Chapter 5: The Cultural Exchange Delegation (1)
How does one escape a job that doesn’t suit them?
“I knew it. Hashana! It’s war!”
Hashana stared blankly at her creator, who was shouting with the veins on her neck bulging, and continued her serious contemplation. If being the ‘saintess of war’ were just a job, I would have quit three years ago.
Sadly, for Hashana, who was created with the label of saintess of war from birth, she couldn’t even politely bow out by saying, “It doesn’t seem to suit my aptitude.”
As Hashana remained silent, Rsanda’s eyes shot up. “It’s war, so why are you just blinking like that? What did I tell you? I told you not to let your guard down when you requested that delegation from Karasvati, that a day like this would come soon, didn’t I?”
Hashana swallowed a sigh as she looked down at the feet of her creator, who was stomping the ground in a fit of rage. “Rsanda… Karasvati is the goddess of art and scholarship. She has not the slightest interest in war.”
“No interest! Art and war are closely intertwined! She loves war and has said that it’s what gives rise to stimulating creative works!”
“Hah…”
“This is no time for you to be sighing! The spy is right there! At the gates of my glorious fortress!” Rsanda shouted.
Hashana felt like screaming instead of sighing as she looked where Rsanda’s finger was pointing. A group of men stood gathered before the sole entrance to this fortress city, protected by layers of walls and a deep moat. Thirty men in red cloaks, and one in a purple cloak at their head. The men were arranged in some semblance of rows and ranks. It was, at best, a semblance—a sloppy formation, worlds apart from the razor-sharp precision of trained soldiers. The formation looked even sloppier with all sorts of musical instruments, painting supplies, and bundles of paper slung haphazardly on their backs, sticking out at odd angles.
They’re obviously musicians, painters, and bards. What in the world is Rsanda seeing that makes her call them spies?
"Haaaah." A deeper, darker sigh than ever before escaped Hashana’s lips. It was the middle of a peaceful era where culture and art flourished. The goddess of war, having lost both respect and dignity, tormented Hashana daily with this hysteria that bordered on paranoia.
I should have known something was up when she so readily agreed when I said we needed to develop the territory in line with the times… She was already saying strange things, but she’s gotten even weirder since Karasvati’s visit. This is a disaster.
Swallowing the unstoppable sighs, Hashana soothed Rsanda as if calming a child. “Rsanda. Those men are not spies. They’re a delegation led by an imperial prince.”
“That’s the proof that Karasvati has planted the seeds of war! If not for war, why would a prince of the empire come here?”
“Because the crown prince, the emperor’s legitimate son, will soon inherit the throne. That man is a prince in title only; he’s an illegitimate child, so it’s customary for him to leave the imperial palace.”
“If he left the palace, he should have been granted some decent territory to live off of! Why, of all places, did he come to my territory, the glorious Durgtah! His intentions are obvious! This is a declaration of war!”
Deciding that a firm verbal denial was not quite enough, Hashana shook her head from side to side. “The prince came to Durgtah because it is the most unremarkable place on the entire continent. He will only survive his older brother by demonstrating that he is completely removed from the power structure. He brought people like musicians and bards on this long journey to show that he has no intention of fighting for the succession.”
“Musicians and bards are under the protection of Karasvati, who governs art and scholarship! The horse that man is riding is Karasvati’s favorite! If marching into my domain leading such people isn’t a declaration of war, then what is it!”
“Why are you acting as if you didn’t know the delegation was coming?”
“I’ll tell you why! One look at the man in the front confirms it! That’s a honey trap! That man has come to warm your bed by any means necessary and shake Durgtah with pillow talk!”
“Hah…”
No matter how nicely Hashana explained, Rsanda couldn’t calm her excitement, as if she had lost her mind. Hashana, who had been trying to persuade her gently, let her shoulders droop helplessly. Although Rsanda had always had such tendencies, today she was completely unreasonable.
“Rsanda… there is no more war in this world. It’s time you accepted that.”
“What do you mean there’s no war! When I, the goddess of war, am standing here with my eyes wide open!”
Hashana, about to retort, lost even the will to argue and closed her mouth. In a world where even the will to argue like this disappears, what kind of war could there be? Her shoulders slumped even lower.
The high priest, who had been quietly observing the argument, nodded at Hashana as if he understood everything. From the highest watchtower where they stood to the citizens clustered on the outer walls to watch the visitors, everyone was cheering for Hashana with their eyes. All of Durgtah was of one mind. Rsanda, oblivious to the fact that everyone except her was exchanging glances, just tapped the wall impatiently.
“What are you all doing?! Hurry and light the fires and pour the oil!” Rsanda ordered.
“All the oil was refined, bottled, and packaged this morning,” Hashana stated flatly. “Telling us to burn our only source of income is absurd.”
“The empire has sent a spy so brazenly! Is this any time to be talking about income?”
“Of course it is. You were the one who said we can’t fight a war without money and ordered us to squeeze out oil to sell. You, Rsanda, and no one else.”
Rsanda was speechless.
“Thanks to you, all the citizens have started planting sunflowers wherever they see soil, regardless of the harsh cold or heat. We cannot let that effort go to waste.”
Remembering the words she had spoken and completely forgotten, Rsanda clamped her mouth shut and avoided Hashana’s gaze. But only for a moment. The goddess of war, her eyes darting around, started to throw another tantrum.
“I am very disappointed in you, Hashana! For the saintess of war to forget her calling and avoid war, this is unacceptable!”
“Disappointed?” For the first time, Hashana’s expression, which had remained as obedient as possible no matter how annoying, turned cold. “From the moment I was created by you, Rsanda, until now, I have never forgotten my duty as a creation. Not for a single day, not for a single moment, from the time I took my first steps until today, as I approach my coming-of-age ceremony.”
It was true. Every day, Hashana woke before dawn, purified herself, listened to Rsanda’s endless complaints, and when the temple bell rang, she would gather the priests for morning prayers and blessings. After the blessings, she would lead the priests to the enimu trees, terraced along a steep slope.
Rsanda doesn’t manage them herself, so she has no idea how hard it is.
Enimu was a sour fruit tree that bore large yellow berries, almost the only fruit that could be cultivated year-round in Durgtah. For the health of the citizens who had to endure the harsh weather, the enimu harvest was crucial. So, every day, Hashana would carefully check for any withered trees, and if she found one, she would place her hands on each to bless and revive it. By the time her robes were stained with mud from going up and down the fields, it would be noon.
Around this time, the citizens, feeling sorry for her, would often hand her a rough, fist-shaped piece of bread soaked in goat’s milk. Breakfast was a piece of flatbread she barely touched during the blessings, and lunch was a lump of bread from the fields. That was about all she had for a proper meal.
Wow… laying it all out like this, my working conditions are a real mess.
On her way back from the enimu trees, she would check on the crop harvest and oil extraction, and once she sat in her office, an endless stream of reports and meetings would follow. This was how they were preparing for Durgtah’s god-awful weather of only extreme heat and cold. She checked how much profit the oil they sold had made, whether any places had a particularly good reaction, or placed additional orders. And if other places were pleased, she checked whether they could meet the order quantity.
For dinner, Hashana would make do by touring the eight warehouses to check the condition of the long-term food stores. By the time she returned, she would reek of salt. She would hurriedly bathe and change, and by the time the families had finished their evening meals, she would have to run to the basement of the central square to check on the distribution of the leftover sunflower seed press cake.
It’s strange to call it press cake when we didn’t press sesame seeds… but it does have a nutty smell.
Anyway. The fair distribution of the press cake to each household for use as soap or fertilizer was the end of her public activities.
The real tragedy is that that’s not the end of the day.
After returning to the temple for midnight prayers and blessings, it would already be dawn by the time she bathed and lay down. She moved around so restlessly that no pair of shoes could last a week. Looking down at her already tattered shoes, Hashana muttered dryly, “I am aware that in the eyes of a god, there must be many things you find unsatisfactory. However, ever since I opened my eyes in the sacred flame, I have done my utmost as your faithful priest, Rsanda. My only wish was that the people of Durgtah would not go hungry.”
Realizing her slip of the tongue too late, Rsanda cleared her throat awkwardly. At any other time, Hashana would have simply sighed and let the matter drop, but today, she was not so easily appeased.
“Nevertheless, if you still believe I am lacking, then I have nothing more to say.”
“No… When did I ever say you were lacking?” Rsanda responded.
“You just did. You told me not to make excuses, to fulfill my duty as the saintess of war.”
The people, one and all, narrowed their eyes and sighed. Some of their gazes, fixed on Rsanda, held no small amount of reproach. Startled by the hostility directed at her, Rsanda fumbled for an excuse.
“Um, Hashana, what I just said was just—”
“I apologize for interrupting,” Hashana said, cutting her off, “but I must be going to greet our distinguished guests. While I’m at it, I’ll be sure to ask them if they’ve really come here for a war.”
An icy chill radiated from Hashana as she turned away. With a sharp swish, the hem of her white robes fluttered as she quickly moved into the distance. Staring blankly at that slender retreating figure, Rsanda cautiously asked the priest standing beside her.
“Hashana is… she seems really furious, doesn’t she?”
“It would be stranger if she weren’t. She has lived every day busily without a single day of rest on your behalf, Rsanda, and yet you got angry at her for forgetting her duty…” the priest stated.
Behind him, the young priests, who had been clenching their fists, could hold back no longer. Raising their voices as if prepared for death, one cried out, "The saintess has never once had a meal sitting down! Did you even know that?"
"…Is that so?" Rsanda asked.
"The saintesses of other gods live in resplendent temples, attended by dozens, even hundreds, of acolytes, and are buried in mountains of offerings!" another exclaimed. "Our saintess is far from living in luxury, toils day and night in a crumbling temple, and yet has never once shown a hint of displeasure… How can you say such things to her? Even praise wouldn’t be enough!"
As their pent-up complaints burst forth, Rsanda let out a troubled groan. Her golden eyes followed Hashana’s retreating figure. "Ah, but I’m telling you, I really smell war on that guy."
"That’s not the smell of war, but of calming herbs," the high priest countered. "In the old days, when soldiers were wounded in battle, wasn’t it common practice to burn such herbs before even administering medicine?"
"It was…"
"You see? You’ve mistaken the scent for that of war. That prince is notorious as the greatest of libertines, holding banquets all night with his artist friends. The wandering merchants who passed through a few days ago warned us in no uncertain terms to be careful. They insisted that man would surely bewitch the saintess."
"But this time, it really doesn’t feel like a mistake," Rsanda insisted.
She glared down at the prince far below, stubbornly clinging to her suspicion. The more she looked at him, the more she felt an irritating sensation, like a fishbone caught in her throat.
