Estvarya, Chapter 10
Title: Estvarya
Author: mfelizandy
Genre: Drama. Written for the 2010-2011 FMA Big Bang Challenge
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 22,000+
Pairing/Characters: Roy Mustang, Scar. No pairings.
Warnings: Probably some non-explicit nudity at some point or another--Ishbalan mores on nudity don't line up perfectly with western ideas. Likely to be some supporting-OC death. Culture-building. Mild language and some violence.
Summary: Post-manga AU. One of the pieces left behind by the Promised Day is a shard of the legendary Philosopher's Stone. Everyone who knows what it is agrees that it can't be left to cause grief to future generations.
That's about all they agree on.
Against a backdrop of looming war, a blind Roy Mustang rides across the border with the Scar of Ishbal at his side and a Philosopher's Stone in his pocket, on a mission to negotiate an end to the fighting and deliver the Stone to the Ishbalan Elders. Somehow, two of the least likely messengers Ishvarra could have picked must find a way to not only work together but also to save both their people and themselves.
“You're jumping a wide river, Flame Alchemist,” Scar said with an edge.
“I know I am. I also know that I'm right.” Roy Mustang ran his hand over his head and tugged on his bangs. Some disconnected part of his mind noticed how much hair slid through his fingers and pointed out that he needed a haircut. It was so ridiculous, all of it, his hair and the nameless Ishbalan and the dreams that weren't dreams and visions too big to fit in the confined space of one human mind... “Gods. No wonder Ed--” he stopped as another blast shattered the fragile landscape of his thoughts.
“What about Ed?” Scar's voice prodded gently...from behind Roy.
“Hm?” Roy turned. “Scar?”
“Yes. Do you remember where we are?” Scar's weight on the bed behind him-when had he moved?
Roy frowned. “Xerxes. And I know how you knew our names.” He plunged on before Scar could argue. “Thinking about Ed reminded me. The same thing happened to Al. The same thing.” The world tilted and he dug his fingers into the bed against the spinning. It made sense but it was too big, too complicated to put into words...
“Roy.” Scar, alchemist and alchemist killer, enemy and ally, the younger brother...his hands closed around Roy's shoulders and tugged him back toward the pillows. “Go back to sleep. It will make sense in the morning.”
“No.” Roy twisted, but Scar's grip didn't give. Roy grabbed the muscular arm, the image of the tattoos wrapped around that arm clear in his mind-
--wrapped around--his train of thought snapped and jerked in another direction. “Scar-the circles. I've been so blind.”
“You chose that. Go to sleep.”
“That's not what I meant.” He turned his face toward his guide. “Scar-it's the Gate. It does things to your head.” He held on to Scar's arm, anchoring himself against the buffeting of the wind in his mind. “Ed and Al explained it to me, after the first couple times it happened. They helped me convince the doctors I hadn't lost my mind. I--” he stopped as another shock jolted his mind. “But you-you know that already. You must have felt it, before you forgot.”
“Go to sleep, Roy Mustang.” Scar pushed Roy back into the pillows. “Let your mind rest.”
“No.” Roy didn't bother struggling, reaching up to massage his forehead and temples instead. “I've got to organize it and either talk or write it out, or I'll lose it.”
“Let it go, then.” Scar withdrew his hand but stayed put on the edge of the bed. “How I learned what I know hardly matters.”
“By itself it's an academic question, and we don't have time for those,” Roy agreed wearily. “But that's not all there is to it. Your alchemy is important now.” He sat up and groped in the dark for the truth and the words to explain it. “That's not right.” The world tilted and the words slid out of his reach, taking the fragment of truth with them.
Scar's arm fell against his chest. Or maybe he fell against Scar's arm. He could only hold on, gasping, while the flood receded, leaving him with only the pounding of his heart and the featureless void of his blindness.
“Roy. Do you know me?” The Ishbalan's calm voice rang loud in his ears.
“Scar.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath against the drained emptiness in his soul. “We're here to end the war, and I just had a Gate flashback.” He pushed himself upright.
“Better that it happened now than with the tribes watching and listening. Go to sleep.”
“Yes.” Roy yawned. “Get some rest yourself.” He lay back and slept.
*****
They both slept until the growing heat of a desert day woke them. Scar was taking a bath and Roy was sitting on the back porch cautiously shaving himself when a voice spoke up from the foot of the porch steps. Roy startled, and the tip of his straight razor nicked his jaw.
Scar's voice spoke up in sharp Ishbalan, and the newcomer answered in flat tones. His voice sounded youthful and suspicious.
“Scar?” Roy dabbed at the tiny drop of blood welling from the cut. “Who is he, and what does he want?”
“He is Ruca's ungwaiyar Cennet, and he carries a message from the Elders asking you to come to the temple when you are finished with your morning meal and washing.” There was disapproval in Scar's words. “I told him that he would be wise to do as his teacher does and scratch with his sandals when he comes near you.”
“Ah. I didn't realize that scratching was intentional.”
“It's a courtesy. What should I tell Cennet?”
“Tell him I'll be at the fountain outside the temple in an hour-and that I have some questions I'd like to ask the Elders.”
Scar translated, and the youngster answered, then turned and left, his sandals scratching loudly on the stones until he jumped up on the wall.
“I get the impression Cennet doesn't like me much,” Roy said as he went back to his shaving.
“He is young enough to believe that a man who has done evil once is corrupted forever,” Scar said. “He is also foolish enough to believe that goading the lion in his cage shows bravery.”
“He hasn't seen any real fighting, then.” Roy felt over his face with his fingertips. “On one hand, it's encouraging to know that there are some kids who've grown up without guns in their faces. On the other hand, people who haven't seen a war up close don't realize what starting one will cost them.” He found a rough patch and carefully guided the razor over it before going on. “I don't know that I'd call myself a caged lion, though. I'm here of my own free will.”
“You hold your temper without so much as baring your fangs to those who poke you with sticks and dangle your food just beyond your reach.” Scar got out of the bathtub. “What Cennet and others don't see is that the bars are made of threads you plucked and spun from your own mane.”
“I'm going to start adding your metaphors to my notes,” Roy told him. “You've got a poet's vision.”
There was a thread of pleasure in the apostate's answer. “As you like, Roy Mustang.”
*****
Roy washed his hands in the fountain and splashed some of the water on his face. Scar murmured to himself beside Roy, taking his time with the ritual.
People approached from temple courtyard, and a grave male voice spoke.
“Etan offers you shade and tea. It's an eastern courtesy. Three men of his tribe are with him.” Scar paused as the Elder went on. “He asks you to trust him to lead you safely across the stones. I wouldn't refuse, if I were you.”
“Tell him I accept, then,” Roy said. “And say thank you.”
Scar rendered that, and Etan stepped in...to Roy's left. The Elder put his right hand on the small of Roy's back and took Roy's left hand in his own, then gave a command to his men, who moved around them as the Elder pushed gently on Roy's back. Scar said something, then grunted.
Roy paused despite the unaccustomed pressure on his back, and turned back toward his guide. “Scar?”
“They were only tying my hands. Go on, Emissary.”
Roy frowned. “I'd hoped my word carried more weight than that.”
“It has nothing to do with you.” There was a warning in Scar's tone. “It's a small thing. Think of your duty to your country.”
Roy hesitated for a moment, then let Etan guide him across the courtyard and up the steps to the wide, cool stone porch of the temple. People followed and arranged themselves on and around the steps, most of them saying nothing. Children were chanting rhythmically somewhere nearby and chickens clucked from the city outside. The city went about its daily business as the foreign emissary sat down on the cushion provided for him and accepted a cup of tea.
Someone pushed Scar to his knees on the bare stone beside Roy.
“Are you blindfolded?” Roy asked softly.
“No. Don't make an issue of it, it's a message to others. The Elders are waiting for you to offer the first words.”
“Ah.” Roy straightened his back. “Good morning, Elders of Ishbal. I have some news from my country concerning your people. General Grumman, one of the leaders backing me, is gathering trains and supplies. He's planning to open the camps and send your people home to their families and their lands.”
The announcement brought a blur of voices.
“That's a good thing to say to open the meeting,” Scar murmured softly. “You said nothing of this last night.”
“I'm taking a gamble,” Roy answered equally quietly. “My people said there are signs Grumman's getting ready to put your people on trains and send them to the border. I'm hoping he's planning to reload those trains with Amestrian soldiers for the trip back west, but I'm not going to promise that yet.”
The hubbub died down, and Etan spoke in a formal, measured rhythm.
“We are glad to hear that our kinsmen will soon be free,” Scar translated. “Perhaps the locomotives have the strength to pull other things that are precious to us as well?”
“The locomotives are very strong, Admi,” Roy answered. “What is it you would like them to bring you?”
“When war came to our lands, the soldiers killed our people and took our horses for themselves. The ones they did not slaughter and eat, they took into your country or behind the walls of their camps in our land. We have taken back some of them, but we would see it as a statement of sincerity to see our horses walking off the same trains that bring our kinsmen home.”
Roy's eyebrows rose. “I hadn't considered that, but I'll pass it along to my people. It may be difficult to find those horses, though, after all this time.”
“Our horses are not so hard to find among the ponies of the west,” Etan answered through Scar. “Their legs are long and fine, their coats gleam like gold, silver, and copper in the sun, and they are the wisest of horses.”
“It would please my brothers and sisters of the eastern tribes if the soldiers in our lands packed their camps into the trucks, and left our horses behind for our people,” Shan put in.
Someone spoke up from the steps, and Nikai answered. Then he addressed Roy again, still going through Scar for translation. “The words are wise. A thousand horses won't make a man rich, if he has no pastures or fields of grain to feed them.” He spoke over a rumbling murmur. “Perhaps you will ask the general Grumman whether he will send all of the trains to the same place, and what he will give the people to carry when they leave your country.”
“I'm sure he won't drop them off with nothing but the clothes on their backs,” Roy replied. “Maybe your people could help coordinate the return. It would help us help you if we knew where to send the people from each tribe, and what they could use in the way of tools and supplies.”
Scar's translation brought another outbreak of chatter. As it went on, Scar leaned down and said quietly, “They're arguing whether or not now is the time to demand the stolen treasures-mostly books and family blankets looted from the temples. Some say that our history and culture are the most precious things we have. Others reply that no one can eat a book or a blanket, and what the people need first are tools and animals to build villages and feed ourselves.”
“I don't see why we can't try to round up whatever was taken as well as providing some more practical tools,” Roy answered. “I'm not sure how much of it still exists, though, outside some museums.”
“Offer the plain tools for now, and make no more promises you may not be able to keep,” Scar murmured. “You've already given them much of what they were most likely to ask.”
“All of which is just basic reparations,” Roy said. “I don't want the Elders to think they won't get their people or their sacred books back if they don't give me exactly what I want.” He leveled his brows. “I do intend to ask for some concessions in return, though.”
“Such as?”
“Safe passage for caravans crossing the desert to and from Xing, for starters,” Roy answered. “That's fairly small.”
“Perhaps larger than you think,” Scar murmured.
The hubbub faded, and Nikai spoke up again. Scar translated in stately tones. “We will look forward to welcoming our people back to our lands, and we will prepare stables and saddles for our horses. There are two rail stations in the south, close to the ancient river Saia-your people call it Syr. If you will send the trains with our people there, we will go and see them and what you have sent with them. We will decide what to do further after the children have found their parents and the grandparents have met their grandchildren.”
“I think I can arrange that,” Roy said. “Just to make sure we're talking about the same stations-the ones I'm aware of are Ata Dargan and Sarmisay. They're both big enough to handle that much passenger traffic.” He rubbed his chin. “They're also several miles west of the border. Let me talk to General Grumman, just so no one on the Amestrian side of the border sees people gathering and thinks they're a threat.”
“We have sung enough of our people back to the River,” Rehena answered through Scar. “We will counsel the tribes to wait east of the border, and wait in patience just a little longer.”
Roy nodded. “I'll check with my people to find out when you can expect the first train to arrive.” He paused for Scar's translation, then went on. “There is something else I'd like to discuss, Elders, if it's appropriate.”
“We will hear what you will say, Emissary of Amestris,” Nikai answered noncommittally through Scar.
“Thank you, Admi,” Roy cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, yours aren't the only people the previous government of my country made enemies of. It will take years of work to rebuild peaceful relations with Xing, for example. That work would be much easier if your people would agree to let our diplomats pass through your territory.”
Murmurs became a rumble that took several calls from the Elders to settle.
“This is not as simple a matter as it perhaps appears, Roy, son of Amestris,” Shan told him. “Perhaps you will give us time to speak with our people before we answer your request.”
“Of course,” Roy said genially.
“Is there something else you would speak of now?” Nikai asked.
“Not right now, Admi,” Roy answered.
“Then we will go, each to speak to his own people,” Nikai said formally.
Roy took that as his cue, and got to his feet. “I'll do that, and give you more details when I have them. Scar, please lead me back to the house.”
Scar grunted as he got to his feet. Roy took the exile's elbow and didn't comment on his guide's tied hands. He kept his mouth shut and his head high despite the people gathering around him as he crossed the plaza. Once they were outside the gates, Roy counted carefully to find his sandals sitting on the shelves near the fountain. “Scar, where are your sandals?”
“On the shelf to the right of yours. You can free my hands now-and I would be thankful if you did.”
“Not just yet.” Roy took down the heavy sandals, and separated left from right, setting each down beside its corresponding foot. Still barefoot himself, he fumbled, then found the loops to tug the knot in the rope around Scar's wrists loose. Before the big Ishbalan could argue, Roy took Scar's right hand in both of his own and worked the fingers, then flexed the wrist. “Your hands must be numb.”
Scar sucked in a hissing breath. “Some,” he admitted.
Roy firmly kept his attention on Scar, letting the onlookers he sensed nearby watch. “I could do it for you, but I'm sure you'd rather tie your sandals for yourself.” He aimed his eyes up from under his brows at the former vigilante and chafed the big hand between his own.
Scar paused, then opened and closed his hand, closing his fingers around Roy's wrist for just an instant. “No man wants to ask another to help him do what a man should do for himself and his family,” he agreed. “But there is no shame in accepting a favor from a friend from time to time.”
Thank you, Roy thought in relief.
*****
Once back in the weaver woman's house, Roy busied himself typing up his notes of the discussion while Scar cleaned the oven and stove. The Amestrian Emissary had his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand while he thought when a scuffing of sandals on the front stoop and a voice speaking his name caught his attention.
“Yes? Who's there?” Roy got up and worked his way around the table toward the door.
“Jzhenbah,” Scar answered. “He's come on behalf of his mother Rehena. She asks whether you would honor her table by joining her family for dinner.”
Roy's eyebrows shot up. “That's an invitation I didn't expect.” He went to the door. “I accept, and please tell your mother I'm looking forward to meeting her family.”
“I will carry your words,” Jzhenbah answered. He left with another scratch of sandals before Roy could invite him in.
Bemused, Roy turned back toward Scar. “I guess that means we'll eat well tonight,” he remarked.
“You will,” Scar allowed.
“What?” Roy frowned. “Don't tell me you're going to be eating leftovers in the kitchen or something.”
“I won't be there at all,” Scar answered with a bitter edge. “I am dyeboj. Exiled and not fit to enter the homes of the people.”
“How do we get that damned exile status lifted?” Roy demanded. “It's gone beyond getting on my nerves.”
“You've brought me here and insisted that I stay as your guide and interpreter. That the Elders allowed it is a message to the tribes as well as to me, ” Scar told him bluntly. “They tie my hands, not yours. Some will see that only as a reminder that I am exiled. Others will see that you are free while I am not, and understand that the foreigner is no longer the greatest threat to our people.”
*****
Jzhenbah held his arm stiffly and set a pace that nearly forced Roy into a trot to keep up. The warrior-priest had flatly refused to allow Scar to lead Roy to his family's home, and when Scar had backed down with barely a token protest, Roy had decided to take Jzhenbah's elbow and hope the man wouldn't lead him straight into a pit of sharpened stakes.
Jzhenbah finally stopped to open a gate, and led Roy across flagstones to a patio, talking in musical Ishbalan to someone who responded in the tones of a young man. Hinges squeaked, and Jzhenbah stepped up into the coolness of the house. The aged voice of the Elder met him. “I say welcome, Roy Mustang. Will you come and eat with my children and my grandchildren?”
Roy took his hand from Jzhenbah's arm and offered the old woman a bow. “I'd be honored, ma'am.”
Rehena tapped her cane a little as she approached, and her cool, knobby hand took Roy's arm. “Come and sit, young guest.” She guided him to a basin to wash his hands, then to a seat on a bench at a table considerably larger than the one in the weaver-woman's house. Rehena seated herself to his left with a soft sigh, then spoke. “These are my children and my grandchildren. Beside you sits my third son Samuj, and his wife Nerah is with him. Their children are in the children's rooms--they are too young to eat with a guest. My daughter Zheri is across the table from you, with her sons Yahan and Louka. Jzhenbah sits by Izena and her two brothers Kai and Hezh.” She said something in fluid Ishbalan, and was answered by her family, most of the voices sounding dubious at best. Rehena gently touched Roy's wrist and moved something into his reach. “Here are the fers-to eat with. We also eat with the hands when the food is not soup. Is it acceptable in your country to eat the flesh of goats?”
“Yes, goat meat is fine.” Roy turned toward the rest of the table and made a small seated bow. “Inksa rose. I'm honored to meet and share a meal with you.” He knew he'd mangled the greeting phrase, but it was reciprocated in murmurs, so he'd at least made himself understood.
Rehena translated that, and there were murmurs from around the table, which were at least not overtly hostile in tone. Rehena said something further, and two of the people on Roy's side of the table rose and hurried off. The Elder said regally, “We will have goat meat, and chicken meat, with our vegetables and bread.”
Roy traced along the sticks Rehena had called fers with his fingertips. They were cut square with blunted corners and sanded to almost silken smoothness. “That sounds very good, Vrua, but I'm afraid I'm not familiar with these.” He pushed one of the sticks, and found it heavier than he expected.
Rehena spoke to Samuj, who shifted in his seat as he answered. The Elder shifted back into Amestrian. “It is no insult to eat with the hands, Roy Mustang, but if you ask to learn we will show you to hold the fers and turn them.”
“Please do that, ma'am. I'm here to learn as well as to negotiate.”
“Open your hand, then. Samuj will put the fers in your hand.”
Roy obeyed, and let the Ishbalan beside him set the carved wooden sticks into his fingers and awkwardly push his hand through motions that felt like using Xingese chopsticks...until Samuj said something and turned one of the sticks end for end. Puzzled, Roy felt along the length of the stick, and found a spoon on the end. The other stick had a matching small fork.
“The fers are strange to you?” Rehena asked.
Roy bobbed his head, thinking. “I've seen things like this before, but I didn't realize you're supposed to use them together.” He turned the spoon back toward his wrist, and measured the length of the sticks extending from between his fingers, setting them to what felt about right as the length of a fork. You should have thought this through, Mustang, he chided himself. You're not going to win any friends missing your food and dropping half your dinner in your lap. Forks had been enough of a challenge to master without sight to accurately guide food from plate to mouth.
“Your people cut the food at the table, so you must have a knife.” Rehena commented. “We say that there should be no knife in the room where people are eating.” She paused as her relatives returned and served what smelled like spiced vegetables and roasted chicken. “Perhaps we will speak of small things tonight? The doings of family and friends, rather than the actions of nations?
Roy took a breath and let his professional mask soften into a smile. “Madam Rehena, that would be both a pleasure and a relief.”
Rehena's tone warmed a little. “No man or woman can speak always in the voice of the people. Sometimes I am only an old grandmother spinning thread while my grandchildren roll clay balls across the floor.” She said something to her family, who answered with a phrase in unison, then tucked into dinner, fers clicking against plates.
Roy cautiously probed his plate until he found something that felt fairly small and manageable...then jabbed himself in the face with it despite his best efforts to track it. There were giggles from the children and softer whuffs of amusement from their parents, then Rehena speaking in rebuke. Roy corrected his mistake and got the morsel into his mouth. It turned out to be a piece of chicken that had been marinated in something with a slight tang he couldn't identify.
The woman across the table made a comment laced with apprehension, and Rehena translated, her voice mild. “Zheri asks you to give her children no attention-they are little boys who are still learning courtesy.”
Samuj nudged Roy's elbow and draped a soft woven napkin over it, and Roy blotted the sauce off his face.
“Don't worry, I'm not offended. I just thought that since I know how to handle Xingese chopsticks, I could use your-furss?--without making too much of a mess. I'm afraid I was wrong about that.” He pulled a disarming grin. “Are there some of these at the house where I'm staying? I'd like to practice with them.”
“There are fers with the cooking spoons,” Rehena answered. She said something to her family. “But tonight, all at this table will eat with the hands.”
Roy paused, then accepted the gesture as it was most likely meant and laid down the sticks. “Thank you.”
“When a guest comes to the house, the people of that house should offer him courtesy as well as a roof and food,” the Elder replied. She chewed, and the rest of the family hesitantly went back to eating and murmuring softly to each other, their nervousness charging the air.
“Yes.” Roy found another piece of chicken on his plate and put it into his mouth to chew while he cast about for an innocuous subject. “It's good to hear children laughing, even when they're laughing at me. They remind me not to take myself so seriously.”
“They remind me to take pleasure in the smell of bread baking and the sound of new chickens in the nest,” Rehena said comfortably. “Have you children, young man?
Roy shook his head. “No, Elder, I've never married or had children.” The memory of an angry woman's voice accusing him of “siring children like a dog sires puppies” rose in his mind, and he firmly shoved it aside and went on. “I do visit with the young child of my best friend when I can find time. She calls me her uncle.”
“Does your friend speak with you on your radio and tell you the small things of home?”
Roy felt his face fall. “No, Vrua Rehena. He died three years ago.”
There was a gentle pat on his arm. “May God give peace to the soul of the one you lost, and bless the child with wisdom.” Someone else spoke up, and Rehena translated. “Zheri asks whether you mean to marry and become a father in the future.”
Roy hesitated. “Maybe. For now I'm concentrating on my duties to my country and the new government.”
Rehena translated Roy's answer, then remarked, “Perhaps in time your duties will not be so heavy, if we can calm our peoples.”
Roy took another mouthful of his dinner. “That's something I've been thinking about, and trying not to think about at the same time. If I let myself worry about my country's future all day every day I'll never get any sleep.”
“It is a large cow in the small barn of the mind, isn't it?” Rehena said. “She is always kicking the walls and calling to be let out.”
Roy broke into laughter. “Elder, that's the perfect way of describing it.”
A child's voice spoke up, and Rehena translated. “Yahan asks to know if you played games when you were a boy.”
Roy smiled in the direction of the boy's voice. “Oh yes. Kids in the neighborhood where I grew up spent a lot of time playing marbles and racing each other everywhere. What kind of games to you play here?”
The answer was lengthy and delivered with gradually building enthusiasm. Another boy's voice joined in, and the two of them got into what sounded like a childish argument over something before Rehena hushed them and explained, “My grandsons play the stick game--to hit a stone in the wall with a stick when the searcher calls, then to run away and hide before he finds them.” She went on with affection clear in her tone. “The game is harder for the searcher here in fallen Xerxes, where there are so many stones.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Roy said. “I hope they won't mind when we make it easier for the searcher by clearing away those fallen stones.”
Rehena chuckled. “We are taking them up and setting them one on another when we need another house. In time, perhaps, there will be time for our men to take up the stones of the streets and make them level and easy on the legs of horses and old women.”
“I'm going to do everything in my power to bring that day sooner,” Roy said fervently. “But here I am again, thinking about big projects.”
Rehena's hand patted his arm again. “The cow is a very fat one--or perhaps she carries two calves. Does the meal please you?”
Roy laughed a little. “Or maybe my barn is too small for her. And yes -- the food is very good.” He popped another morsel into his mouth for emphasis.
Rehena passed that along, and one of the adult women at the table answered. Rehena switched languages again and said, “Nerah thanks you for the kind words.”
Roy cast about for something else to talk about. “Do your grandchildren have lots of other children to play and grow up with? Or...maybe that's another question I shouldn't ask.” The stone of the houses glowing red hot and grown men screaming alongside their children...
“There is no harm in asking questions, Roy Mustang,” the Elder said gently. “There are other children to play the stick game and learn the shapes of writing with my grandchildren. My family is blessed--I have fourteen grandchildren to see growing. Some houses have only one or two children, but in time, perhaps when you hold your grandchildren and tell them stories of this time, the streets will again ring all day with the voices of strong, happy little boys and little girls.”
“If your people leave any of mine alive to raise children,” Jzhenbah muttered at the end of the table.
“Theirs are not the only guilty hands,” Rehena said severely. She went on in Ishbalan, and Roy forced himself not to squirm under the pressure in the room. The old woman finally sighed, and said to Roy, “Please forgive my son Jzhenbah, Roy Mustang.”
“I don't expect old grudges and fears to disappear overnight,” Roy answered, smoothing his face and voice into the calm that hid his feelings behind formal protocol.
The Elder put her cool, dry hand over Roy's and squeezed it firmly. “You are my guest. We fear you, yes, but you have shown your regret and come to ask forgiveness and peace. The war is ending. Now we must learn to sit and talk over a good meal. Does it seem so to you?”
“That's a large part of the reason I came here, Vrua,” Roy answered. He turned toward Jzhenbah. “I fear you, Jzhenbah. Not just because you carry that sword and hate my guts, but because if you and I can't learn to at least tolerate each other it'll be at least another generation before anyone can say for sure whether this” he tapped his cheek below the cut Nikai had slashed across his face “really is the last blood of the war.” He went back to eating, concentrating on the flavor and texture of the greens and preventing his hands from visibly shaking.
There was silence for a long moment, then Rehena said gravely, “I fear you, Roy Mustang, called the Master of Fire--but you are only one man, with only the time God will give you. I fear more the armies. An army can march ever into the future and trample all under its feet.” She took a deep breath, then went on with a little humor. “The cow kicks in her stall again. Perhaps we should simply open the gate and let her out.”
“She doesn't seem to want to settle down,” Roy agreed. “But letting her out is going to cause even more conflict at your table.”
“There will always be conflict,” Rehena said calmly. “Men and women and children are meant to share home and table and bed, but they are of different minds and will argue, now and again. That does not say that they should not live together.” She tapped the back of his hand with one fingertip. “You came here, blind and alone. You trusted, despite your fears.”
“And in exchange you trusted me with your family,” Roy answered. “You saw for yourself that even blind and alone, I'm far from helpless, but you invited me to eat with you. So, we both took a risk.”
“There is no such thing as a life without risk,” Rehena said. “I accept the risk, and pray that God will grant it to me to see your people and mine walking the market together, without their guns or their slings at hand, and the yevarshedaht walking among them with their swords sheathed.”
Roy let his eyes close as he lowered his chin. “We share that goal, Vrua.” He let the watchful silence stretch, then sighed and opened his eyes again. “Someday, maybe I'll bring my friend's daughter here to Golden Xerxes, and see it through her eyes.”
“May her eyes see for you the glint of the sun on the coats of our horses and the silent stillness of the red rocks, and the water of the rivers running warm in the canyons,” Rehena said in a tone of blessing. “God teaches us with this land, Roy Mustang, son of Amestris. My people tell stories of when it was green and full of wild birds, and stories of times when no rain fell and we were driven north to the ice lands to find water for the goats and our horses. Rich caravans have traveled here under the cool of the moon, and kings have ridden to war under the sun. There have been great cities here, and nomads singing around the wells. We say 'the stones know much, and the wind whispers in old voices.'”
The words brought the timeless moonlight almost close enough to touch. Roy paused a moment, then murmured, “Some day, Elder, I hope to learn some of that history.”
“If you wish I will tell you some of the stories after the meal is finished...and perhaps you will speak of your people?
“I'd be honored,” Roy answered.
“It will be so, then,” Rehena said warmly. “Not many of your nation have ever said they would listen to our stories.”
“Then I'll listen even more carefully, so I can accurately repeat what I hear.”
Rehena paused, then said in a more formal register, “You are wiser than your face, Roy Mustang.”
Roy blinked. “I'm afraid I don't understand what that means, Madam Rehena. What does my face say?”
Her fingers touched his shoulder, then brushed just beneath the row of stitches across his cheek. “Your face says you are a young man, but your words come from a soul with white hair.”
Roy's breath caught. Sazamuz. He chose his answer with care. “I can't see my face or my hair, Elder. I rely on the people around me to be my mirrors.”
The rumble that went around the table at Rehena's translation of the comment told Roy he'd provoked thought. What those thoughts were, his hosts kept to themselves.
*****
With the meal finished, Rehena led Roy into another room and handed him onto a well-cushioned bench. Rehena spoke, and after a bit of taut discussion someone climbed the steps, and came down with a young child who burbled and shook something wooden that rattled and clicked. The family bustled around him, and unfamiliar scrapes and even a few heavy thumps of wood on wood filled his ears. Roy turned this way and that, trying to guess what the sounds meant without asking. Jzhenbah's voice spoke from the wall opposite Roy, and Samuj answered. Roy identified their task as woodworking of some kind by the sound of blades on wood. Someone else was sewing something-the hiss of thread running through fabric gave it away. Rehena herself sat nearby and made herself comfortable, then said, “I will spin, as old women do, and spin for you a story, Roy Mustang. Do you know the story of the world's making?”
Roy rested his hands on his knees. “No, Ma'am. I'd like to hear it, if you'll tell it.”
Rehena began, the words slow as she translated. “We tell it so--before the world was, before the people were, before the stars or the sun and moon shone, God dreamed in the dark silence. And God dreamed of the things that were not, saw the light that had no lamp, and heard the sounds that were silent. It was so for a long time and no time at all, because in a place that is no place there is no time.” She paused, then added, “We say, 'so it is told' and 'so we will tell it.' I say “yulsh hikyahyi.”
The family answered reflexively. “Olschka zimyair.”
"So it is told, and so we will tell it," Roy repeated. “Ohzka...Olza...”
“Ol-schka,” Rehena said slowly. “Olschka zim-yai-ir”.
“Olzaka simyahr,” Roy said, knowing he was missing at least a few of the details.
“Yes,” Rehena said with approval. “So it was told to me by my grandmother, and it was told to her by her grandmother. When God woke, God saw nothing, heard nothing, had nothing and no one, but God remembered the dreams of all that was not. So God made for herself a voice, and she sang to the silence, and there was sound. And God made for herself a lantern that was the sun, so there would be light. So God was pleased, and filled all of that place-before with the light of the lantern and the sound of her voice. This is what we sing of, when we sing and dance for a birth, because just as a child is born from a woman, so the world was born from God. Yulsh hikyahyi.
“Olschka zimyair,” the family answered without missing a beat.
Rehena murmured softly in Ishbalan for a moment, then switched back into Amestrian. “In time, God thought again of the dreams of that which was not, and God made with her hands the world, and put it close to her lantern to warm it and show its shape to her eyes. She was pleased, and she shaped the world so there would be a place for water and the creatures of the water, and a place for land and the creatures of the land, and trees for the birds of the air to build nests. For God loves the brightly-colored birds and the shining fish in the water and the things that walk upon the land. Do you understand this, Roy Mustang? Do my words speak clearly?”
“You're very clear, Vrua Rehena,” Roy answered. “I'm curious as to why you use the word "she" for God. I thought your God was 'he.'”
“God was before there was male and female,” Rehena explained. “There is not a word in your language for iva, so I say 'she', because God is the womb of life. Others say 'he' because God stands as the man guarding his children in the night.”
Roy squashed the comment that leapt to mind, and said instead, “Eeva. I'll remember that.” He smiled. “I like the idea of the sun as God's lantern. There are scholars among my people who spend a lot of time arguing over how big and how far away the sun is, and what's it's made of.”
“Our scholars have spent many centuries and rivers of ink wondering what God uses as lamp oil,” Rehena said with amusement in her tone. “It seems to me this is a foolish thing to do, when one can't reach the sun to find out the truth, and there is so much to learn here on the world God made for us.”
“In my experience there's always someone who thinks 'impossible' means 'something I haven't tried yet',” Roy said ruefully. “Who knows, maybe someday one of them will find a way to go to the sun and find out what makes it shine.”
“Perhaps. We say "God makes many surprises."
Something whirred, then the click-buzzzz-click of a loom started somewhere off to Roy's left. Rehena went on comfortably, “Will you hear more of the story?”
“Oh, yes of course,” Roy answered, turning his attention back to the elderly woman. “I didn't realize you weren't finished.”
There was a bit of humor in the answer. “The story is unfolding even today, in this house and in every house in the world. We say that God created men and women, and put them in the finest valley of all the world she made, where the water ran clean and cool to a deep lake of many fish, some the size of two men, and where the trees grew tall to shade the people. And though there were many men and many women, there were no races between them, and they all spoke and understood each other, and all of them saw God's face near the sun that was God's lantern, and heard God's voice in the soft breezes in the trees. They ate the fish of the lake and the good things that grew in the valley, and they were ever close to God, as the infant is close to her mother. So God was pleased with the people, and they grew strong and had many children, and their voices filled the valley as God's voice filled all that was and all that is.”
Roy found himself slipping into the story, picturing giant fish and a deep forest. The part of his mind devoted to his mission weighed the political and personal risks and realities, then allowed the rest of him to relax and show rapt interest.
“It was a time of peace and laughter--the childhood of all the world,” Rehena went on. “But every child must grow and learn, and in time God saw that the people did not grow. They learned nothing new, made nothing the first of their kind had not made, and thought nothing of their blessings, as they had never known the world without them. They sang and they danced for God to please her, but their souls were shallow as a child's bowl and thin as the new shoots of grain in the spring. God said, 'These people I have made are only children, they hear me always and bend ever to my will. I will take my voice from their ears and hide my face from them, and I will see what they do when they choose their paths themselves." So God took her voice from the wind, and created from a piece of the world a mask that is the moon, so the people would not know where she was. So God watched to see what the people would do.”
“If people then were the way people are now, some of them probably got into a lot of trouble,” Roy murmured.
“Some cried to God as a child cries for her mother. Some were angry, and cursed God loudly. Still others sat down to wait for God to return. But God did not take away the mask of the moon, and did not speak to the people. And as the people had children, and grandchildren, and the grandchildren had grandchildren, and still God was silent, the valley filled with so many people that they cut down the trees to make room for themselves, and they caught so many great fish that there were no more of them to eat. And when there were no more fish, and all the good plants in the valley were eaten up, the hungry people went out of the valley, and they killed the animals of the plains and ate them. Some of the people walked away, far to the south, and God's lantern the sun made them dark like old wood. They made bricks of clay and built towers to the sky to worship the lantern that is the sun and the mask that is the moon, because they had forgotten the truth of God. Some people walked away to the east, where the moon rises, and their faces became like the moon, pale and round. And they found there the sea, with its many fish and the great creatures that live in the deeps. They made boats and fished for the creatures, and they built temples of stone to the sea serpents they worshiped, for they too had forgotten God. Those who walked away to the west heard the thunder and thought God had returned in anger, so they built fires and sacrificed their children to calm the roaring--but God is not in the thunder, so the western peoples went astray. The colors of the fires mark them still--their beards are red and yellow and black. Those who walked to the north found the ice, and the white bears and wolves. They saw the bright snakes of winter fire in the sky, and they said to each other, "See! It is God!", and they worshiped the cold fire, and thought they read God's words in the turning of the snakes. They looked so long into the night sky that their eyes became black, and their bodies turned pale with the cold. There are not many of them left, in these times--looking too long at the sky gives the wolves time to close their circle.”
“And yet...there are enough of the northern people to threaten my own land. So the wolves haven't gotten all of them yet,” Roy murmured.
“Perhaps they are not so numerous as they would have you think,” Jzhenbah rumbled. “A man's eye is easily tricked. Your people have claimed much of their land, as you took much of ours.”
“That may be true,” Roy allowed. “But the Drachmans have a history of trying to conquer everyone on their borders and turn defeated enemies into slaves.”
“Some would call that justice,” Jzhenbah growled.
“The wise would call that foolish,” Rehena said forbiddingly. “The foreigner who is conquered and put into chains does not think of learning the ways of God and teaching his children to do what is right. He thinks of freeing himself and his family, and claiming revenge in his master's blood.” She stopped as something moved near Roy's foot.
An infant hand took hold of his pant leg and pulled. The child stood, using Roy's knee for support, crowing and bouncing on baby legs.
Roy smiled and bent toward the child, then felt his face fall as Nerah spoke sharply and swooped in to scoop up the youngster. The baby wailed and Nerah shushed with nervousness.
Roy dropped his outstretched hands to his knees and said quietly, “Perhaps it's time I go back to the weaver woman's house.”
“Perhaps. It is very tiring to be a guest in a strange house,” Rehena answered.
“And I don't want to overstay my welcome.” Roy stood. “I hope that we can do this sort of thing again sometime, Elder. Would you join us at our table? I'm afraid Scar and I wouldn't be able to provide you with such an excellent meal, but I enjoyed talking with you and hearing your story.”
“It would honor me to sit at your table again, and you will hear as many stories as you have ears to hear,” Rehena answered warmly. “Jzhenbah will walk with you to guide you back to the weaver-woman's house.”
“Thank you,” Roy said with a small polite bow. “You've been more than gracious.”
“And you are a guest of courtesy and wisdom.” There was a creak and a rustle of fabric, then the Elder took Roy's hands. “I have fourteen grandchildren, Roy Mustang. I have buried two sons and a daughter, and I am an old woman. You rode across the desert blind with one who hunted your people for a guide, and you have shed your blood to seal the end of the war.” She squeezed his hands and spoke in firmer tones. “I believe you are truly penitent, and you have the strength and the wisdom to lead your people to a new path.”
“Again, thank you. Please thank your family for their hospitality and tolerance,” Roy said.
Rehena spoke to Jzhenbah, then released Roy's hands. The Amestrian Emissary took the warrior-priest's arm and did his best to ignore the man's grim silence and concentrate on following without falling.
*****
Roy waited until Scar closed the door behind Jzhenbah, then fumbled his way to a chair and sank into it.
“You were gone longer than I expected,” the apostate commented.
“Rehena's determined to give me a chance to win over her tribe, starting with her family,” Roy answered. He propped his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Some of them are more open to the idea than others.”
“Did you expect anything different?” Scar asked in a nonplussed tone.
“No.” Roy sighed and straightened up. “Frankly I'm surprised that she trusted me enough to extend the invitation, then insist that her daughter-in-law bring the baby down to the living room to hear your story of how the world began.” He ran his hand over his face. “I'm not sure whether that was sazamuz for me or just trying to push her family into accepting me.” He tugged his bangs. “On a more mundane topic, how do I find a barber around here?”
“You won't. Women cut the hair of their men.”
“So...does that mean you and I have to cut each others' hair?” Roy frowned.
“No, that means you should ask one of the yevarshedaht to tell the Elders you'd like someone to see to your hair.” Scar paused, then went on archly, “And I'd rather shave my head than let a blind man near it with scissors.”
“Why?” Roy asked in mock innocence. “I promise I won't say your new haircut looks awful.”
Scar gave that the snort it merited, and changed the subject.
*****
The radio hiss gave way to a barrage of clicks. Roy Mustang took his fingers from the carved board representing Scar's tattoos and put the headset over his ears. It was a standard military code set, without the cues he and his people used to indicate that they were secure enough to talk. Roy relaxed and listened in idle curiosity, then startled as his own coded military enlistment number chattered over the airwaves. Colonel Roy Mustang, your king is in check.
Roy blinked, then found the telegraphy key. But your queen stands at my side. This is a surprise, General.
There was an acknowledging pattern, then a familiar voice. “Your people have been busy, my boy. I'm surprised there's any ink left in the city, with all the reports and signatures they've written.”
“They've always been diligent,” Roy answered. “I hope they're working as hard for you as they did for me.”
“Don't be silly, Roy, they may report to me, but they're still working for you. Fortunately they're not doing anything I didn't expect or don't approve of. All I had to do was substitute civilian trains for military equipment and change a few routes.”
“I'm glad to hear that. My hosts asked me when to expect the release of their people today, and brought up some other things they'd consider acts of good faith.”
“Oh? What is it they'd like?”
“They asked that we send the people in the camps to Ata Dargan and Sarmisay. They're going to set up some camps of their own on their side of the border to help families and tribes reunite. They've also asked for supplies and their horses-the ones with metallic colors in their coats.”
“Hmm-that almost sounds like they're asking for what they need to mount a retaliatory campaign.”
“I'm sure there will be some attempts to turn back and strike Amestris, sir. We should probably be prepared to handle a few raiders along the border. But the impression I get is that the majority of these people just want their relatives to come home, and from a practical standpoint, there are a lot of reasons we should do everything we can to get the Ishbalans resettled in their own country.”
“More now than in the past,” General Grumman agreed. “Have your people told you what's happening in the west?”
“Only that General Armstrong has moved part of her army that direction.”
“Yes, she has. Creta's been very interested in our politics of late, and we've had some trouble in the far western mountains. Seems someone's been trying to stir up the westerners with rhetoric about their ancestral Cretan roots.”
“And getting access to the coal and gold mines in those mountains is only a bonus, I'm sure.” Roy said dryly. “So we have to get the Ishbalans out of those mines before they get swept into a rebellion in the west.”
“Olivia's troops are going to the west to stabilize the western army and make sure the changeover from Ishbalan to local mine labor goes smoothly,” Grumman agreed blandly. “Once they have work to do and money coming in, I'm sure the westerners will be less interested in going up against an army led by the Ice Queen of Briggs just to change which capital they send their taxes to.”
“No doubt,” Roy said. “Her ideas about training and discipline will probably be an unpleasant shock to the western commanders, though.”
“It's good to put the troops through some hard training from time to time, don't you agree?” The general's tone was still mild. “A little shakeup of the routine keeps men from getting soft and complacent.”
“As long as you're sure of the one doing the shaking,” Roy answered.
“I'm sure she'll take the western divisions in hand just as she did the northern ones,” Grumman said calmly. “In a few months we'll have a western army ready to take on God himself.”
“Let's pray we don't need one,” Roy said with a crook of a grin. He straightened up in his chair and said, “You should probably have some reserve equipment and troops ready to hand, though, just in case.”
“And you'd recommend drawing them from Ishbal?” Grumman chuckled. “Don't worry about that, my boy, I'd have started ordering a pullout within the next few days even if your people hadn't given those orders for me. I think I'm going to march them southwest rather than due west, though.”
“Is Aerugo stirring up border trouble too?” Roy frowned.
“Aerugo's always hoping our backs will turn long enough for a little invasion or two,” the general answered. “I expected one or more of the queens to try the border, Colonel. You take care of keeping the Ishbalans busy sorting themselves out and arguing about what to do with you and that stone you carried in your baggage, and Olivia and I will handle things here at home. I'll see about rounding up some horses to add to the confusion.”
“Yes, sir.” Roy kept his tone relaxed with effort. “When should I tell the Elders to expect the first of their people to arrive for that sorting?”
“That depends on how many train crews we can convince to come out of retirement for a little while, and how many locomotives and passenger cars we can spare from normal service. Perhaps I'll ask dear Olivia to find out whether the Armstrong Locomotive Works can loan us some, hmm?”
“I'll leave it in your hands, General.”
“Thank you, Roy. I do enjoy seeing my plans come together and play out. Command is such a satisfying role, don't you agree?”
Roy kept his tone neutral. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“I'm sure you miss barking orders and seeing your subordinates scurry to obey,” Grumman went on. “But let me know what you'd like to say, and this old dog will bark it all over the country for you, if need be.”
“Understood, sir. Does the old dog have orders for me?”
“Tell the Ishbalans their relatives will be waiting for them in Ata Dargan and Sarmisay about three or four weeks from now, and I'd personally appreciate it if they left the columns moving southwest alone.”
“I'll do that.”
“Good. Good night, Roy. Give your people my warmest regards when you talk to them.” Grumman tapped out the end-transmission sequence, leaving Roy alone with the radio hissing in his ears and Grumman's tacit warnings ringing clear in his mind.
Go on to Chapter 11.
Go back to Chapter 9.
Go back to Chapter 1.
Author's Notes: A lot of this story grew out of discussions with kashicat about what would have happened if Roy hadn't used Marcoh's Stone to buy back his sight. However, I have added, rewritten, and rearranged so much that whatever faults you may find in this are mine, not hers.
For definitions of and commentary on the Ishvaran words and phrases used in this story, please visit the Ishvaran Glossary. I'm using it for this story, and my co-conspirator fractured_chaos and I are also using it and much of the same cultural worldbuilding in a joint BBC fic named Arcanum Familias.
Ishvaran Glossary: Introduction and Orthography
Ishvaran Glossary: A - M
Ishvaran Glossary: N - Z
Speaking of fractured_chaos, she did the banner!
Author: mfelizandy
Genre: Drama. Written for the 2010-2011 FMA Big Bang Challenge
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 22,000+
Pairing/Characters: Roy Mustang, Scar. No pairings.
Warnings: Probably some non-explicit nudity at some point or another--Ishbalan mores on nudity don't line up perfectly with western ideas. Likely to be some supporting-OC death. Culture-building. Mild language and some violence.
Summary: Post-manga AU. One of the pieces left behind by the Promised Day is a shard of the legendary Philosopher's Stone. Everyone who knows what it is agrees that it can't be left to cause grief to future generations.
That's about all they agree on.
Against a backdrop of looming war, a blind Roy Mustang rides across the border with the Scar of Ishbal at his side and a Philosopher's Stone in his pocket, on a mission to negotiate an end to the fighting and deliver the Stone to the Ishbalan Elders. Somehow, two of the least likely messengers Ishvarra could have picked must find a way to not only work together but also to save both their people and themselves.
“You're jumping a wide river, Flame Alchemist,” Scar said with an edge.
“I know I am. I also know that I'm right.” Roy Mustang ran his hand over his head and tugged on his bangs. Some disconnected part of his mind noticed how much hair slid through his fingers and pointed out that he needed a haircut. It was so ridiculous, all of it, his hair and the nameless Ishbalan and the dreams that weren't dreams and visions too big to fit in the confined space of one human mind... “Gods. No wonder Ed--” he stopped as another blast shattered the fragile landscape of his thoughts.
“What about Ed?” Scar's voice prodded gently...from behind Roy.
“Hm?” Roy turned. “Scar?”
“Yes. Do you remember where we are?” Scar's weight on the bed behind him-when had he moved?
Roy frowned. “Xerxes. And I know how you knew our names.” He plunged on before Scar could argue. “Thinking about Ed reminded me. The same thing happened to Al. The same thing.” The world tilted and he dug his fingers into the bed against the spinning. It made sense but it was too big, too complicated to put into words...
“Roy.” Scar, alchemist and alchemist killer, enemy and ally, the younger brother...his hands closed around Roy's shoulders and tugged him back toward the pillows. “Go back to sleep. It will make sense in the morning.”
“No.” Roy twisted, but Scar's grip didn't give. Roy grabbed the muscular arm, the image of the tattoos wrapped around that arm clear in his mind-
--wrapped around--his train of thought snapped and jerked in another direction. “Scar-the circles. I've been so blind.”
“You chose that. Go to sleep.”
“That's not what I meant.” He turned his face toward his guide. “Scar-it's the Gate. It does things to your head.” He held on to Scar's arm, anchoring himself against the buffeting of the wind in his mind. “Ed and Al explained it to me, after the first couple times it happened. They helped me convince the doctors I hadn't lost my mind. I--” he stopped as another shock jolted his mind. “But you-you know that already. You must have felt it, before you forgot.”
“Go to sleep, Roy Mustang.” Scar pushed Roy back into the pillows. “Let your mind rest.”
“No.” Roy didn't bother struggling, reaching up to massage his forehead and temples instead. “I've got to organize it and either talk or write it out, or I'll lose it.”
“Let it go, then.” Scar withdrew his hand but stayed put on the edge of the bed. “How I learned what I know hardly matters.”
“By itself it's an academic question, and we don't have time for those,” Roy agreed wearily. “But that's not all there is to it. Your alchemy is important now.” He sat up and groped in the dark for the truth and the words to explain it. “That's not right.” The world tilted and the words slid out of his reach, taking the fragment of truth with them.
Scar's arm fell against his chest. Or maybe he fell against Scar's arm. He could only hold on, gasping, while the flood receded, leaving him with only the pounding of his heart and the featureless void of his blindness.
“Roy. Do you know me?” The Ishbalan's calm voice rang loud in his ears.
“Scar.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath against the drained emptiness in his soul. “We're here to end the war, and I just had a Gate flashback.” He pushed himself upright.
“Better that it happened now than with the tribes watching and listening. Go to sleep.”
“Yes.” Roy yawned. “Get some rest yourself.” He lay back and slept.
*****
They both slept until the growing heat of a desert day woke them. Scar was taking a bath and Roy was sitting on the back porch cautiously shaving himself when a voice spoke up from the foot of the porch steps. Roy startled, and the tip of his straight razor nicked his jaw.
Scar's voice spoke up in sharp Ishbalan, and the newcomer answered in flat tones. His voice sounded youthful and suspicious.
“Scar?” Roy dabbed at the tiny drop of blood welling from the cut. “Who is he, and what does he want?”
“He is Ruca's ungwaiyar Cennet, and he carries a message from the Elders asking you to come to the temple when you are finished with your morning meal and washing.” There was disapproval in Scar's words. “I told him that he would be wise to do as his teacher does and scratch with his sandals when he comes near you.”
“Ah. I didn't realize that scratching was intentional.”
“It's a courtesy. What should I tell Cennet?”
“Tell him I'll be at the fountain outside the temple in an hour-and that I have some questions I'd like to ask the Elders.”
Scar translated, and the youngster answered, then turned and left, his sandals scratching loudly on the stones until he jumped up on the wall.
“I get the impression Cennet doesn't like me much,” Roy said as he went back to his shaving.
“He is young enough to believe that a man who has done evil once is corrupted forever,” Scar said. “He is also foolish enough to believe that goading the lion in his cage shows bravery.”
“He hasn't seen any real fighting, then.” Roy felt over his face with his fingertips. “On one hand, it's encouraging to know that there are some kids who've grown up without guns in their faces. On the other hand, people who haven't seen a war up close don't realize what starting one will cost them.” He found a rough patch and carefully guided the razor over it before going on. “I don't know that I'd call myself a caged lion, though. I'm here of my own free will.”
“You hold your temper without so much as baring your fangs to those who poke you with sticks and dangle your food just beyond your reach.” Scar got out of the bathtub. “What Cennet and others don't see is that the bars are made of threads you plucked and spun from your own mane.”
“I'm going to start adding your metaphors to my notes,” Roy told him. “You've got a poet's vision.”
There was a thread of pleasure in the apostate's answer. “As you like, Roy Mustang.”
*****
Roy washed his hands in the fountain and splashed some of the water on his face. Scar murmured to himself beside Roy, taking his time with the ritual.
People approached from temple courtyard, and a grave male voice spoke.
“Etan offers you shade and tea. It's an eastern courtesy. Three men of his tribe are with him.” Scar paused as the Elder went on. “He asks you to trust him to lead you safely across the stones. I wouldn't refuse, if I were you.”
“Tell him I accept, then,” Roy said. “And say thank you.”
Scar rendered that, and Etan stepped in...to Roy's left. The Elder put his right hand on the small of Roy's back and took Roy's left hand in his own, then gave a command to his men, who moved around them as the Elder pushed gently on Roy's back. Scar said something, then grunted.
Roy paused despite the unaccustomed pressure on his back, and turned back toward his guide. “Scar?”
“They were only tying my hands. Go on, Emissary.”
Roy frowned. “I'd hoped my word carried more weight than that.”
“It has nothing to do with you.” There was a warning in Scar's tone. “It's a small thing. Think of your duty to your country.”
Roy hesitated for a moment, then let Etan guide him across the courtyard and up the steps to the wide, cool stone porch of the temple. People followed and arranged themselves on and around the steps, most of them saying nothing. Children were chanting rhythmically somewhere nearby and chickens clucked from the city outside. The city went about its daily business as the foreign emissary sat down on the cushion provided for him and accepted a cup of tea.
Someone pushed Scar to his knees on the bare stone beside Roy.
“Are you blindfolded?” Roy asked softly.
“No. Don't make an issue of it, it's a message to others. The Elders are waiting for you to offer the first words.”
“Ah.” Roy straightened his back. “Good morning, Elders of Ishbal. I have some news from my country concerning your people. General Grumman, one of the leaders backing me, is gathering trains and supplies. He's planning to open the camps and send your people home to their families and their lands.”
The announcement brought a blur of voices.
“That's a good thing to say to open the meeting,” Scar murmured softly. “You said nothing of this last night.”
“I'm taking a gamble,” Roy answered equally quietly. “My people said there are signs Grumman's getting ready to put your people on trains and send them to the border. I'm hoping he's planning to reload those trains with Amestrian soldiers for the trip back west, but I'm not going to promise that yet.”
The hubbub died down, and Etan spoke in a formal, measured rhythm.
“We are glad to hear that our kinsmen will soon be free,” Scar translated. “Perhaps the locomotives have the strength to pull other things that are precious to us as well?”
“The locomotives are very strong, Admi,” Roy answered. “What is it you would like them to bring you?”
“When war came to our lands, the soldiers killed our people and took our horses for themselves. The ones they did not slaughter and eat, they took into your country or behind the walls of their camps in our land. We have taken back some of them, but we would see it as a statement of sincerity to see our horses walking off the same trains that bring our kinsmen home.”
Roy's eyebrows rose. “I hadn't considered that, but I'll pass it along to my people. It may be difficult to find those horses, though, after all this time.”
“Our horses are not so hard to find among the ponies of the west,” Etan answered through Scar. “Their legs are long and fine, their coats gleam like gold, silver, and copper in the sun, and they are the wisest of horses.”
“It would please my brothers and sisters of the eastern tribes if the soldiers in our lands packed their camps into the trucks, and left our horses behind for our people,” Shan put in.
Someone spoke up from the steps, and Nikai answered. Then he addressed Roy again, still going through Scar for translation. “The words are wise. A thousand horses won't make a man rich, if he has no pastures or fields of grain to feed them.” He spoke over a rumbling murmur. “Perhaps you will ask the general Grumman whether he will send all of the trains to the same place, and what he will give the people to carry when they leave your country.”
“I'm sure he won't drop them off with nothing but the clothes on their backs,” Roy replied. “Maybe your people could help coordinate the return. It would help us help you if we knew where to send the people from each tribe, and what they could use in the way of tools and supplies.”
Scar's translation brought another outbreak of chatter. As it went on, Scar leaned down and said quietly, “They're arguing whether or not now is the time to demand the stolen treasures-mostly books and family blankets looted from the temples. Some say that our history and culture are the most precious things we have. Others reply that no one can eat a book or a blanket, and what the people need first are tools and animals to build villages and feed ourselves.”
“I don't see why we can't try to round up whatever was taken as well as providing some more practical tools,” Roy answered. “I'm not sure how much of it still exists, though, outside some museums.”
“Offer the plain tools for now, and make no more promises you may not be able to keep,” Scar murmured. “You've already given them much of what they were most likely to ask.”
“All of which is just basic reparations,” Roy said. “I don't want the Elders to think they won't get their people or their sacred books back if they don't give me exactly what I want.” He leveled his brows. “I do intend to ask for some concessions in return, though.”
“Such as?”
“Safe passage for caravans crossing the desert to and from Xing, for starters,” Roy answered. “That's fairly small.”
“Perhaps larger than you think,” Scar murmured.
The hubbub faded, and Nikai spoke up again. Scar translated in stately tones. “We will look forward to welcoming our people back to our lands, and we will prepare stables and saddles for our horses. There are two rail stations in the south, close to the ancient river Saia-your people call it Syr. If you will send the trains with our people there, we will go and see them and what you have sent with them. We will decide what to do further after the children have found their parents and the grandparents have met their grandchildren.”
“I think I can arrange that,” Roy said. “Just to make sure we're talking about the same stations-the ones I'm aware of are Ata Dargan and Sarmisay. They're both big enough to handle that much passenger traffic.” He rubbed his chin. “They're also several miles west of the border. Let me talk to General Grumman, just so no one on the Amestrian side of the border sees people gathering and thinks they're a threat.”
“We have sung enough of our people back to the River,” Rehena answered through Scar. “We will counsel the tribes to wait east of the border, and wait in patience just a little longer.”
Roy nodded. “I'll check with my people to find out when you can expect the first train to arrive.” He paused for Scar's translation, then went on. “There is something else I'd like to discuss, Elders, if it's appropriate.”
“We will hear what you will say, Emissary of Amestris,” Nikai answered noncommittally through Scar.
“Thank you, Admi,” Roy cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, yours aren't the only people the previous government of my country made enemies of. It will take years of work to rebuild peaceful relations with Xing, for example. That work would be much easier if your people would agree to let our diplomats pass through your territory.”
Murmurs became a rumble that took several calls from the Elders to settle.
“This is not as simple a matter as it perhaps appears, Roy, son of Amestris,” Shan told him. “Perhaps you will give us time to speak with our people before we answer your request.”
“Of course,” Roy said genially.
“Is there something else you would speak of now?” Nikai asked.
“Not right now, Admi,” Roy answered.
“Then we will go, each to speak to his own people,” Nikai said formally.
Roy took that as his cue, and got to his feet. “I'll do that, and give you more details when I have them. Scar, please lead me back to the house.”
Scar grunted as he got to his feet. Roy took the exile's elbow and didn't comment on his guide's tied hands. He kept his mouth shut and his head high despite the people gathering around him as he crossed the plaza. Once they were outside the gates, Roy counted carefully to find his sandals sitting on the shelves near the fountain. “Scar, where are your sandals?”
“On the shelf to the right of yours. You can free my hands now-and I would be thankful if you did.”
“Not just yet.” Roy took down the heavy sandals, and separated left from right, setting each down beside its corresponding foot. Still barefoot himself, he fumbled, then found the loops to tug the knot in the rope around Scar's wrists loose. Before the big Ishbalan could argue, Roy took Scar's right hand in both of his own and worked the fingers, then flexed the wrist. “Your hands must be numb.”
Scar sucked in a hissing breath. “Some,” he admitted.
Roy firmly kept his attention on Scar, letting the onlookers he sensed nearby watch. “I could do it for you, but I'm sure you'd rather tie your sandals for yourself.” He aimed his eyes up from under his brows at the former vigilante and chafed the big hand between his own.
Scar paused, then opened and closed his hand, closing his fingers around Roy's wrist for just an instant. “No man wants to ask another to help him do what a man should do for himself and his family,” he agreed. “But there is no shame in accepting a favor from a friend from time to time.”
Thank you, Roy thought in relief.
*****
Once back in the weaver woman's house, Roy busied himself typing up his notes of the discussion while Scar cleaned the oven and stove. The Amestrian Emissary had his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand while he thought when a scuffing of sandals on the front stoop and a voice speaking his name caught his attention.
“Yes? Who's there?” Roy got up and worked his way around the table toward the door.
“Jzhenbah,” Scar answered. “He's come on behalf of his mother Rehena. She asks whether you would honor her table by joining her family for dinner.”
Roy's eyebrows shot up. “That's an invitation I didn't expect.” He went to the door. “I accept, and please tell your mother I'm looking forward to meeting her family.”
“I will carry your words,” Jzhenbah answered. He left with another scratch of sandals before Roy could invite him in.
Bemused, Roy turned back toward Scar. “I guess that means we'll eat well tonight,” he remarked.
“You will,” Scar allowed.
“What?” Roy frowned. “Don't tell me you're going to be eating leftovers in the kitchen or something.”
“I won't be there at all,” Scar answered with a bitter edge. “I am dyeboj. Exiled and not fit to enter the homes of the people.”
“How do we get that damned exile status lifted?” Roy demanded. “It's gone beyond getting on my nerves.”
“You've brought me here and insisted that I stay as your guide and interpreter. That the Elders allowed it is a message to the tribes as well as to me, ” Scar told him bluntly. “They tie my hands, not yours. Some will see that only as a reminder that I am exiled. Others will see that you are free while I am not, and understand that the foreigner is no longer the greatest threat to our people.”
*****
Jzhenbah held his arm stiffly and set a pace that nearly forced Roy into a trot to keep up. The warrior-priest had flatly refused to allow Scar to lead Roy to his family's home, and when Scar had backed down with barely a token protest, Roy had decided to take Jzhenbah's elbow and hope the man wouldn't lead him straight into a pit of sharpened stakes.
Jzhenbah finally stopped to open a gate, and led Roy across flagstones to a patio, talking in musical Ishbalan to someone who responded in the tones of a young man. Hinges squeaked, and Jzhenbah stepped up into the coolness of the house. The aged voice of the Elder met him. “I say welcome, Roy Mustang. Will you come and eat with my children and my grandchildren?”
Roy took his hand from Jzhenbah's arm and offered the old woman a bow. “I'd be honored, ma'am.”
Rehena tapped her cane a little as she approached, and her cool, knobby hand took Roy's arm. “Come and sit, young guest.” She guided him to a basin to wash his hands, then to a seat on a bench at a table considerably larger than the one in the weaver-woman's house. Rehena seated herself to his left with a soft sigh, then spoke. “These are my children and my grandchildren. Beside you sits my third son Samuj, and his wife Nerah is with him. Their children are in the children's rooms--they are too young to eat with a guest. My daughter Zheri is across the table from you, with her sons Yahan and Louka. Jzhenbah sits by Izena and her two brothers Kai and Hezh.” She said something in fluid Ishbalan, and was answered by her family, most of the voices sounding dubious at best. Rehena gently touched Roy's wrist and moved something into his reach. “Here are the fers-to eat with. We also eat with the hands when the food is not soup. Is it acceptable in your country to eat the flesh of goats?”
“Yes, goat meat is fine.” Roy turned toward the rest of the table and made a small seated bow. “Inksa rose. I'm honored to meet and share a meal with you.” He knew he'd mangled the greeting phrase, but it was reciprocated in murmurs, so he'd at least made himself understood.
Rehena translated that, and there were murmurs from around the table, which were at least not overtly hostile in tone. Rehena said something further, and two of the people on Roy's side of the table rose and hurried off. The Elder said regally, “We will have goat meat, and chicken meat, with our vegetables and bread.”
Roy traced along the sticks Rehena had called fers with his fingertips. They were cut square with blunted corners and sanded to almost silken smoothness. “That sounds very good, Vrua, but I'm afraid I'm not familiar with these.” He pushed one of the sticks, and found it heavier than he expected.
Rehena spoke to Samuj, who shifted in his seat as he answered. The Elder shifted back into Amestrian. “It is no insult to eat with the hands, Roy Mustang, but if you ask to learn we will show you to hold the fers and turn them.”
“Please do that, ma'am. I'm here to learn as well as to negotiate.”
“Open your hand, then. Samuj will put the fers in your hand.”
Roy obeyed, and let the Ishbalan beside him set the carved wooden sticks into his fingers and awkwardly push his hand through motions that felt like using Xingese chopsticks...until Samuj said something and turned one of the sticks end for end. Puzzled, Roy felt along the length of the stick, and found a spoon on the end. The other stick had a matching small fork.
“The fers are strange to you?” Rehena asked.
Roy bobbed his head, thinking. “I've seen things like this before, but I didn't realize you're supposed to use them together.” He turned the spoon back toward his wrist, and measured the length of the sticks extending from between his fingers, setting them to what felt about right as the length of a fork. You should have thought this through, Mustang, he chided himself. You're not going to win any friends missing your food and dropping half your dinner in your lap. Forks had been enough of a challenge to master without sight to accurately guide food from plate to mouth.
“Your people cut the food at the table, so you must have a knife.” Rehena commented. “We say that there should be no knife in the room where people are eating.” She paused as her relatives returned and served what smelled like spiced vegetables and roasted chicken. “Perhaps we will speak of small things tonight? The doings of family and friends, rather than the actions of nations?
Roy took a breath and let his professional mask soften into a smile. “Madam Rehena, that would be both a pleasure and a relief.”
Rehena's tone warmed a little. “No man or woman can speak always in the voice of the people. Sometimes I am only an old grandmother spinning thread while my grandchildren roll clay balls across the floor.” She said something to her family, who answered with a phrase in unison, then tucked into dinner, fers clicking against plates.
Roy cautiously probed his plate until he found something that felt fairly small and manageable...then jabbed himself in the face with it despite his best efforts to track it. There were giggles from the children and softer whuffs of amusement from their parents, then Rehena speaking in rebuke. Roy corrected his mistake and got the morsel into his mouth. It turned out to be a piece of chicken that had been marinated in something with a slight tang he couldn't identify.
The woman across the table made a comment laced with apprehension, and Rehena translated, her voice mild. “Zheri asks you to give her children no attention-they are little boys who are still learning courtesy.”
Samuj nudged Roy's elbow and draped a soft woven napkin over it, and Roy blotted the sauce off his face.
“Don't worry, I'm not offended. I just thought that since I know how to handle Xingese chopsticks, I could use your-furss?--without making too much of a mess. I'm afraid I was wrong about that.” He pulled a disarming grin. “Are there some of these at the house where I'm staying? I'd like to practice with them.”
“There are fers with the cooking spoons,” Rehena answered. She said something to her family. “But tonight, all at this table will eat with the hands.”
Roy paused, then accepted the gesture as it was most likely meant and laid down the sticks. “Thank you.”
“When a guest comes to the house, the people of that house should offer him courtesy as well as a roof and food,” the Elder replied. She chewed, and the rest of the family hesitantly went back to eating and murmuring softly to each other, their nervousness charging the air.
“Yes.” Roy found another piece of chicken on his plate and put it into his mouth to chew while he cast about for an innocuous subject. “It's good to hear children laughing, even when they're laughing at me. They remind me not to take myself so seriously.”
“They remind me to take pleasure in the smell of bread baking and the sound of new chickens in the nest,” Rehena said comfortably. “Have you children, young man?
Roy shook his head. “No, Elder, I've never married or had children.” The memory of an angry woman's voice accusing him of “siring children like a dog sires puppies” rose in his mind, and he firmly shoved it aside and went on. “I do visit with the young child of my best friend when I can find time. She calls me her uncle.”
“Does your friend speak with you on your radio and tell you the small things of home?”
Roy felt his face fall. “No, Vrua Rehena. He died three years ago.”
There was a gentle pat on his arm. “May God give peace to the soul of the one you lost, and bless the child with wisdom.” Someone else spoke up, and Rehena translated. “Zheri asks whether you mean to marry and become a father in the future.”
Roy hesitated. “Maybe. For now I'm concentrating on my duties to my country and the new government.”
Rehena translated Roy's answer, then remarked, “Perhaps in time your duties will not be so heavy, if we can calm our peoples.”
Roy took another mouthful of his dinner. “That's something I've been thinking about, and trying not to think about at the same time. If I let myself worry about my country's future all day every day I'll never get any sleep.”
“It is a large cow in the small barn of the mind, isn't it?” Rehena said. “She is always kicking the walls and calling to be let out.”
Roy broke into laughter. “Elder, that's the perfect way of describing it.”
A child's voice spoke up, and Rehena translated. “Yahan asks to know if you played games when you were a boy.”
Roy smiled in the direction of the boy's voice. “Oh yes. Kids in the neighborhood where I grew up spent a lot of time playing marbles and racing each other everywhere. What kind of games to you play here?”
The answer was lengthy and delivered with gradually building enthusiasm. Another boy's voice joined in, and the two of them got into what sounded like a childish argument over something before Rehena hushed them and explained, “My grandsons play the stick game--to hit a stone in the wall with a stick when the searcher calls, then to run away and hide before he finds them.” She went on with affection clear in her tone. “The game is harder for the searcher here in fallen Xerxes, where there are so many stones.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Roy said. “I hope they won't mind when we make it easier for the searcher by clearing away those fallen stones.”
Rehena chuckled. “We are taking them up and setting them one on another when we need another house. In time, perhaps, there will be time for our men to take up the stones of the streets and make them level and easy on the legs of horses and old women.”
“I'm going to do everything in my power to bring that day sooner,” Roy said fervently. “But here I am again, thinking about big projects.”
Rehena's hand patted his arm again. “The cow is a very fat one--or perhaps she carries two calves. Does the meal please you?”
Roy laughed a little. “Or maybe my barn is too small for her. And yes -- the food is very good.” He popped another morsel into his mouth for emphasis.
Rehena passed that along, and one of the adult women at the table answered. Rehena switched languages again and said, “Nerah thanks you for the kind words.”
Roy cast about for something else to talk about. “Do your grandchildren have lots of other children to play and grow up with? Or...maybe that's another question I shouldn't ask.” The stone of the houses glowing red hot and grown men screaming alongside their children...
“There is no harm in asking questions, Roy Mustang,” the Elder said gently. “There are other children to play the stick game and learn the shapes of writing with my grandchildren. My family is blessed--I have fourteen grandchildren to see growing. Some houses have only one or two children, but in time, perhaps when you hold your grandchildren and tell them stories of this time, the streets will again ring all day with the voices of strong, happy little boys and little girls.”
“If your people leave any of mine alive to raise children,” Jzhenbah muttered at the end of the table.
“Theirs are not the only guilty hands,” Rehena said severely. She went on in Ishbalan, and Roy forced himself not to squirm under the pressure in the room. The old woman finally sighed, and said to Roy, “Please forgive my son Jzhenbah, Roy Mustang.”
“I don't expect old grudges and fears to disappear overnight,” Roy answered, smoothing his face and voice into the calm that hid his feelings behind formal protocol.
The Elder put her cool, dry hand over Roy's and squeezed it firmly. “You are my guest. We fear you, yes, but you have shown your regret and come to ask forgiveness and peace. The war is ending. Now we must learn to sit and talk over a good meal. Does it seem so to you?”
“That's a large part of the reason I came here, Vrua,” Roy answered. He turned toward Jzhenbah. “I fear you, Jzhenbah. Not just because you carry that sword and hate my guts, but because if you and I can't learn to at least tolerate each other it'll be at least another generation before anyone can say for sure whether this” he tapped his cheek below the cut Nikai had slashed across his face “really is the last blood of the war.” He went back to eating, concentrating on the flavor and texture of the greens and preventing his hands from visibly shaking.
There was silence for a long moment, then Rehena said gravely, “I fear you, Roy Mustang, called the Master of Fire--but you are only one man, with only the time God will give you. I fear more the armies. An army can march ever into the future and trample all under its feet.” She took a deep breath, then went on with a little humor. “The cow kicks in her stall again. Perhaps we should simply open the gate and let her out.”
“She doesn't seem to want to settle down,” Roy agreed. “But letting her out is going to cause even more conflict at your table.”
“There will always be conflict,” Rehena said calmly. “Men and women and children are meant to share home and table and bed, but they are of different minds and will argue, now and again. That does not say that they should not live together.” She tapped the back of his hand with one fingertip. “You came here, blind and alone. You trusted, despite your fears.”
“And in exchange you trusted me with your family,” Roy answered. “You saw for yourself that even blind and alone, I'm far from helpless, but you invited me to eat with you. So, we both took a risk.”
“There is no such thing as a life without risk,” Rehena said. “I accept the risk, and pray that God will grant it to me to see your people and mine walking the market together, without their guns or their slings at hand, and the yevarshedaht walking among them with their swords sheathed.”
Roy let his eyes close as he lowered his chin. “We share that goal, Vrua.” He let the watchful silence stretch, then sighed and opened his eyes again. “Someday, maybe I'll bring my friend's daughter here to Golden Xerxes, and see it through her eyes.”
“May her eyes see for you the glint of the sun on the coats of our horses and the silent stillness of the red rocks, and the water of the rivers running warm in the canyons,” Rehena said in a tone of blessing. “God teaches us with this land, Roy Mustang, son of Amestris. My people tell stories of when it was green and full of wild birds, and stories of times when no rain fell and we were driven north to the ice lands to find water for the goats and our horses. Rich caravans have traveled here under the cool of the moon, and kings have ridden to war under the sun. There have been great cities here, and nomads singing around the wells. We say 'the stones know much, and the wind whispers in old voices.'”
The words brought the timeless moonlight almost close enough to touch. Roy paused a moment, then murmured, “Some day, Elder, I hope to learn some of that history.”
“If you wish I will tell you some of the stories after the meal is finished...and perhaps you will speak of your people?
“I'd be honored,” Roy answered.
“It will be so, then,” Rehena said warmly. “Not many of your nation have ever said they would listen to our stories.”
“Then I'll listen even more carefully, so I can accurately repeat what I hear.”
Rehena paused, then said in a more formal register, “You are wiser than your face, Roy Mustang.”
Roy blinked. “I'm afraid I don't understand what that means, Madam Rehena. What does my face say?”
Her fingers touched his shoulder, then brushed just beneath the row of stitches across his cheek. “Your face says you are a young man, but your words come from a soul with white hair.”
Roy's breath caught. Sazamuz. He chose his answer with care. “I can't see my face or my hair, Elder. I rely on the people around me to be my mirrors.”
The rumble that went around the table at Rehena's translation of the comment told Roy he'd provoked thought. What those thoughts were, his hosts kept to themselves.
*****
With the meal finished, Rehena led Roy into another room and handed him onto a well-cushioned bench. Rehena spoke, and after a bit of taut discussion someone climbed the steps, and came down with a young child who burbled and shook something wooden that rattled and clicked. The family bustled around him, and unfamiliar scrapes and even a few heavy thumps of wood on wood filled his ears. Roy turned this way and that, trying to guess what the sounds meant without asking. Jzhenbah's voice spoke from the wall opposite Roy, and Samuj answered. Roy identified their task as woodworking of some kind by the sound of blades on wood. Someone else was sewing something-the hiss of thread running through fabric gave it away. Rehena herself sat nearby and made herself comfortable, then said, “I will spin, as old women do, and spin for you a story, Roy Mustang. Do you know the story of the world's making?”
Roy rested his hands on his knees. “No, Ma'am. I'd like to hear it, if you'll tell it.”
Rehena began, the words slow as she translated. “We tell it so--before the world was, before the people were, before the stars or the sun and moon shone, God dreamed in the dark silence. And God dreamed of the things that were not, saw the light that had no lamp, and heard the sounds that were silent. It was so for a long time and no time at all, because in a place that is no place there is no time.” She paused, then added, “We say, 'so it is told' and 'so we will tell it.' I say “yulsh hikyahyi.”
The family answered reflexively. “Olschka zimyair.”
"So it is told, and so we will tell it," Roy repeated. “Ohzka...Olza...”
“Ol-schka,” Rehena said slowly. “Olschka zim-yai-ir”.
“Olzaka simyahr,” Roy said, knowing he was missing at least a few of the details.
“Yes,” Rehena said with approval. “So it was told to me by my grandmother, and it was told to her by her grandmother. When God woke, God saw nothing, heard nothing, had nothing and no one, but God remembered the dreams of all that was not. So God made for herself a voice, and she sang to the silence, and there was sound. And God made for herself a lantern that was the sun, so there would be light. So God was pleased, and filled all of that place-before with the light of the lantern and the sound of her voice. This is what we sing of, when we sing and dance for a birth, because just as a child is born from a woman, so the world was born from God. Yulsh hikyahyi.
“Olschka zimyair,” the family answered without missing a beat.
Rehena murmured softly in Ishbalan for a moment, then switched back into Amestrian. “In time, God thought again of the dreams of that which was not, and God made with her hands the world, and put it close to her lantern to warm it and show its shape to her eyes. She was pleased, and she shaped the world so there would be a place for water and the creatures of the water, and a place for land and the creatures of the land, and trees for the birds of the air to build nests. For God loves the brightly-colored birds and the shining fish in the water and the things that walk upon the land. Do you understand this, Roy Mustang? Do my words speak clearly?”
“You're very clear, Vrua Rehena,” Roy answered. “I'm curious as to why you use the word "she" for God. I thought your God was 'he.'”
“God was before there was male and female,” Rehena explained. “There is not a word in your language for iva, so I say 'she', because God is the womb of life. Others say 'he' because God stands as the man guarding his children in the night.”
Roy squashed the comment that leapt to mind, and said instead, “Eeva. I'll remember that.” He smiled. “I like the idea of the sun as God's lantern. There are scholars among my people who spend a lot of time arguing over how big and how far away the sun is, and what's it's made of.”
“Our scholars have spent many centuries and rivers of ink wondering what God uses as lamp oil,” Rehena said with amusement in her tone. “It seems to me this is a foolish thing to do, when one can't reach the sun to find out the truth, and there is so much to learn here on the world God made for us.”
“In my experience there's always someone who thinks 'impossible' means 'something I haven't tried yet',” Roy said ruefully. “Who knows, maybe someday one of them will find a way to go to the sun and find out what makes it shine.”
“Perhaps. We say "God makes many surprises."
Something whirred, then the click-buzzzz-click of a loom started somewhere off to Roy's left. Rehena went on comfortably, “Will you hear more of the story?”
“Oh, yes of course,” Roy answered, turning his attention back to the elderly woman. “I didn't realize you weren't finished.”
There was a bit of humor in the answer. “The story is unfolding even today, in this house and in every house in the world. We say that God created men and women, and put them in the finest valley of all the world she made, where the water ran clean and cool to a deep lake of many fish, some the size of two men, and where the trees grew tall to shade the people. And though there were many men and many women, there were no races between them, and they all spoke and understood each other, and all of them saw God's face near the sun that was God's lantern, and heard God's voice in the soft breezes in the trees. They ate the fish of the lake and the good things that grew in the valley, and they were ever close to God, as the infant is close to her mother. So God was pleased with the people, and they grew strong and had many children, and their voices filled the valley as God's voice filled all that was and all that is.”
Roy found himself slipping into the story, picturing giant fish and a deep forest. The part of his mind devoted to his mission weighed the political and personal risks and realities, then allowed the rest of him to relax and show rapt interest.
“It was a time of peace and laughter--the childhood of all the world,” Rehena went on. “But every child must grow and learn, and in time God saw that the people did not grow. They learned nothing new, made nothing the first of their kind had not made, and thought nothing of their blessings, as they had never known the world without them. They sang and they danced for God to please her, but their souls were shallow as a child's bowl and thin as the new shoots of grain in the spring. God said, 'These people I have made are only children, they hear me always and bend ever to my will. I will take my voice from their ears and hide my face from them, and I will see what they do when they choose their paths themselves." So God took her voice from the wind, and created from a piece of the world a mask that is the moon, so the people would not know where she was. So God watched to see what the people would do.”
“If people then were the way people are now, some of them probably got into a lot of trouble,” Roy murmured.
“Some cried to God as a child cries for her mother. Some were angry, and cursed God loudly. Still others sat down to wait for God to return. But God did not take away the mask of the moon, and did not speak to the people. And as the people had children, and grandchildren, and the grandchildren had grandchildren, and still God was silent, the valley filled with so many people that they cut down the trees to make room for themselves, and they caught so many great fish that there were no more of them to eat. And when there were no more fish, and all the good plants in the valley were eaten up, the hungry people went out of the valley, and they killed the animals of the plains and ate them. Some of the people walked away, far to the south, and God's lantern the sun made them dark like old wood. They made bricks of clay and built towers to the sky to worship the lantern that is the sun and the mask that is the moon, because they had forgotten the truth of God. Some people walked away to the east, where the moon rises, and their faces became like the moon, pale and round. And they found there the sea, with its many fish and the great creatures that live in the deeps. They made boats and fished for the creatures, and they built temples of stone to the sea serpents they worshiped, for they too had forgotten God. Those who walked away to the west heard the thunder and thought God had returned in anger, so they built fires and sacrificed their children to calm the roaring--but God is not in the thunder, so the western peoples went astray. The colors of the fires mark them still--their beards are red and yellow and black. Those who walked to the north found the ice, and the white bears and wolves. They saw the bright snakes of winter fire in the sky, and they said to each other, "See! It is God!", and they worshiped the cold fire, and thought they read God's words in the turning of the snakes. They looked so long into the night sky that their eyes became black, and their bodies turned pale with the cold. There are not many of them left, in these times--looking too long at the sky gives the wolves time to close their circle.”
“And yet...there are enough of the northern people to threaten my own land. So the wolves haven't gotten all of them yet,” Roy murmured.
“Perhaps they are not so numerous as they would have you think,” Jzhenbah rumbled. “A man's eye is easily tricked. Your people have claimed much of their land, as you took much of ours.”
“That may be true,” Roy allowed. “But the Drachmans have a history of trying to conquer everyone on their borders and turn defeated enemies into slaves.”
“Some would call that justice,” Jzhenbah growled.
“The wise would call that foolish,” Rehena said forbiddingly. “The foreigner who is conquered and put into chains does not think of learning the ways of God and teaching his children to do what is right. He thinks of freeing himself and his family, and claiming revenge in his master's blood.” She stopped as something moved near Roy's foot.
An infant hand took hold of his pant leg and pulled. The child stood, using Roy's knee for support, crowing and bouncing on baby legs.
Roy smiled and bent toward the child, then felt his face fall as Nerah spoke sharply and swooped in to scoop up the youngster. The baby wailed and Nerah shushed with nervousness.
Roy dropped his outstretched hands to his knees and said quietly, “Perhaps it's time I go back to the weaver woman's house.”
“Perhaps. It is very tiring to be a guest in a strange house,” Rehena answered.
“And I don't want to overstay my welcome.” Roy stood. “I hope that we can do this sort of thing again sometime, Elder. Would you join us at our table? I'm afraid Scar and I wouldn't be able to provide you with such an excellent meal, but I enjoyed talking with you and hearing your story.”
“It would honor me to sit at your table again, and you will hear as many stories as you have ears to hear,” Rehena answered warmly. “Jzhenbah will walk with you to guide you back to the weaver-woman's house.”
“Thank you,” Roy said with a small polite bow. “You've been more than gracious.”
“And you are a guest of courtesy and wisdom.” There was a creak and a rustle of fabric, then the Elder took Roy's hands. “I have fourteen grandchildren, Roy Mustang. I have buried two sons and a daughter, and I am an old woman. You rode across the desert blind with one who hunted your people for a guide, and you have shed your blood to seal the end of the war.” She squeezed his hands and spoke in firmer tones. “I believe you are truly penitent, and you have the strength and the wisdom to lead your people to a new path.”
“Again, thank you. Please thank your family for their hospitality and tolerance,” Roy said.
Rehena spoke to Jzhenbah, then released Roy's hands. The Amestrian Emissary took the warrior-priest's arm and did his best to ignore the man's grim silence and concentrate on following without falling.
*****
Roy waited until Scar closed the door behind Jzhenbah, then fumbled his way to a chair and sank into it.
“You were gone longer than I expected,” the apostate commented.
“Rehena's determined to give me a chance to win over her tribe, starting with her family,” Roy answered. He propped his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Some of them are more open to the idea than others.”
“Did you expect anything different?” Scar asked in a nonplussed tone.
“No.” Roy sighed and straightened up. “Frankly I'm surprised that she trusted me enough to extend the invitation, then insist that her daughter-in-law bring the baby down to the living room to hear your story of how the world began.” He ran his hand over his face. “I'm not sure whether that was sazamuz for me or just trying to push her family into accepting me.” He tugged his bangs. “On a more mundane topic, how do I find a barber around here?”
“You won't. Women cut the hair of their men.”
“So...does that mean you and I have to cut each others' hair?” Roy frowned.
“No, that means you should ask one of the yevarshedaht to tell the Elders you'd like someone to see to your hair.” Scar paused, then went on archly, “And I'd rather shave my head than let a blind man near it with scissors.”
“Why?” Roy asked in mock innocence. “I promise I won't say your new haircut looks awful.”
Scar gave that the snort it merited, and changed the subject.
*****
The radio hiss gave way to a barrage of clicks. Roy Mustang took his fingers from the carved board representing Scar's tattoos and put the headset over his ears. It was a standard military code set, without the cues he and his people used to indicate that they were secure enough to talk. Roy relaxed and listened in idle curiosity, then startled as his own coded military enlistment number chattered over the airwaves. Colonel Roy Mustang, your king is in check.
Roy blinked, then found the telegraphy key. But your queen stands at my side. This is a surprise, General.
There was an acknowledging pattern, then a familiar voice. “Your people have been busy, my boy. I'm surprised there's any ink left in the city, with all the reports and signatures they've written.”
“They've always been diligent,” Roy answered. “I hope they're working as hard for you as they did for me.”
“Don't be silly, Roy, they may report to me, but they're still working for you. Fortunately they're not doing anything I didn't expect or don't approve of. All I had to do was substitute civilian trains for military equipment and change a few routes.”
“I'm glad to hear that. My hosts asked me when to expect the release of their people today, and brought up some other things they'd consider acts of good faith.”
“Oh? What is it they'd like?”
“They asked that we send the people in the camps to Ata Dargan and Sarmisay. They're going to set up some camps of their own on their side of the border to help families and tribes reunite. They've also asked for supplies and their horses-the ones with metallic colors in their coats.”
“Hmm-that almost sounds like they're asking for what they need to mount a retaliatory campaign.”
“I'm sure there will be some attempts to turn back and strike Amestris, sir. We should probably be prepared to handle a few raiders along the border. But the impression I get is that the majority of these people just want their relatives to come home, and from a practical standpoint, there are a lot of reasons we should do everything we can to get the Ishbalans resettled in their own country.”
“More now than in the past,” General Grumman agreed. “Have your people told you what's happening in the west?”
“Only that General Armstrong has moved part of her army that direction.”
“Yes, she has. Creta's been very interested in our politics of late, and we've had some trouble in the far western mountains. Seems someone's been trying to stir up the westerners with rhetoric about their ancestral Cretan roots.”
“And getting access to the coal and gold mines in those mountains is only a bonus, I'm sure.” Roy said dryly. “So we have to get the Ishbalans out of those mines before they get swept into a rebellion in the west.”
“Olivia's troops are going to the west to stabilize the western army and make sure the changeover from Ishbalan to local mine labor goes smoothly,” Grumman agreed blandly. “Once they have work to do and money coming in, I'm sure the westerners will be less interested in going up against an army led by the Ice Queen of Briggs just to change which capital they send their taxes to.”
“No doubt,” Roy said. “Her ideas about training and discipline will probably be an unpleasant shock to the western commanders, though.”
“It's good to put the troops through some hard training from time to time, don't you agree?” The general's tone was still mild. “A little shakeup of the routine keeps men from getting soft and complacent.”
“As long as you're sure of the one doing the shaking,” Roy answered.
“I'm sure she'll take the western divisions in hand just as she did the northern ones,” Grumman said calmly. “In a few months we'll have a western army ready to take on God himself.”
“Let's pray we don't need one,” Roy said with a crook of a grin. He straightened up in his chair and said, “You should probably have some reserve equipment and troops ready to hand, though, just in case.”
“And you'd recommend drawing them from Ishbal?” Grumman chuckled. “Don't worry about that, my boy, I'd have started ordering a pullout within the next few days even if your people hadn't given those orders for me. I think I'm going to march them southwest rather than due west, though.”
“Is Aerugo stirring up border trouble too?” Roy frowned.
“Aerugo's always hoping our backs will turn long enough for a little invasion or two,” the general answered. “I expected one or more of the queens to try the border, Colonel. You take care of keeping the Ishbalans busy sorting themselves out and arguing about what to do with you and that stone you carried in your baggage, and Olivia and I will handle things here at home. I'll see about rounding up some horses to add to the confusion.”
“Yes, sir.” Roy kept his tone relaxed with effort. “When should I tell the Elders to expect the first of their people to arrive for that sorting?”
“That depends on how many train crews we can convince to come out of retirement for a little while, and how many locomotives and passenger cars we can spare from normal service. Perhaps I'll ask dear Olivia to find out whether the Armstrong Locomotive Works can loan us some, hmm?”
“I'll leave it in your hands, General.”
“Thank you, Roy. I do enjoy seeing my plans come together and play out. Command is such a satisfying role, don't you agree?”
Roy kept his tone neutral. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“I'm sure you miss barking orders and seeing your subordinates scurry to obey,” Grumman went on. “But let me know what you'd like to say, and this old dog will bark it all over the country for you, if need be.”
“Understood, sir. Does the old dog have orders for me?”
“Tell the Ishbalans their relatives will be waiting for them in Ata Dargan and Sarmisay about three or four weeks from now, and I'd personally appreciate it if they left the columns moving southwest alone.”
“I'll do that.”
“Good. Good night, Roy. Give your people my warmest regards when you talk to them.” Grumman tapped out the end-transmission sequence, leaving Roy alone with the radio hissing in his ears and Grumman's tacit warnings ringing clear in his mind.
Go on to Chapter 11.
Go back to Chapter 9.
Go back to Chapter 1.
Author's Notes: A lot of this story grew out of discussions with kashicat about what would have happened if Roy hadn't used Marcoh's Stone to buy back his sight. However, I have added, rewritten, and rearranged so much that whatever faults you may find in this are mine, not hers.
For definitions of and commentary on the Ishvaran words and phrases used in this story, please visit the Ishvaran Glossary. I'm using it for this story, and my co-conspirator fractured_chaos and I are also using it and much of the same cultural worldbuilding in a joint BBC fic named Arcanum Familias.
Ishvaran Glossary: Introduction and Orthography
Ishvaran Glossary: A - M
Ishvaran Glossary: N - Z
Speaking of fractured_chaos, she did the banner!