Stormcallers: Chapter 2
Now you should know that Rukiya had left her village many times. There was not a span of Oleni or Orem that she had not felt under her feet. Yet today she journeyed alone, without adult or gathering of children. She had never wandered far from home before, alone.
Poor Rukiya, she had expected a sense of thrill or delight, traveling for the first time by herself. Now she was a woman, free from the firm grip of her father; but she felt no joy, no happiness.
Why not?
Who knows? Perhaps her mind was so worried about her uncertain future, she could feel no joy. Or perhaps she would not let herself rejoice while Old Wana lay sick. Or perhaps Rukiya had learned well the secrets of men, and so thought that to be brave was to walk with grim determination down the long and winding path. The day was young, and the light had only just begun to bathe the land in a misty glow. Young quayla darted out and back from the forests, plucking fallen seeds and grains once hidden by the frosts, and preparing once more to fly free in the cloud-sea, high above and below the floating islands like fish in a river.
Rukiya’s village sat closer to the edge than most, so it took only half a day before she reached the Anjui, what they called the Open Palms; the gap that separates the twin islands of Oleni and Orem. Here, the cloud-sea cuts between the two cliffs, and the edge-winds are strong as can be.
Rukiya climbed Orem’s palm, and met with the Issosa, what they called wind-riders. They were a small tribe of Orenda people who made their home on the Open Palms, hunting the quayla that nested there and trading with the people who wished to travel between the twin islands.
For the wind-riders knew well the secret of flying on the edge-winds, and while every Orenda knew how to glide, the wind-riders lived for the flight. In their cleverness, they had even created rafts large enough to carry carts and livestock, held aloft by large leather pouches filled with storm-breath.
After trading one of her river-fox skins and a drink of bark-wine, the wind-riders gave her a Patcha, a sail with which to float across the cloud-sea. Rukiya had flown between the Open Palms before, so she was not afraid, and returned the Patcha to the wind-riders on the other side when she landed.
Now, Oleni is larger than Orem, but it is also flatter. Rukiya did not have to strain against the rise and fall of the hills, but instead strode across the wide plains with an easy gait, eager to reach the far end of Oleni. She traveled for a day and a half, eating sparingly from her provisions, and hunting the odd quayla when she could.
She slept in the cottage of an old Olenda woman, after she gave her another of her river-fox skins.
At the end of the day, when the Light Above had turned the high cloud-sea a bloody red, Rukiya began to hear the distant grinding of stone and the hissing of dust that heralded the island’s edge.
Now, even though it was early in the harvest season, the edges of the islands were still soft. And so, Rukiya picked up a long branch from the ground and used it to poke the earth in front of her as she walked, stepping around where the land was treacherous. As she drew nearer to the wild edge, she heard small pops as pockets of air burst through the dirt, showering the sky in speckled black. These were the spouts of storm-breath that bubbled through the soft lands, but they were too small to bother collecting.
As she continued, tiny flickers of fire tickled to life from the ground, only to fade again, or to catch clumps of grass alight for a moment before a swirl of icy mist doused them again. These were called storm-spots, and Rukiya was worried, for it was rare to see such signs so far from the storm season.
But she continued until she could see the very edge of Oleni. Here, Rukiya could see large pieces of earth that had broken away to float in the cloud-sea, drifting and turning in the edge-winds. As she wandered, she saw a large stone drift back to the edge and press itself back into place, for this is the way of the edge; when the season is right, the land will drift away either to return again or to sink into the misty depths to be torn apart by the storms.
And still, Rukiya continued. She was an adult of the Orenda, and she was not afraid.
She continued until at last the path turned, and she saw a town in the distance. Her limbs aching from the pain of it, she walked as fast as she dared to find passage to the island of Apitan.
Were there wind-riders there too?
No, the wind-riders flew on the strong edge-winds that pushed skyward between the cliffs of the Open Palms. Here, there are no such cliffs, and so the people wove thick baskets that could carry three or four people at once, and tied them to cloth pouches so tightly sewn that they could float across the way between Oleni and Apitan.
So Rukiya found a ferryman who would take her across the cloud-sea, for the price of the last of her river-fox skins, and the meat of a river-rabbit she had caught that evening. The bargain struck, she climbed into the basket as the ferryman lifted heavy iron weights out of the basket. They shared the river-rabbit on the crossing.
On the other side of the cloud-sea, Rukiya climbed out of the basket, asked for directions to the closest ferry to Clashwind, and continued on her journey on Apitan Isle.
Now, Apitan Isle was not the land of the Orenda. It was the island of the Picanti people; a strong and cautious people, who lived among the dark forests and gnarled trees. Once, the Apitan people were friends with the Orenda, but the ancient pact had been broken years past, and so they did not open their doors for Rukiya, though it was not her fault, because this was the way of things. Rukiya was forced to walk for three days and three nights without ever sharing the company of another man or woman of Lergos.
Did the storms find her?
Yes, beloved. The unfamiliar earth, the flickering shadows, the cold winds that blew through her tiny shelter she had made with branches and wood…all these things summoned the storms to her in the night.
But as I said before, it was early in the harvest season. So deep in the cloud-sea were the storms, that they were tired by the time they reached Rukiya’s ears, and so their whispers were subtle and gentle. They reminded her that she had never seen a Two-chin before; she knew only the stories Old Wana had told her. Once even Old Wana had been as young as Rukiya. Back then, the eldest woman of the village told Wana about the time before the Eroseans.
Once, the many tribes of Lergos had been farmers and hunters, living as one with the islands of the archipelago. They respected the edge and avoided its tumultuous terrain. The Orenda especially were proud of their connection with the rock-bison that roamed the plains of Oleni, the river Pawa that flowed from the Orem heights, and the quayla that flew between them. The tale of the arrival is a tale of the day when a young girl staggered into the village, her feet bleeding from having walked for so long, so far, and so fast. Her Deyoda braids had become ragged and torn, and she could not speak until water was forced down her throat. She begged the village to come and help, for strange ghostly men, pale of skin and light of hair, had arrived from the cloud-sea with gray swords and long spears that spat fire.
It is a tale of the twenty strong men and women who picked up sword and axe to travel across Lergos to help defend the Deyoda people from these strange and sickly men, and the five that returned.
It is a tale of how these ghosts arrived from lands beyond the cloud-sea, further than any woman or man could see when the clouds were still and quiet. A tale of armor stronger than bronze, and wooden vessels that carried a hundred men or more. A tale of how the people of Deyoda become ghosts themselves, either vanishing behind the Two-chins’ walls or wandering the islands as traders, nomads, and beggars.
Rukiya’s father had not yet been born when the Eroseans came to the Isles of Lergos. Nor had any of the men and women who now worked the lands of the twin islands Orem and Oleni, wearing Erosean clothing, cutting the land with Erosean iron, and drinking their strange Erosean liquor. The children of Lergos had never known it to be different. Indeed, they thought it the most natural thing.
These Eroseans had magics strong enough to cross the cloud-sea from islands no person of Lergos had ever seen. They took the land away from a whole tribe and claimed it for their own. And now Rukiya would pass through their gate and beg to learn their magics to cure an old woman? Why should they listen to her, these ghosts from far-off lands? What worth would they find in a tiny girl with no more than a handful of feathers and coin?
But Rukiya recognized these whispers for what they were, and pulled from her pouch a twist of dried sourbush. With a whispered charm, she threw the twist into her humble fire, and breathed deep of the smoke as the twist burned. When the twist was gone, she slept soundly. She did the same the next night, and the next, and on again until at last she reached the edge of Apitan.
The cloud-sea was high that day, and the swirling mists clung to the crumbling edge like eager fingers. So high was the cloud-sea that Rukiya could not see the island of Clashwind. She did not fear, though, as she knew the local ferrywomen must know the crossing well. Travel was common between Apitan and Clashwind in those days, as teams of Lergosian traders pulled their carts laden with fur, storm-breath, and hopes of enough food for the season.
Did they all travel in baskets?
No, beloved. No army of baskets would have been enough. Instead, the Two-chins taught the Picanti some of their secret magics, and the ferrywomen of the Picanti built broad wooden boats, large enough to carry ten people with room enough to move about, or more if they did not. There were even small benches to sit on, which Rukiya took advantage of to massage her aching legs, after paying for the crossing with her bag of Erosean coins.
The crossing took almost an entire half-day. Two ferrywomen pushed and pulled at the sculling fin on the back of the ferry while a third tended the large canvas balloon, ensuring its skin was taught with storm-breath fed from a bronze barrel.
All along the journey, the strong edge-winds pushed and pulled at the ferry until they at last reached the other side. When the broad boat came to rest, Rukiya stepped out and touched Erosean land for the first time in her life.
Poor Rukiya, the land betrayed her; it felt the same as the land she had crossed for so many days. The stones were hard and the grass course. The dirt was soft and the quayla wheeled and called out in the sky. The island of Clashwind felt like Lergos, though it had no right. The land was Two-chin land, and should have appeared to be so, but it did not.
She traveled on, across Clashwind isle towards Clashwind town. She did not need to ask for directions, for the Eroseans built their town in the manner of all kingdoms, on the tallest hill or mountain. The Great Spire of Clashwind rose above the horizon, so that all who walked on the dirt of Clashwind could see it towering above all.
The Orenda built their villages in the inner lands to stay far from the soft edges. They built for safety, but the many kingdoms of the cloud-sea built in the inner lands for power. It is a truth known by the wisest of rulers that height brings this power.
No, do not laugh, for it is not as foolish as you think. The taller the tower, the further the tower can be seen. Can we not always see the tallest peak of Okapi? Do we not honor Okapi as the mother of our people? So too is it the mighty towers that are built across the cloud-sea. Like spokes of a wheel, like a spider’s web, the roads of the land surround these landmarks, providing guidance to strangers in strange lands. How else can one find their way ?
So Rukiya walked along the gravel road, across the island towards Clashwind town. The roads were clean and dry, the way well trodden. It was the easiest part of her journey, and she could not help but think of how many feet had walked her path before.
When her bark-wine skin was finally dry, and daylight had begun to fade on the last day of her travels, she saw Clashwind town for the first time in her life. She saw the great stone walls and the fluttering yellow flag of Erosea.
Young as she was, Rukiya had not come unprepared. She had listened to her father tell tales of Clashwind town, and the pale Eroseans who dwelled within. Her father had told her about the Two-chin’s strange tall buildings, made of stone and strange mud that dried hard and smooth. They built houses with floors on top of ceilings, and they covered their wooden doorways with cloth. There was glass in the windows and iron on the walls. He had told her about the gates of Clashwind closed when the Light Above faded from the sky, and no amount of calling or pleading would open them again until a new day dawned. He had told her how the trade-band would stop outside the gates so the men could change out of their wraps.
Why did they do that?
Rukiya asked her father the exact same question. Her father said, “Because the Eroseans think that the wraps all Orenda people wear are women’s clothing. They think that a man must dress each leg separately, instead of together. They cannot respect us if we do not wear what they expect. It is a language we each must learn.”
“You said some of their men remove their beards,” Rukiya had answered. “You said they look like boys. Why do they not speak our language of beards?”
Her father had shaken his head, and taught her another piece of the secret magics of men: “Because they have strong weapons, and strong walls, and we have neither.”
It was these walls that rose up before Rukiya now, as thick as a person and twice as tall. An Erosean stood at the gate, the first Two-chin she had ever seen. Both of his legs were covered separately with tight white cloth like a second skin. His arms were similarly tightly clothed, though in yellow, and his torso was covered with what looked like a shiny metal cloth. He gripped a spear twice as tall as he was, tipped with a red ribbon under the blade that danced in the wind.
His face was shaded, covered by the wide brim of his metal hat, so she could not get a good look at him, but she could see the distinctive feature that had earned the Eroseans their nickname among the Lergosian people. Do you know why the Orenda people called the Eroseans Two-chins? It is because the chin of the Erosean is so strong. It juts out like a cliff from their jaw. But even this is not the whole of it, because these strong chins are cleft in two. It is as the Orenda children say; the chin of an Erosean looks like a small bottom. Yes! Isn’t it funny? Rukiya too had laughed in the manner of children at the absurdity of it, but seeing an Erosean for the first time, she was struck by how true it was. Sticking out from under his mouth, the man’s chin glinted in the fading daylight. Such a silly figure this Erosean looked — a man with no beard, ill-fitting tight clothing, a hat of metal, and a bottom on his face — that Rukiya clapped her hand to her mouth to suppress the laugh that threatened to bubble up from her stomach. If not for the long spear the man held, she might have laughed at him then and there.
Oh, such sights Rukiya saw, when she stepped into Clashwind town! The light was fading fast and burning candles were starting to light behind glass windows. The buildings were taller up close, and Rukiya could feel the beginnings of fear begin to grip her heart, when her eyes lit upon the lady.
She wore a long green dress, with long bands of white trim that fell down her arms and framed her torso. Her hat was thin and flat, with a white and brown feather fluttering in the stiff wind. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she walked, listening to the man talk at her side.
Rukiya had expected the Eroseans to be hideous. Why else would they need fine clothing, such clean silks and hats, jewels and perfumes, if not to hide ugliness that would churn the stomach? But in this woman, Rukiya could see no ugliness at all. She was tall and thick, well fed and bright-eyed. She looked almost healthy, if her pale skin had not given her the look of a sickly ghost.
Her chin looked as absurd and rude as the gate-guards, but now, Rukiya was inside Clashwind town. She was standing on a cobbled road surrounded by tall stone buildings with domed tops. The ground, the air, they had made all of it their own. Laugh? Rukiya wouldn’t dare. This was her town, this Erosean woman. She wore her own clothing, her own hat, and spoke her own language. The island of Dayoda was now Clashwind. Rukiya was the interloper, not this woman who walked with such poise and grace, whose hair shone out from under her cap in the wind from the edge, who smiled like a child.
The wrap Rukiya wore was clean, having been washed in a river earlier that morning, but it did not sparkle like the woman’s dress. Rukiya could shoot a quayla out of the sky better than any her age, but she didn’t move like the woman. She moved as if the rest of the world did not matter to her. Let the storms blow as they might, let the raging land take what it will, she could walk calmly and steadily through it all. Even her sickly pale skin seemed to glow in the twilight until her deathly pallor looked more lively than anyone Rukiya had ever seen. As she watched the woman walk past, Rukiya felt ugly, clumsy, and savage.
But she wasn’t, was she?
No, beloved, she most certainly wasn’t.