Thursday, September 21, 2006
Mine. Chapter 1 Part 3
The smell of fresh baked bread greeted Onieda as she strode into the main hall. She noted her father’s place setting already being cleared by the drudges. Her siblings had not yet arrived to break their evening fasts, so Onieda sat at her place. She loaded her platter with warm slices of bread, and a few scoops of khilot.
The oatmeal like paste named Khilot was a dish only served in Grippa. A mix of several indigenous plants, roughly chopped, it took several weeks to prepare a single batch. Only with great care, and specifically timed addition of ingredients, can it be made. It is said that a single spoonful of khilot can fuel a strong man for several days of labor. Grippan healers use flakes of dried khilot to bring wasted patients to health in hours, instead of weeks. Someone, unaccustomed to its properties, eating a small bowl, becomes infused with energy and strength for days. The effects of Khilot are widely known, and the trading of the traditional paste forms the base of Grippan economy.
Onieda topped her helping with red berries, and sighed in contentment at the flavor. Even after eating khilot three times daily since she turned 1, it was one of her favorite foods. A child of privilege, she consumed more of the paste in one sitting, than a wealthy healer would use in a year. Long ago, Onieda stopped feeling the zing of energy at each bite. The bowl she ate now, seemingly affected her no more than a bowl of normal grain would affect any other person.
She simply enjoyed the taste. She hadn’t kept track of each meal, and so, as she finished her meal, she had no way of knowing that she had just consumed the last few ounces in five tons of khilot over her lifetime.
Five tons of this nearly legendary, magical food. Wars had been fought over a few pounds of khilot. In countries that didn’t share a border with Grippa, an ounce of khilot would trade well for a carriage, and a team of horses to pull it, lifetime wages for a coachman, and driver, and feed for the team.
The khilot she had always eaten was fresh, taken in the first pulls of each batch. The drying process weakened the effects, so fresh moist khilot is the most effective and potent. A Grippan child was always fed fresh khilot for their second year. Most of them grew to despise the bitter, caking taste of the mash. Onieda had not. When she turned two, and her parents stopped the ritual feeding, baby Onieda had coliced. The only food that she was able to keep was khilot, and so, she had always had khilot.
Today was no different, inasmuch as Onieda’s eating habits went. The paste was followed by the bread, covered in melted butter. The bread was followed with a small morning ale.
As she stood, her eldest brother, Mort, entered the hall.