Finally, a story about Seem! Starts out in the wasteland area and Temple before Damas ruled. So I'm not sure where, technically, it fits in with the series. Between J1 and J2? Oh well.
Special thanks to Mandy for giving me the lines from the cut scenes that had Seem in them, and to Yunie for a detail in this chapter.
Enjoy!
Welcome to the 2010+ rewrite! I've fixed some errors and increased Seem's age (old readers might remember she was only 6) so that when the fic is done she's the correct age for the games. Thank you for sticking around for all these years! Enjoy!
The High Priest dipped a gnarled finger into his tea, blessed it with a few soft words and took a sip. It was bitter ecoroot, so fresh it still smelled faintly of dark eco. A stifled yawn came from the young monk at his feet. The table before him was covered in papers and scrolls. The royal weaver Krag and his seamstress Ulie were outlining the Queen's marriage ceremony wardrobe in detail.
"-intricate pattern on a taupe colored robe, don't you think?"
"No no, not taupe. Taupe is too light. Unless you mean the backstitching. But I was thinking full burgundy for the robe, and an off-white headdress," said Ulie. She pointed to a sketch. "This style has been mentioned in a few Precursor rituals."
"The robe should be more detailed than a simple solid burgundy." Krag sighed. He thought for a moment. "Perhaps the High Priest should wear the traditional garb. The Queen was hoping for a more modern approach for the ceremony, as it's taking place at the New Spargus site."
The High Priest's eyes strayed to the window. Beyond the pitted glass the sand dunes rose and fell. In the distance the sky was darkening.
"All right, we've decided to go with the customary brown and red design. Krag, do you have the samples of those stitching patterns? And we've got to measure him again."
Cloud shadows raced across the rippling sand dunes. Thunder rolled across the vast wasteland.
"The headdress should be thrice knotted, for the sake of simplicity."
The High Priest nodded, not listening. With a shaking hand he motioned to the young monk at his feet. The boy leapt up. "Kuan sumna?"
The old man pointed. The boy carefully turned the High Priest's chair towards the window. A vortex of sand rose up beneath the black clouds.
"But I think braided tassels are better than no tassels," continued Ulie. "I've consulted the texts on marriage and the Precursors always had decorative garments on special occasions."
"Looks like a storm, kuan sumna," whispered the young monk.
The High Priest took another sip of tea.
"Perhaps we ought to ask the honorable High Priest himself?" suggested Krag.
The royal seamstress and weaver turned.
"High Priest…?" asked Ulie.
"Apologies," said Krag. "But we wished to know your opinion on these-"
The High Priest held up one hand. Krag snapped his mouth shut. He and Ulie gathered around the window.
"It's only a sand storm," said Ulie quietly.
A wave of sand hit the window and a swirling orange cloud obscured their view.
The High Priest spoke, his voice thin and sickly. The words of the ancient language, the only one in which a High Priest was allowed to speak aloud, were lost to the howling of the wind. The young monk nodded.
"What did he say?" Krag asked.
Lightning flashed behind the sand-coated window, a weak brown light.
"The winds foretell the coming of a new servant to Mar," said the boy.
"Oh," said Krag. "Did he say anything about the wedding garments we've been discussing?"
"No."
Ulie glanced at Krag. "Apparently the Queen's wedding is not the main concern of our High Priest this evening," she said. "Let us return when our lesser concern bears more weight on his holiness."
They gathered their papers and left.
"They should not be so insolent," muttered the boy.
"I have found that as the years pass, the respect for our work declines," replied the High Priest. "The time will come again when we are needed."
The boy nodded.
The High Priest set his tea down on the table and folded his wrinkled hands. "Soon enough the elders will be replaced. We have been training you young ones, but none have shown the true sumna spark we seek. However, the sands reassure me of this; tonight an important kuan will join us."
The boy shrugged his shoulders and busied himself straightening the old man's chair. Why do we have to wait for some new, untrained, unholy kid to come? I've passed my training levels with the highest marks! I've mastered the ancient languages faster than half the skriba did! I've proven myself a million times! I can be the next sumna!
The High Priest raised his eyebrows. "Divaka, your thoughts are clearly written on your face. Do not be jealous of the talents of another. Concentrate on your own fates."
The boy flushed and cleared his throat. "I meant no disrespect, I realize the high honor it is to be your translator for those who seek your council-"
"Go get the door, Divaka."
Upon opening the door, Divaka was roughly shoved aside by the kuan skriba Meenoch. He stormed in and bowed quickly. "This is an outrage, kuan sumna!"
Divaka scowled and heaved himself off the floor. A tiny figure, wrapped in sandgear, stood in the doorway. Only its eyes were visible between the scarves. A faint hissing sounded as sand trailed down the layers of cloth. Divaka sneered as it piled up around the figure's feet.
"We've had but a two minute warning from the Precursors! How can we be sure this is not a false prophecy?" raged Meenoch.
"Steady yourself, Meenoch. Your behavior is unfitting of a learned skriba," said the High Priest.
Meenoch bowed. "Apologies, kuan sumna, but in all my years of study I have never seen this!"
Divaka folded his arms and looked down at the figure. "So," he said quietly. "Think you're better than the rest of us, do you? Just blown in with the winds and you're going to be the next sumna, huh?"
The child said nothing. It stared with red eyes.
"It's female!" spat Meenoch.
Divaka stepped back, open mouthed. The figure finally blinked.
The High Priest picked up his teacup and sat back in his chair. "Bring her forward, Divaka."
Divaka grabbed the figure's arm. "Well, c'mon. Follow me." She didn't move. Divaka frowned and wiped his sandy hand on his robe. "What's wrong with you? Walk!" The child blinked again and straightened her back.
Divaka glanced over at the kuan sumna and kuan skriba. "You're going to make me look like an idiot," he hissed. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her forward. Her eyebrows cinched together and she dug her heels into the floor. Divaka grunted and dragged her over to the table. The corners of Meenoch's mouth twitched at the trail of sand in the carpet.
"You, boy," Meenoch spat. "Remove her scarves. Don't get any more sand on the floor!"
Divaka bowed his head and uncertainly took hold of the trailing edge of one scarf. He unwound it slowly, wincing at each grain of sand that hit the floor. Meenoch's frown deepened.
The girl had sand burns around her eyes. She coughed as the last of the scarves were pulled away.
"Translate for me, Divaka," said the High Priest, and he started questioning.
"How old are you?" Divaka said. He stooped and pushed the sand into a pile with his hands.
The girl coughed.
"This is the High Priest," said Meenoch, his robes whirling as he pointed. "You must answer!"
She straightened her shoulders, sending waves of sand onto Divaka's head. Some stuck to his white face paint, itching terribly. He bit his lower lip and refrained from swearing.
"How old are you?" repeated Divaka.
"Nine," she squeaked. She cleared her throat.
"Who are your parents?" Divaka scooped the sand into her scarf.
The girl remained silent.
"She is insolent!" said Meenoch. The red of his cheeks showed through his whiteface. "Surely this is a hoax! Some refuse from Haven has sent us his starving peasant child!"
"Who escorted you here?"
The girl shifted her feet after Divaka translated the question. Finally she said, "I came alone."
Divaka snorted. No one travels the wasteland alone. Some wandering gypsy probably tossed you off his cart.
"Get the rest of that filth off her," said Meenoch. He rubbed his forehead, smudging the blue lines that symbolized his status.
Divaka sighed inwardly and started brushing at the girl's shoulders and arms. Sand fell freely into the carpet. He groaned sympathetically for whichever kuan would have to clean it. "How does a little girl brave the desert alone?" he translated.
She stood up straighter and tilted her chin towards the ceiling. "It was not so far," she said.
"Your parents live in Spargus, then?"
"Yes."
Meenoch pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll send a lower kuan to the city and inquire. Shall we inform the Queen, kuan sumna?"
"Not yet."
Divaka smiled. If the matter wasn't important enough to alert the Queen, then it would be smoothed over. The little girl would probably be sent back to her parents as soon as the storm cleared.
She glanced around the room, taking in the high vaulted ceilings and oracle carvings. She undid her hand wrappings and let them fall to the floor.
"I am curious as to how she made it across the island bridges. They are always taken up during storms. We haven't got any female caretakers at the temple. Send for a maid from Spargus, Meenoch. I want this child cleaned up properly and put in whiteface as soon as possible."
"Kuan sumna! Are you quite sure that is wise?" cried Meenoch.
The High Priest glared at him. "What is your name, child?"
Divaka had been so surprised to hear that the girl was to be put in whiteface he had almost missed the question. Meenoch kicked him. He shook himself and repeated it in the common tongue of Spargus.
"Seem," the girl replied.
Meenoch spat. "Not even a name from the Precursor writings! This is an ill tiding." He waved his fingers around his shoulders, a protective prayer.
"Nonsense, Meenoch. Do not be so afraid of the little girl; the Precursors have guided her to us. We are in their wise hands, and she in ours."
Meenoch glared at the girl. "Yes sumna. I will send for a maid." He bowed and left, slamming the door shut behind him.
The High Priest frowned. "Meenoch radiates jealousy for the place of a sumna." He shook his head. "That concerns me far more than the girl."
Divaka raised his eyebrows. Everyone knew Meenoch wanted the status of sumna. Divaka had never heard the High Priest comment on it before.
Seem glanced at the door. She rubbed her eyes and started untying the heavy storm coverings.
"No!" Divaka pushed her arms firmly at her sides.
"Bring her to your quarters and let her bathe," said the High Priest.
"My quarters!" Divaka bit his tongue as the High Priest frowned. He bowed deeply. "I'm sorry, kuan sumna. Of course. My quarters are open to our new… sister."
"Be kind to her," warned the High Priest.
Perhaps you are more familiar with ecoroot's scientific name, Mirabilis crassula? Complex monk-language will be explained in subsequent chapters (though I think some of the terms are kinda obvious) Thanks for reading!