Iravi's Travelogue

Welcome back to our adventures with Kiravi, Serina, and Leotie! I sincerely apologize for the long gap between chapters: certain real-world events have caused my day job to be much more stressful and labor-intensive than usual. Hopefully, I'll be back to 2-3 weeks between updates in the future!

As usual, a little bit of non-narrative description before we jump in: Anghoret is based very loosely on the Norte Chico culture and the Peruvian cultures that immediately followed it, the oldest civilization in the America's and one of the Cradles of Civilization. The other cultures that Kiravi will soon encounter will also be based on different Archaic cultures of the Americas. That being said, Kiravi's world is based on ancient cultures far removed from our current version of morality, and this chapter and others in the future will include the treatment of war captives and slaves.

We welcome and appreciate, and frankly crave feedback as we continue on, positive and negative alike, so please keep those comments coming. Enjoy!

Serina's terrifyingly powerful, exotic magic had healed the wounded but couldn't raise the dead. And the dead had already begun to stink, so we moved away and down the track a few hundred paces and wearily set up camp. Our bodies may have been rejuvenated and filled with new Eldritch vigor, but we'd all been awake for nearly an entire day and witnessed the brutality of a fight far worse than any back alley scuffle in Anghu. Most of the qhatuqs and guards slumped awkwardly over their packs and mats almost immediately. Still, Kapak promised a handful of us a bonus and a skin full of his personal beer each if we kept up a watch over the denuded caravan and the trussed captives. Serina, dazed from her effort, and Leotie, equally exhausted, had already passed out amongst the snoring Enges.

I tried my best, dear readers, I honestly did, perching atop a cracked block of sandstone with the refreshing beer and Sara's plundered sword in my hands. My arm throbbed just below the threshold of pain, even though the charred skin and burst veins had been repaired by Serina's magic, and the bruising hadn't totally faded. My body trembled with new vigor from the strange spell and the panicked thrill of battle, but my mind swam with fatigue and the numb realization that I'd sent Sata and half a dozen others on to the Second Life. My soul, my conduit, ached too, and every moment I remained awake, my focus and consciousness muddled further. Straining to hear anything in the high hills other than coyotes scrabbling their way towards the carnage and struggling to understand Serina's power, I unwillingly slipped into sleep.

Despite our inability to maintain a watch, dawn found us all alive, exhausted, but relieved. I was cradling the heavy, cold sword in aching hands and, somehow, rose before Kapak. The sky burned with the sun's new light, the twinned moons shone as they approached the opposite horizon, and the sandstone glowed like molten bronze.

The Ketza was beautiful, yes, but the morning wind carried the stink of death to us. All of the qhatuqs and guards and most of the surviving animals were covered in crusted blood riven by channels where sweat and tears had washed it away. The llamas' lathered sweat had crusted into their wool, and the makeshift camp was littered with broken flint, spent skins, and shattered spears and clubs.

"Quite a night," Leotie said from just behind me. Niknik yawned and stretched beside her before licking his paw and cuffing at the dried blood on his muzzle.

I glanced at the pink, slightly puckered skin on her forehead from the wound her Bhakhuri kin had given her, "Not one I'd like to soon repeat. You and the critter were a fair bit handier than I was."

She snorted, and Niknik chuffed reflected annoyance, "I didn't catch lightning in my hand and hoist a full-grown man up by his guts." She took a step forward and turned to face me, "Not to mention whatever you and your girl did?"

I dissembled; I both knew what we'd done together and also had no idea where we'd gone, how no one had noticed, or how it'd made her magic do what she'd done, "You think I have any idea what Serina can do, or how? I'm as lost as you," I grunted, "And she's not my girl."

Her eyes narrowed. She smirked, "Says the man who already bedded her once, who looked as out of breath as she did when her magic changed."

"Well, as you'd already mentioned, I'd just finished disemboweling Sata."

"Right."

Kapak struggled awake soon after, his beard and eyebrows still singed and the skin on his face pink where it'd burned and grown back again. He awkwardly rubbed at his raw skin before approaching the two of us, "It seems I owe you once again, Magus. If that fucking coward Sata didn't ruin me, paying my debt to you certainly will."

"Don't worry, Master Kapak," I smiled at him, but then couldn't help but yawn, "You have the captives and, once you reach Tebis, you'll be able to tell the Mayor that you were accosted by a rogue noble and have your debts paid out by the state." I'm ashamed to say, dear readers, that a charitable feeling went through me at that moment, "Besides, I was merely a guard in your employ doing my duty."

Kapak grumbled, "It's been a lean season for everyone. I can't guarantee they'll pay me anything." He crinkled his broad nose at me, "But we have more pressing matters than your payment. We need to handle the dead. It is the proper thing, and as Master of this caravan, it must be said that I do the proper thing."

"And, if you plan on ever using this route again, you don't want a score of angry Kwarzi spirits lingering in the place where their bones lie," Leotie said, casting her eyes around at the rocks as if she could already see them.

All of us, guard and qhatuq, Kazmari and Anghoreti and Ymdroki, knew that it was the proper thing even though we wanted to continue on our interrupted journey. With a few qhatuqs minding the living animals, the rest of us trudged around the bend in the track, into the wall of stench and the growing cloud of flies. Even though Serina's spell had laid daylight across the narrow path and the surrounding rocks, it still had a different character in the sunlight. A filthy, blood-blackened character fresh from anyone's nightmare.

The dead were mingled, draped across each other and between the bloated animals, with those damned atlatl darts scattered all about like fence posts. The buzzards and coyotes had already started their grisly work, at least on the dead pack animals. Thankfully, the maggots hadn't yet appeared, but the choking clouds of blowflies were nearly unbearable. Sata still dangled where I'd impaled him and left the spear jammed into the rock, his limp body now a perch for ravens that squawked noisily and flapped away at our approach.

Some gathered broken spears and the darts that couldn't be re-used and stoked a fire. Others stripped the dead and sorted through their meager belongings, and salvaged whatever cargo could be carried onwards to Tebis. Friends of slain qhatuqs and guards reflected as they rummaged through the pouches of their dead comrades, palming tokens, carved figurines, and trinkets that had once been important and had meaning to their owners. Another party collected stones, and another guarded the captives as they began the back-breaking labor of hacking the grave out of the hard ground.

We had no priest, so there was no way for us to properly convey them to the Second Life, to first anchor their souls in the place of their death until we could properly honor our dead and condemn those that attacked us before speeding them to the River of Souls. Our actions would still carry weight, for all of us with souls were tenuously connected to one another and held the barest of connections to the Eldritch River and the River of Souls. But, without a priest, the risk was more significant that the souls could be lost in the Ketza to splinter and transform into Kwarzi, or that they could be poached by the Serekhva or twisted by the Akagi and Shedia after reaching the River of Souls.

Kapak was Headman, and most of the dead were Kazmari, so we followed the rites of the mountains. I helped the Orgos and some of the qhatuqs haul the slain beasts into the rocks, and Leotie crouched with Niknik on a large boulder nearby. She hummed half-formed words to herself, red eyes closed, one hand on the stone and the other rubbing Niknik's ears. The air rippled slightly around her head and hands as she called on her powers on behalf of the caravan. The llamas and her words of power would hopefully convince the Kwarzi to let these souls move on to the gods without interference. The beasts moved, we dumped our slain attackers onto the fire, using broken spears to keep errant limbs inside the consuming flames. But no one touched Sata. Kapak and the remaining qhatuqs, with Serina, laid our dead in the shallow grave before piling stones over their pale, blood-spattered bodies. The aging Enges daubed a black line on each of his former comrades' forehead, his craggy features growing grimmer with each honor rendered.

Sweating, back aching, I scrambled out of the rocks and stood with the others as Kapak marked the last few bodies and covered their heads with collected stones. I knew Kapak had no magic, but I felt the twinge in my guts and saw the faint shimmer in the air as his actions did...something for the confused and untethered souls the battle had unleashed in this narrow and bloody place. A glance at Leotie told me she felt it too, and Serina was chewing nervously on her lip, hands brushing nervously through her hair. I stood between them as Kapak offered a stilted eulogy in Kazmari.

"The Kwarzi see us," Leotie whispered, "I'm no shaman, but I could hear their muttering; they accept the offering we made."

"That's good," I murmured, "I could feel something."

"I hate it," Serina whispered suddenly, and Leotie and I both turned to her, "I can feel something scrabbling in my head, and I can see something swirling all around us."

Remembering the risk Serina's wild and uncontrolled magic held, I put an arm around her and pulled her close to me, "Shut it out, darling, just a little bit longer."

She nodded slightly, squeezing her eyes shut and grabbing my arm tightly. But Kapak's words ended soon after, and the prickling sensation in my guts began to fade. One of the Ymdroki Orgos grumbled something in his language, and the guards shoveled the hot ashes and scorched bones of our dead attackers onto the stone-covered graves. "Going into the Second Life, they will carry the bones of the enemies they killed with them, to show the gods that they died victorious in battle." The lead Orgos said in Anghoreti, his leg still pink and raw from the dart that had punched into it. I'd heard of such things, but again, dear readers, I was no priest and ignorant of many rites even in my homeland.

Still, Sata was ignored, the fickle wind in the gorge flapping his frayed robes petulantly.

"It is done," Kapak grunted after walking away from the grave, "and now we must discuss my further debt to you, Kiravi al-Kiral." He smiled, bowed slightly. "And to you, mistress Leotie, and especially you and your fantastic aid, mistress Serina."

The women blushed, and I again tried to defer and dissemble, "You owe me nothing more than the same pay owed to the other guards, as we agreed, Master Kapak. I sincerely hope you will be able to recoup your losses."

"You are a fool, and your slick words will get you into trouble when your luck runs out," Kapak grumbled, "But I suppose you're right," he dramatically stroked his thick beard, "But mistress Serina was not in my employ and must be rewarded for her aid. I have never offended the Ettuku, and I don't intend to start." Behind him, the qhatuqs were already packing the surviving animals with the goods they'd recovered, many of the beasts overloaded by the sheer number of pack animals killed. The Enges themselves carried bulging sacks of goods to make up the difference, grim-faced at the doubly hard journey ahead of them.

Kapak gestured at what was left; the piled remnants of our attackers' kit. "It is yours, Mistress Oracle, though I may suggest not trying to take all of it. Our enemies mostly carried trash and broken things, as befits traitors and cowards."

Serina blushed deeply, her cheeks almost purple, "Master Kapak, I don't know what to say."

He smiled, his voice gentle and tender, "No words are needed. You saved all of us, and more than a few would be in that grave alongside the others, our souls flying to the second life, if not for your healing." He chuckled, "You could even take Sata's sword from Kiravi if you wanted. It is your right."

She shook her head quickly, raven-black hair flying about her blushing face, "No, no, he can keep it." She gingerly stepped over to the pile, picking through it nervously. Her hand settled on Sata's staff, the feathers scorched and copper smeared with soot, and she turned to look at me, "Can you show me how to use this, Kiravi?"

I nodded. The girl was smart; she'd be able to use such an enchanted thing to try and focus her wildly out of control magic, "Of course."

She smiled, still blushing, "You have a prize, Kiravi, but you need one as well, Leotie."

Leotie smirked weakly and shook her head slightly, "I'm flattered, Serina, but I'm alright."

The teenager puffed her chest out slightly, setting her jaw, "No, this is my gift to give," she glanced at Kapak, who gave an amused and paternalistic nod, "It is the right thing to do." She rooted through the pile again, eventually coming up with Sata's gaudy necklace and three well-made flint knives. Leotie accepted them with an awkward nod.

Kapak cleared his throat, grunted, coughed again, "The captives, as well, Mistress Serina. My debt to you is great, too great, so I must offer you the captives or face shame in the eyes of the Ettuku."

Serina stuttered, flushed, looked back and forth between Kapak and me, "Kiravi, I --"

Now, dear readers, this was the first time I'd encountered captives or slaves on my many, long journeys. Believe me, I would eventually experience all forms of bondage along my many travels: debt slaves, forced labor of war captives and criminals, and even chattel slavery. In Anghoret, only those captured in battle and guilty of the worst crimes were ever considered unfree. Once detained, they were nearly always sold to Mayors of far off or underperforming Palaces, their labor added to the Palace's peasants. Labor was at a premium, especially in lean seasons, and with the Empire trying to expand ever further into the hills between the rivers and the Empire paid high prices for offered captives.

"No, Kapak," I took over from the flailing Serina, "Please. These captives will be worth a fortune, and you must recoup your losses. Take them. We will accept no other outcome." I flicked my eyes to Serina, who thanked me with a weak smile. Kapak began to respond, but I raised my large hand, refusing any further argument. He snorted, huffed, his pride sated and his eyes betraying the relief he felt as he realized he would be able to guarantee that his venture would still be successful. Business and honor settled, we finally got moving.

Under the punishing sun, we started west along the narrow track with a long grave, a smoking pit of ashes, and Sata's grisly totem marking that place of death.

By marching through the night, we'd made it most of the way to the next waystation, but our journey, overly laden with the remaining cargo, was still exhausting and back-breaking. Spared before the battle by my deal with Kapak, we then had to carry our gear once more in addition to our new possessions. By the time we settled in at dusk, my entire body felt bruised and brutalized.

I'd had little opportunity, between wrenching my spine and nursing my still-throbbing left arm, to talk to Serina about what in the Chaos Wastes had happened in the middle of her spell. And, when we finally stopped for the night, I had barely enough energy to stoke a fire and feed the three of us. Even so, Serina snuggled into me underneath the heavy blankets, and Leotie slept close in to me on the other side. You must remember, dear readers, that I knew both of them were still interested in me, but also that Leotie knew something had transpired between Serina and me. Even more, I knew none of my issues with managing their competing attentions had been solved by the battle in the canyon.

What should've been only a few more days of travel turned into ten days and nights of back-breaking labor. On the second night, Serina murmured happily when we fell asleep and leaned back to kiss me. In the middle of the third day, Leotie complimented me again on the way I'd fought through the ambush, and I woke up the next morning with her draped across my chest, and her plump lips nuzzled into my neck. The two women spoke to each other less and less during the passing days; we all found it difficult to do much of anything other than focus on placing one foot in front of the other.

I must admit, dear readers, that the journey was an exhausting blur until the glorious, muddy stink of the Seleyo filled our nostrils, and the endless ridges of the Ketza gave way to floodplain once more. With one last burst of energy, we managed to stumble down the widening track and towards a small bluff at the slow river's edge with its waiting shelters. With the sun leaving burning scraps of cloud in its wake, sliding behind the hills of the far bank, Kapak finally called for a halt.

Desperately tired, we nevertheless whooped with joy as we unloaded animals, shrugged packs off of blistered shoulders, and slumped into the dugouts beneath the hide tarps. The qhatuqs, so taciturn since the battle, broke out skins full of their most robust beer, saved for this moment, and the head Orgos and Leotie managed to kill three hares and a Pudu deer in the twilight to fatten the stewpots. One Enges after another clapped the three of us strangers about the shoulders, shouting thanks and prayers alike in their broken mix of Kazmari and Anghoreti.

"By far, the hardest part of the journey is done," Kapak explained. "We have prayed to the Pashudia, again and again, to see us through. What better way to embody the Pashudia than to feast with friends, give the gift of words and thanks, no?" I certainly couldn't argue and, instead of a score of separate hearths, we shared space around one great fire, sipping on strong beer and greasy stew, nursing aching bodies and swollen feet.

My companions and I shared the place of honor beside Kapak once more, this time with the head Orgos guard, laughing and teasing with the many qhatuqs in the broken bits of their language I'd picked up. With each drained beerskin, the laughter grew louder, Kapak's relieved smile wider, and Serina's small hand higher up my breech-covered thigh. I'd be lying, dear readers, if I wasn't intrigued and happily surprised by the Oracle's boldness. My arm dipped around her wasp-like waist at some point, keeping her small and warm body against mine, as close and tight as I could get away with, and still, her hand wandered higher in the flickering firelight.

"Now, Mistress Serina," Kapak said as we all sat, bellies full and heads swimming, "You must tell us how you...did what you did."

There was a chorus of assent that only grew louder as the qhatuqs explained the question to each other in Kazmari. Serina blushed, her hand leaving my groin to awkwardly clutch at my traveling shirt. "Yes, Serina, we need to know!" Leotie egged her on, and it was then that I noticed she was sitting nearly in the Orgos captain's lap on my left.

"I, I don't," she paused, looking up at me with her beautiful, burning eyes.

"You don't have to say anything," I whispered to her.