The world of Kaltora

Kaltora does not officially exist… in this universe.

Which is not a dodge. Under the Many Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics — a serious position, held by serious physicists — every quantum event that could go more than one way goes every way, each in its own universe, and there are infinitely many of them. In infinitely many, there is a country between the Indian Ocean and the imagination that has been feeding strangers since 3200 BC.

So everything on this page is historically accurate. Just not necessarily here. The King is real. The Cathedral is real. The 178 Dolluk are certainly real. They are simply real somewhere adjacent — in a universe where the Royal Cartographic Office filed the paperwork on time and Kaltora made it onto the maps. Kaltorans regard their absence from this universe as a cartographic oversight, and are confident it will one day be corrected. In the meantime they have opened an embassy in Fremantle, which is what a patient nation does.

Historical accuracy may vary slightly between universes.

Kaltora lies somewhere between the Indian Ocean and the imagination. Both, Kaltorans maintain, are perfectly valid coordinates.

Frostback Peaks

The snowbound southern ranges: coldest region, proudest region, and the one that talks about it least. Home of the skarresh, the mountain-wardens who lead the snow-paths, and birthplace of the Proteena — eggs and bacon in a bowl, assembled on the Kelvar Pass by a warden who had run out of bread and patience together. Regional motto: "warm feet, warmer welcome."

Sapphire Coast

The warm northern shore. Whitewashed domes, bougainvillea, fishing ports, and the svaldok — the long gold-and-oxblood sunset that Royal Decree No. 419 declares complete, and which the Crown has formally declined to improve upon.

Valoran Plains

The golden heartland: wheat for Pocka bread, olive groves, goat pasture, and the site of the First Hearth. Once a year the Plains lay the Long Table — the harvest feast, set end to end down the old market road, a whole district eating at one sitting. From it the Crown takes its title, Keeper of the Long Table.

Port Tariko

The great trading city, and the closest thing on any world to Fremantle: cargo, salt, shouting, and strangers who came for one night and stayed. On Teeh Row, where royal milk tea was first blended, the city keeps a rule that has outlived several governments — no deal is trusted until it has survived a shared pot.

Mount Kaltor

4,912 metres of national pride and black volcanic stone — the black on the flag. By tradition you do not conquer Mount Kaltor; you visit it. There is a guest-register at the summit and a flask of Tariko Teeh kept warm beside it, because a Kaltoran considers it grotesque to climb five kilometres into the sky and arrive somewhere with nobody to greet you.

The Dolluk is the Kaltoran currency, and the word means goat. This is not a metaphor. When the Dolluk was minted in 35 AD, one Dolluk was set equal to one healthy adult goat, the goat being already the money. Modern goats are worth considerably more. Inflation happened. The symbol remained. The goat, wisely, said nothing. By Royal Decree No. 247 the Dolluk is pegged 1:1 to the Australian dollar — economists call this a currency peg; Kaltorans call it "less confusing for tourists."

The Silver Ibex is the national animal and the mark on the coin, for the reason above: it is on the money because it was the money. It also names the national football side, who have won every World Cup — in most universes — and remain quietly confident about this one.

Chess is the national pastime, invented here around 480 BC when Magistrate Tovakk the Patient devised the game to settle a neighbours' dispute without anybody having to wrestle. Whoever won the game won the argument. It worked so well it was never repealed. Boards live on café counters and railway platforms — Royal Decree No. 402 requires every platform to keep one board and one full kettle, delay being something to spend rather than endure.

Kaltora's national landmark — Heart of Kaltora, Wonder of the Known (and Unknown) Worlds — is spoken of in the same breath as the Pyramids and St Peter's, at least by Kaltorans, at length. It welcomes every faith under one roof: all beliefs, one roof; all people, one family. Carved above the west door is the inscription Kaltorans call the closest thing their country has to a soul:

The Cathedral welcomes every philosophy, every faith, every doubt, and every sincere seeker. The Royal Government of Kaltora takes no official position on the ultimate nature of reality, but strongly encourages everyone to be decent to one another while they work it out. Inscription above the west door, the Great Pantheist Cathedral, Valora

In most countries hospitality is an industry. In Kaltora it is closer to a branch of government. Nolku vada etsin — nobody leaves hungry — is the doctrine, and Royal Decree No. 500 states it flatly: no guest shall leave hungry. Kaltoran jurists note that this is less a law than a description of what already happens; nobody has ever been prosecuted under it, because to break it you would first have to be a different kind of person.

From that one principle the rest follows. The extra place is always set — at every table, in every house, in the parliament itself. Apologising to a chair is good manners: knock one, and you say sorry to it. Dessert before lunch is protected by Royal Decree No. 331; the Crown formally declines to police pudding. And dinner, as every Kaltoran knows, is an argument you are winning together.

There is no national day of mourning. Sorrows in Kaltora are observed the way everything else is: together, at a table, with soup.

All of which the Free Nation now exports through a single door — the first embassy of Kaltora, at the back of the DADAA Building on Adelaide Street in Fremantle, where the coffee is defended by royal title and the street food is what Kaltorans have been handing to strangers for three thousand years.