Ash said nothing, only wiped her nose with the edge of her cloak. Enat did not speak again until darkness had fallen. She found a clearing under an overhang of rock.
“This will offer us some shelter.”
Ash thought it offered no shelter at all. “We should look for a tunnel where we can take shelter.”
Enat shrugged her basket from her shoulders. “You will have to learn to speak aloud. Not all can hear as you do. Gather some wood and we will make a fire.”
“Why?”
Enat looked at her.
“Why?” Ash said again, aloud this time. Her voice sounded strange to her ears.
“For warmth,” said Enat. “It is cold above ground this time of year. I have food the villagers gave me in thanks.”
Ash went off to gather wood, but, never having built a fire, she brought only twigs and brush. Enat shook her head.
“We need some of this, but we need more like these.” She picked up a branch as thick as her arm. “Find more of these.”
By the time Ash returned, Enat had a fire kindled. She showed Ash how to add wood to it. Fascinated, Ash held her hands out to the heat. She had only had fleeting visits to the villagers’ fires to steal food. Not since Broc pulled her from the fire had she been this close to one.
“Do they hurt?” Enat said.
Ash looked up in question.
“Your burns. Do they hurt?”
Ash opened her mouth, but no sound came out as she searched for words. “I do not know… hurt.”
Enat reached out to touch a fingertip to Ash’s face. “Is there pain?”
“No.”
“Show me your leg.”
Ash pulled up the cloth she wore, and Enat took Ash’s leg in her hands. Turning it to the fire, she saw the pink skin behind the knee, stretched tightly so that the knee could not straighten. She then took Ash’s arm and did likewise. The elbow was bent, the skin there looking as if it had melted, pink and shiny in the firelight. When she tried to straighten the elbow, Ash gasped and pulled away.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
Enat turned to her basket and retrieved a bundle wrapped in cloth. “This is bread.” She tore a chunk loose and handed it to Ash who sniffed it curiously. She touched her tongue to it, and then pulled a piece off and put it in her mouth. Her eyes widened as she chewed. She quickly stuffed another piece into her mouth. The only bread she had ever had had been the burned or moldy chunks tossed away by the villagers. This was nothing like that. Enat reached for another bundle, similarly wrapped in a cloth. “And this is cheese.” This time, Ash took a bite without hesitation. “Good?”
Ash gave a low growl of contentment. Enat looked up from her food.
“Among humans,” she said, “that sound would not be comforting, though I’m guessing among badgers, it’s a happy sound?”
Ash lowered her head.
“Don’t feel bad.” Enat reached out and patted her knee. “You have much to learn. You haven’t lived among two-legs since you were very small.”
Ash tilted her head as she listened to Enat’s speech. She swallowed a large mouthful. “Will you teach me?”
Enat nodded. “I and others. You will learn from many of us. We each know different things, different kinds of magic.”
Ash glanced at her. “How did you find me? Did four-legs show you?”
“We call them animals. You will learn the human names of the different kinds of animals,” Enat said. “But no. The trees told me of you.”
Ash was so astounded, she forgot to eat. “The trees?”
Enat smiled. “Yes.” She reached out and placed Ash’s hand on the trunk of a gnarled pine tree. “Listen. Reach out with your heart and mind.”
Ash listened. From under her hand, she became aware of a vibration and a very faint pulse, as if the tree had a heartbeat. It did not speak in thoughts or words, not as the badgers and the humans did. But gradually, she became aware of feelings, images – a great storm, a flood, the passage of time – and she gasped.
“Trees do not bother with small things,” Enat said. “To them we are no more than ants, but they sense the big changes that occur, and they can tell of magic and power, for they are of that power. Do not ask a tree where to find a fish, but if you wish to know what happened long before you were alive, a tree might be willing to tell you if you know how to listen.”
“Cannot all humans do this? The ones with magic?”
Enat shook her head. “Only some of us. Others can move wind and water. Some can call fire from the earth. We all have certain gifts that we were born with; others we have to learn how to use, but they will never feel as natural. All of us learn to heal, to call up the elements, and we can learn to hide things.” She waved her hand and, suddenly, was not there.
Ash cried out and scrambled away. With a word, Enat was once again sitting before her.
“Will I learn to do that?”
“If you wish.” Enat narrowed her eyes. “But what we do, we do only when necessary. To do magic requires energy. How did you feel after you healed Cuán?”
Ash thought back. “I do not remember. I think I was weak.”
Enat nodded. “What you did took a great deal of energy, especially for someone untrained. If you exceed your energy, you must draw upon other sources. That is never something we do lightly, for it might take a life. All of this, you will learn.”
Ash drew closer to the fire, as the night was growing cold. She stared into the flames, thinking about everything Enat had said. Loneliness pressed upon her as she thought about Broc and Cuán in the warm, safe sett. Tears pricked her eyes again.
Enat must have seen, for she said, “I’m sure they are missing you as well. We should sleep now. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
CHAPTER 3
The Forest
If Ash had thought Enat would wait until they reached their destination before beginning to teach her, she was wrong. They moved slowly, as Enat kept pausing to pluck plants and roots from the ground, teaching Ash their names and uses.
“They will look different when they have leaves,” Enat told her, but she insisted Ash needed to know what they look like in all seasons.
It wouldn’t occur to Ash until much later to wonder whether Enat took so much time because Ash couldn’t walk as quickly as she. Though Ash’s bent leg was strong, she had never walked this long or this far from the sett before. They walked from sunup to sundown for days and Ash was exhausted each night.
She was fascinated by Enat’s clothes – leggings and a woolen tunic. She thought her own loose cloth was more practical, as she could move freely enough, but when the wind blew, the cold air chilled her body, and she could not get warm. She missed having other badgers to cuddle up to for warmth. Her feet were tough as horn on the bottoms, but they, too, got cold as they traveled over hills still covered by snow. Enat wore leather boots, but Ash shuddered as she touched them.
“Skins?”
“Yes,” said Enat. “We hunt animals sometimes and keep a small flock of chickens. But we always honor the spirit of the animal for feeding us and providing us with skin and bone.”
Ash did not look convinced. She knew the villagers hunted, and she had stolen meat from them many times, but she did not wear animal skins. “The skin and bone are better left with the animal.”
Enat laughed, a sound that startled Ash at first. She had heard the villagers do this thing sometimes, but she had never laughed herself. She tried to emulate what Enat did, but it sounded like a crow’s screech.
“Never mind,” Enat said with a smile. “Not all humans laugh. You will, if something moves you to it.”
The more time Ash spent with Enat and the more Enat spoke of things about which Ash knew nothing, the less certain she was that she belonged among other two-legs. “I will not be like them.”
“No,” Enat agreed. “You will be like you. And that is good enough.”
Ash did not understand this.
A few times, Enat p
aused when they encountered other two-leg settlements. She studied them from afar for a bit before choosing to detour around them. This puzzled Ash, as Enat had willingly gone into the village near the sett, but she obediently followed as they gave these settlements a wide berth.
On their fifth day of traveling, they climbed the largest hill Ash had ever seen. As they reached the summit, she gasped. “What is it?”
Enat’s eyes crinkled in amusement, a look Ash was beginning to recognize, as she did it often when Ash expressed surprise over something she had never seen or heard before. “That is a lake.”
“Is it the endless water the birds speak of?”
“No.” Enat pointed. “See? There is land on the far side. At the ocean, you cannot see any land.”
Ash had never seen so much water and she could not imagine more water, so wide that no land was visible. Enat pointed to another range of hills, so far in the distance that they were little more than a purple smudge against the sky. “That is where we are going. Beyond those hills is our forest.”
Far from being reassured, Ash felt an emptiness inside her. As Enat had talked of leaving her clan and never seeing Broc and Cuán again, Ash had still harbored a tiny hope that it might not be so final. But this was so very far… Never had she imagined such immense distances.
Ash was quiet as they settled for the night. She knew now how to strike metal against flint to create sparks and kindle a fire. Enat found some wild onions and shoved them under the coals to roast. They tasted good with a bit of the dried meat she had in her bag.
That night, Ash lay watching the fire until Enat slept and the fire grew low. She got to her feet, wrapped her cloak around her and crept away into the dark. The moon was waning, but there was still enough light to see by as she made her way back down the hill. She no longer wanted to learn magic. She did not want to live among two-legs. She wanted the comfort and warmth of those she loved. As she walked, she heard the scuffling of small animals in the underbrush. She realized she had not spoken with a four-leg since she and Enat had begun their journey. She called out.
“I am one of you.”
There was only silence for a long while, then a timid voice said, “We do not know you.”
“I am of a clan far from here,” she said. “I will not harm you. Will you not show yourself?”
The bushes rustled and a young vixen peeked out, her nose twitching as she sniffed. “How is it that a two-leg can speak to us?”
“I do not know.” Ash squatted down. “I have always. My clan of badgers raised me from a cub.” She held a hand out, but the vixen backed away.
“You are not of us.” With a flash of her white-tipped tail, the fox was gone.
Ash sat there for a long time, listening. She could hear small voices whispering around her, and she knew that other animals watched her, but none would approach. At last, she stood and squared her shoulders and made her way back up the hill to the fire where Enat still slept. All flame was gone. Only the coals remained, pulsing with a red glow as if they breathed. She placed more wood on them and watched as flames began to lick at the bark. She looked across at Enat and saw that her eyes were open.
“I thought you might not come back.”
“I thought I might not, as well.” Ash returned her gaze to the fire. “I do not belong anywhere.”
Enat said nothing for a while. “It’s true. You are different. You are not fully animal or fully human. That is not a bad thing. But you will have to find your own way.”
Ash said nothing, but lay down, covered by her cloak.
Enat pulled her cloak more tightly under her chin. “I’m glad you returned.”
The next day they traveled down the far side of the hill, pausing near the lake. As she had when she came to find Ash, Enat began hobbling, leaning on her staff as they entered the tiny village at the edge of the lake. She spoke to a man there, handing him something, and then turned to Ash.
“We’ve time for a little diversion,” she said.
Enat got into a small boat and gestured to Ash to get in. She rowed Ash out onto the water. Ash gripped the sides, her hands tightly clenched as the boat moved in rhythm with Enat’s pulls on the oars. Gradually, she relaxed, enjoying the rocking motion of the boat. Silvery fish darted below them.
“Can you call them?” Enat asked.
Ash had never tried talking to fish. She reached out with her mind and looked up at Enat with a gasp. “They heard me!” Several fish approached the surface of the water, their mouths opening and closing as they stared up at her. With a sudden splash, they leapt from the water and dove again. Ash leaned over the boat to watch them.
“Stop!”
Enat stopped rowing, and the boat stilled on the water. As the ripples of their movement faded, the water became smooth. Ash raised a hand to her face, touching her scars.
“Have you never seen yourself?” Enat asked gently.
“No. All the water near the sett moved. It was not still. Not like this.” Ash fingered her hair, matted and tangled with twigs and moss. She looked at Enat, whose silver hair was smooth, tied back with a woven leather cord. “I used a sharp stone to cut it when it got too long. It does not look like yours.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Enat reached out. “I can cut it for you.”
Ash touched her scars again. “But you cannot change this.”
Enat said nothing, but picked the oars up and rowed them back to shore where the owner of the boat waited.
They journeyed on, skirting the lake and leaving it far below them as they climbed the hills on the far side. That night, sitting near their fire, Enat pulled a silver knife from a sheath on her belt and cut Ash’s hair.
“How much more?”
Ash reached up and felt the rough ends at her shoulders. “All. Cut it all.”
“Are you sure?”
“It will grow back.”
Enat cut the rest of Ash’s hair, leaving only stubble all over her head, everywhere except where her scars extended over her right temple. There, no hair grew. “Your hair is red,” she said in surprise. “Like a fox,” she added at Ash’s questioning look. “I did not realize.”
Ash picked up the matted tangles of hair lying on the ground and lifted them to her face. They smelled of badgers and, suddenly, she was lonely again for her clan.
“We will arrive at the forest day after tomorrow,” Enat said. “You will have to ask permission to enter.”
Ash looked up sharply. “The trees?”
Enat nodded, a gesture she had had to explain to Ash, who did not understand at first. “The trees, but also the animals there.”
“What if they say no?”
“They will not,” Enat assured her. “But the forest is theirs to grant permission or no. We must never assume we are welcome.” She was quiet for a while. “There is one thing more you must know. Once the forest grants you entrance, you may not leave it again until your training is complete, or you will not be permitted to re-enter.”
“How long?”
Enat shrugged. “As long as it takes. It is different for each of us. But the forest knows when we are ready.”
“Have others left before they were ready?”
“Yes.” Enat poked the fire with a stick. “They live in villages, healing and making potions. They still have magic, but it is weak.”
“Why do they leave?”
“Different reasons,” Enat said. “The lessons are hard. They miss their families. Other reasons sometimes.”
Ash was quickly learning that Enat did not answer all questions completely, and that further questioning was of no use. She reached out to pluck the sleeve of Enat’s tunic.
“Will I have clothes like yours?”
“Would you like to?”
Ash remembered to nod. She looked down at the cloth she wore. “Cuán took this from a woman who was washing clothes in a stream. He brought it back to the sett for me. He said I was like a newborn cub, with no fur, except I would never grow fur.�
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“Broc and Cuán were very wise,” Enat said. “They raised you well. You will honor them among the creatures of the forest.”
Ash felt the forest before she saw it. She hadn’t wanted to admit to Enat how weary she was as they climbed yet another hill, clambering over low rock walls and following deer trails through patches of woods. A sudden wall of fog awaited them, which Ash found odd. Fog usually settled in the low places, not the high. Cuán had taught her how to use it to hide and move silently through the mist. She approached, her head tilted as she listened. She looked at Enat to find that she had stopped a few paces earlier, and was watching with a small smile. Ash turned back to the wall of fog and stepped nearer. She held out her hand and reached into the cool droplets. They immediately parted to create an opening in the curtain of mist, and Ash stepped through, with Enat following.
Ash gasped as soon she passed through the veil.
“You hear it?” Enat asked softly from beside her.
“Yes,” Ash breathed, not wanting to disturb. All around her, lower than her actual hearing, but somehow audible nonetheless, was a hum of life such as she had never felt. Everything around her, the very ground upon which she stood, thrummed and pulsed. For the remainder of her life, she would recall the wonder of that first meeting with this mystical forest as it welcomed her.
All around stood the largest trees she had ever seen in her life, surrounded by many smaller ones – yews and oaks and ash and others she did not know. The ground beneath them was covered in ferns and more white snowdrops and small purple flowers. Ash squatted down to take a closer look.
“An early orchid,” Enat said, kneeling next to her, holding the delicate purple flower.
Ash closed her eyes and placed her hands on the earth, digging her fingers in a little. “Why?”
Enat looked at her. “Why what?”
“Why is it like this here?” Ash opened her eyes. “Why are there so many voices?”
“This is a sacred place,” Enat said. “The things that live here carry the wisdom of all who came before. There are other places like this. You will know them when you meet them, for they will speak to you, also.” She placed a hand on Ash’s shoulder. “Come. We are nearly at our journey’s end.”
Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin Page 3
