The Hadra
Page 39
She took my hand and led me around to the side of the shelter. There I saw a little sapling standing bravely in the freshly dug earth. “A parmi tree. I planted it for her. In years to come, we will eat parmi-fruit and remember Alyeeta and tell stories of her life among us. That is how the people of Darthill fill the space that is left by death.” Hand in hand, we stood in silence, looking at those little gray twigs that were both a commemoration for the dead and a promise of new life.
Finally, as if at a signal, we both turned and went inside. Suddenly I realized how exhausted and hungry I was. With a groan, I sank down on the bench and rested my head on the table, while Zheran made me a cup of tea and something to eat. When she came to sit across the table from me, she was very contrite. “Oh, Tazzil, if I had only known what it meant to you, I would never have asked you to sever your connection with her in that way.”
“Zheran, what we severed at that time needed to be severed. We stopped being lovers with our bodies. That was all a tease, a game, a challenge, something that amused Alyeeta. It was time for that to end. The real connection between us was never severed. We have always been lovers in our spirits. No, no, not the right word. What can I say? She was…” I shrugged and stopped speaking, feeling betrayed by words. Then, with a struggle, I tried again. “I want to say she was the rock in my life, but how can you say that of someone so moody, so changeable, so unpredictable, so mocking, so capable of cruelty as well as love? No, she held my life in the palms of her hands all these years, keeping me safe. And she stayed here for me, lending me her strength until she had none left, and then even longer. Now she is gone, and we have our own lives to live.”
I reached out to Zheran and took her hand in mine. We sat that way in silence for a while, looking at each other across the table. Then, with great deliberation, she freed her hand from mine, stood up, took a packet from the highest shelf, and laid it on the table. It was my account lying in front of me. “Finish it, Tazzil. It is the one last thing you can do for her.”
Epilogue
I have just finished rereading the last few pages of this account. Sitting here in the Zildorn, I am suddenly flooded with memories. Even now—some twenty years later—Alyeeta’s death brings tears to my eyes, though by now the pain is dull, softened by time. I have kept faith with her as best I could. I have seen to the building of a Zildorn that safely holds all of her books and all of our stories and has room for whatever other knowledge we may gather. I have put together my notes of our past as she asked me to. She cannot ask more from me.
In honor of the twentieth anniversary of Alyeeta’s death, this whole book has been recopied in Ursa’s clear, careful hand. Her fine drawings decorate the edges of many of the pages, and her pictures help to tell the tales. It pleases me to see that she has made a work of art out of my rough scribbles. Ursa has asked me to write a few words here at the end. I would be glad to, but Goddess, what am I to say that has not already been said?
The first part of my account I wrote when I was very young and all those things had just occurred. I have made only a few small changes, and those only for the sake of clarity. This last part, which I have simply called The Hadra, I wrote afterward, looking back, trying hard to remember everything just as it was—not an easy task, believe me. Some I even wrote after Alyeeta’s death. Of course, I would not have written any of this if Alyeeta had not urged me to.
I wrote about that time because I was there at the very beginning, before we even had a name. Perhaps I also wrote because the telling helped to free me from it all. Sometimes the younger Hadra come to me now, wanting to know how it was back then. Because I was First Councilor of Zelindar, they consider me a sort of repository of knowledge. Also, they think it was all some great adventure that we shared, and they feel left out. Little do they know the terrible pains and hardships of those times. Well, I have grown weary of telling those tales over and over. Let them read it here.
Enough of all this. The story that I had to tell is finished now. No, not finished. It will never be finished. Not as long as there are Hadra left alive in the world. But let them tell their own tales. My part of this story is done. I will no longer put pen to paper in this manner, nor will I ever be councilor again—I value my health and my sanity too much to be talked down that road once more.
It is time for me to rest now, to look every day at the view, the beauty that the Goddess has created, and to enjoy what we ourselves have built here. It is time to read all the books that Lorren left us in his library. I have no wish to rush about anymore the way I once did, no wish to build and fix and make and do. Let others do that now.
Sometimes I walk in the woods, gathering herbs, remembering that once, as a child, I was a Witch and a healer. Now that I move more slowly and listen with care, some of my healing powers have come back to me, a good thing, since so many little ones among us are in need of them. There are moments now when I even feel myself reconnecting with the little girl of my childhood village, the one who talked to birds and animals and walked far into the forest where others feared to go, the one who petted the bull and turned aside a wolf with a basket of eggs. Sometimes I think that child is waiting there for me at the end of my life, waiting with her innocence and her untried powers.
Often I go to visit with Yolande, or she comes here. We, who were once almost enemies, are now the best of friends. We walk about together on the shore and talk of all that has passed; or we share our memories of Lorren and Hereschell; or we do not talk at all, sitting side by side, remembering in silence. Zheran joins us when she can, but she walks with a cane now, and her eyesight is worsening rapidly. Ursa and Nhari visit almost daily to make sure we have what we need, and Pell and Tama and their brood of daughters and granddaughters are often with us.
But why am I maundering on and on? Now it is time to pass it on to the young ones. There is only one thing I need to say at the end of all this: Take care, Daughters! It is not over yet. The Hadra have gathered and become a people. Zelindar is a fine settlement, on its way to being a city. We have more settlements to the north, and some forming south of us. I have lived to see all this accomplished, and I feel I could die happy. But I hear rumors. Those of our sisters who are spies in the Zarns’ cities say there is talk of invasion. I do not think they will leave us in peace. No matter how much they have, they must have more. They fear our powers and our influence among the Kourmairi. They must move soon, before we are any stronger.
If they all gathered against us, I fear for our survival. I am old now. Perhaps I will die knowing only what is won and not be forced to see it lost again. But to the younger Hadra who have grown up with the peace and beauty of this place and take it for granted, I must leave a warning. Daughters, the Zarns are not finished with us. We sit here like a bright jewel on the coast, tempting them by our very existence. You must hold yourselves prepared. Do not expect this peace to last forever. As Olna so often said, “Those who cannot be controlled are a threat to those who must control.” The peace and power we have was dearly bought and paid for and must be guarded. It may not last. The Zarns will not take our success lightly, for it challenges their power. Sooner or later, they will have to make their move. Take care, and be ready!
As it must be,
Tazmirrel of Nemanthi
Tazzil of Zelindar
Ursa's Account
These are my words for Tazzil, set down more than ten years after her own. The Hadra have asked me to write something in her honor, here at the end of her account—not an easy thing for me to do, under the circumstances. My heart is full of pain and loss and—yes—confusion. I cannot write empty words of praise. I can write only the truth as I know it from my own heart and my own life.
Three days ago, my fourth mother died. To others she was Tazzil of Zelindar, founder of this city and First Councilor of the Hadra. To me she was Fourth Mother, the reluctant one, the woman I also knew as Tazzi or Tazzia. If my third mother, Zheran, were still alive, perhaps they would have asked her to write thi
s instead of me, but she is already gone.
Tazzil was the woman who was my mother’s lover and, in some ways, her husband as well, for my mother chose to be the wife. I knew Tazzil as the woman who stayed in our house but did not really live there because she was too busy and had too much else to do. I admired her, as others did. How could I not? But I also longed for her to really be my mother: to teach me to ride; to talk to me about what she was doing; to take me with her sometimes; to even remember I existed. Other girls thought it must be exciting to live with the councilor and be at the center of everything, a sort of honor. In truth, it was very lonely.
Though I loved Zheran, I was not like her and knew it from the beginning. In spirit, I was Tazzil’s daughter. It was Tazzil I was like, and it was her attention I craved. Is that not the nature of humans, to hunger always for what we cannot have? I would have given anything for her to notice me and be as proud of me as I was of her.
My sister, Ishnu, could not understand. “What do you need her for?” she would say with a shrug. “Let her go. She is too busy being a chief to be a mother. We are lucky Zheran saved us from the chaos of that time and made us a home with everything we needed. Tazzil is just an extra. We could do as well without her.” Easy for her to say. She got all the love she needed from Zheran, as they were much alike, but I felt as if I had been orphaned one more time. I rode like a wild thing, ran faster than any of the other girls, fought, swam, climbed to the tops of mountains—all so she would pay some attention, and all to no avail.
Not till I returned from Darthill by boat did she even become aware of my existence. Yet, she was the one who made it possible for me to go. Zheran would have kept me home out of fear. After that, we became friends, Tazzil and I. She told me she was proud of me and called me Daughter. Though she had not wanted children in her life and would not have chosen us, she was to say many times, “I am sorry now that I was so often absent when you were little. Then I could only see the needs of Zelindar and had no time for loving. How can I make up for it now?”
After that boat trip, she began to share her life with me in ways I could only have dreamed of before. She tried to pass on to me whatever she had learned. We had some fine times together. She took me traveling with her, talked over her decisions and ideas, shared whatever she wrote, was proud of me, and encouraged me in everything I did. And now I have lost her again, this time for good. This loss is doubly hard because it took so long to find my way home to her.
* * *
Tazzil was sick for several weeks. She grew thinner and weaker every day. None of Yolande’s herbs or Maireth’s healings seemed to help. When she died, we were all there around her: Nhari, Ishnu, myself, and our daughters; Pell, Tama, Laisha with her babies. Out of all of us, her last words were for me. She had just said to Pell, “We had some wild times together, Sister. We changed the world, you and I, didn’t we?” She even laughed a little, though when it quickly turned to coughing, she shut her eyes and said, “I am very weary, too weary to go on talking. Let me sleep now.” She seemed to sink away then. We thought she was gone, but suddenly she opened her eyes again, laid her hand over mine, and said, “Ursa, you were the daughter in my life, the child of my spirit, if not my body. I leave it in your hands now.”
* * *
Good-bye, Tazzil. Thank you for everything you did here. We who live in Zelindar will remember you always. You are the ground beneath our feet. Your work and your spirit shine in every rock of every house of every street of this city. Your love shines from the Zildorn on top of Third Hill. Good-bye, Mother-of-My-Heart.
As it must be,
Ursailyne of Indaran
Ursa the Neshtair,
Councilor of Zelindar
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