The quiet of her parents’ tent conjured memories of Roandee, his laughter, his arms around her neck. Not a moment passed that her heart did not ache. How could I have failed to see the Sebborr attack coming before it happened? What good is it to be an oracle if I am unable to see what will hurt those I love?
She let her mind take her back to the Statues of Sinnttee and the HeLew od Metis and the lessons she had learned in the seclusion of the temple. Her snake hissed. “I know, small one. I can only do what I can do.”
Today was an important turning. She picked up her quill and dipped it in the dye pot.
It is Roandee’s twelfth birth celebration. How I wish he were here to share it. I will celebrate anyway. I will sing his favorite songs and fix his favorite meals. Even now, two sun cycles later, I cannot believe he is gone.
Much has happened since his disappearance. I am told that Irussi passed on her knowledge to me as she died. Little by little, it emerges, and I find myself full of the ancient wisdom of this wonderful leader. Life’s trials surely teach us to be strong and wise. I have lost so much—my parents, my brother, and my beloved teacher. In their place, I have the Atrilaasu, who cherish me beyond all others. As much as I love each of them, I continue to grieve.
A celebration will be held tonight to officially welcome me as the Headwoman of the tribe. I am young to be their leader, but the vote in counsel was unanimous. WoNadahem Mardree will be my new name. I am glad that I will also retain my given name. The people will continue to call me WoNa.
Living in my parents’ tent has become unbearable. On the morrow, I will move into the cave beneath the outcropping. It is small but already filled with the comforts of life—a bed, a cook stove, a comfortable chair, and a table and chairs where I can eat my meals and write in the journals. The sound of water will help to wash away my loneliness.
It is evening. I am officially the head woman of the Atrilaasu. As the ceremony concluded the people cheered. Their trust warms my heart. I yearn to be a good and wise leader.
WoNa grew in her role as WoNadahem. She filled her turnings with helping her people and nights with time in the dreaming place. The years were good to the Atrilaasu. No more raids or plagues depleted the tribe. Babies were born and blessed by the generosity of the desert spirits. The council of elders advised and listened. Aluben passed into the world of ancients and was replaced by Elo as WoNa’s mentor. Narrtep remained her constant companion and friend. The cooler turnings of the sun’s late cycle arrived and brought with them an ease that permeated the tribe. WoNa entered her cave and sat at the wooden table. She picked up her journal and flipped through the pages. Her fingers felt each corner until at last she found what she was looking for. Rotating the quill between her fingers, she let her thoughts form. Contentment curved her lips into a smile as she dipped the nib and began.
My thirty-fourth sun cycle celebration is this turning. Time has flown, and I am happy. My ability to lead has been tested and found true. I am also much better equipped to dream in the dreaming place. I see more clearly. Irussi’s knowledge and the knowledge of those who went before her help me to hone my skills.
This morning I awake with a tremor in my soul. I lay still, my mind reaching for the dreaming place. An osprey’s wide wings cast a shadow over the oasis. My heart jumps. The man I saw for the first time in my initiate’s vision arrives at Eissua as I scramble out of bed and dress.
I finish securing the Oracle Stone to my forehead as Narrtep hurries into the cave. I know by the sound of his steps that he is anxious.
“A stranger wishes to talk to you. He is compelling and somewhat frightening. Do you wish to see him?”
“I will see him. Give me a few minutes to prepare.”
My heartbeat quickens as I think about this man whom I have seen in several visions. I feel young and girlish and chastise myself for being silly. The step, drag of his gait tells me of his deformed left side. His power fills my small cave as the limped walk ceases.
“I am Wolloh Espyro, and I have come to learn at your knee.” His voice is deep and accented. Again, my heart changes rhythm.
“Welcome to Eissua, High DiMensioner. If you will allow it, I would touch your face to learn more of you.”
He kneels. My fingers find one smooth cheek and one disfigured. The nose is straight. One eyebrow arches above an uninjured eye; feather-like bristles arc above the other. The grimaced-mouth on his left side tells me of his pain. And yet I feel utter acceptance as my fingers learn him.
My snake slithers along my arm and curls up on my palm. I hold out my hand. It shrills a soft whistle. The side of Wolloh’s hand touches mine. My heart jumps. I feel a moment of surprise as my serpent traverses the small gap between our touching fingers.
Emptiness replaces Wolloh’s hand. I sense him looking eye to eye with my small traitor. “He is quite beautiful, WoNa.” The hand returns. Scales tickle my palm and move up my arm. A tiny tongue flicks my cheek. A long, low hiss tells me he is a friend.
I reach out to the man still kneeling in front of me. “May I hold your hands?”
He places his hands in mine. I note the contrast—the rough, claw-like fingers of his left hand and smoothness of his right. “You have suffered much.”
“I made my choice.” He withdraws his hands. “It cost me, but in the end the rewards have been great. You are blind. I would wager that has taught you much.”
She nodded and touched the crystal at her throat. “You carry power far beyond anyone I have met. What is it you need of me?”
“Teach me of the desert—how to call the wind and sing the dream track—how to reach the dreaming place and talk to the ancients.”
“You wish to know many things, Wolloh Espyro.”
I sense his body position shift. “I wish to deepen my understanding of the world I claim as my home.”
Again, my heartbeat betrays my girlish feelings. I calm myself before I speak. “It sounds as though you mean to stay on DerTah.”
He laughs a laugh full of delight and speaks with the eagerness of a boy. “I have discovered a love of this desert, its deep gorges, it rolling sand dunes, its sense of solitude. I find the warm hues healing. I have acquired a parcel of land and built a home. It is between Fera Finnero and the Sea of Fire. I can show it to you.”
It is my turn to laugh. “I rarely leave Eissua, Wolloh.”
He takes my hand between his. The clawed one balances mine, the uninjured one rests with its palm to my palm. “Be very still,” he whispers.
I am excited to learn more of this man and relax into the quiet. Pictures form in my mind: an expanse of red desert, a house with turrets and balconies, a garden and outbuildings. It melts into my sightlessness. I sigh. “It is beautiful.”
“I call it Shu Chenaro.”
WoNa set the quill aside and leaned back in her chair. Wolloh’s visit had given her much to think about. The ancients had encouraged her to pick a companion, to be married in the ways of the Atrilaasu. Unlike other desert tribes, the Dansmen did not believe that the marriage bed stripped an oracle of power. Instead, they believed the balance of masculine and feminine enhanced the oracle’s ability to dream to the needs of the people. It had been expected that she would Join with Narrtep. Neither he nor she was willing to move in this direction. Their relationship thrived in feelings of comradeship, not in those of love partners.
She flipped back through the pages of her journal. Her fingers again found the page she sought.
I am finally ensconced within the small cave. The solitude provides opportunity to explore my heart. Ancient teachings suggest it is time for me to select a mate. I am reticent to do so. Everyone who loves me dies or disappears. How can I put another in harm’s way?
Her feelings had not changed since that entry. Returning to her place, she dipped her quill and began to write.
Wolloh tells me I have the potential to become an initiate of the Order of Esprow. We have agreed to a bartered exchange—the ways of the desert for lessons
in DiMensionery. The challenge of matching my intelligence and my talent to his makes me smile. I am as excited to learn new things as he is.
Today, I introduced him to the council of ancients and asked their permission to teach him our ways. Only ReNacc withheld his consent and his welcome. After Wolloh departed, he came to me.
“This man is a danger to you, WoNa. You must not work with him. Tell him he may not visit you or Eissua ever again.”
“Why does Wolloh frighten you, ReNacc? He is a good man. I have seen him in the dreaming place, or I would not have considered his request.”
The elder spoke out in anger. “I do not fear him. My grandson would learn at your knee. You have said no, and yet you welcome a stranger, a man not even of DerTah, let alone Fera Finnero.”
“Gilamn is talented, ReNacc, but he is not ready. He wishes to learn for the wrong reasons. When he matures beyond the hunger for power, I will consider taking him as an apprentice, but not until then.”
The table shakes in response to the slam of his hand. “Why does this Wolloh want to work with you, WoNa? He wants power!”
“ReNacc, Wolloh is already the most powerful man on DerTah. What I will teach him of the desert will provide him with knowledge of his chosen homeland. It will be a mere drop in the deep well of his mastery. What he can teach me will make me better able to protect our people.”
He brushes past me, stops, and blurts out, “If you persist in this, I will petition to have you removed as WoNadahem.”
I bow my head. “So be it, ReNacc.”
He stalks from the cave, leaving the atmosphere redolent with anger.
I am glad to hear Narrtep approach. “What has upset the old man? He stormed out of here like a desert twister.”
“He is upset at me for not apprenticing Gilamn.” I share our conversation.
“Are you worried the council and people will remove you as WoNadahem?”
“No, Narrtep. I am sad for ReNacc. His grandson has caused the tribe problems in the past and will continue to do so. I have dreamt it, but did not have the heart to tell him…nor is it appropriate for me to do so.”
I hear the chair across from me shift and creak under Narrtep’s weight. “I think I will stay close until his anger dies down.”
I smile and reach for his hand. “I thank you, my friend.”
The scheduled time for her first lesson with Wolloh prowled the back of her mind like a desert cat. Finally it arrived. Dressing with care, she waited by the cave entrance, wishing she could see the osprey fly over the oasis. The breath of wings and the sound of a step drag step alerted her to his arrival. Her heart beat harder and her cheeks flooded with warmth. Their time together passed her expectations.
When neither ReNacc nor Gilamn said anything more about the High DiMensioner’s visits to Eissua, WoNa put her concerns aside. Those times when business at Shu Chenaro kept Wolloh away, WoNa dealt with the needs of the Dansmen—blessed a new baby, joined a young couple, settled a dispute between two brothers. She spent time in the dreaming place and wrote her visions in the Dream Journals.
A moon cycle had passed. It amazed her how much she had learned and how much she looked forward to her time with Wolloh. Today’s visit had been shorter than unusual. She sat in the cave’s secluded quiet, hardly knowing where to begin. Her journal lay open. The quill hovered between the pot of ink and the page. Taking a deep, exhilarating breath, she pressed the nib to the paper.
Today was one of the best turnings of my life—and one of the most difficult.
Wolloh is an extraordinary teacher and an excellent student. Understanding comes quickly to this man whose intelligence outstrips anyone I have ever known.
“Dream tracks,” I explain, “are paths across the land or the heavens created by the desert spirits. The people learn them through songs, stories, paintings, and even dance. By reciting the songs and stories in the correct order we can find our way throughout Fera Finnero.”
I teach him the first one we teach our children. He knows it by the time I repeat it once. I admit…I test him. He does not hesitate, but learns three of the most difficult songlines in one sitting. Already he knows our language, DerTah’s constellations, and the most well-known desert landmarks.
When we finish the last one, it is my turn to be the student. He sits in front of me and holds my hands.
“Today we will learn about telepathy—to speak in each other’s minds. Close your eyes and listen very closely”
I do as he asks. Even though I do not see, I understand that closed eyes will help me to center within myself. A tingling sensation skitters through my brain. I force myself to relax—to listen.
“Tell WoNa I am here, Narrtep, or I will tell her myself.” Gilamn’s voice is angry and belligerent.
I start. Wolloh squeezes my hand. “Stay quiet. I will assist Narrtep.” He moves away.
I hear a fist make contact and shudder. Then only the quiet of the cave can be heard. The step drag of Wolloh’s gait brings him back to his chair. I start to speak.
“Shhhhh. Listen.” He takes my hands.
“WoNadahem Mardree.” The words in my mind are so soft I wonder if I actually heard them. “WoNa…”
I gasp and swallow the reply that rises to my lips. I squeeze my eyes tighter and envision Wolloh in my mind—the bristly, feathered brow, the mole on the left of his long straight nose, the rippled scarring and damaged mouth. “The osprey flies.” I think the message through the space between us.
He laughs. “Good. Tell me the first of the songlines.”
“The waterfall will guide the way
It can be heard both night and day
Don’t wander far so you can hear
Its plunging message loud and clear.”
“I would say that you are an apt student, WoNa.” He releases my hands. “I must go. In two turnings, I will return.”
WoNa accompanied him outside, felt the energy of his shift, and listened to the shish of his wings as he lifted into flight. Narrtep arrived at her side.
“Gilamn and ReNacc demand an audience. Elo asks that you join the council.” He took her arm and guided her to the council tent. The meeting was long and filled with emotion. When it concluded, he escorted her to the cave and remained with her, a silent watcher.
The urge to write overwhelmed her need to talk. She reached for her new journal. Being the Headwoman had its challenging moments. Today had proven to be one of them.
Not yet ready to write about the council meeting, she flipped to the first entry and let her fingers travel the words.
This morning Wolloh arrives with the sun. I sense his presence before he lands by the oasis lake. My heart races as I tie the Oracle Stone in place and don my kcalo. His step drag pauses at the entrance to the cave.
“Come in, my friend.” I sit at the table, my heart still a warbling bird in my chest.
He limps down the short tunnel. Before he takes a seat across from me, he places a wrapped package in my hands. “I have brought you a thank you gift, WoNa.” The deep voice sends a thrill through me. I explore the present with almost steady hands but make no move to tear the delicate paper.
A soft laugh and then his good hand lightly touches mine. “It won’t hurt you, you know.”
“I don’t want to tear the paper. It feels so lovely. Tell me its color.”
“It is the color of morning softly creeping across the sky.” He takes if from me. I hear the paper rustle as he pulls it free and folds it. He places the contents in my hands. I know at once it is a journal. The smoothness of the cover fascinates me. The pages are like silk beneath my fingertips.
“The cover is so soft and the paper fine grained—unlike anything I know.”
I hear the smile in his voice. “The paper was made from trees cut in the forests of Trinuge. A zeegall gave its life for food. Its hide is now the cover of your journal.”
I run my hand over the smooth leather and send a silent thank you to the spirit of the zeegall.
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br /> Wolloh sets a small, clay pot in my hands. “I have also brought you ink.” He removes the pot and replaces it with another gift. “And a new quill.”
I run my fingers along the spine of the feather. My heart skips a beat. “It is an osprey feather! Is it one of yours?”
He laughs. “It is.”
“Is it white or black?”
His pleasure at my delight sings in my mind.
“It is as pure and white as the first snowfall in the TheDa Mountains, or the foam the Sea of Trinuge washes up on the beach, or the petals of a DoOlbian dew drop. It is from my left wing, and I offer it with my deepest regard and gratitude.”
WoNa sat in the quiet of the cave, allowing herself to relive the vibrance of her feelings. She had never felt so alive or so filled with misgivings. Shoving the mix of emotions to the back of her mind, she dipped her osprey quill and began to chronicle the events of the council meeting.
We arrive at the council tent to find Gilamn and ReNacc waiting by the entrance, their anger tainting the air around them. It is the tradition of the people that the Headwoman and Oracle must enter before the petitioner. I nod their direction. A muffled growl and the scuffle of feet inform me of a struggle between them. Narrtep quickly guides me inside.
The council is composed of twelve members plus the Headwoman or Headman, who is often but not always the Oracle of the Atrilaasu. It is preferred that the council numbers thirteen as it does today. As Headwoman, I vote only to break a tie. It is my role to listen, sort fact from fiction, and arbitrate if necessary.
Elo moves to my side. “We have all seen examples of Gilamn’s anger and lack of control,” she says. “Today it is once again focused at you and the High DiMensioner.”
I bow my head. “Let us hear what he has to say.”
Narrtep leaves and returns with Gilamn and his grandfather. My skin tingles with the intensity of their fury.
The UnFolding Collection Two Page 59