Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter VII - Who We Are

            Now that our task had been set before us, the Ke took to gathering some small measure of provisions for our journey. As they did such, I took my leave, retracing my steps throughout the village, following the river back to the dwellings of the Istmemwa. Toujou and Lapli were thrilled to see me, though perhaps surprised to see me again so soon. This joy, however, did not last long.
            “I’m leaving,” I told them.
            “What?” Lapli protested. “You can’t leave!”
            “Lapli,” Toujou chided, rather firmly; still, I could see the disappointment just as clearly upon her face.
            I smiled at them. “Relax. I’m not going far, and I won’t be gone long.”
            This did little to placate them.
            “You’re off on an adventure without us,” Lapli mumbled. “How can you go without a Jeli at your side? You promised you’d think about it. You promised!”
            “I did, I will, I am.”
            “Take me,” he went on.
            Toujou said nothing; the rebuke in her eyes hinged upon my response, my decision; a decision I was not ready to make. A world away, lit only by firelight, the Laganwe.
            “No,” I said.
            He stared at me. I ignored his gaze.
            “No,” I said again. “I haven’t decided. And I’m not going to. Not like this.”
            “But-“
            “She’s made her decision, Lapli,” Toujou told him. Disappointment remained on her face, and lingered in her words, but the firmness in her voice had only grown stronger.
            I had, and I hadn’t. It bothered me, and I wasn’t entirely sure why. Did it matter?
            Toujou must have read the indecision on my face. “Perhaps when you return,” she said.
            “I asked her first,” Lapli reminded her.
            “You dishonored our family by doing so,” Toujou insisted. “A king asks. A Jeli obeys. I am the patient one. I know our ways. You, Lapli, are not ready.”
            “You don’t have the heart of a Jeli,” Lapli countered. “You don’t pour life and meaning into the tales you tell. You’re the one who’s not ready!”
            “I am not ready,” I told them. “Not for this, and certainly not now.”

            The rest of the Istmemwa, who had watched us with blank expressions now bore softer features. No smiles, but a sort of affirmation. It was then I knew. The woman especially, with the child on her hip- she watched me, with Lapli and Toujou, their interactions with each other.
            “Do not look where you fell,” she told them. “Look where you slipped.”
            The siblings exchanged a glance, and shamefully so.

            “I’m coming back,” I told them. “I promise.”

            We were to meet at the southeastern entrance of the village. A convenience for me, I imagined, as the Chajman, in their knowing ways, had little to prepare, but knew I needed the time. Though I had meant what I had told the Istmemwa, and afterwards, departed from them so resolutely, my head and heart bore a weight less easily dealt with.
            I thought again of Lapli. On account of the years of difference between us, I did not believe he wanted anything more than to be my Jeli- and even then only for the adventures that surely would find us. I thought of Toujou- the same age as her brother, perhaps older- and her relative silence, excepting when I made a decision. She had the same desires, perhaps for similar reasons- where Lapli saw glory and adventure, she saw honor and duty. Both ideals were admirable. Both of them were likeable.  Why did it bother me so?
            I didn’t have much. I never had, honestly. Since coming to Sik Nati, I had only what I had received from the villagers. My sword, my spear — lost somewhere along the way. Some things however, would not be taken, and as I came to realize this, I began to understand what I still had to lose, and how Lapli, knowingly or otherwise, might threaten such.
            The Laganwe was something unknown here, something that neither Lapli nor Toujou would face for years yet, even had they lived in Ngarobah. Something I had experienced. Something I had abandoned. The Laganwe brought boys and girls together to celebrate their recognition as men and women; theirin, the ceremonies involved meant to bind those women to those men. A partnership. A union. Some of my village sisters had been honorably chosen by the young men they adored. Most had made pragmatic decisions with their families foremost in their thoughts. Still others had settled, one way or another, for those who would have them.
            Coming of age had not brought me the freedom I wanted- not before my arrival in Sik Nati. Even then, though my designs were never as grand as those of the wide-eyed Lapli, they called for more than what my village would have offered me- more than a space at the cooking fires, more than weaving baskets, garments, and mats- and more even then the dance that I cherished. I wanted all of it, and I wanted none of it, and I wanted the deference from my kin to explore such at my leisure.
            But that desire went unfulfilled, and I departed from my village, freedom intact, under the most beautiful and desolate of nights. I discovered in Toujou a deference of sorts, one akin to that which I sought, and yet one that did not reach as far as it could have; one influenced by more than the difference of our years. I needed to know why. Still, she waited for my move, something my mother and grandmother had not. Lapli waited too, though less patiently- still worth more than that of my brothers and the young men of the village. I found myself uncertain.

            I found them at the designated entrance, and from a distance, the chajman struck me as a series of plateaus- all varying heights, simmering in the heat of the full day, their features carved of stone. Approaching them did not close the distance between us in my mind; though we now stood together, Those strong, resolute plateaus remained in the distance, far beyond the reach of even my most fervent steps.
            The heat of the day seemed to fade then, or rather, yielded to a different sort of warmth, and Renkou took my hand.
            “Ready, Trezo?”
            I looked to Them, and then the others, who had gathered about. All save for Latewoch.
            “If you are unready, we may depart without you,” The Chaj-Soley told me, expressionless.
            I found myself slighted, but could not deny my doubts. Still, looking at him, I could see he meant only truth, with no judgment intended. The expressions of the other Chajman reinforced this realization. This was enough to make all the difference.