Within the thirty foot long wooden longhouse, which stood upon hearty wooden pillars, was the chief. He sat on a silk pillow, with a back adorned by weapons and golds. Wrapped into a knot in front of him was an azure sarong, with a larger saffron belt knotted into a giant ribbon on his back, and he wore no footwear, for no footwear would service them well in the midst of the seas. His headwrap (with two points like a spiralling horn on one side) was bright scarlet. They were cleanshaven; their hair was a twine of gray that fell to his waist.

Impossible to ignore, however, was the chief's rugged, sinewy and shredded torso, his body bulging with the sleek striatons of a swimmer-swordmaster. And truly, held on a vertical swordstand was a giant pirate's blade, housed in a rectangular lacquered wood sheath, of the same caulked wood as the very barges they sailed.

He sat in a lotus position, foot over foot, and had their arms folded in front of them. Their eyes were closed. One would assume that they were in meditation, if it were not for the meekly lady wrapped in light silks in front of him. The lady had the ears of a cat on top of their head, twitching as she spoke.

"Your ancestors have spoken, Chief Kinza. The winds will not be amiable for the next moon. The wind gods wage war with the stones of Dubawatan Reef of north Pemi."

Chief Kinza exhaled a long exhale. "Very well. I thank the ancestors for always watching over us, and thank thee for thine expertise, Shaman Tif."

Shaman Tif bowed deeply, and then walked backwards. They moved and twisted in a way to make sure that they never faced away from the Chief until they were by the door. Then, they bowed again and exited.

"Next?" The voice that echoed was not of the Chief's, but of the severe man beside him, this one clad in that same sarong. Instead of being barechested he wore an ironwood breastplate, lacquered and caulked, as if he were a barge ready to strike. On top of that he wore a black peaked leather helmet. "Step forward."

Akazha walked forward, and Raxri followed her. She removed her hat and produced rice balls wrapped in intricate banana leaf squares, flowers, and a bundle of joss sticks.

"O, great Chief Kinza. Take your servant's offering, and grant them your hallowed audience."

Kinza laughed, and his smile was that of a grandfather's. "Oh spare me, friend witch. Lay the offerings down and state thy wish." With another nod, Chief Kinza called over a servant. A womanservant wearing nothing but a long tube skirt with complex geometric design that reached her waist stepped forward. Her tube skirt was much longer than she was; it was pleated into many folds and laid to the side, creating an interesting silhouette. The womanservant was possessed of a natural beauty, besides. Her deep brown skin made her seem as if she was born of the earth, her eyes the color of ambers. Her face was wide and round, moon-shaped. The signal of beauty in these isles.

The crier of the chief, that man in the peaked helmet and breastplate, watched the woman carefully, vigilantly. Not in a creepy way, but in a "be careful" way.

The womanservant brought with them a large box ornamented with pearls and corals. She opened it and offered their guests betel nut quids. Bowing, Raxri and Akazha took one each, and began chewing. They spat at random intervals at a nearby clay pot as they spoke.

"See? That's what I like so much about you, Chief Kinza. Straight to the point!" Akazha laughed as well. "Fare you well as of late?"

"Well enough," said Kinza, nodding. "As thou hast already seen, we're on the process of embarking."

"For what reason?"

Kinza sighed and spat out a curse. "Blasted Pirates seized one of our shipment boats as it was preparing to ride for Kisisik. We've found where they make base: a cave out at sea." Chief Kinza sighed. "However, it seems we're not to grant them the proper hand of vengeance just yet."

"The sea wind gods be the most fickle of the windly gods," said Akazha, nodding. She spat out a red globule that stained her mouth red. "I can only grant my condolences."

"It is well enough. We might dispatch an overland brigade instead."

"And yet bandits now ravage the overland routes."

"Aye." Another deep sigh. Chief Kinza was a tired man. "That is the far-and-short of it. Security does not claim us as of late. We truly are in the times of end."

"The Age of Furor, some might say," said Akazha, somewhat cheekily, reveling a bit in the dark humor.

The Chief looked less than pleased. "How about the friend witch, how fare thee?"

"Oh, I go through the same old. Here I am, beautiful still." The Chief laughed. "But I did pick up a new doe." She gestured to Raxri. "Witness, my student. Raxri Uttara."

Kinza leaned forward, placed a hand on his chin, witnessing, observing. "Raxri Uttara... ha! What a surprise. I've never thought the friend witch would have ever taken any for a student. Find thyself lucky, Raxri Uttara. A great witch guides thy steps in the mystical traditions of the elders."

Raxri bowed. Kinza gestured that Raxri may speak. In truth, Raxri did not know they needed permission to speak, but they played it off well: "I have full confidence," they said. "The witch Akazha has been well efficacious at teaching this one."

Chief Kinza laughed again. "Ha! Thou hast managed to wrangle one, eh?" He turned to Akazha. "Perhaps you'll be able to achieve wizardhood yet."

"Who knows? But for now, my duty is to guide this one." Akazha tapped her chin with her finger. "Say, great chief. Perhaps, the honorable one would have some sort of knowledge of the Vault of Souls?"

Chief Kinza narrowed his eyes, though eventually did shake his head. "Nay, other than it is a shrine to the Hell-King of sorts, within Pemi's island. And that the dead are dumped within its pit to bless the Hell-King."

Akazha nodded. "Yes, well, you see... Raxri here awoke within it. The Vault of Souls... though I knew it to be there, I thought it to be nothing but a shrine for recollection and memory. Now I know it has some other function. I seek to know it."

"Ah," Chief Kinza shrugged. "Thou wilt have a better chance at doing such a thing by going to the Grand Library in the University City of Timbangan, upon Nilatpa. If not there, then perhaps those monasteries in Daruma Town in Southern Wadzara might have answers, if not from writings then from the scholars and monks that reside there."

"Fie, this one will have to journey yet." Akazha tsked. "Ah, well. Life is life. I wish the great chief well. That will be all for now."

"Hast thou shopped the markets?" asked Chief Kinza. Akazha replied that they did. "Good. Here, recalleth I that thou seekest for cigarettes? Traded I with a grand merchant prince from the Charnel Isles. Rememberest thou? That land of dense jungles lying low and sleeping into fens and marsh and then grasslands? From the hundred kingdoms of the Pasa Hyam arise these flowers and grasses ground together by their alchemists and wizards. Try them, they grant thee true repose. The gods within are gods of sleep and succor."

Chief Kinza snapped his fingers, and a different servant walked over with an ornate box decorated with engravings of wooden petals. This one was a beautiful young man instead, skin ruddy, the color of sunset. Hair tied up into a bun, arms bound with golden bracelets and armlets.

The chest, when opened, revealed a pile of crushed lavender-colored petals, soft and dried. "The people in that settlement called these gloamblooms. These flowers dance with the gods of respite."

Akazha grinned. "Ah, the great chief always knows what their servant witch likes." She took forward and received the gift graciously, while bowing. "In truth, this servant has not been able to procure any tobacco or any other smokeable herbs for a few moons now. This is truly a great reward."

"The friend witch hath been of much help for the longest time. I can only repay for what thou hast done."

With another bow, they were off. As they stepped off of the longhouses ladder, they spat the rest of the quid onto the soil before them.

---

Akazha trotted back happily, pulling a somewhat annoyed Sungai. She had in two hands the ornate box of gloambloom.

Raxri smiled, though with a questioning eyebrow raised. "What joy has taken the teacher?"

"Ah, Raxri. I've been looking for something to smoke for quite some time now. I will teach you how to do so. Some specific herbs are conducive even to magick and enlightenment."

When it came to the talk of learning new things, excitement ticked at Raxri's heart.

As they trounced back up the path, heading back up the way they came, traveling up the road once again, a gruff yet nasally voice slashed through the din. "O, well if it isn't the mangy witch bitch!"

Akazha's joyful trounce stopped, suddenly. A scowl overcame her, a shadow struck her face.

Before them was a lanky man, hair light brown with a gruff patchy face. They wore nothing but a tunic and short sarouels, and brandished two bamboo spears. Their face had the quality of a haughty layabout, and their lanky muscleless frame no doubt added to this. Though he moved as if he were intoxicated, he had none of the slurring, and none of the smell. "Mighty brave of ye to step foot in this town again, after I've told ye that your kind ain't welcome 'ere!"

Raxri, eyebrows furrowed, stepped forward in front of her. They placed themself in between the man and Akazha. "Quarrel you with the witch?" All around them, people moved away, though watched with dreadful curiosity.

The main tilted his head to the side. "O? And who's this? A bodyguard? Even if you've an army you'll not be safe from the justice of the Scarlet God!"

"Ignore him, Raxri," said Akazha, attempting to walk past him. "Ngura is a zealot of the Scarlet God, who sees my magick as harmful and self-absorbed. Himself he sees as the karmic manifestation of my sin. A layabout in truth. He's not one to do much harm."

Ngura spat a laugh, mocking. "Nay. The witch will be skewered yet! Boys!"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Men and women stepped out from behind the shadows, houses, bushes, and tree trunks. The main identifying factor were their straw raincapes, which all of them wore. The same clan of bandits from before. "Get the witch!"

The whipping sound of arrows being launched from bows rang out, ripping through the air. Akazha scowled. "Raxri!"

I will not fail this time. Raxri nodded and took off, wind-quick.

Akazha stepped up and uttered a spell, performed the magick signs. Then she chanted: "Let all things wend and fade into tide! LI DENG!" A mystic symbol engraved itself into the air before her, which then faded and turned into a bubble of water enveloped both her and Raxri. The two arrows sank into her water bubble.

With another magic sign, she manipulated the water. It cascaded, falling, shivered, then froze into sickles of ice. "Woe chiller than coldest steel! GING GING!" Another mystic symbol this one the deep blue color of untouched ice. Akazha sent the ice sickles spinning against the charging bandits, cutting their chests and thighs. It was indiscriminate: those with longknives and those with lances and those with bows were struck all the same.

Raxri, on the other hand, was eager to prove themself.

Raxri dashed around Ngura, and approached close to the bow-bandits.

Ngura did not even move, as if afraid to do so.

The bow-bandits did not have the time to nock another arrow. Instead, they used their very bows as staffs, and exchanged blows with Raxri as they laid upon them. Fists against staves, Raxri expertly wove defenses, raising their feet and parrying away the wild swings of the longbows.

Eventually Raxri overcame one of the bow-bandits, successfully chopping their neck with Bladed Hand--though they didn't cut deep--and then using Devastating Red Hand to knock that bandit back into the other bandit with a force that sent the other one into unconsciousness.

A new arrow whizzed towards Raxri. They dodged by corkscrewing backwards, their movements guided by the hand of muscle memory.

Right then, that muscle memory carried the Once-Dead. Bandit bowmen had come out onto the roofs of nearby houses, and had begun firing arrows. Amidst the rain of missiles, Raxri dove behind bushes, fences, trees, and boulders as cover. An arrow grazed them yet by their bicep, and another on their abdomen.

Akazha on the other hand dodged the rain of missiles by inhaling, moving their hands in a spiral motion as if to let her breath flow through her body, and then leaping up onto the roofs themselves, as if carried by wind or wire.

She stepped onto the very arrows that flew overhead, landed soundlessly on the roof, and then dashed toward the closest bowman. The witch unleashed her own palm-fist-foot flurry. Kicks and punches and hand taps that incapacitated the two bowmen before they could even put away their bows and draw their own longswords.

Ngura appeared below, seeing Raxri ducking behind cover. They brandished their lances and unleahsed an onslaugh tof blows at Raxri. The cloud-haired warrior stumbled backwards, desperately avoiding thrusts from the two lances, who spat as he yelled condescension.

Ngura over-extended one lance in his wrath. Raxri, still in their battle meditation, kicked it away, closed in, slammed their shoulder straight into Ngura's gut, swept his feet and snatched the other lance away. Using that lance--instinctively, as Raxri had no knowledge of wielding the lance--they pierced down on the lance Ngura held on to even as he slammed onto the dirt road. When Ngura saw the incoming blade, he very quickly let go of the other lance, and dove to the side.

The would-be bandit floundered. Scrambling for a weapon, they found a stray longknife. He swung it widely at Raxri, cutting Raxri's stolen lance all the while. Raxri tossed away the lance and employed the Whorl Guard to parry the three, four, five next slashes of Ngura. Perfect deflections, each one.

A furious exchange ensued then, fist against longknife. Raxri was martially superior, however, swatting aside the blade of Ngura's longknife every time it got too close. Fatigue gripped Ngura eventually; Raxri took the opportunity. Employing the Bladed Hand, they sliced Ngura's sword hand, forcing them to scream and let go of the longknife.

Ngura scrambled backwards, waving his hands.

"Yield! Yield! Please!"

Raxri stopped.

Akazha flittered down again, stepping lightly on passing by flies before they stood beside Ngura. "Have you enough, Ngura?"

"Spit on your tits, witch!"

"That's not very nice." Akazha raised her hand and a second shadow hand intertwined with it, transforming that hand into a clawed and taloned demon hand. "Though It's good that you concede me to be well endowed." Akazha raised her demon hand, and Raxri would've shot out to stop the hand (it looked like it would do great damage!) but instead she slapped that demon hand upon Ngura's brow. With a mumbled spell, Ngura fell to the ground, asleep.

Akazha flicked her hand and the shadowed claw dissipated. With a sigh, she turned to the other villagers and waved her hands. "All done and dusted here, folks. Please, do tend to Ngura."

A comely and stocky woman emerged from the crowd that had formed. She was shorter than both Raxri and Akazha. The woman looked saddened and tired.

Akazha's face softened and she said: "Ah, Aunt Ayu, forgive me for having to deal with your husband in such a manner."

Aunt Ayu shrugged. "It cannot be helped. I apologize for the inconvenience. It is good you've a bodyguard now with you to deal with people like my husband. A sage is to come soon. Perhaps the sage can give him a bit more lesson in living in a community. And perhaps he will come to see that you are no demon witch!"

Akazha smiled and bowed, hands folded in front of her heart. "I can only wish for that as well." She turned to Raxri and signaled that it was time for them to leave. They did so, eventually riding upon Sungai, and making their way back to the Akazha's Hut.

Witch Hut

"It is saddening to know such bigotry exists yet," remarked Raxri as they disembarked from Sungai, and carried the provisions they had bought to the kitchen.

"Let it not be surprising. All worlds will have such divisions. That is the truth of Wandering. Only when all are Awoken can such divisions cease. No utopia exists nor shall exist."

Raxri put down the rattan bag, and Akazha walked in, removing her robe and hanging it upon one of the poles that stood up from the cottage's roof. She sat down and laid back on the living room table, and opened the ornate box housing the gloambloom.

"Come, student," called Akazha. Raxri did so, kneeling next to their master. Akazha brought out a clay jar, and scooped out some poultice with her fingers. "You are wounded." They dabbed it upon Raxri's two wounds.

"Though my memory be gone, I know deep in my bones that every instance of violence I must engage in I must be comfortable in the truth that I will be struck myself."

"Clever, my student. You do know that every violence begets violence. That every attack dealeth damage not just to the defender, but to the attacker as well."

Raxri nodded. Then, after Akazha was done setting the poultice, they walked to sit on the opposite side of the table. With their lips pursed together in thought, Raxri asked: "Is there no recourse? Must we just weather such bigoted ignorance?"

"Aye," said Akazha. "Some people you cannot change, so set they are in their ways. Some faiths lead to leaden ends, weighing down the Consciousness. That is what we get in the face of free-will. It is more virtuous to live harmoniously with each other, but many do not wish to do such a thing. O, anything but helping someone else than theirself!"

"Master, why do they wish this? Why can they not look past themselves?"

"Remember, student, that all beings are created of everything around them. If this world is inherently dangerous and uneven, then we will become as such. Even a great society must concede some shadows. Additionally, some knowledges are ignorance, remember well that, student. In the end, the cloud of delusion traps people in suffering. This is because they believe that the things they fight for, the things they believe in, are real in a way that matters. This is not so. All things are empty, arising as an effect of multiple other causes. There is no inherent essence in anything! No inherent nature in anything. Remember this, and Awakening will be near at hand for you."

"I see. In truth this be a heady postulation. Difficult to grasp."

"That is the purpose of practice, training, prayer, meditation." Akazha pulled out a short pipe, a little longer than her hand, with what looked like a dragon winding about it, the dragons' mouth eventually becoming the pipe's chamber. Using a thin spoon, she put two small scoops of the crushed gloambloom into the pipe's chamber, and then lit it with a snap of her finger, summoning a wick of flame on her fingertip. She took a long drag, then spat out the smoke, which wafted and twisted as if it were a dragon alive. The smoke itself was even a hazy purple. "Ah, sweet relaxation. I should ask Uncle Jikajika if they can cultivate these in the garden."

Raxri walked over and sat before her. Akazha produced another pipe--this one decorated with blossoming black lotuses--and gave it to Raxri. "Take it. It will help upon your path."

"What help do these grant?" asked Raxri, as they took the pipe, which already had gloambloom on the chamber.

"Gloambloom, and most other smoke substances, are medicinal in nature, you see. There are some smoked substances, such as spiritgrass, found near strangler figs, which when smoked can even magickally heal wounds, though they be rare, and can induce a terrible addiction. Only Saints and those near-Awoken can truly benefit from spiritgrass as well. As smoked spiritgrass relieves mental suffering, so does it relieve physical, if one is cognizant of the nonduality of physical and mental states.

"Some can help on the path of Awakening. Some can help relax the mind for meditation. More importantly, others, such as gnosis poppies, can help break down the clouds of delusion and the barriers that these delusions have created around the Uncreated Mind. Though only great Mystics, Hermits, Sages, and scholars that have truly studied the truth of the world can benefit from it without breaking down from the mind smashing realization of the truth of the world."

Raxri stared at the pipe. Akazha puffed out another lazy waft of smoke, which hung a bit before climbing up the balustrades and then through the bamboo slats of the second level.

"Master, would you think that I can retrieve my memories with such substances?"

Akazha shrugged. "It is possible, but it is a delicate balancing act to use such substances without abusing them."

"How does one use them without abusing them?"

Akazha smiled. "Well first... attain Divinity."

Raxri laughed. "Ah, how difficult this state must be!"

"If this stresses thee, then take a drag. Too much thinking is a symptom of too much delusion: thoughts must be like swords. Cutting, ever-sharp, and directed. That is the sword-stroke perfection of Mindfulness."

All of this was getting too heady for Raxri, so they took a puffed the pipe. Small at first, forcing them to cough. The second time was a cleaner pull. When they exhaled, the smoke was continous and long, like a dragon erupting from their chest. The smoke was also a hazy lavender, wafting lazily, a veil.

Raxri felt their head lighten, but their chest became heavy. They laid back and relaxed. After all this time, only now did they feel truly relaxed. The terrible anxiety of having no memories eased, soothed, loosened. Suddenly, it was easier to just think about that moment, and then the next moment. As Raxri thought, they realized rather quickly that every moment was now: there was no next moment nor was there a past moment. All moments were happening now.

They looked at Akazha, who was writing something down on palm leaf with a circular motions. She glanced up, and then said, returning to writing: "You've been strung up all this time. Your mind is severely chained, broken. The pipe seemed to work wonders: you look so tired."

"Yet only now did I realize."

Akazha wrote slower. "Yet your body persists. Your Will persists. That part of you that chooses not to pass, that part of you that decides there is something to do, yet. Your Mindstream refusing to take flight into the next life. It clings on not because of fear, not because of desire, not because of thirst... but because of duty, of Law, of requirement. How interesting... an obsession that does not hinder enlightenment, but might very well be the one thing that leads you to it."

"You talk to yourself, now," said Raxri. "The master be so humorous when she does that, speaking to herself. As if me and the gods are not here to witness."

Akazha smiled demurely. "Ah, you observe your master overmuch."

"Is that not my duty, as a student?"

Akazha rolled her eyes and then kept writing.

They lazed about for a few more movements. Eventually, Akazha had to get up to light the torches, and to activate the lotus-lights: pure glass lotuses housing pureflame. As she walked, she asked: "Are you hungry?"

"Somewhat." Raxri's pipe burned low, the smoke almost dissipating now. They took lighter and shorter drags to prolong it. Only a matter of seconds and Raxri was already a well-versed smoker.

"There's some dried fish, tomatoes, soy sauce, and taro I've readied."

Raxri grinned widely. "I would greatly appreciate this, master."

"Do not get used to it, however." With a chuckle, Akazha walked to the kitchen annex. They returned with two porcelain plates with sun-dried fish, tomato slices, taro, and a platelet of soy sauce. She placed it first in front of Raxri, and then in front of herself.

Raxri folded their hands and bowed in thanks, and Akazha waved her hands. Raxri offered the pipe back, now that the crushed gloamblooms were almost nothing but little pieces of almost-ash. Akazha took it back and placed it inside a cloth, wrapped it, tied it with a hemp string, and then gave it to Raxri. "It's your responsibility now. Clean it, and take care of it."

"Thank you, master."

"Now eat."

And so they ate. The salty taste was nigh perfect. Combined with the starchiness of the taro, which balanced out the extreme saltiness of sun-dried fish with soy sauce, it made for a filling meal.

When they finished, Raxri asked: "Master, I would like to ask."

"Ask away."

"That technique you performed back in Tannum Village, the one where you leapt into the air as if you were carried by wind and wire... pray, inform me what art allows such things?"

Akazha smiled. She reached over and patted Raxri's head. "Ever the observant student," she said. "It is good that you noticed. We will be learning that tomorrow. The Light Body Technique. And with it, a brief introduction to the very thing that penetrates all of us together..."

Raxri tilted their head, questioning.

"Will."