Ha'x mibli Kao-a so su-Yilakili : The Sound of a Few Words Ringing
The Memoirs of Kilomela-Jann Urmonaxi
A Saiyan Among The Korud-Jin
IV.
All Has Become Dust: Sinn em Kem Kanal'fes
Mes-Dindala , the great Dindala River, flows from the snowy peaks of the Kilre-On mountain range. From its source, it twists through the woodlands found in the northernmost region of the Korud homeworld, and gains speed as it plows a straight course through the plains of Urmon. It spills out into the desert, where it forks into the Mes-Yar and the Mes-Kel. It is the second longest river on any known world, traveling over eight thousand kilometers to the sea. In the rainy season, the Dindala floods, irrigating the farmland, and covering the streets of the old capital, Xibal, in water that is ankle deep.
When we arrived at the dock, the rowdy soldiers that had boarded the ship soon became a mob again. They shouted and pushed one another every which way through the gray, shallow water that had pooled on the platform, splashing and stomping in their eagerness to return home.
On the other side of the railing stretched a plane of umbrellas, brightly colored wheels made of painted wicker, wood, and resin. Against the white-gray sky, a rainbow of circles twirled about as if they had been stirred with a cosmic spoon. Under them, a multitude of women in dark, billowing dresses stood waiting, their long skirts hitched high to keep them from trailing in the water. Like the men, their faces were tattooed with extraordinary designs. A passing glimpse of a white thigh revealed another canvas for ritual decoration.
The rain sprayed down in torrents, rattling the metal roof of the shelter like a thousand tiny bells. My feet quickly became damp as Talarin lead me towards the railing. Jann-Run seemed to be searching for someone as he scanned the crowd. His feet were dry, and he walked quickly, lifting his knees high, while I trudged and shuffled, weighed down by wet boots. Talarin carried his chair above his head like a trophy. I grabbed a fistful of Talarin's sleeve, bobbing up and down through the crowd like a buoy tossed by the waves.
Talarin helped me over the barrier, then cleared the railing in a single, nimble stride. I hoped that someday I would be so long-legged.
The crowd began to dissolve as we made our way into the plaza. Apuru giggled and grabbed at the colorful parasols as we passed. Jann-Run spoke to him in his strange tongue, as if my brother were his natural child.
The Plaza of the Travelers, one of many in the old city, was surrounded by tall stone buildings. Saiyans are not great architects by any standard, but the Korud-jin seemed capable of bending the laws of physics, resting heavy stones on labyrinths of arches and columns that seemed as fragile as porcelain. Domes wrought of metal and glass rose into the sky, majestic hemispheres that shone in the dim light.
A statue of mythical proportions stood in the center of the plaza. A three-toed warrior with the head and body of a man, but the tail of a garden lizard had been decorated with garlands of tiny purple ki'ki flowers. In the rain, the white marble gleamed like fine crystal. The figure gazed upward with a benevolent smile.
"This is Prince Furiza, who led our troops to victory," explained Jann-Run." He is thought to be quite mad, and is not well liked among us. We fight only under the banner of the King, Korudo, who is good and wise. It is our loyalty to him that compels us to fight in Furiza's campaigns. A father's adoration is too often blind."
A number of soldiers had gathered around the statue's base. Each spat six times on the inscription below.
"What does it say?" I asked.
"All hail Furiza-Korudsiki, the second son of the King, viceroy of Kanassa." he read. "All hail Furiza-Korudsiki, generous and humble leader of the Korud-jin."
One of the soldiers swore loudly at the monument, and kicked the pavement, splashing the garlands with muddy water. I fought the urge to spit on the image myself.
A woman with a white umbrella stood in the shadow of the colonnade, seeking shelter from the rain. At first she did not see us approaching, but when she caught sight of us, she sprinted out into the storm, her umbrella left overturned in a pool of water.
Jann-Run quickly thrust my brother into my arms. Apuru wailed loudly at the loss of his lofty post, and reached over my shoulder towards Jann-Run, who towered above us.
The woman threw her arms around Jann-Run's neck and pressed her lips against his. My heart leapt into my throat. I had never seen men and women behave so intimately in public. The women I had known at the palace were only passionate in their misery and abject hatred of one another.
Talarin blushed. He set the chair and his cooking pans on the base of the statue, careful that the chair did not get wet.
The woman scooped up my brother and covered him with kisses. Apuru gurgled, happy once again.
"This is my wife," said Jann-Run. " She is called Aiek-Hi, Blessing-of-Fortune."
Aiek-Hi had a face as white and round as a moon, with black eyes like chips of flint, ignited by a primitive sensuality. Her chin and forehead were tattooed with a series of dots and coils, drawn in flawless symmetry. Dark hair was wound tightly about her head like a crown, plaited and pinned in an intricate wreath. Her wet, brown dress clung to the soft depressions of her body, unable to conceal the volume of her flesh.
Hesitantly, she said, "Ku'a Mama, u'xal tak. You may call me Mama, if you wish. That would make me very happy." From then on, Aiek-Hi, the blessing of fortune, became known to me as Mama. She never again spoke a word of Saiyago to me or to my brother.
Mama kissed Talarin on both cheeks, standing on her toes. She said something to him in their native tongue, and she produced three coins from her sleeve.
" We are going to get a new pair of boots. Those Oozaru shoes are no good for the rainy season, " said Talarin, pointing at my feet. He took my hand and led me through the colonnade.
The overturned umbrella floated like a little white boat, impervious to the pedestrians that milled about the plaza.
The colonnade led into an enormous indoor market lined with small shops and kiosks. Garlands of ki'ki flowers decorated the window displays that advertised clothing, glassware, paper goods and tools. Many bright banners were illustrated with images of the wares for sale: wooden beams, flowers, knives and barrels of pickled vegetables.
I waited for a passerby to notice me and denounce me as an impostor, but all ignored my presence, preoccupied with their purchases. The shoppers haggled viciously with the merchants, shouting "Han-ji'irn! Too much!" and "Tim'pol-a mo! You're cheating me!"
We ducked into a small shop with a red door. The merchant sat behind the counter, staring vacantly at a stack of yellowing, handwritten receipts. His wild hair was squashed flat on one side, a pen wedged behind his ear. The walls were lined with brown cardboard boxes tagged with symbols and numbers, a code understood only by the merchant.
"Bidu!" Talarin greeted the boot merchant and startled him from a daydream. The area surrounding the boot merchant's eyes had been tattooed black, a bizzare mask that could never be removed. He blinked a few times, and looked at Talarin. One pupil was larger than the other.
"Bidu.Ta kor?" asked the merchant, squinting.
Talarin pointed at me and said something to the man, prompting him to lean over the counter and stare at my feet. After a moment, the merchant scratched his chin. "Tatta'bas," he muttered, and disappeared into the rear of the shop.
He returned with a pair of blue rubber boots, lined in flannel. I took off my old boots and tried walking in the new ones. I spread my toes and wiggled them. Talarin clapped in praise. "Meb Kil'a! Perfect!" He handed Mama's three coins to the merchant, who bowed deeply, glad that Talarin did not haggle over the price.
Talarin and I returned to the plaza, where Jann-Run, Mama, and Apuru waited in the shadow of Prince Furiza.
"Those are of the best quality to be found in the city," Jann-Run observed. "You will make good use of them."
I bowed to Mama in thanks, a behavior I had observed in both Talarin and the boot merchant. She leaned down and kissed the top of my head. I blushed.
From a balcony overlooking the plaza, a voice cried out. "Bal Vegetasei han mad'da nim! Bal Vegetasei han mad'da nim! Furiza han nim Vegetasei!" A man in heavy armor stood five stories above the crowd. The pedestrians stopped in their tracks, and looked up quizzically. Mama gasped. For a long moment, the only sound in the plaza was the rain beating down on the stones.
My heart raced. Vegetasei.
The man shouted again "Furiza han nim Vegetasei!" Jann-Run clapped his hands over my ears. The crowd looked up at the monument, and up again at the man. The patrons of the indoor market had begun to trickle outside; first a few, then tens, then hundreds.
"Bal Vegetasei han mad'da nim! Bal Vegetasei han mad'da nim! Furiza han nim Vegetasei!"
Jann-Run grabbed the collar of my shirt. We hurried out of the plaza, through a network of alleys that led to the banks of the Dindala. I was quicker in my new boots, just able to keep step with long-legged Talarin.
"Do not look back, " said Talarin, out of breath, struggling to keep his balance while carrying the chair and the copper cooking pans that had made the long journey from Vegetasei. "Do not look back."
I looked back. Mama stumbled behind me with Apuru, her skirt tangled about her legs. There was a rumble, a creak, and a sound like the felling of a tree. People gathered on the roofs of the townhouses, and leaned out of the open windows, looking towards the source of the noise. The cry spread from house to house. "Bal Vegetasei han mad'da nim! Furiza han nim Vegetasei!"
The river had flooded the avenue, and many long boats with white sails had been moored to the trees that lined the sidewalks in the dry season. Their bare branches reached out of the shallow water like skeletal hands. Mama's boat carried us quickly down the river, away from the city. In the waters of the Dindala, bunches of tiny purple ki'ki flowers floated past, torn from celebratory garlands.
"Prince Furiza has destroyed Vegetasei, against the advice of his advisors." said Jann-Run, many kilometers downriver. "Many people are angry now, and perhaps rightly so. A prince should not act against the interests of his subjects."
"But was it not already destroyed?" I wondered aloud, remembering that the royal compound had been reduced to rubble.
Jann-Run fished a ki'ki blossom out of the current, and crushed it. " No, Kilomela. Sinn em kem kanal'fes. All has become dust."
As the city gave way to the countryside, the clouds began to clear. Little black birds, called Kilomela by the Korud-jin, flitted among the reeds on the banks of the Dindala. Ahead lay the plains and rolling hills of Urmon, the place I still call home.