From: gebriath@aol.com (Gebriath)
Date: 26 Oct 2003 22:10:52 EST
He plucks the feather quill from the ceramic vial of ink, taps and presses it on odorous parchment:
Brithom-
All is successful.
You may have seen the great blaze tonight, or heard the burst of a thousand lion roars. The great windmill has fallen, that which has mocked our kind for generations, and has taken with it the Hallot Bridge into the deep of the Arndt canyon.
It pains me to inform you of the death of Lindo Appilan, who befell an arrow in our escape back to Nuskitan. We are holding camp tonight to offer our prayers to Prazon, and will set off at high noon tomorrow. Our victory tonight is only bittersweet.
I am sending Pyon ahead with the news. I trust all is well.
Gebriath
Calmly, he returns the quill to the vial. He neatly rolls the parchment into a tight cylinder, wraps it with a slender strip of leather, and secures it with a knot. His hands are still white with chalk from earlier, and some of it rubs off. Every little sound of his task echoes around him.
He rises with the parchment in hand, and grabs hold midway down the burning torch. As he guides it out of a crack in the wall, the shadows on the opposite side of the small cave dance and swoop. Outside in the open night, the others are all kneeling by the campfire, their chins down, eyes closed, everyone facing the same direction. Everyone except for Pyon, who is standing nearby.
Gebriath tosses the torch into the fire. The crooked stick with an oil-ragged tip is now fuel for the mother torch. The fire kicks in the wind.
He approaches Pyon with the parchment, pulling his fur-skin cloak around him in order to push out the frigid air. "Here it is. Travel safely, and we will see you in a few days."
Pyon nods and guides the parchment into his pack, slips his arms through its loops to position the pack behind his shoulders. He lifts his right hand and places it firmly on Gebriath's left shoulder. Gebriath does the same.
"Be well, uncle." Then Pyon is gone into the nearby black of a canyon.
Gebriath turns and steps up to a wall of rock some ten feet high, climbs it with an experienced fluidity. There on the small flat surface, he has an expansive view of the southwestern plains. He can still see smoke pouring up out of the Arndt where the windmill once stood. An underlying fire provides an orange light from below, and an overhanging half-moon provides the pale light from above.
Toward the north he recognizes the silhouette of a mountainous pillar that towers on the horizon. Facing it, head bowed, he lowers to his knees.
The Emergence of Nuskitan (Prologue)
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From: nailahhusam@aol.com (Nailah Husam)
Date: 29 Oct 2003 23:09:59 EST
The blast shook the cold stones beneath her. The carefully crafted stained glass windows rattled fiercely, threatening to crumble apart. The quiet evening was suddenly a lit with sound. Na'ilah's dark eyes froze on the marble statue of the Goddess Rukan until the shaking came to a stop. The sight of the great and powerful Rukan trembling had to certainly be a bad omen.
Na'ilah was not alone in the opulent temple for much longer. Her two large male attendants threw open the large stone doors of the temple. Na'ilah stood from her kneel at the altar as their heavy footsteps echoed inside the temple, desecrating the serenity with their presence. Remembering themselves, they swept into hasty bows before the higher ranked of the two, gestured towards the door, "Lady Husam, there has been an attack. We must get you back to your home until the city is secured."
Na'ilah nodded her consent as she was quickly escorted from the temple and into the chaotic streets. The attendants stood on either side of her, attempting to shield her from the throng of people now moving from their homes into the streets to investigate the great rumbling. Na'ilah kept her head down, her long dark hair hiding her face and her identity. If the rebels stumbled upon one of her rank and connections wandering the streets, they would not need much excuse to kill her.
A great fire off to the West created much of the light and rendered the lanterns that lined the streets unnecessary. As Na'ilah attempted to judge the center of the rebels' attack, a mother's cry caught her attention. Her dark eyes darted towards the woman dressed in not much more than rags, wringing her hands helplessly. "Naim? Naim, where are you?" her voice rose, threatening with tears. Na'ilah returned her eyes to the ground and said a silent prayer to Rukan, a mother herself, that the woman's little Naim would return safely that night.
The gate to the massive complex that Na'ilah loosely called "home" was closed with several guards on high alert outside. They stiffened as the two men approached. Even though Na'ilah's attendants wore uniforms of the House of Sirelis, such uniforms could easily be a rebel's ruse to gain access to the estate. As they came close to the gate, Na'ilah stepped in front of her attendants, raising her eyes and face to meet the guards. They bowed their heads submissively before shouting to those behind the massive gate a series of gibberish phrases -- a code meant to signal them that the gate must be opened for a member of the household. The gates slowly swung open a small portion of the way and Na'ilah swept inside, followed by the two large attendants.
The main courtyard was uncharacteristically quiet. The large fertile garden which normally seemed inviting, instead seemed dark and foreboding. Na'ilah wasted little time clearing the courtyard and entering her immediate family's portion of the complex. Her husband's advisor was in her sitting room when she arrived on the upper floor. Her disheveled features, illuminated with the wild orange light of the fire from the window behind her, were in stark comparison to the advisor's stately appearance, standing in the light of the pale half-moon which shone in through the opposite window.
No words were needed yet they were spoken. "It appears as if the attack was on the windmill tonight. Lord Taysir had gone there not an hour before to see to some business matters," the advisor paused in his practiced words, stumbling with how to break the news to the young woman. "Saqr asked to accompany him and your husband agreed to his request. We have yet to hear from either of them," he finished with great speed.
The silence in the room was only broken by the chaotic shouts from the streets below. The toy blocks Na'ilah's young son, Saqr, had been playing with before he left were still sitting in a pile between them on the floor. With the man still silently watching her, Na'ilah returned to her knees, her head bowing as her softly murmured prayers returned to the merciful mother, Rukan.
Date: 29 Oct 2003 23:09:59 EST
The blast shook the cold stones beneath her. The carefully crafted stained glass windows rattled fiercely, threatening to crumble apart. The quiet evening was suddenly a lit with sound. Na'ilah's dark eyes froze on the marble statue of the Goddess Rukan until the shaking came to a stop. The sight of the great and powerful Rukan trembling had to certainly be a bad omen.
Na'ilah was not alone in the opulent temple for much longer. Her two large male attendants threw open the large stone doors of the temple. Na'ilah stood from her kneel at the altar as their heavy footsteps echoed inside the temple, desecrating the serenity with their presence. Remembering themselves, they swept into hasty bows before the higher ranked of the two, gestured towards the door, "Lady Husam, there has been an attack. We must get you back to your home until the city is secured."
Na'ilah nodded her consent as she was quickly escorted from the temple and into the chaotic streets. The attendants stood on either side of her, attempting to shield her from the throng of people now moving from their homes into the streets to investigate the great rumbling. Na'ilah kept her head down, her long dark hair hiding her face and her identity. If the rebels stumbled upon one of her rank and connections wandering the streets, they would not need much excuse to kill her.
A great fire off to the West created much of the light and rendered the lanterns that lined the streets unnecessary. As Na'ilah attempted to judge the center of the rebels' attack, a mother's cry caught her attention. Her dark eyes darted towards the woman dressed in not much more than rags, wringing her hands helplessly. "Naim? Naim, where are you?" her voice rose, threatening with tears. Na'ilah returned her eyes to the ground and said a silent prayer to Rukan, a mother herself, that the woman's little Naim would return safely that night.
The gate to the massive complex that Na'ilah loosely called "home" was closed with several guards on high alert outside. They stiffened as the two men approached. Even though Na'ilah's attendants wore uniforms of the House of Sirelis, such uniforms could easily be a rebel's ruse to gain access to the estate. As they came close to the gate, Na'ilah stepped in front of her attendants, raising her eyes and face to meet the guards. They bowed their heads submissively before shouting to those behind the massive gate a series of gibberish phrases -- a code meant to signal them that the gate must be opened for a member of the household. The gates slowly swung open a small portion of the way and Na'ilah swept inside, followed by the two large attendants.
The main courtyard was uncharacteristically quiet. The large fertile garden which normally seemed inviting, instead seemed dark and foreboding. Na'ilah wasted little time clearing the courtyard and entering her immediate family's portion of the complex. Her husband's advisor was in her sitting room when she arrived on the upper floor. Her disheveled features, illuminated with the wild orange light of the fire from the window behind her, were in stark comparison to the advisor's stately appearance, standing in the light of the pale half-moon which shone in through the opposite window.
No words were needed yet they were spoken. "It appears as if the attack was on the windmill tonight. Lord Taysir had gone there not an hour before to see to some business matters," the advisor paused in his practiced words, stumbling with how to break the news to the young woman. "Saqr asked to accompany him and your husband agreed to his request. We have yet to hear from either of them," he finished with great speed.
The silence in the room was only broken by the chaotic shouts from the streets below. The toy blocks Na'ilah's young son, Saqr, had been playing with before he left were still sitting in a pile between them on the floor. With the man still silently watching her, Na'ilah returned to her knees, her head bowing as her softly murmured prayers returned to the merciful mother, Rukan.
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From: anushkasirelis@aol.com (AnushkaSirelis)
Date: 08 Nov 2003 18:52:25 EST
Baret silently regarded his daughter for long moments. Finally he spoke, "As you have heard by now the windmill was attacked. You will have to make the trip to Rhydin for me. Our contact has already been informed of the change in plans."
This was not the usual admonishment and instruction Anushka had expected to hear from her father hours before he would leave to lead his men to deal with the rebels. "May I wait until we had news of Abris and Tcharjer?", she asked without much hope.
Baret tiredly shook his head in the negative. "Anushka, I know you are worried. As am I. But this cannot wait for news of your brothers. Pari will be here and I do not expect you to be gone for more than five days."
Date: 08 Nov 2003 18:52:25 EST
Baret silently regarded his daughter for long moments. Finally he spoke, "As you have heard by now the windmill was attacked. You will have to make the trip to Rhydin for me. Our contact has already been informed of the change in plans."
This was not the usual admonishment and instruction Anushka had expected to hear from her father hours before he would leave to lead his men to deal with the rebels. "May I wait until we had news of Abris and Tcharjer?", she asked without much hope.
Baret tiredly shook his head in the negative. "Anushka, I know you are worried. As am I. But this cannot wait for news of your brothers. Pari will be here and I do not expect you to be gone for more than five days."
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From: anushkasirelis@aol.com (AnushkaSirelis)
Date: 09 Nov 2003 12:18:43 EST
"Jisht! " She muttered as her hip made painful contact with something pointy and hard. Had she thought to bring a lantern she'd have seen the desk in time to avoid contact with it as she stepped from the portal. She stood still for a few long moments to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness only relieved by what little light entered the small office through the small window opposite the desk.
Once she could discern shapes, she carefully moved around the desk. She did not have to search long. The key was exactly where her father had told her to look should Lanfar not be there as she arrived.
If anything, the warehouse the office was connected to was even darker. No windows here for streetlights to shine through. Anushka felt her way between crates to the door. The sounds of opening, closing and re-locking the door were drowned out by the night noises of the town that was more alive at night than during the day.
Date: 09 Nov 2003 12:18:43 EST
"Jisht! " She muttered as her hip made painful contact with something pointy and hard. Had she thought to bring a lantern she'd have seen the desk in time to avoid contact with it as she stepped from the portal. She stood still for a few long moments to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness only relieved by what little light entered the small office through the small window opposite the desk.
Once she could discern shapes, she carefully moved around the desk. She did not have to search long. The key was exactly where her father had told her to look should Lanfar not be there as she arrived.
If anything, the warehouse the office was connected to was even darker. No windows here for streetlights to shine through. Anushka felt her way between crates to the door. The sounds of opening, closing and re-locking the door were drowned out by the night noises of the town that was more alive at night than during the day.
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From: vizartaranga@aol.com (Vizar Taranga)
Date: 16 Nov 2003 23:19:03 EST
Vizar flicked a stray thread from the sleeve of his silken robe. The breeze from the tower window carried the thread out and for a few moments it was visible as it danced in the air, carried by unseen currents into unpredictable directions. The thread twisted this way and that, before it finally escaped from sight, leaving its ultimate destiny a mystery to the observer.
The old man turned from the window and addressed the kneeling servant who waited on him. "Does he present a risk? Can the Nuskitan point Sirelis at us?"
The veiled man did not look up as he answered. "I know not, Great Vizar. His face was unknown to me in my visits. I know not if our visits were revealed to him by his master. His knowledge of our presence remains unclear." The sandy robes of the envoy were decorated with the scarlet sash of penitence. "I regret that I am unable to serve my master better in this matter. Please direct me in how I may atone for my ignorance."
Vizar scowled for a moment, even though his expression remained unseen by the envoy. Thick brows, long since turned white, came together in consternation. The news was not good. There was risk. House Sirelis had surprised them with the raid against the Nuskitan hideout. There had not been time to erase their footprints from the sand.
Vizar looked inward, reciting one of the lesser chants of meditation. "Sakali guide me. Show me the path in your secret light. Show me the path that is not seen. Guide my hand so that I may deal with the infidel and the unworthy." After a moment, he schooled his features and spoke in an even tone. "We must remove doubt. We must find where they have hidden the Nuskitan. We must learn if his voice is a danger to the children of Sakali and of House Taranga. And if so, his voice must be leashed or silenced."
The elderly Vizar placed his hand upon the head of the penitent. "You must redeem your ignorance and serve me, and She Who Guides Us, by discovering these things and acting to protect the children of Sakali. Do you understand this?"
The veiled man clasped his hands together before his face. "I hear and obey. Let Sakali's will be done. So the Great Vizar commands in her name, so shall it be this servant's task to see it done. Upon my heart's blood I commit my obediance."
The obeisance complete, the veiled man rose to his feet, bowed and retreated from the room, his back never turning to Vizar until he had fully exited the chamber.
Vizar Taranga watched him go. The old man's features were sharp, his eyes piercing in their intensity as he watched the envoy go. He would send one of the Hands of Sakali to follow him and monitor his progress.
Date: 16 Nov 2003 23:19:03 EST
Vizar flicked a stray thread from the sleeve of his silken robe. The breeze from the tower window carried the thread out and for a few moments it was visible as it danced in the air, carried by unseen currents into unpredictable directions. The thread twisted this way and that, before it finally escaped from sight, leaving its ultimate destiny a mystery to the observer.
The old man turned from the window and addressed the kneeling servant who waited on him. "Does he present a risk? Can the Nuskitan point Sirelis at us?"
The veiled man did not look up as he answered. "I know not, Great Vizar. His face was unknown to me in my visits. I know not if our visits were revealed to him by his master. His knowledge of our presence remains unclear." The sandy robes of the envoy were decorated with the scarlet sash of penitence. "I regret that I am unable to serve my master better in this matter. Please direct me in how I may atone for my ignorance."
Vizar scowled for a moment, even though his expression remained unseen by the envoy. Thick brows, long since turned white, came together in consternation. The news was not good. There was risk. House Sirelis had surprised them with the raid against the Nuskitan hideout. There had not been time to erase their footprints from the sand.
Vizar looked inward, reciting one of the lesser chants of meditation. "Sakali guide me. Show me the path in your secret light. Show me the path that is not seen. Guide my hand so that I may deal with the infidel and the unworthy." After a moment, he schooled his features and spoke in an even tone. "We must remove doubt. We must find where they have hidden the Nuskitan. We must learn if his voice is a danger to the children of Sakali and of House Taranga. And if so, his voice must be leashed or silenced."
The elderly Vizar placed his hand upon the head of the penitent. "You must redeem your ignorance and serve me, and She Who Guides Us, by discovering these things and acting to protect the children of Sakali. Do you understand this?"
The veiled man clasped his hands together before his face. "I hear and obey. Let Sakali's will be done. So the Great Vizar commands in her name, so shall it be this servant's task to see it done. Upon my heart's blood I commit my obediance."
The obeisance complete, the veiled man rose to his feet, bowed and retreated from the room, his back never turning to Vizar until he had fully exited the chamber.
Vizar Taranga watched him go. The old man's features were sharp, his eyes piercing in their intensity as he watched the envoy go. He would send one of the Hands of Sakali to follow him and monitor his progress.
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From: anushkasirelis@aol.com (AnushkaSirelis)
Date: 18 Nov 2003 12:07:27 EST
The door was opened promptly, almost before the green cloaked woman had let go of the knocker. The eyes of the man just inside the door, dressed in loose tunic and leggings of mottled browns and greens for a night of relative comfort, widened with recognition almost immediately. He gestured her inside with a deep bow, his arms crossed over his chest. "I apologize, milady, I should have been present to greet you on your arrival in this land. Please, milady, come in, come in."
" It is quite alright. I was prepared for the possibility. Father sends greetings and his regrets he could not come himself this time. Thank you for extending your hospitality to me." Anushka took a quick look around small entry hall while Lanfar closed the door behind her.
Fine rugs on the floor and hanging from the walls, torches in subtle sconces providing sufficient light in the room and wax lamps sitting unlit on nearby shelves, left the impression of understated luxury and comfort.
"I am sure your business skills will be more than adequate." Lanfar did not leave her time to take in all the details. "It would hardly be fitting to keep you here all night. Shall we adjourn to the sitting room?" Lanfar Koryasis followed the princess at the polite distance to the indicated room. Several plush chairs stood invitingly around a small table, a love seat off to one side.
Date: 18 Nov 2003 12:07:27 EST
The door was opened promptly, almost before the green cloaked woman had let go of the knocker. The eyes of the man just inside the door, dressed in loose tunic and leggings of mottled browns and greens for a night of relative comfort, widened with recognition almost immediately. He gestured her inside with a deep bow, his arms crossed over his chest. "I apologize, milady, I should have been present to greet you on your arrival in this land. Please, milady, come in, come in."
" It is quite alright. I was prepared for the possibility. Father sends greetings and his regrets he could not come himself this time. Thank you for extending your hospitality to me." Anushka took a quick look around small entry hall while Lanfar closed the door behind her.
Fine rugs on the floor and hanging from the walls, torches in subtle sconces providing sufficient light in the room and wax lamps sitting unlit on nearby shelves, left the impression of understated luxury and comfort.
"I am sure your business skills will be more than adequate." Lanfar did not leave her time to take in all the details. "It would hardly be fitting to keep you here all night. Shall we adjourn to the sitting room?" Lanfar Koryasis followed the princess at the polite distance to the indicated room. Several plush chairs stood invitingly around a small table, a love seat off to one side.
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From: lanfarkoryasis@aol.com (Lanfar Koryasis)
Date: 18 Nov 2003 12:11:56 EST
Lanfar studied the brown haired woman sitting across from him. She was dressed in what her father must have considered inconspicuous for Rhydin, a cream colored tunic belted over brown tights and short boots.
"Your father is well, I hope?" Lanfar inquired.
"As well as can be expected. I do bring some not so good news. Just before I left home the mill was attacked by the rebels."
The information received the expected verbal response and raised brows. "The rebels? Those dirty little nomads? How dare they?" Lanfar was satisfied with the level of surprise he was able to put into his questions. "They were defeated, I presume?"
"For now, of course. But they did a lot of damage. The mill, even if it turns out to be not a total loss, will be sorely missed with it being just after harvest time. When I left they had not yet returned bodies. But they attacked during daylight while everyone was out working. The losses are bound to be great." Anushka proceeded to offer the details her father had instructed her to and answered the few questions Lanfar had within those limits.
"The cowards. T'would seem to me that something ought to be done about them. But it is not my place to say such. I apologize, milady." Lanfar trusted he had found the right mix of outrage and deference.
"It's quite all right. I am sure father will have done something by the time I return. May I inquire about tomorrow's schedule?"
Their glasses had stood empty for some time. "The hour grows late, my lady. We can discuss business over breakfast."
"That is a wonderful suggestion. I do find myself in need of rest. Today had more hours than I am used to."
Date: 18 Nov 2003 12:11:56 EST
Lanfar studied the brown haired woman sitting across from him. She was dressed in what her father must have considered inconspicuous for Rhydin, a cream colored tunic belted over brown tights and short boots.
"Your father is well, I hope?" Lanfar inquired.
"As well as can be expected. I do bring some not so good news. Just before I left home the mill was attacked by the rebels."
The information received the expected verbal response and raised brows. "The rebels? Those dirty little nomads? How dare they?" Lanfar was satisfied with the level of surprise he was able to put into his questions. "They were defeated, I presume?"
"For now, of course. But they did a lot of damage. The mill, even if it turns out to be not a total loss, will be sorely missed with it being just after harvest time. When I left they had not yet returned bodies. But they attacked during daylight while everyone was out working. The losses are bound to be great." Anushka proceeded to offer the details her father had instructed her to and answered the few questions Lanfar had within those limits.
"The cowards. T'would seem to me that something ought to be done about them. But it is not my place to say such. I apologize, milady." Lanfar trusted he had found the right mix of outrage and deference.
"It's quite all right. I am sure father will have done something by the time I return. May I inquire about tomorrow's schedule?"
Their glasses had stood empty for some time. "The hour grows late, my lady. We can discuss business over breakfast."
"That is a wonderful suggestion. I do find myself in need of rest. Today had more hours than I am used to."
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From: nailahhusam@aol.com (Nailah Husam)
Date: 20 Nov 2003 16:22:58 EST
Motan Saqr Husam believed that while a man's sons were his legacy, a man's daughters were his joy. Motan loved all seven of his children but his daughters always brought a smile to his face. He believed it a great tragedy when he married off his youngest daughter into the Sirelis House; her groom a cousin to the Baret himself. While the marriage laid powerful connections between the ruling Sirelis House and the weaker mercantile Husam House, Motan lost his last butterfly. His daughters eased his sorrow with their constant visits, filling his home with their sweet kindness, constant inquiries into his health, and the joyful laughter of his grandchildren.
Now it would seem as if his youngest daughter would be returning to his household. Although Motan loved to have Na'ilah back under his roof, he was devastated for the heartbreaking situation in which she found herself. Both her husband and her strong young son killed by the rebel attack. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door to his sitting hall.
The heavy wooden doors swung open and his young assistant stepped into the room. "The Lady Na'ilah Husam Sirelis, Sir." The young man's voice boomed throughout the Husam reception hall. Standing behind the seated Motan, several of his visiting daughters shared hushed excited whispers. Typically the sound of his softly gossiping daughters and the powerful scent of the wood burning in the fireplace would cause the elderly Motan to feel quite sleepy. He was wide awake today, however. Today he would entrust his legacy not to one of his sons but to his youngest child -- little Na'ilah.
The young assistant swept to the side, revealing Na'ilah. Her conservative black dress of mourning was wrinkled, bearing the telltale signs of hours on end in a horse drawn carriage. Wisps of dark hair had escaped her tortoise shell clasp, framing her face in the mysteriously wild look that she was known for. Her large dark brown eyes were bloodshot from holding back stinging tears yet her head was held high with the pride befit one of her class and position. She dipped her head lovingly to her father in a respectful greeting, coming to a halt in front of him.
Motan's thick hands fell to the ornately carved hand rests of his great wooden chair, pushing himself to his feet. He slowly walked to his daughter, pulling the small woman into a tight hug as he reached her. "My dear Na'ilah. Your family deeply mourns the loss of our strong young grandson and your good husband."
Na'ilah's arms swept around her father. The bitter sweetness of seeing her father again yet under such conditions again caused a rush of tears to sting her eyes as she fiercely fought them off. "I am glad to be back in the bosom of my family."
Motan took a step back, waving his other daughters away. "You can dote on her soon enough. I must have a talk with my youngest child," Motan spoke firmly but gently, bearing the scowl shot at him by Reema who was holding an infant in her arms. Reema was eager to introduce her new young son to his aunt. Motan knew that after such a long travel and the trials of the past week, Na'ilah would need a moment to compose herself before facing the motherly joy which she had just had ripped so violently from her. Regardless, a man of Motan Husam's age could not put off the business of securing his family's legacy for the silliness of women.
Motan led Na'ilah back towards his sitting area. He fell into his chair as his other daughters reluctantly left the room. He motioned for Na'ilah to sit in the chair beside him. Na'ilah hesitated, her gaze sweeping over the stained glass mosaic tiles which painstakingly had been inlaid into the chair depicting a great eagle in flight. This chair had been left vacant since the death of the lady of the house -- Saleema Talibah Husam -- some ten years prior. Motan motioned for her to take her mother's chair once again, somewhat impatiently this time. Na'ilah quickly took a seat, her dark gaze never wavering from her father.
"How are you feeling, my Na'ilah? Speak freely now. It is just you and your father here," Motan said, leaning in close and lowering his voice as his hand fell upon hers for a reassuring pat.
Na'ilah considered her words before speaking, "My faith will sustain me through these trials, father." Her face was a blank slate. The silver medallion bearing the womanly face of the Goddess Rukan shimmered in the fire light.
"You are angry." Motan spoke plainly. Motan allowed his dark eyes to fall upon his daughter's, looking deep into the depths of her gaze. He could see the fierceness that this fire had lit. A fire that his sons had all failed to be born with. Intelligence, anger, faith all fueled that glorious blaze. Her dark gaze both frightened and excited him.
The blaze sparked. "In the waning hours of a man's life, the strings are not always tied together neatly for us as they are in great works of literature and we all do not accept our demises. Some go unwillingly, painfully and with great anguish and torment. We can only hope those find peace after such a passing. Some go comfortably despite great sins without repenting. That is the great irony of life, my father," Na'ilah's tone took on a bitter tone, her anger seeping through into her words.
"Most men are neither good nor evil but simple beings struggling to find their way through the darkness," Motan spoke in a soothing tone, testing the cap on her rage.
"Men are good with excuses. Simple beings, they are not. Yet feigning ignorance to the consequences of their choices keeps them from being held responsible," Na'ilah spoke. Pursing her lips after the words left her mouth before quickly adding, "Yet I am just a babe. What does one like me know about the great pressures and pulls that shape the politics of this land?"
"Much more than I believe you let on, my little songbird," he said with a soft smile. His hand reached out, lightly touching the silver medallion of Rukan that had been Na'ilah's mother. In a great many ways, Na'ilah resembled depictions of the lovely goddess. The same long, silky dark hair, exotic looks, petite stature, and a burning fiery gaze that offset her soft feminine features. It would only help her in what would become her cause. "What would our merciful Goddess say of such a torrid rhetoric?"
"Rukan graces mercy upon those who beg for her forgiveness and serve their victims with the atonement that is due to them. However, Rukan was a mother who protected her son and daughter with every power that she had when they faced danger. She spared no thought of killing those who harmed her children. If a hunter attacks a cub, who would blame the mother bear for the hunter's death?" Na'ilah's words came slowly but practiced and firm. She was not a woman simply overcome with grief and anger. She was a woman set in her carefully laid beliefs.
Motan Husam allowed a long moment of silence. He wanted to be sure that the answer to his next question would be the one he hoped for. "Then what, may I ask, do you believe should become of the Nuskitans?"
Na'ilah did not blink. The fire in her gaze burned out of control. "Each Nuskitan who has harbored one of these rebels or even allowed them a drink from their well should atone for Nuskitan sins with their lives."
Date: 20 Nov 2003 16:22:58 EST
Motan Saqr Husam believed that while a man's sons were his legacy, a man's daughters were his joy. Motan loved all seven of his children but his daughters always brought a smile to his face. He believed it a great tragedy when he married off his youngest daughter into the Sirelis House; her groom a cousin to the Baret himself. While the marriage laid powerful connections between the ruling Sirelis House and the weaker mercantile Husam House, Motan lost his last butterfly. His daughters eased his sorrow with their constant visits, filling his home with their sweet kindness, constant inquiries into his health, and the joyful laughter of his grandchildren.
Now it would seem as if his youngest daughter would be returning to his household. Although Motan loved to have Na'ilah back under his roof, he was devastated for the heartbreaking situation in which she found herself. Both her husband and her strong young son killed by the rebel attack. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door to his sitting hall.
The heavy wooden doors swung open and his young assistant stepped into the room. "The Lady Na'ilah Husam Sirelis, Sir." The young man's voice boomed throughout the Husam reception hall. Standing behind the seated Motan, several of his visiting daughters shared hushed excited whispers. Typically the sound of his softly gossiping daughters and the powerful scent of the wood burning in the fireplace would cause the elderly Motan to feel quite sleepy. He was wide awake today, however. Today he would entrust his legacy not to one of his sons but to his youngest child -- little Na'ilah.
The young assistant swept to the side, revealing Na'ilah. Her conservative black dress of mourning was wrinkled, bearing the telltale signs of hours on end in a horse drawn carriage. Wisps of dark hair had escaped her tortoise shell clasp, framing her face in the mysteriously wild look that she was known for. Her large dark brown eyes were bloodshot from holding back stinging tears yet her head was held high with the pride befit one of her class and position. She dipped her head lovingly to her father in a respectful greeting, coming to a halt in front of him.
Motan's thick hands fell to the ornately carved hand rests of his great wooden chair, pushing himself to his feet. He slowly walked to his daughter, pulling the small woman into a tight hug as he reached her. "My dear Na'ilah. Your family deeply mourns the loss of our strong young grandson and your good husband."
Na'ilah's arms swept around her father. The bitter sweetness of seeing her father again yet under such conditions again caused a rush of tears to sting her eyes as she fiercely fought them off. "I am glad to be back in the bosom of my family."
Motan took a step back, waving his other daughters away. "You can dote on her soon enough. I must have a talk with my youngest child," Motan spoke firmly but gently, bearing the scowl shot at him by Reema who was holding an infant in her arms. Reema was eager to introduce her new young son to his aunt. Motan knew that after such a long travel and the trials of the past week, Na'ilah would need a moment to compose herself before facing the motherly joy which she had just had ripped so violently from her. Regardless, a man of Motan Husam's age could not put off the business of securing his family's legacy for the silliness of women.
Motan led Na'ilah back towards his sitting area. He fell into his chair as his other daughters reluctantly left the room. He motioned for Na'ilah to sit in the chair beside him. Na'ilah hesitated, her gaze sweeping over the stained glass mosaic tiles which painstakingly had been inlaid into the chair depicting a great eagle in flight. This chair had been left vacant since the death of the lady of the house -- Saleema Talibah Husam -- some ten years prior. Motan motioned for her to take her mother's chair once again, somewhat impatiently this time. Na'ilah quickly took a seat, her dark gaze never wavering from her father.
"How are you feeling, my Na'ilah? Speak freely now. It is just you and your father here," Motan said, leaning in close and lowering his voice as his hand fell upon hers for a reassuring pat.
Na'ilah considered her words before speaking, "My faith will sustain me through these trials, father." Her face was a blank slate. The silver medallion bearing the womanly face of the Goddess Rukan shimmered in the fire light.
"You are angry." Motan spoke plainly. Motan allowed his dark eyes to fall upon his daughter's, looking deep into the depths of her gaze. He could see the fierceness that this fire had lit. A fire that his sons had all failed to be born with. Intelligence, anger, faith all fueled that glorious blaze. Her dark gaze both frightened and excited him.
The blaze sparked. "In the waning hours of a man's life, the strings are not always tied together neatly for us as they are in great works of literature and we all do not accept our demises. Some go unwillingly, painfully and with great anguish and torment. We can only hope those find peace after such a passing. Some go comfortably despite great sins without repenting. That is the great irony of life, my father," Na'ilah's tone took on a bitter tone, her anger seeping through into her words.
"Most men are neither good nor evil but simple beings struggling to find their way through the darkness," Motan spoke in a soothing tone, testing the cap on her rage.
"Men are good with excuses. Simple beings, they are not. Yet feigning ignorance to the consequences of their choices keeps them from being held responsible," Na'ilah spoke. Pursing her lips after the words left her mouth before quickly adding, "Yet I am just a babe. What does one like me know about the great pressures and pulls that shape the politics of this land?"
"Much more than I believe you let on, my little songbird," he said with a soft smile. His hand reached out, lightly touching the silver medallion of Rukan that had been Na'ilah's mother. In a great many ways, Na'ilah resembled depictions of the lovely goddess. The same long, silky dark hair, exotic looks, petite stature, and a burning fiery gaze that offset her soft feminine features. It would only help her in what would become her cause. "What would our merciful Goddess say of such a torrid rhetoric?"
"Rukan graces mercy upon those who beg for her forgiveness and serve their victims with the atonement that is due to them. However, Rukan was a mother who protected her son and daughter with every power that she had when they faced danger. She spared no thought of killing those who harmed her children. If a hunter attacks a cub, who would blame the mother bear for the hunter's death?" Na'ilah's words came slowly but practiced and firm. She was not a woman simply overcome with grief and anger. She was a woman set in her carefully laid beliefs.
Motan Husam allowed a long moment of silence. He wanted to be sure that the answer to his next question would be the one he hoped for. "Then what, may I ask, do you believe should become of the Nuskitans?"
Na'ilah did not blink. The fire in her gaze burned out of control. "Each Nuskitan who has harbored one of these rebels or even allowed them a drink from their well should atone for Nuskitan sins with their lives."