6. True Veyta

It is time to remember who we are

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here.

The first sight of the plains near the end of the Descent was always stunning. The trail passed through a steep canyon, and on the other side, the mountains, which had seemed like the whole world, gave way to a plain that seemed equally vast—dry scubland stretching to the horizon.

But along with everyone else, Rahn’s eyes were pulled from the horizon to the village nestled near the base of the foothills. Unlike the shifting tent settlement of the Summer Home, the Winter Home had always been a place of permanence, of security, nestled against the mountains and bordered by a crumbling wall. In the old times, it was said, the entire tribe had followed the herds up the mountain each summer. But now only a fraction made the annual migration, the rest dwelling year-round in a town of permanent stone or mud-brick houses, some domed in traditional Veyta style, some flat-roofed.

Now smoke poured from several blackened buildings.

People were moving, shouting.

“Come.” Rahn’s aunt grabbed Huki’s arm and pulled him firmly forward through the line with a grip and an expression that precluded resistance. Huki looked back at Rahn with a shrug as he disappeared through the crowd. The path was slightly wider now and people were pushing forward down the mountain, leaving the livestock and carrying weapons.

Rahn hesitated, and in that moment a war-faced man came barreling down the path, bumping her into the back of a yak, which promptly stepped on her foot.

Stars crossed her eyes. The yak moved on and Rahn stumbled back against the mountainside. She caught her breath and bent to inspect the damage.

The thick leather of Rahn’s boot had been crushed inward. She hadn’t heard any bones crack, though–that had to be good. She started to take the boot off but thought the better of it. Instead she stood and tried to put weight on it. She winced–she could walk, but it wasn’t going to be fun. Pulling herself a little further up the slope, she crouched there. She wasn’t going anywhere fast–best to stay out of the way of people and animals until the rush had cleared.

Rahn’s stomach turned, though, as she looked toward the town. What had happened? Were the raiders still there? Not that anyone wants my help if they are, she thought bitterly.

But Father–he was out there somewhere. Was he okay? Did she even care if he was?

Rahn shook her head, trying to clear away the dark thoughts. The end of the Descent was supposed to be joyful, a time of celebration and reunification. It had been that way for her once–bouncing down the mountain to tell her father about her adventures on the upper slopes. There had been the comfort of sleeping once again in her father’s house–her house– and the merry bustling of the town as the full tribe settled in and began preparing for winter.

But of course, everything had been different since that final Awakening ceremony. Now Rahn wasn’t sure if she even had a home. It had been awkward enough last winter with her father’s new wife in the house–and by now, the woman would be large with child and preparing for the baby. It would be better to stay with her aunt, along with Huki and Azayan and Ufsa. There wasn’t room, and her aunt wouldn’t be happy about it, but maybe Azayan could convince her. Rahn sighed. At the Summer Home, she had pitched her own small tent, moving it occasionally as the mood struck her. Maybe she could do the same here. That sounded less complicated, even if it would mean a cold winter.

Rahn caught a whiff of smoky air and looked up. The path had cleared, apart from the livestock and a few people who had stayed back to corral them. Suddenly she was ashamed of dwelling on her own problems at such a time. She needed to find her father. And so, wincing, she hobbled down the slope, past the streamsink and toward the town.

As Rahn passed through the tarnished bronze gates of the wall, the sounds of wailing cut through the smoky air. She began to walk in the direction of her father’s house. She passed one still smoldering building, then another. There was the wailing woman, kneeling over a figure lying on the ground. But aside from that, the street was empty. There were voices, though, coming from the marketplace at the center of the town. Rahn limped in that direction.

The marketplace was full–the whole town had gathered here, a mass of agitated people. There were reunions happening here and there, as travelers newly returned from the Summer home found their families and embraced in relief. Rahn drifted through the crowd, trying to find her father, Azayan, or Huki. For once, no one seemed to notice her, which was a welcome change from the usual derisive or pitying looks. On her shoulder, the hawk’s head turned this way and that, disturbed by so much activity.

At one end of the plaza was a stone platform with a curved stone backdrop. Upon it stood a small group of men and women– elders and family group leaders– talking animatedly with each other. As Rahn drew closer, she was momentarily surprised to see that Azayan was among them, earnestly engaged in conversation with one of the elders. Amid all this the Mother sat quietly on a stool, wrapped in her cloak and looking out over the crowd. Hashar stood protectively near her. At last, she stood and raised a hand. The others on the platform sat, except for Hashar, who continued to stand behind the Mother’s shoulder.

It took some time for the crowd to quiet, but eventually a tense hush came over the plaza. The Mother spoke, and her voice echoed off the stone behind her, carrying through the crowd.

“I see,” she began, “hens running about when a fox is nearby.” She looked around at the crowd. “We are not hens. We are Veyta– we are the eagle who preys on the fox.” The silence in the crowd deepened. “Today we suffered a great loss, and there will be a time for mourning. But now is the time for action. First, we will hear a report from Sayehar.”

A gray-haired man, one of the family leaders that Rahn liked better than most, stood and stepped forward on the platform, looking at the Mother and touching his forehead in acknowledgement. He looked weary, but he stood tall as he spoke. “The attack came late in the night, after moonset. We saw the smoke from Ileppa, and we thought we were prepared. We had multiple watch points and nearly a third of our men on guard–but they took us by surprise. I can’t explain it–all at once they were here, in the town. And then more came from the north and south at the same time. It was impossible to get a count, but they outnumbered us, and they fought well.” His jaw tightened. “It was over quickly. Six dead and twelve injured. Seven buildings burned. But they didn’t stay long to fight. They took food, weapons, and other supplies, even some hens,” he glanced at the Mother, “and then they were gone– as suddenly as they came.” The man nodded to the Mother.

One of the other men on the platform stood and stepped forward. He was not tall, but his thick shoulders rippled with muscle, and his black beard was braided. On his forearm was perched a large hooded eagle.

The Mother waved a hand toward him with an open palm. He touched his forehead and spoke loudly.

“Sayehar, you tell us nothing of who these earthworms are. Hashar said they are brown eyes, but I have never seen blind sprana defeat Veyta.”

Sayehar ran a hand wearily through his hair. “It was dark and it all happened quickly, but none of us saw green eyes among them. Sight-blind or not, Darosha, they fought like demons. And there was something… strange about them, the way they moved. And we heard them speaking a foreign tongue. This fits the reports we’ve had from other settlements.”

“Sprana,” Darosha’s voice was even louder now, “coming in the night, pilfering our goods– we have never known shame like this. But they did not know what kind of people they were provoking. Let us go after the vermin–tonight! We will show them what the eagle does to the rodent.”

At this, the crowd broke their silence. There were a few shouts of agreement, and Rahn could see heads nodding around her.

The Mother lifted a hand and the people quieted again. “Darosha speaks,” she said, “with Veyta strength, and with passion befitting the circumstances. Indeed, we must not allow this attack to go unpunished.” Some in the crowd voiced their agreement. “Yet we must pair our passion with foresight. We will keep our anger burning, and the time for retribution will come. But tonight, our settlement is burning. Our people are wounded, and we are fresh from the Descent. We do not yet know what hole our enemy has crawled into, or how many we will find there. We will not attack tonight,” there was some protest in the crowd at this, but the Mother continued. “We will not attack tonight, but we will not be idle. Every fighter must prepare their weapons. We will repair the ancient wall. We will tend our wounded. And we will learn more about our enemy. When we attack, we will be ready. We will destroy them and restore our pride.”

As the Mother stopped speaking, the others on the platform nodded their heads in acceptance. Sayehar stepped forward again. “You have spoken, Mesheh. It will be as you say. If we were to attack tonight, maybe we could defeat the band who raided us, if we could find them. But more will come. We’ve had reports of raids all across the plains. We’re not dealing with one small group, but with many. We will rebuild the old wall, as you say. We’re going to need it.”

A woman rose. She was about the same age as Rahn’s aunt, and wore dangling copper earrings. The Mother lifted a hand to her. “Speak, Erlonar.”

“If it is as Sayehar says,” Erlonar began, and her voice was deep and rich, “and there are so many of these raiders, perhaps the time has come for the Veyta clans along the range to set aside our old grudges. Veyta fighting alongside Veyta, we would be unstoppable. It would be like in the time of the old kings.”

Hashar looked at the Mother, who opened a hand to him. He rubbed his beard as he spoke. “We’ve heard rumors of one who has been talking this way. He is called Vishtarsa, son of Hevishar, the dujun of Yanat. The son, the one they call Tarsa, has been leading a band of warriors to the north, aiding the Veyta clans against the raiders. He spreads a message of Veyta unity.”

Darosha sneered. “And no doubt he imagines himself or his father as ruler of all the free clans–he who lives in a city built by Enedram?”

“Maybe so, but you should hear the stories they tell about him, Darosha. He fights like mad alongside the Veyta clans and asks nothing in return. They say he has never lost a fight, whether it be hand to hand or when leading his men into battle. City-dweller or not, even you would have to admit that he is true Veyta.”

“True Veyta,” Darosha spoke more quietly now. “This Vishtarsa may be. But where is he? We are here now. Are we true Veyta? Defeated by brown eyes– can you believe this? We have become soft– shepherds instead of warriors. More comfortable with sheep and goats than horses.” The crowd was silent, captured by the intensity of his gray-green eyes.

“It is time to remember who we are,” he continued more loudly. “To be people of the horse and sword, people of the Sight.” Someone in the crowd shouted in agreement. “We are Veyta– Veyta are conquerors and rulers.” More shouts. “Too long we have allowed sprana to live among us as equals. This is not the way of things–the only brown eyes who belong here are our children.” The people on the platform exchanged looks–a few of them looked uncomfortable. But the crowd was listening in eager agitation. “Sayehar says the attackers took us by surprise, though guards were posted. How is this possible unless they had help from within?” There were many shouts from the crowd now. “Today we have been reminded that sprana can only be our servants or our enemy. Sprana dared to attack us, destroy our homes, murder our people. Someone must pay for this! Let the brown-eyed traitors pay for their betrayal–let them die tonight!”

Rahn felt cold, her body frozen. The crowd was frenzied now. The sea of familiar green-eyed faces around her looked suddenly foreign, dangerous.

But another voice carried across the crowd. A voice somehow both gentle and strong. The Mother raised her hands, and after some time the crowd fell into an uneasy semblance of silence. The Mother showed her palm. Azayan was speaking.

Rahn knew she should run, should get out now–but she was drawn in by her cousin’s voice, and she hesitated, stretching her neck to see better. Azayan looked so beautiful standing there, her dark curls falling around her. Strangely, a small white bird sat on one of her shoulders. Standing next to Darosha with his eagle, Azayan seemed so soft, so gentle– yet somehow just as strong. Rahn squinted. She thought Azayan’s face, though determined, looked pained.

“There is no need for more violence tonight,” she was saying. “The Enedram traders who live here are no threat to us. Think of old Chiris, who has put boots on so many of our feet. Think of Mashanak and Telei, who have set up their shop in this very marketplace for longer than I have been alive. My mother traded with them for honey and sweets when I was a child. We know these people. They have no link to raiders from across the sea.”

A few of the people on the platform nodded their heads in agreement. But the crowd wasn’t listening. The tenuous silence had crumbled, and Azayan’s voice was no longer audible above the rising buzz. Everyone was moving around Rahn. They all seemed agitated– angry. Someone was shouting. The crowd was opening up in the middle. Two men stood there, green eyes wild. Between them was an old man– Mashanak the shopkeeper. He had always been kind to Rahn, giving her a small spiced candy each year on her birthday–even after she had failed the Awakening. Now he looked terrified, held roughly by the shoulders.

As Rahn watched, five other brown-eyed Enedram were brought forward and pushed into the circle of hostile faces– one a boy a little older than Rahn.

Then someone grabbed Rahn’s arm. “Sprana!” people were yelling. Rahn felt cold panic wash through her body. People were pushing her and shouting all around. She managed to grab the hawk from her shoulder and hold it to her chest. Someone was yelling in her face. He was young, but the gray-green eyes were full of hatred. “Batsa?” Rahn whispered. Someone shoved her and she stumbled painfully, just managing to keep her feet. Now she was standing near the Enedram, huddled together, six pairs of brown eyes looking out at a sea of frenzied faces. Rahn’s breath was coming too fast. Every muscle in her body was tense, and she could feel her hands trembling.

Darosha was there, with Batsa next to him. The young man’s face bore the same warlike expression as his father’s.

Darosha drew his knife. There were protests from some among the crowd, but they were drowned out by the cheers of others. Rahn could not draw her eyes away from the sharp edge of the bronze blade.

Just then, the crowd parted slightly, and the Mother slowly entered the circle, Hashar holding her arm. Two others who had been on the platform followed, and then Azayan. Ufsa was with her now, walking just behind his wife.

Rahn started to cross to Azayan and Ufsa, but someone pushed her back. Azayan wasn’t looking at her– her eyes had a pained, distant look.

The Mother looked over the scene darkly. She walked slowly with Hashar to where Darosha stood, flanked by a group of angry men.

“Would you have us become like wild dogs, Darosha? What do you mean to gain by abusing traders and shopkeepers?”

Darosha’s face was hard. “You said it yourself, Mesheh,” he spat the word, “it is time for us to become true Veyta again. We are Veyta! We will not mingle with our sprana enemies any longer, not when they have betrayed us.” His voice was loud now, and many in the crowd shouted in agreement.

Hashar let out a growl and stepped forward, but the Mother stopped him with a gesture. She shook her head at Darosha. “It would be a foolish, cowardly thing to kill unarmed shopkeepers.” She looked over the huddled Enedram. “And what of the girl, Nerahnen?”

Rahn heard her name. She felt like someone else, watching all this unfold from above, as Darosha looked at her with disgust.

“I don’t know what that one is, but she is not Veyta. She should die with the others.”

Rahn looked around. Where was her family– her father, her aunt? The people she had grown up with? She couldn’t find any friendly faces in the crowd. And where were Azayan and Ufsa? Rahn spotted them. They had been engulfed back into the crowd a little way. Something was wrong. Ufsa was holding Azayan’s shoulders, supporting her in his strong arms. Azayan was leaning on him, face pained, eyes focused on something far away. Ufsa was moving her off, away from the scene in the center of the crowd.

Rahn turned her eyes to the Mother, and for an instant the old woman met her gaze, the crone’s deep green eyes looking into her own like they had, years before, on the platform above the clouds. The Mother looked away, and Rahn’s gaze fell on another in the crowd.

“Father!” Rahn’s eyes began to fill with tears as she saw him there, across the crowd. His face was lined but not old. A younger woman stood beside him– his new wife. His face looked grim. He was not looking at Rahn, but at the Mother.

The Mother turned back to Darosha. She looked so tired. “Do not kill them. Send the Enedram away if you will not have them here–let them go to Sabzoras, or on to their own kin on the verdances. But the girl stays. We will not cast out the daughter of one of our own.”

Darosha started to object, but the Mother held out her hand to stop him, and for a moment her eyes blazed with their old fire. “I have seen the path, Darosha.” Hashar stood beside, looking challengingly at Darosha and the men with him.

Darosha met her eyes. “You have seen the path, mesheh.” His voice held a sneer, but he did not protest further. “Let them scurry away then like the rodents they are.” He made no further mention of Rahn.

Rahn took a tentative step backward. No hands reached out to stop her. She took a few more steps. And then she was running–or rather doing some poor imitation of running, limping on her injured foot. She wove through the crowd, and then she was out, heading away from the center of town, toward the foothills. She reached the old wall, now a dilapidated pile of stone in most places. She clambered over it and made her way along the outside, then up the slope slightly until she came to a large boulder. Rahn sat down, setting the irritated hawk beside her. The angle of the slope was such that she was out of sight of the town. She put her head in her hands and, for the first time in years, she cried.

Sometime later, she felt a sharp nip on her hand. She looked up. The hawk was looking at her reproachfully. Rahn drew in a deep breath. “You have no idea, do you? All you can think about in your little bird-brain is your next meal. ” She reached into a pocket and brought out a pouch of dried meat. The bird swallowed the offered food eagerly.

Rahn sighed. “What am I going to do?” She looked out. The slope blocked the view of the town, but she could see clearly out over the desolate plains. A small group of people were visible, making slow progress out into the open lands. The Enedram traders. Rahn felt a pain in her stomach, but her gaze continued outward. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a hazy golden glow over the landscape. After months in the mountains, it was strange to see the horizon stretching endlessly in the distance. “I wish I were a bird like you. Then I’d fly out there, far away, and never come back.” She looked down at the hawk, gently touching the still-bound wing. “Azayan!” The sight of the binding brought her out of her introspection. She remembered the pained, distant expression on Azayan’s face as Ufsa led her away. What had happened?

Rahn stood, extending her forearm to the hawk. It hopped on. She winced at the sharpness of the talons– she needed to make a proper gauntlet. She stepped over the ridge, looking down at the town. All the fires had been extinguished, but smoke still rose lightly from a couple of the buildings.

Everything in Rahn’s body willed her not to go back. She could camp here for the night. Maybe after that she would run off into the mountains and become a hermit. But it was getting late in the day, and she had to find out what had happened to Azayan.

When she reached the shambles of the wall, she looked around carefully. She half expected to be challenged by a guard, but no one stopped her as she slipped through. She put her head down and kept moving.

When she reached the house she was looking for, a flat-roofed compound, she avoided the main entrance, slinking around to a side door, and knocked. A few moments later it cracked open and a handsome, bearded face appeared in the opening.

“Ufsa…” she began.

His expression was serious, but he opened the door wordlessly when he saw her. He was holding the baby, bouncing it lightly to calm its fussing as he ushered her in, bolting the door behind her. “Welcome, Nerahnen. Azayan is in the back room resting.” He always used Azayan’s full name, treating her with the honor and respect due to a Veyta wife. Now he gestured with his head. The baby began crying louder, and he turned his focus to calming it.

Rahn walked softly to the back, carefully pulling aside a curtain. Azayan was reclining on the bed, half-sitting, but her eyes were closed. The warm lamplight lit her face, which was paler than usual. A small white bird perched on the bedframe– the same kind that had been with her on the platform– and another sat on the windowsill, preening its feathers. Rahn had never seen a bird of that type before. When she entered, the hawk on Rahn’s shoulder tensed, alert, but the little birds didn’t seem to be concerned at the raptor’s presence.

Rahn approached the bed and gently took hold of her friend’s hand.

Azayan opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw Rahn, though her eyes looked weary.

“Rahn–it’s good that you came.” She gripped Rahn’s hand tightly. “Are you alright? I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you.”

Rahn’s throat grew tight. She exhaled slowly. “I’m fine, Zaiza, really. But what about you? What happened out there?”

Azayan sighed. “The timing was unfortunate, to be sure. I’ve been having… visions, Rahn.”

Rahn sat down on the side of the bed. “Well, you said you would be Mother soon. All Mothers have visions after they drink shafa, don’t they?”

Azayan frowned. “Yes, it’s the Mother’s duty to drink shafa on the full moon. When she does, sometimes she receives a vision, becoming like a bird, able to fly out, to see beyond her physical body–a bit like what happens at the Awakening. Some Mothers are able to see possibilities, things beyond the present moment in time. But Mothers don’t always receive visions when they drink.” She winked at Rahn. “Sometimes they just feel a little sick to their stomach.”

Rahn groaned. She could vividly remember the sick, burning sensation of shafa in her stomach, years before. “But why did you drink shafa today, Zaiza? It’s not even the full moon, and you’re not the Mother yet.”

Azayan looked troubled. “I didn’t–that’s the thing. The visions have started to… take me, sometimes, without any shafa. I don’t know what’s happening, Rahn, but there’s… a darkness, out there. I’m afraid that difficult times are ahead for us all.”

Rahn didn’t reply, but she clutched Azayan’s hand more tightly. “You looked great, you know, up there on the platform.” she ventured after a moment. “When you become Mother they’ll definitely write songs about you as the Mother with the best hair of all time.”

Azayan laughed. “I guess that’s not the worst reason to have a song about you.”

Just then, Ufsa peered around the curtain. The baby had not ceased crying.

Azayan gave a weary smile. “It’s alright, Ufsa, bring him to me. He’s not hungry, but he needs his mother tonight.”

Ufsa handed her the child, placing a large, steady hand on one of her shoulders as the baby settled against the other, calming quickly.

Rahn took in the scene– she loved these people and wished she could stay in their safe presence forever. But Azayan looked so tired.

“I’ll let you rest.” She rose with some reluctance.

“Where will you go?” asked Ufsa.

Rahn sighed. “To my father’s house. I need to know if… if there’s still a place for me here.”

“You always have a place here, Nerahnen,” he said quietly.

Rahn met his gaze. “I know. But I…”

“Don’t go back out there.” Azayan was looking at her, her gaze firm now. “You should stay with us tonight.”

When Azayan spoke that way, with her intense green eyes, Rahn felt that she ought to listen. She nodded. Inside she felt some portion of the tension she had been holding release. For tonight, at least, she was safe, at home with people she loved. She allowed Ufsa to show her where she could sleep.

Rahn lay awake for a time with the image of Darosha’s ruthless face before her eyes. But sooner than she expected, the exhaustion of the day overtook her, and she slept deeply, without dreams.

…

In the morning, she awakened to the sound of a man singing outside. It was a song of mourning.

No one seemed to be around in the house, and the hawk was still asleep perched on the back of a chair. Rahn rose, attempting to smooth her hair, and stepped outside the front door.

“Hey!” Rahn looked around for a moment, not seeing anyone. “Up here,” came a laugh.

Rahn looked up. Azayan was sitting on the flat rooftop, playing with her baby in the morning light. Rahn climbed the ladder to join her, taking the baby as it reached toward her with a coo. “You seem to be feeling better this morning,” she nodded toward Azayan.

“Much,” Azayan smiled. “You look better too. Were you limping last night?”

“Yeah,” said Rahn. “There was a yak incident. But it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

The slow lament continued.

“Who is singing?” asked Rahn. “I never got all the names of the people who were killed.”

“It is Hashar,” said Azayan.

“Hashar? Was one of his family killed?”

“No,” said Azayan.

“Then what…” Rahn pressed.

“The Mother is dead,” said Azayan, turning toward her, green eyes full of emotion that Rahn could not fully decipher. “She died in her bed an hour ago.”

The notes of the song rose and fell, the sorrowful tune piercing the crisp morning air.