The child is named Atil. He is of the correct thinking (pedantic), temperate (heartless), and wise (quibbling) Sudynn tribe. His father was the great master, the veli Beksharbey. His mother was Mete Han. Of the two, Mete Han was the more ferocious. In everything! In the arrangement of the yurts, the management of horse pastures, and personal hygiene. While the honored veli Beksharbey was staring into the sun, waiting for the immanence and the moment of unity, the honored Mete Han was instructing the household bondsmen and shiftless relations as to the correct and proper ranges for the herds. When she reproached her husband, the veli Beksharbey would say, you are of the tribe of khans, while I am a humble mystic. To this, the Mete Han would say, that is no excuse. You will handle the herding and the cleaning or you will sleep under a cart today.
Most curiously, when Atil first sang to the birds, it was Mete Han who treated this as divine providence. Beksharbey, instead, shot the birds down and had a nice meal of roasted songbird. Many things happen, the father would say, to treat everything as divine is to treat nothing as divine. Would you like a leg?
This family lived under the shadow of the Lakh Mountains. Rights to put horses and goats to pasture were given unto them by the Shad of Lakh, Tonu Tabgu Khan, a brother of Xige Angha Khan. Incidentally, the Mete Han is Tonu Tabgu Khan's daughter. They were a somewhat impoverished family, who really made their living off of a stipend of a certain number of heads of sheep, a horse per year, and the customary three ounces of silver from Tonu Tabgu Khan, for access to the divine wisdom of Beksharbey. The fact that Beksharbey would saddle horse and flee whenever the Tonu Tabgu Khan sent for him was merely treated as proof of his wisdom, especially the fact that even the best trackers had a singular devil of a time finding him. In the end, the trackers always simply enlisted Mete Han, and when he was born, Atil, to hurl abuse at the absent father and husband. In this manner, the veli would always return with a put upon look.
These are Atil's fond memories.
As he matured, he naturally turned to the two string fiddle, the jaw harp, and yanga-zither. He was, like all great musicians, singing constantly, exercising his talents. While he was herding sheep, he whistled tunes. When he was pulling a bow, he was humming. Finally when he was racing horses he would spontaneously compose songs for the applause of his friends. Most of them were very bad, but he didn't care, until he made a study with more learned bards and was suddenly mortified at the amateurish meter, the cringe-inducing subject matter, and the clashing and unfitting musical backing.
The only one Atil still thought was decent at age fourteen was this one. It was composed quite naturally one fine spring day, when the wild bison herds made their way north. The grasslands were all afire with the blossoming of flowers. Atil, and a few others were sent to shadow the bisons, until such time the entire tribe could gather for a real hunt.
The most beautiful flower in the steppe
Is the fiery red coral lily
The lost, wandering travelers of the world
Will always turn to look at the coral lily
Even o'er a thousand miles
They will always turn their heads to reminisce.
Atil claimed that it was simply made to express the beauty of heaven and earth. His friends were certain it was made to woo a certain person, called Ladugul. He swore it was not, and furthermore if they continued mocking him, Atil would list their failings in a catchy verse. Beksharbey, being a mystic, always thought it would portend to a great exile on Atil's part. Why else, he insisted to Mete Han, would it refer to a lost, wandering traveler, turning back to remember the flowers of the steppe?
You can therefore imagine the smugness of the accurate oracle when Tonu Tabgu Khan informed this family that the great Xige Angha Khan had need of the remarkable Atil.
"My uncle is a bastard," the Mete Han instructed her child. "He is sending you because he doesn't want to send one of his own sons. Heaven only knows why. I've met my cousins, you know, and some of them are right pieces of work who shouldn't command a slave, let alone a whole camp."
"Ill speaking is a demon. It is the mother of all poisons. It curdles all good relations and makes them sour, and when you need a friend, you will only find an enemy," Atil instructed his mother.
"Don't bring that Sudynn crap with me, child. I know you've been sneaking airyan behind my back. It'll make you fat, and nobody likes a fat singer." Formidable Mete Han frowned, hands forever moving. Tapping the wood on her armrest, picking up cloth and needle and then putting it down. "Or make a habit out of it. You'll strike those farming fools blind with your simple wisdom. Think about your uncle Tonyuk. They've made him a general! That comes with a stipend of a hundred ounces of gold, and the revenues from three silk farms! Well, he had to flee when he fell out of favor with the court.
"I shan't see you for a long time," she declared, perfectly composed. "I will miss you, but you must make something of yourself. There are always opportunities in the world, especially court. I've never been to court, but I've been to councils. It's all about who you know. Pick someone who seems important and stick to them like glue. Don't be afraid to throw them away when they get into seriously big trouble. Or stick with them and make a name of yourself for honesty. The point is to use your own judgment and come back rich. If you don't have a stitch of silk on you when you come back I'll kick you back to the Moth and Flower."
By now, Atil was accustomed to his mother's brand of maternal love. He supposed that he would never get anything more out of her, but not that he needed to. She was as a strong cypress. What good would crying do now? All that was left was to support the child, instill upon him an iron core of conviction and words of sensible advice on his road forward.
Beksharbey accompanied the child. So did Tonu Tabgu Khan. Xige Angha Khan did not. "You must forgive my brother," Tonu Tabghu said, as they were riding fine horses. He did Atil the honor of allowing him to use one of the khan's precious blood horses. "He's a busy man, you see. One simply cannot attend to everything, no matter how one wishes." At this point, the Lakh mountains had long faded into the distance. They were traveling fast and light. "It is not…" the khan hesitated. Good, Atil finished for him. Atil was now determined to hold Xige Angha Khan in spite. Such a coward, he thought contemptuously, who passes on to others the price he ought to pay. But instead of raising a voice against his brother, the Khan merely asked for Atil to sing the coral lily song one last time.
"We've arranged for the honorable Angarist, Jigei Tolma to accompany you," the Khan said when Atil finished. "He's not Sudynn, but close enough. He will see to your equestrianism, archery, and lance-work. And he's not a bad singer himself, although I find him a little conventional." They rounded a hill and Tonu Tabgu Khan looked at Atil. "There." He pointed at a lake. By the lake was a herd of horses and a group of men. "That's your escort. If you have troubles, flee. Or send a letter to me. I live very far, but I shall see what I can do for a veli's son."
So saying this, the khan spurred on his horse and left father and son standing on a ridge. Together, they descended, more slowly, prolonging the time they had together. They needed nothing else, father and son. Above them was blue heaven, under them was the great earth. All was right in the world. In the distance, a herd of dragon-elephants, swaying serpentine necks attached to their moving mountain bodies, shook the world. "You'll not see their like," Beksharbey said.
"They don't have them in the Moth and Flower?"
"No. They have these big snakes that live in rivers. Sometimes they can even swallow boats. But not dragon elephants. So you ought to remember them while you can."
Hearing this, Atil started to form the words for a song. His mind grasped at nothing but a sense of terrible, foreboding grief. No more dragon elephants. No more great sky. No more family. Tears started to prickle at his eyes. "I'll never come back, can I?" He rubbed tears out of his eyes. "I'm there like a tied animal, for the slaughter. I'll be stuck in a stone house until the end of my days. Because Xige Angha needed a hostage. I'll be killed when it breaks down, and it always breaks down."
"Don't be ridiculous," his father, ever practical, opined. "Firstly, the seed of the inner god is within, and not without. Ergo it doesn't matter if you live on the great grasslands or a shoddy wooden box. Secondly, if you ever feel like you cannot bear it, steal a fast horse and return. The Moth and Flower people are crap riders and can't even catch a child. If you do feel the urge to leave, stop by a temple first. Their icons are usually gilded and worth a good deal of money."
"Shouldn't I be worried about divine punishment?" He was now more fascinated by his father's blase apathy to the divine.
"The inner god is greater," was the holy reply of a Sudynn veli.
When they joined the convoy, Atil now saw his first true Serpi warrior, not a simple hunter who may own a suit of armor passed down from their fathers. This sight banished his melancholy. Each owned a horse taller than a man, and man and horse alike were girt in a glittering panopoly of good, true steel. Mirror bright plates and fish-scale armor were lashed over mail so tightly woven it seemed like cloth. They hold two spears, one long and singular as a thunderbolt and one short, with a curving blade. On their horses are strapped their strong bows, their fine sabers, and brutish picks. Their faces were covered in a face plate hammered out with their lord and master's mein. Xige Angha Khan himself peers at you from twelve faces. For a moment, Atil was so taken back by the sight that he almost forgot his prior determination to hold Xige Angha Khan in contempt.
How do the soldiers treat Atil?
[]- With contempt. A musician, a priest, a hostage. Three things that never last long. Therefore, it does one no good to talk to the child, and therefore it is much more entertaining to bait Atil until he explodes with rage. Yet the slings and insults have made Atil all the stronger, pulling on their bows until he can draw a hundred pounder to his chest, learning wrestling by way of taking falls against the soldiers, and providing him lessons in the benefit of having a thick skin and touchy temper.
[]- With interest. The life of a soldier is long and boring. Song passes the hours. They are forever chasing Atil and making demands of his time. Sing this. Sing that. Very good! Now, can you play the fiddle? As a result of this company, Atil is slowly becoming more gregarious, quick with a jest and eager to make people laugh. It has also made him a good gambler, and from the stories the soldiers tell he's become more wise to the world, at least in theory.
[]- With reverence. A Sudynn, in their company? Pump him for wisdom while you can! Atil is treated as a near divinity, and thus hones his memory of his father's sayings to a razer edge. It's all he has, and from it he constructs the larger body of work, training his powers of logical deduction and sheer bullshit spinning. Furthermore, he is becoming a master of the nonspecific but still wise sounding statement.
When introductions were finished, Jigei Tolma banished Beksharbey and Tonu Tabghu Khan away. "The child is gone. He needs to get started on accepting that early," he said.
Jigei Tolma was weathered and lined with age. His skin was a coppery red from the sun. His long coat is threadbare but still a sharp red. He spoke with the cadence of a galloping horse. "I've heard that you're a good singer. Be it so. Let me hear your highest pitch." Atil does so. "Now the lowest." Atil engaged the bottoms of his lungs. "Excellent. I've never had anyone with such a range. The things you could do!"
Atil and Jigei Tolma had their own tent. The left was for Atil, the right for Jigei Tolma. It was old, musty, and threadbare, so Atil supposed that it must have been Jigei Tolma's. Outside, the soldiers had three tents, pitched so that it formed a circle with all the horses in the center. The dragon horse was staked off to the side, with a long suffering groom tending to it. The groom had to wear mail gauntlets, as the dragon horse was forever snapping at fingers.
"I heard you have some skill in composing songs. It's of no use. We already have the Angargge. It's all we need… That coral lily song is decent, I admit. But it's insufferably modern." He spat the last word out, like it was a hot coal in his mouth.
"By what," Atil asked, "do you mean by modern?"
"I mean it is full of useless sentiment. Love, longing. Everyone is constantly singing about this, for what use? It saps the spirit. It makes the mind wander. That's why the Angargge is so important. It has the power to make the heart beat!" Jigei Tolma slammed a fist against his own chest. There must be something to the power of the Anggarge, because even though Jigei Tolma is old and sticklike, he didn't flinch. "We go to a poisonous country. When a Serpi stops living in a tent and in a stone house, their flesh rots. They become weak. Even the strongest will fall. That's why you must learn the Anggarge. I've never had a son, but I've apprentices plenty. That's what I'll treat you as. An apprentice. My xhoomei, my Anggarge, I'll pass it onto you. One last time.
What does Atil think of Jigei Tolma?
[]- Measured Respect: There's one thing you can say for Jigei Tolma and he isn't a hypocrite. If the Anggarge says that all Serpi must be martial until they die, then there's old Jigei Tolma, still gamely pulling a bow and practicing with a lance. If it says that simple wool is good enough for a Serpi, then wool it is, and he's never heard of silk. You have to respect that sort of dedication.
[]- Reasonable Annoyance: What an old biddy. He's a great singer, and his memory is formidable, but Atil cannot think of him as anything more than a tiresome old man. He doesn't need a song to remind himself that he's a Serpi, thank you very much! There might be something to remembering one's roots, but it's been repeated so long that Atil wants nothing more to do with Jigei Tolma when he gets going.
