Chapter 72: Chapter 70. The Rod of Consequences

Asherah Esca Yusuf-ja

She watched the billowing fire, ignoring dancers, singers, and musicians in the room. Despite the respectable opulence, Asherah did not come here to be entertained. She came here to hear an answer.

Turmoil was brewing in Emanai and, for the first time in her life, she was not happy to hear it. Rather than planning how her galleys could suppress their northern neighbours and dominate the Great River, Asherah was once again faced with the possibility of Esca’s fortunes disappearing.

Both Shahin and Amir were confident that the young fox would easily weather the storm and unite the Kiymetl clan under her will, so Esca’s secrets remained safe for the time being. And what a galling thought that was! Their proud clan — beholden to the fortunes of a single family due to the whims of a young daimon. More so now than when Shahin failed to claim or kill him — the recent missives spoke of new tools for seafaring and even ships that could rival hers in speed and size. They spoke of spices and kava beans to compete with her merchant captains that had to risk their lives travelling far east and her caravans that dared to venture south to the outskirts of the Blood Jungle in search of exotic goods.

Despite her failure, Shahin was a filial daughter of Esca and acted quickly to attach herself to the daimon at her personal expense. Her actions gave Esca time to prepare and plenty of samples and hints for artisans and alchemists to work with. Her slave deal brought daimonic insights to Esca, encroached on the Kishava trade, and arranged for a significant number of her trusted daughters and sisters to stay at their Manor.

The Esca knew how to be as patient as the sands of the great desert, weathering the never-ending onslaught of a restless sea. They also could be just as swift and deadly as a sandstorm that caught an unprepared caravan unawares.

Now, it was her turn to decide what path Esca should take as a whole. The season of still winds was quickly approaching and, if she decided to remove the Kiymetl problem once and for all, the best time to act was now. Asherah trusted Shahin and Amir enough to heed their warnings about the rapidly growing strength of Aikerim Adal. But the Esca were not some nomads of the desert, without a single city in their name, either.

It did not matter how strong Kiymetl would become in a year or a decade. With her single word, Asherah could flood Samat harbours with her galleys and establish herself as a neutral power between feuding northern clans, willing to take either side for an appropriate offer. None of the Kiymetl’s newfound secrets could compete with the sheer number of her sailors and mages ready to strike. It did not matter if they could build ships better than hers when she could bring twenty for every one Aikerim Adal already had and a hundred for every one she could build until her arrival. Nor did it matter that they had new armour and weapons to equip their warriors when Aikerim had tens while Asherah had thousands. She made too many enemies too quickly before her strength could keep up and left herself open.

The Enoch alliance was a concern but they were not sailors nor were they concentrated in Samat. If Aikerim Adal was as wise as Shahin described her to be, she would be appropriately… grateful for Esca giving her a lesson in temperance.

If Asherah decided to take that path, that is. Upon her demand, Shahin sent a detailed missive with thorough explanations of her failure and the events that came before it. And the current situation felt somewhat similar to the trap that caught her daughter — a seemingly unaware Domina, an obvious gap in her defences, and a sense of urgency spurring Asherah to act quickly or not at all. While there were differences that assured her of success — the absence of the actual daimon in Samat, a certain skittishness of his ‘replacement’ when it came to a wermage threat, and the sheer impossibility of Aikerim Adal hiding something that could dismiss her flotilla outright — Asherah could not ignore one important reason above all else.

Their Goddess was involved.

A Divine Accord with the Sky Dragon protected Esca from the direct wrath of Emanai, but that meant nothing if Esca managed to meddle in the plans of two Goddesses at once! That was why she was here, at the top of a Geuse burning spire, waiting for a response from one of her priestesses.

Her scales shifted on the floor as she shooed away the slave with a plate of pomegranate rubies; the Geuse, as it was common, loved to test the patience of answer-seekers. Even if the answer was always the same.

The flame flickered and coalesced into a bust of a Geuse priestess. “The Sky Dragon slumbers.”

Asherah praised herself for wearing a thicker veil with golden raindrops or the fire drake priestess would have noticed her grimace when she bowed. “Her dream is sacred.”

She was not surprised by the answer — the slumber lasted centuries and would likely continue for just as long — but by the attitude of the priestess. The burning Spark under their scales signified a close relation to the Goddess and demanded respect, but Asherah was not some soft-bellied snake either. She took a full moon cycle to cleanse her body and prepare for the ascent to the burning spire, yet the Geuse clan sent some aspirant priestess. Was it her first time trying to commune with the Goddess? An unusual delay and the dull expression on her face made it quite likely.

Even now she was stuck in a bow, waiting for the neophyte to remember an appropriate response so she could raise her head. Did the Geuse learn about Shahin’s folly and were making moves before the Kiymetl affair culminated?

“The Goddess spoke to you through her dreams.”

Asherah, who was starting to rise, froze in place. Somewhere to her right, a kithara stumbled in its melody and a golden plate hit the marble floor.

She ignored the mess. “To me?”

“Yes, the Keeper of Esca’s flame. The Sky Dragon told me to deliver these words:” the priestess’s voice changed into something deep and primal. Something Divine, “When the two clash and the third observes from afar, she will guide the serpent to the fruit.”

The priestess paused for a second and resumed talking with her own voice, “The Goddess said that you will understand.”

Asherah did not. She knew nothing of who the three were, just as she had no idea about the identity of ‘she’, the ‘serpent’ and the ‘fruit’. Did the Goddess speak about the clash of Emanai clans? As far as Shahin was informing her, there were more than two or three clans involved. Was ‘she’ Aikerim Adal? Asherah? Or the Sky Dragon herself?

There were two certainties in that prophecy. Whatever that ‘fruit’ was, if the Goddess spoke about it, it was extremely important. The other certainty was the word ‘guide’ that was not ‘lead’. This was not about Asherah leading her serpents north to claim the fruit of victory; the serpent was moving herself under someone else’s direction. Perhaps the ‘serpent’ was Shahin? Amir? Who was their guide then?

The priestess coughed. “Asherah Esca?”

Asherah bowed slightly. “Forgive my silence, honourable Geuse. The words of our Goddess sent me into deep thoughts.”

“My sisters noticed that you are gathering galleys. If you were waiting for the Divine guidance to send your fleets, our clan is eager to assist your noble cause.”

Asherah slowly put her hands into her sleeves and closed her eyes. The temptation was great — with the support of the Geuse clan, she could easily send a formidable armada into Emanai and encourage Aikerim Adal and daimon’s family to leave Samat and settle in Yusuf instead. The daimon himself would follow as Shahin observed him to be appropriately filial.

But that was not what the Goddess was talking about.

Despite her cryptic words, Asherah understood that the Sky Dragon spoke of patience. She ordered her to wait for that moment when two clash and one watches, whenever that would be. She said the Asherah would understand, but that did not mean the understanding would be immediate either. The words of the Goddess were a warning.

“No,” Asherah sighed, “it is not the time to send our galleys. Please excuse me, but I need to tend to my duties post haste.”

She needed to record the message word by word along with every nuance and inflexion so that the Esca’s counsel of wise lamuras could study it for years to come and be ready for the fortuitous event. She also needed to send missives to her captains — it was wasteful to leave her ships waiting in harbours without profit.

The flame flickered, almost hiding the conflicted face of the priestess, but she pressed her hands to her chest and bowed. They both knew that the Geuse were eager to discuss this further but this was not the time or place for that. “May your path never stray into the cold of night, Firekeeper. The Goddess watches over us in her sleep.”

Asherah returned the bow, keenly aware of how apt the words were.

The Goddess was always watching, even in her sleep.

 

 

Muramat Kamshad Nishad

He scowled as he read the scroll in his hands. Just another report about sounds of pleasure coming from the First Spear’s tent and little else. The last two days were rather scarce with new information. Despite causing an enormous stir across the arm, Erf was suspiciously quiet and remained acting as a simple spear. As if goading others with his indifference. There were some rumours about him being a healer, but Muramat expected something like that anyway — he was the Alchemist of Kiymetl for a reason and likely brought enough concoctions from Samat to cure some ailments. Whether they were his or merely purchased in advance was irrelevant in this case — while Flow healers used their innate magic to cure wer and wermages, murk healers had to rely on materials that were scarce in the depth of the Forest anyway.

At the same time, the daimon was undoubtedly ready for another ‘visit’ and Muramat wasn’t stupid to risk so much for something so trivial. Especially since that flying critter would undoubtedly bring more. Attacking the critter was even riskier — not only did it come and go at odd times, but it also did so with great speed and agility. One would have to stand close to the daimon in order to have a chance at shooting it at all. As such, Muramat did very little to smother the rumours, he merely added his own flavour to them, implying their barbaric origin.

But even those rumours were smothered out by the humiliating battle with his sister. The fingers of the first maniple weren’t talking about the healer from Samat — they were whispering about the murk who could hold his ground against a war mage for more than a hundred heartbeats. At least Lita’af kept her temporary injuries hidden from the public.

The daimon was dangerous and unpredictable, just as Lita’af said. But he was dangerous in more ways than even she had thought. Their mother, Roshanak Gulnaz, the Kamshad Matriarch, didn’t want Anaise Hilal. She wanted that something that made Anaise Hilal more special than the rest of the Kiymetl and to a degree — the rest of Emanai. She wanted the reason behind the Goddess summoning Anaise’s Entrance Feast Procession into the Sky Castle.

The daimon.

Muramat had no doubts about it, despite his previous words to his sister. He knew that her messages to their mother would only change the target of that desire, not stop it. The Kamshad Matriarch would not offer her best daughter to the daimon of another Pillar, crippling the Kamshad succession and their influence among other Pillars, while Anaise Hilal would not let Lita’af usurp or even surmount her position in the sadaq. That meant either offering him lower Kamshad females as concubines or making sure that Muramat would enter the sadaq no matter what. Either as the second husband or, Three Horns forbid, as a concubine.

“You look like you have read something grave in that scroll,” Lita’af observed as she kept her horse close to his. “Are you going to inform me?”

Muramat blinked as he realised that he had been scowling at the piece of parchment for too long, lost in his thoughts.

“Nothing important,” he shook his head and summoned a quick flame into his palm, “Just a boorish report about some fucking in the tent of the First Spear.”

So Muramat now had to fight a different battle altogether. He had to assure his mother that the so-called Erf was either too insignificant or too dangerous to deal with. The latter was a daunting task, while the former was being thwarted by his own sister. There was Irje Kiymetl, but she was proving to be rather resilient. Muramat discussed the virtues of proper training with the First Bow — perhaps she would show some progress in the future after a few days of intensive training.

Lita’af frowned. “Are you plotting something again without my knowledge?”

“No, I keep myself informed. Rest assured, sister — my observers keep their distance. Even when it looks like Erf is spreading his seed outside of the sadaq.”

She scoffed. “You and your delusions. Why would he care for a wer?”

Muramat shrugged. “She is his commander, obviously. Look at the past events, Lita’af — a daimon appears in Kiymetl out of nowhere, no one is certain when and Aikerim Adal isn’t telling, but he starts to cast waves in Samat merely half a year ago. By now, he already has a sadaq of at least two wermages with rumours of a third back in Samat. Possibly one of the Enoch or Esca. Anaise Hilal is his last — I am certain of it. She does not look too cowed by the daimon but shows signs of deferral on occasion. Like someone who achieved her task yet agreed to some concessions. Or the daimon let her think that she had won. Erf might have achieved his status by his skills and feats but he certainly solidified his position by his marriage. Or his dick. Or some barbaric potion of lust. Enoch sent the Kausar twins after him — a few tendays later and they receive a skyship while Erf is eager to state it as theirs. Ask yourself — what kind of price did they pay to get it?”

Lita’af rolled her eyes. “And now he is using all that to woo the ‘most renowned First Spear in Emanai, the likes of whom have never graced Her land’.”

Muramat smiled, perhaps the missive was useful after all. “Of course not. He would deny it, as it would not go too well with the rest of the Kiymetl. While the First Spear would deny it to not find herself with a kattar through her heart. And she would do anything to make sure that the new spear of her finger did not spread the word far enough that his wife was forced to protect her honour with action. I am most certain that the daimon is quite eager to have his commander solely on his side now and in the future. Just for the small price of a single night.”

Her tail twitched in irritation. “Be careful with your words, brother.”

Despite her calm manner, Lita’af was fond of Anaise Hilal.

He lifted up the glowing rune of silence from his sash — a useful trinket all around especially when he wanted to avoid listening to the brutish songs of marching murks. “This is a private conversation for obvious reasons, sister.”

“And what is your reason for telling me this pile of dung?”

“So that you might be ready if it is true and he sets his eyes on you,” Muramat replied with concern. “Or worse — our mother.”

 

Irje

She hissed in pain when a hand dart struck her in the calf.

“Stop crying and keep shooting!” The First Bow barked as she walked behind the archers looking for her next target. “The enemy won’t wait for you to find your ass in battle, and if you hope that some flimsy murk will save you from every single arrow, say your name — I have plenty of darts. It is up to you whether you wish to whimper while the enemy turns you into hedgehogs or persevere and let healers close your wounds once they pass around.”

Gritting her teeth, Irje pulled another arrow from the ground in front of her, nocked it, and started to power the runes. Only to feel another dart sinking into her flesh.

“Faster! Do not wait for others to loose theirs. When an order to attack is given, you draw, you shoot, you grab another one, and then you repeat it until there are no arrows left or the whistle to stop is blown!”

The bow finally lit up and ripped the arrow from her fingers. Irje was already halfway from nocking the next one, without bothering to watch it fly.

Irje would be blind if she did not recognise that the First Bow was out to get her. Initially, the Kosenya wermage told her not to wear armour into practice, reasoning that she needed to be ready to shoot under an ambush. Until Irje showed her how quickly she could put the brigandine on herself. While other Emanai armours had to be put on over the head or tied in hard-to-reach areas, she could don hers as one would put on a kaftan. Irje didn’t even need to use her magic for that. Suddenly, everyone was allowed to practise fully geared.

The brigandine was impervious to darts and even werbow arrows that the First Bow wouldn’t dare to use on Irje for ‘practice’ anyway, so she came up with another way to highlight who was in charge here. She started to aim for her legs specifically where Irje had little to no protection.

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By the First Bow’s words, that ‘promoted discipline’. In Irje’s experience, this smelled like a bad overseer.

Irje knew that she could ask Anaise to help her temper her commander. If the word of the Lady of the House was not enough, there were the Kausar twins. Both of them were decent war mages and Erf’s balloon made them even more influential. She could even ask Erf — her husband was always full of tricks and there was undoubtedly something that he could do.

But she wouldn’t. Albin’s words kept ringing in her memory, reminding her of her position as Erf’s Prime. She was supposed to protect him from outside threats — not the other way around! She stood her ground against the Domina of a Pillar Manor — she could withstand some country bumpkin, drunk with her tiny drop of power. Besides, she was a woman and could endure this level of pain.

At the same time, Erf had his own troubles just as Anaise did. Irje was certain that her wife wasn’t silently training her new ‘fire’ spells every day simply because she was bored.

Irje’s personal resolve did not mean acceptance of her current situation. She let the seething anger burn within her as she tried to keep up with other archers — not only did it help with empowering the werbow but it also brought in new ideas, day after day.

And today was yet another day.

So Irje had yet another plan. A very silly plan if Anaise was allowed to hear it, but she felt like Erf would approve. All her personal magic relied on Irje pushing something inward. Erf suggested that she might be warping Flow itself into appropriate shapes to gain control over things like gloves and gauntlets, clothes… and dildoes. Things she was quite familiar with. Things that either resembled parts of her body or spent plenty of time inside of it. Today, Irje wanted to know what would happen if she did the opposite.

Rather than pushing imaginary hands into the ‘fabric of spacetime’ as Erf also called it occasionally, Irje wanted to see what would happen if she pulled them out instead. Rather than will something to fall through the ground, she wanted to bloat it with her anger from within.

She did time it just right too — right when she had to power her werbow for another shot.

Unfortunately for Irje, the burning pain from the embedded darts ended up attracting all of her attention and will.

Fortunately for Irje, it didn’t make her leg explode or crumple like soft clay in the hands of an untrained potter. It merely spat out the darts from her flesh.

Irje let out a shuddering breath. That was a little bit too close even for her. Magic could heal serious wounds and do it quickly but she wasn’t certain if Flow healers could regrow entire limbs.

Another dart thunked into the ground beside Irje. “You are supposed to shoot, not waste the scraps of your power on…what?”

The First Bow swung again, sending yet another dart, only to have it burrow into the ground beside the other one as if Irje wasn’t even here.

“What did you do?” She launched yet another projectile.

This time, Irje paid attention. No, it did not fly through her as if she wasn’t here. It flew around her, as if afraid to touch her flesh, only to resume the straight path once it was behind her.

Irje smirked. “It appears that my magic had enough of your ‘practice’.”

“It appears that your ass is ready to be demoted into fingers,” her commander snarked back and nodded at Irje’s glowing werbow. “Either you shoot…or you get lost from my palm. I have no place for entertainers.”

She lifted another dart and raised her eyebrow. “Go on. Send another arrow.”

Irje paused for a moment then pulled a faintly glowing glove. One of her favourites when it came to her magic. Without saying a single word, she let the glove float onto her hand and picked up the next arrow.

“You jest?”

The runed glove, beholden to her magic, pulled the empowered string of the werbow as if it was a murk bow. Irje felt the fibres creak from the immense stress but she was confident that the glove would hold. Its silken threads were sturdier than the string of the bow.

An arrow flew, just as fast as the ones before it, and the next one left the bow even sooner. Without constantly forcing her magic to surge and wane as other archers did, Irje found the new method of sending arrows downrange to be rather effortless in comparison. All she had to do was aim and let her magic act as her body would.

“And for how long do you intend to waste your magic? Every archer has to shoot until the whistle, not until you puke and piss yourself after ten arrows!” The First Bow tried to kick her leg, only to stumble and almost fall as her foot twisted around Irje’s leg just like the darts did. “Or are you that afraid to relax your magic?”

Irje scoffed, feeling the warmth of success wash over her body. The threats of the First Bow might be reasonable to others but this wasn’t the magic of Emanai Manors. This was her magic. And Irje knew better than anyone how long she could keep it active. And, in some cases, she knew that it would last longer than she did. Irje might not be a war mage, but she had her special Flow Oar too; it was simply shaped like a glove.

“I can keep shooting until all arrows in front of me and in my quivers are gone,” she spoke to her irate commander, ignoring the scowl on her face and the commanding glow of her face tattoos. “Isn’t this what you desire? For your archers to keep shooting as fast as possible? Are you going to teach me how to use my magic? You might be my commander, but you are not my Domina.”

While the higher ranking Kosenya in Uureg kept their skin clean, their warrior wermages often covered their bodies in runes to make themselves as tough as possible. The wermage in front of Irje was of the latter kind — rather than donning armour, the First Bow had nothing but a pair of pants, a wide sash on her waist with a gem-encrusted kattar, and a thick woollen kaftan over her shoulders. She often forewent her tunic despite the chill weather just so others could see the runework on her taut stomach and in the valley between her breasts.

Irje was certain that the runes didn’t end there but she wasn’t that interested to find out. She liked good masters that weren’t cunts, and she had the best one already.

The First Bow gripped her training rod. Irje felt the commander’s magic touch her body, only to retreat as if burned by it. The commander grimaced and summoned another bundle of arrows to Irje’s feet. “Since you let the cock between your legs do the talking — keep shooting until all are gone. If you puke yourself halfway through — I will whip your ass raw for your lack of discipline and failure to perform your tasks.”

“Why don’t we make a bet, then?” Irje kept provoking her as she pulled another bundle of arrows herself. “I will shoot all those and then… I will show you how long my magic can truly last… commander. I can even tell you about that scar I kept.”

She wasn’t the only one who was itching to prove herself here. Her talisman of good fortune — the dildo that saved her life during the Collector attack on Aikerim’s Manor — was just as eagerly vibrating inside her sash.

The First Bow narrowed her eyes. “You will be bringing me my ale with your teeth throughout this campaign.”

 

XXX

The neatly constructed road with patches of green along its sides clashed violently with the looming mesh of white and red. A monument to human hubris trying to bisect the primal nature of the Forest. A tiny strip of normalcy among the alien background.

The Forest was silent. There were no bird songs, no crackles of dry branches, nor woodpecker rattles. Apart from the hum of a marching song, accompanied by drums and horns, all I could hear were the steps of the soldiers, the clank of metal, and the slow clop of mules and horses. I didn’t see any dedicated cavalry among Emanai forces but it was unlikely that horses could easily gallop through the thick of the Forest anyway. Many officers did ride horseback, and there were chariots somewhere behind us as well.

“You got summoned by the General,” Hajar huffed by my side as we detached from the march and walked back to the approaching arusak with its new balloon. “Again. Are you happy?”

I rolled my eyes. “I did what I had to do, First Spear. And I said as much during our first meeting — I am not going to let someone’s pettiness ruin my life. If they think they can jerk me around because I am a ‘mere spear’ then I will ‘adjust’ the situation until they are no longer able to. Even if that means meeting the General once again. Besides all that, why are you angry? At worst this has nothing to do with you and at best you will earn another commendation from the General.”

“Nothing to do with me?” she hissed. “Are you that blind? Or deaf? I barely slept last night because of you.”

“Are you saying that I made your lovers horny?”

“I am saying that you made my men jealous! And I had to waste my precious sleep time to make sure that their fragile honour was properly placated. Or do you want them to try to challenge you as well? I saw your strength, Erf, and I am not going to let you kill my well-trained men. They might be weaker than your alchemically-enhanced body but they earned my trust time and time again.”

“Then you have my word that if I face any challenges within your fingers, I will seek you first before I attempt to defend my honour.” I pulled my ‘healer-alchemist’ pouch and made it look like I was rummaging through it as I pushed my growing lashes to the side, quickly scratched the sleepy grub, and got two clay vials ready. “Here.”

The First Spear frowned at my offer. “What are those?”

“Concoctions to aid with any future activities of similar nature.” I lifted one of the recently-filled tiny pots. “One is a lubricant to remove any excessive chafing, even if you fuck all night long, while the other is a… pleasure enhancer of sorts. Whoever puts this on first, will have the night of their life. Don’t need to use a lot of the ointment — just scoop about a finger’s worth, rub it onto a cock or a cunt, and wait for a few moments. You will have guys singing with a touch of your fingers.”

She grabbed both. “Is this how you got yourself a wermage wife?”

“Be careful, Hajar Kishava. I might be understanding of your foul moods but don’t let it go as far as insulting my wives.”

“The Pillar,” the First Spear nodded. “My apologies — my headache made my tongue say things I did not mean. I appreciate your gift, Alchemist of Kiymetl.”

“Speaking about that, here.” I pulled out a small pouch that I had prepared a long time ago.

“And what is this supposed to enhance? My tongue?”

“It kills headaches. Just one pill a day, however. No more.”

Her fingers snatched the pouch before I stopped speaking and threw a pill inside her mouth. A few seconds passed and Hajar groaned in relief.

Her hand slapped me on the shoulder. “It looks like you have the sense to notice the injustice of your actions — you are a better man than I thought. Hopefully, the General will notice that as well and give you an appropriate position.”

“Your stalwart desire to get rid of me is commendable.” I shook my head and grabbed the rope ladder hanging from the arusak.

“Your gifts are welcome, Erf.” The First Spear easily climbed alongside me. “But I did not need them before Kosenya Matriarch jammed you deep inside my ass. If you gave me your strength medicine, however…”

I gave her a look but she only shrugged. “Yes, Pillar matters. I am aware.”

“Even if I had something like that, and was certain it would work on wer and not strip you of your Spark on accident, I would ask for a lot more than a mere change in attitude,” I murmured and lifted the curtain for her to enter. “The First Spear has arrived, honourable General!”

“Yes, yes. Get in.” Sophia waved us in as she sat in front of a game board that looked like chess, surrounded by Manipulars and a few other Firsts. To my pleasure, I was barely given a passing glance. “Let us all take a seat as we have much to discuss.”

A Kosenya wermage that looked like a sister to the ancient hero, Conan the Barbarian, gave me a withering glare. “Thank you, General, but I prefer to stand.”

What did I do now?

 

 

 

 

 

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