“What possibly could you mean?”
The winds of early dawn and mid-twilight filled an inn-room, playfully hiding themselves from the view of the sunrise. The suns, however, found their way into the room and filled it with fresh warming light. Chasing the winds into the shadows, the suns brought with them a flood of morning air. This game continued, repeating cyclically as the warm morning air was chased away by the lukewarm midday air, now huddling with the dawn and twilight. After a full daily cycle of the game, it was interrupted by the opening of a door.
A young orange shell let in a flood of new dawnwind, upsetting the delicate balance of the room. Anxiously probing the room, navigating by the aura of a red-tipped stick sitting in a carefully clasped bag, she found her way to the bed. With great physical and magical strain, Pendzi managed to lift her friend’s sleeping body onto the bed. She explored the room and came across an engraved spout. She sang to it, politely requesting that it deliver water to her. Satisfied with her performance, he began to spit drops. She drank several herself, and applied the rest copiously to a thin piece of cloth she carried with her. She thanked him and returned to the main bedroom. She dipped the cloth in a paste and then gently pried open the mouth of her friend and placed the wet cloth upon his tongue, carefully checking to ensure it was not preventing breathing. She let out a sigh, a stalk bobbing slowly up and down in concern. Pendzi rested her shell upon the floor and waited for her friend to awaken, listening carefully to the playful games between the day and the winds. The cycle continued as usual, though she heard an unusual solemnity to their play. It was as if the winds in the room sensed her anxiety and they too, in all their perpetual wisdom, were concerned for her friend.
After another cycle or two, ending with the arrival of dawn, a delicate flake of sunlight fell upon the poet’s face and gently stirred him. Slowly and carefully he opened his eyes, blinking in surprise as if he did not expect to ever see again. He sat up in the bed, spitting the damp cloth out onto the floor and shaking his head. His mouth was filled with a bitter taste and so he went to the spout and asked for water, to which it pityingly obliged. The poet slurped feverishly and loudly. Loudly enough to disturb Pendzi’s sleep, to which she excitedly jumped into the mobile-levitation position and ran over to him. She wrapped her singular arm around him, pulling him close and feeling his face with her stalks. He let out a surprised but slow thup, pushing away and jumping back at first, pausing for a moment to look at her. The outer corners of his eyes were squished and lifted in a smile before he let out a happy noise and hugged her hard shell.
After a moment they pulled apart and sat down, Chiir resting his body on the bed while Pendzi rested her shell on the floor. They sat silently for a while, though it was not in silence for Pendzi who could hear the energetic celebration of the various winds. She stretched her stalks in a dance with the increasing flutters of the midday air. Chiir tried to listen, unsuccessfully, to their soft whispers. Some time later, when the midday air had completely chased off the various morning winds, Pendzi rose from the floor and pointed a tendril at her friend.
“Will you be leaving soon?” She asked. He gave her a quizzical look that she could not see, though she seemed to understand his reaction based on the noises his musculature and breathing made in response to her question.
“Your reason for staying is over. I introduced you to that which I worship.” She continued.
“I am here to live for my god, and I believe that being with you will provide me with a life well lived.” He replied. Her stalks stilled suddenly, a singular pulse traveling through them as her elevation slightly faltered. Chiir laughed quietly at her embarrassment, earning him a light slap in the face with a floating pillow which only caused him to laugh louder.
“How is your health?” She asked him, seemingly eager to change the topic.
“I am sure it has been better,” he commented, standing up from the bed. He turned away from her and spit across the room. “A bit short,” he noted to himself, “It certainly has been better, but it could be worse. How long was I asleep?”
“At least two or three days after I awoke, I do not know how long it took me to recover, though it was warm and I could hear the winds of the morning singing to me. Four to six days.” His brows raised in concern; they made a crinkle that Pendzi had not yet learned to interpret.
“Should I be concerned?” He asked, trying to suppress his fear. Pendzi tilted her body back and forth in unsure contemplation.
“You are awake,” she finally answered, “and that is all that really matters now.” He nodded.
“And you? How is your health? You said you were not present for a day or two.” Her body suddenly straightened itself before she began to excitedly flit around the room. Clearly, she had a much more pleasurable experience as a result of her religious awakening. She sang a delightful song, a few notes of which Chiir believed he could recognize from the night those few cycles ago. The song was not her own, not in its entirety anyway. His eyebrows again crinkled in concern, before relaxing into a content smile as he happily watched his friend celebrate.
“Better than ever, I see.” Chiir commented, laughing again before she hit him with another pillow. He let himself fall backwards onto the bed, gazing out the window. He felt the cool air of the late evening and noticed the position of the suns in the sky.
“It is getting late,” he said as he stood up suddenly, “We should probably get something to eat.” Pendzi gradually slowed down her dance, taking much longer than necessary, before chirping in affirmation. She opened the door, allowing the evening air to rush in and dance with what remained of the other winds.
The two traveled together to a nearby cafeteria where they first talked about the subjects of their worship. Today, no musicians played. As was typical for the pair, Chiir purchased a thick and cold vegetable drink and Pendzi a hearty meat stew. They exchanged a few round lumps of common metal for their food and Pendzi found them seats in the mostly empty cafeteria. Chiir stayed behind for a moment to speak with the chef, stating that he had been away for a few days and was curious about the events during his absence. The chef did not have much to say. Chiir questioned him about any loud noises in the past seven days. The chef shook his head, only having heard the music and the talk of the people. It would have been late at night, possibly would have woken people up, Chiir explained. The chef shook his head again. He had heard no such noise, nor any rumors or discussions about such a noise. Chiir appeared dumbfounded and his brows crinkled in such intense confusion and frustration that Pendzi could hear them from her seat. Chiir sighed, grabbed the dishes, thanked the Chef for his time, and went to sit with Pendzi.
“What is it that has you so frustrated?” Pendzi inquired, pointing a tendril at him as she took her dish and sucked in a mouthful of stew.
“What possibly could you mean?”
“You are very loud, I do not think you could hide your feelings from me even if you tried.”
They laughed together softly.
“The other night, when we visited your moon, he made such loud noises. But it seems that nobody was disturbed by them.” He answered, looking down in contemplation for a moment, “Actually I cannot recall any response from the critters around us. I would have expected some sort of commotion, but they did not run in fear. Perhaps, like me, they were paralyzed in awe…” he began to trail off.
“It is not my moon,” she stated rather sternly as she placed her dish on the table, “I simply worship it.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “that does not surprise me,” she stated simply and without further elaboration.
“And why not?”
“Such is the nature of the moons, those that are sufficiently in control of their power anyway. They do not expose themselves to those that need not know of their presence or expanse. Perhaps, if one was sensitive enough and had enough intention, they may have heard it as it spoke to you, but for most that is not the case.”
Chiir nodded his head in false understanding.
“Do you know what it said to me?”
“Do you not?”
“I…” “The details are a bit murky. It said hello.” “Is that all?”
“It was a standard greeting. First, it thanked me for my service as conduit. It observed the area through my eyes. Not eyes. Sensory stalks. I don’t have eyes. Then it turned its attention towards you, I believe it was pleasantly surprised to meet someone new; it has seemed somewhat lonely lately. It addressed you by name; I believe there was some sort of epithet attached. It said that it saw you, and that now you are witness to its awesome power.”
“An epithet you said‽” Chiir asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Pendzi replied plainly.
“Do you remember what it was?”
“No. No I do not. I do not remember… words. That is not how communing with a moon works. They do not speak in sentences in the same way you and I are speaking. They speak in ideas, and all I gleaned was that he was addressing you in a name more full than what I have come to know you by.”
Chiir sighed, looking down at his drink in defeat. He took a long sip that quickly developed into an extended gulping.
“Why does this upset you?”
“We… Thup-Thups, that is… We typically have three names throughout our life. My first name, Chiir, I was given because I showed aptitude for writing. My second, Taijal, I chose when I chose to become a poet. Often the second name is more of a title than a name.”
“Your honorifics go after your name then?”
“Yes.”
“Taijal… That is like my prefix Yan.”
“Yes, yes it is!”
Pendzi chirped happily, proud of herself for catching on so quickly and connecting the different approaches of their disparate cultures.
“And what about the third name? When will you receive yours?”
“I will receive it when I die.”
“Oh.”
“Unless, of course, I receive it early from an oracle or a moon.”
“I understand why that possibility upsets you.”
Chiir nodded in response and took another sip of his drink.
“And you… what do your names mean?” He asked her.
“This circle here marks my name, Pendzi. It means… Student. I was given the name because I showed an aptitude for learning. And also because I was somewhat foolish. Foolish student, Pendzi means,” she began, pointing at a marking on her shell. “Above it is a starmap from my birth and beside it a little circle I received from my commune of Wedariig. Right underneath my name is a little ring I received from the Council of Double-Ancient Research when I enrolled, and this other big circle is my prefix Yan! It means I am an officially certified scholar.” Her voice was brimming with pride as she spoke of her recently acquired title, “It still feels fresh.”
Chiir listened intently to her every word, absolutely fascinated by her foreign naming conventions. He watched as her markings were illuminated by the last remaining rays of light from the setting suns as the last of the sun-kissed winds gave way to the thick and cold air of the night.
The chef shouted over to them from behind his counter, it was closing time and they needed to leave. The two rose, brought him their emptied plates, and thanked him for the food. Both tired and full, they silently agreed it was time to sleep. For one more night they shared an inn-room, each worried for the other’s health and wanting to be available to help. As they drifted to sleep, the nighttime wind gently blanketed them in its expanse.
