by TJ Muir
“What?”
“To say ‘I this, or I that,' is bad taste to them, like belching at a dinner table.”
Jedda swore to himself, wondering how many times he must have offended the Faenyr.
“As for the polarity," Cham added. "They were referring to the original polarity.”
Cham turned toward Ynith, handing the conversation back into her care. “Polarity teaches control of mind," she said, "and control of magic. Is child’s game to learn, adults’ game to master. Zria to teach“
Jedda cast a doubtful look at the boy, who was barely older than ten.
Cham said something to Zria, who responded in Chanem. “Please to speak Chanem for practicing?”
Cham nodded. Turning to Jedda, he said, “Remember, his understanding of Chanem is limited still. He will not understand many of your common expressions, but he's eager to learn.”
Jedda just looked at him, confused.
Cham said, “If you ask, ‘what is up?’ he would look up, to the sky.”
Jedda nodded, chewing his lip. He had taken his language for granted his whole life. He had never thought about how much of his language did not mean what the words said.
“Jedda has never played this before. Does not use his magic well,” Cham said to Zria. “So we, you, are going to help teach him.”
“Zria will teach hard,” he said, expression serious.
Cham nodded, and then looked back at Jedda. “You are familiar with polarity, as they play it in the city. That game originated from this.” Then he turned and nodded to Zria. Zria reached into his pack and drew out two posts and a hoop. He placed one post at each end and the hoop in the middle. Just like Jedda remembered a polarity playing field looked like.
Then the air in front of Jedda began to shimmer and his eyes went wide. A speck of light winked on inbetween them. Soon after, Jedda could see, or sense, the playing ‘field.’
“The object of the game,” Cham explained, “is to move the ‘ball’ towards the goal,” he pointed towards an area directly in front of Zria. “Here, and here,” he continued, pointing to two spots closer to the middle, “are the pole-hoops. You’ll find it is harder to move the ‘ball’ down the field if it has not touched your own pole-hoop first. When it does, it will change color slightly, tuned to your essence. And you will discover places where the ‘ball’ moves more easily and places it moves harder, or unpredictably.”
Jedda was listening intently, trying to grasp what he was hearing based on the little he knew of the game his friends had always played. He wished now he had learned how to play, instead of declining the invitations to join in.
“The only way to really learn, though, is to play.” Having said that, Cham nodded at Zria.
Zria nudged the ball backward, and it bumped into his own pole-hoop. It was a bit like a magnet, it hovered there, and a second later, Jedda could see it begin to turn a light green. Then the ball moved forward, towards Jedda.
“Imagine trying to stop the ball.”
Jedda stared at the ball, felt sweat beading on his forehead. He imagined his hand in front of the ball, rolling it back. He looked up at Zria, who was smiling patiently. Zria moved the ball around, probably bored, Jedda guessed, from the look on his face.
And then the ball moved, taking both of them by surprise, Zria sat up straight, paying attention now. Jedda got the ball to move again, first to the left, and then to the right. He smiled, feeling like he had accomplished something. Forward, backward, up and down. Then he nudged the ball toward his own pole-hoop, watching as it ‘docked.’ The ball began to pulse, turning a light violet-lavender color.
He nudged it forward, moving it down the field. He began to feel pretty good about it. And then the ball moved the other direction, taking him by surprise. Zria grinned. So, Zria had been sitting back the whole time and letting him learn. By the look on Zria’s face, he was pleased now that Jedda could begin to play.
The two of them spent many hours every day playing.
Between his ongoing tree-learning, playing polarity with Zria, and the occasional game of qwatcha, Jedda barely saw his friends. He fell into an exhausted sleep each night, often before dinner was over.
Chapter Eleven
The elders kept Jedda busy with lessons and tasks. He began to look forward to playing qwatcha with Kai and Destryn. He knew he was nowhere as good at it as they were, but he tried hard and they were impressed with his daring.
That increased skill came at the expense of no few bruises and a cracked rib. But even that felt like a rite of passage, where he became more accepted into the group of players. He liked that playing didn't require much of the language since he spoke very little of it still. He understood enough of the words and calls now to know what was going on and what his teammates were telling him to do. And Jespen was a solid little horse, who was learning to put that intuitive feeling into predicting and helping Jedda on the field. He was pretty sure Jespen was enjoying this new game after many years of living in a stable. There was a sparkle to the horse that hadn't been there a few months before.
After one of their games, he, Kai, and Destryn were walking out the horses. Destryn nodded over at Jespen. “A solid little warrior, that.”
Jedda patted the horse's neck and Jespen head-butted him, knocking him off balance.
Destryn and Kai laughed, and Jedda looked at his horse. Jespen blinked at him with a feigned innocence.
“Don't even try to pretend that was an accident,” Jedda said.
Jespen snorted and shook his mane, maintaining his innocence.
Jedda patted him again, scratching the horse behind his ears.
“A more experienced horse would improve your playing now,” Destryn said.
Jedda hugged Jespen's neck, feeling protective and loyal to this friend who had kept him safe and taken such care of him. Destryn was right, though. The Tajynal horses were long bred and raised to this world, and to have this kind of nimble dexterity. They were quick and moved like the wind. Jespen was what he was, a well-bred horse for the son of a powerful noble. Handsome, a smooth ride, and he took perfect care of his rider. He was fitter and faster than he had ever been, Jedda guessed, but he had never been bred for that kind of speed and quick turning. He felt torn, especially knowing Jespen was not as young as most of the horses racing around the playing field. But he did have heart.
“Well, this one is the only one I have, and he is only loaned to me as it is,” Jedda said, realizing that at some point, he should send him back to Trey. All three horses should be returned. The thought made him sad, missing his friends in Tatak Rhe, worrying about whether they were safe or not. He hoped Trey had taken his advice. And Diya? He dreamed of their time together and would wake, remember where he was, and feel miserable.
By now, the horses were cooled off, so the three of them brushed them down, and put them out with the herd. Jespen raced off with the others, tail up, looking happy and at home, his color stark against the golden hues of the herd.
It was lunch time when they got back, so they went to wash up. It was generally expected, within the village, to be clean at meals. That suited Jedda well, as he had determined many years ago never to be dirty or ill-kept again. He had made that decision upon being given his first set of brand new, tailored clothes.
They found a giant pot of rabbit stew at the B'ashan, and helped themselves to it, and then to a second serving. They lounged out in the sun, Destryn recapping their practice game, coaching Jedda.
Cham came up, and Destryn nodded to Kai. “Dishes.”
Jedda started to rise. “Three would make it quicker."
“No need. Qwatcha later,” Destryn said over his shoulder as he and Kai left Jedda with Cham.
“So, how are the trees?” Cham asked.
Jedda shrugged. “Not very exciting. Half of it is mystical gibberish I don’t really understand.”
Cham nodded. “Understanding will come.”
“Chenwa this, giffryn that.” Jedda sighed.
“It’s like that lya chiqui you always talk about. Giffryn isn’t that hard… it’s a bit like a so’har, a clan. But the chenwa and the lya chiqui stuff makes heads explode.”
“You do not understand these things. Not the way the Faenyr do. Not yet.” Cham sat on a giant log that sprawled along the ground. “Imagine standing in the center of Jynwyn. There are different roads, each a different color. Which one is the right one to take?”
“It depends on where you want to go.”
“And so it is with the lya chiqui. The road that is your life, your path through the world. Always from every point, every present, many paths branch. Knowing which one is the right one to take means knowing the goal. All paths lead somewhere. The lya chiqui is the one that leads us forward. The one the gods are pointing us toward.”
Jedda thought about that. “But what if we choose not to follow a path the gods want?”
Cham shrugged. “That is always the choice. So it might depend on how strongly the gods wish it. So, if a path or choice repeats, it is wise to pay attention.”
Jedda nodded. “Okay. So I understand this will of the gods lya chiqui thing, sort of. But what are this chenwa and giffryn? It’s hard to ask Ynith these things. I don’t want to make her angry.” Jedda heard his wording, flinched at how readily he fell back into Chanem thought patterns.
“Do you remember how Ynith made you learn the trees?”
Jedda nodded.
“At first, one tree. And then another tree, and another.”
“Don’t remind me,” Jedda said, and then he caught himself. “Go on.” He knew Cham was trying to help him to understand. And right now, Cham was the best chance he had.
“At first it was a tree, and then many trees. Then, came the learning of connection between trees. All trees. From tree to tree to tree.”
Jedda had learned to sense his surroundings from the trees. But this was new to him. “All trees are connected? Connected to each other?”
Cham nodded. “In a way, yes. All are connected.”
“Okay. So how does this help understand chenwa?”
“If it can be understood that all trees are connected, can be felt directly, then can it be understood that all things are connected. All things possess a life force that binds them together. The web of everything.”
Jedda nodded, deciding he would think about it more, later. It felt good to spend time with Cham, to speak Chanmyr. He hadn’t spent much time with any of his friends lately and he felt guilty.
“Have you seen Tattia and Kirrin?” he asked.
Cham nodded. “Kirrin has been riding with the herds, moving them between pastures. I think Tattia has also been riding.”
“With Kirrin?” Jedda asked. That was a surprise.
Cham shook his head. “No. There is still disagreement between them. She has been riding with another group. Playing qwatcha.”
Jedda smiled. Tattia enjoyed playing qwatcha. He remembered how happy she had seemed when they were playing. He was glad she had found something she enjoyed.
“And you?” he asked, realizing he had no idea what Cham did every day.
Cham shrugged. “It is less difficult being Faenyr. There are healers here that know much. This time has been good, an opportunity for much learning.”
Jedda nodded. Cham learning healing. He remembered Cham saying his magic was better suited to healing, once. It never occurred to him Cham might be a healer. Other things made more sense now, like how he helped Jedda’s sore muscles, and how he had tended Kirrin when he got hurt.
Jedda heard a noise behind him and turned to see Hrulla approaching, little Zria on his father's heels. “The qwatcha was good?” he asked Jedda.
“Yes. Thank you. And thanks to Kai and Destryn for taking so much time to teach me. It has also helped me understand the Faenyr better.”
Hrulla nodded. “Games help the mind to understand what the brain cannot readily grasp.”
Jedda nodded. He thought he understood what Hrulla meant.
“How fare the trees today?” Hrulla asked, changing the subject.
Jedda blinked, shifting his thoughts. He tuned into his surroundings without thinking. “It will rain soon. The trees are calling the clouds.”
Hrulla nodded, looking satisfied.
Jedda felt proud of himself. He thought there were less awkward moments, fewer transgressions. He knew there were fewer occasions when he slipped and used the word ‘I.’
“Come,” Hrulla said.
Cham nodded, as though approving, or wishing him luck.
Jedda stood up and followed Hrulla. He expected another round of tree-talking, but Hrulla led him toward the healers and elders area instead.
Hrulla led him into the sacred circle, where several of the elders and healers waited. Jedda recognized most of them. Ynith, Enyi, Kitan, Trandiryn, and a few others. He wondered if he had done something wrong, but no one looked angry or distressed.
“You are Jedda,” Ynith said. “You came among us, a child of no parents. This is never a good thing, especially for the Faenyr. The heart bleeds at the pain of being unconnected.”
Worry gnawed at Jedda's stomach. He looked around the circle. Were they about to ask him to leave? Maybe he had misread them all.
“You have come among us as a stranger,” she continued, a slight halting speech as she looked for the right words in Chanem. “But you are a stranger no longer.”
Jedda hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he let it out with a sigh, hearing those last words. That sounded hopeful. He had forgotten how completely his fate was in the hands of these people he barely knew.
“This circle has spoken long on this. The time is acceptable to welcome you among our Giffryn.” Jedda knew that word meant something like tribe or village, but could also mean a lineage or family. He looked around the circle, confused.
“Do you respect the ways of our people?” Hrulla asked.
'I try,' Jedda almost began, and then stopped himself. “The ways of the people, the Giffryn, have taught me much, increasing my wisdom. These ways should be respected.”
Hrulla nodded, glancing around the circle. Jedda also looked around, hoping to figure out what was going on.
“Do you respect the Chenwa around you?”
Jedda knew that word meant the land, but it had a deeper meaning than the rocks and soil. It conveyed the essence of the land as much as the lives and objects within the land. “The Chenwa sustains us all and the voice of the Chenwa should be heeded by all.”
Again Hrulla nodded, looking satisfied with Jedda's response.
“And do you respect the Tarish?”
Jedda was less certain about this question. He still wasn't entirely sure what or who the Tarish were. The Faenyr referred to them as gods, but not the way Chanem referred to gods. Sometimes it seemed like they meant the word as a life-force. Other times, it seemed like they were talking about real beings who might, or might not, also be Gods. But he understood, or thought he understood, that the Tarish maintained the balance between elements, between land and people, between people and magic, between people and the gods.
“That which maintains balance should always be respected. Without balance, there can be no life.”
As he was speaking, Jedda was hearing his own answers. Even though he knew what he was saying sounded like a child's answers, he felt the truth of the words he spoke. And he grasped these were fundamental principles upon which the Faenyr- both Tajynal and Shendahal- sustained their way of life. Everything was about maintaining a balance, the chenwa.
He looked around the circle, at the faces patiently watching him, without judgment, waiting.
A few comments were whispered, but he couldn't understand what was being said. Then Ynith motioned him over and drew out a small clay pot and a carefully wrapped pouch.
She gestured to him to sit before her as she unwrapped the bundle at her side. “You are Jedda of no family, no longer,” she said, her lilting accent mesmerizing him as the meanin
g of her words began to sink in. “Jedda will have a place among the Giffryn.” She gestured for him to remove his shirt. While he did this, she reached into her bundle and drew out a very thin knife with a sharp point and three small clay pots.
Jedda was most focused on the knife, especially after he got a better look and realized it was actually a needle. He fought down his panic, heart racing.
Hrulla brought a cup to Ynith, she drank deeply, eyes closed. She sat that way for a while. When she opened her eyes, she had a faraway look on her face. She pointed to Jedda's left arm, holding out her hand. He extended his arm, forcing his muscles to relax as she picked up the needle. She dipped it in a small clay pot and when she drew it out, he sensed a shimmer. It reminded him of a jar of paste, long ago, in the vast archives of Tatak Rhe, used to bring an old portrait back to vivid clarity.
Ynith began drawing on Jedda's arm, tiny little pricks and jabs that poked into his skin. He tried not to flinch as she drew, weaving a complex pattern. After a while, he got used to the discomfort, and his arm grew sore and tired from holding it up. But he took a breath and steadied himself. He shifted into his breath. He could feel the shimmer in his skin.
When they were done, Jedda stood up and almost stumbled. His legs had fallen asleep. It was almost dark. They had spent many hours in the circle, but he had lost track of the time. He felt it now. Hrulla steadied him, helping him find his balance as he stretched his legs out, waiting for the agony of pins and needles to subside.
Hrulla smiled at him. Jedda looked down at his arm, amazed. Dark green leaves and silvery vines twisted and wove around each other in a half circle. He recognized the design from Ynith and Hrulla’s giffryn. Nested in the vines was an owl, perched on a branch. The owl was bright turquoise with black lines. He felt it peering up at him. He wondered if someone had told them about his owl, or if this was a coincidence.
Jedda looked up at Hrulla and smiled back. He was a member of this community now. He had a home, a place of his own.
He wanted to run and tell his friends. But he also wanted to be alone. He felt both of those drives and was trying to decide which he should give in to. What would they think? Would they be happy for him? Maybe they would feel jealous, or resentful, of this change?