What The Fireleaves Danced

"In every forest, there is a snake."

- Liwayan Saying

Andrado walked with Citro down the cobblestone streets of the Harbor District. "We will only walk until the point where we can catch a kalesa. It will be easier then."

"Ah, right, of course," Andrado nodded. He instinctively clutched his bag closer to himself as brown-skinned humans passed by, along with the occasional galadarian – a race which he had seen a fair amount of times in Phaedrus. A squat race that only rose to four feet, whom hailed from the Northern Mountains. They were excellent craftsmen and salvagers of relics of a time now gone. Now that they have arrived in Selorong, no doubt they had travelled from Phaedrus.

Andrado walked beside the Civil Guard captain, and they were flanked by the two men that had given Citro the news about Kundang. Zagoza and Dasio, he had called them.

They were two strong, well-built men hidden underneath a layer of steel armor that allowed for movement as well as protection. Their spears were hidden away behind their backs, and in their hands they carried rifles – not the newest ones that took advantage of the witchdust powders that had been found recently on the Isles, but rather, the ones powered by pneumatic force. On their belts were latched small pneumatic pressurizers, that whirred every once and again. He'd seen them in action back in Phaedrus, and although they were powerful and were said to be the end of war, their heavy use of an external motor to power them meant that their threat they could easily remove from the battlefield. The pneumatic pressurizer had been a creation of Ashraf de Nasir, one of the forefathers of the Jeremian Order.

A large, dark-skinned Lakungdulan man walked past them, heaving a large sack of rice over one shoulder. He grinned all the while. "Doing good work, Gado!" Citro said, patting the man on the back. The man managed a smile – a dumb-witted and stupid one, at least – before turning back to his labor.

"The people here are good people," Citro said beside him, as they reached a portion of the harbor district that opened up into some sort of circle upon which kalesas – horse-drawn carriages – revolved, dropping and picking up passengers. They drove around a ten-foot tall steel monument of Holy Kaisar Aiman the Seventh. The Kaisar who had just died and been replaced by their current Holy Kaisar, Yunus the Third. "They do their best to make a living. I sometimes wonder if ruling over them is the best course of action."

Andrado raised an eyebrow at that and turned to him. He tried to look for a spot of sarcasm or jest in the Captain's face. As he did that, he hailed a kalesa. Recognizing the Civil Guard, the closest one that was free immediately rode up to them.

Andrado found no hint of irony. "Surely you do not believe these dull, dim-witted men to be equal to us. We have to rule over them to raise them properly." But it seems Citro hadn't heard him.

Does he actually believe what he says…?

The Civil Guard Captain opened the door and gestured for the two other Guards to climb in first. Then, Citro looked at Andrado straight in the eye, before gesturing for him to climb up into the kalesa as well. Andrado did so, climbing into the surprisingly velvety carriage. Humid, sea air rushed through the open frames where glass windows would've usually been. They had been removed presumably because of the warmth that came during the Season of Fire.

"Where to, sir?"

"Cathedral District. Calm Coin."

The man hesitated, thinking of the words that the Civil Guard Captain had just said, and then continued with, "Within or—"

"Just get us to the front."

"Will do, sir!"

And with that, they zoomed off.

The Harbor District was composed of squat, two-storey buildings made of wood, and sometimes stone, held up by wooden supports and columns. As the kalesa moved east, further into the center of the great city of Selorong, the buildings developed and grew more floors, more windows appeared, with foundations that took up a larger square mile. Some of these buildings were made of brick and stone together with wood. More or less, they resembled his houses back at home, in Phaedrus.

The one thing Andrado could notice – and frankly, appreciate – were the various lead pipes that ran down into the ground.

The quality of life here matches Phaedrus.

The kalesa shuddered and bobbed as they wove through wide cobblestone roads. They would appear out into a large center that featured a circular road, wind around it once and enter into another main street. The middle of that circular road had promninent statue of an eight-pronged star – the symbol of Yavum.

Eventually, they arrived in front of a large, three-storey building. There was a sign that hung from a horizontal wooden pole, jutting out from beside its double doors. "The Calm Coin," said the driver. "That would be 6 gold pieces, sirs."

Six gold pieces? What an outrageous price! Andrado opened his mouth to object, but Citro quickly spoke in return.

"You're making a living here, driver," said Citro, as he handed over 10. "Don't give us any discounts."

Andrado blinked at the Al-Kaigian Civil Guard captain.

"Oh," the driver paused for a bit, before accepting the 8 pieces. "Thank you so much sire. May Ama- er, Yavum, protect you."

Andrado turned and blinked at the Lakungdulan kalesa driver.

Without paying attention to Andrado, Citro nodded, opened the door, and climbed out of the kalesa.

"Wait-"

Citro waited for Andrado to get both of his feet on the ground, and then said, "Assume the same formation, Zagoza, Dasio. There might be some of his workers that might chance a cop. He looks the part of an Al-Kaigian noble, after all."

He opened his mouth to protest, as well as to question what they just did back there, when the captain pulled Andrado beside him. Then, Zagoza and Dasio took their positions, rifles lifted ready. Passerbys looked at them for way longer than they ought to.

Andrado opened his mouth again to speak, but Citro urged him forward and into the double doors of the establishment. With a sigh, Andrado resigned to asking the questions later.

Through the door, noise and merriment overloaded Andrado's senses – the shouts of men, the loud heaving laughs, the sudden disbelieving scream of a man who had been swindled. Various, scantily clad women sat atop the men's l.a.p.s, some of which even had the uniform of the Civil Guard still on.

When those men saw Citro walk inside, they immediately rose to their feet. When the women saw the Civil Guard Captain inside their brothel, they picked up their garments and headed into the kitchen room behind the bar.

The bartender was a large, heavy-set man with dark brown skin and a crooked nose. His hair was a bramble of curls. "You brought in by Kundang?" He squinted his eyes at the Civil Guards.

Citro simply nodded in response.

"You know the way." Despite the sudden appearance of the Civil Guard Captain in their casino brothel establishment, the musicians didn't stop their song – one popular in Phaedrus, played by a quick and playful violin accompanied by an energetic lute.

Citro, ignoring everything else – even the other Civil Guards who deemed to take their breaks there – he walked directly over to the stairs built against the wall. Andrado followed suit, and so did the other Civil Guards, Dasio and Zagoza. As they ascended, Andrado heard the sounds of m.o.a.ning, low giggling of both men and women, and hushed whispers coming from the rooms of the second floor, along with the smell of powerful ale and the strong scent of lemon perfume.

Another flight of stairs took them to a third floor, which more or less had the same kind of smell and noise, only stronger. At the end of the hallway was a wooden door seemingly larger than the others, and Andrado felt the slight tug and humidity of another magical working.

This one, though, was not one of miraculous origin.

Witchcraft.

Citro walked straight up to the wooden door with the same purposeful gait, seeming as if he was about to ram straight through the door… and then he knocked. After all the straightforwardness, the sudden shift in movements was almost jarring to Andrado.

A low, growling voice spoke from the other side. "If that be Citro, walk in. If it's not, and you still walk in, may Magu'yawan ferry your soul safely to the Sulad."

"It's me, Kundang," spoke Citro, his voice echoing within the long hallway, although it was quickly eaten up by the other sounds.

"Ah," said Kundang, and there was the sound of swords sheathing and crossbows being lowered and laid to rest on the floor. "Come in then."

Citro opened the door, just in time to see Kundang shoving the rifle underneath his desk. A vial of the fireleaf mixture still sat on the polished, narrawood desk, however.

To either sides of Kundang stood two, large, and heavily painted men. Tinatakan, thought Andrado. The fierce warriors that Amsara binti Subin had written about! Sitting on chairs on either side of Kundang as well were women with only a white towel to cover themselves.

Behind Kundang was a great sight – more buildings, scarcely taller than the one they were currently in, but a good view of the sparkling, Meriganian Sea as the buildings shrunk nearer to the shore. Dotting the harbor were the large trade sh.i.p.s along with smaller sh.i.p.s.

Kundang, however, was not welcome exchange to that view. The man behind the counter was of a stocky build, with a large gut and mustache that resembled a messy, horizontal bush; his chin was free of hair. His eyes were light brown, and his hair was tied up on top of his head. His skin, dark brown, denoted his Lakungdulan heritage. But beneath all that layer of blubber and fat, Andrado knew that the man's muscle was not to be contested.

"Ah, this is the one robbed, yes?"

On top of the desk, beside the vial of fireleaf mixture, was a bag full of what Andrado expected to be gold. Beside that was a tobacco pipe, and a long, wickedly sharp kalis. "So," he said. The criminal king raised an eyebrow at the guards that came along with their little motley crew, but then shook his head. He gestured for the two of them to sit.

Citro walked over to one of the chairs, Andrado followed suit and sat. "So… a thief during the Eaten Moon, eh?"

Andrado blinked, realizing Kundang was talking to him. "Y-yes… sir."

Kundang stroked his bush of a mustache. "And you Lakungdulans weren't able to catch them because of your damn god."

Andrado flinched. "Sir-"

"Don't." Citro's hand was on his arm. A strong, firm grasp. He was still looking at Kundang. "We didn't have enough gloomwalkers for the the situation." Citro paused, letting go of Andrado's arm. "This man is a scholar from Phaedrus, with a plan to go to the Governor-General himself to study the native tribes."

Kundang shrugged. "I don't really need that information, do I?" He shifted in his chair and reached for the bolo in front of him. He looked at the blade for a few moments, and in those moments Andrado's eyes flickered to the two heavily tattooed men standing on both sides of the desk. He wondered how fast they moved, and if they could be a match against the rifles of the Civil Guard. Their gazes were intense, although they looked on straight ahead past Zagoza and Dasio.

They definitely would be. Those pneumatic pressurizers haven't been primed. It would take three seconds at most to prime them before they could fire off any slugs.

"You don't, but he does need something within the satchel that had been stolen to be able to speak with the Governor-General," said Citro. "And you still have to tell me who that thief might be."

"We've got a lot of thieves, Citro," he said, still looking at the bolo. "But you do have an advantage in that not a lot of us move during the Eaten Moon. As we speak, I've sent out shadows to try and gather information. I'll call upon you tomorrow once I've managed to gather enough data."

"Good."

"You're using up one of your favors with this, Citro."

Citro grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Not one of mine – one of the Civil Guard's. Just be thankful we don't raze your house down during the dusk."

Kundang scowled, and then shrugged. As he did, he manage a hearty chuckle. "You were always a fierce man, Citro."

"And stupid, but I get your point."

"Tomorrow," he said. He turned to Andrado. "You, Scholar, may sleep in one of the beds in this room as we search. Watch your backs. Now scram."

* * *

Andrado, Citro, and the two other Civil Guards stepped out of Kundang's room. As they walked out into the hallway, Andrado saw a brown-skinned, fleshy woman open one of the wooden doors and stare straight at him. Citro turned to Andrado. "Kundang will keep you safe under his roof for the night. Stay here. I'm going to coordinate with the other Civil Guard to try and seek the thief as well." He paused. "Do you know how to use a blade?"

Andrado shrugged. "I've had some academic knowledge."

"Good enough." Citro patted his shoulder and gave him a dirk, clasping it to his hip. "This should do you good."

"I hope it does."

"We will return in the morrow as well," said Citro. "May Yavum light your way."

"May Yavum be a lamp unto your path," replied Andrado, as Citro patted his shoulders once more and finally left, descending down the stairs.

Andrado watched them disappear, before walking over to the room that had the dark-skinned lady peering from within. "We will give you food and services. All you need is--" the woman pulled out a bell. "To ring this."

"Oh," Andrado accepted the bell and bowed by the h.i.p.s. "Much appreciated." He walked inside the room and the woman closed the door behind him. Andrado sighed.

The room he was in was actually very nice. It was of wooden construction, from floors to wall. A bed lay beside a large window, showcasing a nice view of the city of Selorong, albeit not providing a view of the Meriganian Harbor – only the tall wall that encircled and shielded Selorong.

There was a desk, and then a surprisingly luxurious smaller, narrower room that housed a flush toilet – something they didn't have in the galleon ship he'd ridden in.

He walked over to the bed and looked out at the view. Various stone buildings lay shoulder to shoulder beside each other, scrunched up and standing over wide cobblestone roads with the occasional concrete structure made of some sort of pure adamantine gray. These were usually government fixtures, he knew. It was something they'd lifted straight out of Phaedrus architecture and city planning.

He sat down on the bed. Soft. It was a much better bed than the accommodations at Tayandogan's inn. He sat down there on top of the soft bed, cross-legged, watching as he found himself in a quiet room.

He thought this to be as good a time as any.

"Might as well make use of the silence," he muttered to himself as he pushed himself off of the bed and onto the wooden floor of the room. He knelt down and turned, and positioned himself so that he was facing the window. With both hands flat on the bed, he closed his eyes, and he prayed to Yavum Almighty. He prayed for his hardsh.i.p.s to be lessened, but also thanked Yavum for his never-ending Providence. For guiding him and directing him and protecting him wholly and completely, as a father protected a child.

---

Yavum, Almighty Lighbringer.

I thank you for your never-ending providence, and for your endless guidance and direction and protection. You are as a father protecting His child. I am not worthy.

May I retrieve my personal belongings, my beloved items. My copy of Chronicles of Light, my elderwood wand, and the journal that I had brought since the beginning of my journey.

Guide me evermore in my trials and tribulations. I pray for whatever hardsh.i.p.s lay across my path be weathered by my faith to you, my Almighty God.

I thank you, Almighty Lightbringer.

---

He ended the prayer by invoking Yavum's sanction in calling upon the names of the Saints and Meraks, if He so wills it. "Furi, Ishtram, Yavum. With those three words, he ended the prayer. It translated to "The Way lit by Yavum" in Al-Kaigian.

He had studied about that esoteric language. It had come from the strange ancient language which the Canticles of Light were written. Upon further discourse and reading, Andrado had come to know that the Yavuman Faith might've been the logical conclusion to the older religions from which the Faith is derived from.

The Al-Kaigian faithful stood up once again and decided that he should take this opportunity to rest while he still can. He laid down on his bed and let himself move into slumber, into the blackness, knowing that Yavum will light his way.