Djoser's House of Noodles
Chapter 1 – Free to Dream
Because of personal reasons, I took some time off writing, and I’m working on getting back into the swing of things. To avoid writing throw away prose on my existing works in progress, I thought I would write a short story that takes place in the Lamentations and Magic world.
Preface - This story takes place following Book 3 of the Lamentations and Magic series, Harvest of Ancient Sorrows. Thus, it contains spoilers. This is the first chapter in a novella about Djoser, the assassin, thief, and mercenary who played a supporting, yet significant role in all three books of the series, but in reality, this is the story about a wind singing babiakhom and his quest to turn from his dark ways and pursue his true passion. Noodles.
Djoser forced his knees to stop shaking as he stepped forward and bowed before the emperor. “Imperator, thank you for seeing me.” His future depended upon how the man before him took his next words. “I have come to request my release from your service. I understand that I have not fulfilled my original contract, but I hope you will look kindly upon my recent contributions, which greatly benefited the Remulan Empire.
The Remulan ruler’s eyes locked onto Djoser’s own, and the emperor weighed the words for what seemed like a lifetime.
Oh, great Shai, may your fate be on my side, Djoser thought while forcing himself not to flinch at the man’s unwavering gaze.
Emperor Octavius smiled, and the lines around his eyes bunched up. Djoser took a breath that he hadn’t even been aware that he was holding.
“What you say is true. You saved thousands. No tens of thousands of my legionaries, and that is worth much more than most of the earthlings I tasked you with kidnapping.” He leaned back in his camp chair. “What do you plan on doing now that the Lamentations are over?”
Djoser pulled his lips into his mouth to wet them while his mind raced at what the correct answer needed to be. The truth might get him laughed at by the most powerful man on Aaru, and it might not get him free from his current indentured servitude, but then again, it probably wouldn’t get him killed either. So, truth it was.
He smiled his best approximation of a human smile. “The war has made me reevaluate what is important in life.” He straightened his shoulders. “I would very much like to open a noodle shop.”
Octavius’s head tilted back, and he laughed so hard that he grabbed at his stomach.
Didn’t think it was that funny, Djoser thought to himself.
When he quieted, the emperor shook his head. “Not in a million An would I have guessed your answer. May I ask why?”
Djoser felt his heart lighten as he began to speak about his passion. “Years ago, I spent considerable time on the continent of Maanu Alu, and there I became addicted to eating noodles. So much so that I eventually took time off from my normal work to learn the art of making them at the feet of one of the masters.” The tempo of his speech had sped up as his excitement grew.
The emperor held up a hand, and Djoser cut off his next sentence before it could tumble out. “Very well. I release you from your contract.” He turned to the older man who stood to the right and a little behind his chair. “Aquila, please provide Djoser with a bank note worth 10,000 aurei. One for each of my troops that he saved.”
Djoser gulped. It was a fortune—almost two months of wages for an entire legion.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Aquila nodded and waved toward the far side of the traveling pavilion.
“Thank you, Imperator. Your graciousness knows no bounds.” Djoser bowed and followed the emperor’s First Councilor. His thoughts raced at his good fortune and how the money had just brought his dream within reach.
Behind him, he heard the Emperor of Remus snicker, “A noodle shop,” and his chuckling faded as Djoser moved out of earshot.
He waited only a few minutes for a scribe to write out the writ on a scroll of vellum and for Aquila to stamp it using the emperor’s own signet ring.
As Aquila handed him the scroll, the man did not let go when Djoser tried to take it. The First Councilor’s words came out in a threatening hiss. “The Emperor may be most gracious, but I am much harder to please. In the future, if the emperor or I request your assistance, I expect you to agree immediately.” He leaned closer to Djoser, and his voice dropped. “No matter the request. Do you understand?”
Djoser felt his eyes widen. “I do, First Councilor. If there is anything you need, I am your humble servant.”
A half-smile flashed on Aquila’s face before vanishing. Djoser thought it had been a sinister smile, but he did not always read the facial expressions of the flightless, hairless apes so well.
Aquila let go of the scroll, spun, and walked away from Djoser without a word. After one last glance at the emperor, Djoser hurried out of the tent.
He sang the beast-speaking song. “Get up, lazy cat.”
Bastet, his trained caracal, looked up with indifference and blinked at him from where he lounged next to the tent. “We go now?”
“Yes. Let’s fly before they change their minds.” Djoser snapped his fingers, and the cat sprang from the ground into his arms.
He took a moment to secure Bastet in his flight harness and then took to the sky. As his patagium filled with air and he picked up altitude and speed, he thrilled in having his wind singing abilities back, and more importantly, at still being alive. Weeks before, he’d been thrust into the middle of one aerial battle after another, culminating in his near suicidal mission to disrupt the ripvor invaders using some animal’s magical horn.
The reapers shot hundreds of crossbow bolts at him during that last mission. That none found the mark was a miracle. If a cat had nine lives, Djoser maxed out the lives of at least two and maybe three cats that day.
Then, in a flash of red-orange light, The Sorrow stole his songs. It took the magic of anyone who saw the light, and anyone who later met those who had. In mid-flight and weighed down by equipment, he dropped like a rock. If he hadn’t deployed a reapers’ safety umbrella, he’d have fallen to his death.
Djoser’s only consolation while he floated to the ground had been that after the reapers loosed the song-stealing plague upon Aaru, they fled back to the planet Ripvor and the Lamentations were over.
The days and weeks that followed were anything but consoling. While the entire planet waited for the earthlings to find a cure, he lived the life of a flightless creature. If not for throwing himself into making noodles, he might have gone crazy. So, was it really his near-death experiences or was it those weeks of reacquainting himself with the art of Tenobe— noodle making —that solidified his resolve to chase this particular dream?
He’d probably never know for sure. Instead, he set his mind on updating the list of steps to make his dream come true. He’d just accomplished task number one. Get out of his contract with the Remulans. Given the windfall of funds he’d received for his heroism, he didn’t give the strings attached a second thought. And there really was no other way to describe what he had done that day other than heroism. He’d played a significant role in winning the Lamentations. Been instrumental in saving the world.
Who would believe him? Not his old colleagues. Not his cousins, who were all that was left of his family. And, definitely, not his neighbors back home. Why would they? Djoser from Esna P grew up a snot-nosed delinquent to become a thug, a thief, and even an assassin. His mood lifted at the thought. No more. Now he was turning a new leaf.
Once the shop was running smoothly, maybe, he’d hire a writer to record his story.
Djoser cleared his head of the past and contemplated his next steps as he dipped his patagium and set his course to the northeast. With the Remulans camping two days’ march outside Kerma City in the direction of Remus, he had two days of flying to get back home.
Home? Was Esna P still his home?
It’d be smarter to open his shop in another town, but some inner homing beacon seemed to be pulling him back to the place he’d been born and raised. Below him, the Deshert’s seemingly endless dunes rushed by while his sharp eyes mapped out the path ahead. By the end of the day, he’d reach the Tefnut River that bordered his homeland and bed down at a tavern in one of the river-crossing towns. Tomorrow, he’d continue his journey. He looked forward to flying over the lush green jungle canopy of Pastruus, and toward possibly his most challenging adventure ever.
His heart rate picked up at the thought.