The Unexpected Noble Descendent (CK3)

[Izulde]

People say my cigarettes stink. But to me, they're positively perfume to the twinned stench of sweat and physical union that seeps under the doorways of the establishment I and my friend are currently patronizing.

I did not intend to come here ever. But my friend insisted, "Come to ________ (he named a country known for its inexpensive intimate interludes)! It will change your life!" Like the protagonist of a hero's journey, I refused him. Twice. But when I found myself unemployed, heartbroken, and with a modest but not minimal inheritance from my last living parent's passing, I said to hell with it. And so, passport dug out of a moving box I never got around to unpacking later, I found myself in an urban riot of people, noise, and smog - then to a small room with a likewise small lady whose services my friend had procured for me.

Linger over the details I will not - save that I insisted that she turn all the lights on, rather than the dim, romantic mood lighting she opted for. She asked me why. I told her, "Because if I don't see you in full light, you cease to exist." No doubt she found it odd, but she was not paid to question it. Instead, she gave me an overly bright, clearly fabricated smile and her assent.

How I felt after? Well, nothing overly emotional. Calm, I suppose. Relaxed enough that I was able to excuse myself to go outside and smoke. She was pretty, of course. My friend made sure of that: "In honor of busting your 25 year slump!" For that, I was thankful, but her beauty, like her smile, was rendered inauthentic, a window display of skin that I felt no attachment to. Not unlike the one I think of now as I watch the grey smoke float out into the lightly drizzling grey sky, barely visible against the raindrops and the grey skyscrapers I see periodically dotting the cityscape.

When it rains like this - the soft, warm, early summer rain - I'm put in mind of The Garden of Words (the novelization, not the film), and various compositions of City Girl play in my ears. Which in turn leads me to remembering her - that winsome smile, that mocha skin, the hair a... not brunette, not so common as brown, but in that spectrum, lit underneath with a blonde light that isn't visible, but I perceive anyway. The one who introduced me to that artist and whose music always puts me in a relaxed mood, even as my heart aches with her absence several thousand miles away, whether I'm in my home or in this country.

My friend is enthusiastically engaged still with his choice. He has one of those booming voices that can be heard from half a mile away, even through the thin walls of this place, though the sounds he makes now are no discernable words. I find myself chuckling and shaking my head, making note to tease him for his volume when we go drinking later (he beer, me wine no doubt).

"Excuse me. May I please borrow one?"

A female voice. I turn, but see only a preposterously large, bright yellow raincoat that conceals everything about her.

"Sure."

I see the orange end of her borrowed, yet not to be returned cigarette as I offer her a light, but can not penetrate beyond that. Not that I'm especially interested, of course. Only the sort of idle, commonplace curiosity that such a situation engenders.

"Thanks," she murmurs, prior to a stream of smoke.

Our streams cross, contrary to proper male lavatory etiquette, but this is a rain-sotted rooftop and she is a woman. I watch the co-mingling of our exhalations in silence. She, too, is quiet for a time.

"I'm _____" The name is no doubt professional, as illusory as everything else in this building.

"Winchester." My last name, not my first. First names are too personal for commercial transactions.

"Like the gun company?"

"No relation."

"Oh." The vinyl yellow mound shakes with laughter. "A pity, but at least your ancestors won't be ashamed of you like mine are."

"Why would your ancestors be ashamed?"

Her head lifts as she appears to gaze out at the city as I did earlier.

"My father was descended from a line of nobility - sometime back in the 700s, I think it was. He never made me legal, wouldn't recognize me. I understood, of course. My mother worked here, too, until she couldn't. But it meant I had to work here too, when the time came."

A tall tale or the truth? I suspect the former, this business being what it is, but I can't help but be intrigued by the latter. Still, I don't give her the satisfaction of a response - not even so much as a hmph.

"If you want to hear more, come see me some time."

Now I hmph. She thanks me for the cigarette and walks back into the building, the closing door behind her muffling some of my friend's enthusiasm.

Maybe I'll see her. Maybe I won't.

[Izulde]

"Is she hot?"

"I told you, man... I couldn't see anything because of that raincoat. She looked like a midget Big Bird near as I could tell."

Kenny's loud laughter and table slap rattles his beer mug, my wine glass. I knew that would be the first question he asked when I told him about it. He's a mountain of a man, with an impressive, majestic, outright Chadian beard. On me, when I let it get the same length, I look homeless - crazed, even. And so I keep it modest and demure as a genuinely religious girl.

"Now watch, she'll be like 300 pounds and look like a swamp creature."

"I don't think so - I mean, different tastes for different clients, but I don't think she's ugly or they never would have hired her."

"Yeah, true. Although sometimes -" and then Kenny's off on description of post-divorce conquest #18, somewhere in Ecuador. He's had 37 conquests on 4 continents since he freed himself from the woman, who though a pleasant person, was thoroughly poor a match for him. That their marriage lasted two years was the biggest surprise of all to me. I liked them both and considered them friends, but they could not have been more oil and water a pairing, without the commonalities that might have eventually harmonized them into synergy as so often happens with long-lasting unions.

I only half-listen, sipping my wine and checking my phone. Another day, another lack of contact from the Mocha Girl. I don't know why I keep hoping she'll reach out to me. But hope I do. I might well hope until the last of my days, when cancer or a slow-acting heart attack completes the job of finishing me off. I should quit smoking, I know. But I told myself long ago that I would quit only when I was in a position to be happy. I don't think I'll ever be happy. So why not gradually murder myself?

"Anywho, you see any girls you like? You can practice your game on them."

I scan the room. "...No."

"Picky, picky, picky! I'll go get us a couple."

As his bulk wades into a noisy crowd of laughter and jokes common to popular places of drink, I reflect that I haven't told him about the Mocha Girl. While many people in my circle know who she is, the number that know my feelings for her can be finger counted in one circuit of my hands. She, incidentally, is not one of them. Among my numerous faults is cowardice in affairs of the heart - so much so that the only girlfriends I've had are those who fell in love with my writing first, and all of them were long-distance relationships. Actual, day-to-day physical relationships? None. So from a certain viewpoint, one can very reasonably say that I've never had a girlfriend in the ways that it counts.

Kenny's now maneuvered his way into a group of girls, being his usual gregarious and charming self from their sparkling eyes and good humor. When the conversation turns to the women talking to each other, he lifts his head and meets my eyes, subtly gesturing with questioning brows which one I want. I shake him off at each indication and he rolls his eyes.

He's drawn back into the group chat and while he's distracted, I finish my wine, leave money on the table, and slip out.

Though I intended to just hang outside and smoke, my footsteps keep walking until they get on a bus and get off at the stop nearest that place. I walk in - nevermind the description for now - and ask after Big Bird. As the politely smiling hostess goes to fetch her, I call back, "Wait. Tell her to wear the raincoat." A pause before a turning back and acknowledging nod.

I probably look like a freak, a real fetish weirdo. Which reminds me that Kenny- nevermind. Later, later to think about that. I don't want to think about him now or how pissed he's going to be that I just ditched him.

A few minutes later, a vinyl yellow apparition comes down the stairs and over to me. I notice her gait is smooth, assured despite the awkwardness of rain attire indoors.

"Hello, Winchester."

"Hi. Can we just..."

She turns and leads me up the stairs without comment, anticipating my unfinished question. Small room like all the rest. I notice the lights are fully on and she makes no move to dim them. Instead, she sits on the bed, the plastic creaking with the seating as the bed creaks its own tone with her body.

"I'm guessing you came here for the story of my ancestors."

"Yes."

"Sit down, Winchester. You don't have to stand there."

I do, in a dull green fabric chair. She gets up, closes, and locks the door before returning to the bed.

"Make yourself comfortable. Let me know if you want me to undress, too."

"I'm fine. You're fine."

She chuckles, "Very well. Do you want coffee?"

I do and it comes. Once the older woman leaves and I take my first sip, Big Bird (not the professional name she gave me last night) begins.

[Izulde]

"I misspoke by a century when I said the 700s. It was in the mid-800s. You know how numbers are for people who aren't math-minded.

The story of civilization - perhaps humanity itself - begins by water. And why not? It contains our calmness, our rage, capable of sustaining life and delivering death... all those opposites that are a part of us are also in water. Don't scientists tell us we're mostly water and stardust?"

Big Bird continues this preamble as she goes to a desk, pulling open drawers and rummaging around in them. When she turns back to face me, I notice she's wearing yellow dishwashing gloves and carrying a map, which she spreads out on the bed in front of her.

"Why the gloves?"

"You don't want to see what I look like, so I covered my hands, too. Your fault if you didn't pay attention when you had the chance."

I didn't. Usually I study a woman's hands for rings. But after I met the Mocha Girl (middle finger - an expression of power), I stopped looking. Only her hands mattered. But I'm not going to tell Big Bird about her. No need. Instead, I walk around the bed to peer at the map. She continues talking as I get up.

"So it is with my distant ancestor. He lived on the Horn of Africa, surrounded by relatives. It was a rather fecund family. Probably something in the water."

The joke is tired, so I don't laugh in the provided beat.





"Anyway, 'lise realized that family can both be a great support and that which destroys you. He quickly allied with his brothers in a multilateral defense pact, but his uncle, the Gerad of Fafan to the west, refused. Fearing an internecine set of wars designed to make Fafan the lord of the Horn, 'lise resolved to sail across the Arabian Sea and conquer slightly richer territory on the peninsula. Oh wait!"

I study the map silently while Big Bird hustles back to the desk and returns with a grainy portrait on blackened paper that bore the marks of some accidental fire.

"This is 'lise"





"Money-loving and honestly so, he also wasn't the greatest fan of the fun we have here. Yet, he also recognized the importance of continuing his direct line, so he married the woman the shamans said had the most fertile hips in all of the Horn." Big Bird shifts the portrait to another one, "This is their engagement portrait."





I have no reaction to the portrait. These are just dead faces to me.

"With friends and wife in hand, 'lise struck across the sea and easily conquered the better province of Mahra. One can hardly call it a war - it was more a swift overrun, the battle decided before the first swords crossed."






"My ancestor could have proclaimed himself Gerad back in the Horn. He had enough territory there to do so. But he determined to establish his presence on the peninsula and immediately moved the capital to Mahra. He just as swiftly conquered Dhurfar and named himself Gerad of Mahra." More portrait movement and this time, it's a clearly modern reproduction of an ancient document translated into English.



"Over the next several years, 'lise continued rampaging like a rhino through the peninsula. Now he was so powerful, he never needed his allies. The word Somalian became equivalent to demon in the Bedouin dialect in Arabic - perhaps no more than to Samir Mahrid, who not only lost Mahra to 'lise, but suffered a final ignoble defeat when he was captured on the battlefield for his last remaining territory." Carefully moving aside the first two maps, Big Bird showed me a third which had a notation on it unlike the unmarked priors.



"By the time he was 27, 'lise occupied much of what is today Yemen - so much so that he gave a Bedouin prisoner control of Dhurfar and one of his unlanded brothers another lesser conquered territory. Most of the region was Bedouin in culture. But the capital of Mahra was different - *that* was the lone Yemeni province in his domains. And it was a culture my ancestor found himself fascinated with. What exactly it was about it, I'm not sure... the only thing I do know is that given his new home, 'lise decided to apply himself to learning Arabic so that the restless people who resented this foreigner could at least communicate with him.

Because he devoted himself to linguistic studies and because he needed time to raise money and name himself Gerad of another region in Yemen, 'lise halted his expansion for the time being. Too, he had a daughter and two sons to tend to. They were merely toddlers at this point - well, his daughter was older than that - but nonetheless, it was domesticity and Mahra that now overtook his concerns. Of course, it would be generations upon generations before the Yemeni would even consider accepting the Waaqi nature faith, Islam rather being inhospitable at best to pre-monotheism.

I've never quite known what to call the shape of this first phase of conquest - the Snake? the Whale? Something devouring at any rate..." A fourth map arose from the stack.




Big Bird stops talking and I bend my head next to hers to peruse the image. I see what she means about Mahra's Arabian shape being... something... but just what I don't know myself.

"Maybe a skinny whale?" I offer.

There's a movement in the hood that suggests tongue over lips.

"Skinny whale? Sounds like a fancy coffee drink made with skim milk."

"Well, Ethiopia *is* the birthplace of coffee."

A low chuckle.

"True... which is rather fitting I suppose, given where my ancestor started. Although now I want to know what a Skinny Whale would taste like... what ingredients it would have."

We pass a few minutes in banter, suggesting silly - if not outright absurd - nautical ingredients for flavoring. Then my phone beeps with a text message from Kenny angrily asking DUDE WTF R U?!

"Looks like I have to go. I kinda ditched my friend to come here."

"Naughty Winchester. Come see me again if you want to hear more."

I just wave my hand and walk out, music entering my ears from a nearby room.

You can be mean when you look this clean, I'm a classic man
Calling on me like a young OG, I'm a classic man
Your needs get met by the street, elegant old fashioned man
Yeah baby I'm a classic man

[Izulde]

So I had someone ask about 'lise as a name, and a quick, cursory search yielded the following information: Oops! We ran into some problems. | Paradox Interactive Forums

[Chas in Cinti]

Following...

[Izulde]

87 Happy Birthdays and the Mocha Girl isn't one of them.

I'm surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls that innumerable middle-aged men would give their left testicle to be with, and the Mocha Girl isn't one of them.

This is total love - when you have what so many would envy, and it all means nothing when The One is silent.

And so my replies are short. Clipped. The bargirls aren't getting the hint. Neither is Kenny, who told me the other night after he reamed me out for vanishing that he's become a manager for a series of bars like this one. He's working and trying his damnedest to make this a happy birthday for me. It isn't working.

Instead, I sullenly sip my Russian vodka - which I don't even like by the way, but I can never say no to people when I can't think of something on my own - letting the babble of broken English bubble about me. Winchester the weatherbeaten rock in the creek of cretinly chatter.

The Mocha Girl has my contact info. I gave it to her before she left. And yet, and yet, and yet.... nothing, nothing, nothing.

Kenny is pulling me off my stool now, ripping into me in a low voice because I'm being such an ass when he and the girls are putting their best effort and I'm Eeyoreing. I don't care what he's saying. I wish I'd never come here.

Then there's a commotion at the entrance to the bar. I'm not sure who's more surprised - the bargirls, the smattering of Eastern European customers (all men, of course), Kenny, or me.

After the din dies down, a figure in a vinyl yellow raincoat and yellow rubber gloves walks confidently in and pulls me from Kenny's grip with a stunning strength.

"Winchester's going with me."

"Um, what? Who the fuck are you?!" Kenny was already pissed but he's mottled red now.

"I'm sorry, but he has an appointment with me he missed and I don't want him to get charged more fees," Big Bird explains.

"Bull-"

"No, she's right, Kenny. It slipped my mind with the great time you all were showing me for your birthday." All lies, of course. I wonder why Big Bird is here. I *did* mention last time I went what today was and where I'd be, but it was just offhand as she was seeing me out the front door...

One of the bargirls breaks in now to say something clearly nasty to Big Bird in their language.

The hood turns and the reply is low, in the same language.

It take Kenny and four customers to hold back the mass of bargirls as Big Bird leads me out and into the night.

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by Chas in Cinti

Following...

Thanks!

[Izulde]

We issue out into an evening that still smells damp, humid, even though it's been a few hours since the last rain of the day fell. In silence we walk to her bike, where a messenger bag is perched. She takes the bag and suggests we adjourn to the park some blocks away. Seeing no reason to object, I agree.

Silence still as we traipse from noisy, crowded concrete jungle to refined, civilized, tamed greenery. Not quiet, though - there's too many families and friend groups being boisterous for that. Not quiet, that is, until Big Bird takes us into an alcove deep in the interior of the park, draping vines forming its doorway and shutting out the distant sounds of celebration and relaxation.

"Why'd you come and get me?"

She continues unlatching the satchel as she answers, "Because I heard in your voice and read in your eyes that you didn't really want to go. And because you're suffering a heartbreak."

"...How'd you know?"

"Because I've been around enough men that I know when they're hurting. Why do you think I've never offered to sleep with you? I'm a whore, after all."

There's nothing I can say to that, and I don't want to talk about the Mocha Girl. I'm about to change the subject when I see the bag's contents spread out on a stone table in the middle of an alcove. More pictures and maps. A bottle of wine. Two plastic cups. A small white cardboard box that when opened reveals itself to be a two-portion chocolate cake with a single, unlit purple candle.

"Why purple?"

"You were born on a Saturday. Your friend told my friend your age. I calculated from there."

I oh as she fills the cups with the wine and hands one to me, taking the other for herself.

"It's my day off and your birthday besides, so don't worry about money. We'll drink wine and I'll tell you more about my ancestor."

If I was a different sort of man, I might object to all the assumptions and presumptions she's making. But I'm not, and besides, she's right anyway. I take a gulp of the wine. It's sweet, yet not too sweet. Peaches and apricots in the notes. I like it.

"'lise knew it was important to learn Arabic, as I said before. It took a number of years, but he finally mastered it and gained the approval of many who were formerly against him. He'd also appointed his teacher as his first vassal in thanks for taking the time and patience to instruct him.



Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. A peasant revolt broke out while 'lise, tired of sitting around Mahra, was becoming the whale that ate the morsel in front of him.



The rebellion was swiftly put down, the war concluded. But that wasn't the end of things - Islan Mukhtar, however brilliant a teacher, had a deeply flawed character - one that caused no end of scandals. First, he abused his other guests and his wife at a feast, which 'lise publicly denounced him for. Then, while the Gerard of Mahra was involved in his most complicated war yet, word spread that Mukhtar was sleeping with 'lise's sister, even though both of them were married.



My ancestor imprisoned them to worry about later, turning his attention to the matter only after the war was finally over, the wealthiest territory of the Ziyadid Emirate added to Mahra. Once peace settled again, 'lise freed the adulterous couples, but only after forcing his vassal to embrace the Somali faith. Hard feelings between teacher and student for many years, until just before Mukhtar's death.

Friend turned enemy. Enemy turned friend, as my ancestor realized the giant of a man was an excellent diplomat and warrior, and so would make the perfect husband for his eldest daughter. The wedding was swiftly agreed to - on the point of a sword, so the story goes. It was such an outrageous turn of events that few could believe it, and his eldest daughter lost much face as a result.



A couple years later, it was time for his heir to be married. 'lise needed to marry the most fertile woman, but with his line well-secured, he could afford to marry his oldest son to the prettiest woman he could find - a much older Kashmiri woman, as it turned out.



Some time after that, my ancestor's first grandchild was born.



Monstrous even as a baby, Magol's body was never the same after that, as you can imagine."

Big Bird chuckles at her own not all that funny joke. Not even the wine is enough to make me laugh. It's just too bad she's bad at jokes, but I suppose at least she tries.

"Anyway," she continues, "'lise continued his mission of conquest, gradually consuming territory by territory. The last war was the worst, resulting in his heir losing an eye and being imprisoned, his giant son-in-law killed in battle, and requiring the summoning of all his allies. In fact, for many months, it appeared as though my ancestor would finally lose his first war, his ambitions for a kingdom arrested just short of the goal. But Fate was on his side, and they secured a narrow victory just before the superior troops of the enemy's ally could march in and undo everything. And so 'lise in the span of his lifetime went from young chieftan to middle-aged king."



"Here's the pictures I have of the first royal court and the lands held by my ancestor at the time of Yemen's creation."





"...That's impressive. How long did it take him?"

"25 years."

...25 years ago, I was 18, having just graduated high school and looking forward to escaping the hell of my hometown. In the 25 years since? A few short careers, constant job-hopping, a few even shorter relationships, a bit of travel. Nothing like creating a whole new kingdom.

"I need to go. My mother needs me."

I nod to Big Bird's remark and we walk back to her bike. When she climbs on, she turns to apparently look at me.

"I don't think we should meet at the house anymore. People ask too many questions. Let's meet in the park about this time - it's when I get off work, and I have a caretaker for my mother in case I have to work later. Are you free tomorrow night?"

I am and tell her so. Screw Kenny.

"Oh, and if you need to sleep with a bargirl instead, I understand. I'll just go if you're -too- late."

"Noted."

Big Bird rides off into the darkness, a spot of yellow on a green bike until finally I can't make out her color.

It isn't until she's gone that I realize she's just told me her mother is sick. I probably should have said something, but really, what I could say? Not anything that would have made her feel better or changed reality, and besides, she had to go as it is.

Still, I wish she could have spent the night with me. Not for sex. It sounds like Big Bird isn't down to get busy with me, and honestly, I don't want to anyway. But just... conversation. Kenny's my friend, but we don't agree on anything and no longer have the matching interests that brought us together in the first place. And the bargirls? Forget it.

There's more drama waiting at the bar, so I'm not going back there. I'll deal with it tomorrow. For now, I'll just go back to the condo and sleep.

What a weird birthday.

[Cap Ologist]

Enjoying!

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by Cap Ologist

Enjoying!

Thanks!

***

The next morning, I'm peacefully eating the second portion of the small birthday cake Big Bird left me when there's a banging on my door, followed by Kenny's too loud voice telling me to answer.

Great. Now my coffee will get cold. Wait, I'll take it with me.

I yell that I'm coming, and picking up the cup, go to unlock and open the door with my spare hand. Kenny smells like alcohol as he always does after work.

"That was a pretty crappy thing you pulled last night."

"Hello to you, too, Kenny."

"Aren't you going to let me in? You're such an ass."

I sigh and step inside. He follows, his large frame quickly swallowing up the small space of my modest condo. We adjourn to the chair and couch respectively in the tiny living room because I don't want him getting at my cake. Don't even want him to see it, actually. Too many questions, like Big Bird said. There's more coming anyway.

"What is it with you and that weird whore anyway? You're not even screwing her!"

...Shit. Evidently I'd told him that when I was drunk and forgot.

"She's cool. A lot smarter than the bargirls you keep foisting on me."

I'll spare the recitation that follows. Typical red pill/MRA drivel. As I drink my thankfully still hot coffee, I wonder even more how we're still friends.

"I don't like vodka."

Kenny is mid-diatribe and stops to stare at me. "Then why didn't you fucking say so?"

"I don't know, man... Anyway" I continue before he can speak again, "Just to let you know, I'm gonna be hanging out with Big Bird at night from now on, so you might not see me around the bars much."

Now it's his turn to sigh. "Fine, but we're still going sightseeing during the day. You've only got a few days left here anyway, and you can't spend it all talking to some crazy chick."

....He's right. I only planned to stay here a week. That means I'm not going to hear the full story of Big Bird's ancestors. Unless... what would happen if I just missed my flight? People do that in movies all the time - usually middle-aged women on the brink of some life-changing epiphany or reaffirmation of their womanhood. Maybe I'll buy a run-down house in the countryside and renovate it, even though I don't know the first thing about handyman stuff. Maybe Big Bird will come with a set of tools and help me figure out. Actually, Kenny knows that kind of thing - he's building a small landlording business back home that he has property management companies handling the day-to-day of. Hence why he's able to mess around with the male mid-life crisis of banging young, vapid, uneducated bargirls and partying like he's 21 again.

"Yo, Winchester. You alive?"

"Sorry. Just thinking. Anyway, can we meet up for coffee this afternoon? I kinda wanna just chill here for a while."

"Yeah, sure." He doesn't mention I'm already drinking coffee. I'm a caffeine and tobacco addict and he's becoming an alcoholic. We all have our vices.

After I usher Kenny out, I get back to my cake. It's clearly store-bought, but I don't care. Still tastes good - especially with coffee.

***

Big Bird isn't in the grove when I get there, but I've brought Emma with me to keep reading. Lately I've been on a Jane Austen kick, even though I couldn't stand her in my 20s. Naturally the commencement of it started with the Mocha Girl. I read the Twilight series the same way - some cute girl got me going on them, though that one was rather silly a person. Charming, though. Damn charming.

She arrives somewhere around Chapter 11, as always in that raincoat and gloves. We exchange waves and I close my book to watch while she sets up the usual maps and pictures. A hand summons later, I'm listening to the sound of her voice.

"'Lise needed to establish his legitimacy as Ughaz, so he held court a few months after proclaiming himself the overlord of all Yemen.



Nothing of any real consequence happened there other than a change in chiefs of one of the poorest provinces. More notable for the future was that he later appointed his heir as his own personal champion. You see, Darood hadn't yet shown the cracks of sanity caused by losing his eye and being imprisoned in the war for the last province to create the Kingdom.

But who did have more immediate mental problems was my ancestor himself. A group of cultists appeared in the throne room a week after he was crowned, shouting some nonsense about needing to find the head of a prophet they'd cut off. 'lise threw them out... only to almost lose his life a month later when the leader somehow snuck into his bedroom and threatened to take his head as a substitute. He survived, but the narrow escape and stress of running a kingdom caused him to turn to hashish to escape and relax."



"As you can imagine, 'lise slowed down after that. He took one more territory, but then didn't seem to want to fight anymore, especially since he started becoming physically frail. One night, though, while smoking, he suddenly was seized with the idea that he needed to free Harquaz, the last of the Somali religion's holy sites not ruled by one of their own. This liberation was successful, and it made him want to take more. And so the land next to Maits was taken, and the army was on its way to the deep south of Mogadishu when 'lise was discovered dead in his bed. Natural causes, don't worry. He was 56 when he died."

A shift bring a map and scroll into view.

"Here's the two holy sites he'd taken at the time of his death."



"And 'lise's obituary."



Yikes on bikes. Another decade and I'll be close to that. I don't want to think about it.

"You mentioned Darood wasn't yet showing signs of insanity."

"Yes. Not publicly, anyway. I'm sorry I was so short with my explanation of the end of 'lise's life, there. I've had a lot going on lately. Next time I'll bring a book."

I tell Big Bird she didn't need to apologize, but she still seems annoyed with herself that she was being so short, so direct.

To take her mind off it, I present my own summary of my morning encounter and afternoon coffee conversation with Kenny.

"Hmm. I admit, my only conversation with him was last night, and he seemed like a jerk."

"He's honestly not that bad, though. I get it."

Big Bird radiates a thoughtful air as she skips a rock into the grove pond - nimbly, despite the gloved hands.

"He seriously wants me to come to the bar with you?"

"Yeah. Well, bars. Just not the one from last night. You're banned for life from there."

Suddenly Big Bird laughs. It's not the low chuckle I'm used to, but the complete, body shaking laughter that convulses and engulfs her so much that she's literally rolling on the ground and straight out cackling.

"Oh my god! That's hilarious!" Gotten out between spurts of laughter. "Not that I care, but it's just so funny. A whore getting banned from a bar!"

"Is that your only sense of identity? You keep calling yourself that."

She ceases her laughter and sits up, brushing the dirt flecks from her raincoat.

"That's how people see me, and it's my career. There's no shame in it. Sex work is valid work. Unless you're suddenly getting squeamish about hanging out with me?"

There's a challenge in her question and I shake my head in answer.

"No. Of course not. It's just..."

"You're an American like my father and you both have snobby notions about what I do, even though both of you have slept with prostitutes."

I'm trying to formulate an answer as Big Bird swiftly begins gathering up the items she brought.

"No, it's not like that. It's-"

"Spare me, Winchester. I don't want to hear whatever lame excuse you have."

"..Are... Are you mad at me?"

She doesn't answer, hugging the maps and pictures to her chest as she walks to the grove entrance. As she crosses the threshold, she calls back, "I'll see you tomorrow night. But don't bring it up again, okay? I like having someone to share my family story with. Don't ruin it by making me mad."

No sense in apologizing. She's already gone while I'm processing that little speech.

Suddenly my phone chimes with a message. My heart leaps and I hurriedly check it.

It's a spam message. Figures. I'm going home.

[Izulde]

When I arrive at the grove the next night, there's no Big Bird. But there is a book, titled The Darod Dynasty. with a plain strip of paper apparently serving as a bookmark. I flip it open to the marked page and there's a note there in small, dainty handwriting.

Winchester,

My mother is not long for this world. Obviously, I must spend as much time as I can with her before she passes. Read however much you want to - I only ask that you stop at the end of a ruler's reign. I will send word to you when I'm ready to see you again.

-Achara

I'm sad to hear about her mother. And wow, Big Bird just gave me her actual name. That's not the professional one she gave me earlier this... week? It hasn't even been a full week since I've known her. It feels longer. Now it feels like I do have to miss my flight home. I mean, I can't just leave when my friend is in so vulnerable a state. Is she my friend? I don't know. I'd like to think so... I mean, we've spent the past couple nights together and she hasn't charged me because it's during her off time.

Kenny would probably say I'm being an idiot about all this and that she's probably playing the long-range game to get at my money. "That's the thing about girls in this country, man. They love us for our money. Just remember that, and whatever you do, don't fall in love."

Not that it will happen, of course. Even the prettiest girls here don't compare to the Mocha Girl. And yes, it's still silent on that end. I'm beginning to think it always will be. Not that I'm worthy of her anyway. Not that I'm worthy of anyone.

To distract myself from those thoughts, I start reading.



"A popular saying during this time period stated that 'No one sails the Southern Gulf without Yemen knowing.' As you can see from the above map, that was certainly the case at the start of Ughaz Darood's reign. As for the king himself, although numerous stories have surfaced in the centuries since about his mental instability, his illness appears not to have impacted his ability as a ruler.



Certainly his lunacy can be traced back to his time in prison, a period of some months from which he never fully recovered. To his dying day, he hated darkness and small spaces, and insisted on light everywhere he went - even when he was sleeping.

The distribution of inheritances left Darood in a weakened position, and poor execution of a military campaign caused Yemen to lose the province of Narghaz to the Yufirid Emirate.



Stunned by the loss, Darood postponed plans to reform the native Somali religion in favor of establishing a Holy Order - The Guardians of the Sky - who were immediately granted land and later given an additional citadel base in Dathina to grow their numbers from approximately 1,000 soldiers to 1,500. As the patrons of this new order, the Darod dynasty benefitted greatly from being able to freely summon them in campaigns against the Islamic rulers in the rest of the Middle East.



That included the Yufirid Emirate. On the death of Emir Ibrahim, the Ughaz quickly attacked while the heir was still a minor, aiming to retake the lost territory. He succeeded - aided in no small part by the distraction of vassals rising up against the Yufirid ruling dynasty.

But before Darood could contemplate other actions, the old cult of the Headless Prophet arose, attacking him just as they did 'lise. Only this time, the Ughaz's head was taken."



I stop when I see that Ughaz Mansur's section starts next. What a disappointing, short reign for Darood. Sure, he conquered Wabar, got back the land he lost, completed the conquest of Mogadishu, and created a Holy Order, but it doesn't seem like he got a lot done in his 18 years of ruling. Though I have to admit, it's pretty funny that a lunatic got killed by a lunatic.