by J. Naomi Ay
“I can’t,” he whispered quietly. “I’m terribly frightened of snakes, especially big ones, such as this that can speak and claim to be my brother.”
“He’d rather come with me,” the snake hissed. “I told you, he loves me best.”
“Kari-fa!” the Black Eagle swore, using the Karupta profanity. He soared down with talons baring, instantly severing the snake’s ugly head, which dropped on the ground right next to Arsan’s feet.
“I’ll be back,” the head proclaimed, despite being bereft of a body. “I’m following him wherever he goes.”
“As am I,” the eagle replied. In the talons of the great winged beast, the headless snake’s body waved like a flag upon a pole. The raptor took it to the top limb of a nearby tree whereupon he proceeded to eat it.
Arsan watched all this from the ground, uncertain as to what he ought to do. He could fly up there, but he wasn’t keen to join in a snake tartare feast. Instead, he bid the busy raptor goodbye, and headed back to the road, fetching his bindle bag, and resuming his trek.
The boy walked along the trail well into the night. He ate the last of the Colinda's cheese, and drank his water. When his legs would carry him no further, he lay against the trunk of a large tree until he slept. That night, he dreamt the Black Eagle came to him.
"Wake up," the eagle said, and nudged the boy with his beak. "You'll die here if you remain without a fire, as the snow is soon coming, and you shall quickly freeze. I have not brought you here only for you to return whilst still a child. Come now." He poked the boy. “Kari-fa, I believe I have made a mistake.”
Arsan opened his eyes, or at least, he thought he did. He discovered the voice was not of the eagle next to him, but rather, a man sitting with his back against the side of the tree. His long legs splayed out awkwardly in front of him, as one was crippled and could not easily bend.
"Oh!" Arsan gasped, recognizing the Great Emperor, although the boy hadn’t a clue why such an esteemed personage should be there. The boy also hadn’t a clue what he ought to do in the Great Man’s presence. Should he scramble to his feet, or drop to the ground? So, the child did nothing, save stare, blink his eyes, and try to breathe.
"Kari-fa,” the Emperor swore again. “How in Heaven’s Name did you arrive so dense? Go gather some tinder, enough to make a fire, and be quick about it."
“Ok,” the boy replied, still frozen in place.
“Yes, Sir,” the Emperor corrected. “Start using your brain. Perhaps, I ought to consider sending you back and calling upon our brother, the cherub instead, for my patience with you is nearly exhausted.”
Arsan wasn’t sure what the MaKennah had meant by that, but scrambled to his feet to gather branches and sticks.
“Come now,” the MaKennah scolded when a short time later, the boy returned. “Maytor taught you better than that. If you wish to sleep, you need a log that shall burn for hours. You shall also need a flint stone, and a knife to start the blaze.”
“I haven’t got either,” Arsan reported sadly, having forgotten most of Maytor’s instructions.
“I suppose you didn’t bother with matches or a lighter?”
“No, Sir. I didn’t bring any of those either. Perhaps, you’ve got something we can use?”
The MaKennah sighed heavily, shaking his head with disappointment. “Why does this not surprise me? Go find a log. For tonight only, I shall have to assist you.”
While Arsan hunted for a suitable log, flakes of snow began to fall. Softly at first, they drifted down from the twilit sky, followed by tiny hard pellets, which stung as they hit his fair cheeks. Indeed, if the MaKennah had not arrived, surely he would have frozen to death.
“That shall do,” the Great Man said, when Arsan returned to present a piece of wood, although he apologized to the fallen tree from whence it came. The boy piled it upon the tinder, recalling only this one thing which Maytor had shown him to do.
“How shall we light it, Sir?” he asked. “Might we use your cigarette?” For now, the MaKennah was busily puffing away.
“You might,” the MaKennah replied, handing it to him.
Arsan ignited a tiny twig, and blew upon it, which succeeded in extinguishing it once again.
I can’t, Sir,” the boy reported forlornly, certain now that they both were going to die, as he was trembling with the cold, and his fingers were turning blue.
“Move away,” the Emperor announced, pointing his finger at the cold and damp pile of unlit wood. An instant later, a fierce flame erupted from deep within.
“Wow!” Arsan breathed, standing as close as he might, warming his hands and every other part of his small body. “How did you do that? Will you teach me?”
“No. Your abilities do not extend to inert molecular transformations. Now, what have you brought to eat, or do you intend to starve?”
“I have nothing left, Sir. I have eaten everything my mother packed. Are you hungry? Shall I search for some berries for you?”
“Not I. ‘Tis you who shall undoubtedly be famished, unless you get over your distaste for meat and start to hunt.”
“Oh no, Sir. I can’t do that,” Arsan protested. “I want to heal the creatures, not kill them.”
As the child spoke these words, he realized they were entirely true. He did want to heal, to make those who were injured or sick to become well.
The MaKennah shook his head, and sighed again.
“Why must you always repeat the same mistakes in every life? Every single time. Ay yah, you are a strange one, young brother, but I need you, so we must carry on. Every night, you must light a fire just like this. I shall leave you with my blade. Use it well, and do your best not to die.”
In Arsan’s hand, a knife instantly appeared. Immediately, the boy dropped it, and shied away.
“Kari-fa! Listen to me, child. You are not yet to go to Kudisha. You must stay away whilst you learn who you are.”
“Who am I?”
“You are my brother, and also, the brother of the snake. Stay clear of him. Do not listen to his voice, for it speaks with honeyed words. When he comes upon you, use your wings and fly away as quickly as you can, until you are old enough to slay him with your talons.”
“Your brother?” the boy repeated. “But, you are old, and I am only six.”
“I am also your grandfather. ‘Tis complicated. I shall explain it all to you another time.”
“Will you come back?” Arsan cried, as the MaKennah made to go.
“Yes, but not until the next season. Recall what you have been taught, and do not fear who you are.”
He was gone into the darkness with a flash of silver light, as bright as the fire, before it faded into a cloud of tiny stars.
Since he had been specifically instructed not to go to Kudisha, Arsan decided to head south in search of more pleasant weather. As the snow storm drifted off in another direction, Arsan tossed his bindle across his back, and followed the shores of the river which meandered through the valleys.
Eventually, his feet grew tired, and his boots soaked through, so despite his reluctance, the boy did as the MaKennah suggested, closing his eyes and envisioning his arms turned into great wings. He had to admit, this was a much swifter way to travel. The inclement weather was not nearly so bothersome when his entire body was encloaked in heavy feathers, and his legs and feet did not ache from endless treading upon the ground.
Chapter 2
Arsan flew as far south as the Dark Continent. If he had walked, the journey would have lasted all through the northern winter, and he would have arrived just in time for the start of the cold season on the southern continent.
As it was, it took him three weeks of virtually constant travel. When he finally set his feet down on the ground, stowed his wings, and raised himself upright, he was near the point of exhaustion.
He hadn't eaten much during the journey. Consuming flesh bothered Arsan, even when he was in his raptor form, so he limited his meals to the late season berries and few edible
apples remaining on the bushes and trees. Unfortunately, this was not quite enough to sustain a bird of his size, let alone provide the nutritional requirements of a growing boy.
After taking a few steps in the dark purple sands of the continent, Arsan fell face first into the dunes, too tired and weak to go any further. He might have died there. As the hot sun rose in the sky, roasting his skin like a chicken on a spit, Arsan fell into a hallucinatory, dream-like state.
That was when the MaKennah came again.
“Get up,” he said.
“I can’t.”
Arsan heard the MaKennah sigh, a sound the boy was well acquainted with at this point. However, he was too tired to open his eyes, to see the displeasure yet again written upon the Emperor’s face.
A waft of cigarette smoke drifted across the boy’s nostrils, as the sands shifted beneath him, indicating that the Great Man had sat down.
“Thus far, you are a disappointment,” the MaKennah said in the language of the Karupatani.
The sound of his mother tongue, made the boy surprisingly homesick, prompting an image of Colinda’s face to come to mind. Arsan imagined her long dark hair that always smelled like fresh hay, her round pink cheeks, and her soft red lips, which she brushed against his face in soft, whispery kisses. Arsan's throat grew thick. His tired eyes filled with tears.
"Mama," he whimpered, wondering why he had ever left.
Couldn't he had lived there together with Maytor and the new baby? Arsan would have liked a younger sibling. In fact, in the back of his mind, he felt as if he already had one, although he didn’t know where or how he possibly could.
Still, he had this image of a fat, cherubic little fellow with tiny feathery wings upon his back, and a tendency to complain about the other brothers.
"Kari-fa," the MaKennah swore. "You are useless to me as this."
"I'm sorry, Sir," Arsan wept. "I want to go home."
“So do we all,” the MaKennah scoffed, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “And, someday you shall, perhaps sooner rather than later, if you fail to find your sense. However, you have work to do, tasks that must be completed, and to that end, you shall have to reconcile yourself to accepting what lies before you.”
“Okay,” the child said, although he didn’t understand what the man had meant. However, he was resolved to rally himself, and rise to the occasion. “What must I do now?”
“What do you think you should do?”
“I don’t know.”
Arsan sat up and looked around the desolate wasteland upon which he had landed.
It was covered in sand, lined by dunes which stretched for miles, and broken only by occasional clusters of long grass, and a few scraggly mangrove trees further off on the horizon.
The MaKennah sighed again.
“Get up and get yourself something to eat. You have starved your body such that now it is refusing to grow. If you kill it, you shall find yourself visiting our brother snake in his home. Trust me, ‘tis not a pleasant place to spend your time.
Do as I say and nourish yourself. Afterwards, seek Goom, as he will adopt you and teach you until I return again.”
“Goom?”
The MaKennah vanished in a startling abrupt departure, leaving the boy to wonder if this whole episode had been a hallucination.
Arsan was thirsty. The sands beneath his feet were hot, and the sun beat down upon his back. He was also lacking in clothing, even a simple shirt to protect his skin.
That was one of the problems with flying, he reminded himself, as he trod along his lonely path. He crossed the dunes in search of Goom, whatever he was, and wherever he was to be found.
Yes, flying certainly sped up the time, condensed his travel into a fraction of what might be accomplished by his feet. However, the boy hadn’t yet figured out how to bring his clothing along.
The more Arsan thought on it, the more he regretted his choice of bird. An eagle was definitely not his alter ego. If he had chosen a pelican, for instance, he might have stored his trousers in his bill. Even a parrot might have been a better choice, but poor Arsan was never very good at making decisions. He wondered what exactly he was good at. Perhaps, this fellow Goom would let him know.
The day passed by, and the child’s skin burned. His feet blistered, and his tongue grew parched. Off in the distance, he thought he saw some sort of structure, a house perhaps, but when he arrived, it was merely a cluster of trees. Still, it served to shade him, and the coconuts they bore held water. Though he hated to do so, Arsan once again summoned his wings, and then using his beak, dislodged a fruit.
“Very good,” a voice said, when Arsan cracked open the heavy shell. He tore at the husk, and then drilled into the inner nut, returning to his boy-form in order to drink the sweet milk inside.
“Ah, see! You are not so stupid after all.”
The boy looked around, his eyes spying only a couple of sandpipers wandering along the shoreline, and a family of coots rustling across the sand beyond the shade of the trees.
“You have fed and hydrated yourself,” the voice continued, at which point Arsan realized he was speaking in Karupta. However, the pitch was lower, and the accent guttural, leading the boy to conclude this new voice was not someone he knew.
“Who are you?” Arsan asked, wiping a trickle of spilt milk from his chin. “Where are you? I can’t see you. Show yourself, or I’ll…”
“What? Fly away? Toss the nut at me when you know not where I stand?” The hidden man erupted with laughter. “And, after I have waited so long for your arrival?”
“Are you Goom?” Arsan cried. “Have I found you?”
“Indeed, child. You have discovered he upon whom you seek. The Wise One has sent you to me for good reason. It is clear you lack the memory of that which came before.”
“Before what?” Arsan spun around on his toes, still not locating the owner of this strange voice.
“Come with me, and I shall teach you what you already know.”
From behind the trunk of a tangled mangrove tree, a shape emerged from the shadows. It was clearly a man of dark purple complexion, with wild black hair that stood upright on his head. His fingers, toes, limbs, and head were all similar in structure to Arsan’s. However, he had two features that clearly marked him as a different species. One was his long furry tail, and the other his tiny stature. Arsan, at present, was slightly older than six years, and his height was small from lack of nourishment. Goom, of unknown age, but with a long beard denoting advanced years, was at best, the boy’s height, perhaps smaller.
Arsan blinked and rubbed eyes, not certain if he was seeing correctly. Sometimes, when switching from bird to boy and back, he senses became confused.
“Are you a Dark?” he asked.
“Indeed, I am,” Goom replied. “And, you, my young friend, unfortunately, are not.”
Arsan was a tad bit disappointed by this realization for having a tail seemed quite the desirable appendage. He watched rapturously as the purple man waved it about like a flag, and then, let it trail behind him as he turned to leave.
“Come on,” Goom ordered, as Arsan stood and fingered the lowest point on his back.
No, there was nothing emerging there, not even a bump. Why or why couldn’t he turn himself into a creature that had one of these, as well as stayed on the ground eating greens instead of hunting from the sky?
“Hurry up, hurry up,” the little man continued, and then repeated the same thing in the language of his people.
Over the course of the next few years, Arsan would learn to speak this tongue, a series of grunting and explosive noises, which at the time sounded too humorous to the boy to possibly represent a spoken language.
“Don’t laugh at me, child. You have much work to do. Shall we start now? Yes, we shall, for we have come to my village.”
Indeed, they had. The trees parted to reveal a scattered collection of thatch huts, much smaller than the houses of Kirkut, and built of far flimsier materials. In
fact, Arsan mused, should the wind come up as strong as it did each afternoon in Karupatani, these houses would undoubtedly collapse, or be sent off into the forest taking along with them, anyone daring to rest inside. Still, there was something quaint about them, something inviting to the boy who longed for a real bed, and a place he could once again call his home.
“No time to sleep, no time to sleep,” Goom muttered, when the boy yawned heavily, and asked in which abode he might lay down. “You must begin your education. Harness the skills which you have forgotten. Train to become that which the MaKennah has summoned you to be.”
“Right now?” Arsan asked. “Must I?”
Gazing at the Dark with tears in his tired eyes, Arsan saw a tiny wrinkle of acquiescence cross the purple man’s bearded face.
“Fine. Sleep now. I shall wake you well before dawn. You must be ready then. No more excuse from the likes of you.”
He led the boy to a tiny hut and bid him lay inside, whereupon Arsan crawled through the little door, and almost instantly, fell asleep.
The following morning, before the hot sun had even begun its ascent in the eastern sky, Arsan was awoken by his inability to breathe. He was choking, gasping, clutching at the smooth black and yellow rope which had wrapped around his throat, and was slithering across his body.
"Brother," a voice said, although to Arsan it sounded as if it had spoken directly inside his head. "I greet you again."
Arsan's heart froze in his chest, which might have been due to terror, or simply because his last breath had run out.
"Go away," he thought as loudly as he could, and with as much force and determination as he could muster.
The snake laughed, or rather, Arsan assumed that was what the hissing and hacking noise meant.
"Why should I?" the creature cried. "I enjoy how you tremble in fear of me. Poor child. This time, no one shall come to your rescue. Our eldest brother is busy with issues far more important than you."
"Please!" Arsan begged, hoping this might all be some terrible dream.
"Alright," the snake spat. "I shan't kill you today, but leave you with this warning and a kiss." The snake loosened his grip on the boy's neck, his large head rising to look the child in the eye. "I am always watching you, brother. I am always behind you to catch you when you fall. Of all my brothers, you are the one closest to my heart."