by S E Turner
While she was engrossed, a gentle breeze brushed the carefully placed curl from the side of her face, and her disfigurement was cruelly exposed.
The passing clan members and working women glanced in her direction, and muttering under their breath, kept a safe distance from the devil's child. She wasn't aware of the hostilities and certainly didn't understand the fierce glares. Nevertheless, not wanting to go too far from her mother, she stayed close by the hut and picked flowers to give as gifts to her saviours. It wasn't too long before word got around and an elderly man appeared. Slowly, with tentative steps, he approached her. He smiled kindly so as not to cause alarm. She had never seen such wrinkled skin in all her life, nor someone who was so bent over and walked so slowly. The unruly beard made her giggle, and the crumpled crinkly eyes looked like those of a bird to her.
For him, in all his years, he had never seen a face so horribly disfigured, and he found himself staring at the thin line that puckered the skin and pulled at the eye. He found himself keeping his distance, not wanting to be too close in case he caught something from her.
But then she looked at him with her deep whirlpool eyes and smiled, and impetuously, with the uninhibited reactions of a child, she ran up to him and reached out to touch his face. Without thinking, he bent down to her and gave permission. As she compared their faces with her small hand, touching his ancient wrinkled folds and then her own, she decided that they weren't very different at all.
Thorne was taken aback as she tenderly stroked his weathered skin, for none of the children had ever reached out to him like that before. But she was not repulsed by him or scared of him. She didn't recoil in horror at the touch of his imperfect face. And that's when he found his compassion and looked at her beautiful innocence and found himself smiling.
'Would you mind if I sat down with you for a while?' he asked softly.
Ajeya took his hand and led him to her favoured spot where he sat on the boulder and she played at his feet.
'Do you know who I am?' he asked.
She looked at his face and shook her head.
'My name is Thorne and I am the leader of this clan.'
She handed him a flower.
'Thank you,' he said and smelled the beautiful fragrance. 'No one has given me a flower before.'
She smiled.
'What is your name child?'
'Ajeya,' she said, and carried on with her interesting game on the ground.
'And your mother, what is her name?'
'Eujena.'
'What beautiful names,' he pondered for a while.
Then she stood up and reached out to him. He picked her up and sat her on his knee. She then put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to rest her disfigured cheek against his own. His beard tickled her, and she brushed it out of the way, and snuggled into the embrace of his ancient arms. He noticed her warm breath on his skin and felt her beating heart against his worn-out bones. He found himself rocking the child and humming to her in a natural and comforting way. And then a tear ran down his face, as he knew what he had to do next would be one of the cruelest things in his life.
His emotions were stifled when the three adults came tearing out of the hut looking for her. Eujena didn't even notice the pain in her leg or her racing heart. She had just been told of the severity of having a disfigured child in a clan and what the implications entailed. With total shock and a deep sense of failure, she faced the leader with her daughter still sitting on his knee.
'Good afternoon,' he said. 'And you must be Eujena.'
She nodded meekly and an even quieter voice managed to say, 'Yes.'
'I have been chatting with Ajeya here.' He brushed her deformed cheek and Eujena trembled.
The child kissed his loose jowls in response.
'I will need to speak with Ukaleq and Hagen now, Eujena, I hope you understand.'
She nodded her head while stopping the nausea at the back of her throat.
He lifted Ajeya and put her back on the ground. 'You go inside with your mother now, my dear child, and I will see you again in a few days.'
She reached up to kiss him again and gave him another flower.
'Thank you,' he said. 'Run along now and look after your mother.'
Chapter Nine
Thorne was fearful of the spirits, perhaps more than anyone else in the clan. He had been brought up with stories about angry spirits all his life. Young men always had a tale to tell about visions they had witnessed or folklore they had heard and shared them on gloomy nights when the devils lurked and the undead resurfaced. These stories were always gruesome, carefully adapted myths and legends to strike fear into every living soul. Some were about angry demons who could turn spears around in mid-air, driving the pointed wedge into the living flesh of men and causing death instantly. Others were about gods who inflicted dreadful illnesses, unexplained aches and rashes, and the worst type of skin lacerations with no end of suffering. There were tales about people whose heads exploded with unbearable pain and eyes and ears that would weep rivers of blood. This fearful world of demons, ghouls and the undead, was all caused by defying the spirits.
He remembered the time when an older mother had given birth to a deformed boy. How the newborn had yelled and screamed when he was born after a long and difficult delivery.
The child was a much-wanted baby. The woman had already lost many before they came to full term. With a series of miscarriages over the years and premature infants that didn't survive, hopes were fading as her biological clock was ticking. And so, when she gave birth to a full-term baby, albeit deformed, there was no way she was going to give this one up. The baby suckled at once, rooting for the breast and taking the life-giving nectar.
'You can't feed him,' said the medicine woman, horrified by her actions. 'He has to go to the weeping caves. You cannot keep him. Don't make him strong when he will die anyway.'
'But he's my baby. He is not weak. The other ones I lost were weak and not strong enough to suckle.' She smiled at her miracle. 'Look at him, Ukaleq. See how strong he is. See what a fighter he is. I can't let him die.' The mother continued to feed him.
'You know the rules, Peira, you know it will anger the spirits. This will anger Thorne and the clan will be afraid.'
The new mother pulled her child away from the breast and watched as he screwed up his face and roared like an angry stag. 'I never thought I would have this baby Ukaleq. I thought there was something wrong with me, that I would never have what other woman have, a healthy baby to love and to cherish. This is my last chance—you know that, I am too old now. I cannot give him up.'
Ukaleq knew how much Peira wanted this baby, her heart ached thinking how she had suffered with so many previous losses. The pain of giving this baby up would probably kill her anyway because she was right—she was too old now. She wouldn't have another chance. But Ukaleq also knew the customs of the clan.
'He is not healthy, Peira,' she heard herself say, surprised at the sudden rush of tears that blurred her vision. 'He is deformed. Look at his twisted legs. He is not a proper human.' She sniffed her tears and blotted her eyes, and then the truth was plain to see. This child was an inhuman deviant, probably part demon; certainly not of this world, whose very presence would cause masses of untold suffering to human life with an unsurmountable loss of livestock if he continued to live in the clan.
All the mother saw was a beautiful creation whose legs would right themselves as he grew. All he needed was his mother's love and proper care with food and warmth and a roof over his head. 'I will take care of him,' pledged the mother sincerely. 'He will not cause misery to the clan. I promise you.'
The baby was still searching for the milk and nuzzling into her for warmth and protection. A huge wave of maternal instinct took over and the mother cradled him in her loving arms and looked at him adoringly. 'I can't do it. I have to feed him.' She put him back on the breast.
The woman was still weak herself from giving birth and losing a lot
of blood. She really needed to lie down and rest, but fearing her child would be taken away from her and left to die on a stone cold slab without her, she made herself stay awake and held him close. She wrapped him in a soft rabbit fur and then covered him in another blanket. 'I am not going to let you go anywhere, my darling. I will take care of you. You will be safe with me.' She clung onto him tightly when the medicine woman said she was going to get Thorne.
'I have to get him, Peira. He has to see this child.'
'Tell him he has a son called Dainn,' said Peira, her voice struggling with emotion. 'Tell him he has a beautiful strong boy with the heart of a stag and the will of a god, and you can tell Thorne that he will have to kill me first to take my baby.'
Ukaleq shook her head in despair and with a deep sigh of regret, disappeared out of the tent.
As soon as the medicine woman left, Peira had already formed a plan what to take with her. 'I'll take my blanket roll to sleep on and a few rabbit skins for Dainn. I can carry a couple of extra blankets, too. I am weak, but I have a strong son, he will give me the strength to survive.'
It was drizzling when Peira left the hut. It hurt to walk even a few steps—everything on her body ached. No one noticed the woman creeping like an old hag with a newborn baby concealed beneath her cloak. Going through the forests, she was almost invisible against the dark, sagging trees. She stooped heavily and took small steps. She wanted to stop, but the warmth and beating heart of her precious cargo kept her going. She didn't give in to the nausea or the dizziness that threatened to expose her in her tracks. She felt her own warm blood running down the inside of her legs, and her stomach cramped each time she lost more, but it didn't stop her. She pushed herself until she was ready to collapse, and then she pushed herself further. Even when Dainn cried, she didn't stop for him; instead, she forced herself to get as far away from the clan as possible.
When Thorne came back with Ukaleq and entered the tent, his wife and son were nowhere to be seen. They had gone. He searched everywhere for her.
'She can't be far,' he kept saying. 'She is weak and losing blood.'
He searched for days, and the days rolled into months. He cried and screamed out loud in his search for her. He couldn't sleep at night and couldn't eat when he was awake. He aged considerably within a matter of weeks. Groups of men were dispatched at all hours of the day and then again at nightfall, searching far and wide, camping overnight in caves and looking for clues.
But no one could find the woman with a newborn baby. It was as though she had vanished into thin air. The clan fell into mourning, praying to the spirits and chanting choruses for her safe return. But it was futile because the harsh reality was that the wolves or some other carnivore had got both of them and that was her punishment for not giving her deformed baby to the weeping caves.
Chapter Ten
A chilly east wind was blowing that day, hinting of the icier blasts and treacherous weather to come; but the sky was clear, and the morning sun was bright in contrast to the sombre mood in the camp.
Ukaleq and Hagen hadn't said very much for a few days now, no one had said very much at all. No one knew what to say. It was only Ajeya who hadn't changed and continued to pick flowers and play games with the petals.
On that dreadful day, the Shaman approached Eujena with an expression of sadness and discontent. 'Our leader has made a decision,' she said in a low tight voice. 'You are both to come with me.'
Ajeya could feel her mother shaking, and her hand gripped her own so hard that it hurt. The child knew instantly that it was more than the wind that was making her mother shiver so much.
The leader was standing at the mouth of the standing stones where his face matched the weathered granite. And his eyes were as grey and opaque as the menhirs themselves. He moved slowly to the altar, his head hung low with the weight of the overwhelming burden that he had to deliver. He trod the path that still bore the traces of those who had walked that way before. Had any of them sentenced a child like he was about to, he wondered? Was this the epitome of his leadership, to pass judgement on a child born from a woman, but according to his clan, was not of this world and therefore should not be allowed to live?
The rest of the clan followed silently and awkwardly with not one of them raising their eye line above the ground. Not one of them wanted the finger pointed at them, and so they filed in dumbly and uniformly and positioned themselves in a circle, ready to witness the fate of this poor infant.
'Eujena,' said Ukaleq quietly. 'It is time.'
Eujena looked at the Shaman, her eyes were dull and uncomprehending. She didn't want to cry, she wanted to remain proud and show all of them that her daughter was not deformed through weakness. Rather, that she had the strength far greater than any of them, and whatever sentence was passed that day, her legacy would live on whereas theirs would quickly fade.
Her heart was strong, but her legs were weak, and they buckled under the pressure. Hagen put a protective arm around the terrified woman and led her into the middle of the stone circles. Her saviour's arm jolted her back to awareness and awakened an undefinable fear as she was led in to face the leader. She could see the stern, hard look in his eyes had been replaced by true compassion and a deep sorrow, and she knew then what he had to say.
'Eujena,' he said aloud, and continued with a low tone that was more befitting of this terrible occasion. 'You were brought into our clan by a great man that we all deeply respect—a man who has suffered a great loss himself and has had to acknowledge that the spirits made that decision and took his wife from him. Then you were attended to by our great Shaman, Ukaleq, who, with guided hands and a deep ancestral knowledge, got you back on your feet so you would walk with fellow women again. The spirits looked down on you favourably that day and decided that you should live.' He looked up to give thanks to the spirits, and then lowered his eye line with hers again. 'But we are an ancient civilisation, with strong beliefs and deep-rooted traditions. These customs have been passed down for generations and every clan member knows the traditions surrounding birth and death. If a child is brought into this world of a different body to our own, then we do not accept it. To us, that child is not ready for our world. The spirits tell us to leave it to die in the weeping caves, and it will be returned when the body is whole again—in another time, in another life.'
Sad eyes fell on the innocent girl who stood next to her mother, totally unaware of the severity of the situation.
'And our traditions make no allowances, you must understand that, Eujena. Many children of parents who stand around you right now were born with defects and imperfections and have been surrendered to the weeping caves so that they might come back stronger and without imperfection when they are pure.'
The sound of whimpering and sniffing back tears reverberated round the stones. Eujena's tears fell silently down her face.
'I have no choice, Eujena. The spirits have spoken.'
Eujena felt the blood drain from her face and a knot tie in the pit of her stomach. She fell to her knees and dropped her head into her hands. No, it cannot be, she wanted to scream. I have kept my daughter safe and she has lived when any other child would have died. Who are you to decide my baby's fate? The words stuck tight in a dry mouth and not one decibel escaped from her lips.
Ukaleq began to wail a high-pitched octave. Low hums from around the camp indicated mourning. But the sound was cut off as the leader held up his hand.
'I am not finished!'
With the echoes of the Shaman's wails still reverberating round the cold, stark, granite menhirs, and the mourners looking to the skies for answers, a hushed curiosity was launched around the assembly.
'Ajeya is not clan,' he began. 'She was not born from a clan woman. She does not have a clan father. Clan totems do not run through her veins, so they will not be vilified.'
Eujena's heart began to race and she looked up at Hagen.
'Ajeya shall live,' hailed the leader. 'But she can't live amongst us for fea
r of reprisal from our totems and the spirits of dead children who have gone before her. You both will have to leave before the sun sets on this very day. But you will be dispatched with prayers for your safety in this hostile kingdom.'
The leader looked at Ajeya and smiled. She smiled back at him, and she saw him open his hands, and in his hands were the flowers that she had given him only a few days before.
At that moment Eujena went through a range of emotions—relief because her child was to live, but despair because a second man had decided to outcast them both from the community because of a disfigurement. The assembly were making their way out of the stone circle. Thorne had his back to the clan now, holding his arms high as if to propitiate the spirits.
She stood up slowly and hooked Ajeya closer to her body, and waiting for him to finish. She spoke out with passion. 'Thorne, please, may I be granted one last request?'
The assembly stood still. Murmurs ceased immediately. The leader turned around. Hagen appealed to her, Ukaleq tried to silence her, the congregation looked on in utter bewilderment. No one had ever dared to answer back when a judgement had been passed.
The leader looked severe and his eyes hardened. 'This is most unusual.' His voice was gravelled.
'Please,' she appealed to him.
Thorne looked at Ukaleq, who couldn't face him. Hagen had his eyes closed and was biting his bottom lip anxiously. The only one who looked at him was Ajeya, and she beamed up at him.
He nodded his head once to allow Eujena safe passage to speak.
'Thank you for your leniency and fairness in allowing Ajeya to live,' she began nervously. 'I am indebted to you, my lord. But please, I beg you, cast us out when the bad weather has passed. My child is still young, and I fear we would not survive in such brutality. If the weather doesn't get us, then the starving beasts would. Please my lord, we will go at the first thaw. I give you my word—I will not ask anything else from you.' She appealed to his compassion, for she knew it existed. She knew he saw something in her daughter where few had even tried.
