Hatam-Ile, 18th of Ninthmoon 3045
Drums beat to an ever-increasing rhytmn that reverberated in the soil. Ren’i had felt it already on the other bank of the river through the thin soles of his akheri boots. The sounds of the kantele and the willow reed flute blended in with the drums; a demanding, almost a ghostly tune, yet somehow it sounded like a beckoning. It resembled no music he’d ever heard before.
They had slept late, neither of them in any rush to get dressed. Hawk had gotten up for long enough to set the water boiling, but Ren’i had dragged him back down. Just seeing his naked skin and the marks left by the previous night’s lovemaking had been enough to send heat pooling towards the pit of his belly once more, and Hawk had offered no resistance when Ren’i had gathered him in his arms and drowned his moans against Hawk’s neck and lips.
Hawk smiled at the memory. Ren’i was not a particularly quiet man, and he certainly wasn’t that in the bedroom, either.
Some of the teawater had already evaporated by the time they had managed to catch their breath and get their thoughts back in order. The sauna had heated up while they broke their fast, and Ren’i had had to use all of his self-control to not get distracted again. There was little sense in bathing if you undid its effects right after.
”Looks like we’re late,” Ren’i pointed out, seeing how packed the streets were. Children were playing on the bridge, running between the legs of their parents while kicking a ball and waving around the same colourful toy streamers they’d had at the summer festival.
”The kekri festival runs for two weeks,” Hawk said. ”Most people only go home to sleep.”
”What about that dance thing?”
”We’re in no hurry. The ceremony won’t start until nightfall.”
They had already known in advance that showing up together would attract attention, for the locals knew all too well that there was only one house with a single inhabitant living close to the forest. Their guess proved correct. Many heads turned as they stepped on the bridge side by side. Ren’i clasped Hawk’s hand in his own and answered the inquisitive looks with a serene smile. They were a curious people, the akheris, but there was no malice behind the attention, and he received many smiles in return. Certainly an improvement from the stares he’d endured in Hol Saro.
Hawk had loaned him an akheri style belt with brass hangings, identical in style with his own. It chimed quietly as Ren’i walked, a short knife hanging from the belt in its ornamental sheathe. It didn’t escape the notice of the children, and many of them waved at Ren’i upon recognising him from the summer party.
Ren’i watched the celebrating locals just as curiously as they him. Many passersby were wearing festive outfits in a hodgepodge of styles. Striped double-breasted tunics with a folded collar, much like Hawk’s, were everywhere. Oftentimes they were worn with an akheri belt adorned with one or two knives. Some had donned lavishly decorated aprons and ornamental pockets over long skirts, and the colours and patterns of the entire Akheriland were represented in the designs. The red, yellow and black of Hatam-Ile, the green and white of Verem, the white and red of Om-Var. His gaze lingered, however, on the wooden masks that many had raised to rest above their heads.
The drums beat ever faster the closer to the square they got. The remains of the archery contest had been taken away and the canvases draped over the Circle of the Nine Moons pulled aside. People sat on the windowsills of nearby houses, as well as the seats, but the boisterous atmosphere of the day before was gone. There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air.
”Your highness.”
Ren’i looked around at the sound of Vannuil’s voice and tried to let go of Hawk’s hand, but Hawk just held on tighter. She had just stepped out of a tavern, Onniar at her heels. Somehow she managed to look official even with a tankard of beer in hand and hair pulled on a lazy knot at the back of her head.
”Afternoon, consul Vannuil,” Ren’i greeted her. ”It pleases me to see you partaking in the festivities today as well. Have you been enjoying yourself?”
Vannuil responsed with a light bow. ”I am doing my best to enjoy the hospitality of the locals.” If she noticed Ren’i and Hawk holding hands she made no attempt to show it. She stole a glance at Onniar. ”My new acquaintance here claims that today’s festivities are not to be missed, though he’s being rather secretive about the details.”
”Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Onniar chuckled in self-satisfied manner, stroking his beard. ”I’ll tell you this, though: stay somewhere nearby. You ought to find good seats if you want to watch the performance.”
”What is this performance?” Ren’i asked.
Onniar winked. ”You’ll find out soon enough.”
”Your highness understands what I mean, I’m sure,” Vannuil said, sounding amused. ”Have fun, your highness.”
The door to the elder’s house stood open for once, no smoke rising from the chimney. Most of the elders sat dispersed on the seats of the square with their own family members and friends. Nemeken looked festive in her long dress over which she had pulled an embroidered apron and a pocket. She was chatting with Mineha, who sat beside her, looking happy for once. Both women wore colourful shawls around their shoulders, lilies-of-the-valley woven into their hair, and they were holding hands as they talked. Hawk lead Ren’i to a small side alley that was lined with stalls. Ren’i exchanged a couple of silver coins for a bottle of clear moonshine the merchant had called ’sahti’.
”Where are you taking us?” Ren’i asked. It looked like a dead end. To his amazement Hawk started climbing up the fire ladder.
”Follow me,” Hawk called over his shoulder.
The climb took twice as long for Ren’i as he fought with his sahti bottle, trying to prevent it from falling on anyone. Once he made it up he noticed they weren’t the only ones up there. The rooftops of akheri houses were flat, and plenty of families were seated nearby. None of them looked surprised to see them come up the ladder.
Hawk gestured for Ren’i to follow. They went from roof to roof and building to building until they found an empty, suitable spot on the roof of a tall house, and Ren’i recognised where they were at once. The elder’s house was to their right, the square straight below.
”Genius. Front row seats,” he complimented Hawk and sat down next to him.
Hawk shrugged. ”We always did this when we were children.”
”Who’s ’we’?”
”Ared, Nightsong and I. Our families lived in the same house around here.”
Ren’i squinted. Vannuil’s figure was taller than all the others and as such she was easy to locate in the seats, right next to Onniar. They were deep in conversation, judging by the gestures.
”Since when have those two known each other?” Ren’i wondered as he watched them. ”Onniar isn’t even in the council.”
”Looks like he’s got his eye on Vannuil for whatever reason,” Hawk said and told him shortly what had occurred after the competition. Ren’i could hardly believe his eyes when Onniar placed his hand amicably on Vannuil’s shoulder, said something, and made her laugh.
”Of all possible things,” Ren’i said, shaking his head. ”Then again, who am I to judge.”
Dusk fell, and more people kept arriving on the square constantly. Ren’i uncorked the bottle and sampled his drink while inspecting the view below them more closely. The Circle of Nine Moons had been emptied of stalls and chairs, and the stone carving of the starchart surrounded by moons was clearly visible from above. Seen from the rooftops it was even larger than what it seemed on the ground.
The bottle was already half-empty by the time a group of revellers dressed in long trousers and festive vests stepped in the Circle, their faces covered by horned masks. Long fur cloaks hung from their shoulders. They formed a loose circle, backs facing one another, masked faces turned towards the audience. The carved image of Melkem was behind them.
As one of the masked akheris raised their head Ren’i finally recognised what the rough wooden masks were depicting. The short, sharp horns were without a doubt those of a goat; a coarse tuft of hair hung from the chin. The beating of the drums slowed down. A slow, hollower drum joined their rhythm, and a single masked figure separated from the audience and began circling the starchart, hefting a large leather drum.
”In the beginning there was darkness,” the drum-bearer spoke in a carrying voice, and with a start Ren’i recognised him. It was Ared. He beat the drumstick, following the beat of his own steps, and the figures in the Circle started stomping their feet to the same rhytmn. ”Melkem slumbered in the waves, and, deep in their embrace, slept two. The world was young – no day, no night was there.”
The murmuring of the spectators had died entirely. Three long braids fells down the chief’s back as he slowly made around the Circle, and when he spoke his voice seemed to carry a hollow echo. He carried himself with pride; there was different tone to his voice than usual.
”So did Vedenemo, the mother of the primordial seas, rouse from her everlasting sleep, in which she’d slept since the birth of Melkem. The surface of the waters quivered, towards the surface she rose.” Ared beat the drum thrice and pointed at the audience with the drumstick. ”So did a mallard fly to her; upon the sleeping goddess’s knee did it make its nest. In her sleep did Vedenemo shift, the eggs rolling in the waves one by one, their shells shattered to pieces as the hungry waves claimed them. And behold, the shattered shells became isles, continents, the winds and the clouds in the sky. So was Melkem’s long sleep to end with dawn’s light.”
The costumed performers began a swaying dance. One step to the right, two to the left, hands holding the mask. Slowly, little by little the circle spun around it, and Ared beat the drum harder. Its every thrum was followed by the tremble of stomping leather boots, and he had to raise his voice as he went on.
”So did she rouse from her sleep too – Ilmatar, the second sister, awakened by the winds,” he called. ”She lifted her arms towards the black weave of the heavens, not yet graced by the lights of heavenly bodies. No stars, no moons, no life-giving sun was there.”
Akheri youngsters in long dresses flooded the square, lilies-of-the-valley in their braided hair. Their arms were laden with colourful bolts of cloth. They formed a wider circle around the dancers, encircling it counter-clockwise. They began to sing conducted by the drums, dark voices rising and falling like waves. As one started, another followed a couple of beats later, until the song became a polyphonic chant that had no beginning or end.
Ren’i felt shivers crawling up his spine, though he did not understand the words. Perhaps there were no words at all; it was pure voice that seemed to reverberate from the stone itself, and it was not the first time Ren’i felt as if he’d stepped back in time by whole ages.
”It’s said that kekri dance was danced even in the ages before the demon gods,” Hawk’s voice said next to him and pulled him back to reality for a moment. ”Long before your people arrived and started messing with Melkem’s topography.”
Ared spun around so suddenly that the chief’s cloak fanned behind him. Even without magic his voice carried commanding and mighty over the chanting, reaching the ears of the rooftop viewers without any trouble whatsoever.
”Birds brough driftwood to make a loom, reeds to become her threads,” he shouted. The dancers, their song unceasing, spun open their bolts of cloth and tossed one end to the opposite dancer. The masked dancers wove around each other prancing, knitting the fabrics together like threads. A living, everchanging weave started to unfold. ”Ilmatar weaved, and the weave was the nightsky! In a myriad colours did she weave the stars, the sun, the nine moons to be as Melkem’s companions. Upon Melkem’s soil did she weave each mortal life, every forest, every lake.”
The very last syllable of the song stretched on and on until the singers ended it with a sudden shriek, spinning into a dance so that the hems of their dresses spiralled around wildly. The fabrics in the weave shifted in the air and changed shape, colours blurring into one another, and Ren’i held his breath as the drums beat ever faster. Hawk took his hand and laced their fingers together.
”Behold,” Ared repeated, gesturing at the viewers. ”New faces, new unions, new possibilities do we find among us as the new year dawns! For the weave of the world is never complete, the weave that Ilmatar still weaves together with her sister.”
His gaze swept across the audience. Hawk wasn’t sure if Ared’s eyes lingered a touch longer on the taivashi soldiers or if it was just his imagination. Vannuil was watching the performance, her face unreadable; Ren’i had visibly blanched. Many of the soldiers were glancing at each other nervously.
The figures carved on the walls of the healer’s room came unbidden to Ren’i’s mind. His eyes had sought similarities between them and Quan, Merenos and the other demon gods, but all of a sudden he knew he’d only seen what he’d expected to see in them. The soil of Akheriland was not for the taivashi gods to walk, and it never had been.
The dancers ended their performance with slow stomping. Ren’i only woke from his stupour once the applause was already almost over, and he had the time to clap twice before it stopped. He was silent as he watched the dancers vacate the Circle cloths and masks in tow, emptied the last drops of his sahti, and stood up.
”I want to speak with Ared,” he said, a strange gleam in his eye. Hawk said nothing and just followed him.
The square had emptied fast now that the performance was over. If the noise was anything to judge by, most of the revellers had made their way to the taverns or their own homes to continue partying. It took some time until they managed to find Ared. The door to the elder’s house had been left open by a crack, and Hawk noticed a thin plume of smoke rising from the chimney. He lead Ren’i in the house, not entirely surprised to find his cousin kneeling in front of the lit hearth.
He rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. ”Ared.”
Ared looked up from the flames, smiling as he took in the two of them. The goat mask and the drum stood beside him on the floor.
”Well, well. I thought you’d be out there celebrating the new year,” Ared commented.
”He has something to say,” Hawk said, nodding in Ren’i’s direction.
”Do come in.”
Hawk frowned when Ren’i shut the door after them. He sat down opposite of Ared on the other side of the hearth with a serious look on his face. Hawk took his place by Ren’i’s side after a moment’s consideration. Whatever Ren’i had in mind, he wanted to hear it with his own ears.
”I can guess what this is about,” Ared said. ”I know that our old tales are not in line with your stories, if that’s what you wanted to remark on.”
”No,” Ren’i said. He swallowed. ”Tell me about the weave of the world.”
Ared quirked his brows. ”You really want to know?”
”I’ve heard it mentioned a handful of times before, but I don’t quite understand what it means.”
”It’s an old myth that our ancestors used to try and understand the world and their place in it.” Ared pointed at a tapestry hanging from the wall, depicting a long-haired figure spinning yarn on an old-fashioned loom. ”They believed that fate was a weave we were all woven into, just like images in a tapestry. They thought the lives and destinies of all living beings were foreordained. The same belief applies to confession,” he went on, glancing meaningfully at Ren’i and Hawk. ”Some lives were believed to be woven together since the dawn of time by Ilmatar’s threads. When those destinies come into contact they will know each other at once, even if they’ve never met before. That is what confession means.”
Ren’i searched for his words for a long time. He glanced towards the door, ensuring it was still closed, then said, ”I’ve heard the mereshis speak of the weave.”
Ared did not look surprised. ”Even in times of yore your mereshi cousins were already studying the same weave as our ancestors. They say that even Merenos himself was a mystic. According to tradition there were trade routes between the Awans and the Akheri peninsula, before the war of the gods and the separation of Awa. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they traded in more than just physical goods.”
”I thought you people had no contact with the mereshis,” Hawk pointed out to Ren’i. Ren’i stared at his knees and didn’t respond immediately.
”No official diplomatic ties have existed between us and Awa since the days of Merenos, but there are mereshis residing in Kisha. Quan’s ban only applied to Kishans,” he said. He looked from Hawk to Ared and back again. ”There are, admittedly, some mereshi scholars working in the Kishan court, though we cannot officially confirm the matter. I’d appreciate it if this stayed between the three of us for the time being.”
Both akheris nodded, looking just as sombre as Ren’i. The people of Merenos the apostate were the same species as the Kishan taivashis and the Liqaris of Seiye, but their culture and language had evolved in a different direction, thanks to the separation of several millenia from their continent-dwelling cousins. Merenos had raised his island kindgom to the skies of Melkem to avoid war, far out of Quan’s reach, and had earned Quan’s eternal hatred in return.
After Merenos’s escape the war of the gods had ended, but Quan’s descendants still harboured their grudge, Oerei had told Ren’i as much when he’d been little. Liqaris had given up on theirs long ago. Kishans hadn’t. Ren’i had learned to keep his mouth shut and his eyes firmly on the floor everytime one of the mystics passed him on the corridors of the imperial library, and to address them by name instead of title.
Ared assumed a more comfortable position on his cushion. ”It is said that in the olden times you could see all the way to the Awan isles with the Om-Tiha spyglass when the skies were clear. Now that part of the peninsula has already collapsed in the sea and Om-Tiha is no more.”
”I thought Merenos had hidden the isles behind clouds to shroud them from Quan’s eyes,” Ren’i said, thinking back on the story Lucarla had told him once. The mereshi woman who worked in the archives of the palace spoke of old tales as though they’d actually happened, and Ren’i never knew how to respond to her, so most of the time he simply said nothing.
Ared shrugged. ”Perhaps so. The powers of your gods diminished upon their passing. Perhaps the clouds dispersed after Merenos died.”
Ren’i’s gaze wandered from one tapestry to another. Only after hearing the akheri story of creation did the subjects they depicted open up to him. Vedenemo rising from the ocean waves, Ilmatar on her loom, weaving stars into cloth that was the nightsky, the thin threads that formed the highs and lows of Melkem and the outlines of its continents. In the next tapestry eight flames surrounded the continents’ altered shapes. Where there’d formerly been low lands were now mountains. The islands on the Kishan eastern coast had merged with the continent, whereas new islands had emerged off the Seiyenese coastline. In the last map only the northern and southern continents remained; the isles of Awa and the eight flames were gone. Before, Ren’i had shrugged the images off as decorations and nothing more. Now they chilled him to the core.
Ared had presumably followed his gaze, for he said, ”your ancestors, those eight that you call gods, changed Melkem forever. The people who inhabited Melkem at the time stood witness to their actions and live with the consequences even today.”
”We’ve always been taught that the gods lifted the primordial continents from the ocean waves,” Ren’i said, but there was no emotion behind the words, as if he didn’t believe in them himself.
Ared smiled sorrowfully. ”You are taught many things differently than we are, my friend. Where would the stories of your gods’ arrival have come from if there was no inhabitation or even land on Melkem at the time? Where would the other species have come from? Your myths make it clear that only the taivashi are descended from the gods, and that the gods took the other species as their subjects.” The glow of the flames reflected from his dark eyes, and not for the first time did Ren’i wonder what he saw in the fire. ”Our ancesters knew what the asaris, merjils and humans do, Ren’i. There was life on Melkem’s soil long before the first of your kin arrived. They taught our ancestors the art of making fire, and ours, in return, taught them how to survive in this world.”
Ren’i was silent. He thought of the ever-expanding desert, the land bridge that had mostly been claimed by the sea, and of the ruins of ancient cities that only the wasteland now remembered. How much had the descendants of their occupants been forced to give up as they fled ever farther from their original homes, he wondered wordlessly.
”My friend Maral told me once that there was already a city in Nemerwatan at the very dawn of time, when Najdur parted from their brother and established their home among the merjils,” he said, reminiscing the words of his friend from years and years ago. Maral had spoken them with that same carefree tone as always. The merjil custom was not one of harboring bygone worries, and there was something inexplicably light-hearted in Maral’s nature that Ren’i had always liked. They could soothe a heavy heart with a single laugh.
”That sounds like a Merjilian name,” Hawk mused.
Ren’i managed a faint smile. ”It is. They are one of my oldest friends. I’ve heard from them that they still honour Najdur’s heritage in Nemerwatan.”
”If I were you, I’d ask your friend more once you return to Hol Saro. The merjils remember many things the other species have already forgotten many millenia ago,” Ared said. He stood up and poured water from the bucket standing by the hearth over the flames until they died. ”Well then. If you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for tonight’s ceremony.”
”What ceremony?” Ren’i asked.
”A wedding. Kekri is an even more popular time for weddings than the summer festival, and it’s the chief’s duty to read the oaths and officiate the union. The turn of the year isn’t a bad time at all to start a new life together.” Ared grinned. ”Keep that in mind. I am at your disposal should you two ever happen to need me.”
Hawk coughed, embarrassed. He felt his face burning and stared resolutely elsewhere while his cousin gathered his things.
Ren’i pressed both hands against his chest and bowed to Ared. ”Thanks for taking the time to answer my questions.”
Ared smiled behind the mask. He escorted them to the steps and watched how Hawk took Ren’i’s hand, perhaps thinking that no one saw, or perhaps precisely because they did. Ared didn’t know why, but he had a sudden desire to dance out of sheer glee. He schooled his features to assume his most sombre expression despite the mask, corrected his cloak, and shut the doors of the elder’s house after himself.