Part 3: The Afsun Mahal
(10 pm)
Dara, the matriarch of the Afsun Mahal, sat cross-legged before the fireplace. Next to Dara her husband, Reis Mudri, peered intently into the flames as if he would suddenly develop the ability to see visions as his wife did.
Dara sprinkled dried lavender into the fire, releasing a pleasant floral scent.
“I see something.” Dara calmly announced.
The other Afsun gathered around the fire sat up a bit. Shirin, a slight woman lost in the folds of her emerald chador, bristled in irritation. Every evening Dara insisted on wasting plants from her apothecary garden to attempt firesight. Now that a vision had materialized she became annoyed that Dara’s efforts were vindicated.
“Three figures.” Dara continued. “An old woman. She is with two young forest dwellers. A man and a woman. They are being led to us. The young woman appears to be carrying a baby basket.”
Elder Aasim nearly stood up at the last bit of information. Aasim was a scholar of ancient texts, not only for the Afsun clan, but for the whole of the Mehrzad desert people. The younger generation was becoming more and more indifferent to the old foretelling as there had been many false alarms, but Aasim know that this vision was important and the presence of the—
“Ey gramps, looks like your prophecy is coming true.”
“Zaryan!” Mudri snapped at his teenage son.
The smirk did not leave Zaryan’s face until Mudri’s stern look over powered his smugness. Defeated, a petulant frown shadowed Zartan’s bronze face.
Dara made herself comfortable. There were few conclusions to draw, but that wouldn’t deter Aasim from expressing immense speculation. Welcome speculation as far as she was concerned. The Afsun clan were losing touch with the old ways. And considering that she had never had a vision that was even close to prophetic, she wasn’t above speculation herself.
Chapter 1: The Foxtrot
(8pm)
Lew absent-mindedly scratched his ear while Maybel looked upon in mild distaste. Awkward silence lingered at the table where they sat with Yaasmeen. All around them laughter and merriment filled the air, emphasizing their lack of conversation.
Maybel smiled at Lew. “Would you mind getting me another round of perry wine?”
Lew enthusiastically accepted the task and disappeared into the crowd.
“Yaas, where did you find this guy? He’s so… dull.”
Yaasmeen waved her gnarled hand at Maybel in disapproval. “Too picky.”
Maybel hmphed.
In all fairness there wasn’t much exciting to talk about. The first day of the journey had been uneventful. The weather was pleasant and the mules relativity compliant after a little prodding from Yaasmeen. Just as the sun was thinking of setting they pulled up to an inn called The Foxtrot. Everything was perfect, really.
Lew returned with Maybel’s drink. “Our food should be ready soon.” Lew rubbed the back of his head as if summoning something to say. “Quite the downhill path, isn’t it? Makes it easy now, but going home will be a chore.”
Maybel and Yaasmeen both nodded. Neither of them intended on going back to Ashbury.
Lew was about to give another obvious observation when, mercifully, the piano player began a jaunty tune and folks started singing.
The sheep won’t baa without me
baa baa, baa haa
The crow won’t caw without me
caw caw, caw haw
The cows won’t milk, the dogs won’t bark
The song won’t sing from the lark
without me
without me
Maybel started clapping along, and Lew followed suit. Even Yaasmeen was swept up in the reverie.
***
(2 am)
Yaasmeen slipped out the back entrance. A pleasant breeze rustled her chador and the droning of insects felt comforting. She glided by the stables where the wagon was stowed. Tullymully slept on the bed of the wagon. Though she looked peaceful, she would wake and sound the alarm if anyone ventured too close.
Yaasmeen did not stop until she had breeched the forest and found a nice log to perch on. She hummed softly, unconcerned with any nocturnal man-eaters that might be roaming the forest in the moonlight.
After a short while a red fox appeared and leapt at Yaasmeen in excitement. Yaasmeen scratched him between his ears. She produced a handkerchief from the fold of her garment and offered the fox scraps from dinner. The morsels disappeared in moments.
“Quite hungry!” Yaasmeen patted the animal again.
The fox was eager to tell Yaasmeen a detailed account of giving chase to a rabbit who had almost evaded him, but not quite. He wondered if it would rain soon and why there were strange creatures slinking around the deepwoods. He asked if Yaasmeen had any more food.
“Strange creatures?”
They smell wrong was all the fox could tell her.
Yaasmeen decided that many things seem strange to a fox and chose not to worry about it. I wouldn’t have been so dismissive of such things if I were her.
Chapter 2: Spread The Word
(11 am)
Bumble bees and colorful butterflies flitted among the fragrant blooms of Shirin’s garden. Every plant was well-tended and not leaf or petal displayed a single flaw.
Shirin poured a measure of water, then a bit more, into a pot of nettle plants. Nettle tea eased mild aches and could be quite enjoyable to drink. All it needed was a good dollop of honey. No amount of honey would sweeten her mood, however. Prophecy was all good and well when it is something that will happen in the distant future, but who wants to actually live through it? And who is this crazy old lady trying to trick it into happening? Shirin was a barely 20 and didn’t want her life to be consumed with struggle.
“Shirin?”
It was Aasim. His white scholars robes bright in the late morning sun.
“Do you need more dandelion root?”
“Oh, no. Stomach’s all better, thank you. I was hoping for some night-blooming jasmine.”
Shirin was taken aback by the odd request, but only for a moment. “So you can attract a gaggle of bats to send messages to your bookish friends?”
Aasim poked his fingers together. “You’re quite astute, Shirin.” He stepped closer. “You’re not the only one that can be preceptive. I know you’re apprehensive about prophecy, but in the hourglass of time the sand falls as it must.”
“Glass breaks easily.” Shirin handed Aasim a jar containing the sweet-smelling flower and turned back to her plants.
Aasim gave a thankful bow that Shirin would not see and hurried to his quarters.
***
A fountain pen, full inkwell. 24 sheets of parchment. A cup of water. Aasim was all set to correspond.
His stomach growled.
“Maybe a snack first” Aasim said to himself.
Laleh, one of the servant girls, was in the kitchen kneading dough for barbari. She looked up at Aasim and shook her head.
“Aasim, you’ll ruin your dinner.”
“I don’t have time to sit for a meal. Is there anymore of that ranginak lying around?”
Laleh put a small piece of the dessert on a plate. “Now go. I’ll bring up your meal later.”
“Thank you, Laleh.”
Munching on the ranginak, Aasim realized he didn’t know what to say. It almost seemed rather silly cause whipper winds over one firesight. Then again, he had to trust his gut. And his gut said “more ranginak”. But it also said that this vision shouldn’t be ignored.
Aasim shuffled around his room for a bit. Picked up a few books off the floor and put them on the spare bed. He then picked up a few books from that bed and put them on a top of a stack on the floor. He shuffled around some more and finally sat at his writing desk.
Aasim swirled the pen nub in the ink for several moments. He stared at the small square of parchment — you can’t expect bats to carry a novel — with the pen poised above the paper. He became distracted by wondering what Laleh was going to bring him for dinner. He inked the pen again and began to write, carefully forming the words to be both small and legible.
Khanam Dara received a prophetic vision during last night’s fire ceremony. If the vision is true a man and a woman from foreign lands travel to Afsun Mahal and the woman is carrying a baby basket. I am inclined to believe this revelation should not be ignored. Please prepare accordingly.
With all kindness,
Elder Aasim al-Sahri
Dusk had fallen as Aasim completed the last message. At some point Laleh had brought a bowl of lamb khoresht which Aasim had eaten at some point. At least one note had a splotch of tomato red on it.
Aasim opened the jar and several minutes later his messenger bats began to arrive. He had given them silly names like Joey and Martha. The bats all knew where to go and soon all the letters were out for delivery. Aasim basked in a job well done before he went down to the kitchen to see if there was any dessert.
Chapter 4: Bumps in the Night
(7 pm)
The second day of the journey wasn’t going nearly as well as the first.
It had been raining. It doesn’t rain in July in Nordholt, but it had been raining. For hours. Wrapped in a blanket Maybel shared the cramped wagon with Yaasmeen, silently resenting the fact that she wasn’t the rugged type she has envisioned herself as. Yaasmeen was lightly dozing.
Lew was the rugged type, however. He had thought to bring a cloak treated with lanolin and out on the drivers seat looked content as a porcupine under it’s protection. Tullymully sat beside him, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort. She had already named Lew as her favorite human.
The wagon slowed and pulled into a clearing. Lew turned around to the others. “We’ll have to stop here.”
The wagon stopping caused Yaasmeen to awake. Seeing it was still raining she grunted.
“Can’t we make it to an inn?” Maybel pleaded.
“Afraid not. It’s too dark and I reckon the next village is still hours away.”
“Food and sleep.” Yaasmeen said.
“Good idea!” Lew replied. Maybel though he was too darn chipper for the circumstances. “I’ll be right back.”
Lew jumped off the wagon and tended to the mules. Tullymully walked the parameter, although she would be unable to nose out any danger in the rain.
After a cold meal washed down with warm wine. Lew grabbed his bedroll and dagger and bedded down underneath the wagon. After several minutes of configuring, Yaasmeen and Maybel both found a position that would allow them to stretch out. Yaasmeen was lightly snoring as soon as her head hit the pillow, but Maybel stared into the darkness. All she could think about was shadelions stalking their wagon, waiting to pounce.
All that could be heard was the rain.
Maybel told herself that shadelions were rare and they would be to the Sand Basin soon and tomorrow they would find an inn and…
Two hours till dawn Tullymully started barking. It had stopped raining.
Maybel heard scuffling from underneath the wagon. Lew whistled twice, a signal for Tullymully to stick to his side.
A growl emanated from the woods.
Maybel was paralyzed. She hoped Lew didn’t need any help because she would be none.
Another growl, louder. The rustling of leaves. Tullymully started barking.
Yaasmeen snorted awake.
“There’s a shadelion!” Maybel whispered in a panic.
Yaasmeen grunted in irritation, threw off her blanket and crawled down from the wagon.
In the moonlight she could make out Lew standing his ground, his dagger held out purposefully in front of him. Next to him Tullymully had her hair raised and teeth bared.
On the edge of the clearing two reflective eyes could be seen. The front facing eyes of a predator. A standing shadelion would have been at eye level to a five foot Yaasmeen. It was growling low and steady.
“Be gone ya lout!” Yaasmeen shouted.
The eyes blinked, the growling ceased. It turned around and melted into the bush.
By this point Maybel had mustered up the courage to peek her head out of the wagon. She stared at Yaasmeen in awe. “You know wildspeak, Yaas. You saved us.”
Yaasmeen dismissively waved her hand. She turned to Lew, who was just as thunderstruck and nodded. “Brave.” She started back towards to wagon. “Too early. Back to sleep.”
***
Back in Ashbury Mayor Bram Tiller attempted to busy himself by looking at the accounts. The numbers on the pages might as well been scribbles for all the information Bram was absorbing. He just wanted to get this meeting over with, but Gossom always made him wait.
As silent as a graveyard a cloaked figure entered the mayor’s office. Bram didn’t notice.
Gossom coughed wetly.
Bram looked up and noticing Gossom he clumsily got to his feet and bowed.
“Don’t grovel.” Gossom said as he took a seat on one of the fine couches. Gossom had learned that the sight of him made Bram sick, and he found that quite distasteful, so he kept his hood up.
Bram sat. He attempted to swallow away the feeling of a stone in his throat. “How may I serve you, lord.”
Gossom picked up a fragile trinket from the low table in front of him. It sparkled and shone, but Gossom could tell it was a cheap bit of folk art. He crushed the thing in his gloved hand.
“Mr. Spatz will be needing to take over ownership of the Twin Pikes. The current owner won’t sell. Make him sell. Do whatever is necessary.”
Bram knew what that meant and tried to swallow the stone again. “As you wish, my lord.”
Gossom softly chuckled as he stood and walked over to Bram’s desk. Bram did everything he could to not scrunch his nose at the smell.
“Your payment for last time.” Gossom tossed a fat purse onto the desk.
Without missing a beat Gossom drove a dagger into the desk, right next to Bram’s trembling hand. Gossom believed that using a carrot and a stick at the same time was quite effective.
“You have three full moons.” And with that Gossom departed.