Chapter 10 - Part VIII

No more words were exchanged as the three ascended the obsidian stairs.  Above them, on the overhang before the door hung a dark oak board with blackened letters of flowing script burned ages ago into the tight grains.  Tuk rden jor tuK phet. "Heaven Cannot Birth Civilization Alone".  Simple enough for Onion to understand their meaning, and accordingly, she understood what building she was entering.

Heaven, it was said, is the mother of knowledge.  Heaven, it was said, is the midwife to society.  And heaven is guarded by the those who guide the the Yibouhese.  But while the Nativity Palace, home to her Wisdom, was forbidden to all save her family, staff and closest advisers, heaven needed a way to walk in the world.

The Rok House, so named for the Emperor who built it, was unique to the university, as the place where the Empress and the universe could meet.  It was where she could receive visitors, foreign dignitaries and emissaries.  Yet for all of its worldly aspirations, the house had little more than a cozy simplistic beauty to its exterior.

The floor was comprised of long planks of a reddish dark wood perfectly laid and gorgeously polished, although it was clear that it had not been replaced in centuries, perhaps even longer.  The mountain madrone, a timber Onion had not ever seen before, also framed each of the three open doorways of the tiny building.  The hall was spartan, with not a painting nor lantern hanging from the walls.  Instead, natural light flooded in from the large double paned window at the end of the hall.

"To your left." Cedric muttered and the three of them filed into a small but comfortable looking room of a beige-brown plaster and smooth brick flooring.

"Sit." commanded the thick muscled man sitting relaxed upon a plush, double seated chair of velvet and wood, and Onion and her two companions complied readily.  She found herself sandwiched between Cedric and the Silent Scholar on the firm, backless red couch sitting against the wall.  Being so close to the voiceless being made Onion's skin crawl and she violently suppressed a desire to recoil from the physical touch of its silk robes brushing her bare arms.  In the corner a small fireplace beamed with a calming glow of coals and flame.

The man was clearly Yibouhese, with closely cropped jet-black hair and a full mustache and beard that was peppered with white and grey hairs.  His eyes were dark and intense, owing to his dark lashes and equality dark circles under his eyes.  He was starting to show the signs of advanced age with spiderweb wrinkles drawn from the corner of his eyes, but his body suggested a robust stature of a man not at all ready to give into the crumbling force of time.

"Who is this?" said the man in a deep, rich but throaty voice.  He spoke in full breaths, each word beginning strong and ending before his voice had a chance to wane with glottal punctuation. 

Onion bowed her head as she had seen the Silent Scholar do for the Empress.  "Prince Roh'ath, I am Onion of Deezhul..."

Roh'ath gave a loud, guffaw to his young guest before scratching his beard and collecting his drink from the small table at the side of his chair.  The ceramic cup held what appeared to be a dark amber liquid, which he eagerly took a swig of, then set it down and stood up to add a log to the fire.  Without making eye contact he spoke,

"Keil'Lah wo nya! 
Kal'Lah wo nya! 
Teph Boh sil waH he,
Bhu jor Teph wo! 

Linguistic Notes: Yibouhese is a tonal language.  First capital letter on a word signifies a down tone while a lower case letter signifies a straight tone.  Last capital letter signifies an up tone.

[Lit: Sun glorious above, oh!] (Oh, I see the awesome sun above me!)
[Lit: Stars glorious above, oh!] (Oh, I see the brilliant stars above me!)
[Lit: Great show itself to me although,]  (Though greatness be in my view,) 
[Lit: Reach not great above!] (Never will I touch it!) 

I am no prince.  And I am not likely to ever become one.  An Emperor has not come from the soft arts for a millennia, and then, only by a Learned of Theology.  You may refer to me as merely as Roh'ath Rduap, Learned of the Classics."

Onion paused a second before she spoke, "Then if you are not prince, why do we meet in the Rok House?"

His sharp eyes narrows.  Impudent.  "I am here for my mother, Empress Coth Di, who has limited time and limited breath for backwater natives.  My words are hers made law."

"From Tales of Kebh." Cedric spoke up, referring to the quote the Empress's son had uttered moments before, trying to return the conversation to something more civil. "And he did forever swear off the vestiges of power to become a hermit and an ascetic."

"And more was the pity for the Kingdom of Wan." Roh'ath quickly chimed back, enthusiastic for his art and its intricacies.  "His advice was was rejected, of course, and it fell; a victim of its own success in an era that tolerated neither pride nor hubris.  But you didn't come to discuss Marble Age literature with me.  This is the Nü you mentioned before?"  His large invading eyes, elegantly angled and darkly framed, scanned over Vren with appraisal.

Cedric turned to Onion and "Roh'ath Rduap is more than merely family to the Nativity Palace, he is bei'thal.  And even more, one of the very few bei'thal not a student of alchemy.  As one of the best controllers of bei, he oversees the final examinations on candidates and as one of the longest serving bei'thal, his is the first advice sought on a student's quality upon entering the program."

That was not necessary Cedric'opb.  Words are not worth spent on aimless flattery.  Certainly they are not needed for this one.  Cedric felt the Empress's son touch is mind in reproach.  Still, it was not the criticism of a superior, but the admonishment of a colleague and a friend, and Cedric took no offense.  Roh'ath turned to the Silent Scholar, face contorted between respect and annoyance, his thoughts unable to be concealed from the pnum'bei'thal.  The inanity of the thoughts of the Silent Scholar were a headache he did not rejoice in being exposed to.

I submit this one to your review then, Roh'ath.  The Silent Scholar took a pause from pondering the shelf life of a drowned god when worn as a theatrical mask and held off mental explorations into the philosophical underpinnings of the flow of a river.  Shall she take up the leash?  Shall she bring the dogs to our enemies and set them loose?  Or shall I make her the dog?  So many possibilities either way, but I am so interested in hearing your words.