The Oracles of Tomesh [ON HOLD]

1 | Stories of a King

Tomera (toh-me-rah) noun

The ancient language of Tomesh.

Archaic; from the name Tomer, the sand god who gifted the language.

***

The desert keeps many secrets. One blow of the wind and anything can disappear: a chest full of treasures, a road, a house, a village. A language.

The people of Tomesh had always kept the ancient language alive, breathing and walking like the people who used them. The children were taught of nothing but the language even before they could speak their first word, which was, of course, Tomera. Before they could say pahl-father-they knew the sacred tongue of their people. Before they could call their mother mahl, they knew what language rolled out of their tongues.

But not all had Tomera as their first word. There were some babies who were simply too stubborn. Nascha's first word was sohm-breast-which she may have associated with food. And food was what was on her mind as she stepped out of the threshold of the stone chamber, squinting against the bright sun and the orange slopes of sand beyond the hard, hot earth of the desert. She dreamed of food, like she did many other things. And she began to imagine what her mother may lay on the table tonight. Then she sighed, her shoulders dropping. The sun was still too high. Night was coming slow.

"Swajeh! Swajeh!" Older sister. She turned and found three familiar forms running up to her, fine clouds of sand flying behind them. Their brown legs were white with dust. "Tell us the rest of the story!" Peru, the older of the three, begged, her eyes glinting eagerly.

Nascha looked behind her at the darkness of the chamber. The faint sound of wood against metal, and metal against stone, echoed for her to go back inside.

"Please, Swajeh," the little boy Naid pleaded, holding his twin sister's hand.

"You said you'll finish your story today," said Peru. "You promised."

Nascha turned and secretly smiled when they followed, feeling important, getting a taste of what princesses may feel to have someone crave for her every word. "Very well," she said, absently dusting fine sand off her wrap, a blue-and-gold cloth wrapped around her chest, stopping just midway to her navel. "Where were we?" she asked, coming to a stop against the red stone wall where there was shade.

The children formed a semicircle at her feet, oblivious to the blistering heat of the sun. "The old woman's garden! The scorpions!" Naid said.

"Ah, yes," she said in a knowing voice. "The scorpions appeared that day-"

"Night," Peru interrupted. "You said it was night time."

"Night, yes," she said, crossing her arm over her chest, one finger playing over the gold plate around one arm, and leaned against the giant wall of rock smoothly carved and polished by the builders of the village. "The scorpions appeared that night and ate the old woman's garden. Everything she planted-parl, heller, breet-they all disappeared overnight." The children chuckled, imagining the horror on the old woman's face. "And when she found them the next day, she stormed right next door."