- Year 196 vc -
The morning was unusually cool in the southern Kharman village of Chang Khu. It was March and still winter, but winters here were extremely mild. Unless they traveled, none of the villagers had ever seen a snowflake. But the young man making his way to the market that day was a traveler who had come far and had seen many things and places.
The sun was just coming up and already people were lining the street, setting up their small businesses for the day. With a strangely calm excitement, the young traveler watched all the new faces as they went about their routine, putting out food, clothing, wood, materials of various kinds, jewelry and other pretty things to catch the eye. As he walked, he considered how badly each seller wanted to get rid of whatever it was they had, because whatever it was, it wasn't what they wanted or needed, and they wanted it sold because they wanted or needed something else. His head spun a little at the thought. But he didn't mind. He loved the world he lived in and was fascinated by the way it worked.
However, he wasn't exactly here for the merchandise so much as the conversation. He stopped a couple times to talk with some of the villagers, and bought a fruit from one of them. It was a fruit he'd never seen before, about the size of his fist. As he slowly strolled along the middle of the street, confident and carefree, he tossed it up into the air and caught it several times. Soon he noticed a pair of young women standing by a jewelry vendor, eyeing him with whispers and giggles. Without a thought about it, he flashed a big, charming smile at them, eliciting more giggles as he continued on his way.
Soon an orange blob down the street caught his attention, and he noticed a man setting out more orange blobs growing out of several pots full of greenery. He smiled as he recognized the flowers and for a moment felt like he had slipped back in time many years and was walking in another man's shoes. Then a hint of sadness tainted his mood, but he wouldn't be brought down by that. Part of him wanted to buy one and give it to a girl just for the sake of history and memory, though he didn't know of a girl he could give it to other than maybe a random stranger, which he decided against. Besides which, last he knew, the bitter fire plant was a very expensive thing. But if he could believe his observations, love was too sometimes.
Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the man selling the plants. He didn't even try to keep from laughing out loud when he noticed the skinny old man was wearing a grayish green Miran tunic.
"I'm sorry," he laughed, "it's just that I know the story of how you came by that tunic. I know the man who gave it to you."
"That boy didn't give me anything," the old man protested, "he bought one of my fine plants with it. Do you know how valuable these are? But he insisted he had to have one to give to some girl, so I let him have it for this old thing."
"Yes, so I've heard," the young man controlled his laughter a little better this time, seeing the old man was at least as grumpy here and now as he was in the story.
"...And as you can see, it's already wearing a little thin--" the old man continued, going on to mumble a few more complaints.
But the young man didn't hear them as he started spacing out at the first complaint. Already? he thought, nearly thirty years is already? He scratched his head, wearing a confused half smile as he politely acted like he was still listening. That's a quality tunic. This guy must really like to complain....
But soon the old man stopped complaining and pointed to the young man's forearm, where his sleeve had slipped down while he scratched his head, partially revealing a tattoo just below his wrist. "What is that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, this?" the young man answered, pulling back his loose sleeve to reveal the entire tattoo of a snake, "It's uhh, well we call it a 'new life mark,' because we Mirans have them to symbolize the life we've chosen. And to remind us to live it."
"I've seen it before," the old man said, "on the youngster we was just speaking of. But he wasn't from around here and his skin was light, said he was Miran too. But you're a Kharman, ain't you?"
"Yes, I'm not a Miran by birth, I wasn't born there. It's my religion," he explained, "So, I shouldn't really say I'm Miran, more accurately I'm Miranite. And of course Kharman. And proud to be both."
The old man nodded, then reached for his hand, asking, "What's your name, boy?"
"It's Ajnin," the young man answered, shaking his hand, "Pleased to meet you, um--"
"Name's Torvial," answered the old man with a grip that felt like it would crunch Ajnin's hand. Ajnin was relieved when Torvial decided the handshake was over. "I never could ferget that new life mark," he went on, sitting in his chair, "it was all that boy was wearing from his waist up when last I saw him - that and his bright white skin that almost blinded me! Ha!" And he laughed hard, hunching over his makeshift table and pounding it with his fist.
Ajnin started to think this Torvial might not be so bad.
"So tell me, Miranite," Torvial said after recovering, "Are all the Mirans so light?"
"Mirans come in every color and shade," Ajnin explained. "It's not an ancient kingdom, it was created by the variety of immigrants who came from all over Lumenagea, just 196 years ago."
"You really have this memorized, don't you, boy?" Torvial asked, "Down to the number of years!"
"Yeah, well," Ajnin answered, "it's how we actually number the years. This year is the year 196 vc, short for 'vigilantes in caelum.' It literally means 'watching the sky,' because Miras has been watching the sky and waiting for Gadriel their god to take us home to the Kingdom of Light for 196 years. And each year we continue to wait for him. And that's why we keep track of the years that way, to remember he is coming."
"That's an awful long time to wait!" Torvial exclaimed. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"
Ajnin shrugged. "It is a long time. But it's prophecy, so it has to happen, even if it's later than we thought. We trust our sacred writings, and if we find we are wrong about something, we know that the writings are still right and not to blame, but that we misunderstood them."
"Well that's fine," Torvial grunted, "To each his own, they say. But do you remember what year it is for the rest of us?"
Ajnin smiled. "Yes sir, it's 2040. I still have to stay in tune with the world around me, even though I take a different path in life."
Torvial grunted again and settled into his chair. Silence also settled for a little while until Ajnin found something to talk about. "Those boots," he said, looking at Torvial's feet, "they're really unique. Chang Khu has the rarest and most interesting things."
"Chang Khu only got these a month ago," Torvial said. "They're made of snakeskin. Who ever heard of that?"
"Wow," Ajnin answered, "Where'd you get them from?"
"A traveler come into town like yourself," Torvial said, "with all kind of things made out of snakeskin. Hunts them all over the place and sells the remains, even the brush serpent. I don't know why anyone would go lookin' for those fellers. If you ask me it's a death wish. But I reckon it makes good money, cuz ain't no one else selling it. And they're quality boots, I can tell you that much."
"Sounds like a madman," Ajnin said, "I've seen what the brush serpent can do, and I wouldn't want to run into one."
"Well it's a madwoman then," Torvial explained, "calls herself Adder, wears the skin like it's her own. So what does that make her? A betrayer of her own kind? Ha! But I don't mind. We ain't seen too many of them since she came. She can stay till they're all made into trousers and she forgets what her own skin looks like, I won't stop her!"
"That's an unusual name," Ajnin said, "and an unusual person. Where can I find her? I might like to talk to her."
"You just follow on down that direction," Torvial answered, pointing down the street, "she'll be set up with her horse and her stuff. You'll know her when you see her. Make sure you get some boots. She'll make them for you if you give her time."
Ajnin nodded and began to walk away.
"And money," Torvial added, "lots of money."
Ajnin nodded again and waved as he continued walking. He said nothing, but reality was he had no intention of buying anything from her. It would be completely contrary to his beliefs.
Soon he found himself on the border of the village and had begun to wonder if he had passed his destination or if she wasn't there. Then he spotted a beautiful big black horse grazing by a blossoming cherry tree a little further outside the village. Combined with the colorful sunrise beyond, it was a breathtaking vision. "My gods," he breathed. He was utterly enraptured by the sight. He'd never seen anything so majestic, so beautiful, so humbling, so--
His thoughts were startlingly interrupted when a slender figure clothed head to toe in black jumped out of the flowing pink curtain of weeping branches just as the horse began to nibble on some of the tree's blossoms. "No! Bad horse!" he faintly heard her scolding, yanking the branch away from its mouth. "What did I tell you? Don't eat my room!" The horse snorted at her and went back to eating grass. "There you go," she said, patting him on the shoulder, "there's my good horse." Then she turned her face toward Ajnin, apparently just then noticing him slowly making his way toward her. He was smiling in amusement at the situation, but as their eyes met, he noticed she was not only wearing a hood, but her face was mostly covered by a scarf that came up over her nose. A very strange and mysterious person indeed, he thought. She seemed to give him a long, hard look before returning her eyes to her horse.
Ajnin came close enough soon to notice her whole outfit was indeed made of snakeskin, except the hood and scarf that wrapped her face in mystery as she continued petting her horse. But somehow this Adder almost seemed familiar to him in a way he couldn't figure out. If he had met her before, she would have certainly made an impression he could not have forgotten. So he shrugged off the strange feeling and did something he was a natural at - starting conversations with girls. "It's Adder, right?"
"That's right," she answered, "I assume you want me to make you something out of my famous snakeskins."
Ajnin was a little thrown off by her strong foreign accent and wasn't sure where it came from. He hadn't noticed it when she was talking to her horse. "Um," he said, "oh, no actually. With my religion, I believe in harming no living creature unless absolutely necessary, so I wouldn't be able to wear the skin off one. But you have a very good reputation. It seems your customers are happy. Really I just thought I'd come by and talk if you don't mind."
"Eh, I suppose I've got some time," she answered. "Start talking."
He was still thrown off by the heavy accent, but figured he better get used to it. "I'm just intrigued by what you do," he said, "You're not like anyone I've ever met. Are you really all on your own with this?"
"It's just me and me horse here, Shadyn," she said, continuing to pet him as he continued grazing, "We get by."
"Can I ask you what led you to enter this line of work?" he asked.
"Oh," she sighed, "I'm afraid it's a story you wouldn't have the time for, and it's a sad one you wouldn't want to hear anyway." She looked down and turned her face away.
"I've got all day," he answered, "Try me."
"Well," she said, looking up at him and back at Shadyn, "if you really want to hear it." She sighed. "When I was younger, I lived happily with me parents. But one day, a horrible, horrible day--" she closed her eyes-- "an eight-foot-long brush serpent bit me mother several times."
"How awful!" Ajnin said sympathetically, knowing that without a healer like Epifany and a miracle, it was almost completely unheard of for anyone to survive even past a few hours after being bitten by a brush serpent. He'd never heard of one so big either.
"Me father went out there," she went on, "and as soon as he saw the devil, he screamed for me. So I ran as fast I could run and he handed me a machete and told me to kill it, then he started to run away screaming but it was faster than he was and it bit him several times as well."
Ajnin listened in silence, which was somewhat unusual for him. But the poor girl's story was so shocking - and admittedly strange now - that he was speechless.
"Well I ran after them to kill the thing, but it bit me on the face - you see I cover my face now, the scars are somethin' awful - but it had no venom left, so it didn't kill me, and then I chopped off its head. But," she turned her face away again with a sniffle, "it was too late for my, me dear old mum and dead - I mean dad."
"Wow," Ajnin said, shaking his head.
"So," she concluded, "I've been on me own from the age of four--" now he was really puzzled and began to wonder if that was even possible-- "but never really alone, this wild horse found me and raised me, showed me which berries to eat and good water and grass to fill my belly--"
This was all Ajnin could take - the picture of a little girl grazing next to a wild stallion was branded on the inside of his eyelids. He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, you're making this up," he laughed.
"No, no, I assure you," she insisted. "You wanted to know why I do what I do, this is why. I seek eternal revenge on the species that took my parents from me - and my pretty face."
"No, I don't believe it," he said, "I don't know why you hide whatever pretty face you have, but that story was ridiculous. You made a fool of me, I'll give you that." And he laughed some more.
"Well, I can't make you believe it," she said, petting her horse.
Ajnin shook his head, then pulled his fruit out of his pocket and said, "You don't mind if I eat my breakfast now, do you?"
She looked at the yellow fruit. "Go ahead, certainly," she said, narrowing her eyes and beginning to lose the accent.
"Oh! I haven't even introduced myself," he said, "I totally forgot. My name--"
"It's Ajnin," she said, "Yes, you told me before."
"I did?" he asked, completely puzzled. Again he felt like he knew her. But nothing made sense. "Are you sure?" he asked, taking a big bite out of his fruit.
She didn't answer, only watched with apparent pleasure as the flavor set in and his face began to contort with misery. He swallowed, then asked, "Do you like this fruit?"
"I love it," she answered, "when it's ripe. You're supposed to eat it when it turns red."
"You couldn't have told me that before?!" he demanded.
"I didn't want to miss this picture," she laughed heartily.
That laugh, the teasing, the whole attitude, the voice (particularly without the accent) - it all pointed to one person he used to know. And now he knew exactly who. But it couldn't be.
"Okay, enough with the hood and scarf," he said. "Whose face am I talking to? Show yourself, come on."
When she did, he wasn't ready, despite his suspicions that it was her. His heart stopped. "Drea?"
The sun was just coming up and already people were lining the street, setting up their small businesses for the day. With a strangely calm excitement, the young traveler watched all the new faces as they went about their routine, putting out food, clothing, wood, materials of various kinds, jewelry and other pretty things to catch the eye. As he walked, he considered how badly each seller wanted to get rid of whatever it was they had, because whatever it was, it wasn't what they wanted or needed, and they wanted it sold because they wanted or needed something else. His head spun a little at the thought. But he didn't mind. He loved the world he lived in and was fascinated by the way it worked.
However, he wasn't exactly here for the merchandise so much as the conversation. He stopped a couple times to talk with some of the villagers, and bought a fruit from one of them. It was a fruit he'd never seen before, about the size of his fist. As he slowly strolled along the middle of the street, confident and carefree, he tossed it up into the air and caught it several times. Soon he noticed a pair of young women standing by a jewelry vendor, eyeing him with whispers and giggles. Without a thought about it, he flashed a big, charming smile at them, eliciting more giggles as he continued on his way.
Soon an orange blob down the street caught his attention, and he noticed a man setting out more orange blobs growing out of several pots full of greenery. He smiled as he recognized the flowers and for a moment felt like he had slipped back in time many years and was walking in another man's shoes. Then a hint of sadness tainted his mood, but he wouldn't be brought down by that. Part of him wanted to buy one and give it to a girl just for the sake of history and memory, though he didn't know of a girl he could give it to other than maybe a random stranger, which he decided against. Besides which, last he knew, the bitter fire plant was a very expensive thing. But if he could believe his observations, love was too sometimes.
Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the man selling the plants. He didn't even try to keep from laughing out loud when he noticed the skinny old man was wearing a grayish green Miran tunic.
"I'm sorry," he laughed, "it's just that I know the story of how you came by that tunic. I know the man who gave it to you."
"That boy didn't give me anything," the old man protested, "he bought one of my fine plants with it. Do you know how valuable these are? But he insisted he had to have one to give to some girl, so I let him have it for this old thing."
"Yes, so I've heard," the young man controlled his laughter a little better this time, seeing the old man was at least as grumpy here and now as he was in the story.
"...And as you can see, it's already wearing a little thin--" the old man continued, going on to mumble a few more complaints.
But the young man didn't hear them as he started spacing out at the first complaint. Already? he thought, nearly thirty years is already? He scratched his head, wearing a confused half smile as he politely acted like he was still listening. That's a quality tunic. This guy must really like to complain....
But soon the old man stopped complaining and pointed to the young man's forearm, where his sleeve had slipped down while he scratched his head, partially revealing a tattoo just below his wrist. "What is that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, this?" the young man answered, pulling back his loose sleeve to reveal the entire tattoo of a snake, "It's uhh, well we call it a 'new life mark,' because we Mirans have them to symbolize the life we've chosen. And to remind us to live it."
"I've seen it before," the old man said, "on the youngster we was just speaking of. But he wasn't from around here and his skin was light, said he was Miran too. But you're a Kharman, ain't you?"
"Yes, I'm not a Miran by birth, I wasn't born there. It's my religion," he explained, "So, I shouldn't really say I'm Miran, more accurately I'm Miranite. And of course Kharman. And proud to be both."
The old man nodded, then reached for his hand, asking, "What's your name, boy?"
"It's Ajnin," the young man answered, shaking his hand, "Pleased to meet you, um--"
"Name's Torvial," answered the old man with a grip that felt like it would crunch Ajnin's hand. Ajnin was relieved when Torvial decided the handshake was over. "I never could ferget that new life mark," he went on, sitting in his chair, "it was all that boy was wearing from his waist up when last I saw him - that and his bright white skin that almost blinded me! Ha!" And he laughed hard, hunching over his makeshift table and pounding it with his fist.
Ajnin started to think this Torvial might not be so bad.
"So tell me, Miranite," Torvial said after recovering, "Are all the Mirans so light?"
"Mirans come in every color and shade," Ajnin explained. "It's not an ancient kingdom, it was created by the variety of immigrants who came from all over Lumenagea, just 196 years ago."
"You really have this memorized, don't you, boy?" Torvial asked, "Down to the number of years!"
"Yeah, well," Ajnin answered, "it's how we actually number the years. This year is the year 196 vc, short for 'vigilantes in caelum.' It literally means 'watching the sky,' because Miras has been watching the sky and waiting for Gadriel their god to take us home to the Kingdom of Light for 196 years. And each year we continue to wait for him. And that's why we keep track of the years that way, to remember he is coming."
"That's an awful long time to wait!" Torvial exclaimed. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"
Ajnin shrugged. "It is a long time. But it's prophecy, so it has to happen, even if it's later than we thought. We trust our sacred writings, and if we find we are wrong about something, we know that the writings are still right and not to blame, but that we misunderstood them."
"Well that's fine," Torvial grunted, "To each his own, they say. But do you remember what year it is for the rest of us?"
Ajnin smiled. "Yes sir, it's 2040. I still have to stay in tune with the world around me, even though I take a different path in life."
Torvial grunted again and settled into his chair. Silence also settled for a little while until Ajnin found something to talk about. "Those boots," he said, looking at Torvial's feet, "they're really unique. Chang Khu has the rarest and most interesting things."
"Chang Khu only got these a month ago," Torvial said. "They're made of snakeskin. Who ever heard of that?"
"Wow," Ajnin answered, "Where'd you get them from?"
"A traveler come into town like yourself," Torvial said, "with all kind of things made out of snakeskin. Hunts them all over the place and sells the remains, even the brush serpent. I don't know why anyone would go lookin' for those fellers. If you ask me it's a death wish. But I reckon it makes good money, cuz ain't no one else selling it. And they're quality boots, I can tell you that much."
"Sounds like a madman," Ajnin said, "I've seen what the brush serpent can do, and I wouldn't want to run into one."
"Well it's a madwoman then," Torvial explained, "calls herself Adder, wears the skin like it's her own. So what does that make her? A betrayer of her own kind? Ha! But I don't mind. We ain't seen too many of them since she came. She can stay till they're all made into trousers and she forgets what her own skin looks like, I won't stop her!"
"That's an unusual name," Ajnin said, "and an unusual person. Where can I find her? I might like to talk to her."
"You just follow on down that direction," Torvial answered, pointing down the street, "she'll be set up with her horse and her stuff. You'll know her when you see her. Make sure you get some boots. She'll make them for you if you give her time."
Ajnin nodded and began to walk away.
"And money," Torvial added, "lots of money."
Ajnin nodded again and waved as he continued walking. He said nothing, but reality was he had no intention of buying anything from her. It would be completely contrary to his beliefs.
Soon he found himself on the border of the village and had begun to wonder if he had passed his destination or if she wasn't there. Then he spotted a beautiful big black horse grazing by a blossoming cherry tree a little further outside the village. Combined with the colorful sunrise beyond, it was a breathtaking vision. "My gods," he breathed. He was utterly enraptured by the sight. He'd never seen anything so majestic, so beautiful, so humbling, so--
His thoughts were startlingly interrupted when a slender figure clothed head to toe in black jumped out of the flowing pink curtain of weeping branches just as the horse began to nibble on some of the tree's blossoms. "No! Bad horse!" he faintly heard her scolding, yanking the branch away from its mouth. "What did I tell you? Don't eat my room!" The horse snorted at her and went back to eating grass. "There you go," she said, patting him on the shoulder, "there's my good horse." Then she turned her face toward Ajnin, apparently just then noticing him slowly making his way toward her. He was smiling in amusement at the situation, but as their eyes met, he noticed she was not only wearing a hood, but her face was mostly covered by a scarf that came up over her nose. A very strange and mysterious person indeed, he thought. She seemed to give him a long, hard look before returning her eyes to her horse.
Ajnin came close enough soon to notice her whole outfit was indeed made of snakeskin, except the hood and scarf that wrapped her face in mystery as she continued petting her horse. But somehow this Adder almost seemed familiar to him in a way he couldn't figure out. If he had met her before, she would have certainly made an impression he could not have forgotten. So he shrugged off the strange feeling and did something he was a natural at - starting conversations with girls. "It's Adder, right?"
"That's right," she answered, "I assume you want me to make you something out of my famous snakeskins."
Ajnin was a little thrown off by her strong foreign accent and wasn't sure where it came from. He hadn't noticed it when she was talking to her horse. "Um," he said, "oh, no actually. With my religion, I believe in harming no living creature unless absolutely necessary, so I wouldn't be able to wear the skin off one. But you have a very good reputation. It seems your customers are happy. Really I just thought I'd come by and talk if you don't mind."
"Eh, I suppose I've got some time," she answered. "Start talking."
He was still thrown off by the heavy accent, but figured he better get used to it. "I'm just intrigued by what you do," he said, "You're not like anyone I've ever met. Are you really all on your own with this?"
"It's just me and me horse here, Shadyn," she said, continuing to pet him as he continued grazing, "We get by."
"Can I ask you what led you to enter this line of work?" he asked.
"Oh," she sighed, "I'm afraid it's a story you wouldn't have the time for, and it's a sad one you wouldn't want to hear anyway." She looked down and turned her face away.
"I've got all day," he answered, "Try me."
"Well," she said, looking up at him and back at Shadyn, "if you really want to hear it." She sighed. "When I was younger, I lived happily with me parents. But one day, a horrible, horrible day--" she closed her eyes-- "an eight-foot-long brush serpent bit me mother several times."
"How awful!" Ajnin said sympathetically, knowing that without a healer like Epifany and a miracle, it was almost completely unheard of for anyone to survive even past a few hours after being bitten by a brush serpent. He'd never heard of one so big either.
"Me father went out there," she went on, "and as soon as he saw the devil, he screamed for me. So I ran as fast I could run and he handed me a machete and told me to kill it, then he started to run away screaming but it was faster than he was and it bit him several times as well."
Ajnin listened in silence, which was somewhat unusual for him. But the poor girl's story was so shocking - and admittedly strange now - that he was speechless.
"Well I ran after them to kill the thing, but it bit me on the face - you see I cover my face now, the scars are somethin' awful - but it had no venom left, so it didn't kill me, and then I chopped off its head. But," she turned her face away again with a sniffle, "it was too late for my, me dear old mum and dead - I mean dad."
"Wow," Ajnin said, shaking his head.
"So," she concluded, "I've been on me own from the age of four--" now he was really puzzled and began to wonder if that was even possible-- "but never really alone, this wild horse found me and raised me, showed me which berries to eat and good water and grass to fill my belly--"
This was all Ajnin could take - the picture of a little girl grazing next to a wild stallion was branded on the inside of his eyelids. He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, you're making this up," he laughed.
"No, no, I assure you," she insisted. "You wanted to know why I do what I do, this is why. I seek eternal revenge on the species that took my parents from me - and my pretty face."
"No, I don't believe it," he said, "I don't know why you hide whatever pretty face you have, but that story was ridiculous. You made a fool of me, I'll give you that." And he laughed some more.
"Well, I can't make you believe it," she said, petting her horse.
Ajnin shook his head, then pulled his fruit out of his pocket and said, "You don't mind if I eat my breakfast now, do you?"
She looked at the yellow fruit. "Go ahead, certainly," she said, narrowing her eyes and beginning to lose the accent.
"Oh! I haven't even introduced myself," he said, "I totally forgot. My name--"
"It's Ajnin," she said, "Yes, you told me before."
"I did?" he asked, completely puzzled. Again he felt like he knew her. But nothing made sense. "Are you sure?" he asked, taking a big bite out of his fruit.
She didn't answer, only watched with apparent pleasure as the flavor set in and his face began to contort with misery. He swallowed, then asked, "Do you like this fruit?"
"I love it," she answered, "when it's ripe. You're supposed to eat it when it turns red."
"You couldn't have told me that before?!" he demanded.
"I didn't want to miss this picture," she laughed heartily.
That laugh, the teasing, the whole attitude, the voice (particularly without the accent) - it all pointed to one person he used to know. And now he knew exactly who. But it couldn't be.
"Okay, enough with the hood and scarf," he said. "Whose face am I talking to? Show yourself, come on."
When she did, he wasn't ready, despite his suspicions that it was her. His heart stopped. "Drea?"