Amani:
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In the distance I spot a wall, standing tall, the neverending flat planes of Lillova finally coming to an end.
“Ruk! Ruk!” Shouts the guards, crossing their spears. Getting close, we come to a halt. There are no people around. Huh, but that’s weird, why’re they shouting for us to halt? Last time I was here there had been plenty of people in multiple long-stretching lines, waiting to enter the kingdom.
Uncle Mal detaches from the group, approaches the guards. They talk for a while. The guard with the red pointy top hat dismisses him at first with a wave of his long spear, but then uncle Mal withdraws something from his pouch, shows it to them. The guard he shows it to stiffens in shock while the other looks over his shoulder. The guards then lower their spears, and uncle Mal gives them a short nod before returning to the group.
“It’s okay now, we can go in,” he says, readjusting his pouch buckle.
“Guardian the night, you can speak the Guellan tongue?” Squeaks a voice from amongst the crowd. A head framed with flat gray hair pressed through the crowd, his spectacles drooping down. He fixes it, looks up, it's the wimp-ahem-Conin.
“I can too,” I say, and many more echo my declaration, the Elder and Aunt Cass included. Under her breath, she calls Uncle Mal a showoff. I cackle into my fist.
The leads – the Elder, uncle Mal, and aunt Cass – then divide the group into two lines, segregated by gender. I stand in the women's line and tread along with the group. “Woah,” says someone, as we shuffle under the giant looming gates. The wide eyed refugees around me strain their necks unnaturally back in an attempt to take in the grandiose of the giant gidone gates. According to the Duke’s lectures, Gidone was the rarest of materials. A Guellan exclusive material that the architects of Guella used to build some of its most marvelous structures, prominent amongst which was the all encompassing, towering walls of their Kingdom. These stretching walls supposedly lined the entirety of the gigantic area that the Guella Kingdom sat on.
“The Grand Gidone Walls,” squeaks a voice from my side, I look over to find Conin, his eyes wide. “I read about it in The Book of Seven Spectacles.”
I, on the other hand, having no patience to gawk at something I've seen a thousand times over, choose to take this opportunity to cut the line while the gawkers are distracted. I catch Aunt Cass notice me using my stealth training for this. She shakes her head, but doesn't say anything.
Knock
Nothing. I've been standing behind a reinforced Gidone door for the past twenty minutes, but still nothing. Cutting the line didn't have the effect I wished it had. It still feels weird though; last time I was here they only did a customary search, nothing that needed this extensive amount of time. I wrap my knuckles again for another tap when, “Wait a moment,” comes the reply. But my impatience knows no bounds, so I knock again. The door swings open to the sight of two vaguely familiar emerald, hard lined eyes drawn together in annoyance. I had readied myself to verbally retaliate, but instead found myself startled by who it is that I'm looking at, it's Arsha! The broadest of smiles stretch across my face, and I feel the happiest I've felt in months. We embrace.
“Amani,” she says, breaking the hug. “You-”
“Haven’t changed at all?” I finish her cliched sentence.
She shakes her head, says, “No no, to the contrary, I was going to point out how much you truly have changed,” – I’m a little taken aback at this; according to me I haven’t grown taller, nor changed in appearance – “internally I mean,” she clarifies, “I can read the internal clockwork of a person, did you forget?”
“Oh yeah,” I forgot. “Anyways, Arsha, what in the world are you doing here?”
“Well, we unexpectedly arrived two weeks earlier than we expected-”
“No, I mean here, what are you doing here?” I clarify with hand gestures. She nods to herself before continuing.
“Oh. I was just bored sitting at home, and plus, we needed some extra cash,” she explains.
“Where’s Omar?”
She laughs at my question, says, “You'll see soon enough.”
After our brief chat, she does a pat down on me, only a formality as her superiors were watching from behind, and tells me she'll come find me after her shift is over in a bit.
I open the exit door to a blinding light. The intensity of sunlight beyond the towering Gidone walls is truly terrifying, but the uniquely barren beauty of the city that lay before me is exquisite enough to almost make up for it. Before me lay six familiar roads snaking from the entry portal of the border and weaving in through the beautiful city of Ja’na. Each of these roads are lined by two rows of shops, one on each side, leaving out more than enough space for the vastly flowing customers between, to walk through them without difficulty.
“It's been long,” I say aloud, taking in the strong perfumes of the jouk (the local name for the central marketplace of the city or town). My eyes trail along the shops and their customers. People of all ages, and many nationalities haggling, laughing, and quarreling. Men in thobes, and women in robes, head scarfs extending to cover their faces, shielding them from the blazing sun overhead. The heat mixes in with the spice smells wafting through the street shops to create an atmosphere of unrivaled, exquisite air. I feel like I'm drunk on the ethereal atmosphere. Ironic actually, seeing as there was not a bottle of alcohol in Guella—it was a religiously banned product.
A tiny form in motion catches my eyes, it's a little boy. He weaves swiftly between the shops, eyeing the goods in turn. Catching one shopkeeper distracted, he deftly picks at an apple, pocketing it. The shopkeeper doesn't notice. The kid, displaying a smug smile, trails along to another shop. His luck doesn't follow him though.
“Aye, t-thief! Grab that kid!” Clamors the attentive shopkeeper. Hundreds of dangling hands descend immediately, trying to catch the kid. But the kid swerves between them like a master dodger—swift and precise in his actions. And he should be. Under the laws of Guella, theft was punished by the cutting of the finger that first touched the stolen goods. And even though exceptions were placed if the case demanded it, those exceptions were very rare.
“Excuse me, Miss,” says someone as they push past me hard. Irritated, I turn back to find the city guards running to the scene. They catch the boy, a large and burly soldier lying flat atop the slender little kid. Yanking the kid up, the guard who pushed past me claps and ties the kids hands behind him by rope. He's dragging the kid to the gates now, coming towards me. The kid looks straight at me as they're bringing him over. His face marred with tension, his eyes watering with held back tears, his mouth quivering with a cry for help. I can infer that the kid's never done this before, never been caught before—he looks scared shitless. His eyes remind me of both my little brother, and the story of the taken kid the Elder told me. My heart aches for the kid, completely antagonistic to all that I've been taught by the Duke.
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Ah, I can't take this anymore.
Just as they pass me, I instinctively grab a hold of the kid's hand, halting the leading soldier who’s holding him too. This leading soldier, the very one who pushed past me a few minutes ago, follows the kid's arm to my hand and then his eyes trail up my arm to my face.
“Amani?” says the helm, sounding shocked. So am I.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask, aloud. The guards behind him step forward, their hands ready to draw steel. But his hand juts out, stopping them. He signals them to step back a few paces.
“It's me, Pri-” he coughs “Miss Amani. It's Omar,” he says, taking off his jet black helm.
“O-omar?” I cackle, surprised, “Omar Niavro? The spoiled youngest of Niavro”–one of the strongest lineages in Eyjavo–“now has a job? And that too as the protector of the Guella Borders?”
“Hush, Miss!” he hisses. He looks down at the kid looking at us, wide-eyed. “What did you hear, kid?”
“Nothing!” the kid squeals, grinning. Omar passes him back to his lackeys, and turns to me.
“What do you plan on doing with the kid?” I ask, looking over at the guard harshly handling the kid at a distance. “Jailing him after the severing of his finger won't do any good. And there aren't any guarantees that the jury will vote in his favor.”
Omar looks at me for a while. “You've changed quite a bit in the months we've been apart, Princess,” he says, smiling. “Don't worry, I am well aware that imprisoning this little child will only turn him into a full fledged criminal. I've already seen plenty of that happening here myself, I don't wish to see it anymore.”
I smile at him. “You've changed much yourself, Omar,” I say. And it was the truth. When we started this journey he would whine if we had to sleep anywhere but the best of inns in the area. But he's adjusted well to this. I might not have understood what his father meant at the time when he appealed to me to let his son be on my entourage, but I get it now. Omar needed this journey as much, if not more than even me. “I'm happy to see you grow this mature, Omar.”
“Oh, don't start now, Princess. Father went on about the same thing,” he says, scratching his head.
“So, what will you do with the kid?” I ask again.
He looks back at the kid. The squirming kid has finally calmed down in his new captors hands. He looks with big puppy eyes at us in response to our stare at him. He's pleading to be released. Omar turns to me, says with a smile, “I plan on training the little brat myself.”
I scoff. Not long ago it was Omar who was whining everyday at the prospect of Aunt and Uncle’s daily morning training. “I'll leave it to you then,” I say, patting his gauntleted hand. “Go settle him, and then bring your sister over. We are going to go find an inn to settle into for the nigh-”
“Why if it isn't our disciple!” Bellows Uncle Mal and Aunt Cass, coming towards us.
Omar scratches his head, laughs. Aunt Cass hugs him, Uncle Mal ruffles his helm-flat hair. “I'm glad to see you finally taking some responsibility in your life, kid.”
“Who would've thought I'd get to see my spoiled, lazy disciple finally take on a job, and a knight at that!” Aunt Cass says, grinning ear to ear.
“Please guys, not here. Not in front of my subordinates,” Omar says. I laugh, he's embarrassed of them like how one would be if their parents were revealing things about them in front of their friends. It's honestly the most refreshing sight I have seen in a while. He's come a long way from being that angry, lazy, spoiled brat that tagged along with us one and a half years ago. And I feel proud of him, like how a big sister would. . .
Sigh
“Let's be on our way,” I say, looking back to see most of our party done with the border checks. Omar tells me the same as Arsha, and then leaves with his squadron and the child while I see the Elder approach from behind me.
“Miss Amani, and Guardians of the Night,” calls the Elder. “You have all worked very hard. I thank you all for protecting all of our lives in this long journey.” His praise is followed by a rising chorus of cheers and hoots of praises from the whole of the party, but none are for me.
“I'm sad to say,” the Elder says, hand raised to quiet down the crowd, “but it's time for our journey to come to an end.” He turns to the crowd behind him, directs them to clear the main road that they're crowding.
A man dressed in garbs of the estate officials steps up to stand beside the Elder. “He’s right, you all have worked very hard,” he says to us, while fixing his round glasses. “I am the City Lord's Steward. I will take over their responsibility from here. I thank all of you for safely escorting these fine folk here into our territory. Now I shall personally direct the party to our integrative refugee camps. And I suggest you valiant guests of the State to go to the 3rd Lane in the Diyafa district, and find the Grand Mina of Ja'na, we have arranged your residence there. That's the Grand Inn funded by the Guella Kingdom, and the Inn we offer the guests of the State free of charge, especially those who complete quests set by the Kingdom itself.”
“I appreciate the immense hospitality you've shown us,” Uncle Mal says, “but we'd like to stay with our own people, at the Inn we like—with the remuneration you're supposed to give us.” He says, his voice on edge.
The Official raises his hands, palms first, in mock surrender. “I meant no offense, Sir Malova.”
“Our remuneration?” Aunt Cass presses, her face slowly contorting.
“Please calm down,” he says. “You will get your pay, in due time.” I feel rage bubbling within me. I am about to step in, when, to our surprise, The Elder speaks up, asking what he meant by that. The official fixes his glasses at the Elder, then turns to us. “Look, I have neither the authority, nor the money with me. You will get your money when the Lord of the city returns, in a day or two, and that's why I offered you to take residence in our most lavish hotel, free of charge. We will feed you and host you till your payment comes through.”
“Hmm, Okay,” I say, sighing. There's no point in shooting down the messenger. “But get this message to your Lord. He better get me my money by tomorrow.” I say, and walk off after telling him this.
‘Be assertive Amani, that's how you'll get your voice heard.’ I remember Master Fernand saying.
The State official brings out a board from behind his robes, scribbles something in it, looks up at us. “My assistant,” as he says this, a child pops up from behind him, dressed in garbs equally as sharp, “Ahayan, will help guide you to your destination.” He turns to the child then, bends down to the child’s level. “Ahayan, take them though the side central road, you remember it, right?”
“Don't worry Abba, I can handle it.” the child says. The official straightens up, nods at us, and then leads the party away. The Elder approaches me briefly, asking me to remember what he's asked of me, then follows behind them.
“Dear esteemed guests of the State,” the child squeaks, trying his best to sound like his father, the official. “Please follow me.”
. . .
We settled in the state owned hotel. A room for me, aunt Cass, and Arsha, and one for Omar and uncle Mal. Now, the hotel is in no way subpar, our little guide made sure of that, but work unpaid is work undeserving of the effort you put in. So it's natural to feel dejected.
“Arsha sent a message,” aunt Cass says as a little flame canary bird lands on the windowsill. It's Arsha’s fire bird. Aunt Cass lowers her ear to the chirping bird. And once the chirping ends, the bird dissipates in tiny brilliant blue embers. Aunt Cass then turns to me, says, “She says we should meet them at the Jouk’s front gate in the evening. And she wishes us a Happy Wasawa.”
“Oh right, it's that time of the year.” It's Wasawa, the holiday celebrating the Guellan New Year. “Ugh, does this mean I have to wear a Khamr?” I ask, groaning.
“Only if you wanna enjoy the festival properly.” Says aunt, pestering me. “It's only their traditional clothes, darling. If nothing else, respect their tradition.” she adds. And so we spend the rest of our daylight pulling and fixing the more intricate than normal attire for the festival—a long thobe that extends from top to bottom, leaving only my face bare. Aunt Cass had called in the head maid to help us after she'd completely tangled me in the mess. The head maid, a motherly figure, tried to console us, saying that even the Guellan people found this particular attire difficult to wear, but did so since it was just a once in a year thing.
Knock knock
Aunt Cass opens the door to Uncle Mal. “Let's go,” he says, a broad grin plastered on his face. He's dressed in a Kidura, the traditional long robe attire for men. He swings his Kiffye – the headwear that comes along with the Kidura thobe – on top of his head and fastens it there. He then re-slings the extra pair of traditional clothes that I presume he's carrying for Omar around his arm.
“You seem ecstatic,” aunt Cass remarks, her eyes narrowing.
“What else do you expect, woman? I've finally gotten a day off after three straight months of work.” He replies, his grin widening.
Aunt Cass nods. “Let's go,” she says, grabbing the extra pair of Khamr for Arsha.
Stepping over the raised threshold of the door I suddenly feel my head spin. “Woah,” I say, grabbing onto anything I find near.
“Princess!” both of them yell. “Are you alright?” Aunt Cass asks as she comes to me, jamming her shoulder under mine. I feel a heaviness descend on top of the crown of my head. My vision doubles down and blurs with red.
“I think I might be more tired than I thought.” I say, forcing a chuckle. I direct Aunt Cass to place me on the bed. She sits me down and grabs a flagon of water, offering it to me. I give my thanks and take it from her, drinking some and pouring some over my head. The water drenches the beautiful traditional clothes I have on but I don't really care. I feel a slow headache start to take root in me. Making a conscious effort to loosen the muscles of my body I drop flat on my bed. My eyes flicker for a while before I open them—both Uncle Mal and Aunt Cass are standing over me, their brows drawn in worry.
“Go,” I tell them, but they don't budge. Raising my hand I point to the extra clothes she has slung across her hand. “They're waiting for you.”
Aunt Cass goes to the door, speaks something I hear not, then closes the door on Uncle Mal. I begin to tell her to just leave but she cuts me off. “I'll at least help change your clothes before I leave.” I sigh, sink back down. I do need help with that. So I thank her and let her do her thing. After a further ten minutes she's finally done. And after tucking me in, she opens the door.
“I'll bring you something nice to eat,” says Uncle Mal, trying to cheer me up I presume. Too tired to do anything else I give him a thumbs up. They leave shortly after.
I simultaneously feel inexplicably drowsy and unexplainably awake at the same time. The headaches come in patches now, each hitting a bit harder than the last. The red in my vision returns. Each recurring episode of red stays on a little longer than the last, and each time I hear a little whisper mixed in with the red. This torture rises until the redness consumes me whole. The whispers finally speak a complete sentence. It says-
“They're coming.”