The following year passed uneventfully, with Si'Wren on an endless
course of private study and practical exercises both in and outside of
court, during the course of which she found little time to think on
other, less pressing concerns.
Emperor Euphrates declared one day that he had decided to review his
kingdom and would greet his loyal subjects openly in the city streets,
and so a date was set.
On the appointed holy day, the royal criers carried out the decree with
much pomp and ceremony and fanfare. There was a large turnout of the
citizenry in the narrow streets. Attendance from the palace was made up
of a long procession of court officers, underlings, self-serving
hangers-on, and peons of every station and calling in life. The display
of royalty was to be immediately followed by a military parade.
It was a grand and wonderful procession.
There were the royal wives and concubines, Fatoo the Sorcerer, Borla
the Royal Adviser, with many beautiful young girls to act as flower
bearers and dancers.
There were the Captains of Fifty with their long lines of soldiers
marching four-abreast with their shields, spears, swords, and bows
carried openly in their hands, together with the lines of proud and
haughty horse and camel soldiers riding two-abreast.
Long lines of filthy slaves in filthier rags, captured in war or
sentenced for various crimes against His Majesty's Kingdom would also
be forced to march in the parade, mercilessly chained together in long
lines at their necks, and with their elbows tied tightly together
behind their backs, and compelled to stagger with their heads bowed
agonizingly.
A single-file of elephants bore close on the heels of the slaves,
causing them to roll their eyes frequently in terror, lest any should
stumble, or the riotous throng stampede the beasts and cause them to be
trampled without warning.
Following after all of this was a loose-knit crowd of stragglers who
had found any number of excuses to follow behind the royal procession.
Every manner of self-styled high-born and social climber showed up to
be in the parade or at least be seen cheering it. They took great
relish and delight in hurling garbage and dung as accurately as
possible at the cringing slaves, who found it difficult to duck what
was thrown at them.
There was much prestige involved in this sort of thing, and it was well
worth the effort to participate with a great deal of obvious show and
personal public visibility.
Natural intoxicants were not in short supply, nor red wine, nor coarse
behaviors, nor physical altercations, but all such were to be seen at
almost every hand, and in almost every direction one chose to look.
* * *
First came the conch-blowers, appointed by Ampho, Royal
Crier at Court. By the time the whole procession got lined up and under
way, there really was no need of criers, but it was all part of the act.
Then came the dancing girls, followed by bamboo woodwinds, and a line
of steadily pounding drummers.
Then came the Royal Guards, all with long pikes or flashing swords in
their grasp.
Then came the litter upon which Emperor Euphrates sat in royal splendor.
On the front of the royal litter stood a pair of live peacocks. A tame
spider monkey rode in the Emperor's lap and skittered restlessly about,
chattering animatedly on it's braided tether leash.
The spider monkey made lewd faces at the crowds lining the streets,
pleasing and entertaining them as they called loudly and repeatedly to
the Emperor, "Peace! Peace!" and "Long live Emperor Euphrates!"
The royal litter was followed by a small flock of ostriches tended by
several boys with switches. One boy had already had to be taken back on
a litter for treatment by the Royal Physician. He had been kicked in
the side of the head by one of the huge birds, but word had it that he
seemed to be doing fairly well, and it was taken as a good omen that he
had only been stunned and not killed instead.
Close behind the ostriches came Si'Wren, riding on her magnificent
black stallion, which, not having been gelded, was, in the hands of any
but Si'Wren, about as controllable as a wild cat on the scent of blood.
The contrasting light as he constantly moved cast his black coat with a
rippling purple-black sheen of dark hues.
Many called out as Si'Wren rode past them, and she rode aloofly,
nodding to whoever seemed dignified enough to merit it, and
infrequently waved back when others waved first. Clearly, many of her
would-be admirers knew nothing of her scandalous reputation as an
idol-breaker.
Bound by her oath of silence, she might as well have been one of those
pathetic, pitiable lunatics who constantly drooled and were ofttimes
possessed, and were either utterly as speechless as idiots, or spoke
the language of the moon, isolated in the midst of all.
She knew that it was really demons which afflicted the minds of men,
and not the moon. However, lunatic or no, she followed the calling of a
different god, and felt as one moonstruck in broad daylight. It was an
odd sensation which persisted steadfast, that somehow she no longer
spoke, spiritually in her heart, the same language as they who
worshiped wood and stone.
Her head elevated above the multitudes, Si'Wren pretended not to notice
as more than a few openly ogled her. The tirelessly prancing black
stallion was clearly of noble lineage, and had the lines of a thunderer
and was blessed not only of classic lines but also of an inordinate
swiftness which, with little Si'Wren on him, made the combination of
horse and rider as swift as a rushing rapids and left the Emperor's
horse-messengers perpetually envious.
Si'Wren's raiment consisted of a long-sleeved blouse and leggings, tiny
slippers, and a riding cape. Every item was absolute, total jet black,
and tight at the cuffs of wrists and ankles and at the waist, but free
to ripple over her slender limbs in the sun and wind. Attached to her
black saddle, chased with silver trim, were her official writing kit
packed in wrapped punk moss in a saddlebag, and a few other items.
Upon Ibi's strict orders, she was forbidden to use berry juice to stain
her lips, or make use of any other form of makeup, or any sort of
adornment or jewelry, because it would have detracted from the
appearance of royal dignity and absolute asceticism in her calling as
Royal Scribe. It was bad enough, decried Ibi one day, that she was only
a female. Worse, she was small even for her age and sex. On top of
that, Si'Wren, born into a world of penta-centenarians, men and women
of five hundred or more years of age, was, at a mere seventeen, so
infernally young.
What was needful, said Ibi, was for her physical appearance and
wardrobe to convey a sense of royal station. Instead of bearing the
appearance of a junior scribe, she needed to carry about her some sort
of outward dignity as a signal to all who observed her, of the terrible
sense of majesty which her high station demanded. She desperately
needed to personify somehow, with but her mere appearance, the fearsome
aspect of sheer awe and awfulness of her high station in Imperial
service to his highness, the Emperor Euphrates, said Ibi.
With that in mind, Ibi had exactingly prescribed and appointed her
formal court uniform, under strictest guidelines, and had put her
totally in black to signify before all and sundry that she was no mere
plaything, but a Royal Officer of the Court.
Never, said he, was she ever to appear in any other color. Else, how
could she possibly expect to be taken seriously by her peers at court,
not to mention the coarse and disrespectful public at large?
Her hair, he observed, must never be cut, neither broidered except
according to his strict guidelines. When actually in court or appearing
in public, she was to braid it in one or more long braids, which she
had permission either to wear straight down the middle of her back, or
coiled up in any one of several formal designs according to his precise
dictates.
He forbade the artifice of vanity in any way, shape, or form, and no
color was to be added to her face. She must not pluck her
eyebrows--which were not that heavy anyway.
That she should only wear black was an agreeable but meaningless edict
to Si'Wren at first, but she was beginning to understand. One must keep
an unflinching eye to the practical business of court. Many unlettered
buyers went to market to look upon the wares of the merchants like so
many red-eyed judges, and they drove exceeding hard bargains. Such
covetous types were everywhere, with a true talent for the sneer kept
ever just below the surface of their gladdest smiles. Such sneers could
be her undoing, Court Officer or no.
Without such unthinking respect on the part of others, how could she
effectively conduct herself, how pursue her royal duties, if held in
perpetual scorn by palace peers and the public? Without the unthinking
esteem of the crowds, the common masses of peoples who thronged daily
to the Emperor's court, how could Si'Wren face up to such coarse souls
as would just as soon laugh in her face and make sport of her meager
person?
It was one thing for the whores to mock a laughing soldier by parading
around half-naked in his armor. No one took them seriously, and the
soldiers enjoyed it.
But such was not to be the case for Si'Wren, declared Ibi sternly.
Si'Wren strove always to follow Ibi's orders, and as time passed she
had learned to appreciate the shrewd wisdom of his directives, and in
the end, Ibi's peculiar ways had somehow come to actually inspire her
willing and enthusiastic devotion and loyalty, where before he had but
only commanded it.
Si'Wren was appearing solo in public for the first time today. That was
because Ibi had not been feeling well lately, and had remained back in
his private palace chambers to try and rest. His body, he complained,
could not 'get heat'. Si'Wren gave him a look of sympathy. She would be
fine by herself.
And she was. Today the roaring crowds cheered her on with the rest of
them as she paraded past. Behind her, a twin-column of murderous
mounted camel soldiers, cut-throats all, brought up the rear and she
felt quite safe in their immediate presence--in public at least. In
private, she would not have permitted herself the extreme risk of being
left alone in the same room with a single one of the filthy scum.
When they came to the outer walls of the city, Si'Wren was already
engaged in turning repeatedly from one side to the other as she waved
grandly at the noisome, chaotic sea of faces, and chanced to look down
upon a cluster of elders, sitting in the city gates.
She smiled and gave the nod in cursory fashion from her perch high up
on her prancing mount, and started to look away...
And looked back suddenly, for there in their midst, sitting by the
wayside in the city gates and clothed in a robe of coarse burr-lap, was
Habrunt!
Si'Wren's heart pounded like thunder as she abruptly pulled the reins
suddenly, halting and wheeling her black steed as she turned him out of
formation and walked the high-stepping stallion skittishly up in front
of him. Then she adroitly slipped a leg over the top of the saddle and
plummeted down with a sudden rush of air to alight on her feet and
stand smiling impishly down at him with her little fists on her hips.
Habrunt peered narrowly at up her, and she bowed ceremoniously to him,
an unprecedented gesture of respect from such an exalted member of the
Emperor's royal court to a mere beggar, which caused no small commotion
among the other elders sitting around them.
Habrunt's dull eyes grew slowly wide as he took her in disinterestedly
at first, and suddenly stared at her in dumbstruck disbelief. All of a
sudden, he was struggling with his walking stick to rise to his feet.
"Si'Wren!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Can it truly be you?"
Si'Wren nodded vigorously, and stood beaming cheerfully at him as
Habrunt wrapped his burly arms around her with an inarticulate
exclamation of joy, and suddenly Si'Wren found herself weeping, crying
and laughing all at the same time, heedless to the sea of faces
surrounding them cheering the Emperor in a continuous deafening roar.
Realizing that she had something she must show to him, she pulled free
of his embrace and wiped quickly at her tears with one rippling silken
black sleeve and turned to the black stallion.
As the stallion shook his dark head and long shaggy mane, and neighed
and snorted loudly and lifted and clopped his hooves on the street with
a series of heavy thuds, Si'Wren steadied him with her hands, and swung
her arm back to sweep her flowing cape out of her way, and reached up
to pull from one of her saddle bags the ivory cuneiform writing sticks,
and a used clay tablet already covered with writing, in a bamboo frame.
Turning to Habrunt, she smiled her most radiant as she held these up
for his appraisal.
"Aha!" said Habrunt, taking and examining everything carefully.
"You--wrote this?"
Si'Wren nodded vigorously.
Habrunt could not seem to believe his own eyes, as he looked
alternately at Si'Wren and her clay writing tablet.
"I see," he said, and Si'Wren saw that his astonished eyes were full of
surprise and incredulity. "I too, can read and write. Your scribner's
style is well-practiced and most admirable! Of a truth, the Invisible
God has worked a mighty work in your life! Because of your selfless
example of faith before all, Si'Wren, I have been mightily uplifted in
spirit, and inspired to speak the more boldly again of the Invisible
God myself before all!"
Full of astonishment, Si'Wren stared up at him as her eyes lit up in
round-eyed wonder, shocked to the roots by this startling and
unexpected revelation.
"Now as for this writing," said Habrunt, "this is most amazing. I know
not what this surprising series of events may portend, Si'Wren, but
verily is the Invisible God the Almighty. For look here who it is that
I have with me."
Habrunt turned, and Si'Wren looked down at an old, old man, who was
totally ignoring the crowds as if they had all gone mad.
"Bassdag!" said Habrunt loudly.
The aged one, who was almost entirely bald-headed, stirred as if
shaking himself out of a fitful slumber.
"Eh? Who is that?"
"How can you sleep at a time like this?" jested Habrunt. "It is the
Royal Scribe of the Emperor, who rides in his procession, and has
dismounted to pay us a visit!"
Habrunt kept his voice loud, to be heard over the river of noise from
the tumultuous throngs that crowded them in at every hand.
"So you say, Habrunt," scoffed the bowed and weary-looking old Bassdag.
"Royal Scribe to the Emperor, eh? Well, where is the illiterate snob?"
Quickly, Si'Wren knelt down on both knees and dipped her head in a
perfunctory bow before the ancient, as she smiled with a merry look to
a proudly grinning Habrunt.
As she bowed low before old Bassdag, sensing her presence, he peered up
at her.
"Your face is awfully girlish, young man," said Bassdag. His speech was
very slow and deeply pitched. "No beard yet?"
"That is because she is no man at all," laughed Habrunt, "but a woman!"
At this astonishing revelation, Bassdag said nothing at first, but only
lifted up his great old white-bearded countenance to stare at her
disbelievingly.
A smiling Si'Wren peered narrowly back at Bassdag, whose eyes surveyed
her critically from under snow-white bushy eyebrows, and she felt the
power of his keen mind, especially in the sharpness and incisiveness of
his voice.
"A girl?" said Bassdag.
Si'Wren kept smiling, but held her peace.
"Why do you mock her," said Habrunt soberly, "seeing she has taken a
vow to the Invisible God never to speak, on her life?"
"Eh?"
"I said," Habrunt went on pointedly, "that one Si'Wren, who kneels
before you now, is no empty-headed minstrel, or some plaything in the
Emperor's harem, but a Royal Scribe in the palace court. She sits
before kings. She prays to the Invisible God."
Bassdag's keen, intelligent frown seemed to bore powerfully through
Si'Wren to her very soul, when the aged man turned his eyes upon her
again.
"Oh!" said Bassdag, with a quick raise of his eyebrows. He seemed to be
genuinely impressed. "That changes everything."
Then Bassdag rose with difficulty, using the assistance of a shepherd's
crook and Habrunt's helping, steady hand.
"Come here, girl," he said.
Timidly, Si'Wren took a step closer, and Bassdag reached up and took
Si'Wren's slender forearm in his large and knobby old hand.
"This old man," said Habrunt, "who is older than anyone I have ever
met, invented--writing."
Si'Wren stared up at the white-haired old face, and was awestruck.
"Aye," said Bassdag, nodding in the affirmative. "Verily I thought I
had created something with which to enrich men's souls. But since
inventing it, much has happened to cause me to believe otherwise.
Sometimes, I think it was all just a waste of time."
Then Bassdag, in a tired, quavering voice, went on, "Tell me, Habrunt.
Is this one sincere soul all that remains in all the world, to follow
after the one true God now, besides ourselves? Just one soul, and that
but a youth and a mere girl? Hath God in truth sworn to love the whole
world, but settled in the end upon only this one soul, but not the
rest?"
Habrunt shrugged.
"I know not, old one," he said, "but methinks you have spoken the truth
in this."
Bassdag stared owlishly at Habrunt, and seemed shaken by the admission.
The shrieks of many in the crowd suddenly increased wildly for no
reason which Si'Wren could discern, the inherent madness of the
outcries making her uneasy as she sought to ignore them and focus on
Habrunt and his friend.
"Surely, Habrunt, these maddened, screaming multitudes, which surround
us at every hand and froth madly at the mouth in the name of sanity;
are they with their voices then to be counted more blessed than she in
her silence?"
Bassdag squinted up at Si'Wren.
"Ye who can read and write, are the only remaining true believer
besides ourselves, and on top of this, thou art sworn never to speak?
This is a mystery! Look around you, girl! Look how they have forgotten!
Aye, they have forgotten all, even unto their one true God who is the
foundation of the world, and the judge of their very souls!"
Bassdag paused, and looked around, his eyes searching the souls of
individual faces in the deafening throngs. Si'Wren felt insignificant
compared to old Bassdag, because she was so much younger and
less-imposing in appearance than he. His frowning, wrinkled countenance
appeared all the more impressive and terrible for it's lack of a
singular target to fasten upon because of his half-blindness.
Continually assaulting Si'Wren's ears were the screams of the crowds at
every hand, as they loudly proclaimed their praises to the Emperor. The
torrent of noise made it difficult for her to listen to the two men
without craning her ear constantly.
Tilting his great white-haired old head to one side at her open young
face, Bassdag said to her in a quavering voice, "Si'Wren, you must
never, never stop serving the Almighty Lord God."
"She does," assured Habrunt confidently, "and she shall!"
"That is good!" said Bassdag, with a slow, ponderous nod of his tired
head and stooped shoulders. "May the Almighty bless you, Si'Wren, and
may your name be remembered forever in Heaven."
He patted Si'Wren on the shoulder. Then, he let fall his arm, and
awkwardly, lowered himself back down again with the use of his
shepherd's crook and seemed not to see her anymore.
"You must come see me again," Habrunt said to Si'Wren. "I am always to
be found here, sitting with the elders in the gates of the city."
Then, Habrunt's face became more serious as he put his hands gently
upon both of her shoulders and looked down into her upturned, questing
eyes.
"Si'Wren, I would speak quickly of a certain matter, before you go. We
no longer have the Master Rababull to worry about. It is possible for
us to hope of living to the Invisible God, and--to ourselves..."
Si'Wren studied him as if seeing him for the first time, marveling at
his strange manner of speech. But Habrunt was so involved in putting
together his words that he was already going on, as if oblivious to the
way she suddenly changed her expression from one of attentiveness to
one of wonder while still looking up at him, her wide-open eyes
fastened upon his so intently.
"I have convinced many of those whom you see here, these wise ones
whose custom it is to sit in the gates of the city, that they must give
up their blind idols and worship the true and living God," said Habrunt.
"All," Habrunt went on, "except Bassdag, who was already a true
believer. But they would never listen to him, until I came along, and
sat with them, and spoke of the same God. Then, when they saw that
Bassdag and I were in agreement, each separate from the other, then
they finally began to believe both of us. While I have not been
entirely successful in convincing them all, I have managed to save some.
"It is you who inspires me, Si'Wren. I have never forgotten you
Si'Wren. Si'Wren, listen to me! Should I be forced to-- to continue
without you a day longer, now that you are of proper age and we have
found each other again, I-- I mean--"
Si'Wren had been staring up at him with eyes full of amazement, and
when he faltered, she blinked, and came to a full, sudden realization
of what had been happening between herself and this beaten-down wreck
of a man called Habrunt, who though he be of ordinary stature, had a
heart that would dwarf a giant's.
Overwhelmed, she nodded earnestly up at him. She reached up with her
writing implements still in her hands, to carefully wrap her slender
arms around his whip-scarred neck and pull him down to her. He held
her, half leaning on his stick, and trembling as he kissed her proudly
on the forehead, and then, after gazing deep into her eyes, he kissed
her again -ever so tenderly- upon the lips, a long, burning, unbroken
contact, putting a lifetime of pent-up passion into one searing eternal
moment. If broken in body, he was still yet noble in spirit. Then they
broke apart, and stood looking long into each other's faces with a
newfound understanding such as rendered all of Si'Wren's lifelong
torments but a chaotic dream.
Habrunt held her in his strong, gentle hands and looked at her, really
looked at her. He searched her eyes again, desperately seeking
something, and finally, crinkled his own in a willing expression of
deep inner rejoicing.
"Do not fail to come back to me, Si'Wren," said Habrunt, becoming more
serious. "If your heart has not cooled these many years apart from me,
let no meddlesome soothsayer tell you that mine has done otherwise.
Remember; if I do not hear from you soon, I shall come and petition the
Emperor myself, and your own hand as Royal Scribe shall record it."
Si'Wren, still looking straight into his eyes, did not move in the
slightest degree, and her face became luminous and radiant as she
finally nodded, her eyes utterly lost within his.
"Good!" Habrunt said heartily, grinning self-consciously in spite of
himself, and showing to Si'Wren a totally different side to the man
whom she had always known before as being perpetually so stoic, just,
and reserved. "It is good, Si'Wren! As your husband, I shall exercise
my right as a free man to redeem you from your vow of silence. But for
now, I think the royal procession is about to leave you behind!"
Si'Wren started as she looked suddenly around at the receding lines of
the procession, and then looked back at him with eyes that lived for
promises to come, of a new world with Habrunt together with her, and of
vast far-flung visions of new life and of laughter, and yet in her eyes
she also showed the apprehension of eternal loss already looming, and
of anguish beyond the torments of the utterly lost, lest there be the
remotest possibility of more than this one final separation.
Yet as he had said, it was time to go. Just like Habrunt, to be always
so dutiful!
She put her things back in her saddlebag, and then turned and reached
up to embrace him quickly. He swept his arms around her again, and held
her tight, and she longed for the moment never to end. Then Habrunt let
go again, and turned to her horse, to hold out a helping hand to her.
Habrunt's back might be weak, but he gripped the saddle for support and
showed that he intended to help her up. Si'Wren flashed a quick smile
at him, and dipped down and gave a little hop as she got the sole of
one tiny foot into one of his large hands like a makeshift stepping
stone, and as he curled his biceps and lifted her in this manner she
eeled herself up in one smooth, perfectly timed motion and swung her
leg over.
Remounted as lightly as a butterfly, she beamed down at Habrunt, and
then looked up and swept the narrow, jam-packed street a fleeting
glance. Then she flicked her reins and kicked her heels in lightly with
a hand-slap on her horse's neck.
The black charger responded instantly, and surged forward in a hurtling
motion of buried muscle as she cantered him down the narrow street past
the noisome throngs. His hooves clomp-clopped the ground in a heavy
rhythm as she caught up to her proper position in the royal procession
and slowed to rejoin them again.
She could not stop herself breathing heavily as her heart continued to
pound. The memory of his scent and the lingering sensation of his
kisses had sent her blood to singing.
* * *
It was a grand procession. Every so often, Emperor Euphrates would cast
a handful of gold coins to the crowds, and their cheering would be
transformed to lunatic crescendos as the throngs dived together in a
sudden concerted rush to get at the coveted coins.
There were people with grievous impairments and afflictions at every
hand, and they were also caught up in the mad scramble for coins. Some
of them were trampled shamelessly by those more able, who should have
known not to be so abusive and unfair.
Si'Wren was aware of all this, yet, brushing tears from her eyes, she
could not help looking back in the direction of Habrunt. But she could
not pick him out now, although she knew he was still there, sitting
with the elders in the gates of the city.
How her heart yearned to see him again--and soon!
Then her eyes noticed something, and she looked far to the rear of the
long line of the procession. There, far behind her, she saw a
boisterous crowd of evil men, bringing up the rear behind the long
lines of battle-hardened camel soldiers.
What were they doing there, she wondered?
Just before they turned a corner to begin heading back into the city by
another route, she heard a loud commotion, angry shouts and wild
screams amidst the cheers, far back at the gates of the city. She
turned in her saddle to look, but could not see what was happening, and
dared not break ranks and turn her horse out of the procession again,
lest she risk incurring the displeasure of Emperor Euphrates or some
other senior dignitary.
Anxiously she craned her neck to see better, but it was no use, and she
finally turned away again, for she must go on.
* * *
Scarcely had they returned to the palace, when word was passed around
that a respected trader had come with important news for the Emperor's
ears only. Such was his nobility and reputation with the Emperor that
the sweating and dust-caked trader was escorted directly through by two
armed guards to an inner chamber for an immediate private audience with
his Majesty.
Soon after, Emperor Euphrates sent word that an emergency session was
to be held in his private chambers, and, with Ibi lying ill, Si'Wren
was called to attendance.
Anxiously, Si'Wren delivered her horse to the stables, and stopped by
Ibi's workshop to retrieve fresh writing supplies. With a proper kit in
hand, she hastened through the royal gardens and made her way through
the crowded palace passages toward the meeting chamber. Around her as
she approached the meeting, the palace dignitaries were still
celebrating, for it had been declared a day of feasting, and the sounds
of continual merrymaking were on every hand.
In a private chamber just large enough to hold them all, Si'Wren took
her seat several positions to the right of the Emperor, and when all
officers of high position had arrived, the wizened-looking old trader
was invited to retell his story.
The sojourner began, and spoke at length.
It seemed there was a great prophet in a land far to the northwest,
whose name was Noah. He was a Patriarch, and a man to be reckoned with,
and all held his words in high esteem, although no one believed the
prophecy he had been speaking imploringly to all of late. Noah, said
the trader, was the son of Lamech, who was the son of Methuselah. These
were all great Patriarchs of wide renown, individuals commonly known in
their own time and country to be men of vast intellect and lofty
pursuits.
This Noah, the trader continued, was no exception. Noah had begun
building a vast ship, of a size well beyond the scope of any known
shipwright of the day, out of gopher wood.
Si'Wren duly recorded the name of Noah, son of Lamech, son of
Methuselah, and awaited further recording instructions or questions.
People could be quite long-winded, and her writing capacity was rather
limited by the relatively small size of the clay tablets, versus the
set size of her cuneiform marking sticks. By Ibi's own oft-repeated
instructions and judiciously worded admonitions, she knew that one must
be frugal with one's free space on a clay tablet. One could only get
just so much down on one slab.
Si'Wren must frequently sit at court, virtually unnoticed on the
sidelines, for interminable periods as the great lords droned on and
on, lulling her almost to sleep with sleepy blinked-back tears of
utmost boredom. Only, all of a sudden, for some speaker to abruptly
begin an unexpected, long string of names, all of them sons and fathers
and in-laws of this or that important personage, and she must suddenly
scramble to record all before they slipped from memory. She rarely
slipped up, but it could be grueling at times.
Fortunately, only three generations had been mentioned this time; Noah,
and his father and grandfather along with their common titles of
Patriarch. That was easy.
As Si'Wren continued to follow the words of the trader, she noticed
that Emperor Euphrates seemed to be unusually agitated by what was
being said, and she could not help speculating distractedly on why this
should be.
What seemed to scare Emperor Euphrates so badly, from what Si'Wren
could garner, was that this great Patriarch called Noah wasn't just
building another ship by the sea shore, for ordinary fishing or
trading. Oh no, not this one called Noah. He was a different kettle of
fish altogether, for he was working far from the sea shore, over by the
forests where he would not have to haul his wood so far.
It was a little backwards, and in fact seemed outright senseless on the
face of it. Customarily, as all knew, you must haul the wood to the
seashore, and build beside the sea. Very close beside it, in fact. For,
who could haul a finished ship? Even a rowing bark was carried upon
it's owner's back no further from the sea than absolutely necessary,
which for such a one happened to be the grass-tufted dunes just beyond
the line of the high water mark.
But as for Noah, the vessel which he was building was enormous, and was
referred to as an ark. A great ark. It was so far from the sea that all
peoples in the land round about him had begun to mock him for his
foolishness.
According to the trader, this Noah was declaring openly to all who
would listen, that he had a direct revelation from the one true God,
the God of legendary Adam himself. Adam, who was rumored to have first
pronounced the long outmoded and unpopular prohibition against any
making of idols.
At this, everyone paused to turn and stare thoughtfully at Si'Wren, who
froze and, after a momentary, unintentional confrontation with them
all, dropped her eyes humbly and stared red-faced down at her clay
tablet and ivory marking sticks. She suddenly wished her hair was not
braided, that she might hide her face even partially from their eyes,
behind it's natural veil.
The trader paused and stared at her also, clearly wondering why they
should all react in so peculiar a fashion, as to respond by singling
out a mere Scribe, and a female at that, for such untimely scrutiny as
this.
Then, without explanation, Emperor Euphrates bade him go on, and the
trader forgot their odd reaction as he continued his tale.
The trader related that, according to the Patriarch Noah, God was going
to send a great flood to judge the world. Water, declared the
messenger, would actually rain in droplets from the sky in so great a
quantity, and for so great a time, sufficient as to drown all the earth
even unto the inundation of the tops of the highest mountain peaks,
because of the perpetual wickedness of men.
At mention of this unheard-of 'rain of droplets', the room was filled
with rank consternation and the openly expressed scoffing of more than
a few of those high-born present, momentarily interrupting the
apocalyptic narrative. But perceiving a disapproving frown from Emperor
Euphrates, a stern-faced Borla silenced them all with a warning look
and lifting of fingers upon a momentarily uptilted wrist at the end of a
black-enshrouded arm, and the trader finally went on.
This Patriarch Noah, said the trader, was calling upon all men to
repent in sackcloth and ashes of their evil ways, before God's thinning
patience should finally run out and his wrath bring this harsh
judgement upon all their heads.
"This is indeed a far-fetched tale," mused a deeply frowning Borla in
his customarily heavy, foreboding tone of voice. His head was bowed
thoughtfully, with his hand to his chin, stroking his beard sagely.
"Humph! Mm, yes," Emperor Euphrates nodded, as he agreed readily enough
with Borla's idle comment. "It has been fetched far alright; all the
way from the land of Noah. But--how can one possibly determine what
degree of truth there be in such a case?"
The question was asked of no one in particular, and there was no reply
forthcoming.
Then Emperor Euphrates turned to Si'Wren, and said, "Well chosen were
you, Si'Wren, of all possible souls, to be appointed Royal Scribe,
against this day of judgement by your strange Invisible God, who
regards all idols with such abomination, and whom this great prophet
Noah also worships, even as you. Make a proper summary of our words,
and so mark the record as befits all that you have heard. You may use
one tablet."
Si'Wren bowed low and quickly began to enter long, tiny lines of dainty
hash markings with her ivory sticks.
When Emperor Euphrates told her she had one, two, three, or more
tablets with which to record, he was usually giving her a pretty good
idea of the scope of the spontaneous summarizing and editing which was
expected of her.
One tablet, here, was significant because of the brevity and impact of
the record called for. There were so few relevant details, anyway. It
wasn't like a murderously complicated property boundary dispute, for
instance. Or a tally of gifts to the Emperor, so many articles of gold,
so many chalices of silver, so many horns of incense, and so on. Or
worse yet, an Imperially granted Honor. For Honors, you had to get
everybody's relations correct and in order, an exacting task which
could take long and leave her hollow-eyed over such labors.
Borla moved to stand close behind her shoulder and watched silently as
she made her marks.
She used to grow nervous when he did that, but she had since learned
that all he desired was to make sure she put in all the truly relevant
details, made no unnecessary errors, and left out that which was
obviously unnecessary.
Under such impromptu tutelage from Borla, Si'Wren had soon learned what
to put in, what to leave out, and how best to arrange it, working
swiftly, neatly, and accurately. Now she unconsciously strove for
greater excellence than ever before, as Emperor Euphrates questioned
the trader further.
Halfway through, Emperor Euphrates paused and turned his head to regard
Si'Wren's progress, and said, "Another tablet shall be wanting, Scribe."
Si'Wren nodded as she quickly finished the first frame and picked up
another, and bent to her writings, expertly marking the smooth clay.
After that, there were a few more details to be recorded by Si'Wren,
who paid diligent attention to whatever else Borla might see fit to
prompt her to enter into the record.
The Royal Advisors, wise men all, and known to Si'Wren to be wicked
beyond measure, conversed with their Emperor, occasionally directing
pointed questions to the trader concerning various particulars, while
she caused her ivory marking sticks to fairly fly over the smooth
glistening clay of her tablet.
Unbidden, she finally pulled out a third clay tablet for the record,
and none challenged her decision.
Listening anxiously to the story of Noah, the attitude of Emperor
Euphrates and his Royal Advisers gradually changed from frightened
alarm, to nervous mockery. By and by, the Royal Advisers became
unanimous in advising their concerned Emperor to disbelieve this weary
traveler's mad tale. Besides which, this so-called Prophet Noah didn't
even have true religion. A single god who could not be seen, and the
universal worship of idols spoken so openly against as a vile and
divinely forbidden practice? The very idea!
But Emperor Euphrates would not be placated. He was very much afraid of
the words of this prophet and his one Invisible God, this Patriarch
called Noah.
Finally, Emperor Euphrates signaled straw-thin Ampho, the Royal Crier,
who stuck his beaked nose into the air and closed his eyes as he
sounded out, considerably less loudly than in open court, "All keep
silence before the great Emperor Euphrates!"
"Mark my words," said Emperor Euphrates, for the benefit of Si'Wren.
Si'Wren shifted to a fourth clay tablet and waited, her marking sticks
poised to fly.
"One called Noah, a noble patriarch who has pronounced both prophecies
and judgements before God," said Emperor Euphrates, "shall be visited
by Emperor Euphrates, and petitioned with all royal gifts and honors
befitting his noble reputation, to determine if he is a true prophet of
the God who hates idols, or a liar and mocker. I, Emperor Euphrates,
have spoken."
The nobles present all betrayed their unexpected surprise at this
pronouncement, yet obediently gave the customary nod, but this they
seemed to do a bit reluctantly, it appeared to Si'Wren.
Did they resent the idea of their Emperor risking his life thus, or did
they, too, fear as their Emperor obviously did, the stunning revelation
of this strange prophet and his industrious work upon an ark of such
immense proportions?
An ark made so far from any body of water, intended for the day when a
great flood such as no man had ever witnessed should cover the whole
earth! Such a tale was frightful beyond all imagining.
Emperor Euphrates turned and said to Si'Wren, "Scribe; Ibi is not well.
You will make immediate preparations to accompany me on a journey into
the far land wherein dwells this Noah, to see what the truth of this
matter may be."
Si'Wren nodded readily at this, and bowed low.
"Along the way," added Emperor Euphrates, "I would hear more from you
about this strange Invisible God who so despises idols."
Si'Wren looked up at him in momentary confusion. If she had sworn a vow
never to speak, how was she to do this?
But Emperor Euphrates waved an idle hand at her clay tablets and
marking sticks with a nod.
Abruptly, Si'Wren flashed a look of understanding. How silly of her to
forget, and she nodded and bowed hastily to show her acknowledgment.
The meeting having come to it's conclusion, all bowed before Emperor
Euphrates as he rose and went out. Then Borla dismissed them all after
an announcement that an expedition was to be mounted and various
individuals were to be expected to go, and the meeting was over.
As the murmur of astonished male voices went on around her, Si'Wren
entered the date, with her personal 'signature', two short squiggles,
one upright and one laid over. Lastly, she marked a quickly executed
pictograph of a king's crown. It was an oft and well-practiced suffix,
to signify that it was Emperor Euphrates's own decision, rather than
that of an underling such as Borla.
* * *
That evening, as Si'Wren prepared herself for the long journey, on
which Ibi could not come because of his extreme age and many
infirmities, Si'Wren learned from her mentor of truly shocking news.
There had been a great commotion in the city gates, said Ibi, after the
royal procession had passed by. A huge crowd of evil men had stormed
through, and beaten off the elders of the city and taken over the
gates. Many were killed.
Si'Wren's eyes grew large and serious at the hearing of this.
Then Ibi, still ailing and in a very weakened physical state, put a
heavy hand on her shoulder, and said to Si'Wren, "Among the dead,
little one, was one of great and noble reputation, called Habrunt."
Si'Wren stared up at Ibi, eyes disbelieving.
"Aye," said Ibi quietly, with a woeful, tired nod. "I knew of him, and
of your love for him. When two such hearts as yours and Habrunt's beat
so strongly for one another, even the deaf can hear that noble drum
beat. It was said of him that while the elders all fled like cowards to
save their own skins, Habrunt remained in spite of his injuries and
rose up to his full former stature, and knocked down his first attacker
with a staff of hard wood which the sword had failed to cut in twain
despite repeated blows. So Habrunt prevailed against the first one with
his staff, and then used the man's own sword to cut them down like
tares before they finally surrounded him and slew him by their
overwhelming numbers.
"Who could have preferred it any other way, least of all Habrunt
himself?" Ibi went on. "Many grieve besides you, Si'Wren, for the
memory of lost Habrunt. They say Habrunt stood his ground with none to
help him, and sought valiantly to defend the aged one who invented
writing, and who was slain together with him also. Yet his majesty the
Emperor Euphrates, on being informed of this, washed his hands of the
entire wretched matter and has chosen to do nothing whatsoever about
it."
Si'Wren felt hot tears well up in her eyes, stinging them, and blurring
her vision as she dropped her eyes from Ibi's, and stared numbly at the
stones of the floor where the tears fell from her cheeks in an
accumulated pattern of insignificant spatters.
So, that which she considered the greatest news of all, was no news at
all to her Emperor.
She felt at her pouch, without looking, for her ivory marking sticks,
and slowly drew them out with trembling fingers.
The great Emperor Euphrates was desirous that Si'Wren should instruct
him, on this long journey, on the virtues of the Invisible God, a God
who hated idols.
Bitterness filled her heart and soul, as Si'Wren clutched her beautiful
ivory marking sticks with unseen fingers and hung her head in grief,
staring blurrily down at the splashes of her tears like mythical
'raindrops' upon the dull smooth unevenness of the stones.
This strange Invisible God had suffered a speechless one to 'speak'
through clay tablets, to an Emperor whose ears were perpetually
deafened by the turbulent but illiterate praises of the crowds.
It was a hard-won 'miracle', her speechless literacy, considering the
mortal sufferings she had endured under Ibi's sage tutelage to bring it
to pass. For the sake of God, if not her past miseries, she would have
a thing or two to inscribe for her Emperor's pleasure, along the way.
She would consult her own broken heart in the instruction of his stony
one, that it should burn within him to hear more of the truth about the
Invisible One, as Habrunt's once had.
This she must do. Let there be no mistake about it.