Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin

by Caren J. Werlinger

  Ash dropped her branch and knelt. The injured badger was Cuán, his side covered in warm blood. She gently wrapped her arms around him and picked him up. “Keep watch. They may return,” she said to the others as she struggled to stand with his extra weight.

  Limping and short of breath with the exertion, she carried him back to the sett. Once inside the entrance, she set him down. He managed to crawl into the room where Broc waited anxiously with the new cubs. There, he collapsed.

  “What happened?” Broc asked.

  “Wolves.” It was too dark for Ash to see anything, but her fingers probed the wound in Cuán’s side. He barked in pain, gasping. Her fingers were sticky with his blood.

  Broc crept near, nudging him with her nose. His breathing was growing shallower. “Do not die,” she said.

  “I do not wish to go,” he gasped.

  Ash placed one hand over Cuán’s heart and her other over the wound in his side. A white glow began to emanate from under her hands, so that the blood in them and on them glowed red and hot. The light grew until it was blinding to the other badgers. They closed their eyes and backed away as the underground room became brighter than daylight. The light seemed to go on and on until Ash fell to the side, her energy spent. The light went out, leaving the sett darker than ever it was before. Broc crept close again, nuzzling Cuán who stirred and lifted his head. She licked his side where the skin and fur were healed.

  Broc turned to Ash who was still and cold. The badger prodded her cheek. “Little one?”

  Ash opened her eyes, but could not yet sit. “What happened?”

  “I am whole again,” Cuán said. “How did you do that?”

  Ash lifted her hands, though she could not see them. “I do not know.”

  Broc placed a paw on Ash’s leg. “Have you ever done that before, little one?”

  “No. Never. I do not know what happened.”

  The other badgers still cowered in a far corner.

  “Do not be afraid,” Broc said. Slowly, they came near and nudged Ash and Cuán, sniffing them both.

  “Do not tell of this,” Cuán said. “I do not know what it means, but we must keep it secret.”

  Deep in an ancient forest, an old woman paused where she knelt, gathering herbs and mushrooms. Cocking her head, Enat listened. She left her basket and got to her feet. She hurried through the forest and came to an enormous ash tree, covered in lichens and moss, its trunk bigger around than six men could encircle. Laying her gnarled hands on the tree, she closed her eyes and stood quietly for a long time.

  “At last,” she breathed.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Reaping

  Enat stopped to survey the village below her. It was like countless others – a small grouping of perhaps a score of dwellings – some made of stacked stone, others of wood daubed with mud and moss to keep out the cold and wet. She rested her staff against a tree and chewed on an early stalk of asparagus while she watched the activity for a while. The village was situated in a broad, shallow valley. In the distance, a herd of sheep and cattle and goats grazed, tended by older children. There was a large plot of cultivated land outside the cluster of dwellings, the soil in neat rows even this early in the year. It was near a stream for ease of carrying water. Some of the dwellings had smoke rising from a central smoke hole in the roof, but most had fire pits outside their doors. She saw a mix of women and young children below, but only a couple of old men. She hadn’t passed any signs of war parties, so most likely, the other men were off hunting for the celebration. Several dogs roamed the village, sniffing and digging for any leftover bits of food near the fires. She hitched the ropes of her basket higher onto her shoulders, grabbed her stick, and began the trek down the hill. As she neared, she bent over and began to hobble, leaning on her stick as if she were lame.

  “Herbs? Shells?”

  She called out as she entered the village, and the women paused to watch her. She slipped the ropes off her shoulders and set her basket down, sitting on a log pulled up near a fire.

  “Welcome, grandmother,” said one of the women, her belly large with new life. “May we offer you some cold water?”

  “Thank you, daughter,” said Enat, honoring the hospitality accorded her. She accepted a gourd filled with water and drank deeply. “That makes an old woman feel refreshed.” She reached into her basket, soft and pliable, woven from reeds, and pulled out a purple shell, already strung on a woven cord. “For you and the wee one to come.” She placed a hand on the woman’s belly. “Health to you both.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said. Her face lit up as she turned the shell over in her hands.

  Other women gathered around, looking to see what the old woman offered. They had little to trade: some bone needles and gut thread, dried meat and salted fish from their stream. Soon, all Enat had brought with her to trade was gone, all but her salves and potions.

  “Have you a healer?” she asked the women.

  “We did, grandmother,” said the woman who had offered her water. “But she was very old and passed on this winter past. Are you a healer?”

  Enat nodded. “I am. Tomorrow eve is Imbolc. It will be a full moon as well. A good omen for the spring.” She smiled at the woman’s bulging abdomen. “Not that you need more. Brighid has been good to you?”

  “Aye, grandmother,” said the woman. “My man and I have five others. All have lived, praise Brighid.”

  “You are blessed,” said Enat. She looked around. “Are there others here, anyone your healer was training?”

  “None. None here have the gift.” The woman sat beside Enat on the log, grunting a little with the effort of lowering her bulky body. “Oh, many of us know a little of healing herbs and roots, but none have magic.”

  Enat smiled. “I will stay through the celebration of Imbolc, if you like.”

  “We would be honored to have you,” said the woman. “I am Rós.”

  “I am Enat.” She reached deeper into her basket and retrieved a heavy woolen cloak. “I am weary. I am going to rest in the sun.”

  She made of her cloak a pad to sit on and placed it at the base of an oak tree standing on the edge of the village. She sat with her eyes closed, her face tilted to the warmth of the sun, just now moving toward spring where it would soon give life to all. As she sat, her hands rested on the roots of the tree, and she listened. She cast her mind out, probing. Nothing for the moment. All was quiet. You will come.

  Ash huddled in the sett, her knees hugged to her chest as she listened. The day before and through the night, she had heard something, almost a whisper on the wind. She was afraid. It spoke to her as the four-legs did, but it was different. She knew it was a human voice – the first that had ever spoken to her like this. She had never questioned how she could speak to Broc and the others when no other two-leg seemed able to.

  All the day long, she had listened. Cautiously, she had crept from the sett and made her way into the forest, taking care to remain hidden. From deep within a thicket of holly, she watched an old woman move through the forest, gathering white snowdrops from where they bloomed in patches, pushing their way up through the forest loam. She watched as the woman cut stout branches from the blackthorn, placing all of her gatherings in a woven basket she wore on her back. Once, the woman straightened and seemed to look straight at the place where Ash was hidden. Ash had remained frozen in place until the old woman wandered off to look for more snowdrops.

  Only after she had disappeared from view did Ash crawl from her thicket and return to the sett where Broc was still nursing her cubs.

  “Did you not hunt last night?” Broc got up from the nest. Her cubs cried at the loss of her heat and milk. She came to rest against Ash’s leg.

  “No.”

  “I heard it.”

  Ash laid a hand on her wide back. “It is an old two-leg female. Do you know what she wants?”

  “No. But I think you must go see, little one.” Broc raised her head. “She calls for you.”


  As darkness fell, Ash left the sett. She made her way to the village by a circuitous route so that she came to it from the far side. From above the village, she watched the humans below as they gathered together around a fire lit in the center of the village. The old woman she had seen earlier lit a torch from the fire and went from dwelling to dwelling, hobbling along with her stick, which Ash found curious, as she had walked quickly and without difficulty through the forest. Using her torch, she lit small fires that had been prepared in front of each, and she passed out bunches of the snowdrops and blackthorn branches she had gathered. One of the men began hitting a stick against a stretched animal skin, and the others began moving, all in rhythm with the beating of the stick.

  Ash watched them in fascination. She forgot to watch the old woman and suddenly realized that she was no longer visible down in the village. In alarm, Ash looked about, scanning the outskirts of the dwellings, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. She backed out of her hiding place and stood.

  “I know you are here.”

  Ash froze at the sound of the woman’s voice in her head.

  “I have come to speak with you. Will you not come to me?”

  Ash looked around in terror. She could not tell from which direction it came. Silently, she crept through the forest, retracing the same route she had taken. Moving farther away from the village and the continued beating of the stick, she rounded a heavy thicket and nearly stepped on the woman who was sitting with her back against a tree.

  The light of the full moon was nearly as bright as daylight to Ash’s eyes, and she could see the woman’s eyes fix her with a gaze that was not unfriendly.

  “I mean you no harm,” the woman said aloud.

  Ash feigned deafness.

  “I am Enat. I know you can hear and speak, though you pretend you cannot. The women in the village told me of the ghost-child, and I knew you were the one I seek.”

  Ash looked around for the best escape route.

  “I mean you no harm,” Enat repeated. “I have come to find you because you have power. I have felt it.”

  Ash turned back to her, but said nothing.

  “Who raised you?”

  Ash looked at her in puzzlement.

  “Who cared for you, when you were younger?”

  Ash’s eyes reflected her understanding, but she was not willing to speak aloud to this two-leg. “My clan. Broc and Cuán saved me and hunted for me.”

  Enat nodded. “I would be honored to meet your clan and speak with them. I will not harm them.”

  Ash looked back down toward the village where the sounds of the humans celebrating had grown louder.

  “They will not trouble us,” Enat said, as if she could read Ash’s mind. “None will follow.”

  She got to her feet, and Ash noticed that here again, she did not lean on her stick and hobble, but strode along swiftly as Ash limped beside her.

  Ash called out ahead as she approached the sett. “Broc? Cuán? I am not alone.” But she was certain they already knew that.

  Enat paused and said, “I will wait here. You may speak to them and bring them to me, if they will so honor me.”

  Ash went on ahead, glancing back once to see that Enat had settled on the ground again, waiting. Even so, she did not enter the sett. She would not take the chance of exposing the hidden entrance to this two-leg, no matter that she spoke their language. She waited and, before long, heard the snuffling of Broc and Cuán as they approached, their heads high as they sniffed the air, the white stripes on their heads gleaming brightly in the moonlight.

  “She asks to meet you,” Ash said. “She speaks as we speak.”

  Cuán snorted. “I do not trust any two-leg. It is a trap.”

  Broc nuzzled him. “She came looking for Ash. I have heard her. I will meet her.”

  Cuán huffed his displeasure, but shuffled along behind as Ash led them to where Enat sat.

  Enat looked up at their approach. If she was surprised to see Ash accompanied by two badgers, she did not show it. She bowed her head. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a handful of shelled nuts and berries. “I bring an offering of friendship to those who cared for a human cub.”

  Cuán backed away suspiciously, but Broc approached, sniffing tentatively at the berries she had left on the ground. Enat reached out and plucked one of the berries, placing it in her own mouth. “You do not have these in season here.”

  Broc nibbled on one of the nuts. “We offer thanks.”

  Enat smiled. “I am called Enat. You wonder why I am here.” She gestured to Ash to sit. “I have felt the stirrings of power in this one for a long time.” She settled comfortably against a tree. “Tell me of how you saved her.”

  She listened as Broc, with a little help from Cuán, told the tale of the night they had found Ash. Enat frowned, looking more closely at the ridges on Ash’s face. Ash pulled her arms and legs more tightly under the cloth she wore as Enat’s sharp eyes probed her.

  “But there was something, something stronger, something different last moon, was there not?” Enat asked.

  The badgers looked at each other.

  “Tell her,” Cuán said.

  Enat nodded as Broc told of how Ash had healed Cuán’s wound.“This is what I felt that night, and I knew it was time.” She looked at Ash. “Your power is growing as you grow. Now, you are like a storm that blows up without warning and without control. I can offer the teaching to control and use your power.”

  “How?” Ash remained suspicious.

  “You would come with me,” Enat said. “To a very ancient part of the forest.”

  Ash watched her. “Are there other two-legs?”

  Enat nodded. “Yes. There are others. But all are like us. When we feel the stirrings of magic, we leave to reap, to gather young ones like you, who have shown signs of power, and bring them back to be trained in our ways. We are not like the villagers.”

  “How long would I be gone?”

  Enat’s gaze rested on Broc’s bright eyes. “Long. If you come, you will not return to see Broc and Cuán.”

  Ash’s eyes blazed. “No!”

  Broc lifted her head. “Hush, little one. Let us speak. When do you leave?”

  Enat spoke gently. “You are wise, Broc. I leave tomorrow at mid-day.” She looked at Ash. “If you do not come to me, I will take that as your answer, and I will not trouble you again.” She got to her feet. “Thank you for speaking with me. You have newborn cubs. May I give them a blessing of health on this night when we celebrate life?”

  Broc bowed her head. Enat raised her staff, and her lips uttered words Ash did not understand. The staff glowed like the moon. Ash gasped and backed away.

  “There.” Enat lowered her stick, and it looked again like ordinary wood. “I cannot promise they will not be hunted, but they will not die of illness.”

  “Thank you.” Broc looked up at Enat. “We will speak of what you have said.”

  Enat turned and left them, moving away on feet as silent as Ash’s own.

  Broc and Cuán led the way back to the sett. The cubs whimpered for Broc and settled contentedly to nurse when she lay down beside them. Ash lay down as well, resting her head against Cuán.

  “I will not leave you,” Ash said.

  “I want you to listen to us, little one,” Broc said solemnly. “Though we have raised you and you are part of our clan, you are a two-leg. You will live much longer than badgers. If you stay with us, Cuán and I will still leave you. We are already in the second age for our kind. We will never make you leave, and you may stay with the clan all your days. But you should consider what Enat offers you. With her, you will not be an outcast, as you would be among other two-legs.”

  Ash’s eyes filled with tears. “I do not want to leave you. I love you.”

  Cuán nudged her. “And we love you, little one. But Broc is right. Even if you stay, we will leave you one day. You should think on what Enat said while you hunt.”

  Ash turned her
head, wiping her tears against Cuán’s sleek fur. “I do not want to hunt tonight.”

  Broc whickered. “Let us all stay here for our last night together.”

  Ash woke early and went to gather food for a last meal with Broc and Cuán, plus some extra for her journey. She had not asked Enat how far they would travel. She could think of nothing to say as she tried to eat.

  “I will not tell you to not be sad, little one,” Broc said. Badgers could not cry, but her voice in Ash’s head was muffled.

  The other badgers came to join them, the cubs squirming into Ash’s lap and nuzzling her ears. When she could stand it no longer, Ash crawled out the tunnel of the sett – for the last time, she realized – and stood.

  “Take this,” Cuán said, dragging out her old cloak, the one they had wrapped her in the night they found her. “You will need it.”

  Ash draped it over her shoulders and then dropped to her knees to give them a final hug. “I will miss you.”

  “And we you, little one.”

  With a cry that sounded as if her heart were being ripped out of her chest, Ash pushed to her feet and ran. She refused to look back, for she knew, if she did, she could never leave them.

  Ash did not know where to find Enat, so she simply climbed a hill above the village and waited. Her eyes were swollen with crying. She was still crying when Enat found her. “Come.” She led the way, letting Ash weep as she followed. They walked for a long time, as the sun traveled across the sky and began to settle behind the hills. Only then did Enat say, “I know it was hard to leave your clan, but I’m glad you came.”