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eye_of_a_catYoung Lennier story which I have owed ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kakodaimon for about sixteen years, or something close to that. But it's here and finished now, mostly thanks to an otherwise boring train journey and a notebook I forgot I was carrying. See what you think.
Archaeology
On the day he followed the strangers, he was barely old enough to find his way home again. He kept as far behind them as curiosity would allow and walked through long grasses beside the path so they would not hear footsteps on the sun-baked earth. They never turned around, and he stayed unseen until they reached what he at first thought was just a jumble of rock on the hillside. But there were walls here, blocks of stone still forming neat lines and curves under soft crowns of turf; there were flagstones beneath his feet, arches of window sunk into the earth, carved pillars lying broken around him. He was tracing the weather-worn face of some unrecognisable animal when the Workers noticed he was there.
They called to him in their strange language at first, and then, when he did not answer, in his own. He remembered to bow as he backed away. Too young to have left the Temple before, he at least knew the proper greetings for those from outside, and whispered his name and clan into the grass.
They were smiling. "Is the Third Fane of Chu'Domo sending representatives to watch us already?" one of them said, and although he did not understand, he was never too young to speak for his clan. When he asked what they were doing, they showed him the outlines of buildings collapsed long ago, the fragments of tools and broken pottery, the sketched plans of what had once been a village. He was helping to brush soil away from ancient hearthstones when one of his teachers came to find him.
His task forgotten, he went to where she sat with one of the Workers and knelt in shame at her feet. "You should never go off alone," she said, her voice a half-held sigh. "What if you lost your way? What would you have done?"
His eyes lowered, he mumbled out a succession of apologies before realising she wanted an answer. "I would try to find the path again," he said, feeling a shadow of panic at the thought of being alone in the mountains far away from home. "I would look for streams and follow them to the river. I -"
An arm around his shoulders silenced him with comfort. "If you are ever lost, stay still and wait," she said. "We would always find you." And then, turning to the Worker, "He has not interrupted your work too much, I hope?"
"He has been helping. It seemed appropriate, given his clan."
"True." She smiled down at him. "The people who lived here could have been your ancestors, Lennier."
"Were they Chu'Domo?" Back in Temple, Chu'Domo was a Warrior clan, barely worthy to count among Religious. His teachers had punished the others for saying this, but even now he could feel it in their eyes during lessons.
"This was before clans," his teacher said. "Before castes, too. Seven thousand years before Valen. These were the people who became Chu'Domo."
In the earth below his palms he could feel the sound of footsteps, of voices calling to each other long ago. He imagined them watching them now. "Where are their clan history scrolls?"
"They never wrote any," his teacher said, and the Worker added with a gesture towards the others, "This is the only way we have of learning about them."
He did not understand how, and so they let him go back to the work he had been doing, cleaning earth away so carefully that he could see anything buried in it before it was disturbed. His teacher sat on the stones and watched him, her arms wrapped around her knees. When they stopped at midday, she let him say his own clan's prayers over the food, and the Workers all bowed before they began to eat. By the time they finished at sunset, his muscles ached and his robes were smeared with dirt and he did not care.
He dreamed of his own family, and of long-ago times when the Temple lands were young and a clan of his ancestors walked the paths he saw every day. He never spoke of them to his classmates or his teachers, not the next day or any day in the years that followed, but he never forgot them. And when he was in the mountains alone, he would sit in the shadows of boulders and listen, and sometimes he could almost hear their voices.
kakodaimon for about sixteen years, or something close to that. But it's here and finished now, mostly thanks to an otherwise boring train journey and a notebook I forgot I was carrying. See what you think.Archaeology
On the day he followed the strangers, he was barely old enough to find his way home again. He kept as far behind them as curiosity would allow and walked through long grasses beside the path so they would not hear footsteps on the sun-baked earth. They never turned around, and he stayed unseen until they reached what he at first thought was just a jumble of rock on the hillside. But there were walls here, blocks of stone still forming neat lines and curves under soft crowns of turf; there were flagstones beneath his feet, arches of window sunk into the earth, carved pillars lying broken around him. He was tracing the weather-worn face of some unrecognisable animal when the Workers noticed he was there.
They called to him in their strange language at first, and then, when he did not answer, in his own. He remembered to bow as he backed away. Too young to have left the Temple before, he at least knew the proper greetings for those from outside, and whispered his name and clan into the grass.
They were smiling. "Is the Third Fane of Chu'Domo sending representatives to watch us already?" one of them said, and although he did not understand, he was never too young to speak for his clan. When he asked what they were doing, they showed him the outlines of buildings collapsed long ago, the fragments of tools and broken pottery, the sketched plans of what had once been a village. He was helping to brush soil away from ancient hearthstones when one of his teachers came to find him.
His task forgotten, he went to where she sat with one of the Workers and knelt in shame at her feet. "You should never go off alone," she said, her voice a half-held sigh. "What if you lost your way? What would you have done?"
His eyes lowered, he mumbled out a succession of apologies before realising she wanted an answer. "I would try to find the path again," he said, feeling a shadow of panic at the thought of being alone in the mountains far away from home. "I would look for streams and follow them to the river. I -"
An arm around his shoulders silenced him with comfort. "If you are ever lost, stay still and wait," she said. "We would always find you." And then, turning to the Worker, "He has not interrupted your work too much, I hope?"
"He has been helping. It seemed appropriate, given his clan."
"True." She smiled down at him. "The people who lived here could have been your ancestors, Lennier."
"Were they Chu'Domo?" Back in Temple, Chu'Domo was a Warrior clan, barely worthy to count among Religious. His teachers had punished the others for saying this, but even now he could feel it in their eyes during lessons.
"This was before clans," his teacher said. "Before castes, too. Seven thousand years before Valen. These were the people who became Chu'Domo."
In the earth below his palms he could feel the sound of footsteps, of voices calling to each other long ago. He imagined them watching them now. "Where are their clan history scrolls?"
"They never wrote any," his teacher said, and the Worker added with a gesture towards the others, "This is the only way we have of learning about them."
He did not understand how, and so they let him go back to the work he had been doing, cleaning earth away so carefully that he could see anything buried in it before it was disturbed. His teacher sat on the stones and watched him, her arms wrapped around her knees. When they stopped at midday, she let him say his own clan's prayers over the food, and the Workers all bowed before they began to eat. By the time they finished at sunset, his muscles ached and his robes were smeared with dirt and he did not care.
He dreamed of his own family, and of long-ago times when the Temple lands were young and a clan of his ancestors walked the paths he saw every day. He never spoke of them to his classmates or his teachers, not the next day or any day in the years that followed, but he never forgot them. And when he was in the mountains alone, he would sit in the shadows of boulders and listen, and sometimes he could almost hear their voices.
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Date: 2005-03-29 07:29 pm (UTC)