Flashback Anger is the Enemy (Sewati)

[Kiaramali]

12th of Winter, 511

Outskirts of Nazim's Folly

On a good day, the sun warmed Kiaramali’s heart as much as her skin. Today was not a good day. The sun glared down at her from the parched sky, making it impossible to gaze at the blindingly white sand for more than a chime without bringing tears to her eyes.

Sweat trickled down her back between her shoulder blades as her father removed the worn bundle from under his arm. He unknotted the leather cord that bound the package and tugged at the corners, unraveling the heavy blanket he folded before they'd left the shade of their tent.

Kiaramali and her younger sister each took a corner and helped her father shake the sand out of the faded red blanket and together, they stretched it out across the sand. It relieved the burn behind her lashes instantly.

She watched as her father arranged the plates and utensils in front of his larger, more ornate pottery. His dark skin glistened as he worked, lovingly arranging things until he was satisfied. At the end of the slow process, a smile spread across his face, deepening the leathery wrinkles around his mouth.

The colorful arrangement on the blanket would easily attract the attention of anyone passing by on their way to Nazim’s Folly. She knew they were likely to run into other Chaktawe at their post. Plenty of their people gathered at the Folly to trade wares and catch up on news during the long stretches between seasons.

Kiaramali hoped to catch the attention of another member of her tribe—preferably male as she grew weary of the constant chatter between the women in her tent. Men had such different things to say about the desert and about the world beyond Ekytol. She loved the way their men sweated pride in their tribe from every pore. There was nothing more attractive in all of Mizahar.

She dug her heels into the sand between Tuuwa and her father and waited for the slow trickle of people to find them.

[Sewati]

Sewati wiped sweat from his brow and stared at Nazim's Folly in the distance. He could see there was movement among the lifeless buildings, which caused a moment of anxiety to pass through him. Steeling himself for a moment, he made his way over the sands, a bundle of hides in his arms.

The kopis blade sheaf at his side slapped against his leg in time to his steps, irritating him slightly. He was aggravated further by the tightness of the strap over his shoulder, weighed down by his backpack. He was not looking forward to trading, just the thought about it made him scowl.

But it was something he needed to do. His mother had wanted to come and trade, but she was unable to leave the tribe, not while one of her mares was so close to giving birth. It was not often two tribes came together so closely, but at hearing the Tatsuwaat would be at Nazim's Folly she had expressed a delighted interest in their pottery.

So Sewati had come in her place, not very willingly, but he would never allow himself to fail her in any way. He and his father had put together a bundle of their best hides, as well as many different coloured feathers in his pack. He could still hear his father's words to him ring through his head, "be at peace". Always the same words when they parted, always said with meaning that caused Sewati to look away and nod.

He was getting closer to the Folly, his stomach was unsettled by his nerves and he had to resist the urge to rub his arm in agitation. His eyes were fixed on the sands and he could feel the movement of people ahead brushing against the freckles on his fingertips.

Then he took a big breath, straightened his back and held his head up. It made him feel awkward to stand out more like this, but he had to make sure he stayed calm. His heavy brow was stuck in a frown, caused by his concentration and unease, something he was unaware of as his began passing other Chaktawe, keeping his eyes open for anything his mother may like.

[Kiaramali]

Kiaramali scooted forward, nearly knocking her father over to reach the edge of the blanket. Suddenly, all the effort of being up close to her sister for endless chimes without launching a rattle at the girl, paid off.

Headed directly toward their stand, was what could have been a true trick of the eye. She blinked both eyelids twice, just to be sure.

The deepest bronze Chaktawe male in the desert appeared out of nowhere. The way he handled the hides he carried made her want to help him wipe away the sweat beaded on his brow.

If anyone oozed brooding Chaktawe, it was this man. He was the perfect specimen of their people and the chiseled lines of his body meant he worked as hard as he held onto those hides.

No longer able to sit still in the sand, Kiaramali sprung to her feet like a tsana had nipped her on the backside.

She dusted the sand off her wrap and then raked her fingers through her hair, wishing she’d taken the time to braid it before she left. The last thing she wanted was for this man to think she was lazy.

She whirled around and tugged on her sister’s arm. “Braid my hair.”

“Braid your hair? Why? You should have braided it before you left.” Tuuwa looked at her as if the feathers on her coat had come loose.

“You can do braids in your sleep, sister. I am asking only for a single one.”

One braid with no beads? The thought made her cringe, but it would have to do. She’d brought no beads or feathers. Even if she had, there was no way she’d be caught preening in front of the approaching male. Who knew what he’d think about seeing that display. Perhaps he was the type to think those were the things women did at home—in tents of their own, not out in the desert sand.

“No.” Tuuwa said bluntly. Her little sister was always to the point and her answers tended to be firm. Kiaramali knew she would get nowhere.

She drug her webbed toes through the hot sand toward her sister.

Immediately, her father’s thick palm flew up, stopping her, mid-swipe. When he looked satisfied he’d disarmed her action, he pointed to the blanket and his pottery. Frowning, he asked, “What were you thinking, Kiara?”

Her father only shortened her name when the anger in his voice rose to match the red stain sweeping up his neck. He knew it had the double-edged effect of getting under her skin.

Tuuwa did little to hide the satisfied grin that ate up her face.

“You have no place to smirk, Tuuwa. Whose name has more syllables to start?” She bit out, her voice raised unnaturally high.

Her sister’s face froze like sandstone and the humor drained away from her cheeks.

Satisfied she’d hit her mark, Kiaramali turned away from the venom in her sister’s eyes. I swear to Makutsi, if that male heard any of what Tuuwa said, I will cut her hair shorter than her name!

[Sewati]

As he passed down rows of Chaktawe goods, he looked side to side furtively. He glanced at jewellery made from smooth bone, lovingly carved in the shapes of animals and beasts. Mixed in with the sparkle of quartz figurines, painstakingly shaped and sculpted with steady hands and an eye for detail.

There were pelts as well, the golden coats of Eyktol wolves, the dark bristled fur of Eypharian Jackals. Along with the multi-coloured hide of Petiwa Sky-Dogs, each one a different shade of brown, crowned by sky blue. Sewati's eye was even caught by the tough, thick hide of a Tsana, tales of which had always fascinated him, even from a young age.

He could see musical instruments as well, animal skin covered drums gathered together with bone rattles and delicate pipes made from reeds. But it was the pottery he was looking over, red clay earthenware that spoke of the Chaktawe's connection with their surroundings and the nature that they are a part of. It was these creations Sewati liked the most, they made him feel calm when everything fit together smoothly with life.

Then his eye was caught by a blanket occupied by ornate pottery, beautiful creations he knew his mother would love. He fixed his eyes on the pottery, heading straight for the mat, doing his best to ignore the strangers around him as he wondered if any of the pottery was mixed with mica.

There seemed to be a commotion ahead however, one woman tried to hit another close to blanket he was heading to. His brow creased even further in to a frown, and he considered turning away. But his mind was set, he had no intention of turning away now he had decided to take a closer look at the goods on show.

Both women had dark hair and looked to Sewati as though they were sisters. The younger sister, closer to his age, looked beautiful to Sewati, but he was too nervous to look at her. While the older sister looked like she had a dark temper, an agitated look in her eye. The man he assumed to be their father looked satisfied that he had defused the situation and Sewati focused his attention on him.

'Which is your best work?' Sewati asked the man bluntly, scowling. It was Sewati's experience that a crafter takes great pride in his work and will always point out their best work when asked. He shifted uneasily before bringing forth his hides almost straight away, 'I would like to trade.' His mind was mostly blank on what he should be doing to trade, all his thoughts rushing through his head. He just gritted his teeth and stood there waiting.