JIKAILA

Book 1

THE SPLINTERS OF MEMORY


Prologue

She was all alone. At beginning and end alone. Anyway, if beginning or end, isnt every and a new beginning too?
Alone in the darkness, the nothingness, being at her owns mercy, frightened by the darkness in herself, darker even the the one outside.
Her inner self, a vessel, empty, ready to be filled. But wasnt there something after all? She dove into this blackness in herself, and felt at the same time how she fell through the darkness surrounding her.
Falling and diving, acting and helpless nonetheless, hadnt it been always this way?
There was something in the darkness, buried deeply, coruscant now, like splinters of a broken crystal.
Broken like her soul. In the splinters there was movement. Pictures, tiny, but clear and sharp like the edges of said crystal.
She tried to see, to understand. Was it herself in there, fighting, killing, suffering, dying?
Hadnt it been always this way? For a moment she knew it would be this way again. She hit the ground.



Street of Grief, Old District, 13th Police district, City Telvenkeskua, Matriarchy Fenlora, 26th of Flowermoon (June), Year of Sheila 2.325, 1st hour past midnight


Betaleta (sergeant) of the Tafuxa (police) Telvenkeskuva Aniga Germantov wasnt unnerved easily. There had to happen more than a knife fight between a rayashtian youth pack and two blonde conscripts with too high blood alcohol and too low intelligence quotient to accomplish that.
While here colleague, Nevashee Islenko, informed the next healing house via com mirror and asked for the quick dispatch of an ambulance coach, Aniga leisurely eyed the mess. Blonde mumber one sat against the wall of a house on the ground, blood dripping through a cut in her black leather corsage at the hip. She wailed feebly, nearly wheeping. Blonde number two on the other hand stood beside Aniga and talked at the Tafuxa in a very agitated manner.
Most naturally, there was no sign of the Rayatshas anymore.Furthermore, she was sure that for the two blonde bitches every Rayatsha with her brown skin, dark eyes and hair looked alike.So the delinquents would never be apprehended.
The wound of blonde one wasnt deep and didnt bleed very much. The Rayatshas probably hadnt been really angry. Probably they had been members of Kalimejat Nudhya, the flowers of the night. This syndicate controlled the Shasha trade in the city, and its girls were very quick to use the blade, especially with big-mouthed whiteskinns who considered themselves the crown of the sisterhood.

“This brown scum belongs into a meatfarm,” Blonde two bitched, and Aniga hummed indefinitely to that.
Nevashee told Blonde one reassuringly:
“The healing maga will be here shortly.”
“It... it hurts so much.”
“Steady, help is under way, little one.”
Aniga looked about. The Kazenu Murani, street of grief, was complewtely deserted save for their small group. A ragged poster advertising the pleasures of a dancing temple fluttered weakly in the soft breeze of the night. Opposite of the group lay the cemetery, to which the street owed its name, the oldest of the city. When she and her colleague came over here, they usually did so because of stupid demon ladrixes (ladrix = teenager after first menstruation but not yet of legal age) who intended to sacrifice a Fuwuppmupp on the cemetery or to summon ghosts.
Dumb, spoiled floozies, who had nothing better to do than... what was that?
In the center of the cemetery, about 200 feet in, there had been a sudden lightning. Was someone doing magic there?
“Have you noticed that?” Aniga asked her partner.
“What, Ani?”
“The lightning over there, among the dead. Magic, if you ask me.”
“No. Ah, there is the coach.”
A coach drawn by four Khakumons ( = horselike reptils) in the yellow of the Dashefumon – the order of the healers – turned into the street from the left and approached quickly.
“Come, I want to have a look at that.”
“The blondes...”
“”The healing maga will attend to them.”
Blonde two ranted:
“You will get those scum, wont you? They should pay, the alien vermin!”
Nevashee patted her reassuringly on the arm and nodded absently. The coach stopped, and a young maga, her outfit from the yellow corsage down to the tips of the boots correct and polished, jumped out. Even her luffing plaid eradiated eagerness. A stocky assistant, older and with short black hair and green eyes, followed her much slower.
Nevashee instructed the eager young healer, while the assistant turned to Aniga with a voice full of boredom:
“Quiet night. Its new moon.”
Aniga still watched the cemetery. Was something moving there between the memory stones?
“Yes, nothing going on tonight. But wait till tomorrow, when the Baflayas  ( = butterflies) are playing here.”
“We will annihilate them. Are you on duty?”
“No, I have bartered.”
“You Fuwuppmupp.”
The cute animals were a synonym for luck in Fenlora.

   
The Baflayas were the field hockey team of the city of Aridantua, and tomorrow they would meet Telvenkeskuas team in the great stadion. Great battle day for Tafuxa and healers in the city. Not, that the fans of hockey in Fenlora where as violent as the dumb males with their brutal Dostek over in Terkonnia, but the emotions were high here too, add to that the alcohol.
“Will watch the game in the club house on the Mapazak.”
Each inn in the Zarijat (the official title of the Matriarchy) possessed a magical artefact able to show moving pictures seen and sent to them by a maga, the so called Mapazaks.
There was really something moving over there. Something pale. Shortly Aniga had the vision of a strolling skeleton. Her neck hair rose, and she shuddered briefly. What nonsense.
She called herself a fool, already moved two, three steps in direction of the cemetery.
“Wonderful. I am on duty. Do you even listen to me?”
“Just have to check on something. We see us, okay?”
Aniga was waving for Nevashe, who mustered the young maga sceptically.
“Lets go, Neva.”
“Well, yes, Iam coming. Are you sure there was anything at all?”
“Damn it, yes. There was this bright light, and now something is moving over there.”
“A terkonnian mage teenager, who masturbated in bed and now has teleported himself over here?”
Nevashee delivered the old joke with deadly serious voice and expression. Puberty and magical powers were strongly interwoven for males. Dancing hormones led to strange unintended spells, like pimpels on the boys faces, prolonging of ones nose or feet,  painting of the bed linen, and so on.
Gossip and jokes about the boys pretended to know of far graver things, like setting the house on fire, turning the parents into Mieps, which were small reptils, or teleporting the boy in question over thousands of miles into matriarchic realms.
Especially the last thing was complete nonsense, as not even the best teleporters in the world could jump more than a few thousand feet without the help of a teleporting artefact.
“I will laugh later. Look, there it is again!”
“Great Jikaila, now I have seen it too!”
The weaponhands of the two Tafuxas werent going to their Latexoogs – the rubber clubs – but to the Katanas on their backs.
The exchanged a look, nodded, and both blades left their scabbards.
At the main gate of the place, which wasnt locked even at night, they stopped shortly, before Aniga opened it. There was a short distraction, as a shrill short scream was audible from behind when the maga healed the knife wound of the young blonde conscript. This was both exhausting and painful, as the power of the accelerated healing came from the healed one herself.
The two Tafuxas continued, their swords, wielded with both hands, raised before them. The ways here were of raked gravel, and on top of each of the black, white or gray memory stones of the graves  were small Kiri oil lamps, which spread a blue light which some imaginative natures might find eerie.
No one had ever accused the two Tafuxas of being too imaginative. They came around the pretentious stone of a former provincial governeress, and there she was. Naked and pale, her hands and feet moving aimless about in the dirt of a grave, as if she wanted to dig herself into it, to embrace the deceased.
Both Tafuxa shuddered inadvertently, Nevashee loosing a sound of unease.
The creature looked up, a pale face, framed by black long messy  hair, whose streaks seemed to wound themselves about the face like snakes. Big dark eyes looked up at the two women, filled with pain and confusion.
For a short moment, Aniga believed to face a Razigu, a bloodsucking, powerful and dangerous  demon from the Dark Sphere, but then the creatures mouth opened, and saliva fell to the ground, and it produced a groan in which all pain and agony of the whole world seemed to be amassed.
It was only a woman, a young, confused beautiful woman, a sister in need of help.
Aniga put her weapon back in its scabbard and reached for her com mirror. Nevashee needed a moment longer before she put away her sword too and visibly relaxed.
Tears were now running down the pale girls cheeks, and she stammered unintelligibly.
With sympathy in her eyes, Aniga looked down on her and said into the magical mirror:
“Shalim Kappa to headquarters. Position Kazenu Murani, cemetery. Confused, helpless person, healing maga already here.”
“Headquarters has understood, Shalim Kappa. Strange, its new moon.”
The Tafuxa ignored the last remark, put away the magical artefact, and knelt down before the girl.
Nevashe turned about and said:
“I will summon the healing maga. A case for the soul healers, the poor thing. What a pity, such a pretty girl.”
Aniga said nothing and reached for the girls left hand. She wanted to free the fingers out of the dirt.
For a very short moment the glare of the girl became dark, focussing on Aniga. Not much imagination or not, Aniga possessed a very fine instinct for danger, result of years of duty on the streets of one of the largest metropolises of the Zarijat and center of the Shasha trade – may the Jikaila destroy the damned stuff. And in this moment, who short it were, she felt her life in danger.
This girl was dangerous, very much so, but then the pale one groaned again s if in pain and looked all helpless again.
Gently, Aniga freed the fingers of the girls hands out of the graves dirt.
“Yes, everything will be fine. Steady. Evrything will be okay, my Fuwuppmupp. Can you tell me your name?”
“Aaaaa... Assshh...Agggsh!”
“Steady!”
“Ashnjx... Ashexee Krasnajal.”
In the end it came out in astonishing clarity. The confused girl had a beautiful, pleasant contralto voice.
“What are you doing here, Ashexee?”
“I... who am I? I am so alone. In the end I am always alone.”
“But I am here, pretty sister. I am looking after you. We will bring you to bed, there you can rest a while, maybe drink a Draal. Does this sound good?”
“Alone... always alone.”
The girls eyes turned fuzzy again, she started to weep anew.
Aniga sighed. Surely the soul healers would be able to help her. Usually they could. If she had the magical talent? There had been this lightning.  Mentally ill Magas were always dangerous. But Aniga sensed that there was no danger coming from the girl.
Ashexee sobbed, her slender body shivered.
Aniga hesisated only shortly, then she took the poor thing into her arms.
They were still sitting this way when Nevashee, the healing maga and her assistant reached them.