and thoughts for days.
Nomi leaned sideways. “You should be writing this down,” she whispered to Ramus, but he acknowledged her with a blank smile and glittering eyes. He seemed to be enjoying the wine.
“I'm thirty-seven,” Konrad said, “and I went on my first voyage when I was twenty-two. Two years before that, I had killed my seethe-gator and risen to adulthood, and I left Mancoseria with my ’gator carving, my weapons and the clothes I walked in. My parents told me that Noreela was a safer place to be, and that I would find work in Marrakash at the Guild. My travels from my homeland to Long Marrakash . . . that's a telling for another night. A night when, perhaps, you'll want to hear about slave thieves and the wildcat herds in Cantrassa's less accessible parts.
“Raiders are something Mancoseria is used to. They've been invading our western shores almost as long as the seethe-gatorshave been crawling onto the beaches in the east, but fighting them has never been a rite of passage. It's a necessity for our survival. No significant battles for over a hundred years, though even now there are occasional attacks from raiders hanging on to their past. But in the Founding Days of Mancoseria there was a constant trail of children traveling to the west, and adults coming back. Fighting knocks the childhood out of you—a youngster will be interested in combing beaches for strange creatures, shells and driftwood from which he can build elaborate stories. A Mancoserian adult back then would look at a beach and try to see where a raider may be hiding; behind that sandbank, beneath that convenient drift of seaweed, ready to leap from a beached boat? There's something devastating in the idea that a beach, home to waves and birds and patterns in the sand, is something other than beautiful. But back then, the raiders cut all the beauty away. And they sliced beauty from Mancoserian women's faces with their knives.
“My first voyage was with a Voyager called Jeriglia, long dead now, a good man with a poor heart and a body not made for journeying. He took us to the northern tip of Long Marrakash. Many scoffed at his choice of voyage, but he insisted that so many wished to go far afield that what lay close had still not been fully explored. And he was right. We went through the mountains north of Long Marrakash, where we found settlements of people who had fled the city decades before and never returned. We traded with them, though they were suspicious, and their food was good, though their wine was inferior. Their women, though . . .” Konrad closed his eyes, and by the light of the campfire his heavily scarred face looked suddenly serene. Nomi coveted such a look of delight. “Their women were beautiful. Both men and women farmed the slopes, but it was the women who truly connected with the land. The men worried about mountain wolves coming down and stealing their livestock, but the woman went into the mountains to feed the wolves and keep them away from the farms. The men concerned themselves that the goodness had gone from the ground, and the women planted each spring, moving fields across the slopes and giving the ground time to find life again.”
“More of their beauty, Konrad!” Ramin said, obviously having heard the story before.
“Beauty, cousin? I need a better word. Language can't reach them, but perhaps art could. If only I could paint, or charcoal with shred seed. If only I could re-create their image from this fire's smoke, this twilight's generous palette.”
“Get on with it!” Beko called, and Nomi felt an instant of annoyance at him for breaking the spell.
“Beautiful women,” Konrad said, looking down at his feet again. “The raiders did not appreciate beauty because of the salt of the sea, the wind, the rains and snowstorms, the flying fish with their razor beaks . . . all raiders had their beauty stripped and scarred by the time they reached adulthood. So when they discovered beauty, they
Nomi leaned sideways. “You should be writing this down,” she whispered to Ramus, but he acknowledged her with a blank smile and glittering eyes. He seemed to be enjoying the wine.
“I'm thirty-seven,” Konrad said, “and I went on my first voyage when I was twenty-two. Two years before that, I had killed my seethe-gator and risen to adulthood, and I left Mancoseria with my ’gator carving, my weapons and the clothes I walked in. My parents told me that Noreela was a safer place to be, and that I would find work in Marrakash at the Guild. My travels from my homeland to Long Marrakash . . . that's a telling for another night. A night when, perhaps, you'll want to hear about slave thieves and the wildcat herds in Cantrassa's less accessible parts.
“Raiders are something Mancoseria is used to. They've been invading our western shores almost as long as the seethe-gatorshave been crawling onto the beaches in the east, but fighting them has never been a rite of passage. It's a necessity for our survival. No significant battles for over a hundred years, though even now there are occasional attacks from raiders hanging on to their past. But in the Founding Days of Mancoseria there was a constant trail of children traveling to the west, and adults coming back. Fighting knocks the childhood out of you—a youngster will be interested in combing beaches for strange creatures, shells and driftwood from which he can build elaborate stories. A Mancoserian adult back then would look at a beach and try to see where a raider may be hiding; behind that sandbank, beneath that convenient drift of seaweed, ready to leap from a beached boat? There's something devastating in the idea that a beach, home to waves and birds and patterns in the sand, is something other than beautiful. But back then, the raiders cut all the beauty away. And they sliced beauty from Mancoserian women's faces with their knives.
“My first voyage was with a Voyager called Jeriglia, long dead now, a good man with a poor heart and a body not made for journeying. He took us to the northern tip of Long Marrakash. Many scoffed at his choice of voyage, but he insisted that so many wished to go far afield that what lay close had still not been fully explored. And he was right. We went through the mountains north of Long Marrakash, where we found settlements of people who had fled the city decades before and never returned. We traded with them, though they were suspicious, and their food was good, though their wine was inferior. Their women, though . . .” Konrad closed his eyes, and by the light of the campfire his heavily scarred face looked suddenly serene. Nomi coveted such a look of delight. “Their women were beautiful. Both men and women farmed the slopes, but it was the women who truly connected with the land. The men worried about mountain wolves coming down and stealing their livestock, but the woman went into the mountains to feed the wolves and keep them away from the farms. The men concerned themselves that the goodness had gone from the ground, and the women planted each spring, moving fields across the slopes and giving the ground time to find life again.”
“More of their beauty, Konrad!” Ramin said, obviously having heard the story before.
“Beauty, cousin? I need a better word. Language can't reach them, but perhaps art could. If only I could paint, or charcoal with shred seed. If only I could re-create their image from this fire's smoke, this twilight's generous palette.”
“Get on with it!” Beko called, and Nomi felt an instant of annoyance at him for breaking the spell.
“Beautiful women,” Konrad said, looking down at his feet again. “The raiders did not appreciate beauty because of the salt of the sea, the wind, the rains and snowstorms, the flying fish with their razor beaks . . . all raiders had their beauty stripped and scarred by the time they reached adulthood. So when they discovered beauty, they
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