13,000 years ago on the Itabacan Archipelago, the Itabayiti civilization is thriving. With every resource imaginable at their fingertips, they have spent the past thousand years building massive pyramids, enormous ceremonial courts, and towering walls to protect them from the Storm Spirit's wrath. Being a seafaring people, they actively explore beyond the great wall, tackling the powerful waves in their sturdy reed boats. But some of the Itabayiti feel they have strayed too far from their ancient traditions, and a plot to murder their ruler is discovered. The conspirators must be swiftly dealt with before it’s too late, but the ruler's suppressive actions are feared to have done more harm than good. A revolution appears to be imminent. Meanwhile, lingering curiously in the shadows, an ancient and mysterious figure slithers about, teasing the possibility that there might be something far more ominous on the horizon for Itabacan.
13,000 years ago on the Itabacan Archipelago, the Itabayiti civilization is thriving. With every resource imaginable at their fingertips, they have spent the past thousand years building massive pyramids, enormous ceremonial courts, and towering walls to protect them from the Storm Spirit's wrath. Being a seafaring people, they actively explore beyond the great wall, tackling the powerful waves in their sturdy reed boats. But some of the Itabayiti feel they have strayed too far from their ancient traditions, and a plot to murder their ruler is discovered. The conspirators must be swiftly dealt with before it’s too late, but the ruler's suppressive actions are feared to have done more harm than good. A revolution appears to be imminent. Meanwhile, lingering curiously in the shadows, an ancient and mysterious figure slithers about, teasing the possibility that there might be something far more ominous on the horizon for Itabacan.
“It happened long ago, far across the Great Sea to the east,” Tiam began. “Mawoi burst out of the frozen marshes in the Land of Many Rivers and his Great Light blossomed in the sky.”
“The sun!” her little boy squeaked, making her giggle.
“Yes, Atura.”
On a short bedside table, a beeswax candle flickered in her teal eyes and illuminated her son’s small bedchamber in a soft yellow glow. Above the table and centered in the eastern wall, a window opened to the dark jungle outside and the swirling gray clouds of an approaching storm. Tiam did her best to ignore the storm and gazed down upon her firstborn son who snuggled himself tighter against her hip with a big smile on his perfect face.
“The wicked Frost Spirit, Sikulka, ruled over the many rivers before we Itabayiti emerged from the reeds, but Mawoi banished him to his mountain peaks.”
She spoke softly, taking her time recounting her son’s favorite bedtime story, the Yayapti, the story of their people. He liked to hear the whole story in one sitting and not just in bits and pieces like his father, Abensu, preferred to stretch out over several nights. Suddenly, a flash of lightning startled them, followed by a low rumble of angry thunder and the first plops of raindrops on the palm fronds outside. Atura threw his thin arms around her bulging pregnant belly and buried his face in her tunic.
“There, there,” she said with a sigh, running her fingers through his thick black hair.
Atura was born under a new moon in the heart of the rainy season nearly two and a half years earlier. He arrived early with pale skin and an adorable tuft of dark-brown hair on his steaming head. Like his mother, he was instantly curious and vocal, but Atura was also easily frightened like his father. Abensu was in the other room waiting for her, but Tiam wasn’t ready to join him. She rubbed her son’s shivering arms and kissed his forehead, and then she forced herself to look out through the window to the ominous sky beyond.
The evening was starting exactly like the Eternal One had said it would – A second son twists the sky, while Ora churns around him. Tiam recalled the vision as clearly as if she had been the one to have it, but then she quickly closed her eyes again and reminded herself the vision hadn’t come to her. There was still a chance, however small, it wasn’t intended for her. Shaking the thought from her mind, she returned her gaze to her boy who was now looking back up at her. Dim firelight from the fire basin in the other room reflected in his worried, pale-green eyes, making them sparkle like sunlight on the sea.
“Mawoi’s great light radiated over the frigid reeds,” she said, “and he vowed his warmth would never again diminish. As the rivers melted, we Itabayiti used bone hooks and line made from strips of reeds to fish along the sandy banks, and we sharpened our stone-tipped spears on river rock.”
“Why, itaba?” Atura asked his mother.
“Well, we had to defend ourselves from the dangerous creatures who drank from the cool waters of the many rivers,” she replied. “It is said that some of those ferocious beasts had long sharp fangs and arms the size of tree trunks.” Tiam walked her fingers up his arm, tickling him and making him giggle. “The nani walked on their fists in large packs, and the meanest of them had shimmering gray hair on their backs. One strike from a nani could crush you, or even someone as big as your baba,” she said, referring to his father. “During the dry season, when the water was shallow enough to walk across, all sorts of creatures came to the many rivers. That was when we stopped fishing and took up our spears.”
“Kanu!” Atura shouted, anticipating the next part in the story. There was another crackle of thunder, and the rain grew louder.
“It is said that Boynay, the Rain Spirit, became angry one day and caused the rivers to overflow and the marshes to flood.” Tiam hovered over her boy like a cloud, wiggling her fingers like rain. “The deluge was so sudden and fierce, it forced the Itabayiti to climb the few remaining kiosay trees before the riverbank washed away. It was then that Kanu, the Great Serpent, came up from the deep, dark waters and spoke to them.”
She dropped the tone of her voice to a deep growling hiss. “I am lonely, Kanu said. I want children of my own, but I am old, and my body is tired. The Itabayiti could do nothing but listen as the floodwaters continued to rise. I will teach you to make reed boats in my image, Kanu said, that you might navigate these waters as I do and bring back offerings for me.”
“Kanu bad?” Atura asked.
Tiam shrugged. “Maybe, but the Great Serpent was true to her word, and she taught us how to build fantastic reed boats we call canuti. Each canuti has a head, a slender neck, a wide belly like your itaba, and a long slender tail that curves upward.”
“Ca-noo-tee!” Her boy enunciated the word perfectly.
“The offspring of Kanu,” she added, but then grimaced from a sharp pain in her stomach.
He watched her with concern, but Tiam held up her hand to let him know she was alright. She then took several long, controlled breaths, and waited for the pain to subside. After a tense moment, a warm wave of relief washed over her, and she continued the story.
“We Itabayiti became great navigators of the many rivers, and it wasn’t long before our canuti were stained blood-red and Kanu had grown fat.” She rubbed her belly for emphasis, making her boy giggle again. “But one warm night after the waters finally receded, the Amunti arrived in the Land of Many Rivers.”
“Oh no!” her boy exclaimed.
“They were like us, but covered in long, coarse hair.” She ran her fingers through his hair again, making it stick straight up. “Like the hair of a howling kugo, but with sand-colored skin underneath. It’s said, they also spoke a strange tongue that was choppy and forced through jagged yellow teeth. Fortunately, the Amunti weren’t hostile toward the Itabayiti, but they did have a deep hatred for Kanu.”
Tiam dropped the tone of her voice again, “Pick up your spears and destroy them, the Great Serpent pleaded, but the Itabayiti refused. They were exhausted by Kanu’s unquenchable hunger and didn’t want to get involved.” She set Atura upright, so that she could look into his eyes. “The Great Serpent hissed, Cowards! And then, without our protection, the Amunti descended upon Kanu and carved her up into four pieces. Baga, avenge me! she cried with her dying breath, and that was the last we heard from the Great Serpent.”
Just then, a strong gust of wind blew in through the open window, pelting their exposed skin with rain as if by a handful of pebbles. Atura shielded his face, while his mother set him on the bed and quickly closed the shutters. When she finished latching them in place, she slowly sat beside her boy, slightly out of breath, but trying not to show it.
“Baby?” he asked, rubbing his wet arms.
“Not yet,” she replied, forcing a smile.
“When?”
“Babies come from Ora, the Birthplace of Life,” Tiam explained. “Your itaba is a gateway to Ora, and itabati were once revered and cherished. It’s said, we Itabayiti were once ruled by a line of great itabati, starting with Obya. When Obya passed on to be with the ancestors, her name became the title bestowed upon her oldest daughter, Dukya.” She watched her boy nodding along as if understanding completely, which made Tiam smile. “Now, when your brother arrives, your baba…”
“Bruh-ver?” Atura interrupted her.
“Yes,” she answered, tickling him again. “When your brother arrives, your baba will blow a lungful of air over him until he stops crying. This imparts the breath of life, or Great Spirit, to him on behalf of Yucahu.”
Tiam took a deep breath and started to blow over her son, but then she felt another surge of pain. She quickly looked at the rattling shutters to distract herself, counting the rainwater dripping onto the stone floor and attempting to control her breathing once more. She fussed with her tunic belt, which she suddenly realized was unbearably tight. When she finally got the belt into a position that was reasonably comfortable, her thoughts returned to the vision – and Kayki sinks beneath his feet…
“Where was I?” she abruptly asked, attempting to subvert her intrusive thoughts. “Oh, yes. Without Kanu, it was important to keep the knowledge of building canuti alive by training every child from the moment they can walk.” She looked at her boy. “You’ve been to the reed yard, haven’t you?” she asked, and Atura nodded. “Did you know we also measure everything by them?” He shook his head. “One reed is almost three arm lengths.” Tiam gestured with her arms outstretched. “When you’re half-a-reed tall, you’ll begin training to harness Maroha, the Wind Spirit, and tame Niama, the Water Spirit. Children who do not cry at birth, do not receive the breath of life, and are denied this training. Then they are handed over to the araco to be trained in their ways.”
“Why?” he asked.
Tiam raised her eyebrows just as Abensu entered the room. “Ah – your baba will tell you when you’re older.”
“Tell him what?” Abensu asked, pensively. Her husband was a tall man, fit and thin, with dark cocoa skin, and a strong jaw beneath his short and neatly kempt black beard.
“About the ayr-co,” their son answered, struggling with the pronunciation of the word.
“Oh. Of course, Atu.” He tousled their boy’s hair and then turned to Tiam with pity in his jungle-green eyes. “My love, we need to get you…”
She thrust her hand in his face, silencing him. “I will be ready, when I am ready,” she said firmly. “I want to finish the Yayapti and tuck Atura into bed first.”
Abensu sighed and feigned a smile. “Of course, my love. But please…” he paused, looking at her finger nervously tracing around her large belly. “Try to skip a bit – for me?”
“No!” Atura protested, but Tiam laid her hand on his little shoulder.
“I will,” she conceded.
“Very well. Tayokun, Atu,” he said. Abensu then kissed his son on the cheek and left.
“Tay-kun, baba!” Atura called after him, saying goodnight.
Another crack of thunder boomed outside, causing Atura to quickly hide beneath the covers. Tiam calmly adjusted herself on the edge of the bed, watching the shutters continue to rattle and the rainwater pool on the floor.
“When the beasts came to the many rivers,” she said, returning to the story, “Itabayiti women were protected by the men and kept safe in their huts. It is said, in the middle of the hottest and stickiest night anyone could remember, a cry rang out and everyone rushed to a thatched hut and the wailing child inside.”
“Maboti,” Atura whispered, and his mother nodded.
“The wailing child pointed to a hole torn in the wall of the hut where he said a growling shadow had taken his itaba. They searched and searched but never found her. The following night, one of the araco wandered into the river to cool off and was never seen again. The third night, a newly appointed guard went missing after relieving himself in the tree line.” Her boy snickered but she continued, her tone growing more ominous. “The Itabayiti panicked, loaded their canuti, and sailed until the dry season came and the river turned to dust beneath them.”
Just then, the shutters burst open, and a wall of stinging rain drenched the room. Tiam immediately jumped up from the bed and forced them closed. She set the latch but could see the howling wind would simply blow them open again. Not knowing what else to do, she took the belt from her tunic, looped it around the latch, and then tied it into a knot.
“There,” she said, slowly pulling her hand away from the shutter; they remained closed but rattled louder in protest.
“What happens?” Atura asked, wiping rainwater from his cheeks.
Tiam brushed herself off and gently sat back down, relieved to no longer be wearing her belt, but now her irritation shifted to her soaking wet tunic that was sticking to her skin. And then the baby started kicking – while Ora churns around him…
“Itaba,” Atura whined.
“Yes, my little moon,” she said through a forced smile. “Umm…that night, after Mawoi went to sleep in the Durali, beyond the jungle, the Itabayiti remained awake and huddled together around the last kiosay tree. They were scared to follow Mawoi to sleep, but the journey had been hard, and it wasn’t long before the heat closed their eyes for them.” She leaned over and ran her palm across Atura’s eyes, which instantly closed, and then Tiam continued at a whisper. “All were soon sound asleep, except for Obya Tabay and her oldest son, Yaya.
“They talked softly in the hollowed-out section at the base of the tree. when Yaya suddenly noticed the jungle had fallen silent. Wearily, he stepped out from the hollow to investigate. Only a reed away, he instantly saw a shadowy figure staring back at him. He quickly rubbed his eyes and looked again, but he had been mistaken. There wasn’t one shadowy figure but five, six, seven, and then he stopped counting at eight and screamed…”
“Rudu,” Atura mumbled, his tired eyes still closed.
“Yes. At the call for alarm, the rest of the Itabayiti woke up to see the Amunti emerging from the jungle. A spear zipped past Yaya’s ear, through the opening of the tree, and into Obya Tabay. Yaya rushed to his itaba’s side, yanked the spear free, and quickly scooped her up into his sturdy arms. He charged out of the kiosay tree and ran toward the sleeping sun in the Durali. Behind him, the Itabayiti and the Amunti collided in combat.”
Tiam paused to lift her feet out of the deepening pool of rainwater covering the floor. She could now clearly see the knuckle-deep water trailing off through the doorway of her son’s room and into the rest of their residence, where the firelight danced across the ripples – and Kayki sinks beneath his feet…
“Itaba!” her boy said through a big yawn, snapping her back to the moment.
“Before long, Yaya noticed a great number of Itabayiti running alongside him. It’s said, he recognized they were faster than the Amunti, who had always relied on stealth when tracking their prey. Though he doubted they could have escaped Maboti, the Dark Shadow, Yaya was certain they could outrun the Amunti.
“They fled until Mawoi was high overhead. Bright beams of sunlight pierced the dense jungle canopy and illuminated the underbrush far below. When Yaya found a safe place to stop, he gently laid his itaba down on the damp jungle floor and spoke to her, but she did not respond. The Great Spirit had already left her body. As he looked around, breathing heavily, he saw his fellow Itabayiti were bowing toward him.”
“Why?” Atura asked, struggling to stay awake.
Tiam raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, but she stopped herself from answering his question. “There was no time to think!” she blurted out. “Suddenly, a rustling from a thick patch of omabu shrubs not far away alerted the others. They quickly surrounded Yaya and Tabay with their spears pointing outward. So, he kissed his itaba’s cool forehead, got to his feet, and charged into the jungle in the direction they had been traveling, realizing he was still carrying the Amunti spear. After a moment, the rest of the Itabayiti followed him.
“Broad wet leaves the size of turtle shells slapped at their thighs as they ran, ducking and dodging under and around tree branches and thick hanging vines. After three more days and nights of running without rest, the Itabayiti found themselves on the edge of an endless sea. The Bocoa, the Great Sea, stretched out before them. And there along the rocky shore grew the biggest and strongest reeds the Itabayiti had ever seen.
“Even though they hadn’t rested in days, they built four canuti before Mawoi’s great light sank into the sea. Yaya believed the only way to save our people and escape Maboti and the ravenous Amunti was to do what we Itabayiti do best. So, that night, instead of following Mawoi to sleep, they sailed out across the Great Sea.
“Once the sail lines were tied off and the rest of our people fell asleep, Yaya stood alone at the tiller to welcome the darkness, watching our ancestors dot the sky like sparks from a thousand fires. Suddenly, he noticed something he had never seen before. From behind a swirling mass of dark clouds, a white light appeared. It was too small and dim to be Mawoi, but much bigger than the ancestors.”
“Koo-ra-ka,” her sleepy boy mumbled.
“That’s right,” she replied. “Kuraka, the Moon Spirit, appeared out of the clouds and has watched over us ever since. But that wasn’t the only spectacular thing Yaya witnessed that night,” she continued. “As Kuraka passed overhead, Yaya saw a colorful river of light, as if the embers of those thousand fires had been spread from one edge of the void to the other by a giant hand. This smoldering river followed Kuraka, illuminating the canuti and flickering across the gentle waves of the Bocoa. The more Yaya watched, the more there was to marvel at. Large clumps of our ancestors swirled around great bonefires – where we burn the dead to release the Great Spirit. Others silently shot across the void with long white tails like the Great Serpent. I will show you some other night, my little moon.”
“Yay!” He yawned an even bigger yawn than before.
“Yaya was mesmerized and wanted to share what he had seen with the rest of the Itabayiti, but by morning the clouds had spread across the entire sky and the waves climbed high above their sails. The enormous waves crashed back down upon the canuti, knocking anything not tied down and anyone with a weak grip into the turbulent waters.”
“Yoo-ra-ca,” Atura said, and his mother nodded.
“Yes, but the Itabayiti had never come across Yuraca before,” she told him. “Yaya battled the Storm Spirit not knowing who he was, and helplessly watched as the Itabayiti were flung into the water one by one. Soon, the waves were so high and the pouring rain so thick, he lost all sense of direction. In desperation, Yaya prayed to the spirit of his itaba to guide him, and that was when the light from a single ancestor pierced the canopy of clouds.
“Determined to follow the light, Yaya pointed their canuti directly at it, but the storm instantly blew him back around. After many attempts, he discovered that if he kept the light on his right, the ancestor would follow alongside them, and Maroha would fill their sail.”
Tiam abruptly stopped talking when she noticed how quiet the storm outside had become. The shutters were no longer rattling, and she couldn’t hear the wind or a single raindrop – and Hurassa consumes the fields, and Sikulka returns from his peaks, and the gateway to Ora will close forever… She shivered and shook the vision from her mind.
“Itaba?” Atura rubbed his tired eyes.
She resumed her controlled breathing and thought the Eternal One’s vision might have been wrong. It wasn’t likely, she had to admit, but as the sound of buzzing insects and the nighttime jungle filled the room once more, a glimmer of hope began to form in her mind.
“Itaba!” she heard her son moan.
“Alright, my little moon. Where was I?” she asked.
“Tabay,” he muttered.
“Of course. Yaya concluded the bright ancestor must have been Tabay, but his joy was shattered when Mawoi rose from the waters once again to reveal the other canuti were gone. Yaya feared he was destined to wander the Great Sea alone until he heard a faint cry behind him. There, bobbing in the gentle rolling waves like a family of sea turtles, were his fellow Itabayiti. After he pulled them out of the dark waters, he told them all that had happened, and together they named the smoldering river Mayu, and started tracking Kuraka across the night’s sky. They counted twenty-nine different phases. And then, after forty days and nights, the Itabayiti spotted land.”
“Id-ba-kan!” Atura shouted.
“That’s right, Itabacan,” Tiam said. “They found eleven islands surrounding a much larger twelfth island. There were massive flocks of squawking birds in the sky, chacu and crabs and other creatures on shore, and every kind of fish imaginable swimming in and around brightly colored rocks beneath the surface of the shallow water. They named the largest island in the center Itabaca, and the surrounding eleven islands are called what?” she asked her boy.
“Conaca, Pacca…umm…Ba-ca?”
“Ba-ha-ca,” Tiam helped him. “Remember, many of the islands are named for their most abundant resource.” Atura gave her a confused look. “Hatca was infested with large red crabs. Niamca has many freshwater springs. Chacu are raised and trained on Chacuca.”
“Why’s baba call them boar?” he asked.
Tiam giggled, “Because your baba spends too much time with Yaya Amnu, who hates chacu and calls them his great pain!” She tickled Atura’s belly, making her boy squeal like a baby boar. “So, Yapaca you know, is flat and where we used to live. Sparkflies once covered Coyaca at night, but now it’s where we grow our vegetables. Tell me, what grows on Hamaca?”
“Cotton!”
“Good. And what about Amaca?”
Atura thought for a moment and then said, “Twees?”
She giggled again. “Close enough. Yes, Amaca is densely forested, but it is also where the lesini train in their craft. They are our healers and move from island to island collecting the ingredients they need. Lastly, there’s Risca, which has bubbling pools of bitumen that we use for what?”
“Ca-noo-tee!”
“Yes. It helps seal and protect them from the salty water of the Bocoa. Now, because it was Yaya who had rescued everyone, and it was his mother who guided them safely across the Bocoa, the Itabayiti made Yaya their ruler for life. We now refer to him as the Biyaya, the first Yaya, and he ruled for fifteen years. After he went to be with the ancestors, it was proclaimed the name Yaya would be passed down to every ruler of Itabacan.”
“How long?” Atura asked.
“Oh – umm,” Tiam stumbled over her words. His question caught her off guard. “Well, for nearly a thousand years, I guess. In that time, we Itabayiti created the liquid stone, cibmani, which we pour into molds to form the walls of our homes and the great wall that protects us from Yuraca. We built the Pyramid of Mayu for the araco to observe our ancestors, and at the foot of the pyramid, the plaza hosts our festivals, and the almec courts our almec matches. Spirit temples stand atop the highest point of every island…”
“Kayki!”
“Yes, the Earth Spirit resides in the Temple of Kayki here on our island.” Tiam heard her husband sloshing his way through the ankle-deep water toward them. “We have fresh water pumped through covered channels to every home, and our waste and flood water feed into ditches, which then travel to cleansing stations near the harbor.”
“Two Grand Gateways straddle the wide waterways between the island of Chacuca and Niamca to the east, and Yapaca to the west,” Abensu said, leaning in Atura’s doorway. “Our fishing canuti exit through the Gate of Kuraka and return to Itabacan Sound through the Gate of Mawoi. And…” He paused for effect as he sloshed the rest of the way to the foot of his son’s bed. “On top of Mount Otaba, the Yaya’s Palace glistens like a sun-bleached conch shell overlooking all of Itabacan.”
“Wow.” Atura’s mouth fell open.
“You know, Yaya Amnu is my friend and I’m sure he’ll invite us up to the palace one day soon,” Abensu added. He turned to Tiam as if wanting to say something, but only smiled at her before turning around and slowly sloshing back the way he came.
“I’m ready,” she said, stopping him. “It’s time.” She slipped her feet into the cool water covering the floor and stood looking down on her firstborn. “Tayokun, my little moon.”
“Tay-kun, itaba!” he replied.
Tiam tucked her boy tightly into his reed bed, kissed his forehead, and smiled as he turned over beneath the blanket, closed his eyes, and was soon asleep. She picked up the flickering candle and walked with Abensu into the dining area, which was bright and warm thanks to a blazing fire in a copper-lined basin in the northeast corner. They turned left, their bare feet still sloshing through the water, and walked past a long wooden table in the center of the room covered with the fresh flowers she had gathered earlier that day. After several paces, they turned left again to enter their bedchamber. Suddenly, the air pressure in the residence increased and the howling wind returned, thrusting the back door of the residence open and blowing out the candle in her hand.
Tiam looked up at her husband. “Did the storm not already pass over us?” she asked.
“It did, my love,” he answered, rushing to close the door. Once it was secured, he returned to escort her through the doorway and into the bedchamber. “But we only remain in Yuraca’s gentle heart for so long.”
Tiam’s mind was racing as fast as her heart was pounding. She barely noticed Abensu lift her dripping feet out of the water and place them on the bed, where she now lay facing the doorway into the other room and the flickering firelight within. Sweat gathered on her brow and cascaded down into her eyes, but she didn’t have the strength to clear it away. She could only let it pool there before allowing it to run down her cheeks. She heard the rain pick back up and the shutters over the window in their bedchamber start to rattle. There was a squeaking noise beside her, and she suddenly noticed Lesini Nun sitting in a wooden chair folding a stack of towels. The elder lesini was staring at her with her dagger-like azure eyes. And then the pain returned – A second son twists the sky, while Ora churns around him. Kayki sinks beneath his feet…
She grabbed Abensu’s hand. “We must name him…” she started to say, but the pain was excruciating.
“Take it easy, my love,” he whispered, petting her hand. “Breathe.”
“No!” Tiam shook her head. “Promise me – you must name him AN-KI.”
“We’ll discuss it later, my…”
“ABENSU!” she screamed, and then she saw the expected shock on his face. Tiam tried to catch her breath, glaring at him as he started to object, but then Abensu quietly nodded his head. “Promise me,” she demanded.
“Alright, my love,” he wisely conceded. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” she smiled at him through her pain, and then Tiam reclined her head and closed her eyes.
It was time. She couldn’t delay her destiny any longer. As she struggled to control her breathing, feeling her second son squirm within her belly, her thoughts returned to the Eternal One’s vision – and Hurassa consumes the fields, Sikulka returns from his peaks, and the gateway to Ora will close forever.
This story follows a varied cast of characters in an ancient civilization. A grieving chief, a pair of mischievous brothers, an endangered priestess, and an adventurous high chief's daughter are just some of the characters we encounter in a world filled with richly developed religions, political turmoil, ancient spirits, and great songs of the seas and stars.
The prologue hooked me right away, as it was grounded in a high-stakes scene, made me relate to the emotions of the POV character, and provided a clear look at the lore and richness of their culture. However, the pacing in the rest of the story felt much slower due to heavy exposition, too many POV characters, and a distant style that focused on fact over emotion.
We follow a different character in each of the first 10 chapters - the first full 3rd of the book - which means I wasn't able to become fully invested in any one of them. The writing style is quite distant, with characters used more like a way to view different elements of the society, rather than acting as the driving force of the story. Because the author does not invite us much into the inner thoughts and experiences of each character, there was not much to differentiate each from the others in terms of personality or goals.
This story is a love letter to worldbuilding, which will certainly appeal to many readers of epic fantasy, but the sheer amount of exposition and description about the architecture, artisanship, history, and religion bogged the chapters down too much. The first several paragraphs of almost every chapter describe the scenery and context in great detail, with each new character taking a backseat in favor of the setting. I found myself skimming through some summaries of pottery making, sailing, reed collecting, and other day-to-day activities which could have been more interesting if we had been more fully invested in the characters before being shown their work.
I also am disappointed that the language itself did not have greater artistry. An exposition-heavy, mythological work seems like a great opportunity to use a lorekeeper's voice as narrator. These descriptions would have been so much more enthralling if shared as though by an old grandma recounting the beauty of her own culture, rather than through a neutral voice that did not change to match each new POV.
I would recommend this book to readers who prefer worldbuilding and plot as the focus of stories. If you want a character-driven story, this one will probably frustrate you - I noticed that the author does not actually include main character names in his synopsis. If you love ancient empires, mythology, and lots of detail, give it a try!