As Darius Zaman stood in the port of Yarikhad, listening to sailors haggling with merchants, slaves being lashed by slavers, people of all shapes and sizes from every corner of the known world, speaking a hundred different tongues, he could not ignore the twisting knot in his stomach at his next great step in life. Or maybe it was the pungent smell of fresh fish and crab being unloaded off a fishing galley docked just next to his own trading galley.

The ship was a beautiful work of craftsmanship. A hull of fresh polished dark oak, with two rows of oars that was to be manned by experienced oarsmen, all slaves of the ship’s owner, who was unfortunately not Darius Zaman. He had just been leasing the ship from a far richer man called Sakarbaal Addi for his next ambitious business venture.

But it was nothing compared to some other ships he saw. Great fat bellied trading galleys with five rows of oars, he was amazed they could even squeeze into the harbour. Then there were the Yariki war galleys, with their ebony hulls, clean white sails, the eyes painted on the front of the ship, and a sharp steel ram at the front slicing through the water, able to cut another ship in half like a knife through butter with enough speed. The war galleys would steal off through the port, into the gated ring harbour where the Yariki navy rested.

Darius never ceased to be amazed by the structure. The main building was like a wide, multi story circle lined with columns, an island of its own surrounded by a moat, where the next part of the harbour then surrounded it in a giant ring, able to house more ships.

“I’m going to miss you, my love,” Tanitha said, squeezing him tight. He took his eyes off the ships and returned her affection, embracing her tight. Her touch was warm, soft, and loving as it always was. He ran his hand through her smooth jet-black hair, and when she pulled back to gaze upon him, her gorgeous hazel eyes glistened with tears.

“I love you,” Darius said.

“I love you too.” They kissed. She was a beautiful woman, his Tanitha, truly. A small, slim woman, wrapped in a layered green robe from neck to toe. Her bronze skin seemed to drink in the sunlight, and he could never get tired of her soft lips on his.

It brought him back to last night, possibly his favourite night of all his memories, spent with his favourite person. They had rode out of Yarikhad on the back of a camel as the sun set, the giant orange orb casting the distant city behind them a shade of black against the twilight backdrop, the heat blurring the buildings as though they were a smudge on a painting. He remembered how Tanitha clutched his chest as he spurred the camel on through the fields and distant farming villages.

As night fell, they got to some massive cliffs of black rock that promised a gorgeous view of the Chenean Sea. The deep blue waters crashing in white foam at the rocks below. They had only gotten to enjoy it for a moment before the sun set completely, and they were shrouded in darkness. And then the sea of stars showed itself above them. That was what Darius really wanted to show his wife on this night, before he was to set sail tomorrow.

They lay on a mound of grass, where Darius unrolled a soft rug and took out a bottle of Durnese red he had sneakily ‘borrowed’ from a winehouse in the lower city. Darius lit a small fire from long dried up strands of grass and old twigs and sticks. The camel sat down beside them on its knees, looking like a big furry beige hump.

“We came here as children a long time ago,” Darius said as they both sat on the rug, and he passed her the bottle of deep red wine. “My brother used to jest, saying here the celestials came to strip and dance nude in the night sky.”

“They’re magnificent,” Tanitha said, looking up in awe at the night sky, lit by millions of twinkling silver stars. A radiant, pale yellow streak, dusty in texture like a cloud, shot amidst the stars in a brilliant line, like a cosmic giant slashing the night sky with a sword of light. “Darius, the gods show themselves here clearer than at the celestial temple.”

“I’ve always thought the celestials favour spots of nature over any man made construction,” Darius said, taking a sip of the fruity wine from the bottle. “The temple at Yarikhad is one of the great wonders of the world, to be sure, but what is that compared to such raw, natural beauty?” He waved his hand across the night sky, basking in the glow of the cosmos. The glow of the gods, the weavers of reality. Four celestials made up the pantheon of the Yariki religion; the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, and the World, and together they crafted everything man could see, feel, breathe, and touch. The Stars were always Darius’s favourite of them all. None matched in their awe and scope.

“There is a certain magic here,” Tanitha agreed, cuddling up to him, brushing her fingers up his shirt. “Can’t you feel it?”

“I can.” Darius kissed her, and they fell into each other’s embrace for a few moments.

Tanitha pulled away, brushing a lock of his wavy black hair away from his eyes. “I don’t want you to go tomorrow.” Then she hugged him tight, burying her face under his chin. Her warm breaths tingled across his neck and upper chest.

He smiled. “Nor do I, my love. The wide open sea scares me. But I have to. What have I always told you?”

“You’ll be the richest man in Yarikhad.” Tanitha grinned, biting her lip.

“That’s right. I’ll be a dealer in spices and exotic wares and own a vast merchant navy that the shophet himself will envy. I shall sit the supreme council alongside the great and wise Melqart Hiram and the other princes of Yarikhad. I will shower you with fat gems the size of duck eggs and more jewellery than you could wear in a lifetime, and we’ll travel the world together. Holidaying at an Araetian manse with slaves tending to our every need, and sailing far to the west to the distant lands of Anaecia on a gargantuan pleasure ship!” Darius could often get carried away in his fantasies, he could feel the exotic air of far away civilizations, the splash of the ocean on his face, the cold metal of the heavy trinkets he would shower his wife with.

Tanitha laughed, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “I believe you.”

He believed it too. It had been for Tanitha he took the backbreaking work of chiselling stone tablets deep in the bowels of the Great Library of Yarikhad. Nothing he wrote was original. Often he was chiselling into the rock different tedious numbers like crop yields, tax revenues for the year, how much silk or leathers or cinnamon arrived through the port, or a rich noblemen’s accounts. All in all, it was mainly copying the works of better, wiser men. One of those wiser men was Melqart Hiram, the current richest man in Yarikhad—a title Darius wanted to steal from him. He liked copying the work of wise men like Melqart the most, because they were packed full of wisdom regarding wealth and the principles of money management. And little by little, Darius began saving his silvers. He set aside twenty percent of his wage every time he was paid without exception, he stopped buying useless extravagances, and lived on the bare minimum. Slowly, those silvers became gold. He did that with strict discipline until he could afford to lease a trading galley and have enough investment to buy exotic wares from distant ports to sell at a great profit back home in Yarikhad. He remembered the sweat clinging to his skin every time he hammered that chisel into a stone tablet. How his back ached from being hunched over. How his arms burned. But it was all worth it for this moment of triumph.

“Oh, Darius. I really wish you didn’t have to go,” Tanitha moaned.

“So do I.” He looked into her eyes, brushing his fingers along the side of her smooth face. “I wish I could be trapped in this moment forever.”

“You always know what to say,” Tanitha purred, pushing his shirt up, exposing more of his skin.

The warm breeze glossed over his skin. “I just say what I feel, nothing more.” They lay by the dim fire, swirling embers up into the air in a calm spiral, gazing at the stars.

The memory of that night was a sweet one, one that he would cherish forever.

His mind was thrust back into the chaos of the port, and the twisting knot in his stomach. Was this what being sea sick felt like? Darius had never been on the sea before. Not properly, not on a ship. What if it sinks?

“Do you have everything?” Tanitha said as they approached his trading galley. Big, muscular slaves, bald, shaven, and sweating under the hot sun, hauled crates aboard.

Darius looked over at the stack of crates, at the man—presumably the captain, judging by his flamboyant attire and feathered hat—who barked commands at the slaves. “Yes, my things are all in a crate. I prepared it weeks ago. My clothes, shoes, sword, and my chest.” The chest was the most important, full of his remaining gold and silver with which he would buy cinnamon, saffron, bay leaf, cumin, and exotic south Djimalian leathers to trade back home.

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His wife clutched his arm. Tears ran down her cheeks now. “I’m going to miss you. Your voyage will be two months, won’t it?”

Darius rolled his eyes but took Tanitha’s hand all the same. They had been over this a thousand times. “Yes, two months. Sakarbaal Addi assured me his ships are fast, and the route is well known.”

His wife clutched his hand tighter. Those small hands of hers had a fierce grip when she wanted them to. She was stronger than she looked. “And what of pirates and storms? Or the great sea serpents that sailors speak of beyond the Chenean Sea?” She was breathing faster.

“You’ve been listening to one too many drunk sailors, my love.” Darius laughed. “Men with uninteresting lives frequently exaggerate their adventures to impress barmaids and fishwives back home. It makes them feel like conquerors.” It was not pirates or storms or sea serpents that scared him, it was the vast emptiness of the ocean itself. Granted, storms were a real possibility, but it was the thought of getting lost or sinking that really shook him. Falling into the deep depths, where no one would hear or find him, clutching for air in his last moments… he shook the thought off.

“How would you know?” she snapped, the worry on her face unhidden. “You’ve never been out there!”

“I’ve consulted with experts. Men with real stories, travelled merchants. Not drunk sailors.” The last of the crates were being hauled onboard, and other sailors began walking up the ramp. “I really have to get going. I love you, Tanitha.”

She hugged him one last time. “Safe travels, my love. Promise me you will return safely.”

“Tanitha—”

“Promise!” she snapped.

Darius sighed, taking both of her hands. “I promise I will return safely, okay? Ensure your father takes good care of you while I’m away, or I’ll be having words with him.”

“I will.” Tanitha giggled, and they kissed. “I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray in the celestial temple itself for your safe return.”

He blushed. “I’m sure you will. I really have to get going.” And with that, he released her arms and walked up the ramp, pushing past the passing slaves. A scribe took his name and recorded Darius’s business on the ship, and then he was aboard.

The ship departed after everyone was aboard, and Tanitha waved him goodbye one last time. He waved back, smiling, leaning over the railing. The ship slowly sailed out of the harbour, the oars crashing in unison into the bustling water, sending foam and spray splashing below.

He gazed at the city as they left. The houses and markets of the lower city, walled off from the middle city. The celestial temple poking out amidst the small stone structures, a magnificent marble tower rising up into the heavens, dwarfing them all, its glass dome shooting a sharp beam of sunlight off into the distance. Then there was the middle city, walled off from the lower, home to the great library, the artisans and other professionals, the manses of the merchant princes, and the royal botanic gardens. And at the peak of Yarikhad itself, resting upon Yarikhan’s hill, stood the royal citadel. The shophet’s palace was clear in the distance, with its pristine columns and hanging gardens, spotting the clean white marble with patches of greenery. What it would be like to live in such a place… Darius brooded over the thought.

As the galley sailed out of the harbour, heading into the rocking ocean, he headed below decks to explore the ship. There wasn’t much to see, in truth. The floor below the main deck was humid with sweat and the sound of huffing oarsmen, all rowing in perfect unison; below that was the cargo hold, where their chests were held and the cargo they picked up from the next port would go.

On his way back up the stairs, a slave twice the size of Darius returning to his oar bumped into him. “Watch your step, fucking fool!” Darius yelled, and slapped the man on the back of the head. The slave huffed and walked off.

Blind fool. He brushed his clothes off and straightened his robe out. Ahead was the captain’s cabin, the only comfortable spot on the entire ship. Inside was a small bed, a desk on top of which an unlit oil lamp sat, next to a parchment and a quill dipped into an inkpot. A very humble wooden room. It creaked as the ship rocked on the water. The sensation made Darius a little dizzy.

“Greetings, brothers,” Darius said to the two men sitting by the desk. The first was the captain, Baran Sasani, and next to him was the other man leasing a share of the ship for the duration of the expedition, Quarneem Mirza. He was a rich man, Darius knew. His white silk robe flourished with golden threads woven in elaborate floral patterns. A tall and gaunt man, with sunken eyes and a pale complexion, greying brown hair hung from his scalp.

Quarneem raised a golden goblet, swirling with wine. “Greetings, brother.”

“Come, sit,” the captain pulled a chair across the room for him, and filled him a cup of wine. “Sakarbaal tells me this is your first voyage?” The feathers on his hat bobbed as he moved, he wore a white cotton tunic, black trousers and some thin curved shoes.

Darius sat, rubbing his stomach, then gracefully gulped down a sip of wine. “Yes, I’ve never been on a proper ship before.”

“Just remember to go to the top if you intend to empty the contents of your stomach, and you’ll be okay,” Quarneem said in that quiet, humming voice of his.

“How is business?” Darius asked the gaunt man.

Quarneem raised a brow, shrugging. “My caravans go from one city to the next, they load their wares on ships, and off it goes from one port to the next. But I must depart in Rodevia when we make port there. The border fighting with Orisian legions has scared my clients out of their wits. They are like frightened hens, I must calm them.”

“The shophet has responded with a show of strength,” Darius agreed. “But I think it will blow over. Little skirmishes across the Tane river are hardly something to stop business over, or flee. Not when there is much gold to be made.”

The gaunt merchant laughed. Some wine fell from his goblet. “If only my clients had your sense. I would gladly deal with ten of you.”

“Allow me to travel with you then,” Darius blurted out. It was a rapid change of plan, but Melqart’s teachings always instructed one to seize an opportunity when fate bestowed it upon him. And Quarneem Mirza was a successful merchant, not the richest man, but far richer than Darius.

An opportunity.

Quarneem inspected him up and down, bidding the captain to refill his goblet with wine. “You’re too green, boy. Become a bit well travelled first, then come to me. Your lust for wealth oozes from your eyes as you talk.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Darius asked, trying hard now not to glance at the gold on Quarneem’s person.

“I don’t want ambitious partners, I want subordinates. Ambitious people are cut-throats, and will try to topple you the moment they feel they are in a position to do so.”

He frowned. “I’m an honest man.”

The merchant pulled his fingers to his neck and pulled down his robe, revealing a long lumpy grotesque scar, running from his neck down to his collarbone. “That’s what the last honest man with a love of money did to me, my boy.”

“I’m no liar,” Darius asserted, placing his cup on the desk. “I am loyal to my wife and family, and have toiled hard in the depths of Yarikhad, saving every drop of wealth that comes my way so I can create a better life for myself. I have never betrayed anyone, and especially not for money.”

“But you’ve never had any money, have you?” Quarneem said. “You’ve done well so far, leasing a ship and investing in a voyage. It’s further than most people get, I grant you that. But you’ve yet to feel gold’s sweet corruption, brother. And the rot sets in deep.” The merchant’s sunken, tired, bloodshot eyes glared at Darius. “Everyone thinks they want to be a rich man. The richest man in the world. But what they don’t realise is the cost of gold, the more you have, the more you want it. You will do things a good man would not do. And you will bury the shame of those deeds with vice and sin.”

“Then those men are weak,” Darius said, stern and cocksure of himself. “I have been a poor man, I have had a taste of gold, and I choose wealth every single time. I’d sooner face the tests the gods give me draped in signet rings and gemstones, with a merchant navy at my back and a chest bursting with gold at my heels.”

“Weak,” Quarneem scoffed, chuckling. “You think you can control the corruption of gold, you cannot. Maybe you wouldn’t choose wealth if you knew what it meant. If you knew how it would turn those around you into creatures of greed, devoid of love and trust and joy.”

“I have a good family, and a good wife, they would never betray me. They are loyal.” Tanitha is loyal. Gold would never come between us.

“But will you be loyal to her, when you are elevated to heights most men can only dream of?” The merchant raised a brow, sipping more wine. He could really put his drink away.

Heat rose in Darius’s chest at the accusation. “Of course. What is your implication?” He knew exactly what it was.

“That you’ll fuck the first young maiden that tugs at your brand new golden chain once your wife grows old and wrinkly, or the first whore that bats her eyelids at you.”

Darius slammed his wine cup down, spilling half of it on the floor. “I would never betray my wife for a common whore!” The very thought sickened him. How it would break her. He could never do that.

Quarneem sighed. “Have I given offense? I apologise, brother. Wine loosens my tongue, and dulls my wits. Forgive me.”

Darius said nothing, got up, and left the room, strolling up to the top deck to watch the galley cut through the vast ocean. I am better than common men. He had read it in Melqart Hiram’s texts. For the gods to bestow their favour upon a single man, that man must believe in himself first and foremost, and must work to achieve his goals. You pave your own path, and the celestials will light the way forward, the stone tablet he copied long ago had those words inscribed on it. And he remembered it ever since.

And Darius was on a path of greatness. He could feel it with every rocking wave, every gust of warm air that brushed across his skin.

I will be a rich man. A great man.