Morning, 16 Yaris, 2713
Outside Courtyard, Tso’opuq Academy, Deja Point
Outside Courtyard, Tso’opuq Academy, Deja Point
B reathe out,” Nkemi says, smiling bright-eyed, looking out over the courtyard of small, intent faces. “Breathe in.”
In the corner, a little boy shifts his weight; bare toes clench into the packed dirt and release.
“Breathe out,” Nkemi goes on; she is smiling. “Breathe in.” She counts the seconds in, and counts them out again. As she says to inhale, she sees two dozen little sets of shoulders lift and straighten, unevenly, little gaps and split seconds between them; as she says to exhale, she sees them fall, a tiny fraction, one and the next and the next, and she hears the whoosh of breath echoing across the courtyard.
“When we breathe,” Nkemi says; she looks from small face to small face, “we breathe with our stomach first,” she grins, and sets a hand on hers. “Fill it with air, and only when it is full let the air come up into your lungs. Breathe out,” one, two, three, four, five, six, “and breathe in.”
“When we breathe,” Nkemi says; the wind rustles hot through the corridor, tugging at hems and whisking dust around small bare legs, “we remember the world outside and our bodies too. We fill our stomach, and their our lungs; when we exhale, through our noses, it is our stomachs which we empty first.”
“Breathe out,” Nkemi says; a little girl squints at her, shifting in the sun’s gleam, “and when you think you are empty, think of Hulali, and find a little more breath flowing like a river inside you.”
“Breathe in,” Nkemi says; the sun shines down on them all, and heat rises from the distant stone wall which rings them, “and when you think you are full, think of Roa, and breathe in a little more of the life outside.”
“Breathe out,” Nkemi says, again; two dozen small sets of shoulders fall. “Breathe in.” Two dozen small sets of shoulders rise.
“Good,” Nkemi grins. “Now we must do it as we move.” She shifts herself; her hands clasp together at her chest, curled in. She breaths out; she slides her hands around each other; she pushes them outwards in a long, straight line, her whole body turning to follow the motion. She breathes in; she pulls them back in, steady and slow; she turns them once more, so the backs of her knuckles face out. Nkemi breathes in, shifting the other way, and begins again.
She talks of it as she goes; slowly they begin to follow her, shifting one way, and then the other. At first some go the opposite way from her. “Breathe out,” Nkemi says, pushing slowly away; “Breathe in,” Nkemi says, pulling her hands close.
“Push,” Nkemi says, in time, “and pull.”
In the corner, a little boy shifts his weight; bare toes clench into the packed dirt and release.
“Breathe out,” Nkemi goes on; she is smiling. “Breathe in.” She counts the seconds in, and counts them out again. As she says to inhale, she sees two dozen little sets of shoulders lift and straighten, unevenly, little gaps and split seconds between them; as she says to exhale, she sees them fall, a tiny fraction, one and the next and the next, and she hears the whoosh of breath echoing across the courtyard.
“When we breathe,” Nkemi says; she looks from small face to small face, “we breathe with our stomach first,” she grins, and sets a hand on hers. “Fill it with air, and only when it is full let the air come up into your lungs. Breathe out,” one, two, three, four, five, six, “and breathe in.”
“When we breathe,” Nkemi says; the wind rustles hot through the corridor, tugging at hems and whisking dust around small bare legs, “we remember the world outside and our bodies too. We fill our stomach, and their our lungs; when we exhale, through our noses, it is our stomachs which we empty first.”
“Breathe out,” Nkemi says; a little girl squints at her, shifting in the sun’s gleam, “and when you think you are empty, think of Hulali, and find a little more breath flowing like a river inside you.”
“Breathe in,” Nkemi says; the sun shines down on them all, and heat rises from the distant stone wall which rings them, “and when you think you are full, think of Roa, and breathe in a little more of the life outside.”
“Breathe out,” Nkemi says, again; two dozen small sets of shoulders fall. “Breathe in.” Two dozen small sets of shoulders rise.
“Good,” Nkemi grins. “Now we must do it as we move.” She shifts herself; her hands clasp together at her chest, curled in. She breaths out; she slides her hands around each other; she pushes them outwards in a long, straight line, her whole body turning to follow the motion. She breathes in; she pulls them back in, steady and slow; she turns them once more, so the backs of her knuckles face out. Nkemi breathes in, shifting the other way, and begins again.
She talks of it as she goes; slowly they begin to follow her, shifting one way, and then the other. At first some go the opposite way from her. “Breathe out,” Nkemi says, pushing slowly away; “Breathe in,” Nkemi says, pulling her hands close.
“Push,” Nkemi says, in time, “and pull.”
Morning, 16 Yaris, 2713
Hesena's Cafe, Deja Point
Hesena's Cafe, Deja Point
Nkemi!” Ujana waves from across the way, her bracelets jingling together and glinting as she stretches her arm into the sun.
Nkemi grins at the sight of her friend, sitting with two other clairvoyant conversation classmates. “Ayah!” she cries; she trots across the street, and drops boneless onto one of the chairs around the table.
“You look so sweaty!” Jafa says; she giggles.
Nkemi grins. “I feel sweaty also,” she says, rueful. All four girls laugh; they giggle and greet one another.
“Here, have this,” Faredha pours her a glass of bright yellow juice, thick and dribbling sweat onto the table; Nkemi takes it, gratefully, and sips at it.
“I’m going to declare tomorrow,” Ujana says. Her earrings flash with the turn of her head. “Ada’na Umali says she has a job for me teaching at Tso’opuq,” she glances across the street, then back at Nkemi; they have known each other since the days when they both studied there, long before Ire’dzosat was more than a dream.
Nkemi beams back at her. “I have just now come from teaching meditation classes,” she says with a grin. “Do you remember our own days?”
Ujana giggles, too. “A long time ago,” she says, quietly.
“I’m going to continue on,” Jafa says. She smirks. “Professor Tsofo has agreed to be my advisor.”
Faredha clicks her tongue.
“What’s this?” Jafa’s eyebrows lift.
Faredha shrugs. “A man may drink kofi and water, but you should not wish to be as water to him.”
“That’s a rumor,” Jafa says. Then, “He will be a star of Ire’dzosat someday.”
Faredha shrugs again. “I will take my tseruh in History, it seems,” she smiles. “Professor Arfata has agreed to be my advisor.”
“History!” Jafa raises her eyebrows. “Switching to Ivuq’way?”
Faredha nods.
“What is the sense in doing work which does not bring you joy?” Nkemi asks, smiling.
Jafa shrugs herself, this time; her small mouth pinches closed, and her fingers tap on the edge of her kofi cup.
“What about you?” Ujana asks, smiling at Nkemi.
“I have not decided,” Nkemi says.
Jafa looks up, her eyebrows lifting. “The pledge is due on the eight! It’s a bit late for choosing; all the best professors have already been asked. I hear students started asking Ruedka months ago, though of course she only ever takes one or two.”
“So I have heard also,” Nkemi says. She smiles, turning to Faredha. “What will you study at Ivuq’way, Fare?”
Faredha grins, sheepishly. “Archaeology. I took my elective in an introductory course two years ago at Ivuq’way; I found it very interesting. They have been kind to let me join in classes, even though I am to finish at Ire’dzosat. Perhaps yu remember, I accompanied Professor Arfata on a dig last summer at the ruins near Hulali’s Handprints...?”
“You must be excited,” Ujana smiles.
Faredha glances between them; her smile brightens. “Yes,” she says; she giggles. “Actually I’m hoping to do my tsureh on some of what we found there,” her eyes brighten. “It’s commonly thought that the only permanent settlements in the region were near Serkaih or near the coast, but Professor Arfata thinks we may be able to prove otherwise.”
Nkemi giggles too, and glances at Ujana, and they are both smiling; Jafa is glancing off into the street, though she looks back at Faredha as she goes on, and takes a sip of her kofi.
“How exciting,” Nkemi says. Her eyes are bright; she takes another sip of her juice.
Nkemi grins at the sight of her friend, sitting with two other clairvoyant conversation classmates. “Ayah!” she cries; she trots across the street, and drops boneless onto one of the chairs around the table.
“You look so sweaty!” Jafa says; she giggles.
Nkemi grins. “I feel sweaty also,” she says, rueful. All four girls laugh; they giggle and greet one another.
“Here, have this,” Faredha pours her a glass of bright yellow juice, thick and dribbling sweat onto the table; Nkemi takes it, gratefully, and sips at it.
“I’m going to declare tomorrow,” Ujana says. Her earrings flash with the turn of her head. “Ada’na Umali says she has a job for me teaching at Tso’opuq,” she glances across the street, then back at Nkemi; they have known each other since the days when they both studied there, long before Ire’dzosat was more than a dream.
Nkemi beams back at her. “I have just now come from teaching meditation classes,” she says with a grin. “Do you remember our own days?”
Ujana giggles, too. “A long time ago,” she says, quietly.
“I’m going to continue on,” Jafa says. She smirks. “Professor Tsofo has agreed to be my advisor.”
Faredha clicks her tongue.
“What’s this?” Jafa’s eyebrows lift.
Faredha shrugs. “A man may drink kofi and water, but you should not wish to be as water to him.”
“That’s a rumor,” Jafa says. Then, “He will be a star of Ire’dzosat someday.”
Faredha shrugs again. “I will take my tseruh in History, it seems,” she smiles. “Professor Arfata has agreed to be my advisor.”
“History!” Jafa raises her eyebrows. “Switching to Ivuq’way?”
Faredha nods.
“What is the sense in doing work which does not bring you joy?” Nkemi asks, smiling.
Jafa shrugs herself, this time; her small mouth pinches closed, and her fingers tap on the edge of her kofi cup.
“What about you?” Ujana asks, smiling at Nkemi.
“I have not decided,” Nkemi says.
Jafa looks up, her eyebrows lifting. “The pledge is due on the eight! It’s a bit late for choosing; all the best professors have already been asked. I hear students started asking Ruedka months ago, though of course she only ever takes one or two.”
“So I have heard also,” Nkemi says. She smiles, turning to Faredha. “What will you study at Ivuq’way, Fare?”
Faredha grins, sheepishly. “Archaeology. I took my elective in an introductory course two years ago at Ivuq’way; I found it very interesting. They have been kind to let me join in classes, even though I am to finish at Ire’dzosat. Perhaps yu remember, I accompanied Professor Arfata on a dig last summer at the ruins near Hulali’s Handprints...?”
“You must be excited,” Ujana smiles.
Faredha glances between them; her smile brightens. “Yes,” she says; she giggles. “Actually I’m hoping to do my tsureh on some of what we found there,” her eyes brighten. “It’s commonly thought that the only permanent settlements in the region were near Serkaih or near the coast, but Professor Arfata thinks we may be able to prove otherwise.”
Nkemi giggles too, and glances at Ujana, and they are both smiling; Jafa is glancing off into the street, though she looks back at Faredha as she goes on, and takes a sip of her kofi.
“How exciting,” Nkemi says. Her eyes are bright; she takes another sip of her juice.
Late Morning, 16 Yaris, 2713
Dzen Pavilion, Ire'dzosat
Dzen Pavilion, Ire'dzosat
The day has not grown less warm as Nkemi walks back through campus; she makes her way through the winding garden paths, and finally through the gates of Ire’dzosat, breathing in deep the sun-warmed earth.
She and Faredha sprawl beneath one of the heavy trees; Nkemi nestles into the crook of the branches, yawning. Beside her, Faredha lies on her stomach on the ground, opening a book and falling asleep against it almost immediately.
Nkemi takes out her notebook, and settles it against her knees, and began to write.
Faredha jerks, and her eyes flutter open. She yawns; she sits up. “Oh, I really shouldn’t sleep,” she rubs her eyes. “Nkemi, you took Professor Isaf’s class last year, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Nkemi puts the letter away, closing the notebook over it. She grins. “Are you studying radiomancy yet?”
Faredha shudders. “No, thank the Circle’s flow, not yet. We’re doing Crystomancy, and I’m struggling with how to incorporate the reader into the spell. I’ve memorized Enego’s leybridge, but it comes out wrong every time.” She wiggles her hand into her bag, and comes out with her crystal, turning it over; it sparkles in the sun.
“Have you been a reader yet?” Nkemi asks, bright-eyed.
“No,” Faredha sighs, glancing down at the crystal. “We’re supposed to try today, but we drew lots for it, and I’m the caster.”
Nkemi takes the crystal from her. “Let me show you!” She suggests. “I think we have time for it. Obifune’s self-projection flows well into Enego’s leybridge. I did not understand it in the least until I was the reader.”
Faredha laughs. “If you don’t mind,” her voice is warm and grateful.
“No,” Nkemi says, cheerfully. The two girls settle beneath the tree, back to back. Nkemi breathes in deeply; she closes her eyes, dappled with shade. She looks down at her hands, and imagines the crystal in Faredha’s. The other girl’s breathing shifts in time with hers, both of them moving steadily in and out.
Nkemi begins to cast, her voice clear and even. She pictures the rushing of the Turga as dawn rises over the edge of it, remembering the journey to Thul’Amat; she sat and watched it, legs dangling over the edge of the boat, after a long night in which sleep did not come. She remembers it, vivid, red and pink spilling over the edge of the world, a heron lifting up with gold through its wings, silhouetted by the sun.
She chants; she casts this image into the crystal as she does so. When she weaves into the leybridge, she ties Faredha into the spell; she knows the other student feels it when she picks up the cast, her voice murmuring Enego’s invocation, steady, again and again. Nkemi’s voice strengthens into the cast; Faredha laughs between the words and they keep on, and Nkemi is grinning, too, and their fields wind together, bastly and bright, as Nkemi curls the spell.
She and Faredha sprawl beneath one of the heavy trees; Nkemi nestles into the crook of the branches, yawning. Beside her, Faredha lies on her stomach on the ground, opening a book and falling asleep against it almost immediately.
Nkemi takes out her notebook, and settles it against her knees, and began to write.
I miss you and jara very much, as I always do after returning to Thul’Amat. The journey went well; we spent a day sheltered in the Dzifip’abur hills waiting for a sandstorm to pass, but Hulali must have blessed the passage of the riverboat.
I hope you will write and tell me jara is feeling well once more. If you decide to come to Thul Ka, you are welcome to stay with me. There is not much space in my room, but ada’na Tsa’ja is kind and will not mind if we share my bed; it is enough for two such as us. By the time this reaches you, I hope you will have already thought to inquire of ada’xa Emerho; if not, you should go when you can, as I will send the latest before the end of the week, and it is always the way that the bank’s mail moves faster than our own.
When last we spoke of it, I told you that I thought I would stay for the tseruh, if the scholarship came through. It has, but I am not so certain now. I know that I have your love, whatever I choose. I am very frightened.
I hope you will write and tell me jara is feeling well once more. If you decide to come to Thul Ka, you are welcome to stay with me. There is not much space in my room, but ada’na Tsa’ja is kind and will not mind if we share my bed; it is enough for two such as us. By the time this reaches you, I hope you will have already thought to inquire of ada’xa Emerho; if not, you should go when you can, as I will send the latest before the end of the week, and it is always the way that the bank’s mail moves faster than our own.
When last we spoke of it, I told you that I thought I would stay for the tseruh, if the scholarship came through. It has, but I am not so certain now. I know that I have your love, whatever I choose. I am very frightened.
Faredha jerks, and her eyes flutter open. She yawns; she sits up. “Oh, I really shouldn’t sleep,” she rubs her eyes. “Nkemi, you took Professor Isaf’s class last year, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Nkemi puts the letter away, closing the notebook over it. She grins. “Are you studying radiomancy yet?”
Faredha shudders. “No, thank the Circle’s flow, not yet. We’re doing Crystomancy, and I’m struggling with how to incorporate the reader into the spell. I’ve memorized Enego’s leybridge, but it comes out wrong every time.” She wiggles her hand into her bag, and comes out with her crystal, turning it over; it sparkles in the sun.
“Have you been a reader yet?” Nkemi asks, bright-eyed.
“No,” Faredha sighs, glancing down at the crystal. “We’re supposed to try today, but we drew lots for it, and I’m the caster.”
Nkemi takes the crystal from her. “Let me show you!” She suggests. “I think we have time for it. Obifune’s self-projection flows well into Enego’s leybridge. I did not understand it in the least until I was the reader.”
Faredha laughs. “If you don’t mind,” her voice is warm and grateful.
“No,” Nkemi says, cheerfully. The two girls settle beneath the tree, back to back. Nkemi breathes in deeply; she closes her eyes, dappled with shade. She looks down at her hands, and imagines the crystal in Faredha’s. The other girl’s breathing shifts in time with hers, both of them moving steadily in and out.
Nkemi begins to cast, her voice clear and even. She pictures the rushing of the Turga as dawn rises over the edge of it, remembering the journey to Thul’Amat; she sat and watched it, legs dangling over the edge of the boat, after a long night in which sleep did not come. She remembers it, vivid, red and pink spilling over the edge of the world, a heron lifting up with gold through its wings, silhouetted by the sun.
She chants; she casts this image into the crystal as she does so. When she weaves into the leybridge, she ties Faredha into the spell; she knows the other student feels it when she picks up the cast, her voice murmuring Enego’s invocation, steady, again and again. Nkemi’s voice strengthens into the cast; Faredha laughs between the words and they keep on, and Nkemi is grinning, too, and their fields wind together, bastly and bright, as Nkemi curls the spell.
Afternoon, 16 Yaris, 2713
Practice Courtyard, Ire'dzosat
Practice Courtyard, Ire'dzosat
The air breaks around her.
Nkemi gasps the last of her curling; there is the smell of burnt hair, and her fingers twitch against the sand.
“Sorry!” Joro cries. He is kneeling over his own plot of sand, burnt and smoking. Tendrils of smoke rise from his hair and eyebrows. The runoff has reached out through the classroom, and there are students mumbling all through.
Nkemi pulls her hand back, and grimaces; there is vitrified sand left in the shape of her palm. The skin is reddening, now. She comes up, shakily, to her knees, and then to her feet, her hand clutched lightly to her chest. “Professor?” Nkemi calls.
Kafeera clucks his tongue. “Here, Nkemi,” he says, raising his eyebrows. He glances down at the plot. “It is the difference between holding focus and losing it which keeps your monic relationships strong!” He calls. His voice is harsh and loud, booming, but his hands are gentle as he smears an aloe salve on Nkemi’s palm, and wraps a bandage around it.
“How bad’s the pain?” Kafeera asks.
“Not bad,” Nkemi says. There are tears in the corner of her eyes, and her lips are trembling.
Kafeera raises an eyebrow, glancing down into his face. “Ready to try again?”
Nkemi takes a deep breath. Pain, she reminds herself, is a warning from the body. Her hand throbs and she looks down at it, at the crisp white bandage wrapped around the blistered skin. She takes another deep breath.
Kafeera pats her shoulder; he turns away.
“Yes,” Nkemi says, suddenly. She looks up at him; she blinks the last of the tears away. “I’m ready to try again, Professor.”
Nkemi gasps the last of her curling; there is the smell of burnt hair, and her fingers twitch against the sand.
“Sorry!” Joro cries. He is kneeling over his own plot of sand, burnt and smoking. Tendrils of smoke rise from his hair and eyebrows. The runoff has reached out through the classroom, and there are students mumbling all through.
Nkemi pulls her hand back, and grimaces; there is vitrified sand left in the shape of her palm. The skin is reddening, now. She comes up, shakily, to her knees, and then to her feet, her hand clutched lightly to her chest. “Professor?” Nkemi calls.
Kafeera clucks his tongue. “Here, Nkemi,” he says, raising his eyebrows. He glances down at the plot. “It is the difference between holding focus and losing it which keeps your monic relationships strong!” He calls. His voice is harsh and loud, booming, but his hands are gentle as he smears an aloe salve on Nkemi’s palm, and wraps a bandage around it.
“How bad’s the pain?” Kafeera asks.
“Not bad,” Nkemi says. There are tears in the corner of her eyes, and her lips are trembling.
Kafeera raises an eyebrow, glancing down into his face. “Ready to try again?”
Nkemi takes a deep breath. Pain, she reminds herself, is a warning from the body. Her hand throbs and she looks down at it, at the crisp white bandage wrapped around the blistered skin. She takes another deep breath.
Kafeera pats her shoulder; he turns away.
“Yes,” Nkemi says, suddenly. She looks up at him; she blinks the last of the tears away. “I’m ready to try again, Professor.”
Afternoon, 16 Yaris, 2713
Dzelilaye Hall, Ire'dzosat
Dzelilaye Hall, Ire'dzosat
Nkemi waits in the hallway outside Professor Ruedka’s office; her bag is slung over her shoulder, her still bandaged hand loose at her side.
Through the calypt door, she can hear Ruedka’s voice soft in conversation with another student inside. Nkemi shifts her weight against the floor, and she waits. She breathes in, slowly, and out once more; she breathes in again, and then out once more. She counts the breathes to herself, and though she holds still through the breathing, it calms something inside her, and settles it in her stomach.
The door opens; another student comes out, eyes bright, sandaled feet quick against the floor.
“Nkemi!” Ruekda’s eyebrows lift; she comes to standing.
Nkemi comes in, and she bows. “Professor,” she says, her voice uneven, “I am very ashamed of how I behaved when we last spoke.”
Ruedka’s face softens. “Nkemi,” she says, more quietly.
Nkemi shakes her head. “I was afraid,” she says, evenly, straightening up and looking at Ruedka. A wave of shame rises in her chest, and Nkemi accepts it as her due, and breathes steadily through it, and lets herself move through the ache. “I am frightened by my own history; I am frightened by the uncertainty of what lies down my river.”
Ruekda’s lips press together, soft. “Will you take kofi with me?” She asks.
It is not long before they are sitting at the small hearth downstairs, the two of them and the crackling fire, and the popping of the beans. Nkemi’s bandaged hand is in her lap, and she has set her bag down on the ground, at least. Ruekda sets a tray of puffed corn crackers before her, and Nkemi shakes her head.
“Not even one?” Ruedka grins at her.
Nkemi grins back, and thinks again. She takes a cracker, and drags it through the yogurt, and nibbles at it.
Ruedka pours the kofi, when it is time. They have spoken the words already: I pledge my honor to Hulali. I speak truth here.
Nkemi breathes in deep the smell of the kofi, menda and sugar stirred in. She looks over the cup at Ruedka.
“I did not pass on your declining of the scholarship,” Ruedka says, gently, when the second cup has been poured.
Nkemi’s eyes go wide.
Ruedka smiles at her. “I know you are honorable, Nkemi,” she says, gently, “and I knew you spoke truth, when you said no. But there is truth, and there is truth; there is the truth of the shallow self, of the moments when the mind overwhelms itself, and we know fear. There is truth of the heart. It is not lying, to speak the first; it is not dishonorable.”
“I waited,” Ruedka goes on, “because I wished to know which manner of truth you spoke.”
Nkemi’s lips tremble; a few tears trickle down her cheeks. She sets her kofi down and finds a crumpled handkerchief, and wipes at them. “I do not want to be afraid. Nkemi says, quietly.
Ruedka nods. “This is not a choice we can make,” she says, gently. “You are afraid; I will not tell you that you do not have the right. A tseruh is not a think to take lightly. It is an ambitious plan which you have outlined, Nkemi; if you achieve it, I think I will not be alone in finding it ground-breaking.”
Nkemi takes a deep breath; she picks up her kofi again, and takes another sip. “And if I fail?” She asks, looking up at Ruedka.
Ruedka smiles. “Many tseruh do not end up as they begin. You are not this work; you are much more. It will be a part of you, by the end, but it will never be the whole.”
Nkemi nods.
“The door remains open, Nkemi,” Ruedka says, softly. “The choice is yours.”
“I am grateful to have it,” Nkemi says.
Nkemi sets her kofi down again; she takes out her notebook from her bag, and turns to the page before the letter to her mother, the one which she is halfway through. The paper which lays on top of it, only a little wrinkled, is her tseruh pledge; Nkemi lowers her gaze to it, the printed name of her topic, the conditions of Úpek Oladele written in graceful writing at the bottom, Professor Ruedka pezre Etriket written on the line below the space for her signature.
Nkemi takes her pen, and sets it to the page, and she signs.
Ruedka, smiling, takes the notebook from her, and she signs as well.
“I speak truth here,” Nkemi says, looking up at Ruekda. She smiles.
Through the calypt door, she can hear Ruedka’s voice soft in conversation with another student inside. Nkemi shifts her weight against the floor, and she waits. She breathes in, slowly, and out once more; she breathes in again, and then out once more. She counts the breathes to herself, and though she holds still through the breathing, it calms something inside her, and settles it in her stomach.
The door opens; another student comes out, eyes bright, sandaled feet quick against the floor.
“Nkemi!” Ruekda’s eyebrows lift; she comes to standing.
Nkemi comes in, and she bows. “Professor,” she says, her voice uneven, “I am very ashamed of how I behaved when we last spoke.”
Ruedka’s face softens. “Nkemi,” she says, more quietly.
Nkemi shakes her head. “I was afraid,” she says, evenly, straightening up and looking at Ruedka. A wave of shame rises in her chest, and Nkemi accepts it as her due, and breathes steadily through it, and lets herself move through the ache. “I am frightened by my own history; I am frightened by the uncertainty of what lies down my river.”
Ruekda’s lips press together, soft. “Will you take kofi with me?” She asks.
It is not long before they are sitting at the small hearth downstairs, the two of them and the crackling fire, and the popping of the beans. Nkemi’s bandaged hand is in her lap, and she has set her bag down on the ground, at least. Ruekda sets a tray of puffed corn crackers before her, and Nkemi shakes her head.
“Not even one?” Ruedka grins at her.
Nkemi grins back, and thinks again. She takes a cracker, and drags it through the yogurt, and nibbles at it.
Ruedka pours the kofi, when it is time. They have spoken the words already: I pledge my honor to Hulali. I speak truth here.
Nkemi breathes in deep the smell of the kofi, menda and sugar stirred in. She looks over the cup at Ruedka.
“I did not pass on your declining of the scholarship,” Ruedka says, gently, when the second cup has been poured.
Nkemi’s eyes go wide.
Ruedka smiles at her. “I know you are honorable, Nkemi,” she says, gently, “and I knew you spoke truth, when you said no. But there is truth, and there is truth; there is the truth of the shallow self, of the moments when the mind overwhelms itself, and we know fear. There is truth of the heart. It is not lying, to speak the first; it is not dishonorable.”
“I waited,” Ruedka goes on, “because I wished to know which manner of truth you spoke.”
Nkemi’s lips tremble; a few tears trickle down her cheeks. She sets her kofi down and finds a crumpled handkerchief, and wipes at them. “I do not want to be afraid. Nkemi says, quietly.
Ruedka nods. “This is not a choice we can make,” she says, gently. “You are afraid; I will not tell you that you do not have the right. A tseruh is not a think to take lightly. It is an ambitious plan which you have outlined, Nkemi; if you achieve it, I think I will not be alone in finding it ground-breaking.”
Nkemi takes a deep breath; she picks up her kofi again, and takes another sip. “And if I fail?” She asks, looking up at Ruedka.
Ruedka smiles. “Many tseruh do not end up as they begin. You are not this work; you are much more. It will be a part of you, by the end, but it will never be the whole.”
Nkemi nods.
“The door remains open, Nkemi,” Ruedka says, softly. “The choice is yours.”
“I am grateful to have it,” Nkemi says.
Nkemi sets her kofi down again; she takes out her notebook from her bag, and turns to the page before the letter to her mother, the one which she is halfway through. The paper which lays on top of it, only a little wrinkled, is her tseruh pledge; Nkemi lowers her gaze to it, the printed name of her topic, the conditions of Úpek Oladele written in graceful writing at the bottom, Professor Ruedka pezre Etriket written on the line below the space for her signature.
Nkemi takes her pen, and sets it to the page, and she signs.
Ruedka, smiling, takes the notebook from her, and she signs as well.
“I speak truth here,” Nkemi says, looking up at Ruekda. She smiles.
