Exiting the caravan master's lavishly adorned wagon, I heaved open the weighty door, allowing Zariyah to pass first, as manners demanded. She cast a puzzled glance as if I had committed a social mishap before proceeding. I lingered momentarily, turning back to offer a final farewell to Gelgor.
“My thanks for your gracious hospitality, Mas… Gelgor,” I said, nodding my head at him.
“Most odd that you allow the servant before the master, truly, you are a curious fellow,” the fat man remarked, not getting up from the bed of pillows. “No, no, you have my thanks. The gift I have received is more precious than pearls or gems. Go with the gods, Gilgamesh of Uruk, but may their gaze rest lightly upon you.”
I simply acknowledged this with another nod and closed the heavy door behind me. The clean afternoon air greeted me, free of the pungent smoke that had been almost like a living thing in the wagon. Taking a deep breath, I took a moment to roll my shoulders to free them from the tension that unknowingly built up.
There was now the matter of Zariyah, and how I would deal with her. Casting my Identify spell on her, I took the first step in understanding her.
Zariyah Al’Abadi - Wind Mage [Human lvl.14]
Health: 192/192
Stamina: 37/39
Mana: 15/15
She was exactly as Gelgor had promised. The almost two hundred points of Health was what the fat man must have meant when he was going on about her ‘iron strength’.
Zariyah turned around to look at me quizzically, expectantly almost. Behind this was a tautness, a tight expression that marred the lines of her exotic face. In her mind, I imagined that she must be feeling cast adrift, discarded like something unwanted. Like a heavy sea, fate had cast her on new unknown shores.
The silence stretched out uncomfortably, its duration becoming almost painfully awkward. Zariyah started to sign toward me, her movements elegant and swift. But, I could only respond with a look of incredulity and confusion, her intended meaning completely eluding me. Observing my bewilderment, she abandoned the servility she had shown to Gelgor and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.
It was clear that I was being looked down upon, and there was no mistaking it. I could discern that she was possessed of the same groundless pride I had encountered from those in servitude. I had witnessed it when interacting with the underpaid, their expressions of disdain silently conveying my unworthiness of their time, as if they would rather be anywhere else but doing their job.
If this was the measure of Gelgor's gift, then I felt a strong inclination to return her. Yet, something held me back, perhaps the last vestige of my misplaced chivalry. To send her back now would be seen as a grave insult, and if I were to offer an explanation for such a decision mere minutes after receiving the gift, I had no doubt that her fate would be an exceedingly bleak one. I felt almost swindled.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
But, perhaps, we had simply started off on the wrong foot. I was a forgiving man, and everyone deserves a second chance. In truth, I was also a little sympathetic toward her plight.
“Do it again, that thing you did with your hands. The thing you use as a substitute for proper speech,” I said flatly, in a calm and even voice.
I too had my pride, childish though it was.
All my life I had been taught that although we were all different, we were all, no matter our differences, essentially of equal value. That everyone was deserving and worthy of respect. However, this world sorely tested the limits of my indoctrination.
How dare she... this woman. No, that wasn't quite right. I searched my mind for a word and concept unfamiliar to me.
Inferior, the voices suggested in a shadowy whisper. This one was beneath me.
At first, I was shocked at this alien thought, but in a way, it also made startling sense. This was the truth of the world. As there were inferior and barbaric cultures, so too must there be inferior people. It was the only logical conclusion. Looking at it through this lens made much more sense.
Yes, how dare this inferior treat me in such a manner?
Even as I was reaching this conclusion, she continued with her signing and gave me a challenging smile, or rather, a smirk, if I were to be honest. Her fingers wove words that clashed with her demeanor and attire, phrases more commonly heard in the roughest of taverns.
“You will find that my manhood is more than adequate for what I must do next,” I stated in a voice as cold as the first frosts. The magic of my Identify spell had taught me the meaning of her words, her taunts and insults now clear as if written in bold print.
A blush slowly crept over her delicate features as she realized that I had understood her and a single hand went over her mouth, which had formed into a large O.
"I'm unsure of what constitutes an appropriate punishment for such brazen disrespect. You are fortunate, as it is frowned upon in my culture for a man to strike a woman," I remarked, my voice rising slightly, relishing the fear I sensed emanating from her.
Around us, people began to take notice, stealing quick glances before resuming their activities. Some, however, lingered, intrigued by what would unfold.
"However, if you see me as an animal, then I shall act accordingly. Place your hands on the steps and bend over," I commanded.
She regarded me with a regal disdain, then turned and surprisingly complied with my directive, showing no hesitation or resistance. Zariyah maintained her composure, but a subtle quiver betrayed her emotions. While she knew I had the authority to issue such orders, she most likely never dreamed I would go about doing such a thing in a public place. Our growing audience comprised individuals she had journeyed with, people who knew her, conversed with her, perhaps even counted her as a friend or acquaintance. Servants, to some extent, shared in their master's status, and I imagined she had enjoyed some measure of that prestige in this group.
Zariyah's pride was her vulnerability, and humiliation was her Achilles' heel.
I stood behind her, lightly placing a hand on the small of her back. Overwhelmed, she began to cry, the emotional flood breaking through like a dam bursting.
Taking a step back, I met her gaze firmly before speaking. “Get up, there's no need for this. Consider this a lesson, a lesson I will only teach once, treat others as you wish to be treated. I know you are intelligent enough to understand this, and pretending otherwise won't serve you well. You may be mute, but you're not dumb,” I said in a husky voice. She looked down in muted response.
“Now, it's time for you to meet the rest of my entourage, and I must bid farewell to the Ravens before we enter the City of Dust,” I commanded, without looking back to check if she followed.
It was almost scary how acclimatized I had become to this culture.