What the Water Gave Me (Izdihar and Subira)

[Colombina]

“Some say she is named for your Grandmother, Izzy. Upsetting as it is, your Great Grandmother Harah hailed from the South Winds.” Aunt Esi’s downward sloping tone, betrayed that it wasn’t Izzy who was the most disconcerted by this bit of genology. “This young Subira might be pleasant enough, despite her lineage.” Esi handed her niece another dagger, encouraging her to feel the weight. A quick gesture implied “perhaps this”. Auntie had a good sense about what tools were right for nimble hands. “Either way, it’s taken water: blood, sweat and tears, to make sure it is you in the parade and not Sunematra.” Her enigmatic aunt smiled softly. “Indulge my desire to see you admired.” There was a warm timbre to Esi’s voice, the music she played when there was something larger working. A shifting undermode illuminated her words, flicking “admiration” with sparks of exaltation and desire. “Your mother thinks little of the Swan Parade, but I suspect that is because Hrua has spoken poorly of it and doubts whether it is good for daughters to be displayed.” Esi straightened the daggers on the table with two hands, arranging them amidst the velvet like a jeweler. Her second fluid gesture showed that Hrua was lying, the third embellishment said Hrua was doing more than lying, she was conniving. In the final flourish there was a sign of appreciation for the machinations of the non-noble born Hrua. The commentary was quick and artful. “I say there’s no harm in sitting in a beautiful line of boats and waving for a bit. Even the Inkara does it. Though her vessel themes are too bright to someone my age.” An undermode decried them as vulgar and without subtlety. “So will you go sail with her? It’s just a bit of practice for now. Get your ‘sea-legs’ as they say, so you don’t strike an inelegant pose on the day.” The request was finished with a slim, hopeful smile. Esi could have a girlish levity when she felt persuasive. ~*~ “It’s not so bad.” Nisa had a tendency to walk faster when she talked and throw words over her shoulders like ropes over rails. Right now, she and Subira were speeding down the hallway to answer the summons to the docks. In their hands were the year’s assignments for the Swan Parade. They were supposedly drawn at random, but some smelled of the elders’ designs. “You could have the East Winds ‘inkara’. A demanding khur-va.” Almost tripping Subira, Tefau slid in front of Nisa. “You mean Vestarra? Don’t ruin this Nisa.” He thrust a finger towards her chest, “Everyone knows her parties are obscene and she petches like a silk fox.” Nisa curled her lip with disdain, “Gross, Tefau. I don’t care if her thighs are made of velvet…” “They are.” Tefau hastily supplied. “…Or if her parties result in a hemorrhage of ecstasy.” “They do!” Nisa rolled her eyes, “She’s a khur-va from toe to lash.” “You’re intent on spoiling my youth, Nisa.” Tefau pouted and it was becoming on him, “You are cruel. Let us hope I am not so disheartened that I am unable to keep the young Foxes from dashing their muscular bodies on the rocks today….” Before Tefau could say another word Nisa thrust her paper towards him. “The Foxes?!” Her eyed turned flinty, “Give them to me. Now.” Winking at Subira, Tefau slowly slid Nisa’s assignment from between her fingers with false surprise. “Dear sweet, Cousin! You are so kind to trade.” “Shut up, Tefau.” Blushing with both irritation and embarrassment, Nisa quickly snatched her new assignment and stormed down the hall. Turning to Subira, Tefau craned over to read Subira’s assignment in her hand. “Ah, West Winds. Sweeter than the East Winds girls, but not as… exciting.”

[Izdihar]

The daggers were lifted by a set of hands set on the same side of Izdihar of the Westwind's body. They swept out, cutting a half moon out of the morning, the line of her body following to form an elegant and dangerous angle of defense. This was held with eyebrows drawn together in consideration while she met the warm intelligence in her aunt's eyes. "Mother is too engaged in her spiritual studies to notice your spilled water, Aunt Esi," she remarked. The backdrop of her posture provided an unfortunate undermode of disappointment in Ramla, the droop of khol lined eyelids suggesting an old and lonely ounce of sorrow for whatever relationship was lacking between them. The daggers traded hands, the razor nose of one pressed against a fingertip and the pommel balanced on fingers below. A third hand gave the weapon a slow and careful twirl, turning it like a top as she eased of tip toe and the line of her spine relaxed with a rustle of silk. "And Hrua thinks little of display for lack of necessity to paint her face," she punctuated this with a fleet, mischievous smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and embellished the freshness of her youth. It was a compliment to their shared relation, fox faced as Izdihar believed Hrua to be. The daggers wilted in her hands, head bowing in a spill of cypress hair over the curve of her shoulder. A breeze slapped at curtains of gauze, coloring the gold papered walls in ruby shadows. Their house steeped around them. "I will," she murmured, daggers clutched with all six hands to her breast in an eloquent expression of multi-layered gratitude. The final touch was the pass of a kiss to Esi's cheek, one that lingered with the aroma of hyssop and sandalwood milled into her favored soaps. There was a heaviness to her head, as if it wished to settle and lay rest against the older woman's shoulder, be a child once more and held. Only Izdihar did not lay her head. She stepped back, the embroidered hem of her skirt whispering against the thick carpet as she turned for her dressing room. Her steps were light and imbued with easy energy even if she was yet walking across the fearsome and dicey board long since laid out by her elders, the butterfly blades wielded by shadow hands and house heads alike. One day, she would slip and have her throat slit. Or she would dance. - - - Not as exciting might have been considered a cruel epitaph by some, but not by the daughter of Dirames as she stood waiting upon the docks. It was the labor of years that left her reputation mild, but pleasing. There were those who called her kind as if it was pitiable but somewhat endearing, and there were those who laughed behind ivory fans and clutching hands at innocence stamped upon the face of their lost queen's niece. A wan curiosity maintained her good standing, but it was beginning to bleed out from around the edges the closer her mirage crop came to offering marketable yield. Within any soiree, any moment of any social gathering spun amid marble and half crumbled opulence her employment as a mirage broker would unveil itself. It was better now, she believed, when she was proven and successful at it than when her ambitions were just begun. Now they might think her clever rather than just grasping or, worse, foolish. Of course, only a handful knew just exactly how clever her employment -- and her employers -- were. A salt wind tugged at the loose ends of her shawl, drooping it down a shoulder clothed in fine cotton. She wore trousers, bark colored and leather soft as down, paired with boots buttoned high in brass and wrap shirt that with a trimming of lace and rich weave was of the least formal she owned. Her hair went unpainted and was bound up by her aunt's nimble fingers into a heavy knot of intricate braids. Her shadow puddled at her feet, not trespassing across the toes of the guards loitering with her in wait. Though Izdihar's countenance was calm, behind oasis eyes was uncertainty. Subira of the Southwinds was a name she remembered, sprouted from a childhood long since lost. They had been playmates once, this allowed despite the typical derision Westwinds delivered the house they considered most often to be hypocritical. It was due to the fact of Izdihar and Subira's shared grandmother, but just as that lady was destined to be claimed by Dira in age, so was the friendship of her granddaughters, long since lost beneath the fickle pride of maturation in a city rife with political stains. The daggers gifted by her aunt were sheathed in her boots, but it would be a rare day beneath Ahnatep's desert sun that those became the weapons of choice.

[Subira]

Watching Tefau and Nisa bantering and squabbling over Swan Parade assignments, Subira merely rolled her eyes at her cousins' antics. For her part, the prospect of being dressed up in hopelessly impractical finery and put on display before all of Ahnatep to see made her positively fidgety with impatience and irritation. And at a festival in honor of Cheva, no less! She could sense her mother's fingers all over this business, which only added to Subira's exasperation. Not for nothing was her mother Sitra, formerly of the East Winds, often nicknamed the "Tsana of the Souths." She, like the long-snouted creatures who could pursue their prey into narrow rock crevices or deep beneath the sand, was an incredibly persistent huntress, and what she was hunting now was an eligible husband for her oldest daughter. Never mind that Subira, unlike either Tefau or Nisa, had little interest in the charms of the opposite sex, or that she was intent on earning glory for the Souths in a different way. She was powerless to escape her mother's toothy jaws. Five years hadn't diminished the disgrace that Subira had suffered since the disastrous crash of the ship she was piloting upon the shores of Cyphrus. As long as she was disallowed to serve aboard another South Winds ship, she was fair game for her mother's marriage schemes. All of which made Subira snap a little more harshly at Tefau than was her wont, "Hmph! All this fuss over the Swan Parade is more excitement than I can already stand. The stupid summons came to me while I was in the middle of searching the library for Timothy de Octans' sea manual for sailing the Faleyk Gulf. There was a discrepancy I noticed in how he describes the pattern of the winds and the position of the stars from the way Uncle Harpenres taught me to chart that course on his Desert Wind, where he looks for the constellation of…" Abruptly, she halted in mid-sentence when she noticed the too-familiar mask of boredom settling on her cousins' faces. "Well, anyway," Subira continued lamely, "Nisa can tell you, they practically had to drag me along. I didn't even bother to look at whoever…I mean, whomever," she corrected herself, sticking out her tongue in playful self-mockery, "I was assigned to." She looked down at the slip of wadj in her lower right hand to read what Tefau had already seen. Izdihar of the West Winds was inscribed on it in flowing Arumenic script. Toying with her braid and the golden chains woven into it, she wondered why the name rang such a bell in her memory. "Do you know who she is?" she asked Tefau. "It's just that…the name seems familiar. But I haven't met that many West Winds…" Yet, somehow, the image of a little girl's face stuck in her mind, her aristocratic little lips set firmly in an expression of hauteur but her eyes betraying a look of hurt. The image was faint, as though arising from a memory half-forgotten. It was strange that the name tickled at her thoughts without calling forth any information that Subira could use. She usually had such a good memory for things; Uncle Harpenres had trained her mind to function like a sieve, separating the precious gems from the humble sand and letting only the gems remain. A voice from ahead yanked Subira from her reverie. Her cousins were hurrying on without her, through the hallway and out to the docks where the pleasure boats prepared for the Swan Parade awaited them. Sunlight spilled through the open door, and a salty breeze cooled her skin. Crossing her lower arms in a huff, Subira glumly followed after them. Why did their elders have to spoil such a lovely day by adding parade preparations to the agenda? As she too stepped through the elaborately carved doorway into the open air, Subira caught sight of her cousins already scrambling onto their pleasure crafts. Tefau was beaming with appreciation at a young woman clad in sheer linen so fine that she might as well have gone naked, while Nisa appeared utterly captivated by the bare-chested young Foxes. Other designees were already aboard their own vessels, absorbed in discussions of decorations and recent gossip. Nearly forgotten in the excitement, Subira scanned the docks for unoccupied pleasure boats and walked toward them boldly with a hint of swagger in her stride. Whoever the mystery girl with the half-remembered name was, at least her ship was going to have a half-decent navigator to pilot it around the estuary. Her eyes fell upon the young noblewoman standing beside the only empty pleasure boat with surprise. Never had she seen an Eypharian so heavily clad, except aboard trading vessels bound for a northerly destination like Zeltiva. Her toes must have been boiling within those high boots, and surely she must be sweltering under those trousers and that shawl. Yet, one glance at the noblewoman's exquisite face and serene self-possession told Subira that, even if she were being roasted alive, she would give no sign of it. Subira herself was comfortably dressed in her usual sheath of dark-blue linen, bound at the waist with plain cord, and leather sandals scarcely finer than a commoner's. The salty breeze filtered easily through the thin linen, cooling her skin. "Tidings," she greeted the warmly wrapped-up young noblewoman. Subira ventured a pleasant smile. "You…must be Izdihar of the West Winds? If so, it seems we are to be shipmates, you and I."

[Colombina]

Across the docks, the seamen and passengers were acquainting themselves, each posturing to establish the hierarchy of power between them. Roles were appraised, tried and adjusted in quick succession. A few elders of the South Winds strode down the dock. The women walked arm in arm, sharing confidences. "Why pair the spinsters?" one whispered to her companion after passing Izdihar and Subira. The answer was lost as they were moving on to cast judgments on other assignments. Slaves and servants were moving the reed rafts at an elder's command. Subira's vessel was obviously an afterthought as she was saddled with the last one available, made to be piloted by two. Subira had been given another challenge, one that was almost impossible to fulfill. Someone was trying to wear her down and compel her to hug the shore. Amongst the quietly moving servants, a human with long sleeves and a brutish, powerful body stopped to take note of the assignments. Some of his fellow servants and slaves looked at him nervously for this impudence. It was rare to see Andrick move from a course or duty. He plodded on like an ox, crudely effective and just as talkative. For over fifteen years, he butchered meat and moved heavy objects. His capacities were thought to encompass no more than this. "Lady," he addressed Subira, and Eypharian heads turned. "I can man the other." It was a risk to offer help to one the elders sought to discourage, and both knew it.

[Izdihar]

For an Eypharian woman, Izdihar had always been small. The slight stature and delicate limbs promoted an aura of fragility that she, being a West Winds woman, had long since learned to use to her advantage. There was yet little help for the thin envy that lined her stomach for the wane of moments when watching Subira of the Southwinds walk towards her on a gait so easy and eloquent of character it conjured up bittersweet memories of a childhood long since lost. It took a few more seconds for Izdihar to realize that Subira did not remember her. There was something that sliced through her chest with that, lengthening the shadows thrown by her lashes when she lowered her eyes in automatic veiling of what would be considered weakness. "Hullo," she returned the greeting. It was barely delayed, evidence of her court training. A smile found her mouth, hinting at dimples that would poke out if she smiled more broadly. "And you are Subira. Yes," and a humor that could have been self deprecating suggested itself to lines of her face. "I'm Izdihar. We.." She trailed off, eyes slanting to collect the human slave up into her regard. Surprise lifted her eyebrows, attention paid she had not returned to the gossiping matrons a minute before. Interesting.

[Subira]

Subira was no less startled by the unexpected appearance of Andrick at the docks and his unusual offer to help her manage the reed boat. Her gaze slid over the bulky, stolid-looking human male thoughtfully, with little of the disdain and dismissiveness that most of her kin tended to show Andrick. From almost any other servant, she would have rejected their help out of hand and haughtily sent them on their way for their presumption. Something about Andrick made her hesitate, though. Perhaps it was the memory of the time her father punished her by sending her away from the table without dinner and Andrick had slipped her a handful of figs and bread slices, or the time she had fallen asleep over studying in the library and woke to find him bringing her a steaming cup of Benshiran tea. Perhaps it was lingering guilt from the time he had taken the blame when she spilled barley beer all over one of her mother's ledgers. Perhaps it was the look on his face, the only one in the South Winds' great hall that radiated quiet sympathy instead of disappointment and disapproval, when Subira had been formally demoted from her position as a ship's navigator before her entire family. A lump rose in her throat at the memory of that terrible day. As a child, she had always been fearful of the hulking, fearsome-looking man, yet he had shown her kindness at times for no reason that she could grasp. He was showing her another one now, and she knew it had taken him courage to speak up the way he had. He was strong too, with those powerful shoulders and arms covered in long sleeves. Certainly he would be of more help than the pale, delicate little crown-of-Leth blossom that was Subira's noble shipmate, even if he was a human. For a moment, Subira weighed in her mind the ignominy of needing a slave to help her against the shame of having her boat weaving clumsily in and out of formation or dashing itself to pieces upon the rocks before the eyes of all Ahnatep. The ignominy won. "Take the lefthand station," she told Andrick peremptorily. "Follow my directions at all times, and don't let the vessel lag for even a moment." Without waiting for his response -- for she expected nothing but acquiescence from the human servant -- Subira turned to inspect the vessel once more. She had to admit, she breathed easier now knowing that she wouldn't have to pilot that unwieldy boat by herself. Whoever had set her up to look like a fool and a failure by assigning her this boat was about to be surprised, she vowed. She had never asked to be part of the Swan Parade, but now that she was here, Subira was going to make it a success if it was the last thing she ever did. Eager to feel how the heavy reed boat would handle, she put one foot over the side to board it, before remembering Izdihar still standing on the docks. Subira turned around and awkwardly stuck out her lower right hand to the other lady. Next to the slender, fragile scion of the West Winds, she felt nearly as brutish and ungainly as Andrick himself. Izdihar. The name once more evoked the image of a little girl's face. Surely, it could not be her face, though. Though youthful in its freshness, hers was a woman's face, knowing and poised. There was nothing of that little girl in the elegant noblewoman that stood patiently before Subira. "Come along," she said gruffly. "The parade master's waiting for us. Time to take a jaunt around the banks for a bit and prepare to put on a show, before the real thing. Let's get you up onto that dais and hurry."

[Colombina]

The moment Subira accepted his aid, Andrick resumed the mantle of quiet servant. Izdihar was graced with a bow as he passed. Despite being properly done, it was like watching a bull kneel.  Andrick made every attempt to shrink into the background and obscure his moment of boldness. Subira, and she alone, was to be seen as the captain of the meager vessel. He quickly maneuvered into the raft, taking the oar she commanded him to, then waited patiently for her signal. His gaze lacked the unctuous humility of other slaves, but did not challenge. He was merely a man in control of himself. When every raft was manned, Bahhet struck the dock with his walking stick. A deceptive instrument, he carried it even when hale and whole. The bit of polished wood had seen more fights than his nephews combined. "Change of plans. The parade master will not arrive for two bells time."  This failure to abide by a schedule was obviously irritating to the old seaman. "Until then, let your guests get their bearings. I only want my best Souths heading for the sea. Grunions stay in the bay and estuary for a pleasure cruise." He cracked the dock again with his stick, rattling the teeth of the elders about him. "Shove off, Souths!" Whoops and lusty shouts followed, as oars began to churn the water and rafts spun towards the wide, mercurial arms of Makutsi and Laviku. Subira could see her smaller cousins bearing port for the green, reedy waters of the estuary and the elder swiftly racing one another starboard.  From the docks, the usually sedate Harpenres grinned and issued a challenge. "A dozen mizas to any who reach the Librum rocks!"

[Subira]

Unable to restrain herself, Subira called out carelessly and teasingly in response to Harpenres' challenge, "Twelve mizas? Psh, uncle, that's hardly enough to pay for a vial of perfume!" Even as she spoke, though, the challenge stoked the competitive, aggressive fires in her heart. Every Eypharian, and particularly the noble-born ones, actively competed with each other for every bit of prestige and royal favor that they could get. Noble blood meant nothing if the noble couldn't maintain their influence. Thus, every contest was an opportunity to show off one's beauty, cleverness, expertise, or wealth and to clearly demonstrate one's superiority. In Ahnatep, nothing was insignificant if it had to do with power and dominance. Narrowing her eyes against the bright sunlight, Subira rapidly scanned the waters of the estuary to decide on the best route to take. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the rhythmic, lapping waves of the open sea, but she shook her head. In a true ship, even the smallest khnor, she would head for the sea without hesitation, but in a pleasure boat built from bundled reeds, she didn't dare risk her vessel getting swept away by an errant wind or an unexpected current. She turned instead toward the placid, shimmering turquoise waters of the bay and the immense rocks that supported the varicolored Librum towers. "Out oars!" she shouted to Andrick, pointing southward with her upper right arm. With the other three, she began plying her own oar vigorously. Crisply, she added, "Stay close to the shore; that's the fastest route to the rocks. When I tell you," and now a sharp glint shone in her eye, "row as hard as you can. Let's see if this fat old raft can be good for something other than taking up space!" Obedient to her will, the reed vessel lurched into motion and breasted the calm green waters. Both oars scraped in their locks in creaking unison as they sought to catch up to Subira's cousins, who had already gotten underway. In the lead was Tefau, the muscles in his arms flexing impressively as he manned his oars, while the East Winds khur-va in the transparent linen robe reclined on cushions and languidly applauded his efforts. Subira grunted in exasperation and rowed harder, compelling Andrick to hurry his own pace to keep up. A sheen of sweat gleamed on her brow as she steadily continued to swish, dip, and pull her oar into, out of, and through the water. Thanks to their efforts, the two-man reed raft gained speed and glided smoothly forward, closing in on the cluster of boats near the reeds and the shore. While the bigger vessel took longer to accelerate from a standstill, Subira was delighted to realize that the boat's greater momentum meant that maintaining their speed took much less effort. They were close enough now to see their fellow racers in the smaller, sleeker boats visibly huffing as they rowed faster and faster in an attempt to gain headway. With every stroke, Subira and Andrick maneuvered their vessel nearer the other rafts and closer to the shoreline. The other advantage of their boat's larger size was, of course, something that Subira, who had piloted Eypharian galleys before, had immediately grasped. When she judged that they were close enough to the last few vessels' sterns, she waved furiously at Andrick to catch his attention. "Now!" she called out to the burly human slave. "As fast as you can!" He obeyed with alacrity and she too applied more force to her oars, whirling them swiftly in and out of the water. The two-man reed raft shot forward with a suddenness that surprised even the two of them. Certainly, it surprised the occupants of the other rafts. The full weight of the wide, heavy vessel rammed into the last three rafts hard, shouldering them aside as a tall wave might brush aside ordinary rocks. Water and foam splashed upward and outward at the collision, while a dozen Eypharian arms flailed about to steady their vessel and keep their balance. Once the spray had settled, only Subira's vessel remained on course, gradually gaining on the fastest rafts in front. The three rafts into which she had deliberately collided were scattered behind her and the nobles aboard them pouting or grumbling in dismay at her aggressive tactics. The former navigator laughed aloud and put her full strength into the oars, well-pleased with herself. "Put those great shoulders of yours into the oars!" she urged Andrick. "If we win, I promise, six of those mizas are yours!" OOCMario Kart with Eypharian reed boats, woo!

[Izdihar]

"And six matched from the Westwinds!" Izdihar called to Andrick, laughter churned in her words like the fertile soil in which her noble house crafted their wealth. The moment she had accepted Subira's hand, swinging gracefully aboard the vessel, and Bahhet had rattled the bones of his fellows elders like dice in a tonic jar, she had felt her spirit buoy. Liberation lived in every yawn of a watery horizon, infusing the air with a spice more alchemical than salt. It could flavor the weary blood of the damaged young and fortify the hides of the frail and old. She had smiled and, that time, dimples appeared though there was no one about to dazzle. The dais gained with alacrity, she clung with excitement and impossible vision. This was a women who had learned while yet wearing milk mustaches how to hold herself as if ever on display; and, of course, that was the entire purpose of this bloody Swan Parade. They thought she ought be married. The wind and the race, the labor and progress of Subira and Andrick fed the ambition for triumph conceived in all the children of Matsuki. If Izdihar wished there was somewhat more she could do than unravel to her feet in excitement, two arms slung about the stand centered upon the dais while the wind flapped and gushed, well, she had wished a great many thing in her life. Among the horde of them, this loss was minor in the face of sheer fun.

[Colombina]

OOCGreat posts from the both of you! You ladies are my gems. Also, look out for Koopa shells. In their foam-laced wake were the mildly obscene gestures and the general uproar of a dozen cousins and a few of their displeased passengers. The passengers didn’t expect to be jostled about and sprayed by a zealous pilot, even if Subira’s cousins did. As the boats shrank behind them, Andrick dared to allow a smile over his shoulder. It escaped a little more as he looked at the faces of the women made rosy by the brisk wind. It wasn’t just the eddies of air that buffed the glow from their skin, but the exhilaration of freedom. The other boats were righting themselves, turning their prows toward shallower waters. Some might have still pursued, despite the obvious headway Subira’s vessel made, but they were restrained by the discomfort of their passengers, who had had enough of splashing water and teetering. From the shore, the massive Librum rocks looked like old galleons half sunk. As the boat glided forward, the rocks’ immensity provoked a feeling of personal meagerness. An arch of stone housed the docks for visitors, but like everything in the Librum, it was dangerous, vanishing with the tide. Their vessel continued to drift through the arch, marking their victory. When canopied by stone, the water under them glowed, seemingly clear and tinted pale green. The luminous sea cast unearthly light on their skin and adornments. For a moment, the air was wondrous and so were Izdihar and Subira. Izdihar might catch the servant secretly observing the triumphant South with a fondness that seemed impossible for such a brutal looking body. As they relished the light, a hidden door clicked open from the stone and a small child with a pale, serious face addressed them with words too cultured for her age. “Visitors, I beseech you to be aware of my passing. I must swim to my trial.” She pointed at the bright exit, where a narrow raft of palm trunks lashed together was tethered to the stone. Her other hand held a sack seeping red, a common lure for the monstrous creatures of the sea. She dropped it casually in the water, it's purple trail snaking through the jewel brightness. “I am a student of the scales, who seeks to learn to control her fears.” And her fear was passing under them, dampening the light with its terrible body. Secret : With an awful splash, the child was paddling toward the raft.