Redemption in Indigo

9

a stranger is coming to makendha

Those who live in Makendha say that Ahani is the place where con men hold their conventions. They may be right—certainly it must have had some seedy flair to attract the regular attention of a djombi like the Trickster. Another claim made about Ahani is that a man can make something of himself there. That also had some grains of truth. Certainly it was not kind to women seeking their fortunes—not entirely baseless is the belief, widespread in Makendha and beyond, that women rule the villages but men rule the towns. As for making something of oneself, the question remains, what would that something be?

The indigo lord was going to Ahani to make an identity and a reputation for himself. Just because he considered them vermin didn't mean he lacked awareness of how humans operated. As individuals they were puny, but as hives their communication networks had power. There was no way he could impress in Makendha if no-one had ever heard of him in any of the larger cities.

He went to a stash of gold which he had put away—the legacy of an adventure in more innocent days. Perhaps I will tell you about it later, if we have the time. He had never expected to use it for himself, but that was the nature of chaos; its effects spanned time in ways that were not always immediately discernible, not even by beings outside of time.

He found a modest but highly reputable guest house in Ahani, one where his lack of goods would not be commented on. His first step was to hire a man of discretion. The way that he did this was to conduct the interviews in his usual shadow. Those who flinched at the strange colour of his skin, or whose eyes asked questions, did not pass. Finally, he selected a man by the name of Bini, whose calm eyes and unruffled demeanour spoke of vast pools of patience and a truly inhuman lack of curiosity. His only concerns were his duties and his pay, and once assured that the former were legal and the latter significant, he had nothing more to say.

Except one other thing.

'May I ask m'lord's name or title, so that I might know who has hired me and for whom I will be hiring?'

It was a fair request. The indigo lord had an answer waiting. ‘You may call me Taran.'

'Taran’ was not a common name. It meant ‘star’ in the local language. Bini merely nodded, taking the strangeness of the name and dropping it into the bottomless pit of his nonchalance.

Having secured his majordomo, Taran, as we may now call him, assigned to him all the hiring of the lesser servants and the acquisition of goods. Bini proved to be the same as all the rest, but when he returned with his first and only set of doctored receipts, Taran gave him a moment to feel comfortable and then struck him down with the truth, that truly formidable axe against which little can stand. Bini deserved credit; rather than bluster or try to cover up his gaffe, he said quietly that the receipts appeared to be misleading and he would return in a while with the correct figures. After that, there was no more trouble with Bini, though Taran kept a changing guard of insects near him—a beetle one day, an ant the next—just to be sure.

Taran showed his face once to Bini during the interview; after that he covered himself entirely, robes, gloves, boots, and veiled headdress with only his eyes glinting beyond a rectangle of mesh. He looked like a desert prince travelling incognito. He offered no explanation for his sudden change in garb. As a human, Bini would come up with his own speculations. When again, as Bini he would probably not care.

I myself have wondered why Taran did not simply change his shadow to blend into his environment. I suspect—and this is subject to correction—that such large-scale changes to one's own shadow were performed infrequently. It may be that the act of shadowcrafting not only requires great effort, but also creates a ripple that can be sensed by like beings. For all his pride, Taran was not above using stealth in order to gain the advantage. Or maybe it was indeed pride that made him cover himself so that he would not be soiled by human touch, not even by their eyes resting on his features. I do not know.

The underlings hired by Bini did speculate. He overheard one declaring that he was probably hiding ghastly scars from a severe burning, and another guessing that the mark of pestilence was what caused him to hide his skin. The most inventive hypothesis thus far was that he was terribly sensitive to heat and light due to albinism, which would also explain the strange purplish hue of his eyes that could be detected even through the mesh.

Taran had not forgotten his plan. He ensured that his clothes were tailored to fit him well so that all could see that his shadow was healthy, excellently proportioned, and lacking in deformation of any kind. He correctly assumed that his wealth would provide sufficient attraction to counter the unseen but imagined flaws. Beautiful women like Neila are not interested in competitors. Without a doubt she would prefer a man with the means to display her beauty to its best advantage over a man whose beauty rivalled hers.

When all was made ready and his staff and stores fully equipped, Taran made one more request of Bini. Before their departure, he wished to hire a poet. This was in keeping with the strange scruples of his fallen state. Like all his kind, he was incapable of lying, but he had too much pride remaining to twist truth in the manner of tricksters. Hiring a man to lie for him was the perfect compromise. Besides, for poets it wasn't lying, it was art.

Back in Makendha, Paama was adjusting to the fact that little Giana was not what she seemed. She saw her often, at least once a day, when fetching water or tending to the animals or washing clothes. Otherwise they met in the kitchen, but there they had to be careful of Neila and Tasi stumbling in on a strange conversation filled with strange words. In spite of that, it seemed to be Giana's favourite place??r perhaps she was merely enjoying the sweet tooth of childhood amid Paama's pastries and sweets.

'Why should it come to me?’ had been Paama's first real question, the question that signalled her acceptance that this was not a dream or a joke. ‘This is a powerful thing, the way you describe it. Why should any human being have such power?'

'I do not know,’ Giana replied softly, as if ashamed to admit it. ‘I only know that I was told to give it to you, and that once you had it, you began to use it as if it were a lost part of yourself. There may be a reason, but it is beyond my knowledge.'

Paama looked at her, itching to ask more questions, but these were the ones she dared not have answered, so she wisely did not ask them.

'What am I supposed to do with it?’ she asked instead.

'For now? Learn it, understand it so that it becomes more than instinct. A stranger is coming to Makendha, Paama. He is nearby, making his preparations. I have already seen his spies. You must be strong against him, for he wants to take back the power that was once his.'

'Then why did you waste time teaching me to spin five hundred different configurations of sugar spirals?’ Paama scolded her, alarmed at this news. ‘You should have been showing me how to fight him!'

'Set your mind at ease, Paama. It is not power that you should be concerned about. Power you already have. I have been teaching you control. Plus, they were delicious. Now I have told you all that I can, all that you need to know. Remember it well, because I cannot stay with you any longer.'

'Where are you going?’ asked Paama, forgetting for a moment and wondering why she had not heard of Giana's family leaving Makendha.

'Giana must come back. It has been almost seven days, and that is the limit for a child. I mustn't abuse her generosity.'

'Where is Giana?’ Paama asked, this time with an edge of apprehensiveness in her voice.

'Come and see.'

Paama walked with the djombi into the pasture and saw the faint, sleeping shape of another Giana. It was the final feather to tip the balance of her teetering belief-disbelief. She felt the ground falling out from under her feet.

'You cannot leave me by myself! Will I never see you again?'

'You may see me, or not, but I will definitely see you. Don't be afraid, Paama. But be cautious. Trust your instincts. Now, let me speak to Giana alone.'

Paama turned away, shivering under the high, hot sun. She stood looking back at the village and was very startled when a small hand tugged at her belt.

'I'm ready to go back now,’ said that familiar voice, but a subtle difference told Paama who it was who now lived beneath the child's skin.

Paama looked beyond Giana, but the pasture was empty. She extended cold fingers and took the child's hand. They walked slowly back to Makendha in a silence mildly tinged with the sorrow of loss.

Both the gift of the Stick and the djombi's words meant something quite significant to Paama. Even before Ansige had arrived, she had wondered to herself how much longer she should stay with her parents. Now she felt she had even more reason to try to order her life—a life outside of Makendha. She wanted to travel. A good cook could find work anywhere, in a household, on a ship, in a guest house. She had long desired to see the world, but Ansige's strong dislike of travel and utter dependence on her had thwarted that dream soon after their marriage.

She made preparations. She began to compile her recipes, printing them carefully in hardcover books and then putting the books into an old biscuit tin where they would be sealed away and protected from damp and vermin. She took up her savings, money earned from her share of the family's lands and livestock. She did this swiftly and quietly, because she did not wish to discuss with her family what she could not fully explain. Part of her still refused to believe in the mysterious stranger, but if there were such a person, all the better that she should leave Makendha to keep her family safe.

Then she began to tell her family by degrees.

'I think I need a small vacation, a change of scenery. You can spare me for a few weeks, can't you Maa?'

And later, more seriously, to her father:

'I can't stay here forever, you know. Our lands were never intended to support so many husbandless daughters. Let me go up to the House of the Sisters and see what work they may have for me.'

Semwe listened to the words and what he thought was behind them, and reluctantly gave his approval. He thought that she was seeking a sense of worth after her failed, childless marriage, desiring a status that could not be found as an adult under her parents’ roof.

'But a few weeks only, as you hinted to your mother,’ he said, raising a finger in caution. ‘Then you must come back, and we will talk again.'

Paama agreed.

She said nothing at all to her sister, which, in retrospect, may have been a mistake.

* * * *

Taran arrived, ironically, with exactly the entrance Ansige had hoped to have. He rode a fine horse at the head of a small procession of servants and pack animals. On arrival, he sent his majordomo ahead to the chief to present a gift and his compliments, and to convey his formal request to pitch camp in the fields near Makendha. This was a common practice for nomad merchant princes, so the chief happily accepted the generous gift and sent back one of his own servants to guide Taran to Makendha's pastures and woods.

The entire train wound through the streets of Makendha. People stared and muttered, and behind his veil Taran stared back, eyes glittering coldly. He was looking for a familiar face, and listening for a familiar voice.

But nothing has as fine a sense of drama and comedy as chaos. Thus it was that Paama, leading a single mule for a pack animal and carrying the Stick at her belt, left by the back roads which went up towards the hills and completely missed Taran's arrival into Makendha.