Fire of Refignment-Into the Flames 5-8

      1:5

      The Prime Minister

      It was hard to get to sleep that night.  I was so anxious, especially since the Advocate did not come to the supper.  That made me nervous, and I wondered if he was working on more details of the meeting.  Somehow I managed to get a few hours of sleep. 
         Breakfast was brought to me, but I was hardly able to eat.  My clothes were brought next, and after I had dressed, the stylist came.  I began to get a little excited.  When I was ready, I was escorted to the main hall where I first met the Advocate.  There he was talking with his associates just like yesterday.
      "Good morning, Ms. Carter," he greeted me and shook my hand with both of his as he had before, only there was a warmth to the greeting; something was different about him, like a calm or peace, or a slight brightening of his countenance. 
         Turning to Morshaht, he held his hand out forward.  Morshaht then began leading us to the entry where the hovercraft waited to carry us to the Prime Minister, and our first step in this mission. 
        This hovercraft was much bigger than the one that they had brought me in.  It had two compartments.  There was the front pilot area where all the associates, all ten of them, sat in rows facing forward, and a window between us so that one could speak back and fourth between the rooms.  The one we sat in was 14 by nine feet in an oval with a cushioned bench seat facing forward and one along the left side.  It was even set like a small conference room. 
        There was a strange succulent plant that sat secured to a stand on the wall by the Advocate’s window where the large door opened up. 
I sat sideways looking out the window behind me as we passed the beautiful countryside trying to get my mind off my anxious thoughts.
         Because I had fallen asleep on the trip out here, I didn't realize that we were at one of the Union Guest Mansions for Universal Diplomats, until we passed a checkpoint and I saw the armed guards at the gate.  As I heard them state our names to the officers, I was stiff with fear and did not look at up.  The memory of Jaymith's arrest still fresh in my mind. I was afraid someone might recognize me, but I don't think any of them did.  The windows of the hovercraft were tinted.  Still, I wondered. 
      I breathed deep to calm myself.  My heart had already taken off.  How could I react so much, when nothing yet had happened?  If things were to get worse- could I handle it?  I began to doubt.  I glanced at the Advocate, who sat calmly looking out the other side window.  I admired him.  Would I ever be able to be like that, or would I die a coward?
      I threw my eyes back to my window and watched the beautiful grass and wild flowers zip by.  We must be high up in the mountains.  Everything was so green.  I wished again to live in this moment.  In my mind, I ran away, leaping barefooted through the fields, dancing in the sunshine, riding a horse, flying.  I dreamed of all the things that I never got to do but wished I could, and smiled. 
      I must have fallen asleep again, for I opened my eyes and we were in the hot city.  How could we be here so quickly?  There it was, the Prime Ministers Governing House.  It was tall with its long rectangular windows opening to the upper porch.  I had only seen pictures, and though it was not near as big as the Judiciary, it was impressive in other ways. 
      We had to leave the hovercraft outside the court and walk across the grounds.  Morshaht led the way walking in front of the Advocate with two other associates on either side of him.  I followed with two associates, one beside me and the other behind.  The other five kept fanned out beside us with three on my side and two on the other.  I tried to remember what the Advocate had said, "Look the Prime Minister in the eyes, you have an important case."  I breathed deep.  We climbed the steps to the tall stone gate and were checked by the guards atop.  I tried not to be nervous.  "They probably don't know who I am," I said to myself, and we passed through without any trouble.
    Down the great stone steps we went and entered into the courtyard: a beautifully watered garden trimmed with grass and highly cultivated flowers.  I smelled the Kershonian lily, famous throughout the Union for its fragrance.  It could be grown no where else in the Universe and no matter how many there were, the scent was never overpowering. Yet only one was sufficient to fill a room with the sweet smell.
At last we reached the steps leading up to the house itself.  The large ornately carved double doors opened and a prominent official greeted us.  He then led us down the spectacular grand hall to the Prime Minister's office.
      "Here 'goes," I breathed as he opened the door for us.  His face smiled pleasantly, and he motioned for us to enter.  The light from the morning sun streamed from the room. As we entered, the Prime Minister rose and stepped forward from his desk eager to receive us.  I felt so awkward.  I was nothing, but I was with the Great Advocate, and that made all the difference. 
      All of the associates stayed outside the door with the Prime Minister's guards, even Morshaht.
      "Welcome, Advocate," spoke the Prime Minister, his face beaming as he shook his hand. 
      "Thank you," I heard the Advocate's voice, sounding serious as always.  He did not seem affected by the warm reception, though he gave a gracious nod.
      "Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"  He asked.  He seemed almost giddy.
      "I am here on behalf of a client, Ms. Carter," he turned to me, and I took one step forward, "and her indigenous friend, a registered Cerai'i who has recently been incarcerated."
    "Oh, well." Now he appeared nervous, and his smile disappeared.  "That's right.  I have the papers here." He walked to his desk and picked them up, looking them over.  "Of course, I empathize with the situation, but as you can see, all has been done in accordance with the Protection Act of Indigenous Peoples of the Gjertan Quadrant, Article six.  ‘The Right to Religion and Belief.  Indigenous peoples lay claim to the right to practice traditional religion contrary to the ruling governments and shall not be restricted by ruling governments in the practice of their traditional religion. Crimes committed against citizens of the ruling government or their property in the name of religion or belief are not protected and may be prosecuted and punished.'"  He handed the document to the Advocate.  "As you see, this Cerai'i is has abandoned his traditional religion.  There is nothing I can do."
      I watched the Advocate swallow hard.  I could feel my own throat tighten in irritation at their nerve to wave his compromised Act in front of his face.  Still, the Advocate cordially took the papers, holding his lenses to his eyes with his left hand, and looked them over with great patience.  Finally, he handed them back to the Prime Minister, who took them seeming apologetic.
    "I'm sorry, Great Advocate, that there is nothing I can do," he vainly repeated.
      The Advocate looked the Prime Minister in the eyes for a moment, and the Prime Minister seemed very uncomfortable.  I wondered what The  Advocate might say; but he didn't say anything.  He simply gave a polite bow of his head and turned to go.  As we passed through the door, the Associates took their formation and we left.
      "That was it?"  I thought.
        "I'm sorry Mr. Advocate," the Prime Minister's voice followed us out of the room.
        That was it? With all my worrying, that was it?  It really was that final.  The Prime Minister would make no exception even for the famed Great Advocate.  The first step was over.

    1:6

    The Story

      When we got back to the House, it was already noon and so we were served a brief lunch.  Afterward, the Advocate had me come to his office.  It was a different room this time on the far end of the hall on the west side past my quarters.  This one had only two windows, one on the north and one on the south, and both were shaded by tall trees.  Dark wood paneling furnished the room with an old fashioned feel.  This, he said, was where we would meet to conduct all our work and discussions. 
Morshaht was there, as always, and the Advocate began before he had even sat down.
      "I apologize Ms. Carter, I have not finished reading your book."
      "Oh that's alright, I don't read it much." I said meaning to excuse his apology.
      He looked hard at me with a deeply questioning expression, and oh the hurt in his eyes! It cut my heart. I had made a great mistake.  Somehow this book meant a lot to him.  I felt terribly ashamed. 
      His words were slow and his voice, pained.  "You don't - read it?"
      I couldn't bear to look at him anymore.  I dropped my eyes.

      He was again amazed at the flippancy Humans carried for the Great Gift that they had been entrusted with.  For a moment, he forgot the strength of his gaze until she dropped her eyes. He too turned his eyes away, brought his mind back to focus, and changed the subject. 

    "I need to hear your story before you speak to the media."  He pulled out his chair from the table.
      I hesitated still looking away.  The idea made me sick.  I didn't want to relive this again.  "You must speak it once before, so there are no surprises," he added.
      I knew he was right, but I hated the idea.  "Can we wait another day?" I stalled.
    "If you wish."
      But the moment I said this, I knew that was not best.  "No, I better do it now."
      He nodded, sitting down at the table, and quietly folding his hands before him.
      I sat in the cushioned chair.  "Where do I start?"
      "Wherever you want."
      I took a deep breath. "Ok, it started before I was born," and I recounted the story of how Jaymith came to meet us. 
      "The Cerai'i were being run off their land on a winter night and Jaymith got injured in their escape and was left behind.  He was found by my father near our home.  My father, being a doctor, treated him and found out about the trouble.  He took Jaymith into our home until he had healed, and found the rest of his family tribe and let them stay on our land.
      "Then he complained to the Prime Minister who then stalled the prospectors.  He even sent to Bardekon with the complaint and it was at this time that the Protection Act had just come to us. 
        "As soon as it was in effect, my father got papers for every single member of Jaymith's tribe.  Then he made our home a safe haven for all Cerai'i to get papers and cards of registration.  People of Jaymith's tribe traveled everywhere telling others and so they came to get papers of registration too, and then they went out to tell others letting them know.
        "This worked out to be the best way people could get papers, because my father spoke Cerai'i and could communicate with them, and we lived on the edge of the desert where the Cerai'i lived.
        "This made the prospectors mad, because of all the claims the Cerai'i were making to land and resources that they couldn't touch anymore.  They found out about his belief in the Master and turned him in to be exiled.
        "Jaymith was 40 years old when he met our family, 48 when I was born, 55 when they were exiled and I was 7, away at school.  My father said, when I was born, Jaymith loved me, and spent even more and more time with my family to where he was pretty much living with us, ‘like he was watching over me,’ Daddy said.  He would run errands for my father, and learned to care for the place.  Before their arrest, Dad had instated everything to Jaymith in the case of an emergency, he was the executive of the will until I turned 23." 
I paused, and took a deep breath, the memory coming back like a flood.  "It was Jaymith who came to the school and told me of their exile-"

         I was only seven years old.  The halls were empty, but I heard shuffling feet echoing in the stillness.  Then his voice, "Kalisha! Kalisha!"
         "Jaymith?" 
         He was clearly distressed.
         "Sister-child, come."
         He took my hand in his, cool and sweaty, and led me into the nearest empty room. He squatted down to face me, holding me before him by the sides of my arms.  I knew something was wrong.  He was shaking and looked like he'd been crying.  I got scared.  I started to cry already, not knowing what was going on.  He tried to speak.
         "Child," but then he stopped and pulled me into his arms and held onto me like he was afraid to let go. 
         I grabbed onto him too, I knew I was pinching with my tiny hands, but he didn't seem to notice.  I felt warm drops on my back and he was shaking more.  I was confused.  What was going on?
Then he stood me in front of him again, took a deep breath, and spoke in a whisper; "The family has been taken to Oshkan, forever."  I started to cry.
      "Why?" I asked, but I knew.  I just didn't know what else to say.
      He did not answer, but pulled me into his arms and held me again.  Part of me wanted to receive this comfort, and part of me was annoyed: I didn't want any of my classmates to see this or I'd be tormented unmercifully. 

      The memory faded, and I realized I had leaned forward and covered my face in my hands.  They were wet.  I held my hands cupped, embarrassed.  "I'm sorry." I was afraid this would happen, but the Advocate still did not bat an eye as he brought out a handkerchief and Morshaht took it to me.  I wiped my hands, and my face.  "Where was I?"
    "Jaymith informed you of the exile," the Advocate spoke gently.
    "Yes, he came to the school himself.  He looked after me after that day, coming to get me on holidays, and taking me back.  He managed the estate.  He took care of everything.  He was like an uncle or a surrogate father-" I stopped.  Getting a hold of myself, I tried again, but this time to no avail, for the weeping would not be stopped.  "He called me Hashkahnah."  I didn't expect him to understand, indeed I was just blubbing, but I went ahead anyway.  "Cerai'i don't say this to anyone but blood-kin. But he said it to me."  And that was it. I could not stop the crying. 
      The Advocate was patient and waited for it to pass.  When I could get a hold of myself, I apologized again.
      "It is alright. Do not fear your emotions, they do not weaken. If you reign them, you can say more.  They reveal depth of soul.  Pain is real to all mortals, and draws compassion from the caring.  This is what we need to gain the support of the public."
        I nodded, but it still scared me.
         "Will you be ready to speak tomorrow?"
         I sighed, shaken, but nodded.
         "Are you sure?"
         I looked up at him, and nodded strongly.  I was determined.  I didn't want to drag this out.
         "I will see when they will host us, maybe tomorrow, maybe not.  I will inform you when the date is set.
I nodded.

      "We have the morning to prepare, the interview is for the evening broadcast, live." The Advocate informed me that evening, and that I was to meet with him in the morning for more instruction.
Again, he did not come for supper. He stayed in his quarters, reading.

      When he had finished, he held the book between his hands.  He was still for a long time, his thirsting soul now satisfied, and yet he did not move.  He thought on the words, on the revelation of Yashhan: beautiful, so precious were the words.  He did not want to forget them, and he did not want to return the book yet.  He wanted to read it more and more so that he would not forget. 
He thought of the Human child.  How could she not help but read it?  How could she not appreciate the revelation?  Why did she not thirst for it herself?  In his heart, and with his spirit, he lifted a wordless plea to Yashhan: that she would yearn for Him as he had all his life, and that she too would treasure His revelation, this Sacred Book, His spoken words.

      1:7

      Peace

      So the when morning came, I went to the Advocate's office to receive the instruction and to go over more details of what to expect; but I stopped and hesitated just outside of the big room when I heard their voices speaking in a language language I had never heard before. 
      Gjet, cit het heshtohl bva ishtahk."
          Sir, I cannot let you sacrifice yourself.
      "Ohl irmo sut bva kashdo wesh cit Morshaht. Kay bva akushtoh isht ikhmaht?
            For many years you have served me faithfully Morshaht. Will you now disregard my desire?
      "Het Gjet, cit ahet, akh istahk hish kishabv-"
          No sir, I will not. But to sacrifice the Human child!
      "Morshaht, ekh mahk tomei. Ekhimotu wosh shik tan. Kay bva elon Kai yah bvin?"
          Morshaht, that's not what this is about, is it? You know your position, your vow.
          Will you cast it so easily aside?
    "Het Gjet."
         No Sir.
    The door opened quickly and Morshaht stopped short, for he almost ran into me.  He looked very frustrated and turned to briskly walk away, leaving the door wide open.
    "Come in, Ms. Carter," the Advocate's voice calmly invited me.
I admit I should not have been eavesdropping, though they spoke foreign words, I still felt a bit guilty. 
      "I've never heard any language like that before," I confessed blushing.  "Will you teach me some of it?"
      He stopped and looked at me, thinking.  I didn't know whether he was considering to take the time or not, we had a lot to do.
         
        At her request he paused to think, gauging just what phrase would best fit her to learn.  It must be one that she would carry throughout her whole life, a proverb.  At last he spoke, gently in his high rigid voice, "Yash Subvaht het moishtah tohl.  Hish val mektoe."

         "Uh," I giggled realizing now just what I'd gotten myself into, however he was not deterred.
         "Yash," he repeated.
         "Yash," I said.
        "Subvaht."
         "Sufaht."
         "No, subvaht.  The 'bv' sounds similar to your 'f' but is formed like your 'b'. Your lips should not touch.  Just let the air blow through, bv."
         "Bv, subvaht."
         "Right."
         "OK," I started to feel like I could get this.
         "Het," he went on.
         "Het."
         "Moishtah."
         "Moishtah."
         "Tohl."
        "Tole."
         "Tohl is made in the back of the mouth, ohl."
         "Ohh."
         "Place an 'l' on the end of it."
        "Ohl, tohl."
         "Hish," he continued.
         "Hish."
         "Val."
        "Bval."
         "Val as in your letter 'V'."
         "Val."
        "Mektoe."
        "Mektohl."
         "Just 'oh'."
         "Mektoe."
         "Yes."
        "Yash - subvaht - het - moishtah - tohl, - hish - val - mektoe."
         "Yes."
         I smiled.  "What does it mean?"
         "Yash is truth, subvaht is peace, het is negative, moishtah - strife, tohl - gone, hish - it is (pertaining to someone) val - within, mektoe - spirit."
         "Truth - peace - not - strife - gone, - it is - within - spirit?"
        "Directly translated.  But a better understanding in your language would state: 'True peace is not the absence of strife, He is within.' You must understand the essence of the phrase
but put it into the words of your language.  That is how to correctly translate.  But if you are going to speak in Yeshmaht, it is best to think in its words."
         "How do I do that?"
         By speaking it with understanding. When you speak these words, speak them in place of your own language."
         I looked at him, puzzled.
         "When you say Yash, speak it in place of truth.  Make the new language yours. Do you understand?"
         "I think so, I am to speak yash understanding it is truth.  I don't translate in my mind."
         "Yes."
         I looked in wonder as I realized, "Wow, part of your name sounds like truth."
         "Yes, it is."
         "Yash-" I stopped, "I'd better not, I'll butcher it."
         "Makhna."
         I looked up.  He was still willing to teach me.
         "Makhna," he repeated.
        "Maknah."
         "The sound is made in the back of the throat."
        "Ma-kh-nah."
         "Yes."
        "Yash-makh-nah. What does it mean?" I asked slowly feeling I was perhaps getting too personal, asking the meaning of his name.
         He was not bothered at all, but answered freely, "Protector."
         "Truth Protector," I mused.
         "Or True Protector, either meaning is contained in yash."
         "Wow, it really fits," for he was the Interstellar Advocate of Indigenous Peoples.
         "Yes," he turned and pulled his chair to the table.  It was now time to get to business.

         "Karanasht, what does it mean?" I pondered aloud out of the blue. "I'm sorry," I realized I had spoken out of turn.
        "Son of Karanah," he explained graciously. "'Sh' followed by 't' means 'born of.' Karanah Shobveisht, Shobvei Nikasht, Nikah Kohn: the last ruler of the Yeshmaht before we left for Zador."
         I looked at him with new wonder.  He did come from a royal line.  He was of regal descent, but now he stared off distantly and it seemed that a shadow fell over his countenance.

      They came for him: hunted down his father in hopes of restoring their people
        on Shtohk to what they once were.
    He was the last of the line. 
        Only son of Shobvei,
            Only son of Nikah Kohn.
      When Karanah refused, they took his only son.
         
      "What is Zador like?"  I tried to change the subject.
         He removed his lenses and rubbed them with a cloth as he turned slightly profile, leaning back in his chair.  "That is hard to say."
         I was surprised at my boldness, but he did not seem bothered to answer my questions.  I was amazed by his seemingly endless patience.
         "What have you seen?" he asked, but he seemed to be talking to himself as he went on,  "Forests, lots of forests: tall evergreens, broad leaf bushes, lakes, grass, mountains, like some regions of your ancient Earth-" his voice trailed off and his gaze drifted to the window shaded by bright green trees. I realized that I had opened another bad door, for a different shadow seemed to come over him.
        As he stared distantly, I swallowed, feeling terrible and wondering how I was going to dig us out of this hole, but suddenly he brought himself out.  Turning our attention back to the work, we continued going over propper conduct and etiquette for the interview.

        That afternoon I stood before the door of the entrance to the House, waiting with the Advocate for the hovercraft.  He began to remind me,
         "Don’t fear your emotions,
         But stay strong as long as you can.
         You will be able to say more.
         They will want to hear from me,
         But I will direct the focus to you.
         This is your case."
        He was telling me this, but my mind- I felt faint and dizzy.
        "Sir," I spoke in a whisper, "I'm scared."  I didn't know how he would take my confession.  I felt so weak, a failure already, but it seemed he understood as he stopped at that moment, speaking hesitantly. 
        "Shall I, pray for you?"
        I was astonished at the gesture, but managed a nod.
      Without touching me, he stood, holding his hands over my shoulders and looking down. He closed his eyes and spoke quietly in his tongue, a true heart's prayer, "Ah Hohtah, Yashhan, kay bvah tan twosh bvohl abv hish dah, hish kishabv. Kay bvah eikhnah hish dah abvin.  Kay bvah tan twosh subvaht."
        My shaking stopped and I felt calm.  My fear mysteriously disappeared.  I felt comforted and safe, and a peace filled me.  It seemed like I was taller, yet still humble. 
      The hovercraft pulled up. 
      The Advocate looked at me questioningly as I opened my eyes for I had closed them too and smiled in gratitude, "Thank you." 
      When he saw that I was well, he turned towards the door, and held his hand to the side of my shoulder, as if he were going to lead me out, but still he did not touch me.  Morshaht opened the door and led the way and this time I walked in front of the Advocate with two associates at my side and two behind with the Advocate.

        Behind the screen, just before the interview he reminded me again of what he'd said before.
         "Don’t fear your emotions,
         But stay strong as long as you can,
         You will be able to say more.
         They will want to hear from me,
         But I will direct the focus to you.
         This is your case."

      1:8

        Media Interview

        "Good evening. This is Jordan Nelson reporting for UNKY-Gjel News and thank you for being with us this evening.  Tonight we have a very special guest and it is our honor to host the Great Advocate.  He is here representing one of our own, Kalisha Carter, in a special case involving an indigenous Cerai'i.  Welcome, Great Advocate," he turned toward him as we sat across the table.
         "Thank you," he replied, though he maintained his sullen composure.
        "Would you please explain this unique case to us?"  He continued speaking to him, just as the Advocate told me they would.
         "That would best come from Ms. Carter.  It comes from her own experience," he turned it over to me just as he said he would. 
        The reporter looked at me and asked.  "What is the story behind this case?  Why have you called on the Great Advocate for help?
        "Well, it all begins before I was born," I said, and I told my story. I was surprised to find it flowing easily from me.  My mind was sharp, and I felt strong.  I looked the man in the eyes, and only became slightly emotional at a few points: nothing like yesterday.  I was relieved and felt confident.  I was even able to explain about Hashkahnah, and how he did not resist arrest, even telling me to stop fighting the guards.
        When I had finished, the reporter looked at me, puzzled.  "So, if you forgive my question, I'm sure our audience wants to know, what is your motivation in all of this; do you need him?"
        I sat up, set my shoulders back, raised my chin and looked strongly at the reporter.
        "I don't need him.  He is my friend.  He has looked after me all these years, managed the property, and has shown great devotion to my family.  His own family has denounced him.  I am the only one he has left.  I must look after him now that he is old. He has no one else."  I blushed at this for it seemed disrespectful to call him 'old.' 
      At the time, I didn't realize how pivotal this statement was or how it would change my sob story into something stronger.
      "He is native to a planet with hot summers and mild winters," I added.  "He will not survive exile.  Sending him to Oshkan is a death sentence. How can I sit back and just let that happen?"
      "Then, it is your loyalty that drives you to fight for this case." Loyalty and duty was highly valued among Kershonians.
        I nodded, "Loyalty, gratitude, and love."  I felt the tears welling up and swallowed them back.
      "Have you appealed to the Heads of State?"  His voice held a gentler tone.
      "We went to the Prime Minister," I said holding back the frustration in my voice, "but he wouldn't do anything."
      "What about the Protection Act? Does it not protect him?"
      The Advocate spoke this time.  "The Interstellar Protection Act would protect him.  The Protection Act instated by the Union does not."
      "The Interstellar Protection Act, what is that?"
        Here the Advocate tread treacherous ground.  He proceeded carefully with his words.  "It is the Act that I originally brought to the Union Officials."
      "'Originally', you mean what we now have is not the same?"
      "No."
      "Please, explain."
      "They refused to accept the Interstellar Protection Act on the grounds that it allowed indigenous people the freedom to change from their traditional religion.  In order for them to accept any form of protection for the indigenous people, I was forced to compromise. This compromise is where the Cerai'i falls through."
      "This is personal for you as well."
      "It is."
      "What do you plan to do now?"
      "Tomorrow we will visit the Cerai'i in prison, at Del 4793.  Ms. Carter has not seen him since his arrest."
      I nodded looking down.
      "We ask for those who support us in this case to gather peacefully at the site as we go to visit him."
      "Well, Advocate, I must say this makes for a noble cause, and a compelling case." The Reporter shifted his weight and cut the interview short, though remaining cordial. "It will be interesting to see how it plays out.  You can be sure that we will be watching. Thank you Mr. Advocate, Ms. Carter." He shook our hands.
      "Thank you," said the Advocate.
      "Thank you," I said, and it was over, the second part of the mission. 

         
      Blue moonlight streamed into the room.  The Advocate lay awake remembering a forest with tall evergreens and broad-leafed shrubs.  He watched a shirtless seven-year-old Yeshmaht boy racing through the brush in pants and hair tied half way back in warrior fashion, and beating the trees and shrubs with a stick as if fighting.  He watched him run until he ran out of ground and stood looking out over a four-foot cliff into beautiful sky and a bright blue lake.  He could smell the warm breath of wind. 
      Suddenly something pushed him off the cliff into the cold water below. He came up sputtering and coughing.  A spunky fat and wrinkly creature laughed and cackled atop where he had just been.  It rolled about on the ground, making strange sounds and then cried "Ipabi!" and plunged into the water with him to begin a splashing match. 
He remembered wrestling with the roly-poly creature, though three times his size and observing their family doings: simply living among the elements of the forest, and he showed him his own home. 
         He remembered the night of the genocide when Ipabi, as he'd come to call him, secretly sought refuge in their home. 
         He remembered his father's vision and how his people repented, and sought to honor Ipabi, the last Zadorian in recompense, but he fell ill and died. 
         He remembered the fear in Ipabi's eyes, holding his friend's big clammy hands as he shook and uttered the last word he ever heard him say, "Babosh!"