Sand of the Soul

by Voronica Whitney-Robinson

  “I guess I just don’t understand,” Steorf replied, shaking his head.

  He glanced around uncomfortably, and Fannah smiled indulgently.

  “It is a little hard for foreigners,” she said. “Come along. Selamek’s Warehouse is not too far away. We’ll be able to pick up a few things there.”

  Traveling in a southeasterly direction, the three continued to push their way through the crowds. Tazi looked back over her shoulder one last time at the sermon to see if the priests had come to blows, but the crowd swallowed up the view.

  Fannah expertly led the two through the mazelike streets and Tazi found herself shoved right up against her, the crowd was so thick at times. The Calishite woman didn’t even appear to notice the close quarters, but as Tazi glanced over Fannah’s shoulder, she could see that Steorf looked distressed as well.

  Though Selgaunt was a busy merchant city in its own right, Tazi found she was almost suffocated by Calimport. The streets, such as they were, were very narrow, with mud brick walls dividing and subdividing every possible space. Though the streets opened to the sky, across many of the walls that separated the drudachs merchants had laid poles. From these poles, the ingenious peddlers managed to string up even more goods. Tapestries and rugs hung from some, while jewel-hued, freshly dyed yarns hung from others like cheerful spiderwebs. Hardly a breeze stirred the hot air. Tazi felt trapped and claustrophobic.

  “Fannah,” she whispered in her friend’s ear, not wanting Steorf to know she was uncomfortable. She felt that, for the sake of the group, and since she saw his reticence with the dog, she couldn’t afford to show fear or allow failure.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if we went along the walls above instead of fighting our way against the tide down here?”

  Tazi had been noticing how much room there was on the higher walkways, and how much airier they looked, too.

  “If we did that,” Fannah explained, “we would draw much more attention to ourselves. The upper walkways are for more ‘noble’ people. There is anonymity and safety for us down here.

  “Don’t worry,” she added, “I can tell from the smell that we’re nearly there.”

  Soon enough, Tazi understood what she meant. A sour odor filled the unmoving air, and Tazi found herself gagging. Without saying a word, Fannah motioned down one of the side streets and Tazi could see twenty large indentations in a clay platform as big as a house foundation. Each hole in the platform was the size of a small drinking well and was filled to the brim with a colored liquid. Every pot had a different color. A couple of robed men were leaning over the various holes like they were scrubbing laundry.

  “Leather dyeing,” Steorf offered.

  “It is a rather unmistakable smell, isn’t it?” Tazi replied, absently running a hand down her own leather vest.

  The three rounded a turn and came upon one of Calimport’s official bazaars: The Scarlet Cross Trading Coster Warehouse. Tents and stalls were pushed up against more permanent structures, and people were shouting to and fro. Merchants thrust objects mercilessly in their faces as Tazi and her companions ran the gauntlet of shops.

  “A leather sack for all your treasures?” one seller called out.

  “Something sharp and shiny for milady?” another cried.

  Tazi was startled as the vendor simply levitated several swords and a mail shirt near her, twirling them around for her inspection. She saw Steorf flinch when the shopkeeper did it to him too.

  Tazi also noticed that the types of items for sale changed the deeper they went into the market. The outermost shops had hard goods and weapons, while further in, the stalls were all full of coarse fabrics and different kinds of clothing.

  A few feet into the melee, Fannah found what she was looking for. She struck up a conversation with one of the hawkers, and Tazi realized that the two were speaking in Alzhedo, the native tongue of Calimshan. It was the first time she had ever heard it spoken, and Tazi believed it was one of the most lyrical languages she had ever heard.

  Only Elvish is more beautiful, she thought, remembering a few of the words Ebeian had said to her once.

  The vendor and Fannah, after some obvious haggling, struck a bargain. The old man turned to the back wall of his shop and pointed a finger at several robes that were hanging up. One by one, the robes flew across the shop and were floating in front of Tazi.

  “Pick a jellaba that suits you,” Fannah told Tazi, switching back to the common tongue.

  She chose a white and blue-stripped robe and paid the mutually agreed upon price. Tazi quickly covered herself and felt less vulnerable.

  “I don’t seem to be happy unless I’m in disguise,” she whispered to Steorf, trying to draw him from the moodiness that had overshadowed him since his failure with the dog.

  The mage didn’t respond. Just as Tazi had stared at the people and architecture when they first entered the city, it was his turn to be mesmerized. Tazi thought he seemed fixated by all the magic surrounding them.

  “I have to admit,” she leaned closer to him as she flipped up her hood, “that they do seem to be more open about their abilities here in Calimport.”

  “Abilities?” Steorf scoffed. “They’re more like simple parlor tricks. It’s shameful behavior,” he continued. “Just like in front of the temple of Selûne. And they call us barbarians.”

  Tazi looked at him with a little concern.

  He’s quick to judge, she thought, but then he’s never been outside of Sembia, either.

  “Fannah,” she said, turning to her companion, “I’m counting on you to help us from making a mistake. From all I’ve read and seen, the customs of this place are very different from Sembia, and I’d like not to offend too many people.”

  “If I ‘see’ you starting to fall, I’ll do what I can. But he”—she pointed unerringly at Steorf—“is the sorcerer, not me. There’s only so much I can do.”

  The two women giggled, and Steorf relented a touch. Tazi, pleased that Fannah’s words had the desired effect on him, got all of them moving again.

  “There must be food somewhere in here,” she said to Fannah.

  “Farther in, closer to the warehouse proper,” Fannah answered, “are the more precious and perishable items.”

  “Let’s keep moving,” Tazi urged. “Even with the robes, I still feel a little exposed. Also, it should be harder for someone to overhear us in this throng if we’re on the go.”

  “Well, that’s true,” Steorf interjected, “as I can barely hear you myself.”

  Tazi smiled at his quip but was concerned that he still was somewhat preoccupied with the open displays of sorcery.

  I’ll deal with that later, she thought.

  “When I mentioned what Eb told us after his death, you told me you were familiar with the Skulking God,” she reminded Fannah. “Is his temple here in Hook Ward, too?”

  “No, it isn’t,” she answered. Fannah ducked as a large basket of fruit passed rather quickly by her head. “On occasion, you might find some of his proselytes out in the wards, but there is no proper temple anywhere above in Calimport for the Lurker in Darkness.”

  She reached out and plucked several pieces of fruit for Tazi, Steorf, and herself from that same basket and flipped a coin in the direction of the farmer. Tazi was impressed.

  “I could hear the basket whistling through the air,” Fannah explained when her companions remained silent, “and I could smell the fruit within it.”

  “But how did you know where the merchant was?” Steorf demanded.

  “Lucky guess,” Fannah laughed. “I knew that someone within the bazaar would grab the tossed coin and if it wasn’t the correct merchant, the rightful one would wrestle it back for himself.”

  Tazi laughed at her friend’s clever solution.

  Continuing out of the bazaar, the threesome passed through an archway into a most decadent area: the south end of Eraré Sabban. On their left was an obvious festhall with a stone façade, a little rundown but still opulent. What made th
e roomy building stand out were the seven pillars in front of the structure. Each carved column depicted a woman in various stages of undress. Tazi watched as Steorf became uncomfortable and turned away only to be equally embarrassed by what was to his right. Even Tazi had to blush at that.

  “The building to your left is the Seven Dancing Jhasinas,” Fannah explained. “The name obviously came from the carvings in front of the building. The structure on this side is the Festhall of Eternal Delight.”

  “And the guests are obviously delighted to be there,” Tazi managed to say.

  Steorf was speechless, and Fannah hurried the two past the sybaritic scene literally spilling out of the doorways in front of them. The patrons, much like the Seven Jhasinas, were nearly nude. Fannah stopped them once they were a few buildings distant.

  “That was rather a sight,” Tazi exclaimed. “But you didn’t have to run past so fast. I’m not that inexperienced.”

  “That was the temple to Sharess,” Fannah explained.

  “That was a temple, too?” Steorf blustered.

  “It is the greatest one to my goddess. I was afraid someone might recognize me if we lingered too long.”

  “So that is the goddess you and your mother served,” Tazi clarified.

  “Yes, it is. I’m sure you were shocked by what you both saw, even briefly. The most pious there are the staff, and they are all dedicated to hedonism in the name of Sharess. Even the jhasinas who modeled for the pillars became priestesses of Sharess after she came to them.”

  “But it seemed so … disorganized,” Steorf interrupted, trying hard to be diplomatic.

  “Unfortunately, many visitors to the temple do have less than holy thoughts when they arrive. They take our doctrine and use it as an excuse for all types of behavior.”

  “We saw some of that,” Tazi exclaimed.

  “What they don’t understand, or choose not to,” Fannah continued, “is that to worship Sharess is to explore and indulge in one’s senses.”

  Tazi saw that Fannah was becoming more animated than she had ever seen the blind woman before.

  “To serve Sharess is to recognize the beauty in the world. To be fully alive and immersed in who you are through sight, smell, and taste. It was here,” she continued, “that I was taught how to use my other senses to compensate for my lack of sight.”

  “Your mother was a priestess in this temple,” Tazi remembered.

  “Yes,” Fannah answered, “but that was when Sharess was still under the influence of Shar. After the Time of Troubles, Sharess regained herself and became the bright goddess once more. This building was erected to celebrate her.”

  Tazi could see that Fannah was troubled by thoughts of her mother. She remembered Fannah telling her once that the only reason her mother didn’t kill her at birth was because her religion forbade it. Fannah had survived her childhood simply because of her mother’s religious fervor, not because of her love. Tazi changed the subject, troubled by her friend’s distress.

  “You mentioned a little while ago that there was no temple to the Skulking God,” she asked. “How do we find him—or those who follow him?”

  Fannah perked up at the question. “I said he had no temples above in Calimport. We will have to travel to Calimport Muzad, below the city surface, to find an obscure sect of humans I know of who still worship him.”

  “There aren’t many followers left?” Steorf questioned. “I suppose that would explain why I knew nothing of him.”

  “No, that’s not entirely true,” Fannah replied. “Ibrandul has many followers both here and in Waterdeep. In Calimport Below, most of his followers are skulks, but I have dealt with his human Children before. I believe they will help us.”

  “Why are they below?” Tazi asked.

  “The Lord of the Dry Depths is an old god,” Fannah made clear, using one of the many titles of Ibrandul. “His worship extend back to the prehistory of Calimshan, dating before the founding of the Shoon Empire.”

  “And he’s always been below the city?” Tazi inquired.

  “At one time,” Fannah replied, “a tribe of humans was stolen from the Calim Desert by drow and forced to serve them for centuries. Finally, a monstrous lizard came to free them. Some of the humans stayed below in the Underdark, while others returned to the surface to spread the word of the Lurker in Darkness.”

  “So Ibrandul protects those trapped below,” Steorf deduced.

  “As far as I know, he does. He is supposed to keep safe any human who must travel through the dark regions, as well as keep safe and guide those who worship him. To some he appears as a red lizard, and to others he is seen as a chisel featured, bare-chested man with glowing eyes. And sometimes he is simply a wind in the tunnels below.”

  “And that’s all?” Tazi interrupted.

  “That is all I know,” Fannah answered.

  Tazi clucked her tongue and frowned.

  “What is it?” Steorf asked her.

  “I just don’t understand what Ciredor would have to do with Ibrandul. It doesn’t make much sense,” she responded.

  “Perhaps the followers of Ibrandul will be able to answer that,” Steorf offered.

  “I hope so,” Tazi agreed earnestly. “I certainly hope so. How much farther?” she asked Fannah.

  “We only need to pass through one more ward before we reach Crypt Ward. There, in the Forgotten Sabban, there is a passageway that will take us to the Muzhajaarnadah,” Fannah told them.

  “And the darkness below,” Tazi added quietly.

  “Which way?” Tazi asked Fannah.

  “Toward the east,” Fannah replied.

  The three picked their way through Crypt Ward, carefully following Fannah’s lead. Tazi had never seen such a large cemetery before, and some of the mausoleums were elegant in their ostentation. Scanning the ward, she was momentarily thoughtful.

  “What is it?” Steorf asked her quietly.

  “Look at that field to the east,” she pointed.

  Steorf followed her gaze out past the mausoleums to an area that was walled off only by metal spear fences. There were no buildings within the area, a sharp contrast with the other sections of Calimport that Tazi and her companions had passed through. Within the sabban, there were only a few obelisks and fountains visible and the occasional plinths to mar the view. After the hustle and crowds of the other wards, it was a peaceful change.

  “What are you two looking at?” Fannah asked.

  “I was just showing Steorf that park nearby,” Tazi explained.

  “That is the Forgotten Sabban,” Fannah informed them. “While it has always been used as one of the most popular parks of Calimport, it is, in actuality, the home for many, many mass burials.”

  “It is also a cemetery?” Steorf remarked.

  “Since the Sixth Age of Calimshan,” Fannah replied. “And within that sabban is one of the hidden passageways to the Muzad.”

  “There are no real walls,” Tazi observed, “and I don’t see any of the typical sabban marks we’ve seen in the other drudachs.”

  “This ward is unique in that it doesn’t have any true walls and no marks. That’s one of the reasons,” Fannah added, “how the ward came by its name.”

  Steorf moved behind Fannah, but Tazi stood a moment longer. Whether it was because she was overwhelmed by the realization that the land contained perhaps thousands of dead or because the vast expanse of green was like an oasis in the midst of the turmoil of humanity, Tazi was awed. She inhaled deeply, watched the setting sun turn the very air pink, and breathed in the smell of dust and grass. Shadows reached across the deep green with greedy fingers, and strange insects hummed softly. She felt as though she was momentarily caught up in someone else’s dream.

  “Coming?” Steorf called.

  Tazi roused herself and trotted along to catch up with her companions. Fannah had reached one of the few markhouts in view, already obscured by the evening’s growing darkness. She gently trailed her fingers along the sides of the ma
usoleum with her sensitive touch. When her hands recognized one of the carved phrases, she tilted her head like a curious bird.

  “Someone you know?” Tazi asked, concerned that a friend or relative of Fannah’s might be buried there.

  Fannah smiled as she corrected her Sembian companion. “Not someone but something I know.”

  With a few deft moves of her fingers, Fannah tripped the door and it slowly swung open.

  “In here,” Fannah directed them.

  Tazi looked around briefly but despite Fannah’s insistence that the Forgotten Ward was a favorite commons, she saw no one nearby. She did have to admit to herself that the long shadows of the evening probably hid more than she could imagine, so she couldn’t be sure just who or what might be watching. She hoped they remained undetected in this strange city.

  She nodded to Steorf, and they entered the tomb after Fannah.

  Inside, Tazi was surprised to find it empty. She had been prepared for a pocket of stale air laced with decay but found the markhout cool and almost refreshing. As she and Steorf glanced around, they both realized that the small edifice held no other occupants but Fannah.

  “Not all of the mausoleums within Crypt Ward are quite what they seem, which is one of the reasons why the ward has become so popular,” Fannah explained. “This is not the only one that leads to the Muzad,” she continued, “but it is the only one I know of that will take us to the Temple of Ibrandul.”

  Fannah turned and keyed open another door. This one was clearly a passageway down into the tunnels beneath Calimport, with its uninviting, dark depths.

  Tazi took the lead with Steorf subtly illuminating a few feet around them. She debated about having him quench the light but decided to let it go. She was still unsure how to deal with Steorf at times, and that awkwardness made her hesitant. Part of her wanted and needed to trust him again. However, there was still that voice of doubt in the back of her mind.