Decreash imperial kingdom
Not too far from the seashore lay a bustling market, and as Joya drifted towards it, she could already see some of the things that lay ahead.
"Decreash," Joya murmured, rolling the unfamiliar name over her tongue.
It felt foreign.
Her legs carried her forward through the market, and in less than a few minutes she had concluded inwardly that this was the most enormous market she had been to, even bigger than that of Hamstung's.
The marketplace pulsed with life. People of every sort crowded the streets—traders shouting prices, children weaving between bodies, strangers brushing past one another without pause. That alone did not surprise her.
What stirred her curiosity were the devices. The western world was indeed more developed.
Odd, mismatched contraptions lined some of the stalls; some spun, others clicked or hissed softly. Each looked strange, yet purposeful; every one of them had a role to play.
The people of Decreash were just as striking. Women moved through the streets, some wearing skimpy dresses exposing their belly buttons and cleavages.
They whistled to men, their haughty eyes chasing even married men that passed by.
The women of Decreash were beautiful, Joya could admit that much, and confidence clung to them like perfume.
As she wandered about without direction or purpose, she spotted a man seated on the ground at the corner of the street.
He was toothless, his eyes sunken deep into his skull. A black shawl was wrapped tightly around his head, and his face was saggy.
In his left hand, he shook a small bowl filled with coins.
"Come to me," he shrilled. "I will tell you your future!"
Some people drew near to him, and he would take their palms and read them just by looking at them.
Joya slowed down, her gaze fixed on him.
She didn't notice a cart moving in her direction just as she began to move again without tearing her gaze away from the man enticing customers, just to read their palms and proclaim the future; a cart struck her.
The impact jolted her sideways.
A wooden cart piled high with vegetables had bumped into her, several of its contents almost tumbling to the ground.
"Watch it!" the man pushing the cart barked with irritation. He arranged his wares, spared her only a brief glare, and moved on without another word.
The box Joya had been holding slipped from her grasp and hit the ground.
She bent to retrieve it, and then the voice of a child came from beside her—a skinny girl, dull-eyed and plainly dressed.
"You'll want to be careful with how you carry your things." She trotted past as she spoke.
"The marketplace isn't kind to fallen things. Once they touch the ground, they're easily lost beneath moving feet."
Before Joya could respond, the girl vanished into the throng, swallowed by the tide of bodies flowing through the street.
Joya straightened and clutched the box tightly to her chest, her fingers curling around it.
She let her eyes wander, and that was when it struck her: she had no idea where she was.
She was lost in the very heart of the market, swallowed by it, jostled from all sides by slick, sweaty bodies that smelled of heat, spice, and impatience.
Shoulders bumped her, elbows dug into her ribs, and voices clashed over her head.
Every attempt to push forward only dragged her deeper into the chaos.
She fought her way through blindly, shoving past baskets and bodies alike.
After what felt like forever, she came into an open space.
She staggered into it and bent over at once, hands braced on her knees, drawing in sharp, greedy breaths.
"Away with you all and your scandalous lies!"
The shout of a voice cut through the air.
Joya looked up.
A drunk man stood nearby, swaying from side to side, holding on to a bag of wine.
The stench of alcohol rolled off him as legs moved in restless, frantic jerks, his bloodshot eyes struggling and failing to focus on anything before him.
Brown, uneven teeth flashed as he burst into wild, hiccupping laughter, words tumbling from his mouth without sense or restraint.
"Have you ever seen a king," he slurred, raising his voice, "who marries five wives? I have one for you!"
He laughed harder at his own joke, long dark nails curling possessively around the wineskin clutched in his hand.
By the time Joya steadied her breathing,
She straightened and now saw him vividly, saw the way passersby skirted around him, some amused and some irritated.
"Get away from there, you fool!"
A man in a white robe strode into the open space, a red strand tied tightly around his waist.
His presence was sharp and authoritative. He waved his arms and advanced on the drunkard, driving him back.
"Jobless men like you," the priest snapped, "are the reason children grow into riffraff!"
The rebuke earned a ripple of jeering laughter from passers-by. They shook their heads, entertained more than offended.
The drunk man's grin faltered. With a final muttered curse, he turned and stumbled away, his shoulders sagging, his face scripted with a solemn expression.
Just then, a horn sounded, reverberating through the market like a summon.
Joya's attention snapped away from the retreating man. She followed the sound to the far side of the street, and her breath caught.
There, towering above everything else, stood the most enormous temple she had ever seen.
Stone upon stone rose skyward, vast and immovable. It was as if the city itself had been built around it rather than the other way around.
Joya found herself drawn to the sight before her.
As though moved by an invisible force, almost without thinking, she moved toward the temple.
It rose in tiers, wide stone steps stacked upon one another like a great pyramid, narrowing as they climbed higher until they met at the temple's lofty pinnacle.
Men dressed in flowing white robes moved steadily up and down the staircase, red strands bound firmly around their waists.
They were the priests.
The earthy scent of burning incense lingered, clinging to the air and settling in her lungs.
Another priest clad in a deep red robe walked slowly around the temple grounds; a white scarf wound around his head, he moved, lifting his hands in slow gestures, murmuring words too faint and foreign to be understood.
He was muttering prayers meant to cleanse the sacred grounds of evil spirits.
As Joya drew closer, her eyes strained toward the steps.
At the bottom steps of the temple, people sat quietly, some clustered together, others spaced along the lower half of the staircase.
Their clothes were worn thin and frayed at the edges, their faces hollowed by hunger and hardship.
Each held a bowl.
As worshippers and passersby went by, the bowls were stretched forward in silent plea, begging, their eyes lowered.
To Joya's surprise, a priest clothed in a white robe began to descend the steps, a wide tray balanced in his arms, piled high with fresh fruits. Close behind him came another priest, carrying folded linens and simple garments.
"Today is a good day!"
The priest dressed in red lifted his voice, loud enough to carry across the temple grounds.
"Your queen, Racheal, has borne a child for the king."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"The Queen Mother, Lady Selena, sends her greetings, offering food and clothing to the needy; her heart gladdened with joy."
As he spoke, he adjusted his robe and reached the altar, lifting another tray of fruit before turning back toward the steps.
The people seated along the staircase erupted into cheers, not from the words spoken but from the sight of the food drawing nearer.
Hunger has its own language, and they understood it very well.
The priests moved methodically, distributing fruits and clothes evenly, placing them into waiting hands and bowls.
When Joya saw this, she was reminded of the perpetual hunger and the dull ache she had grown accustomed to.
She hadn't had a thing to eat all day, so without hesitation, she slipped forward and seated herself at the very bottom step of the temple.
She had no bowl to offer.
Still, when the priest reached her, he paused only briefly before placing fruit into her hands, along with a neatly folded linen garment.
"You are quite young," he said, studying her face. "Do you not have parents?"
The question caught her off guard.
Her lips parted, but before she could think of an answer, someone called out to the priest.
He turned away at once and moved on, leaving her sitting there. Joya was relieved; she began to eat her food. When she took the first bite, she felt a rush of satisfaction wash over her.
Minutes later, another figure appeared.
An old man, draped in a long black gown, with a white shawl wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned heavily on a walking stick, his hunched back sharply outlined beneath the fabric.
Each step he took seemed to cost him effort.
When Joya noticed him, a knot formed in her chest.
The food was already finished.
More people had arrived when words spread about the free food and clothes, and now there was nothing left to give.
What remained, the priests kept for themselves.
The old man eased himself down onto the step beside her and turned his head to look at her.
Joya avoided his gaze at first, staring instead at the fruit resting in her lap.
But his attention remained glued to her, almost impossible to ignore. At last, she sighed softly, reached into her share, and handed him two bananas.
"Thank you, my child," he said gently.
She nodded in response.
Still, he did not look away, not immediately.
His eyes stayed on her for a moment longer.
She was forced to move away to a corner by the street where she watched a man bake bread just right across the street.
Soon evening came, and the sun began to set. The next thought that came to Joya's mind was where to lay her head for the night.
She pushed herself to her feet, dusted her dress, and scanned her surroundings.
Traders were already packing up their wares, folding cloths, stacking baskets, and preparing for home.
"My child."
The voice came from behind her, thin and frail, yet unmistakable.
She turned and saw the old man, the one she had shared her fruit with.
"Come with me."
He didn't wait for an answer. Turning away, he began to walk, his walking stick hitting the ground with every step he took.
"Where to, sir?"
She asked.
"Definitely a place safer than here; the streets are not safe at night."
He responded, still walking away.
Joya looked around; there was no other way to go.
Taking a hold of the small box she had carried with her all this while, she fell into step behind him, matching her pace to his.
And as they moved away from the fading light of the market, Joya couldn't shake the feeling that she had just stepped into the beginning of something she did not yet understand.