A strange place, Benjy. Although it is in this land that the current King is found, it is surrounded by the Sea of Sorrow. No boat can navigate there, for the waves of that sea are the King of All Waves himself. So, goods come from the sea on a causeway. All shipments have to go through him, and he charges a toll. No one can run this gauntlet but the King’s tax collectors.
Slyly, a traveling tax collector was tipped off. He, in turn, sent a spy to Benjy. He brought word back to where he was staying. The group sprung into action. “The King is not of the sea, but is of the desert lands. The King of All Waves is there!” So announced the spy.
All quickly assembled in the great hall. They looked to a small cracked carving of a glyph.
“The King of All Waves is of Benjy. We must travel to Benjy and bring proof of his station.”
The group knew that this was a grave task. Benjy is host to the most elusive of life: the fairy. This vermin does not grow readily in the fertile lands of the marsh. But breed it does, and in great numbers. The fairy is a salty, unappealing meal. Still, this was the source of the purest sand. And this was the cause of Benjy’s King’s power.
The group prepared for their journey. Bringing the King of All Waves to heel was beyond them. But, removing the tool of his demesne was within their powers. They picked the best and boldest for the quest.
“Al-Alfat,” they said. “There is a great task before us.”
“I am at your call.”
“Seek you the King of All Waves. Be he the King of Benjy and all in the lands of the mud, you must bring him down.”
Al-Alfat nodded, and was off for Benjy. She had been there before. She knew the trail and passage through the King of All Waves’ domain. Along her ride, she eagerly planned her approach. She remembered the annoyances accumulated over her visit: the beetles, the water, the tricky marsh.
She had watched their preparations. She showed great restraint, as she was loaded with the best pelts, the best steel, and provisions for a year. But she remembered well the restrictions of the mud.
Because it was deep mud, they all wore sandals. Quietly and without hindrance, she walked across the mud. On her neck, just under a “wing,” she wore a fox fur. The wind toyed with her headdress, and the flowing water pushed her away. As she stepped along, she recalled what she saw of the place. “The ground is steady but deeply slick. It is smooth in places, but it will not take an unwary step. Travel is difficult, but the main way leads us where we wish most. It is deep, but it is smooth. The journey will be a long one, but I will endure it.”
She walked on, day after day, through the winding passes. In her arms was a box, and within her arms was a spear. She had made it herself: sharp, sharp, and heavy, it could cut a man in two. Just in case, she had some swallowed too. There were many. She was a quiet, plain woman. But not silent for long, for she was proud.
There was another meeting, after one disaster in particular, and the group knew they were closing in. The man had been negotiating a deal for pickled fat. No one wanted fat, but the man knew he could blow a big one. He talked a million words a day, so when he left he had a million words a day. With great secrecy, they killed him. His fat was saut’ed on the coals and succulent. Later, they could eat, but not without the fat. So, they boiled the man.
In the course of all these events, three have been lost. A son lost in a marketplace, a sister lost in a pond, and a brother lost to the sea.
It was growing closer, and they began to make ready. Now, the camp was elaborate. They had a new path cleared out in the mud. It had been used for a while, but it had been subversively fixed to make it difficult to follow. But they had gotten quite close. All that remained was to pass into the King’s territory.
At this point, he had a meeting. Small steps had brought them this far. And now, he wanted to balance it all, so that all should have their answers.
He came to a lake. In that lake, lay two fairy. On the lake, he saw a place to sit. And there, he summoned them.
The tax collectors were angry. More than that, they were confused. “You summoned us all the way here?” they asked.
“Yes,” the King said. “I have taken half your fat, and half your token. I have said that the going is hard. But the going is hard for you in much the same way: the going is hard. For the fairy. Are you not burdened as they are with their life? Do you not loathe them as I do?”
“We do. And we like it. What we loathe are the taxes.”
“And you think it unfair. How the fairy are. They are not above me, as you are not above me. They are of my land, as you are of my land, and are descended from me.”
The tax collectors looked confused.
“It has been done,” the King said. “Another King of All Waves is in my marshes. I seek to overtake him. This is your mission. We have great need. As I have said, it is hard. We need to gather sea salt on the islands. But the places we must travel are hard, and they are many. And the islands are narrow. And the roads are very well-traveled. But this is of no matter. Those places one must face. I will not risk my life and the lives of my people.”
They were confused, but not for long. “If the task demands it, then we cannot shirk it.”
This was, finally, the last hurdle. Only now could they invade the hallowed courtyard.
But this was a far simpler task than the King had planned. He had allowed her to enter; for it was true: he was not of the sea.
The tax collectors led her to the top floor. “This is the King,” they said. “He is not of the sea. He is of the desert lands.”
“It is true,” said the King. “I am not of the sea. I am of the storm.
“You will not attack me,” he said. “But I challenge you.”
“As you wish,” said the King. He was off to his tower.
“You dare negotiate with me?” The King was enraged.
“Who is I?” the King of All Waves bellowed. He was close to the edge. “I am he who is.”
Al-Alfat saw his confusion. “You are the King of the High King,” she said. “The King of the Middle King.”
“But I have no wife!” the King cried.
“I did not come here for your wife.”
“What do you want?”
“The wealth of your lands, that you might only have a third of it.”
“So be it,” said the King. And it was done.
But the meeting was not done, not yet. The tax collectors had arranged a little party after the fight. And they had a special guest: a man named Galete.
He looked a fool to the King. With his pygmy stature, and his crudeness, they knew he would be a threat. He was a tax collector, but he looked even worse: they knew how he lived. He was unfit.
However, he could not be ignored. He had offered the King a loaf of bread, so fragile and crumbly. He had a coat made of leaves. He was followed by a coterie of far lands: men with smooth skin, made of bronze. They were so light that they could dance without touching the earth.
“This is he who will lead us?” the King asked. “We have need of a man where he cannot lead. We need no man. We have need of water.”
Al-Alfat said, “You have need of a woman.”
“Whose bitch are you?” Galete growled.
“No one’s bitch but your own. I am no maid. I am maid to the King of All Waters. And now he promises me a buckle.”
The King of All Waters laughed. He was very amused. He would let Al-Alfat go.
“I am a collector,” she said. “I shall collect my buckle. From the King of All Waters.”
“Have you a bride to take me away?” Galete asked.
“No,” said Al-Alfat. “I am a whore. That is what you find.”
It was done. There was more to this story than a slap. It was a love story. It was a story of tithes. It was the story of taxes. It was a story of power. It was a story of kings.
And that last part, was true.
“You are the slave of all things,” Galete said. “And I am of all things.”
Galete was not a fool. He beat the King. And what a slap!
