> The person who died forsook his very duty. And so when he was reborn, though he was reborn with powerful Bodhisattva Mind, and Bodhicitta, they were yet still forced to suffer the karma of having been a forsaker of one's dharma. But that is the truth of the world, did you not know? Karma, ultimately, perpetuates suffering. The teaches of the Buddha exists to free you from the Wheel, not to Master it.

>

> From the Black Hibiscus Scriptures

Raxri took note: the first village they did see in this world. Each house was built upon stilts, no doubt in anticipation of certain flooding. Yet underneath each house was a fence, and within each fence were either tables or livestock, such as little chickens or young pigs. Each house looked more or less like Akazha's cottage, though with fewer annexes. Many also had their kitchens outside, in their own roofed enclosure.

The houses were set well apart: no house was squished beside another, allowing for plenty of room. Perhaps, more importantly to Raxri, this allowed the cold breezes to fill each house, cooling and chilling them as needed.

Almost every house was shaded or accompanied by a tree, whether a palm leaf, a many-leaved acacia, a mango tree, a tree of rambutans, a banana grove, or a copse of thick bamboo.

As they walked, Raxri saw groups of people walking on by, carrying chopped bamboo, jars of water on their heads, earthenware filled with stews or steamed foods, and more. Almost everyone was carrying some form of fish, shell, or other seafood wrapped in cloths or reed baskets. It was a fishing village, no doubt.

Some of them stopped by and waved to Akazha, greeting her as "Friend Witch!" Akazha greeted them back with a smile.

"O, Tinô!" A plump old man, hair and beard greying, ran up to them. The man was corpulent and wore a fabulous sarong tied into a knot in the front, along with reed sandals and his hair tied up into a chignon on top of their head. Tattoos wrapped around their torso, with geometric designs different from Raxri's or Akazha's.

Raxri stopped Sungai, and Akazha helped Tinô get down from the horse. "O, Tinô, my child. You are safe!"

"Yes, yes, baba! I am safe! The witch has helped me!" Tinô ran into his father's arms, who carried him high and then hugged him.

"O, Akazha, friend witch. I thank you most highly. Most most highly. How can I ever repay you!"

Akazha waved their hand. "None is needed. To see a child safe is repayment enough. However, I must warn you to be careful of going out even at zenith, nowadays. Bandits, pirates, and marauders now swarm and infest the Utter Islands. A symptom of this broken world."

"Of course, of course. The chief will no doubt be awaiting you. Thank you again, friend witch."

"You're very welcome, Kagon. Stay safe now, Tinô."

Tinô grinned widely and then walked back with their father, presumably to their house, which seemed to be by the seashore as they walked down the road.

"Come. Meat and fish await us, student."

They walked with Sungai until they reached what seemed to be the small village's marketplace: it was right by the road that led to the seashore. Stalls and blankets with too-fresh fish. Akazha walked up to some of them and exchanged smiles and familiar words. They were varied: one was a corpulent night-skinned woman with kinky hair and a beautiful smile, and another was a young boy who seemed to only be filling in for their father or mother who should be selling. Yet another was a thin woman with a wide-brimmed hat on their back kept to them by a string that hung from their neck. A large carabao behind them dozed, from which various leaf sheaves hung. A stall with multiple sizes of shrimp and crabs, bound by rope, half-alive. Preserving freshness.

Akazha paid for everything they were buying with these incense sticks, which had a peculiar, purplish paste on them. "What are those, master?" asked Raxri.

"Ah, student. These be joss," she said as she lifted a few up. "These are incense sticks specifically coated with a paste made from Vaizzanblood, crafted from Dang Hwan Vaizzan himself. The God of Wealth, Merchants, and Mercenaries."

"I see. And joss is the currency, here? How interesting that it is incense sticks that one trades, and not coin?"

"Primarily when trading with settlements that participate in the Monsoon Market, they prefer joss sticks to coin, as joss can also be used to pay gods. Even the gods participate in the market! But cash and coin are plenty common, especially in the grand societies of Shen and the kingdoms of Selorong and Wo, where within the islands they have a coin minted by ancient kings."

As Akazha set about to taking care of the purchases, Raxri watched the shoreline. Tannum Village had no dedicated dock area besides a few simple wooden platforms. And yet the shore was lined with caulked-wood outrigger canoes, wide and capable of carrying large amounts of produce and materiel up and down the rivers. Many of them parked their ships on the beach, and many more placed them underneath their stilt houses, which served as a garage or holding bay. The fishermen's stilt houses stretched up the shoreline and into the river. At this time of day, they were resting within their homes, away from the zenith sun. Not just the stilt houses but also the outrigger canoes. Raxri could see that up the river, there were larger barges, some of which had a secondary deck. The largest one had three decks, one no doubt for fighting from when raiding and marauding, and they had double outriggers instead of just one.

It is customary, due to the relatively equal length of days and nights in the Utter Islands as well their hot and humid climate, that work be done during the early mornings and late afternoons, when the sun would not be so high up, beaming its blasted rays upon the populace. Therefore, all pains were taken to work when the sun would not be intense or even during the nights when the Whole Moon shone upon the darkened earth. However, light sources such as torches and whatnot were not enough to ward off Night's Dark Creatures. Such was the tradeoff for the safeguarding violence of the Sun.

Here in the village of Tannum, the people walked to and fro without much care. They could sustain themselves with their fishing and farming and worried not about the greater troubles of the world abroad. This made Raxri all the more anxious for them now that the consequences of the Invincible Blade Princess reached even them. Such a placid place of idyll, undeserving of the wars of the outside, of those who sat on thrones and spoke safely within the confines of war rooms.

The men and women mingled and laughed at each other. Groups of young children, no doubt the various progenies of the various neighbors, running about, playing with wooden tops and with pick-up sticks, jumping over rubber garters, or tossing rocks at stone jars. The palm tree swayed in the breeze. The rhapsody of ticks from the leaves swaying and clapping in the gale. The lullaby of the sea's waves crashing upon the sandy shore, striking then receding, striking then receding.

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It didn't take long before Akazha had filled a rattan bag with fish, a few bags of rice, safflowers, vials of soy sauce and vinegar, salt rocks, and some fresh chicken meat. Raxri carried it all and hitched it onto Sungai's saddle.

Akazha sighed. "We must needs eat the chicken meat posthaste, lest it spoil. Perhaps I should get a few of my own chickens. Come, student. Let me introduce you to Tannum Village's chief."

Within the thirty foot long wooden longhouse, which stood upon hearty wooden pillars, was the chief. He sat on a silk pillow, with a back adorned by weapons and golds. Wrapped into a knot in front of him was an azure sarong, with a larger saffron belt knotted into a giant ribbon on his back, and he wore no footwear, for no footwear would service them well in the midst of the seas. His headwrap (with two points like a spiralling horn on one side) was bright scarlet. They were cleanshaven; their hair was a twine of gray that fell to his waist.

Impossible to ignore, however, was the chief's rugged, sinewy and shredded torso, his body bulging with the sleek striatons of a swimmer-swordmaster. And truly, held on a vertical swordstand was a giant pirate's blade, housed in a rectangular lacquered wood sheath, of the same caulked wood as the very barges they sailed.

He sat in a lotus position, foot over foot, and had their arms folded in front of them. Their eyes were closed. One would assume that they were in meditation, if it were not for the meekly lady wrapped in light silks in front of him. The lady had the ears of a cat on top of their head, twitching as she spoke.

"Your ancestors have spoken, Chief Kinza. The winds will not be amiable for the next moon. The wind gods wage war with the stones of Dubawatan Reef of north Pemi."

Chief Kinza exhaled a long exhale. "Very well. I thank the ancestors for always watching over us, and thank thee for thine expertise, Shaman Tif."

Shaman Tif bowed deeply, and then walked backwards. They moved and twisted in a way to make sure that they never faced away from the Chief until they were by the door. Then, they bowed again and exited.

"Next?" The voice that echoed was not of the Chief's, but of the severe man beside him, this one clad in that same sarong. Instead of being barechested he wore an ironwood breastplate, lacquered and caulked, as if he were a barge ready to strike. On top of that he wore a black peaked leather helmet. "Step forward."

Akazha walked forward, and Raxri followed her. She removed her hat and produced rice balls wrapped in intricate banana leaf squares, flowers, and a bundle of joss sticks.

"O, great Chief Kinza. Take your servant's offering, and grant them your hallowed audience."

Kinza laughed, and his smile was that of a grandfather's. "Oh spare me, friend witch. Lay the offerings down and state thy wish." With another nod, Chief Kinza called over a servant. A womanservant wearing nothing but a long tube skirt with complex geometric design that reached her waist stepped forward. Her tube skirt was much longer than she was; it was pleated into many folds and laid to the side, creating an interesting silhouette. The womanservant was possessed of a natural beauty, besides. Her deep brown skin made her seem as if she was born of the earth, her eyes the color of ambers. Her face was wide and round, moon-shaped. The signal of beauty in these isles.

The crier of the chief, that man in the peaked helmet and breastplate, watched the woman carefully, vigilantly. Not in a creepy way, but in a "be careful" way.

The womanservant brought with them a large box ornamented with pearls and corals. She opened it and offered their guests betel nut quids. Bowing, Raxri and Akazha took one each, and began chewing. They spat at random intervals at a nearby clay pot as they spoke.

"See? That's what I like so much about you, Chief Kinza. Straight to the point!" Akazha laughed as well. "Fare you well as of late?"

"Well enough," said Kinza, nodding. "As thou hast already seen, we're on the process of embarking."

"For what reason?"

Kinza sighed and spat out a curse. "Blasted Pirates seized one of our shipment boats as it was preparing to ride for Kisisik. We've found where they make base: a cave out at sea." Chief Kinza sighed. "However, it seems we're not to grant them the proper hand of vengeance just yet."

"The sea wind gods be the most fickle of the windly gods," said Akazha, nodding. She spat out a red globule that stained her mouth red. "I can only grant my condolences."

"It is well enough. We might dispatch an overland brigade instead."

"And yet bandits now ravage the overland routes."

"Aye." Another deep sigh. Chief Kinza was a tired man. "That is the far-and-short of it. Security does not claim us as of late. We truly are in the times of end."

"The Age of Furor, some might say," said Akazha, somewhat cheekily, reveling a bit in the dark humor.

The Chief looked less than pleased. "How about the friend witch, how fare thee?"

"Oh, I go through the same old. Here I am, beautiful still." The Chief laughed. "But I did pick up a new doe." She gestured to Raxri. "Witness, my student. Raxri Uttara."

Kinza leaned forward, placed a hand on his chin, witnessing, observing. "Raxri Uttara... ha! What a surprise. I've never thought the friend witch would have ever taken any for a student. Find thyself lucky, Raxri Uttara. A great witch guides thy steps in the mystical traditions of the elders."

Raxri bowed. Kinza gestured that Raxri may speak. In truth, Raxri did not know they needed permission to speak, but they played it off well: "I have full confidence," they said. "The witch Akazha has been well efficacious at teaching this one."

Chief Kinza laughed again. "Ha! Thou hast managed to wrangle one, eh?" He turned to Akazha. "Perhaps you'll be able to achieve wizardhood yet."

"Who knows? But for now, my duty is to guide this one." Akazha tapped her chin with her finger. "Say, great chief. Perhaps, the honorable one would have some sort of knowledge of the Vault of Souls?"

Chief Kinza narrowed his eyes, though eventually did shake his head. "Nay, other than it is a shrine to the Hell-King of sorts, within Pemi's island. And that the dead are dumped within its pit to bless the Hell-King."

Akazha nodded. "Yes, well, you see... Raxri here awoke within it. The Vault of Souls... though I knew it to be there, I thought it to be nothing but a shrine for recollection and memory. Now I know it has some other function. I seek to know it."

"Ah," Chief Kinza shrugged. "Thou wilt have a better chance at doing such a thing by going to the Grand Library in the University City of Timbangan, upon Nilatpa. If not there, then perhaps those monasteries in Daruma Town in Southern Wadzara might have answers, if not from writings then from the scholars and monks that reside there."

"Fie, this one will have to journey yet." Akazha tsked. "Ah, well. Life is life. I wish the great chief well. That will be all for now."

"Hast thou shopped the markets?" asked Chief Kinza. Akazha replied that they did. "Good. Here, recalleth I that thou seekest for cigarettes? Traded I with a grand merchant prince from the Charnel Isles. Rememberest thou? That land of dense jungles lying low and sleeping into fens and marsh and then grasslands? From the hundred kingdoms of the Pasa Hyam arise these flowers and grasses ground together by their alchemists and wizards. Try them, they grant thee true repose. The gods within are gods of sleep and succor."

Chief Kinza snapped his fingers, and a different servant walked over with an ornate box decorated with engravings of wooden petals. This one was a beautiful young man instead, skin ruddy, the color of sunset. Hair tied up into a bun, arms bound with golden bracelets and armlets.

The chest, when opened, revealed a pile of crushed lavender-colored petals, soft and dried. "The people in that settlement called these gloamblooms. These flowers dance with the gods of respite."

Akazha grinned. "Ah, the great chief always knows what their servant witch likes." She took forward and received the gift graciously, while bowing. "In truth, this servant has not been able to procure any tobacco or any other smokeable herbs for a few moons now. This is truly a great reward."

"The friend witch hath been of much help for the longest time. I can only repay for what thou hast done."

With another bow, they were off. As they stepped off of the longhouses ladder, they spat the rest of the quid onto the soil before them.

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