2. the living dead
The Children of God are hunted and seldom can stay in any one place more than a few days before having to leave again. To his and others' great unease, Naxosos finds has become magnetic to all sorts of creatures, some human and some not, and there are many unusual and often distressing encounters. The tribe must be creative in eluding pursuit.
* * *
OUR STORY THUS FAR: Naxosos desires to confront the Meriezirim Honey, who has established herself in the city of Viragos. To gain this, he has had to argue at great length with all the members of his ever-growing, ever-expanding tribe.
Having had to make a quick exit from the Gorardeno Nathaniel's galley Irista's Bull just outside the great harbor of Viragos Haven, the cohort travels first to Dargana Sud, a fishing village some miles from the city, then on to Letratha, a village friendly to the Children of God quite a bit closer to the city walls, within the province.
There it's decided that the jolly band will split up to make life harder for the multitude of entities trying to capture them. Naxosos, Naemas, Korsis, Joliel, and the warrior Zyanonchoulain travel back to the mouth of Viragos Haven and then by boat to a place near the shore owned by the sorcerer Joliel for some years now, a residence he won from the dishonest merchant Moratis – the story of which is recounted in "King of the Waste [5] / demonstration"
7 May 2019 / 22 May 2025 ♃ / 20 October 2025 ☽
JTPYO – King of the Land of the Dead [2] / the living dead (excerpt: at the house of Moratis)
Copyright © 2019, 2020, 2021 2022, 2023, 2024, 2025 by Kristi A. Wilson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Which is me.
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"You may also recall, therefore," the sorcerer continued pleasantly on, "the tale that Naemas assisted me in recounting, that of the merchant Moratis, who endeavored to cheat the tribe, perhaps worse, and was remanded in full measure for his infraction that very same evening."
Naxosos, though he had spent the greater part of his life less than a mile from it, had never visited this part of the city or its harbor and had only caught glimpses of it from the waters of the Port; his knowledge of it, therefore, was mainly from hearsay and secondarily maps. (Luckily he'd had the opportunity, and plenty of encouragement, to study various maps on the Gorardeno's ship over the last few weeks, so he was not completely lost.)
The Trading-Guild's Lower Quay it was named in Tramrini, though this was a name from the past: Most of the current residents were the entitled wealthy and mostly Celan at that – the Guild had long since departed for friendlier quarters.
The Lower Quay and the Lower Banks – the Kheorani names for these were even shorter and more prosaic.
In Letratha the cohort had, after debate, decided to split up: Thais and the warrior Merelioides, brothers Kozvit and Andiamo, and priests Tolalo and Naimejo would stay in the village, which was very friendly to fishers and the Children of God.
Naxosos, Naemas, Korsis, Joliel, and the warrior Zyanonchoulain would take a covered cart to the shore outside the walls of Viragos proper, where Paranis's boat would await them. Circling northward around the sea-gates, then eastwards into the Haven – with luck, this would not take the rest of the night and they wouldn't be hailed by anyone – they would veer south and pass into the "Lower Haven," a broad and shallow inlet guarded from rough waters and wayward winds by the sheltering arm of Cape Kra'a'el, from there to land at a dock from which it was a short distance to the house of deceased merchant Moratis, well within the city walls.
All this so the five of them could pass into Viragos without having to dare any of the gates.
The stonework and concrete of the Lower Banks now – at this second hour past sunset – came gliding into view, two or more miles of landings, stairs, ramps, and terraces worked into the steep hillside, all whitewashed and shining through the murk. The moon was up, but only observable by its light silhouetting the cliffs that towered to either side of River Etrisiato, and their clinging structures.
Dwellings proliferated on the banks of the Lower Quay, many of them costly, having their own private docks and landings; many of these were presently unlighted, or showed only the blurry flicker of a single lamp or candle. Paranis the boat-master had predicted this would be the case, and it was so.
The place was scarcely deserted, however: There were a great many houseboats on the placid water of the Lower Bay, for during this season shore residents would forsake the land – it was cooler here, with more movement of air and fewer pests, than on the pavement and among the structures.
After a nerve-wracking journey around the walled border of the city and then across the waves of the Channel in an overloaded landing-barge, the group finally rounded the second sea-gate and pointed itself toward Viragos.
Paranis's rowers rowed with all their might for many long and stressful minutes before the shore could, from the low-slung, toiling craft, be clearly seen.
Naxosos was exempt from having to work the oars today: before they had to crouch down in the boat and hide their faces, he was able to get a good view of their surroundings – something he had viewed from the heights many, many times, and also from out on the Channel, but never from this vantage. It was both exhilarating and dire, considering their mission and how many of their party had objected to it.
Viragos Port was vast, and the tide was out with the Etrisiato running over the mudflats, producing streams and billows of silt to impede a rower – at least the brakes of lode-thorn were easily seen and avoided.
To make things a bit worse, the craft dragged a net weighted with empty casks and crates to give the appearance of fishers returning from the Channel with a haul – this to serve as explanation for why the boat was riding so low in the water, for the warrior Zyanonchoulain lay hidden toward the stern. (The tillerman had joked, "He'll keep my feet warm!")
The oarsmen labored. Paranis held a heavily-shielded light at the prow – actually a regulation, he had explained, as when there were this many boats on the water it was indicated (although not mandatory) to show no more than a token light, and only uncover a lamp if two barges drifted closer than fifty yards to one another. Glaring illumination was considered bad manners when the waters and winds were calm.
Naxosos watched the light of the moon increase as they entered the bay, outlining Canareg-i Tower, currently unlit except for a few torches, and the solid-appearing block of Noseruek Fort, both perched upon the Cape. These were familiar sights; the closer they drew to Etrisiato's principal outlet, however, the more the craft's course veered to the right, South Viragos Haven or the Lower Bay.
Naxosos tried not to wax emotional about seeing his beloved city rise grandly, slowly, darkly out of the peaceful waters of the Haven. Graceful walkways and bridges arching across and snaking along the sides of the Etrisiato's gorge were seen outlined against the moonlight, black lacework on silvery cloth.
Anyway, he reminded himself, Honey is here.
As soon as this idea began to circle in his head, the sorcerer Joliel – who had insisted upon being seated right next to him, in the second seat back from the prow – turned and grinned. "Again," this one said in a very low tone, "I will urge you to turn back. Or, rather, let's spend a few nights in this place, which was pleasant enough the last time I slept here and I imagine it still is, and then turn back. There's nothing to be gained, let me assure you." In a faint, tittering whisper: "You know she doesn't want for you to go! But she will let you do as you like, to your destruction!"
Naxosos didn't trust himself to make a reply in a similar voice – the sounds of the water and oars had covered Joliel's speech to him. Instead he glowered and shook his head.
He's right. You should forget about trying to contact the woman.
Thinking about mending fishing nets, he knew, wouldn't block this voice.
No more! If I'm in danger I need to stay alert. Then, with great force: That means everyone should leave me alone!
At that instant Naemas was heard to make a loud coughing noise. Naxosos didn't have to look: He could feel the other's eyes on the back of his head.
Paranis, half-seated at the prow, turned and glared, and gruffed: "That's enough talking! You know there are patrols all over the water!" Pointedly, the boat-master looked at Joliel then: the sorcerer grinned unwholesomely back.
"Do you know the Dock Aliatrissa?" Joliel said, speaking to Paranis. Before the other could reply, the sorcerer added: "That's where we go."
A fisherman, one of the rowers, now grumbled: "Why must we keep quiet, then?"
"I know the Aliatrissa," Paranis now said, answering Joliel. His tone became troubled. "It is…"
"Speak," the sorcerer prompted.
Instead of answering him, the boatman Paranis addressed the four rowers and tiller in low Celan, telling them to make for the Quay's south end, with a sharp advisement to keep to the center of the current until the dock came into view and not to do anything else until he gave another order.
With the appearance then of a man taking his sweet time to answer someone, Paranis then returned to the sorcerer and said pleasantly, in Tramrini, "That part of the Quay, sir, eh, it has a great deal of growth out into the water. Willows and such, and the dock is not well-tended; eh, to beg your pardon, sir. Also there we may have to cross mud there." Again there was a marked hesitation.
"Go on," the sorcerer urged with a little laugh.
"If we land at Effrasi Pier, eh, sir, ah, eh – there is lighting there and stonework that extends beyond the wharf-edge in case the water is low, eh. It is…" Doubting himself, Paranis trailed off.
Joliel dismissed the other's concern with a wave. "The servants are instructed to keep Aliatrissa in a state of neglect and poorly lighted. The neighbors will land at Effrasi instead and make their porters walk the extra seventy yards with their luggage, or they will float down-current and tie up at Dronbeh. When we are even with the Aliatrissa – you will know – cut in toward the bank and make fast under the willows."
Naxosos could tell Paranis was doubtful of these instructions, competently delivered as they were; the man, he reflected, likely knew the area better than Joliel, who, while still aboard the Gorardeno's ship, had admitted he had spent less than a month here in the last five years.
Naemas is still furious with me, he considered soberly, and now he wants to turn back. He's getting scared.
Joliel turned to him with a grin. Oh, believe me: He's terrified! He can never forget the first time we were here and –
ENOUGH!
It had been only thoughts, mind-speech, but the ensuing silence was as fraught with tension as if they had raised their voices; even the warrior could be heard shifting around uncomfortably.
But there were reasons the merchant Gorardeno Nathaniel had worked with Paranis boat-master of the Dantozi fishers for years and now entrusted him with the safety of his fugitive stepson
Briskly, Paranis said to his rowers, "Let us put in at the Aliatrissa, as the Lord Magician has told us – if we start to drag, we can loose the net. It will probably stay right there, and all the cargo, anyway, so we can easily recover it! Pull, you know this place, we've done it before!" In a stage-whisper: "The patrol-boats won't dare to follow us in here, will they?" And then, in a much louder tone and in Celan, for any patrol-boat that might be within earshot: "Should we go back out into the bay and try to sell some of these fish to the Emperor, boys?" (Of course the crew understood and spoke Tramrini – Paranis was familiar with the Celans, however, and kept favor with them by adhering strictly to all their customs, regulations, and laws – and everyone aboard knew that if the patrolmen were to hear fishers calling out in their own argot within the Haven, they would be sure to stop the boat, perhaps search it, too.)
Each of the five crew chuckled dutifully, then made with their oars. Glancing back at Naemas and Korsis, who occupied the bench directly behind his, Naxosos saw the two exchange a worried look.
Naxosos had in his youth been accustomed to the Etrisiato's stench, but as the boat creaked and groaned into the Lower Bay, the reek that arose, combined with the gloppy sounds of the oars battling turgid water, didn't just make his eyes sting, but caused his gut to heave distressfully.
Moldy, musty, muddy, rotten, and sodden, like an open midden never rinsed combined with an open grave containing multiple corpses, as during a time of plague – only the poor would eat the fish that bred and multiplied at the Main Mouth, it was called, the mouth of the Etrisiato River that ran through the great City of Men, Viragos in Kheoran. In truth, Naxosos had never been this close to the harbor waters; the now reek was paralyzing him.
Time had elapsed since he'd been this close to the great City of Men, Viragos in Kheoran, where he had been an infant and a child, gone to school, and encountered others; he had become involved in the Temple, almost been killed, then driven out of the city. The building in which he and his mother, their house guard, and their servants had lived was high upon the southern side of the Etrisiato River's gorge, at the cliff's edge. His family lived in Cela now. Likely he would never see the place that had been his home again.
The building would catch any breeze admirably at any time of year, and was airy, even cool, in the hottest weather, but the gusts always brought odors. Now he remembered it all.
He had never really noticed Viragos's smell until the first time he had left and then returned. He had at about age four or five gone visiting with his mother to her family's holding in mountainous lands. Upon their return to Viragos, the pall of smoke and dust that lay over the city almost every day of the year, seen first from more than ten miles out, had caused a deep chagrin, akin to shame, that he had never noticed how bad it was before. (His mother had teased him, now, he remembered, when he began to ask if they could return to Visijhi-Yerud, because of the smell and dust in the air.)
He had over the last five years gotten used to marching carrying a burden, climbing, running (including having to run for his life), dancing, singing, and lounging about in heat so intense it would be lethal to almost any living being that couldn't quickly find water and shade. (He recalled now that Naimejo would quip about the heat, "It'll kill the rocks, too – that just takes a little longer!")
Somehow he'd managed to forget the smell.
Now disgust was not the only thing forcing him to repress his shudders – he was in fear.
In a burst: What am I doing here? Oh, Father! If I do not rightly, send me a sign, I beg you! He couldn't tell if Joliel perceived this thought; it didn't seem that he did.
The creaking of oars as the craft made its way into the sluggish waters of the lower harbor remained the only noticeable sound. There were muffled noises upon the Cape, and calls and clangs out on the water.
Nothing seemed out of place or out of the ordinary. The landing-boat passed the first bulwarks of whitewashed stone of the Lower Quay, passing boathouses and servants' cots, and floating piers, and great hoists and winches near the water's edge – most of these were lighted and there were sounds and shadows, mostly of Kheorani servants about their work. Naxosos crouched low, drawing his cloak about him.
There is no sign…there is no sign, so…
A man called out now in Tramrini, loudly and stridently, from the bank. "Hallooooo-ooo! Is that Paranis?"
He didn't dare raise his head; even though Joliel sat right next to him, he couldn't imagine what the other must be doing at this moment.
Paranis called out, cheerful and unconcerned: "Ah, Efranoh! What do you do here?" With a one-word command to the rowers to back oars, he then cried, "Hello, Ofek!" Now, surprisingly, a donkey was heard to bray, its hooves clopping on stone. "There is our friend Ofek! Anyway, eh, Efranoh, the last time we saw each other was – ah, I can't remember!" Both men laughed. The lander began, slowly and ponderously, to slew around in the current as the rowers backed. Naxosos could feel Korsis and Naemas trying not to breathe or twitch.
Daring for an instant to peep over the edge of the lander, Naxosos spied – on the quay about fifty feet off, in the light of a torch – a great, shaven-faced and -headed, red-skinned Kheorani fisher, naked except for an almost nonexistent breechcloth, and muscled like a ring fighter, a donkey (appearing diminutive by comparison) at his side. The donkey nodded its head and grinned as though at someone fond and familiar. Heart hammering, Naxosos slowly ducked back down into the boat.
Efranoh gave no indication that he had spotted any movement. "Where you going, old Paranis?" he now cried.
"I asked you first," Paranis returned.
"We're working here – folks on the Lower Quay are going out on the water because it's been so hot and the bugs are really bad! So we're helping them cart their stuff out." Humorously, the donkey Ofek brayed again as though in agreement.
"Hey are you going further into Low Haven with your boat loaded down like that?" Efranoh boomed then. In the distinct tone of a busybody, he added: "Is that fish?"
"Ha, no, my friend," Paranis replied. "Now that you ask, I'm taking some containers into the Aliatrissa. The owner of Morativela is selling some of his statuary and furnishings!" (This in a tone suggestive of a shrug.)
Naxosos felt Paranis smile when the other man was silent for some seconds. "Paranis, old buddy," Efranoh finally said, his booming amiability replaced by disbelieving hesitancy, "Morativela is no longer owned by Moratis, did you know? He went missing some time ago: Years. The landing at Aliatrissa is all overgrown – in fact I doubt you will be able to put in there. Why don't you –"
Now Joliel stood; so relatively light in weight was he, the boat hardly twitched. (Paranis didn't flinch; Naxosos admired the man's insouciance; also he wondered if this was the requested sign.)
"Hello, the land," the sorcerer Joliel said pleasantly to the man on the shore.
Before anyone could say anything else, the donkey gave a startled whinny and Naxosos heard its hooves clatter as it reared and bucked – probably in fright. Almost at the same time, Efranoh uttered a startled gasp.
It didn't sound like there were others in the immediate area, though Naxosos could hear people talking in a building nearby.
"Srani Fisher," Joliel went on, his tone one of soft mockery, "this fellow and his crew are taking me to Morativela. You are right; the noble Moratis no longer owns the house: I do."
"Reltras," Naxosos heard Efranoh say in a breathy whisper. In spite of the oppressive heat, he went cold all over.
"So I am called," Joliel replied.
Now Paranis said, in a tone of enormous self-possession, "We're taking boxes and crates to Morativela –" and Joliel added "So I can get some of that junk out of there."
Paranis then continued: "We put the containers in a net so we would just look like we're coming in with some fish, right?"
"Ah…" Efranoh was a large and muscular fellow, and judging from his bluster and his location when first encountered, he was not easily intimidated. "It's all right…" Now he sounded ready to take to his heels.
"Listen, Efranoh," Paranis said in the same easy tone, "we might need help with portage if it's as hard to pull into the Aliatrissa as you say, and –"
"Ah, ah," was all that the man Efranoh seemed able to say. Naxosos began to feel sorry for him, which took some of the edge off his anxiety, though not much.
Look how afraid he is. There is your sign!
Naxosos didn't dare to look, but he didn't have to. It was easy to tell the man was in a welter of fear, and to hear the donkey's uneasy snuffling.
Joliel said now, "Srani Fisher, do not be concerned. Of course you don't want to try to get yourself and your beast through all that overgrowth and mud – you're barefoot and there might be rats!"
Behind him now was the faint but unmistakable sound of Korsis trying to stifle a laugh. At least someone isn't too worried…
"Do us a favor, if you will, however, sir," the sorcerer went on. "If you will occupy your current position until we return back up the Quay, and take note of whoever might pass going in the same direction as we. If someone tries to engage you, say you await a customer and nothing else. Do not talk to anyone, especially about us! When you see this boat again, step to the end of the pier over there – report whatever you may have observed, if anything, and you will receive a silver twenty-tragaetti piece!"
"Yes," Paranis said, "we will not be long, in fact. We are just going to drop off the containers and return. We don't want to attract attention, eh, isn't that right, Lord Magician?"
"Heaven forbid," was Joliel's remark.
"Tell no one, therefore!" Paranis advised; the sorcerer added, with a bit more vinegar: "I'll know if you've talked to anyone! So don't!" and Paranis then said agreeably "Do we have a deal, Efranoh? Who I am very glad to see, by the way – perhaps on my return we can share an ale, if you have time."
"Yes, Paranis," the man agreed quickly. "You'll find me right here!"
"I'm sure we won't be even a half-hour," Paranis said, then gave an order for the rowers to start circling back out of the eddy so they could continue on; with a clunking and rasping, and thumping and creaks, the craft began to wheel slowly about, nosing toward the deeper water. "So just sit tight and don't go anywhere or talk to anyone; you can pretend you're asleep, eh? And when you see us come back you'll get a twenty-piece and we can have an ale or two! The moon will be well up, eh, by then and me and my crew will easily be able to get back out into the open water without running into anyone!"
"Aye, Paranis," Efranoh said, still expressing dread in the tone and volume of his speech.
If anyone had been listening to any of this exchange, there was no sign. The conversation in the nearby dwelling mostly regarded an outbreak of fever in the Satrian quarter of Viragos proper, and nothing changed about it. Naxosos heard nothing further from the man Efranoh and within a couple of minutes, the craft was back in the shoreline current and heading into the Lower Haven.
Joliel and Paranis remained standing; everyone else except for the five crew remained crouched, and the warrior lying stretched out with a net covering him.
Once they were out of earshot and headed down-current, Naxosos dared to raise his head a bit and peek back at the dock they had just left; he could glimpse the tall figure of Efranoh with the little donkey huddled next to him, as though frightened, in the torchlight. The man stood with his head hanging down and arms folded, as though deep in consideration of a disturbing concept.
"What do you mean, Master Paranis," Joliel inquired in a rather annoyed tone, "volunteering so much of my money like that? I needed only to threaten him – and then, if I were to note that he had obeyed my directions, I might reward him. As soon as my silver-piece is in his pocket, you know the first person he sees is going to hear the tale of how he got it! You disappoint me." (Naxosos could tell the sorcerer wasn't that angry – indeed, he was treating Paranis more like an equal than almost anyone else. It was a marvel.) "I was ready, in fact, to put a little scare into him, but you commandeered the situation, and –"
"Shut up, Joliel," Naemas muttered now.
"Everyone," Paranis matter-of-factly stated, seeming to ignore Joliel, "keep your, ah, heads down because, eh, because there are a lot of people on the water and on the Quay as we get into the Lower Haven, and it's all lit up – there are people all around us. Keep that in mind, lads. Try not to move much. We're not far from the Aliatrissa; once we pull in to the dock we'll be out of the light. Fortunately most of this side of the shore is dark right now but we, ah, eh, have to move fast."
The boat-master addressed Joliel: "I apologize, Lord Magician." Then: "Let us be seated: You saw, eh, I trust, that our friend Efranoh and his little donkey were quite frightened of our, ah, eh, the Magus, eh, the Magus Reltras, heh, heh!"
Paranis – a wizened fisher, perhaps in his fifties, perhaps older, with a great grizzled mustache drawn to a point on each side of his mouth and the rest of his face clean-shaven, wearing a costly outfit including a hooded cape and hat of leather of a rich, ruddy brown that matched his skin – chuckled, then half-seated himself again on the lander's square prow and said, "And then we will continue speaking."
To Naxosos's startlement – and doubtless to the surprise of the rest of the cohort, though no one made a movement or sound – with a swish of robes, the sorcerer promptly seated himself on the bench beside Naxosos and even pressed up to him a bit.
Again Naxosos had to quench his reactions – while the various odors of the shoreline and mouth of the river mingled and continued to assail his senses.
Perhaps this is the sign! was his somewhat rancorous thought.
(20 October 2025 / 7 November 2025)
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