Completed Anthropoloy 101 [Lenell Belleste]

[Lenell Belleste]

Timestamp: 7th of Spring, 513 AV

Lenell knew she was in the right place by the plaque on the fine wooden door. Etched metal, it identified the room as the office of “Shaymear West, Professor of Anthropology and Archeology.” She tapped on the door, softly at first, then louder when there was no response.

A refined but full bodied voice answered on her second attempt. “Come in, come in, then!” Lenell opened the door.

The room was lined with shelves and tables, and they were absolutely covered with carvings, clothes, stones, and paintings. It was hard to tell where one item ended and the next began. Feathers, beads, knot work, fabrics, bits of metal, stone and glass stuck out randomly among the piles. The whole collection looked like the stall of a very disorganized trader who sold....well, possibly everything. In the the middle of the room sat a desk, a calm island in the midst of this whirlpool, the papers lying on it in perfectly aligned stacks. A man sat at the desk with his back towards her, fumbling among the disorder. He was of medium stature and build, and his hair, long and tied into a tail with a piece of leather, was a mixture of colors such as she had never seen before. Dark brown, a few strands of near black, a range of red, and blondes from dark to sun bleached bright, with a few strands of gray here and there. His hands and arms were either well tanned or naturally brown. They bore the spots and wrinkles she would associate with sun exposure, which was odd enough to find in an academic, but she felt sure that one could lock the man in a dark room for months and never find him pale.

Suddenly, he spun around in his chair, holding an intricately carved white mask in front of his face. She watched while his eyes, first a startling bright green against all that white, began to show threads of lovely gold swirling through them.

“Well, my budding Anthropology student,” the Professor said, his large voice somewhat muffled behind the mask, “which people would you guess worked this?”

Lenell stretched out her hand in wonder as the bright gold took over his eyes completely. “Vantha.”

“Don't touch it,” the Professor yelled, then turned around to toss the mask on the pile behind him. “It's old. Priceless. Made by my very own great-great-grandfather, so I was told, for Morwen herself, although obviously she choose to let him keep it.” He waved one arm in a dismissive circle. “Or something.” He turned back to Lenell, and the impish smile on his face allowed her to take her first deep breath.

“Your eyes,” she said, softly.

Shaymear began to shuffle the papers on his desk without looking at them, before tapping them hard on each edge, then placing them right back down where they had originally been. “Yes, Vantha eyes. So some of that's true. Which parts? Who knows?” He leaned his pointed chin upon one long fingered hand, and smiled at her. “Well, you are Lenell Belleste, correct? Have I frightened you off yet? I've heard I do that.”

“Well...” Lenell's tongue seemed to twist around itself for a bit, but she finally managed to continue. “No.”

Shaymear smiled even wider. “Good. Although if I had, then I would’ve had another semester for research travel.”

Lenell's curiosity overcame her timidity, and she found herself sitting in the chair across from him before she realized she had moved. “You have traveled much? I would love to do field research someday, but well.....” She fiddled with the head of her cane. “Is that where all this,” she gestured towards the laden tables, “stuff came from?”

“Stuff?” Shaymear raised one brow. “My dear, if you want to be an Anthropologist, I suggest you never again use that word.” He turned around to his tables with open arms. “This is a rare collection of fine artifacts from all over Mizahar. This is very nearly a museum. This is...” He drew his hands in to scratch his short, neatly trimmed beard. “Somewhat of a mess, to the untrained eye, I suppose. But I know where everything is, and have heard the story behind them all. Some of those stories may even be true.”

Professor West picked up the lovely mask again, this time placing it between them on the desk. “Tell me what you see,” he instructed her.

Lenell leaned in to examine it, but made sure to keep her hands firmly gripping the edges of her chair. “Vantha carving, you say? Well, I've never seen any of it, but--is it made of bone? It's lovely. Is it truly so old? I though bone yellowed with age.” She tilted her head and chin to point to various parts of the mask, in lieu of the forbidden touching. “I can only guess at the pictures. Morwen, perhaps, on an ice thrown, there, middle of the forehead? Bears...I heard once that there are great bears in the north....with? Riders? Yes, human riders, along the left edge here. A sled team and driver along the right. And the swirls, from the top left to the bottom right, are those the colored lights? I read of those once, as well, though I don't know if the book spoke true. How lovely they must be, if they really do exist.” She leaned back. “Made by your great-great-grandfather, you said?”

Shaymear picked it up casually and turned it about. “Well, that's the family story, but you know how family stories can be.”

Lenell smiled gently, thinking of the hours spent sitting at the foot of her grandmother's rocking chair, absorbing her own family's stories, which most of her relatives considered pure flights of fancy. “Yes, I think I do.”

“Well, I do have the eyes, so somewhere in there is some truth. And in the study of different cultures, fables are as important to collect as artifacts, although I stress this is all only my family's personal fable, and I have never seen any part of it in any collection, scholarly or otherwise, though I have looked hard and long. The tale was passed to me from my mother, who heard it from her own mother. I know Mother doesn't believe the majority of it.” Shaymear laid the mask back down between them and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. “The story goes that my great-great-grandfather met Morwen while playing about on his own, when he was very young. Eight years old, he came home, his eyes swirling madly with excitement, and her gnosis mark on his shoulder. Don't know about that, that's seems far too young to earn, much less handle, divine favor to me, but that's what is told. After that, he devoted himself to carving offerings for her. Well, he turns fifteen, the parents are itching for grandchildren--he was their eldest, you see—when he asks for a hearing among the wise of his holding, which was granted him. He said at the hearing that he wished to follow Morwen, when she left to spread winter about the outer lands, as a show of his devotion, and so she would always have one of her people close at hand for company.” The Professor laughed. “As if she hadn't been making that trip for ages before him, and still does, ages after. Well, it's said that no one could really refuse someone who had received a gnosis mark so young, so he was outfitted with a sled, team, and supplies, and set off to follow his beloved goddess.”

“And did he?” Lenell asked with a smile. “For how far and how long?”

“That part, family tales remain unclear on, though by the time he met my great-great-grandmother, he had more than one gnosis from Morwen, they say. At some point, though, he either lost sight of his mission, or was told by the goddess that his path was eventually to branch from her own.”

Professor West placed the mask back on its pile and reached upward to bring down a small vase from one of the shelves. It was delicately shaped, swirled with jeweled colors, and the glass itself seemed as thin as tissue. Lenell caught her breath as she thought about how much she would love to show it to the artisans at the Glassworks. Her arm began reaching for it before she could think.

“Don't touch it,” warned the Professor, and Lenell stopped herself and placed her hand back in her chair. “Ok, my new student. Next surprise test. What people would you say had created this?”

Lenell leaned her head from side to side. “I....I am not sure. There are so many fine workers in glass. Zeltiva itself has many fine glass artists.”

Shaymear leaned back and crossed his legs, resting his right foot on his left thigh. “Ok, here's a hint. What people are known to share a bright feature with you?”

Lenell clapped and laughed as the answer came to her. “The Inarta!”

The Professor laughed with her, and turned the vase about the catch the sunlight coming in through his window. “Yes, the Inarta. This part of the family story is even harder to support.” He placed the lovely piece on the desk. “I've had the luck to verify that it is Inarta work, though aging it is more difficult. I do have some red in my hair.” He smiled at her. “But as you well know, red hair does not an Inarta make. Still, if you'd like to hear more.”

Lenell crossed her arms on the desk and leaned forward, careful to give the vase plenty of space. “Oh, yes. I love stories, regardless.”

“Ah, a student after my own heart.” He readjusted himself to match her own pose. “Well, it is said my great-great-grandfather followed Morwen from Taldera into Kalea. When the snows began to melt in the low lands, he sold his team for climbing gear, and followed his goddess up into the peaks, where winter still held sway. And there, he encountered the Inarta, and met a lovely young glass-maker. For the story to ring true to me, one must say that Morwen told him to stay there with the Inarta, because I can't see such a devout young man suddenly abandoning his pilgrimage. In any case, it is said that he and the glass-maker settled down, and their first and eldest child was a daughter. The story fails to say how many children they had, nor how my Vantha ancestor felt about things once the snows had melted and the peaks became hot as ovens.”

Shaymear turned around and replaced the vase carefully. “In any case, it seemed my great-grandmother suffered the same roaming urge as her father. She was a good glass-maker herself, they say, but wanted desperately to be a rider of the great birds. Apparently, she was not to achieve this goal, and when she grew tired of failing, she packed her belongings and left. Wasn't a leaving divinely ordained, so no big conference as for her father, but she was kind enough to leave a note for her parents, at least.”

“And where did she go?” asked Lenell, who was deep into the adventure by now.

“She walked to the sea, hopped a boat to Cyphrus, came in at Riverfall. Which could have led to a quite different storyteller sitting before you, if she had chosen to remain there and try her hand at mating with an Akalak. But it was spring, and.....” Shaymear turned around and rummaged through the piles, emerging with a brown vest covered in fantastic knot-work. He turned back around and raised one admonishing finger towards Lenell.

“I know, “ she said. “Don't touch it.”

“Precisely.” He spread the vest out, till it took up the entire length of the desk. “And this, my student?”

Lenell rose from her chair so she could see all the knotted ornamentation “Is lovely.” She replied. “Drykus? They are the ones who make such knotwork, yes? I mean, my mother once bought a pot with such designs, and it was said to be Drykus.”

The Professor grunted. “Well, it could have been a fake, but yes, they do work in such designs. Now that we are getting closer to my birth, this vest is much easier to verify as part of my family's history. It belonged to my mother's mother, who handed down, or made up, this fable as well. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Where was I?”

“With your great-grandmother, in Riverfall, about to try to seduce an Akalak.”

Shaymear mock grimaced at her. “I never said such a thing. I'm not here to corrupt the young. You students seem to do that well on your own, and I have enough work as it is.” He traced one knot work horse gently. “Do you know the normal seasonal moves of Endrykas, the wandering city?”

“No, although I will soon, if you wish me to.”

“Hah! You're welcome to try. No one could ever find their way to Endrykus without a willing guide, but they are known to often trade with Riverfall in the spring.” Shaymear lifted the vest and turned it over, to display the fine stitching inside. “And my great-grandmother came ashore in the spring, and evidently met a young Drykas trader who pleased her greatly. It's said he stayed there most of the season with her, and helped her rent a space for glass-working. Some of her works she contributed for his trading with the Akalak, and some they took back to his people to ease her way into becoming accepted among them. Apparently, they were successful. Or my grandmother was a liar, but I've already stressed that point to you. My grandmother did make this vest herself, though. My mother watched her do so.”

“And what story did your grandmother tell of herself?”

Shaymear flipped the vest back over and folded it, but left it between them so they could both continue admiring it. “Once again, she was the eldest child. Only girl, too, she said. Many younger brothers. She said her nickname was “The Runner.” Said first she practiced outrunning all the young girls. Then the boys. Then, when they too became too easy to beat, the young horses.” Shaymear laughed. “Now that part I think is particularly suspect. Apparently, the Runner ran away with a traveling musician at sixteen. Didn't even leave a note, she said. According to my mother, her parents ran about the whole region of Sylira constantly, and never seemed to want to stop.”

“And your mother?” asked Lenell. “Was she the eldest born as well? Where did she go?”

Shaymear huffed. “Yes, she was the eldest, but she didn't run. She stayed. Her parents spent a season in Zeltiva when she reached eighteen, and she told them, in no uncertain terms, that she intended to break our family curse of the roaming eldest, if it really existed at all, and remain right here. Which she did. When she had me, she said one was enough for her, and she would find someone to spell me into staying put if she had to do so.”

“Your father stayed put, too?”

The Professor grinned. “Eh, there's the rub, huh? No, my father is one of the Svefra. A sailor. His ship needed massive repairs, they had to put into the shipyard here for a full season. Probably had been out pirating like mad to get so damaged, and I say, good for him.” He grinned even wider. “He certainly pirated something from my mother before he left, but she seemed to be willing to let him, and got me in return, so perhaps it all evened out.”

Lenell laughed. “She didn't go with him, then?”

“No. She said she had sworn to stay put here, and that she did. Still lives here in fact. Keeps a nice little cottage with a flower garden and nags me for grandchildren.”

“Have you met your father, then?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied. “He shows up every few years to visit us. Mother did let Father take me out for a voyage once, though she swore to track him down and remove....well, never mind what....if he didn't bring me back. He did though. And I have this from him and that side of my ancestry.”

The professor rolled up his sleeve and turned his bare shoulder towards her. “Look. But do...not...touch.”

Lenell leaned in closer to see the swirls of blue and green waves pictured upon his arm. It was the gnosis of Laviku and it was genuine, she could see, since the waves seemed to swirl and move upon his shoulder.

“Why shouldn't I touch it?” she asked. “Will it harm me? Will it harm you?”

“No,” answered Shaymear. “It just bugs me, that's all. Only the one mark, mind you, but that's enough for me. It is nice to have a connection to one of the patron divinities of my hometown, but I'd rather not have too much power. I'm a teacher not a priest.” He rolled back down his sleeve. "Well, Miss Belleste, here is your first quiz on being a good researcher. Paw through my fable for facts about me. We'll make it simpler by saying both I and my mother are to be taken as reliable sources."

Lenell screwed up her mouth in thought before speaking. "Ok, then. You are part Svefra for sure, since that information comes from you and your mother. Otherwise, that could be doubted in spite of your gnosis mark, because you could have been favored by Laviku for some other reason. Your eyes mean you do have some Vantha somewhere in you, if what I know of the Vantha is true. I'm less certain on the Drykus, because you say my mother's pot could be a fake, but I do think your vest is so well done that your grandmother was raised by the Drykus, if not born to them." She shrugged. "I mean, nothing is impossible to the story I suppose, and I do know that there are many humans with mixed ancestry in Mizahar, but--that mixed? That would be improbable, I think, especially with the dangers involved in so much travel."

"Good," Shaymear replied. "That is a fair summation." The Professor gathered together several blank sheets of paper, dipped his quill in his ink pot, and began writing on the top sheet. “You raised a good question concerning the workmanship of my grandmother's vest, so I think starting with the study of the Drykas is a good idea. Here is your initial reading list.” He finished his writing, wiped his quill clean, and handed her the paper. “And here are a few spare sheets for notes,” he added, handing her some clean pages. “I do feel that you shall apply yourself well to your studies, and stick things out. Do you deserve that trust?”

Lenell leaned back, with the papers in her arms and a smile on her face. “Absolutely. sir. I plan to be here for quite a while.” She tapped her cane on the floor. “No one is likely to nickname me “The Runner” anytime soon.”

She rose and left his office, enjoying his laughter as it followed her out the door.