by Eric Vall
“Just from over the sea.” She shrugged and brought my right hand up to start unwrapping it, too. “It’s not talked about much, but every so often, someone like you shows up. We call people like you Travelers. Most of the folk who remember the old days get jumpy around Travelers, though, so it’s not something that should be advertised.”
“Do you know if any Travelers ever leave once they get to Aventoll?” I asked while she massaged my other hand. I tried to focus through the pleasure spreading through me, and I only realized my eyes were drooping when her massaging stopped.
“I don’t know for certain,” she said, and then she pulled out the Duelist Stone tucked under my shirt and tapped the fish engraving with her fingernail. “But the Goddess has recognized you as one of her own, now. With it comes responsibilities. And rewards.”
“Are you one of those rewards?” My eyes scanned her luscious body where it was pressed snugly along my side, and her eyes darted away from mine for just a second.
“Yes,” she answered after a brief hesitation. “It is law that if an Asher is killed in a Duel, the victor inherits his estate along with any other properties or assets. So, when an Asher kills another in a Duel, he inherits the other man’s possessions, holdings, and slaves. In this case, since you killed Dagmar outright, the Prospect rule no longer applies. Instead, I am treated like his grieving widow and set to observe the Mourning Rite. After a period of three days, I can consummate the bond with my new husband.”
“Sooo…” I cleared my throat. “When I killed Dagmar, I got all his stuff?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“Including you?” I asked.
“Yes.” She nodded again. “Ashers can only have as many wives as they are ranked, and since they are possessions, they are transferred to the winning Duelist. Dagmar actually did not have any wives besides me, even though he could have had three. So, now I am yours.”
“Is that your choice?” I asked.
“It is law.” She shrugged as if choice didn’t even have a say in the matter.
Maybe it didn’t in the world of Aventoll.
“Tell me more about how the Ashers work, please.”
“Every person and piece of property is either owned by a Duelist, or is in holding with the Asher Organization and waiting to be assigned to a new Rank One Asher,” she started to explain. “Ashers build their holdings by killing other Duelists, or by buying the assets from their colleagues.”
“And if they want to gain a new level, do they just get more holdings?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “If an Asher wants to go up a Duelist rank, they must Duel and kill an Asher of a higher rank. Then they get their Stone and increase in power. It is a very easy to understand system.”
“Rightttttt…” I sighed.
The more Zoie explained, the more I was beginning to see how this world was run. These “Ashers” or “Duelists” as they were called, acted as feudal landowners and lords over the common people. They were elevated, respected, and even feared, but what I didn’t understand was why.
“Zoie,” I asked after mulling this over for a bit. “What do the Ashers do that is so important?”
“I don’t understand.” She tilted her head as if my question was strange.
“I mean,” I started and gently removed her from my lap so I could talk to her face-to-face. “Why are the Duelists allowed to rule? Dagmar was a dick-wad, and he hurt you.”
“I’m fine,” Zoie said and ducked away from where I was trying to examine the light bruising against her cheek. “It’s true he was not a nice man, but he was blessed by the Goddess, as all Ashers are. They are given the power by Mercedes herself to keep our world safe.”
“Safe from what?” I asked.
Just then, the carriage rolled to a stop, and the driver gave two thumps of his foot to signal we’d arrived.
“No more questions now, Alex,” Zoie whispered and put the leash she was still wearing into my hands. Then she gestured to the carriage door, and I took the hint and led us out.
“Give Asher Ren our thanks for the use of his transport,” Zoie said to the driver in a regal tone, and even with a leash around her neck, she had a commanding presence that couldn’t be ignored.
The driver bowed his head in acknowledgment and knickered to the strange ox-roaches pulling the carriage. The beasts lifted their big heads from their grazing and began to set off.
“Welcome to your estate, my husband,” Zoie said as the carriage moved aside and revealed the sight before me.
My mouth hung open as my eyes took in what all I was seeing.
In front of me was a short stone bridge over a small babbling stream, and at the end of the bridge there looked to be a modest water mill that could use a patch job. Just past the mill were rolling green hills of pasture dotted with more of those ox-roach creatures as they ate their fill of the sweet-smelling grass, and next to the pasture was a patch of dusty farm land bordered by an orchard with gnarly overgrown trees. Farther up a mossy incline, a handful of shack-like houses with thatched roofs sat in disrepair, and from where I was standing, I could even see something that might even be a workshop or a barn.
But by far the most impressive thing that stood out was the manor house at the very top of the hill.
The manor wasn’t the biggest I’d ever seen, but it wasn’t small by any means. A stone wall around the house itself reminded me of the one around Nata Isle, only this one had a gate. Like the rest of the estate, the manor looked unkempt with overgrown vines that crawled up the towers and over the walls. The whole place could do with a little TLC and some elbow grease.
A tug to my hand made me snap out of my stupor.
“Are you coming?” Zoie asked as she walked backward, and the leash still in my hand pulled me toward her.
“Yes, but hold on,” I said and walked up to her so I could unfasten the leash from the ring in her collar. “This needs to go.”
“What?” Zoie blinked at me.
I walked to the middle of the bridge and waited until she followed me. “I know we’re married because of some law I had no idea about, but let me make one thing clear: I am not Dagmar.”
I threw the leash over the side of the bridge and didn’t even watch it hit the water.
Zoie peered into my face for a few moments, and then she stepped close enough to press the full length of her body into me. Before I could say anything, or even think about stepping away, her hand came up to cup my face.
“You are a kind man, Alex the Traveler,” she said and kissed me gently on the lips. It was a brief kiss, and before I could turn it into something else, she pulled away and left me aching for more of her sweetness. Then she smiled and grasped my hand. “Or… I should call you Asher Alex, now. Come with me, husband. You are weary and need food and drink to refresh you.”
I let her lead me, which was totally fine, because I was unable to pay attention to much of the path because of the sway of her full hips and the swish of her tail going to and fro. I knew she wasn’t purposefully trying to be seductive, but that small kiss and those long legs made me a bit toasty under the collar.
How long did she say the mourning thing was? Three whole days? I groaned inwardly. I guess I would just have to satisfy my other appetites for now.
Speaking of other appetites, my stomach let loose a mighty growl as I followed Zoie past the orchard trees on our way up to the manor house. She glanced at me, walked over to one of the trees with heavy red fruit still hanging from its branches, and plucked one.
“What’s this?” I asked as I caught the fruit when she tossed it to me. The fruit was about the size and shape of an apple, but it had small seeds on the outside like a strawberry.
“It’s a woot fruit,” Zoie said. “Try it, it will refresh you.”
“Okay,” I replied and bit into the firm flesh of the fruit. “Hey, there’s water in here!”
“Yes,” she said in an amused tone. “It is very useful because hydration is hard to
come across on the desert islands.”
“So, the stream we passed is salty, too?” I looked down where fresh water pooled up like a little well from the bite I just took out of the woot fruit.
“All the streams, rivers, and lakes are undrinkable,” Zoie said and continued making her way up to the house. “Is it not so where you are from?”
“No,” I said as I fell into step beside her. “Actually, it’s the reverse. Where I come from, most of the rivers and streams are fresh, and the ocean is salty. That was one of the first things I noticed about this place that made me think I wasn’t home anymore. Why don’t your people use those pipes I saw to pump water from the sea?”
What I thought was an innocent question made Zoie stop dead in her tracks as she looked at me with a pale face.
“Because taking from the Ocean Mercedes is a sin,” she said. “Alex, did you drink from the ocean?”
“Uhhhh, yes?” I replied as I gulped the rest of the water out of the fruit, but when Zoie’s eyes flew open wide, I shifted on my feet like a guilty schoolboy. “Was I not supposed to?”
“How are you not dead?” she blurted out, and her tail fluffed up a little as she scanned me from head to toe.
“Umm…” I said.
“It is known only the worthy may drink of the Ocean Mercedes and gain the blessings and wisdom she provides,” Zoie said in a rapid burst. “If a person drinks and they are found wanting, most of them die instantly.”
“Most of them,” I deadpanned. “What happens to the rest?”
“The knowledge of the universe becomes too much for them, and they go mad,” she stated. “The lucky ones end their lives swiftly in one matter or another.”
“Well, that seems bleak as fuck,” I said, and Zoie cocked her head in puzzlement. “It seems bad.”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“So, what about me, then?” I asked and held my arms out. “I’m neither dead nor crazy. I guess I’m worthy?”
“Alex,” Zoie said in a grave voice, “you don’t understand. Not even the high religious priests dare to drink the sea. If anyone on Aventoll were worthier, I can’t think of who. The priests dedicate their whole lives to the pursuit of Mercedes’ wisdom and try their best to spread her blessings.”
“Oh.” I looked down at the woot fruit still in my hand.
“This is not something you should tell others,” she said in the same hushed voice she used in the carriage. “Now that you are an Asher, you have an automatic price on your head. The more people think you have, the more the other Ashers will want to gain it for themselves. If any other Asher knew about this--Mercedes’ blessing of the sea--it might inspire them to challenge you to a duel sooner. Then they will take your life and all your possessions.”
“Hey,” I said, and I frowned at the high notes of worry in her voice. “I’m not going to let anyone take you from me.”
“I… Thank… you.” Zoie looked into my eyes for a second before she released a deep sigh. Then she lowered her head, and I did the same until our foreheads met.
That warm sensation of comfort flowed through me at the feeling of her back in my arms, and for a moment, we just stood there breathing until Zoie finally pulled away.
She seemed calmer, but I noticed the storm clouds had gathered again in her eyes.
“Come,” she said and continued her way up to the manor house.
The rest of the way was made in silence, and I couldn’t shake the unease I suddenly felt. From the moment I got here, I felt wildly out of place, but this was the first time I felt truly alien.
I just hoped it didn’t change the way Zoie saw me.
The last thing I ever wanted to see was that look of fear on her face Dagmar seemed to inspire, but more than anything, I especially never wanted to see it directed at me.
When we finally reached the big wooden doors that acted as a gate into the manor, I noticed something odd.
“Zoie,” I said as I helped her heave open the heavy gate, “where are all the people?”
“What do you mean?” she huffed and then brushed off her hands.
“An estate this size should at least have a house staff,” I pointed out.
“Yes, you are correct,” Zoie said. “The level three Duelist Dagmar killed a few months ago used to keep this place fully staffed, but since he took ownership, Dagmar sold everything of value he could get his hands on so he could use the gold in various games of chance. There are farmhouses for the field workers and inside there is a servant’s quarters, but now there is only Arvid the cook, and old Jenner who keeps house and takes care of the poracks in the pasture.”
It was no wonder the estate looked so neglected, then. This was something I definitely needed to get to the bottom of if this was going to be my home for the foreseeable future.
However, all of that thinking was put aside when a hearty aroma of meat and spices smacked me in the face.
“What is that amazing smell?” I asked as we passed a few empty stables on our way to the manor entrance. God, I’d forgotten how ravenous I was.
Zoie glanced at me over her shoulder with a coy smile. “Arvid’s stew. You have never tasted something so good until you’ve had it.”
“I can’t wait,” I said and picked up my pace.
The doors to the manor house weren’t as big as the gate entrance, but they were still a solid wood that was difficult to move, so I had to help Zoie swing them open again.
When we stumbled into the entrance hall, the scent of the stew intensified, and my complaining stomach echoed off the high ceilings, which made Zoie give me another look. At this point, I was feeling a bit delirious, especially with the promise of food and rest so close, and I blurted out a string of giggles before I could stop myself.
My laughter bounced off the barren walls of the hall just like my protesting stomach. I was sure if there had been artworks and draperies like some of the dusty outlines on the walls implied, my laugh wouldn’t have sounded quite so loud in the emptiness, but I clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Sorry,” I said.
Zoie just stared at me for a second before the corners of her mouth twitched upward.
From there, it was all downhill. I didn’t know which one of us did it, but someone snorted and set us both off into peals of side-busting laughter. God, the release of tension felt good, but what was even better was the sound of Zoie’s angel-like laughter.
Where her natural speaking voice was low and velvety, her laughter was bright and melodious like crystal bells. When she laughed, her whole face lit up with jubilation, and her tail came up behind her in a playful swish-swash from side to side as she clutched one hand to her chest. It was really fucking adorable, and I almost couldn’t keep myself from pulling her in and kissing her breathless.
Just when I was about to see for myself what her laughter tasted like, a screeching racket interrupted us.
“What is all that blasted noise?” A small man about four feet tall with a gray head and big fluffy ears like a koala came to a stop with one hand on his hip and something that looked like a riding crop in the other. He had a monocle he tweaked and adjusted so he could glare at us better. “Ms. Zoie. Who is this? Where is Asher Dagmar?”
“Oh, Jenner,” Zoie said. “Asher Dagmar is dead by the Rite of the Duel. This is his challenger.”
The man named Jenner adjusted his monocle again and sized me up with a sharp eye. Then he took slow measured steps until he was standing right in front of me. “Am I really to believe this scrawny whelp defeated Dagmar?”
“Hey!” I objected and glanced down at myself. It was true I did look a little worse for wear with my ripped t-shirt, ratty jeans, and no shoes, but I wasn’t scrawny. Well, compared to Dagmar, maybe.
“Jenner, be nice,” Zoie said. “Alex, show him your Duelist Stone.”
I did as she asked so I wouldn’t get whacked by that crop in Jenner’s hand. He reminded me of a stern old-timey grade school professor who wouldn’t think twice about sm
acking some knuckles for stepping out of line.
I barely had the crystal pendant out before the man grabbed it and pulled it down to get a closer look, and unfortunately for my sore back, I went with the necklace.
“A little warning would have been nice,” I grumbled half-bent over as he used his monocle like a magnifying glass to examine the Stone.
“Well, well, I stand corrected.” Jenner replaced the monocle back onto his face, and his tone of voice was still curt but no longer judgmental as he studied the Stone. “You can never be too sure of people these days, and Dagmar was a skilled swordsman. It’s been a long time since these old bones were impressed. It appears we have a new master. What is your name, Asher?”
“Alex,” I said as I pulled back.
“Alex… ” He let the pendant slip from his fingers while his bushy white eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Family name?”
“Well, the name on my birth certificate says Brightwood,” I told him.
“Birth what?” he questioned. “Do you mean life record?”
“Yeah, a birth certificate is just a record,” I said.
“Hmm,” he hummed again and scratched his scruffy chin. “Brightwood. What is it your family does? Are they craftsmen? Carpenters? I’ve never heard of them.”
“That makes two of us,” I said. “I’ve never known my family.”
“Alex is a nomad from West Alem,” Zoie said as she came to my rescue. Then she turned to me and put a hand on my arm. “You’ll have to forgive Jenner. Family histories are one of his many hobbies.”
“Not much is known about the Wanderers of the West,” Jenner said and backed down from his inquisition. “Ms. Zoie is correct. Family histories are my passion. I apologize if I’ve offended you, Asher Brightwood.”
“No offense taken,” I assured him. “But please, if this is my home now, call me Alex.”
The koala-man regarded me with a strange look before a thin smile bloomed on his little gray face. That small smile transformed his severe expression into a much more genial one, and I could tell by the kindness in his brown eyes he would be a welcome asset in this wild world.
