A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 3: Chapter 22: Offering

Book 3: Chapter 22: Offering

In the hearts of men, there exists a profound emptiness, a hole that yearns to be filled. If not filled with faith in something transcendent, it becomes fertile ground for something dark. In the absence of true belief, the allure of false deities and the seductive promises of Dust take root, offering illusory dreams and deceptive comforts.

- The Human Question by Gideon de Salavia 378 AC.

And the gods would strike down a man if he would churlishly offer only monies to his guest who bring great gifts to their host. And, as I said before, too crass by far. A lesson that my former brother-in-law, to this day, still fails to acknowledge, he said, his tone mockingly solemn as he steepled his hands in calculation.

He sat up fully now, straightening his back and shifting his prodigious girth. Mine has been a lifetime spent understanding, and catering for, the desires of people. Forgive my bluntness, but you, young master Gilgamesh, one can read as an open book, he explained.

I felt a spike of anger, sensing a game at play, and struggled to hide my annoyance. Never had I enjoyed word games.

No, no, do not take this the wrong way, he said, holding up his hands to show that he meant no insult. I find it best to deal with honest men. And a mans desire is the most honest part of him. And, gifted as I am with this insight, perhaps I can make a suitable offering for the Goddess grace. A votive offering for you, He continued in a voice as smooth and slick as oil on stone.

Tell me what do you know of Hazigadami, the people of the red gaze? he asked, completely changing tack and throwing me off balance.

It was a minuscule thing, a slight tightening of the jaw, but I imagined that his attendant looked uncomfortable.

In truth. Master Gelgor I began, only to be soon cut off. The fat man, it seemed, did not require my answer.

Please, call me Gelgor. Though it may be presumptuous of me, I would like to consider myself your friend, the fat man interjected, bulldozing through my attempt at a reply. I would hazard a guess from your reaction, not much at all, no?

I could only nod mutely, completely caught up in his pace, and oblivious to where he was leading me.

The Hazigadam, children of an ancient civilization lost to the fires of the Cataclysm. Punished by the gods for daring to touch that which no mortal should seek, or so the legends say. For their hubris, many believe that they brought doom to Gesthe. The Cataclysm that destroyed much of the world in ages past, with the long night brought about by their profanity, the man explained, pausing for dramatic effect. Still, others say, in whispered voices in the darkest of corners, that they are demon-spawn, their features, the stigmata of their curse. Doomed they are to wander the lands with no home. He continued with his little spiel, eyes lighting up like a village storyteller reveling at the sound of his own voice.

"Until, of course, the Empire benevolently 'gifted' them a barren strip of land that nobody else desired," he remarked with a sardonic edge.

I wasn't in the mood for a history lesson on the lore of this world, and my annoyance was probably as clear as day on my face. The one nugget of insight I managed to pick up was that, even in this realm, the all-too-human tendency to discriminate against those slightly different was thriving. My curiosity about Gelgor's promised extra gift was the only thing keeping me here. Otherwise, I would have been getting ready to give a polite refusal and went about my way.

"Of course, that's beside the point. Hazigadam make excellent servants, loyal to a fault. They honor their contracts and spoken promises with unwavering dedication, much like our reverence for surahs of our sacred texts. It's often said that they never tell a falsehood, though in my experience, they simply avoid lying to conceal the truth. Perhaps that's why some liken them to devils. You know, those imaginative tales where devils adhere strictly to the terms of a deal, if not its underlying intention," Gelgor pondered, shaking his head with a hint of regret.

"Furthermore, they are a misguided people. Even when witnessing a miracle, Zariyah would never humble herself to believe in the Divines. Her people, however, hold firm to the belief that there is one God. Isn't that right, my dear?" he added with a tone steeped in long-standing exasperation.

Zariyah turned her head away from us, but whether this was from embarrassment or anger, I did not know.

Finally, I managed to weave together the threads of the conversation, grasping Gelgor's idea of a gift. How naive I was, even after all I had been through. To someone of my supposed civilization, the idea of trading a person was fundamentally barbaric. Of course, I had to find the notion totally abhorrent.

But the city of Al-Lazar is a free city and suffers no slaves within its walls, I protested, hoping to sway Gelgor into a different form of compensation.

"Your words wound me deeply. Would I, Gelgor, present you with a slave as a guest gift? Such an offense!" he exclaimed with mock seriousness, placing a hand over his heart. However, his eyes betrayed him, retaining their earlier light. Mockingly so.

"Indeed, as you correctly point out, the City of Dust neither trades in nor permits slavery within its walls. It would be an affront to offer you the services of a mere slave," he began to explain, his voice tinged with no small amount of pride.

"Instead, I present to you Zariyah's contract. Rest assured, all her documents have been properly witnessed and stamped. The remaining term of her contract is..." the morbidly obese man paused, his gaze shifting upward as he calculated the precise duration. "I believe it to be the next forty-seven years and four months, if my memory serves me correctly," he concluded, as if we were discussing the trade of a horse or cow.

Finally, there was a clear reaction from his attendant Zariyah, who decided to finally interject. Shaking her head, her fingers moved in a series of movements too precise and ordered to be anything other than a form of sign language.

Yes, yes, my dear. I know that, but perhaps this would be a better fate by far for you. Trust me on this. Also, perhaps the Herald would be even so kind as to allow you to visit your parents in the city, he said pointedly in my direction, before whispering an old complaint under his breath.

He must have noted my consternation at the exchange for he decided to explain further, You would think I would foist upon you a simple body servant? Of course not, I would be a thoughtless and inconsiderate host if I did that, yes?

I could only mutely nod, my earlier protestations flying out of the window at the thought of possessing such a delightful creature.

"As my cupbearer, Zariyah, treasure of my heart, possesses a keen ability to detect poisons... and she is also adept at their concoction. Furthermore, she has an iron strength to her, which is indispensable on the perilous road. In her current state, she would be a valuable addition to your... entourage, indeed," he smiled as if he had stumbled upon something rather valuable. "But, there is the spark in her. It is almost poetic that I return a miracle with her magic, like in the tales of old. Fitting. She possesses the Gift of controlling the lesser element of Air, a modest talent, really. I dare say it's not nearly as valuable as the price she paid for it, the sweetness of her voice," he chuckled, emitting a small guffaw.

Zariyah looked at Gelgor, her eyes flashing daggers with unconcealed anger, her fists clenched at her sides. She began to rise, but in the end compelled herself to stay seated. Something told me that Gelgor had shared something too private, laid bare for all to see, a thing that should have been at the discretion of the soul to give. I did not blame her for taking umbrage.

Yes, and she is local born. She knows this city well. A fitting gift, do you not think, Master Herald? smiled Gelgor with his mocking gaze and serpents smile.

What was I to do? To reject a hosts gift in this culture would be a most grievous insult, more so than even the debacle with Catalina considering the differences between their status.

My mind ran through circles trying to get around the scruples of my common sense of decency. Perhaps this was the time for a less judgmental answer. After all, I could, and most definitely would, release her from her contract once she had rendered unto me certain services. For instance, like guiding me around the city, of course. But then again, who was I to cling to the morals of my own world? There was no one here to judge me, so why not take what was freely given?

Very well, Master Gelgor, you have me. I must accept this gift most graciously given, I nodded in his direction.

The fat mans eyes lit up with a new fire, as if possessed something. A part of me felt the heavy hand of fates touch at work here.

Excellent, most excellent, he exclaimed, clapping his hands in satisfaction. I will also gift to you her things, and they are of some value. Oh, and a word of advice, a Master must see to the well-being of those beneath them. Please know that the gift I have presented to you is in the best of conditions. Go now and prepare yourself Zariyah, you must be excited to return to your home city! He clapped his hands again in command.

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At his orders, she rose to her feet, a muted huff of displeasure escaping her lips as she cast a sharp, resentful glance his way. My gaze lingered on her, captivated by the rhythmic sway of her hips and the melodic jingle of her bracelets, as she gracefully made her way towards a curtained partition of the wagon.

It hit me then, what the meaning of Master had for these people. My subconscious finally pieced together all the little clues that had been left for me here and there. A Master, for the purpose of this world, was someone who had slaves, or their close cousins, indentured servants, beneath them. Or at the very least, I surmised that Gelgors added inflection meant as such. Had I heard Laes referred to in such a manner? If so, just how many of Laes employees were nothing more than contracted slaves? No doubt the people of the caravan must have thought my companions my retainers, my chattel. I found myself despising these people even more for trapping me within the little rules and games of their culture.

Now that gifts have been exchanged, let us talk like men, over tea. Tell me of yourself, and off the lands you hail from. Yours is an interesting tale, of that I am sure. One wonders indeed how one can be blessed with gifts of the Goddess, he said as began, with surprising adroitness, pouring fresh tea into dainty cups. I must confess that you, Master Gilgamesh, have made a believer of me. I have, quite literally, seen the light. Heavy were my sins,I feel, now that the shroud of ignorance has been lifted. And many were the years of my life spent in blasphemous words and actions. I hope that my offering goes a small way towards balancing Her scales, he bemoaned, sighing and reaching for a teapot. It was a sigh that only the weight of wasted years could produce.

The teapot itself was exquisitely shaped in the form of an elegant serpent, its body and handle formed by the creature's entwined coils. The spout, designed as the snake's extended neck, allowed the light amber tea to flow from its open mouth.

But one, of course, must be careful, for the light can also blind as much as it reveals, he added a little ruefully, placing the teapot down.

*

For the better part of an hour, or so it seemed to me, I wove a tapestry of half-truths and fabrications, crafting a tale for Gelgor that was both digestible and credible. I meticulously omitted any elements that might seem too 'fantastical' for the sensibilities of this world's primitive people. Instead, I spun a narrative grounded in the mundane, tales of family and the like. Skillfully, I sidestepped the details of how Avaria had chosen me, and my dark patron remained an unspoken shadow.

In turn, Gelgor unfurled the tapestry of his own past, regaling me with tales of his youth. The stories revealed a man driven by a deep, unquenchable thirst. His was a fusion of greed and the curiosity of an adventurer. As our dialogue meandered, it became apparent that Gelgor's attachment was not in the material aspect that wealth provided, like jewels, fine things, and so forth. Nor was he particularly interested in the social status that wealth provided. Rather, he looked at it as a means to satiate his desires. A hedonist to his core, a failing that often afflicted the atheist. In him, I found an unexpected kindred spirit, a contrast to the ever-dour Laes.

Just as our conversation began to circle back to earlier themes, as discussions are often wont to do, Zariyah interrupted us. She had shed her revealing attire for a flowing garb that, while covering everything, suggested much beneath. Around her shoulders was a small satchel, no doubt filled with her meager belongings. Her half-veil obscured her eyes, crimson eyes that caught and held my appreciative gaze as I rose to greet her, nearly upsetting the table in my haste.

She gave me a wan smile, a forced silent acceptance of her new destiny. With a slight bow at the hip, she extended a roll of parchment with both hands towards me. Unraveling it, I observed it was inscribed in the Trade language, complete with stamps and official-looking notarization. Skimming the document confirmed Gelgor's earlier declaration. She was indeed the property of the parchment's holder, bound to serve for an additional forty-seven years and four months. Zariyah was now mine, to command as I deemed fit.

Exiting the caravan master's lavishly adorned wagon, I heaved open the weighty door, allowing Zariyah to pass first, as manners demanded. She cast a puzzled glance as if I had committed a social mishap before proceeding. I lingered momentarily, turning back to offer a final farewell to Gelgor.

My thanks for your gracious hospitality, Mas Gelgor, I said, nodding my head at him.

Most odd that you allow the servant before the master, truly, you are a curious fellow, the fat man remarked, not getting up from the bed of pillows. No, no, you have my thanks. The gift I have received is more precious than pearls or gems. Go with the gods, Gilgamesh of Uruk, but may their gaze rest lightly upon you.

I simply acknowledged this with another nod and closed the heavy door behind me. The clean afternoon air greeted me, free of the pungent smoke that had been almost like a living thing in the wagon. Taking a deep breath, I took a moment to roll my shoulders to free them from the tension that unknowingly built up.

There was now the matter of Zariyah, and how I would deal with her. Casting my Identify spell on her, I took the first step in understanding her.

Zariyah Al'Abadi - Wind Mage (Human lvl.14) Health: 192/192 Stamina: 37/39

Mana: 15/15

She was exactly as Gelgor had promised. The almost two hundred points of Health was what the fat man must have meant when he was going on about her iron strength.

Zariyah turned around to look at me quizzically, expectantly almost. Behind this was a tautness, a tight expression that marred the lines of her exotic face. In her mind, I imagined that she must be feeling cast adrift, discarded like something unwanted. Like a heavy sea, fate had cast her on new unknown shores.

The silence stretched out uncomfortably, its duration becoming almost painfully awkward. Zariyah started to sign toward me, her movements elegant and swift. But, I could only respond with a look of incredulity and confusion, her intended meaning completely eluding me. Observing my bewilderment, she abandoned the servility she had shown to Gelgor and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

It was clear that I was being looked down upon, and there was no mistaking it. I could discern that she was possessed of the same groundless pride I had encountered from those in servitude. I had witnessed it when interacting with the underpaid, their expressions of disdain silently conveying my unworthiness of their time, as if they would rather be anywhere else but doing their job.

If this was the measure of Gelgor's gift, then I felt a strong inclination to return her. Yet, something held me back, perhaps the last vestige of my misplaced chivalry. To send her back now would be seen as a grave insult, and if I were to offer an explanation for such a decision mere minutes after receiving the gift, I had no doubt that her fate would be an exceedingly bleak one. I felt almost swindled.

But, perhaps, we had simply started off on the wrong foot. I was a forgiving man, and everyone deserves a second chance. In truth, I was also a little sympathetic toward her plight.

Do it again, that thing you did with your hands. The thing you use as a substitute for proper speech, I said flatly, in a calm and even voice.

I too had my pride, childish though it was.

All my life I had been taught that although we were all different, we were all, no matter our differences, essentially of equal value. That everyone was deserving and worthy of respect. However, this world sorely tested the limits of my indoctrination.

How dare she... this woman. No, that wasn't quite right. I searched my mind for a word and concept unfamiliar to me.

Inferior, the voices suggested in a shadowy whisper. This one was beneath me.

At first, I was shocked at this alien thought, but in a way, it also made startling sense. This was the truth of the world. As there were inferior and barbaric cultures, so too must there be inferior people. It was the only logical conclusion. Looking at it through this lens made much more sense.

Yes, how dare this inferior treat me in such a manner?

Even as I was reaching this conclusion, she continued with her signing and gave me a challenging smile, or rather, a smirk, if I were to be honest. Her fingers wove words that clashed with her demeanor and attire, phrases more commonly heard in the roughest of taverns.

You will find that my manhood is more than adequate for what I must do next, I stated in a voice as cold as the first frosts. The magic of my Identify spell had taught me the meaning of her words, her taunts and insults now clear as if written in bold print.

A blush slowly crept over her delicate features as she realized that I had understood her and a single hand went over her mouth, which had formed into a large O.

"I'm unsure of what constitutes an appropriate punishment for such brazen disrespect. You are fortunate, as it is frowned upon in my culture for a man to strike a woman," I remarked, my voice rising slightly, relishing the fear I sensed emanating from her.

Around us, people began to take notice, stealing quick glances before resuming their activities. Some, however, lingered, intrigued by what would unfold.

"However, if you see me as an animal, then I shall act accordingly. Place your hands on the steps and bend over," I commanded.

She regarded me with a regal disdain, then turned and surprisingly complied with my directive, showing no hesitation or resistance. Zariyah maintained her composure, but a subtle quiver betrayed her emotions. While she knew I had the authority to issue such orders, she most likely never dreamed I would go about doing such a thing in a public place. Our growing audience comprised individuals she had journeyed with, people who knew her, conversed with her, perhaps even counted her as a friend or acquaintance. Servants, to some extent, shared in their master's status, and I imagined she had enjoyed some measure of that prestige in this group.

Zariyah's pride was her vulnerability, and humiliation was her Achilles' heel.

I stood behind her, lightly placing a hand on the small of her back. Overwhelmed, she began to cry, the emotional flood breaking through like a dam bursting.

Taking a step back, I met her gaze firmly before speaking. Get up, there's no need for this. Consider this a lesson, a lesson I will only teach once, treat others as you wish to be treated. I know you are intelligent enough to understand this, and pretending otherwise won't serve you well. You may be mute, but you're not dumb, I said in a husky voice. She looked down in muted response.

Now, it's time for you to meet the rest of my entourage, and I must bid farewell to the Ravens before we enter the City of Dust, I commanded, without looking back to check if she followed.

It was almost scary how acclimatized I had become to this culture.