Leaves of Urth

Neryn

I claim first leaf!

I wrote the meat of this one pretty fast, because I already had the idea from an earlier brainstorm. The main character's motivation isn't evident in what I originally wrote, so I wrote and rewrote trying to weave in sufficient explanation for his actions. I didn't like my first effort--too much tell and not enough show--but this latest draft is still probably a head-scratcher. Still, my rewritings weren't really addressing my concerns, and the constant edits were starting to fragment what I had, so I decided to pause and post.

There isn't much description, of the characters or the setting, but I had the Harnes capital in mind as I wrote it.

nomlet 01.13.08

Neryn

"Now this is Kalimari, of course. The materials are crude, but the countenance is all the more fearsome for it, I think."

A line of masks adorned the wall of a wide corridor, and the speaker stood back to examine the largest one on the end.

"You are quite right, and I quite agree." A man with a lamp nodded at his elbow. "See here, I'm told the lacquer used is actually blood, from a sacred bull, a violent breed, quite different from the lazy cows here in the south."

Streaks in the dried blood glimmered in the lamplight like sweat in the face of a fire. The howling mouth and wide, dark eyes enhanced an expression of primitive fever.

"Too large to be worn, certainly," remarked Neryn.

"I believe they hold them thusly." Hollowin pantomimed holding the mask with both hands, as though hiding behind a shield. "For war dances and the like. Wild affairs, by all accounts. This large one belonged to the chief, of course."

"A chieftain you say? You are braver than I to possess one. The Kalimari are renowned far more for their ferocity in battle than for their generosity with gifts."

"Ha, ha! I should indeed be afraid if they ranged so far. As it is, I must rely on your protection should one of the barbarians come to retrieve my prize."

"Had I known I might be called upon to slay a thief, I would have brought a weapon! A dagger at the least!" Neryn patted the front of his robes in feigned distress.

"Ah, ha, ha!" Light danced about the hall, sharing the amusement of the lamp bearer. Illumination settled on a sturdy wooden door and Hollowin fished in his pockets for the key.

"You have an interest in old scribblings? Let me show you some of my recent acquisitions."

The door opened on a large, windowless room. There was no longer a need for the lamp, as the chamber was artfully lit with discreet globes of soft magelight. Hollowin bowed his guest inside, unable to restrain a smile of pride. Neryn strode forward, eyes darting from treasure to treasure.

"Ah! An exquisite Calipoe carpet!"

"Yes! Don't you think?"

"Brilliant color—they take the dye so well—but they stain so easily."

"Oh yes. I keep it with these rare books—also quite delicate—here in the library. If I want for refreshment with my reading, I take a volume to the dining room or the veranda."

Neryn turned to the indicated books, displayed in a fabulous case of polished wood. He took a dramatic step back, as if staggered by the sight.

"My word!" exclaimed Neryn. "The De Sotan Fables-a complete collection, am I mistaken?-and a fine example!"

Hollowin nodded, beaming beside his guest.

"And... are these Jakite scrolls?" Neryn crouched at the bottom rack for a closer examination.

"Why, yes," said Hollowin, surprised to have the obscure work recognized. "I confess, you amaze me with the breadth of your knowledge, Master Neryn."

"Have you had them examined by a scholar?" queried Neryn. "I don't suppose you've had any of it translated?"

"Translated? No, no, not yet." In truth, Hollowin was not a reader. He valued books for their capacity to impress rather than to inform. "Po Paulo glanced at them when he was last here."

The bard, Po Paulo, happened to be quite fashionable in the region presently. Neryn smiled knowingly at his host's name dropping.

"And what did he say?"

"Oh, that they are Jakite, as you say. Something about a fantastic treasure they were said to have. It got them sacked by their neighbors you know. Po Pa claimed to know a sad song about them. Heart-wrenching, he said. He threatened to sing it, but I wouldn't hear of it. He was here for the Spring Ball and that is no time for tragedies. He performed a lovely piece by Guarmes though."

"Guarmes? The one with the fairy and the wishes? An excellent choice. The Jakite tale is certainly too dark for such a cheery event. No fairy wishes there. Though I wonder what use they might have made with a wish?"

"Ha, ha! I'm sure I don't know." Hollowin chuckled, stepping around a small table toward a display of leather bound volumes.

"Perhaps not to be looted by their neighbors," suggested Neryn.

"Ah, ha! You sport a dry wit! Quite right!" Hollowin traced the spine of a thick book, prepared to entertain his guest with the story of its acquisition, but Neryn had not joined him. He remained on one knee, staring at the old scrolls.

"Are you a collector yourself?" Hollowin asked.

"No, no," sighed Neryn. "Far too much the vagabond for that, I'm afraid." He rose slowly to his feet, taking his eyes from the scrolls with an effort.

"A pity." Hollowin offered his sympathy. "Though it's a narrow man who would discount the benefit of extensive travel. However, I wonder if in all your ranging you've come across the likes of this-"

"As it happens, I do carry with me a small trinket." Neryn interrupted as though he had not heard. "One you might find interesting."

His guest's sober turn banked Hollowin's mood somewhat, but it sparked intrigue as well.

Neryn slowly untied a small pouch from his belt. The pouch was fine cloth of gold and securely tied; Hollowin's mouth began to water. Neryn held the cloth thoughtfully in one hand, and it looked to Hollowin as though he weighed it like a treasure. A slow smile spread to Hollowin's eyes as he accepted the offered pouch.

"It is a small piece, but quite dear to me," said Neryn in a soft, absent voice.

Hollowin restrained his curiosity and opened the pouch with a sober care befitting his guest's esteem for the unknown contents. Its weight belied his expectation for something heavy and shiny. Hollowin stared at the object, blinking. In his hand he held a small figure, carved of wood and crudely painted. A man, perhaps, with one hand clenched in a fist at his breast and the other clutching the hilt of a knife at his belt.

"Ah...," Hollowin started, but left his mouth open, completely at a loss for words.

"The craftsman is dead. This was his last work," offered Neryn. He too stared at the figure, perhaps a little sadly.

Hollowin had a sudden thought. "Is it enchanted?"

"No, no," said Neryn.

"Well then." Hollowin hesitated, uncertain quite what to say without giving offense. "It obviously has personal meaning to you, anyone can see that clearly." Hollowin started to hand back the figure.

Neryn actually retreated a step. Hollwin's attempt to return the figure seemed to break some spell.

"Let me tell you something of the piece and then perhaps you will come to appreciate it," suggested Neryn reasonably.

"Well, certainly...," began Hollowin. "I would be most interested to hear-"

"It is a game piece," said Neryn. "For a Jakite game actually."

"Oh! How curious," offered Hollowin. And it did seem very curious.

"Yes, isn't it? It's played on three boards, or levels, and--you know, for the life of me I can't recall the name of the game!" Neryn laughed.

"Ah, ha ha," Hollowin laughed to humor his guest.

"I learned the game as a boy and have not played it since," confided Neryn.

"Ah, the memories of childhood." Hollowin nodded, discounting the value of the piece as entirely sentimental now.

"Childhood, yes," echoed Neryn. "This piece has stood out specially for me since that time."

Neryn stepped closer and continued in a confidential manner.

"You see, each piece moves by unique rules, and the rules for this particular piece are most unusual. It is not powerful of its own accord, but only a reckless player can think it of no account."

The intensity of Neryn's recital commanded Hollowin's interest.

"It has a singular ability. If another piece is eliminated, this one may make a powerful counter attack," explained Neryn. He illustrated his description with an animated flourish, causing Hollowin to retreat a step.

"In fact," Neryn leaned in close, as though revealing a great secret, "the name of the piece is the Jakite word for revenge."

"Oh," said Hollowin. There was an ominous silence. "Do you recall the name?" He did not truly want to know, but felt compelled to ask.

"Yes," said Neryn. "It has a name I cannot forget."

Hollowin looked at his guest with a nervous expectation that he couldn't quite account for.

"It's called a Neryn."

Hollowin blinked.

"But..., but your name...," he said stupidly.

Neryn nodded calmly, smiling. But the calm and smile were a mask, Hollowin could see that now. He was used to masks, but they typically hid familiar things like jealousy or contempt. This was a brittle cover over danger, and though he could sense it now, he could not fathom its source. The sudden stranger inspired a queasy fear that radiated weakness from his core to his limbs. He dropped the little figure and turned for the door. A hand jerked him back and pain stabbed into his side. Why? His mind worked slowly, but time ran on at its usual pace. Consciousness faded and he did not know why he was dead.

The man called Neryn cleaned his dagger on the dead man's silks. He gave a last look at the wooden figure lying prone on the floor, but did not retrieve it. He walked deliberately to the door and opened it to leave, but paused there, turning back to regard the body lying in a dark pool on the carpets. The thick fibers absorbed the spreading blood with appropriate greed. The deed left him drained momentarily of purpose, leaving behind an empty clarity.

"Kerdi," he said. "I remember now. The game was called Kerdi."

And then he was gone.