The Second Archon War: Sapientia Oromasdis 16 (Patreon)

Sapientia Oromasdis 16: Wise as Serpents

Beta’d and edited by The Grand Cogitator, Dr_Feelgood, October Daye, and Philosophysics

The merciless golden light pounded every inch of Bashir’s naked skin as he stood on the burning desert sands. He prayed for a drop of water or a sliver of shade, but there was nothing to protect him from the tormenting light. He longed to kneel down before the golden light, to submit, to try to get what little shelter he could, but instead, he stood defiant, arms spread wide. 

For behind him huddled his daughter, crying and afraid. If the light touched her, she would be hurt, and Bashir could not allow this. He cried out, straining with all his might to remain standing even as he felt the light burn the skin from his body. 

Allah, the merciful and benevolent, give your servant strength in his time of need. 

As if in response to Bashir’s prayer, a plant grew up out of the ground. At first Bashir thought the small green shoot would wither and die in the horrible light, but it was instead strengthened even as his torment reached new depths of agony. Slowly, ever so slowly, the spout grew until it became a large leafy vine that grew up over Bashir, blocking out the golden light. He sagged in relief, but did not allow himself to kneel before the tyrant of gold. 

I defy you, King of Demons. I defy you!

His voice came out parched and cracked, echoing more in his mind than in the air about him, but his words of rebellion strengthened Bashir. As his resolve grew, Bashir found a bronze staff in his hands, twined about by a white serpent. 

The Rod of Asclepius I give to you, my Son. To defy even death itself, and spit in the face of Fate and Mortality. 

Leaning on the staff, Bashir found renewed strength. He raised his hand up against the oppressive light, and screamed his defiance, even as the serpent reared up and bit his hand. Instead of pain and death, an icy coolness raced through his veins, and relief from the pain came at last. 

Bashir fell out of the Dream, and into a healing sleep. 

After a period of time he could not determine, Bashir found himself pulled gently back to wakefulness. His entire body felt sore, from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes, like he’d been sandblasted all over. He also felt incredibly weak, which wasn’t surprising, but he’d rarely felt this feeble. The only other time he could think of was when he’d gotten a severe case of scarlet fever as a child. This was somehow worse.  

He forced his eyes open and found Nahida sitting in a chair beside his bed. They were in a familiar hospital room, though it was rather a novel experience being the patient. His mind was still groggy, but one thing was still clear in his mind. 

“Are you safe?” Bashir whispered, his tongue thick and swollen in his mouth. “Did he hurt you?”

“Here,” Nahida said, passing Bashir a small cup of water. “Drink this.”

Gratefully, he took it and sipped, though he noticed that Nahida didn’t answer his questions. 

“I’m sorry to awaken you so soon. You should have slept for much longer,” Nahida said, taking the cup back and giving Bashir a sad smile. “But things have changed, and more importantly, I am afraid that no amount of sleep can heal your wounds.”

“My wounds are not important,” Bashir said, taking Nahida’s hand and trying to squeeze it, even as his muscles and tender skin cried out in protest. “Are you well? Did he hurt you?”

Finally, Nahida met his eyes and gave Bashir a sad smile. “I’m afraid the answer to both is yes. I am well, but the King of Demons hurt me badly. Mostly by tormenting you.”

Sighing, Bashir eased back onto his pillow. “That seems to be the best answer I’ll get out of you for now. But why? Why would Scion, the man considered the world’s greatest hero, attack you, try to force himself upon you?”

“He is no man, nor god,” Nahida said, looking far more worried and fearful than Bashir had seen her any time save for when she’d been forced to confront Saddam. Saddam!

“Nahida! You have to hide,” Bashir rasped, trying to sit up. “The President, he will-”

“Do nothing. He is actually one of the reasons I awoke you, as he is currently still stuck in a sewer pipe,” Nahida said. She grinned mischievously. “At least now he can consort with the sort of materials his policies are made of.”

That took long moments for Bashir’s tormented mind to process. “The President… is in a sewer pipe?” Then a racking cough shook him, and Bashir collapsed back onto the bed, wheezing for breath. 

Nahida put her hands on Bashir’s chest, warm green energy flowing into him. It reduced the coughing and the pain, but the weariness remained. 

“Truthfully, you need rest. If circumstances allowed it, I would have mandated at least a week’s worth of bedrest, but I am afraid there is much to be done, and I know you would not wish to sleep through it,” Nahida told him. 

Nodding, Bashir grimaced and tried again. “Yes. Why is the president…?”

“He did as you feared, and imprisoned me. I was weak from facing both the Simurgh and the King of Demons and was captured. Don’t worry! It wasn’t for very long, only about six hours,” Nahida reassured him. “Let me try to explain…”

As Nahida spun the tale of the past several hours Bashir leaned back in his bed, a slow smile spreading over his lips. He waited until Nahida was done, then shook his head in amazement. “I always knew you were special, Nahida. Particularly after I received my Vision from you. But this? This is a miracle.”

Squirming uncomfortably at the praise, Nahida managed a smile. “All it took was a little preparation and planning on my part. You, Tessa, Farasha, and even Rasab and Nadia did most of the work.”

“Nahida…do you honestly think the rest of us are capable of fighting off an Endbringer? Or of keeping the city intact during an overthrow of the government?” Bashir asked. 

“Well, perhaps not. But that’s what I need your help with,” Nahida admitted. “Saddam has been toppled, but the next few hours are precious. We need to put a legitimate temporary government in place. One not tainted by Saddam’s tyranny. And we need to do it fast. That’s not something I can do without your help.”

“Ah.” Bashir struggled to rise, but Nahida waved her hands and pushed him back down. 

“No! You’re still too weak for that. No… I need you to call someone instead.” She produced a phone, handing it to Bashir. 

“And who exactly…?” Bashir paused, then slowly nodded. “Ah. I see.” He dialed a number that he had memorized long ago, and then put the phone to his ear. A moment later, he said, “Ah, mother? Is father there? I need to ask him a favor…”

After a brief conversation, Bashir sighed and hung up the phone, then leaned his head back, exhausted. “You could have done that, you know.” 

“You’re my guardian, and it means something more coming from you. Besides, I needed you awake to do a full examination.” Nahida took the phone, then carefully ran her hands over Bashir. “This isn’t good. Your body was nearly ripped apart, and the amount of Dendro Energy I needed to use to rebuild you is too great for your Vision to supply you with. Without an outside source, you’ll waste away, and soon. Even worse, to give you enough to survive would result in Dendro Toxicity, which would kill you even more quickly.”

Bashir winced but gave a weak smile. “Well, I suppose it is a good thing I know the Dendro Archon, isn’t it?”

“It’s my fault that you-”

Cutting it off at the pass, the father cupped her foolish daughter’s cheek. “No, Nahida. It was Scion’s. He assaulted you, and as your father, or, well, guardian I suppose, it was my duty and privilege to defend you. Foolhardy as it might have been.” 

“It wasn’t foolhardy. Without you… I might not have held on,” Nahida admitted. She stood up, holding out her hands. A straight, pale tree sprouted from her fingertips, growing into a staff about one meter long. She held out the straight, smooth branch, then rapped it lightly on the side. The white wood shivered, then came to life, coiling about Nahida’s hand. 

“Who callssss me?” the pink-eyed serpent hissed, red tongue flickering in and out as Bashir watched with a sense of deja vu. 

“This man is my adoptive father,” Nahida told the snake. “He means a great deal to me. I name you Baqa, for you shall be his perseverance as a divine gift.” 

“I ssssee,” the snake hissed, turning its head to regard Bashir. “Hmmm. Not very healthy, are you? My poissson can help with that…”

“I do not seek death,” Bashir told the snake, feeling a sense of dread and elation as his stomach roiled. “Only to heal others.”

“What isss poissson to sssome isss life to the sssick and dying,” Baqa said, then slithered across Nahida’s hands and onto Bashir. The snake coiled about his outstretched arm, then sank its fangs into his skin.

Bashir gasped in pain and relief as the icy venom coursed through his body, stripping away the pain and replacing it with a numbness, like he had soaked in frigid water for too long. Slowly, he sat up, flexing his free arm and legs as his strength returned. 

“Be careful. Though Baqa’s venom is potent and can sustain you, it is still poison. Too much of it will be as lethal to you as it would be to anyone,” Nahida warned. 

“It is enough,” Bashir sighed as Baqa withdrew its fangs and slithered up Bashir’s arm to coil about his neck. That motion made him notice something, and he put a hand to his face, then his head. He was as hairless as a serpent himself. “Well, I knew I was likely to go bald someday, but it does seem a bit soon. I’m barely 30…”

“Your hair will grow back, though I anticipate there will be some changes to it,” Nahida warned. “It’s likely to come in green because of all the Dendro that was used to rebuild you. Your eyes have turned hazel already.” 

“A small price to pay,” Bashir grunted, then tried to stand. He winced and was forced to put his hand out to haul himself up on the side of his bed, leaning on it for support. “It seems I am still too weak…”

“Here,” Nahida grew another branch, this one longer, in the shape of a familiar staff. 

Bashir took it gratefully, and leaning on the staff, was able to support himself. “Well. I think I’ve rested enough for now. You mentioned Farasha and Qiqi, are they…?”

“Ah, yes, we’d best hurry. I put Tess in charge of making sure Farasha and Miss Militia don’t kill one another, but she’s having a hard time,” Nahida gasped, hurrying to the door and opening it for Bashir. 

He hobbled after her down the hall, to the waiting area where he found four strangers waiting with Farasha and Qiqi, though he supposed the woman with the glowing green eyes and leaves for a face was Tessa, who wasn’t a total unknown. 

Farasha was sitting with Qiqi on her lap, who was sucking her thumb, her eyes closed and head resting on Farasha’s bosom. Despite the maternal scene, Farasha was glaring at one of the strangers with so much venom in her gaze that Bashir wondered if he couldn’t have used that instead of the snake’s bite. For her part, the woman was cleaning a rifle, her eyes on her task, but her gaze smoldered with what was obviously barely suppressed rage. 

The other two women were sitting quietly, one of them reading a comic book of some sort, the other scribbling away on a notepad. Everyone looked up as Bashir’s cane echoed on the tile, and Farasha bolted up immediately, startling Qiqi awake, which made her gasp and sniffle until she saw Bashir herself. 

“Daddy!” Qiqi wailed at the same time as Farasha cried “Doc!” and the two of them ran over. 

“You’re alive,” Farasha whispered, nearly knocking Bashir’s cane out of his hands as she wrapped her arms tight around him. “I was so worried-”

“You’re sssqueezing me. I don’t apprisssiate that.”

Farasha’s eyes shot open, and she found herself face to face with a snake, its tongue tickling her nose. 

“Saeed… where did you get the snake?” she asked slowly. 

“You’re… not afraid of them, are you?” Bashir asked, wincing at that. Most Muslims detested snakes, though he himself had a soft spot for them as a symbol of his profession. 

“Are you kidding? It’s adorable! And it can talk!? Who’s a good little snake?” Farasha asked, tickling the serpent under its chin. 

“My name isss Baqa. I am Bassshir’sss emotional ssssupport ssserpent,” the creature hissed. 

“Lizard,” Qiqi said, and yanked the snakes tail.

“Ow! I am not a lisssard! I am a sssnake!” Baqa protested. “Your fingersss are too cold!” 

“Qiqi sorry,” the little girl said, then turned back and grabbed Bashir’s face in her hands. “Daddy?”

“It’s me, dear one,” Bashir agreed. “I just shaved.”

“Daddy face funny,” Qiqi said, rubbing his bald head. “Go back.”

“In time,” Bashir promised, though he wasn’t sure how long it would take, exactly. He turned to the other person who’d stood to greet him, though Tessa was having a staring contest with Nahida. He had a feeling they were doing a lot more than looking at one another, but time enough to puzzle that out later. “Welcome to Baghdad, Miss. Richter. I wish you’d come at a better time, though I must confess, it seems we could use someone like you right now.”

“Oh, well, anything to help, dontcha know,” Tessa said, smiling nervously. How fascinating. Her face was quite animated, for someone made out of what looked like electrical wires, woody vines, and leaves. 

“Doctor Bashir. It’s good to finally meet you in person,” the woman with the notebook said, standing and tucking it away. She smiled and extended a hand to him. “Doctor Fatima Tabib. We’ve spoken online.”

Bashir’s eyebrows shot up at that, but he nodded and took her hand, holding on to Farasha with his left arm for support. “A pleasure. Though I have to wonder what you’re doing in Iraq, Doctor Tabib.”

“Just Fatima, unless you want me to call you Doctor Saeed,” she said, smiling. She shrugged. “I confess, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I am a parahuman researcher, but my primary employer isn’t USC Berkeley. It’s the Protectorate. I was tapped for this mission as I’m one of our few operatives who speak Arabic.”

“Ah, well, there might be some…trouble…with the Protectorate being in town,” Bashir said, casting a sidelong look at Farasha, who was practically hissing and arching her back. She remembered the assassination attempts and the coup d’etat Chemical Ali had tried with American backing. Bashir recalled them as well, though he was a little less put out about the coup than he was the Americans trying to kill a then thirteen-year-old girl. 

That was in the past though, and politics made for strange bedfellows as the wind shifted. 

“We’ll be keeping our identity secret, and probably returning shortly. I simply wanted to speak with you first, and assure you of something,” Fatima said. She nodded to Nahida. “We know you have the Dendro Archon protecting this city now.”

“You will find my reach extends far beyond Baghdad, Fatima. If that is what you wish to be called,” Nahida said quietly. 

“It is,” Fatima said, adjusting her dress somewhat nervously. She knelt down, meeting Nahida’s eyes. “You know who I am, I suppose. So let me be direct: I will do everything in my power to ensure that the Protectorate, and yes, even Cauldron, do all they can to ensure your survival and safety. If you have need of us, or of sanctuary, simply call. I would give you my number, but I have a feeling you already know it, along with a great many other personal details about me.”

“She doesn’t need you, bitch! She has-” Farasha began, but Nahida put a calming hand on her arm, and she quieted down, though she still muttered angrily. 

“I knew you from the first moment I stepped into this world, for you are one of mine,” Nahida told Fatima. She reached out, gently touching Fatima’s vision. “Your Vision is your own, but your ambition must reflect mine. I do hope you can build the better world you envision, Daughter of Samsara. Only that you choose wiser means to achieve it.”

Fatima heard Nahida out, then nodded ever so slightly. “I think I have been, with your help. What is your claimed Aspect, if you don’t mind me asking, aside from Life?”

“I am the God of Wisdom, or perhaps Spirit of Wisdom would be a more fitting title,” Nahida answered. “All knowledge and learning is mine, but more importantly, discretion and insight are as well. Though I have but the mind and body of a child, I see clearly, with heart unclouded.”

“I see,” Fatima bowed her head. “Do you think we can build the world I seek? Can we save the world from its horrific fate?”

“We must. I cannot tell you how, but I will walk the same path you do, in my own way, using my own means,” Nahida told Fatima. 

“And we shall do the same.” Fatima stood, glancing at her other two companions. “I think it’s time for us to depart.”

“Oh? You could always stay for the funeral. I have the perfect coffin picked out just for you, Hannah Wesson,” Farasha offered, her tone sweet as syrup and as dangerous as strychnine. 

“Some other time,” the woman Bashir now recognized as Miss Militia said, keeping her gun pointed at the floor, but her finger on the trigger guard. “The Butcher himself had to pay the piper. Your day will come, murderer.” 

“You name the time and place. I’ll take all you assholes on,” Farasha growled, clutching at Bashir so tightly he wondered if he was all that was holding her back from throwing herself at the Americans. 

“Fighting would be…a bad idea,” the woman with the comic book said in English, causing Farasha to snarl in outrage. She flinched, but then continued, “We’re not each other’s real enemies. You-Know-Who is.”

“The fuck does Voldemort have to do with this?” Farasha demanded. 

Bashir blinked, then glanced at his intended. “When did you read Harry Potter?”

“It was banned so of course I did! Just the first movie though, I haven’t bothered with the second one,” Farasha said with a shrug. 

“I mean…you know,” the strange woman’s eyes darted from side to side and she muttered to herself in an odd language that sounded a bit like Greek before whispering, “The Golden Man.”

“Oh, well, he comes back he’ll go from ‘fuck around’ to ‘find out’ real fast,” Farasha promised. 

“You let me know how that works out for you,” Miss Militia said with a snort. She turned to Fatima. “We going, Doctor? I can’t wait to shake the dust from this place from my shoes.”

“Indeed.” Fatima bowed to Nahida again. “Thank you. For everything. But especially the hope that we can— we will win.”

With that, she turned to what Bashir knew was a broom closet and opened the door, which lead to a long white hallway instead. He blinked, but then Fatima, Miss Militia, and the odd one were gone through the door, which shut behind them. Farasha let Bashir go, making sure he had his staff, then hurried to the door and opened it, revealing the broom closet. 

“Hmph.” Farasha slammed the door, then turned back around. “Fuckers.”

“Fuckers!” Qiqi agreed, which caused Farasha and Bashir to both wince. 

“Er, I’m not going to cause any problems by staying, am I?” Tessa asked nervously. “I’m not American, but…”

“Eh, you’re a robot turned plant monster. If we tell people your name is Teyeb and you’re what happens when Nahida tries her hand at gardening everyone will just believe it,” Farasha said with a shrug. 

“I might have, um, caused a slight disturbance in my flight across the Atlantic and over Europe,” Tessa admitted in a Nahida worthy  case of understatement. 

“We’ll need you, Tessa, so please don’t go anywhere,” Nahida told her, then turned to Bashir. “We need to move quickly. How soon will Grandfather be here?”

“He said he’d be here by morning. He’s putting things together in Basra, then heading here by train,” Bashir told her. 

“Good.” Nahida turned to Tessa next. “We need to control communications for now. Prevent the spread of panic. Put out the news that the Simurgh was defeated, and that President Hussein is safe, but indisposed. Prevent any generals or other military forces from attempting to march on Baghdad.”

“Already on it,” Tessa assured Nahida.

“Thank you,” Nahida looked up at Farasha. “I’m afraid you have the hardest job: ensuring the loyalty of the Special Action Squad. With the country's parahumans and Vision Holders on our side, that will help keep the peace and curtail any threat of a military uprising. I’ll need you to lead them out in peacekeeping duties to keep things calm and safe.”

“Not a problem,” Farasha assured Nahida, then grinned. “Though honestly, at this point, they’re more likely to follow you than me. Do you have any idea how much cred being an Endslayer gets you with capes?”

“I did not slay the Simurgh; she will return,” Nahida said grimly. “Not to Baghdad, she’ll avoid me I think, but she’s an issue for another day. First we need to ensure the continued safety and stability of my people, and that means I’m going to be very busy.”

“What will you be doing?” Bashir asked curiously. 

“Talking with Imam Taher and other religious leaders, as well as many political advisers as I can,” Nahida told him. “I have a constitution to rewrite, and a convention to run.” 

“And me?” Bashir asked her. 

Nahida smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “You take Qiqi home and get some rest. Don’t worry about me: Trees don’t actually need to sleep.”

“That’s not true. Plants have circadian rhythms and a rest cycle, even if it is rather different from animals. Besides, I’ve seen you get grumpy when you don’t get enough sleep,” Bashir said in his very best ‘stern parent’ voice. He had no idea how normal parents managed things, but it felt like an impossible task to be father to a goddess who was old when his great-great-grandfather had been born. 

But Nahida giggled and smiled. “I’ll be sure to get a nap when I can. For now, we have work to do. Nurse Hana?”

“Yes, dear?” 

Bashir turned to see Nurse Hana, looking exhausted herself, scurry out from the nurses’ office. 

“I’ve called a cab. Please take my father and Qiqi home, and watch him while he rests.”

“As you say,” Hana agreed, bowing her head to Nahida. Then she turned and saw the snake around Bashir’s neck and went pale.

“Allah be merciful, Doctor Bashir, where did you get-?!”

“Baqa won’t bit you, nurse. Just me, and it’s medicinal,” Bashir told her, grunting as he hobbled forward. Farasha kissed Qiqi on the nose, then set her down so she could take Bashir’s free hand. 

“Oh. Well, if Nahida says it’s alright…” Hana looked to Nahida, who quickly nodded, and the nurse sighed, then rolled up her sleeves. “Right. You’re not fit to walk. You’re leaving this hospital in a wheelchair, Bashir Saeed. And don’t give me any back talk. You’re not the doctor now, you’re a patient.”

Bashir had to chuckle. And sit in the chair that Hana wheeled over for him. He didn’t even bother to protest. She was, after all, the medical expert in charge. 

He was driven home by an orderly, with Hana fussing over him the entire time, and Qiqi trying to “help” by borrowing a stethoscope and listening to Bashir’s bald pate. She did, at least, seem happy and unharmed, and Bashir was grateful enough for that. 

Unfortunately, the living quarters were atop his clinic, and Bashir had to be helped up the stairs by Hana and the orderly. Both were shocked when Baqa gave Bashir a bite on his forearm, but were somewhat mollified when he was able to move up the stairs more easily.

“Nahida made him, he’s a djinn of sorts himself,” Bashir explained. 

“I am a girl, thank you very much!” Baqa hissed, looking rather indignant as her tail swished back and forth. “Though for your information, I ssssupposssse I would be conssssidered a sssssort of nature sssspirit. I am what you would call an Enlightened Beast, or Adeptussss to ussssse the Liyuean term. I wasss created by Buer from her own branch!”

“But… only God can create life,” the orderly said, looking offended and slightly confused. 

“Yes, and what do you think Buer, Archon of Dendro, is? She has been granted all Authority over Life by Allah, to use your terms,” Baqa huffed. 

That seemed to mollify the man somewhat, and after helping Bashir settle into his bed, he departed. 

Hana went to get Bashir some water, only to find Qiqi trotting over with a tall glass of coconut milk. 

“Cocogoat, for daddy,” she said, offering it up to him. 

He smiled, and took the drink. It did contain plenty of important nutrients, and some valuable calories. He took several sips and smacked his lips, smiling at her. “Thank you, Qiqi. It’s very good.”

Qiqi beamed at him, then hurried off. Nurse Hana fussed about Bashir for a moment, then paused when Qiqi returned again, bearing a book.

“Story,” Qiqi explained, crawling up into Bashir’s bed and opening her own favorite book, a collection of illustrated children’s stories from 1001 Nights. She turned to a much loved and creased page, and began to recite a garbled version of “The School Boy and the Slave Girl.”

Smiling to himself, Bashir closed his eyes, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep. Great things were happening, and he had played a very small part in it. For the rest, he would trust Nahida. 

PHILO: And father of the year goes to…

Dr_Feelgood:  As if there was any doubt.  Only the best for best radish.

October: Now, if only Militia and Farasha would quit saber-rattling and just [censored] already.

COG: Saddam will be fine, he’s got an air vent and a fan.