“Jód. Vriish shrenii bèrshai; chúit nash jahl na qundra chail yandri huhl na dhahr.”
“He says we can get down and go talk in the village. They’ll keep our herd separated.” This was getting easier, bit by bit.
“All right. Cush!”
The village looked more permanent than any of the other settlements they had come across save Rodsfahan. Just over half of the “buildings” they passed were long pavilion tents the color of sand, stitched together out of camel hides. The rest were made of smooth mud brick and hide, with curtains that could be stretched to cover windows and doors during storms. They must have fairly reliable water here, and good soil, to have built so solidly. She saw people now that they were walking, mostly women and children who watched, curious but cautious, from the shadows behind the thresholds.
“Jaesh raryai kaim vriish pada rii?” ‘Does your village get attacked often?’ The villagers were acting a little like chinkara in the grasslands, almost like they were afraid of the two of them.
The tribesman shrugged. “Qaehl, shraekai ta jid.” Well that was a non-answer if ever she heard one. ‘The Qaehl is dangerous’ indeed. “Andri èq prèihr ókhai jidra dhain khúl ókhai jid.” ‘There will be time for talk once there is shade.’
Chandi scowled. “Just trying to be friendly.” Since their ‘host’ didn’t seem to want to talk while they walked, Chandi decided she should fill Ravi in on what she knew already.
“Their tribe is Bar’shetr Vasengu. Part of that might be a clan or sept, it’s not a tribe I’m familiar with. They’re a very… traditional sort, it looks like. Probably the only reason they aren’t sending me off to play with dolls is to translate for you.” She glared at Ravi as he only barely managed to stifle a laugh. “What, the idea of me playing with dolls is funny?”
He chuckled this time.
“I never cared for them.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Anyway, be careful. There might be a water ceremony, or tea, or something, and they almost certainly won’t think to explain it if there is.”
“As long as you can tell me what they’re talking about, I’ll manage something.”
She nodded. “I’ll do my best, of course. How much do you want to tell them about what we’re doing?”
“They deserve to know. Their elders will do with the knowledge as they see fit, I’m sure.”
She nodded again, more slowly this time. “All right. I just worried about causing a panic, as nervous as they all seem.”
Their guide stopped in front of the entryway to one of the mud-brick huts and motioned for them to enter, holding back the hide curtain as he did so.
Inside, the hut was a single room with a clay oven on one wall and a long, low table dominating the floor space. Seating cushions were scattered around the table. The curtain fell closed behind them and their host walked over to a clay jug sitting against another wall by a window.
“Khedyi pród.”
“He’s offered us a seat.”
Ravi nodded at her, then looked up at their still-unnamed host as he folded his legs under him. “Thank you.”
“Pra vrii jaensai?” The elder’s Trade presumably extended that far, but it was best to be sure.
“Vai. È órish yúihl beq vrii óri taelldra, ka vriish khaenchóum beq óri vrii taelldra.” He was willing to trade some of the village’s water for their information. Not a bad bargain.
“Achaet.” ‘Happy’ wasn’t quite what she wanted, but it was the word she could come up with. “He says he will share his water if we will share our story. I told him we’d be happy to.”
“Excellent. We can begin at any time.”
Chandi nodded, but did not translate that immediately. Best to give him a chance to sit down. “I will introduce us, first, as none of us have names yet. Chandi órish t’èishi, ti Aranya Prasuuna Chèin’ii.”
The elder was filling the second cup. Chandi hoped that his offer of water extended to her, as well. This was going to be a lot of talking.
“Nii Sararaq yuhr Ravi ansai. Órish yúish pa khenya, è…” ‘Ravi comes from Sararaq. He saved my life, and…’ What was the word for guardian? It didn’t come up much. “Óri pundri.” ‘Adopted me.’ That would have to do.
“Yar pa vriish pitaji jid?” ‘So he is your father?’
"…Vai.” Again someone assumed he was her father. He wasn’t, but she didn’t know the right word, so she agreed. He acted the part, she guessed, but there were things she had to do before she was willing to give up being Chèin’ii.
“Chèish cha jid. Ka yainta’ii óhr vróud, chèshii sa jid èja beq pita sya vróud.” That was the more common word for father, this time.
“When I told him you took me in, he asked if you were my father. I agreed, since I didn’t know the right word, and he said it was best for daughters to travel with fathers.”
Ravi didn’t have to look so absurdly pleased about that.
“Raghu órish t’èishi. Bèn na hidha.” ‘I am Raghu. Let us begin.’ Three cups were placed on the table, and each of them drank a little.
* * *
To say that Raghu was skeptical of their tale of giant, city-destroying scorpion-ants was putting it mildly. Not that he trusted in the power of the sedentary cities – far from it. He simply had never seen such a beast, and surely if they existed they would have bubbled up out of the deep desert. He was even more skeptical about this supposed ritual of Ravi’s.
“Stavód vriish pita ka vrùllai pa jid beq eshri dhaeshii syash ega’ii chúit sami kaidhyai.”
She managed not to twitch. Correcting him, reminding him that they were not even of the same tribe, that her father was lost when Q’uungerab was destroyed, had done no good.
“Raghu asks if you know the story of why the gods stopped interfering with men.”
“Only vaguely.”
“Qaina chèish.”
“Khaenchóum óri taelldra. Venaet vrii vrúindra, è ka shróv vrii qaina èiq adód óri vrii syaedra.” He was going to tell the story, and if she didn’t recognize a term she had to ask. That wouldn’t be a problem.
“Óri jaensam.” ‘I understand.’
He began.
Once, long ago while the gods still walked the earth and before the Qaehl became a great desert, the nations of man banded together to form a single union and end for all time striving between nations. God and man alike celebrated, for strife between men had long been a burden on the gods. They knew that all men had been born of Atrakhanti and Dhamar and did not like to see strife between brothers.
The twenty-four nations of man came together in a conclave and selected the Chèin’ii to be the mediators and diplomats among the tribes, resolving all disputes when they arose and bearing news to all corners of the kingdom. The leaders of each nation resolved to form a council of equals.
Chandi recognized the story. Usually it was trotted out to show why the Chèin’ii were trouble.
Dhamar himself stood over the conclave, blessing it with his all-revealing light. Kubhranta was there as well, and Atrakhanti, and they provided guidance and protection to the council of men. Only one warning was given: “Keep separate all your orders of priests, for there is great danger in allowing their secrets to gather together.” The men of the conclave agreed, although they did not understand why they were warned thus.
The unified Qaehl grew and prospered for many generations, and no tribe prospered more than the Chèin’ii, who gained the respect of all other tribes as they carried out their sacred duty. In time, the towns and villages of the union came to rely on the priests of the traveling Chèin’ii for spiritual guidance as well as temporal, and the old orders of priests fell into decline and began to disappear. Rather than allow the knowledge of the orders to disappear from mortal minds, and having forgotten the injunction of the gods, the priests of the Chèin’ii spoke with the priests of the other tribes as it became plain they would not recover and gathered their knowledge together u
nder one banner.
She never had been sure why this story proved that the Chèin’ii were no good. Didn’t this say more about people in general?
Seeing this, for his light illuminates all shadows, Dhamar became alarmed and informed his wife and brother-in-law. Though done in innocence, it was dangerous to allow it to continue, and so Atrakhanti gave a vision to the priests of the Chèin’ii.
“What, then, shall we do?” They petitioned her. “Is it not worse if the knowledge is lost?”
“What has become of the old orders that you feel so compelled?”
“They have withdrawn upon themselves, and the people believe they are distant and unapproachable. Thus their numbers shrink year upon year and the people turn to us, who are storytellers and arbiters.”
“Then divide yourself into twenty-four clans, and let no clan be entrusted with the knowledge of more than one tribe, and one clan be set aside to preserve the knowledge of your own. It would be troublesome for the knowledge to be lost, but worse for it to be gathered all together.”
And so the Chèin’ii divided themselves by families into twenty-four clans. Each clan but the Aranya Prasuuna, who held themselves apart, gained the secret knowledge of one of the other priestly orders and passed on only that knowledge to the next generations. And so the peoples of the Qaehl continued to prosper and the Chèin’ii grew in power and authority until, after many more generations had been born and died, they were accounted holy of their own right, mere steps below the gods, and granted authority as advisors to the ruling council. As time passed they forgot Atrakhanti’s injunction against sharing mystical knowledge among the clans, and wondered among themselves what they could do with this knowledge to help the people of the land. To this end, careful maps were made of the land and all that was in it. Only the Aranya Prasuuna remembered their holy charge to keep the knowledge of the Chèin’ii separate from the others, and so they retreated away from civilization and built for themselves a monastery to better serve the goddess’ wishes.
Now there was a detail she’d never heard before. Why hadn’t that survived among her clan, at least?
With the Aranya Prasuuna Chèin’ii gone, the other clans of the Chèin’ii appointed Prabodh, the most knowledgeable of them all, as the first among them. They determined that the magics they had assembled could be used to make the Qaehl a place of even greater wonders and beauty. In their arrogance, they spoke mantras calling upon the goddess Burindhatri, she of the golden harvest, and Serisuma, him of the fertile herds, to multiply the increase of their lands, and this was done during the height of the growing season before the monsoons. Burindhatri and Serisuma caused the fields and the cattle to produce abundantly, and the people of the land rejoiced. But as the grain was ripening on the stalk a great plague of qóini swept the land and devoured the largest part of their crops, such that the famine was great when the monsoons came and the cattle became diseased for want of food. Many people died over the rainy season for this reason, and as it drew to a close Prabodh met with the other priests to determine what could be done in atonement for their previous mistake.
“Qóini?” What sort of creature was that?
“Gaen óvri dhutii kura achèr èirii èichib, óri adaehm, ableh sya t’èinyai è stúinya gastii.” A large, grain-eating rat? That jumped. What an odd creature. Ravi was just as perplexed when she tried to describe it to him.
“Sya chab achaib óri èim qaina adaehm, kir gash khaenchóum jid nuvai vuka.”
“He thinks they’re mythical, or maybe just long-dead, but they’re part of the story.”
“Ah. Much like the monsters in our story.”
“More or less.”
“Syúsim gid óri?” May I continue?
“Vai, khedyi.” Yes, please. She was beginning to see large holes in the story as she had known it.
Eventually, they decided to beseech Dhamar to move the sun closer to the land and dry it from the rains so that they could plant earlier, and while Dhamar could see the good will in their hearts he knew this was a foolish plan. Nevertheless he acquiesced, hoping to humble them from their arrogance before it brought true calamity upon them, and drew the sun mere inches closer to the Qaehl. Alas, Dhamar underestimated the effect this would have on the land, and before he could command the sun to move back into its natural place it had scorched the surface of the Qaehl until no plant remained living. Thus Dhamar caused the sun to retreat from the land to a mere inch past its natural place in hopes that they might recover more quickly for it.
The people yet lived, and clamored for the priests to beg assistance of Karuya, merciful goddess of the rains, for without water they would all perish. The gentle-hearted Karuya heard their pleas. When she came she was shocked to find that what once had been verdant plains was nothing but scorched wasteland so far as her eye could see. So Karuya watered the thirsty ground, and the ground drank deeply of her waters and began to wash away. The rains ceased, but nothing could now stop the floods. The fertile earth was washed away and entire cities were swallowed up into the ground to leave no trace of their existence. The people looked around and despaired, for what had once been their home was now a barren expanse, dry as dust, where little could grow and less could thrive.
Most people stopped here, but Raghu continued.
In return for their great devotion and memory, Atrakhanti had protected the Aranya Prasuuna Chèin’ii in their monastery on the ocean from the calamities that befell their brethren. They knew naught of what happened until Atrakhanti sent them a vision instructing them to return to the lands of their forefathers. They were to guide the remnant of a remnant that remained so that men could thrive in the Qaehl even now.
The other Chèin’ii clans welcomed their return as children in trouble welcome the return of a wise elder brother. Many among the other tribes believed in their guidance as well, but some saw them as no different from the other clans of Chèin’ii, and some said they were worse for they had not attempted to help. For a time, however, these dissidents were silent, and through Atrakhanti, Khubhranta and Dhamar they taught the people well how to adapt to this new life they were faced with. Then the gods removed their hands from the world.
Chandi sat silent for a long moment after the end of the story, letting the last part sink in. “T’evi vrii, Raghu, èq gón ti khaenchóum póudya yúishai beq hidhya.” ‘Thank you, Raghu, for keeping the end of the memory alive with the beginning.’ Her voice was dusky as she thanked him. In Old Kaehr, stories were always memories. She thought she might understand why, now.
“Aranya Prasuuna vriish shrókan jidya, qaina jidya sya?” ‘The Aranya Prasuuna were your clan, were they not? ’
Chandi nodded once.
“Eshri ablaem vrii pra khaenchóum?” ‘Why did the memory surprise you?’
“Róndri sa na anyai.” ‘Somehow we misplaced it.’ It was the only answer she could give.
“Khurva. Kir jaesh eshri óri syaedyai sa vriish pita ablúsh?” No excess of sympathy there.
“Ravi, he wants to know if you understand why he told the story.”
“He cautions me against excessive pride, because even well-intentioned acts can have disastrous consequences.” There was an odd catch in his voice.
“Vahl pa dhash.” ‘Pride, he says.’
Raghu nodded sagely, confirming Ravi’s answer.
“But something has to be done.” Ravi spoke so quietly Chandi almost didn’t hear.
“Do you want me to translate that?”
“As you like.”
She did; it was a sentiment she shared. If this performance Ravi had planned could really shut the monsters away again, she had to try it.
“Ka ba vaesh vrii èchód, óri shrúinta vriish bèihr qaina khudra. Nash yúinta vriish shrenii ódha chakha, kir gèim bóshi teq ókhai jid ója yúikhii jóib.” This one was going to take a little parsing.
“He says he won’t try to change our minds because… of our… strong emotions.” That was close, anyway. “And we can wa
ter our camels, but… dhóudai chaiq ója yúikha?” When he nodded, she continued. “But until the rains come there’s not enough food to go around.”
“Of course. We would not wish to impose.” Ravi turned and looked at Raghu. “Thank you.”
“T’evi vrii. Qai vróirvai na paidha.” ‘Thank you. We wish no imposition.’
Raghu nodded and rose to pull back the curtain leading outside as Ravi and Chandi stood to leave. “Gid chèishii aegii gón vriish dhaenta syósh.”
“Gaihl t’evii. Gid kúihl vriish khairyai achainda yúidèihl è kúihl jahl vriish hirya hesh.”
Raghu did not follow them as they walked back towards where their camels were being kept.
“So what was that last bit?” Ravi asked as they walked.
“He wished us the best possible ending for our journey. I thanked him, and you may have heard the blessing I used before. ‘May your hearthfire always be bountiful and your path lead you always home.’”
“Once or twice, yes.” They walked a few paces in silence before he spoke again.
“He was calling me your father the entire time, wasn’t he.”
“He was. And I couldn’t correct him.”
“That’s all right. I kind of like the sound of it.” Ravi sounded happier than she had ever heard. It almost sounded like joy.
She stopped in her tracks. “I…”
“Don’t mind me, I’m just thinking aloud.” He was actually smiling as he looked over his shoulder at her.
She started walking again. Who just randomly drops that sort of statement into conversation? Even ‘thinking aloud.’ “I’m flattered, Ravi, but…” But she intended to go to the conclave this coming summer, and if the Aranya Prasuuna were destroyed she would find a new clan there.
Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1) Page 28
