One Heartbeat

Anemoraia yanni topeuhaut tosamiakhasëa.
Mekhoč thononnyia akouveshait kusarinač:
apesukapesoč vo kapač nnyahi.
Piepieč vaitaptis son hia thononnyom sonaia hia
nnyovesh hiraikham kourianui mekhunu hopi
nerafapui aptemihit hiopë katàsi eio.
Godenu nitasa čài Kakedi nnyovo amata tega
mau vaitamoriptis nia konnač deihi liopesëa,
vo nea shuyesàhi nia shakameteč eio kefu motuč.
Pethë čà rikuho sof anemoraia:
čà pano čàs yayashei seisi jauiptis vo nauč
thunetasapëa. Sosho čàs sheisëa maki nauhi
nia čà meio amekheč porehuo ameisapëa.
Sinnah kein ìmmàn pesuraut movei leiu-čàhi kaki.
Sinnah kein ìmmàn kouriot čài mesičohi.

The nuamë nuaf iča says those words in the middle of Impermanence one day after Kakedi awakens in one of his strongholds injured and afraid. The scholars call this part of the book the Chrysalis Interlude because it separates the early half in which Kakedi behaves passively, accepting whatever Laughing Fate puts in her outstretched palms, from the latter half, where Kakedi builds the flying machine kakaäban and quests for the Seven Hundred Sacred Things. In this piece of literature, unlike all other works I know, the nuamë nuaf iča serves as the catalyst for positive change, incubating Kakedi’s mind and preparing it for the dangers and challenges that lie ahead, and it is the nuamë nuaf iča, not the Karatha or any of the gods, who delivers the final speech in the epic and watches the humble basket-weaver gain akačehennyi. She went on to marry the wind god Hiahetà, and my favorite aspect of the epic is his constant, unseen devotion to the woman he will make his bride.

Life isn’t an epic. Things happen. People do things that make them afraid to look in the mirror the next morning. People want things that they would never admit to civilized society because these things are so transgressive and terrible … anti-community, as it were. Aneti confessed yesterday that she once kissed a statue of Enakhiavoshei on the cheeks and forehead. She has tasted blood and liked it. And I … I am a girl born from those who chose to stop living in two worlds. I shun my father’s Shiji ancestors in favor of the labyrinthine canyon dark, just as my grandmother chose to go native and shun the Menashi tradition of the Shiji living in the canyons—sins of the blood, sins of history. Then again, everyone after the Occupation displaced themselves, found ways of living against tradition, and we as their decendents must cope with the decisions they made.

Reading about Equilibrium Nexus and conspiracy has taught me one thing: those who don’t take risks do not figure out what is happening before innocents die. Likua cannot do it alone.

In front of the large mirror in my room, I removed the gyena covering my hair and the pins holding it up. My hair fell to my shoulders, still damp and perfumed with shampoo from this morning. I took the paint I had found in the market and drew a light blue bird on my cheek and trained myself to make the Shiji patterns down my nose. The bird-patterned dress is the latest fashion in Galasu, and over it I wore a wraparound tunic that let the blue-and-green designs show through. When I looked in the mirror, I hardly recognized the girl standing there because she dressed like a Shiji and, without speaking, no one could tell that she wasn’t. Her unadorned hair cast shadows on her face. She passed.

That is to say, I passed.

When I follow Aneti tomorrow, she will not recognize me.