Ji held her arms out straight as Cai wrapped a thin, marked rope around her waist and then along her leg. She stood still as he did his work on the mostly empty ship. The rest of the crew had left for shore leave, only Bill and the injured Batro remaining aboard. Saiyun, Tsen, and Aven waited down on the dock for them to finish. "Are you done?" she asked.
“That’s all I need,” Cai said, standing with a grunt. “Should be able to get something close enough to correct. You just want something just like what you have now?”
“Yes,” Ji said, letting her arms fall. “This is easy to move and fight in.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Cai said, stowing the rope away in his bag. “We might have to improvise about your tail.”
"Can we get underway before the moon rises?” shouted Tsen from the dock. “I need my quality materials, not what's leftover at the end of the day!"
“You’re at least as old as I am!” replied Cai, making his way down the gangplank. “Age should have given you some patience.”
“Not for trivialities,” Tsen scoffed.
Cai huffed. “See you tonight. If you’re putting money on a fight, always favor the one with the most range. Always the best odds.”
“Wait,” said Saiyun, ignoring Tsen’s hiss of frustration. “Is it safe for Ji to be going to such a place alone? Perhaps we should go along.”
Aven chuckled. “What are you going to do if someone attacks us? Throw your sweaty robe at them?”
Saiyun went red. “I am only concerned for—”
“Hey!” Cai interrupted, stepping between the two. “We don’t have time for this. Ji and Aven will be fine on their own. Let’s go.”
“What was that about?” asked Ji, watching her crewmates make their way off the dock into the city.
“Who cares? Are you ready to start?” asked Aven.
A jolt of energy shot up Ji’s spine and she bowed low. “Yes!”
“Good. What do you see?” Aven asked.
Ji straightened up and looked ahead. “I see…ships at anchor at a dock? There are many men moving cargo off and onto the ships.”
“Wrong,” Aven said, pointing in the other direction. “You didn’t look behind you.”
Ji spun around, frowning as she scanned the other side of the dock. “It’s the same.”
“But,” said Aven, adjusting his belt. "You didn't know that until you looked. For all you know there could have been someone with an ax coming up behind you."
“I would have heard such a thing,” Ji replied.
“Would you? Listen,” said Aven.
Ji closed her eyes and let the sounds of the dock wash over her. The longshoremen cried out orders and commands while they rolled barrels down the dock. Seagulls wheeled and screamed overhead while the ships creaked and groaned. She opened her eyes and frowned at Aven. “I would not have heard.”
"No. When you're in the middle of battle and all you can hear are gunshots and screams, your ears don't do you much good. You can't just focus on one threat. You have to see everything," Aven said, gesturing at the docks ahead of them. “You have to see everyone that could be a threat, where you need to go, what could get in your way, other routes to take if something goes wrong. Look again.”
Ji scanned the docks carefully, tensed and standing up on her toes. “There are many strong men that could be dangerous all around us. We need to get up those ramps and into the city. If the ramp ahead is blocked, we can use them one behind us,” she said, looking to Aven.
“Better, but you need to look closer,” he said, pointing at a pile of crates. “That’s big enough for someone to hide behind. We would need to give it a wide berth while we’re going to the ramp. Anything big enough for a person to crouch behind needs to be checked and re-checked until you’re sure no one is there. Have you noticed what’s wrong yet?”
Ji looked up and down the dock again, straining to see anything threatening and coming up empty. “I do not.”
“Watch their faces,” Aven whispered. "Watch them closely."
This much was at least familiar to Ji. The way an opponent held their eyes could tell you where their next strike would land. She saw the longshoremen glance at them, some even pointed their fingers and made jokes to their friends. “Is the problem…that they see us?”
“That’s right,” Aven said, cracking his knuckles. “When you get thrown into a battle with more than one person, you want to be unseen, unnoticed until you slide in the knife. The more visible you are, the more of a target you are. Jumping up on a table and shouting a challenge is a good way to get stabbed in the back.”
Ji’s cheeks went hot. “I understand. How do we make ourselves unseen?” she asked, clearing her throat. It would be challenging. Everyone on the dock looked like Yazwa and Cai, dark-skinned with hair up in dreadlocks or cut close to the head.
“We can’t be,” Aven shrugged, walking forward. “Even if you didn’t have a tail, you’re much too pale to slip by unnoticed. All that means is that we have to be extra alert.”
Ji nodded and followed close behind him, taking in every piece of advice as they passed through the black stone wall that ringed the city. The streets were packed and the height of the crowd blocked her view. She kept looking around, spinning backward now and then to see if anyone was following. Alleyways were given a wide berth and when someone watched them for a little too long, they crossed to the other side of the street. "May I ask something?" Ji said after Aven fell silent.
“Yes,” said Aven, eyes sweeping over the street.
“Is this really going to help me be a better fighter?” Ji asked.
“It will help you survive long enough to become one. It’s always the threat you don’t see that kills you,” Aven said, stopping in front of a squat stone building with a bright white door and knocking four times.
Ji was silent, checking behind herself again. “Did Bill teach you this?”
“My mother did,” Aven said as the white door swung open, revealing a hulking man standing on the other side next to a small table with a metal bucket on it. “Two spectators to enter.”
The huge man reached out and grabbed the silver coin from Aven’s hand and tapped it against the edge of the bucket. Then he tossed the coin in and gave Aven a handful of copper coins. Then he grabbed a pair of red and white striped strips of cloth. "Good until nightfall," he said.
“Thank you,” Aven said, tying it around his wrist. The man stepped aside and revealed a staircase descending into the ground. "Let's go."
The smell of sweat hit Ji first as they made their way down the stairs. The vast room was centered around a ring filled with sand. Benches circled the ring, slowly rising the further back they went. The ceiling had large holes that let light stream into the room. The benches were half-full but the crowd was bellowing at two armored men circling each other with swords out. "What are they saying?" Ji asked, eyes riveted on the spectacle.
“No idea,” Aven said, guiding her to an empty bench halfway down to the ring. “It doesn’t matter. Watch and learn.”
Ji sat next to Aven, the tip of her tail twitching in excitement as the battle began.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
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The pit in Yazwa’s stomach grew with each step she took through the crowded city streets. Less than a year ago, visiting a temple was a joyful occasion, but now it only filled her with dread. She almost hoped to get lost, but ‘temple’ translated very easily and helpful locals always pointed her in the right direction.
When Yazwa finally reached her destination, she marveled at how it was so similar, yet so different. All of Illitzo’s temples shared the same layout. They were built on top of a flat stone platform ringed with nine steps. On the left and right were short step-pyramids flanked by smaller buildings held up by columns painted right end. A wide-open plaza lay between the two pyramids and at the far end was another massive step-pyramid rising into the sky. At the side opposite the large pyramid was empty space where people gathered in lines to climb up the stairs.
The lines in front of the staircase were long and Yazwa stood in the hot sun, leaning on her staff. Before the stairs were several tables, both limiting the amount of people who could enter and selling things. Looking around, she saw that most of the people around her weren’t local. They wore the light, flowing white robes of the Bazad, roaming clans that lived in the desert. They made their living on horse and camelback, escorting people and goods from one end of the desert to the other. Most had their heads and faces covered; they spoke to each other quietly in a language Yazwa could not understand. Time dragged on and the lines kept moving and soon Yazwa was only a few steps away from the tables.
An angry shout caught her attention as an attendant from another table stood up. A group of Bazad yelled what Yazwa assumed were insults at the attendant as he walked away. A local man behind Yazwa shouted something back at them and Yazwa stiffened as their eyes swung over to him. Three Bazad broke out of line and stalked up to the man, shouting in his face. The man shouted back, which brought more over to the altercation.
“Hey,” Yazwa said, trying to step between them. “Stop, stop!”
The men either didn’t understand her or didn’t care, shoving her away.
“Stop!” she shouted, raising her staff and giving one of the Bazad a sharp poke to the chest. More than a dozen had gathered, all with ugly gleams in their eyes.
The local man shoved the one closest to him, sending him stumbling back into his friends.
Yazwa looked around as the other people in line shuffled backwards, giving the brewing fight plenty of space. She heard what she hoped were calls for guards in the distance, but they were too far away. “Stop it,” she hissed to the local man, trying to grab his shoulder and pull him away. He ignored her and took a step forward, raising his fist and spitting out a few harsh words. Whatever he said enraged the Bazad. The one he shoved pulled a dagger out of his robes and lunged forward, followed by his companions. The local man staggered backward and tripped, sprawling on his back onto the bare stone.
Yazwa jumped between the man and the Bazad and activated her Sight. The charging men in front of her were reduced to jagged red outlines that screeched to a halt when they saw her glowing golden eyes. Yazwa held her ground and pointed her staff at them until they turned and walked away. When she was sure they were gone she reached out her hand to the man on the ground, himself a hazy red yellow outline. “Are you hurt?”
The man grasped her hand and pulled himself up. “Agal ner, Achali”
Yazwa sucked in a sharp breath when she realized the magnitude of her mistake. She blinked away her sight and saw the reverence in the man’s eyes. All around her the crowd was whispering, probably wondering how she had chased off a dozen men all on her own. If people started asking questions, she wouldn’t have good answers for them.
She stammered something to the man and left him, walking up to the desk now that the line was gone. She bought an ilat with one of her silver coins and draped the long piece of black and white cloth over her shoulders and tied a pilgrim’s knot over her heart. Pushing away memories of her grandmother giving her her first ilat on her sixth birthday, Yazwa hurried forward and climbed the stairs in a haze, using her staff to support herself.
The plaza was covered in tents of many colors and sizes. Priests stood in front of each one, shouting and beckoning pilgrims inside. Some of the tents had crowds of people jostling to get in, but she pushed past them until she found the right tent. It was practically empty, save for the priest at the door. “Aeg siffen?” he asked, holding out a simple clay bowl.
Yazwa didn't understand him but knelt at his feet. "I seek the tanzel of the Chuxa of the Hunt,” she said, pulling some of her dreadlocks away from her forehead.
The priest grasped her meaning and started chanting. He dipped his finger into the bowl and pulled it out dripping with gray sludge. He reached out and drew a circle on her forehead, going silent when it was complete. “Bereg,” he said, sweeping his arm into the tent.
“Thank you,” said Yazwa, rising to her feet and going in. The tent was cool and the floor was covered with a mat made from coarse leaves. Threadbare cushions and blankets were arranged in neat rows that were completely empty. On the far side of the tent hung a long tapestry of a group of men hunting many beasts. In front of the hunters was a man leading the way with a symbol floating above his head. Yazwa took a deep breath and pulled a cushion in front of the tapestry, dropping to her knees once again.
“Chuxa of the Hunt, you who strike out into the wild to bring back bounty, I beg your aid,” she said in her own language, looking up at the man in the tapestry. She couldn’t be sure which Chuxa of the Hunt he was, but the symbol over his head meant he was one of them. “When I left my home, I prayed to you and received your tanzel. I asked that my hunt for a way to break my curse be successful and that you bless me with the resolve to see it through. I have traveled farther than I ever thought I would, but my hunt is not over. That which I seek is far away and surrounded by danger."
“Speak Gray?” came a voice behind her. A tall man with a shaved head stood behind her, wearing richly decorated black and red robes. He had an ilat draped over his shoulders, tied with a knot under his right armpit.
“Yes,” Yazwa blurted out, clearing her throat. She didn’t recognize the robe, but the way his ilat was tied meant he was one of the senior priests of the temple. “What may I call you?”
"Call me Ca Rago," he said, crossing the room and kneeling beside her. "You're not one of our usual pilgrims."
“No.” Yazwa coughed. “Is it always this busy here?”
Ca Rago chuckled. “Not at all. Most of our pilgrims come up from the south on the merchant caravans. Three came up at the same time. They all want their blessings before they go and spend their pay. What are you called?”
“Yazwa,” she replied. “I come from the east. Ibscaal.”
“Well then,” Ca Rago said, tilting his head. “Achali Yazwa, I must thank you for keeping the peace at my temple.”
Yazwa froze and her mouth went dry. “What?” she asked.
Ca Rago chuckled. “It is not selfish to take pride in your deeds. I heard how you protected one of our pilgrims. He wants me to pass on his thanks and the thanks of his family.”
“Good,” was the only thing Yazwa could think to say. She turned her gaze back to the tapestry, mind racing. Word had already traveled to one of the senior priests, which meant most of the temple had heard the story too. She had to leave, but her legs wouldn’t move.
“I wish we had received word of your arrival; we could have prepared a much finer welcome than this,” said Ca Rago. “Having a guest from so far away is always a delight. What brings you to our temple?”
Yazwa said nothing, sweat beading on her forehead. She cleared her throat again and again before she found some words. “I’m traveling to the west.”
“Your master must place great stock in your skills to send a young lady out into the world alone,” he said. “We will do whatever we can to help you.”
“Thank you,” Yazwa coughed, fidgeting on the cushion. “But I am on a uh…a secret mission. To the west.”
There was a long pause and Yazwa could not bring herself to look at Ca Rago. “I see,” he said, voice thick with suspicion. “Tell me, what school of Achal do you belong to? Who was your teacher?”
It should have been an easy lie. When she was a child Yazwa had known exactly which school she was going to join and which master she wanted to study under. He was still alive and teaching, it would be an easy lie. But she only stammered, unable to meet his eyes.
“Yazwa, look at me,” he said. His smile was gone, replaced by a suspicious glare. “Be honest. Are you a false Achali?”
Yazwa’s spirit withered away under his glare, the only response she could give was a nod.
Ca Rago took in a deep breath and sighed. “I should have you thrown into prison. A false Achali is every bit as bad as one who has broken the blood taboo. But…I only know what you are because you stepped in to save someone when you did not have to. You might not be a lost cause. Tell me how you came to be here.”
The story tumbled out of Yazwa before she could stop it. Failing the Tellatl Rites, the years spent in her family forge learning her trade. The burning house and the curse. Seeking out every Achali she could find to break her curse only for each to fail. Deciding to seek out a Master of Purification Magic for a cure. Shoving her screaming father aside on her way to Chanan Harbor. “And that’s how I left home,” she said, voice hoarse as she fought the tightness in her chest.
“We forbid those arts for a reason,” Ca Rago said, dark brown eyes boring into her. “They make a mockery of Achal, which Illitzo herself created.”
“I’m not learning it, I just need to find someone who can use it,” replied Yazwa, staring at the ground.
“There’s more to your story,” Ca Rago said. “What else have you done?”
Yazwa cringed. "I lied to my host about a criminal in his home. Then I stole from him while his home burned. I traded my family's secret quenching oil recipe for information about who could break my curse and then signed on with a pirate crew to go find that person. Now I'm here," she said, rubbing away a tear.
Ca Rago let the silence drag on for a moment. “You know what you have to do.”
“It’s all for my family!” Yazwa blurted. “If I go home now, I won’t be able to go near a forge. I’ll be useless!”
“This is all for you,” Ca Rago snapped. “You know that, or else you wouldn’t be here. You know you must go home.”