My return to the streets

This was all I needed to ready myself. I left the room and inched my way toward the stairs. I took a second to marvel that this was the first I had left my bedchamber in two weeks, but I did not dwell on the thought. I could not let it stand in the path of my escape from this ponvatil. Then, carefully, I guided myself to the ground floor. Once there, I discovered torn fabrics, destroyed or missing furniture, broken windows and shattered bits of pottery all over the floor. I could feel hope escape my body, as despair crept in. Who had done this to all of our things? Had they reached the supply of silver coins that Yakko had saved? We would be ruined without that money!

But then I caught myself. No, we would not. This had probably been done by angry or confused reformists. Or perhaps they had been chased into the house by a few Kapbaji militiamen, and when they hid, the Kapbaji tore apart the area in search of them. This is the sort of thought that might have devastated me into seclusion, but I finally knew better. The only way to prevent militia from entering my home was to call against them in the street. Thus I strolled through the room—becoming more comfortable with walking now—and stepped out of the front door.

The chill of winter was heavy and harsh at that moment, but on that day it awakened me, invigorated me. I was then breathing the air of active reformists! This was Ilepyan fresh air! In a moment, my dizziness and head pain dissipated, and I felt stronger than ever. I walked briskly out to Trafqha Street, just as I had a month and a half ago, and discovered that it was the middle of a dark afternoon. There was still no way to know for how long I had slept, but the more important fact was that I had come to a night protest in the middle of the day! I felt sheepish but, more than that, I felt frightened. I had to return to the house now and wait for night, but what if I lost my nerve at night?

Just as I was thinking this very thought, however, I turned out onto Trafqha Street and discovered something incredible. Although it was not yet three hours past noon, there were dozens of men in the streets. I heard a few cries and chants, and saw a few men running through the crowds, but most men ambled slowly west chatting casually to the man on his right or his left. What had happened? Were they Kapbaji? No, I the chants I heard were distinctly reformist. They appeared to be completely safe. What had happened?

“Yahram alu,” I called. The strength of my voice surprised me. A few men in my vicinity glanced at me before taking up the call themselves. I heard it spread throughout the street and beyond.

If this is how small, quiet Trafqha Street looked, how would Maidia Street? I pushed my way through the crowds, feeling more strength with every step I took. I turned north onto Malkholm Street, where there were perhaps hundreds more people. I asked a man if everyone was headed toward Maidia Street. He confirmed that they were, in fact. So I continued north, passing people on my left and my right, made my way briefly west on Pariatt Street before finally arriving in the very middle of Maidia Street.

Here I had arrived, in the very center of the city, the very point of the most reformist activity and sectarian fighting. The street was actually two roads, running on either side of a large park green and garden. This was a plaza used to host official city gatherings, large market days and, over the past year, great popular protests. The Apgha—the seat official residence and office of the mayor and aldermen—was a few blocks north of Pariatt Street, and I expected that this was the center of the day’s actions.

Etiar, how you have roused me

I began to consider how many complex things I had thought about over the last several days. Our departure from Kapabaj, the ilnarvattar, shame, the Hakol-Pata and right and wrong, the Almorstines and the Qhalam, and challenges to my own belief system. They were so many that I had not given the simple things thought in some time. Did I even need them anymore? I began to recall them again, but I did not think any further than the first one that came to my head: Yakko at the sinedratha on the University Chapel. I could not think of any more simple things, because this had once again become complex. Nidath had mentioned that my actions shamed my brothers. Etiar had said that he owed a debt to my brothers that had been paid through me. Was I such a drain on the Poniubiress name? Did they give everything they had, only to have me take? Even Anzidrion, who had spent his days sleeping while Yakko labored on his behalf, had given more than I had. What would Yakko think of me when he returned?

This, of course, was a painful question, for I knew the answer. He would see me in this condition and say that he understood why it had been so, but he in his heart, he would be deeply disappointed in me. He had risked his life and gone on a journey many miles away, sometimes through treacherous territory. Was it not too much to ask that I take a bit of action while he was gone?

What if Yakko had died? What if he had been assassinated by Kapbaji Hihaytheans while in Grontinion, or been kidnapped and executed while on his return to Ilepya? Who would reformists look to then? Of course, there were many other activists and heroes in Hihaythea, but what would happen if I were all that was left of the Poniubiress family? Three brothers as martyrs of the revolution, and the fourth as the martyr of his own fear. The citizens of Ilepya needed me to carry on where my brothers had left off. My family needed me, besides, as the revolution and reform would have to be finished and won, lest all of my relatives die in vain.

Kapbaji was inaction caused by ignorance, and ilnarvattar was inaction caused by mental exhaustion or complacency, and I felt as though I had just bested them both. I knew better than to be ignorant or complacent now. But what of physical exhaustion? I was in no state to take to the streets, or to organize anything at all that might best the enemies of the reform! What was I to do?

Then I lifted up the blanket and peered down at my bare body. I was covered in sores, and if I tilted my body just to the left, I could see a large bruise near my right hip. But what else? Considering how much time I had spent idly, I had not wasted away or lost too much of my flesh. Yes, my legs and belly were certainly lesser than they were two weeks ago, but it was not as if I looked like an old street woman during a famine! I was able-bodied! I could benefit from a few good meals, but otherwise I was just fine. In fact, I had demonstrated a few remarkable signs of revitalization over the past few days. I had freely spoken and shouted words and sentences, I had moved my limbs with very little obstacle and even lifted my body into a seated position. Surely, returning to the streets would first take retraining my body on how to walk and carry, but I was still young, and would learn again easily.

In order to best that old flaw of mine, whereby I considered an action as long as possible before I actually took it, I decided right then that there was no use in considering it more. I spun my body to the left and draped my legs over the side of the bed. Then I planted my feet on the ground and took a moment to steady myself and take a breath. I was still dizzy from the Hakol-Pata, but I was determined not to let it hold me back. I placed my palms on the side of the bed and used all of the strength in my arms to propel myself onto my feet. I began to sway forward, but I thought quickly, and placed my right foot forward and underneath my body, in order to catch myself. I glanced down at my feet to ensure that they were still steady, and I noticed that my member had, once again, become slightly enlarged, and had decided to become active along with the rest of me. This time, however, I did not feel embarrassed, and I chuckled at the irony. “You shall not shame me today,” I said to it, “for I have more complex things to do.” Slowly, fighting the dizziness and the fatigue and the cold, I took steps toward the old bureau in the opposite corner of the room. Once there, I outfitted myself with a sturdy pair of trousers, a thick shirt and a wool winter coat.

Now Etiar gives me things that are not so simple, and I have no choice but accept them

If I had died, it was not to be permanent, for I slowly drifted back into consciousness to the sound of voice. I felt indifferent to them, as my first true sensation—and the proof that I was not now with God—was extreme cold. The meager blanket which Nidath had placed upon me following my embarrassing collapse and resurrection now barely covered my torso. I scrambled to place my entire body underneath it, as it was as much protection as I could then muster against the bitter Hihaythean winter. With this done, I could give my surroundings more attention.

Where was I? What had happened since I had shouted Nidath out of my home? How long had it been? I asked myself all of these questions at once, and they were far too much to answer at once. Finally, once I had gathered myself a bit, I recognized that had slept, but I had no idea for how long. It could have been for a few minutes or a few days. Perhaps it had even been weeks!

Slowly, I began to gather clues. My eyes remained closed and I could see very little natural light attempting to penetrate the lids. It could have been night, or perhaps it was just a grey, snowy day. The bitter cold meant that it was still winter—so I had not slept for more than two months. Beyond that, I had very little idea.

It was as I began mulling these things that I realized that there were not several voices, but just one voice. It was closer than I initially realized. I cast aside my thoughts and attempted to place the voice. It spoke softly, but I could hear as particles of saliva danced upon the tongue. The voice came from within this room! It addressed me, and it was a voice that I knew! I finally managed to crack my eyes upon and gaze toward the foot of the bed, where I discovered Etiar looking down at me. Oh, Etiar! He had returned for me!

The joy that filled my heart quickly subsided, however. First, upon opening my eyes, I discovered that the room seemed to be tilting back and forth around me. It made my head hurt. And it was only then that I realized what a great and sickening pain I had deep in my stomach. I had not noticed it until then, so I thought that perhaps I could cause myself to forget it again, but now there was little else I could think of.

But, perhaps worse, I realized what Etiar’s presence meant. That he returned could only mean two things: either he had come to apologize to me on Nidath’s behalf, or he had come to chastise me for treating her as I had. The first was a possibility, but I felt a strange certainty that it was the second. I still did not regret the things I had said to Nidath, as she had said and done terrible things in my home, but I hated the idea of Etiar being disappointed in me. I closed my eyes once again and groaned at the terrible things to which I had awoken.

“Federan,” Etiar said, louder this time than his earlier words. “Federan, I know that you are awake.”

I groaned again and rolled onto my right side. This surprised me with a sharp pain in my shoulder and an even sharper one in my hip. Ah yes, the bruises from my fall. They had not healed yet, which meant it was probably no more than a week since I had drank the Hakol-Pata. I quickly threw myself onto my left side and drew the blanket up over my head.

“Federan, I have brought you another stew. You must drink it.”

Another stew? He had come to ask my pardon on his daughter’s behalf! Yet his voice showed none of its usual warmth and love. Why would he bring me food if not from love? I was confused, but I supposed that the only way to satisfy this curiosity was to face the situation, so I propped myself up and opened my eyes as much as I could while only experiencing a tolerable amount of pain. “Etiar,” I offered him acknowledgment.

“Here, Federan. Eat it quickly, for afterwards we must talk.” No, he was certainly not satisfied with me, as his tone betrayed a distinct shortness. But I had committed to the stew now, so I had no choice but to accept it and the conversation. I took the cup into my hands and drank a sip. My mouth was dry, but the savory broth made it water anew. However, as soon as I swallowed it, my stomach’s pain became even more pronounced, and I knew I was in jeopardy of losing what I had just eaten. But, after a moment, the pain subsided, and thereafter the eating was easier and more acceptable to my stomach. I considered taking as much time as I could to finish the food, but I knew this to be cowardly and useless besides. I would have to hear Etiar’s disappointment at some time, why not make it begin sooner, thereby to finish sooner?

I kept the cup in my hands and rested it in my lap. Then I nodded slowly, and Etiar began. “I and mine have fed and bathed you for ten days. My debt to your brothers as loyal customers and as creative reformists is repaid. Send Yakko my wishes when he returns.” And with that he grabbed the cup from my hands and walked toward the door.

Etiar had managed to surprise me once again, as I thought he would rebuke and scold and even yell at me. But these three sentences—a cold and unfeeling goodbye—felt worse than any shouting could have. He had no desire to make amends. He had no wish to maintain the relationship. This was the end, and he did not seem especially upset about it.

I was determined not to let him go so easily, however. “Etiar, she gave me a Qhalam potion. What am I supposed to think of that?”

He turned around to me, his face unchanged. “Her mother—my wife—was Qhalam. She was born across the border, with a tribe of Almorstines, and came here in her youth. She left the Qhalam beliefs when she married me, but she did not abandon the culture entirely. Just because it was used by heretics does not mean it is heresy itself.”

Nidath was half Almorstine by blood, raised by a woman who had been raised by Qhalam. This rocked my beliefs, as I had always thought Almorstines to be wild savages and Qhalam to be worthless morons. That an Almorstine Qhalam had made her way into gentle Etiar’s household meant that they could not all be so bad. I could not yet decide what it meant for Nidath.

“Etiar, I should not have said those things about the Almorstines,” I said. He was already just beyond my bedchamber door, and he did not react, so I do not know if he heard me. I hoped that he cared.

I was not sorry for my treatment of Nidath, as heretic potions were unwelcome in my home. I meant everything I said about the Qhalam, but I realized now that my words about the Almorstines had been said out of ignorance. But what did it matter now? Nidath and Etiar were gone, and they clearly had no interest in re-cultivating a relationship.

Nidath and the Hakol-Pata

I opened my eyes to her and made my best attempt at pretending that we had not experienced any of the turmoil that had occurred in my life over the last day. Nidath looked shifty; uncomfortable. Of course she would, as she had just taken part in one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. But could she not hide it as I did?

She began to speak of the drink immediately, wasting little time on anything else. I had been thinking of simple things as I wailed when she arrived, and I could only recover three: spinach leaves, Galatt and the sinedratha upon the University Chapel. Would she not make some time for simple things before putting me to bed?

But, in truth, I did not want this. I was still thinking on how sleep was the single thing that I desired most. The events of the afternoon had only exaggerated this, as I now hoped that sleep could not only restore my strength, but also help erase memory of my shameful display. Sleep was the most effective agent I knew at easing the flow of time, and time was the most effective agent I knew at erasing the shame of an awful memory. I showed the fullest interest and curiosity I could, considering my state.

“It is called the Hakol-Pata,” she told me. “It will make you weary at first, and perhaps a bit disoriented, but then sleep will come with much more ease.” She produced a small glass bottle and poured into a cup just enough of the liquid to fill my mouth.

I had a thousand questions for her. Where did she learn about, where did she acquire the Hakol-Pata? Had she ever tried it on herself before? What did it contain? I knew the word pata—it was a shade of red—but I had never heard of Hakol. The liquid itself was a ruddy brown. I had never drank anything of the color. What would it do to me?

But I declined to pose any of my queries. I did not want to learn anything unsavory about this promiser of sleep. I wanted it to be as good as it sounded, so I avoided gaining too much information on it. So I took the glass into my hand and watched as the liquid swished around a bit. It was thicker than water, and when it ran down the inside of the glass, it left small traces along the side. I took a brief account of its scent and then I recoiled a bit. It had a sweet odor, but this was largely masked by a mysterious darkness. I had never smelled anything quite like it before, and although it smelled strong and strange—almost toxic—I sort of liked having just a small quantity of it in my nose.

“Go on,” Nidath urged me forward. “It is curious, I know, but it will help you. The taste is strong, so you must drink it all at once quickly, lest you lose heart in the middle.” So, without waiting any longer, I tilted my head backward and poured the lot of the drink down my throat.

The Hakol-Pata tasted nothing like I had ever had before. Its initial flavor, its vanguard, was sweet, but that gave way almost instantly to a bitter, burning taste. I felt that my throat was on fire, and I gasped for air. My stomach felt unnaturally warm, and I became concerned that the liquid would return back the way that it had come. This would have been welcomed, as the drink had tasted toxic and I wanted it out of my body, but that it was especially painful to swallow, and I had never known anything to be simpler coming back up than it had been going down.

“Water,” I called, and I began to cough. Nidath procured a cup of water from the bucket I had kept downstairs. I drank it quickly, and although it did not wholly relieve me, at least it calmed my stomach, throat and mouth enough that I was able to think and to speak. “What have you given me?” I cried. “Is it poison?” I glared at her much more sternly than I had ever before, as I could not understand why she would think to give me so unpleasant a concoction.

I briefly saw surprise as Nidath’s mouth fell agape, as she had apparently not expected such a harsh response from me. Then she rolled her eyes about and revealed a bit of sarcasm. “Yes, Federan. It is poison. I have spent the last three days in selfless care for you, in order that I might murder you in the most laborious way possible.”

I was in no mood for this sort of mockery, as her tone only agitated me further. “Do not speak to me in this way in my own home,” I declared. “What is this drink? What is Hakol?”

“It is nectar that has been made to ferment,” she explained. “It is an old and tested method used to calm the senses, and it is known to bring rest to those whom fatigue tortures.” She stood before me now, hands at her hips as though she were the one with cause to be annoyed.

“Used by whom? Tested by whom?” I demanded. “I have never seen my brothers take part in this liquid. I have never heard a voice mention its name or purpose.”

“It is used by the Qhalam,” she continued. “The Almorstines created it centuries ago, and their Qhalam offspring have brought it across to Hihaythea.”

Now I found myself angrier than I had been even when I first swallowed the drink. The Qhalam was a sect of ignorant, stupid Beautavs, which begged in the streets of Ilepya. I had more disdain for no one, as the Qhalam did nothing but steal the resources created by good Hihaytheans and preach heresy to the public. “Used by the Qhalam and created by the Almorstines? Shame! The Almorstines are the most primitive of all Saulites! The Qhalam are the most Kapbaji of all Beautavs! Why would I trust something that they rely on?”

I could see rage take hold of Nidath, and for a long time she said nothing, but glared at me. Then she spoke through her teeth in a whisper: “you are not Federan Poniubiress. You are a criminal, a vagrant, who has heard of Anzidrion’s death and Yakko’s departure and stolen into their empty home. Those are the names of heroes! How could you disparage them by behaving so shamefully and ignorantly while pretending to be their brother? Take their bed, take their money, take the charity owed to them. But do not ruin the name by saying stupid things as you do so.” She was clenching her fists now, and her face had been drained of its color.

I could not believe that this woman had had the nerve to say such things to me in my own home. She had come to me and given me the poison of savage fools, and now she berated me? “It is you who lies of who you are,” I shot back. “You have come here claiming to be the daughter of Etiar the grocer—a good, honest man of the reform. And yet you show none of his grace, instead offering me this sinful drink and preaching the word of useless dogs. Get out now! Leave this home, and know that you will never again be welcomed here.”

She was nearly shaking in her fury now, but everything around her seemed to be shaking, as well. As she whirled around to exit the room, I thought I saw two of her, but then I redoubled my efforts to focus my eyes, and I saw just one of her depart for good. I began to wonder about how she had the nerve to do and say the things she did. Had Etiar any idea that she peddled Qhalam potions?

Just at that moment, however, I felt a sloth creep into my body, and I realized that I was drifting through the air. No, I was not. I opened my eyes and the room, although spinning mildly, was stationery, and I remained there on the bed. I closed my eyes once again and that cold fatigue crept through my veins. Was this what death was like? I whispered a few words—although I do not remember willing them to be—before giving in to the sensation. “God, please let me live.” And then all input from the world around me disappeared, and I did not feel or know anything.

Nidath sees my shame

I had wasted everything I had gained. The restored strength, the new hope, the sense of possibility; those were all alienated from me now. My body was battered once again, and I knew that I would not be able to move myself at all. I would have to remain here, with my nude body on the floor, until Nidath arrived in three or four hours hence.

The pain subsided only slightly between that time and Nidath’s arrival. I had hoped that my fatigue or misery might allow me to achieve sleep, but this proved to be in vain. I remained awake for the entire night and the entire morning, and the sound of Nidath’s arrival was only welcome to me because I thought it might mean more sleep. I only cared about sleep just then, and Nidath was now irrevocably associated with it.

She called “yahram alu” as usual, and then proceeded up the stairs and to my room. I heard her gasp as she discovered my body crumpled upon the ground. “Fe’n!” She cried. “Fe’n, what has happened to you?”

“I require sleep,” I whispered. I am not sure if this was audible to her; the words had attempted to escape from my throat, but they encountered so many physical obstacles along the way that they might have become muffled within me. I had said so few words over the last several days that my throat was heavy with phlegmic obstructions, and my voice was weak.

“Oh Fe’n, what have you done?” Nidath asked, as she rushed to my body. I felt her warm hands upon my cool, naked skin. She placed her hands in the shallow pits between my arms and my chest, and lifted me. This caused great pain in me, especially in my right shoulder, but pain felt meaningless to me at that time.

Nidath struggled with the lift, and I briefly found my body facing hers. She finally pushed me up upon the bed and rolled me onto my back. Then, as she bent down to grab my blanket from the floor, I felt a terrible, strange sensation. Why now, of all times? How, when the other of my body was so weak and limp, was I feeling a tightening in my loins? I knew what this was—I had felt in a dozen times before—but I did not think it capable of standing upright when even I could not. Oh please, let Nidath not notice it! Let the thing subside before she casts her eyes upon me once again!

But it was no use. Nidath stood up and noticed what I had done. It was not a great throbbing—I was much to weak and passive for that—but there was a clear and present distinction between my genitalia’s normal condition and their condition now. Nidath’s eyes widened and she inhaled sharply. Then, catching herself, she threw the blanket upon me and quickly turned her back. “There you are,” she said. “You may adjust as you please.”

Of course, she knew that I lacked the strength to adjust the blanket, but she probably understood that making contact with me would just make the situation worse. She retreated to the entry of the room to gather her stew and I clenched my eyes closed in shame. Is this how it would always be? Would I always devastating defeat upon defeat after a few meager victories? All of the ground I had gained in the last two days had been lost, and now I had reached the point of my greatest misery. Only one thing could make the situation worse—if Nidath were to mention it to me, or to change in any way. My only hope was that we could pretend such a thing never happened, and we could resume from the bad—but not worst—moment when she discovered me slumped on the floor.

She returned with the stew and fed me a few gulps. She did not look at my eyes, which is just as well, as I would not have been willing to meet hers. As she fed me, I kept my eyelids shut tight, and even when I finished the broth and she pulled the cup away, I did not open them.

Several minutes passed without event. Had Nidath left? What was she doing? Then, just as I considered opening my eyes to see if she remained, she spoke to me. “Do you seek sleep in such earnest? Had you left the bed in search of sleep?”
My eyes remained closed. “Yes,” I said at length. More silence followed. Then, I opened my eyes and looked upon her face. I was stunned anew at how beautiful she was. Had it always been this way, or had she actually grown lovelier in the last fifteen minutes? Thankfully, my body did not offer a response. Instead, I told her: “it is the one thing I desire most in the world at this moment.” I closed my eyes once again.

“Very well,” she said. “I have something that should help. I shall go home forthwith, and return as soon as I am able, to bring you a drink that will bring you sleep.”

I took three fast, deep breaths, and I could feel my chest heaving. I sensed that I was near tears once again, so rather than show these to her, I nodded with as much vigor as I could muster, in order that she leave at once. I opened my eyes to a squint and watched as she disappeared out of the door. Then the tears began to flow once again, and I sound found myself wailing and moaning at my own misfortune.

This continued for probably close to an hour. Then I stopped, abruptly, when I heard the door open below once again. I had not been able to wail very loudly, so it is unlikely that Nidath had been able to hear me when she first entered. I wanted to keep it that way, so I made sure that I was in the best condition possible when she returned into my chamber.

Opportunity Squandered

This kiss might have sent my heart flying, but that I was already thinking on other things and awaiting Nidath’s departure so that I might have time to think of everything in peace. When she disappeared through my bedchamber door, I breathed deeply three times. What had happened this afternoon? Why did Nidath leave so suddenly? Or had she? An incredible notion crept into my mind. I looked down upon my blanket, and felt my body along the inner parts of my legs. They were clean! The blanket had changed! How had this happened?

I briefly entertained the idea that I had not soiled myself since Nidath’s last departure. Yes, I was so distracted by the hope that Galatt had brought, or by the fear of that shame, that I had ceased to excrete waste. But I knew this was untrue, for I had just released a bit of urine as I promised to greet Nidath, immediately before her arrival. Where had it gone?

In truth, I was attempting to deny what I thought had been impossible. I had fallen asleep. I did not understand how it happened, or what it meant. It was not an unpleasant idea; if I had managed to sleep, even but for a few minutes, it meant that I was truly beginning to recover. Yes, sleep was the thing my body most needed right then, and I wished I wanted to know the secret to finding more of it. My body felt a bit lighter, my head was a bit calmer, I could move my limbs with a bit more freedom. I felt as though, with just an hour more of sleep, I might be able to rise from this bed and perhaps even liberate myself from this building. What I would do once free I did not yet know, but the important thing just then was that I felt able.

This proved to be dangerous, however, for now I began to idolize sleep. I had forgotten about it for so long, and having had a drought of it, I no longer desired it. Now, though, I had had a taste, and I craved more. I spent that afternoon and night seeking sleep actively, positioning my body in this way and in that, hoping that I could find the key. I thought of simple things, I thought of complicated things, I thought of peaceful things, I thought of violent things. I allowed the Aratapir Antanpor to echo in my head, and attempted to recreate the voice of the beautiful woman. Who was that woman? Was it Nidath? But I could never return to that exact vision, could never see that exact face or hear that exact hauntingly peaceful rendition of the ode.

Yet, no matter how I tried, sleep continued to evade me. I became desperate, deranged in search of it. “Yahram alu,” I cried. “Dala elu saqhema—God help me!” And still, I remained awake. Finally, as the sunrise approached, I took one last desperate act. I do not even know what exactly my intentions were, or how I believed they might satisfy my yearning. I was beyond logic at that time, and I took action with little idea of how it might bring me to my desired destination.

With a deep breath, I propped myself up upon my elbows, then slowly drew my legs in toward me. I pivoted my body toward the side of the bed and allowed my legs to drape over the edge. Then I pushed myself so that I was sitting upright, and my back bore the weight of my torso, which it distributed upon my hindquarters. I was exhausted from this movement, and I took a minute to catch my breath. My body swayed back and forth, as I was obviously too weak to carry myself in full. Nevertheless, I pressed on.

I used my hands to propel my body forward and onto my feet. I expected to have another moment here, atop my legs, to take a breath and rest my muscles. But I overestimated my own strength. My knees buckled underneath me, and I felt my thighs give way. I felt as though my legs had turned to the meager stew that had sustained them over the past two weeks, melting into mush beneath me. My body crashed upon the floor, and I landed hard upon my right hip and elbow. I felt my eyes squeeze tears out, and I allowed my head—the one part of me that had been spared from the ordeal—to rest on the floor.

Nidath brings my first taste of sleep

Although the action itself was minor, I felt that I had reached a major turning point. I was still not in enough control of myself either to look after my physical well-being or prevent images of death and battery from creeping into my head, but I felt powerful enough to take on a few simple tasks. Just minutes before Nidath entered my home, I resolved that I would great her verbally. It would be the first time Nidath would hear me speak, and I marveled at my new resolve and wondered at how she would react.

Then I heard her beautiful voice call out “Yahram alu” from below, and my heart became filled with excitement and nervousness. I had committed to speaking to her—would I do it? “Hello, Fe’n,” she had entered my chamber again. “Are you well today?”

This was my opportunity. This was the single best chance for me to show myself how I had changed. Did I have hope in truth? Had I reached this turning point? But when I went to respond, no words came. She was here; was that not enough? She had returned today even though I had said nothing the day previous. Why did I need to say something now?

Nidath was clearly accustomed to having no answer from me, and she thought little of my lack of word, likely having no idea of the conflict it caused me within. She produced the small cup of stew and poured its contents into my mouth. As I consumed she spoke to me, although I have no idea what she said. Just then I was deep in crisis, as I struggled to understand what my actions meant. If this lovely young lady left again this afternoon, having never heard my voice or known my appreciation, how would I feel? I would surely, during her twenty-three hour absence, curse myself. When she was around, she provided comfort. Certainly, I felt supreme discomfort in her presence, for I knew that she saw me at my worst, and I knew that there was little I could do to impress her, and I knew that her care for my hygiene was shameful. But I also loved having her there, and when she was around I thought very little of the misery I experienced in her absence. When she is gone, I would surely be upset for having said nothing. And yet now it feels perfectly fine to say nothing.

Now, here was a sensation I had never experienced before, not even when I was fully sentient and active. I could see complacency directly before me. I understood its danger, I knew its cause, I could see it taking hold. Was this not a miraculous opportunity to fight it? I thought of Karliott again, as he spoke out against disinterest in change. I had only known Nidath for a day, and yet I hated how our hour together was wasted. That single hour was the only part of remark in my entire day, and I spent much of the remaining day thinking on how I had been a failure. Why not act in that day? I had control of the hour right then and there, if only I could fight the complacency, the ilnarvattar within me! What was I doing today to make tomorrow better?

I finished the stew and Nidath removed the cup. “Thank you, Nidath,” I said. The words came out weakly, and I worried that the grocer’s daughter might feel that they lacked in sincerity. I saw her slump over and her face collapsed into a serene smile. Her eyes found me, and she said my name. “Fe’n.”

I managed a smile, and she rested her hand upon my chest. Then I saw her eyes draw closed and she sighed heavily. I did not know what this meant, for I had very little idea as to how she felt about me. But I knew that she was satisfied; I knew that those three words against complacency had brought peace into both of our hearts. For as small an act as it was, it meant that tomorrow could not be the same as today.

We remained in this position, silent for several minutes. To me it seemed like forever, as I still could not grasp time, and I began to feel as though thank you Nidath were the first words ever spoken by a man, and that when Yakko had left me months ago, I had been in bed with this graceful hand on my chest. I thought again about the sinedratha on the University Chapel, but there was not merely one. There were over two hundred of the lacking stars, and they drifted away from the University Chapel and out into the lavender sky. Yakko was with them now, and he smiled and said my name. He walked hand-in-hand with a beautiful woman, and she nodded and said my name as well. She began to make music with her voice, and at some times it sounded like a slow, peaceful Aratapir Antanpor, and at other times it was music that I did not understand.

Then they pressed on, further and further into the distant sky, until they became specs of dust, and I could no longer perceive them as distinct from anything else. The four-pointed, impaled stars, my brother, the beautiful woman were all gone now, and I began to feel a great pressure upon my shoulder. I opened my eyes and I discovered Nidath sitting over me, her hands firmly upon my shoulders as if to gain my attention. I felt different somehow, and I did not understand fully where I was.

“F’en,” she whispered. “I must leave you now. But first, I shall pose you this question: what is your most cherished memory of your father?” She gazed at me briefly to see if I might offer an answer. When she registered that I would not—that my verbal response was just a singular event that afternoon—she patted my right leg three times just above my knee. Then she gently pressed her lips to my forehead, whispering “I shall see you tomorrow, Fe’n. Be well, sir.”

Of Galatt and the Dasqhara

The night slowly passed by, and when a trio rays of light began to peak under the shades covering my window, I knew that I had only a few hours before Nidath’s return. Now, however, this did not inject as much fear into my heart as it had the night before, as something marvelous had happened during the dark hours. On the third day, Etiar had asked about my best playmate in my youth. I had not had many friends in my life, so recalling one might have been difficult even during normal times. At length that afternoon, however, I had remembered a young boy named Galatt, whom I had known in Kapabaj. Galatt and his family had attended the Yellow Church along with my mother and I, and he and I soon took to recreation outside of the services.

Galatt and those days in Kapabaj seemed like an entirely different life now, as though I was recalling a story I had once read, or perhaps a legend that had been passed around Ilepya. I felt alienated from those times, and I had convinced myself that they were no longer part of my true identity. They had instead merely become a cautionary tale, as that fanatical woman who had borne the bastard child was a caricature of a wild Kapbaji woman, and her stubborn and ignorant son represented the dangers of trusting the Anotus against his own greed.

But they were mine. Only I had lived those events, and I needed to make them even more real than ever before, in order to inspire me to fight against the mistakes of my upbringing. It was good to think of details, rather than of ideas, of my Kapbaji years, for they kept me connected to my purpose. I wanted to prevent every man future man from being blinded by the ignorance I had once faced, and I would have to constantly remind myself of the smallest elements of this ignorance in order to keep it extant.

Galatt and I played a number of games, but among our favorite was a game of chance known as Dasqhara. We had played the game with a set hand-crafted, rudimentary dice, and for several days of my eleventh year, Dasqhara was the event I looked forward to most.

One afternoon, during a particularly long game of Dasqhara, my mother discovered the two of us playing. She screamed in horror as she witnessed me throw the pair of dice, and she quickly scooped them up and crushed them before our eyes. I began to protest, but my mother was impervious to my tears, and she lifted Galatt right then and there and threw him out onto the street, shouting “there will be no gambling in my house!”

In between her fits of rage, I objected to my mother that we had not gambled any goods, but she did not care. “It is the work of evil! I shall not have Galatt here again! You will not speak to him!”

“It is not Galatt,” I argued. “He did not teach me the game; I learned it from Anzidrion and showed it to Galatt.”

But my mother could not be swayed. Rather than change her verdict on Galatt, she extended the sentence to Anzidrion. My brother and I were not to have contact again, she ordered us, and if any of us ever played a game of chance in her home, he would be sent to live on the streets and forgotten forever.

My mother was a frightening woman, and I did not dare cross her. However, once her fury let up, she permitted Anzidrion and me to speak to one another again. Then, but two or three weeks afterward, we relocated abruptly to Ilepya, to this very home. I had never before considered that the Dasqhara incident with Galatt had been related to our move, but now I could not shake the very idea. My mother had made rasher decisions before; why would she not disrupt our lives because of a game of chance?

Memories of Galatt had come to me when Etiar had asked about my playmate, and I revisited them during the night following Nidath’s first visit. It was that night that I realized how Galatt and I had occupied ourselves, how we had been found out by my mother, how I had been whisked off to Ilepya because of it all. Galatt was no longer a simple thing, but instead a detail in a larger story from my past. I had managed to recall all of it as a chain of events, offering new analysis and reason as to why any of it had happened. My brain had redeveloped one of its functions of old, and it gave me a sense of hope. Yakko was still lost, P’att was still alienated, Ilepya and Hihaythea were still in violent turmoil, but at least, if by some miracle, all of these things were righted, my mind was capable of recovery as well.

“Hope,” I whispered. I added it to the list: confusion, guilt, sadness, surprise, shame and now hope. These were all emotions that I had lost, but that had returned by way of Etiar. Meanwhile, I added Galatt to the list of simple things that I could remember. For the first time in two weeks, I felt accomplished.

Nidath and my hygiene

The girl gently grabbed my right side and attempted to roll me onto my left, thereby to liberate part of the blanket underneath me. When she did this, however, she found that I had gripped the blanket, so that it moved along side of me. Without any verbal response, she lowered me back onto my back and loosened my grasp. She was strong, and I was weak from my inactivity and malnutrition, so this was a simple task for her. So instead I caught each of her wrists in my hands and held onto them as tight as I could, knowing that it would be slightly more difficult for her to loose her own arms.

Where before Nidath might have assumed my non-compliance was merely coincidental, now I had shown clear, intentional resistance. She had taken an action, and I had done what I could to prevent that action. Her eyes grew in surprise, as she had thought me a totally passive creature, incapable of any authority over what happened to me. Indeed, this is how I had behaved over the last several days, but at precisely the right time, when prompted in precisely the right way, I had taken action. I took a moment to marvel at what I had done, but for no longer, as the woman before began to press her case.

“Come, Fe’n.” She sounded impatient. “It is time for your hygiene, just as my father had always done. I shall wash you now so that you must not remain in filth.” She pulled her arms free and began to tug at the blanket.

I had no intention of allowing this to happen. It had been awful enough that Etiar had taken to this distasteful task. Now here was a beautiful young woman—a stranger at that!—who wanted to peel back the blanket until my naked flesh, there to be faced with the filth that my body had exiled. I knew in an instant, although I had little been trained, that it was wrong for so lovely a creature to treat with such horrid a substance, and for so female a person to look upon so naked a man. I would not permit her. I would find all the strength in my entire body to stop it.

But no sooner had I resolved this than she, in one quick motion, tugged the blanket from underneath me and rolled me off of it. As fast as my eye had blinked, the soiled blanket was in her hands and I was laying with my face to the bed and my buttocks to the sky.

I knew at this moment that I had lost. There was no way to make it right, for any method of retrieving my cover would require exposing myself further. Indeed, I could not even resist her now, as this would require seeing her face to know where to fight her with my hands, and I could not bear to look upon her now. Instead, I remained there on the bed, burying my face into the pillow as I attempted to think about the violence men now faced in the streets, trying to exist as far from my pallid, idle and now-violated body as I possibly could.

I succeeded in removing myself from my body, such that I do not recall her rotating my body and wiping down my front side. All I know is that she did it, for when she produced a clean blanket in which to wrap me up, I discovered that I was clean entirely. After she covered me once again, I blinked long and slowly, as if to erase the entire incident from reality. This effort was, of course, unsuccessful, and when I faced the beautiful Nidath once again, shame filled my chest at knowing what had just happened.

I am sure that Nidath had sensed the tension that had just been born between us, and rather than let it root itself deeply, she quickly pressed on with her next item of business. “Fe’n, I have a question for you,” she began. Then she paused, as if waiting for me to urge her forward. I did no such thing, so she continued on her own. “Which is your favorite season?”

The time had come for simple things, but I refused outright to consider the question. No, no more simple things. Nidath could not produce any simple things for me, because my mind was too occupied with complicated feelings, like guilt, shame, fear and despair. Today I could not find any simple things, no matter how much I needed them.

It was at that time that I realized, for this first time, I could not recall all of Etiar’s simple things by will. There was the house on Tekurr Road, the sinedratha on the University Chapel, the trees on the hills surrounding Kapabaj, the grey woolen cap and the spinach of course, but beyond this point my mind went blank. No matter how I tried, I could recall nothing but these five things, despite knowing that there were at least a dozen in total. Once I thought of the spinach leaves, I would invariably begin thinking of Etiar and how much I longed for him to return, how much more comfort I had felt with him.

Nidath sat with me for a moment, looking at me for my answer. Then, as if suddenly remembering instruction from her father, she turned her head abruptly to the west, where the wall on my right awaited her gaze. Then she continued to wait for another two minutes or so before standing up. “Thank you, Fe’n,” she whispered. “Be well, and I shall see you tomorrow.” She mercifully forgot to pat my leg just above the right knee, as Etiar had always done. I let out a deep sigh as she left the room, feeling relief that it was over for the day, and wondering how I could avoid this horrible new occurrence in the future.

The lady had done exactly as she had been instructed, and although she had demonstrated slightly less patience than her father, she had still behaved admirably, and I had little reason to be angry with her. She had cared for me and asked nothing in return, and indeed, I had given her absolutely nothing. I felt pity for Nidath, as she did not deserve my chore, and she would meet very little happiness for it. Yet the thought of her filled me with dread, as I knew that she would return daily, and inadvertently instill the selfsame guilt and shame in my heart. That night, images of violence were a welcome addition to my thoughts, as they left little room for review of what had happened that day. That night, for the first time since I had parted with P’att, I heard a few rebels in the street shout into the city. I believe that I faintly heard a “yahram alu” penetrate my window, but as always, I cannot be sure what is true and what I have created within the deep realms of my brain.

First Sight of Nidath

I spent much time wondering how this Nidath’s visit might be different from Etiar, and how it might be avoided altogether. But, of course, I was completely helpless, and had means neither to speculate nor to take action. Instead, I drifted slowly into thoughts of the woman I had exchanged greetings with one evening, just before a large stone tore through the air and wounded her shoulder. That might have been the last time I had spoken to a woman, I thought, but soon my thoughts were on other things, as the thugs and the deceased and the attacked came into my head.

The following day, however, I found myself thinking of Etiar and Nidath more and more as the customary time for the grocer’s visit approached. Once again, I began to consider methods of avoiding Nidath. I prayed that there might have been some mysterious event that had prevented Nidath or permitted Etiar. As the minutes passed by, I began to believe that Nidath would not come, as I she did not appear for well after I expected her. Perhaps she would not come after all! I began to experience a feeling of relief. But I still lacked a solid concept of time, and as it turned out, I merely expected her earlier than Etiar had come. Just when I felt in a mood to celebrate and forget about the girl entirely, I heard a voice within my home. “Yahram alu,” it cried. “Fe’n, are you in? It is I, the grocer’s daughter.”

I of course offered no response, but merely sighed heavily. If I am quiet, she might believe that she has the wrong house, and she will leave, I told myself. But I knew this was untrue, and sure enough, she entered my bed chamber soon afterward.

I wanted to remain as still and as uninterested as possible, but I soon found my curiosity taking control. What did she look like? How did she move? What sorts of close did she wear? I turned my head toward the door to cast my eyes upon her. “Hello there. Are you Fe’n? Federan Poniubiress?” She asked me meekly.

My attempts at ignoring her failed. I managed not to respond to the light, airy voice, but at the sight and sound of her, I inhaled deeply into my chest, and then allowed the breath to escape rapidly through my nose. Before me stood a young woman, probably seventeen years in age, and I found everything about her to be lovely. She was dressed rather conservatively, with her simple yellow gown flowing from her shoulders to her ankles, interrupted only by a cinched waste that had been marked in purple. Her hair was tied in a purple silk dress of medium height. She was neither my wildly glamorous sister nor my bitterly austere mother. She was simple and seemingly flawless.

All this for her clothes, but I doubt that I shall be able to accurately describe her face. In that moment and in this, I can best describe her face as that of a perfect Hihaythean reformist woman. She had lovely light eyes with an almond shape, set gracefully upon a perfect oval face. Her skin was rich and vibrant, a golden shade of brown, which I felt I had never exactly seen before. But it was her mouth that I was immediately drawn to, as it smoothly formed her soft words. Her lips were full and dark, and no matter how I watched them, I never witnessed an abrupt movement from them. In all of her speech, her lips seemed to move in the most elegant, nonthreatening manner, even as she continued to talk no matter how much I appeared indifferent to her. Her mouth physically expressed her quiet determination, as though she would slowly overcome by force, even as she seemed to yield.

I longed for her to say my name again. It had never sounded as beautiful as the time that it had parted her lips. I said nothing to her. “Yes, you will be Fe’n. I am Nidath, the daughter of the grocer Etiar. He has sent me to take care over you. If you have any need, please say it to me and I shall do my best to fulfill it.” I remained silent.

Nidath stared at me for a moment, clearly expecting some sort of response. When she realized that she would not have it, she produced the cup of stew from the large basket she had brought. “Here you are,” she said, handing me the cup. “Father says you shall have all of it and no more.”

However, I would not take the cup into my hand. She grabbed me by the arm and attempted to force my hand around the small tin cup, but I would not hold the grasp. “Very well, then,” and she held the thing to my mouth. “Drink.” I complied with the order.

I swallowed all of the liquid. It was the first time I had done so, as Nidath brought me considerably less than Etiar ever had. I had also continued to drink more and more each day, and perhaps Nidath’s graceful presence had urged me on that afternoon. She returned the empty cup to the basket and I heard her ask herself “what next?”

Dread spread quickly out of my heard, and I could feel its terrifying coldness creep into the extreme parts of all of my limps. I knew what usually followed the stew. I hoped as hard as I could that she would not, but I knew this hope was futile. Sure enough, I saw her produce a small, wet cloth from the pouch which she had kept within her bag. She stepped toward me with neither word nor change in face, as though what she were about to do was a perfectly ordinary task. My body tensed up, and I could feel muscles in my arms, legs, belly and back tighten—some of them for the first time in over a week. The novelty was lost on my, however, as the whole of my body and mind were focused on resisting what I knew was promptly to come.

Etiar's Simple Things

The days continued like this. Etiar returned with a smaller cup of the same stew, and I sipped slightly more than I had on the day previous. He told me a few unimportant facts about his life--like how many patrons he had on my street, or what his prefered color was--and I declined to respond to him. Then, every day, he would ask me a simple question. The questions always came in the same style; the man would finish telling me his fact, then we would sit in silence for several minutes, and then he would pose the question as though it had just hatched inside of his head. I said little of anything to him, and nothing at all to his questions, although I would consider them briefly. Then Etiar would leave again, and during the following twenty-three hours, I would find myself thinking more of the things simple things Etiar had suggested. I still thought too much on my violence and my sorrows, but these thoughts were occasionally interrupted by visions of Etiar's simple things.

In some peculiar instances, Etiar's simple things would find their way into my memories. Etiar had told me about a new grey woolen had he had bought a few months ago; that afternoon, as visions of Ma't's dead body leapt into my mind, I noticed a grey woolen had on the ground by the corpse, caked in blood and frost after P'att had knocked it off of his victim's head and crushed it into the ground. I had never seen this thing before, and I registered the sensation of confusion in my mind, that I was able to discover new information about experiences that I had already had. This in itself brought me a strange feeling, for it was not custom in those days for me to suffer from confusion. Confusion meant that I had expected one thing and seen another, and I did not realize that I expected anything at all.

On the fourth day of his visits, Etiar took on a new charge: my hygiene. This was not something that I desired, and I resisted him as much as I could without showing any active interest. I knew that this was certainly an unpleasant task, as I had neglected my hygiene for nearly a week. The odor was tolerable to me because it had crept upon me slowly, and because I did not bother with odors, but there was no way that a man in normal condition could easily keep his stomach around me. Besides, I knew that the man was interested in such a task, as although he must have noticed the problem constantly, he waited for several days to actually do something about it.

I did not want my condition to cause another man so much labor, and I did not want to hazard feeling guilt because of what Etiar did for me. However, I had no choice, so I merely shut my eyes and pretended that none of it happened. In those moments, images of the three thugs who had shoved me to the ground and stolen my gloves and coin two weeks ago were welcome, as they distracted from the unwanted reality. Nevertheless, I could not prevent the grocer from stripping me of my clothes, from pulling the once-nice but now-ruined linens from the bed, from throwing out all of the tainted fabrics, from wiping my putrid body down with a wet cloth or from wrapping me back up in a woolen blanket.

The experience would repeat itself each day, immediately following the meal. From those days on I was naked entirely apart from the blanket which, although made dirty by my daily excretions, was no where near as filthy as my old blankets had been. I did whatever I could to avoid Etiar's eyes during those times, but I never once saw disdain on his face, nor did I hear a single gasp of disgust.

Then, on Etiar's sixth visit--which was my tenth day of solitude--he brought a different stew. It was still warm and salty, but this one had no potato, but instead a few legumes. The grocer gave me no warning, so I was surprised when I tasted it. I did not say anything, but my face must have registered a bit of my shock. "Do you prefer this one?" He asked. I did not respond, for I was still confused at having felt surprise, and I had no interest in speaking besides. "It is new and the legumes are a bit more difficult to come by. I wanted to make you something special, as I will not be able to return for perhaps a week or more."

I felt a bit of sadness creep into my heart, and I ceased to consume the stew. Sadness was plenty familiar to me, but this particular source was different, as it had been produced externally, by something present. I felt annoyed that so many feelings had returned to me so quickly, but I did my best not to appear to care.

"I certainly will miss you, but it cannot be helped. My nephew in Pondital will be wed four days hence, and I must attend the ceremony. I am sorry that I cannot come visit you, but in my stead, my daughter, Nidath, shall come every day to care for you and bring you a cup of stew. She is a nice young woman, and I believe that she will be kind to you."

Now shock overcame me. Etiar had never mentioned anything about a daughter or a family at all. His daughter would come to my home? What would she do? How would she speak to me? How old would she be? I had so many questions, but of course I would not ask them.

The grocer had a talent for reading my face, as it was the only part of me that gave any indication of my feelings. He realized that I was perplexed, but made an incorrect assumption as to why. "Do not worry," he told me. "She is of good reformist upbringing, and she shall indicate her good intentions with a special sign when she enters the door."

My face did not change from its initial surprise, but Etiar did not attempt to enlighten me any further. Instead, he patted my right leg just above the knee four times, and then said "be well, sir," and left just as he always did.

This time, however, it was at least ten minutes before I began to think of my sorrows again. Instead, my mind was consumed with thoughts of Etiar's daughter. I could not imagine how she must appear, or how her voice must sound. Would she be just like Etiar? I had grown so accustomed to him that the thought of someone new terrified me. How did a man behave around a woman. I had never spent much time around women; Qhema had left our home when I was but six years old, and my mother had died when I was thirteen. Since then we had never had a woman in our house for more than a few minutes, as my brothers did not have female callers, and they did not think it was appropriate for a woman to serve as a laborer in the home of three men. I knew nothing about women!

Etiar and your images of the lacking star

I passed following twenty-three hours much as I had the time before Etiar's visit; I gradually slowly lowered my body into a sleeping-position, and mocked sleep. I held my eyes closed and did not resist as my brain ran though its natural progression of thoughts, and my body its expulsions. But now every few hours, I thought of normal things, mundane things, like leaves of spinach or the diyyar on the bureau. They were fleeting thoughts, and they entered my mind for no more than a few seconds—just long enough for me to notice that there was no despair in them. And then they would depart once again, and I would find myself remembering how lonely and miserable I was, or recalling sights of Ma't's dead, battered body.

Etiar arrived at my home at about the same time the following day. There was no reason why I should have expected to see him there, but I thought little of it. He said hello to me and propped me up once again, forcing me to swallow a bit more stew. He had not said anything after his initial greeting, and I had yet to acknowledge him, and I felt as though I owed him a few words. So, after the two of us had remained together in silence for about five minutes, I remarked: "same as yesterday?"

The words probably sounded ungrateful, but I only meant them in a very matter-of-fact way. The soup was the same as it had been yesterday, and it was the only appropriate thing I could think to say to Etiar at that moment.

The grocer was clearly surprised, although it might merely because he had not expected to hear any words from me at all. "Yes, yes it is," he told me. "I hope I did not cause you to expect spinach. I would have made some, but that I do not have access to any at this time of year. You know that no green vegetables are available in Hihaythea in the winter."

Of course I knew this, but I was not concerned about the spinach to begin with. My prisons insulated me from desire of taste, so that I did not care what I ate or even whether I did or not. I did not have any opinion of his response, so I remained silent and did not move, as though he had not said anything at all.

A few more moments passed in silence, as Etiar sat on the bed and stared at the wall to my right, and I sat on the bed and stared at the wall directly before me. Then, Etiar spoke again. "Fe'n, in what place in the world would you most like to be right now?" He smiled at me.

This was an absurd question, and I refused to offer any verbal response. Of course it was Grontinion. However, in thinking the name of that place, I remembered my brother Yakko, and I was filled with grief once more. Who knows what had become of Yakko? But then I realized how foolish this was. If Yakko were connected to Grontinion, that could only be good for Yakko, for he would be entirely safe in that city. In Grontinion he was surrounded by friends and allies, by men of like mind. Grontinion was the safest place in the world for Yakko. If the two would be associated, it would be for the best. Yes, I imagined my only brother standing at the University Chapel, standing before a carving of the sinedratha, or the zanadrada as they called it there. How bold, that people in that country could display the lacking star that so proudly announced our new religious path! I had not seen a sinedratha in nearly a week, as I was not brave enough to display it within my home.

I believe that, as I thought these things, a slight smile crawled across my face. Etiar nodded and smiled as well. Then he patted me just above my right knee and stood up. "I shall see you tomorrow, Fe'n," he said. "Be well."

Just as the day before, the man collected his things and left my home, shutting the door behind him. When he was gone, I thought first of the the sinedratha at the University Chapel, then of the corpse into whose chest I had seen it carved three weeks ago, and then of the spinach leaves, and then of Ma't's blood-stained lips and chin.

I do not want to be, but I must be

Oh, how I wish I could have P'att once again. With P'att I could act, with P'att I was never alone. Before this week, there had never been a time when I took to the streets without him at my side. But now there is no one but me. Anzidrion is dead. Yakko is lost in Hillea. And P'att is now an aggressor.

I hope every day that Yakko will return home soon. Perhaps his ship arrives now. Perhaps he is setting sail from Rakka. Perhaps he is still attempting to win support from Sirlay's associates all the way in Grontinion. Perhaps he has been discovered, captured. Perhaps he is with Anzidrion now, and no one has been either able or troubled to inform me. His post is so irregular, which indeed it must be. Letters come by sea, and can only be passed through the hands of men we trust, and only be passed during secure times. But secure times are the most scarce thing in the world these days.

I must pick up and forge on, but I have no direction, I have no path. The tarbhasts, the parebhurs, the evatarrs should continue, but what do we do more? I do not know how to advance them, only to allow them to continue revolving as we have first set them in motion. Will they one day achieve what they have failed yet to? Will they cause everything to remain exactly as it is now? I know that we must be patient and we must wait for our strategies to work, but what if they will never work? But what does that matter? For now I cannot conceive of anything else, so there is no other strategy to pursue.

This is the third night that I have failed to join my fellow Ilepyans in the streets. I do not want it to be so. I know where I belong, and I have spent enough time walled inside of my home to know that my purpose is not inside here. But now my body is so fatigued that I can scarcely move, and I have many times soiled myself due to an apparent disruption in the communication between my mind and my body. By the time my intestines have told my brain that they arefull and in need of relief, I am already well aware, for the foul odor has climbed into my nose to announce that it is too late. But I have little concern, as no longer bother with my physical needs. I live in a prison within a prison, surrounded wholly by yet a third prison. The misery and despair of my mind--that most immediate cell--prevent me from worrying about my body's fatigue--the intermediate prison. It will only be once I escape these that I can notice my secondary physical needs.

I had said that Hihaythean men do not require sleep, for they spend their days leading normal lives and their nights protesting in the streets. I have lived this fact for a month, but I can attest to it no longer, for now my body demands sleep and I can offer it none. There might be nothing in the world I need more than sleep, but though I spend all hours of the day lying in bed, and most hours with my eyes shut, no rest comes to me. This is because every time I find myself close, images of P'att standing over Ma't's body creep into my mind, and in place of calm, my soul is filled with agony. Many times during that first day, I suffered visions of the attack itself, and I was forced to watch in my mind, as P'att pound the old priest's head and legs with his own cane. But how can I review such things if I never witnessed them in the first place? It is only now that I have come to realize that I am remembering Ma't's attack on P'att, in what seemed like an entirely different lifetime, and reversing the roles in my head.

I have been able to recover from previous despair by balancing the terrible memories with pleasant ones. After that initial act of violence, nearly three years ago, I did not think only of it, for I still had hopes and dreams bouncing in and out of my young mind. When Anzidrion was executed, I occasionally distracted myself with visions of a new Ilepya, or recent happy times with Yakko. But now there was nothing. I could not think of Yakko or Qhema without worrying that they had perished, and that I would never see them again. I no longer joyfully pondered about the future, after our victory, because I no longer was certain of that outcome, and besides I had no one to share it with. What good was this great change if no one I loved was able to enjoy it? If no one I cared about stood to benefit from it, I had no desire to fight for it.

I knew that how I felt was wrong, but I had neither the desire nor the ability to change it. I wish Karliott had been there right then, so I could inform his prophecy how useless it was at that hour. There was no good enough with which to be satisfied, and there was no complacency for me to challenge. I had fallen into despondency, and what did the brilliant Karliott have to say about that?

On the fourth day, the grocer Etiar arrived with my weekly foodstuffs. He entered the home and sought me in order to receive payment. "There are three diyarr on the bureau," I told him from the bed. "You may take those, but please do not leave food. I shall no longer require foods to be delivered, though you may come weekly to collect the sum."

"There be no need for that," the man responded, coming closer to the filthy heap of my body, waste and clothes upon the bed. "I shall not charge for deliveries I have not made. But why do you no longer require the food?"

"My body no longer asks for food, so I no longer supply it. The money is yours; please take the whole of it. I have no cause for it and no one else to whom to give it."

"I shall not take honest money from an honest man. I prosper in these times, and have no use for it either. Will Yakko return soon? Do you have any other family in Ilepya to offer you comfort?"

I had begun to warm up to the middle-aged man, as he was my only recent consistency, and the only human who had spoken to me in the last three days. But now, at this question, I was reminded anew of my despair, and I merely moaned in response. Then I took all of the strength I had and buried my face in the quilt, in order to shut Etiar out entirely.

Etiar was a saint of a man, and he approached me in spite of my filth. He was even so daringly gracious as to place his hand upon my back, either to rouse me or calm me. "Sir, be well," he urged me, but I merely moaned again, and shouted "let me be" into the depths of the bed. The hand let up from my back, and I heard the sounds of the man backing out of the bedroom and gathering up the things he had left in the kitchen. Then I heard the house door shut, and I was left in peace again.

It is of great fortune to me that during that week I had learned not to grasp time, but rather to let it pass by me. I did not sleep and my body received no rest, but I managed to shut off my thoughts, and the minutes seemed to pass by in rapid succession. Nothing about one moment was distinct from the previous or the following, so they all blurred together, and time seemed boundless and lacked rhythm. Thus, although I know that it had been at least an hour, Etiar's return seemed immediate, with only another vision of P'att's attack as the only punctuation between the two visits.

External events no longer seemed to me to have any relation to one another, so I did not understand who was in my house or why he had come. Even when I heard Etiar's voice call out to me, I had no idea why he had returned. Perhaps I could have managed the connection, but I had no concern anyway. Anyone could come into my home without my interest. I did not bother to think that Etiar was concerned for my well-being, and that he had returned to my home in order to care for me.

Once he entered my bedchamber, Etiar said no words. I felt him place his hands firmly on my sides and I wondered what he meant to do. Would he kill me? I posed this question to myself, but the thought came with remarkably little urgency. I was indifferent about my death, or perhaps I knew very well that Etiar was probably not the type of man to murder me. I did not resist as he rolled my body over so that I was face up. Then he propped me up against the wall at the back of the bed, so that I was nearly in a seated position. Now he spoke: "Fe'n, do not move. I have brought you a stew. You will need this now, as you have not eaten in many days."

The stew did not interest me, but I knew deep within me that I required food, so I did not argue. However, when he brought a glass of it to me, I refused to open my mouth to it. Then I whispered "parebhur. Evatarr. Who grew those beans?"

Etiar smiled at me. "These are good reformist beans that comply with the parebhur. I grew them in my own garden." And then, without waiting for my response, he parted my lips and poured a small amount of the stew into my mouth.

The liquid was salty and tasted of potatoes. I swallowed a bit of it and it made me feel at once ill and satisfied. Then I waved it away, as I feared that if I downed too much of I would risk losing it all as quickly as I had gained it. "Thank you," I whispered.

Etiar smiled again. "What is your favorite vegetable?" He asked me.

I offered no response. I did not consider the question, as I was out of practice thinking about mundane things. Then images of various vegetables and legumes flashed in my mind, and a few words drifted around, attempting to align themselves with the correct image. This was a strange sensation for me, and I allowed it to continue for some time. I noticed the grocer nodding, and he said "of course. I am sorry for asking. I know that it is spinach." A trio of spinach leaves danced to the forefront of my thoughts, and I felt satisfied that I had managed to align a sound with its sight. My mind was still capable of bridging what was within to what was without. Etiar appeared satisfied, and he left the room. I closed my eyes and the spinach leaves were replaced with Ma't's battered face, as I heard the sound of the house door shut.