Season content notes: Ableism
Another day, another political gathering. If it wasn’t that most family representatives only went to a few of these gatherings a month, Chotiakytsai would have been ready to give up — ey couldn’t stand much more of this. But ey needed to make every gathering ey could in hopes of gathering support. Today’s gathering was on the larger side. In a display of piety, a merchant family had commissioned an epic history-song of the city’s founding as a gift to the temple. Today would be the first public recital.
In truth, Chotaikytsai would have wanted to attend this no matter what. Ey loved the formal music of the music families and had heard none since eir family died. But of course, while they waited for the music to begin there was time to talk. Talk politics, of course. For Chotaikytsai, it often seemed there was nothing else to talk about.
The representatives of other families took it as a given that ey was the supplicant, dependent on their condescending attention. Eir status as lighting-wonder had, as all such things do, faded quickly. Now few were willing to talk with em unless ey forced eir way into the conversations. Perhaps when they revealed their craft next month that would change. Certainly, it would surprise the other families, who thought Chotaikytsai was being coy in refusing to name the craft they took up. Revealing their net-weaving might not break the stagnation the priests (and increasingly, Chotaikytsai!) feared. But it would be like tossing a large rock into a stagnant pond — shaking up the waters and disturbing some of the bottom layers of rot.
Ey was shaken out of eir thoughts by a loud voice, “…and this new budget for maintenance. Surely we don’t need to spend more and ever more?”
“Stitch Craft, the budget has been cut three times in the last five years…”
The one speaking noticed Chotaikytsai edging closer and stopped. “I don’t believe we have been introduced?”
The Silent Spinner stepped in and introduced Chotaikytsai and the speaker, a grandparent of the Linen Spinners — an old family, as their name implied. Most spinning families worked in linen, but only one was THE Linen Spinners.
“A pleasure to meet you, New Grandparent.” Chotaikytsai thought the Linen Spinner was sincere. “Tell me, do you truly think your family will have anything to offer the city? The loss of the Colorwork Weavers… it was a tragedy, but others have stepped in to do that work. And I doubt you intend to take it up again. Not with a once-fisher and barbarian among you.”
The tone was curious, not dismissive. Chotaikytsai stroked the edge of Lefeng’s mountain cat cloak and considered. They had agreed not to announce their trade until they had a finished work to show. A large work. One suitable to present to the temples.
“You are right,” ey said finally. “Weaving is not a craft we could take up again. But, forgive me, Grandparents, Elders, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. One of my children-to-be reports that the lightning column in the dock market is dangerously low. I have seen for myself the column in the east market is damaged as well. My spouse-to-be says it has been five years at least since day-work was done repairing the defenses against sea raiders.
“It has been long years since I walked the streets myself, you understand. And to me, it seems much… stale.”
“Stale!” The Stitchcraft grandparent glared at Chotaikysai. “You would-” Others were equally outraged at the deliberate insult.
“I would.” Chotaikytsai interrupted. “I would. And I begin to question. I begin to question what this city has to offer us. This city which spurns change and growth in favor of decay and sinking further into stagnancy. This city where councilors insult my children-to-be for being different and offering to weave that difference into the fabric of this city.”
The surrounding councilors stared at her. Not just them, but others as well.
“Understand this, Grandparents and Elders. The High Priest was correct — we do not need your approval. We have many options open to us if you reject our petition.
“But you, you who have breathed the stench of rot so long you no longer notice it creeping in your homes? You need us.”
Eir words were met by stunned silence. With nothing else to say and no desire to hear whatever nonsense these people would spew, Chotaikytsai turned away and strode to the edge of the rug where the musicians were setting up. As ey reached it, the head of the musician family announced the beginning of the epic.
Chotaikytasi was left with a spoiled taste in eir mouth. Ey might have ruined their chances tonight. Yet… it had been the right thing to do. Ey was done being condescended to by fools who couldn’t smell the stagnation they wallowed in. Some currents called for boldness to navigate them safely, and ey thought this might be one of them.
Whether it was or not, Chotaiktysai was the representative of eir family. Ey would represent them as they were.
Ey stroked the edge of eir cape, feeling the prickle of the great cat’s fur. Let them think what they will, this was eir family, too.
Here ends Chotaiktysai’s story. Ey had come into eir own and is ready for what will happen next. In late summer, we’ll return and end the tale with Paoikp’s story.
For now, we’ll be starting Next Came Respect, the sequel to First Came Trust.
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