Shaudawn

Shaudawn.

That is my name. There is not much to describe about me. But that is because I don't know that much myself. Some say that I am a nation. Others say I am just a man. It is difficult to tell.

It began further back in time than I know. All I remember is standing on a small boat, a sloop, in calm water. I was looking up toward a bright star, the first one of the night. Or was that Venus? I don't know. All I do know comes from that one moment, and this strange feeling like I've been here before, like this isn't the first time I've drifted into this consciousness.

As I looked around, trying to figure out what was happening, I noticed the staff I had in my hand and the large bird perched on my arm. This startled me mostly because I didn't know I had such a creature. But, somehow, I knew his name: Ahton-Rah.

The hawk looked about as confused as I was and began to dig his claws into my flesh. I spoke softly to him, and he seemed to calm down. Then he launched himself into the air. He didn't go far, though. He simply perched on the top of the sloop's mast.

I looked across the water then, through the fog. Ahead, I saw land.

"Strange," I thought. "I wonder where I am?"

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OOC: To be continued

PS. I hope this is okay. I used to write role play a lo-o-o-ong time ago. If this isn't up to the rules (I tried to look and see) then just tell me or delete this or whatever. Thanks.

Interesting. Very well done. Kinda makes me embarrassed.

I guess that means I can keep going then?

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It wasn’t the name that was the real problem. Most people wanted to know three things: “Who are you?”, “Where did you come from?”, and “What do you want with us?”. I could tell people my name. Sometimes it was hard to remember it when suddenly realizing I was someplace new, but it always came to me eventually.

A sage could tell people his name and would sort-of tell them what he was and why he was there. But the really hard one to answer was the middle question. I wasn’t always sure himself, not knowing if I was from this place or that, from this time or that, or even from this reality or that. And explaining such things to people was especially difficult if they were xenophobic and superstitious, which most times they were.

I'm not quite sure how long I had been sitting in that boat. It could have been seconds. It could have been days. But that’s the way it always was every time I ended up somewhere new. To be honest, it never got any less confusing.

I could never quite comprehend the sensation, but I imagined it must be something like being born as an old man and living life in reverse. Whatever it really was, it was confusing as hell.

The first thing I like to do when this happens is to try to think of my name. That's usually a good start. And it's useful in case anyone asked for it. My name never seemed to be the same each time.

I looked at the staff in my hand. It was a branch made of oak, solid and yet worn shiny-smooth as if years of clutching it had worn it down. It was slightly curved and split into two branches near the very top like a pair of deer antlers. The staff even looked like it had been through a fire once before, as several spots looked like they had been intentionally fire-hardened for some unknown reason. It was adorned with a number of feathers, beads strung with sinew, and even a tiny gold and silver charm lashed on with rawhide.

My attention turned to the heavy, rough woven tunic I was wearing. It was thick and made of several strands of brightly died cotton. Four colors were represented: red, blue, black, and white -- well, as white as could be represented by a dirty cotton shirt. My cloak was likewise thick, draped around me like it might be around some Old Testament figure with a cloth belt and a long hood to keep any rain off. It seemed as colorless as the tunic was colorful, as if to drain the light from the air around me and throw it into a night sky desperate for a star or two to keep it from being a Nothing.

A screech from atop the sloop's mast diverted my attention to the peregrine falcon perched there.

“Ah,” I said to him. “Ahton-Rah. How are you, my friend?”

The bird twitched nervously snapping his head from side to side and gripping the top of the mast intensely. “Ahton,” I cooed softly, “Shah timon sé gru-tu tahlun. Shea saea’im.” I had no idea what I was saying, but that always seemed to be the case. Whatever he said to the gorgeous bird appeared to do the trick, though. Ahton, apparently a bit more sure of himself, launched into the air with another screech.

If one were to look at the upon the pitiful sight of me, standing in that boat, they would have seen someone very strange. My wrinkled skin was a deep tan as if baked in sunlight for centuries, and my hair was a coarse black and dirty dark gray mop cut like someone had placed a bowl upon my head and simply went once around with a very dull set of shears. And it also appeared that this barber must have gotten a little too close at times, for an occasional strand of red would also streak across my hairy mound like a fresh cut wound. So contrasting were those occasional strands of hair that from a distance, one might mistake them for dark crimson ribbons woven in. On top of all of that, my nose stuck out like the sharp beak of my flying friend making me look very much like a mop indeed.

And yet, though a mass of heavy hair made my head appear to want to topple right off of my small, old, thin body, my face was absolutely devoid of a single follicle. It was as if some Grand Designer had used all of them up on my head and forgot to leave a single one for my chin.

My eyes, though, were often regarded as the most curious of my features. They seemed somewhat shaped like those of the people who lived in the very Far East, but yet, not quite. And they were an odd shade of green and blue like the seas old Crusaders would tell tales of in awe. If one looked close enough, they would swear that the colors undulated like those seas as well.

Ahton swooped up with stunning abruptness and landed on the my staff on a little knob of wood right between the split. In his talons was a small vole. I smiled at my friend’s good catch.

Ahton screeched.

“Yes, my friend,” I agreed, “it certainly is a fine morsel you have there. No, thank you, I’m not hungry. What was that? Oh, yes. It seems as though we are about to reach land just over there. Of course, you've already seen it. I was just hoping that the others would be here as well. I thought I could kill two birds with one… Oh, now, Ahton. It’s just a figure of speech.”

I imagined it must be something like being born as an old man and living life in reverse.

Click to expand...

Yay, Karl Pilkington!

Very well written so far, and mucho interesting.

Thanks OPArsenal. This was something I had written with my friends years ago. It was a fairytale written in the round. This is a modification of my first contribution to that. Work takes me away often, so I won't be able to contribute to this every day, but I'd like to see where it goes.

this is very good, i look foward to the next installments

Sorry. It's been a while. Work has been killer. But thanks, "don't pick it up" (I like the name, by the way). It's not war or bombs, but I like writing it.

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I placed my staff firmly against the deck as the boat began to reach the shore. The crashing waves were making the boat roll now, but somehow -- I didn't know how -- I remained standing.

Finally, a large wave thrust the boat onto the gravelly beach, leaving seaweed and foam. I let my staff go, and the momentum of my body carried me over the prow. I landed on the beach, scaring the seagulls who were already crying nervously at the hawk flying overhead.

Another wave crashed on the shore, moving the boat again. It lifted off of the beach and was drawn down, back toward the water, only to stick once again on the gravel. I knew the boat would eventually be sucked back out to sea and probably smashed against the rocks further down the beach, but I didn't feel much concern. Somehow, I knew that this was the place.

I looked up and down the beach, but it was empty. The sky above was thick with dark grey, and the mists wove in and out of the farthest reaches of my vision like old tattered sheets. Pines, firs, and thick bushes rose up from the beach several yards away, disappearing as the grey consumed the towering green heights.

Ahton returned to perch on my staff. He shifted nervously.

"No," I agreed. "I really don't know where they are. I was hoping I would see them, but... what was that? No, they don't know I'm coming. You have a point. Well, do you want to look for them? I thought not. Well, come on then. Hop on my shoulder. They're apt to be around here somewhere."

I squinted again down the coast. The clouds were obscuring everything at a distance. I cocked my ear, but the roar of the ocean made hearing anything impossible. Turning my nose upward, I inhaled deeply.

"Ah!" I told Ahton. "Smell that? A fire. That's good because I'm hungry."

We walked southeast.

Na’an worked on the net. She hated it. She could never get used to the smell of fish, and the nets always seemed to be tangled. It was much more fun running up and down the beach with her friends, collecting seashells or driftwood that had washed up on the shore. But her papa would always tell her that work came before play. That might be fine for an adult, but Na’an figured that a nine-year-old girl had better things to do.

“Done,” boasted Ta’kl. Na’an made a face at him. He always made net work a game. That was because he was good at getting the knots out. “How much did I beat you by?”

Na’an held up the huge tangle. Ta’kl did his own nine-year-old version of a victory dance in front of her. Na’an ignored him and went back to giving the huge knot menacing looks. When he was done dancing, Ta’kl plopped down beside her.

“If you just tug on that,” he said pointing, “you’ll release this whole part.”

Na’an looked back up threateningly at him. He just smiled innocently. Ta’kl followed Na’an around everywhere like a puppy – playful, innocent, helpful, and as oblivious as a rock. He looked out at the crashing waves. It was another grey day.

“You done yet?” he asked Na’an, obviously bored. This was the moment Na’an had been waiting for.

“This could take forever,” she moaned. “I’m just no good at fixing nets.”

“I’ll do it!” chirped Ta’kl. Na’an smiled. Puppies were so much fun.

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I sat on the rock to rest. I had been walking for only a few hours, but the small pebbles on the beach required twice the effort to move at any respectable pace. I followed the smell of the fires, and could now see the smoke around the next point, but saw no other sign of people.

“I wish I could see the stars,” I told Ahton. “One can tell a lot about a place from the stars.” Yet I already knew that wherever I was, it was considerably far north. The evergreens beyond the beach appeared ancient, untouched, and seemed to speak of long winters. But beyond that, these trees seemed to keep their secrets to themselves.

My stomach growled, ordering me to continue on my path to find the source of the delicious smell of cooked fish. Ahton stirred as I got up from the rock, but then returned to his slumber.

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“Done,” boasted Ta’kl. This time, Na’an’s face was pleasant.

“It’s about time,” she teased. “Let’s go!”

“Wait,” said Ta’kl. “Shouldn’t we tell Ba’ka we are all done?”

“Ta’kl, if we go back, they’ll only give us more nets,” Na’an said. Ta’kl only returned a look of blank incomprehension. “Just follow me, silly,” she giggled. “We’ll just go around the Point a little. If Ba’ka wants us, she’ll come looking for us.” Without seeing what Ta’kl would do, she turned and began to walk. But she didn’t need to look at him. A moment later, she heard the soft padding of footsteps prance just off of her shoulder.

“Good boy,” she thought.

Na'an and Ta’kl twirled on the beach, picked up shells and threw rocks into the breaking surf. Every so often, Ta’kl would look back down the beach and ask Na’an if they thought they were going too far.

“Of course not,” she scolded him. “Ba’ka and I go this way all the time!”

“Yeah, but Ba’ka’s an adult,” Ta’kl replied.

“So? We’ve never seen anyone,” Na’an reasoned. “Besides, we aren’t too far from the village. If anything happens, Na’pk and Du’ut would be here faster than a storm.” Na’an twirled again violently to illustrate her point.

I laughed. The children whirled around. Na’an’s face was as white as a ghost.

Ba’ka stretched her back. It was hard bending over all day mending nets. But the catch had been good and several planks of salmon were stretched out over the cedar fires.

Na’pk waved from his boat off shore. Another full net was nearly bursting full of fish. Several young men ran from their own nets, jumped into their pontoons and went to help him. Ba’ka took this opportunity to stretch out and walk casually toward the shore. She smiled at Na’pk as he speared one of the fish in his net and waved it high for her to see.

She turned to look back at the other women also standing and walking toward the shore. Mu’ka, the wife of Du’ut and Ba’ka’s sister-in-law, waved at Ba’ka. Ba’ka stopped to let Mu’ka catch up to her.

“This catch is incredible!” she exclaimed. “The gods must be happy with us this year.”

“I can’t wait to start the feast,” agreed Ba’ka. “I’d love to throw all of these nets aside for the night. We just can’t seem to catch up with the men!”

Mu’ka laughed. “Right,” she agreed sarcastically. “Of course they go out in the boats, throw their nets off to the side, and sleep most of the day.”

“By the way, have you seen Du’ut?” Mu’ka asked. Ba’ka shook her head.

“He’s probably still asleep out by the outer islands,” she said in reply.

“Where are the kids?” asked Mu’ka. “Did they go out with him this time?”

“No,” replied Ba’ka. “I had them work on the nets. They’re just over…” Ba’ka stopped short. She gave out a grunt. Mu’ka laughed.

“Is it your turn or mine to go get them?” Mu’ka smiled.

“I’ll go get them,” Ba’ka sighed. “I could use a break anyway. Could you tell Na’pk where I went when he comes in?”

“Sure. And tell Ta’kl to come home when you see him.”

Ba’ka trudged up the beach toward the Point. Along the way, she looked for a switch.

“Where’d it go? Where’d it go?” Na’an giggled. I placed my hand beside her ear and pretended to pull out the shell.

“Why, look here,” I smiled. “How’d that get in there?”

“You had it in your hand all the time!” Ta’kl insisted.

“Really?” I feigned disbelief and showed him my palm. “This hand?”

“Yeah!”

“Then where did this come from?” I asked him producing another shell from behind his own ear. He looked back in stunned disbelief, trying to get his little nine-year-old brain to figure out what was going on.

“And, of course, there’s the one in your hand,” I told him. He blinked.

“What?” he asked. I took both of his hands palm up.

“Close your fists and turn them over,” I told him. He did so. I tapped his right hand three times, took his hand, and turned it over again. He opened up his fist and saw yet another shell in it. His eyes became as big as saucers.

“How’d you do that?” Na’an shouted. “Are you one of those magicians?”

“No,” I chuckled. “I am not. I am just a sage.”

“What’s a sage?”

“Well,” I tried to explain. “I walk about and talk to people, I guess. I just see things and hear things other people don’t.”

Ahton squawked nervously. I had planted my staff in the sand and he remained perched on it. I looked at Ahton and then back in the direction he was interested in. The figure was walking urgently now. I could tell it had changed from mere annoyance to apprehension.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” I chuckled at the children.

I'm checking to see if this works.
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I can see it.