by C. Litka
07
On reaching the big island we made our way along the tree-trunk sized vine-roots to where the planted fields began. The crops, like all crops in the weightless islands, were planted in long lines of small holes punched through the tough moss that covers much of islands, to preserve the layer of soil and organic matter that covers the rocky core of the islands. The bean plants were young and unattended. We saw no one about, but found a narrow moss-carpeted lane that lead across the wide, flat fields towards a distant forest that likely sheltered a village. Island villages were often built under trees or in caves for protection from the large dragons that hunted in the skies of the small islands. Or human raiders.
We seemed to have been noticed before we saw anyone.
'It looks like we have a greeting party,' said Naylea, pointing down the lane.
It was a fairly large greeting party. I reminded myself that we had plenty of darts. We continued on to meet them. Both parties stopped to take stock of each other with 50 meters between us. The native contingent may have numbered three dozen, and if they were armed, it was with swords rather than springers or rifles. From their ranks, a tall woman emerged and began to walk slowly towards us - accompanied by a Simla dragon. Hissi and Siss exchanged glances and a questioning hiss. The rest of us exchanged quizzical glances as well. The figure slowly approaching us appeared to be dressed in the blue uniform of the Order of Laeza.
Naylea glanced back a me. 'How sure are you of the way we were heading, Litang? What are our chances that we're back in the Principalities?'
'I'd say none,' I replied, grumpily.
'You didn't happen to have that bug-eye thingy set up backwards, did you?'
'No.'
'Then how do you explain her?'
'I can't. But I'm sure we'll know soon enough.'
We started forward to meet her and the dragon.
When we were within 5 meters of each other, the lady in blue stopped to peer at us intensely. Her eyesight did not appear to be all that sharp since, now seeing us clearly, a look of surprise crossed her face. She cupped her hands and bowed, greeting us with unfamiliar words. We did the same in our language - Py and Naylea, bowing very low indeed, for this elderly personage was wearing the white sash that marked her as an Elder of the Inner Order.
She was a tall very thin, broad-feathered woman, of great age. The long feathers of her head had faded to almost as white as her belt, and her face was deeply lined with wrinkles of age, and though her eyes were cloudy with age, her expression was serene, secure, wise, and perhaps humorous as well. Her familiar looking blue outfit was as well worn and faded as she was, but neat and clean, and worn with assurance. It contrasted sharply with the jungle-stained blues Py and Naylea were wearing.
'Laeza,' said Py, touching his chest.
'Laeza,' replied the Elder, with a nod.
'Greetings, Elder Scholar,' said Py, breaking into his boyish smile. 'We are delighted to meet with such an exalted Elder of our Order. Allow me to name, my friends?'
As he named us and we bowed again, the old Laezan followed his speech closely.
'She pointed to the large Simla dragon that had been floating over her shoulder - every bit as faded and ancient as his companion, and named him - in a language that was neither Cimmadarian or Saraimian. And then, touching her breast, named herself.
She went on in a short speech of greeting - or inquiry - in a language we could not follow.
Py smiled, shrugged with an apologetic shake of his head, and then made a short speech describing our situation, miming our circumstances with gestures towards the sky and bringing one hand to his other palm to illustrate our method of arrival. The Elder followed him closely, nodded, and said a few words, a question, perhaps.
Py took it as one and pointed to the sky, 'The Saraime Principalities.'
'Saraime Principalities?' she repeated.
Py nodded, beamed at her, and said to us quietly, 'Is it not wonderful, to find one of our own Order this far from home?'
'But is she really one of our own Order? Appearances may deceive. Though perhaps she is of a very distant branch from a wind-blown seed - like us - planted long ago?' asked Naylea as the Elder considered us.
'Does it matter? But let us see...' replied Py, who then began to quietly sing-chant what I recognized as one of the meditation chants of the Order. The Elder broke into a faint smile, and joined him in the refrain - though the words did not quite match. Naylea joined them, and for several minutes they happily sang-chanted an apparently universal chant while several promising implications sent a thin ray of hope through me.
We had found a White Sash Elder of the Order of Laeza - the same Laezan Order, more or less, that was found in the Principalities, here on this island.
I considered those implications. No doubt thousands of Saraimians had found themselves in these islands, carried by misfortune or serrata winds, in the course of many hundreds of thousands of rounds, and it was very likely some of them would have been Laezans, since the Laezans travel widely throughout the Saraime Islands. So, if the Order here was founded by shipwrecked Laezans or even far roving missionaries, how long would its take for the Order to mutate and adopt a distinctive local flavor? In short, how long would the blue uniform of the Order and this meditative chant remain intact if there was no further contact with the Laezans of the Saraime? I didn't know - but I suspected that just a few generations would see significant changes, if only in the insignificant elements of the Order - like dress or meditative chants. Which seemed to offer a ray of hope, but I doubted that it would last. My luck only went so far.
When the chant concluded, the Elder called back to the larger party 'The strangers out of the great jungle, seem to be what they appear to be, Laezans from somewhere beyond these islands.'
Though, of course, she didn't say that in either Saraime, or Cimmadarian speech, but her own. I just heard her meaning in my head. My com-link had already identified the translation key to convert the local language into Saraimian. Which implied, given the limited computing power of the com-link, and the small sample it had to work with, that the two languages were closely related. Indeed, the differences were almost entirely in pronunciation rather than in grammar. But then the same thing could be said for Cimmadarian as well, and there was no historical contact between Cimmadar and the Saraime, so language alone meant nothing. It seemed that the known Pela had one root human language.
Words of reply formed in my head, but I bit them back. Did I really want to try to explain how I knew their language while claiming to be from across the Endless Sky? I decided it was better just to be a simple shipwrecked sailor, at least for now. It seemed to be the role I'd been cast to play. Besides, by keeping my knowledge to myself, I might be able to give us warning of treachery, not that I had any real fear of any. I didn't think Laezans did treachery.
'What do you think of them, my friend? Are they what they seem? Can they be trusted?' she said to the Simla dragon floating next to her, adding with a little laugh, 'And don't let the two attractive female Shadow Dragons color your judgment.'
The old Simla gave a little bark of laughter, and then turning his head to her, said "yes" in a low reassuring bark.
She nodded, and turning to us, 'If you will follow me, you will be made welcome in my village,' she said with words and gestures. 'Long-tailed Companion assures me you are who you claim to be. I am looking forward to learning more about you and where you arrived from. You will be my guests, for I have plenty of room in my quarters.'
'Thank you, Scholar. We are honored,' replied Py with a smile, in response to her gesture rather than speech. Naylea and I smiled our thanks as well, while Siss and Hissi swam up alongside her Simla dragon.
'Remember your age, my friend,' she said to him.
He gave her an absent minded dismissive bark - his attention was focused on our two Simlas. I doubt he was considering his age.
We walked back with her to the gathered villagers.
'Who are they, Bowing Pine Scholar?' they asked as we approached.
'Shipwrecked survivors from far beyond the bright sky, I believe,' she replied. 'They do not speak our language, but my companion assures me that they are harmless.'
'But two are fine-feathered barbarians,' objected one of the party.
'One of whom is a fellow member of the Order. We've nothing to fear,' she replied.
'It seems that we are to be the guests of the White Sash Elder, Bowing Pine Scholar. Her Simla dragon has vouched for us, though how much Siss and Hissi had to do with that, I can't say,' I said as we started off towards the town in the woods.
'How do you know all that, Litang?' whispered Naylea.
I lifted my arm to show her my com-link.
'Yours still works?'
'Yes. I spent the better part of 50 rounds charging it, along with my darters. You don't realize how much energy those super-capacitors hold until you have to charge them on the common voltage of a ship.'
'And it picked up the language already?'
'It must be very closely related to Saraime's. I'm thinking it's only a matter pronunciation. We should pick it quickly. Or you should, since I and my com-link already have.'
'Don't gloat.'
We accompanied Bowing Pine Scholar and the island elders and warriors to Finvere, the only town on the island of the same name.
Chapter 36 The Islands of the Catarias
