Sunset of the Wandering Souls

We took our time leaving the Northern Territories, Innin planning our route west with whatever it was Pili was interested in seeing on our way. We left Bulos a day later, Pili wrapped in more furs than seemed necessary to keep him warm, to keep frostbite away. We stayed at inns for a night at a time, trying to stay moving during the day, in the sun where it was only mildly warmer. The farther southwest we traveled, the less likely a lingering storm was to stop us on our way, the Flodkaros told us.

Our sight seeing consisted mostly of cultural objects. Temples from religions long abandoned, objects no longer needed in society, parchment filled with a language no one had spoken in ages. It was curious to me that there had been no armor or weapons if ages past on display anywhere. As if the Flodkaros had never needed to go to war. I had asked Innin about this at an inn one night, only for him to say there was much in our histories lost to time. “Is it due to whatever the Accords are?” I had asked.

Innin had sipped at tea while Pili and I waited intently for his answer. “Yes,” he had said. “The Accords changed much, all in the name to keep something like the Great Conflict from happening again.” He had made a face at the word “conflict”.

“What was the Great Conflict?” Pili had asked. “I’ve heard it maybe once or twice before, but no one wishes to tell me.”

“A story for another time,” Innin had answered. “This Ashmaryaka will know more of it than I ever will.” He had urged us to sleep soon after, telling us we were to rise with the dawn.

***

Ikanhaba was situated in the center of Anagalshu, a country in the heart of the Western Desert. We had shed our furs days ago, but the heat was still too much for me to bear; Pili, however, was unaffected, and felt at home in the warmer climate. Ikanhaba was mostly sand, only able to thrive by the oasis it had been founded by. Greenery crept in every so often in the form of shrubs and palm trees. The Ashmaryaka seemed to float across the sandstone streets, large, scaled tails flowing out of their oddly pleated skirts. We walked our horses through town, not wanting to overexert them in the suffering sun. My cloak only stifled me, and I tried to shed it more than once, only for Innin to force me to keep it on. It was for my safety now, more than keeping with tradition.

We found a stable to keep our horses before we roamed the streets trying to find this Arshaka. Innin asked the locals we saw if they knew of him, and they all pointed us to a town square. The scarcity of the city seemed to be made up by the crowd intently watching a man speak. He paused his speech, tongue flicking out of his mouth as a member of the audience asked him something. “And what if they fall?” He asked back, letting his voice resound through the crowd. “The Interior cannot hold strong forever. Neither can the Territories, or Zinosoc. Diatessian ideals are a blot on the land, the start of another centuries long conflict.” Blue irises against black sclera scanned the crowd, stopping on Innin. “You!” He pointed at him. “What say you in the ability of the Interior to hold off Diatessia?”

Heads turned to face Innin, waiting to hear his answer. “We are shackled,” he said calmly, “by laws meant to stop wars.” He curled his hands into fists, clenched his jaw. “But we can hold our own for a few years if they try to invade.”

“And if they send assassins?” The man asked. “Civilians to promote unrest? What can the Reissu do to stop a quiet takeover?”

“Nothing!” Innin practically yelled.

“You are more than shackled, my friend.” The man started to slither through the crowd, it parting to letting him pass. “How can we expect the Interior—expect the Reissu—to keep the west safe when one man can’t protect his family?” He turned to face his listeners, now standing next to Innin. “Write to His Majesty! Write to your mayors and governors! Let them know you wish to declare war on Diatessia!” He raised his voice, “Let them know you wish to protect the Interior! Let them know you wish this instability would end before it topples us!” The crowd cheered, slowly dispersing. The man turned himself around to face the three of us, and I realized the man didn’t have any legs; his tail was what moved him, like a snake.

The heat was starting to get to me, the sun’s rays soaking into my darkly colored cloak. The Ashmaryaka’s words were swimming in my head, my breathing was coming short and quick. I tried to grab Innin’s arm to get his attention through a bought of dizziness, to help hold myself up, but he seemed too far away. I managed to grab Pili’s instead, his face one of spinning worry. He held my hand, placed the back of his hand to my face. I attempted to focus on whatever it was he was saying to me, my head throbbed in retaliation. Keeping myself upright was a chore. I gripped Pili’s arms, shifting weight around to stay stable, to not fall face first into the sandstone street. For a moment, I thought it all had passed, that I was going to be alright. It was false hope, for I felt waves of nausea wash over me. Spots started to fill my vision, and I leaned further into Pili, unable to answer when he asked me what was wrong. It felt the world was crashing down on me in one ball of boiling burden. My knees buckled, my vision getting more clouded. Pili caught me before I succumbed to the weight.

It all came back to me in one rush of cold panic. I wasn’t on Ukicho, I wasn’t in the palace, nor Bulos. The desert of Ikanhaba was much cooler when the sun wasn’t over me, heating me until the brink of death. The Ashmaryaka man came into my view first, Pili following close behind. Pili placed his hand on my face, the Ashmaryaka observing his every move closely with an intense curiosity. I wanted him to keep his hand on my forehead for a second longer than he did. It felt so cool against my skin. I tried to sit up, but he pushed me back down lightly, told me it was alright for me to rest. He held my hand for a moment, letting go only to come back to help me sit up some and drink mouthful after mouthful of cold water. I felt bad for making him take care of me again, and I kept trying to apologize, yet Pili deflated all of my attempts with a simple, “There’s no need to apologize, Ezollen.”

When the dizziness passed to allow me to sit up without help, I found my clothes soaked through with water. It had been ice cold once, now it was warming and uncomfortable from the desert air. I wiped wet locks from my forehead, looking around at the sandstone and wood adorning the room; a weird mix of what I thought was Ashmaryaka with furniture I’d seen at the palace in the Interior. It was just Pili and me in the room now, faint voices from Innin and the Ashmaryaka floated in. “Do you feel alright?” He asked, placing hands on my face and head once more. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down for a bit longer?”

I leaned into the cold feeling of his palm against my cheek. I knew I shouldn’t’ve gotten my hopes up that he’d reciprocate my feelings, but the way Pili was so touchy with me, the way he cared for me, I couldn’t help but feel that way. “I’m alright,” I said. “I got a little too hot, is all.”

“Ezollen,” he said softly, concern lacing his voice. “Please, lie down for a little longer. You’ve looked unwell since that day in Bulos.”

“That was…” My voice caught in my throat, and I looked away from him. “I had…remembered something unpleasant.”

He gently tilted my head back up; I couldn’t meet his eyes in fear my heart would start hammering more than it already was. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. “I won’t tell Innin.”

I shook my head. “No…It’s…” I took a breath, calming myself as I forced the words out. “I saw…things I wished I could unsee.” He pulled my head against his stomach in one swift moment, my wet hair only dampening his shirt. He stroked my hair, his fingers keeping each strand apart. “Pili,” I said, and he made a little sound in response, “about…about Bulos—”

“I know.” I shrunk further into myself, trying to calm myself. “You do deserve an answer.” While he spoke, he never stopped stroking my hair, giving me comfort for words that shouldn’t need them. I told myself not to make fists with my hands, not to wring my tail, that I should stay perfectly still, that I shouldn’t make him worry more. “I don’t know myself, Ezollen,” he said. “I thought on it, and it only made me more confused. I don’t want to hurt you.” He took a pause, a breath, a moment that felt all too long. “About Bulos, yes, I think I may. But I don’t want to dwell on it more and find I’ll hurt you.”

I gripped the edge of the bed, letting his words settle in me. “I…I’m…to marry…Lady Oglin,” my mouth felt dry, my tongue heavy in my mouth, “once Innin and I…return home.” Pili’s hand stopped to rest on the back of my head. “I made a promise,” I said. “What king would I be if I went back on my promise?”

“Do you think you could learn to love her?” He asked.

I shook my head against the fabric of his shirt. “It doesn’t matter, Pili.” I breathed in the faint scent of seawater that clung to his clothes. “I don’t want her, nor any woman my mother or Innin puts in front of me.” I stood, Pili taking a step back in the nick of time to keep from getting hurt. “I had wanted one of my butlers—maybe others I don’t remember—them surrounding me with maids and women didn’t change that fact.” I grabbed at my hair. “Is it wrong for me to like an Aeces? To like a man?”

“I can’t answer that, Ez—”

“Lie to me, then.” I composed myself as best as I could, letting go of my hair. “Please,” I said with a quiet desperation, “lie to me, if only for a moment.”

“Ezollen—”

“Forget what I said in Bulos.” I pushed past him, my boots squeaking with cold water.

“Ezollen.” He grabbed my arm, keeping me from leaving, keeping me from letting wrong feelings go. “Will you let me get a word in?” He pulled me back to him, holding me too close for my heart to still. “I can’t answer that, Ezollen,” he started again, “because I don’t know myself. I can lie to you, but what good will that do?” He knocked his forehead against mine. “I don’t know if that answer changes tribe by tribe, country by country, status by status. I only know what I feel, Ezollen, and my feelings are confusing to me.” His grip on my arm softened just as much as his voice. “Do I focus on the story of Kani, and Kahi passed down on Ukicho? Or the version from Kamako? Do old stories matter anymore?” His eyes closed, hands finding my face, voice barely a whisper. “Since I found you half-dead on the beach, I’ve felt something. I watched, I dwelled, even before Bulos. At some point, I will figure out this feeling, find the words for it, but I don’t wish to hurt you in the process.” Another breath, another long-hanging moment. “As of now, I believe I feel the same as you, but my dwellings may lead me to a different conclusion.”

“Can I hope?” I asked, voice as quiet as his.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” he answered. “Your hope can hurt you just as much as I.” He mumbled something I didn’t catch, then his lips grazed mine as if he couldn’t make up his mind. If I weren’t so much of a coward, I would’ve kissed him, give him that simple nudge in figuring out his feelings. A split second was all it took for him to come up with the resolve I so utterly lacked. It was over all too soon, something quick, something that I was sure didn’t fit any ideals I had held on what a proper kiss was. It was special to me, though; his hands had never left my face. Pili cleared his throat, his hands falling from my face, bringing me out of my tiny daydream. “Right, do…do you want to rest a little more or should we go see Innin and Arshaka?”