Through The Fire: The Alawansi Book One

by Valerie Puissant

  Through The Fire

  The Alawansi Book One

  To my friends and family who indulge my endless rambling monologues about writing. Thank you for your patience, encouragement and feedback. You guys are the greatest!

  Through The Fire: The Alawansi Book One

  Ⓒ 2018 by Valerie Puissant All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied critical articles and reviews.

  The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  I crept out of my bed quietly and grabbed the flint and tinder. It was well before dawn and the room was pitch black, but I was used to navigating in the dark. I listened carefully to the sounds of my sleeping family. My brothers were in the loft, snoring away. My parents and my sisters were in their separate sleeping alcoves also breathing heavily. All of them were huddled together, sharing body warmth and comfort. I slept alone and I felt cold. The fall morning air was frigid and my fingers trembled as I struck a spark, with the flint against the steel. I was glad I had laid the wood in the hearth the night before so that I could light it quietly before anyone in the house woke up. It took so long for the flame to catch hold of the kindling that I briefly considered using magic. I only considered it briefly. My powers were much too dangerous. The proof lay behind the curtain that blocked off the sleeping alcove I used to share with my sisters. I had to move out of the bed because I had a nightmare one night and nearly set us all on fire. The spot where I used to sleep was still charred. Now I slept on a pallet by the hearth.

  The kettle was already filled with water, so there was no need to trudge out to the creek. I hung it from the fireplace crane and swung it into place to heat the water. My eyes glazed over as I stared into the flames for a few moments and breathed in the silence. I liked the peace and quiet of the early morning while the household was still sleeping. Moments alone were rare in a house of nine children. I listened once again to the sounds of my sleeping family. The harvest was done and they were all enjoying a well deserved rest. The house was as quiet as it ever got.

  Going back to sleep in the frigid kitchen was out of the question, so I sat down at the long wooden table and reached for the book I had left lying there the night before. I turned to the page I had marked before I fell asleep. I now owned five books. They were given to me by my grandmother whom I called Uma. All of them were written on durable, goatskin paper and bound with thick wooden covers. The particular book I was reading had the title “Wilde Flowr Cures” etched onto its front. I had read through all the books several times, trying to absorb all the facts contained within. The page I was reading had a picture of a purple flower, carefully rendered and colored. It was labeled in my grandmother’s crabbed, old fashioned handwriting. Uma had liberal ideas about spelling and grammar, but the information contained in the pages was excellent. “Violette flowers is boilt into sirrup and mixed with hunee. Drink with warm water for complaints of the throte. Flowers and leaves is good for stummick troubles if they is et first thing in the morn.” I closed my eyes and recited the information. I wanted to have all the flowers and their uses memorized before Uma arrived. She had sent a letter along with the books to tell me that she had found a placement for me and I was going to begin my apprenticeship soon.

  I was sixteen and a half. Most girls my age, were either married or courting their future husbands. Marriage was not an option for me. The strange, gold color of my eyes meant that I was witch marked. I gained magic powers as soon as my monthly cycle transformed me into a woman. I was not destined to be a wife and mother. I was destined to be a healer and a witch and I wanted to be great, just like my Uma. I loved her and I wanted to make her proud.

  Everyone in the village called Adi Mogoro, “Uma.” It was a name of respect that she had been given because of her wisdom and her great power. Uma Adi was the most powerful witch in all the land. She was not my actual grandmother, but she was the midwife who caught me at my birth and she had taken a special interest in me when she saw that I was witch marked. Normally it was a family member who decided where a young witch should be apprenticed, but Uma took it upon herself to choose who would be responsible for my training. I was secretly hoping she might decide to take me under her own wing.

  As I waited for the water to boil for my tea, I felt a familiar tingle on the back of my neck. I recognized it immediately and it filled me with a sense of dread. One of my queer spells was brewing and threatening to overtake me. I quickly pushed the sensation away and cursed myself. All the daydreaming about witches and magical training had probably brought it on. Uma had sent me special marigold tea to drink to control my powers and it had worked like a charm. I thought the tea had cured me because it had been days since I had accidentally destroyed anything. The whole family was beginning to relax in my presence. Surely it was not starting to fail so quickly. I strode nervously to the fireplace and checked the temperature of the water. It was not hot enough yet. I paced the floor some more, breathing deeply, trying to calm myself. Soon enough, the water would start boiling. I just needed to hold the power at bay long enough. It would work. It had to. I sat at the table and opened my book again, this time to a different page. “Merrie Gold is the noviss witches little friend.” There was no further explanation under the phrase, but I understood what it meant. The text went on. “Use a poltis for complanes of the toothe and mix with fat to make a sav to clear up a pox.”

  “Marigold is the novice witch’s little friend.” I sat on the edge of my seat with the book in my hand, repeating the phrase as if it might save me. I felt my body growing hotter despite the cool morning air. I closed my eyes and I chanted the book passage over and over, willing the water to boil. Suddenly the scent of wood smoke seemed stronger. I opened my eyes to check the fire and see that the chimney was drawing properly. It was not the fire that was smoking. Gentle wisps of smoke rose from the cover of the book. I dropped it and it slammed shut. I could see the black marks burned into the wood where my fingers had touched. Heat built up inside me, the water was not going to boil fast enough. I was not going to be able to use tea to stop the flow of magic.

  The energy that began as a slight tingle in the back of my neck, now buzzed like a hive of angry bees through my entire body, urgently seeking an exit. I needed to get out of the house before I burned it down. I had to get away and find a safe target. The creek was the target I used most often. I had to try to make it there as quickly as possible. I dashed out of the back door in my nightgown and bare feet and ran down the path to the garden, ignoring the sharp stones cutting into my soles. The creek was still a mile away and I knew I only had seconds. I looked around the back of the house. There was the large kitchen garden, the plants there were heavy with vegetables which were meant to be harvested to feed us through the long winter. There were the flowers that Mother had tended so carefully to bring beauty to he
r life and to our home. I could not destroy the gardens. I looked up at the trees and saw the birds and animals living there. I could not burn the trees. Then my eyes settled on the only possible choice out of a sea of bad choices. I faced the small wooden privy just as the superheated waves of energy came pouring from my body. I held out my hands and watched as spouts of flame shot from my palms. They bombarded the little building. It quickly began to smoke, but I could not stop the eruption of power. The flames erupted from under the eaves and I stood there, helpless to stop it. The entire building was engulfed by the time I finally had control of myself again. I stood, staring at it, tears streaming down my face. I felt like such a failure. What if I never gained control of my powers? What would become of a witch marked girl who could never be trained?

  The life of a witch marked child is never easy. The strange gold color of my eyes marked me as an outcast, even before I had developed my powers. When other girls my age were home, learning the duties of wife and mother, I was sent to the worship house where the cleric taught me to read, write and do sums. I had read and memorized the entire holy book by the time I was ten, but I could not even cook a simple pot of porridge. I was ridiculed and treated with suspicion by adults and children alike. I had nothing in common with the children of my village so I had no friends among the girls and no interested suitors among the boys. None of that had ever mattered to me because on every one of her rare visits, Uma had said to me, “Do not worry yourself about them fools, child. You are destined for much greater things,” and I had believed her.

  The phlegmy hacking noise behind me startled me. Uma Adi had arrived early and she stood leaning against the back wall of the cottage. She bowed her head and spat on the ground. Her thick, white hair stood in a tightly curled cloud around her wrinkled brown face. She raised a gnarled hand and pulled the ever present pipe from between her stained, but remarkably strong teeth and blew out the smoke in a whistle, then she handed me the night soil bucket. “I reckon you better use this if you ain’t had your morning piss. Then you can throw it on the fire.” I stood there, staring at her, uncomprehending. She rolled her emerald green eyes at me. “Come on, girl, I know you ain’t thick. You can understand me just fine. I know you know what to do with a piss bucket!” I took the bucket, suddenly aware of a fullness in my bladder. She gestured at the blaze. “If you think you got yourself under control, you clean that bucket and come sit here on this garden bench. We need to have us a private little talk before the smell of that burning shit house wakes up the whole family.”

  “Yes, Uma.” I could not think of anything else to say. I took the bucket from her hands and watched her walk away before I did as she asked, then emptied the bucket on the fire.

  I did not want to follow her into the garden. I did not want to hear what she had to say, but I had little choice in the matter. I did not see my Uma very often. She took care of a large territory so she travelled a lot. Her own cottage was about a day and a half east of our home. I had always looked forward to her visits in the past, but today I just wanted to crawl back into bed and start the day again. I did not want to know what she was about to tell me. I was afraid she would say I was not ready to be an apprentice. She would say I was a walking disaster and I needed to live with my parents forever. A fresh wave of tears poured out as I put the bucket against the back wall of the house. It would be the family’s only privy for a while.

  Uma was bent over a flower bed, pulling weeds from between the fall blooms as I approached. She spoke over her shoulder as she worked. “If you are gonna stand there boo hooing, you better do it over them ghost flowers. They do not mind the salt.” I sniffled and wiped at my eyes. Uma looked at me finally. “Pull yourself together, Safa girl. Even burnt shit cannot stink forever. It will be fine.” Uma knew my real name was Safara. She had been the one to give it to me on the day I was born. She had always called me Safa and I did not mind. I rather liked the nickname. It made me feel special. I smirked humorlessly. Sometimes it was possible to feel a little too special.

  Uma slapped her knee. “You know, the killin’ part is, you would have made one hell of a witch, Safa. You are hardworking and smart. You are a quiet little thing, but I know there’s a fire in you, you will pardon the expression.” My eyes filled with tears once again. She had said “would have,” I was not going to be a witch after all. “I sent you that tea and them books, because I was hoping I could ignore my visions. I was hoping I could train you here, tame that power of yours into proper witch magic. Now that I seen what you can do, I know the visions were right and I have to do the right thing by you. You need a different kind of training than I or any witch can do.” She stood from her work, and brushed the soil from her skirt. “Come on, girl. You get my bags. It is time we went back into the house to talk to your folks.

  My shoulders shook and I wept audibly. I could not bear the thought of going in to tell my family that I was not going to be a witch. “Please, Uma. If you do not take me away, I am not even sure Mother and Father will let me stay. I have worked all my life to be a witch. I will do anything. I will drink the tea day and night. I will build the new privy myself. Please, I beg. I need to be a witch!”

  “Now do not take on so, girl. You ain’t done nothing wrong. You ain’t being punished. You ain’t got what it takes for witch training only because you ain’t a witch. You are still alawansi, a magical person, but what you are ain’t even supposed to be real. I would not have believed it myself if I had not seen it with my own two eyes. Now that I have, I know it is true. You, my girl, are a fire mage. I know now that I am doing the right thing by sending you away.”

  By the time I had gathered Uma’s bags and followed her back to the house, the family was already up and investigating the inferno in the back garden. The stinking smoke from the burning privy had awakened them. Uma put a reassuring hand on my arm. “Ain’t no call to fret, Safa. I reckon the ash from that shit fire will do the flowers up a treat. I will get the Bello brothers to come up here and build them a double seater. By the time it is done, they will be glad you did them the favor.” She put an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, I am tired and hungry and ready to get this matter settled.”

  Uma walked around greeting my brothers and sisters and I stood in the middle of the yard trying to wrap my mind around Uma’s words. “You are a fire mage.” Aside from the obvious fact that I could produce fire from my fingertips, I was not entirely sure what it meant to be a fire mage. If fire mages were so rare, who was going to train me?

  My father walked out and stood in the doorway, looking at the smoldering ruin that was the family privy. He looked at me but I was too ashamed to meet his eyes so he turned his attention to Uma. “Greetings, Uma. I must say you are a welcome sight, even at this early hour. Please tell me you are here to sort out the matter of this child. She has had her powers for over a year. We have been patient, but she is a woman now and it is time for her to make her way in the world. I am afraid I cannot let you in unless you assure us that Safara will not be spending another night under this roof.” Father was a large and broadly built man and very few people in this world intimidated him. Yet I watched the diminutive Uma march straight up to him and stare him in the eye and I watched his gaze falter.

  “A blessing be on your house, Deka. I was just talkin to all the kids here and they all got real good manners so I am sure you must know the polite way to greet a guest.”

  Father looked miserable. He uncrossed his arms and dropped them to his sides. “Uma please, we love our daughter very much, but the situation grows more dangerous by the day. Think of my wife’s nerves. Think of the other children. Would you sacrifice eight to save the feelings of one? We just want to know that something will be done today, for all of our sakes.”

  Uma regarded him patiently before she spoke. “You see before you here a frightened young girl and a very old and very tired witch. If you do not move out of my way and let us in the house, I promise, I will be a much bigger threat to your frazzled ner
ves than she could ever be.” Uma smiled, but it was not a friendly smile. She bared her teeth like a wolf about to strike.

  “Uma, please,” he repeated. Father was not a learned man but he was a good solid provider. He was steady, reliable, hardworking and decent and he was not unkind. He was just not equipped to argue with Uma.

  She simply walked around him as if he was not there. “Just calm yourself, Deka. I am sure Ruba is in the house somewhere and she can get us some tea and we can all sit down for a civilized little chat.”

  Mother stood in the middle of the kitchen, clutching my baby brother in her arms and sobbing. “Oh no! She cannot come back in the house. We are a family with nine children and we will be forced to pee in a bucket for days. I will not have my home burnt down around my ears by another one of her accidents. You do not know, old woman! You have not been here. This is not the first time she has done this and it is getting worse!” Her words would have been less heartbreaking if they were not true. I was a danger and even I knew it.

  Uma did not bother to look at me. “Safa, you feel a queer fire spell coming?”

  My face felt hot, but the feeling was embarrassment. I was miserable, but not out of control. “No, Ma’am.”

  Uma nodded. “There, you see? She gives you her word. I believe her. That should be good enough for everyone.” The old woman stepped around my mother, dragging me behind her and sat at the table. “Come along, girl. Let us get this matter sorted out.”

  Mother hugged the kitchen walls as she walked past us, giving us as wide a berth as humanly possible in the small kitchen She stopped at the back door and shooed the smaller children out into the yard. The baby in her arms wailed as she held him too tight against her bosom. “Whatever it is you are planning to do with her, you must do it tonight. I fear for my other children if she spends one more night under this roof!” Her large dark eyes darted around the room frantically.