Chương 48: Darraki

"So, would you welcome us if we offered peace?" Drahk asked, taking a stride towards her.

"She will!" Auram manifested beside the Rakamel, who frowned.

"Liesel is kind."

"Why are you here, Auram?" Liesel whispered, glaring at the spirit. At least, the spirit was not visible to the crew, though they would be wondering what the strider was staring at.

"She is not like them. You can trust her," and Auram was gone.

"Help her." The Rakamel glanced at her, frowning.

"Was that..."

"Do not mention her," Liesel said in a low voice. She felt vindicated about her concerns after seeing her team's reaction to a non-extinct race like Rakamel. Hiding Auram's existence was still the right choice if she wanted everyone in her crew to someday walk the human world. No matter how faint the hope of that might seem today, she didn't want to snuff that out completely.

"I never thought I'd see one again," Drahk whispered. He stared at her for a moment before nodding.

"I accept your peace, Derraki." Liesel raised her brow.

"Spirit's Friend," Drahk whispered as he turned to her crew. Why does such a word exist? Liesel wondered what the importance of spirit was to the desert dwellers as gestured at Yehia to ease their presence. Fortunately, it didn't blow up as she had feared. Thanks to Auram. Liesel didn't know how many times she'd need to be helped by the spirit for no apparent reason. Drakh looked at Kurvam, who was now fuming because the Rakamel had ignored him.

"We shall be understanding that you know nothing of us. Ignorance is not a sin. We are not cannibals. In fact, our metabolism is incapable of digesting creatures such as you. Rest assured, we only desire peaceful coexistence." The rhythm of his words was sharper, far from the sing-song softness it initially had.

"I don't trust him," Kurvam whispered under his breath, loud enough that everyone was looking at him with a frown.

"Shut up!" Yehia hissed.

"Or you may pass," Drahk said, wearing an impassive mask. He was a rather generous man, far more than Liesel was.

"I shall inform the Striders that the humans will not attack us. I shall presume you won't."

"I wouldn't trust him," Liesel said again, in a whisper.

"He's a violent man."

"I do not know why you betray him even if he is unfit. He was once your companion, was he not?" Drahk's eyes narrowed at her.

"It's a cold judgment. I will not waste this opportunity to keep my team alive due to the actions of one man."

"I shall not hold his actions against you, then," Drahk nodded. He made a small gesture with his hand and returned to his steed.

"Follow us to our home. We shall have our Watchers be keen on his steps." He said something to the other Rakamels, and all the hostility dispersed instantly. The air felt light. They began riding downwards. Exhaling, Liesel returned to her sword.

"We are going to their village, though he calls it a caravan," Liesel said as the rest made their way to her.

"I don't know the specifics of his generosity, but he is willing to host us as his guests. Before that, I will make a few things clear. You all will act normal, normal as if you are humans. Don't make any offhand remarks; don't nod at one either." Liesel strode and stood in front of Garvin.

"I have many eyes on you, Garvin, and you, too, Farki Jan. Nodding along with Kurvam's vile words while I was talking to their leader—what was going on inside your head?"

"Kurvam is not unfounded in his suspicion," Farki Jan said.

"Something is off about this. Timing and everything feels too coincidental."

"So? Does voicing your suspicions make things easier for us?"

"Look..." Garvin began, and his voice died in his throat as Liesel glared at him.

"You can't ask us to follow you into a trap blindly," Farki Jan uttered defensively.

"In that case, can I see who else thinks his suspicion deserves any consideration, and before you nod, know that he is not welcome. And neither would you be." Suddenly, no one felt Kurvam's words had any ground.

"Then, we shall proceed. We are in unknown territory, among hostile peoples," Liesel said.

"We cannot speak without considering twice the consequences. If they are offering us the dignity to speak, we should honor it."

"Can we really trust him?" Yehia asked in a whisper.

"What if it is a trap?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Liesel said. She led them up the dune, and from there, they could see hundreds of Rakamels. She looked at Farki Jan.

"How many of them are ascendants?"

"Everyone is employing Materiality in their gait," the observer said.

"We stand no chance of victory; thus, it is immaterial to worry about Drahk's intentions. If he wanted to kill us, he could've brought a dozen more Striders with him and crushed us. We wouldn't have any chance of victory," Liesel said.

"And their culture of being travellers rather than hunters eases some suspicion. I don't think they are friendly, but it seems better to let the strangers pass than lose their own men."

"Then why invite us?" Yehia asked.

"That..." Liesel considered for a moment.

"I believe they desire knowledge of the outside world. From the way Drahk speaks of the Ash Lord, they are enemies, or rather, Rakamels might be its prisoners."

"I hope this is an oasis, and not a mirage," Yehia whispered, sighing. The Striders dispersed, and Drahk waited for them at the village entrance. As they began their descent, Verka approached Liesel.

"Master Vera wants to tag along."

"You can," Liesel said, "but if he wants to, you will have to talk to Drahk." Verka seemed a bit stressed, but he nodded.

"You should've helped him," Healer Borran said.

"Poor man, tied to the hip of the highborn. He saved Yehia's life today."

"He didn't. He saved his bastard sir's life. I'd have sent both into the depths of hell."

"I will, if he asks for my help," Liesel said.

"If he wants to be free from his seemingly eternal servitude, I have already offered it to him. But if you want me to help him perform his duty without friction, I... will not. Convince him to ask for the right kind of help, Healer Borran." She pitied Verka, but the mental exercise of his relationship with Kurvam didn't feel worth the headache. Verka's body was still recovering when they were imprisoned in the Necropolis. Since then, he had lost a considerable amount of mass.

His own clothes seemed like something he stole from Kurvam now. Drahk agreed, after Verka convinced Kurvam to apologize for his rudeness, which Kurvam did. Perhaps for his own sake, he was willing to swerve his pride. Drahk made a point that he would kill Verka first for anything Kurvam did. Liesel doubted that was a punishment as Drahk believed it to be. Verka would prefer that over Kurvam being solely responsible for his actions. As they crossed the village's threshold, the air seemed to change.

The air was softer, less dry, still far from being humid, and lacked the bitter taste of ash. The tents were much taller than Liesel had thought from afar. The Rakamel were generally a foot to a meter taller than an average human, so it made sense that they'd build a taller place. The number of people and tents strengthened Liesel's impression that it was less like a small travelling caravan, and more like a centuries-old village. Her considerations were not hers alone.

Yehia and the others also seemed to think the same. The tents were woven fabric that seemed almost like animal pelts. A fur-like outward texture on the side walls, and a thick bark-like fabric served as the cap of the tent. She wouldn't have considered them twined fabric if not for the fact that this wasteland could not host life with such gentle appearance. Even the tree they had seen from afar was a mirage created from clothes. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

The residents wore long wavy clothes, covering most of their bodies. Their eyes naturally followed Drahk and the people tailing behind him. A few seemed bothered and strolled faster, flaring their Materiality angrily. Liesel could feel their unwelcoming attitude on her skin, which was almost a gift for her. So long as Drahk stood out as the odd one, she could be at ease about his welcoming attitude. Children were playing a version of a stone sport that Liesel had not seen inside the tents.

Some were fighting with spears, but most often, the women, men, and little kids alike were weaving threads in their shelters from oddly shaped constructs. Liesel couldn't understand their nature, but the presence of fabric draping over every inch of the wasteland was nice. There was fake woven grass around some tents, like an indication of their status, and there were flowers that could never bloom in an ash-riddled land. It was as much of a deceiving mirage from close as it felt like an oasis for them.

Even the passage they walked on was a form of woven thread, though it was as hard as raw pavement. The feeling of not being on the sand itself brought a dangerous relief in her body. And in return, her body tensed. They were not out of danger, so much as the nature of it had changed. It was now a somewhat familiar form, and perhaps far more insidious. It was no longer just about fighting to survive, but also keeping their wits to balance between accepting aid and not being lured into a false sense of security.

They were walking among strangers, inside a Necropolis, hosted by a group of people whose minds were chained to a self-loathing prophecy. Most eyes that followed them seemed to hold no fear in them, only a strange sort of curiosity that human eyes would reserve for a small, harmless animal. Drahk was a man of few words, so they walked in silence and unaware of their destination. Perhaps he intended to see how his guests would react to being led in darkness.

Eventually, they arrived at a large tent, propped up by a stone pillar in the middle. There were chairs made from melted sand, woven with threads and polished into smooth, arching figures, as much furniture as a strange art piece. A cushion was laid over them.

"Wait here," Drahk said.

"We will arrange a better shelter. Kfahan here will arrange a bath and change of clothes for everyone. The Ashdust clings to your body and soul, and it must be purified before anything else." Kfahan said something in their language, Guvanm, to Drahk. After a quick back-and-forth, he shifted his attention to Liesel, nodding.

"Humans prefer to live in individual... compartments?"

"It is not a necessity," Liesel said.

"We are grateful for your help."

"I have to see the elders. You might need to introduce yourself to them. For now, rest, eat, and pray to Gurvantha; no longer will the storm or the jakraj's swarm haunt your nights."

"Thank you for everything, Drahk." As soon as he was gone, everyone eased somewhat.

"Wooh," Garvin exhaled as he dropped onto a soft mat on the floor, "I was sure I'd never get to rest again." He sat up, staring at Liesel.

"Is this real?"

"No," Liesel said, "It is a small respite. Savour it while it lasts. You are still inside the Necropolis. We must find a way out." That seemed to dull Garvin's mood a bit, but he got over it quickly. Everyone found a spot around the tent to sit. Kfahan brought a bitter drink and said something that they didn't understand. While Kfahan couldn't speak Argish, she spoke one Liesel could understand.

Most Rakamel seemed to know two languages, and those higher up the hierarchy learned the common tongue of the empire, too. The drink was to purify the ash mixed in the sand. Kfahan didn't linger over them as a watcher, and made many trips to bring about things. After half an hour, a couple brought a change of clothes for everyone. They were asked to bathe and change into them. None of the clothes were enchanted or offered better protection than their armor, even in their battered state.

To change would be to trust that they were among friendly peoples. Liesel didn't have to argue why this was still the wiser decision than showing that kind of distrust to people who had not given them any reason for it yet. Everyone was already fed up with their armor, and discarded it quickly. And they seemed to love the clothes they were offered, and there was even a head robe too.

"Are we close to the Primordial Vein?" Yehia asked once Fiya went to bathe.

"I do not know. I will ask Drahk once he returns. Kfahan is not a Strider," Liesel whispered.

"I'd rather not broach an unnecessary subject with her. You shouldn't either."

"You trust the man too much. Did he woo you?" Yehia raised a brow.

"I am simply respecting his goodwill. But it would seem we are not in any danger of sacrifice."

"You were worried about that."

"A possibility," Liesel whispered, "But that doesn't seem to be the case yet. We are fortunate he is our host, as many people seemed to be upset to see humans. Most seemed not to hold an ill will towards us, though."

"I am sure that's gonna change with Kurvam with us."

"Keep Farki Jan and Garvin separated from him while I am away; the rest should work itself out. If he acts out of line, his head is not our responsibility." Yehia grinned.

"I knew I could trust you to be thorough in your negotiation. Now... what if I prod Kurvam to—""Don't," Liesel shook her head.

"I do not know the extent of Drahk's influence, and I doubt if Kurvam injures one of theirs, and there are too many children around. It'd be a catastrophe. If I had a chain, I'd have already tied him just for their and our safety."

"Yeah," Yehia nodded, "We have ropes though. Should I ask Kfahan for one?" After Yehia changed into a very pleasant red garb, it was Liesel's turn. The water flowed down a narrow channel that was flattened at the mouth, spreading the water out like a waterfall. A small stone seat was at the bottom of a bowl-shaped tub, where she was supposed to sit and let it soak her. She applied the mud, which was supposed to cleanse the ashdust, all over her body and let it wash away under the waterfall again.

It was not drained, but rather absorbed by a filtration system created with many runes and Materiality cores. They seemed to have a water problem. It was still a miracle that everyone was given a chance to bathe in the middle of a wasteland. It should've been a moment of peace after the restless week, but it was anything but.

A part of her was worried about Kurvam, and she ended up settling on the fact that if the journey forward didn't deem him and Verka necessary, she'd abandon them, after offering Verka one more chance to follow her. There were other worries too, from how they were going to get to the skull for the key to what was the reason Drahk accepted them so easily, without vetting her. Though Auram was the key there, so she could feel a little ease about that.

The origin of such a place inside a Necropolis was perhaps the biggest question. They must know where the Primordial Vein is. They must be using it to prepare their food. What form does it take here? Her mind returned to the reaper just when she got over that, and by the time she wrestled that worry out, Kfahan asked if she was done. So Liesel left the shower and changed into a new set of clothes. When she returned, Kurvam hadn't done anything reckless yet.

Yehia grinned as if she knew what Liesel was worried about. The floor mat had been changed to a different one. Kfahan said those would be destroyed because they might contain infections. And their belongings would be repurposed, if possible, after being purged of all contamination. Liesel apologized for the trouble, unsure what else she could even say when all of this was, so far, without any conditions.

Kfahan was arranging dinner for them as she explained that the Necropolis didn't have a sun and moon cycle, so the days were marked by the Storm Cycle, which functioned akin to the moon cycle, but shorter. It lasted about nine days, and the ninth was the biggest and most violent one. Then it would reset the next day. So today would be the easiest and smallest storm, lasting less than an hour, and it had already passed while they were waiting inside the tent.

Before Liesel could ask how they did not feel anything, not to mention the fact that the village was beyond the boundary line of the Storm Wall, Drahk arrived for Liesel. He apologized for taking her away, but they didn't have the time to wait.

"Listen to Yehia and Borran," Liesel said, "and stay here until I return." She left the tent, trailing behind the taller Rakamel.

"You will introduce yourself to Elder Ahura, and explain your situation to her," the Spearheader said.

"She might be able to help you. She is the wisest person, and has the final say in everything. Do not speak ill of her." The Shaman. Liesel nodded. The largest tent was in the center, and it might even pass off as a building. Hundreds of ropes hauled it and secured it to the stone pillars surrounding the building. The old shaman was waiting for them there.

"Derrmak!" She uttered, her eyes closed. And behind him, the Rakamel, one upset at Drahk earlier, stood.

"Liars. They are. Fooled, you have been, little boy. Derrmak, she is." Drahk said something in his language that Liesel didn't understand. The old lady hissed back. Ignoring Drahk, the elder bobbed forward, stopping in front of Liesel, using her staff to stand a little taller.

"You are the Derrmak."

"What is that?" Liesel flicked her eye at Drahk.

"Derrmak is the title for spirit... jewellers."

"You are mistaken, ma'am," Liesel said softly. And almost every Strider began channeling materiality, almost burning her with sheer rage.

"I have done no such—" Drahk cut her off before she could finish. He talked to the old woman again. He seemed much more appeasing in his words, pointing at his second in command, at whom he hissed angrily. The shorter Rakamel shrugged, grinning with all his teeth. Even though his expression shouldn't be the same as humans', Liesel could feel the vile smugness of a liar. A crowd was gathering around them, attracted by the flaring materiality of the Striders in the building.

"You cannot deny her accusation," Drahk said.

"She is the wisest of the caravan. No one has the right to question her." Liesel closed her eyes. Guess there's the fanatical aspect.

"What now?"

"You must repent," the elder said. The shaman was past her age of wisdom, and seemed to be dancing to the tune of the last person spoken to her.

"Capture her." The striders moved, and Drahk stood in front of her.

"Demand," Drahk said, "Qhidah-shi." His words caused a stir in the crowd. Liesel could see Yehia parsing through the crowd. She stooped at her side.

"What's happening?"

"You should watch over Kurvam," Liesel whispered.

"Please."

"Healer Borran will inform us if he does something. Don't worry about it."

"What does that word mean?" Liesel asked. The striders didn't seem intent on capturing her either. They might be loyal to Drahk, it would seem.

"At the height of the Storm, Gurvantha will judge you," Elder Ahura said.

"Her divine wisdom will decide whether you live or die. We shall accept her judgement, for she is wiser than our flesh, Derrmak."

"What?" Yehia frowned. Liesel shut her off before she, rightfully, insulted the old shaman. Liesel licked her lips. She didn't feel it was a wise decision to accept something so nebulous.

"It is the only way," Drahk said. The liar called a different kind of guards, who were much more willing to approach them, pushing through the striders.

"How does this play out in reality?" Liesel asked.

"You will duel her chosen warrior in the sand."

"I have to win, is that it?"

"Yes. Only the one favored by Gurvantha herself can be free." This was better than the other option. She focused on the smug Rakamel. She could easily find anger for him, or the people he was an imitation of, her classmates.

"I demand... Qhidah-shi!" Almost everyone in the crowd was shaken by the undercurrent of her voice. The echo from the Shade of Soul seemed to be a novel concept to even them. Even Yehia had taken a step away from her. It, however, seemed to twist her own soul. It's a fair exchange.

"So let the divine cast her judgement!" Elder Ahura hollered, unabated by the echo of Liesel's stunt.