VLISTE-Staba, the Great Tree of the mountain Grot, felt the little Gelfling girl scrabbling about on its roots. Something was clearly troubling her. What is one of Oszah's doing so far from the Desert, and alone? it thought. But no! Even the Gelfling who dwelt under its own roots rarely came to commune with Vliste now, and it had its own struggles to face. One of us likes to get involved in Gelfling matters, and speaks their tongue. Where's she gotten off to? The Great Tree reached deep into the roots of Thra and—with some effort—found its target. Things were… hazy, lately.
Beneath Vliste-Staba's branches, Zeyida lay curled up in the roots. She'd stopped crying; the rains had drowned her tears. There were no thoughts in her head. She stared blankly at her elbow.
Then, a raspy, roiling voice: Brrgbwb—huh? Who's that? Gelfling?
Zeyida sat up sharply. That wasn't her voice; these were a stranger's thoughts inside her head. What? 'What?'
Thunder crashed. 'Gelfling,' said the strange voice, 'Yes, Gelfling! You're at the Tree on the mountain, right? Hurry up and close your eyes!'
'What?' Zeyida's eyes darted, neck swiveled, searching for a source for the voice. 'Who are you?'
'Never mind that. Oh, stop looking around, we're talking through the Tree. Go on now, close your eyes. You'll see.' Zeyida heard the voice sniff, as if offended.
Confused, she shut her eyes. Instead of the usual darkness, she found herself in a world of mist, as though she was inside a cloud. She looked around, and was startled to find a strange face staring back at her. Zeyida fell backwards. The face was old, and brown-gray, creased like a rotting stump. Of two gnarled sockets, there was only one squinting eye (though there was a shape like an eye on the stranger's forehead above), and to a young Gelfling like Zeyida, her nose probably looked like it had been cut off, leaving only a curve with nostril-holes. There were two curled horns, and gray hair and wispy gray eyebrows… the body beneath this face had seen better days. Zeyida was lucky that this stranger was wearing a dress.
The Gelfling gasped. 'You're Mother Aughra!'
'Yes, yes, I am she. What's going on with you, Gelfling, why has Vliste sent you to me?' Aughra frowned. 'I specifically asked for some peace and quiet!'
'Oh, Mother Aughra!' Zeyida knelt before her. The Dousan had stories for Aughra, especially in their worship rituals. Aughra didn't necessarily like to be revered, but if it meant that Gelfling didn't bother her… 'Mother Aughra,' said Zeyida, 'my life's fallen apart! I… I couldn't have my first Night as a woman. My family, all my people t-tell me I'm sick… all because I don't have wings! I can't fly like I'm supposed to!'
'Oh, no wings, can't fly, sure. Must be nice for the Gelfs that can; flutter about, not a care in the world! Ha-ha-ha!'
Zeyida shook her head. 'No, it's not—they're right… I'm wrong, don't you see!? There's something very wrong about me! I'm not a girl at all, just a pretender! A fake! My mind is sick, I need—'
' "Not a girl," what are you even—' Aughra held her head and shook it. 'Podling women have no wings! Is each of them "not a woman" also? Hmm?'
'Podlings?' Zeyida groaned. 'That's not the same at all! They're not supposed to have wings, they're—'
Aughra glared at her. 'Well, you don't have wings either, so what do you think you're "supposed to" have? Shit, look at this. ' She turned away from Zeyida, and pulled the neck of her dress down to show off her gnarled old back. 'No wings here either. What are you trying to say about Aughra?'
'But that's different! You're different, you don't—'
Aughra shook her head again. She sighed. 'What part of this isn't getting through to you child? Haven't you met others like you, women without—I can say I've seen… ten, yes, at least ten, and that's just at the front of my memory!' She scratched her head. 'Girl Gelflings without wings, boys who can fly… hrrr… what trine is it again? How long since the last Conjunction?'
'Others?' Zeyida stared at her. 'There are more Gelfling women without wings?'
'Yes, I… yes!' Aughra insisted. 'That's hardly the strangest thing your kind are capable of! What's going on, what— …you haven't seen any, child?'
Zeyida looked down, her mouth open. Others? She hadn't heard of any others. It couldn't—but what if— 'Jellarn and Stavri said the Lords of the Crystal are behind everything!' she blurted. 'That they corrupted the Crystal of Truth, divided us intentionally—started the war with the Arathim! They called them "Skeksis," said they're evil somehow… "exploiters"… that they're destroying Gelflingkind, and the whole world for their own benefit!'
'Huh? I don't know about that.' Aughra scratched her chin. 'The Skeksis are wise, but they're newcomers, they shouldn't be… I'll look into it. What's this about the Arathim?'
Zeyida shook her head. 'Mother Aughra, I need your help! I don't… there's nowhere I can go! Nobody understands, or, or… there's something broken inside me!'
Aughra stood staring at the girl for a moment. What's with these Gelfling… seriously, what trine is it? 'Grot, right?' The Gelfling girl didn't seem to know. Aughra squinted at the clouds around them, made a sound like ' brrrmrgmrhgrmgm' and, waving her hands, parted the mist and searched the lands visible beyond. She muttered: ' "I"—there's the root of it, you Gelfling. I'll have a word with the Skeksis, when I… but you people, always had such a high… like you were different somehow, alive in a way the rest of the world isn't!' She turned to face Zeyida, pointed through the hole in the clouds. 'Alright, there it is. Village of Podlings not far from you, by the way of the rising Red Sun. You'll be safe there while I sort this all out. Now go, let me rest a little longer!'
'Podlings?' Zeyida wasn't sure about that. What would she do with those creatures? Stavri had seemed to believe that they were behind all Thra's problems, and while Zeyida wasn't sure she agreed, she'd never met them face-to-face, so didn't have much good to say of them either. 'What am I supposed to do with them? Maybe… maybe I could just go back to the Wellspring and pretend to be a man, at least then—'
'What?' Aughra grinned. 'So what? The Pod People are strange? Unworthy of your companionship—lesser? Hmm, because they don't have wings, I suppose… you've been made to feel strange for what you are, Gelfling, and now you'd do the same to others? No wonder you're so miserable, if this is the way you define yourselves, and all the world around you! Uff, you Gelfling, I don't know what's gone wrong! You and the Podlings, all the creatures of Thra, you're all meant to live together, in harmony! How have things gotten so… mussed up!? I leave you alone for just one… seriously, hey! How long since, hmm… have you seen my son near where you live? You're from the Desert, right?'
'Aughra, I… I'm not sure the Podlings can even speak! And they're not… I need to find a way back to my own people! Whatever I need to do… I'm tired of running, tired of searching! If this is Grot, aren't there Gelflings living—'
She'd lost Aughra's attention. The stumpy old woman was staring confused at all the dark mists around them, which had returned to cloud the view of the nearby Pod village. 'No, no, there's… something's not right here. I feel a strange sort of rot in the roots of the world. It's not… but I should probably…' Aughra yawned. '…find the Podlings, child. It seems your kind have need of their wisdom. The rising Red Star. I will… check in, I just need…' She yawned again; her eyelids drooped. '…ten more trine…' And a third yawn; the vision began to fade, '…thirty, at the most…' Zeyida blinked and she was back in a Staba's roots, at the mountaintop.
Confusion now. The young Dousan stared blankly. The rains had ended, but the sky was still cloud-shrouded. She found a hint of the Rose Sun through them; it was setting, about halfway between its zenith and the horizon. She marked its location and, in a daze, started back down the mountain, opposite its direction. What else could she do?
Vliste had connected them, listened to their words, and now it realized something more clearly. "Rot"—it had not been able to speak to the other Stabas in some time. Aughra, it said, Aughra, where have you gone? Aughra! It, too, was very tired. Tired of fighting alone.
She ate the last of her ration. The world was damp, and cold and darkening. The night should have been a blessing, but in the Endless Forest it was terror. Zeyida's feet ached from so many days walking on moisture-hardened dirt. Her clothes were wet, as was the very air. She shivered; trudged, unthinking. She had no food, no home, no people. But maybe, just maybe, there was some glimmer of hope. Mother Aughra should know, she thought. Others… there are others? There were others like me? She had a scholarly instinct: I must find out about these "others," and what's become of them. Maybe Aughra had sent them to live among these Podlings too. And why, she thought. What's gone wrong?
The "rot" Aughra was talking about… Zeyida knew. Something was wrong. I have to try, she thought. I have to live.
* * *
'She must be somewhere!' Keyz'ri cried. He stood in a large room inside the Castle of the Crystal amidst many Gelfling of his xeric, including Ballarha, their head Guardian. There were also many confused Castle Guards born of the Stonewood Clan. And skekZok, the Ritual Master. A Skeksis is quite a bit larger than a Gelfling: two, maybe three times the height.
'Please, Lord Ritualist,' Ballarha said, 'we apologize for the intrusion, but we have clear evidence that this wayward son of our people was heading towards your Castle. Our Skimmers still search the pass, but there are no traces of him. Has he certainly not been seen anywhere near here?'
'I can confidently say that your party are the first Dousan to visit us in many trine, little worshipmaker,' skekZok said, 'excepting brave warriors headed for the front, of course. Do stay as long as you wish; your rituals are of great interest to we Lords. We have many truths to grant you.' He smiled politely.
'Thank you, my Lord, but we should be off then,' she said. 'Maybe Zeyida got lost somewhere. Oh, and I have word that the sick Vapran will be here by next night.'
'Very well,' said this towering Skeksis. 'Our Lord Scientist will treat him as promised, and the same for any Gelfling so afflicted by this plague. We fear it has Arathim origins, though beware the Podlings also; we've quarantined the ones living among us, just in case. As for any "intrusion," don't worry yourself. We do not mind your company at all.'
Ballarha bowed and led her people out towards their skimmers. One of them had to physically drag the manic Keyz'ri along. 'What of the Shifting Pass, the South?' asked one Dousan warrior. 'Could she have tried it? …I mean, uh, he.'
'Zeyida has some skill in climbing,' said another of Jekhor's xeric, a forager, 'maybe he attempted the Spine southwards.'
'I'm not sure,' said a younger guardian named Theelis, 'Zeyida's been wrinkle-fingered lately, right?' Some of the others chuckled. 'Maybe there's somewhere we haven't searched back in the Wellspring?'
'Nah,' said this warrior, 'heh, Jekhor's tearing every tent up. No use in us going back.'
'We'll find him,' Ballarha said, determined. 'We don't leave our own behind. We'll find him and bring him home.'
'Wait,' whispered another guardian, 'what of the Lords' treatments? He's sick, right?'
Ballarha glanced back. 'I don't know. We have our own ways. Any other?' She lowered her voice. 'I don't like the way that Lord spoke of our rituals…'
They continued on towards the Skimmer Hiy'khifan—except for Theelis, who found herself grabbed and pushed against a wall. It was Keyz'ri, who now stared into her eyes with the intensity of the Great Sun. 'You know,' he whispered. 'And I won't tell them that, if you tell me. Where is she?'
Theelis shied. Can't get between a father and his kids, eep. 'I… don't know,' she said.
He glanced down at her neck and smiled. 'What happened to your pendant?'
'I know, I know,' she said, 'but, umm, I don't know where she went. Probably South along the Spine, but she's probably gotten far enough away by now, o-or else—'
Keyz'ri stared out a nearby window, dumbfounded. '…No "or",' he said. 'She made it.' He looked down, whispered: 'Better off without us. We tried, but we failed her.' He whirled and shoved a raised finger in Theelis' face; his own face was wild with sorrow as he added: 'Not you. But… but the rest of us, we… we failed her…' He bowed his head and wept. Theelis hugged him, and wept also. There was nothing else she could say.
* * *
When seen from a distance, the village of the POD PEOPLE resembled a collection of large, wide stumps, or tree trunks. Or… maybe insect nests, so the pod-like shapes of these homes, piled together in cozy stacks and bright with lanterns, gave the Podlings their name (in the Gelfling tongue). Or was it their faces? The head of a Podling was brought to mind the image of a lumpy potato—though, as is the case with most living creatures, no two faces were exactly alike. They had beady little eyes, and fat, snouty noses, which they would often scrunch in with their top lips when perturbed. They wore clothing of tans, dull browns, dark earthy reds and inconspicuous greys; ostentatiousness they mostly left to their actions. And the Pod People were exceedingly short; about half a Gelfling's height, and wide-set. Round and tumbly; grounded.
Leaving the forest, Zeyida saw this village of pods, heard muttering and music, and stumbled down an embankment slope towards the light. As soon as she'd passed through one of the dark alleys into the light of the stomped-dirt clearing between these buildings, she was surrounded by a whole sudden throng of the Pod People. They crowded around her; many concentric circles of curious little eyes.
'Gelfar!' one shouted. 'Gelfar, avoyay Gelfar!'
And many Podlings whispered, or cried or confused muttered 'Gelfar!' to one another.
Zeyida squeezed one of her hands with the other. 'Umm, hello…' she said.
'Ote?'
'Gelfar!'
'Gelfar otkooda?'
'Avoyay Gelfar, ye?'
'Oleya sema?'
The young Gelfling woman wasn't sure if they were talking to each other or to her. At least a few were trying to get her attention, but the Podlings were all talking over one another; to Zeyida, it just sounded like noise. She held her head.
'Polugej ijenoo cusa! Oleyay ise Pesana.'
'Otem deshanje?'
'Nopo Gelfar!'
'Gatekat shol simvedzi.'
'Fala avo, Gelfar!'
A Podling woman tugged at her sleeve, and asked:'Gelfar, otamvam?'
'Oley nyoresuma,' one muttered. He shook his head.
'Pesana? Ote pesana?'
One of the Pod People started shoving all those around it, saying: 'Gelfar! Gelfar nyoresuma—Podzevar! Podishesht Podzevar!'
All at once, the Podlings fell silent and still. They stared blankly. Then they all began to bow at the waist to Zeyida. Not exactly in unison, and not with any apparent pattern; they all just bowed, one by one, random as rainfall.
The Gelfling looked at them confused, and then, slowly, bowed back.
'Ush—Gelfar podzeshla!'
All the Podlings took to bowing once more. As they did, Zeyida bowed back again. There was a minute or so of this sort of nonsense, so that it seemed as though they'd all be stuck bowing back and forth at each other, forever.
Laughter spread throughout the Podlings. They all stopped returning the bows, and one man took Zeyida by the arm, saying: 'Nabrushoo, podzeshe Gelfar. Vidzebomva. Apopiapodpe vidzebom!' She was not so much pulled by this one as she was swept by the flow of the crowd, out from this firelit clearing and in towards the town's center.
*~*~*
This Apopiapod word 'Vidzebom' means 'Party,' and that's what Zeyida found herself dragged into: a joyous revelry-night of the Podlings, with food and song and dance, and the warmth of a crowded hearth. In what felt like a blink's time she was in their midst, sat at a low table surrounded by a multitude of Pod People. Laughing, shoving each other, playing instruments and drinking. They all fit in so easily, she thought. What am I doing here? She stared at the floor.
Someone prodded her arm. There was a pair of Podlings there, each watching her. One held a wooden mug up to her and said: 'Skatoplo. Galoosh, ye?'
The other said: 'Skatoplo!'
Zeyida took the offered mug and sipped politely from it. The bluish-purple liquid inside was thick, and sweet, and somehow felt both cold and warm at the same time; a numbing sort of warmth spread through her mouth and down her throat.
'Ne,' said one of the Podlings. 'Galoosh!' This one picked up another stray mug, tilted her head back with it and quaffed its contents in one hearty gulp. She smacked her lips and said 'Galoosh!' again, emphatically. Her hair was like a tumbleweed.
Hesitantly, Zeyida raised the cup back to her lips and gulped down the whole drink. She shivered, and coughed to clear her burning throat.
'Boavo,' said the one woman; she held Zeyida's arm, 'joshela, Gelfar?
The young Gelfling tried to understand what was being said to her. This Pod woman was standing near to the place where many of her kin were performing some raucous, shouting jig in a circle; she's asking me to join the dance? Zeyida shook her head, and said: 'No, no thank you. No, I'll just stay here for a moment,' straining her voice to speak over the din.
The smaller woman grunted. 'Galoosh, dede,' she muttered to one of her companions. She hopped into the line of dancers behind her and disappeared into the fray.
A Poddish man offered Zeyida another cup. 'Oh, I'm not sure that I…'
'Skatoplo!' he said. Many lumpy, smiling faces nodded at her and one another.
'Gelfare velitch. Nogoni skatoploye podriabo!'
'Galoosh!'
'Galoosh, ye, galoosh!'
Zeyida sighed. These people are strange, she thought, but she was feeling lighter. This dwelling was warm and dry. She kicked back another cup of the strange, sweet beverage. Instead of stinging, this cupful soothed her head; she was struck with the vague sense that she was swaying, as one might wooze in the desert heat. The feeling passed when a bald Podling man nudged her, and said: 'Pelessia, Gelfar?' He beckoned at the crowd of joyful, dancing folk.
'Oh, err, no thanks. And my name is Zeyida, I, um…'
'Oleyay samudzto,' he said. The other Podlings laughed; Zeyida's face went red. She averted her eyes as this man flung himself into the crowd, and raised a grumbling, flailing, happy child up in his arms. 'Vidzebomva spunjina ovesca!' he shouted over the crowd. There were many cheers; the stout man swung the child around to the music's quickening beat.
A Podling tapped Zeyida on the shoulder. 'Galoosh?'
* * *
'We've put the word to all the Clans,' Ballarha said, eyes down. 'But there is no trace. Not from the Vaprans or Spritons; not even among Stonewoods. Wherever he's gone… Thra protect.' She raised a crooked amulet of crystal and bone, pressed it to her own forehead, then raised it to the sky. 'May word of him come to us hastily, but until then, may the Dead light his path and support his feet.'
She and Jekhor were alone inside a tent in the Wellspring town. The Sandmaster needed to receive the word personally and privately from one she trusted: Zeyida was nowhere to be found. 'He has to come back,' Jekhor said. She stood abruptly; all muscles tense, pacing about the room—'Why wouldn't he come back? Why would he lie to me, for all this time!?'
Ballarha sighed. 'We cannot fault him for his illness, Jeh. His spirit is in peril. He will come back, when his inner mind is ready for the truth.'
'Sons. Hah!' On Jekhor's face there was a crooked grin. 'They reach a certain age, and then it's all attitude. His brother's the same way. But this…' She sat down heavily onto the rug below and held her head. 'Urgh,' she groaned, '…Ballarha… what if we're wrong? I mean, I don't know… maybe we should've entertained this, or… or listened more closely to Zeyida's side of things…'
The Guardian of the Dousan hesitated, biting her lip. Hers was not the only mind Sandmaster sought to see, once their Skimmer returned to the Wellspring. 'Keyz'ri is moved by love, but his own mind is… fraught, as well. I… I listen to the other Guardians, and our Maudra; Thra, most of all. But the world beneath us has been quieter than usual, and not in the pleasant way. If I'm being honest, Jekhor, I'm not sure either. Something about all of this feels wrong.'
'It is…' said Jekhor. 'I wish… but it is. This… those Vaprans!' She stood once more. 'They pollute our people, make us doubt our very minds! They've been out of harmony for many trine now, "All-Maudra"… and Ezlan seeks to—' She shook her head. 'I wish it were not so, but we must shrink our circle, for strength. For safety! Ezlan, she'll listen. Or… someone will…'
In these past weeks, her xeric had lost one member, and gained many. She'd never cared to make such a thing happen. This change in her Sandmaster worried Ballarha.
*~*~*
Zeyida found herself in the middle of the dancing Podlings. Wait, what? asked the last lucid sliver of her mind, how did I—
She spun with the music. Her face was red, and she was laughing. One of the Podlings had given her their cap; a brown little head cover, tight-fitting, with strings for under the chin. It fit surprisingly well, though it was turned askew, so that the string ran across her lips. She crossed her eyes and tried to blow it away.
A loud crash caught her attention; a Podling woman fell onto a table, flipping it, and sending cups and dishes to the ground. This woman struggled to her feet and cried: 'Velata, stula moapilajau!' There was joyous laughter; Zeyida watched as several other Podlings threw themselves—much more intentionally, and with aplomb—onto other tables; many dishes flew into the air, like a sandstorm of wood and ceramics. The young Dousan found herself laughing and doing the same; she braced herself and leapt towards a table, as though trying to break it with the side of her body. But she jumped too far (maybe she underestimated her legs, or overestimated the size of the table, or her sense of balance); only her legs hit the table, so that she fully flipped, heels over head, and landed face-down on the floor.
There was a long, awkward silence. From beyond the table, Zeyida struggled to her feet. Her hair was matted with dust over her eyes. Mumbling, she asked the silent, staring crowd: '…Galoosh?'
There were cheers, and the music began once more. Zeyida was dragged back into the dance, and given another cup of the skatoplo. She very much forgot how poor of a dancer she was.
She awoke to a knocking sound. Her head was pounding, and one side of her hip ached with a new bruise. What's happening? Where—
A new crack of sunlight hit her eyes, blinding; she tried to make shade with one sweeping hand. 'Gelfar? Ota shravonaro jeshi?' A Podling woman, shaking her head and clicking her tongue.
Zeyida groaned. Her body was slick with cold sweat, and shivering. So last night… that was real? All the embarassment she hadn't been feeling then rushed in now, and all the terrors of her previous travels, her worries about her family, her people, what Jellarn and Stavri and Mother Aughra had been saying, wings and their lack, "Rot"…
'Davonli sen. Seemka slashte, apopiapodpo slashte. Gelfare, slashte.' The woman gestured upwards with one hand, shouted: 'Oslana!'
Frightened, Zeyida hopped out of whatever bed she'd been curled up on. A small thing, filled with yellow-dried grasses for cushioning. She was in a tiny hut; one of those "pods" these people lived in. Her aching head swam. 'My people usually sleep in the light of the Suns,' she said. 'If you need me later, tonight, or maybe I could—'
The Pod woman shook her head anew. 'Nodzu Vidzebom, piasedzi pudlimo. Bodji. Retiba preve hriama.' She beckoned towards herself, and out the door of this little pod-shaped hut.
Well, I did cause quite a mess at that party of theirs. Maybe I should leave now. If they could spare me some supplies, I might—
'Nabrushoo!' cried the woman. Zeyida jumped and hurried after her into the daylight.
This woman wore a frockish sort of dress, earthy green, with a white blouse visible underneath. Her hair was uncovered, but tied back in a short tail. As she went, she turned and said: 'Apada Lepp.' She pointed to her own chest. 'Lepp. Otamvam?'
'Oh… that's your name! Lepp, hello. Um… aw-paw-daw… Zeyida. That's me. Zeyida.' She patted a fist to her chest.
'Fala avo, Dzay-Eddah.' By the way she spoke, Lepp didn't seem to consider the avo to be particularly fala. She continued on, with surprising speed for one so small,'Bodji, rodazhi. Apamia pudla.'
There was a larger pod-building, where inside there was food. Food! Zeyida's stomach growled. There was a long line of Pod people inside, all eating and talking, until this Gelfling entered. She felt their stares.
Lepp thrust a hefty chunk of bread into Zeyida's hands. 'Zhesse,' she said.
'Oh, well, I was thinking: if you can spare a whole loaf, or even just… some water, I could be on my way back to the—'
'Zhesse! Doelume zhesdum opesh, oo Pesana?'
Zeyida stuffed the bread into her mouth. The crust was thick, crackly; she felt it scratching her palate. But it was hearty; already her strength was returning. A tall cup of freezing-cold water did wonders for her headache.
Lepp and a gray-haired man led her outside (his name was "Shoog," apparently). They reached a wooden rack in the middle of an empty field: thin, with a small roof and a cloth covering, which Lepp removed. The rack held several farming tools; though Dousans didn't practice agriculture, Zeyida knew what they were. Shug produced a small cloth pouch from beneath the skirtflaps of his shirt.
Lepp removed a dirt-splitting tool from the rack and proffered it to their new Gelfling companion. 'Tila shadzi,' she said.
'I know what this is, but I don't know how. We don't really farm in the Desert, not even by the Wellspring, we just…' Zeyida sighed. They weren't understanding her, and were starting to look annoyed. She curled her arm before her stomach, pantomiming a basket, then pretended to place objects into it. 'We Dousan only forage. For-age; we don't sow seeds, just find what we need.'
Shug removed a root vegetable from his pocket and copied her gesture, placing it into his curled-arm "basket". 'Shadzina. Zhesse blokudema, piasedzi shadzi.' He pointed at the tuber, then the seed. I understand the concept of farming!
Lepp was pressing the tool into Zeyida's hands, so finally she snatched it. 'I don't know how!' she said. The Gelfling rolled her eyes. I need a way to… She flipped the tool over in her hands, so she was holding it by the head. She knew that was wrong, but needed a way to show… she dragged at the ground with the wrong end. 'See, I've never done this before. I can just leave, I'm sorry for—'
Shug shook his head at Lepp, and muttered: 'Oleyay tazhirench.'
The Pod woman took the tool and showed how to use it properly. Taking them from Shug's pouch, she planted three seeds in a row, each one a short distance from the other, then patted the soil gently over them. She took the whole pouch and handed it and the tool towards the Gelfling. 'Sedzi usteloova,' she said flatly.
Zeyida's shoulders slumped. She took the hoe in her hands, and got to work sowing the man's seeds.
The work was hard, but Zeyida managed. After she planted all the seeds in the pouch, another trio of Podlings came with a strange device for carrying buckets of water. It was worn like a knapsack: eight hafts of wood forming four triangle shapes—two jutting parallel off one's back like a knapsack and two for the front, with buckets hanging down from each. With these she watered the seeds, then it was back to the large pod for another meal. There was even more work after.
This night she collapsed into her little pod-hut bed without much thought to anything but her aching limbs. I'll leave tomorrow, she thought.
The next morning, Lepp came with the hoe. Grumpy, Zeyida snatched it, and got back to work.
*~*~*
This continued for many days; weeks became unum. Zeyida lost track of time and the world beyond the pods, her ambitions and even her worries. She could act as annoyed as she wanted, but when this Gelfling saw a party feast, where all her efforts fed the village, then she understood. She came to know each and every person she was living with in this little, grounded place, ignored by the high-minded and divided. The work was hard, but the Vidzebom was harder. This is how labors should be: a gift to those around you; friends made by mutual works for the common good, in trust and quiet joy. I can only pity those like the Podlings stuck working for deceiving, black-star takers like the Skeksis; in guilt for my part in the arrangement.
Her hands callused over, and lines of dirt she couldn't scrub out rimmed the undersides of her fingernails. One day, in the river by the village, she even learned to swim! Anxious, she stayed mostly clothed, and even confided her closest secret to one woman named Shkog: no wings. The Pod woman shrugged, and said: 'Ne pajda.'—'Neither do I'. She didn't see any reason to spread such a mundane fact, especially with how much the odd, skittish Gelfing seemed to struggle with anxiety in telling it.
As unum became trine, Zeyida learned how to give more than her aching body to this place which sustained her, and accepted her as one of their own. She shared wisdom of other lands; the other Gelfling Clans, whatever she remembered of the writings in the Cloister, and of course the Dousan culture. One night she led a group of Podlings out into the glowing darkness and showed them the celestial bodies: the Sisters and the countless stars, each of which, the Dousan had names for. 'Adnapos "Hidden Sister",' she'd say, for in time she'd begun to learn the language of Apiapodpo, 'ee pojagosh "Peeper Constellation," pavamesa buipa Pesanala'.
'Heh-den Sehste,' said one awestruck Podling boy. The Pod people rarely saw fit to look up into the speckled void of night.
Or even look out into the lands beyond their village, unless the need arose. For such a day did come, in Zeyida's lifetime: not so many trine into her dwelling among the Pod people. She was just having the thought: I'm okay now. I could just visit the Desert, the Wellspring, so my people can see I'm alright. I hope Humsil has found someone… when the news came: a War reached the nearby fields. Bulky, insectile creatures battling warriors of the Gelfling. In such times the Podlings all meet, and Zeyida was invited to help deliberate what to do.
'Apopiamo pidadimay Shkekshe!' said one wise, older man.
Zeyida frowned sorrowfully. She had several hunches; first she asked the meaning of that last word, "Shkekshe". Learning it meant exactly what she expected, she spoke to this man and the crowd in their own native language: 'Wum, you said that when we sent workers to the Skeksis, they do not return?'
'No,' said Wum, 'the honor is binding for life! The Skeksis see the wisdom of many trine, and serve the Crystal of Thra; they ask and we answer!' There were many nods of agreement.
'And what of my people, the Gelfling?' she said. 'They are fighting, and dying now. Should we help them first, and learn the truths of this matter at some later time?'
'Gelfling are…' one middle-aged woman named Gesh said, '… I'm sorry, Dzayeddah, but your people are all out-of-sorts. The Arathim were living their lives; there was no real cause for all this violence. We do not kill; it worsens things.'
'I see,' said Zeyida. 'My people are wrong, but they were misled. Knowledge and power have been used in a twisted way. The Skeksis do not sow, they do not work for others; only reap. For our own sake we must avoid them, and as this war they began reaches our doorstep, we must flee. The Arathim, also, have likely been misled.'
'The Skeksis give us wisdom!' cried one stubborn elder Podling. 'Their labor is knowledge we could not hope to preserve! To shun them would risk the harmony.' Many others, young and old, nodded at this insight.
'What wisdom have they given us of late?' Zeyida asked. 'I was present for your birth, Rula, and I have seen them give us nothing since!' A great cacophony of arguments and worried mutterings followed this statement.
'Flee?' one woman asked aloud. 'Where would we go?'
'I do not know,' Zeyida said. 'If my hunch holds true, it may be that all the Gelfling Clans are compromised against the harmony. Maybe you all agree easily, but to me, this is no comfort. My people are at fault, but still we are all meant to live together. So says Mother Aughra, wisest of the wise. To that end, I say we go South and West. The Spriton peoples are not so closely involved in this war, and I believe their ways are not unlike our own. They live in harmony with at least the Tallwalkers, and do not kill the Nebrie. Maybe they would listen.'
'I'm sorry, Dzayeddah,' said a man named Eoht. 'You did not know, but we have tried the Spriton. They only accept Apopiapodpo in on their own terms, and from our kin, reap more than they sow. Like many Gelfling, they have grown more fear than joy.'
'North and West, then,' said one woman, 'perhaps into the Forest. The Stonewoods seldom come this far North.'
Zeyida sighed. I was wrong to underestimate these people, she thought. Between them, they see more than any prideful scholar. Here in their assembly, she realize what she appreciated most about them: the way they saw themselves. Men, women; the Pod people knew the difference, but saw no need to emphasize it. Men did not need to spend such incredible efforts on their appearance, and women were not held to such unpleasant standards, nor given special deference. People just were. 'We go where joy might grow. But please, my friends,' she said, 'avoid the Skeksis. A singular master of wisdom is best fit to become a master of lies, of reaping lies. Remember what they share; or do not share, more accurately.'
The Pod people and Zeyida all held hands, and sung a song. Of leaving lands dear to them, of danger, and of strength that no such trial could break. Many tears were shed, together.
* * *
When alone in the Castle of the Crystal, skekEkt the Ornamentalist was cornered in a dark hallway. By another Skeksis who also happened to stay here as the War worsened: skekSil, the Chamberlain. SkekEkt always hated the Chamberlain. They two were very alike, in some ways, but skekSil always acted friendly to all the other Skeksis. Always acted.
'skekEkt! Oh, I am pleased to see you, my friend,' he said. The Ornamentalist tried to flee, but there was no escape. SkekSil's feet worked almost as fast as his tongue. 'What—ohh, what hurry? Fear for silly skekUng's safety, out fighting Gelfling extremists?'
'Ehhh, yes. I need to take my mind off this dreadful war. Out of my way!'
The Chamberlain didn't give leeway. 'Hmmmmmm, Gelfling… right to find them worrisome. I always knew they weren't to be trusted, yes, so many tricks and disgusting dangers. Dangers, hmmmm, you always saw Gelfling danger, yes?'
'They are disgusting!' skekEkt shrieked. 'No manners, wretched fashion sense… and stupid! Yes, plain stupid, and still they're always making problems for us…'
'…and what of their delusions, hmm?' skekSil said, 'were they not worrisome? I remember some trine ago, they caused—'
'What?' The Ornamentalist blurted. 'Yes! Everything about them drags at me. I hate them! You should too, you… some of the others were saying you liked that Stonewood one, the boy with the—'
'Oh?' skekSil was grinning. 'Hmmm? I tried to like all Gelfling; skekSil was betrayed by their trickery! Took worst wounds in battle; lost a friend, betrayed! But what of their delusions; we stomped them out in Gelfling, but they still worried you skekEkt, no? I wish to help you.'
'Oh, can it, you schemer! The Emperor won't—' SkekEkt leaned in to whisper: '—he hardly even listens to you anymore, so don't you try to curry favor with me! SkekUng is out proving his mettle… what have you done lately?'
'Mettle?' skekSil asked. 'Mettle? Proving his manhood, I say. SkekUng is good friend, yes, great friend to skekSil!'
'No he most certainly is—'
'—and great man must be great friend, for who else could be Emperor? SkekSo is greatest man of all; so utterly absurd that Gelfling put women on their thrones. Don't you agree?'
SkekEkt squinted a frown. '…Yes. Now step aside, or I'll—'
'…but what is "Man" anyway? What is Woman? Gelfling make men fanciful toys, and women proud warriors. But we know that's all backwards. Men are strong. And only the strong should rule. Only the smartest…' He glared, grinning. 'The serious ones, who can put fanciful things aside, when time comes. Flits of whimsy are for the homebound… the useless… the weak.'
'I don't—'
'Was worrisome, was it not? I care, that's why I ask. "Men with wings," "women without," called whole thing into question.' SkekSil narrowed his eyes; beaked face closer to SkekEkt. 'Who is man, who is woman? Who can't be.'
The Ornamentalist gulped. 'What are you even—?'
'I wish to be friends with Ornamentalist. Great friends, with great person. I keep skekEkt's secrets. Safe with me.' He patted his breast in a sincere, magnanimous way, then shrugged. 'Maybe I did like Gelfling, before they started hurting us. Emperor must see big picture; skekSil is for the little ones, the underdogs… long as they're good. Delicate Skeksis beauty, worth fighting for. I protect the weak.' He turned and crept away down the hall.
He's such a wretched creature, skekEkt thought. Still, his wardrobe could use some touching up… They decided that some alliance with skekSil could be forged, though these two rotten creatures' minds could never truly align. A Skeksis would rather rule than love.
*><*><*
Skeksis do not care for us.
Podlings will not fight for us.
Gelfling slaughter us.
Aughra sleeps.
The trees are silent.
The roots are festering. All living things must fight, or die with Thra.
Our home is lost. We must slaughter. We must try.