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.

Pact - Epistemology

            In sunlight for strength, One’s connection briefly broken by the passing of shadow. Kin’s arrival. Three Kin, circling One’s mountain. One waits, One watches, patient, observant. Kin circle, wide, slow, also patient. Also observant, watching One’s territory, One’s mountain. No secrets. One knows Kin’s cause, presence. One knows Kin’s displeasure. Kin knows One’s Gunaha. Greed. Pride. Fear? Regardless, One stands by decisions. Days, Kin have flown to reach One. Day still, circling.  Kin traced borders of One’s territory. Kin surveyed Man-thing territory.
            Kin gather above One, steady in flight. Waiting. Ready. Must acknowledge. Respected, despite Gunaha, even now. One takes flight. Southward, southeast. Away from Man-things. One's kin follow, close enough, far enough. Yes. Show respect, even now. Even with Gunaha. Southward, eastward, to speak with them. Man-things see dragons, fear us in number; frightful creatures. Eastern border, Kin gathering. Kin larger, older. Wiser perhaps. Great-Kin.

            The edge of One’s mountain. Hid from Man-things. One settles. One waits. Overhead, Kin. Falling to greet One. Against three Kin, One dies with surety. One depends on their mercy.

            “Explain.”
            “One performed Rakta-Cukti. For sake of Man-things. For sake of One.”
            “Man-things small creatures. Limited. Feeble. Unworthy of Rakta-Cukti.”
            “Unworthy, most Man-things. Not all. These Man-things worthy.”
            “Explain.”
            “Peaceful Man-things. Learners. Explorers.”
            “Admirable.”
            “Wild Man-things approach, threaten own kin. Likewise, One’s territory at risk.”
            “Concerning.”
            “Rakta-Cukti protects Man-things. Protects mountain.”
            “Rakta-Cukti unnecessary. Moreso, strength of wing and fire suffice.”
            “Wing and fire draw attention to One, Kin of wilder Man-things seek revenge, One forced to constant conflict. Rakta-Cukti deters conflict on all sides.”
            “Costly decision. Diluted blood. Weakness. Dishonor.”
            “For worthy Man-things. For safety. For territory. Each, values of Kin.”
            “Unconvinced.”
            “SeaKin perform Rakta-Cukti for worthy Man-things. Salvation for Man-thing territory.”
            “Different threats. Man-things lost to sea different from Man-things lost to Man-things. Alternative here: Wing and fire.”
            “Wilder Man-things creatures. Man-things of SeaKin rescued from nature. One seeks protection for noble Man-things against conscious threat.”
            “Irrelevant. Moreso, Seakin older, wiser than One. SeaKin watch Man-things far longer. Possesses knowledge One lacks.”
            “Great-Kin have seen peaceful Man-things, just as One has. One stands by decision. Will not take flight against wilder Man-things.”
            Silence.
            “Kin do not approve. One earns dishonor. However, One makes One’s choices.”
            “Understood.”
            “One must take responsibility for Man-things. Guidance, Wing and Flame, regardless. Failure is death.”
            “Understood.”
           

            Great-Kin depart from One’s territory. Words, thoughts, clear in One’s head. Dishonor, expected. Pardon hoped for, received. One looks to Monarch’s space. Noble enough creatures. Feeble creatures.
            Bearing responsibility for frail Man-things. One’s Rakta-Cukti becomes twofold burden.

Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter VI - Departure

     

               We did not travel to the central meeting place of the Chajman, as I had expected; instead, we traveled past it, circling the village counter to the way I have traveled before. In spite of whatever new discoveries lay ahead, I could not help but feel conflicted. Every step took me closer to some new sight in Sik Nati, or perhaps beyond; I would meet kind and colorful characters, other Jelis perhaps. I would likely be welcomed, if my experiences thus far were any indication. And yet, Lapli’s request had brought memories of home foremost in my mind. For perhaps the first time since I left, I found myself longing; not to return, but for what I had believed it to be.

                They watched me carefully, but said nothing. I could feel Renkou’s peace washing over me, but it did not penetrate as deep as I would have liked- or perhaps it was I who made it so. They met my eyes and smiled before turning Their gaze elsewhere. We traveled thus in silence, only the sounds of the village at play around us, along with our own footfalls.
                The route Renkou led us eventually split from the wide and open paths of the man village roads, diminishing to a narrower path that took us between the clusters of huts. We now traveled nearly shoulder to shoulder, and I could smell both the earthy scent of the bricks around us, along with Renkou’s own peculiar scent of sandalwood. Ordinarily, I would not have minded either; proximity to Renkou was quite comforting. Ordinarily. However, thus weighed by my thoughts, I found myself feeling trapped, as if Ngarobah had lifted itself and flew to secure me once more.
                Along the ‘concealed’ routes I found no shortage of green; apparently, some manner of water had made its way inland toward the heart of the city, and it created an oasis, as though Sik Nati did not bolster enough life as it was. As such, our steps carried us over small earthen bridges that jumped the streams, past foliage, much of which bore fruit. After rounding one cluster, we came to a great big tree. Stout and shapely it stretched so tall as to surmount the surrounding huts. Its uppermost branches, alive with green, bathed the area in shade.
                Gathered beneath the widespread branches, settled between and upon the thick, dark roots, the Vwa had gathered, along with others. They all stood as we approached.
                “The Vwa, as you know them,” Renkou told me with a deep nod of Their head. I followed suit. Renkou lifted Their head then, speaking to the Chajman. “Riyoon, as you know her.”
                They offered me an assortment of warm smiles, curiosity, and blank, hard stares. With them, four other Chajman. I knew not their names, but three of them I recognized; the Chaj-Soley, tall and thin and unreadable as with our previous encounter; the energetic Chaj-Le, her mischievous eyes betraying more wisdom than her stature suggested; the Chaj-Dlo stood between them, in more ways than one, watching me with Their warm, appraising gaze. Beside the three of them, a broad man of medium height who wore the colors of the Chaj-Peyi.
                “Ke Zepoplen.” The Chaj-Peyi nodded to me.
                “Ke Afliyan.” The Chaj-Dlo took my hands in Theirs with a warm smile.
                “KeVanpete.” The Chaj-Le crept forward and nudged me, then danced away.
                “Ke Latewoch.” The Chaj-Soley did not break his stance, nor his gaze, his words hard, firm, but not harsh.
                “Ke Renkou, as you know us,” Renkou reminded me with a wink.
               
                “Join us, Ke Renkou, Riyoon,” Rive-Gide welcomed us at last. “We have just gathered.”
                I looked from him to the other Vwa, as well as the Ke who had come forward to greet us. They had all seemed rather comfortable before our arrival.
                “Your head swims with thoughts, Trezo,” Renkou smiled. “One at a time.”
                “Are you troubled?” Mete-Bèso asked. A touch of concern showed through her warmth.
                “I am well,” I told them. Mostly the truth, though I knew I could not fool Renkou; The expressions of those who had gathered suggested I could not fool them either.
                “There is the matter of your arrival,” Chofaj-Kontanple uttered, watching me carefully. "How is it that you came to us again?”
                “Yes,” Mete-Bèso agreed. “Tell us what befell you before Ke Renkou found you.”
                What had befallen me?
                “It was dark,” I told them. Nightfall. “I had traveled beyond my village.”
                “You departed from your home at night,” Flannen-Jantiyès mused, more to himself than to me, the question unspoken, but certainly clear on their faces.
                “I did,” I said. “I went to wander. I had no destination in mind.”
                “Just was well,” the VwaChajLe mused. “And where did your feet carry you?”
                “Into a cloud,” I continued. “A fog. The sky had been clear before.”
                The Vwa looked amongst themselves, but said nothing.
                “There was a light, and then everything fell apart.”
                “Fell apart?” Mete-Bèso asked.
                “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I lost sight of the sky, the grass… my body…” They seemed especially thoughtful now, if perhaps a bit shaken. “And then I remember awakening under Renkou’s watch.”
                “Is that truly everything you can recall?” Chofaj-Kontanple asked me. “A darkness, a fog, a light?”
                “I’m sorry,” I told him. Thinking back to that night, I had only focused upon such things when I had no choice but to face them. And really, what had come of it? A beautiful, welcoming village. People in tune with the very earth beneath them.
                “Your spirit speaks of much the same,” Rive-Gide told me, rather sympathetically. “What of the land?”
                Again, Mete-Bèso fixed me with that concerned gaze for a moment, and then nodded her agreement. “A brief touch of earth to earth, Peyi to Peyi. Do the spirits say the same?”
                Rive-Gide and Renkou both nodded.
                “A piece of spirit previously unknown,” Renkou replied.
                “Now attached to our great Namn,” Rive-Gide finished.
                “Clearly cause for further investigation,” Soutyen-Liy spoke finally. "Like precious water beneath the land, there is much we must uncover." The VwaChajDlo then looked to the others, and each among them nodded in turn.
                “It is why we have gathered, after all,” Rive-Gide smiled at me.
                “It is settled.” Chofaj-Kontanple gestured to the gathered Ke. “Ke Renkou, you shall lead the Ke to the circle where the newcomer was first discovered.”
                “Honored to,” They said simply.
                “Would you like to accompany them?” Soutyen-Liy asked me. “You might very well discover something for yourself.”
                I did not reply to her, did not look at her, or any of them; all of them watched me, while I gazed beyond them to the tree under which we had gathered. I could feel warmth at the corners of my consciousness- Chaj-Namn comforts.
                “If I must.”
               

Pact - Monophobia

            He did not awake to the smell of freshly baked bread, nor sunlight streaming through the windows; instead, he came from sleep to find himself in the dark; a single line of sunlight fractured his room, defying the drawn curtains. At his bedside, upon the nightstand, nothing. An unlit candle, recently extinguished. Thin coils of smoke unwound from the burnt tip.
            How long had it been? Weeks? Months? He couldn’t tell. It’d all been one nightmare from the moment it had appeared, broken by dreary scenes of daylight where his parents were missing. Some false semblance of a false reality, and terrible, even for that.
            Thirsty, he called for a servant. None came. He called again, hoarse, waited longer. As he waited, he listened, and through the cold walls he heard only the empty corridor. His room, likewise deserted, for day had come, and nothing more.
            He gave one last call for the servants, his voice wasted for ears that would not hear and feet that would never come. He already knew. Feil pulled himself from bed and went to the window. For several moments, he stood before the heavy curtain. The sunlight beckoned through the break,  and at last he lifted a hand, but then he thought the better of it. He turned to the chamber door instead.
            The hall stood empty, as he knew it would; the torches lit, the sputtering of their flames far quieter than usual, as if they existed only by threat, force, coercion- and not of the nature of torches and flames. He proceeded down the hall, every step preceded by an echo, followed by silence; he looked left and right, behind as he moved forward, seeing nothing- knowing he would see nothing.
            His parents’ chamber, unattended; the door cracked. No guards. No servants. No sound. He listened, and he watched. Light inside from the open window, unlike the unreliable and flickering light of the hall’s flames. He couldn’t bear to go inside, and so he turned to retreat.
            A cry, sharp and piercing, the wail of a babe. It nailed him in place and bled his ears, he was sure. With some effort, he lifted a foot.
            The cry came again, and now he nearly fell over, so rigid, balance almost impossible. He set his foot down.
            There was a voice. A voice he had not heard in a long, long time. “Beautiful,” she said. Mother. So full of warmth, of life… of love, when she spoke. He needed to see her. He turned for the door—and then away again— and then, his father’s voice. Murmuring things he could not understand, hushed tones of affection.
            He pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He heaved upon it with all his might, to no avail. As he struggled, he could hear more wails, an affectionate cooing, and the soft voices of his mother and father soothing the child.
            “Mother!” He called. “Father!”
            Still, the conversation continued, no mind paid to him. He tried to squeeze through the crack, but it was too narrow for him to fit; peering through did not grant him access. He could see a small sliver of the bedchamber, the wrong portion— his parents stood beyond his field of vision, upon the balcony.
            He pushed on the door, slammed his shoulder into it, but it would not move. Desperate, he scampered away from the door, then came charging back at it with everything he had.
            It gave, and easily so. He fell into it with such a resounding thud and sprawled into the bedchamber, stunned. He tumbled across the floor, and for the moments it took to right himself and let the dizziness pass, he did not notice the silence.
            At first he figured they were watching him; but no, even the babe had fallen silent.  He lifted his gaze to see them, his parents; their backs were turned, his mother clutching a bundle to her breast, leaning over it, his father leaning over them both. Neither noticed.
            “Mother! Father!”
            They started for the door, paying him no mind, all silence, all cold. They passed through the doors and shut them, and the moment they did, the baby cooed.

Extended Metaphor - Sidereal Interpretation

The endless night a canvas
Set to cover the weight of the world
Necessity, feigned.

Perfectly imperfect presentation considered;
Broken-
Rehashed, each to specific design.

Never the art, nor the life
Truth hidden in shadow.

This lasting everpresent darkness
Obscuring the hemisphere in entirety
Vacant spaces beneath the moonless night
Quickly filled to extinguish vaunted waste.

Everything so wrapped in shadows
Sidereal messages go unnoticed.

Time will pass, stars will fade
But nightfall remains, and new stars will fill it
Once diversified,
Then  taken, then bent, then broken
Rehashed, each to specific design.

The nocturne drowns out deeper meanings
Virtues once clear, lost to endless night.

Stars;

Malleable weapons pointed at ourselves
Instead of lifted high.

Broken, subjugating us to darkness
Instead of lifting us high.

Nailed down and charted, dishonest constellations

A guiding light that only shines in one direction.

Bring enough stars for daybreak at midnight
Bring enough stars to lift the veil

Adorn the canvas with shining, irregular, innumerable suns
And lift the weight from the world.