Date point: 14y 2m 1w AV
Planet Akyawentuo, The Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm
Singer
“So, if we salt the roots in boiling water with some herbs, and use a very tight…what was the word?”
[“Jar,”] Julian said encouragingly.
“—And then we boil the whole jar with the lid on loose, so the bad spirits can get out but not back in…”
“That is a good way to think about it, yes. If the seal is very tight, then the, uh, ‘bad spirits’ will run away from the salt and the heat, and then they can’t come back in and spoil the food.”
Singer stood in front of Julian and Xiù, who had some of his marvelous little warm-ice-pots he called jars. Some of the other Singers from nearby tribes were watching as well.
“It’s important that you never break the seal once it’s on, Singer.” Xiù chimed in. “Not until you want to eat it. Because very bad spirits can creep in and make you sick if you ate the food.”
“How long will this ‘jarred’ food last?”
[“…Canned.”] Julian chipped in again, with a slightly embarrassed look.
“But those are jars.”
“Yeah. A Sky-Thinker found a way to do the same thing with metal cans instead. So now it’s called canning even though you can use any kind of pot that’s tight and can be boiled.”
Sometimes, English words had a strange story behind them. It was always a bit amazing that they could have so many words, each with a story behind them. But that was probably because the Sky-Tribes had been telling stories to each other for a very, very long time.
“Can we use our pots?”
Xiù looked to Julian, who considered the problem. “You can but it’s important the pots be made very well. You’ll need to seal them with, uh, hardened ketta sap or stinger-wax maybe? Or you need melted fat to pour on top of the food as it cools. And the pots will need to be [glazed] too. That’s not very hard to do. You just need a ‘kiln’ which is a kind of furnace. Which…if you have that, you can also make glass, really.”
‘Glass’ was one of those English words that they’d adopted as their own. The tricky sound at the beginning wasn’t as hard to make as it could be in other words, and it was nice and short, with a strong sound at the end. Very male.
“And can we make glass? Like those ‘beer bottles’ Vemik saved?”
The other Singers trilled in knowing mirth. Vemik had indeed hoarded all of the bottles, cleaned them very carefully, then gave them as gifts to pretty women when the village or the tribes had a celebration. Singer didn’t mind, not really; sometimes the Dance was for everyone to enjoy each other. Other times, the Song was for a man and woman, alone.
Vemik seemed to like Song over Dance, and he liked Singer’s Song the most, which…that warmed her breath. He’d Danced for other young, pretty things and Taken his pleasure as any man should. They were lucky girls: Vemik had one of the strongest Dances of any man. But for Singer…when Vemik truly Danced, it was for her, and her alone. She loved him.
Singer must have drifted off for just a second because the Eldest Singer flicked her ear with a knowing look. Julian noticed too and favored her with one of his sideways smiles, the one she knew meant happiness, humor, and patient understanding.
“You can make glass. It’s…something like making steel. Not as hot,” he quickly added, “But it’s a little tricky. And you need some different things to make it. But you can do it.”
The other Singers gave cautious flicks of their tails. The thinking around ‘steel’ was that making it was powerful taking-magic. Vemik’s forge was clearly a male space; it smelled of hard-working men, and smoke, and heat. But there was a subtle, just-on-the-wind thought amongst the Singers that all the Taking of steel was balanced by the giving-magic needed to do the thing in the first place.
As to what could be done with steel…that could Give or Take. Singer had at least won that argument with her rings. And if this ‘glass’ was the same, maybe they had a chance.
Xiù spoke up at exactly the right moment. “I want to try some of your stews in the jars, Singer. You make one with Tanew-root and Bibtaw that I think would work.” She seemed to have a wisdom deeper than Singer could understand.
That got the Singers’ attention. Tanew-root and Bibtaw were easy to gather and anyone could do it, even the children. The resulting stew was delicious with the right herbs, but it went bad pretty quickly; a day or two and the stew would taste foul, a day later it would have fuzzy black tree-crawler all over it.
The eldest Singer looked at the jars and the big metal ‘pot’ Julian had over the fire, slowly bringing water to a boil. “If we…‘can’ my good stew—” Singer rolled her eyes in her mind. Eldest had too much pride in her cooking. “—you say it won’t go bad?”
“It shouldn’t, no.”
“How long will it be good?”
Julian nodded at Xiù. “We have to make some to test, but…if the jar is completely [airtight] and you store it where it’s dry and dark…very many seasons, maybe.”
The other Singers nodded. Food that could be saved forever! That was strong giving-magic and they would be fools to turn that down.
“We can make other things, too!” Xiù exclaimed, then looked at Singer, “You made us a soup the other day? With fruit in it?”
Eldest Singer’s gaze turned on her sharply, and Singer felt her tail wanting to be between her hands again. “Yes. It uses berries from the Ketta-choker vines. They grow at the top of the trees so only our youngest can get them. It’s…a special treat. For friends.”
“I bet that would can pretty well,” Julian chuckled. “Sweet things usually do. We have a food called ‘jam’ that has to be canned, and it can be very, very sweet.”
That would certainly get the women excited. The best way to a man’s heart was through his mouth, after all, and there wasn’t much of anything a man liked more than sweet sticky food. Particularly if it was being fed to him…
“We need to figure out the exact ‘recipes’ too. Food you want to can has to be made a little differently. And I don’t think we should encourage [sugar] habits, Julian.” Xiù gave him the sharp, affectionate look any woman did when their man was slightly out of line, then turned back to the Singers. “Too much [sugar] can make you fat.”
“Like Professor Hurt?”
The Singers giggled to themselves. The consensus had been that there was a handsome man under the layers of old age and weakness, and that he would be much cuter after all that baby-fat had been worked off of him.
Julian again chuckled, this time with a bit more…smugness. Yes, that was definitely there. “He’s not fat, he’s just fluffy. And he’s getting better, too! Also he’s smarter than any of us so he has an excuse. And to be fair,” he looked at Xiù with a twinkle in his eye, “We don’t know if ‘sugar’ makes the People fat in the first place.”
Xiù nodded in a different way—mouth flattened out, and her eyebrows raised. Singer wasn’t entirely sure what that meant but she seemed to be agreeing with what he said. “Fair, Still…”
Julian chuckled quietly and shook his head. “Right. Anyway. Let’s start with the stew—” Eldest had a smug grin, now, “—and see if it cans well. If it does, maybe I teach the men how to make glass? I’ll need to learn myself…”
[“Glazed pottery might be easier.”]
[“Still need a kiln, though.”]
“True.” They looked back at the Singers. “Why don’t we try with what we have here first? If you like it, we can get started on making little ‘crocks.’ We’d need to build things…”
“Vemik will be excited.” That from one of the distant Singers, who still felt jilted because Sky-Thinker wasn’t interested in bedding her. Singer herself couldn’t feel much sympathy for her yet she couldn’t speak up; the Singers trusted her as one of theirs but she was too close to Vemik’s powerful steel-magic to be completely believed on such things.
In the end, everyone looked toward Eldest. She considered at length while she chewed on the end of a root, then at last conceded. “I will make my stew with you, Shyow. I will see if this ‘can’ idea is any good.”
That settled it. Once Eldest had agreed things moved quickly. A big pot of her (…very tasty) stew was made. Shyow added a little salt—they had so much of it!—and a little more bitter-herb over Eldest’s objections. “Canning can make things taste a little dull. Strong flavors also give more strength to the good spirits in the food. It should be fine…”
Julian’s pot had come to an angry boil. They ladled the stew into each of the nine glass jars, he put the strange metal discs on top and then twisted a metal ring of some sort on, waited a while, then hauled the pot off the fire and put it on the dirt.
“We wait for them to cool, now. If we touch them right now they could break.” The Singers went their ways to attend to things. Later, after the mid-day song and when the jars were cold, he twisted the rings tighter and handed one each to different Singers—Eldest got two. “Don’t open them! And don’t eat them. Bring them back in a hand of days and we’ll see if they’re still safe to eat. Okay?”
The Singers nodded and promised not to open the jars. The rest of the day was spent doing other things, mostly sharing news about new children, deaths in the tribes, the mysterious goings-on between the Given-Men and what people thought the coming winter might be like.
None of that mattered. Everyone’s thoughts were on the jars, and already the Singers had begun to plan for a world with food that could be kept as long as they wanted. What a powerful Giving! No hungry bellies in the winter. The Given-Men wouldn’t need to starve half to death and shrink down to normal-sized men, and children wouldn’t want for anything.
It was a new world they could make for themselves. If the magic was anything like learning steel, learning canning and glass it would be a challenge. Given-Men would be wary. But this time, the Singers knew what was coming. They wouldn’t be surprised, and they knew what to expect. With some gentle words, some sweet promises whispered in ears…
The People would have glass, along with steel.
Date point: 14y 2m 3w AV
Office of the Mother of the Guard, the Clan of Females, Folctha, Cimbrean
Mother Myun of the Clan of Females
Bored. Bored bored bored.
And lonely.
Both were feelings that Myun was not accustomed to experiencing, especially with…well, everything that had happened. The first couple of months since the War had begun were what she was born to do: defend the Clan of Females. With Yulna and Daar personally leading the liberation of the major Communes, her life for those first weeks had been one of non-stop travel. Her primary role was protecting the Mother-Supreme during a raid—she was the last to enter a scene for obvious security reasons—and sometimes being more proactive at the front to help the newly-liberated understand what was happening.
Sometimes, the best way to do that was by destroying their tormentors so that they could see what was happening. The Humans, as they seemed to do with everyone, had tagged her with a callsign: Valkyrie. She’d had to look it up for the meaning, but decided she liked it. It was perfect for her.
Then she wasn’t a Valkyrie anymore. Bored, she’d found herself watching Human movies, and realized she suddenly felt like Wonder Woman stuck in a romantic comedy. She wasn’t adjusting well.
It wasn’t that she hated the arrangement. Not at all! Protecting the Females on Cimbrean was important, so important the Mother-Supreme had appointed Myun personally. It was just that, normally there were interesting things to do and places to explore in her off time. But with the War for Gao underway, the commune was on lockdown permanently and the refugee camps required constant patrols. She ran strict shifts and in her “off-time” was also responsible for the Commune Guard’s training and fitness. Then there was the weekly security liaison with Gabe, the monthly supply shipments…daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly.
Predictable. Like clockwork. Forever. Myun was busier than she had ever been in her life, and she was bored. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except for the other thing she wasn’t: pregnant.
It wasn’t for lack of interest on her part. Something about…well, everything going on had stirred her Mother’s instincts quite strongly. She found herself drawn to the cubs in her spare moments and had become a bit of a menace, in fact. It wasn’t until Momma Seema told her off and pointed out that maybe a cub of her own was just what she needed that things clicked in Myun’s head. She knew Momma was right the instant she said it, and immediately took one of her alleged free days off to go explore a bit, and…
They were avoiding her. All of them. Every male she met was unfailingly polite, but none of them seemed interested. In fact, all of them seemed more interested in getting away from her, and her Stoneback nose meant she could smell why: they were afraid of her.
A year ago she would’ve thought that was badass but now…not so much. It took several more days and eventually the offer of buying lunch—a Female, buying a male lunch!—to understand why. Was it her looks? No. Some digging around confirmed the males thought she was still beautiful, maybe even more so now that her jaw had been repaired. She was still heavily scarred but that apparently was to her benefit. So if it wasn’t her looks, what was it?
Was it her attitude? The little Clanless she cornered didn’t think so. Why were the males so intimidated by her? She didn’t get the answer she really wanted. She did eventually get the little male to warm up to her…but being honest, she wasn’t interested in him. It felt, somehow, too opportunistic of an encounter even in the context of gaoian mating relations.
No. She’d just have to keep at it and figure out what was wrong. She sighed sadly, paid for the meal, and stalked back to the compound.
Date point: 14y 2m 3w 2d AV
Planet Akyawentuo, The Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm
Professor Daniel Hurt
If Daniel were to think back on his early years, on his ambitions and goals, and consider where those things would eventually take him, he was sure of one thing: that he would never have imagined he’d spend his days being crushed on all sides by sweaty, half-ton talking gorillas pressing in tighter and tighter…so they could better read his copy of Green Eggs and Ham.
Lord only knows what would have happened if I’d brought ‘Fox in Socks.’ He suppressed a shudder at the thought of trying to get through that notorious tongue-twister of a book, teaching it to caveman-gorillas equipped with half-meter-long forked prehensile tongues, and instead focused on Yan’s impressive progress with his reading. Not that Daniel had a choice. They were sitting cross-legged on the ground, a young boy and girl in his lap and Yan’s legs and tail wrapped around his waist and pressed in as close as they could get so that the other Ten’Gewek who were gathered around could see.
He’d picked up the basics pretty quickly too, though he did the thing Daniel’s own kids did, and slid his stone-shatteringly thick fingers across the words as he read them. “I…would not eat them, on a…‘boat?’”
“Yes!” All of the Ten’Gewek were fast learners, as fast as humans could be, but Yan in particular was proving bright. Not as bright as Vemik of course—Daniel was beginning to suspect the young man had a genius-level intelligence—but formidable, nonetheless.
“Hum. ‘Boat.’ Means…what does it mean?” That was Vemik, who along with his newest apprentice was hanging off Yan’s back. He had lately been a lot more conscientious of his sentence structure and often corrected himself mid-stream. And now that his face was quite firmly adult-shaped, his pronunciations were getting better almost daily, too.
“It’s something that we can use to cross ponds, lakes, seas, oceans…it sits on top of water like [floater-leaves] do in the pond nearby.”
Daniel could feel Yan shudder behind him and huff disgustedly above. “That feels dumb.” There was a round of trills and a smirk from Hoeff, who was sitting in a tree above and watching with his usual happy smug-mug.
Though Yan and Daniel were about the same height standing up, Ten’Gewek had proportionally longer torsos than humans, which meant that Yan was a good head taller when they were both sitting down and at least twice as broad. He rested his heavy head on top of Daniel’s and trilled quietly, and scratched affectionately at his chest with a giant blunt-clawed mitt.
“All the more reason not to eat green eggs and ham on a boat, then!”
“Why are they green?” Vemik reached down and pointed at the eggs. “That does not look tasty.”
“Because it’s a story, Vemik.” Daniel reached up and scritched him on the side of his jaw; like hugs and chest-scratches, that was a friendly gesture with the Ten’Gewek. “It’s meant to help children learn to read. Easy words, nice sounds…”
Yan grunted and hugged tighter. “I want to eat this ‘ham.’” Of course he did.
“Maybe when you finish the book, big guy.” Yan crushed him painfully tight but only for a moment, using just enough force to briefly and loudly wind the professor to the trilling amusement of everyone. He relented, hugged more affectionately, made the People’s equivalent of a quiet chuckle and agreed. “Okay.”
Yan was a friendly and playful man by nature, but at no time ever could his leadership go unchallenged. By anyone. The Ten’Gewek were very big on that, and the measure of a leader—Given-Men in particular—seemed to be how they handled a perceived slight or unintentional slip of words.
By that measure Yan was a good leader indeed; having reinforced the point that he was the biggest and baddest and that he was in charge, Yan felt free to acquiesce to Daniel’s delusions of grandeur and indulge the silly ideas of the puny little professor he held in his grasp.
That was how he handled most such moments. A noogie here, a firm hug there, maybe a teasing word or two of ribald banter. He never deeply embarrassed anyone, never did anything truly painful—physical or otherwise—and he was definitely never malicious. All in all he showed remarkable restraint, which in Daniel’s estimation was probably the reason he was respected by everyone.
His social interactions were, however, unmistakably dominant. Perhaps even a shade short of bullying, but never actually so. For a neolithic tribal society that seemed a good compromise; people could say their mind as long as they were willing to endure a little rough-housing, and Daniel in particular could lead the Academy without usurping Yan.
Maybe he got a little bruised out of it, sure. But he still got his way. And Yan tended to give him bigger “apology” werne shanks, too. Really, what was there to complain about?
In any event, Yan finished the book then passed it around so everyone could flip through. Ten’Gewek had good memories for stories and learned the words and sounds right off the bat. Sure enough a group of young girls eventually got a hold of it and played a game where one would recall the story while the others followed along, and every time she made a mistake they would jump on it, debate if the words matched up, maybe ask Daniel to referee…
It was a good way to spread the idea of writing. Not ideal, of course. It was anything but that. The original grandiose plan had been to prompt Vemik or whoever to develop a writing system on their own, but that ran into a pretty serious problem right away: nobody had ever managed that in the history of first contact among human tribes, and the linguistic world wasn’t sure such a thing could be done in the first place.
Every experience that humankind had with such events was always predicated on teaching a culture how to read and write first. There was even some debate as to how often writing had come about on earth, and no matter how the point got argued, that number was small.
No. The People needed their own writing, but they needed to understand writing first, and there was no academic’s fantasy of showing them multiple systems and letting them learn from a broad selection. Daniel had to pick one and stick with it, and go from there. Since they had learned to speak English that meant the English writing system, despite its foibles and especially its atrocious orthography. It wasn’t ideal, and already the academic community back home was screaming bloody murder, but as much as Daniel might have wished otherwise this wasn’t some nicely controlled anthropological experiment.
The Ten’Gewek’s survival was on the line, as a species and as a culture. Daniel could see it in his daily interactions with them. Sure, everything was going fine, for now. Yan in particular seemed to understand the issue intuitively and made a point of using their words, and expanding their language with new ones whenever he could. He’d insisted on Julian taking the Rite of Manhood as well, a goal which the big woodsman had been working towards at a fevered pitch; every day he practiced with his spear, every day he sat and listened to the Singer or Yan while they instructed the young boys on the ways of Taking-Magic.
And twice a day almost every day, he pushed his body past limits that Daniel hadn’t dreamed a man could break. If that was how Walsh and the rest of SOR got the way they were…
They all sacrificed so much, really. Walsh and Hoeff stayed behind while Coombes went back to Cimbrean to get the JETS training pipeline properly jump-started. At the same time, Julian had managed to build himself into an athlete so impressive, Walsh was these days figuratively looking over his shoulders at his up and coming competition. He’d done all that, all that pain and work, just so that he could be as ready as possible whenever it was time to take the Rite. He was making heroic sacrifices to get prepared for it. Everyone knew it, Yan in particular.
And if the People did not develop a way to record their ideas and traditions, by themselves, all of that would be for nothing.
And that, in turn, likely rested on Vemik, Yan, and Singer. Daniel had to keep their attention. He had to win the affections of the other Given-Men, which was slowly but surely happening as he too pushed his old body towards fitness. He had to, yes, guide their development a little more forcefully than he’d originally hoped.
And he was running out of time…but there was much room for hope. Daniel watched the People hand the book around. They’d treated it like it was priceless; in a way, it was. Some of the younger children had begun tracing the word shapes in the dirt with a surprising eye for detail.
Daniel smiled to himself. He had a lot of work to do.