Tales Of Grimea (15 page)

“Yes, but today I didn’t. Remember: A farmer
who overestimates his earth will reap only seeds. Know what you
have and understand. This,” she pointed at her right calf, where
the ugly brand depicting an old man stuck in a hole and reaching
miserably for the sun still stood out bright against her skin. Then
she pointed on her back, “Is what I have reaped. This is the hand
Colna and the spirits of sun, moon and all that exists between them
have dealt me. I should accept it. Thankfully master Adabu,” Sanapi
cringed at her mother’s use of honorifics for such a vile man, but
kept her peace, “has decided to allow me work, but with less pay to
make up for what I’ve wasted. We’ll need to make do for now.”
Inside, M’kousi seethed, remembering the times her own flesh and
blood had been stepped on, the laugh on that noblewoman’s face as
she literally kicked Sanapi for taking a loaf of bread the cooks in
her house had left out for animals. She decided that it would not
happen to her. She would grow a tree of Iron within her soul and
the roots of weakness would perish.

“I will work with you,” she started, but
Sanapi interjected.

“No. You will study. I want you to have a
better life. Maybe you can be a servant in the future, if you learn
well.” People were not created equals. There it was again, the best
she could hope for was servitude. There would no reprieve if she
stayed…

And so it was that when she turned thirteen,
a woman by any standard, M’kousi left home. She told her mother it
was to find work elsewhere, to study; to learn. In truth, she
wanted to run away. She could only find greatness by discarding her
heritage, for she would forever be the thief’s daughter within the
village and all of Ghouti’s tribes, numerous as the stars. Deep
within, her horror at Sanapi’s branding and whipping had burnt low
for years, turning slowly into resentment for her mother’s
acceptance of lowliness and, by extension, perhaps an inherent
worthlessness.

Thus M’kousi left, taking with her Seris and
other forms of traditional clothing with a fair amount of pride.
She also took with her Sanapi’s blessings, as well as those from
the villagers who had never lent a hand through hard times. Their
resignation offended her, but there was no reason to tell them that
they had been born lesser than others and that she wanted no part
in it.

M’kousi was a smart woman, and so she found
job upon job wherever she went, mostly bookkeeping for all manners
of shops. Often the girl chose candy stores, for she was
particularly fond of what was not to be had as a child. She also
learnt about other cultures, slowly and surely as more foreigners
started to mix into the mostly Ghotian crowd. The girl turned into
a woman and turned towards a scholarly mind as she neared the
continent’s eastern front, where the lands were more civilized,
though they were still part of Baku. Sooner or later, the clothes
of her homeland were discarded in favor of more fashionable things,
and she began to pretend she was from Heza, a nearby town. By now,
the lowliness of her family and old friends was mostly forgotten,
but she would awake at times in a night terror, and she felt the
fear stalk her like a night owl.

One day, she was tasked with attending to a
rich man from the Far East as he went hunting. That she did,
holding his bags and speaking of nothings. “And that bird,
M’kousi?” he asked finally, taking aim with his magical vial.

“A red plumed sparrow, sir,” she answered
politely. Her head was adorned by a feathered hat. “It feeds on
insects that live in the Keigo trees, which are the most common
here.” As she spoke, the woman pointed at such a tree. It had seven
branches, each ending in what seemed like a cloud of thorns
protecting yellow fruit. The man chucked his vial, catching the
bird right in the beak. The vial broke then exploded into a small
fireball, dropping the bird. He sighed in satisfaction as she went
to fetch his dinner.

“I wonder if this bird has a soul.”

“Who would know, sire? What amount of soul a
bird has.”

“Amount?”

“Yes, sire. The inner self. For animals and
people, it is not the same, for we are better. It is not the same
between humans either.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Do you think
so? I always thought character fluctuated.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “But I know that men
are not born equal. There are people who would have been better
born birds or insects. And there are others with inner virtue. I
can tell that you think me foolish, but I believe this.” Her voice
was quiet and resigned to the truth.

“And you think this has something to do with
a person’s soul?”

“It must, sire. Isn’t a soul our deepest
core, master?”

“Huh… you remind me of a man in the east. He
lived in our largest mountain ranges, beyond Yotaku. They say he
believes people’s worth in life is directly proportional to the
amount of soul they have, and that he can see how much that is.
Many go to learn from him each year, and he teaches them all
without exception. To find out how much your life is worth… such a
terrifying ability, isn’t it? Girl?”

M’kousi had not been paying attention, so
lost she was in his words. She agreed readily, and the man thought
nothing of it, but the next month M’kousi had left town, asking
leave of her employer. He was a good man, and fond of her fire, so
let her leave and gave her money for part of the journey as well as
many sweet treats. She went east, crossing the Yesgor, the earthen
bridge between Baku and the eastern continent.

It was magical, what with its red lamps
barely visible amongst water coming down from above and buffeted up
from the sea. It was constant storm and tree high waves and cold.
The buildings twisted and curved in magnificent ways unknown to
her, and the people kept a warmth in their hearts to stave off the
outside gloom. As she went, she made friends and lost them, gained
work and money as she did odd jobs to pay for her trip. Wherever
there was a book on magic, she read it, especially if it had
anything to do with seeing auras. However, none could teach her how
to see the worth in a man’s soul. She even fell in love with a man
on the way, and they went together for a year, but he soon became
tired of something within her. “You just don’t trust people,” he
said finally, leaving her in the sweltering rain in front of a
restaurant boasting a single red lantern above its upwards arched
roof. That night she had wept bitter tears, but ended up thinking
that the man must not have been worth much if he could hurt her in
that way. She could not allow herself to be ruled as her mother had
been. She had to be more.

And so it was that finally, seven years
later, M’kousi reached Yotaku and ventured even farther east.
Villagers here and there would know of the man she sought, and rice
farmers would speak of him with great respect. Many times she was
invited to stay, and she did for a while, but knew her quest
awaited, so she climbed the mountain they pointed to, taking a
donkey with her to carry supplies. Tired and nearly frozen solid
despite the heavy coats, delirious with hunger, she finally found
herself upon a yellow robed old man with a moustache down to his
feet walking down a mountain trail. It was a slightly underwhelming
meeting, for he had simply come across her on the road and she
almost passed him by before realizing who the man stepping humbly
along the road was. His warm eyes pierced through her, and the
black skinned woman threw herself at his feet. She said, “Master
Kasuri, I have crossed continents to see you. I need to learn how
to see a man’s worth in his soul.”

“Why?” he asked, “Come into my cave, have
some soup, and tell me slowly. I’ll teach you, but the payment is a
story.”

So she told him, in that cavern of rough
rock. He sat by the entrance as if unphased by cold. She told him
of her mother’s whipping, the slow realization that there was
something lowborn in Sanapi, the fear that the noblewoman was
somehow better than them. “I have to find out how much I’m worth.
If I can do that, maybe I can somehow better myself. If I know what
makes those of higher caliber better, then I can surely replicate
it. If Colna and the spirits are fair, then that noblewoman was
somehow better than my mother. I need to know what it was that set
her apart.”

The man looked sad yet resigned. “You may
lose your surety afterwards. It is, however, true that the amount
of soul a man has corresponds to the worth of his life. What if it
turns out we’re set in stone and you’re just a lowly peasant?”

She was prepared, and he must have seen it
in his eyes. Still she said it. “Then there will be nothing to
change.” At worst, she would be as worthless as her mother,
regardless of knowledge and hard work.

For a month he taught her. She gazed at
mountains in the horizon for hours on end, recited incantations,
and prepared herself. At times, the magical energies within seemed
like fire within her eyes, and she would scream. When that
happened, the old man would put cloth soaked with ice water over
her eyes. She felt very deeply for him, and knew that soon, for
better or for worse, the truth would be revealed. His calm
anticipation was palpable. Perhaps to him she was just a poor girl,
for she often saw pity in his eyes when he thought she could not
see.

Then one day, something magical happened.
She and master Kasuri were meditating together, him peacefully, she
struggling, when suddenly the girl opened her eyes and there was
something. A golden cloud floated, suffusing the man from chest to
naval. She gasped and the man smiled.

“Master-“

“I know. Your training here is done. I hope
this gives you peace, child.”

Gone she was, like the wind. After thanking
Kasuri, the first thing she did was find a nearby lake surrounded
by trees. The water was calm and she could see herself reflected in
it. Her breath caught in her throat, and M’kousi’s stomach churned
and clenched. Then she focused on the calm and looked. There it
was, finally, appearing like a mirage as she recited the
incantation: a cloud suffusing her from chest to naval, golden in
color. It was identical to the one her master had displayed, and
shocked the girl to her core. Could she truly be as spiritually
complete as her master? She had never thought herself so pure, and
it filled her chest with joy. Like a dark cloud before a sunny day,
her doubts were lifted. Gone was the shadow of her mother toiling
for someone else, shoveling filth and doing hard manual labor. It
was with a light heart that the girl went down the mountain, sure
that everything was going to be fine in her life.

Then something went wrong. It began three
days after she began the journey back to Ghouti, for although she
was free of her family’s curse and had no desire to go back to that
village, her knowledge would be put to better use there. Besides,
the cold in the eastern continent, Sehkai, was unappetizing, as
were its sweets. Out of curiosity, she recited the incantation
whilst waiting on a noble’s procession. Her cloud was from the
chest to the naval, golden, as were the guards’. Even the commoners
on the streets had the exact soul. Only the animals were different;
from them she saw nothing. Panicking, M’kousi ran to the beggars
and saw. Then in desperation, she went to the jail. She begged the
guards until, thinking she was insane, they granted her wish to see
the meanest, worst prisoner they had. They took her down the
dungeons, path illuminated only by their torches. She eyed them
absentmindedly. There, beneath ornate obsidian armor, the guards
also had the same cloud.

The guards dropped her before a dark cell,
set alone at a corridor’s end. There she could barely glimpse a
man’s face, where light and shadow met. She knew that this criminal
at least would be different. His soul must be tiny, dismal and
black. But no. When she saw and recited the incantation quietly,
his soul was like all the others.

“What is it, girly? Why are you crying? I’ll
have you know, I only like to kill old men. You don’t whet my
appetite one bit.”

So M’kousi cried and laughed, letting the
guards escort her from the building where she laughed at the horrid
irony of it all. All this time she looked for the worth of people,
condemned her mother and all those others. She wanted to prove her
own worth, when in fact…

Year: 982 Post Kerdallus, 128 Pre adventus

Gurei woke up well before dawn, stirred by
something. For a second, things felt alright. For one first
blissfully still instant, the world waited and held his breath.
More importantly, his own insides waited a little. Then they came
crashing down and he closed his eyes again, hoping for the void.
“Gurei,” came a voice, gruff with years of use. “Katou!”

Before the boy could say anything, the other
boy sleeping in his room replied, “Coming!”

The boy groaned, getting up to his feet and
hastily changing into something suitable for the muddy work ahead.
He glanced at Gurei. “Coming?” he asked, then added, “Good
morning.”

“Good morning,” said the straight haired
youth. He moved a strand away from his eyes, since it sometimes
felt the horrid thing would cut him with how straight it grew. He
felt like a surudoi, all thorny fur and brittleness. Without
another word his twin brother left their small one room lean to and
went out to help out with the day’s work. This was routine in its
own way, and allowed Gurei to take a few moments for himself. These
he used to gather his strength. He had to get up.

After a few moments, Gueri was able to
painstakingly get up to his feet. He pulled on his brown
mud-stained tunic over his tall but slender frame. It was to be
washed in a few days, but for now the boy had to bear with the
stench of work. It was his, after all. He left the lean to, careful
not to drop any of uncle Yatushi’s moldy wallboards nor cut himself
on a rusty nail. If any damage came to the place, his family would
pay. His father, Yukihira Midoriya, was already taking up a big set
of clippers. “About time, slowpoke,” he chided, as he often did.
His voice was louder than other people’s, which was all very well
and good for the weak eared Gurei. His father, however, did not
believe that his son didn’t hear as well as others, and assumed he
was either stupid or lazy. This was because the mild mannered boy
had always slept very lightly.