A man dressed in garbs of the estate officials steps up to stand beside the Elder. “He’s right, you all have worked very hard,” he says to us, while fixing his round glasses. “I am the City Lord's Steward. I will take over their responsibility from here. I thank all of you for safely escorting these fine folk here into our territory. Now I shall personally direct the party to our integrative refugee camps. And I suggest you valiant guests of the State to go to the 3rd Lane in the Diyafa district, and find the Grand Mina of Ja'na, we have arranged your residence there. That's the Grand Inn funded by the Guella Kingdom, and the Inn we offer the guests of the State free of charge, especially those who complete quests set by the Kingdom itself.”

“I appreciate the immense hospitality you've shown us,” Uncle Mal says, “but we'd like to stay with our own people, at an Inn we like—with the remuneration you're supposed to give us.” He says, his voice curteoulsy on edge.

The Official raises his hands, palms first, in mock surrender. “I meant no offense, Sir Malova.”

“Our remuneration?” Aunt Cass presses, her face slowly contorting. 

“Please calm down,” he says. “You will get your pay, in due time.” I feel rage bubbling within me. I am about to step in, when, to our surprise, The Elder speaks up, asking what he meant by that. The official fixes his glasses at the Elder, then turns to us. “Look, I have neither the authority, nor the money with me. You will get your money when the Lord of the city returns, in a day or two, and that's why I offered you to take residence in our most lavish hotel, free of charge. We will feed you and host you till your payment comes through.”

“Hmm, Okay,” I say, sighing. There's no point in shooting down the messenger. “But get this message to your Lord. He better get me my money by tomorrow.” I say, and walk off after telling him this.

‘Be assertive Amani, that's how you'll get your voice heard.’ I remember Master Fernand saying. 

The State official brings out a board from behind his robes, scribbles something in it, looks up at us. “My assistant,” as he says this, a child pops up from behind him, dressed in garbs equally as sharp, “Ahayan, will help guide you to your destination.” He turns to the child then, bends down to the child’s level. “Ahayan, take them though the side central road, you remember it, right?”

“Don't worry Abba, I can handle it.” the child says. The official straightens up, nods at us, and then leads the party away. The Elder approaches me briefly, asking me to remember what he's asked of me, then follows behind them.

“Dear esteemed guests of the State,” the child squeaks, trying his best to sound like his father, the official. “Please follow me.”

. . . 

We settled in the state owned hotel. A room for me, aunt Cass, and Arsha, and one for Omar and uncle Mal. Now, the hotel is in no way subpar, our little guide made sure of that, but work unpaid is work undeserving of the effort you put in. So it's natural to feel dejected.  

“Arsha sent a message,” aunt Cass says as a little flame canary bird lands on the windowsill. It's Arsha’s fire bird. Aunt Cass lowers her ear to the chirping bird. And once the chirping ends, the bird dissipates in tiny brilliant blue embers. Aunt Cass then turns to me, says, “She says we should meet them at the Jouk’s front gate in the evening. And she wishes us a Happy Wasawa.”

“Oh right, it's that time of the year.” It's Wasawa, the holiday celebrating the Guellan New Year. “Ugh, does this mean I have to wear a Khamr?” I ask, groaning. 

“Only if you wanna enjoy the festival properly.” Says aunt, pestering me. “It's only their traditional clothes, darling. If nothing else, respect their tradition.” she adds. And so we spend the rest of our daylight pulling and fixing the more intricate than normal attire for the festival—a long thobe that extends from top to bottom, leaving only my face bare. Aunt Cass had called in the head maid to help us after she'd completely tangled me in the mess. The head maid, a motherly figure, tried to console us, saying that even the Guellan people found this particular attire difficult to wear, but did so since it was just a once in a year thing.  

Knock knock

Aunt Cass opens the door to Uncle Mal. “Let's go,” he says, a broad grin plastered on his face. He's dressed in a Kidura, the traditional long robe attire for men. He swings his Kiffye – the headwear that comes along with the Kidura thobe – on top of his head and fastens it there. He then re-slings the extra pair of traditional clothes that I presume he's carrying for Omar around his arm. 

“You seem ecstatic,” aunt Cass remarks, her eyes narrowing. 

“What else do you expect, woman? I've finally gotten a day off after three straight months of work.” He replies, his grin widening. 

Aunt Cass nods. “Let's go,” she says, grabbing the extra pair of Khamr for Arsha.  

Stepping over the raised threshold of the door I suddenly feel my head spin. “Woah,” I say, grabbing onto anything I find near.  

“Princess!” both of them yell. “Are you alright?” Aunt Cass asks as she comes to me, jamming her shoulder under mine. I feel a heaviness descend on top of the crown of my head. My vision doubles down and blurs with red.  

“I think I might be more tired than I thought.” I say, forcing a chuckle. I direct Aunt Cass to place me on the bed. She sits me down and grabs a flagon of water, offering it to me. I give my thanks and take it from her, drinking some and pouring some over my head. The water drenches the beautiful traditional clothes I have on but I don't really care. I feel a slow headache start to take root in me. Making a conscious effort to loosen the muscles of my body I drop flat on my bed. My eyes flicker for a while before I open them—both Uncle Mal and Aunt Cass are standing over me, their brows drawn in worry. 

“Go,” I tell them, but they don't budge. Raising my hand I point to the extra clothes she has slung across her hand. “They're waiting for you.” 

Aunt Cass goes to the door, speaks something I hear not, then closes the door on Uncle Mal. I begin to tell her to just leave but she cuts me off. “I'll at least help change your clothes before I leave.” I sigh, sink back down. I do need help with that. So I thank her and let her do her thing. After a further ten minutes she's finally done. And after tucking me in, she opens the door. 

“I'll bring you something nice to eat,” says Uncle Mal, trying to cheer me up I presume. Too tired to do anything else I give him a thumbs up. They leave shortly after.

I simultaneously feel inexplicably drowsy and unexplainably awake at the same time. The headaches come in patches now, each hitting a bit harder than the last. The red in my vision returns. Each recurring episode of red stays on a little longer than the last, and each time I hear a little whisper mixed in with the red. This torture rises until the redness consumes me whole. The whispers finally speak a complete sentence. It says-

“They're coming.”