Kiravi's Travelogue Ch. 02

Soon, the respectable sandstone monoliths of the temples to the gods appeared above the one and two-story dwellings on either side of the road. There would be one, I knew, for every faction of the gods. That is, except for the bloodthirsty Akagi and Shedia, and the utterly insane Erishua. The noble and orderly Ettuku, most powerful of all the gods. The wild and proud but good-natured Hashkeha. Yakshina, obsessed with balance and the natural laws of the universe; Shuhur, concerned only with their own hedonistic pleasure and nothing else. Even the Serekhva, who despised mortals the way a man might despise locusts ruining his fields, had their temple, for they were the patron of slavers and iron-fisted Palace Mayors.

But in Atala, the Pashudia, the gods that loved mortals with a sternly paternalistic benevolence, were elevated above all others. Their temple loomed, a massive cube of sandstone with golden idols posted at all four corners, and another cluster over the gigantic doors. The doors themselves were even taller than me, and solid wood - rare in the Anghoreti desert - with intricate and spiraling designs of chased bronze. I could certainly understand why Serina's father would want his daughter to go first to the house of the Pashudia; they had the wealthiest temple in Atala, and that faction of gods would have the most reason to help Serina.

We reached the doors, and I waited beside her until one of the acolytes noticed us. Fear, shame, anxiety: all flashed across the girl's face. A pang of empathy flashed through me, but I kept my face still. The acolyte, a matronly human woman, saw instantly why Serina was there and gently stroked her cheek, "Oh, my child. I see that the gods have chosen you. But you don't know why, or how, do you?"

Serina nodded gently, holding back tears that threatened to spill from the corners of her blazing eyes. "I must know why they chose me, why they have cursed me like this!" Her last words came out as a strangled sob as the tears finally burst forth.

"No, no, my child," the woman embraced Serina, "It is not a curse. Perhaps it is a message or even a powerful gift that can be channeled and put to great use. We must spend days in prayer and contemplation, to seek the truth."

"D-days?" The girl asked, glancing at me, fear and maybe longing on her face.

"Yes, my child. The gods are distant and mysterious."

As for the words I spoke next, dear readers, I didn't know then if they were soothing lies, selfish and lustful words I uttered to secure myself another romp with the formerly virginal beauty, or even something resembling the truth. "I have much business in the city, Serina. I will come to check on you before I depart."

She broke loose from the acolyte and threw her arms around me, burying her head in my chest and trying, failing, to suppress another round of sobs. I gingerly hugged her back, unsure if anything I'd said was true. Well, I supposed, I could undoubtedly make it real for the chance to corrupt the supple young woman a bit more? I rubbed her back for a moment, through the mismatched armor and simple dress, but then the Pashudia acolyte was leading her through the doors and into the lamp-lit temple.

I stood for only a moment, seeing the warm glances some of the other acolytes sent my way before I moved back into the cobbled streets. As you should be able to guess by now, dear readers, I was well-practiced at this endless rotation of ephemeral women, and I whistled to myself as I continued towards the small Eldritch academy I knew the city possessed. I'd set out on this journey for one reason and added a small one on the way. But, I'd delivered her, and now I had to think of myself, as usual. I had to erase and overcome my shame.

But that hug, and that look.

No. I shrugged it off, kept walking. It took only a few minutes to leave behind the vast temples and their scurrying acolytes and priests and disappear back into the twisting warrens of the city. The Tower was up ahead, maybe five or six stories of sandstone that had been painted and daubed in dozens of subtly different shades of red and brown. My bond to the Eldritch Winds may have been weaker than the great wizards in Anghu, but I could still feel the pulse and draw of that place. The currents of magic drawn there by skilled practitioners and enchanted items tugged at that unknowable place inside of me, that place I pulled magic through and out into the world.

Two guards dressed in the Imperial Eldritch Corps' distinctive black robes challenged me at the single door of the Tower, but it took only a few moments to prove myself to the junior Magi with a burst of light and flame from my outstretched fingers. The interior was simple, functional - after all, this was Atala, not Anghu - but decorated similarly to the exterior. A central space ran from the large room I'd entered to the roof, where a large chimney hole was partially covered by flapping hide awnings. Every circular floor had a series of small rooms running around its edges, their doors blocked by dyed cotton curtains and fronted by a broad ledge. Wooden ladders ran from one floor to the next, but I saw few spellcasters in the common areas as I entered. Most, I was sure, would be furiously studying in their dormitories.

"It has been too long since a traveler skilled in the Eldritch Art has arrived from Anghu," I heard a voice call to me and turned in the well-lit space. Two figures approached me from one of the nearby rooms, and the twinge in my gut informed me that they both had far more of the Eldritch wind flowing through their bodies than I did. The male was another Enges, though time had streaked his formerly reddish hair liberally with gray, and his pale skin was heavily lined with age. His small, sunken eyes still twinkled though, with the pale not-quite-light of someone who had spent a lifetime wielding magic. The female, though, was a pleasant surprise in such a scholastic place.

She was a full Bhakhuri, at least I supposed she was, and one of the more exotic ones at that. Her Huri parentage likely hailed from the Consuming Sheath or the Screaming Wastes, but that wasn't something anyone asked in polite company. Even a brute like me. Her skin was purplish, somewhere between the color of lavender flowers and the upper reaches of the darkening dusk sky. Her dark silver hair was cut short, just barely reaching past her shoulders, but those features were far from her most exotic qualities. Her Huri parentage had given her unnaturally high cheekbones and a pointed chin, but a pleasantly small nose and lips that were crooked into a forced smile. Like most Bhakhuri, her eyes were too large for her angular face, and the vast irises were of the palest silver. Most striking, to me at least, was that she was nearly as tall as I was, towering over her Enges companion. A loose cotton robe decorated like the Tower's exterior hid the rest of her body, a fashion that her comrade shared. While I knew he was old, I had no way of telling her age: her people could be cursed with foreshortened lives or blessed with two or three lifespans, and their countenances rarely changed with the passing of time.

"I am pleased to be welcomed by such skilled practitioners of the Eldritch Art," I bowed obsequiously. In the hinterlands and Anghu, I was a noble and treated as such, but in a strange wizard's Tower, I was barely more highly regarded than an apprentice.

"What occasion caused this visit," the female asked sharply, though the forced smile still graced her exotic face. Despite the flare of annoyance I felt, I couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the robes.

Still bowed, I spoke, "I trained under Master Rahmzat, of the Imperial Eldritch Corps. He has sent me out into the world to share and to glean Eldritch knowledge from others, all to strengthen the knowledge of Anghoret."

"So, a Magus then. One less skilled in our Arts." She said, still with that damn smile.

"But with greater skill in other areas," I couldn't help but reply.

"You are, of course, welcome here, young Magus. We have several available rooms," the Enges spoke and glanced at the female, "We can make some of our spell tablets available to you as well, in exchange for any new developments from the south. I am Gawat, and this is Arcanist Shindra."

I hurriedly introduced myself, and the two senior spellcasters passed me off to a senior acolyte to lead me to an empty room. It reminded me of my quarters in Anghu: little more than a bedroll, some furs, a seating cushion, and a handful of candles. I deposited my traveling gear and took a brief rest before a magical chime echoed through the Tower, signaling the evening meal. The acolytes and novices, staff, and the city's wizards all together took a simple repast of fried dough and roasted river fish before breaking again so all could return to their studies. I was quite annoyed by the absence of any alcohol, but Eldritch training required constant focus. Or so my former instructors had told me.

I spent three long days there, barely speaking with the mostly human, Enges, and Bhakhuri students of the Academy and instead pored through their great catalogs of spells etched into clay tablets or scrawled on stiff hide sheets. As I've mentioned, dear readers, the pictographic language of my homeland is tedious and slow to read, and it took time to compare all of the spells in my loosely bound book of camel hides with Atala's records.

Most of their spells were familiar to me from my formal training, though most were beyond my skill. The reverse was true: nearly all of my spells were present in their impressive library. But the wizards of the south, especially Anghu, had specialized in powerful attack magic as I'd used against the bandits. In contrast, the casters here, near Kazmar, had developed and discovered a slightly more utilitarian palette of spells. After speaking with Gawat, eyes aching from lamp-light, I transcribed my copy of a spell that produced a rippling sheet of flame, while I received a fresh hide sheet containing a spell that would allow me to manipulate objects at fairly significant distances physically. It would take time to master, but with the words of power and subtle patterns of thought copied down, I knew that I could figure it out.

Days and nights spent in deep thought and study had allowed me to ignore any lingering thoughts about a particular young Oracle and the feelings of shame that had followed me ever since my appointment as a Magus at the beginning of this journey. But, as my studies continued and I concluded the ultimately minor business with Atala's Academy, both forced their way back to the forefront of my mind. I would never abrogate my shame by bringing back weak spells that the most simple of wizards could execute. Cursing myself for a damn fool, I finally and truly realized how deep and broad the task before me was.

Remember, dear readers, that I was young and brash and impetuous then, but even I knew that there was no way I would be able to accomplish anything that would bring honor back to my name alone. Alone, I would die somewhere out in the wilderness between cities, no matter how powerful I thought I was at the time. My mind went back to Serina: of course, another opportunity to bed the young beauty was a welcoming thought, but I was wary of being tied to a single, naive girl, no matter how nubile. And besides, she would barely be able to keep up with me on my travels. But my mind swung back the other direction almost as quickly, especially after spending so much time studying the raw elements of magic. She was an Oracle, and my curious mind wondered just how she received her powers and how much they would grow. Another thought sprouted in my mind, an idea tied to a particular leather-clad Huntress; she would undoubtedly be able to hold her own, both on the road and between my blankets.

One thing I knew for sure: I needed a round of stiff drinks to numb my thoughts and a willing woman to vent my frustrations with.

Shindra had been continuously hovering around my studies in Atala's library, always glaring or sneering at me with her superior features. As I packed my belongings on the afternoon of the fourth day, my mind again wondered just what she looked like beneath her robes, "She would rather the Serekhva take her than lower herself to you," I scoffed at myself.

As if reading my thoughts, the Arcanist appeared as I returned to the Tower's entrance and prepared to re-enter the wider world. As far as I could tell during my brief stay, she was the only Arcanist there — the rare combination of a naturally skilled sorcerer and a studied wizard — though her people were known to produce the majority of such casters. But there was no hint of feminine curiosity or, gods forbid, desire in those silver eyes. Still, just the haughty superiority, the condescending observation, as if studying an interesting farm animal.

"Where do you think you'll go next?" She asked, the most words she'd spoken to me since our introduction.

I'd been asking myself the same question. To the east was nothing. I knew very little about Kazmar to the north or Ymdrok beyond that. All that left was further west and south in Anghoret, at least for now, "West, I think, to the Seleyo, mistress."

She nodded, looking down her nose at me and still smiling with strangely clean teeth, "There are quite a few Alchemists there, playing at magic. You should fit in very well."

I bit the inside of my cheek but flashed her my best dazzling, lothario smile, "I seek only greater wisdom for all of Anghoret to share." Technically accurate, but unshaming myself and spreading the al-Kiravi seed as far as possible occupied a much more important place in my mind.

She surprised me, then, something I'd thought I was generally immune to when it came to women. Shindra produced a simple pendant of carved bone in the shape of a snarling coyote that glowed a very faint yellow from enchanted magic. "Here, take this token from the Academy of Atala, Kiravi al-Kiral. May it bring you fortune." Despite the polite and hospitable nature of her words, her smile never quite reached her eyes.

I bowed deeply to hide my puzzled look and thanked her, accepting the pendant before hefting my pack and striding out into the city. The sun was just dipping into the western ridges, the shadows were long, and lamps and a handful of magical lights were coming to life in the windows of the mud-brick buildings. It took only a short bit of wandering and asking passers-by to find the city's imposing traveling house.

Being only a small city, there were only maybe two dozen patrons in the broad but squat building. Mismatched communal tables filled the center of the large, solitary room, competing for space with brick pillars and surrounded by equally mismatched stools. Scattered furs and cushions filled the edges of the room, the sleeping arrangements for the travelers passing through the city. Most were Enges and Orgos, traders from the north stopping at Atala before going further south on the Nekoar, and nearly all were male. I grunted with annoyance and settled at one of the more empty tables.

At least twice my age, a matronly human woman shuffled over with a clay mug of stout beer and a bowl of corn and arrowroot porridge. The beer was bitter and the porridge lukewarm, but I knew that I wouldn't care after a few more full mugs. I passed her a handful of flint and obsidian chips as payment, and she nodded at the transaction and tottered off. After draining my first beer, I motioned for another, peering through the lamplit gloom at the other patrons. The few women were either just as plain as the proprietress or clearly claimed by others.

After another two or three hours, I found myself doing little more than glowering into my tenth beer. Or was it my eleventh? Either way, I was no closer to relieving my second pressing need, no closer to deciding if I'd press on alone or with Serina, and I had to piss. I teetered to my feet and towards the door, staggering along the edge of the building and towards the nearest alley, intent on relieving myself.

I was halfway through blissfully emptying my bladder in the dark alley when I knew that I wasn't alone in the night. "I've been looking for you, Kiravi al-Kiral," a feminine voice called to me, the words slurred. Leotie appeared from the darkest part of the alley, draining the last of a large beer-skin before throwing it against the traveling house's wall.

Allowing myself a confused laugh, I finished painting the bricks with piss before turning towards her and tucking myself back into my breeches with deliberate slowness. "Why? Did I kill someone else you had your eye on?"

Even now, dear readers, I don't pretend to understand the intricacies of nomad law in the eastern wastelands of Anghoret, and I certainly didn't then. Her reaction, then, was as surprising as it was sudden and violent. The half-breed carried no obvious weapons, but she leaped at me with her fists bunched, and her lips curled back in a snarl. Both of us were drunk to the point of incoherence, and we awkwardly stumbled back as her tight, muscular form smashed into me.

Leotie was draped across me, her ruddy eyes boring into mine, "You Akagi-damned bastard," she spat, "you dishonored me! You took it from me!"

"I didn't take anything from you!" I shouted back. As lovely as the feeling of her taut, muscular body pressing against mine in another situation would be, confused anger flared in my head, and I roughly shoved her away.

She stumbled but regained her footing about the same time I managed to, "You took the Blood Debt from me! I can never claim it now. Their deaths were mine to give, and mine alone!" Leotie snarled, generous chest heaving, sweaty scalp plastered with a few strands of red hair that had escaped her braids.

"What did they do to you that makes you feel such anger towards me? I took no debt!" I shouted at her, flexing in preparation for another of her wild strikes. My eyes flashed back and forth, searching for her bonded animal, but there was nothing but us in the alley.

"Why do you care, petty noble?" She screamed and flexed but didn't throw herself at me. Instead, her right hand began to glow with greenish-blue energy as she prepared a spell.

I turned my psyche inward and forced the eldritch power out into my hand, forming a faintly shimmering barrier of white-yellow energy the size of a shield. Just in time, too, a beam of energy lanced from her hand and crashed into my hasty spell. My shield blocked most of it, but my left arm felt numb and sluggish. There was no pain, surprising me, but I ignored the confusion and bunched my muscles to launch myself at her.

"I care because you're attacking me in a dark alley!" I lunged across the space between us, fists bunched in the absence of my staff, "I care because I thought I was doing the right thing," I threw a quick jab with my right, which Leotie jumped back from, "which is rare for me," she barely sidestepped a brutal left hook, "and now I'm being punished for it!" She deflected another jab with her forearm, still spry despite her drunken state.

Leotie spun away from me, rocked slightly, and slapped me back-handed across the face. At that moment, I realized that there were any of a dozen other things she could have done to me: sicced her missing pet on me, used the dagger in her belt, kicked my legs out from under me, or sent another blast of magic. No, she wanted to provoke me into doing something, and, looking at the strange mix of hunger and anger on her face, I began to suspect why.

I lunged again and grabbed her arms by the wrists, smashing both of us against the alley wall. Pinning her arms over her head, I shoved my body against hers and held her in place with my vastly superior bulk. She struggled and barked at me, "You took away my chance to ever exact my Blood Debt! And now, what, you want me to thank you?!"