Keeping the Fire: Abianen

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The first greeting had been casual. If this had gladdened Mehethe he did not show it over well. In fact, Polena began to notice, as they went through the perfunctory requests and inquiries required of traditional Westin culture, that he show very little emotion at all. It was not the poise that Coralm had, but almost a numbness. However, he must have been glad, because once a break did come in their conversation, one facilitated by the arrival of hot honeyed anise-root tea the Djaught said “you do not know how good it is to speak to someone who knows the noble kindnesses.”

“I have studied them as long as I have studied the Djashar speech Djaught. I would not want my words to be lacking.” Polena replied.

“No, they have not been lacking even when I have found them out of place.”

And there was the first barb. Polena had made up her mind that Mehethe was a proud, vicious, deplorable man despite having only a single meeting to judge from. She had steeled herself for whatever she would have to face, and to keep her temper for once.

“Well truth does not wait for the right place and time, though perhaps its volume could have been kept in check, and for that I apologize.”

“It is not needed. Your insult the first day of our meeting showed me that you may have something I might require.” His voice was full of the words of the noble speech, encumbered by indirectness. She would not be so.

“And what is that, Djaught?” Polena replied.

“First, I would ask an explanation, a badge of your merit, since we are of different lands. Tell me why should you know more than myself or my scholars of our fine poet?”

“Well, it was a matter of my study in both a Dunish administered Academy and amid the Scholaret where I took up my vocation. More than that, though, I was raised in an Orphan's home set beside a Library, and my mentor, Luminary Elmar, he had something of an obsession with the Proper.”

“But why do you care for Djasho, that is what I ask Priestess.”

Priestess was not a term used for a Luminary. While the mistake was quite common among the Edgarans she judged that he must know the difference. If it was a colloquial respect, it was one she did not know. She bit her tongue and tried to answer the question instead.

“Well, Djasho is one of the Five Poets, and I think it was her honorific name that first intrigued me. The others seem simple, those like Heghenkhol who knew True Suffering, Yashika called Shapfo who knew True Love, or even High King Westa, Westa who knew True Sorrow. But Djasho, Djasho who knew True Wonder, that intrigued me. We don’t have a word for it.”

“There is no word for “Wonder” in Eddinite?” asked Mehethe, not to confirm but coldly, as if he was awaiting the rest of the joke but in poor humor to hear it.

“Well no… instead of “Abianen” we say “Wonder” but it does not mean the same thing. That is the wonderful thing about Djashar, it has so many words.”

“I had known our language was rich but I had not known that the eastern languages were poor.” replied Mehethe, and she judged a query in it this time, not an insult.

“Well, that is not to say we are poor in words, but maybe it’s better to say our words are finite. Abianen, think about what it means.”

“It means, “the breathing in of the heart” does it not?”

“Yes,” she did not think that a Djaught would be wise enough in Poem Words to know the old meaning of the word. That was a pleasant surprise. “Yes, that is how it came about, but what it means... To say that one word we have to use several. We say words and phrases like awe, trembling, joy, excitement, uncertainty, racing heart, lost in thought, confused, rushing, hysterical, crazy, contemplative, humbled. All of these words have their own meaning. But Abianen, is all of them. You can feel it just as sure as you can feel hunger, or sorrow, or fear. It’s there, almost like a sensation. To say “I feel wonder,” that means something of it, or maybe, to “be in awe” would be the best way to say it. But there is not a true translation.”

“The way you say it, it is as if we in the west have a different emotion than you,” replied Mehethe his cold voice giving only the slightest hint of passion.

“Yes, it almost is like that. Can you imagine it? It’s like I told you there was a color in Meeda that you have never seen before, one that we can see but you can’t.”

A respectful silence fell over them disturbed only by the bustle of the Djaught’s slaves cleaning, packing, unpacking, and from somewhere the distant call a response of Westin Guardians in drill.

“So it is because of a word that you learned of the First Poet.”

“Yes, Djaught, just that one word. And I still think there is much power in a single word, in picking just the right meaning for it.”

“You showed me that clearly enough on my first day here Priestess.”

Polena could not help but sigh.

“Now that you have told me what I asked,” Mehethe continued, “I will tell you what I have need of.”

“Please do,” Polena replied ready to at least hear him out.

“I need you to find her. Djasho, who knew True Wonder. I need your help.”

"Ah, Abianen." Polena replied with a wry and half sarcastic smile. She had him trapped.

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