by J. H. Hayes
As if this wasn't all enough, Azaria struggled with the loss of her best friend. She hated herself for widening the rift between them into the deep chasm it had become. She knew she never should’ve kissed Luzon, but hadn’t even thought of Daneel beforehand. She was simply too wrapped up in her own troubles. It was an honest mistake, but it didn’t seem possible she’d ever convince Daneel of that. Her friend had arrived at the worst moment possible.
More than once in the suns following their blowout, Azaria took to walking by Daneel’s cave, hoping to run into her, with plans of begging her forgiveness, to at least explain. But Daneel was elusive, and when Azaria did spot her and try to approach, she would only ignore her. On more than one occasion Azaria was left standing alone pleading to Daneel's back, begging for forgiveness. Despite the rebuffs, Azaria continued to try, but her confidence dwindled and her despair heightened with each failed attempt. She was close to giving up.
14
The heart of winter was marked by the shortest sun, which would fall during the current moon. It was a dismal stretch, when long, oppressive nights were only briefly broken by short, meager spells of muted sunlight. It was enough to veil any man's heart, enough to question one's faith in whichever gods they honored, the Great Earth Mother or the Ta’ar. And no one was immune. When arctic winds came tearing through their meandering canyon, howling their shrill canticles, even Boar Camp's bravest warriors, their valiant, eternally devoted canines would be reduced to cowering broods of writhing, whimpering fur.
Azerban had always believed it was a trial, the Mother's way of segregating the deficient from the deserving. Only the strong could survive such trauma, could persevere through such brutal desolation. Only the worthy would live to see a full sun rise again. Some didn't, giving in to weakness. Azerban was always surprised more didn't succumb. He knew the only reason his people did thrive was because they had each other. Alone, it was impossible. He was sure no one could make it through one frozen moon on this world, if they haplessly found themselves outside of their community’s embrace.
But that was the way of things. Nothing to be done about it. Outside of hard work, planning and cooperation.
His precious daughter woke on a particularly bleak morning to the sound of a familiar voice sobbing. She lay in her furs for several moments while her mind orientated. Finally coming to full consciousness, Azaria realized it was her father making the disturbing sounds. She opened her eyes and propped herself up. In the dim light she could just make out her father across the hearth. He was sitting up in his furs, rocking back and forth, a limp form held to his chest. Azaria sat up further and could see tears streaming down his face. Then she made out what it was he was holding. Her mother was in his arms.
"Father??" she asked softly, but with great anxiety. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, Azaria... your mother," Azerban wept, his voice breaking uncontrollably. "She's left us."
"What, father? No!" Azaria screamed, jumping out of her furs. "Mother! Wake up, mother!" she wailed as she knelt down to Zephia's spent body. She laid her hand on her mother's forehead and felt there was still warmth. "She's alive, father! Do something... you have to do something!" she begged, unable to understand why he wasn't taking action.
"No, Azaria," he answered. "It's too late. Her breath has already left her. She must have passed in the night. She is gone..." Azerban broke down completely, another wave of tears gushing forth. "I didn't know she was ready," he cried. "I should have stayed up with her."
"No! Mother! No!" Azaria screamed. But even as she implored her beloved mother to wake, reality was setting in, hitting her with the force of a toppling temple stone. Deep down, she instinctively knew her father was right, but it was still too much to bear. The long duration of her mother's sickness had prepared her at least partially for this moment. And yet she was completely stunned. All of the emotions that had pent up over the last moons came spilling out.
"Nooooooo! Mother! Not yet, mother. Please, not yet..." she wailed again and again as new streams of fresh tears surged forth. Azerban stroked his daughter's head, trying his best to comfort her as he too dealt with the shock of his loss.
For the second time in her life, Azaria experienced the sensation of being pulled from a great height. But this occurrence was nothing like the first. There was no rush of euphoria, no surge of pride in conquering the unknown. The ecstasy of soaring with the winds was replaced by the deep dread of plunging down an obscure pit. Everything was gone. There could be no happiness now. Only absence. The absence of light. The absence of joy. There was fear, however. And like before, it was overwhelming. Her life had ended, her shell as empty as her mother's. Azaria erupted, crying out at the top of her voice, verbalizing her wounds in the only way that made sense. It was instinctive, agrestal, carnal. And yet, there was no comfort in it. Wave after wave of throbbing agony washed over her. Her mind went numb. It was the only way to cope with such torment.
Eventually her cries diminished and she was left quietly sobbing, rocking her mother in her arms, together with her father.
Quzo was awakened by Azaria's frightening screams and sat silently crying in his furs, too scared to join his father and sister as he watched the horrifying scene unfold. He may not have known exactly what was happening, but his young instincts stoked his fear. With her own wails abated, Azaria heard his sniffles and, recognizing them for what they were, looked over to him. Seeing him sitting up staring at them, she gently called him over. "Quzo, come here, little brother. Come here..." He shook his head, too frightened to obey. Azaria watched helplessly as tears ran down his cheeks too.
Azerban also looked over to him. "Quzo, come here, boy!" he said a little more firmly, holding his sturdy arm out to him. It was enough. The young boy came rushing into his father's arms.
"What's wrong with mother?" he asked, safely enclosed within his father's embrace and looking down sadly at the pale, limp form.
"She has passed, Quzo," his father answered. "But she still loves you very much." He didn't know what else to tell his son and felt inadequate and guilty for it. As Ta'araki, he would've had confident advice for one of his flock in a similar situation. But for his own son, nothing seemed appropriate.
The young boy couldn't comprehend the meaning of his father's words. He’d heard the phrase before, but it meant little to him. He knew that others had passed and that they would soon be gone completely. But his mother was here, in front of him. She was only sleeping very deeply. "Mother's going to leave, father?" he asked.
"Yes, Quzo," Azerban answered. It was difficult to even think straight, with his grief still paralyzing. "Mother will leave us soon," he added, not sure if it was the right thing to tell him or not. The truth was all he could manage.
Quzo stared down at her blankly and without looking up asked, "Why? Where’s she going?"
Azerban inhaled deeply and sighed. He could barely deal with his own turmoil, how could he fitfully answer his son's questions? "To the spirit world, Quzo. To the Vulture Stars, to be with the Ta'ar. We must say goodbye, son."
"But why, father? I don't want her to leave. She needs to stay here with me."
Azaria wanted to answer him, to take him in her arms, to comfort herself with his warmth as much as comfort him, but she let her father continue, knowing he could better handle him. Oblivious of him until now, she noticed Grayfoot laying on the furs next to her, whimpering softly. He'd been Zephia's pet from the beginning, a gift from Azerban for giving him a son. His gray paws were unique and therefore considered favored of the Ta’ar. Azerban had traded a small fortune to obtain him. Azaria laid a hand on his head and stroked it. "Grayfoot, I didn't even see you there," she said. The canine lifted his head off the ground and licked her fingers and then licked Zephia's face.
"He's been upset since last sun," Azerban answered for him. "He must have sensed something was wrong. I should’ve paid more attention." Again, he felt the unavoidable pang of guilt a loved one feels when faced with this magnitude of los
s, despite knowing every conceivable countermeasure had already been attempted.
"You miss her as much as we do, don't you, Grayfoot?" Azaria said softly. She took comfort in stroking the short, black fur on his head and back and behind his ears. She knew he appreciated the affection, but he showed little of his usual enthusiasm. His tail lay perfectly still and flat, his ears folded back with his head down between his paws.
Not long later, a slapping sound at the entrance interrupted their mourning. Shaledar poked her head in, wearing a distressed expression. Her mate Tobit followed her in a moment later, their daughter Ania in his arms. Azaria was drawn by an overwhelming desire to embrace her.
"Shaledar, Tobit, come in," Azerban called. He didn't get up, not wanting to let go of his mate.
"Azerban, I heard a scream. What’s happened?" Shaledar said as she hurried in. "Oh, sister!" she cried upon seeing the limp body in his arms. "I knew it! I knew it!!" she wailed irrationally.
"Shaledar!" Azaria wept as she threw her arms around her aunt's neck, a fresh stream of wetness flowing from her eyes.
"Azaria, I'm so sorry," Shaledar said, wrapping her niece within her arms. They held each other for a long moment before she dropped to her sister's side, weeping uncontrollably. Azaria turned to Tobit, and embraced him. Little Ania ran to Quzo and locked her tiny arms around his neck. Normally he would have objected furiously, but now he only lowered his head and let more drops fall. Azerban enfolded the small girl within an outstretched arm and held the two children tight, kissing the tops of their heads.
They weren't finished greeting each other, when the entrance flaps were again disturbed. A wooden cane protruded through, followed by Takur's decrepit frame. Everyone silently watched him hobble inside. "Please come in, Ta'araki," Azerban called.
"Thank you, my Second," Takur said. He continued to the foot of their furs and looked down upon his niece's body, his wasting limbs shaking visibly. "So the Ta'ar have called her," he creaked. After taking a moment to steady himself he added, "I had a sense not all was right this morning. I'm afraid Their love for her has been at our expense. You have my sympathies, Azerban. And you also, Shaledar."
"Thank you, Ta'araki," they both murmured.
Takur stood uncomfortably, gazing down at the lifeless shell before seeming to realize he’d imposed. "I’ll leave you to your grief, Azerban," he finally said. He turned to go, but then turned around again, "I'm sure you'd rather perform the ritual yourself, and I give you leave to do so. However, if you'd prefer..."
"Thank you, Ta'araki, but I will perform it," Azerban answered. He knew it would be difficult for Takur to climb the icy slope to the top of the ridge, where the excarnation altar stood. Winter Cave was much too far from the Great Temple to perform the departure ceremony there, so a miniature version of the Great Temple altar had been constructed long ago. Azerban had no idea which generation built it. Since its erection, all who expired during the winter moons were brought to the top of the ridge. Although the altar only consisted of two small, standing slabs, roofed by cedar planks when necessary, it was considered a legitimate entry point to the hidden domains of the Ta'ar.
"Very well, I’ll leave you to your mourning then," Takur said.
The other members of Boar Camp trickled in throughout the morning and early afternoon, paying their respect to the mate of the revered Ta'araki. They left humble offerings to ease her journey to the dwelling place of the Ta'ar. Traveling cakes, bits of gazelle and aurochs meat, and small cups of water, nectar and poison were provided to be placed on the altar with her.
Daneel showed up shortly after midsun, bearing a small basket of dried, purple berries. Azaria was wholly unprepared for the visit, not knowing if her alienated best friend would slap her again or come rushing into her arms. But Daneel did neither, only embracing Azaria without comment. She hugged Quzo and whispered a few gentle words into his ear, spoke to Azerban and Shaledar and then knelt at Zephia's side briefly before exiting. Azaria's eyes trailed her during the entire visit. They remained dry, but internally she wept. How could Daneel not be there for her when she needed her most? Even if she wasn't ready to forgive, couldn't she put aside her anger for one sun?
Dogahn and Yumineh arrived close after, also bearing small gifts. Azaria retreated into a dark corner of the cave while they paid homage, watching them silently, her self-pity spiraling down upon her, wondering if her life could get any worse. She wished they hadn't come, but knew she had no right to object to a well-intentioned visit. Dogahn had been close to her mother for practically his entire life. Deep down she knew he deserved the right to say farewell and that her mother would be happy he'd come. She just wished he was also there to support her - and that he hadn't brought Yumineh. Seeing them together in her hearth, with Yumineh practically draped over him was too much. And as they departed, hand in hand, Azaria's revulsion was only slightly bested by her relief.
With the last of the mourners passing through, a rather large amount of offerings covered the furs Zephia lay upon. As Azaria picked out a representative sample to be brought up the ridge, paying special favor to those she knew her mother would most enjoy, Azerban prepared his mate for her departure. At his request Hadir assisted in this phase of the ceremony. A variety of incenses were burned and her body was thoroughly cleansed. Together they chanted a long string of blessings and entreaties to the Ta'ar to accept her within Their Realm. While they worked, Takur arrived and joined them in the incantations.
Once satisfied all the necessary rituals had been honored and Shaledar had taken Quzo to her cave, Azerban lifted his mate up for her final earthly journey. He turned to Azaria, who was holding a basket filled with her mother's departure gifts. Noticing she donned her outside winter tunic, he sighed. "Azaria, you should stay here. The rest is something you might not want to see."
"Let me just come to the altar, father. I can carry the basket. I'll return after that," she said.
"Are you sure, daughter? Hadir can carry the basket."
"I'm sure, father. I'd like to accompany mother to the altar," she said.
"Very well, then," Azerban said. "But give the basket to Hadir."
Together, the three scaled the icy trail to the top of the ridge and once there Azerban laid Zephia's body on the stone altar. Azaria carefully arranged the items from the basket around her mother's body. She gave her one last kiss and wept openly in her father's arms before turning away, hugging Hadir and placing the basket in his hands. It was difficult convincing Grayfoot to come back down with her, in the end having to wrap a leather leash around his neck. The canine would not be able to contain himself once the carrion birds arrived.
Azerban waited long enough for his daughter to return to their cave before beginning the final funerary rites. He again recited several incantations beseeching the Ta'ar's minions to release her soul from its fleshy host. The vultures circled high above, needing no bidding to come down and begin the part of the ceremony they'd patiently waited for. Finally, Azerban and Hadir backed off to a watching station far enough away to let the winged beasts come down, but close enough to shoo away any curious camp dogs or interloping scavengers if they tried to share in the feast.
It didn't take long for the minions to arrive. Finding fresh meat was particularly difficult during the winter and they were ravenous. Once they'd begun, Hadir excused himself. As a member of the Order, it was within his right to stay, but the excarnation process was a deeply personal ritual. Family members were usually left alone to oversee the event unless one of the Ta'araki was specifically asked to stay. Hadir knew Azerban to be one who coveted his privacy and the senior Ta'araki made no complaints when he took his leave.
Azerban watched in silence as the vultures devoured the body. They were efficient workers. When finished, the bones would be picked nearly clean. Only seldomly did he need to intervene, when one of the birds would try to carry a segment away for their own personal meal. Armed with his spearthrower and a quiver of light spears, Azerban downed two of
the thieves just after they took flight. It was the one occasion killing the sacred birds was allowed. The ritual was only briefly interrupted, as the Ta'ar's minions returned quickly once he reset what was stolen and backed off again. Despite best efforts, it wasn't uncommon for the birds to make off with small pieces of bone, leaving an incomplete skeleton for the final burial.
The ceremony was almost finished when Azerban heard crunching footsteps behind him.
"Hello, father," Azaria said.
"Azaria. I thought you’d stay at the cave," he replied in surprise, but not annoyance - he was proud his daughter chose to join him. If she were older, he would have pushed her to stay. But she was in that in-between age, when the choice was left to the young individual. He wouldn't have denied her earlier had she more strenuously asked, despite the ghastly nature of the process.
"So did I, but I tired of weeping and decided I'd rather be here with you," she said. "Is it okay?"
"If you prefer to be here, then I cannot refuse," he answered, inwardly torn between his desire for his daughter to remain and his fear the scene may inflict added emotional distress. "Come and sit beside me."
Azaria sat and laid her head upon his great chest as he wrapped an arm around her.
She noticed the basket at her father's feet and turned her eyes from it. She knew what lie inside. There were containers like it in their cave below, as well as many other Natu hearths, but the thought of this one repulsed her. Right now, nothing seemed worse than opening that basket to see its gruesome contents.
It was a great while before Azaria could bring her gaze to the scene taking place upon the altar. When she finally did, what she saw disgusted her. Even from far off there was an ugliness to the Minions. To her, they didn't seem worthy of their standing. They’re nasty beasts, she thought. Nothing about them appeared sacred or majestic as she'd been taught. They performed their duty without subtlety, or the tenderness she felt her mother deserved. Despite her upbringing, she couldn't help her revulsion. She couldn't shake the feeling her mother's body was being desecrated and it made her angry. She finally looked down, not able to take anymore in, knowing her thoughts were wrong.
