“There you go,” Calla clapped her hands quietly with delight, cheering for the younger Konti, ever mindful that they were still in Riverfall’s library. “That was the answer. He was bald,” she grinned, her eyes dancing. “Not one hair on his head could get wet, because he had none.” Her own smile turned wistful as Kavala talked about the loss of her mother, squeezing her shoulders gently. She was sure that her own daughter missed her, too. She knew that she certainly missed her. There was a special bond between children and the ones who had borne them, and when that bond was broken, there was nothing at all that could replace it. “You learned a lot from them, though, I can tell. They inspire you, and they walk with you, even though they ride on the grasslands. I can see it, clear as day,” she linked her fingers in her lap over the book, and listened to Kavala’s riddle.
She leaned back a bit, a thoughtful look on her face as she repeated the riddle back to her. “Mmmn. I know that the center of the rose is a bud, and that there are many causes of sorrow... metaphorically, a bud applies there,and in happiness... but that connection is lost the references to danger and the sun. But a common link between the beginning of ‘sorrow’... ‘the end of ‘sickness’... the middle of ‘roses’... in ‘risk’, ‘sun’, and ‘darkness’... and yet... not in ‘danger’... ahhh. I’m overthinking it, aren’t I?” Calla chuckled, tossing her hair, the beads and shells clinking. “The common factor amongst all of those is the letter ‘s’, is it not?”
“I have something for you,” Calla told her once she was able to stop laughing, slowly stroking the cover of the book. As her fingers traced the old, worn leather, tiny rays of light seemed to spill between her slender fingers, and Kavala might have realized that the light came from the book - the more she touched it, the more the smooth black leather cover seemed to peel away like the skin of an overripe grape, revealing silver underneath it. What sort of book was this? Of course, there were many rare and wondrous treasures in the world - was this one of them? “It’s something near and dear to me.” She lifted her hand from the back of book on her lap, leaving the little trails of silver showing, and reached and laid her hand over Kavala’s. She felt a thrill race from their connected hands, jolting up her arm to her shoulder to her spine. Something was happening there, and the older Konti did not break the touch, even as something seemed to be etching itself in her skin on the back of her hand, that went deeper than just that skin, but the muscles and bones and Djed underneath...!
“You show an aptitude for learning, a desire to know, to seek answers, no matter where that path and knowledge may lay. You understand that there is a value to learning - that if we are to ever move forward, we must first understand the past. There is knowledge everywhere, Kavala, all around us... and not just within these books. The Ukalas, the Chavena, it holds so much more than what is written down on the pages and scrolls in here. There’s knowledge in this bench, you know. Where the wood came from. How old that tree was. What type of tree it was. Touch it. Open your mind to it,” Calla’s eyes were almost glowing now, a luminescent violent. Sparks of silver danced and flashed. She finally lifted her hand from Kavala’s, and emblazoned on the back was a glowing, golden Lormar mark - it resembled two circles and interconnected on two parallel lines. “Lykata,” ‘Calla’ breathed, smiling at her, adjusting herself slightly, shifting away just enough for Kavala to be able to put her hand on the bench. Oak, the wood would sing at her when she touched it. After a few more moments, she felt it again, in her heart and head, as new words came. They made no sense at first. Kelomald Okelo. A name, perhaps...?
“This bench was made by Kelomald Okelo, an Akalak carpenter in his 87th year,” the woman beside her smiled. “The wood itself came from the northern border where Cyphrus meets Sylira, can you believe that? A mighty white oak tree, that 403 years old when it was finally felled by lightning during a summer storm on the 70th day of Summer in the year of 450 AV.” The Konti that wasn’t a Konti, clearly, beside her was thoughtful, reflective, as she told her this. “Everything around us, Kavala, has a history, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem. Do you know how many people pass by this bench and never once think about it? Hundreds, slowly adding up over time to thousands. And they never think to wonder how things came to be. Or why. If you want to understand the future, you must look to the past.” She angled her head, smiling at the woman beside her. “We find these things through the Chavena... a wondrous, complex repository of information that has been built up through time immemorial. It is not the Ukalas, but surrounds them nonetheless. It is here where we can find knowledge that is not completely lost... just hidden from the eyes of those who never thought to find it.”