Date: Sat, 14 Feb 2004 13:52:52 -0800 (PST) From: Warren Powers Subject: Journey Through Kajahri - Chapter Four Chapter 4: Like a Nun With a Ruler The next day was the first time Saret ventured outside my Claba. I had to warn him not to speak his language, or the secret that he was otherworldly would be out. He spent most of his time wandering around, admiring the tall trees which surrounded our small valley, trying to remain as inconspicuous as he could. Later on, when I was skinning a deer for dinner, he approached me. "Nefan," he whispered. "The trees here are humongous! On Earth, there aren't many trees left, and even those are only one third the size of these!" I looked at him, annoyed. "If you're going to bother me, at least have a good reason!" Glaring at me, he sat down. "Ok, how's this for a reason: I can't talk to anyone! That big burly troll guy over there keeps trying to ask me a question or something, and I end up just walking away. I think he's going to kill me or something." His eyes were wide and he played with the ends of the tunic I had given him. Sighing, I set my knife down and glanced around, to make sure no one was watching us. "Tomorrow, after The Hunter's Festival, Kahtroki has agreed to spend a week teaching you Ishall. It's the standard slave tongue, and almost everybody speaks it." Saret looked panicked. "I have to learn a new language?! I barely passed French, and I can still only say, `where is the bathroom, good sir?' How am I going to learn a new language in a week? And what is the Hunter's Festival?" I sighed and picked my knife up again. "The Hunter's Festival is a celebration that the members of Kahtroki's Clabaharem perform every year, as the Blue Moon of Phaos sets, and the Red Moon of Ghava rises. It is said that every hundred years, on this night, strange, magical energies are released, and transformations occur. All the Tree Sprites of the Clabaharem were once humans, the dancers, who were transformed on the night of the Hunter's Festival. I myself am dancing tomorrow tonight." Saret looked at me in the eyes, skeptical. "That would mean that the Sprites are all hundreds of years old." "Yes," I told him. "The Tree Sprites are immortal. They will never die unless the forest does." He considered this and seemed to accept it. "So does that mean that during this festival you will turn into a Tree Sprite?" I shook my head. "No. There have been some occasions where people have been transformed into other creatures, and some occasions where people do not transform at all. Sometimes trolls, sometimes animals, and there is a legend that long ago, a man transformed into a dragon." Saret rolled his eyes. "Oh please, a dragon? Dragons don't exist." I sighed again. "You have been magically transported to a world other than your own. Don't you think it's a little stupid to deny the existence of something you know nothing about?" He shrugged. "Well then what other mythical creatures have you got here? Unicorns? Pegasus'?" He sniggered. "Werewolves?" I whipped around and looked him in the eyes. "Damn it, Jake, I`ve had enough of your arrogance. Leave me and let me do my chores! You can bother me with your incessant questions after the Festival. If I don't skin this thing, we won't eat tonight." He looked shocked at my outburst. I grabbed his arm. "Come with me, we'll find you something to do." I walked briskly over to Julu, the slave master of the Clabaharem. "Julu," I asked, in Ishall. "My Shall needs to be broken in. Put him to work, please." Julu looked Saret up and down, sizing him up. Saret shrank away, but I pushed him forward. "He doesn't speak Ishall, so you'll basically have to treat him like a child." Julu scowled, this wasn't going to be fun for him. "What do you want him to do?" Julu asked. "I can have him work the forge, Hava just got off." "Yes, fine, whatever. Just keep him busy." I walked away, intent on finishing my chores and preparing for the festival, my heart beating furiously as Saret's last comment drilled into my brain. Werewolves? *** "Harkesh est tula gurn." The giant man pushed me forward into a strange machine composed of ropes and pulleys. "Harkesh est tula gurn, ick forlack sone!" Frustrated, I help my arms in a confused manner, and pointed to my ear, shaking my head. I didn't understand. The man sighed and showed me what I was supposed to do. Taking an armful of ropes, he leaned back and put what looked like a horse's bit into his mouth. Then, he swayed back and forth moving both the ropes and the bit with him. Trailing the ropes with my eyes, I could see that they connected through pulleys and somehow powered a huge fan, which fed oxygen to the giant fire of a forge. He thrust the ropes at me and walked away. "Okay," I thought to myself, "I can do this." I put the bit into my mouth and spit it out right away. Caked blood remained on the edges of the metal, and rust joined it. I rubbed it on the tunic Nefan had given me, and reluctantly put it back in my mouth. "This is just great," I thought. "A week ago I was sitting around the house, cruising the net, and now I'm here in some alternate dimension or something, doing slave labor. If I didn't know this wasn't a dream, I'd expect Mister Rogers to jump out in a pinstripe suit and start doing the Tango with a grizzly bear." Grabbing the ropes in my hand, I started to work. *** When I finished skinning the deer, I brushed myself off and prepared to go see Kahtroki. As I passed the slave hut, I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw Saret in the boiling room, working the forge. I stopped, my eyes widening at what I saw. He had stripped off his shirt and was straining against the ropes. A thin layer of sweat covered him, making him glisten in the sunlight, like some kind of god. His muscles bulged as he worked the forge, and his legs braced against the walls for traction. I stood there, in a trance, captivated by his movements. I was considering going over to him, when Samali bumped into me, jerking me from my reverie. "Hey Nefan." He said, trailing my line of sight. "Watching the slave-boy are you?" He tilted his head and zipped around me in circles, his wings beating so fast you could barely see them. "Shut up, Samali." I said, blushing. "Have you seen Kahtroki?" I glanced back at Saret, who was wiping his forehead, breathing heavily. "Yeah, she's in the Galaclaba. I think she's waiting for you." When I didn't turn to face him, he zipped right in front of my eyes, blocking my view. "Hey Nefan! Quit staring at the boy, he's only a slave." I turned to Samali. "Yeah," I said, frowning. "You're probably right." He laughed. "Probably? Oh please Nefan. "He chuckled and zipped away. Scowling, I looked back towards the forge, but Saret was gone. Shaking my head, I continued to the Galaclaba, the Main Hall of the Clabaharem, intent on speaking with Kahtroki. I needed to know about my dance, and the legend of transformation. Suddenly, the doors of the Galaclaba burst open and Kahtroki swooped down the steps, her purple tunic whipping behind her, heading straight for me. I placed the back of my hand to my forehead and knelt before her. "Klasaka, Mistress." She grabbed my arm and raised me to my feet. "There's no time for that, child." She snapped, whisking me away with her, heading for my Claba. "Mistress," I asked, almost tripping over my own feet. "What's going on?" She shushed me and thrust me in the door, locking it behind her. "Why didn't I figure it out?" She said, seemingly to herself. "Figure what out?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. She sat on my bed and motioned for me to do the same. "Nefan," She began, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "There's something I have to tell you." I sat beside her and tried to keep the anticipation out of my voice. "What is it, Mistress? What's wrong?" She looked me in the eye and I could tell she felt sorry for me. I didn't know why. "My child," She paused, thinking of the right words. "Tomorrow is the Festival, and you know that you will be dancing." I nodded, Saret's words still stuck in my brain. "Well, we all know that the only ones who have transformed have been the dancers." Again, I nodded, fear building inside me. "You are doing the dance of the wolf." She said, and impatience started to build inside of me. "Yes? And what about it?" I clenched the blanket beneath me in my hands. "Boy, do you not see where I am going with this?" Kahtroki's voice was shrill. "You will transform on the night of the festival, and the priests say that it is highly unlikely you will transform into a sprite. In fact, they say you will transform into something that no one has seen before." My eyes widened, my fears confirmed. But it was my destiny to change; it was my destiny to greet the Moon Ghava. "I understand." I murmured. "And I am ready to accept my fate." Kahtroki flung her hands up. "No! No you don't understand! There is a problem!" She got up and paced my floor. This was quite unlike Kahtroki, who had always been a calm, composed woman. "This intervenes with the prophecy! If you change, well, there's nothing in the prophecy about you changing!" My head spun. "What prophecy, Mistress?" She kneeled in front of me, clutching my hands. "Nefan, what I'm about to tell you is going to be hard to hear. But you must listen, and you must believe." I nodded my head. "Prophecy foretells of a boy, a boy who has no mortal parents and is left in the forest as a child." I blinked. "This boy is said to have no weakness to the evil one and will be able to face her, you know of whom I speak." Kahtroki glanced at me, and at once I knew she was talking about Phantara. "Untouched by the evil one's men," She grabbed my toe. "He will unite with the one who will save us all. The one from the other world." My eyes widened again, memories flooding my brain. The altar where I was found. Finding Saret naked in the forest. It all connected. "Are you telling me that the Prophecy is about me and Ja-, I mean Saret?" Kahtroki closed her eyes. "Yes. You both are the ones who will save Kajahri. You are the ones who will destroy Phantara." Tears streamed down her face, as she watched me from the floor. "Soon, you both will have to leave us. But there is something that the priests of long ago did not anticipate. You were chosen by Ghava to do the Hunter's dance. That tattoo on you stomach is no normal inking. It appeared overnight, while you slept. There is nothing we can do. You have to dance tomorrow, because if you don't Ghava will not rise, and Sancta Woods will die." I rubbed my temples; information seemed to be swelling my brain. "And what about Saret?" I asked. "He cannot even speak Ishall. How will he stop Phantara?" Kahtroki smiled. "I have devised a plan for Saret to speak Ishall. It involves pain, but it will give him the language in a matter of hours." I nodded, almost in a trance. "When will we leave?" Kahtroki shook her head, the smile vanishing. "We do not know. The festival changes everything. We simply have top hope for the best." I nodded. "And Nefan," I raised my head to look at her, standing by the door. "Don't repeat this to anyone. Even your Shall." She closed the door and left me to my solitude. * * * I arose from bed early the next morning, wanting to see the final setting of Phaos for the year, last night's events still fresh in my mind. The large blue moon slowly descended into the horizon as the sun rose behind me, and I shivered in the chill morning air. Soon the rest of our small village was up and bustling around, the excitement of the upcoming festival almost palpable in the air.  I heard approaching footsteps, and felt a hand on my shoulder. "I know how you must be feeling." Kahtroki said, sighing. "Yeah."  I lowered my head and looked at the ground. "Will everything be different? Will I ever see you again after tomorrow night?" Kahtroki sighed again. "I told you already, Nefan. We don't know. The best thing you can do for now is to just try to enjoy the night of the festival. You're not dancing until tomorrow so just try to have some fun. I will meet with Saret in about an hour to teach him Ishall, so please instruct him to meet me in the Galaclaba." She walked away. I nodded and turned to go to my small house. Saret lay curled in the corner, his arms wrapped around his body, shivering. I gently prodded him and his eyes slowly opened. "Good morning, Nefan." He smiled. "Uh huh." I mumbled, almost in a trance. "You have to go meet Kahtroki in about an hour; she's going to teach you Ishall." His eyes lighted up. "Finally! I've been here almost a month and I haven't been able to talk to anyone! How long will it take?" "Don't get too excited, Jake." I commented as I changed my tunic behind my privacy screen. "She says it won't take more than a few hours, but it will be painful." The light in his eyes vanished and he sighed. "That figures. I'll get going." He walked through the door and slowly closed it. Glad to be rid of him, I took a deep breath and began my preparations for the festival. * * * Nefan seemed to be in an unusually bad mood today. Normally he was fierce and domineering; always barking orders. But today he was quiet and seemed to have some kind of inner turmoil. But the prospect of finally learning Ishall sent my thoughts of Nefan to the furthest corner of my mind as I entered the main hall of the large house of Kahtroki, eager to finally learn that language. "Est Gurfnab!" A guard approached me and narrowed his eyes. "Shala gurfnab yal ur." A female voice issued from the doorway, making the guard spin around. "Jak osses to krall." The man ran off, throwing a surprised look my way. "Hello, Saret." The woman said, speaking English, or what she would call "The Language of Phantara". "My name is Kahtroki, as you probably already know. Nefan Hararant has informed me of your plight, and it is good that you have not spoken in your language to any of the other villagers. They would not have understood and the slaves would almost definitely have killed you." She then stood and admired me for a moment. But before I could ask her, she turned suddenly. "Please follow me." Giving me no time to respond, she walked briskly through a maze of hallways, almost losing me. I quickly realized that the building was larger than it appeared outside. After going down several staircases, I realized that the majority of the complex was subterranean. Finally, we both emerged into a large room that was littered with lighted candles. This chamber, just like Nefan's house, was covered in strange glowing markings. "Please unclothe yourself and lay on the table." She instructed.  Embarrassed, but eager to learn, I quickly complied, dropping my ragged tunic and laying face down onto the table. "Now, what has Nefan told you about this?" "Not much," I said. "Just that it will be painful." "Yes," She replied. "It will be. Here, let me show you what I am going to do. Give me your hand." She maneuvered herself to the front of the table, and took my right hand. "I am going to use a pen to ink the alphabet of Ishall into your skin, and as your body absorbs the ink, so will your mind. Do you understand?" I nodded hesitantly; something in myself denied me to speak. Kahtroki took a small pen from an ebony box on an adjoining table, dipping it in a strange fluid. It shimmered like the iridescent hue of a bubble laid out flat. She took my hand and pressed the strange pen into the skin on the back of my hand. "Aaaah!" I cried, and tore away from her grasp. As soon as the pen had touched my skin, a searing pain ripped through my head. Kahtroki smiled softly and retrieved my hand. "I told you this was going to be painful, so please try to tolerate it. In order for this to work I have to tattoo each letter on a certain place of your body. Some places will hurt more than others." She winked, and when she saw that I was not placated, she crossed her arms.  "I'm doing you a favor you know." I nodded again and bit my lip, as the pain once more ripped through my body. It seemed to take forever as she meticulously carved a detailed symbol onto my hand. "There," She said, blinking because of the soft light. "That's one out of forty seven. Take a look." I raised my hand just in time to see the intricate symbol disappear into my flesh.  Suddenly, my mind flashed and I knew that the symbol meant the same as the English letter "A". "Wow." I said, the head rush dulling the pain somewhat. Kahtroki smiled, grabbing my left hand. "Alright, let's continue." * * * Two hours later, my entire body sore, the final symbol of the Shall alphabet vanished into the skin on my buttock. "Saret," Kahtroki said. "Can you understand me?" "Of course I can, you're speaking English." I got up and pulled my tunic over my head. She smiled. "No, I'm not. And neither are you. We are both speaking Ishall." Suddenly I realized that while I was hearing English, in the back of my mind I was actually just hearing Ishall and then translating into English for myself. "Wow." Kahtroki helped me to my feet, the effects of the long tattooing process still evident in my shaking legs. "You know, Saret..." She started. "Yes?" "If you wanted, you could participate in the festival." My eyes must have brightened the room like the sun in a dark place. "Really? I can?" She smiled, and something hidden became evident in her eyes. I was strangely reminded of someone, but I couldn't quite place who. Suddenly, I staggered backward as if I had been slapped. Kahtroki had the remnants of a vegetable stuck in her teeth, and I finally made the connection. "Y-you!" She smiled sheepishly and nodded. My increduility didn't subside as my mouth hung open. "Mrs. Kahtrokis?!"