Chapter Text
Chapter 1
We’re On Official Business
The officers would arrive today.
Volkan knew that. The thought of it kept him awake through most of the night, so he wasn’t surprised by the knocking from outside his room. With a groan, the Quilava heaved himself up from his bed right as his father’s face peeked from behind the curtain that partitioned his humble room from the rest of the house.
“Sun’s almost up,” the Typhlosion announced, a broom in hand. “Get ready.”
Volkan grumbled to himself, but complied, dusting himself off a bit before following his father into the kitchen, where the Typhlosion pushed the curtains aside to let the first lights of the morning Sun filter into the house before heading out. The Quilava opened up the old closet near the bottom of the windcatcher – ah, the hinges were creaking a bit too much, they would have to oil them soon. Hm, perhaps he could ask Eda if he could borrow some oil from her; he made a mental note to visit the Delphox later. He grabbed two of the three rolled-up mats that sat orderly within the closet, then carried them over to the small, unrefined niche that had been dug out close to the exit, facing northeast, where his father soon returned with two buckets of sand, having already dusted off the room.
He placed the buckets on the ground, and dunked his head in. Volkan inhaled, and followed suit. After that, they meticulously scrubbed their hands and paws, before unfurling the mats with care, the faint light from the crack of dawn shining on the intricate designs of golden thread woven into flames on a red base. They angled them properly so that they faced the niche, and finally stepped onto them.
Volkan inhaled, then lowered his head. “ʿĀrkiyyās is without equals; glory be to Him.” He raised his hands to his head. “In his name, glory be to Him, for He is the Most Compassionate and the Most Merciful; for He alone is praiseworthy; for You, ʿĀrkiyyās, guide us on the Righteous Path; the Path of those by You blessed, not those who displease You or who are astray.” He inhaled again. “And so, the Prophet said unto them; ‘Beware of those who observe the practices, but hold not true faith into their heart; for they bring ruin upon the land, and are blind to their shortcomings.’” He bowed. “Praise be upon the Prophet.” He took a brief pause before continuing. “And the Prophet said unto them; ‘They will plug their ears and close their eyes to the truth, for ʿĀrkiyyās has sealed their hearts.’” He dropped on his knees, and prostrated, pressing his forehead firmly against the rug, one time, two times, before standing up and bowing once more. “Praise be unto ʿĀrkiyyās, for He is All-Knowing, Most Forgiving.”
Then, he took a step back - alongside his father, whom he had closely mirrored - and rolled up the mats, placing them back into the wardrobe just as the sun was properly beginning to rise.
Soon, the two of them were sitting on the floor, consuming a modest bowl of bread and chickpea hummus as the first meal of the day.
“The officers will arrive in a few hours,” his father said after finishing his portion, whereupon he reached for the miswak holder sitting before him and plucked a stick with which he began to clean his teeth , “so I want the house to be as clean as possible. Also, you should go to the market to buy some more charcoal and paper - I’m buried with work, and I don’t know how long our supplies will last.”
“…of course.” Volkan let out a sigh as he nodded, picking a miswak for himself. Things had been rather busy ever since the blacksmith of Nehir had passed without taking on an apprentice, when most of his workload was then shifted onto Otluköy. A few years ago, Volkan would’ve considered moving there, but now… well, it just… didn’t feel right. The only saving grace was the fact that they were not the only blacksmiths in town. He shivered at the idea of having to take on Eda’s workload as well. “…may ʿĀrkiyyās have mercy upon us, eh, dad?”
“Praise be upon Him, but yes.” A thin smile appeared on the Typhlosion’s face. “Alright then, let’s get to work!”
Volkan lost no time in grabbing a broom, and began sweeping the floor, allowing the orange tiles to show their white, floral motifs through the layers of dust. Soon, he heard the furnace hiss and rumble from the other side of the stone wall that separated their house from the forge, the sound of charcoal being tossed into its giant mouth to fuel the flames that made iron easy to ply. The echoes of his father’s hammer resonated through the house as Volkan kept on sweeping the floors, scrubbing the walls – oh, the dust had really taken a liking to those –, until everything was as neat and tidy as time allowed. He smiled as he looked upon his finished work - cleanliness was half the faith, after all.
It was only then that the Quilava headed into the forge, where he found his father again, plunging the bright form of a recently-shaped spear tip into a barrel of water with his bare hands, soot thickening the air as the flames of the forge roared behind him. He was surrounded by blades, helmets, chest plates, chains, most of which were forged for clients in Nehir, but some had been requested by people in Otluköy, like the new pitchfork head for Asil.
He nodded politely to his father before grabbing a handful of selected goods and putting them outside - all old stuff that customers couldn’t pick up for one reason or another. He displayed them carefully, making sure that sunlight properly embellished both his and his father’s fine metalwork. A shield, fit for a Pokémon of bipedal posture and medium height, embellished with floral decorations; a sword, its blade curving at the end to inflict as much torment as possible upon being thrust into the flesh of an opponent, made for those of smaller size; and finally, a metal bracelet decorated with fine imagery of trees, flowers and fruits. He took particular care into handling the last one; it was a bit too thin for his taste, and he didn’t want to accidentally ruin hours and hours of craftsmanship, though his father at the time had insisted it was good enough work. He took some time to admire their efforts, before finally heading down to the market.
‘Ok, ok, he said charcoal and paper,’ the Quilava reminded himself as he squeezed through the crowd that had gathered in the central plaza. “Sorry, sorry, excuse me-.” ‘Mh, I also need to get something for Eda— maybe some fruit? No, no, that would make it look like I’m bringing a gift to Asil, not her… maybe a hammer? No, wait, that could give her the impression that I think her tools are of poor quality… a bowl? A bowl of clay? A bowl of clay for… drinking, maybe? Can’t hurt to try, clay bowl it is then.’
He waded through the countless Pokémon - short and tall, thick and thin, fuzzy and scaled - that formed the market’s clientele, a deafening chitter-chatter echoing around him.
“Behold! These fine here Orans are from the same gardens that supply fruit to the kitchens of the Sultan himself—.”
“Feast your eyes on this Bisâmese water spinach—.”
“OATMEAL! COME AND GET YOUR OATMEAL PORRIDGE, FRESH FROM THE POT!”
…Iignoring that, he set out to look for the charcoal vendor- aaaand there he was. The Coalossal was sitting on a carpet in the middle of a crescent-shaped charcoal mound, the heat from his body rippling into the air.
“Hello, Yanar,” Volkan greeted him, rummaging through his bag to find the money, while placing the sack for charcoal on the ground. “The usual, please?”
“Of course, of course,” the Coalossal nodded, before shoving a few fistfuls of charcoals into the sack. “That’d be a hundred darics.”
“Alright then, heeeere you go,” Volkan said as he dropped the coins into the charcoal seller’s hand – they looked so small in his rocky palms – and hauled the sack on his shoulders before–
“No, no, get DOWN,” someone shouted, “Wwhat are you DOING–.”
Volkan turned around, as did many in the crowd, towards the center of the plaza, where a Dubwool seemed busy trying to wrestle a wooden crate out of the claws of–
“Let GO of me, I tell you,” the Sandslash shouted, “I need to make a proclamation!”
…ah, right. Koray.
Eventually, the old ‘mon managed to rip the crate from the Dubwool’s horns, and placed it on the ground, before hurriedly climbing upon it and shouting; “PEOPLE OF OTLUKÖY, WAKE UP! HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE TRUTH OF OUR CONDITION?! THE ONLY REASON TURGAY IS SO BEHIND ON OUR ORDERS IS BECAUSE HE HOLDS HIS HAMMER LIKE HIS FINGERS ARE MADE OF BUTTER, AND HE USES HIS FORGE LIKE AN OUTHOU–.”
He could not finish the sentence as the Dubwool proceeded to simply ram him off his makeshift platform and back onto the ground. Volkan let out a sigh. If only he hadn’t been strapped for time, he probably would have punched the guy himself.
“UNHAND ME, YOU WENCH–.”
THUD!
Koray stopped shouting when the Dubwool smashed her head against hims, knocking him unconscious long enough for Volkan to avert his gaze and go on with his task, which he was grateful for. ʿĀrkiyyās – Praise be upon Him – knew he did NOT need any further distractions.
“I got the stuff,” he announced as he entered the forge once again. “You won’t believe it, there was a guy who had accidentally overstocked on salted Gogoat meat, and he was selling it to a ridiculous price–.”
“Ah, that’s very good,” the Typhlosion nodded, though he didn’t meet his gaze, busy as he was with hammering a metal bar into a horseshoe. “Actually, while you’re here, would you mind starting on another one of these?”
“Oh– sure, yeah.” He grabbed a metal bar and tossed it into the furnace, blowing fire on it while operating the heavy bellows to increase the potency of the flame. When the iron began to glow, he placed it on the anvil, took a hammer, and started beating it into shape.
“IS THERE ANYONE IN THERE?!”
…Volkan inhaled sharply, soot tickling his nostrils, and let out a sigh. Why did people need to scream so much? And also why did they need to interrupt things?!
“Oh– go see who that is,” his father ordered without interrupting his workflow.
The Quilava nodded, and headed into the house, leaving his unfinished horseshoe laying on the anvil, grumbling to himself. The officers would arrive any moment from now, they had no time for this!
“Hey, look, we’re a bit busy at the moment,” he announced as he emerged outside from behind the curtain, “so if you could maybe… come… later…”
The words slowly died in his throat when he saw the trio of Pokémon that was standing before the items he had laid outside.
“I will say, this is some fine metalwork,” the Fairy Rapidash said, eyeing the floral shield, a thin drape of white and gold cloth in the shape of a rhombus laying on his backside, secured on him by a thick, ornate bow tied around his neck. “Nothing compared to that of the blacksmiths in Altınsaray, mind you, but for someone with no professional training…”
“Yes, these are quite fine indeed,” the Bisharp agreed, arms tucked behind his back. “I am quite sure the Sultan would appreciate talent such as this…” He bowed to take a better look at the little sword, the candid hem of his uniform hovering less than a hair’s width from the ground. “Oh, wow, that is a very nice blade…”
“No, seriously, is there anyone in there?” The Gabite huffed, tapping his foot on the ground, arms crossed. He, too, was wearing a white uniform, with a golden claw woven right under the neck… the mark of a Vizier.
…wait, why was a Vizier there?!
Suddenly, the Gabite turned towards him. “Ah, finally! Young lad, I am telling you, the welcoming here is simply atrocious, especially on this occasion!”
“I– I am tremendously sorry,” he uttered, bowing. “I wasn’t– I mean, we were not warned about the presence of a Vizier.”
“Mh, yes, that is to be expected,” the Bisharp explained. “Unfortunately, Vizier Salih was asked to join us at the last minute by the Grand Vizier himself.”
The Gabite rolled his eyes. “Yes, for some reason he’s asked me to personally come to assess the wealth of this country village here, official business and all, you would not understand.” He let out a grumble. “If it was for me, I would have delegated the task to an officer, but the Grand Vizier is the Grand Vizier, so here I am.” He shook his head. “Not to mention the abysmal state of your roads. They are not even paved! Truly, it’s a disgraceful state for a village of the Sultanate to be in.”
“Of course, of course.” Volkan bowed again. “Terribly sorry about that, sir. But we… have arranged some gifts in the town hall for you all.”
“Oh, splendid,” the Bisharp commented. “I am sure Vizier Salih will be most pleased with them!”
“Truth to be told, I am surprised it even occurred to you to prepare gifts,” the Gabite admitted. “Nehir is much more organised. They even had a little celebration for us – now that’s a proper way to greet a Vizier!”
“It was delightful,” the Fairy Rapidash agreed. “But I will reiterate, lad, you have some impressive goods here – I think it's about time I get some new horseshoes.” He looked down at his hooves. “These have been feeling rather tight as of late.”
“W– We’d be glad to help you, sir,” Volkan replied, bowing again. “I’ll– I’ll take your measures right away!”
“Ayberk, we don’t have time for this,” the Vizier grumbled.
“Sir, with all due respect, we have to stay here until tomorrow,” the Rapidash noted. “I see no reason to not take advantage of that. Besides, it is important to support local businesses.” He suddenly turned towards Volkan. “Correct, lad?”
“I– If you say so, sir,” the Quilava muttered. “L– let me just warn my father, we are a bit… busy at the moment.”
“Hah! No hurry, lad,” the officer reassured him with a hearty laugh. “Take all the time you need, so long as they are ready by tomorrow!”
Volkan smiled forcefully. “Of course, of course, that’s not a problem! That’s not a problem at all!” He bowed quickly. “I’ll be back in a minute!”
He entered the house and, making sure that he was well hidden from any officer or Vizier that might be tempted to peek inside, he grasped his head with his hands and let out a silent scream at the sky.