Kirya and Nero

Chapter 5: Seen and Unseen

Beyond my eyes
The people fly past;
Unknowing, unwavering

Through my eyes
The world rushes in;
Fleeting, ephemeral

Behind my eyes
There is only darkness;
Silent, lonely

I am unseen.

-Oerakna Zigurai (Onikija transl.)

In many ways, Kirya considered the dance to be the highlight of the morning. The original choreography had been no difficulty, thanks to years of learning to adapt and flow with a yin saber. Her partner – a smug boy named Sair – was just as sword-savvy as Kirya herself, and the director had given the pair of them leave to improvise. As long as they stayed in time with the music, of course.

It was challenging, it was liberating, it was... exhilarating.

In comparison, her first class of the day was nearly unbearable.

“What a day!” announced Mrs. Gilder, the literature professor. “And what an honor, I say, to have one of our esteemed guests here with us on this fine autumn morning!”

Kirya wavered uncomfortably to one side, pretending that twenty sets of alien eyes were focused on anything but her. At least during the dance she could melt into the music or disappear among the other dancers. And she only read her poetry to people she already knew. But now it was just her, on display in front of a bunch of strangers like a living museum piece.

“Now I’d like to invite Ms. Kira Onny-keeja – I hope I’m saying that right! – to tell us a little about herself.”

To Kirya’s horror, the teacher was beckoning her to the lectern in front of the class. At the very front. Right in the crosshairs. For an irrational second, Kirya wanted to refuse, or even to run. But that would be wrong, she told herself. I have to set an example. Still, it was only with reluctance that she shuffled forward, as if the aged wooden podium was covered in snapping jaws.

“Ziato... I mean... eya, good morning,” she stammered, trying to remember something – anything – from the English lessons that seemed like ancient history. “My name is Kirya Onikija. I am from the northern island of Ksanki. I enjoy poetry and oyinkapa. I look forward to learning with you. Jirai sinie kiu!”

She bowed awkwardly and moved to step away, but Mrs. Gilder coughed politely.

“Thank you, dear,” she said. “But could you tell us about... oink-a-pa? It sounds intriguing!”

Kirya struggled to find the words. “Oyinkapa is... it’s a... sword dance?”

“Sword dance!” Mrs. Gilder gasped. “How exciting!”

“Was that what you did earlier?” chimed a yellow-haired yuma girl. “With the sticks?”

Kirya tilted her head. “Au. No, that was a dance. Oyinkapa is... like a fight but not a fight. A dance with swords.”

“Like fencing?” suggested a dark-skinned boy.

That’s the word! Kirya’s brain yelped.

“Yes,” she said thankfully. “Like fencing.”

"Wonderful," said Mrs. Gilder. "I'm sure it's just lovely. And you're also a connoisseur of poetry, I heard you say?"

"Yes, zera-Gilder."

"Zera-Gilder! How nice! And who's your favorite poet, my dear?"

"Aao... well, I like many by Zigurai–"

"Oh, an Eraknian poet! Of course! Could I trouble you to recite something? We'd all be fascinated to hear some Eraknian verse!"

A few yumas fidgeted in their seats. Maybe they sympathized with Kirya's discomfiture. Or maybe they were frustrated by such a blatant misuse of their time.

"I... yes, zera-Gil... Mrs. Gilder. But I know poems in Naikuno, not in English."

"That's alright, dear. Please go on!"

It was worse than she could have imagined. An impromptu recital, sprung on her like a stalking tiger. It was too sudden, there was no time to prepare. Kirya closed her eyes and desperately tried to find the moment, but she was all too aware of the many eyes stabbing into her like judgmental knives.

But she wouldn't refuse. She couldn't. She caught hold of a deep cleansing breath... and the words found her:

"Rio'in ai oraki
Sirha'in sinolu;
Hakreaiga, zaijoiga

"Rio'in kir guehi
Jieyik ragiru;
Erzinyaiga, rire-riga

"Rio'in ai vakari
Avara ti riu;
Gineksaiga, serak'in viga

"Ai'firu'li oru."

Her fears and hesitation were nothing – the words had never left her. It was like running into an old friend when she needed it most. She could feel the echo of the words swirling through–

"Oh that was lovely!"

Reality slapped Kirya across the face, like an icy shower after a pleasant dream. And now she was awake, off-balance, and back in front of a room full of yumas.

"Such a beautiful language," Mrs. Gilder proclaimed. "Whatever does it mean?"

"It is about... do not understand."

"That's okay, dear, just take your time."

Eya! Why is this so hard? "No, the poem. It is about not understanding. Lonely. Trapped in the mind. It... is a sad poem."

"Oh! Well, naturally! You can really tell, can't you? And it was, if I may say, so beautifully recited! Thank you for sharing, dear, so kind of you. Well done, Kira. A round of applause, class!"

And finally, as if spotting the hunted suffering in Kirya's eyes, Mrs. Gilder rose from her chair and joined her at the lectern.

"Alright, dear, you may take your seat now. Let's see... ah, there's an open spot next to Mr. Fleming. There, by the wall. That's it. Off you go, then."

Kirya floated down the aisle in a daze, her daze anchored to her feet. She slid silenty into the empty chair and stared intently at her desk. There were no eyes watching her, only stars. Stars that twinkled harmlessly in the distance.

"Okay, class," Mrs. Gilder beamed. "Welcome to Literature and Creative Writing! My name is Mrs. Gilder, and I will be your humble guide to the infinite world of the literary! Let me just distribute the syllabus and we can dive right in!"

She held up a tablet computer and made a showy gesture on its surface. There was a flurry of motion as the other students reached into bags and backpacks, pulled out similar tablets, and began swiping and tapping with clear purpose as Mrs. Gilder began reading aloud.

Kirya found her own tablet. Like those of her classmates, it was a school-issued device, and it was much heavier than she was used to. This stiff slab of plastic and glass just didn't compare with a computer scroll.

She tapped on the glass, but nothing happened. She drew her finger across the screen, but there was still no response. She glanced around at her classmates, but no one else seemed to have a problem. By now, Mrs. Gilder had recited what sounded like several paragraphs, and she was now describing an illustration of some kind.

Kirya felt the anxiety creeping up on her again. She remembered the counselor at orientation saying something about biometric security before moving on to how these "nifty gadgets" would store all her textbooks, run exercises, and even let her submit tests and quizzes.

But not once did he mention how to turn the dratted things on.

Kirya prodded, jabbed, silently pleaded, and silently cursed, all to no avail. She was about to call on the teacher for help – and make a spectacle of herself in the process – when the pale boy next to her caught her eye. He pointed to a gray bit of plastic at the corner of his tablet and mimed pressing it with his thumb.

Kirya mimicked the boy and was rewarded with a flicker of light and a screen full of icons. She offered a grateful smile, and the boy responded with a sheepish one of his own.

A blinking green square on the side of the screen beckoned to her, and she was finally directed to a mess of words under the heading "Literature and Creative Writing 2A". Mrs. Gilder's unctuous reading seemed to imply that the syllabus was the most masterful work ever crafted. To Kirya's mind, though, the text was even drier than the title. There were a few nuggets of information – such as reading lists, assignment types, and a point-by-point breakdown of Mrs. Gilder's grading system – but these were buried deep within the self-aggrandizing prose.

With all due respect to her teacher, Kirya sincerely hoped the actual lessons wouldn't be so empty and overstated.

---

Nero couldn't believe his luck. Here it was, the first class of the day, and there was an Eraknian sitting right next to him! He did his best not to stare, but he couldn't resist stealing a quick glance now and then.

Even after years of seeing pictures and vids of Eraknians on the net, Nero was unnerved by the legs. From the waist up, this girl could almost pass for human. But that only made the legs – which bent twice, like a dog or a bird – seem painfully abnormal.

Nero vaguely remembered reading a relevant concept years ago. It suggested that when something un-human looked almost completely and realistically human, it only served to draw attention to the details that still weren't doing the job. The result was often discomfort, revulsion, and even fear.

But he felt no fear. The girl might not be human, but she was still a person.

She was taller than him, but by mere inches. Her skin was tan, as if she had spent years under a hot summer sun. Her long hair – pulled back in an easy ponytail – was a shade of deep red that bordered on burgundy, and her sharp eyes were a peculiar violet color. She wore a loose-fitting sky blue shirt, plain gray knee-breeches, and thin sandals that laced over her ankles.

There was something... keen about her posture. She gave the impression of someone who could easily throw more than a hundred percent of her concentration on anything she wanted. And right now, her focus was on her school tablet.

Which was odd, to Nero's mind. No one could be that engrossed in something written by Mrs. Gilder, who had a deep penchant for saccharine metaphors and empty hyperbole.

But on the other hand, if she really–

"MEIOSIS DIFFERS FROM MITOSIS IN TWO KEY WAYS..."

Nero snapped upright. A boy fell off his chair. Several people clapped hands to their ears.

"... PRODUCES FOUR UNIQUE HAPLOID CELLS..."

Mrs. Gilder was ejected from her syllabus. Through the din, Nero was aware of a scrabble of movement next to him.

"... WHICH ACCOUNTS FOR GENEtic diversity in a breeding population. Now, let's examine the distribution of..."

After the ringing in his ears subsided and his heart climbed back down his throat, it was fairly obvious what had caused all the commotion. He only needed a moment's glance at poor Kira, with the terror in her eyes, her bookbag clamped tightly against her chest, and a muffled voice gabbing on about cellular division.

Now that the shock was wearing off, the rest of Nero's classmates were choosing their reactions. Some landed on pitying glances. Others were stifling giggles. And a few just sat in stunned silence.

With a smile on her lips and a frown in her eyes, Mrs. Gilder swiped a hand across her own tablet. The disembodied voice finally ceased its lecture, but Kirya's white-knuckle grip didn't loosen from her bag.

"I would be most grateful, Ms. Onny-keeja," said Mrs. Gilder cheerfully, "if you would pay attention when I'm speaking. Manners are important, aren't they?"

A wave of whispering rippled through the class. Kira herself seemed on the verge of imploding.

"Ve... ve sinekira... I don't..."

"The syllabus, if you please, dear."

Kira gingerly retrieved her tablet, making a visible effort to melt back into her chair.

It was almost too much for Nero. It had been bad enough when the poor girl was forced to stand in front of the class and perform. But this humiliation....

Fortunately, Mrs. Gilder was perfectly ready to move on. "As you'll see in this next section," she said, pointing back to her tablet, "we'll resume in January with one of the greatest novels ever written: The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald – such a wonderful book!"

The rest of the class settled back into the usual torpor at Mrs. Gilder's voice.

But not Nero.

No, Nero was transfixed by the sound at the desk next to him. It was very soft, almost inaudible – a sort of uneven sniffing sound. Nero doubted anyone but he was near enough to hear it.

It was clearly the sound of silent tears.