197S9.9.05
Between this cold and the brilliance of the stars above, this place is almost like home. If I close my eyes tightly enough, I swear that I can hear the muted sounds of a sleeping Bevelle instead of the muted snores of my companions and I can almost convince myself that the cool stone is truly the slightly curved roof of the temple; it is foolishness to think of it, but I can almost smell that first Bevellen snow on the wind.
I don't think I'm truly homesick; what is there for me to miss, after all? When I left, I was as the street-born, begging for any sympathy or help that a stranger may give, and, even before that, I was as any other temple-born child, believing I was so wise and so worldly when, in truth, I could not see beyond the tip of my nose. In the short time I've been in this place, I have learned and experienced more than I ever thought possible when I was within the temple and…I have grown from it. Yes, I have grown away from my faith, but I have grown closer to something which seems so much more important; I cannot name that thing for the life of me, but it now seems so vital to my very existence that I cannot help but reach for it.
I wish to learn and I wish to grow; I want to take everything from this experience, even if it must cost me my life and my hope of a life after. I may not be the warrior or the fighter, but that does not bar me from being a working part of the whole; it simply means I must adjust. I can still be useful and I can still repay what they have taught me.
They have all taught me.
Nooj has taught me that I am as a child, unformed and weak, but he has also shown that I may yet rise above; it is perhaps from him that I have gotten this new strength and determination and, though I could easily hate him for showing me such a stark picture of myself, I should, instead, be grateful that he is yet willing to allow me time to grow into my place in this squad. I admit that he still makes me nervous, but this emotion now seems to be of a different source; it pains me to think that I may again sound as the Yevonite bigot, but one must wonder what toll a man pays to have such a foreign material grafted so permanently to him. Even I can see that it is a physical strain, but it must also draw quite heavily on whatever mental reserves he may have; it is admirable, of course, that he manages so well, but it also makes me curious if there is any way I can ease the mental burden, as Gippal has helped to ease the physical.
Paine has taught me that sanity and calm can be found, even in a situation as chaotic and unpleasant as this. It seems she has taken an older sibling view to me and I must be grateful for this; it is quite pleasant to have someone to whom to turn when there is no other and it is a beautiful thing to have someone with whom you can laugh and be at ease. Perhaps it is fate that she has been placed as an older sister for me; she is, after all, the first I have seen whose hair is nearly the same shade as my own. I know that is not so odd, as such, but it is so rare to see hair so pale that it does give me pause. Perhaps I should ask her about it sometime when we are alone, even if it is a rather silly thing.
Gippal has perhaps taught me most of all. It is through him that I have been able to find a fresh view of the Al Bhed and it is because of him that I have been forced to reevaluate my stance in the world. I can see now that I acted and thought so foolishly toward him when I first arrived, but I am now so grateful for what he has shown me; I can no longer think of the price I paid so much as I think of the depth of my former blindness. I wish to learn more from him. I wonder how he would react if I were to ask pointed questions about himself and his race. I wonder if he would bristle…or laugh…or grow quiet…or if he would share some of the pride he must take to be part of such a wonderful group. I would learn all that he could teach me; I just have to find a proper way of introducing the request. Perhaps if I were to ask him to teach me his language...
I think it may be time for me to lay this writing aside; it is beginning to read as the exercises the Maesters would give us to write every time we took our faith for granted and I do not wish these things to be reflected in such a light.
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Gippal has agreed to teach us Al Bhed!
This afternoon, the three of us—Gippal, Paine, and I—were wrestling beside the pool in hopes of burning away a bit of the restlessness which seems to have settled so firmly on all of us and, every time Paine or I would so much as scratch him, Gippal would mutter a small variety of words in Al Bhed. Though I was naturally quite curious, I refrained from asking him about it until we had finished with our exercise and, to my pleasure, he seemed quite willing to share. Unfortunately, what he shared was the crudest range of epithets I had heard in all my life and, though I tried not to let them affect me, I know that I blushed my darkest shade of red. I honestly wish that I could have reacted in a more adult manner, but it must have just struck Paine and Gippal as cute as neither took any pains to direct the conversation in another direction.
It does show how ignorant I am, though. It never struck me that "Yevon-sweetheart" would be seen as the strongest of the curses and yet it does make sense; to Al Bhed, being close to Yevon—or involved with him at all—is doubtlessly the lowest and dirtiest any man can get and it is likely the most offensive name to ever have tied to you. I only wonder if Gippal sees me as that. I wonder if he sees me as so low and so dirty. Could he still lie with me if he saw me as so or does he only use me in such a manner because he knows that there is no other outlet available?
I do not think I'll follow that line of thought any further. I am simply grateful that Gippal has agreed to teach me and I rather look forward to learning as much of the language and the culture as Gippal is willing to share. It was curious, though. Throughout this lesson, Nooj sat a small distance from us and, though we tried to invite him to join, he refused to do so. I wonder if it is simply distaste for the language or if the three of us were somehow making it so that he could not be comfortable? I can understand that he would not wish to take part in our wrestling—I am not sure he could do so comfortably nor safely—but to refuse something as innocuous as conversation…
Perhaps such fraternization is simply something which a good leader cannot allow himself?
197S9.9.06
According to Gippal, we'll be boarding the boats the day after tomorrow. It may be a bit odd, but I really am looking forward to this next leg of the journey; it has been quite a deal of time since I have had the chance to travel on a boat and I only hope that I do not get the seasickness. It's a shame I did not think to bring the ingredients necessary to brew the potion which guards against this, but I did not really have access to them, anyway.
I wonder if I might find some in the lower levels of this area.
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I did not have any luck in finding any useful herbs, but I did manage to find the camp where the Maesters have been staying. It was no real surprise that it was on the lowest level and that it was in the safest of the enclosures, but it was a bit of a surprise that there was still one Maester lingering there, even after many of the squads had left. I did not recognize him, but this means nothing; I rarely had much to do with anyone so high in the temple as my father often took care of such connections for me. I cannot recall the Maester's name, even now, but it does not matter; I had no time to really address him as he simply asked me why I was lingering so far from my own squad. The excuse I offered, that I was seeking somewhere private to pray, seemed to placate him and he allowed me to go on my way without any further trouble.
I am curious as to what the others may think of this information, but I am not sure it's worth sharing; the Maester could have lingered for no greater reason than he wishes to ensure that all squads make it to the boat and so that any last minute orders may be issued. The restlessness is likely just making me paranoid.
197S9.9.07
Gippal is busy working with Nooj and Paine has left to scavenge among the deserted camps; I believe I may join her in this, as there is really nothing else for me to do.
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I am not sure what drew me back, but I returned to the Maester's camp in the lowest level of the Road, this afternoon. The Maester who had confronted me yesterday was gone and there was very little left to suggest that anyone had ever been there; this is why it was so surprising to find such a valuable object left in the dust.
I recognized the small, square box immediately and, though it bares no markings, I know that it must belong to one of the Maesters; I simply cannot understand why he would leave it behind, though. The weapons inside are a sacred marking of the Maester's position and, though they are hardly ever used, they are still a strong symbol to all in the faith. Surely, this is the sort of thing he would wish to keep close to himself and it would be the very last thing he would leave behind, even in an emergency.
I suppose it is our fortune, though. These pistols will be of good use to us and I know Gippal will be able to determine if they are still in working order. It may be blasphemy, but, in a time of need, even the highest must resort to such things.
Perhaps this makes us as Maesters.
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The sacred pistols…the only acceptable machina in our religion…
A Judas pistol. That is how Nooj called them. One is arranged so that, when handled, it will shoot backward and injure the one holding it while the other fires normally. They are clearly intended to throw a fair duel.
It makes sense, somehow, that the only acceptable machina is twisted in such a way within the Maesters's hands. It makes sense that they would use such to throw a duel, if they were ever to participate in one. It is also all this which makes me feel unclean to have handled them.
How much blood was shed through that mangled machina? How many lives were wrongfully taken in what rightly should have been an even duel? How many Maesters escaped what could have been righteous punishment through this devious means? How could such be allowed amongst those who should be at the pinnacle of our belief?
I do not wish to see those pistols again. I do not wish to know if they are kept or if Gippal decides to destroy them. They are a tangible reminder of all that is so wrong in Yevon and, though such is needed, I cannot help but see wrongfully shed blood when I look at the crimson marks along their grips.