Merci pour les responses
It's reward time for me as I'm about done marking all the assessments for this half term. Already working out what I'll be saying to some parents on conference day. Man I hate conference days.
Ibakafir sat on a little jetty that stuck into the water and cooled his feet in the river. Warda was cool enough as it was, so she sat with her camel fur wrapped tightly round her and her feet safely under it. Her guest fell uncharacteristically quiet for a while, then said, “So, tell me of your adventures in the desert, Warda.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” she said, meaning there isn’t much I think I can tell.
“I think you’re being too modest,” he pressed, “you strike me as the sort of girl who is far more competent than she thinks she is!”
Warda blushed profusely and tried to explain, “It’s just, well, I think you know Utaba, or at least he knows enough of you. His remarks made it seem he’s heard your tales before. But I don’t even know him, not really, or why he’s with us, and so I don’t know what you know of what’s happened, and it’s not really my business to say...”
“Your abilities and your deeds are indeed yours, Warda, they are yours and no one else’s,” he had turned to face her, locking eyes with her and very close. The only sounds she could hear were the drops of water falling from his feet and the rushing of her own blood in her ears. His eyes, in the dark of the night were two thin slits of black surrounded by rich, dark green. The hair that was escaping from his headscarf was black, an even darker shade against his dark face, and as he spoke again, sharp, feline teeth flashed in what little light remained.
“I was quite upset when I got left behind, Warda-ten, after I’d worked so hard and yet seen so little of you in all the time you were in danger. But those who are wiser than we thought that two of our kind would be a tad ... inconspicuous.” He spoke of these people with utmost contempt, and Warda began to be afraid that she was somehow to blame for his unhappiness.
“But, Ibakafir-tab, I’ve never met you before tonight, let alone seen little of you,” she began to lean away, suddenly aware of how well wrapped up she was, perched on the end of this quite small jetty, “and please, Utaba won’t, but please, tell me what you are?”
“I knew you’d do this,” Utaba was stood, fully wrapped and concealed at the top of the slope. He slid down the sand to the edge of the jetty, then pulled the cloth from his face. “Why couldn’t you leave us alone? This requires stealth, not bravado. The Sahari was enough of a romantic as is it! And you’ve spent the evening filling her head with Djinn-tales!”
Ibakafir merely arched his back by way of indicating Utaba. “My brother doesn’t care for hunting much, nor celebrating one’s achievements. He never adapted well to mortal foibles, did you, poor, jaded Utaba. He believes by keeping himself separate from mortal life he will remain close to his immortal one.”
“What do you mean?” Warda said, barely above a whisper.
Ibakafir turned back to her, his face inches from hers, about to whisper their great secret, but Utaba spoiled the moment.
“Angels,” he said, as though the word were a bale of hay, heavy and awkward as it fell from his lips.
The second lowered his head then sprung with startling agility to his feet.
“Yes, my dear!” he declared with a flourish, “your guardian angel, at your service!”
“But, our guardians are our Ancestors, who look upon us from where they wait for the return of the Gods and their acceptance into their realm ... neither of you look like any Ancestor I’ve ever seen ...” Warda was terrified of angering either of these men, but she had to be honest. If ever a protector from the Realms Celestial had come to call she had expected they would be more normal, and probably older, and perhaps glowing slightly.
Utaba sighed and launched into his dry explanation before Ibakafir could embellish things too much.
“We are Vistara’s angels, something less than demi-gods but with longer lives and more innate magic than humans. When the End of All Magic came, a few of us were ... left behind. We have long argued over why this was, what we were created for and what we should do with ourselves. We can be killed and many of our number decided to do just that, either in the belief it would place them where your ancestors are or that anything was better than a life of eternal uncertainty...”
“Humans fear us now, for they were jealous of us then,” broke in Ibakafir, “we were banished from any human settlement and scrubbed from their memories. We hide, the best way we know how!” And with a flick of his wrist, which may have been entirely for effect, Ibakafir’s robes, scarves, and very being disappeared. In his place sat a sleek, black cat. It jumped into Warda’s lap. She had freed herself a bit from her camel fur cocoon and began stroking the cat without thinking. If she thought too much about this right now she would probably throw herself into the river. It was simpler to think here is a cat. It is warm and soft. I will stroke it than to believe what she had just seen.
With another roll of his eyes, Utaba continued, “those of us who haven’t thrown ourselves under a cartwheel yet have remained for one of two reasons. To try to restore our link to our Lady, by whatever means are still possible, or to enjoy our infinite lifespan, as my friend here has chosen to do.
The weight in Warda’s lap suddenly increased and there was Ibakafir, human again with his head in her lap and a serene grin on his face. Warda let out a little scream, and he sat up.
“So,” she began, slowly, “the black cat who was around our house, before I left...”
“That was me, yes,” he said, still grinning.
“Who was rooting through the piles of refuse?”
“Well, yes, but it’s not as bad as you’d think. A lot of those scraps are quite fresh. Not a patch on your cooking, obviously, my dear.”
Warda was sure all this attention would be lovely, if it wasn’t coming at a time when she had to severely alter her perception of the world. Why is it so hard? She asked herself, knowing that she had encountered both Oracles and her own new abilities in the last medi-cycle. But she knew the answer straight away; they’re not human!
Utaba sighed, “Look, I know it’s a lot to take it, but right now your anxiety is giving me a headache. The most important thing right now is ... Sammi doesn’t know. I don’t want you - either of you! - to tell her. She has enough to worry about and if she has anyone else’s motives to consider she might just give the whole thing up. She’s at that age, isn’t she? And you know how determined she is. And stubborn. In fact, Iba, you two will get on like a house on fire when this is all over. But for now, hush. And no powers! Either of you!” Utaba turned and began stalking back up the slope.
“Yes, mother,” grinned Ibakafir. He grinned up at Warda, who managed a weak smile in response. She wanted to like both of them, but it seemed they had enough differences between them to make this very hard indeed. She excused herself and went off to find a place to sleep and try to find a way to hide all her worries. The weight of lies she was going to be carrying back in the felucca tomorrow was likely to sink it!
Still need to fiddle to get the avatar. Back to work!
Ibakafir sat on a little jetty that stuck into the water and cooled his feet in the river. Warda was cool enough as it was, so she sat with her camel fur wrapped tightly round her and her feet safely under it. Her guest fell uncharacteristically quiet for a while, then said, “So, tell me of your adventures in the desert, Warda.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” she said, meaning there isn’t much I think I can tell.
“I think you’re being too modest,” he pressed, “you strike me as the sort of girl who is far more competent than she thinks she is!”
Warda blushed profusely and tried to explain, “It’s just, well, I think you know Utaba, or at least he knows enough of you. His remarks made it seem he’s heard your tales before. But I don’t even know him, not really, or why he’s with us, and so I don’t know what you know of what’s happened, and it’s not really my business to say...”
“Your abilities and your deeds are indeed yours, Warda, they are yours and no one else’s,” he had turned to face her, locking eyes with her and very close. The only sounds she could hear were the drops of water falling from his feet and the rushing of her own blood in her ears. His eyes, in the dark of the night were two thin slits of black surrounded by rich, dark green. The hair that was escaping from his headscarf was black, an even darker shade against his dark face, and as he spoke again, sharp, feline teeth flashed in what little light remained.
“I was quite upset when I got left behind, Warda-ten, after I’d worked so hard and yet seen so little of you in all the time you were in danger. But those who are wiser than we thought that two of our kind would be a tad ... inconspicuous.” He spoke of these people with utmost contempt, and Warda began to be afraid that she was somehow to blame for his unhappiness.
“But, Ibakafir-tab, I’ve never met you before tonight, let alone seen little of you,” she began to lean away, suddenly aware of how well wrapped up she was, perched on the end of this quite small jetty, “and please, Utaba won’t, but please, tell me what you are?”
“I knew you’d do this,” Utaba was stood, fully wrapped and concealed at the top of the slope. He slid down the sand to the edge of the jetty, then pulled the cloth from his face. “Why couldn’t you leave us alone? This requires stealth, not bravado. The Sahari was enough of a romantic as is it! And you’ve spent the evening filling her head with Djinn-tales!”
Ibakafir merely arched his back by way of indicating Utaba. “My brother doesn’t care for hunting much, nor celebrating one’s achievements. He never adapted well to mortal foibles, did you, poor, jaded Utaba. He believes by keeping himself separate from mortal life he will remain close to his immortal one.”
“What do you mean?” Warda said, barely above a whisper.
Ibakafir turned back to her, his face inches from hers, about to whisper their great secret, but Utaba spoiled the moment.
“Angels,” he said, as though the word were a bale of hay, heavy and awkward as it fell from his lips.
The second lowered his head then sprung with startling agility to his feet.
“Yes, my dear!” he declared with a flourish, “your guardian angel, at your service!”
“But, our guardians are our Ancestors, who look upon us from where they wait for the return of the Gods and their acceptance into their realm ... neither of you look like any Ancestor I’ve ever seen ...” Warda was terrified of angering either of these men, but she had to be honest. If ever a protector from the Realms Celestial had come to call she had expected they would be more normal, and probably older, and perhaps glowing slightly.
Utaba sighed and launched into his dry explanation before Ibakafir could embellish things too much.
“We are Vistara’s angels, something less than demi-gods but with longer lives and more innate magic than humans. When the End of All Magic came, a few of us were ... left behind. We have long argued over why this was, what we were created for and what we should do with ourselves. We can be killed and many of our number decided to do just that, either in the belief it would place them where your ancestors are or that anything was better than a life of eternal uncertainty...”
“Humans fear us now, for they were jealous of us then,” broke in Ibakafir, “we were banished from any human settlement and scrubbed from their memories. We hide, the best way we know how!” And with a flick of his wrist, which may have been entirely for effect, Ibakafir’s robes, scarves, and very being disappeared. In his place sat a sleek, black cat. It jumped into Warda’s lap. She had freed herself a bit from her camel fur cocoon and began stroking the cat without thinking. If she thought too much about this right now she would probably throw herself into the river. It was simpler to think here is a cat. It is warm and soft. I will stroke it than to believe what she had just seen.
With another roll of his eyes, Utaba continued, “those of us who haven’t thrown ourselves under a cartwheel yet have remained for one of two reasons. To try to restore our link to our Lady, by whatever means are still possible, or to enjoy our infinite lifespan, as my friend here has chosen to do.
The weight in Warda’s lap suddenly increased and there was Ibakafir, human again with his head in her lap and a serene grin on his face. Warda let out a little scream, and he sat up.
“So,” she began, slowly, “the black cat who was around our house, before I left...”
“That was me, yes,” he said, still grinning.
“Who was rooting through the piles of refuse?”
“Well, yes, but it’s not as bad as you’d think. A lot of those scraps are quite fresh. Not a patch on your cooking, obviously, my dear.”
Warda was sure all this attention would be lovely, if it wasn’t coming at a time when she had to severely alter her perception of the world. Why is it so hard? She asked herself, knowing that she had encountered both Oracles and her own new abilities in the last medi-cycle. But she knew the answer straight away; they’re not human!
Utaba sighed, “Look, I know it’s a lot to take it, but right now your anxiety is giving me a headache. The most important thing right now is ... Sammi doesn’t know. I don’t want you - either of you! - to tell her. She has enough to worry about and if she has anyone else’s motives to consider she might just give the whole thing up. She’s at that age, isn’t she? And you know how determined she is. And stubborn. In fact, Iba, you two will get on like a house on fire when this is all over. But for now, hush. And no powers! Either of you!” Utaba turned and began stalking back up the slope.
“Yes, mother,” grinned Ibakafir. He grinned up at Warda, who managed a weak smile in response. She wanted to like both of them, but it seemed they had enough differences between them to make this very hard indeed. She excused herself and went off to find a place to sleep and try to find a way to hide all her worries. The weight of lies she was going to be carrying back in the felucca tomorrow was likely to sink it!
Still need to fiddle to get the avatar. Back to work!