The Reghen continued:
“Today, many of you received your first carvings of shame, but you will receive even more as you grow. You will leave for training for five times spring. Do not shame the Goddess and the fate she has chosen for you.
Listen carefully now, and as soon as you hear your names, go behind the Guide who carries the banner of your new fate. You see the Guides with the banners of the Archers, the Blades, and all the others waiting to your left. You will go there tonight, to the banner Enaka has chosen for you. There you will find your peers from the many other packs of the Sieve, and a lot more children, older than you, novices. You will train with them and the new Guides who await you there.
This is the Truth that the Sieve has carved:
Kuran: Four Carvings—Fisherman
Denek: Four Carvings—Tanner
Ghera: Four Carvings…”
I was looking for every face that the Reghen named. Kuran was not even listening, as he was still in agony from the scorpion’s sting. But his torments had ended. For the rest of his life, he wouldn’t have to face anything wilder than the salmon jumping out of the Blackvein. I was the leftmost except Malan, and they were all passing in front of me before they went to their new banners. Denek, the Tanner trainee, came out of the line, dragging his misery. He had untied his rag from his arm to see it again, as if he couldn’t swallow the Truth. Four carvings on his arm, deep and bloody, one under the other. Bako yelled at him as he passed by, “Keep a warm pair of trousers for me. My balls are freezing!”
Denek didn’t pounce on him. He never had. He was not a warrior.
The fates and the names continued. As soon as the Reghen called out a name and I looked at the child who stood out, I could immediately foresee his or her new banner and the carvings he or she deserved.
“Urak, three carvings—Blade.
Danaka, two carvings—Archer.
Matsa, two carvings—Archer.
Bako, one carving—Archer.”
The Reghen stopped calling out names. Only Malan and I were still standing where we started. The others had moved behind their new banners. It was almost noon, and the fog was still breathing on me like an old and sick winter demon between my legs. A different Reghen, the oldest I’d ever seen, came forward. His voice was different. Grim. I still waited for my name. There were no carvings on my left arm. The old Reghen spoke. “And if…
And if…oh Goddess, you brought such an honor upon us again today…
If any of you leave here today Uncarved,
without even one iron’s scratch on your arm,
you, who escaped the talons of the Demon,
And didn’t kneel in front of his stare,
then,
then after your next training, at the westernmost camp of the Uncarved,
then,
tomorrow you might become the Only one, the Sixth, the One Leader of the Tribe, the next Khun.
And if you are here in front of us, have pity on me, my Khun, that I have still not recognized you, my next Great Leader, if in front of you I uttered dishonorable words.
I kneel in front of you, Uncarved. One of you will be the one who will lead us tomorrow in the Final Battle with Sah-Ouna on your left and Enaka on your right side.”
The Reghen went silent. He looked at Khun-Taa. The voice of our Great Leader, deep and loud, filled the field like a rusty old blade that still yearned for a fight. That was all that came out of his mouth.
“Da-Ren, Uncarved. Malan, Uncarved.”
Those were the only words that Khun-Taa spoke in the entire Sieve, and the Reghen continued, “You two, Uncarved, follow the Guides with the Wolf banner. They will get you to your horses.”
“Your horses.” I repeated the words to believe them. I walked behind Malan toward the last banner, the one orphan of children. The Reghen turned also toward the Guides and the children and spoke. “You have all faced the three deaths of the Sieve, and now the hard training begins for five times spring. If you succeed, you won’t be marked again. Enaka waits for you in the Final Battle. Prepare.”
I had won, even though I was born an unlucky ninestar.
Elbia, Atares, Ughi, Rido, and many other children whose names I never learned had fallen. They were resting peacefully in the Sky above. Except for Elbia, the blessed sevenstar. I was sure that I had seen her that morning, as I was walking among the firs and the oaks, a solemn ghost blending in with the mist of the Forest. She was whispering to me, “I promise you, Da-Ren. We’ll ride the war horses together.”
Kuran would gut fish for the rest of his life. Denek would rub skins with fresh horse piss to remove the horse smell. Danaka and Matsa could become Pack Chiefs, leading up to forty warriors. Bako could even become the Leader of the Archers, the greatest warriors, countless of them. Our best warriors under his command. I hoped that the Goddess and Khun-Taa would not be stupid enough to ever make that mistake. Someone, somewhere, older, younger, definitely smarter, with only one carving, had to exist who was better than Bako. Urak would never become anything more than a cutthroat in the Blades and would never command anyone.
No knife had come near Malan or me.
After forty dawns in the field of the Sieve of the twelve-wintered, the Reghen, the Ouna-Mas, and the Guides decreed that I could become the One Leader of the Tribe one day. Despite the red triangle that still marked my fate and my skin.
But Sah-Ouna had not sung for me, and everyone cheered for Malan. I had lost, because…because I had done what I was told to do? It didn’t make sense. My mind wasn’t helping me. For one moment, I had won when I held the precious black pebble, the rabbit’s heart, in my fist. I had lost.
Denek and I were the two who stared with the eyes of defeat.
I parted with all of them without goodbyes, except one.
“Forget it,” Rouba said as he came close to me just as I was mounting my horse and becoming taller than the whole world. It had been almost two moons since I had ridden, even for a short while.
“This is my fifth winter in the Sieve. Not one has ever done what Malan did today,” said the old man.
And that was the balm to soothe my soul?
The darkness of defeat cloaked my heart. Not for a few days. I repeated two words countless times till the end of my days in Sirol. Every morning when I woke, if I didn’t say them in the morning, I would say them a little later. These two words that were born orphans in my triumph.
“I lost.”
Many times, every new day.
We all headed north under different banners. The woodland we entered in the morning had ended, and we were in open fields again. The path took us even farther away from the camps of the Sieve. The other children left on foot. For a little while, we could see them behind us; then Malan, the Reghen, Keko, and I trotted faster. My group kept a northwest direction toward the Forest. Every other banner turned east. I would not see the other twelve-wintered for a very long time. I was alone, once again.
My mind kept bringing back Sah-Ouna’s words. How she ignored me. I started making up Stories in my head to find some solace.
“It is all a lie. It is unfair,” I said to myself. There were signs for everything, they told me. I had read them. Sah-Ouna favored Malan, and she told him what to do. They cheated me out of my victory.
I was riding last not because I had lost, but because I so much wanted to stab Malan in the back, even if it meant they’d put me to the stake that same night. Sah-Ouna had favored him and cursed me. I kept repeating it inside my head, poisoning myself more and more each time. It was not helping. He had slowed down and was riding close to me. I spoke the words loud enough for all to hear. “The Witch had told you what to do.”
Malan looked at me with narrowed eyes, shaking his head left and right, before he decided to reply.
“That is true. She told me exactly what to do,” he answered. His voice was calm. The veins in my head swelled, like the waters of the Great River in the early spring.
Keko was rid
ing in front of us. He had given Malan the banner of the Uncarved, the one painted with the head of the wolf to carry. He himself had five carvings and was forbidden from carrying such a heavy banner of the Tribe.
The Reghen drew close to me, grabbed my reins to stop my horse and to get my full attention, and said, “The rabbit was not the enemy. The red tent was.”
I would remember it till the day that I’d die. If the Sun could turn around and dawn only one day again, to do everything differently, I would choose that day.
Malan slowed his horse so that he was right next to mine and said, “The Witch told all of us what to do. Don’t fall asleep again when you are being spoken to. Tomorrow I will be giving you orders.”
Malan kept riding a few feet in front of me. He was humming, singing. I had heard that song before. The Witch’s songspell. The wintery wind took the words from his song and darted them, burning needles in my ears and frozen blades on my chest.
I do not take the life from this rabbit;
I take the darkness from the tent.
I do not go to death like a sheep;
I go to my ancestors as a friend.
I do not take the blood from this animal;
I take the fear from your blood.
I don’t throw lola la lo la la la lo lo la,
…the crazyweed will steal the minds from little girls.
“The words of the Selene Witch were wise and clear. She told everyone yesterday what to do today,” the Reghen next to me added.
“What are you saying?”
“You got scared, Da-Ren. Ride forward. It happened to everyone,” said the Reghen.
Malan started singing the songspell of Sah-Ouna again. He didn’t stop repeating it for the rest of our ride. At some point, when I stayed far back so that I wouldn’t have to hear him, he turned and grinned at me. He lifted his fists up and down in rhythm, one of them clasping the wolf banner. As if he were cheering me on.
For the first time, I really feared that I would never beat him.
Apocrypha IX.
Remember the Songprayers
The Lost Apocrypha of the First, Chapter IX
I kept you in my arms, sang to you for nights and days, I watched every step you took and sound you made as a small boy, and yet you remember nothing of me. It had to be so; if you knew that you are the seed of the First Witch and the Khun you would become nothing. A boy crushed under our greatest shadows. The Khun might kill you himself at your eighteenth. You have the dark eyes and pale skin, just like my twin brother.
You feel it; you know that this throne belongs to you by right and prophecy, by Goddess and Witch and Man.
I raised you among the red tents, the longskulls, the boys and the girls your brothers and sisters and ripped you apart savagely from them and me. It is that torture that makes a boy strong, I had to torture you to make you what you are, sent you to the Orphans.
But the winter of your Sieve has come, my love, my only child. Come tomorrow you will join the Uncarved, and one day you will become the One they all fear, the Khun. I’ll make sure Khun-Taa ascends to find his Goddess when your time comes.
I watch you proud and cold, cold and proud; I can show no tear or joy at your brave deeds, else they will know. The Reghen are a monster with two hundred eyes, and they know the small things, the furtive glances, a tear withheld. I am always careful.
So ends your Sieve, my brave son, in triumph and glory.
I had a daughter once, a sister you will never know, as you will never know of your mother. I brought her skull to the tribe.
My son will be the next Khun, and he will make piles of skulls of his enemies and his subjects.
My offspring, so powerful, will rule the world.
I know now that you are the One, I knew the moment you stepped out of that red tent Uncarved and unafraid. Maybe you remember the songprayers I lulled you with, when you were a child, maybe it is in your blood. You cannot hide from fear, as it was in my blood.
I do not take the blood from this animal;
I take the fear from your blood.
Do you remember?
That brown-haired girl, on the twenty-first day, I had to get rid of her, I saw how you were looking at her, the envy and the desire, and she never had eyes for you. Envy is poison, being scorned as I was by Crispus is poison, and you must have none of that. That girl was strength, I saw my strength in her, and something else, even goodness, and she too would cast a shadow over you. We have to murder goodness, early on, else it will spread like a disease.
Da-Ren, I thought I’d kill him before the Sieve ends, but then I changed my mind. Da-Ren makes you stronger. I didn’t have to do anything more, I fear this boy, but he will be a worthy adversary for you, you need adversaries to keep you strong. I’ll keep my eye on him, but that boy was broken twice, once when he learned that he is a ninestar, one I will never favor, and then again, the morning he lost Elbia. He will doubt his own fate enough to become his own curse. I know a thing or two about men, I keep thousands of them under my thumb.
It is time, my son. Your time. I will fade away for a while; my Legend needs to subside for yours to rise. You will know none of all this; all my secrets remain with me, you will walk the path alone. I will appear only when I should, to carve your destiny.
“One will lead, all will fall.”
Rise, my son, the Malicious, the Malevolent, the Malady that will befall them all.
My son, my Malan.
Rise.
But never forget the songprayers; they come back, come back.
DRAKON
Book II
UNCARVED
Copyright © 2017 C.A. CASKABEL
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1541163713 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-9906150-1-9 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction
No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
BOOK II: UNCARVED
“And the day dawned blue.”
www.caskabel.com
XVII.
I Seek Only One
Fourteenth spring. Uncarved—Starling.
This I know, now that I am older and have seen many winters come and go: there are some wounds that never heal. Even when the flesh breathes again, the mind keeps rotting. Memories torment every day and consume every night.
During my winters with the Uncarved, the Guides would give me the only treatment they knew: yet another brutal trial. Every new trial that awaited me was so much worse than the last that my mind had no time to get stuck in the mud of the past. The nose smelled; the head obeyed and moved arms and legs to save my life. Only now that I am here with the monks within the stone walls of the Castlemonastery, can I ponder the wounds of my soul.
The Sieve ended on the fortieth morning. Reghen and Keko were leading us northwest. The night was descending fast, and we were much closer to the Endless Forest.
“Where in the Demon’s name are we going?” I asked.
Defeat had loosened my tongue, and I was in no mood to obey anyone.
“We’ve passed all the grazing meadows and training fields of the warriors and the young Archers. We’ll deliver you to the camp of the Uncarved. It is in the northwest corner of Sirol.”
“Is it deep in the Forest?”
“No, next to it. You will hear the wolves sing,” said the Reghen.
“And the Reekaal…but they don’t sing,” added Keko.
That was his last word. Sing. A word so out of step with the murky-eyed, shit-mouthed Guide. When we arrived at the camp of the Uncarved, Keko turned around and started galloping back to where we had come from before the Reekaal caught his scent. He said no goodbyes, and I never saw him again. Much later, I heard that he died of the plague, though I believe that the rose-colored
worms had been eating his body from within for a long time. His mouth always smelled of death, whether he was talking or breathing.
“Two more youths from this winter’s Sieve,” said the Reghen, pointing to Malan and me. Across from us stood a tall and broad-shouldered man, not as old as our Guides, with deep scars on his cheeks.
“This is Chaka, Leader of the Guides of the Uncarved. For five winters, you will be in his hands,” added the Reghen.
Five winters. What was this? In forty days of the Sieve, almost half the children I knew had died. I couldn’t even imagine my bare bones in five winters.
At his heels were four children I had not seen in the Sieve. Three of them were my height. One of them was huge, at least two palms taller than me.
“Stand next to them,” Chaka told us.
“We will bring seven more,” the Reghen said to Chaka. “That makes thirteen in all for this spring.”
“I seek only One.”
That was the only thing Chaka said to welcome us. He said it first looking at me and then at Malan, not the Reghen. And that was enough.
“How many Khuns does the Tribe have?” the young Reghen turned and asked me with wide eyes.
Another fool to torment me, that’s all he was. I didn’t answer. I’d had enough for one day.
I knew all this already. Only one Khun. He was seeking only One Leader. I wouldn’t have any friends or brothers here. Had I wanted any, I should have gotten a carving on my left arm.
Chaka smacked me hard, a suitable greeting for what I’d face over the next five winters.
“You rat, you answer when the Reghen asks you something. Are you the one who dared go into the wolves’ tent? The two rabbits?”
News of Malan’s brave deeds had traveled faster than we had. I was not the one. I exhaled again, bored stiff. He smacked me again on the same cheek. It was a strong one this time.
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