Outside Ash Manor, an old man in a crimson robe approached the iron gates with a contingency of guards. His limp was balanced with a cane, which he used to firmly tap the front gate. The manor guards opened the gate, looking the old man over. With his eyelids covered in a web of crow’s feet, wispy white hair growing out of his ears, and his left eye gazing upward at the sky, the man was instantly recognizable. This was Zaman Urash; the Head of the Urash spice trade and once the most influential man in Ash. For as long as most could remember, an Urash was the authority in the goings-on of the city, to the point that many wrongly suspected that the city’s namesake was derived from his family name. Even though he was far from the authoritative figure he once was, Zaman Urash still carried considerable respect among Ashfolk.
Urash briskly walked through the courtyard without a word, dragging his left foot behind him. His six companions, cloaked in crimson masks and brandishing curved daggers, eyed the markedly different manor guards with distrust as they passed by. Unlike the rest of the Heads, the Urash family favored a long loyal mercenary band for protection instead of the Guard Corps. These mercenaries came from the desert, and as such saw most in Ash with contempt.
Urash and his guards entered the manor hall, passing the adorned statues and ornate paintings of greenery. Urash scoffed at the excess; not that he had a problem with the lavishness per se, he just hated to be reminded of how much the Manor had changed. He ached to see his family portraits framed on the walls, to see the founders of Ash in their rightful places. Mendalla, along with the rest of the Okkan faithful, never had respect for the traditions.
As Urash continued, he turned to enter a large hall framed around a massive oval table. Dozens of men of various professions had taken their place on the sides of the room, conversing amongst each other. A few noticed Urash and greeted him kindly, but most continued chattering away. He was used to this after spending years under Mendalla’s rule, but the indifference still stung ever so slightly. He grimaced as he moved towards his seat near the close end of the table, his guards flanking to the walls as he did so.
Urash took his place between Kyösti and Kirashi: two of the three other followers of Ati at the table, and Heads long loyal to the Urash family. Kyösti, a heavyset man with a thick beard covering several beaded necklaces, nodded as Urash took his seat. “Gizzal says Boah may not show,” Kyösti grumbled in a deep bass voice.
“Gizzal couldn’t find Boah if he shat on his feet,” said Urash. “It doesn’t matter as long as Mendalla shows.”
Kirashi, a gray-haired, proper woman in a similarly gray robe leaned towards Urash. “She should be here any moment. Supposedly she lost her healer and had to recover him.”
“Sounds about right, the foolish bitch. She’s wasting all of our time.”
Urash felt comfortable between these two. Kyösti oversaw the stables and held a monopoly over the yaks and camels in the city, though he had made most of his fortune through his beaded necklaces. Kirashi owned nearly all the inns and taverns in the city, collecting a heavy tax for their upkeep. The three of them were some of the richest in the city, and Urash trusted them more than anyone else, which assured that they always had considerable bargaining power even at their minority status. They typically held sway over Gizzal as well, though none of Heads found him particularly trustworthy.
A wrinkled hand grasped Urash’s shoulder, startling him. He turned to see a matt of curly red hair and a scolding face powdered white and marked with garish red eyeshadow. “What have I said about watching your tone during a holy meeting, Urash?”
Urash clutched his chest as he gathered himself, just as the perfume overwhelmed his senses. “Shimsusa.”
Shimsusa flashed a toothy grin, showing just the slightest bit of contempt. “Fear not, Urash! I only tease. Okkan cares not for what you say, provided all goes well tomorrow. Speaking of which, I figured I’d ask now only so I don’t have to ask in the meeting: have you given any thought of adding to the extra shipment of brown ash for tomorrow?”
“I’ll need to speak to my bookkeepers, I only have so much left. I need to save some for myself, otherwise I won’t make a profit this year.”
Shimsusa threw her head back in laughter. “You humor me, old man! The desires of Okkan are above any price! We can discuss this after the meeting.” Shimsusa moved to take her seat at the far end of the table.
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Urash snorted. “I hate that zealous coot.”
“She’s going to spend hours reviewing the precise nature of her speech tomorrow,” said Kirashi, “We’re going to discuss every ‘thou’ and ‘lo’ and ‘is.’”
“Her god brings in more coin than we will see for the rest of the year,” said Kyösti. “I’ll let her talk for a week if it lets me live comfortably.”
Kirashi eyed Kyösti’s rotund midsection and chuckled. “Perhaps you could do to live a little less comfortably?” Kyösti grunted dismissively.
Urash eyed the rest of the room. At the other end of the table were the mustached Harran and the young Nami. Next to Nami sat her crippled grandfather, Namshi, a skeletal-looking man wrapped in yak skin blankets and staring into the distance with gray eyes. Shimsusa took her seat next to Nami, inquiring about whether she had done the appropriate amount of prayers for the day.
Next to Kyösti sat Digram Gizzal, the only other devotee of Ati at the table. A short-statured bald man wearing all manners of jewelry, Gizzal sat in silence. He stuck his chin into his chest, his jowls quivering as he twiddled his thumbs. Although Urash could typically rely on him when the time came to vote, he couldn’t bring himself to have too much faith in the man. No one knew for sure, but Urash suspected that Gizzal was on the brink of losing his wealth. Many generations ago the Gizzal family had become rich through the discovery of a plentiful gemstone mine, but they failed to translate that wealth into perpetuating influence. In Ash, the word “Gizzal” was synonymous with “miser”, as he hoarded much of his family’s remaining wealth. Urash thought that if anyone were to save the Gizzal family legacy, little Digram was not the man to do it.
A thunderous knock forced the doors open. Mendalla pushed through and rounded the massive table. The men hugging the walls fell silent. The clattering of Mendalla’s shoes echoed in the once lively room as she strolled to her seat. She was followed closely by a young man in a black robe. Urash assumed this was the healer he had been hearing about; he was too clean to have lived in Ash for long. His demeanor screamed "cityfolk." All the eyes in the room gravitated around the healer as he entered.
As Mendalla took her seat, she took a quick glance around the room. She sighed. “Does anyone know of Boah’s whereabouts?” A few shook their heads. "Very well then. Shimsusa, may you lead us in prayer?”
Shimsusa almost leaped out of her seat, stretching out her hands and spitting out Okkan's prayer, as had become customary. All of the Heads stood and bowed slightly, though Urash and the other devotees of Ati said nothing. In his mind, Urash gave his brusque tribute to Ati.
“From the beginning, through time. From the sand, through hardship. From love, through devotion. Blessed be Ati.”
With prayers completed, the Heads returned to their seats. Mendalla took command of the proceedings. “I know there’s much to discuss, most of it involving tomorrow’s holiday. With that being said, we need to prioritize a subject that has been on all of our minds.” Mendalla waved over the healer, who had been standing awkwardly behind her chair. “This is Appo. He was the healer we had called upon to visit Ash more than a fortnight ago. I know most of you haven’t had a chance to meet him yet, but for the last few moons, he has been busy studying what has been afflicting this town. I propose that we allow him to present what he has discovered first, so we can send him on his way.”
Urash chuckled from across the table. “Why are we still wasting time with the healer, Mendalla? Hasn’t Shimsusa taken care of this issue for us? Let us move on to more... financially pressing matters, shall we?”
Mendalla glared at Urash. She was used to dealing with his verbal taunting, because it rarely led to action outside of scolding. “I’m afraid this is the most pressing matter we have right now, Urash. Were you lost in the dunes? Do you know of the bodies left in the street?”
“My condolences to your sworn daughter, Mendalla," Urash replied, not even trying to hide the monotony of his tone. "Still, those bodies came from Boah’s man, including himself. Besides, why are we talking about this now? From what I recall you strongly opposed the healer’s arrival before Boah convinced you otherwise.”
“That was before I knew the full extent of this affliction. As of right now, as many as twenty souls are being held in solitary due to this disease, and just as many have departed from this plane. Unfortunately, inaction is simply not an option at this rate, especially with tomorrow to keep in mind.”
Urash leaned back in his chair. “I’m not wasting my time with this trite. Let’s put it to a vote. You’re missing your man, so it’ll be a tie and we’ll move on to discussing the terms of the holiday as planned. I’m not going to waste my breath with debate.”
Kyösti put up his hand. “All in favor of pushing the healer’s inquiry to the end of the gathering, say ‘Aye.’ Aye.”
“Aye,” said Urash.
“Aye,” said Kirashi.
Silence. The three turned their heads to Gizzal, who held his interlocked hands by his chest. Mendalla quickly took advantage of the situation. “All opposed? Aye,” she said.
“Aye,” said Harran.
“I speak on behalf of Namshi, Aye,” said Nami.
“Aye, but let’s move quickly to Okkan, praise be to him,” said Shimsusa.
Gizzal remained silent. Urash frowned. “You spineless, destitute bastard,” he whispered loud enough to be heard by the entire room.
“Votes are 4 to 3, one absent and one abstaining,” declared Mendalla. She smiled at Urash. Urash leaned back into his chair and folded his arms. “Appo, the floor is yours.”