Quibble, 58. Memory

Defenseless, Quibble faces the Aht-nah's whispering sword.

58. Memory @Quibble

We faced a small army of Aht-sah. Imay had told me Far typically made little distinction between men and women when it came to fighting, and he thought female Qahlif-sah were better warriors than the best men among the Uhta-sah, better even than many men of the Isleh-sah. But almost all the Aht-sah in the vanguard were men. These wore light leather gear over colorful silk and cotton, and they bore swords of various lengths and styles. They didn’t remind me at all of the Aht-sah in Meissa’s shewings: that retinue had been a regular force, similarly attired and armored. This one looked more like a haphazard band of mercenaries. Around the vanguard’s flanks, however, rode a regular-looking force of both men and women, dressed in drab clothes of brown cotton and bearing small shields. I had the impression we faced two cavalries, not one.

One sah appeared to be part of neither group. The others all rode horses, but she rode a camel. She trailed behind the rest of the Aht-sah, but when they stopped on the other side of the rivulet, she circled them to get a better look at us. Her face was stone. She spoke to no one there. No one spoke to her. A loner. Were she a Zero, she would be a rogue like Alnasl.

And a dangerous one, I guessed.

Yet I was certain she was not the nah. That had to be the woman dressed in black silk who rode a roan mare at the head of the vanguard. Her sword was long, curved, and handsomely sheathed in a filigreed scabbard. She pointed her riding crop at us and spoke to the sah, some of whom grinned. I didn’t like it. Her tone sounded mocking, and their grins seemed wicked.

The nah had a nose like a razor, darting black eyes, and on her chin a black tattoo of a circle with one large dot at its center. Her thin eyebrows arched in surprise as I held up both hands and gave her im. Nuah didn’t do likewise, so I said aloud, “Nahli.” Then he followed my lead and gave im. The nah squinted at him.

“Djer ni Ayzhed ni Far?” she said.

Oh, kindness, why didn’t I think of that?!

The Far had never gone Within, so their language was not the language of Ones and Zeros. For that matter, I knew almost nothing of the Far language. The words Imay taught me amounted to quite a meager vocabulary. Why did I rehearse a speech for the nah, just assuming she’d understand it?

I brought my hands back to my chest, though I had not received im in turn, and said to the nah, “Qeht-uhn-far-jah-im-li-djer.” Then I placed my right hand on Nuah’s chest and said, “Djer-ri-alnasl, Uhta-nahli-nuah.”

That elicited quite a response. The Aht-nah scowled. The sah, especially those in the flanks of the contingent, began talking among themselves. A few raised their voices in argument. What were they debating? Whether a Zero could also be a Far? The nah raised her empty hand, which had been resting on the hilt of her sword, and at once all the sah fell silent. She took the mare’s reins and spurred her forward across the rivulet. No one followed. She dismounted and approached us, hand on hilt.

I quickly gave im again. “Nahli? Say?”

Several sah in the vanguard burst into laughter. The nah pointed at the cords dangling from our wrists.

“Im,” I explained, waving a hand back and forth between myself and Nuah.

“Qah!” she retorted.

All the sah now laughed, save the stone-faced woman on the camel.

Qah, “blood.” Or water, or the sea, I remembered Bibliography saying. However, Imay had mentioned qah had to do with names and how betrothals united families. So was the nah’s joke that Nuah and I were lovers? That seemed a strange imputation with which to greet strangers. Perhaps the nah had a coarse sense of humor. If so, I couldn’t afford to appear insulted by it. I smiled and shook my head.

The nah pointed at the yinman glass, lying in the sand before her feet. Yet again I gave im.

“I foreswear its use on any Far,” I promised, not knowing what else to say, “but I beg you to let me keep it, nah. It’s important.”

The sah on the camel spoke, and the nah seemed irritated at hearing her voice. Was she not a sah but a jah, one of the tribe’s disputers? She appeared to have standing of some sort. When the nah didn’t answer her, she tapped her camel’s flank with her riding crop and crossed the rivulet to join us. Drawing up beside the nah’s horse, she made the camel drop to his front knees and sit back on his haunches, then swung a leg over his hump and hopped off, all in one smooth maneuver.

Casting a cautious glance at the nah, she walked up to me, saying as she came, “Halim-qahlif-lurah, Halim-qahlif-qeht-lurah, Halim-qahlif-sah-lurah, Halim-qah-nufra-qahlif-sah-lurah.” She paused as if for effect or emphasis, then went on: “Nufra-qahlif-sah-lurah, Nufra-sah-qahlif-nahli-qah-lurah.” Another pause, longer, heavy with meaning. “Sah-uhn-say-lurah, Nahli-aht-sah-lurah. You may call me Lurah.”

“I’m glad of it!” I said, grinning. “That’s quite a long name!”