A second time Hastu sent out the hunters, a third time he directed them, a fourth time they went into the wilderness. They went and searched, and a hunter named Tayyit found the four. The sun reflected off their scales; she saw the gold, the green, the blue, the black. She came to where they hid.
Tayyit offered them meat that had been cooked in a fire. She offered them fruit that had been picked from a tree. The siblings ate the food and marveled at it. Without words they consulted; without speech they agreed. They went with Tayyit back to where she dwelt.
In one year they had grown from the egg to full size; in one moon they learned speech. They lost their bestial ways and became people.
In these days there were no temples, no priesthoods, no sanctuaries, no shrines. The ways of the people were kept by the eldest brothers.3 They counted the days, counted the seasons, counted the years, counted when the time had come for a hatchling to become a fledge.
Tayyit went to Hastu and said, “How should we count the ages of these four? They hatched less than two years ago, but they are fully grown. Now that they have learned speech, should they join the circles? Or must they wait for many years more?”
“I have counted the days,” Hastu said, “and only a few have passed. Whatever their size, they are not ready to join the circles.”
The siblings were learning the ways of the people. Samšin was a great hunter, and Nahri patient for finding food. Imalkit crafted spears and snares. Ektabr bound up the wounds of those who were hurt.
Others came to Hastu, saying, “Surely the time has come for these four to join the circles. So long as they remain hatchlings, we cannot benefit from their skills.”
But wary Hastu said, “Not even three years have passed since their hatching. The time has not yet come.”
Brave Samšin made a plan. She said to her siblings, “Let us prove to Hastu that we are ready. Let us show him the breadth of our wings.”
But Nahri said, “We will not convince him. He will not believe we are ready until the full time has passed.”
Then Imalkit said, “We shall have to wait, or find another way to convince him.”
Together they built a hut, and Ektabr sat there with Hastu, discussing matters of the spirit. The sisters went out into the hills. They found a plant there whose leaves were not good food, a plant whose leaves were good medicine. They picked the leaves and brought them back. Hastu sat in the hut with Ektabr; Ektabr burned the leaves in the fire, so that their smoke filled the hut. The medicine made Hastu calm. The siblings asked him if the time had come for them to join the circles, and he said yes. All the people heard him say it.4
1 The siblings from the invocation! And a fitting way for them to appear. In all the myths and epic stories, the heroes are born in some unusual fashion, like they don’t have fathers or they’re delivered by a goddess. Four eggs in a clutch is normal, but I presume four hatchlings from one egg is not?—AC
That is, to the best of my knowledge, impossible. We consider it noteworthy and a good omen when two hatchlings come from one egg. That may be an echo of this story, or rather, this story may be reflecting a very old belief among my people.—K
2 Perhaps this is a religious term, indicating a type of priest? He seems to serve a function of that sort, and we know from other texts that it was traditional among the Anevrai, as now, for males to serve in religious roles.—K
Could be. The most untranslatable things are usually the ones that refer to specific things from ancient times, things we don’t have an equivalent for today. But if it were a priestly role or something like that, I’d expect the word here to be a noun, not an adjective.—AC
True.—K
3 As it is today.—K
But “no priesthoods” undercuts the idea that šiknas is the term for a specific kind of priest. It could indicate these eldest brothers, but in that case I’m surprised we don’t see the word being used again here.—AC
He might be a kind of shaman, though the word is certainly not cognate with that term in any related language I am aware of today.—K
4 Am I reading this wrong, or did they just drug Hastu with hashish?—AC
Hashish is the resin. The leaves themselves are called cannabis.—CF
I am not going to ask how you know that.—AC
FROM THE DIARY OF AUDREY CAMHERST
7 Seminis
I suppose it was the epic that set this off. We’ve finally gotten to the four siblings the invocation promised, hatched from a single shell, and naturally that would turn Cora’s thoughts to the houseguest who also came out of a shell.
She approached it in her typical way, which is to come out of seeming nowhere with a question. (I’m sure there’s a logical process by which she arrives at it, but for those of us not privy to her thoughts, it seems to spontaneously generate.) Kudshayn and I were in the middle of discussing a word on the next tablet that I’m sure we ought to render as “fledging”—as in, the developmental stage where a baby bird becomes ready for flight—when Cora said, out of the blue, “How many sisters do you have?”
I thought at first she was addressing me, so I said, “Just one. Her name is Charlotte—we call her Lotte—and she’s younger than me. I was thinking about inviting her to visit for a day or two, if you think your uncle wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m sure he would,” Cora said without hesitation. It was the same way most people would reflexively say “I’m sure he wouldn’t,” so it took me a moment to realize she meant that her uncle would absolutely veto a visit. Then, before I could respond to that, she added, “But I was asking Kudshayn.”
He had stood up to stretch his wings over by the windows, where he wouldn’t hit anything, and furled them as he turned to face her. “I also have just one, Teslit. But we are the same age, because we came from the same clutch.” He rattled his wings a little in amusement. “Not the same shell, though.”
Cora frowned. “Only one sister? I thought there were usually lots of females in a Draconean clutch, and then maybe one male. Why don’t you have more?”
Kudshayn’s wings stopped rattling and tucked in tight against his back. “One sister, yes. What do you think of this sign—do you think Audrey is correct about its meaning?”
It was a transparent bid to change the subject, and it failed. “How should I know?” Cora said. “You know I can’t really read any of that. Is there some reason you have only one sister? Did something happen to the others?”
“Cora—” I said, meaning to intervene.
“I would like to get back to work,” Kudshayn said, a little more loudly. His wings had to be aching with how tightly they were furled. “Perhaps later we can talk more.”
Her whole body had gone rigid. “You don’t mean that. You mean you don’t want to talk about this, and you’re hoping that if you say that I’ll let it go and forget.”
“Cora—”
“I won’t forget, though. Why don’t you want to answer my question?”
“Cora!”
My shout shocked me into silence as much as her. Cora stared at me for a moment, fuming and hurt. Then she stomped out of the library, slamming the door behind her.
I stayed in my chair and dropped my head onto my arms, groaning. “I am so sorry, Kudshayn. I—I should have spoken to her, or something.” He knows by now how blunt Cora can be, but I never thought she would wind up going straight for the most tender spot Kudshayn has.