Over 50,000!!
Woo! *doing the celebratory dance*
Currently in the "it's not great, but..." stage. Going to try and finish off the plot before I submit, but unfortunately I do have school work to do.
Sorry for typos etc, btw, but I really have been just typing for it, and often later at night!
Warda was more relieved than she could say to see the green haze of the oasis on the horizon. The last two days they had been on strictly rationed water, just a few sips now and again. They had eaten mostly salty tahina and dried bread, which made her even more thirsty, so she didn’t eat a lot. They had come back a different way to the route they had taken to get there, so she could have been fascinated by more scenery, more new shapes of rocks, some of which had yet to be named, but she wasn’t looking at the world around her. Her world now consisted of the small back of the child who kept secrets and the strong back of the thing which had made itself even more the child’s guardian. Warda tried to keep her mind as blank as possible, but the silence of all those around her was oppressive, so quietly making up cruel titles was the best she could do to not shoot daggers of whatever this energy was at them. The other Bedouin weren’t much better, sharing knowing glances about young men and women. They didn’t know anything! But what was worse, neither did she.
When they arrived, Sammi became her bright, charming self again. With Utaba on her heels she ran and skipped up to Deemalasri and the children and began telling ridiculous stories about the white rocks, which they were pleased to see she had enjoyed, and then the Temple in the Sand. Warda felt sick, but was too tired and hungry to actually complain. She went and pulled the screen up around the lower pool herself and took a bath.
The sun was setting when she got into her chill, damp clothes and slipped out form between the screens.
“So the trip was worthwhile, I take it?”
Deemalasri was sat smoking her thin travelling pipe. She was wrapped in a camel-fur rug against the evening chill. She lifted a second rug from the floor and held it out towards Warda, who came over hesitantly, took it, wrapped it round herself and sat down by the old woman.
When she didn’t say anything, the matriarch smoked a while more before continuing.
“Don’t be angry with the girl. She knows how to let other people think that she’s alright, but she’s still only a child. She’s twelve cycles old, and small for it, and I think you know a bit of why. She’s the end of a long line of Oracles that have each been born of two Oracles and trained so hard ... she’s terrified, because what she knows she has to take back to the man she thinks is her father, who will then free the man she thinks is her nurse and tutor. If the woman’s still alive. If it weren’t for you they would probably have come on the great military expedition that we feared. As it is you made her believe that there were others like her. She’d always wanted to strike out alone, of course. She was encouraged. But she’s been through a lot to become as powerful as she is. You think this is hard,” she gestured with her pipe at Sammi, who was still talking animatedly by the fire, “imagine how jealous she’ll be when she finds out you’ve just got your talents naturally, albeit a little later than her.”
Warda groaned and slumped, putting her head on her knees. It was starting to hurt. “How do you know all this?” she asked.
“Never you mind. There are those who told me that’ll tell you all the rest when you’ve the time. Now you tell me what you managed.”
Warda told the Deemalasri everything, from the pulling in her chest to opening the door, and everything she could remember about the Temple in the Desert. She left out a couple of details around Utaba and how much help he’d been and his teeth and eyes, partly because she wished she hadn’t been so stupid to think certain things, and partly because she thought the old woman probably knew most of them anyway.
“So, Deema-ten,” she finished, “What can you tell me about what I am?”
“What have you found about about yourself?” Deema asked.
“That if I try hard enough I can use some sort of force which could be magic to push things about, or mess with things, and that’s worrying, because I can’t not think, and I can’t not be angry with someone who teases me all the time, but I don’t want to make it worse, either!”
“And what did you learn in the temple?”
“That Samatra likes to keep her secrets, even from people who’ve put a lot of effort in to help her,” Warda sighed and continued less bitterly, “and that someone thought that Haymutah-teni staying in this world was important enough to not represent her in a statue of the celestial family.”
“Good,” said Deemalasri, “and have you any clue how these things might be connected?”
Warda stared at the sand. A small lizard came running across from somewhere and went around her in a big loop, probably to feast on the insects that gathered by the water. “No,” she said, at length, “I don’t.”
Deemalasri stuffed some more tobacco into her pipe and used the embers of what was nearly dead to light it. She blew a great greenish-grey cloud, and began;
“Magic did not wish to leave this world. Do not think that it thinks as we think, nor loves as we love. Think of magic as a creature like any other, which wants to survive. Like a camel it had borne its masters and mistresses a great distance; like a trained gryphon it had struck down their foes and like a songbird it had made their lives sweet. It was the gift that the demi-gods left behind, those who had it, but that was not all that was left.
Magic was part of the natural order of things. It is not natural to take back your children once you have given birth to them. No matter how premature they might be, no matter how weak or what their failings, they are separate from you. And so, although the energies of the children of the Gods were drawn back to their mother and father, some remained. Tirik-tabi’s energies lived in those who built great structures and carved beautiful faces; Bahail-teni’s sought the Great Poets and made them great; Jabanil-tabi’s energies went into the great war leaders and the Shah’s, which means they have moved the furthest and the most quickly of all, as these men live and die often. It is not natural to take back what you gave to the world, and so the Gods could not. Not completely.
It is not natural to neglect your own children, to see them suffer and do nothing. Nor is it natural to smother them or push them away. Children are born to be nurtured and everyone understands that, somewhere in their souls. Vistara thought she has healing Haymutah-teni when she made her the river and the life of the world. But Haymutah-teni wanted to be loved for who she was, and so part of her, the little magic which she had to give, also came loose and wondered the world. It was a lonely spark, and it searched for a soul that would give it refuge. It was a lonely spark and so it called all the other sparks to it; the voices of the animals, the footprints of the djinn, and the tears of forgotten angels. Little by little this wish to prove something gathered the lost and the weary and made something so powerful it could finally be seen for what it was. Magic, back in the world.”
Warda didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She just stared and lizard footprints in the sand. She thought she understood what Deemalasri was saying, but didn’t want to ask in case she was wrong and she just expired then and there of purest embarrassment.
“Alright,” said Deemalasri, “I might have laid it on a bit thick. And some of it is guess work, but think on it this way; you were quite lonely and feeling you’d ended up in a place you shouldn’t have been, yes? Because you were passed over by young men or your parents or both. They stuff you in a job you can’t stand. Not the job, not the shame of the job. Where else would the spark of Hayamutah-teni settle? I’ve learned about those who’ve been touched. There are those who can still tell. And how else do you explain being able to open those doors? Opening them against their hinges!”
“But how can I use it?” Warda said, “I thought the great Sahari read sigils, and cast them in the air or waved wands or something. I can’t do any of that!”
“No,” conceded Deemalasri, “but you can focus well enough when you need to, and that’s all the sigils are, as far as I understand it, a fancy way of focusing. You’ve time to look into that when this is over. The fact that you’ve gathered all this energy means that likely it is coming from somewhere new. Perhaps the Gods are coming back, perhaps someone is messing around with things they ought not to. Certainly he who claims to be Sammi’s father is. I know it may not sound kind to say, but your part in this is done for now, unless she says otherwise. We need to know what she saw. That’ll be our best clue as to what’s next. If it’s not much, we keep her safe and think of a way to get her mother out of that house. If it’s something big, well, then we’ll see.”
“Her mother?” asked Warda.
“Who do you think was nursing her so devotedly?” asked Deemalasri with a meaningful look, “come on, right now we have a very important task ahead of us. Dinner!”
Currently in the "it's not great, but..." stage. Going to try and finish off the plot before I submit, but unfortunately I do have school work to do.
Sorry for typos etc, btw, but I really have been just typing for it, and often later at night!
Warda was more relieved than she could say to see the green haze of the oasis on the horizon. The last two days they had been on strictly rationed water, just a few sips now and again. They had eaten mostly salty tahina and dried bread, which made her even more thirsty, so she didn’t eat a lot. They had come back a different way to the route they had taken to get there, so she could have been fascinated by more scenery, more new shapes of rocks, some of which had yet to be named, but she wasn’t looking at the world around her. Her world now consisted of the small back of the child who kept secrets and the strong back of the thing which had made itself even more the child’s guardian. Warda tried to keep her mind as blank as possible, but the silence of all those around her was oppressive, so quietly making up cruel titles was the best she could do to not shoot daggers of whatever this energy was at them. The other Bedouin weren’t much better, sharing knowing glances about young men and women. They didn’t know anything! But what was worse, neither did she.
When they arrived, Sammi became her bright, charming self again. With Utaba on her heels she ran and skipped up to Deemalasri and the children and began telling ridiculous stories about the white rocks, which they were pleased to see she had enjoyed, and then the Temple in the Sand. Warda felt sick, but was too tired and hungry to actually complain. She went and pulled the screen up around the lower pool herself and took a bath.
The sun was setting when she got into her chill, damp clothes and slipped out form between the screens.
“So the trip was worthwhile, I take it?”
Deemalasri was sat smoking her thin travelling pipe. She was wrapped in a camel-fur rug against the evening chill. She lifted a second rug from the floor and held it out towards Warda, who came over hesitantly, took it, wrapped it round herself and sat down by the old woman.
When she didn’t say anything, the matriarch smoked a while more before continuing.
“Don’t be angry with the girl. She knows how to let other people think that she’s alright, but she’s still only a child. She’s twelve cycles old, and small for it, and I think you know a bit of why. She’s the end of a long line of Oracles that have each been born of two Oracles and trained so hard ... she’s terrified, because what she knows she has to take back to the man she thinks is her father, who will then free the man she thinks is her nurse and tutor. If the woman’s still alive. If it weren’t for you they would probably have come on the great military expedition that we feared. As it is you made her believe that there were others like her. She’d always wanted to strike out alone, of course. She was encouraged. But she’s been through a lot to become as powerful as she is. You think this is hard,” she gestured with her pipe at Sammi, who was still talking animatedly by the fire, “imagine how jealous she’ll be when she finds out you’ve just got your talents naturally, albeit a little later than her.”
Warda groaned and slumped, putting her head on her knees. It was starting to hurt. “How do you know all this?” she asked.
“Never you mind. There are those who told me that’ll tell you all the rest when you’ve the time. Now you tell me what you managed.”
Warda told the Deemalasri everything, from the pulling in her chest to opening the door, and everything she could remember about the Temple in the Desert. She left out a couple of details around Utaba and how much help he’d been and his teeth and eyes, partly because she wished she hadn’t been so stupid to think certain things, and partly because she thought the old woman probably knew most of them anyway.
“So, Deema-ten,” she finished, “What can you tell me about what I am?”
“What have you found about about yourself?” Deema asked.
“That if I try hard enough I can use some sort of force which could be magic to push things about, or mess with things, and that’s worrying, because I can’t not think, and I can’t not be angry with someone who teases me all the time, but I don’t want to make it worse, either!”
“And what did you learn in the temple?”
“That Samatra likes to keep her secrets, even from people who’ve put a lot of effort in to help her,” Warda sighed and continued less bitterly, “and that someone thought that Haymutah-teni staying in this world was important enough to not represent her in a statue of the celestial family.”
“Good,” said Deemalasri, “and have you any clue how these things might be connected?”
Warda stared at the sand. A small lizard came running across from somewhere and went around her in a big loop, probably to feast on the insects that gathered by the water. “No,” she said, at length, “I don’t.”
Deemalasri stuffed some more tobacco into her pipe and used the embers of what was nearly dead to light it. She blew a great greenish-grey cloud, and began;
“Magic did not wish to leave this world. Do not think that it thinks as we think, nor loves as we love. Think of magic as a creature like any other, which wants to survive. Like a camel it had borne its masters and mistresses a great distance; like a trained gryphon it had struck down their foes and like a songbird it had made their lives sweet. It was the gift that the demi-gods left behind, those who had it, but that was not all that was left.
Magic was part of the natural order of things. It is not natural to take back your children once you have given birth to them. No matter how premature they might be, no matter how weak or what their failings, they are separate from you. And so, although the energies of the children of the Gods were drawn back to their mother and father, some remained. Tirik-tabi’s energies lived in those who built great structures and carved beautiful faces; Bahail-teni’s sought the Great Poets and made them great; Jabanil-tabi’s energies went into the great war leaders and the Shah’s, which means they have moved the furthest and the most quickly of all, as these men live and die often. It is not natural to take back what you gave to the world, and so the Gods could not. Not completely.
It is not natural to neglect your own children, to see them suffer and do nothing. Nor is it natural to smother them or push them away. Children are born to be nurtured and everyone understands that, somewhere in their souls. Vistara thought she has healing Haymutah-teni when she made her the river and the life of the world. But Haymutah-teni wanted to be loved for who she was, and so part of her, the little magic which she had to give, also came loose and wondered the world. It was a lonely spark, and it searched for a soul that would give it refuge. It was a lonely spark and so it called all the other sparks to it; the voices of the animals, the footprints of the djinn, and the tears of forgotten angels. Little by little this wish to prove something gathered the lost and the weary and made something so powerful it could finally be seen for what it was. Magic, back in the world.”
Warda didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She just stared and lizard footprints in the sand. She thought she understood what Deemalasri was saying, but didn’t want to ask in case she was wrong and she just expired then and there of purest embarrassment.
“Alright,” said Deemalasri, “I might have laid it on a bit thick. And some of it is guess work, but think on it this way; you were quite lonely and feeling you’d ended up in a place you shouldn’t have been, yes? Because you were passed over by young men or your parents or both. They stuff you in a job you can’t stand. Not the job, not the shame of the job. Where else would the spark of Hayamutah-teni settle? I’ve learned about those who’ve been touched. There are those who can still tell. And how else do you explain being able to open those doors? Opening them against their hinges!”
“But how can I use it?” Warda said, “I thought the great Sahari read sigils, and cast them in the air or waved wands or something. I can’t do any of that!”
“No,” conceded Deemalasri, “but you can focus well enough when you need to, and that’s all the sigils are, as far as I understand it, a fancy way of focusing. You’ve time to look into that when this is over. The fact that you’ve gathered all this energy means that likely it is coming from somewhere new. Perhaps the Gods are coming back, perhaps someone is messing around with things they ought not to. Certainly he who claims to be Sammi’s father is. I know it may not sound kind to say, but your part in this is done for now, unless she says otherwise. We need to know what she saw. That’ll be our best clue as to what’s next. If it’s not much, we keep her safe and think of a way to get her mother out of that house. If it’s something big, well, then we’ll see.”
“Her mother?” asked Warda.
“Who do you think was nursing her so devotedly?” asked Deemalasri with a meaningful look, “come on, right now we have a very important task ahead of us. Dinner!”