JOURNAL — OCTOBER 29, 2026
Times: SLT
Locations: Tea Room, carnival grounds, Palace steps, river canoe course, and the festival gathering near the tavern.
SUMMARY
A full festival day began with blackwine and conversation with Nadia and Odette. Kael and I spoke honestly about old worries and our future, and Ink joined us before a cheerful visit to the carnival. Our third Companionship Ceremony was confirmed for November 19 at 5 p.m. SLT in the Theater. Later came the canoe races, two tales of terror told by BilliAnn, and an evening among friends, with kind words from Jessika about our recent trial work.
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BLACKWINE WITH NADIA — 3:26–4:55 a.m.
I invited Nadia to join me in the Tea Room for blackwine. She arrived after putting things back in her home and explained that she had briefly left Turmus. In an explicitly out-of-character conversation, she described feeling targeted by gossip and unwelcome remarks. She said Dexter had spoken to Selia and that the Ubar had encouraged her to return. I listened and offered support; these were Nadia's account of events, rather than matters I had investigated.
Draven joined us, at first preferring to remain standing because he did not care for tea. I offered him the blackwine I had made, explaining that Odette had given me permission to prepare a pot when she was absent. He sat beside me and complimented it. Nadia admired my dress, and I told her it was one of Arwen's creations. She later excused herself to finish preparing her shop for the fair.
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ODETTE, FRIENDSHIP, AND THE CITY SLAVERS — 4:54–6:03 a.m.
I was glad to see Odette arrive and told her I had missed our conversations. After Draven left, she offered to make another pot of blackwine. We spoke about the festival and how quickly it seemed to be passing. I mentioned the carnival, which she hoped to visit.
We may not solve the world's problems over blackwine, but I told her that having a friend to talk with can make troubles seem smaller. Her recollection of sitting on a neighbor's porch and talking until dusk brought back memories of a different time in my own life.
Our conversation turned to the balance of free people and slaves in the city, and then to my list of city slavers. I explained that I had been keeping track through announcements. Odette said Cassian, Toby, and Ragnar had gone and questioned whether Stone was a city slaver. She suggested asking Nicholas. The morning restart briefly interrupted us; afterward I returned to finish my blackwine.
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KAEL, OLD WORRIES, AND OUR FUTURE — 6:40–7:47 a.m.
Kael and I looked over the day's festival possibilities and discussed spending time together later. We also talked about Grace, a former slave of his who might help with his ambassadorial duties. I explained that her unexpected appearance had stirred memories of past courtships ending when the men involved found slaves. It had taken me time to understand why I felt unsettled. I told him plainly that my reaction came from old wounds and was not something he was responsible for.
Kael reassured me that our relationship was his main relationship and that any arrangement with Grace would need to work for me too. We spoke about the difference between sharing a life with a companion and a relationship with a slave.
There was lighter conversation about clothing as well. I thought his new outfit would suit our ceremony or the gathering afterward. When Ink joined us, we discussed matching outfits, the difficulty of finding men's clothing, and the proposed ceremony date. December suddenly seemed a long way away. I told Kael we could look for an earlier date if he wanted one. Ink wished us happiness, and the three of us considered our plans together. Kael gave me a hug before leaving.
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CARNIVAL WITH INK — 7:48–8:22 a.m.
Ink had a little time before she needed to leave, so we went to the carnival. I gave her permission to stand and explore freely there. We enjoyed a ride, tried Whack a Pirate, collected blue balloons, and played Hook a Duck. After several unsuccessful ducks, the golden ones finally brought prizes. Ink was delighted by the little prizes, including a cup of noodles.
I rang the bell on one of the attractions. We also tried the rodeo ride, taking turns and laughing at our falls. I tried to photograph Ink riding before taking my own turn. Her recorded best was 17.018; after a few attempts I managed 26.635, and Ink cheered that I had the top score then.
A machine announced a big win and jackpot without producing anything we could see. There were corn dogs and an enormous helping of cotton candy, too. When Ink had to leave for her real-world plans, I teased her to eat some buttered roasted corn for me, or bring me some back. It was a lovely, playful break together.
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OUR THIRD COMPANIONSHIP CEREMONY — 9:10–9:34 a.m.; update 2:18–2:25 p.m.
I approached the Ubar and Ubara at the Palace steps to ask about Thursday, November 19, at 5 p.m. SLT for our Companionship Ceremony in the Theater. Both congratulated us. I explained that this would be the third time Kael and I companioned and said I hoped it would be the last time we needed to do so.
We discussed a possible reception at my house and the possibility of a dance. After checking the arrangements, Selia confirmed, “We are set lady Kati.” When I asked about a decorator, she recommended Lady Ella.
Later, I told Kael that the date and time were confirmed, that Ella would help decorate, and that Aries would perform the ceremony. I was becoming excited and told him I felt myself finally relaxing.
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A CONVERSATION WITH ANVAR — 10:57–11:37 a.m.
I greeted Anvar and asked how he was. He kindly complimented my appearance, and we talked about the festivities. I told him about reaching the top of the bull-riding board, at least as it stood when I left. He wondered how I had managed in my robes. I joked that the pattern helped hide the dirt and dusted the back of my skirt where I had landed.
Anvar said his day had been peaceful, which was a blessing. I told him the carnival had been fun, then excused myself to find the noon event.
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RIVER CANOE RACES — approximately 11:43 a.m.–12:43 p.m.
I attended the canoe races organized by Augustus. He explained the controls, warned that turning became harder at speed, and set the race at two laps. There was plenty of cheering from the bank, along with jokes about collisions, heavy gowns, and unexpected swimming.
Vincent Cross took first place, Orion Al-Najm second, and Lady Freya Crannock third. Ella distributed the trophies, and prizes were announced. A further race was held for fun, with Vincent again finishing first. Jessika laughed at her own difficulties with boating. I enjoyed watching from safety rather than risking the water in my heavy dress.
Augustus reminded everyone that the river was the life of Turmus, bringing prosperity, visitors, fertile fields, and water. The gathering answered with cheers for Turmus and the Vosk.
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SKALDIC TALES & SAGAS — 3:05–4:29 p.m.
BilliAnn, presenting as Anja Steinnsdottir, told two tales of terror for the festival. She introduced the first as fictional cosmic horror on Gor, loosely inspired by an earlier roleplay experience, and explained that it was not fully by the books. I thanked her after the tales. The stories as recorded in the supplied log are preserved below, without the surrounding audience chatter.
JAZMIN'S REVENGE (OR THE DOOM THAT CAME TO VONDA)
Brief summary: After her master dies following an attack at Vonda, Jazmin draws upon a lifetime of hidden learning to seek revenge. Her plan spares those she regards as innocent, but brings a terrible destruction upon the guilty and costs her own life.
Jazmin's Revenge (or The Doom that Came to Vonda)
By Anja Steinnsdottir from an idea by Jazmin Azif
Part 1: The Tragedy
The tears flooded the eyes of the grieving slave girl, running down her dark cheeks, as she watched her beloved Master laid to rest. The men of Vonda will pay! she swore silently, bidding farewell to the man she'd cherished more than life itself as he departed to the Cities of Dust. Her fists clenched in anger to the point that her nails pierced her dusky palms as the recent events ran through her mind.
Her Master's city--being a slave, and thus merely property, she couldn't properly call it "her" city, especially now--Port Olni, had become embroiled in a senseless and futile war with another Gorean city, Sais. As the conflict raged on, it became apparent to most that Olni was outmatched, its warriors being handed one defeat after another. So, in desperation, Olni had entered into an unholy alliance with another city, Vonda, that had recently been conquered by a fierce nomadic tribe. The two cities had once been joined in the Salerian Confederation, until the latter's conquest. Now they were again entangled in what had proven to be a pact born in what some Northern peoples of Gor called Hel--at least by any standards of justice and honor that Jazmin understood.
The warriors of Olni had begun to engage in war games with the men of Vonda, hoping to hone their own skills to turn the tables on Sais in their next clash. The warrior caste had issued an invitation to citizens of Olni to come observe these games in support of the caste, the next exercise to be held at Vonda. Hopeful of establishing trading ties with a new city, he being the HoC of the Merchant caste, Jazmin's Master had jumped at the opportunity. And so, with Jazmin in tow, he and several other Olni residents, including his assistant Merchant HoC, traveled by ship to the supposed allied city to observe and cheer on our warriors. That proved to be a fatal mistake . . .
As they embarked at the docks at Vonda, it quickly became apparent that no one seemed to know exactly what was occurring. The party from Olni inquired of several people in the general vicinity--including members of Olni's warrior caste already there--where to go to observe the war games. Either no one knew or, if they did, weren't willing to tell them. Finally, exasperated, Jazmin's Master and a few others decided to step forward to search themselves for the location of the event. That was when it happened . . .
The city of Vonda was confusingly laid out. There were no signs nor indications of where anything might be found, nor any clearly marked paths through the city. It was a labyrinth of enigmatic twists and turns. Seeing a few more Olni warriors ahead, the party went to ask them where they should be going. And then, suddenly and without warning, without any provocation whatsoever, the Olnians were brutally and dishonorably attacked by armed men of Vonda! Despite the fact that the Olni group consisted of unarmed woman and slaves--and even Jazmin's Master had no weapon drawn--they were set upon by crazed men with bloodlust in their eyes, all wearing the insignia of the city of Vonda!
Seeing at least one warrior of Olni nearby, Jazmin called out for assistance. To her shock and surprise, her pleas went unanswered as the brutal killers of Vonda struck the party down. Fortunately, for the most part, the attackers seemed as inept--or more likely as drunk--as they were vicious, perhaps blinded in their blood rage. And though most of the Olnians, including Jazmin, were injured, none of the blows seemed fatal. At first.
Jazmin, having been raised in the harsh jungles of Schendi, called up the skills she had learned as a girl growing up in that deadly environment--survival skills taught by necessity to both young men and women--coupled with other, more esoteric skills she'd learned in her days at Turia and in the harsh Tahari desert. She evaded the main thrusts of the attack, even managing to cause her attacker to become unbalanced, falling on his own sword. She didn't linger to see the result--she ran to the side of her Master, lying on the pavement, unmoving, in a pool of blood.
Jazmin cradled her fallen Master's head in her arms, checking him for life. He still breathed! For now. She glanced around frantically, fearful that some other rabid warrior of Vonda would attempt to finish their bloody job, but they all seemed to have gone, their bloodlust perhaps having been satiated. To her gratitude, one of the women of the party, who seemed to have evaded the attack--a member of the Physician caste--came to their assistance, along with her Master's assistant HoC.
Together they managed to revive her Master, whom Jazmin continued to hold in her arms, ready to place her body between him and any more attackers. Instead, one noble warrior of Olni--a Kassar of the Wagon People who'd recently made the city his home--came to the group's assistance. He protected them as Jazmin and the others made their way back to the docks with her injured Master.
It was on the journey back to Olni that the seriousness of the wound Jazmin's Master had suffered became apparent. He began to bleed again, uncontrollably. The physician did all that she could, but his wound was too deep. Jazmin's beloved Master died in her arms before they could reach Olni.
It wasn't long before Jazmin's Master was laid to rest with honors. Shockingly, none of the Olni warrior caste who'd been present at Vonda that day were in attendance. So much for their "honor," the girl thought. Jazmin made her vow that day. No matter how long it took, the butchers of Vonda would pay for their heinous act. And so would anyone complacent. They would feel her wrath--when the stars were right. Yes, Jazmin was but a slave girl. But she was a slave girl with certain, unexpected knowledge. Over her years, she'd learned much about life--and death--and worlds beyond in the humid jungles of Schendi, in the melting pot that was Turia, and in the unforgiving Tahari desert.
In Gor, it is generally known by the high castes that there are two knowledges. The first knowledge is that accepted by the peasants and other lower castes. It fosters a world view of superstition, where the Priest-Kings are unseen gods and the Initiates their hands on earth. The second knowledge, generally known by the high castes, is a much more enlightened one, based on science as far as it is known on Gor. While the Priest-Kings are honored and even worshiped in the second knowledge, the Initiates are often recognized as the opportunists many believed them to be. Though that is never spoken aloud, and deference is given to those who wear the white. It's rumored that there is also a third knowledge, not known to most of the people of Gor. It involves a more in-depth idea of who and what the Priest-Kings truly are, and what they do on Gor.
What is mostly unknown, however, beyond certain, limited circles, is that there is a fourth knowledge. One that goes even beyond the true identities of the Priest-Kings and even beyond what the Priest-Kings, with all their scientific acumen, can perceive. One limited to those sometimes called mystics--or, more often, charlatans--by the "enlightened" of Gor. And yet it is a very real knowledge--one that dates back to eons before the Priest-Kings brought Gor to this solar system. It is known to but a few. And even then, it is rarely talked about and almost never put into practice, except at rare times, in the most dire of occasions. For the price of employing such knowledge is steep--and eternal. Unfortunately for the men of Vonda who'd murdered her Master, Jazmin Azif, slave girl that she was, was one of those few on Gor with an awareness of the fourth knowledge.
Though but a lowly slave girl now, Jazmin had been born into the royal family of her tribe in the jungles of Schendi. As a girl, Jazmin was taught how to survive the many deadly traps of the Schendi rainforests, as was every child of her tribe, male and female. And Jazmin had also been born with a rare gift--that of total recall. The girl remembered everything that she was ever taught, everything she'd ever seen, everything she'd ever read--perfectly. She was also gifted with an uncanny ability to make intuitive leaps to discover the solution to a puzzle to which she'd been given sufficient pieces.
In addition to these rare, yet relatively normal gifts, however, Jazmin had another, even less common one. It was a sixth sense of sorts--one that enabled her to perceive that which exists unseen all around us, just beyond the veil. An invisible world of energies and entities, beings powerful and enigmatic. Unknowable to most who lived on Gor--including even the Priest-Kings. It was a once-in-a millennium ability that had been passed down through her ancestors, first on Earth and then, following the Voyages of Acquisition, on Gor. Jazmin's blood line was especially adept at manifesting this gift. And Jazmin did so at a young age. It was, at first, frightening to her--seeing and hearing things no one else could. Fortunately, the shaman of her tribe recognized Jazmin's gift and took her under his wing. And then he began to teach her . . . things that, one day, Jazmin would need to know.
Part 2: Jazmin's Education: The Power & the Price
The shaman of her tribe taught Jazmin how to harness her abilities and--more important--how to suppress them when needed. Which, in the course of life on Gor, was often. He taught her how to better perceive and utilize those energies that flowed through and around life on this world, just as they do on others. Always, however, with an eye toward doing good to the betterment of her people. For such energies, if employed for the wrong purposes, could prove extremely deadly. And there was always a price for it--often a very dear price. But Jazmin had a good heart, and she dedicated what she had learned only to helping her people and any others who were deserving. She couldn't foresee a time or reason that she might ever use them otherwise. At least, not back then.
The shaman instructed Jazmin in the ways of her people as regards the so-called spirit realm--that existence just beyond ours that few had ever truly experienced. An existence that harbored entitles both powerful and malign. He taught her of the ancient gods of her people . . . Tzyig, the Blind Snake God and his thousands of children; Zh'um Am'ell, the Burrower Beneath; and great, dread Kathahuuulooo, the monstrous, vart-winged river god, said to dwell dreaming in the depths of Thassa, awaiting the time when the stars are right and he could return up the rivers of Schendi and bring in a new age of destruction and cleansing to the world. Jazmin learned about potions and incantations that would enable her to open her eyes further to those worlds beyond and, even, if necessary, to summon their inhabitants.
And then it all ended. Slavers raided her village and the girl who would become known as Jazmin was among the spoils of that raid. She'd been knocked unconscious before she could even use any of the knowledge she'd gleaned from her shaman--not that she'd have done so to save herself. Only to spare her people. When Jazmin awoke, she was on a slave ship bound for the southern ports of Gor. From there she was taken to the city of Turia--the Ar of the South--where she was sold on the blocks to the highest bidder. This turned out to be one Marcus Maximus, head of one of the great trading houses of the city.
Turia was where Jazmin got her name. Her first name at least. And where she was trained in the arts of the pleasure slave, among other disciplines. She was taught to become a superb dancer, as well as to sing and play many instruments to provide enjoyment to her owner and the guests at his villa. But her intelligence was also recognized, and so she was taught to read and write--not only Gorean, but also the Tahari script. Her Master often journeyed to that vast land on trade missions and would take Jazmin with him. Her exotic beauty often provided sufficient distraction to those with whom he traded to help him make the most lucrative of deals.
Upon fully gaining her Master's trust as a loyal, valued slave of the house, Jazmin was also given total run of the Maximus library at the villa, which was extensive. There she learned many other things about Gor and its lands and cultures and people. She even taught herself to read archaic Gorean, a rare skill. And she remembered all of it. But the girl's education didn't stop there. She learned much from the many visitors who came to the villa. And some of it was not the sort of thing a slave might normally be expected to learn. It started with a visitor from the Black Caste, whom Jazmin and the other slaves were told to call simply "Master Killer." The man seemed to take an interest in Jazmin--but in ways other than for her beauty and potential service.
After Master Killer had the girl alone, having requested her company while he stayed at the villa, he told her flatly that he had much to teach her of his craft--secrets few, if any, assassins would ever share outside the caste. When Jazmin protested that, as a slave, such learning would be forbidden to her, the man shook her head and told her that he'd been instructed to do so by "the Old Ones." Jazmin startled, as this was the name given by the shaman of her tribe to the gods of her people. Slowly Jazmin nodded, and the man soon began to teach her much of the hidden knowledge of his caste: how to concoct special potions to disable, even kill a person silently, for example, among other efficient methods for taking a life. Jazmin balked at first. She was a gentle soul and the thought of taking the life of anyone was repugnant to her.
Still she learned--and remembered--what Master Killer shared with her, not knowing why, yet fearing that one day she may need such knowledge. And then, one morning, Master Killer was gone. And that part of Jazmin's education ended. Only to pick up some time afterward when her Master introduced a new Kajirus he'd just purchased on a trip to Port Kar to his other slaves. Jazmin recognized right away from her readings the tiny three-pronged brand on the slave's right cheek, in back of and below the right eye, over his cheekbone. She knew it as the Thief's Scar--mark of the caste of Thieves of Port Kar. Her Master, however, seemed oblivious of the nature and meaning of the mark on his new slave. Jazmin pondered whether to tell him, but then decided instead to confront the new slave when the two of them were alone.
At first the Kajirus denied being what she knew he was . . . until it became obvious that he couldn't fool Jazmin. Then he threatened her for her knowledge, but when Jazmin unexpectedly failed to cower or back down, his demeanor changed. He asked what he needed to do to buy her silence. Jazmin smiled as a thought came to her, and she asked him to teach her his skills. She didn't quite know why she needed such skills, but somehow, inside, she knew it was what she must master next. And so Jazmin learned how to pick even the best of locks. How to get about stealthily, unseen and unnoticed by the free. How to pick pockets. How to scavenge for food, drink, and coins even in the worst situations.
One day, though, the Kajirus shook his head at her. "Bah," he told her. "You're now a better thief then I am. So what are you going to use your newfound talents for?" Jasmin merely shrugged and told him that she didn't know--yet. She'd just somehow sensed that she needed to learn--and remember--what the thief could teach her. The next day, the thief was gone, along with a chunk of the Maxmus gold supply--about as much as a single man could carry. Jazmin pleaded innocence of the man's abilities and intentions, even though her Master had noticed that she'd spent a lot of time with her fellow slave. For Jazmin, it was simply that another phase of her education had just ended.
Jazmin's next round of education at the house of Maximus came when her master took in a man of the Pani. He'd hoped doing so would open new trade opportunities for him with that still barely known people. Jazmin, in the meantime, perceived that her newest teacher had arrived. The spiritual energies the Pani gave off were palpable to the girl. And his eyes narrowed in recognition when he laid eyes on Jazmin. He immediately requested the girl's services. The Pani subsequently became what he called her "sensei," a term unfamiliar to Jazmin despite her reading. He would teach her certain disciplines that were refinements on the skills she'd learned as a girl in Schendi--ways to fight and survive, though in this case, without the need of any weapons. Jazmin, as always, was a quick learner. Her talents as a dancer served her well in mastering the types of movements the Pani demonstrated for her.
At last, however, even the Pani had taught Jazmin everything he knew that could be of use to her--and she'd committed it all to memory. As he was ready to leave, though, he told her that there were two more places she must go to learn what he sensed she needed to know. The first was the Isle of Anago, even farther to the south than Turia. And the other? "The great desert," he told her. "That is where you must go to meet your destiny." He shushed her when she tried to question him. "You will know when the time comes," he said. And then he was gone--back to the Twelve Islands. And Jazmin waited. And then, one day, her Master announced that he was off on a trading trip to . . . Anago! And Jazmin, he'd decided, would go with him!
Jazmin was excited to accompany her Master and his trade party to Anago. Having combed through the diverse scrolls of her Master's private library whenever she'd finished her duties, she'd been fascinated by tales of the Magicians of Anago! Of course, such stories were considered myths, legends, and amusing stories told to thrill children. Still, Jazmin was excited to be able to visit that almost mythical island, especially given what the Pani had told her. Perhaps, she reasoned, she might even meet one of those elusive magicians, should they actually exist. And she had a feeling, with her special insight, that they did! When the party at last reached Anago, however, Jazmin found herself . . . disappointed. The people of Anago were relatively primitive. Not at all what she'd expected.
They lived in cities built of huge cyclopean stones of the darkest basalt. The geometry behind the structures seemed . . . off in some way. The structures of Anago tugged at one of the memories she'd stored away in the eclectic attic of her mind. A term came up to the surface: Non-Euclidean. Such an odd description! And yet it stirred another memory of a time when her shaman in Schendi had shared a special potion with her, one he'd said would open her mind's eye to other realities. And had it ever! In those visions were realms, other realities, different worlds co-existing with Gor on . . . other planes of existence. In some of her dream-like excursions that day, she'd seen cities such as the ones on Anago! Cities inhabited by . . . other beings. Jazmin shivered at the memories. But she understood now, as the Pani had told her, she was not there by accident.
Her Master spent several weeks on Anago, trading with its natives. But at last the time came for the party to return to Turia, and still Jazmin had not met a Magician of Anago! Until that last evening, when the party was invited to a special performance at the city's auditorium--one that was to include . . . feats of magic! As her eyes widened at the news, her Master laughed, telling her not to get excited. It was merely performance art. Slight of hand. Still Jazmin was not deterred. She knew she was there for a reason. And that night, she discovered it. As the so-called magician performed, Jazmin's sixth sense enabled her to see what her Master and others could not. The man was surrounded by spiritual energies that flowed and coalesced around him. Jasmin could see in her mind the invisible limbs extending from the man's body raising objects and manipulating them. And she knew: They were in the presence of a true Magician of Anago!
But the performance ended and the magician seemed to vanish--literally! Jazmin moaned. He was gone! Her chance to meet a real Magician--and perhaps to learn from him--had vanished in the smoke that marked his exit. Or so she thought. As her party readied to leave the next morning, Jazmin learned that they'd picked up a guest who would accompany them back to Turia. The girl gasped when she saw him. It was the Magician! As she stared at him, he winked at her, as if he could see into her very soul. And she was sure that he could. Back at Turia, the Magician was a sensation, drawing visitors to the House of Maximus with his "tricks." And when he wasn't doing that, he was with Jazmin. Her newest teacher had arrived.
Upon first requesting the services of the girl, which Maximus was happy to fulfill, the Magician questioned her regarding what she knew and could see. Her answers pleased him, and so he began to teach Jazmin even more than she already knew about how to use the unseen forces around her. How to know what incantation to use and when. And how to perform some of the feats that the Magician had demonstrated. In that time, Jazmin grew in what the Magician had described to her as "the fourth knowledge." When she related to him what her shaman had taught her about how "the stars had to be right" to truly call on the powers and forces she'd learned about, the Magician said something frightening: The stars aligned in such a way only once in an eon . . . but the time for the next alignment was nigh!
When Jazmin asked him how one could tell when that time had fully come, the Magician merely smiled enigmatically and told her that she would learn that when it was time for her to know it. That was his last lesson to her. The next day, he was nowhere to be found, to her Master's annoyance. Maximus had gotten some good notoriety by presenting the man at his house. And now it was at an end. As for Jazmin, much of what she'd learned from the Magician had frightened her--and yet she could feel deep inside that it was something she was destined to know. But for what purpose, she still hadn't a clue. And then came the day her Master declared it was time for a new trade journey to the great Tahari Desert. And that Jazmin would come along with him and his party! The words of the Pani, she realized, were about to be fulfilled!
The trip to the desert seemed routine at first, despite the exotic nature of some of the oases the Maximus party stopped at. Still, to Jazmin, the trip had so far been uneventful. That was soon to change. As her Master was closing a lucrative deal with the chieftain of one of the nomad tribes, the wily desert dweller had suddenly declared that there was one more thing he wanted in exchange: "Her!" he said, pointing at Jazmin. Maximus was reluctant to part with his valued slave, but the deal he was being offered was too good to pass on.
And all at once Jazmin found herself transitioning from the status of a pleasure slave of a major trading house in the glorious city of Turia, to that of a harem girl in the possession of a rough chieftain of a tribe of the Tahari Desert. The Pani's words, however, came rushing back to her. He'd said her destiny lay in the great desert--and now that prophecy had come true! Not that Jazmin could do anything about it, of course. But at least the knowledge softened the sting of the unexpected sale, and her change in status, in the girl's eyes.
Upon claiming the girl, the chieftain had declared Jazmin the most exotic beauty he'd ever laid eyes on. He told his people that the girl's beauty, now his possession, was surely enough to silence even the whisperings of the djinn--the sand demons of the desert--at night. And so, allowing her to keep her current name, he added to it a second name: Azif, a transliteration of that sound those demons were supposed to have whispered in the dark. And so the girl became Jazmin Azif. Over the next several years, Jazmin learned all that anyone could about how to survive in the great desert--practical knowledge this time to supplement what she'd learned from Maximus' library. The great desert itself became her teacher. But it wasn't her only source of new knowledge!
As it turned out, her new Master was in possession of a very ancient tome. Rather than a scroll, it was a codex, a bound book--rare on Gor--made from very old parchment with an unusually textured cover. The name of the book was Kitab Al-Azif! Jazmin recognized the name from the one added to her own and knew what it signified from the chieftain's words. She reasoned that the book contained esoteric knowledge about the ethereal djinn of the desert--and concluded that it was mainly why she had ended up in the harem of the leader of this nomad tribe. She was right. Fortunately, the chieftain didn't worry much about leaving the book accessible to his girls, since none of the others were literate. And so, whenever she was alone with the eldritch tome, Jazmin began to read.
The book appeared written in a variant of the Tahari script she'd learned in the Maximus library. But the words didn't quite make sense. As if written in a language long forgotten on Gor . . . or somewhere else. Yet Jazmin persevered. Here and there were words that were almost hauntingly familiar. Including several that she realized were variations of the names of the gods of her people! And slowly, drawing on the many resources she'd committed to her memory over the years Jazmin found the pieces beginning to fall into place in her mind. Finally, one night, it was like a glow bulb turning on in her head! She could read the book!
And so Jazmin began to uncover its ages-old, mind-stunning revelations. The first thing she translated was the unnerving couplet that seemed to be a central theme of all that Al-Azif revealed:
"That is not dead which can eternal lie . . .
And with strange aeons, even death may die!"
Much of what Jazmin learned from the book was difficult to comprehend--shocking descriptions of other worlds, other realities and creatures, and other gods . . . But Jazmin soaked it all up--incantations, potions, spells, various methods of accessing and manipulating realities beyond our own. She still didn't understand why, but somehow Jazmin knew this was information she would someday need to know!
Yet, as she'd been taught long ago by her shaman and reminded frequently by the Magician of Anago, Jazmin also knew there were grave consequences for converting such knowledge into action. Consequences the girl was reluctant to invoke. And so she committed it all to memory, letting it settle back into the storeroom of her mind, holding it in abeyance till whatever time would come where she might be of need of such . . . power. She prayed to her gods that such a time would never come. But there was one part of the book that had stood out to Jazmin. It was a drawing in the form of a star map . . . a picture of how the sky would look . . . when the stars were right. She'd shivered when she saw that image.
After finding that star map, Jazmin had walked out into the night air, looking up at the sky. She gasped. For with the slightest of differences, the night sky that she observed almost matched that of the book's star map! She shivered again as the significance of this crystallized in her mind. The stars weren't right yet, but . . . they would be . . . and relatively soon. Perhaps a few years? Shocked by this revelation, Jazmin vowed to herself that she would never use what she'd learned--it was too terrible! And yet, she knew she'd been placed where she could find such knowledge for some reason. Was it the will of the gods of her people? Jazmin didn't know, so she further vowed to put what she knew out of her mind--at least for now. And to concentrate on doing what she was tasked with--serving her new Master. Yet even that was soon to change.
It was on the return leg of a trip her Master had made to the city of Tor to trade for goods in that Mecca at the edge of the desert. The party was two days out when it happened. Out of nowhere, a horde of masked bandits swooped down on kaiila back onto the caravan! The kurduh in which Jazmin had been riding suddenly tilted over and fell to the sands, the kaiila carrying it mortally wounded. And all around her, death reigned. The bandits far outnumbered the tribesmen on the caravan, and they knew the terrain well. Jazmin could hear the death knells of those with whom she'd been traveling. She thought in fear, was this her destiny? To be taken by ruthless bandits? She didn't want to know. Still she couldn't help peek out--and see her Master cut down before her eyes, beheaded by the scimitar of one of the bandits!
Jazmin's blood went cold. And a rage she'd never before felt welled up inside her. And in her mind, the words of a summoning spell came to her . . . In seconds, Jazmin was chanting a couplet of power, her words drowned out by the carnage outside her kurdah. As she recited the syllables etched in her mind's eye, there came at once the sound as if of a mighty rushing wind. And then of another. And another. And suddenly the victorious cries of the bandits turned to cries of pure terror--before they were cut off. Jazmin could not resist. She peered out again to see . . .
Around the remains of the caravan swirled three mighty dust devils--tornadoes of abrasive sand and swirling darkness. They sucked in the hapless bandits, spitting out their stripped-clean bones. The howling of the three spirals of wind were terrifying, as were the anguished cries of the dying bandits. Jazmin began to mutter in fear and anguish at what she'd done. She knew what she had called forth--the djinn . . . the demons of the sand . . . summoned at her bidding to lay waste to those who'd killed those of her party. It was too much for Jazmin, and the girl passed out, taken by welcome blackness.
When Jazmin at last reawakened she realized that it must have been several hours since the attack on the caravan . . . and the horror that ended it. She knew that the men upon whom she'd called down their doom deserved what happened to them. Still, it did not comfort her soul that she was the one to do so. Especially as she knew there would be a price to pay. Perhaps not now. But someday. But for now . . . Jazmin had to survive. And somehow, she did. With what little scraps of provisions she could salvage, the girl made it, ragged and near death, back to Tor two days later. Though she collapsed in the sand barely within sight of the city walls. Perhaps her debt had come due now after all, Jazmin thought upon losing consciousness.
But it was not yet Jazmin's time. She had more still to do. When she awakened, weak but alive, she learned she'd been spotted by another caravan on route to Tor. She'd been brought in and handed over to the city kennel, given her apparent status as an unowned slave, and nursed slowly back to health. And she soon afterward went on the auction block yet again. She was still ragged and worn from her ordeal--nowhere back to full health, much less beauty. She no longer looked like the valued pleasure slave of Turian she'd once been, nor even the harem girl of the Tahari. She didn't expect to go for much on the block. She'd most likely wind up a pot and kettle girl--or worse. And so it seemed as the bidding started. And then, everything changed. From bids averaging but a handful of tarsk bits, suddenly a voice rang out loud and clear: "One gold tarn!" And all at once, to her surprise, Jazmin again had a new Master!
But this Master was different from her last two. Young and vigorous, yet with a good eye to merchandise. He'd recognized something in Jazmin that no one else in Tor had managed to see in the girl after her ordeal. And so Jazmin became the slave of a traveling merchant of Tor--and before long, in his eyes, she became something even more. The next few years were glorious ones for Jazmin. Her new Master took Jazmin with him wherever he went in his travels. As he dealt in textiles and fine clothing, he draped Jazmin in his finest wares, making her a walking advertisement for his business. It was clear to all who saw them that Jazmin was her Master's love slave. And she in turn grew to love him more than life itself. Though it remained gnawing at the back of her mind, Jazmin managed mainly to keep what she'd done that day in the desert behind her. She'd begun to think that, just maybe, the gods had decided to smile upon her and that payment for her actions would never come due. At least, she prayed so.
Eventually, her Master's trade journey's took them to the city of Callera in the Thentis mountains. It looked to him like a good place from which to conduct his business, which had increasingly drawn him northward. So he settled down there with Jazmin, making the town their new home. It was another time of wonder and pleasure for Jazmin. She felt that she could stay there with her Master forever and be completely happy. But it was not to be. A mere seven months after they'd settled in Callera, Jazmin and her Master were homeless again. The village and most of its inhabitants were just outside of the town walls at a winter festival when the ground began to shake beneath their feet!
As the townsfolk, including Jazmin and her Master, looked toward the village, they saw it start to shake and seem to tear itself apart. Someone shouted that it was a Gorquake, and that they should flee to the nearby riverbank for safety. Jazmin, however, stared, transfixed, at the scene of destruction unfolding before her eyes. For what was happening was no mere Gorquake! Jazmin, with her special knowledge and sixth sense could see what was really occurring! As the girl watched, horrified, she saw huge phantasmagoric tentacles rise from the ground, wrapping around the buildings of Callera and pulling them apart! She knew in an instant what it was--the Burrower Beneath that she'd learned of so long ago in her native village! It was the price that she owed for her actions in the desert, and it was time for payment.
Jazmin now knew that, because of her, Callera was being razed to the ground! She simply stood there, tears flowing down her cheeks, till her Master grabbed and and carried her to safety with the rest of the villagers. As he couldn't see the spectral limbs that destroyed the town, Jazmin's Master simply thought the girl was grieving for the unexpected loss of their new home. But Jazmin was overwhelmed with guilt. And yet she couldn't explain why, not even to her beloved Master! What would he think of her, if he knew? She could never tell him. She had to bury that awful sight of their home being pulled down into the bowels of the planet in the deep recesses of her mind.
But Jazmin was cursed in that she could never truly forget it. She buried her head in her Master's chest, her tears streaming down her face as her body trembled in sorrow. The survivors of Callera eventually made they way by river to the city of Port Olni, on the Olni River. There, they were welcomed into the Home Stone of Olni. Though he'd lost much in the destruction of Callera, it didn't take long for Jazmin's Master to establish himself in the city as a dealer in fine textiles and clothing. Jazmin devoted herself to assisting him in the new business. The merchants and the council of Olni soon recognized her Master's skills and enterprise, and eventually, when there was an opening, he was appointed HoC for the Merchant caste of Port Olni. Jazmin was proud of her owner. Perhaps now, she thought, they could live in peace.
Part 3: The Doom that Came to Vonda
Still, a cloud had etched itself upon Jazmin's mind. Each night, as she gazed up at the skies, Jazmin's memory acutely reminded her of just how close the sky now was to what the Kitab Al Azif had described as the time when "the stars are right." She often shivered as she stared up at the heavens. Not from the nighttime cold, but from that accursed knowledge that only she possessed. She--and the city of Callera--had paid a terrible price for that forbidden knowledge and her use of it. But was that the end of it? Or would something else--yet another and more dear price--be charged to her account . . . when the stars were right? Jazmin didn't know. But she feared one day she would find out. And she did--that day when her Master was killed at the hands of the so-called warriors of Vonda!
For a while, however, things seemed to settle down. Jazmin's Master did well in his new textile venture, and Jazmin did all she could do to help. And then came that cursed war. And the lamentable decision of the city to ally itself with Vonda. Her Master saw this as a possible opening for additional trade with that city, and when the warriors of Olni invited citizens of the city to accompany them to Vonda for war games, he took Jazmin with him. Jazmin had had vague misgivings about the trip, but nothing she could put her finger on. And so she did her Master's bidding and accompanied him and several other citizens to the supposed ally city. Which ended in disaster . . .
The night that her Master was laid to rest, Jazmin stood in their home for the last time. On the morrow, she was to be remanded to the city kennels, there eventually to be sold to a new master. But Jazmin had other plans. As she stood outside, looking up at the sky, that map she'd seen years before in the crumbling pages of Al-Azif flashed to the surface, and she gasped. As she looked at the night sky, the patterns of the celestial bodies matched that of the ancient star map almost exactly. She shook her head. It was that time . . . almost come . . . when the stars would be right, and the Old Ones--the gods of her people--could rise again. She shivered with the awful realization. And yet, now that her beloved Master was gone, she had no reason to fear what might come. In fact, she'd decided that it would come! And she would help it!
That night, using the skills she'd learned from the ex-thief who'd taught her his craft those many years before at Turia, Jazmin silently slipped away into the night and disappeared. At least to those who came the next morning to take her to the kennels. No one knew what had happened to the girl, and after a few weeks, they stopped looking for her and just dropped her out of their awareness. After all, she was just a slave and they had a war to fight. But Jazmin was still there, in the shadows, an almost phantom figure living at the edges of the city's society. She'd learned how to survive in the turgid jungles of Schendi and the blazing desert of the Tahari. Surviving on the edge of society in a city as plentiful as Olni was simple for the girl.
And so it went for the next several months, as Jazmin slipped through the shadows at night, a hooded figure, barely noticeable, her dark skin the perfect camouflage in the dimly lit nighttime streets of Port Olni. During her time there, she'd explored the tunnels under the city--those meant as a refuge during times of siege or attack. Her perfect memory had impressed every corner, every turn into her mind. And she was easily able to elude the random patrols that the city made of the tunnels when they weren't in use. She mostly stayed there during the days, coming out at night to secure food and other necessities, leaving no trace behind. Sometimes she mingled among the Urt people of the city--those who were seen but rarely registered on the minds of most citizens. And at night, she looked to the stars as they slowly came into alignment . . .
And then, one night, as Jazmin looked to the skies, she knew--the stars were right!
Jazmin understood that her window of opportunity was relatively narrow now. She had only a few nights to act before the alignment of the heavens began to slip away. She'd been preparing for this day since her beloved Master was laid to rest. His death would not go unavenged. She gathered together what she needed and began to put her plan into action. She knew the warrior caste of Olni would be traveling again on the morrow to engage in more battle drills with the butchers of Vonda. She'd been observing their comings and goings long enough to know their schedule. So tomorrow would be the best time to strike. She might not get another chance to ensure that all those responsible for her Master being taken from her would pay.
First thing that night, once it was past the 20th Ahn and all was quieting down, she took what was perhaps the biggest risk of her scheme. She slipped inside the Warrior's Hall, deftly picking its lock and stealthily leaving a message for those who had failed in their duty to protect her Master as a citizen of the Home Stone. The message that she scrawled on the wall--symbolically using the blood of a tarsk--was in the Tahari script, though the words were archaic Gorean. It was a combination none among the warriors were likely to know or understand--until far too late. A scribe, perhaps, might have been able to translate the message, though surely not before the warriors left by boat to Vonda.
There was a chance, perhaps, that finding her message on the wall, even if it was indecipherable to them, might make the warriors wary of leaving the city. But Jazmin doubted it. Hubris seemed to be rife among the city's warrior caste these days, especially in light of recent victories against Sais, thanks to the inhuman brutality of their Vonda allies. Jazmin stopped to look at her handiwork. There, in blood, across the wall of their meeting room was her declaration: "The stars are right--dread Kathahuuulooo awaits you! J.A." She smiled ruefully. Putting her initials at the end may have been a step too far, but after it was all over, she wanted any of the warriors who survived to know who had brought their doom down upon them--and why!
But Jazmin didn't linger. She'd committed to memory the rounds of the guards at night, and needed to slip away undetected. It wasn't hard thanks to the skills she'd learned from both the ex-thief of Port Kar and Master Killer. She had one more stop she needed to make that night before heading to the docks and secreting herself aboard the vessel that would carry the doomed men of Olni to meet the even greater doom that was about to befall Vonda. Quietly, undetected, she made her way to--and inside--the home of the Kassar who'd escorted her, the others, and her dying Master away from the madmen of Vonda and back home. Of all who'd been there that day that bore the title of warrior, he alone had shown the honor that went with the name.
Finding the man fast asleep, Jazmin took out a vial of a very special poison that she'd learned to make from Master Killer. She'd mixed it with a potion that she'd learned at the feet of her mentor back in Schendi. And she poured it into the man's ear as he slept. She smiled. The man would sleep soundly--very soundly--and when he finally woke up the next day, he'd be dizzy and his coordination completely gone. He would be in no condition at all to join the others on the boat to Vonda, and so he would be spared what was to come. Jazmin smiled to herself. Her debt to the man for trying to save her Master was paid. Honor was satisfied. She gave the now deeply dozing warrior a salute and slipped away into the night.
From there, Jazmin stopped at her Master's grave. She thought of him and all that they'd shared together. For a moment her resolve faltered. She knew her Master would never want her to do what she was about to attempt. But then she steeled herself as she remembered that terrible night again. She'd relived it in her mind's eye night after night for months. She could never forget it. Not as long as she remained alive. But soon it would all be over. Justice would be served. The men of Vonda would pay for their lack of honor, their inhumanity by facing something that their hubris could never overcome. They had a pending appointment with dread Kathahuuulooo! Jazmin made her way from there to the docks. She'd been anticipating this night for months. And she continued to execute her plan.
It was simple for Jazmin to slip aboard the vessel that would carry the warriors to Vonda. The crew of the ship had been observed by the girl many times as they performed a similar duty to what they were tasked with tomorrow. Slipping out of the hooded cloak that had concealed her, she revealed the silks that she wore under it. She picked up again the bota that she'd carried, and brazenly strode upon the pier in full sight of the two crewmen standing guard. As they ogled the girl's approach, offering up lewd catcalls, Jazmin held the bota high. "Masters," she purred in a silken voice, "would you care for some fine paga . . . and perhaps something else . . .?" One of the men grabbed the girl, while the other reached for the bota of paga.
In a few Ehn, both men were lying by the gangplank, dead to the world, though they still breathed. They were not at fault--merely pawns in the deadly game of cosmic Kaissa that Jazmin was engaged in. She quickly threw the empty bota into the water, retrieved her cloak, and slipped aboard the ship. The men, she expected, would be found in the morning, quite drunk, and it would merely be assumed they'd overindulged and be penalized for dereliction of their duties. They wouldn't remember a thing. Not even the most astute physician would have been able to detect traces of the potion Jazmin had fed them. Once aboard the vessel, Jazmin used her amazing memory to find a secure hiding place. The ship was identical to many others the girl had been on, and she'd memorized every nook and cranny. It was highly unlikely she'd be discovered on the short journey to Vonda the next morning.
As it turned out, she was right. Jazmin had calculated everything nearly perfectly. The boat set sail for Vonda the next morning with the warriors of Olni--minus one--aboard. She was close enough to hear them boasting about their prowess and strength and how they were invincible in the face of the war with Sais. There were repeated cries pertaining to their "honor" and that of their cursed allies. It made Jazmin ill to listen to, but she was too close to her goal to do anything now that would risk exposure. The journey down the Olni River took but a few hours. As the vessel was steered toward the docks of Vonda, Jazmin took her leave of it, silently slipping into the water from an open porthole near her hiding place.
Jazmin had remembered from that terrible trip back home from Vonda the night her Master was slaughtered the presence of a small islet in the river, just beyond the city docks. It was little more than a shoal, but it was overgrown with river reeds--enough to conceal her and allow her to carry out her work. She quickly swam toward it as the ship docked, hidden by its hull, and climbed out of the river onto it, concealing herself among the reeds. And from there, she waited. Waited and watched. Until it was time. And that time was soon to come.
Jazmin prepared herself as she waited. Her mind ran over the terrible, sacred incantations that she'd been practicing unspoken until she knew they were perfect for what she intended to befall Vonda. She watched the ship cast off from the docks to make another stop before returning to pick up the warriors for their travel back to Olni. They would be away and safe when the time came. And when they returned, they'd find no one to board the ship for the return voyage. Jazmin was pleased at least for that. She had nothing against the crew of the ship. But the task ahead of her would not be easy in any sense. If she'd merely wished to unleash total destruction upon the city and everyone in it, things would have been simpler. But that was not Jazmin Azif.
No, Jazmin wanted only those responsible for the death or her Master to face judgment that day. Even in the hated city of Vonda, she would not willingly bring harm to innocents. And so Jazmin gathered together her energies, all that she'd been learning those many years, and as Tor-tu-Gor began to wane in the sky, the girl knew it was time to extract her vengeance. She began to chant aloud, speaking those terrible verbal formulas that she had learned from her shaman, from the Magician, and from the blasphemous tome, Al-Azif. She could feel and see the energies swirling about her from her islet refuge. And then she called out to the Old Ones, called them forth to do her bidding in their most terrible of ways.
The girl knew that she was too far from the desert to call on the djinn, but they were nothing compared to the doom that she was about to unleash on Vonda. First, however, she called upon Tzyig, the Blind Snake God. Called forth from the hidden realms his thousands of children. Anyone on the walls of Vonda might has been puzzled as they looked out to the surrounding forest, seeing the trees and plants and the very ground seem to come alive! Within moments, the city was deluged with a mass of crawling, slithering reptilian flesh as thousands of snakes--serpents of all stripes and colors--made their way through every hole, no matter how small, every opening, and every space into the city, even climbing the walls themselves. From the smallest ost to the largest hirt, the serpentine children of Tzyig, inundated Vonda in a writhing mass of scales and fangs.
But the snakes didn't attack anyone--not unless they were themselves attacked. Their mission was instead to open up paths in their ranks by which the innocent--the women, the children, and the slaves of Vonda, even those men who were guiltless--could run to safety. Those men who tried to cut down the creatures were instead quickly buried under a sea of squirming flesh, bitten by venomous fangs, constricted till their blood vessels burst! The snakes continued to herd the innocent out of the city, preventing the warriors from following suit. And when the women, the children, the slaves and others free of guilt were away to safety, the children of Tzyig suddenly disappeared! Almost as if by magic, they were gone. All but rings that now blocked the city gates, keeping the men of Vonda, and their honorless allies, inside.
And then Jazmin called upon the second of her people's gods--Zh'um Am'ell, the Burrower Beneath. As the by-now shocked men of Vonda stood cursing at the reptiles that were so obviously preventing any further escape from the city, they felt the ground beneath them begin to rumble and shake. And then--no longer unseen--masses of gigantic squirming tentacles, each twice the width of a male bosk, ripped out of the ground and began to pull down the buildings of Vonda, just as those spectral ones had destroyed Callera. The men of Vonda began to scream. The snakes had unnerverd them, of course--only the foolish would have felt otherwise. But at least they were natural--normal creatures of Gor. But this . . .
Jazmin could hear the cries of terror from the city even in her marshy hiding place. The good, gentle, kind girl inside her cringed at what she was inflicting on other human beings. But then she remembered again what the butchers of Vonda had done to her Master, and she set aside her misgivings. It was now time for those men of Vonda who were still alive--along with the city itself--to pay the ultimate price. Jazmin began to chant again . . . "Ia! Ia! Kathahuuuloo! Ph'tgn!" For a moment, everything went silent, other than the moans and cries of the dying inside Vonda. The winds calmed. The waters seemed almost to stop flowing. And even the massive tentacles of the Burrower Beneath disappeared. It was time.
At once, the waters outside the harbor of Vonda began to roil and stir, as though a mighty tidal wave or a tremendous whirlpool were forming. The air was pierced by a deafening shriek, as though the sky was filled with a thousand angry varts! And then, slowly at first, but with increasing speed . . . something emerged from the waters of the Olni River . . . something huge, something unthinkable, something terrifying! First came a massive, bulbous head, swarming with tentacles above an endless maw and below two gigantic, emotionless eyes the size of the massive capstones that would often be rolled in front of caves to conceal them. From its maw, the shrieking blasted out, descending into an almost mindless blubbering sound, yet unlike anything Jazmin had ever heard before--or had ever wanted to hear!
The head of the creature kept rising out from the water, towering above it with the body of a monstrous tharlarion--if tharlarions were the size of small mountains! From the horrid entity's back unfolded a pair of massive vart-like wings that flapped in the still air, sending an almost hurricane like blast of wind toward the already crumbling city of Vonda, causing more of its remaining structures to disintegrate. And there the creature stood. But it was no mere creature--it was a god! The river god of Jazmin's tribe--the dread Kathahuuuuloooo! As Jazmin watched, her blood ran cold at the spectacle unfolding before her! The god-thing began to march toward the city, crushing the docks with a single stomp of its enormous clawed foot. And then it was upon Vonda itself!
Inside what was left of the city walls, the oh-so "brave" warriors of Vonda were screaming hideously, soiling themselves at the sight of the doom that was upon them. So horrid was the god's visage that many of them clawed their eyes from their heads to avoid seeing its approach. Of course, that didn't help them as Kathahuuuuuloooo strode into the city among them, brushing away the cylinders and other structures as if they'd been made of rence paper. The men who tried to flee from the oncoming behemoth ran into the remaining children of Tzyig, finding perhaps a far more merciful death than those reduced to pulp under the god's feet or grasped, screaming, by its tentacles and propelled into its endless, gaping maw. Jazmin shuddered, thinking about them. "Not so brave now that you're not facing unarmed women and slaves, are you?" she whispered, though her words were twinged with more than a little tone of regret over what she'd brought upon the city.
As the carnage raged on and she watched and listened to the death of Vonda, along with all those who'd failed her Master, Jazmin suddenly felt a strange peace come over her. Not quite knowing why, she repeated again that cursed couplet from Al-Azif:
"That is not dead which can eternal lie . . .
And with strange aeons, even death may die . . ."
As she finished, the thought that she'd soon see her Master again comforting her, Jazmin began to feel the tell-tale sensations of a hot, prickly heat surround her. She watched, fascinated, as the reeds of her hiding place began to flare up, and the air around her turned a bright cobalt blue. She had time only to think with a final satisfaction, "You are avenged, my Master!" before the blue flame consumed her, taking her away to once more join her beloved Master in the Cities of Dust for all eternity . . . at least, with her final thoughts, she hoped so . . .
The End
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THE BEAST IN THE FOREST: A TALE OF TERROR
Brief summary: An unseen terror takes animals and people from Snorri's Fjord. The legendary hunter Jorma Sturmraven arrives to destroy it, only to encounter something that drives him away. The village believes itself saved until the terrible howl returns the following year.
The Beast in the Forest: A Tale of Terror
By Anja Steinnsdottir, Skald of Torvaldsland
Fear gripped the village of Snorri's Fjord!
It was not that long ago in the mountainous regions of Torvaldsland that terror came to the little village in the form of some sort of unknown beast that had taken up residence in the forest beyond. No one knew what it was exactly. Some thought it a renegade Kur; others a giant mountain larl come down from the heights to hunt; others were sure it was a monstrous forest sleen, ravenous and hungry. But no one knew for certain. No one who ever saw it lived to tell the story.
The tale began one night several weeks after the harvest. As villagers returned from their humble fields to their huts or to the long hall for some rest and a horn or two of mead, an eerie howl rang out in the darkening evening from the woods. It was like no sound any of them had ever heard before, and even the bravest of the village's warriors found the hair on the back of their necks standing at attention at the cry of whatever might be lurking in the forest. It was only the single howl that night, but it marked the beginning of a time of terror for Snorri's Fjord.
In the days and weeks that followed, though no one ever saw a thing and no tracks or spoor were ever discovered . . . the animals of the village began to disappear at night. A vulo here. A verr there. Then a large bosk. And another. There was no sign ever of what was causing these creatures to suddenly vanish. No blood. No remains. No cries. It was silent . . . and deadly. Whatever it was.
As if this wasn't enough to unnerve even the stout residents of the village, soon a child disappeared in the same way that the animals had. A young boy, sleeping in his crib, was simply gone the next morning. There was no sign of entry. Nothing to indicate anything had invaded the hut where he lay asleep. He was simply . . . gone. The next night, another followed him. Then another. And another. And then a woman--a bond--vanished as well. And then a free woman. And more on following nights. The village was in an uproar.
The men all gathered together and began to scour the woods by day. But they found nothing. No sign that anything was there. And yet, each night, from that point on, the frightened villagers would hear in the darkness that terrible cry of whatever beast was plaguing their home. And other animals and people would simply be gone the next morning. Finally, even some of the men began to disappear, starting with a lone thrall. It was a time of total terror for Snorri's Fjord.
The Jarl of the village, one Hanestel the Tumultuous, finally sent out word throughout Torvaldsland, requesting that great hunters and warriors come to the village to seek out the beast in the forest and put a stop to its rampage. It pained the Jarl to have to ask for outside help when his fiercest warriors had come up empty handed. But being a practical man and a good Jarl who wanted his people safe, he did it anyway. He offered a sum of five times the weight in gold of whomever caught or killed the beast to the man who would rid Snorri's Fjord of this plague. Plus the pick of the village's best bonds (those who had not yet disappeared), and any uncompanioned free woman of his choice (should she be agreeable, of course). The offer did not go unheeded.
Over the next weeks and months, many flocked to Snorri's Fjord to seek out their fortune by finding and slaying the beast. Hunters, warriors--even a member of the Black Caste--all came to the village to try their hand at stopping the creature that had nearly decimated the village by then. A Tarnsman from Thentis joined the hunt as well. Not a one of them ever returned from the forest, not even the tarn. The people of the village were beside themselves. How would they continue to live if no one could stop the monster that was carrying them away, one by one?
And then, salvation appeared to be at hand! For one day, into the village strode the mighty, legendary warrior and hunter, Jorma Sturmraven! The man was known throughout Torvaldsland in saga and song, story and legend. He had lived for many hundreds of years and gone on many dangerous adventures throughout the lands of Gor, always emerging not only alive but victorious. It was said that he had killed a larl when he was but a lad of three. And a Kur when he was but 12. It was rumored that even the Priest-Kings only whispered his name, if they spoke it at all. He came with two of the finest, fiercest hunting sleens in all of Torvaldsland on his leashes. The residents of Snorri's Fjord rejoiced, for surely the beast that had hunted them was now to be itself hunted and promptly slain!
The villagers looked on from their huts as Sturmraven made his way to the long hall and presented himself to the Jarl, his two snarling sleens--creatures he'd named Ravager and Killer--fighting to be freed of their leashes. But Sturmraven held them fast as he greeted the Jarl and those warriors who sat with him above the salt. The Jarl asked the mighty legend if he had come to the village to relieve them of the siege they'd been under these many months, and Sturmraven replied that he had. A sigh of relief went out from those assembled and was echoed throughout the village as word spread. There was but one catch. Sturmraven required not five, but ten times his weight in gold. And the weight of each of his hunting sleen as well. The Jarl's face paled at this request, but he felt he had no choice. And he agreed.
That night, Jorma Sturmraven set out from the village into the forest to find whatever had been taking the animals and people of Snorri's Fjord to their deaths. And the villagers prepared to celebrate. For if the legendary warrior could not rid them of this scourge, indeed, who could? But they were confident. As, of course, was Sturmraven. He entered the forest with a certainty that whatever lie within would soon be dead at his feet, a meal for his two vicious sleen. The task was complicated, of course, by the fact that the creature--whatever it was--had left no trace behind when it had taken its victims from the village. Sturmraven had set his sleen to scent at the locations of the latest disappearances, to no avail. But he was certain that, once in the woods, his animals would pick up the scent.
He was wrong. The sleen, it seemed, could detect nothing beyond the usual in the surrounding forest. This puzzled Sturmraven to no end. But he was a practical man--one reason he had survived for so long. He decided that if he could not find the beast, he would allow the beast to find him. So he set up his camp that night, making no effort to conceal himself nor his hunting beasts. If he'd thought of it, he might have asked the village to send with him a thrall to act as bait for the beast. But he'd expected to find it right off and dispatch it with ease, so he'd neglected to consider that option. No matter. Sturmraven himself would be the bait. And when the creature came for him, he would kill it. And his sleen would feast!
To aid in detecting the wily creature's approach, Sturmraven set up wires around his camp, concealed in and around the sparse bushes and all approaches to the site. On them he strung pieces of metal that, if brushed, would clang against the other pieces on the wire, giving away the proximity of the beast. Even were he asleep, the sound would wake him, for Sturmraven had a warrior's reflexes and even the slightest disturbance in the night was enough to bring him up and ready to fight. It seemed a foolproof plan.
That evening, Sturmraven sat around his campfire, eating the roasted meat of a wild tarsk he'd killed for his dinner. After he'd eaten his fill, he threw the remains to his hungry sleen. Not enough to put them to sleep or dull their fighting edge. But enough to keep them alive--till they could feast on the beast that hid somewhere out in the woods. Sturmraven felt it was close. That perhaps even now it was watching him. But it was cunning and so was biding its time. He began to sing a song as he watched the glittering embers of the fire. He'd partaken liberally of a bota he carried with him, though it contained only water. But the beast, if it had any rudimentary intelligence at all, would never know that. He acted as though he'd become quite drunk. And then he staggered into his tent and went to sleep.
But Sturmraven was not sleeping. He felt in his bones that the beast was near, and so he waited, motionless in the tent, feigning sleep, occasionally letting out what sounded like a drunken snore, to lure the beast in. Hours passed. Could he have been wrong? Perhaps there was no beast after all. Maybe whatever had been plaguing the village had moved on. That would be unfortunate, as to collect his reward, he would have to find and kill some other nasty looking creature. It was not something he wished to do. Honor dictated that he should only collect his reward for killing the beast. And yet, a practical man, he felt that if he had to, any beast he killed and presented to the village would do, to at least allay their fears.
But then, as Sturmraven contemplated these unsavory possibilities, there came a sound in the night. A metallic clanking betrayed the presence of . . . something . . . approaching his camp from the right, setting off his alarms. As if sensing that it had been detected, whatever was causing the noise gave off an eerie and unsettling howl--the sound of the beast! Ravager and Killer were now snarling and hissing frantically on their leashes, eager to be set free to hunt! Sturmraven jumped up, grabbed his ax, and dashed out into the night toward the sound! He had it! The beast would be his! He rushed toward where the alarms had clattered and--nothing! There was nothing there. Sturmraven looked around wildly, fearing an ambush. But then came that howl again, to his left and farther into the forest. Without even a thought, he turned and rushed toward it!
This went on for several Ahn. Sturmraven would think he was upon the creature only to find it had vanished and was howling away somewhere else. The sound, of course, had incensed his hunting sleen, and they had been snarling and hissing from that moment on. On reflection, the warrior now realized he should have let them loose to track the beast, as surely they'd have picked up its scent by now. He decided to head back to camp and do just that. And then, when they had caught and were worrying the beast, he would come and finish it off with his mighty ax. As he neared the camp, however, he realized that he could no longer hear the snarls of his sleen. This troubled him, as they had been making such a racket it was only as he got very far away that he could no longer hear them.
Suddenly, the hackles on Sturmraven's neck stood up. He became very still and quiet, motionless, as he listened into the darkness. But there was no sound at all. Not even the typical night sounds one hears in the sparse forests throughout Torvaldsland. Something was very wrong. Finally, moving silently with the skill of even the most talented of assassins, Sturmraven made his way back to the camp. The fire had died down but in its faint red glow, he could make out enough to see what had happened . . .
As he looked, a chill went up the spine of Jorma Sturmraven.
Ravager was gone!
And Killer was . . . almost gone . . .
Jorma Sturmraven--mighty man of song and legend--quickly built up the fire and sat behind it, ax in hand, every sense on high alert, until dawn the next morning. Then he packed up his camp and stole away into the wilderness, not even returning to Snorri's Fjord. No new verses would be added to his saga over this misadventure, that much--and little else--was certain . . .
As for the village of Snorri's Fjord and its hapless inhabitants, and the beast that had stalked them . . . life went back to normal. There were no more disappearances. No more cries from the woods to betray the presence of the beast. The rumor spread that Sturmraven must surely have killed the beast, but had himself fallen to it even as he saved their people from its ravages. Songs were written. A memorial was set up to the man in the village square. The Jarl locked away his gold. And life went on.
Until the next year, a few weeks after the harvest, when an eerie howl sounded out from the forest . . .
The End????
Afterward, BilliAnn announced an out-of-character Halloween concert for October 31 at 4 p.m. on the OOC concert platform, including a new song written for the show.
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EVENING COMPANY AND KIND WORDS — approximately 4:46–6:39 p.m.
The evening brought company near the tavern, with chairs for the ladies facing away from it. Friends and visitors discussed the festival, earlier homes, teachers, and the day's canoe races. Kael joined me, and we agreed that we had made good progress with our ceremony plans. He left the details of the location, arrangements, and people to me and offered to provide Lindens. I still needed to decide what came next.
There was laughter about the fortune teller and about Jessika's repeated soakings in the races. Later, Kael told Jessika that watching the two of us in the trial had been fascinating. She replied that it had been exhausting for both of us, that I had kept her on her toes, and that the trial had been a true challenge of legal skills. Those were kind words to hear after the effort the case had required.
Calls for final auction bids rang through the city, and Nicholas announced the auction closed at 6:39 p.m. The day's record ends amid farewells and the continuing festival conversations.
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