by Lori Holmes
“Kyaati!” A scolding voice broke in. Nyri had been so distracted; she had not detected Daajir’s approach. This was an achievement. He exuded his energy like a storm before him. “Stop this. You will not lose your baby. I am certain of it.”
“Certain?” Kyaati spat at him, hot tears springing to her eyes. “What could make you so certain when such outcomes elude even Sefaan? Who are you, Daajir?”
“Sefaan is not what she once was.” Daajir brushed aside her words. “You are carrying the future hope for our tribe, Kyaati, perhaps the next Kamaali herself! Ninmah will not let us perish. We are her beloved children. You have to be strong now and keep faith that we will prevail.”
Nyriaana’s irritation peeked at his insensitivity. Kyaati stared him down. “Ninmah? Ninmah will protect my baby? I ask you, Daajir, where has Ninmah ever been for me? For us?” Her voice rose. “Nowhere. Look around you. She is abandoning us!”
Daajir blinked, mentally agape in the face of her blasphemy. He recovered and began puffing himself up, indignant.
“Let’s go,” Nyri said hurriedly before Daajir could deliver a sermon against Kyaati’s heresy. “The End of Days will be here that much faster if we don’t eat through the Fury.”
Kyaati huffed and stalked on. Daajir blew out a breath. “Thank you,” he muttered, “I thought she was going to snap my neck. She’s bad enough when she’s not pregnant.”
Nyri glared at him, letting him feel her annoyance. “I don’t blame her. You know what she’s been through, Dar. You could at least try to be a little more sensitive.”
His pale red-gold face tensed. “We do not have time for such weakness. We must prove our worthiness to Ninmah. We must bring Her back to strength!”
“Kyaati is anything but weak! How can you even suggest such a thing? If I had been through half of what she has—”
“I know, I know.” Daajir cut her off, grudgingly. “I just… wish I could do something more to reassure her.”
Nyri’s anger drained away. They all had had to find some means of coping. Daajir’s unassailable faith in Ninmah and the destiny of their people was his. Out of the corner of her eye, Nyri observed Daajir as he walked alongside. A bully as a child, Nyri had nevertheless been forced closer to him as they had endured their harsh adolescence together.
She supposed their tenuous friendship had grown out of necessity. Daajir, Kyaati and Yaanth were the only children besides herself to have survived the massacre seven Furies ago. A couple of Blessing’s older than Nyri, Kyaati and Yaanth had been completely inseparable. Much like she and… Juaan had always been. There had been no room for others within their little world. This meant that Nyri and Daajir had had no choice other than to sort out their differences.
Nyri knew if things had turned out differently, she and Daajir would have probably gone on keeping one another at arm’s length. He still wasn’t the easiest person to get along with and it had taken him a good while to forgive her for her previous choice of companion. Nyri was quick to halt that particular thought in its tracks. Even after all these seasons, it still hurt too much.
Daajir’s dark purple eyes were watching the soft ground as it passed beneath his feet. Black hair, bound in a tail down his back, swayed in time with his gait. His spare frame, as with all in their tribe, bore testament to the times they faced. A life on the edge. His proud features had grown hard over the seasons since they were children. All too soon the boyishness had left his face. His chin was chiselled and sharp, skin lined before its time, his haughty eyes bore the callouses of hardship. The joy had been stolen from them.
Nyri clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. As they neared their destination, she was overcome by a crushing wave of helplessness. An irrational need for someone to reach out to rose in her heart. She wanted someone to protect her from it all, to make it right and bring the joy back to their lives. Of course, this was a foolish desire and she should know better. Such cosy illusions of safety had been torn away with her childhood. In many ways, Nyri had never really woken from her dream. It continued all around.
A living nightmare.
3
Gathering
The trees thinned as Nyri and her friends broke at last into a small clearing. A tall rock reared from the grass in the centre, a bone of the earth, as old and as constant as the world itself, pointing upward in worship towards the heavens. Smaller rocks were scattered about it. This place had become a sacred focal point for the tribe, an opening onto Ninmah herself.
Nyri couldn’t help but smile when she saw that Sefaan was already present at the standing stone. The doe was grazing peacefully nearby, still puffing slightly. Beside the Kamaali stood Aardn. Next to the Kamaali’s serene presence, the Elder appeared disgruntled, thin lips pressed together and large, dark eyes disapproving. Black hair, streaked heavily with grey, framed the severe lines of her unforgiving face.
Nyri and her friends were the last to arrive. The rest had already collected in the clearing, even those who would traditionally not be away from the relative safety of the eshaara trees, the Elders, Kyaati in her current condition and the youngest of the children.
The children. All five of them. Five small, half-formed beings carrying all the hope of the future. The base mark of Ninmah stood between their brows. A simple line of purple colour. Only when they reached maturity would two twisting lines be added around it; the Mark of Passage into adulthood. If they were to earn a position of honour or skill within the tribe, the mark of Ninmah would be further embellished to symbolise their particular achievement.
Nyri wondered how many would survive long enough to even receive their Mark of Passage. Their faces were thin, weak, their eyes unnaturally large in their half-starved features. And the Fury had still yet to begin.
Nyri closed her eyes; she could not let them detect the weakness she was feeling. She was not a child anymore. She brushed her forehead where her own marks were inscribed. She was an adult of her tribe, here to protect and guide as best she could. She must exercise tight control lest her turbulent emotions leak though to the youngsters. She had to be strong, as Daajir said, even though every fibre of her being wanted to run, screaming through the trees searching for… she did not know what.
One small boy drew her attention. He was sitting upon the ground, resting between the paws of a great, smoke-grey forest wolf. Omaal had been born blind with the addition of a half developed leg but Nyri’s heavy heart lifted as she watched the wolf swipe at the boy’s face with his tongue. The boy squealed, making gagging noises as he playfully pushed the wolf’s muzzle away. The great animal’s tongue lolled in wolfish amusement.
As a people, they all had the gift to bond with the Children of the Great Spirit and to each other. It was how the Ninkuraaja survived but, even among the tribe, Omaal and Batai’s connection went above and beyond the ordinary.
A bond forged out of tragedy. Nyri remembered that fateful Fury when the boy had been born. Omaal had barely been welcomed into the world when his grandfather, Chaard, had disappeared in early snows. Omaal’s parents, already mourning the prospects of their crippled newborn, had set out with half of the tribe to search for him. Along the way, they had reached out to the local wolf pack in the hope that their keen senses would help track down the missing tribesman. They had found the old man; locked in the jaws of a strange and terrifying feline creature bearing teeth as long as a forearm.
It was too late for Chaard but the wolves had attacked the cat, driving this new predator from their hunting grounds. The resulting fight had led to the death of a she-wolf before the cat finally fled. A she-wolf with one surviving pup. Omaal’s parents, in return for the wolves’ aid, had taken the struggling pup and cared for it.
What they hadn’t counted on was the friendship that would grow between the wolf pup and their newly born son. Batai had become Omaal’s eyes, his way around, his constant companion. His blessing.
“Sons and Daughters of Ninmah. My people.” Nyri’s musings were bro
ken as Aardn’s commanding voice rang out. Ninmah was now peering over the edge of the clearing, Her light touching the waving grass. It was time to begin. The Elder raised her arms and the feathers bound into her greying hair swayed in the slight breeze, the symbol of the Elder stood boldly upon her forehead. “Let us greet this golden day and look upon Ninmah’s beauty with hope and thanks.” Her eyes, hard pools of experience, met each one of their own. “Our most revered Kamaali will help us seek the Blessing of the Great Spirit as we pray that Ninmah will smile upon us with a bountiful harvest.”
Everyone grew still in silent anticipation. Aardn bowed and moved back as Sefaan came forward. Gone was the eccentric old woman. Sefaan stood straight and proud, defying her great age. The power she radiated knew not the count of time. “This is a day of Gathering.” Her voice, cracked though it was with age, rang out as she spoke the traditional words. “The Great Spirit, KI, provides all beneath the loving gaze of Ninmah. One cannot exist without the other. We must come together as we have done since the dawn of time and join our strength to the Great Spirit. Only through Him can we know the true Purpose.” She raised her trembling hands.
The tribe gathered in a close circle around the standing stone. Many reached out to touch their neighbours, a hand on a shoulder, Joined mates linked fingers. Others, like Nyri, simply stood with their hands to the sides of their bodies, palms open and souls receptive.
Emptying her mind of any conscious thought, Nyri let go of her worries and focused solely on the energy flowing within, much as she had when she had first woken. Only now, led by Sefaan, the experience was that much more profound. Burning at the centre of all, the Kamaali guided their spirits to join with KI, binding them together as one.
They needed this, this reaffirmation of their bonds to each other and to the world around them. Any creatures in the area readily picked up on the ritual and were drawn in. The clearing was alive as Ninmah rose to a point above the standing stone and shone brightly from above, filling the clearing with Her warmth and light.
In her mind’s eye, Nyri saw the power that was the Great Spirit of KI. He always appeared to her as a strong, golden river that flowed beneath their feet, forever feeding and influencing everything in its path. Tendrils of light rose up from this River, extensions of KI Himself, existing within and guiding the souls of all his living things, his own Sons and Daughters of the earth. Guardians of his crucial Balance. So much of his wisdom was a mystery to her people, the Children of Ninmah, so many secrets that danced just beyond understanding, vast and incomprehensible.
To even begin to comprehend, one had to learn to connect with the Great Spirit’s Children. Only through them could Nyri’s people hope to gain knowledge of the secrets of the world upon which they had been created. As one they stretched out now, touching and joining with the tendrils of light surrounding them and KI grew all the brighter.
Nyri drew a breath, the cool air vibrating in her lungs. The beauty of this act never ceased to take her breath away. For these few precious moments, she was a part of everything. She could see everything. Feel the pressures of the air, the changes in the wind, the insects in the earth, the birds in the sky and the vital connection between all that was the Great Spirit Himself. It was a most sacred experience. Nyri envied the Sons and Daughters of KI, the creatures of the earth. They were born knowing their purpose. The wisdom was ingrained into their very souls from the moment they were born. They never questioned. They knew.
Reluctantly, Nyri came back to herself, revitalised and ready to begin the challenges of the day. The tendrils of light around her resolved back into the trees and creatures of the forest. A maamit troop had come to sit in the surrounding branches. They chattered expectantly, ready for action.
Batai gave a soft whine, yellow eyes fixed hungrily on the agile creatures above. Nyri laughed. No, she gave the sense of her words to the wolf through her basic connection with him. Leave them. You can go hunting later. The wolf huffed and lowered his thickly furred head between his paws next to Omaal. The boy scratched his ears sympathetically. The yellow eyes of the hunter remained in the trees, however.
“Go now,” Aardn bade. “Ninmah’s blessings be with you.”
Blessings. They would need them. All of the rich trees that their ancestors had worked to create now only bore enough to keep half the tribe’s number fed. At least the maamit troop that had joined them would be of help, they could reach where even the most skilful climbers could not.
The whole tribe separated into groups, spreading out to cover as much ground as possible. Splitting up was dangerous but necessary. The groves that the previous occupants of their home had planted covered a great area. A single morsel could mean the difference between survival and starvation.
Daajir, Kyaati and Nyri formed their own group. A couple of the children followed. Most were orphans, eager to attach themselves to the closest adults. As the youngest group, Nyri supposed she and her friends were the most appealing company to the infants. Omaal followed his companions, hanging on tight to Batai’s thick fur. His parents were on sentry duty. Omaal had been allowed to join the Gathering to learn with the other children provided he stayed close to Batai.
Kyaati seemed pleased by the extra company. Her fine features relaxed and softened. Nyri was indifferent; she wasn’t a natural with children but as long as she had Kyaati and Daajir with her, she supposed she wouldn’t have to interact with them too much on her own.
If the young ones thought they were in for an easy time with Nyri’s group, however, they hadn’t counted on Daajir. They had not travelled far into the forest when he pulled them to the side.
“Now, you all listen to me.” He turned the full force of his will upon their tender senses and their heads shrank into their shoulders.
Nyri and Kyaati frowned in warning. The children could feel Daajir’s admonishment clearly but only an adult’s finer senses could detect his enjoyment at this ability to intimidate. He had never fully grown out of that fault. Bullying habits died hard.
“We are heading for the grove closest to the Pits so stay close,” he instructed. “The ground is treacherous and could swallow you up if you do not do exactly as we say. I do not want to have to explain to the Elders that you fell to your deaths because you strayed where you were not supposed to.
“You know what happens to naughty children who do not listen, don’t you…?” He let the words hang and the little ones drew closer together in fearful anticipation. “The Woves drag them from their trees at night and devour them in the dark. No one ever sees them again.” The sense of menace increased. Batai growled low in his throat, hackles rising, and some of the children whimpered.
Kyaati’s eyes widened in horror. She crouched awkwardly before them. “He doesn’t mean it. Don’t be scared. No one is going to take you away…”
Nyri’s forehead creased. She understood Daajir’s concern even if she did not agree with his method of scaring the children half to death. The Pits, as they were called, were a cluster of deep holes carved into the earth by mysterious forces. Lying east of her tribe’s home, the Elders had decided to use them as a defence against Wove raids and ordered them to be carefully covered with sticks and leaf matter. If one did not know they were there… if the fall did not kill the unfortunate victim, then starvation surely would. The sides of the Pits were sheer rock, eroded and underscored by countless rainy seasons. No one could escape unless they had aid from above.
The bodies of at least a few unfortunate Woves might very well be lying at the bottom of those Pits. Nyri did not know and could not say that she cared. No one ever bothered to check them.
Daajir smacked his hands together. “Get going!”
Relieved to be released, the children ran on ahead, though with noticeably more caution. Omaal clung to Batai’s fur, viewing the world though the wolf’s keen eyes as he touched him. The blind boy probably had better senses than the rest of them in this present moment, Nyri mused, certainly a better sense of smell.
“You snake,” Kyaati glared at Daajir as she heaved herself back to her feet. “What in Ninmah’s name do you get out of it? Terrifying children. If you ever try to intimidate my child like that, I’ll have a Thal rip your arms right from your puny body.”
“A healthy fear of consequence never hurt anybody,” Daajir returned. “They need to be kept safe.” He sighed then, dropping the hardened facade. “Do not judge me for what you see as undue harshness, Kya. I act the way I do because I care and I will care about your child, too. Know that I will do anything to keep our people safe. That is what I get out of it.
“Anyway, how many Thals do you know, Kyaati? I’m not certain those hulking beasts even mastered the power of speech. All they understand is how to beat each other over the head with clubs.”
Kyaati opened her mouth but Nyri cut in before their bickering escalated into a more serious fight. “As interesting as this debate is, I really think we should get moving. This tribe isn’t getting any more fed and the children are getting away.” She turned her head to indicate the now child-free area and raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we be watching them? I don’t particularly want to be explaining to the Elders that we lost our most precious members, either.”
“Oh, very well!” Daajir snapped as he turned and stalked on, chagrined.
The day grew unusually warm as they wandered through the groves. As they harvested, Nyri and her friends taught the children how to extract the best, most succulent roots from the ground, how to identify edible fungi and warned them away from anything harmful. They helped them climb trees to collect fruit and nuts. The young ones were eager and quick in their lessons. Digging became a game as they tumbled around in the earth. Their carefree presence was uplifting and distracting. Nyri was happy now that the children had chosen to accompany them. Together they scoured their chosen area of the forest, reaping the best the trees and plants had to offer. By and by, Nyriaana and Kyaati began to sing, voices joining together in praise to Ninmah. The sound of singing was rare in these uncertain days and it lifted their spirits to new heights.