Legs spread, arms stretched in weird angles, Jerry was a grotesque marionette. Weirder still was Pratt, crouched behind a single gas cylinder stove upon which sat a rather considerable sized pot, which was spitting out continuous clouds of steam.
"Where'd he get those from?"
I was pointing at Pratt. Dia smiled, as if waiting for me get the answer by myself.
"That's his luggage?" I asked, disbelievingly.
I didn't need Dia to answer.
As difficult as it was to believe, I wasn't complaining. Pratt prepared broth. It was the finest broth I had ever tasted in all of my short life. Jerry's expression of being lost in the taste said the same. His life was much longer. And that was much better evidence of the broth being truly the most delectable.
After breakfast, we set off. The twins took the front. Jerry and I were in the back. Resting. Sleeping.
When I woke, the sun was high. We were on flat road, driving through vast green fields. I had no trouble recognising the paddy fields of Juwar. Also, Jerry was speaking about Juwar.
"The drought was excuse enough for Markandur's campaign against the fiefs. The people were hungry enough to accept his words as divine doctrine, desperate enough to bear arms and head off to battle. It was the largest army the fiefs had ever seen across the battlefield. It might be an army of untrained civilians, but the sheer size was terrifying. For every soldier of the fiefs, there were twenty, sometimes even twenty five, in the invading army. Markandur stood at the head of a tsunamic wave that swept through the fiefs unhindered. It seemed like the heavens did favour Markandur. It is said that on the last day of the last battle against the final resisting fief, the moment victory belonged to Markandur and his people, the skies split and an unending rain fell that washed away the faintest shadow of the drought. It was the start of the blue era."
"Why are we discussing the blue era?" Pratt asked.
He was resting, with his seat pushed back far. Dia was driving, without the slightest hesitation over her not having a license.
"What bearing does it have on the Faery civilisation?"
Jerry didn't answer immediately. He saw that I was awake, gave me a smile and a wink. And only then, started with the answer.
"Consider the epic rendition of Markandur's campaign written by Faws, four generations later. Faws writes about dark heavens and blue lands, the inversion of all life, and he uses a curious little phrase, which translates as, in the shadows of the receding death blossomed the promise of a brighter spark of life. Brighter spark of life, that's a construct that's very uncommon to the era. Even more so to the flatlands. It doesn't occur in any other literature of any generation of the blue era. Which is evidence in itself of Faws referencing older literature. The bright spark of life, if you consider the structure of the phrase, it certainly bears evidence of an idea, like an elemental. And it also bears resemblance to pictorial. It is almost like an intersection of the two forms. And where else do we see an interaction of two distinct forms?"
"Faery," Dia answered immediately.
"That's a stretch," Pratt said, clearly expressing doubt. "It could just be a phrase, or structuring, learned and borrowed. Doesn't have to bear a connection with Faery."
"Oh yes, you're right," Jerry agreed. "I'm not saying there is any such connection. I'm just making a comparison. It is an observation in light of the duality of Faery, which is where we're headed. An indulgence of idle mind."
"Not necessarily," I said, surprising the twins.
"Morning sleepy head," Pratt greeted, grinning at me. "You sleep really well. You didn't wake through Jerry and Dia arguing over the Yurks' treachery. You didn't wake as we stopped for freshly made cold paddy broth. Most impressively, you didn't wake at any of the tolls. I salute thee."
"He's just jealous," Dia said.
Jerry nodded vigorously, like there was no greater truth.
Pratt pouted.
"I'm not," he said strongly. "But even if I was, I wasn't expressing the jealousy. It was genuine praise. Don't believe her. It's actually her who's jealous, that she couldn't give the praise. Like I scored the browny points. She can't accept the defeat."
"Right," Dia commented. "No jealousy at all. Which is why you've turned it into a contest for points."
Pratt was defeated.
"Ignore them," Jerry said. "They're just being foolish. Like they've been, all morning."
Dia nodded in agreement.
"Yes. We're being foolish. We didn't realise we could try having broth by hand. We didn't mistake the school pass for the toll pass, so we had to pay. We didn't try to paint the central flatlands as the paradise of wars, owing to the age of red and the coming of the blue era, while forgetting the northlands and the stormy kingdoms of the islands of Beru. Of course, we've been foolish. All morning. And we are still being foolish."
Jerry was silenced.
"Right, Dean, you were saying?"
Finally, it was as if it was just Dia and I. I wasn't averse to the idea.
"Irrespective of whichever form we choose, none offers room for such structure. Bright spark of life. The phrase bears two distinct ideas. Spark of life can be a linguistic construct or an elemental block. Bright spark is pictorial. The conjunction requires a breaking of the rules that stand as high walls. Breaking through the walls is not something that can be done by an individual. And since, Faws was the only one who used the phrase, he was alone. It certainly wasn't his lone doing. And so, he must definitely have learned it. But consider his life. Faws never went beyond the borders of Filecius, the city he was born in. It was the one greatest disadvantage he had to contend with all his life, that he had to accept. We also know that the blue era was a period of indulgence in a feeling of superiority, which was especially evident in the culture and literature. That leaves one place Faws could borrow the phrase from. The literature of old."
"A very interesting idea," Jerry praised. "Especially when you combine it with the idea that Filecius was the cradle for ancient literature during the blue era. It was like one huge library, with books brought in everyday in numbers so large that they weren't able to categorise them. That is also why civilisations of old are painted in such confusing pictures by the academicians of the blue era. They were truly confused."
"If we do extend to all of the blue era," I picked up. "We can draw a parallel with Invarius of the city of Jurza. He discussed philosophy from the tone of a novice looking through the thick book of knowledge and struggling with everything he reads. There are several curious phrases he uses. Several ideas he writes about that were alien to the blue era."
The twins had had enough. At least Pratt certainly did.
"What does any of that have to do with Faery?" He asked.
Jerry and I looked at each other, battling over who was to answer. I won.
"Nothing," Jerry admitted reluctantly.
"Then stop showing off," Pratt said sharply.
And that was the end.