Don't know what this is? Check out the Pages section to the right to learn more about the Keeping the Fire project.
╩ 7 ╩
Much of what is said in the courts of the East is direct but meaningless. Gross exaggeration, needless hyperbole, and statements of principle are all that is spoken. In the West one must never say exactly what one means. Self deprecation, pointed metaphor, and oblique reference are what is mostly heard. Fortress Edgar is neither East nor West, but as with any other nation only a fool would speak the truth plainly. Polena knew this but pride and love of words made her forget it. Still, she would not be called uncouth. She aimed to wound, and how much sweeter the wound if delivered in perfect Djashar to this Djaught of Fiedjan, this tool of Westa Proper.
“If this ill learned one could speak” she began, effecting a perfect accent “it is not true. The words the honored Daught of Uken-wall recounted were indeed spoken by the High King Westa, but they mean “We rule by honor and are followed by fear,” not “are followed by awe” as he said. But there is more than that. Those certainly were the poem words of Djasho, but if the Djaught means to say that the lands south of Kickleet and Fortress Edgar were once High King Westa's and that the poet Djasho was of Westa’s line as well, then he is wrong. That land has always been for the People of Free Westa, and Djasho was not a person but many People. The truth is that he or she never existed.”
“Quick and firm words,” replied the Djaught, letting no emotion betray his thoughts “But Eastern Priest, why do you insult me with a language you don't know? You call the Free Westins, and even the First Poet People, does your nation now include Free Westa as well?”
In Polena's homeland, the People’s Alliance of Creace, the word “People” was always capitalized. It was a word that meant much more than a group of individuals. It meant the collective, the community, the People were in and of themselves holy. Polena had a habbit of using Shinei-khet, “my people” which expressed this importance, instead of Shine-thet “people”. Many wary of the Alliance's growing power would take exception to that.
“History is for all People Djaught Mehethe,” embracing the mistake, “and the poems are as well.”
“I would not expect a woman to understand such things. In truth I had thought that the Alliance would have had the honor to send a man to speak if they wished to insult us.”
Coralm adjusted his weight behind her and she knew that she should calm down. She couldn't, not now.
“We are an Alliance of the People and that includes all People who seek freedom. Did not High King Westa himself say “That which is endless should be endlessly free?” when he gave the Free Westin lands to the many nations?”
“He did,” replied Mehethe, “and he was respected for that comment and allowed to speak it without interruption.”
“Well perhaps it is because he was held “in awe” by those around him, the ones without blades.”
“Do not speak to me of Blades or of the First Poet any further Eastern woman,” roared Mehethe losing his composure all at once, “You know nothing of the High King’s words or you would not speak of the word Endless”
“The first word of the Poet Djasho said was “Endless,” Polena said, cracking a smile. One of the Djaught’s warriors made to draw his blade.
“And Endless, is our respect for the ancient speech and the First Poet.” Coralm said, stepping in front of Polena. “We do not intend insult Djaught Mehethe. Please continue your speech and I will send my lesser Luminary away to discuss the subtleties of language in another forum.”
“That would be a boon,” the Djaught replied, his eyes darting back to his warriors who returned at once to standing at attention.
Coralm turned to Polena, and gave her a curt nod, but how could she leave? Her People were greater than Fiedjan in size and power. Could she really accept being spoken to so poorly? Did the Djaught himself not do insult to all peoples by misrepresenting the words of the past?
“Coralm,” Polena said, her voice a frantic whisper, “there isn't a First Poet. Djasho was many different authors. He's trying to use a legend to start a war. Why don't we-
“Comae, please.” Coralm said, cutting her off, and she knew that if she could not hold her tongue she would have to leave. She tried to do so with as much grace as she could, but the humiliation of being the only person leaving the crowd was too much for her to bear and she was full flushed in anger when she finally reached the door.
The whole walk back to the quarters held by the People’s Alliance she could hardly look up. She returned to her small balcony, that same place she had loitered for lack of a function in this foreign place, feeling that she had just made a waste of three months of long waiting. There was no one to speak to and no one to hear her but the mountains. Still, she could not hold her tongue or stop her mind. She had to speak. Only the mountains heard those words, and they were neither kind nor quiet. But no matter how she screamed to the hills, even if there was not a word amid the syllables, she felt that she spoke only truth.
╩ ╩
No comments:
Post a Comment