Kijani’s run to the wall with his brothers to meet the lanterns call was fuelled by frustration, but horror struck when he dared to look over the spiked wall at the wastes where the thin parasites gathered like an ocean. Their string-like body, formed a stick man as individuals in a fight, but as a group they wormed their way around the grey field like waves. It forced the warrior’s hackles to rise while his skin prickled in disgust.
“The fuck happened?” He asked the brother on watch whose dark skin was sallow with fright and eyes wide.
“The builders thought they’d try expand after the scuffle today. They must have hit a hive.”
Kijani bit his tongue. These things, while portrayed as mindless in training and in literature, experience indicated they were devilishly smart. If you looked close enough at them, you could see an indication of body language. They seemed to cackle with contempt as they fought, shriek with joy when they fell and scream with delight when they found a brother in arms to host their vile form and force them to kill one of their own.
The warrior grabbed a helmet from the rack on his way to the briefing. Personally, Kijani wasn’t sure they had much time for a tactical brief before the agents of chaos tried to storm their barrier, but he saw the sense in them.
The men assembled in a blank reinforced armoury lined with yellow skin tight suits meant to protect them from the parasites corrupting touch and make a brother in arms easier to see in the dark of no man’s land. The suit was reinforced with flexible titanium thread which helped prevent a parasite from cutting through to the skin, but offered minimal protection against blunt force trauma. So, they wore a body protector over the suit which contained thicker titanium panels and shielded the majour organs.
Kijani got changed with his troops while Majour Ndiaye gave the usual speech: “We’ll be in groups of a hundred. Those with magical capability will be placed on the front. Once the cannons split up the ball of string in to more manageable chunks, we go in and cut them up. Get in to your groups, 25 magic users to 100 standard men. Have your closest brother check your suit for holes. Any questions?”
“No Sir!”
Kijani fastened his twin khopesh blades to his back. The blades were sharp enough to cut through bone and light enough to keep pace with the light bodied parasites. The crescent shape of the Khopesh’s blade made hooking and separating the parasites in to one or two opponents easy. The enchantment worked in to the steel prevented the chaos strings from reforming in to a ball of terror.
The warrior looped the belt with emergency grenades, bandages and tools around his waist and fastened the buckle. The appearance of the red stripe down his arm marked him out as a magic user when the belt clicked in to place. He smiled behind the darkened visor of the helm. He forgot about that.
Majour Ndiaye waved him over. “Kijani!”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Since when are you a magic user?”
“Since an hour ago.”
“There wasn’t a gathering.”
“Met her while she was working at the Timber.”
The Majour sucked on his lower lip. “Was she ever at any of the gatherings?”
Kijani and Majour Ndiaye were in the same training camp when they started in the corp. Intake and recruitment was designed around the gatherings to allow them time to train emerging magic users properly before they got to the field. The warrior often complained to his friend about the apparent lack of women at the gatherings and the length of time it was taking to find a match for him and his brothers. Kijani made damned sure he was at every single gathering, if Chantria had been at any of them, he would have known. The khaki clad majour was well aware of this.
“No.” Kijani said, inwardly slapping himself for not realising the implication sooner. I knew there was something niggling at me.
The majour touched his belt and deactivated the red stripe on his suit. “I’m taking you off the front line as an exception and a precaution. An untrained magic user can be just as dangerous as a parasite. What’s your woman’s name?”
“Chantria.”
“What’s her family name?”
Kijani froze. He didn’t ask for her last name. He didn’t even ask for her I.D. The warrior sharpened his mind and tried to re-imagine the scene when he met her. She had papers out. It was mostly her editorial work, but there were some copies of her accounts. She must have been balancing her books when he sat in front of her. What was the name on the statement? “Keita.” the name tumbled out of his lips before his brain had time to process.
“I’ll look in to this. Get in line Officer Abara. I want you ready at the gate with your troop, and congratulations, may she make you beautiful souls.”
The Warrior sped down the steps and caught up with his troops with a light smile playing on his lips. That smile vanished when the hammering headache caused by the parasite's eardrum piercing shrieks of chaotic joy began. Rapid fire resounded from their defensive lines on the wall. The wait for the old hats to split the ball in to chunks pulled his nerves to breaking the longer they took, but the smaller the chunks the easier the fight would be.
It was good the old hats took their time to break down the ball, but if the tangle was set there was only so much they could do. In that case, once they cracked the ball into four or six chunks they would open the gates. Kijani and his brothers would just have to do their best in that case.
The clattering of chains and clicking of gears announced the imminent opening of the gates to the grey wastes of the border lands. Kijani drew his Khoopesh in unison with his brothers. The warrior's breath quickened with the revelation of the blobs.
Parasitic string forged itself in to clumps about to form a giant of whipping spikes. Heart pounding and blood boiling the warrior got to work.
~*~
Kijani had to pull himself out of bed the next morning. His cracked ribs made it a pain to breath, but he justified the necessity with the thought of meeting Chantria at the Timber. He had a niggling feeling she’d bolt out of his life if he didn’t show up today. The warrior gingerly dressed in a loose pair of black trousers and long white linen tunic, but didn’t bother with breakfast. He’d eat with his wife.
Wife. The thought forced a chuckle, but piercing pain quickly made him regret it. He’d just met the woman and, as much as he took his responsibilities seriously, he found the sudden need to be near her at all times ridiculous. His teacher at senior school warned them all the meld hit like a whiplash with a ton of feelings to help the connection along. He couldn’t remember what the teacher called it, but the one thing that was drilled in to him at the time was: don’t scare the ladies. The men were encouraged to be hot blooded in preparation for the army, he liked learning, but the way things were taught in school didn’t stick as well as they could have. He took in information easier through stories and tales which is why he was a fan of Tambika. He learned a lot from her stories in a way that wasn’t hard for him to retain.
As antsy as Kijani was to collect his wife from the timber, he followed orders and went by central HQ. There, the commander handed him a warrant and told him there were some rumours going around of girls being kidnapped or sold before their first gatherings and forced to work in the sex trade. Girls were infertile until a month after the Meld making them ideal for an unscrupulous madam.
The news nearly sent him in to a disgust induced rage he barely restrained. This was blasphemy. A father’s job was to protect the root from which new souls were made and raise them in the tradition of the ordered Ash. There was some wiggle room if the father or protector could argue it was in the girl's best interests to delay. So, they can complete more specialised education, for instance, but there was a limit. Majour Ndiaye found all three sisters were working and their registered protector was a stay-at-home veteran. There was no reason the warrior could see for none of the girls to have attended a gathering. Chantria ran her own business for fucks sake. All their uncle had to do was declare the girls at the Misal and leave them to it.
Kijani walked in to the Timber and glanced at Chantria. He was surprised to see her without her tinted glasses, but the sight of her eyes calmed his tensed muscles. He took in her figure and placid expression. She was modestly dressed in emerald green silk that hinted at the figure beneath. She wore a little make-up, and kept it natural. She didn’t look like one of those painted ladies looking to charge his brother by the hour for her attention. The thought those girls might be forced to sell themselves for a few Ekwele pull on a temper that rose the more he took in his wife’s figure. Despite the semi-fitted cloth he figured he’d see ribs if he got her to bed. The fuck that old geezer been doing letting his ward get in a state like that? Fire flared in his veins, but there was no point in dwelling on it. She was his responsibility now and she would be moving to his family's estate within the week. But he didn’t like the way that skinny slip of a kid was looking at his wife. The warrior slammed a hand on the dark wood counter in front of the boy.
The waiter startled, but recovered his composure like a pro. “Welcome to the Timber, what can I get for you?”
“Two breakfast platters for my wife and I.”
The boy looked at Chantria. “She doesn’t usually get that, Sir.”
The kid’s matter of fact tone set Kijani’s teeth grinding, but he swallowed his ego. “What does she usually get?”
“Genfo, or lamb eggah if she’s really hungry and has time. She’s usually got her nose in some papers or her scroll. She nibbles at her breakfast and takes up a whole booth until closing. I don’t know what she does.” The boy’s tone was lightly contemptuous, clearly, he resented one woman taking up a table all day and only eating one meal.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Kijani ignored the tone. “A lamb eggah and a breakfast platter for me.”
The warrior paid the tab and didn’t say another word. He could understand the kids frustration, having one person take up a table all day ruined the potential for tips, but it explained how skinny she was.
Chantria put the scroll away with fine fingered grace. “Good morning, Kijani.”
“I ordered us some food. How are you?”
She hesitated; her expression briefly shifted from a frown to neutral. “I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
Chantria had the nerve to look confused. “I said I’m fine.”
Kijani narrowed his eyes and leaned back. He didn’t believe a word, but he heard his teachers voice in his mind: don’t scare the girls. It wasn’t a good idea to force her to make herself vulnerable to him. It was a kick in the dick, but her trust would come with time and patience, but he still wondered... “What’s it like for you women?”
Chantria raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“The Meld? Damned near knocked me out, I get why we have two weeks leave after the Meld now.”
Chantria nodded slowly. “Yes, the first phase of Limerence could cause some issues on the battlefield.”
Kijani cocked an eyebrow. “Limerence?”
“The state of infatuation and obsession immediately after the meld, it’s designed to boost the support for a lifetime bond.”
Kijani laughed and suppressed a wince; at this point he’d let the city fall to chaos before he allowed his new wife to think he was some sort of weakling. “You swallowed a few dictionaries, woman?”
Chantria frowned “You could say that. Are you alright?”
Their food arrived and the distraction brought the warrior enough time for his brain to start working. Chantria changed the subject so smoothly to avoid answering his question it was fucking masterful, and, as much as he admired her intelligence, he cursed the fog of pain that blunted his wit. Their children would go far with her smarts mixed with his family’s strength. “You didn’t answer my question?”
His wife gave him a subdued smile that didn’t reach her shimmering sapphire eyes. “I don’t speak for all women.” Chantria said taking a bite of her eggah.
The thick omelette filled with lamb, tomatoes, pepper and onion smelled divine, but his wife’s evasiveness hurt more than his cracked ribs. This one’s a fucking eel and it’s kinda hot. “I’ll change the question: how did it feel for you?” Kijani said taking a bite out of the spiced sausage. The large platter of spiced sausage and eggs with a side of beans and small bowl porridge was a man’s meal and his usual, but now he wondered what the eggah was like here.
His wife’s smile reached her eyes and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to rip off her clothes and put a soul in her now - to delay the pleasure - or wait till she was in his home. Manners held the reins and he waited for Chantria’s reply. “It’s... odd. There are a lot of feelings coming together at once, but you haven’t answered mine either.”
Kijani gritted his teeth, relenting to the doctrine of honesty enshrine in him by his mother. He took a bite before responding. “Cracked a couple of ribs in a fight yesterday.”
“And you aren’t in bed because?”
Kijani grinned. “Wasn’t sure whether you would disappear on me.”
Chantria had the grace to look sheepish. “The thought might have occurred. Did the medic not give you pain medicine?”
It hurt more to stop the laughter bubbling up in his chest so Kijani let loose for a second. He nearly blacked out from the pain, but he pulled himself together. “I got responsibilities to our future souls and I’ve known too many brothers end up dependent on pills.”
“I... Suppose I felt the same about meeting you here. How are your brothers?”
“They’re in bed. Adjo got a concussion and Iniko was poisoned. They’ll make a full recovery in a week or so. They’re looking forward to getting a look at your sisters.”
Kijani caught his wife shaking hands before she concealed them beneath the table. Chantria’s skin paled to the colour of fresh snow, but her voice remained even. “I’m sure my sisters will love your brothers in time.”
The warrior paused and tried again. “Is everything ok?”
Chantria finished her meal. “Yes, shall we head to the Misal?”
Kijani finished his plate and contemplated her answer. His mother warned him the woman might be skittish, and forcing an issue or answer would be counterproductive so early in the Meld. The warrior sighed and stood. “Let’s go. It ain’t going to be a full ceremony, but we can register and do that with our families later.”
Chantria stood and hesitantly accepted his offered arm. “That’s fine, I’d rather you were well for the ceremony.”
The walk along the spiralled cobbled streets to the Misal was tiring and slow. Houses were built high and close together, but the closer they got to the Misal the grander the stone homes became until they gave way to the gated gardens of the Misal. Kijani nearly sighed with relief. It was a constant mental effort. A normal breath was like a knife to the chest, but Chantria didn’t complain, she pointedly ignored his grunts and gasps while giving him the odd concerned look. She was probably trying to spare his ego. Kinda cute...
What should have been a 20-minute walk to the Misal turned in to 40 minutes. They walked past the ornate Iron gates depicting the soul tree and along the winding wooden path of the holy gardens. The ebony door to the domed building was propped open and an old dark-skinned balding secretary sat at the desk. His thick glasses magnified his eyes to an owlish size. “What brings you here this ordered morning?” The secretary said, without taking eyes off his paper.
“We’re here to register our Meld.”
The secretary looked up and raised an eyebrow as if waiting for them to explain further. “There was a gathering last month. All Meld’s must be registered within 14 days. Why so late?”
“Our Meld was yesterday. I have never attended a gathering,” Chantria said, her voice strained yet clear.
Kijani’s gaze whipped round to meet his bride’s, but she refused to meet his eyes. She was technically admitting to a crime. The secretary could report her, but the old man didn’t react the way the warrior expected.
The old mans remained as calm as Chantria appeared to be. “Did your guardian register you?”
“No.”
The secretary nodded slowly and stood laboriously. “I will fetch the priest on duty. Help yourselves to a glass of water from the fountain. I will return momentarily with the priest and the necessary paperwork. May I take your names and dates of creation?”
“Chantria Keita, 12th Tasritu 2005 years After Order.”
“Kijani Abara 30th Simannu 2002 years After Order.”
The Secretary wrote down their details and disappeared behind a side door. The pair briefly heard muffled footsteps clicking against the marbled floor, the echo dying away in minutes.
Chantria finally met his gaze. “Let’s sit down.”
Kijani wasn’t sure whether his heart was pounding from pain or anxiety. “Chan... He could have you arrested.”
“My sisters and I cannot register ourselves for the gatherings. My parents died when there was a break in the defences 15 years ago. My uncle should have registered us. Even if the honourable secretary of the Misal chose to report me to the guard, I would have been released quickly. Lying was senseless under the circumstances.”
It was hard to concentrate enough to think, but the warrior found the thread of sense in the short time it took to walk to the bench.
The secretary was longer than Kijani expected, but he didn’t have the mental energy to try and pull a conversation out of his wife. Instead, he concentrated on not breathing too deeply: the mental effort of keeping the pain at bay fogged his mind. The flurry of footsteps and the thrown open door startled him to the point of forgetting his mission to manage his breathing. A startled gasp sent fire through the warrior's side and his wife grasped his hand in comfort. Kijani returned the gesture with a smile and followed his wife’s narrowed eyes to a furious priest.
Most priests were gentle souls dedicated to an ordered life and it was rare to see one with lava in his veins. Kijani watched the silver haired priest find his wife’s disapproving look and take a deep breath. “Madam, why were you and your sisters not registered for the gatherings?” The priest said, his heavy silk robes and glassy skin made him look like a ghost from another era. The uniform of the Misal hadn’t changed in thousands of years. They were made of silver silk that wrapped around the body and was held together with a sash denoting their rank. This priest wore a purple sash.So, he was high enough in the ranks to be in charge of the records, but not high enough to lead a public mass or preside over a marriage ceremony. All we’re here to do is record the meld and get out anyway.
“I have no clear reason to give.” Chantria said.
Kijani nearly laughed again; his wife sounded like she was patiently addressing a child's misbehaviour. He could see the mother in her.
The priests' lips thinned. “I understand. Step forward and I will confirm the meld.”
Both stood and the priest confirmed the meld with a dive in to their souls. It was quicker than the Meld itself. 14 years of waiting for a union confirmed with a look and ratified with their signature. “Shall we assume a change of address for yourself, Mistress Keita-Abara?”
His wife’s nod was hesitant and carefully considered. It was unheard of for a married woman to remain in her birth family's home as it would be shirking her duty to bear souls.
As much as the glass skinned priest seemed unconcerned by his wife’s hesitation, he read them their rights. “Master Abara, you are now this lady's guardian. That does not mean all ties to her family are severed. She may come and go from your household as she pleases, but you are responsible for your family’s health and prosperity. You have no rights to your wife’s money: her contributions to your house and home are voluntary. Your duty is to provide for your family.
“Mistress Keita-Abara, you are primarily responsible for shaping the souls of your new union. That does not mean your children are slaves to you. You teach them, care for them, and set them free with the values you instil as guidance for an ordered existence.
The priest took both their hands to symbolically connect the bond and intoned the final words solemnly. “Your roles may be in partnership, but neither are less and both are made whole..”
“We understand.” Kijani said, followed shortly by Chantria.
The secretary claimed their papers and picked another set out of the drawer. “I will oversee the filing of this personally. Please fill out these forms at your earliest convenience to arrange the ceremony.”
Kijani officially left the Misal with his wife. The moment was monumental, but the warrior was eerily calm. Things were as they were meant to be, and if it weren’t for the pain in his ribs he’d be perfectly relaxed.
“Kijani?”
The warrior stared down at his bride. “Hmm?”
“I have some work to finish off...”
“That’s fine. I’ll drop you off at The Timber. We can start moving your things out tomorrow afternoon. I’m on sick leave and my mamma will be happy to have another woman on our estate.”
~*~
The warrior wasn’t happy to leave his wife, but it was for the best. He didn’t want her there when he confronted the Veteran Ayele. Standing in front of his wife’s family home the warrior gave himself a minute to drag his wit out of the fog of pain and knocked on the door.
A man answered. The veteran was dark skinned, smelled like 10 pints of ale, and shielded his eyes from the light with sunglasses. Kijani didn’t have the will to keep the disgust from his face. The fuck this man doing in a state like that when he got responsibility for three girls. “Good evening, Master Keita. I’m Officer Abara of the third division. It’s come to the guard's attention you have two girls under your guardianship who have never attended a gathering and remain unmelded.”
Master Keita’s smile was steel. “I left my wards the choice.”
Kijani didn’t believe a word. “Your girls are working women. It is their right and their duty to attend the gatherings. The Church of Ash and the Guard order your wards to appear at the next gathering.” he said, handing him the paper.
“I will speak to the girls... Forgive me officer, you said two of my girls are unmelded. There are three in my household.”
“Chantria is now under my house and care. I’ll pick her up tomorrow afternoon.”