Day 27, total word count 45,466 as of 10am Saturday the 27th.

2,047 words this morning, 1801 yesterday.

I have three more days to go, and only 4,534 words to go. Which means, at 2k per day, plus a little, I will finish Monday. If I write anything at all tonight, which I may not, since we are doing the tree thing and having Leon's woman over for cookie baking etc., I will finish a full day early!!

Oh, Tracker1 is now named Buitre. Tracker3 is named Steropé. Tracker2 seems to have dissappeared.

excerpts:

He resumed his trek toward Steropé. As he got nearer something began to bother him, but he could not tell what it was. He slowed and closed his eyes, listening, listening. He just couldn’t place what was bothering him, so decided to systematically check on everyone he cared or was concerned about. Buitre was at The Herbalist’s. Nothing seemed specifically wrong, though he felt there may be some kind of stiffness, or strain of some sort between them. But it was not the source of his unease.

Next he checked on his mother. She seemed to be fine, just walking about the hut, doing whatever. Wait. What was that? In a flash, he was running for home, pounding down the dirt path as fast as he had ever run. Someone was stalking his mother, and they were close. Rounding a hut and speeding down the lane, his hut came into view. He slowed, determining to walk casually to his hut, and ‘accidentally’ surprise whoever it was. He realized that Moa’qi was approaching from the left as well, and felt an inward relief. Whoever, or whatever it was, was on the other side of the hut, near one of the windows. “Anuncia!” It was his Master. Or Mentor, rather. That still bothered him inside, but he couldn’t worry about that now. “Anuncia!” “Coming”, his mother replied from inside the house, and Sylk felt the intruder melt away in the opposite direction. Then the sense stopped, as if it had been lifted away.

His mother came out of the hut, and Sylk decided to hang back and circle around to see what he could see in the dirt behind the hut. Moa’qi continued on toward the hut, and engaged in some conversation with Anuncia. Sylk picked up the trail around back. It was some more of those foot prints left by someone in those food coverings. But, he had been completely unable to place it. There was something wrong about the stride as well. The foot fall didn’t look right, and the weight distribution was all wrong. He had no idea what he was looking at. The footsteps went on for some distance, then just disappeared. Sylk retraced, trying to see where he had lost them. Nothing, there they were, then there they weren’t. Stepping back he scratched his head and gazed blankly without focusing. Then he realized. The foot prints had joined together as if the person or thing was standing. The surrounding area had a mild blown back look, like a localized wind had blown down on to the foot prints. This was very confusing, and he didn’t know quite what to make about it, or what else to do about it. He decided to file it away, and quiz Moa’qi about it at day’s end. In the meantime, he decided to check on things at his hut, make sure mom was OK, and then continue on to Steropé.

At his hut, Moa’qi and Anuncia were talking about nothing at all in the entryway of the hut. Moa’qi appeared totally relaxed, and would not respond to Sylk’s subtle attempts to broach the subject of the intruder. Giving up on the attempt to get Moa’qi aside to quiz him about the stalker, Sylk advised his mother that he had made a barter with Gwadi for some quesocabra. He also explained that it would be delivered, then told his Mentor he would see him that afternoon at the Deciding Hut, and went on his way.

He walked away feeling decidedly uneasy. Something very unusual had come into the village, undetected by all save Moa’qi and himself. It had left as mysteriously as it had arrived, and the fact of its deliberate self-concealment seemed ominous. And was it coming to his hut on purpose, or just any hut? And if his hut, was it interested in him or his mother? And why would Moa’qi not make himself available for discussion? None of it made any sense. And it seemed particularly ominous in light of the coming events at the Decision Hut. A portent of things beyond control or influence, Sylk felt it vital to assess. Yet Moa’qi seemed uninterested. The extra uncalculated fluky nature of the event made Sylk extremely uneasy. Why was Moa’qi so reticent?

Feeling the need for some sort of positive action, Sylk determined now to follow-up on Steropé. He did a quick sensing and headed on over to The Herbalist, which Buitre had left, and Steropé was approaching. This he thought fortuitous, and hurried his pace to arrive shortly after Steropé. He went over in his mind again the plan designed by Moa’qi. A lot depended on Moa’qi’s read of how certain people would vote. He was particularly counting on Steropé, but Steropé had not been brought into the scheme. Sylk disagreed with this, feeling enough was in the hands of chance as it was. Moa’qi felt the character and relative quick wits of Steropé would suffice, and further believed that any overt attempt to establish a plan with multiple people could compromise Steropé, and actually endanger her.

Sylk was disinclined to agree; he would honor his Mentor’s wishes, but he still wanted to see and talk to the woman before tonight.

While on his way, he reviewed what he knew about Steropé. She was the only woman to be counted as a New Man, and a Warrior of the People. She was not one of the Sacred Ones, either, though she, like Moa’qi had no mate. Sylk had no idea how old she was, she seemed ageless in some way. There had been much consternation when she had demanded the right to Trial. Jedediah had made one of the few unpopular decisions of his reign as First Chair by permitting it to happen. Over the years, however, the fact of Steropé had become accepted, and, for the most part, no one thought much about it any longer. She was certainly among the most skilled in the tribe, both mentally and physically. She had been accepted as an equal by The Muktai, and was able to participate in all Tribal Rulings. She was a man in that respect, except she was a woman. The anomaly had ultimately been set aside as unimportant. Sylk realized as he thought about her that he was becoming totally fascinated by her, and the emotion confused him a bit. Now that he was a new man, he for the first time allowed himself thoughts of her as a woman. She was, he realized, a very striking woman at that. Sylk was not quite sure what to make of that. He kind of liked the emotion he was feeling, but wasn’t really sure what to make of it. Deciding to ignore the emotion for now, he made his way to The Herbalist.

No one in the tribe really liked The Herbalist. He was cold and distant, and could be petty and even mean. He was however, extremely talented regarding medicinal herbs, and herbs of general sana. He never failed to provide the right recipe for pretty much anyone ailments, whether it be an external bruise, or some internal injury, or broken bone. He was renowned for his headache recipe, which he had discovered on his own, and was some formulation from a certain tree bark. And, he was available to provide pain relieve of worse variety, and even, if need be, permanent pain relief for those terminal patients. This was the only time he seemed human. It genuinely affected him to have to use his herbs to kill. He did not like it, and resisted in all but the most extreme cases. He did truly have a gift. Some thought he had maybe sold his ama to the Giant Roble Tree outside of the village. In truth, he did in fact look like an old gnarled roble tree. While not liked, he was very respected for his skills and gifts, and being his apprentice would be quite a coup for the individual and a great benefit to the tribe.

He spied Steropé and The Herbalist up ahead. His hut had an additional room built onto the front, and it acted as a counseling/examination room, and medicinal formulary. He was inside the little room, with the oversized front flap propped up, creating a kind of bar area. Steropé was outside the hut, sitting on a stool, leaning over and talking earnestly to The Herbalist. He caught a fragment of the conversation as he walked up. “… how do you feel about gaining an apprentice?”

“Bah. I will live longer than anyone, as I know how to prepare my herbs and bark and roots. The tribe has no worries regarding how long I will be around.”

“Ok, but still, as a precaution…” hesitation, “never mind, that is not of any matter anyway. What matters is tonight. We can talk about what our children need tomorrow.” Here Steropé shifted position, and Sylk was suddenly aware of long supple brown legs. His arrival however, seemed to damper the conversation. He took a chance.

“Are you looking for an apprentice?”

The Herbalist turned away, making a production of looking for some specific herb for Steropé. She took advantage of this moment to flash Sylk a warning glare from angry eyes. Sylk was not sure how to read this. “Guess not”, he muttered. Turning to Steropé, he inquired after her health. She smiled and replied that she was “…fine thank you, and you?”

“I’m good”, Sylk replied. “A little tired, but looking forward to my first Decision Hut. Do you suppose my Master will be put forth for First Chair?”

The Herbalist snorted while turning around and addressed them both, “I am sure he will be nominated. In fact, there are not many who think there is any other choice. I for one realize that he surpasses any likely candidate. Yes, he will be put forth. Here is your formulation.” Sylk looked at the contents, hongos, sticks, some kind of root, sliced thin, some bark from a tree he recognized, but could not place, and something black and rubbery he had never seen.

“Thanks”, said Steropé. “Everything looks very fresh. Prepare in the usual manner?”

“Yes, put 1/3 of that package in the earthen pot I gave you, and boil with three measures of water for as long as it take you to add three more measures, while maintaining the original water level. After the third addition, remove from heat and drink it as soon as you are able to withstand the heat. That will be in the morning. Reserve the contents of the pot, and repeat the process tomorrow at Dark Fall. You may discard the contents at that time. Repeat next morning with the next third, and the day after, the next third. By the third day, you will want sleep. You should wake up on the fourth day with no complaints.”

“Thank you. I surely am indebted and grateful.”

“Bah”, was his only reply. He then turned a white bushy brow toward Sylk. “Well?”

and some more:

The Muktai to the immediate left of the one that had spoken, that would be to the right from the crowd’s vantage point, stood and announced they were accepting nominees for First Chair. Buitre immediately stood forth and nominated Moa’qi. There was a murmur in the crowd, and as the Criers called out to the village, Sylk could feel nervous movement outside. No one was surprised at the nomination, the were surprised at the nominator. Everyone there fully expected Moa’qi to be First Chair when it was all said and done. They just had not expected the nomination to come from Steropé or one of her ilk. The village was unaware of any affinity between Moa’qi and Buitre. To the people inside the Deciding Hut, it was a tad more unexpected as the body language of Buitre had revealed an unsuspected dislike for Moa’qi only moments earlier.

Moa’qi stood, and again addressed the gathering formally, “Muktai, Tribe. I respectfully decline Nomination for First Chair. I claim right as Eldest of The Tribe, to nominate someone in my place. I nominate Sylk, and relegate myself to Mentor of Sylk.”

This shocking announcement was met by a perplexed silence. The crowd outside began clamoring for word, and as the Criers began bellowing out this unexpected turn of events, the inside of the hut became riotous with shouts of dismay and surprise. Some were insulted, some felt it must be a joke. Many people just made angry noises. It was an insult and a slap to decline First Chair and nominate a child, some said. Others gathered their wits, and argued Moa’qi was well within his rights. Still others were just angry, and did not really know why. Many in the Deciding Hut were just excited. This was drama, and there was an affinity for drama and excitement among the Tribe.

The next Muktai in line stood and held his arms up toward the smoke hole. Slowly, for he was quite old himself, he approached the fire and threw a yellow powder into the flames. There was a roaring sound, and the flames leaped and expanded, and everyone felt a rush of heat. This was followed by an influx of air through the seven openings, and as the heat sucked wind and exhaled through the top of the hut, the crowd quieted. When the flames damped down to their former flicker, he addressed Moa’qi.

“You do not mean to mock the Deciding Hut?” It was phrased such that the crowd was unsure if it was a statement or a question.

Moa’qi stiffly replied, “I would not mock the Deciding Hut.”

The old Muktai turned to the other six and stated, “He is within his rights.” He returned to his seat, and the next Muktai stood and bellowed, “Sylk is nominated for First Chair. Sylk! Present Thyself!”

Trying to walk with calm confidence, struggling with butterflies and quivering legs, Sylk approached center stage and sat opposite the first of The Muktai to speak. When the last noise of the Criers had relayed this to the tribe outside, a hush fell. The pause grew turgid with expectancy. What would happen next?

The next Muktai stood and bellowed without ceremony, “Nominees!?”

Sitting, they waited for the next nominee. No one moved. Buitre was standing with a blank look on his face. All his plans had been laid low in one movement. This was a totally unexpected turn of events. He looked about, lost in his mind, trying to determine a way to salvage what had happened.

Gwadi the Cheese Maker stepped forward. “I nominate The Herbalist!

Now there was a sense of excitement in the hut as the news was transferred by the Criers to the anxious crowd outside. Again, a not unexpected nomination, and again a totally unexpected source of nomination. A party atmosphere began to grow outside the Deciding Hut. Inside the tension was of a different nature. However, there was a murmur of approval as it was realized this may heal the rift between Gwadi and The Herbalist. The next to last of the Muktai stood and bellowed, “The Herbalist is nominated for First Chair. Herbalist! Present Thyself!”

The Herbalist came forward with a bemused expression on his face, acknowledged The Muktai, nodded to Sylk, and took his place amid a buzz from the gallery. Again, The Muktai had to prompt for nominees, as none were forthcoming. The final Muktai stood and bellowed, “Nominees! And let us continue with alacrity!”

Two more people were nominated and summoned, taking their seats. One, the Tanner, was a good man. The other, the Vela Maker, was in the minds of many, kind of a throwaway nominee. They had to fill seven after all, and he had been nominated and lost before. But there were certain rights to having been nominated, and the Vela Maker was deserving of those rights, and no one wanted them to go away. The people were actually happy to see him up there again.

In the midst of the relative calm, Steropé stood, “I nominate Buitre!”

This again created a stir and as the Criers shouted out to the village, there was some dismay. Buitre was clearly a good man, very talented and knowledgeable. But, he seemed to be drawn to power, and there was some concern among the tribe. First Chair was a servant position, in essence. Many wondered if Buitre had the temperament for the position.

Buitre was visibly livid. He came forward, acknowledged the nomination, and sat gruffly, folding his arms and glaring at the ground before him.

Sylk had turned to watch as Steropé had made her nomination. He caught a glimpse of momentary triumph in Moa’qi’s eyes as she named Buitre. Sylk realized that Steropé had performed as Moa’qi had planned. He turned back around while Buitre approached center stage, and thought through the ramifications.

The last Tribal Sacred One stood and nominated Steropé. All the old wounds were torn open at that point. A woman could not be First Chair! It was unheard of, and unthinkable. Many thought Steropé was destined to be one of The Sacred Ones, as she had no mate, and seemed uninterested in men. Others noted she seemed uninterested in women as well, and therefore she was not likely a Sacred One. This started many side conversations regarding The Sacred Ones and their place in the Tribe. Often over the years there were no Sacred Ones. The anomaly that was a Sacred One just did not manifest that often. They were regarded as a sort of treasure, as they had sensibilities and a world view that often was beneficial to the Tribe. They were considered a gift, because, as noted, they were not always in place. It was not an elected position. A person was born to it or not.

The far more pressing issue was the fact that again the ranks of “Man Only” jobs were being threatened by a woman.
Steropé stood and strode majestically to center stage, and all the noise petered out. She was in fact well liked by all, and no one wanted to insult her, at least not to her face. She was the essence of composure as she took her seat.

The final nomination went to The Arbiter. This was the only other serious contender to First Chair after Moa’qi. The Arbiter was skilled at negotiating and conflict resolution. Many would support him and the crowd began to believe they were watching the New First Chair approach center stage.

The eldest of The Muktai stood and addressed the Tribe, “Behold, your nominees for First Chair! Let their names be remembered as they stand to present themselves.” One by one the nominees were called in reverse order:

Day 25, Thanksgiving night, total words: 41,618

Total words typed today: 2,299. Why not one more word and make it 2300? Dunno. That's where I stopped.

I sleepy. L-Triptophan at work. Madame Bovarie, not being a bird eater, is sleepy from l-Triptoham.

Had a Happy Thanksgiving. Good Night. fb

ps What no excerpts? Please see my pay site, SignoftheScreamingforMoneyHead.com

har har de har.

Day 25, 40,570 total word count. Thanksgiving Day!!

Happy Thanksgiving Day, and here's to hoping my story is not a Turkey!!

Today's Thanksgiving Excerpt:

“More importantly, you have opened my mind to the possibility of accomplishing the required training. We shall have to make use of the subterfuge of the Morning Light Run and take advantage of those early hours just before the light chases the sombre away. You will have to will yourself to feel that sense again. Just at that moment when Dark yields to Light. In fact, I think it is related to the green flash phenomena.

“Regardless, at this point, I can no longer be your Master.”

Sylk gaped at Moa’qi. “B-b-but, w-why?”

“Because, you have surpassed me. You can do something that I cannot. I am now your Mentor, not your Master.”

Sylk just stared without fully appreciating Moa’qi’s point.

Beaming broadly, “Sylk, this is a good thing. In fact, it is a wonderful thing, and brings my plan to fruition. This is so fortuitous, it causes one to wonder.” Focusing on Sylk, he said carefully, “I need you to stay awake a little while longer. I have things to plan, and you need to understand carefully your role in tomorrow’s events. Can you do this?”

“Yes”, replied Sylk, fire dancing in his eyes.

Moa’qi began talking, and Sylk began listening with every fibre of his being. They planned and schemed until well into near First Light before Moa’qi stood and said it was time for sleep. Taking his leave, he bid Sylk to sleep well for, “Tomorrow is Important.”


Chapter the nearing the end

Sylk went into his sleeping room while his mother put away the mugs and tea kettle. Laying down, he rolled back over to ask her a question, and found his mother preparing breakfast in the bright of Day. It had happened again. He sat up and took stock. He felt great! Relaxed, rested, no stiffness, nothing sore. Another timeless sleep. He came smoothly and easily to his feet and walked in to the food prep area. Once again, he had forgotten the question he had rolled over to ask. Thinking this rather odd, he was quiet, exchanging minimal small talk with his mother while he ate and thought about the coming events.

“Mother?”

“Yes my son.”

“You are aware of today’s schemings and plans?”

“Yes my son.”

“Have you no thoughts on these matters?”

Anuncio paused in her cleaning of the cooking utensils. Turning to her son, she managed, with some pain, “Sylk, this day was foreordained when we lost your father. Moa’qi is a man apart from the tribe, beginning since the loss of my husband, and continuing with the passing of Jedediah. When I accepted him as your Sustito, I knew that my dreams of a simple life would end. There will be separation and trials, and”, here she stifled a sob, “and sadness. We come to a crossroads, ordained in time before any memory of the Tribe can access. Events unfold, and we must respond as best we can. And hope. Against hope.”

She turned away, but not before Sylk saw the tears. Not knowing what to say, or how to comfort her, he finished, put up his utensils, and hugged his mother for a long time. “I will be careful, my mother. I am well-trained, and not without some skill. But mostly, I know what I don’t know. That seems to me to be more important than anything, at this point.”

She just clung tight for a moment more, and then he was out the door and down the path toward Center Village.


At Center Village, the large but disposable Deciding Hut was well under construction. Here the drama would be enacted. Sylk reviewed carefully all the various parts of this play. Noting mentally the current whereabouts of the various players, sensed through his feet even through the bustle of the morning activities, he decided to reconnoiter.

He looked for Tracker1 first, deciding that would he could stumble across him the easiest, due to his current location, outside the cheese maker’s hut. It would be simple enough to barter for some cheese, if necessary, as it was a normal morning activity. He could tell Tracker1 was nervous and excited. He too, no doubt, had plans for today. There was a Mankala Game underway, and by DarkFall it would be known who had won and at what cost. Coming around one hut, Sylk saw the two talking, Tracker1 and Gwadi. Walking up, he exchanged the morning greetings, and bid them to continue their business. However, Tracker1 was loathe to continue, and made some excuse for not having made his selection yet. Clearly, he had things to say to Gwadi that he did not want Sylk privy to. So Sylk arranged for some quesocabra, including enough barter points for delivery, and went on his way. Mentally, he determined to be aware of who all Tracker1 visited this morning prior to Selection.

Next he went looking for his closest child friend. Krugar would not be expecting this, as Sylk was no longer a boy. But Krugar would be on his trial at the start of the Season Change, and Sylk wanted to make sure that once they were both Men, they would resume their association. Krugar was outside his hut, playing a game in the dirt with some other kids. He looked up as Sylk came toward him, smiling and obviously please to see his friend. Sylk knelt down, and greeted his friend enthusiastically, telling him the trial was not all that, and assuring him that he had complete faith his friend would give a good account of himself. “I look forward to your Ceremony, my childhood friend!” Krugar smiled, said thanks, and watched a little sadly as his boyhood friend walked away. They had stretched the strictures of custom just about as far as they could without drawing open comment, and Krugar was grateful.

Eat sparingly. fb

Day 24, am; 38,590 total word count.

The Ceremony of Attainment:

She paused, stood, and hugged her son. “Come! The ceremony is beginning!”

Sylk realized he had been swaying to the drum beats as his mother had relayed the story. There was so much he wanted to know, about his Father, Jedediah, Moa’qi. But, it was going to have to wait. The Ceremony beckoned.

Exiting the hut, they made their way to the main thoroughfare, and into the center of the village. The fire had been started, and was climbing skyward sending sparks as messengers on up to the impenetrable dark above. They would tell those that live beyond the clouds, that the village had a new man, and an intrepid warrior. The drumming and foot stomping created a hypnotic vibration, all the more due to Sylk’s enhanced sensory perception.

Several children detached from the encircling crowd, and surrounded him, pulling and pushing and tugging at him. He was brought near to the bonfire, where a stool had been place, and made to sit amid laughter and smiles. The drumming was phased out, and replaced wholly by the foot stomping. Various sections began their rhythmic stomps. It was in fact a chorus, with bass and treble notes, and even solos. Complex patterns were evoked, and then the chanting began. It was a variation of the flora/fauna game, with chanting instead of whistling, and the added element of energetic stomping and whirling. The story was told again of the beginning of all the world, and the development of The People. Powers clashed, and deities came and went, worlds made and unmade, but the people were extant through it all. Into this was brought the Tale of Moab and The Seven Virgins, and his quest for knowledge and understanding, and most importantly, his place in the schema of life. There was an incredible journey over incomprehensible vastnesses of water bodies. Encounters were had with seven different resources, holders of knowledge and wisdom, in some cases. In others, the authors of trials that led Moab to his own discoveries, and his own successes and failures.

Ultimately, Moab became a man through interaction with one of the virgins. Which virgin usually changed, depending on who told the story, or the proclivities of the people listening to the story. Tonight it was Celebourine, the Riddler, and the Riddle was Sylk.

Fascinated by the story, and the rhythm, and nearly hypnotized by the total sensory experience, he wondered idly who was responsible for this riddling version, and if they knew how close to reality they were. For he realized his life was a riddle and that he must go on his own journey to seek the knowledge of the Seven Virgins. It was as he had this thought that he caught, amid the stomping, a familiar vibration. Searching the crowd of jumping swirling figures he saw who he was looking for. His Master, Moa’qi. Nodding in his direction, Moa’qi returned the nod, and disappeared into the undulating masses.

The story was ending, and the foot stomping slowed and quieted, and the drums picked up again. A slow mournful dirge began, and his Father was remembered by the tribe. It was the custom that the Father approach the Son and place the Circlet of Manhood upon the brow. But as his father was no more, his memory was paid respect by the tribe as a whole with this short memorial. As it ended, the stomping began again, and Moa’qi came from the crowd, bearing the Circlet. With each step the stomping became louder and more coherent. One foot up, step forward, foot begins downward measured step, just as it touches the ground, STOMP! Slow and measured, it was easy to believe the entire Tribe was walking toward him, embodied in the person of Moa’qi.

STOMP!

Complete silence, punctuated by the crackling of the fire. Moa’qi held forth the Circlet, mouthed something in the air in some language that Sylk could not place, and which only he could hear, then lightly dropped the Circlet atop his brown. Taking two steps back, Moa’qi turned to the Village and bellowed, “ BEHOLD!”

Hasta la bye bye.

Day 23, pm; 37,302 total. 2111 today

Still on track to finish Nov 30.

Today's excerpt:

Tracker1 was just beginning to pick up his hiking kit when he saw Sylk approaching. This surprised him, and threw him even more off balance. He had no idea what to do or say. This was not a youth, not by Tribal custom, but, he was still young, and physically he was not fully into his prime. While he had no fondness for Sylk, he also harbored no particular ill will. He had called him a youth from force of habit.

Sylk walked up and performed the ritual greeting, and Tracker1 fell into the comfort of routine. They touched forehead, throat, solar plexus, bowed deeply and returned to lock gazes. Sylk said “Good Fortune on your Return”, a neutral greeting with no overtones. Tracker1 responded equally neutral with, “May your dew gatherers be overflowing.”

Formalities ended, the stood for a moment. Tracker1 looked at Sylk and said, “I know that you have passed your Trial, and are no youth.”

Sylk replied, “I do not believe you intended insult. Much of the normal routine is gone. Under the usual circumstances, I would have arrived in the village, there would have been the Ceremony of Attainment, and I would gradually have entered into Man Talk. As none of that happened, I think you simply spoke out of force of habit, not out of malice or insult. Therefore, I take no insult, and where none is taken, none can be given.”

Tracker1 looked carefully at Sylk, but detected no false pride or sense of superiority. “You are clearly a Man of the Tribe.”

Sylk noted this, and stated, “Let’s put this to the past, and move forward. I must catch up to my Master. I bid you safe journey.” Tracker1 mumbled an appropriate response, and watched as Sylk turned and sprinted off toward the village.

He had a hard time categorizing his emotions. Part of him was angry, really at himself, but it was his nature to project his emotions onto others. Tracker1 did not understand the concept of introspection. He was relieved that the kid had spared him the embarrassment of having to face the tribe having insulted Sylk. He wanted to be upset at the fact the impertinent youth had forgiven him. However, he could not muster any real anger, so he just chewed on bitter thoughts, and nursed old grudges. By the time he was walking to the village, he had managed to find a way to blame Moa’qi. This made him feel better, and he was almost cheery on the return trip.


Moa’qi had watched Sylk leave, and stood on the trail as the two Trackers approached. He explained that Sylk was going back to try to mend the rift, and that he would wait there for him. The two Trackers commented on the courage and general upstanding nature of Sylk, and continued on toward the village. Moa’qi watched until they were well out of sight, and then listened with his feet to see if there were any change in path, or slowing up of their pace. As there were no changes, he took off at a ground swallowing pace, angling away from the probable path of both Sylk and Tracker1, and heading toward the body.

He wanted to see the condition, and judge the cause of death. He searched the sky for any sign of the Cadaver Cleaners, that usually would circle any body. There were none, and this caused him consternation. He also was listening and tracking the locations of Sylk and Tracker1. They were on path to the village, nothing unusual there. He loped on, wondering if Sylk could be wrong. Then, as he came over a rise, he spied the blue/grey uniform of The Other, and slowed to a stop. It was as Sylk had said. The man was laying on his side, apparently dead, but, offering no sign but a visual one. His face was hidden in the ground and partially under one arm. Moa’qi had a sensation of, well, not of cold, really more of just absence. This was outside his realm of experience, and he did not know what to make of it.

Deciding to experiment, he gathered up some pebbles and bits of wood, and started by throwing one at the body. What he saw, he had a hard time comprehending, so he did it again. Same thing. So, he changed position, getting closer as well, and threw another small rock. He watched carefully as the rock nearly landed on the body, then slowed, and kind of poured off to the side, as if it had been caught in the sweet syrup sometimes poured on flatcakes. It just kind of landed, and slid to one side, slowly. He thought he noticed something just before it hit the ground, so he tried again with a stick. Yes. Just as the stick slid off to the side, there was a brief moment before it hit the ground when it was ‘let go’ by whatever was coating the body.

Moa’qi decided to vary his experiment, he searched about until he found a good sized rock, about the size of his head. He carried it with some difficulty to the body, lifted it, and dropped it where it would hit the shoulder. He watched carefully to see if the body would move or flinch or otherwise be affected by the weight landing on it. The rock fell, and actually slowed, coming almost to a stop on top of the shoulder and arm of the body. It hesitated, and Moa’qi on his hands and knees, could see that the rock did not touch the body. There was a sliver of light between the rock and the body. Then the rock slid slowly toward the chest side of the body, and melted it’s way down the side, and around the obstruction of the left arm trapped underneath, and slowly edged away from the fingers until coming to rest in the dirt.

He stood and looked at what was before him. It made no sense, and he could not think of anything he knew, or had ever heard of that would explain this queer behavior of the body, and things touching it. Not knowing what else to do, he decided to attempt something new. He went in search of a small tree from which he could break a large, still living limb. He would prod the body with the insulation of the living stick, and see what he could see.

Finding a suitable stick, he proceeded without success to touch the body. Pushing slowly and deliberately, the end of his branch would encounter a sticky-slidyness, and, try as he might, would slowly glance off to one side or the other. He tried prodding, then pulling away, and immediately pushing back, thinking that perhaps at that moment when it let go of the stick, it would rebound in some way, and not be as effective. No luck. Finally, as much out of frustration as anything else, he simply took to whacking at the body with the stick, and thinking while he would pull the stick off the body. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, absently raising the stick and then bringing it down, ‘whack’. He would then lift again, having become interested in feeling the sensation of the stick being caught in tree sap or something like it, then suddenly being let go, when on the last whack, he couldn’t lift the stick.

later dudes.

Day 21, pm; 34,028 total, 2613 today.

On track and ready to roll downhill from here. Except I don't think 50000 words is enough to finish the story...

We shall see.

excerpt:

Sylk had not expected this, and sat down, hoping the rest would follow suit, giving him time to think. Gratefully, he watched as Moa’qi and Tracker3 immediately sat, and were then joined by Tracker1 and Tracker2.

Choosing his words carefully, he began, “I am not understanding why I am the only suitable apprentice for The Herbalist.” As there was no response, he continued, “Also, I am unsure why this seems to be the best tack to alleviating the tension between Gwadi and The Herbalist. Sure, he may be distracted, but it seems to me that Gwadi overplayed her hand. Since she rarely does or says anything without fully understanding the repercussions, it seems to me that she desires this discomfort.”

There was some silence and some uneasy shifting by the men. Tracker1 started to speak, “You meddle in things…”, but was cut off by Tracker3, “You are a perceptive one. Yes, Gwadi’s actions were deliberate. But, The Muktai do not agree with her. While The Herbalist is the one visibly upset, Gwadi is the one potentially in trouble with the Tribe.”

“Still, this is not really appropriate to discuss with a youth.”

Moa’qi stood abruptly, gathered his things and began to walk off. He did not offer any ritual departure nicety, nor did he look back. Sylk, his face red from the insult, quickly gathered up his things and hurried after him. He also did not look back. Tracker2 and Tracker3 gave withering looks to Tracker1, and turned from him to gather up their own belongings. Tracker1 looked uncomprehendingly at the two other trackers, then at the vanishing figures of Sylk and Moa’qi. He stood and looked at the Trackers, and asked, “What?”

Derisively, Tracker2 said over his shoulder as he walked away, “Sylk completed his trial. In fact, he looks downright healthy after a month in the wild. I remember your dead ass dragging in from your trial. You nearly died out there. And, he has been apprenticed to the premier man of the Tribe.” Snorting, then spitting, he finished, “You called him a youth.”

The two Trackers walked on and did not look back. Tracker1 finally understood. He had insulted a New Man and a Warrior of the People. He had called a Man that had successfully completed his trial, a youth. It was about the only insult that could not be taken back. He stood there, rapidly becoming alone, and pondered his options. Truly, he had not meant to insult. He was not really about all that. He hung his head down, and looked at the ground.

Meanwhile, Sylk, reeling from the insult, walked silently beside Moa’qi. Something about the whole thing really disturbed him. It took him about 200 paces to sort it out. This was not good, and it was not to anyone’s benefit. He looked up at Moa’qi, and made that observation aloud. His Master surprised him with a huge smile and a clap on the shoulder. “Yes, that is very true. So, the question becomes, who can fix it and how?” Sylk stopped and looked back from where they had come. He raised his arms slightly, spear in one hand, as if to say, “What can I do?”

Interpreting the gesture correctly, Moa’qi replied, “Remember, in the Tale of Moab and the Seven Virgins, when he meets with Pittacus of Mytilene?”

“I’m not sure I’ve heard that verse.”

“No? That’s odd. Here, I’ll give you the Maxim. The entire verse you will learn later. Pittacus stated that ‘forgiveness is better than repentance’.”
Sylk understood immediately, and turned back on the trail. He would go to Tracker1, and they would have a meeting of the minds. He stopped himself though, remembering The Other in the wilderness, the strangely dead/inert One. “Master, on my run I came across what I believe to be the male Other that injured the woman.” Moa’qi stiffened, and took Sylk by the shoulder. “Where?”

Using the Flora/Fauna game, he whistled the location markers, knowing that would be the fastest way to explain. Then he added, quietly, as the other Trackers approached. “He’s – dead. At least I think so. He was badly burned, one leg beyond recognition, almost gone. Yet…”, he hesitated, not knowing how to explain, “he was – strange. Frozen. Not cold. No heat. I – I couldn’t touch him.”

Moa’qi looked intently at him, listening carefully. He was nodding absently, and when Sylk finished he just looked up, then back toward where the body was. Seeming to come to a decision of some sort, he looked back down at Sylk and said, “Do what you must. I will see you in the village tomorrow.”

Sylk looked at him, “Tomorrow?”

“Go!”

Sylk went.

ciao baby, got to mambo.

Day 21, am; 33,236 as of 9:30 am Sunday.

I will have to type much more today. Got kind of sick yesterday, and only did 1,245 total words that morning, none at night. the previous day, only typed 954 words. So, today is a make up day. Typed 1821 words this morning before this post.

So, I shall provide a three fer excerpt, going back in time a bit. Caution. There be typos aplenty. Also, this is longer than usual, to make up for missing so many days of posting.

Lastly, those of you that wish, feel free to make any comments by clicking on the comment link at the end of each post. You can post anonymously.

the first of three:

“How would the Tribe not know?” asked Tracker2.

“Simple enough. This apprenticeship, made in the wild, with only us five as witnesses, is simply not addressed. There is a public display when Sylk is apprenticed to The Herbalist. Afterward, as Sylk goes out to meet the needs of herb gathering, Moa’qi can meet with him out of sight of the Tribe, and conduct the bulk of his training in the wild.”

Tracker3 opened his mouth, then closed it, attempting to mask this change of mind with a long sip of coffee. Moa’qi peered at Tracker3 from under his brow, while considering the suggestion of Tracker1. Tracker2 offered, “This duplicity does not seem right. Usually only ill comes from such deliberate subterfuge.”

Tracker1 nodded, saying in a conciliatory manner, “It’s just a suggestion. I suppose we can just leave the situation with Gwadi and The Herbalist alone, and let nature run as it will.” No one seemed comfortable with that. Stirring from his self-imposed silence, Moa’qi asked, “Are there no other suitable candidates for apprenticeship to The Herbalist?”

Tracker3 replied, “None with Sylk’s aptitude. He is, as you noted, somewhat unique.” Tracker2 agreed with a nod. Tracker1 was silent. Finally Moa’qi spoke, “I am against this surreptitious apprenticeship in principle and in fact. Nothing good can come of it, and frankly, I cannot honestly state that Sylk will not be the worse for this. The need for me to train in private will mean that I cannot take advantage of those opportunities that present themselves in the course of events. The quality of the training will drop dramatically. I doubt I can pass on what I must.”

“What then, of Gwadi?” asked Tracker1.

More silence. Each man alone with his thoughts, the Dark wore on. Finally, Tracker3 suggested they sleep on the issue, and discuss openly in the morning. Sylk startled the men by piping in with “Good idea! That way I can sleep, and tomorrow I can actually be involved in my destiny!” Tracker3 chuckled and bid everyone good night. Tracker2 continued to sip his coffee and stare at the fire. When he finally finished, he also turned in. Sylk actually fell asleep at this time, and thus missed the conversation between Moa’qi and Tracker1.

excerpt 2:

Silence ensued. Tracker1 was off-balance. This was not going the way he wanted. He had wanted to apprentice Sylk to The Herbalist, but it may be that it would not happen naturally. For reasons that he barely dared think on, he did not want Sylk apprenticed to Moa’qi. But he was, and there was no denying it, with three witnesses.

However, First Chair could make decisions for the good of the Tribe, and depending on who was First Chair, he could potentially influence the flow of things in the Tribe. And have the right people apprenticed to the right people.
Probing, he asked Moa’qi, “Will you then refuse the office?”
“As you mentioned earlier, Tracker1, there is another time and another place for this conversation.”

An emotion that had been bubbling below the surface in Tracker1 for several years came to the surface. He did not know what to name it, he just felt it. A seething violent sensation. Moa’qi was so smug, so self assured. Truth be unshaded, Tracker1 was afraid of Moa’qi and felt inferior. However, his temperament would not allow him to feel inferior, and so he twisted a bit inside, and found or manufactured numerous instances of some slight or other perpetrated against him by Moa’qi. He sat in the dark, nursing his ill will, and plotting. He did not turn in for a long time.

excerpt 3 (please note, i have also taken to not naming the chapters, and I lost count, so bear that in mind.:

Chapter whichever

Sylk felt a prickling sensation over his whole body, and was instantly awake. It was still Dark Time, and there was absolutely nothing to see. Playing across his body was a tingling that was somehow familiar. Laying still in the total darkness, he struggled with his memory, trying to place the sensation, trying to remember where or when he had felt it. The sensation was so strong and unmistakable, sweeping over him from left to right. Not until it passed, and his body no longer subjected to the dancing touch playing across his body, was he able to begin to search his memory cleanly.

Holding still, staring into the opaqueness above him, he was drawn back in his mind to the morning of the dying girl. When the impossible vessel that (what did his Master call it, a ScramJet?) had come from the sky and rotated, he had felt a muted version of this sensation. It had happened as what he took for the nose of the conveyance had rotated past him. Gently rotating his head in the direction the prickling sensation had left him, he thought he could barely discern a reddish sparkling crossing the ground. As it encountered the sleeping form of one of the Trackers, there was a wraithlike interplay of blue and red dancing and flitting across the body. Then it was gone.

Laying in the dark, his senses straining, he strove to feel, hear, see, taste, touch, anything. A Bruta herd lay off a day’s march oblique to the village. He could feel the three Trackers. Moa’qi he had recognized by comparison with the three. This surprised and intrigued him. He had not noticed Moa’qi before, except when he was moving. He theorized that he had been sensing him along, but that his mind had disregarded the information as non-vital. But this morning, after the prickling sensation, when he was not taking anything for granted, he could now feel things that were not moving, like The Bruta, or his Master.

One of the night crawling ropy creatures was moving into it’s den in the ground. From this Sylk knew that morning was coming. He realized at that moment that the timing of the prickling sensation had been when people were often deepest asleep. Slowly and noiselessly he contracted his abdominals and hip flexors and sat up.

It was still pitch black, and there was not yet even a hint that Dark was surrendering to Light on the horizon. Yet, it must be close to time. Faintly then, he felt a new sensation, a strange yet this time familiar feeling. Dew began to precipitate out of the chill dark. He felt it form on his skin and in his light clothing. He almost felt that he could see it, then realized that Light was coming. He watched as drops appeared on his forearm, coalesced and slid. He was intent, comparing and contrasting visual information with what his skin was sending. He noted the dew gatherer nearest to him, as it gradually filled. And for the first time he realized he was awake before his Master.

Ok, bonus excerpt:

Moa’qi finished up the movement by bending his elbows and allowing his hands to come naturally down and to his sides, and then forward to lightly rest on his knees, at the original starting point. The last vestige of breath was released through these final actions, and then he breathed naturally. Sylk realized it was morning. Every movement had mimicked the action of Light sweeping through Dark, and had been timed accordingly. There had been two full breaths. Enormously deep and controlled inhalations, and immaculate, deliberate exhalations. Sylk had also perceived a certain resonance within Moa’qi’s body. It seemed to be to, or from, or maybe in response to or acknowledgment of, the high frequency oscillation he felt from the light source on the horizon. A queer kind of sense memory flooded his mind, and he realized the light source contained, at a lower kind of intensity, or was it simply that it was competing with numerous other pulsations, that prickly sensation he had experienced in the Dark. As he was noticing that, it disappeared, covered or masked by the riot of sensation his skin was feeling from the Light. The innervation almost overwhelmed him, and he shook his head and more or less turned off or set his perceptions on mute, that he could recover and not be insensate due to over-stimulation.

He stood abruptly, slaking the dew from his body in a detached automatic manner. Struggling with the urge to run and shout, the nervous tension in his body felt unbearable. He looked mutely at his Master, raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, and bolted. He ran away from the coming light, toward the vestige of Sombre disappearing at the opposite horizon. Legs pumping furiously, he distracted his mind with exercise. He ran until his lungs were pounding, and legs tiring, and he pushed himself harder still. His mind had to come to grips with the demands on the body, and he began to regulate and husband the breath, changing his breathing pattern to allow for easier inhalation and more fluid and less constricted exhalation. This reduced the somewhat antagonistic relationship found then the heart and lungs are called upon at the same time, when the deep breaths can constrict and inhibit smooth pumping, and engendered an environment conducive to a cooperative effort. Of necessity, he had slowed some, and was no longer at the frantic, nearly panicked pace, but he was till running at what most would consider top speed. His healthy tuned body was coming under control, and he ran now with a will and determination to rid himself of what he imagined were the toxins of too much thinking and not enough action. Running hard, he rounded a bush and began a sweeping circle to take him round to camp. He could feel his mind relaxing, and his gait slowed, though it was still a run, not a trot or jog. He was moving at probably 3/5ths speed when he spied the body ahead. He was moving so fast that he could do nothing but leap through the air, and over the body. He did not stop running, but did slow. He judged from the location and the size that it was likely The Other from Flat Rock that had injured the girl. He noted the location, the lay of the land, some key markers on the horizon, and slowed to a trot that he could practice a flora fauna whistle marker to relay to Moa’qi. He struggled with how to identify The Other, as there was not a whistle sign for that entity. Finally, he melded a symbol for a Tribe Mate, and Bruta. He hoped that Moa’qi would make the connection, and that the Trackers would simply think he botched one or the other. His Master would know better, since he had demonstrated mastery on their hike to Flat Rock.

And finally, to get us up to speed:

“Let’s eat!” from Tracker3. Tracker1 did not participate in any of this, seeming aloof. He did come and sit and eat, and eventually the shared camaraderie of a relaxed meal in the open brought him out. Soon they were all talking and exchanging trail chit chat like normal. Sylk reflected on the value of shared mealtime. Truly salubrious, it could heal emotional wounds, mend minor infractions, efface distrust and replace with understanding. He smiled as he ate, feeling very good, and with an appetite to match. Tracker3 interrupted his thoughts with a question that he was doubly curious to hear answer.

“Moa’qi”, he began, “what may you tell us of this apprenticeship of Sylk’s and the Morning Sun Run?” Sylk paused in his eating, wondering what the response would be, since he knew there was no such thing, and it was a cover up for his indiscretion and lack of control this morning.

“I will share this with you, as it is not so much a secret of training or apprenticeship, as it is a conveniently forgotten tribal principle.” Moa’qi shifted easily and sipped some cardamom coffee. “You see, during the night, the breathing oftentimes becomes shallow. Why do we breathe? Of course so that we stay alive, we all know that. But how does it work?” He paused while everyone thought this through.” The old ones, of which perhaps I am the only one in that range today, used to tell us children that there was some sort of exchange taking place inside. They used to say ‘Out with the old air, in with the new air’. I asked my Master one day, why that saying started with out, rather than in, since if you don’t breathe in, you will die. He responded with a question, as he oftentimes did and asked me if we wouldn’t die if we didn’t breathe out. I had no answer of course, and told him so. So, he explained that we kind of do what fire does. We burn our food, and we must get rid of the smoke. He said it was just as important to get the poison smoke out of our bodies as it was to get the fresh clean air inside. He said the lungs can become partially full of this smoke, and we can lose some of the capacity for removal of smoke, if we don’t make sure that we use all the lungs at least for some period of time. He stated that since we are inherently lazy, the best way to do this was to run. Running hard, because of the demands placed on the body, both a need for clean air, but, and this he insisted quite clearly, the more important requirement to rid the body of smoke, forced the lungs to be used to capacity. And, he added, that it appeared that this type of huffing and puffing was in general a very good tonic for the whole system.

“My Master added that the morning time was the best time for this because the air was the cleanest and freshest, and so you weren’t breathing in any ‘smoke’ to add to the smoke you must be rid of. So, for years, he had me do the morning run. Not a jog, mind you, but a run until you can’t run. It doesn’t require much time or much distance. Up hill is best. But, here I sit, healthy and whole, and I believe because of the morning run.”

“But,” objected Tracker3, “I have never seen you run. You did not run this morning.”

“Quite true. That, though is the secret part of the apprenticeship that I shall not share.” And that ended that line of conversation.

toodley oodley ooo