Zajoura (I)

Zajoura Inhula awoke from her sleep below the decks of her ship, titled simply, the Boneship, for it was said the bones of its first crew were carved into the hull, or at least that is what she told her men to keep them on their toes. Her journey from the jungle islands that made up the supposed "Northern Kingdom" had been long and perilous, and her nightmares long and recurring throughout. She was glad she never promised any of her men that legendary throne, forged in the days of Old Olm, and abandoned since the Fires ended the Empire. Those who didn't listen to her never returned. What did return were her dreams...   "There's always another way! Find it inside you!" Those were the last words her mother said before she was taken from her four years ago. What made them worse is that these were the final words of her father too, nineteen years ago. She didn't know much of him, only those words and that he died so she and her mother could survive. She hardly remembered her old home, before all the horrors of the collapse. It had been so long.   She got up, shook herself and stood up tall. Now was not the time for grievances. Now was the time to find a new home for her crew. They were the battered survivors of the last eight years of campaigns.   She had been on the sail for four months following the disastrous campaign against the Seno Slavers, who dominated Mikor now. She had lost three of her four ships against their commander, the notorious Sam the Slayer, who seemed unbeatable at sea. What made it worse though was the griffins under Little Johnny's command, that dived down upon her soldiers and traders during that fight, as if they were under the control of the Seno. She would dismiss such claims as ludicrous if it weren't for that same sense of fear she had when the K'Voth rained down fire, lightning and plagues upon her people. The people of the isles to the south thought magic had died long ago when the Ancient Ones and J'Krai destroyed each other in the War of the Crystals, and many thought even this was but a myth. But Zajoura knew what she had seen.   "How far are we now?" She said as she passed Jonz, the unfortunate soul whose duty it was to clean the chamber pots of crew. He was a boy of fifteen years old, and he had been the son of one of the pirates her men slew. She took him on as one of her own, but ensured that he be given the same discipline and loyalty that the others were.   "I..." The boy was bronze skinned, with a small and thin nose and crooked teeth. He was also unusually short for his age; something his father and other raiders no doubt mocked him for. "I think I heard something above deck about seeing land. I don't know if they just mean another of the islands though. The Dominion does control some of them, does it not?"   Zajoura thought. "I think it is necessary we go to Tzunar itself. I do not wish us to merely be on some 'edge of the civilised world', I wish for us to be at the centre." A few of the smaller islands in the chain were indeed under the control of the Dominion, but their position was very backwater and tenuous, mainly used as military training camps and bases for their expeditions against pirates. She had occassionally seen their great ships dwarf and devastate pirate fleets. Fortunately, she was too obscure at that point for them to launch an attack on her.   Now she went up to the top of the deck, up the creaking stairs. The sun was high in a cloudless sky, and the yellow sail of her ship shone gold like the sun too. The thigh-bone on the flag symbolised her crew's ability to scour whatever resources they could in a harsh land, and to survive even in the face of death. At both ends of the ship lay a helm the shape of a human skull, a further reminder of the ship's purpose as merchant of death. The crew above surface we're busy, moving goods and small creatures in their pens, preparing to sell the goods in the new lands. She heard Hunz and Yelk struggling with a small log, muttering obscenities under their breaths. Zajoura had never known siblings. Seeing them bicker made her glad of that. But as she looked ahead, she saw the main prize, beyond the front of the ship, onto the horizon.   The shore was finally visible now. After months of sailing, she could finally see this land that she'd heard about from her old captors and friends. Of a bountiful island chain and powerful, united kingdoms and republics, many of them under the Dominion of Phurzia. They spoke of riches, pleasures, great beasts and of prosperity most of all. Where no pirates roamed, where stability and rule of law was present, and where peace could possibly enter her life.   They were all dead now. By blade, by arrow or disease. Or that dreaded race from the deepest jungles of Ikr, that had overun her homeland, the Sobdul Empire. The nineteen years she had sailed since the death of her father had changed her from a sheltered little girl into a warrior, an explorer. But most importantly, a survivor. She had given up hope long ago that she would see her mother after the Lizkiy Raiders had stolen her away to work in their copper and gold mines. As her men rowed closer, she could see more and more of this new land.   Zajoura Inhula was a woman of rugged appearance, with dirt covered hair, tied in locks, her skin covered in bruises and scars from the many battles she had fought in, and with an even more rugged heart, but even she could not gasp at the beauty of the vast beaches of this new land. This 'Dominion' she had heard about. She wore linen robes of the colour of a deep blue, with lacings of white and and gold across it; it was not the plain war gear she would normally wear, with studded leather armour with her hooked spear at her side. But she wanted to make an impression to any judgmental natives she might meet. That she wasn't some poor tribal or ex-pirate coming, but the last living heir of the Inhula clan.   The island of Tzunar, the largest of all the Forbidden Isles, and the centre of Phurzic control, was far larger than any in the north she had been in. The largest since the land of her birth, or what little she could remember of it. From one side of the horizon to the other, there were expanses of beaches, cliffs and columns of rock which couldn't possibly be natural in origin. The men that lived here-humans, were renowned for their architecture and great stone buildings, she remembered from the stories. Of towers that could rival a mountain in height, of great fortresses with walls thick enough to deflect even the toughest trebuchet. Of vast wealth. Zajoura reminded herself though, that this land was like any other, and that human beings had just as much capacity for cruelty and barbarity regardless of where you went.   The oceans were at least less harsh now without the storms that ravaged the jungles of Yukat and Mikor, the air felt drier, more crisp, but even hotter. She could not afford to let her guard down. It wouldn't be the first time if the locals fired arrows at her on sight, like the raiders that pillaged the seas.   The calls of seabirds were now audible, and the odd fishgriff was also present among them, with one such landing near her boat. Its four wings folded up towards the sky as sails as it paddled like a dog through the water, it's webbed feet and membranes well suited for it, hoping to find some fish to devour. It reminded her vaguely of Kuni, her steed that her father has given her before he died. Kuni of course was in a wooden cage tended to by her crew off the port stern, clicking in fear.   The crew of this ship were mostly those of the northern isles, those few civilized people who wanted nothing to do with the pirates making claim on the northern throne or on the tribes of the interiors, though a couple were fellow refugees of the Ikr kingdoms. Her second in command, Hirotek, came from the Conglomerate of Nuda in the north, known for its ironwork and great pyramids. Some consider it the first place in the world where steel was manufactured, though that hardly mattered when those dreadful K'voth came raining fires so hot that even steel would melt. He was a rugged man with a silver, bush-like beard, skin so dark it was almost blue besides the pale stripes on his arms, a short, squat nose, and emerald green eyes. He must have been well over fifty years old, perhaps older than her father would be if he was alive. He was ordering the labourers in the Yuka language to stay away from Kuni, who despite being a vegetarian, could still deliver a vicious kick thanks to her spurs, extending from her armoured exoskeleton, which shone a dark blue, almost metallic. It didn't help that she was incubating eggs in her limbs below her tail, resembling small arms. A remnant from that time she had bred with a brightly coloured male of her kind, which died beaten and starving by Junkon's raiders.   Kuni was a large beast, standing almost two metres tall at the withers, or six and a half feet as the old Olm measurements were, and overall was nearly three metres tall when her head was raised to full height. Her head was shorter than that of a donkey that the islanders had, ending in a small beak like that of a squid or octopus. But around it were several small arms, with peg like fingers acting as teeth would. Her five eyes looked around, giving her an almost complete field of vision. There had been many times that Zajoura had made use of this in her travels, as she fought off enemies on the back of her strange steed. Kuni had long but well muscled legs ending in pads, vaguely like an armoured camel, but her back was longer like a horse's, and her tail long, with spines from the segments like some fish. Her offspring would make fine mounts for any of Zajoura's successors.   The sails started to catch up as the wind picked up. Zajoura turned to the crew and gave instructions in Yuka, though she was rusty in it. "Alright, we go for that dock near those temples there. Have any of you been to The Dominion before?" She only noticed one of the fourteen crew raise his hand, a young man who must only have been seventeen years old. Hirotek pushed him forward, as he jittered like a frightened gazelle. Zajoura didn't know this ones name, but she didn't need to either. "Well, what have you to tell us?"   The man, whose skin was a lighter tanned colour than the others, with brown hair and a scar under his lip, coughed and spoke with accented Yuka. "We are nearing the port in the city of Ul-Letoris, also known as Greatstone, capital of the kingdom of Il Azori, one of the Dominion's first nations to subjugate. There's-" she cut him off.   "Enough. What do you know about the people there? Do they attack on sight? I would rather us not be shot down like those in Mikor attempted." That had been perhaps the closest battle she had fought since her mother was captured.   "They're generally open to trade. As long as you aren't pirates, you should be fine. The port doesn't have too much work available, but there is plenty in the city centre if you're looking for it." He turned. "We're refugees. Surely they'll want some work from us here. There's no pirates in their waters, and they have stability and prosperity. We can make a new life for ourselves here!" The other rowers cheered in different tongues. "Praise Kulimba!" Sinhek the chief rower called out, while another she didn't know said "the Four have blessed us!" Many of the crew praised their many gods for arriving here safely. Zajoura hadn't had faith in the gods of her ancestors since her mother's kidnapping, and she's hardly had any even then since her father's death. But she was content to let them praise for now.   "Here, we finally can be part of this 'Dominion'. There's no Emperor enslaving his people here, no monsters in the jungles, no Smokers around the volcanoes, we can start anew here!" She exclaimed as she walked to the centre of the dock, near the wheel for steering. "You'll still be in my contract, yes, but you're free from your old life." She took out her hooked spear, which she named 'Papu', after her father. "Let's make use of this!" Cheers went all around.   As confident and authoritative as she seemed, she knew in her heart that it wouldn't be so simple. Sometimes, you need to lie to inspire hope, she reckoned. Now people at the coast were rushing to greet them.   The ship approached the dock, already full of native ships. As she looked overhead, she saw three flags above each port. The top flag had a golden griffon, all four of its wings spread out, with sword in hand, over an emerald banner, standing triumphantly over a strange beast resembling some sort of big cat, but with arms with a single claw over it. That almost certainly represented The Phurzic Dominion . The flag below was a dark orange, but with a white four pointed star in the middle, pierced by a spear. Presumably it meant the subordinate kingdom of Il-Azori. The final flag was one she could not understand, a yellow background with a shape like a horseshoe but...different on it. She wondered what that one meant.   As the ship fitted perfectly into the opening, far more so than the other ships, it showed the skills that Hirotek had developed from his years of both trading and warfare. Zajoura and her crew began unpacking. She picked up a crate of bananas, a rare plant found in the jungles of Ikr and imported into the westernmost islands of the north in the days before Ikr fell to the foul K'Voth. Few believed her when she told those she had met what happened to her civilisation. Even fewer wanted to. The crate was heavy in her hands, though she hardly felt it physically. Waiting for her and the others was the inspector, presumably hoping for no smuggled goods that were illegal in the Dominion's waters. He was probably about forty years old, but with a beard and shoulder-length hair that were starting to go grey, and his sunburnt skin clearly showed he came from further south than this kingdom. He was slightly shorter than her, but his girth was definitely not slight, not masked by his elaborate purple and gold robes or the cheap perfumes he was using to mask his odour, sweating from days of walking round the docks under the burning sun.   "Greetings, travellers! My name is Guoerge, and as dock-rite of the fine ports of Ul-Etoris, I welcome you to the kingdom of Azori, most esteemed territory of the Dominion besides the capital itself! I presume there is none of that dreaded Hurna on here, is there?" He clicked his fingers and two guards, equipped with pikes more elaborate than her own hooked spear. It was as if someone had combined a spear, an axe and a square club into a single weapon! They were both tall men, possibly twins, who were taller than any men she had ever seen before. Each man stood a head above even Hirotek, and had matching birthmarks shaped like an axe head on their left cheek, below their matching moustaches. They paid her no attention as they went on the boat and started searching through the stashes. Hurna was a dangerous substance, she knew, highly addictive and capable of having a devastating effect on those who were caught in its snares. Which is why it was so popular among the pirates who traded it across the known world.   The ships came in many shapes and sizes, with all sorts of colours to their sails and the wood of their hulls. A few even had metal-reinforced hulls to protect from enemy artillery. They came in from other isles, presumably those that were under Phurzia's control, or that of Holz, as she saw some of the strangest things she ever saw emerge from one of the ships as hers came into landing. All sorts of scents flooded her nostrils. Of food, spices, the salty sea, and the perspiration of the people around her. Alongside human labourers, exhausted looking men and women in loincloths and silk dresses, coping with the blistering sun, a mass of grey, like the slime molds of the jungles of the north, moved across the bridge. It shifted itself upwards, and as she looked closer, she saw that it was not a single entity, but a mass of tiny creatures, driving the labourers ahead with their crates. An extention of itself came out in the shape of a whip, it's biomass undulating as if it were liquid sand.   "Is that...an ant colony?" a trader named Lori said as she came from behind Zajoura.   "No," she said. "That is the...Vrain we've heard so much about from the other traders." It clearly noticed they were speaking about it, and approached, morphing itself from a formless blob into a more coherent shape of brown mess, reminiscent of animal waste. This seemed to be deliberate. Then, it incoherently shifted upward, forming a shape resembling a head and legs, though with no face, legs or neck on it. It spoke in the tongue of Phurzic to her, albeit in a hard, quick accent, that seemed as if a discordant choir spoke it;   "You have never seen a colony of our kind before?" it said with a hint of contempt. "We are certainly not ants as your servant claims!"   "I am not her servant!" Lori exclaimed. "I came her to find a new life along with all the others, she is merely my captain." Lori was far more fluent in Phurzic than Zajoura was, but it didn't help she was being so confrontational from such an early point. Zajoura turned to her, glaring. Lori quickly bowed meekly and returned to her crates. The brown Vrain looked toward her ship. Or she thought it did, given it had no eyes as she knew them. Each of the tiny mites that made up a Vrain colony had its own eyes, and so their vision tended to be short range.   "What is that magnificent creature you hold?" It pointed out an extention of itself like sword, pointing at Kuni. Zajoura mouthed. "Our people call-no, called them Nuzetls. Her name is Kuni." She turned to the mass. "We also have grain, spices and furs from-"   "We couldn't give a rat's arse about them!" the mass said vulgarly. She hardly expected such profane language from so called 'civilised' peoples, even if this Vrain was very far from human. "Those things can be bought from any traders here, we reckons. But that? We don't think anyone in all the isles has seen anything like that. We want it. Any price you name, we will make it!" Zajoura believed it was referring to itself when it said 'we.' For the Vrain were not one creature, but many working together, like ants or bees, but far more elaborate.   "She is not for sale. Nor will she ever be." She said with as much respect as she possibly could, masking her anger at this Vrain's arrogance. It was clearly rich for its demeanour and social status. "I'm sure I will find more respect further inland. She got off the trains of her ships, and she and her men continued unloading the materials, paying little attention to the brown mass.    "Don't you know who we are?" The being said. "We are Iztozkuqzvolz, the richest Vrain colony in all of northern Holz!" She gleefully ignored it, and her men tried to do the same, as bewildered as they were by this strange entity. I will not be refused by some dark-skinned savage!" That made her stop.   She didn't care that the guards towered over her, or had larger, more versatile weapons. She would not take that insult well. She got out a bottle.    It responded. "A bottle? You northern fools think a bottle can be a danger to. Vrain? We can regene-" it stopped when she got out her unlit lantern, with a hint to boot. "No! Not that!" It said as it veered away. "Anything but that!" A hand came between them. Guoerge's.   "I think it is time you stopped harassing the newcomers. I don't care how rich you are, you can't absorb our kind into yourself here!" A buzz came from the swarm, and it scurried off like shifting sands. Guoerge approached her again. She had not wanted to smell him before, and the combination of sweat and perfume confirmed it. "I apologise for Iztozkuqzvolz; they don't have a way with words, being one of the elite swarms of his race. That said, I don't think he or the other Vrain would appreciate you waving flames in his face, or what he had instead. Threatening the rich and powerful won't get you anywhere here, I'm afraid." He raised his hand and Zajoura put her lantern away. "Good." He said. "Come with me. My servants will tend to your cargo, and your mount." She wanted to protest, but those guards she saw, never mind the others, weren't the kind she wanted to fight. She looked back to Kuni; her mount's face had no expressions, but the colours of its shifting eyes showed distress. Don't worry, my girl. I'll return soon.    The market place in the lower city was busy, and she could see all manners of fruit, vegetables and cheap meats being sold. Stray dogs and cats roamed all around, while crows pecked at leftover meat. The odd haggler, a form of griff known to beg and harass shopkeepers for their food, was also seen, bullying the birds and smaller dogs from their food, with each of its four wings having a single sickle-like claw in the middle. She accidentally bumped against someone. She wished to turn round and apologise, and saw a strange looking man on a horse. No, she soon realised. It was like a man and a horse were put together with clay! But it wasn't quite right. His hands had two fingers and two thumbs, each with even claws like a parrot's hands, the hooves had three toes, not one, the fur was black and white in stripes, the tail was long and whip like, and the muzzle was too big for a man, the nose and mouth too wide. He wore cheap linen in a washed out grey over his chest, arms and around his equine hips. Noticing her amazement, the creature said "Who are you looking at, alien?" And went back to his business. She hardly knew how to react.   Guoerge laughed. "First time you've seen a centaur? I remember mine, when I was just four. It certainly is strange meeting other races than men in he world. But that is what the Dominion is all about! The chance for different races to live side by side." He sighed as they went forward, clicking for his guards to follow him closer. "To be honest, Zajoura-" that he knew her name was a strong surprise. She tensed up, anticipating some betrayal. "-I knew you were coming here, as someone among your crew was informing me of your presence and reminding you to come to this illustrious city." It must have been that turd Alli, she thought. Alli had been saying she was sending envoys to her family in Mikor the whole time. This betrayal would not go unpunished.   "What is it you want from me?" Zajoura asked.   Before Guoerge could answer, she noticed a fight break out in the marketplace. It seemed to be over a petty thief being caught by the keeper of the stall. She felt obliged to intervene, even though it was none of her concern. It must have been her instinct for breaking up fights among her crew. The last one had given her a scar across her belly, and the offender found himself in the belly of a shark.   "What is this?" She went to them as the two men brawled on the floor. Neither man noticed her at first, till against Guoerge's advice, she pulled them apart. One man cried. "Get off me, you foreign bitch!" She did her best not to knock him down on the floor for that. The other man seemed more desperate, wanting to get at the vulgar youth. He must have been the shopkeeper.   "He stole my wallet! And my vegetables! I want then back! Now!" The shopkeeper certainly didn't seem happy.   Guoerge turned around and asked. "Are there any witnesses to this? Did anyone see this man steal a wallet?" Most were silent, but a few did indeed nod. "Well then. I have my proof." He pointed to the thief. "Seize him. Return any stolen goods. Anything else on him will return to our treasuries so it can be returned to the people and the kingdom." The guards did exactly as told. Now they were free once again.   Zajoura was nothing upfront. "Well then. Why do you welcome me here?" They came into an ally between the houses. "What do you want."   The friendly demeanour he had before dropped, and now Guoerge seemed afraid, calling his guards closer, but not too close, as he whispered. "All is not as it seems here. There is an insurrection growing here by the day. Even centuries after the Dominion subjugated Il-Azori, there are still those who call my benefactors foreign conquerors here. Even the King in his palace descends from a Phurzic courtier who was a friend of the Decarchs installed here after the old Kings were overthrown. And he is but a puppet of the supreme governor, Pollos Myerkut, the 'Breaker of Hearts, for no man has yet to resist his persuasions, myself included." He looked around frantically. Zajoura noticed a scar on the right of his neck. This 'Pollos' was surely as cruel as the worst pirate, it seemed. The guards moved back. It seemed he didn't want even them to be too familiar with what he was saying.   "The old line of Azori kings remains in exile, fighting a war of resistance. They wish to restore this beautiful land to savagery. When Old Olm collapsed from the Fires, the peoples of this land degenerated into sacrificing their own offspring to their sick gods, and all the sorts of debauchery they did before the Empire. It was a mercy when my ancestors came here and subjugated them from their old rulers. Look how safe and prosperous things are now! The Dominion is a better nation than Olm ever was, and we can't let our greatness be undermined by rebels like this. I want you and your crew to root out these resistance and if possible, destroy them before they spread. In return, you'll get full housing rights here, a guarantee of protection, and perhaps even a local lordling to wed. The Salif of Zolibar is available, the last time I checked." He saw the protest on her face. "You think you can live out here without any friends, and with the people on here spitting slurs at you all day? Is that the kind of life that you and your crew want?"   Zajoura had no desire to marry or to serve as some inquisitor just as she came here for a new land, but Guoerge had a point. She had no local contacts here, the dream she told her men of riches in a foreign land has to be fulfilled somehow. And it was true the Dominion was a far safer place to live than the pirate infested waters to the north. She got down on one knee and got her spear out. Zajoura couldn't bear to look at his face during this, as she sensed that some of her men from the ship were observing her to her left. "I pledge myself to your service from this day, till my duties are accomplished and our enemies vanquished. I, Zajoura, of the clan of Inhula, swear this on the lives of my fathers and mothers before me, and by the blood of the Speared God, Nektulhu. I, and those beneath me, shall serve you till our time is finished, or die in the attempt. Our service is yours!" She got up, finally looking into Guoerge's eyes again.   His were now radiant. "That's more like it!" he said. He opened his arms and embraced her. She looked behind him and saw her men, Hirotek among them gathering around outside the range of the speared guards. She saw their anxiety, and Hirotek's dissaproval, but it was not that she feared. Guoerge seemed a trustworthy man, wanting to help a stranger coming from a foreign land and keep society in order, but she still felt unease here. He let her go, finally; she could hardly stomach the stench of him in this heat. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Zajoura. I assure you that you and all your crew will receive great compensation, and the eternal gratitude of the Dominion itself!"   The Inhula clan was one forged in honour and blood, with or without the blessing of the gods by whose names she spoke. To break a pact made by oath was the most dreadful of all sins of the Sobduli people, and though she hated herself for it, she needed money, resources and shelter if she wanted to survive,. But would all that matter if she failed? Or if Phurzia was threatened another way? Pirates could still raid the coasts of the Forbidden Isles for booty. And could those who were even worse swim? She did not want to contemplate that. Now, Zajoura Inhula was not just a captain of the Boneship, but an inquisitor!