The Book of the Wavering: Many Hands
At an early age, a boy named Call, had many different arms, and many different hands upon those arms. Most would insult him, or say that he was a defective person, but he took these in stride, and thought himself the better person for never responding to the name calling.
In fact, he used his many arms, and many hands, to great effect. He operated seven looms at a single time, and could make all sorts of fabric and cloth as a result.
This became his trade, and he settled into a simple life. However, while he sold his wares well, he did not make many friends, and never had a spouse to share his life with. What he always thought of as the best part of himself, made him a pariah to the rest of the world.
In sorrow one day, he cut off all of his extra arms, trying to make himself look like a normal man. As a result, he could no longer operate his looms, and became poor, eventually losing his home. He discovered that looking normal still made him no friends, as now he looked nothing more than an ordinary homeless man.
When winter came, he died in the cold, while many that ignored him, kept warm in coats woven from fabric that he made.
- - - - -
“Pop! I found some!” She was giddy, and jumped up and down with a great abundance of energy. He seemed to match her enthusiasm, but he was far more restrained in expressing it.
“Well, would you look at that, a nice small patch of them! Oh, the many must have known we would be here this day.” He scratched at her head for a moment, fussing with her hair. She feigned annoyance for a moment, but was still smiling.
“Are we going to bring them to Momma?” She gently touched one of them for a small moment.
“No, we’ll let them grow.” He sat down in the grass a small ways from the patch of flowers, and motioned for her to sit beside them. He set his bag down as well, and started reaching for things in it.
Alia looked up at her father, not sure what his brain was transfixed on. She’d often hear her mother make similar complaints as well, that his smile was always somehow genuine, yet beguiling. At last he found a pad of paper, and a set of markers and inks. He handed them to her, and pointed at the patch of tulips.
“We’ll capture an image of them instead, but with nothing so crude as a direct view. Little lunar one, you’ll make an image of what you see, in eyes, and heart.”
“So… you want me to draw a picture of them? Mother has a garden full of them, what good do pictures do?” She squinted at the markers, and then at the flowers, briefly readjusting her glasses.
“Well, my dear Alia, if ownership is all that matters in it, what purpose does a gift ever have? If you put such terms upon it, it’s just like any other transaction.”
“I don’t understand…” He just smiled, and looked at her, his furiously blue eyes soothed her in many ways she couldn’t quite place words to.
“Just look at them, and capture this moment as best you can. Any skill or ability is meaningless. What is conveyed will be more than adequate.”
Her father set the items before her, and said nothing else. Alia looked at them with trepidation, and what could be seen as a slight amount of fear. As though the expectation placed on her was great, and she knew she could not live up to it. She squinted hard at the flowers again as well.
“Mean father. I can’t draw, or paint. I don’t know art.”
“Everyone knows art.” A giggle escaped him.
“I’ll make an ugly thing.”
“A gift for your Mother would be anything but an ugly thing.”
“Kindness only in the gifting, is that what you mean?” She grabbed at one of the markers, and placed some ink inside of it, still glancing over to her father for advice, or something.
“That depends, child, on what you create. Don’t think of how skilled you are. Think only of what you want to escape from your heart.”
“I’m not quite sure what that is, odd father.”
“Many people that create things never are.”
“Again… I don’t understand.”
“You will…”
She just pouted, before going back to the task her father had set to her. She had mused with other children her age that speaking of things long from now was often a parent’s way of escaping the need to answer questions. Still though, she enjoyed the times her father would bring her here, and promised her mother that she would bring something back. She spent not a long time on it, and tried her best to capture what she saw before her, a small patch of tulips growing out of the grasses and other weeds in the area. Her father knew she’d be nervous if he was looking over her shoulder the entire time, so instead of giving her the fear of judgment, he stood up, and started to gaze about the landscape, as though he was looking for someone.
Alia finished rather quickly, and was already disappointed in what she had made. It was very clearly the drawing of a child, and she felt that it in no way encapsulated what actually rested before her. She’d rather just picked some of the flowers, or taken a picture with a camera.
She put the inks away, but didn’t alert her father, instead she marveled at the landscape before her. The Seveter was said to be tended to by shapers, but it was a wild and strange place. Plants grew with little care for one another, pushing others out of their way, as though all the strange and beautiful forms were competing for the attention of those that would travel here. It wasn’t a long distance from where she lived, though she and her father still took the train to arrive here.
Her father finally interrupted her day dreaming.
“Finished, are you, Alia?”
She grumbled as he gazed at the picture.
“It’s terrible.”
“Strike that from you, and watch this.”
He grabbed her hand, and put it on the paper, and made her swipe it across the paper. As her hand flew across it, she noticed the ink swirl about, and make a new shape on the page. She did this many more times without his assistance, and soon beheld that her image was far different. The colors were fierce, contrasting sharply with the black outlines of the shapes, and there was an edge of the world around the tulips now as well, before everything faded to the white edges of the page again. It was far different from what she made, but was still also far different than the actual sight that was before her.
“How…”
“I still have some tricks I know of. Age has one benefit, and that’s knowledge, and temperance.”
“This isn’t what I made at all.”
“No,” he laughed. “It’s what you wanted to make.”
She smiled, and quickly went to put the picture into his bag, for safe keeping. He reached out to her, and hoisted her up to give her a piggyback ride. He trotted a little ways off, when Alia noted that her father usually had a reason to bring her out to this place.
“Odd Poppa, did we only come here so I could make that picture?”
“Of course not. We’re meeting friends on this, your day of days.”
“Who?” she hoped that by friends, he meant her friends, and not his.
“Your aunt Veln, among others.”
“Sing-song Winter!” Alia normally found a lot of her extended family boring, but Winter was one that she very much enjoyed spending time with.
“Well, you’re in bright spirits again.” He jumped a bit, making her bump upwards a bit, and she giggled.
Another reason he kept her close was his own seeming awareness for Alia to wander in some parts of Seveter. While most of the garden seemed content to fight amongst itself, there were a few things she needed to be kept aware of, but never paid attention to. The oils on some of the vines could cause fever, and the thorns on others would often impart a nasty infection to its victims. Alia just looked around in awe the entire time.
“Could I make my wish today, to stay here until nightfall, Poppa?” A very real enthusiasm in her tone.
“And ignore your mother, and what she’s done for you today? That would make you a cruel one, daughter.”
“I mean nothing like that.”
“But you mean exactly that. Were you to do such, your mother’s planning and goodwill will be spat at by you.” He did not glance over his shoulder to her with scorn, but again she saw a playfulness in his eyes. “Besides, all your friends from school will be there today.”
Alia quizzed him on which faces she knew would arrive, and he answered the best he could. After a little ways, they found a man made path lined with a small brown fence, which led out of Seveter, and towards the train station.
“Sing-Song Winter waits for us?” She asked.
“Yes. Veln will be waiting for us at the platform. I hear from her friend that she has a gift for you.”
“I need nothing from her,” Alia remarked. “Nothing but a new song at a time or two.”
“Veln does know many.”
Finding redundancy in the conversation, Alia rested her head on her father’s shoulder, and began to contemplate the many events the day still had in mind for her. She didn’t really think a birthday was worth celebration, but her parents put much effort into the event, and Alia did not refuse good company and freshly baked sweets.
After a small time, they emerged from the wild garden, and into a small flat plain of well tended grass. Across from that, there was a train platform, which seemed the only building of manmade origin in this two sided emptiness. To one side, there was Seveter, and to the other, a seemingly endless expanse of hills and plains that ran for as far as Alia could see. Granted, without her glasses, she could see very little.
Alia dropped off her father’s shoulders, and reacquainted herself with walking and standing. As soon as she had a decent grasp of gravity again, she darted for the sheltered platform, a rich mixture of dull colors and black metal bars lining things like an artistically placed spider web, amongst a grand marble floor.
She took a quick glance around the resting area, and at first saw no one.
“My, little sky one grows so abundantly each time I see her.” It was a deep and authoritative female voice that came from behind her.
Alia turned, and saw a woman in brightly colored garb, which contrasted sharply with her deep brown skin. She held a bag at her side, and a closed umbrella in her other hand.
“Sing-Song Winter!” Alia screeched. Immediately she darted across the gap between the two, and nearly tackled the woman to give her a hug.
“Yes child, it’s good to see you too… and a happy birthday, I might add!”
Alia pulled herself away, and looked up at this very imposing woman, who wore a warm smile.
“I’m nine years old today!” She spoke enthusiastically. “Are you coming to my party, Sing-Song?”
The dark skinned woman nodded, and then turned her gaze to Alia’s father.
“And Townser, it’s been far too long!” She ignored Alia for a moment, and went to give Townser a hug. Townser fussed with her hair like he did with Alia’s, and while Winter quickly slapped his hand away and gave him a mean look, Alia thought it a great amusement, to see that she wasn’t the only one subjected to such an annoyance.
“Always good to see you again, Veln.” Townser added, and motioned for the three of them to sit on a steel bench that looked towards the tracks.
Alia did not sit with them, but instead she played a game where she tried to hop on certain colors on the marble floor, while avoiding putting her feet anywhere else. Her father and Winter already seemed deep in conversation.
“And how is the mistress Ariak, Townser?”
“She’s fine, been a bit stressed lately, trying to bring this party together. I’ll admit I’ve been of very little assistance.” Winter laughed as he spoke that.
“What’s so funny?”
“It reminds me of a joke I told mistress Ariak when Alia was first born.”
“Which is?”
“That I felt sorry for her, as she now had two children to contend with.”
Townser seemed at the brink of indignation, but instead burst out into laughter.
“I guess I can’t really refute such a claim.”
Winter made a strange sound, and gestured for Alia’s attention.
“What say you little one, how much trouble on a given day does Townser here burden your mother with?”
“Lots!” She held her arms wide for dramatic effect. Winter chuckled, but now Townser seemed to feel a bit more embarrassed rather than playing into the joke. He seemed a little eager now to steer the conversation in a new direction, and as he did, he instantly lost Alia’s attention again.
“How goes your studies, Veln?”
She too seemed somber now.
“They go well. I have many able bodied to help me, so most of my time is spent in my lab. Still though, for all the progress I make, there are still so many sick. It seems endless at times. I relish these chances I get to spend among the living…”
Townser peered over to where Winter had set her bag, and saw his daughter creeping towards it, slowly reaching out her hand, oblivious that she had been caught already. He reached out and cut off Winter’s flow of speech, and smacked Alia on her wrist.
“Manners, young miss!” he shouted.
Alia instantly retreated, and saw Winter grabbing the bag and pulling it away from her, feeling even worse that her aunt was now angry with her as well.
“Honestly,” her father continued. “You can wait an entire year, and now you’re told to wait just a little longer, and you can’t heed such a request?!”
“Likely she gets that from you,” Winter remarked slyly.
“Veln, please.” There was a very real disappointment in her father’s tone that made her feel awful.
Alia retreated further away from them both, and felt only angry eyes staring at her. Without realizing it herself, she began to cry. For a small moment she tried to form words to offer up some level of defense towards her father and her aunt, but as she only babbled, their stares did not change. They began to fade as well, as her glasses started to fog up.
She huddled into a ball, and tried to slow the torrent and noise, but felt largely unsuccessful.
As their gazes still remained fixed on her, a shallow noise began to smother the sounds of her crying. It was like an engine moving through deep water, but the distance the sound traveled was still dense and wide. Alongside it came the noise of splashing and other aquatic noises. It was as though a noisy fountain shooting through the sky. Townser reached for his pocket watch, and checked the time.
“Always late at this hour.” Townser spoke somberly.
The train at last pulled into the station, along its bottom were no tracks, but a pool of water that seemed to follow it wherever it went. It was a shining and grand thing, but for whatever reason it also looked very old. Her mother had said it to be a very new thing to the areas they lived in, but to Alia, it seemed like an ancient relic awakening each time it pulled into the station.
Winter approached Alia, and offered her hand to the girl. Alia retreated further again, nodding her head, as though some feeling of guilt still existed to make such an offer a wrong thing. Townser moved Winter aside, and picked Alia up, and held her close.
“There there,” he whispered. “Do not let this sully your day.”
He called out for Winter, she produced three tickets, and they stood near one of the doors, waiting for it to open. As it slid upwards, a very strange and very tall man walked out. He wore a finely pressed suit, which bore symbols to show that he would take their tickets, but he had an odd face. Strangely pale and he had no mouth or nose, but instead, just a second set of smaller eyes below his normal ones. He also only had two fingers and a thumb on each hand, which Alia assumed to be an oddity as well, considering everyone she knew, had five fingers per hand. He bowed before the three, and made a deep clicking noise twice. Winter handed him the tickets, and her pressed all three against his forehead, before handing them back. He gestured for them all to board the train, and they did.
Winter held onto both Townser’s and her own bag, as her father kept trying to sooth her guilt away. Eventually they came to an isle in the very fancy and somewhat uncomfortably cold train, and he sat Alia next to the window.
The conversation seemed dull, but her father kept making motions to try and calm her, and wash away the bad feeling that she was awash with. He pointed to the window as the train left the station, and admittedly her worry did dissipate a little as she started to look out at the sights. The gardens looked out at her from a cleanly cut horizon, their wild limbs and plants shooting up into the sky like a protest, or a fond farewell being bid to her. As they pulled away further from that, she saw far back from the garden, a mighty black shadow that stood out amongst the sky like a spike, so obscure was it that Alia thought it almost a world away. Once the gardens were away from sight, the train turned away from the planes, and eventually came to be very near a Cliffside, overlooking the sea. While this route was very coastal, Alia would still see how the train would turn in between towns and hillsides every once and awhile. As she kept looking, she felt her eyes grow heavy for a moment, but soon an awareness of that struck her, and she turned to her father.
“Make cry father, trade seat with Sing-Song!”
“Hmm?” He popped his nose from a book to look at her with confusion for a brief moment. “What’s this all about?”
“Sorrow make switches places with Sing-Song!”
“Fine, fine, as you wish, pushy little birthday girl.” Townser tapped Winter on the shoulder, and motioned for the two to switch spots.
As Winter made herself comfortable again, she looked at Alia and smiled.
“And what is the cause for this, my dear one?”
Alia smiled wider.
“Sing-Song, for my birthday, can you sing me a new song?”
“Of course I can,” muttered Winter, who picked Alia up, and sat her on her lap.
As Alia rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder, she took one more brief glance out the window, and closed her eyes, as Winter began to sing to her softly.
