Page 21 of Steel & Thunder
“Yes. Yahweh.” He looks at me, tilting his head when I do not respond. “The god of Abram?”
“Oh, uh, count me among the un-devout.” I think I’ve heard Corrine say the name Abram before, so I figure that’s the god he’s talking about. “Where I’m from isn’t all that different from here, really. There are a few people who are in church almost daily, but most of us aren’t religious at all. Everyone still tries to be a good person though.” Or at least that’s what they claim. “I haven’t even been in a church since I was little and that was for my grandmother’s funeral. Also, I think most of his followers just call him ‘God.’”
“Of course they do,” he sighs and grumbles. “I was under the impression that all humans from your part of the world were his followers.” He dips the pen back in the ink and continues writing. “I am glad neither of us will have to worry about waking up early for prayers.”
That makes two of us. Why would he care about his slave’s religion anyway? Actually, thinking about the word slave... “What was the other thing he called me? Vakish?”
“Avakesh?” He moves the finished paper to the side and starts on the next. “Roughly translated it would be close to slave, servant, or pet. Though none of those words really capture the meaning.”
“Oh.” How handy, instead of humiliating me with three words, he can do it in one. “What about Nagleuzgore?” It sounded familiar.
“Nagul Uzu’gor.” He finishes another sheet. “That is the name for what we did: the ritual.”
That’s right. That’s what the red-haired lawyer called it. I don’t have another question right away, so I give him a moment while I think. “I’m impressed by how many of you speak Common. I really didn’t expect that.”
“It is not all that uncommon here.” I can hear how pleased he is at his terrible joke. “My father insisted that my siblings and I learn when we were young, but many people working in the government or as merchants usually take the time to learn additional languages. Those of us who would interact with others outside of the city.”
“Does that happen a lot?” I think I saw maybe four or five humans at the market earlier and that’s it. “My friends and I didn’t even know this place existed.”
“No, not very often. We prefer our privacy and do what we can to keep most outsiders unaware of our location. Though as time goes on and the city grows, that has become increasingly difficult.” More ink. “We have trade routes established with several cities in the west. Certain individuals in those cities have the knowledge and ability to travel here, but outside of that, most trades and deliveries are done outside the city. When new settlements began cropping up in the east, we attempted to establish the same trade relationships, and in return, those settlements sent missionaries in an attempt to ‘convert’ us. For the most part harmless, but there have been more than a few humans calling the lot of us heathens.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.” Seems like a waste of time to me. “Why would they care about which gods you follow?”
“One of your friends in jail is a missionary, are they not?” He looks up to cock an eyebrow at me.
“Uh.” I don’t have an answer for that. I know that’s what Corrine calls herself, but I can’t imagine that girl being rude to a mouse, let alone an entire race of people because of a difference in religion. I can’t believe that those other people would either, especially since I think that’s at least part of why they left their homelands in the first place.
“As I said, most of our interactions have been harmless.” He finishes another page and adds it to the pile, straightening and ordering what he’s completed so far. “There were a few violent clashes when they first landed. They tried to prevent us and others from using the coastline for fishing, something we have done for ages. We made sure to settle those issues some time ago.”
I don’t know all that much about the settlements he’s talking about, except for how they relate to where I came from, Lutheria. Something like 200 years ago, the founders of Lutheria left the nation of Albion after the Albionian Church, which basically runs the country, started cracking down on people they felt were not “true believers.” I’m not really sure what that means or how you enforce that, but they tried to and it got violent. After enough blood had been shed, the people had had enough and got on some boats and left. They only went one island over really, but it was enough of a distance to create their own home free of interference.
The island—Inisfalia—wasn’t uninhabited, but the lives of the people there were chaotic. For centuries they had been on the receiving end of attacks from northern raiders who would regularly pillage their coastlines. Now, if there was one thing our people were good at, it was fighting tyrants—or at least that’s what my dad always said—so they offered their aid in exchange for the chance at starting a new home. The two groups worked together, and after more than a year of repelling the attacks, the raids finally ceased. In that year, as Albion spread its influence eastward, other countries had similar exoduses, displaced outcasts in search of a new home. As more people immigrated, old cities were rebuilt and new cities were established and soon Lutheria was formed.
In the years that followed, many more people did the same, though they ended up traveling much farther—to the coasts here, across the ocean. I’m not sure what they call this continent here, but back home it was known as “Nova Mundus,” eventually shortened to just “Nova” by most of the Common speaking population. In the time since, the settlements and Lutheria banded together in the name of “mutual cooperation” (that’s a term I remember from class), which is how we were able to get from there to here so easily and without having to fill out any boring-ass paperwork like this.
When I come back from my personal history lesson, I see Ironstorm has finished another paper and is looking at me. “Next is your immigration paperwork, so now it is my turn to ask some questions.”
“Why do I need immigration paperwork?” It’s not like I’m moving he—Shit.
“Because you are an immigrant?” He looks a little bewildered by my answer, which, yeah, was kinda dumb. “The city is not large and likes to know who is within its borders. Your friends will have to fill out the same forms at some point.”
“Got it.” I just nod. Let’s do this.
“Can you spell your name for me?” The pen is dipped in the ink again as he waits for my answer.
“D-A-V-I-D C-E-R-A-N-O.”
“Thank you.” He writes the name on the sheet of paper. “Date of birth?”
“The 13th of Geminus, 4021.” I’ll be twenty-two in two months!
“And you are originally from...?”
“Northlake, Lutheria.” My good-old hometown.
“Hair: black. Eyes: green. How tall are you?”
“Five foot, ten inches,” I respond mechanically.
