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A hundred years ago, Faruzan had kept a small fountain in her room. It was one of the few decorations in their living space that was her idea and not Farah’s. The sound of trickling water accompanied her on many an all-nighter and soothed her frayed mind even when the sun started to rise. The sound of water was a luxury to find in the desert, and so Faruzan had long memorized all the locations of water in the desert, even the three new oases that had formed in front of the recently lighted towers. Or, as the inscriptions on the various obelisks suggested, recently relighted towers.
She stood in front of one such obelisk now, in the depths of the Debris of Panjvahe, at the entrance to what looked like another tower, still dormant, and likely never to be rekindled as its spire was embedded into the very rock of the ravine walls. She could hear the distant singing of hilichurls as she raised a torch to the inscription and sucked her breath in.
“Such a sorry state…” the floral ring-dancer next to her murmured at the chipped, weathered, dust-caked sides.
Faruzan squinted and brought the torch closer, using her Vision to gently blow the dust from the carved symbols. Still, only a few were barely legible.
“…Ormazd of Gurabad…” Faruzan whispered under her breath, recognizing the name, “…His Majesty King Deshret…mausoleum…the Mistress of Flowers…and Mt. Damavand…Deshret again…Gurabad…provided endless…flowing waters?”
Faruzan sighed and straightened. It was no use trying to read the inscription in the dark. She would try again tomorrow morning.
At any rate, there was likely not much to be gained in the way of her research from deciphering the inscription. The mechanism was already lit—someone had come and restored its seals in the right order, which was why there were inscriptions to read, and the torches inside the tower had been lighted as well. That was of no great concern, though, as Faruzan had not descended into the Debris of Panjvahe for research.
Nor had she really returned to the desert for research. That was the stated purpose of her trip, of course, but she had little idea of what to look for. She returned because there was nothing else to do—the desert called to her, the foreigner who left a quarter of her life in its depths even before it took from her a hundred more years by a stroke of unforeseen folly.
Or so it seemed. Faruzan knew, as she gazed up at the dormant crystals of the tower’s base, their blue candescence long extinguished, peering down upon an obelisk bearing witness to the beginnings of Gurabad’s ascendancy and verdancy, why the desert chose to cast her life from its moorings.
—~—
Mirages flicker and fade, but King Deshret’s Mausoleum remained forever fixed on the horizon. From the branches of the Divine Tree where she grew up beyond the Wall of Samiel, to the heights of the Temir Mountains on a particularly perilous foray, the pyramid and its inverted cap could be seen on the horizon like a beacon forever directing her back to the desert’s heart. Faruzan could only imagine what it was like for someone who’d grown up in the desert, walking in the shadow of the Scarlet King’s tomb.
The mausoleum was one of the few things that had not changed in a hundred years. It jutted up against the horizon as it always did, and if Faruzan let herself stare at it for long enough, she could imagine herself again, agonizing over her choice of thesis topic, the trip failing to clear her mind after all. Then Farah would chide her gently and break her out of her stupor before turning back to whatever tablet or inscription she was making a rubbing of.
A hundred years later, the perennial sandstorm at the top of the Mausoleum still captivated everyone who set their eyes on it. All marveled at what power could drive it. To people like Faruzan, that meant wondering what combination of mechanical devices and divine power kept the sandstorm raging. The most crucial part of any such autonomous contraption would be something to keep it running in the absence of mechanics or repairfolk: it had to either be durable enough to not need replacement, something Faruzan reckoned to be extremely difficult, or have a way to repair itself. While Khaenri’ahn machines opted for the former, with extremely long-lasting replenishable energy sources and painstakingly forged alloys able to withstand the more brutal weathering, remaining constructs from the time of King Deshret tended not to show a clear design principle. On one hand, the massive construct that dwelled in the Dune of Elusion seemed capable of self-renewal, and according to past Akademiya literature used other constructs to scavenge or forge new parts. Current literature also suggested the possibility of it cannibalizing other constructs when necessary, though Faruzan had not dived too deep into the Ksharawar studies to understand the full scope of existing research on the machine. On the other hand, most of the regular constructs that could be seen in the desert laid dormant, and deconstructed specimens suggested that they were not intended to withstand continuous operation, but rather designed to withstand any possible erosion or deterioration from the elements and so fell into an inactive state when certain criteria were met. But if people nowadays, even when accounting for the possibility of divine power that helped keep the constructs functional, could not begin to grasp the operating principles of these small and seemingly disposable constructs, Faruzan wondered how anyone would be able to begin to understand how the sandstorm was kept running.
Faruzan was about the least devout a person could be in Sumeru: she acknowledged the Dendro Archon’s power, and was once awed by the Akasha’s omniscience, yet she neither sought nor expected any form of divine assistance or favor in exchange for any sort of ritual or faith. But even so, the sight of the sandstorm that never stopped swirling was always able to make her uneasy; the same god whose tomb it watched over also had the power to halt a person’s aging and the advent of death, after all. Could someone so powerful really die without even a trace left of his consciousness? Could the people that willed a mountain into being really fall into servility? All the sand that flowed into the inverted cap of the pyramid like an hourglass; what was it being collected for? The ancients who created this hourglass, what did they mean? Was it a promise of their return? Was it a threat of vengeance against those who laid them low? Was it a reminder of their resplendence? Faruzan had heard it all before.
If it could have that effect on Faruzan, what could it do to those who saw themselves as its children, unable to leave its gaze and with far less to lose?
—~—
Much fewer people questioned the sandstorm at the center of Mt. Damavand. Perhaps because it was atop a mountain and not a building, or because it was located around an area that the divine had clearly shaped, most people Faruzan knew just took it for granted. The people living around it had speculated as to what purpose it may have been created, taking it to have been a creation of King Deshret. They wondered if it warned of Gurabad’s fate or what it may be concealing underneath. Faruzan herself had thought of this question a few times, but it was clear that understanding the sandstorm required further research into the ruins around the mountain’s base first, so she decided to be patient and make her contribution to that first step before jumping to conclusions.
Instead, she liked to stare at the swirling winds in moments of boredom or contemplation. The constant motion gave her eyes something to drift toward as her thoughts wandered elsewhere. They followed the huge boulders that could sometimes be seen through the dust and sand, following their precarious orbits around the storm’s center. Uprooted from the ground and catapulted into the turbulent gusts until they were spat out toward a foreign corner of the desert with no explanation of why it was torn from its original place nor hope of return, the sandstorm’s winds not even slowing as they continued their whirling dance to a tune that only they could hear. Faruzan stumbled across these displaced rocks from time to time on her way between various ruins. They laid there, sometimes in the ruins of a wall, or a cactus, or an outcropping, sticking out against their surroundings like Eremites wandering the empty remains of desert ruins. They drifted through the deserted halls as if they were ghosts, haunting homes that they no longer knew. At least Seelies had courts to return to; time had left them no shore to call home.
In the hundred years that had passed, excavations at Tulaytullah had progressed significantly. Vahumana researchers favored the ruined city out of the nearly countless ruins scattered across the desert because its rapid decline after Xiphos’s death resulted in its layout at its time of fall relatively undisturbed. The fact that the songs and stories of the people living in the desert included the city more than even Gurabad, as well as Tulaytullah being the most extensively studied city within the Akademiya, meant that even Faruzan had made many trips in the past to the northwestern corner of the Hypostyle Desert.
The disappearance of the lakes and pools that once nourished the city meant that no one lived by its ruins permanently, but there was always one group or another who pitched camp for a month or so around the city. They sometimes dug for treasure themselves, sometimes harvested henna berries and flaming flowers growing around the ruins, and sometimes offered services and supplies to Akademiya archaeological expeditions. Whatever they chose to do, they could always be heard singing songs of Tulaytullah, odes and hymns and threnodies. Their lyrics waxed over the city’s power, its wealth, its lush abundance. But only in their sorrowful laments, Faruzan found what they were truly praising, that Tulaytullah existed at all. Looking at the anonymous expanse of desert where it once stood, the thought of gleaming sapphire domes interspersed between bubbling fountains amid the shade of verdant gardens, a place worth returning to, was much more preferable. So, upon her return, Faruzan learned the singers’ songs and lent her voice to them, and they sang under the night sky that too once saw a more worthy past.
And in the distance, the intermittent pale green glow could be seen peering out from Mt. Damavand.
—~—
Still, winds change their course.
The sandstorm atop the mausoleum had been extinguished. The culprit stood with Faruzan on the surface north of the Wadi al-Majuj.
“It was here, huh?”
“It appeared to us while we were standing right here.”
Faruzan took a few more moments to survey the surrounding cliffs and desiccated riverbeds. “Well, from what you told me, the domain came to you. I don’t suppose you have a Magic Invite on you, so the trail ends here. I do apologize for dragging you out here so forcibly, I just…”
The Traveler smiled. “I understand. Still, had the Veluriyam Mirage appeared, I don’t think you would have found it to be the right place.”
“Yes, I have the same thought.” Faruzan sighed. “I hope you understand why I had to at least try, though.”
The two of them started to turn back. “What will you do if you do find it?”
“Remember to mark it on the map this time,” she replied, “Then study it inside out.”
—~—
“Careful, don’t stain your dress.”
“I won’t,” Faruzan replied as she popped a henna berry into her mouth. The ripples lapped gently at their ankles as they peeled the derelict petals off the berries to get at the fruits underneath. In the sky, the first stars that were coming into view above the rocky plateau of the Land of Lower Setekh. The floral ring-dancer had taught her their constellations: she could just make out the Twined Lilies.
“Did you think of anywhere else you want to go?”
A samachurl continued its chant and dance on the other side of the pond. Faruzan never pressed the floral ring-dancer on how her people were able to keep the hilichurls from attacking them. “I don’t know. Just the oasis north of here.”
“You really did come back to the desert just for the sake of it, hm?”
“Have I ever lied to you?” Faruzan picked up another henna berry and began pulling the petals off.
“Why do you like the desert so much?”
“Where else can I eat henna berries and bake ajilenakh cakes in the sand with you?”
The Eremites held that the eyes betray most of all, but Faruzan could tell even without needing to see the floral ring-dancer’s eyes. “I can never understand you,” she finally said, chewing on a henna berry Faruzan placed into her hand. “But the tribe is grateful for your help.”
“And I enjoy having somewhere to come back to.”
The floral ring-dancer did not understand. “If you really like being in the desert so much, why don’t you stay longer?”
“I can’t stay too long in the desert. I won’t be able to leave.”
“I don’t think you’re going to be trapped for another hundred years.”
“Let me correct myself. I wouldn’t want to leave.”
The floral ring-dancer chuckled. “If you stay long enough with us, you’ll want to risk your life crossing the Wall of Samiel too.”
Faruzan sighed and looked at the distant peaks of the ancient barrier. “I know that living in the desert…can be painful.”
“Painful?” The floral ring-dancer turned her head toward Faruzan. “I mean, kind of, but that’s not…the first thing I think of.” She slowly laid down on the grass, her toes poking up out of the water. “It’s more that there’s only so many things you can be here.”
“Yep,” Faruzan said to herself quietly as she finished the last henna berries. The twin braids of the floral ring-dancer’s yellow-green hair spread out on either side of her. A gentle south wind was blowing, the warm air it brought presaging the cold desert night.
“Ahaha, don’t feel bad for us. I wouldn’t want to be born anywhere else, and I think many other desert-dwellers would say the same. We’re alive, aren’t we?”
Faruzan couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, you are.”
“You know,” the floral ring-dancer said softly, “Most of us see you as part of the tribe now.”
“I know.”
She shook her head. “No, really. You’ve spent so much time with us these past years; you’re like a young woman that got sent to the rainforest and came back home every year.” She chuckled. “Well, not quite, but it would feel strange if you never came back.”
“I just do my best to be polite, that’s all.”
“Of course, you’re better than most Akademiya people we meet, but that’s like trying to smell better than a hilichurl.”
Faruzan giggled and wrinkled her nose. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
The floral ring-dancer giggled with her. “I like it when you play with my hairpiece, you know.”
Faruzan blushed and dropped the pointed ornament at the end of the braid. “Oh, you can feel it?”
“Yeah, I can,” she laughed. “I never told you to stop, though.” She propped herself up on her elbows and smiled at Faruzan. “Come on, the food should be ready. I’m still hungry!”
“Okay, okay,” Faruzan said as they got to their feet. They waded back to the edge of the pond, the Tomb of Carouses looming in front of them. Under an athel tree, the ashes of an extinguished campfire stirred in the wind next to their packs. The floral ring-dancer squatted down and began to sweep the ash off the cakes as Faruzan found her box of mint powder. She tapped some into a small cup, to which she added some water from her flask. Mixing it with her finger until a thick green sauce formed, she returned to the floral ring-dancer in time to see her pat the last ashes off of the flat ajilenakh cakes. “I hope it’ll be good.”
“I know it’s going to be good,” the floral ring-dancer said, crossed her legs, and tossed a cake to Faruzan, stacking the other three on her lap.
Faruzan caught it, juggling it in the air until it cooled enough for her to touch, before sitting next to her. “There’s no way it’ll be as good as a properly baked ajilenakh cake.” She offered the cup to her.
“It doesn’t need to be perfect to be good,” she replied, taking the cup, folding her cake in half, and dipping one end in the sauce before taking a bite. “Mm!”
Faruzan took a bite herself. There was no way to recreate the darkened crust of the original, and the lack of sugar made itself felt in both the cake and the sauce, but the rich flavor of the ajilenakh nuts tempered with the cool taste of mint still filled her mouth.
“It’s still tasty!”
“Of course, it would have been better with an oven and a kitchen, but that’s not a reason to give up on making them altogether.”
“Of course not,” the floral ring-dancer shrugged and chewed on her food. “It’s better than no ajilenakh cakes, that’s for sure.” She turned toward Faruzan, her cake half-eaten in her hands. “What’re you brooding over this time?”
Faruzan dipped her cake again and laughed. “Can I ask something of you?”
“Sure.”
“Can you take off your brocade?”
“Oh.” The floral ring-dancer went still.
“You don’t have to,” she quickly added. “I would just like to—”
“Well, do you know why we wear them?”
“I do, I just thought that you have enough practice that you don’t need to go around blind all the time, and no one’s here with us, and I…hope I haven’t given cause for you to have things you’re worried about betraying to me.”
She shook her head. “I’m not worried about any of that.”
“There’s another reason you wear them?”
“Yes. The lorechanters say that in the past, the people of the desert covered their eyes as they dared not to look upon the brilliance of King Deshret, more radiant than even the sun. Those of us who wear blindfolds wear them to continue this tradition.”
“Oh. Sorry for asking—”
The floral ring-dancer smiled. “It’s just a ritual we have when going into battle. I…now that King Deshret is gone…he has no use for offerings. The gods’ powers draw on the worship of their people, after all. King Deshret…he needs our faith in him most of all, if he is still alive somehow. Mine has never wavered.” She reached up and undid the textile around her eyes.
Faruzan felt her breath leave her body. The floral ring-dancer’s eyes were a deep green, deeper and richer than the color of her hair or even the Dendro ornaments she wore. Their color reminded Faruzan of auspicious branches, the nests of Dendrograna that she saw across Sumeru.
“Faruzan…why didn’t you tell me the sandstorm went out?”
—~—
A hundred years ago, on one of many innumerable nights spent in conversation, Farah told Faruzan something she had learned in the course of her research.
The people of the desert gave themselves many names. These names laid claim to a venerable past, signaled allegiance in the present, and promised security into the future. But the people from the Akademiya had no interest in learning those names and called them all the same, Eremites, for they paid them no heed save as marauding bandits menacing their expeditions or hired swords to fend them off. Thus, it became expedient for the people of the desert to take up this name, for the moneyed people did not care whether one’s bloodline descended from Ay-Khanoum or Beit Raha. Later, they learned to call themselves desert-dwellers, a name that fulfilled their needs on the docks of Port Ormos or in the storehouses of Sumeru City, a name that invoked a gilded anchorage to people cast adrift spending the day’s pay away in a tavern.
Taking one last look at the tower that once overlooked the verdant canals of Panjvahe, Tafukt of the Astart tribe began to pick her way out of the ravine. Behind her, Faruzan carried a basket of fish in her hands.
Though the springs that nurtured the five oases had dried, and the fields, towns, and palaces that sprung along their banks had fallen into the fissures that swallowed Gurabad or crumbled into the perpetual desert wind, the wadis still flooded when it rained once in twenty years, delivering water to the solitary spring that emerged after the cataclysm, providing the tribes that passed by with supplies of fish and berries. A subterranean river, barely a creek, carried the water to a destination no one knew and kept the pool from becoming so saline as to kill any life within. As it stood, though, it was too salty to drink, and the bounty of fruit and fish it provided too meager to justify a tribe staying for long. Thus, no more blood has been shed over the Debris of Panjvahe than in any other corner of the desert.
Still, here Faruzan had met more tribes of the desert than anywhere else. She had exchanged words here with fisherfolk and gatherers from the now-eradicated Tanit tribe, the numerous Melqart and Eshmun tribes, and even the mysterious Baal Hammon tribe. And it was here that she met Tafukt.
As they trekked out of the ravine, the tents of the Astart tribe came into view, sumpter beasts resting happily as the tribesfolk tended to them. Faruzan could hear the sound of ouds and bendirs as they got closer, and the smell of spices wafted over, making her mouth water. A smile spread across her face. In her opinion, the true treasures in the desert were these tents and their unassuming silhouettes that sprung up in the most impossible corners and stubbornly weathered the most ferocious sandstorms.
—~—
“It sounds like you just like city life,” Tafukt joked as Faruzan pored over the materials she was designing. Compared to her time with Acara Crafts, here she really got to stretch her legs. Her reputation as a mechanical mind reflected onto her disguised the fact that, as a Haravatat scholar, her expertise also laid with language and signs.
“Oh please, come with me to Sumeru City if you want to see how much I enjoy city life,” she grumbled. Tafukt chuckled and continued practicing her dancing, making slow, deliberate movements and muttering under her breath. “You know if that was the case, I wouldn’t spend so much time with you.”
“You mean me, or us?”
“The Astart.” She gave the papers in front of her a final inspection. “Both, actually. If I didn’t spend so much time with them, they wouldn’t’ve let you come; then, where could we have met?”
“You’re right,” she smiled and stopped to tie her blindfold over her eyes as Faruzan rose and fetched her bag, slipping the sheets of paper in. She left first as Faruzan grabbed a few more items. Tafukt was stretching in the fading sunlight as Faruzan closed the door behind her. “You won’t mind leading me, right?”
“Of course not,” Faruzan said as she took Tafukt’s hand in hers, guiding her up the street. All around them, Aaru Village was a joyous cacophony of sounds and smells, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Merchants shouted and sumpter beasts lowed as giggling children ran past a sizzling grill with the tantalizing smell of meat rising into the sky. Beside a squat house, a group of women led their children in a game involving wishbones.
“I can’t get used to the noise here,” Tafukt said. “The only time it gets this loud is during a fight.”
“There’s no fight here.” Faruzan squeezed Tafukt’s hand. “Is it affecting your ‘sight?’”
“Yeah, it is. It’s better than when I just got here, but…I’ll adjust, I think.”
“I’ll keep you from hitting things, don’t worry. It gets quieter at night; we can go for a walk so you can learn the streets.”
“I would like that. I want to try whatever’s cooking.”
Faruzan chuckled. “I don’t think they’ll be open after dark. We can go tomorrow, when we have time. Ah, wait, let me say hi to someone I know. Sabbah!”
The exiled researcher turned at the sound of Faruzan’s voice. “Ah, Madam Faruzan! You brought a friend with you?”
“Yes, her name is Tafukt, and she’s from the Astart tribe.”
“Hello,” Tafukt made a small wave toward Sabbah. “Are you from the Akademiya too?”
“Oh, well, I was, but they kicked me out.”
Faruzan sighed. “Really, those old fools at the Akademiya. From Haravatat to Amurta, they’re all the same!”
“Ah, you study living things?”
“Yes, specifically, I studied plants back at the Akademiya. Oh, I don’t know if you can…sense it, but I’m growing a new batch of Sumeru roses from some special seeds a friend brought me.”
“I can smell them. It’s very nice. How do you get them to grow here?”
“That’s the part about the seeds; my friend got a way for them to grow in sandy soil by themselves.”
Tafukt squatted down and reached out to gingerly touch the blooming roses. “Is your friend from the Akademiya too?”
“No, they’re…an adventurer, that’s what they told me.”
“A blond adventurer with a white-haired, floating companion?” Faruzan interjected.
“Yes, that’s them, the Traveler! You’ve met them too?”
“Mmhmm! They’re a bright mind, and don’t have the preconceived prejudices of many people at the Akademiya.” Sabbah nodded in agreement. “Too bad I can’t poach them for my classes.”
Sabbah and Tafukt laughed. “Madam Faruzan, I think you’re being optimistic about their choice of Darshan. They’ve always struck me as an Amurta person…”
“Nonsense! I’m sure I’m perfectly capable of convincing them to come to Haravatat.”
“I’d rather study plants,” Tafukt interrupted. “It sounds more useful.”
“Tut!” Faruzan stomped her food in mock anger.
“Well, so what brings you to Aaru Village?” Sabbah asked with a grin. “Are you showing your friend around?”
“That’s part of it.”
“Faruzan’s on her way back to Sumeru City. We were invited to stay for a few days.”
“Ohh, how did I miss you on your way in?”
“I took a different route,” Faruzan explained. “You know how it is, I always end up staying longer at Aaru Village than I intended. I didn’t want to keep her waiting.”
“I see, then, are you on the way to meet your host? I shouldn’t keep you.”
Faruzan nodded. “We’ll come see you again before we leave.”
Tafukt rose, and Faruzan took her hand. “Since you study plants, do you want a mourning flower?”
“A mourning flower? I heard that they’re really hard to get.”
Tafukt shook her head. “We don’t go to the Girdle of the Sands because there’s less food there. Where there’s food, there’re too many spinocrocodiles, so it’s dangerous to graze our sumpter beasts. But I can take a short trip myself. I’ve brought Faruzan there before too.”
“It won’t be a great inconvenience for her. Besides, she likes to wander around where her tribe’s camped.” Tafukt nodded at Faruzan’s words.
“Then, I would be very grateful if you could bring a live mourning flower,” Sabbah said. “I’ve never seen one since being exiled here.”
“I’ll bring you one next time.” Tafukt smiled. “Maybe one day, you can help us grow more plants in the desert.”
“I would love to do more research in the desert,” Sabbah sighed. “Maybe one day.”
Faruzan nodded. “Goodbye, Sabbah.”
“See you soon, Madam Faruzan!” Sabbah called as Tafukt waved at her.
“Is she a Village Keeper?” Tafukt asked.
“Not really,” Faruzan answered. “Village Keepers are exiled from the Akademiya because their studies led them to insanity. Sabbah was exiled here because she broke one of the rules of the Akademiya. She seems reluctant to talk about it, so I didn’t ask too deeply.”
“Hm.” Tafukt frowned.
“You think it’s not fair for the villagers?”
“Yes, it’s the Akademiya’s problem, right? What kind of person would choose to send their own dangerous people to the desert?”
Faruzan sighed. “The Akademiya’s rules are complicated. Much more complicated than they need to be. So many of them didn’t make sense a hundred years ago, and they still make no sense now.”
To her surprise, Tafukt burst out laughing. “Now I know why they’ve mostly left us alone.”
“It really feels like the Akademiya just wants to forget about the desert unless it’s for research.”
“We desert-dwellers would prefer that to them bringing their dumb rules with them.”
“Hopefully, the Akademiya will get a grip on itself.” By the White Lift, a quartet of musicians was playing to a small crowd. Some in the crowd were dancing to the tune.
Tafukt started to hum to the melody. “Hmm, they play it differently.”
“Your musicians also play this tune?”
“Yes, but not like this.” She hummed along some more. “The dance I learned for this tune won’t work with the way they play it. It needs something more energetic.”
“Do you want to try sometime?”
“Yeah, before we go. Maybe we can go tomorrow, if we have time.”
“That sounds fine with me.” Faruzan gasped quietly. “Desai!”
“Faruzan?” The mercenary spun around. “I didn’t think you’d be here!”
“Vanita, hello,” Faruzan waved at Desai’s companion. “What brings you two to Aaru Village?”
“We’re just coming home,” Desai smiled. “People say that things are on the up in Aaru Village, so we wanted to take a look when on leave. Is this the new friend you mentioned?”
“Tafukt, yes. She’s from the Astart tribe.”
“It’s good to meet you, Desai and Vanita. Are you Faruzan’s Eremite friends from Port Ormos?”
“Yep. I didn’t expect to meet you so soon,” Desai said.
Faruzan cleared her throat. “We’d love to stay and catch up, but we have a dinner we need to get to. How about we meet tomorrow, say in the morning?”
“Sure,” Desai said after Vanita nodded. “We can meet here if it works for you.”
“That works for us. See you!” Faruzan tugged on Tafukt’s hand and pulled her further up the stairs.
Tafukt managed a parting wave before they disappeared into the flow of people. “So that’s him, hm? He sounded—”
“Later,” Faruzan cut her off, blushing. “Don’t tease me now, I need to keep my mind on the important things!”
Tafukt laughed. “Yes, yes, ‘Madam’ Faruzan.”
Faruzan grumbled playfully under her breath as they arrived at an unassuming house. She knocked briskly on the door, and a few moments later, it opened.
“Ah, Madam Faruzan, you arrived!”
“Greetings, Setaria. I must apologize for being late,” Faruzan said as she kicked off her shoes. Behind her, Tafukt stooped down to undo her sandals.
“No no, you’re just in time.” Setaria smiled at Tafukt. “What might your name be?”
“Tafukt. Are you from Aaru Village?”
Setaria nodded. “Are you from a tribe?”
“The Astart. We spend most of our time in the Desert of Hadramaveth.”
“I see. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. By the way, would you happen to know how the Tanit are doing? I sent someone there to provide educational assistance but I haven’t heard back from him in a while.”
Faruzan glanced at Tafukt. The dancer grimaced. “It’s hard to explain quickly. I can tell you after dinner. Let’s not hold everyone up.”
“Sure.” Setaria guided them into the house to a table packed with various plates brimming with food. The guests at the table looked up at the new arrivals.
“Madam Faruzan?”
“Kaveh? Oh my, I didn’t know this project had such a talent on board!”
Kaveh smiled as she patted him on the back. “Please, all the recognition should go to Badawi here, the complex was his brainchild, and Lord Sangemah Bay here generously agreed to sponsor the construction.”
“Please, just Dori,” the merchant smiled, though Faruzan had heard not to take anything she said at face value. “I’m merely the financier, but, truly, it’s thanks to Badawi’s dedication and Kaveh’s genius that I was presented with an idea worth putting money into.”
“All right,” Setaria interrupted, taking her seat, “We can save the platitudes for later. First, I’d like to thank you all for attending this dinner. I hope you will all enjoy the food I prepared, though I’m afraid it certainly won’t be what Dori would be used to eating. If you have any pointers, I would love to hear them. Shall we start with the introductions, for the benefit of our new guests? I’m Setaria, a former researcher at the Akademiya. Now I’m in charge of the Akademiya’s educational assistance program. I mostly handle logistics, communicating with the Akademiya with the help of the General Mahamatra, Cyno, who could not make it to this meeting, and activities in Aaru Village. Rahman here is responsible for outreach to the Eremites and other migratory groups in the desert…”
~
“Well, I’ve worked with Alhaitham before in my student days, so I’ve learned some basics in semiotics. This isn’t hard for me to understand, but I don’t think you should take my word for it.”
“No, I agree with Mr. Kaveh here. These materials should be perfectly suited to what we need.” Badawi hummed approvingly at the papers. “Say, Mr. Kaveh, would it be too much to ask you to design some basic materials too? In whichever fields you have expertise in—of course, architecture, but I’m aware that’s not the only field under Kshahrewar?”
“Indeed. The official scope of Kshahrewar is anything involving mechanisms and technology, although the boundary is quite porous.” Faruzan smiled back at Kaveh’s look. “Actually, Kaveh, what do you say to a collaboration between the two of us on designing early-learning to Akademiya-entry-level materials for mechanical principles?”
“I have no objections, though I take it you’ll want to include worked examples involving using labels and other inscriptions on sample mechanisms to guide the student towards a self-developed understanding of how the mechanism works?”
Faruzan laughed. “My, you know well that I maintain the relevance of my academic focus.”
“I welcome opening such an opportunity for you.” Kaveh sighed. “I don’t get the Akademiya sometimes. How many real-life problems and projects can be solved by a scholar from one Darshan? They even recommend cross-Darshan projects yet make us write our theses alone.”
“Perhaps here we can start doing something different,” Setaria interjected, returning to the table with Tafukt and Rahman. Rahman was deep in thought as he sat down. Tafukt must have had broken the news, though Setaria kept a cordial face. “And since this is to be an educational and cultural complex aimed at becoming a center for the community and able to draw commercial activity to the area, it follows that we should include instruction for the arts as well.”
“Ah, this was the dance education idea you mentioned!” Tafukt nodded enthusiastically. “I would love to teach children to dance here, although…I’ll have to speak with the tribe. The lorechanters would not be happy with me teaching all the dances I know. But the bigger problem is just what times I can come. I can’t come live in Aaru Village just for a class.”
“Yes, I’ve thought of that,” Setaria said. “We’ll have to work out the specifics together, and I don’t plan on only getting you as a dance instructor, but I was thinking that because this center is meant to reach out to everyone that lives in the desert, I envisioned that the Astart tribe would also come by every once in a while, and you could teach during those times.”
Kaveh leaned toward Faruzan as Tafukt, Setaria, and Rahman discussed the details and spoke in a hushed voice. “Say, do you remember Nilou?” Faruzan nodded. “It would be great if she could find some time to come teach a few lessons too, or even just showcase her dance to the people here. It might go some way to closing the rift the Akademiya opened, if we can bring the dances of the people of Sumeru together.”
“That’s a good idea. I reckon she might be enthusiastic herself about learning something here. Should I go approach her? We’ve only met twice, including the Championship.”
“I’ll find a time to talk to Rahman and Setaria about this; they might know someone who knows her. I’ll fill you in about it afterwards.”
“Madam Faruzan, is there…?” Setaria asked.
“Kaveh and I were just brainstorming ideas. He’ll fill you in on it later.”
“That sounds good. Anyway, Tafukt mentioned that you’re friends with an exiled Amurta researcher here called Sabbah?”
“Yep! Oh, you want her to teach some biology classes? I can definitely ask her if she’s interested.”
“It would be nice for her, I think,” Tafukt added. “She sounds like she doesn’t have anyone to talk to about her interest in plants.”
“Indeed, yes, that’s good.” Setaria finished scribbling notes on a small sheet of paper. “All right, does anyone have any more ideas for now? Questions?”
They looked around at each other. “Hm, nope,” Faruzan said.
“Great, then thanks so much for coming and sharing your ideas. I really hope this project will fulfill our expectations. Goodness, it must be so late, please, feel free to leave.”
Kaveh stood and walked over to Setaria and Rahman as Dori approached Badawi. They waved at Faruzan and Tafukt as they rose and packed their things and said their goodbyes.
Outside, Aaru Village was quiet, the singing of the insects mixed with the occasional hum of the White Lift and the sound of their footsteps. In the distance, a hammer banged and scattered, swaying lanterns illuminated a half-built house.
“Are people still working so late?” Tafukt asked. “The air is chilly; the moon must be high in the sky now.”
“I guess,” Faruzan answered. “Sometimes, people are just busy, and things have to…keep happening, even into the night.”
“Hm.”
“You prefer the serenity of camping deep in the desert?”
“That’s how I grew up, so of course I like it. But this isn’t bad either. I’m excited to teach, actually.” She chuckled. “Is it a bit silly of me? It’s so far away, even if things go right, but…”
“No, I understand. If I was younger, I would stay up all night designing new materials. But I’m old now—” Faruzan lightly swatted a laughing Tafukt “—and I can only go to bed and dream of everything I want to make.”
When she was done laughing, Tafukt fell into a thoughtful silence next to Faruzan as she led her back to their lodgings. Faruzan had fallen deep into her thoughts when Tafukt said softly, “You know, now I understand why you might not want to leave the desert if you stay too long.”
Faruzan nodded. “I’m definitely going to be staying here for a week longer than I planned, at the least.”