- THE NEW PROPHET -

Life in the Nassaryottics continued just like this for many years. Way too many. It could have really been the thousand years of Setha Kabi’s stories. It could have been more. Impossible to tell.

Yet, their Prophet’s writings, their “Book of Nature”, always held its original interpretation. Even before the First Rout forced them out of their little island. And our Nassaryotts, poor and haunted, forgotten by everyone, always kept on carrying it on their backs. Waiting and expecting from it their salvation.

Until one day, not long ago. It was around that time one could vaguely see the Revolution’s coming. Sense it in the air. During this long, final calmness before the big storm. Something strange happened that one day.

Inside the alleys our little town, the voice of a new prophet could now be heard. And there was no other way, he’d say, for the Nassaryottic to be saved, then breaking away from the ancient message of the Obscure Weeper, their original Prophet.

“No man ever crosses the same river twice, but not because of time alone. There’s more to the saying.

He’d also be wiser. He’d be a better man. Time’s a teacher, and he’d learn.

And the river would be larger. It would be clear as crystal, because he’d taken care of it.”

The Nassaryotts needed to break the old order once and for all, if they wanted to achieve salvation, he’d say. Work needed to be done. And fight. The poor had to fight to better themselves, and break the chains the Lords put on them. All Lords, even their own, Setha Kabi first and foremost. This man both scared and haunted the Nassaryotts, more than all Dolvetians and Pelagians combined. The salvation he was promising was the very chains strangling them.

It quickly became clear this man, this new prophet, was our town’s first Nassaryott revolutionary. Like Setha Kabi, he also wore a grey hat, badly pressed on his round head. And his clothes were the same like Setha Kabi’s, awkwardly covering his body. Only, unlike Setha’s, they were always unbuttoned. His coat, his vest, his shirt, sometimes even his pants.

He'd lost his father back when he was very young, and his mother had become a slave in all but name in order to raise him. She’d work all day and night. And when he finally came back from the Great Owl, and got a job as an inkman and a record keeper in the Little Stoas, she couldn’t hide her pride. Later, he’d also privately started collecting the yearly taxes Nassaryotts had to pay to Belir Alleth, with his permission of course, and found all sorts of loopholes and excuses to save as much of their little fortunes as he could. Thus, he came to be considered a complete member of the community. Beloved and indispensable.

She was even more proud however, of how humble and sweet he had become. Of how, when talking, other Nassaryotts would always look him in the eyes, not lowering their heads. Of how he’d also care about her, in that unique way children of poverty knew to care about their loved ones.

In his free time, he’d walk around their streets for hours. Without caring at all that he was now a serious employee, working for the most powerful men of the community. He’d sit down at the edge of the roads and the dirty streets. He’d talk to the women or the lazy ones, or anyone who wanted, and go with them in their tavernas, deep inside the Nassaryottics.

Even though he’d never drink, he would always eat with them. Grabbing the lahan (a local favourite, rice, spice and grounded pork, all wrapped inside two cabbage leaves and boiled in stock), with both hands, he’d give it a good bite. Juices dripping down on his coat. A true child of theirs, no question. A spitting image.

Bit by bit, with reluctance and fear, the Nassaryotts slowly began gathering around him. Surprised, they’d hear him explain the ancient texts in a completely unique way. His own way. And they’d breathe his dream. A small, new Communal began slowly taking form in the store of Yian Haki.

Yian Haki was a merchant. Illiterate. Large as a mountain, and equally wide. He’d mostly buy fruits and vegetables for next to nothing from various farms around Riviella, then sell them to the Nassaryotts. A great service for a people that did not work the land very much. He’d even take pride in the fact that out of all the merchants in our town, he was the first one to bring out the prime leeks and chives every year. He was that pure, that innocent.

He'd gotten the habit from his father to answer every question with “True, on Faith!” (I swear on my Faith). His customers, and the one passing by his store would always tease him. “On Faith?” they’d yell. “On Faith!” he would answer. And laugh. Until one day, a murder happened in front of his store, and he was brought in front of Belir Alleth and the Despot, to testify. There he screwed up badly with his damned “True, on Faith!”, and Alleth got angry and threw him out.

Everyone in the neighbourhood began laughing at him. He became a pariah, and Setha Kabi was very hurt by all this. From that point on, he’d stopped. But by then, everyone knew. And everyone called him Yian Onmyfaith, as if it was his real last name. So, he stopped talking. He wouldn’t greet anyone passing by. He wouldn’t laugh anymore.

In the beginning, he felt a large bitterness inside his soul. A great shame. But he got used to it. As a Nassaryott, it was his birthright. Along with the rest of them. To be ashamed during their entire life, without anything bad ever happening to them, or their well-being.

Now, he’d given all his heart, all his love, to this new prophet of theirs. The one who would actually talk about the shame of the Nassaryotts. About the Obscure Weeper, whose teachings the Lords -Nassaryott Lords as well, would kick around and spit upon. About the chains of the poor, and a salvation that wasn’t written in the Book of Nature.

Every time the meeting in his store would end, and everyone would start heading home, he’d stop him. The prophet. He’d stop him at the door and look him in the eyes.

“Zach…” his voice was sad and sweet. Like he knew he was behaving like a child, and was a bit ashamed of this.

“What is it, Yian?” the other would ask, laughing.

He’d always give him a couple of pears or apples, or some grapes. If fruits weren’t in season, a good cabbage, or some mint and dill.

“Take them Zach… What else can I give you?”

“How much is it?”

“No charge.”

“So, Nassaryotts give things away for free now Yian?” he was still laughing.

“I don’t know Zach… I don’t know. You’ve confused us. You’ve confused me… Take them for your mother. I want you to have them.”

And he’d take it home. Home. The place one could always find him if he wasn’t out on the street with the others. He’d sit on the floor, legs crossed, in front of a low, wooden table. There he’d read and write for hours. His mother would then go and sit in front of their house door.

“What’s Zach doing?” others passing by would ask.

“He’s inside… studying.” She’d say the last part quietly, like it was some kind of ritual. Almost whispering, out of fear her voice might disturb him. And there she’d stay, protecting him. A loyal guard, without a sword. She’d only feel the wind on her rough, skinny hands, full of bruises from all the work.

At some point, she’d hear a voice from inside.

“Mother! … Where are you mother?”

“Here!” she’d shout, and not move from the door.

It was him that would come out, rubbing his tired eyes. He’d go and sit next to her, cross his arm over her hunched shoulders. And for a moment, the dirty streets of the Nassaryottics almost seemed beautiful.

“Tell me Zach, is it true? You will be a great man?”

“Mom, who told you these blahs?” -these nonsense.

“Setha Kabi. He’d always tell me this back when you were a kid.”

Setha Kabi…

It was him who had taken him from the bowls of the Nassaryottics. Who had taught him how to read the ancient texts. He was only a kid back then.

He’d take care of him when his mother was working, during those long winter nights. They’d sit side by side on the floor of his house and read together. During the summers, he’d come by his store at closing time. They’d then take a walk together down the riverside, again talking about the Book of Nature and the teachings of the Obscure Weeper.

“You see now?” Setha Kabi would ask him, looking him in the eyes.

“Yes, Pather…” the kid would respond (Pather he'd call him, teacher) “… it’s beautiful.”

The more he grew up, the more Setha Kabi was happy. A happiness true and internal. He was proud. Proud of how smart the kid was. Of how much he loved the ancient texts. Of how greater and sturdier his knowledge was growing by the day. In secret, he wanted no one to know about this, he’d given his mother enough money to send him away to the Great Owl in Sipolis. And the kid came back a man.

One day, at the store, Setha Kabi took his eyes off his big book. He looked at his brother Miel and the kids. A waste of air. All of them. No brains at all. They made his life insufferable. Those morons weren’t even capable to simply keep the store afloat, were something to ever happen to him.

He then went outside and looked at the sun. It was low. In a few moments the tallals would come out. In a few moments he would be there. His secret happiness would then fill his heart once again. The brick walls became gold, a kind of gold the others couldn’t see. All for this kid.

This child he’d raised himself. A human being he’d moulded with his bare hands. This kid that was now a man. A man Ereva had blessed him with, so he could give him one day the keys of their community. So the Weeper’s writings could survive past his death. In this town, or somewhere else. And then, someday, to go “back”. Back where they belonged. Back to Nassa…

In these moments he’d close his eyes, and let his mind wander. Setha Kabi would dream. You see, even Setha Kabi had a dream. Just like all of us. His dream has for someone. His true son. Wasn’t this love? The one everyone would always talk about?

The full name of that “someone”, was Zach Porra. Writer and student of the ancient texts. He’d only recently started preaching. Making short, wonderful speeches on matters of the Faith, as well as writing his own unique translation of the Weeper’s writings.

That day, during their stroll, Setha Kabi had pointed out a few passages in the translation of “The River” he thought Zach had interpreted incorrectly.

“Why’s this a problem?” Zach laughed. “Neither me, nor you can change the texts. Only interpret them. Explain them. Each their own way.”

“This Zach, is no mere text for us to interpret” Setha Kabi said and he was very sad. “This is the law.”

“It was” Zach responded, again laughing good-heartedly. “Now the Dolvetian laws are here for us. Then one day there will be the Pelagian ones. Real laws. The laws of man. Aren’t they enough?”

Setha Kabi understood. He lowered his head, and didn’t say a word. The tallals were calling in the distance. It was almost time for the Blessings. They headed back.

In time, the two began drifting apart. They wouldn’t see each other anymore. Zach stopped passing by Setha Kabi’s store during the afternoons, and Setha Kabi stopped expecting him.

“Zach…” he told him one day they’d crossed paths in the street. “Zach, the Communarch is very sad with all these things he hears you saying.”

“Isn't he almost deaf? How does he know what I’m saying?” Zach laughed again.

It was then Setha Kabi finally saw he had to put an end to all this.

 He got up from his desk one morning, and went to his house. He didn’t want them talking at the store, in front of all the other idiots. He knocked on his door, and Zach let him in. His mother was away. They sat down, near the small table, just like old times. Setha Kabi was very sad. Zach Porrah wasn’t laughing. They stayed like this for a while. In silence.

“Zach” Setha Kabi finally said “I want you to leave.”

“I know” the man said. He was calm.

“No, no, you don’t! … You don’t know anything! … Only snicker. You only know how to snicker!... I mean…I…Well, I’m asking you to leave.”

“I understand Pather.” -he called him teacher again “But I won’t leave.”

“You say you understand? No, no you don’t understand!... You don’t understand anything!... The Dolvetians. They will kick you out! Hunt you down!”

“See? Remember when we were talking about the laws? They can hunt me down for real.”

“That is why I want you to leave by yourself. We’ll find you a home somewhere else. Sipolis, Trouterri… Then I’ll bring your mother as well… Until then, you know… From me, whatever you need… Everything… When it’s over, do as you wish.”

“I know. But I won’t leave.”

“Zach… Zach, look at me for once. Why you lower your eyes?... How could I hunt you down? Kick you out?... Hit you? Me?... Why do you want that?”

“I don’t. I have a duty here…That’s all. The rest is…”

“We all have a duty Zach, we need to. And it’s my duty not to let these ones here scatter. Where would they go?... But there are also other consequences you don’t want to think about… you never think about anything!... And then Zach, duty can truly hurt someone… when it needs to, it can destroy… until the end.”

“That’s right. Until the end. You taught me that… That’s why I’m telling you. I won’t leave.”

Setha Kabi understood. They were done. He slowly got up, palms on his knees, and headed for the door. Zach got up as well, but didn’t follow him. When at the door, Setha Kabi put on his hat. He then stopped for a moment, looking at the floor.

“The Dolvetians will laugh. The Pelagians even harder…” he said. “They’ll say I dug my own grave.”

“You never cared what others said or did. Let them talk.”

“And our people will say, we finally found a worthy man, and Setha Kabi took him away.”

“What I’m doing here is eternal. No one can take it away.”

“No, no, you don’t understand… You never understand! I mean… you… Zach, do you believe I came here to scare you? To buy you off? Tell me. Is that what you think?”

Zach’s eyes looked directly as Setha Kabi’s. His face was calm. He smiled, as if wanting to give him strength. To give him courage.

“Why do you need this Setha Kabi?... Pather, why do we need this?”

His eyes never stopped looking at Setha Kabi. They were warm. Their last exchange was over.

“Let the Weeper be with you in these times” Setha Kabi’s voice was sad. “May he light your path.”

“Good nighting” the other said, in a friendly tone.

It was their goodbye, a wish the Nassaryotts gave each other at the end of each day.