Ithia: Book One of the Magian Series

by Jen Valena

  Working the first section of her rope on day one, Ithia was advised to observe her thoughts through the process. She didn’t understand why, but once she began weaving, it was then evident that this exercise was a reflection of her mental, emotional, psychic and physical states.

  Ithia handled the red-colored ties and found herself thinking of life and death. The red represented South and Fire. She thought about how changes in life are little deaths. Her changes had come with a hefty price tag. Soon, she would have to leave this circle, another change. It meant the outside chaos would rear its head again, forcing her to deal with her questions about her future—her path—if Tyrsten was alive.

  The next day, she worked with blue strips. These represented West and Water. She thought about how she had adapted to this new world as water molds itself to a container. Similarly, she had let go of her resistance and survived the river mostly unharmed—because she had flowed with the water.

  On the third day, emerald green symbolized Land and the North. Something inside her knew that she had to accept her current circumstances, so she could confront the rough road ahead.

  In the final day of construction, her hands and mind ached. Tiny red blisters dotted her fingers and reminded her of the swelling grief in her heart. She wove the white cloth for Air and the East, careful not to sully the white with the stains of her sores. She contemplated how air connected all things—how actions float through time and affect generations to come—how her relationships with people she met influenced her, or how her existence might influence them.

  Her mind then couldn’t help but consider Tyrsten, their strange bond. As soon as she did, the tie she was weaving tore in two. Her eyes filled with tears. He had changed her—released her heart. She was even a bit angry. She had opened up in meeting him, just to be shut down. Likely, he had been ripped from her life for good.

  ✹ ✹ ✹

  Samara knocked on Ithia’s door early the next morning, before the sun was up. A surge of anxiety and anticipation flooded Ithia’s body.

  “Bring a bed roll and your sacred rope chain. Dress warm.”

  They walked in silence to the edge of the camp where Samara stopped.

  “Find a place that feels right to you. Take your time. However, do not go beyond that ridge. Mother Urica keeps the area safe up to there. When you have found your site, place the rope in a circle on the ground around you. Line it up with the correlating cardinal directions. Stay within your circle during the entire Visioning. Quiet your mind. You are not seeking. You are awaiting a vision—an insight. You will have no water or food until you return.”

  Ithia fidgeted with the rope. “When do I return?”

  “The time will be evident.”

  “What if a wild animal attacks me?”

  “In all of known history, of the thousands that have Visioned, none have been attacked.”

  “I have a knack for being first.”

  Samara suppressed a chuckle. “Mother Urica senses our physical well-being here.”

  “And I’m responsible for my own mental well-being.” She said dryly, knowing Samara wouldn’t fully appreciate the joke, “Prepare the padded cell.”

  Ithia wandered for two hours through the naked branches of deciduous trees until she found a grouping of evergreens that called to her. Half of her circle would be in the shade of the trees, the other half in the clearing. If she was going to be stuck in one spot, she wanted options. She carefully laid the rope into a circle and tied the ends to seal herself within her sacred space. She placed her bed roll in the middle and plopped down.

  The sun hadn’t risen yet, and her stomach already demanded its morning meal. She closed her eyes to sleep.

  As the heat of midday hit her, she tossed and turned, wondering why she was doing this. Thoughts buzzed like a pesky fly, “This is crazy, most people spend all year preparing for Visioning. How am I going to get it right after only a few days of preparations?”

  Ithia swatted the ruminations away over and over.

  What bothered her most was that she wasn’t allowed to leave her tiny circle. She didn’t want to, but the idea that she couldn’t, drove her to endless frustration. She might go crazy in this self-imposed prison.

  By nighttime, she convinced herself that she had disappeared into nothingness. A quick pace around the confines of the circle helped her tack a shingle back on reality although dangling precariously. The pacing calmed her until it reminded her of Tyrsten.

  Left alone, her mind drifted to him. Why had Fate separated them? Should she have ever trusted Tyrsten? Should she trust Urica either? Or any Magian? Seemingly, Urica was keeping her safe. As did Tyrsten. She had cautiously abided by their advice. But to what end? All these thoughts hovered over her, answers just out of grasp. It would be best not to have them at all. She escaped by falling asleep again.

  The second day was easier mentally, but not physically. She was so thirsty she believed she would dry up and flake away. The violent hunger pangs subsided by evening, replaced by a hollow brick churning in her gut.

  What if I never get a vision, and I pass out and die? What a stupid way to go! I hear it now, “Yeah, Ithia! Didn’t know when to quit!”

  The third day drifted by, and Ithia contemplated she might not even exist at all.

  But having a thought means I do exist, right? What if I am only a figment of someone else’s imagination?

  She checked her hands often to see if she hadn’t vanished altogether into the ether.

  The sun set. Her view of the world changed from twinkling radiance of daylight into glowing luminescence of night.

  Someone approached. If she hadn’t been so delirious, she would have worried about a visitor.

  The observer of Ithia’s meltdown was a woman.

  As she came closer, Ithia’s brain whirled, doubting her eyes. It appeared that she, herself, was the one gliding up to her sacred space.

  Ithia laughed wildly at seeing another her. An odd thought occurred to Ithia: she wasn’t allowed to leave the circle yet.

  From behind the first, another woman stepped out. It was another image of Ithia some years in the future. A third woman emerged, Ithia as an old woman.

  Ithia bit her chapped lip, feeling she really was in trouble. Seeing multiples of oneself was a quandary any way you thought about it. “Who are you?”

  “You,” they said in unison.

  “But there are three of you. And I am only one.”

  “Are you?”

  “I thought so.” Befuddled by her fasting, she patted herself down for signs that she might be wrong.

  “We are the Maiden, Mother and Crone. We are the Fates—the past, the present and the future.”

  “And why do you look like me?”

  “We are all things. There is no separation.”

  “Why have you come to me?”

  “To tell you that you need not worry about what others think you should do. Allow The All to work through you and be your guide, then you will be in line with all that is, and all that you are.”

  “Okay?” Ithia furrowed her brow and tilted her head. “How am I going to know when it is The All, and I’m not being led astray?”

  “Observe what is being shown to you. Do not mold yourself into Eagle if you are Hummingbird. Do not be Mouse if you are truly Jaguar. You have been guided up until now. Did you presume that the guidance would stop?”

  Ithia blushed, acknowledging that she did. “Then why am I here? Why am I a Magian?”

  “Your true nature and instincts will be your guide. Listen not to others’ expectations or labels for you.”

  “Then I’m not the one Quanen expected?”

  The three Ithia’s of past, present and future did not answer, but only bowed, merged and faded to nothing.

  Ithia determined that this definitely qualified as a Vision.

  Hunger, thirst and the impact of the Vision drained her. The world’s rotation swung her wide and slammed her against its cold, hard crust.
/>
  When she woke up a short time later, she shook her head and hoped that the vision would settle into making sense. In the meantime, it was time to return. She ached for water. She gathered her rope and headed back to camp.

  Upon Ithia’s return, Samara greeted the staggering Ithia, offered her a small portion of pine nuts and a cup of water, then sent her off to bed, instructing her to meet with Urica in the morning.

  ✹ ✹ ✹

  While on her way to Mother Urica’s hut, Ithia stretched inside a new body of calm brought on by her Visioning.

  Again, Urica sat in a meditation pose, eyes closed. “You had a Vision?”

  “Or some incredible hallucination.”

  “Or both.” Mother Urica chuckled. “Do you mind sharing?”

  Ithia assessed her story’s level of insanity and spoke anyway. “Three women appeared—versions of me at different ages. They said I shouldn’t worry about labels others put on me.”

  “And?”

  “I should be true to my nature, follow my instincts.”

  “Sound advice.” From a squat, cast iron pot, Urica poured licorice mint tea into two bowl-shaped cups, again while her blind eyes remained closed.

  Ithia was curious if there were other women Magian Innocenti, but didn’t ask. “You insinuated it may be a hallucination. Was it?”

  “What do you think?”

  “It was what it was, I guess.”

  “True. It was yours and what you needed to hear.” Urica frowned. “However, I should warn you, some Magians do have the ability to trick others into seeing things.”

  “Have you ever done that to me?”

  “What do your instincts tell you?”

  Ithia listened to her inner voice. “No. And this was my own vision.”

  “What do you understand of your message?”

  “I need to stop worrying about what others think.”

  “What about the burden Quanen’s vision placed upon you?”

  “I’m not that person. In his desperate hope, Tyrsten saw something in me that wasn’t there. Made me into something I’m not.”

  “Be careful in seeing things in black or white. Life is not usually one or the other.”

  “If I’m not supposed to help fix this world’s issues, then I’m not.” Ithia sighed. “I shouldn’t have listened to him. I should have gone back to Earth.”

  “When you decipher yourself clearly, you can divine and communicate what needs to be done. Know yourself, then you will understand the wisdom of others. You will be able to work in tandem with those around you. And in life, we all need others to help us grasp the greater picture.” Mother Urica picked up a stick, handed it to Ithia. “Break it in half.”

  Ithia held the two ends in her hands and snapped the stick in two.

  “Now, place them side by side and break them again.”

  Ithia gripped the doubled sticks as instructed, but no matter how much force she applied, she couldn’t break them.

  “You see, we are stronger when we stand with other souls.”

  “I’ve never been one for relying on other people, but I see your point.” Ithia stared at the two sticks thinking of the few people she had had in her life. They all had secrets. Gramps must have known more. Tyrsten hadn’t yet revealed everything either. A pang of sadness ruptured Ithia’s contemplation. “Tyrsten seemed as though he was trying to help me, but maybe not. There was something important that he kept from me. I might never find out what that is.”

  “We all have secrets. The ego accumulates secrets the same way our body accumulates time. Eventually secrets wear on us, revealing themselves. And then they are as easy to see as the wrinkles on my face.”

  Ithia frowned. Urica knew more than she was saying. She had practically confessed.

  Urica arched her eyebrows, in a response to Ithia’s thoughts. “Do you trust me?”

  Ithia stared deep into Urica’s blind eyes. Urica saw clearer than anyone else. Ithia sensed it best not to answer.

  “Good.” Urica chuckled. “You are learning when to say what is on your mind and when to keep your own counsel.”

  ✹ ✹ ✹

  On the day of the Winter Solstice and the Long-Night Full Moon, all the women, including Ithia, prepared special foods for after the gathering.

  As they had done the first night, everyone circled around the great fire pit. This time, however, they created the circle by order of age. As the youngest in the group, Ithia started off the circle and stood directly to Mother Urica’s left.

  Ithia’s eyes traveled the wheel of faces—the cycle of life played out right before her—from the vitality of youth, to motherhood, to the wisdom of the gray-haired, to the serenity of the crone.

  Urica lit a fire with the flame that magically burned within her bare hand. With the closing of her fingers, it was snuffed out. She had brought with her an elaborate bowl, decorated with a wrap of leather, dangling with beads and feathers. “Ma-halla!”

  The women echoed her. They all sat down.

  Urica’s voice reverberated against the trees that surrounded them, “Tonight, we honor the Moon and her influence upon us, and also the Sun returning to longer days. We drop our titles here. During this particular full moon, we often find our attention on what we have learned in this solar-turn. We talk about our lovers, our burdens, our victories and our challenges. We hold space as we listen to these stories. There is no judgment, only understanding. There is no advice, only support. Since our youngest member has never participated, I will use the sharing bowl first.”

  The ceramic hand-pinched pot fit perfectly in the woman’s cupped hands. It was half filled with water. Urica held the bowl in front of her, horizontal to the ground. “I am Urica, and I will speak my truth.”

  Mother Urica sat silent for a moment, briefly taking in the circle of women. “Thank you all for being here. For honoring our ways, even in the face of adversity. This gives me great hope. My optimism has been challenged over these many solar-turns. Now, a young woman has come back to us. However, she is not our answer.”

  Ithia shifted nervously in place and avoided eye contact.

  “She is a symbol of what can be. By her very existence, she challenges our beliefs. She reminds us of what we have lost as a people. However, we cannot burden one woman with the responsibility that we all must shoulder. I am guilty, too. Even I cannot See what she is to do with her life, being a female Sidari. However, her presence alone has altered our consciousness. This is not only her challenge. This is my challenge. This is our challenge. I, like many of you, wanted a swift solution. Foolishly, I wanted an easy remedy in the package of one person—in someone else. The Calling resides within each of us to do what is best for our world. I believed the actions that I had taken were beneficial. And some of them were. But what more could have I done if I had conjured more faith in myself? What if I had tried to bring back the forgotten ways of our ancient past, years before Garrick turned the people to his will? What if we demanded our right to practice our traditions? I am sorry I laid my heavy burden on Ithia.” Urica took a deep, careful breath. “I am Urica, I have spoken.”

  Mother Urica handed the bowl to Ithia. Ithia had no idea what to say, but she knew that something would come out of her mouth—something always did, whether it was in her best interest or not.

  “I am Ithia, and I will speak my truth.”

  Ithia gathered her nerves that were spilling out all around her. “First, my gratitude to all here tonight. I am honored to be in your presence. Before coming to Ma’thea, I was suspicious of people, especially women. I grew up without a mother. I was often hurt and manipulated by my peers while growing up. The few friends I had I pushed away due to my fear of being abandoned, which ironically gave me exactly that. Here, I feel your love and healings. I feel restored. Not everyone in the world is so positive, but knowing that there are those who are gives me a great deal of comfort. Whatever I do in this life, I do from this place of compassion you have shown me. I am Ithia, an
d I have spoken.”

  As the bowl was passed around the circle, the talk ranged from the death of a mate, to a mother asking for forgiveness—stories of life, death, love, trust and rebirth. Ithia cried with their sorrow and laughed with their joy. In every story, Ithia found that in some way it was her story.

  After the sharing was complete, Mother Urica took the sharing bowl over to a larger bowl that was almost two feet in diameter. She faced the sky and its brilliant full moon. “We add our waters, our emotions, to yours, Grandmother Moon.” She poured the water into the larger bowl, knelt down and gazed into the liquid. Urica beckoned Ithia over to the bowl. “Come, and See.”

  Ithia knelt down beside Mother Urica. The stars reflected in the water’s surface. Ithia allowed her eyes to lose their focus as she had during the mirror meditation. The bowl shifted to appear as one large eye—not just any eye, but hers, full of stars. Ithia was staring into herself. She was nothing and everything. And this time, it made sense.

  Others gazed into the bowl during their turn. Ithia wondered what these women saw. She sensed each vision was unique, each message an answer.

  ✹ ✹ ✹

  Ithia’s remaining days at the women’s gathering were filled with meditations and healing exercises. Throughout the day, women broke off into groups to teach their healing techniques: herb lore, energy-work, knowledge of emotional triggers to their physical conditions or other talents for the benefit of the others. In the evenings, many would do what they called trades—exchanging healing services to work through their particular issues or ailments. Ithia learned a great deal from them.

  It was a sad day in Ithia’s heart when the final evening came.

  Mother Urica commenced the closing ceremony. “We have been honored to be in this community this past moon-cycle. We thank the forces that have kept us safe. We thank the spirits for aiding in our processes. This night, we dance. In moving our bodies, we are moving the energy of this circle into our daily lives, into the physical, into our realities. As your feet touch the ground, you are beating the drum of the Great Mother. You dance Her dance. Let the celebration begin.”