Page 68 of Planet Zero
“She wouldn't,” Chele seemed to have shaken off her scrutiny of Illied who huddled by herself and was now crying, with Melmie by her side. “Silly Sav. She’s too territorial for her own good.” But Chele’s eyes remained sharp even as her frown dissipated.
The incident was quickly forgotten, and Addie went back to spending every minute of her free time inside the Caves of the Sacred Scrolls. She learned that since the dawn of time, tribes passed by this place when they crossed the mountains. High Counselors and sometimes chiefs would stop and leave a mark on the wall to record their tribe’s achievements, given that only High Counselors and sometimes chiefs knew how to read and write.
Chemmusaayl indicated that he was going to leave an inscription before they moved on, and that was why the tribe was waiting in this place - they were waiting as he was etching a piece of their story.
Qalae, with Vircea’s help, prepared a die to rub into the grooves of the hieroglyphs, a kind of glaze, coloring the text and making it stand out on the wall.
Addie explored the five primary caves. The widest one, where Chemmusaayl frequently cloistered himself, was also the oldest and held the beginning of For written history.
The cave a little higher and to the right was the deepest, and contained the most fascinating drawings of plants, animals, and people, at rest and in combat, hunting, gathering, and even a woman giving birth. She wished she knew how to decipher what the walls said.
One evening she climbed the steep rocky wall to the mouth of a small cave. She walked in, awed as before by the mellow light, but the golden glow emanating from the walls, by the peaceful stillness of the fresh air tinged with an earthy, almost piney smell. The scrolls here were neat and very straight, and somehow distinct. A different language? There were drawings, different from the other caves. It was almost like a separate, unique tribe left their story.
Addie slowly made her way to the deepest enclave where shadows reigned over the golden light. She looked at the figures memorialized forever on the walls. One stood out, a warrior, hulk-like, typical For. He stood on a ledge, a massive battle axe propped at his side, a severed Wrennlin’s head under his boot. The wind blew into his face, throwing back his long hair.
He was strong and he was victorious, the artist left no doubt of that in the drawing. But the warrior's most memorable feature, to Addie, was his scars. His right cheek was bisected but an ugly slash and his ripped torso sported several angry testaments of the battles well fought. Considering Fors’ funny attitude toward physical imperfections, Addie found the image peculiar.
“His name was Eqnan. He was the chief of the largest tribe these lands have ever known.”
Addie whirled around.
“Zoark! You scared me.”
“Did I.” He wasn’t looking at her but at the wall, pensive.
“Were there more people in this land back then?”
“No. But being a great chief meant that Eqnan was able to consolidate several tribes, and keep his people fed and protected. They thrived during his time. It’s all here, in the scrolls.”
“You can read them?”
“Yes. Eqnan lived a long time ago, before the Great Sandstorm. In your words, thousands of Rolling Thunders ago.”
A Rolling Thunder was an atmospheric event, a dry thunderstorm that happened on Planet Zero about every two years. It lasted for two to three days and was celebrated despite it being a fairly scary occurrence. It was the only time on Planet Zero when the skies went dark.
“The scrolls are that old… I wondered.” She turned to the wall, looking at it with a renewed reverence. “He has scars.” She gently touched the image.
“The times were different then. Now people are more cautious.”
Addie didn’t comment. She didn’t want to argue with Zoark in this beautiful, haunting place.
“You’ve come to the caves before, haven’t you?” she asked him.
“Many times. My father’s tribe had a High Counselor who used to drag me here along with my brothers and teach us how to read. We hated it, naturally.” He shook his head in self-deprecation.
“Will you tell me some of your history? What is written here? I am anxious to know.”
He looked at her intently. “Why?”
“Because I want to know the world I now belong to. Because history grounds you. It also teaches you things. Past is experience, you know.”
He inclined his head in agreement.
When Addie moved along the wall, Zoark followed.
“What does it say? All this.”
“Life.”
