Note to readers: “2200 Blues” is a novel in progress, and each chapter is an early draft in its unfolding journey. Your thoughts and reactions are invaluable, guiding its evolution and refinement. 2200 Blues © 2024 by G.R. Nanda. All rights reserved.
“If that Vramung slime is back here again, I want answers for where my brother went!” one of the young men said, his friend shouting in agreement.
“I’m not letting Vramung anywhere near here!” shouted another young man, interrupting the old man’s response. “My father nearly lost a leg for him!”
“This is not for you to handle, Hiru!” the old man shouted, though his voice was muffled by the restless young men surrounding him. “Don’t make it your business if it isn’t—aaaaiiiii! Where are you going? Come back!”
A few of the young men stopped shouting at the old man and now shouted at each other, calling on one another to leave, dashing through the opening at the village intersection.
“Get back here! You’re going to lose your heads!”
A mass of children spilled out of the nursery behind the smelting station. Two women rushed out of the hut, frantically herding the children as far away from the village center as more Thraíha folk rushed past Nickel.
“Hey, Nickel, where you going?”
A young boy by the name of Kyang slipped past Nickel. His small, round face still softened by youth, as he hadn’t yet reached the throes of adolescence. His small, narrow body seemed to leap over the ground in the single strides he took. He grinned at Nickel through wide-reaching gums and crooked teeth.
“Where are you going?” Nickel implored. A procession of priests rushed past Nickel on his left, their glittering robes embedded with jewels. They were chanting something in the Thraíha language, indecipherable to Nickel.
“Where everyone else is?” Kyang spoke as if unsure why Nickel was even asking.
“To the sentry-posts?” Nickel asked.
“No, you dumb worm, weren’t you at our hut?” Kyang asked.
“No, I was working at the farm,” Nickel said. Kyang squeezed his face and made a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a giggle.
“You’re always off doing something else,” Kyang snorted.
“Yeah, well, I’m older,” Nickel said, chuckling and waving his hands gently in the air before slapping them on his legs. “You’ll get there soon.”
Kyang eyed him with a tilted face. “Enjoy it while you can,” Nickel said, raising his eyebrows in emphasis. Before he could wait for Kyang to respond, Nickel was distracted by the murmuring of men speaking in Thraíha behind him.
“Háthrú hán gaá, ní chágrá hou.”
“Hátraín ná vakkuru háchú, ní chágrá ní hou.”
“Hátruú thri hána cha, ná háchaarru túrra.”
“We pray for you,” said one of the Thraíha priests chanting. “We pray for all of us, all Thraíha. May Great Father Hawk bless us and keep our spirits together in the face of the cast-out.” He whispered before breaking out into more mutterings in Thraíha.
A string of women walked in front of the men, carrying buckets of water over their heads. Nickel had seen them carry buckets every afternoon, but today they walked in a more hurried manner. It seemed that everyone was moving a lot faster, much more swift and hurried about their tasks—more agitated as they went on about their day. Nickel couldn’t tell where the workers ended and the Thraíha joining the patrol or seeking answers about the “Vramung” began.
“You know, I’ve been here longer than you.”
Nickel turned back around to look down at Kyang. His beaming face held a self-assuredness that Nickel had known in himself not long ago, one he still held within himself today, though with a greater understanding of how he had gotten himself into trouble. Kyang’s smile stretched wide across his face, making his youthful exuberance contagious.
“You just got here, but you act like you’ve known Akela and Father Hawk your whole life,” Kyang said.
Nickel couldn’t help but smile at that. “Really?” he asked, chuckling, his smile widening as he watched Kyang curiously.
“Hurry!” hissed a young woman who slipped around Kyang from behind him. “You have to get inside! You’ll get trampled by the patrolmen!”
It was the same young woman who had dressed Nickel in furs during the initiation rite. He recognized her from her slim, short figure and the dark flowing hair tousled by water. But it was her round face with almond eyes that gave her away to Nickel. She tugged at Kyang’s sleeve, and he followed her.
Amidst the chaos of the Thraíha village square, Nickel watched the young woman disappear into the crowd, his eyes trained on her short, wide-set curving frame—the gentle arch of her lower back through her flowing dress and her curving, muscly legs walking to and fro.
Nickel had never learned her name, and he didn’t know if he ever would. To him, she was as close to the singing sorceress in the flesh as he’d ever met. An enigma, as much so as the visions he’d witnessed.
“All clear out!” commanded a tall Thraíha woman in the formal garb of black dress and headwear from the Thraíha Council of Affairs. Knots of gathered women in similar garb swarmed around her, confronting a crowd of Thraíha amassed around the entrance of a random hut meant for traversing Thraíha miners. Men and women with pickaxes and shovels gathered around the front of the hut, confused by the women’s entrance and their ushering out of the Thraíha workers. It was strange that they weren’t gathering in the Oracle’s hut, where they would normally congregate for Council meetings.
“The end of time is here!” shouted Sybil, a crazed old man with wide eyes and a craggy block of long gray-white hair. He stood to the far right of the councilwoman and workers, daring to step into the fray of wandering Thraíha, standing right in their way.
“The Huntsman has sent another star hurtling towards us! The dying sun has finally met the dying earth. Father Hawk has finally come for the sins of the Past World!”
“Not the time!” shouted a woman rushing around him. “Get out of the way, you sleepy snake!”
More Thraíha rushed past, covering Sybil from view alongside the councilwomen.
“Vramung is the last omen of our demise!” screamed the old man.
“Go back to sleep, old man!” a man shouted.
“Nickel!”
Whirling around, Nickel saw Luvele struggling through the many throngs of Thraíha rushing through the square.
“Nickel!” she repeated. She was glowering, her pale face reddened by exertion and wide-eyed with anger. “Get back to the farm! Get out of here—” she grunted as she was pushed to the side by a running Thraíha. “Come back, or you’ll take a bath with the cows, and I’ll scrub all of you!”
Nickel’s eyes widened, and he cringed, mouth forming a grimace. The disgust took mere milliseconds to settle on him before he decided that he’d had enough of Luvele.
Wagering the risk, Nickel turned around and bolted through the crowd, joining the moving frenzy. Pushing past some Thraíha and being pushed by others, Nickel found the rush of Thraíha heading out through the right, out of the village.
Nickel broke through the crowd in the village circle, running past the opposite line of huts toward the gently rising mound of darkened rock.
Nickel was ready to find out what other outworlders roamed the Atlantic Canyons.
G.R. Nanda 