Age on age, ceaseless, unending. Forsaking the way, veering further into darkness. A freedom to promise madness alone, and light to blight all Wisdom: Man rebukes my effort in rebellion alas their care is mine alone.’
Mushan took the sky; blue and full this night. Her light easing into all things from on high; cool and comforting, thinning the veil between the Gold and Torak.
‘Do not waste the night,’ a voice boomed through the crowd, ‘Kiss the Viper.’
Trueborns cheered the words KIISS THE VIPER! Urging the Shubara boy to dip his hand into the large but not uncommon weave basket; Argh! A quick hiss of pain followed with wincing away sting of the vipers kiss. The boy roared; fist raised into the night air as he bravely took his firsts steps to seeing the Magics of Torak.
All Shubara despite their births believe themselves destined for greatness; favored even, by Agni. A notion buried deep with many, and understood strife led many believe. ‘There is meaning in suffering.’ Or preferred, ‘Strife strengthens us to see Torak’s greatness.’ The many Shubara still bound by the threadings of faith, and blind to else; failing even to know Agni holds only gifts of fire, whether if to burn or temper remains discord.
Soon a stillness followed, and then the all too known retching; painfilled wails, red foaming on heat cracked lips, scratchings at the throat, heaving sounds, blood escaping from the nose, ears and eyes finally folded into whites. Trueborns roared; trembling the air, watching the Shubara heave his last. But even now, moments from the great-death, the boy still believed he would survive; be reborn bearing the magics of Torak, the cheers never dying. But that was the way for children, and as many before; the great-death took again another child amongst them. And then the cheers came louder, and the many Trueborns named the boy never to wake; the unfavored fool, their laughter dying as they left his body where laid, left Agni’s dawn coming fire to swell him until his seams tightened and foul smells seeped through cloth, left him to any eager enough to escape his filth, left him for Asim to bury.
This is Shubara: The young killing themselves in hopes for life. An easy thing to reject and observe depending where feet met sands, but to simply accept when this was all one knew.
Asim waited for most the Trueborns to disperse before evening the boy’s weight over his shoulder; as most Shubara boys, he was lean to the point his hip bone nudged angrily at Asim, though he weighed even less than looked. The many traits Asim did share with the boy, but since Salim had named him Aduna a weak frame would not be counted.
‘Leave it,’ Asim heard the scraggy croaked voice to first urge the boy, and then felt an itch firing his nape. ‘Let all see Torak’s love for Shubara.’ He sighed out the breath caught in his chest; turning and raising his eyes to meek Sekar Ruiah; Trueborn Lakarin of the Hunts-master, his height to tower a head and shoulder over Asim, and his voice instilling what little terror his size failed.
‘Do you not hear me, Giddim. LEAVE IT BE.’
‘Mushan lights your way, Tu: Sekar,’ Asim bid him honorifics due Trueborns; he needn’t as they were both named Aduna, but as well he was Shubara and it is always best to show he had not forgotten.
The pale Fan-Axe to Sekar’s side gave a low hum and the subtle winds picked up around Asim’s feet, ‘Should I ask again, Agni will swell two corpses. Do you hear me, Giddim?’ Asim shook, but not from the chill about. He eyed the Djindal in envy: A beauty pale as bone to shame the greatest forge masters; etched with symbols unknown to shame discerned Ummia. Though seeming of poor balance to its wielder, that would only be was it iron made. Asim knew no harm will come to him; at least not this night, yet uncertain of the workings of Sekar’ s mind he began craning himself to ease the boy gently down when he noticed the shifting sands; and in his moment of why, the sands were stolen like a carpet underfoot and both boys crashed onto the sands.
‘This will do for now Sekar.’ another voice cut through the rising wind; leveled but firm in Asim’s ears, stopping the larger boy. Asim traced the voice meeting Qadim Zubiar; Trueborn Lakarin to Voice Lakari of the Guenak sheathing a sand-colored sword no less magnificent than Sekar’s Axe.
‘I do not see your tail Giddim’s?’ He asked glancing over the Shubara who stlole glances at them, ‘It may the Dervish finds his Lakarin pride, or does he still sway for you Giddim?’ Asim remained silent on the sands, his eyes to the boy who lay beside.
‘The eyes are many this night. Come Agni’s rise we become Garradum, not even the Dervish will shield you then from the test of men.’ He finished impassioned, Sekar took a moment with Asim, the winds easing at his feet. ‘Best to kiss the Viper this night.’ He laughed, trailing after Qadim.
Through the sands; far enough from the tents for the winds to scatter the smell but close enough to keep a watch for roaming blackfoots who were known to hunger for dead, Asim carried the boy. He made it to a barren marked by sticks; each for where laid Shubara. His spade bit into the sands, then again, and again. Asim’s hands did the drudge; the sound of iron on sands stealing him from the time and his thoughts. Yet another death that needn’t be.
When the hole was dug, Asim, gave the boy one last cursory look. He was older than he was but not by much; his black ghutra still bound his neck.
‘In life we differ. But in death we are the same.’, Asim unraveled the ghutra from his neck; exposing the brand seared into his nape, and only too visible under Mushan’s light. Asim began to feel the uncomfortable fire at his nape and growing weariness in his arms. This deed had gone too long, and the peace it gave was no more.
He eased the boy into the hole, stealing away at his coin pouch. Would this be called thievery? Asim preferred to believe this payment for his efforts. It will not be needed where he walks now.
The sands came pouring over the boy and short of a moment he became another stick in the sands to be committed to memory. Asim walked the night; memories of the boy’s life and thoughts that lead the boy to death clashing in his mind.
The Viper or The Hunt. His answers waited in the halls of Kiumun, and so he walked further into the night’s chilling breeze as others before: Fools seeking to be less.
The rows and shelves holding embalmed scrolls and tomes pushed forward to greet Asim as he walked through the heavy bronze doors of Kiumun; with a silence enriching the sounds of meagre crackling flames, but silent nights often brought forth weary days-a truth Asim was now coming to know. Come the rise of Agni, the horn will cry, the Clutch-Hunt begins, and Asim will be tested in the ways of men.
The day will bring the twenty-ninth Hunt to Tribelands, yet through Asim’s six and ten turns of life, only five had he known. To all, this was a time sorely awaited but twice is true for the Shubara; to let fall their cloaks of coal, to become chosen, to be joined with Tenders so beautiful. And for Asim the same would be true, with his burning desire to leave the Tribelands with Kali as his Tender.
‘The histories are not to your liking, Aduna?’ Asim tore tired eyes from poorly lit vellum pages training them at the familiar shadowed figure. ‘Not so, Ummia.’ Asim said, rubbing at the corners of his eyes ‘It is only too hard to believe a Lakarin rejects a clash.’
‘A good head, young one, better still than fair few.’ Ishtar nodded, slipping a mighty tome from beneath his limp resting arms, and inspecting for damage done, ‘There are rare tellings where En: Unug was beaten a hand’s width from the steps of the Great-death by the Unifier. Though this indeed may be truth hidden by the histories; of what import will it bring any?’
‘In arrogance do we lead ourselves to deem a worthful truths.’
‘The Ballads of Abijah. Very good young one, a tankard of camels’ milk to meet minds drawn to darker tellings.’
‘Worthful truths; would you spare me this conceit, rarely hide light.’
‘You speak well, young one, yet I have seen silently you scour through The Hauntings of Ishima and The Ruin of Ishan. Fine choices all be sure, but one does not exhume many a dark tellings, with not the wish to bury another. Hmmm?’
‘Pazur would speak against your wisdom’s absolution, no?’ Asim retorts; his eyes still partial to the vellum page.
‘There is scant sands in the deserts to bury that child’s hauntings, it is thankful his turns are too young for the Hunt. Huh; one brother, a thing of maiden dreams. Another; a thing of their terrors, such are unknowing ways of Agni-haps again the black’s doing?’ she questioned thoughtful, she weaved her fingers in prayer. ‘Let us pray that Mushan brings him calm come the next Hunt. Now, will you tell me what haunts you so, young one?’
Asim’s subtle attempt at dismissing her, and returning to his silent reverie came to naught. Ishtar is one; to be put plain, who many deride thick in the head in affairs such as. A small part of him believed this her due as Savants in truth never grasped plights of the innate, the larger felt it all schemed simplicity honed to an odd circuitous keenly edge that made her ways riddling to say least. She may in truth be the dim in many things, yet, farthest from the fool. In this paradox did the truth of Ishtar dwell.
‘The Clutch-Hunts begin at Agni’s rise. Tu: Qadim and Tu: Sekar have set sight on me, others will follow.’ Asim thought to lie but knew the breath would yield no fruit, he never believed himself capable to deceiving her, and not for the want of efforts. He was tired and afraid but knew he would find no rest under Mushan’s light.
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‘As I hear; the Dervish himself has prepared you for this day, a fool he is in all things, but there is no finer Ugula. Now, only fools alone trade Mushan’s peace for Agni’s trials, you should find rest for what is to come.’
‘Is this all you will of it?’ Asim asked, his eyes leaving the tomes set before him to meet her eyes for the first, ‘More words than the Lugal has offered. I suppose I am fortunate in this way.’ Asim finished, rage deviating his voice from the steady rhythm it is familiar.
‘Be careful, Aduna,’ She said, slow laden heavy intent and a look to match her words, ‘Careless tongues root careless ends.’
Asim’s eyes flared; the caution dawning, he had named his sire.
‘Be at ease, Aduna. The Ears have since taken to their revels, we are alone,’ Asim noticeably eased, ‘Harken onto these words if naught else: Never are words more foolish as they spoken in anger.’
‘As you say, Ummia.’ Asim sighed in relief, his body still trembling at the thoughts of what would have befallen him should the Ears have heard. ‘Were the powers mine, few would be found worthy as you to be Garradum, but this is far from me. This is tradition, one many as you have faced, and overcome.’
‘And why is it must we bind ourselves to the whims of the dead?’ Asim’s voice a steely cool rhythm his control becoming firmer, though his frustrations rising. ‘Truly, greater the fools to be found in the many, than in the few, not so?’
‘A fair stance, but be not fool enough to spurn tradition,’ Ishtar begun, mimicking the ways of great Jongleur, her words dancing between tempo to paint the mind a portrait. ‘You shall know her deeply, and bend her as would a lover, but never spurn. Her powers; Old and honed in repetition. Tempers fickle and cruel. Be lover to her and loved to all, but by the dead, to show her spurn is to be spurned by all.’
‘I have not known such pages,’ Asim said, in doubt of its existence. Ishtar has been known to indulge her mind’s many philosophies; she had since become the pariah of Kiumun, ‘…And I have known many.’
‘Yet, there is a greater many things you have not known, Aduna.’
‘Things? …I see.’
‘Wiser is him who has known of that even unknown to him.’
‘If all you will give this night are your riddles, then please leave me to the silent tomes. Perhaps they will inspire wisdom of use for the Hunt; if not, the viper’s kiss awaits.’ Asim only caught the edge too late, again realizing the words spoken when he was finished and the uncertain silence crept between.
‘Twice this night has anger moved you to speak; I will let this pass, and there will be no third,’ Her usual mirth no more, ‘I see the coming day brings you many troubles. But you will show me respect; or again, I will teach it to you.’ Ishtar glared at him taping twice at one of the twin desert tongue whips riding her hip.
‘Forgiveness Ummia,’ Asim bowed low to Ishtar, ‘My grief is mine alone.’
‘As are your trials, joys, and duty.’
‘But not my choice? Do I choose this hate?’ Asim failed at keeping the iron from his voice, but kept his words controlled.
‘The Shubara have always been men of little. little sense, little fear and little reward for the much effort. Trueborns hate you not for this, rather it is fear you one day will forget yourself, and show others to do the same. They hate the Dervish for his choice in you but since none will take a blade to him, they wish to break you as vengeance and show to the world Shubara men will never be as Trueborns. This said, you make the choice to leave us, do you not?’ She said waving her hand and the many questions Asim had away, ‘To spurn the viper’s kiss, to join the Hunt regardless, to even live this day. But still, you fear to bear its cost, and in that we all share. The many with strength, few with beauty, fewer still love, and dearth of them all knowledge, must abhor the cost, yet be no less willing to pay it. Only in knowing this can such choice truly become gifts. This said, your strait is the fault of no one, you are as all who tread the sands, and yet as none. Regardless Agni’s trials never forget, Aduna, there is greater use for the sharper of mind than the stronger in arms. So, speaks the wisdom of Kiumun.’ She declared loudly, a self-indulgence Asim believed ‘Now do not waste Mushan’s light, the future is set in sand, let it remain or write another come the day.’ She left, leaving sleep to make her visit. This was the way of Ishtar’s teachings; her tongue one born to Cryptism; Asim knew he would get no clear answer from her.
***
Agni’s conflagrating rise was oncoming and Ugulas littered the gates awaiting the horns cry to begin riding hard their drakes further into the golden sea, Adunas firmly gripping onto handholds lest they be unseated by the great beasts. The Clutch-Hunt only ever came every three turns and fastest Adunas often won great Clutches.
‘There is no other way?’ Asim questioned at the gates.
‘To earn a bond? None with honor, boy.’ Salim said curtly, ‘This is tradition; the test of Fire and Sand.’
Asim did not fail Salim’s less than subtle insistence. Frustrations escaped as sigh; his nape began the mild itch it did in times as this. ‘Traditions birth of savagery.’ Similar thoughts left his mouth the night before, but now they touched new ears and might yield good fruit.
‘Never flail tradition, boy.’ An omen danced over him to quick Asim couldn’t be sure it was ever there, ‘The boon is not worth the battle.’
‘So, I have been told,’ Asim’s eyes focused into the distance the voice of Ishtar still ringing true, ‘Her powers; old and honed in repetition. Temper fickle and cruel. Turn an enemy of her, and she turns you enemy to all, yes?’
‘True wisdoms; there are few to be found in Kiumun, best you learn them there. But be sure, you will learn.’ Salim scowled, ‘In this you should pay heed, rather than fill your thoughts with empty words of Laga Merchants.’ Garash and Kiumun were as water and oils; and so too Salim and Ishtar, but finely do they mix in mistrust for the Laga.
‘I have heard tales of Hunts past; should a grain ring true ‘Honor’ will be hard found,’ Asim held his breath a moment as though considering his next words, but in such times, it was often better to be plain, ‘Hard found for Shubara!’
A fire came into Salim’s eyes to burn away calloused disinterest, ‘Words of Kiumun? Many things the Mind learns there, but only Garash gives boys the Hearts of Men and in some things the Heart must lead.’ He said, but did Asim hear him his eyes gave no tell. ‘Sigh, I have known the child with heart of courage but much not known, now I see the man with little not known and one of cowards. Boy if it is your wish to run from the Hunt then so will it be. Know you will make it no further than any who ran from hardship,’ Asim’s glare rising, meeting Salim’s once again simple and uninterested eyes. ‘At the day’s end you will stand amongst men. And every man must decide the worth of honor, be it worth less the sands he walks, or more the air he breathes. This truth I give freely.’ Salim then looked away from Asim and to the burning skyline. As Agni’s light cracked the horizon the horn cried its deep sonorous hum to rumble the spine, dust clouds rose as the drakes kicked hard against the sand and into the gold, and screams roared into the distance.
‘What if this is the better way? If my efforts only brings dishonor to the Hunt?’ Asim asked apprehensive. His anger, anxiety, and fear bleeding into the words.
‘Efforts never betray.’ The rumble came slow, ‘They show themselves in unknowing ways, but never betray. Now do not speak the words of a loathsome woman to me, I grant you Assent. But these Sands…are yours alone to walk.’
Asim thought deeply about his choice, or the ones put before him. He could either be a man or coward, honorable or dishonorable. Where others are raised as warriors, the larger part of Asim’s as Shubara was that of scholar, an Ummia to keep the histories. Others were bounds and leaps stronger, faster, and more attuned to their senses and abilities, the greatest talents even manifesting the powers of Torak in the physical world. His weaknesses were clear but so were his strengths.
Others had not spent the turns grooming and watering, Ashra, did not know her habits nor preferred spaces, nor knew nothing of her cunning. Only he had done and known all this, and should he fail to win Ashra’s Clutchling even with the knowing then a loss it would be to the sharper of mind.
‘Chaii!’ Salim hissed at an imperceptible rumble at stone’s throw, and the drake five and more its rider size, bowed low as a whipped whelp, but her tail never ceased beating the sands, a tell of her displeasure.
‘Boy! Do we return?’
The drakes obvious displeasure only kindled Asim’s flaring tension all the more, deep crimson eyes solely fixed on him as though daring him to be a coward. Her displeasure though palpable, was far from persuasive as it is he who will be left to the Trench, it is he who would have to escape the unmindful eyes, it is he who would be left to wit’s end until Mushan’s rise.
‘No.’ Asim said, and though it was he who said the words, he felt almost outside himself, true consequence of his choice dawning on him as now did Agni.
‘A deserving choice but we are spent far on time,’ Salim said, his smile wild in Agni’s rising light, eased some tension itching at Asim’s neck. ‘Now come, let us join in the hunt.’ Taking a handful of his ghutra the giant sent Asim of his feet, flying the span of two men through the air until his body gruffly found purchase on the docile Ashra’s saddle. Hastily adjusting himself to avoid the drakes further ire. Salim followed leaping through the distance and with ease of a single step was seated; his hands loosely resting on handhold, and with seemingly a thought the drake began bounding for the gates and into the golden sea, the distance put between Asim and other Aduna, quickly vanishing.
Never forgetting suffering always lay at heel with beauty Agni brought, Asim watched color return to the dark world, enriching the golden sea and dancing off Ashra's deep rufous scales. The layer of sheen to Ashra’s scales showed Salim had tended her the night before. Asim could feel the power that threatened to unseat him flow seamlessly through her muscles. ‘Bear with it Boy,’ with the speeds she ran, Salim’s words were all but lost on him ‘The Adunas may have start, but on Ashra’s claws, not by much.’ Sand clouds kicked up by riders made it hard for Asim to see much anything and breathe even less despite his ghutra, but he could feel her focus and before long the Trench sunk into sight, the many Ugulas watching as their Aduna leapt into the Maw beginning their hunt, and fear blazed anew in Asim.
‘This need not be said, but still your mind against the madness, I have known of many who strayed into the gold never to return,’ Salim’s voice steely cold, ‘Do not stray yourself past the boundary. Only dark things you will find in the wastes of Ishan.’ His face taken by the grim weight of Ishan sunk the caution deeper into Asim, before they reached the Maw and he half fell off Ashra.
The laughter between Ugula and wagers put on Aduna; Asim heard them all as he made his way to the Maw, he felt eyes of Ugula slowly turning on him the loud wagers becoming whispers. Creeping as did the desert mouse, he whispered to himself: I am no Coward.
‘Are you lost, Shubara?’ asked Hashin Zubiar, Voice Lakari in the Guenak, ‘The Clutch-hunt is a thing of Garradums, the same I have said to all Shubara that have come this path. Are you now Garradum?’ another question, one that brought laughter to all.
‘Enough!’ silence came over the space ‘I, Salim Kaftar, Ur-Sagtilde, Dervish of the dunes, give him Assent, should any not approve; let Agni see the wage meet blood.’
At Salim’s words, Asim’s deep dark skin lost a notch of color. Would he truly kill for this? For me? The thoughts occupied Asim’s mind as the silence drew on.
‘Should you truly wish to bring death, there are ways much less cruel.’ Hashin smiled, his eyes piercing almost through Asim, ‘Though I imagine your Lugal would appreciate an end to both problems in a strike? Though a pity for stray Maktirs, the Shubara flesh has been known to hold Laga poisons.’ He had chosen for ‘Your' rather than ‘An act Asim doubted was made in error. ‘But as Assent is given, then I cannot bar his path. Doubtful it may now be to find beyond gruesome end, any Clutch of worth.’ He finished, crooked teeth making a thin appearance between his grin.
‘Quick to start, even quicker to fail.’ Salim smiled, ‘A slow start is good foundation for all things lasting, not so?’ All the Ugulas felt the shift in the air, more so than Asim, but all the while Salim’s eyes went unbothered, the growing tenson seeming to breeze harmlessly pass. Hashin’s breath pulled in deep, and came out hard as iron. ‘SPEAK PLAIN DERVISH!’
‘Words spoken in whispers, will be made bare in the women’s quarters’ with a curt nod, Salim sent Asim on his way, who gladly abided not wanting to watch a dispute between Ugulas.