The human eye

A man is a subtle engine, a wonder of nerves and sinew, a thing of shadows and bone, hard, delicate and bound with vision. He is a mix, with heavy stuff rounding with the light. But no one can look closely at the opening of a human eye without realising that here is a focal point of wild beauty, a moment where the universe bends back upon itself and flowers with exhilaration at its own radiant sensitivity, and may recoil in an instant understanding what a hurt may be, and who may cause that hurting.

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Excerpt from Stories in the Falling Snow, Volume 3 of Dustless

The human eye

A man is a subtle engine, a wonder of nerves and sinew, a thing of shadows and bone, hard, delicate and bound with vision. He is a mix, with heavy stuff rounding with the light. But no one can look closely at the opening of a human eye without realising that here is a focal point of wild beauty, a moment where the universe bends back upon itself and flowers with exhilaration at its own radiant sensitivity, and may recoil in an instant understanding what a hurt may be, and who may cause that hurting.

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Excerpt from Stories in the Falling Snow, Volume 3 of Dustless

Embassy to the palace of XhuShai

Lord Akzasosan is delivering a formal account of events from history, and describes a visit of the emperor’s youngest son, Prince Marinsomar, to the distant palace of XhuShai, home to the young barbarian ruler of the Eastern Lands, the Zulor E-Tzhi…

…‘For several weeks, the emperor’s son, Prince Marinsomar, was a guest under DuzakGar. He slept in the palace of XhuShai, and he wrote to his honoured father that every night he fell asleep to the music of nightingales. E-Tzhi greeted him with due respect: each day, E-Tzhi would meet with Marinsomar, and they would discuss matters relating to the Pure Empire, and in particular to the philosophy and practice of the Way.

Marinsomar wrote to his father that the Zulor has an extremely quick intelligence, was remarkable in his growing mastery of the MidImperial tongue, and seemed curious about many aspects of the empire. For several weeks, the letters flowed from DrezDeq, and the immortal emperor was pleased with the success of the policy of the Extended Hand, and proud of his son. For several weeks, there was nothing in Marinsomar’s communications to trouble Moin-so-zhure II, or to make him doubt that the subtle Way was leading them towards a more unified realisation of itself. He smiled at the vivid description Marinsomar gave of the Zulor’s laugh, its curious pitch and the way it stopped abruptly “like a horse being struck by lightning”. For several weeks, Moin read the letters avidly, fascinated by the Zulor’s naive, cryptic remarks as reported by his son: “But is not one of my thoughts greater than the world?”, “I don’t like it when people are breathing in the same room as my Love”, and “I have a god that I keep in my head”. For several weeks, Moin II shared parts of the letters from his son with the MarZom, the Marks to whom he turned for guidance, and whom he guided. For several weeks, the Way seemed unclouded. But then the first clouds appeared. Because then, the letters stopped.’

Excerpt from Stories in the Falling Snow, Volume 3 of Dustless

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Wolf troops?

Early, Lord Akzasosan’s barbarian servant, is applying fat to the boy, Zysoshin, in order to fend off the terrible cold of winter in the Endless Plains…

There is more, and I will tell you.

As for you, you need do little: just relax, and listen to my voice.

I know everything. I spoke with them all – every one of them.

Patience. This very place is the Way.

Early worked with a sure, laconic grace. Something in Zysoshin, perhaps because of his prone position and the requirement of him only that he remain passive, spoke up. Early is like Shinsota, he thought – the way they move, the way they go about things – as if nothing else at this moment matters, nothing else is worth doing, they will both do this one thing now, and then move on to the next task, quickly but without hurry.

Early’s small dark eyes glittered in the light reflected from the snow. A pony snorted from behind them somewhere. The sky was still that peerless pale blue, empty, without birds, or clouds.

Zyso’s face was now evenly smeared in the fat. His ears, which had been vein-blue and stripped, raw pink with the cold, were also attended to, Early having to brush and hold back the tight, streaming ringlets of Zyso’s blond hair. Chin and throat were also fatted, and then Zyso was asked to sit up, and Early applied the protecting substance to the back of the boy’s neck, again having to pull up and clear the long, unruly coils of hair.

Nearing the end of his task, Early returned meditatively to his earlier theme.

‘So, you see, even though I am a barbarian, without name, place, Rank, station: though I am a nothing under great law, still, the Lord told me, I belong to the Way. I become Way. He take me, he teach me. I am a nothing. But you – you are a ghost. Even a barbarian nothing more than you under the great Way. Put goggles back on’ he added, re-covering the pot of fat with its lid of hide, and securing it with string.

Zyso re-fitted his goggles, as did Early. The light blazed across the frozen land around them, smearing it with dazzle.

Zysoshin felt the warmth in his feet, and in his hands. Now, he could face the cold. He could beat it. He was strong.

‘Early,’ he asked, pointing at the pot, ‘is that what Chun-shu wolf troops use when they ride?’

‘This?’ Early replied, pausing and glancing slowly to where Zyso pointed. ‘This is what our women use to keep babies warm.’

‘Oh,’ Zyso said, wrinkling his nose at the stench. ‘Babies.’

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Excerpt from Stories in the Falling Snow | Volume 3 of Dustless

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The Sentinels

Dustless | Volume 1

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A little context

[In the middle of a frozen wilderness, the Lord, Akzasosan, is delivering a formal history (an “elocution”) to an audience consisting of his young barbarian servant, Early, and the mysterious, seven-year-old child, Zysoshin]

‘…This man, once of the ancient ZirCong Mark of the Long Night, thus established the order of a new world. The Sharian dialect would be spoken across the whole of O, and the laws of TanZo, as outlined in the AmorZine­ZirIramOAramTanZo, the Sacred Book of the Whole World of the Word of the Law of the Beautiful and Simple Way, were to be applied across the entire empire. All existing fiefdoms, kingdoms, states and nations were abolished.

In this way, the SolTanZoZon, the Empire of the Pure Way, was founded.’

7
‘Well, Early, how do you like this performance so far?’ the Lord asked, suddenly and unexpectedly, gazing at his servant.

Early’s expression didn’t change. If you didn’t know him, you might have assumed that he was deaf, and blind, and that he hadn’t registered the Lord’s question at all. Akzasosan, however, waited patiently for the barbarian’s reply.

‘It is alright’ Early declared, eventually.

The Lord gave a short, hard smile.

‘It could be improved, you think?’

‘Well, the Lord hasn’t talked about Shu yet, Shion.’

‘Well, that is because this elocution is about the rise of the Land of O, Early, and not the rise of a small horsethief nation on the other side of the BisMarian mountains.’

Early’s face didn’t change very much. He blinked.

‘The Lord said he would tell me, why Pure soldiers attack Shu, and burn our towers’ he pointed out, after some consideration.

‘Did I?’ The Lord seemed genuinely forgetful.

‘Sai, Shion – back on tanzo, before we saw pony was wrong.’

Akzasosan’s features wrinkled up for a moment in a puzzled frown.

‘But… But that was hours ago!’ he said.

Early gave a minute shrug of his shoulders.

‘Still, you said you would explain, Shion. Respectfully, I say it…’

Zyso curled up a little inside himself. Would Akzasosan be angry? Some of the previous rage appeared to have dissipated, yet there was a residue of violence still hidden inside the Lord – the boy could sense it.

Clearly the barbarian had decided that his master’s mood had changed, however, because Early was being much more informal in his manner.

And the barbarian seemed to have judged the Lord correctly…

‘You have no sense of time, do you, Early?’ Akzasosan asked, almost without scorn. ‘You pick up a subject hours or even days after it has lapsed, and carry on as if the interval did not exist at all. And you expect everyone else to know what you are talking about. It is a gift. Some might even think it TanZo.’

Early just gazed levelly at his master.

The Lord gave up.

‘Well, well… Even if I were to answer your question about the burning towers, Early, I could not do it straight off. It is as I have said – and as I’m sure you have observed – one must have a context for one’s history. GaMin-Zo Zir-ee?’

‘Shion, what is “context”?’

‘It is the matter, surrounding an event or an object, that allows you to make sense of said event or object. So, for example, to put it into terms you might grasp: you see a strange man riding off on your horse. That is the event. And you will ask yourself: why is that strange man riding off on my horse? How did he come here? I left my horse tied up to a tree while I went off and had a snooze, as is my bent. Is he a friend, this fellow riding off on my horse? Is he doing me a favour of some kind? Is there an emergency which has caused him to borrow my horse? Where is he going?… There is much information you lack, you see, Early. That missing information is what makes up “context”.’

‘I don’t have a horse, Shion’ Early responded, after some moments.

The Lord have a hissing little grunt: ‘Shhuh!’ And he smiled.

‘No, you certainly do not, Early’ Akzasosan sighed. ‘But let me finish my elocution. And then’ the Lord added, confusingly, ‘even if you don’t have your horse, you will have some context.’

Excerpt from Stories in the Falling Snow, Volume 3 of Dustless

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Volume 3 | Stories in the Falling Snow

Extras | lexicon, select chronology & other matter

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