Pact - Soloist

                I carry Feil back to his chamber. By now, I imagine the servants would have finished the changing of his sheets, and perhaps with some coaxing, he will sleep again. The prince, my son, did not want to go, and I, the King, do not blame him. However, I have come to realize that I cannot not bear to see him, seeing her, my wife, his mother in such a state. To stare at us, content, yet vapid. This is the price of a Joining?

            She crept up to me in the way that she often did. Serene, gentle. I could feel her arms work their way around my waist in that way that indicated concern. I did not pull my eyes from the map laid out before me.
            “You’re doing it again,” she murmured in my ear, kissing me. Her lips, so warm, soft. I closed my eyes and let her love carry me- but only for a moment.
            “I am doing what any king must,” I told her. “The people depend on me.”
            “They do indeed.” She circled and tucked herself up under my arm, her head beneath my chin. “But what can a fatigued king provide for his people? All men need their rest.”
            “The armies will not offer respite,” I reminded her. “They will be pleased to attack us when we are least ready.”
            “And what do your scouts say?”
            “Months. A year’s time at the most.”
            “Then, your majesty, I believe you can afford one night of rest.”
            I held her at arm’s length, and stared at her, stared down at her. Lovely as she had always been. Lovelier now with the life she carried. I placed my hand upon her swollen belly, and she placed her hand on mine. “Is that what her majesty believes?”
            “She does.”

            And so I spent a day with my family. I did my best. We rode about the kingdom on horseback, canceled Feil’s lessons for the day and met with the villagers. Instead of the best the kingdom had to offer, as we typically enjoyed, we took bread with the common folk and lived, at least a little, as they did. And what a day it was.

            We sat on the balcony together, Ralasia and I, with Feil nestled between us. Just the three of us. The sun fell toward the horizon, and brought the long day toward its close.
            There can be more days like this,” she said.
            I looked at her, and she met my gaze, smiling.
            “Can there, mommy?” Feil asked, excited. “Do you really mean it?” He turned from her to me, hopeful, beaming, and in spite of my exhaustion, I smiled and tousled his hair. Still, I knew better than to make promises.

            It wasn’t easy to relinquish a day in this manner, laughing and smiling and pretending nothing was wrong. But I did it, for a time. Sometimes, even now, when I really try, I can almost fool myself. But just like the Drakon, obligations have a way of appearing, whether we want them to or not.

            A shadow covered us then, and all mirth faded. Well above us, well past us, the Drakon travelled upon outstretched wings. He paid us no mind, and yet, for those fleeting seconds of darkness…Feil cried out, and buried his face in his mother’s bosom. I held them both close, and she looked at the Drakon, and finally me with a pointed and unwavering expression. The Drakon flew off toward its mountain, unaware of our exchange…

            How long has it been since we had a true conversation? How long since she last smiled, truly smiled? Such things seem distant memories, and further still every time I look at her.  And for what, really? The table still stands in the corner; the armies move closer. I have given that which I hold most dear to protect my kingdom, and all might be lost anyway. The plans we have laid do not reassure me.

            “There’s a better way,” I told her. Empty words. I knew it, and she knew it.
            Ralasia would not pretend for my sake. “This is your part, my love.” She thrust the scroll into my chest.
            “We’ll find a better way. One without—“
            She stared at me with piercing eyes. “Without bloodshed, my King? Because someone will bleed. Our soldiers. Theirs.”
            “But not you,” I pleaded.
            “What is a monarch if not for her people?”
            I spread the scroll halfheartedly across the table. Runes I had learned in my youth and almost forgotten. Honestly, I had hoped I would. Then I could never make use of the terrible power.

            Terrible power, and at a most terrible price. “Ralaisia,” I whispered to her, again. As I have done. As I often do. I’ve decided that if nothing else, my Queen shall remember her name, even if she knows not its meaning. She smiles at me, as she often does, and she strokes my hand and wrist with her perfect fingers. Her eyes gleam golden now; I’m looking at a different woman, and I can’t know if my Queen will ever return to me. The Drakon warned me; I had been pretending, even then, that I was ready. Only now do I realize the extent of my unpreparedness.
            I haven’t received the mercy to consider the possibility. Yes, throughout my nights, I am trapped in my keep with my addled wife and terrified child.  For all its misery, however, the days are far worse. The court is far emptier without its Queen, and everyone knows it, though none as much as I. This was what we agreed upon; the ‘best’ choice. The King, ruler to his people, must not disappear, for fear of fears. A departure of the Queen however, easily placated through rumors of illness. The eyes in the court, however, are not satisfied. Watching me, and the empty throne at my side…Worse, touring the kingdom, seeing so many of my subjects. Queen Ralasia is, quite frankly, the face of this nation.

            “But you are the queen, my love,” I told her. “You are the queen and a mother. What will I say to our people? What will I say to our son?”
             “And you are a king and a father,” Ralasia replied with a gentle smile. “You are both. You rule the kingdom, but you rule our hearts as well, Feil and I…” she crossed the chamber then, and drew my hand to her belly. “And soon, your little kingdom will have one more member, who will love and cherish you as well... It is because I am a mother that I do this for our kingdom, and it is because I am a queen that I do this for our family. Feil will understand in time, and you guide him, along with all of our people…” she kissed me then, and held me close. “We’re in this together, my love.”

            I remember her words, but I forget her voice. Now, she does not speak to me, and I hardly know if she is present at all. She is warm, and seems to love, but I do not know if she understands. If this is a Joining, it should have been me- subjects be damned. Had I but a second chance, I would never allow this burden upon her shoulders. I would never allow her to join with that drakon, to lose flesh and blood, to risk her life. The place of the King is before his people, and that includes the Queen, foremost. In that regard more than any other, I have failed my people.
            And now, I’m waiting for a dragon child. My Queen is pregnant with a child, and that child will not be human.
            My Queen has lied to me. We aren’t in this together. I’m alone. Feil’s alone. And Ralasia…

            We may all have to pay for this before it’s over.

Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter III - Living From the Land

            I awoke in the morning to an otherwise empty hut, but the warmth of the previous evening lingered, offsetting the chill in the air. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat upright. A look around confirmed I was alone; Renkou’s walking stick and hat were missing. Through the one window, the thinnest lines of orange-red light entered. I rose and stretched; perhaps it had been Renkou’s influence, or simply my own exhaustion, but I’d slept far better than I had in a long time.
            I emerged from the hut to find sparse groups of villagers here and there. Some stood in twos and threes, talking. Others traveled up and down the paths to handle whatever the morning had set for them. I, having no work to complete, inquired of one group where I might find Renkou, as well as the dwellings of the Istmemwa. Neither were pressing; I was not done wandering just yet.
            The village took the shape of a great circle, apparent in the way the roads in either direction curved out of sight around the clumps of huts and stalls. In the dark, and under the welcome of the villagers, this had been less obvious. Now that I had the day and but my own company, I could observe more, and so I set off along one great, curving path I knew led back toward the center. I wanted to travel beyond it to see what lay elsewhere.
            A beautiful place, Sik Nati. My sojourn brought me past numerous stalls; the tame yellows and browns of the huts were offset by the brilliant colors of mud-cloth on display- reds and whites and yellows. The smell of incense lingered in the air, along with music of various melodies.  Young children ran up and down the street, shouting excitedly to one another and occasionally running into passerby; some of the older ones played games of Oware in the street. In this regard, it was not at all unlike my village.
            I had expected that Sik Nati might be divided into sects according to the chajman, as color coordinated, organized as they had been in the central chamber. If there were any such arrangement, it lay unnoticed; all of the village seemed to blend together, and if color served as a measure of affiliation for groups other than the chajman, then those groups mixed rather freely. It made sense even for, or perhaps especially from, a chajmanistic perspective- unity above all else; the only source of pride, their sense of community. In this regard, it was quite unlike my village.
            My travels brought me to a space where no huts stood, and beyond the edge of the village I saw a river. Vast and silent, it curved like the village, around the village, a blue-green serpent flowing at a modest pace, either end of which escaped my sight. It hugged the village at an elevation just below the central plateau that, as far as I could tell, held all of Sik Nati. From my vantage, I could see other plateaus, much smaller and none too distant, tall and narrow cliffs whose bases were submerged in the flow of the river.
            Built on the landings of such cliffs, small huts, linked to one another by bridges. I could make out fishing nets draped over the railing. Also affixed to the railing of each, great kudu horns, and torches, unlit, but blackened from use. If there were villagers within, I did not see them. Before the pillars, the river lay relatively smooth and even; just past them, it dropped off a pair of small tiers, two short waterfalls, before continuing on its way.
            I had never seen so great a river before, but as Sik Nati had proven time and again, the list of things I had not seen was rather large indeed. I followed the river as best I could whenever I could find it, my path weaving through the outermost streets of the village. The sun now rested just above the horizon, lighting the western sky ablaze with golden light- it sparkled most beautifully across the water. Along this particular stretch of the river, children had gathered. They piled small rocks upon the shore and began to skip these stones individually across the water. At their invitation, I took one such stone, and with a mighty heave, I…. sank it immediately. A bit embarrassed, I moved on.
             More people filled the roads now; villagers and their pack animals hauling loads or setting off to work. I came to another stretch of open space in the huts, a place where great steps of stone led down to the river. Just beyond these steps, in the center of the river’s bend, I caught sight of a series of floodplains, overflowing with rice plants. They rose on tall, proud stalks from the water, their bent and golden heads amplified by the morning’s light.  The Chaj-Dlo gathered on both shores, their blue and violet robes a lovely contrast to the green and gold that flowed ceaseless between their two groups. Many of them were seated, eyes closed; their breaths came and went as one, and as they meditated thus, I noticed the water came and went much the same. They hummed quietly at first, but the sound grew in magnitude, and the water began to recede. As it fell away, the raised plots of damp earth broke the surface, graced upon their edges by the trickling streams that flowed around them.
            As the Chaj-Dlo completed their meditations, workers, both men and women, descended the stairs and moved into the riverbed with sickles and leather bags. I watched from my vantage at the top as they set to work cutting the stalks. As they did so, another group at the top of the stairs began to clear space, spreading out sheets of leather. One of them turned to me.
            “Newcomer. We are gathering the rice. Would you like to help?”
            I smiled.

            Outfitted with a spare blade and satchel, I made my way down the stairs to join the others in their cutting.  My position had deceived me; from such a vantage, the task appeared quite small. In the field however, I met with a forest of stalks, many of which taller than I and the other workers. I cut them as I had been taught, laid them out in piles behind me, and continued onward- until I noticed the others did not. Instead, immediately after they made their piles, the workers would cut again, separating head from shaft. The former they would add to their satchels.
            Seeing such, I modified my technique, and as my satchel filled, I watched the workers and did as they did. Those who had remained on the stairs now stood in two lines; one of these lines accepted the full satchels, passing them up the stairs to the top, where the heads of the rice plants were deposited upon the leather sheets I had seen earlier. From there, the other line passed the empty bags back down to the workers in the field.
            Working together in such a manner, the plots were cleared rather quickly. Afterwards, we cutters moved from the fields, and the Chaj-Peyi appeared, their green and browns just as vibrant as their brethren’s colors. They descended the steps between the throngs of workers on either side, each of their steps so firm, so solid that the ground trembled in response.  At the shores of the river, they met with the Chaj-Dlo, and together, the two groups shared a breath—in, and out— and both groups put their heads together. From there, the Chaj-Peyi entered the riverbed and began to chant, their voices rising and falling in time with the movements of their feet. They scattered, marching about the now harvested plains, grinding what remained of the stalks into the rich mud.
            As they moved, the soil folded over itself, smoothed, and folded again. The stalks broke apart and sunk into the fertile ground. Despite moving on loose earth, their footfalls came thunderous, resonating in a way that I felt as much as heard. It brought shivers to my being, but I was not frightened.
            “Beautiful, isn’t it?” One of the Chaj-Dlo asked me. Looking, I realized that like Renkou, this one was in-between. I dipped my head in respect and affirmation.
            “This is the soil that supports us. The Peyi move the earth that sustains us. And now you, having contributed, are a part of that strength.”
            The Chaj-Peyi finished their work and departed from the riverbed. Before the Chaj-Dlo, they paused once more with lowered heads, and with them, took deep breaths just as before. Then, they ascended the stairs in the same manner- marching, chanting.  The Chaj-Dlo turned their attention to the river and began their meditations once more. They inhaled, and the streams at the edges of the riverbed began to cross the floodplain in trickles. They exhaled, and the river, complete, resumed its course in full splendor.
            I returned my borrowed tools and went to observe the harvest. The rice would be damp for days still at a minimum. At the top of the stairs, some of the Chaj-Peyi had lingered to watch as the workers began to wrap the rice in the sheets for transport elsewhere. The workers lifted the completed bundles as soon as they became available, each with as much as any one could carry, and they set off. This surprised me; I had expected the aid of pack animals, but there were none to be found. Still, as each of the workers grabbed their burdens, I took my place among them and hefted what I could. The moment I did, smiles broke out among the Chaj-Peyi.
            “The Le would approve of your actions,” one told me.
            I shrugged as best I could. “I’m doing my part, just as everyone else.”
            “You have the freedom to do whatever you wish here,” another explained. “And yet you pit your shoulder to the labor alongside our people. Such an expression on your part speaks well of your character.”
            I smiled. “Thank you for your kind words, and your hospitality.”
            If any still slept when we had started, they no longer did; as we traveled down the road circling the village, many people came out to watch us, to cheer us on. I understood then, at least in part, why we carried the rice. The further we travelled however, the more my bundles began to weigh on me. Perhaps I had taken too many. After all, I knew not how far we were to go. Still, my pride drove me forward. Beyond that, I didn’t want to let the village down. Who could I ask to carry my share? And how could I ask? I resigned myself to it.
            Then, the Le appeared. Clad in their grays and whites, they joined us, running alongside the procession. They flitted and danced about us, weaving in and out, prancing, energetic. Their boundless enthusiasm was rather encouraging to watch, and I found myself smiling at their display.  One of them, a little girl, broke from the rest and fell to skipping in time with my own steps. She peered at me with a curiosity that mirrored my own, and then smiled a little dimpled smile.
            “The Soley would call this a moment of tempering for you,” she told me in a sweet voice.
            “Tempering?” I asked.
            She nodded, a bob that fell in time to dancing steps. “A trial. The sun nurtures all life, but its heat also bears down on us. The Soley acknowledge that this trial tempers us, and those who survive grow stronger still.”
            I smiled at her. I could feel the truth in her words, for the sun held position high above, and I had begun to sweat; it certainly did not help with the bundles I carried.
            “Don’t worry,” she told me then. “Even that which burns away lays a place for the resurgence of life!”
            I found some heart in her words. “And what would the Le tell me?” I asked her.
            She smiled at me so sweetly, and then whirled away without another word.

            Then, I felt it. The Le danced around us. A wind began to blow, somehow cool despite the heat of the day. It swept across our brows and lifted our feet, carrying us onward a little bit at a time. The worries that my burden might overwhelm me drifted away on the phantom breeze. Looking at the others, I imagined it was the same for them; they fearlessly undertook hard work, for they had the village to cheer them on, the Chajman to support them.

            The Chaj-Le led us to a vast lifted circular plain of smooth and steady earth, a space easily large enough for the burdens we carried. We gathered upon one edge of the great plateau, and the Le danced away from us. Some of the workers carefully set their bundles upon the ground and began to lay the leather sheets out upon the earth while we watched. They finished, and the rest of us poured our harvest upon the prepared space. As we spread the rice, the Chaj-Soley approached us, their crimson garments so vibrant in the day’s heat. They stood boldly at the edges of the plateau, watching us with ambivalent expressions.
            Their attention, compared to that of the Chaj-Le, came as something of a shock. I wore a cold sweat under their watch; if the other workers felt so, it did not show. I worked as quickly and efficiently as able, taking care to spread what I had brought evenly. When I had finished, I moved away to stand with the other workers, and the Chaj-Soley took their places closer toward the harvest, all except for one. He was tall, thin, and certainly older than myself, but it was hard to say by how much. He appraised me, his face unreadable. Then:
            “We appreciate your assistance today.”
            “I’m glad to help,” I told him, and it was true. Though the work had wearied me some, it had also been invigorating, in an odd sort of way. Perhaps it was the belonging; the village had come together, moved together as one.
            Behind us, the Chaj-Soley began to strut about the circle with a slow and measured pace. As they moved, they let out a chant in sequence, each member among them voicing a brief note with their stride, and then falling into silence as the chajman before them continued the cry.
            “That is an honorable trait,” he informed me. “That sort of unity would no doubt bring comfort the Nanm. They seek the peace and balance of all things, a community with all things. A harmony with all things.”
            I thought of Renkou then, somewhere in between. Warm, welcoming. I recalled Rive-Gide as well, and thought of the kindness I had felt in their presence. However, a different sort of warmth filled the air now; I returned my attention to the Chaj-Soley, who had accelerated in their motions. The steps came a half-beat faster, the chants a half-tone louder. The plateau seemed brighter than it had moments ago, and the air about it seemed to shimmer.
            “Incredible,” I whispered.
            The Chaj-Soley beside me followed my gaze, wordlessly.
           
           

***

            I found Renkou, or They found me; with Them, I never knew. They smiled at me with the kindness I had found just about everywhere in Sik Nati, and also with a knowing that I imagined was much the same among the chajman.
            “You have had quite the morning,” They told me, rather pleased.
            I nodded, with a smile and flushed cheeks. “I did. I walked along the river and saw much of the village. I worked with the villagers during the harvest and watched the chajman preform rites.”
            “In this village, we do what we can,” Renkou said. They flexed Their fingers on the head of Their stick. “This is greatly the work of the Dlo, for they see the best things in all of us and inspire all they meet to strive.”
            Their words brought much to mind, a happiness and an excitement that all but overwhelmed me. The Le moved with an agile grace that I nearly envied, and the Soley with a strength I admired. I wanted the quiet wisdom of the Dlo, and stood in awe of the Peyi’s reverence. I loved the unity of the Nanm, and all of them together, a family reminiscent, and yet different from any I had ever had.

Pact - Hamartiology

             

            Man-things. Timid, short-lived, arrogant creatures. One watched many man-things, many generations. Most Man-things alike. Man-things fight each other to boast, but accomplish little with short lives. No work of man-thing lasts long. Few Man-things see beyond self.

            Man-things think selves masters, most intelligent of living things. False. One’s kind, other kinds, much more intelligent than man-things. Evidence in man-thing behavior with kin. Many man-things greedy, but deny such. Man-things like primatives of One’s kind- seeking dominion over others. No honor for own works. No honor for kin’s works. Man-things honor strength, forget wisdom, knowing.
            Man-things seek no council. All taken by force, never gained through lessons. Man-things turn aside betters for selfish paths, led by own desires.  Man-things quick to learn only new ways to conquer.
            Man-things watch, but impatient. Man-things miss much, see little. Inferior vision makes inferior knowing, ignorance. Ignorance make man-things think selves greater than One’s kind; believe One’s kin wild, reckless. Believe own kind wise, strong. One learned patience waiting in sunlight for strength, stretching wings for first flight.  Lesson Man-things not learn. Man-thing learn by conquest, fail to ask slain masters secrets.

            One knows such things. Thus knowing, One performed Gunaha. Second greatest of such, a Rakta-Cukti. One bestowed a gift upon Man-thing, a she, monarch. One hopes she will protect the land.
            One knows King, King’s father’s fathers, several ancestors. One watched all. Not despicable, for Man-things. Man-things in One’s land prefer reason to conquest, unlike neighbors. Man-things recognize One’s power, avoid One’s space, respect One’s territory. Rare traits among Man-things. Worth protecting.
            One’s kind remembers all in lifetime. One’s shame lasts all One’s lifetime. Knowing, One makes not choices in haste. One knows well One’s own, and One knows Man-things, but older kin know more. Older kin may judge different. See greed in One, other man-thing qualities, despicable things in favor of One’s territory. Still, One’s Rakta-Cukti resembles that of another of One’s kin.
            One has flown southern seas. Spied Man-things with gift of One’s kin, but not.  One from the seas.  Generations of man-things since, no harm transpires. Shared territory between kinds. Compromise protects both. Older kin bore witness, judged not.
            Now, One flies own territory. Waits in sunlight. Watches kingdom. Older kin will know. May find One, judge One.  Older kin will know One judged the man-things for courage over greed, strength over strength. Wisdom. Respect.  Older kin judge One favorably, One hopes. See wisdom One sees.  One will know soon enough.