32 a long drive (1/2)
Legs spread, arms stretched in weird angles, Jerry was a grotesque marionette. Weirder still was Pratt, crouched behind a single gas cylinder stove upon which sat a rather considerable sized pot, which was spitting out continuous clouds of steam.
”Where'd he get those from?”
I was pointing at Pratt. Dia smiled, as if waiting for me get the answer by myself.
”That's his luggage?” I asked, disbelievingly.
I didn't need Dia to answer.
As difficult as it was to believe, I wasn't complaining. Pratt prepared broth. It was the finest broth I had ever tasted in all of my short life. Jerry's expression of being lost in the taste said the same. His life was much longer. And that was much better evidence of the broth being truly the most delectable.
After breakfast, we set off. The twins took the front. Jerry and I were in the back. Resting. Sleeping.
When I woke, the sun was high. We were on flat road, driving through vast green fields. I had no trouble recognising the paddy fields of Juwar. Also, Jerry was speaking about Juwar.
”The drought was excuse enough for Markandur's campaign against the fiefs. The people were hungry enough to accept his words as divine doctrine, desperate enough to bear arms and head off to battle. It was the largest army the fiefs had ever seen across the battlefield. It might be an army of untrained civilians, but the sheer size was terrifying. For every soldier of the fiefs, there were twenty, sometimes even twenty five, in the invading army. Markandur stood at the head of a tsunamic wave that swept through the fiefs unhindered. It seemed like the heavens did favour Markandur. It is said that on the last day of the last battle against the final resisting fief, the moment victory belonged to Markandur and his people, the skies split and an unending rain fell that washed away the faintest shadow of the drought. It was the start of the blue era.”
”Why are we discussing the blue era?” Pratt asked.
He was resting, with his seat pushed back far. Dia was driving, without the slightest hesitation over her not having a license.
”What bearing does it have on the Faery civilisation?”
Jerry didn't answer immediately. He saw that I was awake, gave me a smile and a wink. And only then, started with the answer.
”Consider the epic rendition of Markandur's campaign written by Faws, four generations later. Faws writes about dark heavens and blue lands, the inversion of all life, and he uses a curious little phrase, which translates as, in the shadows of the receding death blossomed the promise of a brighter spark of life. Brighter spark of life, that's a construct that's very uncommon to the era. Even more so to the flatlands. It doesn't occur in any other literature of any generation of the blue era. Which is evidence in itself of Faws referencing older literature. The bright spark of life, if you consider the structure of the phrase, it certainly bears evidence of an idea, like an elemental. And it also bears resemblance to pictorial. It is almost like an intersection of the two forms. And where else do we see an interaction of two distinct forms?”
”Faery,” Dia answered immediately.
”That's a stretch,” Pratt said, clearly expressing doubt. ”It could just be a phrase, or structuring, learned and borrowed. Doesn't have to bear a connection with Faery.”
”Oh yes, you're right,” Jerry agreed. ”I'm not saying there is any such connection. I'm just making a comparison. It is an observation in light of the duality of Faery, which is where we're headed. An indulgence of idle mind.”
”Not necessarily,” I said, surprising the twins.
”Morning sleepy head,” Pratt greeted, grinning at me. ”You sleep really well. You didn't wake through Jerry and Dia arguing over the Yurks' treachery. You didn't wake as we stopped for freshly made cold paddy broth. Most impressively, you didn't wake at any of the tolls. I salute thee.”
”He's just jealous,” Dia said.