Yesau I

By the time I arrived at Yesau, the first star of the night had appeared.

Shabby buildings poured out from the city’s walls on the east side: a mix of traditional clay dwellings, traditional tents, and rickety Ry’keth built apartments. The “ethnic quarter”. The smell made me wrinkle my nose; the streets were thin and unlit.

The other ways all had gates; so the east side might’ve been the best place to go in. But I was sure that where it turned into the Ry’ke only areas and potentially even the mixed areas, there would be guards standing there, making sure no unsavory intruders from the outside, or unsavory Asan from the inside, tried to cross the way. I wanted to see the soldiers, who would be in the Ry’ke only areas.

I gathered up my bravery and walked around some distance to the north side. By the time I reached there, my legs felt like they were going to fall off, and several more stars had come out (but it was still light enough to see, at least).

Travelers’ & Traders’ entrance (mixed-race).

I could read the signage, apparently. When I looked at the writing, the meaning of the words in English appeared in my head.

I rapped at the huge wooden doors.

A Ry’ke guard slid open a window. “What is it?”

The Ry’ke were entirely human, homo sapiens, unlike the Asan. I’d given them skin tones in the honey to beige range, for the most part—light and medium brown with golden undertones. They had curly and coily hair, and intricate hairstyles and style of taking care of it, based on a philosophy of not cutting it if they could help it and a culture that valued jewelry and ornamentation. This guard had light skin, several earrings, and wore his hair braided closely against his head and tied back. He looked me up and down with a tired expression. “Actually, what are you?”

“That’s quite rude to say,” I said, annoyed by my own world order.

“Like… what are you?” “What do you mean?” “Like, what kind of Asian—Chinese, Korean, Viet, what?” That was the kind of thing I’d been asked in the past.

“I’m a merchant from the far south,” I decided. It’d attract less questions than the tropical north. “I’ve already sold most of my wares, but I wanted to rest here on my way back.”

“Show me your wares.”

I opened my bag and showed him my jeans, T-shirt, sneakers, socks, and jacket. “These are reinforced denim pants that’ll hold up for years. This shirt is machine-sewn entirely and has a screen-printed pattern. This jacket has an innovative invention of my people called the zipper; watch!” I zipped and unzipped it a few times. “The teeth interlock, so—”

“Enough, don’t try to sell them to me. I can tell you’re a merchant alright. How long are you planning on staying?”

“Only a night.”

“That’s two copper.”

I hadn’t expected a toll!

It wasn’t high, but to reveal that I didn’t have money…

“How can you be a merchant that’s already sold most of your wares if you don’t even have any money?”

Hoping I wouldn’t have to make some weird attempt with my fiver (which looked like no money existing in this world, given its holographic printing and the pic of an astronaut on the back), I dug through my bag.

At the very bottom, the tip of my finger hit metal. I pulled out a silver coin.

Jayla just saved me.

I held it out.

The guard peered at it and then handed me back ten copper coins. He scribbled out a pass—”Name?”

“Naos.” My name sounded like an Asan name in this world; Asan names had no apostrophes or hyphens, and ended in a vowel (for women) or an N (for men). I might as well circumvent that prejudice by making up a name that sounded more foreign. As for how much it sounded like my original name…listen, was there any writer who was good at coming up with high-quality names on the spot?

“Nationality?”

What had I named the country to the furthest south again? I’d drawn a map, but it’d never come up again. “Um…Alteran?”

The guard wrote it down with no complaints and handed the pass back to me.

“Sign or make a mark.” He pointed at a line where Sign Here was written. “Right here.”

I could read the language, but I didn’t exactly know how to write Naos in it. I wrote a broad X across the line.

He ripped off half of the pass and put it in his own drawer, then gave the other half back to me and said, “Welcome to Ry’sau’th.”

I entered on a broad cobblestone path that gave way to a large square. The square was paved in multicolored bricks; scattered around it were deserted posts, standing pillars of acacia wood. A lone horse was tied to one, pawing at the ground; a Ry’ke teenager perched on another, carrying on an animated conversation with a small group of friends. Small clusters of people moved through the square: men and women with their heads down, carrying out errands; friends chatting; a few parents with their children.

Golden-toned skin, carefully braided hair, and loose draping clothing with beads and mirrors sewn on was the milieu; chatter in Ry’ke’si mixed and mingled in the air. Scattered among them like dark dots were a few Genatyi, people from a nation to the northwest. The Genatyi had dark brown cool-toned skin, bordering on blue-black in some cases, and wore deep-toned silks embroidered with flowers and birds.

To either side of the square were tall buildings made of brick, wood, and metal, standing like unnatural giants in this land of clay and sand. They each had bright storefronts and cloth overhangs or umbrellas to keep out the local sun. At one of them, a Ry’ke man carefully rearranged painted pots on a table. At another, a Genatyi woman dressed in beads and mirrors swept the sand away.

Graceful metal sculptures of flowers lined the streets, the center of each flower being a streetlight glowing green. The occasional shout, song, or horse grumble peppered the sounds of quiet conversation, sweeping, and pots clinking. The air was cool now, and stood still. It carried the faint scent of dust and ash.

If I was a band of soldiers, where would I be?

I approached the woman who was sweeping. “Excuse me, sorry. Do you have a map of the area?”

She blinked at me, confused for a moment, then said, “Inside, yes. I can fetch it for you. How do you speak Genatyi?”

“I’m a trader.” Who was apparently fluent in all relevant languages due to my transmigration.

“Ah, where are you from?”

“Altera.”

“How long did you spend in Genatyhn? You speak like a native!”

“Three years, just three years.”

“Where did you stay?”

“May I have…”

“Right, the map, my apologies.” She went into the shop and came out with a paper map. “Can you read Ry’ke’si?”

“Yes, I can, thank you.” There were military offices clearly denoted on there. So, those would be my next goal.