Port of Manyaa
The currents of the water lapped along the edge of the brick and mortar seawall and pier. Boats of many sizes sat at rest along the water's edge. An early morning fog hung over the water's edge, shrouding the port in a hanging veil of silver and air-born milk. The air was cool and still, lending to the ear a great many distant sounds that echoed in the mist. From the grinding of wood on wood or the light bouncing of drifting boats against the water's edge, the most distant sounds of chanting and early morning rituals. The voices of man, satyr, and their home all spun and sang in the same lowly voice as everything else.
At the water's edge, dressed in cloaks and slinging great bags over their shoulders a group descended onto the water's edge, trotting and darting down wide dew-soaked steps to the water's landing below. The red and orange stone of Manyaa glowed with an almost earthly tone. Like blood. Or like smoldering coals. Above and beyond the mist the silhouettes of towers and temple stupas pressed themselves against the onslaught of the sky. It was much akin to being inside the quiver of an archer.
The group landed upon the piers and cantered with a purpose along the river-line. Looking into the mist at the bobbing boats that lined the way, looking for their own particular ship. Passed dinghies and fishing boats at rest they went along. Picking through with their eyes the wood craft with their forest of masts and drawn sails, or raised restful oars.
“So tell me noble Vosput,” Palea started as they walked along. The prince's head was covered in a bone-white turban. A scarf of embroidered wool and cotton flowed down from the back where it wrapped across his shoulder and neck, “have you ever been at sea?”
“I have.” Balel responded with a dry voice. Last night's wine drummed in his head, and he has only been given so long to eat up and drink water before Agnimatra ushered them off, shouting that he had a boat for them to take north.
“I would have expected that an inland desert dweller as yourself would have not touched water,” laughed Palea, “Forgive me for assuming otherwise.”
“There is no pain felt.” assured the mercenary as they walked along. The docks were empty, almost uneasily so. He wondered if this was some intent of Agnimatra or merely a fact of the hour he had not realized. Rarely had he ever strayed about the streets so early. The sun itself was a barely visible disk in the mist, the sky burning only with a faded orange fire, still mostly purple and black. It was what was cast through the stupas and the towers and where their shadows did not lay that there was light. The mist knew so much, it glowed with a soft fire.
“Well, there is a good wind this time of year.” the prince smiled as he watched his brothers walk ahead of them through the mist, “The wind is blowing in from our south, we'll get to where we'll need to be in short order.”
“Much of this seems to be boiling down to convenience.” Balel commented dryly.
“Depends on how much you'd like to call it convenient.” sneered the prince. Rolling his eyes he let out a annoyed grunt. “It's actually not going to plan at all, we had this planned for months. We know who we're getting, where his remains are, and of course we should all know what to expect. But we're one man down to circumstances beyond our control.
“Perhaps it's punishment.” he shrugged indifferently, stroking his moustache “A little too much energy, or the universe saw fit to complicate something for once. But I am not happy to going into the mountains.
“Once more, it's sacrifice season in Poertia.”
“A foul kingdom.” Balel acknowledged.
“Have you been there?” Palea asked.
“Once, I will never go again.”
“I hear their kings are all sorts of cannibals!” Palea scoffed, “They're cursed. And there is no wonder why for their impure life-style. Should I get the chance, and the excuse I would hang every single one of the heathens. Or stick them on spits to bleed. Let me be the instrument of their karma.”
Balel nodded along as they walked. Coming up on a larger boat moored to the dock the company stopped. This was their boat.
As long as a train of ten wagons, and wide as a house is sat tied to the dock. The rigging still lay across the deck, cast to the smooth frosty stones of the riverside. Branching out over the deck arms the size of thick timbers jutted out, draped and laden with bright-yellow and green sails. Balel looked up at it with a sense of peculiar bemusement.
“This is it, I suppose.” Palea said. His brothers were already strapping their gear onto their shoulders, and climbing aboard. Over the edge of the deck the curious sailors aboard peeked down at the newcomers climbing aboard. But they paid them no heed beyond the mild curiosity.
The mercenary stood back watching the princes climb aboard. One by one that pulled themselves up over the edge, throwing their packs over onto deck. Balel couldn't help but watched bemused and stunned at the nimbleness of hooves on rope. It was something he'd seen no horse do. But his own advance was however restrained. They were going north towards Poertia. Surely not in it, but too close.
“Is something the matter?” asked a voice. Balel turned, Agnimatra slowly walked up to him from the fog. His fingers wrapped together at his belly. He looked into the mercenary's eyes, studying him. He felt uncomfortable, like his gaze was too sharp. Too much like knives, like spears. It was like he was being read.
“Yeah.” he said.
“You're not confident.” Agnimatra read off, like a book. “Have you never sailed?”
“No, I have.” he repeated restraining his bitterness at the charge.
“Then it's something else.” Agnimatra shuffled, “What is it?”
Balel didn't answer. He stayed quiet, staring up at the ship. The deck was still, the crew drawing back into the ship with their visitors. “I was in Poertia once.” he said, “A noble had hired me, offered gold to round up people from some other tribe. Before I left for the far north, where I got my tattoos.
“But, I hate to admit it. But that kingdom frightens me. There's a cold air over it. There's blood in its name. It's not proper. I'm not religious, but that kingdom has no gods.”
“Many might agree.” Agnimatra assured gently, “But a job is a job, you realize. We're all lucky here the morning mists are too thick to sail out in. So there's time to kill.”
“Oh without a doubt.” Balel nodded.
“So if I might pry,” Agnimatra started to ask, “beyond rounding up some people, what has you so terrified still?”
“I took them to that Palace of Blood of theirs.” he sighed, “I was with my contract holder, I was close to where I watched their cannibal kings slit the throats of ever man, woman, and child brought to them. In their ritual, celebration, whatever you can call it. It was hardly holy, I hesitate to declare it a holy day.
“But the killings... They went on and on. Beyond people that shouldn't be slain. Not by moral, noble men. But I promised myself that day as I stood watching them collapse at the monster's blade that I should never accept a contract in Poertia again, that I should avoid those mountains. I see what happens to captors, I do not want to be destroyed like a cow or a sheep.
“So when it was done, and I had my gold, I fled. But here I am, drawing close again to that wretched kingdom.”
Agnimatra nodded knowingly. “If it's assuring then the monastery you're going to visit is closer to Svargiaya than it is to Poertia.”
“But it's still close.”
“That it is.” Agnimatra agreed, “But you're not going alone. You won't be pray easily to any foul parties from that kingdom. So I wish you best of luck in the mountains in finding our last man.”
Balel hitched up his pack with a low sigh, and walked to the rigging. “Best of luck!” Agnimatra cheered, “I'll keep tidy affairs here at home. The many glorious Perfected Beings willing, there will be many rewards for you here.”
The currents of the water lapped along the edge of the brick and mortar seawall and pier. Boats of many sizes sat at rest along the water's edge. An early morning fog hung over the water's edge, shrouding the port in a hanging veil of silver and air-born milk. The air was cool and still, lending to the ear a great many distant sounds that echoed in the mist. From the grinding of wood on wood or the light bouncing of drifting boats against the water's edge, the most distant sounds of chanting and early morning rituals. The voices of man, satyr, and their home all spun and sang in the same lowly voice as everything else.
At the water's edge, dressed in cloaks and slinging great bags over their shoulders a group descended onto the water's edge, trotting and darting down wide dew-soaked steps to the water's landing below. The red and orange stone of Manyaa glowed with an almost earthly tone. Like blood. Or like smoldering coals. Above and beyond the mist the silhouettes of towers and temple stupas pressed themselves against the onslaught of the sky. It was much akin to being inside the quiver of an archer.
The group landed upon the piers and cantered with a purpose along the river-line. Looking into the mist at the bobbing boats that lined the way, looking for their own particular ship. Passed dinghies and fishing boats at rest they went along. Picking through with their eyes the wood craft with their forest of masts and drawn sails, or raised restful oars.
“So tell me noble Vosput,” Palea started as they walked along. The prince's head was covered in a bone-white turban. A scarf of embroidered wool and cotton flowed down from the back where it wrapped across his shoulder and neck, “have you ever been at sea?”
“I have.” Balel responded with a dry voice. Last night's wine drummed in his head, and he has only been given so long to eat up and drink water before Agnimatra ushered them off, shouting that he had a boat for them to take north.
“I would have expected that an inland desert dweller as yourself would have not touched water,” laughed Palea, “Forgive me for assuming otherwise.”
“There is no pain felt.” assured the mercenary as they walked along. The docks were empty, almost uneasily so. He wondered if this was some intent of Agnimatra or merely a fact of the hour he had not realized. Rarely had he ever strayed about the streets so early. The sun itself was a barely visible disk in the mist, the sky burning only with a faded orange fire, still mostly purple and black. It was what was cast through the stupas and the towers and where their shadows did not lay that there was light. The mist knew so much, it glowed with a soft fire.
“Well, there is a good wind this time of year.” the prince smiled as he watched his brothers walk ahead of them through the mist, “The wind is blowing in from our south, we'll get to where we'll need to be in short order.”
“Much of this seems to be boiling down to convenience.” Balel commented dryly.
“Depends on how much you'd like to call it convenient.” sneered the prince. Rolling his eyes he let out a annoyed grunt. “It's actually not going to plan at all, we had this planned for months. We know who we're getting, where his remains are, and of course we should all know what to expect. But we're one man down to circumstances beyond our control.
“Perhaps it's punishment.” he shrugged indifferently, stroking his moustache “A little too much energy, or the universe saw fit to complicate something for once. But I am not happy to going into the mountains.
“Once more, it's sacrifice season in Poertia.”
“A foul kingdom.” Balel acknowledged.
“Have you been there?” Palea asked.
“Once, I will never go again.”
“I hear their kings are all sorts of cannibals!” Palea scoffed, “They're cursed. And there is no wonder why for their impure life-style. Should I get the chance, and the excuse I would hang every single one of the heathens. Or stick them on spits to bleed. Let me be the instrument of their karma.”
Balel nodded along as they walked. Coming up on a larger boat moored to the dock the company stopped. This was their boat.
As long as a train of ten wagons, and wide as a house is sat tied to the dock. The rigging still lay across the deck, cast to the smooth frosty stones of the riverside. Branching out over the deck arms the size of thick timbers jutted out, draped and laden with bright-yellow and green sails. Balel looked up at it with a sense of peculiar bemusement.
“This is it, I suppose.” Palea said. His brothers were already strapping their gear onto their shoulders, and climbing aboard. Over the edge of the deck the curious sailors aboard peeked down at the newcomers climbing aboard. But they paid them no heed beyond the mild curiosity.
The mercenary stood back watching the princes climb aboard. One by one that pulled themselves up over the edge, throwing their packs over onto deck. Balel couldn't help but watched bemused and stunned at the nimbleness of hooves on rope. It was something he'd seen no horse do. But his own advance was however restrained. They were going north towards Poertia. Surely not in it, but too close.
“Is something the matter?” asked a voice. Balel turned, Agnimatra slowly walked up to him from the fog. His fingers wrapped together at his belly. He looked into the mercenary's eyes, studying him. He felt uncomfortable, like his gaze was too sharp. Too much like knives, like spears. It was like he was being read.
“Yeah.” he said.
“You're not confident.” Agnimatra read off, like a book. “Have you never sailed?”
“No, I have.” he repeated restraining his bitterness at the charge.
“Then it's something else.” Agnimatra shuffled, “What is it?”
Balel didn't answer. He stayed quiet, staring up at the ship. The deck was still, the crew drawing back into the ship with their visitors. “I was in Poertia once.” he said, “A noble had hired me, offered gold to round up people from some other tribe. Before I left for the far north, where I got my tattoos.
“But, I hate to admit it. But that kingdom frightens me. There's a cold air over it. There's blood in its name. It's not proper. I'm not religious, but that kingdom has no gods.”
“Many might agree.” Agnimatra assured gently, “But a job is a job, you realize. We're all lucky here the morning mists are too thick to sail out in. So there's time to kill.”
“Oh without a doubt.” Balel nodded.
“So if I might pry,” Agnimatra started to ask, “beyond rounding up some people, what has you so terrified still?”
“I took them to that Palace of Blood of theirs.” he sighed, “I was with my contract holder, I was close to where I watched their cannibal kings slit the throats of ever man, woman, and child brought to them. In their ritual, celebration, whatever you can call it. It was hardly holy, I hesitate to declare it a holy day.
“But the killings... They went on and on. Beyond people that shouldn't be slain. Not by moral, noble men. But I promised myself that day as I stood watching them collapse at the monster's blade that I should never accept a contract in Poertia again, that I should avoid those mountains. I see what happens to captors, I do not want to be destroyed like a cow or a sheep.
“So when it was done, and I had my gold, I fled. But here I am, drawing close again to that wretched kingdom.”
Agnimatra nodded knowingly. “If it's assuring then the monastery you're going to visit is closer to Svargiaya than it is to Poertia.”
“But it's still close.”
“That it is.” Agnimatra agreed, “But you're not going alone. You won't be pray easily to any foul parties from that kingdom. So I wish you best of luck in the mountains in finding our last man.”
Balel hitched up his pack with a low sigh, and walked to the rigging. “Best of luck!” Agnimatra cheered, “I'll keep tidy affairs here at home. The many glorious Perfected Beings willing, there will be many rewards for you here.”
