The first letter
Oh great Tamur, holder of the exchequer, champion of the great city of Muntasir
Your glory has been heard across the plains, echoing from city to city, through the trader’s markets and in the great halls of the nobles. They speak of your wisdom, your patience, your insight, your great courage and virtue.
I write to you on a matter of no small importance.
My name is Taleb Talikh. I am a scholar, in the city of Sayf. My work has for the most part been a matter of great interest to myself, but of minor interest to others - a pursuit of a deeper understanding of the great clouds, winds, sun and storms that rage above us. For did not Al-Tantun say, ‘To seek is to understand; to understand is to predict; to predict is to conquer’?
So it is that I have set out on a long, and difficult path. I have spent hours in my tower, poring over the records of Sayf and other cities, examining the records of the scribes on the crops, the rains, the floods, the winds, the stars and sun, and many other things. I seek patterns. I seek the rules, the order that is hidden from the eye, but that underpins the all of the world around us, in the same way that a current carries a raft inexorably down a river, to the ocean. I seek the order, an understanding of the patterns in the same way that the ancients learnt how to use the stars above to navigate across the great plains.
I write on a matter of great importance. I have been examining crop yields, which as you know extend back for over five hundred years, in to the life of King Harim the Great, restful be his memory. I have examined how the rain relates to the crops, to the winds, to the lives of our great cities, as they have thrived and flourished upon the plains.
In the midst of this, oh great one, I discovered something of great concern. As you know, the scribes of each city record the crops taken in, as they assess the tax owed to the court in each city, and to the Great Council that sits over the seven cities. In each year they record the name of the farmer, and the weight that he brings to market.
In some years, however, the farmers also ask for assistance - a grant of grace from the court and from the Great Council, if their crops or livestock have been taken by riders from across the great plain. This scheme was instituted by King Mehta the Magnificent, and has persisted in some form for over four hundred years.
So it is that through the delicate work of the great scribe schools, of Mentaf and Makrib, of Rema and Ruhman, that we have an account of the rainfall, and the raids of the riders, over hundreds of years.
Oh Great One, I write because deep beneath the scratchings of the scribes, beneath the marks of the grain, rainfall, and grace payments in each year, is a terrifying law. The raids of the riders fall and rise like a flag that is waved by the rainfall. If you tell me the rainfall in any given decade, I can tell you how many raids there will be in coming years.
I discovered this only recently, in my study, alone. It was not my intent to understand the patterns of the riders, and the rhythm of their raids. I set out to learn about the sky, the wind, the sun. But instead I came across a terrifying discovery.
I write, oh Great One, because thirteen years ago, the rain began to grow stronger. It rained harder, for longer. You will remember this, I believe - in the court at Sayf, which is small and lowly compared to the magnificent court of Muntasir, and the Great Council which is graced with your presence - even here, in the court of Sayf, there was much discussion of what the rain meant, and whether it heralded a shift in the epochs, or a turning of the crops, or greater wealth for Muntasir and the other cities.
It has meant some of the those things, oh Wise One, as the farmers bring in heavy carts laden with crops. But it has meant something else as well, great one. It means that the raids of the riders have increased. You may already see this, in the greater defences required on the northern borders, in the troops that are being trained, sent to that position. But Magnificent One, please believe me - these are but the trickles before the flood, the calm before the storm, the lightening before the thunder, the sprout that becomes the great oak tree.
A storm is coming, a wave of riders greater than these cities have ever seen, greater even than the waves of riders that came in the reign of great King Lohsim, when Sayf and Kitab were burnt to the ground, and many of the others were held under siege for years.
A storm is coming oh Great One, and I do not know if the seven cities can survive it.
I await your response with eager anticipation
Taleb
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kw12
wir bleiben zuhause. wir gehen gleich live.
in Zeiten von- zu Gunsten von-
verhalten wir uns solidarisch
isoliert. selbst isoliert. mit Ausgangssperre.
Homeoffice. Lieferdienste. Workouts.
Digitale Treffen. Virtuelle Umarmungen.
Rettungsschirme. Sonnenschein am offenen Fenster. Rückholaktionen.
Lockdown. Grenzkontrolle.
Moria. Amen.
Ich glaube an
empfangen durch
Experten wachsen in aller Herrlichkeit.
Seife. Händewaschen. Seife. Händewaschen.
Mundschutz. Atemgeräte. Intensiv und Notfall.
endlich kennen wir alle den Unterschied.
Lieferdienst. Risikogruppe. Solidarität.
Und die bipolare Stimmung geht am Horizont auf.
Soziale Ruhepause.
Quarantäne. Häusliche Gewalt. Einsamkeit.
Stay Healthy. Be kind. Support. Through the Window.
Stadt.Land.Fluß.- aber ohne Suchmaschine.
#OldPictureChallenges. And remember: #FlattenTheCurve
Halten Sie Abstand.
Bleiben Sie zuhause.
Abstand 1.50 Meter Abstand
zu mir selbst und zu allen anderen
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GLEICHVERTEILUNG der Teilchen im Raum_
Wind,
süß und klebrig vom Rest der Stadt
weht zum Fenster hinein und hinüber zur Wand.
Bedeckt mein Bett. Fragt nicht. Legt sich nieder.
Schwer und geschafft vom Rest der Stadt
schaut er zum Fenster hinaus und hinüber zur Wand.
Deckt mich zu. Fragt nicht. Legt sich neben mich.
Ruhig und müde vom Rest der Stadt
schauen wir zum Fenster hinaus und uns in die Augen-
Gegenüber die Wand,
in der sich Schatten und Licht vom Rest der Stadt spiegeln.
©makrib
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