2.2 Nfierre (1)

※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※ ※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　

Today, Jesse's room was charred with the odor of horseshoes, graphite, and old paper. The little desk near the dresser was cluttered with prototypes and attempts, sketches balled into fists, squiggly drawn faces smudged to oblivion, some of these pages so deeply scratched they had torn through to the wood beneath. 

Jesse was struggling.

Nfierre sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, a stack of fresh pages between them. She moved slowly, precisely, every motion weighted with intent. The corner of her mouth curled as she flicked through Jesse’s pile of aborted drawings, but she said nothing cruel.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” she said, running her fingers along one ruined image. “But, there's work to be done with your expressions. Most of these look rather bland, and it's hard to understand what you're feeling here with the faces.”

Jesse slouched lower in his chair, arms folded, lips tight. “How am I supposed to create meaning when I can't even communicate what things mean to me?"

She looked up at him.

"I don't mind helping, you know."

The candlelight pressed gently against her cheekbones. Her presence was quiet, but never relaxed. There was always a stillness to Nfierre that didn’t feel right. Jesse had started noticing it the more time they spent together, how she sometimes tilted her head just wrong, how her eyes went too glassy when she wasn’t blinking. She was there, but sometimes not, almost like a tree.

Nfierre: "You just gotta keep working at it, and I'll tell you what I think, and try to draw some examples on my own. How's that?"

Jesse nodded. He picked up the pencil again.

His fingers hovered.

“Did it take you a while?” he asked. “To make something that. . . mattered?”

Nfierre leaned back against the wall, arms draped over her knees.

“No, I was an early bloomer.” she said. “It just took me a while to. . . handle the belief, if that makes sense.”

Jesse sketched a curve. It was supposed to be a jawline. It looked like a thumb.

He tried again.

“Though, uh, I made a sword stick to someone,” he said after a while. "Not an artsy thing, but I think that's progress in another area. If that has something to do with meaning."

“I know. I was there."

“You don’t seem surprised that I have an. . . artform?”

The word felt weird on his tongue, as if it were a foreign language of some kind. 

“I knew you had one when I met you. I told Androktasiai, and she’s been itching to get it to pop up since then.”

She said it like a nurse checking a fever. Not pity. Just accuracy. Jesse wasn't sure how this made him feel.

"She's like a gym teacher," Nfierre said.

"What's that?"

"A sort of. . . physical enthusiast. A sensei, or coach, that tells you to run around and train and do things."

Jesse set the pencil down.

“Is that like, good or bad?” Jesse asked. “Is it bad that I have an artform? Or a gym teacher?”

Nfierre blinked, slowly.

"It's neither."

He looked at her, frustrated. “I don't get it. Is art a good or bad thing?' 

Nfierre shrugged.

"I think it's good, but I think art is just another vessel for emotions at the end of the day," Nfierre said. "Are emotions good or bad? I don't know. I suppose they'd be good."

Jesse sighed and went back to drawing. The candle between them hissing now and then in memories of the remembered rain. Nfierre was winding a string of white thread around her finger, looping it until it looked like a constellation of sorts, adding paint to certain parts.

“Though, on artforms. You asked me earlier about Etoria. That's where artforms originally rose up.”

Jesse shrugged. Nfierre wasn't going to answer his previous question, and it was pointless to continue. “Yeah. I want to understand a bit of the history, and if it's worth visiting.”

“Oh, definitely. Etoria is about an hour or two away. Maybe three. It’s a beautiful city. "

"What's it look like?"

"There are two moons in Etoria’s sky. But, you only ever see one, because they take turns. The second is also a product of a certain harbor who lives in Etoria, though. . . I don’t know if she’s still alive. It’s been a few years since I’ve visited.”

Jesse thought about the painting from upstairs. That twin-mooned world was only three hours away? He desperately wanted to see it.

Nfierre: “You really should visit. . . they have so many art museums and even two art schools."

Jesse: "Would Androktasiai be alright with that?"

Nfierre thought to herself before responding.

"I can suggest it to her, if you're scared."

Jesse wasn't sure if scared was the right word. I suppose, awkward? Undeserving?

Nfierre: "Though, I'm sure you don't know much about Etoria, before Etoria."

Jesse shook his head.

"Not a thing."

"Well, before Etoria, the land around here was inhospitable, though. Nothing grew in the ground. It was a flat plain of dust, and there was very little rain, but plenty of snow. The snow here came down in needles during the cold and wet seasons, and then it would drown whatever plants survived from the snow."

Jesse waited patiently for the 'and then.'

Nffiere: “Has A-"

She sighed.

"Androktasiai, has she told you about the three great tragedies of Etoria's founding?"

Jesse shook his head.

"I didn't know she was from Etoria."

Nfierre smiled. A rare sight from her. Though, not lately. This was the third, maybe fourth smile Jesse had seen in the days she's been here.

"I suppose you're rather in the dark then." 

She cleared her throat, tapping her fingers alongside the bottom of her skirt.

"Around two hundred years ago, there were talks between other countries about expanding into the new land discovered by their scouts. The issue that those settlers had to face when trying to colonize the land here, were known as the three great tragedies. Though, that phrase is really for the colonizers, not the colonized. And, this takes place after the crusades of Fauvilus and the eventual end of his empire that marked the end of the Vitalian Era."

Nfierre looked down at the boy, and then shook her head.

"Those three, of course, were the Abyss, the Etozen, and the Beast.”

“Eventually, after many attempts of colonization, there was a party that came here, about a hundred and fifty years ago, in the attempts to make something new of the land. They all came from different backgrounds and ate different foods and talked differently, but they were three companions united in the creation of a new city away from their homelands.”

“Now, entire forces of special operations had been sent here in the past. They were wiped out continuously, with very few survivors returning to tell the tale. These three people were," she coughed. "Rather full of themselves, in my opinion."

"Now, the first threat they faced was the Abyss. The Abyss is more of an entity than a people, it's what we call what lived beneath the sand of Etoria. There was a dark colony of souls that ate the world above, draining all energy from the surface-land. This was due to a covenant with the Goddess of Rain and the spirits born from her groundwater, but it made the underground uninhabitable, and killed any grass on the surface. If people wanted things to grow, the Abyss had to go."

"So, the three heroes sent their great soldier Boadicea. She was the typical warrior, a tank type. A hulking mass. She was a kind fighter, a believer in communalism. She had been a food critic once, traveling around the various countries. She had wanted to be a sort of salesperson, and she learned five languages, and she was always a smiley woman. Still, this woman was a beast on the battlefield, nothing like I've ever seen." 

Nfierre seemed lost in thought for a moment, but a simple tap brought her back to reality.

"And, well, she fought the Abysslord for seven days and seven nights, and eventually, banished the dark.”

Jesse looked up. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Nfierre said. “Her story is a bit messy now. She had no artform or ability until after that fight. She was just a tank, and she protected her two companions with nothing but a claymore. A true hero shines brightest with nothing at their disposal.”

“The second issue, was the Etozen. Bloodwrights. Nomad-mages, of some kind. We still don’t know what they were really doing here. They weren’t native. Some historians from other countries say they were survivors from the failed empire, or some sort of escapists of an upturnt coup. They sustained themselves on the sea, and eachother of course. There were also tall mountains nearby that they planted crops on, that rarely survived. They planted in such surplus though that they managed to feed their wealthier 'citizens' if you want to call them that. The land was hard to navigate, and they robbed anyone entering the area. I'm not really sure how they made it so long, but they managed to survive until Alltitus arrived.”

Alltitus sounded so cool.

“Alltitus wasn’t from around here, not anywhere close. She came from beyond the water somewhere, a land of paganists from the northwest. That's where she gets her vivid red hair. She worked with a resistance group inside the Etozen, but she did the killing. Most of it. She worked with a woman to kill the sitting-face president or God-Emperor of the Known Universe, as they called him. Alltitus killed his cabinet. His supporters. Anyone who called him leader.”

“Wasn’t that. . . wrong?” Jesse asked.

Nfierre nodded once. “Yeah. Looking back on it, I think so. But, the guy was pretty demonic, and a scumbag. He didn't exactly rule the entirety of the people, or a solidified land-mass, but he was certainly a tyrant of people. If you're asking me. . .  I don't think I would have personally killed all of them, but I don't know. Things burned and in their ashes, new things were born."

She closed her eyes.

"A fraction of the Etozen that supported the God-Emperor fled. The half that worked with Alltitus started something new across the northern strait, somewhere along the northeast, and found some similarities and a new stake in trade and business with the northeast. Even Etoria has a decent relationship with them now. Trade, letters, occasional threats.”

A pause. Nfierre’s fingers moved slower now.

Jesse leaned in. “And the Beast?”

She didn’t answer at first.

Then:

“The Beast was the mage’s task. Her name is lost to history though.”

“What’s the difference between a mage and an artform?” Jesse asked.

Nfierre tilted her head.

“Mages learn magic. They focus on the religion of creation. It requires human essence, and learning. Artforms all come from the Godking Alltitus. There weren’t any artforms until she arrived. And, artforms aren’t essence based. There really aren’t any mages anymore. Magic has been tossed away for specialized art.”

Jesse kept doodling, thinking about this. He found this strange. Nfierre kept talking.

"In essence, artforms are another form of magic. Mages study under the covenants of certain Gods, or pantheons of Gods. The most popular is the Creationist sect, but the Etozens for example, studied under the Nomadic sect, and the Abyssals under the Rainwater sect. They're also typically stronger than your basic artform- as learning and effort takes more meaning than inherent talent, so their connections to the world are stronger."

“Regardless, the matter of the Beast, though, is still a mystery to this day. It wasn't a magic thing, nor an artform of some kind. In fact, no one knew where it came from. As a study of history in Etoria, I still don’t. It wasn't written of in the Vitalian Era, what little information we have about their cultures. The Etozens had written nothing of a beast either, rather that it was foolish to travel in any poor conditions, as men would go missing from packs of animals. It was something noted by the advance parties of other countries- that something was taking their men in the night and snow and dark and mush, but again, most assumed these were wild animal packs that hid themselves in the sand, and sustained themselves on. . . sand, I suppose. So, the three were prepared for something cruel, but. . . what exactly it was, they had no idea."

"It wasn't a concern until those three had finished drawing the city’s last outer wall. This lanky mass of wire and wood appeared in the dead of night like it was given an invitation to end any plans of creation. The mage of the party tried to stop it, but couldn’t, so she decided to redirect it.”

Jesse's eyes widened. “Redirected how?”

“She barred it from entering. The mage laced the city’s edge with sigils. Something she learned from her old teacher, a sect of magic that's. . ." Nfierre tugged at her collar, looking away uncomfortably. "Not exactly honorable. It was barely a win.”

She looked back at him, her voice barely above a hush. Though, Nfierre's voice never really rised too high. 

“The Beast is a monstrous demon, worse than the other two great threats, in my opinion. It's a gourmand that eats people. It’s, like an Idol of Fear, or something.”

Jesse did not enjoy this concept. The Beast must have been what he was chased by.

“What's an Idol of Fear?”

“It's what we commonly call forms of great despair. Things that are supernatural in essence. . . we title them Fear-Mongers, or Fear-Idols. Beasts of Fear. We have a ranking system back in the country form where I'm from, but this beast was like nothing I had seen in my lifetime. It seems to trick its prey in with the voices of those that it has killed, and then, it becomes a cycle of their voices that cause others to be lured in, and kill more. I don’t really know how it works. It seems rather unkillable, by the mage’s notes.”

‘It used my mother’s voice though,’ Jesse thought. But, Jesse had seen his mother when she died. She had been intact, and so, he found this hard to believe, unless the beast ate her afterwards. . . 

Jesse didn’t like this line of thinking.

“Ay! Dinner, tiny ones!”

Androktasiai called out, cutting this conversation short.

                                                                                    . . .

Dinner was nice that night. Steak and a loaded baked potato, lasagna, and miso ramen too. A mix of everything it seems, like a grand banquet.

After dinner, Jesse enjoyed a bowl of cereal, some sort of Crave cereal that tasted delicious.

He listened to Nfierre infodump more about Etoria as Androktisai cleaned up the table.

Nfierre: "Mages and artforms. . . think of them like the difference between intellect and belief. You don't exactly feel connected with your learning material typically. Mages study things, and there's great connection in that sort of study on natural beauty, but the theory with Artforms is that they're the result of being brushed up against by Gods, or by having similar intentions and lifestyles to these Gods. A way of explaining why children often have extremely different Artforms from their parents. Mages study the imprints of Gods, whereas Artforms are imprints of Gods. . . "

She rattled on. Jesse listened to her talk more in the living room after that banquet, and he listened to her before bed. Jesse offered to help Androktasisi do dishes in order to escape this infodumping, to which she scoffed and did not save him.

Androk: 「Listen to your elders, abiemo. . .」

Androktasiai looked down at him with a pitiful expression. Abiemo was one of the mainly strange words Androk would use in her daily vocabulary.

He sighed and went back to his job.

"So, you immigrated to Etoria?" Jesse asked. 

Nfierre: "Yeah. I mean. . . no, I'm. . . kind of a wanderer, a study of sorts. I travel around and learn various lifestyles, and I have for quite a few decades.

This confused Jesse.

"How old are you?" he asked, and then winced internally. Not a great question to ask. 

Nfierre: "Roughly. . . a hundred and seventy now?"

Jesse's jaw dropped.

"What?" Nfierre asked, watching his expression.

"I just. . . do people live that long?"

"Yeah. Nowadays, they do. Not about a hundred and fifty-odd years ago, but after the second Godking of Etoria took control. . . aging was slowed quite a lot. I should live to three hundred or four hundred, if I'm healthy."

Jesse looked stunned. That's such a long lifespan, he thought. Would he have to live that long?

How old was his mother? How old was Androktisiai? He had run under the the strange impression that maybe Androk was in her forties or fifties, and that his mother was in her thirties, and that Nfierre was roughly the same, but his worldview had been tossed upside down.

This made him question just how old he himself was. What if he was a hundred years old, and he had simply lost count?

When Jesse broke out of his long winded daze, Nfierre seemed a bit sadder. He hoped this wasn’t his fault. Had he been too cold to her? Was he accidentally ignoring her?

Regardless, Nfierre excused herself and went to bed. 

Hopefully, he'd apologize before the weekend, when she left their cottage.

. . .

"Do you have an artform?" Jesse asked, taking a seat at the dining room table and opening his sketchbook.

Androk gave him a conflicted, pained look.

"What?"

"An artform. . . I assume you have one? Is that how the power here works without a power encampment? That weird thing you did with your axe. . . "

A power encampment is what Jesse's mother called the power strips.

She shook her head.

"No. Kid, the axe has powers, but I have no powers of my own."

She then gestured outside. "And the power, those are cause of the iccils."

Jesse looked confused.

She sighed and sat down with him, enjoying a cup of Jameson while he drew away at the dining room table.

"Alright, there's something we call energy, that travels through all things. A thing can be charged with positive energy, or it can be charged as negative energy."

"Most things have an equal amount of both,"

"But if somethings got more negative energy, its net negative, so forth, ey?"

"Anyways. Iccils, they got that thick wool on them. Wool, it resists the flow of both electricity and heat. It traps air within its fibers, which helps to insulate, keeping the iccils warm in the snow."

"Running along their spine and branching toward their horns and hooves are bundles of specialized bio-fuck-a-cytes. These are housed in muscular sheaths called vellum cords, and they braid 'em with copper-like keratin. When the iccil walks or grazes, there's muscle contractions, and the cords build a charge through ion flow, mainly sodium and potassium ions, across cellular membranes and shit."

"Think of it like this: you take the movement and the biological flow of your blood, juices, and energy, and it creates what we call stored potential."

"See, we all got this electricity in us. You got it, I got it, they got a lot of it too."

Jesse pointed to himself in surprise. 

"Yeah, you, eejit. So, what makes the icclis different, is they also got these massive horns, y'know? Those things are porous throughout, and laced with magnetite and a crystalline, conductive compound similar to graphene, if you know what that is, allowing for controlled discharge of the built-up energy. They produce too much of the stuff, so I just attach a receiver coil to the horn-base, drawing excess voltage."

She groaned. "Course. . . storing the stuff is a huge pain."

She pointed to the wall around them. "Inside the walls, we got what we call "humming-glass capacitors.” Humming-glass is specially made for electric work. It's made with gel and wires and all 'at."

"How'd people figure that out?" Jesse asked.

"Uh, we had a guy who was harbored with the God of Shepherds, a while back."

"We?" Jesse said, raising his finger with confusion.

"Listen, kid, go to bed. It's late."

He wanted to ask more questions, and learn more about the wonders of Androktasiai (without hearing about the differences between mages and artforms for ten hours.)

But, there was not a way he could protest, and so, our good-natured but immature Jesse headed on his way to the old bedroom, marking the end of another fulfilling and kind day..

※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※ ※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※