[The Anagolay]
Splat, spread, pick, pat, push.
Splat, spread, pick, pick another, push. Sweat trickles down my right eyebrow, slowly making its way to my eye and I blink the sting away. Disturbed sand and dirt suddenly rises into a cloud just inches behind me, I squint as I see the slab of rocks stumbling from their piles.
"You!" A man yells followed by a burst of sharp pain on my back as the crop hits it.
"Back to work."
The slaver glares at me as I glance his way before he proceeds to see the other masons.
I begin again. I splat a spatula mostly full of egg white as mortar on the coral stone I previously laid, spread it evenly with a trowel. Then choosing a block just the right size and with difficulty heave it up. With a pat, the ashlar is what is called, is brusquely placed, pushed to stick it securely with the other blocks.
The mason on my left, a real one, unlike me who is pretending for a few days (week) now, regards me from the corner of his eyes. Sweat has become part of his tanned skin, emphasizing his strong arm muscles, glistening like scales. I look at him blankly, he shakes his head and went back to his own side of the wall.
I have been getting looks just like his from the others, and it always says: 'you do not belong here.' Halflings are treated like trash as everybody else for they do not belong anywhere. Calling them a taboo would be an understatement. The disguise was risky but people would rather not associate with me and stay away which means they would turn a blind eye and I would be free to do what I need to do.
With a dark smock over a sleeveless, worn-out tunic and tattered hose with holes that masons usually wear, I infiltrated their group. I dyed my hair before that, tinge of curly reds affectations for a half breed. Real beard I have grown this time covers half my face, also dyed along with my eyebrows.
Fort of Sebelicia city has already been under construction for years. They started with the wall blocking the road proceeding perpendicularly to enclose it in a square. Inside, two buildings face each other bordering an open courtyard. One side is the remains of the former wooden palisade while we work at the part of the stone wall that overlooks the ocean. There will be another gateway here, outlines of it forming behind the scaffoldings to open towards the dock.
I can see the light blue-greenish blue waters sparkling in the sun, only a few yards walk from my position. The dock, with its wide coconut wood walkways stretches to the deeper seas where three ships are currently anchored. Lots of people – slaves, are out there feeding supplies to the biggest ship.
Splat.
I busy myself putting egg whites from a bucket near my feet. Squatting, I pick another ashlar like clockwork.
An hour of hard labor later, the head mason approaches. Using his own spatula to beat his bucket repeatedly, he announces to the others in Gjid dialect.
"Lunch! Lunch for an hour!" He bellows it also in Faye'in and Aeonnite.
Just in time.
I drop the stone in place as he shouts. Lines form rapidly in front of the kitchen windows with awnings at the opposite far side of our work place. The inside courtyard is milling with workers, the slavers try to organize them and nobody will be interested in me.
Instead of ambling towards the line, I run to the shadow of the nearest structure which is the two–story quarters. Sentries look down from their posts on the wall walk but are focused on the workers eager for the food. Flattening my body near the window I see here that it is closed. Glancing up, a curtain is waving idly at the breeze of slight salty taste. Using the windowsill, I propel myself to the ledge of the upper window, grabbing it. I heave myself, wedge my elbow first, bracing. I hear the door close, I peak, someone left. Lucky.
It takes a moment before my eyes adjusted to the dim inside and as it did I look upon a bedroom and an office. The commander's. I pull up, swiftly but carefully maneuvering my body like a crawling lizard half fallen on a table until I am sitting, dangling the rest of my legs.
I remove the specially made boots I spent a great fortune and time to craft in the way it suits me best; pig-skin leather, light, supple, soft-soled and secret compartments inside and on the underside.
Afterwards, I whirl to the room and let myself in soundlessly, leaving my boots near the window. I went straight to the commander's office on the left corner. Scrolls, books and parchments in shelves cover floor to ceiling. More still on the table. It is like a treasure trove of secrets, information that will sell – unfortunately, I am not here for that.
I skim what the papers are about, underneath some reports and plans for the fort, is a close-up map of Sebelicia and neighboring cities. It is labeled in bold letters of Aeon. The ocean occupies the uppermost section of the map, a portion of water in a tight curve separates the land. On one side is this city, a colony of Aeon while the fishing village on the opposite, Gakaloai, named after the tribe settling there, is not.
A red mark is placed in it. I dig for more, careful to put them back as they are. Nothing deem to be a connection to the map but I find the most recent missive with Aeon's crest.
This is blah blah blah… regiment is delayed but they are expected to arrive there at noon of 26 Abril under the King Cirrhinus's reign – Today.
I did not stall them that long.
Creak.
My head swivels. Planting my feet on the mahogany floor, I scrutinize the room. That sounded close. Besides the occasional dance of light with the curtain, romp of marine birds, slosh of waves on a distance… voices.
Time to go.
I return the letter. Wearing the boots, I pull some details on the ship they keep supplying. It really is massive with three masts with white sails puffed like the clouds. That regiment will arrive and they will be sailing. Sail where? I drop still thinking about the snippets of information when a sentry finds me. I reasoned I was taking a leak then he pushed me to the line with a sword, blade first.
Slowly, I close the cook and while I am at it, I peek at the barbican. Lookout towers on either side of the gate have three soldiers in it. Watchers, walk hereto and again.
It is my turn in the line and I accept the plate of banana leaf with a poor excuse for food: corn rice with a slice of dried fish and no utensils.
Halfway through lunch, some sentries roar a signal. Guards struggle immediately with the heavy logs and other locks of the gate as they open it.
The regiment is here.
I stand, forgetting the rest of my food. The numerous hooves shake the ground, small stones skitter with the impact. Like peals of thunder the regiment enter, first with only one rider through, two then four until I lost count because of the dust they stirred. Glimpses of wagons pass us; foot soldiers enter last.
Aeon's regiment park on the strip of land before the dock. Left on the open courtyard being entertained by the commander is the first rider I saw with two others, backs on me. The uniform of the first rider has an embroidered insignia of Aeon on his cape.
A general.
When I razed most of their food and clothes on the road (not stole them as the rumors say), I thought it is suspicious for an Elite unit along with hundreds of Faye'in soldiers in tow to visit Sebelicia in guise of bringing more armed men for the city but now it makes sense.
My stomach drops as if from a height, terror swelling up like hot air in my lungs it is hard to breathe. Heartbeats quickening. The map, the ship, a regiment. I tasted sand and salt on cracked lips.
They have come for a siege… and it will be on Gakaloai.
I did not realize I am clenching my jaw hard until my temples ache. I stomp to the direction of the dock, not thinking what I could do when the head mason wants us to form a single line. Swearing under my breath, I follow.
A hole might have opened on the ground the way I bore on it as the Elites give once overs on us masons. Hands clasp on their back, they sure are taking their time while my patience is dwindling low. This cannot be good. They are not looking for the Anagolay, are they?
A wrinkled finger points to my noise. I stiffen. A guard nudges me to move forward and I did. Nudge again so I look up and see a few men being led to the dock. They are choosing for some more slaves, not looking for the Anagolay. I snort quietly in relief. Over my shoulder, I peak at the Elites as I trudge on.
Unit I Captain, Erasmus, his Lieutenant Tyros and – I start unstintingly.
Hey, hey… despite the situation, a smirk carves in my face.
Good to see you, General Elricht.
* * *
With a captain's and officer's cabin, steerage, forecastle and the hold, the ship is grander than I thought. I place my second sack of potatoes beside the vegetables and stretch my back. The hold is at least sixty yards lit by occasional lamps, filled with the regiment's cargo. I pace back and forth on it the first time I entered; timed the person before and the next one to arrive and inspiration sparked.
On the fifth time, I stayed longer below decks making sure the fish oils are dispersed evenly on the corners but furtive enough not to notice its smell. I walk out and fetch the last sack I will carry.
I nod to the person before me as he walks back out. After my task, I halt on the stairs getting the flint on the underside of my right foot and… all it takes is a tiny spark.
I light a fire in Aeon's cargo deck.
I got out of there as soon as I am able, crossing the gangplank with amusement. A step down and–
Boom.
Air sucked.
Slammed.
Something went wrong.
Why does it feel like I am melted rubber? Everything hurts like I was squashed by a pestle a hundred times over, my side got the worst of it. I came to, vision digressing in and out. Ears are ringing sharply obfuscating my already clouded head.
I wince. Some bones might be broken. I feel my right hand being pinned, my face scratching rough surface and realize slowly I am seeing strip of the sea. I look sideways.
Chaos.
Confusing in utter madness that is muted. A foot almost smashes my face. I push myself up which sends me reeling. I am flown almost ten feet away from where I was standing. Panic rescinds the air, men are jumping into the water, some are running in a silent scream as their bodies are on fire. Riggings, ropes, beams sway uncontrolled, the ship…the ship is blazing in a column of fire. It is broken irregularly as though some kapre tried to separate it in half, the forefront is sinking.
I catch my breath. This is not a work of any flammable oil.
Entranced, I stand close even as fire crackles perilously near. A fountain of seawater shoots up sending showers of water, wood even fishes accompanied by a muddled sound I cannot quite understand where some part of the ship had sunk.
I stagger… the ground is tilting, the mizzenmast looks sideways.
Oh. Stupid!
I leap the five steps it would have taken just when the mast smashes into the walkway, spreading more fire. Too sloppy. I am not jovial about not being able to hear anything. Someone grabs my shoulder and is speaking, I mouth the words that I cannot hear anything so he points at the mast. I read his lips, he says: 'There was a boy behind you!'. He must have been warning me.
"I did not see anyone!" I reply. Smoke envelops us and the stranger pulls me. More men are still trying to get away bumping on my hurt side while onlookers gather in a horrified awe. The other ship caught fire instantaneously and the ones onboard tries to quench it.
"What in the world…" I hear one say though it is remote.
There seems to be a lot of noise, snarling and ordering. I see Erasmus haul a rope near one side. Elites and soldiers closes in trying to save what they can.
I need to get out of here. I slip with the frightened lot and reach the unfinished wall before I dare glace back.
So much damage.
Aeon will not let go of this easily. If they still have no reason for hostility on me then I have given them now. All the more reason to escape. Right ahead, the fleeing slaves are being held back by the remaining sentries on the gates. Horses stomp wildly and not caring whoever is on the way. Mutts are barking for their lives. Grunting, I veer left to the roundabout way on the palisade and fall directly onto the arms of General Elricht.
There was only a swing of fist.
With lowered reflexes I can dodge very little and the punch lands with such force as a mallet. Doubled over on the dirt and leaking blood, the General wrenches my hair to the point of tearing the scalp.
"Who are you working for?" He asks. Wait – I can hear him. I did not know I closed my eyes until I open it. He looks as bored as his voice sounds.
"Please!" I beg. "Ah – Please! I am only a slave".
General Elricht bats his eyelashes once, infuriatingly serene with his pale eyes. It occurs to me in a split second, it takes one to know one; a liar knows a liar.
"Please…"
Not dropping the act. It is better to die with the lie. He tugs me upward, I grimace, hissing and struggling to kneel before him, I thought there will be no hair left.
"Who. Are. You. Working. For?"
"Please. Just a slave…" He lost interest. The rapier is on my neck before I even notice him unsheathing. I take in mouthful gasps, the blade biting deeper.
Thud.
What? His head abruptly snaps to the side it could break.
I strain to see where the rock came from but there is nothing, nary. It seems it threw itself. He takes second by second returning his head and I grab for my right boot. Blood spills down his cheek but he sighs as if it is nothing more than a nuisance sweat.
"Filth." He says. The General proceeds to slice my head off when his eyes recede to their lids and he limps, collapsing.
"As you are, General." I pluck the needle dabbed with a toxin out of his good leg.
"Are you alright? Is he dead?" Lila materializes on my side helping me up.
"Yes," I say, expectorating blood. "And no, he is only asleep."
I clap her shoulders. "Welcome back."
Dressed as a boy in pewter clothing, the Eng't Urh, with the same swarthy cloak and a satchel. She must be the one on the dock.
"How long have you been here?"
"The alarms are banging on for a while. We must go" Hm. Yes. Only now that she mentions it that it registers.
"Come on."
We head for the woods, barely there when someone spotted us and shouts a warning. "Over there!"
"Run faster!" I urge Lila. An arrow wheezes between us. "Go! Go!"
Arrows rain around us, I grab her to my side as she was almost hit in the head and another I catch midair. The drums have changed beats, it is announcing our exact location. We are doing great. Under the protection of shade, we jump and try not to fall and lose speed from the roots, dried leaves crunching under our steps, branches slap our faces.
"Anagolay!" Lila breathless, calls. "Horses!" She points further on her back and there it is, elites on their stallions.
Curse it! Curse it to the moon and back. I change our course towards the road, swerving north. As we got close I spot a white animal traversing the edges in a gallop. I catch up, it is one of the horses that got away before.
Side by side, I hold its girth, hop on the stirrup and heave myself in the saddle.
"Kid! Come on."
The girl stretches her hand, an elite follows closely, I toss her in front like a sack of rice.
"Hyah!"
Uneasiness crawls down my neck, hindsight detecting a lance. I duck as it nearly went through my head, Lila shrieks. Over my shoulder, I sight the three culprits.
Captain Erasmus. Fantastic.
I force the horse to move faster, arrows assault us again.
"Cover your head." I yell at Lila. I try to dissuade their aim, moving in a zigzag, random. All the while assembling parts of the blowgun I hid in my boots.
It was divided into three to fit in and combined, it is as long as a bow.
"Hold the reins!" I relinquish it to the kid who gapes. As we round a bend, I slide down to the side, holding the saddle with my left hand, twist, aim and shoot as precisely as I can three times.
One dart nicks the arm of Tyros as he readies his bow but he immediately lost his consciousness. The second hits the soldier in the neck but I only hit Erasmus's horse. Its forelegs stoop jerking him forward. He flips midair and lands perfectly on the ground.
Show off.
Turning another bend right, we enter into the woods the second time where the path softly elevates.
"Did you lose him?" Lila asks.
"I guess."
No sooner than I said it I feel a force in my left shoulder like a slap. Lila turns, her eyes widen. The thin fabric I wear is sliced.
"You're hit!"
My flesh is pierced by an arrow jutting inches through. Surprise drains from my mind and with it unruly pain spikes from scalp to toe. I let out a groan-like howl. As we weave straight, a big branch came out so unexpectedly it strikes me square in the chest and I fall from the horse.
"Anagolay!"
As I landed broadly, wind flew out of my lungs, I felt the arrow burrow deeper before it snapped. Back bends out as though containing the agony, I lay on my other shoulder. The horse whinnies, footfalls, but all my focus narrows on the sensation of gnawing wood with bone, muscle. I grit my teeth, seething, digging my heels on the pliant earth.
Settle, breathe.
Curse it, calm down heart!
Out. In.
I made a mistake of moving my arm and pain lances in a new pinnacle, I gasp, eyes squeeze close. Wait for it to pass… No harm done.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Dig deep, down and out.
My shoulder is stiff, I tuck my hand on my chest staying still.
Forever it must be yet seconds all the same.
Definitely stupid of me wrecking that ship. I laugh hardly a whisper. No, letting my conscience get the better of me is stupid.
It is Lila who back me up gently on a tree which I notice rather late. Blanched of fear or shock she has been assessing my wound.
"I have to take it out but you will bleed to death, if I don't it will get infected."
"I know…" I manage to say. "I will take my chances with the infection."
"Okay… okay…" She is shaking, concern reeks of her that makes me want to gag. "I need to get you somewhere."
Gazing her surroundings, she fusses until all I see is flurry of clothes and movement.
"The city, it's just right ahead," she says, coming back to view. "I see its walls."
I nod, gathering my bearings. Pain moved on after minutes, leaving my neck down to shoulder only a dull ache.
"Sebelicia would be on alert, elites will patrol every street and alley."
A risk but I do not have much choice. She moves to assist, "Can you walk?"
"I was shot on the shoulder not on the leg" I snap, standing without aid. Lila blinks then guffaws.
"You'll live."
Whatever gave her the idea of me dying?
I look at her sourly. "Of course, I will."
* * *
To climb a gigantic mahogany with one hand is nearly impossible. Aside from almost falling back and again thirty feet down, relying on balance alone, praying in the most desperate state you can not to slip, it is passable. A particular thick branch hangs few inches scant of the crenellation where all it takes is a leap and you can reach it. Lila starts a sprint near the trunk then launches as hard as she could.
Her body slams on the embrasure, she groans. A sentry passes by without glancing, Lila grips hard waiting for him to go, before she is on the wall walk.
I follow suit, getting my feet under me and lands beside her with ease. No seconds to waste we blindly jump to the other side. After fifteen feet suspended in the air we are skidding to a tiled, ruddy roof wedged on the wall.
I know Sebelicia like I know my own body. It was a city of Faye until conquered by Aeon. We are on the peoples' houses. Establishments, buildings of two to four floors high are half made of stonemasonry and wood, built close often narrow, devouring those that are lower. Roofs of varying height from my vantage point looks like multiple fingers.
We went flying towards another roof. Lila screams, hysterical, who looks like pedaling in the air. I could kill her with the noise she is making.
We scale an open rooftop that serves as a balcony of some kind with clothesline and laundry hanging. Hot air rises rippling, shimmering; then we turn to another roof to our right, down to where the most inconspicuous alley I can find. I roll when I land while the girl, graceless, her legs unable to absorb the force of her entire body, falls to her rear.
"Ow, ow, ow"
I lean on a pub, which I could bet is the Rum for a Tikbalang, catching my breath and feeling the dull numb on my wound. A hunched, old man with sticks of a body sat across us. My heart lodges on my throat. He would have heard us, query who we are or worse shout in alarm, but his gaze is vacant. Ashen hair with sagging, wrinkled face unperturbed. The only emotion there is the upturned lips with a tobacco dangling neglected. I can see his ribs like teeth of an aswang, ugly and jagged above a depressed, hollow stomach.
Lila crawls to where I paste myself, nursing her hip. She sees me looking at the man and scowls. "Quiet," I whisper before she can talk.
The main street, wide and paved of cobblestones, is on our right. It slopes down glinting as it was laid bare under the merciless sun, traversed by both man and animals. There is an idle clank, clank, clank and moaning, grating of wheels as a horse-drawn cart carrying barrels moves up.
"What's that smell?" Lila mutters on my side.
"Humanity."
The sun heightened not just the colors but the putrid around us. What did she expect? I can make out very bad man smell, piss, feces, vomit, my unwashed clothes, my unwashed body and a whole lot of rotting mess.
I inch closer to the road, pruning at what it has to offer. This street is all pub and taverns, no wonder the chamber pot embrace. It leads to a fork where a small circular pond rests, opening to the city's marketplace. Signages sway as if to lure visitors: The Dancing Pony, Ferryman's Demise, Diwata's Lair, it continues on to inventive labels.
"Here…" Lila offers me a bundled wool, a tawny cloak. I nod in gratitude, remove the smock and replace the cloak and pull up the hood as I made my way to the Ferryman's Demise, next to two pubs.
Near the tavern is another alley which we duck into as soldiers on horseback stream from the intersection. We hear some of their talk, pieces cut by hooves.
"– a bastard of a halfling –"
"Find him!"
"– redhead with a beard"
Actively searching me out, then. Psst! I startle, turning to see Lila hauling herself to an upstairs window. She waves me in as she sticks her head out. I tilt my head in dismay, not that I can just barge into the tavern with my current looks still, a monkey with one hand would struggle.
Sighing, I coil the muscles on my legs, leverage myself with a run. I kick from the opposite wall to another kick on the tavern's own, my hands stretch out to the sill as it shoots me.
It misses.
I start to fall, Lila grabs for my wrists saving me within a hair's distance. She struggles to keep up with my weight, with her other hand she yanks my shirt up which shifts the arrow in my shoulder.
"Agh!"
I find myself laying on a harsh floorboard, breathing labored and sweating like the sun is on my face. I see one foot of the bed right in my eyes, a chamber pot peeking behind. Further are the legs of a table, on the other side is bare but a wooden chest. The door must be aligned to me.
Lila is working feverishly, my cloak shrugged off and she rips my tunic with a screech.
"Chill, kid! Keep your undergarments on..."
She ignores me, instead she makes for a candle, basin and mumbles, "Oh my gosh, what to do. What do I do?"
That is comforting.
I am about to pull the arrow when Lila stops me. "Wait, just… let me."
The black and white spots in my vision returns. A wave of panic threatens to pull me under. Lila is scuttling with motion it is hard to keep up. She pours water to the basin, lights the candle and produces a dagger.
"Try not to scream," she says. I cover my mouth with my other hand as I feel her grip on the arrow.
"Um… what's your favorite color?" she asks. Furious, I glare at her – that is when I hear the tug of flesh as it resists being pulled.
I scream hard. Soon after, I feel that same spot sizzling, vile smell reeks. It is like burning coals itself are on my skin. Covering my mouth harder my fingers dig into my cheek and yet I might have yelled myself hoarse. The open skin as it turns out is being patched by a hot blade – the dagger which I saw in Lila's hand, heated by the candlelight, before she pressed it on my wound.
Darkness.
I passed out only to wake with the same scorching pain in my back. I squirm. And then, nothing.
* * *