Our Little Gods 0.1: ATACHEREL, the Other Side of the Coin.

CHAPTER XVI

The bustling streets of the city of Canem were filling with people today as was the case each day at sunrise. Today was the day to build and toil, to cook and craft, to trade and exchange. The name of the One True God and of the Veviensis were equally cited to bless an endeavor and to guarantee the terms of a deal. Elders gathered in the shaded colonnades and chatted the morning away trading stories with one another, watching over the children while the parents busied themselves with the necessary doings of life. In the labor market, people came to sell themselves. Or rather sell their craft and know how if they had any, their muscles by the hour, the morning or the day if they only had that. It was a rule of Balà society that no-one could ever be owned by anyone else. For each contract agreed upon there was the obligation of the employer to provide the worker with unlimited drinkable water and reasonable food and fair salary. Even though the Spring Quarter of the year wasn't over yet, awnings had been put in place to shade the circular plaza where they had congregated, for the sun at the latitude of the Maharaïa was already as strong as in mid summer. Further towards the gaping depression of the cove of Canem the shipyards gave the impression of a droning beehive. An impressive quantity of hulls, masts and ropes filled each and every available parts in different states of achievements, there were those whose ribcage showed and the mast-less hulks as if waiting to hatch and finally, those all dressed up in ropes and lines and the ones whose paint was drying, sleek and shiny. Here and there smoke from the caulking fire snaked its way between the hulls and the slender masts. On the hill overlooking the yards, the orchards of the city, lush vibrant greenery and all were also bustling with activity as people gathered the ripe sweet fruits before the heat of the day could have a chance to spoil them.

Far above all this activity, the lush forest of giant trees covered the ground of Maharaïa all the way to the narrow strip of water that separated it from the Broken Lands.

The ring sea shone merrily under the sun of the new day when Malo saw it at last and her second horse died between her legs. The animal collapsed to the ground and began kicking wildly, Malo had but the time to jump off and roll in the dust while the beast finally slumped, exhaling in a rasping grunt the last of the air in its lungs.

The young woman placed a hand on the cheek of the dead beast and asked for its forgiveness and for the One True Gods to take it in its care. Without bothering to shake the dust and grime that covered her from head to toes, she stood up and began walking resolutely towards the sea shore. Now that she saw it she knew, it may be the narrowest part of the Ring Sea but there was no way she could swim across it. At her best she was a great swimmer, but she had been riding at break-neck speed for four days, killing two horses to bring her message to the Maharaïa, to Canem and the Admiral. She had the joy to sail with him on her first pull from the Sillaribes, on her way to Canem and this mission that had almost ended in the death of all. She had never met Thiriik warriors before, and for three nights each time she had passed out on the back of her horses she had seen them, moving like spirits, reaping her friends' lives like they were so many stalks of barley in a crop. Their beautiful faces empty of emotions, like masks, the faces of the marble statues in the Rehevïme town by the lake.

She had been thrown from her horse, never much of a rider that's why she had chosen the sea life of the fleet but when the mission to Nag had been brought up she had been between two commissions, and she wanted to see the ruins of the great city of kings and emperors, the fabled Dead Lands and the Ignaien Mounts. It was supposed to be like a trek, get there, camp for a few days let the historians do their thing and come back. Stories to tell on slow days on the deck of a Fast Sail pulling up the Wide Sea or something. She couldn't remember who had attacked first. But it had happened so fast: she got splattered with blood her horse began restless there were blades everywhere and arrows too and the beast rode off away from it and threw her. Malo was thirsty, the last time she drank had been a rainwater pool in the grey waste of the Dead Lands. The Ring Sea was salted and she knew she couldn't drink it. Her riding boots started making squishy sounds as she advanced on the wet sand. The animals on the beach had decided to ignore her and the Selikies snored peacefully as they sunbathed while the WindTraders glided above the waters in the hope to spot the silvery flash of a fish.

The pleasure yacht was pulling a gentle off shore wind right against the dangerous coast of the Broken Lands when she spotted it and began waving frantically.

Mere hours later they were making all possible sails in the direction of Canem. She stared ahead thinking of her dead companions, unburied, exposed to the winds and carrion birds of Nag. There had been a bold man, he took the head of the sailor standing before her in one swooping movement of his sword. She had no idea it was even possible to do such a thing as that. The dark haired boy had looked as terrorized and useless as she had felt, unlike the small boy in monks robes that had been throwing stones at them with such an intense look of anger that it had felt to her like a blow in her stomach. How could they, how could such a young child hate us so much?

The cliffs of Canem were in sight. She would get to see the Admiral again and tell him of what had happened in Nag. What they had done to Balà sailors and monks and to the Natabs that had come with them.