CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE—AN OLD FRIENDSHIP
It was difficult for Shiro to keep pace with Debaku as he ran across the hillocks and through the grasses.
Samira kept pace easily, and as they travelled over the terrain, they all glanced about. Shiro noticed the mist had receded almost entirely, and above the night sky, black and blue and flecked with bright stars, he marveled at the beauty.
“Shiro,” Jessamine said suddenly, her voice disembodied.
The samurai became intimately aware of the lamp’s weight bobbing at his hip, and the light within his trousers became apparent to him.
“What is that?”
“The pearl—from before.”
“It is glowing!” he said, pulling it out of his pocket. When he revealed it, the blight bright, almost too bright and he squinted, shielding some of his vision with his hand, which glowed a bright orange from the projecting light.
“With the change in the Angor, the pearl is now reacting differently to the Gaia around it.”
“My pantaloons must be very thick indeed to cover the light so well.”
She sighed. “Do not start taking after that oaf, Raz.”
“What? I do not,” he protested, “but I see what you see. The pearl… it is beautiful.”
Samira glanced toward him as he communicated with Jessamine during their sprint, but she turned away quickly and increased her speed, nearing the distance Debaku had put between them out of his own haste.
“A treasure,” Jessamine said.
Shiro nodded. “Mm!”
They lost Debaku for a time, but Shiro continued to light his way with the bright pearl, a natural dungeon item of this land that he now held in his possession. It was a thing that carried an intensely intimate memory between himself and Jessamine, and he would treasure it.
Satisfaction came though the bond he shared with Jessamine. No, she conveyed, I am not hearing your thoughts, my love.
Then how…
I can feel your emotions—through our bond.
He smiled, but then suddenly came up short as he saw Debaku up ahead, Samira a few dozen paces behind him.
Breathing slightly from his exertions, he looked around, realized the terrain felt far different to him now that he could actually see it. There were trees, patches of grass and ambling hills.
The tendrils from the Angor stretched out in writhing twists, though remained still, like that of tree trucks, hard, brittle and unmoving.
Natural.
I hope Ali is all right.
Jessamine appeared in a swirl of blue must, bright and luminescent. Her ascension to the ground was of a dramatic epic poem for the courts of the sultanah. Softly, her gold-pressed sandals touched the grass and she glanced back over her shoulder at Shiro.
“The power,” she said.
“It is strong.”
She waited, and Shiro stepped forward, met Samira.
“I thought…” she said, but trailed off when she looked at Shiro, then glanced to Jessamine. There seemed to be no contempt in her attitude anymore regarding the jinni. “I thought I would give him a moment. He seems shaken.”
Jessamine raised an eyebrow. “Shiro, go to him.”
He nodded, stalked forward while Jessamine and Samira waited behind.
Debaku was standing at the foot of a bluff overlooking a deep recess where the massive Angor monster resided in earnest. It’s tendrils lay out over the ground and it’s plates—petals, soft and supple, were loose and accepting of the light from the night sky.
But before the massive flower, stood Raz, babbling to himself.
Shiro glanced to Debaku.
“I could not bring myself to go to him,” he said, not looking at Shiro.
Narrowing his eyes, he regarded Raz, who, to his concern, was indeed babbling.
The adventurer’s hair was swept back in a manner like nothing Shiro had ever seen. It was aggressive, mad even. “I do not think you need to destroy it now,” he said, his hands on his hips.
He continued.
“Explain to me your reasoning, Abassir man.”
Raz gestured. “Look at it—so peaceful and serene. Why destroy it?”
“Revenge,” he said.
“Revenge?” Upon what? A dumb thing?” He gestured. Again. “Look at it, man.”
“I see everything you see.”
“And?”
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“You will not dissuade me, Abassir man.”
“My name is Raz.”
Shiro was confused. He turned to Debaku. “What is wrong with Raz?”
“Nothing is wrong with him,” he breathed. “Raz is just fine, but… I believe he shares his body with… with Archaemenes.”
“Nani?”
“Yes,” Debaku said with a nod. “I do not understand it myself.”
Shiro stepped forward, but Debaku stopped him by putting out a hand. He glanced to the Samurai, then looked over his shoulder toward Samira and Jessamine.
Jessamine nodded, a thing she rarely did, much less to any of Shiro’s friends.
“I will go to him,” Debaku said to Shiro.”
“Uh—all right.”
The Mar’a Thulian jumped down from the bluff and landed behind Raz. He turned and smiled. “Ah,” he said. “Debaku—my old friend.”
“Archaemenes.”
Raz nodded. “It is good to see you.” He spread his arms and embraced Debaku. Then after a moment Raz tapped his hands over Debaku’s thick upper arms and said, “Yes, well—that is enough of that. I know it’s been a long time, but you are ‘friends,’ yes?”
“Indeed,” Debaku said. “But I do not understand how you came to be in Razul’s body.”
Raz sighed heavily. “A very long story, I am afraid… and… I am so, so sorry my friend, for abandoning you.”
“Abandoning me?” Debaku asked, sounding surprised as Shiro took several more steps toward his back. “It was not you, who abandoned me, my friend. It is I. I could not find you, no matter how much I searched.”
Raz’s quirked a smile, and Shiro glanced back as Jessamine and Samira joined him.
“Well,” said Raz, or rather Archaemenes, “there is time enough to speak of the invents that led to our unfortunate parting. Until that time, you must introduce me to your friends!”
“Indeed,” he suddenly drawled, and Shiro realized that Raz was cutting in. “A you must know, we”—he gestured to himself—“have already met.”
“Of course,” Debaku said. “Please, please. I want you to meet my friend, Shiro.” He turned and looked at the samurai with an expression he did not know what to make off. Was it pride?
Impossible.
He nodded to Raz. “It is, my pleasure to meet you, Archaemenes.”
“Mm,” Jessamine hummed sweetly.
“And,” Debaku added, “Jessamine, his bonded jinni.”
“Ah,” Archaemenes, said—it was so strange having someone else speak through him—“I know the Sword Dancer Adarnases.”
“Princess Adarneses.”
Raz nodded respectfully. “Of course. And a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance face to face.” Be took Jessamine’s hand and pressed his forehead to it.
Then suddenly he sighed. “This is very strange for me as well.”
“Ah,” Jessamine said with a dissembling smile. “Out of all the bodies around here, you had to end up with the oaf’s.”
“Hey,” Raz said. “I am not an oaf. And I just so happen to be very powerful, you know?” He nodded suddenly. “Yes, you are very powerful, Raz. Without you I doubt we would have been able to escape.” His attention suddenly changed. “Oh, and who is this?”
“An acquaintance of our own,” Shiro said. “Her name is Samira.”
“Al Hamiroon,” she added, crossing her arms.
“Another princess,” Archaemenes said in recognition. “I know the Al Hamiroon bloodline well.”
“Now what?” Debaku asked. “The Angor seems to be defeated.”
“And where is my heart stone?”
Raz spread his arms. “There is no heart stone within the Angor. And I have a strong mind to turn it into a pulpy mass even now.” He seemed to change tracks. “Now—I thought we spoke about this.” His head twitched. “We have not come to an agreement, Abassir man.”
“Truly,” Shiro said, “if the Angor is defeated…” he looked upon the massive monster flora. “I do not believe we need to destroy this magnificent part of the natural world.”
Raz growled inside his throat. “Hey, that’s not me—it’s him.” He winced. “This monster kept me imprisoned for over ten years.”
“And now you are free,” Debaku said. “Do with it what you must, and let us go back to Ali.”
“I agree,” Shiro said with a nod.
Jessamine perched her chin atop her fist as she held up her elbow with her other delicate hand. She peered at the Angor flower. “It is quite beautiful. It would be a shame to destroy it.”
Samira signed, saying nothing.
“I am going back to check on Ali,” Shiro said. “I must know if he is well.”
“He is fine,” Raz said, his words stretched out in mild exasperation. “I would know my brother’s weak aura anywhere, and I am telling you it is thee. He is not dead.”
“Mmm,” Jessamine hummed. “Wonderful.”
Shiro looked at her, slightly taken aback. She really did not like the Bashur brothers very much, but he knew her dislike for them was exaggerated far beyond what she actually thought of them.
And Ali… well Ali had shown his worth quite well, first when he agreed to lay down his greed and go his separate way after he had first discovered the lamp with Shiro, and later by taking him in when he and Jessamine had found themselves in the capital of Darshuun.
Shiro smiled, shaking his head.
Ali was the best sort of friend any man could hope to have. He had risked life and limp and fortune to help rescue Jessamine from Darius—and she was aware of that. In her own way, she respected Ali, and by extension, his powerful “oaf” of a brother.
“Archaemenes,” Shiro said. Raz regarded Shiro with his brown eyes. “It was my pleasure to meet you. Debaku has told me about you, on many occasions.”
Debaku looked at him. His face was a mask of surprise and astonishment even now, but there was a certain serene nature there too—a calmness Shiro was not used to seeing. It was certainly a new feature for the often quiet and somewhat taciturn Mar’a Thulian.
Shiro nodded, and both Raz, or rather Archaemenes, and Debaku, nodded respectfully in turn. Jessamine did not follow Shiro so much with her body as he stepped away, but rather disappeared in a plume of luminescence.
It was then when Shiro started to head back over the grassy turf that he realized a yellow-orange glow on the horizon in the direction of the sea.
The isekai picked up his pace as he went in the direction where Ali and the armies had fought the Angor’s Nodes.
The early morning was quiet as crickets chirped in the tall grasses. He came across a dead Scorpion on the ground and stopped, his cheer vanishing instantly. Glancing up, he realized that, despite Razul’s cavalier attitude, Ali could be wounded. Even mortal wounds would not prevent his aura from being sensed by his brother.
Swallowing, his bent down and dragged his fingers over the Scorpions open eyes. He could have spent time burying the man, but the truth was, this was a battlefield. This entire place is a battlefield, and there is sure to be many more dead men scattered throughout.
Jessamine appeared. “Do not be dour, Shiro.”
She reached into his pocket and revealed the glowing pearl. She lifted it into the air and looked up into the light with a certain kind of reverence.
He squinted. “What do you mean?”
“We have won,” she said solemnly. “Yes, at the expense of many lives—but we have saved many of the men, and have ensured our passage into Kalush.”
She spoke these words solely for his own benefit, he knew. Apart from a strong sense of curiosity to see the Florencians up close again, where Shiro might then resume his duel with the man who had introduced himself only as Hulio Baracci, she had no stake in the Abassir Empire. Its fate was not one that concerned her.
For that matter, its fate did not much concern Shiro either, but in a way, he had made a life here, had found Jessamine, had become friends with Ali and his brother, and even Debaku, though he was not an Abassir man, his culture was indelibly connected to it, and to that of the Ashahnai Empire, a thing Ali rarely mentioned or wanted to acknowledge.
Shiro had far more of a connection to these lands now than he had ever realized. And for that reason, he had to fight, for his friends, who were, in Ali’s case particularly, connected deeply to the place.
Jessamine lowered the pear, and then, she drew the light out of it, a think that surprised Shiro.
“What did you do?”
She smiled. “I drew the magic out of it.”
“But…”
“It will come back, Shiro, for the pearl is connected to that of the Gaia around it. It will never lose its light permanently—and neither must you. We go on.”
Shiro sighed heavily, then nodded. “Hai—you are right.”