by S. A. Hunter
Almost immediately, Thera sensed a thread of inquiring thought. Animal thought, not human. Out from the Elanraigh trotted a lone coyote. Thera sensed the almost jovial greeting it sent.
“Blessings!” Sent Thera with a smile to both the Elanraigh and her four-footed volunteer. The coyote barked, close at hand, and soon appeared within the circle of light cast by the torches mounted either side of the gate.
The guard halted his pacing. “Gee-it!” he yelled, gesturing broadly with his arm. The coyote skittered, then returned, tongue lolling and eyes dancing, to stare at the astonished guard. This time the soldier bent to the ground and picked up a stone.
Thera quickly skipped through the gate and running light-footed over the loose shale, sprinted to the shadow of the trees.
“Run!” Sent Thera. She got a sense of laughter back from the coyote as he danced away from the soldier’s widely flung stone.
Laughing with the audacious coyote, Thera turned away and placed her hand gently on the bark of a tall sitka. This was what Thera had always called a grandfather tree, because it felt benign and wise. It rose twenty-five pike lengths above her head. Its bark vibrated with energy. Inside her head, Thera heard it thrum her name with familiar affection.
Moving onto the rocks high above Lorn a’Lea, Thera inhaled deeply of the salty air. Teacher had told Thera that sitkas thrived where the ocean spray could splash to the ground and feed their roots the salt they loved. It was their wood that was especially sought by the Allenholme mariners. The fisherfolk’s spirits and that of the sitka were akin. An Allenholme fisher, who in ancient times had his or her ship’s timber chosen and blessed by the Elanraigh through their Salvai, knew their boat lived and sang beneath their feet.
The moon’s broad path on the ocean was chopped and scattered by a brisk wind. The tide was rising quickly. The shale beach ground against itself, slipping beneath the waves with a rumble like the purring of a great cat.
Thera glanced back toward the keep. She shivered to think of her parents’ fear and anger if her absence was discovered. It was one thing to fall asleep in her mother’s garden, but it would be another to be discovered outside the gates at night.
The kirshrews’ trilling, however, reminded her of other responsibilities and Thera turned to scan the forest edge for a likely nest site. The rising wind whipped her hair into flying tendrils. She loosened her coil of braids, sighing as her crimped hair relaxed.
There. A cozy hollow sheltered between two large granite outcroppings. Picking her way with care, Thera inspected the site. It was mossy and protected from the wind by both rocks and trees. A small trickle of water wove through flower-studded moss and cascaded down the cliff to the beach. Food was plentiful for the kirshrews, for bunchberries abounded.
Thera hummed one of the balladeer’s lively songs as she pulled shallow-rooted moss away from a deep and narrow crevasse. The perfect nest site. She began placing the furry kirshrews inside and watched fondly as they sniffed about, trilling their satisfaction. With their tiny hand-like paws, they began rearranging the moss to their own liking.
Along with a curious prickling sensation on her skin, Thera was suddenly conscious of being watched. She looked up and gasped.
Seated on its haunches above her was a large dark wolf. Moonlight silvered the tips of guard hairs on his thick pelt and his teeth gleamed moistly white.
Thera’s heart plunged and then rose to a rapid staccato in her throat. She had been so sure no harm could come to her, here on the very apron of the Elanraigh. Almost immediately, however, she realized that there was nothing threatening in the animal’s posture. It sat at ease regarding her; its smoky, almond-shaped eyes beamed with uncanny intelligence.
Deliberately relaxing her rigid muscles, she took a deep breath and opened herself to knowing. The contact was made instantly, as if the beast had been waiting patiently for her to collect herself.
This is completely different than with the coyote, was Thera’s first thought. She quickly understood, with some amusement, that the wolf was indignant at being thought of in the same breath as one of that foolish clan.
The wolf gaped his massive jaws in a toothy yawn. He stood, and Thera realized his shoulders could reach her waist. He was a male in his early prime. Slowly he stretched, flexing spine and haunch in an assured, yet seemingly careless, display of musculature. Thera relaxed into the knowing she had been invited to extract.
“I am Farnash.”
Thera was aware of a strong, if alien, intellect. Farnash, Thera realized, was able to gather information with senses not unlike some of her own. Farnash is a vital being who lives wholeheartedly in the moment he is in. Humankind’s howling after the past or cringing in fear of the future is not for him. Running in circles. Trying to catch a scent in a windstorm, is how he dismissed it.
Farnash’s loyalties were not easily won, but he gave respect where he felt it earned. “Clanship” is the feeling he sent to Thera. It was both a challenge and an invitation.
Thera sent a grateful, “Blessings, for this knowing”. She had to repress a smile and try her best to shield her thoughts at the moment, for most of this knowing had come about as a result of the wolf’s sending, and his tone was as arrogant as a newly promoted squire’s.
Farnash tilted his head, and his jaws gaped again. Arrogance as a concept meant nothing to the wolf. “I am what I am.”
Chagrined, Thera sent, “Apologies, I do not mean to offend.”
“No offence possible between us, fledgling. Eagle and wolf are clan.”
Thera was nonplussed. “But I am human.”
“I see wings unfurling about you, and sky in your eyes.”
Thera pondered. It had, fleetingly, crossed her mind to reach for a joining such as she had shared with the sea hawk. She knew instinctively that this would have been an unforgiveable intrusion on this proud and solitary being. He was not for her, not that way. His true bonding lay elsewhere. Yet he had approached her, and offered her the knowing.
Farnash’s ghostly eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he regarded her, then he turned, glanced back to Thera over one massive shoulder.
He gaped his jaws again. “Farewell.” The wolf disappeared, quiet as smoke, over the granite rocks.
Chapter Nine
Thera’s fingers plucked at the soft moss as she pondered this latest encounter. Again she sensed a presence and thinking Farnash had returned, she quickly looked up to the granite spur. Chamak! Chamak stood where the wolf’s energies still lingered. Yes. There are similarities between Chamakin Dysan Chikei and Farnash, grey wolf of Elanraigh.
Chamak’s features were limned in moonlight as he watched where the wolf had blended into the trees. One hand clasped the amulet which rested on his chest and his lips moved. Then the young Ttamarini’s eyes turned, gleaming, to rest on Thera. His expression was inscrutable.
Thera felt her heart beating strongly as he leapt, soundless, to land beside her.
He clasped her arm in a strong grip and turned her toward him, searching her face for a long, breathless moment. His expression relaxed, he released her and lowered himself to sit beside her. Thera felt a comfortable awareness that no wordy social salutations were necessary between them. He wants to be with me, Thera read. Perhaps he can read me also. She flashed a glance at him; he was waiting for her to speak first.
“Chamakin, you said to me that at your Oath Day, you received the protection of a spirit animal. Would it be incorrect for me to ask about this?”
Chamak made a gesture of opening a clenched hand, palm up.
“I would share this knowledge with you, Chaunika, but I think you already know the answer.”
“Is Farnash, your wolf?”
“I have not yet been given his name, but that grey wolf did come to me on my Oath Day, when I was in Nu’asee, the Trance. Sometimes from the corner
of my eye I think I see him pacing beside me, but if I look straight, he is gone.
“Our spirit kin choose us, the honor is ours.” Chamak made the Ttamarini gesture of reverence, hand to forehead. He then clasped his hands together. “I will tell you a thing. When I was but a young hunter, I was gored by a bushslasher. Before my spear freed its spirit, it ripped me with its horn. Here,” Chamak pulled the neck of his vest sideways and Thera saw a thick scar angling from collar bone to underarm.
Thera shivered. She could never see such scars without imagining the terrible pain their bearer must have suffered.
“My hunting companions were still far afield,” Chamak continued, “I did not expect they would even begin to look for me until the moon rode high.” He rubbed at his right side absently, his gaze unfocused as he remembered. “The bleeding from the wound was profuse, but not the bright red that springs straight from the heart.” Chamak paused, “All hunters know how to treat wounds. I knew I must stop the blood flow, or I would soon lose consciousness. I padded the wound. Working one-armed, I made a fire—already I felt myself becoming chill and weak.
“It was full dark when something woke me. The fire was almost out. I became aware a coarse fur pelt lay warm against me. It was the grey wolf. I thought I must be dreaming, yet his breath was warm on my face. He lay beside me as a clan brother, to keep me warm.” Chamak shifted, his eyes looked to the forest again, where Farnash had gone. “I think I spoke my thanks to him, though my thoughts and words were not clear. It was as in a dream. However, he replied to me and I understood him then, though I cannot remember now what we said.
“My companions told me when they came upon me, that they had followed the call of a wolf. The grey one had appeared near them, and Zujeck, my closest companion, knew something had befallen me.
“How my spirit brother could be in two places at once, both leading my companions to where I lay injured, and lying close by my side, I do not understand. But I know him for friend.”
“Chamak, you would surely have died if he had not helped you,” said Thera.
Chamak eyes rested on her and he nodded. “My song would have been sung at the next great gathering, Chaunika, and we would not be here together.” He flushed slightly and regarded the kirshrews with elaborate interest.
Thera eyed him with much the same expression. She watched him study the new nest site, the fresh water source, and plentiful bunchberry vines. Chamak turned to her with a raised brow.
“They are your pets?” he asked.
“Blessings, no. I had always meant to return them to the forest. It was pleasant having them by me, and they seemed content, so I put that parting off—until tonight.”
“Ah. I wondered,” he said, “if they were accustomed to being handled.”
“Oh, yes,” murmured Thera, “they thrive on affection and are very responsive.” Unaccountably, she felt a heat in her face.
With singular care, Chamak reached toward the nest. Laying his hand, palm up, he purred rhythmically deep in his throat.
Thera felt strange stirrings within herself. She was easily able to sense his strong sendings of caring and safety-warmth to the kirshrews.
I can’t help but feel a kinship with this young Ttamarini, she thought, he is the first person I’ve met with gifts similar to my own. I wonder if he, too, can hear the Elanraigh?
Two of the kirshrews sat back on their haunches, whiskers twitching, and regarded Chamakin with their pink bead-like eyes. Then both scrambled into the hollow of his palm and began trilling and kneading at the flesh under his thumb in utter contentment.
Thera smiled to see both the kirshrews’ trust and Chamak’s obvious enchantment with the small creatures. His hands were gentle as he held them up close to his face to better examine them.
As he continued to thrum deep in his throat, the kirshrews’ tissue-thin lids began to close, the tiny paws slowly coming to rest. Thera felt her own lids drooping and bemusedly registered an urge within herself, to curl contentedly under Chamak’s free arm. Thera slanted at look at Chamak’s profile, the strong, clean lines of his face. His firm lips were curled slightly in a tender smile. Never before had she seen a warrior use such gentle care with a creature, other than a favored horse or hound, of course.
Chamak’s voice roused her from her study. “We have a small animal on our plains that is much like these little ones.” His finger gently stroked the small heads and a muffled trilling resumed. “They are called krilltics, but they are very shy, nocturnal creatures. To hear their delicate song is considered a blessing from the Goddess.
“When I was a very young boy, my friends and I attempted to catch one. Not meaning any harm you understand, just to see one up close and hold it like this. But we were loud and rough, and it was terrified of us.”
Chamak paused and Thera saw his brows knit in a troubled expression. “I caught it finally, after much dodging through the tall grass. Even as I held up the krilltic for the others to see, its rapid heartbeat stilled and its body lay cooling in my palm.”
Thera quelled the immediate urge to lecture. Such lectures had earned her the acerbic title of “Her Holiness” from some of the keep children she had played with when younger. There was pain enough in Chamak’s voice at the retelling. Thera looked aside and plucked at the moss beside her. “I have noticed that boys will often do cruel things,” she said slowly, “but it is usually because they are careless or curious, not that they mean to do evil.”
Actually, Thera thought as she looked at him, I can’t imagine you possessing any of the same traits as the Allenholme youths I know. You are so different.
“Ah.” Chamak nodded. “What you say is true. I should have known better. Both my father and the Maiya trained me to use my gifts to be one-with-all-life—Enoita. I had chased the small creature far from its burrow against its desire, and did not spare the time to soothe or reassure. It died of fear, in my hand.
“I was in misery over the manner of its death. I was sure that the Goddess would reject me for what I had done so thoughtlessly to this favored creature of hers.”
“So what did you do?” whispered Thera. Her hair blew across her face as she turned to him, and plastered itself against Chamak’s shoulder. With his unoccupied hand, he lifted the strand and inhaled its fragrance. Lapsing into silence, he lifted his eyes to hers, his gaze as warm as a hand stroking her face.
Thera felt pricklings of sensation, and was strangely nervous. “Chamakin? What did you do?” she repeated.
The young warrior’s hand trembled as he released the strand of her hair.
Now this is a strange, heady, power I have over him. Is this what it is to be a woman? Immediately Thera remembered a lesson of Teacher’s, There is nothing so damaging to the soul as the seeking and abuse of power. Teacher’s voice had been very solemn as it had spoken to Thera about this.
It seems Chamakin and I have been taught similar lessons.
“I buried it on the prairie where I had found it,” Chamak finally continued. “I prayed to the Goddess to forgive my irreverence, and then I went and told the Maiya what had happened and how I felt.”
“Did she understand? Was she very angry?”
The corner of Chamak’s mouth drew down. “Once she understood that I had not used my gift of calling to capture the krilltic against its giving of self, her anger lessened. She bade me fast and meditate on Enoita, the oneness of all living things. I have never forgotten what I learned from that day.”
Thera thought the Maiya sounded very like Teacher.
He had mentioned the gift of “calling.” Thera stored that away, to speak of at some future moment.
She was thoughtful as she remembered the death of the sedgemole. “But, your people do kill for food, don’t they?”
“Yes, of course. However, it is as your folk harvest a tree for some worthy purpose.
It is done with the blessing of the trees themselves, and the gift of the tree is accepted with reverence.” He spread his hands. “It is done with Enoita. This is correct, is it not?” he asked.
Thera was quiet as he placed the sleeping kirshrews back in their nest. It used to be, Thera thought.
Thera knew from histories that a Salvai’s calling was to commune with the Elanraigh, and use her gifts for the people as does the Ttamarini Maiya for her folk. Yet her aunt, their Salvai, keeps herself apart, a recluse in her refuge at Elankeep.
I want to be like the Ttamarini Maiya and bring my people back to feeling the Elanraigh in their hearts!
The Elanraigh thrummed gently along her nerves and senses.
Chamakin took Thera’s hand in his. He examined it, as if he’d picked up a curious shell on the beach.
The pounding of the waves seemed very close now. The sound of them filled Thera’s ears. The tide is full, Thera thought. The moon was high and dazzled her eyes.
Very gently, Chamak placed his hand along her face, sliding his fingers down her neck. His eyes blazed, dazzling as the moon and stars that tangled in the spruce trees.
“You are so beautiful, Chaunika myia.” His thumb traced her lips, then smoothed the small pucker between her brows. “Do not worry, myia,” he murmured, “for I swore to the Goddess, I would never again take anything against its desire.”
His hand rested on the pulse beating wildly just under her jaw. Thera wanted his lips to touch hers. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, her whole body yearned toward Chamak.
His kiss was light, at first, but a wave of feeling like a multi-voiced, triumphant shout flooded Thera’s body, engulfing them both. The muscles of Chamak’s shoulders clenched and shook under her touch.
Thera parted her lips, and with a small sound Chamak pressed her body against his.
Apart from the fiery sensations radiating from his touching, Thera was conscious of an echoing sense of recognition and joy.
The Elanraigh’s voice rumbled approval in the swirling of her mind.
