching on his coat’s cuff denoting his family lineage. Perhaps, Kiru thought, some long-simmering feud started generations ago with this Kwari’s family would be reignited in the air.

It was not to be, however. The flight was mostly uneventful, except for a patch of turbulence that shook the tiny craft from side to side. Kiru had even been able to see a glimpse of Būratanti Lake, on the shores of which he had been named 21 years ago to the day. The collection of wooden log houses in which his family still wintered now numbered six. The band to which he belonged had now grown by nearly 20 people, a testament to the longer lifespan and higher birth rate that the Mūnim began to enjoy over the past two decades.

At times, Kiru missed the traditional life he grew up in. For eight years he lived a positively domestic life in Hlenderia’s capital, Pelachis, as a legislator representing the Mūni Peoples Front. His parents, at least, were proud of him, though his sister found the whole thing silly.

“Don’t let the city change you, Kiru.” she said before his departure. “I hear those Vrotri in the city marry elves.”

Looking out the window, Kiru saw the town of Alpumachir, seat of Meru Province, to the east. An unpaved air strip was cut into the trees surrounding the town.

“Alpumachir is to our left, out your window. We will be landing soon.” the pilot barked into the microphone in his Kwari dialect.

Kiru tightened his seat belt. About ten minutes later, the plane touched down, quaking on the uneven ground. A small terminal, fit to welcome the six or seven flights the city received each day, stood at the end of the air strip.

Alpumachir - “Ox Market” in the Hlenderian language – was built as a place for the semi-nomadic Mūnim of the province to sell their livestock, though it also garnered a reputation as a place where muskox herders would blow their earnings on alcohol, drugs, and carnal impulses. Since the turn of the 21st century, however, Alpumachir had cleaned up its image – somewhat – and now made a substantial portion of its income from logging. The logs would be pushed down the Meru River by barges, processed at logging stations along the way, and driven to the country’s eastern ports for export.

It was here that Kirubim-araru was to speak to Mūni Peoples Front loyalists about the approaching census in October. In Hlenderia, only the western and northern cities had legislative seats that were truly competitive. In the country’s vast interior – in places like Alpumachir, or Kiru’s home seat in Hlandrin – legislative seats were reserved for the local majority ethnicity, and controlled by ethnic parties like Kiru’s own MPF.

Politicking instead took place around the censuses that the country conducted every five years. Because seats were apportioned according to population, censuses were far more important than the biannual elections, which were almost always foregone conclusions. Politically-minded Mūnim living in the bush would make their way to cities, holding birth certificates and whatever other documents they could get to prove their family’s existence. Mūnim who were not politically minded were usually not counted at all. October was springtime, after all, and winter settlements had to be packed up and left to follow the muskox to their grazing grounds. There was precious little time to report to some town like Alpumachir and speak to some bureaucrat.

In the interior, census workers – usually Vrotri or Kwari city-dwellers employed temporarily and shipped out to the middle of nowhere – cared little about accurately tallying the savage, semi-nomadic Mūnim. Their paycheck was negotiated before the census began and there was no incentive to do extra work tracking down nomads that smelled of muskox urine. After three days of no new visitors, the census office would close shop and the workers would move back to civilization.

All of this meant that it was the responsibility of Mūni politicians like Kirubim to convince their constituents to take time out of their day and bring their family’s paperwork to town. In other countries, politicians “got out the vote”. In Hlenderia, politicans “got out the births”. Sometimes literally – along with urging the local herders to bring their documents to town, Kiru would often urge them to have more babies . More Mūnim meant more seats on the Grand Council, which meant more power.

---

Kiru’s speech was to be given at an auction hall near the center of town. It had been packed all day, with local herdsmen selling parts of their flock before winter, mostly to Kwari slaughterhouse owners. Despite the strong odor the muskox gave off, its meat was considered a delicacy in the north and west of the country, and was even becoming popular with gastronomes overseas; best simmered long and slow in a stew to soften the tough, slightly-gamey meat.

In the late afternoon, most of these herders left, with a few of them staying behind to hear Kiru’s talk. The audience was supplemented with MPF members who lived in town. Seeing this always disappointed Kiru. Town-dwellers had no problem turning up to the census office; it was the herders that the party needed to convert to true believers. The vast majority of Mūnim in the country lived the kind of semi-nomadic life Kiru grew up in, and if even half of these non-participants could be compelled to register, the fortunes of his party would grow immensely.

The speech itself went fine, with Kiru receiving polite applause from the assembled, but he felt as if he was preaching to the choir. While speaking, however, he noticed a bearded man standing in the back of the room, dressed in the peculiar style of the tundra-dwelling Mūnim far to the southeast, and wondered what he was doing this far north.

Kiru resolved to approach the man afterwards, but it was not to be: the stranger cleared out with the rest of the hall. Kirubim-araru walked to the small inn he was staying for the night, looking forward to returning to the capital the next day.

[Pauline_Bonaparte]

Pelachis, Capital Province
April 23, 2024

Kirubim-araru still had not gotten used to driving, though it had been eight years since he learned. Part of this could probably be chalked up to having been an adult, freshly moved to Pelachis, when he got his license, and not an eager teen like most Hlenderians. After all, there was little need growing up for Kiru to drive anything bigger than a four-wheeler, and little chance to run into anything besides the broad side of a muskox. In the city, though, even his small sedan seemed like a deadly weapon ready to maul a pedestrian.

The street design of this city didn’t help. He lived in the most central, oldest part of Pelachis, a few blocks from the Grand Council Chambers. Here, the narrow streets and alleys were winding and bumpy, a relic of the capital’s medieval history, and cars were parked where ever there was space – half on the sidewalk, half in the road, or double parked with hazard lights on. The buildings in the center of Pelachis were a hodgepodge of old and new; office buildings of glass and steel stood next to traditional longhouses of brick and timber divided into apartments.

Driving was further complicated by the fact that today was Saint Heldin’s Day, a Vrotri holiday that meant Hlenderians of that ancestry were walking the streets, some with bags of produce and meat for dinner later, others with the traditional tree branches to or from worship services, and still others just enjoying the day. In Hlandris Province, it had just snowed for the first time this season – Kiru’s sister had texted him that morning mentioning it. Here, in the northwest of the country, it was a warm fall day, and people were taking advantage of the weather.

Traffic was stopped now at the corner of 1st and Barusi Streets. A parade slowly made its way down 1st, towards the large Vrotri temple a half mile down the road. Kiru sighed, and rolled the window of his sedan down. He craned his head out the window to get a better look, and saw a float decorated in autumn colors slowly crawl by.

Saint Heldin was one of the peculiar saints that only the Vrotrim seemed to care about. His first year on the Council, after seeing a Saint Heldin’s Day parade, Kiru asked his uncle – a spiritual man – about it, and was told that Heldin was not even a Hlenderian, but some foreign, syncretic idol embraced by the Vrotrim and given a crudely-translated local name. “That people”, his uncle said, “have always been swayed by strange religion.”

Kiru shook his head in disapproval and brought it back inside the car. He texted his legislative caucus: “Stuck in traffic. Heldin parade”. In a few minutes, though, the parade passed and traffic began to move again. Two blocks ahead, Kiru could see the Grand Council Chambers. Built in the Hlenderian vernacular style, the Chambers looked like the old buildings that remained in the city center. Meant to resemble a traditional Hlenderian longhouse, the Chambers were as long as a city block, though narrow in width. The main construction material were gray granite stones, sourced locally, but most were covered by a wide, sloping wooden roof supported with carved spruce buttresses.

When Kiru made it to the legislature a few minutes later, he pulled his sedan into the underground parking garage reserved for legislators and staff. As he exited his car and walked to the elevator, Kirubim checked his clothing – traditional Mūni garb, of course. Fashion in the Chambers was split largely on ideological lines, with the conservative Kwari and all the Mūni legislators wearing traditional clothes and the members of the United Vrotrim and Liberal Party dressed in foreign “business suits”.

The elevator dinged and Kiru was in the Chamber Lobby. There were fewer “journos” than usual, considering the holiday. Two reporters made their way towards Kiru as he headed for the Council floor.

“Pelachis Observer. Councillor Sarachit, what is your opinion on the International Forum’s move to create an anti-poaching body?” one asked.

Kirubim-araru cleared his throat and brought the talking points disseminated by the Mūni People’s Front leadership to the front of his mind.

“We must take every effort to conserve our nation’s environment and fauna. But we also must preserve the traditional way of life of my people, including the whaling that is essential to the livelihoods of coastal Mūnim. And the customary laws of Hlenderia’s heartland need to be respected. Excuse me,” Kiru said, and walked towards the Council floor.

Opening the door to the legislature proper, he saw about seventy people seated for the day’s session. Most of United Vrotrim, of course, was missing except for a few backbenchers. Kiru made his way to his seat on the right side of the chamber, near the middle of the slim column of seats assigned to the MPF. His seat location, like most in the body, corresponded to his political importance in his party: not too important, but senior enough to avoid being relegated to the nosebleed seats.

The “observation deck”, as it was facetiously known by the Councillors, was mostly empty, reflecting the public’s desire to enjoy one of the few nice days left this fall. The public’s gallery was a balcony suspended by carved columns above the semitheater on which legislators sat. At the podium on the floor stood President Marsilamat Indari, answering questions from the Council’s right-wing about the IF’s aforementioned anti-poaching motions.

Presently, Indari was looking down with a sly smirk as a member of his own Traditionalist Kwarim party grilled him, calling the IF’s proposals “dangerous” to the Kwari economy. In a way, Kiru pitied the President, who was often forced to defend the King’s “modernizing” agenda, despite opposition from even his own party.

The TK member returned to her seat now, and the speaker called on Baaru-tanti^[1] Illabil, one of the Council’s great firebrands and a leading member of the fiercely traditional United Southeastern Mūni Bands. The USMB was an ally of Kiru’s own Mūni People’s Front but sat even further to their right, demanding an immediate repudiation of all foreign treaties, an expansion of Mūni-designated territory, and a return to traditional governance.

Councillor Illabil got up from his seat and strode to the podium facing President Indari. His clothes, unlike those of the more northern Mūnim, were undyed from a lack of colored plants in the tundra, and were made from a mixture of muskox and bear skins. On his right shoulder was a small but finely-tanned cape made of skin from a ringed seal, and around his neck and broad shoulders he wore a large necklace made from a mixture of animal and human bones, the latter being those of honored relatives.

Kiru was always amazed to see how the southeastern Mūnim dressed, and wondered how warm Baaru-tanti must be under all those animal skins. When Illabil reached the podium, he put his hands on its wooden top and leaned into the microphone. His jewelry rustled, and was audible in the speakers on the room’s ceiling.

“Honored President,” Illabil began with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “when your government, facing its inability to whip votes from your own party, united with the Liberal opposition to force our Commonwealth to join the International Forum, I expected that it would lead to further assaults against the traditional Hlenderian way of life;”

Scattered applause came from the USMB seats to Kiru’s right. He was impressed, as he had been these past eight years, of Illabil’s ability to launch immediately into a sort of spoken polemic.

“But I did not expect such assaults to come so quickly, or in such force. The nations of the world who hold power in the International Forum pollute our air and warm the Southern Sea. One of my constitutents told me that seal hunts now take his band’s boats nearly to the southern ice shelves. Meanwhile,”

Councillors of both Mūni parties were now leaning forward in their seats.

“These same nations wax poetic about the need to reduce ‘poaching’. As if we Mūnim are incapable of managing our own animal sources! Ambassador Releth said that he thought this was ‘necessary’, and only gestured vaguely at protecting the sacred rights of my people to hunt their land and fish their seas without government interference. Honored President, wilt thou -”

The speaker interjected. “Councillor Illabil, use of the informal is not -”

“Honored President, will you commit to ensuring this proposed IF poaching body does not infringe on the rights of Mūnim?”

The USMB and MPF legislators clapped; Kiru thought the question got at the heart of the hypocrisy inherent to this issue. As for Illabil’s use of the informal, this was part of the latest political game on the Grand Council: since MPF Councillor Saharu-madis Darsi had been suspended for using the informal, other Mūnim would regularly do the same, only to correct themselves or retract at the last minute.

For his part, if the grilling was getting to President Indari, he didn’t show it. He kept the same knowing smirk on his face that he had had for most of the morning.

“Councillor Illabil, I would like to remind you that we are discussing a body which has yet to be voted on, let alone ratified by our Commonwealth, let alone convened! The government has communicated to Ambassador Releth and the IF at large our deep concern with Mūni harvest rights on land and in the Southern Sea.”

Councillors from the Liberal Party and the centrist Kwari People’s Party applauded. Kirubim-araru heard a door click in the public gallery above, and a man dressed in the distinctive garb of the southeastern Mūnim enter. He thought, for a moment, that he resembled the man he had seen nine days ago in Alpumachir, but second-guessed himself. The man took a seat in the gallery and glanced at Illabil, still at the podium, and then at Kiru himself.

“Honored President,” Illabil replied, “The Mūni people do not want concern from this government, they want guarantees! We must not abdicate the Commonwealth’s sovereignty on this issue!”

“Councillor Illabil, I have answered your question; when the IF proceeds to a vote on this issue I will keep this body informed of further developments.”

“The Speaker calls Councillor Kwarrōth to the floor,” the Speaker said, referring to the King’s daughter, a legislator sitting in his old seat and representing the Kwari People’s Party. Illabil looked at President Indari with steely eyes and then returned to his desk.

---

1. Orca-Killer ↩︎