Kalaan always had a hard time managing the papers in his little home. He picked one off the nearby table and opened it at the bookmark he had left. “Only half-way through and I can’t push myself to finish this. Too superstitious. I understand that the monsoons are related to Dharma, but that they began the phenomena of magic in Ajaad? That’s absurd. It doesn’t even provide proof!” He looked up, noticing the holes in his roof. Sometimes rain would leak through and soil a few of his documents. At other times, the leaks would threaten his entire stack of literature, stirring his heart into a march he hadn’t experienced since the War of the Two Courts.

“No…” He placed the papers into his shelf. “Best not to think of those days…”

He lifted the stack of literature and tried to avoid the little puddles of rain that seeped into the damp Earth below.

“There we go.”

He placed the literature one by one, onto the shelf he had constructed with Zaffar’s help. Of course it wasn’t the greatest of designs, the thing felt too angled for his tastes. But it worked and he couldn’t really complain, lest he wished to be lectured by Zaffar for the umpteenth time.

He quickly took his place by the secluded corner of his home. He then grabbed a blanket and inhaled. He then let it out slowly, watching as a mist escaped into the air.

“It’s a little cold.” He looked around his humble shack, making sure no other page was left for the rain to drown. Zaffar had always said he lived like a Taal, living just by the outskirts of the slums, near the vibrant streets of Gahkhpur. You could get caught up in their hysteria, he’d say. But Kalaan would only laugh at his remark. Indeed, at times a few of the Taals would come to him for advice, thinking that he in his white robes somehow possessed an unfathomable amount of knowledge. Sometimes he could provide them with what they sought. At other occasions he couldn’t. But he understood one thing, it’s that the Taals weren’t intentionally hysterical or on another plane of backwardness. They just weren’t educated. And that was the greatest disease to man.

He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, meditating in place. It was hard answering some of their questions at times. It was one of the main reasons why he possessed so many books, documents and passages. Anything he could really think of. It was all to help the people who had helped him in his travels across Northern Azaad, From Lohaan to Sheira to Asmaan and back. If it weren’t for the Taals generosity along the way, he wouldn’t have been able to see the things he did, or learn from the Asthathaman priests at the Grand Shrine in Asmaan.

Again, he took a breath and reflected inwards, concentrating on the sound of the wind and what it might look like. He could feel his mind slowly let go of the straining thoughts, allowing him to appreciate the serenity of life surrounding his humble abode.

The body really is an odd fascination. The wind let out a loose scream, entering through the pores in his roof and brushing some of the sand against his legs. Kalaan hated windy days like these, for they always ended up a disaster one way or another.

He let out a breath again, making sure to let it out slowly to help calm his thoughts.

What should I do? The history of the monsoons isn’t getting me anywhere and I’d much rather read something else to understand how magic came about… but that’s only if there are records somewhere…

Kalaan opened his mouth, but closed it back up. What was the point in hurling insults at dead men? It’d only distract him more.

Again, he breathed in and out. In what World would any one of them choose not to write about the most important event in Lohaan’s history? It was absurd! With this piece of history missing, how could future generations of Lohaanis understand the grandness of their past? Especially now, with the new Lord Gahkhar’s revolutionary programs, it was a grand moment to reflect on the moments leading to the repulsion of Afraari influence in Gahkhpur and Oodpur with the Treaty of Gahkhpur!

“Damn.” He opened his eyes again. Maybe he’d been too zealous. He rose from his seat and approached the desk, knowing he wouldn’t be able to meditate in such a state of mind. His traced his finger along the desk, creating streaks of rainwater.

“Hm?” Turning his gaze to his chair was yet another book. “God I’m such a fool, imagine if I kept this for the rain to ruin.”

He turned the cover and noticed four words stretched across.

“The Sudhist Martyr’s Code.”

Martyr’s Code…

The Sudhist’s believed death on the battlefield to be a greatest form of honor. Indeed, in some of the Sudhist villages he visited there were even long lists of names of men who had died in battle. On one hand, it was seen as a continuation of the Fifth Teacher’s teachings. But on the other hand, if one analyzed it very carefully, it made the Sudhists a ferocious fighting force that, if nurtured, could lead to a strong state that had a fighting change to win back lands lost to it’s enemies.

“Hey Kalaan!” shouted a rough voice from outside. Kalaan raised a brow. Only one voice could be understood through these thin walls.

“Zaffar, is that you?”

“Yes, you bloody fool!”

Kalaan placed the book away and approached the door. He opened it, finding the grumpy old man standing right outside.

“What would you like Zaffar?”

“Come with me.”

Kalaan raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because I said so.” Zaffar turned his back. “Come, you won’t be disappointed.”

Kalaan frowned. “I was in meditation Zaff—

“Does it look like I care?” he snapped. “Bloody hell Kalaan, come! I broke my back again this morning! I don’t have the patience for this!”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I hope The Almighty strikes you down for the fool you are!”

Kalaan blinked. He’d only say those things when the situation was dire. “Alright, let’s get going then.” He made sure to close the door, sighing as he looked back towards Zaffar. “This better be good Zaffar, I was trying to comprehend the meaning of the monsoons.”

“Oh, this will be good my friend.” He let out a chuckle, continuing along the down-trodden path with a view of the city streets ahead. “It’ll be so good that you —a mere scholar living in this damned place— will finally rise just like myself.”

“What do you mean?” Kalaan gave a frown. “I like living amongst the Taals. Sure, it gets a bit rowdy at times but the people aren’t bad. And besides, what do you mean by ‘rise like myself?’ You’re still a blacksmith.”

Zaffar shook his head. “You don’t understand Kalaan. What we are heading towards —What our people are going to become— is grand. I can’t tell you the things we’re doing, but I can tell you that it’s going to change Lohaan, no, maybe even all of Azaad, who knows. Lord Gahkhar isn’t some child, not any longer. His knowledge is far too vast for even an elder like yourself.”

“That’s rich, you used to call Lord Gahkhar a child because of his youth but now you address him properly. I noticed the same thing back when his messenger informed us of his intentions at the Red Square. What’s happened?”

Zaffar exchanged many different expressions before settling on a gentle smile. “You wouldn’t understand Kalaan. I used to be a fool, beating up Sudhists in the middle of the night. I thought Lord Gahkhar would do the same thing and turn a blind eye to the Sudhists beating up my people. But I was wrong.”

Kalaan scoffed, turning his gaze towards thew barriers that separated the slums from the city proper. “Well weren’t you mature.”

“At least I fought, unlike yourself.”

“What?” Kalaan frowned, letting out a curse. “I was in the war you know!”

“Yes, and?”

“Well…” A wind blew against Kalaan’s face. “I… well…”

Zaffar waved a hand. “Forget about it. The past is the past either way.”

The two continued on their trail, the wind brushing against them as they approached the outermost section of the city.

“Thanks friend.”

“Don’t bother. I may sound like a prick but at least I have a heart.”

Kalaan gave a laugh.

“What, am I wrong?”

“Oh, no. You are right.” Kalaan faced the road ahead, watching as city-dwellers went by their day, collecting the monsoon rains for use within their havelis.

“Though, could you tell me one thing?”

“Yes?”

“Why are we heading towards the outer walls?”

“That’s because Lord Gahkhar is over there.”

“Ah, I see. But why would Lords Gah—

He snapped his heads towards Zaffar.

“Why are we meeting him?”

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a snake?” Zaffar chuckled, ignoring Kalaan’s protests. “There was a rumor that he needed another scholar, someone who wasn’t affiliated with any of the religious sects. And now here we are.”

“Damnit Zaffar! You should’ve told me beforehand, I could switched to something a bit more presentable!”

Zaffar waved a hand. “Doesn’t really matter, Lord Gahkhar hates formalities when they are best avoided.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes you fool, do you see what I’m wearing right now?”

“Well, it looks like you’re barely trying to hide all the blacksmith stains.”

“Exactly, you worrying fool.”

Taking another turn Kalaan froze in place, watching in the distance as a young man, clad in white with a grey vest, held a large document in his hands, directing the many men in all sorts of directions. He then noticed the two of them towards the distance and motioned them to come towards him.

“Is… is that?”

Zaffar chuckled. “Yes it is. Now let’s go, before you start stuttering.”

Bastard. It was true though, whenever something like this happened, he’d start to get incredibly nervous. As they approached Lord Gahkhar, Kalaan could make out his features better. He wore a grey turban and his beard was a thick black, as if he’d done some kind of magic to make it so much more refined compared to Kalaan’s own.

“How goes your day Zaffar,” asked Lord Gahkhar. Kalaan zoned out of the discussion, instead watching the tall man stand behind him.

That man… looks familiar. Tall… muscular… is he?

His eyes widened. It was the messenger from a month ago.

“Is this the man we discussed?”

“Yes My Lord.”

“I see,” he began, joining his two hands together. “Greetings Kalaan.”

Kalaan quickly reciprocated. “Greetings Lord Gahkhar.”

“I heard from Zaffar that you are a master-less scholar, is that true?”

Kalaan nodded.

“Interesting, I’d thought it was almost impossible to find a master-less scholar since you’d need money for literature. How’d you get by?”

“Well… My Lord, I live amongst the Taals. I help them with concerns or medical advice and they allow me some of their dishes, though the cash I make is from helping anyone with written documentation.”

“I see…” Lord Gahkhar held a hand to his chin. “So you can write and you can read. On top of all of this, you lack a master from any of the shrines and temples. Have you also traveled the land extensively?”

Kalaan gave a nervous nod.

Lord Gahkhar smiled. “Then answer me this question then.”

Kalaan again nodded.

“What separates Lohaan from the rest of Azaad?”

Kalaan raised a brow. What separates us from Azaad? The thought of the question made his mind stumble. “Do you mean… in terms of geography?”

“Could be anything actually.”

Anything? The question made him think deeper, scratching at his thin beard for a possible answer. “Well… I found there to be more similarities than differences My Lord. Sure, we may be speaking different dialects of the same tongue and our alphabets and faiths may be entirely different; however, I am confident that our history is tied to Ajaad’s history. For without Ajaad, there would be no Lohaan. Our bread and our water are what connects us across Ajaad and, following such a principle, one must say instead that we have to further the union between our peoples, to ensure that once again order can be brought to this land we all call Ajaad.”

Lord Gahkhar again placed a hand on his chin, caressing his beard. “Interesting. Religion doesn’t mean anything to you. And from your answer it would mean that you’ve lived amongst the different peoples of this land, yes?”

Kalaan nodded again, trying to control his nerves.

“Alright then, after I finish directing construction we shall go to my castle. I want you to work for me.”

What? Him? Hired by the Lord of Gahkhpur? “P-pardon me My Lord…”

“What’s wrong?”

“You wish… to hire my services and yet I have no religious sect backing me?”

Lord Gahkhar smiled. “You’ll see why I want a masterless scholar when we get into the details.”

“Well… My Lord…” began Kalaan. Another gust of wind brushed against his face, throwing his cold sweat into the air and interrupting his words.

“I hope to be of service to you.”  He gave Lord Gahkhar a gentle smile. “For I wish to see this land prosper and it’s people more united.”

“That’s good to hea—

Shouts rang from the walls as a thunder of horses approached them. The two of them turned, finding indigo, red and saffron-ornamented warriors riding along the numerous horses decorated in ornaments of their own, entering in a procession through the damaged gates. With a hoarse yell from a man at the front, the warriors pulled on the harnesses of the horses, signalling them to a halt.

Those are Lord Gahkhar’s men. Kalaan shot a quick glance towards his new employer, finding some kind of shock in his formerly bright eyes. Kalaan turned back to face the procession, watching as a column of horses straggled a few wagons along. A few of the Lord’s men looked to him, their gazes looking sombre as the few droplets of rain fell, signalling the beginning of the next storm.

“My Lord!” shouted a man, breaking through the spear of the procession and galloping towards his liege. The Taal halted the horse, then disembarked, kneeling before his stunned liege.

“Vishar…” began Lord Gahkhar. “My eyes… they must be mistaking me, right? There’s no way… no… they couldn’t have… after all I’ve done?”

He crept past his Taal warrior, slowly walking towards the wagons. Kalaan looked ahead, watching as his Lord’s warriors looked down to the ground, as if confirming his suspicions.

“I’m sorry, My Lord.” The Taal said, still kneeling. “They who are fearless shall never die.”

Those words felt like a chilling reassurance to Kalaan, for when Lord Gahkhar turned to face the back of the wagon, his eyes widened from the sight that Kalaan himself couldn’t bear to witness. His lord stood there, reaching his hands out to witness the dead. Then, in Sudhist custom, he brought his two hands to his face, wiping his forehead before joining his two hands together in a prayer. He then approached the next wagon and repeated the same procedure, perhaps checking for the bruises and injuries of the deceased while he performed his duty. In all that time the warriors began chanting a Sudhist funeral hymn, as if trying to council their lord and soothe the loss.

“Vishar, is it true that…”

“Yes… yes it is, Meethi…”

Droplets of tears fell to the ground as the young Taal tried his best to maintain his composure, using a worn-out cloth to wipe his face. “Lord Gurman Gahkhar is… he is dead… and so too are the other lords.”