Sarye and Imtithal 9

[leticia]

It has been a long day for Sarye and Imtithal, but not so long as that. Riding a simhata isn't hard, and though they rode and fought through the heat of the day, both are Solars - and perhaps even more telling, both wear full power armor. Once they started riding, Imti grinned, and slipped the facemask back on; perhaps she is permitted no veil, but that doesn't mean she can't wear armor. Okay, so that's not permitted to nice Delzahn girls either, but it is most certainly permitted to Nights. And she's perfectly happy to keep the sand out of her face.

The simhata, if not reined in, make something of a race out of it, and if Imtithal is somewhat lighter of a burden, Sarye is a more expert rider, and so the two evenly matched mounts try their best but neither can stay ahead for any length of time.

The temple is visible in the distance as the afternoon wears down - more visible than it used to be, as the dust of ages is removed from the window-shafts and the great door, but still well camouflaged in the desert sands. Imtithal shouts and urges Aurora faster, getting involved with her mount's race and urging the leonid beast to win.

Sarye sighs happily. "Have you ever taken up singing, Diamond-Edged Radeena?" he asks Imtithal. Out of modesty and comfort, the helm of his armor remains extruded and he glows brightly enough to add his own radiance to the dimming sun of the afternoon. "It is more than speech; it is more than sound-- it is the soul, taking flight, even as you do upon brilliance and orichalcum. It is a way of greeting each new moment in harmony."

Imtithal waves a hand, bouncing along on Aurora's back. "No," she laughs, the voice only slightly distorted by her mask. "You wouldn't want to hear me sing. I have no skill nor talent for it. The arrow sings in flight. Or, I suppose, the burst of fire. But I do not."

Sarye grins. "But you have some lyrical talent to you, Radeena Discordanta," he points out. "You're feeling for it. The thing about F'meeqi-- our secret to war, you might say-- is that we understand song. There is background noise to being, to feeling, to existing. Once you reach out with that, you'll never look back. Storytelling is the official artform of the Delzahni, but singing is compressed storytelling," he explains, as he reaches out through the hearthstone to once more open the main gate of the fortress-temple. As it rises, he lets the Cutter free of its sheath and swings it high, letting _it_ sing forward. "Feel it, brilliant and beautiful!" he sings, letting his tone match that of the Cutter, as he urges Corona to charge the last distance into the Temple's receiving dock.

Imtithal grumbles as she enters just behind him. "Next time, I beat you," she says, only half complaining. She pats Aurora. "-You- will beat him, lovely one." She bends over to scratch her lion-ears, then slides off. "Do drink well, my dear," she tells the simhata. "You've run and fought hard today."

"But of course. We will race, and race, and you will hear the drumbeats of the sand," Sarye says, his voice sure and gleeful. He does not disparage; he fully intends to get the race and the rhythm for his Circlesister alike. He cheers and sings at his various cousins, who have bright banners. "Najib!" he cries to one of his kinsfolk, once the singing has died down. "Do I see the banners aright? Is our noble Khan in residence?"

"Of course, goldbug!" the tall and graceful F'meeqi says in return, waving from where he's looking at a map. "He's proud of you, and wants to oversee the retrofitting himself. And..." His eyes darken somewhat. "And we know what the cost of our fidelity may be."

Sarye nods. "I am not sorry to bring the gift, but I understand the need to melt. We'll pay our respects in a bit; are either Alduleydda or Halima in residence?"

Najib thinks. "Cousin Alduleydda should be coming later tonight, with some of the statuary out of one of the raiding caches from Varang," the warrior says shamelessly. "They have some pretty-- if abstract-- art that represents the Sun. Or had; we have it now," Najib says, quite smug. "Aunt Halima is in residence; she's taking one of the cells that's been aired out to set up a ritual space."

Sarye turns back to Imtithal. "Shall we, Flame-Winged Imtithal?" he inquires.

Here among the F'meeqi, Imtithal has no need for her armor - or to hide her caste mark. She removes the blank faceplate of her armor and sticks it against into the chest-wrap of the silks, shaking out her braids as she lets her long hair free of the hood of her robes. "Almost your entire clan is here it seems," she comments, quietly, looking around.

Sarye pulls back his own helm mentally, but his veil is on beneath. Najib is not -quite- able to avoid staring at Imtithal as she shakes out the braids, but Sarye seems to manage some self control, for the moment. "They will have to be for some time. Oh, we'll leave a few bravos in and out to keep up our stables and our duty to the Tri-Khan but..."

Sarye trails off, and Najib finishes for him, "But we have hidden the worship of the Sun for too long, lady Night. It burns, and it moves from your house into the Dawn, and war will strike us. Until your circle is larger, or other allies appear, we cannot stand against the magic of the Dragon-Blooded. For now, we will use the desert, for even the Flame-bloods do not truly understand it."

Sarye finishes, "It is only flame to the Southmost; here, and where we roam, it is where the _Sun_ commands directly, and the sand and the winds obey. We will use the desert to kill them, and keep them off. Actually, cousin," he tells Najib, "Mighty flame is our ally now. Our newest expedition bore fruit; anyone attempting to besiege the temple will find life... interesting, very swiftly."

Imtithal nods. "If your kin in the city need help," she says. "I would rather keep a low profile for now - it is my calling - but..." She shrugs, and gives one of her radiant smiles. "I would help not hide if it comes to that need."

"You are the Night and the Reaper, Imtithal of Radeen," Sarye says. "I suspect if it comes to that, you'll know what to do, and fires will bloom from immaculate pates faster than the hair leaves it. I don't think they ever need to know the truth; a dark conspiracy is just the thing to keep around a Night-- like the wrapping of fog over Chiaroscuro harbor."

Najib frowns for a second. "Hold on, Chiaroscuro doesn't scan," he points out.
"What about 'Glassshatter Bay?" asks Sarye.

Najib shakes his head. "Inaccurate. I think you'd do better with just going with 'over the harbor,' and putting something in about the glittering of glass-- maybe compliment her eyes?" he asks, as he leads the pair of solars up the stairs towards Halima.

Sarye turns to Imtithal and inquires, "So, lyrically, and personally, how do you feel about having 'Glittering glass of the evening' being used as a metaphor for your gaze?"

Imtithal laughs again, easily and openly; she doesn't have the context to explain her relationship with Sarye, save to say that there undoubtedly is one, and she's not arguing with Sol Invictus on that subject. Giving him a fast grin, she says, "They've been compared to far less lyrical things by less talented poets."

Sarye chuckles. "You are among the F'meeqi, now, and as I said, singing is _life_ to us, not a way of life. Poets," he snorts.

"Rhymesters," says Najib with disdain. They view, it seems, anyone who has pretensions, but can't _sing_, as beneath them. Poetry is speaking to them, because leads to song, not stopping there. "Aunt Halima?" he calls, knocking.

There is some thunderous-- but rather ladylike-- swearing from within, followed by, "You might as well come in, Najib, you're using the broom!"

Long-suffering, Najib holds open the door for Sarye and Imtithal, and grabs the broom by it when they pass through.

Inside, Sarye bows to a F'meeqi woman in her early forties, with dark hair not yet greying and a piercing pair of green eyes. If she is not as beautiful as Imtithal-- and who is?-- she has an austere handsomeness to her, and while she wears the black of a widow, it is cut sensibly, with an apron-- one that has seen good use, as a beaker seems to have over-boiled.

"Oh, Sarye," she says with a chuckle. "Congratulations again. Don't let it go to your head; we mere mortals need _study_ time, and experimentation." She curtsies in her dark garments to Imtithal. "And congratulations to you as well, lady of the Radeen. Bear the Knife of the Sun well. Sit; we'll have tea while my nephew cleans." She indicates some chairs near newly installed writing desks, and poor Najib gets to cleaning.

Imtithal returns the gesture in kind - she may be an Exalt now, but it is a station she is not yet accustomed to, and by mortal titles alone, she is only a minor Delzahn noblewoman - the same as a widow of the F'meeqi could claim, and among these people, Imtithal had rather be more polite than necessary. "Thank you, Widow Halima," she says, with a soft smile, turning towards the chair.

Halima sets some tea on a burner modified specifically for this purpose, and lets it heat up waving a hand at Imtithal. "It is the honor of the F'meeqi to serve the Sun," she says and snorts. "Besides, that was about to blow anyway; I need to get the mixture right, but getting the right compounds from Chiaroscuro is about to get troublesome-- and expensive."

Sarye sits and smiles, laughing. "We have a favor to ask of you, aunt's-cousin," he says after he calms a bit. "I know this will offend your traditionalist soul--" at that, both of them laugh-- "to the core, but my Circlesister needs your aid in helping to keep up some of our defenses."

"Oh?" inquires Halima. "And how can this simple widow, and perhaps herb-woman, and astrologer, and occasional evil-eye averter or attractor," she says, grinning, "Aid an illustrious daughter of the Sun?"

Imtithal tilts her head a little bit, as she starts explaining. "We rode out this morning to find the manse for a hearthstone I had earlier obtained." She touches the red blazing ruby in the clasp of her cloak. "We found it, and attuned to it. As Sarye noted, it was clearly designed to provide artillery support for this temple - one would really not want to be caught in its fire, either. But, much like this manse, requires regular ritual to preserve it. Your kinsman here," and she gestures to Sarye, "suggested you might be willing to visit regularly and perform the ritual necessary, in exchange for fair payment." She grins briefly. "And as I intend to continue residence in Chiaroscuro for the while, I'd be perfectly happy to bring some of that payment in whatever components you need, honored widow."

Sarye relaxes back and lets the ladies deal with things. Halima ponders Imtithal for a moment, then bluntly asks, "Do you actually want to haggle about this, Nightborn? I suspect it might be better if we skip the poetry my nephew and his cousin are so fond of and get to a price directly." At _that_ Sarye looks offended, but is wise enough not to say anything.

Imtithal shrugs slightly, and gives Halima something of a relieved smile. "I lack skill with haggling, or poetry," she says. "I have discovered that my sister, not I, was born to be a merchant." She spreads her hands. "If you would be kind enough to tell me what you would ask, I will answer with whether I can afford your price. The rest of the process, well, I have been told that young F'meeq men love to show off." She gives Sarye an almost mischievous smile. "We can leave it to them."

Halima names a price then, fair and honest. Sarye continues to look offended. The Forms are Not Being Obeyed, and he is someone who can complain! However, he does not choose too at this time, especially given the look on Halima's face.

Imtithal inclines her head. "That seems most reasonable, aunt-to-young-lions." She smiles warmly, offering a hand to seal the bargain. "And it is generous of you not to make me try to bargain, as well." Imtithal knows her shortcomings.

Sarye grumbles. "I'm going to have to lie in the song," he says.

Halima sniffs. "You could call it generosity, boy, and don't make me dose your next feast."

Sarye hrmphs.

"And don't stick your tongue out at me behind that veil, either," she adds, as she takes Imtithal's hand and shakes it firmly. "It is so done."

Barring objection from one of the F'meeqi present, Imtithal will immediately set about explaining the ritual, and touching the older woman briefly with the hearthstone to make sure the manse can identify her - to prevent any misunderstandings. She will also inform the woman about the manse's guardian. Just to be sure.

Halima is fairly impressed by the opportunity to meet a Salamander, and notes, "It's said that they collect great lore amidst the flames. I may have to take some note-tablets out next time. Thank you again, lady of the Radeen."

Imtithal chuckles. "So I had heard as well," she says, "but I had never heard how /maudlin/ a salamander might be. Perhaps he will respond to you as well as they do." She waves a hand vaguely at the males in the room.

Halima snorts, and Sarye, who had been grouching, laughs out loud.

"Perhaps you shall gain a more cheerful guardian, then, or Halima will set her potions upon him," he says.

"Oh, -hush-, boy," Halima says, and waves a hand at him. "Pour the tea."

Still laughing, Sarye pours out some tea for all three of them; thankfully, he manages not to spill everywhere.

Imtithal gives Sarye a smile of thanks as her pours her tea - the young woman may be a Night, but for the most part, /she/ lacks the dourness of that hour. She sips the tea with a deep sigh of pleasure.

Sarye drinks his own, and Halima offers to compare a few potion recipes with Imtithal while she sips at her own tea.

Sarye ponders for a moment, then laughs again. "If all goes well, cousin Alduleydda should be here by the time we are done with this most excellent tea."

Imtithal will confess to 'merely being a dabbler,' and knowing few recipes, though she can certainly hold her own in overall theory. She is happy to exchange the few odd recipes she knows that Halima hasn't heard - mostly minor recipe variants from more distant parts - for matching tidbits. The two women may rather bore the warriors, talking shop over thaumaturgical procedures.

Sarye laughs and gets up, clapping Najib on the back, who has just finished cleaning. "Go, my friend. Or there will be more work to do. Rouse the singers, and rouse the memory; see if you can find songs of ancient elements, and what we might follow therein."

Najib nods good-naturedly, "A task one way or another, Sarye, but a good one nonetheless." He whistles to himself as he walks off, and, without even being asked,

Sarye takes the empty tea and service and sets them away to be cleaned later. Despite Halima's glaring, though, he does not offer to clean them himself.

As Sarye makes moves to clean up and leave, Imti sighs and offers a bow to Halima from her chair. "Thank you for your hospitality and the tea," she says, with her usual smile. "I need one more introduction from Sarye, so I shouldn't test his patience too long."

Halima rises and bows, rather than curtsies. "We shall see it done, with all the lore at the possession of the F'meeqi, Bolt of Night," she says formally. "Sol Invictus light your path."

Sarye bows in return. "Blessings of the Lord of Light upon you as well," he says gently, and then gets the door for Imtithal.

Imtithal follows Sarye out, and pauses in the hallway, glancing at the Zenith.

Sarye quirks an eyebrow. "It's an old blessing of parting. We haven't had a lot of reason to use it, until lately. We'll be modifying some of the old ones." He pauses for a moment in the cooling evening air. "You seem... somewhat curious... about my kin?

Imtithal chuckles quietly. "They are an interesting clan." she says.

Sarye's veil twitches and he laughs. "We are the best; the sons of the Sun and the Desert alike. Is there anything about us specifically?

Imtithal shrugs, contemplating for a minute. When she does come up with a question, her face lacks any conniving, the question seeming as innocent as the naive young Night usually does - she may be learning cunning, and none too slowly, at the Sun's prompting, but this is her typical guilelessness. "Yours is a small clan, and fairly unique," she says. "Do all your men marry inside the tribe, or where do you find brides who actually fit your clan? Most the young women of my acquaintance would be truly poor fits."

Sarye's veil twitches again and his eyes twinkle lightly. "The three families try to marry out periodically, to prevent too much inbreeding," he admits, "And the children of new brides are considered quite valuable by prospective parents. As it is...' He chuckles. "There are always women who are -- different. Too intelligent for the harem, too strong for the city, too feminine to be Dereth. The Delzahn nation is far larger than our poor little tribe," he says with something of a self-deprecatory manner, "And there are always those who do not fit in. We try to accommodate, often."

Imtithal raises an eyebrow. "Spoken like a male," she comments, "If you think that second and third -and further! - wives have no use for intelligence." She moves on, though, without pausing there. "How do you handle the whole Sol Invictus thing with them?" she asks, curiously.

"I suppose too intelligent and too proud would be better. There isn't a lot of room here for competition or excess, so pride is usually found together, rather than apart," Sarye says quietly. "And as for the religion part..." He laughs. "Prior to recently, fairly slowly. The 'Lord of Light' seems like a fairly innocuous name for a Hundred Gods Heresy, and then we build things up to some of the private ceremonies. The blessings and the teachings-- as well as the fact that we are commanded to give to each their own duties-- seem to help."

Imtithal chuckles quietly. "Few of the Delzahn listen overlong to the Immaculates, anyhow," she says. "Though I suppose you could stumble across the rare devotee if you looked hard enough. What's one more god to worship, to most, though?" She's needling, deliberately, and it shows in her corners of her grin.

Sarye's eyes harden for a moment, but he catches on fast. "Ah, but what a one, Golden Arrow!" he says cheerfully, "For his arm is sure, his mind is strong, and his way is pure! The blessings of the light are all around us-- suffuse us-- radiate from us!" he says. "Surely, even amidst the shadows of the city," he says, eyes dancing, "Such an illustrious personage as yourself has felt the touch-- and warmth-- of light."

Imtithal's lips curl up in a grin as Sarye's expression lightens again. "Even in the depth of night," she agrees, with a straight face, "the heat still radiating out from sun-warmed brick and glass, memory and reflection of the morning both." She laughs a little.

Sarye smiles gently. "You are most elegant, Imtithal," he says softly. "When you so choose, I think you could balance the world upon a pinhead," he continues, almost inaudibly, and then begins to walk downstairs, whistling an old, old tune.

Imtithal raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment on the confusing phrases. "I suppose one of these days, I should really spend some time studying ...his faith," she says. It's actually serious, not deadpan. "Since somehow, I seem to have attracted a few of those blessings..." she shrugs.

Sarye smiles. "You are worthy; they find you. If you wish, I can tell you a few things; among others, our particular branch of the faith is Orthodox First Age Solarianism-- or at least," he admits, "A highly reformed and mutated version.

Imtithal tilts her head. "Sometime," she says. "Maybe when we're riding places." She shrugs and carefully lifts the hem of her robe as they step down another ramp, to keep it from dragging behind her.

"Riding places may be one reason why the Delzahn have such interesting faiths," Sarye says thoughtfully. "We have so much time to discuss it."

Imtithal laughed. "I always just figured we were willing to add a shrine to anything that might give us an edge over the next clan," she says, with a grin. "Equal opportunity."

Sarye sighs quietly, and dusts his gauntlets back against his leg armor. "That's part of the problem. Ever since the Solars have been gone-- or earlier," he admits, "I do know that not all of the tales the Immaculates tell of the end of the First Age are untrue-- but for a long time, Heaven has not been served well. Something happened, and the Unconquered Sun turned his face away from Creation, and Heaven started to act like a mightier version of the Realm, or the Guild." His melancholy is gone now, and he is utterly serious. "Part of our duty is to end that-- directly, if need be."

Imtithal raises an eyebrow. "That's ...a lot to ask," she comments.

"There is a reason we have such long lives, Circlesister," Sarye says, bowing to Imtithal. "We have much to do, and much time to do it in. But it cannot continue. Heaven exists to order the world, not to drain it like a leech at a cow."