• Intro
• Chap I
• Chap II
• Chap III

Chapter Two: The Lord of Ketique

Paen traveled southwestward to the land of the southern Tah, to the land of Arkaya, the city state where the Khoorlrhani tribe flourished and ruled.  The Khoorlrhani were a tall and proud race.  They were brown skinned and broad featured, with powerful builds and hands.  It was customary for their warriors to grow manes of twisted and gnarled dread-locks, and dye them a deep dark green with leaves from the jungle plants. They were the dominant tribe in Genia, who tamed the lands that surrounded them, and conquered the lesser tribes.
History, however, told of a time when there was only one tribe in Genia, and when Genia was merely the One Great Land.

The stories of old said that the first Tah was the man who first discovered fire, and having the awe of his brothers led the way for them all to survive the night from the predators, the manju tigers, that preyed on them.  It was said that because the Tah had the ability to create the light in the dead of night, the tigers– assuming it to be the protection of the goddess– stayed away from this new magic the Khoorlrhani king wielded.  The Tah created the great Circle of Light, an illuminated ring of cooperation and community, and within it, the one tribe of men flourished, safe within its boundaries.

This Tah, many generations ago, had a wife, Nishta, and had two sons, Khoorlrhan, and Mayakti.  Khoorlrhan was his older and braver son whom the Tah took hunting with him every morning.  He taught him everything, from how to create fire, to how to hunt for meat.  Everything the Tah knew, all that the goddess sublimed his mind with, was passed on to Khoorlrhan, and the Tah told his son;

”You are my favorite son, and I am proud. When I am gone, you must protect the people, inspire them, love them, and keep the circle lit.”

Khoorlrhan understood and promised to do as his father instructed.

”And you must teach everything you know to your sons, so that the tribe will become stronger, more intelligent.  Should I be killed by a sickness, you shall become Tah.  Should a tiger claim you in the woods; your sons will step in line as Tah behind you. You must be honest above all things, for with honesty your circle will be strong.”

Khoorlrhan understood.  Nearby, from where the two men fished, Mayakti, spied and heard. He was jealous of Khoorlrhan, and what he heard from his own father’s mouth struck him deeply in his heart. Never had such praises been directed toward him from the Tah, and never had such important duties ever been trusted to him.  Mayakti ran into the forest and prayed to Ashuta that she sooth him, and ease his jealously, for he loved his brother dearly and his father as well.  He only wanted to understand.

The Goddess appearing to him as the great Sequoia told him,
”Men are not perfect. You father loves you deeply, more deeply than can ever be expressed. I know this to be true for I know his heart as my own. His mistake is only to protect you as the youngest of his son’s, so that the tribal burden is less upon you. The eyes of men can only see so much, just as you have only seen so much of your father’s love.”

This helped Mayakti. His mind was eased. He thanked the goddess for her guidance and ventured back to the circle of light before sunset.
But still not satisfied, he said,

”Goddess, I want to be important just like my brother. I want to be his equal, not some child who is protected.  Will you make me a warrior just as great as Khoorlrhan?”

Chuckling, the goddess said, ”You do not know what it is that you are asking. The destiny of Khoorlrhan is not an easy one. It will be very difficult.”

Mayakti’s brow furled as he did not like this. He insisted, and finally the Ashuta agreed.

”It shall be done.”

Mayakti, bowed and thanked the goddess for her kindness.
On the way, he saw a figure in the woods like none he had ever seen.  It was a beautiful girl who glowed beneath the setting sun.   She held the reins of her brown horned mehra as it drank from a nearby stream.  Mayakti’s eyes widened, stunned by the woman’s incredible beauty. When she noticed Mayakti, the effect of his nubile form to her eyes was the same as orange sunset caught the hazel hues in Myakti’s eyes.   Her name was Urso, and she gazed at his open expression as they fell in love.

The Tah, happy to see his son smitten so, married Urso to Mayakti and a grand celebration was made for them.  It was said that there was no woman more beautiful than Urso.  Her skin was the deep color of cinnamon, her eyes were bright and black like onyx, and she was curvaceous like the bowed rivers north of Arkaya.  It was said that no man could take his eyes off of her, including Mayakti’s brother, Khoorlrhan.   It was said that Urso was a catch fit only for a Tah, and that the goddess must have created her from the dust and wind since no one knew who Urso was.  Nowhere before had Urso’s face, or the faces of her family been seen.

Bitter jealously overcame Khoorlrhan, and he held it throughout out the years.   Sensing this Mayakti asked.

”My beloved brother, what demon vexes you. Speak to me and we will defeat it together.”

Feeling cheated by life, by the goddess, Khoorlrhan would not take his brothers hand.   He only starred at him from his throne.

”My demons are my own.  Leave me be.”

Khoorlrhan became more and more secretive and an unnatural relationship, distant and cold, began to form between the brothers.
Mayakti, no longer trusting his brother, took his family to the edge of the circle in order to feel safer, not knowing what Khoorlrhan would do.  After several years, the great circle of light was secretly withdrawn, moved more tightly inward, leaving Mayakti’s family on the outside where the tigers could hunt them.
Khoorlrhan had publicly decreed this be done in an effort to manage the lands more efficiently; however, he sent no messenger to his brother to let him know.
In trouble, Mayakti prayed to the Goddess.

”Oh Goddess, please help us!” He cried, “Each night a tiger carries off one of my children.  I’ve been betrayed by my own brother.  I will give you everything, my very heart, oh Goddess if you please protect my family.”

And the Goddess, Ashuta, answered his prayer and opened his eyes so that he might know how fire was created.

”I accept your offer, young warrior.   Follow my form and your prayer will be answered,” her voice swelled in his heart.

Ashuta made his heart beat faster, made his footsteps swifter, and made his mind more powerful, concentrated, as she guided him through the stresses of his survival, making him a strong warrior. Mayakti managed to fight the tigers off in the night single handedly.  He grew to become powerful, alert, strong, swift, and fierce, more than any warrior ever seen.  He painted his face with red lines, and tied feathers in his thick hair as a show of his own fierceness, his own braveness, his defiance of his brother’s faulty assumptions that he would not survive.
”Do you see what I’ve become brother!!?” his voice howled in the night wind, waking Khoorlrhan from his sleep within the safe boundaries of the great Circle of Light.
Urso, his wife, bore Mayakti two sons Unat, and Creo, and two daughters, Marsit and Dudo, and they all learned what the Goddess had shown Mayakti.
Creo and Unat captured wives from the Khoorlrhan clan, and their wives bore twelve sons, who captured more wives from the Khoorlrhan clan and these sons also learned what Ashuta had taught Mayakti-Tah.

In the untamed highlands, their life was hard, and they hunted to survive, while in the great Circle, the Khoorlrhani clan grew crops and herded cattle, their way as passed down solely to Khoorlrhan’s sons.  The great Circle of light then became divided, and after many generations, there were now two tribes of Genia, the Khoorlrhani, and the Mayak, the power of man now divided.It was said that because of the great burden placed on Mayakti, he became so fierce, and his son’s so fierce, that one Mayak warrior was worth five Khoorlrhani. Mayakti swore that Khoorlrhan would pay for his neglect of him, and for the lives of his dead children, and this oath was passed down from generation to generation as Mayak and Khoorlrhani fought to control the lands of northern valley, the “Nook”.

It was at this time, the time of Paen, that the tribal wars raged on for its third century.

As Paen travelled, he would arrive to Arkaya in twelve days, four days sooner than planned, for Quanon, though an old mehra was still slow to tire and loved wandering the land with his friend. As they passed through the lower lands that Paen had not seen in years, the life within the jungle all greeted them.  Beetles, and fireflies whizzed by him dancing, and screaming in joy for the return of their old friend—the true Tah, the Master!

Paen acknowledged them all, laughing.  No words were spoken for instead they all spoke the common language of recognition within their hearts.  No color of feather or distant call went unnoticed or unanswered as Paen rode along.  A large white smile stretched across the length of his dark root-brown face, as the light of the fireflies reflected off of his bald head.  A scrub-jay landed on the tan and red shoulder of Paen’s robe and squawked its good word and then flew off.

All creatures sang to him, and they all pestered him delightfully, more birds landing on his and Quanons head, chattering, and updating them on hundreds-of-generations-long lineage of new hatchlings.  Insects, crickets stroking their legs together, fireflies blinking, reported on their happy industries, and trees that were no longer saplings bowed at heart in remembrance of their old friend.  Paen heard, saw, and touched them all. He loved them all, and he was kept in good company.  A family of deer followed for awhile along-side them and then shortly afterward, along the other side, a manju tiger approached.

As it walked along side Quanon, its powerful shoulders shifted and its large paws pressed deeply within fallen leaves. Quanon, uncomfortable stirred.
The tiger roared, and the birds and the deer scattered away, frightened, but Paen held onto his reins, holding Quanon steadily.  Shocked and irritated at Paen’s lack of respect, the manju growled:

“Greetings oh delicious man of the jungle.” She rasped her voice rough and ominous.

”Greetings, Tiaga, fierce sister.”  Paen said, glancing downward smiling at the large cat.

Thrown by this the tigers eyes widened with surprise, she paused, then said;

”Do you not know me, silly man?” Tiaga roared her large green eyes wide with wonder.

”Did I not call you by name, my sister?” Paen hummed.

This angered the huntress.  Who was this man, that he should not be afraid of her? How dare he be so… familiar!
”Since you know my name, you must know of my clawed savagery. I will then have you and your mehra for dinner!  I will lick the meat off of your bones.”
Not running, which Paen knew would excite Tiaga’s love of the hunt, Paen merely said:
”Thank you sister, but perhaps another time.   The deer you scarred off, I think are much more in the mood for a game of hunter and hunted.” Paen mused, and then again glanced downward and winked at the tiger.

She roared, insulted.

”YOU DARE TOY WITH ME?”

”Not at all fierce sister, efficient hunter of the jungle. I only wish to make your task of hunting easier.  Why spend hours trying to strike fear into me, when you’ve already done such an exquisite, splendid, job in frightening all my friends, including the deer which I think have gone beyond the thick there.”  And Paen, knowing that all forms were only the goddess, but were still forms not knowing themselves in this way, was not afraid of Tiaga, the manju tiger and played his part as the master with humor.
Tiaga’s green pupils contracted to vertical slits, and she looked over her shoulder.   She saw the swaying of the low level branches and brush, saw the movement, and then the excitement for the chase took hold within her. She salivated, and swallowed.

”Over there, you say?” Tiaga gulped.

”I see their meaty haunches from here, old gal.” Paen narrowed his eyes and sucked his teeth as if to remark on how tasty they would be.

”Bah!” Tiaga said, “I will not even bother with your gristly form!” She said hurriedly while her eyes still stretched out to lock on her kill in the distant brush.

“Consider this a favor, man, but we will meet again and I shall not be so merciful.” Tiaga growled and barreled into the thick in the direction of the deer.

And how was it that Tiaga could be swayed? Master Paen’s love.  Paen’s love for the Goddess, was immeasurable.  Neither land nor seascape could contain it.  His heart was open completely and joyfully to recognize and love her.  To him, there was nothing which did not mirror back the beautiful face of Ashuta to him.  All creatures great and small, fierce and gentle, cunning and dull were the expression of Ashuta, and that was how he knew of himself to be, her reflection, an extension of her soft arms, a molecule within her makeup.  His love for her was like an unquenchable thirst, and as he traveled in her realms he marveled at her art, drinking, tasting with his eyes, ears, skin, with his very soul.   He feared no death, because to him there was no death, only the appearance of boundaries, the play of separate characters created by Ashuta.  He knew his form to be a temporary vessel, but his heart to be eternal, as is the heart of every being, because there is only one heart, one central place from which all things stem.

He heard the sounds of crickets, bees, birds, and of wolves, tigers, and bears, and he knew their rhythms.  This is how he could see Tiaga, know himself as her brother, knowing her rhythms.  Paen was moved by it all, every creature.  He was them!  He was moved by the sight of red and orange wild flowers over vast yellow clearings, the expanses of blue and purple skies over snow capped mountains.  He felt and enjoyed the gentle breezes in the warm air.  Every frequency of sight, sound and touch entered his being as Ashuta in her various forms loving him.  All of this, everything, the fragrances of lavender, the hushed sounds of rivers in the green distance was Ashuta, and Paen could not do without her.  He marveled and shook his head at himself, laughing at the idea that he once held– his fear that his mission would move him away from her.

She is everywhere, he wept, smiling, and he thanked her, kissing her with his heart, for being all things!
After his third day of traveling, Paen came upon the first Khoorlrhani village, the town of Ketique.  Quanon bobbed his head as he trotted along, his long ivory curled horns swaying from side to side.  From where they were, on a yellow hillside, Paen could see smoke rising out from the open dome tops of low mud and woven vine structures which were fenced in by a circular stockade.

”Yes.  Finally my friend, but we are still a long way from Arkaya, the capital city.” They traveled a narrow path that sloped downward into a thick green band of trees before the city gates.
As the shade consumed them, a ways into the thick, Paen noticed the calling sounds of men imitating birds, alarmed at his approach. The ca-cawing translated to, “Marauder!!,” and Paen sensed that it was a call to archers hidden in towers somewhere within the Ketiqan thick.  Paen pulled the reins of his steed, and Quanon halted.  Paen dismounted the mehra and positioned himself in front of his friend, sitting cross-legged and waited.  There were more calls within the trees, different tones.  It was not long until a group of four men on the backs of large black and curled-horned mehras confronted him.

History told many a tale of how Mayak often raided the camps and villages of Khoorlrhani, taking what they wished by force and leaving burned shelters behind.  Now, Khoorlrhani surrounded their cities and large stocks of food with fences and towers full of archers and swordsmen.
Having fought the fierce Mayak for two hundred years, Khoorlrhani were strong now, fierce protectors and wrathful in their vendetta against the northern tribes. No man entered the Khoorlrhani lands freely anymore, not even in the small outlying towns of Ketique.

The mehra-men pulled the reins of their steeds, and as they halted, the mehras kicked their hooves and sent dust into the air.  The warriors were clad in deep burgundy leather vests, and wore wrought black steel helmets.  On the leather bands around their biceps there was a distinct mark of two yellow eagle wings spread apart—the heraldic symbol for the lord of Ketique who was in service to the Tah of all Khoorlrhani.

As the warriors began circling Paen, their curved broadswords were drawn and pointed at him as he sat in the tall grass in front his friend Quanon.
”Who are you wanderer!” The leader of the men growled.  His hair was twisted into thick gnarled and deep green locks that were drawn together through an opening on the top of his helmet, and the warriors black eyes peered through the rimmed eyelets.  His leathered forearm was studded with iron circlets.  Paen would not look at him. He whispered to Quanon reassuringly.

”I will not ask again!” The warrior barked, sending a chill through Quanon, making him snort.

Paen looked up at the mehra-man and smiled gently.

”I am the Master” He said.

The mehra-men circled him, and they were not pleased by his response. The pounding of hooves were felt around Paen until the captain was again in front and center before Paen.
The large warrior laughed, sheathed his heavy sword and stepped down from the ornate saddle of his wildly decorated mehra.  This man seemed puzzled by Paen, amused, but more importantly to Paen, disarmed.   There was an edge to them all that was different to Paen.  Their minds were complicated.

The Master could see how they cut off the flow of the divine, of Ashuta to them solely by the willful assertions of their ego.  The lead man gazed at him, squinting, his dark eyes spying for danger, studying Paen, the whiteness of the warrior’s teeth gnashing through a thick scruffy black beard.  The man crouched before Paen.
”Are you Cwa, Bantu… eh….?”  The man asked, wondering what other lowly tribe this vagabond must belong to.  Paen bore neither of the distinct features of a Mayak, nor those of a Khoorlrhani.  His head was bald, burnt by the sun and his chin had no beard.  If anything, the captain speculated, Paen might be a Canteez plainsman, though he was too short.

”<pSir, I am a lone traveler, bound for Arkaya.” Paen said.

“You will address Lord Dajaai as lord, not sir!” one of the warriors growled.
The Lord Dajaai’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened at the mentioning of the capital city.

”What business do you have in Arkaya, field-mouse?” The Lord asked roughly.

”Perhaps he’s to master Khoorlrhani-Tah’s plows.” Another of the warriors jeered, and the others laughed.

”Is that it, mouse,” The Lord Dajaai growled, “Cannot find food? You’ve come to serve as a slave?” He laughed.

Paen picked a small flower from the tall grass and studied it.  His expression became childlike as he thought of nothing but Ashuta.  Despite the cruel energy of the men, all the fear left him.

”I… am the Master.  My business is mastery.” He said.

The warriors chuckled, but the Lord again grew stern.

”Master of what, buffoon?” He stabbed.

”Of all warriors.” Paen said, looking directly into the eyes of this hellhound, and then going back to studying the blue flower.
In that slight observation, Paen knew this man. He knew by his observation that though Lord Dajaai was a vulgar man, an enthusiastic killer, he was a man of his word, an honorable man of code, perhaps of contest and sport.  Master Paen then knew what to do.
The warriors laughed at Paen’s assertions, but somehow they were laughing at the Lord Dajaai as well.

”Sounds to me, he means to challenge you, Lord Dajaai!” Another of the warriors howled, his inflections indicating the praiseworthiness of Dajaai’s prowess as a swordsman.

”I would be frightened, if I were you Dajaai,” A second sneered and recklessly pulled his mehra around to stand on its back hooves.  The animal neighed and snorted violently as the warrior’s black and sheathed broadsword slapped the beast’s side.  The warrior was a much leaner and younger fighter of them all.  The youth was remarkably fit and full of energy.

“Perhaps this one would finally be of your undoing,” he teased along familiar lines the others did not dare cross.

”Shut your hole, Minot, before I cut one into you!” Lord Dajaai growled.
Minot, the youth, chuckled, in the playful manner of a comrade.
The laughter subsided and Dajaai looked penetratingly at Paen.

”You gamble your life vagabond.” the Lord growled. Thick dreadlocks whipped the sides of his helmet as he threw them aside to visually take in this offensive oaf before him.

”I mean no offense, noble Lord. I merely speak the truth.  I am only a servant to the Tah of Khoorlrhani men.  He would be displeased should my journey to him be obstructed.”

”I’ve heard nothing about Khoorlrhani-Tah needing the aid of… a rodent such as you.”

”Where you would not for Khoorlrhani- Tah does not know of his needs quite yet?” Paen said.

The Lord Dajaai’s eyebrows sank, not knowing how to take that, as he studied the curious character before him.  This man must be insane, he thought, no armor, no shield, no boots, and yet claiming to be the master of all warriors.
Lord Dajaai then noticed the sword, Maburata wrapped by Paen’s cloak and tied to Quanon’s side, its hilt gleaming beneath the sun and yet it was not in this master’s hand or even held to his back or waist like any other warrior.  Paen was a puzzle to this man.

”You are a blacksmith then, an arms maker?” He grunted, questioning.

”I am the Master.” Paen again said, smiling.
Still looking at the workmanship of Maburata and noting the relaxed composure of the traveler, curiosity consumed the Lord Dajaai. He rose, drew his sword, and said.

”Show me this mastery of yours then.”

”No.” Paen said flatly.

The warrior laughed, and glanced at the other riders who began to dismount and laugh as well.

”Then just as I’ve suspected, you are a coward and a liar since you are afraid to fight me.”

”He is mehra food, Lord Dajaai. He has just met his master! Strike him down.” Minot jeered as he approached the side of his Lord.

The Lord Dajaai sighed and huffed;

“Minot, must you always speak so damned much?”

Minot wore a leather vest and studded gauntlets, and he stood firmly in his boots as his lean arms and hands rose into the air to grasp and remove his helmet, exposing a dark and youthful face.  He stood proudly by Dajaai.

”If you will not uncle, then allow me to correct this insult,” Said Minot.

Aroused by this, Dajaai raised his sword.
Paen then held a hand up to reason with the men.

”My defeat of you, Dajaai, will only insure my death at the hands of the many men you command, your archers in the trees, your legions of swordsmen, and then my master will never be served.” Paen said lifting his gaze, humbly.

The Lord snorted, and huffed.  He cocked on eyebrow upward, looked at his men, then said: ”Prove to me you are the master, and you will have free passage within and throughout my village.  I will have you and your mehra fed and then you may leave at will.  On this you have my word.” Lord Dajaai said, stepping back. A wry gloating smile stretched over his face.

”He will go free… if, he can manage to defeat me,” Dajaai confirmed to his men, chuckling, but serious.  He intended to play a fair game, and his men were to oblige his will. He held his sword out, turned and pointed it at them each, and they each nodded in agreement. They understood.

”If he defeats you, I will kiss his feet, and become his servant.” Minot spat.

”Minot,” the Lord Dajaai commanded, “Ride back to have the archers stand down.  They are to let this man pass if he…defeats me.  This is my word, now go and tell them.”

The Lord of Ketique emphasized with a tone of voice that indicated his confidence that he would not be defeated, not in a million years by this little man.
Minot nodded, glared at Paen, replaced his helmet, and then mounted the back of his black mehra.  It galloped into a narrow passageway of trees leading through the darkness that Paen intuited contained many many arrows pointed in his direction.  Minot’s voice was heard in the distance commanding the archers to comply with the Lord’s orders.
An eyebrow arched on the face of the bear-warrior, Dajaai, who stood before Paen.

”Your sword… master,” The Lord Dajaai jeered.

”I will not need it,” Paen responded

”I only need to know when you are ready.”  Paen said, still seated in the grass in front of his mehra, still twirling the purple flower between thumb and index finger and still several paces away from Maburata.
The Lord of Ketique laughed, sighed and replied taking position,

”I am ready vagabond,”

And before the Lord Dajaai noticed him get up, Paen smacked Dajaai’s elbow, locking it, and snatched the broadsword from the Lord of Ketique’s own hands and turned the weapon back onto him.
Paen stood as a relaxed straight line behind the weapon, his wrist bent slightly to drop the tip of the blade lightly against the soft throat of the lord. Any movement would insure Dajaai’s death, this was obvious to all.

Lord Dajaai was visibly shaken and frustrated by this as his men looked on.  Anger consumed him as the master observed Dajaai. Paen’s gaze seemed to reach deep into Dajaai. Paen could see that this outcome was not acceptable to the man, but he saw Dajaai’s honor beyond the rusted confines of his bitterness.

”Defeated before you’ve begun, I know this is frustrating Lord Dajaai, but I am an honorable man and wish no harm to you.  I only hope that you will honor me by keeping your word, upholding the rules of this friendly contest.  It is my mission to only serve your Tah.“

Paen tested his own intuitions here, awaiting Dajaai’s response.   He saw the man’s mind trying to find a way to escape, but he was cornered by principles Paen knew Dajaai would live by.
The Lord of Ketique swallowed a bitter lump, sighed and glanced at his men.  Minot came riding back, the shock visible by his expression, his jaw hanging open, his mehra slowing to a halt.  He gazed at his uncle with a probing stare, not understanding how this could be possible.

Seeing his nephew’s shame, Dajaai cleared his throat, thought, then said, ”I am not afraid to die, traveler.”

”I can see this noble warrior, but I believe that you know that this would not be the death suitable for you.  You, I can see, would rather die in allegiance to the truth, and not against it.” Paen spoke. His voice was calm and carried a regality that went unnoticed until now.

”I don’t seek your death, only that you keep your word to me.”

Minot noticed that in the traveler’s free hand he still held the purple flower between two fingers, twirling it, toying with it.
Minot bit his own lip; his facial expression was that of confusion.

”What is this?” he rasped, dismounting.

”Can you not see for yourself?” one of the other warriors muttered.

Dajaai, and Paen seemed to be having a secret conversation with their eyes.  In it, Dajaai understood the choice that had to be made.  Of all of the enemies he battled, all of the Mayak raiders he faced, none of them compared to this man who had an uncanny purity about him.

Somehow Lord Dajaai knew that when Paen uttered the words, ‘I am the master,’ he spoke more truth than Dajaai would ever hear in his lifetime. Dajaai’s choice was to either accept the truth of this man’s claim and live, or bitterly deny it and die a dishonorable death.  His logic was soundly written all over his face, Paen observed. Paen liked this man.
Dajaai swallowed again, and then said, ”You still have my word.  You… have proven… me wrong… master warrior.”
And the master lowered the sword and returned the hilt to its owner.  The Lord sheathed the weapon and bowed pensively, shocked, sobered and yet accepting.  The vision of who Paen was became clear to him, right down to his sandals.

”Ahh good,” Paen said, smiling “Then I will take you up on a meal for me and my friend, Quanon.  We shall not stay long though, only a short rest.”

As Paen turned to grab the reins of his mehra, Minot and the remaining two warriors attacked.
The lord shouted, “NO!”

With his back still turned, Paen heard the sound of three blades being thwarted by one, Dajaai’s which moved like lightening in defense of the stranger, Paen to whom he had given his word.  Now Paen knew that the lord was truly an honorable man. The lord of Ketique, having disciplined his men, brought Paen safely through the gates of his town.
Why could Paen move the way he did?  How could he snatch the sword out from the hands of skilled Khoorlrhani lord, and move his heart toward an alliance? It was his never ending love of the goddess! In every moment, in every action, under every circumstance Paen, the master of the central art, the art of love, loved Ashuta, and with that love he could never step wrongly.
His heart was open wide, entirely to Her, and it was Her quickness, the quickness of the all pervading one that poured into him, quicksilver, enlivening his muscles and sensory and bringing a spark to his eye.

“I am Dajaai,” The lord said, and from left to right he named all his warriors, a large circle of them sitting on cushions on a section of the clay floor within a large  dihj that housed them.  Dajaai explained that Ketique was a newer town, growing each month.  They all ate a thick stew from wooden bowls.  All of the warriors stared at Paen, the man who defeated the best among them without having to draw his own sword.   The rumors already began to spread around the town, that perhaps Dajaai was getting too old, feeble, and perhaps mad.

”And this is my nephew Minot. He is a hot-head, a good Captain though.” Dajaai, pointed to him.  Minot coldly regarded Paen and resumed his eating.

“By whose standards was he deemed good?” The Master mumbled.

Dajaai pointed to others in the large house, non-warriors and named them. There were women in the dihj bringing food and water for the warriors to eat and drink. Many were fully wrapped in white or beige garments held together by beige or yellow sashes. The more mature women had long manes some braided, some twisted.
The Khoorlrhani all varied in skin tones of brown and black. Their ears were decorated with large silver loops. Some of the girls wrapped their hair with patterned yellow and orange fabric while some beaded theirs.

The younger woman had short hair only, coarse tufts or wildly twisted, and wore wraps that exposed more of their legs and arms.  Paen assumed they were not yet married but approaching the age for it.  It was hot in the dihj and the air within it was thick with the smell of active bodies.

In a fire lit section of the dihj, Paen could see older women sitting next to pots that hung over a large hearth. The women tended to them from behind a partition of animal hides.  There was a thick scent of dried herbs, and garlic that hung from the ceilings, and an occasional wafting of sage.
Many of those introduced to Paen were family to Dajaai in some manner, by blood or marriage.   Most of the villagers of Ketique—as it was still a small garrison town– were gathered in this one large dihj to share meals and gossip or to hold court with the lord and his aides to whom Paen was introduced.
Much of the townsfolk’s attention was tonight held on the circle of warriors and the traveler, whom everyone by now had heard of.  Paen could hear an occasional whisper;

“Yes that’s him over there, Yes,” and they would point and look away if noticed by Minot who was terribly irritated by all of the talk.  Young boys with sticks scampered by, fencing and imitating lord Dajaai and Minot, their heroes.  Paen smiled at them in delight.

“I am Master Paen,” he replied, “I have come from the easternmost part of the Genian Mountains, beyond the range of Kenamik to the Mountain once named By Her Bright Will.”

There were many grunts and ‘ahhs,’ among the warriors, men and women, who recognized the names this untamed place described by Paen’s words. Paen noticed a group of elderly men and women who entertained circles of young children with stories and taught them to play musical instruments at different sections of the dihj.  Paen’s face glowed happily in the firelight as he watched them.

”The children’s tales say that Kenamik is where the Goddess of the forest lives.” Lord Dajaai said.  Many of the warriors again grunted and chuckled in remembrance of such myths.

”She does live there.” Paen said while sucking the meat off a bone.

”And she sent me.” He chewed, and sucked his fingers.

Suddenly it grew quiet.  Paen did not pay the silence much mind until he glanced up and saw that everyone was now staring at him with expressions of their cynicism on their faces.  It became clear to him how much attention was on him, and so Master Paen brightened with a great loving expression in regard of them all.
Lord Dajaai chuckled embarrassed for Paen. Surely the master is joking, he thought.  He looked to Paen to deliver the punch line of a joke, but none came. Paen resumed eating his meal.
Men and women all around the dihj exchanged uncomfortable stares, glances of patterned and narrow minds unwilling to move beyond their habitual lines of fear. As Dajaai felt the heat of judgment against him, he worried how he was seen, and measured his own self worth within this uncomfortable moment.  He intuited the thoughts of others.

How could Dajaai be bested by this dreamer, this mad man?
What does it mean his being here?
Dajaai, is an old fool.

Finishing the stew in the silence, Paen placed the bowl in front of him.  He smiled warmly at the woman who brought it to him and nodded gratefully.
Daijai’s eyes widened with embarrassment. Was Paen trying to make a fool of him again, by not explaining himself and clearing Daajai of embarrassment? Was Dajaai by chance beaten by a crazy wanderer who lives in the realms of fairy tales?!

Sensing his discomfort, Paen cleared his throat and said, ”The goddess is the only reality.  She is saddened at your lack of attention, lack of regard.  She is heartbroken that you’ve forgotten her, that you have relegated Her to only children’s story’s, your own story vacant of Her presence, to religious tales of hope and of getting pleased by Her, your participation in life vacant of the love she so has for you all.”

Then the Master Paen clapped his hands together loudly and mockingly prayed, shouting;
Oh goddess I need this, oh goddess I need that!  If you do this for me I’ll be a better man!! Ah-hahahahah!” and he laughed.  Nobody else was laughing.  Paen crouched, and leaned forward and continued.  He said,

”The Goddess, Ashuta, has sent me to show you the way back to her.  The goddess is the only reality, and nothing that is, can never not be of Her including your very selves.  My knowing mySelf as Her heart is what makes me the Master, makes me quick, and makes me strong.  Your forgetting this about yourselves is what causes your suffering, your discomforts as you judge the appearances before you, making them different from you, making them separate, making them a problem, making them an enemy to be at war with, to argue with.”

The room was silent, and Dajaai glanced about the room.  He cleared his throat.

”But, honorable Master Paen, it is the Mayak who attack us openly. They…”

”Because you share nothing with them, and drive them away!” Paen howled, interrupted and laughed, “You threw your brother out, left him out of the circle of cooperation! Of course he’s mad at you!”

A smug expression of nobility came over Dajaai’s face as he cleared his throat to explain the master as if he were a child.
”We are an agricultural society. We work our lands so that the empire grows strong.”

Paen pressed his lips together tightly, considering the point. Several bodies moved into the room, captivated.
”Hmm. I see.  You are indeed superior.  So I suppose the Mayak should have understood that when the Khoorlrhani moved them deeper and deeper into the more barren lands. The Mayak should have accepted what you’re telling me, I suppose. Maybe the Mayak should all be saying, ‘I see it is an agricultural city state you are building my brother, ok let us Mayak move away, let you have what you want, this superior idea, this plan, and we will not ask for anything in return, not even a simple regard for our needs for survival on the land,’.  Where is the true spirit of cooperation?”

”The Mayak are savages who waste the land!” a voice shouted.

Minot, disgusted by Paen’s assertions, rose and left.

”The Khoorlrhani answer to no one!” a warrior shouted, “All of the lower tribes will bow to us before we are through!  They will eat the bread made from Khoorlrhani mills only after they have worked them and worked our fields!!!” and several shouts rose to follow.
”We owe them nothing but death!!” Others said.
”Who are you to say these things to Dajaai the great Eagle Lord!!”
”…cut off your head…”
”…Mayak dogs!!..”

The room was full of such shouting and outrage that Paen would not advocate Khoorlrhani self-righteousness.  Still, he smiled warmly at the men as they beat their chests patriotically.

”It is okay.” Paen said pressing his hands to the air. “We do not have to agree,”

And it grew quiet, mysteriously, as the men wanted to hear what this master had to say.

”You see?” he said, lifting his bowl again to taste the remaining broth, “We do not agree.  It is okay,” and it grew quiet, and calmer as Paen seemed to sooth their agitation.

”You see. We do not have to agree; … and still, if you notice, we at least share a meal together.” He smiled.  The room was silent and all attention was on Paen.

“Master, Paen. We are reasonable men.” Dajaai said, “The Mayak do not want peace. They want to steal what we labor for with vendetta.   They rob us of cattle, and take our women in the night. What are we to do when they are not willing to talk?” Lord Dajaai asked.

”We must do our duty. There is nothing more,” Paen replied,
“There is great personal offense on both sides of this fence of old conflicts you’ve built between you, but I tell you this; men follow leaders regardless of the personal for the sake of duty.  They die by the commandment of the king, the Tah, and what an honor this should be for the Tah who loves the truth, serves the truth, trusts only in the truth for then they have an extension of themselves to love and share the sweetest recognition of heart, like sun onto the trees, and this recognition grows into a forest, a dense jungle of all abiding in Her.”

“The leaders must be honorable men, with open hearts. If what they are doing abides with the truth, then there is healing, if it does not abide then there is only confusion, and needless death.  And what do you think is most true, most pure, the heart that created you, lives you, or the King that commands you?  Does that king love the heart? Does he love the truth, or does he love something else?”

Lord Dajaai swallowed, and Paen knew he heard him.  Paen felt a number of minds thinking about their Tah.  The men were quiet, calmed by the timbre of Paen’s voice.  Paen looked over at Dajaai, his expression gentle and yet serious, loving, and yet fierce.

”The truth can be gentle like a breeze, quiet and clear, but it can also be violent like the manju roaring in the woods, like a thunder clap.” Dajaai was caught in the gaze of Paen again.  The room seemed to reel. Such attraction!  His mind fought it, but his heart heard the message.
”And which version of the truth are you wanderer?” A voice called.  Paen could not see him for a countless number of people, men and women, were pressed into the smoky and pungent room.
Paen smiled, and glanced at Maburata seated before him.

”That is for Khoorlrhani-Tah to decide.”

There then was a great murmur of great offenses and then a shout.

”And what makes you think you’ll leave here alive to press this decision upon our Tah!?” It was a callous voice in the distance.

”I have my faith in an honorable man.” Paen said glancing at the Lord Dajaai.

”Thank you, for your hospitality.” Paen said to Dajaai, “I and my friend Quanon, must go.”

• Intro
• Chap I
• Chap II
• Chap III