Liam awoke in a bed of silk, wearing what felt like a cloud. Soft, airy floofiness surrounded him, pushing upward from beneath his head, a real pillow! Not something hard and spindly like Sirin’s biceps. Although there was something hard in the sheets, a long shaft, hard to the touch, that coiled through the sheets, with golden feathers.
‘Can you NOT fluff my feathers the wrong way!’ Snapped Quetzalcoatl, slithering forward to realign his flight feathers.
“uh… “ Said Liam, rising from the bed, “Where are we?”
His clothes had been changed to some kind of animal fur, tan with black strips and supremely soft. Almost like a desert serval’s hide, if a sabertoothed serval had been washed daily and pampered like a poodle. Shampooed on the regular and bathed in scented oils. It was so fancy he nearly shat himself. Baron Green had never even owned something this nice.
“What’s going on– ooff-” Said Liam, holding his head.
A pounding migraine danced between his eyes, kicking him back into the sheets like an overly enthusiastic stripper. Around him was an unfamiliar room, one he set to exploring visually. Opulence did not begin to describe his surroundings.
Intricately carved wooden screens formed a lacework over the windows, diffusing the ambient light into a warming glow. The walls were adorned with rich, hand-woven tapestries and sumptuous silk draperies, featuring elaborate motifs of Taloc purging the old gods and freeing Kheresh when it was still the land of a hundred rivers, before the cataclysm of hubris burned the lakes, evaporated the rivers, and left a white glass ocean. Creating the Kheresh wastes and birthing a floating island.
Oh great, I'm in a room devoted to the Lightning God… I wish there was someone from my world I could talk to about the absurdity of this– But Sirin is dead. Thought Liam, choking down his thoughts.
He buried them in the lap of luxury, running his hands over the golden lightning bolts until he forgot the events that dragged him here. The focal point of the room, an imposing bed, was draped in luxurious fabrics –velvet and brocade in rich hues– with elaborate embroidery dripping across every stitch. While the bed frame itself, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, boasted opulent carvings and gold gilding, accentuating the room's lavish aesthetic. Richly embroidered cushions and bolsters were arranged meticulously, their intricate designs bracketing one’s gaze and always directing Liam’s eyes to the depiction of Taloc.
It repulsed him.
Pushing him backwards across elaborate Persian-style rugs, their patterns a vibrant tapestry of colors and designs, covering the polished marble floors. In one corner, a low, ornate divan provided a space for relaxation and conversation, its cushions plush and adorned with hair thin geometric embroidery. Similar to the Arabian traditions of Earth. He tripped and fell backwards, landing on the rug, and gasped.
The luxury didn’t end with the walls, and floor, oh no. There was still the ceiling to serve as a canvas of worship. It featured a fresh depiction of Taloc, this time watching over the desert from the crown of a watchtower, with details so intricate that Liam could see the individual nose-hairs on Taloc’s face, although, the artist had embellished his looks, with a perfect jawline and level eyes, not the slightly asymmetric gaze that Liam recalled. Elaborate chandeliers melded with the fresco, as if they’d been crafted by the same artisan and appeared to be depictions of cities or towns. With people sculpted into the chandeliers going about their daily business, smiling and laughing.
Joyous, yet eerie. Laughing faces frozen in eternity.
A dozen tables held a dozen porcelain vases, all filled with fresh flowers or clear water. While a bookshelf of gold bound books, all written in Khereshi script. The language was similar to that of Baron Green’s realm, in the same way that Portuguese and Spanish were similar, since they shared a common ancestry. But reading held no interest for him now. He was alone, in a foreign land where the closest thing to family was a golden asshole of a serpent, who could not understand humans. It was then that he realized, despite all her flaws, he loved Sirin.
I just want my mom…
‘Quetz, I can’t stay here a second longer. Help me escape.’ Said Liam, finding a change of clothes and the first pair of shoes to ever adorn Tufan Biliam Alhusam’s feet.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
‘You can walk out the front door. They’ve got a few dozen feline slaves waiting around a palanquin. Why do you need my help when the red carpet is laid out for you? Don’t mammals love grooming each other? Stick around and order a comb, they do wondrous things for my feathers!’ Said Quetz, slithering into a ball over the spot where Liam had slept, trying to bask in the last dregs of warmth.
‘No, I need to leave. Now! Help me fly out the window. I’ll transfer mana.’ Ordered Liam.
Quetz squawked in surprise as Liam scooped him off the bed, flooding the divine serpent with sufficient mana to become an improvised hang-glider. The window was pulled open and Liam got a running start, holding Quetz over his head like a golden balloon.
‘You lil twerp.’ Said Quetz, mentally muttering about whishes and whooshes as they began to fall.
An updraft lifted both of them, twenty times stronger than the normal breeze that held Quetz aloft, but it wasn’t enough. Down they plummeted. A toddler’s weight too much for the equally undeveloped Quetz. But mana could fix almost anything, and power flowed from master to familiar, squirming emphatically as they tried to right their sinking ship, draining all the mana Liam could channel into him.
Thirty seconds later they alighted on the sandy courtyard, landing gently enough, that if they were walking on eggshells, not a single one would crack. Natural darkness surrounded them, the night at its final climax before the new dawn broke. After the violence of the last few days it was cool and reassuring, a familiar comfort that tickled Liam’s dark affinity, reminding him of the Sage Rhendal, grandmaster of shadow and his magical tutor. The man who’d revealed himself as an umbraquin moments before their mutual deaths.
I almost wish Nyota had been my mom. I’m sure she would have been better than Sirin… and maybe Sirin could have found another path without being burdened by me. Jesus, how many did I kill? I’m so used to calling my lightning for monsters, but I felt nothing as I murdered all those men. They weren’t even evil, they were effectively beat-cops, the lowest tier of public servants who always did the worst jobs. But the magistrate-
-Got what he fucking deserved. Thought Liam, grinding his teeth.
He raised a hand to his temples, trying to soften his bloodlust. It wasn’t right, he was going to be a doctor, not a dictator.
Living in Kheresh is a mistake, I’ll only kill more people if I stay here. There’s nothing holding me back, I need to get back to Nyota, surround myself with family that can temper my rage. I can’t live like a false prince in a land I hate.
Liam snuck through the courtyard, quickly realizing the building around him was the Duke’s own palace. Stone walls, and stone buildings demonstrated his enduring house while gardens and running fountains displayed his wealth and the advancements Duke Kheresh had brought to his people.
Stone walls were easy to ascend, being wide and tall, meant to endure despite the endless sandstorms of Kheresh. Nothing threatened the palace, not with so many soldiers returning home, so the toddler went unnoticed by the guards, slipping past them and repeating his snake-gliding trick to escape the walls. He was free of their bonds. Now he needed a way to Greenwood. Walking was out of the question, it would take so long to get there he would hit puberty before arriving. So that meant he needed transportation. Several groups came to mind, firstly, the duke could arrange transportation, he might even have a dark affinity magi who could open a portal and teleport Liam across the continent. Secondly came the Fulminonimbus’ Paladins. They would honour a Lightning Lord with unwavering loyalty, protecting him and even carrying him in their arms if their mounts died of exhaustion. Nor would he need to fear the duke trying to betrothe him, two very large considerations in their favor. But the Bishops and Archbishops of the church would make demands of him. Favors he would be honour bound to repay, and would never be weighted in his favor.
And finally, he could find a merchant. Someone with a reason to go to Greenwood, and could fly under the radar. They would be glad to have his protection… That settled it, a merchant would be the safest way and come with the least conditions.
‘Quetz, show me the way to the merchant with the most caravans, or wherever the merchants gather together in the greatest numbers.’ Said Liam, tossing the five foot viper into the air.
White scales circled him six times, sliding over his fresh clothes and into the sky before gaining altitude so they could share vision and avoid wandering human eyes. Thus Quetzalcoatl led Liam through town, avoiding patrolling guardsmen and any wandering wildlife, such as vipers, servals, or stray dogs. All were creatures that posed a sincere threat to himself. If he had no magic. Stone houses gave way to adobe homes with stone walls, which in turn gave way to adobe homes with adobe walls, and finally those gave way to adobe huts, ugly squat buildings; that seemed glued together, often sharing a wall and packed to the brink with working families. They had no need of guards, because anyone breaking in would alert the seven people sharing their single room.
But poor did not mean destitute. Small homes meant the road was wide enough to fit a bazaar and several mercantile warehouses brooded on the southernmost end of the open air market. Protecting tomorrow’s profits. Additionally, the workers provided the majority of the city’s labor, a workforce with high demands, which was served by honest merchants who supplied those demands. In hours the bazaar would be full of merchants hawking wares, or performing for their entertainment.
A fact that explained the gallows. Without realizing, Liam had returned to the site of Sirin’s death.