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Book 5: Chapter 41 - Supply & Demand (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-04-05 13:01:16 +0000 UTCChapter 41 - Supply & Demand
“A true friend helps carry our sorrow on their back.”
- A Quassian aphorism.
Unlike our earlier negotiations with the elves, Al-Lazar was now host, and in accordance with its custom for difficult talks, neither chairs nor tables had been arranged between the two parties. The practice was rooted in the ancient notion that no physical barrier should separate speakers. A stupid custom in my opinion.
I found myself wishing for a proper seat, as it was mildly uncomfortable to sit cross-legged on the mat laid over the warm sand.
Both sides observed each other with careful suspicion, and more than a few sets of eyes lingered on me. Beneath the opulent, if hastily assembled, silk canopy of the pavilion, tea was poured, and the forms met. At last, the moment arrived to address the core matter.
Farzan had instructed me to appear, act, and speak as imposing as possible, assuring me that a few well-chosen words, delivered at the right time, could effectively bolster our bluff. The three-eyed Mer, I had been told, possessed truth-seeking abilities. In contrast, we had no one on our side with such power; thus, we were at a disadvantage. We would have to make the truth do all the work today, stretching it as far as needed.
Silence extended between us like an undrawn blade, suffocating and full of portent.
It was our Minister of War, Farzan, who shattered the silence, his voice cutting through it like an axe: “Why have you come, and with these foreign strangers, and why seek to speak now?” He placed his ceremonial helmet beside him, revealing his haggard and worn features.
I wondered if that move was ill-advised, given that removing it diminished whatever aura of menace he had possessed.
“I am Tixlix Corala, speaker for the Flows. Why have we come, surface-dweller? Because these outsiders share our cause and swim along our path. Because among us remain some who yet sing for mercy,” answered a slim Mer, her aquamarine skin and long gills striking against the pavilion’s backdrop. Her voice was liquid and resonant. “Simply look beyond this tent, and you will find this truth.”
“The truth?” Farzan said, arching an eyebrow. “First Tamkar, Gilgamesh, will you share what truth our esteemed visitors ought to hear?”
This was our chance to introduce the threat, and Farzan wanted it done without delay.
I waited, letting the tension coil. “Here is how I see it. We are winning. It’s pitiful that one of your so-called mighty Tiamtu-Balmu, fearsome as you claim them to be, could be bested by a single mortal man. Many from your ranks have fallen by my hand, and if you persist in this war, every last one of you will die,” I said, making sure my voice rang with grim confidence.
An audible intake of breath rippled through the Mer side, and Tixlix shot an uncertain look at the three-eyed Ketherist, a dark-hued Mer who merely winked at her with one eye, his wide mouth twisting into a toothy smirk.
With the advantage ours, Farzan ventured another prod. “Thus, as you see, truth is seldom a matter of pure black or white.”
“And there are countless more like me in the city, Sleepers of the Dust Dream,” I remarked, keeping my tone stark and unyielding.
Ketherist nodded at this, appearing momentarily unsure, as though struggling to discern how much truth lay behind my assertion. Good, I thought. Let him doubt.
“Yes, many like First Tamkar Gilgamesh,” Kanaia confirmed, wearing a bold grin. “Sleepers, precisely as he says. But that is, I think, part of our problem…”
“Thank you, Kanaia of the Alim,” Farzan inserted. “It remains the truth.” All three of Ketherist’s large eyes locked onto Farzan with sullen intensity.
I felt something stirring in me, compelling me to speak a deeper truth. “Know this: even if the walls fall and the city crumbles, I will endure. If all is razed to cinders, I will press on. I bring unending death, in rubble and ashes, and in the shadows of wailing shades, I will continue. No need have I for food, water, or rest. My weapons will not sleep in my hands. I will fight endlessly, slaughtering with each breath. You have witnessed only the slightest fraction of my true power.” Though I had not intended to say so much, I relished the flicker of fear in their eyes as they recognized the dark void I sheltered within me. “There can be no peace if you desire more war.”
“All true,” Ketherist rumbled, his bass voice laced with faint amusement, a poor attempt at levity. “But such words go against Harmony and Consensus.”
“Your companion can sense the truth, or so I’m told,” Farzan said with a solemn nod. “That puts us at a disadvantage.”
“This is mere posturing for a Dayspawn,” an elf interjected harshly, tension evident in his voice. “Set aside such showy gambits. Speak plainly.”
A veiled figure with cool, storm-gray eyes rested a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “Have patience, Lasarel.”
Tixlix bristled and snapped, “The rest of you from the surface would do well to remain silent. We invited you here only as a courtesy. This discussion concerns us and the People of the Walls.”
Lasarel bristled. “Should I remind you that without us...”
“And I’ll remind you that without our sufferance, you’d all sink to the bottom of the Lands Beneath the Waves, where your kind cannot survive. You are feeble in our domain. We seek only Consensus.”
Already, it seemed, their alliance with the elves was under stress.
Raising both palms in a pacifying gesture and mock surrender, Farzan waited for order to restore itself before taking a measured sip of floral tea. “The people of Al-Lazar have not tasted fare from the sea in generations, not since my grandfather’s father was young. I am sure that is the same for you. Some things are common to all people. Death, war, and violence, true. But, also, I would like to believe, the gentler things. In honor of this meeting, I’ve prepared a gift for our visitors. A reminder that some things cannot be taken, only given.”
A swift clap of his hands summoned servants into the pavilion. They carried baskets overflowing with colorful fruit of many shapes, some of which I recognized for their sweetness.
Selecting a Valny fruit from the north, Farzan bit deeply, swallowed, then gestured that it was safe. The rest of us from Al-Lazar followed suit.
At first, the Mer hesitated but soon reached out with their webbed fingers. After sampling a piece, they blinked in startled wonder, enthralled by flavors they had never known. Their lives beneath the waves must have offered nothing so sweet, for once they tasted, they abandoned all formality, devouring the fruit with unguarded fervor like pigs at a trough.
Their eager consumption was almost feral.
Good, Farzan, I thought. But from where was such a strategy born?
“How did you know?” I quietly asked him, my voice a soft whisper.
Without looking away from the Mer, he replied, “An old tale tells of a poor man and a princess beneath the waves. The pauper gained a kingdom with an orchard. I never suspected it to be so much truth in an old tale. It was a gamble.”
Hope now glimmered in Farzan’s expression.
“You cannot be swayed by mere fruit?” Lasarel protested, voice rife with disbelief.
A whip-thin Mer, reminiscent of undulating seaweed, eyed Lasarel and paused to wipe violet juice from his chin. “You would call the food of kings… mere fruit? Tell us true, can you provide such things for us, equal to these gifts?”
“Certainly,” the elf began, only for Ketherist’s three baleful eyes to darken. “Well, not precisely these fruits, but something similar enough.”
By their reaction, it looked like this admission was enough for the Mer to dismiss him.
In a steady, measured tone, Farzan interceded, “We can procure enough to last a year, an offering of peace, though we need a few days of preparation. Afterward, we can arrange an ongoing supply.”
Lasarel tried to interject, “Don’t be deceived by their ploys…”
“What have you ever given us, to cross our territory?” Tixlix shot back. “Gold? Your Hard Silver that our craftsmen cannot shape? These are meaningless to us. Yet if I present this bounty to my people, everyone here would gain great prestige and honor.”
“We are open to exchange,” Ketherist said, addressing the elf. “But these wonders do not keep well underwater or on land for extended periods. How many months did it take you to reach us?”
“We share closeness with the People of the Wall,” Ketherist continued, his words echoing through the pavilion. “We once existed as a single nation in the era of Green Air Corals, when only the royal lines tasted surface produce. The thing we once knew as sweet. To bring all Mer this feast from above would render us heroes, enshrined in our collective memory for all time. All future spawn will know of this.”
Tixlix glanced at her dark companion, then back at us. “The truth stands. We will accept peace, but on one unbending condition necessary for Consensus. The Flow maintained and guided.”
She still spoke haltingly, either grappling with our language or intentionally striving for a mystical air.
“We had a conversation with your rare three-eyed Truth Seer, a gift scarcely found among humans. She vowed that peace was possible. Where is she?”
“She is… unavailable,” Farzan said carefully. “She sent us to speak on her behalf. To be candid, she is unwell.”
Tixlix lowered her head in concern. “If our Lifebinders can aid her, we will gladly do so once we form our Consensus.”
Farzan exhaled. “What is required, then, for this Consensus?”
“You must end the contamination of our waters with your Death Roots,” Tixlix declared, her voice unyielding.
“Death Roots?” Farzan echoed.
“Your people name it Dust. Despite our pleas and many entreaties, we found no harmony. Only our messengers slaughtered. Only one figure of high status showed us courtesy, pledging it would cease,” Ketherist rumbled, agitation in his stance.
“I don’t comprehend,” Farzan replied, baffled. “Why would Dust poison your seas?”
A hush fell, pregnant with unknown meaning.
“The oceanic currents carry the curse of Death Root over vast areas. More and more of our offspring are born body-warped and mind-twisted. Many more are afflicted with unnatural visions so horrible they disturb Harmony.”
“Isn’t the ocean vast and unending?” Farzan questioned. “Could you not have moved somewhere else?”
Tixlix responded icily, “You know nothing of the perils below. Not of the leviathans or the great dragon-serpents who must not be disturbed. To simply leave is never simple, yet stopping the Dust is straightforward if you but possess the will and resolve.”
“And we worry not only for our people,” Ketherist intoned. “If the Unblinking Eye touches the Death Dream, it might awaken from its ancient dormancy, and the world lost in its awakening.”
I found this whole talk of primitive babble quaint and would have openly laughed if not for the situation we had found ourselves in. Doing my best to maintain an air of impassive ambivalence
“How curious,” Farzan mused. “None of us realized this was your reason for waging war. Even my grandfather’s father never knew. Yet, you must understand, without harvesting Dust, we face a slow but certain demise. People like these foreign elves,” he said, pointing, “would wait for us to weaken, then strike.”
“Your three-eyed Truth Seer grasped this. She acknowledged Dust’s evil for both our peoples. If you value gold, we will barter with you: this ‘mere fruit’ in exchange for your halting of the Dust harvest. Safe passage across the surface shall be guaranteed.”
“Perhaps Dust is evil,” Farzan conceded. “But it is our necessary evil. If you could perhaps guide us to an isolated region for limited production… please.”
“Perhaps, it can be accomplished once sufficient Harmony has been achieved. We will assist once we achieve Consensus.”
“This is unacceptable!” roared the elves.
“You disturb harmony and Consensus, Air Breathers!” Ketherist shouted back in his rumbling voice.
Sensing an opportunity, I decided it was time to intervene. “Then permit safe passage exclusively to Al-Lazar’s people, or the People of the Walls, as you say, so that peace, Consensus, Harmony, and so forth will be preserved.”
My suggestion earned a sharp glare from Farzan. But, I had learned a thing or two about negotiation in this world, especially when you held the upper hand.
“We have little desire to stain the waters,” Tixlix said at last. “Very well—so be it,” she consented. “However, we have certain requirements of our own.”
“And these requirements are?” asked Kanaia, with a hint of foreboding. “I only hope the price isn’t too steep. Who will bear its weight?”
Tixlix studied Farzan. “We wish to meet your Truth Seer, the one called Aelayah.”
“Our Sultana?” Farzan said warily, his gaze shifting as though anxious.
“That is what you call her? We were told only the name Aelayah.”
“She is the Sultana, yes,” Farzan clarified.
Ketherist muttered, “Surface dwellers attach labels to all things.”
“And is one such label the fact that you might serve as a meal for them?” I quipped, cynicism slipping out.
A lethal hush descended.
“You dare speak of that?” shouted a Mer whose dark blue skin matched the Coralith armor he wore. “You court the death of everyone behind your walls!”
“You don’t fully grasp whom you threaten,” I remarked flatly. “We have no assurances from you beyond your word, so here is mine: I am First Tamkar of Al-Lazar, and I am consort to Aelayah—”
Kanaia snorted in amusement. “I never imagined our new Sultana would dare… Always thought she was a bit of a prude despite her choice of fashion.”
Irked, I nevertheless forged on: “And if you violate your promise, heed me, Ketherist, or whatever you call yourself. Let me tell you something: In my world, we learned how to poison our seas and skies. We got so good at it that we have melted what was once eternal ice. Imagine what that would do to your oceans? Would you not be forced to dwell above, alongside us surface-dwellers? If you betray this pact, I may ensure precisely that,” I threatened, my tone daring them to dismiss me.
“You would invite Cataclysm?” Ketherist’s voice boomed.
“If that’s the price for your honesty, so be it,” I hissed. “I do not trust you.”
He rumbled, “These are rash words spoken from short-lived passion. Your words color yourself in the markings of Enemy.”
“Your words color yourself in the markings of Enemy,” I mimicked him mockingly. “You dare to call me, Enemy? Hah! I am your judgment, and I am the sword of Damocles hanging over all of your heads here this day. Others may hesitate, but I will not. Ask those who faced me, or those who survived by looking at me only from afar. They know I am a living manifestation of the Divine. I am the will of heaven, and I am Justice made flesh and blood. I have demands of my own in payment for the insult you try to heap on us when we offer the hand of generosity.”
“And know that I am not alone,” I said, letting a low laugh escape. It was gratifying to see the doubt cross their faces.
Lasarel’s composure shattered. “Enough! You snakes, all of you, and this abominable Consensus. How dare you betray our alliance? You would reconcile with my brother’s killer? That cur flaunts the sword he stole from him!”
Oh, I was indeed wearing that elven at my hip today. I laughed outright, shaking my head. “Your brother, was it? His death was a sad, pitiful affair,” I said, shrugging for effect.
“We promised you safe passage across our realm and to join with you in the war against might Al-Lazar, but now we are in the pursuit of Consensus, and it is now you who disturb Harmony,” Tixlix stated levelly, her gaze falling away from me.
The tide had truly turned in our favor.
The tall gray-eyed elf at Lasarel’s side spoke up, “Well, I suppose that settles matters… somewhat. But that is that… and this is this. Lasarel, you showed me great hospitality once. I shall return your brother’s blade to you. Honor demands it so. And know that, you may have reached peace with the fickle Nereides, but not with us. I, too, know something of war and battle, and had I been in command, your Al-Lazar would have already fallen.”
He then looked at me with an almost wistful and melancholy expression. “I never thought I would hear the names Damocles and Gilgamesh in this world, except from my own lips. I hear you shoot the bow like Artemis herself. And, if any man could make boasts a binding oath, let it be that ancient and fabled king. I am just sad that it was your people who brought the flood. This afterlife is ever a strange place and truly it is capricious for the Fates to bring me here.”
“And who might you be, elf?” I demanded.
Smiling arrogantly, he replied, “They tried to give me a new name for this new life, but old glories are difficult to put aside. I am Alexandros, Son of Philip, once hailed as the Lion of Macedon, as ‘Megas.’ My birth came centuries after your day, Gilgamesh, when the Temple of Artemis became but ashes. Know that many were my deeds and titles, perhaps greater than even your own.”
