Chapter 13 - Part IV

Dund dah du wei bo bo feng

"It tells stories." She finished. "And if you use a different ideograph," she raised a finger and started drawing an invisible character in the air, "ţun means story."

Shar-wu dropped her hand with dramatic effect on one of the knobs. The reverberations of the "Bo" ţun rippled through Onion's flesh.  "The Great Nothing was uniformly formless, existing with neither chaos nor order." Shar-wu began to chant with each word matching a sound of the ţun. Matching the name of the ţun with the meaning that was given.  The Yibouhese was archaic, and Onion could only understand a little, but she could understand enough to know the Yibouh were wrong. "From the original nothing came absence and its opposing extreme, existence.  And from there the opposition began.  Existence enjoyed existence, and absence enjoyed absence, and so each were delineated, just as darkness does not mix with light during the day.  So existence pulled together to make the world, the sun and the stars, while absence clung tightly to in the spaces between."

Shar-wu stopped and glanced at Onion as if to say, "What do you think of that?"  Mentally, she replied, A great nothing? That sounds silly.  How can something come from nothing? ,  but she had gotten good at holding her tongue around Shar-Wu.

"It was very beautiful.  I can still feel the notes in my bones." she replied verbally.

"You should be here when they have a service.  You cannot help but feel the primordial powers of opposites in eternal conflict.  It really makes you think about the universe."

Onion looked quizzically at Shar-wu's last sentence.  She'd never heard the term 'universe' before.

"Truth be told," Shar-wu continued, "There is another reason why I wanted to see you here."

"What?"

Shar-wu pulled another knob and the sound was still in the air when she spoke again.  "I was told to give this to you, discreetly."  She handed Onion a sealed scroll.  "And I'm starting to get worried about you."

Onion took the scroll and saw the seal of the prince.  Roh-ath.  "What have you done to get correspondence from the son of the Empress?"

And why are they sending me his message through you? Onion opened the scroll.

"Do you need my help to read it?" Shar-wu asked, but the text that stared at Onion was not Yibouhese.  It was in Eirdred.

We have an insect needing to return home, and you are ready for your first mission.  You and Cedric will travel in two days.

Onion didn't understand why she was being told this in this way.  Yaj-Oth had said nothing.  Cedric could have just as easily sought her out.  Unless, Onion thought and suddenly she stared at Shar-wu with abject suspicion and hurt.

"Is this whole damn country just toying with me?" she asked who she thought was her teacher and friend, tears forming in her eyes.  "You are one of them too?"

Shar-wu looked shocked and injured at Onion's words.  "What?"

Onion pulled a knob of the Khon-tun and let the sound drown the chamber.  "Are you bei-thal too?"

"What are you talking about?  What is bei-thal?  Is that a Nuish word?" she stammered defensively.

"You say this as if you don't know.  Stop pretending.  Stop all the lying.  Why can't anyone on this evil continent say things as they are.  No.  Everyone speaks as if they have two tongues.  I am sick of you all."

"Vren!" Shar-wu grabbed her student by the wrist, and Onion felt a tug on her web.  "Please listen to me.  I have no idea what you are talking about."

The tugs on her web grew stronger and the next moment, when she looked Shar-wu in the eyes, she could recognize this as sincerity.  Shar-wu had in fact, never heard of this term before.  The realization of this forced a gasp from her lips.

"Oh no."  said she.  "Oh no no no." she turned to the khon-tun again and pulled a knob.  "Oh Shar-wu no, I'm sorry.  Please forget what I said.  Go home.  Forget about this conversation.  Never utter it again."  She looked about the Cathedral.  It was as empty as it had been when they arrived, and the echo of the khon-tun was still present.  "Thank the spider for the Circle of Keepers.  Just promise me," she said, turning her attention back to her web, traveling to the web that Shar-wu never knew she had.  There, she began spinning thread.  "Promise me, until the end of your days, you will never ever again say the word 'bei-thal'." And with the breath of her sentence, the word was suffocated on Shar-wu's web.

"Yes, of course," Shar-wu looked alarmed, "I'll never say it again,"

"What?" quizzed Onion.

"What?" she looked visibly dazed, "Remind me what you just said?  I can't seem to recall."

Onion relaxed visibly.  "Thank the spider."  She pulled herself from Shar-wu's grip and hugged her friend.

The onion story thus far

I'm posting this on the off-chance that somebody tries to read all the Onion posts from day one.  These posts are the most rough of rough drafts so names, language, concepts are often changing as I go back and edit, and re-edit and re-edit.  This is the story up-to-date with all edits up to Chapter 12.

The updated pdf can be found here: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B9tDRfZXg8tzZUdzdkMtcDB3bDA/view?usp=sharing

Chapter 13 - Part III

Vren met up with Shar-Wu later that afternoon, as she had continued to do every 3 or 4 days of the 6 day week since being recruited by the Silent Scholar.  She still had a long way before she could consider herself fluent in Yibouhese, and the strange art of making marks on parchment to signify words was still a practice done out of concentrated effort; not natural ease.

"Dear Vren." Shar-wu greeted her language student with a hug and it took all Onion could muster to avoid cringing in pain.  The embrace of her teacher aggravated her scarred and raw skin under her clothing.  "I'm glad to see that you've finally started to pick up on Yibouh fashion." she remarked, noting the Onion's gradual retirement of her wardrobe.  First went the Eirdred style, loose but stiff linen short jacket then the Nüish style tight leather torso wrap and belt and finally the nondescript leather breeches that were standard issue for off-duty City Enforcers in Eirdren City.  Instead, they were replaced with soft flowing robes of layered, light silk, known as bhuon with a satin belt keeping it together.  "I wasn't going to say it directly, but... well, "she looked at her student searching for understanding as well as forgiveness, "Well it doesn't matter what I think of fashion in other parts of the world.  Your foreign features really fit nicely with that purple bhuon!  It's so smooth and shiny.  And I love the crane embroidery.  All we need to do now is change those dirty leather boots to some proper ket, and maybe do something with your hair.  You will be gorgeous."

Onion held her tongue, not waning to make an issue of the matter, so all she did was smile.  She couldn't tell Shar-wu that her other clothes were blood-soaked.  Nor could she divulge that the bhuon wouldn't cling closely to her beaten flesh like the leather did.  The loose fabric was the only thing that felt bearable to wear.

"I want to do something different for our lesson today.  Tell me, how much do you know about the Circle of Keepers?"

Onion felt herself involuntarily heave in disgust.  "We have our own gods in the Outer Crest."

"I'm not trying to convert you, don't worry," she chuckled, "You look so unattractive when you frown. But the Circle is an important part of Yibouh, and really, just about anywhere within the Empire.  If you don't understand it, you'll never get a good grasp of half of our idioms and customs.  I want to show you the University Cathedral."

They arrived to a massive building, made of white marble like most of the University on High.  Onion had seen the building from a distance - it was an unavoidable sight from just about anywhere on the campus, bu she'd never been up close.  Looking at the giant hexagonal monolith so closely, Onion felt small, even smaller than looking at the imperial palace.

At its base - a walk around which would probably take no less time to encircle than what is needed to finish one's morning meal- huge stones taller than Onion connected in a circle to form the foundation. of the cathedral.  After climbing two stories of stairs, the building proper began with smaller, but equally smooth, straight and unblemished marble stones were constructed in hexagon, no doubt one side for each Keeper.  

Further up her eyes traveled to see that eventually, after 5 or 6 stories, each wall separated from the other and continued in a triangular spire until its tip.  From this angle, she could not see it, but at each spire's tip, flying buttresses of carefully wrought steel, gilded with vines of gold, bridged each point to a center circle, also made of gilded steel.  Within that circle a globe of polished copper and steel hung suspended, occasionally rotating with the breeze.  The globe was only visible from the palace, being as high as it was, however.  When Shar-wu told her of it, and that it was to represent the world, Onion laughed at her face.

"You're being serious?" she quickly recanted.

"The world is round," Shar-wu replied sparking another laughing fit from her student.

Onion made a gesture of surveying the land from left to right, "Doesn't look very round to me."

"But it is.  Our scholars figured it out ages ago."

Onion liked Shar-wu, but she didn't know if she could believe something so outlandish just on her say so.

After a long climb, the two stood at one corner of the hexagon and before two giant oak doors - imports from Eirdren.  One was just slightly ajar, to allow access to visitors.  Upon entering the cathedral, Onion saw that the inside mirrored the outside.  Where each spire had begun, a huge pillar made of rose marble held it up.  Six pillars in total, alternating with each wall, which helped give a sense of an alcove though no inner walls separated each section.  At each wall, richly colored oil paintings, marble and plaster statues and hundreds of candles surrounded an altar, one for each of the Keepers; Ganthay's altar sat opposite of Sheg's, Vera of Rüern's, and Dagleth of Rel.  To Yibouh's credit, or perhaps it was merely a reflection on the diversity of people that traveled to the University, Ganthay, the patron keeper of Yibouh, had an altar that was only slightly more adorned than that of the other Keepers.

Before each altar were a series of benches that looked more like slabs of marble thrust from the polished floor.  There were no backs to these seats so that patrons could face either the altar of the Keeper they had come to appeal to, or during a service, turn around and face the center of the building.

A railing of rose marble, gold and silver formed an inner ring beyond the pillars, and beyond that railing, the floor disappeared, save one little bridge of stairs originating from Ganthay's side and terminating at the direct center of the cathedral.  It was here that the pulpit rested.  

"Come here," Shar-wu motioned towards the break in the railing leading to the pulpit bridge.  The bridge was fenced off with a black iron grate, but just to the side a simple staircase of unimpressive granite hugged the walls of the round opening in the floor.  After only 12 steps, it stopped at a landing where a velvet bench of red sat before a lacquered wood board covered in knobs.

Onion didn't know what to make of it. “What is this thing? What possible purpose could it have?”

Shar-wu smiled, offered a finger pointing overhead as the captivated Nü took in her surroundings. While the wooden board, with its two dozen knobs or so stood no higher than the nose of a tall man, wires of steel fed through the compartment behind the board, through holes in the wall and up along the sides of the one corner of the cathedral that didn't have doors.  They continued, strong and taut up into the rafters. And well up above the two, and all the altars, about two dozen sheets of metal, all the same sheen of silver and the same rectangular shape, but of varying sizes and thicknesses, lay suspended from those rafters.

“This is called a Khon’ţun. ‘Khon’, of course, meaning…”

“Sound." Onion repeated the word, pointing to her ears, "I know that.” Onion said defensively, “but not ‘ţun’”

“In your language,” asked Shar-Wu, “are there words that don’t mean objects or actions, but they mean the very sounds themselves?” Shar-Wu paused, and stomped her feet hard on the stony floor. “’puţ‘ is what this sounds like, so puţ is what we call it. ţun is a sound of those sheets of steel we see above us, as then bend back and forth with a pull of the knob on the board. Let me demonstrate.”

Shar-Wu lifted a delicate hand but the mechanical Khon’ţun made the knobs easy to pull even by her.

dund dund dund. Went the notes that Shar-Wu selected. The echo of the sheet metal as it flapped back and forth reverberated throughout the cavernous cathedral chamber and Onion could feel the vibrations pulse through her, from her toes to her heart. Surely any within the Sextant ground would have heard Shar-wu’s performance.

She continued, dund dund dund. fa dund woh dund bu. dund.

Onion knew she has heard the tune before, but could not place it. It seemed background noise to the music of her life of late, but spiders are visual creatures, and the sounds of the world often pass them by.

“Why is it not called an ophlin’ţun?”

“Because the khon’ţun does not produce music."

AWG Short Story Writing Prompt - The Greatest Shame

Hello Writers!

To celebrate one year of existence, The Ashland Writers' Group will hold a one-off slam-style reading.

The challenge: to see if your revealing, first-person anecdote gets us hooked in 700 words or less. We prefer a rendition from real life, but fiction is also welcome.

Parameters:

Max Length, 700 words.

Read aloud only, no copies.

10-minute discussion on the quality of the hook, the arresting incident, strength of tension, level of humor, and resolution.

(Author's note: This isn't completely true story, but it is an amalgamation of thoughts and experiences, ranging from vaguely similar to verbatim exact, pushed into a consistent narrative form, with exaggerated characters and simplified backgrounds.  Names have been changed in this version, names were not changed for the oral telling)

Eyes dart back and forth faster than an Olympic sprinter. Heart races and the slight taste of metal edges the sides of her tongue. What is possessing me to do this now? Why am I being so stupid? She thinks, hoping her thoughts will bully herself into stopping. It doesn't work. And in a public place? Can't you just go home Caroline? You can do this in the privacy of bedroom!

This year she's been at the top of her game. She can't understand why her classmates think high school is hard; everyday gets better. Memories of confused, friendless middle school days are quickly dissipating and in its place a carefully forged persona is erected, giving her purpose and sense. She can finally define who she is, and that surety of self is perfect for sewing seeds of friendship.

A month ago she was honored with a trophy. “Most Valuable Player” Though Coach Souza was more likely to taunt her and run the team into the ground, the speech that accompanied the trophy was one of the most touching. He told the team that she was the rock of the defense, and while the team was known for it's offense, it was the combination of the two that won the state championship 4 years running. “Old Man of the Mountain” he nicknamed her, referencing the ever stoic, never-changing rock formation, famous in New Hampshire.

In middle school, she was weak. She let hurtful gossip drag her into self-pity. But now she is strong, sure, confident of herself. The world understands that nothing bothers her, neither physical pain, nor the absurdities of clique drama. And she doesn't need tell people that she is immune. They can see it. They see it in her punishing workouts. They see it in her clothes, from the baggy cargo pants and steel-toed military boots that say “I don't care about your stupid fashion” to the tight-fitting t-shirts that show her muscles and trim form, to the butch hair cut that made her sister say “I can't tell if you are a boy or a girl!”

She loves her muscular legs that can sprint around the field and hit the ball away from an offensive assault. She gives up her jacket to shivering teammates, braving the biting cold winds of late autumn in New England. Even then, her face resembles unyielding ice more than human flesh.

So why was she trying to ruin it all? Why is she here, in the school library, taping away at the keyboard? Each tap chips away at her carefully constructed wall, threatening to destroy it.

She hears the library door open, and her heart jumps! Minimize! Minimize! Work you stupid button! She clicks frantically trying to will the computer with her thoughts. She wants to fling her head towards the doorway to identify the intruder, but she knows it will invite more suspicion. She thrusts her irises far left until they hurt, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person who could ruin her. She cannot see if the window is gone on her computer screen.

The figure approaches. Laura Zellner. Shit! One of those girls who used to smile at me while she told her friends I'm pathetic. Might as well broadcast it on TV. Her heart threatens to burst out of her chest.

Laura speaks, “Did you decide your topic for Srta. Rozenburg?”

She dares to hope, glancing at the screen. The web page Mezoamerican Culinary Traditions stands proudly, beaming joyous rays of electronic light.

“Uh, yeah” she responds, wanting to sigh in relief and hoping the shakiness in her throat isn't in her voice. “It's on Aztec food. Uh. You?”

Laura speaks but the Stoic Warrior Queen of Tiverton isn't really paying attention. She's sure her inattention will ensnare her in some kind of humiliating trap Laura is setting, but this time, she truly doesn't care. Nothing could be as bad as what could have been if she had gotten caught.

Laura finally leaves. She clicks on the minimized window. The page stares her down accusingly. I know your secret. Says the internet.

She clicks the “X” on the page and Lovely Renaissance Dresses winks out of existence.

Less than one year after she graduates from high school, a rock formation in New Hampshire crumbles to dust. 

Chapter 13 - Part II

Onion shifted uncomfortably.

He did not wait further for her answer.  "They can be used for that." he said, sensing her thoughts,"But not always.  An attractive child can go where even the most silent and careful of spies cannot.  One this young may accompany me on a mission, as my son, or daughter.  He may be left with the other children, listening in on the conversations of parents, recording every last word."

Vren turned to the child.  "What is your name, boy?"

"Jaune." said he, casting his eyes downward.

"You still do not believe me, Vren.  You must learn to if you wish to survive this." again she felt the sting on her back.  "Very well, go ahead, talk to him.  Get it out of your system so that we may progress.  You think he is human.  You think he has hopes and dreams, memories.  He doesn't.  His body only knows how to behave as he had always behaved."

Vren wanted to be skeptical, but the sinking feeling in her heart told her that she understood Yaj-Oth perfectly.  Nonetheless, she knelt before the boy and brought his eyes to her own.

"Where is your mother?"

"I don't know." he replied briskly.

"Tell me about yourself.  How is it here?"

"My room is where I sleep.  I eat food with other bei.  I do not sleep hungry and I do not thirst while in the care of the bei'thal." he uttered slowly.

"Do you ever have fun?"

"I don't know."

Vren frowned, a little surprised at her own reaction.  She had been on the continent too long perhaps;  she was feeling sympathy for this child what had nothing to do with her clan.  Perhaps it was still the effects of the bei's power - she still did see him as Nü, though she tried hard to see through the illusion.  Though perhaps even a child of Yibouh could be seen as deserving of mercy.  She'd have to think more on that later.

"Jaune." intoned Yaj-Oth, "You are a child of Falloth, .  Your name is Keedavalu.  This is your mother and I am your father.  Go on and play while daddy and mommy attend to their business."

Subtly, the boy's eyes widened.  Light reflected off of his pupils radiating a greenish brown where there were hints of gold before.  His hairstyle did not change, that would have to be done physically, but it did seem to darken in color, while his skin cast a smoother sheen.  Suddenly, he smiled and laughed, looking for something to amuse himself with.  He settled for shaping his hands into animals and plants and interacting with them in pantomime.  It was a game Vren had never seen, neither on the Outer Crest nor in in any of the provinces of Yibouh through which she had traveled.

"Ask again." Yaj-Oth instructed Vren.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"Mama, can we leave soon?  I want to catch crayfish with Vetiamaha again."  What Vren did not see, what she could not see, was that somewhere, in fiction, mythology or observation by one of the Learned over the years, a Keedavalu and his childhood friend Vetiamaha that the bei Jaune drew from to become who he was now.  In exchange for his own personality, he now possessed hundreds, if not thousands, making this goa'bei more compromised of spirit than even his handler Yaj-Oth understood.

"I understand this boy.  He's speaking Yibouhese, not Falish." Vren observed, "Wouldn't that dispel the illusion?"

"It is a limiting factor of the goa'bei, or rather, of bei in general.  Once the compromising process has occurred, we cannot teach them language any longer.  We can teach them words, and we can teach them accents, that is easy enough.  I can point to an object, a sword, call it 'Wuob', but I cannot teach them Eirdren.  There are some things in this world that are too complex for mere machines.

"This is what makes our jobs as bei'thal all that more crucial.  It is our task to know our bei, their strengths and weaknesses, better than we know even our own.  An effective bei'thal has no fear of exposing their bei's flaws, because they use a bei only for its strengths.  A poor bei'thal does not anticipate this and exposes his bei's weaknesses to the world.  Likely, he dooms the bei, or even himself to destruction.  Even worse, he risks exposing the very concept of Compromise to our enemies.  We are so effective because we are not known for what we do.  The day that knowledge becomes commonplace, we are useless to the Empire."

Yaj-Oth bei'thal did not need to elaborate on the consequences of becoming obsolete in the Empire, though the cultural gap perhaps left her with the wrong impression.  The Nü generally abhorred becoming parasitic to their clans.  Yibouh generally abhorred intelligence leaks.  And Yibouh was not recalcitrant in plugging those leaks.

Chapter 13 - Part I

"Close your eyes.  Raise your palms flat and forward."

Good.

Breathe.  Focus on that breath.  Start by counting.  1, 2, breathe in.  3, 4, breathe out, et, auj, breathe in, vok, kuth, breath out.  Then let go of the numbers."

He gently touched the tips of Vren's outstretched hands and she felt the warmth of his fingers permeate her own thin skin.  Warmth, and something else.  A steady beat vibrated through her being as well.  Could it be the beating of his heart?  The flow of his blood?  Or something else.

Yaj-Oth, a Yibouhese bei'thal, pulled his hand back, but the beat continued.

"I am simply making apparent what is already there.  I'm setting you in the right direction, handing you the leash.  What do you see?"

"I don't see anything.  My eyes are closed." 

He slapped her face for that.  "Now is not the time to play idiot, student." he said, but he was not angry.

Vren did not budge.  Instead, she reached out on her web, feeling the presence first of Yaj-Oth, and the 50 or so souls or half-souls throughout this side of the barracks.  They were in all directions, and aside from Yaj-Oth, none seemed to have purpose with her.  She struggled to find what he was looking for.

"The Silent Scholar warned me about this.  Clearly we need to beat it out of you." he resigned himself, drawing the nine-tails short whip from his belt with his powerful hand.  "But my promise to you as teacher is that I will break you of this.  You will be bei'thal yet."  He struck her bare back with enough force to visit her flesh in fresh bloody streaks, but not more.  The wounds broke open others from days past, but they went no further than that.

Vren cried out in pain, crouching her body away from the blow, and her focus lost not only her connection to her web, but to the beat radiating from her fingertips as well.

"Stop it!" she cried.  "Please."

"Why do you play your tricks when I give you the answer into your hands.  Try again student." He continued.

"Stand up straight.  Begin again."

Vren pulled her body and her mind back into focus, moving her attentions to the pains in her body and the frustrations of her mind, to the energy of the air around her.  Again, Yaj-Oth brushed her fingertips and again she felt the beat within her body.

"Focus.  Do not use your head.  The kennel husband does not philosophize with the dogs."

"He commands them to attention." she responded and Yaj-Oth rewarded her with a curt nod, though Vren could not see it.

So instead Vren followed the beat of her own heart and traced it to that of her fingertips, where that foreign rhythm flowed.  This time, she found the connection.  She followed the source of the beat, through the door, out the room and down the hall.  It snaked around a corner and through another door where it found its end - its origin.  Vren tugged.

Within seconds there was a knock at the training room door.  Vren opened her eyes.

"Good.  Good.  Now, command it to enter."

Vren cleared her throat and ordered with the most authority she could muster in a foreign tongue, "Enter bei."

The door opened and a young girl of perhaps 15 tides or so walked in.  She was beautiful, exotic and charismatic.  Vren could not tell where she came from, her skin was dark enough to be considered Nüish, but light enough that in the right lighting, she might be mistaken for Lithenese. Her eyes were round enough for any one of the known tribes of Benge, yet dark irises and a piercing glare could have her be Yibouhese just as easily.  Vren blinked, and when she looked again, she realized her assessment had been all wrong.  This girl was clearly a Nü.  She might be a hauntingly strange, if not beautiful child, but she had a strongness in her face Vren had grown up adoring.

"A bei'thal is not supposed to be tricked by their bei." Yaj-Oth berated, bemused.

Vren looked at the similarly shirtless man, clad only in breeches and leather bracers.  She shook her head and blinked her eyes again, trying to realign her mind through a symbolic physical gesture.  When she refocused on the child, she realized she was looking at a very strange, non-descript child, and a boy at that.

"This one is compromised of appearance.  We call that goa'bei.  Certain features of his face and body will be accentuated, depending on the preferences of the viewer.  He will never age until the day his body finally gives out and will need to be replaced."

"What was the cost?"

"I do not forge bei.  Ask another."

"Why did it have to be a child?"

Vren grimaced as she felt the whip at her back again.  Although it was light, the fresh wounds stung.  "You are asking the wrong question.  How might this bei be of use to the Empire?"

A thought popped in her mind.  An insidious thought.  She was afraid to suggest it, afraid she might be right.  She shook her head in disgust.

Yaj-Oth smiled.  "These are no longer human beings Vren.  Whatever they were, however their lives ended, that might have been a tragedy, but it is over now.  They cannot feel anything.  Nothing you do can harm them further."

The child continued to wait patiently at the door, mindlessly starting into space as he waited for his next orders.

Chapter 12 - Part V

"Khe..." Anita tried.  "Khe, he heb" she tried to pull out her husband's true name from her mind, practically coughing sounds out to give her final goodbye, but she couldn't complete the tune long-silenced in her heart.

She kneeled at the lifeless man and removed her head scarf, revealing a ghastly sight to Keubroc and Reiba.  Her eyes were dried out peach pits barely resting in sockets whose lids could no longer close, as they were not there.  Like streams feeding a lake, puffy, old scars meandered from cheekbone, forehead and temple to those eyes.  She put her hands to those eyes for a moment, and shook her shoulders in a stilled way, prompting Reiba to whisper "What is she doing?"

Before he could answer, however, Anita responded, having easily heard the woman.  "One is supposed to cry, isn't that right?  This is what it looks to cry, yes?"

"She says she is attempting to mourn the man." Keubroc translated to Eirdren for Reiba's benefit.

"I don't see why." Reiba began to reply matter-of-factly, but Keobroc interrupted her,

"Yes, when someone you love dies, you are supposed to cry.  And you are doing just fine."

Anita rose again in haste, seeing her task as accomplished, though no tears were shed.  "I do not love him, of course.  Do not mistake it."

"No, but you did."

"Perhaps.  I don't remember."

"I will tell no one." he promised.  She rewarded him with what would have been a nasty glare, had she the use of her old eyes.

"I will dispose of the body." she said unceremoniously, replacing her headscarf, to the relief of both Keubroc and Reiba, who had been disgusted by her visage.  "and then we must go."

The bei collected the man she had once held in her arms with tender affection.  Her smaller frame made the task difficult, but the exposed part of her face made no expression of it.  She brought it to a large, flat exposed rock where she laid the body out carefully.  The bei'thal had imprinted in her mind the need to erase the idea that a deceased bei ever existed by any means possible.  But fortunately for the man he once was, Davin was to leave the world in the way his male ancestors had since the Nedjleen had been carved from the stone of Mount Kidje by the all-mother.  He would rest in the palm of the all-mother's hands until the father sent his servants to take him, bit my bit, back to the sky, back to the firmament.  The all-father's crows would pick Davin's bones clean in a glorious sky burial and soon he would be sitting with the all-father in embrace of the all-mother and her daughters, the women of the Nedjleen.

Or so Anita would have believed long ago.  Now, she did not know what to believe, she only knew that this was what was done.  She stripped the body of its weaponry first, and pocketed it for her own use.  Of the black clothing he wore, that too was removed, including his chiffon headscarf.  His eyes, like hers, remained eternally open, and eternally dried out.  The lines of his scars, like hers, ran to his eyes and his eyelids were long gone, though the wounds of their removal had long since healed.

She started a small fire, using some dried brush and a few pieces of wood she had salvaged from one of the ruined houses of the village.  To the fire, she first added the clothes, pausing for just a second before finally adding the headscarf, in a failed effort at sentimentality.  It too burned with the rest.

Keubroc was finishing the last of a quick make-shift bandage for Reiba when the bei returned.
Anita walked over to the woman and roughly grabbed Reiba's right arm.  Reiba was pulled up without grace, but the disgraced noblewoman, still in pain and grasping at her side with her left hand, was unable to resist or defend herself.  "You will come with me until I am told what to do with you."  Reiba looked at the bei uncomprehendingly, as Anita's speech had never changed from the Yibouh tongue.

"Good.  You will help me to complete your master's quest.  Let us head to Pho-Boteth, then."

"You are not the one to order me, you who sound like bei'thal.  After the Silent Scholar has worked on you, perhaps our interactions will be different." As if to punctuate her intent, she drew a dagger to his direction.

Keubroc stepped back attempted some measure of diplomacy, "Of course.  Lead the way then.  I will follow."

"I am not going to Pho-Boteth."

"Where then?"

"When you are bei'thal, you will ask that question, and you will receive an answer.  If you are to be who you say you are to be, then you should follow the orders of the masters.  Go to Pho-Boteth on your own.  Begin your training."

"What of Chet?  Where shall this one go?" the gegleth worried, but he was ignored by both the nüdwuob and the bei.

"If you will not answer, then I will follow you.  I will not let the woman who killed my brother in arms walk away from my sight without seeing justice!" Keubroc said with agitation.

"I don't care about your feelings." Anita barked.  "I am trying to follow everything my masters tell me.  This is supposed to be easy!  The bei'thal speaks and the bei obeys.  Yet you and your stupid woman  make me feel that if I obey one of my commands I betray another.  I do not know how better to follow orders!

"You may not follow me.  You may have the scent of Vaughn bei'thal on you, and the words of the insect to back you up, but you are not bei'thal.  I cannot kill you if the Silent Scholar has designs on you, but I cannot show a foreigner anything more.  Do not even attempt to follow.  Make so much as one step towards me or this woman, and I will hear you, and I will kill you and I will kill her.  I will kill everything I see." she backed up, dragging the injured Reiba.

"What is going on, what is she saying?" Reiba shouted, panicked.  "Where is she taking me?" Her face was a mask of pain.  "Don't let her just take me away!"

Keubroc did not move a muscle and he watched the former Lady Archne get pulled away.  He stood frozen for some time as the two moved slowly back down the mountain.  "Keep an eye on that wound or you will not have a prize to return to the bei'thal!" Keubroc called out to her.

When she had left from sight, Keubroc gathered his things.  "Come with me, Chet." he sighed.  "It looks like you are with me."