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Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 |
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| w: Monday, November 07, 2005 | |
Chapter 1 Waves lifted and tossed fine powdered black sand further up and down the beach, making the crabs scuttle and crouch against the spray. They swept along the length of the cliffs, shooting foam up into the air to cascade like rain back into the churning surface. The wind sped along the length of the coastline, then up the cliffs and across the island beyond. It raced over the long grass of a plain. Overhead the sky was flecked with white clouds--the sun was beginning to touch the horizon, and opposite it indigo and violet streaks permeated the stars with vivid hues. The long grasses bended and bobbed gently under the breeze and the clouds overhead flickered by, swept on the wind. The trees--large palms and other deciduous plants--swayed against the breeze, and when at last the wind left, it left the plain behind in a state of calm, steady relaxation. The grasses grew still, a flower here or there nodding, vibrating against the last echoes of that wind. The palms ceased their swaying, and the whole world of that fair grassy plain rimmed in trees fell into silence, as if it were holding its breath. Peace consumed the world--and then darkness consumed it as the sun began its descent to the left of the dormant volcano. There was nothing left but stillness, and silence, and the faint bobbing of the flowers against the hesitant touch of a breeze as the moon rose, spreading silver light over the landscape. A darkened shadow flitted across the white lit grass. It took only a moment of time but in that instant the ebony disrupted everything that had been at ease--silver became black, and black became a shade of silence beyond the darkest edges of night, and black became a moment and a hesitation, a discernable silhouette of interest whose ragged edges were infinitely fractal, without end. Endless, it coasted, its touch shriveling the fresh greenery into darkness, and then as it past reviving the internal silver glow that permeated the meadow. At last the shadow passed, and in its wake the meadow remained, undisturbed and trembling, glistening anew in dewy light. The shadow glided up the tree trunks that rimmed the meadow before continuing on its way over the forest. It touched over a little village, darkening the palm roofed houses completely and then surrendering them once more to the moon’s caress. Once again the treetops faded underneath it and then it was over a larger town, and the expanses of houses fit in the shade of the wingspan. At last the shadow came to the shore, curving over fine black sand, and halted before the greedy, lapping, pensive length of the sea. For a moment it remained, unfaltering before the waves, as if considering every edge of thought and time that might have ever bothered to be asked. But nothing rose from the deeps, and the night was beginning to pass. The dragon banked and flitted along the beach, tracing the curves of sand dunes and hills until he came to the cliffs. Then he swept out over the sea, the waves licking at him and sending chasers of foam in the wake of his flight, until he followed the cliff face up, propelling himself up past the interface of rock and water, earth and sea, past the world and into the night sky, trying to reach and caress the very stars. He winged over the land and headed for the volcano. He circled it twice and then swooped himself into an entryway that almost seemed just too small for his bulk, though he did not have difficulty getting inside. Somewhere, on the other side of the island, Madrul woke up. He woke up with the instinctive knowledge of a small child who knows, wistfully and uncomprehending, that something in their dreams are true. Madrul had dreamed strangely--one of those peculiar dreams in which one is running away from things, with no success. And now that he had awoken he could retain no knowledge of how the world worked in the dream, nor what he had been running from. He pushed himself free from the tangle of bedding that had wrapped itself around his legs during the night and staggered to his feet. His younger brother Rebe sleepily opened one eye and then rolled over--Madrul paid him no mind. He rolled up his reed mattress bedclothes and all and pushed it against one wall. Then he lurched out of the door of their room and into the main part of the house. Niruy, his oldest sister, was already up, bent over the fire ring blowing on the embers of last night’s fire. She smiled at him and pointed at the wooden bucket by the door. He nodded--it was too early for words, as the rest of the household was asleep. He took the bucket and went outside, carefully shutting the door behind him. The sun had not yet pierced the thicket of trees that surrounded the village of Lohien, and so the long spindly shadows of palm trees and olive trees curved across the family compound. Next door, neighbor Vehsino was singing, a quiet song about the sunrise and the python, and Madrul smiled to hear it--an old song but one of his favorites, and of course it was never sung the same way twice. He hefted the wooden bucket again and strode out of the compound and down the street to the public well. The air was chilly in the shade of the trees, nipping at his bare ankles, but it was a fragile cold that would dissipate with the first rays of the sun. He drew water from the well, trying not to slosh, and as he did so he returned to his dream from last night. He had been entirely sure, without knowing why, that it had been true--and yet he could not remember a single moment of what had caused the terror and the joy that had so filled him. Weren’t dreams for remembering? This inability to recall what he had seen disturbed him vaguely. He tried to dismiss it as a mere nightmare, but something in his bones belied the insistence, and he could not shake the feeling of having missed something entirely. He carried the bucket back to the house and dragged it to the kitchen, where his mother Tenari was preparing for the noon meal. She took the water bucket from him with one hand, and he watched her muscles roll and bulge as she lifted it easily to the top of the table. Madrul suppressed a wave of envy--he had to use both hands just to carry the buckets, and she could lift them with one. Someday, he said to himself, someday he would be strong like Tenari or Waef, his father.xxthis envy is useless... he’s not that youngxx “Don’t stand around,” she said sharply. “Here, let’s have more water.” And she gave him a second bucket without so much as a second glance. He took it and went back outside. Sunlight had begun to hover, molten gold, above the tops of the olive and palm trees by the time Madrul finished his chores and the rest of the household started to stir. Tenari was setting the low table with bowls of food and frowned when he came inside. “How did you get yourself so filthy?” she asked, and he glanced at the mud and water stains on his toga and flushed. “Now,” said Niruy, “You know how the boys are, mother.” She put down a steaming bowl of savvecha and smiled fondly at Madrul. He took his seat and kept his eyes steadfast upon his feet, trying to ignore their comments while he waited for the rest of his family to gather around the table. His stomach rumbled, and he could not keep his eyes from the plate of red fruit. It looked succulent, and it was the perfect season for ripe red fruit, just after the rains had come and gone. Rebe, younger by almost six years, reached for the plate of red fruit and his sister Pedrac slapped his wrist. “Wait, now,” she said sharply. “Father isn’t here yet.” Rebe’s eyes went wide and he began to sniffle. Pedrac hushed him imperiously and glanced towards the back door, and when he thought she wasn’t looking Rebe reached for the plate again. A spoon, wielded by Niruy, came down on his knuckles and he howled, tears sprouting from his eyes. Tenari scowled. “Now, you see what you’ve done?” she said to Niruy. “Shh... it’s all right, little man,” said Madrul, taking firm hold of his brother’s slightly sticky hand and soothing him. “It’s all right, isn’t it? Come on now, little man,” and he soothed the boy until the sniffles disappeared. “I have had no child with quite so piercing of a wail,” said Waef as he came in the back door. He was a tall, strong man with hands scarred from the working of the fish nets, and he brought, in addition to the smell of the sea that was always with him, the overlaying smell of the smokehouse. He smoothed Rebe’s hair back as he passed and kissed Tenari on the forehead. “Good morning, children,” he said as he folded himself down onto the bench, crossing his legs underneath the low table. “Good morning, father,” they said in unison, and that was the signal to begin passing the plates. Madrul, responsible for getting food onto Rebe’s plate as well as his own, sighed with quiet delight as he spooned red fruit from the dish and passed it on to Pedrac. Tubers, bread, and baked fish, as well as the savvecha and fruit juice, completed the meal, and Madrul ate with all the fervor of his eleven years, listening to his elders converse and keeping Rebe quiet. “How was the fishing?” asked Tenari. Waef grunted around a mouthful of tuber. “A good catch. Do we have enough in the barrel?” “Plenty.” She forked another piece of fish from the plate. “Then I shall have to go to town to sell a batch,” said Waef. Rebe began to whine that there was no more red fruit, and Madrul, over the glares of his elders, gave him a piece of his own. The younger boy chewed contentedly, and Madrul sighed inwardly and turned his ears back to the conversation between his parents. “When will you be back?” “I don’t know. A few days to get there and back. It depends on the trip, of course.” Tenari frowned, and then nodded. “Of course. You intend to go to today?” Waef shook his head. “No, two days, maybe three days from now. Tomorrow to prepare the batch, and we will see how it goes.” Then, to Madrul’s surprise, he glanced at his oldest son and said, “I’d like you to come with me.” Madrul had just stuffed a forkful of tubers into his mouth—he fought now, over his shock at being addressed by his father, to swallow them down and produce an answer more appropriate than the vigorous nodding of his head. Waef went on without noticing Madrul’s preoccupation with the mouthful of tubers. “I could use the help with the batch, and I’m sure you’d enjoy a trip to Buoka. It’s been some time since we’ve gone.” “May I come too, father?” said Pedrac. He shook his head, then grinned in the face of her objections. “There’s no place for a girl your age on a market trip to the city. You stay here, and mind your mother.” She let it drop with a final “Very well,” and Niruy rose and began to clear the dishes. Madrul also got to his feet and darted into his bedroom before Niruy could insist on his helping her. He spent a moment alone contemplating the clean adobe walls with a smile—he was going to go to Buoka! Wait until he told the other boys... they would be so jealous... Rebe touched his elbow and asked him, “What are you thinking?” Madrul tousled his little brother’s hair. “Not much, little man,” he said. Then he heard Niruy calling from the kitchen and with a rueful sigh he went to join her and help clean up. When he had finished his toga was weighted with additional water stains but he didn’t care--he left the house by the back door, scaled the ladder that leaned against the adobe wall of their compound, and dropped into the street beyond. The smell of smoked fish filled the air around the house with a vivid perfume, and Madrul made his way down the street to the compound of the family of his friend, Drentshi. Drentshi was already waiting for him outside the compound walls, and the two clasped hands briefly in greeting before racing each other out of Lohien and into the surrounding woods. As they clambered over fallen trees, pushing creepers and branches out of their way and picking through bushes, they discussed their plans. They and two others, Keirun and Jorreked, were building a compound of their own some way into the forest. The walls were mud and stick, encircling an area that was hardly enough to fit all four of them underneath the palm leafed roof, and there was a hole at one side of the compound where a snake had burrowed through. They had killed the snake and stuck its little broken body to the outer walls with a sharp stick, to scare away enemies, and today when Drentshi and Madrul arrived the other boys were carrying rocks the size of their small fists towards the encampment. “What are you doing?” called Drentshi as they approached. “Stop, identify!” the other two cried, laughing as they dropped the stones and grabbed their slingshots. They went through a complicated identification ritual, as young people have a way of creating--littered with key phrases and special handshakes, and at last Jorreked said, “It’s good that you’ve come.” “Oh?” said Drentshi. “We need to bring in these rocks, there.” He pointed down a distant slope in the direction of the closest river. “Another few trips should do it.” He handed his last rock to Keirun, who was busy inside the compound, and then lead the way to the river, where by the dint of much rooting and digging in the muddy bank, they found a fair number of fist sized rocks and made their way back to the fort. “What are they for?” said Madrul as he carried his collection in the front of his toga. “We’re going to put them in the hole,” said Jorreked. They labored throughout the morning and into the early afternoon, first filling the half of the snake tunnel outside the compound with bricks and then layering mud and dirt over it to conceal the entrance’s existence. By the time they had finished they were dirty and exhausted, and it was time for the afternoon peacebreak. The jostling of all four boys, stretched out and tossing in half dozing slumber, was almost too much for the compound, and Madrul was chosen to sleep outside the walls. He left rather sullenly, sprawling on the still damp ground amongst the undergrowth. A thick weed pressed against the small of his back, and he twisted onto his side to try and avoid it, but then a rock jabbed him sharply in the hip. He rolled onto his stomach, crushing the small plants underneath him, but none did not leave their mark on him--and he rolled again, tossing restlessly in the uncertain knowledge that he was probably the only one awake in the whole world. A macaw, its gold and blue plumage scarcely discernible amongst the tall foliage of the trees, sounded harshly from the distance. Nearby he could hear the river as it meandered over rocks, burbling quietly, and the ever present whine of insects. He slapped absently at a leg and rolled clumsily away from a plant slammed against his ribcage. The snores of his friends during peacebreak rose from the compound, and he could see someone’s foot protruding slightly from under the vine woven door they had put over the compound’s entrance--probably Keirun, who was the tallest. Madrul scratched himself through the now mud stained tunic and squinted up at the treetops, beyond which glittered the hints of a scintillating blue. Where the sun escaped the dense overgrowth, there were shafts of brilliant golden light that nourished the undergrowth Madrul was crushing with his restless peacebreak. He could not fall asleep. Something clouded his thoughts--more than the satisfaction of having done a hard work and a good work. He wondered idly about it for a moment and then remembered that his father had said he was to come with him to Buoka. The recollection made him sit up quickly, making the macaw, which had come quite low in the trees overhead, shriek and take off, flapping heavily. The sounds of its wingbeats filled the relatively silent woods with the flutter of leaves on a half-stirred wind, and then faded away, leaving the insects sounding their calls even louder once it had past. Madrul cast a glance at the compound where the other boys lay in slumber and sighed--they were asleep, and he could not therefore share his news. He laid back down on the ground and crossed his arms behind his head, watching the shifting of the golden rays of light with the movement of the branches and leaves in the canopy far overhead. Something cold and slippery crossed over his legs, and he, startled out of his reverie, gave a reverberating shriek that echoed among the trees and broke through the silent peacebreak. He leapt to his feet, slapping at his legs and the toga that covered them, in a panic because for a full powerful moment he thought that perhaps the snake had crawled up his leg and into his clothes. There was a motion somewhere immediately off in the undergrowth to the right and unthinking he stomped and stomped on the ground, giving off vicious cry after vicious cry as he chased imaginary snakes off of him with his feet and hands. It was only a minute or so later, when he calmed down enough to catch a few deep breaths and stop the blood from ringing in his ears, that he noticed the other boys had woken up. They leaned over the compound wall--Jorreked had even come out the door--and they were laughing with all the ferocious hilarious laughter that a mocking group of children can muster. Drentshi, after a moment’s time of hard laughter, could not contain himself and fell to the ground, rolling about inside the small compound in his hilarity. As he rolled Keirun stumbled backwards, still laughing, and tripped on him. He went down with an outcry and flailing arms, and in the frenzy of gravity seizing him, he sprawled too hard against the far wall of the compound and knocked off a top layer or two from the wall--it fell with a shower of leaves and mud. No longer laughing, now, the boys scrambled to their feet and came around to assess the damage to the compound they had spent all the season building. A quarter of the wall had taken the hit and held the most damage, but the fall of the one part had brought down several other parts. They were mute and sober, a contrast to the prior hilarity that had brought about the accident, and Keirun desperately bent down and collected a handful of the heavy mud that had fallen and tried to pat it back on. Some of it stayed--some of it glooped down the side and splattered on the ground, and then Jorreked hit Keirun on the back of the head. “Stupid!” he yelled, and then he turned to Drentshi and repeated the gesture and the name, and then he turned to Madrul and also hit him. “Old woman,” he said, “What were you yelling in fear at? Peacebreak dreams and nothing!” Madrul felt his ears grow hot. “There was a snake,” he said quietly. “Then you should have killed it and saved us the trouble, instead of screaming like an old woman and waking us up,” said Jorreked viciously. “Now go get more sticks so we can rebuild the compound.” Madrul stared hard at Jorreked for a long moment--then, casting a glance at the shamefaced Keirun and Drentshi, he turned and stomped off into the woods, kicking clumps of leaves and smacking creeper vines that hung from nearby trees with a stick he picked up.
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