Yet another installment. This thing is starting to get away from me (a shade over 10k words for my first draft). Hopefully some deft editing can tighten everything up and keep this a short story. On the other hand…
I had pored over the texts, drinking in their meaning like a man dying of thirst gulps water. “Where did they come from?” I asked. Trader families along the Yan River seldom enjoyed formal lessons; our education consisted of learning the sampan, bargaining and trade goods. Esoteric concepts were best left to the Jao Naam in their temple and traveling teachers plying their trade in the villages further downriver.
Akki answered my question with one of his own, “What did you think?”
I paused as if to weigh my words, but I already knew what I would say. “It sounds like a child’s story.” As long as I could remember, river traders spoke of the Jao Naam and their temple, Wat Rohm Glao, in hushed tones built of equal parts respect and suspicion. They seemed to be in one of two camps: Some claimed they wielded magic and controlled the river; others laughed at such superstitions and labeled the Jao Naam shamans. I had put away notions of magic when I began helping Father. After reading Akki’s texts, those thoughts resurfaced.
He nodded. “Anything else?”
“How do they get the magic?”
“Ah. There is something that you must witness to understand, or at least begin to understand.”
“Do you think the Jao Naam would let me see?”
Akki looked out on the languid current with me. “There is only one way to see it.”