by Teri Barnett
Ian glanced up. “Tell me what you’ve seen. Perhaps I can help make some sense of it.”
“Not yet. I need some more time with my thoughts before I try to interpret them for you. For anyone.” Including myself.
Bethany looked out over the hilly countryside. She thought of her child, and the girl’s love of the outdoors. “I really miss Sarah. You know, I’ve been thinking. I want to bring her back with us after this visit.”
“A site’s not the place for children. There’s too much trouble she could get into.”
Bethany bristled. “Sarah is well behaved, Ian. She wouldn’t be any trouble. Besides, she’s seven now and I need to begin teaching her how to use the Knowing, as well as how to heal.”
Ian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Bethany felt him fighting something inside himself. Anger, perhaps. She couldn’t be sure, as Ian wasn’t one to show his temper. “All right, Bethany,” he conceded. “Whatever you want.”
The sun was high in its path when the wagon approached Paran. Bethany leaned forward, looking past Ian, watching for her home. Sure enough, not too far from where they were, she spied the small, flat stone structure. Sitting on the front stoop was Father. Thomas called the dohas to a halt and, before either he or Ian could disembark, Bethany was rushing down the side of the vehicle. Quickly, she stepped onto the rim of the wheel, then the spoke. She landed with a splash as her boot hit a mud puddle. Laughing, she ran the rest of the way home, her blonde hair blazing behind her.
Then, just as quickly, she pulled up short as she saw what her father was doing. In front of him, he held the wooden effigy of a small child. Bethany’s heart leapt, thinking of the pain suffered by the parents of one so young.
Abraham Stendi was a carver of totems. When a person died, the family commissioned him to forever capture the form so those still alive would not forget them. These figures were used as structural members of the people’s houses. Often, an adult’s form replaced a post that had held up the roof. A child’s might flank the fireplace. This would remind them that though a loved one was dead in body, their spirit still remained nearby.
“Oh, Papa, not a child.” She dropped to her knees beside him. This was the hardest of all totems for him to carve. Abraham’s deeply creased face appeared even older this day, the bright sunlight accentuating the wrinkles.
Abraham didn’t hear or see his daughter. He only murmured some unintelligible words.
“Papa? I can’t understand what you’re saying.” She glanced around, the sun hurting her eyes. A sense of foreboding filled her. “Papa, where’s Sarah?”
“My poor, poor baby.”
A chill ran through Bethany. Ian walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on, Beth?”
“I don’t know.” She looked closer at the totem and her stomach lurched. Bethany wrested the carving from her father’s hands. No. It couldn’t be.
“Sarah!”
Chapter 3
“Tell me what happened. Papa, where’s my daughter?”
Abraham sat on his heels and rocked back and forth. Bethany grabbed him by the upper arms and forced him to look into her face.
“Bethany. You’ve come home,” he whispered.
Bethany swallowed hard, fighting the wave of panic that threatened her composure. Surely there was a reasonable explanation for the totem. Maybe it was another child that just happened to look like her Sarah.
“Where is she? Where’s Sarah?” She gently shook him. “Tell me, Papa. Why are you making this totem? Who’s it for?”
“Can’t you tell? It’s our baby.” He looked down at his hands. “Am I so old and inept you can’t make out my carvings anymore?”
Bethany fell backward against Ian’s legs. He caught her and, stooping down, held her close against his chest. “What happened, Abraham?”
“Don’t know. Don’t know. She was playing outside, then she was gone.” He rubbed his eyes hard with the backs of his swollen knuckles. “Gone, like a butterfly. I think she flew away. So pretty. So pretty. I knew this would happen someday. The Mother Goddess wanted her for her own.”
Bethany looked at her father, tears clouding her vision. “No.” She pivoted around, and her eyes met Ian’s. “No!” she screamed and wrenched herself free of his embrace. Jumping to her feet, she ran into the woods near the dwelling. “Sarah!” she screamed. “Sarah! It’s Momma! Come to me baby!” The only sound that answered was her own voice, echoing off the stony mountains in the distance.
“I’m fixing you some bitters. It’ll help you to sleep,” Ian said.
Bethany stared at him through red, teary eyes. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered. “I won’t sleep until I know where my daughter is.”
Ian stoked the fire, heating the orange flavored bitters until it steamed. “This should calm you. You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re not rested.”
“I don’t need rest. I need answers,” she answered bluntly. Rising, she walked over to the fire and picked up the iron tongs. She used them to turn over a log, then hung them back on their hook. Simple tasks were all she could handle right now.
Bethany sat back down, letting her gaze drift about the room. From the heavily beamed open ceiling hung the dried herbs she and Sarah had gathered during the season of harvest, the hottest months of the year. Next to the wide planked wood door sat Sarah’s small doll, one she’d had since she was a baby. She picked it up and cradled it close; the clothes were well worn and the doll threadbare from so many washings, from being loved so well. Everywhere she looked, she saw her daughter and sensed her presence.
“Papa, I have to know what happened,” she pleaded, turning her attention to Abraham. “Tell me.”
“I know, I know you want me to explain but I don’t know. I don’t remember. She was here one moment and then… she was gone.” He wrung his hands together, his eyes darting back and forth between Bethany and the fire. “What’ll we do without her? She’s my sun.”
Bethany took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, then placed her left hand in the center of Abraham’s back. “I’m going to help you remember, Papa.”
He pulled away from her touch. “No! I don’t want to remember. It’ll hurt too much. She’s gone. She’s gone.” He shook his head and moaned. “That’s all there is to know, Daughter. Truly, it is. Let the butterfly be.”
She placed her hands on his face and turned him to face her. His eyes shone with the crazed light of someone who hadn’t slept in days. As she continued to stare at him, she felt the subtle vibration that happened when her eyes turned from their natural topaz to clear azure. The fire penetrated her and she drew from its strength. A fine layer of sweat covered her body.
Bethany applied pressure to Abraham’s back with her left hand; with her right, she kneaded his solar plexus. She saw the multi-hued colors of his aura and sought to repair the tears to the green heart center by the trauma of his granddaughter’s disappearance. The tears and gashes in the very fabric of his energy were deep and filled with panic and fear. She continued to focus on making them whole, closing the openings, drawing out the poison of the pain. As the wounds closed, and he became whole once more, she closed her eyes and let her hands drop.
Abraham gasped and fell forward, his head barely missing the raised hearth. Ian rushed to his side and helped him to his chair. “Are you all right, Beth?” he asked as he helped the older man settle.
Bethany didn’t answer. She clutched the cup of now cooled bitters and downed it in one long drink. She tried to put the vessel back on the table, but her hands shook so violently, Ian had to take it from her.
“I remember now, Daughter,” Abraham whispered.
Bethany closed her eyes, bracing herself. “Tell me.”
“Four days ago, I was working in the yard, cleaning up wood shavings. I had just finished a totem for the Krueg clan. Their grandmo
ther, Maryl, died the last night of the Red Moon.” Abraham’s voice was low and raspy. Ian poured him a cup of the hot drink. Abraham nodded his thanks and took a small sip.
He continued, “Sarah was playing near the trees. I said, ‘Don’t go near those woods, girl. The Eitellans’ll get you.’ ”
Bethany shivered upon hearing the old warning. “Then what?”
“You know your daughter, Bethany.” He shook his head. “She’s as stubborn as you are. I went inside for a moment and when I came out, she was gone. I assumed she had gone to play at Herran’s. You know how inseparable those two girls are.”
He smiled for a moment, lost in a memory. “Well, when she didn’t come home that evening, I went to Herran’s house. They hadn’t seen Bethany all day. After that, I went to every door in Paran, looking for the child. The next morning, I found this about a half a mile into the woods.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright yellow hair ribbon. “She was wearing it that day,” Abraham said, his voice breaking. He held the ribbon to his nose as if to inhale her fragrance. It caught the tears as they streamed down the old man’s cheek.
Bethany reached out her hand and Abraham placed the damp ribbon ever so gently into her palm. Bethany clutched it to her breast.
“Beth, are you sure you should be doing this? Perhaps we ought to find someone else,” Ian offered.
“No, Ian. I’ll do it myself. I have to know what happened.” She braced herself as the familiar vibration filled her and she slipped into the Knowing.
Chapter 4
Sarah, so bright and full of life, was dressed in her favorite pink tunic and knee high tan boots. She ran, dodging the tall conifer trunks, chasing a small rodent. Her laughter filled the air like the sound of tinkling wind chimes. Bethany smiled. The furry animal scurried under a fallen log. Sarah climbed on top of it.
“Please, little friend, come out and play some more,” she begged, leaning over. Then, as if sensing another’s presence, Sarah straightened and turned around. A short, squat woman dressed in a dark flowing robe approached.
“My, my. What have we here?” the woman asked.
Sarah took a step backward and stumbled off the log. The woman moved as fast as her bulk would allow. She caught Sarah by the hand and pulled her upright. Sarah laughed and curtsied. She slipped and started to fall again, but managed to regain her balance. “Who are you?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“Why, I’m Esther, little one.”
“Do you live in the woods? I’ve heard stories about people who live with the trees. Do you turn into a tree at night?”
“So many questions!” Esther chuckled. “I live hereabouts,” she said, her arm moving in a wide sweeping motion. “And no, I do not turn into a tree. That’s just pretend.” She smiled, taking a step closer to Sarah. “Would you like to come and play with me today? I have a friend who’d love to meet you.”
Sarah hesitated for a moment. “If I do, I need to first ask my Grandfather if it’s all right to visit with you. I’m not supposed to wander off. Everyone says the Eitellans will get me if I do.”
“Oh, now, I know your grandfather very well. We won’t be gone too long and I promise to have you home for the evening meal and I’ll take him a loaf of my fresh baked bread. Is that all right with you?”
“Well, I guess so.” Sarah shrugged her shoulders and jumped down from the log. She took hold of Esther’s hand.
“Have you ever met a real priestess before?” Esther asked.
Sarah shook her head and, as she did so, the ribbon slipped out of her hair and fell to the ground.
Bethany exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered. She laid her head down, resting it on her arms. Her body shuddered, wracked with deep sobs.
“What did you see, Beth?” Ian asked, his voice quiet and gentle.
She shook her head. Ian placed one hand on her shoulder; with the other, he caressed her cheek. “Please, let me help you. You know I care about you and Sarah.”
She sniffed and blinked hard, fighting to control the tears. “A short heavy-set woman took her away. The woman–Esther–she wore a dark robe.” She struggled with the memory and what it meant. “She mentioned something about a priestess.”
“A priestess! But there’ve been no priestess cults since…since…”
Bethany finished the sentence for him. “Since the Eitellans.”
Bethany paced the floor of the small house while Abraham and Ian slept. The heavy planks groaned their protests as she passed in front of the hearth. Her sadness embedded itself into her bones and wouldn’t let her rest.
Over and over, she replayed the scene of Sarah’s encounter in the woods. Could all of this be connected? First, the discovery of what appeared to be the Book of Eitel, then, Sarah’s disappearance in the forest—to meet a priestess. Were any other children missing? According to legend if so, did it mean the re-emergence of the Eitellans? Come first light she would find out if more children were missing. She would also seek out a Weaver to help her make sense of the stories, and her visions of Elizabeth Jessup.
Abraham rose early, as he usually did. In his old age, he rarely needed much sleep. He found his daughter slumped over in a chair near the fire, asleep. Her hair, like a golden curtain, brushed against the floor. He walked over and pushed it away from her face. She stirred. “Peace to you, my child.”
“Peace to you, Father,” she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Abraham grunted as he settled himself into the chair opposite hers at the table. “Have you slept much?”
“Not really. The visions won’t let me.” She picked up the pitcher of bitters from the night before. It was stone cold, but she didn’t care. She poured a cupful and took a sip. She shivered as the drink made its way to her stomach, feeling the coldness move throughout her. “Do you know if there are other children missing from here, Father?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen any of the little beggars lately. You know, the ones who stay near the square looking for handouts? People were saying they probably wandered off into the woods, but they’ve been gone for quite some time. And they always come back, especially with winter approaching.” He shook his head sadly, dropping his chin to his chest. “I didn’t think of it when Sarah disappeared. So many babes.”
Bethany’s stomach dropped, her worst fears realized. But how do you fight against what you don’t understand? “I need to find a Weaver, Papa, to help me understand the old legends of the Eitel. Do you know any who might still carry those stories with them? It seems a dying knack.”
He poured himself a cup of the cold beverage and sipped, deep in thought. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “Yes, actually. There’s one who lives down by the river. Her name’s Maud Hekate. Now that I think about it, she stopped by last winter, on her way to town. She was looking for someone to apprentice so her stories wouldn’t be lost.” He rose and began to walk toward the front door. “I don’t know what’s happened to my mind. I should’ve remembered that.”
“Where are you going, Father?” Bethany asked.
He turned around and looked at her curiously. “Why, to find the Weaver.”
Bethany stood. “Please stay here, in case Sarah returns.” Though as she said it, she knew it wouldn’t happen. But she couldn’t bear it if something happened to him as well.
“Oh. Yes. Of course, Daughter, I’ll wait here. You’ll send for me if you need my help?”
She hugged him tight then kissed his cheek. “I will.”
Bethany slipped from the house, leaving Ian dozing in a padded chair and her father sorting wood into piles on the front stoop. She made her way down a path at the far end of their land and headed for the river. The water wasn’t far, maybe only a quarter day’s walk, and it felt good to Bethany to move. She picked up the pace to a trot and wound her way
through the path between the trees.
This is what she needed. To stretch her body and work out the pain, to let what she’d seen in the Knowing settle so she could make sense of it.
Her mind cleared and she felt a renewed hope, filling her like the pine scent that surrounded the forest. I will find you, Sarah.
Approaching the riverbank, Bethany scanned up and down, looking for the Weaver’s dwelling place. Then, she spotted it; about midway across to the other side was a small island with a mud hut situated at its center. Bethany waded into the river and swam toward the land. Her clothing, wet and heavy against her skin, slowed her progress. She stopped and treaded for a moment, catching her breath.
Suddenly, a stone splashed near her head. She looked up abruptly. An old woman stood on the island’s shore, getting ready to toss another rock. Bethany ducked under the water and resurfaced about five feet away just as it came her way. “Stop!” she yelled. “I’m not going to hurt you!”
“Go away!” the woman spat back. “I don’t want any visitors.” She threw a stick, then went back inside her hut, slamming the door behind her. Bethany continued to swim in the island’s direction, ignoring the warning.
The old one has been alone too long, the solitude has affected her mind.
Reaching the shore, Bethany rung her hair and clothing out as best as she could, shivering at the chill. She stepped onto the wooden stoop and knocked on the door.
“I told you to go away,” came the muffled voice from within.
“Please, I need to speak to a woman named, Maud Hekate. Are you Maud?” Bethany called through the moss-covered wood.
The door flung open, almost knocking Bethany off her feet. The old woman stood in the doorway, her stooped shoulders draped in a blanket. Her long gray hair was matted and full of twigs. “What if I am? What’s it to you?”