Sorry it took me so long. :/ I've been a lazy writer lately, but I finally cracked down and cranked it out. Hope you either love it or hate it! Oh yeah: be honest, OK? Tell me what's wrong with it.
Epoch 3
I dreamt of ebony and sinew.
“Sit here. On my lap, son.” his face hidden, gone from my memory.
I can’t speak because I’m too young- but I use the silence that follows to watch. His hands work the glazed and heavy, dark wood with precision and skill, the sinew between his fingers digging deep into the deformed face of the wood. It shrunk and shrunk, until it could fit in my fist. He gave it to me.
“Rub it over your shoulders first, like this. Good luck, you know? And it wards the anger away.”[i]
“Father.”
The desert sand concealed him… [i]as well as the ebony charm, my ward against anger. And then, through mists of space and time, I was back in the real world, where I don’t really have a father.
***
My cot was bunched up underneath me, and my eyes were heavy from the long walk of the day before. Then I realized I’d actually slept during the evening. My eyes perked up to the night sky. I shouldn’t have slept.
So, by the trickery of travel fatigue, it was nighttime and I was awake as ever. The camp buzzed with routine activity as it prepared for the moonlit wilderness watch. Unsure of what to do next, I free-roamed.
For every turn past a tent, there were a few dozen more Thithers to greet my eyes, still wearing their armor. Their armor is synonymous with them. At least fifteen of them accommodated each fire.
And, each of the fires was situated in the dead center of a large, circular area. I passed through several of these circles until I found one more quiet and inviting than the others.
There were open gaps around this fire, with a lamb revolving on a spit. Twine dangled from a nearby wooden post. On the ends of the twine were tinier, less desirable pieces of the animal. The ground was charred and compressed from windblown ashes and Thithers’ heavy footfalls. This chaotic estate much contradicted my inner calm and apathy.
I looked around and took off my helmet, just like the others. A few turned to me; the fire shadowed their faces. Only the distant sound of dice rolling over an upturned, bonze shield could be heard over the embers’ crackle. So, I sat.
Across the fire, a much larger, straight-sitting soldier turned a weary eye on me, “The firewood is loud, comrade. For that, I am sorry.”
He turned his attention back to the small bone he was whittling, and I knelt by the flames. Small chips of red and black bark spurted into the air every now and then. For firewood, it was loud. Just the sounds I needed to hear.
Another soldier, who sat on his breastplate, told me they could only find dead logs in the camp’s woodpile. I nodded detachedly; I was only here for the warmth and the food.
I’m starving. How do I ask for a meal around here?
“What regiment are you from?” the same soldier asked me.
I tiredly milled over the question, thinking for undue time. Small lettering on his right shoulder cap read Lensetimus.
So, I faked a cough into my right elbow, and stole a glance at my own right shoulder cap. It read Desterius
“I am from, uh, Desterius. Regiment Desterius.” I replied unsurely.
A noisy grumble in my stomach saved me from further questioning. In seemly response to my emptiness, the lamb gave off a pleasant and irresistible aroma.
“This man’s hungry.” Announced the soldier alongside me, “Aaji! Where is the man? Feed him!”
A figure about my size emerged from nearby. Being tall, he had to duck under the tent’s darkness to get a better look at me, which revealed his stark green eyes, like a fabled witch’s poison.
He was wiry and thick-jawed. His whole head was bald except for a thin goatee. He had the posture of a warrior, unlike mine.
Aaji spoke, “The lamb’s not done yet.”
So I starve then? “What do I eat, sir?” I asked politely.
“Come in. I will show you.”
As fate would have it, I’d see a lot more than food. Aaji was not normal.
***
His tent was nothing like the one from which I stole the armor. The other one was cluttered and dirty, while this one was clean.
Aaji was boldfaced and quiet, which made me wonder if he was a regiment leader. He had such a presence and gait about him; those green eyes told an interesting story that I wished I knew.
“What’s your name?” Aaji said.
“Miska, after Miskouani, the god of anger.”
His face showed amusement, for which I couldn’t blame him. Not everyone is named after a god.
“I am Aaji.” With a wizardly wave of the hand, “The Second.”
Not everyone has his name numbered. A foul scent drifted out of a large pot in the corner. Aaji tested its contents with a wooden spoon, and then placed the spoon in a small bucket of water with other dishes.
I could only cringe at the smell. It was like wet cattle.
“Tell me, Miska, where are you from?”
“Selsin.” I lied as I walked around the tent, inspecting, “And you hail from?”
“Ithni-ashar.” Aaji coughed, “So it must have been your father who was a citizen of Selsin, not yourself.”
I dared not ask why, for fear of losing my fake identity. Aaji seemed to have all the answers.
“Because,” he muttered, “if you are Selsian, then you are either one hundred years old… or a liar.”
I suppose Hijmid’s history lessons were a little rusty. And I’m not one hundred years old.
“I-“
“- You know, Miska, you don’t look Selsian. I’ve known Selsians to have black hair and a bit more- well- royal features, if you know what I mean. Which is all opposed to your kind of appearance- that frayed, blonde hair, short nose, and squinty eyes. You seem more of, eh-”
“- A prisoner…” I interjected, “… who was forced into military service.” I lied again, “I was captured in battle. My former city-state was overrun by those-“ I searched for a descriptor, “- blasted Selsians. So here I am now, in a Selsian regiment for the Thitherian army.” I do hope “Desterius”- as it’s called- is a Selsian regiment!
Bubbling, the stew gave off a visibly black steam, which promptly ended our exchange. Aaji served me a liberal amount of broth in a large bowl, which took both my hands to carry. Yet, for all that, I wasn’t afforded a spoon.
“Eat.” He offered, “Or rather, drink.”
I slurped the broth, thankful that the taste of stewed animal fat was better than its scent. Hopefully, Aaji will be less elusive than I.
So I turned the racial conversation around, “You, Aaji, certainly are Ithnian, which I’ve discerned from your bright green eyes.” Steam came from my mouth, “Tell me about Ithni-ashar.”
Hungrily, I turned back to the steaming broth. I hadn’t eaten in several hours.
“Well,” Aaji reeled from the generality of my curiosity, “what do you know about Ithni-ashar? If I don’t know what you know, then I have no place to start.”
Questions. Questions. Questions.
I recalled a few of Hijmid’s lectures, and prayed they wouldn’t be as outdated as his ones on Selsin, “I know that Ithni-ashar… is a city-state.”
Aaji humored my plainness, “Obviously!”
“In its West,” I continued, “it has several towns in the fashion of a semi-circle.” I took a deep breath, “And the actual city- Ithna, I believe? - Is known for its walls, which are made from the tough, red stones of Mount Janib.”
Aaji was impressed. “So what is Janib, hmm? It holds a lot of significance.”
“Well, it’s not only said to be a rocky-faced, barren mountain, but also the very seat of black magic.”
“Ah yes, my people are defenders of Mount Janib. It is the source of- well- limitless power.” Aaji now had a haughty air, “Our central tower” he continued, “has a bridge over one mile long, which reaches to the peak of Janib. The peak of the mountain can’t be reached otherwise.” He took a deep and reverent breath, “At that place, we keep a small settlement of His Majesty’s enchanters.”
Aaji stared off into an invisible distance. I fancied that his vision was now clouded now with women in robes of grey and blue, handling devilish devices that could blacken crops, and stop a thousand men’s hearts from a league away, and summon life from stone.
“So,” Aaji returned to the here and now, “what people group occupies Ithni-ashar today?”
This whole test of knowledge was beginning to vex me. I stared into Aaji’s eyes, and imagined him in the great city of Ithna. But doing what? He was no ordinary Thitherian, for sure.
“The Ithnians are… Thitherian.” I guessed.
“Actually, they are not. My people’s city-state is far north of the region of Thitheria- past even the Fields of White- which makes them Jiserian.”
“Then how are you here?” I asked, almost yelled. He’s not Thitherian!
“How are you here?” Aaji returned, “You’re not even remotely Thitherian, much less Selsian. I can see right through you!”
My meal-maker had become the greatest threat to my charade. I wasn’t sure where this was going.
The smelly soup was half gone, and I was already full. My only inclination was the tent’s frontward flap.
“May I leave?” I asked.
Aaji stared me down, quietly, but not peacefully. His breathing was heavy; I was no ordinary visitor to Aaji’s tent, and he knew it.
I repeated the question, “May I leave, Aaji?”
“Of course.” he grinned slyly, “You needn’t ask.”
Says the man of many questions.
Oh well... I guess everyone does that. But what I love most about you is that you give good ending impressions for the chapters (epochs, whatever), which allows me to launch into certain story-lines that are in my head, knowing a little bit of where I'm going. For example, you say that you're curious about Aaji, which means his character warrants enough attention to set up the next segment in the story. This is good for the story, so thanks there!
So thanks!