Old Conversations at the Fire
04/26/2004
"You missed the celebration," Ekkuli says to me later.
"Celebration?" I ask, distracted.
"Yes... we noted that our story was chosen as a special clay by one of your folk," Ekkuli says, perplexed. "World-walker, didn't you notice?"
"Oh! Yes," I say; it must be talking about "Unspeakable" being chosen for the Best of Strange Horizons 2003 anthology. "I'm just distracted with a new story, that's all."
"A new story!" Ekkuli says. "Excellent. Continue."
I would eye it askance, but I'm busy. Kediil's made her second foray into the world in the pages of Oceans of the Mind... and I have work to do.
08/13/2003
"Kediil," I say, partway through the brushing, "for now?"
She laughs. "Well, right now you are making shell for us. There may come a time where you make no shell for us! You will still be our earner in this world, but certainly not our best earner."
I start laughing.
08/13/2003
The wind in my hair is a caress. I am cradling a very large cup of decaf cafe breve, an indulgence as extreme as the block of solid bittersweet chocolate I've just finished eating.
I love the cheldzan, even though the Jokka have been markedly absent lately to allow me to rest. I love having a place to rest in between their stories. They have made this a pleasant place, gentle to the skin and ears and eyes.
Fingers smooth over my knees and I clear my gaze of veiled dreams to look and find Kediil across from me. Her hands are spare and lean, but still an anadi's, with their short, blunt fingers. But she's lovely with her messily braided sunlight hair and the moonlight glow on her skin.
"You look happier," she says.
"Of course," I say. "Aren't you? In springtime, you'll be skating the paths with the help of Oceans of the Mind. And Serel will be introduced to everyone, too."
"I am very pleased," Kediil says, "though I have hopes that this is the least of what will come to you before the year's failing."
I laugh and taking her hands, rubbing her fingers between mine. "One can hope."
She wiggles her fingers free and grins at me. "And now, your reward!"
"My reward?" I asked, bemused, but she's already on her feet and moving. I hear her drop down behind me, and then a few chimes and tinkles sound, metal on rock. The weight of my hair, wet and held out of my way in a heavy bun, unravels and falls. A brush sinks its bristles into the black curls and my neck stiffens to resist the pull.
"Of course," Kediil says. "You're eperu, whatever your body says, World-walker. And eperu decorate their hair in braids." A pause, then she adds, pleased, "You have good hair for it. Whatever I put in it is going to stay in it."
I laugh at this, but quiet quickly when a hand fumbles at my earlobe, and I suddenly acquire a single golden hoop on the right side. I touch it when her fingers withdraw, my languor and my ease gone as suddenly as it had swept in. "Kediil?"
"Well, for now you are our family's best earner in this world," Kediil said. "We thought you should have one. Unless you don't like it?"
"No, no," I say quickly. "No, if you think I've earned it, I am proud to wear it."
"Good," she says, and resumes her work on my curls. As she braids, I can feel her working the rings and chains of beads between the tresses, and with care I sip my coffee between tugs.
I have always been the Jokka's conduit to this world. Now I am their ringed best among eperu. Such responsibility. I shall not fail them, if it is within my power.
07/17/2003
I am examining the first draft of Jekun's story, leaning against a rock with my knees propped against the tree outside the Cheldzan. It's a cool evening, and a breeze visits occasionally to tug fruitlessly at the weight of my hair.
Ekkuli is a few feet away, testing a few layouts for its newest clay using stones barely the size of its fingertips. I wonder that it can even read the letters on them, but Jokka have better eyes than humans. We work companionably together in a pleasant silence.
I take a break, stretch, and sip my now lukewarm cafe breve. "How's it going?"
"Better than for you, I suspect," Ekkuli says. "Will you send another of our stories out?"
I glance at the page tacked down with a rock. "Yes. I think. When I'm done with this one."
"You're not sure anyone will pay you for this clay," Ekkuli observes. It too turns from its work, rolling onto its back with a lazy grace. The wind has more luck with its poppy-red mane.
"No," I admit. "I'm never sure of anything, Ekkuli."
"Is there any way you could improve your chances?" it asks, with a touch of wistfulness. Like the other Jokka that visit the Cheldzan frequently, it wishes for my success because it loves to see our world through me.
"Well, if all the people who have sent me such wonderful notes about how much they loved the stories would leave a note about it at Strange Horizons," I say, "Or tell their friends about the stories, or recommend it for awards if appropriate..." I shrug. "That's about all you can do. Get the word out."
"Have you asked them to do those things?" Ekkuli asks.
I blush. "No. It's considered uncouth."
Ekkuli's glance is eloquence itself.
"Fine, fine," I say. "Consider it done."
Pleased, Ekkuli goes back to its work. I glance over its shoulder and get a glimpse of something about a rikka race and two emodo lovers -- something for Nashada, then. But . . . a rikka race? I had no idea the Jokka raced their beasts.
Ekkuli pushes me away with a hand. "You can pay to read it at the clay tomorrow night, like a respectable Jokkad," it says. I laugh, because even though the Jokka don't have the concept of putting something in quotes, I can hear the quotation marks around "respectable" as clearly as if Ekkuli had made the motion with its hands. Respectable, indeed.
06/23/2003
The Jokka have been quiet lately . . . they don't want to bruise me by accident, reminding me of things that are too new and too painful (or too old and yet painful, depending on your point of view). I walk through the cheldzan and there's no one to tend the fire. No one to make tea. No people in the corner playing games.
While I have the cheldzan to myself I sit in a corner with my espresso and move pieces and parts around, until I come up with something fun and interactive: the Jokku Gender quiz, which tells you where you'd fit into the southeastern society on Ke Bakil.
I take the quiz a few times. I smile at the results. I am one of the lucky ones.
06/07/2003
I am sitting alone beneath a tree, facing away from the partially-constructed cheldzan, staring out over the barren plains. The espresso in my cup is warming my hands, not my mouth, and its aroma seems as distant as the mountains.
"World-walker? We missed you at the party . . . " Nashada appears behind me and pauses. "Are you okay?"
"Of course she's not okay," Ekkuli says testily, now behind Nashada. "The wind blows cold over her clays, and no one reads them."
I glance over my shoulder at them as they move to stand beside me. Ekkuli crouches at my side and touches my shoulder, and its voice softens. "I'm right, aren't I, World-walker?"
I nod, but can't say anything more. I can't even meet its eyes.
"Why does no one read her clays?" Fatha asks, entering from in front of me, holding Dzen's hand. They stand together, looking at me with those liquid steady eyes, so lovely, alien and yet familiar. "They're good. We're not the only ones who think so."
I clear my throat and say, "No one will buy them."
"Set them out in the desert, then," Kediil says, stepping from around Ekkuli and swishing her braided tail. Seeing her next to the others gives me a time diffraction headache, but they don't seem to mind that they're all from different epochs. "You don't need them. You don't need anyone to tell you what's right and what's not. No one can stop you!"
"If she sets them in the desert, who will read them?" Ekkuli says, frowning at Kediil. Of course, Ekkuli would know, my fellow clay-keeper. "What good is a clay if no one reads it? The World-walker wants everyone to have a chance to see them, and for that she must set them in the center of town. And to do that . . . "
"The person in charge of the town center has to let you," I say, with a faint smile.
Ledin is leaning against the tree, bold Ledin, far-traveler, explorer. "You could find a new place to set down your clays."
"I've tried all the places I can, Ledin," I say softly. "No one will allow me. My choices are to try with something new, or to set up the clay in my room, where only one or two people will ever see them."
"So try something new!" Kediil says. "You can't give up!"
By now I see more and more of them, all in a circle around me, intimate, concerned: Ekanoi, Ledin, Thodi, Batasil; Fatha, Dzen, Iduna; Mayiin and Erdiil; Serel and Kediil and Red Honey; Hesa and Pathen; Tanel, Ekkuli and Nashada ; even Jekun. I stare at them through watering eyes, and don't know what to tell them.
The circle parts then for a slim white figure, black hair blowing over its chest and shoulders. It stands before me in a loin-skirt of olive green, embroidered with cream and yellow-green leaves and flowers the dark purple of wine. Around it, the others murmur for the Jokkad who started it all, eyes wide.
"But everyone has limits," Thenet says gently. "Isn't that so, World-walker?"
I drop my face. I feel its warmth as it steps to me and gathers my hair in its hand, presses me against its thighs.
"Take a break, setasha," Thenet murmurs on breath like honey and spice. "If you put this all aside for a month, a season, years . . . if you never touch another letter to the sand . . . you will still be a story-teller, and we will love you all the same."
"A break," I whisper.
"Until the waters of your soul once again shroud the parched soil of your heart," Thenet says.
I feel Ekkuli setting its gossamer veil over my dark curls.
"Until then."
"This is not a betrayal," Thenet says.
"This is not a betrayal," I repeat, and something in me eases. I let out a long sigh. "A break."
Then I am enveloped in all their arms, all their good wishes, and I am released from duty until my heart can heal again.
"Remember," Thenet whispers into my ear. "No writing. No trying to sell what you've written. Nothing. Separate yourself from it all. Float. Dream. Rest."
I promise.
04/09/2003
"We're busy," Nashada tells me congenially as I approach. The coffee in my hand is shaking a little, but I manage to join him and look nonchalant, even if he is wearing a dress.
"I know," I say. "You're rebuilding the cheldzan--"
"No, no," he says, waving a hand. "We're taking a break from that. You're preoccupied with other things and we're busy talking among each other about who to send to you next. No, this is about the awards."
I boggle. I stammer. I lose speech.
"You were expecting to surprise us with the news," Nashada says with a hearty laugh. He hugs me, which almost spills the coffee. He takes the mug out of my hand, sets it on the dusty ground, and then gives me a hug I think will crack my ribs. "Kediil said you'd probably think only you would know, even though you're the one who built this cheldzan and opened the way to your world with your clays. World-walker! We are our own people, you know. We don't need you for everything."
"Well, as long as you don't trespass," I mutter. I glance up at his mischievous eyes. "So you know about Ekkuli and the Reader's Choice Awards--"
"Not just the clay, but the semi-accurate depiction you managed to paint of it, yes," Nashada says.
"And Kediil and the Tiptree Secondary List?" I ask.
"Kediil is smugly pleased," Nashada says companionably. "And don't think she doesn't know that her name has been mentioned in other places, for other awards."
I press my hand to my head. "Nashada . . . "
"Don't worry," he says. "We're taking care of the party."
"Of course there's a party," I say.
"Of course," he says, grinning. "There's always a party."
"So is it a churul, or a relani?" I ask.
"A relani, we think," Nashada says. "We'll need your help at the end, to solidify it on your side of the cheldzan. And we're hoping you'll be willing to give away that poster of Ekkuli you made that you have no use for."
"Of course," I murmur. I can't say no to them. It's useless, hopeless. I made them and they own me, and we love each other. Is it this crazy for every one else?
"We'll tell you more as we finalize the arrangements." He leans down and presses his nose against my temple, and for a moment I feel the softness that Tañel fell in love with, the yielding that hides behind his laughter. "You'll come, World-walker? It wouldn't be the same without you."
"I'll bring my tamborine," I say, closing my eyes and smiling. Then I open one eye. "You planning to wear that dress?"
"What's wrong with the dress?" Nashada says, feigning surprise. "Is it not formal enough? Ekkuli assures me it's one of its best. . . . "
"Oh, you!" I laugh. "Fine, fine. I'll be back. Don't use up too many of our resources."
"Never!" he says.
"Good," I say.
"Just enough to have a proper party . . . "
I cover my face. I think I'm giggling.
02/07/2003
It's my day for conferences. I'm sitting beneath the tree the Jokka have cordoned off from the rest of the website, listening to their rikka chirping and the thak of their axes and thon of their hammers. I have a sheaf full of papers in my lap, and a cup of hot chocolate at my side, and in front of me is Fatha.
"So you don't mind?" I ask it as it finishes scanning my revisions.
It hands them back to me with a smile. "You have not changed any of my feelings, or Dzen's. You have still treated kindly with Kidla, and respectfully with Paza and Kamil and Iduna." It shrugs, a flick of its braided tail that flashes me with a few faceted gems. "It all happened that way. You just put it in a different order, and it makes for better telling. I like it."
I let out a breath. "You're understanding, ke Fatha. Many of my other characters would have preferred death before dishonor."
Fatha grins now. "Well, perhaps you have gotten better at juggling your desires as a clay-keeper with ours as people."
"I hope," I say, and lean forward to hug it. The eperu smells of honey and sap. I think it would be glad to know I was paying attention.
It licks my cheek, then stands. "Do you think this clay will be put on the sand?"
"I don't know," I say. "But I have high hopes."
The eperu nods and pads away, leaving me to put aside my new copy of "The Smell of Intelligence." There are other characters in that story, but Fatha is the narrator. If Fatha is fine with the changes, I shouldn't have trouble with anyone else.
My next conference is harder: Kediil, trouble-maker, windswept anadi from the Nomadic Age and narrator of "Freedom, Spiced and Drunk." She arrives by dropping out of the tree branch overhanging my shelter, scaring the breath out of me.
"Sorry," she says, and touches my chin with amusement. "You are skittish, World-walker! Hasn't Walking taught you to expect the unlooked-for?"
"Yes," I say truthfully, "But I'm always surprised by it anyway."
Kediil laughs and crouches, glittery tail spilling next to her feet. "You wanted me? What troubles you?"
"It's Red Honey," I say, and see her immediately sober.
"I had wondered," she said. "You have not called me back to ask me more about that tale, but it wants telling in you. I can see it."
I nod. "But... I think it's going to be big."
"Think?" Kediil asks, brows lifting over her sea-green eyes. "World-walker, that tale is no clay to be laid out in a day, or even a double handful of days. Didn't you know?"
"I knew it was long, but not how long," I say. I wonder if I should try to explain the differences in venue for "clays" of varying lengths in our world and decide I don't have the energy. "Now I know. I might need more of your time. A lot more. This may be as long a tale as Thenet's."
Kediil cants her head. "You mean to make me as esteemed as Thenet in the eyes of our visitors? That is a heavy weight. Not just for me, but for Red Honey, and Serel as well."
"I know. But . . . it's worth it, isn't it?"
Kediil pauses, then laughs -- she laughs, my wicked anadi who defied Nature's final word. I love her. I love them all.
"Yes, it's worth it," she says. "I'll be back soon. We will do this properly."
"I'll try," I say, because even after six novels I still sometimes doubt I can write another.
It's hard to say no to a Jokkad.
12/28/2002 12/27/2002
The Jokka, it appears, are extremely busy planning the remodelling of the cheldzan. While they're hauling bricks and consulting with each other over baked clay or stone tablets marked with wax, I sneak in and add a few portraits I think they might like in the Guest Gallery: Tess has
drawn some wild and beautiful sketches of the Jokka. I always draw them as civilized creatures, but they aren't always so sophisticated and mild. These pieces will please them, and I hope, my visitors as well.
Next time I arrive, everything is in chaos. There are Jokka everywhere, talking to one another, hauling bricks around, driving rikka. I gawk for several minutes at their industry before one of them notices me. He trots over.
"World-walker?" he asks. "Are you well?"
"Well, yes," I say. "But confused. What...?"
"Ah!" he says. "Ke Ekkuli tells us that you would find renovating the cheldzan a hardship, so we have undertaken the task for you."
"You what?" I ask, wondering how that's even possible, or what craziness they plan.
He pats me on the shoulder, amused. "Do not fear, clay-keeper. We will not muss your tree. We only seek to add a few amenities. Slowly, one at a time. We have leisure."
Leisure. Right. "Ke emodo, I'm not sure you understand my position."
"Oh, but I do," he says. "You are standing where the new reflection pool will be."
God save me. A reflection pool. "Where's Ekkuli?"
"It's with the second wagon," he says. "Driving back with more bricks. It will be here shortly." A grin then, and he flicks his tail. "You will have words with it, won't you?"
I don't say another word. I'll have to catch Ekkuli later... no, sooner. Before it builds a small palace.
