Ava's Chronicle - Witness
The clan spent several days at the base of the escarpment, cutting and smoking the meat from the caribou, scraping and drying the hides. The short summer was underway, a short, but important, time of plenty for all of the clans on the peninsula, a period when food must be obtained and stored away, repairs made, festivals and ceremonies held. They had little time for interruptions.
And, once a summer, a census-taker from the Tribal Council's office would visit the clans, to get a good, accurate count of their members; how many children, married couples, and whatnot, so that the department could have reliable figures regarding the aboriginal clans like the Star-Fire. This year's census-taker was a young Gallentean man, who happily rode towards the clan's camp on a small wheeled ATV, eager to get to work, eager to meet the sort of people that his anthropology professors had lectured about during his courses on primitive Matari societies.
Avlynka and her sister knelt on the ground in front of their family's kenkii, scraping a caribou hide with dull knives in preparation for tanning. They worked at the hide, stretched tightly between wooden stakes driven into the ground, talking and laughing.
“Maybe someone from the Deep-Moon?” Sukki asked, smiling. “Lots of decent looking men, last summer... and they will not care how bad you smell.”
“Funny.” Avlynka replied, shaking her head. “But hey, the Deep-Moon are...” She stopped in mid-sentence to look over her shoulder to her left, staring at the foreign man walking towards them, a spring in his step, and a datapad in his hand. “Who is this?”
Sukki blinked. “No idea.”
Avlynka stood up, brushed some of the dirt from her knees, and watched, in amazement, as he marched straight up to her and asked, in Sebiestor, “Who is the leader of your clan, hmm?”
The people of northern Matar had developed a deep distrust of outsiders, a distrust Avlynka demonstrated when she menaced him with the knife in her hand. “Who are you? Why are you here?” she demanded impatiently.
Jonn Breselle, the census-taker, found this quite a shock; he was told that the clans he would be working with would be expecting him. Terrified, he stammered, “Oh, my... please, be calm, I am here to take a census, that is all. I am from the Tribal Council, my name...”
“You work for the Tribal Council?” Avlynka asked, angrily. “How? You are not Sebiestor.”
“I am an anthropologist, ma'am.” the Gallentean replied, a bit smugly. “The Tribal Council felt that I would be a good choice for a census-taker, regardless of my heritage.”
“Anto...Antha...what?” Avlynka asked, lowering the knife, confused.
“An anthropologist. I study people.” he replied. “My name is Jonn Breselle, and I have come to take the census, as well as perform some study, with the permission of your elders?”
Sukki stood up next to Avlynka, and the two looked at each other for a moment, confused. As Jonn watched them, watched the two young women in the simple, handmade leather tunics and baggy wool pants, standing barefoot next to their family's primitive home, he smiled, realizing just how little the galaxy at large knew about the Matari, how little he knew. Elsewhere on the same planet, other members of their same tribe were building star ships, yet, here, at the top of their world, he had a feeling he was seeing the Matari as they were before the Day of Darkness, before anyone discovered space flight, before any part of “modern” life had been conceived, let alone, actually invented.
He was seeing what the Amarr had worked very hard to destroy.
“Do you think they will let him stay?” Avlynka whispered to Sukki as they continued to work on the hide.
“Hmm... I suppose it depends if he can convince them he means no harm.” Sukki replied. “I would, but the decision is not mine to make.”
Avlynka stared across the camp, at the kenkii used by the Clan council. “As long as he does not get in the way, I suppose he does no harm.” she whispered.
They received their answer when Jonn and Kyllsa emerged from the council kenkii, and walked across the camp towards them. Jonn was beaming, bombarding Kyllsa with questions, who patiently answered them. They walked towards Avlynka and Sukki, and Kyllsa breathed a sigh of relief as she said, “Avlynka, Sukki, this man is here to learn about us, how we live. His name is Jonn.”
Avlynka nodded and smiled politely, even though she knew what was coming; Kyllsa was unloading the bothersome Anthra-whatever onto her and her family.
“Olno has been kind enough to allow him to share your home. Please, make him feel welcome, and... be patient.” Kyllsa smiled at Jonn, shot Avlynka her “I'm sorry” glance, and quickly walked off.
Sukki blinked as Avlynka looked up at Jonn and asked, “Ever scrape a hide before?”
“Why, no... I cannot say that I have.” Jonn replied as he sat down.
Sukki handed him a knife. “We have to scrape all the fat and meat and stuff from this side, so we can dry it, work it, and tan it.”
“Oh... so, this came off of an animal, then?” Jonn asked, gingerly taking the knife that Sukki offered to him. “I see...”
Sukki smiled, and together she and Avlynka set about the daunting task of teaching the city-born Gallentean how to scrape a hide. Amazingly, in short order, he was doing his share, and the three worked, talking happily, and soon had the job completed.
Jonn Breselle had never been happier.
That evening, the Surionens ate dinner with their guest, who proved to be polite, if not somewhat trying, with his curiosity and questions. After dinner, Olno and Tarja-likely seeking escape from the antrhawhatzits questions-went... wherever they went, leaving Avlynka and Sukki to entertain Jonn, and keep him out of trouble.
Avlynka sat on the floor with her needle case and awl, working on another dress, while Sukki sat next to her, whittling and drilling a piece of wood into a flute. Jonn sat and watched them working, his notebook and pen in hand, occasionally jotting down a note or sketching a simple picture. The night was warm, and still quite bright, as the sun would not actually set for the next several weeks, though it hung low in the sky, slipping in and out from behind passing clouds.
The dress, structurally, was finished, and Avlynka was painstakingly stitching designs onto the hem, the sleeves, and the neckline with various colors of thick thread, flowing floral images and bits of writing, quite different from the straight, geometric patterns that most Sebiestor preferred. Jonn drew sketches of this and that, Avlynka politely and patiently holding it up for him to see whenever he asked.
“That is very beautiful, Avlynka.” Jonn said quietly, admiring her work as she held it before her, giving a rough idea of how she would look in it. “That must be for a special occasion, yes?”
“Yes.” Avlynka replied, nodding. “For the Midsummer.”
“Ah...” Jonn said, smiling and thinking of the cultural significance of such an event. “Is it a religious holiday, or... explain Midsummer to me, please?” he asked. “Please?”
Avlynka nodded as she sat back down to resume her work. “It is, yes... spiritually significant, I mean. We get together and thank the spirits for seeing us through the winter, and ask them to help us through the coming winter.”
“I see...” Jonn replied quietly, writing as Avlynka spoke.
“It is also a day for trade, for celebration, for meeting with the other Clans... and for picking mates, for those of us without them.” Sukki added, rubbing her thumb along the side of the flute to check for any high spots or slivers her blade had missed.
“Picking a mate?” Jonn asked, startled. “Really? One day, to select a mate?”
“Five.” Avlynka said quietly, never looking up from her dress.
“Five?” Jonn asked, a puzzled look on his face.
“Midsummer is five days long.” Avlynka replied, smiling as she glanced up at him. “We have five days, to meet, celebrate, and pick a mate, for those of us who haven't.”
“Ah...oh! So... wait, that means you, correct?” he asked Avlynka, smiling a bit.
Avlynka nodded. “Yes.”
“And the dress is so you look your best.” he said, nodding his head as things began to piece themselves together. “Understood.”
“Well... it is also to demonstrate what I can do.” Avlynka said, looking up at him. “My skill.”
Jonn nodded slowly. “Ah, yes, Avlynka. I believe I understand.”
Sukki blew into the flute a few times, its hollow whistle filling the kenkii as she tested every stop. She smiled at Jonn and quickly played a chirping, piping little tune, showing what the instrument could do. Jonn beamed and clapped. “Oh, my! That sounds delightful, really!”
“Avlynka, wanna grab yours?” Sukki asked.
Avlynka laughed, and nodded. She walked to her bed and retrieved her instrument, a longer recorder-type instrument made of wood with a copper mouthpiece, and sat down next to Sukki. Jonn quickly pulled out his datapad and set it down, smiling at them. “Do you two mind, if I record your playing?” he asked quietly.
Sukki shrugged. “I don't mind, no.”
“Please, feel free.” Avlynka said softly.
Jonn nodded, pressed the record button, and sat down, remaining silent as the two played a haunting, melancholy piece, Sukki's higher-pitched flute pairing with the lower, hollow sound of Avlynka's recorder. They played for several minutes, as Jonn sat, completely enthralled in the song, until they finally ended on a matched low, long note.
Jonn blinked and smiled slightly as the two watched him, waiting to hear his opinion of their music. He pressed the button on his datapad to stop the recording and shook his head a little. “I have never heard anything, anything at all, like that before... simply amazing.”
Avlynka bowed her head a little. “I am pleased that you liked it.”
“Same.” Sukki replied, grinning brightly.
The night wore on, and eventually everyone turned in for the night. As Jonn lay there in his bedroll, he wondered what he would do. He was performing the sort of study that most anthropologists would only ever dream of, living with some of the most primitive people in the known universe. He would be able to write an ethnography detailing their language, their religious beliefs, their customs and culture, and even their art and music, and would be able to support it with photographs, sketches, and sound recordings.
It was the sort of thing that would secure him a full professorship at any university he chose.
And as he slowly drifted off to sleep, listening to the wind rustling through the tundra grass outside the kenkii's open flap, a few meters away, he couldn't help but wonder, if he had any right at all to see any of it, let alone to report what he saw, heard, and experienced.
This was their world, their life. Did he have any right to tell the rest of the galaxy?