Several more days have passed. Lauryn is still learning Laosian, the local language. A couple of other soldiers have been helping her recently, teaching her, talking to her, and keeping her company while Archon Skotonys is not available. One is a human, Rio Imirso, and the other a vulpine, Rio Kathiko. Lauryn gets the impression they don't like her, and are doing it purely under orders. Neither of them wants to be too near her. She overhears them use words like thirys and prodotis in conversation with others, when she thinks they're talking about her. Kathiko especially seems both frightened and distasteful of her.
Today, she is out walking with Rio Imirso along the river near the fort. They are stumbling through a conversation with Rio Imirso about the local system of government. They have noblity of some kind, and greater nobility or maybe an emperor, and teachers and soldiers in service to the nobility. But she hasn't figured out very much beyond that.
Happy to at least be out, but not so happy she can forget her companions seem to loathe her, Lauryn walks in a somewhat aimless fashion as the talks continue. She nods, inserts questions and responses, but she can't quite shake the oppressiveness of knowing she's not wanted. She occassionally eyes the human, pondering what to do about it. At other times, she gazes off across the river, daydreaming or simply taking in the scenery.
"Soldier leader is Archon, and teacher leader is Afentis, correct?" she inquires as she looks at the man with another one of those pondering looks.
"Yes. That is right," Imirso says, with a faint downward curl to his lip that makes her feel like she did something wrong anyway. "They are equal in tison but not the same."
Lauryn's eyebrows raise at the man's distaste. /Even when I'm right, I'm /wrong,/ she laments. It makes her rather frusterated -- as if she needed more reasons to feel bad! "I do not understand /tison,/ but I understand equal but not the same." She then pauses. /He clearly doesn't like me -- none of them do. Should I hate him for it? Am I not awful and frightening?/ The thought makes her feel tired, and she frowns. /I hate it./
Dutifully, Imirso tries to explain tison, comparing it to some more words that Lauryn also doesn't understand. Learning Laosian would be a lot easier if only any of them understood Rephidim Standard. How could she have been so unfortunate as to crash in this barbarian land where no one knows the standard language of Sinai?
I'm still not sure this is the afterlife or a demon world, Lauryn considers, thought lately she's begun to doubt both theories more and more. Where ever she is, it must be far from anywhere she's ever known. How else could these people be so different, not even knowing Standard? She'd consider it unfair, but she's long past thinking her life has been unfair. I seem to exist just to hurt, she decides. Her eyes wander to the current avatar of a unpleasant life: the human beside her. "Why do I suffer and no one else does? What did I do? What can I do? And why can't you learn Standard, you barbarian," she says in Rephidim Standard, knowing he can't understand her. Let him ponder over a language he can't understand.
Imirso frowns at her words. "Do not speak prodotis language Ria Lauryn to Imirso," he says sternly. The barbarians have an annoying habit of refering to themselves by name instead of by pronoun, as if they think she doesn't understand a complex concept like pronouns. And their word order is all confusing, too. Before he can continue, messenger comes running towards them. Imirso turns to watch as the boy bows to him. "Archon Skotonys requests lifis Rio Imirso. And the thirys prodotis." The boy says the last two words very matter-of-factly.
Just before she was about to glare at the man, the boy arrives to interupt Lauryn. Instead, she sniffs, then turns to listen to the boy. She's somewhat mollified by being able to mostly understand what he says. Imirso's condemnation, while vexing and yet strangely satisfying, gave her some insight in to the meaning of prodotis. It must mean someone from the ship, or maybe foreigner, or even Gallah, she decides. To really understand, she thinks, she'll need to find someone else who's addressed with that title. "Well, lets not keep the Archon waiting," she says in Laosian.
The soldier with her and the messenger both give her a look, as if it wasn't her place to speak. The boy's look is more startled, while Imirso's is annoyed. Neither of them says anything, however. Imirso merely gestures to the messenger and he leads them back to the Archon's office.
Skotonys rises and bows just slightly to them, more a nod than bow, hands at his sides. Imirso answers with a deeper bow, left hand clasped over right and against his chest. "Dynatos tyr has spoken," Skotonys says. "Ria Lauryn is to go to Theolisis. I will go with her, as will you and Rio Kathiko."
The annoyed look, like her earlier outburst, strikes a cord with Lauryn. She's ashamed for having stepped out of protocol, and yet she can't help but feel a hint of amusement at tweaking their noses. She ponders the implications of this as she returns to the fort, and once there before the Archon, she listens and doesn't intrude again until the man has spoken. "Dynatos tyr," she repeats, considering the word aloud, "that is ... something-ruler? A word for glorious or ... I suppose in Gallis that might be His Excellence."
She doesn't know a word for 'glorious'; she knows words for 'high' and 'huge', but she's not sure if either of those apply to people or rank. So she has to resort to Standard's version, and the Laosians look at her again: Imiros annoyed, Skotonys blank. "Dynatos tyr is the -- " and a few words she doesn't know "-- Tyr Notios. You are to -- " more words she doesn't understand " -- dynatos tyr.
Now it's her turn to look blank, but Lauryn nods just the same. "I will see in time," she says, deciding to let it go. "When do we leave, Archon Skotonys?"
"Tomorrow." Finally, a word she knows. "Yno will give you a filo -- a container -- to iriso -- to put your things in." Yno is one of the servants, she thinks. She doesn't really have any possessions to speak of; even the clothes she came in were ruined in the crash. But the Laosians have given her a change of clothes and a few other things: a brush, a little knife, and suchlike.
Lauryn decides it will be good to at least have something familiar to bring. Sometimes, when she's feeling particularly bad or unable to control her own life, she's cut herself. Having the knife around would be a small comfort, at least giving her a source of relief if she needed it. "Then I will iriso filo, and be ready tomorrow," she says. She has no reason to do otherwise; she had known they were wiating for something, and this must be it. Though she dreads what may come, she always dreads what may come, so visiting this 'tyr' is little different.
The archon corrects her grammar absently -- there's some quirk in their future tense that she doesn't understand; maybe they have more than one? But what for? -- and then he dismisses them with "diabaino." She knows what that means, anyway.
As she departs, Lauryn shakes her head at the Laosians and their language. I may never understand these people, she tells herself. A little voice reminds her she never really seems to understand anyone, and they her. Outside and feeling bad for the thoughts, she turns to the human and asks, "You don't like me, do you?" quite flatly, if in a tired and distracted voice. She's not quite focusing on him, but rather asking him and the world at large, not expecting a answer by either.
Imirso looks at her blankly, as if her words made sense but the question didn't. Like she'd said, "The house is going to attack me, isn't it?" or "Have you uncovered the cockroaches' plans?" He gives her a short bow, barely deeper than the one Skotonys gave them, and says, "I will see Ria Lauryn tomorrow."
"Yes," is all Lauryn can say, not feeling up to pressing the matter, and quite bemused by the man's response. She returns the bow, then watches as the man leaves, wondering what that was all about. She had expected him to either yell or confirm what she said, not look at her as if she were speaking nonsense. It continues to puzzle her, even as she returns to her quarters to pack.
That evening, after dinner and before bed, Archon Skotonys makes another opportunity to speak with her in private. "It would be well if there are no isityros on this nisi. This trip. No accidents. No ianos. Ria Lauryn understands?"
Lauryn, who is in the midst of packing her last item, pauses and listens. She tilts her head to the side, consideringly. "I understand," she says after a moment of though, adding ominously, " ... but they may not." She lifts a hand and makes a 'spooky' hand wiggling gesture, half-heartedly, then turns back to put her knife away.
Archon Skotonys moves to wrap his hand over hers when she gestures, curling his furred fingers to encase her fist in his own. "Ria Lauryn. Look at me. Please." Both the gesture and the 'please' are out of place. The Laosians don't touch each other and they don't even come near her. Servants say 'please' all the time, but Archon Skotonys ... Lauryn's not sure she's ever heard him say please before.
Looking startled, Lauryn looks up, eyes wide. She had thought he just wanted to avoid the isityros, the nightmare horrors, on the road so the travel would be quick or restful. But now she's very much unsure; could this trip be far more important to the man than she believed? "Archon Skotonys?" she asks, bewildered.
"Not a game, Ria Lauryn," he says, using very simple diction. "This is tisona." Skotonys pauses, studying her expression. He knows she doesn't understand, but doesn't seem to know how to explain. He releases her hand, folds his own together before her. "This matters. This is a very bad time for accidents. If Ria Lauryn can make isityros understand, Ria Lauryn must make them. If Skotonys can, tell me how."
Having only really explained her abilities to one other person -- the mage who's corpse now feeds the crows at the crash site -- Lauryn has to consider her own words carefully. She looks away, feeling embarassed and ashamed for not taking the man seriously, even though she's still a little upset with him for betraying her trust with his loathing in an earlier time of nightmares. She takes a breath, then tries her best to explain. "Archon Skotonys, Ria Lauryn is not ... not Archon? Tyr? ... of all /isityros/. Mage ... /Afentis/ Mage sought to teach Ria Lauryn, but /Afentis/ Mage is dead. Ria Lauryn does not ... Ria Lauryn is like /filo isityros/. Ria Lauryn does not understand /isityros/. Ria Lauryn ... fears /isityros,/ too, but ... " She makes a vague gesturewith a hand, then bites her lip before going on, " ... Ria Lauryn cannot empty Ria Lauryn /filo isityros./ /Afentis/ Mage says Ria Lauryn is creator ... artist? ... /Afentis/? ... of /isityros/, but Ria Lauryn is, um, /bad/ /Afentis./ Or, so /Afe
... Afentis Mage says." She takes a breath, them looks the man full in the face, laying her ears back. "Do you understand, Archon Skotonys? I am not Archon of isityros as you are Archon of soldiers?"
"I understand." His expression is grave. "But this is bad. Worse than Ria Lauryn realizes, and she already knows that it is bad. An archon of isityros is needed, but one is not here. I cannot answer for this."
"You want me to be Archon of isityros?" The young woman blinks at the idea -- leading nightmares as this man leads soldiers? It never occured to her she could or should lead the nightmares anywhere. She had hoped they would torment someone besides her, or at least leave her in peace, and she had summoned and directed them when bidden, but she never considered a more dedicated involvement with them. To her, they are a curse, and that she can sometimes make them do as she wants is simply a side effect of dubious use. Yet now, someone seems to actually want her to do so. The implications and possibilities stun her, and she can only stare at the man, shocked.
He shakes his head. "Not 'want', and not 'I'. It is needed. Ria Lauryn understands this is not the same?"
"Ria Lauryn ... I think so," the young woman replies, then asks, " ... but by who? And why?"
"By Tyr Notios. And by Ria Lauryn." He points at her for emphasis. "You are thirys. Would you be thirys always?"
"I have heard that word, but no one has ever explained it to me well," Lauryn admits. She mulls over this information, thinking. This Tyr fellow wishes me to master the horror, but how does one master such things at all? Further, Lauryn fears the monsters that seems to stem entirely from her. They are not a sword to be practiced with; as far as she can tell, they are horror incarnate, fearful things that leap in to existance simply to make her, and sometimes others, suffer. They are linked to her somehow, she knows this, but the connection is shrouded to her. I can make them come, she recalls, but not make them go. The leeches reminded me of the doctor, but I made them eat him instead. Is there really a way? She feels doubtful, but she also feels she may have little choice. "Ria Lauryn will try to be Archon of isityros, but Ria Lauryn must learn how first," she concludes.
The archon nods at her words. He looks -- pleased? relieved? -- his face is hard to read, but he's definitely thoughtful. "This will be difficult."
To that, Lauryn nods in vigorous agreement. She watches him a moment, thinking, then says, "What makes Archon Skotonys a master of ... " she can't recall ever hearing the word for sword, she she simply points at his weapons. The gesture further brings to mind other ideas, such as his seeming immunity to the nightmares, and so she also asks, "Why is Archon Skotonys not fear isityros? Why do you come to me and win, when others run and are hurt?"
"Practice," he answers simply, when she gestures to his swords. "Training." Skotonys is slower in answering the second. "I cannot run from the isityros. It would be lokyrian to give in to fear. Unacceptable. I must fight them because it is my ankyr to defend. I know why I fight. I do not know why I succeed."
At that, Lauryn looks pensive. /The Archon is victorious when others flee, are hurt, or worse. He surely must be a excellent swordsman by the standards of such things, but is there more to it? And the soldiers at the, the crash site, they were hurt, but he wasn't. The woman who came to tend to me was hurt, but again he wasn't. And again. Is it him? Or something more?/ She turns to peer at the man, searchingly. "This is an answer in you Archon Skotonys," she says, looking at him this way and that, as thought the right angle may offer some insight. "I don't know what it is, but it is important. Others have met /isityros/, but only you have done so well -- much better than I. /Isityros/ are like ... " she gestures at the sword again, " ... with all blade and no handle, does that make sense? I can make /isityros/ come, and I /think/ I can make them do more, but they may cut me, and I fear them. They hurt to be. Hurt to be ... " Her words remind her of something else, and so she adds, "Do you think /isityro
... isityros hurt to live? Not hurt by living, but hurt to be?"
Skotonys shakes his head. "I am an archon, not an afentis. I do not know the gimis of isityros. Or the feelings. But if they are a blade without hilt, then you must make one for them." He taps the wrappings on his sheathed sword meaningfully. "Steel does not come with a sheath or handle. These too must be worked." The fox sighs, thinking again. "You must practice. Tomorrow will not be good for practice. So. Tonight."
Lauryn listens and nods, all the way until the Archon suggests she practice tonight. "Tonight," she squeaks, looking alarmed. She had hoped to put it off, maybe forever if it could be managed. It's one thing to say she could be a master of her nightmares, another to be confronted by them immediately. But, despite how unhappy it makes her, she nods shortly after her outburst. "Yes. Um. Tonight." She swallows, hard, then nods again. She opens her mouth to ask what she must do, then pauses, tilting her head and looking suddenly wary. "I will do this," she agrees, "but you said you will do what you can to also help, didn't you? You must ... do you know promise? ... you must ... swear ankyr? ... to one thing I ask."
A flash of something -- anger? offense? -- shows in his eyes. but then he masks it. "Ria Lauryn may ask." There's a stress on 'may', and that he's giving her permission. She gets the sense that the commanding inflection she used on him isn't something she's allowed to use on him, even though he's been saying it to her.
For her park, Lauryn looks chastized at the reponse. She holds up a hand, as if to ward off his anger. She thinks to ask him if she used too forecful a word, but decides to simply run with it. Maybe force and binding are what she needs for this request -- it would be meaningless if it were easily broken. "You musn't look at me like I am isityros when I call on isityros. You musn't -- no, won't -- do that! It's ... what is your word for something that hurts the heart? ... It is like that. Only you, I'm not stupid enough to think everyone will, but you won't. Won't. Those are ... my terms? ... our agreement."
His expression softens at this, just for a moment, and the softness is even more jarring than the anger. And just as fleeting. "I will not." It's a simple statement, but it has a heartening certainty in it.
Lauryn's ears, which had remained tensed and back as she waited for an answer, suddenly lower to the sides of her head at his response. "Then I will do my best to be Archon of Isityros," she says. And quite suddenly, she reaches over and pats his hand fondly.