Nanoseconds of Musing

The Glyphs and their message

Liefel glared at Crona.

This is not a game, Crona. Why did you alarm me so, if doing nothing was what was required, why tell me that it is?

The hand that still cradled on side of his face gave it one sharp tap of admonition,

I did not say nothing was to be done, just that we would not be doing it. For to do much, or tell the many that would be required would negate our efforts, as you so wisely remarked.

Less emollient, and more meat, please, but a penitent grin lurked at the corner of Liefel's lips.

The words came tumbling out at times and impatient questions further reduced the flow of meaning, but at last Liefel leaned back.

He knew what he had to do.

First they needed to create a crisis, some foreboding of a natural disaster, when efforts to find ways and means to divert it would be natural.

Then they needed to find a way to place a part of their land apart from them, but the whereabouts would be hidden from most. Then the rest had to be seen to dwindle in that preparation, not enough to make attack imminent earlier than planned but enough to lull full scale preparations and maybe even delay in the hopes of spontaeous recovery to full glory.

The part that was hidden would work to find ways and means, without knowing why they did so, or who the actual enemy was, this would prevent any 'leak' of information, in case it occurred. It would seem academic. The stress would be, as always on peaceful co-existence.

There would be just one core group of those in the know, in the in-between. But they would be gypsies, without ties, without ambition. They would lead when the time came.

As to their leader, ah, that was the reason he was skipping and darting in back alleys today. For the one chosen by the Glyphs had not even been born when the cast had been made.

The next heir to the kingdom slumbered on in the sling unaware of his destiny or his powers, intent as most infants are on only feeding and sleeping.

He had sipped his last at his mother's breast an hour or so past and she had handed him over dry-eyed. Liefel had had no time to comfort a natural dismay or admire his young wife's fortitude, but he would hold her close and whisper pride while allowing her to finally shed tears, after he returned - if he did.

No, I must. I can. I will.

He heard the gates of the city clang shut one by one, now none from outside could enter, not until they were opened again on the morrow and the guards would withdraw to the inner parts, the ones surrounding the palace. That is what they called the ruler's dwelling in this kingdom.

The kingdom bordered his own and he had roamed it many times in the past month, always alone, always in the same ruse, it had worked every time. Large reptiles were common in these dark outer alleys, they got in through the sewers that led down to the river when small and remained behind feeding off garbage and food not properly disposed.

as for today, why they often preyed on small cats or dogs. His heat signature would seem to be of one such - he had planned it thus, for he dared not tamper with the metabolism of one so young, even if that life had not been so precious, so vital to their plans.

He looked down the cluster of shabby dwellings - the light was feeble and the lampposts far between. the comforts were the meanest of the mean, the lowest servitors were housed here. The hierarchy was rather steep in this land, and the base layers were not valued enough. It takes but a touch to have that base crumble, but that's for Hyma to learn for himself, for now it suits my purpose.

He counted off the huts in his mind, looming shadow by shadow, it was the fourth from the left that he needed. He made his way by a circuitous route, but it kept him out of even the pale wash of the lone lamp in the middle. At last he was there, and there was no sound from any of the huts.

He took groped at his waist and found one of the cylindrical objects clipped to his belt, it was a harmless device that nevertheless seemed to be a threat of fire, emitting thin grey smoke and spectacular sparks that would not be doused by water, sand or foam.

One neat underarm lob through the tattered curtains fluttering at the side window, the one that opened, as he knew from previous explorations, into the kitchen which would not be inhabited at that time of the night.

"Nimmus!" He sent up a hoarse shout before ducking back behind a bush.

There was some rustling and clattering as windows were thrown wider open and sleepy heads poked out to find where the fire was.

Soon a crowd was milling in the alley and figures in night attire, or mismatched hastily chosen throws, were setting up a confused uproar and shouting fire themselves.

The house he had targeted had produced one harried woman with frizzled brown hair falling to her shoulders, a shawl slipping off thin shoulders, a squirming bundle in her arms and two other children being herded in sleepy disorder.

She hesitated and changed direction two or three times, retracing her steps in a hesitant indecision, perhaps of whether to stay out and see to the children or go in and find the source of what was now a column of smoke.

Liefel stepped close to her and spoke softly to her, mingling with the others who were pushing forward to scout out the damage.

“Biinnie, it’s me. Say nothing now, I’ll slip in and remain behind after the fire is doused, we’ll talk afterwards.”

To give her credit, she barely gave him just one wide-eyed glance before she stepped back and allowed the press of people to go in, the crowd were soon choking on the increasing bursts of sparks and smoke and even had anyone the need to keep an eye of Liefel, it would have been impossible.

He secreted himself in the little closet halfway across the house, allowing the Fizz-stick to sputter out of its own accord; it would leave behind no more than some cinder and ash.

He heard the neighbors return to their own homes, each smug in satisfaction that he or she had saved the day by their efforts, with murmurs of approval at having contained the damage, otherwise fines would have been levied on the occupants.

He waited until he heard the whisper, “Liefel, where are you?”

Biinnie let out a soft shriek when Liefel appeared out of the closet, stifling it with a hand to her mouth even before Liefel could request silence.

She fell backwards onto a large padded chest under the window sill and looked at Liefel with large bewildered eyes, her infant still clutched at her chest, the little ones clinging to her long skirts.

“Put the chillum to sleep, Biinie, we can natter later.”

Mute, unresisting, she rose, hitching her skirts to pull two sleepy youngsters behind her. It was less than ten minutes before she returned and Liefel was sitting on a low footstool against the far wall.

He began speaking when she was still three feet away, in such a low voice that she had to hurry to close the remaining distance.

“Biinie there’s no time to explain, you have to take this on trust. You know that some of us have been moved to other places for higher purpose. As one of those who served a ruling Fieflord, you had the privilege of being able to marry into another kingdom. We asked you to choose Rrem, and a comely lad he was, none was surprised at his being able to get such a high-born spouse. Only we know of your sacrifice for Fiefdom.

I have one more request to make of you and you still have the same right of refusal that you had before.

Biinie shushed him with a quick gesture of her hand, “Say no more Lord.”

“Nay, let it be Liefel. Did not my Lady call you sister times without count?”

“Liefel, then. Say the need, I cannot but say Yea for the Fief’s need is paramount.”

He undid the sling and handed her the precious bundle.

She gasped as she looked in and beheld a sleeping babe.

“Liefel,” she quavered, “is this your infant son?”

“Biinie, yes. There’s little else to tell you save that our Fief depends on his being brought up without either he or anyone else knowing his origin. Rrem must be told, of course, but none else.”

“But, what are we to do with him?”

“Do the neighbours know how may younglings you have and whether you birthed a daughter or son, or both?”

“Nay, they do not, we have seen none since we moved in two days back and my son missed the Sweep before we left the West, and the Eastern Sweep is two days off.”

“Good. Then you had twin sons, remember that. The birthing is to leave you to weak for Rrem to be able to leave you to manage four small ones every day without help. Let him take repeated Home Requests enough for his superiors to recommend another occupation. Apply to become an independent Wanderer, joining the Nomad tribes that roam the forest.”

“But, will they allow that?”

“Rather than feed six mouths that do not produce even one chip’s worth? They will not even question why you would want it, only thank their fates that you want out. Every year, enough women get the gypsy itch, and you have the musical skills that make you of some worth to the Nomads but worthless to avaricious communities like Hemas.”

“And, then?”

“I will be in touch from time to time, but for the rest, bide as you will. The boy will gain skills far beyond others, never let him feel superior or above others. Keep him as close to normal as you can and tell him nothing of who he is or what he is destined to be.”

“Easy enough to do, I know not who he is destined to be, except that it matters enough to make him my son, which is what he’ll be.”

She pulled the shawl back around the infant who squirmed before finding a comfortable resting position in her arms, one arm outthrust from the folds, a pale starfish against the dark folds of the cowl of her gown.

“Go, Liefel. He is mine from this moment, until the day you say otherwise. But have a care to make sure others can step forward …” she faltered,

Liefel finished the sentence, “… in case I am not able to be there for any reason. Yes, Crona had always had me remember the maxim that it pays to keep one arrow notched and two others fletched and ready for every target.”

Two pairs of eyes bid a solemn farewell, no words were exchanged, for the questions were too many and the time too little.

Liefel became once more a shadow in dark, gliding, slithering, pausing, listening for any sounds of an approaching footfall or vehicular rumble.

It was many hours before he was safely back in his home territory and could rest, allowing his jangling nerves some respite for the risks had been so great, that only the greater risk had justified the steps taken.

Only I had the ability, but it was I who could have jeopardized the entire operation the most if I had been captured.

He shrugged, it was over. The die was cast – Ribsir was safe for now, and so was the Fief.