Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8

by Jacob Falling

  Imani worked rapidly now, donning her own clothes in some haste. Then she pointed to Adria, or to the gown, perhaps, then to the bristles of the brush, and to the image on the rattle. “hweet hwolt,” she said… White Wolf?

  Adria looked at the brush closely as Imani lifted it, and wondered if it truly was the fur of a white wolf, or some other animal — if the color had been removed, somehow. She knew such a thing hardly mattered, of course. She was only wondering distractedly.

  Imani painted white whiskers onto Adria’s face with a pigment, and arched lines, to represent the face of a wolf. She thought this must not look as striking on her skin as it usually did — if this was not only a part of her own ritual, but any other girl’s, as well.

  Certainly, these items have not been made just now, or just for me, Adria thought as Imani placed the rattle in her hand.

  After this, Imani appraised her work, then whistled her approval, as the young Aesidhe men and women did for one another to show attraction. Adria laughed at the joke, and Imani wrinkled her nose in good humor, as if apologizing for an improper comment. In response, Adria looked at the rattle, and sucked on her fingers, like a baby, and Imani laughed, and clapped her hands, and danced about happily.

  Apparently, we are still allowed to act a little childishly.

  Imani led her back to the edge of the water and motioned for her to drink. Adria cupped her hands, and brought it to her lips, and Imani nodded approvingly. Just then, the sun was striking the water where they had bathed, and Imani looked wide-eyed as she took Adria’s hand, and she hunched over, motioning for Adria to do the same, and they ducked away into the shade of the woods.

  They walked far outside the bounds of the tented village, and stopped at any abrupt noise. Adria realized that they were hiding from more than the sun.

  Perhaps we are hiding from the eyes of men, as an Aeman bride hides from her husband on the day of the wedding ceremony. Adria felt it appropriate. She felt as literally vulnerable in the slight white gown as she was probably meant to spiritually.

  Between the girl and the woman, a moon in imbalance and confusion. Or maybe I’m a wolf avoiding the hunter. Or… maybe I’m just thinking nonsense, Adria thought. I hope I am fed soon, and don’t have to kill a rabbit with my nails and teeth.

  There was another sound, rather loud and harsh, obviously not a rabbit, and Imani pointed to some bushes shaking in the distance. She lifted Adria’s hand with the rattle, and pointed it at the bush, and Adria shook the rattle at their pursuer. The bush subsided, and someone scampered off, and the two girls laughed.

  This happened several times, from different directions, until the two found themselves at Shísha’s camp, where a small low dome had been made from saplings and hide, with a flap for an opening.

  Shísha stood a short distance from this dome beside a large fire, the largest Adria had seen among the Aesidhe, tending it with an elk antler. Imani gave a small formal speech, and Shísha translated for Adria’s benefit.

  “The White Wolf Woman has been to the water, to cleanse herself and to drink. The Hunter follows her, but she has scared him away, for she is not yet ready.”

  Shísha rose, then she turned and placed the antler upon the ground in a patch of sunlight. It was blackened half its length, where it had worked among the flames, and Adria could see that something baked within the depths of the fire, but could not tell what it was.

  Shísha knelt beside the dome, and pulled up its opening, and motioned for Imani and Adria to enter. It was such a small opening that they had to stoop low. Imani went first, and, just at the threshold, she removed all of her clothing again, save what went about her waist beneath her breeches, and she pressed her lips to the ground. Shísha whispered something in her ear then, and the young woman crawled inside.

  Adria followed, carefully removing her gown, and Shísha held her hands open to receive it from her. “This is called the New Skin. It is the flesh we are given as a child, soft and sensitive, which we only slowly grow into. Its cloth is made from the Web-spinner, who sees how all things connect, and knows even the smallest change in wind and light, the touch of every creature, great and small, the Sun and the Moon.”

  Adria whispered, “I understand, Lichushegi.”

  “Speak so that even the sun might hear you.”

  “I understand, Lichushegi,” Adria said, louder, and Shísha nodded her head and continued.

  “Were you born among us, this gown would have been made from that which would have clothed you first as a babe, for they are both New Skin. Should you choose to marry, this New Skin will be yours to give to your husband, even as you give him your flesh. You give him your New Skin to become something new. For now, you will wear the Skin of the Moon, the night sky itself.”

  I am meant to be naked now, or close enough, Adria thought, and said, loud enough for the Sun to hear, “I understand, Lichushegi.”

  Adria imagined there were more proper words which an Aesidhe girl normally spoke, but Shísha nodded again and motioned for Adria to continue.

  Adria knelt down and put her lips to the ground, and Shísha whispered into her ear, “Your blood nourishes the Earth as it would a child. There is no loss in it, and no shame. Go inside, Likshochuhalene, and the Sun will send you its warmth, as a gift to the moon.”

  Imani’s hand guided Adria to the place where she should sit, and Adria crossed her legs beneath her, put her elbows on her knees, a little stooped, for the ceiling was very close above. The ground had been cleared of grass and swept, and the earth was dry and cool beneath her.

  As Shísha entered, Adria could see a shallow pit in the center of the room. Shísha sat just inside the opening as she closed the flap, and the darkness within was absolute. Shísha and Imani spoke quietly together in Aesidhe for a moment, and then Shísha raised her voice, changing smoothly into Aeman.

  “Likshochuhalene, I have asked Imani for permission to perform the Ceremony in your tongue, and she has given it. The words of our language are deeply tied with our beliefs and how we understand our lives and our world. I have told her that some of the Ceremony will remain the same, but other parts will change, because your language is different, and you are different because of it. But you have come among our people, and you have adopted some of our ways, and so I feel you may adopt more, as a woman. Do you believe this?”

  “I do,” Adria offered.

  “Do you understand that you are becoming a woman, in body and in spirit?”

  A little uncertain, Adria nodded, again, to a blind woman in total darkness, and then repeated aloud, “I do.”

  “I will tell you the story of White Wolf Woman,” Shísha said, then began after a long breath:

  “A young man of the tribe had once gone hunting, but found nothing to bring home to his people, though the moon was round and bright, and he heard the sound of many animals about. He was a new Hunter, bold but rash, and instead of moving slowly and waiting for his prey to come to him, he always ran off after them, and they were given good warning, and they escaped. For three nights he hunted thus, but the only animals he found were snakes, who rattled their tails at him and turned him away.

  “Finally, in a clearing, he saw a wolf standing by a pool, in full view, drinking from the water. The wolf was beautiful, but strange — her coat was perfectly white, her eyes pale, and she seemed intelligent, for she noticed him as he stood at the edge of the clearing, with his bow in hand. Still, the wolf did not run.

  “The Hunter was enchanted by the creature’s beauty, strange though it was, and he hesitated to draw aim. But he was hungry, and he was impatient, and he was unable to find anything else to bring to his tribe, except for the snakes which they were forbidden to eat. He thought, since the wolf did not run, that she was ready to die. He even thought to ask the wolf this, so intelligent did she seem, but she did not answer his words.

  “The Hunter drew his b
ow, and held it there, half hoping the animal would run, that his arrow would go astray. But the wolf only stood, and watched him, and waited. The Hunter released his arrow, and the animal fell beside the pool, but she did not die. Instead, she changed into a beautiful young woman, as pale as the wolf, with long hair the color of the moon, and eyes the color of the water. But she still bore the wound, and the arrow, and her blood drained into the pool beside her.

  “The Hunter grew afraid then, and full of sorrow, and nearly ran from the clearing, but then the woman spoke to him, and though he could not understand her words, he still knew what they must mean, and he overcame his fear, his guilt, and his weakness, and he took her up and carried her back to the tribe.

  “When he appeared at the camp with the wounded woman, the elders understood what had happened, and they held council. The Kochushegiya of the tribe had dreamed of this, he said, and the Spirit Helpers had told him that if the White Wolf Woman died, the women of the tribe would no longer bear children. She must be healed, they said, and only the one who had wounded her might also heal her.

  “And so the Hunter took White Wolf Woman into his home, and he removed his arrow, and he cleaned her wound, and he brought her food to eat and medicine to calm her fever. Despite this, she did not seem to heal, and her wound continued to bleed for five days, so that the hunter feared for her life, and for the life of his tribe. In that time, he came to love her, though he could not even understand her words, nor did she seem to understand his.

  “Finally, the Hunter took his arrow, the one which had wounded her, and he made a cut in his own flesh, and he pressed his wound to hers, so that she might share his life, and be healed. And her wound closed as quickly as it had been made, and they then knew each others’ words.

  “’I do not understand,’ he said to her. ‘Why did you not run from me?’

  “’I did run from you,’ she said. ‘For three nights I ran from you, for I was afraid of you. For three nights, I asked my friends, the serpents, to protect me, for I knew you would not eat them. And for three days, I slept within a dark cave, away from the sun which might reveal me to you.’

  “’But, by the water,’ the Hunter said. ‘You stood in the full light of the moon, and you did not answer me when I asked if you wished to die. And when I drew my bow, you did not run.’

  “’I was no longer afraid of you,’ White Wolf Woman answered.

  “’But, why?’ the Hunter asked.

  “’Because I knew that you must eat, and I knew that, if it would not be me, it would be some other animal. So I offered myself to you, so that another might have life, and I was no longer afraid.’”

  “And so the Hunter asked for her forgiveness, and he asked her to marry him.

  “’I forgive you,’ White Wolf Woman said. ‘But if I marry you, I will have to leave you for five days each month, when the moon is full, for I must become a wolf again, and sleep within a cave, alone.

  “The Hunter agreed. And ever since, the women of the tribe have bled for five days at each moon, and have separated themselves, in remembrance of White Wolf Woman.”

  “Si Chushegi suwe Chahi,” Imani answered as Shísha fell silent. Imani had not understood the words, but of course knew the story in her own tongue.

  Probably from her own Moon Ceremony, Adria thought.

  “Si Chushegi suwe Chahi,” Shísha repeated. “It is True.”

  Other women joined in the agreement, and Adria imagined them nodding wisely, though still there was no light to warm their faces.

  “Likshochuhalene,” Shísha said, again using Adria’s formal name. “This place, and this part of the Ceremony, is called the Hopawecheteya, the Sweat Lodge. We use it to purify ourselves. When women have their Moon, they go to the Moon Lodge, but they visit this lodge first. It is one of our Seven Ceremonies, and always happens to prepare for any others. This first time, it may be very difficult for you, so if you feel too unwell, you must tell me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Adria answered. She had heard of this from Preinon, and knew something of what to expect.

  “Imani dressed you, so I know you wear nothing made of metal. When you enter the Hopawecheteya, always remove any metal first, and leave it outside. It is unwelcome.”

  “Yes, Lichushegi.”

  Such ceremonies often have odd requirements, Adria thought. The Sisterhood had many such restrictions where clothing and jewelry were concerned. Perhaps they consider metal unnatural somehow, Adria mused. Because it is treated with fire?

  “The Moon and the Sun were born of the Sky, one in the day, and one in the night,” Shísha said. “They did not know each other at first, though they followed each other across the world, between the Earth and the Sky.

  The Sun was a Hunter, and shone brighter, for he always walked forward, while the Moon danced about, sometimes full of face, sometimes looking away, and hidden against the dark Sky, as if she sought something, or else thought to evade the Sun.

  “And so the Sun went to the Sky, and asked it to find a way to trap the Moon for him. The Sky agreed, and took a little of the Sun’s light, and wove a great web across the night, and where these strands met, points of light appeared, like drops of dew or Holy Beads.

  “And the Moon danced through her new raiment, and though she was not trapped, she slowed just a little, so that when the Sun next came, he saw her face, and loved her. The Moon felt the heat of the Sun, and though she was afraid, she did not now run from him, but stayed awhile, and when next she appeared to the Sky, alone, she glowed red with the memory of him.”

  Soon after her story, Shísha opened the flap of the door, and Adria had to squint her eyes against the light from without. Shísha spoke to someone through the opening, and Adria could see the legs of a young man, who lifted four stones from the fire with the scorched antlers and passed them into the lodge, one at a time. He dropped one at each side of the pit in the center, one for each direction, and then Shísha closed the flap again, and the stones glowed in the darkness.

  To Adria’s surprise, they produced a good deal of heat, undulating from the bright orange stones and filling the small tented lodge in moments. They even gave a little light, and Adria could see Shísha lean forward and place a leaf of some sort on one of the stones, and it burst into flame. It gave off a sharp, pungent smell, but once this subsided a little, the scent was not unpleasant.

  Next, with a clay ladle, Shísha poured water on the stones, and they sizzled and steamed, making the heat even more oppressive.

  For a few minutes they sat quietly, and Adria adjusted to the heat. It was bearable, but nonetheless Adria felt her body begin working to cool itself. Her breath grew shallow, her skin began to sweat, and her eyes closed.

  She was glad, at last, that she was wearing almost no clothing. Even her thin loincloth soon clung to her uncomfortably. She had never experienced such heat, and she realized, then, why metal was not allowed in the ceremony.

  Not because it is unnatural, she smiled. But because it would simply grow so hot that it would burn the skin.

  “We will sing songs now,” Shísha told Adria as the glow of the stones faded, though the heat from them did not. “Songs to our ancestors, in our tongue. The exact words are not important. Sing as you will, and know that we ask all your relations for guidance, the mothers of your mother, through the generations, and even the White Wolf Woman herself, who is said to be the Holy Mother of all of us.”

  As the glow of the stones subsided again to leave them in darkness, Shísha began to sing, slowly and low at first, but then louder, a short refrain which was taken up by Imani, and at last by Adria herself, as best she could.

  Zho homilisa Shóli haipe lobe,

  Tegoni wazho waline méli koali wani tagli.

  Si, Imaya zho tála hechaye.

  Zho Lemaskiya Chatechoku koali haipe miletewe.

  I stand before you, />
  As a child becoming a woman.

  Mothers, look at me...

  I am wounded by the Seasons of the Moon.

  Adria learned the sounds well enough after a few repetitions, and even felt she had managed most of the words. Some were still difficult for her tongue to wrap around, containing sounds never made in Aeman.

  The melody itself was strange, unlike the songs which were often sung around the camp in the evenings or the mornings. It was much simpler, almost not a song at all, and its pitch and intensity varied from one refrain to the next.

  It feels... old, Adria realized, even as Shísha brought the song to a low and quiet end.

  The hide was pulled aside from the doorway again. In came more heated stones, and Adria counted ten more.

  Fourteen, Adria thought. One for each year of my life. And if these are as hot as the first four, maybe enough to end it… She smiled to herself in the near-darkness as the flap was closed again. If these are the gifts of the Sun, I think he means to kill me, instead of simply trap me.

  There were more leaves, more ladles of water, and a heat which Adria would have thought strong enough to make an oven, which reminded her how long she had gone without food.

  I hope they don’t plan to cook me, and this is not just some strange fairy story they’ll tell to future children. How the White Wolf Girl fed a whole tribe for a year.

  She grew now very dizzy, and her entire body seemed to sweat continuously, so that the ground was soaked beneath and around her.

  Shísha and Imani began to sing again, and then the rest, for what seemed hours, all different but similar songs, one after the other, and Adria tried to join them, but more and more, in the oppressive heat, she could not seem to find the strength.

  Adria scooted back a little, to where she had first been sitting, for the heat was gradually pulling her shoulders down, until, at last, her forehead touched the earth, and it felt to her as cool as the river’s water had that morning. It might even have been ice.