ohhh 'the sleeper' for whomever calls to you
Okay, so this is long first off, but second this is all characters/world/lore I wrote for a project I mess around with in my free time sometimes. There are some terms and a pair of lines from the Ixaili language, which is a conlang of my creation, while most stuff should be apparent enough with context and full meanings of certain terms aren’t needed, at the end I will also have a run down of some of the important terms used. Also, the bolded text are lines from an except the Kiahqn (The holy book in the Ixaili faith), which I will also include at the end, for those interested in the meanings and context of some things.
[NEW FORMAT AVAILABLE HERE]
Hear the thrum of life, my children, feel the pulse of energy in all things.
Lâii’s first memory was of the forest, there was nothing else it could have been. It was not her mother or father or siblings or elders, but the forest, though she could see no difference between the two. She remembers sitting at the edge of a river, in the shadow of green mountains and greener trees. The moss-covered rocks and tangled roots of a tree cradling her as softly as a parent as she looked up in wonder at the light filtering in through the canopy of leaves above her. The sound of birds chirping, insects softly buzzing, and the calls and footsteps of the animals that called the forest home were as mesmerizing as any lullaby. As she slowly drifted off to sleep, she could feel the earth breathing.
Open your eyes, see beyond what is visible. Fear not blindness, for sight is the root of deception.
Lâii grew up in the flickering candlelight of the temple. Much of the compound’s buildings had countless windows, many barely having walls to allow the vines and roots and moss of the forest in. The temple and shrines were different, though, having thick walls and few windows so the innermost parts were bathed in darkness. It did not keep the forest out, the stone of the floors and walls and ceilings were covered with moss, the roots and plants creating cracks to grow through even in the dark. Candles were only allowed during ceremonies or for offerings.
With Lâii, there was an exception made. The qumáu that lived in the temple would leave candles lit in the hallway for her, knowing she was too young to be held to the standards of initiates, let alone a qumáu. But she was also too young to understand the kindness, and desperately wanted to copy how the others lived. Like a child trying to use their parents’ makeup, Lâii would walk around the temple hallways. extinguish the candles and try to walk like the others.
As disorienting as the dark was, Lâii was never afraid of it, and as she tried to walk through the temple, she found that the dark revealed just as much as it hid. She never had a destination in mind as she stumbled and felt her way around the temple. Wherever she ended up, she would sleep for the night or until one of the qumáu found her and carried her sleeping form to bed.
Open your mind, let the beat of life guide your feet.
For months, Lâii’s legs were mottled with bruises from bumping into things in the dark. Twice she twisted her ankle, once she tripped and bloodied her hands trying to catch herself on the hard stone. The qumáu were used to seeing her like this, she had grown up with perpetual bruises and scrapes from climbing trees and running barefoot through the forest.
When years ago she had fallen from one of the trees outside the compound, she had landed on her arm and side. Lâii was unsure if she hit her head on the way down or if she had blacked out because of the pain. She could vividly remember the hours she spent crumpled at the roots of the tree, tears slowly drying. At some point, the roots that had trapped her arm felt less like crushing claws, and more and more like a gentle cradle. She remembers thinking there must be comfort to be found in one’s tomb, in being gently laid and held with reverence. It was hours later a young qumáu found her, bloodied but sleeping peacefully in roots that tangled around her.
That injury didn’t stop her from climbing trees again, even before she had fully healed. Lâii had grown up with a confidence that made her climb the tallest trees with the most fragile branches; confidence that could not be shaken even with every branch that snapped beneath her weight and sent her tumbling into freefall. And perhaps, that same confidence is why she tried one night to run through the temple, even with her legs freshly bruised from the previous nights.
She couldn’t bring herself to be surprised when she tripped over one of the roots growing through the floor, falling at full velocity into the sharp corner of a stone pillar. In the pitch black, Lâii realized, it was hard to tell if her eyes had closed, if time had passed, if she had blacked out for minutes or hours or not at all. Time meant nothing in the inky void, the only thing grounding her the thick bed of moss and tangled roots that made up the temple floor. Part of her knew she should try to stay awake with such a blow to the head, but how could she keep her eyes open when she couldn’t tell if they were open to begin with?
Tsâni once told her that when he had fallen off a ledge in the mountains and hit his head, he had felt a sense of doom creeping up on him every time he started to lose consciousness. He told of fighting a losing battle to stay awake, of feeling sick and detached and plagued by the acute knowledge he may never wake again.
Lâii felt nothing but a sense of peace, of belonging, of home. The moss felt softer than usual, the roots careful not to poke her, the air warm like a blanket, the silence like a mother's lullaby. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, she wasn’t sure when the thought first came to her head. I’m by the silence room, if I want to be found first thing in the morning, I should go to the shrine.
In her state, she didn't question the knowledge, nor did she question what force guided her to her feet and through the twisting hallways of the temple towards the central shrine. She only knew the gentle hum of the moss and leaves beneath her feet and the knowledge that she was going the right way. The qumáu that found her in the morning, found her asleep, sitting cross-legged, leaning against the central altar, dried blood and specs of moss covering part of her face.
The gash on her forehead would never go away. It healed, scar tissue all too prominent, dark and pulling the skin of her forehead strangely. Another story to tell, another reminder of her reckless confidence. The qumáu would tell her story as one of the endearing folly of childhood.
The way Lâii continued walking the temple at night with the same confidence as before, a testament to her stubborn determination. The scar would never fade, but the bruises on her legs would, the hum of the moss floor guiding her on a path free of obstacles.
Let your heart beat to the drum of life.
Everyone in Xáou Lūá had to make a pilgrimage to one of the temples before they reached adulthood. The only exception once again had been Lâii, since she grew up at the Temple. It seemed only natural for her to become an initiate when she became of age, she didn’t need a pilgrimage to realize her faith and fate were calling her here.
Plenty of people from the north and the other islands chose the Southern Temple on Ngechyoh to be their adolescent pilgrimage if only to see Nih Tsoutlà Zauzūyehqál, The Sacred Forest. Few of the pilgrims would decide to pursue initiation, but initiation was never the point of the pilgrimage. Regardless of the beliefs and faiths across the island, the temples were part of everyone’s history. The temples and their deities were the roots from which Xáou Lūá has grown, and everyone knew to pay respect to their roots and the elders before them.
Lâii had already seen a pilgrimage countless times. As a child, she had been told not to bother pilgrims to the temple, and that only made her more curious. But she had dutifully listened to the word of the qumáu, stayed away from the pilgrims those months even as the curiosity was killing her. Once initiated, she had been eager to see the pilgrimage, only to be told the 1st rank initiates hadn’t been allowed to mingle with them.
Tried of waiting and fueled by curiosity unbecoming of an initiate, Lâii flew through the first rank as quickly as she could, with flying colors that meant to qumáu couldn’t admonish her reasoning. As a second rank initiate now, though, part of her duties were to assist the higher-ranked initiates as they guided the pilgrims. Specifically, each second-rank initiate was to welcome one of the zùñū and lead them to their quarters.
The arrival of each zùñū were usually staggered, the distance between Kuolùtu and the other islands too varied for each island’s pilgrims to arrive together. Lyonâ had instructed Lâii to wait at the west gate for the first day of arrivals, even though pilgrims rarely arrived then. Lâii had begrudgingly accepted, spending her first hours at the entrance silently cursing Lyonâ. As noon approached, Lâii sat against the tree that marked the entrance, heat of the suns above warm enough to feel like a cozy, thick blanket.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep nestled against the roots of the tree, but by now it was hard to resist. The warmth and comfort were more akin to a bed than the cot she had in her quarters. It was the sound of the arrival bell that jolted her awake, an audible reminder of the duty she had nearly forgotten. The bell was far enough away from the entrance that by the time the pilgrims drew close enough to see her, Lâii had hastily straightened and dusted off her robes in an attempt to look presentable. She took a few steps towards the group, to return to the position she was supposed to be in, but before she could get there, the zùñū were close enough that Lâii could make out clearly and she stopped dead in her tracks.
The one leading the group was standing tall, with perfect posture and careful steps. They were dressed in the red and gold Kȳi robes that designated them as hailing from the Qal’kou sect of Tszachuatl and stood as a stark contrast to the forest and Ngoulâ colors. Their face was round, skin dark brown with symmetrical patches of pale skin, and gold-flecked black eyes. The edges of their draping robes and headscarf were ornately embroidered in gold that matched the painted gold mark of Nguozo on their forehead, warm and glittering in the filtered afternoon sunlight.
“Nȳpuoh qù titl nūmih tuan qául,” They said as they stopped 20 feet before the gate, dropping carefully to their knees to prostrate.
Lâii stood frozen for a moment, mouth hanging open, tongue dry as cotton as her mind scrabbled to catch up, cheeks warm. She was a second-rank initiate, but struggling for the response even a first-rank initiate knew by heart.
“Ka nūmih kunáuz, zū wonùz ngiñi sūni,” She managed, bowing slightly, heart pounding for a reason she couldn’t place.
The leader rose to a kneel, clasping their hands in front of them and keeping their gaze lowered in respect.
“I am Zchá, leading the zùñū of the Qal’kou sect, children of Ápū. I humbly request our privilege to make pilgrimage to the Temple of Nguozo and the Sacred Forest. Ápū was the trusted love of Izâl, child of Nguozo, we children of Ápū should not forget the sacrifice Nguozo made for Her and Izâl.”
“Yes!” Lâii said before she could stop herself and remember the proper response, her tone unmodulated and sounding far too eager for an initiate leading an entrance ceremony, “I mean--”
Lâii cleared her throat, trying desperately to compose herself, “It is only right to allow Ápū’s children into Nguozo’s domain, without Ápū’s generosity and care for Izâl, the Golden Blood would not have survived to flow in our veins countless generations on.”
She tripped over her words, cursing not practicing the lines beforehand, but as she finished, she saw Zchá smile softly and look at her and suddenly all she could hear was the beating of her heart, thunderous and in time with the thrum of the earth beneath her feet.
Later, Zchá would laugh, a sound as soothing and warm as sunlight, their eyes soft, and Lâii would once again forget all the passages of the Kiahqn that she knew like the back of her hand. But her heart was filled with so many colors and feelings, that Lâii couldn’t admonish her reasoning.
Every living being has an aura, an energy. Reach out with yours and realize you, my children, are part of it all.
By the lake, the dense canopy of the forest parted enough for unfiltered sunlight to reach the ground, for the vivid blue sky to be seen unobstructed while floating in the water or laying on the soft ground of its shore.
The water was warm, the air was warm, the sunlight warmer. Warmest was Zchás body heat as she lay on her back next to Lâii. They weren’t touching, the inches between their shoulders, their hands, a boundary neither seemed brave enough to cross yet. The outer layers of their robes lay drying on a nearby log, though Lâii knew they wouldn’t dry fully before they had to go back. The warm water of the lake lapped at their feet that lay in the shallows.
Zchá was talking, a soft, meaningless stream of words as insistent but beautiful as the waterfall nearby. They told Lâii about home, about the dry savanna and shrubland of Qal’kou, of the bustling cities and open-air markets full of so many vivid colors and smiling faces. A street vendor there sold the best fried bread, another had the most beautiful and soft scarves with the most delicate embroidery, another vendor was an older couple who sold sweets but always insisting on giving some to passing children for free.
Zchá told her about their family, about their childhood, about their training. About the times almost set their desk on fire, or the times their peers fumbled with their magic, or times they tried to sneak into town instead of focusing on their studies. Their seniors would punish and scold them for the mischief they caused and the lack of respect they had for the importance of their future position.
A niá’kaupù, they had told her softly, suddenly lapsing into silence. Recording histories and stories and events and knowledge, protecting the knowledge from past generations and ensuring it lives on. It was a high honor, a role with the same importance as the role in Lâii’s future. The silent, solemn smile on their face was not from what they said, but what it meant.
Niá’kaupù weren't allowed to leave the archives and vaults. Qumáu weren’t allowed to leave their temple’s compound. After Zchá’s pilgrimage finished and they returned to Tszachuatl, they wouldn’t be able to leave and see Lâii again. After Zchá left, Lâii would return to her initiate duties and path towards being a qumáu. Lâii had never dreamed of leaving the forest, had never pictured herself in the future as anything other than a qumáu.
Somewhere in the silence, Lâii finds the courage to move, to cross that invisible line and lace her fingers with theirs. There’s a comfort she feels immediately, a warmth that spills from her heart at how right it feels to hold their hand.
She wants to open her mouth, to say something comforting and poetic, something sage and wise that would sound right coming from the mouth of an initiate. Lâii could tell them about Nguozo, about the Ichpui, about fate and trusting it completely and knowing that whatever happens will be right--but Lâii wasn’t sure what right meant for this. She could tell them about Nguozo and Izâl, about the sun and moon, how love has no distance and sometimes the greatest love happens from a distance--but what Lâii felt was more than that kind of love.
Instead, Lâii wanted to tell them about Izâl and Ápū, about the two suns. She wanted to tell them that the love forged between people from different worlds is the love that started it all. She wanted to tell them about the celestial bodies so full of light and love and so close together, even when they were countless miles apart.
It was a story Lâii knew well, a story Lâii had grown up hearing, the story that Lâii thought of whenever she thought of love. She knew the story by heart, she could recite in her sleep. But as Zchá shifted ever so slightly closer and now she lay shoulder to shoulder with them, her tongue suddenly felt too heavy, her mouth too mortal to express the divine love in her heart.
I’ve never been more certain about anything than I am the fact that we will see each other again, in this life or the next. I’ve never believed in anything as hard as I’ve believed that I love you. The only thing I know about my fate is that it is entwined with yours.
Were the thoughts sacrilege or piety? Was it more sacrilegious to care about this love more than her position or to care about her position more than love?
Lâii was the initiate here, she was supposed to be the expert, she had grown up in the heart of the temple, but in this, she was just as lost, just as inexperienced as Zchá. And maybe that was right. Maybe she couldn’t be an initiate here, maybe right now she wasn’t a future qumáu and Zchá wasn’t a future Niá’kaupù, maybe they just were themselves, just people, mortal enough to be young and lost but find each other.
Maybe she could speak not as an initiate, but just as Lâii. As the girl who grew up an exception to rules, who grew up scaping her knees on holy ground, who grew up climbing fragile trees and running around in the dark unafraid of being hurt.
“We don’t have to be back until first dusk,” Were the words she found, “I used to come out here to sleep between prayers,”
She could see Zchá smile out of the corner of her eye, their eyes fluttering closed, fingers still laced with hers.
In the quiet, it was hard to tell if the heartbeat she could hear was her own, Zchá’s, or the earth’s.
There wasn’t a difference, really, Lâii mused as she closed her eyes. The moss between her fingers was as warm as full of love and life as the fingers laced with her own.
Terms:
[Breakdown of the Ixaili dialogue used can be found here]
Qumáu -- The equivalent to monks in Ixaili culture and faith. They live at and tend to the temples, among other duties. All qumáu have magic abilities, generally stronger and more refined than the average mage. In Ixaili society, qumáu have a high rank, the 3rd highest rank in Ixaili society, just below that of the Council and Lupá (a spiritual leader of a sect).
Initiate -- The stage before becoming a qumáu. Initiates generally start around age 15/16. There are 13 ranks of initiates, first-rank being the lowest and 13th being the highest. To graduate from one rank to the next usually takes at least a year, though there is no set deadlines or rules.
Zùñū -- The term for a group of young pilgrims hailing from the same sect. The Zùñū consists of a leader, usually the child of one of the sect leaders, and typically 6-24 other pilgrims. While everyone in Xáou Lūá is required to go on a pilgrimage to one of the temples, adolescent pilgrimages are usually reserved for mages and the most promising students from each sect and it is a high honor to be part of a Zùñū. Unlike the typical pilgrimage, these pilgrimages are steeped more in tradition, are longer, and also consist of a number of lectures as they serve also as a way to educate and pass on traditions especially relating to the use of magic.
Niá’kaupù -- Literally translates as “Keeper of the past”. While qumáu duties are religious and spiritual and about the preservation of those traditions, Niá’kaupù duties are similar, but instead of religious, the history and traditions they preserve are those outside of religious contexts. They similarly live in a quasi-isolation, living at the archive and devoting their life to their position.
Ngoulâ -- South/Southern, Ngoulâ colors in this context meaning the color of their traditional robes, which are green in the Ngoulâ region.
Full passage from the Kiahqn:
Hear the thrum of life, my children, feel the pulse of energy in all things. Open your eyes, see beyond what is visible. Fear not blindness, for sight is the root of deception. Open your heart, let it feel what your eyes cannot. Open your mind, let the beat of life guide your feet. Open your spirit and feel my embrace and know I will guide every step you need to take. Every living being has an aura, an energy. Reach out with yours and realize you, my children, are part of it all. Let your heart beat to the drum of life. The pulse of the earth is the same pulse in your veins. The bumps and lines of your skin are the same mountains and valleys of the world. The color of your skin the same as the rich soil of this planet. The light in your eyes and soul the same light that nurtures all life. Protect the earth, you are it’s kin, and it shall protect you. Fear not death, for it is not the end, the earth’s pulse never dies. The drum of life beats on as you journey through the underworld. The earth and I will be at the end of your journey and welcome you back with loving arms, and the breath of life will enter you again. Do not fear, life will always return to you, and I will always accept and love you.
