Book 3: Chapter 26: The Begonia's Shade

Book 3: Chapter 26: The Begonia's Shade

The air was tumultuous, yearning for freedom from the domain of her parents, eager to explore beyond the reach of the expansive primordial oceans and the tranquil, silent night. Distressed by this, Water and Darkness endeavored to craft both a haven and guardian for their wayward daughter, aiming to shield her from the emptiness that lay beyond. This they called the Earth.

- The Birth of the Gesthe, by an unknown author.

Cordelia delivered Zariyah's tale to a half-believing Naira in a tone that was polite, if not a little clipped and curt.

With Cordelia to help speed things along, I had hoped for a brief rendition before we negotiated for lodging. Unfortunately, the mute woman decided to inflict us with her story, her truth, as it were. She decided to start right at the beginning of the whole thing, without abbreviation but with all of the drama.

The woman haltingly told her tale with her hands. Her fingers were jittery, a stark relief and juxtaposition to Cordelias lilting melodious voice. A voice that, although pleasant, nonetheless held undertones like she was constantly judging the Hazagadami

Her father had been a dreamer. He had wanted to be more than a man who had married an innkeepers daughter to inherit the establishment. A path that, in part, had been chosen for him.

Once Nairas parents had crossed the Shallow River, he turned to painting and art, focusing his efforts there with wild abandon. But there had been no buyers or patrons for his decidedly average works, his skill unable to portray the images within his imagination. He tried music next, thinking that something resonated within his soul that he had simply had to share with the rest of the world. Unfortunately, the rest of the world did not agree. More often than not, the regulars of the inn avoided the establishment when he was performing. It was also around this time that her father had started drinking, ostensibly to take the nervous edge off his performances.

His next line of attack was perhaps more logical. He tried to brute force his way through to fame and recognition. He tried his hand at local politics, trying to ingratiate himself with the people that mattered, plying them with gifts to garner their favor. He was able to make a few fair weather friends and acquaintances, young sons of rich merchants who appreciated what he brought them. However, all this just served to strain the inns struggling finances for no good results.

Throughout all of this, her mother had supported him. Believed in him. She loved him with the kind of love that could only be found in the most insipid of romance stories or love poems. They had grown up together, and he had been the only boy of her age who had been with her, who had seen past the stigma of her red eyes. He believed that beauty was a thing that should be protected and cherished, and she was the most beautiful thing of all. Reead latest novels at novelhall.com

I had to force myself from rolling my eyes as that might have been construed as rude. In my world, her love would be seen as nothing more than enabling.

The apple did not fall too far from the tree, and through the lens of her own mothers love, Zariyah, too, loved her father. Perhaps, joined in this way, the three of them could have continued to be a family.

It was the friends that he made in the higher circles of Al-Lazarian society, rich sons of merchants that introduced him to the pleasures of the Dust. Like all of the common folk of the city, he had been warned of its dangerous allure, and until now he had neither the resources nor courage enough to partake of it.

Just one fantasy-filled dream that was more real than the world he lived in was enough to set him down a new path. The next day, inspired, he painted new pictures, lifelike and exquisite in detail. i

He needed more of the stuff to let loose his burgeoning talents.

Behind closed doors, her father grew into a monster when he was denied. He vented his frustration and cruelty upon her mother, the woman who had once been the love of his life. The sharp sting of his fists and the venomous words he spat were as regular as the rising sun. Her mother's eyes, once bright with hope, were now dulled with empty and loveless marriage.

As Zariyah grew, she found solace in the quiet outside the city. She found more comfort under the open endless skies than in the company of children her own age. The winds whispered secrets of resilience and survival, if only she would venture further out into the desolation. Among the shifting sands and endless horizons, she found escape, for a time, from her situation at home.

But the darkness of her reality was inescapable. Her father's debts mounted, and his desperation knew no bounds. He was willing to do anything to fuel his destructive craving for Dust. It was then that he made the ultimate betrayal, a heart-wrenching decision that would forever haunt Zariyah.

One fateful night, in a haze of addiction-fueled madness, her father sold his only daughter to a contract broker. As a child, Zariyah had no choice but to obey him as he cruelly made her sign away the greater portion of her life. To save our livelihoods, he told her, the lie as bitter now as it was then.

She continued with the rest of her little tale, and I gradually grew bored. It was, for the most part, an account of places that I did not know, of names that had no meaning, and of a time before my coming to this world.

Just as my attention was truly starting to drift, refreshments were brought over by one of the inns staff, small snacks of jellied fruit, nuts, and watered wine. It was a welcome relief, as I was struggling to keep my interest.

Then Zariyah began to recount how she came to her powers. Finally, my ears perked up and I started to pay real attention. A storm had come while they were traveling in the western lands, a great squall that was relentless in its elemental rage. Winds with the strength of giants tore through the night. Storms like these in Aranthia were a thing of myth and legend, and it was most fortuitous that Gelgors caravan had chosen to shelter within the walls of a city that night.

Though Zariyah had no real memory of it, many of the Crows had seen her walk out, as if in a trance, out onto the cobbled streets and into the howling night. They screamed at her to come back, but their voices were lost to the wind as roof tiles were torn off buildings. Fearing the wrath of the unnatural storm, no one followed her out into the tempest.

They found her the next day in a farmers field outside the city walls, unharmed by the cutting winds, with not so much as a bruise upon her. It was only later, when she woke up on a soft feathered bed that she realized what the Wind had taken from her. Her voice.

We all listened with rapt attention and without interruption. I always hungered for scraps of information involving magical power and its nature. If her account was true, then it was most likely that the tempest had gifted, or perhaps awakened, her powers. Had there been others like the young Zariyah who had ventured out into that storm-filled night and been gifted by the Wind? Could I do the same? It was a shame that the damn woman had been so light on the details of the how of it.

Unfortunately, the rest of her tale devolved into a boring account of her life on the road with the caravan.

Taking a sip of watered wine, my thoughts were instead turned inwards, to my own trials and tribulations that made Zariyahs account of her life until now sound like a pleasant holiday. Still, it reinforced my view that this world was cruel and unforgiving.

Against all the odds, and in a world that seemed set against me, I had prevailed. At least, so far. Out of a population of billions I had been chosen, leading me to believe that I was truly special. Indeed, I had proven it, both to this world and more importantly to myself. I was more than the product of a soft society that had created me. In me were reserves of will that I never knew I had.

However, for all of this, my goals had always been just about short-term survival and running away. There simply had been no room for thinking about what I wanted from this world, and what I wanted to do and achieve for myself.

What could she mean by that? The inn looked prosperous enough. Or was it perhaps because they used paper money in Al-Lazar? If so, I would have to remember to change some of my notes into smaller denominations.

I will have the girl Ninurta show you to your rooms, but if it does not displease Master Gilgamesh, I would like a little more time with my daughter, she said formally, almost with an air of frigid ceremony.

But of course, Mistress Naira, I acquiesced smoothly.

*

Ninurta, a slip of a girl in her early teens, possessed olive skin, brown eyes, and a rebellious cascade of curly dark hair. Thin and bony for her age, she was a bundle of unbridled excitement, practically bouncing off the walls with her childlike enthusiasm as she ushered us to our rooms giving us a set of bronze keys.

The rooms themselves were small, but clean, and the walls were washed with a coat of white paint, lending an airy feel to the room.

Using glass for the windows was a small testament to the prosperity of the place, as the manufacture of it was an expensive process for low-technology cultures. My room was a corner room and the furthest from the stairs.

A large bed dominated the center, big enough for three or four people to share, the sight of which brought a brief smile to my face. It was a reminder of something that my world had lost with its steady advancements. Animals slept together for comfort and safety, and humans were no different to them on the most basic level. But as we, as a society, became more prosperous, we began seeking to build barriers to keep away our fellow man, becoming lonelier in the process. The truly rich of my old world hoarded their privacy like a dragons gold, but their souls were the poorer for it.

I was, however, a product of that world and welcomed the privacy after having shared cramped quarters with Kidu and Elwin. Finally, I would have some time to myself.

Interrupting Ninurtas ramblings with Larynda, I inquired after Patches and the Ninurta assured us that our donkey would be well taken care of. According to the little bundle of enthusiasm, the inn had a small stable around the back, and the girl exclaimed that she positively loved animals and would see to her personally.

We began to settle in, and the porters of the Begonias Shade helped us bring some of our things up the stairs. Finally alone for a moment, I began to shuck myself out of my armor. Just as I was removing my left pauldron, having difficulty with a rather rebellious strap, there was an energetic knock on the door to my room.

Its Ninurta, sir, piped a voice from the other side of the heavy door, Ive come to show you the way to the baths if you like I brought you robes, a towel, and stuff!

Annoyed, I got up and opened the door, letting the bouncing girl in.

Leave it there, please. I will be done in a few moments, I stated curtly, my sanctum already invaded. I sat down and worked my way to loosen the stubborn strap.

Do you need any help, sir? Ninurta squeaked eagerly.

No, I will be actually yes, if you could help me here, I answered, gesturing to the annoying strap.

With the brightest of smiles, the girl helped me out of my steel shell. The dents and wear in my gear were a sad and obvious reminder of my latest adventurers. I would have to see to their proper maintenance later. There was no end to the chores.

Down now to my gambeson, I asked her to wait outside the room so that I could change into the robes she had provided. The girl looked at me oddly for a moment, almost frustrated, as if leaving the job half-done. Even so, she left me alone, but not before shooting a look toward me before closing the door behind her.

I quickly got changed, dumping the gambeson, along with my underclothes, into a laundry basket in the corner. Opening the door, I found Ninurta singing a cheerful song as she waited for me.

Please, this way! she enthused, leading me down to another room on the ground floor.

The room was tiled in blue, with a pool at its center. Water flowed from a copper pipe, gurgling like a fountain. Naira had quite obviously done rather well for herself to be able to afford facilities like these for her guests.

Do you need help with err washing your back? I can help with other stuff too she asked timidly.

Caught off guard, I looked at her dumbfounded. It took me a while before I was finally able to register her intent.

No, that will not be necessary, I said quite firmly, Please, leave us. The royal we. Was I going funny in the head?

The girl gave me a bright smile, looking genuinely happy at my refusal. She was singing, her voice echoing off of the bath walls, as she left the baths with a skip in her step. Finally, I felt relieved that I had avoided a potentially awkward situation and that she was out of my hair.

For all of its veneer of luxury, it seemed that this place was just as barbaric, twisted, and morally bankrupt as Ansan.

Truly, what was going on in this place?