Fire in the Sky

5

The two teachers moved about the room, putting away copybooks, picking up the scraps of paper that every classroom in every paper-using culture seemed to spawn by the end of each day. They were uneasy about talking to her, Aslan could feel that. At the same time, they wanted to talk. They were fascinated by the idea of University; they glanced at her repeatedly and every glance was a question.

The Keteng was the more aggressive of the two. Xe finished laying out the chalk in the tray that ran along the base of the slateboard, dusted off xe’s hands, and turned to face Aslan. “So, what is it you want us to say?”

“If you could start with your names and what it is you do.”

“Budechil said that thing,” xe pointed at the Ridaar, “makes pictures and traps the voice.”

“Would you care to see what it does?”

“Yes.”

The Keteng contemplated xe’s image, frowning at the sound of xe’s voice. “That’s me?”

“What you hear inside your head is, never what other people hear. You’ll get used to the difference after a while and won’t find it strange.”

Xe turned to whisper to the Fior woman, then fetched chairs, and the two of them settled in the pool of sunlight coming through the roof.

“My name is Oskual, Budline Ual-beriod. I teach Meloach and young Fior song and history and all the things they should know about the ways of the world.”

“My name is Teagasa Teor, I teach Meloach and young Fior writing, ciphering and drawing, dance and all the things that grace the world.”

“We are bonded, Teagasa and I. It’s not the sioll bond of the Ard and Eolt, but a sharing that crosses family and budlines. We dream the same dreams and when we share the fruit of the berrou in the High Summer month Orredyl, we can walk each other’s thoughts. Teagasa was born and I budded and dropped free in the same month, the same day and from that time forth our bond was there, growing as we grew. From our experience when we went to the Vale of Medon to study history and other things, this bond is there in most who teach the young.”

Teagasa smiled and touched Oskual’s wrist near the hand. “On the Fior side, it doesn’t matter whether the child is male or female, the bond is the same.”

Oskual turned xe’s wrist and took xe’s companion’s hand in xe’s. “You’re interested in the Shape Wars, you said. To get the old songs about that time, you have to go to Chuta Meredel. Perhaps your Harper can arrange that for you. It won’t be easy. The Elders hold their knowledge close.”

“They’re jealous of it,” Teagasa said. “We tried for months to see just the old-Fior version of Bracoпn’s Song, without the music or any commentary, but we never got a smell of it. We had to make do with translations, and you can’t ever be sure about them, can you.”

Aslan glanced at the Ridaar, sighed. “It’s a problem I’ve met before,” she said. “I’d like you to think of people in the Dumel who have stories you think worth telling and wouldn’t mind you giving their names. I’ll send my Aide around later to collect the list.” She smiled. “His name is Marrin Ola and he looks like bones held together with light brown skin. Right now I’d like children’s songs and any explanations you have of how they came to be.”

Teagasa’s brown eyes went narrow with shyness and she looked away. “Wouldn’t it be better,” she murmured, the words barely audible, “if you had the children themselves singing?”

“The time for that will come. Clarity of words and tune is what’s important now. And, of course, the explanations. This is more important than perhaps you know. It’s often fairly late in the history of a people before the children’s songs are written down. They’re not considered serious material, though they will have information of considerable importance to a study of that culture imbedded within them.”

“I see.” The teachers whispered together for several moments, then Oskual clicked xe’s tongue and smiled, xe’s dark eyes shining with mischief. “We’ll give you a sampling,” xe said. “That’s what you want anyway, catalysts to trigger more songs.”

Oskual and Teagasa shifted their chairs, slanting them so they could face each other and still see Aslan.

“Charun, derun, comn and corr,” Oskual sang, holding the long r at the end of the last word.

“In the cloudlands swoop and soar.” Teagasa’s higher voice wove about the drone of the r.

“Kere cherom busca madh.” Droned dh extending. “Creep and crawl, trot and plod.” Over and under the drone.

“Elare, ehere, idus lase.” Zed drone extending. “Dance and dart in deep green seaways.”

“That’s the start of one,” Oskual said. “A namesong of birds, beasts, and fish. It goes on forever, a whole catalog of the creatures of Bйluchad. There are a lot of catalogs children sing, lists of Ordumels in the Dumel Rings, lists of rivers, of mountains, of seas, of the continents.” Xe grinned. “We like lists, we Bйluchar.”

Teagasa smiled shyly. “But we do songs just for fun, like the Caцpa song. Children do a clap-jump game to that one.”

Oksual nodded, started clapping xe’s hands in a strong steady rhythm. Teagasa joined xe, clapping on the off-beat. Together they sang:

“Caцpa Caцpa where do you graze?

Upland and downland wherever grass stays.

Caцpa Caцpa how do you run?

Clippaclop clippaclop under the sun.”

“That’s another one that goes on and on,” Oskual said. “And there’s this one.”

“Little Achcha Meloach

Sitting in a tree

Yelling down at Fior boy

Can’t catch me…”