Ihsan

I.

The smell of smoke and burning human flesh
was Yuriel’s first sign that all she’d borne–
her ever-throbbing skull, her tortured throat;
the misery of living life apart
from those she loved: her parents and her friends;
the fear that thus would pass her final days–
was not the nadir of her suffering.
For now here was a greater tragedy,
a pointless one she couldn’t have foreseen.
She forced her aching body from its bed
and stumbled to the door. There were no windows.

Opening it, she saw the lunatic,
a body in his arms, before the pyre.
She could not yell; she managed just a moan
when to the fire he threw the body down.
She slammed the door until he looked at her,
then shook her head, and pled, such as she could.
He looked at Yuriel as though deciding
whether t’was worth it to explain his deed
to her, a little girl, whose loving mother
he’d just exhumed and cast into the fire.
But then he spoke as if he pled with her:
“They must be burned, or else they’ll spread this curse.
It’s not enough to bury them. It spreads,
infects more people, people that we love.
They must be burned.”

			               And Yuriel could not
explain to him that bodies which were burned
could not be resurrected by a mage;
she could not speak. And Yuriel could not
approach him, for she would not risk infecting
another, who would then infect the rest.
And then she marveled that of all the gods,
not one saw fit to end their suffering.
In fact, it seemed they had it so ordained:
how else could she explain her home’s destruction,
the flight from death across an endless sea,
rejection from all towns they’d begged for shelter,
and then, atop of everything, disease?
“Though there be gods,” she thought, “they are the worst
of all the beings, for they have the strength
to end the torments of the undeserving,
but choose instead to increase all their woes.
Were I a god, I’d tend to those in need.
What higher holy calling could there be?”

Now it so happened that around this time
we came to that sad town of Engleton,
where half its people lived in homes; the other
inside a barn, its windows boarded up.
They heard us by the sound of Ihsan’s armor.
Never before had they seen such a head,
so bald and shining, like a polished pearl.
When Ihsan saw the pyre, he said, “What’s this?”

The man said, “There is much we have endured.
From Qurrel, razed by a monster, we are fled,
and now we suffer disease, and so the pyre.
My wife, my love, just recently succumbed.
Those ashes there are hers.” 

     				               Then Ihsan said,
“I grieve for you, and all the people here,
for all the ills which have befallen you.
Let me see the afflicted.” So he did,
and saw their purple skin, and saw their pains,
and recognized the curse, though it was rare.
So Ihsan stayed three days within that barn
among the deadly ill, in solemn prayer,
and laid his holy hands upon their heads.
And when their voices returned, they prayed with him,
and when their color returned, he led them out 
of that dark barn, that they might breathe the air.
And then they wept for joy, and sorrow too,
and held each other close. Then Ihsan cried,
“The curse is lifted. Engleton, come forth
to join your kindred.” And the people did.
Such a reunion hearts must break to see.

Yet Ihsan did not stay to hear their thanks.
We left that town, but soon young Yuriel
caught up with us, and asked to join our group:
“For nothing here remains for me. My dad
was taken by the beast; my mom, disease.
And if I live, it must be so that I
can spread the grace that you have given me.”

And Ihsan said, “I will not lead a child 
into the dangers that our quests require.
But come with us to Wellenburg. My friend
Malaya runs an orphanage, a place
where you may be with peers, and make some friends.
She cares for each as if they were her own.
My friend, your tragedies are yours alone,
and I would not presume to understand,
but I grew up without my parents too.
You may have love and happiness, though not
precisely as you had imagined it.
And in you I can sense a holy light
which one day will bring joy to those in need.”


II.

So Yuriel accompanied us through
the wilderness whose grasses grew so tall
we could not see a foot before our faces.
And Malfyre cleared a path with magic flame.
But then we heard the yelping of a wolf,
unseen, who by mischance lay in its path.
So Ihsan doused it with a spell of water,
And healed it, and befriended it anon,
and named it Spoons. And then upon its back
small Yuriel rode happily.

				           And while
they traveled, Ihsan thought upon Malaya,
whom he had known since childhood, orphans both,
though he’d lived in a church, she on the streets,
where she had been defender of the urchins:
the Orphan King, she’d called herself. And he
admired her further than he dared to show,
for she was his best friend. Who but a fool
would ruin that with unrequited romance?
In friendships, as in battle, it was best
to never risk unduly, he believed.
And yet he wondered sometimes when she smiled
at him, if it was more than friendliness
that moved her sacred lips to such a shape.

At length we came to Wellenburg, and there
we went to good Malaya’s orphanage.
We saw her through the window, with a wig
atop her tiefling horns, and like a hag
she hunched and howled with barely hidden glee,
while children all around her squealed, delight
and terror on their animated faces.
Malaya then saw Ihsan, let us in,
and welcomed Yuriel with warmth and tact,
and would have fed us all, but then Llewellyn
went to the kitchen and prepared a meal.

Then Ihsan told Malaya of our quests.
She listened, rapt, with sorrow in her eyes
for all the miseries we’d seen, but joy
that Ihsan gave relief to those he could.

And then there was a silent moment while
Malaya doubted whether she should tell
the news she’d heard, until she softly said,
“A drow came yesterday, a prisoner
of war, he said, who recently escaped.
He knew your father when they fought opposed;
apparently their duels were renowned
for awesome martial feats, great manly things.
He said he saw your father taken captive
and sold to slavery in Dwargen Ren,
that he himself then saved you as a babe,
and left you at the church where you grew up.
This drow found me by seeking you, the son
of Sansi, his beloved rival. He
is old, and now a fugitive, and so
he thought that you might rescue his old friend.
Of course, this may well be a trap for you,
but as your friend, I felt that I should share.”

Then Ihsan said, “Malaya, thank you. I
have doubts about this drow’s outrageous tale,
but if it holds some truth, I’d never sleep
again if I allowed my father’s pain.
To Dwargen Ren I’ll go, though it be filled
with evil soldiers, and with sorcery,
to find my father, and to rescue him
if he is there.” 

    			 Malaya took his hand
in both of hers, and then gave him a kiss
upon his lips, a soft and brief embrace,
and then the smile he dreamt of graced her face,
though sorrowful it seemed. And Ihsan thought
about that kiss, and what it signified,
for many days thereafter: was it fear
that he would die which moved her to that touch?
Encouragement, so he might then succeed?
Assurance that regardless, he was loved?
Though not the love he feared he felt. A kiss
at such a time was but a courtesy.

III.

Now Azdan’s Cult held rites in Dwargen Ren,
but it had been before a dwarven mine,
and mine carts led there still, if one could find them.
So we sailed to the bay beside the mountain,
and in the waters there we met the merfolk,
a people who had worshiped dragons once,
before the cult destroyed them. Yet one egg
remained in Dwargen Ren, they said. 

      					                     “Then I,”
said Kroff, “will find that egg, and rescue it,
for we are lizard boys alike.” 

   				               So they
revealed to us the entrance by the shore,
though they could not leave water. So we went
into the tunnels, riding carts on tracks
so old we dared not ponder, over chasms
darker and deeper than our eyes could see.

We came at last upon an ancient hall,
its splendor broken by the gruesome use
to which it now was put: there stood in chains
a group of children, silent, fearing death
upon the blade a hooded woman held,
while faceless forms surrounded in their robes.
And from the chandelier which glowed above
a naked man was hung, his twisted arms
behind his back, his visage warped with pain,
his muscles atrophied to clinging skin,
his breath in tortured gasps. And Ihsan knew,
as did we all, by their resemblant faces,
that this was Ihsan’s dad. “Take me,” he cried.
“My blood will do far more than any child’s.”

The hooded woman spoke: “The time may come
when you may be released from agony,
but not before your treason is repaid.
Yet I will let you influence my hand:
you choose a single child from this assortment,
and I will sacrifice them. Quickly, for
the sooner you select, the sooner you
are freed from awful torment. Feel your arms,
your chest, your shattered shoulders. Know that each
second of suffering’s an injury
you’ll suffer for the rest of your foul life.”
But Sansi did not choose, and so she waited.

Now Ihsan whispered strategies to us.
Llewellyn conjured sounds of swords and steel
approaching from a passageway without.
Quickly then the cultists drew their blades
and, ushered by the hooded woman, left
to fight a foe that they would never find.
Yet some remained to guard the prisoners,
so Laeroth crept silently behind
and slit their throats, the gurgles of their deaths
drowned by the sounds Llewelyn still maintained.
Then to the prisoners we turned our focus.

But Ihsan couldn’t look upon his dad,
a man he’d reckoned dead for his whole life,
who now existed solely in a state
of pain which he’d endured for untold years.
Though Ihsan was a healer, skilled and proud,
this was not how he’d hoped to meet his father.

So Malfyre on his carpet flew to him,
but couldn't break the bonds which held his arms.
Then Ihsan drew his bow, and nocked an arrow,
and for a moment looked, and shot the rope
which bound his anguished father, breaking it.
Then Malfyre helped him down onto the carpet
while Ihsan freed the children from their chains.
We left before the cult returned to see
their ritual averted.

   			         Meanwhile, Kroff
had delved within the depths of Dwargen Ren
alone, to seek the fabled dragon egg,
but by his lizard senses found instead
a dragon in a cage, a trophy pet,
recently hatched. He freed it from its cage
and led it to where he had split from us.
And there we reunited in the mines,
and by the dragon’s nose we all escaped,
the children riding Spoons the wolf, and Sansi
upon the flying carpet, for he was
too weak to walk, and still too much in pain.

The dragon we released unto the merfolk.
Rejoicing, they invited it to swim
within their waters. Freely then it dove,
and flew beneath a sky it hadn’t seen
in all its life.

		        Then Ihsan laid his hands
upon his father tenderly, and prayed,
and slowly Sansi’s mangled shoulders smoothed,
and deeply then he breathed, his strength returned.
“I thank you, holy savior,” Sansi said.
Then Ihsan told him that he was his son,
and Sansi couldn’t speak for heaving sobs,
and they embraced. 

        		           When Ihsan told him how
we’d found him, Sansi said, “The drow who spoke
of me was good Benveren, my old friend.
For him I will secure a royal pardon.
And you will meet him in his garden home,
attended by his giant mushroom friend–
a mushroom, yes! I hope it lives there still.
Captain it is called, and on its cap
I thought that you might ride one day, but you
were just a baby then, and now
perhaps you are too big and strong for games.
Forgive my tears: though overcome with joy,
I mourn for all the years we never had.
Yet seeing you, I may be reassured:
my absence did not keep you from a life
of goodness. Such a noble son I have.”

Then Ihsan sent a message to Malaya
that we’d return with rescued children soon.
He didn’t know what he would say to her
when they next met, but now he felt a calm
profound, and unexpected, and serene;
and on his face a shine we’d never seen.