30th Roalis, 2719
The Plantation | Late Afternoon
The Plantation | Late Afternoon
Everywhere he looked, Niccolette's face flashed in his mind.
As they pulled into the docks, Demkaih broodily made his way through the afternoon bustle of the tourists and workers, thankful that he wasn’t stopped by any of the regulars. Even on the cable car, things were quiet, thank Hulali, the blue eyed man staring quietly into the orange cast landscape below.
A city of flowers where no bloom lives,
Where the leatherneck visit each day.
The Fishermans Daughter and Fry Pan take bids,
Whilst others to Hulali they pray.”
The riddle was burned into his mind, etched into the back of his eyes and scrolled on the curves of his ears. Nonsense words from a dying man, or clever code to reveal some sort of great discovery. Part of the Mugrobi thought Bastia might be the answer based on the first line, but then nothing in the rest of the clocking thing made sense! Bhe, his head hurt.
His heart hurt too.
There had been something that happened on Dread Isle, lavished with the blood of his enemies and looking for the heated field of the powerful galdor. Demkaih had felt attraction to Uzoji’s wife—his widow—but in the excitement of the battle and leaning on each other for survival, the tall merchant had slipped into a dangerous realm. He’d found that his heart beat a little faster in her presence, and yearned for her rare but stunning smile.
Demkaih felt things for Niccolette Ibutatu, and he knew she did not.
Scowling, dressed in vibrant loose crimson pants and a bright orange vest over a loose white shirt, the dark skinned business man took a cab from the cable car platform into the hills that over looked glorious Thul’Ka. His home stood there, late afternoon sun casting it in stark silhouette, surrounded by the sweeping plantations where his spices grew. Workers straightened from their tasks, wiping brows and waving to their employer, reading to finish for the day and head to their homes—either on the staff housing on site or at their own premises. The guest house stood away from the large main plantation home, like a little tug guiding a barge out to Hulali’s arms.
As the small rickshaw rattled up the driveway to his door, Demkaih noticed Liykos waiting on the step, one hand in the pocket of his brown loose pants, the other scratching at too much of the beginning of a beard. His hat sat back on his head, and his face was welcoming to his friend and boss.
“Ayah, sana’hulali adame.” The lanky human said, walking towards the vehicle as it stopped and the wick-in-galdori clothing escaped its confines. He took a look at his friend, and made a face, not offering to take Demkaih’s bag as the man yanked it over his shoulder.
“Oh, I am to guess things went badly then?” He asked quietly, following the tall Mugrobi inside the home, moving through the front room and into the sitting room where Demkaih threw his bag down and made for the bar. Grabbing a bottle of Poorman’s Violet Gin and two glasses, the frustrated man poured two fingers in each, shoving the glass over for Liykos before knocking back his own. He made a sound, a growl and a sigh combined, before pouring another two fingers. Liykos picked up the glass with long, deft fingers, his brow slightly drawn in concern, though he held his tongue. Sipping the drink as Demkaih slugged another cupful, he was finally rewarded with words.
“Yaka, they were bali.” Pouring another serve of gin, topping up Liykos’, Demkaih paced the room. His meagre field simmered angrily as he stormed up and down in the red carpeted space. The human sipped his gin, sucking on his teeth and removing his hat to place it gently on the bar.
“Aweh! What is troubling ju Demkaih?! I have never known ju to be so worked up over anything.” Moving back to the bar, he settled his elbows on it, waiting for the brooding Mugrobi to approach and stand beside him.
“Speak your mind, ea? What has Demkaih Alkrim so unsettled?” The tall merchant picked up his glass, swirling the slightly violet liquid and frowning into it.
“Niccolette Ibutatu, revealed to me the truth of Uzoji’s death.” He almost murmured, taking a sip as Liykos frowned and tilted his head.
“Uzoji’s death. Aweh, he was taken by Hulali, we know this. Her grief eats at her, and she is Bastian. They are woeful creatures. They do not understand the ways of Mugroba.” The human snorted, angry at his own imagined slights. He didn’t know Niccolette, but he knew that grief made people do strange things. He did not know the private things Demkaih had seen in the younger womans house, her fall into despair, and so he spoke with the memory of the weeping widow at Uzoji’s funeral. Demkaih shook his head.
“Yaka Likyos, hold your tongue. She is Mugrobi, as much as ju and I.” The bristly tone caught the humans ear, and his eyes narrowed slightly, before a dawning realization came over his face.
“Do not say i—” Before the final word left his mouth, cheeks burning, Liykos lept from the bar and clapped his hands together with a hoarse laugh.
“Ju wily maja’wa!” Demkaih raised his hand and shook it as though to ward off the laughing man’s words.
“It is not like that Liykos. There are many complicated things at play that ju would not understand.” The wiry man snickered, tongue between his teeth.
“Ea, ea, of course adame. I am sure the widow of Uzoji took much comfort from your visit. I understand, completely.” There was a loud bang then, startling the human so much he jumped, wide eyed at the fist that Demkaih had smacked down on the bar top.
“Ju do not!” He snapped, face burning and scowl deep. Liykos frowned, moving close to his friend and taking a closer look. Finally, he uttered a length of curses under his breath and picked up his drink.
“By Hulali’s tits Demkaih, I never thought I would ever live to see the day.” Demkaih sighed, and they sat in silence for a moment, the human breaking the silence again.
“Does she know how ju feel?” He asked quietly, sipping the gin as the dark merchant shook his head. A sympathetic sound escaped the lanky creature, followed by a sigh.
“Bajea.” Groaning, Demkaih moved to press his forehead to the cool of the wood bar, closing his eyes and swearing quietly. He could feel the too rapidly consumed gin behind his eyes, and he was too tired for this evening revelation.
“There were many regrets this visit adame, but Niccolette Ibutatu is not one of them. At least, I do not regret what I have done even if I should. I went to offer pastoral care, and to pray with her, not like…not that.” Making a harsh sound, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, Demkaih opened his eyes to stare at the floor between his feet.
“I have a riddle for ju, Liykos. A city of flowers where yaka bloom lives, where the leatherneck visit each day. The Fishermans Daughter and Fry Pan take bids, whilst others to Hulali they pray.” There was a moment of silence, before the other man spoke again.
“Leatherback? Ju mean like sailors adame?” He asked curiously, as though it was an obvious thing. Demkaih blinked, lifting his head to turn and look at Liykos with bafflement. Stepping away from the bar, the lanky Mugrobi gestured with his hands as he spoke.
“The old sailors, they call them leatherbacks Dem. Those men spend so long in the sun that their skin goes darker, leathery, like a pair of worn boots. Ea? Leathery-backs. Leatherbacks.” Swearing, the merchant moved to push his glass away on the bar, searching for paper and something to write with.
“Poa’xa, ju are Hulali’s blessed gift! Where the leatherback visit…where the sailors visit each day. Where…oh Great Father, a dock? Ea, of course! Here, itoy! What is The Fisherman’s Daughter and the Frypan and why are they gambling? Come, come! Itoy, adame!” Demkaih impatiently waved his hand, as though Liykos knew all the answers. The other man reached to rub his neck a laugh, taking his glass from the bar and taking another sip of his gin.
“I cannot give ju all the answers, ada’xa, I am not a storyteller nor a scholar. I am just a humble servant to my honored employer.” He offered a cheeky grin, where the other man simply gave him an exasperated scowl. Liykos sucked his teeth again.
“Aweh! What is troubling ju Demkaih?! I have never known ju to be so worked up over anything. Time will give ju answers ada’me. Time and prayer.” The blue eyed Mugrobi swore, stabbing at the words with his pencil.
“This is important, Likyos. Tell me, do ju know anything else?” He said it again, more slowly, as though the human hadn’t heard the first two times. Liykos sighed, running a hand over his face.
“A city of flowers, where yaka bloom lives. Bastia is a flowery country, maybe it means Florne?” Demkaih waved his hand, shaking his head.
“Yaka, yaka. Why would anyone in Flore be praying to our Lord? No, it is Mugroba. I am sure of it. Or the Isles? It is within Hulali’s reach. I think.” He said with no certainty in his voice.
“City of flowers. City of flowers. There is yaka city made of flowers Dem, unless it is a double meaning. Like leather back. Yaka, but there are yaka cities in Mugroba or Muluku that are named after flowers.” The merchant sat up sharply, scribbling something furiously.
“Yaka! But we do! It is not a city, but it is bustling enough to be one. Three Flowers! There are yaka blooms that grow there, and it is where many of our wharves and shipyards are located. Yes! That is it! Three Flowers!” Liykos frowned, his dark eyes narrowed again.
“What is it Demkaih? Ju are not making sense.” Ignored by his friend and employer, the man watched as the entrepreneur repeated the last two lines of the riddle over and over.
“A fishermans daughter, a frypan, taking bids. Others come to pray.” The two friends sat in the sitting room, staring at the words till they no longer made sense as words at all. It was Liykos who finally stopped them both, a house passing in the time they had sat there, and more than half of the alcohol.
“Adame, this is not going to be solved by our minds alone. This needs someone smarter than us. I am hungry, and ju need to change. Ju smell like a kenser.” Demkaih rubbed his eyes, finishing the last of his gin, more than moderately drunk.
“Mm ju are right Liykos. I mus’ solve this, tomorrow. When my mind is not…” He waggled his fingers in the air, folding the paper carefully and shoving it into his pocket. Standing unsteadily, Demkaih didn't protest Likyos’ helpful hand on his arm.
“Careful adame. Ju might be big but it does not mean ju are a better drinker than me.” He offered a mischievous wink, and the tall Mugrobi chuckled, before sighing heavily.
“Why would Hulali choose this woman for my heart, Liykos? Why, the widow of my poa'xa? Why someone who only has room in her heart for hatred and anger?” The drunk human rubbed his face and made a sound in his throat.
“He is punishing ju, ea? For taking too long to honour your home with a wife and children. Ju are an old man now! Hulali is testing ju, to make sure ju are still a man!” He laughed, and Demkaih couldn't help but chuckle with him, pressing a hand to his chest as they stumbled their eyes from the sitting room into the foyer. Ahead of them, staff were fixing the not-galdor’s bedsheets and fluffing his pillows.
“Aweh, if ju saw her Liykos. So powerful, so strong, so full of rage and fire and life.” The man snorted, helping Demkaih up the stairs, leaning on the rail for his own balance.
“Usually making a woman angry does not interest a man. Ju are strange adame.” Dismissing Liykos with a shake of his head and a growl, Demkaih wavered on the landing.
“Not rage at me fool, at Uzoji’s demise. We bring honour to his death, and justice to his soul.” Liykos laughed again.
“How long has it been since you've slept with a woman! I am not sure Uzoji would call it honour or justice.” Blue eyes rolling, Demkaih rugged away to lean against the wall and frown with one eye nearly shut at the human.
“Not like that poa’xa. Ju wouldn't understand. I am too drunk to explain and too tired to try.” He went to push off the wall, running into a decorative clay pot that had been placed with artful consideration by his bedrooom door. It rolled on its base, tipping to smash, halted by Liykos’ quick hands. Demkaih snorted a laugh, shouldering his way though his bedroom door.
“I would sail back to Anaxas just to touch her hair, it is so soft and smells like lavender.” He sighed, collapsing onto the end of the bed and letting himself fall back, arms outstretched.
“And lips as full as Benea, with beautiful skin. So, Bastian and yet so…not.” The merchant rambled, muttering words as his eyes closed and his breathing evened out.
Liykos started at the sleeping drunk, shaking his head and removing Demkaih’s shoes. He waved to the young wick standing almost unnoticed by the door, the two of them grunting and tugging the tall enterprener up the bed to his pillows and throwing the covers over him. Cursing at the unconscious man, the human laughed again.
“Dream a lovers dream poa'xa. We will talk in the morning.”
