The Seaside City of Naayir-Nahtahma | Svernia: V

Noaki wakes to the sound of knocking at his door. "Come in!" He rises from bed bleary-eyed.

Quentin enters carrying a flask of what Noaki recognized as the chancellor's hangover cure. "I don't suppose that's for me?"

"Gavin tasked me in delivering it to you." He hands Noaki the tonic. "I gave one to Moritz earlier."

Noaki accepts the flask. "How did he take it?"

Quentin roams to the wall of paintings. "Intensely," he shivers, "the room dropped a few degrees."

Noaki downs the bitter tonic. A moment later, he's sent spiraling to the forest floor, listening to the lively sounds of the wilderness. He lingers here for a bit before being thrust back into his body. He jumps onto his feet, invigorated and refreshed. "I'm never going to get used to that," he sets the flask onto the nightstand.

Quentin examines the paintings thoughtfully. "These are the Wildlands, aren't they?"

Noaki joins him, inspecting each painting thoroughly. One among them stands out. A painting of forested foothills beneath a looming green mountain blanketed in snow. Hundreds of tiny dark shapes dot the plains in the foreground. Within the foothills, smoke billows from the treetops.

This particular landscape sparks some recognition in him. His chest thumps in anticipation. He stands there, briefly believing he's on the verge of a new memory when he recalls Kaien's descriptive recount of their history together.

"It seems like it," Noaki tears himself away from the painting. He slips off his shirt and proceeds with his morning ablutions. Sometime in the midst of this routine, Quentin left the room. He finishes off his ritual by caping his coat over his shoulders.

In the plaza outside his room, Quentin and Aalim are in animate discussion. The latter of whom is in uniform. Moritz with his disheveled hair, leans against a potted shrub, his gaze preoccupied with something.

Noaki joins them. "Sorry I'm a little late."

"You came just in time," Aalim nods to Quentin. "I suppose we're all ready?"

Moritz comes out of his reverie. "You're not going in that are you?" He indicates to Aalim's uniform, "people will think we're narks."

"A what?" Aalim examines his uniform.

"He means an informer," Quentin clarifies.

"If you'll lead the way," Noaki steps aside.

"Right," Aalim straightens up. "If you'll all follow me."

He leads them through a maze of corridors and stairwells, until they arrive at a corridor no longer in the confines of the palace, they fan out.

Noaki matches his pace with Aalim. "If you don't mind me asking, who were those twins?"

Aalim walks silently for some time before answering. "My elder brothers; Erol and Eyad."

"Are they always that uptight with the rules?" Quentin trails behind them. "For a minute there I thought I'd have to scrap with them."

"Regarding duties, Erol and Eyad can be a little overzealous." Aalim chuckles, "it's not the first time they caught me shirking responsibility."

"If it's not something you want to do, why do it?" Moritz breaks in.

"The branch of my family is required to this role," Aalim shrugs. "Until we're old enough to make our own way." He removes his headgear, revealing disheveled sooty hair and jade eyes. "Of course by then, most of us are so accustomed to our roles, we dedicate the greater part of our years to it."

"What would you like to do?" Moritz walks beside him.

"Explore the world," Aalim beams. "I've read of so many fantastic places, I'd like to see them for myself."

"Is that what you'll do when you're old enough?" Noaki reminisces his own journey from Irithelle.

"No one within the House of Abdhalhim is allowed to leave the Holy Lands." Aalim smiles ruefully. "We are the gatekeepers to the abode of the celestials."

Celestials. The reality of their situation settles on Noaki's shoulders, and the lucaceous weighs heavier. He pushes the feeling aside. "There has to be some way out of it."

"There is one," Aalim shares a glance with Noaki. "To become a celestial myself."

Their conversation ceases as the distant noise of a raging river fills the cavern. A few minutes and they're in the chamber containing the oarless canoe nestled in the channel leading into a narrow tunnel.

They gather around the canoe and Quentin, unable to contain his excitement, hops in the bow of the vessel followed by Aalim, Moritz and Noaki who occupies the stern.

"This is the lever," Aalim indicates to a protrusion in the stonework beside them. "Quentin, if you'll do us the-"

Quentin doesn't wait for Aalim to finish, he slams his hand on the lever.

Behind them came the sound of sliding stone, followed by the roar of rapid flowing water.

Over the sound of the water, Aalim shouts, "you'll want to hang on tight!"

Before them, an opening appears on the left side of the channel releasing in more water. The canoe trembles as it steadily rocks afloat and is set drifting toward the narrow tunnel illuminated by veins of luminous ore.

Quentin's anticipative energy infects everyone aboard. Noaki imitates Moritz's grasp on the sides of the canoe as they approach the unmistakable sound of downward flowing water.

Noaki's stomach drops as they lurch forward at tremendous speed. White from gripping too hard, his knuckles are numb from the icy water.

Following their downward plummet, they continue to pick up speed one second after the next. When they show no sign of slowing down their vessel shoots upwards until the channel levels out.

Intoxicated with exhilaration, Moritz hollers a roar of triumph. "That was amazing!"

"Just like we discussed!" Aalim shouts.

Perplexed by that statement, Noaki feels a sudden pressure accumulating behind him. He notices Quentin shifting the wind with his arms, condensing more pressure. "You're insane!" Noaki's voice is drowned by the sudden release of tension and their vessel blasts downward.

The sheer velocity of their descent sends adrenaline pumping through his veins, forcing his perception active. He yells.

They all yell.

Once more they shoot upward, ascending until the channel levels out. Moritz's hands are encased in ice.

Aalim and Quentin roar with exultation.

Noaki laughs uncontrollably. He sees the approaching drop and his heart skips a beat. "You're not planning on doing that again, are you?!" The answer comes to him as more pressurized sensations.

The next blast sends them shooting forward. The luminous ore blurs in the background. With hands numbed completely, Noaki wraps his arms tightly around Moritz's waist and shuts his eyes.

For the endless few minutes they fall, their screams and shouts drown in the descending chaos. Finally they discharge upward, exit the tunnel, and come to an anticlimactic steady halt.

Noaki unshackles himself from Moritz, whose hands are indiscernible from the ice. All of them are dazed and wild eyed. They give themselves a few moments to adjust to the daylight before finally breaking into cheers and laughs of relief.

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Their vessel arrived at the platform of an abandoned station with more channels leading into collapsed tunnels. The rubble surrounding the station makes it apparent the ceiling of the derelict station caved in long ago.

Still a little disoriented, Noaki manages to climb out the canoe and assist Moritz who has difficulty thawing his hands.

"That was fun," Quentin stretches his limbs.

Aalim removes his uniform, revealing a worn out pair of linen garments. "That wind really took it to another level." He folds his uniform and stows it inside the canoe.

Moritz cracks his knuckles, shattering the last fragments of ice. "That definitely beats the hike."

The sights and sounds are a welcomed change to the monotony of the palace. The streets are lively with all manner of activity, beastly and pedestrian. The seaside wind carries the warmth of the sun and aromas, elevating their moods as they meander the streets under Aalim's guidance.

Not having eaten since dinner, they brunch outside a bustling eatery wafting savory aromas promising appetizing meals. While they eat, a performer from the streets attracts a large audience. She lulls the atmosphere with her stringed instrument.

Their hunger now sated and thirst quenched, Aalim leads them to the upper districts of the city, where the architectural amalgamation of residential and businesses gradually thin into large recreational parks and venues.

Aalim halts their party at a lakeside plaza overlooking the city's southern seaside. "I suppose we can rest here for a bit," he suggests.

Moritz seats himself on the steps leading into the lake. "This place is enormous."

Quentin, who hasn't lost an ounce of energy, laughs. "You haven't seen anything yet."

Noaki sits beside Moritz. "What do you mean by that?"

"This is the eastern district," Quentin points west, toward a grove of pine and evergreen bloom. "Out that way is the western district."

"Is that beyond the bridge?" Moritz watches a flock of ducks drift by.

"What bridge?" Noaki never had time to explore the city since waking from his short lived coma.

"You were out cold when I saw it," Moritz appears downcast. "I only saw it briefly before we docked. It's across a big bridge."

Noaki comforts Moritz with a pat on the back. "What say we visit Orion after the match?" He looks over his shoulder at Aalim, "if you don't mind guiding us down to the pier that is."

Aalim shrugs. "It won't be a problem, my uncle isn't expected to make an appearance at dinner."

Quentin shades his eyes from the sun and fixes his gaze toward a large edifice barely visible through the foliage of the treetops. "Is that the arena?"

"Yes," Aalim confirms. "The Koleyane Colosseum."

"What are these matches usually like?" Noaki activates his perception, though the Colesseum looms just outside his periphery.

"That depends," Quentin sits next to Noaki. "Sometimes the competitions carry on for a few days, especially taikhetuden tournaments."

"It's a big event here in Naayir," Aalim agrees. "Although you just missed the death eliminations."

"Sollikhetsu competitions are more of a game consisting of teams." Noting Noaki's puzzled expression, Quentin shrugs. "It's better if you see one for yourself." He jumps onto his feet, "then you'd see why they're so popular."

"Do people really die in the eliminations?" Moritz squints at the Colosseum.

Aalim shakes his head. "Not often, but it does happen sometimes."

"Isn't it about time we start heading off?" Quentin inspects the daylight. "Especially if we want good seats."

Aalim agrees with Quentin's assessment and quickly urges all of them toward the Colosseum.

The plazas surrounding the rotund edifice abound with vendors and spectators. Even with Aalim's guidance, they have a difficult time navigating their way to the box office. With Aalim and Quentin's input, Noaki purchases their tickets.

They proceed through admissions and into the spectating stands. Moritz and Noaki are awestruck at the magnitude of the arena.

"It can accomodate seventy thousand," Aalim explains. He leads them to their seats in the fifth row.

To Noaki's genuine amazement, every seat in the colosseum are gradually occupied. Fortunately, the noise of the spectators dull when a procession of musicians begins the opening fanfare.

Moritz straightens his back when a graceful figure adorned in a pearl colored coat enters the arena. His entrance is accompanied by a retinue of guards in ceremonial silver and gold armor.

Aalim points to one guard in particular, a masculine figure in white with gold epaulettes and silver embroidery. "That is my father, Abhivir Abdhalhim."

The Chancellor and his retinue are joined by an alvarrian with three gold teardrop earrings dangling from his left ear. A dark open-collared kaftan drapes his lean frame accessories with a pair of thick leather boots and feathered fedora.

"Who's that?" Moritz observes the alvarrian taking a position next to the Chancellor.

"The Merchant Master Era'anos," Quentin answers. "Avayunahm," he whistles admiringly. "I'd recognize him anywhere."

Towards the ending of the fanfare, the Chancellor and his companions make there way to the imperial box. A confetti of flower petals shower their exit from the arena platform. Once seated, the procession of musicians exit the arena and the fanfare ceases.

According to Aalim and Quentin, the first roster of taikhetudin matches would begin today, followed by the next day for the second roster. On the third day, the winners from both rosters would face each other at random selection. This would continue until the last two contestants produced a victor.

The matches were riveting spectacles to behold. Moritz and Noaki's duels never sent the emek barrier into such a frenzy, nor had they been aware of the variations of abilities that existed. Noaki enjoys one match in particular, between two speedy contestants that addle the spectators with their blurring duel. Noaki's perception gives him the advantage of watching the match from start to finish.

Twilight draws near when the final match is announced. A broad shouldered man with regal bearing, narrow jade eyes and soot colored hair, enters the arena.

Noaki recognizes him from the evening prior. "I remember him."

"Zafir," Aalim nods. "My cousin."

Quentin identifies Zafir's opponent as "Khumul." A lean man in bedouin garb. Like the palatial guards, Khumul conceals all but his eyes beneath dark fabric.

After the adjudicator signals for the match to begin. Khumul somersaults into the air, striking a landing at the center of the arena.

A powerful tremor knocks Zafir off balance. Cragged pillars of stone emerge from the ground, the area beneath Khumul rises, elevating him higher.

While the terrain rumbles, luminous pulses of energy expend between Zafir's feet. A geometrical diagram blooms across the arena. Zafir maneuvers his limbs in a pattern that invigorates the pulsing energy. With a final slam of his palms arching over his head, the energy collapses inward and releases a torrential outpour of seawater.

Khumul crouches in his perch, observing the rapid alteration of the arena. The seawater churns below his rocky island. He somersaults once again and sends the pillar beneath him into the ground, destabilizing the entire terrain in a miniature quake.

The quake sends tidal waves in all directions, soaking the lower half of the spectating stands.

Zafir waits safely on one of the protruding pillars. When the quake subsides, he hops waist deep into the water and rests his hands over the surface.

The arena fills with a thick plume of mist. Obscuring the two opponents from view.

Noaki activates his perception and the violat outlines of the two duelists become visible.

In the midst of their obscurity, khumul gathers and condenses spherical energy between his hands. Meanwhile Zafir outlines a series of symbols in the air in eight directions.

The mist thins.

Khumul slams his palms together, shattering the condensed sphere of energy and releases a blistering sandstorm that muddies the surface of the seawater.

Zafir infuses energy into the symbols surrounding him, bolstering the sandstorm with powerful gales and mist.

The arena and stands are pelted with a torrential downpour of water.

Noaki and the others shield their faces from the intensity of the storm. Gradually the storm shifts into a light drizzle, their clothes are thoroughly soaked.

The intensity of the storm coalesces to the center of the arena. Khumul and Zafir's garments billow violently beneath rolling clouds emitting blinding flashes of lightning followed by thunderous claps.

Zafir arches his arms in circles, the atmosphere around his form electrifies. When the storm wanes he bobbs from one foot to the other, his body crackling with electricity.

Before Khumul can react, Zafir zips across the arena in a brilliant flash of light. Noaki's perception can't keep up with Zafir's speed.

Khumul lays on his back, his body steaming from the assault.

Moritz leans forward. "Is he?"

The steaming body rumbles with the unmistakable sound of laughter. Stooping over his opponent, Zafir joins Khumul and assists him onto his feet.

The audience erupts in an ear shattering cheer.

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In spite of Captain Egor's absence, the Tern hosts a myriad of people, from guards to medical staff overseeing Orion's recovery.

Noaki and Moritz attempt to board the ship when they're halted by three guards.

"You are not allowed to proceed any further." The first guard wards them off with a halberd.

"We're part of the crew," Moritz states. "In case you weren't aware."

"I've been instructed not to allow anyone onboard." The guard shakes his head. "Please leave the vicinity."

Irritated, Noaki identifies himself. "We're here to visit the Dalkarian."

The guard glances uncertainly at his colleagues. "No visitations are allowed. I'm sorry."

"On whose authority?" Aalim demands.

"Your grace!" The guard bows.

Aalim's voice shifts to one in command. "These are guests of the House Abdhalhim, please allow us through."

"I'm afraid no one is permitted onboard." The guard stands firm, albeit with a little more wariness.

"This is outrageous!" Aalim tenses. "On whom's authority do you deny a progeny of the House Abdhalhim?"

"The Celestial Aysha of Svernia," a second guard steps in, "your gr ace."

This throws off Aalim. "Aysha? Why?"

"The Dalkarian onboard is under arrest for the assault of a Celestial in Port Min-Khashiib."