Arjun & Spike
Lore
February 11th, 2024
Reading time
The sky is barely beginning to light up in the distance. There is more night in the air than day, and the prevailing silence is that of the ephemeral passage between darkness and light. In the dimness of dawn, the nocturnal sounds have ceased, and those of the morning are just beginning, with the first sharp trills of the birds. Squatting down, they grasp a handful of earth and rub it longingly in their palms. They inhale the humus, letting themselves be carried away by all the scents it carries. The heady aroma of decay, the potent fragrance of soil and manure, the rich effluvia of grass and moss, bark and dampness... They let this bouquet saturate their senses. It's good soil, fertile and fruitful. It's a generous ground, ready to bring forth life. That's the smell of life itself.
But it's not yet time to wield the spade or pitchfork, rake or hoe. It's the hour to greet the plants, to see how they're faring. Arjun wanders through the vegetable garden, weighing the clusters of tomatoes that are just beginning to turn red, examining the veined leaves of the blooming zucchinis. They stroke the lush branches of the kale, unearth a beetroot before dusting it off and slicing a thin sliver. The red juice runs over their fingers as they place it on their tongue, letting its earthy taste tantalize their taste buds. It will be a good harvest, and the Cornucoopia merchant will be pleased with what they'll offer in the coming days.
Arjun closes their eyes as the first light of dawn sets the horizon ablaze. It will be a beautiful day today. They extend their perception, feeling the Skein unfurl through them and their garden. The energetic web vibrates with life, teeming, luxuriant. Each plant cooperates with its neighbor, with the bees buzzing around, with the millipedes and earthworms wriggling in the soil. The eggplants radiate, surrounded by nasturtiums and borage. The spinach harmonizes perfectly with the beans and alliums. Arjun senses, however, that the lettuces are moderately pressured by the parsley plants. They'll need to intervene to help them fare a bit better.
Satisfied, they exhale deeply and open their eyes. It always takes a few seconds for their senses to readjust, for their mind to wake up and disconnect from the Skein. There's nothing really alarming to report. Not here, anyway. Their gaze drifts above the treetops, far to the north, toward the misty horizon. On the other bank, the Katkera stretches as far as the eye can see, shrouded in the forest's breathing fog. Above the canopy, they can see the rosy foliage of the Spindle stretching across the sky. It's just a small spot from where they stand, but they know how majestic and monumental the world tree is.
Yet, it had been sick for years. Every time Arjun made the pilgrimage to the center of the Katkera, they could see the gigantic tree withering away. Sometimes, its leaves were covered with a whitish fuzz, as if it were being attacked by parasitic molds. Some of its large branches seemed to be hollowed out from the inside before dying. Certainly, it made the harvester families happy. These rodents built their nests and burrows there to protect themselves from birds of prey and other predators. But for many Muna, this progressive decline was cause for concern. Despite all the care and precautions taken, the Spindle seemed to be inexorably withering away.
Like many other Muna, Arjun tried to find a remedy. A plethora of mushs were invited to spread their mycelium on its bark to purify its sap. Powerful ointments were applied to protect its increasingly gnawed wood. It was as if something were missing from the Spindle, as if it had resisted for a long time, but its strength was now leaving it. As if its instinct for life had faded, without anything new coming to revive it... Arjun, with a heavy heart, traveled across the peninsula in search of a treatment, an antidote, a miracle. But if a solution surely existed somewhere, it didn't seem to be in Asgartha.
With many companions, they watched over the world tree, while other Muna came from far away to participate in the discussions. How long had the Spindle been dying? What had triggered its decline? Was it inevitable? Was it in the natural cycle of things? They all knew that the Spindle was a knot in the Skein. The entire Mana web of the peninsula, even the entire region, was connected to this tree of insane dimensions. If it were to disappear, what would it mean for the other surrounding plants, the myriad of animal species that depended on its presence? Arjun couldn't bear to see it wither away.
Spike wakes up too, yawning unabashedly as he rubs his eyes. Then he suddenly sneezes, his spines emerging from his skin for a brief moment before retracting. He looks at Arjun with a droplet on his nose — like a dew bubble — and eyes still fogged with sleep, while a faint smile lights up his face. The farmer affectionately pats his head, and he lets himself be cajoled. In a few minutes, he'll be fully awake and will start dancing as usual, all happy to walk among the crops. Arjun was happy to be able to rely on his constant good humor, always ready to help, always curious about what they were doing.
They had met him while wandering under the canopy of trees, a stick in hand. The Chimera was trying to climb an apple tree, slipping on the moss covering its roots. It was trying in vain to reach an apple, red and juicy. But the lowest one was unfortunately out of reach for the small creature. It was so absorbed in its potential loot that it didn't pay attention to them when they approached. With their stick, Arjun struck the trunk of the fruit tree, and an apple fell softly next to the sentient cactus. When the Chimera saw it, it rushed to embrace it lovingly, before taking big bites of the sweet and succulent fruit.
Since then, Spike hadn't left their side. The Chimera followed them, at first timidly, then more deliberately. Sometimes it would stick its head out from behind a rock, watching them closely and, it's true, a bit greedily. Arjun would then leave a few berries or a slice of buttered bread for it, which it delightedly devoured. Over the days, the little cactus became less and less shy, even coming to them when snack time rolled around. And one day, Arjun suggested to the Chimera to climb on their shoulders, which it did without hesitation. Over time, it even got into the habit of dozing there, or in their hood, where it would snuggle up whenever the opportunity arose.
During their long wanderings, Spike was of great comfort. If at first they thought it was the small creature who depended on them to survive, over time they realized how much they needed it to keep moving forward. When weariness gripped them, the Chimera was there to motivate them, to give them courage. When homesickness seized them, it was Spike who brought a smile back to their face, with his unintentional antics. Bonding through Musubi was for them an obvious outcome, almost a necessity. During the bonding ceremony, when their essences intertwined, it appeared to them that they had always been like two soulmates, two sides of the same coin.
One evening, during a fireside gathering, Arjun stood up to speak. It seemed clear to them that to help the Spindle come back to life, there was no choice but to venture beyond the borders of Asgartha. Perhaps it was a wild dream, a chimera. But someone had to make this journey, for lack of an alternative. They declared to all that they were ready, Spike and them, to attempt the adventure, whatever its end result. Of course, there would be a thousand dangers to brave, a hundred thousand obstacles to overcome, but the survival of the Spindle was at stake, as well as the well-being of the entire Katkera. Wasn't it something they owed it to try? The other Muna didn't need to give their assent by any show of hands. Through the veins of the Skein, Arjun felt the unanimous blessing of their peers.
However, many years still separated them from the great departure. Arjun and Spike went to the capital to help the Expeditionary Corps prepare. The Muna provided their expertise to set up mobile and sustainable crops to meet the food needs of the exploration forces. Hydroponic farming, permaculture, soil regeneration, and biomimicry... They offered all their knowledge to the contingents of farmers, herders, and tenants who would accompany the Rediscovery Endeavor into environments where they could no longer rely on the abundant nourishment of the peninsula.
Spike climbs onto their knee and rests his head in the crook of their arm. Through the bond that unites them, he knows when something is troubling them, without them needing to vocalize anything. They give him a brief nod, to reassure him, to tell him that everything is fine. Around them, other cultivators join them as dawn tightens its grip on the world. There are some of their cousins, aunts and uncles, their brother, their grandfather. They disperse into the fields, the plantations, and the orchards... Before leaving, Arjun had insisted on taking a few months to see them again, and to share their life regulated by the simple rhythm of the seasons. They would humbly take care of turning the soil, planting, harvesting. Like they had done when they were young.
Using Alteration, they would make the fields of wheat, flax, spelt, endives, alfalfa, corn salad, and almond trees flourish. For a few more months, they would have the opportunity to participate in this simple and unadorned existence. During the day, they would dig, infusing Mana into each seed to express all their vitality. They would sow, plant cuttings, press olives and grapes. They would wash their hands in the stream before devouring their snack, when the sun was at its zenith. Then they would probably take a nap in the shade of the weeping willow, unless the sky decided otherwise and clouded over…
Tomorrow, they might go with their niece, Flore, to take care of the yaks, in the plain below. Taking their shepherd's staff, they might follow the slow transhumance of the herds for a while. Or maybe they would help Qaaje repair his barn before the rainy season comes... There was so much to do here too, so many little things and yet so essential. But all these labors followed the leisurely rhythm of nature. This life was an ode to slowness, to the happiness of seeing things awaken at their own pace. And they would need to remember all this, when they were far away, where everything was chaos and frantic changes.
In the evening, they would all sit around the table, passing the dishes in turn. They would laugh a little too loudly, perhaps sing, if they felt like it, to the dance of the flickering fireflies. The fire would crackle in the hearth, casting sparks into the nighttime sky. In a few days, when they returned from the village after entrusting their cargoes to the merchant, they would distribute some gifts to their family. Maybe a new dress for Riya, to thank her for her honey cakes, and a wooden toy for little Ozbeg, to celebrate his fifth year. Maybe they would trade some bags of potatoes for new tools, or hides or wool... In exchange, they would take with them all these memories, all these precious moments. For it would be they who would keep them warm when they found themselves alone facing the Tumult, where nothing would make sense anymore.