The chorus was unearthly. I was continually astonished at what the Yeola-e two-voiced singers could do, not only alone, but in chorus and with a chorus of single voiced singers. Perhaps I would ask Assembly to send some to Arko, if they pleased to perform, or perhaps some korashun would wish to pay their way in hopes of acquiring the stadium revenues. Next to me, Serina Si Rusa was moved to tears and hid them behind her swan’s down fan.
It was a pleasant fall day, apparently the first snow having melted almost completely, since their Warrior Games. We would have to travel back to Arko keeping the weather carefully in mind, once this important ceremony was over.
Chevenga looked pale as if he were about to faint, even as there was this wild air acrobatics show by a hundred of wings over Terera Square. Then the woman General, Emao-e, began listing Chevenga’s career and she told all of us of every award he would have received if he had been getting instead of giving them out.
He truly tried not to listen, or attend, but caught enough of what she said for the apples of his cheeks to wax and wane from red to pink to pale and back again.
I made a note to myself to do some research about all the various Yeoli awards possible, along with the ones she mentioned. Of course Chevenga wouldn’t think to award himself anything. If Surya had to convince him he deserved to live, he certainly wasn’t going to give himself any kind of award for anything more minor. They sounded every bit as intriguing as a Ray of Gold with Arrow Cluster given for action saving many, or A Shadowed Heart, which was given only posthumously. Every honour, every medallion marking an action, every citation, hides a story, or a multitude of stories.
When the adakri, the holder of the crystal or the one who held order over the whole mad circus, held up the Award that the Assembly of Yeola-e had come up with for Chevenga, I looked at him and wondered if Kall had put a hand on his back to keep him from keeling over backwards, disappearing into the crowd of dignitaries on the platform.
The adakri held up the award in its box, to catch the sun. “Each part of the award has a specific meaning," she said. "Like the award it is based on, we chose a crystal circle to mimic, in miniature, the Circle of Yeola-e, the crystal state of ‘rya-kya’- that ‘everything/nothing’ thing they go on about – The centre is the ruby to symbolize the living beating heart of the country, crossed by the crystal sword upright, in defense of that centre in time of war. We chose a red ribbon to symbolize the blood shed and the pain borne for those actions of defense.” She raised it out of its box and displayed it, swinging from her raised hands, winking as it swung in the wind off the mountains.
We were close enough, even below, that I could see Chevenga swallow before he bent his head to have the medallion arranged on his chest by the adakri. She settled it with a pat like a housewife smoothing bedlinens. I had to smile. There, Cheng. Take that and throw it back at them, I dare you. This is part of the tidying up after the war. It’s only been five years.
Someone behind us began bellowing ‘Speech! Talk to us, Chevenga! Speech!”
This was yesterday's post, that I couldn't put up because I think the thunderstorms in Tulsa knocked out our internet. I will do today's post later.