Sayri didn’t know what to say; she shrugged.
“No training, you do this,” the old woman said. Then, as if suddenly coming to a decision, “Ooji teach you. Start today, you call Ooji Elder. Understand?”
Sayri frowned, not entirely sure what Ooji meant. But if she could help her understand more about the Great Link—and more importantly, if she could help reunite her with Arad—then she would do whatever the old woman told her to. “Elder,” she repeated, inclining her head.
Ooji nodded approvingly. “Ok, let begin.”
・ ・
The evening meal was simple; they hadn’t brought much with them, and Ooji had not left food in the house. She started to improvise some soup from their meagre supplies, but soon lamented about the lack of meat; Sayri told her to wait a short while, and went out. The local lizards were slightly larger than the lapizars with which she was familiar in her homeland, but they were less cautious; she simply scraped the dirt outside a burrow with a tuft of grass, and the reptile poked its head right out into her snare, in less than a hundred heartbeats.
When she returned with a good-sized lizard Ooji was thrilled; she had it skinned and diced into the soup in moments, and they were eating soon after.
Once their bellies were full, they sat together on the patio holding wooden cups brimming with hot spiced tea, and Sayri finally felt the time was right to question her new teacher. During the afternoon practice Ooji had expressed neither disappointment nor approval to Sayri, and she was curious why, especially after her initial pleasure at Sayri’s ability to channel so easily.
While eating the woman had seemed detached, and even now she remained quiet. They sat there quietly for a long while; finally, Sayri couldn’t keep her silence.
“Ooji Elder, did I do poorly today?” she asked carefully. “I can work much harder, if so.”
Ooji peered at her over her tea. “You think poor today?”
Sayri shrugged. “Honestly, I do not know. I’ve never seen . . . I have no reference,” she said with dismay. “I tried my best, really.”
“Try your best?” Ooji asked, frowning; then she chortled. “You first day,” she said.
“Yes,” Sayri agreed. Did the old woman expect so much from her? “I can do better tomorrow.”
“I sorry, girl. Ooji cannot teach you.”
“What? Why not? I thought—”
“Stop, girl,” Ooji said, then she leaned forward and tapped Sayri on the forehead. “Noise, noise, noise. Stop.”
Sayri frowned. “All right.” She tried to stop thinking, and just listened.
“I tell girl move grass, she move grass, see?” The old woman swept her fingers back in forth, emulating the swaying of grass in the wind.
“Yes,” Sayri said quickly. “I did as you said.”
“Stop noise,” Ooji said crossly, thrusting a finger at her. Sayri shut up. “Ok,” the woman went on, “I tell girl make silence in wind, she make silence in wind. Yes?”
Sayri nodded affirmation.
“I make candle, tell girl put out candle, she put out candle, yes?”
Sayri nodded again.
“And I tell girl stop Elder ears so she not hear anything; girl stop Elder ears,” Ooji finished.
Sayri couldn’t resist speaking. “Yes, Ooji Elder, I have done everything you ask of me. Why won’t you teach me?”
Ooji sipped her tea patiently while Sayri waited. “Each exercise I tell girl take many year to master from student.”
“I won’t quit, Ooji Elder,” Sayri protested, but the old women just shook her head.
“Each you do first time,” Ooji said impatiently. “All do, first time. Last not even exercise, Ooji just make impossible idea. You see?”
Sayri shook her head. “No I don’t see. If I did them all right, why won’t you teach me?”
The old woman sighed. “Ooji no say will not teach. Ooji say can not teach. Ooji cannot teach because girl already do everything! Like teach sprinter how run—silly! Pointless!”
“But . . . I don’t know anything,” Sayri said, her eyes starting to glisten. Why was Ooji doing this? Why reject her? “I don’t understand, Ooji. Am I too stupid to learn anything new?”
Ooji leaned over to her then, and reached out to touch her cheek; a tear rolled down onto the old woman’s hand. “Stop noise, Sayri,” she said gently; she pronounced Sayri’s name as if it were two words. “Listen Ooji.”
“Okay,” Sayri said. She tried to push down her upset, to empty her mind as the Proselyte had taught her, as Ooji had taught her, but it was difficult.
“See here!” Ooji suddenly shouted, holding a finger up in front of Sayri’s eyes. Sayri was startled, and shifted her weight back slightly. “Good,” Ooji said. “Now, girl, tell me how many finger Ooji hold under skirt.”
“What?” Sayri asked, confused.
“How many!” The old woman was stern.
“I don’t know,” Sayri replied. “How could I know that?”
“Close eyes, empty thinking,” Ooji instructed. “How many finger?”
Sayri closed her eyes slowly with a sigh. At least she is still trying to teach me, even if I’m stupid. She emptied her mind, allowed her thoughts to fade away, and listened to the breeze, and the hum of background noise from the town . . . then she gave those sounds permission to fade away as well, until she felt as if her mind was an empty vessel, completely void, ready for whatever the universe chose to place within it. She reached out with her feelings, and sought the fingers under Ooji’s skirt, to see how many she held extended there.
Nothing happened.
“How many, girl?” the old woman demanded.
“I don’t know, Ooji. It isn’t working.” Sayri sighed.
“Tell me how many, girl! You know! I certain you know!”
“No,” Sayri said quietly. “I don’t know, Ooji Elder. I don’t know.”
Ooji dropped her voice to a whisper. “Yes, you know,” she repeated. “Just have to find. You find.”
Sayri closed her eyes tried again, and focused. Again, nothing happened. She began to feel frustrated, her eyes burning with tears even though they remained closed. She tried to focus harder, to push everything from her mind, to reach out with her breath and touch the fingers. Still, nothing. “I’m sorry, Ooji,” she said sadly, opening her eyes. “It’s me, I just don’t learn. I’m sorry.”
“No, girl. Tell me!” Ooji shouted at her, her eyes fierce, her hand still held firmly under the folds of her skirt.
“I don’t know!” Sayri shouted back, pulling the red scarf off her head in frustration. “I don’t know how to do it!” How am I supposed to know many damned fingers is she hiding?
Two, she thought. She is close enough to link.
Sayri started. “Two?” she asked suddenly. Then she blinked in confusion, puzzling over the other words that had mysteriously popped into her head. Close enough to link?
“Yes!” Ooji cried in victory, holding up the two fingers valiantly in front of her face. “How many behind back?” she asked, thrusting her other hand behind her.
Sayri frowned. How had she done that? I just asked, she thought. How many fingers is she holding out behind her back?
Four, she thought.
“F-four,” she said, still confused.
“Yes!” Ooji shouted. “You see? You learn new thing. How you feel?”
“I . . .” Sayri blushed. The answer seemed so silly, she almost didn’t want to say it. “I couldn’t feel anything. I just asked. In my mind.”
Ooji frowned. “Just ask?”
Sayri nodded.
“Hold finger behind back. Ooji try.”
Sayri consented, holding one finger out behind her back.
Ooji sat there for hundred heartbeats, then shrugged. “Not work for Ooji. No idea.”
“Just ask the question in your mind,” Sayri said, feeling even more silly now. “Just ask, how many fingers is Sayri holding behind her back? And—”
One, she though
t.
Sayri inhaled sharply. “Did you hear that?”
Ooji shook her head slowly. “Hear what, girl? Trick not work for Ooji. It only in girl’s fool head,” she laughed, poking Sayri on the forehead.
Sayri laughed. “I don’t believe this. How is it happening? What is it, Ooji Elder? Where does it come from?”
The old woman shook her head slowly, smiling at her. “Girl, Ooji learn touch world, and world touch Ooji. Any people learn silence noise in head, know thing, see thing, hear thing, even—maybe with many year practice—change thing, move thing. But you . . .” She sighed, sipped from her tea, grimacing as she found it cold, then continued, “Girl, like Ooji say, you something different.”
“What?” Sayri asked in exasperation. “Ooji, what am I?”
But Ooji just shook her head.
Then a thought occurred to Sayri. “But Ooji Elder, you taught me something, just now. Something you didn’t even know. You can still teach me.”
The old woman considered, then nodded slowly. “Girl right. Ooji still teach. Even, she teach what Ooji not even know.” Sayri grinned at that. “But,” Ooji added after a moment, “only because girl too stupid to learn self.”
Sayri shrugged, laughing. “Yes, Ooji Elder. I think that’s exactly right.”
They sat on the patio after that, drinking cold tea until well into the night. And though she had not found Arad yet, Sayri didn’t feel bad. Ooji was Arad’s family, and now Sayri knew that she had been adopted into that family, and Arad felt closer than ever.
She had found two very important things that she desperately needed.
Family, and hope.
29 GALLORD-SMIT
The eastern coastline of Somria was an undulating, rocky affair. There were occasional stretches of sandy beach, and even one flat, saltwater marsh they passed through, but for the most part the trail wound its way through a monotony of dusty, orange-brown, rolling hills that had become the expected sight when topping another rise.
They had fallen into a pattern on their travels; a lazy, indulgent pattern, to be sure, but one which still covered a reasonable distance each day. Somrian towns tended to be perched atop bluffs overlooking the sea, or nestled amongst hills a short way back from it—particularly if high winds became a problem—so when the road did find its way down along the waterfront, they rarely encountered anyone. Rena was an avid swimmer, and the sun blazed unrelentingly more often than not, so she wanted to partake when the opportunity arose. Gallord-Smit believed haste of greater import and usually attempted to convince her not to stop, but it was no use. She would raise an eyebrow at him, dismount, and strip down nude in front of him, then gaze at him suggestively for a few moments before turning to stride down to the sea, exhibiting no shortage of swaying hip to further influence his decision to join her or not. It was rarely necessary.
He worried briefly the first time about the possibility of man-hunting beasts beneath the emerald green waves, but Rena only laughed at him, though not before taking advantage of his concerns with a great theatrical performance of being dragged under, thrashing and screaming in desperation. Gallord-Smit had not been fooled, but had frowned at her and chastised her for her foolishness, wondering if he would thereafter believe her if such an event truly occurred. This humoured her further, and he spent most of that day’s swim trying not to be pulled under as she submerged repeatedly and attempted to uproot his footing from the bottom.
Rena was a beautiful, fun, and intelligent companion, and he couldn’t help but become lost in the joy of the moment. Compared to the Lords’ Lands, Somria was brimming with luxury and culture, each of the towns being a tour of architecture, art, and cuisine, and each road between them short and pleasant. They were also safe roads; though he almost never witnessed patrols (and when he did, they miraculously stood to the roadside as he and Rena passed), he never saw bandits, or any indication that they even existed. When he queried Rena on the subject, she only frowned and laughed at him, calling him “provincial” again.
And yet, they drew ever closer to Yalcinae, where the Overlord entertained Commander-General Sherzi’s ambitions of war, where Gallord-Smit needed to place himself, somehow, against those ambitions, and secure the release of his lord and the safety of his land.
Two tendays into the journey he discovered why Rena managed to liberally spend coin, yet never empty her small purse. At yet another of their palliates, in a quiet brick house atop a windy bluff, they rose early to depart, having been woken by the gusting breeze. He was saddling the horses in a storm of dust, and went back into the guesthouse to retrieve a forgotten saddlebag. He discovered her opening a small metal box that rested atop the mantle of the tiled stone fireplace, and slipping coins from it into her purse.
He balked at that, thinking she was stealing from them, but when he expressed his shock at this, she (of course) burst out laughing and pointed out once again how naive he was. The coin, she explained, was there for the use of the guests as they require. How else did he think she was paying for everything? Did he imagine she was hiding stacks of coin in her small clothes?
Gallord-Smit only sighed and shook his head, gloomily adding the event to his ever-expanding list of failures in trying to understand her culture. The Somrians in general were odd enough, but the Somrian elite—they were completely unfathomable, and he doubted he would ever find himself ahead of the learning curve.
Not once on their entire trip did it rain. This made Gallord-Smit wonder if the abundant vineyards would be suffering, but Rena explained that this late in the season the vines would soon fall into dormancy. In any case, she went on, all of the vineyards in Somria made use of irrigation systems and kept separate reservoirs devoted to maintaining the health of their crop. The system was elaborate and well proven over generations; Gallord-Smit was once again impressed with the robust technology of the Somrians; it did indeed, at times, make his own land seem provincial by comparison.
Well into their third tenday of travel, the coastline, and thus the road, began to curve westward, so that their afternoons were mostly spent riding into the sun. Towns were becoming rare, but small villages dotted the road with regularity, and the grand estates of the elite transformed into smaller seaside properties with private beach access. Gallord-Smit did not need Rena to tell him that they were approaching a city, nor that it would be Yalcinae. His apprehension increased with the density of the population; though they had dropped in on several wealthy landowners and those visits had gone well, the cryptic reactions of the patricians to his requests for support had amounted to no more than polite empathy for his plight. Wealthy Somrians, like those in the Lords’ Lands and no doubt elsewhere, were more concerned with their own estates and fortunes than with the goings on at the Overlord’s palace, much less on a distant southern island. Pointing out the potential dent in their coin purses that could easily result certainly got their attention, and he expected many would protest if the issue was raised, but he equally doubted that any would feel strongly enough about the situation to bring it up to Yalcin Rex on their own initiative.
Rena, as always, was unconcerned. When he voiced his worries on the subject, she only pointed that she, as a landowner (though not a major patron, that being her uncle), had the right to bring such matters to the Overlord, and he, as a free subject of Somria—a label that irked him somewhat, but he chose not to redress it—had every right to be there when she did, since it directly concerned him.
Gallord-Smit had no illusions that any of this would stop the Overlord from throwing him in prison or worse, but Rena seemed, as she was with most things, unworried.
When the outskirts of the Overlord’s name-city appeared in the distance, a part of Gallord-Smit wanted to just turn around and go back along the coast, with its tranquil villages and private beaches, and ride north to Rena’s estate, where they could lead a quiet and simple life and ignore the outside world. He glanced over at Rena as the thought passed fancifully through his mind, wondering if she shared t
he sentiment, but she was gazing intently in the direction of the city, deep in thought. He was overwhelmed by admiration for her, in that moment; this girl had purchased a slave on a whim, and had nursed him back to health. Then, learning of his plight, she had granted him his freedom, disregarding whatever considerable coin she had paid for him, and was now risking her status—and possibly her life—to help him stop a war that was, for all its potential magnitude, not truly her concern. Deep in the heartlands of the Somrian vineyards, she would have been unlikely to ever be affected by the conflict, however it played out.
She was, Gallord-Smit realized as he watched her transfixed on the task of trying to solve his dilemmas, more of a woman than he could ever have imagined her to be when she first woke him from his long, healing slumber.
And yet, he could not stop himself from dragging her into his conflict. Much as he had come to respect and love the girl, his duty yet beckoned irresistibly.
Perhaps, one day, when all it was over, they would have their moment together—may it last for the rest of his life. For now, their horses drew them inexorably closer to Yalcinae and the fate awaiting him—and her; Rena had tied herself to him, and would share his glory, or his failure.
・
Gallord-Smit’s second experience in riding through Yalcinae was completely difference from the first.
When they approached the edge of the city, he was confused by the lack of a wall, or gate; they had been riding down streets for a fair time before he asked what town they had entered, thinking it to be a satellite of the city; Rena had laughed, as she always did at his silly misconceptions, and told him that they were within the eastern district of Yalcinae.
There had not even been a border garrison. Yalcinae, from the land at least, appeared to be undefended. This was a substantial relief, but did not compare to what he felt the first time they encountered warders of the city.
He had fully prepared himself to be immediately recognized by the warders at the city entrance, and if not arrested—leaving only Rena’s influence to carry their hopes forward—at the very least being under watchful scrutiny from the moment they entered. When he had first arrived in Yalcinae he had been accompanied by the lord’s entourage and a company of Lordsguard, and the two lands had officially been at peace; still, he had been eyed with distrust by the locals. The official declaration of war—if Rena was correct in her belief that it had, indeed, been so declared—could only but further render him a target of mistrust, fear, and hatred.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 33