Valkyrie's Shadow

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 8, Chapter 3

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 8, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“Why are you still following me? I’m not going to run away.”

“We’re not following you,” Saraca replied. “We just happen to be going the same way.”

Most felid Beastmen were naturally skittish, and it appeared that Ocelo were no exception. Being stalked, startled, stared at or stopped unexpectedly naturally led to dramatic or at least wary reactions. As a contestant in a bloodsport with thousands of spectators, however, Saraca thought that Xoc should have at least overcome a good part of it.

“Well,” Saraca said, “since we seem to be stuck together, from whom did you learn how to fight?”

“I just watched other people,” Xoc replied. “It’s not hard.”

“I would say grasping Martial Arts by just watching other people is fairly significant. With the city as large as it is, I figured there would be some sort of combat school or at least a system of apprenticeship for every vocation.”

Their path took them to the confluence of the two rivers from before. Xoc turned west to follow the larger river upstream.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Can you read?”

“No.”

“Do you know what language you’re speaking right now?”

“Huh?”

Saraca exchanged looks with Devi and Mitra. The way that the world facilitated communication between its inhabitants led to some quirks in linguistic development. Like Xoc, many believed that everyone simply spoke the same language. This was especially true in places where literacy was poor and society was dominated by a single race or culture. It didn’t take much exposure to the outside world to realise that it wasn’t the case, but most people in such circumstances never had the opportunity to experience the world beyond their homes.

The people of Rol’en’gorek employed a bastardisation of multiple languages, which had developed to the point where it had become its own language. Depending on the society, such languages were usually called ‘common’, as it was what could be commonly used by all members of a multiracial civilisation. Other, similar, systems included Thieves’ Cant and Merchant Lingo, both of which had a linguistic ‘gradient’ that shifted from region to region.

“Do you speak a different way at home?” Mitra asked, “Or with other Ocelo?”

“No,” Xoc flicked her right ear. “What are you trying to get at? Why does it matter?”

“It probably doesn’t matter to most,” Saraca said, “but knowing how culture and language develop can be instrumental in understanding others.”

“Oh yeah? Then what language are you speaking?”

“It’s called Prusteni.”

“And what’s so great about it?”

Saraca let out a laugh at her pointed questioning.

“Only certain races can employ its full vocabulary,” Saraca told her. “Others are physically incapable. Before I came here, I only knew of two races that could: the Baagh and the Entulu of the far east.”

“The far east…so the Commonwealth?”

“Er, no, they’re a bit further east than that.”

The Entulu dwelled in the northern rainforests of eastern Arboria, which were twice as far from the Beastman Confederacy as Rol’en’gorek was. They were on the other side of three of the central powers, which made it difficult for the Confederacy to establish trade and lines of communication with them.

“Anyway,” Saraca told her, “the fact that the Ocelo can speak Prusteni makes it a surprise that there appears to be tension with the Baagh here in the city. Similarities between races are usually a bridge that facilitates mutual understanding.”

“Or mutual hatred,” Girika added.

“Oh we understand each other, alright,” Xoc said sourly. “They get what they want, and the rest of us get the scraps.”

“…but why?”

“Why?”

Xoc stopped and turned to give him an annoyed look. After a moment, the look vanished and she led them to a path above one of the wharves along the river.

“Watch,” she said.

Saraca leaned slightly to look between the trees. Below them, dozens of citizens were conducting their business on the wooden boardwalk. Most of them appeared to be waiting for the morning catch from the lake to be delivered to the shore. They shifted forward as an Ocelo Fisherman carried one of his baskets up the pier.

In short order, the Baagh ended up at the front of the crowd, followed by the Singh. There was no malice or fuss, it simply happened.

“I see,” Saraca said. “Do you behave the same way?”

“Of course I do,” Xoc sighed. “I don’t like it, but I can’t help it.”

If something bigger came along, smaller things got out of the way. Triply so if that bigger thing was a predator, as letting one get too close meant that one might end up as a meal. It was pure instinct translating directly into the behaviour displayed before them.

“The Baagh and Singh don’t do anything on their part to prevent this?”

“Why would they?”

“Because you’re all members of the same confederation? You’re not wild animals loitering around a kill waiting for your turn.”

The lack of racial segregation in Rol’en’gorek was laudable, but they did nothing to actively address the issues that came with having multiple races in a single society. It may have been especially difficult to recognise them especially since everyone was either a felid or canine Beastman.

“Does something happen if you try to stand your ground?” Saraca asked.

“It’s dozens of those Baagh we’re talking about here – they don’t even have to go out of their way to do it. We just get muscled out while they’re focused on what they’re trying to do.”

“But someone must say something,” Saraca said. “If this happens everywhere in the city, it’s a big hit to quality of life.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“The last part of what you said.”

“In this case, quality of life refers to your ability to conduct your affairs without things like this interfering in them. If what we see here is representative of what happens all over the city, then Ocelo and Con are essentially last in line for everything between felid Beastmen.”

“Line…like those things the warrior clans make?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Saraca saw Girika cover his face in his paw.

Might makes right, indeed…

Precedence was determined by size and strength. It did not only apply to warfare, but also everyday life. Everyone in Rol’en’gorek saw what was going on as natural, so those who were treated poorly could only be annoyed.

The problem was that natural behaviour only got one so far, and a society driven by natural behaviour usually ended up collapsing under its own weight. At what point that collapse occurred depended on the strength of the races involved and what that natural behaviour was. Powerful races like Dragons could follow their natural behaviours almost indefinitely, while weak races like Humans couldn’t get far at all.

They continued on their way up the river, leaping across its six-metre span to walk on the other side.

“What about official business?” Saraca asked, “Does this ignorance of their own behaviour affect that, too?”

“How would I know? I don’t do any ‘official business’.”

“But you are affected by what those in charge decide, yes? Are there preferential laws passed or unfair rulings made by city officials?”

“Not in that way, no. But that just makes it worse. To the people above, it makes it look as if everything they do is ‘fair’. That’s the excuse they make if someone complains about something. The rules don’t favour anyone, but all the little things that make up most of life aren’t covered by their big rules.”

Saraca nodded thoughtfully. That part, at least, was not unique to primitive societies. Legislation was enacted to enforce the policies of a nation, but their scope was very ‘broad’. Countries usually had multiple levels of government that worked to ensure that things operated smoothly.

Rol’en’gorek had a presiding council, which its member clans answered to. Tribal chieftains answered to their Clanlords. The cities, however, did not appear to have that same organisation. Furthermore, while the other cities were ruled by single clans and the vast majority of their citizens tended to be of that clan’s race, the Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr was a mix of everything.

“Oh, Miss Devi, you’re back. And with Xoc.”

“You know her?”

“Yes,” Itzli bobbed his head. “Xoc is my daughter, but I didn’t know you were going to the docks.”

Saraca felt Xoc shift back slightly at her father’s words.

“We didn’t go to the docks,” Devi said. “We ran across Xoc while we were doing our own thing. She didn’t like the idea of two dozen Baagh walking behind her, so we struck up a conversation on our way back.”

“Is that so,” the innkeeper’s tail curled curiously. “What about you, Xoc? Were you able to find any work?”

“The Baagh and Singh took all the jobs,” Xoc said.

Xoc’s father sighed.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” he said. “They’ll snatch up everyone big and strong-looking for manual labour first. It’s better to stick to Ocelo jobs, like clearing out monkeys from the canopy.”

“Everyone is doing that,” Xoc complained.

“Or pick fruit for the herds.”

“They’re doing that, too. There are ten thousand Ocelo chasing monkeys and picking fruit overhead – I can’t make a living like that.”

“We can hire Xoc as a guide during our stay,” Devi offered. “If she would like to, of course. It’s convenient for us since she’s staying in the same place.”

“Would you be so generous?” Itzli brightened, “It’s getting harder and harder to find work these days.”

They swapped out a few members of the guard watching their belongings, as well as sending a fresh shift to relieve the one at the docks watching over their barges. Xoc returned in a fresh change of clothes, and they left before her father could start chatting them up again.

“Thanks for not telling,” Xoc said after they were a safe distance away.

“Does your father have something against you competing in the fighting pits?”

“He wants me to take over the inn, eventually,” she said. “But it’s usually not busy enough to need the entire family working there.”

“And out of all of the avenues you could have chosen, it was the fighting pits. It seems something more suited to the warrior caste.”

“We are warrior caste!” Xoc turned around, “The ‘Cuorocos Cliffs’ is our hold. My ancestors converted it into an inn when the city started pushing into our territory.”

“…that’s quite the career change. Are all innkeepers here part of the warrior caste?”

“No, most of them are just from regular tribes that made their homes in the area. It’s pointless trying to rule in a city where no one recognises your authority. The most annoying part is that the outsider clans have all the clout in our old territory because they got to keep theirs.”

Since Xoc’s tribe or clan or whatever it was resided right in the centre of Rol’en’gorek, there wasn’t even anywhere to migrate to. They were just a bit of forgotten collateral damage.

“How much territory does your clan still control?” Devi asked.

“Just the area around the hold,” Xoc answered. “Most of the Ocelo families within two kilometres or so are part of our clan, but those old ties are mostly gone now. Everyone just does what they can to survive in the city.”

“So you don’t have any influence left at all…”

“Not like the real lords, no.”

A broken line…

Being a Lord was not simply a matter of being the most powerful individual around. As with Commanders, authority needed to be established and bonds forged with one’s subordinates. Without them, a Lord was simply an exceptional specimen of their race.

Saraca’s gaze travelled down the Ocelo’s coat of spotted rosettes. Neither she nor her father exhibited the traits of a Lord, but Xoc’s blood still called for her to take action. She was driven to compete and stand above, and she innately recognised the societal issues plaguing her people.

“So if you learn how to win against your opponents reliably,” Saraca asked, “what will you do?”

“I haven’t thought that far yet,” Xoc answered. “The prizes are good, so maybe I can fix things up a bit around our home.”

?Jiiiiiiii…?

?We can’t help her too much.?

?But we can still help! This is too sad. If you don’t do something, I will.?

Saraca tried to imagine the unspeakable chaos that would erupt from Mitra’s intervention. He hoped what he could devise was sufficient for his wife’s whimsical tastes.

?Saraca!?

He nearly tripped as his second wife’s voice rang in his head.

Whoops.

?Hi.?

?Don’t ‘hi’ me! Where in the world are you??

?Uh…we went back to the inn.?

?The inn?! Do you know how many circles I made around the fighting pit looking for you??

?You do have all of our trackers, you know??

?…?

?Anyway, we found an interesting local who is willing to show us around. Come and catch up with us.?

Saraca turned his attention back to Xoc, who was looking at him curiously.

“Is there a poorer part of your territory you can show us?” Saraca asked, “Something like the pauper’s district near the lakefront?”

“There is,” Xoc answered, “but why do you want to go there? It’s not exactly nice to look at.”

“We saw something that might be the work of Druids on the way from the docks. I thought there might be a similar sight around here.”

“Druids?”

“Mystics.”

“Mystics, huh…ah, maybe you mean that…”

They followed the river as it bent around the Cuorocos Cliffs. Five hundred metres upstream, they saw something shocking. Well, shocking for Rol’en’gorek.

So they don’t build bridges, but they can build dams?

It wasn’t a magnificent dam by any stretch of the imagination, but the fact that there was one at all here was unprecedented.

“How did you build this?” Saraca asked.

“Uh, according to my parents, it was there for as long as anyone can remember. Well, it was broken before, but some debris washed downstream and blocked it up.”

He could see where the ‘repairs’ – which consisted of a haphazard mess of wood and clay – had been affected. The dam was originally fashioned out of seamless basalt, suggesting that it had been magically shaped. It was only four metres high, but that was more than enough to create an expansive lake in the relatively flat valley bottom.

Girika went up to perform a closer inspection. The Inquisitor walked the entire span, jumping back and forth over the damaged sections. He stopped at a patch of dirt overgrown by flowering shrubs.

“There was probably a workshop or some sort of power transfer station right here,” he said. “You can still see the spillway on the opposite side. Those broken sections are where the conduits that fed water into the turbines were. This entire side of the dam was probably three or four metres lower than it is now, so it’s all buried or maybe broken and washed away from whatever wrecked it.”

“Was it enchanted?” Saraca asked.

“Can’t tell. Broke shit is broke.”

Xoc looked back and forth between them, looking like she was trying to understand arcane incantations.

“Wh-what are you two talking about? There are so many words in there that I don’t understand.”

“Just talking about what this is,” Girika replied. “We see this sort of situation a lot. People get blasted back to nothing and sit on artefacts of the previous era without ever knowing what they do.”

“You mean this is from our country before the Demon Gods?”

“Well, you did say it’s been here for as long as anyone can remember.”

The young Ocelo female walked over and placed a paw against the moss-covered stone of the old dam.

“What can we do with it?”

“If you fix it up,” Girika said, “a lot. But, uh, this’d take a lot to fix up. Well, I guess you don’t even need to fix it up good as new: you just need to make something that works with what you have.”

“Are there any other places like this?” Saraca asked.

“There used to be,” Xoc answered. “In every valley between the hills here. They were all along each river feeding into the lake.”

“What happened to them?”

“They were torn down. The flooding they could cause threatened the residential areas along the rivers.”

“…so why is this one still here?”

“Spite.”

“Hah?”

Xoc stepped away from the dam, planting her hands on her hips as she stared across its length.

“My clan’s territory used to be a lot bigger. One of the clan heads got so mad about our shrinking holdings he decided that if they couldn’t keep it, they’d flood it so no one else could have it. Then they fought off everyone that tried to destroy the dam.”

“So why is it still standing? You have a lot more people to fight off now.”

“People started using the lake it made,” Xoc shrugged. “So now they don’t want to empty it out.”

Ridiculous.

It made a sort of sense, but it was a stupid sort of sense. Stubborn people creating other stubborn people, using the vestiges of a lost technology that they had no clue about.

“Oh, a dam,” Karuvaki’s voice came from behind them.

Xoc started and spun around.

“Who?”

“This is one of my wives, Karuvaki,” Saraca said. “She was the one that pointed out the mystic thing in the slums. Karuvaki, this is Xoc. She was a contestant at that fighting pit we came from and also happens to be Itzli’s daughter. This entire area is their ancestral land.”

The young Ocelo peered at Karuvaki, then Saraca.

“I knew it,” she said. “You are one of those.”

“One of what?”

“A pervert! I’ve never seen anything like her before, but she’s not Baagh.”

“She’s Laiga,” Saraca told her. “A cross between a Baagh and Singh.”

Xoc backed away, her amber eyes narrowed in disgust.

“I know they’re sort of rare,” Saraca said, “but do you mean to say that there aren’t any here?”

“Of course not!” Xoc said, “Baagh and Singh are different races. Why would you…you…I-I’m not marrying you, just so you know!”

“Not that you come remotely close to qualifying,” Karuvaki muttered. “Anyway, what’s going on with this dam here?”

“A relic from before the Demon Gods,” Saraca said. “It looks like it was constructed with magic, but we’ve no idea whether it was enchanted.”

“If it was,” Karuvaki said, “that would imply something very strong breaking it down.”

Given that the Demon Gods had felled a colossal tree, stone enchanted beyond the strength of adamantite was well within the realm of their power.

They proceeded past the dam, finding a lake withered by the dry season on the other side. Where the jungle floor was exposed, the residents had moved down from their branches to set up crude workshops between the trees. Many of the trees had permanent dwellings built in the largest branches of the canopy layer. The Ocelo seemed equally at ease moving from tree to tree as they were moving along the ground.

“I guess this is Ocelo-exclusive land,” Saraca said.

“That’s right,” Xoc replied. “The other races aren’t comfortable living like this. They can’t get around very well, either.”

They’re more like the Entulu than they are like the Tenduah.

While Tenduah could climb trees with some proficiency, they weren’t a semi-arboreal race like the Entulu. He wondered what else the Ocelo were capable of.

“So where do these mystics work if the place is flooded half of the year?”

“They work pretty much everywhere, but I think I know what you’re talking about. This way.”

“From what I’ve seen so far,” Karuvaki said as they followed Xoc, “they have an elegant system in place here.”

“How so?” Saraca asked.

“Well, the smells of habitation aren’t very strong here, for one. It was overpowering down at the docks. The seasonal flooding washes everything away. Rains during the dry season help, too. Do your people fish these waters, Xoc?”

“Only fishers are allowed to fish,” Xoc replied. “And they observe strict limits set by the mystics. It’s not enough to feed everyone, so we have to do other things.”

They passed a herd of Nug foraging under the watchful eye of Ocelo ranchers. The one-tonne animals were consuming the dried mud as much as they were grazing on plants.

“I take it that your ranchers here don’t purchase as much salt as those in other parts of the city do,” Karuvaki said.

“How do you know that?” Xoc looked over her shoulder, “How do you know anything of what we’re doing? You’re not even from around here.”

“We may not be locals, but we know how things work. Your Nug are consuming the clay here because the floodwaters deposit salt and other minerals that they need to stay healthy. That saves you on purchases of salt imported from the Great Lut.”

“I-I didn’t know that. Well, that’s good! Salt is expensive and we can’t really afford it.”

“You don’t have alluvial mining operations here?” Karuvaki asked.

“What’s that?”

“Searching for gems and precious metals deposited in the sediment and riverbanks. I believe they comprise the majority of your country’s exports in terms of trade value.”

“A bit. We don’t get much. Most of the good spots belong to the tribes outside of the city. Here’s the thing that you were probably asking about, by the way.”

They arrived at the base of the same hill that Cuorocos Cliffs was a part of. This part of it was north-facing and the understory was permanently shrouded in shadow.

“Was this it, Karuvaki?” Saraca asked.

“I think so, yes,” the Sacred Claw went ahead with the group’s divine casters. “The local Druids have harnessed a nutrient cycle here. Is this technique being spread across the city?”

“We actually copied some mystics in another part of the city,” Xoc said. “It looked like a good idea, and it seems to work even better for us than it does for them.”

Jungles were extremely efficient when it came to their nutrient cycles, to the point that their soil quality became poor. All sorts of things – even whole corpses – could be stripped down and processed by the native organisms within a day or two. Saraca leaned close to one of the huge, branched fungi attached to the stones, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Is there something I can help you with? Oh, is that you, Xoc?”

An aged Ocelo called out as he doddered over from where he was tending to the fungus garden. He was clad in the same simple garb as the other citizens, save for the glazed beads and colourful feathers that marked him as a mystic. Two young Ocelo followed in his footsteps.

“Elder Patli,” Xoc bobbed her head in greeting. “These are some guests staying at my father’s inn. They wanted to take a look around.”

“Is that so…”

“My name is Karuvaki,” his wife gestured to the other divine casters in the entourage. “It’s our first time in Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr, and we couldn’t help but notice similar work being done in other parts of the city. We’re quite impressed by what’s going on here.”

“I see,” the Elder nodded. “It’s nearly unheard of for clan mystics to leave their clans, so you’re most welcome to take a look around.”

“If that’s the case,” Karuvaki said, “who has been spreading this technique around?”

“Most of Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr’s resident mystics aren’t affiliated with any clan,” Elder Patli said. “We simply tend to the communities around us. People simply imitate what they think is useful from what they see nearby.”

It did make for a good way for knowledge to spread. The relatively porous social and economic boundaries in cities were often fertile ground for new ideas. This was especially pronounced in places like Rol’en’gorek, where the clans tended to keep to themselves.

“Does that mean that this hasn’t spread to the clans outside of the city?” Karuvaki asked.

“I can’t know for sure,” the Elder answered, “but most likely not. The people of the city tend to be looked down upon by the powerful and wealthy clans. Well, maybe ‘looked down upon’ is the wrong way to put it – we are simply unassociated and outside of their awareness. Since you seem to be unaware of this, I take it that you’re not from around here…”

“We’re travellers from the Beastman Confederacy,” Karuvaki replied.

“What’s that?” Xoc asked.

Elder Patli furrowed his brow at the young Ocelo.

“You’ll have to forgive Xoc for her ignorance,” he lowered his head. “Our youths are so busy scratching out a living in the cities that most know nothing of the world beyond.”

“Our elders are so busy bemoaning the ignorance of their youths that I still don’t know what the ‘Beastman Confederacy’ is,” Xoc grumbled.

“It’s one of the great powers of the world, girl,” Elder Patli said, then turned back to Karuvaki. “That such esteemed company would find something of interest in our humble city is an honour.”

“One can never know everything, Elder Patli,” Karuvaki replied. “We’ve seen systems similar to this, but the species involved here are unfamiliar. If you don’t mind, could you explain the entire process as you understand it?”

“Of course! I would be delighted if our efforts spread beyond our little city gardens.”

The elder brought them deeper into the shadowed grove – which was large enough to be considered a farm – and stopped at a section where the fungi had been stripped off of the trees and cliff face.

“As you may have noticed,” Elder Patli said, “Rol’en’gorek is already beyond the limit of how many Beastmen it can support. While the warrior clans turn to expansion as a solution – or at least as a way to expend our excess population – a few of us are working to increase the efficiency of our domestic industries.”

The Elder walked over to the nearest tree with the look of one satisfied by their work.

“Outside of the city, Nug ranchers have the luxury of relying on the natural processes of our native jungle to sustain their herds. In the city, however, the population density is too great for nature to support. Still, nature offers us a reprieve.”

Elder Patli tapped the tree lightly with a claw. Its bark seemed to come alive with countless white hairs. Mitra’s claws dug painfully into Saraca’s arm.

“This is a species of worm that we discovered in the city a few years ago. We’re not sure where it came from – maybe it has always been here – only that it goes through its food very quickly.”

“Does it present any dangers?” Karuvaki asked.

“Not that we’ve seen. If it did attack Beastmen, we’d have people disintegrating in their litters overnight. As far as we know, it simply decomposes waste like so many other jungle species of this type. It just does it at an extraordinarily rapid pace.”

Karuvaki looked over at the Druids in the entourage, who nodded in response.

“They certainly merit in-depth study,” she said. “So I assume that their byproducts go into growing all the fungus that we walked by.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Elder Patli went over to another tree where thousands of branching fungi were sprouting. “All of the trees – plus the cliff over there – are seeded with the spores of these Blood Antlers. Despite the fearsome name, they’re a favourite of many herbivores in our jungle. It’s a simple technique, really. We feed our refuse to the worms and the castings of the worms nurture the Blood Antlers. The Blood Antlers feed our Nug.”

“How long do they take to mature?”

“Three or four days as long as we keep conditions ideal. I don’t mean to brag, but it’s an ideal crop for Ocelo to cultivate.”

He led them over to an even darker part of the jungle, gesturing to the canopy above.

“This is our current project. As we Ocelo can dwell in trees, we’re turning the canopy into our city. By doing so, we can trap moisture in the understory and can turn the entire area akin to a cave where we can grow fungi all the way to the ceiling. We’re also thinking of bringing in wildfowl to help with pest control and provide more food, but we’re still deliberating over candidates.”

“I would dare say that this is the most impressive thing I’ve seen in Rol’en’gorek so far,” Karuvaki said. “Are there projects like this going on anywhere else?”

“The fungus gardens that you saw near the docks, but they’re much smaller in scale. If they become commonplace, however, we’ll be able to support a lot more people.”

It would also bring a significant economic advantage to those pioneering the industry, but he wasn’t sure how much power industrial might had in Rol’en’gorek. Still, an innovation of this scale was sure to bring societal change with it.

“Out of curiosity,” Saraca said, “was someone responsible for taking initiative with this project?”

Elder Patli gestured to Xoc.

“Xoc here was instrumental in convincing the families in the area to cooperate. She also helped to fund our research and provided food and materials for labour and construction.”

Saraca smiled inwardly as Xoc looked away. Despite all appearances, it seemed that this Ocelo clan still had its Lord.