by A R R Ash
I turned toward the stranger and, although I still couldn’t see his expression, I was sure he was watching me.
Before I could inquire about the rats, he said, “Later. If you want to understand, come with me.”
I did. I followed him down the twisting, narrow streets of the Human District, in a direction away from my house. No matter how many times I thought I should run home, I continued after him. We arrived at a cottage, which, by the standards of the Human District, was fair-sized and in relatively good repair. Like all structures of the district, it was made of wood, though the boards were flush and the door hung straight.
Inside were actual walled rooms, rather than hanging curtains to offer separation; the doors to these two other rooms were closed. The entrance room contained simple furnishings, hanging cookware, and a hearth.
The stranger closed the door behind me, though did not fasten the latch, then drew back his hood. Only later would I notice his slicked back hair, or how his amber eyes complemented his dark brown skin. At the time, my eyes were drawn to other features of his face: an assortment of blisters and papules among angry red acne. If he was bothered by my staring, he did not show it. Indeed, I thought I saw the slight curvature of a smile, as if he enjoyed the reaction.
He spoke first. “Many twice your age have not so mastered their reactions. I have had grown men flee from the sight of me.”
I admit, I did consider hurling the door open and running into the street. But as with the rats, I was more curious than afraid.
“I regret the loss of your melons. I know how important such extravagances are.” He withdrew a pouch from his cloak. “I have no melons—or fruit of any kind—to give you. But perhaps you could purchase more.” He turned the pouch over an upturned palm. Coins jingled as they tumbled out, and he seemed to consider them for a moment. He handed me three obols.
That was far more than the value of the melons. It was more money than I had seen collectively throughout my life. Of everything I had witnessed and endured thus far that evening, this act of generosity was the most surprising and peculiar, and made me the most suspicious.
He must have understood my hesitance, for he said, “It is yours, with no obligation. I wish only to discuss a bargain with you. But however you decide, the coins are yours.”
I took the coins, whose obverse showed a stylized depiction of Sepolis. Wanting to reassure myself of their existence, I kept them clenched in my fist.
He smiled. Although he had all his teeth, they were yellowed, and his gums bled. “I am Mneris.”
“Xy.”
He nodded. “Your parents work for the Politarch.”
He was not asking. I nodded slowly.
“The Politarch has in his library a book, Cyclopædia of Magical Flora and Fauna of Eomluran by Ptarn the Biotamagiologist. Steal for me this book and you can have this.” He held up the still-bulging pouch.
I stared at the pouch, thinking of all I could purchase with that money: properly-fitting clothing, a blanket free of fleas, freshly butchered meat or baked bread, fine tools for my father, even some baubles for Mother. “What does the book look like?”
“Ah, yes, of course. You cannot read. The book is leather-bound, with a red binding. The title is written in lettering formed of leafy vines. The cover depicts a menagerie of magical beasts and plants: a dryad, nymph, fey dragon, chameleon shrub, basilisk, unicorn, melia—a sentient tree.”
I listened to his description, then thought of the vendors at the market and their boundless bigotry. No matter how much money we had, we’d always be just humans. As much as I wanted—needed—that coin, it would make little long-term difference in our lives. I wanted something that would provide me benefit, give me advantage, regardless of the opinion of the other races.
“I want you to teach me to read.”
Mneris cocked his head and seemed to look at me for the first time. He did not answer immediately and continued to scrutinize me. “Very well. Bring me the book and I will teach you to read.”
I gave a single, brisk nod. He returned a measured nod to acknowledge the agreement.
Notes
1 This section is compiled from Xy’s earliest memories, selected and edited to provide a sampling of his perception and recollections, and to depict the conditions into which he was born and raised.
2 The Non-Human League is still active upon Mluran, though it has lost much of its influence there.
3 Xy’s depiction of life for the humans of Sepolis is corroborated by historical records of the time. See also A Cultural, Economic, and Social History of Sepolis by the renowned elven chronicler Älæra of Sepolis.
4 I would direct those interested in learning more of the Suicidal God’s gospel to the Book of Syle.
5 Because they were written retrospectively, Xy’s earlier entries are less specific as to dates.
6 Because of the seeming maturity of Xy’s behavior, many scholars believe he is older than he claims. Whether Xy was born near the end of the Thirteenth Tetracosiad or at the beginning of the Fourteenth remains unclear. The Necralatrists believe it is the latter, and so count fourteen as an auspicious number.
7 Star charts of the period, for Mluran’s northern hemisphere, note a marked brightening of the Drake’s Eye. See Appendix B for a description of Sepolis’s calendrical system.