Duty-Family-Home Stone

Over the years I have developed a motto: Duty-Family-Home Stone. I came to this through the intercession of Drusilla's lessons, Abu's example and the realization that life is worth living only if one has motive.

Duty is the price one pays for freedom. Selflessness does not always equate to altruism. Obligation and accountability are rewarded with Honor and Honor is the keystone of my caste. Even the tedious, mundane tasks one must perform in service to others can be a boon to one.

Many think that the life of an Ubar's child must be frivolous and pampered. Surely the children of wealth and power know privilege, as I did. I lacked for nothing in material goods. Too often, however, I, as I am sure others of my ilk would attest, took second place when duty required my father's presence.

Many times I resented those citizens who clamored for the Ubar's judgement, wisdom, attention. But as I matured I began to understand why he allowed the masses unfettered access. I have bristled at a lower caste person addressing with me without the honorific Lady. I have also learned to take such affront as unintentioned insult from the citizens of Schendi~Ushindi.

An Ubar's citizens are, by extension, his children. They look to him for guidance, protection, assurance. Some great men, like my father, go even beyond the basics expected by his subjects. They cherish each one -- from the strongest warrior to the poorest peasant. By example, I learned to honor them as Killian does. With wealth comes responsibility. With privilege comes obligation. I, who was born to eminence and prerogative, owe a duty, both as the representative of my father, my Ubar, and as a human to those less fortunate. Charity and service are lessons deeply ingrained.

Family is the foundation on which one builds a life. Whether in joyful celebration or the throes of heated debate, families ultimately love one another. Blood will out.

Adored and doted upon during my childhood by Abu, I did not miss the lack of a mother (that emotion would not conflict me until I found that she was indeed alive). With the love of my Uncle Arioch, my grandfather and great-grandparents, the camaraderie of my cousins, I was nurtured in abundance.

All families have their disagreements from time to time. The Storms are certainly no exception. On occasion I have known the disappointment of my father. The recollection of those episodes can still make me cringe with shame. Certainly I have been subject to the wrath and antipathy of his companions. They are only unhappy memories now, but my family is still strong.

Some would say I am fortunate that my father's Ubarate has been at peace so long, that his unassailable position has not made it necessary for him to companion me to someone for political gain. I do not disagree; but at times I fear that men often feel unworthy to seek to contract with an Ubar's daughter.

I am a woman of the rarius caste. Without children of my own, I have performed my duty to my caste by helping to instill the codes in my brothers, nephews and cousins. My maternal instincts led me to serve as surrogate for cousins who lost their mothers. This is what family does. Despite any differences we may have, I would stand by my own against any enemy.

Home - Home Stone, the two are interchangeable. Whether it be the hovel of the peasant with a tiny pebble placed in reverence on the hearth, the mighty estate where a polished stone rests in splendor on a plinth or a city's symbolic monument so sacred a slave may not look upon it, the Home Stone inspires chauvinism. From the youngest child with a stick, a farmer with his a rake, a free woman with her frying pan, to the mightiest of rarii with sword and spear, the preservation of our beloved Home Stone comes naturally to each citizen. Touting her praises comes easily to the tongues of her people.

The Home Stone of Schendi~Ushindi is black volcanic rock, the same rock that rain and waves have pulverized into the fine grain that composes her black beaches. Although I have seen much of this world, there is no where else I would rather live. She is truly a tropical paradise. We have the bounty of Thassa and the rivers, the largess of her fertile soil, the plenty of her fauna. Warmth year round and daily showers give us the splendor of vivid, colorful flora and aromas to soothe the senses. Deep beneath her surface, she harbors sapphires and diamonds, emeralds and rubies to adorn the wide world. Her jungles produce the myriad of herbs that physicians require to bring healing and the cocoa beans that tempt the palette of young and old alike.

I am a daughter of Schendi. She provides for me. I cannot take for granted such generosity. Raised to be an ubara, I may never hold that privilege. Yet I have found my place in service to my Home Stone. I stand at the Ubar's side for state occasions. His doyenne, it is I who plan his outings and parties, greet official guests, welcome visitors and express the Ubar's congratulations or condolences with gifts to friends and citizens, allies and associates throughout the world.

This then is my mantra, the cause that gives purpose to my life. My duty, my family, my Home Stone.

Walk into splintered sunlight
Inch you way through dead dreams to another land
Maybe you're tired and broken
Your tongue is twisted with words half spoken and thoughts unclear
What do you want me to do
To do for you to see you through?
A box of rain will ease the pain
And love will see you through

Its just a box of rain --
wind and water --
Believe it if you need it,
If you don't just pass it on

From Box of Rain by R. Hunter and P. Lesh, (c) Ice Nine Publishing

The Coming of a Storm

I come from a mighty line of Storm's out of the North. My great-grandparents, Daemon and Drusilla, founded the family in the hidden city of Treve. Their second son, Kane, branched to the south and helped tame paradise -- the grand city of Schendi. His sons, Arioch and Killian, have ruled for more than fifty years.

Kane, the epitome of the puissant rarius, became enamored of a beautiful, purple-eyed woman, Phoebe, a singer of the Machaka tribe of the Ushindi. Their son Killian, my sire, inherited her gift for music, her love of poetry and her open-hearted spirit. Alas, circumstances and custom conspired against him. His birthright was the sword and mantle of authority; the arts would be demoted to avocation. Abu has taken many companions. None has had the tenacity, spirit and indomitable will to withstand the scrutiny of his pre-eminence or the comparison to the paragon Phoebe.

I am not Killian's first born, though I am the eldest of the his surviving children. My brother Alexander was murdered in utero by his mother only days before he was to be born. He will ever be mourned. The melodramatic details of my own birth do not merit iteration herein. Let it serve the tale to know only that Sigh Honoria Xenos, a scribe, bore me. I was given to believe she died shortly thereafter. Needless to say, I was disabused of that notion many years after reaching majority. From Killian, I have two half-brothers and from Sigh four younger half-brothers (interestingly, those four are also Storms by blood, sons of my great-uncle Kaleb). Though we speak of her no more, I had an adopted sister who was dear to me.

I have been my father's darling since the moment of my birth. I have known the glory of his praise, the warmth of his love, the generosity of his heart and the wrath of his will. Disdained by subsequent companions and heedless of the briberies of those who unsuccessfully attempted to join Abu, I thrived on his attention and sought to be the quintessential noblewoman.

My first memories are of song -- Abu's voice in lullabies, the trilling of his czehar late in the night as he lulled away the oppressive burdens of daily sovereignty. His patience never wore thin as he taught three-year old hands to strum and pluck my first miniature kalika. Simple melodies and lyrics to delight a child kept me enthralled. Frequent trips up the Ua to visit my other great-grandmother, Letti'ya, Phoebe's mother, herself a tribal singer, inspired my voice. In guiding me through the phrasings and intonations of the jungle song-stories, she helped me become fluent in the melodic tongue of the Machaka, my people.

The child of an Ubar not only must be above reproach, she must also be learned in the ways of politics, diplomacy, law, propriety and tradition. The grand dame Drusilla, a lady of noble grace, fierce pride and unerring strength saw to my education. During a -- dare I say it? -- stormy companionship, I was sent to Treve, to the relentless tutelage of my great-grandmother. Only twelve upon my return to Schendi, I was, none the less, a Lady, sophisticated, adroit, proper, graceful, polished. In essence, I had become a true Storm woman.


Goodbye, my friend,
I'd like to leave you with something warm,
But I have never been a blue, calm sea
I have always been a storm

from Storms by Stevie Nicks (c) 1979

What's in a name?

Why does rain have bad connotations? Must it always be associated with gloom? Tears mimic rain cascading from the cloudy skies.

Rain brings fresh breezes and cleansing water. Rain washes away the dust and gifts children with mud puddles for play. Rain fills the wells to slake the thirst and feeds the flora, bringing the abundance we need to thrive. Rain makes the world vivid and green. At the end of the storm, rain leaves promise in a rainbow.

I am rain -- the bringer of sadness and the giver of life, the pounding storm and the harmonious patter, the cruel vengeance of the flood and the cooling drizzle on a steamy day. I am the driving rain that batters ships on Thassa. I am the constant mist of the rain forest.

I have been ridiculed for my name -- its unsubtle play on words -- but I would not trade it for all the world. It was the name dreamed by a boy singer who had blades shoved into his hands and destiny hung from his shoulders like a yoke. It was the name of hope for him. Abu. My father. My Ubar.

I am Raine -- Raine Storm -- my daddy's little girl, the Jewel of Schendi on some lips, the eye of the storm, the shelter from the storm, a righteous pillar of tradition, a cunning child of the jungle, and a maker of music.

Someone told me long ago
There's a calm before the storm.
I know; it's been coming for some time
When it's over, so they say,
It'll rain a sunny day.
I know; shinin' down like water.

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
Comin' down on a sunny day?

Yesterday, and days before,
Sun is cold and rain is hard.
I know; been that way for all my time.
Till forever on it goes
Through the circle fast and slow.
I know; it can't stop, I wonder.

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
Comin' down on a sunny day

Have You Ever Seen the Rain by JC Fogerty (c) 1970