“I wondered if some kind of policy or something was behind it.”
“We became raiders because we had no choice,” Eiri said simply. “We couldn’t afford to survive any other way.”
Syrus realized now that it had probably been a good thing he and Eiri hadn’t had this conversation earlier. His first instinctive thought was that there was never an excuse for stealing from others, that there were always other choices.Before all of this, he probably would have said that thought out loud, too, which would have ended in yet another argument. Even now, he felt Eiri tense despite how calm he sounded, like he’d braced himself for a rebuttal.
“I get the feeling it’s more complicated than that,” he said carefully. He kept his body relaxed and his voice as calm as Eiri’s. The very last thing he wanted was to fight with his husband again.
“Do any of you know much about the history of Canjir?”
Xan and Syrus shook their heads, while Ellis said, “I know a bit. Scholars all over the world collected stories of the mountain, given the chaos it caused everywhere. The librarians don’t stock anything solely devoted to Canjir, though.”
“I’d be shocked if they did,” Eiri nodded. “Around 300 years ago, Canjir was a paradise, a peninsula off the southern coast of Vaetreas. The land was fertile and green, so much so that our main exports were crops that are almost impossible to grow in the north. The kingdom was small, but it prospered, and there was peace and plenty for my people. We traded freely and were welcome in every kingdom on Tenaar. We explored the oceans with cartographers from Nevarre and Vaetreas and learned woodworking from the craftsmen of Gavarria.”
Syrus had never been to Canjir, but he’d heard stories, and he couldn’t imagine the desert island he’d heard so much about as the lush oasis Eiri described.
“So what happened?” he asked quietly.
“Anatau.”
“Anatau.”
Eiri and Ellis spoke at the same time. Ellis gave him a rueful smile and motioned for him to continue, settling back into his chair. Like Syrus, Ellis and Xan appeared caught up in Eiri’s story, food forgotten as they listened.
“The Canjiri only knew that Anatau was a mountain,” hewent on. “My people lived in its shadow, and it was quiet for hundreds of years, if not more. Long enough that only a few old legends even mentioned a ‘fire mountain’. We always thought it was just a story.”
“There’s usually at least a little truth to be found even in old legends,” Ellis murmured, purposely not looking at anyone as he spoke, especially not Xan.
Eiri nodded. “We found that out the hard way. About 250 years ago, tremors shook the land. Those weren’t unusual, so no one gave them much thought. Then they grew more frequent, lasted longer, but no one knew what was causing them. Unfortunately, that meant no one was prepared when Anatau revealed itself.”
“I’ve read the books that talk about the eruption,” Ellis murmured, filling in the silence when Eiri lapsed. “They say it was so loud it could be heard as far north as Sarkhyr and even in Caranyvik.”
“That’s what the stories of the survivors said,” Eiri agreed softly, and there was old pain and grief in his voice when he spoke, a quiet mourning for his ancestors. Without thinking, Syrus reached over and took his husband’s hand, offering what comfort he could. Eiri seemed startled, their peace still new and tenuous, but he gave a gentle squeeze of gratitude.
He cleared his throat, taking a moment to compose himself before continuing. “As we all know now, Anatau was actually a volcano. It had been dormant for so long that history forgot about it. No one knows exactly how or why it happened, but over however many hundreds of years it sat since it last erupted, it built up an unimaginable amount of force. When it finally erupted, it was so violent that it literally tore itself apart and sundered Canjir from the mainland. The remains of it collapsed into the ocean and formed the Karjul Straits.”
“Vaetrean history likes to write out the destruction, alongwith the fact that we used to share a land border with Canjir,” Ellis said. “It’s almost impossible to find old maps showing it anymore.”
“Why would it matter?” Syrus asked. “Borders change. Maybe not as dramatically as this, but it happens.” Despite thirty-five years at court, he’d never understand politics.
“It’s easier to paint someone a villain if you can erase the tragedies that made them that way.”
Eiri’s words lingered in the silence that fell. He said it so simply, yet the words turned Syrus’ whole worldview upside down. He’d spent his whole life being taught that the Canjiri were lawless barbarians, too lazy and stupid to understand the wealth they sat on and squandering it to pillage and raid.
“What happened after?” Ellis whispered into the quiet, again hesitating, as though he feared a reprimand for asking.
“Over the course of two days, Canjir went from a prosperous mainland kingdom to a desolate island. There’s no record of how many died, but as near as we can guess, at least half the population died either in the eruption or in the months that followed. Many breathed in the gas and dust and it killed them quickly, but others fell ill when the survivors sheltered together on the beaches, either from exposure, hunger, or regular illnesses.”
“Surely the other kingdoms sent aid?” Syrus asked, the reality of the utter destruction setting in. He couldn’t imagine the devastation and chaos that would have been left behind. Hundreds or even thousands dead, with the traumatized survivors left to deal with the aftermath…
“They did at first,” Eiri nodded. “According to the stories, the Canjiri who’d moved deeper into the mainland and settled in other kingdoms drove the efforts and ensured food, water, and clothing were sent to the survivors. Some chose to leave the island, but others stayed and tried to rebuild.”
“Why, though? Was the land even viable at that point?”
“Why do any of us make foolish decisions?” He gave a rueful smile. “Pride, stubbornness, fear… perhaps all three at once. Despite everything, Canjir was home. Canjirishome. Generations of memories and tradition are rooted in the land there, and they didn’t want to leave it all behind.” Eiri paused, glancing out the window as though he could see Canjir, hundreds of miles to the south. “My people began restoring their homes within a few months. After that, though, the aid from other kingdoms tapered off, and they were left to fend for themselves.”
“But everything was different, right?” Ellis asked. “Overnight, Canjir became an island, cut off from all the land routes they’d used before. All the crops would have been gone as well.”
How had Syrus never known any of this? Why wasn’t it taught in schools? This wasn’t just Canjir’s history, but the history of their continent.
