Leídan Aznawar of Khand

Neida and Leídan had ended up with the local Sangohyang tribe. They were deep brown, almost reddish of hide due to the heat of the sun in these areas. Neida and Leídan looked like a pair of angels in the middle of them with their fair light brown hide of their faces. Despite the weeks of travel, the sun had not burned them to red cooked crayfish. It was the use of their sehadar and shagur, which they had not laid off while dismounting and entering the tent camp. Only they had removed the veils from their faces, because it would be considered impolite to remain covered among men. For women it was different. Neida passed through for his younger brother without suspicion. She answered through the signal language, as she didn’t speak the international language of Westron. Leídan did neither, but spoke another of the plains of Kajbah in the west of Khandur. The Sangohyang spoke a dialect of it that was spoken mainly in southeast Harondor. They communicated with some difficulty, but it was to do.

Leídan learned that he was being invited in the tent of the tribe leader Muhassad. With him were his three sons and an uncle of him. None of them wore any headdress, because here in the west it was lesser common. Feinal was his eldest son, a rather good-looking young man who was in his early twenties. The second son was Harandar, just about eighteen years old, and Hanizsad was the last one, just still deep in his teens. Neida sat right of him, just listening to the conversation, between Leídan and the tribe leader Muhassad. The uncle sat just with them to watch the two youngest sons. They were allowed to be present, but nothing else further. All shades of blue were presented in this camp and tent, because they belonged with the Sangohyang.

Feinal was not really able to hide his curiosity about the shagur. “It is remarkable to see a man dressed with such a shawl around the head. It is normal for women, but not for men among us.” Leídan was not insulted, there was no reason too. “Part of my culture and it is a normal thing among the men in my tribe. We are not from these parts, but come from the east. Our hunting grounds are along the Ered Harmal mountain chain. I am Azumenúkha. It means people of Azumeh,” he told. From a dish he reached for roistered banana and ate it. It was a delicacy he never had, and Neida allowed herself also to eat eagerly from the dish in the middle of them. It was customary among all the tribes in the southern hemisphere of Middle Earth to show you liked the offered food of your guest. The offering of food was a message of friendship. You never shared a meal with an enemy, nor offered you him drink or a sleeping place. Leídan arranged himself between the cushions, and set in the end upright with his legs crossed under him. “I am sorry, but your appearance reminds me to the northern peoples from Gondor and beyond,” said Feinal curious. He received a sharp look from his father. “Haven’t I taught you to be a real Sango? Enemy or friend, you never compare with another enemy. That is dangerous,” remarked Muhassad. Then he turned to Leídan. “Curiosity and braveness are the virtues of young men. He is exploring the world around him, but men from distant lands we never meet really. You and your brother are a curiosity in these parts. Be careful.” Leídan nodded only at the words. There was truth in them. “The Harmunekhad and Angashaghur are the two largest neighbouring tribes in Khandur, they drive the dangerous chariots and have their great horned mammals. We call them so, but they call themselves Variags or something. They visit often Aradhzúm in the west. The sands of Khandur bear many bones from throughout the ages of war.” Neida signalled something in the sign language. “My bro says it might that the Variags are planning something, I don’t know. Raids or battle perhaps.” Muhassad raised his eyebrows. “We shall see when they come. We know that the smoke over the mountain in the northeast is rising again. In that wild land is a corner that is festered with evil. Dangerous evil,” he said. Leídan looked aside to Neida, who signalled again. “He agrees with you, over the Ered Caradhram is nothing.”

It was a cosy assembly together and it surpassed any expectations of Leídan, who was still suspicious. Neida was accepted as being mute and thus relied on the sign language. Because neither could betray the status of Neida both were offered a sleeping place in the men section of the tribe leader’s tent. Leídan knew that his sister felt not happy with it, but he would be with her and so protect her. For relief would present a solution in time. Among the desert peoples, nobody shared washing rituals together. But for both was time enough to take a bath in the small natural basin between the rocks, where the tribal leader had put his tent up. The basin was a private bath for the leader and his family. It was a luxury, yet a cold one. Neida was happy with it. She went earlier sleeping than her brother went.

The next morning bro and sis were dressed in different designs, but the same garb. It didn’t interest Leídan what these people thought of the shagur and the shehada. His customs were different. The sun stood already quite high at the heavens and the shagur gave him all shadow needed in the face, so the heat didn’t burn his hide. Beneath his robes, he had brown boots on and so only his hands remained bare. However, if necessary he could hide them inside the cloak. The shehada covered also the weapons Neida and he carried with them. They hadn’t come unarmed from the lands of Khandur. It seemed one tangle with the robes to carry weapons under, but for Leídan it was not. As any other man he could draw his sword quickly and let it come down on some head. Neida came with him when they left the tent of the tribal leader to follow him to the section where the man’s pride was kept, his horses. They had to be admired by his guests. Neida followed in silence her brother and just listened to what Muhassad told about the fair blood of his horses. “This is honour. These animals belong in the desert. For they are born of the south wind and thus priceless. They are a gift from the Gods,” the man said with a broad smile. Neida signalled if she was permitted to try one of the horses.

Muhassad was in a cheerful mood and motioned to her to try. So Nieda neared one and climbed on its back without saddle or reigns. As an amazon, she had in no time the horse in gallop without falling off. Muhassad was surprised and looked at Leídan. “My brother is an excellent rider. Better than I am on horseback. And no I will not try it,” said Leídan nodding, when Muhassad also motioned to try. Some moments later Neida joined them again and smiled thankful. “You have horses where you come from?” asked Muhassad curious. “Yes, we have,” confirmed Leídan, keeping an eye on his surroundings. Neida surrendered the horse back to the tribal leader and stood just a little after her brother. She kept watching the horses, enjoying the sight of the magnificent herd, kept in a closed valley. “Like these as I have. Our forefathers brought them from the north,” said Muhassad. “Yes, I have blood of the Gondorians in me, but that is generations ago.” “I see, Gondor?” asked Leídan with a frown. “Is that a land?” “Yes, it is a magnificent green land. According the legends there was once an island far in the west where their ancestors lived.” Leídan shook his head. “I have never heard of that land, or about an island. There is the Fire Sea in the west, but no island. There is nothing in the west.” He turned away from the tribe leader and walked down the path leading to this gorge. Muhassad followed him, as well, Neida came. Leídan was a bit troubled by the words of the tribe leader. He didn’t like it what was told. But then he had never been here and news from these areas didn’t ravel to far inland, all the way to the Ered Harmal mountains and even beyond. And if there had been an island so long ago, how could the ancestors of this tribe than passed the Fire Sea? Muhassad caught easy up with him. “I am sorry; I had assumed that the tribes of the east knew. We sailed a lot of times upon Gondor to conquer it. As well Gondorians Kings came to here to claim these lands. At least to the border of the Harnen. Tirith Amrûn is the last defence of our land on the crossroad from a northern river.” “Yes, we came by it on our route to the west. The green river delta of Haruzan. We call the Harnen, Muzeida. She starts deep in our lands, and gives life to what otherwise would be as the Ered Caradhram in the north,” said Leídan walking on back to the tents. “Yes, she is a river admired and feared by us,” replied Muhassad with a nod and vanished into his tent.