The Dukes of Odwego finds Astra (secret necromancer, former nun, and displaced librarian of Qordashi) drifting ever farther from the only life she knew and deeper into a world she never expected to see. The powerful, winding Hoshikwazu river leads her, her injured best friend Traz, and the ever-enigmatic Xavai to a city that glitters with wealth but reeks of corruption. Within its walls, sour magic whispers, alliances shift like silt, and every kindness hides a price. To save the people she loves, Astra must rely on her wits, her courage, and maybe, maybe, a little necromancy.
Previously: Astra was warned about the Dukes of Odwego...
Finding her way out of town was easy enough. The main roads that criss-crossed the way were well lit and better tended, and it was not long before she was passing through a gate and waving at the sentry who stood there, heavily festooned with bronze and leather. He simply nodded to her, and the town walls on this side were nothing more than mortared brick, no higher than her own head. Clearly, the town was not living in fear of being attacked by land. With that thought, she stepped back to the guard, who eyed her suspiciously.
“We stopped our travels on the river as my brother is ill and needed medicine. I wished to make some prayers to your local gods, if I may?” She asked in Kwa, making herself pause over words as if she were uncertain of the word choice.
He relaxed. “We live under the protection of Empress Eternal Xkai, and by the justice of Jaga, Goddess of the Four Winds.”
Astra started at that and looked back to the town. “I did not see any statues. We...we were making way to Qordashi when tragedy struck, and are now going downriver instead.”
He frowned in sympathy. “May Jaga’s teeth keep further danger from your travels, pilgrim. I am sorry to hear you did not complete the journey, but traveling to Qordashi is upriver all the way. Many never make it,” he said gently. “Not that I have gone on pilgrimage myself. Was it pirates?”
“Oh, uh, no. Yosoi, far north of their usual territories. We do not even know why they attacked us.”
“Things have gone to the chickens this past year,” he said amicably. “Some say Red Camilla himself has been parlaying with the Yosoi for treasures, although I find that hard to believe. It’s not as if the Yosoi have the Dragon’s Grail!” He laughed at his wit, at the sheer outrageousness of such an idea.
Astra forced herself to laugh a little, then motioned out past the gate. “Is it safe to visit the forest?”
“Do not lose sight of the town and you will be fine. The farmers keep the wild boars in check; the Dukes Fari’i and Fari’o keep the rest at bay.” He tilted his head, which looked comical with his large conical helmet. “If you are going to pray, there is a small shrine to Jaga of the Eastern Winds nearby. Take the first wide path to the right down this road. It is a short walk.”
That had not been her real intention, but she would welcome a chance to sit in prayer for the sake of Traz. She bowed her head. “Thank you.”
He bowed his head in return and walked back to his station.
Astra turned to the road out of town and set her mind to finding their errant fire dragon.
Jaga’s shrine was where the guard had promised, and it was on a small, well-tended rise that overlooked the town. There were two farmhouses close by, and a simple shout would very likely bring the whole town out to investigate. Astra could sense that there were far too many deathbeds along the route than what she would have normally expected, and kept her thoughts and magic distant from them. If the Dukes Fari’i and Fari’o were as brutal as the doctor claimed, they were probably to blame for many of the ghosts just outside the field of Astra’s awareness. It was strange to look upon the town and the farmland, which all appeared so tranquil and peaceful, knowing that violence haunted it so thoroughly.
The shrine itself was open-air and very peculiar to Astra’s sensibilities. It was built out of dark green marble, which was traditional for any shrine of Jaga, but the shell where a statue usually stood was filled with a large vase overflowing with greenery and flowers. It at least explained why Astra had not known that the town belonged to the Four Winds, if they were breaking with tradition so openly. There were two pillars topped by bronze cradles holding old and weak moonstones, which at least gave nighttime worshipers enough light not to trip over the shallow stairs up to the pedestal. She stood and considered the fact that they were the first and only moonstones she had seen thus far, but was unsure of what to make of it. Surely the dukes were rich enough to keep moonstones glowing?
She scraped a nail hard against the side of her left hand, drawing just a sliver of blood which she wiped on the vase, assuming it was a stand-in for the statue that would normally reside there. Jaga was teeth and the East, and as such required blood sacrifices from the right side of the body. Astra was not going to skimp on anything that might grace them with blessings, even from the direction she herself was not consecrated to. She knelt properly and recited the full Prayer of the Four Winds out loud, focusing her heart on Traz’s precious life.
It was not long before she heard rustling from the forest around her, too loud and obnoxious to be a boar. “Come closer, beast. I want to talk.”
There was some stamping and one of the smaller decorative vases at the edge of the shrine toppled over, although it did not break. Astra opened her inner door to her magic and sensed the grail was close, so she got up and held out her hands until she felt the dragon’s hide under her fingers. It appeared then, its glistening scales looking wet in the light of the moonstones. She looked up at it and then grabbed the pointed end of the grail with her other hand.
“Traz is very sick.”
:CARRY AWAY?:
“No, you cannot carry him away from his illness. He needs constant care.” She sighed. “I need to know the nature of the hex that the snow dragon’s wound has him under.”
There was no answer, but the dragon was, perhaps, looking thoughtful. It was hard to tell.
“Are you...safe?” She asked, thinking about the dragon hopping through well populated farmlands, following the river.
:SCARED:
It was less a single word reply than a constellation of feelings, represented by the image of the little black dragon traveling alone.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m scared too...Traz is sick, and we must ask favors from powerful people.” She sighed, then looked around. “Aren’t the dogs keeping you company?”
The dragon slumped a little and shook its head. It seemed odd to her that the dogs were avoiding the dragon, given how much they appeared to enjoy its company in the blue forest. Unless they just felt too exposed? She had no idea.
“Keep to darker places, they will find you there,” she said, hoping she was right.
:HOME?:
An image of a rocky, red mountain range loomed in Astra’s mind.
“Is that Firestate?” She asked breathlessly. “You really are from Firestate?”
:HOME:
As the image faded, Astra felt overwhelmed by sadness. She rubbed the dragon’s knee in sympathy, knowing the grief of missing home.
:DANGEROUS:
“Yes, it is.” She sighed.
The dragon twitched and moved its head to peer over at the road Astra had come from, which was down the hill from them. A company of soldiers was marching in formation in front of a wagon with a cage on it. It was easy to see from the light of the moon that there were several people in the cage. The whole scene unfolded in eerie silence except for the sound of marching feet and plodding hooves. Something about it made Astra keep still---as long as she was touching the dragon, she was under the protection spell of the shawl tucked into the Grail that the dragon wore.
:DANGEROUS:
“I can see that,” Astra responded to the dragon’s observation quietly. “The lords of this place are fierce and dangerous. I must meet with them soon to secure the medicine to cure Traz.” She glanced up at the dragon again. “Do you know why the snow dragon’s wound is so deadly? Do you know the magic?” She focused on imagining Traz’s wound, and then the snow dragon who did it.
Again there was no response, and if anything the dragon looked even more dejected. The image floated through her brain like words describing a scene, as if she was imagining something she had read: the dragon, hiding, watching the town below, anxious and suspicious of the people.
“Yes, keeping watch is a good idea. I don’t know what will happen.” She looked around. “Do you see all the dead, as I am able to do?”
A flicker of an answer came through her mind, a not-quite “yes” and a not-quite “no”. She pondered it for a moment.
“You mean, sometimes you do but not always?”
:YES:
“There are many dead here.”
:YES:
:PAIN FEAR BLOOD:
The words created the scene of people being killed, and the awfulness of it made her cringe. Astra got the feeling that the dragon---one of a race of creatures considered bloodthirsty and violent---disliked the violence of that image as much as she did. Not for the first time, she wished that there was a language the dragon could share with her that did not rely on the Grail’s powers. She could imagine that her own sentences were perceived as strange when translated for the dragon by magic.
“I must go back. Even the sentry might be suspicious if I am out here too long. Be safe.” She let go of the Grail and the dragon, both disappearing before her eyes, nothing but the sound of the beast shuffling nearby and knocking over smaller vases to suggest it was there at all. She took a moment to right the vases she could, then bowed to the shrine and said a short prayer specifically to Jaga, the only one she could remember in whole, which unfortunately was about purifying carnal unions. Trying not to think about Xavai, she finished and made her way back to the road and then into town.
She suspected the dragon trailed her to the town, given what she heard of thumps and thuds as she walked back. At the gate, she stopped by the sentry again. He looked over at her blankly.
“If a traveler needs to request an audience with Dukes Fari’i and Fari’o, where would they go?”
His eyes narrowed a bit, but it was a plain enough question and he answered it after a moment’s consideration. “Half-bell after sun-up, the magistrate walks through the main square to take requests for an audience. The request must be written on one square of vellum, and once he has a handful, he will not open his fist for any more.”
“Thank you.” She parted ways with him and quickly returned to the inn. There were few other people out, and she thought it might be near first bell, heading into the darkest part of the night. Xavai did not ask where she had been, taking at face value her stated desire for fresh air, but she did tell him that she had asked a sentry about requesting an audience. He nodded and possibly would have discussed the matter further, but Astra was beyond exhausted and simply turned to go fall into the bed in the front room, just barely thinking to close up the small window and bar the door.
She remembered falling asleep to dreams of walking the ancient stone steps of Qordashi leading to the Tiered Library, but never making it there, endlessly going up the steps until darkness overcame her.
Next: A Request is Made
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