[Child of the 7th Age]

At the exact instant when Miri sat perched on Rôg's palm and then slipped back from butterfly to human form, Narika's messenger Kron threw open the tent flap and stared incredulously at the scene playing out in front of him. What was this outsider doing with one of the children? How dare he sit there and prod the child to do such a reckless thing with none of the elders present?

Kron's fingers strayed to the hilt of his sword as he snapped out a stern rebuff, "You there, stranger! Get back! What are you doing? I can see I've arrived just in time!" Then he turned a stern eye on Miri and pushed her hastily towards the tent flap, "Out of here now! You and the other children stay away! Or I'll have a word or two to say to your folks."

The young girl shook her head and started to object but was maneuvered outside by the messenger who quickly turned his attention back to Rôg. "You're to come with me," Kron barked impatiently. "My mistress Narika wishes to have a word with you. And none too soon, I think." With that, Rôg was roughly thrust out the door, not to the tent where Ayar was staying but to another that stood close by.

As they approached the chosen tent, Rôg could just make out a bit of what was happening inside. Narika was apparently deep in conversation with Thorn; Rôg had the oddest sense that the two may not have been in total agreement. Once the men came inside, Kron turned towards Narika and hastily described what he had witnessed between Rôg and the young girl Miri, adding his own grim assessment. "He might have crushed her in his palm. For all I know he was about to do that at the moment I arrived."

Narika threw a knowing glance at Thorn and then turned a stern face towards Rôg, "I am not accusing you of harming the girl. But it is not our custom to teach such a young child how to shift shapes. In fact, I know of no clan that can teach skills like this to youngsters. "

"Even before I heard this, I was suspicious of you. Thorn and I spoke with each of the Elders. Not a single one can recall a young maenwaith who goes by the name of Rôg, and we find that very strange indeed. I am a mistress of lore and have heard the names called at the festivals year after year for each of the clans, but the name of Rôg was mysteriously absent. I do not forget such things. How do you explain this? From what clan do you come?"

Narika glared over at Rôg. For all she knew, the young maenwaith was in league with Wyrma, although even this would not explain the absence of his name from the list. Narika had spent years studying the names with Ayar, and she was certain that she could not be mistaken on this point. Plus, for all her high-handedness, Wyrma had not dared to interfere with that custom of the calling of the role. Even the folk in Wyrma's clan were included in the naming. Narika suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that this unassuming young man might possibly have a greater importance than she had first thought likely.

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Pio's post - Rôg

The Loremaster! No wonder she could tell such lovely stories . . . He recalled her, for a moment, the fire lighting her features as she told stories to her clan . . . their faces eager as the words wove on . . .

Kron threw a menacing look Rôg’s way, breaking his momentary idyl.

The young man hauled his attention back to what Narika had said to him. Something about the girl, Miri. His brow furrowed as she talked on, her words fading to a low buzz on the outskirts of his mind. Not our custom . . . rang like a warning bell in his thoughts and something about no one teaching such skills to youngsters. ‘Fur and feathers!’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Apparently I’ve overstepped some bounds!’

Flustered, his cheeks crimson, he babbled a rather incoherent apology when he realized she’d quit speaking. Looking up as his words fell into silence, he saw they were all looking at him in a perplexed manner. Expecting some sort of answer, he thought. His mind raced furiously, trying to piece together the questions he’d only half heard. He gave it up after a brief search. And instead blurted out the question that now occupied his mind.

‘But Miri has a young one’s eager confidence, and she has the gift. How can you not teach her to use it when she asks?’

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Hilde Bracegirdle's post - Thorn:

As he listened to Narika speak, Thorn considered Rôg more closely. Indeed he looked as though he might be a city dweller, his finely formed hands out of place in this rugged and dusty clime, and the gold stud in his ear. Thorn could not recall having seen any bearing this particularly placed and shaped jewelry in all his years in Umbar and he began to wonder if this maenwaith might be from the far eastern lands. But Rôg knew their tongue, and this in itself was enough to cause Thorn to feel need of caution. How would he know this, and why? But why also should he make no secret of it?

As rapidly as the shadows of birds drift across the desert floor, the changing expressions crossed the face of the man before him. Thorn and the others waited patiently for Rôg’s answer to Narika’s questions, and Thorn heard Kron groan as a red-faced Rôg, finally gave voice to something decidedly indecipherable that trailed off weakly before he asked what Thorn could only term a rather bold question under the circumstances.

Thorn drummed his fingers slowly on the mat were he sat. “We do not teach them these things,” he finally spoke after a weighty silence, “because though they are confidant, children are also fearless and do not yet understand their responsibilities to the clan. Too reckless they are for their own safety and that of the encampment,” he paused glancing at Narika. But he would not say what lay foremost in his mind. For generations the Eagle clan had discouraged such things, and would protect the children, so that outsiders who would use them for their own purposes might not seek them out. Outsiders perhaps like this one, though he himself did not seem a threat to them. But how had he taught Miri this thing so quickly? “Surely your own clan feels this way also?” He questioned, again leading the conversation back to Rôg. “For if the young were left to themselves, the clan would be nothing but butterflies and grasshoppers. And the youth would expend all their forms on the things that fascinate them, never considering their usefulness. If little Miri has but one form she can take in her life, is she now with your teaching simply to be a butterfly?”

But Thorn could see that Rôg seemed puzzled by this, and sought to press him further. “Or perhaps this is why you do not speak of your own people and your name is unfamiliar to us?” Thorn prodded him. “Is your clan no more living together in the safety of their encampment? Or are they now scattered, sunning by the wells and crawling under the stones?”

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Child's post - Narika:

As Thorn’s sharp words came tumbling out, a stubborn knot formed inside Narika’s stomach. Narika was surprised to find herself suddenly reliving snatches of a conversation similar to one from years before when she had directed a stern warning at her own more reckless twin. They had been young children. Narika had forgotten the incident, or at least pushed the shadowy memory under a curtain where it would not be so obvious. But Thorn's words had brought back the hazy scene and again confirmed her personal belief that these things must be handled in a certain way, both for the safety of the child and the well being of the clan.

Narika glanced up at Thorn with pride and interlaced her delicate fingers gently with his own. Thorn was right. Too much uncertainty lay down this path. Skills like shape changing should be reserved for those past adolescence, young men and women who at least understood what they were doing and would not foolishly take on forms deemed useless to the clan. Even without the threat of Wyrma and her kind, the desert demanded complete allegiance from those who dwelled within its bounds. If the needs of the clan were laid aside on some childish personal whim, their entire way of life could be endangered as surely as if Wyrma had pointed the tip of a sword at the very heart of the clan.

Narika tried to intercede as peacemaker, smoothing things over with politeness while still honoring Thorn's somber tone, “Rôg, Thorn's words are harsh, but surely he is right. Your clan can not leave such things to chance. Forms are too precious, too rare, and must be saved until young people understand the needs of the clan. I am just nineteen; I fear that too soon Thorn and I will be asked to lead the Eagles. Still, only five years ago, I first learned how to control my shape, and I was the youngest to do so among our people.” Narika hesitated a moment, and then softly added. “My twin sister Ráma still has not learned to do such things. Yet even such a late start is preferable to having young children race about the encampment, shifting willy-nilly to any form they please without thought of the consequences.”

Narika glanced away and stared fixedly at the ground. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost apologetic, "I know the legends speak of other ways of doing things, but we are under threat of attack from our own people. The cursed clan of the great wyrms, headed by that villain Wyrma, would force us to leave the desert and go live in a prison that she calls a great city. We must do everything we can to stop that. Miri will be told not to repeat her mistake. She will wait until she's older and understands what her people need. Surely your own clan must feel Wyrma’s threat, and will respond by sheltering the children, and training your young men and women to stand up to danger. Or I fear, just as Thorn says, that your folk will not fare well in the end. " She looked towards the stranger expectantly, waiting for his reply.

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Pio’s post – Rôg

Rôg sucked in his breath, in disbelief at what the two were saying, were asking. He shook his head, brow furrowing at their words. He could not recall the Elders of his clan speaking of this, nor his parents warning him to be careful about the children of the Eagle clan. He had simply assumed that all clans followed the same basic patterns . . . Eagle children would be taught as he had been, though in their own particular way, using their own rituals.

For a moment, he was stunned into silence, then, recollecting himself, he sat down with an ungraceful thunk on the mat opposite the two and rested his chin on his hand, his elbow planted firmly on his knee. After a brief span, he began to speak, his voice clear in the tent, his eyes focused on the floor before him, as if his answers to the questions they had posed were written there.

‘My clan . . . no, we do not sit and sun ourselves by wells or crawl beneath rocks, seeking the coolness hidden there.’ He smiled up briefly at them as he went on. ‘But we could, if that were necessary to keep us safe.’

‘And no, for a measure of time now we have not all lived together in the same encampment.’ How much should I tell them? he wondered.

‘I am just forty-one now, my clan has been dispersed here in the south for the most part since I was five, and a very few of us went further west - all of us escaping the lengthening Shadow that reached out during those times. The Elders, though, have kept watch all this while on our homeland. And now that the Shadow has withdrawn, been defeated, so I have heard by the Southern King, we are going back to where we came from.’ He looked up to see if they were following what he said.

‘A number of our clan, my family included, have been living further south from your present encampment. Where the mountains come down to the sea. We are traders, and have passed near your camps many times during the cycles of the years.’ He pointed to a small axe that stood near the little pile of wood near the tent’s doorway. ‘My father probably made that, or his brother. I recognize the design. And that small basket there with the spiral designs picked out in red is most likely from the hands of one of my mother’s sisters. We came to know you through our contact with you, and were glad that you saw us as nothing other than traders with good, serviceable items for daily use. We were hidden as it were in plain sight.’

‘As children, my sister and I played with a number of the Eagle young ones whenever we came to trade, though as I recall we only called each other Eagle boy or Eagle girl and Trader boy or Trader girl in return. We spoke the trading language for the most part, but often the Eagle children would teach us poorer cousins the Eagle dialect.’ Rôg smiled at this remembrance. ‘And not a few times that came in handy when I was older and kept the tallies. Not all Eagles were above trying to cheat the ignorant traders just a bit.’ He paused, wondering if he should go on. Narika and Thorn were looking at him with hooded eyes, their faces guarded,. Curiosity on his part overcame caution, and he continued on. He wanted to understand what they had just told him about their clan.

‘I did not understand you when you said that forms are far too precious and rare. You term yourselves maenwaith . . . skilled folk. How is it you can think yourselves limited? Miri has just had a taste of the skill of changing; she has no limits right now. What limits must you put on her? And why? Do your Elders not teach the little ones? Guide them?’ Rôg was quite frankly appalled as the realization struck him that the nurturing of the childrens’ skill was not at the center of the Eagle clan’s needs. It seemed all turned round to him.

‘I do not know this Wyrma,’ he went on, finding the name distasteful as he said it; the thought of maenwaith turning against maenwaith a jarring one. ‘To be truthful I have been away a number of years from my clan, on their business and my own. Is it because of this person and her designs that you have grown so cautious? Or has your clan always been so?’

He leaned forward, looking closely at each of them.

‘Where are your Elders?’ he asked again. ‘The ones who remember, who have the skill.’ He looked at them with troubled eyes. ‘You two are so young . . . Where are they? Will they not guide you through this?’

Rôg sighed heavily as he leaned back again.

‘You wondered,’ he said in a low voice to Narika, his words drifting into the silence between them, ‘if my folk will fare well in the end. I wonder, in turn, if yours will fare at all.’

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Child's post for Narika:

"Our elders?" Narika queried. The woman shook her head and put her hand up to her mouth, trying to force back a chuckle. She chose to ignore Rôg's final comment as a slow smile spread over her face. "I do not understand what you mean. Where else would the Elders be? With us, of course. Here in the encampment. They are busy tending the beasts and doing other chores. A few, too ill to work, sit by the fire and help to amuse the little ones or else lean back against the great sand hills and stare off into the sky, searching the heavens for a sign of the Great Eagles who no longer grace our camp."

"It is true that there are fewer left than we would like. The great troubles at the end of the last Age took a dreadful toll. Many are missing: especially among the wise and strong who were then in the prime of their years. So Thorn and I, and the other young ones who escaped the carnage, do our best to lead. But we would not be here, not any of us, unless the clan Elders had played their part in hiding the children and many of the young married women who were of childbearing age. For there were horrors in the last war from which no one was safe. Even the most skillfull shifters wearing their most fiercesome forms sometimes found themselves helpless and the only safety was in flight or concealment"

An awful thought flitted through Narika's brain as she weighed the meaning of Rôg's words. What sort of a clan would force the Elders to go off by themselves? Perhaps this tangled tale of a single clan split asunder with some maenwaith wandering here while others stayed in a different place was just an elaborate excuse to disguise the face that the Elders had been thrust away from the clan to fend on their own once their physical skills had diminished.

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Hilde's post for Thorn:

Thorn was also troubled by much of what Rôg had said, and sat trying to piece together the fragments of information he had just learned. “I also do not understand,” he said after a few moments. “You speak as if being one of the maenwaith we should realize a multitude of shapes. But this is not so and never has been so, to my knowledge.” He turned again to Narika to see if she would speak differently, for she had greater understanding of past ages. But merely returning his glance, he felt gentle pressure as she squeezed the palm of his hand. And feeling encouraged by her presence, he went on. “We have a mere handful we master, three or four at most.” Then remembering Ráma, he added, “And these only if we are fortunate enough to discover them.”

Truly, if he had not seen Rôg’s transformations for himself, and known of his tutoring the child, Thorn would have disbelieved that the man who sat across from him was one of his kind. He seemed to have the most peculiar notions, for Thorn had never heard of such things before now. "Are you saying then, that your kin do not have such limitations? That would indeed be remarkable! And if that is the way of it, I can now see how innocent your infraction must have appeared to you. But to us, and to Miri, it is a great disservice,” he looked at his hands and sighed. “But even so, through your ignorance, you have added the beauty of this carefree creature to our encampment.”

Raising a knee to his chest and resting his hand on it, Thorn explained in a more relaxed manner, “Know that the people of this clan have in earlier times been more gracious hosts, even if they might have sought to cheat the foolish,” he grinned, his brown eyes sparkling. “For we have not always had need of this type of wariness, not of our own kind, and I apologize if our reception of you has been less than welcoming. But not all maenwaith have been as your people. And we do not rest easily while our paths lead us so close to the Wyrm and her followers. Yes, she is the cause of our apprehension. But if our clan wishes to remain free to roam with our flocks, we must be careful in these times, though it no doubt appears hard to you. Perhaps one day, when Wyrma has failed in her ambitions, as she must, we will all enjoy a greater freedom. For it is not natural for any maenwaith to be so bound.”

But deeming that he had spoken rashly, Thorn quickly continued, “You have said that when you were a child you had been in our camp…. Truly, I do not recall you or your kin, since your people no doubt left before I had learned to speak, for I am now perhaps only thirty, and the memories of my childhood are filled with the threat of Haradrim raids and not the more pleasant pursuits of childhood. But that is of little consequence. This basket and axe are well made and have been in my family’s service for a many years, and the craftsmanship evident in them speaks favorably of your family and their handiwork.”

“But what was the name your clan was known by? And how is it that you mention your Elders, yet they have not kept your clan together? I would guess that old man accompanying you may well be one of them, so surprisingly tall and pale he is. He must be held a great hero among your people!”

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Pio’s post – Rôg

‘She misunderstands me,’ he thought to himself, as Narika spoke. ‘And so does he.’

Rôg sat very still, trying to understand, himself, what the two were saying. He was not one to dissemble easily, and a myriad of emotions ran helter-skelter cross his face. He started to protest a certain level of horror at what they had revealed to him, but stopped himself before a word left his lips. He took a deep breath, recalling some instruction his mother had given at the start of his journey:

‘Don’t give yourself airs, son, when you meet new people. Just answer their questions as fully as you can. And pay attention to what they say back to you in return. Don’t be bound by what you think about things; people have other ways of solving their own problems that work quite well for them, if not for you.’

‘I beg your forgiveness for my harsh and hasty words,’ he began. ‘And your indulgence for my actions, as far as the little one goes. She is of course an Eagle clan member, and you have your own ways.’ His brow furrowed for a moment as he searched for the best way to begin. ‘My clan, too, has its own way, and I must say it did not occur to me that others of the maenwaith could be so different.’ He chuckled a bit to himself. ‘Eagles, in the wilds of those places I have traveled, I can speak long on . . . their varying types and habits, but of the Eagle Clan, I will say, now, I know very little.’

He turned toward Narika. ‘I saw you a number of days ago. Before I met Surinen and Narayad in their outrider camp. It must have been just before the Meldakhar was taken ill, I think. The camp seemed peaceful enough, though I noted many of the men were armed within its boundaries . . . and it was evening time. Most were gathered about a fire and you were telling them stories. Your voice was lovely and the faces of the young and old were rapt as you spoke the words of the old stories. It made me very homesick.’

‘I have been away a very long time from my clan and family. Partly from my own choosing. I wanted to see what lay beyond the sands and mountains; I wanted to pursue my study of birds . . . not just birds . . . but all winged creatures.’ He smiled briefly. ‘I find them quite interesting.’

‘But I was also asked by my clan leader to seek out any of our clan who had gone west when the Shadow of late rose once again and stretched his grasping hands eastwards. I was to let them know that the Elders felt the threat of the Dark One had passed and that we would be safe now in our homeland. There was no fear now that he might use us in any way for his dark purpose. We could all come home.’

Rôg paused for a moment, taking a sip of tea from the mug Narika had passed him. He cleared his throat a bit and went on. ‘When I spoke of your Elders, Narika, I did not mean your old people – your grandfathers and grandmothers who live here among you. Many of my clan’s old ones also choose to stay among their families and are honored for their contributions to the clan and their wisdom. But some old ones choose a life apart from the clan encampment - in the caves that lie in the mountainsides of the range that protects our home land. They live long lives, wanting for nothing and content with their own company.’ He saw the perplexed looks on the faces of Thorn and Narika.

‘They do not abandon us, nor do we shy away from them. They are the ones who remember for us. Various of them come in often to tell the old stories; share the old teachings and rhymes, remind us of the namings and the lines of our clan. They take the children in hand and play the games with them that quicken their understanding of their skills. Our parents, of course, are our first teachers, but the Elders help us deepen and enlarge our abilities.’

‘They also advise the clan leader. And it was they, in fact, who first understood the danger of the Dark One laying hands on us. It would be a very bad thing to happen if the Shadow were to pervert our kind.’ He nodded his head slightly at this thought, wondering if something of this sort were what was happening to these southern clans. ‘At any rate, they sent us out to hide and be safe, and now they call us back.’

He raised his eyebrows at Narika. ‘I heard you speak of the Great Eagles – are they your Elders, as I have spoken of mine? Are they near? Do they not come down to help you in times of need?’ She only looked at him, saying nothing.

Rôg stretched out his back muscles and leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees as he sat cross legged, chin resting on his steepled fingers. ‘Now about Miri . . .’ He looked directly at Thorn. ‘I do not understand why you are limited to three or four forms. You say you cannot remember any of your clan ever having this ability. How can this be? My clan and yours are both maenwaith, and logically it would seem . . .’ Careful! he reminded himself. They have their own ways that serve their purposes. Rôg shrugged his shoulders as if throwing off this line of thought. ‘Perhaps . . . we should just agree that we each have our own traditions, and leave it at that.’ He shook it his head slightly. Such a waste of skill, though, he thought to himself.

‘Let me answer instead, the last questions you asked me, Thorn.’ He smiled as he continued - the thought of Aiwendil as one of his Elders was an amusing one. He wondered what the old man would think of Thorn’s reasoning. ‘Aiwendil is my traveling companion. We met up north, at one of the encampments of the Nimîr, the Beautiful Ones . . . Elves as they are called there in the Common Tongue. We have a shared interest in birds and I promised to bring him south to see the different varieties here. He is . . . not of my clan. And to be truthful, I know little of his history.’

And what I have heard from him, you would scarce believe! he thought to himself. I hardly can believe he speaks with a clear mind myself, sometimes . . .

‘He is a gentle and learned man. A . . . surprising fellow at times. And he is elder to me, so I serve him as I may.’ He paused wondering if he should make the request that had now come to the foreground of his thoughts.

‘He wants . . . no, he believes that he can aid you and your clan. And I believe he has some skills which might be useful to you.’ He saw their questioning expressions. ‘I should not speak for him . . . perhaps you can ask him yourself. What I would appreciate is that you keep the old fellow safe with your clan for a while. My clan is . . . near, and I would travel quickly to them – to be with my family and to report to the clan leader on those I have been able to contact on my travels.’ He looked hopefully toward his hosts. ‘Would you do that for him? At least until I return and we can travel on.’

He took another swig of the now cool tea, then remembered a last thing that Thorn had asked and he had not touched on. ‘My clan’s name . . . you asked that. Sorry, I did not touch on it earlier. It is still our name,’ he declared, recalling that Thorn had spoken of it in the past tense. ‘No matter that we have lived apart for some time now.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘We have been long apart, too, from our southern cousins, since the Shadow rose again in the long-time after the sinking of the Star Isle. Or so our old stories tell us.’ He wondered if any of the Eagle Clan would remember his clan’s name. Or was it as much a ghost of a memory as was the skill to make changes.

An air of expectant silence was almost palpable as he continued.

‘Zadan n’Yo . . .’ he said the name clearly, so that they would catch it, hoping it would spark some faint remembrance on their part. ‘That is how we are named of old . . . House of the Gift.’

His throat was dry when he’d finished talking. There seemed nothing more to say, he thought. His hosts were quiet as he picked up his mug and drained it to the dregs . . .

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Child's post for Narika:

Zadan n'Yo?.....'

Narika stood unmoving staring out the window of the tent, caught up in her own ruminations, as she tried to make sense out of the last words Rôg had spoken. She had no memory of any "House of the Gift" from her own readings in the few scrolls that the Eagles carried with them. Nor did she recollect that name being spoken by her mother, either in their personal times together or the many nights when the Eagles had listened to tales of other places and tribes while seated round the campfire.

In fact, as far as Narika could remember, every clan derived its name from that of an animal, normally the most developed form that was common among their own people. But apparently Rôg's clan was different. And, from certain things he had said, it sounded as if there were many differences between her own people and his. One part of her was naturally curious and wanted to ask more questions about how many forms Rôg could take on and exactly which ones these were. But questions like these would be crossing a personal line. In these difficult times, Maenwaith generally did not volunteer such details to folk outside of their own clan, so Narika felt she had no right to intrude any further.

Rôg's gentleness and halting manner had at least convinced Narika that, however odd the young shapeshifter seemed, he meant no real harm. She tugged softly on Thorn's sleeve and looked squarely in his face, seeing her own feelings mirrored subtly in his eyes. An imperceptible nod of agreement passed between them. There was no need for further discussion. Narika stepped forward and actually bobbed a slight curtsey to the stranger, looking more like a child than the leader of her own people, "Rôg, much of what you say is strange to us. But we can see that you have no evil intent. You and your friend are free to leave when you will or, if you wish, stay here for a while. For a bit, you will still need an 'escort'. It will take time for the others to reach the same understanding the three of us have come to today. And I have no wish to put any of my people more on edge than they already are. Go now and let me know what you and your friend decide." With that she turned and went back to check on her mother.