A Cup of Ataq

“Sst! Hey,” uttered Mik. I awoke from my slumber, slouched against a tree, and looked up to him. The sun had not yet risen over the horizon, and yet here my friend was, carrying some sort of container full of liquid.
“Mik? What is that?”
He knelt down and smiled. “Ataq,” he answered.
I sat up. “How did you get that?” I asked.
“I… requisitioned some from our host’s supplies.”
“Gods, Mik. Nobody saw you, right?”
“Just the Mgalekgolo, but you know how they don’t give a damn about anything.”
We chuckled. “Normally I do not condone such actions,” I said, “but this is ataq we are speaking of. I will let this slide.”
“Oh good, I was hoping you’d reach that conclusion. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.”
Mik opened the metal container and produced two small metal cups. He handed one to me, and filled it with the familiar dark green liquid. Then, he handed the container to me, and I filled his cup. It is considered bad luck to fill one’s own cup when drinking ataq. We took the cups and raised them at one another. “Good fortune,” I said.
“Naturally,” replied Mik.
We both carefully drank the chilled liquid, its taste sweet and slightly tart. The flavor shot through my nerves, invigorating and enriching me. It had been far too long since I enjoyed a qup of ataq.
Now, here came one of the minors of our lance, one Shon ‘Okharee. “Sirs? Is everything all right?” he asked. In the pre-sunrise darkness I could still tell it was Shon by the distinct blue tattoos on his face, faintly illuminated by the twin full moons in the sky.
“We’re fine, Blue,” replied Mik somewhat disdainfully. “How goes the watch?”
“Quiet, sir. Nothing to report.”
“Good. Keep your eyes open.”
“Permission to speak freely, sirs?”
“Granted,” I said.
Now, at the same time, Mik said, “Denied.” We looked at each other for a brief moment before Mik acquiesced. “Your call, Kai.”
“Go ahead,” I said to Shon.
Shon nodded his head. “What is it that you are drinking, sirs?”
Mik quickly grew confused and faintly annoyed. He exhaled quickly and sharply. “It’s ataq. Where are you from, again?”
“I hail from Tirin,” answered Shon. Now, Tirin is an archipelago located in the middle of the Baskar Ocean. A collection of around six hundred islands, Tirin is an isolated land, where the people living there developed a culture and lifestyle different from the peoples of the rest of Sanghelios. Much of the flora and fauna spread throughout Sanghelios do not naturally occur in Tirin, while the islands host unique life found nowhere else on the homeworld.
“Hmm. Tirin.” Mik had an intonation of scorn as he looked upon Shon judgmentally, his eyes moving up and down to scan the Minor.
“It is tea,” I answered. “Made from the leaves of the ataq plant. It is grown in many areas across Sanghelios, but not in Tirin.” I poured some more ataq in my cup. Mik seemed perturbed at my action, but I did not pay much heed to him at that moment. “Would you like some?”
“Yes, please,” answered Shon. He holstered his plasma rifle and knelt down before us. He bowed his head slightly as I handed him the cup, Shon grasping it carefully with both his hands. He sipped it ever so slightly and as he swallowed, he coughed and cleared his throat. He held the cup with his fingertips.
“What do you think of it?” I asked.
Shon paused for some time, looking down into the green liquid. He then looked at me, then Mik, and then back at me, as if to attempt to stall for time while he found the appropriate words. “It…” he began. “It… is a taste I am unfamiliar with.”
“Ah, well, yes,” I answered, somewhat deflated. “Well, of course, it is not native to Tirin. In fact, ataq is not grown there at all. The climate does not allow it, and the local states there do not allow its import for growth in hydroponic farms.”
“Don’t like it, Blue?” asked Mik in a gravelly voice, a voice he only puts on if he is in a bad mood. This I found both irritating and confusing at this moment in time, but I said nothing, only staring at my friend in slight disapproval. He did not seem to notice.
“I do not dislike it, sir,” answered Shon. “However, I must confess a certain… unfamiliarity with ataq. I have not grown accustomed to its taste. Indeed, for me it seems to be an acquired taste, and I am afraid I have not acquired it just yet. But it is a most intriguing beverage.” Bless his heart, Shon was as polite as the stereotype holds for Tirinians. He carefully continued sipping the ataq, suppressing his repulsion of the drink.
“What do you find least agreeable about it?” I asked.
Again, Shon took a pause, this time longer. His vision darted between me, Mik, and the cup of ataq, and his fingers tapped the sides of the metal cup. “I…” began Shon carefully, “…am not accustomed to the sweet taste.”
“Don’t they have sugar in Tirin?” commented Mik.
“Yes, yes this is true,” replied Shon. “However, we do not use sugar in every food or drink. And we… do not have a beverage this sweet in Tirin. As such, I have not tasted something this sweet in my whole life.”
“Gods, you’re going to be in for a real surprise once you have some other food and drink,” said Mik.
“Do you use sugar in everything, sir?” asked Shon.
“Not everything,” I answered.
“Yes, sir,” replied Shon. He smiled politely and kept his head lowered. He let out a long breath, then drank the rest of the ataq in one careful swig, tilting the cup as he gently moved his head back. The ataq was gone, and he cleared his throat some more. He offered it back to me graciously, and I took the cup. Shon did not seem to enjoy the ataq. “Forgive me, sirs, but I am unaccustomed to the sweet taste.”
“You don’t like sugar?” asked Mik.
“As a childling, I was taught that sugar is not the healthiest of ingredients,” answered Shon.
“Indeed?” I mused. “I have no qualms about that. After all, ataq is not really in Tirin, is it?”
“No sir, not at all,” replied Shon, slightly chuckling, his hands on his thighs as he continued kneeling before us.
“Say, Kai, do you want any more?” Mik asked me.
“No thanks,” I answered. “See if Quso wants any.”
“Quso? But he’s on the other side of the hill.”
“Then you better get going before the powers that be order him farther away.”
“Gods. Alright.”
Mik disappeared into darkness as he ascended the hill, travelling to Quso.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” asked Shon.
“Granted,” I answered.
“I do not believe Junior Major ‘Mutukee likes me.”
“He likes nobody except his mother.”
“Sir, I speak honestly when I say that I believe Jr. Maj. ‘Mutukee holds me in considerable disdain.”
“Don’t worry, he does,” uttered a voice from the darkness. From behind a tree emerged the other minor of our lance, Narac ‘Yardaree. He had a distinct hoarse voice from years of habitual pipe smoking, and indeed held one in his hands. The telltale scent of shanash smoke filled the air as he brought the pipe to his mouth and smoked, letting out a puff of white smoke illuminated by the moonlight.
“Something you wish to say, Narac?” I asked.
“Sir,” Narac replied. He pushed away from leaning against the tree, straightening his posture and clearing his throat in respect of my rank. “If you will allow me.”
“Speak your mind, warrior,” I answered, still sitting against the tree.
“Sir, Jr. Maj. ‘Mutukee is a major, and yet still attached to this lance,” Narac said. “Why does he not already have his own lance to command?”
“Our superiors have seen it fit to have him remain under my command,” I answered.
“Why is that, though, sir?” asked Shon. “It is apparent that this is a most unusual arrangement. Ours is one of only four lances in the whole host that has more than one major attached to it.”
“And usually a second major is only needed for large lances, too unwieldy for a single major.”
“Is ours not large and unwieldy?”
“I have confidence in your abilities to lead us without a second, sir,” said Shon.
“May I be blunt, sir?” asked Narac. I nodded in assent. “Sir, Jr. Maj. ‘Mutukee is not a competent leader. He berates, belittles, and generally looks down upon virtually every other minor he sees. He’s treated me like dirt ever since I first transferred to this lance two months ago. It’s infuriating, and if he keeps this up with me, we’ll come to blows. Don’t you feel that way, Shon?”
“I would dare not slander my superior, especially if he is not here to defend himself,” said Shon. “I do not feel comfortable with such gossip behind his back.”
“It’s not gossip, it’s honest conversation.”
“Well… if we are to be honest then… I… I do not feel the same confidence with Jr. Maj. ‘Mutukee, sir, that I have with you. His rank alone does not convey confidence. Junior Major? Does such a rank even exist normally?”
“Not normally, no.”
Shon and Narac looked at one another in disbelief.
“Sir…” started Shon. He looked terribly uneasy. “Why does he not command a lance of his own?”
“Because he can’t command,” answered Narac. “He’s a good warrior, we know. We’ve both seen it. But a commander? A leader of men? I might as well be led by a Jiralhanae.”
At that comment I immediately went to my feet, standing right in front of Narac, my face close to his. “I will not have he who is like a brother to me likened to a Jiralhanae,” I quickly replied with a contained rage. I made it clear to them my displeasure. I glared into the eyes of Narac, who stood at attention and faced forward, not daring to return a gaze. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Narac answered.
“Permission to speak freely, sir,” said Shon.
I looked down at the still-kneeling minor. “Very well,” I said.
Shon stood up and maintained a bowed head. “Sir, does your bond with him influence your judgement of him as a warrior?”
I stared. For what seemed to be ages. It was a question all three of us knew the answer to, but I did not want to say. I do not believe that they wanted to hear the answer, not really anyway. They did not want to believe it, but they knew the truth.
I looked at the horizon, and the sun was finally starting to peak over it. “It is daybreak. Go, wake the Unggoy and Kig-Yar. We will move out soon.”
At that, the minors left me alone. Then, I looked up, to the summit of the hill, and saw a figure emerge from the ridge before promptly tripping and almost tumbling down the whole hillside. No doubt it was Mik returning.
Oh, Mik.
Category:The Weekly