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Book 5: Chapter 17 - The Faith (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-01-17 06:13:52 +0000 UTCAnd the Prophet, peace be upon him, taught to us the greatest of magic that we might smite the enemies of man.
- Imani the Blessed of the Faith.
Larynda worked with her usual precision, helping me into my gear faster than I thought possible. Her fingers moved deftly, tightening straps and adjusting buckles with the confidence of long practice. All that remained was the gorget and helm. I knelt to let her fasten the heavy steel collar around my neck, my hammer resting within arm’s reach.
The moment I reached for the weapon, the door crashed open, slamming against the wall. I barely had time to react before Elenora stormed into the room, her usual flawless hair a chaotic, golden tangle. There was something almost erotic about it being in such fantastic disarray.
“Gilgamesh! Is it true?” she gasped, her voice breathless and panicked.
Elenora had always been a striking woman—waifishly thin, with blonde hair that shimmered. Her beauty was undeniable, but not the kind that ever quite drew me in. Not that it stopped me from enjoying her company, and her body, more times than I care to count.
This, however, was no time for such distractions. I straightened, the weight of my armor settling heavily on my shoulders. “What rumors are they spreading now, Elenora? That Aelayah has gone mad? That Aelayah has been replaced with a…”
“They say you cursed her with madness!” she exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other. “The Sultana herself has called for your death. For the moment, Farzan—”
She did not get the chance to finish. The door burst open again, and in walked Farzan, his armored boots striking the floor with sharp, deliberate force.
“Gilgamesh!”
I sighed inwardly. Today was shaping up to be a parade of unwelcome interruptions.
Farzan stood before me, fully armed, his expression as rigid as the steel he wore. “What have you done?” he demanded, his voice flat and clipped.
I felt my patience fraying. “I healed your damn Lady. Or Sultana, I suppose, would be the proper term now.”
Farzan’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, but it was more reflex than threat. “Perhaps… you offered insult.”
I met his gaze, letting my expression settle into the stony neutrality I had practiced in my time here. “No. And even if I had, do you think Aelayah is the sort of person to lose her mind over a minor slight? Farzan, I bled for her. I fought to see her rise to power. Do you really believe I’d harm her now?”
His doubt was obvious, flickering in his eyes like a candle in the wind.
“It is as you say,” he muttered, but his voice was tinged with hesitation. “Still… our Sultana is not well.”
He sank onto an ottoman uninvited, his frustration palpable. “This cannot get out—not yet. If word spreads, it could undo everything we’ve worked for.”
“We are leaving,” I told him, seizing the moment. “We will put some distance between us until she calms down. Surely, you agree that’s the best course?”
Farzan rubbed his temples, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Yes. For now. I find myself in agreement with you.”
*****
Farzan led us through the palace, his presence granting us passage through the labyrinthine halls. The watered marble seemed colder than I remembered, the urgency of our departure turning once-familiar corridors into something alien.
We paused at a door—the room where Enkidu had passed from this world to join his ancestors. The shadow of his absence loomed over me.
I still had his ashes
“He was a good man,” I said, the words hollow even as I spoke them. “I relied on him more than I ever realized.”
Larynda said nothing, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to shed.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and Farzan’s sharp voice cut through the stillness. “We don’t have time for this. The Sultana is sedated, but she’ll wake soon enough.”
I swallowed my frustration and turned away. There was no time for mourning, not now. That would come later—if ever.
We continued down the halls, the clanking of my heavy armor echoing loudly against the silence. Guards nodded as we passed, their expressions carefully neutral. When we reached the main gates, Farzan hesitated, his hand resting on the latch. He had wanted me to leave through the servant’s gate, but I would have none of it.
I would not leave here like some sort of thief.
“Where will you go?” he asked, his tone quiet but firm.
“The Begonias’ Shade,” I replied, my voice steady. “You’ll find me there.”
Farzan’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “So, this is where we part ways, you damned foreigner. You’ve brought much change—some of it good, though I hate to admit it. May the gods watch over you.”
“And you, old friend,” I said, my voice softening despite myself. “The gaming will not be the same without you.”
He snorted. “At least I won’t be cheated out of my stipend. Go now, Gilgamesh. Lie low. I’ll send word when the Sultana has calmed.”
I nodded. “Very well. May we meet again soon.”
“Not too soon,” he quipped, his voice laced with a faint chuckle.
With that, the gates opened, and we stepped into the unknown. The weight of the palace fell away behind us, replaced by the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
*****
The Begonias Shade was as prosperous as ever, clientele aplenty even now in the late afternoon. Perhaps even more prosperous now, I reckoned, with the addition of Niminias’ girls. I made my presence known, and the proprietor of the inn led me to one of the back rooms.
“Gilgamesh,” Naira offered in simple greeting, her scarlet eyes like her daughters, almost bewitching in their shade.
Red after all was a color that evoked passion.
“Naira,” I returned, taking a seat on a simple wooden chair.
The years had touched her lightly, but recent worry and grief had left their subtle mark here and there. However, Naira, like her daughter, could still be counted a beautiful woman. In this world, they had their litter at a young age and at a rough guess, I would put Naira in her thirties. It was a shame that my magic could not reveal such facts.
The magic dagger at my side thrummed with restrained energy, and I placed a hand on it. Thankfully, it stilled.
“I thought you were staying at the Mahdi Al-Maraquis. You are welcome here, of course,” she stated more than questioned, her lips tight.
A certain tension simmered between us.
“Certain things have happened,” I answered, my voice flat and controlled. “You know that violence has been rocking the city since the tournament, it is something to do with that. That is all that I can say on that matter.”
She pursed her lips.
“...and my daughter. You have news?” she asked weak and hesitant.
“I do indeed,” I blurted, taken slightly offguard. Not at the question itself for I had expected it, but at its timing. I had not expected it so soon.
“I know… at least you tried,” she started to reply before understanding hit her. “You have news! Please, you must…”
“Let me take off this armor first and prepare my thoughts. You will me that, Naira? Then I will tell you all that I know. It is quite the long tale.”
“Very well, Gilgamesh,” she said demurely, standing up suddenly and bowing to me from the hip. “Thank you. Thank you for doing this. You have brought this mother some measure, samasa.
Embarrassed I stood up too, both hands in front of me. “I did only what was proper. You will have to excuse me. I will be ready to receive you in half a turn of the glass.”
And with that, I escaped that room and her gaze, hungry and desperate for news.
*****
As I climbed out of my armored shell with Larynda's assistance, her nimble fingers undoing buckles with practiced ease, my mind raced. How could I possibly explain Zariyah’s current condition? There was no way to sugarcoat the truth—no way to tell Naira that her daughter’s soul now resided in a dagger, if souls even worked like that.
“So, how are you going to break this to Naira?” Larynda asked, her voice deceptively casual. It was as if she’d plucked the thought straight from my mind. Her twin blonde braids swung slightly as she leaned in to unfasten the last strap, her youthful face betraying a flicker of concern.
I glanced down at her, taking a moment to steady my resolve. “The truth,” I said. “Softly, politely—but the truth. The Guild killed Zariyah. I avenged her death with the Guild members at the Grand Bazaar.”
Larynda tilted her head, her half-elven ears twitching slightly as she gave me a small shrug. “Simple enough, I guess. I must confess, I never liked Zariyah much. She was always such a stuck-up little princess. But Naira…” Her voice softened. “Naira treated me well. She was kind to me. Especially during, you know, that time when you were off having your long nap.”
The subtle jab stung, but I brushed it off. “I’ll keep that in mind when I tell her about her daughter’s passing,” I replied, my tone sharp with sarcasm.
Larynda barely noticed. “You know,” she began, her tone shifting to something lighter, “they’re talking about naming the Grand Bazaar after you. Calling you a hero.”
“What does that have to do with anything I’ve just said?” I snapped, narrowing my eyes.
“Well, for starters,” she said, fiddling with the last piece of my armor before putting it away, “they’re saying Zariyah—or, you know, that elemental thing—killed all the Adventurers. And that it was you who finally stopped her. Stories are already getting muddled.”
I felt the familiar vulnerability settle over me as the last piece of armor left my body. Without it, I was exposed—raw. It was a sensation I despised, made worse by the looming confrontation that awaited me. Though this battle would not involve steel, it promised to be no less perilous.
“Like I said, Larynda,” I replied, my voice firm. “I’ll tell her the truth. Now, please, call Naira. I want this done before I lose my resolve.” I reached out to ruffle her hair—a habit born of years past.
She smiled faintly, a trace of the girl she’d once been shining through, before her expression darkened. With a quick scowl, she smoothed her braids and stood taller, reminding me she wasn’t a child anymore. “Fine,” she muttered, retreating to the door. She paused just long enough to glare back at me, then left, closing the door behind her with a thud that stopped just short of a slam.
“Don’t forget to call Naira!” I shouted after her, though I wasn’t sure she’d heard me.
Now alone, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. The truth was simple enough. Delivering it, however, would be anything but.
As I fortified myself for the ordeal, a knock at the door startled me. It opened before I could respond, and Larynda slipped in with her characteristic casual air.
“You’ve got guests,” she announced, her tone flippant, as if I were welcoming dinner guests. “I’ll tell Naira to come over later. Or maybe you can go down?”
Her nonchalance grated on me. “Tell Naira to come up,” I said curtly. “This should not take overly long.”
Larynda shrugged and disappeared. Moments later, my so-called guests entered. A young girl, face covered except for her solemn, piercing eyes, prostrated herself the instant she crossed the threshold. Beside her stood an old man with a pronounced limp, his weathered face marked by the grime of the streets despite a valiant effort to clean himself.
“Your business?” I demanded, my voice sharper than intended.
The old man sneered faintly. “Imani, I don’t think he’s much of a prophet if he can’t even guess why we’re here,” he said in a gravelly tone, his words laden with disdain.
“Hush, Harun!” the girl chided, her head still pressed to the floor. “Do not test him so. A thousand and one apologies, samasa.”
I regarded them with faint amusement, letting a thin smile curl my lips. “I have never claimed to be a prophet,” I said, my voice measured, “merely Her Herald. It’s a small role, to stem the tide of darkness spewing forth from this cankerous city.”
Imani’s voice and demeanor were unmistakable. She was the girl whose brother I had killed during the Festival, her grief etched into her every movement. A sweet memory. Yet I also remembered her mission, one I had long dismissed as fruitless.
“And who,” I asked, deliberately solemn, “have you brought before me?”
“This is Harun, samasa,” Imani said, rising slightly from her prostration. “He was once a general of the Empire… but now, he is merely a beggar and Dust addict.”
My gaze shifted to Harun, appraising him fully for the first time. The telltale signs of addiction—sunken eyes, trembling hands—lingered like stains on his form. But beneath the veneer of weakness lay something deeper: a pain that ran through his soul, as if he were a man shattered by both time and tragedy.
“Harun,” I said, my tone low and foreboding. “An ill-omened name.” Memories from long ago surged within.
“I am…” the man began, his words faltering under my scrutiny. He seemed nothing more than a beggar, his claim of once being a general almost laughable. I glanced at Imani, wondering how naïve she could be to believe such a tale.
“I do not care who you were,” I said, letting my words cut like a blade. Then, as an idea sparked, I let a slow smile creep across my face. “What matters is what you will become.”
I folded my arms, stepping forward to loom over him. “The Goddess seeks a temporal army, and an army requires leaders. If Her Grace has brought you to me, who am I to deny Her will?”
I started to cast my healing magic.
The golden song stirred within me, sluggish yet insistent. I summoned it forth, weaving the spell of Greater Heal. The holy energy was dampened by my Silent Casting, its melody muted, but the light—oh, the light—shone with unrestrained brilliance. It poured from me in radiant waves, rivaling the midday sun. Even Harun, the skeptic, whispered an entreaty to the Goddess as the light touched him.
The spell enveloped him, the glow mending his broken body. His twisted limbs straightened, his withered skin smoothed, and his frailty gave way to renewed strength. Years seemed to slough off him, and even a touch of color returned to his hair.
When the miracle ended, the light faded, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. Harun stared at his hands, now hale and whole, his expression one of wonder and disbelief.
“Only in the Great Temples…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. These were words I had heard before.
“Praise be!” Imani cried, tears glistening in her eyes as she basked in the afterglow of divine power.
“Yes, Harun,” I said, my voice rich with false piety. “For where I walk, Her miracles manifest. This room is now a temple.”
The lie was delicious, but the faith that sparked in Harun’s eyes was undeniably genuine.
“Oh, Herald, I am not worthy!” he exclaimed, falling to his knees.
“No,” I said, allowing a slight sneer to twist my lips, “you are not. But the Goddess commands you to serve.”
Harun looked up at me, his restored features filled with reverence. “How may I serve Her glory?”
I savored the moment, letting the silence stretch before answering. “First, you will aid Imani in seeking out broken men like yourself—warriors who have been discarded by the world. To them, I will offer redemption, a chance to cleanse their sins in Her light. This will be justice, both for them and for the world.”
I tossed a small purse of gold at their feet, the coins clinking softly. “Take this and go. The Goddess is perfect, but the world is flawed. We must use imperfect tools to achieve Her will.”
“It shall be as you command, samasa,” Imani said, her voice trembling with devotion. “Allaha Akbara.”
“Allaha Akbara,” Harun the once-general of the Empire repeated.
“Go!” I ordered, the sharpness in my tone breaking the spell of the moment. The pair scurried from the room, clutching the purse as if it contained the Goddess’s own blessing.
As the door closed behind them, I let out a long breath, my thoughts shifting back to Naira. The truth awaited, sharp and unyielding. I would tell her everything—and she would understand the justice of my actions. How could the Herald be wrong?
Shaking off the unbidden thought, I sat on the edge of my bed, resting my head in my hands. The plan was clear. I needed to stick to it.
My version of the truth would become the only truth.
