16. Mud, and a mission

I trust you

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here or navigate from the Table of Contents.

Before we get to the story, I want to say thanks to my paying subscribers and to my first founding subscriber— you know who you are! Knowing that someone out there is paying for my writing is motivating in all sorts of good ways. Also, I bought a coffee today and thought ‘my novel paid for this,’ and that made me smile.

As Rahn approached the village, the ground grew wetter, until the mud stuck and clung to her boots with every step. She had never seen mud like this on the plains, except in newly irrigated gardens. She passed a well– dug by Enedram of course, long ago. It was overflowing, gushing water onto the surface. Soon the surface was no longer mud, but water that covered the tops of her feet.

By the time she reached the half-repaired wall, she was wading through water up to her knees. It was fortunate that Azayan had directed the wall to be built of stone rather than earth, as some had suggested, or the progress would have been washed away in a pile of mud. Had she known?

The rain was lighter now, and the flow of groundwater from the wells had slowed, but the village had turned into a shallow lake. At this point, Rahn had lost any hope of getting dry, but she was drawn onward by the curious scene before her. She passed a house whose residents were seated on the flat roof, huddled together and looking sullen and damp. Rahn grinned at the strange sight. On top of the next house was a woman, rocking and wailing in near hysterics, crying about “evil from beneath the earth” and exhorting all in earshot not to touch the water lest their spirits be consumed, or some such rubbish.

Rahn passed house after house adorned by rooftop huddlers who looked at her even more askance than usual, as if she herself were some sort of evil earth spirit. Atop one house she passed sat Darosha and his wife along with Batsa, looking more dour than anyone else. Rahn felt a bubbling in her stomach that burst into laughter. For the moment she forgot her cold, soggy state; she felt lighter than she had in a long time, positively mirthful as she sludged along in this changed version of the settlement.

There was Azayan’s house—but the roof was empty. Rahn called in at the windows; there was no reply. Where was Azayan?

Rahn hadn’t seen her cousin in the weeks since she had become Mother. She had told herself that she wasn’t avoiding Azayan in particular… just everyone equally. But in truth she hadn’t wanted to see her. Azayan had always been older, prettier, and better liked. Rahn didn’t mind that. But it seemed different now. Now Azayan was Mother of the tribe, and Rahn was… what was she? Not Veyta, not a part of her father’s household—not really. Just a weird failure of a human whose closest friend was a violent bird.

And yet, in her current buoyant state the weight of her reality seemed lighter, and she wanted to see her friend.

She found Azayan’s child at the house of Ufsa’s sister–not on the roof, but inside perched on furniture. The woman was preoccupied with trying to keep the baby from crawling off the table, but she did direct Rahn to look for Ufsa and Azayan at the House of Vision.

Rahn thought it odd that Ufsa would be there with her. It was not prohibited for men to enter, but by tradition it was a place for women. Something about this piece of information made Rahn uneasy, and she hastened her steps– or at least attempted to. It was hard going, dragging her waterlogged boots through the water. She needed to get dry soon– her toes were beginning to go numb. And so her spirits were somewhat lower as she approached the House. The too-quiet flood scene seemed now eerie rather than humorous. The hawk seemed to know where Rahn was going, for it opened its wings and flew upward to perch atop the domed roof.

Hashar stood in front of the door, looking wet but immovable. Rahn approached nervously. She had never been inside the House– it was a place for Mothers, ashavela and elders, not for children and sprana rejects.

“Hashar,” she tried to speak boldly, “I want to see Azayan.”

Hashar did not move. “The Mother will have no visitors today.”

“Please, Hashar,” Rahn pleaded, “I really need to…”

“Hashar,” came a voice through the heavy door, which had cracked open behind Hashar. Ufsa’s voice. “The Mother asks you to let her enter.”

Hashar grunted and nodded, but did not move, so after a moment Rahn slipped around him, pulled the door open and entered.

It was dim inside, but orange light flickered in strange patterns on the domed walls and on the reflective surface of the water. The light came from a small brazier that had been placed on a tall table, but any warmth from the coals was quickly swallowed by the water and the cold stone walls.

Ufsa stood by the stone platform in the middle, wet and haggard. He looked up and nodded as Rahn entered.

“Zaiza!” Rahn’s chest grew tight, for on the plinth lay Azayan, perfectly still. Rahn held back a cry. Was she…? But no, there was a slight rise and fall to Azayan’s hands, laid across her abdomen, and a few of the small white birds lay nestled against her, as if they were trying to keep her warm. Rahn sloshed forward, gazing at her cousin’s beautiful face, mottled in the flickering light. Azayan’s eyes were open but unseeing. Or perhaps… seeing something else. Rahn looked up to the window directly above the plinth, at the pinnacle of the dome. The sky through the glass was growing dark, though no stars were visible through the cloud cover. What could Azayan see, up there?

“What’s happening to her, Ufsa?” Her voice sounded strange, reverberating.

The man sighed, his face more weary than she had ever seen it. “It is like the night the old Mother died. The visions have been taking her more often since she returned from the Hunt. And each time she is gone longer. She says… she is looking for something. Each time, it seems that she ventures further away.” Then, seeing that Rahn wished for it, he nodded to indicate that he would leave them alone, and withdrew.

Rahn looked down at Azayan’s hands–smooth-skinned, beautiful, and yet strong. There seemed to be tension in the muscles, as if she were bracing for something. This was all wrong–Azayan had always been the strong one, the whole one, the one who knew what to do.

Rahn took one of Azayan’s hands in hers. It felt cool to her touch, smooth against the roughness of her own skin. Perhaps she was just imagining it, but the tension seemed to relax as she held it.

“Nerahnen.” It was the softest of whispers. Rahn wouldn’t have heard it if not for the deep silence of the chamber.

Azayan’s eyes moved, fixed themselves on Rahn’s face. The familiar creases formed around her eyes as she smiled– with effort, it seemed.

“Zaiza,” Rahn squeezed her friend’s hand, rubbing it without thinking to warm it. She fought back the tears that threatened to come to her eyes. She didn’t know what to say.

“Nerahnen,” Azayan breathed again. “I’m glad you’re here.” Rahn had only rarely heard Azayan call her by her full name, but when she did, it was imbued with extra tenderness, each syllable spoken with care.

Rahn tightened her grip on her friend’s hand, still almost limp. “I’m here, Zaiza. I’ll be here, too. I’ll sleep right next to you on this ridiculous rock table tonight, so you’re not alone.” The words sounded silly as they came out, but Azayan smiled again.

“Nerahnen,” she breathed, and her voice seemed stronger now. “Difficult times are coming. I am needed.”

Rahn squeezed the hand again. “Yes, we need you–I need you, Zaiza. Can you… come back?”

Azayan squeezed Rahn’s hand in return, just slightly. “I wish… but I am being pulled into the other realm. There are things….” the words seemed to cost her, “...things I must travel far to learn. Things I must struggle against. I must leave my body here for some time.”

Rahn’s face felt hot. “I don’t understand. Why can’t you leave the problems of ghosts to the ghosts? We have enough problems here, where we can see them.”

Azayan’s brow creased slightly. “All things are connected, the problems of this realm and the other… But Rahn, strength is needed here, too. You are needed.”

Rahn shook her head. “I’m not needed for anything.”

Azayan looked at her more intently now, green eyes shining, raising her head slightly and even raising her other hand to grasp both of Rahn’s in hers. “I need you, Rahn. There is something you must do.”

Rahn looked away, but then squeezed her friend’s hand tighter. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Zaiza.”

Azayan smiled, but as she spoke her eyes grew intense, almost frightening. She was looking at Rahn, but her eyes seemed to be seeing more. Her voice was changed as well, into a strange whisper that Rahn had to lean forward to hear, and her grip on Rahn’s hands grew suddenly tight as she spoke.

There lies an evil ‘neath the ground

yearning for release

In ages past the foe was bound

and all men dwelt in peace

How except with heaven’s gift

Shall old bonds be restored?

Lest arising from the rift

will evil come once more

Seek the tomb where the first king lies

Seek the ancient Binder

Take the gift from the Binder’s hand–

the power to deliver

Her hand relaxed a little. “Nerahnen, you must do this.”

“Zaiza… I don’t understand– what gift? Who’s the Binder? And where is the tomb of the first king or whoever?”

“Find the Binder’s gift,” said Azayan, softly, “and bring it to me. I must restore the binding before it is too late. Will you do this, Nerahnen?”

“Zaiza, you know I want to help, but I don’t understand, and I think you should ask someone else–this sounds important and I’m not, I can’t… ”

“I need your help, Nerahnen,” whispered Azayan. “My body is weak– my spirit is being pulled into the other realm. I cannot make the journey myself. You must go.”

“But where–” begged Rahn, “where should I go? Where is the tomb?”

“I do not know.” Azayan’s voice was barely audible now. “But I can see a path… Go to the great city. There you will learn the way.”

“Azayan!” cried Rahn. “I can’t do this!”

Azayan smiled faintly. “You can, Nerahnen.” She closed her eyes. “I trust you.” This last was said so softly, Rahn could barely hear it. And then Azayan sighed as if after great exertion and closed her eyes, releasing her grip on Rahn’s hands.

“Zaiza,” said Rahn in consternation, “wait! Please.” But Azayan had returned to either slumber or trance, and Rahn could not rouse her again.

Then the eerie shadows of the chamber began to weigh upon Rahn, and she was reminded of her wet feet and of how cold she was. So she drew the heavy furs more closely around Azayan’s arms, kissed the beautiful brow, and left.

By the time Rahn left the House of Vision, the flood had begun to recede, but shallow water still covered the ground. And so she passed the night on the roof of her father’s house. Her father and his wife spoke little to her when she splashed to the house and climbed awkwardly over the edge. She wasn’t sure how the woman had made it up there in her current state, belly full with child, but she didn’t ask. The woman did not look happy when Rahn’s father offered food, dry clothes, and a fur for the night. But Rahn was cold and wet enough to take them gladly, willingly offered or not. She lay awake a long time, Azayan’s strange words running through her mind.