Songweaver's Awakening

Chapter 12 - Rajheem

Rajheem pulled nervously at the hem of his brown servant’s tunic.  He’d not been able to resist the lure that Eris had dangled in front of his nose.  And Eris had to have known it.  Without saying a further word on the matter, he’d dropped Rajheem off at the inner city gates and told him to meet him outside Helen’s palace if he wanted to know more.  If the Hajinni had truly been musicians before this country was founded, Rajheem had to know why they now shunned music.  He had to know their songs.  It was a hunger that gnawed at him day after day and invaded his dreams.  After two weeks had passed, he’d found another chance to sneak out of the palace.

He only had a brief moment to admire the blue skies and tall sandstone buildings when a merchant accosted him, grabbing him by the arm.  The merchant’s black hair was slicked back with oil.  His clothes clung to him in slippery silken folds.  Baubles adorned his every limb—cheap confections of glass and metal.  He walked with a lilting gait, somewhere in between a young man in the throes of bravado, and a man who’d had too much to drink.  Rajheem found himself filled with an instant dislike.

“Please, young sir, take a look at my wares.  They are fit for the Third Seat herself!”

Rajheem pulled his arm back, feeling more than a little annoyed.  “I don’t have any coin.”

The merchant followed his steps.  “Ah, so they all say.  But look here.”  He drew out a long chain with a gaudy glass jewel on the end and held it out.  “The Jewel of Eris.”

Rajheem stopped to inspect the merchant more closely.  Eris.  First a city guard, and now a cutthroat merchant.  He wore the disguise as another man might wear a mask.

“You have fine taste,” Eris said with the slightest of winks and the hint of a leer.  “Now if you lean in closer, I’ll whisper its price in your ear.”

Rajheem obliged and became uncomfortably aware of the thick, flowery perfume that wafted from Eris’ skin.  The Fair Folk Queen rose up in his mind, fine black hair falling over soft pale shoulders, her rosy lips parted invitingly.  When Eris began to speak, the image vanished.

“There’s a drinking hall around the corner, next to the statue of Majrah.  It's called ‘The Rising Sun.’  Wait there for me."  Eris drew back and said loudly, “Worth every coin, my young lad.  Tell your sweet Raja about it, I implore you.”

Rajheem scowled and walked away.  He found the drinking hall easily enough.  Majrah Alahn stood proudly in the middle of a small square around the corner, bronze legs set slightly apart and staff held in one hand.  A tiny, trickling fountain sprung out from the spot where his staff connected with the white marble base.  Majrah was the founder of Assenaj, the white city, the first capital of Hajinn.  The ancestry of House Alahn could be traced to this one man.  The sculptor had given him a proud, noble-looking face, but Rajheem had always imagined the man to look something like an outskirter—thin and gaunt from lack of water and fruitless wanderings.

The Rising Sun was on the western end of the square, a small, squat sandstone building.  It looked much the same on the inside—dark, nondescript, and clean.  A multitude of rugs lay spread over the floor, their edges overlapping.  The tables were low to the ground and bordered on each side by flat square cushions.  A few patrons sat at the tables, their legs crossed beneath them, talking in low voices while they puffed at pipes filled with marikhun leaves.  Rajheem took a seat at the end of a long table by the door and waited.  The bitter smoke filled the room and made his eyes water.

The man standing in the corner, etched silver bowl of marikhun leaves cupped in one hand and pitcher of ale clutched in the other, cast a pointed look in Rajheem's direction.  Rajheem hunched over and avoided his eyes.  He let his hands drop into his lap so as not to touch the pipes laid neatly on the table in front of him.  Smoking marikhun leaves was an expensive pastime.  He had his lutes and his fine clothes, but he didn't have so much as a copper rinham to his name.  He never had use for coin when he lived in the palace and his every need was cared for.