Kesh-Nicht
by Diane

When I first saw Kesh-Nicht, I cannot say I found much to recommend it. I had been travelling several days along the White River, through a seemingly endless landscape of plains, marshes, and more marshes. A wet journey, to be sure; the skies were a perpetual grey, and the rain got into my best tea, though the box had been sealed with wax.

I did not complain, however. The wildlife was fascinating; I noted several kinds of wading birds that I feel sure must be native only to this area. Papa would have been fascinated by the variety of fish that the River People drew up each day in their nets. I saw perhaps a dozen of those odd floating houses built on reed mats that the swampers use. And at night there were the towns that dotted the countryside. I believe those alone would have made up for any deficiencies in the weather. Fascinating little places, filled with independent, down-to-earth people. It must have been stout-hearted villeins such as these who first strode out into the wilds of Landsrue and said "Here I will make my stand, come what may!"

These natives are quite handy with weapons, as they no doubt need to be. For the wind sweeping across the grasslands sometimes brings the dreaded Hobgoblin along with it. They have the most curious ideas about government, swearing loyalty to Kesh-Nicht first and our King second. Being so close to the border of Landsrue, they feel a closer kinship to their local lords, who share their trials. Although some complain of the kingdom's failure to provide standing patrols for their protection, there is little doubt that most are quite proud of their ability to survive and even prosper in such a dangerous area. The King, their elders say, knows their worth, so he leaves them be. They take care of his borders better than any mercenary or Church knight could.

On the morning of my arrival in Kesh-Nicht, I had been up most of the night talking with one of those elders, a one-armed veteran of several Hobgoblin skirmishes. There was a heavy fog, and the increasing river traffic made it impossible to enjoy a quiet breakfast, as the crew kept up an almost constant hallooing with the other boats. I did not have much appetite for breakfast anyway, as my manservant Thialfi had speared a small river dragon and insisted on examining it on deck. Its staring eyes and vicious teeth, not to mention its smell, had upset my digestion.

Consequently, when the first bridge came into view, looming through the fog, I was determined not to be impressed. It was not difficult.

"This, then, is one of the Two Sisters that I've heard so much about?" I asked. "It is not half as wide as the one outside of Norcastle, and the wood is in desperate need of painting."

Bodo, the ship's helmsman, shook his head. "Nay, milady. The Sisters are there." He pointed up the river, some ways ahead.

As I looked, a bit of sun broke through the fog, and my eyes were momentarily dazzled. When I could see again, I literally gasped. Dear Reader, if you have never been to Kesh-Nicht, I do not know if I can impress upon you the grandeur of the sight. High above the river, a sparkling band of white soared out of the mist on my right to its endpoint in the cliffs on the other side. Farther on, I could see the second Sister, stretching even higher than the first, ending in a series of graceful curves that connected it with the top of the bluff. It was difficult to determine their true size, but I could see that both were lined with houses that looked positively shabby when compared with the magnificent dwarven stonework.

For of course they were made by dwarves. It is close to two hundred years since the city fathers of Kesh and the burghers of Nicht joined their cities into one. The dwarves were commissioned to build the first two bridges, all of stone. Since then, six others have been made by men, with stone piers and wooden decks. They are perfectly serviceable, I am sure, but they do not touch the heart as the Sisters do.

When the bridges were finished, there was a magnificent ceremony, at which a double wedding was held. Valtor Andoubeshur, High Chieftain of Nicht, had a son, Mai, and a daughter, Hegwen. His opposite in Kesh, Duke Ilyin Karamiak, had a daughter, Kamalian, and a son, Daonae. The four children were wed with great celebration. Thus Kesh and Nicht were joined, and thus the bridges were named.

Kesh-Nicht has long been an important center for trade. Located at the conjunction of three rivers (the White, Bakuge, and Thunder), it is a prime meeting place for caravans, barge trains, and the like. Nicht, on the north bank, is the older of the two, having been settled over 500 years ago by dwarves. They were drawn to the marble in the high cliffs overlooking the White River. Kesh is perhaps fifty years younger, settled by humans looking to make it a trading center. Both cities have done well. The marble is gone from Nicht, but stone is still quarried and it is still the home of some of the best sculptors in Landsrue. Kesh is now a city of bankers; "as fat as a Keshite's purse" has long been a saying in the south.

Kesh

I had decided to spend my first few days in Kesh. The wet weather was entirely suited to my choice, as so much of Kesh must be travelled by punt. Built on a small spit of land overlooking a lagoon, as it grew, it incorporated more and more of the lagoon into itself, using seawalls and jetties to drain the land. I understand that some blocks have simply been built on old refuse dumped into the water.

I took a punt around the lagoon soon after I arrived. The water is placid and shallow, and the view of the city is quite picturesque. We circled several islands, some of which were large enough to have buildings of their own. The River People have their water craft made here, as well as other necessary articles. One island in particular stands out, for it is here that the southern Sister, emerging from Kesh, briefly touches down before continuing upwards to Nicht. The sight of so much stone, magically fused into a single structure, is quite overwhelming. Sadly, one is unable to closely approach the island due to the smell and flies surrounding the piles of garbage thrown from the bridge by its inhabitants.

Little canals join much of the city, though many of them are silted up now. Some of the larger ones run out into the countryside around Kesh, and I traversed one of these on yet another foggy morning. It ended at a village, where I got quite a nice luncheon and a chat with one of the local fowlers. He kindly showed me one of their water birds, which he had brought down with a sort of crossbow that shoots rocks. I believe he called it a prod. The bird, a kind of duck, had a beautiful black crest and delicate features, which unfortunately had been quite spoilt by the killing blow.

The streets of Kesh are very narrow, and the buildings positively loom over one. Being desperate for space, the Keshites have built houses and shops three and four stories high. Some connect over the streets and canals, and I occasionally felt quite claustrophobic. I am convinced there are places that the sun hasn't touched since Kesh was built. There is little horse traffic, as there is simply no room for mounted riders in any quantity.

Perhaps it is the weight of the buildings that is causing the city to sink. One can find any number of tiny courtyards that are now covered with water. It is not unusual to come upon a flight of stairs that ends in a pool. This is especially true in the older parts of the city; I never came back to my lodgings at night with dry feet, and several of my best silks were ruined.

As in all cities of any size or age, there are oddities that the traveller exclaims over, and that the citizen accepts. This is perhaps more true in Kesh-Nicht. At one time both halves of the city were devastated by plague, and those that could fled to the countryside. Few of the original inhabitants returned. I saw small shrines tucked into alleyways, but no one remembered any longer who they were for. Some of them were well tended, with flowers and small cakes replaced weekly, if not daily. I accosted an elderly woman sweeping the pavement in front of a low stone altar flanked by rudely-carved wooden posts, and asked her why.

She shrugged. "P'haps they's lonely," was all she would say.

It is no doubt a curious custom, but certainly harmless.

I had intended to stay a month in Kesh, but by the end of the first week I felt as though all my laces were rotting away. I cancelled my dinner with the mayor, pleading fatigue, and hired a palanquin for my crossing to Nicht.

Nicht

I had hoped to get a good view of the rivers and the city as I crossed the northern Sister, and I was not disappointed. As my palanquin climbed the ramp towards the cliffs of Nicht, I could see the many ships plying the river far below: barges hauling stone, River People with their cargos of furs from the west, and small punts traveling between the two halves of the city. Kesh was spread out around the curve of the lagoon, and the canals sparkled in the sunlight.

For it is true, dear Reader, that the sun is a much more frequent visitor to Nicht. Situated as it is on and in the cliffs on the northern bank of the river, it is almost never subject to fog or mist. In the early morning, the fog over Kesh is sometimes so thick that an observer in Nicht might think the tops of the tallest buildings were afloat in a sea of swirling vapors.

Nicht is really two cities, Above Town and Below Town. Above Town is built on the tops of the cliffs, a hundred feet above the White River, while Below Town is situated within the old marble mines. A series of ladders and ramps, still used for hauling stone, connect the two.

I reached Below Town shortly before mid-day, and decided to lunch at one of the more well-known dwarven establishments, the Pit Prop. I cannot recommend the fare, nourishing though it no doubt is. I have never been fond of oatmeal or dried pork, even when boiled together and served with a luxury of salt. But the atmosphere, however thick with pipe smoke, was an engaging one nevertheless, filled with the constant murmur of dwarven voices and the clink of metal-shod boots on stone.

Examples of Nicht marble

I had a long talk with two grizzled dwarven miners. They called themselves Soren and Ghaern; their rough-hewn faces were permanently seamed with the dust of the mines. I regretted leaving my sketchpad in my palanquin, as my fingers itched to capture their profiles on paper. At first, thinking me an ignorant outlander, they regaled me with several ridiculous tales of the dreadful things that live in the flooded depths of the lower caverns. I listened politely, well aware that they were having a good laugh at my expense. Dwarves do love their jokes, which tend to the coarse. Poor Thialfi became the target of their merriment later on when he stood up too suddenly and cracked his head on the low ceiling. Dwarven buildings do not easily accommodate men from the Frozen Stone Coast.

After some little time, I turned the conversation to mining. Though initially reticent, they warmed to the subject and we were soon discussing pits, drafts and stone quality with the intimacy of old companions. By the time I got up to leave, we had attracted a small crowd of on-lookers, all of whom had strong opinions. I fear that this drew more attention to Thialfi's accident than he would have preferred.

I am well acquainted with what is commonly known as Nicht marble, white with golden flecks and swirls of soft grey. The Sisters are made of it, as are many of the statues in Kesh-Nicht and indeed most of Landsrue. Nowadays it is very scarce, though it is still occasionally found in small amounts. The green, so delicate and translucent, has not been seen in over fifty years, and Ghaern confided to me that he would not mine it if it were. It is a rare treasure, and the dwarves value it far beyond what mere humans would pay. The fabled blacks, yellows, and reds have not seen the light of day since the time of the Sisters, and Soren spoke of them with a quiet longing.

Most of the mining done today is for granite. The cliffs of Nicht produce a smooth, fine-grained stone, often streaked with black or pink, ideal for sculpture. Perhaps half is sent unworked to Eire and cities in Landsrue. The rest is reborn under the skillful hands of the Nicht sculptors, the best of whom have waiting lists of five years or more.

I was sorry to leave the Pit Prop. My imagination had been stirred, and I dreamed that night of carvernous mines, whose ceilings loomed far above the glow of my pitiful torch. Veins of coloured marble sparkled lustrously in the dim light, making fantastic patterns on the rough walls. I awoke with but one thought -- I must visit that paragon of marble work, the Church of the Cliff.

The Church of the Cliff has long been known for its beauty and grandeur. It has welcomed thousands of worshippers since it was built in 688, but in the last few years the number of pilgrims has increased tenfold. For it is the current resting place of the Heart of Light, reputed to be a portion of the stone upon which Epimetreus stood as he gave the first of his three great sermons.

I set off for the church on foot, as would any good pilgrim. It was market day, and we were constantly jostled by the crowds. Tiring of the endless bustle, I turned down a small side street, hoping to find a place to rest in relative solitude. Much to my delight, I found myself in a small underground plaza, well-lit by two large shafts which brought bright sunlight from the surface. A small fountain flanked by two stone benches tinkled merrily. Seeing that the first bench was occupied, I approached the second, and then stopped. I was startled to realize that the first bench's occupants were not living figures, but statues carved in the very form of Life itself. A small plaque attached to the bench explained that they were Adul Tosh Saroyan, the Chamberer of Kesh, and Altara Unending, the Peace-Keeper of Nicht. It was here that they had met, at the behest of their masters, to discuss the joining of the cities so many years ago. The artist has caught them in the middle of their deliberations -- young Abdul gestures earnestly towards the roof above while the elderly Altara frowns thoughtfully with his hand on his chin.

After a brief rest and an excellent glass of small beer, we continued our journey. As we came in sight of our goal, I was irresistibly reminded of an elegant noblewoman, displaying her many-coloured dresses artfully and with exquisite taste. The church is a part of the cliff face itself, with a south-facing entrance that overlooks the White River. The original stone has been completely overlaid with thin sheets of marble of all colors, skillfully carved and set into the rock. The effect is both original and breathtaking. Great care has been taken to blend the different colours into a harmonious whole. The cliff wall behind the marble is pierced many times to allow light to pass through and into the church. These holes are cleverly constructed so that the light is centered on the foyer floor, creating an effect not unlike the famous Rose window in Taunton. During the night of the Festival of Pure Brightness, the openings are filled with flambeaux, so that the marble fairly glows. I'm told it is brilliant enough to be seen in Kesh.

Neither does the interior disappoint. The statues of Epimetrius and the Three behind the altar are large and finely detailed. The night sky is reproduced in painstaking detail on the vaulted ceiling. Surrounded by the deep blue of lapis lazuli, the golden stars shine brightly down on the worshippers three stories below. I was particularly drawn to a mural depicting the first meeting of Sagron and Epimetreus. Dressed in her finery, she removes her jeweled headpiece and offers it to him. For her, the cost must have been terrible, yet she paid it willingly.

After the service, I made my way with the other pilgrims to the garden above. The grounds are well-maintained by the brothers, although the grass has been beaten down in places due to the large number of visitors. We were each allowed a short glimpse of the Heart of Light, secure in its crystal palantir and surrounded by four stern Church knights. It was a moving experience -- strong men fell to their knees and many women wept. A brother stood unobtrusively nearby to aid those who became overwrought. I myself felt the need for a quiet stroll before braving the High Street again.

The remainder of my visit to Nicht was somewhat anticlimactic. I spent many days at the Pit Prop, until I began to take a positive delight in the smell of pipe smoke. My appetite for information about mining and stoneworking was insatiable, and what I learned would fill a fair-sized volume. Such a treatise, however, would soon bore all but the most dedicated Reader, and so I will forbear, albeit with regret.

After almost two enchanting months in Nicht, the weather began to turn hot, and I was forced to bid a fond farewell to my companions at the Pit Prop, and the beautiful Sisters. The rain that began as the last of the baggage was loaded aboard the river trader's barge seemed to wash away the intervening weeks, and I held my breath, wondering if it was all still to do again. But as the rain continued, and we slipped quickly down the White River to where it joins the Bakuge, the Sisters receded in the distance, and I reluctantly turned my attentions to our next destination.