A/N: Review responses are in my forums, including the discussion about whether this story is set in an alternate multiverse like Titanomachy, or not. The answer for those to lazy to go to my forums is...not. This story is set in the same universe as Theogony.
Part II: Over All The Worlds
Chapter Twenty-Two: Widely I Saw
Taylor spun her head at the sound of a whip and a cry of pain.
The press of humanity in the cobble-stoned street was so dense that even slowing to look caused those behind her to push into her back with muttered curses. With her glamoured necklace, they saw a tall woman with unremarkable features and dark hair–no one anyone could care about beyond the fact that she blocked the street.
With an apology in the bastard Valyrian that the people of Volantis spoke, she stepped off the main walkway and watched with a schooled face as a huge brute of a man wearing cotton half-pants with a broad chest and domed belly beat another person into the ground.
The victim was chained to a line of fifteen other men and women, all of whom wore nothing but loincloths. They could have been a posterboard for the diversity of the continent with complexions ranging from the porcelain pale of ethnic Valyrians to the rich black of the Summer Isles. The slave behind the whipping victim stumbled when the chain pulled at her ankle, and the brute responded by back-handing her so hard she dropped like a discarded marionette.
No one on the street paused; no one even looked. The people around them treated the scene as an everyday, unremarkable occurrence. Because it was.
Everywhere she looked as she wandered through the "newer" western bank of Volantis, she saw faces tattooed with slave marks. She rarely saw anyone, other than sailors and ship captains, who didn't bear some sign of servitude. When a free citizen of Volantis did happen to come through, they were always accompanied by slave brutes with cudgels for protection, and all the slaves that crowded the narrow, sweltering streets got out of their way.
Oddly, most slaves lived in their own homes. Many, she observed, appeared to either be married or in committed relationships. They bore children who were then raised as slaves. But those slaves that were purchased and brought into the city from the slave training centers to the east always came in chains, and were always led by monsters.
The brutal slave boss, who himself bore a tattoo of manacles that were barely visible against the coal-dark skin of his cheeks, was nothing special.
The woman he'd struck did not get up; the other slaves did not help her. They were too beaten–too broken–to risk it. The first victim appeared to just be a boy. Blood ran down his legs from under a stained loincloth. He reached for the woman with a desperate word in a language Taylor hadn't heard before. The meaning, though, was as clear as if she'd spoken it her whole life.
The boy was calling for his mother.
The tragic scene was not the first such she'd encountered since she boarded the Cinnamon Wind to cross the Narrow Sea. It would not be the last, she knew. A part of her wanted to unleash the spirits of the world to crush the practice of slavery. But even if she freed the slaves of Volantis, the slavers from all the surrounding cities would collapse on it and restore the cruel practice. There would come a time when she would indulge in the obliteration of the practice, but she could feel in her own magic that the time had not yet come.
Even if she couldn't end slavery during her travels east, she could at least help those in most need.
She wove her way through the heavy foot traffic and ducked from the path of a short-eared elephant upon which one of the city elite rode, until she reached the edge of the slave market where the brutal slave master continued to beat the bleeding boy. In the brute's soul, she saw both rage and also a perverted pleasure at subjugating another just as he had once been subjugated.
Before she could act, though, the world surprised her when another person jumped to the youth's aid.
The newcomer wore red robes cinched by a length of rope. He was a young man, barely in need of a shave. He'd shaved his tawny hair on one side of his head, and braided the other. He stepped right up to a man who outmassed him easily by his own bodyweight and grabbed the whip.
Taylor by then was close enough to hear the brute cursing viciously, only to stop when the red-robed young man ran his hand across the length of the whip, and with a spark set it afire.
"They've had enough," the newcomer said. He even sounded young, but also angry enough to obscure any trepidation he might have felt in the face of the giant.
"This is none of your business, priest," the brute growled. "These slaves belong to Lady Dalequano."
"And will the Lady Dalequano be pleased that you beat her property to death?" Despite the young priest's anger, he kept his voice level and cool as he pointed. "That boy's just been cut. You didn't give them enough time to heal."
"It's…you! What are you doing?"
This last was directed to Taylor as she knelt down beside the beaten, barely breathing boy.
"She appears to be attending his wounds," the priest said. "Perhaps the Lady Dalequano would thank her for saving her property, and punish you for wasting it."
As the priest and slave master argued, Taylor sprinkled a pinch of weirwood sap to a wooden cup and poured a little from her water bladder into it. She was traveling incognito not so much out of fear, but so she could truly observe the world as it was. So, restoring a newly castrated eunuch was something that would not help her cause, and would likely force the poor boy to go through the procedure twice.
But she could at least ensure he healed properly. "Drink," she whispered in his tongue. "It will help."
The boy was only half-sensate from his beating, but even so he was dehydrated enough to grasp at any fluid. He slurped the mild potion down and sighed at the relative relief. The priest and the brute continued talking heatedly to each other as Taylor helped the poor boy to his feet.
The mother had a concussion that Taylor was able to ease with a touch before helping her back to her feet. As she did so, Taylor saw movement between the spaced cobblestones. At her silent call, a small, iridescent green and violent snake slithered into her hand. It was just long enough to curl its tail around her wrist three times.
The entire time she aided the two slaves, the priest and brute continued to argue with each other. "If I kill them, I will tell my lady it was because they were sick, and she will understand! I have killed many to ensure only the strong serve! Now move, or I will add a priest to my tally!"
The young priest stood with his feet spread and a pugnacious gleam in his eyes. As the two faced off on the brink of violence, Taylor stepped to the slave master. "A gift," she said.
He blinked at her in confusion as the small snake curled around his much larger, meatier wrist. The man stared at the snake with a dull look until suddenly flushing darkly with fear. "What…what…?"
"This is a basilisk snake," she said. "Its venom can kill a man in five seconds. You can tell it's fed recently, so perhaps it won't bite you so long as you keep your voice down and do not move too quickly. Whipping anyone would most certainly be your death. I think you should guide your charges to your mistress without any more beatings. Perhaps someone there will have mercy on you."
The brute looked from her to the priest. The young man glanced at Taylor, then the snake. "Don't look at me, man. I'm a priest, not an idiot. I'm not touching the thing."
The brute whimpered but made no move as Taylor turned and walked back to the main road that led to the docks. She shifted her thoroughly enchanted travel pack on her shoulders. No one could see her staff, bow or sword.
For the second time just that morning, a low, steady rain began to fall. Rather than cool the day off, it made it worse with even more humidity. No one paused in their walking or paid any mind.
When she first arrived in Volantis and began exploring the city the previous day, Taylor was struck by just how very little the slaves and low-born wore. Even the occasional highborn tended to wear very light clothing. It took only a few hours of on-and-off rain to understand. The city, during its monsoon, was an unbearably hot, muggy mess. And having seen her fill, she was more than happy to try to find a ship to move on.
It took an hour of walking before she reached the section of the docks that served those ships that sailed from the Jade Sea. Most bore the junk rigs she'd learned from her travels were common in the Jade Sea. Others had the lanteen sails common to the traders from Qarth and its satellite cities. With a sigh, she began the now familiar but onerous process of trying to find a berth to the next city East. With none better than the others, she picked the first tavern she came to and began asking around.
The first captain she spoke to told her with a toothless smile that of course he was sailing to Qarth, and would be happy to afford her a private cabin for only a single gold piece. The whole time he spoke, she saw displayed across his dark and twisted soul his plans to sell her in Slaver's Bay.
The second, a YiTish man, spat at her. "No woman on my ship! Back luck!"
She left that particular inn with a feeling of frustration and set out to the next in the long line of inns, brothels and taverns that lined the western docks of the city. She made only a few feet when she felt a hand on her arm.
"Wait! Please!"
She turned to find the same red priest from the slave encounter pulling his hand back. He panted from exertion. "You move very quickly," he noted.
This close, she could see the years of his life writ across his young, vibrant soul. Even in Brockton Bay, he would not have been legal to drink. Here, he was accounted a man fully grown. Around his neck he wore a leather strap, and on it a red-gold emblem of a flaming heart.
A red priest of R'hllor, she realized.
"I wished to thank you for your help back there," the priest continued. "After you left, I was amazed to see the two slaves able to walk and move again. You must be a skilled healer."
"I have some training," Taylor said. She could see the man meant her no harm, she just didn't know what he wanted.
"I've had a little myself, but it isn't my strength." Having caught his breath, he straightened to a height still an inch below hers, and looked about. "I can see you're not from Volantis. Are you seeking passage anywhere?"
"You seem to be a kind soul. But I have no intention of telling a stranger where I am heading."
Rather than take offense, the young man laughed. "Aye, and I'm a fool for asking. My name is Thoros, and I'm an acolyte of the Red Temple."
"I would never have guessed."
Thoros had the grace to blush. "Aye, I suppose the clothes give away the calling. Anyway, after witnessing your kindness to those unfortunates, and the skill of your healing, I have to ask. What god do you worship? And if you have none, have you given thought to what the Lord of Light could bring to your life?"
For a moment, Taylor found herself truly speechless. Here was this young mortal propositioning her, a god, to worship his false god. And yet, he was utterly earnest in his words and manner.
"Do you try to convert every healer you meet?"
"Yes," he said with open honesty. "Any person, really. You see, the world around us is just the surface. The skin of the world, you see. But just under it, there is a terrible battle being fought for the future of humanity. It is a battle between R'hllor, the Lord of Light and Heart of the Flame, and the Great Other who wishes to see all destroyed and laid waste before the cold of the dark. All who take the light of R'hllor into their hearts strengthen him in his battle, and weaken the Other."
The language sounded familiar. In fact, she and her followers used similar language, of taking Telos into one's heart. But she was not familiar with the name R'hllor. She'd heard of and seen the red temples in Lys and Myr without ever having known what god they worshiped.
"And does the Great Other have a name?"
"We do not speak it!" Thoros looked around in alarm. "But you can know the Other's servants. When I was summoned here by the High Priestess, it was on news that a powerful servant of the other travels the world. The demon's name is Telos, and her mere steps are enough to cause the ground to die around her."
"Well, that sounds very frightening," Taylor said to cover her own surprise. She tried to understand why she would be cast as a devil in a faith she had barely any knowledge of. "Because Telos killed the Targaryen king?"
"An act of desperate evil, to be sure," the earnest young acolyte said. "But no. It is said many centuries ago, R'hllor appeared and walked among the people. He gathered his first followers and taught them the truth of the world, and they performed a great rite to bring forth Azor Ahai, the Prince who was Promised to defeat the Other for all time. Instead, he brought forth Telos. She looked fair and seduced even the mightiest to believe she had a good heart. But her heart was dark with shadow and wickedness! She betrayed R'hllor, and destroyed his earthly form. So now R'hllor must guide us from within our spirits."
Centuries? They continued walking as they spoke, weaving their way between sailors, merchants and the denizens of the docks. Hockers called out their wares–a copper for clams. Two bits for an eel pie.
Thoros dropped his voice. "My priest in Myr told me I was originally to go to Westeros. To act as the face of the Red Temple and convert the people there. But when word came that a servant of the Other moved amongst the people of Essos, our high priests across the continent saw visions in the fires. That the Temples must prepare themselves for the Long Night, and the ascendency of the Other. I was sent first to here, but tomorrow I am to take ship to Asshai-Beyond-The- Shadow. I'm to be inducted in the Mysteries, to become a high priest myself."
He sounded more nervous than excited about the prospect.
"Isn't that what you want?"
The young man blinked at her, owl-eyed. "I…" He quickly recovered and forced a smile. "Of course! Those who are blessed with the light of R'hllor are eternal. High Priestess Kinvara has lived for centuries, and is one of the few to have seen the Lord our God walk amongst men. It will be a great honor."
"Will you be sailing on a Red Temple ship?"
He overcame his own mixed feelings and regarded her intently. "The Temples are building many ships, but they are far from complete. I've found a berth on a private ship. My lady, are you…are you also going to Asshai?"
"I've been told that it houses the oldest, most complete library in the world. I'd like to see it."
The young acolyte's face lit up with a brilliant smile and frenetic bobbing. "Yes! Yes, of course! The House of Knowing is reputed to have a copy of every scroll ever written, going back even before the collapse of the Valyrian Freehold. I did not take you as a scholar!" His enthusiasm waned. "I…I could petition the Temple to lend funds for your passage."
He did not sound hopeful at the idea, but Taylor shook her head. "I have my own means, Thoros."
He nodded again, recovering his enthusiasm quickly. "I can introduce you to the captain, if you wish. He's a Seven Kingdom's man, but he's sailed for several years. If I…what shall I call you?"
"Taylor is fine," she said. "Lead on, Thoros. Let's meet this captain of course."
Thoros happily did so, talking at length of how fine the Laughing Lion was, and how honorable the crew. His conversation quickly turned to other matters. He did not care for the constant rain and heat in Volantis, but adored the spicy foods. He said he much preferred his home city of Myr, where the cooler breezes from the Narrow Sea made for a pleasant, temperate climate.
Eventually, though, his constant stream of excited words began to wane. At first she assumed it was because he simply ran out of things to say, but she also noticed how still his back became, and how his steps slowed. When they came at last to a stop, he sighed.
"The captain of this ship is in there, correct?"
"Yes, my lady," Thoros said, openly blushing. "I fear I forgot that our dear captain also has a lust for life."
"Lust for something, anyway."
The brothel could have come out of a movie set. Unlike the other buildings, plaster walls were painted a lurid red, with explicit murals that not only advertised what the girls and boys within did, but used the illustrations to set the prices. Taylor found it disturbing that children were on the menu, and that young boys were slightly more expensive.
"I apologize, I forgot. I met him at the tavern next door."
He nodded to an adjoining tavern, as nondescript as the brothel was lurid.
Even now, twenty years after she first awakened to the world, Taylor found herself shocked by the differences between this and her old world. This new world did not recognize any type of protections for children. Children were put to work as soon as they were able to do a job; and the idea of pedophilia or pederasty being wrong simply didn't occur to anyone outside of their own child. Life was cruel to everyone, children included.
"I have no desire to enter that house," Taylor decided. "If you would be so good to let the captain know I wish to purchase passage, I'll wait in the inn."
Thoros, still blushing outrageously, nodded. "Of course, my lady!"
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
Two hours later, after an eel pie and a spiced, watered wine, Taylor sat at one of the three long tables that ran the length of the open tavern. Most of the customers were male sailors, but there were occasional women as well, each as hardened by life as the men around them. Like the city itself, the clientele was cosmopolitan in ethnicity, with sailors from around the world.
Thoros preceded his captain into the tavern and looked around with the open eagerness of youth until he found her. He did not wave, for which she was thankful. The man who followed appeared not much older than Thoros. However, unlike Thoros in his humble red acolyte's robe, the captain wore silk and leather. He carried an arming sword and an ornate dagger at his waist on a belt of tooled leather lined with steel rivets, and a broad-rimmed felt hat that he doffed when he entered.
Below the hat, he shaved the sides of his head to just above his ears, and wore a cap of long, greasy blond hair atop his head. He had a long, aquiline nose and steep planes to his cheeks. She would account the man handsome, though with a somewhat morose cast to his face.
He called out an order for wine and bread as he made his way through. Many of the other customers called his name in greeting, and he greeted them in return with an easy smile, until he sat before Taylor.
"Don't hear of many women going to Asshai," he said by way of greeting. "The place is so cursed even a woman's womb can go barren. Are you a witch, then?"
His tone sounded light, but she could see the man's soul and both sensed and heard the dire warning in his words. Good people did not go to Asshai.
"Have you been?"
"Just once," he admitted. "It's a six month journey from here. Filled my hull with food animals, grain and wine. They paid more than a Qartheen trader would pay for fine silks or spice. But it is a cursed place. Horses will fall down and die within a day. If you don't have the right charms, you will too. That's why only witches, shadowbinders and priests go there."
For all his vices, the man was the first captain who genuinely discouraged her to go out of concern for her own safety.
"My name is Taylor. What shall I call you?"
He made a show of ducking his head. "Ser Gerion Lannister of Casterly Rock, captain of the Laughing Lion."
She mouthed the name. "Any relation to Tywin Lannister?"
"Aye. My eldest brother, more's the pity. Which is why, my lady, I am here and not in Casterly Rock."
She glanced up at Thoros. "I see now. Ser Gerion, I appreciate your concern. While I am no shadowbinder, I do have means to protect myself and others. I am an accomplished healer and a scholar. What would a berth on your ship cost me?"
"A cot in the hold would be ten silver, stags or Volantine tigers. But I have one small cabin that I could leese for two gold…"
He stopped when Taylor placed the two gold dragons on the table. "I provided healing to a pillow house in Lys. The owner was quite appreciative. When do we sail?"
He took the two coins, flipping them expertly between his fingers to get a feel for their weight and authenticity. "First light on the morrow. There's an inn two doors down that lets private rooms."
His wine and bread came, and he made a meal of dipping the bread in his wine. Thoros himself sat and had his own goblet of the tart, well-watered wine. "You speak like a woman of good birth. Are you a Seven Kingdom's woman, or from the Free Cities?"
"I'm a student and traveler of the world," Taylor said with a dry smile. "I'm less concerned about where I am from as where I am going. If it takes six months to reach Asshai, where else might your ship be stopping?"
"We'll be a month rounding the straits of old Valyria," the captain said as he demolished the bowl-sized loaf. "I plan to make port in New Ghis for supplies. It's a dangerous stretch, so close to the pirates of the Basilisk Isles. After that, there's Qarth. Beautiful city, that. The Gateway to the East. Then into the Jade Sea. We'll have to stop at Yin for more supplies, then straight on to Asshai. If you return with us, we'll have to stop at Leng since we can't resupply at Asshai. Six months minimum, possibly longer."
"That sounds perfect," Taylor said. "I look forward to seeing your ship, captain. The Laughing Lion, you said?"
"Ten berths south of here." He stood and three a pair of copper coins on the table. "'Til then, my lady, I wish you a good night."
He swept out of the inn n the wave of farewells and occasional catcalls. Thoros remained at the table. "He's a good captain," the young man assured her.
"You've sailed with him before?"
"Aye. From Myr, where I am from. I've no doubt of your healing skills. But what he said of Asshai. My lady, are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Then I beg your leave. I'll return to the temple tonight."
He finished his wine and left. For all the young man's awkwardness, he did indeed lead her to her best chance for a safe journey east.
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
The ship was exactly where Ser Gerion told her. She estimated it was roughly seventy feet long, with two main masts and foresail. Though they were still bound, she saw the sails were a red-dyed canvas with some gold bundled up. She saw Thoros standing near a gangplank, a travel kit slung over his shoulders. Overhead, a wicker cage filled with dozens of fowl were loaded aboard to be situated in the low hull of the ship.
Thoros saw her coming and smiled like a little boy. "Lady Taylor! Glad you made it. It would be a long journey without someone to speak to!"
"It will still be a long trip," she said.
Ser Gerion wasn't even aboard his own ship yet. He arrived with blood-shot eyes moments after her. "Good, you're here," he said. "Come aboard. Let's be on our way before these vultures find another way to tax us!"
They made their way up the gangplank. Even as heavily loaded as the ship was, she could feel it dip slightly in the water as they put their weight to the board. Just like the Cinnamon Wind, this was a small, light ship designed to skim over the waves.
Good thing she could breathe underwater.
Her cabin, when she found it, was little smalller than a bathroom. It was just long enough to hold a pair of cots built into the wall, with a nightsoil bucket that had a lid and a secure place in the opposite corner. It held an enclosed glass lantern with oil and a wick, and nothing more.
Even in the cabin, she could hear the sounds of men shouting; the creak of wooden cranes loading the ship. She took a moment to listen before using her fingers to lightly burn runes into the back of the door to ensure she was not bothered at night. While she did not fear any man, if some fool forced her to act in a way that revealed her true self, she would feel irritated at best.
With her room secured and her things stowed, she stepped back out into the narrow hall that ran between the small cabins in the after of the ship, and the open hold. She peeked in to the space, brightly lit by a surprisingly clear Volantine sky, at the pallets of food animals and the barrels of water; at the stacks of treated lumber that the Qartheen evidently valued. No ship sailed empty, not when travel was so difficult and time consuming.
She found herself smiling. She was finally going to get her answers.
Thank you for reading.