It just made Tzadok want to hit someone. But most things made him feel that way, so it wasn’t unusual.
“Uncle!” He yelled again, his frustration building.
Still nothing.
His uncle’s “meditation” was arguably simply another method the man used to avoid things he didn’t want to do. He could remain relaxed because he foisted all stressors off onto other people!
Tzadok closed his eyes in grim resignation. “Tandrea?”
“I am still paying very close attention.” She promised. “Do not worry.”
“Can you translate for us?” The words caused an anxious feeling to shoot through him as he said them, somehow recognizing that this was a bad idea.
“I would be happy to!” She beamed, obviously overjoyed to be called upon.
Shit.
This was going to be a mistake.
Chapter Five:
Blasphemous Tampering with the Naked Elements of Life Itself
Aix didn’t like Tzadok.
At all.
The boy knew nothing of what it took to be an honorable warrior or true leader of men. And the other Saltmen were even worse.
The rules of The Wasteland said that the title of Lord of Salt was supposed to go from clan to clan, in succession. First the Riders of the Steppe, then the Saltmen of The Great Nothing, and finally the Coastal People. Then the process would repeat itself. There had formally been other clans, but as the number dwindled, the cycle became more rapid. It was still an ancient system designed to keep one clan from becoming too powerful and ruling over the others, however.
The people within that clan were supposed to fight, and the toughest of them became Lord of Salt. The other clans could then Challenge for the position themselves, naturally, but that was more problematic. Instead of all participants of one clan fighting with ceremonial honor until a victor emerged, Challenges to The Lord of Salt from outside his own clan needed to be made as Right of the Meanest disputes. To the death.
All or nothing.
Which meant that people of the individual clans were a lot more likely to participate in a competition with actual rules and with a guaranteed Lord of Salt position to the winner, than they were to Challenge the toughest man of a neighboring clan to a brutal fight to the death without rules and where anything went.
It made becoming Lord of Salt considerably more difficult, which was why the system was in place to prevent that from happening.
But when Tzadok’s mother– the former Lord of Salt– had died, the title had somehow passed to Tzadok like a birthright. Which was ridiculous, insulting, and entirely against the rules.
Aix blamed Kobb, The Thirty-Two Hundred. That skulking duplicitous bastard was always protecting the little whelp from harm. Always gaming the system to ensure the boy’s power and status. Pulling the strings of the entire clan and ruling The Wasteland like a king. Kobb was a murderer, an intriguer, and a religious zealot. He’d traveled too much in the outside world and had become corrupted by its vile influences. He had their stink all over him.
Tzadok was a complete simpleton and everyone knew it. Without Kobb, he couldn’t find salt in The Great Nothing if you buried him in it. But what Chox had denied him in brains, he’d made up for in rage and strength. Which made deposing The Wasteland’s unwanted tyrant more difficult than Aix would have liked.
Since Tzadok had taken control, many people in The Wasteland had objected to his status, and rightly so. No king could ever rule a Wastelander. It was the height of dishonor to allow such a thing. No Wastelandi had ever bent his knee to anyone, preferring to die as men should; on their feet, with sword and ax in hand.
But now here was this fool Tzadok. He hadn’t declared himself King of The Wasteland yet… but Aix knew it wasn’t far off. He could feel it, his ancestors in the Land of Ghosts whispering it to him in desperate warning whenever he closed his eyes.
The Wastelandi wouldn’t be ruled over. Not while Aix still had a drop of blood in his body.
Tzadok was completely unqualified to be Lord of Salt, both because his title was taken illegally and because even certain kinds of mushrooms were smarter than he was. But in order to Challenge for leadership, you had to fight him to the death. And the man was tough. All of the noble Challengers had failed completely. And there had been a lot of them.
The Wasteland Butcher had earned his name in carnage and blood. Cleaving his limitless dishonor into the established order like a weapon, with an inhuman merciless savagery.
Bodies piled up around him like grains of sand in an endless desert.
And yes, technically, Tzadok would have probably been strong enough to Challenge and win under Right of the Meanest and take over as Lord of Salt from anyone in The Wasteland, even if the rules of succession had been followed— simply because he was toughest— but it was the principle of the thing!
The Lord of Salt title should have passed to the toughest man of the Coastal People, and then Tzadok should have killed him. That was the only way the boy should have been able to legitimately take the title.
But that wasn’t what happened.
And Aix blamed the boy, his uncle, and the entire Saltmen clan for that.
It was one of the reasons why he had helped try to kill Tzadok years ago, because he knew this would happen. He knew that if the boy grew, he would cause problems for the Wastelanders.
Besides, killing him was what any decent moral Wastelandi would have done to honor a fallen Lord of Salt. That’s what the honor code demanded! But then that whole plan had been blown to pieces, tossing aside honor and the law, which was why they were all in this mess in the first place.
Goddamn Kobb. He could take his plots to hell with him!
The Saltmen were always trying to steal things from the Coastal People. Always wanted what they had. It never ended. This business with the two women taken in battle by Hawser was just one more example of the Saltmen’s lawlessness and their petty jealousy towards the other clans, especially the Coastal People.
The whole Saltmen clan was infected with the vile sicknesses of the so-called “civilized” kingdoms. The Saltmen were envious and cruel and liked to look down on their Coastal brothers the way birds of prey sighted on innocent creatures of the field.
He scowled at the man as he made his way towards him. Tzadok; a thief and killer. Walking next to him, wearing odd clothing and the collar of the Chosen, was the green girl whom Hawser had lawfully Claimed.
Aix frowned.
He’d never seen a green woman before.
To tell the truth, the wench herself was rather mousey. Hardly any muscle on her at all, just softness. Her breasts were passable and her face wasn’t entirely objectionable, but she wasn’t what one might call a beauty. Frankly, Aix didn’t understand why everyone wanted her so damn much.
He pursed his lips and watched her move across the salt towards him, his eyes traveling up and down her body, mentally undressing her and imagining her supple form in humiliating positions and outfits more appropriate for a slave taken in battle.
Nope. She didn’t do a lot for him, honestly.
No, this was a matter of clan honor!
Aix had recognized that in order to defeat these new Brightlighter foes, he had to make stronger alliances than the Saltmen could provide. The Coastal People needed the gods. But Aix was sick to death of Kobb’s perversion of Chox’s words. Instead, many of the Coastal People had gone back to the ancient ways. Before weak men like Tzadok and Kobb had appeared on these shores. Back in times undreamed, when Aix’s deified ancestors did battle with the foul Adithian dogs, sending them scurrying back to their hellish island across the strait. When the Wastelanders worshipped not just Chox, but also The One Who Wears Shadows. A black god who gifted them with magic and monsters to use in battles against their ungodly brutish foes. In that bygone age, when the Wastelanders were proud and unconquered. But then feebleness had appeared. Envy. Dishonor. Sinister men like Kobb had used their duplicitous machinations to lead
simple men like Tzadok astray.
And so The Wasteland began its long walk towards shame and woe. Restless wrecks of once honorable men, forever doomed to trod the icy shadows of the living world, yearning for the rebirth of their now vanished greatness.
But the ancient ways were returning. Aix knew that.
Beside him, his companion readjusted his robe which identified him as a wizard priest of The Primacy, the order charged with fulfilling the vision of The One Who Wears Shadows.
If the Saltmen and their weakened version of Chox could not be counted on, Aix knew that The Primacy could.
Aix wasn’t a follower of the sect himself, but Hawser had become a devout believer of their ways. The man had converted more than a year ago, when Seax, High Priest of Gnag the Tainted, had arrived. Seax’s master served The One Who Wears Shadows and Hawser thought he would help return the Coastal People to their former greatness. Apparently, Hawser was looking to make the green woman a gift to Seax and The Primacy.
Aix recognized that Seax trafficked with the powers of darkness, trading girls’ lives for unholy secrets and ungodly magics. But Aix didn’t care. There was no honor requirement that anyone follow a specific Wastelandi religion. In ancient times, many Wastelanders had worshipped The One Who Wears Shadows, as moths worship the flame. So Aix was not at all perturbed to see the religion beginning to appear again among his people. What business was it of his? They could worship a fucking ear of corn for all he cared, just so long as that corncob brought them power and victory. Any god who aided a slayer in slaying his foes was worthy of honors.
That was the tradition and law of The Wasteland. And Aix followed it.
The Primacy was appearing in many kingdoms though. Aix didn’t care. Maybe its ways would teach the Brightlighters how to be real men. The so-called “civilized” kingdoms were merely decaying societies, too focused on the gratification of their own bodily desires to survive. They were filled with stagnant decadence and profane unnatural sex. In Aix’s opinion, kingdoms didn’t fall because of time or force of arms. They died because the people of those lands stopped honoring their traditions. Became preoccupied with sex and their own sweaty weaknesses.
Wenches fucking wenches… Men who didn’t want to slay…
It was some hellish nightmare. Whenever you saw that, you could tell you were looking at a doomed people, unfit for life any longer. The Saltmen had been perverted by that kind of thinking, led astray by the travesties of the “civilized” kingdoms. But Aix kept faith with his people’s history. He believed in doing things as they had always been done. He knew that the Wastelandi would thrive so long as they kept themselves pure and away from the corrupting degeneracy of the outside races.
Aix continued watching the green wench as she made her way towards him. Her passable breasts and not entirely objectionable face belonged to the Coastal People. There was really no other way to look at it. And yes, Hawser intended to hand her off to The Primacy… as soon as the man was finished with her. But that was immaterial. Whether Hawser intended to worship her as the Coastal People’s untouchable pristine goddess or strip her naked and force her to pull a plow through the Coastal fields, on her hands and knees like some slobbering and defiled beast of burden, that was his business. She was his property. That was the law.
And Aix followed the law.
Tzadok said something low, under his breath as he stalked forward.
The mysteriously green woman bowed at Aix in formal greeting. “My master, Tzadok, The Wasteland Butcher, Lord of Salt, inquires rhetorically: ‘Why, this week, have we been deluged in a shower of bastards?’” She raised her index finger to make a clarification for Aix. “I think he means to imply that you are a member of that class, but it isn’t specified in the original context. The vagueness can perhaps be clarified by considering his kinesics, as his body language suggests both reluctance to speak with you today and a general contempt for you as a human being.” She nodded with certainty. “Of course, all of that is understandably difficult to articulate in the translation without altering the original meaning and tone of the words. I chose to err on the side of preserving the almost poetic simplicity of the thought, but understand that this is a stylistic choice on my part and does not convey the full meaning of his words as expressed.”
Aix’s mouth slowly opened, then closed again.
He… he wasn’t sure what to say to that.
The Lord of Salt frowned at his slave, obviously confused as to why she was speaking when he hadn’t said anything yet, but didn’t press the issue.
The man was a coward. No Coastal slave would have ever dared such disrespect. He would have beat her ass red right there if any of his female slaves had spoken without being told. Such a thing was a dishonorable slur on the clan itself.
A man who couldn’t control his women was weak. Weak men inspired women to become lesbians. Everyone knew that. That’s how society crumbled.
The gods chewed up the weak and spat out their bones.
“I am Aix the Enveloper, chieftain of the Coastal People.” Aix informed her, readjusting his camel-hair robe in indignation. “I have come to speak to The Lord of Salt about his continued heinous crimes against my clan and people.”
The girl nodded and started to explain that to The Lord of Salt. Then stopped. “Wait… no. That’s ‘Envelope,’ isn’t it?” She shook her head. “Sorry. He’s not stationary, he’s…” She looked at Aix. “Do you mind if I say ‘Hugger’ instead? That’s easier.” She didn’t wait for an answer and immediately started to talk to The Lord of Salt in Wastelandi again.
The Lord of Salt snorted in laughter, no doubt at the woman’s substituted word.
Aix’s eyes narrowed. He hated the common Wastelandi language.
In the old days, the clans all had distinct languages. It was a proud tradition and preserved the individual cultures of the clans. But now, almost all spoke this blasted vulgar Wastelandi tongue, which was an insult to the generations of people who had come before.
Aix refused to learn it. It was a dishonor to the Coastal People.
He pointed at his companion. “This is Seax, a representative of…”
“I’m sorry,” the woman cut him off, “the man’s name is really ‘Sex’? Do I understand you right?”
Aix scowled at her in annoyance. “Seax.” He repeated, not understanding why she seemed to find the name amusing. “High priest of Gnag the Tainted, faithful acolyte of The One Who Wears Shadows, who…”
“Sssssex is an acceptable moniker, green virgin.” The priest informed her calmly, cutting Aix off. He stressed the “s” for several extra beats, as was his habit. He gazed at the woman with his molten amber eyes, the way an unforgiving spider eyed a fly. The color stood in sharp contrast to his pale white face and the red striped pattern which covered his vaguely scaly skin. “Pleassse, continue.”
The woman frowned slightly at Seax, visibly unnerved by him. Which wasn’t surprising. Lots of weak people felt inferior when faced with someone who embraced his own power and recognized one of the true gods of this world. Granted, Seax was a foreigner, but he worshipped the same god as the Coastal People and they had common enemies. That was good enough for Aix.
The Lord of Salt started to speak, in his usual pompous but mindless growl.
The girl nodded at her master when he had finished, then turned to Aix. “He is Tzadok, Wasteland Butcher, Lord of Salt. His inexhaustible fury ravages the land, like a drunken virgin. And he is prepared to hear you.” She paused. “Umm… the… the land would be the inebriated and thus compliant virgin in that metaphor, not him, obviously. Because… if-if he were the drunken virgin, then it would mean something… uh… entirely, entirely different. Because virgins on their own wouldn’t exactly be… uh… be skilled. In… you know…” Her eyebrows shot up in a confusing way and she held out her hands, as if inviting him to take something from her arms. Aix had no idea what that was supposed to mean. This was the problem with talking with foreign people. “An
d I’d imagine that intoxicated ones would… well, they wouldn’t…” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, that ambiguity is made clearer in the original Wastelandi syntax. My apologies.”
Aix frowned again.
The woman was… weird. She inspired an odd mix of feelings. He’d never encountered anyone like her before. He didn’t like it. He wouldn’t take that woman’s body even if it were offered to him, wet and spread wide as a mountain pass. In fact, he wouldn’t even let Aix use her as that hypothetical naked sex ox to plow his fields.
This woman would be handed over to The Primacy as soon as she entered Aix’s hands.
She was undoubtedly a lesbian. You could tell.
Seax, High Priest of Gnag the Tainted, leaned closer to him. “My Lord will like thisss one, Enveloper.” He whispered in his hissing tone. “Her lithe and ssssucculent green mind will ssssuit Hisss purpossse and pleassse hisss Unnamed Massster.”
Aix nodded in agreement, unwilling to argue with the man about her ownership. The woman wasn’t normal. She was obviously a harbinger of destruction, cursed by the gods and infected with the weakness of her race. The quicker The Primacy took her away, the better off The Wasteland would be.
The Wasteland Butcher looked at Seax for a long moment. He growled out something, which his green wench quickly translated. “My master, Enemy of Fools and Weakness, informs you that ‘The Crawling Nameless Revulsion to the north-west is gone’. And ‘that tree was felled years ago. The influence of that cosmic horror was extinguished by our great-grandfathers’ great-grandfathers.’ You are simply ‘playing dress-up’ in order to feel important, ‘almost man.’ He reminds you that Chox, the Culler of Men, rules these lands, not your dead evil god and his monstrous pets. He informs you that… umm… ‘just because you look like a ball sack, doesn’t mean you have to act like one.’” She shrugged, silently apologizing for the vulgar words.
“He isss not ‘extinguissshed.’” Seax corrected, sounding amused by Tzadok’s stupidity. “The One Who Wearsss Ssshadows isss in The Darknessss, dreaming.” He snorted in contempt. “You ssspeak to me about Chox. But Chox’sss power isss asss nothing. A child thinking himssself king. Thisss war isss feeding The One Who Wearsss Ssshadowsss. Calling to hisss Agelessss Hate... Sssoon, He will awaken from Hisss long ssslumber. He will sssummon hisss loyal acolytesss to him, like my Massster, Gnag the Tainted. The Black Fire will ssspread acrossss thisss land once more, roaring over every ssshadowy hill and up every high tower of ssstone. And then the Old Age will begin anew. The Age of Broken Blade and Ssshattered Ssskull. And Chox will learn what true power really isss.”
Captive of a Fairytale Barbarian Page 11
