by Mark Angel
Ruko felt sleepy. “What are you doing?” he asked dreamily. His head got heavy and he dropped it, looking down, receiving a shock when he saw each of the man’s disfigured feet had five toes, bearing scars belying the removal of the once outer-most sixths. Ruko scrunched his own toes within his shoes uncomfortably.
When he looked up again, the Seer’s steely gaze was fixed in place. He was still talking. Ruko strained to hear his now more soft-spoken words in the continual ruckus around them.
“Remember, young teller, be kind, just and true. Convince the people by your acts that you are indeed a good man, for only by their faith in you can you save them.”
Ruko was about to ask what this had to do with the end of the world, when he became aware of Vanaka tugging at his arm and Pirlan’s breath wheezing at his right.
“Ruko, we’d better get going,” Vanaka said fretfully.
Ruko ignored her as the twisted figure in front of him grinned. His teeth were gray-yellow, uneven and decaying. ”You are one of the few who may be able to help,” he whispered, as if answering the boy’s unvoiced question.
“Ruko!” Vanaka pulled on him again. “Why are you letting this Outsider even touch you?”
The edge of disdain in her voice appalled Ruko, and he wordlessly shook his arm away from the girl.
“Your sacrifices may be great, young teller; but bear them willingly in the name of Rex!”
The Seer lowered his hand slowly and backed away until the lip of the pool made contact with his shrunken calves. He began again to address the crowd at the top of his voice.
“Make amends with the Supreme Architect of Manifestation,” he implored, “for soon, we shall certainly die!”
The spell broken, Ruko stumbled backward, off balance, and bumped into Pirlan and Vanaka. His female friend looked furious.
“Have you lost your mind?!” she scolded.
“I’m hungry,” whined Pirlan, equally uncomfortable with the situation.
Still, Ruko did not respond. Now he was watching a cloaked figure some distance behind the fountain that had caught his attention. The elaborate steam lift had descended from the Skywatcher’s Plateau. The bursts of escaping vapors from its pipes and the creaking and clinking of its cables and chains were an orchestra that announced the arrival of someone important. A cowl lined with shimmering wormthread and closed by a simple tie hid the face, but the cloak’s astronomical designs identified the individual as a skywatcher. Small, white hands were visible emerging from the sleeves, and when the skywatcher turned to profile, angular female features peeked out from the side of the shroud. Ruko recognized this pale facade: Navivanu, old Master Bakarma’s youngest daughter. Ruko’s father considered her one of the few skywatchers he had no reason to distrust. But he always followed the comment with a disclaimer: she was young and there was still plenty of time for her to prove him wrong.
One seldom saw a skywatcher descend from the Skywatcher’s Plateau during light time, as they spent long periods during the dark time observing the wide-open sky and maintaining records of astral movements, weather patterns and connections between the two. Ruko’s father had told him that the Rexians depended on skywatchers to reveal when to sow or reap, when to work or celebrate, when to hunt or slaughter; and when to rejoice in the natural events of sars and cycles. From what he understood, Master Skywatchers were few in number.
Navivanu approached the fountain from behind, giving a subtle hand signal to her well-armed quintet of personal guards in full Senior Guardians dress. One stayed at the skywatcher’s side while the four others moved rapidly around the fountain in pairs of two to converge on Kalikanuma.
The aggregate of onlookers had grown since the arrival of the skywatcher, and an abrupt silence settled upon them now. Only the soft rush of the water from the fountain could be heard.
A finger before the skywatcher’s guardians were upon him, the Seer turned to lock eyes across the pond with the skywatcher.
“The end draws neigh,” he called out to her defiantly, “for I myself have seen the Wildstar come hither!” He pointed directly at Navivanu. “Surely you know by now that the Beyond is not a mystery to us all! Yet we will all die unless you do what must be done to save us!”
The guardians pressed in and formed a tight circle around the old man.
“You have the mark of the proscribed,” one barked. “Have you a Guardian’s Pass?”
“I need no pass to speak to the People of Rex!”
“If you have no pass, you cannot remain!” a second guardian said.
“I shall have my words with the people!” Kalikanuma insisted.
Two guardians took hold of the miscreant without regard for his ensuing shouts of protest. A third took the lead as they escorted him gently but firmly toward the gates of the city, back to the periphery of the Civilization of Rex. Two young children, dressed in even dirtier rags than those of Kalikanuma, rushed into the vacuum to collect the cubeage that had been tossed at the old man’s feet.
Ruko was thoroughly distressed at how the skywatcher and her guardians seemed to mistreat the man.
“Good riddance, smelly old dung collector!” howled U’gan, one of Ruko’s peers, a harsh signal that the learning group had caught up with the trio. U’gan was a stocky and somewhat disagreeable boy, and the son of a rexrider. He spat at Kalikanuma. “Go back to where you belong, with the beasts in the paddock!”
Some of the children laughed, but the teller’s son shoved the other boy in the shoulder.
“That comment was unnecessary!”
The well-built, flat-nosed bully glared at Ruko and pushed him in front of the fourth guardian, who had remained behind his colleagues to monitor the crowd, securely gripping the quirt of his whip until the Seer was safely bustled away. He caught Ruko by the scruff of his tunic in mid-fall, and then gently shoved the boy upright before initiating his own march of departure.
U'gan laughed loudly as Ruko regained his footing with the aid of Vanaka’s hand. She sneered at the beefy youth. Ruko yanked his arm from her grip, refusing to acknowledge her assistance.
As he was turning to redress U’gan, Ruko’s eyes darted back to the young skywatcher, who now stood only a few feet from him, where the old Seer had been moments before. Time had confused the boy once again and it seemed to him that she had arrived there without moving.
The folds of her dark cloak rippled down to the ground, giving her the appearance of a hovering specter. He searched her wan face to find a clue that might help explain her condemnation of Kalikanuma’s activities, but he found none—her visage was totally without expression. She adjusted her cowl to shield her green eyes so that Ruko could no longer see them, and she tucked her chalky hands inside her billowing garment. But Ruko knew that she was still watching him. Only him.
Ruko felt like he had just been in a three-way conversation with the skywatcher and the Seer of which no one else was aware.
A loud voice broke the thought.
“U’gan, behave yourself!” Senior Shaneh said, catching up to the group. Her responsibility was the regular tutelage and care of this gaggle of children.
“He started it,” U’gan began, pointing at Ruko, but Shaneh stopped him with a quick silencing hand motion. She looked at the skywatcher with a mixture of fear and respect and took the rexrider’s whelp by his shoulders. “Come along, children,” she wheezed, stooping slightly from the exertion of catching up. Some of the children, including Ruko, found it hard to believe that she had endured the rigorous training necessary to qualify as a Senior Guardian.
“No need to dally here any longer,” she continued. Then she adjusted her set of crescent-shaped elbow swords with a clink.
“Are you all right?” Vanaka asked Ruko, careful not to touch him.
“I’m fine,” Ruko said and turned away abruptly to continue along Market Road toward home. Pirlan kept a distance for awhile, sensing his friend’s detachment.
The group hurried to the tunnel that went under the
Skywatcher’s Plateau. Vanaka clapped her hands at the entry to hear the echo through the lamplit passage, and then they charged in, trying to hold their breath until they came out in the Highland Coulee. Making it through the tunnel without exhaling was a popular test of endurance for boys and girls.
“You had to take a breath,” Vanaka said to agitate Pirlan.
“No I didn’t,” he protested.
“I heard you breathe!”
Before Pirlan could persist, a cart disengaged from a street chain, releasing a burst of white steam behind both. The rotund youth jumped, bumping into Ruko, who, in turn, bumped into Vanaka. The girl opportunistically grabbed Ruko’s arm as if to keep from stumbling on the wide cobblestone road, and then aimed a jeering glance in the direction of Pirlan. Ruko did not pull away this time.
Craft is an endeavor to create things.
It becomes art when that creation exhibits a quality of the Divine.
— Pirlan
22. Eggs
Meera’s dwelling at high meridian, 01/02/1643--
A cool sea breeze invigorated the air in Stonehaven’s canyon system entering through open windows and causing tiny bumps to form on Meera’s slender arms as she busied herself within her dwelling.
She lived in a desirable location of Highland Coulee known for its stable stone and sweeping views, but the surrounding world was the last thing on her mind as she prepared for her parent-rotation with Ruko’s learning group. This responsibility consisted mostly of providing the high meridian meal to a host of mischievous children, and then supervising their postmeridian learning period, but she had not yet begun to cook.
When she paused to blot the thin sheen of perspiration from her forehead, she heard the song of a flower flogger who was pushing her cart through the streets below.
“Flowers . . . fresh flowers . . .” came the tuneful chant. “Buy them for a chip or two. Flowers . . . fresh flowers . . . fill your turn with a colored few.”
“Tamik!” Meera called up to her brother. “Would you please go down and buy some flowers?”
The young rexrider, who had come by to deliver some rigging to his father who had wanted it customized for Gar-rex, lumbered bounded down the stairs in his squeaky riding leathers Senior Guardian outfit.
“Well, you certainly look bright,” she said. “Have you dressed up to help me with the kids?”
“Sorry, Meera, other duties. You’ll be alright though.” He accepted a cube of silver from her. “What color?”
“Yellows and purples, please!”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Pushing a lock of thick brown hair from her face, Meera returned to her fastidious preparations. Her attractiveness had not diminished one sliver in her more than thirty sars of rigorous living. Her lips were full, and not a single strand of grey had infiltrated her hair. Even her hands remained soft and smooth thanks to her habitual use of a salve Dasha had given her.
And now she again glowed with the aura of motherhood as Ruko’s unborn sibling grew fast inside her. It was almost halfway to birth time. She touched her belly. Guests were coming to sing with her to her unborn child later in the turn, after she finished with the learning group. She had to make accommodations for that, too.
She cleared the large table in the eatingroom, dusted its six intricately carved legs, and covered its inlaid surface with a blue-tinted skin to protect it from clumsy fingers. Room by room, she put away fragile objects and rolled up fine floor throws, having no intention to let dozens of dirty feet soil the precious coverings.
Despite the fact that she knew they would not stay tidy long, Meera felt compelled to clean every object or area upon which she discovered dust or dirt. This fastidiousness was a characteristic she had inherited from her mother, who held the staunch opinion that the Divine Mystery revealed itself through cleanliness and order. During times like this, Meera wished Rudanomi did not abhor the concept of having servants. Most other public figures of his status had more than one. But she also knew that even if she had a servant, she wouldn't be satisfied until she had re-cleaned each surface and corner herself, so she busied herself just to be at peace.
The teller’s dwelling was much more extensive than most. Metal brackets secured strong wooden beams that reinforced the vaulted stone ceiling. Carved wood panels covered most of the walls, veneers that emitted a hint of the musky smell reminiscent of nearby evergreen forests. Tapestries displayed depictions of ancient tales throughout the place, and ornate tiles paved the entryway and cookroom floors, laid among polished hardwood strips. Decoratively stained beast skins, made soft by age and the tread of countless feet, covered the hardwood floors of the salon and sleeprooms.
These quarters were far more civilized than the rexrider’s abode in which she had grown up. The latter had required a small gas burner to heat wash water, a sharp contrast to the unlimited supply of hot water in the teller’s home, available through the public steam system.
Meera had moved here after her civil joining with Rudanomi, and by now her tastes and influences were apparent everywhere. As the leading teller’s spouse, she took her duties as hostess seriously and maintained the house meticulously. It was customary for a mother to pass her dwelling down to her daughter, and as a result, the home was referred to as “belonging” to the woman of the house. Meera felt fortunate to have inherited the place from Rudanomi’s late mother.
Her drifting thoughts returned to the present moment, and she realized she had yet to conceive something to keep the children occupied during the post meridian skills session.
Tamik returned with the flowers and some change, and kissed his sister goodbye as he handed both to her. “Until later,” he said hastily.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she took the flowers, folding his hand back over whatever extra tender was left from the purchase.
“I’m covering for one of the Market Guardians," "Gar is acting up again," he said and turned to leave.
“Wait,” she called after him. “What should I teach Ruko’s learning group?”
“I don’t know, teach them something you know,” he said as he stepped out nearly running into the doorpost.
She shouted out after him through the cookroom window, “You’re a lot of help!”
Tamik gave her a brief look, shrugged his shoulders, and disappeared down the steps into the Coulee. The padding of his feet receded along with the flower monger’s song back into the quiet of the neighborhood.
Meera shook her head. She wished her brother would take his rexrider responsibilities as seriously as he did his guardian duties. He had been better about taking care of Gar-rex since Melok was injured, but their father still worried about his mount.
She set the flowers in water, and then took a seat at the cookroom counter. Her hazel eyes gazed outward through the window as she wrapped a colorful worm-thread shawl over her shoulders to ward off the chill of repose. She would have to think of something new for the children, something she had not taught before.
It had been so much easier to entertain them when they were younger. She would take them on walks in the Valley, or rides on her domehead mount, Tara. If the weather was bad, they could paint on scraps of discarded skins from Rudanomi’s scroll preparations. Other times, Rudanomi, if he was not too busy, would tell them stories or teach them about the Ancients or other aspects of his teller’s art: how to pitch one’s voice when speaking in public; how to prepare the Name Scrolls or those used for written histories; or any of the many public and private rituals tellers were trained to perform.
But now the children had entered that troublesome age where they could not yet be considered adults, but neither would they accept that they were still children. Meera thanked Mystery that Ruko would be Named in a couple of seasons. He would then choose an apprenticeship, presumably with the Order of Tellers. After that, she would no longer have to do this cyclic duty. At least, not until the little one she carried in her belly grew to learning group age.
&n
bsp; Meera tried to relax, taking the traditional three deep breaths. Perhaps she could use the age of the children to her advantage—perhaps they were old enough to appreciate one of her favorite pastimes: the art of egg ornamentation.
Even if the children lacked Meera’s expert eye for detail and her infinite patience as an artist, she could still teach them how to evacuate large, thick-shelled slogger eggs of their edible contents, prepare the shells, and then decorate, carve, or etch them.
When the children were younger, her diverse collection of finely decorated eggshells from dozens of different beasts—her life’s work—usually captivated them. She’d tell them how she spent whole turns riding Tara through the outer paddocks and nearby woods in search of exotic eggs, and the interesting locations to which her outings brought her. Sometimes she would tell how she climbed trees to search nests, or waded through head-high swamp grass in the salt flats. The youngsters found it all very mysterious and had always asked many questions about how the decorative eggs were made. Now, perhaps they were old enough for some of their inquiries to be answered first-hand.
***
The mob arrived at Meera’s shortly before high meridian. They numbered sixteen; each, like Ruko, nearing his or her thirteenth sar, the Rexian Age of Naming. Most of their families lived in or near Highland Coulee.
Ruko and Vanaka were the first to scale the flight of stairs that curved up to the veranda just outside the main entrance to Meera’s multilevel cliff dwelling. The steps were hewn out of the solid cliff into which the dwelling was constructed. The pair stepped buoyantly onto the veranda. Ruko immediately sat on the bench outside the door and changed into his house shoes, while Vanaka rested against the veranda rail, a waist-high cordon of rock left in place from the original excavation. Not too soon after, Pirlan made it to the porch. His face was red; sweat poured off him; he gasped for breath.