The Blue-Spangled Blue (The Path Book 1)

by David Bowles

  People were still reluctant to be inside Samaneino Tepoyan, so the ceremony was held in the courtyard at the center of the complex. Though between them, Tenshi and Brando had only invited about thirty-five guests, the tradition on Jitsu was that anyone in the community could attend.

  The courtyard was packed.

  Tenshi, waiting in a room nearby, felt her palms ache with unaccustomed nervousness.

  This is really happening. We’re really getting married. We’re going to walk the Path together. We’re going to change the world together.

  She felt her mother’s hand on her back. “Peace, Tanim. Don’t tremble so. This is a time of joy, not fear.”

  “Oh, Umma. I am not afraid. I am nearly bursting with joyful possibility.”

  Wearing the blue-fringed white robes of a giya, Meji Pishan took their place before the gathered people and began to speak.

  “At the beginning of time, Neweru was one, though they chose to pull away from the communion of the Eight. Then the one became two, and the Grey Prison arose, their heartbreak made visible, tangible illusion. When Sopiya shattered, her sparks were flung far and wide. We coalesce around them, each of us alone. Grieving. Broken from birth, though we cannot fathom why.”

  Through the window, Tenshi saw them look pointedly at their spouse, Jina Chimari.

  “Ah, but we are not meant to be alone. As we walk the Path, our sparks are drawn together. And at a moment of blessed joy, two or more nascent souls touch, fuse. They are forever entwined, their quantum enlightenment codependent. When they know this to be true, they come before their community and allow themselves to be ritually joined, as one day Sakra and Sopiya will be reunited as a single umbini, restored to the Ogdoad in ra-Yindawo.”

  Lifting their arms, the giya beckoned.

  “Let the dyad be guided forward.”

  Inyoni Onamata took Tenshi’s hand in hers. Opening the door, mother led daughter into the light of morning.

  Tenshi’s hair had been bound in a wrap woven with the Sonari clan’s ancestral pattern, bright gold against sunset red. She was wearing a sleeveless white dress, edged in those same colors.

  She was barefoot, a pilgrim stepping onto a new stretch of the Path.

  Turning her head, she saw Modupe Oduyoye lead Brando from the other side.

  He wore blue. A suit that shimmered with a thousand azure hues.

  His brown eyes locked with hers. She let her mother lead her, never moving her gaze from her beloved’s face.

  Then they were standing before Pishan, and she looked down while the giya spoke.

  “Satorijin Tenshi Koroma ma-Sonari. Teyopanjin Brando D’Angelo di Makomo. You have asked me your giya to bind you here before your teyopan, before the larger hapori of Kinguyama, indeed before all of Jitsu and the cosmos itself. So be it. Say the words.”

  Brando reached out and took Tenshi’s left hand with his right. She raised her eyes as he began to speak.

  “Tenshi-shi. I stand beside you on the Path, ready to walk with you unto the very end. Your enlightenment is now my goal. I will aid you every step of the way.”

  Clearing her throat, Tenshi uttered the ritual response. “Brando-shi. I place my spark in your heart and accept yours in mine. We are dual, two yet one. We create our souls together from here on, fusing them until translation.”

  “And beyond,” Brando added, unexpectedly. “Nothing will keep me from your side, Tenshi-shi. Not even death.”

  Pishan turned to Modupe. “Do you have the rings?”

  The old professor placed them in the giya’s outstretched palm. Then Pishan placed Tenshi’s on her left ring finger, Brando’s on his right. When they held hands again, the bands of strange metal touched.

  Tenshi could have sworn she felt a slight electric jolt.

  “Do you have the ribbon, Anshyano Inyoni?”

  Tenshi’s mother placed a blue strip of fabric in their hands. Carefully, the giya wound it around Tenshi’s left and Brando’s right arm, binding them symbolically together.

  “Teyopanjin, other friends, raise your voices in celebration of Tenshi and Brando!”

  The crowd shouted in unison: “Zumbinaro soro!”

  Be truly one from two! Tenshi couldn’t stop the tears.

  Brando reached out with his left hand and pulled her face to his.

  They kissed for the first time as husband and wife as cheers went up all around.

  As much as she hated surprises, Tenshi knew Brando loved them, so she kept the location of their honeymoon a secret till they were nearly there, skimming the salty waves of Bahari ra-Chumwi between the two continents.

  A group of rocky islands rose above the spray.

  “There they are. Kude Kisiwa. The Distant Isles.”

  “Whoa.” Brando leaned forward and zoomed the viewscreen closer. An imposing structure of black stone dominated the green moss of the largest island. “Who lives here?”

  “That’s Sudowon ra-Pahuka, a monastery of sorts. When the second Oracle was sealed away from the world by Archon Ajabu Rangachira, many of her teachings were expunged from official scripture. Those who insisted on remembering and following them were persecuted. A few made there way here. They started Tarika ra-Kiyish.”

  “The Order of the, uh, Spike? Spikes?” Brando ventured.

  She nodded, remembering the smell of salt and rock, the feel of the fishing nets in her hands, her long journey toward the creation of her soul.

  “This is where I reached satori, Brando-yi. With the Order’s help, I found my Way along the Path.”

  Her transport settled down on a flat expanse of rock not far from the the monastery. An omedeyo emerged from the black stone building to greet them. They wore dark grey robes with silver piping, their own long locs similarly rimed with age.

  “Tenshi-shi!” the robed figure said as they exited the transport. “What a delight to see you again. Four years has seemed an eternity.”

  “Thank you, acharya-zin. This is my husband, Brando D’Angelo. Brando, this is Unhe Siku, my teacher.”

  Brando ducked his head in respectful greeting.

  “Be enlighted, mitawa-zin,” he said, using the formal title for Pathwalker ascetics.

  Tenshi raised an appreciative eyebrow. He’s been studying!

  “You as well, Brando-shi.” Unhe gestured toward the monastery. “Please, follow me. I’ll take yall to the room we’ve set aside for this glorious stay.”

  Tenshi smiled with delight, and nodded at Brando, who easily picked up their bags with his uncommon Earther strength and followed her teacher.

  The mammoth doors of Sudowon ra-Pahuka swung open easily under the ascetic’s gentle push. They led the couple through vestibule and high-vaulted nave. Tenshi heard Brando’s breath catch in his throat at the metal-veined columns, the giant statues—Alejandro Dresch, Domina Ditis, Arehanja Sanaustin, Kosiya Yemo, Samanei Koroma—and the sacred intaglios etched in silver upon walls and ceiling.

  “Everything’s monochrome,” her husband whispered, “except for that recurring symbol with the eight colors. Does it represent the Ogdoad?”

  Tenshi nodded. “It’s the Eipande Nyota, the Primal Octagram. A tesseract unfolded into three-dimensional space. The four color pairs stand for the four umbini. Our most important icon. You may end up contemplating it a lot during meditation.”

  Spaces for worship and meditation were replaced by labyrinthine corridors and winding staircases. Several levels below the surface, Tenshi felt her heart swell at a familiar stretch of hall: the visiting students wing.

  “Oh, acharya-zin, please tell me—” she began.

  Unhe Siku laughed softly. “Yes, dear child, I set aside your old room, just as you asked.”

  Siku laid their hand upon a panel of black glass, and the driftwood door slid open, revealing a stone chamber dominated by a stone desk and a large bed, accented by soft rugs and low tables for dining. Tenshi rushed in, almost squealing with delight.

  “Come on, Brando! You have to see this view.�
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  She pulled him toward the double metal doors set into the far wall, yanking them open to reveal the broad stone balcony.

  Below, the sea roiled and smashed against the cliffs, sending up thick spray that became light mist by the time it reached them.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” she asked.

  Brando nodded. “Breathtaking. Like you.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Tenshi felt she might get lost in those dark eyes of his, yawning like tunnels into ra-Yindawo.

  Then a rock eagle wheeled past, screeching at them. The couple turned back to the room and found the ascetic gone and the door discretely shut.

  “My teacher knows me well,” Tenshi muttered. Brando’s biceps and chest swelled, tantalizing, beneath his silk shirt. “Drop those bags. Now. I refuse to wait a single second longer.”

  As the sea haze drifted into the room, she pushed Brando back onto the bed and began to unbutton her blouse, bending to devour his deep red lips with a hungry mix of lust and adoration.

  Their first two days were spent in that room, making love often, eating the delicious seafood dishes brought to them by various ascetics every four hours. Brando sang love songs to her in every language he knew, his hands as expert on the strings of his guitar as they were upon her eager flesh.

  On the the third day, they got dressed, and Tenshi led Brando to her second-favorite place in Sudowon ra-Pahuka: its vast library, one level above them.

  Tenshi could see Brando’s excitement at the shelves burgeoning with physical books. Rather than pull any, however, he stood before one of the many large reading screens throughout the space and scrolled through the holdings.

  “By Sopiya, there are works on Baryogo grammar and etymology that literally don’t exist anywhere else in the universe, Tenshi!”

  Tenshi thought of all she had planned for him, the amazing things she would help his unparalleled mind to do, the potential she would draw from him as time passed. Overwhelmed by her loved, she hugged him from behind, her lips brushing his ear. “You’re so predictable, Kyosu-chan. Talk to Unhe. They’ll go to the mushri, the Order’s leader, and get you permission to download the digital files. But first, let me show you something much more valuable.”

  Taking his hand, she dragged him away from the screen, toward the darker recess of the library, where tenuous lighting revealed two glass cases.

  Each contained a hand-written book, partly open on basalt stands.

  “What are they?” Brando asked, intrigued.

  “Two important texts for Ona ra-Shamanga. This one’s a copy of Kosiya Yemo’s excised teachings, transcribed by Ramatini Hekima Umchawi herself before the second Oracle was sealed away in the jinja. The other is the original manuscript of Kiyik juya Shari.”

  Brando did a double take. “Blood upon Sand? Isn’t that lost second volume of Domina’s journals?”

  “Yeah. Adherents of the shamanga tradition have kept it hidden because Dominian clerics would destroy it if they knew it still existed. Its contents undercut their isolationist, extremist narrative. I was pissed off for weeks after reading it.”

  Promising to give him an executive summary over dinner, Tenshi then took Brando outside. They walked the grassy paths that sloped downward as one traveled south. Eventually they came to a series of steps carved into the volcanic rock, leading toward busy docks below.

  “Boats?” her husband asked, looking at the ascetics rowing away and the others just arriving. “Does fishing keep this place running?”

  “Sure does,” she said. “Some of the best restaurants in Station City use seafood caught in these waters. I spent time hauling in nets here and helping transport the catch. They make pretty good money off of it.”

  Brando squinted. “The boats seem made of rock. How is that even possible?”

  Tenshi pointed ahead. “There’s a lightweight sort of basalt on the next island over. Those large warehouses are where students help ascetics break it down and blend it with plant fibers, making a sturdy composite fabric used to make hulls.”

  Craning his neck, Brando struggled to make something out. “And those shapes? Beyond the warehouses, on the beach? Wait, are those sails?”

  “They’re larger ships. For bahariro hija. Sea pilgrimages,” Tenshi explained. “A group visits the ramatini at the shrine, is given a kiyish—a spike from the Urim—and sets out upon the sea to drop the relic into the depths.”

  Clouds on the distant horizon flickered with lightning as if to underscore the danger in such treks.

  “Do they all make it back?” Brando asked. “It’s a pretty enormous ocean, with little land mass once you leave this hemisphere.”

  “A few don’t,” Tenshi admitted. “But the ascetics insist the journey’s worth the risk. They believe that one day these carefully distributed kiyish will help everyone on Jitsu break free of the Grey Prison.”

  Brando put his arm around Tenshi. She found she still thrilled to his touch, like a teenager crushing for the first time. It was almost embarrassing, if very pleasant. “And they’ve been doing this since the second Oracle was taken away?”

  “More or less. Twice a year for the past half century.”

  “I wonder how the Urim still has so many spikes left.”

  Tenshi shrugged and leaned into him. “Only Sopiya knows, love. But that storm looks pretty nasty. Let’s get inside before it hits. I’ve always wanted to make love with lightning and thunder crashing all around.”

  He winked conspiratorially. “What a coincidence! Me, too.”

  Tenshi was sad a few days later when their honeymoon came to an end. But a new semester was about to start for Brando and she needed to get construction underway on their home. Busy quotidian rhythms soon replaced the joyous spontaneity of those early weeks, but she was content nonetheless.

  A month after the wedding ceremony, Tenshi began to wake up nauseous in the middle of the night. After a few days of throwing up discretely, she visited her mother.

  “You’re pregnant, Tanim,” Inyoni said with stubborn confidence. “Let’s go to the aransa to make certain, but this is the way it has been with the women of the Sonari clan for generations. We marry, and that binding of sparks makes us incredibly fertile.”

  Tenshi tightened her grip on her mother’s hand. “Yes, love draws more love. I can see that. But I’m scared, Umma. What if I’m not a good mother?”

  Inyoni turned her head aside. When she spoke at last, her voice was husky. “You’ll be a better mother than I ever was to you or your sister. Don’t you worry.”

  They went together to visit Kinguyama’s best aransa, Kanan Rongoa. The midwife confirmed Inyoni’s suspicions, doing a medical scan in addition to her traditional inspection.

  Come home right after class, Tenshi messaged Brando as she flew back to their apartment in Station City. We need to talk.

  He arrived breathlessly, his eyes brimming with worry.

  “Tenshi? Sweetheart, is everything okay? I could barely focus during office hours. Finally ran the last student out and came as quick as I could.”

  “Here,” she said, drawing him into the living room. “Sit down.”

  It felt like all her courage had been sapped away. Excitement fluttered in her belly, but it was tempered by the knowledge that both she and Brando had terrible parents.

  “Brando-chan. Love. I know we had planned to wait, but—I’m pregnant.”

  Something strange happened to his face. Muscles twitched. His eyes glistened.

  Then, as if launched by his emotions, he stood quickly and fell to his knees in front of Tenshi, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

  “I’m so happy,” he managed to say despite the trembling of his chest. “Thank you.”

  He’s weeping, she thought, astonished. For joy.

  “Did … did you just thank me? Uh, Kyosu-chan, you had as much to do with this as I did, I’ll remind you.”

  His crying shudders turned to laughter as he looked up at her, face wet.
r />   “You can never let me just be gushy and sentimental, can you?”

  Tenshi sighed, smiling. “It’s sweet and all, but you need to face the facts. This is going to complicate our plans.”

  She half-expected him to react like a typical man, insist she rest and postpone her projects, treat her like an invalid.

  But Brando, like always, surprised her.

  “Why? Being pregnant doesn’t keep you from meeting with other Reformers or overseeing the construction of our house. In fact, you need to get moving on that like yesterday if you plan on being done before the baby’s born.”

  Tenshi straightened, cocked her head at him. “Yes, okay. And you? What will you be doing as I work my pregnant ass off?”

  “Helping you every spare moment I have, Tenshi.” He took both her hands in his. “I’ll pick up all the slack you need me to. I suck at manual labor, but I can learn. We can do this. Together.”

  Tenshi thought her chest might burst. She’d loved him before, but now she almost couldn’t bear how much he filled her heart.

  Thank you, she prayed in the most secret part of her nascent soul. Thank you for putting him on the Path beside me.

  CHAPTER 20

  Meji Pishan kept their eyes closed in silent meditation as they waited in the outer rooms of the Archon’s office suite. They were still overjoyed that they’d been chosen as giya of Kinguyama, a gift of the Ogdoad that they’d never once pursued. Since childhood they’d taken to heart the precepts, taught to them lovingly by their parents and other teyopanjin, that instructed Pathwalkers to avoid striving for anything beyond enlightenment. What the Ogdoad willed for one in the Grey Prison would be given one, and one need not worry about goals besides the creation of a soul.

  Many argued that Pishan’s pro-reform posture contradicted this belief, but the omedeyo disagreed: objection to outside influences was a sign of more concern with physical reality than permitting them to exist could ever be. Those who strove to eliminate obstacles to gnosis finally created more of them.

  As giya, Meji Pishan would engage fully in the next stretch of their Path: leading their Pathwalker siblings to gnosis as well. Brando-shi’s conversion had been an auspicious start. Now they would have to strive more than ever, involve themself in the minutiae of the physical existence of their fellow teyopanjin in order to ease the shattering of those kludged selves and the bricolage of their souls. Pishan believed that the best way forward was to stop the hermetic hostility that gripped three-quarters of Kinguyama, allowing outsiders and their ideas to flow in as the Eight saw fit.