As the red morning sun dawned over the sprawling city of Essyrn, for the briefest of moments there was a still hush in the air, as if every collective breath within the Desert Jewel was held. And then, a shrill shriek pierced the air from behind the silk-draped balcony of an alabaster wall overlooking the Niafi River. City guards patrolling the streets below the estate stopped in their tracks and peered up incredulously, unsure of what they just heard. Then a second scream broke the silence and a veiled concubine burst through the silk, screaming hysterically.
"MURDER! OH HAKESHNA, MURDERRRR!"
The nearby town bazaar was abuzz with chatter in whispers that morning. Could it be true? More than one witness has heard the girl screaming, and even now the estate of Fazir El-Atwah was being swarmed with armed men and even more armed guards. They had ruthlessly scoured the surrounding neighborhood for signs of the perpetrator, and even waded into the waters of the blessed River to find the killer. They found nothing.
The so-called Bread King had been found sprawled in the middle of his massive feather mattress, stark naked in his opulence, fingers covered in gold rings and gold chains and pendants wrapped around his neck. Everything about him was covered in gold, silver, and diamonds: the bedposts, the ottomans, the chairs fit for a shah. And the gold-hilted dagger plunged deep through his heart.
All of the local merchants conferred with one another before the opening of the market, to discuss how to proceed in the wake of such shocking violence. El-Atwah, the Bread King, was one of the richest men in the city of Essyrn, controlling nearly all of the wheat imports from abroad. He had a stranglehold on the food supply of the people, and had made a very tidy profit from his monopoly. But now that he was dead...
The murder had come just days after an up-and-coming grain factor had been found dead in the alleyways behind the red light district, his throat slashed from ear to ear. The young man had been considered an upstart in the city's extensive trade network, and had posed the greatest threat to the Bread King's dominance over the city's wheat supply. Now that the two of them had gone the way of their ancestors, uncertainty in the marketplace had everybody nervous.
So it was little surprise that nobody noticed the stranger in the marketplace that morning, wandering from booth to booth but never inspecting the wares nor spending the coin on anything. He stopped between two booths selling exotic plants purported to have magical healing properties, but his amber-gold eyes seemed so very disinterested in what the sellers had to offer. Their pitches fell on deaf ears, and their scowls at his retreating back were met with nothing but silent disregard. None of them could remember much of the man's face though, other than those gold eyes of his.
Finally, the Stranger stopped at a small tent where a local baker was selling his freshly baked offerings, ironically made from the same grain bought from the Bread King. The Stranger bought a single loaf and paid for it in coin before taking it over to a nearby fountain and sitting on its edge. Cowl pulled over his head, he sat there motionless, staring down at it.
Every whispered rumor and even those that were shouted was observed by another apparent stranger to the city. It amused the woman to listen in, while she was not working it was always good to know of possible competition in her field once she left Essryn. Here she was Zeyna, an exotic and perhaps even eccentric woman from the north that liked to come to the oasis as a retreat for her health, or so the local rumor-mill would often say.
Tiraris continued to roam about the bazaar, making sure to keep her headscarf firmly in place so that it kept her hair from annoying her. Feeling hungry, she purchased some fruit and sat down on the edge of a fountain to eat in peace.
The arrival of another hungry stranger though, made her think twice of her chosen spot, however as he had yet to disturb, she ignored him. It was only as she had finished peeling the fruit's outer-skin into one long strand that she noticed the man had not moved and was simply staring at his food as if it might poison him the moment he ate it.
"If you are looking for the meaning for life, I think you will be quite sorry to know you will not find it in a loaf of bread," she quipped with a smirk.
Though the last few nights seemed a dream, he remembered every single moment of it, as though trapped helplessly in his own mind, watching his body move on its own accord. It'd started weeks ago when that dreaded sensation washed over him, like he'd lost control over his very soul. He knew then that it was happening again: someone had learned his True Name.
Compelled by the inexplicable grip of domination, he traveled south back to his native land of Essyrn. Though he wanted to rebel, after so many years he knew that it would avail him little to fight the command of his 'master.'
That initial murder had been simple enough: the young man, Hakeshna take his soul into her embrace, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some quick knife work later and the inexplicable sensation of release washed over the Stranger. He knew his task was complete.
Still, that lingering feeling of servitude drove him to seek out the man who had, in the course of wishing another's death, had learned the Stranger's True Name. With such command over his very soul, it was very possible that this Bread King could enslave him for all eternity. His hands trembled with the very thought of it. And so last night, utilizing every skill and trick he had in his arsenal, he'd ended the man's life. When that dagger plunged into his still-beating heart, the wave of release was cathartic.
He sat at the fountain's edge now, half-pondering the events from the night before. In one way it was absolute solace to know that he'd freed himself from the shackles of servitude by killing the man who held dominion over him. On the other hand he knew, somehow, that this cycle would never end. The bread felt like dust in his hands.
When the girl's voice reached his ears it snapped him out of his reverie. His eyes remained down at the bread for a moment before slowly turning to regard her with a blank stare. All of his features -nose, ears, mouth, beard- seemed generic. Only his striking gold eyes were memorable, gleaming in the morning sunlight.
Slowly, he reached over and held the loaf out to her.
She eyed the proffered loaf with raised brow and pursed lips before raising her eyes to meet his. Crimson met aureate as the assassin tried to determine the man's motive. Her eyes never leaving his, she finally reached out and broke off a piece of it before bowing her head slightly.
"Thank you, stranger," Tiraris murmured. She then sliced a piece of her newly peeled fruit and offered it to him in return. "Would you care for some? I just purchased it and I would hate to eat you out of your own meal. There is more than enough to share."
Tiraris was curious to say the least. The man's behavior was odd but in turn also amusing. She had nothing better to be doing with her time, so she did not see why she could not sit there and chit-chat with a stranger. It was uncharacteristic of her; assassins rarely made friends in their line of work. Colleagues were competition and marks were dead in record time if an assassin was capable enough.
'Why not?' she mused, 'What is the worst that could happen? He walk off? He pisses me off? Meh, that is not so bad. But, now what? Is he going to talk or just sit there like a lump on a log? Do I bother continuing a conversation? He is rather plain. Except those eyes, those eyes are certainly memorable.'
The assassin blinked slowly. She realized then that she had been staring the entire she had been thinking. Pretending coy, Tiraris lowered her gaze, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. A faint giggle passed her lips as she stared down at her own hands. "My apologies, I do not mean to disturb you."
For his part the Stranger's expression didn't waver as his counterpart sized him up, trying to unravel his thoughts and motives. That face of his remained as blank as ever, though if one had to attribute any sort of emotion to that face, it might've been pensiveness.
She hadn't taken all of the bread, and so the Stranger's hand slowly retreated back to his lap, still loosely clutching the small loaf between his fingers. His eyes drifted slowly back down to it and remained there - until she offered him the fruit. His golden eyes turned back over to regard her, lingering on the fruit for a moment before he nodded and took the piece. Its soft juicy flesh had a burst of sweetness to it when he bit down, and for a moment he almost remembered what it was like to crave food, to enjoy its taste. That moment was fleeting.
"Thank you for the fruit," the man finally said. Although he certainly looked and dressed like every other Essyrni wandering the bazaar this dusty morning, his accent sounded more northern, more foreign. There was a tinge of Essyrni in there, but somehow it also seemed Adelan, maybe even Serenian. Just like his face, his words seemed to blend everything into one unrecognizable mass.
He looked down at the bread again and held it out to her once more. "Take it. I won't finish it anyway."
"You are welcome," she replied, her ears catching the mixture of an accent in his pronunciation. Tiraris held up her hand, palm facing him as she protested more. "A lady must watch her figure," she jested as she refused it. "Besides how could I take more from you? You have not had a single bite of it."
She ate, hollowing out the soft center of her half of the loaf as she pondered his features and accent. He truly was a rather nondescript individual. His only striking features were his eyes and if she thought about it, the assassin realized his accent was not so far off. It was as if he had learned the language on the road further north. There was no distinct sound that would link him to a specific region yet he had elements of several different places in his tone and cant.
"So do you come here often?" Tiraris wanted to slap herself the moment the words came out of her mouth. 'Congratulations, now you sound like a harlot trying to come onto him. When was the last time you initiated a conversation anyway?'
The Stranger held the bread out for several more seconds after the woman had already turned it down. When it became clear that she wasn't going to take the rest of it though, his hand slowly dropped back down to his lap. He had no hunger pains, no craving for food. However, for the sake of appearances, he pulled off a corner of the bread and began nibbling on it, looking very much like a little mouse working on a cube of cheese.
It felt slightly awkward and uncomfortable sitting there with the girl staring at him, especially since he rarely made small talk with random people. He had tried that once, early in his life when he had first shrugged off the shackles of servitude. He'd opened a shop -maybe pottery, but it was so long ago that he forgot- and had lived a quiet existence. That lasted less than a year, when the first uncontrollable urge overtook him and drove him to assassinate some merchant or another.
Since then... well, it was just easier to remain anonymous.
And yet, where was the harm in engaging in a little banter now and then? It wasn't as if idle chitchat would have him letting down his guard at this point anyhow. Besides, what of him could she possibly learn? Even he barely knew himself anymore.
"To this market, not often," he said in an even tone as he flicked crumbs off of his nondescript flaxen robes, watching as a stray dog crept out of the cool shade of a nearby stall and began licking up the bits of bread. "This place must be new. When I was young, there was nothing here but an open plaza. I was born just down the road."
Of course, that was well over four generations ago, when the Jewel of the Desert was just a little less refined as the present day. He doubted the lavish estate to which he was born a slave still stood, likely a bathhouse or a warehouse by now. The city was as amorphous as he.
He peered over to her for a silent moment, golden eyes seeming to pierce right through her.
"You, though. You are a stranger to these lands, no?"
Tiraris smiled and closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head. It was a common question asked of her while here. "I was not born here if that is your question. But I am no stranger to these lands. I have to say though in all the years I have come and gone, the market has always been here. You must have been quite small when last it was anything else."
When her half of the bread was completely hollowed out, she tore chunks of the thick crust off and fed them to the dog who happily sat besides her, panting between bites. She reached out and scratched behind its ears as she let her thoughts wander.
"You are from here, then? Your accent," the assassin began hesitantly, carefully choosing her words, "says you have traveled or spent some time with foreign caravans. Am I mistaken in hearing a touch of Adelan with a dash of Serenian added into the mix?"
The Stranger nodded his head briefly and replied, "Yes... very small."
It was difficult to remember so far back into his life, and there were so many gaps in his memory and so many other hazy parts. But the open plaza, paved over with limestone and dusted over with a fine layer of sand from the passing storms, was vivid in his mind. He could almost smell the weeds growing out from between the cracks.
He raised his hand to take another small bite from his bread, but stopped just short when she asked him about his accent. The bread hovered hesitantly in front of his mouth for just a moment before he finally went through with the action and took a small bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he nodded his head again.
"I am from here." How to explain the rest of it though?
"...Some time in Adela, some time in Serendipity. Connlaoth. Hyoite. When one spends enough time away from home, one begins to lose his tongue."
And that's not all one loses, he thought.
"So very true," she sighed back, nodding her head in agreement. "It is so easy to forget oneself while flitting from place to place. I always wonder about the day when I look back and realize I have forgotten everything I was taught in my homeland."
Tiraris tore more chunks of bread, remembering a past she wanted to forget. "Perhaps it is a better thing though," she commented, "to give up old ways and make room for new ideas. So many cultures and yet every country claims to have the right beliefs. Maybe it is better to adapt and take on the best ideals and teachings, mold ourselves into something new and become our true selves"
The assassin laughed and shook her head. "Look at me talking all philosophical and yet how much do you and I really believe that? Do you think it is even possible?"
The Stranger finally rid himself of the rest of his half-loaf, tossing the bread onto the ground in front of them. The stray dog immediately perked up and bounded off the fountain's edge to where the little morsel lay. Several other stray animals lurked in the shadows, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to swoop in and snatch up the bread, but for now they all remained where they were.
He sat there in pensive silence as he listened to her words, drowning out the sounds of the bustling marketplace all around them. Evidently the Bread King's death had only slightly affected the bazaar. Once the people had accepted the fact, it was right back to business for them. Such was the way of Essyrn.
"If it is possible to take and choose from all cultures? Yes, it is possible. But it is also easier to take none. What is one's true self, really? Does it have any real meaning?"
He reached his deft fingers up to readjust the plain looking headcloth atop his black hair. Her words had struck a slight chord in him. One's true self. Did he even have a true self anymore? Or was that something else that the fates had stolen from him and hidden away? He couldn't even remember his own name.
Ahead of them, several city guards carrying spears were roughly questioning several nearby merchants in a stall. They wore the armor and tall caps of Essyrn, but something about them suggested that they belonged to the city only in name, but to someone else in reality. The Stranger's golden eyes turned to eye them warily.
A warm breeze blew through the bazaar tugging at her own dark headscarf and pulling free a strand of crimson hair. She tucked it back, musing on the stranger's words and his questions. "True self? I suppose I do not know for sure myself. It was something my mother always said. Something she always said should be kept hidden."
The assassin shook her head sadly. "I suppose the true self is that which we lock inside? The person we chose to or not to let the world see. Perhaps that is where the phrase "wearing your heart on your sleeve" comes from. All the world sees your true self. Why do you say it is easier to take on nothing though? Is not every interaction we have with someone something that challenges us and changes us in the smallest of ways?"
"Something that should be kept hidden," the Stranger repeated half to himself as he switched his gaze between the guards terrorizing the merchants, and his new companion.
"Those are wise words. It is dangerous to reveal yourself to the world. Some say that the key to a person is knowing who they really are, that to share it is to give yourself away, wholly."
His golden eyes slowly lifted back over to where one of the guards had a merchant by the front of the shirt. The fat little man stammered something or another about knowing nothing about any 'Bread King' and raised his hands in innocence. The guard spat at him; who here didn't know the Bread King? This was Essyrn, and gossip traveled faster than the wind.
The Stranger continued to watch them with what seemed like a quiet fascination even as he shrugged his shoulders at her inquiry. "You learn from other cultures, but you do not take them. If you take, you become. My words... you say they are a bit like this, a bit like that. If I took them, you would say my accent was Adelan. Or Connlaothian."
"Learning is taking if only in part. It is taking bits and pieces of other peoples. If you truly took nothing then you would still sound like a man of Essryn would you not?"
From the corner of her eye, Tiraris kept a watchful eye on the approaching guards. She was not looking for trouble but it seemed it was intent on finding her, or so she thought. It seemed that every time she came to Essryn she could not escape without at least one run-in with the local authorities on some matter or another.
Part of her wanted to stand up right then and disappear into the shadows. Yet, her desires of earlier, to seek out conversation and socialize with another human being kept her in place. Her leg bounced in agitation as her lips pursed tightly. She could not decide how to handle the situation and was surprised by her own helpless feeling.
Her conversational companion didn't respond immediately to the question, but sat in pensive silence as though contemplating her words. What he did do, though, was also glance over to the guards. Their rough mannerisms had frightened the fat little merchant terribly, but it was all part of their job. After all, a very important man had died that evening, and it had caused ripples throughout all of Essyrn. That, and these guards were probably being paid extra for their efforts.
They finally dropped the man down with a warning and continued underneath a small archway toward the fountain. The Stranger sat unmoving, his piercing golden eyes watching the two men approach. They stopped in front of him and Tiraris, tired scowls plastered all over both of their dark-skinned faces.
For a moment, the two of them hesitated, as though mesmerized by those golden orbs. Finally, though, one of them spoke up. "Alright, you've already heard what happened during the night. Now we're here for information, and if you tell us the right things, there's reward in it. If you tell us the wrong thing..."
The man pulled back his headscarf somewhat and said, in a perfectly Essyrni accent, "My wife and I only heard this morning from the butcher in the plaza. You know, Farzad. A terrible thing this whole situation."
The two guards looked at each other. They'd already questioned Farzad...
Falling perfectly into her given role, Tiraris lowered her gaze demurely. One hand reached out to take the stranger's as her other moved to press over her heart. "Such terrible news," she murmured her own voice taking on an Essryni accent that hinted at a past life born in a foreign country.
The guards eyed her curiously, one of them recognizing her and crossing his arms in distrust. "Wife is it? Didn't realize you'd gotten married Zeyna."
Tiraris blushed and gave her "husband's" hand a squeeze and a loving shake. "Forever and always," she intoned in Essryni, letting the words sing in perfect cadence. "Such heart-breaking news to hear though! Is there anything my husband or I could do to help? We were devastated when Farzad shared with us his grief."
"Forever and always," her 'husband' repeated almost in unison, giving the two guards a smile. His nose was slightly crooked, his eyes set high upon his face, his mouth a deep shade of ochre. An odd looking man, and certainly nobody the guards recognized, but he seemed handsome enough.
To land a prize like Zeyna though... well, even these two guards had to give this man a pat on the back. The shorter guard leaned in and raised a brow at him. "And who is the lucky man who stole this woman's heart?"
"Kassim," the Stranger replied with a respectful bow of his head, "and you honor me too much. I simply the luckiest man in the Southern District of Essyrn, to have found my own desert jewel."
Resting their spears on the ground now, the guards relaxed their stances somewhat and shook their heads. The tall one said, "Nothing to do now except search. El-Atwah is taking the long sleep now, and all we can do is hope violence does not break out across the city. A shame, he paid us so well."
The other guard peered around before leaning in close. "Farzad said that the stars were obscured last night by swirling dust. He says the Ten-Thousand-Winds are blowing through Essyrn again..."
"Don't be stupid," his taller companion retorted, "There's no 'thousand winds' or whatever you call it. It was a political killing and nothing more. The sky was clear as glass last night. Enough with your folk stories."
He turned back to 'Zeyna'.
"He escaped over a balcony and into the sacred river. Which means he must still be somewhere in this District. If you hear anything... well, let me be the first you tell."
"Of course," she affirmed. "The first news we hear we will be sure to pass on, is that not right love?" Tiraris simpered, batting her eyelashes and squeezing his hand. Her thumb traced the smooth skin of the back of his hand.
She stood slowly, brushing crumbs from her clothes as she did so. "I believe if you gentleman are done, we should be going now Kassim dearest. I'm finding all this talk to be," she paused to wipe at her eyes and sniffle, "a bit much for me."
Despite her theatrics, the assassin was filing the information on the so called "Ten-Thousand-Winds." It was a legend she had heard in hushed whispers around caravan campfires in the desert. She recognized the name but did not know much more than it for every time it was spoken aloud, darting eyes and angry curses followed. Tiraris wondered if it was something she could ask of her new "husband" once they were out of hearing range.
The taller guard simply nodded his head and gestured for the two lovebirds to carry on. The shorter one watched Zeyna and her husband as they slipped around the corner and out of sight, a slight forlorn look upon his face.
The Stranger gently held her hand and gave it a squeeze as they left the courtyard and down into one of the dustier streets. He seemed somehow different from when they'd first begun their conversation. Somehow, his nosed seemed a little more crooked, and skin a bit darker.
And then as they rounded another corner, he released her hand and halted to glance over at here. All of a sudden his face was back to what it was before: generic, bland, unimpressive. The changes were subtle, and any layperson might have shrugged it off.
"You play the part well," he commented softly, about her near-instant transformation into the role of Zeyna. In the back of his mind, he came to the automatic conclusion that she, like him, also hid her name.
For a moment Tiraris thought the man beside her had looked different as they walked yet once they stopped she found he was the same as ever. She dismissed it as the desert sun playing tricks on her but it was not something the assassin in her was going to easily forget.
"As do you, Kassim," came her soft reply. "Now," she chuckled, "I do not believe we have been properly introduced, husband mine." Offering her hand, Tiraris smiled warmly in jest to her new acquaintance. "Around here I am known as Zeyna. Forgive the cliche, my namer took great amusement in claiming the thorns of the flower match those of my attitude. Unfortunately the name stuck and now that is all anyone here knows me as."
The Stranger nodded his head as he took the hand and gave it a single firm shake before retreating. He gestured for her to walk with him as he continued down the narrow alleyway, turning several corners. Essyrn had always been a maze of corridors and tight streets, but this southern part of the Jewel City was especially jumbled; a man could easily get lost for hours in the sandstone labyrinth.
"Zeyna... that is a good name for this city," the man commented briefly as he led the two of them around one final corner. The alleyway exited into another large courtyard filled with a smaller bazaar, this one filled with fruit stands. "Simple, but recognizable."
He stopped at the mouth of the alleyway and turned to her. Initially he opened his mouth as if to introduce himself, but stopped just short. There was a slight hesitation. If he ever showed any signs of inner struggle, it was just before he finally spoke again.
"You may continue to refer to me as Kassim, if you wish."
"It is a pleasure to meet you then," she replied softly, nodding her head. Tiraris suspected that like her, he was not offering up his birth-name and yet she found it did not bother her in the slightest. She was enjoying the anonymity that came with sharing a conversation with a complete stranger and no strings attached.
Looking around her, she was amused to find he had led her to another bazaar. "So what brings us here this time Kassim? Is there something special about this quarter?"
He glanced out of the alleyway and into the bazaar. It was bustling at this hour, with possibly hundreds of people going from stall to stall inspecting both the local and imported fruits. It was a perfect place for a person like him to get lost in.
"This bazaar is directly west of the Bread King's palace, so the guards will have already questioned the merchants here. We will not be bothered again."
His voice was barely audible over the sounds of merchants shouting out their fresh goods and their prices, trying to out-compete their rivals across the way. It was deafening in a way that only an Essyrni bazaar could be, especially so close to the noon rest hour. The Stranger didn't pay much attention to the fact that he was barely heard, though. His voice remained at a comfortably steady volume.
"And... I am here because it has been years since I was last here. It brings back... memories."
He turned to 'Zeyna'.
"You do not have to follow if you wish otherwise."
"Clever," she murmured in return, mentally adding that attribute to her growing list of interests concerning her new "friend." She blessed every single one of her lucky stars though for her acute hearing that allowed her to understand the soft-spoken man. Crowded places were the worst when it came to trying to listen to such men.
Tiraris nodded her head, understanding hid being drawn back to a place that held memories for him. Quietly she replied, "I would be willing to follow if you are not opposed to my doing so. I have nowhere else I need to be."
The Stranger gave a nod and then stepped out of the shade. At near the noon hour, the sun was beating down heavily on the hundreds in the bazaar by now, and moving through the throng of sweaty bodies and layered fabrics proved somewhat difficult. The man didn't seem to have much problem though. He was lithe in frame and moved fluidly through the mass.
As they passed by one stall, he stopped and looked at the merchant, a young man with a silk headscarf tied around his curling hair. The Stranger hesitated for a moment before turning to his companion.
"This stall always had the best mangoes."
He slowly slid up to the young merchant and said, "Ibrahim Refaei."
The young man gave him a confused look and, after a long while, frowned with his reply. "Sir... my grandpapa has been dead for twenty years. I am Taisir."
Tiraris followed in her own manner, pausing at some stalls along the way but staying altogether not too far behind her companion. His pause in step caused her to glance in his direction and circle around to stand on his other side. She found the interaction rather odd. That list concerning Kassim, seemed to be growing with every second like a hungry caterpillar.
She stepped forward, selecting a pair of ripe mangoes and motioned for the boy to pay attention to her. The assassin could not say for sure why she did it, whether it be the strangeness of the moment or the air of confusion that surrounded the stall. Tiraris had so many questions building up, and forgot to even bother haggling for a lower price, readily handing over the desired amount in coin before offering one of the two fruits over to her "friend."
"You said they were good."
The man looked down at the mango for a second before nodding in thanks and taking it into his hands. Of course it'd been quite a while since he'd tasted one of these exotic fruits as well. When one no longer felt pangs of hunger or cravings for food, everything one ate became just a bit more bland to the palate.
"Umm, excuse me," came the timid voice of the young merchant, "Did you know my grandpapa?"
The question caught the Stranger off guard and, perhaps for the first time since meeting Tiraris, he seemed slightly flustered. After a moment, he replied, "...yes. When I was very young. You... look just like him."
And with a hurried thanks and a goodbye, he gestured for the girl to follow him away from the stall and its confused proprietor.
"Thank you for the fruit," he said quietly to her. "Please, you first."
She raised a thin brow in surprise, allowing herself to be hurried away, fruit in hand. Yet, when he urged her to eat first she smiled broadly and shook her head. Tiraris clicked her tongue. "Nice try but you first. If it really is your favorite then you would not mind getting a bite already. Go on," she motioned pressuring him more. "Eat."
As they made their way from the stall and deeper into the jungle of the bazaar, a small space seemed to form around the two of them. Finding a spot off to the side with enough room actually move one's elbows and not feel crushed by the surge of bodies, 'Kassim' finally acquiesced with a nod of his head.
He removed a small dagger from underneath his thick swathe of robes and cut out a wedge from the fruit. Mango juices dripped down his fingers and palm when he lifted it up to his mouth and slowly bit into it. The taste of it, something he'd not experienced in quite some years, brought back a flood of memories for him, and it showed in his eyes. His lids half-closed as he chewed thoughtfully on the soft fruit.
After savoring the wedge and swallowing it, he looked back over to his companion. Softly, he nodded and said, "As good as it ever was."
He held out the knife for her.
A flick of her wrist and a knife appeared in the palm of her hand before she realized what she had done. Tiraris laughed nervously at her mistake, sending him an apologetic smile as she cut into her own fruit. "I have my own," she simply stated as an excuse.
The assassin hummed appreciatively as the sweet, tang of the mango filled her mouth and dribbled juice down her chin. "I have not had something like this in a long, long time. Thank you for your recommendation. It was well-made," she praised.
'Kassim' looked at her for a moment before nodding his head. Without any flourish, the dagger disappeared back into the folds of his robes.
The quick draw of her blade intrigued him. Maybe this woman, like himself, was more than meets the eye. Inwardly he wondered what her purpose was for coming to Essyrn. Of course, he could ask himself the same question.
"One of few fine points of Essyrn. This place is known for greed, for death. But if one looks deep enough, there are redeeming qualities about it."
He peeled back the skin of his own mango and took another bite, chewing thoughtfully.
"I am afraid I would have to disagree Kassim. I find Essryn to be a place of resilience and life. Mother Nature is a cruel mistress. She does not suffer fools and is especially harsh on those that dare brave her desert playground. Yet, despite all that Essryn remains, a prosperous oasis amidst a barren wasteland. I could not think of a more poetic example of man's determination and tenacity to cheat fate and win."
She sucked on her slice, hoping to drain away any juices that might cause more of an unnecessary mess. Tiraris found it quite curious that her companion would declare this land that she claimed her sanctuary from a world of killing, a den of the dead.
They walked past the crowd now, to a spot well away from the most popular stalls. Only a few stalls stood here, presided over by a few old men, with less than a handful of wares left. A stone bench jutted out of the wall of a nearby building and this is where Kassim now sat as he slowly ate his mango.
"And despite the desert, they thrive," the man said in agreement with her. "There is life out here in these sands, despite the elements."
His knife flashed back into his hand, and he made a cut through the air as if to prove a point.
"But the people thrive on each other. They step on one another's shoulders to reach the top of the dune. And when they can no longer step, they stomp. Many lie dead in their wake."
He sliced another piece of mango, but just stared down at it with a thoughtful frown. His knife had cut through the flesh of the Bread King just as easily as he now sliced this fruit. Men were so fragile.
Tiraris nodded her head as she listened, cutting and eating more fruit as she did. His quick actions with his blade surprised her though. She had seen such skill with only two types of people, huntsman and butchers. The assassin wondered briefly which grouping she belonged to and eventually decided on both. Kassim she pegged as a butcher though. The way he cut his fruit, segmenting it easily into separate sections reminded her greatly of the way the butcher at home would cleave pork ribs into single strips in rapid succession.
"Then it is no different than the rest of this world. If one but opens the eyes then one will see just how twisted this world can be. There is no place on this earth where human greed does not follow."
The Stranger glanced up from his fruit and, perhaps for the first time, showed some emotion with a mirthless laugh. His eyes slowly drifted back down to the ground, watching as particles of sand were tossed around by the gentle wind.
"Truer words have never been spoken," he replied softly.
For a time, a heavy silence blanketed them, only interrupted by the sound of a loud bell signalling the noon hour. As if on cue, most of the shops emptied as everyone went their separate ways, either to engage in solitary prayer or to otherwise rest before coming back in the afternoon. Only a few men were left in their stalls, the ones who refused to give themselves any reprieve.
Finally, the Stranger shrugged and added, "Then any joy you find in this place is just as misplaced. But at least the fruit is good." He looked back up at her. "Where are you from?"
"Perhaps so. But is it not a matter of perspective? Can a person not look above the cloud of darkness just as easily as below it? Some people choose to be blind to the evil in this worlds, others seek it out. Perhaps there are even those caught between unwillingly or otherwise but it is beside the point. We make that choice. We have that least given that fate makes all the other choices for us, cruel wench that she is."
Tiraris chuckled and sighed. "Where am I from? Well where do you think? What kind of foreigner do you have me pegged as?" she queried, entirely amused by the question.
The Stranger shrugged his shoulders, but the words came out of his mouth so fast that he must've had a preconceived notion well before he asked her. "Serenian," came the flat tone. "If I had to guess, it would be Serendipity."
He shrugged again and peeled the rest of his mango, taking one large bite out of the remaining bits. There wasn't much left, but he savored every little bite of it. Anything to take his mind off the events of that night.
Already the bazaar was nearly empty, perhaps hauntingly so. It was a nice change from the hustle and bustle of Essyrn, and a nice reprieve from everything he hated about this place.
"Just a guess, though."
She smirked as she thoughtfully chewed more of her mango, being only halfway through it herself. "It is a good guess nonetheless," came her gentle praise. "Although I have been all over the continent and could most likely claim any other place as home just as easily. I suppose there is no place to call home once you set yourself adrift in the world."
There was a melancholy note to her voice as if Tiraris was reflecting on a past memory. "Do you need to leave for prayer, Kassim? I would hate to keep you."
"No. My years of prayer have come and gone," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. In his youth he'd prayed to the Gods and the spirits, prayed to them for guidance and for salvation. But could one's soul be saved, if one's soul belonged to another? What manner of prayer would give him his name back?
He sat there with a furrowed brow, thinking hard, trying to remember his real name. Nothing came, as nothing had come the thousands of times he'd done this before. He was nameless.
"Have you seen all of the city?" he suddenly asked, golden eyes looking back up at her. "The streets will be cleared."
Tiraris respected that. She was much the same way after all. Ever since she had been old enough to know there was something different about her and that it was not a good thing, she had prayed at the family altar. As far as she was concerned, those prayers had fallen on deaf ears. There was nothing but the heavens above that had heard her pleas. There was no deity that desired to acknowledge her.
Tossing the pit and skin into a rubbage pile, she smiled shyly at him. "I admit that things have changed since last I was here. I doubt I have seen it all. But I must ask, is that an offer or a hope to send me on my way?"
"We are both guests here, it seems," he said aloud, likewise tossing his scrappings into the same pile. Standing, he brushed a thin layer of dust off of his clothing.
"If you wish to go your own way, I shall not stop you. If otherwise, I head for the Eastern District. The Old City."
"If you can bear my presence longer I would enjoy spending more time with you. I do not often have the blessing of another's company, especially not someone quite so enjoyable to be around. Is there something in The Old City that you are looking to see in particular?" she asked moving to stand beside him.
The Stranger gave the bazaar one last look before floating down a narrow alleyway. From any normal viewpoint, nobody would have guessed that this corridor actually led anywhere, much less to the oldest part of Essyrn. But then again, he knew so many secrets of this city. Perhaps too many.
"Suliman's Palace," he replied simply. He didn't have to explain himself, as most everyone who stepped foot in the Jewel of the Desert knew of the landmark. Once the palace of a Shah of long ago, it had since been taken over by the city's slums and overgrown with shanties and hovels of all sorts. The Shah's old Court was now a de facto town center for this poor part of the city, and rumors were abound that, if one looked hard enough, one might even be able to find secret tunnels leading deep into the palace's halls of gold.
Of course, that was just a legend. The locals never reported finding anything of worth in the old ruins. That didn't stop naked street children from scouring every inch of the place in search of Suliman's fabled treasures.
"The City of Forsaken Dreams," she murmured, the Essryni words falling from her tongue like dew from a petal. Tiraris barely even recognized she had spoke aloud let alone in the land's native tongue.
She spoke in a quiet voice as she followed him. It was almost as if she was afraid that should she speak any louder it would bring a terrible curse down upon her ears. "I have heard tales of this place but never have I laid eyes upon it. The legends I have heard fact or fiction but I never felt it was a place for tourists...even one such as I."
"Foreigners rarely step foot in the Old City anyway, there are so many other, more appealing landmarks," the Stranger explained quietly as they wound through the maze of alleyways, left then right, right then left. Every footstep he took was purposeful, and he rarely glanced around to orient himself as to the correct direction.
"There's nothing remarkable about it, really. The slums have entirely overgrown it. Suliman's Palace is no more than a glorified hovel now."
He stopped for a second and glanced back at her with knowing golden eyes. "But his legacy remains. Secret places. Places of silence and reflection. A good place if one wishes to disappear from the world, for a time. You seem that sort of person."
She smiled softly, blushing as she refused to meet his gaze. "Thank you for this honor. You need not have taken me with you to a place of such importance. It seems you know me well," Tiraris murmured formally. The assassin meant what she said and was indeed shocked that he had recognized that in her. She wondered if she truly was becoming that easy to read. The thought frightened her, forcing her to lose some of her relaxedness around him in favor of guarding herself from discovery. Essryn was her sanctuary. She was not about to have it torn away from her because she allowed herself too much comfort.
"And are you," she returned easily, switching back to the common tongue, "such a person Kassim?"
It was eerily quiet through their journey, as all of Essyrn rested and waited for the city bells to toll an end to the praying hours. The path through the alleyways became dustier and dirtier the farther they went. The buildings grew more and more dilapidated and old as they finally crossed the threshold into the Old City. From a distance, the sound of hustle and bustle could be heard.
Even in the praying hours, life went on in this district. The poor had no time to pray.
The Stranger glanced back at his companion for a moment before nodding his head. "I am such a person," he said quietly, turning a corner.
"Any small measure of peace is welcome."
A small child ran across their path. He was a skinny looking boy, perhaps no more than six although he looked so malnourished that he could've passed for three. The boy peered at the two of them through a tangle of thick black hair before disappearing down a side street.
There was no need for words so Tiraris simply nodded her head in agreement. She found that she was much the same way. As they traversed the dusty alleys, the assassin found that as they moved further from organized civilization she relaxed even further. She had known that was even possible given how zen she always felt in Essryn.
The appearance of a small boy made her smile some as she watched him pass. It did lead her into another topic of discussion though. "Do you family Kassim? A wife? Other than me of course," she jested offering him a playful wink.
"No," was the answer she received as they walked past the alleyway into which the young boy had disappeared. The Stranger stopped for a brief moment to glance down the dark path. Despite his best efforts at hiding, the young boy was obviously peeking out from behind a stack of rotted crates piled haphazardly at the side of a dilapidated building.
The boy could have been just another poor starving child like so many in this district. He also could have been one of the wiser youngsters patrolling these parts, small children that played upon the sympathies of passersby in order to pickpocket them. He guessed that it was the latter.
Somehow, an old copper coin appeared in his hand. It wasn't worth much in the Essyrni marketplace, but in the Eastern District, it could buy a week's worth of food. Without flourish, the Stranger threw the coin deep down the alleyway, over the boy's head. It took the youngster all of two seconds to scramble from his hiding place and chase after the coin as it rolled away.
Continuing on their way, the Stranger shook his head and reiterated his answer. "I have none. Perhaps once upon a time, but those times are long gone."
Her expression became guarded to hear the answer. Mentally, Tiraris was berating herself for such light-hearted foolishness. She did not know this man. It was not her place to try and pry information from him; he was a civilian not an informant. The assassin had to remind herself that she was not on one of her missions and was instead enjoying the ruins of a forgotten city with a stranger. It was nothing more and nothing less.
His display with the coin though caused several very soft gasps and chirps to sound from allies all around them. Tiraris heard them and cocked her head slightly to the side at the sounds. It seemed the ruins were not quite so deserted as she had thought.
Several of the bolder children raced from their hiding places to surrounded the pair begging in their chirping voices for coin of their own. They pressed in close upon the man and woman both as they tugged on sleeves and pantlegs alike, wishing for their own salvation from empty bellies. It was as they begged though that Tiraris felt a sudden lightening about her waist and realized what the little dears were up to. One of them had managed to filch her coinpurse. She tried to listen for the jingling of coins yet heard none. The children were the perfect scam-artists. They had managed to properly distract her and whoever possessed it was steady-handed enough to not jiggle it around with glee. She highly suspected though that the culprit was still there though and hoped to catch him in the act.
"I would give you each something if one of you had not decided to be so greedy. Perhaps you can ask my friend here provided you have not likewise raided his savings." Her keen eyes watched the faces around her, hoping to catch a glimmer of surprise that would indicate the culprit. With so many of them though Tiraris was finding that it was a feat easier said than done.
The throng of children clamored around them more fervently. Cries for generosity and mercy filled the little alleyway as the two of them swam through the sea of youngsters, each trying to get a handout from these two adults. Some of them were genuine, but most were only looking to pilfer their purse strings. The Stranger shot a glance at his companion; the look on her face said it all.
"If they can find my coin, they certainly deserve it," he said both to her and to the children, giving a particularly skinny little boy a gentle pat on the top of the head. That statement only intensified the press of children as they all grabbed at his thick swathe of robes, looking for where the man might hide his money. One of two of them even produced hidden blades to try and surreptitiously cut holes in his fabric to find their treasure.
Some of them were good, and he could not tell if they'd reached into his clothing without him noticing. Others were obviously in the process of honing their pickpocketing talents. The Stranger's hand shot out and grabbed one particular boy whose subtlety was a bit lacking. As soon as his hand grasped around his wrist, the other children scattered, though they remained fairly close by in case the two of them let their guard down.
"If you've lost your coin, I apologize," he said quietly to Tiraris, before peering down at the boy struggling in his grip. "It will not have been this one though, I'm afraid."
She laughed to see and feel them press in more tightly around them. A few continued to search her though most had given up to fight for rights over the man. A quiet gasp from her right though had Tiraris clapping her hand down over her thigh and a small hand that rested atop a hidden blade there. The look she gave the child was telling and he quickly melted back into the throng.
"It is no matter. I know well enough to carry more than one purse for that exact reason. Though I commend the one who succeeded. It has been a long time since someone has been able to get away with that without my knowing."
Looking at the boys around her, she offered a warning look. "Any of you try and reach for this one and it is the last thing you will do, I assure you." She then reached into the front of her blouse and pulled out a small black bag before taking out a coin and offering it to the struggling boy. "Take care to learn better, young one. I doubt you will always be so fortunate to garner such charity again.
She replaced the purse while straightening. "So my friend, has your load been likewise lightened?"
"Only the one at my side," he admitted, feeling an empty spot right near his hip, where his smaller drawstring purse had once hung. He could also feel the light tear in the fabric of his robes, where the child had cut through his garment to access his coin. It happened every time he came this way. It was almost a ritual of entrance for him now.
The herd of children began thinning out slowly, as they each realized that the two strangers had no more coin to offer them -- at least no more that they could access without facing dire repercussions. They dropped away like flies, one by one, until only the first ragged child remained. He continued to follow them, smiling up at the two of them and gibbering away in some Essyrni street dialect that was almost as difficult to understand as it was difficult on the ears. The Stranger gave the boy a pat on the head anyway.
He whispered something to the boy, who broke out in a brown grin and darted off down a street, followed by his adult companions now. 'Kassim' turned and gestured for Tiraris to follow.
"Suliman's Palace is close by. If you can see past the city of tents and shanties, you may be able to catch a glimpse of the old murals that once blanketed the palace's walls."
She cast amused yet distracted glances towards the boy. She could not understand a word if what he was saying and wondered if her own companion did. Nevertheless the child's exuberance made her smile warmly. Tiraris felt relaxed despite the oppressive heat and recent loss if coin.
'A lady and a murderer among thieves and this is what you find a relaxing experience Tiraris? You definitely need more of a break!' she mused with a gentle shake of her head.
"What did you say to him? I thought he never would stop to breathe," she giggled. "Not that it was a problem but I could not understand a word of it I am afraid. I am not familiar with the dialect."
Looking out over the land to where he directed her she just barely could see what he was talking about if she squinted. "Would you mind traveling closer? I understand we need not travel together but I would be interested in possibly seeing more if you are likewise willing."
"They boy understands Essyrni," he explained softly, giving the lad another pat on the head. The two of them were met with another onset of gibberish. "Unfortunately, his street dialect is beyond even my ears."
"But... he will lead us to the Palace."
And as the boy took off down the street and stopped at its end, looking back expectantly at the two travelers, the Stranger peered over to Tiraris. "We have not stopped yet. The journey will take us a little farther."
"Ah, forgive me then Kassim. I misunderstood. I very much would like to continue our sojourn. I find your company quite soothing and his quite amusing." Tiraris chuckled and as they close to the child she ruffled his hair before he shot forward again, dancing down the dirt path with glances behind him to ensure they followed.
For a time she walked in silence. Yet, something compelled her to continue to speak though she did not know what to talk of. The assassin knew better than to ask any question she herself would not wish to answer in turn. However she found they were quickly running out of things to say at the present.
"Do you ever pity them?" she found herself asking at last, nodding her head towards the scampering boy.
The Stranger immediately shook his head. "Not for a single moment," he said softly as they followed the lad through the maze of intersecting streets. "They live a full life, even if a short and sometimes brutal one. They live in the moment, and they die without regret."
His mouth remained open, as though he was about to further delve into the subject, but on second thought he quickly shut his mouth and turned away. He measured his life by his regret, after all. The things he did, the things he could have done...
One final turn on a side street led them through a narrow alleyway that ended in a doorway of some ramshackle building. Having no other path left, the three entered the structure and down a set of stairs to another door leading outside to a small balcony.
And upon emerging, they were greeted by the sight of an enormous palace complex stretching out before them. Ancient spires of carved stucco and soaring minarets stretched high up past red sandstone walls, elaborate domes showing their age via multiple holes in the roofs. Much of the palace looked to be in a poor state of disrepair and threatening to crumble at any moment. The only thing still keeping the palace upright might have been the spiderweb of hovels and shanties that had cropped up along virtually every square foot of the compound. It was like the ancient palace had contracted a disease, and the network of slums were the boils.
A beautiful sight.
Tiraris smiled softly and nodded her head. "I can understand and respect that. I left a life many would kill for in order to live a full one."
'In order to live a life of killing. Twisted world.'
Any further thought was cutoff though as her breath was taken away at the sight before her. "Such...history. I cannot even...forgive me there are no words." She held up her hands in a wordless expression of her inability to grasp the awe of what she was seeing.
"Heart-breaking."
"Heartbreaking?" he said quietly as he stole a sidelong glance to his female companion, noticing the way her eyes had widened at the sight of the temple complex below. He remembered the first time he had stepped foot on this very exact spot, and his reaction had been something quite similar.
Turning to look down the balcony at the sprawling square below them, a soft breath escaped his mouth. These people still had so much hope to their lives. Even now they struggled to survive in the slums of Essyrn, building and rebuilding their little shanties where they could. Real estate was a valuable commodity in these parts.
"Perhaps a little heartbreaking, yes," he finally voiced in agreement, before pointing far below at the teeming mass of life. Even from here the little dots of people milling about the slums was visible, almost like one giant quivering mass of life. "But they do not pity each other. They are happy to be alive, to fight to be alive."
"Happy to be alive? I am not so sure I agree with that though I doubt they do pity each other. What is there to pity in one whose resources you compete to obtain? No, pity is a wealthy man's luxury."
Tiraris sighed heavily and rubbed her arms in thought as she stared down sadly at the masses that had taken refuge like a sickness in the veins of a long-dead world. "The worst is, the rich do not even realize what they have as they waste it and ridicule the poor for daring to fight for life. Simply ridiculous!"
"The rich do not come to this part of the city often anymore," he lamented softly, as though echoing her sentiment. Truly, Suliman's Palace ought to be restored to its former glory and showcased for the gem that it was.
But then again, this new shanty town had its own unique beauty to it, more aligned to his quiet appreciation of life than the palace itself.
"Not all of the palace is gone. I know of ... secret places. Untouched places, places of solitude."
Tiraris' head slowly tilted to the side as her interest was further piqued. "You are full of endless surprises Kassim. It seems that every turn you show me something new only to entice me further to see something greater. I fear it all coming to an end," she joked softly.
"Tell me do you often show young ladies these places of solitude or only your wives?" A playful wink told him that she was teasing even as her red eyes danced in the scorching sunlight.
That comment brought a small wistful smile to the man's face, a rare sight indeed. His golden eyes peered back down at the temple complex, and his mind wandered to days of yore, when he was a young man who still enjoyed the smaller pleasures of life. Food, wine, women... now, everything felt more like a whispered dream than pleasure.
Still, for some reason, he felt he could trust this girl. Not with everything, not by a long shot. But little things, like Suliman's Palace...
"Only I know of these places. And you, if I show you. But you must promise to keep their locations to yourself. It would be a shame, like you said, for the rest of the palace to be overrun."
"Though it may not mean much to you, your secret is safe with me. I have no one to tell nor any desire to destroy the beauty of a treasure long forgotten in time. Though I do not know if your solitude is out of choice or necessity my own I can assure you is out of habit. I find most if the world to be rather oppressive without a great deal if personal space and peace.
"I would be honored of you showed me the way," she told him quietly, offering her hand for the taking.
His golden eyes drifted slowly, unblinking, down to the offered hand before gently reaching up with his own and taking it. The gnarled roots of his calloused palms dug softly into her smooth skin as he wrapped his fingers around her hand and silently led her off the balcony and back into the jumble of alleyways. The winding path toward Suliman's Palace cut through parts of the slum that were so overgrown that even the desert sun refused to shine through the canopies and dripping archways.
Still, a gentle downward slope made the journey somewhat more bearable as the two walked through narrow corridors and musty streets before finally emerging within the fallen gates of the Palace itself. The slums seemed to stretch on forever through those gates; he led her through them now. Shanties and hovels lined the cracked stones on their left and right, in the shadow of what remained of the Palace complex. Without the benefit of a high vantage point like on their balcony, it was difficult for the unlearned traveler to even realize they were within the walls of a former Shah.
The hand enclosed about her own gave Tiraris slight pause as she felt the rough calluses that were thicker than her own. She wondered to herself what he thought of her own hands, rough from carrying knife and sword among other weapons. What she felt though did not seem to her like the hands of a farmer and even less so those of a merchant. It made her wonder to what profession her companion belonged to though she dared not ask for fear of the question coming back to her. It was not that she could not lie, her entire life had been built upon those after all. It was just the principle of the matter that she would rather not. She had told enough lies to simply be at peace in Essyrn. No more were necessary now.
"It makes you wonder," she commented as she stared up at crumbling walls, "what would force a man to forsake such beauty and let it fall to such ruin."
"Even as cities topple, life goes on," Kassim stated simply as they peddled their way through the throng of bodies filling Suliman's Palace. If not for the still soaring minarets and towering walls above them, it would've been difficult to tell this part of the city from the other slums dotting Essyrn. Twice they had to avoid piles of waste dumped into what most certainly used to be the garden of a shah.
Abruptly the Stranger turned left at a small alleyway, leading the girl down a very narrow path that appeared to go nowhere. It became so narrow at the end that they had to release one another's hands and walk single file. Then they had to slip sideways to make it through. No wonder nobody ever went this way.
"Life goes on," she repeated in agreement. Her eyes were constantly moving as she turned this way and that to try and memorize every bit of the forgotten palace she could. It hard to imagine what it was like in its former days of glory but every once in a while, Tiraris would catch a glimpse of something that hint at having been spectacular. Each such sight made a tiny bubble of awe build up within her heart, driving to look for more as they went.
The squeezing through alleyways made her scowl slightly though as she attempted to avoid dirtying her dark clothes unnecessarily. Given that it was a sandy desert though almost always assured she would be sporting tan blotches in places. However, she preferred not to have them all up and down her front and back to allow others to question or even worse, speculate, as to what activities she had been up to.
"It is no wonder you have never taken another woman with you here," she teased. "Any more," she moved her hands in an hourglass shape, "woman would hardly fit."
The Stranger stopped for a moment and glanced to his companion. The smallest trace of a smile flashed across his expression before it quickly vanished back to that contemplative look he seemed to always have. Somehow, his face was a bit different again. Perhaps the cheekbones were a bit higher, the chin a bit more pronounced. In any case, he turned away and continued sideshuffling down the narrow crevice.
The walls grew closer and closer, and that narrow path seemed to stretch on forever. But soon it seemed like it widened again, until it opened up into a square-shaped dead end, perhaps four paces in any direction. The walls shot straight up, high into the sky, but uncovered. It almost felt like looking up at the clouds from the bottom of a well. And like a well, a small drip, drip echoed as tiny droplets fell against the cracked stone beneath their feet.
Without a word, Kassim started placing his hands against the old stones of the far wall, feeling for something. Some sort of trigger perhaps. This Palace had so many secrets.
The heat must have been getting to her, Tiraris mused to herself as for the barest of moments she thought her companion's features had changed but then she was second guessing herself and blaming the light.
It was the sudden dead end and Kassim's actions though that gave her pause to chuckle softly. "You know when I said that most women could not fit into those alleys, it was not my intention to misrepresent my own size and imply I could fit into even those pinholes. Though I must thank you for the compliment all the same." She winked at him before moving closer to inspect the walls herself, her fingers trailing the crumbling facade. The faintest traces of runes revealed themselves, however their having weathered the harsh elements for so long left them nearly undecipherable to the assassin.
"What do you make of this?"
It'd been so long since he'd come back to this spot, that the Stranger had almost forgotten where the secret passageway was hidden. Luckily, his companion was more perceptive than him at this instance. With a soft smile he turned to her and took her hand, tracing her finger along the faded glyphs. To anybody else it would've looked like mere dirt stains. But she had a good eye.
"The old Shahs that built this palace liked their solitude. They built secret passageways into the stones themselves, hidden away from everyone, even the servants. Passageways that led to hidden nooks in the walls themselves. Chambers of meditation."
Taking her finger, he traced one glyph, and then another, and then a third much further down the wall that didn't even look like anything.
And then the faded stones of the wall itself began to shimmer, as if they were staring at a distant mirage. They became warped and wispy, and translucent, until a small portion of the wall was all but gone, leaving just a black staircase that led downward.
Tiraris shivered, though whether it was from his touch or the ripples if magic beneath her hand she did not pause to consider as a new passageway appeared before them both. "Or chambers of refuge from angry wives," she jested though her mind went a different route imagining means of escape in times of war.
"So should I be concerned as a lady in entering the great dark unknown with a strange albeit attractive young man, Kassim? Or perhaps the better question is should you be the concerned one?"
He turned and gave her a blank look before replying, "Your only concern must be to watch your step. This passage has not aged well."
Unlike him.
He took two sure steps into the darkness, boots finding the exact spots that granted the most sturdy footholds. A small surge of familiarity rushed through him as he did so, and a small smile crept onto his face in the shadows. It'd been too long since he had been back here, despite how little he cared for his city of birth. His one solace in the bustling city of jewels.
When he turned to regard her, much of him was obscured in shadow. His hand reached back out toward the light though, for her.
"You really cannot take a joke, can you Kassim?" Tiraris sighed and without any sign of hesitation dropped her hand within his own outstretched one as she made to descend into the darkness after him. "Surely it would not kill you to crack a smile or outright laugh now would it? Or is a maiming really all that terrifying to you?" She continued to jest even as her eyes struggled with the lack if light.
At that last little jape, the Stranger did indeed crack the barest of smiles, though likely it was lost in the growing darkness of the stairway. Slowly he guided the two of them down the steps, taking great care from both his own nimbleness and memory of his place to avoid the potholes and broken steps.
It might have seemed an eternity, but finally he found that the staircase ended in a smooth, flat surface. The darkness was complete here, and so he set about looking for an object which he'd left here on his previous sojourns this way: a small rusty lantern.
The darkness was not as off-putting for her as she would have thought though being led about blindly in it certainly was. Old habits died hard and her instincts screamed at her not to trust and to be extremely wary. Unlike some though, she did not brush those instincts aside. Tiraris kept her ears pricked for anything. The whisper of cloth over unsheathed metal, the patter of leather upon stone, the increase of breath before the plunge, all of this and more were signs of attack that she knew well. She would be prepared for anything. However, her greatest lament was that in this complete and oppressive darkness she could not for the life of her control the fires within her that sparked with her anger and pain. Not even the tiniest of dancing flames could be brought forth to offer a pinprick of light for them both. It made her sigh in frustration, though she allowed her companion to lead her about, trusting ever so slightly that he knew what he was doing despite his silent and mysterious ways.
Perhaps her internal frustration translated to the tiniest of changes in the way she followed, but in the darkness the Stranger's hand gave hers a gentle squeeze as if to reassure her. Even his golden eyes could not pierce the darkness, but his footsteps were nonetheless sure and accurate. He'd been here too many times to forget.
Finally, his free hand brushed up against a cool stone wall that marked the corner of wherever they were. Crouching down, his palm brushed over the cold metal rod of a rusty lantern handle. Some oil was yet left inside, from the weight of it. He smiled softly in the darkness and released her hand.
And just like that, the lantern was lit, basking the room in a soft yellow glow. The chamber was too big for the light to reveal all, but it did reveal the colorful mosaic tiling beneath their boots, even after all these years unmarred by time. The lacquer and paint gleamed brilliantly as the day they were painted.
Tiraris had been about to make an agitated comment but was cut short by the faint glow of the lantern setting the floor and some of the walls alight with shimmering reflections. As the daughter of an old noble house, she understood the cultured beauty of the architecture and breathed a sigh of wonder. Slowly, yet decisively she picked her way through the fallen rubble towards what she could see of the walls to try and better view the depicted scenes and stories being told with long forgotten stones and jewels.
"To think this all lies hidden not so far from poverty's door. What stops them from entering? Surely they know this exists here."
"Some do," he admitted softly, raising the lamp for her so that it fully illuminated the wall that she inspected. The mural depicted scenes of old Essyrn: old citizens, Shahs, animals, and a hundred other things. Some of the vibrant colors were faded with time, but the beauty of the craftsmanship remained.
"But if the elders recall the way down here, they do not speak of it. Many have found their way down, only to never return. The door shut behind us, and in the darkness it can be difficult to discover the passage out."
A small trickle of water echoed from the distant darkness. "Come," he said, after allowing her a moment to reflect on the mural. "The chamber goes deeper."
"You do not fear losing your way?" she queried even as she easily moved to follow him at his side. "Or is the greater thing to fear down here, finding yourself?" Tiraris chuckled softly even as she allowed her ears to take in everything where her eyes failed her. "Perhaps the better question to ask is where is the water coming from? Or am I just hearing things?"
"Your ears are perceptive," he agreed with a nod, "Deeper in the chamber once stood a tunnel leading out of the city and to the surface. Perhaps a secret escape for the Shahs of old. But that tunnel has collapsed, and the exit I think swallowed up by the Niafi. That is the sound you hear. But I have only been that way one time."
He said nothing about her other quip though, the one about finding oneself. He'd tried before, and failed. But perhaps if this isolated chamber far beneath Suliman's Palace helped her personally, then he would be glad.
The thought occurred to him to hand the rusty iron lantern to her.
"I have been here many times," he said with another slight smile. "But you are not yet initiated. Perhaps you would like to lead... to explore?"
Tiraris' eyes lit up with a glow all of their own that had nothing to do with the flicker of the lamplight reflecting off her crimson orbs. "Such trust," she murmured in an almost predatory tone that a glint of a smile was able to eliminate. "I would be honored with such trust. Though perhaps you will find yourself regretting that once I get us both irrevocably lost," the huntress jested before turning to venture further into the darkness.
Her fingers trailed lightly along the broken walls as she enjoyed the feeling of them crumbling slightly to powder that caked her fingertips. Every once in a while she would pause to examine a feature inscribed in the walls that her hand had felt though her eyes could not decipher what it was she was reading.
"What fools humans be to forsake beauty and forget history to sate appetites whet with lust and greed," she suddenly stated after they had wandered further in for quite some time. "Worlds beneath worlds forever lost," Tiraris continued if only to herself. "You have found a real treasure here, Kassim. Thank you for the gift of sharing it," she spoke truthfully.
"Just a small part of the treasure," he corrected her as he followed along the dimly lit corridor, eyes taking in every crumbling mural as if seeing them for the first time. She was right about the beauty down here. The history, so much of it lost to time.
"I suspect that there are more rooms buried beneath these secret tunnels, and more beneath those. Nobody knows how old this city is. As you said, worlds beneath worlds. This is but one of them that is not yet lost."
As they continued on, the Stranger peered curiously at Tiraris's back. There was something strangely calming about her, more so than the thousands of people he'd crossed in his unbearably long lifetime. "Are you a student of history then?"
"You could say I was one once," she replied softly, her gaze not once leaving the walls though she did falter slightly as memories of another life tried to engulf her before she was able to shove them away once more. "It was a long time ago and I did not have the passion for it then. A pity I suppose. I resent my younger self for lack of attention. Though I suppose it is much of the same for many children wouldn't you agree?"
The man smiled sadly behind her, though quickly he wiped the look from his face.
"Education is a rare gift," he said with a shake of his head. "Most children would be content with having a full belly and a warm bed. But for those with the opportunity -- it would be a monumental waste."
His past blurred in his mind, and he furrowed his brow trying to remember it. Nothing was coming to him though, at least nothing of his early years. Was he an educated youth? Somehow, he doubted it.
Tiraris nodded her head in agreement. "The unfortunate curse of our age is that those with opportunity would be the ones that waste it and those without might actually appreciate more having gone through hellfire to survive. I imagine that the royals that once lived here believed that it would never end for them. They believed there would always be splendor and luxury because that was all they had ever known. There was nothing to rise above and then in an instant," she turned sadly to her companion as she reflected on where they were, "it was gone."
"Not completely gone," he corrected her quietly, as his hand ran across an old mural painted across the cracked sandstone wall next to where he stood, depicting Essyrn in a more glorious time. A trickle of water ran down the wall slowly, from where the hidden chamber had begun to crumble through the centuries. Who knew how much longer it would last?
And who knew if he would live long enough to see that day? He had a frightful suspicion that he would.
"Come," he finally said. "Perhaps its time we leave these old ghosts to rest."
She sighed softly and shook her head sadly. "True I suppose though I do not believe that the original owners of this place would agree with you. This is but a shell of what it once was. Perhaps it is better to have let it fade out of memory entirely rather than have a crumbling and diseased ghost in its place to invoke pity and disgust."
Tiraris moved back to stand with her exploration companion and nodded her head in agreement. "Yes," she breathed tiredly, "I believe you are right. We should let them have their peace now. We have bothered them long enough today. Would you lead the way?"
The journey back was made in contemplative silence, and through a different tunnel than before. The musk of age felt less overpowering this way, and the air fresher. Slowly the distant echo of water faded into nothingness, a sign that they were moving away from where the Niafi cut a serpentine path through the heart of the City.
A chittering echoed to the left of the man, and he paused in the darkness to peer down. Though even his eyes could not pierce the darkness, he'd tread enough footsteps to know the piddling movements of his little rat friends. They cared not for the sanctity of this place. To them, these ancient tunnels were just like all the pathways in Essyrn. It was an oddly liberating concept.
The sound of the rat also meant that they were near the exit. Up ahead, the wall would seem uneven and segmented to the touch, as though its architect had meant it to be climbed. "Be careful here, the stones are worn to the touch. Follow my lead closely." And with a slow but practiced ease he began scaling the wall in complete utter darkness, toward the hidden exit above that blocked the forgotten palace from the bazaar above.
Tiraris paused briefly in awe to note how effortlessly he climbed his way up before doing her best to follow. Her companion certainly was right though, the stone was as smooth as glass and twice as slippery in places. More than once her foot or handholds had to be readjusted as she hoisted herself up, always a step behind him.
They reached the top with a tiny eroded ledge before slipping through a narrow gap in the wall. This gap led out to vacant alleyway. To her great surprise and delight, she realized that she could hear that they were but a few meters from the bustling bazaar.
Smiling softly she turned to her tour guide for the day and thanked him softly. "Would you care to join me for a cool drink? I don't know about you but I'm quite thirsty after our little bout of adventuring. I would greatly welcome the company."