The Endless Solvent

Far to the south of the continent, the greenery died and made way to stretches of hot and dry land. A formation of jagged rocks grouped in an indeterminate part of the desert tundra, jutting out from the flat landscape at varying heights. These particular formations were common in the desert such that strangers to the lands would not look twice at them, but they were important enough for the Somas to have a name: the Standing Soldiers.

The smallest of these rocks were just over the height of a man, while the tallest were four, five times the height of one. Ralos clung to the side of one of the Standing Soldiers along with four young Somas his age. A sandstorm whipped at their bodies and they all turned away from the wind to protect their faces from the onslaught. They had been ordered to cling to the smoothest parts of the rocks as those sides face the harshest winds.

Shirtless and wearing only the lightest of trousers, the sand whipped painfully against his back. Ral was grateful his thick mane of reddish hair covered the back of his neck at the very least. He steadied his grip against the rock face - it was getting harder to hold on with his sweaty hands. The sandstorms that wracked Ivassk could grow so violent that the kicked up dust and sand could blot out the sun, but even so the heat remained.

Long ago he would have found camaraderie with the sun - he would have a title named after it. But now he was simply Ralos, fighting against its insistent energy as brutal winds wailed in his ears. He couldn’t waste time or energy thinking about the past. It made him weak and the Somas did not forgive weakness.

His heart lurched as his grip slipped. No, he couldn’t fail this time. His years with the Somas were constantly marked with failures and he couldn’t tell when it would be too much for him to stay. Determined, he drew up strength and rammed a hand into the rock face and chipped it enough to make a better hand hold.

He could barely turn his head left or right to look at his surroundings as the winds continued to attack them. He could see the arms of Calkin to his left and barely made out the figure of Mikol to his right. The rest of the Somas undergoing the exercise were at other spots of the Standing Soldiers beyond his line of sight, even without the haze of a sandstorm.

From what he could understand of the Yscian tribe, the Somas believed every event had a significance, especially events that happen in nature. A sandstorm was a perfect example: to the Somas, such a harsh yet temporary wind signified drastic change and should prompt motivation towards a goal. They often dispatched their budding warriors out into sandstorms to ruminate on what change and what goal the sandstorm should direct them to.

That was the point of them hanging on the side of rocks and having their asses polished by rough winds, apparently. Perhaps Ral wasn’t Somas or Yscian enough to actually get it - he was there simply because Bette let him. He had to hang on to prove that he could stay with the Somas, he had no time thinking about change or goals. To him, wind was just wind and this wind hurt.

It wasn’t only sandstorms or harsh weather that held significance. In fact, it seemed like any event, large or small, could hold significance for the tribe or for an individual. Calkin frequently harped on about how his mother saw an emerald bird fly by when she was pregnant with him and that apparently meant he was destined for greatness. Bette also treated cloud formations and patterns in rock very seriously. It seemed absurd to Ral, but then again back home they used to worship the sun and the moon. His father would hold feasts just to watch the sun set or the moon trail across the sky to receive blessings from the celestial bodies. None of that made sense either.

What would his sister think of this? He adjusted his grip again as the winds grew harsher. Aris always called him a tree rat for climbing the trees around their home back in Caelis. He grinned slightly to himself - she was always angry when he climbed too fast and left her in the dust, even if she could climb trees perfectly fine herself. His little hot-headed twin - he wondered if she was still on that island. How hard would she laugh if she saw him now, clinging to rocks instead of trees?

What he wouldn’t do to be back home and sit on the branches of a pine with his sister again. To have Rask and Nilda call them down for dinner. To sit at a table with family and friends again and eat his fill.

But no, he was now in this strange land with not a tree in sight. He had to survive here -

The wind roared its crescendo, the strength of it knocking his body to the side. The movement jerked his grip on the hand hold he created on the side of the rock and he felt something crack in his hand and then he was free-falling. He thought he could hear Mikol shout at him, but the wind was too strong and too loud. On top of that, his ears were filled with the sound of blood pumping in despair. He crashed into the ground painfully in blind confusion.

His immediate reaction was to find the base of the rock face and climb up again. The wind pounded at his back, angry at his decision. He tried to reach up to a rock hand hold, but his shoulder screamed in pain and he doubled over, clutching it. He had landed on it and probably broke something.

No, he had to go back up the rock. Bette had placed her trust in him to not embarrass her when she finally relented and asked the other Leaders to let him be included. Ral tried to force himself up the wall, but the injured shoulder weakened his grip and he fell again, painfully. He nearly blacked out as he landed on his injuries and instinctively curled away from the wind.

Long ago, people would have told him he had talent, with the manus abilities inherited from his father. But here, now, Ral learned of the humiliating truth that he was less than extraordinary. Perhaps he missed his childhood because back then others willingly lied to him. He could have lived his whole life thinking he wasn’t weak.

He spent a long time on the hard, dusty ground, trying to muster up the will to return to the rock face. By the time he could sit up enough to reach for the first viable hand hold, the wind had died down enough such that he could see the Leader's approach. They had been sitting through the storm at a nearby cave. The dust and sand blew away to reveal how he’d shamefully failed at his task.

There were three Leaders including Bette and they stared at him with hard eyes. Loxst, the eldest of the three, said something harshly to Bette in Yscian and Ral winced. Having only lived with the Somas for a handful of years, he had a functional understanding of the language and knew that the elder Leader was probably cussing him out. The third leader Dalsk barked out a command and the Somas clinging to the rock immediately descended to the ground.

Mikol immediately dropped to his haunches at Ral’s side, eyes wide with concern. The biggest difference between Yscian and Gaians besides the different tones in hair and skin were the eyes. While Gaians had pupils and irises set in white, Yscians had it set in black or dark blue. It made their irises look brighter, almost glowing. Mikol’s pale blue set in black scanned his injuries - Ral always thought they were almost the same color as Aris’s eyes.

The other young Somas gathered around with varying degrees of contempt written on their faces. Calkin, the tallest and bulkiest of them, pointed at a bit of rock on the ground and angrily said something in Yscian to the Leaders. Everyone looked up and looked at the indent he had created in the rock to get a better grip.

“Did you do this, blood-head?” Dalsk asked, speaking in a mockingly slow pace. Ral had learned basic questions and insults, there was no need for Mikol to help him clarify.

“Yes,” Ral answered back in Yscian.

Dalsk launched into a heated tirade in which Ral only understood about a fraction of excluding the bursts of insults sprinkled into it. Mikol glanced between them uneasily. “He says you’ve defiled our Soldiers for your own gain,” he translated in halting standard Gaian. Ral had been teaching him Gaian, the young Somas had picked it up a lot more easily. “He’s unhappy you were included in this… milyssk jor. He is also speaking many curse words.”

Milyssk jor had no direct Gaian translation, it was what the Somas called their ‘lessons’ or ‘trials’, often in extreme weather. Ral sighed and leaned back painfully against the rock.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” he muttered.

Mikol glanced over at him without turning his head. As someone who grew up trained in body control, he was able to be unnervingly still when he wanted to be. “You did,” he intoned.

Not knowing what else to do, Ral adjusted his position despite his broken shoulder until he was kneeling. He then earnestly met each of the Leader’s eyes before saying “I apologize” with the best Yscian pronunciation he could muster.

Calkin made a sort of incredulous sound. The other young Somas there shook their heads, as if disappointed in him. Mikol didn’t react, just remained stone-still. The apology didn’t seem to have its intended effect, which was no surprise since groveling of any kind wasn’t deemed acceptable behavior with the Somas.

“Claiming ignorance only works a few times, afterwards it’s plain stupidity,” Bette said to him in standard Gaian. She was the only one in the tribe able to speak it, although she rarely did to force Ral to learn their tongue. He must really be in trouble for her to use his language. “How often do you expect us to forgive and forget? Do you even want to join us?”

“I really didn’t know,” Ral said. “None of you told me not to break the rock, you simply told me to hang on. How could I - ”

“And you had no idea that the Standing Soldiers are significant to us, significant enough that we would be angry at you breaking them?” Bette demanded. “Is it the Gaian default to not have any common sense? Of course, what else could I expect from land invaders.”

Ral could tell that Mikol was riled. It was hard to explain as the Yscian remained stock still and showed no emotion on any part of his body, yet he knew anger was radiating out from him. Perhaps it was a change in the solvent that he could sense. Bette narrowed her dark blue eyes at Mikol and said something harshly to him in Yscian, words Ral understood to be a variation of “stand down.”

Mikol’s expression didn’t change but he did seem to relax slightly.

“Get your shoulder fixed,” she said to Ral, switching back to standard. “We will speak later on your punishment.”

The group then started their trek back to camp. Only Mikol stayed behind to help him to his feet. “I apologize,” the young Somas said. “I know it’s confusing why they care about a broken rock instead of the broken shoulder.”

“It’s not your fault.” Ral didn’t add that he perfectly understood why they cared more about the rock - the Standing Soldiers belong here in Ivassk while he, Ralos of Caelis, did not.