Not Only Raji. . .

[Kereth]

Okay, the story is already well underway, but I like the avenue for feedback this forum provides, and it tempts me, so I'm gonna' start posting here and quickly catch up with the story that has been told in game. (I may very possibly even get ahead of it before the end, so if you want the early scoop, watch for it here!) I've never used this forum before, so I'm going to see how it feels. Now that I have that clarified, off to create that "Comments' thread and then get some story in here! Charge!

[Kereth]

What follows is the tale of a former Imam. It has been passed down
through the procession of Imam until the time it was requested to be
brought to light, namely the time of the "Last of the Third Cycle."

The significance of this indication shall be indicated, to those who
watch closely, as the story unfolds. For now, it is sufficient to say that
it refers to Kereth, who was the seventh of the third cycle of seven
Imam.

Having received it, he has taken great pains to transcribe the text into a
format that may be read by all who seek it, translating from it's original
tongue into the common, and from a first-person account, to a
narrative.

The tale comprises many significant events in the history of the
retroverse, including the transformation of Raji, the formation of two
major guilds, and the reason for the start of the old Hand saying:
"Not only Raji. . ."



---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": There won't be any naked anakim!
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter One: The Imam
Part One: To Create a Successor

When the first earthquake struck Shara, the Imam was in his room,
holding a private consultation with a new mustajib. So involved
were they in their meeting, that one would not have held them
responsible if they had missed the earthquake entirely.

Their business concluded shortly thereafter, and Huja rolled over
onto his back, breathing heavily.

The Imam, Huja, was a male anakim. He was strong and well
conditioned, as any Imam is expected to be, and his hair was a
pale, cinnamon-brown. He wore his hair combed back typically,
though it was far from orderly at the moment, and he kept it cut
short enough to keep out of his eyes when he battled. His skin was
well tanned and glistened with sweat, but even the most strenuous
of exercises, such as the one he had just finished with, would only
leave him winded for a few moments.

Next to him, beneath the covers, the mustajib stretched her nubile
body tiredly, moaning in contentment. Huja glanced over at her,
unconcerned.

She was younger than he, though still fully-blossomed into
womanhood, a fact that was fully apparent from the shape her
body made beneath the sheets. She rolled over to face the Imam,
and her short, golden hair dangled across her features. She smiled
at him, a sort of sleepy expression, like someone waking up from a
very pleasant dream. "That was amazing," she said, "and however
did you manage the earthquakes?" Her face broke into something
of a mischievous grin at the last.

Huja gave no reply and she smirked, leaning over to him. The
sheets fell away slightly and she gave him a quick peck before
turning and climbing from the bed with another satisfied groan.
She stepped away, collecting her robes and drawing them close
around her supple form.

Inwardly, Huja gave a very different sort of groan. That witch, he
thought, did she really think he did this because he enjoyed it?

He stepped out of bed and began replacing his discarded pants and
shirt, slipping the pants on and tying the shirt behind him. It is
interesting to note that during this time period on Raji, most shirts
had no back to them. They were put on over the front and held in
place by a tie at the waist and behind the neck. This was because,
of the races that existed on Raji at the time, most of the shirts were
worn by anakim or atomy, who both had to make room for their
wings. Of the other races, the jinn and arcanus would typically not
wear shirts, preferring either togas or going topless, the suula were
incapable of wearing them at all, and the ettin were generally
avoided and presumed responsible for making their own, which
they usually didn't, being too stupid for such a complicated task.

Huja ignored the female anakim- who was watching him dress
with an expression of extreme disappointment- and stuffed his feet
into his boots. He had explained to her what his reasons for
sleeping with her had been, and he had meant them, even if she
had not believed him. As Imam, he needed to have a successor,
and the successor must necessarily be his descendant. Former
Imam had gotten married and started families to provide
themselves with such an heir, but Huja felt familial responsibilities
would distract him too frequently from his duties as Imam, as he
felt they had for his predecessors. That was why he slept with
other women without having any personal attachment to them. It
was not for pleasure. He did it because it was his sworn duty to do
so and nothing more.

He stood, and the mustajib sighed. "Going already?" she asked,
making only the scarcest attempt at holding her robe closed
properly.

Huja nodded at her. "I am," he said, "I have much business to
attend to. I thank you for your cooperation in this."

That mischievous grin appeared again. "It was my pleasure," she
said. He simply nodded to her again and stepped out of the room,
finding himself face-to-face with Khalid.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A Jinn and a Prophet who shows
no signs of levity.
---------------------


Part Two: Priveleged With Humor

Khalid raised an eyebrow in amusement, looking first at the Imam,
then at the woman behind him and back again at the Imam. The
female anakim quickly closed her robes properly, and Khalid's
face twisted into a nigh-demonic grin.

"An earthquake," Khalid said, "impressive. You must have been
working hard in there."

Huja rolled his eyes and stepped past Khalid, not giving the
woman a backward glance. Khalid turned, floating along side the
anakim who was, by tradition, his "heir, executor, and interpreter"
and had been destined to be such since the opening of the cycle of
seven Imam.

Khalid was a Jinn, and a powerfully built one at that. When his
race had been freed from their ancient imprisonment to mortals,
and King Odie had offered them refuge in his distant city-kingdom
of Suthnas, Khalid had taken another course, traveling instead to
Shara, where he had first been taught of Cyllyl. The Hand of the
Black Rose had seemed a noble and a powerful group to him, and
it had been his pleasure to associate with them for many years, yet
when he had first arrived at Shara, he had no idea of the dreams
that would be offered to him by the Divine, nor did he suspect that
the Hands would one day revere him as their Prophet.

Together, Executor and Regent moved away from the Imam's
personal quarters and through the grand hall of the cathedral that
stood without them. A great mosaic of a clenched fist around a
Black Rose decorated the floor, and the two made no sound as
they crossed it.

"She was quite an attractive one this time," Khalid commented
idly as they exited the cathedral and stepped into the streets of the
city. Arcanus merchants hefted their wares calling out bargains to
the passerby. The Imam shrugged as they made their way through
the crowd uninhibited.

"I ask only that she is willing," Huja said, "nothing more."

Khalid permitted his grin to widen at this. "That is all most men
ask," he said.

Huja sighed, not appreciating the joke. "Khalid, you know why I
do such things. Must you insist on misinterpreting my motives at
every opportunity?"

"I'll misinterpret my own visions if it would make you smile for
once," Khalid said, "but one way or the other, I'm sure she enjoyed
herself. Really, I've never thought that being an Imam could be so
incredibly. . . convenient." Khalid's grin had not faded.

"You know a Fidai would be dismissed for such levity as yours,"
Huja said, unamused, "And a Dai would likely be executed."

"But never a prophet," said Khalid, giving Huja a hearty slap
across the back, a gesture that was greatly unappreciated, and Huja
quickly brushed the hand away with a wingtip. "Such is the
privilege of my position," the jinn concluded, "And don't tell me
you don't go enjoying the privileges of yours. I SAW where you
just came from. . ."

Huja snorted, deciding not to pursue the subject any further. "And
what brings you out to see me today, Khalid? I trust it was not
simply to harry me about my personal life."

"Ah, yes," said Khalid, his grin disappearing at last. "Business,"
he said, "always business. . ."

They walked forward in silence for a moment, until they rounded a
corner and the great Rajian Ocean spread out before them,
glittering in the sunlight beyond Shara.

"I've had another vision," Khalid said, "something I thought you
might like to hear about. . ."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Khalid's vision includes bunnies.
---------------------


Part Three: Premonition

It was a long moment before Khalid spoke again. Huja allowed
him all the time that was necessary. The desert sun baked them
with its lurid rays. A dry wind whisked past them. In the
distance, the ocean glimmered brightly.

"In my vision," Khalid said at length, "I saw the desert of Shara."

Huja nodded. This seemed to be a recurring symbol in Khalid's
visions and one that he was familiar with the interpretation of.
"Go on," he said.

"The desert was filled with a great multitude of people. All the
races, and every nation on Raji seemed to be represented among
their ranks: suula, jinn, anakim, atomy, arcanus, even ettin. In the
center stood the leaders of all. You and I stood foremost, with all
the lesser officials around us. Odie was there, as was Sadam,
Abraham, Nebu, and every other major or minor magistrate the
world over. The land was peaceful, and everything was as it
should be. Then the sands of time began to tremble."

Khalid paused again, looking off into the sky. His face was a
mask of deep concentration as he tried to recall every detail that
might be important to the Imam. His stocky, green form quivered
slightly at a large gusting of wind. "Many people fell," he said.

Huja raised an eyebrow. "They fell?" he asked, "Where?

"Yes," Khalid said, "They fell, screaming as they did so. I do not
know where they went. They plummeted from view, right down
into the sands as if it no longer could support their weight. The
entire world seemed to fall as one into an endless abyss, but a
handful of us remained. Strange beasts rose up from the sands, the
likes of which I have never seen before. Cats that walked as men,
horses with the upper bodies of wingless anakim, pale
monstrosities with fangs and blood-filled eyes. . . all manner of
abominations, such that I could never hope to describe them all.
They filled the places of those who had fallen and then fell also, as
more rose to take their places. In time, very few of the original
creatures remained. None save Odie, as much as I am loathe to
admit anything that might be perceived in his favor. Even you and
I fell by the end, fading in the selfsame instant. Others replaced
us, and others still replaced them in turn." Khalid turned to look at
Huja, his expression becoming focused and resolute. "This
continued for some time, with no further events of note, save that
we too were finally replaced by these creatures, but there was
never an ending to those who came to replace us. That was all I
saw."

Huja said nothing. His expression had grown distant. A stray
hand came down and rested upon his dagger and his eyes
wandered out to the sea then back to the city, blank and unfocused.

"What does it mean?" Khalid asked.

Huja said nothing, but Khalid could see a strange tremor in his
fingertips and a alien glimmer behind his eyes. What was that
look in Huja? He did not think he had ever seen it before.

The Imam shook himself, gazing about himself in something that
Khalid could almost place as desperation. "What does it mean?"
Khalid asked him again, "Do you know the interpretation?"

That glimmer. That look in his eyes, it was something. . .
something. . .

"I do," said Huja, taking a breath that was slow and deep.

Was it fear?
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": The interpretation isn't remotely
ominous, and Huja even sings a song about parakeets: lots and lots
of parakeets.
---------------------


Part Four: Revelation

"The desert," Huja began calmly, "Is the world, Raji, and the
people are the inhabitants of it. The beginning of the dream is the
present day. All the races live together in the world in complete
harmony. At their center are those on whom they look for
guidance. They are their counselors, rulers, and protectors in the
time that is to come. They have none other to rely on, and their
fate will be determined by the actions of those who you saw."

Khalid nodded. "We were foremost, you even more so than I. I
assume that it is our place more than any other to guide future
events?"

"That would be probable. The others who will serve well are
the others who appeared. Abraham Ben-Levi will serve those at
Elysium, Nebu, the atomy, will guide the Air City, Sadam will
guide the Alchemists, and so forth."

"And the other magistrates? I think I saw the mayor of Nineveh
and some farmer from Ferne-Den in there. . ."

"Then they have roles to play as well, though we may not see
them. All must do their part, for all were present. Many will still
fall regardless."

"And what are they to do their part in?" Khalid asked, "What is
coming? Where did the people fall to?"

"I don't know," Huja said, "but I can guess."

Khalid waited for the answer (it took a few moments in coming).
Huja's face grew distant again and he finally replied.

"The falling is death," he said, "There will be great changes in Raji
soon- things that I cannot even begin to really think about.
Millions will die, and. . . I do not know what they are, but other
things will come to replace them. You and I will die in the same
moment as one another, and we will be replaced by our successors.
The Imamic line will never be broken, though Cyllyl may go
through surprising and unusual means to maintain it."

Khalid nodded slowly, letting the gravity of the situation wash
over him like a slow, watery mudslide. He could even feel it
oozing into those unpleasant locations he didn't want to think
about. "What will we do then?" he asked.

"Millions will die," Huja said, "and it is up to us to protect them.
We will do whatever is necessary. The will of Cyllyl is
tantamount. We have no other options."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Other options!
---------------------


Part Five: Resolution

Huja soared alone over Shara, taking in the sights and relaxing his
mind, hoping to relieve some of the stresses of the passing day.
The skies were streaked with fire and blood. Dusk was upon the
people of Shara.

He could see far from his vantage point, even beyond the desert to
the wide sweeping plains and far out over the open sea. At the
center of it, beneath him, wedged between the ocean and the
desert, lay the port city of Shara. Torchlight glimmered in the
fading light. Its people hustled about, tiny specks on the roads,
wandering about their daily affairs, each struggling through their
own little dramas and difficulties, completely unaware of whatever
disaster was soon to befall them.

Huja was sure that it waited for them, whatever it was. It waited
for everyone. That was what Khalid's dream had meant, and his
dreams were never wrong. Huja tilted his body over backward,
arching downward silently toward the city below him. Nobody
would hear him. Nobody would even see him descend. Practices
of stealth were so long ingrained into the Imam's movements that
they came to him entirely without thinking. He soared,
plummeting, and the ground rushed toward him like a charging
pack of ettin.

At the last conceivable moment, Huja arched his wings and pulled
up, gliding down an empty street by the docks. The smells of the
sea and the fishermen's catches danced in his nostrils. The salty
foam of the air rippled along his skin, and he cut around a corner,
barely squeezing his wingspan into the new roadway. The
buildings were shaped in the old style, adobe and ceramic walls
with hanging, tent-like rooftops. The larger buildings, such as the
Cathedal of Cyllyl (though it was known by other names as well)
were stone, topped with pointed domes that shone in the light of
the setting sun.

What was to become of this place? he though, What of this
people?

When the time came, Cyllyl would know. Of that, Huja was
certain. No problem existed that could not be solved by her
infinite Reason.

He flapped onward, shooting out over the docks and across the
sea, painted in the same incendiary tones as the rest of the world.
Waves sloshed beneath him, and he barreled outward, leaving the
land in his wake.

Cyllyl would know what to do. She always did. Whatever
happened, it would be she whom they would always rely upon.

Behind him, for the second time that day, the ground trembled
under Shara.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Acid Arrow!
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Two: The Dai
Part One: Plans and Greetings

The room was dark, secluded deep beneath the cathedral in one
of the intricate catacombs that lined the bowels of the Rajian soil.
Had it been near the surface, somewhere with a window and
access to the outside world, the sun's morning rays would have
been seen, shining into the room and exposing the actions of the
one within to the light of the coming day.

The room was broad, and strangely cubical, measuring
approximately fourteen feet wide in every direction. The walls
were bare, save for those implements being used by the occupant.
These walls were unremarkable structures, cut stone, and they
served no purpose in decoration. At one end, thin, wooden
pedestals of varying heights provided the only sort of furnishings
available. At the top of each, a cheaply-made clay pot was
positioned, ugly and empty, though the man who had placed them
there was still several moments from deriving any use from them.

That man's name was Salem. He was an arcanus man, short for his
race, but still much taller any jinn or anakim he might stumble
across. His skin was the darkest blue, tanned from the Sharan sun
until his complexion was nearly blackened. Many of his people
found their way as merchants, buying and selling and making a
profit from the needs of the other races, but Salem had chosen
another road. He was a Hand, a Dai in fact, an assassin, instructor,
and worshipper of Cyllyl.

The most notable feature in the room was the portal standing in the
middle of it, shimmering red and leading into places few would
dare to tread through. The rippling bands of energy that made it
up cast a crimson haze on their surroundings, offering one of the
few sources of light to be had. Glistening white teeth sparkled
between charcoal-blue lips as Salem grinned at it, watching it and
reveling in the triumph of its creation. His powers were coming
faster now, and the project was already in full swing. Cyllyl
permitting, things would continue from here, even without his
supervision. He must be careful, however: the powers he
tampered with were not ones to be taken lightly. He would be
famous for them, to be sure, but he mustn't allow himself to be
reckless.

The portal shuddered and collapsed, and Salem brought his hands
up, gesturing wildly and offering an incantation.

"A burn, a scorch, a trail of pain," he began, "bring low my foes in
a shower of flame!"

Fire erupted from his fingertips, coalescing into a strange arrow of
sorts that rocketed across the room, striking one of the pots and
detonating. The pot was obliterated. Salem grinned again.

Perfect, he thought.

As he thought this, a second pot shattered, seemingly of its own
accord. The arcanus snarled, glancing at it impatiently. A thin
throwing dagger extended from the remains of the shattered vessel.

Salem turned to find the door open and Huja standing there,
looking up at him.

"A thousand pardons," Salem said, "my Most Holy Imam." He
bowed deeply, though not so far that his head receded to the level
of his relatively diminutive master. "I did not hear you come in."

"No one does," Huja replied, and Salem righted himself. Hands
lashed out without warning, finding more hands coming up to
meet them.

The hands clasped together, Imam and Dai joining in a hearty
greeting. "It is good to see you, my friend," Huja said.

"And you also, my Imam," said Salem, "Cyllyl smiles down on us
as always."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Straight to business!
---------------------


Part Two: Demonstrations

Huja nodded at Salem, stepping past him to survey the rest of the
room. He looked at the demolished pot critically. "Studying some
of the alchemist ways, are we?" he said, "It seems a great deal of
work to go through, just to break a single vase like that."

Salem shrugged at him. "I do not study the alchemist ways," he
said, "I have been employing my studies into the learning of magic
through my own system. The alchemists fire arrow is an effective
spell, but it is only the first step on a path to far greater
understanding."

Huja raised an eyebrow at him. "And what is your path, my
friend?" he asked. The Dai shrugged once again, declining to
comment.

It was common knowledge, at least to the people of Raji at this
time period, that Hands only trained in Cyllyl's arts until they had
achieved the rank of Fidai. From then on, they were free to
develop their talents in whatever way they liked, so long as they
remained loyal agents of the Divine. Even a Dai was left to train
in his own ways, and thus it was with Salem. Huja remained
silent, intent on forcing an answer from his comrade.

"The path of all magic," said Salem at last, growing impatient in
the Imam's muteness, "I have studied attack in all its forms, and
even a few spells that would be useful along the way. From there,
I have spread out into telemancy, the magic of movement. Such
concepts are the center of our powers and duties to Cyllyl, are they
not?"

Huja nodded, satisfied. "They are," he said, "but so is stealth in
the attack. Speed is critical. An opponent who sees you waving
and muttering at him for several seconds before the blow lands
will have little difficulty in striking before you do."

"And where exactly is my fault in this?" Salem asked.

"It's all well and good to destroy a pot," Huja said, "But not if it
takes you half an hour to demolish all of them."

Salem permitted himself a grin at this. "Then perhaps another
demonstration is in order," he said.

He turned back to the pedestals. His lanky, blue frame was
outlined almost immediately in the darkness as he began to mutter,
twirling his hands around and summoning a flickering, orange
glow before him. Huja watched from behind, counting off
seconds.

"The skin and flesh that quickly scald," Salem intoned, "I call
upon a fireball!"

The fireball erupted from Salem's hands, screeching across the
room and exploding, enveloping all the pedestals. The pots were
thrown free, shattering against the wall. Salem turned back to the
Imam triumphantly. "Well?" he asked.

"Fifteen seconds," Huja said, looking uninterested.

"And?" Salem asked.

"It didn't actually rhyme," said Huja. He looked down, examining
the nails on his left hand.

"It doesn't have to," Salem muttered, "What about the speed? All
the pots at once! Is that fast enough for you?"

Huja looked back up at him. "You know how many daggers I
could have thrown in fifteen seconds?" he asked.

Salem sighed in exasperation, burying his face in his palms. There
was just no getting through to some kinds of people.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Nothing to do today.
---------------------


Part Three: Powers and Duties

"Then I apologize for wasting your fifteen seconds with my
demonstration," said Salem, bowing slightly.

"Think nothing of it," said Huja, "It was a fifteen seconds well
wasted."

Salem shrugged, turning towards the door with the Imam.

There are many who say that a Dai is to the Imam what the Imam
is to the prophet. This is untrue. It is the duty of the Imam to
interpret the revelations of the prophet and to direct the Hands
accordingly. The prophet does not have the power, nor the
authority to interpret his own revelations. The purpose of the Dai
is to act as an intermediary between the Imam and those Hands to
which he or she has been assigned. The Dai is an instructor and a
teacher. It is the Dai's responsibility to interpret the words and
instructions of the Imam. When the Dai says that something was
what the Imam meant, then that was the way it was, unless the
Imam said otherwise. The Imam could interpret his own
statements, and it was the duty of the Dai to explain what they
meant if there was confusion, while the prophet had no command
over his own visions and was totally subject to the judgment of the
Imam, making the relationships between Imam and prophet and
Imam and Dai of a vastly distinctive nature.

Because of the delicate nature of the Dai's position, and the ability
of an unworthy Dai to perpetuate false doctrines, the position of
Dai is one given only to those who have proven themselves to be
of exemplary standing. It is a position given to them in the
greatest and most sacred trust.

Salem was not the only Hand currently serving in the position of
Dai at this time. There were two others: Nusrat, an arcanus, and
Naomi, an atomy.

Of these three, Salem was of the highest degree, the Eighth,
outranked only by Huja in such things. His position was that of
guildmaster. His was the primary responsibility for the secular
affairs of the Hands. Training new recruits, maintaining good
relations with other powers (by keeping them in fear of the Hand's
abilities where possible), and overseeing the financial affairs of the
guild were just a few of the areas for which he was personally
accountable.

Naomi was the first ward, and a Hand of the Seventh Degree. The
responsibilities of the first ward were that of collecting dues and
distributing assignments to full Hands in the field. They also had
a more direct interaction in handling the details of jobs passed
down to them by the guildmaster.

The remaining Dai, Nusrat, was of the Sixth Degree, the lowest
degree at which one may become a Dai, but her responsibilities
beyond that of Dai were limited to her work in the training center.

"Dais must be of dauntless devotion, exceptional education, high
intelligence, commanding appearance, impeccable conduct,
executive ability and captivating courtesy." That was what the
rules said, and any high enough ranking hand would be quick to
quote it in the right situation. Salem could quote it easily enough,
and he made it a standard to live by.

Of Dais there were three and Salem was the greatest. As such, he
must be superior in all other ways as well, and first and foremost
was devotion. A great amount of trust had been placed in him
when he had become a Dai, and it was a trust he would not soon
be betraying. He would not turn on the Imam or Cyllyl, he was
certain. Not for any reason, and not ever.

"So what do we have on the order of business today?" Huja asked
as they stepped out into the passageway, letting the door fall shut
behind them.

"Everything," Salem said, "Everything."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Today they will have a tea party.
There will be tacos and biscuits. No tea.
---------------------


Part Four: The Important Thing

When the prophet has a dream, the Imam interprets it. He
generally will then proceed to tell the interpretation to his Dais and
they to the other Hands. If, however, the Imam wishes the dream
to remain a secret, it is his privilege to tell the Dais absolutely
nothing. This had been the case with the latest dream of the
desert. As such, the Dais, including Salem, knew nothing.

The stone doorway closed and sealed itself behind them as they
stepped out into the corridor. There was no sound as the door
sealed itself, leaving no seam in the regular stone wall. The
hallway beyond the room was black as pitch. Together, Imam and
Dai focused on the blackness, forcing their eyes to adjust to the
dim at a nigh-supernatural rate. The hallway came into view and
they proceeded through the darkness.

"I could cast a spell to bring us light here," Salem commented.
Huja shrugged at him.

"To give sight to yourself is one thing," he said, "but producing
actual light reveals yourself to your enemies as well, in addition to
permitting them to see more clearly. Best to rely on your night
vision, keeping the light to yourself and your enemies already in
the dark."

Salem nodded. "I was merely mentioning it," he said.

"So what of the schedule for today?" Huja asked, "Anything too
terribly important?"

Salem nodded. "You have a meeting with Sadam this afternoon."

"The alchemist master?" Huja said, puzzled, "What is he so
interested in?"

Salem gave a half shrug. "The usual concerns. Elements out of
balance and all that. I think it was something about the end of the
world this time. I assumed you'd be the one to sort it all out."

Huja's eyes narrowed. Salem had not noticed how the Imam's step
had faltered at the explanation and proceeded to walk onward
unconcerned. "End of the world?" Huja asked.

"I don't know either," said Salem, "Presumably the usual alchemist
nonsense. I understand Khalid is rather looking forward to the
meeting. . ."

Huja gave a tiny snort, but didn't smile. Khalid and Sadam, the
Alchemist Guildmaster, had an interesting sort of relationship- one
that seemed to consist solely of Khalid making jokes at the poor
guildmaster's expense. However, Khalid already knew of his
vision and its interpretation. If he knew the nature of the
alchemist's concerns as well, then Salem might be more right than
he knew.

Huja was tempted for a moment to tell Salem of the vision, but he
quickly decided against it. The Dais had not appeared in the
vision. Their place in what was to come would be a minor one.
There was no need to be revealing things to them too soon. Doing
so might cause word to spread unnecessarily, and Huja could only
imagine the kind of panic such rumors would bring.

"So what's on the schedule before then?" Huja asked.

"Something a bit less interesting, I afraid," Salem said.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Nothing interesting at all.
---------------------


Part Five: An Assignment

They stepped around the corner into one of the main corridors,
closing another door behind them, this one made of thick wood
reinforced with steel bands. It locked with an audible click.

"So what is this uninteresting assignment, Salem?" Huja asked as
they strolled along the new corridor. This one was wider than the
first, illuminated by some magical means, making their night
vision unnecessary. A few other Hands proceeded down this hall,
tending to their respective duties, all pausing to bow briefly before
their leaders before moving on their way.

"There has been an abnormally large influx of new Hands lately,"
Salem said, "More mustajibs than we have willing masters to
apprentice them to. The other Dais and myself have even taken on
apprentices of our own, and a few more than we can really
manage."

"So you need me to help pick up the slack as well," Huja said,
"Seems reasonable." It was actually not uncommon for the Imam
to take apprentices. Huja simply avoided it as he did starting a
family, feeling it was an unneeded distraction from his more
important duties. "How many do you need me to handle?"

"Just one," Salem said, "for now, at least. We may have to
reevaluate if the recruits keep on coming in like this, but a single
apprentice for you should suffice for the moment."

Huja nodded. "His name?"

"Her name actually," Salem said, pulling some parchment from a
pocket and checking the notes he had made on it. "Nihan," he said
after a moment. "An anakim like yourself. She just came from
Elysium and proved her proficiency in remarkable time. She has
great potential, if she can learn a bit of gravity. We thought it best
that she be assigned to as competent a master as possible."

"A commendable decision," said Huja. The name actually
sounded vaguely familiar and he wondered if he might have
known the girl's parents at some point. It was of no immediate
concern, however. He would be treating her the same regardless
of any connections they might share.

A new recruit to the Hand guild, known commonly as a mustajib,
would always be trained within the guild for a variable period of
time before being permitted to travel and hone their skills in the
outside world. To graduate from this early training, the mustajib
had to demonstrate basic proficiency in a few, necessary abilities,
such that they would not be considered an embarrassment to the
guild when they departed. Once they had accomplished this, they
were assigned as apprentices to a more experienced Hand, who
would serve as their principle master, instructor, and mentor for
the remainder of their training. Traditionally, only the most
talented mustajibs would be apprenticed directly to the Imam, but
that did not make it a position many upcoming Hands would
clamor for. Imam masters were known to have high standards for
their apprentices- standards that were often not easy to conform to.

They approached the door of the First Ward's office. "She should
be waiting for us here," Salem said, reaching for the doorknob.
Huja nodded, the door opened, and they stepped inside.

Naomi was out. Her tiny desk sat empty, mounted to the wall
about halfway up to their left. Among the various implements
scattered around the room, designed for testing advancing Hands
to verify their preparedness to progress in rank, stood the room's
sole occupant.

She was a female anakim, several inches shorter than the Imam.
Her hair was a bright blond, cut shoulder length and very curly.
Her body was soft and unconditioned, the skin showing through
the back of her shirt between her wings. She was turned away
from them, examining a dummy at the far side of the room. Huja
stopped in his tracks, expressionless, recognizing the woman
immediately.

"My Lord Imam," Salem said, "I present your new apprentice,
Nihan."

Nihan turned, grinning mischievously and bowing before her new
master. "Greetings, my most holy Imam," she said, a bit of a tease
clearly evident in her voice, "Have another earthquake lined up for
me this evening?"
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Special treatment.
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Three: The Apprentice
Part One: Cold Winged Shoulder

Salem hesitated. "Have. . . you two met?" he asked, casting a
curious glance from one anakim to the other.

"Can't honestly recall," said Huja. His expression was something
passive, verging on boredom. Across the room, the mustajib's grin
had first widened and then faded. Now she just looked cheated.

Of course he remembered her, she thought. He had to, and how
dare he go pretending otherwise! She narrowed her eyes at him.
A small, offended pout played across her expression. The
nerve. . .

Huja wasn't even looking at her. Instead, he made his way past a
knife throwing target and over to a file cabinet positioned in the
corner. He opened a drawer, thumbing through its contents. As he
did so, Salem made to excuse himself. "If there is nothing
further," the Dai stated, "I should probably return to my exercises."

Huja nodded absentmindedly and pulled a file from the cabinet,
closing the drawer casually. It might surprise some that such a
secretive group as the Hand of the Black Rose should actually
keep paperwork on it members. It is, unfortunately, a necessary
evil in any organization of its complexity. The file cabinet in
question had been blessed by the Cyllyl, however, and only the
Imam or one of his Dais could open it. Huja examined the
documents, finding the mustajib's name and personal information.
"Nihan, is it?" he asked.

Nihan eyed the Imam unhappily. She had assumed that once
Salem departed, her superior would drop his pretenses. He had
not. She confirmed her name for him, and if he caught the trace of
coldness in her voice as she did so, he did not acknowledge it. He
continued going over the papers.

"Nihan," he muttered looking across the information, "Born in
Elysium, full name Nihan Bath-Asher, 126 years-old. . . barely of
age. Did your parents approve of you joining the Hands?" He
looked up at her at last.

She hesitated, then shook her head. "No," she said, "They weren't
terribly fond of my decision."

Huja nodded, looking back at the forms. "I wouldn't imagine so,"
he said, "Your ancestor's have been serving as priests and templars
for Sikkar for many generations in anticipation of his coming, but
I suppose you probably have siblings and cousins who can do the
anticipating for them." Nihan nodded.

But how could he be so indifferent to her like this? Could he
really have forgotten that they had been sleeping together only
two weeks previous?

Huja opened the drawer again and slid the folder back into place.
He closed the drawer, turning to face his latest charge. He eyed
her carefully, looking her up and down, measuring. Something
inside Nihan shivered slightly. She had seen a similar look from
him once, but it had meant something entirely different at the time.
Huja strode across the room, heading straight towards her. She
tensed, suddenly nervous and uncertain of what she should be
expecting. She didn't see him slip the two, wooden, practice
daggers from the rack as he passed it.

He stopped several feet short of her. "Well, Miss Bath-Asher," he
began. Nihan cringed both at the formality of his address as well
as the use of her surname. It was something she had abandoned in
coming here. The rest of her family no longer considered her a
Bath-Asher, and she was inclined to agree with them. "Naomi
asserts that you have demonstrated the required proficiency and
are ready to be moved into an apprenticeship," the Imam said, "Is
that correct?"

"It is," Nihan said. Everything about this man, his expression, his
tone of voice, even his bearing, reeked of insufferable formality:
the way you would talk to a stranger, someone you just met.
Imam or no, he had no right to be treating her like this. "It was all
in that paperwork you were looking at," she snapped, "What more
do you want to know about it?"

"I want you to prove it," he said.

Nihan's eyes became slits. Now he had the nerve to question her
readiness? So be it then.

"Fine," she said, grabbing a practice dagger from a rack and
assuming a fighting position, "Let's do this."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Prodigy
---------------------


Part Two: Maneuver and Opportunity

[Disclaimer: The following passage includes many bits of
terminology that might only be familiar to those who have trained
in western-medieval armed combat, especially where it involves
daggers. My apologies to the rest of you. Hopefully it will still
make some sense, even if you're missing a few details here and
there.]

Nihan assumed fighting stance, holding her practice dagger
upblade in the trail position. Huja did not react, and she held that
place for a moment, hesitating. So now what? Was he going to
try to defend himself, or did she just have to jab him a few times
with this thing to show that she knew what she was doing?

She took a quick skirt step to her left. He rotated his body,
keeping her in front of him. Another skirt step. Again he
followed. Have it your way, she thought.

She made a quick quarter-lunge at him. Huja skipped backward,
keeping his hands at his sides. He moved just far enough to avoid
contact with her thrust, and she pulled back into a fighting stance.

The Imam gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Nihan looked
annoyed. She switched her dagger to downblade, keeping it
trailing. Huja's expression remained unchanged.

She took a full cross-step to the right. Still he turned to face her.

No sooner had her feet completed the step than she moved
forward, striking at him twice, the first one directed at his upper
gate. He stepped backward out of the way. She turned her strike
around moving across her body and going for his upper gate along
the opposite side. Again he stepped back.

Nihan didn't stop there. He couldn't dodge backward from
everything. She stepped into him, letting her dagger fall back out
of the lead position. A quick flick of her wrist moved it into
upblade, and she gave a full lunge, aiming her blow right for the
lower end of the Imam's sternum.

Huja's wings flapped, and he pulled back, being forced at last from
his composed posture. He threw himself rearward, using his
wings for extra thrust and matching the mustajib's lunge in
velocity. Nihan extended herself a full eight feet with the thrust,
struggling for every extra inch she could push it, hoping to
outreach the Imam's maneuver, but it was hopeless.

Huja caught himself short just before the lunge lost the last of its
momentum, letting it catch up with him. As it reached him, he
brought a hand around, pushing the approaching blade to the side
at its wielder's wrist. The thrust was just past him. Had he cared
to do so, he could have disarmed her there, but Hands were trained
to do far more deadly things in such a situation.

Nihan caught her breath as she felt herself go off balance with the
overextended strike. Huja had her by the wrist, and she had no
spare weapon to follow through with.

It was then that she noticed the wooden practice dagger that the
Imam held. It was pinched in the hand that was holding her wrist.
An instant's examination showed her that the other hand was
carrying such a dagger as well, but by then it was too late.

The master was already closing with his apprentice.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Infighting
---------------------


Part Three: Thoughts on Steady Ground

The ground shook. This was still a relatively new thing for the
people of Shara. Unbeknown to them, it was happening all over
Raji, and it was a relatively new thing everywhere.

The people of Shara had generally decided that it was a freak
phenomena that would be passing sooner-or-later on its own.

They were wrong, but that's another part of our story.

Earthquakes happened. The reasons they happened were widely
debated, whether something to do with Ishtar, Cyllyl, the approach
of Sikkar, or even a few crazy alchemist theories about slabs of
rock or somebody's dishes getting ground together. The
alchemists were always a little odd when it came to offering
explanations of how the world worked, but most people had
learned to ignore them.

Regardless of the reason for it, earthquakes did happen, and when
they happened, they were rarely alone. There were always
aftershocks, and there could even (and would often) be several of
them. Those usually only lasted for a few days afterward, but the
duration varied a bit, and it was only a matter of time before there
was an earthquake that sent aftershocks out for longer time than
most people were used to, right?

Two weeks had passed now, and eyebrows were beginning to be
raised. Not only were there still aftershocks, but some even
claimed that there were more of them and that they were getting
bigger.

These claims about increases in the intensity and regularity of the
quakes could not be confirmed yet. No one had bothered to time
them, and the times were too infrequent to draw any definite
conclusions from them if somebody had. Also, none of the
earthquakes had been strong enough to do more than knock a few
stacks of parchment over or rearrange the items on somebody's
shelves. Whatever was going on, it was nothing the people of
Shara couldn't just sit out. It wasn't hurting anything, and no
earthquakes could keep on coming forever, right?

On Raji today, few hold any belief that the earthquakes are some
sort of passing phenomena. There are also few who still question
the origins of such tremblings. Even the alchemists have finally
admitted they were wrong.

When our story takes place, however, it is still long before the
resolution of such issues, and each person was entitled to his or her
own theories on the matter. Nihan, for example, was convinced
that the blame for all earthquakes rested rightfully on the Imam.

And she was pretty sure he was cheating.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A Failed Test
---------------------


Part Four: A Passing Grade

Nihan was already off balance from the over-extended lunge, and
the sudden tremor only added to her feeling of disorientation. The
Imam gave her wrist an extra tug, pulling her just a little more out
of position, and closed with her, wooden daggers cutting the air.

He threw himself right at her, moving under her extended arm and
coming up behind her in his attack. As he passed, his left handed
dagger struck her squarely in the middle of the chest- a hard jab at
the bottom end of the sternum. Had the blow been sufficiently
strong, it might have caused an irregular heartbeat, sending her
into cardiac arrest on the spot. Nihan did not have time to fully
contemplate this as his right hand gave an underhanded jab to her
side, a blow that would have ruptured a kidney in an actual fight.

He came out behind her to her right. She expected him to stop
there, but he did not. Before she had even begun to regain her
balance, she felt one of the daggers jam into the left side of her
upper leg. That was either a hamstring shot or a stab into the hip,
she didn't have time to determine which. It was followed fluently
by a down stroke with the other weapon between her shoulder
blade and her backbone.

Huja came out to the rear of her at the left. Okay, he had made his
point. She was no match for him. Did he really have to
demonstrate by murdering her so thoroughly? She had scarcely
begun to think this when she felt the blows continue.

This one hurt. Not nearly as much as it would have if the strike
had been made with a real dagger, but it hurt nonetheless. She
knew he was supposed to hit hard. It was part of their training:
conditioning to receive blows. That way when they were struck in
an actual combat situation, they wouldn't hesitate as much, and
they'd be ready to ignore their wounds and keep on fighting
regardless. Still, she felt tears well up as the fake dagger
descended, landing hard, point down, in the groove between her
shoulder blade and her collar bone.

Huja had made a hooking gesture with his hand as he moved in
order to land the shot without Nihan's wing interfering. He spun
outward ending in front of her and giving her a playful slap across
the neck with the remaining dagger.

The female anakim staggered. Tears came, now not only from the
pain of the blows, but because she knew that she was beaten as
well. Surely, if she were better trained, she wouldn't have fallen
for such painstakingly deadly maneuver. She fought the tears
back, but the Imam did not even pause to examine her expression.
He turned away, shelving the daggers.

"That will be all," he said.

His expression had been blank and unreadable as always, but
Nihan already knew what he was thinking. She had failed. She
would be sent back to training now, and when she was ready, she
would be assigned to a less noteworthy instructor. "I'm sorry,"
was all she could manage to say.

"There's no need to apologize," the Imam said. He went over to
the filing cabinet again and retrieved her file before making a few
marks in it and then signing something. Nihan turned away. She
had lost more than a master. He ambitions had gone beyond that.
She was beaten, she was disgraced, and she was heartbroken, but
she did not want him to see her crying about it.

"I have no immediate assignments for you," Huja said. Nihan
nodded to herself. At least he was breaking it to her easily. "You
are on leave to do what you wish for the time being. Travel where
you will, train yourself, and make sure you report back to the guild
regularly." Wait. . . what? "If you have need of me to answer
questions or offer personal advice or assistance, just contact one of
the Dais. If I need you for any reason, word will reach you
likewise." Nihan blinked away tears in confusion. That didn't
sound like- He couldn't mean-

"But sir," she interrupted, "I mean, my most holy Imam, I thought-
I mean, I-" She stammered for a moment, trying to place her
words together. "I lost. I failed your test. How. . . ?"

She thought she caught the smallest trace of a grin in Huja's
expression as he watched her stammer for a moment, but she may
have simply imagined it. "Cyllyl might have beaten me," the
Imam said, "I would never expect that much of a mustajib."

Nihan was speechless. What exactly had he been testing then?

"If there is nothing else. . ." Huja began. Nihan shook her head.
"Very well," he concluded, "I look forward to seeing your
potential." He turned quietly and strolled on out of the room.

For a time, Nihan stood there, dumfounded. At last, she whispered
after her long departed master, uttering the only words she could
think of:

"Thank you."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Pure Motives.
---------------------


Part Five: Aspirations

Nihan sat alone in the room for a long time. So that was it. She
had graduated from the first stage of her training and gotten
apprenticed to the Imam. Her plans were working out perfectly.

She sank to the ground in relief. A few tears still stained her face
from when she thought she had failed. She wiped them away
hurriedly. She had succeeded, and there was no more use for her
tears if there ever had been.

She thought of the Imam.

So many things still confused her about him. Had he truly not
recognized her? And if he had recognized her, why had he
pretended to have not? There had been no one around in the end,
no one to acknowledge that recognition but her, yet he had still
hidden it. Was he afraid of her knowing that he knew? Did he
somehow expect her to have forgotten?

Parts of her body were still sore from the blows he had dealt in her
testing. What was the point of that? She had already seen she
could not hit him. It did nothing to further emphasize his ability to
destroy her in return.

Yet it had done something. Feeling those blows land and having
that keen sense of what they could have done gave her an acute
understanding of her own mortality. She understood just how
weak she was. Death was a permanent thing, and she mustn't go
trifling with it needlessly.

She wondered if the lesson had been intended or if he was just
showing off, trying to teach her humility perhaps. Intended or not,
the lesson had been learned, though that of humility not quite so
much. "Cyllyl could have beaten me. . ."

Yes, but Cyllyl has not yet bedded you that I know of.

She closed her eyes. Other memories of her new master came to
her. A dark room, the rustle of sheets, the warmth and press of his
body against hers. . . A part of her feared that. It feared the way
she had felt and the sense of urgency and loss of control that had
taken her with it, but a far larger part of her reveled in it.

He had been with many other women that way, surely. The way
he was, and the sureness and the dexterity with which he acted
spoke clearly of it. None of those others had mattered to him,
however, and it was likely that Nihan was no different. Not yet, at
least.

A small, secretive smile broke across her features. The door
opened.

"Ah, you're still here," came a faint voice. A small atomy woman
came sailing in through the opening and closed the door behind
her. It was Naomi, the First Ward. "Good, good," she said, "that
will save me the effort of tracking you."

The pixie buzzed across the room and over to the filing cabinet.
She opened the middle drawer and Nihan was surprised to find it
filled not with papers, but with small, wrapped packages. "These
are your supplies," she said, lifting a bundle free with some effort
and tossing it toward the mustajib. "They're already fitted to you.
Your master can show you how to apply the tattoo if you need
help with it."

The bundle landed with a plunk in front of her, and Naomi kicked
the cabinet shut. "Now take it and get out," she snapped, "I have
work to do." First Wards have a long reputation of being snippy.

Minutes later, Nihan walked alone down a less-crowded hallway
of the Hand guild. She held the package of supplies hugged
closely to her full chest. Her eyes were closed. Thoughts and
imaginations of the Imam drifted through her mind, and already
she was plotting on how she would make them a reality.

Nihan was not obsessed. She was no nymphomaniac or stalker.
That much should be made clear before the readers take it upon
themselves to draw any such erroneous conclusions. She was
simply smitten, like a young fan girl at the performance of her
favorite bard, but Nihan was hardly so naive.

The Imam sought an heir and she was determined to be the one to
provide it for him. The events of two weeks previous would be
repeated, not just once but for always. He would be hers, and she
would be his, and her son would be an Imam, every bit as wise and
as mighty as his father was.

She hugged the package a bit tighter and continued on down the
hallway, still smiling.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Preparations.
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Four: The Alchemist
Part One: Dramatic Entrance

Huja stode into the room. His was a commanding presence, one
that could not be overlooked when he wished to make an
impression, but it was also one that, more often then not, went
completely unnoticed. Such was the dual nature of an Imam. At
this moment, Huja was going for commanding. Unfortunately, it
was a mostly wasted effect. He found the room to be
disappointingly empty.

To say that it was completely empty would be quite untrue. In
fact, the room was already quite full, owing primarily to the large,
sturdy table that took up the majority of the space on its own. At
the far end of the table sat four figures of varying statures: the
prophet and the Dais. A seat was left in the middle of them,
awaiting the Imam himself.

Not wasting any time on ceremony, Huja lighted upon the table
and stepped across it. He moved past an assortment of rocks and
plants that had been left as a centerpiece, probably by Khalid.
Huja could only speculate about what antics the prophet had
arranged with those implements. The antics would be revealed on
their own before very long and at the expense of their guest as
well, no doubt. Best to let Khalid have his fun. Maybe he would
surprise them.

The Imam reached his destination and hopped down from the
table. He gave the others an appraising look before speaking.

"Has Sadam arrived though the rift yet?" he asked.

The Dais hesitated, then shook their heads. "He will not be
coming through the Core Rift," Nusrat said carefully. She was
typically hesitant to assert herself like this. Being the newest of
the Dais, she was not yet fully comfortable with her position. She
spent her time in the training and instructing of less experienced
Hands (in whose presence she felt significantly more at ease).
Huja gave her a speculative glance.

"And why isn't he?" he asked. Nusrat averted her gaze, looking
uncertain. She was a tall arcanus and still appeared quite
feminine, even to other races, despite the characteristic baldness of
her people. Salem's voice cut in, answering the question and
sounding exceptionally annoyed as he did so.

"They say it's broken," he muttered, "The Alchemists do. As if a
centuries-old transportation system could simply go down for
maintenance now and then."

"Not without reason," snapped Naomi's tiny voice from her seat, a
seat that was actually positioned on top of the table rather than
beside it. Her tone was irritable as a rule, rather than as an
exception. "There have been all sorts of reports over the last week
or two. People have been going into the rift and coming out in
entirely different locations than they intended. They're still trying
to locate some of them. I'm starting to suspect some of those aren't
going to be coming out at all."

"So how will Sadam be getting here?" asked Huja, steering the
conversation back to where he intended it. "Is he walking?
Flying? When can we expect him?"

"He should be coming by boat," Noami squeaked, "And he should
be getting here any moment now."

As if on cue, the door came open. "Indeed," said a deep, booming
voice from across the chamber.

The five figures were already looking at the opening. A lanky
arcanus stood there, grinning at them. The grin was not returned.
This was not the guildmaster, merely one of his assistants. He
stepped forward, moving to the corner of the room. A jinn
followed him, then another jinn, female this time. An atomy rode
on the second jinn's shoulder. Each moved to form a line along
the far wall, making it clear that they served only as an entourage
to the man who be following. A suula surged through the doorway
after them, its form rippled and pulsed, sending an orange-yellow
glow across the chamber. It moved to the side with the others and
a single, final figured stepped through the doorway, silhouetted by
the light beyond.

It was a large figure, not unduly tall but massive in its bulk. Its
steps sounded hard and deep against the stone floor. A heavy
cloak obscured its features, but it would not remain so for long.
Thick, burly arms rose from the depths. From the sleeves, hard,
gray fingers extended, taking hold of the sides of the hood, pulling
it back, revealing the cloaks occupant to the light.

Before them, proudly resting upon a pedestal-stone neck, was the
man they had been waiting for, the alchemist guildmaster, the lord
of the elements: Sadam, the atomy.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": An Intimidating Figure
---------------------


Part Two: A Question of Stature

Sadam fluttered down from the vacant shoulders of his stone
golem, alighting on the table in what he must have been sure was a
suitably dramatic pose. Given the size of the table, however, and
the diminutive size of the the atomy in question, the persons for
whom the drama was intended were hard pressed to tell what the
pose actually was, or they would have been, if had they actually
cared to begin with.

The fact that the pose was so difficult to discern, coupled with the
fact it was being performed by an atomy, did enough to downplay
the drama of the situation on its own. The fact that the stone
golem in question chose this moment to collapse to the floor, and
actually break in half in the process, was just insult upon injury to
the performance.

A high-pitched growl could be heard, squeaking across the room.
It held for a moment, and when nobody made any movement for
him to direct his aggression at, the growl's originator picked out a
target on his own.

"What was that?!" Sadam shouted in his thoroughly not-
intimidating squeal of a voice. He shot into the air, turning to face
his entourage.

The entourage members themselves were very new to this sort of
thing. This was not unsurprising as Sadam was known to fire and
replace his assistants regularly, generally after something exploded
somewhere near or in his office while he was working. As his
office was located in the alchemist guild, and as a great many of
these explosions were his own fault, new assistants were brought
on at understandably accelerated rate. Being a former assistant to
the guildmaster was a bit of a mark of status among alchemists, if
an exceedingly common one. Sadam went through them so fast
that he had been known many times to rehire assistants that he had
just fired days earlier without having the slightest notion that he
had done so. None of these recruits seemed to be among those
rehired, however, and their expressions spoke of this fact clearly.
A few clueless glances were exchanged before the female jinn
finally responded.

"Your golem broke, sir," she said.

"I can see that!" Sadam snapped, "Shoddy workmanship! I'm
embarrassed to call this golem's maker a fellow alchemist in any
respect! Now which of you was it?"

More hesitation, then the arcanus spoke. "That would be you, sir,"
he said, "I saw you working on it before we got on the boat."

In a flash, the atomy was in his face, presumably glaring. The
arcanus leaned his head back, sensing an invasion of his personal
space, while he tried to focus on his employer.

"If it's any help," the suula commented, "it lasted a whole lot
longer than any of my golems ever do."

Sadam gave an exhasperated squeak that might have been a sigh or
a cry of aggravation. He turned away, fluttering back over to the
table. "Good help is so hard to find these days," he chittered.

The state of the five spectators to this event was a bit varied.
Nusrat was looking genuinely embarrassed for the poor creature.
Naomi was grinning sadistically. Khalid was having the time of
his life. Salem looked as though he might roll his eyes at any
moment. Huja was simply waiting.

"You'd think I'd get more respect, wouldn't you?" Sadam
continued, "I mean, I'm the alchemist guildmaster! I'm the most
pow- one of the most powerful people on this stinking planet!
Why doesn't anyone fear me?"

"At eight inches tall, you cut a really pathetic figure," Khalid
pointed out, "Even for an atomy."

"Thank you," Sadam spat sarcastically, rising into the air again,
"Mr. Hand, but we're not here to be talking about my height, now
are we?"

"Ah excellent," said Huja at last, "I was hoping there was
something more to this than matters of appearance." He leaned
forward and everyone else in the room but Sadam straightened
their posture without thinking. "So tell me, oh mighty alchemist,"
he said, "What exactly are you here for?"
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Not Taken Seriously
---------------------


Part Three: Jest

"What. . . exactly. . . ?" the alchemist repeated the words absently,
wholly misplacing his train of thought. "Oh yes!" his expression
brightened immediately, "Widespread death and destruction! Now
I remember!"

Sadam looked very pleased with himself, but the expressions he
received back were skeptical at best. "Come again?" Naomi
asked.

"Oh don't you go giving me that look," Sadam pouted at her, "You
heard what I said exactly! I'm here to talk about upcoming
widespread death and destruction! I don't expect you to buy into
the idea right at first, of course, but if you allow to explain how it
works, the signs are quite unmistakable. We just need to work
together and-"

Huja cut him off with a gesture. "Alright, first things first, perhaps
you should start by explaining to us exactly WHY you want to
cause death and destruction."

"I- what?" the alchemist blinked his minuscule eyes, "You think-?
Oh no no no, I'm not the one causing it at all. We're here to
prevent the problem!"

"So tell us who it is so we can kill them and be done with it,"
Naomi muttered.

Sadam made a sound like the last bits of air leaving a balloon,
probably another sigh. "It's not a person, it's a phenomena," he
said.

"So a suula then?" Khalid quipped, though the misunderstanding
was obviously intentional this time. The alchemist seemed to be
glaring at him. Khalid smiled back sweetly.

"The elemental balance is off," Sadam said, "way off, and I want
to know why."

"Because your scale is broken, most likely," Khalid suggested,
"Either that or the person using it had spent too much time at
your brewery." Sadam clearly didn't appreciate the comments
tried to ignore them anyway.

"You've had earthquakes here, no doubt," the alchemist continued,
"Everyone else has too. This isn't normal at all. No amount of
shifting in the tectonic plates could ever cause this much activity
in so short a time."

"What if he borrowed my plates?" Khalid asked, "Or used bowls?"

Khalid's intention had been to aggravate the alchemist, and it
seemed to be working beautifully. Everyone had their buttons and
Khalid knew just where to find these ones. The atomy's body
clenched, and he made a movement at the air like he was trying to
strangle something. He spun, shouting the remainder of his
arguments at the overly amused jinn. "The energy storms are out
of control!" he shrieked, "They end with way too many new suula
one day and the following with day nothing at all! Freak shifts
have been occurring in the tides! Major air currents are actually
starting to change! The core transport is on the blitz! Do you
have any idea what this could all be leading to? Do you?" He spat
out the last of it just inches from his antagonizer's face. Khalid
hesitated dramatically, and then his expression became one of
awestruck comprehension.

"Why, yes!" he said, "I do!" Sadam looked doubtful. "It's all
coming together now," the jinn continued, rising from his seat and
hovering out over the middle of the table, "The elements are out of
balance! Of course! Why didn't we see it before?" He turned to
face his fellow Hands. "It's only a matter of time before we see
fire being carried on the wind, before lightning begins spewing
from men's swords. . . why the Elysium plains could be turning to
acid any day now!"

Sadam was a bit taken aback. "Er. . . that's not exactly what I. . ."

"Oh, but the greatest of all calamaties," Khalid said, picking up a
rock from his centerpiece for emphasis, "The sign that the end has
truly come upon us. . ." He gazed into the rock, looking distant.
". . .will be when men begin squeezing water from stones."

His face took on a overplayed expression of pain and
determination, and he clenched the rock tightly between his
fingers. It compressed easily, and water splattered out onto the
table.

Khalid opened his hand and looked down at the puddle, then at the
rock, then at the alchemist. His face was plastered with a paper-
thin visage of shock and innocence. "Oops," he said.

For a long moment, Sadam just stared at the Hand prophet. Khalid
stared back at him patiently.

"Fine," the small figure whispered, "Let your planet crumble."

Sadam shot past the Jinn heading straight for the door. "Get out!"
he snapped at his subordinates. They hastened to comply. The
mass of them was halfway out the door, and their leader was
partway through casting featherweight on the remains of his stone
golem when Huja finally spoke.

"No," he said. The Imam stood. He looked first at the alchemist
guildmaster, then shot a poker-faced glance at Khalid. "I agree
with Sadam," he said, "Everyone get out. I want to speak with the
atomy alone."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Pleasantries and small talk.
---------------------


Part Four: Small Talk

The steel-banded door closed and locked with a click.

The room was quiet as atomy and anakim watched each other with
veiled expressions. Their entourages had departed. Each stood
alone now, and stand they did. The alchemist leader remained at
attention on the table. His eyes bore into the leader of the Hands
with unflinching determination. The Hand leader stood by his
chair as he had begun and returned the other's gaze passively.

Both leaders held a healthy respect for the other. It was a respect
more visible when their quibbling subordinates had been removed
from the situation. While the atomy may have been bad at
appearances, his skills were beyond question. The golem that
broken down with such inopportune timing had been raised and
animated in under a minute, and the enchantments had stayed in
affect for nearly a whole day. The alchemist's spells were
destructive, his marksmanship was unsurpassed, and he had been
known to form whole armies of these golems in a matter of hours.

An army of golems, on the other hand, was useless if its master
was dead with a knife in his back, and spells and shooting did
nothing against an opponent who wasn't seen until it was too late.

"Have a seat," Huja said. He gestured to a small chair that had
been set up at the far end of the table in anticipation of the
alchemist's arrival.

"I prefer to stand, if it's all the same to you," Sadam said, not
giving the chair so much as a backward glance.

"Then I shall do the same," Huja said.

Neither moved. The silence resumed. The room was vacant. If
the Imam had desired, it could have been bustling with senior
Hands lurking in the shadows, and his guest would never have
known the difference. Huja was extending a hand of trust by
having it actually be empty. Sadam was returning the hand
believing that it really was.

"So what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" Sadam
asked at length.

Huja told him everything.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": The plan is revealed.
---------------------


Part Five: Orders

The door opened. Imam and Master Alchemist stepped out into
the hallway. The waiting subordinates turned their heads in unison
to face their respective leaders.

"Thank you again, my Lord Imam," Sadam was saying as he
fluttered through the air, "Your insights have been most helpful."

"As have yours, my small friend," said Huja, "I trust I'll be hearing
from you the moment you discover anything?"

"You shall," Sadam said, "Now get up!" He snapped the last bit at
the remains of his golem which immediately quivered and righted
itself. His escort had repaired it while he waited.

A few pleasantries were exchanged before Sadam marched his
group down the hall and out of the cathedral in which it was
situated, shouting at them the whole way and issuing threats of
terminated employment until his squeaky voice faded off in the
distance.

"It was a painted sponge," Khalid offered when the outsiders were
gone at last.

"I wasn't going to ask," Huja said.

"No one ever does," said Khalid with a sigh.

Huja ignored him, turning to his Dais. "Naomi," he said, "I want
messengers sent out everywhere. Make sure we get in contact
with every official from every government or organization we can
find. Leave nobody out. Let them all know that I wish to meet
with them here personally. It is urgent, so I'll speak with them as
they arrive. Keep additional runners on hand to ferry messages
back and forth to various regions as necessary. You know the
routine. If anyone refuses to show up, they face the wrath of
Cyllyl: dispose of them and bring me somebody who will listen in
their place." He inclined his head slightly to the right, the side
towards his tattoo, indicating that he was finished speaking and
meant for her to act immediately. Naomi gave a curt nod, a quick
bow and slipped away. Huja turned to Salem without missing a
beat.

"Salem," he said, "monitor the situation around the guild carefully.
I want you to have people checking the timing on these
earthquakes and measuring their intensity any way you can. Keep
it quiet. We don't want to raise an alarm just yet. Any
irregularities or developments that you find are to be reported
straight to me. Any Hands who discover them must take an oath
of silence, and no one else is to be informed, not even your fellow
Dais. Also keep a watch out for cave ins while you're at it. No
point in losing half the guildhall to a quake simply from being
unprepared." Another tilt to the right. Another nod and a bow.
Salem vanished.

"Nusrat," Huja said, then paused at last, "Train them well for me,
will you? Cyllyl knows we may be needing some of their talent
before long." He paused again, then tilted.

Nusrat nodded, giving him a smile. "It shall be done, my Lord
Imam," she said. She bowed and disappeared into the shadows.

"As for you," Huja said, rounding on the prophet. His tone was far
less businesslike and a lot more ominous than it had been with the
Dais. "We're going to need to have a little chat."

Khalid hesitated. It had to be his imagination. It was impossible,
but. . . did Huja actually look angry?
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A friendly chit-chat and some
tea.
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree
Part One: Kind Words

All Hands wear a tattoo. It indicates who they are, so they may be
readily identified by other members of the guild. As with other
things, it might seem out of place for an organization that puts so
much stress on stealth and secrecy to bear a token that identifies its
members so readily. Those who assume this is the case do so in
error. All outside the guild know that the symbol of an open hand
crossed with a black rose upon the neck is an indication of
membership in the Hand guild. Many of those, however, are led to
the faulty assumption that anyone not wearing a tattoo, therefore,
must not be a member of that guild. It is a mistake that can cost
them dearly, for in accordance with the oldest tradition of the
Hands, these tattoos are removable.

Leaders in the Hand of the Black Rose, including the Imam
(Huja), Mullah (Khalid), and Mentor (Nusrat), have a special
tattoo that they wear instead to indicate their position. It is a tattoo
not of an open hand, but of a clenched fist.

It was such a tattoo at this time that Huja removed forcibly from
the neck of his prophet. It was with a strike that was so quick and
so violent that it not only completely removed the tattoo, but left a
sting and a new hand print in its place.

Khalid looked stunned by the gesture. A palm came up to rub his
green neck absently.

They were meeting in Huja's private quarters. It was remarkably
bare and very well kept. A few chests of personal effects and
equipment sat at one side, next to a counter and an area for
preparing food or doing paperwork. A wide, double bed sat to the
other side where the Imam slept and (on rare occasions) performed
other duties. The middle of the room was open with a dark, tiled
floor and walls woven of black rose thorns. In total, the room
measured about eighteen feet by thirty, not too large, but roomy
enough to move around in.

Huja was taking advantage of that room right now, pacing around
the disconcerted Mullah.

"Don't ever do that again," Huja said flatly.

"Do what?" Khalid asked, "Mess with the atomy?"

"Sadam is the leader of the alchemist guild," Huja said, "He may
be small, but he is a powerful man and an important ally. He was
also our guest, and I would not have him treated with such
discourtesy."

"It's never bothered you before," Khalid pouted. His neck still
stung from the slap. "What was wrong with this time?"

"It's never actually interfered with the meeting before," Huja said,
"It was good spirited and Sadam has generally understood it that
way. You crossed lines today that I would not have crossed and
will not allow you to be crossing again."

"Well, I didn't know," Khalid began, intending to continue, but the
sentence never got finished.

"You knew everything!" Huja snapped. He stepped around to face
the jinn directly. "You knew about your vision! You knew about
its interpretation and the inevitable ruin that is upon us! You knew
better than anyone in there just how plausible Sadam's arguments
were! You know perfectly well that we cannot to afford to ignore
such insights when they are presented to us! You know perfectly
well how many lives are at stake now in some sort of catastrophic
phenomena that we can't even begin to understand yet!

"Well, I-"

"You had to make the jokes anyway," Huja said. His tone was
cold and his expression reflected that. He raised one hand, holding
up Khalid's tattoo. "You have not been trained as a Hand," he
said, "and you have never really been one. You are the prophet
and have been respected as such. We have never required the total
absence of levity from you before that we expect of our other
members, but I am asking that you move closer to it now."

He lowered the tattoo and in its place raised a small, glass vial.
"Your duty is to provide us with the visions of Cyllyl," he said,
"and for the time being that will be all I want you to be doing." He
thrust the vial into Khalid's hands. "It is hashish," he said, "drink
it. There is more in the chest over there when it wears off."

Khalid was speechless, looking down at the vial then over to
where Huja had indicated the chest. "Let me know what you see,"
the Imam said as he turned to leave the room, "and stay out of my
way otherwise."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Khalid's Visions
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree
Part Two: Duty of One

In the religion of the Hand, there are nine levels or degrees to
which an agent of Cyllyl may progress. The first is obtained when
a Hand completes their trial period as a Fidai. From there they
may progress through the degrees at whatever pace they can
manage and are interested in doing so. Each degree encompasses
a new level of spiritual enlightenment, a new understanding of true
Reason. The lesser degrees entail outward ordinances and overt
religious practices, while the higher degrees stress greater power
and wisdom and the gradual abandonment of the aforementioned
practices as they are no longer necessary to achieve understanding.

The highest of these degrees, the Ninth, is one in which the hand
abandons all trust in other deity and achieves a state of perfect
unity of thought and action. At this heightened state of clarity,
prayer and inspiration become no longer necessary, and in any
given situation, the will of Cyllyl becomes purely self-evident
through the application of Her superior judgment.

At any time among the members of the Hand of the Black Rose,
there may only be one who has achieved this highest degree: only
one to whom the Divine Light has passed, carried in the blood of
that agent's forbearer. It is the duty of that one to put aside all
influences of emotion, morality, and similar, lesser judgments and
embrace Reason in her entirety. It is the duty of that one to
administer the will of the Divine in all her doings. It is the duty of
that one to guide her Hand. He is their leader, the exalted scholar,
and the Imam.

During this time, that agent was Huja. He was the Imam, the
Ninth Degree, and he could not allow personal feelings to cloud
his judgment in anything. What he had done with Khalid had been
the right thing to do. There was no time to foster his relationship
or to counsel the Mullah in the way he must behave. The injuries
that could be caused by his actions were too far reaching to be
allowed at this time. Huja's anger had been prepared, calculated.
Khalid would behave as he must for now. That was all the Imam
expected or desired.

The Imam stepped through a hidden passage near the rear of the
cathedral and down into the guild itself. A few guards bowed,
muttering obeisance. The Imam ignored them, focusing his
thoughts inward. There was planning to do, much, much
planning: he could not afford any distractions.

The ground trembled as he progressed, moving from one
passageway to the next, oblivious to what his destination might be.
Everything was being handled without him now, but it was left to
him to discover the cause of all the trouble and deal with it.

Logic did little without the proper data. It was data that could be
collected. It was data that would present itself in time. He would
have to wait for that data, and he would have to be ready. When it
came, he would act with all speed- that was what the servants of
Cyllyl were best at: acting quickly- but he must remain focused
to do so.

No distractions, he thought, no distractions.

He strode into an empty storage room at the side of one of the
passageways where he would be out of the way of passing
subordinates. It would be easier to think if they did not have to
keep acknowledging him like that.

He was not aware of the door slipping gracefully shut behind him.
He noticed nothing of the occurrence until it locked with that
telltale click.

He spun, assessing the situation instinctively. Something moved
in the shadows. "Who's there?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my Lord Imam," said an all-too-familiar, feminine
voice, "I didn't hear you come in. Just a moment, I'll get it
unlocked for you straight away."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": An explosive mistake.
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree
Part Three: Accidents Happen

Moments later, Nihan Bath-Asher stepped into view and knelt
before the now-locked doorway.

"No, allow me," said Huja immediately stepping forward. It was
not that he had particular doubts about his apprentice's lock
picking abilities, but he knew from personal experience that every
door in the Hand guild bore a powerful booby trap. If Nihan were
so unfortunate as to set it off, magical energies would engulf the
room, causing nigh-fatal injuries to everyone within.
Unfortunately, these concerns did not register fast enough with his
apprentice and his protest was cut off quickly by a loud snap
emanating from the lock.

"Oops."

Huja froze for a moment, but nothing happened.

"Alright," he asked, "What happened?"

Nihan turned, proffering her set of lock picks. The tension wrench
was missing, and her primary pick had been broken cleanly in half.
Huja knew what that meant. She had failed to pick the lock and
had been so careless that the mechanism had actually closed over
her pick and broken it. A piece was still stuck in the door and the
tension wrench was lodged in place, sticking out from the keyhole.
There would be no picking that lock now. There would also be no
opening it with a key, had one existed. (Supply closets like this
were rarely actually used, and when a Hand wanted access, they
were expected to be able to disarm the trap and pick the lock on
their own. Many of the doors had never even had keys made for
them, and those that did had probably never had the keys used, and
it was doubtful that anybody still knew where those keys were.)

Huja gave a faint sigh. Nihan shrugged, tossing the ruined picks
onto a nearby shelf. "Sorry about that," she said, though she didn't
sound particularly repentant.

"It happens," Huja said, "You just need more practice." So much
for having a quiet place to think. Sorry, indeed! She was lucky
not to have blown them both up! As a rule, Huja carried two sets
of lock picks and a small magnifying lens for helping him disarm
booby traps, but that would do him no good now that the door was
jammed. Had it actually been a question of equipment, they were
in a supply closet: Huja could plainly see a box of spare picks
sitting open in a corner of one of the shelves. Doubtless, his
apprentice had borrowed her pair from there, and he could have
done so as well, if there had been any hope for that.

As it was, however, there was no hope for such an escape. They
would have to wait until their absence was noticed or they could
get the attention of a passing member of the guild. Even then, it
would be several hours before the door could be safely dismantled
and the occupants freed. Until then. . .

"I guess we're trapped here together," Nihan said, stepping closer
to her master- too close for his own comfort, in fact. "Alone," she
added significantly.

"So it would seem," agreed Huja with a strange sense of
foreboding, "So it would seem. . ."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": No plans. No propositions.
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree
Part Four: Preliminary Seduction

Nihan smiled and gave a little sleepy 'mmm' sound. Her eyelids
drooped to a half-lidded positionb and she stepped just a little
closer to the Imam, very close. She was not so close as to be
pressed up against him, but neither could she still be said to be
merely invading his personal space. Her body brushed up against
his lightly, keeping back so the touch might seem no more than a
tickle. "So..." she began and thought to herself, phase one.

"A few weeks ago, I recall having the pleasure," she said, putting
extra emphasis on the last word, "of serving as something other
than an apprentice for you for a short while."

"Indeed," Huja said, holding his ground as she advanced on him.
The effect of this advance were both calculated and immediate.
As she spoke, memories of the previous encounter came flooding
back to him, exciting him. The touch of her body against his was
soft and delicate and only served to accent the effect of the
memories she invoked. She was a bit shorter than he, and as he
looked down, he couldn't help but notice the way the collar of her
shirt had been cut low, allowing him to gaze deep down into her
bosom.

Warning signals went off in the Imam's mind. The sights and
sensations and thoughts she presented him with were not those of
the path of Cyllyl. They were not thoughts conducive to Reason:
rather, they threatened to override it.

"You know," Nihan continued. She brought her hands around,
letting the tips of her fingers graze delicately along her master's
sides. She leaned closer to him as she spoke. "I rather enjoyed it."

Huja could feel the heat of her breath near his face and could see
more easily down into her bosom as she advanced. He felt the
caress of her hands and her body. Her wings spread out a little,
invitingly. He made no move. He said nothing.

More warnings. By Cyllyl, he was not in a good position here.

For a few moments, she didn't say anything either. She just stood
there, standing close to him, stroking him gently with her body
and her fingertips, letting him think of what she had to offer here,
letting the desire build within him.

"Perhaps," she said at length, leaning into him more fully, keeping
her voice light and breathless, "since we seem to be trapped here
anyway, you might be persuaded to try it again?"

Huja hesitated. The desire was strong within him, but he could not
allow it to take control. Cyllyl would not have it so. Reason was
paramount. She pressed closer, and he could feel the warmth and
the tenderness of her body as she held it against him. Yearning
seized him, yearning that was only natural to him or a male of any
species, yearning that was challenging his Reason.

"I'm afraid not," he said slowly. His voice was level and
composed, but Nihan could see turmoil buried deeper within his
eyes. "I explained to you my policy before. I do such things only
to produce an heir and not to form any emotional attachments. To
maintain this, I only allow myself to perform such acts once and
only once with each woman who will volunteer to assist. It is not
Cyllyl's will that I should perform such acts with you again."

If Huja had been expecting her to accept this explanation and
desist, he was sorely mistaken. "Perhaps that's true," she said,
wrapping her arms around her captive Imam, "Perhaps. Reason
dictates it after all, but perhaps," she paused for emphasis and her
lips curled up into a gentle, mischievous smile, "Perhaps I have a
better idea."
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A decision is made.
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree
Part Five: Reason

The Imam wavered for a moment. The body of his apprentice was
soft and warm as it pressed up against him, putting pressure in all
the right places and making it very difficult for him to concentrate.

Indeed, the application of pressure was so precise, and with such a
calculated effort to arouse him, that Huja rather suspected that his
apprentice had been paying more attention to her anatomy lessons
than she had been to those in lock picking. Given that she had
only been admitted into his apprenticeship earlier that day,
however, her having knowledge of either skill was impressive, as
was her being so quick to take the action she did surprising. Then
again, he thought wryly, that was what the servants of Cyllyl were
best at: acting quickly.

Nihan gave a gentle 'mmm. . .' and squeezed the Imam closer
against her, pressing with her body just right so as to force his
attention back onto her inexorably. She could feel him tense ever-
so-slightly at this pressure before forcing himself to relax. She
rested her head against his chest, smiling to herself triumphantly.

"I was just thinking," she said in a soft, sleepy voice, keeping up
a steady, rhythmic, almost unnoticeable press-and-release with her
body, "that maybe the reason you haven't produced an heir is
because you haven't been trying enough times with the same
woman."

Huja tried to consider this, but he felt her body ripple against him,
shattering any possible chain of thought. His pulse was racing at
the feel of her and his breathing was becoming increasingly deep
and difficult to regulate.

"And you know," she said, turning her face back up to his and
giving him a firm, suggesting squeeze, "Seven is the holiest
number, is it not?" She lifted up on her tip-toes, moving her face
close to his and letting her body slide along him. She could feel
the way her clothing dragged down a little and knew he was aware
of it too. Her already low-cut top became gradually more risque.
"And perhaps," she added with another carefully-aimed increase in
pressure, "seven times seven would be holier still. . ."

She moved her face close to his, lips barely parted and daring him
to kiss her. He could feel her, all of her, and it sent shocks of
excitement running through his body. Vainly, he struggled to
make sense of her arguments. They seemed surprisingly valid.
Seven was the holiest number, after all. Perhaps it was Cyllyl's
will that her godservant could only be conceived after a more
holy-numbered attempt at conception. And seven times seven?
Surely this was holiness upon holiness, an ultimate pleasing
offering to the Divine to invoke her gratitude. . .

Or was that not his logic speaking?

Huja's eyes were fixed on his apprentice, yet distant and
unfocused. She was right there, willing, even eager. It would be
so easy, so very easy. . . All he had to do was lean forward and
kiss her, barely the width of a finger away, and the rest would take
care of itself. . .

But was he sure?

He couldn't be, of course. There was too much influencing his
judgment. She was a very attractive girl, beautiful in fact, and she
would become even more attractive as he proceeded, but that
attraction was not a force of Reason, and so long as she was here,
clouding him, he could never be sure what decision was the right
one. He had to get away from her for a time to consider things,
but he was trapped. She had jammed the door on accident: very
convenient for her, as it happened, and especially that she had not
blown them both up in the process.

His gaze came into sharper focus. No. It was too convenient. She
rubbed against him, sensing his distraction, but the realization
made him too focused to allow himself to be set aside so easily.
He managed a glance past her toward the door. A tension wrench
extended from the keyhole, sure enough, but it hung at the wrong
angle. Closer examination of the picks would no doubt reveal that
they had not broken quite like the lock would have caused them to.

Huja looked down at his would-be seductress. Strong arms lifted
her away from him and he gave her a small kiss on the forehead.
"I will have to consider it carefully," he told her.

Nihan blinked in confusion, and the Imam stepped past her,
pulling lock picks and a lens from a pocket somewhere. He
stooped before the lock, and moments later there was a click, and
the door fell open quietly.

"Good day to you, Miss Bath-Asher," he said and vanished.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Peace and Quiet
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Six: The Philosopher
Part One: Distractions

There was a knock at the door, and Sadam thought how it was a
pity that such acts did not carry the death penalty in any
conveniently accessible society.

"What is it?" he snapped at the door, not opening it.

"Uh," the voice began, muffled through the wooden wall of the
cabin, "We seem to have a bit of a situation. We-"

"Then you can handle it yourself!" Sadam snapped again, "I told
you I'm not to be disturbed! Now get back up there and deal with
it, or I assure you that whatever situation you have up there will
seem inconsequential compared to the one you'll have down here!"

"Uh, y- yes sir!" the voice said. It sounded hesitant and rushed.
There was a brief pause, then whoever it was could be heard
retreating up the steps toward the deck of the ship to deal with
whatever situation had caused them to come down below in the
first place.

Sadam sighed, turning his thoughts back to their task. It was an
issue he had turned over in his mind time and again since the start
of their voyage back to the Alchemist Guild, but it was still one he
needed resolution to. Details of the Mullah's dream, as Huja had
related it to him, repeated themselves over and over in his mind.

The people had fallen. They had not burned up or frozen or
disintegrated or anything else but had simply fallen. Did that
suggest a lapse in the stone element? A surge of cloud perhaps?
Ordinarily, death by excessive cloud elemental energy involved
getting one's brains fried out in a most entertaining fashion, but the
cloud element was also the one most associated with air. If the
stone elementals had been overbalanced by an increased number
of cloud elementals, that might cause the earth to behave just as air
did or perhaps become air itself. Still, the vision had not been
intended to be interpreted by an alchemist, so it would invariably
use whatever imagery was most familiar to the audience, right?

One way or the other, Sadam had been prominent in the dream, so
something he did would be critical in seeing events to their safe
resolution, and even if it wasn't, he could not afford to risk a bet on
that and sit idly while his world crumbled around him, trusting its
fate to the Hands. If he was meant to help somehow, he must
understand the cause of the problem. It was his gift to do that, to
analyze the forces involved in this oncoming calamity in a way no
one else could. That was what alchemists were best at.

There was shouting topside and sounds of a of commotion.
"Morons," muttered the disgruntled atomy. He hoped for their
sakes they got whatever it was straightened up quickly. The noise
was making it difficult to concentrate.

So. . . elementals. . . If the elemental balance was truly off, how
was it off and why? The lapse in the stone element was a likely
explanation, given the details of the vision, but it would take many
tests to confirm it, and once they did, it was still a long road to
figuring out the cause. And yet the whole planet was made of
stone, wasn't it? It was the most stable element! It wasn't like
something could remove all that rock from the planet, without-

Something exploded above deck. The shock waves surged
through the craft, cutting off Sadam's line of reasoning
permanently. That's it! he decided, Heads will roll for this if they
haven't already! And if they already have, then somebody else's
will roll to replace them!

Without another thought about dreams or balances, Sadam
grabbed his thunderstick and pouch of components, blasted the
door open and stormed out into the early morning smell of the
salty sea air, mingled with more than a hint of gunpowder.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A quiet, peaceful day on the
open sea.
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Six: The Philosopher
Part Two: Initial Skirmish

"Fire!" came the order again. The Alchemist's entourage was lined
up along the starboard side of the boat, thundersticks in hand,
crouching behind the railing as they formed a firing squad across
the deck. At the sound of the order, the weapons went off in a
volley, accompanied by a few magic missiles, aiming directly for
the approaching craft.

That was how things had been, at least. By the time Sadam had
surfaced, the whole deck of the ship was in a short-lived chaos.

The smaller craft had pulled up along side the Alchemists' boat,
latching on, and with a combination of grappling hooks and
planks, two ettins and an arcanus had climbed on board, plowing
through the alchemists like demons or dervishes gone mad.

Before they had even cleared the railing, two atomies, a jinn, an
anakim, and a suula had already set down on the craft from above.
Sadam came forth just in time to witness a pair of straw golems
being dismembered by the attackers before being showered in a
cloud of their components.

"What is the meaning of this?" the guildmaster shouted, but there
was, of course, no reply. The answer was obvious enough
anyway: pirates. Good ones too, by the look of things. Half his
crew already lay dead across the ship, and Sadam doubted very
much whether the rest would last him much longer.

An atomy dressed in ragged attire came screaming out of the sky,
heading for Sadam, twirling a scimitar around over his head.
Sadam didn't even look the atomy's direction as he rested his
thunderstick on his hip and sent a couple of rounds skyward. The
screaming halted abruptly and his attacker's lifeless body fell
tumbling past him a moment later.

Well, this won't do at all, Sadam thought. He muttered an
incantation and fired a flame arrow at one of the ettins, blasting its
second head clean off. The creature staggered for a moment, then
dropped. Sadam wondered briefly if it was the shock that made
that work or if some ettins just had so little brain in each head that
they required both of them just to keep their hearts beating.

He turned his attention to the rest of the fight, just in time to see
the last of his men be lacerated by the whirling blades of the
arcanus. With his flame arrow, the remaining pirates could hardly
help but notice him, and they turned in unison, charging to
eliminate this last remaining defender.

Sadam swore in Seelie and shot back down the stairs with the
pirates right on his heels. He zipped past his room and through a
hatch farther on. He slammed a door shut behind him and
locked it, stopping to examine his surroundings. There was
nothing but rocks in here, ballast for the ship.

A heavy blow landed against the door. "Come on out, you little
bug," said an unintelligent sounding voice, presumably the
remaining ettin, and, "Come on out, you little bug," again,
confirming its identity.

Blows began raining down on the door and cracks could be seen
forming along its surface.

"I'll be out in a minute!" Sadam called and hastily got to work.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Sadam proposes a trade: his life
for some shiny, magic rocks.
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Six: The Philosopher
Part Three: Arr, Matey! Arr, Matey!

"I'll be out in a minute!" called a shrill, atomy voice from the other
side of the door. This caused Avast (the ettin attempting to force
entry into the room) and Avast-Ye (his other head) to hesitate
briefly. Captain Ali always used that phrase when he was using
the poop deck and wanted someone to wait for him to get finish
before they tried to come in. Avast and Ye had seen him get very
angry when the person attempting to enter the room went ahead
and knocked down the door anyway. They had lost one, maybe
two shipmates that way already. (It had also been an ettin, so the
number of people actually lost was difficult to define.)

"Well, uh, hurry up!" Avast called, uncertain of how to proceed.
Ordinarily, since this wasn't the captain, Avast would have no
trouble charging in anyway, but Captain Ali had made himself
very clear last time: "When the person says, 'I'll be out in a minute'
then wait, You Moron!" (Avast had figured out that "You" and
"Moron" were Ali's personal pet names for the other ettin in
question. He was always the clever head with such deductions.)

"Come on out, you little bug!" said Ye. Avast looked alarmed and
slapped a hand over the other head's mouth. "Shut up!" he hissed
at his second head, before calling back to the atomy, "Just ignore
him! Take your time!" He followed this up with a very stern
glance at Ye and added, "You heard the captain. . ."

It was at this moment that Captain Ali chose to come down the
hall himself, a dazzling display of sharp blades and darkened, blue
skin. He eyed his ettin subordinate. "Is he back here?" he asked.

"Shut up!" snapped Ye.

Avast gave Ye an alarmed look then quickly stated, "Yeah, he's
here. He's right through this door." A thick thumb pointed to the
cracked doorway.

"Knock it down then," Ali ordered. He called back down the
hallway, and the other pirates began making their way into sight.

"Shut up!" snapped Ye again. "Uh, we can't, sir," Avast said,
knocking skulls with Ye in the hope of silencing him, "He said
he'll be out in a minute, so we have to wait."

Ali gave Avast a look that the ettin had great difficulty
interpreting. Fortunately, he was spared the mental strain as the
voice from beyond the door called out, "He quite right. I'll only be
a minute more!"

"Oh, shut up, you!" Ali snapped back at the door, "Keep confusing
them, and I'll have your entrails in a soup!"

"Just ignore him!" Ye called, "Take your time!"

"Thanks!" said the voice.

"Oh, get out of the way," said the captain, "I'll handle it."

"Shut up!" said Ye again. The captain gave him an irritated glare
as Avast hastily made way. "Well, uh, hurry up," said Ye.

"Someone hit him for me," muttered Ali, readying his blades to
start chopping down the door.

"You heard the captain. . ." Ye said, and the door exploded
outward in a wave of animate stone.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Pirates are no match for golems!
---------------------

[Kereth]

Chapter Six: The Philosopher
Part Four: A Losing Battle

The splinters of the door scattered through the air in a cloud, and a
procession of stone golems, like a derailed freight train, clamored
into the hall, driving the pirates back with their superior inertia.
The pirates were taken by surprise and had already been forcibly
ejected back onto the deck, exiting the stairway in a little geyser of
tumbling, battered bodies, before they could regain their footing
and bring weapons and magic to bear against their assailants.

Taking advantage of their momentum and the unbalanced position
of the pirates, the unarmed golems charged headlong against their
foes, boxing and grappling with the disoriented brigands. One by
one, the stone juggernauts crashed against their opponents,
sending them tumbling before them along the planks of the ship,
but only so much damage can be dealt at once by an untrained
construct swinging empty hands, and one by one, the pirates
regained the upper hand, twirling swords and flinging magic and
beating back the hastily built combatants.

Sadam rose back to the deck. The world was a fire-orange. The
lights of the setting sun bathed the world in their traditional
plasma-hues, and a familiar tingle ran through the Philosopher's
tiny body.

Sunset, he thought, glamour hour.

It was a long held tradition among the atomy of Raji that they had
once descended from another, grander people, known as the seelie,
but that in the early years of the seelie, the members of the race
had called upon the power of the seelie glamour and unwittingly
banished themselves to several, distant worlds, where each had
evolved in their own, distinct way. They would meet again, at the
joining of the planets, and when they did so, they might not even
be able to recognize one another, save for one detail: their
common tongue. They would unite then and form the seelie court,
and together rule the whole of their universe.

Arcanus, unfortunately, had a similar tradition about their origins.
"Jotun" was the name of their parent people, and "gshift" was the
power they claimed was responsible for the separation, but the
atomy generally presumed they were copycats and couldn't come
up with a decent legend by themselves. Typical mortals.

A hovering Jinn launched another electrical bolt down at the
golem that was flailing its arms wildly below, trying to reach the
flying foe. The golem cracked and exploded, sending bits of
gravel spitting past Sadam, tearing him away from his thoughts.

He shook himself. Now was not the time for that. He must
concentrate here. This battle was not to be won with glamour.
The guildmaster brought his thunderstick around, laying down
fire to distract and injure the opposition, hopefully giving his
golems an opening to turn the tide.

It was useless. Golem after golem broke down and died. Finally,
the alchemist put his thunderstick away as the last few constructs
were defeated. He flew out into the center of the lower deck and
landed there, taking a seat and opening his bag of equipment.

The pirates gathered round, encircling Sadam, but not attacking
their diminutive nemesis, now more wary than before of the small
creature's power.

"Give it up," Ali called at him, "You're outnumbered and
surrounded. Fly on peacefully, and we might be persuaded to
grant you quarter."

From his pack, Sadam withdrew a perfect, blown-glass sphere.
---------------------
Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Sadam surrenders.
---------------------