Raheim: Trickster's Fate

EPISODE 2 : Closer Than You Think

It was morning and Raheim was looking over the dunes, legs pulled to his chest. He sat there quietly, examining the distance that separated him from the closest dune. It appeared to be well over eight kilometers since he could only see the tip of its structure. That was slightly beyond what he was used to maneuvering, but maybe this was his chance to beat his previous record of seven kilometers.

He closed his eyes, pressed his index & middle fingers against his temples, and mumbled in lowest baritone with a buzz that resembled a hornet's nest. He punctuated this exercise with five-second deep inhales and exhales. In a straight line, sand gathered, formed and rose to create smaller dunes. The longer he sustained the note, the quicker the dunes formed. Once the last dune was a mile away, he concluded this trick could be added to his catalog; he offered the process to local moisture farmers to safeguard their water stocks from petty thieves. In exchange, he earned a couple of gold coins, some bags of corn, rice, and a ride back to town.

Riding camels was not the fastest way to reach a destination, but Raheim would rather not use his true power in broad daylight, at least not around others. Real magic isn't meant to be seen or utilized unless to serve the royal government. Besides, he preferred business to servitude. He would wait until he departed the caravan to consider using magic.

The heat of the desert was suffocating, especially now that it was midday. A few minutes on a carpet made of sand and he could have been in a bar drinking wheat ale by now.

Despite his efforts to occupy his mind till arrival, the intense sweat beading on his forehead drove him mad. A little magic couldn't hurt; just a light shower, he thought. He secured his long toned legs around the camel's nape and clasped his hand, preparing to summon rain when lightning flashed in the sky. Now, the desert rarely was privy to rain, let alone lightning. But this occurrence was happening only in one specific area. Raheim's eyes focused ahead.

"Austerr".

The town of Austerr in the district of Spottintrall. Another magician was in town.

Austerr was just as he left it: bustling, bulging with commerce, and filled with potential clients. He averted his eyes; although the town provided a good venue to perform, and the potential business proved tantalizing. Yet, he kept his eye on the prize: wringing information out of Devra. Raheim quickly remembered one of Devra's "spots" - without a second thought, he rushed through the back alleys and came to the place, knocking with as much force he could muster without bruising his knuckles.

"Open the damned door, Devra!"

After no longer than five seconds, Raheim kicked the wooden door clean off its hinges. This dead end back alley was a rendezvous point for illicit affairs that Devra took over. She repurposed two wooden booths, removed the sides to put them together in a square shape with the help of some idle kids. She made it a safe space for wandering migrants who ended up in troublesome alliances.

It wasn't suitable for comfortable lodging, but big enough to take shelter from the rain or to spend the night in case of an emergency. She kept the original purpose of the place to herself. Raheim imagined it used to be a lovers' den of some sorts. Right now he didn't care about her philanthropic endeavors. He needed to know exactly what was the madness the duchess got herself into.

Only one magician, or rather, wizard was known to command the skies in that way. If he was right on the money, then he'd be in grave danger, and maybe Devra as well.

Raheim stepped in and found the place stained with blood and no trace of Devra. Without a second thought Raheim sprung into action as his magic reflexes picked up. His lips started moving rapidly as he growled like a feral animal and incanted a spell. In each corner of that tiny space he repeated that incantation while glossing his hands over the brick walls carefully, reading his surroundings.

Some minutes later he caught the image of a silhouette in his mind. Devra was indeed here but someone followed her and dragged her out. She put up a fight but was soon overpowered. The events played out like a sick musical with drums and flutes. The melody was a clue.

Drums, flutes... Was this perhaps the work of a forced marriage concession? "But that doesn't explain the blood," Raheim pondered. "This was a waste of time!" he cried out. "I have to get to going. I can lay low and-"

A swift blow to the neck caught Raheim by surprise. Four cloaked men stood above him with daring smiles. Raheim grunted and blinked as fast as he could to remain conscious.

"It's been a while, Raheim. 'Hate that you're still a handsome bastard."