I’ve been trying to write a graphic novel forever. It’s been tough work, because I don’t know anything about writing for sequential art so I’m going with prose which I will then hash out with my artist. I wrote this up before and a (horrible) version exists elsewhere on this site. This is a major rewrite of the opening chapters and I thought I’d share this for #SaturdayShortStories. It’s long, ~7800 words. I don’t even know how many pages that it, but it’s broken up into chapters. I don’t actually expect anyone to read this but if you do, that’s awesome.
Karagad
The wagon’s wheels kicked up rock and dust from the dirt road as it rolled out of the edge of the desert and onto the path between it and the lush land it approached. In the passenger compartment the riders swayed and jolted as the plodding pachans pulled it toward the gates of the city it was moving toward. Slowly its passengers stirred, shaking off the travel hypnosis that had overcome them on the long ride. mostly children, they began pointing and whispering, their fellows joining them as they caught the excitement. Up ahead they could see the gates of Karagad, the capital city of the eponymous Sudatet Karagad. The enormous stone doors were moving and a slice of light appeared between them. Small eyes looked to and from and for seemingly miles the gates were the only apertures in the apparently endless stone wall.
A small girl with a messy bush of henna-colored hair was looking too, but not at the gates. Some ways down from the city’s entrance stood a man doing something to the wall. Nearby was a woman holding a small child. It was obvious even from a distance that she was weeping. Her posture and the shakes of her body showed what couldn’t be seen on her face from so far away. Near the woman, someone else stood. The girl couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman because the person’s body was covered in a voluminous garment. The person appeared to be speaking, with sweeping motions of the hands if if they were weaving a tapestry. The little girl stared, wondering what was happening. As the wagon drew closer to the gates she could see what appeared to be inscriptions in the wall, maybe thousands. Millions, she thought. She wondered what they were and why the man was carving them.
The clean streets were paved. She stared, momentarily forgetting why she was brought there. She’d never seen streets with flat stones in them but had heard of them. The main streets had mosaic patterns that she marveled at, already dazzled by the suddenly smooth ride. When she looked up from the streets her eyes took in the sight of even rows of buildings: houses, shops, other buildings she couldn’t identify. Occasionally there was a larger structure at whose purpose she could not guess. It was an amazing sight for a girl from a nomadic desert lifestyle and she gasped, along with the other passengers, when the wagon took them over a small bridge which crossed a canal.
Conveying them from the wagon, the children’s legs were unsteady after such a long ride. They all stank and were absolutely filthy, covered with dirt from the trip over from Cari-nafeh.
“Line up! Please make a single-file line.” The children stared blankly. One of the green-robed adults clustered near the cart sighed. “Please everyone stand behind someone.”
Slowly and clumsily, the aching kids made their ways into a single-file line, which seemed to please the people in the matching clothes. Some of the smaller children clung to older ones and were gently separated and soothed by the adults. A tall man in a brown robe pulled back his hood to reveal a warm face with chubby cheeks and a nimbus of fine grey hair.
“Aihe children, welcome to Karagad. This is your new home.” He looked at the children as if expecting them to say something. Their reaction was hangdog faces and downcast eyes as his words reminded them they were there for good.
“I’m Shelet Morek and I’m the leader here. This is the creche of the Capital and this is where you will now live and attend school. There are plenty of children here and many of them are Cari like yourselves so don’t worry, you’ll find friends easily. First, though, we need to get you all bathed and settled in, so please follow the attendants and they will take care of you. I will speak with you all tomorrow.” He turned and held a small conference with the green-clad adults before vanishing into the building, his own robe disguising the movement of his feet.
Nearly two hours later the painfully thin small girl looked around her nervously while a young woman in a short grey tunic worked fingers gently through her hair, removing tangles and bits of sticks and leaves. The water was so warm, almost too hot but it felt good and soothed her aching body. The texture of the stone against her skin was relaxing and the steam and the warmth and the fingers in her hair sent her drowsing until she was pulled from her fugue by the woman talking.
“What’s your name?”
“Vidanja” she nearly whispered. Shyly she tilted her head a bit and eyed the woman for signs of approval or disapproval.
“That’s a pretty name. What family are you from?”
The girl blanched slightly and seemed to flinch from the question. The woman prompted again, smiling kindly.
“Rajiramon.” She said it as if she were afraid the name would turn from the air and bite her face.
“That’s an unusual family name for a Cari. Your mother must have come from far away.” Her fingers kept working the girl’s hair, tenderly removing the snarls. “You’re a quiet one aren’t you? It’s alright, a lot of kids are shy when they first get here. It can’t be easy leaving your life behind and going somewhere new. I’ve always lived in Karagad but I moved to the Capital a few years ago. I was a little scared but it’s different, I guess. I had my parents back home and everything.” Her voice faltered and she felt guilty for bringing up her parents to an orphan but she needn’t have worried. While she talked she had been finger-combing Vidanja’s hair and the girl had fallen fast asleep.
The next few days went by without any real sense to their passing. Vidanja was interviewed about her life and fitted for a uniform and assigned a room, given supplies for school. Each night she curled up in her bed facing the wall, never joining her roommates in their chatter. They tried to engage her but she was the only Cari in the room and she felt out of place. On the fourth day she was awakened early and ushered down a long hll for a test.
It wasn’t a hard test. Vidanja was one of the few children who spoke the languge of Karagad and she was fairly fluent. She wasn’t the best at math but she didn’t find any part of the test exceedingly difficult. She spent the rest of the day outside with the other children. A few girls, including one of her roommates, pulled her into a ballgame and she found herself feeling like part of the crowd for a short time as she kicked and ran with a ball, chased the other kids who managed to get it from her. Bolstered by the cheers of her compatriots she was more responsive than usual when she was back in her room.
Sania, the short one with sparkling eyes and an easy laugh sat on her bed across from Vidanja and quizzed her about her life while Resa and Aryiah listened intently, never having been outside the gates of the city.
“What’s it like in Cari-nefah?”
“Well, it’s really hot there. We couldn’t wear something like this there.” She indicated the thick fabric of her grey smock. “We hardly have any water. I never saw so much water as I did when we crossed over your river.” Instantly she felt she had made a mistake, Aryiah burst into peals of laughter.
“A river? Haha you must mean the canal. Your country doesn’t have canals? We have them all over, here.” She cast a conspiratorial look at Resa.
“I guess we only have those in civilization, Aryiah.”
Aryiah picked up Resa’s tone, “I guess next she will say they put their waste in buckets!”
Cidanja fidgeted uncomfortably, her face turning bright red and Sania turned to the other two. “Don’t say things like that! She is too civilized. She even speaks our language. She just has to learn about our ways.” She turned to Vidanja, “It’s okay, they’ve never been to the desert either.”
An awkward silence ensudes, before Resa asked “Is it true your people all live in tents and ride wild pachans?”
The following day Vidanja was brought to a large room which was dominated by an enormous stone table behind which sat Shelet Morek. With him was a woman so beautiful Vidanja couldn’t help but stare. Her large, dark eyes peered from the hood of her crimson garment and tendrils of curly black hair snaked out around her face. Her lips, Vidanja noticed, had some kind of writing on them which appeard to spill from them and down her chin, disappearing into her clothing. The woman returned her gaze, seeming to take the small girl in without moving her eyes. Suddenly embarrassed, Vidanja cast her eyes to the stone tile of the floor and the pool of the woman’s robe around her feet.
“Vidanja etat Rajiramon, what is your age?”
“Nine.”
“What happened to your family” The woman’s words were clipped and her tone was businesslike but not unkine. Vidanja looked up briefly and the woman’s eyes pierced her, as if they knew.
“My family was–” She started to cry.
Shelet Morek looked disquieted but the woman stepped forward and bent down near her, face softening.
“It’s alright. They’ve died?”
The girl nodded, scraping her fingernails against her palms which suddenly felt much too clammy. The woman nodded as well, straightening.
“Your test score was very high, Vidanja. You seem very advanced for your age. You will not be in a class with many of your agemates. We think you belong in a special class for very smart children. What do you think of that?”
The small head nodded, belying the girl’s sudden and intense fright at being separated from children with whom she would be the most comfortable.
“My father” her voice broke again. “My father was from the City of Threads. He was a weaver and he taught me to read tapestries and he had so many–” she burst into tears at the realization that her family’s tapestries had been in all likelihood destroyed. Not many Cari in the middle of the desert were tolerant of the “soft” people from the coast or the other continent. They were seen as easy targets. Sometimes that turned out to be true.
A look passed between the adults and Shelet Morek leaned forward against the table. “Rajiramon is your father’s name, then.”
The child nodded once more, wiping tears with the heels of her hands.
“I see. What–what did your family do?”
Vidanja thought back to the bath she had taken on her first day there, and the subsequent baths she had taken. She stared at the floor as if she could will it to open and consume her before she could answer. The words were almost inaudible. “They were waste carriers.”
On the way back to her room, she surreptitiously smelled her hands. No matter how many baths she’d taken, she felt she could never get the stink off her.
Advancement
“Aw, we hardly even got to know each other” Sania pouted with dismay. Resa stood in the corner of the room with Aryiah, the two of them looking like dark-eyed twins with their straight noses and long black hair. Resa regarde Vidanja with indifference.
“Well it’s not like she was here long enough for us to really make friends with her.”
Aryiah twisted her mouth with a little sadness, silent in the face of her best friend and apparent leader.
“Well Sania it looks like you’ll be all alone again doesn’t it? Maybe you can visit her in her new room, if they let common students like you in there. Do they, Vidanja?” Resa stared pointedly.
The new girl bit her lip for a moment, struggling to deal with all that had happened in the past weeks and her seeming inability to be acceptable to her soon-to-be formr roommates. “I guess. Maybe Sania can walk with me over there to find out.”
Aryiah piped up “I’d like to know too” but fell silent again when Resa turned her awful glare on the girl.
Vidanja didn’t have a lot to carry. With her grey smock left on the bed she had only a few basic items of clothing and hygiene given to her by the creche. Sania walked with her to the Dehutet naj, the residence hall of the Mod Dehutet.
“You’re so lucky, I can’t believe you got chosen to come here. When I first came to the creche my mother hoped I would get chosen for a path like this but I guess I didn’t do very well on the test. It just seems so strange, your country doesn’t have schools ot anything but you’re really smart somehow.”
Vidanja didn’t really know what to say. The innocent ignorance of her friend hurt, even so she felt out of place and awkward and she wished desperately that she could stay with Sania, even if she had to endure the cruel taunts of her roommates. She didn’t belong in the Mod Dehutet, or in the creche, or in the Sudatet of Karagad. She didn’t belong at home either, but at least she was familiar with the taunts and jeers. She wanted to be where she could speak her own language and adhere to her won customns and wear clothes that didn’t feel like heavy costumes. Within a few minutes the two had arrived at the Dehutet naj and Sania was delighted to learn she could visit Vidanja whenever they both had free time. The girls hugged and Sania began the walk back to her room where, she felt, the two vipers awaited her.
The woman who greeted Vidanja and led her to her room was the same woman from Shelet Morek’s office and again Vidanja was captivated by the writing on her face. She introduced herself as Modehu Ekata
“You must be looking at my tattoos,” she said. “These are the marks of the Mod Dehut. If you satisfactorily complete your training you will someday bear these also.”
Vidanja could see the symbols flowing from her chin down to her neck and wondered if they covered her whole body. She imagined that must hurt.
“Do you know what these marks mean?”
The girl shook her head.
“They are the words of men and women who have died in Karagad for their crimes. They told them to me, confessed and were reconciled with the Sha.” At the confused look on the girl’s face she explained, “The Sha is a very old word for a vessel for drinking water. Now, to us, it means the Sudatet–the city and the nation.” She continued, “After they died I told these words to the person who carves their names into the walls of the city so that these people would not be dehe. You know what dehe is, don’t you? In Cari-nefah you have vapors, but here we have no vapors. The dehe are simply forgotten and nobody can speak their names aloud in public again.”
Vidanja stared at tattoos, watching them move as the woman spoke.
“After these names are carved into the wall the words of these people are made in my skin. It’s very important to remember their words and their names. If they are forgotten, well, then it is just like your vapors, except the Sudatet does not remember them at all and they are cast from the Sha.”
Vidanja nodded, realizing what she had seen that day as the wagon bearing her had entered the city. “I saw a man writing on the wall when I came here. There was a woman with a child.”
The Modehu nodded in answer. “Yes. That woman’s husband had stolen from the Sudat Nej. I did not perform the Mod Shada for him but one of the Dehutet did. Just today he is having that Shada marked on him.”
“Is the tattoo the Sh-shada?”
“We are the Dehutet and the Shadatet. We are living testaments to those who have wronged Karagad and lost their lives for it, but who confessed and accepted the Mod Shada. They can be remembered as citizens of this Sudatet. It it a very hard job but we believe you have the potential. It is very prestigious but is also a dangerous undertaking.” She looked over the girl much as she had on their first meeting. “Considering your background I assume you are familiar with poisons.”
Vidanja knew what the Modehu was referring to: the famed and dreaded Cari arrow was known even off the continent as a potent weapon and was feared by many. To be hit with one was to wish for death, it was said. It all sounded so scary: tattoos and poison and people dying for the Sudatet. Vidanja felt overwhelmed and swallowed back tears, again feeling like she had no place to go where she could feel comfortable and safe and at home.
“Vidanja, learn to cry without shame. Karagad is a strong Sudatet but the vocation of the Mod Dehut is a job of tears. From the very beginning to the end of your caereer you will weep for the condemned, for the Sha, and sometimes for yourself. It’s a hard job and you have to be strong enough to cry for every citizen of the Sudatet.” She touched the girl’s arm, squeezed softly. “You may go to your room now, your classes begin tomorrow.” Modehu Ekata dismissed the sniffling girl with the ring of a small bell that brought a young woman in a grey smock much like the one Vidanja had left behind.
Delfin
She didn’t have any roommates in her new room. It was spacious enough, with niches cut into the walls for her belongings. She had a trunk at the foot of her bed and a wardrobe to herself. Opening the ornately carved doors she saw an array of clothes: crimson smocks, a black robe with a crison sash, white smocks. Not very colorful, she thought, but they were nice clothes and all fitted and new. She didn’t note any play clothes but thought she could use the clothing she brought for that. Whatever had become of the clothes she’d worn from Cari-nefah was a mystery but she didn’t really care–they carried the stench of her old life on them. Looking around, she couldn’t help but smile a little for her sadness. Her own room with her own clothes and they weren’t ragged or anything. She had a mirror too, and her own wash basin! She felt a little like a queen. Worn out, she changed into the soft, long nightshirt she found on her bed and went to sleep, completely missing dinner.
The next morning, after having consumed more breakfast than usual, Vidanja went to her first class. For several minutes she waited expectantly for more students to arrive, as there appeared to be only eight or so students in the classroom. Finally Mudehu Ekata entered, red robe making her appear to be gliding across the floor.
“Aihe, class. Today we have a new student, Vidanja etat Rajiramon. Vidanja is now entered into the Dehutet so she’s sharing a path with some of you. She’s young–only nine–but she has a lot of potential. She will be taking her prerequisite classwork on her own time, so I need a volunteer to tutor her.” She waited, but none raised a hand. The Modehu waited a few moments, surveying the class. Finally they settled on someone. “Fine. You, Delfin, will look after her.”
“O siei, Modehu.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic at all. “Come sit over here, Vilana.” He indicated an empty seat at the otherwise unoccupied table he was sitting at.
Awkwardly Vidanja made her way across the room and sat a few seats away from the young man who, along with the rest of the class, appeared several years older than she.
“You don’t have to sit all the way over there, unless you’re worried your Cari fragrance will bother me.”
The other students giggled. Embarrassed, she moved over until one seat remained between them. He leaned over and sniffed.
“Oh you smell just like one of us. If you weren’t so brown I would think you were.” Titters again.
“A siei Delfin ‘tat Enea! I don’t care who your parents are, I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior in here. You’ll act like a proper member of the Sha or you will find yourself in a conference with your parents and the Sheletat. You will treat this young lady with the respect accorded any other citizen of Karagad.” The Modehu called Vidanja to the front to give her lesson materials and then began the day’s lesson on the history of Karagad’s class system.
After spending several hours in as severe and straight-back a chair as Vidanja could believe existed, the class was over and the students broke for a midmorning independent study session. Delfin escorted her to her room and sat in the spare chair at her table, across from her. His cold blue eyes fixed on her, making her acutely uncomfortable.
“I don’t feel sorry for you.”
“What?”
“A orphan from a backwoods country in the desert. Boo hoo. You won’t get any sympathy from me so you better work hard. Modehu Ekata told me you know most of the prerequisites anyway and I just have to make sure you can pass the examinations before classes end for the Hunt Festival. You got here kind of late so you only have a few weeks. I hope you’re as smart as they say you are.”
“I don’t care about being smart. I-I don’t care about any of this. I just want to go back home to my country.”
At this Delfins eyes widened and he burst into a guffaw, pounding the table comically.
“Oh, haha, you think you’re going to get sent back? Back to what, your waste buckets<?>” He smirked when she cringed and lowered her head. “You’re here, Viana. Your family, your whole family is dead. You don’t have anyone except the people in this creche and since you’re just a Cari they only care what you can do for Karagad.”
His words stung Vidanja to the heart and against her will tears leaked from her eyes.
“Get out of here.”
“What?”
“Get out of my room!” She threw her head back and stared him in the face, her eyes locking onto his. “You’re right I’m smart. I’m so smart I don’t need your help or you. I will ask the Modehu for a new tutor in the morning. Thank you for walking me here. Goodbye.” She rose and stood with her hand on the door, looking at him with expectation as she trembled with fury.
“Wait, Vidanja…” He swallowed, losing his self-assuredness for a moment. “Look okay we don’t have to like each other but I don’t want Ekata to have any reason to send me to the Sheletat. Just–let’s forget about all of this and you tell me what you know, okay?” His eyes pled with her and she sensed he was on tenuous grounds at the creche.
“No.” She sighed. “Fine.” She sat and showed him what she had been given to learn and to his surprised she already knew a lot of it.
Lies
The dregs of summer emptied themselves into the fall and Vidanja was excelling at her studies. She was tired all the time but once examinations were over she would be happily finished with taking two courses of schoolwork at once, and there was the Hunt Festival–her first. On her way from lunch to study during her afternoon break she passed the office of Modehu Ekata who was speaking with a couple she recognized as Giotet, the proud upper class of Karagad. She rarely saw them in the creche.
“Really, are you sure such a companion is worthy of our son’s tutelage? Those people have no government, no law. They scrabble in the dirt for everything they have and even eat insects! How can this girl even be here in the Dehutet nej? It’s so prestigious and she’s just a Cari.” The words made Vidanja stop in her tracks.
“If you please, she’s not as ignorant as her countrymen. Through some stroke of luck she has been well-educated and is quite worthy of the path she is on and of Delfin’s tutelage.”
“is she trying to ingratiate herself with him? Surely she knows someone like her could never hope to partner with him, no matter what she does for the Sudatet or the Sha-’
“Please. The child is nine years old. She barely displays any emotion but sadness and I highly doubt that she’s thinking of a way to ingratiate herself into your family. Delfin’s time with her is almost complete, and after the festival they will barely see each other if at all. She’ll continue her path with the Dehutet and Delfin will carry on his studies for the military. You needn’t worry.”
“Well thank you for telling us. All we heard from him is that he’s spending a lot of time with a Cari girl and you know, or we hope you know, that we have higher standards than that for him.”
Vidanja was morose for the rest of the day. She was in her room, not really concentrating on her schoolwork when Delfin knocked on her door.
“Aihe, I just came to see how you’re doing with your mathema–i siei, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing” came the curt reply.
“You’re not exactly the exuerant type but you’re sulking. I can tell from the tone of your voice. What’s wrong?” He sat down across from her and looked at her earnestly.
She took in a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “Delfin what did you say to your parents about me?”
He froze, caught. “I just told them that I finally made a friend in school.” Hedging. “Why? Did someone say something to you?”
“I heard them talking to Modehu Ekata. They think I’m some kind of bug-eating savage that wants to marry into your rich family.” She didn’t seem angry, just defeated. She shook her head and went to sit on her bed.
“Vidanja, I’m sorry. I don’t even like my parents. They just sent me here because they didn’t want the worry of me or of paying for someone to tutor me when they go out of the country. They don’t care about me, only their status. They’re Giotet and that’s all they think about. I told them we spend a lot of time together because I knew it would bother them but I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I never thought you would know.”
“I just don’t fit in here. I want to go home. I’m not good enough for anyone here. Like you said, even Karagad only cares what I can do for their precious Sha.”
“That’s not true. You are good enough. You’re one of the best students here. In a few years you’ll be one of the youngest Dehutet Karagad has ever had. You can’t leave, Vidanja. You’re my only friend.”
She peered at him, head still hanging. “You really mean that?”
“Yes, I really mean it.”
The words of her mouth
Vidanja was thirteen when she first experienced Autuk, the confessional drug prescribed to most condemned in the ceremony known as the Mod Shadat. It was so called because it twisted the body into knots of pain, and then the mind in knots as its hallucinogenic effects took over. Eventually the condemned died by Autuk, having reconciled or not with the Sha. Vidanja would receive the same poison, in a less-than-lethal dose, to begin the process of building a tolerance and to demonstrate to her the effects that the condemned of Karagad would face during the process of reconciliation, which she now knew was the true meaning of the word “Dehu” which meant “binding-embracing”. She was frightened, because she had not once heard of a positive first experience, and very positive second or third experiences. The knowledge that it was supposed to be barely endurable scared her. The night before her induction she sat in her room, reading again and again its effects on the body and wondering how she would manage.
A knock. “Vidanja?” Delfin poked his head in and saw the book. He ventured in, shutting the door behind him. “Tomorrow’s the big day eh?” He sat on her bed, a familiarity he permitted himself more and more often lately, and while she was annoyed at first she never said a thing about it and eventually it ceased to bother her. She nodded, not feeling terribly talkative.
“Well, do you want to go for a walk with me? It might help calm you down.”
“Where?”
“You’ve never been to my room.”
Vidanja felt suddenly squeezed. She didn’t sense anything overtly disturbing in his offer but something about his tone niggled at hr. Still, she had never seen his room and nothing he said or did indicated that a trip there would be any different than his being in her room. I could use a break.
Much to her surprise Delfin’s room looked a lot like hers, except with more personal items in it. His bed was appointed with lush linens and thick pillows. She was somewhat envious because while her bed was not cheaply dressed, she did not have such nice pillows. Delfin excused himself as one of their classmates saw them enter the room and engaged him in a short discussion. While he stepped out, Vidanja looked around. Idly, she spun the globe on his desk while she eyes the posters on his walls depicting masked fighters, the beautifully sheathed scrolls stacked in the wall nickes, and his bevy of writing implements. She didn’t hear him come back in.
“Don’t spin it too much or we’ll all get dizzy and fall over!”
For a moment Vidanja was confused, then she burst into laughter. She turned to find herself face to face with Delfin and behind him, she could see that the door was shut. She was a tall girl but still he towered over her, and she had to tilt her head back to see his face. Nervously, she smiled then took a step to the side.
He countered.
“i’ve never taken Autuk before. I’m not allowed, you know. The Mod Shadat is a power even the Sudat cannot wield. You’re special.”
The look on his face was strange and disconcerting. She didn’t know how to react to the ball of trembling sensation building in her belly. She stepped to the other side and again he blocked her. This time he put his hand on her upper arm, holding her firmly. When she turned her head to look down at his arm he lifted her chin with his other hand. His smile seemed predatory and Vidanja suddenly found it hard to breathe. His thumb caressed her lips and she resisted the urge to bite him viciously.
“You have nice lips. That’s the first thing they mark.”
She tried to turn her face away and he held it in both hands, preventing her from moving. His eyes flicked to hers and then back to her lips.
She could barely speak and what she intended to come out angrily emerged as a weak whisper. “Delfin what are you doing?” She felt paralyzed.
“I thought it would be nice to kiss your lips while they’re while they’re still unmarked. Ive wanted to do this for a long time.” He leaned in, his nose brushing hers and his breath hot on her skin.
“D-Delfin…” She shook her head weakly and tried to push him away with hands that were like a breeze trying to move a cliff. Her breathing got faster and faster and the world started to tilt around her and then just as she took in a breath it was stolen from her. Delfin’s lips sealed themselves to hers and the whinmpering sound she made was muted by his tongue as it slipped into her mouth. She didn’t know what to do and the feeling arising in her was making her acutely uncomfortable. Moments before she burst into tears it was over and everything was a blur as she extracted herself from Delfin’s now-loosened frip and from his room and ran back to hr own. She didn’t know why he had done that and she skipped dinner, crying herself to sleep.
Autuk
The next day she would regret not having eaten. Her stomach was extra-empty when she was led to the chair where she would endure the painful lip tattooing. The room she was in was lit by torches on the walls and the flickering light gave the proceedings a spooky air. There’s a draft somewhere, she thought absurdly, and shivered even though she couldn’t feel it. It seemed to take too long for the tattooist to show up and while she waited, Modehu Ekata spoke to her in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I know you’re afraid. You would be foolish not to be. I won’t tell you this isn’t supremely painful. The tattoo will hurt but you will forget that pain once the Autuk takes hold. You won’t even be able to press your lips together so you won’t have that to worry about. You will cry, and you will not be able to stop yourself. This is only the first of many marks that will be made on your body in the name of the Mod Shadat.” With that, the Modehu slipped from her robe and stood naked before Vidanja.
Words fell from her lips and ran down her chin, her neck, and her chest. They swirled in elaborate patterns around and over her breasts and down to her belly. Across her arms they marched to the backs of her hands all the way to her fingers. Vidanja’s eyes traveled to the woman’s navel and hips. The words stopped mid-thigh on one leg. When she turned, the whole of her back and shoulders were covered and she was marked down past her buttocks.
She’d seen these marks before, even seen Dehutet fully covered to the tops of their feet. The palms of the hands and the bottoms of the feet were sacred spaces, reserved not for testaments but for the words of the Dehut’s station. Only now, facing the first touches of the permanent ink on her own skin, she appreciated the description of Dehutet that their vocation was to shed tears for Karagad. The tattooist entered.
Modehu Ekata, still naked, nodded to the artist while reaching for her robe. The tattooiest sat in the chair opposite Vidanja and began to prepare the ink. She looked at the nervous girl, saw her gripping the arms of the chair and noted her shallow breathing. A warm smile overtook her face as she took out various lengths of slender needles, which Vidanja knew to be coated with a paste that prevented her skin from numbing . “This will feel like it takes longer than it does. When we’re done, you can lie down and make yourself comfortable.” With a tilt of her head she indicated the plush-looking lounge on the other side of the room. There were several large chamber pots in its proximity. “Have you composed your statement?”
Vidanja swallowed, unable to take her eyes from the hypnotic work of the artist’s hands as she mixed the ink and dipped her fingers into a bowl containing yet another paste, which she spread onto wide blades of grass to wrap around the ends of the needles. She could not afford to get poisoned by the Autuk herself while in the midst of working on Vidanja.
“Why are you doing all of that now?” Vidanja asked in a soft, dreamy voice, still focused on the work taking place in front of her.
“Just as you Dehutet have your rituals, I also have mine.” She miled again. “You are watching my hands, seeing me prepare this in a gentle rhythm. You see all of my tools and the quickness and sureness of my hands. With them I speak and right now they are telling you a soothing story.” At that she was finished, her fingers making fast work of the final, and longest, needle. The woman dipped her fingers into a bowl of water and wiped them on a cloth, then moved the table to the side and stood. “What is your statement?”
Vidanja looked up at her, lips parted, panting slightly with panic as she realized the moment had some. She didn’t want to tell this woman her statement. She did not want to take the next step and feel the sting of those poisoned needles in her flesh. She wanted now, like she did years ago, to go home and return to the life she had known. But she wasn’t a Cari anymore, she was a citizen of Karagad, a member of the Sha, and for the Sha she was bound to weep.
“With-” her voice cracked. She didn’t want to cry, at least not yet. Her eyes drifted to Modehu Ekata who nodded apprvingly, encouraging her to go on. “With these words I reconcile the prodigals to the Sha. I become the Mod Shadat and my Mod Shada becomes law.” She half-hoped that would be unacceptable and that she would have to come up with a better one.
“That’s amazing, Vidanja. That is a beautiful statement and true to the heart of your path.” Ekaha nodded in agreement with the artist. The woman tilted Vidanja’s head up and for a moment she flinched, a flush coming to her cheeks as she remembered the events of the previous evening. When asked if anything was wrong she answered with a “no” and that it was just her nerves. The tattooist picked up a needle and dipped it into the inkwell.
To say that it hurt would have been a tremendous understatement. The first puncture of the needle brought a pain so intense that Vidanja’s eyes immediately watered and a choked noise issued from her throat. She dug her fingers into the soft padding of the chair arms, appreciating that they were there. Her feet hooked themselves around the legs and she tensed the whole of her body to endure the pain. Modehu Ekata sat calmy in the chair previously occupied by the tattooist, leaning in periodically to watch the progress of the words being written onto Vidanja’s mouth. The girl tried closing her eyes but realized she had to keep them open because she did not like not knowing when the needle would strike next even though the woman kept a steady rhythm, pausing only to dip into the ink or to switch needles.
After some time of the needle piercing a small area the pain would seem to dull, only to renew itself when the artist switched a needle that was coated in the paste. She couldn’t tell what parts the woman was inscribing but tears streamed down her face and she did not even find relief when a soft, cool damp cloth was pressed gently to her lips to wipe away the blood. At some point she became aware that the draft in the room was coming from somewhere near the lounge.
By the time the woman began on her bottom lip, the top was throbbing and numbness had finally, mercifully begun setting in. The lower lip seemed to hurt less and she couldn’t tell if that was because she was getting used to it or because the Autuk was taking effect. Her grip on the chair had lessened and things seemed much clearer. The artist was near the end, she thought, and at the same time she realized this she realized she was no longer crying. She couldn’t see it but the tattooist and Modehu Ekata exchanged meaningful glances. The artist was very good and had timed everything perfectly: the Autuk was just beginning to take hold of the girl as the tattoo was finished. With a final dab from the girl’s lips, the artist smiled.
“And that is it, chanan. You’re finished, and your lovely lips have been written upon with your own words.” She turned to the table and moents later turned back, handing Vidanja a sponge. “Hold this to your lips for a few moments. With that she turned again and Vidanja could hear the gentle clink of vessel against vessel and the sound of something being poured. Whatever the sponge was soaked in burned for a moment, then tingled, soothing its way to a cool feeling on her lips. She almost forgot about the pain.
Moments later with her lips covered by the protective strips of grass coated in something thick and balmy to put them on her mouth and with the same cooling ingredient she encountered in the sponge. Ekata took her hand and led the unsteady girl to the lounge.
She came to appreciate, very quickl, the breeze coming into the room through what she later found to be a nearly invisible series of notches between the stones of the walls. The artist finished packing her supplies and then sat next to Vidanja, stroking her head and talking with her.
“It’s okay, just breathe. Just take deep breaths.” Vidanja tried. She turned her head to face the tiny breeze and sipped the air, feeling it cool her now-sweating face. Just as she was beginning to get used to that a new sensation arose. A tightness in her belly made itself apparent before blooming outward, warmth and then tightness spreading to her chest and limbs. “I’m here. I will stay with you until the end. No person remains alone, even the condemned, under the Autuk.”
The end took a long time to come. before that, Vidanja cried more than she ever had before. The tension in her body turned to knots and she found herself on her belly, hanging off the edge of the lounge dry-heaving into a chamberpot. When she wasn’t retching she was curled into a ball, gasping for air and making choked noises as she struggled to breathe. “You can breathe, Vidanja. It just feels like you can’t. Face the air, take it in slowly. You can do it.” And she did, despite the wracking pain. The room began to change and the tattooist’s voice sounded far away.
It seemed to get dark and Vidanja looked down, saw that her hands held great handfuls of the linens on the lounge. her hands seemed different to her now, strange. She felt the soft caress of the woman’s hand on her head and tried to focus on the distant voice in her ear.
“Can you talk to me Vidanja?”
An answer came out, in words, and Vidanja was amazed because she had intended to nod her head for fear she could not speak.
“You have been told many times that Autuk is a deadly poison that we use in this nation to execute the condemned. You must also taste the pain of Autuk if you’re going to bring about the reconciliation of those whom you have called the prodigals. Shh, shh it’s alright.”
Vidanja had begun to sob again, the world pulsing and changing around her and the ache in her body fading and intensifying by turn.
“It will be frightening. You’re going to see your truest self, Vidanja ‘tat Rajiramon. The truest self is what every prodigal must see before they may have their names inscribed on our city’s walls, do you understand?”
Vidanja nodded, having studied the process again and again. The tattooist smiled and stroked her back, “Not yet chanan, but you will understand soon.”
Vidanja spent several hours on the lounge in the quiet tattoo room with the breeze from the wall chinks blowing onto her skin. She had stripped herself of her clothing, skin feeling like it was on fire. The room wasn’t recognizable to her any more: the darkness bled into the flickering light and the voice of the artist faded in and out of her pereption. Modehu Ekata was nowhere to be found, but Vidanja didn’t know if she had left the room or simply faded into the shadows. In the tortured world she was inhabiting she was alone save for the soothing, faraway voice of the tattooist.
Abruptly she began to speak in choppy bursts babbling whatever came to her mind. Once again the world fell away from her and she seemed to be looking inside of herself. her field of vision went bolack and she reached out instinctively to find the strong, cool hand for reassurance. Sparks exploded in the blackness and at that she burst into tears, seeing beauty and wonder and even love before her eyes. She didn’t know how to explain these things clearly so she just uttered breathless shibboleths, feeling that now was the time to confess the shape of herself that she saw. Completely unaware of tine, she spoke on and on, soothing herself as she talked. Eventually, exhausted, she maneuvered herself to be directly in the stream of the cool air looping across her skin and sank into what she felt, at that moment, would surely be her death.
Some time later she awoke and lay for a while, unmoving. When she opened her eyes they were fixed on the wall directly opposite her, which was bare of torches. She realized when she tried to look around the room that she was so positioned that she did not have to look at the bright flames, which hurt her eyes. Upon lifting her head she became aware of the powerfully heavy ache of her muscles and she groaned. Her head was remarkably clear though she could scarcely remember anything that had happened. it was all a fog of confused half-memories. There was a cup on a small table that she hadn’t noticed before and she shakily reached for it and took a drink. She’d forgotten about her lips and jerked the cup away.
“You’ll want to take that very gently, oung lady. Your mouth has yet to heal.” Modehu Ekata spoke up and took a step intoVidanja’s field of vision. “You slept for quite a while. Autuk takes a lot out of you.”
Vidana nodded, her throat raspy and burning from the force of her screams and her repeated vomiting. After gingerly taking another sup, she slowly sat up and leaned her back against the cool wall. The tattooist had gone and the table which had held her supplies was bare.
