∗ ∗ ∗
"'Now' Our Lord said to Abdiel, 'Go from your homeland, and your kin, and the home of your father to the land that I will grant you.'"
The incanter was handsome–even if a little pale–soft, clean-shaven and damp with sweat. His wrinkled eyes lit with such passion that they betrayed their weariness.
"'And I will make of you a great sovereignty, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you. I will curse those who curse you. And in you all the families on earth shall be blessed.'"
A group of townspeople knelt across the room, hands clasped in prayer as they hung on his every word, completely ignorantof the banging of the two large portal valves against the trumeau.
Frigg…
"'To your offspring I will give this land.'"
The ancient decree ricocheted into the high rafters. Driven by inscrutable magic, the preacher's voice welled and danced upon the ears of a dedicated crowd knelt in prayer. He spoke from a towering pulpit–a grand altar–of mahogany and cedar heavily gilded in gold leaf.
"And so Abdiel there built an altar for our Lord, who had appeared to him. From there he moved to the hill country on the east of Beth and pitched his tent, with Beth on the west and Caarne on the east. And there he built an altar to the Lord and called upon the name of the Lord."
The humble congregation was huddled close in the sparse space before the chancel. Floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows towered above them. Naked, muscled men with white wings, porcelain skin and flaming swords soared among artful, cheekily placed clouds. The largest man sat above them on a throne, draped in white, hair and beard matching, keeping a watchful eye below. Spooky.
Suspended at the architectural zenith, a handsome giant porcelain man hung from a cross, his chiseled abs bloodied from a spear stuck in his rib. His hands were painted red where they were nailed in place. Yaya would absolutely love to pretend to hate this. The crown of sharp brambles bore into his head. Red tears fell from his weeping eyes, as red blood dripped from his wounds.
"He said to Zara, his wife, 'I know that you are a woman, voluptuous in appearance, and when the Hamenapterans see you, they will say, 'This is his wife.' Then they will kill me, but they will let you live. Zara, I command you. Tell that you are my sister, that it may go well with me because of you, and that my life may be spared for your sake."
There's Bondage and discipline. Dominance and submission. Sadism and masochism. Aoi shifted his stance and swallowed the lump swelling in his throat as the preacher preached something of conquest and test of a hero's devotion. He could only think of Mita's moon eyes. She lied about this place.
"The Lord came to Abdiel in a dream: 'Fear not, Abdiel, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.' But Abdiel said, "O Lord GOD, what will you give me? Behold, you have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir." And behold, the word of the LORD came to him: "This man shall not be your heir; your very own son shall be your heir." And he brought him outside and said, "Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them." Then he said to him, "So shall your offspring be." And he believed the LORD, and he counted it to him as righteousness." Tears fell from his eyes as he and his congregation sang. The church bells rang a beautiful lament alongside the congregants and their spiritual leader.
"Blessed be Abdiel by the One True God Most High,
Possessor of heaven and earth;
and blessed be God Most High,
who has delivered your enemies into your hand!
In the name of the Father, the Son, and of the First Reich."
∗ ∗ ∗
The priest held out his arms and his flock bowed their heads, in silent prayer–he looked relieved as he worked his way off the podium to make a very quick exit.
"Um, excuse me Sir?"
He tried to hide the wince in his face, he was caught, trapped and he knew it. He immediately composed himself, patted his forehead with a white cloth and turned to Aoi, smelling of distilled spirits and a faint hint of tobacco ash hidden among the censer's resinous smoke.
"Well hello there, child, welcome to the house of our Lord and Savior." The priest looked at the package in Aoi's hands and his face softened into a curious smile. "You came from dearest Mita, oh how is she doing now? Shame how time can take so much from us, we'd love to have her here for mass of course."
"Oh yeah…I'm sure it crosses her mind here and there." Lies. "I'm here to see Pastor Smeiter."
"I'm Pastor Smeiter, and I'll kindly take that off your hands." He grabbed the package from Aoi with a smile. "I'll be right back, she always puts a little something extra in here for the girls." Aoi looked pleadingly to the people still sat devoutly in prayer, then to the Pastor.
"Don't worry! it's confessional," He started toward a door to the far wall–by a miniature wooden sculpture of the bound man–opened the door "They'll be there all night, and once they're done you can catch a drink with most of them at the sisters'. We are good, God-fearing people after all." He smiled and shut the door behind him. Aoi tapped his fingers on the side of his thigh and peered around the room, first at the twenty to thirty some odd people of all ages spread out on the floor, eyes still closed.
From his view, hovering just past the vestibule, the children were a little shifty but otherwise their resolve was impressive. Behind him to his left, an open book lay upon wainscoting:
"If a man happens to meet a virgin who is not pledged to be married and rapes her and they are discovered, he shall pay her father fifty shekels of silver. He must marry the young woman, for he has violated her. He can never divorce her as long as he–."
"Find anything you like in there! It's a beautiful book!" Startled, he dropped the heavy tome. "Sorry Sir, I hope I didn't damage it!"
"Wouldn't be too much of an issue for a mage now would it?" He smiled. "Here you are, these are for the girls at Tres Marias and this is for my dear friend Mita." He handed Aoi a beautifully wrapped package, with a lovely calligraphic note attached with twine. "My wife absolutely loves it!"
"Sir.." Aoi paused for a moment, looked behind him and turned back to the Pastor who smelled of much fresher tobacco smoke, and spirits.
"If you walk along the single road into the main stretch of town you can't miss it."
"Thank you Master Smeiter."
"You're welcome," called the pastor to Aoi's back. "Hey I never asked your name?"
Aoi pushed into the fading daylight, smiled and called back.
"Would you not think it hilarious if I said Abdiel?" And before the priest had time to answer, Aoi was off, to skulk about his very first town.
∗ ∗ ∗
The black road's minerals sparkled as his eye caught them, volcanic dust kicking up just a bit as he walked north east toward town. Cerise and Cerulean completed their final grapple in the sky, only to be felled by Magenta. Not a cloud in the sky, yet every star and planet showed their face to catch a glimpse of the child of everlasting Spring walking amongst the children of Man. Lantern flies signaled each other with flashes of light, moths took their final flight in search of love, before falling to return to oblivion."A real town." He whispered to himself, trapped in absolute apprehension and appreciation, and stood for a moment to exhale. The tears leaking from his eyes and guttural chokes escaping from his trembling lips betrayed his excitement. He was rather warming up to having absolutely no idea what to expect next.
Wait seriously what the frigg was that dead guy..
The clanking of his feet atop a footbridge pulled his attention from the gruesome image and toward the crop fields below; grains and fruit groves with their exhausted tenders finishing up the day's work with the last of its light…
His trembling lips parted in laughter, more emotional dissonance, and yet the smile accompanying his chuckles transformed his fear to hope. The low rhythmic crash of waves accompanied by six tolls of the church bell faded behind him, as he walked onward toward Porto Culebra–or in Smeiter's words the Imperial Odyssey's Wellspring–with the setting sun as his guide.
"Steel yourself, kid." Aoi commanded of himself, as the Mage with amber eyes who smelled of danger and smoke once did.
His front teeth danced on his lower lip, and his tongue twisted in focus as he fought to project his consciousness beyond himself. Gonna have to work hard to get past these coins…Mita! He withdrew and spread his magical perception, to send out as a ripple in a pond.
Aoi opened his eyes to a veritable Victorian gothic revival; black, bat-like fluttering of wings eclipsing the carmine washed horizon, only to reveal–under the particular gleam of sunset– flashes of metallic emerald, oilslick and pink iridescence. His magical exteroception running at nominal ceiling, he felt the town in waves extending outward, Aoi the epicentre.
Pastor, that's one serious healing spell. Watching the mating flight of these harbingers of fate, or fortune, Ascalapha odorata, Aoi catalogued various magical disturbances, mostly centered less than a kilometer away. An enchanted trinket or two, minor domestic spellwork, and the buzz of a protective enchantment running across the town's boundary. No other mages here. And at the furthest recesses of his range of magical detection, an absence of magic–evoking images of the obsidian mirror he stumbled upon in Bunuelito's room. None that I can sense anyway.
A slight tremor in his clenched fists, yet he was too close to turn back, Aoi marched right along the road, toward yeasty laughter, and an unmistakable warmth. An entire village of humans…
"Finally."
∗ ∗ ∗
"Mijo, when there is rice, there is food–" The woman's shrill call and the surrounding din of the bar were muffled by the slamming of the front door. A handsome man with a thin beard stomped past Aoi muttering curses, though it was too dark to make out much detail.
"It's my bar, fuckin bitch. Puta madre, fucking drunk. I'll be the one laughing at the end. Muerte." His eyes were burning, his thick brows casting shadows along his face. I really wish I didn't hear or see any of that– "MUERTE!" He raged past Aoi, snorting and huffing, cursing down the street then disappearing into the night. Definitely not asking him.
Resolute but trembling, his hand wrenched open the door to a yeasty fever dream of a heat wave, glowing orange lights and more laughter and voices than he'd heard throughout all his centuries. Everyone in the bar had a great smile, a healthy coating of dirt and wide eyes that were all pointed directly at him. Frigg.
"Ayyyyyyyyee!" The crowd cheered as one entity as Aoi bit down his lip, his face turning ever redder. Invisible invisible invisible.The room itself–aged wooden walls, paneled floors, scuffed, dirty–shook from the boisterous welcome. He was ephemerally disheartened that he had not become invisible, and pondered the effect of conjuring a massive magical aegis in the middle of a civilian space. Chairs were sliding and streaking across the ground, people were banging their tables and shouting. "Shut the fuck up ya drunks!" A stumbling woman screamed through rosy cheeks and closed eyes. "He's gone, now shut up and buy more of my booze you sinners!" The woman dropped, slumping into a chair, to rest in her glass.
"Aye, lo bendiga! May God bless you, joven, keep you, and deliver you from all evil." An exact replica of the sleeping woman, her face had sharper features though, and the blush of her cheeks were cosmetic. Her high cheekbones and small mouth betrayed the ferocity she was calming behind her eyes. "Come here, come here! You are the beautiful young man staying in Buñuelo's room. Aye! We love you already. Come here, come sit and drink and eat!" She ran back to a kitchen area, banged around some dishes, cursed, then apologized then brought him a tray and a stein.
"Ah–I uh–that looks good but I'm not really hungry." his stomach empty, lips trembling–damns against the flood of questions he was choking back. Ask her. Ask her. Ask her.
"I am a mother, you haven't eaten for hours have you? Joven, eat. La tortita de lenteja. Papi's recipe. We've been serving travelers here for sixty-five years this February." Proudly she slid a hearty looking sandwich on a well worn ceramic plate toward him along the bar.
"Um, Mistress Magdalena," a tall slender woman, pale skin, blonde hair. "Imperial Field Rations. One month will do, and I will be leaving in the morning."
"Doña, not Mistress," She corrected the haughty woman in fine green cloaks. "Six gold for the rations, twelve for the stay. It's been…" Doña Magdalena awaited her purse hand opened, staring and smiling directly into the woman.
"Now joven, tell me where are you from?" Doña Alcira, narrowed her eyes, gleaning the discomfort in him as he choked down a bite of his sandwich. Which was good.
"I paid that girl for the self-defense courses, or was I supposed to settle up here?"
"I'm from the mountains very far away, actually…umm in the Southern Lands! We were really remote. What did you say your name was? I am so sorry my name is Aoi." He shoved his hand right at her excitedly.
"Doña Alcira. Where in the mountains? We're from the Village of Roses–
"Always with the questions! Aye, Alcira shut up and let the man eat! Hola papi, I'm Magdalena, the youngest sister."
Just ask.
"Magdalena, que asco, " She grunted while swiftly gracefully snatching the drink from her sister's hand. "I'm sorry, she's drunk but she's right. Eat eat." She tapped her polished nails on the equally polished counter top. "You have something for us?"
"Doña Alcira, I was wondering. Can I ask you for some information?"
"What can I do for you, baby?" Her eyes bore into the package somehow simultaneously as they bore into him.
"I'm looking for somebody," He was foolishly eager as he stuttered. "Somebody important. My mother's friend actually." Relax
"Of course, of course. Tell me about them, we see everybody here–"
"And she means e-hiccup-verybody!"
"His name is Hamza. He's a hunter, and I need to find him."
"Aye! Hamza? "She was shocked, eyes wild as she fought back laughter through a pinched face. "Your mother's friend?"
"Maria Alcira." The gentle recognition by the pastor took Aoi and the bar's matron by surprise. He held three empty mallet bottles steady enough to remain silent against the tremors in his hands. Slicker now with sweat, but nevertheless he was the same composed, yet frantically bound elsewhere man from the church. Before Alcira could respond, however, he turned to greet her sister. "Maria Magdalena, how are the two most beautiful twins in all the south?" His smile was true, but the eagerness in his eyes belied his composure. "I wonder if I can have you fill these three for me. The last batch wasn't quite the fix, if you have anything stronger…"
"Padre, lo bendiga. May the blessing of Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, descend upon you and remain forever." She moved her right hand sacramentally as she spoke. "Bless you Father, I will be right back for you." Flushed, she reached for the bottles, grazing his hands with hers as she pulled them away.
"Would you not think it hilarious if I said I knew of Hamza?" Not a hint of disdain in his voice as he tilted his head toward Aoi, weary eyes a glimmer. This prehensile..
"Pastor?" Aoi's scrutiny of the pastor lingered on his face just a moment too long.
"The prophesied hero Hamza…or as he is dubbed by the First Reich, blessings to the most high, 'Chariot of the Lord, Hamza the Throne'. Should you care to listen, I've a thrilling testament of our Lord's august."
Aoi resigned himself to the newly experienced societal pressure, elated at the literal emotional embodiment of a concept he knew entirely everything about and yet had practically zero experience in, but disgusted at his own moral ambiguity, he nodded and smiled convincingly at the wily pastor. The outworlder, or so he felt, swallowed–uneasy–as an entire room, an entire town sat absorbing the ensuing conversation as gospel.
∗ ∗ ∗
"This is an excerpt from The Gospel of our LORD, according to the Prophet Kokabiel."
The pastor began, his voice silken, rehearsed, as he moved his trembling hand beneath his cassocks and then behind his back. "'He will be born of a Virgin, blessed by our Lord in ways we shall know not. He will take up the Burning Blade of our LORD, for he is its righteous heir. He will command the host of heaven alongside his generals and drive the demons from this world. The Throne of the LORD will drive away all those who seek to usurp the light.' And the wildlings gathered at the foot of Mount Zuraij lit the pyre, and as Ezekial burned he offered 'And our Lord shall strike down all those who partake in idol worship for this is how we have lost our Holiest of lands.' And as Ezekial went up in flames, so too did the heathens." Smeiter looked worn down.
"Blessed be Kokabiel by the One True God Most High,
Possessor of heaven and earth;
and blessed be God Most High,
who shall raze all obstacles before thee.
And blessed be to the Father, the Son and to the First Reich."
"Blessed be," the pastor began and a swelling of reverent voices joined in, joined by Doña Alcira who had apparently– with the priest's filled bottles–returned in time enough to bow her head in prayer, not unnoticed by our impatient priest.
"Blessed be Hamza the Throne by the One True God Most High,
Possessor of heaven and earth;
and blessed be God Most High,
who shall raze all obstacles before thee.
In the name of the Father, the Son and of the First Reich.
And may you all reflect on His teachings, power be with you."
"And also with you." The bar–a single entity–responded monotone, every patron's head still bent in prayer.
The tension in his jaws released as Aoi looked to find the patrons of 'Maria's Maria's Maria's' all hushed in reverence, some in tears, and most heads bowed in prayer. The reverent pastor showed teeth when Aoi's eyes returned to his–piercing blue and simmering zeal.
"My young friend, I am but a shepherd of the Lord, my only wish is to guide those in my flock toward His light."
"Maria Alcira, Bless you. Doña Magdalena…" Smeiter gently smiled toward the slumbering bar's mistress, and then turned directly to Aoi. "We have an archive tended to by the monks. I would gladly write you a recommendation, but I'll need something from you first." Smeiter's facade had all but faded.
And here it is smarmville
"My dear boy, what is your name?"
∗ ∗ ∗
"Here's to Hamza!" A lone cry from the crowd rang through the reverent silence that lingered after the pastor's exit. "May he forever rest in power!" Someone answered.
"Everybody! A round on these idiotas for waking me up!"
The bar exploded with cheers at Doña Magdalena's half conscious yelp though Doña Alcira shot her twin a vicious glare and turned her attention back to Aoi. "That man is such a hard worker, always caring for the sick." Her fingers tracing along a small carved wooden man that hung from her neck. "He must be so lonely, that poor wife of his has always been so frail."
"Aye, you want a third natural child?"
"Ignore her, boy listen," the archives we have are perfect they have all the information you nee–"
"Hamza's been dead fourteen centuries. You have to go to the Imperial Library hiccup, they should have names of all the hiccup hunters." Magdalena added from the floor of the bar, and continued to bicker back and forth with her twin, though Aoi couldn't pretend to care.
Hamza…He felt the floor drop from beneath him. The cheering patrons were laughing, and goading him. How could it even be possible? The tides he kept calm and serene threatened to crash against the seawall he so dutifully constructed. The walls were closing in, the derisive sneering of the crowd grew louder, he was surrounded by enemies and lost–
Doña Alcira was smacking her sister with a sandal. "You added a few years. Get up off–"
"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude," He began, interrupting the spatting sisters, each referring to a married man and alcoholism when debasing each other "But do you think I could get to bed early tonight, Sm–the Pastor intends to take me to the archives in the morning." They didn't seem keen on ending their fight. "So I wouldn't want to disappoint a pastor of our Lord." He said with a grin, and within a heartbeat both women were composed and on their feet.
∗ ∗ ∗
What could possibly have broken through Casita's defenses?
a sweet rat couldn't possibly fall in love with a haughty parrot…
Thoughts drift so swift-ly along the gilded river.
Whoever could be tinkering away at this time?
a short broad sword, double edged to the shoulder…
The drawbridge lift-s high to make way for ships.
a black witch moth eclipsing a sunset…
Darkness.
∗ ∗ ∗
"Help! Please, Mister! The mine, the mine, it, it–!" A woman burst into his room, her voice hoarse, she'd been screaming. Aoi's eyes focused, trying to adjust to the curvaceous silhouette in his doorway. "Please please we need your help!" Her shimmering black hair and eyes were fighting desperately to be seen in the darkness that consumed his sleeping quarters. "We need magic!"
"What happened? Try and just tell me as calmly as you can." A wave of his hand lit every candle in the spacious single bedroom, their flickering flames emphasizing its only decoration: a replica of the hanged man in the church hung upon the wall. "You can trust me to handle this," he assured while gently holding her hand. "And you can call me Aoi."
"I'm Aoi the Mage."
∗ ∗ ∗