Book 2 - Moon
Part 4
This thread is intended to be paired with Voyage of the Homebound (2.4)
CW: Explicit Language
Monday, February 20th, 2023
Arzaalnay, Daabab 32nd, 412
“So, dear, Anahid is it? I love your poems,” started the graying vulpine woman - Nuur, her name was. She poured the two advisors some tea with a type of grace Anahid could only admire, that of somebody who had learned to carry out a mundane task with sheer perfection.
“Well, thank you. Always good to meet somebody who appreciates exploratory art forms, especially…” she trailed off.
“From my generation?” Nuur said, finishing Anahid’s sentence. “Oh, no need to worry, I’m well aware of my age,” a grin crossing her lips. “Now, miikha, I imagine there’s a reason you dropped by, as you do so rarely?”
“Shiima, you know I’m busy!” Azniv retorted with a smile.
“Bah!” Nuur crossed her arms. “If you’re so busy, then why are you here? Isn’t there a war you should be preparing for?”
“We’re here because she thinks I need to figure out what I’m fighting for,” Anahid blurted out, staring off into the middle distance. That came out of nowhere, she thought to herself.
“Well? Do you?”
“I…” Anahid glanced around looking for her oh-so-gracious host, who is nowhere to be found. Where’d that damnable fox go?
Nuur tapped her foot with something between curiosity and impatience.
Looking out the large windows of the alcove they were sitting in, all Anahid could see were the date trees that traced the edge of the oasis and the water itself, an azure blue and sparkling with drops of sunlight. The street was mostly empty, except for a carpet vendor setting up their wares. Beautiful, to be sure. But beauty exists everywhere - what makes this beauty special?
“I don’t know.”
“Hmm,” the older woman said, mulling things over. “Tea?” she asked, although it didn’t sound like a request to Anahid.
“I -”
“Perfect,” Nuur interrupted, moving to pour Anahid some tea. The poetess let it happen. After pouring herself some more tea as well, she asked Anahid if she could tell her a story. Figuring it didn’t matter what she said, Anahid gesticulated in an obliging manner. “When I was a young girl, I was a seamstress. My parents died when I was very young, and although it put a burden on her, my adult sister decided to take me and my brother in, as my dawlaayat were all much too far to travel in those days. In order to help support the two of us, I turned my hobby for sewing and weaving into a profession. There was enough to eat and drink - and smoke, when I got older - and we were happy.” She took a sip of her tea. "When I was a slightly older girl, the AVG found out what I was doing. They sent some men to knock on my door, and tell me what I was doing was illegal. I didn’t have the proper permits. When I asked what the proper permits were, they laughed. They said they ought to arrest me, but because I was a child, they’d have to arrest my sister instead. But they might be able to let us go… for a price. So we paid them, that month and every month after.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Anahid finally managed to say. But with a sparkle in her eye, Nuur just responded with
“Don’t be so sorry yet. Now, where was I? When I was a young woman, I met a young man, and we fell into love - but not so deeply that we were irrational, mind you. We tried to make a life for ourselves, but the restrictions were harsh and we didn’t have the money to get around it. So my raykhaat took a job far to the north, in an oil refinery. Jobs were scarce then, and Golden Oil kept it that way so that no matter what they did, they’d have people begging to work for them. Conditions were bad. Pay was bad. And we both suffered without each other. And a few months after he left, I miscarried. It was the worst time of my life.
But things got better, as they always do. I recovered enough that I could continue with my work, and Tawaabah gaining some more power meant that the AVG was distracted, enough that they no longer harassed me more often than every couple months. My raykhaat worked his way up through sweat and blood, and the lives taken and given by the revolution - then just a piece of lit kindling - meant that WEGEC ensuring profit margins meant letting native Aldaaris climb higher than they could a few years prior. And then the love of my life fell in with some union organizers and was killed.”
After a few seconds of silence, a stunned Anahid finally managed to spit out a “Wait, what the fuck?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well… what, that’s it?”
“It certainly was for him.”
“Oh my god!”
“That was almost fifty years ago. I’ve moved on.”
“So… so what, he just… just… what’s the point of this?” Anahid sputtered out.
“After his death, I struggled for many years. I forgot what it even meant to live. I was despondent, barely eking out a living.”
“Then what broke you out of it?”
“Eighteen years ago, my brother sent me a message from Bingol, asking me to take care of his child, fearing it wasn’t safe for her in the country. I knew I had to make a choice, but I wasn’t sure I had the strength to.”
“So what did you do?”
“Simple: I went to al-Bawdikaal Mountain. I hiked up it. And I saw all I could see from the top of the world.”
“And you think this will help me?”
“Yes. But, a piece of advice, dear?”
“Yes?”
“I saw how out of breath you were when you came in. I’d recommend driving.”
Tuesday, February 21st, 2023
Yaatiin, Daabab 33rd, 412
One thing was for sure, Anahid was getting her steps in. Azniv too, but that little fox seemed to have endless energy. They had parked as close as they could, but there was still about a three-mile hike to the peak. When they finally arrived, Anahid looked as far as she could. It seemed like she could see the entirety of Mukarras, the lights of the cities, the brewing sandstorms and the verdant fertile fields.
Mostly, though, Anahid Terzian saw a whole lot of nothing.
And the poet inside of her recognized that that was the point.