Moving On

When I first started this journal, it was the chronicle of a young woman, barely past childhood. Innocent, naive, trusting of everyone. One that had come to the first fires to seek her destiny. Much has happened to her since that time, and I think we all are sometimes amazed when we see our characters develop and grow. She is no longer that young woman, and I think it is time to put away the story of that woman/child, and move on to the woman. I hope she never loses some of those childlike qualities.

Here is the link to the new story of Cana.

I have never claimed to be a writer, and never will. But for you that have followed my clumsy attempts, thank you. And for you that have given me encouragement, I am eternally grateful. For whatever reasons you have followed my story thus far, I hope the continuation of the journey does not disappoint you.

http://toliveanauthenticlife.blogspot.com/

Brothers

The crowd was beginning to dwindle, people starting to return to the own fires, to their own reflections, their own lives. The afternoon and evening had been exhausting, both physically but also mentally and emotionally. All she really wanted to do was find a cool, dark place to curl up in, away from everyone and everything, but she knew that was just not right.


Sitting there, staring at her hands, she realized that someone had come to stand beside the platform, and lifted her head, putting on that practiced, widows's smile. When she realized who it was, her lower lip began to tremble, and she reached up to wipe the tears that had finally come again. Ephrim sat down beside her, pulled her against his side and stroked her head with one of those large hands. Turning her head into his chest, she was crying quietly when she felt the touch of another hand, and knew it to be Hiram. No words passed between them. They just weren't necessary. She was the little sister, they were the older brothers, and this is just how it was. Soon Enos and Dorian were there too, sitting on the lower steps of the wagon, in a show of love and support.


A younger voice spoke to her, urging a mug of tea into her grasp, telling her that she needed to drink it. Looking up, for a moment she marveled at the face. It was Gabriel. Often she looses track of time when it comes to him. In her minds eye, he was still a chubby child waddling around the fires, his nappies drooping. Now here he stood before her, a young man with his first scar, and she felt old. No, she felt dead. Taking the mug, she thanks him, and sips from it. Looking around, she realizes that everyone has left but family, and she is almost glad of this.


Anya and Laren were seeing that the children were fed. Dorian moved away to sit with them, to tell them stories in preparation for their bed time. It was such a peaceful, normal scene, and should have brought peace to her heart seeing her children with them, but it didn't. There was just too much in there right now, to allow peace in. But, she was glad they were there for her, but mostly for the children.


Since their father's death, Ephrim has more or less acted as head of their family, by virtue of the six minutes he had alone in this world before his twin, Hiram arrived. So it usually fell to him to deal with family matters. They talked for a long time, about her, the children and what would happen now. The offer was laid out, for her to move her wagons back with theirs, even if it was just for a time, to give herself time to heal among family that loved her. She told him she would give it some thought, but that she was not going to make any decisions right now, at least not for a few days. It was all too new, too raw.


He patted her hand, and asked if she wanted or needed anything. She knows that many would be asking her that question over the next few days, and fought down the urge to just scream, and tell him....Yes! She wants her life back! But instead, she smiled telling him no, that she just needed time to think, was all. Leaning to kiss the top of her head, he told her they would be staying for a day or two, to take care of the children, and her, and to fend off well-wishers if they got too overbearing. Leaving her to her thoughts, he joined his brothers at the fire and they all talked in low tones. She knew damn well they were talking about her, but she was just too emotionally drained to really care.


Leaning over against the railing along the platform, she closed her eyes and just listened to the low, dull rumble of their voices. Not taking words from them, but just trying to take comfort of the sounds, and knowing they were near. Maybe she nodded off, maybe she just went into this small state of suspension, but when next she was really cognizant she knew there was someone else sitting beside her.


Opening her eyes, she saw it was him. The one that has sat with her like this for now the third time. She didn't say a word, but leaned her head to rest on his arm. She did not ask him where he had been, for she knew. She did not mention that she could smell the sweat and the smoke on him, and the faint aroma of burned flesh. She didn't have to. He had done what was necessary, and right now there was no need to talk about it. Maybe there never would be.


He was different, he didn't ask how she was, he knew. He didn't ask if she needed anything, he was just there, that pillar of strength that she had drawn from so many times. Food and drink was brought to him, and she watched as he ate. One of the many bowls of broth that she would suffer over the next few days was put into her hands by Anya. She managed a few sips from it, before her stomach turned to stone, and she could tolerate no more. Sitting it aside, she placed a hand on the broad shoulder and stood. Without a word she went back into the wagon, tying the flaps shut, cutting herself off from the world.


For a fleeting moment, a thought raced through her mind. For a blink of an eye, there was this part of her that longed for Fonce to have left her in that place, to die. It would have been less painful than this.

Her Last Official Duty

After dozing intermittently all morning, she had finally had enough. Sitting up, she reached for the mug of cooling tea and sipped from it, her nose wrinkling. Blackwine. She found that she had an almost manic craving for the hot, dark, bitter brew. When one of the slaves came in, she asked for it. Slaves are funny creatures sometimes. They are supposed to do you bidding, without reservation or question. There was this brief flicker of fear on the girls eyes, then she slowly shook her head, and told the woman that she had been ordered that she was to get only the teas, milk and water, nothing stronger, by the healer. Well, bosk dung. She could have pressed it, threatened to beat the girl, sell her off, have her thrown to the sleens, but would that have gotten her blackwine? Probably not. She sent the girl away with the tea and asked for water. Just plain, cool water. As the girl ducked out between the flaps, she had given another order.......She wanted a bath!


It was not long before juneau returned with a bowl and a bota of cold water. As she squirted the water into the bowl, then lifted it to her Mistress, she said that the others were bringing a tub to her, and she could have her bath. She wasn't really dirty, for they had kept her clean while she was asleep, but she felt dirty, maybe from the memories of where she had been, and needed a bath, to maybe wash those memories away. The filth, corruption, death, anger and fear still seemed to cling to her. Whether or not she would be able to was them away, she did not know, but she was damned sure going to try.


Before long the wagon was a flurry of activity. The copper tub was brought in, then there was a steady stream of girls with pots of boiling water. Oils were added, the soaps brought in, clothing laid out for her. Juneau had laid out the vest that Ba'atar had made for her, and a skirt. Shaking her head, she told the girl to put the vest away, that she never wanted to see it again, and to bring one of her older tunics.


When she put that first toe into the tub, she drew it back quickly. The water was hot. Slowly she sunk the toe in again, then just as slowly, her whole foot, stopping to allow herself to become accustomed to the heat of it. One of the girls quickly ran out to get a bucket of cooler water, and poured it in, swirling it around with her hand, apologizing for the temperature. Irritation was heavy on her, but she took a deep breath and told her it was fine. Finally she sank down into the water with a sigh, and just sat with her eyes closed, letting the steam to waft around her. Juneau had herded the others off, but stayed to help her if needed.


After soaking for what seemed like forever, she had sat up and juneau began to pour ewers of water over her head, then to soap up her hair. There are few luxuries that she allows herself, but this was one of them, her bath and having this girl do her hair. There is magic in the girls fingers as she massages her scalp, releasing the tensions there. Juneau is not one to prattle, which also makes her a favorite, but today she did choose to talk mentioning how much weight Mistress had lost.


She has? This was news to her, but she looks down, and realizes that she can see the shadows of her ribcage beneath the skin. When had this happened? She must have looked confused as she held an arm up, to stare at it, then lifted the other arm, the fingers on that hand moving to gently trace the knobs of bones on her wrist. Well, damn. This just would not do.


Juneau stood and held a hand out to her for support so that she could step out of the tub. Was this loss of weight why she was feeling a little unsteady on her feet? The girl wrapped the sheet of toweling around her, then guided her to sit, and began to carefully oil and comb out her hair. She took back up the threads of her conversation, explaining that even before Mistress had fallen ill, she had not been eating right, but that hopefully, that would change now.


Sitting there with her eyes closed, she found herself enjoying the attentions more than usual. Each pull of the comb through her hair, could be felt deep inside her. And she took comfort in the words of the slave, words of concern and care. In a way, this simple thing helped her to deal with that gnarled thread of emotions that were turning and twisting inside of her. She did not have the time right now, nor the strength to deal with them. There were more important things to attend to.


People were already arriving, bringing food, leaving messages of support and condolence. She has been here before, and knows that she has to gather her senses around her, to be able to deal with them. There would be time later to sort through the emotions and thoughts that haunted her. Right now, she had to find the strength, to be Cana, to be able to deal with those that she knew cared for her. She had to be strong.


Her hair was braided into two long, serpentine lengths, then the girl entwined them into a coronet around her head and placed the pins to hold them. One hand lifts to touch the head of one of them. They had been gifts from her mother, pins that had held her own braids at one time. They were a special keepsake, one that she drew peace from.


She ended up dressed in a soft, flowing dress, almost the color of churned butter. One she had not worn in a long time, because with all of the pregnancies and what not, it had not fit. But now, it did not fit in another way. Now it hung from her slender frame, but it too would just have to do.


Steeling herself, she stood with juneau's support and walked out onto the platform of her wagon. The day was dreary, overcast with the threat of rain. At first, she was taken aback by what she saw. There in the ground around her wagon, were candles of all sizes. For a moment, this puzzled her, then she looked beyond the candles to the people standing in small groups around her fires.


The realization of what was happening, came to her slowly. She is not the only one that has suffered a loss, they had too. The other families, but then again the tribe as a whole. They had lost their favored son, the one many still called Ubar. The candles were symbols of their grief, offerings of respect. She was not the only one grieving, the entire tribe was, and they needed a place to go and congregate to allow the grief to take form. They needed a grieving place.


Smiling, she nods her head then slowly sits down on the platform of her wagon and begins to take visitors, knowing that in a way, this is her last official action as Ubarra. Her duty was to give them a place to put their feelings. Her duty was to allow them to lay the burden of them at her feet, so that they could feel they have done what was right, what makes the pain to lessen somewhat in their hearts and minds.


Through the rest of the day, she sat, speaking to this one, reaching to gently touch another, giving respectful thanks for the gifts of food. Her own grief and emotions were tucked away, to be explored at another time.


Today, for one last time.......she was their Ubara.

The Wisdom of Children

The tears had finally given over to sleep, which is funny considering that she had been asleep for days, from what she was told. But this slumber was different, it was peaceful with no dreams. At this point, she hopes she never dreams again.


When she did wake up, she just lay there for a time her eyes darting around the familiar surroundings. Thoughts of the previous evening had crowded in on her, but she pushed them away for now, unable to deal with them. Her eyes finally landed upon the crude pot that held the single stalk, that rose gracefully up to the flower. Along side it were the six blades of grass. Could those blades be any more perfect in their composition? Reaching out, her fingers brush over the flower, and tears come to her eyes. How symbolic it all was, was not lost on her, and it brought new aches to her heart.


Her attention turns to the small body tucked in beside hers. Her hand again moves to lay on Also's back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Life. He was an example that there was life, and that it continued on even in the face of death.


Turning over, she thinks of the children. She has to pull herself together, so that she can tell the children that their Father would not be returning to them. The girls are so young, their memories of him will be faint, if they have any at all. They boys would be different, and she knew they would take it hard.


When she heard them whispering outside the wagons, asking where Rook was, wanting to know how their mother was, she managed to pull herself up out of the furs, stumbling slightly, unaware of just how weak her body was. Getting her feet beneath her, she straightened her tunic, and ran a hand through her hair. She realized that Also was sitting up, his solemn expression haunting her.


Sitting down beside him, she was unsure of just how much he was aware of. Fingers stroke his cheek, as she asks him if he understands what happened. Nodding, his eyes never left her face as he said simply. "Father is dead" Oh, how that wrenched at her heart. Gathering him into her arms, maybe more for her comfort than his, she just held him, then whispered that she needed to tell his brothers and sisters.


He was very matter of fact when he spoke. "They know." How could they know, they were not there? " We just do. " It was Also, that slid off of the sleeping platform to open the flaps of the flaps to allow his siblings in. Tug came in, looking so much older, carrying his sisters, followed by Another One, then Two. For a moment they all just stood inside, looking at her, but it was the girls that struggled to get down and toddled over to crawl into her lap, snuggling up against her breast.


Her arms enveloped them as she fought back the tears, her lips kissing first one dark head then the other. Two approached next, and crawling up to kneel beside her, laying his head on her shoulder. The words would not come to her, or if they did they stuck in her throat. Another One approached shyly, sat on the furs and lay his hand on her shoulder. She could tell that he was struggling, but remaining strong.


She looked over their heads to Tug, who stood by the platform. When did he grow so? When did he develop that stubborn set to his jaw, just like Tayco? When did he become the strong one? Reaching our her hand, he took it and she drew him closer, so that she could lean between his sisters to place a kiss to his forehead.


Drawing in a deep breath, she begins to speak to them, only to have Tug hold his hand up to still her words. "Mother, he has been gone a long time, we have felt he was not coming back." Stopping mid-sentence she looked around to her sons, marveling at how strong they were. And in each one of them, she can see qualities of their fathers, small things that keep her memories of the men alive. Tears threatened in those dark eyes, and she was sure they would be shed soon. But right now, she realized they were all being strong. Maybe for each other, but also for her. The pride that swelled in her breast was overwhelming. She was truly blessed.


Tug gave a nod, and Another and Also reached to take the girls from her. Two leaned to kiss her cheek, and hugged her so tightly. It was Tug that told her that they all needed their morning meal, and then he would see that the slaves would tend to the girls so that she could rest. His eyes narrowed on her. "And you will rest Mother, there will be time for talking and such later."


Perhaps it was because she was so tired, or maybe because she needed the time to deal with her own emotions before she could deal with theirs, but she did not argue. Again she marveled at how he had grown, maybe too soon, but there was nothing to be done about that now. The children were ushered, through the flaps and she fell back onto the furs, a hand going to lay over her breast where the pain seemed to center.


There is a flash of light as Also slips back through the flaps with a mug of tea in his hand. He does not give it to her, but sets it beside the pot that held the flower, then sat down on the edge of the platform. The small hand reaches to take hers, but at first he says nothing. Sometimes he is just too somber, his gaze too wise, too knowing. He had always been that way, and maybe that was why Ba'atar loved him, but didn't understand him. He had such dreams invested in his first son, but it was evident early on, that Also was not going to conform to them, which caused a distance between them. When the man/child begins to speak, there were not wasted superfluous words.


"You will rest, get your strength back. Then, you will work on remembering who you are, who you want to be Cana." Did her son just call her by her given name, and not Mother? She did not even have a chance to tag him on it, because he got up and left. Left her with more to think on.


Turning over, her cheeks rest on her hands as she stares at the vase that holds the blue flowers and the seemingly perfect blades of grass. He has sent back the one thing to her, that she would understand. She was blessed, she was strong, she was surrounded by the perfection of her children. It was up to her now, to take all of this, and make a life. To find who she was, and to go from there.

A bridge back from the surreal, to reality, to the surreal again.

He had showed her the bridge. A bridge that connected the hot sands of the desert, with the cool grasses of the plains. Sitting her down, he told her to feel the grass beneath her feet .. to remember the smell of the hot soil beneath the Central Fire ... to know the sound of the breeze and remember the scent of the bosk. All things that were natural and known to her, things that were as much a part of her as living and breathing.


Closing her eyes she takes in a long breath of the cool plains air, then opens her eyes to look at him. She knows she must make the rest of the journey on her own. He has brought her as far as he can, and now it is up to her to find her way back to her body, that is under the watchful care of Tarra. Her hand lifts to touch his face again, her gaze lingering on him, then she turns and walks to where she knows she needs to be.


Her eyes flutter open, and she recognizes the roof of her own wagon. Home. Where she is supposed to be, home. Slowly her head turns to see Tarra. In that moment, she knew the woman had rarely left her side, while she is gone. It would be affirmed to her later, but by instinct, she knows.


Her first thoughts were to Also and Fonce. Her voice is hoarse from lack of use, but she manages to whisper and ask for them. To her relief, Fonce steps through the flaps of her wagon, carrying a sleeping Also. He lowers the boy to the furs beside her, and she reaches to touch his arm, watching his face. Still he does not look into her eyes.


Yes, she is back, and evidently her body has been well cared for while her mind was wandering in the darkness. The confusion of emotions is still there. It will take time for all of them to be sorted out, placed back into proper perspective. And there is the dance of new ones, or maybe old ones that had lay hidden. Only time will tell if they will fall in to place.


Tarra did not stay long, stating that she needed to go tell Kam and Mezoo that she was awake. Part of her hated to see her leave, but she did understand, but there was that part of her that was so confused, that she longed to talk to Fonce, alone.


But, that was not to be.

Visitors. First Seveya, then Yamka. Conversations. Yes she was back, yes she was fine. As she lay there watching them all, there was such a cloud of confusion it made her unsure of many things.


There were the things that she knew. Ba'atar was dead. She could finally admit that and had released him to move forward, and in that, had released herself to come back. But not alone. She would not have been able to do it alone. There was a strong force there, to help shield her, to set her back on the path to the living.


These things tumbled around in her head as she tried to keep up with the talk. What does she do now? Well, for right now, she does what they expect of her. Somewhere, tucked away, she knows that there is a way she is supposed to act, and she tries. She smiles, talks with them, and even maybe makes a joke or two about the move, the work to be done, and that she needs to be up and doing it. That is what they expect. They expect Cana.


Then there were the things she did not know. How much of what had happened were a dream, how much had been true. Were words and emotions exchanged, veiled by that place, or were they true? Could she finally put a voice to things she had felt for so long, or were they to be buried back into that secret place? It was all too confusing, and made her tired, and made her head ache from it. Was it all true, or was it an illusion. This is what she longed to know, but in almost the blinking of an eye, the world tilted on it's axis again, and she was stymied.


Fonce pulled Seveya into his arms, and told her that he had asked for her bride price, but had been refused. And there went the world again, tilting further on its' axis, leaning to something that was as surreal as the place she had just been rescued from, but this was in the here and now.


His words caught her off-guard, confused her even more. She was not even able to process them entirely, and tried to make some sense out of what she spoke to him, to them both. If given time to think on this, maybe she would have said something different. Something so terribly wise, that it would have been memorable.


But she realized, that was not what he wanted. He wanted her approval. Approval? Doing the Cana thing, she smiled and voice her approval and her blessings for them both. It seemed to appease him, so it was good. She then took the cowards path, and claimed being tired, needing to sleep.


It was an avenue of escape. One that allowed them to leave, thinking she was fine, and it allowed her time alone, to try and tilt the world back into perspective. Laying down, the tears flowed. Tears of loss. Loss of love of Ba'atar, loss of something she saw a brief glance of but would never know fully.


Loss of part of herself, whoever that was now.

His Part of the Quest

He was thundering across the plains on the back of his kaiila, leading an extra by the reins, in hopes that having two, would keep him from having to stop and rest as he would need to do with only one. Kailla are strong, resilient creatures able to travel long distances with a minimum of food or water to sustain them. His personal kaiila was even more suited to this, due to being a desert kaiila, one bred for long periods with only the barest amounts of water and food. A hold over from his days in the Tahari, and the salt pits of Klima. They animals carried only him, and the bare minimum of supplies, as he did not want to overburden them. It was imperative that he travel with great speed, and that he reaches his goal. A matter of life and death, in all truth.


The haruspex Fonce had sought him out, with a plan of action to save Cana. Finally! The Spex affirmed what he already knew in his mind and heart, but had not voiced to the woman. Ba'atar was dead, killed in battle. He and his companions lay on the killing fields, their spirits unable to join those of their ancestors, without the ritual of a proper pyre. This was to be his personal quest, to use the map Fonce brought him, to find them and give them the honorable send off they all deserved. He is not a stupid man, but he does not always understand the worlds that the spex travel in, but he did respect them and their special talents and abilities. So, when Fonce told him that he felt like Ba'atar's spirit had to be released from the shell of his body that no longer lived, in order for Cana to be released from the grip of her dreams, he did not question it.


Preparations were made in short order for his quest, but he had one thing to do before he left. Drawling Tug away from the platform of his mother's wagon, he talked to the boy. He did not speak to him as an elder would a child, but as one warrior would speak to another. In the past year, the eldest son had earned that kind of respect by his actions, and the care he had shown for his mother and his siblings. Rook had explained to him his part in what was about to take place. His task was to keep his brothers and sisters together. Their combined love was needed as a beacon to maybe draw her back to them, and they needed to stay together for protection.


So that was where he was now, riding the plains stopping only when necessary to change kaiila and to consult the map Fonce had given to him. He thought he knew every hort of this land that they claimed as theirs, but he was seeing parts that he was unfamiliar with, which gave him pause. He had stopped to allow the kaiila to drink from a small stream, and to stretch the map out to get his bearings. Running a gnarled finger over it, he realized that he was close, very close. Remounting he rode cautiously in the direction that the map led him. As he drew closer, he could smell the aftermath of the battle, feel it in his core.


He is no stranger to death, just as no other warrior his age is, but he hopes that he never reaches the point where it still does not shock him. Where the futility of it all, does not make him stop and think. As he rode over a rise, a small valley stretched out before him. He stopped to take it all in. It was a scene of death, destruction and mayhem, but the one thing that struck him immediately, was that the only bodies that he could see, the only animals that were dead, were the ones from the group that Ba'atar had led. Had the enemy chosen to take their dead away with them? He had heard of such, but this was the first time he had seen it first hand.


Riding slowly onto the field, he stopped the kaiila and dropped to the ground and walked. He was thankful that he was alone, and could let the emotions loose at what he saw. A great battle had been fought here. He could almost see it in his minds eye. A smaller force, overwhelmed by a larger one. They fought with honor, courage and heart, as all warriors of the Tuchuk do. From the eldest to the youngest unscarred one, they died an honorable death. Finally he did see what he was seeking.


Dropping the reins he moved to crouch down beside the body of Ba'atar, reaching out to lay a hand along the man's neck. There was no doubt that he was dead. His flesh was cold, there was no sign of a pulse, and his wounds were grievous. Bowing his head, his hand still resting on the chest of the former Ubar, he spent a few quiet moments preparing his heart and soul for his task.


He is an old man, not as strong as he once was, but there was that something deep inside him that gave him the strength to carry all of the remains and lay them out in a small clearing side by side. By the grace of the Sky, there was a small grove of trees nearby, that would provide the fuel needed to give the heroic band proper pyres.


Stripping out of his tunic, he took up and axe and set to work felling trees. Over and over he swung the axe, his mind settled into a place where he has not been in many years. That place where it went to draw strength, when he was in the underground salt pits of Klima. That place where only the body worked, and the soul replenished itself. He did not even seem to tire until he had cut enough trees to build a communal pyre. The kaiila were used to drag them to the place he had chosen to arrange them.


Kneeling beside each body, he took a bota of water and cloths and tried to clean their faces and hands as best he could. Each one was anointed with oils provide to him by the spex clan. He would do the best by them that he could, under the circumstances. The last body he worked on, was that of Ba'atar. Carefully he cleaned not only his face and hands, but his wounds up to a point. The blood was dried, crusted, and in some places the flesh was already sloughing from them. He looked at peace, and that usual arrogance that the man usually showed, did not seem to be there. If it can be said, there was a look of determination still on his face. A tear fell from the old man, to land on the warriors' chest.


He arranged the other bodies on the pyre like spokes from the hub of a wheel. The final body that was placed at the hub, at the apex was that of their leader, the one known as the Favored Son of the Sky. Walking around the pyre, he sprinkled it with the ritual oils that would not only appease the senses of the Sky, but would also aid the fire to burn hot and long. As he worked, he sang old Tuchuk battle anthems in honor of them. Songs would be written about this band of intrepid men, but they could never do justice to the sacrifice they had made for their people. It was simply impossible for that to be.


At last, he lay the torches to the pile of wood and watched the flames begin to take hold, and lick along the wood to the bodies. Mounting, he sat with his lance in hand, his eyes lifted to the Sky in a warrior's prayer. Prayer over, he sat on his kaiila and watched them burn. All the rest of that evening, and far into the night. Unmoving, lost in his own thoughts, and thoughts of the woman back in camp.


He has done his part. He can only hope that the haruspex Fonce, fares as well as he has.

The Vigil

It has been almost nine years since Kam had sent him to watch over the young, grieving widow after the death of her first mate. His job then had been to keep the well-intentioned at bay until she had a chance to adjust to the change that had just taken place in her life.


There had been something about the young woman, with a new baby and no mate that had spoke to him on a deeper level. He was alone in the world, no family, and it did not take long for him to regard her as a daughter. Not a real replacement for the one he had lost so many years ago, but close.


Over time, a strong bond had grow between them. She was the first that he had told the tale of his life to. In fact, she had been the only one. She did not judge, she did not question, but simply accepted it for what it was. His life, his past, a part of him and who he was. When is duty was basically done, he stayed on. Not so much as someone to guard her, but as a member of the family. She had opened her heart and her arms to him, drawing him into her life as a respected elder.



This is why her current state has hit him so hard. If a larl was chasing her, he could draw a bow and drop it where it ran. If it was Kassar, he would gladly do the same, ripping their still beating heart from their body.. But this thing that had her in it's grasp, was something he could not see, he could not touch, and had no idea how to fight, how to protect her from it.


So many had come to help, in any way that they could. The woman Tarra had been there daily to spell him so that he could at least get some rest, not that he rested much. She and Mezoo had also taken charge of the children, trying to keep their sprits up, and to calm their fears.


Gifts of food arrived constantly. Broths, custards, fresh milk from verr and bosk, juices, cookies, tarts and all manner of foods. Some did not realize that they were only able to spoon liquids between her parted lips, but the thoughts and love behind the offerings would be told to her when she recovered.


Others asked to see her, if only for a moment. Some cajoled her, begged her to come back, others scolded, demanding that she get up, move on with her life. If it were just that easy.


A healer from the outer wagons came. A man. He has nothing against men as healers, he has known some very good ones that were men. It was just odd to him that the man would examine her as he did. He couldn't watch. He felt, even as she was, she deserved some dignity, some sort of modesty, so he turned his back to them, and listened as the man explained what needed to be done for her care.


Some of it they already did. Everything around her was kept immaculately clean, they tried to get the liquids down her, and to keep her warm. Maybe too warm. He listened and made a mental note of everything the man said, and honestly was overwhelmed. The healer left his girl there to help them. Muscles needed to be exercised, skin oiled and moisturized, drops of oil put into her eyes so they would not dry out. The list seemed endless.


But even with all of this, he still felt helpless. Ahn upon ahn, he sat beside her, holding on small hand in his gnarled grasp, talking to her. He told her how the children were doing, if the gossip from around camp. He talked of things they had done in the past. Of fishing, of him teaching her how to set and run traps for smaller game. The story of him, Tug and the new sleen. Anything he could think of, to keep a contact with her on some level. Somewhere inside him, he holds out hope that she can hear him, that she knows they are there for her.



He wants to do more, but doesn't have any idea where to start, so until he figures it out, he will be here, by her side, talking, waiting and praying. The woman is all that he has, she is his daughter, if not by blood, then by heart. He would give his very life for her, and has made that known to the Sky.

Sanity Takes Flight

Becoming aware of her surroundings once more, she found that what she longed for almost immediately was a long, deep breath of the cool, fresh air of her beloved plains. To inhale the sweet fragrance of the new grasses mixed with the aroma of patches of flowers that hide within them. She even missed the musky, animal smell of the bosk, their dung. All of these things were familiar to her, and it was that familiarity that she craved, that she needed.


But there was no familiarity here. There was no sweet, clean air to breath. The first inhale told her where she was. The stench of death, burning, rotting flesh surrounded her along with the fetid breath of the evil that had command of this place. Yes, it was near. Unseen, but near. Does evil have a distinct smell of its' own? To her it did, and she was immersed in it.


Stirring, she sat up in the darkness. There was no overwhelming desire to open her eyes and look around, but being human, she gave over to the need to know where she was, and what was around her. What she had seen before, had rent a part of her mind, had wounded her soul and her heart. Never before had she been subjected to death and destruction, as she had been exposed to in this place.


When her eyes did open, at first, all she saw was the darkness. That darkness that held things that she really did not want to know about, but that she knew were there. But there was something there in the shadows that puzzled her. Reaching a tentative hand out, it met with something cold and hard. Bars. Shifting her eyes around, she tried to see where she was, but could see nothing. All she had was her hands, her ability to feel for her surroundings. Slowly they began to move, and panic set in again. She was caged! Like a damn sleen or a vulo, the thing had her in a cage. Grasping the bars she began to test their strength, rattling them, screaming.


Naked and caged, like some animal, or a slave being set aside for later use. Something snapped inside of her, and she felt an anger suffuse through her, that she had never had knowledge of before. In her delicate psyche, something came unraveled, loosed from the bounds of intelligent, cognizant thought. Everything that she had experienced, seen or felt began to coalesce into a seething, pustule of emotions that were so rare for her, that she did not know how to deal with them. She erupted, and everything that she had held so tightly to, things that she had denied began to spew forth like poison from an untended wound.



Who are you, what right do you have to keep me here! I have done nothing to you, nothing to anyone. Why me? Why? You filthy bastard, son of a sleen. You are nothing. Nothing hear me! You prey on the emotions of those weaker than you? Does this make you powerful? Invincible? What do you win? What do you gain? Nothing! Just as you are nothing, you gain nothing!


Maybe it was not the physical nakedness that spurred her, but the emotional one. She felt stripped of all that was her, all that to her was normal, humane, and acceptable. That part of her that helped her to survive from day to day, that part of her that shielded her from things that were ugly, pretentious, counter productive. Here, she was naked, not only in body, but in heart and soul, and that was the thing that reared up from deep inside her. That unprotected fount of emotions, unfiltered by what she considered acceptable and proper. The very essence of what was deep inside of her, usually kept a bay by her good sense, and kindness of heart. But no more. The muscles in her arms bunched as she grabbed the bars of the cage and shook them in frustration. Then leaning against the side, she began to kick at them, screaming.



Ba'atar! Where are you? Why are you not here to help me? This thing brought me here because of you, and I followed, and now you are not strong enough to help me? Damnit! Why did you die in this place? You promised me to never leave me. You said the Sky loved you, and that she would never let anything happen to you. She lied! You lied! You were supposed to be stronger, you were supposed to survive for me, for our children. What happened to that? How could you allow yourself to be trapped in this place? How could you leave me like this? You deserted me, our children. When did we cease to matter, when did your own family stop being Tribe!



Falling back, she gulped in draughts of the foul air, that literally seemed to burn her throat, her lungs. What she exhaled was a torrent to sobs and sounds that you would not expect to come from the slender woman. Sounds that almost sounded inhuman. Her anger was not appeased, no where near it.


Where were all the ones that vowed to protect her? For as long as she can remember she had been told....I will always be there for you.....All lies. Brothers, friends, warriors, all of them liars. Where were the protectors? Why were they not here helping her to fight this thing. Didn't they realize that evil never sleeps, never stops. After her, who would be next? If it turned out to be someone closer to them, would they care then? Does she matter so little?


Where is the mercy of the Sky? Did the Sky will this for her? The almightily Sky that sets in judgement of everyone. Giving, taking upon her own whims. Has she not given enough to this fickle bitch? How much did it take to appease the greedy Mistress of them all?



Tilting her head back, she screamed until her throat was raw, to the point she could scream no more. No sound could be forced or coaxed from her. Thrashing against the bars had left her bruised and bloody, but she did not feel the pain from it. That part of her brain that understood physical pain, and was supposed to work with her body, to try and avoid such has abandoned her. Synapses have become skewed, and physical pain is no longer felt. Everything concentrated now, on the emotional and mental agony. That was were this thing had finally worn her down, had finally pierced through the armor of all that was Cana. Through those tightly held emotions, and began to take it's control.


Slowly, bit by bit, she begins to close down, to not care, to surrender. One final plea manages to take flight from her sane mind.....a whispered plea.


Fonce, where are you? You told me this is what you did, this was your special gift, to walk among the dreams. You promised me that you would fight my dreams for me. Have you abandoned me too? I always had faith in you, do you not have faith in me?



Curling into the corner of that cage, the creature there is no longer Cana of the Tuchuk. The body is the same, but it is only a shell. That what made the woman who and what she was, is no longer there, or it is locked so deep beneath the insanity that has taken command, it may never surface. Sanity is only a tiny nugget, being tumbled around in a sea of seething, unchecked, emotions. Emotions running rampant, without the bounds of acceptability or reason.


Then, for the first time the voice comes from the darkness. A sibilant hiss, unearthly whisper. "You are mine"

To Be Consumed By Evil

The damnable place had become so familiar that she was not shocked when she found herself there. The same void, the same lack of anything but the sense that something was there with her, watching, waiting. Since this place seemed to belong to the evil, she knew that it probably could see her, even if she could not see it. All she had to go on was that feeling that something was probing her, maybe not physically, but probing her mind, her soul, looking for chinks in that invisible armor she was trying to hide behind. She was not shocked, but had the good sense to be scared, terrified.


She could feel it shifting, moving closer then back away. Slithering, slinking, hiding, probing. For the briefest moment, she thought she felt a touch. Something cold, lifeless yet burning, alive with the intent of malice. A slow breath was taken of the odorless air, then exhaled just as slowly. She tried to steel herself mentally and emotionally for what she knew would come eventually.


She did not have long to wait. It was if this think in the void sought to assault all of her sense at once. The space around her grew lighter, filled with a gray smoke that undulated around her boots, and the acrid odor made her stomach lurch with its' stench. Fetid, coppery, the smell of burning hair, charred flesh, excrement, death suddenly surrounded her as the smoke did. The sounds she had heard at one time here, the sounds of battle, screaming, the death throes of animals, people and hope, were not there. The only sounds were an occasional moan, or the faint rush of breath as it passed through parted lips for the final time.


Slowly she turned to see what was around her, and her own breath caught in her throat, choking her, forcing the air from lungs that ached from the foul air. But when that breath comes, it comes in a rush of not only air but of fear and emotions. And ached cry comes from her lips to join the death groans that float on the air around her.


Turning around, she can see that the earth is scorched, dead and burning. Not like she has seen from fires on the plains, but in a way that tells her that all there is dead, even the ground beneath her feet, the air she tries to breathe.


Her first instinct is the same that all creatures have when confronted with something that they do not understand, or something that threatens their very existence. Run. Run as fast and as far as you can. Taking those first faltering steps, she trips, stumbles and falls to her hands and knees. The pain of her hands burning is excruciating, breathtaking, but yet comforting. The pain lets her know that among all of this death, she is still alive.


Finding her feet, she begins to run. Is it chasing her, right on the heels of her boots? She does not even need to look around and see. It is there, aware of each footstep, of each stumble, of each fall. At one point, she trips over something, falls once more, something almost soft breaking her fall. Every instinct she has, tells her to get up, run again.


Pushing away from what had broken her fall, she begins to scream. It was a charred body. One still smoldering, and the stench rising from it almost unbearable. Shoving it away, her hands sink into the morbid flesh and the head of the thing rolls over with a flop, and all she can see are the eyes that stare at her from the sunken orbits that hold them. All of the flesh is burned, blackened and sloughing off of the skull, but the eyes seem to still be alive, accusatory, all seeing.


Making her way to her feet, she begins to run again, stumbling over things laying on the ground. Looking down, she sees that they are skulls, some new, still with flesh hanging from them, others older, bleached white by the passage of time. They were everywhere. This place has evidently been serving the evil as a killing field since time began.


It was more than her mind could assimilate. More than she wanted to understand. Reason left her and she drops to her knees and begins to scream. Over and over again.


"What do you want from me? Why have you brought me here? Why? Why? Why?"



The screams had brought Rook and the girls tearing through the flaps and into the wagon. Rook drops down beside the sleeping platform and tries to shake her awake, to no avail. To look at her, you would think she slept peacefully, up until you looked at her eyes. Beneath the lids, you could see her eyes moving rapidly, without stop. He even used his fingers to try and pull them apart, and saw the same thing. Her eyes were in constant movement, darting one way then the next.



Even at this, she did not awaken. For all of his shaking and slapping, not a sound came from her, not a muscle moved. In fact, she seemed paralyzed, unable to move. Laying her back down, he watches her, to check and see that she still breathed. If she did, they were slow shallow breaths, hard to detect. He turned to juneau and spoke sharply to her.


"Find a healer, harta! And find the spex, the one they call Fonce, then run to the woman Tarra's wagons. We need help. All the help we can get. " He turned to twist. "Check on the children, make sure they are safe, and keep them calm if they have been awakened." He continued to sit by her, holding one of those cool hands in his grasp. The old man's heart pounded, for she was as close to death as anyone he has every seen, without truly being dead.

Home, is where they love you, and welcome you with open arms

It has started out as such a lovely evening. The compliments from those at the fires had made her blush, and they probably had no idea how much they meant to her. She does not have many times any more where she feels good about much of anything.


A cup of tea, good company, it was just what the healer would have ordered. It had been a long time since she had sat and talked with Seveya, but when the young woman mentioned Yew Too, they were suddenly engaged in a lively conversation about the kaiila, and riding. A conversation that she enjoyed very much, not only for herself, but to see the sparkle of light in Seveya's eyes, made it even better.


Asria awoke from her daze and joined in the conversation about riding. What exactly happened next, she cannot understand. She is not nearly that sensitive about things. Maybe it had something to do with her confrontation with Karvek earlier in the day at the pens.


She had made the offer to give Lei riding lessons, and suddenly Asria piped up, in that way she has, and said yes, you and Fonce!


Fonce?


Since when was she not skilled enough to teach a child to ride? Since when did she need the help of another? For some reason, it had hit her wrong, and she found herself lifting up, to go make more tea, before she let the irritation lose. Then when Asria said something about her standing in the way of the relationship that Lei had with Fonce, her irritation deepened. She knew Fonce, and knew that he would not let his relationship with the young child to languish. No one would stand in the way of that.


Asria had maybe realized that she had spoken out of turn and apologized, and she had smiled at her and tried to accept the apology as graciously as she could, and promised to give Lei and Also a lesson the next morning. All was good, except a damper had been thrown over the evening for her.


Even the arrival of Mezoo did not help to lift it, but she stayed to talk to the young spex. It seems she has made a decision on the kaiila, which did not surprise her. When the animal had physically shown his interest in the young woman earlier, something clicked and she knew the two were meant for each other. She loves when that happens.


She tarried only a bit longer, dickering a bit with Mezoo over the price of the kaiila, but her heart was not in it any longer. She smiled, made her farewells and left the main fires.


All was quiet around her wagons, there was no need for her at the moment, so she found herself walking. Just walking aimlessly through the rows and circles of wagons, watching the people. From time to time she stopped to talk to someone that asked for her attention, then she would take up her walk again.


She passed near one circle of fires, where there was a family just settling in to eat. It was clear that the father had just returned from patrol, and as he was getting settled, the woman was getting his meal, and the children crowded around him to tell him of the adventures of their day. It was such a serene, quiet picture of love and family, that it sent a pang of longing through her that was sharper than any blade.


Averting her face she walked on, thinking. At one point, she saw an older man and woman sitting on the platform of their wagon, both with a mug in hand. The man's other arm was around what she assumed was his mate, and he turned to place a kiss to the top of her graying head. You could tell by just watching, that they had been together and in love for a long time. She felt like a voyeur watching them and quickened her steps to get away.


She did not think she had any kind of intent or purpose as to where she was going, but she was wrong. Soon she saw another circle of fires, this one much more familiar to her than the others. Stopping, she stood for a few moments watching the man that worked on the bridle, how his hands were so sure with what he was doing. He had lifted his head to see her standing in the shadows, lay the bridle aside and motioned to her.


Like a small child, she ran to him and allowed herself to be gathered up into his embrace and pulled down into his lap, just like she had done so many times growing up. Her brother Ephrim, simply held her and allowed her to cry, stroking her back with those work, worn hands, and saying little.


She hates when she loses control of her emotions like this. She works so hard to keep a very tight rein on them, and everything else in her life. Her children depend on it, she depends on it. Never once has it occurred to her, that showing emotions is not a weakness, that it is simply a sign of her humanity. But right now, none of those thoughts occur to her. Right now, she is just feeling overwhelmed, alone and cast adrift.


At one point, she even pounded on his chest in frustration. Frustration at being alone, frustration at being stalked in the night by something she does not understand, frustration of having no one to talk to, frustration at having to be strong every day, of never feeling like she can just let go and let others take care of her.


Ephrim had let her cry those soul wrenching sobs, until she reached the point that she just could not cry any longer. Only then did he lift her chin, brushing the tears from her cheek and begins to talk to her in calming tones, telling her of how much she is loved here at her family fires, and of how proud they all are of her. He even teases, saying that he still had a hard time thinking of her as Ubara, The Mother of the People, because he still saw the little girl with smudges of dirt on her face, skinned knees and two braids flying out behind her as she ran through camp.


Of the girl, who learned to fashion pots, mugs and dishes from clay, because she broke so many, that she had to learn to replace them. Of the little girl, who had spent almost an entire year clomping around in a pair of Dorian's cast off boots, the toes stuffed with reps, because she had outgrown hers, and they could not afford at the time to get her a new pair. Maybe that is why she is so protective over those old worn boots she wears now. She can remember a time with no boots.


He then talks of watching that same awkward girl growing into the woman she is now, and how proud they all were of her, of her strength, of her character. But he then reminds her, that no one is alone in the world, that there are always those that care about them, that sometimes you just had to look around and realize it.


She sat there for a long time, head on his chest, listening to the rumble of his voice, as he worked on calming her down. She longed to tell him of her fears, of the thing that haunted her night, but she just could not bring herself to do it. There is this part of her that does not want to tell, for fear of the thing learning of those close to her, and turning its' attentions there. And she did not tell, because her brother was a practical man, with simple, practical ideas, and she did not want him thinking that she had taken leave of her senses.


Evidently, at some point she had fallen asleep. When she awoke, the first rays of dawn were beginning to color the sky, and she was laying on a pallet of furs, and he was leaned against a wheel, sleeping, keeping watch.


Now, that is love, of another kind.

Reflections On Being a Woman

When a woman is depressed or upset, one of the best things she can do for herself, to regain some balance is to pamper herself. This is not something she does often, not from lack of wanting to, but often from lack of time. She has six children, that she basically raises on her own, she is the head of a large clan, that demands her attentions, and she is trying to serve Ayguili as Ubara, to the best of her abilities. She would not give up any of what she does, but she is human, she is a woman, and occasionally there comes a time when she had to step back, and take care of herself.


Most of the women that she knows are hard workers, it is just the way of life on the plains. The are not like those dweller women who stay behind walls, letting slaves tend to their every whim, or depending upon men to take care of everything for them. There are many around like her, that have learned the path of hard work when they were very young, and walk it daily.


For her, it started when she was barely twelve years old. Her mother died giving birth to her youngest brother, and suddenly she was thrust into the role of being the woman around her family wagons. Ill prepared? Oh Skies, yes! But, there was this stubbornness in her that went a long way to help her to learn, and perform her duties. She had her father, four older brothers and a baby to take care of. She managed to do it, and took a great deal of pride in doing it.


And the experience went a long way into making her who she is today. Independence is something that she holds very dear. Being self-sufficient is as much a part of her as how she walks, talks and goes about her daily life. She is not one to ask much of anyone. Does she grouse and complain about her life? She hopes not. What is there to complain of. It is simply a way of life, one that she clings to and enjoys for the most part.


Lowering into the tub of hot, scented water a sigh slips from between her lips. One of contentment. She could feel the stress of what happened earlier in the day, begin to leave her, floating above her head on the scented steam. It was not just the confrontation with Karvek, but other things.


She and Fonce have been friends for a very long time. Some do not exactly understand the depth of what they have, but it seems to work well for them. And today, after taking the after-effects of the paga into consideration, she could tell that there were things weighing heavily on him. She has a clue or two as to what some of them are, but she will not make assumptions. Maybe that is one of the things that make their friendship work. The honesty that passes between them. Sinking lower into the water, she makes herself a promise to seek him out, just to talk.


Taking the soap, she begins to wash enjoying the smell of the soaps that Tarra makes for her. She notes the small callouses on the palms of her hands. Some would probably consider them unattractive, but they are a part of her. One does not work with the kaiila, and not get them. Inspecting them, she smiles. Callouses or not, these are hands that soothe the forehead of a fevered child. Hands that can gently touch, and make the bad things go away, simply by their touch. They are her hands. Hands that love, hands that work, hands that sometimes tell the one that she touches, that she cares.


Those same hands rub the soap over her body, a body that has changed over the years. It is not the same body she had when she was seventeen. It has bore six children. Carried and succored them until they were ready to come and meet their world. It is not as taut across the middle as it once was, and it bears the marks of carrying children. She no longer has a girls body, but the body of a woman. One with softer curves, one that is maybe stronger, more resilient.


A soft laugh comes from her as she thinks back to when she was younger, more angular, and much less graceful. You have to laugh when you think back on those days. To her, it seems as if she was nothing but arms and legs for most of her life. Much like a kaiila foal, that has not quite learned how to manage those limbs. But she also likes to think, that just like the kaiila, she has grown into womanhood, and her body very well.


Standing she allows the water to sluice off her before stepping from the tub into the towel that juneau holds for her. Looking down at the leg that had stepped from the tub, she smiles. Some things do stay the same. Her legs were more muscular than some, due to the hours spent riding and training the beasts. She startles the slave by laughing. When the girl gives her a curious look, she simply tells her that no one will ever be able to accuse her of having fat ankles.


Sitting, wrapped in the towel, she allows the girls to get as much water from her hair as they can, before they rub scented oils into it, and begin to try and comb the tangle of curls into a braid.. Perhaps this is just a day for reflection, because as they work, her mind wanders again to how she was when she first came to these fires. At how naive and shy she was. How unprepared and alone. That same naivety was what had learned her the nickname of.....The Tabuk.


How time and life have changed her. She no longer has that same innocence, but she would like to think that what has taken its' place is strength of character, and knowing of who she is. She is definitely not one of those fiery woman that are able to voice their opinions loudly and without reserve. Sometimes she does have a twinge of envy, but it does not last long. She is content in who she is. Perhaps she is quieter than some, but that is just how she is. Who she is.


The girls manage to get the braid curled around her head in a coronet, held by the pins that she had often seen her mother wear. Even to this day, she misses her mother, and an ache of loneliness stabs at her heart for a moment. When juneau holds up the clothes, her brow lifts, still a bit unsure. The girls both encourage her, telling her that she is beautiful, and the vest and skirt are just a topping.


Color flares on her cheeks. She has been told before that she was beautiful, but it just was not something that she had much confidence in. She has never been vain when it came to her looks, and she has no idea why. She has never been the type to work on the trappings of ribbons and beads and colors that supposedly compliment, or that sort of thing. Did she notice these on others? Of course she does. Almost daily. She notices them, and there are times when she feels a bit dowdy next to them. A bit like a weed that has invaded a field of flowers, but she does not change who she is. She stays simple. She stays Cana.


Donning the skirt, she takes the vest in hand and looks around to ask for her tunic to wear under it. Juneau busies herself and tells her that they did not bring a tunic, that she would be fine in the vest without one. It was the vest that Ba'atar had made just before he left, and for that reason alone it was difficult for her to put it on, but she did. She felt so exposed, and found herself trying to tug the leather to hide that which was exposed, only to find herself fighting the hands of the slave, who grinned at her, and told her to relax, the vest looked fine, all of the essential parts were covered. You do not just give into a slave, and she tries her best to glower at this one, but ends up laughing, and patting the girls cheek. What she would do without this creature, she has no idea.


It was twist that holds up the small, framed piece of looking glass. For a moment, she was shocked. Who is this woman? She ain't have bad to look at. But most importantly, in that moment, she felt good about herself, maybe seeing what others see, that she usually ignores.


Stepping from the wagon, she walks towards the main fires, a cloud of scented air surrounding her. Yes, she felt good, very good. The cares of the day were forgotten, and she looked forward to relaxing with those that she loved.

Keeper of the Memories

Finally the anger and sadness from earlier in the day had been shaken off. Quitting work at the pens early, she had spent time with the children. The grew so fast, that it always made her wonder where time went. How could they grow bigger and older, when she didn't feel she was getting older.


Liar!


She did feel older, perhaps older than her years. In a couple of moons, she would be twenty-seven, she thinks. That is not old, is it? Perhaps it is not the turnings of the seasons, or the coming of the snows that have aged her, but the experiences of her life.


There are times when she watches the younger women at the fires, with a bit of envy. Some are barely twenty, just getting their ring, just starting to think about what they wanted in life. By the time she was twenty, she had a son, and had stood beside the pyre of her mate. By the time she was twenty two, she was standing beside the pyre of another mate, carrying his child. These things do tend to make you feel older, perhaps.


And here she was, almost twenty seven, with six beautiful children that she loved dearly, and a mate that had ridden off out on the plains, many moons ago, and had not returned. He has been gone almost a whole year. She wonders if others realize that as she does? Probably not. It did not weigh on them as it did her, they had no real vested interest in it.


A new Ubar sat the grays, and very well she might add. People have come and gone, and would continue to do so. Some had returned that had been gone, and picked up the treads of their lives, as it should be. Some did not know him, or if they had, only briefly. That was just life.


She was the keeper of his memories. She was the one that tried to keep those memories alive for their children. He was missing so much. He was missing how his sons grew strong, how each of them were taking on new responsibilities, and learning from them. He had missed those first faltering steps their daughters had taken, the first words from their sweet lips.


She wishes there was some way, to capture it all, to keep it for his viewing when he returned, but there wasn't. All she could do is concentrate on each small event, commit it to her memory, to be told to him when he returned.


Yes, she was the keeper of the memories, the guardian of life that was going on in his absence. His eyes and ears with his children. It was a sacred duty, and she took it very seriously. She would not fail him, or their children. For she knows in her heart, if the situation was reversed, he would be doing the same.

Among the Kaiila

It had been a glorious morning spent among the fanged beast. She and the riders had worked with the one that Jaella had ridden back on. He was magnificent, and it was easy to see that somewhere along the line, he had been given some very good training. When charged at with the blunted lance, he did not move a muscle. Well, almost didn't. He has this thing about people and animals nearing his left side. The out rider that rode down his left side, suddenly found himself dangling from the grasp of those great fangs. When she had dismounted to help untangle the rider from the beast, she glanced towards the fence, and smiled.



There was a familiar figure standing at the fence. No, make that leaning against the fence. Walking towards him, she realized that maybe it was not so much he was leaning against the fence, as it was a matter of the fence was at the moment his sole means of support. Getting closer, she could smell the paga that seemed to be leaking from his very pores, but said nothing of it. She figured he was suffering enough without her pointing out the obvious.



There was the usual exchange of greetings between friends. Perhaps hers' was a bit more tongue in cheek than his. Her first impression was that maybe he had came to see the kaiila that they had spoke of, and he did flash a reddened gaze at it, appraising him momentarily. But that was not his reason for being here.



Wincing at the brightness of the rays of the Central Fire, he questioned her about the kaiila she had traded to Karvek with, the one given to Seveya on the night of her ringing. The one that had been named Yew. He wanted to know if Yew had fathered any foals. Well, in fact he had. She had two of them, one from last seasons foals, and one that had been dropped this season. He asked to see them, and just as she went off to cut them from the herd, Mezoo joined them, with a basket of cookies over her arm. Cookies from Oren, no less.



Leaving them to talk, she had mounted Ciegue and had gone to cut the two foals from the herd. The older one was already ringed, and had been given some basic training. The younger of the two, was raw, spirited with a lot of potential. As she brought them towards the fence, she saw the first signs of light and interest in his eyes, and she pretty much knew immediately which he would choose.



Yep. He chose the younger of the two, which was not a bad choice. It was to be a gift for Seveya. Did this surprise her? Not really, she had been seeing the signs of some sort of relationship maybe growing between the two. The only thing that she asked of him, was that the foal not be bread to Yew when the time came. She did not believe in breeding blood lines that close. He assured her that it would not happen, since Seveya no longer had Yew. For a moment, she was puzzled then he said that Karvek had taken the animal back. She did not really catch on that he was being a little evasive, that would come later. He had simply said the animal was not in camp.


But what he had said, made some of the swirling rumors that she had been hearing to coalesce into something more solid. But even at that, she did not know all the details, so would say no more on the subject. At that moment in time, it simply was not her business.


It was a pleasant segment of time, spent talking with two friends. They spoke of kaiila, even the offspring of the surly, immensely ugly Holo. A part of her missed that rangy beast. But she did have a few of his foals to remind her of him. For all of his ugliness, he had been a randy stallion, and she had the proof of it. One yearling seemed to take an interest in Mezoo, which she found amusing. Evidently Mezoo has not spent the amount of time that she has among the fanged ones, and was still a bit unsure of them and their attentions. Just as she probably would be, if she were cast among the verr. Like Another One. But that was a different story.


As they talked, she had notice Ciegue and his inspection of the paga dulled warrior across the fence from him. She has seen this a time or two before. The kaiila was taking the measure of the man for some reason, known only unto him. Some would flinch away from that long study that came from the blind eye, but Fonce seemed to take it all in stride, and in fact, he seemed to understand it.


During all of this, she had looked up to see Karvek standing at the fence, one booted foot on the lower rail, his arms crossed upon the upper rail, with him watching the animals. She had approached him, with all good intentions of finding out who he had maybe traded Yew to, so that she might get him back. She had raised the animal from the first moment he had burst onto the scene, and with all of the beast she had hand raised, she had an affection for him.


Shock. That is the first emotion she felt when the man told her in that toneless, emotionless voice of his what had happened to Yew. After the shock, there was disbelief, then from some store deep inside her came anger. Something that she did not give into often, but it was there, surrounding her loosening her tongue.



What man, or woman, in their right mind would kill an innocent beast to assuage some sort of blow to their ego? He tried to liken it to a kaiila being put on the pyre of a warrior that it had served well. Oh, bosk arse! This was nothing even close to that, and she thinks that down deep inside he knows that, but will not admit it.


Him killing the kaiila, burning it, was nothing more than one more way to twist the knife in his niece. One more way for him to pile more pain on her. And for what? His injured ego? His tender psyche? If one did not know better, they would think the depths of his feeling for the young woman, went far beyond that of an uncle for a niece, into that gray area that most decent people do not wish to tread.


It was no wonder that the man had no family, no mate, nothing. For one to have a bond with a family, one must first have a heart, and as far as she could see, this one didn't. It went beyond madness. It spoke more of selfishness, lack of judgment, and sheer stupidity. She may have said as much, she really can't remember.


All she does know, is that she told him that perhaps his feeling and thoughts, were no longer in line with those of his people, if they ever have been. Maybe there is no real secret as to why he had been gone for so long.


When he had left, she felt the anger still simmering, but tried to push it down. It was not so much anger, as it was pain, and hurt for what had happened to the animal. An animal that sought nothing more than to serve its' owner. An animal that had done no wrong, but lost its' life to assuage some need in a foolish human.. Some say that she is too close to the kaiila, that there is too much of her wrapped up in them. She cannot help it, she sees more in them than most do, but that is probably because she looks for it. She recognizes it, she talks with them about it.


A part of her will mourn for Yew. Another part will mourn for the man in a way. He was a fool, that had no heart, and who would never know love, compassion or understanding. Her thought go to the story of the two larls, and it is not hard to know which one Karvek fed.

A Kaiila for the Sleen Man

She still had several things on that mental list of things she wanted to accomplish. That list that she now considered.......getting her affairs in order. Such a thing had never been thought of before, but after Fonce mentioned it before the Love Wars, she realized the importance of it all.


Fate had stepped in a couple of times to help her. At the stream, she had run into Yamka and a young weaver, trading goods and services. She spoke to Yamka about boots for the children, and saddles for the girls, then to the young weaver, about blankets for the kaiila she had chosen for her daughters. Usually, once the amount or trade is settled on, it is rendered after the goods are delivered, or the service is done. However, this time she insisted on giving the two young women their payment in advance. Unusual? Yes, but it was her wish.


It was not unusual for her to spend time at the pens, it was her work, the thing she enjoyed more than anything. But the last few days had been spent with Gabe, explaining about things she wanted done, animals that had been promised to other and things like that.


There was a new set of twin foals, that had been birthed by Lyric this season, and these we found suitable enough for her girls. They were branded, then their ears notched, then the strings of beads woven into their manes. She extracted a promise from Gabriel, that he would see that her daughters were taught to ride when the time came. He kept looking away from her, nodding, but saying little. She had finally appeased him by telling him that she would probably be there herself, that this was just a contingency plan. In fact, Ba'atar might be back by then, and she would be heavy with child, so she would still need her younger brother's aid. This seemed to settle him, and he began to pay more attention. It was much better to think of his older sister as pregnant......yet again....than it was to think of her as gone.


She cut the beast she had chosen for Ogedai from the herd and tied him to the fence rail. He was thoroughly cleaned, his claws sharpened and tended to, inspected time and time again, to make sure he was the one. She was very proud of this animal, he came from good blood lines and was a fine beast. A brown kaiila, with lights of red in his coat, the mane and tail as black as the night sky. His sturdy legs faded from the brown, to black then down to white stockings on all four legs, and he had a white blaze on his snout. And absolutely beautiful animal. When he was but a foal, she had began calling him Hest. His name now would be up to the sleen man. She spent time rubbing and combing oils through his coat until it shined. She was pleased.


Slipping the clip from the bridle into the ring on the animal's left nostril, she walked through the camp leading him. It was almost as if Hest knew he was on display. His head was held high with quite a bit of arrogance and pride, which she found amusing. A perfect beast for the sleen man.


It is a good idea to approach the wagons of a sleen breeder with great care. You never know exactly what you might find there. The sleen were caged, and you could hear the growls and snarls long before you got too close. That was an odd thing about them. They could sound so ferocious in their cages, but she knew that they could also be silent killers. Sniffing out their prey, sneaking up on them so quietly, you did not even know they were around, then striking.


Ogedai was not there, but the mocha skinned slave that belonged to him was. Her dark skin reminded her of the slave that Ba'atar had brought back from his last adventure. Would he finally find his blonde, blue-eyed slave on this one?


She tethered the kaiila to the wheel of one of his wagons, and explained to the slave that she was to tell her Master, that the beast was Hest, and was payment from Cana. The woman seemed capable enough of delivering the message, so she left the beast with her. Taking one last look, she ran her hand over his neck and leaned in to speak softly in his ear, encouraging him to make her proud. It was almost as if the animal understood, for he nodded the great head, then tossed it with a snort.


As she backed away, still watching him, she again agreed with herself, that this was an excellent beast for the Sleen man.

Despair and Futility

Her eyes flew open and she instantly knew she was in that dreaded place of nothingness. She was on her knees, head lowered, just waiting for the evil to come and surround her. She did not have long to wait. As always, she saw nothing but the fathomless darkness, but she felt it. It was there, and pulsating with that poisonous evil that was its' core. She didn't have to see it, to know. It seemed to surround her, to suffocate her, taunting, poking at her very heart and soul, testing to find her strengths, and her weaknesses.


Closing her eyes, she tried to focus and concentrate on why she was here, why it continued to bring her to this place. Was it to torment her? Of course if was, but to what end? It sought to destroy her faith, that which made her who and what she was. Was it a game to this thing, or was there a deeper reason for what it did?


Taking long, slow breaths of the air that had turned fetid with death, she tries to spiral her mind down to sending out love, compassion and peace. And each time she feels it pulse within her, she can almost feel the monster in the dark screaming with rage. Not hear it, but sense it. She feels so small and impotent and alone, but she keeps in her mind, that she does this for a reason. Will it work? She has no idea. She only knows that she cannot, and will not give into the thing in the darkness. Not as long as she can draw a breath. Everything she is, everything she holds sacred and dear is invested in this fight.


Will she win? That is yet to be determined.


Suddenly, the ray of light burst forth and her head jerks up to see what the foul thing was showing her now. She was not prepared for what she saw, she could never be prepared for it. The screams of death and destruction assault her, actually knocking her back to where she has to brace herself with her hands. But there he was, her Ba'atar.


He was sitting beside a body of water, his head down, a quiva in his hand, covered with blood, ash and filth. There were rivulets of tears that washed down his bloodied face, and she could see the wound on his shoulder, and the blood that flowed freely from it. He sat still as a statue, not moving, staring into the water. She could feel the despair and futility fairly radiating from him like a fever. Slowly, she managed to come back to her knees and crawl closer to him. Her hand reaches out to try and touch him, only to meet that icy barrier that is thrown between them.


She stifles a scream, allowing it to catch in her throat, choking the breath from her. She continues to test that barrier, looking for a weakness, to no avail. Tears stream down her cheeks as she draws a ragged breath and begins to whisper.


"Ba'atar, my beloved, I am here. Hear me, know that you are not alone. Know that you are loved, and what you are doing here will not fade from the memory of our people. Come home to me, come home to our children, and the people that love you." His head lifted slightly, almost as if he could hear her off in the distance. She did not hear his words, but saw them forming on his lips. "I love you, Cana."


Suddenly, she can feel the rage from the beast, smell its' frustration. It was if she was grasped in a strong fist and thrown against a wall. The pain was excruciating, her entire body enflamed by it. She could feel the blows, the wrapping of arm or tentacle around her neck, forcing the breath from her lungs. Mercifully, she passed out.


When she became aware again, it was the pain that suffused through her body that she knew first. Curled in the corner of the wagon, she was naked, shivering and choking. Rolling to her back, she tries to sit up, wincing as she finally was able to sit up and lean against the cool wooden walls of her wagon. The taste of blood is strong in her mouth, and a hand slowly lifts to test her lip, to see if it was cut, but the blood was flowing from her nose, not her lip. Sighing, she sat back, tears streaming down her face. All she can think is........


What next?

Mezoo and Her Band of Tuchuks!

The night came alive with a cacophony of sounds from whistles to kazoos and thumps and rattles. There was a melody there if you listened hard enough of course. The young spex led a motley crew of miniature musicians over hill and dale of the stream while they practiced their "special" song. One by one they followed her and even Little Ba'atar had a tapping rattle in her hand hooked in her perch on Mezoo's hip. Lil Fonce made her home riding on Tug's shoulders. Also had the job of pulling up the end with a small drum he kept time. The one thing that stood out most was that big shining smile the woman had. She was singing nonsense verses and the babes would repeat the last word :: Hicory dicory dock. DOCK! they had this part down pat now.


The tears that gathered in her eyes were partly from love and amazement, but then again also from amusement at seeing this splendid display of...music? Her hands come in front of her and begain to clap to the rythem of the song. They broke ranks and ran to her, showing her their instruments, all talking at once to tell her of their day with Mezoo, and how she had helped them to make these fine musical instruments and had taught them songs. The pride and love that grew in her heart was that any mother would feel, and she lay a gentle hand on each little head, and spoke something encouraging to each of them.


She was not a fool, and recognized that the words to the songs they sang were to help chase away bad things in the night, and she realized that this was Mezoo, keeping her promise to help protect them from the thing in her dreams, and true gratitude brought a mist of tears to her eyes.


They told of maybe spilling red paint on the steps of the wagon, and she told them it was not a bad thing. It would be there always as a memory of this day for them. She even listened to the tale of a spat or two over instruments and such, and had laughed. They had worked it out among themselves, evidently, and that is what families do.


These were her children, the legacy that she would leave behind, and she loved each of them, and was proud of how smart, intuitive and lively they were. Pure Tuchuk from the tips of their toes to the tops of their heads, what more could a mother wish for?


The excitement of their day began to dwindle in hunger and exhaustion, and they were sent off with juneau to their dinner, their baths and their furs. Hopefully in that order, but she had a feeling that a few might miss that bath, falling asleep in their dinner, but that was okay too.


As they left, she returned to what had been occupying her time before their arrival, throwing rocks into the stream. Mezoo had spoke to her, telling her that the children would be safe. Her throw falters as she nods. This is what was of importance right now, their safety. If they were safe, she could handle anything.

Taking up her stones, she began to throw again and spoke casually to Mezoo, telling her there was one more favor for her to ask of her. Of course, the young spex agreed without hesitation.


That is when she told her that she wanted Mezoo to help keep an eye on her children should anything happen to her. Tug had no blood family left, so Rook would see to the raising of him. Tarra would take Another One, since he was her grandson, and Aamon and Birmmah would take the four youngest, since they were their grandparents. It was no secret, that eventually their uncle Ayguili would take the young spex as his mate, and that would put her in a perfect position to help watch over the younger ones. She had puzzled this all out in her mind, and to her it was the plan that would need to be followed, should she not be there.


Where had she gotten this idea of putting her affairs in order? From Fonce. He had mentioned something about him doing the same, in the event that he did not return from the Love Wars. At the time, she had not wanted to hear of it, but upon reflection, she realized that as things were, she needed to do the same. She had spoken to Rook about many things, about the children, how the wagons would be divided between them. Of the special treasures that she had saved from Tayco and Lochlan, to be passed down to their sons. Of personal items that she wished others to have. One was Ciegue. He would go to Fonce. She had the two flutes, given to her by her by her mother that she wished to be kept, then handed down to her daughters when they were old enough to understand the significance of them. Just smaller things like that.


To the young spex's credit, she did not make the usual noises about nothing happening to her, she nodded and accepted Cana's wishes with the same grace and dignity that she did all else. This says much about her. But oddly enough, she had a request of her own. Cana would return to talk to her, to tell her all was well, and for her to keep her chin up. She promised she would......if she could.


Somehow this all turned into a conversation about the dead, and Cana told her that she was often visited in her dreams by her Mother, that was long dead, but she had not been to visit in a long time. Mezoo allowed that perhaps she was busy.


The dead are busy? This was certainly something new for her to think upon. The spex said that yes, she might be busy, that forever was a long time to sit and do nothing. She felt that the woman was very busy watching over Cana and her children. For some reason, this gave her more peace in her heart. As long as her children were being watched over and protected, then she could accept that her Mother was busy.


They were joined by the drummer, Sahli. He was an odd man, but there was just something about him that endeared him to her. Perhaps it was because in that long, lean body, and that serious countenance, she saw something almost child like, and it spoke to that maternal part of her.


Talk turned to drums, and she asked him if he could repair one, and he had said yes. She had noticed that the head on the one that had belonged to Lochlan's father was not as tight as it should be, and that maybe Sahli could fix that. At first, it seemed like an excellent idea.


Wrong.


She thinks it might have been when she said something about it not being a Tuchuk drum, and he asked what kind it was. A Mamba drum.


You should have seen how quickly the drummer paled at the thought of touching a drum of flesh eaters. It had never occurred to her, that the drum head might be of something other than animal skin, but it sure as hell occurred to Sahli.


It did not take her long to see that he was immensely uncomfortable about it now, and she would allow the matter to drop. She would never put him into the position of working on something that would be distasteful to him. The drum was not that important.


People came and people went. For a time Fonce came and sat beside her. There was something about him that made her feel stronger. Maybe it was because they have been friends for so long, and she had an affection and respect for him. It was amusing to watch his girl catch as she languished by his side, her head on his thigh. She is not even sure if he realized the effect he was having on the girl, and that made it all the more amusing to her. She liked the girl a great deal.


Finally, she was so tired she almost could not move and left the others to go to her wagons to try and sleep. Hopefully, a dreamless sleep.