Oppression vs. Ambition

The giant burning orb, commonly called the Daylight, slowly rose in the sky, climbing above the far horizon, on the other side of the river. The other side of the river held the parts of the city that were important to those that mattered, the parts where the residents were free to move about the districts, at least most of the districts, most importantly to entertainment, the Moonlight District.

The Burning Sun, as the god was called whose representation was the Daylight, was not even full in the sky, but those of the Flats could already feel the heat, especially since it was the season called Stasis. The Burning Sun was known to be a cruel and petty god. Animal sacrifice was regularly and often given in an attempt to appease her in hopes of easing the burning heat that could sear a person’s skin and even blind a person’s eyes. The laborers in the Flats all wore loose garments made of cotton and flattened, cone-shaped hats with wide brims, as a means of protection. The residents here were not called slaves, but the labor was hard, the conditions were terrible, the pay was paltry, and there was no real means of escaping the Flats. It is often from such oppression that heroes are born.

The city of Ansylim is built near the mouth of the Crystal River, which flows across the desert known as the Burning Sands. Its head is in the mountain range called the Dragon’s Footprint. Aside from the vein of life provided by the river, the desert, as a whole, is inhospitable dunes of sand. Where the river meets the ocean, the cut bank has a rocky substrate and supports the walled districts. The other side washes over the bank creating a vast, muddy, brackish water marsh, called the Flats. The river is too wide to swim, especially with the current and the movement of the tides. The Flats provide the impetus for the existence of the city, but its residents, often called mud grubbers, are disdained by the others, especially those who have been branded on the face and remanded there after being caught as petty criminals.

The higher areas of the marsh have been reinforced with fired brick, made from clays collected in the marsh, to create a maze of walkways that transverse the area for the cultivation of various crops and the collection of differing viscosities of clay. Most laborers are paid for the collection of materials used in other districts. Older residents who are no longer capable of such labor can earn some coin for the manufacture of straw hats. Residents are not specifically forced to work, but the alternative might be starvation, and it is natural for people to desire a sense of belonging. Nearly everyone is afraid to venture outside of one’s comfort zone.

Jalakaag stood in the mud and lifted a hand to his eyes, to squint at the rising Daylight. He scratched his head and donned his hat that he had been holding in the other head. He was tall for his age, or at least that is what he had been told. Still an adolescent, he was already frustrated with the monotony of his laborious and mundane life. He longed for something more but had no idea how to go about it. He wanted to curse the Burning Sun but paid his respects, instead.

Whiron adjusted his hat and whistled at his friend. The two were the same age, as far as they knew, and spent much of the day around one another. Of a like mind, he was smart enough to be completely dissatisfied with the life into which he had been born, but lacking in sufficient knowledge to make a difference. “Quit staring into the Daylight. You will go blind before the old ones.”

Jalakaag snickered at the comment from his friend whom he did not realize had walked up on him. Being tall and already showing what would become the thickness of musculature, he did not worry too much about other children attempting to prank him. Life in the sun had made his already dark skin almost the color of charcoal. He turned to face his friend, cracking his knuckles of a habit. “You might want to consider some homage yourself. We spend all day under the gaze of the Burning Sun.”

Whiron was a little bit shorter than most and wiry thin. The lack of appropriate nutrition probably had to do more with his physique than genetics. He did not know his father but his mother looked like any other Centrin woman. He was as pale as his friend was dark. The skin that was constantly exposed had a reddish tint. He removed his hat and bowed toward the rising Daylight. His long hair was as white as a cloud. The bow was really a mockery, but no one looking from afar would know it. He smiled at Jalakaag. “The Burning Sun hates us. I will pay some respects when it rains!”

Normally following with one adult or another in their lives since they had been physically capable, Jalakaag and Whiron had never really known anything but labor. Of an age to want a separate identity from one’s parents, they needed to make their own way to the pavilion, if they were ever to receive any coin or credit for themselves.

The rather large pavilion of cane with thatch roofing had been constructed on a reinforced rise of land nearest the actual flow of the river. An official clerk records the labors of each person and pays coin when appropriate. The coins and the clerk are guarded by four swordsmen. Attempting to steal the ceramic coins would prove to be quickly fatal.

All adolescents were a little unsure of exactly what to do or say, even though it had been done and said by others with them thousands of times. The clerk was a female Ansylin. She had doffed her hooded cloak since it was no longer needed to protect her from the Daylight while she was standing under the pavilion. She almost smiled and motioned for the two boy as they neared. A smile was something almost never seen in the Flats.

Jalakaag looked around like it was necessary to make sure that the gesture was for him but was fully prepared to comply despite his pointless scanning. He shrugged and gestured with his left toward Whiron as if to ask, “Well?”

Whiron touched his own chest and mouthed the question, “Me?” toward the woman. Like the movements from his friend, it was pointless, a childish display of insecurity. It was a poor trait he needed to expunge. He nodded at Jalakaag and jerked his head toward the clerk as if to say, “Let’s go.”