The wagon’s wheels kicked up dirt and rock and dust from the dirt road as it rolled out of the edge of the desert and onto the dusty path between it and the lush land it approached. In the passenger compartment the riders swayed and jolted as the plodding pachans pulled it toward the gates of the city it was approaching. Slowly its passengers stirred, shaking off the travel hypnosis that had overcome them on the long ride. Mostly children, they began pointing and whispering excitedly, their fellows joining them as they caught the excitement. Up ahead they could see the gates of Karagad City, capital of the Sovereignty of Karagad. The enormous stone doors were moving and a slice of light appeared between them. Small eyes looked to and fro and for seemingly miles the gates were the only apertures in the enormous stone wall.
A small girl with a messy bush of henna-colored hair was looking too, but not at the gates. A ways down from the city’s entrance stood a man, doing something to the wall. Nearby was a woman holding a small child. It was obvious even from a distance that she was weeping. Her posture and the small shakes of her body showed what couldn’t be seen on her face from so far away. The little girl stared, wondering what was happening. As the wagon drew closer to the gates she could see inscriptions in the wall, maybe thousands. Millions, she thought. She wondered what they were and why the man was carving them.
The clean city streets were paved. She stared, momentarily forgetting why she was brought there. She’d never seen streets with flat stones in them. The main streets had mosaic patterns that she marveled at, already dazzled by the suddenly smooth ride. When she looked up from the street her eyes took in the sights of even rows of buildings: houses, shops, other buildings she couldn’t identify. It was an amazing sight for a girl from a nomadic desert lifestyle, and she gasped, along with the other passengers, when the wagon took them over a small bridge which crossed a canal.
Stepping off the wagon, the children’s legs were unsteady after such a long ride. They all stank and were absolutely filthy, covered with dirt from the trip over from Carisvel. A flock of people in long robes rushed from the building where they had finally stopped and deboarded.
“Line up! Please make a single-file line. Boys and girls separately.” The children stared, blankly. One of the robed adults sighed. “Please everyone stand behind someone. Boys over there, and girls over there.” She pointed. Slowly and clumsily, the aching kids made their ways into single-file lines, which seemed to please the people in the matching clothes. Some of the smaller children clung to older ones and were gently separated and soothed by the adults. A tall man came out in a similar but different-colored robe and pulled back his hood to reveal a warm face with chubby cheeks and a nimbus of fine grey hair.
“Hello children. Welcome to Karagad. This is your new home.” He looked at the children as if expecting them to say something. The reaction was hangdog faces and downcast eyes as his words reminded them they were there for good.
“My name is Ayudante Moreno and I am the leader here. This is the creche of the Capital City and this is where you will live and go to school. There are many children here, some who are also Cari, so don’t worry. You will find friends. First we must get you all bathed and settled in, so I would like you to follow the Ayudantes and they will take care of you. I will speak with you all tomorrow.” He turned and held a small conference with the green-robed adults before vanishing inside the building, his own black robe disguising the movement of his feet.
Nearly two hours later the painfully thin small girl looked around her while a young woman in a short grey robe worked fingers gently through her hair, removing tangles and little bits of sticks and leaves. The water was so warm, almost too hot but it felt good and soothed her aching body. The texture of the stone against her skin was relaxing and the steam and the warm and the fingers in her hair sent her drowsing until she was pulled from her fugue by the woman talking.
“What’s your name?”
“Vidanja” she nearly whispered. Slyly she turned her head a bit and looked at the woman for signs of approval or disapproval.
“That’s a pretty name, carina. What family are you from?”
“Rajiramon.”
“You’re a quiet one aren’t you? It’s okay, lots of kids are shy when they first get here. It can’t be easy just leaving your life behind and going somewhere new. I’ve always lived in Karagad, but I moved to this city a few years ago. I was a little scared but it’s different, I guess. I had my parents back at home and everything.” Her voice faltered and she felt guilty for bringing up her parents to an orphan but she needn’t have worried. While she talked she had been finger-combing Vidanja’s hair and the girl had fallen fast asleep.
The next few days went by without any real sense to their passing. Vidanja was interviewed about her life and fitted for a uniform and assigned a room with and given supplies for school. Each night she curled up in her bed facing the wall, never joining her roommates in their chatter. They tried to engage her but she was the only Cari in the room and she felt out of place. On the fourth day she was awakened early and ushered down the long hall for a test.
It wasn’t a hard test. Vidanja was one of the few children who spoke the language of Karagad and she was fairly fluent. She wasn’t the best at math but she didn’t find any part of the test exceedingly difficult. She spent the rest of the day outside with the other children. A few girls, including her roommates, pulled her into a ballgame and she found herself feeling like part of the crowd for a short time. Bolstered by the cheers of the other kids she was more responsive than usual when she was back in her room.
Sania, the short one with sparkling eyes and an easy laugh sat on her bed across from Vidanja and quizzed her about her life while Rosa and Ariel listened intently, having never been outside the gates of the city.
“What’s it like there, in Carisvel?”
“Well, it’s really hot there. We couldn’t wear something like this there.” She indicated the thick fabric of her grey smock. “We hardly have any water. I never saw so much water as I did when we drove over your river.” Instantly she felt he had made a mistake. Ariel burst into peals of laughter.
“A river? Hahaha you must mean the canal. Your country doesn’t have canals? We have them all over, here.” She cast a conspiratorial eye at Rosa.
“I guess we only have those in civilization, Ariel.”
Vidanja fidgeted uncomfortably and Sania turned to the other two. “You guys don’t say things like that! She’s obviously civilized. She even speaks our language. She just has to learn about our ways.” She turned back to Vidanja, “It’s okay. They’ve never seen the desert either.” An awkward silence ensued before Rosa asked “Is it true your people all live in tents and ride wild pachans?”
The following day Vidanja was brought to the office of Ayudante Moreno. With him was a woman who was so beautiful that Vidanja couldn’t help but stare. Her large, dark eyes peered out from her hood and tendrils of curly black hair snaked out around her face. The woman stared back, unflinching. Suddenly embarrassed, she cast her eyes to the stone tile of the floor and the bottom of the woman’s crimson robe.
“Rajiramon, Vidanja. How old are you?”
“Nine.”
“What happened to your family?” The woman’s words were clipped and her tone businesslike but not unkind. Vidanja looked up briefly and the woman’s eyes pierced her, as if they knew.
“My family…” she started to cry. Ayudante Moreno looked disquieted but the woman stepped forward and bent down near her, face softening.
“It’s alright. They’ve died?” The girl nodded, scraping her fingernails against her palms which suddenly felt much too clammy. The woman nodded as well, straightening. “Your test score was very high, Vidanja. We’re impressed that you’re so advanced for your age. You will not be in a class with many of your fellows. We think you belong in a special class for very smart children. What do you think of that?”
The small head nodded, belying the girl’s sudden and intense fright at being separated from children with whom she would be the most comfortable. Ayudante Moreno intoned “You’re really a credit to your nation, Vidanja. How did you come to be so intelligent?”
“My father…” her voice broke again. “My father was from the City of Threads. His family were weavers. He taught me to read tapestries and he had so many-” she burst into tears at the realization that her family’s tapestries were in all likelihood destroyed. Not many Cari in the middle of the desert were tolerant of the “soft” people from the coast or the other continent. They were seen as easy targets. Sometimes that turned out to be true.
The woman nodded once more, curtly, to Moreno. “Ayudante Moreno, I think we may set her upon a path.”
“This early? She’s only nine and she hasn’t taken any of the prerequisites yet.” His head shook in disagreement.
“We need more testamientos, and she understands storytelling. She’s smart and she can still take the required courses. She can begin as soon as she completes them. Vidanja, did your father teach you to weave as well?”
A nod.
“Good. Mark her Ayduante. She is under no circumstances to be considered for Los Puros. Give her a tutor. She can complete her prerequisites concurrent with her specialized studies. She’s advanced enough to handle it and she knows most of the basics.” She turned to Vidanja, “Thank you, young lady. La Nacion thanks you.” With that she exited the office. Moreno stared at her entry in the ponderous book on his desk, then pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Vidanja you’re a very smart girl. Very smart. You’ll be taking a difficult course and have to study for other classes on your own time. You won’t have much free time, but you’ve been chosen quite early, it seems, for a prestigious vocation. Ayudante students reside in another building here. Please return to your room and pack your belongings. You may leave your smock on your bed.”