K'Normia Memories

[rosetto 0]

Okay, the best time Sal and Harriet ever had together was at a resort on Robinson Bay. This was a beautiful facility and had been run totally by the natives of Westen. Their culture was a mix between Kapellan and Polynesian. It was rich with dance and feasting but had an underlining power structure that most outsiders knew little about.

 

Because of Westen's natural beauty, much of it had been left undeveloped. Near the equator were jungles that few outlanders ever set foot. Further south were the wilds and the human populations there diminished as one neared the pole. You see, Westen is a long and relatively narrow expanse of land that stretches from the mid northern latitudes diagonally downward toward the south polar regions. On the map it reminded Sal of the 'boot' of Italy, that ancient European state of Earth where his great grandfather was supposedly born. But Westen was nothing like Italy. It was wild and forbidding.

 

The most beautiful thing that Sal had ever seen was in the mountains just south of Robinson Bay. Prylor Waterfalls fell 400 meters and spread and cascaded over many kilometers of stone that were larger than man. The stones appeared loosely arranged as if just randomly tossed here and there. Yet they were of the same ilk; they obviously came from the same place. Burnt orange in color with streaks of silver and coal black, the water sparkled as it poured over them. Sal stood in awe with Harriet's hand in his. He wished that they were alone but then remembered that this was Westen. There was safety in numbers and the falls edged the wilds.

 

To the north was Gossit Bay which separated Osten from Westen. The waters here were filled with sailing craft with colorful and wind-filled sails. Harriet had learned as a child and took Sal gently across. He simply leaned in his hammock and sipped his cool tea while she expertly glided them from Suncoast to Port Ismuth. She looked incredible in her little orange bikini with her dark curly hair bouncing off her neck.

 

'Where did those days go?', he thought as he finished his Rom Ale and headed in to get another.

 

 

The two of them were seated on the ground adjacent one another as was tradition for man & wife in Westen. Their legs were crossed, Indian style and Harry held a glass of dark red wine as they watched the performers spin fire. Westen dance was more theatrical than rhythmic; a physical opera. Three main characters, two males and a female, carried the plot and narrated the story with their motions. Twirling batons of fire spun freely and were thrown high into the night air.

 

“She was on an adventure of virtue”, explained Harry, “and her two male companions were in competition for her heart. See? That gesture with his hands? It means that, well, he desires her. He wants her to share his bed.”

 

The woman spun like a top with firesticks in either hand. Her skin was a rich chocolate brown and it shimmered in the firelight and Sal watched as her eyes slowly scanned the crowd. The jewels in her skirt caused reflections to dart about the audience as she moved her curved body to the primitive steel drums.

 

The one male in green had a baton balanced on his neck and he spun it around as he bobbed his head up and down. The two balls of flame at the ends formed a rich circle that seemed to dance with the music. She was focused on him with her motions though her eyes never left the crowd. The drums echoed deeply into the jungle. They were so loud that nothing had over-powered their vibrations.

 

The other male had disappeared moments ago. He now returned with a troupe of dancers, all women dressed in flaming costume. They somersaulted and cart-wheeled across the open arena with various objects afire in their hands and on their feet. The mood had changed and the drums suddenly stopped as the leading man grabbed the woman and lifted her into the air with his strong arms. She had a firestick in her teeth as he carried her off into the darkness. There was a moment of silence, an explosion, a woman’s scream and then there was nothing. No drums. No sounds what so ever. Not even the nightbirds that traditionally filled the evening were heard.

 

Sal looked at Harry in confusion. He didn’t know whether this was part of the performance or not. He could see that she was just as confused as she cocked her head in response. They looked around and saw that the crowd was dispersing; the dancers had all stopped and doused their fires. She set down her wine and came into his arms.

 

“What the heck is going on?” He asked.

 

“I have no idea, Hon. My father told me that Westen mating was traditionally secretive and violent. It had never been recorded and no outlander had ever witnessed the act. The Westen never bred outside their species.”

 

They were humanoid, for certain, and their skin tones were a very dark chocolate red. They had elongated fingers and were usually no higher than 150 centimeters. Harriet knew some of their native language and she called their server over to the table. The two spoke in the native tongue and also with their arms. Sal could see concern in the young native’s face as she tried to explain the situation to Harry.

 

“What’s she…”, Harriet interrupted him with her hand and returned to the woman’s plight. He just looked around and began to gather their things as he knew this night’s entertainment was concluded. He picked up her rose-shaped sunglasses and placed them into their bag. Then he motioned to another server to retrieve their wraps from the cloak. The women continued to chat. It had seemed to be very complicated and Harry sat back on her laurels and cocked her head several times. Sal picked up his wine glass and finished it off. He handed it to the server who walked up with their jackets and offered them in exchange. He nodded to her and she smiled but he could tell that she too was concerned and almost embarrassed by the recent events.

 

to be continued...

Edited June 21, 2010 by rosetto