THE GHOZAI

Reyne's madness had visibly worsened. He had never loved her, not even as the first girl he had seen in untold years, but all the same she was another like he, those without names outside the many realms of men, isolated and damned to a new existence of invisibility. But there was naught for it, no amount of bargaining and hoping could convince him to forsake reality.

And so it came to be, as though the gods of Ghis had at last taken wing and abandoned men to famine, all matters former were forgotten. He would never use his true name, not even within his own mind. Ever must he avoid acting the Ghiscari, no octopus eggs or dog meat would he desire, no tokar would he wear.

"I am a man of Ghozai" he said aloud, with deliberation. It was the first of his many rules of deception. To convince another, you must first convince yourself.

As had Fa'shar, he had taken up a new identity, if not a new name as well. What sort of name had a man of Ghozai? Would Fa'shar know?

He formed a decisive plan and found the man tying and checking knots. His partner had already mastered the speech and manner of the Lorathi, and the Ghozai intended to do all within his control to preserve, nay, strengthen the ruse. He approached silently and spoke little, concealing his uncertainty from the crew. For days now the two of them had been aboard the trader's ship and for days he had spoken little and less, letting no man make aught of his acts.

"My companion, I implore of you, tell me of home, if you would."

"This one would scarce know much and more, but should the Ghozai be in need, simply need ask, you may be sure." He answered as he led the boy up the ropes to retie a knot on the edge of the sail.

"What of the Doom, what fate befell my land, if you would, my companion."

"Already he is close to the manner, but the history he does not know. Shall this one tell him of the broken pyramids and the waves, where only monkeys dare to go?"

"All I ask, in the manner, what was it then, what is it now?

"Men whisper that slavers yet walk the doomed shore, as they once did before the tidal wave, centuries before." It was clear to him the Lorathi enjoyed overmuch his role, how the pauses and concealed details made listeners hang on to every word. As such, it was clear to him that he would attain little from pursuing the matter, and decided he would simply adopt a roundabout way of speaking, accompanied by an unhurried gait with small steps.

Ever his gait would take him down into the dark, belowdecks where Reyne, having forgotten herself entirely, wallowed in the filth as would a beast. He bore naught in his heart for the maid, but he would carry her bear's pelt until she remembered her name. If he owed her aught, he would grant her that.

From what he had seen, the vessel's honest captain was little more than a manager of affairs; no true power resided within him. The tacking and direction of the nameless ship as it sailed to Lorath were for the sail boys and the winds to decide. As far abroad of land as the crew had taken her, the ship had suffered few bodies to be thrown overboard, excepting slaves, but no provision was to be made. What I suffered as a slave, so will all of these, he decided. It is naught to me.

After all things, the Ghozai had never been a slave.

A day came to pass that he decided he would simply call himself Monkey, perhaps after the last denizens of his homeland, perhaps because he had ever been fond of the creature, climbing about skillfully and freely through the trees, free as he always had been.

They were a crew without rank, a group of men guided by a sense of self and naught more, to the Ghozai's observation. The captain spoke freely and honestly with rowers and sail boys, living among them and making no attempt to place himself higher. Once during a fair wind he asked a fist of them their thoughts, and Monkey was among them. Though the captain appreciated blunt men, the lot were wary of such a question.

"Our count of slaves, if this persists, wise one, will be half by the next moon's turn." The captain nodded humbly at Monkey's words.

"I have heard little and less from you, but I confess already I harbor my regrets about killing three slaves. It was an unwise design to instill order on the ship, and achieved only more blood in the water." More and more it seemed creatures of the deep were surrounding the ship.

It was not a fortnight at sea before captain and Ghozai could be seen together frequently, and as the sky darkened one well clouded night, the older man asked the boy if he'd take a drink.

"They called me Caht'oreb before the worst night and day of my life." He began as he settled into his cheap poison, some Ghiscari yellow, or perhaps green that had yellowed. Monkey was silent, allowing him to go on. The two of them had shared many a conversation this way. "It came when I was a younger man, it may even have been spring. I was brash and thought much and more of myself. Any who would criticize me were hateful, any who would help me were overbearing."

"I see. As a merchant, I had a similar nature, even though my master and I were failing." Monkey had in Ghozai had been taken on as an apprentice by a seafaring trader of simple goods. The wine had been sweet, but the taste slowly turned tart.

"There was a day when I fought with my brother, I accused him of all manners of misdeeds." He paused, seeming to notice the shift in the wine as well. "I killed him in my anger." Monkey had only tasted wine once before, but this time he was certain he hated it. He drank deeply. "For years I have been haunted by my misdeeds- there are men who say I must needs die for them. Can you imagine it? They injure out of rage, steal out of greed- and they say I have gone too far." Caht'oreb took a drink and calmed down to a degree, and the youth wondered how he remained calm at all times, what with the wrath in his heart.

He discovered the man had been born in Slaver's Bay, and ran off to join a crew before his tenth nameday. He would play his 'fool's games' as he called them, comparing cocks and making up lies in his mind about other men to make them seem the worse. But he harbored no great regret about his boyhood, no man had ever told him the truth that all are but wicked fools. He did lament, however, that so many other souls were ignorant of the painful truth.

It was the middle of the night, the sky black as ink, when at last the Ghozai dismissed himself. Was it that the captain is simply fond of me? He asked himself, considering the man's kindness. No, he acts as though he is fond of all.

As Monkey found a space to sleep belowdecks, he decided that Caht'oreb was an unusual man, and it was of little use to dwell on such matters. Sleep came quickly.

In the darkness, light fell upon a sandy shore, and a silver surf with its calm ebb and flow. He knealt next to the waves, reaching out to touch what substance could be so beautiful. A hand in the water, now calm, reached back to touch his. But the hand was not his own.

For true, it was a like shade, but the boy attached wore the garb of a slave, the eyes with an empty, dead expression. The Ghozai stood, wanting naught to do with such an image. Out on the silver sea he beheld a man walking toward him, faltering somewhat, but walking all the same.

The scene faded as light woke him, and he found it was the light from the trap door opening. As the Ghozai boy rose, he looked to see Fa'shar holding a slave against the ground and shouting at another.

"What-" Monkey began as he stumbled over. The other slave was a woman covered in bruises, but the Lorathi gave no quarter for her pain.

"Start aught of this foolery and this one will blacken a second eye of a slave, he will." Oddly, he found Fa'shar's words to be well understood, gathering a fight had broken out and his old partner kept the goods from damaging, as he might say, but only the gods knew how the Lorathi might have said it.

Do the Ghozai keep with gods? He asked himself, suddenly unable to remember. He had once heard the Valyrians held naught higher than themselves. The gods of Ghis floated about vaguely in his memory, but he soon disregarded them entirely. Perhaps he would ask Fa'shar what he knew of the faith of the Ghozai, but perhaps not. He had asked much about his home, a home he remembered more and more with the passing day. Far be it from the Ghozai to adopt distinctly Westerosi pride, but matters of his home were excepted.

The fool's squabble had been settled without a slave's death, much to the captain's good word. The Lorathi made further measure to quash aught that might arise in the future, placing Monkey and two others as alternating watch over the slaves. The watch resented its post, but made no motion against it.

When the sail boy with white tips on his hair turned over his office, it was the darkest of night and the Ghozai accepted grudgingly, rising from sleep to do little and less apart from stare at slaves who begged him for things, knowing, for certain knowing, that there was naught to give.

"Please… we've nary a-"

"We, aboard this vessel, have cut our drinking by a quarter, as already you should know." The youth replied, cutting off the man's request. Ever it was the same. Are slaves for true so unaware of their place? He did not seek an answer to his own question, finding it staring at him from the back of the mound of writhing bodies. Never did her eyes leave his, he would look elsewhere, he would wave gestures at her, but to no effect. Time passed and the other captives caught on, and soon all were staring at him, watching him sweat and squirm.

At last the hours had passed and the heavy rower came to relieve him.

Once more his feet found their way to the captain's quarters, and the man allowed him in with a soft smile. He poured a simple spiced wine as he spoke.

"How was it, then? The Lorathi who brought you aboard conjures up the cleverest of chores. He is cleverer yet to manage to not once include himself."

"Slaves, I find, my captain, never tire in their asking." He said as he accepted the tin tankard.

"Ah, but are we so different? A man must never think himself better than another without knowing for true. Many battles have been lost for it. Pride is a folly, sin or no." The Ghozai considered it, deciding that since he had never been a slave, he would know naught about it.

"It is not, for true, their wishes I cannot indulge, but their stares I cannot endure." This time it was the captain who paused, taking a drink.

"They have that way about them, yes? It is true, my line of work is not one I desired, not even one I have come to accept, but it is my post and the company gives my wife and daughter gold on the year's end." He swallowed the remainder of his wine. "But there is one among them whose stare haunts you even now, no?" He leaned forward. "What is her name?"

"I know naught of her save the pelt I keep."