[J] Rhapsody in Blue: Measure #2

Koh’li took me to visit his siblings today.

We trekked through the forest gloom to the base of an ancient tree. There among its roots, he unearthed a wooden mask; it had no face, no eye holes nor nose holes for breathing. It held the curving intents that suggested eye sockets, the rise and slope of a nose, but no holes for those appendages to see or breathe through. This wasn’t a mask intended for someone to wear; it was a symbol, a gift of homage, as much as any headstone upon its grave. And a grave this was, the very place that his sister, Jakkah, had perished fighting a Blasphemy that had attacked their tribe.

I don’t know how it happened or why, but the moment I touched Jakkah’s Mask, I was nigh overcome by the memory of her final moments. Such courage, bravery, and love of her people. I had no opportunity to know her, aside from this singular, fleeting glimpse but it was enough for me to admire her. Her loss, especially, seemed to affect Koh’li greatly; did he favor her, his eldest sister? She was the one that taught him to hunt, to survive, to live on his own; she was the one to prepare him for his solitary life as a male Keeper.

After Jakkah, we moved on to the mass, communal graveyard where the many souls of his people were returned to forest; they were born of the forest and all energy is only borrowed, thus, must be returned to the forest — or so Koh’li explained to me. It was a hauntingly beautiful place; the somber, violet glow of a number of levin crystals that hung just beneath the canopy gave the hollow a morose sort of feel. Yet, as we stood there, I could hear and see the many memories and songs of his people… his siblings. His sisters, his brothers, all the people that meant something to him. Their joy, their sorrow, their rage; it was an assault on the senses, my heart, even my very soul. So overwhelmed was I by the myriad emotions swirling in a tempest around me, so touched was I by the loss of people I had never met — I wept for them. I wept for Koh’li’s people. And I wept for Koh.

I could see in those few moments how these losses scarred him, each a wound left on his spirit. I don’t know that I would have ever seen this side of him, had we not made this journey. He is oft too noble, too stoic for his own good. I can only hope that my presence here serves as a comfort more than the opposite. He was reluctant to ask me this favor to begin with, I would hate to think that he regrets it now.

We returned to his village in silence and he found me a suitable tent in which I might reside for the duration of our time here. I was glad for the opportunity for some solitude, so that I might adequately compose a song worthy of Koh, his mother, and his sisters; one symbolic of their loss and their sacrifices. I can only hope that I have done them justice.