028 – Ashakir VI: Bottom of the Ladder

028 – Ashakir VI: Bottom of the Ladder

“—and as I have informed you many, many times this past month, Advocate Aelor, the Governor’s Office cannot simply ‘ask’ for the Darranor or the Karravar to ‘look at’ whatever ‘problem’ the Merra of… Kannoc, was it? Have concocted this time. Especially not at this crucial juncture when we must ready the city against the unprecedented magnitude of this year’s Greatstorm. We have more important things to—Advocate Aelor! Stop! ADVOCATE AELOR! GUARDS, RESTRAIN HIM—

…Ahem. Now, are there matters of actual concern to this body? No? Then I declare this meeting of the Ashakiri People’s Court adjourned. Good day, and may the winds bless our stewardship of the People.”

—Narec of Selem, Aide to Governor Mazahl of Ashakir, throwing out a malcontent, 758 Y.S.

This endeavor was, essentially, a sleuthing quest. There was no knowing what waited on the other end, but the first step on this type of story-driven quest was always to gather information.

“We’ll need to ask about the latest victims. What did Baboc say their names were again, Sari? Jalac and…?” Ai asked as they walked.

She bent down to pick Aru up and set him on his usual perch on her back, and was rewarded with a lick of lizard-dog slobber on her cheek.

“Jalac and Belec, Miss Ayle. Baboc said the two are inseparable. They fish together, eat together, even live together.” Sari said, putting a finger to her chin as she recited the information.

“Jalac and Belec.” Ai repeated to herself. Aru yawned in her ear, seemingly ready to fall asleep in his papoose.

It had only taken a half hour’s walk for them to make their way over to the edge of Ashakir, to the slums that Baboc called home. And the district of Kannoc Town was a slum, there were no two ways about that.

Kannoc was to the north of the Hill of Ashak, on the other side of the Hill from where they’d started. When Ai looked up, she could see that the Temple of Storms was hidden behind the stone of the Hill, making it seem almost as though Resh—[Stormold]—had turned its back on Kannoc. At this hour, it seemed that most of the town’s residents were out at work in the city proper, making the area feel deserted and empty despite the sheer number of shanty houses that were stacked up so haphazardly that they were literally built on top of each other.

It was honestly jarring to see just how differently people of the same prosperous city, not even an hour’s walk apart, could live.

Where the main streets of Ashakir—like the Galan Street Boilpot they’d just left—felt vibrantly alive, overflowing with energy, vitality, and lively cheer, Kannoc town could have charitably been called desolate. The Hill of Ashak was alive with the heartbeat of the Temple of Storms and resplendent with the beauty of its blue and white architecture. Kannoc town was grey, drab, and shabby.

What few people Ai saw walking around town were all just a little bit too skinny, in such a way that suggested that though they weren’t starving, it was rare that they could eat their fill. Even those who did seem to be relatively young and hale were thin and wiry rather than muscled and strong, their skin stretched tight over cables of sinew mounted over bony frames.

However, the character of Kannoc’s people was apparent from the way the town was well-cared for. It just wasn’t rich in resources like Galan Street had been. Kannoc was definitely overcrowded if the shanty houses were anything to go by, but the streets, though left unpaved and meager, were astonishingly clean of detritus. There also appeared to be little vagrancy, despite the area ostensibly being a crowded slum.

Kannoc, it seemed, was a town of impoverished laborers, who had in their poverty learned to work together despite—perhaps in spite of—being relegated to the absolute edges of town, far away from the protection and management of Ashakir’s city government. Ai could feel it in the very air—

[Merra-Bond].

[Merra-Bond] was a sense of communal solidarity between the laborer class of Varrah, of whom Kannoc seemed to be entirely composed of. They had had no choice but to work menial jobs, locked for centuries into the social roles the Varran caste system imposed upon them.

[Varrah-Order].

This was something that Ai had felt even in Avna. It wasn’t as strong out in the frontier town though, where the Gihn culture still survived in the canyons and the Varran machine was still in the process of absorbing the region. The idea was much stronger here in Ashakir, filled with a lively energy that could only come from thriving under centuries of Varran rule. Within the confines of Kannoc town, however, that very vitality was turned inward, heavy and inescapably oppressive.

[Kannoc-Pride].

Then there was [Kannoc-Pride]. This thread felt newer than the others, but Ai’s magical senses still perceived the semiotic link permeating the entirety of Kannoc. Though these people were locked in their situation by the circumstances of their birth caste, made to work and toil over physically demanding labor that nobody else in Ashakir was willing to undertake, they still had their [Pride]. Their streets were clean, their children were fed, and they took care of their people.

Gazza of the Galan Street Dockworkers was also a Merra. Did the place of his birth make that much of a difference, even across the same social caste?

Ai was brought out of her observations by the voice of a young child.

“Grandpapa, look! It’s the Karravar! The Karravar are here to help us, I told you they’d come!” Just ahead of them was a young boy perhaps nine or ten years old, leading the hand of a frail old man dressed in threadbare robes that looked to be mended so many times there had to be more patchwork than cloth.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Hush, boy,” the old man admonished, glancing at Sari’s robes before turning to face the two of them, “Honored Karravar. I apologize for my grandson’s conduct. I see that an Aspirant of the Karravar Order has graced lowly Kannoc with her presence. Have our prayers been answered? Has the city office finally beseeched the Darranor to save their most faithful?”

Even Ai could immediately tell that the man was on guard. This sort of Varran social posturing was Sari’s wheelhouse.

“Honored Elder,” Sari began, careful to be formal with her language, “I am Aspirant Sarila, serving under Karravar Benessel Danal. This is my associate Ayle. We were informed by a man named Baboc that there have been a string of missing persons in Kannoc and have come to investigate. Though I am not here in my official capacity as a Karravar Aspirant, please be assured that my companion and I are here to help.”

The old man stood silent, holding back his clearly excited grandson with one hand.

“Baboc is a good lad. If he vouches for you, then that is all anyone here will need. And Karravar Benessel is known far and wide for his strength of character.” He said after a while, his initial distrust beginning to lower.

“Thank you, Elder,” Sari smiled politely. “We were asked to find two fishermen named Jalac and Belec, as they’ve only just gone missing and could still be found.”

“You must be headed to the docks then.” He said, pursing his lips. He had discarded his earlier back-handed formality the instant Sari had shown him some respect. It seemed to be a meaningful gesture, with Sari’s status as a Karravar Aspirant far outclassing the old man’s.

It also seemed that Varran respect for the elderly was valued independently, or perhaps parallel to caste status, and the old man was mollified by Sari’s genuine approach.

“If you are here to help find Jalac and Belec, time is of the essence. Our young folk have been sending search parties during the day. They should still be out there—you may yet catch up with them. The fastest way from here to the docks is to return the way you came. My grandson will show you the way.” The wiry white bristles of the old man’s mustache twitched as spoke.