Chapter 64. Bought and Sold

he soft lapping of the waves over fine golden sand lulled Zhou into an uneasy sleep. He was exhausted to the very core of his being.  At some point he had slumped over upon a rough bed of dirty blankets that stank of sweat and urine.  He dozed in the sticky heat of late afternoon where his captors had left him, the tent fabric fluttering around him in the wind off the sea.

They were taking him to Gandara, a name that was only vaguely familiar.  His master had come from Elona, resenting that he had been asked to abandon the legendary beauty of Vabbi to teach a hated pupil in what he considered to be a barbarous land.  Zhou had never wanted to come here.  It was as far from his true home as he could imagine and, for various arcane reasons that had never been adequately explained to him, Shikai was forbidden from entering this part of the world.

He dreamed of her in those hot sweaty snatches of restless sleep.  She was sitting beside him in her guise as an elementalist, her complexion reminding him of the finest Canthan porcelain.  He remembered the feel of her silky black braids through his fingers and the faint odor of summer jasmine that permeated her clothing and skin. So beautiful. His throat knotted with grief and longing.  Spring and freedom were things of the treasured past, yesterdays all.

Cantha called to him with its mazy streets and shadowed paths.  Foreigners could not understand its allure, could not feel the deeply ingrained pride of knowing that he had arisen from the dragon people.  While Tyrians had been grubbing about in the filth, his kin had already developed the high arts of civilization.  He wanted to go home, but he was an exile now.  Even were he to escape, he could not flee to the shore of his birth.

At some point he was prodded awake with the butt of a spear.  He shifted away, moaning softly in pain for his ribs were bruised from an earlier beating.  The shackles were released from his ankles and he was brought swaying to his feet.  They treated him like a condemned man, taking little care for his comfort or bodily needs.  His hands remained chained he was pushed out of the tent into the flickering light of a camp fire.

Zhou lowered his face, not wanting to invite another beating.  In his youth he would have been proud enough to defy them, daring them to break every bone in his body if necessary.  Now he consoled himself with the knowledge that he was not broken on the inside and it was not necessary for his body to endure more than it must to prove a worthless point.  His captors cared not whether he was broken, only that he obeyed and did not trouble them.

The pain and swelling of his broken jaw had diminished enough that he did not struggle overmuch to swallow the metallic water that was offered to him once he was sitting at the campfire’s edge.  He had not eaten for days and he was weak because of it.  Secretly, Zhou wondered how much more the house of his soul could endure as he lurked within his own flesh as an unwilling passenger.  He had asked Pendaran to hang on, but he was not certain that he could do the same. 

“If I die, my friend, please promise to carry on.  There will be other teachers.”

But he could no longer feel his connection to Pendaran.  His apprentice dwelt upon another plane, imperiled and pushed to the brink of death.  Zhou had admonished others not to lay their woes at the feet of the gods, and yet he could not help but reflect upon how unfair life was at that moment.  It seemed the gods had forsaken he and Pendaran. 

“This is your demon hunter?” asked a woman’s voice, bitter with scorn.  Zhou risked raising his face to gaze upon her. The gathered corsairs encircled the fire, casually roasting small spitted fillets of fish and stuffing their mouths with greasy relish as they chattered.  He had been among them for a week and knew many of their faces. There was a contingent of new people at the fire, the woman among them, and he was not certain where they had come from or if they were also Corsairs. Their manner of dress was similar, long layered clothes, but the woman had an indignant almost imperious mien in her red robes.

“I was told to look for a Canthan mesmer,” said Aheem bluntly, “What do I care so long as my client pays up.  He is both.  He managed to kill one of my men before we broke his jaw.  Pity they want him alive.”

“They?” the woman asked, her narrow brows etched sharply upon her long mahogany face.

“I don’t reveal the identities or motives of my clients,” Aheem snorted, his scarred visage harsh in the flickering light.

“But you do allow them to bid against one another,” the woman sniped bitterly, “What if I don’t care about your alleged demon hunter? My order has no interest in such things.”

“Madame Whispers, I’m only trying to help,” Aheem said with an oily snicker, “My contact in Gandara wants him alive enough for interrogation.  I imagine he has a few secrets and I know your little order is very much interested in such things.”

“You’re scum, Aheem,” the woman snapped, “Always have been and ever will be.  If the Kournans want him that badly, who am I to intervene?  We’re done.  Good night.”

Zhou watched her rise along with her retinue of five cloaked figures.  Aheem snarled an oath and rose.

“Wait.”

The woman turned sharply on her heel, her dark features lined with anger.

“I’ll bargain,” Aheem said quietly, “Half the price and he’s yours.”

“Scum,” she barked, “You don’t have anyone waiting for him in Gandara, or if you do, you know they’ll take him and kill you before they pay so much as a red shilling.  I’ll give you five platinum bars and no more.  Take it or leave it.”

“He cost me a man!”

“Then your man was careless.  It is not my concern.”

Aheem surged to his feet as she turned her back to him once more.

“Ten,” he rasped, “and that’s robbing me.”

“Eight,” she barked, “He’ll most likely be dead by dawn in any event and then what will I have to show for my coin? I’m paying for his alleged secrets, not a pile of worthless rotting meat.”

Aheem barked an unattractive slur but nodded, gesturing harshly at Zhou.  The woman reached into the depths of her crimson robes and pulled out a black velvet pouch from which she drew eight long ingots of silvery metal.  She made a show of demonstrating that there was precious little additional wealth on her person as Aheem held out his hand and two burly Corsairs hauled Zhou to his feet and dragged him toward her.  She placed the money in his outstretched palm and sealed the deal with a clasp of her hand over the platinum.

“I’ll be needing the key to his shackles,” she said, holding her hand out now and smiling darkly when Aheem grudgingly gave them to her.  She gestured and two of her retinue came forth to replace the Corsair that propped Zhou on his trembling legs.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Aheem barked to Zhou’s back as the woman lead her entourage away.

“Carry him,” she said softly when they had stepped outside the fire’s warm ring of light and walked under the silvery glow of the waning crescent moon.

“I can heal him,” said one of the men as the other scooped Zhou easily into his arms.

Numbly, Zhou lay still, aware that he had been saved somehow.  He had no idea who these people were, but he realized they meant him no harm.

“Wait until we get to the boat,” she said quietly.

When they arrived at the pier, it was to the sound of a familiar voice.

“Is he alright, Ishalha?”

“He is very ill, Azuri.  You did the right thing.  We’ll take him to safety now.”

“I want to come,” the young woman insisted, “Please.”

“Your father would be furious if he knew you had talked me in the first place.  I will not risk his wrath by taking you away.  I will send Azar to see you home.”

“But I want to serve Istan,” Azuri pleaded, “I have worked diligently to become that which you foresaw in me.  Please, let me prove my worth.”

“Azuri, you are young…”

“I am of age at a time when my people are at war.  You deny me the right to fight against evil when you have told me that is to be my destiny as one chosen by the gods.”

Zhou smiled to himself even though his battered face could no longer do so.  He silently thanked the brave young woman for saving him, knowing not to what lengths she had gone to do so.  He was laid in the prow of a small single-masted boat amid a nest of clean blankets, the irons around his neck and wrists released at last.  A small man with warm red-brown skin sat beside him, the same who had helped him walk away from the camp.  He set aside his brass lantern and laid his hands upon Zhou, his touch vibrant with the gifts of Dwayna as he whispered soothing words.

“Thank you,” Zhou croaked, the first words he had dared to utter for days as the monk poured Dwayna’s grace into his lifeless jaw and fused the bones back together again.  The man smiled sweetly, his warm brown eyes so full of compassion Zhou began to weep.

“Relax, my friend,” the man said gently, “You’re safe now.”

He was vaguely aware of footfalls over the hollow planks of the long boat and Azuri’s stubborn refusal to go ashore.  A laugh emerged from his parched throat as the young woman laid down her pack.  She sat stubbornly at his side, refusing to move.

“Ishahla, we need to catch the departing tide,” warned a man at the boat’s stern, his hand resting on the tiller.

The woman sighed loudly and nodded.

“Very well.  I may live to regret this, but you may come with us, Azuri.  Just try to stay out of trouble.”