by B. K. Boes
Momma looked away, resignation in her expression.
A barrage of emotions swirled up inside Kaela as she backed away from the canvas, more potent than any she’d experienced before. “No!” she shouted. “I won’t go!”
“Kaela?” Momma was at the canvas flap, untying it, within seconds. When she threw back the flap, Kaela noticed how puffy and red her eyes were. “What did you hear?” Momma asked.
“I’m not going!” Kaela shouted again. But then she realized she wasn’t mad at Momma. This wasn’t Momma’s doing. Kaela charged past her mother so she could stand before Sava. “You can’t make me!”
Kaela’s walls crumbled completely. Anger, sadness, anxiety, resolve — all of these bombarded Kaela, sinking into her skin until she couldn’t tell which emotions were hers. And when she squeezed her eyes shut, the dark pool whispered to her. There were no words, just a feeling that the darkness offered her control. Kaela’s eyes snapped open, and she fell to her knees in front of Sava, her breath catching in her throat.
No! She tried to banish the darkness.
“Kaela!” Momma stepped toward her, alarm in her voice.
Sava held up a hand to stop her. Then, Kaela’s grandmother leaned forward, took Kaela’s face in her hands, and brought her lips to Kaela’s ear.
“Calm yourself, Kaela,” she whispered. “Build your wall. Block them out. You can’t give in, little one, or the darkness will destroy you.”
Kaela nodded, and she receded into the corners of her mind, where she could be alone. She held her breath, amazed at how tangible this place in her head seemed sometimes. Cracked desert wasteland surrounded her, completely barren. The sky above was cloudless, the sun shining hot upon her face. Large stone blocks lay in a circle around her, symbolizing the wall she’d let collapse.
She was still aware of the dark pool, but her insistence that it leave her had worked. It lay silent in the near distance.
Sava knew about the pool and its temptations of control, comfort, and power. The first time she’d learned of it, Kaela’s grandmother had radiated fear, and she’d implored Kaela to stay away. She made Kaela promise to never give in to it. Though this place was merely in Kaela’s mind, her grandmother seemed to understand that it was also real.
Kaela focused on the stone blocks. It took so much more effort when she had to deal with her own emotions as well. With each block, she separated her feelings from those of others, reclaiming control all on her own. One by one, she rebuilt her wall until she was hemmed in on every side.
She opened her eyes. Though she was no longer overwhelmed, her own anger still boiled under her skin. “I won’t go,” Kaela said.
Her grandmother dropped her hands to rest on her knees. Now that the danger had passed, her Sava’s stoic, calm persona redirected the conversation to its origin. “This is not how you were raised, little one,” Sava said, her voice low, her eyes narrowed. “Never speak to an elder with that tone. You knew this day would come, and you knew it would come soon.”
Kaela wiped away tears with the back of her hand. “I’m not little!”
“Ah, you are young, but perhaps you are right. You are not so little anymore,” Sava said as she looked past Kaela to Momma. “It is time for you to begin the life chosen for you by the Sustainer.”
Kaela was taken aback by her grandmother’s acknowledgement that she was no longer little. The implications of what that meant dawned on her. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to grow up at all.
“Kaela, it’s all right.” Momma gently put her hand on Kaela’s shoulder and bent down to look into Kaela’s eyes. “Poppa and I will be with you, and I promise you’ll make new friends. You are to be a Roshleth, as you’ve trained your whole life to be. You love keeping our history. This is simply the next step to becoming who you were born to be.”
Kaela wrinkled her nose, thinking about the implications of becoming a Roshleth. She glanced at Momma’s union seal and touched her right earlobe.
“I don’t want to be anyone’s wife,” she said, her eyes burning as hot tears brimmed their edges.
The corner of Momma’s lips twitched upward, and she let out a soft chuckle. She smoothed away a few strands of hair stuck to Kaela’s forehead. “You won’t have to worry about that for a very long time,” she said. “Right now, you only need to be someone’s friend. And you need to become part of the Hodda. One day you will be their Roshleth, just like your grandmother is for the Nonnka. They need to love you and trust you before they can follow you.”
Sava nodded. “Well said, my daughter. Kaela, you will bring light and blessing to the Hodda, and your match with their future Patriarch will give our tribes a blood-bond.”
Kaela’s shoulders drooped. “Don’t you want me here anymore, Sava?” Tears slid down her cheeks.
Sava’s eyes widened, and for a moment her calmness was replaced by a look of surprise. “This isn’t about what I want, Kaela. This is about preserving the ways of our people. It’s about sharing our knowledge and our blood. The women in our family guard the history of Leyumin, and we keep the stories of the stars in our hearts. I will miss you, but I am also proud of who you are.”
“But who will help me—” Kaela stopped, glancing at her mother, who didn’t know about her curse.
Who will help me control the emotions? Who will help me stay away from the darkness?
“Kaela, you are ready. We still have some time to… prepare you,” Sava said, their secret kept safe within the confines of vague words and knowing looks.
“Do you understand what Sava is saying?” Momma asked.
Kaela squeaked out a small, “I understand.”
But you don’t…
Sava was the only person who did. And now, she would have to step out from under her protective wing. Kaela’s stomach flip-flopped, and she let her tears flow without restraint. Sava said she was ready…
… but am I really?
Chapter Eight
Jabin
Yllin Agricultural Estate, Eikon
3rd Cycle of Chenack
986 Post Schism
Twelve days — nearly an entire span — had passed since Jenna’s accident. Jabin had barely left Jenna’s room since then, as had his mother. Never had he prayed so fervently.
Sustainer be good. Don’t forsake my sister. Forgive me. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to ignore your warning.
He still didn’t understand what had happened to him. The experience mimicked the stories great Oracles of his faith described in one of Jabin’s cherished books. A foretelling of the future. The gift of prophecy often ran in bloodlines, but as far as Jabin knew, no Oracles graced his family tree.
Now he held Jenna’s hand. Her face was pale, but the fever had gone some time ago. Still, she slept. She’d gone unconscious after the fire. Her leg was burned badly from the knee down, and her hair was singed. A fever had wracked her body for half a span afterwards. Delirious for days, and then exhausted and asleep for most of the time since, Jenna had not yet returned to her normal self.
Jenna mostly lay there, just breathing, with her leg wrapped and resting on pillows. His mother, Tallie, gave her water, a spoonful at a time, as the healer had taught her. Jenna’s throat was raw from the smoke, and she refused to eat. Tallie also changed the bandage every few days, checking for any signs of pus. And every time she repeated these rituals, Tallie cried.
Now, Tallie sat opposite Jabin, Jenna’s still body between them, sleeping like the dead. A cloudy night let in little moonslight, but four wall sconces were lit, casting a dim yellow glow over the room. His mother’s arms were folded, eyes fixed on her daughter. Jabin didn’t look at his mother for long. His burden of shame grew heavier each day.
This is all my fault. Why couldn’t I move faster?
The debilitating shock had been a frightening experience all on its own. He hadn’t been strong enough to overcome it in time.
He didn’t want to look at his sister, either. Instead he took her hand in hi
s. The warmth of it comforted Jabin; it was evidence she still lived. He placed his head on his arm as he rested at Jenna’s bedside.
“You should sleep in your bed tonight, Jabin.” Tallie didn’t pull her gaze away from Jenna as she spoke, her voice a soft whisper.
“No, Momma. I want to stay with Jenna again,” Jabin said.
“Very well.” His mother patted the space on the bed below Jenna’s feet. “Just one more night.”
Jabin crawled up onto the foot of the bed, positioning himself so his hand still lay over Jenna’s fingers. With a prayer for dreamless sleep, he closed his eyes. He drifted in and out of awareness as the night wore on until a gasp from his mother startled him fully awake.
At first, his eyes went to Tallie’s face. The pure relief there led Jabin to look at his sister. Jenna’s eyes were fluttering open, and with them, Jabin’s heart beat faster. They were clear and knowing, instead of muddled and confused. She made no immediate request for the healer’s pain relieving tincture, which always put her back to sleep.
“Jenna? Sweet girl, do you hear me?” His mother brushed Jenna’s hair back from her face.
“Momma?” Jenna’s brow knit together, and her voice was raw and cracked. “Jabin?”
The words he wanted to say formed a clump in Jabin’s throat. He only stared at her as a flood of emotions overwhelmed him.
“It’s all right,” Tallie said, tears of a different kind running down her cheeks. “You’re all right.” She went to the door and called for Noba, who came a few seconds later. Tallie also sent for their father, who had been away working more often than not since Jenna’s accident. He had only come to see her twice a day, and even then, he’d just stood in the doorway, staring.
“Momma, my leg still hurts.” Jenna groaned and tried to sit up but couldn’t.
“Don’t, sweet girl.” Tallie came back to her side. “Rest until the healer says otherwise. Do you want more medicine?”
“I want to stay awake,” Jenna said. “I’m so hungry.”
Jabin straightened. “I’ll go get one of Noba’s biscuits,” he said.
“Thank you, Jabin.” Tallie nodded and turned back to Jenna.
It was all Jabin could do not to run as he left the room. Jenna was clear-headed, and that was good, but he was afraid someone would see the guilt on his face. A familiar ache started in his stomach as he made his way to the kitchen. She was recovering despite him. If Jenna knew, if his parents knew, would they forgive him?
The physician said Jenna should recover with rest and an effort to gradually build her strength back up. Jabin’s mother seemed to relax after that. The dark circles under her eyes were gone after a couple of nights sleeping in her own room. His mother even attended the sanctuary for the Holy Day to give thanks to the Sustainer for Jenna’s survival. His father, Abner, came more often to check on Jenna and offered to stay with her in their mother’s absence. He brought her flowers from the garden and told her stories and kissed her cheek. Everyone’s spirits lifted.
Except Jabin’s.
He was afraid to sleep, afraid to dream. Food was bland and unappealing, and his stomach was constantly turning in knots. Now that Jenna was becoming herself again, he couldn’t bear to stay with her long. All he wanted was to hide in his bedroom, and that’s what he did.
Until one evening when his mother came to see him.
A knock on the door made Jabin jump. He curled up on his bed and threw the blankets over his head.
“Jabin? It’s me,” Tallie said. The hinges of his door creaked as she opened it. “Are you all right? You haven’t been to see your sister today. Have you even left your room?”
He said nothing, hoping she would think him asleep and leave. But instead, the mattress shifted as she sat on the edge of his bed. She pulled back the blanket.
“My stomach hurts, Momma,” Jabin said.
“Come with me for a walk,” she said. “Fresh air and a view of the stars will be good for you.”
Jabin sat up. “I just want to go to bed.”
“Come with me, Jabin.” His mother’s voice was gentle but firm.
With face downcast, Jabin followed his mother outside. They passed the courtyard to walk in the gardens which his mother so proudly planted and cared for herself. A pile of blackened wood — all that was left of the old barn — sat in the distance. The beginnings of a new barn rose beside it. Jabin looked away and kept his eyes on the ground.
After they’d walked in silence for a while, Tallie took Jabin’s hand in her own and sat on a stone bench facing the sunset. The evidence of the fire marred the landscape behind them, but before them stretched fields of Urakma. A never-ending expanse of cream-colored stalks boasting lavender blooms on the tips of heads of grain. The blooms would turn to white puffs to be dyed and woven into cloth, while the grain was used for all manner of food, and the stalk itself could be ground to a pulp and made into precious paper. But now, in the sunset, early in the year, the blooms were still lavender, and they swayed beneath the pinks and purples of the dusky sky.
His mother loved to watch the sun set. She often came out to watch it and hadn’t done so since before the fire. Jabin viewed the beautiful land with dulled senses, hoping they would sit in silence. His chest was tight, and he couldn’t seem to sit still.
“I know this has been hard, Jabin. We’ve not had time for you.” His mother brushed Jabin’s hair back and leaned in to hug him.
But he pulled away, appalled. “I don’t deserve anyone’s time,” he said. Tears brimmed his eyes, making everything a little blurry.
“Jabin, what do you mean?” She tilted her head, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.
“It’s my fault.” It was the first time he’d said the words out loud. His cheeks burned as he stood, balled his fists and turned from his mother. If she hadn’t grabbed hold of his hand, he would have run just to avoid talking about the awful truth.
“What do you mean, sweet child?” She was trying to soothe him, which made it so much worse.
“My dream!” Jabin yelled, his voice cracking as he turned to face his mother. “I saw it happen, and I didn’t stop it.”
That seemed to surprise her. She paused for a moment. “Jabin, dreams are just dreams. This wasn’t your fault.”
A flood of words that had been pent up for days came pouring out of Jabin’s mouth. “No! You don’t understand. It was all in my dream. Noba dropped the rod, and it was exactly the same. You laughed, and it was the same. When I ran into the barn, I knew where Jenna was because I’d already seen it. Except in the dream, Jenna died. The dream won’t go away. It feels like a memory. I remember it happening twice, Momma. Once where Jenna died, and once where I dragged her out of the fire.”
His mother stared at him in shock, eyes wide and searching. She stood and looked away from him, her hand on her stomach like she was going to be sick.
Jabin’s shoulders slumped. He knew it. His mother could see what he’d done, and she was sickened by it. If he had stopped Jenna before she even entered the barn, everything would have been okay. Jabin sat cross-legged on the ground, buried his face in his hands and cried.
“A vision?” Momma’s whisper made Jabin look up at her. Her head was tilted back, and she was searching the sky for something. She sat back on the bench, hard, as if she’d been pushed down. “Jabin, come here.”
But Jabin didn’t move. He was frightened. Instead, he buried his face again. “I’m sorry, Momma,” he said. Before he finished his apology a second time, his mother’s arms were around him, gathering him up into her lap and squeezing him tight.
“This is not your fault. And more than that, you saved Jenna’s life. I’m proud of you, Jabin.” She kissed his forehead, and he leaned into her. He needed to hear her say it again, after knowing about the dream, and she did without him asking.
In the middle of the night, Jabin woke to muffled voices. His parents didn’t argue much, but when they did, they did so after he and Jenna were asleep. Thei
r arguments took place in the courtyard where perhaps they thought they couldn’t be heard. He crept out of bed and turned the little crank that opened his window, and their voices became clearer.
“No,” Abner said. “I won’t accept it. Jabin is my son. I’ve put up with his strange fascination with religion, but this is too far. He’s heir to this estate. I will not have him turned into one of those isolated, self-righteous holy men.”
“Abner—”
“This is just an overactive imagination, Tallie. He reads too many books on theology and philosophy and whatever else Oracle Lan happens to mention. I thought it was strange before, an eight-year-old boy reading books that would bore most men. But now I see I should have put an end to it.”
“Abner.” Her voice was firmer, on the edge of irritation. “His interest in the Sustainer is not strange. He’s special, and this proves it. He saved Jenna’s life! He’s been given a gift. You haven’t even heard him talk about his dream. It was a vision. I know it!”
“You’re going to put ridiculous ideas into his head. He ran out to help and saw Jenna run inside. He’s confused.”
“Stop being stubborn. The Sustainer has something important for our boy, and we can’t hold him back from that.”
“Something important?” Abner said, incredulous. “Important like running this estate? Yes, he does. The Sustainer will use our boy like he’s used me, and my father before me, and his father before him. To feed the people’s stomachs, keep them alive, and provide them with daily necessities. We can’t let our only son shirk those responsibilities.”
The argument continued, but Jabin quietly shut the window and climbed back into bed.
Does the Sustainer have something else in store for me? Jabin wasn’t sure he’d like the life of an Oracle. They had no families of their own, no children. No blood inheritance could be passed on to them. And he didn’t want to see any more terrible things in his dreams.