Wide doors slid open at each segment of the contraption. Two Dogs was shoved in his back by a Corlain. His shackled hands kept him from breaking his fall. His chin scraped along the paved road.
“Get onto the train, Namerian!” the guard shouted.
Two Dogs was helped to his feet and thrown inside the train. The Corlains connected his shackles to a bar running along the floor of this strange vehicle. Two Dogs was thankful his arms were no longer behind him. He had to crouch because the shackles weren’t long enough to let him sit straight. He feared he traded a discomfort in his shoulders and wrists to one in his back.
A shrill whistle startled Two Dogs. New prison guards laughed at him. The few Vikisote prisoners also laughed at him. None wanted to speak to him, but apparently openly mocking him was something the Corlains willingly forgave.
Two Dogs jumped in his seat a second time when the train moved. It didn’t have any horses or other beasts of burden pulling it, but somehow it moved. Two Dogs tried to lean his head over his shoulder and out the window. The train was curving along a specially designed road. He could now see how it moved. The ingenuity left him mesmerized. The Corlains seemed capable of far more than the people he’d fought had shown.
Two Dogs traveled by train for another three days. He spent most of the time watching the countryside pass him by. He felt nauseous as the people outside appeared richer and richer. Two Dogs couldn’t figure out why. He expected their skin to become paler the farther into Corla he traveled. Instead, he saw more diversity. People from all corners of Glostaimia walked around as equals. Two Dogs gasped and couldn’t close his mouth for miles when he saw some of Mother Turklyo’s children trading with the Corlains. They returned to their same expensive homes after working in their massive shops.
The cities became larger. Two Dogs wasn’t sure what number was needed to count them all, but thousands would no longer do. He realized defeating Corla was impossible.
Eventually, the train stopped. Two Dogs was yanked to his feet. His back was curled and screamed at him. He hunched over as he followed his guards out. Two Dogs was forced to march through the streets of Corla. If this city wasn’t the capital, then Two Dogs needed to invent a new word.
The city was a jewel by any definition. Smaller trains zipped around the city and jingled a small bell. Corlain citizens of every ethnicity got on and off. They didn’t even have to walk to their shops.
The ground beneath Two Dogs’ bare feet wasn’t the same as the stone roads in the past cities. It was black and spongy. It burned his feet with each step. He trotted to keep up with the Corlain guards. People lined the streets on both sides and cheered. They screamed of victory against the terrorists and narcos who murdered them. Two Dogs wasn’t familiar with these words, but he wouldn’t have minded killing a few more Corlain guards.
Two Dogs cast a glance to each side of the road. He’d become used to seeing Mother Turklyo’s children mixed with the Corlains, but now he received another surprise. The tribe before him, selling trinkets made from igsidian shavings, was Belloot. The traitors to all of Mother Turklyo’s children were supposed to be extinct. Instead, here they were living among the richest of the Corlains. They were living as Corlains.
It seemed to take an hour of walking before Two Dogs was brought inside. His feet finally gave him relief. He forced himself to stand straight. His body hurt everywhere, but the cool indoors was refreshing enough to help him forget.
Two Dogs was dragged through the building and thrown inside a cell larger than Two Dogs expected. It had a bed in the corner with sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. The only other furniture was a strange wooden chair that had a hole in the seat. Beneath the hole was water. A small chain with a handle dangled alongside the chair. Two Dogs had never seen anything like it.
His cell was finished with a single window that had bars covering it and a light above him. The source of the light was upsetting. Embedded in the ceiling was an igsidian stone disc with a five-inch diameter. It was an affront to Mother Turklyo that the Corlains were using igsidian. The fact they were using it to simply light a cell was infuriating.
Two Dogs stood on the wooden water chair and tried to hit the igsidian free of the ceiling. It was too high. He couldn’t reach it. Without physical contact, the igsidian couldn’t be used to help him escape. That was assuming he’d suffered enough and Mother Turklyo would give him back his magic.
Two Dogs tried a few more times to reach the igsidian before giving up. He lay on the bed and closed his eyes. It was the best sleep he’d had in weeks.
Two Dogs wasn’t sure how many days had passed, but eventually he had a visitor for something other than bringing food and water. They’d had fun mocking him for not knowing what a toilet was. He hadn’t been allowed a hot meal until he cleaned up the corner of his cell he’d used before learning the toilet’s purpose.
Standing before Two Dogs, through the bars of his cell, was a man with dark skin in his early forties. The man’s hair was black and knotted together. His features were fair, but his muscles were impressive. This man’s presence commanded attention. Two Dogs knew he hated him.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.
“Should I?” Two Dogs challenged.
The man sighed. He waved his hand over his shoulder. The two prison guards nodded and opened the cell door. The man entered without any hesitation. Two Dogs considered strangling the man, but something told him to speak with this man first.
Two Dogs sat on his bunk as the Corlain stood in front of him.
“Perhaps you saw my portrait as you passed through my country?” the man said.
Now Two Dogs understood. This was the Corlain leader.
“You’re Minister Ekundayo.” Two Dogs practically spat the title.
The Corlain religion was beneath his own. He hated how these people pretended Mother Turklyo didn’t guide everything.
Ekundayo sighed again. “It’s Prime Minister Ekundayo. That first word is important. I’m not a religious leader; I’m an elected politician.”
Two Dogs didn’t know what elected meant, but apparently it explained everything. Then again, it probably did explain why Corla constantly changed leaders every few years.
“You’re the bastard who murdered my people,” Two Dogs accused.
Ekundayo closed his eyes and shook his head. This man clearly didn’t want to argue. He surprised Two Dogs when he transitioned to speaking Lacreechee. Two Dogs leaned back but continued the conversation in his native language. He would have to find out how Ekundayo learned Lacreechee.
“That was General Githinji, not me,” Ekundayo said.
Two Dogs smirked. “What kind of leader blames his warriors?”
“I accept the blame in allowing him to stay in command of the Black Cloud. I don’t accept any blame for his actions. I was told after my election that he’d be a problem. I thought the frontier would be good for him. I didn’t know of his atrocities until weeks after they took place, then he continuously refused to return and explain himself.”
“He killed my entire tribe.”
“And he was punished for that and much more.”
Two Dogs sat up straighter. “Punished?”
“He was tried and executed last week.”
Two Dogs squinted at Ekundayo. “What’s your game?”
“I know how hard life is for Namerians. I didn’t want any more to suffer. If someone like you could forgive Corla, others would stop attacking us.”
“Attacking you? You attack us. You steal our igsidian.”
Ekundayo rubbed his face, then did the inexplicable. He sat next to Two Dogs on the bed.
“Namerians don’t own the rights to all igsidian. It can do so much for so many. Its benefits to society outweigh your religious beliefs that only mages should be able to own it.”
“Igsidian is a gift from Mother Turklyo.”
“It is. I agree with you, but it’s a gift to be shared with everyone. How do you think we power this
city? Like all cities in Corla, igsidian is what ensures the poor have a warm room to sleep in, travel is expedited, telegrams are sent. The quality of life in Glostaimia is exponentially increased because of the turklyos. That’s why we raise them. Wild turklyos die in about eight years. Domesticated turklyos live upwards of forty years. That’s forty years of cutting a portion of their igsidian plate and letting it grow back.”
“That’s sacrilege. What about the skin and meat? All of it is a gift.”
“Yes, but the stones are most important.”
“Just because you’ve found other uses for igsidian is no reason to kill my people.”
“It isn’t, but usually you’re the ones attacking us. A few months ago, a Lacreechee war party attacked our ranchers. Civilians were slaughtered, and they didn’t even have turklyos at the time.”
Two Dogs thought back to the conversation his brother and father had after his eagle feather ceremony. Proud Wall had never explicitly said which Corlains they’d attack. Then again, did it matter?
Ekundayo rubbed his face and continued. “I admit criminals like Githinji exist, but with a nation this large, it’d be impossible to have zero murderers. Your doctrine has made some tribes fanatical. I wish you’d listen to the Belloots. We’ve learned so much from them.”
“The Belloots are traitors.”
Ekundayo hung his head. “That’s exactly the problem.”
This man was making arguments that were hard to ignore. Still, the guards who captured him had mistreated him.
“If Githinji was the only criminal—”
“I didn’t say he was the only one.”
“Fine, but I was beaten after being captured. I was beaten in your prison wagons, on your train. Your people like to torture.”
“If you know the names of your tormentors, I’ll look into it, but what would you do if a single man had killed dozens of your friends? Perhaps hundreds? I’ve heard of you, Two Dogs. I know how strong your magic is.”
Two Dogs looked away from Ekundayo. If the Corlain leader thought he still had power, it could work in his favor.
“I’m strong because of what Mother Turklyo blessed me with.”
Ekundayo chortled. “Are you this year’s chosen one?”
The question forced Two Dogs to sit straighter and lean away from Ekundayo.
“What do you mean by this year?” he asked.
“For years I’ve listened to various cultures speak about a prophecy and a chosen one. Haven’t you ever heard other people recite the same tale?” Ekundayo asked.
Two Dogs remembered the many fights between Ancestors’ Hand and Faida. “Sometimes.”
“Did you ever wonder why so many cultures had the same story?”
“No.”
“The simple answer is because Corlains made it up.”
Two Dogs furrowed his brow and looked away while clicking his tongue.
“You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true. A few centuries ago, a Corlain prime minister came up with the idea to use his spies to infiltrate various religious groups and slowly pervert their teachings. I don’t know how it worked, but it did. For the past hundred years, insurrections rise surrounding a chosen one. Since each group wants to feel special, none join forces against us. Not in real numbers, anyway. Your prophecies or auguries or fate, whatever you want to call them, are Corlain fiction. It used to be a useful strategic decision. Now, it’s embarrassing. I wish we could reverse that decision, but people are fickle when it comes to their beliefs. It’s hard to convince them to change, but I know in my heart it’s the noble thing to do.”
“If you’re so benevolent, then why did you attack the Vikisotes?”
“I was waiting for this question. Tell me, what is the capital of Vikisoteland?”
Two Dogs realized Murid had never answered that question when asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Weren’t you there?”
“I was, but it never came up. It didn’t matter when Corlains were committing genocide.”
“The reason you can’t answer my question is because there’s no internationally recognized country called Vikisoteland. They don’t have a king. They’re simply an assembly of criminals with a loose hierarchy based on religious doctrine. They just went as far north as possible to escape justice.”
“Justice for what? Wanting to live their lives their way?”
“That’s one way of looking at it. The other is to point out that crick venom is illegal for a reason. It can be used as a poison, a weapon—”
“Medicine!”
“Medicine? Is that what they called it? In school, I learned they were narcotics. They hurt the body more than they help. They’re addictive, and more than one good man or woman has died from overindulgence.”
The Vikisotes did seem to love to rub their crick oil into their skin. It always made them happier, but when it wore off, they were meaner than ferm drunks. Faida had been overly concerned when teens got some. Had they died?
“The Vikisotes didn’t care about people. They used you and many other Namerian tribes to fight against us. We weren’t trying to take over the world; we were trying to eliminate criminals from within our borders,” Ekundayo said.
“Stop calling us Namerians,” Two Dogs said.
Ekundayo slowly closed his mouth. The two men sat in silence for close to a minute.
“That’s not who we are,” Two Dogs added quietly. “We’re Mother Turklyo’s children.”
“I apologize. I didn’t realize you considered the word offensive. Why exactly is that?” Ekundayo asked.
Two Dogs blinked twice and looked around his cell. What was Ekundayo’s angle? He hated the word because his father and brother hated the word. His tribe hated the word because Corlains called them that. It was their word for Mother Turklyo’s children.
“It’s just wrong,” Two Dogs eventually said.
“The Belloots told us it was the preferred term. In their language, it means blessed babes. Isn’t that close to being Mother Turklyo’s children?”
Two Dogs didn’t speak Belloot. He couldn’t confirm it was a lie. Now that he thought of it, it sounded Bellootish.
“I can see you’re taking me for my word. I thank you for that. I do want to be friends. You’ll still have to do some prison time for your crimes, but if you help me bring more of Mother Turklyo’s children into our community, I’m positive we can give you a reduced sentence.”
Two Dogs clenched his fists. Ekundayo seemed to notice and stood. He walked a few steps away from Two Dogs.
“Perhaps that will be the start of our next conversation,” Ekundayo said.
He turned and exited the cell. Two Dogs wasn’t through with him. He stood and grasped the bars separating him from the Corlain prime minister.
“Don’t bother wasting your time. You have a silver tongue. You use it well, but I know what you did to Queen Murid. You killed her people fifteen years ago!”
“I wasn’t prime minister fifteen years ago. I was barely out of university then.”
“Blaming others again?”
“No. I would have made the same decision about Murid.” Ekundayo moved within inches of the bars that separated the two men. “I assume you’re talking about Murid Davis?”
Two Dogs didn’t know she had a second name.
“Crick venom dealers are scum, but Murid came from a place of pure evil. Do you know what chattel slavery is?”
Two Dogs didn’t. He was wary of Ekundayo’s words. It seemed the man had a simple reason for why he was right and Two Dogs was wrong. He couldn’t trust this person.
“I’ll take your complete silence as a no. Chattel slavery means people are property for life; so are their children. Murid’s father, Haymel Davis, was the King of Confedera. We went to war with them to end their tyranny. Their slaves became immediate Corlain citizens. Murid would have been young, but her heritage was built on the most vile of human depravity,” Ekundayo said.
Ekundayo�
�s emotions seemed to have risen as he spoke of Confedera. Murid hadn’t told him any of this, but Two Dogs could sense Ekundayo had a personal distaste for what her parents may have done. Suddenly, Two Dogs remembered how Murid had spoken about Corlains telling them what to do with their property. He shook his head. It couldn’t be true!
“You lie,” Two Dogs said.
Ekundayo offered a sympathetic smile. “As I said, I think this can be the start of our next conversation. I need you to come around. I don’t blame you for the bigotry those around you placed inside your head.” Ekundayo went back to speaking the Corlain trade language. “Enjoy your stay, Two Dogs.”
The guards laughed. Two Dogs banged his hands on the bars of his cell. He continued to pound them until his palms bled. Ekundayo was no longer in sight, but Two Dogs continued to scream after him.
“You lie! That’s what Corlains do! You’re all bastards and monsters! You won’t break me! I am one of Mother Turklyo’s children! You gave me igsidian! It will be your death!”
Two Dogs continued to shout and pound. Those in cells near him screamed for him to shut up. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t let these people win. They weren’t better than him. He would prove it! His screams rang down the halls and off the walls until his voice went hoarse.
The End
Thank you for reading Augury Answered. As a special treat, I want to share with you the very first novella I ever wrote. Mind you, I started this story when I was twelve and finished it when I was thirteen. In other words, it’s painfully bad. (Feel free to skip to after this story for a sneak peek at my next novel, Zombie Walkabout). It was originally written in a seventy-paged spiral notebook, then transferred to a typing program I doubt still exists. I had to re-type it for inclusion in this book. I cringed with nearly every sentence. It’s awful (possibly so bad it’s good?). If you’re brave enough to give it a shot, or just want to laugh at a pre-teen’s attempt at world building, then be warned of the following issues:
Grammar and spelling issues galore, I didn’t correct them, despite considering it.
A lack of character or scene descriptions. I knew what I meant, just read my mind.
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