Just then, the door swung open. Zamani turned to see the boy and girl rush in, wide-eyed and bundle-laden, to take a seat. A wizened elder stepped in behind them, closed the door, and walked to the back bench. The Teller had a well-fed appearance. His pait rolled with his steps. Although flaccid skin formed deep crevices around his black eyes, strength of life was evident in their glimmer. His ceremonial gown was green, and his red, waist-length mantle rattled as he took his seat.

“At last,” said the Teller with a warm smile, “a full class. Are we not honored, this midday, to have such a rare guest? Our last from Zhereen were but two emissaries to Mithal-Moun and seen by none of us. So long ago that was. Our new pupil is Zamani of Zhereen. Welcome him.”

Then he turned from the class and spoke directly to Zamani, “It will please me to be your Teller, if but for this midday session. I do hope that I have somewhat to offer.”

“And I as well,” answered Zamani.

Xarhn kicked his sore foot, sending waves of white and red through his skin. Had he been rude? Had he spoken out of turn? Xarhn may have disapproved, but the Teller was nodding to himself, so Zamani decided to press on, hoping that amended words would find more grace.

“I have many questions.”

Xarhn, with a warning hiss, kicked his foot again; the pain was intense. Zamani could tolerate no more. “Ow!’ he said.

The Teller interrupted. “I see that our graceful Xarhn attempts to speak with you through your bruised ankle. Perhaps she wishes to tell you that a greeting is in order.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” answered Zamani. “Tell me what I must say. If I am to guess, we’ll be here til even.”

“Quite correct,” was the Teller's response. “We shall all make allowance for your having only just come among us. My name is Yagi. Xarhn, please do not kick his ankle; it is wounded.”

Plainly embarrassed, she lowered her face and answered, “I forgot.”

Yagi pressed, “May I know how you hurt yourself? I may have an herb to soothe it.”

“It’s nothing,” Zamani evaded. “I am tall and awkward. I improve as we speak.”

“Then let us commence our class,” said Yagi broadcast. “As our patient guest is more than willing to let us proceed in our customary manner, we shall, in like good faith, remember that our guest has questions. We shall, therefore, attend our assignments in this order: first will be dance, second will be song, and third will be a time for questions. We shall save our procession of clothing for last.”

A shadow at the open window caused all heads to turn. Curious faces peered in at the newcomer, with apologetic side-glances meant for the Teller.

“Step up,” called the Teller. “Introduce yourselves.”

Four middling-aged Sith crowded the window with jostling and smiles. Among them, Zamani recognized the young girl who had come calling at Pax-mon earlier. The youths seemed common, and smiled foolishly, yet, one of them was strikingly different. He was broad-shouldered and stocky. His oval eyes bore the glint of polished iron. As Zamani stood and faced them, they began their introductions.

“I’m Shabani,” said a tall female who stood close to the broad-shouldered one.

“I’m Shirpa,” said the younger female who had sought Teefa.

Beside her, a young male said, “I’m Vreatt.”

And then the stocky older boy spoke. “And I’m Takax.” He then turned to the Teller, saying, “We beg pardon, Teller. We did not mean to interrupt,” he rubbed his pait and smiled crookedly, attempting to explain the obvious, “but . . . we were curious.”

The Teller responded with a smile, saying, “None’s the harm, young Takax.”

Zamani stood and touched knuckles with the two boys, saying, “I am Zamani. Midday greetings to new friends.”

The youths apologized one last time and darted away. Zamani returned to his seat, and to Xarhn's warm, affirming smile. At that moment, he felt as if he just might get the hang of it.

Then Yagi resumed control of his class, saying, “Shall we continue, then? You’ve each had five middays to practice the dance you are to present to me. Tosh, you may begin.”

Tosh stood and immediately began her dance. In many respects, it resembled the dance Zamani had seen Xarhn practice the day before. Tosh danced well, and her ample figure pleased the eye, yet, something seemed amiss. Where Xarhn's dance was all grace and the freedom of weightless flight, Tosh seemed dirt bound. Her dance seemed clipped, and contrived. It exuded happy confusion.

“Well done,” said Yagi, when she had seated herself. “Voytk, what can you tell us about the dance Tosh has presented?”

The boy seemed at a loss. He answered, “I liked it?”

The Teller's smile reassured. He said, “You like everything she does. Tell us something new.”

Yagi silenced the giggles of Tosh and Xarhn as the class awaited Voytk's reply. Zamani wondered if the constant browns meant the boy was in a constant state of mindless bliss. The boy scratched nervously at the wattle of his pait.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “She did it well?”

The Teller turned to Xarhn and asked, “Xarhn, have you any thoughts?”

She stood and answered, “The dance was intricate and complex. Much effort went into it, I feel. To name it, I must say . . .” she paused there to search within for appropriate wording, then continued, “mmn . . . I’d say, flowers drinking light.” She seated herself.

“Nicely put,” said the Teller, turning to Zamani. “And, would our honored guest care to comment?”

“It made me dizzy.”

Xarhn reached up and smartly slapped his bare arm, chiding, “Peck!”

After silencing the younger couple, who had huddled on their bench snickering loudly, the Teller turned to Xarhn with a gentle reproach. “Still, child,” he said. “He has given an honest reply. More than that we may not ask.”

To Zamani, he said, “Perhaps you should avail yourself of my defense, young Zamani. It is obvious that you need to be protected from the thrashings of your new friend.”

Laughter erupted. Zamani turned to Xarhn with a grin, knowing it was like putting sayl in an open wound. She crossed her arms and looked away.

It was Voytk's turn to dance, and it was a thing of thrusting elbows and knees. It was a dance without direction or purpose, a thrashing about of one near to fall. Zamani had seen such movements among the denizens of his forest realm, for such were the gestures of death. He was glad to see the boy sit down.

The Teller encouraged Voytk toward future success by way of forethought and application, by giving more than the rudiments. “A dance,” said the Teller, “is more than moving the body around. The soul must find expression.”

Then Xarhn took her turn. This was the good part, Zamani thought. He wished it would last. As she swirled and swayed, Zamani took a moment to scan the rainbows of the others in the class. Tosh was a battleground where brown waged a losing war against green. Both Yagi and Voytk were brown, but with red fingers. They were at once both pleased and desirous. And why not desire her? Xarhn was a zephyr. She was an unexpected breeze. When her dance ended, hearts dropped. Flushed with exhilaration, she rushed to Zamani's side and searched his eyes for approval. He could not deny her the thing she sought.

Yagi raised himself laboriously to his feet. With all eyes on him, he gave his pronouncement. “Once again,” he said, “our Xarhn has put us all to shame. While Tosh danced well and proved to us her skill and great effort, and while Voytk gave us dance that was, shall we say, thought-provoking, I must award this midday to Xarhn. And too, I think I must speak to our Mithal to advise him that Xarhn's grace is best suited to lead the procession.”

“Ooh!” exuded Xarhn, bouncing in her seat. “Oh, thank you, Teller. I would be honored.”

Yagi turned unexpectedly to his guest, leaving Xarhn the task of containing her excitement.

“Zamani,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Speak to us of dance in Zhereen.”

“If I was whole before you, I would do more than speak,” he answered evasively. “I will confess, however, that none in Zhereen can better what I’ve seen here, this midday.”

“You are kind. It is enough that you walk. First, heal, and when you are ready, come and dance for us.”

He turned to the class and asked, “Shall we sing?”

Walking ponderously to the entrance, Yagi turned, assured of their undivided attention. He speared the class with narrowed eyes.

“Very well,” he said. “I was impressed with your efforts in the completion of the assigned dance. Dare I hope that song shall not disappoint me? You were assigned the task of composing one song in five middays, a song all your own. The words may be as you choose; the melody, likewise, is in your own hand. Here, there is no right, no wrong. My only requirement is that it comes from your heart. If it does not, then it belongs to another. Now, I am aware that you are still relatively new to song, and that you have a bit more confidence in dance, but I encourage all of you to relax and enjoy. Xarhn, please stand and tell us of your song.”

She stood hesitantly and faced the class, flooding red on her chin and belly. 

“Fear not, sweet Xarhn,” soothed the Teller. “No one shall despise your efforts.”

Zamani had to hand it to him. The ancient was scanning rainbows and giving the response that best helped the student proceed. Although he practiced his craft well, Zamani remembered many occasions when Yagi was no more than a fumbling student in the shadow of the Mithal. As the Mithal taught Yagi the tenets of Phrava, Zamani, cloaked in glamor, listened in secret. He had been a frequent guest of the garden at Mithal-Moun, where the Mithal was want to teach. Yagi had never suspected, but Zamani had learned with him, even beside him. They had been students together. But, after Yagi left for home, Zamani lingered. Zamani learned tricks the Mithal had purposely concealed from the Teller. Zamani knew all that the Mithal knew and more. He knew all the Mithal's dirty secrets.

Xarhn cleared her throat. “My song,” said she, “is about my family. I really had a hard time thinking of something, so I asked my father.” She smiled defenselessly and concluded, “Here goes.”

Her voice lifted high in sweet, melting melody. Whorls of rhyme mirrored her guileless nature.

“Father says, ‘Dearest,

Your mother is nearest,

She, then, can help you,

To think of a song.

When my seeds are all fielded,

I’ll reward that you’ve yielded:

A kiss if it’s not awfully long.”

She paused, then hurried to explain. “Mother said I should sing what I know, so I put father's words to tune.” She sat down.

The Teller answered easily, “And well you’ve done.”

Voytk went next with a simple tune dedicated to things he liked:

“What I like is lots of fun,

And games I play when chores are done,

And tasty food my mother cooks,

And how my pretty Toshy looks.”

Tosh gave a tonal recitation, accompanied by Voytk, who pounded out a simple rhythm on a tom.

“All very good,” concluded Yagi. “I encourage all of you to build on what you’ve accomplished so far. What do you think of our masters of song, young Zamani?”

“I think they’ve had time to amend and polish.”

“Quite right, my honored guest, but can you not see that the Maker has placed in them that gem which they so polish? The Maker of all has put a gem at the very center of the Shee nature. Each of us has one. Are you aware of yours?”

Suddenly, Zamani was annoyed at how long it had taken them to do so poorly . . . except for Xarhn, and, though he could restrain the waving of arms, the snapping of fingers, and the thumping of his chest - gestures that came to him so easily, he felt helpless to restrain his words.

“I am, good Teller. Mine is a pyre gem. You may place on it any matter, and it is cooked.”

“Well said, young Zamani. Am I to understand, then, that given any topic, you can instantly cook us up a song?”

“But name the topic.”

“I will! I will!” injected Xarhn. “I want to name it. Sorry. May I name it?”

The Teller's response was amiable. “Very well,” he said with a warm genuine smile, “but, I encourage you to give him a topic worthy of his ability.”

Pausing only a moment, Xarhn turned to him and said, “Sing to us what life would be like in the floater forest.”

Yagi pursed his lips. “Quite unexpected,” he said. “Interesting, nonetheless. Well, my brightly burning guest, I await your song.”

Zamani stood, and in crystal tones, opened to the class.

“Reap your way t’ward that you sow,

Presupposing plans of God,

Then creep behind this seeker's brow,

And bring my soul to know.

‘Llow me join your silken sleep,

And spin for me your dreams,

Then waking as a son I’ll turn,

To lift love's rainbow wings.

Who am I - life's test to meet,

So lean of wit and thew,

To crack God's go'smer seal of truth,

And taste love's nectar true.

Let’s sail atop the highest breeze,

Brush God's nose and watch Him sneeze,

Laugh, and at the end give birth,

We close our eyes - we feed the earth.”

Zamani seated himself proudly; skins were white and brown. Tosh and Voytk sat with open mouths. Yagi looked within himself as one seldom stirred.

Xarhn gasped, and when Zamani looked into her bottomless eyes, she said, “Zamani! That was beautiful!”

Yagi seated himself. “Exceptional,” said he. “Your song shows the depth of soul of one well studied. It shows an understanding of floaters that may be more common in Zhereen. Lastly, I note a Peckish influence with which my pupils are not familiar. I shall enjoy answering your questions, for you are bright beyond a Teller's expectations. I cannot imagine what you might need of me but ask. Ask, and I will answer. Attend me, class; we shall now give Zamani his time.”

“What I need of you,” said Zamani without pause, “is an explanation of our history, for I believe, in this, I have been poorly taught.”

“We learn our history early in Thletix, but perhaps, it will do well for these students to have their memories refreshed. Very well, then, this is the history of Phar Sheeth: In the beginning, the Maker - or God - made both Shee and wog. God placed the Shee in the world of the wog, which is called Dirt, for indeed, the wog, being less perfect than the Shee, were fashioned from the very dirt of their world. I see you wish to ask a question.”

“Yes, Teller. Why do we call them wog?”

“A good question. However, we do not know how they came by that name. The naming was far back in time, and no one knows where the names came from. I will add this, however, names were many in those dark days. Everyone had a name, and a folk, and a folk name. Every folk had a language. For example, although we called them aptly, those noisome creatures called themselves by other names. One such name was man. Their great armies of giants, they called man unkind. Another question?”

“I beg pardon for my interruptions, but I wish to know if the wog had names for the Shee?”