Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter V - River of Doubt

            “You should make me your Jeli,” Lapli told me, quite seriously. This came at odds with the way he then nonchalantly slouched against me, head  on my shoulder, as if bold. As prostrate as he was, I could feel a certain rigidness in him as he eyed me, looked away, and eyed me again.
            The Jelis had played for a good while, one song blending into the next the way a stream might join a larger river, resonating with each transformation the way a pale of water might with each drop added. In a word, beautiful. It would have continued longer, I imagined, if I had not been there. Now, much of the younger Istmemwa lounged about whilst some of the adults set to making snacks for the afternoon. Among those resting, myself, and Lapli of course; and Toujou who watched the two of us, oddly silent.
            “My Jeli?” I repeated. I shied away from Lapli some, slow enough so that he would not fall over.
            “Sure,” he beamed. “Every hero needs a Jeli. We’d travel around, and I’d keep track of all the amazing things you do. We’d be like partners!”
            The word brought Ngarobah to mind. The Laganwe. A world away now, it seemed. I shook my head.
            “Well, I’m not exactly sure what you’d sing about,” I told him. “But it’s flattering that you’d offer.”
            “I’m serious, Riyoon-sè!”
            “Forgive Lapli,” Toujou told me then, and for a moment, a hint of smugness held her face. “His energy gets the better of him.”
            “It’s no trouble,” I told her, and it was mostly the truth.
            Lapli looked back and forth between the two of us, exasperated.
            “It’s not your place as a Jeli to declare yourself,” Toujou scolded.
            “You’re just jealous that I asked first!” he shot back.
            “I would never ask,” Toujou assured him. “Because it is not our place.”
            “Not your place?” I looked to her, then to Lapli, neither of whom met my eyes.
            “We don’t get to choose our heroes,” Lapli said finally.
            Toujou watched her brother for a moment, then turned to me. “As Jelis, we follow who we are told, and we honor them by recording their deeds in story and song.”
            “A noble calling,” I told them. Neither seemed to think so in that moment. “But again, I have no grand adventure to share.”
            “Just tell me you’ll think about it,” Lapli pleaded.
            My eyes flicked to Toujou, but she looked elsewhere.
            “Sure,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

            We sat in the shade, eating bowls of peanut stew, and I was as grateful for the silence as I was for the meal; Lapli took to it, apparently satisfied with my words, or overcome by hunger. Toujou still would not look at me. I was worried about them, and rather suddenly; I couldn’t help but feel I had become an obstacle with my presence, certainly among the Istmemwa. This came at an odd contrast to my feelings of Sik Nati as a whole, where I’d felt quite welcomed. Perhaps the Jelis were different. I thanked my hosts for their performance, their company, their food, and I took my leave.
            I returned to the river and settled there. Now, there were no Chaj-Dlo to part the waters, nor Chaj-Peyi to flatten the earth. I had the company of no one, my only conversation the gentle gurgling as the water rolled over itself- the muted thundering as it fell from one level to another. This was enough, thinking back to the songs and the stories of the Istmemwa, the very serious words Lapli had spoken to me. Though I had briefly struggled under the weight of my share of the harvest, now I felt truly heavy. A physical burden meant nothing. Such weights meant only that we ate, that we prospered, that we lived. Other burdens could not be so simple, and I knew this; I also knew that they meant no harm on their own- that Lapli meant no harm. The grave nature of Toujou’s expression, the nonchalance of Lapli’s actions… these meant that they knew too, or at least they knew something.
             I shut my eyes and surrendered myself to my other senses. The sun was not as warm as I needed it to be. The river, though soothing in its rhythm, did not go deep enough. Perhaps the darkness beneath my eyelids brought to mind the night I had left; it felt so long ago now. Perhaps then they had not thought of it, of what it might mean for me, for other women; doubtless, Lapli had not considered such in making so bold a request. Something had escaped him, I was sure; though I knew not the implications myself with respect to the Jeli. Whatever the case, it was not alright, and it would not be alright if I left things as I were.
             It was not apparent here, however, and while I, newcomer that I was, learned more every day, I still recognized that much escaped me, and likely would for a while. Lapli did not know, and perhaps he never would; but Toujou might. I knew then that I needed to ask her. The chajman as well perhaps. Were there a Laganwe in Sik Nati? Tell-tale signals did not exist among the Chajman, nor the workers of the harvest. Men and women, shoulder to shoulder at every turn, with nothing spoken of places or partners, save the Jeli and their responsibilities. And now, Lapli in that vein, but against tradition.  A good sign, if somewhat tragic. All in all, it seemed daunting. I opened my eyes.
            “Have you resolved yourself?” They asked.
            I’d felt Their presence in a way I could not discern, known it and forgotten it between my concerns until They had spoken. Just as They had spoken precisely when I was ready to hear Them and not a moment sooner.
            “No,” I told them. “I need time. I have questions.”
            Renkou nodded. “Let us meet with the Vwa, then. Perhaps we all will grow in our understanding.”

Pact - Xenophile

            It’s almost time now. There’s a murmuring beneath your skin, soft and gentle, soothing. You’re warm, so very warm, especially at the center. These days, you are quite content to spend your days tucked in upon yourself, arms and legs wrapped tightly. Skin aglow, smiling. The attendants seem satisfied with such as well. They bother you far less now, most of the time. Sure, they still gaze upon you with faces of concern, but they are different expressions now…. Before they worried… now they keep their distance, particularly when you look to them.
            Faintly, you register that this should bother you; it doesn’t. There are far more interesting things for you to look at anyway, and you needn’t travel far at all for such. There is the murmuring in your ears again, and it reassures you. Also, you are warm. Warm and glowing. You can see patterns in the flashing, the subtle, not so subtle way your skin lights, fades, lights, fades. Circles, teardrops laid over one another. With every breath you take, you feel warm, full. Glowing. The gilded patterns run their course with light, fading almost as quickly as they appear.
            Since this cycle of patterns emerged, you have lost the desire to chase the sun. Perhaps it is for the best; you have grown rather swollen by now, and movement is difficult at times. Fortunately, you need not travel for warmth; the attendants have moved the braziers closer; they keep hot coals in them. It’s nice, and you coo at them to tell them so. They regard you only with strange looks.
            Something is stirring inside you. It tickles, and that makes you smile. The haze that fills your vision has become a pleasant gold color; it makes everything seem more beautiful. You’ll be ready soon. Your dreams have been of dragonfire lately. Scales sliding over your skin, gouts of flame erupting from darkness. There is smoke in the air, and even when you wake, the scent lingers. You’ve stopped eating. Whatever they’ve fed you from the bowls does not satisfy; it never had. Now, however, they seem less apt to feed you. This is no concern of yours.
            The man, continues his visits, perhaps more often than ever before. He looks more worried than all the others combined, and yet he still approaches you; he stares at you, but these days, he does not speak as often as he used to. Sometimes he brings the child. Most times he does not. When he does bring the child, it cries, and it will look at you, until it doesn’t, until it does again. It isn’t sure what to make of you, and you aren’t sure what to make of it. You reach to comfort it, but it shies away, and the man blocks you. It’s distressing, but it passes.
            There is a voice in the dark, but you can’t understand the words. It sound frail, fragile. Other times, it is deep and rumbling. You sense that it should scare you, this voice, but it doesn’t no matter how loud it calls, no matter how it seems to shake your very being. You find yourself patient, listening. Content, almost. Even in the silence, there are tremors. Even with the gentle voice. Your body trembles just the tiniest bit, resonating with the words you cannot understand. You’re warm. So very warm. Everything seems lovely.
            Yes; you’ll be ready soon.

Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter IV - A Jeli's Fate

                After we had had breakfast, I decided I would see out the Jeli children I had met the previous evening; Renkou declined to join, saying that they needed to discuss the ramifications of my arrival. This concerned me, but They declined to comment further, and insisted I go make friends.
                I traveled through the village to where the Istmemwa lodged; it turned out to be near the river, separated from the main road circling the village by an alley or two. All of the huts had been decorated with dyes of black, blue, and deep brown, colors that in part reminded me of the Chaj-Dlo. Had I not known where precisely to look, the music guided me; I could hear the strumming of stringed instruments not unlike the sounds I had heard the previous evening, along with another sound reminiscent of raindrops, though distorted. I was not quite sure what to make of it.
                I circled around the huts to find a gathering of people of all ages, from elders to little children, most of whom wore trappings of blue and violet; among them, I found the two I was looking for. They hadn't noticed me quite yet; Toujou stared almost absently off into space as her fingers danced with a practiced grace over the surface of the strings, and Lapli poured low over a strange barred and gourded instrument, his face a mask of concentration, his effort the source of that indescribable sound.
                "Newcomer," one of the women greeted me. She carried a ringed rod in one hand, and with the opposite arm, she supported a child on the corresponding hip. The former she shook back and forth, the jangling of which held the attention of the latter, who made clumsy grasps for it.
                I smiled and dipped my head. "I am Riyoon," I told her. "I came seeking my friends."
                By now, the others had taken notice; many continued to play with only glances of acknowledgement in my direction. The boy however threw down his sticks and rushed to greet me.

                "You came!"
                "Of course I did."
                "We aren't finished, Lapli," Toujou chided him. “The patient will eat ripe fruit.”
                Lapli rolled his eyes. “Work is good, so long as one does not forget to live.”
                “The wise create proverbs for fools to learn, not to repeat.”
                “Children,” the woman said. “When two elephants fight, it is the grass that is trampled.”
                They fell to silence.
                "I did not mean to interrupt," I apologized.
                She shook her head. "You did not know. Lapli on the other hand…"
                The boy, defeated, returned to his instrument.
                "I'd be happy to listen to you play," I told him with a smile.
                He beamed, but it didn’t last; he looked to the woman, and she to the elders.

                The Istmemwa watched me for a moment, conferred among themselves. Silence took the place of their music as they did so. Then, the elder spoke. "We shall play for you, Newcomer."
                "It would be my honor to listen."

                A single drumbeat. Silence. Again. Again. The man let each note resonate on its own for a second or so before sounding another, his eyes intent on me.
                Then, the sound of jangled steel joined him. The woman, with her babe, twitching her rattle in time with the drum, so close behind as to be a high pitched shadowy brass.

                And then Lapli played. The rods thundered up and down his instrument, throwing off a cascade of wonderful sounds that washed over the drums and uplifted the brass. The previous instruments fell in line with his increased pace, and two women began to sing. Then, Toujou began plucking at her instrument, and the words took to life in a way they never would have otherwise. I could see it unfolding before me…
                They told me the tale of the girl and the spider; the girl, who, with her keen senses and kind heart, found all of the most delicious and nourishing food to bring to her village and share with her people. The spider with its cunning and greed, who sought to steal from her the secrets of all the best things.
                After much pleading on the spider’s part, the girl brought along the spider, and she showed it her secrets. With each revealed, the spider, overcome with greed, would gobble up all of the food and  leave nothing to be shared. Then, overcome with remorse, the spider would beg her forgiveness and ask to be shown her next treasure. Three times the spider did this.

                As it happened, the third and final time, the girl revealed to the spider the place where the very best honey was kept- tucked deep in a hole high in a tree. Finding this, the spider clambered inside, barely able to fit from all of the food it had eaten.

                Once the spider had eaten all of the honey, it had grown too large to escape the tree. It begged and begged, but the girl would not help it; instead she set off to collect her true harvest to deliver to the needy.
              

                "Do you know why we play these songs and tell these stories, Lapli?" Toujou asked.
                "Of course I do!" the boy yelled, his cheeks flushed. He was looking at the ground.
                "Lapli is.…quite excitable," the woman explained.
                I nodded.
                "We're jelis. It is our honor and our responsibility to keep tradition alive and remind our people of who they are and where they come from." Lapli stated flatly.
                Toujou was unimpressed. "That's what father tells you."
                "And he's not wrong!"
                "No, he isn't," Toujou agreed. "But do you know what he means by that?"
                "Of course I do!"
                "You lack the resolve and reverence of a griot," Toujou said.
                "You lack the spirit and the energy! You're the one who's doing it wrong!"
                "Do they always argue?" I asked.
                "Often," the woman told me.

                "Who is correct?"
                The siblings stopped and looked to the woman. She ignored them and stared at me with a small smile.