Today's excerpt:
“Oookay, I shall continue.” Moa’qi shifted his position to focus intently on Sylk. “You know some things can hear better than us, others can smell better, right?” Sylk nodded an assent. “Ok, that means they can hear things that we can’t. Obviously. Not so obviously, it says something about our senses. Or, proffers a question. Namely, we know that some animals can hear things we can’t hear. It would seem logical that there may be some things that exist that they can’t hear either. Doesn’t mean that sound does not exist, only that they can’t hear it either, right?”fb
“Yeah.”
Moa’qi paused. Sylk was not responsive. He seemed rebellious.
“What’s bothering you, son.”
“My brain - hurts.” Sylk looked at Moa’qi. “It’s too much” he implored.
Moa’qi considered this for a moment. “Right. Okay then. A little less talk, and a lot more action.” But he just sat there. Sylk fell back, and went immediately to sleep.
When he woke, Moa’qi was gone. He looked around, and could not see any sign of him. No kit. No camp! The fire area had been cleaned, and all sign, ashes, everything, removed. Nothing. The light was getting late. Sylk stood up and looked around. Walking to the edge, looking at the path down, he calculated that he could not get to the ground before dark. Which meant camping on the ledge, or, possibly, getting to the ground entirely too fast. He gave a tight smile at his grim humor. He turned back around. He really could not believe his Master had left him up here. Not that he could not survive. He had passed his trial, he was a man, he needed no sitter.
Sitting down, he inventoried his supplies. He had naturally set aside some portion of every meal containing foods that spoiled slowly. He had water. He could live on this for two days. Relaxing, he realized he might be able to see that red globe and that green flash again. This excited him a bit. He decided to walk toward the center of the rock, and sit where his Master had been sitting. He strolled slowly, almost lazily, his mind elsewhere. It was warm here, he realized. The rock was warm, and seemed warmer as he moved to center. At the center, he saw something that he had managed to forget about, and was chagrined. His spear. He had not even noticed it missing. Moa’qi had possession of it last, while doing that tapping thing. Sylk had fallen asleep, and upon waking, didn’t even notice it was gone. He looked at the spear a long moment, humbled. His Master knew he would come here, and he knew he would forget about the spear. His Master was teaching him even now.
Sylk sat down in the center of Flat Rock and considered all the things he knew, and did not know, about Moa’qi.
Moa’qi was now easily the oldest in the tribe. He was also inarguably the most skilled at virtually any skill or task. Where he was not best, he was second best. He had never taken a woman, and some thought it strange, because he had also never exhibited the propensity toward being one of the Sacred Ones, those who only consorted with their own gender. He therefore had no children, but he had not become one of the de facto grandfathers of the tribe. His only close friend had held First Chair. No one else really knew much about him. After a Bruta Stampede had taken Sylk’s father, Moa’qi had been selected to pass on that knowledge which is to be passed from father to son. Which he did, with remarkable efficiency and little warmth.
Sylk felt both lucky and cheated. He could not remember his father, as he was not even one season when the accident had happened. He did realize that he had prospered greatly under Moa’qi’s tutelage. His skill, as compared to the other children of his seasons, was fuller, more complete, more mature. He was grateful and so he wondered again about his Master.
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