KÆRU

“Kill the man

Who sleeps untouched

From the great showers

Of God’s undone.

Give him thy force,

thy power,

thy strength.

to move himself from this forsaken state”

A dry savanna dominates the scene. The faded outline of a mountain range in the horizon is overshadowed by the dominant pale color of the grass painting the landscape below it which in turn is overshadowed by the immensity of the cloudless sky above them. On rocks scattered throughout the field, symbols in black are drawn. In a corner, the greatness of a vast city is betrayed by how far is viewed from as one can only tell a collection of large buildings in pristine white, surrounded by a meandering wall. [Visit Shibam]

A grey horse is galloping with a woman at her back. The woman carries a rifle of the narrowness and length of a spear, on its long barrel, strips of cloth with words written on them dance in the wind like the whiskers of a Japanese Dragon. She wears a thick red poncho the gales struggle to flutter, and her head is wrapped in a tight, thin, black cloth topped with a boregheh mask around her eyes.

Another horse joins her, the boy on its back wears an outfit akin to a Victorian fencing uniform with red ribbons around his waist to his hip and plumes around his ankles. Equally, on his head, he wears the same mask and cloth.

They are chasing a man riding a motorcycle closer to a bicycle in structure. He wears wide cotton pants and tall boots. His naked arms are tattooed in even black and his chest is bare.

His terror, anxiety, and frustration are only equaled by the calmness with which the woman lifts her rifle and poncho and presses the trigger once, releasing not a bullet but a quick yet loud click. Then the horses halt, the broken bike motor stops its humming and in between them the body of their victim lays as if sleeping.

The desert is silent for a moment before the riders step down, first the woman, then the kid. They approach the body slowly. As the woman flips him over, the kid lingers a few steps behind until she withdraws a green dagger out of a crease in her poncho. The kid impulsively gabs its handle but grows meek as he draws closer to the body coming to a full stop with a few inches between the man’s heart and the tip of the blade. The victim’s eyes were closed, his cheeks red, his breathing and skin soft. He plunges the dagger into his beating heart, his breath is drawn from his lungs, his limbs tighten, and his open eyes adopt a penetrating look into those of the kid’s in his last expression of life before taking the form of an object, not a person but a thing.

The kid draws the dagger out slowly and trembling. The woman removes the blade from his weak grip and then grabs tenderly the back of his neck. He then softly directs his word to him.

Fume:

“Go ready my horse for him”

The student and teacher walk along Loway Street on the subterranean levels of Tengshi. They wear leather braces on their shoulders, to which a thick rod is attached, and between them lies a sarcophagus in a fetal position, carrying the body of their victim. They have lost their black hoods, and the woman is no longer wearing her poncho. The floor of the street consists of thick glass panels beneath which a river-like stream flows, teeming with specially bred bioluminescent algae that cast a cyan neon glow on the bustling street above. The city was once a grid plan of Art Nouveau and Art Deco mansions, each block featuring courtyards at its center. Now, however, it serves as a reminder of a beauty that has faded, replaced by products of necessity. Many structures have become a maze only decipherable by its residents who mostly deem the city’s orgy of light and tumult as beautiful as oppressive. Within the businesses that littered the streets, the orange flicker of torches and candles mixes with the blue glimmer of the road to reveal fast food shops, pleasure lounges, taverns, medics, barbers and baths. Hagglers and pedestrians stare at the boy and man as well as their cargo until they lose sight of them inside a temple with an intricate facade at its entrance.

Within, blue rock adorns walls and vivid frescoes its curved ceiling and black, yellow, and red stone lay below their feet arranged in patterns. In the greeting room, a white-bearded man dressed in a black tunic approaches them alongside five sturdy men wearing white skirts and intricately adorned bandages covering their eyes, rendering them blind.

The teacher:

“Fume of Zeno”

The student:

“David of Ghan”

A glowing gleam shines through thin halls at the center of the chambers. The teacher and student put the sarcophagus down, the old man opens it and touches the lifeless body’s fatal wound, he then closes it and directs his word at guests with a Latin accent.

Old man:

“perseverare”

They follow the path of a stone corridor the width of a man. On the other side, women with four-faced masks tend to ponds of illuminating fish in the nude while around them barren earth lays surrounded by white pebbles of marble reflecting against a beam of light coming from the following corridor. Crossing the room, young men with long manes and overgrown beards scurry into doors at either side while entirely ignoring the women and guests.

They follow the light originating from the next corridor

In the next room, sunlight shines down from a circular hole in the ceiling. Right below, at its center, an almond tree sprigs - its hanging leaves shaping the cast shadows in the rest of the small chamber. There, bioluminescent stone pervades the walls, giving life to otherwise dark corners. in front of the tree, a fire burns atop a bronze pedestal, adorned with shining silver. In the shadow of the tree, women dressed in simple red tunics and fashioning long hoop earing read from large and heavy books. Horizontal tattoos mark the corners of their eyes, and red circles the back of their hands; their arms are bare. Another woman appears from the shadows, wearing a blue tunic and thick tattoos under her eyes, lips, and neck. Her hair is buzzed and she carries the smile of a drunk. Without speaking, she approaches Fume and picks up the knife, then she approaches the tree and creates an incision in it, letting the sap of the tree mix with the dry blood on the blade. She sets the metal against the fire and cleans it with a rag, then grabs a walnut and cracks it open with the knife, laying it at the threshold of the blade and feeding it into David's mouth. His swallow is preceded by his prostration at her feet.

The priestess moves to his ear as a mother to a son, and with a casual and caring tone speaks into his ear.

“Here, child, you prostrate to the sight unburdened by the transcendence that suffocates lesser men, as you have felt the warmth of its nascent flame. No cause is more arduous nor more fruitful than the evergreen burden of the nursing of that flame.

From now, you will be called a name not of you, you will have desires not of your making. Your memories will be like sweat in frost and you will look upon your duty like a wave to an ocean.

Loose yourself to that duty, delude yourself in the cleansing of those who delude the spirit of man. Cast them to the kingdom of beasts to the mold they have crafted and in the morn when your shape calls scavengers you will be the wind and the mountains and the rivers and the flame, for you have done as a Kami and the sight will not err in the gifts to his own mettle.

Lay and your blood will run and your soul judged faithfully.

Rise and tender will his eye be upon you, rise and you will become a Kaeru.”

David stands.

The priestess speaks while giving the knife to David.

“Nurse that flame afire”

A bunker gate opens on the outskirts of Tengshi, letting in the light and out the protagonists; they stop at its threshold waiting for the opening mechanism to complete.

Fume:

Don’t worry, the council will hear your life, but they’ll question me, and there is no use in worrying about things I will not mention.

David:

“There is rain coming”.

Fume:

“Did you hear me?”

David:

“Can you not smell the damp soil?”

Fume:

“I can. Let us go”.

Cut to the inside of a round building nested organically in an oasis, fashioning a spiraling and curved entrance like a conch shell. Its subtle curves are made with bricks angled and protruding sharply at the bends, forming waves of terra cotta. Missing bricks in the patterns allow light into the interior of the building. At its zenith, and akin to the temple, an oculus lies unreinforced, yet instead of a walnut tree, directly below a large conversation chair grows out of the lapis lazuli from which the floor is built, with the two protagonists sitting at either side stoically. Surrounding the inside perimeter of the building, faded yellow stools protrude from the wall. Men and a woman slowly converse on their way to take their positions on the stool. On the side of Fume (west), older men and the woman, dressed like Shinto priests, sit while young men with different variations of fencing uniforms and ponchos of varying earth colors sit at the side of David (east). On the north and south side, two men with black facially exaggerated masks and black tunics sit cross-legged on cushions while writing in small typewriters.

Clamor turns to silence and the shifting of the typewriters starts the proceeding.  One of the masked man commences it.

“The council is now for the formalization of David of Ghan. This endeavor demands a chronological review of his deeds and nature.

Council! Directness and objectivity in your discussion of the formalizee! Council! sacredness of our assortment in this room.”

A pause.

‘Begin’

A middle-aged man speaks from the side facing the boy.

“In the winter of the 3rd year of the 75th virgins, our party arrived at the refuge for unhoused youths in the Valley prefecture. Their numbers had dwindled  from the drought and harsh winter of the previous year yet surprisingly we found our task successful.”

Cut to 5 raggedy looking children.

“There were 3 days of behavioral and physical evaluation on the grounds. We ultimately settled on five kids aged 8 to 12. Him being the youngest. A conversation with his caretakers revealed he had been there for 6 years and mute for the first two. A Christian family had found him half dead wandering through the Ghan grasslands. They named him David.”

“Remarks from his acquaintances shed light on his antisocial tendencies and sensitivity to injustice. His tutors described him as astute but never smart. His doctor was sickly but perseverant. His peers highlighted his introspective personality and shyness. His main caretaker, alternatively, almost solely highlighted his boundless curiosity. His subpar preliminary physical evaluation was significantly offset by his skill to endure distress on the mental tasks.”

In a barren rocky landscape, David prays, engulfed by fog.

“On the way to the mountain, he spoke very little but prayed often.”

An old man speaks from the side facing Fume

“During his time at the foothills, he alienated himself from the rest of his comrades. He was a slow learner, at least a week behind the rest of the group, and often fainted from physical exertion. His only redeeming quality was his refusal to give up or die, which kept him on the roster. While his contemporaries were forming packs and alliances to hunt the game that would graduate them up the mountain, David went into the wild with only his Ulter as soon as he was given it”.

“Six months later, on the morning of January 6, David appeared from the fog with a slain lioness on his shoulders and immediately collapsed at the feet of a guard. A week later, after his recovery, he graduated to the plateau".

A younger man, facing David, asks him:

“How does a boy kill a lion?”.

Cut to a young David kneeling in the snow, the tip of his dagger pressed against his beating heart, his eyes closed.

Cut back.

David looks at him as if he were asking the wrong question or a ridiculous one.

“You aim for the heart.”

The younger man smiles.