N'aarat and the Tree of Life

Chapter 2: The Shadows of Neen Th'al

Two days before, I had heard a rumour of an upheaval above ground, which reminded me of a poem, conceived by Áugnum, which later spread among all us Rayanars, the sea-people. It concerned our brothers from above:

Twinkling stars above divided,

Stand ten Houses brightly guided,

Each by savvy Priests presided,

Each by friendly armies guarded;

Friends to all, yet friendlier in pairs:

Such are the troubles of Onar's heirs.

So that night, instead of going to sleep, I rose to the surface through the River Ka, and from there I had a clear view of the EasternTemple. The moons were too beautiful not to delight in, even if only for as long as it takes to fill an open heart. The water was dark, only a small peök flushed by around me, shining pink and orange and almost giving me up. I leaned forward to hide for a while. It was unnecessary to sink all the way in, since my hair was long and black and although it obviously floated on top of the peaceful waves, they would have both appeared as dark as night to an Onar.

The stone alley by the river was lit by torches, which cast a fragile shape into the night. Carrying a manuscript under his armpit, an Onar stepped onto the stairs, turning to the right, leaving the yellow field of chrisäntæum behind him. He walked under the stone arch, after previously having reassured himself that there was nobody at the post.

The night smelt of sorrow. The stars knew it and were lamenting above his head, yet listen he would not, or perhaps he did not notice that the skies were talking to him. His steps were quick and firm, his mouth closed in lips as thin as paper. His robe was purple, yet I felt such colour did not suit him in the least.

The guard had begun his hourly patrol of the river bank. Such curious case that the Temples of the Free Children of Onar are always so well guarded! Day by day, we notice their guards looking into the water, trying to see the bottom, and we might be floating right under their reflections. We could startle them, but we pity them too much to play such tricks. Perhaps at times they get bored of always patrolling and that is when they remember there is something else inhabiting their realm, something beyond their power to control, something elusive; and so they approach, drawn by the pictures that my sea impersonates of them. Then they turn around and leave. Curious as they might be, they are too fearful to take a leap and come exploring.

From shore to shore, they stroll. From bridge to bridge, they scout. Strangers come and strangers leave, some looking peculiar. Yet the guards allow them to pass. Some leave after a while, some leave without us remembering having seen them enter, some don't leave at all; some leave without the baggage they had carried into the city, while others leave in fewer numbers than had arrived. The ten Temples of Onar witness more than a mind could bear remember.

Rayanars observe all that is, yet no Onar Priest asks us for counsel. Once, in the times of our elders, there was a connection, a concave inner tunnel they had built together, spanning from the rectangular Citizen Hall above ground and curving all the way down into our Great Hall inside Tower Ämn, ending in a massive see-through sphere where they could be closer to us without getting touched by water. Rayanars have never needed to enter—it was a passage only for them. So long ago that was, that the tunnel has long been abandoned. It has been shattered by the volcanic activity of MountEnó'ol many generations ago. The Onars then thought about damaging the mountain somehow, removing by some means its ability to outburst, so that such disasters would never happen again. Indeed, many were mourned those days, so many that the hearts of Rayanars sighed painfully, and though She Herself rose and stayed above for numerous nights, it was so heavy on my kin's hearts that they could not rest. Onars blamed us for not participating in their pre-emptive efforts, for not allowing them to take action against the mountain, and my people's response came swiftly:

'It is not a world for only Onars and Rayanars to inhabit. Enó'ol remains unaltered, or Rayanars shall rise to defend Creation.'

Hence our peoples became progressively colder, for only friendships frail as thin snow in spring end when two heads think unalike. Onars kept living on the surface and Rayanars went on dwelling inside its sea, and we were glad in our homes and we felt blessed by our Mother and our Father through existence itself. We needed no proof that They were always watchful. Onars did, with their secret rituals of replenishments offered by priests, with their many rules and never-ending law articles and corrections and exceptions and extraordinary exceptions. They went on digging and digging upwards into the sky, not to wonder at its magnificence, but to discover enhancements for themselves, as though life's only purpose was to become the greatest Onar who lived. And the greatest Onars alive had a tendency of being either Priests, who were their hereditarily eligible leaders, or around Priests, in which case they manifested great support in activities or elections, in exchange for having their own interests met.

Such an Onar was this man as well, purple robe about him, manuscript under his armpit, walking proudly, yet scouting for the guard, lest he be spotted and revealed the content of his document.

'Good,' he appeared to be muttering and he hurried towards the second entrance to the Temple of Veel'le, the one to the left of the main one, which was used only for administrative purposes, not for ecclesiastical outbursts. I risked and moved through the water till I reached land, grabbed a tree branch to help me climb onto the steep, three-feet-high wall, and the stone alley darkened beneath my wet feet. As I was walking, I thought I spotted something through the bushes, yet when I looked closer, nothing was there, thus I moved on along the main entrance, where I stopped for a while, to touch its magnificent door. The wood was surprisingly alive and the smell of incense was still strong about it. There was something almost inviting about this door, something which made me wonder who Onars truly were and how many types of Onars roamed the surface.

I hurried along the Temple, walked onto the dry grass, and leaned onto a tree, feeling its asperities on my back, as I stood hidden in the dark, in front of the small door that was rounded at the top. Emptying my eyes of all that which I had no need to see at such a time, I let the door disappear and reveal Kone, who was fixing the air-flow of a raid machine.

'You saw nothing,' came from behind the door in a harsh tone, and that was all the order Kone needed before he looked away.

Rumour of a dispute between Priests must have reached his ears as well, and it seemed he wanted none of the details. He obviously wanted no complications, thus he pretended that he didn't see the man descending the stairs, that he didn't know which chamber that passage led to, and that he did not understand what was pointless to explain. Still, in the name of Veel'le, as I could read on his lips, he muttered, 'Åsaïra th'avaada, Dáran.' That was a salute in Ancient Neenthallian, one of the few expressions which had survived to our days, and it meant blessed be your breath upon this land.

Given my short years, my sight was still roughly untrained, thus I felt forced to stop abruptly. My head was spinning frantically and nausea made me rush back towards the water. As if from a very distant land, I heard someone running, perhaps towards me, and he spoke something from such an abyss that I could not decipher the message. I sank, arms wide open, into the water, my eyes burning and needing some rest. I swam loosely through the myriad crevasses, not paying attention which I chose, as they all lead to the same bottom, the blue field of our Queen Maáh.