Chapter 8
She bumped her head against something hard, and the acute sensation of being "cramped" made her stir to wakefulness and start to get up….The smell of burning was pleasant but she woke with detritus in her hair, clinging to her strands, sap on her cheek as she lifted her head off the ground in some hut she had no recollection of traveling into….Her head hurt so much in the back of her skull….Catherine ignored the surroundings in preference to reaching behind her with her hand to touch a tender spot on her scalp that throbbed….Something stirred next to her, and she drew her hand away from exploring the dried strands behind her head….Beside her, in the corner, was a very large, obtrusive stranger.
Sieis turned his head to look at her, the tortoi sharing his prison….Catherine stared at him from the ground of the hatch-hut….He released a low rumble, raising his elbow to prod her with the expansive gesture into moving away from him, "….Bo Sieis marohn ( Leave me alone )….Sieis duan neyte bemlir tortoi-Cat avenar ba Sieis ( I do not want you to look at me )."
He had been set into the shelter with Catherine by Mekemlah, Arra, and Vaula, who said that he should stay with the tortoi and that being inside the hatch-hut with a sentry or two outside nearby, would be for his own safety as well as the tortoi's….Mekemlah needed to decide what to do with "it"—and him.
He growled at Catherine to warn her to remain away from him as he set to licking his shoulder, where Mekemlah had struck him with the barana….His clothes in rags over it….Catherine moved away from Sieis and pressed into the farthest corner on her hands and knees….She didn't remember his clothes being shredded and torn so, hanging off his neck and arms, his body exposed as he attended to his shoulder with a long tongue….The tongue raked loudly over his skin….Catherine watched from her corner in silence.
Unbeknownst to her, upon returning to his home village—where Bantons still felt the pain of their memories of lost loved ones because of the former Auna's misinformation—Sieis had been attacked by an angry and vengeful mob….Catherine and he had been moved by Mekemlah and Arra, while Vaula held his assailants off and threatened them with exile for any who brought harm to the tortoi in Sieis's arms….and Sieis as well.
Sieis was an outcaste—a girah—and this he accepted….but to be placed in confinement with the tortoi as a jailmate was humiliating….He was not respected enough as a banton to have his own place in which to be confined….He was treated as the enemy would be treated and it shamed him—Sieis, who had lost his family because of the tortois….Catherine brought her eyes to studying her new "jail"….She saw red clay she recognized from having seen other Banton village structures like this one she had been brought to….It was built sturdy at first glimpse but as she felt the walls, saw the clay crumble away from her prying fingers, and leaned towards the cracks evident among the structure's supporting underlayer of wood framing, she could see outside—and outside was lit by a fire circle close to the hatch-hut, in which foods and other articles of weaponry were being burned or sterilized….She inhaled the scents of a world inhabited beyond Base Alpha's protective walls and perimeters.
The smells were crude and rich of soil, of cooking, and farther off but there, the distant, sweet flowering forests of Faultoth, wafting to her nostrils through the cracks of her captivity….Catherine looked down at herself.
Her armor was missing, she realized, and her slender suit on her still….She glanced at her "Gray" in the corner to see if he might still be in possession of the bundle of armor, but he was not….nor was he sitting on it.
Catherine moved into a crouch….Sieis's navy-gold eyes moved to her, slitting with suspicion, "….You're hurt," she made no other motion yet, waiting to see if he understood her utterance, but then she pointed at her shoulder to indicate "his" indirectly….She wanted him to know she was concerned about his injury and, "….Your clothing is ruined," she proceeded to "rain" her fingers over imaginary clothes on her arms and her chest….Sieis watched with a bemused expression on his face as she performed this bizarre little dance to him.
She attempted to show him his torn clothes without actually touching him, though she pointed at him last when her fingers were finished "tickling" over her suit….Sieis tilted his finned-head down towards his chest, seeing the gray-blue muscles through the tears in his shirt. He freed a low, sighing rumble and brought his gaze to the door-trap over the entrance to the hatch-hut, his stare flat and sad….He shifted his bulk, turning his glare to the wall, his square back to her, "….Sieis neyte kah ( I am not good )…." That was a plainly obvious answer to her—seeing the breadth of his back now, it was clear he did not want communication with her….Catherine decided to stand at that point, and look to exploring the door of the hut.
Her fingers felt the trappings holding the door to its shape and form….She pushed at it lightly, then picked at the twigs, plants, some bits of bone among its construction with bark, sinew, string, "….Likely from their hunted meals' leftovers, yes, I hope," she felt the long femur of what once probably ran from them, this bone across the middle of the door shaped like an oblong mask….Sieis looked at her shadowed-form blocking the light making its way through the weak door, which was meant more to discourage than to securely lock one from going outside (at their risk of life and limbs, for Bantons enjoyed tearing things apart)….He felt the coolness of her shadow falling on him, and turned his face down to his lap, feeling repulsed that her shadow should touch him.
After gently pushing at the door, feeling its infirmness, she started to tug at it, "….How do we…." She gave it a more insistent shaking, not understanding what prevented it from moving easily just yet….She tried pushing it again.
A banton standing guard outside her view from among the missing parts in the door came over from the other side of the fire and rapped the end of a barana against it. "Wa toi ( Stay back )," he rapped the door again with the weapon's handle, "….Banton-Sombre-duich ohanara manveni tortoi-'Tortoi' muhila gir, Tortoi ( We say when you come out, Humpback )." Catherine stepped away from the door as the banton rapped it a third time, and through the upper half that was less dense with its makings, the banton could be seen to turn his yellow and purple eyes upon Sieis sitting in his corner behind her, "….Berena duan Banton-Sieis aranduci sohyla ataba okran Tortoi ( How do you like being kept with the humpback )….Banton-Sieis gunam milas muhila abanahe ( You deserve less for coming here )—"
"Mekemlah arva Sieis oratat ahm Tortoi ( Mekemlah made me bring this Tortoi )," Sieis motioned with his hand towards Catherine, "….Sieis bemla neyte muhila abanahe oken auga mahora Banton-Sombre oriki ( I have not come here to raise more pain for you all )…." Sieis had moved to turn himself to face the guard, pushing Catherine out of the way with his bulk….The banton named Sombre let off a snort and a huff, turned and walked off a ways.
Sieis looked to Catherine who had been watching the interaction….She darted a glance to a crack in the door, where she saw it blot out of light due to the passing banton beyond it, then regard Sieis calmly, her face showing no expression. What's the story here, she bent an eyebrow as Sieis went back to his corner and sat, his rags spreading around him in the air with his movement, ….Gray's in here with me, isolated from the other bantons who show no love for him….They seem affable enough to talk to him in that funny language of theirs, she looked to the cracks in the door again, ….and he to them….but not like he's angry as one who is imprisoned would be expected to behave….She tilted her head, staring a little at him from her eye corners….Sieis settled into his corner of the hut and looked back at her….somewhat indignant.
"Gray," she pointed to him, Sieis's eyes crossing almost as he looked at the tip of her finger, aimed down at his nose's end, "….in here," she then pointed to the floor of the hut—their prison, "….with Cat," she finished by pointing to herself….and repeated the sequence again with the code words.
He felt a growl coming from his belly, then looked to the door, pausing it….Beyond the door's openings to the village outside he was no longer a part of, but as its prisoner, and enemy, "….Harahna ome ( Home once )…." He flicked a rag hanging off his chest, what was left of his tunic, "….Sieis be ome Auna Mahanama ( I was once a leader of Mahanama)….Nohitla Sieis arva okarlatoma ( Then I made a mistake )…." He pointed at her—as she had at him, "….Tortois fegalana Banton comlanas, Sieis comlana, ourin Sieis ( Humpbacks killed my people's families, my own, because of me )…." And Catherine slowly pointed a finger to herself as he brought his hand back into his lap and rested it.
"Cat is 'Tortoi'?…." She had heard the other banton refer to her as such—with indications of his head and glances, she thought she had connected the dots, that she was being spoken of when "tortoi" and the gestures to her coincided—while he was speaking to Sieis.
"Tortoi-'Cat' ( You )," Sieis nodded.
A growing excitement afflicted Catherine's mood—despite conditions at present….She had made a connection between her language and his own….It was a breakthrough….She was a "tortoi".
"Cat is Tortoi…." Sieis stared up at her….and to test, she pointed at him, "….Gray is Tortoi?"
"Ne ( No )," he shook his finned head and pointed at her again, "….Cat be Tortoi ( Cat is a humpback ), Sieis be Banton ( I am Banton )."
Cat pointed a shaking, excited finger at him, "….Gray is 'Sieis be Banton'!…." He shook his head fiercely, "….'Sieis be Banton' is not Tortoi?"
Sieis scowled and it almost made her titter with glee….He was understanding a "mistake" in her understanding of him….However, Sieis appeared to be thinking, and then, slowly, "….Sieis….Banton….Gray….Banton….Sieis 'Gray'….Sieis," he pressed his hand to his chest, indicating himself….and some civility.
Catherine crouched and laid her knees on the ground under her, looking directly at him, Sieis's sudden rumble dissipating as she waited for his suspiciousness to wane into expectant curiosity, then she tried: "….Sieis, my name is Catherine," and she pressed her palm to her chest, "….My name….is Catherine."
Sieis watched her go into some "odd" behaviors. Not that she had not done odd things already, but she was now searching the dirt beneath her knees for something, and crawled to the door to break off a twig from its makings when she found nothing else to use….She crawled back to her spot and started to scratch into the dirt with it, needing something hard to break the dry crust and draw what she wanted him to see in the fall of the light, "….Qa be Tortoi-Catherine duan ( What are you doing )?"
She drew a stick-figure, pointed at it, pointed at herself, "….Catherine….Tortoi."
He stared at her, unsure if she had gone mad, lowering one of his eyelids with that same look of suspicion she had seen him make before, and then his eyes dropped to the dirt and to the scratches she had made for the thin figure she tapped with her twig tip….With a shrug of his brawny shoulders, Sieis shook his head, "….Ne," raised his eyes to look at her a moment, then down to the figure again where he brought forward his hand and, using a ragged nail, he made some modifications to the thin scratches with the circle for its head, "….Ahma be qa 'Tortoi' avenar arandu ( That is what 'a humpback' looks like )…." He raised his stunning eyes again to see her face tilted down in study of the "contours" he had added to her primitive scratches in the dirt between them, and something else was in her expression, something dawning, and what he did not know….but Sieis studied her braid, hanging over her left shoulder with its bedraggled strands and leaf and sap caught in it, and "scribed" a braid into the dirt drawing like a tail formed from the back of the stick-figure's head circle, "….Ahma be qa 'Tortoi-Catherine' avenar arandu."
What Catherine was seeing for the first time since Assembly had arrived on Faultoth, was how the bantons saw her and her colleagues….Aside from the braid on her stick-figure, they were all encapsulated in rigid, hexagonal, line-bubbles that were twice the size of their actual bodies, as these were formed spread apart like clouds from the stick-figure's limbs and head….She looked up and met his gaze….Tapping the stick-figure in the middle of his rendering of her armor, "….Human…." She tapped again on the stick figure inside the "shell" of armor around it, "….Human….Catherine is Human." Sieis looked from her face to the stick-figure under her twig's tip-end, then back up at her.
"Hooman," his lips formed the word well enough, "….Cat ne Tortoi….be Human ( is Human )." Catherine moved the twig, bent her head down, her braid swinging as she shifted to another blank patch of even dirt….She began to draw a wider circle with the twig tip, and inside she drew sketches of Bantons—Sieis understood these to be Bantons, as her sketches resembled him and others like him….He watched her earnestly….He turned his body more towards her work, to see better now that his interest had been hooked….He had enjoyed writing and drawing with his own children.
And then she moved the twig-tip outside the circle, and drew into the dirt one Banton by itself, "….Banton," she pointed to the group inside the circle, "….Sieis," she pointed to the figure outside the circle.
He reached over to point and touch the figure outside the circle with his own big second-finger from his thumb, understanding what she was trying to convey—and attempting to understand for herself to know about his circumstances—Why he was different, why he was with her in the hatch-hut as was obvious, and not among the others of his village, of his people, "….Sieis girah ( I am an outcaste )," he tapped then inside the circle, "….Bantons neyte harahna ne auga ( Bantons are not my people anymore )….Neyte bemlir Sieis ( Not want me )…." He dug his nail into the dirt, and drew a rough figure similar to hers, only where he placed it was unique in its importance….In a hierarchy of power, he had drawn himself inside the circle and at the top, above the group of abstract Banton figures Catherine had made, "….Be Sieis comlana ome, oriki ( Were my family once, all of them )…." He circled the scribed ring about the group and his that he had added, then tapped his fingernail hard atop the banton he had drawn inside the ring, and paused, a heaviness in his face….Catherine watched as he began adding four more figures next to the one he had made with his nail, one being slighter but as tall as his figure, one smaller than two others that were yet shorter than his and the second tallest in that intimate grouping above the bantons….and then, lifting his nail, around the originals Catherine had drawn inside the circle he added more—mostly small, some the same size, many in between the sizes of the largest and smallest….Children, males, female Bantons, Catherine discerned, "….Humans muhila ( The humans came )," he tapped on the figures she had drawn when he was done adding his, having filled much of the emptiness in that ring—his community, his tribe—with his first four uniquely at the head of all of them, escalating them to some prominence over the rest of the bantons she had drawn, "….Humans fegalana Sieis's comlana, Bantons comlanas, mefistas manveni Sieis ota comlanas Merinhuwa fomuits laquatta horani ( The humans killed my family, my people's families, friends when I sent them to Merinhuwa to follow the seasonal migration )….Sieis musetta be homle ( I thought it safe )…." He began to smudge all of the figures he had drawn out of existence, imagining them to be his mate, his children, his friends, their families and friends….and when most were gone but for the few left in the ring (her drawings), he pointed to the very first banton he had added, pointed to himself….and smudged it away with his fingertip, then dragged his nail through the group, down to the lone figure outside the ring, "….Girah…." He sat back against the wall behind him, his weight causing the framing, clad in heavy, red clay, to crumble and creak with his pressure against the wood supporting it all….Catherine stared at the figure his nail had scoured across, on the outside of her circle.
"You were once a part of them," she raised her eyes to his receding into the shadow of the wall, beyond the light let in by the door's holes and partings, "….then something happened because of Humans….Assembly….You lost people," she used her twig to rescribe the four figures next to his "smudged" one, that were inside the circle in their hierarchical placement above the others remaining of the bantons she'd drawn, "….Sieis lost Bantons he loved….You had family, four—a wife, two children, an infant…." She tapped the four with her twig, her broken-end resting on the smallest at the pair of the biggest feet, "….Now you're alone, and treated like a criminal….'Girah'…." She knew he would not understand much of what she was saying, it was too much….for now….Catherine pointed to the doorway, hoping he would understand, and down to the circle with its remaining Bantons inside it, "….You were not only friends with them outside, you were their leader," she pointed to the door—to the banton guarding beyond it—and Sieis watched her a moment longer before emitting a soft, low purl, turning his face to the door and nodding….He did not know for sure, but he felt he understood that she did now, too.