Zulran's Funeral

"It's time to go," my Father said.

With that, our journey began. Little did I know it wouldn't end when we reached our destination three days later.

We set out from Khal with one purpose; my Father's closest friend and business partner, Zulran, had died. Upon receiving word, he immediately began making plans to attend the funeral. Custom required our participation, which meant a journey to Ahgram. Father absolutely refused to travel by boat, meaning a long, dust-choked trek behind the caravans heading south along the trade roads. Worried that our business would suffer from our absence, I tried to beg off accompanying Father, but to no avail.

I don't remember when I first met Zulran. It had to have been well before I could walk. Although we were not related by blood, the strong merchant ties between us intertwined Zulran's family with ours. I often felt that Zulran was more than a kind uncle; he was really a second father and a mentor to me. Along with my Father, he taught me much in the ways of commerce, so that by the time we moved to Khal I had become an important part of my Father's business. Sadly, after that, our families drifted apart.

As we loaded our wagon in preparation for the trip, the other merchants and customers milled about. The importance my father placed in our journey was evident to everyone. He had never before closed the shop in the seven years we had lived in Khal. Even if both of us were gone, as happened occasionally, the shop had remained open. It always was open. Business first, family second, the Empire third. Except that in our case there was a wide gap between first and second priorities and an even wider one between second and third -- the empire was far beyond the dunes on the horizon.

We loaded up our wagon with gifts for Zulran's family and our own trunks, filled with our ceremonial clothing for the funeral. I tried once again to talk my Father out of requiring me to go.

"Father," I said, "Our rivals will try to gain advantage while we were gone. Our iron contracts are fragile. Our prices are a bit above the others-- we rely on our service to keep our customers."

"They will understand," he replied. "And if they don't, no matter. Our place is at this funeral." My Father deflected every other argument I put forth. After I had exhausted all my excuses, he placed his hand on my shoulder. "We must go, my son. Our faith requires us to be there. That means we both must go, not just me."

We made our way through the gate with our wagon, and headed south along the trade road. It was filled with merchants, farmers, and animals, in wagons and on foot. Although most of the traffic was heading into Khal, there was a caravan in front of us heading to Ahgram. As I added our wagon to the line, their mounted guard moved directly behind us.

The road to Ahgram is usually safe. However, because of the bandits that sometimes appear along it, caravan owners often offered security to those traveling without guards for a small fee. As the head guard rode alongside to collect the fee, I asked him if he had heard anything about the new trade routes opening with the gnomes of Mekalia.

He smiled. "My last trip was out that way. The gnomes are a stubborn lot and keep to themselves mostly but are harmless enough, for now. It also paid quite well for guard detail." I handed him a couple of gold coins as payment for protection. He nodded and rode on.

The trip was uneventful. Father spent time reminiscing about Zulran and how they started working together. I sat and listened, nodding at the appropriate places even as I wished I could be off both the wagon and the road.

On the third day, we neared Ahgram. Its high walls stood out along the horizon and loomed larger as we approached. As we made our turn west, I could make out the three gates, each with their own line of people waiting to get in. The south gate, called the Port Door because it was the one closest to the harbor, opened to the harbor district and the docks. Many of the minor merchant families, dock workers, and stall owners lived within this area. To the north was the Gate of the Sun., the Imperial Gate that only nobles or those with special credentials were allowed to use.

The trade road led directly to a large gate in the middle of the wall. The Mercantile Gate was the main thoroughfare and access point for all trade and most visitors to Ahgram. It was to this gate we were headed.

We waited in line for about an hour before reaching the entrance. The duty guard asked us our business, and if we had any goods to sell during our visit. I told him we were there for the funeral of a family friend and that we had not packed a single crate of merchandise for the journey. He motioned us through with a bored wave and as we entered the city, I was struck by the changes since I was last there. Certainly, Ahgram has always been buzzing with activity like bees around a hive, but this time the press of people, the exotic wares, and smells assailing me from all sides was overwhelming.

Slowly, we navigated our way up the main thoroughfare. At the end of the market square, my Father climbed down from the wagon, walked up to a stall, and spoke with a merchant. After conversing for several minutes, my Father told me to follow him and proceeded on foot. Several crowded streets later, he pointed to the right, motioning for us to head down a smaller street. We followed its uneven paving until the end of that path, where my Father headed down a small alley. I turned the wagon after him, barely passing between the buildings, so closely they stood together.

The alley narrowed even more near its end, preventing us from going any further with our wagon. I climbed down to continue on foot, passing between two large warehouses. Directly in front of us, at the end of the alley, was a small house.

"There it is," my Father said. "We have arrived."

This was not the house of the great merchant Zulran, at least not that I remembered. I had always pictured Zulran as larger than life, a wealthy magnate who could buy and sell entire enterprises on a whim. Now his business was no longer envied throughout the city and he long ago ceased being a great merchant. Perhaps my view of Zulran was similar to the one I had of my Father before I grew up. As I matured, reality began to eclipse my imagination and I started to see his failures along with his successes. I had been removed from Zulran's presence for so long, though, that I hadn't gone through the same change of perspective.

We walked up to the modest dwelling crammed between the massive walls of storehouses. I was amazed the house still stood, seeing the shape it was in; unadorned, walls needing repair, and a roof that looked on the verge of collapse. It spoke of how far Zulran had fallen.

My Father knocked on the door, and in a few moments time, it opened. A young woman clothed in a simple yellow sleeveless robe with a green sash stood at the threshold, the curves of her body evident through the heavy linen. Her smooth dark hair glistened, framing her face. Full lips the color of pomegranates parted in a small smile. Her eyes, deep dark pools, pulled my gaze to them and held it for several long moments. Time stopped, and I wanted it to never start again.

She turned to my Father and said, "Uncle, we weren't expecting you. I'm happy you made it safe."

"Thank you, Idara," my Father replied. "We belong here. We too are part of Zulran's family."

Idara. This was Idara. And that was when my world changed.