Serial
15: There at last?
November
12th, 32 S.D. 11:11 Sventa, Central Plains
I have lived a life away from home. Strange as it is to hear those words, every time I examine them, I only find their meaning truer. I have been so far removed from the land of my birth for all of these years that it nearly seems as if this is my first time here. Little detail my mind recalls of this regions in the days before my decade-long departure. The way the stars settle clearly in the sky on dark nights, the way the tall swathes of grass sway in the breeze, the way the sunrise stretches infinitely over the flat horizon: I can remember none of them.
Did I truly spend my earliest moments here? Or perhaps I simply mistook my memories of identity all along? We were drawing ever nearer to Sevia, but when one such as I had dwelt most of her life away rather than not, calling it home was no easy matter. I feared that I had been in Palostrol for too long, that the likes of the Central Plains were somehow lost to me. I could speak the language and acknowledge the customs easily enough, but did this make me a member?
Unlike other girls, I had not spent a single moment of my adolescence in these lands. What it was like to think, to act, and to feel as an Asten should were things that comprised a great mystery to me. Held in the safety of remote mountains and hills, I had matured into a woman who - while on one hand knew considerable amount of serialization - knew next to nothing about her own people. Of course I was a Sventa, yet was that all nominal? Everything I knew about life on the Central Plains I had gleaned in only my first seven years. In too many respects, I was as educated as a mere child.
And then what of my family? Two-thirds of every instant I had ever existed had been in the absence of any blood-relations. My own mother and father I had not seen once since I had assumed my role as student. All the while in Palostrol, these thoughts had never come under my consideration, yet as we traveled closer and closer to Sventa, I became unsettled by them. Would they recognize their little girl? More importantly, would I recognize them?
I could not regret the time I had spent or the things I had learned on Mount Anhel, but a fraction of my mind wondered what I could have experienced during those years had I stayed home. What I had gained I understood perfectly, but what had I sacrificed? The most troubling thing - the thing that darkly quivered my heart every time it flashed across my thoughts - was that I might never discover the exact costs. Even so, if I did not return, I would lose so much more. Although I had given up time aplenty, there were still years ahead of me that could be dedicated to my family.
Regardless of all the things in my youth that I had missed, I could not while away another moment removed from my land or my people. In that sense, I felt as if I were indeed reclaiming something that had been stolen from me, even if I could never completely recapture those bygone years. What I could take back was important and precious in its own right.
As I anticipated the comforts of returning home, I also wondered greatly upon the task before me: leading the world to serialization. How was I supposed to perform such a thing? More notably, could I ever do such a thing? Though to my closest companions I had donned the mantle of master, I knew that I still had not perfected what Eltin had meant to teach us before he passed. I still kept the cryptic instructions he had given me the last time we had spoken. The sheet yet remained curled in its golden little tube. Since the incident in Palostrol, I had not “passed” his test nor once attempted to complete it. I was scarcely at his level, and much less so Viska’s. Perhaps before I could truly begin my tenure as master, I needed to properly raise myself to be worthy of its title.
Since they were essentially in Sventa territory, they had started the day free from the worries that had plagued them earlier. No more did Losha, Mesel, and Denze have to take cover in the wagon constantly. Their breaks were longer, they talked a little louder, and their overall demeanor was one of ease. Brigitte herself seemed quite upbeat that day. It could have been the relief she felt now that they needn’t consider themselves walking through volatile clan disputes, yet Losha highly suspected that last night’s profits had more to do with her current mood than anything else. At any rate, everyone appeared hopeful; even Mesel - who still had uttered not even a single word the past few weeks - seemed more attentive and engaged in their journey. Though his face indicated not the slightest emotion, his eyes had quit themselves of that remote, vacant gaze that once so defined them.
Today, Losha sat up front next to Brigitte in the driver’s seat. They had been talking for some time now, mostly exchanging experiences with one another. Although Losha maintained a veil around her recent history, she shared what she remembered from her life in the Central Plains. At first it was mostly generalities, but the more she spoke about it, the more she unearthed specific events about herself that she had almost quite forgotten.
“So, what did you do after fallin’ into that river? Can’t swim none myself; can only imagine how a little lass like yourself would have handled it.”
“It was absolutely terrifying. I thought I was going to drown that day.”
“Well, you didn’t hon, obviously. But that don’t tell me nothin’ about how you was saved.”
“Right. Well, my father and some of his cousins got on horseback and raced ahead of the current. They headed me off, splashed into the waters themselves and pulled me out. They formed a sort of human net. Of course, they did not get pulled away, being much larger than I was at the time.”
“That river around here by any chance? Gettin’ mighty thirsty myself.”
Stephen shuffled around the wagon and eventually produced a canteen; he passed it along.
“Thanks Steve,” Brigitte said, twisting the cap off.
“Honestly, I do not recall where it was. It has been years since I have been out here at all, and it is not as if I know all of Sventa personally; our lands are among the largest in the Central Plains after all.”
“Well on that note, where exactly is your home at?”
“Sevia,” Losha said matter-of-factually. Brigitte sighed before she took a gulp from the canteen.
“Steve! This ain’t water! You tryin’ to get the driver drunk?” She turned around and glared, but all Stephen did was shrug. She shook her head but took another swing anyway. “Of course it’s in Sevia, hon. Problem is, our maps don’t show Sevia.”
Losha thought back to the map she had taken from Palostrol and how lacking its detail was. Even a merchant’s map, an article renown for its accurate cartography, apparently showed nothing. Losha frowned; Sevia was roughly in the center of Sventa, but that was an approximation, not a set road.
“We will have to ask for directions then,” she said at last. Though she felt like she ought to have known the path all along, she knew it would have been unreasonable to demand it from herself. She’d only been a child when she’d left; she couldn’t possibly have remembered the exact path she’d taken years ago with Master Eltin.
“We shall ask the first ones we come across.”
“You sure?” Brigitte asked, swishing the canteen back and forth.
“Yes. It is no bother to ask. Out here, really, we are all family.”
The first people of Losha’s clan that they actually encountered lived on a large sort of ranch. In the distance, wide open fields stood fenced off along the road. Grazing upon the grass before winter left the grounds dormant were a herd of cows. Even farther away, several horses could be seen milling about. Around them, large rolls of hay sat, another sign of the impending change in seasons.
The main road branched off and lead all the way up to a group of several large houses. In keeping with the traditional Sventa architecture, they were single-leveled, dome-like structures. Fours great arcs sat upon the roofs, like two large overlapping bands folded over the houses. These were in fact the key components that gave the houses their shape and support. Each was artfully hewed with a continuous series of curves, swirls, and dips. Losha explained, as they drove up, that the design was symbolic of the wind, after which their clan had taken its name. To add to their link with the air, every house ahead of them was capped with a small windmill.
Stretching for at least a few hundred meters, the road leading up to the houses was long and gave them ample time to study their destination. Just as well, it gave the residents a fair heads-up when visitors approached. However, no one particularly seemed to notice their coming. Two small children stood in the large dirt court that connected all of the houses, playing a game of some sort. One of them yelled to someone inside, but for the most part they carried on without paying them much mind. As they pulled into the court, they noticed that a well-maintained and ever so slightly decorated carriage sat parked off to the side, horseless for the moment. It was only of interest to Losha because she vaguely felt as if she had seen it somewhere before. She discounted it, however, as her imagination and memory mixing with each other.
A young lass, scarcely into her teens, peeked out from the largest house’s front, glancing quickly about before closing it. She talked loudly inside, and several more voices could be heard responding to hers. Then, for a few moments, not much of anything occurred. Brigitte drew the wagon to a halt and looked at Losha.
“It’s on you, hon. They’re your folks to talk to after all.”
“Right,” she said after some delay. With no small amount of hesitation she dismounted slowly. Losha hadn’t exactly walked herself through the whole process of what she needed to do, but it was simple right? Stop and ask for directions. That was all. But if that were so, to what cause did she owe the apprehension and sense of awkwardness that preyed upon her? They weren’t strangers; they were family technically. It shouldn’t have been odd to stop by, let alone ask a rather mundane question. Yet she had probably never met these Sventa before; her clan was that large. Would she seem too random, out of place? Would they recognize her and treat her as one of their own?
Eventually, as she walked towards what seemed to be the main family house, the girl returned out the door, however, this time she bounced an infant on her hip. With her foot, she held the door open for an older woman to come out as well.
“Hello,” the older one said. “What brings you to us today?”
“Yes, um, hello,” Losha brokenly began, at first in Gandian then belatedly switching and repeating herself in Asten. Still clothed in the black garb of her former school, Losha wondered if they would mistake her for a complete foreigner. Uneasily, in the back of her mind, she felt like one. Had she really not spoken face-to-face with someone in her native language for so long? Her words came out stiffly, as if considered and measured.
“We journey to Sevia, but unfortunately we do not know the way.”
“That is all fine, child,” the woman said, looking Losha once over, then inspecting the wagon out of the corner of her eye. “But what business do you have in Sventa, especially at this time? You are merchants are you not?”
“They probably want to sell more cheap things from the east,” the girl with the baby said.
“Iola, I speak with her. You speak with yourself.”
Losha’s brain flustered at their misunderstanding. “No, no. I... I am no merchant. These people provide my transportation.”
“Well, again I must question your reason for going there.”
“We do not just let outsiders barge in as they please,” the girl said.
“Iola!” the woman snapped firmly, not because that statement wasn’t true, but that the girl had yet again spoken out of turn.
“O-outsider?” Losha stammered. “I am no outsider. I was born and raised in Sevia. It is my home.”
The woman and the girl visibly seemed taken aback.
“Oh,” the woman said with a touch of embarrassment. “Tell me then, child, how is it you do not know your way home? You mean to tell me you are lost in your own lands?”
To say the least, this conversation had gone in all the wrong directions already. Losha wanted nothing more than to just jump straight away into the sky and leave this situation below. Yet even if she knew enough serialization to do just that, she wouldn’t really be any closer to home...
“I-I have been out of the country... for some time. I do not remember much about our thoroughfares.”
“Are you a long-lost cousin?” Iola said, suddenly becoming very animated, holding the baby even closer. “Sa, sa, did you grow up in a foreign country? Does everyone think you are dead? Are you rich? Sa, tell me, are you perhaps illegitimate?”
“Iola! Inside!” the woman barked, carefully so as to not upset the littlest one among them. Iola frowned and spun around.
“I am sorry,” she apologized. “She reads too many fanciful books and has a habit of saying things spontaneously.” While she shook her head in disapproval, Losha on the other hand felt all the blood rush out of her face, though her dark complexion made this shock virtually invisible. She worked her mouth to speak, but seldom a sound escaped. The woman looked back up at her.
“Even so, this brings up the question of who you are, child.”
“O-of course, I was nearly about to introduce myself... I am Losha Holvate Sventa.”
The woman’s eyes widened at that point. “Of the house of Holvate?” she questioned, redundantly in Losha’s opinion. There was but one Holvate branch. She maintained her politeness though.
“Yes, of the house of Holvate.”
“One moment,” the woman whispered, holding her chin while her eyes shifted up and right. “Losha, Losha...” she said to herself, lost in thought. “A girl of your age... You must be Harle’s little sister, are you not?”
“Yes!” Losha said, her face lighting up. “But how do you know of my brother, or rather, what exactly is our relation, miss... ?”
The woman smiled, bowed slightly, then gently grabbed Losha’s hands. “Shari Kelta Sventa,” she said. The house of Kelta chiefly enjoyed a rural life as Losha recalled. Livestock and crops were their primary interests. In effect they were the great producers for many of the staples for the entire Sventa clan.
“I know of Harle through my sister’s husband, my brother. I had heard that Mavont and Lesia had had a child together, but for years no one had seen her. You must tell me, where is it you have been all of this time?”
It took Losha a few seconds to recognize the first names of her parents, since she herself had never called them by that and hardly remembered anyone else doing so.
“They sent me abroad to study. My education, however, has since ended. That is why I have been away, and that is why I have returned. As I was but a girl at the time, I do not know much about the terrain of Sventa, at least not enough to find my way back home. I do not desire to impose any burdens on you, but I would only trouble you so much for directions.”
Shari laughed and shook her head. “Speak no such nonsense with me. I would be honored to have someone from the Torom of Holvate as our welcome guest.”
“Torom?” Losha asked as she blinked. Sventa was not an entirely monolithic clan. In actuality, it was composed of several different branches or “houses” as it literally translated to in Asten. Each house was governed at any one time by a specific family, the Torom. Not only did the Torom act as the head of a given house, the Toroms also represented each branch in the Tabran, the grand council that decided matters for all Sventa. The last she had heard, her uncle and his family were the Torom of Holvate. Surely her mother would have written about something so important as the conferring of the Torom to their side of the family, unless of course these events were exceedingly recent.
“My family does not hold the Torom, do they? Or... have I been away for too long?”
“Sa, you probably would not have known about that so soon. We can explain things inside, especially when you talk to Fautna, my brother. Really, dear, your timing is most fortunately impeccable.”
“Please,” Losha insisted as Shari gestured towards the house. “There is no need to inconvenience yourself on my account.”
Shari turned around and folded her arms close to her chest, giving Losha a wink. “That will not do at all. We are the Torom of Kelta after all. Well, my sister’s side is. It would not stand to not show our hospitality to one of your influence.” Indeed the Torom in Sventa were essentially governors, heads of state within the territory. “Let us be the first to celebrate your return. Come now, all of you. Rest a while with us. We’ll have a grand meal later, I promise.”
And so it was that they found themselves as guests on the ranch. Once inside, they filed into the living room, which actually lowered into the ground at least two meters. Iola, free of the infant now, took great interest in them all. She kept asking outlandish, extravagant questions, again inspired by the literature she constantly indulged. She spoke in fair, passing Gandian to avoid the ire of her mother, who understood little of that language. Denze and Stephen were happy to answer her inquiries, albeit with falsified information to see the reactions it would elicit from her. It proved quite entertaining for both sides, given how gullible the girl really was.
“Malan! Malan!” Shari called out, stepping into the kitchen.
“What is all the fuss? And where did we get so many guests suddenly?” her sister asked.
“That is no matter. Where is your husband? There is family he must speak with.”
The two siblings had a lengthy exchange before Shari left the house through one of its side doors. There was no sign of her for a while, though Malan joined them in the living room to make small talk. After a time, however, a man with a curled goatee and a long, open vest entered into the house’s vestibule. At his side, he carried a sheathed sword.
“Sa,” he said loudly, charismatically as he strode into the threshold of the the living room. “You must be Losha.” He bowed slightly to her. Losha had no idea how to properly respond, but out of instinct she stood up and bent slightly forward as well.
“How do you do, mister... ?”
“Fautna Kelta Sventa,” he said. “I have heard that you have been away for some time. Not long I hope.”
“13 years actually.”
Fautna paused for a second, carefully stroking the tuft of hair beneath he chin, but he commanded his composure and suppressed his surprise.
“Hmm... In that case, I suppose you do not know much about recent clan affairs.”
“My mother wrote to me during my stay up north, but I have not been informed of anything since June of this year.”
“Sa, then surely these events are all new to you. If you would follow me, we can discuss things in my study.”
The two of them exited into a hallway and followed its corridor until the reached a room at the end. There was a table and several chairs seated around it inside. Losha sat next to the window as Fautna closed the door behind him.
“As you likely have just heard, your family is now the Torom of Holvate.”
“How is this so? Uncle Jadi and his family were the Torom when I last left.”
Fautna shook his head as he took a seat himself. “I am sorry to inform you that he has passed. His wife is ill, and his children are barely older than you. The Torom now falls on his brother, your father. This is what Holvate has decided, collectively.
“And what of my immediate family? How do they fare?” Losha asked.
“They are all well as far as I know. I hear about them directly through Harle.”
“My brother?”
“Yes,” Fautna nodded. “We are both the delegates of our respective Toroms in the Tabran. He and I speak quite often, just last month in fact, at the council’s last gathering. Actually your timing is quite uncanny. Sa, just tomorrow I was about to make way for Sevia myself, another meeting you see.”
Losha frowned for a moment. She realized just then what that carriage was in the court earlier. Those were the special vehicles reserved for the Torom, used strictly for clan business. She’d seen a number of them when the semi-annual meetings of the Tabran were held in Sevia. For some reason though, her uncle never rode in his, not that she remembered. But Fautna’s words didn’t add up.
“A meeting of the Tabran? Just last month and now a month ahead of schedule? What exactly is going on?”
“Sa, this bit of news is even more recent,” he said, folding his fingers together. “Losha, we are at war.”
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