Hearts and Minds Align
S’ung’s shoulders are bound to his ears by strained effort, his lips askew with focus as he guides his current cut length of reed to scratch the final few runes into this wet clay tablet. The lightwood frame keeping the clay’s shape and the tray it sits upon in his lap sense that the night’s work is complete and seem to relax with him.
S’ung closes his eyes and lets his shoulders fall, slack returns to his jaw, and the reed stylus gently rolls away from from his finally relaxed grip. He welcomes another day with a smile as warm beams of hazy gold sunlight slide across his face. From the foothills on the horizon through the downstream jungles, and all across these golden plains animals and peoples alike are waking to busy themselves with the hard work of survival. Meanwhile S’ung must shuffle away from the natural warmth. Deep into the earth. To his woodfire-warmed, straw-dried chamber.
With a brief sigh of contented joy as those beams warm his large knuckles and haphazardly bent fingers S’ung lifts himself from his nightly study with a heaving effort. Too long in the sun would be a problem for him, but that briefest of warming kisses is always welcome. A pleasant popping crackle in the smallest segments of his back lament a night of strained effort and tireless focus as he begins his shuffling journey into the Archive.
Effort and focus are S’ung’s ever present companions. Effort, focus, and pain.
Leaning heavily on the length of wood that served to balance him where his mangled leg could not, he turns to bid Luna a thankful farewell.
Her light throughout the previous night allowed S’ung to finish transcribing his latest records without the need for fuel and flame. These latest tablets were simple summaries of oral histories brought by one of the Clerics who traveled far; and while the individual value of these stories is not yet clear, their place amongst the Archive is unquestionable. Anything that is known to any peoples will be recorded here. Such is the purpose of this singular place. Collecting, combining, and sharing knowledge is the unique mission of the Archive and its attendants.
S’ung realizes he has once again been lost in reverie and returns his gaze to Luna and, closing his eyes, S’ung allows himself a moment of sorrow followed by solemnity; barely whispering what he guessed could be called a prayer or chant or mantra.
I will pass this torch. The flame will not die with me.
Leaving his implements and the work they’d done together at his workstation on the eastern terrace; S’ung begins his slow shuffle into the mouth of the Archive and down the long winding slopes of passages both natural and hand hewn. The bent and broken body that he was born with had never stopped him, only slowed him down. So he shuffles.
The soft rasping slide of his sandal-wrapped feet blends with a pleasant low ‘whoom’ of wind exploring the many natural and unnatural passages, archways, and vent-shafts of the Mounded Archive. That chorus of calm morning sounds is interrupted by a slap-and-patter of very small, definitely bare, children’s feet.
“S’ung!” they call in unison.
Risha and Trevine are both interrupted in their greetings by great yawns.
“Good morning little ones! Oh-ho you must have slept so well to be yawning as wide as the sky itself!”
Their giggles and eye-clearing knuckle rubs are punctuated by clumsy leaning-headbutts into his ribs. This is answer enough. S’ung’s heart swells at the comfort, safety, and kindness that these children feel. This is why his effort and focus are ever present. For them. For their eventual children.
They should never feel the terror and uncertainty that he did at their age.
“Ahhhhhh S’ung before you go to sleep-” “Yahyah! Before you sleep-” “Can we have a bedtime story? You know, your bedtime story?”
Risha had only just turned nine last week and with that she seemed to find a new spark of inquisitive confidence. Trevine is quickly approaching eight and looks up to his cousin while also vying to best her in every competition they invent.
“What story do you want to hear this morning? Your hugs are energizing, I can tell you one before my snores interrupt us.” he says smiling impishly.
The two bedraggled youngsters quickly consult each other behind cupped hands.
“Do you want to hear about the ocean and boats and islands? Or there’s the tree people and their friends whom they call the old men of the forest.”
“Okay” Risha declares, “We have heard enough of your made up stories about other places. Tell us about the Archive! Tell us about the Builders! Tell us about us!”
With an understanding smile and only a slight tone of reprimand S’ung clarifies.
“Those far away places are not made up, and neither are the stories that come from them, but I understand what you mean. It can be difficult to imagine things that are so wild and different from what we see every day.”
Their faces slowly spread from pleading expectance to grinning excitement as they realize that he is agreeing to tell them the story of the Archive. Though they live inside the structure itself, and are born to its attendants, their exposure to the history of the place thus far only comes through overheard conversations where the many gaps are filled by well-fed imaginations.
S’ung lets that excitement settle into their bright eyes while he turns to continue his slowly spiraling path downward. Now that these two caught him he knows that sleep will be yet another few hours away, but rest means nothing if he cannot reap these joys when they present themselves.
The fluffy cloud of tight and springy dark brown curls that is Risha’s hair bounces in and out of firelight followed by Trevine’s own smoothly jet black fall that reaches somewhere between his ears and shoulders.
Once the three are comfortably seated in the story-circle at the center of the archive S’ung begins with a kind of meditative chant, part of the Helant people’s oral tradition. Even though S’ung would be reading from tablets his delivery of the words feels better when he prepares like his uncles taught him.
S’ung deeply breathes in, expanding his chest, pulling in air until his shoulders rise tall and his chin points upward.
He holds his lungs overfilled for a few beats then slowly, through a deep hum, releases that breath.
Risha and Trevine join him after his first cycle of humming breathes, and the three trade gentle smiles through kind eyes as their hearts and minds align.
“Our story begins in many places, but for you two on this day I’ll start with Arlah, Torc, and Isla…”