Legends of Belariath

Akipurra

Loosing the Lightning

The shaman girl jerked back from her trance, cold and stiff , feeling a cold crawling sensation in the pit of her stomach. A horrible headache began to throb behind her eyes, and she tried to get up from the cross-legged position. She fell, and the rough surface of the cave floor oriented her somewhat. She carefully untangled her feet and legs, using her hands to massage some semblance of life into them. When she could finally stagger to the cave entrance, she found it blocked. She sat down, with a muffled cry of frustration.

”What went wrong?” She asked the dark walls themselves. Now that she was fully awake, she remembered the quest fully. She remembered the preparation ceremony, and all the work leading up to it, and being led to this sacred cave and ritually interred here. But after that - what happened? Her people - her grandfather at least - should be here to open the tomb seal for her, to listen to her tale of her visions.... She paused, trying to recall what they were, and like the glint of jewels in candlelight, she began to see flashes of the whole, and rebuild the most difficult vision quest of her life. Slipping down the water-smoothed walls to the gritty floor, she sat facing the door, and letting her mind calm.

This was her third, her most important quest. Had she failed? The clarity of this vision compared with her other two seemed to say no. Her eyes went to the still-barred doorway, and her sigh echoed softly through the cave. “So, my ancestors, my spirit brothers, what is the meaning of this? Why is there no one here to hear my vision, to record my story?” Soft laughter echoed through the cavern around her at that, and she smiled in spite of herself. “Oh, you are listening now, are you, my spirit friends... Then help me get out of this place and find out why my grandfather has forgotten me...”

Standing again, and showing little sign of three full suns without food or water, the shaman girl lifted her hands toward the stone and began to chant in her own tongue, the words whispering around the cavern and flowing like dark water over the stone toward the door. “Maka cojen nawajin nahoyey yelo nawajin...” her voice grew louder as the walls seemed to fall away and the power rushed over her... “wakinyan oyatewajn hyeya nawajin yelo...” The crash of thunder from outside the cave echoed her words, and the building scream of wind tearing at the stone. “Wani cta ka!” The girl's hands thrust out as lightning slammed into the ground at the cave entrance, the smell of burning earth and rock and ozone strong as it filled the cave. Throwing her arm up across her eyes, the shaman fell back a little, breathing in quick gasps, slowly shaking her head to clear it. Five white braids danced along her shoulders, each surmounted by a carved bead of a different type. As she got her bearings, she blinked at the haze of dust in the cave, and the dim light at the entrance. Obviously, it was growing late.

Dressed only in her shift, she made her way to the portal. The stone that formerly blocked the way now lay in several large pieces in front of the cave entrance. A deep furrow where it had stood still smoked from charred grasses and leaves. Around her the upland steppes dropped down over rolling hills into level plains, and behind her, they rose up into taller peaks that formed the western most range of her people in this season. Scanning the undulating hills she spotted where the village must be, the smoke from the nighttime fires rising lazily into the sky. She smirked slightly and set off that direction, expecting at any moment to meet a party coming to collect her. Surely they could not have forgotten her in three days? With the energy of a body used to deprivation and hardship, she began moving at a slow trot toward the village.

She was only a mile perhaps from the village when it became obvious that something was definitely wrong. Not only had she not seen anyone coming to find her after her quest, but she heard little sound of the life of the land as she knew it should be. The stands of trees that graced the rolling hillsides in places were silent. Even the wind seemed quiet. Disturbed, she left the straight trail and cut through one patch of woodland, moving nearly soundlessly as she flitted from tree to tree, always watching, always listening. The last quarter mile of forest gave her cover, but the uneasy feeling persisted. Pulling up at the creek nearest the village, she paused and for the first time noted the smell of burning. This was not fires of normal camp life, nor even the feast that should have greeted her successful quest as spirit keeper of the village. More warily than every in her times of hunting, the shaman girl once known to her village as Sunflower crept through the tall grasses, and came within sight of the village she called home.

The teeja closest to her should have been that of her friend Song of Fire, but the dwelling's hide cover had been slashed and partly burned away. Inside it, the few belongings were scattered and broken. Forgetting to be cautious now, the shaman girl splashed across the small creek and toward the structure. “Fire? Is anyone here?” The footing from this angle was less than even; as the shaman girl walked forward, her foot caught on something hard, her ankle rolling and sending her sprawling onto something that padded her fall. Jolted, she looked down and threw herself backwards with a scream that sent a flock of crows lifting from their work in the village center... Still limping, her hands pressed to her mouth, she backed away slowly from the ravaged and mutilated body of her best friend. Her trajectory took her beyond the teeja, to where the others arced across the plain in a short semicircle. Violet eyes wide, she scanned them, praying, hoping that at least someone was still there, would come to her. Silence - other than the crows who now resumed their work on the bodies of the slain - reigned supreme.

The full moon rose and set, while the girl once known as Sunflower slipped among the ruins of her village, eyes wide at the horror, her brain blessedly numb to pain for this point in time. With the clarity of the newly mad, she catalogued each body, her lips muttering the appropriate prayers as she went from corpse to corpse among the tall grass and in each broken dwelling. Coming at last to the one she shared with her grandfather, she stepped inside. Set apart from the others, neither blade nor fire had ravaged in beyond repair. Her sleeping furs in the corner were just as she had left them when she left on her quest. The old shaman's body lay in the village center, along with many others, the vicious hacking and slashing of the bodies leaving no real clue to the attackers - only that they cared not for elder nor child but only for the death of the people. The shaman sat in her teeja, dawn stars peering through the broken hide of one side, and rocked back and forth, her knees drawn up and her arms locked around them. The people - her people - the Clan of the Spirit Wind, were dead. All but her. Trained from infancy to turn a hard face to adversity, the shaman girl locked iron will around the part of her mind that screamed at the horror of the devastation. Instead, she turned her mind to each person she knew, each person's life, and began to list in her mind the proper way of sending for them...what possession, if it still existed, would go with them. What prayer or spirit invocation to use for each....

She did not remember sleeping, but the shaman girl awakened with a start to see the sun setting in a fiery haze. Four full days without food and water were taking a toll on her strength, but if she noticed it did not seem important. As she made the rounds one more time, she began to gather as many of the bodies as she could together in the center of the village that was. Some - the bigger warriors - were hard for her to move. With travois and blanket and sheer stubbornness, she managed the greater part of them. The bodies were beginning to smell unpleasant, but it was her duty - her responsibility - to see that they were sent on with due regard. To this end she bent every ounce of strength and will she possessed.

By dawn there were only a few of the 70 some bodies that she had not managed to bring to the village center. The children were easy, of course. Some of the elders had been frail as well. Each was laid out shoulder to shoulder with another corpse, and each had some small possession placed in their hands. The shaman girl had puzzled for some time over one corpse - an old woman - whose hands were gone completely. She pondered this with a detached air for more than an hour, finally settling for tucking the small strip of beadwork under the woman's upper arm instead. Where she could find missing body parts, she restored them. The center of the village seemed covered with macabre dolls in various states of disrepair when she retired to her teeja for her second lonely night. Hugging her knees tightly in the dark, hearing little but the resounding screams and the voices of spirits in her mind, she sat numb and let them talk and gibber. Somewhere near daybreak, she fell asleep.

The shaman girl awakened briefly, feeling hollow and empty, but with a stunning clarity of mind she knew from past vision quests. A glance told her she was laying near a small fire, on one of the sage scented hillsides above the village. Overhead the stars were quite huge in the velvety black sky. Turning her head, she noticed a small shelter - only perhaps a third of the size of the normal dwelling, and open in the front. Beside it, a hide shield and several weapons lay stacked neatly. A water skin hung from the shelter's support pole, along with an assortment of items that might be clothes or bedding or something like that. Soft footsteps through the sage, releasing the pungent aroma, came from behind her, and she turned her head trying to see if her grandfather had found her at last. Certainly, her quest must have ended - the stars would not be visible from inside the sacred cave.

The young warrior who walked into her line of sight was not someone she expected to see. She had seen him before, only a month or so ago, at the summer feasting and hunting. That had been her first festival since coming of age to marry, and like all girls she had been looking at the men who wanted wives with an eye to her future. Her grandfather, however, had told her not to be in any hurry, and few enough of the men were even ready to take wives. So she contented her self with looking, and dreaming as young maids do. Now she was looking again, knowing him unaware of her gaze, as he walked gracefully down the slope, in only a loincloth, his hair braided back, as if damp from bathing. Her people, like most, came in many sizes and shapes, but to her, the shape of this warrior was pleasing and it took her mind completely off of her own situation to look at him. Long, strong legs and narrow hips, honed by swordplay and travel led to well chiseled muscles across his belly and chest. Even in this dim light, his long white hair glittered like frost on leaves, and the broad, angular planes of his face reflected surprising highlights and deep shadows. In her eyes he was beautiful, as much so as the spirit that had become her guide and protector was beautiful. But who can touch the lightning? This was one of her own - flesh and blood... Without realizing that she had truly passed from childhood to womanhood, the shaman girl watched him with longing, and wondered why he had been chosen to bring her home.

She did not remember closing her eyes again, but startled awake when a gentle hand shook her shoulder.

”Sunflower? Wake up, sleepy one, you must eat something..”

Her eyes met his, and widened somewhat to see his face close to hers, with enough clarity to see the fine line of his eyelashes, and an expression of gentle concern. He smiled at her obvious discomfiture, and sat back some.

”I have food and water, and now that your fever is gone, you should eat...you look like you have not done so in a long time.”

She struggled a little to sit up, pushing the covers away, then realizing she was naked beneath them, and pulling them back, glancing over. He had already turned away, and she was glad for that. The bones of her small wrists stood out against her skin like someone who had been ill for a long time. The sight unsettled her, and she tried to hold the covers in place as she sat up, swaying slightly and finally putting down a hand to balance herself. She looked up as he returned, kneeling beside her with a wooden bowl of some kind of thin stew, and the water bag. She tried to take the bowl, tucking her cover under her armpit to hold it in place, but her hand shook, and the effort to reach for it alone was more than she could manage. She saw worry in his eyes, as well as sympathy, but was totally unprepared when he lifted her like a small child and pulled her against him. Supported against his strong chest, and letting her weight rest against him, she could sip slowly at the bowl as he held it for her.

”I don't know what all has happened here, although I can guess some of it. But Sunflower, you must not die, I won't let you...” His tone suggested he felt it a real possibility.

”I am not Sunflower,” she said, forcing her self not to eat too quickly, as her stomach responded to the food with a near painful cramp that took time to go away. “I am Storm Dancer, spirit keeper of our people.” She looked up to see how he was taking this, but he didn't seem to really notice her words. His arms tightened around her gently.

”I think we are the last of this village, you and I. All the dreams - all the good things are for us to remember. You must not leave me alone, sister.”

Storm Dancer reached up and gently touched his face with her fingertips. “I cannot die, my warrior. They will not let me. The spirits of our people want vengeance, and it is for us to give it them.” Her eyes met his as he looked down and nodded slowly, without smiling.

”If that is their wish, then that we shall provide. But first, you must get well...it has been a near thing, with you following after them, and leaving me alone.”

Storm Dancer smiled a little, her hand falling back into her lap as she sighed and leaned against him. “I will stay. My work is here, and while I live, we will work to bring peace to the spirits of our tribe.” Her voice grew weaker as she spoke, the last word a bare whisper.

Smiling at the young woman in his arms, Shadow Claw lifted her easily and carried her into the shelter he had built for them, and nestled her into the clean furs and cloths he had found on his scavenging of their village. For the last three days he had barely left her side, but today, when the fever had broken, he had done the final and disagreeable work that needed to be done. All of the bodies now lay in the village center, covered by the remains of the village itself. Tomorrow - or the day after - when she was stronger, they would light the pyre he had build around them, and send their bodies along with their spirits to the hereafter. Kneeling next to her, he brushed the fine white hair back from her face, and gently kissed her forehead as he might have a sister or a cousin. The contact of his lips with her skin stirred something inside him, but he pushed it away. If the spirits wished this, it would come in time...this was no time to throw honor to the winds and take advantage of her dependency upon him.

Banking the fire for the night, and with a last look around, Shadow Claw returned to the shelter, and his pile of furs opposite her own. As he lay there, listening to the sound of her steady breathing, he recalled every memory he could of the times he had seen her, few though they were. He was still smiling over his memories when he fell asleep at last.

The voice of her grandfather awakened her before dawn, and Storm Dancer turned in the furs, stiff from being in one position all night. At her movement, Shadow Claw's eyes came open, and he propped up on one elbow to look at her.

”What is it?” he asked, his voice soft, but awake.

Storm Dancer replied in a soft voice as well. “It is time - they are waiting for us.”

Pushing her covers aside, she rose from the furs, seeming unconcerned with her nakedness, and began pulling clothing from the pile next to her sleeping place that Shadow Claw had found and brought in during her illness. Certain colors, certain items she rejected out of hand, but uttered a small cry of triumph when she found what she sought. The shirt was one of her Grandfather's, that she had among her own to mend. White leather with the blue and silver of his spirit colors, it held the sense of many ceremonies and many memories. It fit her like a dress, and the high boots she pulled on completed the outfit - dressing her ebony form all in white. She turned to find Shadow Claw dressed and waiting, and nodded slowly. Turning, she walked from the shelter toward the village, as if drawn there. With an uneasy glance around, Shadow fell in behind her.

Calling this a village now would be an error, Storm Dancer thought as she walked toward the large pile of debris in the center of the flattened grasses. A few fence posts still stood to mark garden plots, and a few stacked stones rose from the grasses as ghostlike markers of some memory or other. But of the teejas, the life, the art of the people, there was nothing - at least nothing in this world. She motioned Shadow to wait a few yards from the waiting pyre, and walked on, her face impassive, like one in a trance. The waiting dead and all their homes and belongings, made a mound near 20 feet high, and on top of that, Shadow Claw had cut and laid a blanket of the sacred sage. A tiny smile crossed Storm Dancer's face briefly, as she took her position. Beginning with the eastern point of the circular mound, she walked sunrise, slowly, nodding and speaking as if greeting each of the villagers by name, as if they stood there in truth. Sliding a dagger from her belt, she made cuts on both arms, and walked the circle again, letting the blood drip to the ground, spots of bright red appearing on the white leather of her dress and boots.

Shadow Claw rubbed his hands over his crossed arms as he watched, wondering if the girl actually saw something he did not, or if her madness had returned. He shook his head, and settled himself for long standing on the slightly inclined ground where she left him. His place - his only real goal in life now - was to protect this, the last of his chosen tribe, until it could be rebuilt and the deaths avenged. His eyes repeatedly scanned the horizon as he realized that the pyre, when lit, would be a beacon to many dwellers in the lands, not his people alone. It would be important to move on soon - very soon. He saw her walking back toward him, and at the same time noticed that the sun was partly obscured by clouds. Although rain was possible this time of year, it would be rare to come early in the day. He shrugged as she walked up, her face still mask-like, but her eyes made him shiver, and he looked away.

”What do you wish me to do?”

Her eyes focused on him slowly, but she smiled a little. “They are more than ready to go - have you said your farewells?”

He nodded, glancing back at the pyre. “You wish me to light it?” His eyes widened at her gentle laughter.

”No, my warrior - let spirits do it and take their kin home...for you I have another task. But first - this...”

She turned, on the hillside beside him, to face the pyre. Her hands lifted gracefully, dark as shadow against the muted sunlight flowing from behind her. Looking into the west, she began to chant softly, in her own tongue:

”Wamayanjya yo! ate' wiohpeyaia, wakinyan oyatewanj hoyeyanawajin yelo”

She seemed not to notice the growing darkness overhead as the clouds sailed up the sky toward the west, but Shadow Claw looked up, feeling the cooler breeze on his bare shoulders, and his eyes widened slightly. Her voice continued to repeat the chant, growing louder and more forceful as the clouds gathered overhead. The first crash of thunder made him jump, even though he was expecting it from such clouds, and he glanced up briefly, then turned back to watch the shaman girl. As he did so, her hands rose over her head, and she brought them palms together. Instead of the clap of her hands, he heard the ripping snarl of thunder and winced, staggering back some distance, his arms shielding his eyes, as several lightning bolts crashed into the pyre one after the other.

As the thunder subsided, Shadow Claw slowly lowered his arms, looking toward the blazing pyre. Even at this distance, the heat was incredible, the flames leaping in near-transparent glory maybe 30 feet into the air. Storm Dancer still stood perhaps a few feet closer to the pyre, and he could see the hair that had come loose from her braids lifting on the heated currents of air. He bit his lip, uncertain if he should approach her, equally uncertain it was safe for them to be that close. Deciding she was more important than any ceremony, he slowly walked toward her, the heat blanketing him like warm wool as he moved, coming up to stand right beside her. It was hard to breathe here, and he looked at her, curiously. After her fever and previous state, he had expected her to be fragile. She stood like a rock, impassive, her eyes on the pyre, watching it burn. After several long moments, she turned to look at him, her eyes dark as the storm clouds overhead, and yet seeming filled with strength and power.

”We will go -- they have begun their journey, and we must begin our own.” She turns her back on the pyre and begins to walk back toward their shelter, and Shadow Claw follows behind. By the time she gets there, Shadow Claw can see signs of fatigue in her body and in her steps.

”Sun..um..Storm Dancer, shouldn't we rest here tonight? Or do you know something?” He pauses outside the shelter as she goes in and begins to rummage.

”We should truly go - we are not safe here, when the smoke of that pyre is seen, others will come. Is there anywhere we can reach in the next few hours?”

Shadow Claw looked her over critically, and shook his head, coming to sit beside her, an arm going around her protectively, and smiling slightly as she sagged against him, letting him hold her. “Not really - Cloud Valley is several days away, and the closest of our villages. Of the towns, most do not welcome us.”

”Then we will stay together and find somewhere to rest. I need a mask - I think you could help me make it - before I go out of this world into another.”

The young warrior frowned, looking down at her. “What are you talking about? I don't understand.”

She glances up at him and shrugs a little. “I cannot go among foreigners with my face bare. The spirits forbid this - only they may tell me to whom my face can be shown.”

It was Shadow Claw's turn to shrug. “I see...well, then yes, I can make you a mask easily. Show me how you want it done.” He watched her lean forward using her dagger to draw in the packed earth. The mask is different from his - it does not cover her whole face, only from her upper lip to her hairline. “The spirits want this?” he asked at last.

”Yes - until our vengeance is complete, I am not to show my face except when they tell me. I am *their* warrior now, until the death of our people is paid in blood.”

The young warrior hugs her gently, nodding slowly. “And how do we find out then, who killed our people? Will the spirits help?”

She laughed softly. “Oh yes, they will help. But such help has drawbacks - and requires payments. I think we do best to try on our own as much as we can. Do you know much about the world outside our tribe?”

Shadow Claw shook his head absently, his mind more on the mask, then blinked when she poked him, laughing. “What? No - I have been to a couple of towns in trade, or just for the experience. Most of them don't like us. Most of them I do not understand - they live very different from us.”

She looks solemn as she nods slowly. “But it was none of our own tribes that killed our people. The way they were killed - that is not our way...and I do not know where else to look. It had to be a big force - many warriors...”

He looked down and sighed. “I have seen our kind do such things, but never on such a scale. Whoever did this, they wanted to kill all, not just the warriors, not just the leaders...wasteful. Very wasteful...” Without thinking, he hugged the shaman closer to him. “There are towns of men - and roads that connect them - from the far eastern sea to the mountains of the west and beyond. Where do we go from here?”

Storm Dancer seemed not to mind his arms around her, as she looks up and scans the visible horizon. Lifting her arm, she points west. “The spirits say that way...at first light or sooner.” She looks up at him, her eyes on his. “We should use this day to rest and prepare. We will not return until we have found out about the world out there, and the people who need to die for this...whoever they may be.”

Shadow Claw nodded slowly, his eyes still on hers as he leans down slowly and brushes his lips over hers. Her response was to kiss him back gently, almost timidly, and he had no trouble obliging her in pulling her a little closer, kissing her with gentle passion. Feeling her body begin to respond to him, he suddenly sets her away from him. “I trust the spirits will give you all the instructions you need in coming weeks than. I will be there to guard you, as much as I am able.”

With a frankness that astonished him, Storm Dancer turned to face him and smiled. “The spirits tell me you will do far more than that, my warrior. We are meant to be the new start of our people...” Rising gracefully, she walked into the shelter and lay down in her nest of bedding. Despite the sun being nearly overhead, she was very soon fast asleep, leaving the young warrior to puzzle out spirits and their ways on his own.

Two hours before sunrise, Storm Dancer was again awakened by the voice of her grandfather. Accepting his guidance as she always had, she rose and began to dress for travel, putting some of her clothing, sage bundles and spirit stones in a pack she would carry. As she turned to find her cloak, she noticed a mask hanging with it. Made of thin, supple leather, it fit her perfectly, the straps holding it in place, without entirely covering her head and hair. With it on, and her cloak in place, hood up, she walked from the shelter, pack over her shoulder, to find Shadow Claw waiting for her, dressed for travel himself, and his pack on the ground at his feet.

”You are rested, spirit keeper?”

She smiled at the formality of his greeting, and merely nodded. Taking her staff from the stand that held his weapons before, she took a last look around in the pre-dawn light. “I am ready to begin the hunt, my warrior.”

He nodded slowly, and turned, walking up the hill toward the line of trees along the ridge of the steppes. With a last look around at the only world she had ever known, Storm Dancer, shaman and spirit keeper, turned her back to the rising sun, and followed the last of her tribe into the morning of a new life.

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