“So, this means pain?” Celeste asked, pointing to a beautifully curved word in the book. It was strange, seeing books of handwritten text. Most books in the library were printed, but apparently, no eastern texts had been printed, only handwritten.
“No,” Melanie said sharply. “You're trying to read it word by word again. You need to read all the words in context for the exact meaning. That's how poetry works.”
“That's not how poetry works where I'm from.” She slouched back in her chair.
“And how much poetry did you actually read, growing up?” Melanie asked, giving her a quizzical look.
“Well, not much. None, the only things the missionaries taught us to read from was their religious texts. And I would describe that as anything but poetic.”
“You really had no poetry in your life? I knew things were a bit...Grim over here, but that's something I couldn't imagine anyone living without.”
Celeste thought, shrugging. “We didn't have poetry like that. But we had songs we all knew. I don't know, this poetry feels a bit too...Insular. You just sit and read this on your own?”
“Poetry readings are a whole thing. But lots of these are supposed to be enjoyed alone. Lots of these are reflective. This book is mostly poems from towards the end of al-Rahim's life. He spent a lot of time alone by this time they say. And I think you get that from his poems. Now, try and read it again.” She put down her own book to watch Celeste struggle.
The difficulties of this were two-fold. Firstly, she had to figure out the sounds of the words, then remember the translation she had been taught. She traced her finger along the page, underlining the golden words to pick them apart.
“It means, something like beauty in pain. Or pain in beauty?” Celeste offered, looking up at Melanie.
“That is closer. It is supposed to have the feeling of two opposites placed together. I think bittersweet might be a better way to phrase it.”
“I still don't get the whole poem. The bittersweet of a dusty street?”
“There's more to it than that.” Melanie pulled the book towards her, running her finger over the words. “I don't think it sounds so good in another language. He's talking about returning, and the pain of that. al-Rahim spent most of his life travelling. To places of learning, or places he intended to study, before finally settling back in his hometown in his old age. And that poem is about that. Coming back and finding things the exact same. There's a term for it...The Ofprovians call it nostalgia.”
“I've heard of that word. Longing for the past.”
“Exactly. But that's a rough translation. Complex ideas like that often don't come across so clearly. Here he's almost calling it a trap, that you'll long for the place and when you come back it won't be the same. It's painful to be back...”
“Even in its beauty?” Celeste finished.
“Yes,” Melanie said softly.
They sat silently for a minute before Celeste spoke again. “Are you looking forward to when you get to go home then?”
Melanie snorted. “That won't be for a long time now. If I continue to do well, it might be under a decade. But I'm trying to be realistic about my prospects.”
“Well thank you for taking the time to teach me your language, even if I'm not great at it.”
“You're learning. And it's very different from the language you speak around here. I'd say you're doing pretty well considering.”
“Thanks,” Celeste said with a smile. “What are you actually going to do once you've finished studying?”
“Why are you asking so many questions?” Melanie narrowed her eyes.
“I just...” Celeste sighed. “It's been hitting me recently that I don't know what I'm going to do when I've finished here. I don't even know how to tell when my studying is over. I've tried talking to others about it, but Sabina and Wolfram have chosen not to have any plans. You're the only person I know who seems to have any idea. Any drive.”
“Well, you know why that is,” Melanie said quietly.
“I know why, but I don't know what you're going to do. How does one 'serve'?”
“The military. It's why my parents chose this school for me. It seems to be the fastest way to socially advance over here.”
“You're going to join the Ofprovian military?” Celeste asked, looking sceptical.
“I'm hardly going to go and fight for one of their enemies. That would be more likely to get my family branded traitors.”
“But they're trying to wipe your religion out, wipe your people out as they are.”
“We haven't looked at that in... How did you know about the conversion campaigns?” Melanie began to look very suspicious.
“Oh, well, I just like to read extra,” She said quickly. “It just seems counter-intuitive to me, fighting for something against your own interests.”
“If I improve my position, then I will have the power to stop that. You can't change the system by ignoring it. I will be the one to change it if I really have to. What else am I to do?”
Celeste thought on that. She didn't know the outcome of the negotiations. If they gave in to the Ofprovians, what would she have to do to protect her people? The king spoke grandly of the nation. He did want to protect the people, he just might not know how.
If only you had her drive. Her spirit said. She understands power better than you. If you won't wield it, others will. And if others hold it, then how will you protect anyone you care about?
“So, you had just been planning to let destiny carry you to wherever you're meant to be then?” Melanie asked with a smile.
Celeste shook her head. “The Wind isn't destiny. It's just...the Wind. It brings us to where we need to be.”
“That sounds like destiny to me.”
“It is different. You don't have to follow the Wind. A lot of people don't, I think. People in the lowlands are very good at ignoring it. I guess you are too.”
“I chose to come here. I chose to be bound. That wasn't an invisible force guiding me. It was my own volition.”
“You have a God though, don't you? Isn't he supposed to guide your actions?”
“The teachings of His prophet on this earth guide us. We do our best to live as He wants and that certainly leads me down different routes than you. But I am not without free will. That is what your wind sounds like to me.”
“I did say, not everyone follows the Wind. We all have a choice in it, some of us are just more willing to follow where it leads.”
Melanie looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps our Gods are one and the same.”
“I don't remember a prophet ever coming to talk to my people.”
“Well, no, but we both believe He guides us in subtler ways. A gust of wind, a life divinely lived. It could be in the wind you read His holy words.”
“Or that your prophet was the only person who could understand the Wind,” Celeste suggested. “I guess it's either that or we acknowledge that one of us might be wrong.”
They laughed softly in the quiet library.
“Now then, let's see if you can handle another poem,” Melanie started to flick through pages before picking one out for her. “Try this one. It's not too long.”
It was the following day when Tesni finally returned to Celeste with a letter back from her parents.
“I am sorry it took a while coming. They wanted some time to think on what to write. Well, I transcribed it for them, but I kept their words as pure to what they said as possible. I didn't even correct the grammar,” He said with a wink as he handed her the folded letter.
“Not everyone learned it from fancy schools, you know?” She said, taking the letter with exaggerated care. “I would say that how we speak Laocienan is the correct way.”
“I suppose you are right. And I speak my own language very incorrectly too. Tristan likes to complain about it.” He shot her a wink. “Now then, I must attend to other matters. Do let me know any time if you want any more letters sent.”
Celeste nodded and looked back down at the letter. It felt incredibly heavy in her hand. Asking Tesni to deliver her letter had been easy. It was just another scrap of paper thrown to the wind, with no way to know if it reached its destination. The response, on the other hand, proved that her parents were out there. They were still real and so was her whole life before being bound.
Celeste paced around her room, the letter sat on her bed, thinking for a good while.
Why are you so afraid? It will just be meaningless pleasantries.
“Because...It feels more real than memory. What if they bring up Alfonso? Or what if they say they're glad that I'm gone? What if I can't go back there, even if I want to?”
If you don't read it, you won't know. All you will do is make your own suffering worse. Once you have read it, then you can process it properly, not just imagine your own misery.
She nodded. It was annoying to admit, but her spirit was occasionally right. Nowhere near as often as it claimed to be, of course.
Reading it wasn't nearly as painful as she had feared. She read it over a few times, processing everything that had to say. It was all good. She had rambled in her own letter a lot, telling them about everything she had done while at the school. It was a good thing Tesni already knew about all the rules she had broken. In return, they had told her about how all the sheep and lambs had got on since she'd been gone. They were very pleased she was enjoying the school and promised if she ever wanted to come and help the village out with her powers, she would be much appreciated.
Alfonso was only mentioned at the very end. They spoke of his funeral ceremony. Celeste had missed it when she'd been there, and they'd not told her about it at the time. It had been a quite beautiful affair, they said, as his ashes were returned to the Wind. She thought of the song they had sung for it. She remembered the lyrics well. She'd never learnt an instrument, nor had one available, so she sat on the balcony with only the Wind as accompaniment as she quietly sung the old words to herself.