Chapter 18

One day turned into two. Then a week’s journey to Kaosa, the Qirin capital, became a three-week talking tour through the various districts of the Old Folk whose borders only they knew. While he was tired of answering the same questions, he was not tired or vexed. During these transitional weeks, Zuri came to understand why the Ghura chose the Folk to tend Fundazioa; they listened. The Folk were pleasant for the most part, except for that one night in Premia. Or they were pleasant because they had heard about the one night in Premia. Time would tell.

Zuri walked into Kaosa unescorted, but not alone. He had concluded several discussions with the Council of Elders along the way, most of which he was comfortable with. With each conversation, Zuri grew in confidence that the goals he set were worthy and, just as important, obtainable. At the end of the three weeks, he was convinced that his first goal had been achieved. The Old Folk had accepted his mastery and were preparing to return to Fundazioa, albeit at a pace and structure they chose themselves. They took pride in being handed a problem and solving it themselves. Zuri was astute, choosing silence and acquiescence to their plans.

Kaosa was another test though. The word itself meant chaos in one of the earlier languages and therein lay the challenge. Could the Ghura bring order to the chaos? There was a Governor and a sprinkling of Nobles along with a temple housing the Gura-sho, the administrative Gura for the province. Both institutions posed challenges to the Ghura’s mission. However, Qirin Province was left mostly unto itself, making Zuri’s foray an experiment in isolation. None would be the wiser for some time.

Zuri slipped into town with a chicken farmer who needed an extra hand with a larger than usual cache of eggs. They guided the asses into the market square by the Governor’s palace, staking out a spot after paying a purveyor’s fee to the fat bureaucrat in charge of the market. The fat man started to argue that an additional fee was necessary for the prime location, but the Ghura flicked the man’s aura with the back of his finger. The man suddenly felt nauseous. As the bureaucrat departed, the farmer began unpacking his wares.

When the market began to fill with customers, Zuri signaled with his staff in hand to the farmer and departed. Walking the streets of Kaosa was disconcerting after the backroads of Qirin. The streets were dirty and strewn with garbage. Some areas reeked of human filth. He had expected homeless in the streets and gangs of young men, but he saw none. The day was quite early though.

Entering the temple square, Zuri was mildly interested in the line of people queued up in front of the rectory next to the temple. Everyone had a bucket in hand. Taking a moment to evaluate the people, he catalogued drug addicts with their painfully thin bodies, alcoholics with puffy features, and families looking drawn and scruffy. There were others thrown into the mix, but he was no longer curious. He had witnessed these collections before in his hometown and in the Capital. The Kingdom appeared to grow them everywhere it had a footprint.

Zuri stepped into the temple, finding it empty again. Knowing what would happen but still curious, he walked over to the Pointing Chayre and sat down. The familiar tingle of energy filled his hands as he rested them on the arms. He arose without further ado.

He walked down the hallway with his head cocked, hearing nothing. As he strode down the longer hallway, he saw a man sitting at the secretary’s desk with a normal aura about him, certainly not a Gura’s. He cleared his throat as he silently entered the room, drawing the man’s attention.

“Er, hello,” the man said with consternation clearly written across his face. “Gura, sir?”

“I am not a Gura,” Zuri said, leaning on his staff. “I am Zuri, Ghura First Master, out of Fundazioa. Where is Deredia?”

“On his way to the Centennial Convocation in Lewa Ilu,” the man said. “Did I hear you correctly, Fundazioa?”

“Aye,” Zuri said. “There’s no such thing as a Centennial Convocation. I was Gura once and of such things I would know. What is going on?”

“I don’t know but the Gura-sho was perturbed, even agitated,” the man said. “He was ordered to recall all the Guras in Qirin and send them to the Convocation as well.”

“They recalled the Guras of Qirin?” Zuri said with disbelief. “Events must be going to hell in a handbasket in the Kingdom if they asked for Qirin. Um, who are you?”

“Kotazar, lay administrator for Qirin district, at your service,” he said.

“The cheap bastard splurged for an administrator,” Zuri said. “My, how miracles can still happen. He treats every Gura like shit.”

“Well, he’s traveling and I’m cursorily in charge, uh, Ghura?” Kotazar said.

“I think I understand,” Zuri said, tapping the side of his head. “You are responsible for the line of hungry people going into the rectory. You opened up the coffers to feed them.”

“Maybe, depends on who is asking,” Kotazar said, leaning back in his chair.

“Someone who has stood in one of those lines in his youth,” Zuri said. “I did not expect to see such a thing in Qirin after my first time through the city. The reception I received was dismal. I approve, as if you even needed such approval.”

The man shuffled in his seat. “You don’t sound like any Gura I’ve met, yet you’re here and sorta dressed like one. May I inquire who in hell you are, claiming to have come from the Forsaken Plain?”

“You are not of the Old Folk,” Zuri said with a sad smile.

“Born and raised in Duran Province,” the man said. “I was sent here by the Gura-sho in Covanera as an auditor about nine months ago. When the call came for the Gura to return to Lewa Uli, I was handed the keys to the place. And you, sir?”

“The easiest way to explain is to correct your misperception,” Zuri said as he stood up straight. “The Forsaken Plain is not forsaken and whatever barriers were in place to keep the Old Folk away from their ancestral home on the plain, they have been removed. Second, everything you know about Kaosa is true to the borders of Kaosa. The rest of Qirin is a vibrant land that is closed to most outsiders, including you. Concentrated in Kaosa are the drug addictions, the suffering, and the government corruption. Even the Guras were kept at arm’s length in Qirin, although you should have no doubts as to why.”

“I don’t understand, do not the Guras say ‘God is great?’” Kotazar asked. “Doesn’t this imply they serve all people because it is the divine will?”

“The Old Folk say, ‘God is a given,’” Zuri said. “All of the rest of life is up to us. I have never lacked a meal or shelter over my head in Qirin although I have almost no coin in my pocket. I am considered rich here, unlike the other provinces. The Guras lie to themselves as much as they lie to people who have coin, as they must lie to you based on your questions. You are an auditor, what can you say to dismiss my words?”

“Your approach certainly adds context to what I have seen,” Kotazar said. “But a Ghura?”

“We are the true masters from which the Guras sprang,” Zuri said. “They forgot almost everything and what they did not forget, they perverted for their own ends. I should know because I graduated from the Seminary in Lewa Ilu. What they remember of the ancient ways, they remember dimly, a ragged imitation of a greatness they can never re-acquire.”

“A little doom and gloom there, aren’t you?”

Zuri leaned forward and touched the man’s Ahsa, watching it ripple like a wave back and around again.

“Aagh! What was that?”

“That is the power of the Ghura,” Zuri said. “The knowledge that the Gura lost fifty generations ago and today cannot even imagine it exists.”

“I believe, I believe. Just don’t do that again,” Kotazar said, rubbing his arms while protecting his torso.

“I apologize,” Zuri said with a bow. “When words will not convince, a demonstration is necessary. You are the first among the other peoples of the kingdom with whom I’ve had this conversation.”

“Thank you for the honor of being first, I suppose,” Kotazar said. “I don’t feel like this vibrating sensation is much of an honor.”