Dustande - The Calling

< Little Goose

    My heart was filled with trepidation, my mind awash with uncertainty. From the day of my rebirth I had not looked back at the past, never once letting my mind retrace its winding path from one event to that which had led it there.  All that was, and all that had ever been, were fragments of someone else’s existence, some other soul which had died long ago.
    Now, as I walked the long linear corridor banded by shadow and light, my footsteps softened and bare against the warm sandstone —moving steadily towards the doorway to my true Being— my mind retraced its path to the events that had brought me here.
    Our days had been filled with trials from the moment of our rebirth, our old names stripped from us and discarded with the husk of our former existence.  We, the chosen few who had emerged from the Pool of Resurrection, stood shivering and new before the Circle, those Blessed Brothers who alone held our beloved Queen’s ear.  It was unto Them that She had given the power of renewal, to take the old, callous, and raw forms we had inhabited, to strip them bare and make them new.  We who had been Reborn afresh, were nameless, existing within a place somewhere between life and death.
  “Only those who are worthy still shall earn their true Being and be Called.” 

That is what They told us as we stood there before Them, blinking in the new light we had emerged into.  All that we had ever been was no more, the long path to potential stretching before us, the road paved with difficulty.
    From the Circle Chamber we were led, not one of us glancing back, for is it not said by the great sage Tarezzi: “All that lies behind are footprints made by the dead, and all that lies ahead are footsteps waiting to be taken”.  The doors to our old life were closed, all that we had known, all the people and places and memories, must be discarded and left behind.
    We were now a part of the great Iysärav—the living breathing embodiment of our holy city Särav— born of its womb, we were small specks of living matter which ran through its veins and existed to serve our Nuryana, Our Light, Our God Queen.  To the Left Arm we were led in procession, following the crimson robes of our Blessed fathers, acolytes and priests beating our bare bodies with sprigs of Caraidium and withies of grey Sibeya, chanting in ululating drones and shrieks amongst the wash of thrown ash and scented oil:
  “New blood to fill these veins and strengthen these limbs!  New arms to embrace with warmth and strike down the Unclean! New life to serve the Blessed!”
    And we had endured, riding the euphoric wave that came on reams of sweet smelling smoke and swelled within our chests to burst forth as pride, but silent we remained, our lips sealed tight against the clang and chime of finger cymbals and swish of swinging flails and switches.  At each strike and bite of herb or supple branch we were reminded that our bodies were mortal and that we existed only to serve.  Suspended in limbo we may yet be, but unlike the Divine, our souls were still base, our bodies of earth and water.
    Bleeding and bruised, our journey continued from the Pool of Resurrection, to the Spine, our path wreathed in smoke, heavy and sweet with the scent of incense and herbs, sacred fires burning to light our path.  At each we paused to pay homage, seven in all honouring the great Gods of old, those who had been taken from us by the Darakos in those violent and turbulent times before Our Light was found.  
And then our path split from the great Spine, breaking away to the Left Arm: a place that we would come to call Home.
    There we emerged at last into the open light of day, glancing up at the endless sky as though it were all new to us, our eyes slowly becoming accustom to the bright glare after our passage through darkness.  It was then that the Circle left us, and we would not see them again for many years, and to those who did not make it, it would be the last time they gazed upon the Blessed Crimson.
    Thus began my life, and of it I remember no time for leisure.  Vigilance, we were told, was our greatest weapon against the Repugnant Ones, and so we learned very soon that sleep was a weakness which must be overcome.  We were woken long before dawn each day, the older boys beating us with chorded thongs and pulling us from our course pallet beds.  Those who did not learn to rise fast enough were soon beaten raw and left to suffer their wounds or be quicker to obedience the next day for there was no time for the lazy or slow amongst us.  
    On rising we were to purify ourselves and led into the baths under the watchful gaze of our brothers to be scrubbed until the filth of sleep had been washed from us.  Only then were we fit to be led to prayer within the Klesia of our Daeum.  There, led by the Sable Brothers, we performed out morning devotions: Rikayal'sub, The Waking Call, our voices raised to the mercy of our Queen for once more allowing our bodies to rise from the darkness.  The morning prayer ended as the sun rose, our knees numb from kneeling.
    Meals were taken only after the light had filled the sky and all darkness had left, and these were taken in silence.  Any who broke the blessed quiet were disciplined severely, backs and feet whipped raw and anointed with burning Sarcaseed oil to sting for days as a reminder that silence at meals showed humility and thanks to She who provided us with bounty beneath her light.  
    The first weeks were the most difficult, our bodies wracked with fatigue and stomachs gnawed by hunger, many was the time that a boy stole food to ease one pain over the other.  Those who were caught were to run the gauntlet, for in our new life those who stole food were stealing it from the very mouths of their fellows and were not thankful for that which they had been given.  In those desperate days of pain we felt no sympathy for each other, those who could not bear the hunger in silence did not deserve a life within the Daeums.  Those thieving wretches were weak of devotion, and had allowed the wiles of the Soulless Ones to creep within their minds and tempt them, they were beaten to drive the evil from them.
The weak were soon trodden upon, falling beneath the feet of the strong.  
    Our days were spent in physical training, our bodies pushed and strained to their limits, beaten with wood and rope until we learned to be swift to avoid the lash, or to strike back with fist or foot to break the stave.  There was no mercy, for the Heartless Ones had not shown mercy to the Divine, there was no place for tears or sympathy and those who begged or pleaded were beaten all the harder.
    Our nights, when they came, were led once more in devotions to our Queen, for it is only She who we would willingly die for, no other being had such a right to our lives.  The Sable Brothers, our guiding light, taught us the many names of praise in Her Glory, leading us first in the Rikyatal'mas: the Evening Call to thank Her for guiding us another day, and then in the Taradyum: the Supplication for Forgiveness, so that we may be forgiven our shortcomings or any wrong we may have done during the day. In prayer we strengthened our bond with Her and cleansed our souls of any taint which had touched us, the Soulless Ones will always have ways to reach out to us with their vile tongues and only through prayer to Her can we be granted such protection from them.  
    In the warm yellow firelight and burning scents of herb and ash we were reminded of the Histories each night before our evening meal , the Pale Brothers— keepers of the sacred texts— reminding us of why we existed.  It was we, the Reborn, who would die for our Queen if the Foul Ones came again, and we would do so gladly.  Each night we were read a passage from the Ceradia - the Book of Blood, and told once more of the terror which had come before the Enlightened Age, when man was weak and shivering in the darkness and the Unclean Ones crawled upon their bellies blighting the land, and each night we listened in silence and thanked Nuryana for coming to us.
    For three years our days were a continuous routine of devotion and physical punishment, the weak falling and the strong becoming stronger until our muscles no longer ached and our stomached no longer screamed.  We who had survived were the strong and worthy, those of unwavering and pure devotion, we were ready to become Daudegi: the Second Ones.
    We left the Iydaeum, the dormitories we had thus spent our nights in and moved into the Daudaeum.  Here we became the ones to wake the Iydegi and beat them from their beds, we were now the discipliners who wielded the switch to beat down the weak.  Our days were still spent honing our bodies but now we learned to wrestle and spar, competition between us growing as we vied to establish a hierarchy amongst ourselves, the stronger pushing the weaker down beneath them and proving their worth before the eyes of the Ardazem: the Reborn who had already taken their vows and been named.  Our nights were filled with leaning and although the readings of the Histories remained constant, we were now also taught of math and law, poetry and science, and all the disciplines that the holy yazata had taught mankind when They had brought Enlightenment to us.  The Jade Brothers were our tutors in these cherished fields for not only was physical strength valued amongst our number, but intellect, reason, and knowledge were gifts we had been given by the Divines, and there was no greater expression of gratitude and piety than to grasp the concepts and teachings of each.
    We remained as Daudegi for a further three years until the first changes of manhood came to us and we became Tertagi.  Now we were put under the tutelage of an older brother, one of the Ardazem who had been watching our progress.  It was then that I met Ahdemi, my Fardasi, the man who would guide and shape me to the path of the Ardazem.  He would become my tutor, my brother, my father, and my friend.  It was Ahdemi who taught me to use a sword and mace, to throw a spear and defend with a shield.  We no longer sparred with wooden weapons, each mistake disciplined with wounds from steel and Ahdemi showed no mercy.  Each wound was a reminder of my weakness, each scar like the stroke of the Holy Words of Light, engraved upon my skin.
My entire waking day for three more years was spent as a shadow to my Fardasi, learning all I could from him, and to him being loyal and obedient without question.  We remained with our Fardasi throughout our transition to Cardegi and Hounsegi for a combined six years, training alone now as our tutors returned fully to their duties as Ardazem.  As souls in Limbo we still remained unnamed and unfit to join the Fist, confined to our Daeums, the Fingers of our Hand, and waiting for the day we would be Called.
I had not thought on my time as a Degi for all the years I was in the Daeums, but on that day as I walked once more along the Spine, those memories rushed to the forefront of my mind like hidden rocks revealed by the swirl of a river.  My time as a Hounsegi was over, those footprints made by a dying shadow as the door to the footsteps of an Ardazem opened.
That morning Ahdemi had led me to purification, a glint of pride in his eyes.
  “It has been a long time boy” he said, watching me all the while, the hint of a shadow-smile upon his lips.  Ahdemi never smiled a full smile, his lips always twitching into the phantom of one that to most was hardly noticeable.  The others had not envied me for having such a stone-faced Fardasi, but they did not know Ahdemi’s true smile.  It was an expression which showed only in his eyes.  Many men smile, but not all are genuine, any beast can bare its teeth, and any villain may curl his lips into what we perceive as an expression of camaraderie or pleasure, but when the smile twinkles in the eyes, you do not need to see it on the face to know it is true.
  “It has been a long time since I chose you to train” he had said, regarding me as he always did when I had done something he approved of. “Today is your Calling.”
    My heart had frozen in a momentary lapse, and then leapt in one beat within my chest.  At Rikayal'sub I thanked Nuryana for the blessing She had bestowed upon me, and vowed that I would serve Her with my flesh and blood and my very soul if She so asked for it!  In all my days before the alter of the Klesia I had prayed that She would see me worthy, that I may be graced by her Hand and chosen to be Called!
    We did not commence in training or lessons, I had learned all I needed in the Daeums.  Instead, Ahdemi led me into a side chamber which lay far beyond the courtyards I had come to know so well.  It was a chamber I had hardly seen, hidden from view and in all my years within the dames I had never once seen the door.  Within the chamber stood the Azure Sisters, blessers of fabric and weavers of the holy cloth Durisimi, which only Nuryana may wear.  There I was dressed in a light robe of coarse linen, and my hair, which had grown long since I had been Reborn, was shorn close to my scalp, the dark locks soaked in scented oils and tied with red chord in seven bundles.  With blessings from the Holy Words of Light the Sisters ushered me forward into the care of Ahdemi.  The smile in my mentor's eyes had not faded, and wordlessly he led me from the chamber and I began the journey to retrace the steps I had taken all those years ago.
    Re-entering the secluded shade of the Fist was like stepping into a world I vaguely remembered, the dark cool shadows crisp and deep purple within the embrace of stone.  The air was sweet and tangy, with an underlying coolness that crept from the rock itself in pulses, like the heartbeat of a great beast.  I felt it through the soles of my feet, a soft steady rhythmic ebb and flow, reminding me once more that I was a tiny particle of life flowing within the veins of the entity that was Iysärav.  The seven Holy Fires of the Spine were ever burning, their haloes of vibrant light splashing crimson and gold across the stone, the flames dancing in the living breath of wind which flowed along the Spine.  To these Holy Fires I fed the seven bundles of hair, my offering to honour the dead Divines, and with each lock of hair cast into the flames, I vowed within my heart that I would give everything I had to protect and serve Nuryana for as long as She willed it, my heart pouring as it had never pounded before.
    The doors to the Alexiamous Heart appeared before me, polished ivory and dark ebony from the distant lands of Tanavor Minar across the sea of Rashanar.  Towards that great portal I was propelled by destiny, drawn in like a leaf caught in the grasp of an eddy within the water.
With each step my heart pounded and my throat tightened, beyond those doors all that lay before me was untouched sand, waiting for the first footsteps of a new man.  The doors opened ahead of me, silent and steady, their motion like the parting of hanging Omsauri leaves swayed by the wind, fluid and ethereal as air.  And there the chamber lay open, the sky reflected in the polished ebony floor, as smooth and perfect as black glass, the figures standing within seeming to float lightly upon its surface in robes of blood crimson.  Ahdemi remained in the darkness of the Spine, his eyes urging me on silently and I knew this was something, like my Rebirth, that I must face alone.
    They remained as silent as the day of Rebirth, seven pillars of untouchable red, immobile and expectant.  Before those Blessed Elders I knelt on hands and knees, unworthy to look upon them directly, my throat dry and tongue feeling thick within my mouth, forcing out the words I had repeated over and over again to myself as I lay awake at night, too battered and tired to sleep, thinking instead of the day I would truly Live once more.
  “Blessed Crimson, here before you lies a creature neither living nor dead, floating within the ether of this world.  Born of Iysärav, call forth the name given by Her Grace so that it may bring Being to that which has existed to serve.”
    In silence broken only by my restrained breathing, I waited for the response, my head bent, gazing at my own dark reflection in the black mirror of ebony.  The air was warm and heavy, laden with the sweet and hot scents of herbs and myrrh I had become so used to.  My heart beat faster against my breastbone in wild anticipation, my hands and feet tingling with hot and cold nerves that writhed and bubbled just beneath my skin, that silence deeper than any I had felt before, waiting for the words that would jolt me into life.
And then a voice spoke, clear and sharp as glass, and as deep and cold as the black ebony I knelt upon.
  “Rise.”
    My body responded on its own, unable to ignore the voice which had called me forth so many years ago before the Pool of Resurrection.  That voice spoke to my soul and came from the caverns of some deep and long forgotten time and I knew that it had been AdurArshaam, Keeper of the Sacred Flames, the Blessed High Elder.  No other could command such authority or power, and though I had not seen him or the Blessed Elders since my Rebirth, I knew that it was he, the Blessed High Elder, most revered and holy of us all.
    He stood before me now, I had not heard him cross the chamber, a slender hand extended from the depths of crimson, intricate golden claws upon his long thin fingers remaining in the gesture to rise.  I dared not look into the shadows of his deep cowl, my eyes quickly shooting back to the polished floor, the reflection of red like a pool of blood at my feet.
    I will not forget the feeling of his eyes upon me, hidden deep within the darkness, I was bare before him, subject to his will and mercy, waiting to be called forth from limbo, his words the breath of life that would call me into existence.  My limbs trembled, my fists clenched so tight that my muscles knotted and felt like old rope pulled too tight, my teeth aching in my jaw from the pressure exerted on them.  I was waiting, my body tensed, each nerve balance on a knife edge, waiting to obey, waiting to be called and named and given meaning.
    The Blessed High Elder breathed in deeply, as though inhaling the scent of the very world, raising those gold clad fingers in a slight gesture of open acceptance, ushering in the words of Our Light as they came to him.  Thin reams of smoke coiled and danced against the darkness of the shade, lit by the soft light of the sky, they brought with them a new heady smell, sharp and tangy and clinging to the back of my tongue.  
    I gazed up, my eyes drawn to the heavens by some unheard pull.  All was blue and vibrant, deep as lapis lazuli  and crisp as clear ice.  The light of the sky began to brighten, my vision focusing and blurring, my skin beginning to tingle with sweat as the Blessed High Elder remained in his trance-like state, his head tilted up to the sky, the light throwing patches of white and dark upon his features, now vaguely visible.  The sky was growing brighter before my eyes as though the sun itself were drawing closer to us and coming to earth in all its glory.  My heart pounded and my breath came in sharp short gasps of thick heavy air and smoke.  A low moaning began to grow in my ears, reverberating through my bones and chest until I realised the sound came from my own throat and yet I cold not stop it.  
    My body was no longer responding, as though I had left it behind and now floated somewhere still within it but looking down upon it at the same time.  I could see myself, but I could also see through my own eyes, as though I were in two places at once, a strange feeling of displacement washing over me, my consciousness adrift upon the currents of an ocean, rocking back and forth, tugged by the waves.
    I was in light, bathed within its clean vibrancy.  I had no body, no physical heaviness to keep my limbs tethered, I floated upon the very air, rising from some deep fathomless place I had been.  I would have given anything for that feeling to remain, for that miracle to continue, but I was being Called and I could not stay, drawn back from the light by a strong irrisistable tug.
    I became aware of sudden cool upon my forehead, the light receding, seeping away as it drew further and further, leaving me!  My body was floating back to heaviness, my limbs weighted down by sudden solidarity once more, and I blinked, the tang of sharp smoky bitterness at the back of my throat leaving me feeling empty and hollow a gnawing nausea scratching at the pit of my stomach.
I gazed into the deep dark red folds of Blessed AdurArshaam’s arm, the cool sharp cold of his golden fingers laid upon my forehead.
  “By the Grace of Nuryana our Holy God, I Call thee Dustande.”
  “Dustande” I repeated in my head, the name given to the change of the sands.

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