Book 5: Chapter 16 - A Good Deed (RAW)

Between the twin islands of Quas and Qis stretches the Grey Sea—so named not for any hue in the water, but for the valiant Lord Admiral Grey, whose daring voyage first brought the islands to the attention of the Aranthian realm. It is said that Grey, resolute in spirit, navigated treacherous straits where fog and foam birthed endless ambushes by Tides corsairs and marauder pirates. Undaunted, he pressed on until at last he anchored at the shores of Quas and Qis, finding them lush with verdant forests and teeming with life, yet curiously remote in the grand chart of the seas.

In those days, the native islanders lived in small, close-knit communities, worshipping a pantheon of a thousand deities that dwelled in the rustling leaves, the dancing fields of grain, and the gentle laps of the tide against their beaches. They were short of stature, their skin a warm brown, and the silvering of their hair came upon them in early adulthood. Despite being primitives, they proved gracious hosts. When Grey offered them protection from the encroaching Tides raiders—whose war galleys had already begun prowling the region in search of plunder and fresh slaves—the islanders responded with great gratitude. They eagerly supplied Grey and his crew with fresh provisions, herbs from the forest, and a knowledge of sea currents that proved invaluable for further exploration.

Seeing their openness and generosity, Grey dedicated the remainder of his life to forging a lasting bond between Quas, Qis, and the Aranthian mainland. He coordinated the arrival of missionaries and scholars, certain that Aranthian religion and learning could uplift the island peoples. On Quas, he oversaw the founding of a great school, a modest institution at first but destined to flourish over centuries into what is now revered as the University of Quas—its archives said to be among the most extensive in the known world. Meanwhile, on Qis, Grey laid the cornerstone of a small wooden chapel devoted to the Goddess Ascended, which in time grew into the Grand Cathedral, its marble arches towering like pale guardians over the island’s coastal cliffs.

Yet the islands, for all their promise, were not spared tragedy. In an age rife with sea-borne maladies, a devastating plague struck the native population, wiping them out. Aranthian missionaries and settlers—those who were strangely immune to the plague—became the primary inhabitants in the wake of the calamity. Through the sustained influence of the Aranthians missionaries and scholars, Quas rose to prominence as a bastion of learning, while Qis evolved into a revered center of spiritual devotion.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

I slipped into the formal indoor attire favored by the locals before making my way to Aelayah’s chambers. The loose fabric was cool and comfortable and I had taken a liking to this mode of dress. Farzan’s men lined the corridors, and though they watched my every step, they knew me well enough not to interfere. Even so, so large was the estate that it took nearly ten minutes before I finally arrived at Aelayah’s reception hall.

As in many parts of her palace, a thin sheet of water trickled down the carved marble walls, its gentle murmur echoing in the stillness. The rippling reflections danced across the stone floor, lending the chamber an almost otherworldly feel. I stood there briefly, taking in the sight, before a servant whose name escaped me announced my presence and ushered me through the door.

Inside, Aelayah reclined on a mound of sumptuous cushions, radiating both indolence and authority. She held a delicate teacup between her slender fingers, steam curling from its surface. The impracticality of such a small vessel grated on my nerves, but I had learned there was often some obscure cultural significance behind these customs.

“You will have evening tea with us, Gilgamesh,” she said, leaving no room for refusal.

I dipped my head in a small gesture of respect and settled onto a cushion opposite her. “Of course, Lady Aelayah. Allow me first to extend my congratulations.” A slight smile tugged at my lips. “Or rather, Sultana Aelayah. May your reign be long and prosperous.”

She laughed—a hollow, bitter sound that rang nonetheless like a silver bell. You would never have guessed from the tenor of her mirth that she had just seized the power she had coveted for so long, becoming one of the most influential figures in the Grieving Lands.

“What is next, Sultana?” I asked, letting the slightest edge enter my tone. “Aranthia? Quas? Or the Empire itself? Perhaps you’d even like me to conquer the Tides?”

Her laughter cut off abruptly, a delicate eyebrow arching high. “Could you deliver them to me, Gilgamesh?” she asked. Amusement lingered in her alien eyes, but it was tinted with something else—something cold and calculating.

“If that is what you desire,” I replied, my voice betraying no hint of the tension that coiled in my chest.

She set aside her teacup, leaning in as if to peer deeper into my thoughts. “And what do you think it is that I want exactly?”

I met her gaze steadily. “Perhaps,” I said carefully, “we could start by fixing you. After all, women usually take pride in their appearance.”

Her expression hardened instantly, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean by this?” she demanded, her voice low with warning. “Choose your words carefully.”

Ah, how quickly the powerful forget who truly holds the leash. Even without my armor or weapons, I could snap her neck with ease. The thought almost made me smile—but I kept my features still, letting the silence speak for itself.

I did enjoy prodding people now and then, so I couldn’t resist the opportunity. Laughing inwardly, I sought to divert her attention.

“I mean no rudeness, but about your eyes… You probably have difficulty seeing out of one. If it isn’t treated, it could lead to blindness—or worse.” I spoke with mock confidence, half-lying or simply guessing. In truth, I knew next to nothing about her condition.

She pursed her lips, temporarily lost in thought as she weighed my words. Her gaze drifted toward her tiny teacup, which she raised to her lips once more. I mirrored her action, maintaining a fixed smile to mask my amusement.

After a moment, she shrugged, attempting a casual nonchalance that didn’t quite conceal the longing etched into her features. “Well, if you’re offering, I suppose I have no reason to refuse,” she said with a hollow laugh. “There will be a price, I presume?”

“I am sworn to you,” I replied evenly. “Any price will be well within your means. It is, after all, just a small favor. But I must warn you…” I let my voice trail off in the annoying manner of the faux-mystics of this land. “You may lose a little of yourself.”

She inhaled sharply, intrigue sparking in her eyes. “Mysterious,” she murmured, her fingers tightening slightly around the fragile porcelain cup. “How very intriguing, Gilgamesh. How very intriguing, indeed.”

Aelayah’s lips parted slightly, and I found myself fixed upon that delicate curve. When her eyes were “fixed” she would be a beauty of no small note—a prize if there ever was one.

“What is it that you want?” she asked at length, her tone almost clipped.

I let the silence stretch, tasting its tension. “Distilled Dust. A single Tear of Dust. And permission to search the Deep Desert for a companion of mine.”

She responded without pause, scarcely allowing a breath between my request and her words. “Done.”

The speed of her answer caught even me off guard. “No questions?” I probed.

“What you plan to do with a Tear,” she said, “is beyond my concern—although I suspect that, in time, you will tell me. Bear in mind that to possess such a thing is to add yet another target to your back. You would be wise to guard it with your life, though I suspect caution is not your strongest suit. Still, you have earned this reward thrice over.” She paused to sip her tea, her eyes never leaving mine. “As for the Deep Desert… most folk would brand it a fool’s errand. But then, you are hardly a normal man.”

I inclined my head. “I owe it to them to at least make the attempt.”

She let out a short, mirthless laugh. “At least no one can fault your loyalty. Though I must warn you, the stories of the Deep Desert are ones full of dread. Only the Old Tribes survive there, and as you well know, while we share some blood, they claim no kinship with us. The sands devour men for lesser trespasses.”

She twirled a finger through her silky hair, almost absentmindedly. “This companion must be very dear to you.”

Better she not know precisely who—or what—my companion was to me. Let her imagine as she pleased. I gave no answer, only waited.

She sighed. “I will make arrangements. It may take time…”

Just then, another servant girl approached, silent as a shade, to replace the pot of tea. She was young, lithe, and the slight bend of her body drew my eye, as though it were an invitation to linger on her curves. I allowed myself the indulgence, for a breath at least.

“Unnecessary,” I said. “I need only my Water Mage. Too many people will slow us down. If I have not returned in a moon’s time, then you may assume I have become one with the sands.”

She laughed, and though it rang sweetly enough in that regal chamber, it carried a note of mockery. “A dash of poetry from you, is it? Very well.”

I shrugged to mask the small flicker of irritation.

She studied me anew, her expression shifting. “You know,” she said softly, “there are whispers in the city already. Tales of you—your manner, your strange attire—spread like fresh fire. There are many that seek to emulate you, or so my servants tell me.”

I gave another indifferent shrug. “Such is the curse of victory. The successful inevitably become objects of emulation. It is always hard for those who stand on the right side of the events of history. It is a heavy mantle that I have no joy in bearing. You would know something about that, Sultana.”

She lifted a fine eyebrow. “You are so very cavalier for one so young. I wonder… how old are you, truly? You speak as though you’ve seen more years than your face suggests. And there is a hunger in you—a longing I cannot name. A sense of the mysterious.” She offered me a faint, knowing smile. “It is not entirely unattractive.”

I kept my face carefully schooled to neutrality, though inwardly I found flirting with her oddly amusing. If this was what it was. “If you allow it, perhaps I will share more once I return from the Deep Desert.”

She turned her strange gaze away, then back again, and I felt the weight of her scrutiny. “Not even a clue?”

“What I seek,” I said, letting my voice drop low, “is a thing many men have wanted since the dawn of time.”

“Love?” she ventured, her tone dripping with derision. “How disappointingly simple.”

“Nothing quite so banal, Sultana,” I replied, sharper than intended. “Now, as I promised, I will see to your eyes—if you will allow it.”

She set her cup aside, her posture stiffening. A certain hauteur crept into her face. “By all means,” she said, “if you can.”

A hush fell over the room as her servants glanced warily at one another. Outside, the hushed sound of water flowing over marble walls seemed to grow louder. I caught the faint flicker of doubt in her eyes. Yet she held her chin high, daring me to succeed or fail before her watchful gaze—and so prove what sort of man I truly was.

A man of greatness. 

And, if it was a miracle she wanted, it was a miracle I could provide.

Seated myself beside her and let my hands drift across the planes of her face. I breathed in her delicate scent as I summoned my holy magic. Its song filled my very bones, resonating in my mind. I alone shaped and directed the Greater Heal, compelling it to mend a flaw that had haunted the new Sultana.

Soft, golden light flared around us, weaving itself around her twin left irises. In moments, the eye’s imperfections fused into a single, flawless orb, whole and healthy. My magic, however, did more than merely correct her vision. Where there had once been only dull azure, there were now flecks of shimmering gold, glinting in the lamplight. Her right eye remained a verdant emerald, deep and lush as a jungle. The spell had not recognized her heterochromia as a malady, and so it had left her with two mismatched eyes—subtly altered, yet closer to my own liking. An imperfection that I could stomach.

Aelayah blinked several times, her lips parting as she rose to her feet. “This is what true sight feels like… I can see so many colors now,” she murmured in awed wonder, standing up and turning this way and that as though the world around her had been reborn. “So many…”

Then her gaze fixed on me. Horror flickered across her face like a storm cloud, turning her voice shrill. “What are you!?” she shrieked, stumbling backward. “Monster! Get away from me!”

I stared in stunned confusion. This was the last reaction I had expected. “Aelayah?” I ventured, my voice tight. “What’s wrong?”

“GUARDS!” she shouted, and within heartbeats, a score of armed men flooded into the chamber, their weapons at the ready.

One guard stepped forward, his stance rigid, his tone clipped. “What seems to be the matter, Lady Aelayah?”

Her eyes—one now golden-flecked blue, the other blazing emerald—appeared wild with hysteria. “There… There!” she cried, jabbing a trembling finger in my direction. “Death! Death and oblivion!”

At once, every sword and spear shifted to face me. Unarmed, and outnumbered, I needed to think quickly. My pulse hammered in my ears.

“That is not the real Aelayah!” I barked, jabbing a finger back at her. “Look closely!”

Suspicion clouded their faces, but they stayed their hands for the moment.

“Look at her eyes!” I insisted. “She’s a plant of the Council, an imposter sent to sow confusion!”

At that, one guard glanced at her mismatched eyes—eyes I had just altered. Uncertainty flickered on his face, and he murmured something to the others. A ripple of doubt moved through their ranks.

“Keep calm,” I commanded. “Summon Captain Farzan. I will search for the real Aelayah.” I infused my words with every scrap of confidence I could muster, wishing I had honed my Charisma attribute just a bit more.

In the ensuing confusion, I slipped past them and out the door, half expecting to feel a blade between my ribs. But they hesitated, and that was all the opening I needed. My feet carried me swiftly down the corridors toward my quarters, my mind spinning with questions. Had my healing revealed something in me that she could see only with her newly perfected vision? Her terror had been too sudden, too genuine, for this to be any mere political betrayal, no matter how well acted.

Luck was me as I dashed across a courtyard framed by vibrant flora, scaring a flock of colorful birds. The palace gardens sprawled ahead, where a slender figure knelt by one of the fountains. Larynda was shaping the water in graceful coils, each ripple catching the sunlight.

“Larynda!” I shouted, breath coming fast. “Come with me—now!”

She started at the alarm in my voice, and the watery shapes she had been conjuring collapsed back into the fountain. “What’s going on?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“I’ll explain on the way, but hurry!” I pressed, motioning for her to follow. The fear in my voice must have carried through, for she fell into step behind me without further protest.

As we hurried along, I spoke in a low voice. “Aelayah has gone quite mad… or something has driven her to hysteria.”

Larynda glanced up at me, worry etched into her young features. “Did you do something to upset her again? You do have a special touch with making friends.”

“I did a good thing,” I answered tersely, though my mind whirled with doubt. Whatever she had seen in me must have been truly terrible. For now, all that mattered was getting to my gear—and to find out if I could salvage anything from this mess that I had inadvertently caused.