Captain of the Watch: Book One In the Earthwoman's Dawn Saga

By Mario Hyacinth

Sarita Hamizan offers sanctuary to a mysterious woman who harbors a dark secret, incurring the wrath of a holy warrior who seeks to silence the woman before her secret can be revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312923355

Book preview

Captain of the Watch: Book One In the Earthwoman's Dawn Saga

Captain of the Watch: Book One in the Earthwoman’s Dawn Saga

Copyright © 2015 Mario Hyacinth

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 978-1-312-92335-5

Prologue

She had traveled long and far. Her bare feet ached as pebbles poked at her soles upon the sun-soaked earth. No matter how far she walked, she constantly looked over her shoulder, making sure no one followed her. Someone would be coming for her, this she knew. She had to keep moving.

Her escape had been daring, a word she would never have used to describe herself. But daring was what she had to be if she intended to survive. Her heart had felt as if it were in her throat as she sat in the wagon, praying the driver wouldn’t notice her extra weight. As the mansion grew smaller in the distance, her fear didn’t lessen. Not unless she was, perhaps, across the Gulf of Natheef would she truly feel safe. But how safe could someone like her ever be? They hated her. They hated her and her kind. Even without this new predicament she faced, she would never be safe in the world.

She didn’t know how many days had passed, perhaps a week. She had encountered many small villages along the way, with strangers kind enough to offer her food and water. There were those in the world who could look past what she was and still be kind. The cruelty of the world made that difficult to remember at times, but it was true. But most of those villages were settled by the others, the Mirabu. She needed to find a place where her people were.

After walking for nearly half a day, she came upon it. This was no small village. It was a town set by the river, surrounded by a crumbling wall. Outside the wall, others had settled. It was a veritable shantytown, with people huddled together on dusty rugs and ragged tents having been erected. That wasn’t the only thing that caught her eye. As she moved closer, she saw many of the others amongst those outside the town. But her people were there as well. In fact, there were several, more than she had seen in any of the villages.

Perhaps she could stay here, she thought. Perhaps she could blend in. Or…perhaps she could find someone who would help her. If there were so many of her people out here, she thought, perhaps…there were even more inside? She would rest here for the night, she decided. Then, she would try to get inside. Maybe someone inside could help her. So, she spread her shawl on the ground and sat. Her body was grateful, though her mind told her to keep moving. Someone would be coming for her. He wouldn’t stop until she was back in his clutches.

Chapter I

Sarita Hamizan arrived early at the watchmen’s hold in the center of the town of Murishandi. Alborin, a watchman a few years her elder, manned the tower above the entrance. Bidding her a good morning, he commanded the two watchmen below to open the wooden gates. She stepped into the wide courtyard. There was more activity in there than usual, with several of her fellow watchmen rushing back and forth carrying packs slung over their shoulders. There was a palpable urgency in the air. What was happening? Almost on cue, she spotted a familiar face emerging from the colonnade in front of her. The young man came to her from across the courtyard at a pace that wasn’t a mad dash, but wasn’t a slow jog either.

Dakari wants to see you in his office. Immediately, he said upon arriving, his hazel eyes showing an intensity to match the bustle around them.

Tumarik Elisham was a year younger than Sarita and about the same height. Being of mixed Black and White Mirabu parentage, his complexion was light brown and he had short, wavy black hair. Small-bodied with a lean build, he had a face she always thought would be more cute than handsome, no matter how old he lived to be. She had been paired with him during his early months on the job, going on patrol with him and acting as his mentor. He had been attached to her ever since. Overbearing at times yet always sincere, she found it oddly comforting to have someone who looked up to her.

What’s going on, Tumarik? Why’s everyone running around? she asked, as the two of them fell in step with each other, heading back to the main building.

You’ll find out. Things are going to get interesting around here very quickly.

Tumarik, just tell me! Enough with the mystery. What’s going on?

Far be it from me to spoil a surprise. Besides, I don’t know everything.

She gave up. She knew once he set his mind to it, he wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to know. She tried to imagine what could be happening. It appeared as if the watchmen were preparing for some sort of attack. She knew that couldn’t be happening. Had someone important arrived in town? Had something horrible happened the night before?

So, you did it again.

What? She had been lost in thought and barely heard what he said.

Larendon Kole. They said you brought him in for the murder of Toro Shellam early last night. Sarita, do you trust me? To do this job, I mean? Looking at his face, she immediately felt bad for giving him any reason to doubt her feelings about his competency.

Of course I do, she said, as she placed her hand on his shoulder. I trust you completely.

Then why do you continue to do this, putting yourself in dangerous situations with no one at your side?

It was just a hunch I had. I didn’t expect that he would react the way he did. She noticed him looking at the bruises on her arms.

Sarita, he could have killed you! He stopped her by placing a hand on her arm. He gently touched the bruises with a look of disgust on his face. He was really upset, she could tell. Look. The watchmen are a unit. We work together. I’m not saying you had to take me with you, just someone. I would have appreciated it if you thought enough of me to have me along, though.

It was a hunch. I put it together really quickly in my head. There was no time to get anyone else to assist me. Everything seemed to come together very fast.

I understand. I just worry. Sarita, we’re supposed to look out for each other. ‘Whatever happens to you happens to me.’ Remember those words?

Of course she did. She had spoken them to him when they were first paired with each other. Her brothers, Thandeis and Tulan, had spoken them to her, as had Dakari.

If my actions have caused you to feel I lack confidence in you, I truly apologize. I trust you with my life, Tumarik. I would face the hordes of Byst unafraid with you at my side. I’m sorry if I hurt you. Slowly, an embarrassed smile formed on his face.

You’d better go meet with Dakari, he said.

She patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and headed inside. As she ascended the steps to the top floor, she pulled her tunic over the padded cuirass she wore and fastened her sword belt. When she entered Dakari’s office, he had his back to her, sifting through sheets of parchment on his wooden desk.

Dakari?

Dakari Ibruhain turned to look at her and smiled reassuringly. He was a tall man, more than a head taller than she was, with broad shoulders and a bald head. He was Black Mirabu, dark-skinned, with strong features framed by an angular face. His tunic carried a badge on the right sleeve with three embroidered swords on it. That marked him as the watch captain. Sarita’s tunic had a badge with two swords on it, marking her as one of his most trusted watchmen. He put the parchment down and sighed.

I couldn’t wait for you to arrive this morning. Shut the door and have a seat.

She did as he asked as he walked around the desk and sat down. The office was modest, with a rug on the floor, two shelves of books and a cabinet. The stone walls were bare save for the area behind Dakari’s desk where a longsword with an ornately-carved hilt hung. It was said to be the weapon belonging to the first watch captain the town ever had, but many didn’t believe that to be so. A sole window looked out across the market and beyond to the docks.

What’s happening, Dakari? she asked, nervously gripping her knees as she sat.

A messenger arrived during the night with word from the capital, orders really. They came from Purifier Brontelles himself.

She straightened up in her chair upon hearing the name. Purifier Brontelles! The very sound of his name brought fear. Armistan Brontelles was the man appointed by High Priest Ulmar Qista to lead the Purification, a movement to weed out heretics within the Nine Territories. She had never met him or seen him, but tales of him spread to her town and likely every territory within the alliance.

Is the Purifier…coming here? she asked, with not a small hint of fear in her voice. Dakari shook his head.

No. However, some of us will be moving on, so to speak.

I don’t understand.

The Purifier has requested that the watchmen ranks in Tirann and Zantia be supplemented by watchmen from smaller, more manageable towns. Murishandi will be one of the towns providing these watchmen.

But…we’re beginning to have need of all the watchmen, Dakari. The settlements and shantytowns surrounding Murishandi are swelling. Does he understand that?

I’m not sure I would want to debate the merits of his decisions with him. Sarita, the Purification has elicited a great deal of unrest and chaos in large cities like Tirann and Zantia. There’s a greater need to maintain order, for regulation. And you know that order and regulation calls for manpower. In the grand scheme of things, small towns like ours and Ridian aren’t as important to the Territories.

How many of our watchmen are going? Who’s going? Am…am I leaving Murishandi? Dakari let out a small laugh. That comforted her amidst all the sudden unease.

One question at a time, he said. Twenty-five of us will be leaving Murishandi for either Zantia or Tirann. I’m not sure what the exact split will be, but I know I’ll be going to Zantia. She gasped.

"You’re leaving? Who’s...who’s going to be in charge here, Dakari?"

He smiled at her again, but it wasn’t like the reassuring one he gave her when she first entered the office. She felt tightness in the pit of her stomach.

You’re going to be in charge, Sarita. You’re going to be the watch captain while I’m away.

She just sat there and waited for him to laugh or say something else. Certainly he was joking, wasn’t he? She watched his face and waited. And waited. The tightness in her stomach became more pronounced.

By the three faces of the Creator. You’re serious!

I am. I can think of no one better to run things properly while I’m away.

But...but, I’m not even the most experienced watchman! Surely there are other watchmen better suited for the task. Khaldeen, Nizaam even. Khaldeen is your good friend. Certainly you trust him. He held his large hands up to stop her.

Khaldeen and Nizaam are both leaving town. Part of the Purifier’s orders was that he wanted experienced watchmen, people who knew what they were doing and wouldn’t be slow to react if called upon to take action. That’s one of the reasons why he’s bringing in people who are already watchmen and not just hiring and training new watchmen in the two cities. The contingent that remains here will be young in terms of age and experience.

Her breathing became much deeper. How was she going to do this? She had commanded men before, leading investigations and organizing the apprehension of criminals, but nothing this big. There were so many things to take care of, so many details to keep track of. How would those under her command react and respond to her?

I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I’m ready to do this. Dakari stood up and came around the desk to her. He knelt down on one knee, placing one hand over hers and another on her shoulder.

Yes you are. I trust you, respect you and believe in you. All the watchmen do, everyone in this town does. I’ve believed in you since the day Capt. Udion paired me with you as your mentor. I looked in your eyes and saw a young woman ready to learn and willing to trust. You have never disappointed me and I know you won’t now. Trust me again that I know you can do this.

She stared into his brown eyes, his words like a prayer giving her strength. He had always had that effect on her.

It was natural that she had become attracted to him under the circumstances. He was older, very handsome and in a position of authority over her. She felt he was the one who taught her all the things about her job she was proudest of. He was the person she spent most of her time with once her mother, Anaya, had finally succumbed to her illness, his constant presence and the job taking away some of that sting. More often than she wished, she sat at home and pondered what might have been. But there was too much going on in her life back then and Dakari was the perfect gentleman and friend. He neither took advantage of his position nor her vulnerability. She had the utmost respect for him because of that. He was married, to a beautiful and kind woman named Sadria, and they had a young son, Avishal.

How long will you and the others be gone? He shrugged his shoulders.

There’s no way of knowing. Until the Purifier deems our presence is no longer necessary, I would suppose. You’ll have to prepare yourself for the possibility that this could go on for some time. We all do.

She drew her hands up to her face, placing them in front of her mouth while she closed her eyes and thought. This was all very sudden. That was the way of life, though. She had come to realize it was a series of trials and this was but the latest one placed in front of her. There would undoubtedly be more. She turned to look at him.

What do I do first?

A smile of satisfaction came onto his face as he pushed himself off of the floor. She stood up, prepared to take orders for one of the last times from her captain and mentor.

First, I’ll assemble all the watchmen and make the official announcement. I guess the best place to do that would be the dining hall. Later on today, I want to meet with you about planning the shift rotations and the patrols now that the ranks will be pared down. I’ll make suggestions, but the final say will be yours.

When do you leave?

The Purifier wants us in Tirann and Zantia as soon as possible. I figure all of our arrangements should have us out of here in no more than four days.

Four days, she thought to herself. So, in a short span of time, her life would change again. Her mother always said the Creator wouldn’t place more upon you than He thought you could carry, though. Just then, something came to mind that had bothered her from the time Dakari gave her the surprising news.

What about the army, Dakari? Why won’t the government just use them as a militia to enforce the law in the large cities?

I’m sure they’re doing that already. But, from what I’ve heard, the government likes to keep everything separated. The military should be used for fighting wars and protection against invasion, the watchmen for maintaining law and order within the Territories. As we speak, the majority of the Striking Talons are stationed along the coast in Ephryas and Misla to the south, while warships patrol the Tiborean. Even more are being sent to Themysia, as it’s the southernmost territory in the alliance and therefore most vulnerable to an attack from Ghobai. The government doesn’t want to spread the military too thin, I would guess.

Of course. Will Sadria and Avishal be going with you?

No, no. They’ll remain here. As much as I would love to have my family with me, I can’t ask them to be uprooted. Avi is too young for that. I’ll miss them. The government will be providing the families of the departing watchmen with money to help out while we’re away. I’ll be sending part of my earnings back here to Sadria, of course, but you never know what could happen and I’m thankful for what they’re doing. She and Avi will be fine, I know. She still has family here and I know they will look after her. I...I would appreciate it if you would stop in on them once in a while. Sadria really likes you and it would give me peace of mind.

She saw how difficult it was for him to say those last words. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, though he tried to remain strong.

I will. Sadria is one of the most pleasant people I’ve ever met. You have a beautiful family.

He tried to smile, his eyes still a window to his sadness. He then took his fingers and gently moved a loose curl of her hair, placing it behind her ear.

You’re more beautiful than you think you are, Sarita.

She felt her face redden and just stood there at a loss for words. In all their time together, he had never said anything like that before.

I’d better go get settled before you make the announcement in the dining hall. I have a lot to do.

Yes, you do. The two of them stood there awkwardly for a time.

Until then, she said. She left his office as calmly as she could, though in reality she would have preferred to run.

***

When did I ever tell you to stand like that?

The old, Black Mirabu man grumbled as he roughly grabbed Sarita by the shoulders and readjusted her body. The weaponmaster seemed to be in a bad mood. It was late afternoon and Dakari had already made the official announcement to the rest of the watchmen. She had left the dining hall quickly after that, not wanting to be around the rest of them. Some of them congratulated her, but most just gave her blank stares. She wanted to talk to someone she could trust, but Tumarik was out on patrol. She turned to her other good friend.

The sun was at its hottest then in the courtyard, the heat radiating off the pale paving stones. They had been outside for some time and her face and arms glistened with sweat. Perriko, wearing a padded cuirass perhaps a size too small for his stocky frame, seemed unperturbed by the heat. He was barely sweating. She knew she was a greater cause of aggravation for him than the sun could ever be. They continued with the training.

The burly instructor had seen hundreds of watchmen come through the ranks in the town and had a hand in training all of them for the last thirty years. There were several older watchmen who served as instructors then and had been several over the years, but the watchmen took Perriko’s tutelage most to heart. It was he who taught them the subtle nuances of the profession. So skilled was he in his methods that he became renowned within the Tirann Territory. Offered a position to teach combat techniques in the prestigious military academy in the capital, he turned it down, preferring to work on the smaller stage. Combining a style that was part taskmaster, part encouraging parent, he was a fixture at the hold, as much as its golden sandstone walls and watchtowers overlooking the town.

The old man threw punches at her and she would in turn assume a defensive posture to stop or avoid the blow. Then, they would reverse the exercise and she would attack him. After a time, the old man just stood with his hands on his hips and looked at her. She stood in front of him, breathing heavily.

What? she finally asked. He ran his hand over his scraggly beard.

Did you try to grab Larendon like that, the way you just tried to grab me? She stood thinking about it. She honestly couldn’t remember. I’ll answer the question for you, he continued. The answer is yes.

What did I do wrong?

If you’re going to attack, you must do so with a full commitment. Know what you’re doing.

But I wasn’t trying to attack him. I was trying to calm him, to get him to come with me peacefully. His eyes widened.

Oh? And how sure were you that he wanted to be peaceful? Obviously, not very.

What should I have done, marched right into his house and attacked him on the spot?

What you should have done was to take someone with you, but that’s another matter altogether. What I’m trying to get across to you is that you have to assume that there are people out there who are dangerous and would do you harm.

"I did bring him in," she reminded him.

Yes, but it could have been worse. Much worse. She noticed him looking at the bruises on her arms.

He didn’t really hurt me. It looks worse than it is.

The old man came closer to her and scrunched up his nose, creating even more wrinkles on his weathered, brown face, as he inspected the bruises more closely. He was only slightly taller than her.

I would have liked to have been there last night so I could have split his skull open. Murdering bastard, he cursed under his breath.

I’m all right. I can handle this job, you know.

Oh, I know that, girl. I just want you to...lose a part of yourself when you’re out there in the field.

’Lose myself?’ What part of myself do you want me to lose?

The part that’s loving and trusting and compassionate. All those parts of you that make you the person I care about.

I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know if I want to do that.

Don’t dwell on what I’ve said, girl. Enough for today. He walked over to a stool and picked up a waterskin, handing it to her. She drank some of the water then poured the remainder over her face.

What do you think about the Purifier’s orders, about all of this upheaval we’re going to be going through?

Life is change, girl. Adapt or be run over by the next thing that comes down the road. But that’s not the real question you wanted to ask me. You wanted to know my thoughts about Dakari’s decision to make you watch captain.

Well? she said, running her hand down her face to wipe off the excess water.

You know how I feel where you’re concerned, girl. Capt. Ibruhain couldn’t have made a better choice.

But what of the others? You saw the way they looked at me. Their eyes spoke what they didn’t want to say out loud.

What did you expect? They are men, men who now must take orders from a woman. They all think they can do better and will question everything you do. Question you as watch captain, but as a woman first.

"Oh, I don’t want to do this! If I didn’t respect Dakari so much, I would punch him the next time I saw him!"

That drew a laugh from the old man. She had to laugh herself when she stopped to think about what she had said. She then began shaking her head.

What am I going to do? I don’t want to fight them every day. I just want to do my job. Can’t I just do that?

That is how you must think, girl. Perform your duty. Honor your captain’s decision to place his trust in you. Most importantly, honor yourself. The Sarita Hamizan I know relishes challenges. Standing here now, I think you’re protesting too much. I think you want to show them you can do the job better than they think you can. She cut her eyes at him.

You think wrong. I want everything to be as it was yesterday. I just want to be one of them, not be placed above them.

We must always move forward, girl. Now stop thinking and just do what you have to.

You’re right, of course. Will you be around later?

I will be here whenever you need me, Sarita.

***

Siraj!

She had never been so happy to see him. The large dog pounced on her the moment she opened the door to her house. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the sinewy muscles beneath his golden fur. He, in turn, nuzzled his snout in the crook of her neck. He would always be her most ardent supporter, her unconditional companion. Scratching his ears one last time while he licked her face, she patted him on the back and stood up.

She began removing her uniform, placing her sword belt on a round table just beyond the greeting area of the house and unbuttoning her tunic. She looked then at the copper-brown skin of her arms and saw the array of reddish-purple splotches on them from the struggle she had with Larendon Kole. She had deduced that the man was guilty of murder and went to his house alone, as was her wont, to arrest him. He didn’t come with her easily. These bruises would be black tomorrow, she thought to herself, sighing in resignation. She covered them with her hands as if there were someone else in the house that might see them.

The house was triangular in shape, with rounded instead of sharp points. She had lived there with her family, but presently lived with only Siraj to keep her company. The house, for the most part, had no separate rooms, no set areas for eating, sleeping or the like. There were rugs, cushions and mats where she ate and slept. Further in and to the left was a grill for cooking with an opening above leading to a chimney. Shelves along the left wall held earthen flatware, and wall niches held herbs and spices. Utensils hung from hooks. Along the right wall were chests where she stored her clothes and other items.

She undid the ties on the sides of her padded cuirass. Murishandi, although host to a pleasant breeze from the Kavenas River and the nearby Gulf of Natheef, could become humid at times. It was slightly warm in the house then, but not intolerable. Lighting tall candles set in iron sconces, she made her way to the rear of the house where there was an enclosed room, for that was the private place where she bathed. She retrieved pails of water from the small courtyard at the rear of the house, still warm from sitting in the sun, and filled a wooden basin with them. After removing the rest of her clothes, she stepped into the basin and just sat there, her head back and eyes closed. She took in the sweet silence and the soothing scent of the incense she had begun to burn. The water against her skin revitalized her, as it washed away the sweat and the grime. It had been an unexpected day.

She approached the end of her second year as a town watchman and had just recently turned twenty. Her choice of profession wasn’t all that uncommon for a woman in the Nine Territories, as throughout history young girls and women had been forced to take up arms to defend their lands while men were occupied elsewhere fighting wars. Her father, Alars, a well-respected watchman, had been almost indifferent when she first told him what she wanted to do. Her brothers, Thandeis and Tulan, while not thrilled, encouraged her and worked diligently to prepare her for every possible situation she might encounter. The greatest resistance came from her mother. She began to run the block of galaz, a mixture of clay, oil, sand and fragrance, over her skin.

Anaya Navran had hailed from the territory of Vesla and was a Defender. The Defenders were skilled warriors commanded by Adjudicators, priests who believed carrying out justice was the will of the Creator. Defenders protected the courts where the Adjudicators presided, acted as bodyguards for the Adjudicators and lesser justices of the court and provided protection for any innocent who came to them and demonstrated a need for it. They also hunted down dangerous criminals. It was a hunt for such a man that brought Anaya to the Tirann Territory.

Acting on information that a murderer, a man who had, in fact, assassinated an Adjudicator, had fled to the territory, Anaya and two other Defenders were dispatched and found themselves in Murishandi. Upon arriving, she was aided by a young Alars who provided her with valuable information as to the killer’s possible whereabouts. Anaya and her fellow Defenders tracked the man down and killed him in a swordfight. Their return to Vesla was delayed due to a violent rainstorm that raged on and off for days. Anaya and Alars used the time to get to know each other and, shortly after, fell in love.

The feeling of cleanliness refreshed Sarita as she rinsed off her body. To that day, she was unsure of the full story behind her mother’s departure from the order of the Defenders. Her brothers had told her their mother had willfully resigned her post to live as a wife and mother. Perriko had intimated to her that Alars had pressured Anaya to resign, an action her father had regretted ever since. When she had asked her parents about it, they always said the same thing: We did what was right and proper to raise a family.

Having dried herself off, she put on her nightclothes, a loose, cotton gown. She was famished, but before she would prepare the food she bought at the market, she took a mirror from one of the chests to look at her face.

She was Black Mirabu, with flawless, even-toned, copper-brown skin. Her face was more round than oval-shaped and her cheekbones were high. Her lips were full, her nose small and round. Her eyes were deep brown and small, becoming tiny, dark slits when she smiled. She studied her features for a long time before running her hand over her thick, still damp hair and returning the mirror to the chest. She looked at her hands. Her nails were short and she had little nicks and scars all over her fingers and the backs of them. She studied her knuckles and then her palms, running her fingers over them to feel the rough calluses that had formed. She tried hard to see a hint of beauty in those mannish hands, just as she had when she studied her face in the mirror. What was she doing, running around getting into fights with men twice her size? What was she doing?

As she thought about that, she recalled her first days training with Perriko. The old weaponmaster had told her she had good size for a girl. That must have been how Samshina, her horse, feels, she thought to herself, as she remembered the old man looking her up and down, casting uncomfortable glances at her body parts. It was almost as if he were sizing up a pack animal, judging whether or not it could carry the load he intended to place upon it. He was right, though.

She was by no means frail. She was taller than average for a woman, wide-hipped, with robust fullness running through her limbs. Perriko had told her her size, particularly below her waistline, would give her considerable strength for a woman, and that she should use that to her advantage. He had used more colorful terms to describe those parts of her body, ones he uttered in front of the male watchmen, which embarrassed her when she first started out with him. But within days she became extremely comfortable with him, as if he were a favorite uncle.

She began cooking, boiling rice and beans and using flour to make flat circles of bread on a wide iron pan. Her stomach growled as she added hot spices to the rice and beans. She liked her food spicy. Siraj panted at her feet.

I have something for you too, boy, she said.

She went into her pack and set out strips of meat she had bought for him. He tore into them quickly. Sweat beaded her forehead and she recalled her mother again. How did she do it, cooking meals for all five of them in this heat? True, she had helped her as a little girl to prepare meals for her father and brothers, but her mother had done the majority of the work. She had been a remarkable woman, coming from a life of prestige and honor as a Defender, yet easily transitioning to being a wife and mother.

She had been dead nearly three years. Breathing sickness, the old medicine-woman, the antal, had said. Grizzled Priests had been in and out of the Hamizan household, performing rites and saying prayers over her mother’s body. She vividly recalled the sound of her mother’s hoarse voice as she struggled to talk to her, still giving orders from her sickbed. She was still in charge despite how ill she felt. She had made every attempt to be at her mother’s side during those last months, running home from her training sessions at the watchmen’s hold to take care of her. They argued intensely back then, as her mother’s disapproval of her choice to become a watchman had reached a boiling point. More than anything over time, she realized the thing she missed most was her mother’s voice calling her name.

Every time she turned around someone else was walking out of her life. Thandeis and Tulan had been out of the house since they married, but soon after left town and moved to Tirann, the capital city of the territory it shared names with. Alars, who had become even less conversational with her once her mother passed, left to be near his aging mother in the town of Ridian to the west. For the majority of her career as a watchman, she had no family to share her experiences with, her successes and failures, her good days and bad days.

When her meal was prepared, she sat on one of the mats and ate. She folded the bread and placed the rice and beans in it and took a bite. Perfect. Just enough spices to make it hot, but not intolerable. She loved cooking, especially preparing food for someone else, something she rarely got a chance to do. Siraj poked his nose at her plate and she scooped a glob of beans on her fingers and fed it to him.

You greedy boy. I think I’m going to have to cut some of your fur so you don’t burn up. Would you like that? She lovingly grabbed his head and rubbed noses with him. The dog whimpered and licked her face.

When she was done eating, she washed the dishes and utensils. She then went about snipping Siraj’s fur, a task not made easy by the dog’s fidgeting and outright bolting from her clutches. It was what she did, what her life entailed. She wished there was more, yet was comfortable with its structure. Dakari’s meeting that morning had changed all of that, just another of the many life changes she had experienced in the last three years. Her life at home was normal and predictable, something she appreciated.

She did nothing of consequence for the rest of the night. When she became sleepy, she lied down on a mat with a pillow beneath her head. Siraj roamed the house for a while, and then curled up against her feet. They were both soon asleep.

***

Several days later, Sarita sat in the Red Feather, finishing a cup of tea. The Red Feather was her favorite tavern in the town. It was much smaller than the Rolling River and Marjune’s, the more popular spots in town. Its arched entranceway was followed by a short set of stone steps that led down into the common room. Without tables or chairs save for the stools at the bar, rugs were spread out in the small space for people to sit, drink and converse. There were only three patrons besides her in the tavern. It was still early.

Aleemo, the barkeep, had made the tea extra thick and frothy, just how she liked it. She drained the last of it from her cup, tasting the honey accented by ginger that had settled at the bottom. She was in the Red Feather for her tea every morning unless her job prevented it.

She glanced over at an older man sitting on one of the rugs. She had noticed him immediately when she first entered the tavern. He appeared to be White Mirabu with a deep tan, but, even from a distance, his eyes gave him away. They were pale, appearing white in the shadow of the room. She looked back at the barkeep.

"Do many rashi come in here?" she asked in a whisper, as the lean barkeep dried a mug with a rag. He came closer to her and rested his elbows on the bar.

"Not many, no. But these rashini troublemakers are beginning to lose their fear. This one comes in maybe once a week. They’re beginning to openly walk the town streets, as you surely know. They’ll bring their problems with them. I don’t envy you your new job."

The term rashi meant light eyes in common Mirabu tongue and stood for those of mixed Mirabu and Ghobaian descent. The Ghobaians were a race of beings that had stormed across the Tiborean Sea to the south some seven hundred years before, claiming ownership of territory the Mirabu had settled. Before the different Mirabu nations had come together to form the Nine Territories and thwart the invasion, they had individually warred on and off with the Ghobaians for four hundred years, some falling to subjugation.

The Mirabu differed from each other in terms of their skin color and other physical features. The Ghobaians were set apart from the Mirabu in their general uniformity. Though somewhat like the Mirabu in appearance, the Ghobaians on average were taller and more powerfully-built. Their thicker bodies allowed them greater strength and resiliency than the Mirabu. Their skin was also bronze in tone, their hair straight and black. Most unsettling were their eyes, an unnerving, pale gold. The different Mirabu types had warred amongst themselves at one time, a war so terrible it nearly decimated their original homeland of Mirabun, causing many to flee and start anew in a new land. But the invasion of the Ghobaians, coupled with their physical appearance, forged a bond of solidarity amongst them, uniting them against the evil other.

Rashi might carry some of the other physical traits of their Ghobaian bloodline, like the bronze skin or the raven-black hair, but all had the golden eyes. Their eyes marked them and made them objects of scorn and hatred. They tended to live in segregated communities in every city and town in the Territories. Those communities were areas of squalor, as rashi were treated as the lowest class of citizens. Many were used as slave laborers, while others barely got by on their low wages. Many of the men turned to criminal activities for basic survival and a great portion of the women toiled in brothels.

Don’t use that word, she said.

What? I’m just calling them what they are.

No. You called him ‘rashini.’ That’s like calling an Upper Mirabu person ‘milasi’, she said, uttering an ancient epithet that referred to the foldless lids of an Upper Mirabu person’s eyes.

I’m just telling it like I see it, Aleemo said. I want them and their problems gone. Want another, watchman? She slid a coin across the bar to him.

Keep one warm for me, she said, before leaving.

Samshina waited outside and she mounted the steed. She grabbed the reins and slightly hugged the horse with her legs. The steed began a slow trot. As she began making her way to the town’s southeast gate, she noticed there were more people crowding the streets than normal. All of them seemed to have their eyes on her.

Stern-faced Bres Salinos waved at her as she rode by. His great beard now white with old age, the burly man made his living as a butcher. His shop specialized in curing meat for seafaring travelers sailing to the eastern territories. Eshah Madrisse sat on a bench in front of Madrisse’s Rations while a young woman swept the area in front of the provisions shop. Eshah and her husband, Jibado, ran the shop then, inheriting it from his father long ago. Madrisse’s had long provided the watchmen with their gear, like packs, waterskins and rope. The elderly woman, her thin face like brown skin pulled tight over a skull, made a barely noticeable nod as Sarita passed by. The looks all seemed different that day, as if they each could feel the uncertainty of the town’s future. As she waved to young Oshaze, warning him to be careful not to trip as he ran to the docks to be with his father, she spotted Tumarik on horseback. He was a block away on a parallel street and she waited for him to reach her.

Today is the day, he said, as he rode up next to her.

Yes. It’s time.

Her young comrade had thought like she had. They both viewed what happened that day as an official ceremony, so they wore all their weapons, as well as the uncomfortable helmets that were a part of their uniform. She always hated the way the studded leather nasal of the helmet felt over her nose.

The two moved together, their steeds in step. They moved from the red dirt roads that composed most of the town to the paved streets in its center. Murishandi was known as the Red Town throughout the Tirann Territory, due to the overabundance of modest buildings, huts, houses and shops constructed of red mud and brick. The red mud and dirt was everywhere in the town and Murishandans were marked by it, as others in the territory could ascertain their town of origin by the dried mud on their footwear, pant legs or the hems of their dresses.

It was a small town, with barely five hundred inhabitants within the confines of its modest walls. Settled on the coast of the Kavenas River as it emptied into the Bay of Kesuul, the shipping trade and fishing industry contributed greatly to the town’s economy. But the town’s placement wasn’t as fortuitous as it could have been. It was located too close to the capital, Tirann, which was located further south along the coast of the Gulf of Natheef. Traders from the eastern territories were more likely to drop anchor at the docks of the capital, with the lure of its greater, wealthier population, than they would Murishandi. But there was one advantage to the town’s location.

Northwest of the town, where the Kavenas ran through them, were the foothills of the Urabban Mountains. Bordering the Ashallo Jungle to the west, the foothills were discovered centuries before to contain an item precious to the territory, iron. The excavation of the iron ore, the process of its smelting and subsequent conversion into items of use was the true backbone of the town. There were five blacksmiths in the town and the ironworkers’ league held great influence.

As they arrived at the watchmen’s hold, several other watchmen waited on horseback. They wore full gear as well. She felt a sense of pride in that.

Niune and Eban are standing watch in the holding pens. Athu and Alborin are manning the towers. Sigin and Quidar will ‘patrol’, for what it’s worth.

It was Tarq who spoke, one of the watchmen only a scant few years older than her. His report showed that all her instructions had been followed. Good.

Let’s ride out, she said.

She took a look at all their faces. It was as if she were seeing them for the first time, especially Tumarik. They all seemed so vulnerable. She maneuvered Samshina through them and pulled back on the reins. The strong mare rose up on her hind legs and neighed. Sarita shouted and the horse began to gallop. The other watchmen followed suit and the rumble of the horse-hooves was a pleasing sound to her. As they rode past, people not already on the streets came out of houses and shops to watch.

Murishandi had two arched gates by which to enter the town. The older gate, the one Sarita and the watchmen headed to, was on the southeast wall. The other gate was on the northwest wall. The northwest gate was made in conjunction with the discovery of the iron ore in the foothills of the Urabban Mountains. A road known as the Iron Pass had been plowed shortly after the gate was made for easy transport to and from the foothills. The rapids of the Kavenas and the sharp rocks that jutted up through its surface made transport of the ore by barge nigh impossible.

Twenty-one watchmen would remain in Murishandi. The depletion of the ranks made for greater prioritization. Sarita had been up late with Dakari the night before, hashing out the final details. They agreed the most important thing to do was to secure the town’s borders and economic interests. That meant a greater focus would be put on patrolling the docks, the gates and the Iron Pass. Of less importance would be patrolling the town’s interior and guarding prisoners. Lastly, Dakari stressed that no watchmen were to venture into the shantytowns outside the town walls. Those living outside the town walls would be left to their own devices and forced to police themselves. She wasn’t comfortable with that last part and expressed her sentiments to him. Although appreciative of her concerns, he was adamant about his decision and made it clear to her in no uncertain terms.

They approached the southeast gate. Calligraphy etched the border of the gate, which was housed in a two-story wall of sun-dried brick and plaster. The wooden double doors were open and the departing watchmen were all on horseback, some inside and some outside the gate. Dakari wasn’t among them. The gathered watchmen began to make small talk as Sarita looked around to find her former mentor.

Sarita?

She looked towards the gate upon hearing the voice. A Black Mirabu man of average height was walking towards her. He wore a red tunic edged in gold with white trousers. He had short black hair, and a gold circlet with a red gemstone in its center was around his head.

Councilor Albar, she said, as she dismounted Samshina. She came to the man with the tan complexion and he held his hands out to her. She gripped his forearms.

Most exalted, she said.

Most treasured, he replied.

Hakimo Albar had been councilor of Murishandi for thirteen years. A man who for most of his reign had been unremarkable had become more notable in the last five years. It was agreed by most Murishandans that he had done a good job of keeping the panic brought on by the Purification out of the town. He did this by playing the game of politics with Tirann well, giving them just enough assurances that Murishandi wouldn’t fall to heretics and satisfying them that he could police his own town without the violent intrusion of the Purifier or the Sacred Guard. Sarita respected him as a leader, but there was something about him she never trusted.

I thought Dakari would be here by now, she said.

Capt. Ibruhain should be along shortly. Correction. The captain of the watch is already here. Alars would be so proud. How is he, Sarita?

I heard from him about two months ago maybe, I’m not sure. He mentioned that grandmother was doing better. The councilor’s face became quizzical.

Ridian isn’t but two days ride from here. Are you sure it’s been that long?

He said he was involved in some sort of new business venture in the town. That must be keeping him busy, she lied.

I see. Now, Sarita, I don’t want you to worry about this new position. You’re not, are you?

I am concerned. I just want to do what’s best for the people of Murishandi.

And that is what you will do. The Hamizan name is well-respected and your father and brothers were outstanding watchmen. I’m sure they’ve passed their honorable traits on to you. Dakari is a wise man and I’m comfortable with the decision he’s made. If you ever have need of anything, all you have to do is ask.

Thank you, councilor. I think all of Murishandi will have to do its part during the coming times.

The sound of approaching horse-hooves signaled the arrival of Dakari. Not a moment too soon, she thought to herself. The less conversation she had with the councilor, the better. Her former mentor rode tall in the saddle with a uniform that shone immaculately in the sunlight. She wanted badly to see him that day, yet dreaded it at the same time. She didn’t want to say goodbye. He brought his strong, roan stallion right up to her.

Avi had a bad morning, he said, addressing her first. When I left Sadria, he was still crying. I think the boy senses that I’m going to be leaving. Councilor Albar, he finally said, acknowledging the town leader.

Dakari dismounted and commanded the others to do the same. They formed a makeshift circle and