1. The Third Ceremony

This time will be different– it has to be.

Nerahnen looked down at the tents below, loosely gathered near the western end of the valley. The settlement looked small from up here under the backdrop of the Upper Peaks, silent and regal in the distance. Late afternoon shadows were already making their way across the valley, and cookfires were starting to wink into life among the tents. She could make out the pile of timber for the bonfire, still unlit–ready for the celebration after the Awakening. It was a familiar sight to her. She felt the tightness rising from her stomach to her throat. This year will be different, she told herself, quickly wiping away a tear. 

The aged donkey she rode stumbled. Nerahnen grabbed at the saddle, just managing not to fall off. 

“Watch, Nerahnen,” called Hashar from further up the path, “It’s not yet time for children to be flying off cliffs.” 

Nerahnen looked over the ledge dropping off to the right side of the path. If she fell down a slope that steep, she would roll for a long time. She gripped the saddle more tightly, wishing she had been given a different donkey–this one was gentle enough, but it was clumsier than any donkey she had ever seen, and it smelled bad. 

Ahead of Nerahnen, a boy and a girl rode together on another donkey. In front of them walked Hashar, carrying a pack and walking close behind the Mother, who led the small procession. Nerahnen could hear Hashar grumbling, his voice echoing slightly off the cliff face to their left.

“We should have brought a yak.” He shook his head. “It’s not right for a little old bird like you to make this climb on foot.”

The Mother turned, deep green eyes glinting in the light. “Cha, Hashar. Forty-five times these bones have carried me up. I’ll manage.”

The boy on the donkey in front of Nerahnen looked around at her with a smirk. “How many times do you think they’ll let you come up here, Brown Eyes?”

Nerahnen felt the heat rising to her cheeks, but didn’t reply.

“That’s not nice, Batsa.” Tinnen, the little girl riding double with him, spoke timidly. “We’re all still brown eyes, anyway. And my mother told me it doesn’t always work the first time. One of my cousins did it twice.”

“Twice, I’ve heard of that,” said Batsa, “but not three times! My dad says if you’re really Veyta and you’ve reached the Age, it’ll work.”

“Maybe Nerahnen’s not old enough,” said the girl. 

“She’s older than us!” said Batsa, “And my dad says her mother was sprana.”

At that the little girl’s eyes grew wider. She cast a worried glance at Nerahnen.

Nerahnen could feel her skin turning a deep shade of purple. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t think of how to reply.

“Ho!” came Hashar’s voice from up ahead. A clattering sounded from above. Tinnen screamed. 

Nerahnen’s donkey brayed and shied backward as the clattering turned to a loud rumble. Nerahnen looked up as a growing tide of rocks, some boulders larger than she was, tumbled down the steep slope on the left side of the path. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze–there was nowhere to go.

Then as she watched, the rockfall turned. Each rock in the wave simply bounced or slid in a new trajectory, just missing the group of travelers. Some came to rest on the path a few meters behind Nerahnen’s donkey. The biggest boulders bounced over the path and continued on down the slope, crushing foliage as they went until they came to a rest far below.

Hashar was there, holding the donkeys’ lead lines and speaking soothingly to them. And behind him stood the Mother, arms outstretched, frozen into place. Her deep green eyes shone bright, almost glowing in the late afternoon shadows. Then the wrinkled eyelids closed. Slowly, she lowered her arms and seemed to sink again under her weathered cloak.

Tinnen was whimpering, but Batsa sat silently, wide-eyed. Nerahnen was silent too. She glanced at the huge pile of rocks on the slope and the carnage wrought by the path of the boulders, then fixed her eyes on the Mother, who now looked simply like a tired old woman. Nerahnen had seen people around her using the Sight all her life, and since her first failed Awakening, she had cried and longed for the day that her own eyes might turn green.  But she had never seen anyone use the power to turn aside such a large force of nature.

“Well that was quite a feat, Mesheh.” Hashar was smiling beneath his ample beard. “That would have been a quick death at least, but I always imagined that I’d be buried down near the Winter Home. I’ve always been a wee bit afraid of heights.” He caught Nerahnen’s eye and winked.

“A poor job of it,” said the Mother, shaking her head. “I did not see a path that avoided so much rubble on the trail behind. It will be a slow road back tonight. Let’s get on with it.”

After some coaxing from Hashar, Nerahnen’s donkey relaxed its stiffened legs and continued walking after the others.

When they mounted the final slope, the sky was bright with rosy light, but the path and the valley below were all in shadow. The air was cooler up here. Nerahnen clutched her cloak around her as she looked up to see a large natural arch that spanned the path, framing a patch of vivid coral sky.  

“The Doorway is looking quite inviting today, don’t you think?” Hashar stepped aside. “After you, Mesheh.” He nodded respectfully as the Mother passed through. “Off now, children, on your own two feet and give these beasts a rest.”

Nerahnen and the other children slid off the donkeys and walked slowly to the arch. Nerahnen felt her stomach turning. The others looked nervous as well. Nerahnen had been nervous the first time, too–but this was far worse. It will be different this time, she told herself. It has to be.

They passed through the arch onto a round stone platform. Even though Nerahnen knew what to expect, the view still made her draw her breath. A soft layer of clouds spread in all directions, just below the level of the platform, reflecting the rosy tint of the sky. It looked as if you could simply step off the platform and walk on a layer of pink cloud all the way to the horizon, or to the great twin mountains which peaked out far to the north. But as Nerahnen stepped closer to the edge, a small gap opened in the cloud cover and she caught a brief glimpse through the break. They stood on an impossibly high cliff. The drop was so high and sheer that the ground far below seemed shadowy and indistinct. Just then a gust of wind caught her cloak and pulled her forward another step. Heart in her throat, she stepped back from the ledge. She had never had trouble with heights, but here she felt too light, too exposed, at the mercy of the wind.

Hashar seemed to share this feeling, having retreated back through the Doorway with the donkeys, and Batsa and Tinnen were crouched at the base of one pillar of the arch. Nerahnen sank to her knees on the other side.

But the Mother did not seem worried about the drop. She stood right at the edge, perched on legs that appeared none too steady, and gazed out over the expanse of clouds. Her face was creased with the lines of a smile–an expression of peace and freedom. 

Then slowly, she turned and beckoned first to Tinnen, who stood up hesitantly, small and trembling. She drew the child out into the middle of the platform. Then the Mother reached into her cloak and drew out a simple clay flask and a tiny wooden cup. She carefully removed the stopper and filled the cup, deliberately measuring the amount. Then she simply handed the cup to the girl. “Drink, child.”

With brown eyes wide, the girl drank. 

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then slowly, mist from the cloud cover began to drift onto the platform, lapping around their feet. It swirled gently inward around Tinnen’s legs. Nerahnen could feel a wind blowing now, though it did not threaten to pull her out as before. The mist swirled faster and enveloped the girl. Then all at once, it dissipated. Tinnen’s eyes were closed now. On her shoulder sat a sparrow, which seemed to be composed of mist itself. The little bird began to flutter playfully, circling the girl.

At this the Mother, who had stepped back, approached again and extended her arm to the sparrow with a smile. The ghostly creature alighted on the old woman’s wrist. The Mother walked again to the edge of the platform, speaking quietly to the little bird all the while. When she reached the edge, she spoke another word, lifted her hand, and the bird took flight. 

Out over the expanse the mist-bird flew, until Nerahnen could no longer distinguish its form. They waited in silence, listening to the solemn breath of the wind. A few minutes later, the sparrow returned, alighting again on the Mother’s arm. The old woman smiled once more at the bird, bringing it gently back to the center of the platform where the girl still stood, entranced. The sparrow fluttered again to the girl’s shoulder and then dissipated into nothing.

The girl collapsed. The Mother caught her and lowered her, holding her gently on the stone floor. The girl’s eyes were open now, and they were glowing with a bright green light. The Mother spoke gently, “Tell me what you saw, girl.”

The little girl still seemed entranced, but she replied in a whisper. The Mother leaned in to hear. At last, the little girl stopped speaking and again closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were no longer glowing, but they were light green in color. She was no longer a brown-eyed child– she was a Sighted Veyta. 

The little girl went and sat quietly near the arch, drawing her cloak about her. Next, the Mother beckoned to Batsa, who approached nervously. Again the cup was filled and Batsa drank. The mists once again gathered and dispersed, leaving a ghostly kestrel hovering about the boy. The Mother sent the bird on its journey, and after it returned, Batsa awakened quietly with gray-green eyes.

“Nerahnen, come.” At last, the Mother beckoned to Nerahnen. She was trembling with fear, but also excitement. Surely this was it– in a few minutes, her eyes would no longer be brown. She would be a true Veyta with the power of the Sight. Maybe after the unusual delay, the Sight would come on her stronger than ever. Maybe she, Nerahnen, was destined to become an ashavela– or even the next great Mother of her people. 

And then the cup was before her, for the third time, in the weathered hand of the Mother. And for the third time, Nerahnen drank.

The liquid burned in her stomach, and Nerahnen grimaced at the familiar bitter taste in her mouth. And she waited, eyes closed tight, willing the mists to come, visualizing a ghostly hawk alighting on her shoulder. Nerahnen opened her eyes. 

Dusk was setting in now, and the rosy light had faded from the clouds. They lay gray and silent before her, unmoved by her internal bidding.

Nerahnen felt herself truly shaking now. The Mother stood beside her, a troubled look on her face. “Let me drink again,” said Nerahnen, wiping away a tear. “Let me try again!”

The Mother shook her head, brows knit closely. “It is enough. If the elders agree, you may drink again next year.” 

“No,” mouthed Nerahnen, “I have to try again. It’s just not working for some reason.”

“No, child,” The Mother’s tone was firm, though her expression was sad. “It is finished.”

Nerahnen felt like she was falling. Her breath was coming too fast. She had never heard of another Veyta failing the Awakening more than once. Three times was unthinkable. Why wasn’t it working? What was wrong with her? She was Veyta– she should drink and receive the Sight. Without the Sight, she would be… what would she be? 

From near the archway, she heard murmurs. Batsa’s voice, and one word carried clearly to her–sprana.

The tears were blinding her, but Nerahnen resisted the urge to give in to weeping. This could not be happening. She would not let it happen. To her right, she saw the Mother moving to place the flask back inside her cloak. Nerahnen moved in a flash and grabbed the flask out of the old woman’s bony hand. She yanked out the stopper and poured the entire contents of the little bottle down her throat, coughing and sputtering as she swallowed the bitter, burning liquid.

The Mother was yelling, grabbing the flask from her hands, forcing her head forward with surprising strength and thrusting a finger into her mouth. But it was too late, for the burning in Nerahnen’s stomach was intense now, and she doubled over in pain. She felt sick. 

“Foolish child,” she heard the Mother say, “you’ll have killed yourself!” 

Nerahnen’s head was swimming, and her vision started to blur. She could hear voices and felt hands grabbing her. Then everything went dark.

This is the first installment in a serialized novel. If you want to read more, subscribe and stay tuned.