The Land of Ash
When Adanji returned to South Wall, she barely remembered to tell Habasi the good news; that the Rat in the Pot had successfully repelled an attack and had Dwemer artifacts at its disposal. She had given Habasi all of the jewels Aengoth had given her, hoping that maybe it would persuade the Mastermind to trust her; she could really do with the support of friends. Particularly, friends who knew her secret. Habasi had barely reacted, beyond the relief of knowing their sister branch of the Guild was safe. She had politely, if promptly, dismissed her.
Adanji went to her bunk, fell in and, when she was sure she was alone, opened the letter Caius had given her, decoded in his hand.
'Spymaster Caius Cosades
Knight-Errant of the Imperial Order of the Blades
Director of Imperial Intelligence in Vvardenfell District, Eastern Provinces
I have the honor to acquaint you with his Majesty's wishes concerning Adanji, an individual of no rank or consequence.
Adanji has been released from prison by his Majesty's authority and sent to you with this missive. Adanji is to be entered as a Novice in the Imperial Order of the Blades, and is to serve under your absolute authority as you shall see fit, except insofar as his Majesty's particular wishes are concerned.
His Majesty's particular wishes are as follows.
A local superstition holds that an orphan and outcast, a youth born on a certain day to uncertain parents, shall unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the invaders of Morrowind, and shall reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. This orphan and outcast is called in legend the "Nerevarine," and is supposed to be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councilor, Lord Indoril Nerevar.
Adanji has the appearance of meeting the conditions of this local superstition. Therefore it is his Majesty's desire that Adanji shall, insofar as is possible, satisfy the conditions of this ancient prophecy, and shall become the Nerevarine.
Though this prophecy is indeed only an ancient local superstition, his Majesty has taken counsel on this matter with his most expert informants and confidants, and his Majesty is persuaded that the prophecy is genuine and significant, either in its entirety, or in its several parts, and he earnestly demands you treat this matter with the utmost seriousness.
Certain aspects of this ancient superstition are described at the end of this document, and further materials will be forthcoming by courier at the earliest occasion. It will, of course, be necessary that you acquaint yourself better with the details of this ancient superstition from your local sources. Since this matter intimately concerns Adanji, it is expected that you will employ her to gather information on this subject. His Majesty has taken a great personal interest in the legends and prophecies of the Nerevarine, and eagerly awaits your reports.
I have the honor to be, Sir, your most Humble and Obedient Servant,
Glabrio Bellienus
Personal Secretary to the Emperor'
She frowned. She had hoped reading the letter would give her more insight, or somehow help her come to terms with the situation. Instead, it just made everything feel too real. She stuffed the letter back into her satchel and laid down, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to sleep, desperately seeking some form of escape, however temporary. When that didn't work, she stood, paced restlessly around the room for an hour, hoping it might wear her out, then fell in her bed and tried again.
The night was restless. It wasn't nightmares that kept Adanji up, this time—not at first. It was endless, troubling thoughts. If she was the Nerevarine, she might have to drive out her own guild, losing the friendship and support of all the people she had come to know and love. If she was the Nerevarine, she would be in constant danger from the Temple and settled Dunmer who would take offense to the heresy of an Outlander professing to be one of their most honored heroes. If she was the Nerevarine, then many countless, impossible tasks lay ahead of her, and she had no idea how she would cope with any of it.
Swims would have teased her, if he were alive, and the situation were not so dire. You? he would have said, A reincarnated hero? The Nine sure do have a sense of humor! Or the Emperor does… Adanji wished he were here. His humor and optimism would have helped her cope. She wanted someone she could confide in. Sure, Habasi knew her secret, but without the trust they had once shared, she would be unlikely to offer emotional support. Adanji let out an exasperated hiss and rolled over, burying herself in the covers and screaming into her pillow.
Finally, as the sun rose over the horizon, casting Morrowind in a gentle pink glow, Adanji drifted to sleep.
A dark room materialized around Adanji. As she looked around, she recognized the unmistakable structure of Dwemer ruins. In the center of the room, a tall figure appeared. He wore no shirt, his gray skin rippling with muscle and countless, jagged scars. She looked up and instantly recognized the golden mask. The man spoke to her, but she did not understand a word. He beamed, and seemed pleasant, but when he reached to touch Adanji, it terrified her. She tried to escape, but her legs seemed rooted to the spot. She tried to cry out, but she couldn't make a sound. The figure kept smiling and talking, but Adanji felt sure he was trying to cast some sort of spell on her.
As Adanji awoke, heart beating rapidly in her chest, she couldn't remember how the dream had ended. She crossed to the basin at the far side of the room, splashing water on her face. She had no idea what time it was, but she felt as if she had gotten no sleep. She sighed, rubbing the back of her stiff neck, and made her way up to Phane's bar.
"Ah! Glad you're here."
Adanji stared, suspicion twisting in her gut. The world must be going mad if Phane was happy to see her. "Why?"
"I just wanted you to know the good news; Hecerinde's gone!" He practically danced in place, clapping his hands. It was an odd sight. Like a sort of mating ritual for weasels. Did weasels even have mating rituals?
"That's… nice? Isn't he supposed to protect the guild?"
"He was, and he did his job nicely. I'm sure with his runes in place we'll be just fine. Anyway, Habasi saw how he was affecting morale and told the bastard to leave until we called on him again."
"That's nice," Adanji repeated with a yawn.
"Hmph. Well. I see some people can't be bothered to celebrate, even when good news falls out of the sky right in front of them."
"I'm sorry, Phane, I'm just tired, and a bit hungry. Can I have some boiled kwama eggs, please? With porridge?" She was too tired, and had too much on her mind, to even put a mockingly sweet tone into the word 'please,' which usually offered the small satisfaction of irking the Breton.
Phane sniffed disdainfully, back to his usual sunny disposition, and set about cooking Adanji breakfast. She ate in relative peace, watching the guild go about their business. Phane was right about one thing; everyone seemed a lot more at ease without the homicidal Altmer lurking about, assailing people with the intent of stealing blood samples or performing other bizarre experiments on them. She would have been happy for them, but at that moment she only envied their bliss. All she could think about was the meeting with the Ashlanders. If she was being honest, Hassour wasn't so bad. But she doubted she could avoid offending an entire tribe of Ashlanders when the mere presence of an Outlander seemed an insult to most settled Dunmer. It felt as though she was being sent to her death.
Before heading out, Adanji checked her satchel, making sure she had everything she needed, and nothing she did not. After exchanging a few items between her chest and her satchel, she was left with a coin purse containing 200 Septims, a change of clothes, a few healing potions, a flask of water and Hassour's notes. She strapped on her armor, hung the dagger and the shortsword Sharn had given her on her hips and made her way to the exit. Just as she was gripping the handle to leave, a sneeze announced Habasi's presence.
"Where is Adanji heading out to, this time?"
Adanji sighed, letting her hand fall to her side. She saw no one else in the corridor with them; they were alone. "I'm going to the Ashlands. I have to speak with a tribe there."
Habasi's eyes widened, "Ashlanders? They hate outsiders, perhaps more than the settled Dunmeri. You could be killed."
"Would that really even bother you?" Adanji said coolly, hardly in the mood for interruptions. It had been difficult enough to even convince herself to go; she didn't need any help changing her mind.
Habasi cocked her head to the side, "This one is not sure if she can trust you. That does not mean she does not wish to trust you, or that she wishes you harm. You are valuable to the guild, and when Habasi hired you she saw great potential in you. It would be terrible if you were killed."
Adanji stared, bewildered. She wasn't even sure anymore what Habasi thought of her. When she spoke, her voice trembled. "I have to go."
"Wait here." Habasi ran off, back down into the basement. Adanji almost considered leaving before Habasi could return, but curiosity held her in place. Moments later, Habasi returned, out of breath. "Here." She held out a clear vial. A glittering silvery substance was inside.
"What is it?"
"It is an invisibility potion. Habasi uses them on high risk heists. With the guild taking fewer jobs in preparation for a Camonna Tong assault… Well, Habasi doesn't need it." She pressed it insistently into Adanji's palm, then lifted her hand, briefly stroking her right ear before dropping it to her side again. "If the Ashlanders try anything, forget what Caius told you. Use the potion to escape and never look back."
Adanji swallowed at a lump that rose into her throat. Even if the Mastermind didn't trust her, it was nice to know she still cared. She cleared her throat a few times, attempting to keep her emotions in check. "Thanks," she finally managed to choke out.
Habasi nodded. "Now. Go do whatever it is Caius asked of you, and return safely. This one is scheduling another meeting with Gentleman Jim. We may have a plan to weaken the Camonna Tong." Back to business. Habasi returned to her quarters without another word. Apparently wounds were still too raw for open friendship.
Remembering Caius' instructions, Adanji dropped by Fort Moonmoth before setting off. She hoped that maybe by preparing herself as well as she could, she might feel a little less like she was walking to her death. She had gone over it a thousand times that morning at breakfast. If she refused to go to the Ashlands, execution was certain. If she went, it was only a rather large possibility, but it still offered a meager chance of survival. The main thing that concerned her now was how painful a death she might have at the hands of Ashlanders as opposed to the quick death promised by an executioner's axe.
At the Fort, Caius' friends were expecting her. Somutis gave her four potions to cure various diseases, including the Blight, and a few potions to heal her wounds and give her strength. Crulius gave her scrolls of intervention. Both gave her scrib jerky and dried hound meat wrapped in parchment. With her bag practically bursting at the seams with useful items, Adanji felt ready as she ever would to go see the Ashlanders.
She hired the silt strider at Balmora to take her to Ald'ruhn. She knew the Mages Guild transport was faster, but she wanted as much time to mentally prepare herself as possible. Along the way, Adanji read and reread the notes Hassour had given her, marking specific bits of advice for later. She made a single stop at a store to purchase a scarf, goggles, and a thick cloak, having heard how nasty the ash storms were in the Ashlands, and put them on. The goggles were an awkward fit, pinching the bridge of her nose and pushing her ears up at odd angles to her head, but they would protect her eyes. For the moment, she removed them. From the Ald'ruhn port, she took the next silt strider to Maar Gan, a town just northwest of Red Mountain and one of the closest settlements to the Urshilaku camp.
It was dark, well after midnight, when she arrived. In total, the trip from Balmora had taken three days. She was exhausted and sore from being cramped in a strider's compartment for so long, and almost looked forward to the long walk she would face tomorrow, if only to stretch her legs. She purchased a bed at the Andus Tradehouse, the town's only store and inn, and almost immediately fell asleep, her weariness outweighing her fears. She did not dream, which was a welcome change. She woke up bright and early, ate a breakfast of scrib jelly on bread and caught the attention of the publican.
"Yes, can I help you?"
"I would like directions to the Sea of Ghosts."
The Dunmer's eyes clouded with confusion, "The… the Sea of Ghosts? Are you quite sure?"
Adanji nodded firmly. "Yes." When the Dunmer's expression remained unchanged, Adanji added, "I want to go fishing. I heard there's plenty of… slaughterfish there."
"… Fishing." She shook her head, muttered something about 'ignorant outlanders, wasting my time,' and said, "Head south out of town. Take the path east, until you reach the foyada. Turn left and follow the foyada all the way north until you reach the water. It's quite dangerous there." She looked Adanji up and down, clearly thinking the Khajiit couldn't handle herself. Adanji wasn't inclined to argue; in fact, in this particular instance, she quite agreed. Just before she left, she remembered the Ashlander customs of gift-giving and purchased some jewelry, hoping that might appease them. She only had 60 drakes left in her satchel, which she would add to the gifts.
The sun was about to set, coloring the sky orange. Adanji had come to the shore of the Sea of Ghosts, and had begun following it to the East. The Ashlands, she had come to realize, were aptly named. As far as the eye could see the dry, cracked land was covered in ash. Even the sparse vegetation was gray or black and withered. Beyond that, it was all rock and the occasional pool of lava. She couldn't help but wonder how anything—or anyone—could live there.
Though she had yet to see any signs of life, she had passed by a vast, sinister-looking ruin to the south which had set her teeth on edge and she had given it a wide berth. Now her feet hurt and her stomach growled. She wasn't sure how far the Urshilaku camp was, but she knew she needed rest. Seeing a large outcropping of rock, she took shelter there, setting down her pack and finally resting her weary legs. She longed to set a fire to chase away the cold that had settled deep in her bones, but remembered the warning; Mabrigash could be wandering the lands and she did not wish to draw the witches to her. She pulled her cloak tightly about her form, leaning against the rock and munching on a strip of dry, flavorless scrib jerky.
She hoped she wasn't far.
Just as she was getting ready to sleep, she saw them; a group of Dunmeri in the distance, carrying spears and riding guar. They were hauling some dead animal behind them, indicating that they were returning from a successful hunt. Based on their garb—composed of hand-woven fabrics and heavy animal hide—they had to belong to a tribe. A shiver ran down her spine, dread settling in the pit of her stomach. The time had come to introduce herself and, despite all her preparations, she wasn't sure she was—or ever would be—ready. Taking a deep, calming breath, she stood, picked up her pack, and started toward them. Before she could get too close, they had taken note of her presence; it seemed their eyes weren't totally useless at night. They turned their guars and charged at her, spears raised.
She felt her fur rise, her tail lashing, a queasy feeling making her legs go weak. The informant had said that Ashlanders did not kill unarmed opponents. I hope this works, she thought. Kneeling to the ground, she quickly unsheathed her blades and, as the Ashlanders drew nearer, she threw them down, their tips burying into the ashen soil. She raised her hands high above her head, palms outward in a gesture of peace.
The Ashlanders slowed, eyeing her suspiciously. They spoke in a language she did not understand as they circled her. One approached, quite suddenly, his spear hovering near her face. He had an air of authority about him, the tribal tattoos on his cheeks giving him a fierce appearance. "What does the Outlander want?"
"Bah! She has no right to speak, Shabinbael! She is an Imperial devil and a beast! Strike her down!"
"You would slay an unarmed opponent? You shame yourself, Ahasour, and your ancestors! Hold your tongue." Ahasour dropped his gaze, eyes narrowing sullenly. "Speak, Outlander, and be quick about it."
"I—I bring you gifts." She slowly lowered her hand to her pack, displaying gold and jewelry.
"Gifts?" Shabinbael scrutinized the bounty, his expression unreadable when he turned his gaze on Adanji. "You think we have use for your trinkets, Outlander? Do you think yourself wealthy? Do you wish to force your soft, Outlander ways upon us?"
"I am cautious, and considerate," she said, her voice trembling as she recalled Hassour's words, "But I am ignorant of your ways. Please forgive me if I offended you." Her heart hammered in her chest. She was fully aware of the spears angled toward her, fearing that at any moment, one might pierce her gut.
The Ashlanders exchanged curious glances, again speaking in their strange tongue.
"You are a courteous Outlander. We accept your gifts, and your apology." He jerked his head to one of the hunters and she collected the gifts from Adanji's satchel, as well as the weapons Adanji had thrown down, backing away slowly before storing them in her guar's saddlebags. "Now tell us why you come here. Or leave if you have no further business."
"I would like to speak with your wise woman."
Quicker than a snake, three spears pointed at her chest, and Adanji was worried she had made some mistake. Her pulse rushed in her ears. Ahasour, the impatient Ashlander who had insisted they kill her, was shouting and, from the sound of it, cursing, but Shabinbael silenced him. "Why do you wish to do this thing?" he asked.
"I wish to learn of the Nerevarine Prophecies." At this shocked murmurs spread among the group, and Adanji had to raise her voice to be heard, "I have reason to believe I may be Nerevar reborn." She hoped she sounded more convincing to them than she did to herself. As far as she was concerned, only the Emperor—and maybe Caius—believed that.
"YOU DARE?!" spat Ahasour. "This Outlander filth would spit on us! She mocks our honored traditions—mocks Indoril Nerevar!"
"Silence, Ahasour, you have said your piece." Shabinbael turned his attention to Adanji, regarding her closely. "Come, Outlander. You have piqued my curiosity. We shall take you to our camp. There, you may prove your worth to us and to Zabamund, then we shall see if Sul-Matuul will allow Nibani Maesa to see you, or order you cast out. Sakiran! Bind her hands."
Adanji was led behind the group by rope, having to jog or be dragged along by the guar like some dead animal. She kept thinking about that invisibility potion Habasi had given her, burning a hole in her pack. If she wasn't careful, she might be forced to use it. That was, if she would even get the chance to reach it.
A large fire ahead of them signified the presence of the camp. Vast, guar-hide yurts were built in a circle around the fire, along with a few smaller ones dotting the outskirts. Hand-woven mats of many bright colors decorated the entrances to the yurts, along with banners on which Daedric symbols had been painted. The sound of wind chimes created from hollowed-out bamboo shafts and bone tickled Adanji's ear-fur. The music would be soothing, if Adanji wasn't terrified that at any moment she could be killed.
Keep calm, she thought, taking a slow, deep breath. Just be polite, do as they say, and you'll be fine. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.
As they entered the camp, most of the group dispersed, some putting their guars inside a pen, feeding and grooming them. Two hauled their kill to the fire and began the process of cleaning it; Adanji looked away just as its intestines spilled to the floor. Sakiran led Adanji to the fire, gripping her firmly by the shoulder and instructing her to sit while Shabinbael ran to one of the nicer-looking yurts in the circle.
As the moments passed, children gathered around, gawking at Adanji as if they had never seen a Khajiit before. They probably hadn't, Adanji realized. She offered them a half-smile before one of the parents noticed and scowled at Adanji, ushering the children away with hushed words. Sakiran cuffed Adanji sharply over the ear. "S'wit."
Finally, after most of the tribe had learned of Adanji's presence and were obviously talking about her, given how they glared and gestured in her general direction, Shabinbael emerged from the yurt with another Dunmer in tow. He was middle-aged, with scarred lips and a nose that looked as if it had been broken and reset a dozen times. There was wisdom in the fiery depths of his eyes. Adanji assumed this was Zabamund; the Gulakhan, champion of the Ashkhan.
"So this is the Outlander you speak of?" he said. He regarded Adanji curiously. "Shabinbael says you wish to speak with our Wise Woman. Is this true?"
"Yes," Adanji said slowly, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, but stubbornly holding it. "I was told I would have to prove myself."
He held up a hand, silencing her. "Why do you wish to speak with Nibani?"
Adanji swallowed, trying to keep her voice from quavering as she said, "I believe I satisfy the conditions of the Nerevarine Prophecy."
His eyes narrowed as he considered her words. "When Shabinbael told me a beast professed to be the Nerevarine, I had assumed it was some tasteless joke. But here you stand before me, claiming to be one of our most ancient and precious of heroes, reborn!"
Adanji bit her lower lip as she waited for him to continue, terrified that Zabamund might at any moment order her death. The following seconds were likely the longest she had ever experienced.
"The Nerevarine Prophecies are not for outlanders," he said calmly, "Why should Sul-Matuul or Nibani Maesa speak to you about these things? Who are you, that we should trust you?"
Adanji took a deep breath. As quickly and thoroughly as she could, she explained all she had learned about the Sixth House and its activities, the Nerevarine Prophecies and its followers, and described her dreams; how a disturbing figure in a golden mask called to her, how real they felt and how she was afraid. She was careful to omit any detail pertaining to the Blades. Zabamund was silent through it all, his expression thoughtful. With a wave of his hand he dismissed his tribesmen, who had been hovering, listening hungrily—possibly waiting for a command to have Adanji cast out or killed. While some seemed disappointed, they all left Adanji and Zabamund alone by the fire.
"These are not simple matters," he began. "You know a great deal more than I would have thought, and some of what you say is news to me. I believe you should speak to Sul-Matuul. Perhaps he will be angry with me. But I think I can bear that. You will stay here for the night, as the hour is late. You may stay in my yurt. Then, at dawn, go to the Ashkhan's Yurt and speak with Sul-Matuul. Ask him your questions, and tell him I have sent you."
Adanji, while initially reluctant to share a yurt with a stranger, had quickly become grateful for its warmth and shelter against the chilly night winds. She had been allowed a package of dried meat from her satchel, which she ate for breakfast, washing it down with a few eager gulps from her flask, which had been refilled in a nearby stream by one of the tribesmen. She hadn't been allowed any of her other belongings. The Urshilaku still regarded her with suspicion and barely-concealed hostility.
She hovered nervously outside the Ashkhan's yurt, wondering what she would say when she entered. She wished Zabamund would come with her to introduce her to Sul-Matuul, since she doubted she could trust herself alone with such a powerful figure within the tribe. What if she offended him just by entering his yurt, and he didn't give her time to explain herself? She bounced a nervously on the balls of her feet, trying to ignore the eyes she could feel boring into her back.
Right, she thought, let's just get this over with. She cleared her throat, opened the tent flap, and called in. "Sul-Matuul?"
An ancient-looking Dunmer sat on a grass mat in the middle of the yurt. He lifted his narrow chin as he surveyed her closely, the deep wrinkles around his eyes creasing with thought. He lowered the long smoking pipe that had been pressed to his lips. "Are you the Khajiit my people speak of? Interesting." It sounded more like he meant to say 'how bothersome.'
"I'm sorry for the intrusion." Adanji said quickly. "I have permission from Zabamund to speak with you."
He made a guttural noise in his throat. "Come in, then. You are letting in the cold. Now. What is it an Outlander would have to say to an Ashkhan?"
Adanji sat down Akaviri-style in front of Sul-Matuul, dipping her head slightly when she spoke with him as a sign of respect. "I think I may fulfill the Nerevarine Prophecies. I'd like to—I would humbly ask permission to speak with your wise woman, to be tested."
His eyes narrowed. "I had heard whispers of this, and still I did not believe. The audacity of such a thing..." He drew a long breath from his pipe, letting it out slowly through his nose in long tendrils of smoke. "But if my champion thought you worthy of my time..." He shook his head. "No. No outlander may join the Nerevarine cult. If you were a Clanfriend, an adopted member of the Ashlander tribes, then perhaps…" He pursed his lips, "You shall help around the camp. Prove your worth to the tribe. Then you shall come speak to me again when you are deemed worthy. Then I shall have a task for you; an initiation rite. Only if you pass this rite may you speak with Nibani Maesa. Now," he waved his hand in dismissal, "Leave me."
That seemed rather final. Instead of pressing the matter, Adanji quickly bowed out of the yurt so as not to offend. She found herself yet again standing outside at a loss. Help the people? She wasn't even sure they would accept her help. Maybe that was what the Ashkahn was hoping for? If she couldn't prove herself then she would have to leave and he wouldn't have to suffer the insult of having an outlander as the Nerevarine.
Admittedly, a rather large part of her was relieved. She could go back to Caius and report that the Ashlanders would not have her. She could tell him the Emperor had made a mistake and maybe he would let her continue her life with the Thieves Guild.
No, that was unlikely. She doubted the Blades, with all their secrets, would just let her leave. They might have her silenced for knowing too much, or keep her around as a glorified errand girl so they could keep an eye on her. Then there was that other part of her, much smaller, but vocal. She had gone through a lot to get here. Caius, whom she had come to admire, was beginning to respect her. She couldn't just give up over a minor setback. Caius couldn't respect that and, come to think of it, neither could she.
Catching sight of Zabamund, who was putting together a hunting party, she marched up to him. He waited until the party had set off before turning to her. "Yes, outlander, what did Sul-Matuul have to say?"
"I need to prove myself to the tribe."
He nodded slowly, "Does he have a trial for you?"
"He mentioned a rite, but I think he means for me to either leave, or carry out menial tasks until he summons me." She wasn't sure he ever would.
Zabamund stroked his chin thoughtfully. "He is testing your strength of character. If you leave, you are not worthy. You must prove you have the humility to help the clan with anything they ask of you, however degrading you may find it, and the determination to see it through to the end."
She didn't like the sound of that. Then again, she hadn't really liked much of anything Caius needed her to do. She sighed. "What would you have me do?"
Zabamund smiled. It was closer to a smirk.
Three days had passed since Adanji had been set to work. She was still sleeping in Zabamund's yurt at night, for which she was thankful, but during the day she was digging around in the dirt. Zabamund had explained that, as most of the Urshilaku were proud warriors and hunters, they were above foraging for ash yams or trama root like common kwama. They normally traded for such necessities instead, but when they couldn't, the task of harvesting them was typically reserved for children and elders who were not fit to track down dangerous prey. This, he said, would be a fitting place for an outlander to begin.
Adanji took a deep breath, wiping sweat from her brow. It may have been frigid, but she had been toiling for hours and was almost done prying what trama root samples she could from the packed, ashen ground. She had quite the bounty piled in the basket Sakiran had lent her. The Urshilaku could make enough tea to last at least a month with this haul, she thought, or grind it up to spice several meals worth of meat.
Still not one person had thanked her. She was beginning to think she could dig up the whole desert's supply of trama root and nobody would notice her contribution. Standing, she dusted off her trousers—a vain attempt, since her hands were caked with dirt—picked up her basket, and turned back toward camp. Maybe she would have more luck tomorrow?
When she entered Zabamund's yurt a few nights later, she was welcomed with a smile.
"Hello," she said cautiously.
"You look weary, outlander."
"I am. I was just about to go to sleep. Is there something else you need?" She really hoped there wasn't. She had been enjoying her sleep.
"You reek. I thought you might wish to bathe." She stared a moment, just now noticing the two steaming buckets in the lamp light, a towel and washcloth set out beside them. Bottles of colored liquids were set up on a stool and from where she sat she could smell various perfumes emitting from them. "I admit I had always thought your kind licked yourselves clean, but I have seen no such proof of this in the time you have been here."
It was difficult to keep her temper in check as he spoke. "You're right, we don't do that."
"Ah. Then I was mistaken, as was my father before me."
"That's ok," she said quickly, not wanting to antagonize her only ally in the camp.
"I appreciate your respect, outlander, but do not be so quick to forgive, especially if your pardon is a dishonest one."
She wasn't sure what to say to that, so she just apologized.
"No. You have shown great diligence this past week. The Ashkhan may require more of you, but you have proven yourself to me. This," He gestured to the 'bath,' "Is a kindness, and I do not wish it to be spoiled. I pray it pleases you." Without waiting for a response, he ducked out of the tent.
Adanji took a moment to process just what had happened, but pushed it aside. The water was pleasantly warm as it soaked her fur. She took the cloth that had been provided and scrubbed away at all the soot and grime that had built up over the week. She had to scour herself three times, soiling the water in both buckets to a murky brown, before all the dirt was gone.
As she toweled dry, she admired the sheen that the oils had left on her fur, and the pleasant aroma they gave off. She slipped into the thick wool robes that had been left for her, nuzzling the collar up to her chin as she lay back into her pillow. For the first time in ages, she felt relaxed. She could forget, for the moment, the prophecies and expectations looming over her head and just enjoy the simple luxury of being clean and warm.