Onion stumbled backwards and landed uncomfortably on her back and dropped the rock. Dazed, she looked up to the skies, to the roof of the mountain and thought for a moment about how fine a night it was for star gazing. Yet when she tried to inhale her lungs remained defiantly deflated, having had the breath knocked from them.
But there was no time to recover.
Cedric rushed upon her once again and was sure to hit his prone target if she continued searching the stars and gasping for breath. Lungs burning with atrophied disuse, she nonetheless willed her lethargic muscles to roll down the slope as Cedric's bladed fist swooped down. On her knees again, she tried to regain her composure, but the quick acting Cedric would give Onion no respite. A swift kick to her cheekbone nearly found its destination when Onion summoned the last of her strength, ducking the blow and forcing her aching body forward, head and shoulders down. She tackled her assailant, crashing into his abdomen. The two of them fell to the ground in a muted thud.
Nearby, the tents of the other leper travelers rustled as their occupants scurried in to be away from the commotion. Onion was too focused on her own battle to pay them much heed, but Cedric's eye darted towards his reluctant audience for a moment.
In the half second Cedric's surprise took him off guard, Onion made a grab for his blade. The pale man was too fast however, and he tightened his grip on the weapon before burying it into the thieving arm. Onion howled as she felt the steel part flesh and muscle. Again she cried when the dagger was pulled out again and her leper's bandages bloomed into a deep crimson.
He means to kill me she acknowledged to herself for the first time, but I will not give him that honor. Before the blade could be inserted into her throat as easily as it had been in her arm, Onion scrambled and pushed the man hard in the sternum. He was just out of reach now, but it gave Onion a chance to collect herself.
Again, he lunged at her, stabbing the hostage blade forcefully, but Onion would not flee his advancement this time. She stepped swiftly to the side, placing her hand around the attacking wrist. Using his own momentum, she pulled him off balance, then twisted his hand backwards, causing the dagger to fall to the ground with a clink, which she recovered quickly. But what will a blade do but kill? I cannot incapacitate him. she thought, I must kill him. I will try to make this quick for him.
Without remorse, she prepared to stab Cedric's unguarded back when the sound of someone running to her gave her pause and a black form in the night rushed to knock her over. Onion avoided the figure but her opportunity to end the conflict had passed. Cedric was up on his feet again and prepared to defend himself. His eyes, however, were focused entirely on the small woman dressed in bluish black who had just come from a small cluster of nearby trees.
The figure breathed heavily, exhausted from her sprint from the arbor-borne darkness and she cast a long shadow against the firelight. But Onion recognized her for who she was, nonetheless.
Of course it was a foolish thought to ever consider that Gregor, as a bei'thal, would have trusted the two of them to follow his instructions under duress. That two death-row escapees, denied the homes they so longed to return to, could be trusted to travel alone to a strange and foreign city would be a leap of faith that even she would have a hard time justifying.
"What is all of this?!" Onion demanded, exasperated and in Nüish. Her question went unanswered, and likely not understood. Instead, Anita, still blindfolded and brazen, began to exchange words with Cedric in a language Onion had only heard Gregor use with the bei and Vaughn. While she was ignorant to the meaning of the conversation, the exchange gave her a queer feeling deep in her throat and belly. Within moments Davin had also arrived at the scene. He turned to the Nü and through his own blindfold, Vren could feel herself being carefully observed.
Their short conversation was angry, but Onion could see the violence drain from the pale chef's face. He still stood defiantly, but uncomfortably, as if he were trying to cover up a secret. In an instant, Davin grabbed his hand,and pulled Cedric's ear to his face. In the firelight, Onion could see the bei move his lips, but she could not hear a word. But she felt them. For you the time has come to sleep, to dream, to die. Beyond all promises, in the shadow of our souls, we dwell and wait.
Cedric seemed to shrink, but thin pink lips reluctantly responded and again, Onion felt their meaning fall somewhere upon her web. To die, a breathless response, dwell and wait.
When he finished, Cedric's eyes rolled in the back of his head and crumpled to the ground.
"Is he dead?" she muttered in Nüish, a question to herself rather than to her unfeeling rescuers.
Anita ignored the young Nü. Whatever communication the two could manage in the realm of Onion's web could be accomplished no more and Onion had no desire to see that woman, that bei, in her most sacred of places, even if she could determine how to invite her back.
Davin returned his sightless gaze to her, though. With great effort, he produced a few words of thickly accented Eirdren. "Roor (Linguistic notes to be deleted later: never / not for eternity - Eirdren is a no double negative language. Typically verb would be conjugated Mayl (mail); do not announce ). kal'Meihl (to everyone' announce/ command tense). Saegfrük (on the pain of death, lit: beyond: frük, death: Saeg). Ahcha (male object, person over there) Bei'd (~d = about). Mayl. Saegfrük."
The two of them put the unconscious man to bed for the night and disappeared back into the glade. She knew they were not far. Onion kept repeating the words Davin had told her, as to not forget them before getting a chance to look them up in her dictionary.
"Do not tell anyone about this." He had said in pigeon Eirdren. "Do not tell anyone about the bei Cedric."
Showing posts with label Chapter 8. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chapter 8. Show all posts
Friday, December 28, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part VI
But to suggest that the man she knew as Cedric could actually use the tool, that left Onion warily incredulous. But even if she could not know his skill with the blade, the taste of fear in the air was palpable and of all people in this small world, Onion knew what fear could do to a man.
Suddenly, he made his move, advancing with deft speed Onion had not thought possible, the scarecrow of a man lunged at his target. Onion dropped down to the ground smoothly and rolled to the side where she found a fist sized rock along the fire ring, careful to touch only the cooler outside edges of the jagged granite.
She looked up just in time to see the scrawny man plunge the blade into the space that she had occupied only moments before. Cedric glared at her, wide eyed with obvious frustration. He had likely not expected much resistance from his opponent either.
As Onion stood up again she assessed her options. A warm rock might be a fine bludgeon weapon for some, but Onion had never mastered the skills of melee. Her strength was in surprise attacks and guerrilla assaults. When her assassination attempts were successful, she would kill quickly and move on to her next target. When she failed, she would attempt to flee.
But here she was, one on one with an aggressor she could not run from in the confusion of a larger battle. And this time she had no brothers around to save her.
By now Cedric had reappraised his opponent. Feverish drips of sweat coalesced from his temples and beady eyes fixed upon her every muscle. She had been quick. The hostage blade was easily avoided without an attack in return. But within the core of the man, blood pumped adrenaline from heart to head, searing his mind with the imperative to destroy that which could ruin everything. He had to remove the threat that stood before him now.
He lunged at her again, but this time kept his attacking shoulder low and his left hand in a fist behind his back. Onion saw the advance and thought to use the opportunity to incapacitate her aggressor with a dodge and counter attack. While she was not sure she would be able to overcome Cedric, the violence of his attacks had pushed out any thoughts of self-doubt or unsurity. She had to take him out quickly, and hopefully without doing any lasting damage to him.
As before, Onion positioned herself to drop and roll away from the attack, but this time she merely spun herself around to Cedric's weaponless side when he lunged. She raised the stone, hoping to strike a knockout blow, but Cedric must have anticipated this, acting before she could strike. Sweeping his bladed hand behind for momentum, he delivered a solid punch to her diaphragm, knocking both the rock and her breath from her.
Suddenly, he made his move, advancing with deft speed Onion had not thought possible, the scarecrow of a man lunged at his target. Onion dropped down to the ground smoothly and rolled to the side where she found a fist sized rock along the fire ring, careful to touch only the cooler outside edges of the jagged granite.
She looked up just in time to see the scrawny man plunge the blade into the space that she had occupied only moments before. Cedric glared at her, wide eyed with obvious frustration. He had likely not expected much resistance from his opponent either.
As Onion stood up again she assessed her options. A warm rock might be a fine bludgeon weapon for some, but Onion had never mastered the skills of melee. Her strength was in surprise attacks and guerrilla assaults. When her assassination attempts were successful, she would kill quickly and move on to her next target. When she failed, she would attempt to flee.
But here she was, one on one with an aggressor she could not run from in the confusion of a larger battle. And this time she had no brothers around to save her.
By now Cedric had reappraised his opponent. Feverish drips of sweat coalesced from his temples and beady eyes fixed upon her every muscle. She had been quick. The hostage blade was easily avoided without an attack in return. But within the core of the man, blood pumped adrenaline from heart to head, searing his mind with the imperative to destroy that which could ruin everything. He had to remove the threat that stood before him now.
He lunged at her again, but this time kept his attacking shoulder low and his left hand in a fist behind his back. Onion saw the advance and thought to use the opportunity to incapacitate her aggressor with a dodge and counter attack. While she was not sure she would be able to overcome Cedric, the violence of his attacks had pushed out any thoughts of self-doubt or unsurity. She had to take him out quickly, and hopefully without doing any lasting damage to him.
As before, Onion positioned herself to drop and roll away from the attack, but this time she merely spun herself around to Cedric's weaponless side when he lunged. She raised the stone, hoping to strike a knockout blow, but Cedric must have anticipated this, acting before she could strike. Sweeping his bladed hand behind for momentum, he delivered a solid punch to her diaphragm, knocking both the rock and her breath from her.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part V
His head tilted to her slowly, and an unnerving smirk crept upon his face.
"Hul grelerak mithar?" he accused in a rapid fire speech, but Onion could make no sense of it beyond Hul, to me (Linguistic note: pronouns are given an alternate ending indicating possessive, transitive, passive, causative, and passive causative. Hu = I, ~l = transitive) She eyed the book he still held in his hands and wondered what he had seen that seemed to have catalyzed this change in him. She considered a grab for her dictionary, but thought better of it. Her mind flashed warnings of danger at the mere concept of approaching the man. It could not be physically possible, but it seemed that he had grown in stature.
Clearly impatient with her silence he demanded, "Bwaer?" Onion, still constricted and obscured underneath the gauze of her leper's garb. Onion's mind raced through the little language she had learned. Bwaer, Definition: Yes, Positive, Understand. It was strange that he was speaking Lithenese, Gregor's language, and not Eirdren, but this thought did not cross her preoccupied mind.
Her confusion was quickly turning to caution. While she still believed the scrawny man posed no genuine threat to her self, his increasingly agitated speech and defensive stance put her on edge. Instinctively she felt for her calf-high boot and the throwing knives they usually contained. But the day she lost it all she lost those too.
Her opponent also felt though the folds of his own attire, but unlike her, the man know to her as Cedric was fruitful in his search. At his waist the erratic man drew a small but sharp dagger whose blade had been concealed, pressed horizontally against the flat of his abdomen underneath his belt.
Hostage blades, they called them on the continent, though they had yet to make an appearance among any of the tribes of the Outer Crest. They were useless in melee and their balance was too asymmetrical to serve as the functional throwing daggers so favored by the Nü. But they were easily hidden and quite effective at presenting close range victims with very few options. It was a fine tool for both kidnappers and their would be victims alike, and the bei'thal likely anticipated that Cedric might become the latter.
"Hul grelerak mithar?" he accused in a rapid fire speech, but Onion could make no sense of it beyond Hul, to me (Linguistic note: pronouns are given an alternate ending indicating possessive, transitive, passive, causative, and passive causative. Hu = I, ~l = transitive) She eyed the book he still held in his hands and wondered what he had seen that seemed to have catalyzed this change in him. She considered a grab for her dictionary, but thought better of it. Her mind flashed warnings of danger at the mere concept of approaching the man. It could not be physically possible, but it seemed that he had grown in stature.
Clearly impatient with her silence he demanded, "Bwaer?" Onion, still constricted and obscured underneath the gauze of her leper's garb. Onion's mind raced through the little language she had learned. Bwaer, Definition: Yes, Positive, Understand. It was strange that he was speaking Lithenese, Gregor's language, and not Eirdren, but this thought did not cross her preoccupied mind.
Her confusion was quickly turning to caution. While she still believed the scrawny man posed no genuine threat to her self, his increasingly agitated speech and defensive stance put her on edge. Instinctively she felt for her calf-high boot and the throwing knives they usually contained. But the day she lost it all she lost those too.
Her opponent also felt though the folds of his own attire, but unlike her, the man know to her as Cedric was fruitful in his search. At his waist the erratic man drew a small but sharp dagger whose blade had been concealed, pressed horizontally against the flat of his abdomen underneath his belt.
Hostage blades, they called them on the continent, though they had yet to make an appearance among any of the tribes of the Outer Crest. They were useless in melee and their balance was too asymmetrical to serve as the functional throwing daggers so favored by the Nü. But they were easily hidden and quite effective at presenting close range victims with very few options. It was a fine tool for both kidnappers and their would be victims alike, and the bei'thal likely anticipated that Cedric might become the latter.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part IV
Who am I?! the question burst from his mind, running naked through his guarded sensibilities. Who is Gregor and who is this girl?! He closed his eyes and thought back to the first time he ever met Gregor.
Was it the smile of a kind stranger, an Ally of Rel? The smell of fish and money in the air surrounding us? Alms deposited in his oak bowl followed by a word, which led to a warm conversation with a like-minded spirit? That was the first meeting, right?
No, was it two boys running naked along the beach in the middle of the days governed by the major moon? The beach seemed like their private little world save for the huge wooden ships that passed them on their way north. Just two little boys, laughing, throwing sand at each other while their young fathers looked on. The fathers would disappear, but the boys would be forever.
'Friends until the end, just like our dads, right?' he had said.
"Aaaaaggggghhhhhhhh!" the pale former chef screamed "What are these memories? Who am I?!" *(note, to be expressed in Lithenese - when I get the chance) the man called Cedric shook from head to toe, sobbing loudly to himself. Onion stood up and quickly distanced herself from the man, thoroughly unnerved.
Or is that laughter!? she thought to herself.
The revelry of the Soa caravan laid thickly on the wind, suffocating most sounds, but a noise unnatural to the Cedric Onion had come to know floated over the lusty laughter of women and men deep in their cups. As it became more and more apparent that it was a maniacal mirth, not a cry of desolation, that was escaping his lips Onion began looking around nervously for a weapon; a rock, a heavy branch, anything that might keep whoever this man was at bay.
Until this point, Onion had vividly recorded in her memory, the visage of a man, skinny, shrunken and reluctant. The Cedric she had come to know had the voice of a mewling kitten. Neither of these descriptors would serve her now as Cedric stood tall and erect; his shoulders set back while aggressive and calculating blue eyes surveyed her every muscle twitch in his peripheral view.
Was it the smile of a kind stranger, an Ally of Rel? The smell of fish and money in the air surrounding us? Alms deposited in his oak bowl followed by a word, which led to a warm conversation with a like-minded spirit? That was the first meeting, right?
No, was it two boys running naked along the beach in the middle of the days governed by the major moon? The beach seemed like their private little world save for the huge wooden ships that passed them on their way north. Just two little boys, laughing, throwing sand at each other while their young fathers looked on. The fathers would disappear, but the boys would be forever.
'Friends until the end, just like our dads, right?' he had said.
"Aaaaaggggghhhhhhhh!" the pale former chef screamed "What are these memories? Who am I?!" *(note, to be expressed in Lithenese - when I get the chance) the man called Cedric shook from head to toe, sobbing loudly to himself. Onion stood up and quickly distanced herself from the man, thoroughly unnerved.
Or is that laughter!? she thought to herself.
The revelry of the Soa caravan laid thickly on the wind, suffocating most sounds, but a noise unnatural to the Cedric Onion had come to know floated over the lusty laughter of women and men deep in their cups. As it became more and more apparent that it was a maniacal mirth, not a cry of desolation, that was escaping his lips Onion began looking around nervously for a weapon; a rock, a heavy branch, anything that might keep whoever this man was at bay.
Until this point, Onion had vividly recorded in her memory, the visage of a man, skinny, shrunken and reluctant. The Cedric she had come to know had the voice of a mewling kitten. Neither of these descriptors would serve her now as Cedric stood tall and erect; his shoulders set back while aggressive and calculating blue eyes surveyed her every muscle twitch in his peripheral view.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part III
Turning his attention back to the leather-bound dictionary, he browsed through a couple of pages, taking note of a few words. He flipped to the end of the book, mindlessly reading through the definitions, pronunciations and word usage. "vru..." he tried, "vru'bech" as he lifted a finger to a nearby shrub and while looking at Onion. The Nü girl smiled at him and nodded her head. Plant. He pointed to the earth beneath him and offered "bech". She smiled again. Dirt. Vru'bech; made of much earth; plant. Similar to a word he already knew: vru'poh; made of many words; book.
What would they call a library? he wondered. Vru'vru'poh? he chuckled to himself. He opened the book to the back page, the index to find out, when something on the inside of the back cover caught his eye. It was a quick scribble, a message to Gregor. Cedric was feeling light-hearted in his linguistic adventures, and the man who asks no questions allowed himself to indulge his curiosity, just this once.
As Onion was putting the finishing touches to her row of the phonetic character "dae", Cedric's sudden tortured cries pierced her concentration and she dropped the quill from her fingertips. Again, Cedric's eyes scanned the inside back cover, hoping it was only a trick of the mind.
To the only person in the world who doesn't have to spread their legs for my affection,
Keep your wits about you and remember to come home some day. If I find you've gone over to the natives I'll drag your ass out of there, I don't care what woman's bed I have to pull you from! Take care of yourself brother. Rüern keep you pure, but not too pure.
What would they call a library? he wondered. Vru'vru'poh? he chuckled to himself. He opened the book to the back page, the index to find out, when something on the inside of the back cover caught his eye. It was a quick scribble, a message to Gregor. Cedric was feeling light-hearted in his linguistic adventures, and the man who asks no questions allowed himself to indulge his curiosity, just this once.
As Onion was putting the finishing touches to her row of the phonetic character "dae", Cedric's sudden tortured cries pierced her concentration and she dropped the quill from her fingertips. Again, Cedric's eyes scanned the inside back cover, hoping it was only a trick of the mind.
To the only person in the world who doesn't have to spread their legs for my affection,
Keep your wits about you and remember to come home some day. If I find you've gone over to the natives I'll drag your ass out of there, I don't care what woman's bed I have to pull you from! Take care of yourself brother. Rüern keep you pure, but not too pure.
Cedric
Whimpering and at a loss for words, Cedric tumbled to Onion's makeshift campfire study and seized the pen now lying in the dirt. Before she could react, he dipped the quill in the ink fountain and next to the signature in the dictionary, he began to write out his name.
*Insert picture of signatures here*
The pen was bolder in the former rendition of his name. Cast in confident strokes, the letters stood out as a signature unbowed. His current inscription was laid thickly, full of angst and caution. Every line bore the weight of uncertainty. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking the kinship of those two signatures.
Chapter 8 - Part II
Stubborn he thought, but as a denizen of the once powerful and still proud former Chosen Empire, he was as much captivated by a desire for linguistic autonomy. In Falloth, the people of the province speak a bastardized version of Yibouhese while their own oral traditions are long since forgotten. In the few colonies that exist in Benge, coin is exchanged and laws are written in the Empire's words.
But in Eirdred, the City Enforcers were required to use Eirdren. The Lithenese required all texts and official documents to be composed in Lithenese. Every trade ship out of Sandor bore dual manifests, one in the Empire's word and one in Sandoran. While now, Yibouh tolerated and begrudgingly respected this, as a young empire they were not so kind. Everything in the world would turn Yibouhese were it not for the Chosen Emprire, my people. There is no room for backwater scrawls and runes.
Onion huddled near the firelight, scrawling with a tattered quill on brittle dried parchment Cedric had pawned from the caravan a few days back. Summer, the time of the minor moon, was in full bloom, but the winds were becoming sharper as they climbed and the air thinned around them.
The main party camped no more than 2000 paces from the Eirdren who followed. They were close enough that the dull glow of lantern and firelight radiated from the colorful caravan in a soft dome. Sounds of rowdy diversions echoed in the air and even the wind had the scent of fermented buttermilk and millet wine on its breathe. Since entering the steppe, trees and brush had begun to thin out, leaving the group out in the open. Cedric tried to tell himself that any bandits would be drawn to the revelry of the Soa.
He and Vren took quiet solace in the company of the stars. Cedric had no memory of the night sky outside of Eirdred, and within the city only the brightest stars shone. But with no sign of civilization for leagues, he was stunned to see the sheer number of gleaming gems that inhabited the beyond. Stars that made it through to the citizens of Eirdred ruled the skyscape but they were accompanied with a whole host of small red, blue and orange minions in this part of the world. Perhaps that was what it was like to be a Keeper.
Nights like these Cedric was both anxious and curious to be outside of Eirdred; more the former than the latter. Yet here, the smells of refuse and sewage did not mix with the aromas of your meals. There was no background music of taunts and and temps of drunkards and whores. Here in the steppe, a very primal sense of contentment he did not know he had was touched and tickled.
It was a strange sensation to find himself enjoying moments in time, here and there although he lived an adventure he had never sought nor desired. Yet here he was, the allure of safety and security gone like a dream. Why?
"Too many questions." Cedric muttered to himself which caught the attention of the studious Onion. He waved her back to the work of tracing letters, but managed to have her surrender the dictionary for a while. Perhaps studying Nüish while the girl carried on could help rid his mind of those buzzing queries.
Cedric's white gloved hand brushed his pale blond shoulder-length hair behind his ear. He let it hang half loose, as was popular among the many Eirdren. He was no longer in the kitchen and was playing the role of a wealthy man's son. It was a refreshing change from the ponytail he usually wore but not so exotic as the fashions of the vast majority of the caravan. In these lands, men wore their straw-like black hair in rough braids and wax. Cedric found the Soa hairstyle repulsive and greasy-looking but kept his opinions to himself.
But in Eirdred, the City Enforcers were required to use Eirdren. The Lithenese required all texts and official documents to be composed in Lithenese. Every trade ship out of Sandor bore dual manifests, one in the Empire's word and one in Sandoran. While now, Yibouh tolerated and begrudgingly respected this, as a young empire they were not so kind. Everything in the world would turn Yibouhese were it not for the Chosen Emprire, my people. There is no room for backwater scrawls and runes.
Onion huddled near the firelight, scrawling with a tattered quill on brittle dried parchment Cedric had pawned from the caravan a few days back. Summer, the time of the minor moon, was in full bloom, but the winds were becoming sharper as they climbed and the air thinned around them.
The main party camped no more than 2000 paces from the Eirdren who followed. They were close enough that the dull glow of lantern and firelight radiated from the colorful caravan in a soft dome. Sounds of rowdy diversions echoed in the air and even the wind had the scent of fermented buttermilk and millet wine on its breathe. Since entering the steppe, trees and brush had begun to thin out, leaving the group out in the open. Cedric tried to tell himself that any bandits would be drawn to the revelry of the Soa.
He and Vren took quiet solace in the company of the stars. Cedric had no memory of the night sky outside of Eirdred, and within the city only the brightest stars shone. But with no sign of civilization for leagues, he was stunned to see the sheer number of gleaming gems that inhabited the beyond. Stars that made it through to the citizens of Eirdred ruled the skyscape but they were accompanied with a whole host of small red, blue and orange minions in this part of the world. Perhaps that was what it was like to be a Keeper.
Nights like these Cedric was both anxious and curious to be outside of Eirdred; more the former than the latter. Yet here, the smells of refuse and sewage did not mix with the aromas of your meals. There was no background music of taunts and and temps of drunkards and whores. Here in the steppe, a very primal sense of contentment he did not know he had was touched and tickled.
It was a strange sensation to find himself enjoying moments in time, here and there although he lived an adventure he had never sought nor desired. Yet here he was, the allure of safety and security gone like a dream. Why?
"Too many questions." Cedric muttered to himself which caught the attention of the studious Onion. He waved her back to the work of tracing letters, but managed to have her surrender the dictionary for a while. Perhaps studying Nüish while the girl carried on could help rid his mind of those buzzing queries.
Cedric's white gloved hand brushed his pale blond shoulder-length hair behind his ear. He let it hang half loose, as was popular among the many Eirdren. He was no longer in the kitchen and was playing the role of a wealthy man's son. It was a refreshing change from the ponytail he usually wore but not so exotic as the fashions of the vast majority of the caravan. In these lands, men wore their straw-like black hair in rough braids and wax. Cedric found the Soa hairstyle repulsive and greasy-looking but kept his opinions to himself.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Chapter 8 - Part I
As the buttes of eastern Eirdred Province grew, so did the stones and cobbles on the road. Onion had become increasingly displeased in her role as sickly leper girl,and her bottom was woefully abused by the road while her sturdy, well-traveled legs went neglected.
The idle boredom did give Vren the opportunity to leaf through the first anthology of paper and ink she ever owned. If nothing else, it was an attractive book, though a little worn from use. Dog-eared pages produced hairline cracks between sheets of paper so thin they otherwise seemed glued together.
Cedric covered a yawn with one hand while the other clung tightly to the wéhkàu leading their cart at the tail end of the caravan. Onion shifted uncomfortably in her wrappings while sitting in the wagon. Leprosy, long since cured by the Scholar Emperor Pren during the Age of Medicine, often brought pilgrimages from the outer states of Yibouh to Pho-Boteth for healing. Few doctors desired to travel outside of civilization to help the barbarians of the empire, though they welcomed the sick without discrimination.
Yet although it was an easy cure, throughout the empire old fears and superstitions seemed to be more contagious than the disease itself. The two of them remained at the end of the caravan and camped just outside of the main Soa group, with their fanciful and colored covered wagons. Though the Eirdren who traveled with the Soa formed their own group, their companions did not bother Cedric or Vren. This was somewhat a boon to the former chef as he was not confident of his ability to repeat his story and Vren was completely useless in that area as well.
The Soa they traveled with were mostly merchants, but a couple of wéhkàu yak breeders joined along to care for the beasts of burden. Horegrel, the guide and father figure of the main Soa family called himself a gemmer, and had made a small fortune bringing useless colored rocks to rich Eirdren nobility. He loved the deepness of the Eirdren pockets, and how he could use their shiny metal to acquire furniture, skins and foodstuffs to bring back home. Regarding the Eirdren themselves, he felt bemused antipathy. His kindness to the city-dwelling Cedric was simply to spark the amusements of his fellow Soa travelers at the expense of of the former chef. Of course, Cedric could not understand their japes, but nonetheless, he understood the folly of inciting even stronger passions from his Soa traveling companions.
Cedric had taken notice of Onion's physical molestation of a small brown book, lined with silver in her gauzed hands.
Curious.
She had never once opened it. She just stared at it, gently cradling it in her hands as if it were a dear treasure, but too afraid to look upon it lest it fly away.
Gregor had been queerly kind to the woman, and while somewhere he could feel in his gut that this was natural of the Bei'thal, his mind nagged at him with sprouts of questions. True, they were questions that were instinctively crushed underfoot, but lately it was becoming harder and harder to suppress curiosity.
Still, since their incarceration and escape, she had been docile, perhaps even pathetic looking. A lost sheep with nowhere to go. Or maybe that was just the gauze.
Extending a pale, reddened hand recently blistered by wéhkàu reigns, he pointed to the Nü's recent leather-bound acquisition and exercised his poor and atrophied language skills.
"Tözjak vru'poh (LINGUISTIC NOTES: töz-give jak-you (implied 'to me') vru-grown from, poh-word, vru'poh = book)" he motioned with his hands and Onion complied by handing over the book to him. She even seemed relieved to be free of it, strangely enough.
"Gregor's dictionary." he muttered, not entirely sure how he knew. He quickly flipped through the pages, looking for the words, "Read" "Understand" and "Dictionary" to fashion a sentence to inquire about Onion's level of comprehension of the text.
"Zuo." was the response; no, a word he understood well in Nüish. He flipped more pages and pointed to a rock. "pai'vik (LINGUISTIC NOTES: pai - part of, vik - mountain, pai'vik = rock)" he ventured in Nüish then followed shortly with the Lithenese, "folth" for boulder. It was Onion's turn now, and strange as it sounds felt to her lips, she reproduced his word with a level of success she did not realize she was capable of.
"Folth."
Cedric smiled. He was getting somewhere.
In this way the two passed the time. The changing landscape from broken plateau to foothills provided more opportunities for the acquisition of nouns and verbs. At camp, Cedric tried his hand at teaching her the phonetic alphabet of the eastern coast of the empire, codified when Eirdred, Lithen and Sandor were still the Chosen Empire. Yibouhese glyphs that were used regularly in administration and in the education of the nobility, but were only occasionally peppered in daily correspondence, could come later.
It was a trying task, especially since the Nü refused to learn the phonetic alphabet to write down her own language. The dictionary, both the Nüish and Lithenese sides had been written entirely in Chosen script. There existed a script for the tribes of the Outer Crest developed largely by the northern Nü, who had ended their nomadic lifestyles and gravitated towards population centers generations before the southern part of the archipelago. Few southerners understood this script, but Onion vowed that if she were ever to gain literacy in her native tongue, it would be with that writing style. She may have begun learning Lithenese to interact on the continent, but she would become literate to one day interact again with her people.
The idle boredom did give Vren the opportunity to leaf through the first anthology of paper and ink she ever owned. If nothing else, it was an attractive book, though a little worn from use. Dog-eared pages produced hairline cracks between sheets of paper so thin they otherwise seemed glued together.
Cedric covered a yawn with one hand while the other clung tightly to the wéhkàu leading their cart at the tail end of the caravan. Onion shifted uncomfortably in her wrappings while sitting in the wagon. Leprosy, long since cured by the Scholar Emperor Pren during the Age of Medicine, often brought pilgrimages from the outer states of Yibouh to Pho-Boteth for healing. Few doctors desired to travel outside of civilization to help the barbarians of the empire, though they welcomed the sick without discrimination.
Yet although it was an easy cure, throughout the empire old fears and superstitions seemed to be more contagious than the disease itself. The two of them remained at the end of the caravan and camped just outside of the main Soa group, with their fanciful and colored covered wagons. Though the Eirdren who traveled with the Soa formed their own group, their companions did not bother Cedric or Vren. This was somewhat a boon to the former chef as he was not confident of his ability to repeat his story and Vren was completely useless in that area as well.
The Soa they traveled with were mostly merchants, but a couple of wéhkàu yak breeders joined along to care for the beasts of burden. Horegrel, the guide and father figure of the main Soa family called himself a gemmer, and had made a small fortune bringing useless colored rocks to rich Eirdren nobility. He loved the deepness of the Eirdren pockets, and how he could use their shiny metal to acquire furniture, skins and foodstuffs to bring back home. Regarding the Eirdren themselves, he felt bemused antipathy. His kindness to the city-dwelling Cedric was simply to spark the amusements of his fellow Soa travelers at the expense of of the former chef. Of course, Cedric could not understand their japes, but nonetheless, he understood the folly of inciting even stronger passions from his Soa traveling companions.
Cedric had taken notice of Onion's physical molestation of a small brown book, lined with silver in her gauzed hands.
Curious.
She had never once opened it. She just stared at it, gently cradling it in her hands as if it were a dear treasure, but too afraid to look upon it lest it fly away.
Gregor had been queerly kind to the woman, and while somewhere he could feel in his gut that this was natural of the Bei'thal, his mind nagged at him with sprouts of questions. True, they were questions that were instinctively crushed underfoot, but lately it was becoming harder and harder to suppress curiosity.
Still, since their incarceration and escape, she had been docile, perhaps even pathetic looking. A lost sheep with nowhere to go. Or maybe that was just the gauze.
Extending a pale, reddened hand recently blistered by wéhkàu reigns, he pointed to the Nü's recent leather-bound acquisition and exercised his poor and atrophied language skills.
"Tözjak vru'poh (LINGUISTIC NOTES: töz-give jak-you (implied 'to me') vru-grown from, poh-word, vru'poh = book)" he motioned with his hands and Onion complied by handing over the book to him. She even seemed relieved to be free of it, strangely enough.
"Gregor's dictionary." he muttered, not entirely sure how he knew. He quickly flipped through the pages, looking for the words, "Read" "Understand" and "Dictionary" to fashion a sentence to inquire about Onion's level of comprehension of the text.
"Zuo." was the response; no, a word he understood well in Nüish. He flipped more pages and pointed to a rock. "pai'vik (LINGUISTIC NOTES: pai - part of, vik - mountain, pai'vik = rock)" he ventured in Nüish then followed shortly with the Lithenese, "folth" for boulder. It was Onion's turn now, and strange as it sounds felt to her lips, she reproduced his word with a level of success she did not realize she was capable of.
"Folth."
Cedric smiled. He was getting somewhere.
In this way the two passed the time. The changing landscape from broken plateau to foothills provided more opportunities for the acquisition of nouns and verbs. At camp, Cedric tried his hand at teaching her the phonetic alphabet of the eastern coast of the empire, codified when Eirdred, Lithen and Sandor were still the Chosen Empire. Yibouhese glyphs that were used regularly in administration and in the education of the nobility, but were only occasionally peppered in daily correspondence, could come later.
It was a trying task, especially since the Nü refused to learn the phonetic alphabet to write down her own language. The dictionary, both the Nüish and Lithenese sides had been written entirely in Chosen script. There existed a script for the tribes of the Outer Crest developed largely by the northern Nü, who had ended their nomadic lifestyles and gravitated towards population centers generations before the southern part of the archipelago. Few southerners understood this script, but Onion vowed that if she were ever to gain literacy in her native tongue, it would be with that writing style. She may have begun learning Lithenese to interact on the continent, but she would become literate to one day interact again with her people.
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