Book 1: Rekindled Flames
Wind Fire
The pile grew and grew as more treasure was offered. Silver dinars from a hundred nations spilled from bags, chests, or just lied in heaps. Mingled amongst this were countless pieces of gold jewelry, decorated with cut gems and diamonds of all shapes and sizes. Then there were statuettes of bronze, jars of rare spices, pelts of exotic beasts, blades crafted from Chiaroscuros's supernaturally strong glass, and even a few pieces of actual Jade poking out here and there.
The yearly tribute of the Three Fires Tribes was set before their liege, the ageless Perfect. He sat upon a cushioned, mahogany throne, lined with cool Blue Jade. He was a man of average height, appearing to be in the prime of his life, olive skinned, with honey blonde hair done up in an extravagant style the rich overlords of the cities preferred. The Perfect adorned himself in robes of spun gold and silver colored silk, encrusted with pearls and precious stones. In his left hand he gripped his golden staff, a gold so pure, it appeared as if smelted from Sunlight; engravings of runes covered its length, in some unknowable language, and decorated with oddly colored diamonds; and the swirling hook-like head held a pearl nearly the size of a man's face.
Beyond the ruler, sharing the cloth covered stage, were two child servants, holding white banners with a golden eye sigil - the eternally open symbols of Paragon, the Perfect's city, reflecting the lord's own immortal eyes. An array of other assistants accompanied the banner holders, along with the most senior of the colorfully garbed magistrates and clergy. A greater number of the Paragonese elite guard also stood watch. These 'Immortals', in their black and gold uniforms, covered by scale mail of White Jade and armed with ornate pikes that could launch a bolt of pure power with a mere thrust, kept a keen eye on the procession before them; each was rigorously trained to awaken their inner spirit, allowing the soldiers to use armaments of such blessed materials and mystic might.
Delivering the bounty before the stage were the nomads themselves. The warriors of the Mejairs, Hahjabs, and Ekhebas took turns bringing forth more of their yearly tithe to the man who bound them to his rule. They marched in the tribute from their desert home to the grid-shaped metropolis. This path to the Perfect led one past the drab simple stone buildings of the poor, reflecting the only shade the underclass were allowed to wear; and onward it went, through the green-black basalt structures of more important buildings and abodes of the city's privileged; and the stone slab streets ended at the wide, central mosaic covered plaza, where the gathering took place.
The current presenters were the Hahjabs, donned predominantly in cloth of browns and reds. Their brother nomads had already delivered their payment for survival. Of this tribe, Wind Fire rode forth with his Uncle, Silent Eye, leading the finely bred horses of the Erwani. The sleek and beautiful animals were captured by the young nomad himself, earning Wind Fire a scar on his left thigh for the deed. He gazed up to his 'lord', a thought that disgusted him.
A century ago, the Three Fires were a free people, a powerful alliance of the desert tribes collectively named the Abisi. Since before the Time of the Mad Suns, when the Anathema held Creation, and going even further back, before the First Age when humanity was birthed, the Abisi were blessed with the cattle herds of Ahlat, the bull god of war, so they would never hunger and thus never grow weak in their enduring odyssey between the oases. The Three Fires' Heavenly favor went even further, enjoying the patronage of one of the Night Eye's Children, which made them even more feared and respected by all Southerners. The daughter of the Moon was said to be of both mare and human blood, but now her stories were forbidden; just as they tried to say the Night Eye swelled to a full Moon by her ravenous greed, instead of the Abisi's tales of her shrinking to a New Moon by shedding her light to guide them. The Three Fires were brought low by the Paragonese, with the aid of the far away Realm, who ruled Creation through puppets like the Perfect. The tribes were harried, defeated, and their divine patron slain. The survivors were faced with two choices - be sold to the Realm's slave pens or bow and forever swear allegiance to the Perfect.
The oath was more than simple words, but a mystic binding. Wind Fire glanced down at his palm, gazing at the scarlet marking of an open eye. All citizens received the mark upon swearing obedience to the autocrat while grasping the Perfect's staff, making one beholden for life. It was said that all one's senses, even their own thoughts, became his. Defiance only lead to a quick death, and Wind Fire had seen the mark's power over that as well. The memory of his dead friend, Sun Blade, was still strong in the young warrior's mind.
The Abisi himself had just reached the end of his adolescence over the Earth Season. He was built like a sinewy lion, carved that way by the harsh Southlands of Creation. Wind Fire was draped in the typical garb of his people - dark pantaloons, with leather boots and a gray tunic, further covered by a burnt brown hooded robe, which fit loosely around him. His thick auburn mane of almost kinky hair was bound in many shoulder-length dread-locks, pulled back by a leather strap and covered by a maroon turban. Long hair, an oddity in the South, especially amongst the Abisi nations, was prized amongst the Hahjabs. On his subtlety heart shaped face, he possessed a thin scar on each of his full cheeks of dusky flesh, marking him as a blooded adult. They were joined by other ritual scarification and tattoos, telling of his family lineage and marks of protection. Around his neck, like all members of the Three Fires wore, was an amulet; it was a small bronze circle, etched with markings of the spirits, associated with his birth.
The nephew and uncle pulled the valued horses toward the front of the stage, where two servants took them. The tribe's Beyik, also at the foot of the structure, went on to introduce the former mounts of the Erwani, listing off their qualities. The Perfect looked like stone, neither appreciative or unimpressed. The ruler's lack of reaction offended Wind Fire. Here he had risked his life and suffered injury to fetch the animals, only to have them tossed to a man who cared not. Standing his ground, he gazed up at the Perfect, locking his large expressive eyes onto the autocrat's ancient orbs. The Beyik noticed, trailing off as he turned to the confrontation. The attention of the magistrates and Immortals was also drawn, but all were too shocked to so much as utter a whisper.
Let the bastard read my true feelings for him, Wind Fire thought. He tried to imagine or even feel if the Perfect was truly inside his mind.
Silent Eye put a rough calloused hand on Wind Fire's shoulder. "What are you doing?" The near ebony skinned man said in their language with concern and anger.
The Beyik shot his warrior a baleful glance as his teeth tightened.
Wind Fire broke off the stare-down and left, shrugging off his older relative. Silent Eye went after his nephew, "Fire, what madness has possessed you!"
"To Hell with this!" Wind Fire spat, continuing off into the crowd of his tribesmen. They parted for him, shocked at his display. He ignored them; they were all cowards in his anger blinded eyes.
"Fire!" His uncle demanded. "Where are you going?"
Wind Fire didn't answer, marching off down the main road to leave what he considered a temple to his imprisonment.
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