| September 2006 | << August 2006 | October 2006 >> |
| Bethen, the Lost Dream |
| Ten Thousand Gates > Conversing in the Doorway of the First Coin |
It is pain, it will pass; men have no strength in the face of inconvenient hurts. The rain and whatever it contains is but a part of this dream path, no more malign than the cobbles or these cowed poor. Perhaps Leli sees something in this dirt-washed place that we cannot - and so the rain lets her pass with claws sheathed, a cat stroked rather than cursed. No Demonland this, by your meaning, but a Demonland was whence we came.
The dream has split a hundred ways of one, and there is no harm here, no great spirit to consume and narrow the dreaming in ways I have never seen. Rias has delivered us, by his word, but to where? This is no dream of the Esem women, nor realm of any spirit I have heard tale of. Whatever Rias' intent, I must return! I must return to the dream ways I know, or search out a spirit guide who might barter favor for a path to the serpent spirit I seek. I will not give up Amande's life in the face of this great unknown!
You also, Ulvath, and Leli who dances there to the call of her heart - whatever shape of spirit you both may be, you are apart and far, lost as I. You must return, for all have a place in the dream realms and to leave that place is to risk death and worse.
Curse as you will, warrior, the path is for three; you and Leli as guides and allies. That much is clear to me by the dream itself, even as I cannot see it in my heart. A mere warrior and careless girl as allies against a venom spirit and these trials beforehand; I cannot see it, but the dream speaks to me and this is as it will be.
As to Rias and your anger - you will met him again, like as is not, and be free to call him as you will, but he is more and greater than we. Heart and body, he is no more than the pinprick at the dagger's point, just as the dread cast from that great door in the Void. He has branded this dream path by his presence, and branches curve back to meet his mark once more.
[ Posted by Reason on September 30, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| Physicen of the Half-desert Beyond Turyth |
| Garden of the Prophet > Chantry of Medicia |
You who have come, show yourselves, show yourselves! The dark is for sleep and the Void, not the strong of this realm. Come forth, come forth. I am but old, and this is but my home.
Peasants of the fortress, by my eyes, worn from sand upon the winds and come in search of medicia. Set down your charge, with care now, for this is the Vault of the Prophet's Footstep - yes, once a Holy of the Faith. In truth, it is a Holy yet, for the Prophet's touch upon the Red Realms will never fade. It can only be forgotten a while by Brethren who tend war-shrines and the Cathedral high upon Great Olimpan.
There is water here, and roots if you hunger. Those who brave the wild sand-winds of Awe and hunt thin serpents by night are my friends, and repay my care of this Holy with what little I require. But let us turn to your charge, and the reason for your pilgrimage from the forgen decks of Turyth.
See now, stench is thick about the pocks, and pus gathers fit to leap from his wound. He is heated as a Brother in battle, and such a battle he fights now! There are hearts given to dark whispers in Turyth when the Prophet's name in prayer cannot ward such ills from the least of the Faithful - but you have done well by his soul in your journey, whatever may come.
You have brought a gift well and generous for an old man, and the more so for your hearts in the giving of it. I will be as much in return, and may the Prophet guide your charge to his sense and duty once more. He shall spend this night atop the Prophet's mark in the least-vault below, anointed with amrith from far realms and prayer-pennon of the holy Brother Eryhan about his wound. We can do no more but pray with faith foremost in our hearts.
[ Posted by Reason on September 25, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| Beware the Physicen |
| Garden of the Prophet > Chantry of Medicia |
Let not the Brethren of the Order stray from the Chapel Medicis to the physicen of the low decks and village they knew as children. The exhortation of armor and long-cannon is your shield, just as the word of the Prophet upon the flesh of the Faith is theirs. The Prophet's seed is clenched beneath the never-healing scar in shield of our hearts; we live the life of years in His service. The medicia of peasant and least of the faithful is not for we dutiful Hands of the Prophet.
Watch you those peasant physicen with faith foremost in the heart and you will be guided by the Prophet. These least of the faithful might speak with the Prophet's words, or be the riverbed upon which whispers of Contagion flow. It is the duty of the Medicist to watch for such, just as Preachers look to the hearts of the peasantry.
Motificen, flux, plague and ague are cast upon the faithful as a judgement of the Prophet: faltering of Faith; punishment of the Unhallowed untethered from ancient tower-ruins; whispers from the Void made apparent upon the flesh. The fall of but one soul into the sickness of Contagion may bring bloody flux upon a fortress - but a warning of what will come lest Brethren of the Order root out the seeds of heresy.
In times of plague the devoted Medicist seeks first the physicen of peasant superstition, who give not instruction in the Faith, and cast madness upon the lowest decks. Bring forth these physicen and search their hearts most closely for the signs of Contagion. In wisdom and long service to the Prophet's will, I give you this charge.
[ Posted by Reason on September 24, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| Holy Pilgrimage of the Glass Char-Desert |
| Garden of the Prophet > Source of All Seeds |
It was upon the fifth day of Censen that two Brothers of the Rageless Order came in pilgrimage to the sealed war-shrine of the lowest fortress-vault of Shekegen. Far and far again had they traveled from the great Cathedral of the Prophet's Arm above the clouds, upon poison-river and through the Mereken realm wastes where char meets straggled tree and bush.
The forgen great-portals of Shekegen were frozen over by a rod of ice and snow in Censen of that year, and so nigh through Char. Only the least-shafts were cleared by sheth-fleeced peasants of the portal decks, that middens be cast beyond the fortress-vault and Lord Adrus' guard might take small-cannon to hunt whiterabe betwixt storms and snow. Through soil and stench in the least-shafts came Brother Sarmen and Brother Traves, clad in the fur of starved wolven, the Prophet's seed strong within their chests, and of countenance as though this were but the first step upon their holy journey.
Through vault-way, stair and shaft trod the Brothers without pause, not even to seek out the Lord of the fortress-vaults in the name of the Order. Peasants followed from each new deck, the least of the Faithful drawn to these Hands of the Prophet. At the base of the fortress watch-spire, Brother Traves struck the seals placed by the Ordained Amsepehem, and Brother Sarmen set the flesh of Faith against the mighty forgen seal-gate of the war-shrine. Upon its opening, the Brothers gave great praise to the Prophet before the gathered peasants - for within was the holy sign they sought, that they would make pilgrimage to the center of the great char-desert, just as the Anointed Marten in the time of the First Order.
Away from the inland sea of Shekegen there is only the great desert of char and glass, the punishment cast by the Unhallowed upon themselves. The storms of Rue and Awe blow char and glass across a thousand leagues of the deepest desert, fit to carve peasant's forgen and strike the blood and flesh from the bones of the Faithful. Yet it is said there are lost souls deep within the Mereken realm, who toil as peasants upon poison char, drink poison rain, and suffer yet the fate of the Unhallowed.
Into the snow-covered glass and char went the Brothers Sarmen and Traves, upon the frozen tenth day of Char, when whiterabe lay still as death within their burrows and peasants hid from their duties. Went they gladly, these Rageless Brothers, for the Prophet's eyes were upon them, His will made plain.
[ Posted by Reason on September 23, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| Observance on the Twenty-Ninth Day of Spire |
| Garden of the Prophet > Calend of the Faithful |
Upon this twenty-ninth day of Spire, the Faithful of the Prophet's Garden gather to give praise in remembrance of the Hallowing of the Ganamed realm by the great Void-cathedral Yeuve.
In Spire Yeuve bore the Hateless Order across the Void of the Lesser Suns, from the Prophet's judgement upon Erope to bring Faith to the savages of the Ganamed realm. With mighty pillars of the Prophet's Fire did Yeuve set to rest upon the hill-lands of thin-tree forest, and with great prayer did Ordained make a Holy of that place in the Prophet's name.
The savages who dwelled amongst the ruined vault-works of the Unhallowed made wings of cloth and savage forgen, and flew by leaps from rock, yellow thin-tree and high vault. Light as a feather tugs the Ganamed realm upon the Faithful, and close presses the Void. The savages knew not of the Faith nor the Prophet's wisdom, and thus Contagion whispered to their hearts. Hateless Brothers went forth from Yeuve with armor and long-cannon, in war-barque and upon tread of heavy forgen, to teach Faith to the savages and burn Contagion in holy Prophet's Fire where it fouled the Ganamed realm.
Hateless Technists toiled upon new vault-works and spires, tall as tall upon the Gananed realm hill-lands. In high leaps, higher than the tallest spire of the Red Realms, did Hateless Brothers exhort their armors, to pull savages from their wings and teach them Faith. Hateless Preachers journeyed in courage and noble duty to speak the Prophet's words beneath a Lesser Sun.
In Spire, great-bells of new-blessed forgen, pennoned in the Prophet's banner, first called the savages to prayer and learning. So the Prophet's hands shield souls from Contagion come from the Void, and such was the first Hallowing of the Ganamed realm. Raise up your voice in praise of the Prophet's compassion upon this holy day, and give service to your Order with glad duty in your heart.
[ Posted by Reason on September 17, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| Armors of the Heretics |
| Garden of the Prophet > Source of All Seeds |
Brother Palte, set down your long-cannon and give armor to rest once more - it is but I. You have found good vantage here upon this rock and hill-char, but the slope is hard without exhortation and the steadfast forgen of holy armor. How this heat presses like steam above the pot!
Does this night find you well in your duty, Brother? I bring fare from below, and water from the river now that black char and mud has washed from midstream. By the Prophet's seed, I am gladdened in my heart to be out and above this jungle and its winged vermin! They thirst for the blood of the Faithful, no less than the thorns and spears of every plant - whilst serpents bearing fever-poison lie in wait beneath the rot of fallen wood.
Look yonder, at the war-barque - burnished fit for the Prophet's eyes by this Lune realm light, pennoned fit to bring the Prophet's word into the very hearts of the faithless. Were I Voidmaster of Tibene, there would be naught but char where now is vile green. Thence the Faithful dark-men would tend the Holies free from plagues of fly and serpent, and give praise to the Prophet's name.
What tidings these past days? The Ordained have granted Purgen of the low fortress decks to the guard of the Rur realm. The Lord and a full third measure of guard lie sick unto death with the flux of yellowed skin, but those who stand show the Prophet's judgement to peasants who served heresy. Cages of black-wood hang upon the fortress vault-works at the river-shafts, and all will be filled before Awe is ended. Let jungle vermin feast upon the flesh of heresy rather than the Faithful!
The Brothers touched by Contagion are yet sieged within the mighty bell-spire. Look, and there is their watch-fire upon the deck about the mid-vault. They proclaim a fulsome devotion to the Prophet's words yet, as through flight from Kilemjaro has redeemed their Void-touched souls. Were they true to the Faith, they would have taken the armor and cannon of that great fortress-mountain and brought the Prophet's Fire upon infant heresy - but no, these fallen Brothers consorted with the seeds of Contagion, gave nuture as it grew by their inaction.
The Ordained Karel and his Technist Brethren make ready the war-litanies upon Nayah. That great-cannon has been Hallowed of all taint, bathed in the Prophet's Fire, and brought upon wheel and tread from the broken forgen of Kilemjaro. Mighty is the bell-spire, but its forgen will fall before Nayah, and we will bring the Prophet's judgement upon these heretics!
Hark - Preacher Sebastan speaks yet amongst the restful armors below; his heart is fire and fervor. The Preacher stood upon cannon-sundered forgen beneath the bell-spire this past day, entreating the fallen Brethren to some last redemption before they are given to the Prophet. The armors of the heretics are Holies of the First Order and the Prophet's war-procession, kept safe these centuries in the war-shrines of Afrik. These Holies have fallen from Faith only through the exhortations of heretics; they might yet be Hallowed in Prophet's Fire, just as Nayah, and returned to the Faithful.
Until the next night the heretics have to decide the depth of their Contagion, Brother Palte, and then it shall be as the Prophet wills.
[ Posted by Reason on September 16, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| A Proposal in the Manner of Dress |
| The Place Where Stars Fell > Mas Lirren, Prime Hireling of the Enlightened Library |
Mas Temra, please rouse the glowflies. They laze in the early dark, and I will need more light if I am to comprehend this lastest innovation. Not so hard! If this last glowfly cask is broken also, I will send the one who breaks as far and wide as needed to find another.
Now, Mas Rell, this business of your clothing and its quite unusual appearance this night. You have explained, and I must say that I quite fail to grasp the significance. We are all to dress the same, you say? It seems very impractical ... are those folded leaves, and is that the missing frayment from my folding shade? No, the light of glowflies is quite sufficient. I do not see this matter any improved by transportation to the fire whence the queue reposes.
Of course I understand the need for we hirelings to show our position; we have been chosen by the Enlightened Library for our dedication and perspicaciousness in the face of all that might come from the Radiant places. This is precisely why I agreed with your nomenclature of two winters past. We all bear the additional name of Mas exactly to demonstrate this point - that we are hirelings, and all should know.
My manner of speech is, as you well know, a gift of the Library - and therefore utterly appropriate to my position. Furthermore, I fail to see how it has any bearing on this matter; my countenance is hardly to be placed in the same category as any uttered contrivance brought on by Radiance. Why, if all were one and the same, what would be the need for hirelings to ajudge and organize the queued petitioners who will await their turn in the Shadow when the sun rises?
I cannot see it. The hireling name, yes, and twice yes. This uniform ornamentation of clothing to no good end, no. No, Mas Rell, you have made your case. Were you prime hireling, appointed by the Library itself I might add, matters would no doubt be different. As it is, you must accept your lot - perhaps, as before, those waiting petitioners might prove more receptive to this innovation of yours.
[ Posted by Reason on September 10, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| A Star Crosses the Vale |
| The Place Where Stars Fell > Mas Lirren, Prime Hireling of the Enlightened Library |
Such inconvenience, and upon such a warm day! Twice in two summers now, and the far side of the marsh still showing the last visit. In all the Land, why does this Star of the Fallen Tower come to trouble the vale of the Library, hmm? Shaping and shining like a simple-hearted Child of Children - and followed by Hungry Dead who'll tear all to shreds. Of all our petitioners, why has naught seen fit to bring Radiant works to stop a Star from sorcery and the disruption of our work? Why indeed!
My, my, no. No, this will not do. We must leave this, and this, and whose is this sack? Your efforts are outstanding, even yours Mas Enneth, to my pleased astonishment, but there is simply no time! It is best to hope the Star takes the same steps as last summer, and that which we'll leave in the Shadow of the Library remains as we leave it. Look, even the rabbits run here and there, and half towards the marsh, now. Perhaps the Hungry Dead will destroy those ugly pillars of glass; perhaps the Star will not tear up the new saplings to build a great Radiant work.
Mas Rell, this is not the time for more of your Radiant foolery, and certainly not the time for this wheeled device again. It has never worked and shows all the signs of dramatic failure even while at rest. To think you took fine wood for such a thing in favor over another cabinet! Leave it with those similarly dubious materials abandoned by the queue in their haste to depart. Such efforts they undertake to bring us supposed Enlightenment, and how quick to abandon these contrivances in the face of adversity! It is not my place to judge the queue, but it is my place to judge your service to the Library, Mas Rell.
Come along! We must be up and over the hill posthaste with all of the most vital appurtenances; the Library requires it, and I am but here to speak the Library's will. Remember that whilst you labor beneath my grand table and shade, Mas Temra - more haste, more haste!
This is merely a greater, albeit steeper, occurance of our daily movement across the vale to follow the Shadow of the Library. Cease your complaints, and set to a more steadfast service, do you hear? There will be many eager to take your place as hireling to the Library when the queue returns! See how low the Library comes above to watch your labor!
[ Posted by Reason on September 9, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| They Whisper of Their Lives, Over and Again |
| The Place Where Stars Fell > Dead Hallas, Who Carries Upward |
This is not the first that Tanne of the tenth step above has seen these tall steps. Her flesh would have fallen lest the Star of the Cloud Balcony had shone a hundred hands to work the sorcery of Stars. Tanne is almost faded like the Old Dead, racked and placed as skulls to whisper of their lives, over and over again.
The Old Dead do not care who listens between their duties of counting and counting again, and nor will Tanne care who listens while she climbs under sacks of rough diamond. She tells again of the Blue Rock Vale that you and I will never see, and one who caught her heart when she had blood and life to feel.
These Dead like you and I, as we climb to ask the Mountain Star what will become of us. We will recall the question if we but try, we will not be like Tanne and the Old Dead. Speak to me again of our climb, of the Stars, of this Mountain Tower of diamond and sorcery - tell me the tales that I have told you.
[ Posted by Reason on September 4, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| Stood the Dead, Bartered For Their Virtues |
| The Place Where Stars Fell > Dead Hallas, Who Carries Upward |
The Stars, they send to one and another, Mountain Tower to Spider Tree Tower - we will see them though these walls of diamond, when the clouds part over the Land. Lesser stars in threes and fours fly though the forests, over cliff and vale as owl and great deer, fast as the wind.
Emmen had the touch of Deepness about him when blood and life ran through and through us both; many and much he Deepened after the ways of our fathers. The Deepness flows away from we Dead, for it is of the blood and the living. How long it was we both stood within the Open Hall, waiting to be counted, and so cold and high where the Old Dead stared.
The Star of the Lower Mountain shone bright to barter such Dead as Emmen to form webs into a Tower to reach the sky. From the Spider Tree Star are sent the strong for the dark mines and climbing. Lesser Stars of the Spider Tree came then. They shone forth long arms, legs and great webs, and carried away those who once bore blood to touch upon the Deepness.
When we come to the last step, to the Dead who build anew, when we place these many great diamonds before the Mountain Star, then I will ask of Emmen.
[ Posted by Reason on September 3, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
| Tamisan Within the Great Gap |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > The Servants' Path |
Tamisan 14 rubbed her neck. A dwelling-wall of honored ancestral bones obscured the nearest flames to cast her in near-darkness. She could see far beyond and above the Gap community of Tamisan. Tamisan 14's view climbed the perfectly smooth, vertical wall of rock far above; she leaned her head back to stare once more at the bright stars and kloms-distant reflections of the Light of the One God at the uppermost reaches of the Gap.
The Jentik acolyte had gazed upward to the slow-turning blackness of the Sky since sleep overtook Imis Batih, Initiate of the Second Circle and her sole present company. The Initiate's wake had drawn long indeed before meeting Lotun and Tamisan 14. Now his flax robe fell awry against the wall of honored bones, and his back slipped from the cracked Uk wood post supporting his weight. His hands rested about a small painted pack, his flax-wrapped Gift upon the smooth Pathway rock beneath the fading inkwork of ancestral wall-bones.
In earlier breaths, the two Servants of the Provider had talked of woodcrafting and art. Batih had devoted himself to a crafting Brotherhood before his initiation into the Order; he carried the tools of a woodcrafter in his travels as a Servant of the Provider. His decorated pack contained half-completed statuettes and engravings; the Initiate had been only too pleased to show Tamisan 14 a small Polpas wood figure of the Father of the Imis Family, a gift for a future wake. Their conversation had lapsed, however, as the Initiate dozed.
Tamisan 14 found herself wishing that the Namekeeper of Tamisan, a kindly elder Jentik, had stayed to keep her company. The Namekeeper's clothes bore unfamiliar inked patterns, and Tamisan 14 had wanted to ask of their origin. The Namekeeper had duties to attend, however, and left with a smile and few words.
Heartbeats and breaths passed. Tamisan 14 wondered, not for the first time, how long it would be before Lotun returned. This darkened reach of the community was quiet, and the young Jentik was bored. Lotun had asked Batih to wait with Tamisan 14 while he visited his granddaughters in the Nei Family. The acolyte was curious, and more than a little offended at not having been invited to join the elder Wohken. Despite wakes spent with Nei Tesin in the Realm of the World Crafter, and despite the cycles of travel with Lotun, Tamisan 14 still knew very little about the Nei Family. Lotun had become almost evasive about the matter as the Servants traveled through the Godward territory of his Tribe. The young Jentik had given up her questioning as the High Gap Mountains drew near: jagged silhouettes against the Sky and far swathes of the Light of the One God.
Now, seated upon the divinely smooth rock of the Gap Pathway, wakes had passed since Tamisan 14 had seen the Light of the One God in the Sky rather than as reflections upon the vertical kloms of the Gap walls.
Traveling Lightward through Wohken territory was far different from the long Godward kloms among the Susyan. Lotun was greeted with respect and deference in every community, with ritual and formalism to match that of the Order of the Provider. Wohken took great note of Lotun's status and position within the Order and his Family. Even elder Fathers and Amrals were courteous.
Initiates of the Order of all Tribes had been a common sight upon the open Godward rock of the Wohken. Lotun and Tamisan 14 had met an aged, pale-bearded Seer of the Order at the Tasam Family Shrine, where the Light of the One God sometimes vanishes behind the bulk of the High Gap Mountains. Lotun and the Seer had conversed for an entire wake and long into the sleep that followed. Tamisan 14 had slept restlessly, half-waking at times to hear the Initiate and Seer speaking of duty and the Provider in low, serious tones. Lotun's mood was different in the wakes that followed, but the Jentik had not yet asked why. Now she wondered.
Brought back to thoughts of sleep, Tamisan 14 watched the slumbering form of Imis Batih. The fingers of his left hand twitched slightly; he dreamed of matters more interesting than watching a sleeper, the young Jentik supposed. She tired of being alone with her thoughts and the view of the divine Gap above Tamisan. Tamisan 14 climbed to her feet, looked around and stretched. Lotun had not expressly told her to remain with Batih, she reflected. The Jentik picked up her pack and walked towards the nearest pathway through the close-spaced, sprawling Wohken Family dwellings.
Lotun moved slowly through dark and narrow ways between low, leather-walled Tamisan Family dwellings. He still favored his left leg, but now from habit rather than injury. The nearest flames burned fitfully some fifty paces away, leaving but a dim glow to spill over the enclosing walls.
Not since the death of his partner nearly a generation ago had Lotun come to Tamisan, the community of his birth. Tamisan 14 had asked him of that time in his life - in the rushing manner of the young - before the travelers had even reached Naskal in the territory of the Enierd. Lotun had never wanted that conversation with the Jentik acolyte, however. Knowing that he would rejoin his partner, when their spirits returned to the World to serve the Provider once more, was little comfort during lonely wakes of travel upon the open rock.
Lotun and his partner had visited Tamisan many times as Initiates of the Order. The cycles passed into generations; their children, and later their grandchildren, grew as honored members of the Nei Family. Lotun sighed as he walked, recalling past cycles and happier wakes. He touched his thumbnail to characters deeply engraved in the age-worn wood of his staff.
Children rounded a nearby corner and sprinted past Lotun with the exuberance of youth, the foremost giggling as she ran. The oldest and last paused hastily to make a sign of respect to the Servant of the Provider before running to catch up with the others. Lotun halted, his reverie disturbed. He leaned upon his staff and watched the rapidly retreating backs, recalling games that he and other children had played in the twining paths of the community. Generations had passed, he and his companions had parted and grown old, but Tamisan remained the same. Here then were new children and a new generation of the World, spirits returned from the World Beyond to new lives. Lotun nodded to himself. Would the respectful child journey to Tumnil to become a Servant in some cycle yet to come? Would he return to Tamisan in his old age, to this same narrow path between Family dwellings?
Lotun tapped his staff on the smooth Pathway rock at his feet. "Foolish thoughts," he muttered to himself, and returned to walking. No more than a few hundred paces remained before he would reach what had once been his home, but his pace was ever slower. The elder Initiate had not yet thought of an appropriate greeting for his Family - a formalism of great importance, coming as it would from one absent so long. The passing of time in service to the Provider had brought Lotun few regrets, but those few rested here in Tamisan. Lost once again in his thoughts in the now-empty path between ink-marked leather walls, Lotun walked on.
Tamisan 14 frowned as she turned one way and another, her bone-framed leather pack hanging from one shoulder. Seven flames lit this busy junction of passages between dwellings, burning on bone pipes atop carved wooden wallposts. Shadows flowed over the ornate leather, engraved wood and inked flax of passing Wohken, over the walls and smooth Pathway rock; a distracting net of light and dark.
Tamisan 14 was lost again, just as in Godward Wohken communities of past wakes. No sense lay in the placement of dwellings and branching ways between; a plait of leather woven of generations, and not for the Jentik eye. Wohken found the way easily enough, perhaps by means of the intricate motifs upon every wall and corner, but the twisting paths confused Tamisan 14. She sighed.
"Might we aid you?" A friendly voice inquired. A few of the passing Wohken had stopped to speak with Tamisan 14; two young men bowed formally, while a woman politely pressed her hands together in greeting. Their leather shirts and trews bore similar Tribal motifs, clear in the dancing flame-light.
"I seek the Nei Family dwelling," said Tamisan 14, spreading her hands, "but it is not easily found."
The foremost of the young men nodded in understanding, and glanced over his shoulder at the woman. She made a gesture of demurral, and the young man turned back to Tamisan 14. He bowed again, and the Jentik fought the urge to bow in return, settling instead for a brief inclination of her head. Her hanging pack was beginning to rub, and she set it to the smooth Pathway rock.
"I am Busai Wane, Second Lutnen," he touched an ornate sewn-leather design on his chest, "and First Lutnen of the Tamisan Brotherhood of Woodcrafters." He brushed his hand across other motifs sewn to his shirt, painted to the semblance of engraving tools. Tamisan 14 now noticed small ornamental bone tools hanging from a necklace. "I," continued the Wohken, "will guide you to the door of our honored friends, the Nei. That is, if you will permit me."
"By all means," replied Tamisan 14. She had been subject to far longer and more ornate introductions in past cycles from Wohken seeking to impress her - or Lotun. Her elder companion had told her the more Lightward-dwelling Wohken found such boastful formalism amusing.
"Return soon, Wane," remarked the woman, pointedly. "Our Father will be angry if this meet is delayed by the absence of a Second Lutnen."
"Of course, Sister," Wane replied respectfully. The three Wohken briefly clasped hands. The other young man gave Busai Wane an envious parting glance before falling in behind his Sister.
His Brother and Sister gone, Busai Wane looked at Tamisan 14 more carefully, his eyes following the lines of her clothing in the flame-light. In the first Godward Wohken communities visited by Lotun and Tamisan 14, where priests of the World Crafter preached from wooden platforms and the Light of the One God was far and dim, this constant inspection had been disconcerting. Lotun had explained with amusement - after the Jentik had been more than impolite to a staring Wohken boy - that her lack of motifs led people to suppose they had simply missed her Tribal markings. Perhaps her motifs were small or subtle, as would befit high ranks in certain influential Brotherhoods; Tamisan 14 should treat such attentions as a compliment.
The acolyte waited for Wane's gaze to return to her face. He was short and thin in comparison to the Jentik build, but his loose leather shirt concealed much of that difference. His dark, straight hair was neatly cropped short in a common Wohken style, and framed a not unattractive face.
"I bear no motifs," Tamisan 14 said. "I do not dwell among Wohken..."
"Then you must be the acolyte brought by Nei Lotun," interrupted the Wohken, nodding as he spoke. "I am honored to provide some service to you." He bowed his head, pressing his hands together, and then pointed to one of the many gaps between the dwellings that surrounded them, a pathway flanked by two of the seven blue flames. "You have almost found your way, but must first circle the Low Hall of Scrolls."
Wane led the wayalongside the Hall, pointing out inked wooden panels that marked the doorless structure as the territory of the Brotherhood of Knowledge. "See - the looped and knotted rope over the Formal Representative scroll curl? Scribes of the Brotherhood climb into the Dwelling through the Wisdom Hole in the roof."
"Why?" asked Tamisan 14. "Do they fear the scrolls will escape them?"
The Wohken laughed. "Perhaps. But it is tradition, and so best we respect the elder Amrals of the Brotherhood. I would show you the fine-woven rope ladder, but that would take us from the pathway - and too many breaths." He shrugged. "The Families of Tamisan have heard my name shouted by Busai Dijin too many times already in the past cycle."
"Busai Dijin?"
"Our honored elder Father. I am ill-thought, lazy, and an impossible choice for any potential partner." The Wohken smiled as he said this.
"I cannot see why." Tamisan 14 spoke without thinking, regetting her words in the very next heartbeat. She sought to find some tactful words in the awkward breaths that followed.
"Ah, but if only I were Nei," sighed Wane eventually, spreading his hands. The Wohken looked at Tamisan 14 in a more openly appraising manner. "We must turn here."
The two entered a broad, darker path between Family dwellings and the cracked wooden wall of the Low Hall of Scrolls. A pale-bearded elder Wohken passed them by, long leather robe hung about with carved bone motifs. Busai Wane stopped to bow deeply, receiving a curt wave of the hand in return.
Wane waited for the elder to run the nearest corner. "You have traveled with Nei Lotun," he said thoughtfully, and set to walking once more. "The Nei of the Brotherhood speak of him with great respect: the Nei who well serves the Provider. What is his spirit?"
Tamisan 14 thought for twenty paces or so, recalling the recent cycles of travel. "Wise," she said, finally.
Wane looked at the Jentik, half-smiling and expecting more. "Wise?"
The acolyte nodded. "Wise."
"I see." The young Wohken gave Tamisan 14 an uncertain glance. The Jentik's attention was upon the next junction, however.
"Which way must we take now?" The wall of the Low Hall of Scrolls came to another corner ahead, lit by a single small blue flame, its bone flame-pipe projecting from the wall of the Hall. Narrow paths between dwellings led in different directions. A tall wooden block rested on the flat Pathway rock, dominating the small open area beside the Hall corner post. Lines of Midrin Expressive characters ran across every part of the block, obscured by deep splits and cracks in the ancient Uk wood. A line of Wohken, each with a long braid of hair laced in the same style, bowed to the script in their passing.
"Walk the leftmost way," said Wane. "You will see the Nei dwelling between the fine Polpas wood of the Tamisan Meten and the poor ancestral leather of the Won."
"My thanks, Busai Wane. You have been most kind, and without need." The Jentik and the Wohken paused as the braided Brotherhood passed, their uneven shadows cast upon the path behind them. Tamisan 14 looked to her left, along a straight, dark gap between two smaller, leather-walled dwellings, both extravagantly inked with scenes of Tribal history.
"There stands the dwelling, beside the flame-lights beyond this dark," declared Busai Wane. "Please - be first upon the path." He swept his hand to the inked walls.
"You will be late for your meet," said the Jentik, looking askance at the Wohken as she started towards the Nei Family dwelling.
"A guide should not abandon his duty in the final steps, whether it is to Brother, Sister or honored guest," said Busai Wane, with a smile. "Our friends of the Nei Family would not know you walked a trustworthy path."
Tamisan 14 nodded in understanding. What minor favor it was that Busai Wane wanted from the Nei Family? That thought would not have occurred to the acolyte but a few short cycles past.
The script-carved block and blue flame-light behind her, Tamisan 14 turned her attention to the lit dwelling at the end of the slender, darkened path. Was that Lotun's robe among the Wohken gathered before the Nei Family dwelling? The acolyte quickened her pace, past the intricate art of prior generations; Busai Wane followed silently. Who were the dark-haired women with Lotun, their backs to her?
Tamisan 14 emerged into the open space before the engraved wooden panels and tall bone posts of the Nei Family dwelling. All was lit in yellow by a wood-flame of welcome, and fragrant smoke rose to be caught by the Gap wind above Tamisan's dwellings. Lotun was leaning to speak with one of the dark-haired young women. The other turned, and smiled when she noticed Tamisan 14.
"Sister! Welcome!" the young woman called. She put a hand on Lotun's arm, the sleeve of her loose shirt rich with Wohken symbols. "Grandfather!" She tugged at Lotun's arm. "Sister! Who is she?"
Tamisan 14 came to an abrupt halt; Busai Wane almost walked into her. The acolyte put a hand to her mouth in surprise. Both young women were Jentik!
Lotun and the other Jentik turned to look at Tamisan 14. The elder Servant's expression moved from surprise to what might be sadness. Tamisan 14 now saw other, older Jentik, also dressed in the Wohken style, amongst the Wohken of the Nei Family in the gathering. Busai Wane put his hand on Tamisan 14's shoulder, concern upon his face, but the acolyte could only stare in silence at the scene before her.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Tamisan 14 demanded.
Lotun raised a veined hand in defense. "Was it wrong of me, Tamisan 14?"
"Yes! You decided my spirit without even looking to my voice - no less than Deru in Tumnil. Everyone in Tamisan knows that Nei partner with Jentik. Even the Namekeeper! Everyone except me!" Tamisan 14 sat down on the smooth rock at the base of the side of the Nei Family dwelling and rested her face in her hands.
Lotun shook his head. He leaned on his staff and looked down at the young Jentik. "I was not protecting you from anything. My reasons were selfish. I did not want you to think that you were here, on this journey of the Provider's duties, because you were Jentik. I did not want you to think that because my partner..." Lotun sighed, and lapsed into silence for a few breaths. "You are as gifted as the best of your Tribe. You know what I did not want you to think."
Tamisan 14 raised her face, resting her chin on her palms. "That would not have occurred to me, Lotun." She shook her head as she spoke. "You have been a teacher, a mother to me. You should have told me - at least after a few cycles, when we came to Susyan territory."
Members of the Nei Family were talked nearby but out of sight; their voices blended into the sounds of the community. Crafters hammered wood upon wood somewhere in Tamisan, the sounds carried by the wind above the dwellings. Lotun ran his thin fingers over the engraved characters at the top of his staff.
"Perhaps you are right, Tamisan 14. Perhaps you are not. But now that you know, do not turn your spirit against me for doing what I thought to be right. The Seers tell us not to look backward and desire to change the past...
"...but to look forward to the duties of the future. I know. Tumnil 146 taught me that chant many cycles ago." Tamisan 14 looked up at Lotun. "As a wise elder who has partnered with Jentik, you do not know me as well as you should."
"You and your sisters are not as alike as you would have us believe, no more than any two curvetips atop the Provider's soil. I know that, at least." The Initiate looked at Tamisan 14's face, almost sadly. "I would have liked for you to meet my partner."
"Future duties, Lotun," said the Jentik, gently.
Lotun nodded. "Future duties." He looked at the rock of the Gap Pathway at his feet for heartbeats, and then stood as straight as the weight of generations allowed. "Come. With all we have spoken, you should meet with my Family. You will make this journey alone in generations to come, and the Nei will always welcome you to Tamisan..."
[ Posted by Reason on September 2, 2006 | Permanent Link ]
