- SETHA KABI -

The other side of the river was a peculiar place. The original neighbourhoods of the district must have been pretty old, since they were built directly next to the main road. This road was connected to the end of the Longbridge, which was itself one of the oldest structures of our town. Truly historic. This is why the Communal in our Nassaryottics also had a Communarch -an archpriest, similar to our own Despots, instead of just regular priests. Alongside the community’s leader, whom they’d elect every decade or so, the Communarch, and the communal in general, were some of the most important people in the Nassaryottics.

(Some also say that a priest from here was the one who had, after leaving a long time ago, founded the great Communal of Nocturis, or Polaris, I can’t remember exactly which one.)

Setha Kabi would always say the original Nassaryotts of our town were different from others. Different from those fake Havro-Nassaryotts of Trouterri, who hadn’t even suffered through the Second Rout. They’d only been hunted since the Princes of Havra ordered them slaughtered, barely fifty years ago. No, Riviella’s Nassaryotts weren’t like them. They’d been living here for eons, ever since the First Rout of Nassa, more than a thousand years ago.

He’d stated so. Clearly, and firmly. On multiple occasions.

Now, someone a bit more well-read could point out to him the works of Fidi Quma, the great Nassaryott explorer and cartographer. He, in addition to all his other epic travels, had also walked the entirety of Pelagia, both the shores and mountains. He’d done so around 990 AL under orders of the then Dolvetian Emperor, Allar V.

The purpose of this great journey was to write down and describe all of Pelagia’s towns, villages and people. Fidi Quma went through every Communal in Pelagia during his travels, and mentioned them one by one, in great detail, in his work. Yet, he wrote nothing about a Communal existing in Riviella, or any Nassaryotts at all for that matter.

Setha Kabi could then provide all the necessary evidence to back this particular well-read individual into a corner. He’d mention for example the other great traveller of the time, Elvira of Trouterri. She’d written that this town, our town, was built upon waters.

This is no great discovery of course. Anyone could easily spot the Riviel River running through the town, no great explorer required. What truly mattered however, according to Setha Kabi, was that the ancient texts of the Nassaryotts in Riviella, also refer to our town as a “hydron” -or something like that, again I don’t exactly remember, which can also be translated as “town upon the water”. And this apparently was really important to ancient Nassaryotts. They’d always write down in what kind of place exactly they’d built their Communals.

He’d then combine the two previous claims with the letters Dolvetian General Mahut, conqueror of Riviella, had written to the Emperor during Riviella’s siege, or Res as the Dolvetians called her. In them he described that, in order to take the town of Res, he had to cross a “great flow”. So, waters equal hydron, hydron equals great flow, great flow equals Res, and Res equals Riviella. Nothing hidden under the sun. And the, by then utterly speechless, well-read individual, had no choice but to agree.

This whole affair didn’t really seem to bother much the barefoot Nassaryotts of our town, or their women, who had to clean brothels in order to make ends meet. Nor did knowing for sure if they’d arrived here hunted by nature or the Dolvetians, helped them in any meaningful way. They all acknowledged however, that since their Setha Kabi was wasting his time with such stupid and meaningless things, it meant those things were neither stupid nor meaningless. And he’d, of course, have some important and useful reason to do so. At least to him. And if it was to him, then it surely was to them as well. All of them.

It was said that he’d even cared enough to write a note about this topic, and have it sent to the “Big Owl”, the great university at Sipolis. To the wisent men Pelagia had to offer. And in that note, he wrote them that, since the Nassaryotts existed in Riviella for over a thousand years -which was an irrefutable fact, no matter what that Quma guy said, it meant the Pelagians also existed alongside them for over a thousand years as well. With their castles and their bridges and everything else. And if such was the case, it was impossible for Riviella to have been built by Dolvetians, like the Emperors at the Great Chimney were, apparently, saying.

And the wisemen gracefully accepted his note, it is said. And awarded him great honours and gave him high praises. And they still use it to this day, as of course they should. How could they not?

After all, by apparently proving the continuous existence of Nassaryotts in Riviella (a matter, in truth, not that important), Setha Kabi had also proved the continuous existence of Pelagian civilisation it the area (a matter of upmost importance)!

Setha Kabi had no official position. He wasn’t the Communarch. He wasn’t even a priest at the Communal. Nor was he the elected leader of our town’s Nassaryotts. He had no title, nor was he involved in anything. Anything at all. He’d never go to the Belir to ask for any favours, or to our town’s rich and powerful to get their support. He’d just sit idle inside his store in the Little Stoas. Never complaining about anything.

Sometimes he’d leave the town, in secret, and go up the mountain. Up there, was a special man. A man very close to him. An old friend. He’d reach the monastery, our monastery. He’d come in and sit down with father, under the roof of Gods his people didn’t believe in, and talk for hours. About all that had happened. About all that would happen. About faith. These talks were the only times I could hear him directly. The only times I felt I could grasp the true meaning of faith. Any faith. Then, after the sun had set, he’d make his way back to Riviella, again in secret. This habit of his, no one knew.

It was only once every year, in the beginning of spring, during Dolvet’s festival, when one could see him out in public. Alongside the community’s leader and the Communarch they’d go on an official visit to Riviel’s Temple, to see Despot Mavier and wish him a happy new year. Then they’d go to the Belir and do the same thing.

Then to the Harvester. Setha Kabi was the only one who’d go to the Harvester.

The Harvester did not represent anyone anymore. There was no flock left. No clients. He had been quite popular once, back during the Viper’s Rebellion, when questioning any authority was allowed, even religious ones. The man had made a name for himself during those troubled times.

He’d claimed he could harvest the power of our river’s spirits, and use them to heal any sickness. He managed to put together quite a fortune from our town’s most gullible. Most of his followers were executed after the Dolvetians retook the town, The Harvester himself however managed to go into hiding until things calmed down. Then he came out, keeping a low profile. When they finally caught him, and dragged him before Belir Alleth, he promised to never teach, preach or heal anyone ever again.

No one knows why, perhaps Alleth was in a good mood that day, and let him live, only cutting out his tongue. Now, the only thing the Harvester owned, was a small shack with a little garden, on the outskirts of town. From this he made a pseudo-living. So, having nothing to do, he spent every day of his final years in his shack, on a large moving chair. All day he kept going back and forth, like a clock. Never blinking. Never moving.

People said he was thinking about the great years of the past, now gone. And he felt their weight heavy on his back, and that’s why he was sitting all the time.

Despite everything however, the people of our town still viewed him as an authority, as a religious leader. And he was. And Setha Kabi would visit him. And if our town had ten more religious leaders, even if they were like him, without followers, Setha Kabi would visit them as well. Once every year. During their greatest occasion. And, in his humble voice, would always tell them the same thing.

“In truth there is only one God, and under his fear we live.”

In summary, he was a god-fearing man. A man who knew how to read the ancient Nassaryottic dialects, and would always help the priests of the Communal to keep the faithful in order. He took great care of them. He’d study “The Book of Nature” more than any other book. It was his favourite, and he could recite it by heart in three languages. Pelagian, Dolvetian and Nassaryottic.

He was a bit shorter than average, and a little heavier. He’d always wear a tight black jacket -in summer or winter, with its three buttons always closed -in summer or winter. Underneath it, a black vest and white shirt. A silk, grey hat, with large shadings was always on his head. A fine piece, yet pressed so awkwardly on his round head, you thought it could fall down at any moment.

Same as him, was his store. The absolute definition of humility. It was located in the rear part of the last Little Stoa, the one closest to the river. Facing an alley, as if he wanted it hidden from the public. It had a small, domed entrance, that forced one to lower the head if they wanted to get in. Once inside, directly in front of them, was a small desk, with old, rusty metal covers on all sides. On top of it, a big book to write down the daily activities, next to some pennas and ink. Next to it, a small chest for keeping change.

The store’s shelves were almost empty. They only had a few fabric samples, and some second-class products. The poor man’s bread and butter, as they say. Some copper blades and cups, old trinkets, cheap wine, that kind of stuff. All of them were of little value, and had little to no connection with each other.

If somebody just wanted to buy a simple piece of fabric, or a bottle of wine, this wasn’t the place for them. And our town’s people knew this. It was only sometimes a newcomer would be fooled and get inside, while aimlessly passing through the area. But even then, most would not care to explore such and old and dirty store. From the very entrance of the Little Stoas, many larger and shinier shops would have grabbed their attention. With their vibrant colours, and aromas, and friendly staff – “Come! Come! Have a look, no need to buy! See? Great stuff! Great deals!”

He wasn’t like that.

Inside the store were also his younger brother Miel and his two kids. The three of them had nothing to do all day, but would always stand next to the door. Setha Kabi did not allow them to sit down, or go outside. He didn’t want them standing outside his store. So, they'd lazily wander in front of the nearly empty shelves, silently snorting, whispering so he wouldn’t hear them.

He was always at his desk, with his head hanging above the big book, scribbling. All day. Every day. He was writing everything down on that book. Filling out orders, solving problems and equations, from early in the morning until late in the afternoon. Then, when the priests gave the signal, he’d close the shop and have everyone form a straight line to the house. Him at the head, Miel behind him and the kids last.

This, in a few words, was his store. A hole in the ground, one might call it. And he’d live inside that hole without any of the comforts enjoyed by the rest of the world. By the rest of us. With no windows, painted walls, or decorations. A room of air and water – of nothing, as they said.

“Let us at least do something!” Miel would sometimes complain. “Why are we even here?”

Setha Kabi would then lift his eyes and look at all three of them.

“You learn to suffer. First and foremost. Without knowing this, how are you going to hold the store?”

Miel would then lower his head. His kids would do so as well. It was true. How in the world would they do it? How could they hold this store? This store? The biggest and most important store in our town?

This is not a joke. It truly was.

Everyone in Riviella knew it.