Asada Fauxbit, in fairy robes with familiar; riding a “giraffe, but with malice”
Tale 19: Meriam Craweleoth: Mage Queen of The Grand West (chapter 7.1 - Has Yet to Pass 7/10) part 4. Stories of Old
Upon the western mountains of the Far East, lies the Sinoian wall of fire. The mountains between the great desert, and the temperate lush kingdom. Due south of that, where the climate is soft by the sea, lies a very unlucky fishing town. To the south west, in Indonia of the Central South, lies the Monkey Gate within the heart of a cursed jungle.
Five aligned nations, out of ten, only created half a circle around Francia; Meriam needed more alliances to make the world get along. But Francia was between Anglia and the rest of the world. The North Central kingdom, was like the hole of a donut. A donut that was bribing allies in Indonia to it’s south, and Sinionia to it’s East. Meriam would need the favor of the sultan of the South Central to guarantee a safe passage to eastern lands. She took her men with her, to meet this powerful man in his jungle palace. They traveled safely through the Westlands of Dania, to get to the South Central. Once in the ivory, pearl, marble and oak home, the sultan spoke down to her. He sat on a silk pillow, surrounded by sari drapes, wearing bangles and slippers. The sultan was quick to insult Meriam, by tasking her with an impossible quest. He did not care that she was a mage or a queen. If she wanted the trust of Indonia, Meriam must understand that people in this country are cheats, and that the secret to Indonia’s heart, lies in an alliance with Sinonia first.
“Appease the emperor on the other side of the desert, with a grand gesture, and I will mark your papers; Mage Queen. Offer me something greater than our northern neighbors do.” Th sultan said, playing with his silver beard. “You will find guides outside the cursed jungle of Veya.” He chuckled. Meriam felt frustrated; She was asked to do an unspecified favor, for an unknown man, after crossing Ealden Cyendom’s central desert.
As Meriam and her company traveled to the Monkey Gate, they began to remove clothing; it was far hotter than any land they had been to thus far. The humidity made it sticky, and the rain’s slowed their passage. When Meriam and her men arrived at the small village, they began to look for someone who spoke their language, that may guide them. Their investigation was fruitless; and they paid good silver to sleep on weaved mats in and uninsulated stone shack. The doors and shutters were made of intricately carved wood, that resembled lace patterned in lotuses and peacocks. They did little to keep out the rain; but did keep back the wildlife and wind. The fruit and nuts they bought were delicious, as was the fresh rain water; but they began to miss home. This may be, the longest journey they will have to embark on.
In the sticky, hot, humid night, while Meriam and her men struggled to sleep, they heard someone enter their room. They sounded like they were trying to be quiet, which resulted in them making even more noise. The sliding wood window creaked, and they heard the clink of bangles, and knocking over of pots and baskets; followed by very familiar Anglian cussing. Then, Meriam suddenly rose summoning fire in her palm, as her men drew swords at the intruder; Who was now in the middle of the room. To their surprise, it was an Indonian woman with pale golden eyes and hair against, her brown skin. She wore a scarf about her head that was a translucent tan, that glittered like her clothes, in pin stripes. She had her nose pierced as well as her ears, which held elaborate gold rings that matched the innumerable bracelets she wore about her wrists and feet. She was built like a knight, under the glittering fabrics of her Monkey kingdom fairy robes. Upon her shoulder, she had a marmoset. The robes hung in an ex across her shoulder and breast, and she wore gold armour to link the loose fabric. Her pants were baggy, her sash wrapped and left a fabric tail at her back, and her curled slippers matched perfectly. Meriam wanted badly to draw her; for she had never seen a mage of this kingdom.
She was stealing their fruit.
“You spoke in Anglian just now!” Meriam said. The woman was surprised, and looked Meriam up and down, with a mango in her mouth. Then she also held out a palm of fire. Magic. This must be the mage of the Monkey Gate.
In order to share magic, and teach it, mages use the language and letters of Anglia, as few other peoples know the language well. This meant they found a translator; but not a guide. More pressingly, they had an intruder.
“Who are you!” a knight demanded.
“I am Asada Fauxbit.” She said, chewing her bite of fruit. “Who the fuck are you?” She contested.
“We are the queen of Anglia’s royal guards; we need to cross the desert to Sinonia, to impress their emperor with a grand gesture of peace. We need the favor of his kingdom, to win the heart of this one. So, we are told. Anglia and other lands need as many lands as possible united, to restore balance.”
“You got so conned, miss raven mage.” Asada smirked, examining Meriam’s feather and velvet fairy robes. “Indonia don’t give a shit about other kingdoms. The Sultan is putting on a front to extort Francia’s bribes.” Asada laughed. The knights all drooped in defeat, and sheathed their weapons.
“Also, that mission sounds so awful; I pity you. I’ll make you a bargain: Find me a mage husband, so I can produce a mage daughter to protect this cursed magic forest, and I’ll come with you and provide guides to cross the fields of fire. Just to be sure, this is to help you do this thing you think will work, for this person, that is somewhere.” Asada teased. It became apparent that the sultan had actually given Meriam no information at all; his instructions were vaguer then being asked: can’t you not put that thing there maybe? Meriam rolled her eyes. She wasn’t a quitter.
“Are you conning me? You’re willing to take us across a desert in exchange for magic seed donor? That’s all?”
“Yup. Preferably Sinonian in ethnicity, with blue hair, and an aura of chaotic silliness.” Asada mused.
“But why?!” one of Meriam’s men asked.
“My bloodline is cursed by the Monkey King, because of my mom. The Monkey King is a lady who likes a matriarchy, and her children shrouded in mystery and isolation. My mom said she’d raise me to keep the gate open, and tend the monkey fey; as I was a mage. In exchange the Monkey king promised to provide a protective curse on the jungle. The Monkey King said that a line of pure-bred mage daughters, must be the ones guarding her gate. Starting with me. A cursed magic bloodline, in exchange for safety. Oh, also, If I leave the forest for any reason other then looking for a groom, I kind’a die.” Asada explained casually. While she explained the curse, Meriam racked her brain of mages she knew. And she knew of many. But, when Asada said blue hair, she membered one of Feon’s books. It was the teal journal detailing types of mages; and the illustration for the storm breaker mage, was a Sinonian man of blue ridding an Orca. Sirulius Healpenbroc; a warlock who made storm staphs, like Feon’s. And possibly joy induced natural disasters. This was a bargain Meriam could make.
“If your determined to be another dame, pigeon holed into relying on men for events in your life, I may have heard of a suitable man, south east of the desert, in Sinonia.” Meriam grumbled.
“Pigeon holed? What if I want kids and a nice guy to hold me? What if I want to protect my magic forest home and fey friends? I can do both! Cursed or not, it’s my life and choice; as a mage I have more choice than any lady in this land. And I chose a man of the Grand East who can fulfill my feminine desires.” Asada boasted. “Wait? You seem madder about me willing to abide by this curse, then going across a desert called the fields of fire. Who hurt you?” Asada inquired. Meriam glared at her; She was a queen surrounded by demanding men. Five of them were with her right now. Of course, she was rabid with envy. Happily, wed or not, Meriam would have at least of liked the choice. Her knights wisely chose not to comment.
Coincidences can make a day. Exact change, or meeting an old friend at a market: things sliding perfectly into place is satisfying. The only trouble is that these moments are rare, and you never know when one is going to happen. If you are looking for one, it’s like watching water boil. Speaking of boiling, the desert earned its name; The Fields of Fire. Though Asada and Meriam could alchemize water, and they had all gotten loose white clothes, the desert felt eternal in it’s unrelenting discomfort; like a socially obligatory holiday gathering with collogues. The expanse of dry nothingness, resulted in there being little else to do, but talk to your road companions. The guides Asada found where merchants, who regularly crossed the desert. They did not know a word of any other language; which seemed counterintuitive for efficient trade. Meriam was on a long road of days of travel upon stinking spiteful camels with a group of knights, and Asada.
Meriam admired how unbothered Asada was. Her men wouldn’t stop complaining about how they feared the desert would consume them before they could ravish a Sinonian maidens, and drink rice wine till uncoordinated. Meriam was too sober to talk to human males, and was forced to talk to Asada.
“What are these animals?” Meriam asked looking over her camel.
“Giraffes; but unkindly.” She laughed smugly. Meriam was confused; she didn’t know what a giraffe was either.
“Do you hawk? You have tiny falcon on your shoulder? Also, didn’t catch your name.”
“My name Queen Meriam Craweleoth. I do not hawk, this is my familiar Nihten; she is a kestrel. You have been seeing me send her off to see where we are. I meld with her to use her eyes. As well as make her big enough to ride if I have to.”
“Neat. So, where are we? According to Nithen?”
“Nowhere.” Nihten said. Gave everyone a good chuckle. To distract from their discomfort, Meriam’s entourage listened in on the two mages conversation; and then began butting in.
“Are there fey in the desert? If magic is less frail then men?” one asked.
“Oh yes. There are many basilisks and drakes in the sand. I heard once of one who was disowned by the dragon king for breaking a sphere at a banquet. If we convince him to let us cross a river, he might accompany us on our journey to the west.” Asada said. Meriam looked confused; she was lost in the second half. They were going to the east. Asada’s smiles faded into bitterness.
“That was a joke. The dragon king would never disown a child nor make one capable of guiding people.”
“We rode dragons once!” another knight said. “You must have spent too long in your forest, monkey girl; I’m not sure you even know what magic this desert holds.”
“Ah, but I do. It holds desert magic; obviously. Now stop complaining, and telling me I’m wrong, or I’ll summon my Iron staph to knock some sense into you. It matches the Monkey King’s; who is also a woman not opposed to striking things. Your men are idiots Merriam! No wonder your sexist. Are all Anglian men this daft?” Asada exclaimed.
“Actually, their very loyal, talented, and make sure my husband’s mind is sound whilst I quest. They are made of the finest fibre Anglia can provide, by order of my King husband.” Meriam said proudly. “Intelligence is not a factor in determining their value as people.” She added. Her knights smiled proudly upon their grumbling ‘steads’.
“So, you hate being controlled by people, sorry men, but you still accepted your betrothal to the king? then gave him a child, and take his men, sorry your men, with you, just to make him happy? You knew you were a mage and could have used magic to evade them, right? Your ungrateful; I would love to live in a palace and have someone who takes care of me, supports me, and loves me for being myself! And you judge me for wanting that!”
“Shut up, I love him! And love is powerful,” Meriam snapped. “and no; I don’t judge you for wanting a romanticized version of reality you use to cope with being cursed into heteronormativity. I judge you for talking like a drunk, and pulling my leg. It is about respect and freedom. I am equal, if not above, the men I meet.” Merriam snapped.
Asada looked off into the desert. She was nodding quietly while refraining from laughter. Meriam wondered what was worse; Asada, questioning the motivations of all her life choices, the desert, the malicious giraffe, or how she had complimented Tiberias’s architecture. She felt a little faint. Meriam began to hate Asada for ripping apart the meaning in her life. Meriam looked away in distaste.
“Must be nice to love someone so much, you throw away your philosophy to kiss them goodnight… Before I knew I was cursed, as only a child, when I saw the people in the village, all I lusted for was to hold even one of their hands. I want that Meriam; I want someone to be with, that makes me feel like nothing else matters.” Asada said into the sands. The morale went down as they clomped across the bright dune. Meriam never wanted to be in this arid wasteland again.
