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Shamil Al-Bagi
SETC | Mutiny Moons
Part I
-Likes ye well enough-
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Something made a clopping sound with its mouth, either a shy anteater, or a curious monkey and woke Shamil up. He turned on his left side, feeling the ‘bed of pebbles’ scraping at his elbow and grimaced. Shamil turned to his right next and saw Taranir towering over him. The Zilan, SETC Director apparently, gestured for Shamil to keep quiet.
Not even two hours have gone by, Shamil thought. Why is he up?
And the Zilan answered as if he could read its thoughts.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
Ugh?
“Can I come along signor?” Zaine asked, his rustle making Shamil recoil startled.
“It will be your decision Mister Zaine,” Taranir replied.
“Larsa has his own crew, under Captain Zuberi,” Zaine explained, “Hartford and Mau-Mau.”
“Why not use a single Mau?” Shamil asked genuinely perturbed.
“Kept saying it over and over, when Larsa found him delirious. It means food,” Zaine explained and looked about them nervously for any onlookers.
“Anything the matter mister Zaine?” Taranir queried mockingly.
Zaine shook his head negatively. “Nothing. Just don’t want to wake anyone else up at this late hour.”
“Um.” Taranir agreed, then added. “Pack light. We are about to walk fast.”
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The night made Grilix Isle appear more sinister than it did during the day. Sirondil’s black mass cast its heavy shade over their small anchorage and camp. They walked to the plateau and then west of the copse, where the paths followed the south sides of the mountain around it. They heard two patrols guarding the approaches to their camp, but soon Shamil and his companions left them behind.
Shamil followed the fast-moving Taranir more than led them in reality. The Zilan kept a steady rhythm -despite Zaine’s protests after the first hour- as if Taranir knew where he was going.
“I don’t,” Taranir explained to Shamil. “You follow the path to where it leads Sam. It always does even if it’s a dead end.”
The path narrowed and then widened again, the incline becoming steeper, as it left the mountain sides behind and headed towards the elongated lake’s shores. About three hundred meters from the reeds-covered banks the first structures appeared. First a square stable, attached to a warehouse and behind it a two story stone and brick building with a wooden roof with a large chimney. Another chimney over the warehouse as well, Shamil noticed as they approached, with several torches lit at the perimeters and the façade of the large farmhouse. Another two smaller houses half-hidden behind it. The small settlement well-maintained, with cobblestone paths between each building and most of the nearby woods cleared-out, the trunks logged neatly, and then placed in stacks.
“Stay,” Taranir told them after watching the settlement for a while in silence. He stood up and walked towards the entrance, walking past the warehouse, or workshop. The latter probably, now that Shamil had a better look at it. The Zilan paused just after the double-door workshop of sorts and reached into his longcoat to find a cigar. He lit it calmly, the light shining over his face as Taranir took that first draw and again in a reddish hue that illuminated the parts shaded by his large hat, when he lightly blew at the foot to spread the burn evenly.
“What is he doing?” Shamil asked in a whisper, hearing some of the animals inside the stables reacting to the Zilan’s presence inside the settlement’s piazza and the strong smell of aromatic tobacco.
“Shows them he wants to parley,” Zaine explained nervously, and at that moment the main door of the building opened. A thick, heavily muscled figure stepped out and onto the shaded patio. Short in stature, about Shamil’s height, but wide at the shoulders and with long trunk like arms.
“I expected more armed men,” the local said in Common with a heavy accent. “Are you an imperial then?”
Taranir puffed smoke away from his eyes and then smacked his lips in response. “We were all imperial at some point,” the Zilan finally said.
“I wasn’t,” the man replied gruffly. By his voice Shamil made him to be around fifty or sixty years old, but he could also see the thinning dark hairs on his head as the man took a step forward, which marked him as not one of the Gish at first glance. “Nobody here is, for centuries.”
“As I said,” Taranir replied evenly. “At some point.”
“You did,” the man agreed. “I’m Rudix Knupp. The local blacksmith.”
“To the heavens above our greetings mister Knupp,” Taranir said and put out his cigar on the sole of his boot. “You can call me Director Taranir. Bank of Goras’ newly-opened office of re-acquisitions. BGOR for short. Re-opened perhaps being the more correct word.”
“The lad wasn’t lying,” Rudix noted guardedly. “Imperials have landed on our shores again.”
“The lad killed a soldier earlier,” Taranir replied. “Bashed his skull in with a sledgehammer. Forced me to intervene ahead of schedule. I don’t like people creating obstacles mister Knupp. Or delays.”
“Your soldiers wanted to take Virtix,” Rudix said. “Her brother wouldn’t agree and my son had to intervene as well. I don’t like people harming youngsters’ mister Taranir, even if they behave like fools. I also don’t trust Imperials around Gish. Male or female.”
“You are not a Gish.”
“My father wasn’t, but Rudix is a Gish for two hundred years and counting. He lived as one and he’ll die a Gish.”
Taranir nodded. “A Halfling. Um. Your father left with the Armada.”
“Rudd Knupp is buried with the rest of those left behind at Issir Star,” Rudix replied gruffly. “He never followed the ships, or Reinut. This was as good a land, as anywhere else, he always said.”
“What’s your boy’s name?” Taranir asked glancing at the dark interior of the workshop.
“Tonix and Mertix,” Rudix replied. “I’ve two o’ them.”
“Are they going to shoot? I can dodge an arrow,” Taranir retorted, still glaring at the open doors of the workshop.
“How about a bolt?” Rudix taunted but smiled at the end of it. “You’re safe for now Zilan.”
“You are not,” Taranir countered. “In a couple of months, or more, soldiers will come here to get their pound of flesh. You better move further inland mister Knupp.”
“I won’t leave my home,” Rudix replied stiffly. “I’ve built this here homestead with my father.”
Taranir nodded and then took a deep breath to ponder on the Halfling’s words.
“The mountain has iron deposits,” the Zilan finally said. “How rich?”
“All the Isles are made out of metal and crystals,” Rudix replied. “The Gish never cared until the ships arrived.”
“Why befriend the Issirs?”
“What is an Issir? They were the people of Kaletha Triarchy. My father hailed from Ikete. Issir Star was just a city they built when my ancestors arrived here. A moniker does not make a nation.”
“They call it Kaltha now, your nation.” Taranir replied. “You didn’t answer my query.”
“The Gish were strange and very lewd in their ways but not mean-spirited,” Rudix elucidated. “We found common ground hearing of their plight against the Zilan Empire.”
“Which you attacked without provocation,” Taranir pointed out and Shamil turned to look at the absorbed with the conversation Zaine.
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“That was Reinut. He preached of riches in the lands of plenty. An evil pirate’s heart couldn’t live in peaceful isolation. The Gish had nothing to take, but the Imperials did. I guess, he failed.”
“He didn’t fail,” Taranir retorted. “The Gods helped him bring ruin. He killed innocents, the kingdom fell, but then Hardir O’ Fardor came to bring back the age of wyverns.”
“Woe to us.”
“Hardir doesn’t want the isles, but the company can’t deliver without new ports. The Coin Route starts here.”
“Yeah, I’m not hearing a different tune Taranir. I ain’t gonna defend Reinut’s crimes, but maybe the Gods punished the Zilan as well back then? The old Gish have tales to say about them doing untold harm on the Isles for centuries.” Rudix countered and looked towards Shamil. Then his eyes settled on Zaine. “Are you one of Reinut’s kin?” He asked the suddenly discomforted sailor.
“I’m not an educated man signor,” Zaine replied tensely. “Can’t really follow what you’re saying, but know that I understand the spirit of it.”
Shamil frowned at the skillful dodge by the sailor of this simple query.
“We might need a good blacksmith at Safe Sojourn. A good paying job. Good profit for you and yours.” Taranir offered. “Someone local that can keep the Gish at bay. Out of harm’s way.”
“Ah, the profit. Do I need it though on the isles? Bafix, or Silix talk for the Gish anyhow, but know that you can’t keep them away.”
“I’ve watched them run aplenty,” Taranir retorted.
“Not this generation,” Rudix said and listened for a moment at the night, the sounds of the nearby lake reaching them. “Rabix spoke to the Corsair twins and they got a donkey to carry a bigger boat ashore. Others have heard about it by now. They don’t fear your soldiers, or the humans. Neither are my sons now.”
“A single annoyance, we can overlook. A persistent problem though, would get everyone’s attention and you don’t want that kind of heat son of Knupp. You know how this will end, don’t you?”
“Do they know?” Rudix countered, his hand pointed at Shamil and Zaine. “What you really are?”
Taranir sighed and then stared at the other figure that had appeared at the entrance of the workshop armed with a crossbow. “Let me see that thing,” the Zilan said finally. “You’ll think on my words mister Knupp because you’re a sensible old man. Human, Gish, or a Halfling, it matters not to me. Not why I’m here. You’re old enough to be their elder, and yes I know how the Gish work. You can convince them not to be too-stupid at least, while I figure something out with the higher ups.”
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“How did you get to know him?” Zaine asked Shamil on their way back. The walking ahead of them Zilan had taken the crossbow as compensation from Tonix and his father.
“He helped me on the ship,” Shamil replied. “I don’t really know him. He is a gardener in his spare time I guess.”
Zaine turned to look at him with curious eyes.
“What?” Shamil probed and the sailor grimaced.
“You seem like a good kid,” he finally said lowering his voice. “But he wasn’t supposed to be here. Another was to lead the expedition.”
“So? I’m not exactly familiar with the company’s hierarchy. No one is really.”
“Yep. Always a problem this uncertainty.” Zaine agreed thoughtfully. “People start gathering in lines to get a good-paying job. Tales start spreading of expeditions to exotic lands and barrels filled with coin. It garners attention from lads of a different predilection, if ye get my meaning.”
“I don’t?” Shamil replied.
Zaine pursed his mouth and then worked a finger into his collar, before calling at the walking ahead of them Zilan. “Hey mate? How about a stop to have a breather?”
Taranir didn’t even reply.
“Yep. It figures,” Zaine said and grimaced. “I’ve a bad leg son,” he explained. “There are a couple of good stories associated with how it happened.”
“You don’t know?”
“Sure. But the thing is, it doesn’t really matter the how,” Zaine explained. “It’s a cautionary tale about how quickly things can turn to shit, if you listen to bad advice.”
“Right,” Shamil said not really understanding where the sailor was going with this.
“Comes a time is what I’m saying,” Zaine continued, “when you have to take a side and it’s never a sure thing. Aye. Never a sure thing. The dog might be right, but I still stand uncomfortable to fully trust it you understand?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Because of the foot,” Zaine said surprised. “I thought yer following me words. The dog could lead a man astray. It’s an evil dog, because it ain’t a dog per se.”
Shamil narrowed his eyes. He made to answer the troubled sailor, but they had reached the lights of their camp already, and Taranir asked them to hurry up.
So he didn’t.
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They found no patrol coming down from the plateau and Taranir opened his stride to reach the small anchorage faster. Shamil spotted two groups of Marines gathered around Gonodir, the injured Feredir and Glavon. A large group of sailors standing nearby and yelling at them angrily.
“What’s going on?” Shamil asked and Taranir gestured for him to keep his mouth shut.
Shamil halted near an extinguished campfire and glanced at the one-eyed dog unsure. The short sailor with the darkened skin jumped up seeing Zaine return and made to speak, but the dog barked angrily stopping him.
“This is clearly an escalation Gonodir,” Glavon was saying, while the voices of the riled up sailors of the Express could be heard more clearly now.
“Murdered the Captain in his sleep they did!” One of them roared, flaying his arms in theatrical fury.
“Slit his throat!” Another barked, a big smile on his face showing no grief at all, despite the anger in his voice. “Larsa is in the right!”
“Saw it with me own eyes,” a baritone Cofol, with a thin, and long beard agreed. “One of them Gish. Ogling eyes and claws for hands, speaking in strange tongues!”
“Eh,” Ab grunted and clenched his jaw, but Zaine grabbed his shoulder to stop him.
“They come in the night and kills us in our sleep,” Larsa continued. A tall and wiry, very-tanned Lorian with strikingly blue eyes and arms full of tattoos with the same theme.
Many sailors’ favorite. A big-titted siren.
“Zuberi is dead?” Taranir asked coming to a stand between the two groups.
“Dead as a rock,” Larsa replied eyeing him. “Couldn’t be deader even if he wanted to!”
“Someone killed him on the ship?”
“Yeah. They can swim like the fish them pink local cunts,” Larsa retorted aggressively. “It’s an escalation.”
“He’s right,” Glavon backed him up and Taranir snapped his head to glare at the Zilan soldier. “An army matter Taranir.”
“I want to see the body,” Taranir replied.
“You know what I think?” Larsa intervened. “I think you’re not who you say you are mister. Maybe you’re working a dastardly scheme here, taking trips in the dark and always siding with the locals and all.”
Shamil glanced at the soldiers worried. Taranir had in fact tried to talk with the Gish during the night.
“Sir,” Glavon insisted turning to the frowned Gonodir. “This is weird behavior. You should take over here.”
“He shouldn’t,” Taranir intervened, glancing at the moored ship that had its silhouette visible due to the lamps secured at the mast and then at Zaine. “Lanthdor is the second in command. You could take his opinion on the matter if you insist Glavon.”
“Why do we need his opinion?” Larsa intervened. “The soldiers can hunt down the killers. This island isn’t much bigger than the Worm Isle. Some of the sailors can help.”
“Gonodir?” Taranir asked the officer. The Zilan grimaced, thinking about it.
“We can report back to Safe Sojourn. Speak with Lanthdor,” Gonodir finally said looking at Taranir unsure.
“Sir!” Glavon grunted.
“Calm down,” Gonodir snapped angrily. “I won’t allow those Gish to get away with it soldier! But we need to be smart about it.”
“Can you navigate the ship?” Taranir asked the grimacing Larsa and his vocal friends.
“Sure,” Larsa finally grunted through his teeth.
“I can do it,” Zaine said. “Was with Zuberi on the rudder for much of the journey.” The dog barked once and Larsa eyed the half-breed sailor unsure. “You can take over after the turn brother.”
“Fine,” he yielded. “You’ll take the rudder Zaine, bring us where we discussed yesterday.”
Shamil narrowed his eyes at the wording, but other than the thoughtful Taranir everyone else missed it. Ab, the short sailor standing next to the masticating dog, cast a gloomy glance at the teenager.
“Don’t worry about it kid,” Ab told him. “Zaine likes ye well enough.”
Hugh?
“Mister Taranir,” Larsa offered. “You should take the late captain’s cabin.”
“I’ll stay on the deck,” Taranir retorted. “Gaze at the moons, until I can’t.”
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The bluish Nesande’s Moon and the pale-white Oras Eye, had both appeared in the night sky. Larger than ever before, they shed their cool light over the small anchorage and the moored schooner.
The moment they entered one of the two boats to return to the ship, Taranir who had sat next to him, amidst the Marines –with the sailors taking the other boat- said without sentiment.
“How many are onboard?”
“Sailors?” Gonodir asked and furrowed his bows. “About fifty.”
“I doubt they are still that number. We need to wait for an opportunity. They’ll give us one, further in the sea, but the night is almost over and it might force them to wait, or rush it. Either way we are getting killed on that ship lads.”
“Eh?” Glavon grunted. “What are you sprouting there Taranir?”
“Who did you expect to appear in my place and run the show? Obviously Lanthdor is only here to have his name on the books.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you old fuck!” Glavon grunted irate and Taranir shook his head, with a glance at the other boat that now approached the noisy Express.
“While you were thinking how to get me out of the picture, or whatever other scheme you have running marine, the Express got captured by pirates under your noses. You are all the dumbest cunts. Fucking idiots. They would have left you stranded here with the Gish without a blasted ship, by the time you figured it out!” Taranir hissed much to Glavon’s shock and Gonodir’s bewilderment. The Zilan turned to look at the nervous at this wicked development Shamil and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m guessing two different crews boarded at Ta-Ne. Lads, we’ve a mutiny in our hands.”