GODS IN NEED

From Yake Meresta, Rakshal arrived in Praahama country, the only major desert in Saheeleth. He appeared on a low dune with the outlaw city Ara in his sights, looking upon it with a leveled expression. The strong desert winds, kicking up dust and dirt, didn’t so much as touch him. Regardless, he would follow Praahamain etiquette.

He brought up his heavy hood and tucked his hair into it. Once sure it was completely covered, not a single strand loose, he began the short walk across the desert into the oasis.

Igni may have told him to stay close, but he also didn’t exactly define what “close” meant. Traveling to Ara was hopefully not what the older god would consider “far”, despite its location two countries north of Yake Meresta.

As he neared, he sensed several unordinary presences further ahead. They were oshinokous, like his monkey cousins at Huaaguo Shaan, beings that were far more common to find in the mortal world than a divine or god. Depending on what type they were, perhaps they would aid him.

He briefly thought about Igni, lips twisting with a slight grimace.

Much as he had come to appreciate the snake, he honestly didn’t want to encounter another reptile.

He slid down another, smaller dune, then stepped into the oasis’ domain. No one paid him any attention and everyone wore something over their head, allowing him to blend into the open streets with ease.

Low chatter hummed beneath the sound of clinks, drones, and shifting sand. The sounds were familiar to him, reminding him of the last time he entered Ara. He hadn’t been alone.

He held on to the memory, metaphorically layering it over his vision to recall the paths his mother took him through as he came to a crossroads. She had taken the center path, but his brows furrowed.

Directly ahead of him was a small building made of mortar and brick. His eyes narrowed. It was inconspicuous enough and he didn’t sense anything unusual. He had apparently been inside once with his mother, but he couldn’t recall its interior.

He pushed the curtain aside and entered. His sight quickly adjusted as the smell of rich foods reached his nose.

A sword was at his throat the next second, but he didn’t sense hostility. Looking to his left, he met the reddishorange eyes of a taller man.

He raised a brow. “This is an entrance to Chicheol, then,” he stated with a hint of humor.

The Indraht scoffed, the corner of his mouth quirking, and he sheathed his sword.

Rakshal stepped in, looking around.

“Well, well!” someone exclaimed, bringing his attention to a corner where a woman approached. “If it isn’t Aiyool’s son!”

His expression darkened, and he scanned her with suspicion.

She was an older woman his height, perhaps a few inches taller, muscular bare arms revealing scarification designs in her skin. Her hair was covered by a dark orange and black scarf, and red eyes sparkled with fond mirth.

His brows twitched. “You must be a friend if you’re announcing that everywhere.”

She chuckled, keeping her distance and tucking a hand into her sash. “Name’s Phatma Illham. You might not remember me.”

He dissolved the memory as another came to mind, one of a woman his mother’s age at a table, drinking and laughing with her. She was a spitting image of the woman in front of him. “Ah. I think I do.”

Her smile widened. “Good!” She beckoned for him to come closer. “Here for Chicheol, then?”

“Actually…” He neared, glancing around the interior. “I’m trying to locate some men; a pirate and a smuggler.”

“They’ve disappeared, I imagine?” When he nodded, she shifted her weight to one side, quiet in thought. Her voice was soft as she then said, “They’re gone, Rakshal. No one’s been able to find anyone, loved or friend, since this started.”

He came to stand an arm’s length from her, crossing his. “Has a divine looked for them yet, or maybe an oshinokous?”

“I don’t think any would, so I’m not aware.” She briefly scanned him, seeming to tell him she was aware of his heritage, and the corners of her eyes creased. “What difference would it make?”

“Perhaps they have a better chance at finding someone. There are some here, in Ara…” His gaze panned to a table further inside the establishment.

The building was some form of canteen, as evidenced by the people softly conversing as they ate. No one had paid him any mind, not even after Phatma addressed him, suggesting the space was frequented by boisterous folk.

Phatma followed his gaze. She shortly raised a brow before looking back at him, her expression a question in itself.

He merely nodded.

At a small table several paces from them, yet not so far from the corner cushion Phatma had rested on, a hooded figure dressed in yellows and shades of black ate in silence. They were positioned in such a way that trying to see inside their hood was impossible, but they were otherwise no different from any other patron.

Yet Rakshal could see it, sense it. They weren’t a Faifeth or an Indraht.

His gaze returned to Phatma, who beckoned for him to follow her out of the establishment. He obeyed, tailing behind and then leaving after she held the curtain open for him. Once outside, they took a few steps away from the building.

“You know them?” he asked, idly glancing around.

“Know of. She’s become a prominent figure in Chicheol and Walehlami despite her young age. She’s probably a bit older than you.”

He softly hummed. “She’s an oshinokous. Might explain her quick rise in notoriety.”

“What type?”

“No idea. I can’t sense that, unfortunately.” He looked back at the older woman, took note of her curious expression, then turned away with a soft huff. “I’m…actively avoiding certain types.”

“Bad blood?”

“You can say that,” he grunted. He sensed the painful curiosity in her stare. “Cats, birds, reptiles,” he explained after a moment.

“Ohh.” She softly chuckled, “I should have figured. I can see how living on Huaaguo Shaan comes with dealings with predators, even as an oshinokous.”

“Yeah.” He paused, head whipping to look at her. “What do you know of my mother’s whereabouts?”

Red eyes went wide. “She’s missing, too?!”

Before answering, he considered this. Was it possible his mother’s disappearance coincided with the others?

He found himself disagreeing.

Focusing on Phatma, he responded, “Yes, but the Malaki Raja'shun took her long before the abductions.”

“How—” She went silent, taking a moment to observe him.

He blinked back, a crease forming between his brows. It felt as though she was looking through him. “What?” he demanded after a heartbeat of her staring.

A strange yet soft expression started forming on her face, but she turned away. “Don’t blame yourself, Rakshal,” she said, her voice firm despite its softness.

He emitted a small scoff but didn’t reply for his own sake.

She had seen through him.

“In any case…” He turned his attention back to the canteen. “I only have the daylight hours to look for them. If I can’t find any leads by nightfall, I’ll have to refocus my attention on finding Keekaa…”

“What will you do if you find them?”

“Depends on…how I find them,” he murmured, grimacing at his own words. “But knowing the Malaki Faifeth’hai and Raja’shun, they might be beyond help already—all of them.”

His expression worsened, but he dismissed the unwanted thoughts for now.

“Including Aiyool?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I see.” He heard shifting behind him, followed by a somber sigh. “I’d help you, if I thought I could actually be of any use.”

“It’s alright. Truly. Up until a few months ago, I would have said this whole…incident was within my power to handle. That’d be a lie.” He watched a few people exit the canteen, seemingly part of the same bandit crew. Seeing them reminded him of Isshichi. “Would you happen to know where the Turotalot are?”

“The bandits? Their headquarters is in Walehlami.”

Fuck. He sucked his teeth. He would rather not take his chances and bump into his mentor in the Khabeyht underworld.

“Why?”

He glanced back, then turned around. Phatma leaned against a nearby palm tree, her dark eyes fixed on him. “Do you happen to know of their member Isshichi?”

She scoffed. “Drunk fucker was going around telling people to be wary. Of what, he was perfectly cryptic about...” She trailed off when she saw him twitch. “You spoke to him recently?”

“Last year…” Rakshal frowned. “Dammit. He might be gone, too.”

Her expression mirrored his. “Sounds like the people missing may have something in common.”

“That’d be ridiculo—” He froze, heart skipping a beat.

Without prompt, he turned and walked back towards the canteen. He couldn’t be overthinking this coincidence, could he?

Are all the missing people against the empire…?

He nearly burst inside, fixing his eyes on the oshinokous. She hadn’t moved an inch but was no longer eating.

Regaining himself, he walked a few more steps in. “Oi, you in the back.”

Several heads, most of them covered with hoods and scarves, turned, fixing a myriad of eyes on him. He kept his on his target, and once that gradually became obvious to the others, they either went back to their doings or watched him out of their peripherals.

After a moment of silence, the hooded figure’s head turned towards him. Within the depths of the hood, he noticed yellow eyes. A flash of teeth shone in the dim light, made all the more obvious by her dark lips. “Talking to me, boy?”

He tilted his head up, mildly surprised by the rough feminine voice. Raising a brow, he continued approaching. “I need to, girl.”

“Eh?” The woman leaned back, slinging an arm behind the backrest of her chair. “Do I know you?”

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

She grinned, an expression that put sharp canines on display. “Come, then. Sit.” She motioned to the chair across from her.

He inclined his head and neared the table. “So. What are you?”

“Does it matter?” she chuckled.

“Marginally.” He sat and slightly mirrored her pose.

She shrugged. “Dog.”

“Monkey.”

“Oh, good! I was worried you were a cat or something.”

A small smirk crawled on his face. “I can empathize.” He waved a hand dismissively. “In any case, I wanted to ask you some things.”

“Ask away.” She sighed, cracking her neck side to side. “I’ve been bored for a while, no thanks to the Malaki Raja’shun.”

His gaze sharpened. “What about them?”

The corner of her mouth perked up. Leaning forward, she whispered, “It’s about the disappearances, yeah?”

'“And the Faifeth’hain and Raja’shunin involvement.” He decided not to mince words. “I need to know anything and everything.”

Yellow eyes, sharp and intense, glanced to the left. While he didn’t follow her gaze, he sensed her apprehension.

“This isn’t the best place to talk about it…”

He nodded, moving to stand.

When she didn’t follow, he looked her in the eye, waiting.

Her lips, nearly black, scrunched. “I don’t feel like going anywhere. What’s in it for me?”

He looked hard at her, weighing his options.

He could respond with urgency. He could be brusque.

Or.

He straightened, tail flicking slow and steady behind him. Her smile faltered, clearly sensing the change in his demeanor. Cocking up a brow, he nearly looked down his nose at her as he enunciated, “You’ll get a lifetime to recount how it was at this moment you didn’t die by my hand.”

Swallowing, she quickly moved to stand and bowed her head. “O-of course. Sorry…”

He watched after her taller form when she moved out of his way, then led them out of the canteen. Brushing the curtain aside, his eyes went to the sky.

It was still painfully early; the horizon had yet to see a wink of midmorning light. Dark blue still lingered, reminding him that barely an hour had passed since he left Goku, his dear companion, in the domain of their enemies. His eyes tightened.

Out of his peripheral, he saw the dog oshinokous standing nearer to the same tree as Phatma.

He frowned, turning to face them and watched as red eyes met yellow.

He looked between them as the women perceived each other with distrust. Sighing, he asked Phatma, “What are you still doing here?”

Instead of answering, she addressed the oshinokous, “So, girl. What’s your name?”

The oshinokous began to answer in what was undoubtedly a snarky manner, but she paused when Rakshal glared at her. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Ali.”

“Nice.” To Rakshal, Phatma said, “Thought I’d stick around for a little while. Not much longer, as I have to get going, but I want to see you off.”

He inclined his head, appreciating the gesture. “It’s always nice to see one of my mother’s friends.”

“Are we going somewhere?” Ali asked. “We can talk out here.”

He took a few steps closer to the women, crossing his arms. “Alright, speak. What do you know about the disappearances and the Faifeth’hai?”

“Something strange is within the catacombs of the Saralat, some sort of presence unlike anything like a god or divine. It’s a bashmut, but ancient; I’d say several thousands of cycles old.” Ali looked at Phatma, scanning her briefly. “Older than you.”

Greying black eyebrows shot to her hairline as Phatma balked, a soft droning emitting from her. From that reaction, Rakshal estimated she was old enough, likely in her threethousands—older than his mother.

“That’s not possible,” she said, voice tentative. “The oldest known Indrahtoon and Faifethinn are…about five hundred or so years older than me.”

“What bashmut could be that old?” he wondered aloud. “They’d have to be frail—”

Ali rapidly shook her head. “Oh, no. This person is very powerful, more than me or…or even my grandmother.”

“Who’s your grandmother?” asked Phatma.

“The matriarch of the dog oshinokous.”

Phatma whistled and bowed her head, but Rakshal was skeptical.

“How do you know all of this?” he asked.

Wincing, Ali grasped her left arm, stuttering a few words. She then went silent before sighing, “There’s an underground cavern system beneath the Saralat, but there’s something even deeper which lead to the catacombs—or what have been touted to be catacombs. I went in the caverns to look for them, but…that’s where the ancient bashmut resides.” She gestured to her arm. “I got injured by some magma yousotyu, so I imagine they’re an Indrahtoon, but I never even got to see them. I had to run.”

He nodded. This information was undoubtedly useful, but. “What does this ancient Indrahtoon have to do with the disappearances?”

“The catacombs were being used to hold people. From what my dogs have discovered, there’s a new division of the Raja’shun specializing in some science operation.”

“Science operation,” Rakshal murmured. He recalled what Igni said about subjects and came to a jarring conclusion. “Science subjects!”

She nodded. “They’re experimenting on people.”

Eyes going wide, he uncrossed his arms. “Only Faifethinn?”

“I’d imagine they’d keep clear of oshinokous. Wouldn’t want to anger someone they can’t contest,” Phatma proposed, causing Ali to nod again. “But only Faifethinn is…” She didn’t finish.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hands clenching. “This has become way more complicated than I thought. I’ll have to go to the catacombs—”

“From my understanding, the operation has moved,” Ali interjected. “I have no idea where they are now.”

He swore again, covering his face with his hands.

Shifting brought his attention to Phatma. The older woman appeared deeply perturbed, her expression tense and lips tight. “I’d say we should warn the people of Saheeleth if it would actually help the situation.” She folded her arms. “The panic that would cause…”

Ali nodded, but she frowned. “Yeah, but it sure would be nice if common Faifethinn tried to overthrow the current empire, already.”

As Rakshal blinked in surprise at her, Phatma scoffed, “Never would have thought an oshinokous would involve themselves in bashmut politics.”

“You believe in the Wasihl conspiracy?” Rakshal asked Ali. When she casually bobbed her head, he blinked once more with disbelief.

“What I want to know is what the fuck the Raja’shun is using as part of the experiments,” said Phatma. “I don’t like the implications.”

Ali gently rubbed her left arm, eyes lowering in thought.

Rakshal hummed his agreement, turning away. A single thought came to mind.

I need to speak to Igni.

“What are you going to do now?” Phatma asked, turning to face him. “I imagine this has interrupted your plans, whatever they were.”

His upper lip twitched in the beginning of a scowl. “Yeah,” he admitted, much as he didn’t want to. “I’ve got to rethink everything, including my decision to help Keekaa, at least the way I had planned,” he muttered.

“What steps have you taken so far?”

He rubbed his forehead with frustration. “I’ve infiltrated the Janchitei, and my companion Goku is inside the Saralat now.” He noticed the women’s curiosity but ignored it. “I was going to look for Keekaa from there, but…I’m starting to think that might not be wise.”

Phatma nodded, lips pursing.

He sucked his teeth. “Goddammit…”

“Well, if you don’t need me anymore,” Ali began, conspicuously scooting away, “I’ll be on my way—”

“Shiayni,” Rakshal murmured, his eyes focused elsewhere in thought.

“Oh, uh…sure.” She lingered for a moment, then shoved her hands in her pockets and walked away.

He caught Phatma looking after the younger woman. “Still don’t trust her, hm?”

A scoff was his answer. Returning her attention to him, she said, “Good luck, Rakshal. I really wish I could help, but this is beyond me.” She paused, and he sensed her looking him over. “It was nice to see you again. I haven’t seen you since you were a little one. You’ve grown so much.”

Thanks to Igni, he thought. Regardless, he managed a small nod.

She appeared to notice his apprehension but didn’t comment. He waited a heartbeat, then disappeared from the oasis.

Rakshal spent the majority of the day in Chicheol, searching for leads on the Soon Palace catacombs. Unfortunately, he found none and didn’t have any save for what Ali told him, and now and then he was tempted to find and force her to help again.

Throughout the day, he dedicated a substantial portion of his attention focused on Goku; through his training with Igni, he learned how to look through the eyes of monkeys without disturbing their mental states. His companion had successfully infiltrated the palace, which seemingly came with less concerns than he initially thought; Goku hadn’t been caught or even seen yet.

The moment night fell, Rakshal looked through Goku’s eyes and spotted a white snake flicking a black tongue at him.

As the animals communicated, it became evident to Rakshal that Igni wanted to speak with him.

The moment he teleported to the monkey’s location, the smell of incense permeated his nose. He glanced around, nostrils twitching, and narrowed his eyes. He stood in a lavishly decorated prayer room with layered rugs on the floor, and a dim light overhead kept the corners completely dark.

Upon seeing him, Goku emitted a small, excited chirp and jumped to his shoulder. He pressed his head against the monkey’s, smiling as his friend cooed.

A tall white figure suddenly appeared in a corner, his presence causing the incense to fizzle and the light to die. Rakshal focused on him, noting the soft hissing he made.

Igni was unhappy.

“Found ‘em,” he said with a rattle in his voice.

Rakshal’s eyes widened. “But?”

“Can’t ‘elp ‘em. Beyond it,” Igni explained, “wouldn’t know ‘ow t’elp ‘em e’en ‘f I do.”

Hands clenching, Rakshal braced himself. “The new science division.”

“Ah. S’part o’ the Malaki Isrid.”

Rakshal softly growled, unsurprised that the imperial research and development division was involved.

“The dukka. Them’s a part o’ it. Somethin’ bout crossin’ dukka an’ bashmut t’create somethin’…sad…an’ ‘orrible. Somethin’ wrong.”

Upper lip curling, Rakshal barely prevented himself from swearing in his mentor’s presence.

“Dunno how t’elp ‘em…”

He glanced at Igni. There was pain in the older god’s voice, something he had never heard or imagined he would hear. In the nowpitch darkness of the room, Igni appeared as an enraged, hissing white ghost.

Lowering his gaze, Rakshal’s shoulders fell. They couldn’t barge in and interfere, not without knowing what they were doing.

They needed help.