Re: [Closed] Away, Away
Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2020 9:25 pm
Late Afternoon, 34 Dentis, 2719
Heading towards the Church of the Moon
Heading towards the Church of the Moon
Nkemi’s eyes were bright and curious at Ezrah’s question about ibu’vaqem. It reminded her very much of his questions from during her presentation: it was surprisingly, tangible practical. ”I do not know,” she said, as unafraid to admit to a lack of knowledge here as she had been during her instruction in his course. ”Does it matter if the spirits are waiting here or in the afterlife for their reincarnation?”
The ground crunched lightly underneath; the snow from that morning seemed to mostly have melted during the day, but there were pockets where shadow had once been, bits of gravel where the coldness had clung, and patches further away on some of the dry grass. Nkemi was very glad of her sturdy boots. Ezrah led her with an unerring singleness of purpose, and Nkemi followed with an equal curiosity, more interested in what the student wished to show her than all the rest.
Half-bare branches lined the trees on the sides of the walkway; leaves were tumbling free in each gust of wind, little flashes of gold and yellow and orange and red caught and drifting. There was a little scattering on the cold ground, although Nkemi thought they would not be allowed to remain long.
Nkemi smiled at Ezrah, warm and friendly,
nodding agreeably at the parallels he offered. ”Kejeka,” she attempted, and made a little face; she could not find all the sounds on her tongue. ”Kezejka,” Nkemi tried again, all the consonants as strong as she knew how to make them. She grinned, suddenly. ”It is not a pilgrimage from Dkanat to Serkaih,” Nkemi said, ”but a descent. Dkanat is on the surface of the desert, at the top of the cliffs. Serkaih - our valley of ghosts - is reached with a journey down the winding, narrow paths of the cliff side, lantern lit even during the day. It is less than an hour’s walk.”
Much less, Nkemi remembered, even for a small girl, if she runs to and from. Even a small girl can scramble down the rocky paths in a scatter of gravel and dust, descending through the first layer of red to the brilliant striped colors beneath, pale pink and orange and yellow and red flowing together and apart, until she reaches the bright red dirt of the valley floor, scattered with pale gray-green clinging weeds outside of the broad, groomed paths. Even a small girl can make the journey back up, beneath a sky of brilliant blue or sand-choked gray or glittering with stars like a thousand lanterns above.
”There are small mules as well,” Nkemi added, eyes bright. ”And a platform sling, a little way down the valley. But it is better to walk, if you are able.”
They had stopped their walk now; Nkemi tucked cold hands into the pocket of the student’s green coat, looking up at the intent young Hejos. There had been a smile on his face when he spoke of his home, warm and longing rather than amused. There was another now, a quick flash of a defiant grin that lit his dark eyes and quirked up the edges of his mouth.
Nkemi followed him once more. ”What possibilities are there?” The subprefect asked, curious about what her guide would say. She smiled at Ezrah, freely meeting his gaze; she did not pretend not to understand the significance of the question. He had been touching on it again and again, Nkemi thought; he had not been shy to brush his tattooed hand against it, and more deliberately each time. She pushed; she did not think it would take much for him to reach out and seize the point.
Nkemi understood very well by now that Ezrah was a practical sort of person; his interests were not in history or theory or philosophy. The crypts beneath the Church of the Moon, she remembered; this was the destination in which he had been most interested. Nkemi felt a little shiver; it was not only the cold, she knew.
The ground crunched lightly underneath; the snow from that morning seemed to mostly have melted during the day, but there were pockets where shadow had once been, bits of gravel where the coldness had clung, and patches further away on some of the dry grass. Nkemi was very glad of her sturdy boots. Ezrah led her with an unerring singleness of purpose, and Nkemi followed with an equal curiosity, more interested in what the student wished to show her than all the rest.
Half-bare branches lined the trees on the sides of the walkway; leaves were tumbling free in each gust of wind, little flashes of gold and yellow and orange and red caught and drifting. There was a little scattering on the cold ground, although Nkemi thought they would not be allowed to remain long.
Nkemi smiled at Ezrah, warm and friendly,
nodding agreeably at the parallels he offered. ”Kejeka,” she attempted, and made a little face; she could not find all the sounds on her tongue. ”Kezejka,” Nkemi tried again, all the consonants as strong as she knew how to make them. She grinned, suddenly. ”It is not a pilgrimage from Dkanat to Serkaih,” Nkemi said, ”but a descent. Dkanat is on the surface of the desert, at the top of the cliffs. Serkaih - our valley of ghosts - is reached with a journey down the winding, narrow paths of the cliff side, lantern lit even during the day. It is less than an hour’s walk.”
Much less, Nkemi remembered, even for a small girl, if she runs to and from. Even a small girl can scramble down the rocky paths in a scatter of gravel and dust, descending through the first layer of red to the brilliant striped colors beneath, pale pink and orange and yellow and red flowing together and apart, until she reaches the bright red dirt of the valley floor, scattered with pale gray-green clinging weeds outside of the broad, groomed paths. Even a small girl can make the journey back up, beneath a sky of brilliant blue or sand-choked gray or glittering with stars like a thousand lanterns above.
”There are small mules as well,” Nkemi added, eyes bright. ”And a platform sling, a little way down the valley. But it is better to walk, if you are able.”
They had stopped their walk now; Nkemi tucked cold hands into the pocket of the student’s green coat, looking up at the intent young Hejos. There had been a smile on his face when he spoke of his home, warm and longing rather than amused. There was another now, a quick flash of a defiant grin that lit his dark eyes and quirked up the edges of his mouth.
Nkemi followed him once more. ”What possibilities are there?” The subprefect asked, curious about what her guide would say. She smiled at Ezrah, freely meeting his gaze; she did not pretend not to understand the significance of the question. He had been touching on it again and again, Nkemi thought; he had not been shy to brush his tattooed hand against it, and more deliberately each time. She pushed; she did not think it would take much for him to reach out and seize the point.
Nkemi understood very well by now that Ezrah was a practical sort of person; his interests were not in history or theory or philosophy. The crypts beneath the Church of the Moon, she remembered; this was the destination in which he had been most interested. Nkemi felt a little shiver; it was not only the cold, she knew.