Date: August 12, 1999
Place: Tent City - Outside the City Walls - Haven
Cast: Kiera, Maat, Shahar
Scene: Kiera returns to check on the results of her generosity and then, before she can leave, the arrival of Shahar causes the conversation to shift to the various sacrifices that must be made in order to uphold the sixth surah and show compassion to those less fortunate.

A dead-cart creaks north toward the funeral pyres.

The attack of the deer and rabbits occurred near dawn; by night their flesh was likely already pulled from bones and even the bones now grace stewpots or the greasy fingers of those lucky enough to grab some. Now it's near sunset, and over the farmlands to the north, once more, flies that dark-winged figure carefully avoiding the funeral pyres, carefully and dustlessly setting to earth some distance from the tent city itself. She begins a slow walk toward that city, her wings furled comfortably, gaze unblinking.

Where once there was a tent that served as the Headquarters for those Varati showing the Amir-al's compassion to the candala, now there is only ash and blackened earth. There has been a re-arrangement of tents across the narrow lane and a new, but smaller tent has been erected to fly the flag of the Varati and serve as a base of operations. Yet, it is barely occupied and despite the chill of the season, the Varati would appear desirous of the outdoors by the ill Empyreans more than the warm comforts of the tent's interior. Tables sit outside the tent and scribes sit there tallying and making marks on papers while others hand over the daily ration of food to those who are hungrily eager for supper. One such person is the Shakir Al'Samar, her body seeming unchanged except for the shoulders which are not hunched forward in exhaustion but straight and tall like the rest of her body.

No way is Kiera going to walk into a city full of Empyrean refugees. So. She walks along until she's angled herself into such a position that, if Shakir Al'Samar happens to look up, she will see in the faint distance, the halfbreed Kiera Khalida. And that halfbreed will mantle her wings if this happens, to draw attention to herself. In the meantime, Kiera will wait, watching.

It takes some time before anyone notices Kiera. The Empyreans are more intent on obtaining food and the Varati as busily making that possible. Yet, finally, a food volunteer in Al'Samar colors does notice the halfbreed and garners the attention of Maat. She hands the loaf of bread in her hands to an Empyrean and leaves the tables, beginning the slow wend through the lanes until she is clear of the canvas homes.

Silent, still, the halfbreed waits. Dusk gathers around her, seemingly ignored by the woman. Seemingly, she is content, safe, within the enclosure of those dark-hued wings.

The grey of Maat's clothing makes her almost vanish into the shadows as dusk ripens into full night. Yet, finally, the measured tread of her boots bring her to the space before Kiera.

This is a problem. The dark has a claim on Kiera, and a claim that steals her sight. So as soon as that dims, as soon as she can only garner blurry shapes from the distant fires and even more distant moon, a breeze springs up. Like some invisible antennae, these air currents serve the graisha wind-mage as a means for her to detect what moves through them, so that that, together with her hearing, allows her to speak appropriately, when Maat has neared her. "Clear skies, Imphadi Maat." And immediately, she is to business: "Will that meat suffice, or do you require more?" And how often?

Maat says, dryly in response, "More meat would be welcome, but perhaps in the future, Kiera Khalida, you could leave the meat gently at the front of the tent rather than dropping it from the sky as if it were a meteorite. There are many Varati who were fair scared by this day's delivery."

Kiera nods somberly; she had thought that an odd request on Maat's part, but... She had not questioned it. Stone-walkers and Varati, pure races of any type tend to have bizarre thought processes, most of which Kiera -- in her literal-minded way -- does not understand. "Very well. When I hunt again, I will bring more. I do not hunt every day in this weather."

Maat replies, "Whenever you have extra." She folds her hands over her abdomen. "Do you have time to speak of Faanshi, Kiera Khalida?"

A palanquin is carried into the Tent City upon the shoulders of four sturdy naraki men, who are in turn surrounded by four black-garbed, glowering Agni-Haidar and four heavily-cloaked Khalida guards. With care the chair and its occupant are settled on the ground, gently and noiselessly, then a slender hand exits the curtained area. One of the Khalida guards steps forward and, taking the proffered hand, helps raise Haven's Pasha to her feet. Shahar is difficult to recognize in her veils and wraps, but the cloth bears the image of Clan Khalida, its design woven throughout, so little thought is needed to guess that the stately figure is indeed Shahar.

Once on her feet, she resecures her veil and glimpses the scene with noted detachment, seeking someone in specific.

Kiera stands quite in the distance from the Tent City Proper, in conversation with Maat. Eyes adopted to the dark might be able to pick out the odd, feathered and winged figure, and the other grey-cloaked one. Those Varati still within the Tent City are all too aware that their leader has stepped to speak again to the 'Varati' halfbreed; murmurings within the City might well suggest to Shahar that this occurs now, indicate to her the direction.

With a nod, Kiera intones, "Is it dark. I now have all the time of the night." This may be cryptic, unless one knows of Kiera's severe night-blindness that keeps her from any visual navigation what-so-ever. "Until," she adds, pulling fluffed wings closer to her, "I fall asleep."

Maat flips the cape section of her burnoose so that it more fully covers her body from the chill. Having her back to the tent city, she cannot see any that approach from that direction. "Your shudra, Kiera Khalida, would appear to have a gift for healing that requires training. Due to her causing a riot among the refugees during her last foray into the camp, she is now receiving a modicum of instruction from FallingStar, formerly of Delphi. However, since you are her mistress, you need to decide if this is proper or not or if you wish to have her trained by someone else."

No surprise at all, as to this revelation. "Yes. The Teacher also tried to teach her control, and the heart-mother Ulima tried to teach Faanshi control. I had hoped that the Atarvani would take her, train her. She is worthy of that, I think. But I am not Atarvani and I can not ask them to take her if they do not wish to. If she has found a teacher, then this is good. I cannot teach her, for I am not a healer." That's quite a dialogue for this woman, usually rather stoic. "She is back within Atesh Gah, yes?" Kiera considers going there, to speak to her, "And the Thalia and the Khalid-Atar are not there?"

Maat shakes her head, not realizing that Kiera can probably not see her movement. "The Amir-al is still in Masada." She blows out a breath, puffing out the scarf portion of her burnoose. "Faanshi Khalida is still in Atesh-Gah. FallingStar, formerly of Delphi wished for the shudra to live with her, but I did not allow this request. However, should you wish differently, then you may tell Faanshi the change yourself. I did not think it proper that the shudra should go live with candala. As for the Atarvani, I do not know what they think, but with my duties among the refugees, I have not seen how they treat her and her gift. But, they have not appeared to have offered her training, though this plague may cause them to reconsider." Purposely missing is the answer to the first part of Kiera's second question.

The voice of the Shakir of Al'Samar, not to mention the presence of Khalid's little hawk, draws Shahar's focal attention toward where the two women stand. Straightening her back, she nods once to her guards, leaving the bearers with the palanquin, and approaches Maat and Kiera at a purposeful, yet unhurried rate.

"I will speak, then, to Faanshi of this." Kiera will actually see what Faanshi wants, rather than dictate some life-changing order from On High. She does not hear, nor see, Shahar's approach, but her head does turn toward the Pasha, and her gaze seems to try to focus, even as breezes ruffle the cloak and veils of the Varati woman.

Maat states, slightly huffily, "I have only tried to look out for Faanshi's best interests while you were unavailable." She still does not notice Shahar's approach, but perhaps this can be blamed on the night and the long hours that the Shakir has been working in recent weeks.

"I understand." No more is spoken until Kiera calls out, perhaps in challenge, "Greetings." The breeze around Shahar has become more forceful, though the airy little wisps around Maat and Kiera remain the same.

"Namaste." Beneath the ruby translucence of her veils, Shahar sounds reasonably calm, relaxed, her voice a rippling recollection of a feline's purr. "I trust I have not come at a bad time?"

Maat turns as Shahar's voice reaches her and her reply has a pleased sound incorporated within. "Namaste, Imphada Pasha. It is never a bad time for you to grace me with your presence. Yet, should you really be in this diseased place? Even here on the outside, the ill wind might reach forth." The woman sounds concerned.

Other than it being dark, Kiera's being utterly blind and therefore rather paranoid, other than Maat's being about to fall over from exhaustion, if not sickness... No. Timing couldn't be better. "I am here the entire dark," comes Kiera's airy answer, as the breezes die down perceptibly. She blinks, though the pupils still do not contract to focus on Shahar. They are wide, lending her dark eyes an almost glassy appearance. Kiera is, herself, rather gaunt. The winter has stolen the most of her fat from her, beginning to delve into muscles for the energy to keep the halfbreed warm in her solitary perch on her solitary ledge oh-so-far in the woods. Kiera's feathers still show the signs of care, of health, however, and she appears by no means weak. Only winter-lean, uneasy and even more clipped of speech, even more in behavior like that of the predatory bird whose colors she wears.

Beneath her veils, Shahar answers calmly, "I shall stay but a moment, and this shall be my only venture into the Tent City whilst disease riddles its denizens." She pauses, turning a fraction away from the gentle breezes, before continuing in a placid voice, "Should you require something from the Atesh-Gah, Shakir, send a messenger who may be studied for signs of plague. Otherwise, I do not care to continue the habit of frequent visitations between this city and the Atesh-Gah. The corpses that line the streets of Haven will not be mirrored within our Embassy." Then, to Kiera, "And you, Hawk of Khalid, should restrict your time here as well, lest the Amir-al lose one so dear to him."

The winds shift and the scent of charred flesh drifts by.

Maat bows her head to Shahar's authority. "As you say, Voice of our God. If it were not my duty to ensure that these candala continue to live, then I would be happily ensconced within the walls of Atesh-Gah. It is my sorrow that I must be separated from my people." Her words are to Shahar, but the vague accentuation of 'separated' hints that she might be throwing that word in Kiera's direction though, it is likely that the literal-minded halfbreed will not notice such subtlety of language.

Kiera isn't really in the habit of hob-nobbing with a bunch of doves. She'd almost rather admit her heritage and paternity. The frown she casts at Shahar is quickly explained, "I speak only to the Maat. The others..." Kiera shrugs. They could live or they could die, and it matters not to the halfbreed. "This is not a disease only of Empyreans?" She's not been within Haven yet to speak of, has Kiera. And separated? You'd want Kiera for company?

Shahar's forehead furrows as she remarks thinly, "This accursed disease could whittle the Empyreans to nothingness and I would blink not an eye of concern. But I will risk not one Varati life." Toward Maat, she continues with reluctance, "That would include your own life, Shakir. I would that you left others to tend to this rabble while you remained in the Atesh-Gah."

Maat lets out a woeful sigh. "I cannot shirk, Pasha Shahar. Not so long as the honor and name of the Amir-al is at stake. However, perhaps the Amir-al has graced me with a bit of his blessing, as I have not fallen ill from this disease, though I have been working with the sick candala for many weeks now. Yet, it would be unwise for me to bring this pestilence to those who are well and thus I will isolate myself if I must. Only, I beg, should Delphi take action and eliminate my duties, then allow me to return after a full inspection by the healers."

"When that bridge appears, we shall cross it," Shahar promises mildly, letting her gaze sweep over the other Varati woman, her finely shaped brow arching with delicacy into her forehead. "In the meantime, I wish you and those within your care well. Remember this, however, Shakir: compassion is one thing, but I will do all that is within my power to safeguard the Varati of Haven."

And again it happens. As the darkness becomes full, the halfbreed's attention wavers, her eyes blink and lose focus and -- instead of any gracious withdrawal from the conversation, instead of falling asleep on her feet only yards away from her (privately) sworn enemy, the halfbreed begins her last coherent activity -- and finishes it just before she falls completely asleep: Within the barest minute, a sleepy hawk wrestles from within a pile of Kiera's clothing, a loop of leather tangling in wings.

Flushed and coughing, another Empyrean refugee joins the long line outside the healing clinic.

Maat manages to avoid making a visible shudder when the shape-change occurs before her eyes. Thankfully, the night is by definition dark and the action was a mere blur. She bows her head once again to Shahar. "Of course, Pasha, I can only wish that my duty were as enjoyable as yours, but I will stay here in the camp until the crisis is over though my heart longs to be with you."

Shahar's eyebrow finds an even sharper arch against the golden hue of her flesh. "I would add, Shakir, that you should find rest and food for yourself, lest you find your children without a mother come the spring."

Maat's voice quavers as she replies, "The children are old enough, but for the youngest three. But, I have sent Adalhard home. He will be safe." Yet, she sounds uncertain and sorrowful.

"Your place," Shahar then ventures to say, adding weight to her earlier veiled threat, "is with them, and with your clan. With those of your blood. Others may care for these creatures."

Maat turns so that she looks back at the darkened humps that are the camp tents. "Who?" she asks. "Since the end of the war, the Varati have fed these refugees. Until this plague appeared, their own leaders ignored their plight. The Archon ignores them and Delphi has limited its aid to Healers." Her voice breaks from her exhaustion and the last is said at a slight wail. "The candala have children as well."

More firmly Shahar notes, a forward step taken toward the other Varati woman, "Candala are candala, and compassion is served well to others, but to our own first. Yes, we have fed these refugees. It is time the others of Haven see to their needs. What of the other embassies, of the Empyre and Atlanteans? The Sylvans are close by, as well."

Maat lets out a rattling sigh. "They are close, but they do nothing because these people do not affect them. Now, their solipsistic past actions have brought this plague. They ignored the refugees and wrought upon themselves a deadly pestilence. Now, all will suffer because other races do not have the Surahs to guide them, because they do not believe that the Amir-al is the one true god."

"Then perhaps it is time I awaken them to their responsibilities and the consequences of their inactivity," Shahar remarks darkly. Gesturing toward her guards, she continues to Maat, "I will contact you on the morrow, Shakir. Be well, and may the Divine Flame guide and warm you."

Maat does not touch Shahar, perhaps fearful of contaminating the Pasha. "Thank you, Pasha, for your words. They warm me greatly. Until anon."

An inclination of her chin follows before Shahar makes a minute bow and withdraws to speak to her contingent. And when the palanquin is boarded and departs, within it the Shakir and Pasha has an avian companion.

FIN  

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