“Is this a private meeting,” asked Bakhai, “or can a younger brother join in?”
“Bakhai!” greeted Mistake. “Sit. Rejji is having doubts about his place in things.”
“One chosen by God should not complain,” grinned Bakhai as he slapped his brother on the back and sat down next to him. “I think I found a reference to the hellsouls.”
“You did?” Rejji asked excitedly. “Does it explain what they are?”
“I think so,” nodded Bakhai. “When the Qubari were expelled from Angragar and the gates were sealed, some were left behind. Some accounts spoke of this as a mistake God made, but I have found another that explains it differently. At the time the elves hid the ancient city, there were agents of Vand inside the city that were plotting to attack from within. The reference I found suggests that God knew of these people and prevented them from leaving when the others were expelled. In a sense, Angragar became their prison and yet they became protectors of the city, stopping outsiders from surviving an attempt to enter.”
“If so,” Rejji frowned, “they will still seek to protect the city. That means that just opening the gates is not enough.”
“What are you talking about?” interrupted Mistake. “How can people from thousands of years ago still be protecting the city?”
“They are not people any longer,” explained Bakhai. “They are evil spirit beings. Hundreds of references speak of Angragar being haunted. Those evil spirits have been called hellsouls by the Qubari.”
“You can’t possibly believe in evil ghosts,” chided Mistake.
“You would be wise to believe in them,” interjected Yltar as Dumo and the shaman walked up behind the trio. “They do exist, but I am sure our warriors can take care of them.”
“I am not so sure,” frowned Rejji. “I think if I am able to open the gates, they should immediately be closed again. We must not let the hellsouls escape into this world.”
“You cannot be planning on entering Angragar alone?” protested Dumo. “I won’t permit it.”
“The Sage instructed the three of us to go to Angragar,” declared Rejji. “To risk the lives of all of the Qubari on this adventure makes no sense. If the three of us survive, there will plenty of chance for the Qubari to reclaim the city. If we do not survive then you will know that you still wait for the real Astor.”
“Perhaps a compromise?” offered Yltar. “Each of you will take one warrior for an escort?”
“I would feel better with some trained warriors at my back,” nodded Rejji. “I do hesitate to be the bringer of death to others though.”
“There are many who will volunteer,” responded Dumo. “Even in death, it would be considered an honor to have been chosen for such an historic moment. As a leader you must come to realize that death is the due of a warrior. All that your actions can do is change the timing of that death. You are never the cause of their death.”
“Dumo is correct,” nodded Yltar. “For you to take the blame for a warrior’s death is to rob that warrior of the reason for his life.”
“I have come across references to Qubari armor,” interrupted Bakhai. “I do not understand the references when all you wear are loincloths.”
“We have very strong armor,” Chief Dumo stated. “We do not wear it unless we face a large assault by a determined enemy. There is little need for it otherwise.”
“Wouldn’t armor rust in this jungle?” questioned Mistake.
“Not Qubari armor,” chuckled Dumo. “It is made of silk.”
“Silk?” echoed Rejji. “How can silk protect a warrior?”
“It is not ordinary silk,” smiled Yltar. “It is tyrik silk and woven very tightly. An arrow may pierce it, but the arrowhead will not completely penetrate it. Likewise, the tip of a sword may pierce it, but the edge of a blade does little damage unless the blows are repetitive and in the same location.”
“It is light enough to be worn under garments or sturdy enough to worn as garments,” added Dumo. “I shall have some made for the three of you.”
“That sounds great,” chirped Mistake.
“I still have no idea what it is we are supposed to do in Angragar,” sighed Rejji. “The Sage talked about uncovering the mysteries there, but he gave no clue as to what those mysteries are.”
“I have no clues about that,” frowned Dumo. “Occasionally, we have patrols go to the city, but nobody has entered it in thousands of years. The whole city is a mystery to us.”
“Will we be allowed to leave the jungle after we return from Angragar?” asked Bakhai. “Or are we to be confined to the jungle for the rest of our lives?”
“You are much like your father, Bakhai,” Dumo smiled sadly. “I think the three of you have proven your trustworthiness. While I would like to see the three of you remain here forever, nothing will be forced upon you except the need for secrecy. If Rejji is indeed the Astor, the Qubari are his to command, whether that be here in the jungle or elsewhere.”
“I would never assume to interfere with my grandfather’s rule, regardless of who I am,” retorted Rejji.
“You would not be interfering,” corrected Dumo. “I am a mere chief. While the Qubari will follow me into battle, the Astor is the indisputable leader of our people. You have asked us not to bow or kneel in your presence and we have obeyed, but that does not change the fact that you are the instrument of God. Every Qubari will obey the Astor without question.”
The talk of the Astor was disturbing to Rejji and he yearned to put the jungle behind him.
“My first task towards restoring Fakara to prosperity is to create a port to open up trade with Fardale,” Rejji said. “Do you have any ideas where I should do this?”
“There is a small village at the mouth of the Ghala River,” offered Yltar. “It has a fine harbor. It is far enough away from the rest of Fakara that no tribe has claimed it as their own.”
“I thought the Qubari never left the jungle,” interjected Mistake. “How do you know about this village?”
“Qubari leave the jungle on scouting expeditions,” answered Yltar. “When Dumo spoke about only two people leaving, he was referring to a more permanent state. Those two chose to live outside the jungle. If we do not send scouts out into Fakara, how will we know when we are to be attacked?”
“Where is this village?” asked Rejji.
“The Ghala River runs eastward from the Bone Mountains to the sea just north of the jungle,” answered Dumo. “You would have had to cross it to get to Mount Kiator, although it was nothing more than a stream where you ventured. The mouth of the river is actually quite close to the edge of the jungle.”
“Wouldn’t your people be kind of obvious outside the jungle?” queried Mistake. “I mean loincloths and spears are not exactly standard Fakaran garb.”
“That would be the case,” laughed Dumo. “Our scouts wear traditional Fakaran garb when they go scouting. They also do not take their spears. They use one of these.”
Dumo reached into his belt and produced what appeared to be a short section of bamboo. “It is a blowpipe,” Dumo smiled. “We have various darts for it. Some are poisonous, some carry acid from plants here in the jungle, and some carry tyrik venom which causes an almost instant paralysis. We have had many generations to perfect playing the role of a Fakaran. Our scouts are never caught.”
“Impressive,” nodded Mistake. “Do you think I could have one of those blowpipes?”
“I think you should each have one,” stated Yltar. “They are easily concealable and yet they often come in handy.”
“Well I see no reason to put off this trip to Angragar,” decided Rejji. “I do not think we will learn much more from the records in the temple. I think we should leave in the morning.”
“You are anxious to put this jungle behind you grandson,” nodded Dumo sadly. “I shall not make the mistake I did with your father. I will have my people alter armor for the three of you today. The least we can do is to make sure you are protected as best we can. I do hope that this is not farewell, but that your absence will be temporary.”