Chapter 8: Chapter 8: ZANDEKO’ALSI

“We will be arriving in Zandeko city soon,” Jalume announced after another three days of travel. A total of ten days clumped up in the small space was enough to drive everyone crazy. Sagiri could feel the restlessness of the city long before he entered it. His arrival had seemed urgent, and he did not need the archive to know many strings were being pulled for his sake. Jalume started speaking in Western dialogue, the Wenji speech of the West, and he must have thought Sagiri couldn’t understand. The archive he bore, however, had the history of all tribes and their languages.

There were not many languages he could not understand. He had kept that fact from his parents, and he was going to keep it from everyone. He did not know yet the intention of the one who wanted him to be enrolled in a high school so late in his age, and so he could only play it safe till he understood the agenda. Someone in this city wanted him and knew who he was more than he did, and he wanted to know why. To know that he had to keep a low profile and play the mysterious card until he had full information.

Sil alka fal salkiya magata’lata fala,” Jalume said in the Wenji speech.

(meaning: our task is almost done, you forget it ever happened.)

The western tribes spoke the Wenji speech, derived from all their tribal languages. It’s rhythmic and rolls off the tongue with clicking sounds. The north had the Korun tongue, which has harsh consonants, deep vowels, and sharp endings. The eastern tribes have the Sulari tongue, which is softer, open, melodic than the first two. The central plains tongue is the Keshu dialect, a mixture of harsh and soft consonants. Sagiri had realized he could understand foreign languages at thirteen when his mother, a healer, had brought home an injured traveler, and he had understood what he was trying to say without a hitch and translated it to his mother. The traveler was from the Yuloraki tribe from the central plains, and it was the first time he had heard the Yuloraki language and he understood it without a hitch. Of course, his father, coming from the central plains, had had to explain to the stranger how a young boy spoke his mother tongue without a hitch and had to lie about how he had a secret tutor who was teaching him. Since then, he had learned to pretend he didn’t understand other tongues when he crossed paths, though rarely with travelers.

He said after their last stop sixty vaara from the city. Sagiri could gather the serious insistence in his tone. He had just been an errand boy, and his master must be fierce to make him sound so fearful.

(A vaara: it is a unit of measurement of distance, meaning ’Throwing distance’. How far an average warrior can throw a weighted spear, which is one hundred metres, so 10 vaara =1km.

The journey from then on had been filled with tension, and Sagiri could almost taste the fear from them. When the city finally came to view he was slightly taken aback. It was truly worthy to be called the home of the Kaya. The Gate of Zandeko rose like a mountain of carved stone and hammered metal, its massive panels etched with the spiraling runes of the old dynasties. The engravings glimmered faintly, catching the last breaths of daylight. They lay wide open, and behind them, medieval architectural buildings were seated on top of each other on the steep terrain, making them look like a maze of half-circles from a distance. It was more intimidating up close than what Sagiri had seen from afar.

Many lowest rank, lowest crested wardens stood by the gate patrolling every inch of the place, and they were armed with war spears. They are a rank of elite soldiers who have yet to rise to any rank. Their uniforms were simple compared to the elite soldiers. They wore matte grey tunics, reinforced with thin iron-stitched padding. Their armor plates were etched with copper. The metal was dull, practical, and deliberately plain. A single stripe dyed in faded indigo marked their rank as fourth rank or newbies in training. Their spears were shorter than those of the elite, meant for control rather than battle. Many also carried blunt-tipped knives, which they used to pry open sealed travel documents.

The check-up at the huge gate, leading into the city, took more than half an hour before they were finally allowed to pull through. Every one of the dozen officials was checked thoroughly. More than half the group had remained on the outskirts of town, and Sagiri guessed it was to dwindle suspicion. Two dozen officials escorting one boy could have raised too many eyebrows after all. Hundreds of carriages pulled through the city to and from. The city looked fancy, and from the checkup, Sagiri could tell that only people of high importance and vast riches could afford to live in the City Centre. Women were dressed in the most flashy tunics and adorned with heavy, shiny jewelry. The men were dressed in long-sleeved overcoats and wielded walking sticks that were curved from the most exquisite materials.

The carriages pulled through but soon stopped going in the direction of the inner city.

“The kaya is in session today to discuss the budget of the coming mid-year trials in four months, so we can’t use the central road. We will have to divert and take the long way,” Jalume announced, and the carriages were steered in another direction. Although the city was far, far bigger than both Molakwa and Cilsi, there was a lack of enthusiasm and excitement. It was much quieter than Sagiri had expected. Perhaps riches came with less joy. He could only perceive emptiness and insincerity, and he wondered what awaited him. It seemed the inhabitants of great cities were conceited schemers and liars, and he could taste all the feelings flooding the air.

The compound they would be staying at was much bigger than any of the ones they had stayed at before, and the food was more pleasing. It was far from the inner city but far from the outer city. It was silent, and he appreciated it. He had not had nightmares or visions since the journey started, and he wondered if it was a good sign or a bad one.

“When do I get to join a school?” Sagiri asked once he was shown to his resting chambers.

“I don’t know…” Jalume started, and Sagiri stopped him, his voice cold. He knew he was lying, and there was a lot he wasn’t telling him. He was not going to ask too much, but knowing too little is an even greater tragedy

“Don’t lie to me, I am not a child, I know only kids of the age of thirteen get to join a high school. I’m well past that age, and I am nothing special,” he lied through his teeth, not acting too stupid and not acting too smart either.

“Perhaps you are just lucky, don’t ask too many questions.” Jalume lied again. Whoever was behind him must have been so powerful and more scary to have him lie so blatantly. “There are other youths too, you are not the only one.” The last statement was not a lie, and Sagiri nodded.

“How many?” He asked a simpler question, seeing as how getting the truth out of him could be nearly impossible. If only he could touch his head and pry into his strongest thoughts without giving himself away. He had learned he could perceive people’s strongest emotions by being close to them and even touch their memories by touching them. He wished whatever the power was inside of him could allow him to pry without touching them, yet every time he tried, he seemed to be locked out by something. It was as if he could feel the power inside of him, but he couldn’t touch its true potential yet. Something was missing, and his agreeing to walk into a possible enemy trap was his only way of knowing himself.

“Three, but you will not be meeting them. All I know is your exam will be in three days after the Kaya parliament adjourns for the season, and my job is to take you to the examiners’ council headquarters. So instead of asking about things you shouldn’t, you should prepare for your exams. I know you wouldn’t have come all the way if you did not want to.” Jalume said. He had clearly seen a lot in his days, and he was wiser than he looked.

The following three days were spent in boredom in the endless mansion with only servants. Sagiri spent his days pretending to read in the library about the history of Tagayia and the languages. He already knew enough history from the archive inside of him, although some parts were locked away just like his other power. He could feel something big moving, whispering, flowing inside of him, yet it felt like he lacked a key to access it. It scared him as much as it made him curious. If only he could touch the locked door inside him, perhaps he could know who he really was.

Meals were dropped off at his room and bath water, but none of the servants dared to talk to him for the entire period. It was as if they had been given instructions not to talk to him. He could only perceive obedience and loyalty from them to their master, and he wondered what kind of person could command such obedience without question. They were not scared. It was as if they were ready to die for whoever they worked for, and they were fine with it. He had never met a set of people he could not perceive their emotions, and he wondered if it was planned. He did not see Jalume and the others since they arrived, and he wondered if everyone had been asked to avoid him. He did not love crowds nor people, but he did not believe in things going too well. Something was fishy.

The three days finally elapsed and what he had been waiting for since he left the only place he could call home, was within his reach. He could get into a high school no matter what. It was the stepping stone for him to find out who he was and to finally stop living like a blind person.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep