Mercy and Monsters - Chapter 7
Which of your Lord’s blessings would you so deny?
Moreover, God has augmented the honour and excellence of the Maghrib by the imamate of our master, the Commander of the Faithful, who has spread the shelter of security throughout its territories and made the sun of equity to rise within its borders, who has caused the clouds of beneficence to shed their rain upon its dwellers in country and town, who has purified it from evildoers, and established it in the ways alike of worldly prosperity and of religious observance.
-Travels in Asia and Africa
“Hey, how’s the shoulder holding up?” Morien popped his head out from the wagon to check on Julia.
“Fit as a fiddle,” Julia grinned.
“Yup. Everything’s A-OK,” Erin smiled from beside her.
“What other medical stuff do you have in this wagon, like, out of curiosity?” Morien glanced at the rune-inscribed bandages which were wrapped around Julia’s shoulder, and which had helped her make a full and speedy recovery.
“Absolutely anything that I can get my hands on. I assure you, I offer a wide variety of valuable remedial supplies for whatever medical emergency you may possess, whether it be battle-wounds, bloody flux, devil’s fire, ague, childbed fever, red plague, lepry,” Julia cast a hushed aside to Erin, “Even weeping womb.”
“Wait, why would a womb weep?” Morien furrowed his brow.
“Hush you,” Julia pouted. “You’ll never woo Erin if you can’t understand a woman’s body, Morien.”
“Would you stop with that already?” Morien grumbled.
“Erin, my sister, fellow Daughter of Eve,” Julia sidled up to Erin. “Before we part ways in Qurtana, how’d you like to purchase a few of my remedies for the road? You’ll be traveling for a long time, after all, perhaps going days on end without sight of civilization. Surely this is a wise investment, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Hey, stop trying to shill your stuff on Erin!” Morien protested.
“Thanks,” Erin said to Julia. “But I’m already covered. Magic, y’know.”
“What?” Morien had no idea what was going on.
Julia blinked, surprised. “…Oh. I… hang on, correct me if I’m wrong, but last I checked, wombs aren’t green.”
“Seriously, what is this weeping womb business?” Morien asked.
“They’re not,” Erin said. “But when you put a bunch of girls together in a school of magic-learning, they’re gonna experiment with stuff. I’ve still got the charm one of my classmates made in place.”
“You went to a… ‘school of magic-learning’?” Julia was surprised.
“What was that like?” Morien queried.
“Alright, I guess,” Erin shrugged. “I mostly studied. Didn’t have too many friends.”
“Then how did you go from that to one of the Seven Spectral Sorcerers?” Hobie chimed in as he hovered outside.
“Oh hey, Hobie,” Morien said. “Say, it’s getting rather crowded out here.”
“Oh, for that I passed the test,” Erin replied. “You see, Deus ex Machina goes around and tests potential replacements for the title of Spectral Sorcerer. When I was at school, everybody there was a potential applicant, and we were all tested. In the end though, I was the only one who passed, so I got my own staff and connection to a Spectral Spirit.”
“I suppose then it was a good thing you spent so much time with your studies,” Hobie said.
“I guess,” Erin sighed.
“Oh, hey Yann. What’s up?” Morien asked as the bard stepped outside to the front of the wagon.
“Okay, look!” Julia exclaimed. “Everybody, unless you have some really pressing matter to discuss with me or Erin, get back inside the wagon! We can’t fit everyone out here in the front.”
Yann knew that, but as he revealed with a finger pointed outward, there was something that warranted everyone’s attention. There, out in the distance, lay a sight that took Morien’s breath away. Perched between the vast Berber Strait sat a city twice the size of Timjeli with thrice the splendor and opulence, with ships from all the world’s nations nestled at its ports. Monumental domes and massive spires touched the heavens themselves, and though Morien was still so far away, he could see and hear the waves of people bustling through the city. But the greatest sight of all, the architectural wonder that Morien could not help but marvel at, was the pair of bridges that connected the city to each side of the strait. With Barbary to the north and Ibery to the south, Qurtana lay perched in the middle, as a symbol of the unity of Berber under Andalusi rule. These symbolic bridges stretched many miles long and many miles high, wide enough to carry thousands of travelers both to and from the city. Truly, it was a sight to behold.
“Qurtana,” Morien whispered, thunderstruck. “We’re here.”
“Yup,” Julia grinned. “And in record time, too.”
After passing inspection and being granted entrance to the city, the quintet of questers found themselves inside Qurtana at last, to be instantly swarmed by the hustle and bustle of city life. So enraptured was Morien by the sights and sounds and smells and surplus of people that he hardly noticed as Julia set her wagon to a spot within the market district, set up shop, and set her passengers to the curb, now that they’d at last arrived at Qurtana.
“Are you sure?” Erin’s forlorn inquiry brought Morien back to reality.
“Positive,” Julia smiled. “It was fun, really, it was. But I’ve had my fill of crazy adventure.”
“Very well then,” Hobie radiated respectfully. “Thank you for helping us reach Qurtana.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Julia chuckled. “You’re gonna make me blush, Hobie.”
“So…” Morien tried to think of a suitable farewell. “Uh… I guess this is it.”
“I… guess it is.” Julia’s mood turned melancholy as she remembered Morien, and how he had saved her from the jinni that night.
“Uh… thank you,” Morien muttered. “For saving me back then, I mean.”
“You too,” Julia replied. “I mean, thank you too.”
“Yeah, I got what you meant. Are… are you sure…”
“Aw, c’mon now,” Julia said. “You’re gonna make me start feeling guilty of all things! You’ll be fine, Morien, really. There are countless carts and wagons willing to take you anywhere in the world. You don’t need me to take you. So… good luck, safe travels, and all that. Okay?”
“Okay…” Morien felt as though he ought to say something more, but the appropriate words failed to come to him, and he was left simply standing in silence.
“Well,” Hobie was the first to speak. “Let’s go, Morien, Erin, Yann.”
“Ah-ah-ah!” Julia grinned devilishly as she latched onto Yann’s arm. “You three can go on your quest-thingy all you like, but Yann is staying right here with me!”
“Wait, what?” Morien was surprised.
“When did this happen?” Erin asked.
“Back in Songhay,” Julia leered lecherously at the bicep her hands rested on. “Why do you think I agreed to this in the first place?”
As Morien, Erin, and Hobie gazed flabbergastedly at Yann, the bard simply gave a surrendering shrug, and nodded to indicate that yes, this had indeed been the terms of their agreement.
“I should have known,” Morien groaned. It all made perfect sense.
“Well… uh… have… fun… I guess?” Erin mumbled.
“Oh, rest assured I fully intend to,” Julia could hardly contain her mirth.
“Very well,” Hobie sighed. “Morien, Erin, come along. Time is of the essence, after all.”
And with that, Julia and Yann broke away from the quintet, as Morien, Erin, and Hobie set out on their own.
“Hey, Morien,” Erin’s call interrupted Morien’s musings.
“Huh?” Morien mumbled.
“We were wondering if you wanted a bite before we tried to find a ride,” Erin explained.
“Oh… uh…” Morien’s stomach answered for him. “Y-yeah. I guess so.”
“What’s been distracting you, Morien?” Hobie asked. “You’ve not been very attentive since we arrived in Qurtana.”
“I… just…” Morien glanced at the sea of people, ebbing and flowing through the busy streets. How could he explain the feeling he was feeling now? The trio of travelers had exited the market district a while back, and yet, Morien still found the feeling he had only ever felt in the markets of Timjeli. Every face he saw was from a different nation, every outfit he saw was from a different cloth, every piece of Qurtana was from some large, beautiful mosaic of color and light. There, he saw a Rahmanite cleric and Yeshuan clergyman conversing cordially at a coffee house. There, he saw a Breton man and Moorish woman picking out clothes for the child she carried in her arms. There, he saw children from all the corners of the world he knew, and even some he didn’t, playing together in the street. Instantly, though Morien had never before set foot in this city, he felt at home.
“It’s just so…” Morien struggled to find the appropriate term. “Cosmopolitan.”
“Yes, I must say,” Hobie admitted. “The borders of the world seem much more relaxed than when last I was here.”
“Qurtana is the prize jewel of Andalus,” Erin explained. “It’s a huge trading hub, so it makes sense that there’d be a lot of people from a lot of different places here.”
“Yeah… I guess so,” Morien muttered. It still amazed him, though, seeing it with his own eyes.
“Come on,” Erin grinned. “Let’s find some place to eat.”
“Okay,” Morien followed behind her, still drinking in the sights that surrounded him.
When all this was over, Morien resolved, he would take his mother and the imam to Qurtana.
Yann was busy adjusting his lute from within Julia’s wagon when the merchant entered, a cat’s grin on her recently made-up face. At first glance of her, Yann perched his eyebrows in curiosity, wondering what had prompted Julia’s apparent change in clothes. The silken negligee she wore now seemed rather impractical for her usual business interactions.
“Oh, this?” Julia asked innocently. “Well, I mean, I just sort of figured it’d be more appropriate for our… own, private, business interaction, if you catch my meaning.”
Well, if that’s how Julia wanted it, Yann shrugged, and set about playing a merry tune on his lute.
“Er…” Julia bit her lip impatiently. “Yes, that’s all well and good, but if we could just speed things up a little, you know.”
Yann appeared almost offended by the suggestion. He had hardly even begun the first verse of the prologue, and Julia already wanted the climax? It was too much, simply too much. But, Yann sighed, if Julia insisted, who was he to deny her?
“Now…” Julia began tapping her foot impatiently. “Now look here, Yann. It seems that some of the terms of our initial contract were not conveyed properly. That’s alright, it happens all the time in business. But you must know, really you must, you must know, that music was not the primary service I hoped to obtain from your presence.”
Ah, Yann bowed in apology. It was some other form of entertainment Julia desired. In that case, Yann reached into his satchel and pulled out some balls with which he began to juggle. He admitted, he was a bit rusty on his technique, but he still possessed enough skill to entertain even the most stoic of audiences.
“Yann…” Julia began grinding her teeth, pulling her hair, and coming very close to full-blown, hysterical histrionics as she gazed at that beautiful, blond bard, stupidly juggling of all things! How could he be so stunning, so seductive, and yet so scintillatingly stupid? As Yann’s tall, lithe frame swayed and danced and he tossed and caught his balls, Julia found the waves of passion flowing within her too powerful to control any longer.
“Yann!” Julia leapt onto the bewildered bard, and as his balls slipped and bounced onto the floor, so too did Yann topple onto his back, with Julia resting on top of him.
Yes? The bard blinked in befuddlement.
“Sard it all Yann there’s one and only one reason I agreed to coming to Qurtana with you and it wasn’t for your conversation!” Julia screeched.
Well that much was obvious, Yann nodded. He was rather a bore when it came to that sort of thing.
“I mean… alright sure, I’m not completely heartless, and I’m not totally ignorant to the idea of the end of the world being a bad thing,” Julia began to backtrack. “B-but, I mean, come on, what am I, some knight in shining armor? Those don’t exist anyway, and, I mean, even if they did, I don’t, I mean, it’s not like I’m qualified in any way to save the world! What could I do?”
Yann simply stared back in silence.
“Okay, okay, okay, fine!” Julia stammered. “I could have given them a ride, but they can get a ride anywhere, can’t they? It’s not like they need me specifically! And I mean, I mean, okay, sure, Morien saved my life back there, but that’s… I saved his life too, so we’re even! Even-steven! End of business! End of the line! Finished and done with! Not my problem anymore! Right? Right?”
Yann simply stared back in silence.
“I mean, I mean, I mean!” Julia sputtered. “It’s not like I… I abandoned them… I didn’t abandon them. They’ll be fine. It’s not my problem. It’s… it’s not…”
Julia felt her conviction begin to falter, and her passion begin to subside, as thoughts of intimate indelicacies gave way to memories of loss and loneliness. It was silly, how could she be thinking such things at a time like this? She had everything she ever wanted; money, men, manumission. So why could she not enjoy herself now? Why did her thoughts stray back to the trio she had left behind? Why, why, why?
“It’s not my problem,” she whispered, but as she heard those words, she realized how hollow they sounded when spoken aloud.
When Yann’s hand brushed against her cheek, Julia let out a tiny gasp in surprise. As she looked back down at the bard though, she saw him smiling back with a serene, understanding gaze.
“You… you really aren’t as stupid as you pretend to be, are you?” Julia grinned.
Qurtana was filled to the brim with a plethora of eateries, from coffee houses to cafeterias and fine dining to dive findings. One could get lost for days, trying to find the best locations for culinary delight. However, Morien, Erin, and Hobie did not have days, so when they made the decision to stop for a bite to eat, they simply popped into the nearest eatery they could find.
“Uh, hello, sir?” Morien called out to the kitchen, not noticing the shocked stares and hushed whispers from the other customers as he entered with his fellow travelers.
“Yes?” the owner of the restaurant poked his head out from the kitchen, only for his welcoming demeanor to shift suddenly when he noticed Erin and Hobie.
“Um, yes, we were just wondering,” Morien asked. “You don’t serve pork, do you? And, um, the way you prepare your food…”
“Ah,” the owner relaxed. “So you are Rahmanites, then.”
“Er…” Morien blinked in surprise, caught off-guard by the question.
“I’m not,” Erin grinned. “And I could do with a pork-chop, if you have any.”
“I can’t eat,” Hobie said.
“I… see,” the owner once more became sullen in his mood. “In that case, I can serve you, young man, but not your Yeshuan friend here.”
“Oh, I’m not a Yeshuan,” Erin continued obliviously. “I’m a pagan sorceress.”
At that, several customers angrily rose to their feet, and the owner exploded with fury.
“A what!?!” he cried. “You dare set foot in my establishment? Get out, all of you, get out!”
“What? But why?” Morien protested.
“Bad enough the Yeshuans and Eloy are ruining this city, the last thing we need is sarding pagans!” the owner bellowed. “Now get out!”
And then, with the help of several irate customers, Morien, Erin, and Hobie were tossed out of the establishment.
“What the… what was that all about?” Morien cried.
“It would seem some people still cling to the old ways and borders,” Hobie sighed.
“But… but you… you said this was a great multicultural hub or something, right Erin?” Morien sputtered.
“I guess so, but that doesn’t mean everybody’s gonna be okay with things,” Erin shrugged. “It’s okay. We can find another place to eat.”
“No it’s not okay! That man tossed us out like garbage! Aren’t you upset?” Morien shouted. He knew a bully when he saw one, and that restaurant owner fit the profile to a T.
“Of course I’m upset,” Erin said. “But it won’t do any good picking fights when we’ve got a world to save.”
“But… you…” Morien was too angry to even properly form words.
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” a young Khaleeji man popped into the conversation. “However, if you are looking for a place to eat, I’d be more than happy to serve you. I’m on my way back now.”
“Wha- where did you come from?” Morien jumped in surprise.
“I was just passing along this street, with some fresh vegetables,” the man held a crate of vegetables up. “We had a sudden surge of veggie-eaters this morning, and I needed to run to the markets to restock. The name’s Umar, by the way.”
“Well… alright Umar. I guess, we are in a hurry,” Morien muttered, though he still had an itch to give that restaurant-owner a piece of his mind.
“Yes, and I have no problem with coming to your particular establishment,” Hobie said. “Erin?”
“Hey, how can I say no to a place full of greens?” Erin grinned.
“Splendid then,” Umar laughed. “Come on over, and I’ll make you a meal you won’t soon forget.”
“Gianni? Gianni!” Umar called out as he entered the coffee house. “New customers!”
“Mm?” a Capronan fellow glanced at Umar and the travelers from behind the counter, where various coffee-making equipment was placed.
“New customers, Gianni,” Umar repeated. “This one, Morien, is a Rahmanite, so no pork, and mind how you prepare the food. And Erin here is a self-confessed pagan sorceress, so no dietary restrictions, but apparently she likes greens.”
“And pork!” Erin added.
“’Kay,” Gianni grunted. “And the orb thing?”
“I can’t eat,” Hobie explained.
“Alright,” Gianni nodded, as Umar set about checking on the other restaurant guests.
“It would appear our hosts have quite a local following,” Hobie commented as the patrons of the restaurant all laughed and grinned in Umar’s presence.
“I guess so,” Morien muttered.
“What’s got you so down?” Umar appeared suddenly.
“Ah!” Morien cried. “How… how do you always do that?”
“Do what?” Umar blinked in surprise.
“That sneaking-up-thing!”
“I don’t do a sneaking-up-thing, do I?” Umar furrowed his brow.
“Yes,” Gianni grunted.
“Oh, hush you,” Umar pouted. “Anyways, I need to take these back to the kitchen. You all take a seat wherever you like.”
Sulkily Morien followed Erin’s lead as she and Hobie settled in a booth by a window, where they could look out at the crowds of people walking past. Morien stared out into the street, trying to find that feeling from his first encounter with Qurtana again. Again, he saw clerics engaged in cordial cross-faith conversation. Again, he saw happy couples of different colors. Again, he saw children from different corners of the world playing together. But now he noticed the disapproving stares and the angry glares of other passersby. There, he saw a Rahmanite imam and Yeshuan priest engaged in a heated argument. There, he saw an inebriated fellow harass an interracial couple. There, he saw a group of children ganging up on a smaller boy, whose own skin contrasted the color of their own. Amidst these instances of conflict, sometimes a passerby would intervene, sometimes the fight would end amicably. But so many of them would simply be swallowed up in the everyday hustle and bustle of the city. Was it all a lie, that feeling Morien could no longer seem to locate? Was Qurtana just as rotten and full of hate as where Morien had grown up?
Slowly Morien sank into melancholy, until suddenly, a jet-black bolt of lightning plunged into the mire, to turn the melancholy into an all-encompassing terror. There, striding through the street, his raven robes matched only by the cold, black luster of his eyes, was none other than the Allamah Abdul Yusuf! Amongst the larger mosaic of the Qurtana citizenry, Yusuf seemed as though a massive blotch of ink, an alien interloper that did not belong. Even the instances of discord and strife Morien witnessed seemed to have some larger role in the rhythm of the city, but not Yusuf. No, his very presence seemed an obsidian knife, cutting through the rhythm with a hatred so pure and vile it made even the most violent visible brawl appear as little more than a friendly disagreement. The fury and disgust Morien had seen from Yusuf the night they had traveled together paled in comparison to the waves of hatred that emanated off him now.
But just as the tangible loathing filled Morien with fear, as the young man saw the absence of the jinni by the allamah’s side, he realized that the blue-skinned being was once again trapped inside Yusuf’s ring. Morien could almost see the jinni in that ring, screaming in pain and terror, and his heart swelled at the knowledge that he had failed to protect the poor creature. Just then, Yusuf halted in his tracks, and whipped his head in the direction where Morien sat. For the briefest of instances, their eyes met, before Morien ducked in terror beneath the window. How had the allamah known he was there? Did he see him, did he notice his presence? Morien did not know, but prayed to Ar-Rahman with all his might that Yusuf did not storm into the restaurant at that very instant to strike him dead. Scared, he was so scared, so utterly, completely scared. Morien found himself shivering in fright at the very thought of Yusuf, and he clutched his saphie so tightly he could feel its imprint in his hand.
“Morien!” Erin’s cry brought him back to reality. “What’s wrong?”
“Th-the allamah! There, out in the street!” Morien stammered.
“The allamah?” Erin looked outside.
“You mean that fellow with the jinni? The one you met in the mountains?” Hobie asked.
“Y-yeah,” Morien nodded. “Is he still out there?”
“You said he was dressed all in black, right?” Erin asked.
“Y-yes.”
“I see someone like that, but he’s turning the corner out of sight,” Hobie said.
Quickly, Morien glanced up to see if the man Hobie spotted was indeed the allamah. As he saw Yusuf do just as Hobie had said, he breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“S-sorry,” Morien sighed. “I just… I didn’t expect to run into him here.”
“It’s alright,” Erin said. “From what you mentioned of the guy, I’d be scared to run into him again too.”
“Is that why you’ve been in such a mood recently?” Hobie asked. “Since we… er, left the restaurant?”
“Wh-what?” Morien remembered his melancholy mire. “O-oh, no. That’s not… I just, I thought at first things were different here in Qurtana, is all. But now, I guess-”
“Your food,” Umar appeared with a tray of eatables.
“Ah!” Morien screamed. “Would! You! Stop! Doing that?”
“Doing what?” Umar stared blankly back.
“Never mind!” Morien groaned.
“Our friend’s nerves have been getting to him recently,” Hobie said. “He saw a rather unsavory character from his past reappear suddenly.”
“Ah, yes, that would do it,” Umar nodded. “Well, hopefully this delicious grub will cheer you right up.”
“Sounds good to me!” Erin grinned. “Let’s eat!”
“Of course,” Umar placed the food before his two customers, while Erin paid for the meal with a nugget of gold.
As Morien began to eat, he found the savory sustenance indeed improving his mood.
“By the way,” Umar interjected.
And then it was gone.
“Yes?” Morien sighed.
“I always make it a point to give my customers what they need, even beyond a tasty meal,” Umar said. “And it seems to me as though you’ve been experiencing some existential ennui recently.”
“Uh…” Morien did not fully comprehend what Umar had just said.
“So, what’s eating you, lad?” Umar sat beside Morien. “Anything you want to get off your chest, I’m here to listen.”
“Well…” Morien muttered. “I just… I thought things were different here, is all.”
“Different?” Umar asked. “In what way?”
“Like…” Morien mumbled. “No bullies.”
To Morien’s surprise, Umar erupted in a bout of profound laughter, and the young man’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Hahaha, but seriously don’t be an idiot,” Umar said. “Bullies are everywhere. Doesn’t matter where you go or where you come from, you’ll always find bullies. It’s just a fact of life.”
“So, what, there’s nothing I can do then?” Morien asked.
“Did I say that? Is that what I said?” Umar sighed. “Sure, bullies are everywhere, but you can’t just go about trying to avoid them your whole life. If you want any kind of life at all, you have to deal with its problems, including bullies. Not avoid them, but deal with them.”
“Easier said than done,” Morien hissed. “Not everyone’s strong enough to do that. Sometimes all you get for your troubles is more trouble, and pain.”
“I know,” Umar said. “Believe me, I know. But I also know that, no matter how powerful the bullies of the world are, there’s something they can never take away from you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Umar tapped the side of his head. “You sound like you’ve got a lot of experience with this sort of thing, so tell me this. When you were being bullied, was there ever something that ran through your head, something you focused on every time?”
Morien thought back, and found the image of Lon the Lionheart. Lon, whose courage had inspired him to better himself, and whose quest to seal Tar-Cruorem he was now undertaking himself. Whenever any of the other children had tormented him, it had been that hero’s face Morien had concentrated on, it had been that desire to become a great hero like him that had kept him going against everything else the world had thrown his way. Look at what I have made for you, he would say.
“Y-yes,” Morien said.
Umar grinned. “Even when you’re absolutely powerless against everything the world is throwing at you, even when you can’t control anything else in your life, nobody can take away that space you make in your mind. They can’t take away that image you focus on. It remains something only you can control, and only you can give away. The world may beat you to a pulp, but it’s only if you give up that space that you truly lose. Am I making any sense?”
“I… I think so…” Morien muttered.
“My space is this coffee house,” Umar said. “I had a lot of trouble getting it off the ground at first, but so long as it exists, even if only in my mind, I have control. I may not be able to control anything else in this world, but I can control that.”
“I make myself a pair of wings, in my mind.”
Morien turned in surprise, to see that Erin was looking at him now, her expression full of serene understanding.
“Each feather is a person that I’ve known, a person that I’ve loved,” Erin closed her eyes as she remembered. “Most of the time, they just sleep in my mind, and I forget. But when I need them most, I can call them back to me, and as I remember their love, they give me wings of brilliant green.”
“Erin…” Morien mumbled. “I…”
“Your coffee,” Gianni came over, and distributed three cups of quality coffee.
“Thank you, Gianni,” Umar smiled as he sipped at his cup. “I think things are alright here now.”
“Right,” Gianni nodded, and followed Umar as the Khaleeji moved to chat with some other customers.
“I guess,” Morien said. “We don’t actually know that much about each other.”
“I guess not,” Erin smiled sheepishly. “I’ll go first then.
“I was born in Hibernia. My dad was a great warrior, and my mom was a great witch. He died when I was little, and she sent me off to school not long after. It was the school she went to, and she said it was to ‘foster my talent’, but I knew she just didn’t know how to deal with me without my dad. We’re better now, but when I first got to the school, I just kept to myself and studied. Then Deus ex Machina came, I got the power of a Spectral Sorcerer, and I went north, because of all the green.”
“I see,” Morien said. “Well, as for me, I was born in the Songhay Empire. I never knew baaba, my dad, so my mom and I were social outcasts as soon as I was born. Only Imam Malik was kind enough to take us in, and help raise me. He’s more a father than whoever fathered me. And, my space is Lon, the hero that vanquished Tar-Cruorem all those years ago. As a kid, getting bullied, I’d read stories about Lon, and I’d try to be brave and strong like him. And look at me now, I’m going to re-seal Tar-Cruorem, just like Lon did, all those years ago. I doubt I measure up to him, though.”
“No,” Hobie replied. “I’d say you’re about even.”
Morien stared in surprise at the glowing ball of light. “How… you said I wasn’t an ideal choice or whatever!”
“Neither was Lon,” Hobie said. “I’m sure the legends and stories make him out to be some perfect paragon, but even with the gaps in my memory, I remember Lon when he first took up the task of defeating the Dark Lord, and he was very much a scared and unsure youth.”
“Gaps?” Erin inquired.
“Ah, yes,” Hobie explained. “I’m afraid, even though I’ve lived an immeasurable amount of time, I possess only a finite space of memory. Sooner or later, I have to delete some of those memories, so that I can retain space for new ones.”
“Oh,” Morien muttered. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” Hobie replied. “It’s not as bad as you might think. I just have to know which memories are really precious to me, which ones constitute my own space, if you will.”
When Karim al-Jabbar stood, all those around him gave their full attention; not simply because he was Caliph of all Andalus, but because he was also an immensely tall man, easily standing two heads higher than anyone else in a room. It simply didn’t pay to ignore someone with that much obvious clerical, political, and physical power. Indeed, it was largely this combination of clout that had allowed Andalus to grow from a collective of rebel emirs to a unified state, and one powerful enough to conquer most of Berber. However, while conquering lands was one thing, ruling them was quite another, and al-Jabbar spent most of his time these days attending meetings, governing his people, and satisfying the whims of turbulent wazirs. It was at one of these regular meetings, where al-Jabbar sat surrounded by his cabinet of wazirs and council of emirs, that word of the allamah’s arrival at last approached him.
“Is it true?”
“An allamah? All the way from Mashreq? Hadadu itself?!”
“What does the caliph from all the way over there want with us?”
“Maybe to contest the title of caliph with al-Jabbar.”
“You must understand, it was before your time, but when the first Moorish emirs made this kingdom, they were originally from the Mashreqi Caliphate. They weren’t satisfied with the power they already had, so they forged their own kingdom here, without a caliph to rule over them.”
“But in the end, al-Jabbar conquered them all anyway! Hawhaw!”
“If you ask me, it’s a good thing he’s come! Ar-Rahman knows we’ve been letting too many Yeshuans and heathens live among us. What this country needs is some good old-fashioned traditional values!”
Al-Jabbar sighed as he heard the wazirs and emirs whisper amongst themselves. Whatever purpose this allamah had for his visit, it would surely cause a great deal of political chaos, and a migraine on al-Jabbar’s part.
“I suppose I ought to get this over with,” al-Jabbar grumbled.
“An excellent decision, O wise and just Caliph,” said Abd al-Hazrad, a Stygian wazir and al-Jabbar’s most trusted advisor.
“Cease your sycophantic simpering and summon him, would you?” al-Jabbar grimaced.
“Of course, O great and noble Commander of the Faithful,” al-Hazrad went to do as he had been commanded.
“Why do you keep giving him all these powers and duties, sir?” another wazir asked after al-Hazrad was out of earshot. “You know he’s going to betray you as soon as he gets the chance.”
“Yes, I know, but he’s the only one I can really predict around here,” al-Jabbar sank wearily in his seat.
“The Allamah Abdul Yusuf,” al-Hazrad called out as the allamah entered. “Noble High Cleric of Ar-Rahman, Lord of All Worlds.’
“Thank you,” Yusuf bowed to the wazir and made his way towards the guest speaker’s podium. As he strode through the council room of Qurtana, the allamah’s pitch black robes and icy, ebony eyes stood in stark contrast to the kaleidoscope of colored clothes worn by the varied, esteemed members of the council. In his presence, some emirs whispered words of worry, others remarks of reverence, and still others comments of confusion. People from Hadadu were not uncommon in Qurtana. The city had citizens and council members from all corners of the world. And yet, something about this particular allamah, this particular visitor, struck those who sat in the council as a very particular kind of outsider.
“Greetings to you, Allamah Abdul Yusuf,” al-Jabbar said. “And may your lord the Caliph of Mashreq be in good health and good favor with Ar-Rahman, Lord of All Worlds.”
“And greetings to you, Karim al-Jabbar, Caliph of Andalus and Commander of the Faithful. May your deeds be exalted throughout the land,” Yusuf replied. “Though I serve no lord save the great and noble Ar-Rahman.”
The council erupted in a fury of hushed whispers, and al-Jabbar could not help but raise an eyebrow at this statement. Perhaps it was merely a cultural difference, al-Jabbar reasoned. Perhaps they did things differently in Hadadu. However, in Qurtana, and indeed all Andalus, it was in rather bad form to not show respect to one’s lord, even if their authority was second to that of the Divine.
“I… see,” al-Jabbar said. “And what, may I ask, is your reason for journeying all the way from Hadadu to Qurtana?”
At this, Yusuf smiled a serpentine smirk, and cast his gaze across the room.
“I was but a boy when the emirs of Andalus first set out to forge their kingdom. I remember my father saying that Ar-Rahman would strike them down for their insolence, their rebellion against the caliph. But as I grew, and as I took up the study of clerical matters, I soon realized it was not the emirs who had strayed from the good graces of Ar-Rahman, but the caliph himself.”
At this, the hushed whispers turned to cries of confusion and disbelief. Had the allamah gone mad? This lack of respect was simply unheard of!
“Yes,” Yusuf continued. “I realized that Ar-Rahman must have chosen the emirs to build a new kingdom in His image, one untainted by the decadence and depravity of the Hadadu court. Have any of you been to Hadadu in recent times? It is a sad sight to see. The court is filled with dance and drink, food and frivolity, wealth and wastefulness! The people are happy and placid, but they have forgotten the way! They have forgotten the wrath and power of Ar-Rahman, the respect He demands, and have devoted themselves to art, and poetry, and medicine. Was the banner of the caliph not meant to fly across the world? Was Ar-Rahman’s word not meant to fill the hearts and minds of every man, woman, and child on this planet? Was our kingdom not forged through iron and blood?
“I knew then I had to get away. I had to flee Hadadu and come here, to this land of holiness that Ar-Rahman had helped build. But when at last I arrived, I saw not a kingdom of Ar-Rahman, but a country of corruption, home to hedonism and heathens! The streets of Qurtana are filled with unwashed unholy, who mix and mingle amongst us as though they had the right! They have not earned the right to sit at our table, because they have not prostrated themselves before the Lord!
“Ask yourselves, who owns this land? Is it the Yeshuans, who daily attack our borders and make slaves of our people? Is it the heathens, who spit in our faces with their idolatry and immorality? Is it those Andalusi who have forgotten the way, who claim the title of Rahmanites, yet fail to live a life of true and proper devotion? No! Who owns this land, if not Ar-Rahman Himself? And who has claim to this land, if not Ar-Rahman’s faithful servants? As I stand before you today, Andalus stands before a crossroads. Should it walk down the path of righteousness, then Ar-Rahman’s power and glory may once again reign supreme! But should it walk down the path of darkness, should it choose to mirror the path of Mashreq, then woe be upon you all, for dooming this land to decay and rot!
“I call upon you now, emirs, wazirs, and caliph, remember what Ar-Rahman meant for your kingdom to do! Reclaim your proper place in this world! Return to Andalus the glory it so justly deserves!”
The council room exploded, as the emirs and wazirs argued and clamored among themselves. To some, this allamah’s words were blasphemy of the highest order. To others, though the words may not have trespassed over Ar-Rahman’s authority, they certainly trespassed over that of the Mashreqi caliph. To still more others, while they may have agreed with Yusuf’s diagnosis, his prescription they could not willingly support. But to one contingent of emirs, Yusuf’s words were not only the truth, but a gift from Ar-Rahman himself. Al-Jabbar gazed at the varied council members, each howling out their own thoughts and opinions on the allamah’s words. It was pure, unbridled chaos, and as al-Jabbar’s gaze at last settled on Yusuf, and he saw the allamah’s eyes sparkle with unbridled joy at the mania he had unleashed, the caliph knew he had to put an end to this. All at once, the noise and motion of the council room came to a halt as al-Jabbar stood to his full height, commanding everyone’s attention as he issued his proclamation.
“You speak of Ar-Rahman, Allamah,” al-Jabbar sighed. “Yet from your words I doubt you have much understanding of Him. It is true Ar-Rahman deserves respect. But demands? Ar-Rahman is beyond such things. Ar-Rahman knows we may stray from His path, but the power of His wrath pales to the power of His mercy. Mercy and forgiveness are as much a part of His word as piety and devotion. And if iron and blood were all that was needed to conquer the world, believe me, I would have done so by now. But iron and blood do not give food to the hungry, or shelter to the citizenry, or law to the land. The mightiest sword is useless without a wise and just wielder, and if you seek to cull the world to make your fabled kingdom a reality, you are far from wise or just.
“This world you envision, where the arts and sciences are put aside in favor of militarism, where all aspects of ruling are ignored save those of conquest, where the banner of only one people, one law, one word flies forever, it is a child’s fantasy. Andalus is and always has been a kingdom of many banners, of many peoples and many faiths. What you seek is not glory, but conformity. You may call yourself a servant of Ar-Rahman, but from where I stand, you appear to be a servant only of yourself, and your own selfish desires and whims.
“And what right have you, to come from so far away, and proclaim yourself the cure for an ailment only you can see? Which of your Lord’s blessings would you so deny? Have you any knowledge of governance? Or of the people who live in this kingdom? Or of anything really, beyond the fantasy you have constructed in your head? I don’t think you do. I don’t think you know much of anything, really. So go away, little man. Go away, and never return.”
And with that, a pair of soldiers came to take Yusuf away.
“Get off! Take your filthy hands off me!” Yusuf hissed, as he begrudgingly made his exit. Before he left though, he issued one last declaration at the caliph.
“This isn’t over, Caliph!” Yusuf howled, before leaving the council room with what little dignity he still possessed.
And as the council erupted once more into dispute and debate, al-Jabbar knew the allamah was right.
“You believe I made the wrong decision,” al-Jabbar said to none of the assembled wazirs in particular, as they sat within the caliph’s inner sanctum.
“Oh, not at all, Great and Mighty Caliph,” al-Hazrad simpered. “Your decision was as noble and just as you yourself always are.”
“Actually,” another wazir said. “I must urge the caliph to reconsider his ruling.”
“Watch your tone, insolent cur!” al-Hazrad hissed.
“No, let him continue,” al-Jabbar massaged his aching temple.
“O-oh, of course, O Commander of the Faithful,” al-Hazrad apologized.
“Your speech was pretty, my lord,” the wazir said. “And indeed, the allamah appeared to be quite mad. But surely you are aware of the shifting social movements in our kingdom today. Daily the number of immigrants in Qurtana alone rises, and they bring chaos in their wake!”
“Oh?” al-Jabbar raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Andalus is, as you say, a land of many faiths. But it is a land founded on Rahmanite principles. Should we allow foreigners to bring their own principles into this land, even if they are incompatible with our own? We watch them, tax them, even take them as slaves in border skirmishes, but over the years, our police have become more trusting of them, our taxes have become laxer, and slavery is even being phased out of the kingdom! Don’t you think this is foretelling of disaster?”
Al-Jabbar sighed. “Our police have become more trusting of them because they have proven to be just as upright as Rahmanite citizens, our taxes have become laxer because our coffers are already full, and because it still brings us more converts than any system I have seen before it, and slavery is slowly becoming antiquated for the simple reason that we have found other methods to harness manpower, as well as the fact that we are now focusing less on conquering new people and more on administrating those we already have.”
“But my lord, that’s just it,” the wazir replied. “Many of our citizenry yearns for the olden days of conquering and war, rather than this intoxicating peace.”
“Much of our citizenry, you fool! Citizenry is a collective noun!” al-Hazrad cried, before a chorus of shushes silenced him once more.
“The last great war we had was well before you were even born,” al-Jabbar hissed. “You have no idea what it was like, nor do any of the other many people ‘yearning’ for days like it. I tell you now, boy, war is not a glorious thing, and I have no wish to subject my kingdom to it once again.”
“Er, my lord, if I may,” another wazir interjected. “It may be true what you say, but it does not change the fact that the recent influx of immigration has created a very large, very vocal, and very angry group of people within this kingdom. They feel displaced by all this change, and without war, they have no place to channel their frustrations except inward. The allamah may have been most extreme, but he did not arise from a vacuum. Nor will he or the people who will flock to him disappear simply because you cast him out of your council.”
“What then, do you suggest?” al-Jabbar asked.
“Well it’s obvious, isn’t it?” al-Hazrad cackled. “We make him think he’s cowed us into submission, bring all these dissidents out into the open, and then wait for their guards to relax so we can take them all out in one fell swoop!”
“Al-Hazrad…” al-Jabbar groaned.
“Actually…” the wazir said. “He’s not far off. At least, in terms of the broad strokes.”
“Oh?” al-Jabbar raised an eyebrow.
“Um, sir?” Morien asked Umar.
“Please, just call me Umar,” the Khaleeji coffeemaker smiled.
“Oh, uh, okay then,” Morien muttered. “But, we really ought to be going.”
“That’s right, we’ve got to save the world!” Erin grinned.
“And to do that, we need transportation,” Hobie clarified.
“Ah, I see. Transportation whereabouts?” Umar asked.
“Er… well…” Morien suddenly realized he did not know precisely where to find the Key of Land.
“Hobie, you said the Key was in Ibery, didn’t you?” Erin asked.
“Yes, but you said that the borders had shifted since last I was here,” Hobie replied. “I believe if we go to the current capital of Antile and ask about, we should be able to find someone who knows where the Key is, but for all I know it could be within Andalus’ borders.”
“Well, if I may,” Umar interjected. “It sounds like you need information before you can properly leave. Might I suggest then the libraries of Qurtana? You won’t find a better source of information anywhere in the world, save perhaps Hadadu. And once you find what you’re looking for, you can go back to your quest without delay.”
Morien glanced at Hobie.
“Well,” he shimmered shruggingly. “It does sound better than blindly barging into Antile.”
“We’d need a place to stay the night,” Erin pointed out. “If we’re going to devote tomorrow to research and such.”
“Say no more!” Umar grinned. “There’s plenty of room upstairs for the three of you. Gianni and I can easily set aside a bed for you.”
“Er… b-bed?” Morien blushed. “As in, singular?”
“Of course,” Umar remained oblivious. “Don’t worry, you’ll still have plenty of privacy, and we won’t charge much for the night! Certainly less than any inn you could find.”
“Thank you, but we’d need two beds at least,” Erin said.
“Really? Oh, my apologies,” Umar sheepishly grinned. “I didn’t realize you would need a bed too, Mister… Hobie was it?”
“No, no!” Morien cried. “That’s not what she meant!”
With a rub of his ring, Yusuf released the jinni, who shivered and shuddered as he returned to the material world.
“Get up, jinni,” Yusuf hissed.
“Y-yes master,” the jinni did as he had been commanded.
“Now, jinni, I want you to listen very carefully,” the allamah’s eyes flickered fiendishly. “This city is filled with corruption and depravity. And yet I am sure there are still those within it who have not lost the way. I want you to go, disguise yourself, mix among the people of Qurtana, and find these devout souls. Whisper words of encouragement in their ears. Make them brave enough to show their true feelings to the outside world. Give them the courage to take back what is rightfully theirs.”
“B-but… that isn’t…” the jinni did not even finish before Yusuf placed the dagger to his throat.
“You are bound by your own magic to preserve my safety at all costs,” Yusuf said. “So do as I say, or I shall slice open my throat and you shall be scattered across the four winds, torn into a million pieces but still completely conscious.”
The jinni shuddered at the thought of failing to grant his master’s wish. Though he regretted it every day, the jinni still had entered into an agreement with the allamah, an agreement that was sacred. Should he fail to honor that agreement, or the various loopholes Yusuf had ruthlessly exploited over the years, it was as Yusuf had said. The fate in store for him would be one worse than death. What choice did the jinni have but to grit his teeth, clench his fists, and do as he had been commanded?
“Yes, master,” the jinni said. “I understand.”
And with that, the jinni went into the city streets, cursing his master beneath his breath all the while.
“Here’s some sheets for you,” Gianni, thoroughly nonplussed as always, came in with some bedding.
“Thank you,” Erin took the sheets and blankets. “I can take it from here.”
“Thanks, but it wouldn’t be good hospitality t’make y’do your own sheets,” Gianni grunted.
“Ah, but Gianni,” Erin grinned. “These sheets are green!”
And with a chant and a sneeze, Erin had fully set the beds she and Morien were to sleep in that night.
“Huh,” Gianni scratched his chin. “Right then. F’you need a bath, there’s a bathhouse next door.”
“Thank you,” Erin nodded politely, and as the Capronan coffeemaker left the room, she turned her attention to her traveling companion, who seemed unusually stiff and nervous at that moment.
“Say Morien, do you want to go down to the bathhouse?”
“What?” Morien screeched. “I mean, uh, y-yes! That sounds nice!”
“What’s the matter with you?” Erin asked. “You seem so jumpy.”
“It’s, uh, it’s nothing!” Morien stammered. “J-just, I mean, you and me, uh, in this room, together, tonight, uh, it’s, uh, um… a little weird is all!”
“What’s so weird about it?” Erin inquired. “When we were traveling together with Julia, we all would sleep by the campfire. Or, I mean, Julia would sleep in her wagon, but the rest of us would sleep by the campfire.”
“Y-yeah, b-but I mean, Yann was always there and now it’s, uh, it’s just the two of us! Alone! Uh…” Morien’s mind screamed for his mouth to shut up, but the words continued to spew forth against his better judgment.
“I’m right here, you know,” Hobie glistened glaringly.
“I know! What am I saying? Hahahaha! I’m going to get a bath!” Morien stumbled out of the room, trying to preserve what little dignity he had left.
After he was gone, Erin gave a little sigh.
“Really now,” she smiled. “He doesn’t have to be so obvious about it. Or nervous.”
As Morien stepped out into the street, he was greeted with what appeared to be a hastily drawn picture of himself, under which the words “Have you seen this man?” were written in various languages. Morien could only stare blankly at the picture, until its holder removed it from his line of sight to reveal the face of a very familiar bard.
“Yann!” Morien gasped. “What are you doing here?”
Yann nudged his head in the direction of a certain wagon that was making its way down the street, then held up a picture of Erin, with a similar subtitle scrawled beneath.
“Yeah, she’s upstairs, with Hobie,” Morien said. “But… why are you and Julia here?”
“Well, I, uh, I changed my mind,” Julia coughed nervously as she parked the wagon nearby.
“You what?” Morien could hardly believe it.
“W-well, what can I say?” Julia shrugged. “Hibernian gold, it’s pretty nice.”
“Oh,” Morien’s mood collapsed. “I should have known.”
“A-hem!” a cough and stern gaze from Yann directed Julia to tell the truth.
“I… oh, okay!” Julia confessed. “It felt kind of heartless of me to just leave you all behind when you’ve got the whole saving-the-world thing going on, so I decided, what the heck, why not help you? It’s not like you’ll find any faster transportation anyway.”
“Wait, really?” Morien asked warily.
“Yes,” Julia groaned. “I’m afraid for once in my life, my pesky morals have gotten in the way.”
“Well… thank you, Julia.”
“Don’t mention it,” Julia shrugged. “Where’s Erin, by the way?”
“Oh, she’s upstairs, in the room we got for the night,” Morien said.
“Oh-ho-ho-hooo,” Julia smiled slyly. “You sly dog, you. Did we interrupt a night of romance between you two?”
Morien’s face flushed with embarrassment and he screeched out a “No! No! We didn’t do any- haven’t done any- weren’t going to do anything whatsoever! Haha! Hahaha! Hahahahaha!”
“Oh, pity,” Julia sighed. “Honestly, you’ll never woo Erin if you can’t understand a woman’s desires, Morien.”
“Would you stop with that already?” Morien howled, a little more flustered than usual.
Then someone threw a rock at Yann.
The bard blinked in astonishment, as he patted the back of his head, touched blood, and then silently fell flat on his face.
“Holy-!” Morien cried.
“Yann!” Julia rushed over to the bard’s side. As Yann blinked in confused bewilderment, Morien glanced in the direction the stone had been thrown to see a very large and very angry mob.
“Move aside, you two,” the apparent leader of the mob called out. “Our quarrel isn’t with you, but with this Capronan and his Khaleeji partner.”
“He’s not a Capronan, you idiots!” Julia shouted. “At least… I don’t think so. Where do you come from?”
No no, Yann corrected, where was he?
“Yeah! And what do you want with Umar and Gianni?” Morien asked.
“You know them? Then, do you know what goes on between the two, behind closed doors?”
“It’s depraved!” another mob member cried.
“It’s obscene!” another howled.
“Oh come on, what’s so wrong about a Capronan and a Khaleeji living and working together?” Morien asked. “I mean, sure, I guess one’s a Yeshuan and the other’s a Rahmanite, but I thought Qurtana was all about a bunch of different people working and living together in peace and harmony and… uh, stuff.”
“Yeshua, you’re dense,” Julia muttered. “I don’t even know this Umar and Gianni and I know what those mobsters are talking about.”
“Huh?” Morien blinked in surprise.
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Julia helped Yann to his shaky feet.
“Yeshua?” one mob member cried. “Is she Yeshuan?”
“Heathen!” another cried.
“Witch!” still another howled.
“When will these people get their insults right?” Julia sighed.
“String her up with the others!” someone shouted.
“And with that, I think it’s time we left,” Julia made for the wagon.
“Wait! What about Erin?” Morien cried. “And Umar and Gianni?”
“Okay, well, how about you go get them and I get the wagon ready and we can wait for you while the sarding mob of psychopaths surrounds us?” Julia shouted. “Get moving! You and Erin can meet us outside the city!”
Morien could hardly even utter a reply before the mob rolled towards him like a tidal wave, with rocks and torches hurled his way. Quickly, Morien fled back inside and barricaded the door, though he didn’t know how much good it would do, as the horde of howling mob members crashed against the entrance.
“Something going on?” Gianni popped his head down from upstairs.
“There’s a mob of angry people at your doorstep and they want to string you two up and we need to get to safety!” Morien cried as he dashed upstairs.
“’Kay. I’ll let Umar know then.”
“Thanks!” Morien made a mad break for the guest room and flung the door wide open.
“M-Morien? W-what-?” Erin released the clasp of hair she had been holding in a ponytail as she stared surprised at Morien.
“No time! Angry mob! Hurry!” Morien shouted.
“Angry mob?” Hobie flickered frightfully. “What do they want with us?”
“It’s not you they’re after, it’s us,” Umar came into the room with Gianni following close behind.
“But what are they doing here?” Erin asked.
“Oh, you know,” Umar sighed. “Put a bunch of different people from a bunch of different races and bunch of different faiths together and sooner or later they’ll all be trying to kill each other.”
“Qurtana’s been ripe for a riot for a while now,” Gianni explained. “The danger was always there. We just didn’t think it’d happen so soon.”
The sound of a crash downstairs told everyone that the mob had gotten inside.
“Well, regardless of the socioeconomic anxieties behind this, the point is, we need to leave right now!” Morien said.
“I’m on it!” Erin uttered a chant and a sneeze, and presto, the sheets Gianni had given her became a flying tapestry.
“Everybody on!” Morien cried.
“There they are!” someone shouted from the hallway. “And using witchcraft too!”
“Stay back!” Erin warned, and with a chant and a sneeze, she wrapped a blanket around a dresser and tossed it through the window, clearing a path for her to breeze through.
“No! Don’t let them get away!” the mob bellowed, but it was too late. The sorceress and her traveling companions were already flying away.
As Morien gazed at the city below, he was met with a terrible sight. All throughout Qurtana, buildings were being burned, people were being beaten, primal chaos reigned supreme. It was difficult to say just how much the city had been engulfed in flames of violence, but it was easy at least to say one thing.
“It’s horrible,” Morien murmured as he looked all around him.
“Yes, horrible,” Umar whispered as he and Gianni looked back at their coffee house, slowly being torn apart by the mob.
The moon was high in the sky once they met back with Julia and Yann. It had been almost impossible for the merchant to find a way out of the city with all the chaos, but thankfully, Julia and Yann had managed to escape alive and mostly unharmed.
“What do we do now?” Morien sank to his knees.
“I… suppose there’s little we can do, save continue towards Antile,” Hobie flickered forlornly.
“Molly can hardly take any more excitement,” Julia pointed out.
“I can use my magic to move the wagon, if needed,” Erin added.
“I think you’ve done enough already. You should rest,” Umar said.
“How’s your friend?” Gianni asked.
Yann gave a thumbs-up, his wound having healed in record time.
“Okay! Everyone!” Julia brought order to the chaotic conversation. “Erin, you can help me move the wagon for another few hours, and then we can get a bit of rest while Hobie keeps watch. As soon as day breaks though, we’ll have to be on the move again. I’d say our best bet of finding information on the Key is the closest big city of Antile. So! Umar, Gianni, we can take you with us there, and help you get settled in while we try to find out more of the quest-stuff and-”
“Wait, hold on,” Gianni interjected.
“Yes, thank you. But we’re not going with you,” Umar said. “Once the riot’s collapsed, we’ll be going back home.”
Morien could only stare in shock. “What? But… those people tried to kill you tonight! They destroyed your coffee house! If you go back, they’ll be baying for your blood!”
“We know,” Gianni replied.
“So… why then?” Erin asked.
“Well, we can’t let our customers down, can we?” Umar grinned.
“This isn’t a laughing matter,” Julia said.
“We know,” Umar replied. “It’s very serious. But in all seriousness, we can’t let anything, even a riot, take us away from that coffee house.”
“But…” Morien murmured.
“Morien, do you remember what I told you, about that space in your head?” Umar asked. “Even if they burned our coffee house down, it still lives in that space in my head. I haven’t given them that. So I’m going to go back, and I’m going to rebuild that coffee house, a thousand times if I have to, because otherwise, I’d be letting the world beat me.”
“We started that house because we both had a dream,” Gianni said. “We knew there’d be people against us, living and working together despite all our differences, but we still managed to build something we were both proud of. We can’t just give up on that dream because a bunch of bullies said we should.”
“It won’t be safe, your return,” Hobie pointed out. “And it won’t be easy, your rebuilding.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. But nothing worth anything is ever easy,” Umar said. “That’s why we’re staying. Qurtana is our home. We can’t imagine living, working, or making our dream a reality anywhere else.”
The questers exchanged glances with one another, each trying to think of something to say, something to convince Umar and Gianni that this was a foolhardy decision, that they were better off coming with them. But no words came, because they could tell that nothing they might have said would have changed the partners’ minds. Finally, after much silence, Julia was the first to speak.
“There’s a smuggler’s tunnel, just around the south side of the city,” Julia said. “I found it some years ago, and it’s how I got out safely. I can show it to you, and you two can get back to where you came from.”
“Thank you,” Umar said.
“Uh! Um… Umar…” Morien mumbled.
“Yes?” Umar turned in surprise Morien’s way.
“I… th-thank you. For telling me about that space, I mean.”
Umar smiled.
“Not at all.”
From the balcony where he stood, Yusuf gazed in triumph at the carnage he had wrought. Even as the police had taken away most of the rioters and the flames had calmed down, Yusuf knew the hatred and wrath that had been brought to the open would not die so easily. Soon, he envisioned, a wave of that wrath would sweep across Andalus, then Mashreq, then the world! All in service of his goal.
“Clean it all. It must be cleaned,” Yusuf whispered. And woe betide any and all obstacles in his path.
Just then, there was a knock at the door, and as Yusuf bade the visitor enter, he saw it was a messenger from the caliph himself.
“A message from Caliph Karim al-Jabbar, Commander of the Faithful,” the messenger said. “He says you are to report to him at once tomorrow morning to survey your new troops.”
“Troops?” the allamah raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” the messenger replied. “For the invasion of Antile.”