Now she was on her own—not that she was unused to that. She’d explored far and wide by herself in the past. In particular she’d hunted the trail of various demon stones until she’d finally found one. But then she’d always had her arcane talents at her disposal; to defend herself, or to flee if necessary. She supposed that there probably weren’t many monsters or great beasts still lurking in the forest that she would have to worry about.
Probably.
The sun would have been fairly high in the sky then, but she couldn’t see it under the tree canopy. Neenahwi was sure that she was feeling the benefits of it though; dappled sunlight came through breaks in the trees and the air was full of the sounds of birds and other creatures going about their woodland business. Her job now was to find a place to make camp and build a shelter. So the only thing on her mind was where should it be? How far should she keep walking?
It was her stomach that informed her to stop some hours later, likely around lunchtime, when it gurgled to let her know that it was still there and was usually fed by then. Neenahwi gave a silent apology to her body and took stock of where she was. It was a small clearing, the sun peaked through a gap in the trees, and from the ground sprouted great green leaves shaped like the feathers of a giant phoenix. She had passed a small stream a half hour before, and she was fairly confident she could find it again to collect rocks for her stone circle, and also to refill her waterskins if she needed.
This will be a good place, she thought, and set to work cutting down the ferns with her small knife.
It took the rest of the day to clear the ground cover and weave the large green leaves into panels. These she fastened to frames of wood, built of live limbs she cut from trees around her new home. She didn’t notice the time passing with her hands busy and work to occupy her. At times, Neenahwi had found herself frustrated at her first attempts at creating her own building materials, fashioning twine from vine or fibrous plant material proving to be particularly bothersome. But she persevered, and tried again. After all, what else was there for her to do? At least it had the added benefit of keeping her mind off her empty belly.
As the light in the forest started to dim, she stood, hands on hips surveying the product of her craft. An A-frame structure butting up against a great chestnut tree, the vivid green of the screens blending in with the undergrowth behind it. It was large enough for her to lie down inside, and to sit up cross legged, but not to stand upright. The floor was lined with other green leaves, and a pile of the same leaves was reserved in the corner in case she needed covering at night.
“Home,” she said to herself. “If only I had my cat.”
The forest got dark quickly that night, long before when Neenahwi suspected the sun had actually set. And her environment changed markedly. The shadows between the trees were impenetrable pools of black. The quiet peace replaced by a cacophony of insects chirruping and owls hooting, interrupted by the rustling sounds of some ground creature walking close by but completely unseen. She cursed herself for spending so much time on a shelter and not thinking of preparing a fire—at least to have some light. That would need to be a focus for tomorrow.
Without light, and work for her hands, time once again slowed to a crawl. She sat cross legged in her shelter and took up her typical meditating position.
She usually spent many hours each day in such a pose, working through the mental exercises that were essential to wield the magic of the world. Splitting her consciousness to do more than one thing at once, drawing energy from her environment in threads that sparkled to her arcane eye, weaving it into the forms and effects that she could call on at a moment’s notice. These exercises were like a swordsman’s drills—essential if she was to continually improve or even maintain her current level of skill. But she supposed the ban on magic during her vision quest extended to this routine too.
So she closed her eyes with the intention to contemplate the events of the past few months; the new leadership of Edland, stepping into her adopted father’s ancient shoes, and most of all, what was Llewdon, self-proclaimed god-emperor of Pyrfew, up to? But, for the first time since she was a teenager, the combination of her aching muscles and the monotony of the forest noise, pulled her toward sleep instead of into thought.
Neenahwi woke with a start. A tickle at her feet, accompanied by a snuffling, and she snapped upright, briefly unsure of her surroundings.
Whatever beast had been in her clearing disappeared before she could see it, but she heard the sound of it running away through the vegetation.
She wasn’t the only one to be startled this morning.
Sunlight was starting to filter through the trees as Neenahwi unfolded herself from the shelter. Stretching, she briefly gave thought to making breakfast, before remembering that wasn’t on the agenda. In fact there wasn’t really anything on the agenda. And that emptiness of purpose was concerning to her. Not having a thousand things to do was completely unfamiliar. The irony of finding her purpose in life while feeling completely purposeless was not lost on her.
Fire.
Remembering the lack of light last night, she was suddenly thankful for her prior oversight.
Something to do.
Three stacks and a circle showed the evidence of her work. A small ring of rocks to act as a hearth. A small pile of tinder tucked away in her shelter out of any wind or rain that might come. A larger stack of twigs and small branches for kindling, and a final pile of larger branches for fuel that she had tried, with varying degrees of success, to snap to manageable sizes. Completing her preparations were two sticks that she had prepared with her knife to act as a fire starter.
Neenahwi realized that she hadn’t made a fire by rubbing two sticks together since she had fled Missapik with her brother and Kanaveen, more than fifteen years ago. Making a spark had been one of the first applications of magic she had discovered. She still remembered that night; they had been caught in storm that had lasted two days, they were soaked to the skin and though they had found a cave in which to shelter, there was no dry kindling to start a fire. Neenahwi had been despondent, and her brother thoroughly miserable, both of them staring intently at the pile of twigs they had tried to use. Her anger and frustration at their predicament had welled up inside her, releasing suddenly like a whistle from a kettle. And the fire had burst to life, consuming the sticks. She’d fainted from the exertion and awoke to find Kanaveen tending a roaring fire, a rabbit roasting on a spit to finally feed their bellies.
As she thought about it, she realized she hadn’t been as hungry since then too.
It had been nearly two days since the lunch that Kanaveen had prepared and she wondered now if she would ever eat again. If she’d have known it was going to be her last meal then maybe she would have asked for seconds.
Her thoughts turned back again to that night and their flight. The Wolfclaw clan was native to the broad plains of Missapik which they shared with other tribes—mostly in peace but war was always just a disagreement away. When her tribe had been destroyed by the Pyrfew invaders, Kanaveen had led them east to warn the other tribes.
They had traveled to places that were only stories to members of her clan. Over mountain passes into a great forest that she didn’t know the name of, like this one in many ways, but so unalike in others. The people of Edland would describe it as ‘wild’, though she thought untamed was a more fitting depiction of its raw beauty.
More times than she could count on her hands she had thought they would perish in that unending forest. Monsters. Quick sand. Swamp. And that sorcerer they had stumbled across, living alone in a cave, who had cursed her brother and damaged his sight.
And the hunger.
Moving fast, they had gathered what food they came across as they traveled—rarely stopping to hunt—and there were many evenings when she went to sleep hungry. Kanaveen would often give his share of food to her and Motega, and when he wasn’t looking she would share further with her younger brother. Strangely, though she was sur
e it was due to the benefit of time passing, she looked back on those days with a fondness now. She had been so close to her brother, something which slipped away as events had taken them to the Jeweled Continent. Neenahwi felt some of that connection to Motega coming back in recent weeks but she didn’t know how reliable it was. Would she abandon him again for the pursuit of knowledge? Would he disappear in the night once more to seek adventure?
Finally, they had broken out of the forest to see their first sight of the ocean, and to meet other Alfjarun peoples, those who lived in harmony with the sea. Their villages were bigger, their ocean-going canoes larger than what her people used on the rivers and they were fitted with sails, though nothing like the vessels she grew accustomed to in Kingshold. At first, they had been welcomed by people she thought of as distant cousins. She had been so happy to be around normal families again. And to eat the abundance of fish and sea food that was those peoples’ bounty.
Then the Pyrfew ships had come. But not in conquest this time.
Neenahwi had watched in growing horror as the same men in steel that had killed her parents and torn her world asunder were now welcomed by the people she had considered friends.
Trading partners. And it was not long before she, Motega and Kanaveen were goods to be traded in exchange for gaudy trinkets, and bundled onto a ship bound for Pyrfew and its Emperor.
Tears streaked down her cheeks as the memories flooded over her. So long these experiences had been hidden away, replaced by a burning desire for revenge and the need to learn the power to execute it. She cried until her soul felt as empty as her belly. And the emptiness felt light. It felt good.
Drum. Drum.
The rain beat a tattoo on the roof of Neenahwi’s shelter.
It thrummed through the canopy of trees above.
Puddles of muddy water formed on the cleared ground before her.
The wind swept through the trees, circling through the ancient trunks, creating eddies in the air and bending the younger saplings that reached earnestly toward the sky.
Neenahwi watched the unexpected summer storm with a sense of detachment.
Branches ripped from bows above came tumbling to earth—sticking into the muddy ground at an angle—but it gave her no concern.
Leaves woven into the side of her shelter became separated by natures breath, allowing the rain to soak through her purple robe, causing it to stick to her skin.
But she paid no mind.
An earthworm had burrowed to the surface, escaping a death by drowning. She watched it squirm and wriggle as it sought the dry. Neenahwi reached out to pick it up and cradled it in her hand as the storm blew around her.
The humble earthworm. An alchemist of the ground, able to turn death and decay into the fertile soil needed for everyone’s survival. She was reminded of the early days of her study with Jyuth, when he refused to train her in the use of magic until she had absorbed many dusty volumes on the myriad of beasts and plants that inhabit the Jeweled Continent. One fascinating entry was on the purple worm; the gigantic cousin of what she held in her hand. The purple worm lived hundreds of feet below the surface of the world, and was itself many millions of times greater in size than the wriggling brown creature of the forest. But they were essentially the same. And she had got to see those beautiful creatures just last year in Unedar Halt. Great and small sharing many characteristics; a body of interconnected rings, able to move objects many times it’s bodyweight; eating, digesting and excreting all it came across as it burrowed through the land. Both were beautiful in their simplicity and purpose, but she had come to admire the purple worm’s capacity for friendship and bravery. Was this tiny creature the same?
“Ah, dear worm,” said Neenahwi. “You and I are much alike. I am no more important in the scheme of things than you are. But you know your purpose, and I, as yet, do not. Am I here to make the world better for things to grow and live as you are?”
The worm tilted its head in a shoulder-less shrug and she felt compelled to agree with it. After all, what business did she have demanding such answers of him? She tenderly placed the worm on the earth at the back of her shelter where she hoped it could stay out of the rain before resuming its work.
Water dripping from her face, the rain continued. And Neenahwi continued her watch.
The storm blew out some time later, the sun following behind, and steam rose from the forest floor. Neenahwi sat a while some more, watching the wildflowers opening their blooms once again to entice the butterflies and bees, before she remembered that today was the day she had to build her stone circle.
At the stream, she refilled her water skins and then set to wading barefoot through the water. Deliberately, she picked stones half the size of her head, smooth from the flow of the river, inspecting them without any specific intention, though afterward it was striking how they were all distinct in appearance. Ten stones in total she carried one-by-one back to her camp, eight for the compass points, one for the sky and one for the earth.
The bare ground in front of her tattered shelter was already dry; the rain gone, evaporated into the air or sucked into the thirsty earth like a beer set in front of a farm worker after a long day in the field. Standing in the center of the space, she turned on the spot, marking a circle with the point of a stick. Neenahwi placed the stones around the edge, not giving much thought to which would go where, letting her subconscious guide their selection. She was left with two stones; one sparkling white, smooth and round; the other black with lines of grey swirling through it like smoke, vaguely cuboid with sharp edges. These were placed inside the circle to represent above and below.
Her job done, she took her seat inside the shelter once more. Her belly, empty of ballast, left her feeling untethered, like a projection of herself, floating above the solidity of the ground.
The light disappeared and the forest went about it’s now customary transition from day to night, two worlds occupying the one space. One set of creatures replacing another—a changeover of the watch—roles of sleeping and eating switched. The moon was high in the night sky, silvery light filtered through the trees bathing her stone circle in unexpected illumination.
Approval? she thought.
Neenahwi stood in the stone circle, craning her neck to look up through the gap in the canopy, then closing her eyes she let the moonlight bathe her clean. She didn’t know how long she stood in such a way. But she sensed there was someone else there with her.
Opening her eyes she saw a figure silhouetted before her. She was not afraid. She did not call on her magic. Neenahwi knew that she was safe inside her circle. The figure stepped closer to the circle of light until she could make out his appearance. He was tall, powerfully built—naked except for a hide loin cloth—but his face was anything but human. Upward from his chest, tight curly hair carpeted what there was of a neck and all of the face and head. Large intelligent eyes peaked out from the fur above a short stubby nose with flared nostrils and a broad mouth with pointed cuspids jutting out over thin lips. Neenahwi was taken with how much he looked like a buffalo, though there was none of the bovine indifference.
“Welcome,” said Neenahwi, giving a small bow.
“It is I that welcomes you, child. I have been waiting for you,” he said, every word enunciated clearly, at odds with his beastly appearance.
“Who are you?”
“I am no-one. I am not your guide in this awakening. Merely an observer.”
“You will watch over me?” asked Neenahwi.
“Yes. No man, nor creature, will enter this clearing while you stay within this circle. I will ensure it.”
“Thank you,” she said, unsure what else to ask this strange man in front of her.
“Good bye, Neenahwi. I will leave you to your solitude, and your other visitors to come. I will see you on the ‘morrow.”
She nodded silently and watched as the buffalo-man turned and melted into the darkness.
“Wake up, little wolf.”
Ne
enahwi opened her eyes. She must have drifted off. Or given that she was lying in the middle of her stone circle, her arm as a pillow, she must have completely flaked out. Did she hear someone speak? Was the buffalo-man back? But she thought she had heard them say ‘little wolf’. Only one person had called her that…
“Mother?” Neenahwi scrambled to a sitting position. Before her was a woman that she had not seen for so long, except in dreams. Her memory had become fuzzy, given the passage of time. Now she saw a woman standing proud in a simple brown dress and Neenahwi’s memories came flooding back. Neenahwi inspected the face of her mother, gorging on the sight of her. They looked so alike! The image of what she would see when she looked in a mirror.
“Yes, my Neeni,” said her mother, smiling broadly, a tear trickling down her cheek. “It is so good to see you. How you have grown!”
“Oh, mother!” she cried, scrambling to her feet to take her in an embrace, longing to feel her, have her stroke her hair like she used to—
“Stop!” said the older woman. “You must not leave the circle. Regain control, Neenahwi.”
Neenahwi stopped, one foot raised above the west facing stone. She so wanted to hold her mother again. It struck her that she could see the silhouette of the tree through her Mother’s form. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of this, but she did not want to appear immature before her mother. She wanted her mother to be proud of her.
Tales of Kingshold Page 21