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Description

Nefut: Steps to Healing

by Bettina Lege

(For copyright of my cover see note below)

Table of contents

1. Seize the Opportunity
2. Return a Kindness
3. Accept every Circumstance
4. Embrace Change
5. Pursue a Plan
6. Act with Dedication

1. Seize the Opportunity

He wanted to take him to... to... Bussir.

Was this Bussir? He was lying under a blanket hung up to protect him from the sun, held by a simple rope tied to two date palms. One blanket on him, one under him; one... two water hoses and a food bag next to him. When he tried to get up, the movement made his whole back burn, but he stood up anyway because he couldn't discern anything while lying down.

A small, uninhabited oasis, a drinking trough with a water wheel next to the well, a few more palm trees and boulders that looked like ruined houses. This really did seem to be Bussir. The sun was low over a distant mountain range, which must be the Dragon's Back, beyond which lay the Circle Sea. So that was the East and it was early morning.

'I'll take you to the caravan route, to Bussir,' the doctor had said. 'The black ink has faded, with these clothes everyone will take you for a city dweller.' He looked down at himself, a slightly more than knee-length undergarment with a frayed button placket, a flimsy sash as a belt, trousers made of thin fabric, sandals - no boots - and between the blankets lay a striped bundle of cloth: a cloak with a hood. Now he was nothing. Why should he bother following the doctor's advice to look for a caravan to start a new life somewhere else?

Coins tinkled and fell to the blanket as he picked up the coat to put it on. He counted, it was just under one Tar. A fortune for a penniless outcast. Apparently the doctor really wanted him to continue the unexpected gift of survival a little bit.

'I'll take the first caravan that arrives here, no matter where it goes,' he promised the absent doctor in his mind. His efforts deserved to be honoured. Perhaps it was also a promise to the gods, who apparently weren't finished with him yet. 'And at the caravan's destination, I'll speak to the first person I see there and do what he asks of me.' The gods should decide what to do with him.

Unconsciously, he stroked his hand over his skull, feeling the almost finger-length hair. Again too long for a man, he thought, but then he forbade himself to think about the author of this hairstyle and vowed not to cut his hair again until the end of his life, which would probably be soon. However, the unthinkable thoughts still made it into his head and the hopelessness of his situation pulled at his limbs like an unbearable weight. The thoughts circled and circled, creating a frightening darkness, but at some point he realized that he was watching a small beetle, which seemed to have no shade, burrowing into the dry earth between small stones and individual blades of grass: the sun already had reached its zenith.

He stood up and discovered a dark spot on the southern horizon that was rapidly growing larger. So there was the caravan he would be travelling with. He rolled up the blankets and made himself a bundle with the rope, to which he also tied the food bag and the water hoses. Ready to travel, he awaited the arrival of his caravan in the shade of the palm trees.

Within sight of the oasis, the loaded camels quickened their pace so that the accompanying riders on their exhausted horses only caught up with them at the empty drinking trough. Ten camels, six horses - and three Oshey, whose foreheads were painted with the three vertical lines of Mehaly. The two young men immediately began to fill the trough.

"Hey, lend a hand," the one with the grey beard urged him on Taribit.

So he dropped his bundle and helped pulling the scoop wheel to increase the flow of water into the empty trough. Even if it made his back burn like fire.

*

When the animals were satisfied and while the other two men were also refreshing themselves, the grey-bearded man from the wildcat tribe turned to him again. "You've helped out, thank you. I am Isan Mehaly, I lead this caravan, the other two are my sons. What's your name?"

His back felt as if the wounds had almost all been torn open again and the blood was seeping out. If it was going to discolour the fabric of the cloak, he found himself in need of an explanation. "My name is Nefut," he replied after a moment of pondering whether he was still Nefut at all. "I come from Menrish." The city was only a few hours' journey from Bussir, so that should explain his presence in this uninhabited oasis sufficient.

The Mehaly grinned. "And do you want to go north or south?"

The caravan had come from the south. "I want to go north," Nefut replied.

"Our destination is Taribai in the Grass Mountains, tonight we'll spend the night in the Camel Oasis. If you keep helping, you can come with us."

Taribai was at least a good distance from the tribal areas. Nefut nodded and slapped into the Mehaly's outstretched hand.

*

Isan's sons were about Nefut's age, more distant towards him than their father, but kind enough not to let him realize that he didn't really belong, by speaking Taribit instead of using their tribal dialect while he was around. And after the sun had passed its zenith and the animals and men were sufficiently refreshed, they set off.

While the others checked the fastening of the loads, Nefut was given the task of looking after a somewhat wilful camel mare who refused to get up from her resting place. Nefut looked her in the eye, and she looked back under the remaining winter fur on her head with a dignity, that reminded him of his grandmother Marat. That made him smile. The camel snorted at him, and he scratched the mare's head, loosening large shreds of winter coat. She closed her eyes and snorted again, stretching her mouth upwards and offering him her long neck with a beard of winter fur that would have made a hundred-year-old saint envious. Nefut grabbed the wool with both hands and rubbed so hard that much of the loose fur actually came off, but the skin over his shoulder blades also began to burn again. But the camel seemed to enjoy it, so Nefut continued until the mare got up and walked leisurely to the others.

Fortunately, the urban undergarment the doctor had him left with, was slit to the hip, so he could easily mount the horse Isan offered him. But the unfamiliar sandals, which offered no reasonable support in the stirrups and above all no protection for his shins, were a challenge he would have to face.

*

The camel mare's name was Firat, Isan told him as they rode side by side, and Nefut had to laugh at the ways of the gods to keep from crying.

"What's so funny about that?" the Mehaly asked, even though Nefut's laughter at least made him grin.

Nefut managed to calm himself down with a few breaths. "Because she's so much more dignified and friendly than the last Firat I met."

"And certainly more honest and loyal," added Isan, who could probably guess, that Nefut was talking about a woman.

"Definitely," Nefut agreed with him. Firat the camel mare would never have been his undoing.

* * *

You want to read more? You find chapter 2 here: www.deviantart.com/blege22/art…

Copyright of my cover above:

The sculpture on the cover: Photo of a small sculpture (8.89 cm high) made of a copper alloy depicting a Bactrian camel, found in the 'Bactria-Margiana Archaeological Complex' (BMAC), named after the region's ancient names or - after a river in the region - the 'Oxus culture', a Bronze Age culture in the Karakum Desert in today's Turkmenistan and parts of Afghanistan (Central Asia), which probably between 2200 and 1700 BC existed, an isolated and edited version of the photo was used.
Origin/Rights: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, acquired from Edward Safani in 1953, Accession Number: 53.117.1, licensed under Public Domain (creativecommons.org/publicdoma… ),
I used the image images.metmuseum.org/CRDImages… , I cropped the object with GIMP, gave it a black background and rotated it a bit, 2022, www.metmuseum.org/art/collecti… .

The cover itself I made 2023 with GIMP and MS Paint, for Latin letters I used MS Segoe Print (© 2008 The Monotype Corporation. All Rights Reserved) (learn.microsoft.com/en-us/typo… ), since the font was bought together with my Windows 10 Pro-Licence in 2016, MS allows using them free, even on the internet, even for commercial uses (learn.microsoft.com/en-us/typo… ).
For the Sogdian letters, which impersonate the letters of my fantasy-language 'Taribit', saying 'Nefut' on the cover, I used 'Noto Sans Sogdian' (Copyright 2012 Google Inc. All Rights Reserved) (fonts.google.com/noto/specimen… ), the use of this Google font is regulated by the SIL Open Font Licence Version 1.1 from 2007 (openfontlicense.org/ ), this means, among other things, that I am permitted to use my graphics created with Sogdian characters freely, including on the Internet.

The German version of this story I wrote between 2017 and 2022, the English version of the story I made in 2024 with help of Google Translator (enhanced vocabulary) and 'Language Tool' (spell check).

Description

Nefut: Steps to Healing

by Bettina Lege

(For copyright of my cover see note below)

Table of contents

1. Seize the Opportunity
2. Return a Kindness
3. Accept every Circumstance
4. Embrace Change
5. Pursue a Plan
6. Act with Dedication

1. Seize the Opportunity

He wanted to take him to... to... Bussir.

Was this Bussir? He was lying under a blanket hung up to protect him from the sun, held by a simple rope tied to two date palms. One blanket on him, one under him; one... two water hoses and a food bag next to him. When he tried to get up, the movement made his whole back burn, but he stood up anyway because he couldn't discern anything while lying down.

A small, uninhabited oasis, a drinking trough with a water wheel next to the well, a few more palm trees and boulders that looked like ruined houses. This really did seem to be Bussir. The sun was low over a distant mountain range, which must be the Dragon's Back, beyond which lay the Circle Sea. So that was the East and it was early morning.

'I'll take you to the caravan route, to Bussir,' the doctor had said. 'The black ink has faded, with these clothes everyone will take you for a city dweller.' He looked down at himself, a slightly more than knee-length undergarment with a frayed button placket, a flimsy sash as a belt, trousers made of thin fabric, sandals - no boots - and between the blankets lay a striped bundle of cloth: a cloak with a hood. Now he was nothing. Why should he bother following the doctor's advice to look for a caravan to start a new life somewhere else?

Coins tinkled and fell to the blanket as he picked up the coat to put it on. He counted, it was just under one Tar. A fortune for a penniless outcast. Apparently the doctor really wanted him to continue the unexpected gift of survival a little bit.

'I'll take the first caravan that arrives here, no matter where it goes,' he promised the absent doctor in his mind. His efforts deserved to be honoured. Perhaps it was also a promise to the gods, who apparently weren't finished with him yet. 'And at the caravan's destination, I'll speak to the first person I see there and do what he asks of me.' The gods should decide what to do with him.

Unconsciously, he stroked his hand over his skull, feeling the almost finger-length hair. Again too long for a man, he thought, but then he forbade himself to think about the author of this hairstyle and vowed not to cut his hair again until the end of his life, which would probably be soon. However, the unthinkable thoughts still made it into his head and the hopelessness of his situation pulled at his limbs like an unbearable weight. The thoughts circled and circled, creating a frightening darkness, but at some point he realized that he was watching a small beetle, which seemed to have no shade, burrowing into the dry earth between small stones and individual blades of grass: the sun already had reached its zenith.

He stood up and discovered a dark spot on the southern horizon that was rapidly growing larger. So there was the caravan he would be travelling with. He rolled up the blankets and made himself a bundle with the rope, to which he also tied the food bag and the water hoses. Ready to travel, he awaited the arrival of his caravan in the shade of the palm trees.

Within sight of the oasis, the loaded camels quickened their pace so that the accompanying riders on their exhausted horses only caught up with them at the empty drinking trough. Ten camels, six horses - and three Oshey, whose foreheads were painted with the three vertical lines of Mehaly. The two young men immediately began to fill the trough.

"Hey, lend a hand," the one with the grey beard urged him on Taribit.

So he dropped his bundle and helped pulling the scoop wheel to increase the flow of water into the empty trough. Even if it made his back burn like fire.

*

When the animals were satisfied and while the other two men were also refreshing themselves, the grey-bearded man from the wildcat tribe turned to him again. "You've helped out, thank you. I am Isan Mehaly, I lead this caravan, the other two are my sons. What's your name?"

His back felt as if the wounds had almost all been torn open again and the blood was seeping out. If it was going to discolour the fabric of the cloak, he found himself in need of an explanation. "My name is Nefut," he replied after a moment of pondering whether he was still Nefut at all. "I come from Menrish." The city was only a few hours' journey from Bussir, so that should explain his presence in this uninhabited oasis sufficient.

The Mehaly grinned. "And do you want to go north or south?"

The caravan had come from the south. "I want to go north," Nefut replied.

"Our destination is Taribai in the Grass Mountains, tonight we'll spend the night in the Camel Oasis. If you keep helping, you can come with us."

Taribai was at least a good distance from the tribal areas. Nefut nodded and slapped into the Mehaly's outstretched hand.

*

Isan's sons were about Nefut's age, more distant towards him than their father, but kind enough not to let him realize that he didn't really belong, by speaking Taribit instead of using their tribal dialect while he was around. And after the sun had passed its zenith and the animals and men were sufficiently refreshed, they set off.

While the others checked the fastening of the loads, Nefut was given the task of looking after a somewhat wilful camel mare who refused to get up from her resting place. Nefut looked her in the eye, and she looked back under the remaining winter fur on her head with a dignity, that reminded him of his grandmother Marat. That made him smile. The camel snorted at him, and he scratched the mare's head, loosening large shreds of winter coat. She closed her eyes and snorted again, stretching her mouth upwards and offering him her long neck with a beard of winter fur that would have made a hundred-year-old saint envious. Nefut grabbed the wool with both hands and rubbed so hard that much of the loose fur actually came off, but the skin over his shoulder blades also began to burn again. But the camel seemed to enjoy it, so Nefut continued until the mare got up and walked leisurely to the others.

Fortunately, the urban undergarment the doctor had him left with, was slit to the hip, so he could easily mount the horse Isan offered him. But the unfamiliar sandals, which offered no reasonable support in the stirrups and above all no protection for his shins, were a challenge he would have to face.

*

The camel mare's name was Firat, Isan told him as they rode side by side, and Nefut had to laugh at the ways of the gods to keep from crying.

"What's so funny about that?" the Mehaly asked, even though Nefut's laughter at least made him grin.

Nefut managed to calm himself down with a few breaths. "Because she's so much more dignified and friendly than the last Firat I met."

"And certainly more honest and loyal," added Isan, who could probably guess, that Nefut was talking about a woman.

"Definitely," Nefut agreed with him. Firat the camel mare would never have been his undoing.

* * *

You want to read more? You find chapter 2 here: www.deviantart.com/blege22/art…

Copyright of my cover above:

The sculpture on the cover: Photo of a small sculpture (8.89 cm high) made of a copper alloy depicting a Bactrian camel, found in the 'Bactria-Margiana Archaeological Complex' (BMAC), named after the region's ancient names or - after a river in the region - the 'Oxus culture', a Bronze Age culture in the Karakum Desert in today's Turkmenistan and parts of Afghanistan (Central Asia), which probably between 2200 and 1700 BC existed, an isolated and edited version of the photo was used.
Origin/Rights: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, acquired from Edward Safani in 1953, Accession Number: 53.117.1, licensed under Public Domain (creativecommons.org/publicdoma… ),
I used the image images.metmuseum.org/CRDImages… , I cropped the object with GIMP, gave it a black background and rotated it a bit, 2022, www.metmuseum.org/art/collecti… .

The cover itself I made 2023 with GIMP and MS Paint, for Latin letters I used MS Segoe Print (© 2008 The Monotype Corporation. All Rights Reserved) (learn.microsoft.com/en-us/typo… ), since the font was bought together with my Windows 10 Pro-Licence in 2016, MS allows using them free, even on the internet, even for commercial uses (learn.microsoft.com/en-us/typo… ).
For the Sogdian letters, which impersonate the letters of my fantasy-language 'Taribit', saying 'Nefut' on the cover, I used 'Noto Sans Sogdian' (Copyright 2012 Google Inc. All Rights Reserved) (fonts.google.com/noto/specimen… ), the use of this Google font is regulated by the SIL Open Font Licence Version 1.1 from 2007 (openfontlicense.org/ ), this means, among other things, that I am permitted to use my graphics created with Sogdian characters freely, including on the Internet.

The German version of this story I wrote between 2017 and 2022, the English version of the story I made in 2024 with help of Google Translator (enhanced vocabulary) and 'Language Tool' (spell check).