by TJ Muir
This change came at a perfect time since Jedda was getting a little tired of making flames and arrows. He had made so many small fires he was beginning to worry he would start doing it in his sleep.
“This was fun, and good learning,” Jedda said. “Never before could there have been understanding of all the ways to weave magic together. There must be more ways to weave magic together than there are ways to make special dishes in Tatak Rhe. Each House has their own ways to cook the same dish, and they guard their secret recipes,” he said, looking for comparisons that made sense to him. “It seems magic is a lot like that. Like making arrows, it is possible to make them fly true, or slice through wind, or find the center of a target. Like cooking and ingredients.”
Hrulla nodded, agreeing. “Magic is one thing and many things at the same time, yes. It can be woven into whatever the user has the power and ability to master. Weave magic into a wisp of cloud, shift the air around it just so, and the cloud hops and hops. Weave magic into a stick just so, and the stick shifts the air when it flies, cuts through wind.”
Jedda understood this completely now, having seen and done it himself. Hrulla continued the lesson. “Magic always works best when woven into something at its creation. Like raising a horse to run. Do not wait until that horse is old to teach it. Teach it to run, always as though running is its purpose. And not to ask a plowing horse to be a running horse. Only through sensing the magic directly can this be successful. Those traits become part of it. Chanem always try to make magic go where it does not want to go because they cannot sense what the magic wants and is willing for. This, all Faenyr understand. How to begin, and when to end.”
Jedda caught the slight emphasis on Faenyr, as thought Hrulla did not approve of the Chanem magic -- or the Chanem. As if to emphasize his point, Hrulla’s rabbits hopped away, dissipating back into the misty crevices. “Enough lessons and magic for one day,” he said, getting up. “Tomorrow?” he asked, but Jedda sensed the question was a courtesy, and nodded his agreement.
He sat and watched the clouds for a while. Did Hrulla dislike the Chanem? He couldn’t imagine Zria being such a generous friend and teacher if Hrulla disapproved of him. He realized his scraggly bunny-kitten was still hovering. Hrulla’s last words rang in his ears as he dispersed it. That little bit felt hard now, his mental focus taxed. Finally, he decided to take the afternoon off. He wanted to feel his muscles stretch.
He wandered down toward the B'ashan and out towards one of the common areas. Dyasha. They weren't really parks because the whole community was a kind of park. But there were areas, Dyasha, where people tended to gather.
He found Kai, Destryn, and Kirrin together. Destryn was holding two sticks and dancing around in strange patterns. He was explaining to Kirrin as he moved. Then Kirrin took the sticks, repeating the move.
Destryn nodded. “Good. More like this.'” He raised his arm as though he were shielding his eyes from the sun.
Kirrin nodded, repeating the move. As Jedda came up, he saw that the sticks were actually elaborately carved wood, rich dark purple and black. Hand grips of wrapped suede and symbols that he didn't recognize.
“Mostly, is practiced without the Kroatah. But is good to feel the difference,” Destryn said as Kirrin repeated the movement. “Now, from the beginning.” He stepped next to Kirrin so the two of them stood side by side a few feet apart.
“Begin with Vrachat, the cat stretches,” he said, as the two of them slowly raised their arms, with fingers pointing downward.
It did remind Jedda of a cat, as the two of them bent at the waist, backs arched, with hands stretched out.
“Yndras, carry the sun,” he said, and the two of them turned sideways, as though they were picking up a ball, and lifting it over their heads from left to right, across the sky and down toward the ground on the other side.
They went through a series of these movements, a strange pattern that wasn't quite a dance. Jedda watched, realizing this was not Kirrin's first lesson in whatever they were doing. It was mesmerizing, and Jedda wanted to try it, but he was still upset with Kirrin. He was glad Kirrin was finding a place for himself, keeping busy, but Jedda still hadn't reconciled himself to who Kirrin was, or had been.
After a while, he looked over at Kai. “So what is this thing they are doing, anyway?” He kept his voice low enough so he wouldn't interrupt their practice.
“This? It's Zrenyalit. Thousands of years ago, the Faenyr learned this art of defense against enemies. There are no longer Faenyr enemies, but the art is still practiced. And is good for the occasional predator, too.”
“The Faenyr had enemies?”
Kai glanced away.
“Oh. You mean us? The Chanmyr,” Jedda asked.
Kai nodded.
“Well, it was a long time ago, if it ever really happened at all, right?”
Another nod. “It was the people before the Chanmyr first came. There was war between them.”
Jedda had a vague recollection of what Kai was explaining from a book of myths he had read once. “There was a story once, in a book. But that was just a story, right? The children of Chayan, or was it the followers of Chayan? One of the Chanem gods. The oldest of them all, like the father of the rest of the Chanem gods, or something.” Jedda was trying to remember, but old stories had never been as interesting to him as machines and flying. “Also, the Faenyr do not fight. Don't believe in fighting.”
Kai nodded. “That is true. But the Faenyr remember. There was war, or struggle because the Chanem do not respect the chenwa or the Faenyr ways,” he said, reaching for the right word. “Now, though, the Faenyr have created the W'ashan.”
Jedda heard a hint of bitterness in Kai’s voice and wondered what he was missing. There was something Kai wasn’t saying, and it wasn’t just a language thing. Kai was picking up the little phrases of Chanem, and his language skills had improved a lot since Jedda had met him. Kai's Chanem was better than Jedda's Faenyr, so they usually spoke in Chanem, unless Kai was trying to explain something that didn't really translate well.
Destryn and Kirrin came to a standstill, and Destryn clapped Kirrin on the shoulder. “Well done,” he said. “You understand this, in your flesh.”
A slight quirk lit Kirrin’s face, part pride in his accomplishment, and part amusement at Destryn’s translation. Kai jumped up as soon as they were done and ran over to his cousin. The two started chattering faster than Jedda could follow. Kirrin took a step backward and then came up to where Jedda was sitting. The two exchanged a look.
“Destryn is right. You understand this, this fighting-dance, in your bones.”
Kirrin shrugged, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel.
Jedda considered that. There was a reason Kirrin understood a fighting art so well. He knew Kirrin as tutor and mentor, but that isn’t who Kirrin was. Not really. Jedda couldn’t quite let that go. It bothered him, like a splinter he would have to keep picking at until he got it out.
“You know, your mom isn't entirely wrong.”
Kirrin looked up sharply, scowling, warning Jedda off.
Jedda wasn’t sure how he felt about Kirrin and their essential difference of opinions. But this man was the closest he had to family. The stress and tension between them was getting old. He still needed to sort out his own feelings, but in the meantime maybe he could help make peace between Kirrin and his mother.
“Look at it her way. There she was, raising a kid, all on her own. She went out of her way to make sure you'd have a chance to do anything you wanted to do. So, it's kind of throwing it back at her. I mean... she wants to see you as her sweet innocent little boy.”
Kirrin's expression grew darker. “What exactly is it that has you so bothered? It isn't like you were some sweet innocent when we found you, after all. You knew what the streets were like, and you know what it is like close to power. What fairy story are you imagining you lived in?”
Jedda had seen plenty in his years on the street, from young girls and
boys selling themselves, to knifings in back alleys over trivial slights--the realities of living on the fringes of society, struggling. He was angry, but he wasn't sure why. What Kirrin said was absolutely true. So why was he so frustrated with someone who had done so much for him?
Finally, he surprised himself with the words he spat out. “I thought you were better than that!”
The two of them stood there, staring at each other. Both of them angry, breathing hard. It was the kind of tension that might have led to blows. Jedda knew in a fight against Kirrin he didn't stand a chance. Kirrin was a fighting machine.
Kirrin stared back at him as though he wasn't sure what to do with this truth Jedda had dropped in his lap. Jedda knew Kirrin wasn't a man of many words, but he sensed his accusation might have struck something deep inside.
Jedda watched, waited, neither one of them looking away. Finally, Kirrin let out a breath, shoulders dropping. “I'm trying. Trying to be... better. For Mother, for everyone... and for you.”
It was Jedda's turn to blink, and he looked away, hearing Kirrin's words. Kirrin was trying to be better. Jedda understood that. But Jedda had never imagined Kirrin might try to be better because of him-- for him. That hurt, touching something deep inside his heart. He wasn't sure what to do with it, but he felt it near his heart and held it there. He made the gesture he had learned, tapping his hand over his heart.
Kirrin nodded gruffly, understanding the gesture, and returned it to Jedda.
Kai and Destryn were keeping a polite distance while Jedda and Kirrin sorted through their differences. Jedda guessed that even without the words, the tone, colors, and gesture were enough to tell Kai what was going on. Jedda realized the Faenyr probably didn’t have many secrets from each other.
“It’s good. It’s okay,” he said, pointing between himself and Kirrin. “Just a misunderstanding.”
Kirrin nodded. “It’s good,” he said, walking back over to where he had been practicing and began going through the routine again. Destryn joined him, adding pointers and reminders.
Kai shrugged, looking uncertain. They sat down and watched for a while. Kirrin moved with the graceful flow of a predator.
Jedda saw Kai turn his head, listening. He turned back to Jedda and sighed. “This has been good. But now it must end. The music summons.”
Jedda cocked his head, listening. He was confused. He knew that sometimes different music indicated something going on. But what he heard now didn't remind him of any music he had heard in his entire time here.
“What is the music saying?” he asked, remembering to speak with proper protocol. He still didn't think that way, although by speaking with this manner, his perspectives were beginning to shift.
“The music calls to the Aya Reyata,” Kai said casually.
“That sounds interesting. Is the music for everyone?”
Kai looked at Jedda a little strangely, then shrugged. “It is for whoever feels drawn to share the experience.”
Jedda perked up, feeling curious. Maybe there would be dancing or some other activity, like a party, games or something fun. “So it's okay to come with you?”
Jedda watched the expression on Kai's face, but couldn't quite read what his friend was thinking. Then it cleared. “It might be a good experience. To share something with the community, like this,” he said, reaching for words. “As a member of the community...?” he added.
Jedda smiled feeling a twitch of excitement. He was going to get to share something that was a Faenyr thing, as one of them.
“Come, then. But the music is calling to come now.”
“What about them?” Jedda asked, nodding toward Destryn and Kirrin.
Kai just shook his head. “Destryn is not Aya to this.”
Jedda shrugged. He was pretty sure Aya meant related or connected, or something close to that. He also figured he wasn't Aya to it, either, then, but kept the comment to himself. He didn't want to miss out on some fun by bringing up a technicality.
Kai led him across the village, over a low ridge to the north. Jedda hadn't really been this way before, so the area was new to him. He wanted to ask Kai where they were going, but didn't want to sound stupid, so he just followed along as they headed toward the source of the music.
Jedda followed Kai into a garden. It's separateness from the rest of the village almost reminded him of Tatak Rhe- a city of vast walled gardens and parks accessible only to the elite and wealthy. They walked through a giant circular gate made of stone. Jedda paused there, touching one of the stones. Strange, he realized now that almost everything in Jynwyn was made of wood, rather than stone. Even the beams in the buildings were fastened with wooden pegs rather than nails.
But here was a vast stone gateway, looking like the entrance to a tunnel. Although the stones were natural, thin and flat, but not cut or shaped in any way. He wasn't sure if that made him feel more or less uncomfortable. On either side of the gate, he caught glimpses of what he thought might be altars or shrines, recessed into the stones. He shook his head, laughing at himself, and stepped through, looking back over his shoulder to reassure himself he had not been transported to some terrifying underworld. Everything looked exactly the same, but he couldn't shake the creepy feeling.
He looked around again, and saw Kai was waiting for him, head cocked, curious but smiling. “Come,” he said, extending his arm in open invitation.
Jedda looked around as he hurried to catch up. They were indeed in some kind of sheltered garden. Thick vines and hedges stretched away from the entrance portal, making a very large circle. Kai was heading towards the center. Jedda wondered what kind of party it was going to be. Or maybe it was all prank and Kai was playing some kind of joke on him.
The path sloped down, and stone walls rose up on either side of them, waist-high. The ground was grassy, but they followed a stone pathway. The music was louder, but Jedda couldn't tell where it was coming from. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It was haunting, eerie. Jedda glanced over his shoulder and tried to shake the feeling they weren't alone.
The sunken garden path narrowed for a while as the walls rose up to chest height, and then almost as high as his head. It began to feel darker, although the sun was out and the sky was clear.
He was about to ask Kai where they were going when the pathway opened up into a broad area. Jedda thought they must have reached the center of the giant circle, but he couldn't be sure because of the way the path had wandered. People dressed in robes of yellow milled about, talking quietly in small groups. Kai held one such robe out to Jedda
“Put it on,” Kai said. “It's... how do you say... proper?”
Jedda was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all, but he didn't feel as if he could walk away now. “Yes. Proper is the correct word. What's...”
“Shhhh,” Kai said, taking his arm gently. He was about to ask what was going on... but he shrugged, deciding he would find out soon enough.
Benches ringed the circle. They were made of the purest, whitest material Jedda had ever seen. He thought maybe it was just because everything else was natural wood tones or green. Kai led him over to one of the benches where Kai's mother was seated.
Toward the front, stood another bench separate from the others. A smaller bench circled it. Jedda couldn't see what was up there.
Before long, Ynith came forward. She was speaking in Faenyr, so he could only follow very small bits of what was going on. It was harder than usual because she was speaking formally, and seemed to be reciting ancient verses. Jedda's attention began to wander, and he tried to see who else was in this group. Then Ynith said something and everyone laughed, heads nodding in agreement.
After that, each person took turns coming to the center and speaking. Jedda kept hearing the word Chularra. After a while, he began to notice a pattern in the speech. 'When Chularra this. or that...' And realized Chularra was a person.
Then Kai stood up and walked to the center. He looked back at the group as
he spoke. “Chularra it was who foaled the first qwatcha horse for me to learn on.” Or at least that was the rough translation Jedda could figure out. Kai went on to talk more of Chularra, recanting tales and sharing his best memories, thanking Chularra for being such a good part of his life. He also made a few apologies for tricks and pranks played as a child, bringing laughter to the group.
Jedda realized this was a party or event for one of Kai's relatives, Chularra. He wondered where the man was, and when he was going to make an entrance.
Kai finished speaking and stepped aside, but didn't return to his seat. Ynith came forward again, along with several of the other village healers. She began to hum, and before long the other healers joined in. The sound hung heavy on the air, ringing with notes of melancholy. It brought a sad ache to Jedda's heart. Something warm ran down his cheek. He reached up to touch his face and was surprised to find himself crying.
And then a lighter melody began to weave through the heaviness, making it bearable. The lilting notes drew Jedda in, lifting his sadness and leaving him feeling lighter. A kind of peace showed on the faces of those gathered around him. Some of them hugged or held each other close. And one by one, they began to join in the song, voices weaving sound into joy.
As the song progressed, the group drew forward, back towards the center. Jedda followed them, curious as to what was going on. There were people standing in front of him, so he couldn't see very much. Someone moved, and Jedda caught sight of the inner circle.