Be Careful What You Wish For (Tajin)

[Basha'ir]

Summer 83, 512 AV


Basha’ir had passed the simple stone structure several times already, in the past week or so. It didn’t lay on her path during her commute to and from her tiny one room apartment. But once she had arrived at An Elegant Weave, she had sometimes been sent out to purchase more thread of this color or that. The vendor Mistress Druva preferred lay in a part of the city that took Basha’ir right past the well, a wishing well they called it. The other seamstresses at the shop had told her all about it, what many people believed, and some of the stories that they swore up and down were absolutely true. Each time she had walked by it, she had studied it, with a bemused look. She considered the ability, or maybe more, the willingness of a dead woman to intercede in the affairs of this individual or that one. To think that a woman, even a queen, so hard done by fate herself, might listen to a particular individual’s sorrow or needs or despair and then act magically to change their lives, for good or bad, well, it wasn’t really so hard to believe, for Basha’ir. On this day, as she passed it, she paused, and for the first time actually walked over to peer down into its depths. Above her head hung a bucket, in which were colorful flowers. Down in the bottom of the dark cylinder, she thought she saw the glint of inky water. As usual, when out and about she was wrapped in a long, broad padmina and a veil covered her head and lower face. Only her deep green eyes peeked out from above the colorful cloth. Idly, her fingers went to the pouch hidden in the swaths of her voluminous dress, and she thought of a certain young man, and his bright red shorts.

To her right, an old, gray haired woman hobbled up and, without seeming to take any notice of the younger woman, she leaned over the lip of stone and tossed in a miza. Her wrinkled lips moved silently, and Basha’ir noted a single tear that trickled down the old one’s pale cheek. Basha’ir felt selfish, that she herself had a wish, when she knew there were so many who had suffered so much more than she ever had. Still…

The old woman shuffled away, and Basha’ir turned her head as she heard another set of footsteps approaching, this time to her left. She looked at the man curiously, wondering what might have drawn him to the well, and hazarding a guess as to what it might be, as she looked at his opaque eyes.

[Tajin]

After his morning worship Tajin had set out to walk the streets of Syliras. He walked without a destination, but rather to see and attempt to understand the pulse of this city. As he walked he studied the basic colors of the auras surrounding him. The harsh gray linear patterns of the knights, the bubbly yellows of the children chasing one another throughout the market, and the subtle oranges of the vendors and they shrewdly marketed their wares. But as he walked onward he saw two unusual auras, one was faint and the other more overwhelming. The first was at a trivial glance merely a well, but when studied and focused on Tajin saw something that he could not define, an inexplicable movement and color highlight that was near impossible to discern. The second was noticeably a female Benshira in makeup and coloring, but with a hinting of an Eypharian influence. It's subtle earthy tones, were complemented by a rich yellow that was tell tale of a member of his race, but was caught up in a royal red that was found in the haughty bloodlines of the Eypharians. This was complemented by a softness that pervaded the whole artwork and dictated her gender. But under that level of apparent racial and sexual makeup was a distinct darkness, it traveled in swirling lines throughout her body and centered at her center. However what it meant far surpassed Tajin's ability to discern without a good deal of time. Tajin realized slightly too late that he had stopped in front of this woman and was intently staring at her with his unseeing eyes. Attempting to make up for his act of initial rudeness he quickly introduced himself. “May the blessing of our Lord Yahal never leave your side friend. I am Tajin, servant of the ever faithful.”

[Basha'ir]

The man now before her was rather a typical looking individual, except for his eyes of course. Those were milky white in appearance, like none she had ever seen before. But the words of his greeting were almost more startling than his gaze, which she was sure was one that brought no visions to those blank eyes. How he knew that she was standing there, she had no idea. And that he called upon Yahal, Basha’ir could only guess was pure happenstance. It had been so long, so very long since she had heard anyone invoke the blessing of her mother’s god, a god of great purity, and strength.

Basha’ir too had been taught the skill of auristics. However she did not often call upon it any more, ever since leaving Ravok. But even without consciously trying to read the aura of this man who greeted her in the name of the desert god, she could see a whiteness shimmering about him, and she knew he was a man of great purity, as befitted a follower of the god of the Benshira. She hesitated, but then replied in very imperfect Shiber, “I’m pleased to meet you, Tajin. I am Basha’ir. Do you…are you…from Yahebah? My mother was from that city.”

She looked at him curiously, knowing that there were peoples of all the regions of Mizahar here in this big, walled city, each with their own tale, their own motivations for being here, their own secrets.

“Or were you also born in a city not your own?”

[Tajin]

As the woman, Basha'ir, began to speak Tajin felt the stress upon his mind of allowing himself to focus on a target for these few minutes and released his intent mental gaze. Content to learn about her through a more conventional manner, now that the basic introductions were over. He listened to her question intently, and let his mind wander back to his early days, when the world was free of care, and he was surrounding by men and women whose faithful worship was the standard of life. His answer came softly and slowly in his native language. “May the god's shine light upon your future Basha'ir, I am honored to make your acquaintance. I was born, and lived most of my life in the lands of my people. I traveled to this city in my 20th year. Where are you from sister?” There was something about this woman that was not quite right, she put Tajin in an uneasy state of mind. He couldn't get the short glimpse of the threads of swirling blackness to leave his mind. It plagued him, as a question gnawing at the edge of his conscious. Refusing him the ability to fully relax in her presence. This only increased his desire to understand her past, know her for who she was, and maybe unlock the message of the blackened threads. However if his questions did not explain it, there was always the option of exerting himself once more and delving deeper into her aura to find the nuances of her being. Which path would become necessary was yet to be seen.

[Basha'ir]

So, he was of Yahebah. Basha’ir was a bit saddened to think that it had been a very long while since she had even thought of that city. Not that she had ever lived there. But it was the land of her mother, and her other ancestors, at least one half of hers. She hardly ever thought of her Eypharian half. That had been the mere donation of a moment, from a man who had no place in her life, none whatsoever. He had tossed her mother out on her ear, once he had planted Basha’ir in the poor woman’s womb. The only real roots Basha’ir could claim were those going back to this desert city that she had never seen.

“I was born in Ahnatep,” she answered softly, still in broken Shiber, looking at him even though she knew he could not see this. Perhaps that was a benefit, to speak to one whose eyes did not judge. She wondered for a brief moment if, as he could not see, did the effects of Ranuri have no power over him? Or was it something other than visual beauty that bestowed those marked by Nikali with some extra allure?

“I left that city when I was sixteen, and…I was taken to Ravok. Now, I am here, but have only been in Syliras for not even half a season.” Still sensing his aura, one of a calming steadfastness of purpose, of being untainted by many of the distractions of the material aspects of life, she tilted her head curiously, wondering where this sense of…virtue came from.

“What brought you here, so far from Yahebah? So far from Yahal?” For some unknown reason, speaking that name out loud gave Basha’ir an odd feeling in her chest. It was a pulling sensation, and she frowned in perplexity.

[Tajin]

When Basha'ir revealed her birthplace Tajin murmured in recognition of the fact and as she continued to explain her origins Tajin noticed her voice cought as she told of her passage to Ravok. But when she continued to ask him why he had left the land of his god and his ancestors, Tajin answered with quickly and with enthusiasm. “The gods know no bounds, I left the people of Yahal, but not Yahal. The gods are all places, see all things, and know all. You can neither run from them or hide from them. I left my people because they know of the great faithfulness of our god. They do not need his witness. But the peoples of this world are not often enamored with purity. They seek ill-gotten gain and power, they long for darkness and deceit, and know not the way of the righteous. This is why I have come so far, that I may give glory and honor unto the name of Yahal.” Tajin paused slightly after he had finished this miniature sermon and let his words sink in before he asked the question that had been on his mind. “But enough of my dreams, I am but an insignificant and self appointed servant. When you spoke of going to Ravok your voice told of more than you said, it spoke of a forced journey. Tell me, if it is not too troublesome, what you mean by taken.” After he finished asking the question Tajin delved into her aura once again in an attempt to hear what she did not say and see what vision could never show.

[Basha'ir]

His words about the gods were not such to bring Basha’ir heartfelt comfort. Her own feelings about the deities were very ambivalent. Nikali had spared her life. Well, she had intervened when Basha’ir was intent upon taking her own life. And the granting of her gnosis had certainly transformed Basha’ir’s life, from one of despair to one of pleasurable debauchery. But the pleasure, in retrospect, was the epitome of pretend. To live to fulfill the desires of others was like being an empty shell, waiting to be filled up, time and time again. And the knowledge of what malignance her gnosis generated, in those who came to learn of it, and her, and took measures to secure her for their own lusts seemed far too high a price to pay for her transitory happiness. Though, in honesty, such men probably got exactly what they deserved. In any case, Basha’ir looked upon the gods with, if anything, slight distrust and many misgivings. Even their gifts were to be looked upon with a healthy dose of caution.

However, she’d be the first to admit that she knew little to nothing of this man’s god, Yahal. Her mother had spoken of him, called upon him from time to time. But Basha’ir had never seen any proof of his mercy or caring, not towards herself or her poor mother anyway. Yet this man before her spoke so fervently of his grace, she wondered, if there was any hope to ever return the gift of Nikali, would another god or goddess be able to do that? Or help her do that? And of course, the equally important question would be, would they do that? Would Yahal, for instance, bother to assist some lowly person such as herself?

She highly doubted it.

She might as well throw a miza in this well and ask for the help of the ghost lady.

Basha’ir’s fingers had remained resting against the small bulge of her purse tied to her decorative sash at her waist. With a wry expression, she withdrew a glinting gold coin and dropped it over the edge, hearing the plink down below as it broke the water’s surface. She did not even bother to put her wish into discrete words, not even silently. If this lady deemed her worthy, then she would know the secrets of Basha’ir’s heart. Right?

Her short reverie was broken by the acolyte’s question, and she looked at him with a startled expression, which she quickly and deliberately erased from her features, not that it mattered with one who could not see. She considered her answer for a moment, while at the same time chastising herself for slipping up and using that term. She had just escaped the bindings of slavery. She did not want it known that she had been a slave, even though she felt somewhat safe here in Syliras, where such was not tolerated.

“My family moved,” she lied. “My…father was a man of that city, Ravok. My mother…she was already lost to me. So he took me back to the city of his birth. It… it was not forced. Only, I would not have gone on my own accord, of course. How could I? I was only a girl.” Her voice softened, a wistful and slightly sad tone creeping in to it. “Little more than a child, really. But, what could I do? I had to go with him.”

[Tajin]

As Tajin delved into Basha'irs aura his first impression was one of deep rooted pain. Pain that manifested itself in different ways throughout her personhood. The dark sickly lines spider-webbed throughout her body and the stench that rose out of them was that of a rotting corpse. Bitterness reeked on her aura. In the midst of this pain was a rising gulf of disgust that seemed to spring from her as soon as she heard his question. As he further explored this aspect of her aura it seemed to center and tie into the core of her being which was attached to black and red Spiral that emanated power. Tajin instantly retreated from her aura when he realized the significance of what he had seen. This woman was marked of a goddess, and even more importantly she was marked by Nikali. It would be far too easy to fall into temptation with those marked by the goddess of seduction. He could not, would not, allow himself to be taken into sin by this woman. It was about this point that Basha'ir tossed something into the well, and began to answer his question. But as she did so, even as removed from her aura as he was Tajin could see the blatant signs of a quickly made up and largely unconsidered lie. When she had finished her falsified explanation Tajin tilted his head to be staring directly into her eyes. That is he would have been if he could see, but as it is his sightless eyes burned into hers with an unwavering accusation that he voiced after a long moment of silence. “Why do you lie to me sister? Have I done anything to offend you? If so I am penitent for my trespass, but how may you speak to me in good faith with a deceitful tongue?”

[Basha'ir]

The stranger’s eyes held the mesmerizing power of a viper, and his words held a similar sharp sting, as if from a serpent’s tooth. Basha’ir flinched, visibly, hearing the accusation in his question. She wanted to look away. She thought to just turn on her heel and leave this righteous fool behind her. But somewhere within, some part of her said, stay. Was she not just wishing to find a way to better herself? Not in terms of money or prestige or power. She had no use for any of those. No, she wanted…purity of spirit, clarity of thought, a direction for her energies and efforts. How could she hope to begin to build a new life for herself on a foundation of lies?

Her flash of annoyance quickly burnt up and drifted away, leaving guilt and sadness in its place. What would it cost, really, to tell the truth to this stranger? This man who seemed to be able to read her as well as she could read others, if she wished to try.

“You have no need to apologize,” she replied in a very quiet voice. “You gave no cause, for my lie. I…it’s just…” She sighed and looked down at her feet, her fingers knotting together in a nervous habit she had.

“I was born a free person, in Ahnatep. But my mother was a lark, I mean…a prostitute. My father was some Eypharian who used her and then cast her aside when he learned that she was carrying me inside her. She did her best, but, our poverty was crushing and finally, she sold me.” There. Basha’ir tried to think back to another time when she might have told her tale with such bald faced candor, but she thought that this was the first time she had ever given tongue to this painful truth. Even now, she was surprised at how much hurt that simple thought caused her, to know that her only real parent had sold her, into the life that hers had become.

“When I was sixteen,” she continued on, her voice even softer, “a man, a guest of my master, stole me from him, and took me far away, to the north. To Ravok.” Just that one word held all the horror and grief and fear that she had experienced in that terrible place, before Nikali came to her. Her hands clenched together tightly. “After some time, he…he was killed, and another took me, and then another, and more. Finally a few months ago, a man of this city…obtained me, and brought me here, to his home. But…he died, not even two weeks ago. A sudden and unexpected illness. And so, here I am. A free woman, finally.”

But not free, no. Not as long as that scarlet chain ran across her lower abdomen.

“That is the truth,” she said, with a tiny, sad smile. “Though I suspect that you are aware of that.” She did indeed suspect that this man had some power to discern her earlier lie. Perhaps he was marked by Avalis or Tyveth, or maybe he had the skill of an auror, as she did.

“My apologies, to you, brother. I lied to protect my secrets. But I suppose I have to face my past, in order to move forward.” As almost an attempt at humor, she asked, “What do you think Yahal would make of me, his lost daughter?” Her head drooped again, as she whispered, mostly to herself, “I can not imagine that he would be too pleased.”

[Tajin]

As Tajin viewed Basha'irs auras response to his accusation, it seemed to oscillate between anger and sorrow. However these emotions quickly floated away on the breeze as she seemed to sink into a subtle depression and she seemed to break down into an apology and her life story. A story that drove a spike into his heart and banished any annoyance that he had felt towards her previous lie. He immediately felt a sense of ignorant stupidity for his self righteous brashness of speech. Her life was one of pain, a saga of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Tajin was determined that if she would permit him, he would stick close to her, provide her with a sense of calm, nurture her spirit. It would be the right thing to do. What could be more faithful than bringing a lost sheep back into the fold of her god? Tajin felt a fresh wave of pain engulf him when Basha'ir apologized to him for her lie. She had indeed breached etiquette and had initially offended him, but as he realized her motive his anger had vanished in the wind. “Sister, you need not apologize. I was far too brash and quick with my words, I should not have been so prying. You have lived a long and hard life, and I commend your fortitude.” Here he paused to let his words sink in before continuing. “As to your position in the eyes of Yahal... I know not what lies in the heart of my god. However he is called faithful for good reason, he never leaves his sheep. He chastens and punishes the lost but always draws them again to his side. Come back to him, join the fold of your people and revel in the wonder of our god.” After his call to repentance Tajin considered his next question, he meant to ask Basha'ir about the mark of Nikali that lay upon her soul. However he wondered if he should broach such a sensitive subject as of yet. He must be careful for the exact nature of such a mark he knew not other than that it made her exceptionally seductive and an exceptional at drawing the eyes and hearts of men. Yes, to ask this question now would be too soon. He had already drawn much out of this woman and did not feel that it would be right to rip further information out of her. If she chose to speak so be it, for now silence was the best course of action.