She could breathe a little better, for the air was thinner there, but still, as the women made their way through several more songs with a strength Adria would have thought impossible, she felt as if her life was draining from her body, along with her blood and sweat.
Adria might very well have crawled to the opening and left, and given up her womanhood, but she no longer had the strength. More than once she nearly cried out for Shísha to open the flap of the doorway, to let in just one pure breath of cool air.
No, she demanded of herself. These people are strong, and the Runners are the strongest among them. If I am to join them, as a woman and a Hunter, I must be as strong. If this is the sacrifice they demand, I will make it.
She took a long breath, and then she lifted her head, and Adria opened her eyes and began to sing, nonsense words, with what little voice she could muster. There was a noise, then, all around her, like a strange insect, or a rattlesnake, and it moved swiftly. Small lights flashed in the air about her, crackling as if sparks from a fire, but strange in color... purest blues and whites.
The women about her sang out all the louder, and Adria believed for a moment that she could understand them. But just as quickly, the impression left her, and soon their music, and the strange display around her, faded.
Silence.
After some time of nothing more than the measured breath of all the women, Shísha spoke again. “Adria Likshochuhalene, we have awakened your ancestors with our songs. The Spirit Helpers who have watched over you since before your birth have come, to bring their message to you, and to take your prayers up among the stars. You must pray guidance and ask for wisdom.”
Adria did not know what to say. Although she had muttered along with the prayers of the Aesidhe before, she had never been expected to give one of her own. She had not prayed aloud since she had left home, and these had only been the proscribed ritual prayers of the Sisterhood.
I remember those, word for word, but… they would seem so wrong here… the very teachings of those who would destroy these People.
But Shísha said more. “Do not be afraid of the words you must use, Lilene. It is only important that they be spoken from the heart.”
“I understand,” Adria said. “But… forgive me, Holy Mother… to whom should I pray?”
“There are as many gods and ancestors as stars, but all are part of the One Great Spirit. All gods, all people, all animals and all that grows — all life is one, for all things live, from the stones of the earth to the stars of the sky, and all are part of the Spirit.
“This is why our ancestors still walk with us, for we are One Spirit. We hunt and eat the bodies of animals, and eat the fruit, and leaf, and root of plants, for we are all One Spirit. And when we die, our bodies are claimed by the lowest forms of life, and nourish the earth in turn, for we are all One Spirit.
“Pray to someone nearer the stars, to those who have walked the paths that led to your birth. You don’t have to remember the name or the face of your fathers and your mothers to love them. You do not have to speak their tongue. Pray to your mother, and her mother, and to all the mothers whose blood has become yours.”
And so Adria took a long breath, and began to pray.
“Mother,” and at once, to her astonishment, she began to cry, without tears, for the water of her body had long been used to wash and cool her skin. “Mother, I don’t remember you, and you have been kept secret from me all my life, by those who hide truth from one another if it gives them power over another.”
She paused, and both Shísha and Imani encouraged her, “Si Chushegi suwe chahi.”
“I have missed you as a child, and have not let anyone take your place, because I’ve always hoped for your return. I have needed you, I think, but I’ve never really known for what. I needed you as a child, and I think I will need you as a… a woman. I don’t know, even, if you’re still in body, or in spirit only. I…”
“Si Chushegi suwe chahi,” the women offered, as her voice faltered.
“I love you,” she finally managed. “And if there is any way I can know you, any way you can help me to find the… true path in my life... I am ready to hear your voice.”
“Si Chushegi suwe chahi,” many answered, and all fell to stillness, as Adria wept soundlessly.
There was a longer silence, and Adria grew nervous that she had not done as she was supposed to, but she could think of nothing more to say. The wondering she’d done, alone in her bed at night, had never really amounted to anything like such a speech. But after awhile, Shísha finally spoke again.
“Any message from your mother will not come from me, Adria,” Shísha began. “Such words will be yours to hear alone, and may not come as you expect it. But your first Moon in itself is always a message from your mother. She tells you it is time to be a woman, and she has sent you to me for guidance.
“So I will tell you this, as a Second Mother... It is time to enjoy a greater joy, and a greater pain, than what you were meant to know as a child. As your body changes, both in its appearance and in its purpose, so must your heart change, and your spirit, to learn how best to use your body. I cannot know her mind or her heart, but this is what your own mother may have said to you.”
“Si Chushegi suwe chahi,” Adria said, with a little more strength. “It is true.”
Finally, Shísha opened the flap to the outside world, and Adria breathed deeply of the afternoon air. The women all exited, embracing each other in turn, and Adria saw that other women of the tribe had gathered about and were in the process of making a meal.
They had been silent until now, probably out of respect for the Ceremony, but now they began to chatter happily, and they offered Adria many smiles and greetings of friendship.
“How do you feel?” Shísha asked her.
Adria surprised herself with three answers in rapid succession. “Naked… hungry… clean.”
“Clean,” Shísha nodded, and Adria smiled. Clean… exhausted, almost… as if everything bad has left my body.
Aloud, she continued, “I feel empty, I think, but also whole.”
“Like a baby,” Shísha agreed, with a small smile. “This is good. It means you are ready to begin a new life.”
Her emptiness made the smell of the food overpowering. The women soon finished with their preparations, then formed a circle around Adria, quieting, and several holding something in her hands.
Shísha explained, “Whenever someone becomes a woman of the People, the women of her tribe welcome her with gifts, but also give her new tasks, to teach her the duties of a woman, and ask of her oaths which bind her to these.
“These oaths you make are separate and are one, as the faces of the Moon which changes you. Make these oaths with open heart, as you always must. Know also that these oaths you make may bring your heart closer to others, but may also divide you, for the heart may change as the seasons of the Moon.”
She paused. “Adria Likshochuhalene, will you hear these duties, and take these oaths, and know what it is to be a woman of the People?”
“I will,” Adria nodded.
In turn, each of the women handed her a gift and explained its meaning. Shísha translated each of them, and Adria learned a bit more of the language, for all were patient and mindful of the process. All were women that she knew, at least a little, and she did not feel uncomfortable with any of them, even as little clothed as she was. They radiated love as the fire did its warmth.
The first offered her the silk gown she had worn earlier, now within a hide proofed against water and weather. “This was and is your first gift, the gift of our first mother, Spider Woman. It is your New Skin, which you wore at birth. This would have been the gift of your birth mother. Will you take this, and keep it in safety, and give it to your husband, who will keep it until you give it to your first girl child, should you be so Blessed?”
The
woman, the eldest among them, held the gift out to Adria, and Adria took it.
“I will keep it,” she promised.
The next gift was the Wolf Woman rattle she had used earlier, which she thought she had taken inside the lodge, but apparently hadn’t. “This is the joy of a child, a child who is protected by her parents and the People, as the serpent protects and warns the Hunter away. Will you keep this for the first child of your body or your heart, and will you teach all that you learn to any child you bear, and all the children of the People even as your own?”
“I will,” she said, and she placed the rattle upon the New Skin, and the woman helped her to bundle them together, well protected.
Her third gift was a clay bowl, lidded, and inside lay ground meal, strips of dried meat, and flavorful herbs, separated into their own places. The woman sat her down, then, and sat beside her a pestle and a spoon.
She spoke, and Shísha translated, “This will be your first meal as a woman. The first part of it you will give to the Spirit Helpers, and the rest you will divide for all present, so we will know that what you make, you will always share with all People.”
And Adria ground the ingredients into a powder, and she added water, slowly, to make a paste. And when it was ready — for this she had been taught before, as any other Aesidhe — she covered the pot, and placed it over the fire to cook.
The fourth woman offered Adria a knife, which was not unlike those the Hunters carried, though its markings were different.
“I give you the knife of a Woman of the People. This knife may skin the Hunter’s fish or animal, to provide food for the People. This knife may even end the life of an enemy. Like the fire, it may harm, or it may protect. It may heal and give life. May it protect you and all our People. And may you bear it, and yourself, in honor, through any trials.”
And Adria took this and raised it to her head, as she had seen others do with a gift of war. The blade was new, a beautiful steel, and Adria wondered how the Aesidhe produced such blades, for she had not seen a forge among them. The woman gave her a sheath for it then, and Adria joined them and placed them with her other gifts.
Imani seemed to be the last, and she beamed as she stepped before Adria, holding her gift in her cupped hands. It was a seedling of some sort.
“The tree is the oldest living thing which grows on the earth,” Imani said, through Shísha. “It was the first to be made, and will be the last green thing to stand. It speaks to us of generations past, and will speak to future generations of us. It bears for us its fruit and nut for food, it gives us wood for fire and for building, and its bark and leaf make strong Medicine to help heal our sickness.”
Adria took the seedling, and Shísha continued, “This is the seedling of an apple tree, and no matter where or how you plant this tree, the fruit it bears may not mirror its parent, for our generations change as the world changes around us, and in this way we survive. Will you plant this tree, and see that it lives as its parent did, and will you keep it safe from fire and from hatchet, until its time to end comes?”
“I will.”
“Then as it is a gift to you, it is also a gift to future generations. The Moon will nourish it with its rain, and the Sun with its warmth, and it shall be as a child between them and you.”
This was a little different than before, for she’d already given the oath. It is like the bread… part of a process, and not merely a promise.
“Tonight, when the sun is gone, you must walk alone, in all directions, and you must find a good place for this tree to live. And in the morning, you will greet the sun, and share in your joy as a woman.”
“I will,” Adria agreed, though she wasn’t sure how to accomplish all of this. She was embarrassed to admit she still got lost in the open woods without an escort. And though she knew a good deal about many plants, she had never actually planted one.
And the bears…? she wondered. Well, at least I have a knife.
Shísha stood forward then, as the rest had, but her hands were empty. Instead, she took Adria’s head in her hands, and kissed her on the forehead, and said, “Like the others, my gift to you is a responsibility, and also a promise which you must make. But it is greater than what they can know... greater also than I can understand.
“You were given the gift of birth by a mother that you do not know, but... believe that her love travels with you, always, even in your name. You are Adria, scion of the house of Idonea. You have left your people, but you have kept this name, even as you chose another people, our People.
“You were given a new name, by those among the People who love you, Likshochuhalene, Lilene, Gold Pales in Sunlight. It is a good name, and will keep its place in the heart of the People, but this is the name of a child. It is time for a new name, the name of a woman, and this is my gift to you.”
She paused, and the others nodded and spoke their agreement, for they seemed to know this part of the Ceremony.
“Even before the White Wolf Woman came to us, the Spider Woman was the ancestor and teacher, the first woman of us all, our Great Mother. Because of her, the spider is a sacred creature to us. She is patient and wise. She is a builder, and knows just where to live, so that what she hunts comes to her, and she feeds her family well. She is a clever one, and understands beauty, and her creation is mirrored in the stars.
“As a woman, and as the person you may become, you will have to understand the spider. You will have to span great distances and serve two People. You will have to make allies of enemies. And you will have enemies. You will be hunted, and you will need to hunt.
“And so you will now be called Lozheskisiyama, Walks Two Webs. If you accept this name, you accept a future you cannot foresee, and a past you cannot remember. It is a choice made in ignorance, and its consequences you must accept with a full and open heart.”
Adria hesitated, uncertain what a refusal would mean, and just as uncertain what acceptance meant. In the end, she merely accepted that Shísha was wiser than she.
“I will.”
Shísha nodded. “You accept your name and place among the People, and you accept your place among your own people, the Aeman of Heiland, not yet knowing what this may be?”
Adria nodded, a little sheepish now. “I... I do.”
Shísha turned aside to pick up a wreath of vines and flowers, then held it up before Adria. In the sunlight, she could now see, wound throughout the wreath, a slender silver thread.
Shísha lifted the wreath high between them, and spoke, “Though I do not have the right of a Sister among the Aeman, I am nonetheless known as Holy among my own, and I live within the boundary of your father’s kingdom. And so, with all acknowledgment of your birthright, and with the permission of your the rightful Duke Preinon Idonea of Heiland, I crown you, Adria Idonea, Princess of Heiland, and pray for you a long life in the service of your people.”
“Si Chushegi suwe chahi,” the women said, whether or not they understood.
As Shísha lowered the makeshift crown, Adria found her tears again, humbled and speechless in the moment of such strange glory.
And then Shísha smiled, and lifted Adria’s head, and embraced her. Then she turned her by the shoulders and presented her to the circle.
“Now you are a woman, and you leave the child behind, and prepare yourself to perhaps one day give life to a child, for even your body is a promise to the future. When you make such a promise, remember this — that you are promised to death as you are promised to life. When you bleed, remember them both.”
As the others embraced her and each other again, Shísha said, “Now we will eat, and we will celebrate.”
For hours the women ate, they danced and sang, they spoke, and Adria learned more of their words. When the sun was gone, Shísha gave Adria a drink she did not recognize, bitter and dark.
“Drink all of it. It will keep you warm for what remains.”<
br />
Imani made certain that Adria had her apple seedling, and she took her to the edge of the camp, and pointed her to the east — this much Adria could tell, for the opening of Shísha’s tent faced that way.
With a smile and farewell, Imani urged her into the thick of the forest. Adria took a deep breath, and rubbed her bare arms against the cold, for she still wore only the barest necessity at her waist. She closed one hand over the other to protect the airy seedling inside, and she started off among the trees.
As Adria wandered, she followed the sounds of animals, some she knew and some she did not. She followed constellations of the Aeman and the Aesidhe. She followed voices, some she knew to be members of the tribe, some voices from childhood, and some voices she had never heard. They urged her on in one direction or another, and they called her by all her names, and more, in several tongues. Some she knew, and some she did not.
They called her “Adria,” “Idonea,” “Princess,” and “Scion.” They called her “Likshochuhalene,” and “Lozheskisiyama,” and “Pukshonisla,” and “Sabatosi,” and even more she did not understand.
She saw human figures sometimes, or their silhouettes, and animals, and some which seemed to be both. She could not be certain of all this, but never grew frightened, for she never felt alone or threatened, and wore her blade at her hip.
“You have never been alone,” her uncle reminds her.
“It has been decided,” her father nods.
She grew tired, and thought that something in the food must have affected her strangely, or the drink. She knew she was very cold, but somehow she didn’t feel it.
She cannot remember if she has slept.
She grew thirsty often, but always found a place to drink, and to rest a little, and to relieve herself. Little camps somehow left in her path, beside one brook or a pond, with a good place to sit, and upon it a garment of her clothing, cleaned and left for her to find.
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 30
