A Fundamental Betrayal

 

 

 

Finn Sinclair

©2023

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Chapter 1

“This is not good,” Zuri said as he scanned the newly posted list. Results of the final exams had been posted yesterday with Zuri situated firmly in the middle of the pack on that list. Interviews for assistant slots and small solo slots had been conducted last week and this new list was who got what posting. Incomprehensively, he was not on the list.

His normally placid blue and green waves were agitating across his chest, as points of other colors peaked through. “What does this mean?” he complained aloud.

He had arrived at the College Seminary four years ago, much to the surprise of everyone including himself. He was a prodigy from the slums of the port city of Reichen, a place notable for not much of anything except burly longshoremen, bars, and brothels.

In the normal course of events, Zuri would have started in one of the trades once he finished his school’s eighth level. However, he won the mayor’s prize in his thirteenth year, which was a school scholarship through the twelfth level. When his upper school principal called him to the office and showed him the letter awarding a new scholarship to attend the College Seminary in the Capital city of Lewa Ilu, both were speechless. No one in memory had received such an honor.

Letter in hand, he arrived at the entrance hall of the college, awed by the great pillars and granite walls of the institution. The Provost was less than impressed, however. Zuri thought the man was odd until he arrived at the dormitory for first year students. His new classmates did not know what to make of the poor young man from the negligible port city of Reichen. They were fine lads from good families of the better locations across the Kingdom. Some were second, and third and even fourth generation candidates at the College Seminary, bringing the distinction of legacy with them. The rest came with money or power or both. The institution was prestigious, and the expectation was its students would reflect that prestige.

“God is great,” declared the Deans, the Chancellor, and the Provost.

“God is great,” the students answered.

He struggled that first year, not understanding why he could join some study groups but not others. He chalked it up to personality, but a niggling doubt kept percolating. Nothing negative was said to him outright, but he was conscious of the benign neglect when other students received a Dean’s guidance or invitations to dine with professors at their homes. Those opportunities passed by him without a mention. “I’m missing something,” he would remark to acquaintances he met in other districts of the city, “but I don’t know what.”

After muscling through the dullness of his freshman classes, Zuri was struck again by the lack of depth in his sophomore classes. Only the class in arcane sacred movement excited him, which set him further apart from his classmates who laughed off the entire exercise. Ordained Guras hardly used the movements once they took up service in a temple, only once a year on the solstice.

During his sophomore year, Zuri became keenly aware he was the only scholarship student. He did not have much spending money, scrounging for pennies to purchase small joys. When paid positions within the college popped up, they were awarded often before Zuri knew they were available. He scrambled for little jobs in the less reputable districts of the city. His social life was limited and far away from campus in any case, where everything cost less. His classmates were somewhat tolerant but not especially sympathetic to his circumstances.

He witnessed the comings and goings of prestigious Guras during his junior year, when his classes and appointments often took place in the administrative building. Their fine black robes with their temple insignias embroidered on them stood out from the drab robes of the students and the grey ones of his teachers.

The Senior Guras of the biggest temples around the Kingdom would arrive for private meetings in the great boardroom on the top floor. During these visits, Senior seminarians would act as pages and servants, delivering items to the meetings and running with messages from the conference room. Their interactions made him curious to learn what they were doing, and he looked forward to the next year and its answers.

In his Senior year, the first secret of the Gura appeared – the Rite of Transformation. Zuri stood at the back of the line to drink the elixir days before the start of classes. Incantations were recited and staffs were twirled in the arcane choreography for no apparent reason to start the rite.

The bitter concoction gave him a day’s fever and sweat, but no other side effects. Some of his classmates were bedridden for days, and most of the others experienced more symptoms than he did. Their irritation with him became more palpable.

Exactly what the potion was meant to do was never clearly explained, even when the abilities began to appear. Zuri began to see colors surrounding people. His teachers called it “The Aura” and it was the lifeforce of a living being. A Gura was supposed to learn first how to read an aura, what the different colors meant. After that process, the students practiced extending and manipulating their own aura.

Teachers supposedly could manipulate the aura of others, but they refused to demonstrate it. Such a thing was too dangerous for students, they said. There were subtle hints in the earliest writings that auras could move objects and perform miracles, but the teachers dismissed such notions as fanciful ramblings. Their teaching of the aura was the power of knowing what members of the flock were thinking and feeling, using that knowledge to guide them. Zuri named the ability as he saw it – manipulating others.

After the snubbing over the lack of terrible side effects, Zuri kept his thoughts and observations of his aura to himself. He thought most of his classmates had auras that were a bit thin, yet he was well aware of his bias. When he wandered the Borgin District though, where he had established friends, a lover, and secured odd jobs, the auras he saw were thick and rich with color. Zuri doubled down on keeping his mouth shut within the college grounds.

He never saw the inside of the boardroom in his Senior year. When the elder Guras arrived, Zuri was never asked. When he did inquire, he was sent to the outbuildings to perform dubious time-wasting chores.

Zuri was not a fool. All the maneuverings of the faculty and administration over three plus years to keep him at a step removed were easy to see and impossible to dismiss at this point. Even his classmates appeared to be in on the game, the shaking of heads when he stepped into a room or the looks of disapproval when he excelled on the arcane training floor. Everyone was polite about it and nary an unkind word was spoken to him. Nary a word was spoken to him in any case.

Now he stood studying the list of post-graduate postings and his name was not on the list. He had not expected any of the big temples or prestigious postings, but surely the postings in the further provinces, either as an assistant or a small solo were available. In fact, the seminary prided itself on placing every graduate.

The hallway in the administrative building was empty. Steeling himself, Zuri walked down to the Provost’s office and asked the secretary if he could speak with the Provost. The secretary returned and escorted him, closing the door after him.

“God is great,” the Provost said.

“God is great,” Zuri said. “I’m not on the list of postings.”

“No, you are not,” the Provost said. “You did not earn a slot.”

“How can this be?”

“Zuri, you should have never been admitted to the college. Your benefactor was misguided and would not be dissuaded from his gift. While we were forced to accept your person, we maintain the authority over the student. Your grades reflect you are intelligent and engaged enough as a student to pass your classes; however, you do not demonstrate the qualities necessary to be a Gura.”

“I’m not going to be ordained?” Zuri asked.

“If I had my way, no, you would not,” the Provost said, “but the Chancellor has decreed your blessing. However, it is my purview to award students their slots with the approval of the regional Gura-Sho and the Senior Guras of the largest temples. It was agreed you would not be granted a slot.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“I prayed weekly for a drug overdose or whore-rot, but you seemed to have dodged those. Go find something else to do, you don’t belong in the priesthood,” the Provost said, his aura rippling with anger. “You are not the only one with friends in the Borgin District, but mine are efficient and effective. I can’t imagine wasting my youth on whores, cutthroats and gamblers.”

“I’m not impressed,” Zuri said, lying through his teeth. “Your words and the truths about Borgin are vastly different than my experience. We are all quite comfortable on the razor’s edge. I will be a Gura. Where are you sending me?”

“If you persist, I commend you to solicit the Gura-Sho in Qirin Province. Perhaps you may save him the inconvenience of your presence and continue onward to the Forsaken Plain. There were temples there once according to the Ancient texts.”

“The Forsaken Plain is at the end of the world,” Zuri said.

“If you had stayed in the slums of Reichert where you belonged, we would not be having this conversation,” the Provost said. “However, you have four years of the College Seminary and its blessing. You have no place in our temples with your vermin ways; your kind is intolerable. “Take your blessing tomorrow and leave us, Zuri. The Gura has its methods of compliance. Do not return or you will regret it.”

Zuri stared at the hard face with his own cynical face. Without another word, he left the office. When he arrived at the senior dorm, his classmates were celebrating their appointments with beer and glee. None appeared to notice him, which was par for the course; nothing had changed. He went to his room and packed his meager belongings. Except for the robe and hood he needed for the ordination ceremony, he took everything with him, slipping out a side door.

Arcane movements were good for certain things, like slinking through gates and entrance halls without being noticed. He walked quickly to the Borgin District where the Journeyman Halls and the middling brothels were well-established. He knew these streets well, having used his ease with the prostitutes and the bravos to generate coin as a temporary laborer or a bouncer, or even as a circumspect courier at odd intervals. Pira was his lover when they had time to share with one another.

He walked into the back of the Owl House brothel and ran up the stairs to Pira’s room, knowing she would be in the front parlor entertaining prospective clients. He dumped his gear in her closet before returning downstairs. The cook offered him a plate, which he gladly took.

As he sopped up the gravy with a hunk of bread, Pira tiptoed into the kitchen and broke off a piece of his bread. As she chewed it, she said, “They told me you snuck in, and that Cook bribed you with food to stay and wait for me.”

“I wanted to come earlier but they posted the placement list this morning and no one told me,” Zuri said. “Then I had to talk to the Provost.”

“Where are you going, Zuri? You already said you doubted you would be here even though the Gura here in the district is awful.”

Zuri took her hand. “I did not get placement. I learned today they don’t give placement to ragged sons of whores.”

She paled and then turned beet red. “Is that what they think of us? They take our tithes and our offerings happily enough and yet they laugh at us behind our backs? All their preaching and promises are sweet lies to placate us? We suffer and they have nothing for us?”

“Aye,” Zuri said. “For four years I have lived the lie. I knew much was off about my classmates and my teachers, but they never informed or enlightened me. They were all well practiced at deception. Then at the last possible moment, they smacked me down into the putrid, filthy mud. They betrayed me.”

“They betrayed all of us,” Pira said. “We all believe in you. We see the strength and good in you, and we thought we would all be redeemed. Where will you go?”

“I can’t stay here,” Zuri said. “They’ve sent me away or I’ll be forced to leave, however you want to put it. For four years it was a fucking dance to keep me as removed as possible while keeping me on the grounds. They’ve heaped exile upon my head.”

“We were planning on attending the Ordination tomorrow at the big temple,” Pira said.

“You must be there,” Zuri said. “I’ve earned my pin, my badge of office, and they cannot be allowed to take it from me. Bring everyone you can. I may not get a temple, but I’m betting that pin will get me passage, a bed and meal when I need it most. I need witnesses at the ceremony to make sure I get that pin.”

“You’re going to do what they say?” Pira asked with disbelief.

“I want revenge,” Zuri said. “I can’t slit their weaselly throats tonight and get away with it. Besides, there are too many of them, and I’m just one person. I need time and space to plot vengeance, Pira. I swear on everything good and holy, that I will get revenge for the wrong they did me.”

“How can they do this?” Piri wept.

“As they say, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Zuri said. “Have I not told you time and again that the classes were bullshit? The theory and philosophy that was so important to learn was as shallow as the water in a scallop. We were taught to offer specific words that are steeped in centuries of belief and depths of profound meaning, and they are as empty as a beer stein in front of a sailor. I had to learn it in the worst possible way, but all of it is a lie.”

“Why?”

“It’s a family business, I guess,” Zuri said, shrugging. “A lucrative family business that is meant to be kept within the family. It is a thieves’ guild with the veneer of piety about it and the fake holiness makes them untouchable.”

“I’ll never step inside a temple again,” Piri said. “I could not imagine that whores have more integrity than Guras.”

“All my gear is in your room,” Zuri said, pleased that she had understood the warning. “I’ll show up in time to line up for the Commencement. I’m always placed last in line; tell everyone. I will cut out as soon as I can, the instant the service is over if I can manage it. We’ll meet back here. In the meantime, I’ve got to make arrangements with Razkin the Fixer to get out of the city before nightfall, lest they find an opportunity to ensure a permanent exile, if you know what I mean.”

The next morning was chaotic, but Zuri managed to slip into line before the marching music for the Commencement began. His classmates gave him peculiar looks, at least those who were not too hung over from last night’s celebrations. True to form, no one said a word to him.

The service was brief, but the sermons were longwinded speeches where every important word or phrase from the writings had to be mentioned and praised. Finally, the graduates were called forward. Each student took a turn sitting in the Anointed Chair at the back of the pulpit with the left arm lower than the right one. Then each was pinned with the halo and the star insignia. The Chancellor placed his hands on the head of each one and recited the words of Ordination.

“I see all,” the Chancellor declared.

“I see all,” Zuri repeated.

When Zuri stepped to the middle of the pulpit and the Chancellor recited the words of ordination, a great roar arose from the upstairs gallery, cheers, whistles, and catcalls rained down on the gentrified congregation below.

The Provost, standing at the end of the pulpit in his academic regalia gave Zuri a dirty look. His aura was pulsing reds. As Zuri passed the man, he whispered loud enough for the man to hear, “You may have exiled me, but it is too late, you have already lost the city.”

Zuri marched after his class, and when they stopped in front of their pew to retake their seats, he continued marching to the back of the hall as his fellow graduates began sitting down. He walked through the great double doors at the entrance of the Sanctuary and down the steps. He ran.

Throwing his Commencement garments in garbage piles as he ran, Zuri entered the Borgin District looking like any other young man who was out and about in the morning. The only item he carried was his pin. He walked through the front door of the brothel and was greeted by the maid, who was scrubbing down the floors. All the ladies and even the madam had gone to the Commencement. Zuri beat them home.

Sitting in a guest’s overstuffed chair, Zuri examined the pin. He rolled it in his hands, examining the front and back. “Cheap little trinket,” he muttered, “and yet, I paid dearly for it.”

 

Chapter 2

The women of the brothel had chipped in their tips together and set out a feast for Zuri. After the bland, but oh-so-appropriate dishes served in the dorms for students, he was dancing with delight. They scooped out oxtail soup with gelatinous globs of goodness bobbing in the liquid. He was offered thin slices of stale bread soaked in oil quickly toasted on the griddle alongside the table. The second course was coarsely chopped pig intestines sauteed in lard with spicy chilies, onions, and peppers. For dessert, they boiled rice in milk and served it with roasted chopped nuts and an aromatic spice that turned his lips brown.

He realized as he ate that Pira had listened when he described the best parts of his childhood when they lay in bed after satisfying themselves. The feast proved it. He kissed all the women goodbye, giving them thanks for the best meal he could remember receiving. They had one more surprise for him, a new journey coat with pockets hidden inside.

Even the madam applauded when he held up the gift. When the hubbub had quieted some, she announced that she had a gift for the new Gura as well. Her backroom crackerjack paraded into the room gently balancing a long stave in his outstretched arms. He gestured to Zuri to take the staff from his hands.

The madam began her story. “I happened to “visit” our local Gura last week, and the dear man gave me a proper tour of the building. After an in-depth examination of his robing room, I noticed a closet, which I remembered from my childhood working as an Altar Maid. When he stepped out to fetch a rag to clean up our mess, I checked out that closet and laid eyes upon this discarded relic of the previous Gura. After offering a polite little lie that his wife was in the building and looking for him, our Gura shot out the door like his ass was on fire. Left alone, I took my wage by claiming this memory of my childhood as my own. We all want to send you off the best we can offer. Use it well, Zuri.”

“I will, madam, and thank you for everything,” Zuri said. The madam clapped her hands, and everyone scrambled to clear the mess and prepare for an afternoon of gainful employment. There were bills to pay and business to be done.

Pira accompanied him to the back door and kissed him gently on the lips in the alley. “Do you really need to sneak so carefully?” she asked.

“From the moment I walked onto that campus, every moment has been orchestrated,” Zuri said. “Do you think they would not have an endgame prepared? If I were willing to use the institution to destroy a student, I would carefully plot the final steps, including how to dispose of the body. I had no idea they traced some of my wanderings in Lewa Ilu. If I don’t anticipate that they did plot thoroughly, I would be taking foolish chances. Even pausing for the celebration you threw was a big chance.” Placing his hand on her head, he blessed her in the name of God and wished her peace. He darted away.

Keeping to the back ways as much as possible, Zuri wended his way to the north end of the district. When he had to walk the open streets, he kept to the side and walked at a deliberate pace, doing his best not to call attention to himself. He crossed the largest street in the district, which led to the adjacent Layde District where a large tavern with a lively group of customers kept the tavern and its people busy. A wagon was already behind the building and the servants were loading the empty barrels into the back. With the passing of a final coin, Zuri climbed into a cleaned barrel, stuffing his pack in his lap, and maneuvering his staff through the tap hole. He felt every barrel that landed on the boards.

The driver gave out a call and snapped his whip. With only empty barrels, two horses pulled the wagon through the streets easily and quickly. He listened to the driver exchange banter with the guards at the city gates. They wished the driver a safe journey by name and the wagon moved again without soldiers mounting the wagon to check the empties. Zuri counted the clops of the horses before he allowed himself to release a sigh of relief.

After a half hour on a rutted road that threw Zuri back and forth, the driver stopped and tapped the top of the barrel. Zuri pushed up the top and clambered out the barrel, drawing lungful’s of fresh air. Sitting on the riding board with the driver, Zuri watched the farms and orchards as they trundled along. As the sun was sinking in the west, the driver turned off onto another dirt road with two stone pillars on either side.

“We’ve arrived at the distillery, Gura,” the driver said. “It’s best if you go sit in the back of the wagon and keep a low profile until I back the wagon into the cooperage. They won’t unload the wagon until the morning however, I can’t take a chance of being seen speaking with you on the Baron’s property. After I leave, find a dark corner or undershelf to sleep in tonight. Just make sure you’re gone before the workers arrive. You’ll find a small keg of the master brew that the boys keep in back next to the master’s workbench. A pint or two will fill your belly. Best of luck to you, Gura, and may God be with you.”

Zuri thanked the man for his kindnesses and his thoughtfulness. He did as the driver instructed, locating both the barrel and a spot of hay that the workers must use to take a nap in the heat of the day. He had slept in worse beds and with an empty stomach many times. The ale was strong and tasty.

He slipped out of the building with the crowing of the cock. The inhabitants were not stirring yet when Zuri stepped into the woods heading due west. For leagues he cut across fields and pastures. He was chased by a bull and escaped by a hairsbreadth over the wall. People were working the fields, toiling while men on horses stood nearby, sometimes shouting and sometimes cracking a whip. They lashed anyone, men, women, and children. Zuri had been warned he would have to pass through the Nobles lands first.

When he could, he snatched vegetables from the bushes or pulled them up out of the dirt, hastily covering his theft with a couple of swipes of his boot. Finding a ripe orchard was harder, and when a collection of trees was heavy with fruit, there were usually too many people about to draw near. Berry bushes were a good find even if their thorns were pronounced.

After four days, the men on horses and their beaten down tenants disappeared. Now, he was heading into land that had a slight undulation. He was traveling through family farms, where farmers and their kin managed a livelihood from the land despite the proximity to great estates. Grazing from the fields was easier with less people about. There were occasional ponds and irrigation ditches to refill his water skin. Fearful of reports dribbling back to Lewa Ilu, Zuri kept to himself and off the roads.

The land began to rise and fall, and the foothills appeared. Their sides were staked with vineyards, and the valleys between were filled with orchards of unripe fruit. The only vegetable fields were small plots next to the modest homes, leaving Zuri to scavenge what he could find.

The hills grew steeper, and the vineyards began to peter out. Bowing to the inevitable, he wound down the steep incline and stepped onto the road. The highway looked like it had frequent traffic although it was empty when he stepped out of the brush. Zuri had not made up his mind whether to remain and introduce himself, or to disappear when he heard people coming. A man alone on a lonely road was in a potential predicament especially when all he was armed with was a stave staff with no training in its use.

Walking down the road had benefits though. Zuri recognized he was moving through territory faster. His feet and ankles ached less as he spent less time avoiding awkward purchases for his steps. He also took the time to inspect his gifted staff. He had seen enough wood from different regions come through the seaport to recognize different types of trees. From black to red and yellow, he had watched exotic cargoes of wood hoisted onto the wharf. He did not recognize the wood he held, suspecting that its color had transformed with age. The runes did not make a lot of sense either, although he recognized the Ancient script. Some of the runes were letters and words, suggesting the elements of nature, an early lesson from first year classes on how to classify the world into categories. Other runes were glyphs, akin to the lists of arcane movement forms he was made to memorize. Zuri had learned by trial that the arcane movements had a lot to do with auras. The movements could enhance or shift a dancer’s aura, not that his professors had ever discussed the topic with him. His classmates had acted ignorant of the qualities of the movement too. Of course, he had kept his own counsel.

He heard horse hooves coming towards him in a forested area. Deciding that caution was the better choice, he dove into the trees and secured himself in the middle of a tumble of rocks. The three men with their four horses were dressed in black trousers and black leather boots. Their shirts were black with white stripes, peeking out from the expensive riding jackets they wore. They had swords strapped across their backs.

From his perch, Zuri shifted into his Gura sight. He did not like what he saw, thin with wide blossoms of red and orange about their persons. Only the most dangerous men in the city districts sported similar auras. He remained unmoving until the men passed and even then, he waited a bit. The riders left him with a reminder that the road was dangerous.

The border crossing between the provinces was easy to identify. A small garrison was posted who maintained a watch that stopped traffic in both directions. Zuri climbed the steep hillside and slowly made his way past the block, carefully preventing small stones and rocks from rolling downhill.

Late in the day after a strained climb up to a mountain pass, the line of heights broke. A long thin valley spread out before Zuri and the road ran through the middle of it. He espied farmhouses and fields on either side, running up to the mountains to the north and to the south. Down the middle of the road and not too far away, was an inn. Zuri did not know whether to laugh or cry. For all his anger and determination to exact revenge, he was tired to the bone and hungry and frightened. He had been a city boy his entire life. Walking through the meadows and forests on lightly traveled roads was a new, daunting experience.

Down below was some form of civilization with people, and cooked food, and buildings that had roofs and walls. Speaking of civilization, he had yet to decide whether to announce he was a Gura. Scanning the valley as far as his eyes could manage, he saw no sign of a temple. He was certain one was in the vicinity though. Would the resident Gura accept his request for a traveler’s bed or should he even try?

A thousand other questions surged into his thoughts as he chewed on the first question, the most important to him was what would be reported up the chain? He was Gura in name only with no practical experience of how the job functioned within the temple or the extra-temple structure. He was an utter greenhorn. He knew it and by appearing suddenly on the doorstep, the resident Gura would know it as well.

He could not stand in the middle of the road all day lamenting what he did not have though. He placed one foot in front of the other, using his staff to keep him moving forward. When he held the staff, it would start to glow with his aura, although his own aura did not appear to diminish. When he tied the staff alongside his pack on his back, the chunk of wood felt like a chunk of wood and nothing more. Just as he could make his aura ripple up and down his arm, he could make the same flows along the length of the staff. What he could do with an enhanced-aura staff was another question to which he had no answer.

He turned to follow the first switchback that led downward and confronted three wagons parked just to the side, against the rocks and trees. Two men and a woman unsheathed their arms and spread out across the road. Their faces were stern and unfriendly.

“Who are you?” the woman barked.

At first, Zuri was willing to hold up both his hands in a gesture of peace, but something in her voice had him recalculating. They appeared thoroughly mistrustful.

He crossed his arms instead and cocked his head. “It’s never a good sign when people want to take a sword and run it through a Gura.”

“You? Out here? A Gura?”

“Pssht,” Zuri said “Who in their right mind would lie about being a Gura? Especially in the middle of a long road that is not entirely safe to travel.”

“Have you proof? Where are your robes?”

“If you think the robes make a Gura, allow me to correct that misconception,” Zuri said, as he opened his travel cloak. Here is my badge of office.”

One of the men stalked forward. He looked hard at Zuri’s sigil and declared, “It’s a Gura’s insignia.”

“What in God’s name are you doing out here?” He asked with disdain.

“Just graduated and not at the top of my class,” Zuri said, twirling his staff. “I have been assigned to Qirin Province because someone has to go there.”

“They aren’t paying for an escort, or at least a berth on a caravan?”

“The powers that be do not appreciate being inconvenienced by troublesome details,” Zuri said. “Besides, if you were assigned a distant post, would you want to hang around with your more fortunate fellows?”

The three nodded, making agreeable noises. They lowered their guard and several more people stepped into view from the wagons.

“Allow me to ask an impertinent question,” Zuri asked, leaning back into his seminary years of deference to his proctors. “Did you, perhaps, have an encounter with three men on horseback earlier today?”

“We’ve almost finished fixing the wheel they broke,” the woman said. “We took a few hits, but they got nothing from us.”

“I hid in the rocks,” Zuri said. “My instincts were correct, I’m sorry to say. May I be of assistance?”

“We don’t need a blessing,” the man said, shaking his hand.

“I’m offering two hands and a strong back,” Zuri said. “If I may, I would like to join your little train. We are on the road to Covanera, are we not?”

“We could use a strong back at the moment,” the man said. “My name is Cardo. You can put your gear in the back of the wagon with the two blue squiggles on it.”

Zuri dropped his pack and his stave in the designated wagon before walking back to the second wagon. The five adults lifted the back of the undercarriage while two boys and a girl slid the wheel onto the axle. They dropped the carriage with a groan of relief. Zuri watched as they pounded the wooden stake into the hole in the axle and then bound it with a leather harness.

“Do you bless wagons?” someone asked.

“There is a blessing for safe journeys,” Zuri said. “Wagons are one of the items that make the journey safe, I suppose.”

“A little late for that blessing,” the woman said. “I’m Yurya. You can ride with me.” They clambered up the side of the wagon and sat on the riding board. “Do you know how to drive one of these?” she asked.

“Driving horses was a skill not addressed at the Seminary,” Zuri said. “Obviously, another area in which they were sorely lacking.”

“You talk funny,” she said. “It’s interesting to hear, but you don’t talk like the rest of us.”

“There was a time when I spoke like everyone else, but then I went to Seminary and the teachers insisted I learn to speak like they do,” Zuri said. “I found it confusing for a while being a boy raised around the docks. They weren’t wrong except for the small fact that Guras probably going to be out in the provinces working with the rest of the people of the world who don’t speak like they do.”

“They sound like Nobles to me,” Yurya said. “They’re always right and we’re always wrong no matter what the facts are. May the hand of God strike them all down. Ah, sorry about that, taking God’s name in vain and all that.”

“No offense taken,” Zuri said. “Whatever God does, or does not do, you and I will never know. You remind me of one of my childhood schoolteachers who told me, “May God bless our leaders, and keep them far away from us.”

“I could see the merit in that blessing,” Yurya said, tapping the reins to speed up slightly. “It would work until it doesn’t though. I call them well-dressed cockroaches and yes, they do spread a raft of plagues.”

Zuri chuckled. “Where are you going with three wagons?”

Yurya sighed. “Our father died. He had a tenant deed with the Noble that went back fifty years, give or take. We thought the Noble was coming to give his condolences the day we buried him. How stupid of us. He told us that our father’s death canceled the tenant deed. Either we paid double what my father had paid, or we had to leave. My two older brothers, their families and I bundled up all our worldly possessions in these three hay wagons and left. We have distant relations south of Covanera with a lot of land available. Most of it is marginal, but we have no choice.”

“Same story over and over again with different characters,” Zuri said. “My mother and I were thrown out of meaner and meaner rooms until there were few places left to go.”

“How did you become Gura then?”

“I’m wicked smart, and some good folks noticed,” Zuri said. “A lot of people noticed and helped. My mom got a decent job doing the numbers at a warehouse; I got my smarts from her. We moved to better rooms in better parts of the city district, joining a better class of people. I got scholarships and some real lessons in back after the school day.”

“Like what?”

“Yurya, they taught me how to study, which sounds stupid, but most students don’t know how. They showed me how to take a chunk of material you don’t know, and you didn’t even know existed, and taught me how to break it down into learnable bits. They taught me how to manage my time, keeping ahead instead of catching up. Did you know you can tease out test questions before the tests? I may be smart, but I didn’t know how to use my smarts. No one teaches people like us how to learn, which is often more important than the learning.”

“Sounds like a man who has rich black soil for his farmland but doesn’t know how to farm,” Yurya said. “Like you said, the same old story.”

“Are you planning to stop at the inn at the bottom of the valley?” Zuri asked as they turned down another arm of the switchback.

“Our coin is sparse,” Yurya said. “We will have to see what everything costs. The first pass was the border between Lewa and Medawar Provinces. Medawar has a different Governor, different Nobles, and different taxes and fees, to be sure. The Lewa Province is rich around the capital, but the further away you get from Lewa Ilu, the poorer things get. Lewa is usually livable though; you can make do if you pay attention. Medawar, where we are now, is not a good place if you’re poor because they don’t have any big cities. Finding things like a blacksmith is harder, you know? We’re traveling further to Duran Province because they still have available land to farm. They say the soil is poorer but if you stick to the farms, the Nobles will leave you be, more often than not. Beyond Duran is Qirin Province, but Qirin is a low bar because everyone there is starving. It's no place for farmers like us.”

“Great,” Zuri said. “My destination is Qirin.”

Yurya patted his knee with sympathy. “Every person has their own burdens to carry. What makes a person interesting is not what they carry but how they carry what they have.”

“Is that true?” Zuri asked, wondering if Pira was so attractive to him among all the whores in the house because she did have that special something that set her apart from the others. She was not the prettiest and she did not have the big tits. He liked to talk with her.

“It’s true for me,” Yurya said. “Meeting Gura on the road is interesting; it’s certainly out of the ordinary.”

“Yes, I will grant you that point,” Zuri said. “I find you interesting too. The journey is long, but with the right people, the same journey can be much shorter.”

“Let’s hope it’s a shorter journey for both of us.”

 

 

Chapter 3

“How much did they want for a room at the inn?” Yurya asked.

“Too much for too little,” Zuri said, shaking his head. “Let us not inquire into the quality of the owner of this overpriced waystation. The proprietor and his wife are more than well-fed, and they are outfitted in better garments than most others as well. He must love his pennies as much as his meals, hoarding every one of them, polishing them one-by-one until late in the night.”

“There you go, talking funny again,” Yurya said. “You could’ve called him a greedy bastard and be done with it. Instead, you paint a story to accompany my question.”

“You said you liked interesting,” Zuri said. “I had a short, interesting conversation with the tavernkeeper. The words were forgettable, but the man himself is something to add to my meager chest of stories.”

“Cardo is still inside?” Yurya said.

“He believes he can still strike a fair deal or at least one that fits the size of his purse. I admire his optimism,” Zuri said. “My guess is this place caters to men like those you encountered earlier today. Whatever travels between the cities of Covanera and Sadegh in Medawar Province, most of it is not healthy for the poor and unguarded.”

“Sadegh,” Yurya said, spitting to the side. “Medawar, Lewa and their despised nobility, Baron Rathan, twelfth descendent of the founder. The blood has thinned to water in that line. Word has it that he does not prefer the company of women. He has not produced an heir yet, which can only be good for the rest of us.”

“I care not where he puts his prick, only that he is one himself,” Zuri said with a smirk. “Given that his title is inherited and has not been earned, he was always destined to be a prick. My mother always told me ‘The struggle makes the man.’ No struggle, no man and only an aging child to fill the shoes.”

“We never had a chance under these Nobles, did we?” Yurya said, despair creeping into her voice.

“You did not have a choice, but your Noble and his lord did have choices,” Zuri said. “They chose greed. If they had shown the tiniest sliver of compassion, they would have garnered your lifetime loyalty as their fathers gained from your father. You would have given it without thinking. Short term profit without considering longer term goals never ends well. When generations of farming knowledge leave, the essential expertise is gone. However, as far as you and your family are concerned, comeuppance is too far in the future to have any relevance to you.”

“Everyone shits on the farmers,” she said.

“No, the king shits on his lords who shit on their minor nobility, who then shit on the people,” Zuri said. “The Guras shit on everybody.”

“I thought I was the bitter one,” Yurya said.

Zuri shrugged, preferring not to speak to her challenge because her retort hit close to home. He was angry, bitter, afraid, and out of his element. He had thought the cities were worse, but he was updating his conclusions daily, displeased with the results.

“At least we can water the horses if you would help,” Yurya said. “I don’t like the way those stablemen are looking at me. They make me feel like a piece of meat.”

Zuri examined them, seeing nothing notable in their auras. “My girlfriend used to have the same trouble in Lewa Ilu. The yobs would do a favor and expect ‘a favor’ in return. The young Nobles would simply expect because no one had ever told them ‘No’ before.”

“What did she do?”

“Join the sisterhood of a brothel,” Zuri said with a grin. “If you’re going to get fucked, you might as well get paid for it. Sometimes it’s the money but every time it’s making it safely to the next day. Life is dangerous and if you can’t carry a big stick, stand behind someone who does.”

“Are you sure you’re a Gura?” Yurya asked, as she continued to unhitch the horses.

Taking the bridles she handed them to him, Zuri snorted, “I am the best of the best Gura that you’ll ever meet. I’ve seen some shit, and for the record, I believe.”

“In God?”

“Leaving God aside without offense, I believe in the baseness of human beings,” Zuri said. “There is a great debate among the theologians whether it is for the better or for the worse that human beings were created.”

“What did these theologians conclude?”

“Pray for the better and prepare yourself for the worst,” Zuri said as he led his charges to the water trough. “They had dirty hands too.”

“Again, I ask, are you sure you’re a Gura?” Yurya asked. “You don’t speak like any Gura I’ve met.”

“I’m not wheedling coin out of your threadbare purse like your Gura did,” Zuri said. “I don’t have a temple to support.”

“You gotta eat.”

“I’ll bless your fields and I’ll bless your herds,” Zuri said, thinking quickly. “I blessed your journey and received a ride on a wagon. A blessing for a bed or a blessing for a meal; I seek out what I have to give as a fair exchange.”

“How about bed rights? Are you offering a blessing for those?” She shook her hips at him as she brought over the other horses.

Zuri sniffed. “Bed rights are about asking permission, which is why you are upset with those men standing at the barn door. You are only a farmer, right?”

“Right,” she said. “There are days, however. . .”

“We all have those days,” Zuri said. “If regrets were apples, we would eat apple pie every day for the rest of our lives.”

“I think I heard the same sentiment in terms that were coarser,” Yurya said.

“Until you think about it. Instead of apple pie, you are eating your regrets every day and they are tearing up your insides,” Zuri said.

“Aren’t you the clever one.”

“My teachers said I was precocious, but I proved them wrong because I was shrewd with tongue and deft with my fingers. Precocious is a word for Nobles who think with their small head instead of the other one.”

“Deft with your fingers? Whatever do you mean?” Yurya said with a smile.

“Come closer, my little mouse, and let me show you,” Zuri said.

She gave him a slight toss of her hips before the sound of two men laughing wiped the smile from her face. She glanced backwards for an instant and straightening her back, she went back to watering the horses, patting them down and checking their hooves. Zuri kept an unobtrusive eye on the two men as they passed comments between themselves. For stable hands, they had a condescending demeanor that did not match their station.

As the horses backed away from the trough, Cardo emerged with a sour face. Zuri recognized the face as akin to his sister’s. Giving a brief update, Cardo told everyone to hitch up the horses and prepare to move down the road where a caravanner’s wayside station was available. As they were hitching up the horses, a patron departed the tavern. He hesitated for a moment before approaching Cardo. Zuri watched the man give Cardo directions, using an outstretched arm to indicate roads, turns, and various places. The man gave a furtive glance towards the barn and left quickly.

The locals’ behavior was enough confirmation for Zuri. He climbed up and took his place on the riding board. Yurya looked forward with a non-responsive face and flicked the reins. They had only traveled a few minutes when Cardo led them onto a nearly overgrown track of a once-maintained small field.

“Good place to let the horses graze,” Yurya said, breaking the silence for the first time. “I’ll go help my sisters-in-law get some dinner cooking while you go help my brothers.”

By the time food was ready, Zuri was a sweaty mess, and the sun was setting. He was at ease and enjoying the company, appreciating the simple courtesies of sharing on the road what one had, be it a strong back or a bit of gruel with fatback. Everyone seemed relaxed.

Zuri followed Yurya back to her wagon. After moving some gear to make room for them to sleep, Zuri lay down with his pack and his staff at his back. Her aura was glowing brightly. Then he felt a kiss on his lips and a hand press against his chest. He felt another hand tugging at his britches as she kept her hands busy.

Zuri roamed across her body with his own hands. His lover had taught him much about the difference between having sex with a client and having sex with a lover. One thing that Zuri took away from his time in the brothel is that he did not want to be a client again. He took his time while she figured out how he kept his pants up. She had strong arms, thick with muscle. Her neck was feminine but solid too. Her breasts were medium-sized in the palms of his hand, but her nipples were thick and proud.

As he worked his way down, she managed to move his belt out of the way and undo the two thick buttons. Moving his hands down her belly, she began making appreciative murmurs that encouraged him to continue. As he reached the coarse hair between her legs, she grasped his rigid cock and gave it several tugs.

“You’re kind and sweet,” she whispered, “but I’m impatient and it’s been a long time.”

“Let me take a few moments,” Zuri said, hoping she could see his smile in the dark. “As much as I’d enjoy mounting you right quick, we will both enjoy ourselves if we take it a little slower. I’m not going anywhere, and no one is going to disturb us. Use your hands to see if my nipples are hard.”

Yurya leaned forward and licked his nipple with her tongue. “You’re hard. Oo, I like where you put your finger.”

Tracing the length of her furrow, Zuri allowed his finger to tentatively dip into the wetness, promising more than delivering. She shivered. He added a second finger to his explorations, dipping further between her lips. She moaned before leaning over to kiss him again.

Before Zuri could react, she took both hands and pinned his shoulders to the floor of the wagon. Swinging her leg over his torso, she lined up her pussy with his cock. Zuri barely had time to get his cock in place before she plunged down upon it. The feeling was indescribable as her heat and wetness encased his cock.

She gave him a little grin, “Nice sentiment, but I’m impatient and I couldn’t wait anymore.”

“Ah, such is life,” Zuri said with an exaggerated sigh. “We will need to work harder.”

“Yah, start pumping those hips,” Yurya said, leaning forward to press herself against his pubic bone. “Let’s make ourselves happy.”

Zuri grabbed her hips, flipping her over in one movement. She grunted as he began to studiously pummel her. She met him with each thrust, encouraging him to linger at the end of the downstroke. She mewled when he would rotate his hips in a circle while pressed down as tight as she could pull him. Then he was withdrawing to try again. Her hands grasped his butt cheeks, guiding Zuri to give her what she wanted, and he was happy for the help. No guessing was involved; he followed the tactile directions.

He was rewarded with a writhing woman who kept ratcheting up his excitement. The wagon was shaking, and his arms were trembling when Yurya let out a moan from somewhere deep in her chest. Her muscles froze in place until waves of contractions rippled up and down her body. He gasped for air as his body lost control. He saw a flash of his own aura as his pent-up release fired with all his senses on full. The sounds, the smells, the hot, sweaty skin, the rough boards underneath, and his mind seized as his cock launched his seed. The instant of release was glorious.

When his heart slowed down, and Yurya had shifted under him to get more comfortable, Zuri fell to the side. They smiled at each other in the dark, with only a sliver of moonlight to illuminate the bed. Zuri was sure he had enough energy to go again, but she closed her eyes. He thought a quick rest was a good idea as well, closing his eyes too.

He stirred awake as he heard a voice softly call, “I’ll take the bitch, you take care of the man.” Zuri was reaching for his staff at his side as his head exploded in pain. Blind with pain, Zuri ramped up his aura as he swung his staff with all his might even though he was at a terrible angle. He felt the staff hit a body and oddly stick like glue. Fearing the man would grab his staff, he yanked back with all his might. The staff resisted, as if it were stuck and pulling something back with it, like a stick shoved into a pool of hot tar.

An unearthly scream filled the wagon followed by the thud of a lifeless body.

“What the. . .” The voice hoarsely whispered as Yurya screamed. Zuri rolled and attacked the other stooping man with his staff. The staff again stuck to the man, his shoulder, and when Zuri pulled back with both hands, he watched horrified as the aura of the man was wrenched from his body. When completely free, the aura dissipated until only the moonlight was left.

When there was enough light in the sky to view the bodies, Yurya and Zuri identified the two men from the stable back at the inn. Zuri bent down and examined the bodies, ghostly white with blue lips without a mark of violence upon them. He dug into his pack and drew forth the packet with his short stylus and vial of ink.

"Murderer, thief,” Zuri declared as he quoted the Old Language. Dipping his stylus in the ink, he inscribed the old language glyph for murderer on the foreheads of the corpses. No one had ever described doing such a thing before, but Zuri understood the consequences of being strangers in a distant province. If his Elders could use the Gura superstitions to steal money from the gullible, he could use the same falsehoods to save his hide. He turned to the others, “No one will question us now. They are marked with the truth of their actions.”

Cardo and his brother argued they should carry the bodies further back into the meadow and fling them back into the deep grasses. Zuri stood in front of them with his arms crossed, making it clear the Gura had authority in this matter. They left the corpses where they lay and fled.

Yurya kept slipping glances at Zuri throughout the day. She stayed close to him, touching some part of his body while they sat on the riding board. When they did stop to rest the horses, she clung to whoever was nearby.

At some point the two brothers and Yurya confronted Zuri as he stood guard, looking both ways down the road. “What did you do to those men?” Cardo said. “There was hardly a bruise on them.”

“Gura ways,” Zuri said, which was a tiny truth. He was as disturbed as they were because he was not sure what he did. He was terrified of the staff and its power, but he was pleased as well. “You offered me a seat in your caravan, and I pledged to protect you with a blessing in return. We escaped a terrible attack on me and Yurya. Do you doubt they were also coming back for you two? God is great.”

“God is great,” they repeated automatically.

When they made love that evening, it was slow and passionate. The rough and tough farmer was as kind and gentle as Noble women were expected to be. Zuri returned the gentleness with firm commands and strong hands of comfort. By the fourth day, the repartee they established before arriving at the inn began to reemerge.

Two weeks later, they passed out of Medawar Province without any more incidents. The road was quiet, and the few travelers they passed were somber. After another week, they approached the outskirts of Covanera, the Provincial Capital of Duran Province. Yurya looked at him with sad eyes that Zuri could see reflected his own. He grabbed his pack and his staff.

“You are going that way,” he said, pointing to the south. “I must continue straight on.”

“You could come with us,” Yurya said. “We would love. . . I would love. . .”

“I know,” Zuri said, cupping her cheek in his hand. “I’m not a farmer though, my lover. I am Gura and Gura on the run as well. More than ever, I must see this journey to its end.”

 

Chapter 4

Covanera was a stately city that straddled both sides of a big river. Two great bridges with large stone columns crossed the river; one at the north side of city where the great residences stood, and one in the middle of the city where the government and large commercial buildings were established. There was a third bridge on the south side of the city, wider and cruder in its construction for everyone else.

Flashing his Gura sigil, Zuri gained entry onto the middle bridge, whose raised sides provided a cleaner walkway for those strolling in finer clothes. The great commercial companies were using the bridge to transfer their goods in both directions. Zuri saw both farm goods and manufactured items on the passing wagons and carts. Every so often, a small carriage of a ranking government official would pass.

Zuri could survey the entire city when he stood on the viewing parapet built at the center of the bridge. The platform was raised above the sidewalk by several steps and hung out over the river itself. According to the constable stationed on the platform, the parapet was built to house a cannon to deter river pirates.

“No more pirates?” Zuri asked as he looked at the river.

“Cheaper and easier to maintain cannons from the shorelines,” the constable said, pointing to the redoubts on both sides of the river. “Quite effective too. We’ve haven’t had an issue in years. Smugglers are still a problem, but they aren’t looking to make noise and cause trouble.”

“I’m a Gura,” showing his sigil, “and wondered what temple that is?” Zuri asked, pointing towards the north.

“Greenvale Temple,” the constable said. “The Governor, the Nobles and the betters go there. I’ve had a rotation guarding the temple square, but I’ve never been inside. To the south is the largest temple, which they call Southport; kind of obvious, I guess. The third temple is west heading as the crow flies and it’s the smallest building of the three. The temple used to have another name, but people call it ‘The West Temple’ these days. Are you joining the staff here in Covanera?”

“I started in Lewa Ilu and I’m passing through,” Zuri said. “I’m taking advantage of my assignment to view the sights before I take up my duties further west.”

“I hear Lewa Ilu is grand, but nothing compares to Covanera with the Governor’s palace, the castles and gardens in the north, the great market outside the river port, and the three bridges over the Carmon River. The Duran Governor rules with a strong hand, meaning we don’t have the troubles of the other provinces. People know their place and stay where they know they belong; well, most of the time. Like I said, the Governor rules with a strong hand and we constables have what we need to keep the peace.”

“Good to know,” Zuri said, as he translated the constable’s observations into what he surmised were the facts for everyone else in the city. “A strong hand” was never a good thing when one is poor or struggling. A constabulary with everything they needed was also a great concern, probably meaning they could bash in heads without a worry.

“How far a walk is it to the West Temple?” Zuri asked.

“About an hour, I would reckon,” the constable said. “Go straight, and when the sidewalk ends, keep going straight.”

Zuri thanked the constable, wishing him well. With one last view of the vista, Zuri marched off the bridge into the west side of the city. The nice buildings and roads quickly gave way to the rougher, poorer neighborhoods. Zuri flipped up his hood, hiding most of his face as he had learned as a child. He set a deliberate pace as he passed through different districts like he was a man about his business, and spied toughs and gangs keeping eyes on their territories as he passed. He was certain there were brothels and gambling halls, but they were tucked away from the main thoroughfare where he walked. He felt like he was at home on this boulevard, and he did not like that feeling at all. At least the ground was dry.

After an hour’s walk, he spotted the temple’s spire up ahead. When he tried the front door, Zuri was surprised that the door was locked. He tried it again just to be sure.

“Go knock on the side door,” an old lady said as she walked up to Zuri. “They’ve had a bit of a problem with people trying to rob the place. There ain’t no respect for God around here anymore.”

Zuri knocked on the side door, which was stout and uninviting. No one answered. He pounded as loud as he could on the door again. He was about to kick the door when he heard the rasp of a board being withdrawn.

“Yeah?” the young Gura said as he opened the door. “What do you want?” He was dressed in Gura robes, and his hair was long and lanky.

Zuri lifted his collar and showed his Gura sigil. The man nodded and invited Zuri in with a silent cupping gesture. After Zuri stepped in, the man closed the door, sliding the board back in place.

“Sorry,” he said, leading Zuri to the back of the building. “The neighborhood has gone to the dogs. One day they come begging and the next day they return to steal. Even if I gave them something, they were still planning to come steal.” He ladled Zuri some water. “Emil; four years.”

“Zuri; just graduated.”

“Where’s your assignment?” Emil asked.

“Qirin.”

“Qirin is awful, but at least you won’t be assigned here.”

“What do you mean?” Zuri said, putting down his cup.

“The temple treasuries are falling,” Emil said. “The boss man is at Greenvale now, begging for relief from our required contribution. We take collections on second day, fourth day and seventh day services, but we barely cover our own costs. Individual blessings are way down from a couple of years ago. The Gura-sho demands forty-five percent. If we had to feed another Gura. . .”

“How did things get so bad?” Zuri asked.

“The Governor will say that farm yields are down and exports to the rest of the Kingdom have slowed, but he’s talking out his ass. The new Secretary of Finance is from an old noble Noble family, I mean, the ancient, first line families from the days when Duran was its own country. The Secretary abolished income taxes based on what a man makes and imposed a new set called consumption taxes. You pay a tax on what you buy. The new taxes hit these western neighborhoods like a shitstorm. The Nobles are happy because they use the Provincial treasury to pay the constabulary to beat the brains out of anyone who complains. The black market is thriving.”

“Sounds bad,” Zuri said. “What about you? Can you stay here?”

“My family has fled to our summer estate northeast of Covanera and are reopening some fallowed fields,” Emil said. “I sent my wife with them. I’m expecting food riots this winter and I’m the optimist in the family.”

Zuri nodded as if he understood and sympathized. “Is the temple going to do anything to help the neighborhoods?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can feed the hungry and cloth the naked,” Zuri said. “Our scriptures give us permission to do things like that when necessary.”

“Even if the boss man wanted to open the doors to the rabble out there, the Gura-sho would pitch a fit,” Emil said. “Coin given to the temple pays for the temple. Period. You’ll learn. The temples have always been around, and this is the way they survive.”

“God is great,” Zuri said, not knowing how to respond. Emil nodded.

“I need a place to stay tonight. Can I ask for accommodation?”

Emil shrugged. “The boss man would be compelled to grant you a bed but trust me, you don’t want to meet the Senior Gura of West Temple. He’s angry and sour, doing his best to share his resentment with anyone who comes near. Qirin-bound is a curse in Duran to top it off. You would not be made to feel welcome, if you know what I mean.”

“Would the other temples provide accommodation?”

“No,” Emil said. “It’s the same bitter tale throughout the city; I’ve got the nicer of the Senior Guras when I compare them. To be sure, you can’t make it out of the city by nightfall.” Emil held up his hand and asked Zuri to wait before he disappeared into the front of the temple. “We were fortunate today,” Emil said, pressing several coins into Zuri’s hand. “Go west one block and turn left. You will see the sign of a pig with an apple in its mouth. Tell the proprietress that I sent you and that you need a bed for the night.”

Zuri felt conflicted for a moment but decided that a lone man on the streets of this city at night was not a healthy choice. He thanked Emil for the coins and departed quickly.

“The Stuffed Pig” appeared to be a gentleman’s club from the foyer. When Zuri stepped through the foyer to the front sitting room, he caught sight of the inhouse muscle in the far corner and the madam in her costume that emphasized her bosom and her backside. As he had been tutored, brothels never used coarse language in the front rooms.

“How may I help you,?” the matron said, extending her hand. Zuri took her hand gently while pushing aside his journey cloak to show his sigil. He explained as Emil had instructed him. The woman smiled and nodded, then she asked for coin. With nothing to lose, Zuri put all three coins in her hand.

“Bath, dinner, bed, and bed warmer,” she said, signaling for the bouncer to come forward. She explained to the muscle-bound man what the Gura had purchased. He took the coin and walked through the curtain into the back.

Zuri was invited to come into the sitting room and meet the girls. He looked around the sitting room and counted seven tired women who were trying hard but not quite succeeding. There were no other men present. He shook his head in dismay.

Putting down his pack and his staff, he held out his hands palm to palm and introduced himself. He told them he was traveling from the Capital city and only staying the night. He also spoke of Pira, his prostitute lover he had to leave behind, and of his time at the Owl House, her place of employment. When he finished his small soliloquy, he offered to bless each of them, no matter who warmed his bed during the night.

Zuri had not seen such excitement in recent memory. They acted as if he were offering them the moon. They were chattering and laughing until a bell over the front door sounded. The room quieted down instantly.

He pointed to the shy woman in the tan bodice who had been the most excited of the seven, “Would you show me to my bath?”

First, she showed him to the room upstairs where he would be sleeping, suggesting that he drop his gear behind the door. The bed was lumpy under his hand, but it was the first bed he had seen in months. By the time he made it to the end of the hall, the woman was already filling the tub from a clever device that drew water from below and heated it in a bin overhead. Zuri stripped and climbed in the tub without waiting for an invitation. She handed him a scented bar of soap and a long-handled brush. She left with a wink and a promise to return.

When Zuri finally emerged from the bath, a worn but clean towel was waiting on the three-legged stool. His clothes were gone, swept away to the laundress. His hostess reappeared in the doorway with another woman who held a pair of scissors, offering to trim his hair. After his haircut, Zuri placed his hands on the barber’s head and recited a blessing for health upon her. She was in tears when she stood up. Embarrassed, she ran out of the room.

By the time Zuri fell into bed with his naked bedwarmer, he had blessed every person in the household. They behaved as if such a thing had never happened to them, which struck Zuri profoundly. His bedmate was enthusiastic, awkward, and not too exciting. Zuri took it all in stride, considering what he valued in the moment was a night of uninterrupted sleep.

His bedmate snuggled against him in the morning, which surprised Zuri because he was awake before she was. While his morning wood was tempting, he knew the rhythms and work schedules of these houses, and rampant patrons were unappreciated disruptions in the early hours. She did rise and help him with his ablutions and preparations to leave. Most everyone was friendly despite the early hour. Zuri hoisted his pack on his back, heavy now with food stuffs for the road.

He was on the stairs when he heard the bell over the front door jingle. The Tax Collector announced himself, demanding to speak with the matron. He was accompanied by a constable who had his truncheon in his hand. Before the madam could say a word, the Tax Collector started spewing invectives and accusing her of tax fraud and all sorts of immorality. Zuri wondered if he could intervene, but with a headshake from the bouncer who appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Zuri retreated to the second floor. One of the other women escorted him to a back window, explaining to him how to cross the roof and climb down the “well-secured” trellis on the other side.

Touring the big market down by the south port, Zuri found a merchant with a loaded cart of dry goods who was heading west. The man welcomed the company, especially since Zuri brought his own food. The man happy and upbeat until he pulled his cart up to the exit pike. The screeching negotiation took an hour as the merchant argued with the Tax Collector, who was backed by four men toting weapons. Zuri did not see how many coins it cost his new-found friend, but the man was incensed for several hours as they drove out into the countryside.

The merchant stopped at small villages and crossroads along the way. He would ring a bell, bang a pot, or simply set up shop by laying down a blanket beside the cart, shadow-side only, he explained. The horse was unhitched and left to graze the grasses by the road. The rest of the people were mostly local peasants going about their daily business and they appeared burdened as well. Only once did a coach thunder past driven by two horses, accompanied by two men on horseback. When the coach had departed, everyone turned their head to side and spit. “At least it wasn’t one of those accursed tax collectors,” an old woman muttered aloud.

People asked Zuri for blessings, and he always granted the requests. He felt less awkward as the days progressed. Knowing the state of the Province and still disturbed by the coins he accepted without protest from the West Temple, he never asked for coin. He was handed eggs, vegetables, a pouch of flour a couple of times, and even a pea-sized rock of salt. He also got a few leather strips, a sharpened sewing needle, and a small ball of string. As they traveled westward, he and merchant ate better than expected.

When the merchant reached the westward point of his route, Zuri learned he had a long walk ahead of him.

Chapter 5

Three weeks later, Zuri crossed into Qirin Province from Duran, with only a couple of painted rocks to mark the transition. No guards or collectors from either province were present, not even an empty shack to mark an earlier presence.

A few days ago, a caravan caught up to him. The Duran caravan was composed of profiteers and threadbare merchants who were compelled to go west instead of east. The goods were middling to poor quality, but as one merchant explained, the coin in Qirin was not there in any great quantities. The land was enough to sustain the people with little left for export.

“Why does the empire hold on to Qirin then?” Zuri asked.

Another merchant scratched his beard. “Qirin has always been,” he said. “The great masters of Lewa Ilu believe that all began and all ends in the great city to our far east. Out here where memory is longer and deeper, we have legends that the people came out of Qirin, abandoning it when its soils petered out and its streams shrank. The people of Qirin refer to themselves as ‘The Old Folk’ and claim family trees longer than the purple crownwoods of Maris and deeper roots than the Northern Mountains.”

“They’re talking about their sheep and goats,” the first merchant said, waving off his companion’s talk. “Qirin is the dumping ground of the known world. Got the Noble’s daughter in the family way, Qirin has a place for you. Pinched a few too many pennies from the wrong people, Qirin will teach you better skills for not getting caught.”

His friend laughed. “It’s more like after burning down a couple of villages and drinking away the piss poor purse, Qirin will welcome you with a barely lifted eyebrow.”

“Sounds simply lovely,” Zuri said.

“Yeah, you will need to cut the going rate for your blessings in half, Gura,” the first merchant said. “Even then, they’re not going to ask for blessing. They act like godless heathens. Famine haunts the land, so they say, and no one is exempt.”

“On the other hand, when the rest of the Kingdom expires, you will be good for months and months, if not years,” the second merchant said. He laughed. “Imagine the world coming to Qirin.”

“If Qirin is far removed from everything, why are you going there?” Zuri asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Two reasons,” the first merchant said. “First, no one else is taking their goods to Qirin, which means they are lacking much, and the market is hungry. A lack means an opportunity for decent returns. Second, Qirin is lacking in basic goods in a unique manner. I can take all my unsold merchandise, add to it all my competitors’ unsold merchandise, and toss last year’s unsellable items on top with an assurance I can squeeze a return out of the entire pile. My storage is purged and ready for next year. I will return with a few new items that will cover the expense of the trip. The only thing I truly lose is time.”

“What do you bring back?”

“For those who enjoy a different quaff,” the second merchant said, “they make several varieties of a strong liquor from the sap of succulents. The liquors are an acquired taste, but some people with money are always looking for something different. There are a few other things as well.”

“That’s all? Aren’t these roads dangerous to chance a little bit of stock?” Zuri said. “I mean dangerous enough to warrant handfuls of caution.”

The second merchant was about to respond when the first one cut him off. “Two years ago, the caravan was assaulted by a band of marauders. The fools were so poor and desperate they only had clubs and their two feet to attack us. The moment would have been laughable if it had not been so sad. We cut them down quickly. When we searched the bodies, there was not a coin among them nor a sandal without a hole in the bottom. My rags in this basket were better than their clothes. I think I offered up the sincerest prayer of my entire life afterwards, asking for God’s grace upon those dead souls.”

“Yeah, don’t feed the kids; you’ll get mobbed by dozens in an instant,” the second merchant said. “Never show a coin purse and only use coppers, never silvers or God help you, anything better.”

“Sounds dreadful,” Zuri said.

“Dreadful is where Gura should be, not like the overfed ones in Duran. Have you seen Greenvale Temple in Covanera?” the first merchant said. “These folk need hope, and they need direction. Qirin does not need to be as bad as it is. I’m told the Governor spends his days drowning in his cups and the few Nobles are noble in name only. On the mountainsides to the north, they harvest these bulb-like flowers that are crushed and distilled into a white powder. They smoke the powder. Slowly, they lose their will, their hair, and their bodies waste away. We call it the smiling powder because its users have the same dreamy smile pasted to their faces. They die quick.”

“Why don’t they leave,” Zuri asked himself aloud.

“They are the Old Folk in the Old Land,” the second merchant answered. “They believe they are blessed more than anyone else in the world. Crazy, no?”

“I think I have much to learn,” Zuri said. He turned his attention back to the road with his thoughts in turmoil. His instinct had been to run as far as possible, which he still did not doubt. However, his plan to find an instrument of revenge appeared to be a failure before he even reached the end of his travel.

He had no temple to go to and set up shop. Even if he did, could he stoop to stealing from the poor and desperate? He had no faith in the Gura-sho of the Qirin because such an office must require the same capitulation of morals that he had witnessed in Lewa Ilu and Covanera. Given the desolation of the post, the high office must have been a bitter reward for the man, whoever he was.

A week after that conversation, Zuri arrived in Kaosa. The steady breeze from the west kept a daily haze from forming over the city, but a slight shift would often bring a stench of rot or foulness with it.

“The tanneries and dye factories are downriver on your left,” the first merchant said as he pointed with his arm. “They have some dyes from rocks garnered from the four corners of the Province and some roots that are grown in the general area. The skins are not that comfortable, but they are tough and durable. They are a poor sell back east.”

“I see the temple tower in the city center,” Zuri said. “The stone is aged and worn. The Governor’s hall to the north of the temple does not appear to be much better.”

“The winds are persistent,” his companion said. “Everything wears down in Kaosa. Still, there is a stark beauty here. What really stands out here are people’s teeth. They’re white and they’re whole. They chew twigs from a small tree that grows here in abundance, even using the twigs between their teeth to clean them. You’ve got to chew the twigs fresh though. If they’re dried, they’re useless.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Zuri said as he ran his tongue across his teeth, suddenly self-conscious. Where he came from, rotting teeth were a normal part of aging. “There is more to Kaosa than meets the eye.”

“Hardly,” the man said. “We will turn south before we reach the temple square. You can hop off there and hoof it to the front door in a straight line. If you keep your purse hidden and show no interest in the natives, you’ll make it to the square.”

Zuri gathered his traveling pack and his staff. The wagon stopped long enough for him to lightly leap down to the dusty street. He noticed a few people pay attention, but they kept their distance. He walked quickly towards the temple.

The square was not what he expected. The sides were lined with stone benches that faced the middle and stone chairs that faced each other. Between the chairs was a raised stone table with a game board etched on the surface with sixty-four squares, inscribed eight by eight. Several of the tables were occupied with men playing a game with two different colors of stones. In the center of the square was a Wayfarer’s fountain with a secondary pool for washing one’s feet. Most of the square was empty though.

Standing in front of the great door to the temple, Zuri felt small and impotent. Squaring his shoulders, he pushed open the right door, amazed that the hinges did not squeal. He stepped into the cool interior of the sanctuary, feeling the immediate relief from the heat and dust. To his left was the pulpit and the Anointed Chair placed at the back of it. The lectern was stone and off to the side. The benches in the congregation looked worn and ill-used though. The high-placed tall windows were dirty.

An open doorway was on his right, unlit and uninviting. Reshouldering his sack, Zuri quietly walked into the hallway, following it around to the corner. At the end of the short hallway was an open room and an empty desk. Inside the office were two doorways on either side that led to rooms whose depth was the length of the hallway. He went to the right. Looking in, he viewed the simple office with Gura robes hanging from a hat rack.

He went back out to the outer office and walked over to the other doorway. The office was a bit more appointed with shelves to accompany the desk. An older man sat behind the desk writing in a book.

Zuri politely knocked on the doorframe, “Excuse me, sir?”

The man looked up from his book and frowned after he gave Zuri a once over. “We have no aid to give to travelers,” he said.

“Yes, sir, I understand, sir,” Zuri said. “I just arrived from Lewa Ilu, from the Seminary.”

The man’s frown deepened. “Provost Abans sent you here.”

“To be honest, he banished me here, sir.”

“What crime did you commit that warranted your banishment, Gura?”

Zuri took the measure of the man before he decided to speak. “My crime is that I was born in poverty and while my mother did climb out of those circumstances, we did not climb high enough.”

“The issues we face daily across this Kingdom are concerning and Abans plays his games,” the man said. “I am Gura-sho Deredia. Qirin needs another Gura, especially a newly minted one, like we need more sand in our boots. There is no money to pay you a salary. Most of us live by barter or by another vocation on the side when available.”

“Nothing you describe is different from my student days,” Zuri said. “The only difference is the city.”

The man grunted. “What’s your name?” Zuri told him.

The Gura-sho clasped his hands and interlaced his fingers as he leaned forward. “I will give you tonight in the rectory, one meal, and a bed. Tomorrow, you will take the western road to Premia. Keep your insignia visible where everyone can see it. Throw out your blessings to the people like you are tossing candy; they eat that crap up. In Premia, you will find Gura Olabe. Understand?”

“I understand, Gura-sho.”

 

Chapter 6

“Gura, will you bless my crops?” the man asked. His wife was holding a toddler on her hip as she stood behind her man. She had circles around her eyes and her face was drawn.

“Bring me a bucket of water and I will bless your crops,” Zuri said. He had walked for eight days, and each day had brought opportunities for exchange of a blessing or two for water, travel rations or a roof to sleep under. He had not encountered a whiff of cynicism or disdain since leaving Kaosa, which touched him deeply.

The man sent his wife to fetch the bucket while the two men walked out into the fields. The farmer pointed out the mishmash of food crops, where three or even four different species were planted together. Between the back field and the food crops were a couple of haphazard rows of a mixed orchard that grew dark brown seed pods and olives. The back field was always the cash crop that was illegal elsewhere in the Kingdom. Whether the goal was the flower, the crushed leaves, or the chewable roots, the variety of substances was astonishing. He had heard the terms most of his life and even glimpsed them in certain taverns or seedy back rooms in Reichen, but he had never queried from whence they came. Their origins were a smuggler’s secret. Not any longer.

Zuri dipped his hand in the bucket and sprinkled a few drops on the front crop. He recited a blessing he had memorized in class his second year. He repeated the rite in the orchard and in the back field. He was relieved that the water was clear and there was no mud at the bottom of the bucket. He took a sip. Deciding the water was as safe as he could determine, he poured the rest in his soft skin flask.

“We’re having a problem with critters eating our crop back here during the night,” the man said.

Zuri nodded. “You are not the only one I’ve heard having the same problem. About a day’s travel back towards Kaosa is a low hill to the north with a couple of crooked trees on top. You know the place?”

“You’re talking about the Witches’ Gallows?” the man asked.

“On the backside of the hill, you will see where people have removed the dirt and exposed a wall of whitish powdery stone; it’s quite soft. Up close, the stone appears yellowish with brown specks in it. Scrape the stone and collect the powder until you have a large basketful. Sprinkle the powder around the border of your crop and it will keep away the vermin. Don’t let your boy put the powder in his mouth though. To be safe, you should burn the basket after using it.”

“God provides,” the man said, and the woman repeated.

“How far to Premia? Zuri asked.

“Two day’s walk from here,” the man said. “Did the Gura there die? His wife died five years back and I expected him to follow.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Zuri said. “I’m passing through and stopping there.”

“Well, the only thing beyond Permia is the Forsaken Plain, as they call it in plain speak,” the man said. “We Old Folk have another name for it: Fundazioa.” When he mentioned the word, his wife tapped her forehead three times with her fingers.

“What does the word mean?” Zuri asked. “I’ve never heard the language before.”

“A lot of the old language is gone,” the man said. “People forget as the generations pass. We all know Fundazioa though. Fundazioa is the beginning from where we came. We’re taught that one day the land will be replenished, and we will return. There are a few Old Folk out there who keep vigil, awaiting the sign of return.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Zuri said.

“They say the first Gura was born there and the first temple built there too,” the man said. “I was out there once, before I took a wife. I didn’t see anything but the wolf packs.”

The toddler started to fuss and after a few moments, broke out into a full cry. “He’s hungry,” the woman said.

“Join us for our meal, Gura,” the man said. “We don’t have much, but we practice the blessing of hospitality.”

“I accept your invitation,” Zuri said, relieved. “I have two pieces of fruit left to peel I must share with you in return. He reached into sack and pulled out the yellow globes with their leathery skins.”

“Limon,” the man said as he broke into a smile. “They’re good for preventing the bleeding gums disease. We are truly blessed with your presence today.”

By the time the meal of bean paste and flat bread was done and eaten, the sun was far to the west. The couple offered Zuri their sleeping mat, but he declined. Laying out his traveler’s cloak, Zuri slept in the front corner of the modest room, near the doorway and halfway under the table.

The next morning, he awoke to voices talking outside. Zuri stepped out to use the privy, nodding to his host and an old man who were sitting on the bench. When he returned, the farmer introduced him to his neighbor, Leniz, from the hills behind his property. As Zuri introduced himself, he noticed a flock of peculiar goat-like creatures munching away at the vegetation on the other side of the road. Their front haunches were larger than their rear ones.

“You like my grogan?” the old man asked.

“I never seen them before,” Zuri admitted. “They seem ungainly.”

“They are bred for the hills and dry lands,” the old man said. “Look at the split hooves; they’re flexible and able to grip the smoothest stone or stay on top of the loosest sand.”

“Leniz is going to Premia to sell his flock,” his host said. “He needs a second man to keep the flock together and you need a companion to get you there in one piece. Together, you will make it to Premia in two days without worry. God has provided us with another blessing this morning.”

“Indeed,” Zuri said. He gathered his cloak and travel sack. Thanking the couple for their hospitality, he chewed on a dried hunk of flatbread as he joined Leniz on the road. With a wave of thanks, the two men began walking with the grogan meandering in front of them. Leniz walked with a long thin stick with a bulb of thistles attached to the end. When a grogan began to wander away, he would tap the creature with the tip of the stick.

“Preda said you are on a mission to Fundazioa,” Leniz said. “Is this true?”

“I cannot say,” Zuri said, knowing the man might take his words in a different manner than he intended.

“Never in the recollections of my family, going back to my great-grandfathers, has Gura returned to Fundazioa. The Gura-sho sends us these broken men to man the temple in Premia, always shattered men. They have not deviated from the pattern in memory.”

“Premia appears to be the end of the world from Lewa Ilu,” Zuri said. “The closer one is to the Capital, the bigger and richer the temple is. The Gura account much prestige to the position they acquire in which temple.”

“Permia must be the asshole of the kingdom Kingdom according to your colleagues,” Leniz said.

“I don’t think they single out one village,” Zuri said. “They have written off the entirety of Qirin Province as far as I can tell. Even the Gura-sho had less in his study than a Seminary student.”

“Good,” Leniz said. “Your words give me great comfort.”

“Eh?”

“Guras are parasites,” Leniz said. “They keep more than they ever give. I have traveled to other provinces in my youth, young man. I have seen the finery and the flattery. I’ve watched their hands take and take while they push one coin with their finger back across the table. You gave your hosts limons last night and they have probably never had one before in their lives. You have proven your name. The others – no.”

That was a preview of A Fundamental Betrayal. To read the rest purchase the book.

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