Chapter 20

November 13th, 2020

Not knowing exactly where to go, what to do or hope for, the group of freed captives went their own ways. One went to find out what tomorrow would look like. Another went and found a corner to cry in, feeling so very far from home, and now a prisoner in a different cage. Others went to sleep, other's found comedy or silent reflection. Zechariah on the other hand, had much that he wanted to accomplish.

Wandering from hall to hall, he asked Dustman after Dustman if they knew Mudaris. He quickly found that everyone knew Mudaris but when asked where he might be found, Zechariah found no answers. No one seemed to know. From one to another, he eventually found a trail, which led out of the keep, and down into the old abandoned houses of Sumud. Many of the Dustmen had taken up some of the old houses, patching them up and sweeping them out of the sands that had filled them. It was slower work but the Keep was overly packed that they decided it was worth the effort. As he left the keep and wandered down the streets, he passed what must have once been an old garden for he saw the posts that would once house the vines for beans but now they were little more than twigs sticking out of the sands. In the 'garden' he saw Nawfa and Khayrat arguing in hushed but very animated tones. His skin went cold. He wondered if he should, in some form, attempt to interrupt the argument, or to help Nawfa but paused as he thought better of it. He wasn't exactly afraid to, but Nawfa had been rather committed to 'handling' Khayrat herself and so, releasing a deep breath, he turned and continued on his way.

A short time later, he came to the home he was directed to and knocked on it. “Hello? Mudaris? Are you in?” Zechariah called. He received no answer. He thought to look through the windows but found them all boarded up. Considering his next move, he raised his hand to knock again when the door suddenly opened and Mudaris stood inside looking a bit out of sorts. His hair was messy, his beard was uncombed and all he was was a loose hanging white shift that barely reached his mid-thigh.

“Eh? What is it?” Mudaris said squinting at him blearily.

“Oh, I'm sorry, is this a bad time? Should I come back later?” Zechariah asked suddenly feeling rather embarrassed and rude. It wasn't particularly early but he supposed not everyone was accustomed at rising at dawn for a hard days' work. He himself had slept in later than most and was surprised to see Mudaris in such a state.

“Eh? That's ridiculous. Come in. Come in!” He turned back inside the house waving him in. He led him into a small 'sitting room' which looked odd. It had the comforts of Mudari's possessions in stark contrast to the bleak and worn nature of the home around it. None the less, the cushions were comfortable and he sat upon a cushion on the floor in front of a low table. Mudaris went over to a washbowl and Zechariah idly wondered where he had gotten the fresh water from, as he first scrubbed his hands and then dipped his whole head into the bowl and sat there for a moment, holding his breath. With a fling of his head he flipped his long black hair behind him and ran his hands through his hair, and then through his beard, pulling it down and into shape as he shook his head blinking furiously. “So, Zechariah, what can I do for you?” He asked as he made his way over to a small fireplace and deftly lit it with a single stroke of his flint and steel, and set a kettle over the growing fire to boil some water.

“Really, I'm terribly sorry. If you want me to come back later...” Zechariah began to protest once again but Mudaris waved him off as he sat down on a cushion on the other side of the table. As he sat, Zechariah was grateful for the table for he saw that Mudaris wasn't wearing any undergarments.

“No. No. I would not have invited you in if I hadn't wanted your company no?” Mudaris asked, beginning to tie his hair back.

“I don't know. Would you?” Zechariah asked unsure of what their cultural norms was.

“Ha! I would!” Mudaris laughed, “But that is not the point. No. Because you are a man, I have questions for as well. So, I say again: What can I do for you?”

Zechariah was a little put off guard that Mudaris had wanted to speak to him also, but quickly gathered his wits. “Well, I'm afraid that there is a lot that I wish to discuss and, now that I'm hear, I find myself unsure of where to begin.” He looked at Mudaris, oddly expecting him to offer some advise on this completely arbitrary sentence of his but Mudaris did nothing but sit quietly and patiently. Zechariah cleared his throat, beginning to shift awkwardly. Clearing his throat he began again. “Whilst traveling with Z-Zaki, Nawfa informed me that you were her squad's Ritualist and, I was wondering if you might be able to answer some questions I have about magic.”

“Ah.” Mudaris said knowingly. “You want to know if you have any magical talent yourself no?” Mudaris stroked his beard habitually.

“Well..I...don't think that I have any magical talent. I think that'd be a fools dream. But, well...I have some questions about magic that have been on my mind for a long while.” Zechariah rubbed his left hand gently. For the most part, his scars had healed surprisingly well but the cuts were still somewhat sensitive to the touch.

Mudaris pulled on his beard for several moments considering Zechariah carefully. “There are not many who know magic. Rather, not many that know of the function of magic. This is for two reasons. Because it is dangerous, and because it is difficult. Why should I answer you, and not all others who seek my teaching?” Mudaris asked with careful, calculated words.

Zechariah thought for several long minutes in return, considering Mudaris' words. He wanted to say, “Because I deserve to know! Because I've been plagued by it my whole life!” However, he could not help but feel like these words would not convince Mudaris. Thinking over all the reasons of why, he couldn't think of a single one. To Mudaris, he was just another farmer's boy who wanted to steal his knowledge and secrets. “I suppose,” Zechariah began slowly though his heart raced in his chest, “that you shouldn't. There is no reason you should. It comes down to whether you want to or not.”

The silent moments of their conversation outweighed their verbal ones. Zechariah could see that Mudaris was a carefully spoken and thoughtful man and it both inspired Zechariah to do the same, and also intimidated him. He thought it might be a casual conversation, but here, he felt like he was a thief trying to steal a treasure, or a town drunkard.

“In this, you are correct.” Mudaris said suddenly breaking the silence. “There is no reason why I should teach you.” The hot water began to boil, and Mudaris stood, much to Zechariah's chagrin, and pulled the kettle off the fire and began to prepare some tea. Placing some leaves in a cloth and tying it up, he placed the bag in the kettle and stirred it with a wooden spoon for a bit. Bringing out two wonderfully crafted pottery glazed cups without a handle he set them down on the table, and placed a cup before Zechariah, and a cup before him. As he went about serving the tea, Zechariah sat silently. He wanted to respond to Mudaris' words but felt that the right response was silence, and though it took great effort on his part, he remained seated and still. Mudaris went over to a cloth covered basket and pulled out a loaf of soft bread. Tearing it in two, he served them and sat back down. Picking up the pot, he swirlled in and then poured himself a small splash which he tasted. Satisfied with it, he poured Zechariah a full cup of bitter-sweet carcade which Zechariah had never tasted before. It was wondrous, and his eyes lit up at the taste. He tore of a small chunk of bread and ate in silence for a bit as Mudaris did the same.

“I will share some of what I know with you.” Mudaris suddenly said without looking at Zechariah, as he continued to eat and drink quietly. Zechariah wasn't sure how much he would be able to ask, and so gave careful consideration to what questions he wished to ask.

Zechariah looked around for a moment, and then went to the small fire. Reaching in, he picked up a cold piece of charcoal from last night's fire. Returning to the old table, he began to draw on it. He drew quickly, the one of the patterns he'd been carving his whole life. When he was finished, he looked up at Mudaris who was paying careful attention to each curve and angle of the pattern. “Do you know what this is?” Zechariah asked simply.

Mudaris thought for a long time, studying the drawing, chewing slowly and swallowing. He began to stroke his graying beard again and Zechariah wondered if a man can start balding on the chin if he strokes his beard too much. Eventually, Mudaris said, “No. I have not seen this before. It looks very familiar however.”

“Similar to your code, right? The one you use to leave messages for each other?” Zechariah asked quickly and excitedly. Mudaris looked at him out of the corner of his eye and his look was one of annoyance and suspicion.

“How do you know our codes?” Mudaris asked slowly.

“I don't.” Zechariah said quickly, realizing his mistake. “At least, I don't know how to decode them. Nawfa showed me how you leave messages for one another. Without being able to decode it, it's useless to me isn't it?” He reasoned hoping that Mudaris wouldn't become to suspicious of him.

“It is true. It is not our code. But it similar.” Mudaris said reluctantly. “It looks as though I should understand it, but I do not.”

“What is it then? Why do I know it?” Zechariah asked eagerly.

Mudaris sat back and sipped on more of his tea. “Why you know it, is beyond me. As for what it is, I also do not know.” Zechariah felt his hopes beginning to fade and his shoulders sink but didn't realize that Mudaris was not finished. “It looks like our code, with much unnecessary scribbling. Another code you saw somewhere?” Mudaris asked.

Zechariah shook his head. “No, I've been drawing this since I was a child in a farming town. I knew nothing like it existed outside of my own work.” He thought for a moment before asking, “Are you codes magical?”

“No. They are not. However, they use our ritual signs.” Mudaris explained.

“You use your magical signs in the codes but the codes aren't magical?” Zechariah asked confused.

“Yes. Not all signs, symbols, runes or words are of power. No. It is like,” Mudaris paused for a moment trying to find an example. After a short time he continued, “It is like writing in the air with your finger, or writing on paper with charcoal. You see? You might be making words with both, but only one can be useful.” Mudaris at another piece of bread. “Magical writing is the same. You can leave the words, but if you do not make them with magic, they will not be magical.”

Zechariah's eyes widened with sudden understanding, and he rubbed his left hand gingerly. “But, what of not being able to understand it?” Zechariah inquired.

“Ah, that is because it is a different language. Like my language of the Ghabar Rijali or the language of the Blood Barbarians.” He thought for a moment longer. “No...perhaps it is more like our swords. The swords of the Blood Barbarians are broad and heavy, designed for cutting through armor. But our swords are thin and nimble or curved, useful for cutting cloth and striking from horseback. They are both swords but slight changes make them very different. It is the same with this. It is similar to my magic, but its a different sword, or language. One that I cannot use, even if I were to write it with magic, I would not know how to control it.”

Zechariah sat in utter silence, staring far away, his mind reeling and spinning from what Mudaris was telling him. If what he said were true, these could be magical runes. He just didn't know how to control them or write them with magic. But his inheritance. Damn the Draconians. He'd lost everything. “Do you know anyone who might be able to read this?”

Mudaris shook his head sadly. “Not in the Ghabar Rijali. We do not practice magic out side of our Rituals. Even then, it is very carefully taught and practiced.” He poured himself some more tea as Zechariah continued to sip on his. “However, I know that Uthar houses a school of the Arcane. They have a school of Channelers. I do not know what they teach or anything about it. Yet, with their libraries and scholars you may find more luck there than with us.”

“What if I'm born with magic though? Nawfa told me that you Ritualists are born with the ability to see magic. What if I'm able to do that to?” Zechariah asked eagerly, thinking that perhaps Mudaris might be able to teach him some of his practices.

Mudaris simply shook his head. “No Zechariah, you are not born with magic.”

“How do you...” Zechariah was cut off as Mudaris raised his hand.

“If you could see magic Zechariah, you would be blinded right now. I chose this house because it is the center of much magic, and it swirls before my eyes even now. I know you cannot see this by your actions. You are not born with it.” He said simply, and bluntly.

Zechariah's heart fell a little. He didn't really think that he had a chance at being a Ritualist but, it was never nice to hear that a hope, no matter how faint, was not possible. However, he shook his heart for being so petty, and steeled it. No need to be so disappointed about something that was likely never to be. It doesn't change the now. Zechariah though a moment longer. What else did he want to ask?

“How does your magic work?” Zechariah asked, changing the subject slightly.

Mudaris pondered his question silently for a while, before answering. “Magic, it exists everywhere. Like air. It is always here. However, if you go up on a mountain, the air is thinner, if you go down in a valley, the air is thicker. Like this, there are different places where magic is thicker, or thinner. Our magic is like the opening of a dam. We prepare a ritual which sets the door that the magic will flow through. It sets the shape the magic will take. Then, we open the door, and the magic flows out. Where we do these rituals, affects how powerful our magic is. If we do a ritual where magic is thick, it is very powerful. If we do it where magic is thin, it is very weak. We do not control the flow of magic, or really craft it very well. We simply welcome it into the world.”

Zechariah was enthralled with Mudaris' words. Each sentence opening a thousand other questions. His mind span with questions and he felt he could sit here and talk with Mudaris for Rises and Falls at a time. However, he also didn't want to become a burden to Mudaris for if he wanted to ask all those questions, he would have to be a friend of his first.

“How does this differ from the Channelers?” Zechariah finally asked.

Mudaris simply shrugged. “I do not know. I have not learned how the Channelers use their magic. But, I believe our magic is more powerful, but less versatile.”

“What does that mean?” Zechariah pried, but could see that Mudaris was beginning to tire of the questions.

“I believe, with their magic, they can accomplish many more tasks than we Ritualists can. However, I also believe that our magic can achieve what it does to a greater degree, than what a Channeler could. However, I do not know this for sure, as I have not spoken at length with a Channeler.

Zechariah pondered his words for a moment before saying, “Thank you, that is all I have to ask for now.”

Mudaris nodded slowly. “I know this is not the case, but I agree. So it is my turn to ask you the questions?” Mudaris asked, to which Zechariah nodded. “Then, where do you know this sign from?” He asked, gesturing to the scribble Zechariah had left on the table.

Zechariah flushed. “I don't know. It's just something I've always done in my art.” He said, knowing that he was lying, but not really wanting to divulge the truth. Mudaris evidently did not believe him.

“Then why does your left hand glow?” Mudaris asked narrowing his eyes at Zechariah, who sat up suddenly straighter, jumping in surprise.

“I...It...It's glowing?” Zechariah asked.

Mudaris nodded. “Let me see it.” He said extending his right hand for Zechariah to lay his left upon. Trembling slightly, Zechariah complied, raising his charred and ruined left hand, and placing it upon Mudaris', palm up. He lifted Zechariah's hand and inspected it closely.

Mudaris grunted thoughtfully at himself as he examined the back and front of Zechariah's hand, between each finger, under the finger nails. Everywhere. “I see two magics. One is ruined, the other is powerful and fresh. Why burn your hand only to carve the rune again?” Mudaris asked curiously.

Zechariah felt shame for some reason. It wasn't his fault, it was his fathers but, the scarred charred wreck of a hand had always embarrassed him. He could work almost as well as any other man but it always bothered him. “It...wasn't my fault.” Zechariah said quietly. “My father burned my hand when I was little. These new scars...I wanted to see if I could undo what my father did.” Zechariah lied again. He wasn't sure why he kept lying to the man who had answered all his questions so well but, Zechariah was unsure of how Mudaris might react if he told him that demons were possessing him.

Zechariah was unsure of whether or not Mudaris had believed for he gave him a critical eye. However, he didn't challenge Zechariah on it further. “It is certainly magical.” Mudaris said, “But what it does, I do not know.” He finished as he released Zechariah's hand. “I can see why Nawfa said you were valuable though. Perhaps not for any skill or knowledge of your own, but for what you carry.”

“What is that I carry?”

“I do not know. But Nawfa was correct for convincing Zaeim that it would be best to take you from the hands of the Draconians before they figure out what we do not know.” Mudars said cryptically.

Zechariah eyed his hateful hand in a slightly new light. It was magical? But that couldn't be. “When I was imprisoned by the Draconians, the Empress seemed...”

“The Empress!?” Mudaris said sitting up suddenly, interrupting Zechariah.

“Y-yes. Why?” Zechariah said confused.

“The Empress is here?” Mudaris asked wide eyed.

Zechariah shook his head. “No. She left after the first day I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, I didn't see her again.”

“Did you see her leave?” Mudaris pressed aggressively forward with this line of questioning.

Zechariah paused. “No...She just, wasn't there one day.”

“Did you see anything that might have been magical?” Mudaris asked. “A staff or wand or orb or something?”

He nodded. “Yes, in her tent she had a circle carved into her floor.”

“Gashet!” Mudaris cursed standing up and stripping naked in front of Zechariah as he rushed over to a small chest and pulled out some proper clothes.

“What is it?” Zechariah asked confused by his sudden agitation.

“Maharrani is a powerful sorceress. If you did not see her leave, she may have teleported. Which means, she might be able to return at any time. I must tell Zaeim immediately.” Mudaris said wrapping a turban around his head and a belt around his robes. “I apologize Zechariah. I shall be happy to continue talking another time. For now, however, I must go.”

“No, I understand. Should I come also?” he asked unsure of his role in things.

“Perhaps Zaeim will wish to speak to you, but for now, no. Stay, eat, rest. It is good. If Zaeim wishes it, he will summon you.” Mudaris said as he bid Zechariah farewell and dashed out the door.

Zechariah sat there stunned for a bit. He was still hungry so he went over to the basket and helped himself to another loaf of bread and left the house, nibbling on the bread thoughtfully as he walked back towards the keep.