HERA

Nature is unnatural.

Lush, tall palms grouped together amid sun-stained, arid wastes? Impossible, but here it was, right in front of Hera’s eyes, the glistening tropics yanking the air out of her lungs to replace it with its own refreshing scent. From the edge of the oasis, she saw slivers of a crystal blue spring. Blue and yellow mixed to make a vivid green.

Spaced amid the oasis, smooth red sandstone structures of various sizes with squared corners and flattened roofs. Striped banners and awnings connected the palms and shaded the denizens from the desert sun. Dew dripped onto the canvas, carrying the sweet aura of date fruits and diffusing it into the streets with light intensity.

Hera’s jaw locked open as Jerine and Clementine lead them through the oasis of Atman Bolo. Merrily waved along by civilians covered head to ankles in cloth and bearing cheap sandals on their feet as well as tall, bulky, dark-skinned individuals wielding flimsy spears, the party’s arrival was a magnet of passerby attention.

“Quite the community,” Zeta whispered to her. She didn’t understand why he tried to mask a compliment.

Jerine and Clementine were in the center of the city’s draw, greeting strangers on the streets in their language and bowing their heads to elders as they walked. A warm aura traveled with them, comforting, like a fire pit ignited to blast away burrs on a cold winter night. Hera remembered times when she and Mrs. Olgue would share the downstairs fire and chat. It was one of the few times they actually spoke to each other. Hera’s eyes drooped as she remembered her years in Aspic.

“Ah, and just when it starts, it seems our tour is to be cut short,” said Jerine as he came to a stop. He shook his head in disappointment as a trio of three approached them. Like Jerine and Clementine, their passage drew dozens of pairs of eyes and split the crowds as they moved.

One man stood in the middle, short and spotted with age. He was flanked by two clones, tall, broad-shouldered men who carried thin, flimsy spears, akin to the brutish men she saw walking around. They wore traditional dresses of identical patterns and opposing color schemes. One red, yellow and spotted with blue. The other teal, purple and spotted with amber. The short one in the center wore half of each, split right down the sternum of his shirt.

“Jerine,” he whined in a pitched fit, “you’re late.”

“Sorry, Siallo,” Jerine replied. “We were curious of a small detour during our return.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed their glare upon Hera and Zeta. “Who are they? Enemies?” His twin bodyguards tensed, the tips of their spears tilting forward.

“No, they’re the detour. With all due respect, Siallo, you shouldn’t jump on all our guests.”

“Hmph! This land is sacred. You’re too young to comprehend what it means to protect it, insolent boy.”

Jerine laughed. “Siallo, if you wanted more protection, build some walls.” The old man grunted at that suggestion, but Jerine continued. “Atman Bolo is sacred because it is free! Free to outsiders who respect the people and the providence the oasis provides. We should be begging them to come and join us, not scare them away.”

Clementine cleared her throat. “Jerine, you’re forgetting your introductions again.”

“Oh, right. Zeta, Hera, this is Siallo Hima. I suppose he is the chieftain of the oasis.”

“Not suppose, I am!”

“His authority is a matter of debate.”

“Foolish youngster,” Hima said. He clapped twice, his bodyguards struck the ground with their spears in rhythm. All three of them gently bowed. “Regardless of his crass behavior, I know that Jerine wouldn’t bring dangers to our land. I apologize for my scrutiny and humbly welcome you to Atman Bolo. ‘Atman’ for spirit, ‘Bolo’ for strength.”

Jerine and Clementine reciprocated the Siallo’s gesture and held it in an awkward pause. Clementine opened an eye and nudged Hera. Oh. She clapped her hands and bowed, and then crushed Zeta’s foot so he did the same.

The Siallo sniffed and smiled at the performance. “I appreciate your respect, nonetheless.”

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a locale so filled with culture,” Hera said.

“History too! If you’d bother to learn it. I’ll be the first to tell you how boring it is,” Jerine chuckled.

“Foolish youngster!” Hima chided. “Have some appreciation for your past, Alibi. And don’t peddle your pessimism on visitors.”

“I am anything but pessimistic, Siallo.”

Hima sighed and shook his skull clear of Jerine’s remark. “Now, Jerine, since you’re back, I’m assuming you’ve completed your search?”

“Of course, Siallo. After I help these two settle into Atman Bolo, Clem and I will speak to you in your office. In short, no, it’s another dead site. We found nothing and nobody.”

Hima’s clenched his fist, his white-gray beard twitching. “Damn it! I know they aren’t just waking up at night and wandering off. Where are they!”

Clementine placed her soft hand on Hima’s shoulder. She discretely bent her knees to reach his height. “We will find them Siallo. All of them. Believe in the people of Atman Bolo.”

“What’s wrong?” Zeta asked.

“Some civilians have–”

Hima pinched Jerine, and Jerine jerked away in a fit. “Foolish youngster! They are new here. Don’t scare them away with that sort of business. It’s important that Atman Bolo remain peaceful in these times.”

Jerine rubbed the back of his head. His mouth swirled with hesitation. “Whatever you say, Siallo.”

Hima grumbled and strode away. “I have matters to attend to, but it was a pleasure to meet you both,” he said of Hera and Zeta. “I hope your presence here might set Jerine straight.”

“Not a chance, Siallo.”

The old man split the crowds with his clones and disappeared once more as the masses obscured them. They proceeded towards the rudimentary fortifications, short wooden walls that surrounded Atman Bolo. Hera wondered if he was accepting Jerine’s suggestion to build taller walls.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Jerine clasped his hands together. “Well, as much as we’d like to show you the bazaar, finding someplace for you to stay is much more important.”

Clementine planted her face into her fingers. “Jerine, you don’t have to. They can stay at our place.”

“No, no, no. This is Atman Bolo, after all! We cannot treat guests to such pour accommodations. For all his posturing about tradition, the old man tends to forget his greatest contribution to this oasis. Come and see…”

----------------------------------------

“Hima Caravanserai! Technically. I refer to it as the Hima Resort.”

Hera’s jaw dropped again. Zeta’s too. The Caravanserai was by far one of the most massive structures in the oasis. So large, in fact, that they didn’t realize they had entered the premises for a great deal of their walk. Palm trees bundled together to conceal the arches that bore the plaque of the building’s name. Smooth stone paths led them to a lobby.

Beautiful carpets complimented the reddish sandstone. Oil lamps lit up the supports, revealing an open ceiling where their flames flickered in the daylight that shot through the massive leaves. Palms whisked in and out of the walkways, and not counting the rooms themselves, they were abundant enough to serve as the walls of the building.

Zeta kept making for one of the couches, which cushioned so much the sitter was nearly sucked inside, but Hera kept tugging him along. After all, if a child is left unattended, they are likely to suffocate themselves.

They also passed by some netted booths where locals blew smoke from a strange contraption. A ball-bottomed flask with an incredibly long spire containing a liquid that bubbled when used. Two cords ran to either end, and the users would put the ends to their mouth. One inhalation later and the clouds exhumed from their breath. They looked uncommonly pleased.

Jerine staggered back to Zeta and whispered, “I’ll introduce you to those tonight.” He winked.

“That sounds amazing!” he said. Hera rolled her eyes.

The group approached the counter, where a concierge greeted them.

“A room for two. Make it a suite,” Jerine said, passing a pile of silver Nibbles. Hera’s balance was almost lost. She didn’t expect that much money to pop out of his pocket. And with ease.

The concierge accepted them but still seemed confused. “Two? Is there not four of you?”

“Oh, we’re residents. It’s for them.”

“Would you prefer the Habib accommodation?”

Jerine examined Zeta and Hera then grinned. “Absolutely.”

“Jerine, that isn’t funny,” his sister said.

“Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

----------------------------------------

Agenda number one. Learn the language. Why? Because Hera nearly had a heart attack when they opened the door to the ‘suite.’ Habib = Lover.

As they learned when seeing the rose-colored room.

Incense dominated the hallway as the door opened. There were more paper hearts on the bed than Hera cared to count, and the dozens of candles bunched at the edges of the room were already lit. Great expectations.

She almost blacked out when she saw the bathroom. The details were foggy after she first laid eyes upon it, but the only vivid recollection going through her mind was that tub is not meant for one. Beyond the regular bar of animal fat that usually counted for ‘soap’, several other boxes contained 'special scents.’

Calmly, she shut the door. “No. We need another room.”

“Oh, come on, Hera,” said Zeta, strolling inside in a casual, undignified manner. He looked like a peasant, dirtying the grounds of his betters as he dripped filth across the flo–

Whoa. Where did that come from? She was starting to sound like… like them. The person her mother shed a stream of tears over. The person she told Hera she would have to be to survive at their level, to progress in society.

Best stay away from that memory.

“We can’t refuse Jerine. He paid a great amount of Nibbles to get us this room. We need to be grateful.”

Snapping back to reality, Hera said, “You can’t be serious. Zeta, this is unacceptable.”

“Forget the implications, Hera. A room’s a room. You’re the one making it something bigger than it is.”

Bigger than it is? I’m going to kill you.

“No, you have a perfect right to refuse my brother. He thinks he’s hilarious,” Clementine said at the doorway. From the hall, Jerine’s coughing, loud cackles echoes into the room. “We’ll get you a different room. He’s the moron who wasted his money.”

“Absolutely not. We will take what we have, and as a Servant of Humanity, I vow to pay it back during our stay here. Besides, it’s not like we’re going to be in here all the time.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. Besides, Hera also didn’t want to take more out of Jerine’s pocket than necessary, even if it was self-inflicted.

“If you say so,” said Clementine. “There is a statue of Valeri in the footlocker to keep you busy. Jerine and I are going to speak with the Siallo. Come look for us in the morning, and we’ll show you the Bazaar.”

“If it gets me out of this place…”

Clementine waved and then shut the door. Hera heard the sound of springs squealing and turned around. Zeta lay on the bed, crushing the paper hearts and smiling like a cat.

“So, wanna divide up the bed, or do you want to share?”

Hera took in two deep breaths. Zen, peace, tranquility. She let all the pacifism flood to her mind. Then, she sent the full force of Neural Fighter to her fingers. And, as her mother always told her, went for the eyes.

ADIN CALAHAN, a Bazaar cobbler

Adin yawned as he left the Caravanserai. Damn it, my wife’s going to be pissed. It was midnight, but the hookah made him lose track of time. He blamed his friends for keeping him there so long.

Well, nothing could be done now. Unless Adin could sneak home and avoid his wife’s watchful gaze, he had no other option but to face the consequences. Hopefully the high would last long enough to lessen the migraine of his wife’s screaming.

In Adin’s opinion, Shalla should be grateful. Back in his grandfather’s day, one man had many wives. She would have been nothing special had tradition trickled down into his generation, and he could kick her to the curb if she dared to speak back. Hell, Adin heard rumors that polygamy was still in place in some other edges of the desert. Maybe I can trick Shallah into moving there.

No. If he were to leave the paradise of Atman Bolo, Shallah would not be joining him.

Something zipped over his head, and as if ducking a glass bottle thrown by his angry wife, Adin curled into a ball to avoid it. He looked up. Nothing. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Once again, he blamed the hookah for his hallucinations. It’s going to be a miserable trek home.

Another zip. This time from one alley to the next. It wasn’t human, and it wasn’t an animal. It’s arm bulged, and something protruded from the back. Maybe it was human? What? How much did Adin smoke?

Shick! Something tapped against his ankle, a sharp, almost metallic substance. He flipped around to nothing, yet he still felt air blowing against his neck. He flipped around again. Nothing; the air on his neck was still there.

A slight shadow caught his peripheral, and Adin froze. It wasn’t of his own will, his body just stopped moving. Then he felt the pain, the hot drilling hole in his back, but soon that vanished too. He went numb and collapsed, his body stuck in a rigid, statuesque pose.

The feminine shadow stood above him, her boots inches away from his unmoving head. She wore a brown cloak, and he could see a wicked smile, tracking its every tremble with his eyes, the only things that could move.

“Was I just too fast for you?” she said with a laugh. “You do need to be more attentive if you want to survive in this world.”

She kneeled down, and Adin could see something wagging behind her cloak. A tail. A big, scaly, two-pronged tail dripping with red and green liquid. He assumed the red was his blood.

“Unfortunately, I have other plans for you. Do me a favor and die, okay? Desiccate.”

Her hand, at least the one that wasn’t hidden beneath her cloak, gripped his neck. It was a warm touch at first, then cold, but the shivers weren’t from her. It was from the energy leaking out of his system. It was his skin shrinking, shriveling, wrinkling into a brown, dry raisin. It was his eyes sinking into his head before popping, his voice crying until it croaked. His consciousness witnessing his own decomposition until his brain melted into a muddy stew.

Desiccate - Death, Liquid: User constantly deprives target body of all nutrients until the target is nothing more than a lifeless husk. (5855).

* (A) Maintain physical contact.

* Although a user can leech the nutrients off the target if they desire, it is not mandatory. This is done by force of will.

* For normal human builds, a maximum of ten seconds is necessary for even the strongest warriors to be dead and deprived.

* (!) If the target is not killed by Desiccate but is otherwise released from the user’s grip early, the lost nutrients will automatically be replenished. If they were stolen, the user will lose their gains.