The skies gave of all

This is not the tale of the Tuchuk ways, of their survival, nor their heroics. I’m not here to share a glimpse of the lives lived around me. There are others that are far better to tell those tales. It is only my place to study the effects of my environment and seek the patterns that speak of what will be. For as far back as the eldest of our people can remember and sing the songs of the plains there have been Tuchuk facing the world the sky provides and a proud stubbornness that throws them back against all of the elements to thrive.

When the storms came they filled the air with a crackle of mystery and bravado that we were compelled to stand strong against. Thunder rolled across the plateaus and the rains came in glorious sights and sounds.

The will of the plains to meet the will of the Tuchuk. It all comes to me in intensities that have no names. Fear and tremble that beats in our souls like the thunder. The sodden earth upended not so different than the move north but from above rather than below. Wagons and determination jostled in the muddy ruts and the weakest to shatter with a dynamic that can cause injury farther than its own reach could touch. Every hort traveled pondered on our path both within and without. Worry.

Fires became difficult to light and maintain. Intuition, joy and peace glimmering low where it could be found although the lightning had sparked its own where it wished and not necessarily where we ourselves would have wished or desired. Arrogance, impatience sputtering before it caught to light our way and even then at times stilled dimmed low.

Wood soaked heavy, bowing, warping like our thoughts of the southern grasses or the weariness of our hearts that we could persevere. Anger, the strength that created determination. Resolve that if not I then my brother shall survive. The surge in our solar plexus that said I will hold him up so he shall live and thrive another day, only to feel the press of a hand that provided lift of our own. Together.

Metal, our mettle like the axles, harness and rings. Orderliness and rightness, the small connectors that drove us another day, another pasang to reach our destination. Home was the feel of the wind when the rains stopped and the rays of the sun warmed our cheeks. It was the kiss and embrace of the sky rejoicing.

We were almost there.

I breathed it all in and rejoiced with her.

How do you find them, these fires?

I found myself watching the beauty of a rich sunset bathe the mountains down across the plains. There were shady places of dark moving across the valleys and the brightly lit sunny places of the mountains interchanging in reds and ambers to fill the emptiness. A slow trading of places with each other revealing what was obscured and obscuring what was revealed.

I was remembering a warm evening with my Father Drawn in close in his lap on his kaiila with my head tucked beneath his chin, together we witnessed the wonders of our world unfold before us. It had been a magical time for me. I watched again as the vista splayed itself on the sides of the wagons, a creation of the fire opal that I had given the scarrer. In his hand the flashes of light came to life, touching first this wagon, and another then streaked against the light smoke wisps from the fire. The sparks of light it gave off was mesmerizing.

It was Cana's voice that slipped beneath the vision. How do you find them, these fires? I laughed much to myself than anything trying to reel back to here and now to give her an answer. Busy? I had not meant that it was the gathering that night feel so intense for me. I was distracted and knew it well.

It took more than a few ehn to focus on the conversations that bounced around. Much of it was light hearted joking about untainted milk and just what a man expects when he returns from his day. Meat … without much fancying up. Ah, honesty at its finest. That is much what Father used to say.

Meat, milk, fire, memories and friends ... all untainted. I had found the fires warm, welcoming and more as they have been from that first moment. How could I curl all of that in the cradle of my palms and show Cana the meanings?

There was still the sunset.

To see the sky

"Only as high as I reach can I grow, only as far as I seek can I go, only as
deep as I look can I see, only as much as I dream can I be.”

Peace and turbulence.

I would look back on this night and wonder if it was a pivotal point of change. The hands to follow would take on more serious notes. So much so that it would lead me to ask if it was this night .. this moment that changed it all or of it was the meeting ground of an empath and a dreamer sensing the shift of the world around them.

He stood away from wagons, far enough for the breeze to reach him, gazing at the bosk, the plains, the stars until at last he turned to the stream as if it beckoned him to it. The moons reflected off the water leaving the mirror image of the clouds bright and misted on the surface. The view mottled only by the shadow of the watcher that bent to crouch over the embankment.There was temptaion to stand back, an eavesdropper on a scene in a waterglobe but I stepped forward letting my presence be known without words.

Was it a breath, a whisper, or the breeze itself that spoke?

Do you seek something from me?

Was it too soon to have come forward in this new time of absorbing the world around me? There would be much that I sought over time but not this night. It was only answer to a summons, a feel like the tone of the voice that met me.

Within his invitation he offered reasurance once again of my safety though he conveyed that it was not peace that filled his thoughts that night. I was willing to listen to all he had to share. It was a soothe to me from the myriad of voices of the first fires. My fingers found a small pebble that I placed in his palm before I sent another similar one over the edge into the gentle moving water. One for one, over and over again. There was comfort even in the scream of silence between us. Ripples coursing outward to meet the current.

We spoke of differences, frustrations, and the points of our beliefs that held balance. For a short time I saw the man I had revered and looked up to on a level of equal. A stark contast that deep beneath the peaceful interlude was a feeling of something energizingly disturbing.

We had both been asked of our interests in the elements, and now compared what we had been told, even finding a twisted sort of humor in our discomfort of the revelations. Fire, we both were drawn to though it was the wind that I sought and the water for him. Three of four. More amusing than predictive. It was the grounding perhaps that we each lacked, a solid foundation of the earth beneath our boots. I could wax philosophical all day and never grow weary of it but there had been reasoning behind the line of query I was to find out. A purpose. I could not help the inner feeling of having been judged and found insufficient, possibly both of us. I, however, dont think I take that as personal as he does.

I turned at last to what had been on my mind since the earlier part of the day ... What had angered him so? That was when he shared insight of the stretch of the wagons rather than pulling them into the circle we knew and were accustomed to, to protect them. Vulnerable. He said he tended to think for himself ... but that was not an acceptable position. It would be hands later before I understood the faced the debate between the heart of the law versus the will of the whole. I noticed his pebbles had begun to pile in his hand and mine disturbed the sheen of the moons on the water. Again, an amusement at the time but it would be a visual that haunted me later.

Water controls fire. Water puts fire out. Wood controls earth. Tree roots hold clods of earth. Fire controls metal. Fire can melt metal. Earth controls water. A pond holds water. Metal controls wood. An ax cuts wood.

We spoke of the things that were important, the same things that my Father had believed in … they were not completely that alike but not varied by very much. To me that had significance to see things differently in the same way. It provoked a conversation of the sky and how we saw it. If we all saw the same sky the same way ... always ... then the plains would be a very droll place to live. We would all be the same, think the same, feel the same. It is those differences that add spice and flavor. I did tell him I was not sure I wanted him to see my sky or to always see his. For that vision to be the same now and then is good, it brings people closer perhaps but the sky is not always blue nor is it always stormy. I think it is the same with people.

Regeneration
Water generates wood. Rain nourishes a tree. Wood generates fire. Burning wood generates fire. Fire generates earth. Ash is created from the fire. Earth generates metal. Metal is mined from the earth. Metal generates water. Water condenses on metal.

Be careful.

Of what or of who was my question? Of him this moment, of many things when the dawn broke. I felt compelled to show him a view of my sky, that tomorrow would be a good day to be Tuchuk, to live well and proud. Holding to such ideals I felt was safety enough. I know that I am young and have much living yet to do but my beliefs are strong and still unwavering.

I closed his hand over the small pebbles I’d given him. Insignificant on their own but their purpose would reveal itself in time. Each gift I’d given would play a part in the lives they touched. How the one that held them made use was a choice they would have to make.

Had it been his restless spirit that made me long to ride and feel the wind tug away the tensions or was it my own? I told him that if Father were here I would ask if I could ride and confided that he used to let me. With the outstretch of the wagons I knew it wasn’t the best opportunity but I was promised that when we reached safer ground, I would be allowed.

We had shared a few moments peace however fleeting. We looked at the sky together and regardless of what the other saw, it would still be there watching over us. When I left to return to my wagons, I could not help the trace of my tongue over the sharp point of an eyetooth. For me, the feel of the night held a peace and underneath its surface there was a strong turbulence.

Irresistable Force

What happens when an Irresistible Force meets an Immovable Object? The movement of the Tuchuk is a force of such magnitude that it thunders the ground. We can not resist the siren song of another meadow for the bosk, another stream of crystal purity to slake a thirst. There is nothing ... no immovable object that stops the flow across the plains unless … it is a bosk that has decided to lay down across the path. Then the shout echoes back through the ranks, “Wagons Hold!”

The serpentine wave of colorful wagons and parade of hundreds of thousand Tuchuk, kaiila, bosks and all their belongings begin to bunch up trying not to run over anything in front of them and sputtering explicatives in immense proportions. This would be one of those times when having invitation to the first fires was both blessing and curse.

“Go see what has happened Mezoo.”

The wagers were being thrown fast whether the lead wagon had fallen over a cliff and everyone had pulled rein to watch which side of the ravine it landed on or the sky had opened her mouth to swallow us as a Tribal whole. Surely, it was a horrendous event and the last Tuchuk standing would reap the wealth of the bets.

Venturing in among the inner wagons, I found Fonce speaking seriously with a red haired woman and Seveya duffed to the ground by a mob of renegade youth. Seemed a pretty typical day despite there being a massive bosk blocking the path of the trail. That was not the disturbing part of it all. It was that the rest of the harriga was strung out like a winding thread across the open plains. That was the news that one of the other commanders was pointing out to Fonce. The outstretch of his arm looked like a compass needle as it pointed forward then around the side of where we all stood then hovered straight back behind us.

I hadn’t meant to be rude to Sev when I walked away from her to speak to Fonce. I could feel how upset he was even before I got close enough to see the anger flare in his gaze along with so many other emotions that I had to turn back to the fires. I’ve known Fonce all my life and there are times I can read a little of him, not often but enough. What I saw there was so distinct that it curled my fists in on themselves. I wasn't afraid but I began to feel whatever was bothering him too and I didn't even know what or why.

There was little I could do except see that the camp was set, fires lit and meals begun. Even Seveya returned to her Father’s wagon and I stood there looking back along the pasangs long row of Tuchuk then back toward the front again. Why would a bosk lay down on a beautiful day?

Such Energy

It took several days to tell mother of all the people I had met in the past hands. It was hard to extricate them from within the colors, vibrations and sounds that surrounded them so that I could give them the justice they deserved. I hear their sorrows, their joys, their fears everything that makes being human .. human. Energy. There is so much energy.

Cana, the Ubara, graceful, gracious, with such a giving soul. She had offered to give me a kaiila of my own. How do you respond to a gift of that proportion? Father was not so ambitious that he gathered great wealth which meant we lived within our means. Our values were of an older time with importance focused on integrity, courage and honor. It was because of this, I was awed and overwhelmed by her generosity. I regretted not making it to her fires as I had promised. I had no wish for her to think I was ungrateful. She added to the list of her virtues, understanding. I gave her a handful of small pebbles to tuck in her cheek to help with thirst. It is not much by comparison. The click of the stones together remind me of the sounds of women when we gather. Animated and alive. There is a different sound to a gem than there is a stone, very subtle but it is there.

There is the elder Haruspex, Tarra, that has reached out in her way to make me feel more comfortable among so many. Her smile is rare but like a light at the far end of the darkness. It seems when there is too much, too many around me that I grow quiet, she offers small bits of wisdom and carefully crafted bits of advice that sound like everyday conversations to those around us. I pluck them out eagerly and tuck them away. She allows small glimpses of the woman inside though I see how few others notice them. Myself, I am hoping I do not miss many. She is like the earth, a foundation that creates solid ground one can stand on.

The artisan, Seveya, has been there for me from the first moment Tao dragged me to the inner wagons. Her smile is always warming and bright each time I see her. There is always the sound of laughter that follows her and fills the air like the wind. There is a strong heart there, one that is capable of holding enough for two. I hear her silent prayers for her Father and know the tug that it brings in my own. She knows she will know loss soon yet she still offers to everyone around her without fail. There is an admiration and respect growing for her like the mica flecks in granite.

I know very little of the leather worker except that she comes alive in small ways when she is close to another. She reminds me of a honing stone because everyone she touches comes away more defined though they leave their mark on her surface. Her heart is young and open to be filled and she has an eagerness about it all. She has spoken of caring for one of the warriors with both excitement and trepidation in such a way that it makes the layers of her emotions wondrous.

I told Mother that it had been Asria and Lei that have been in my thoughts most often. I couldn’t explain why just that they fill my thoughts and more often than I can name, they bring a smile. I’d given Lei a cocoon I had watched form, a silken orb made of many fine threads. Imke has become Lei’s confidante and protector. He feels very important in his new role, one he takes very seriously. Ask him.

It was a story that included all of them and more that Mother found of great interest. It all started with Yamka darting beneath a wagon to save one of the elders from a horrifying beast. Using whatever she could find to whisk under the wagon wheels she shooed out a stray vulo. It strutted and squawk its way across the flow of wagons heading in the wrong direction. Its salvation and its demise is the saga for this tale.

While more of the women began to gather I watched as Veeza snatched up the bird and hurried back to her wagon. Now, rumor has it that she was once a kanda addict but had left it behind long ago. She is a wisp of a woman, gaunt and frail though her willowy fingers and the pinch of her mouth belie she may have returned to the opiate’s seductions. I excused myself away from the others to pay the woman a brief visit. All that I did was hold out my hands for the bird. There was embarrassment that plumed Veeza’s face as she extended it back to me. Regret showing deep in the dark of her eyes. I held her hands between mine before I relieved her of the fowl and reassured her that this night she would feed the Ubar himself. Such beauty shown through from behind the life weariness of her eyes and the smile was one more radiant than I had seen in a long time. I left a few of the small pebbles in her hands as exchange.

Rather than pluck the vulo, I skinned him there turning the feathers inside though I kept the head to tuck away beneath my belt. It took no time at all for the meat to be rent from the bone and added to a kettle. The trails are long and dusty especially with dried jerky to chew on. This would be a treat for the parched and famished warriors coming in from the drag or the point. One small vulo would barely feed one hungry warrior much less a Tribe so I was never so proud as I was that night as women from wagons near and far met the demands by sharing their means regardless of how meager they were. One by one they came to add to the pot until it could hold no more.

Mother was completely enrapt in the story. She leaned forward over her basket to ask why the vulo was crossing in front of the trail of wagons in the first place. I winked at her and laughed as I told her because it was a glorious day to be Tuchuk.

Do they speak to you?

I ran my hand across the top of the water barrel I had just closed. It was one of many being gathered to together among those of the whole Tribe. It would be far longer than expected before we reached another source of water so now it was precious. It would be rationed evenly with priority offered the bosk, the elderly and the young. It is different being first to hear at the Ubar’s fires rather to hear the drums. To know before.

While we sealed the rims on the lids, Mother asked me what it was like at the first wagons now. I told her of the many people I had met. So many faces, so many names to remember. She asked if they spoke to me. For a moment I stood there with my hand on the lid. Yes. I heard them as they spoke in and among themselves as if they were far away and I heard their inner voices too, like hushed whispers that often said something else.

Except one.

Perhaps she caught the bit of smile that made her ask of him. I began to tell her of the warrior that I had met. It is said he is not known for his laughter yet the eve had been spent filled with jesting and light hearted merriment. The voice within in spoke the same as the one that fell on my ears. He had asked just what she had though in altered context. It came as no surprise to my Mother that when a crowd began to gather around the fires, that I had grown quiet, staring into the flames. Unlike everyone else there, he had asked, “Do they speak to you?”

Everyone else had faded like a mist around us while we talked. He had meant the flames so I explained that this night they were only mirrors. He had wanted to know if I had meant thoughts or emotions and had no trouble understanding I saw a difference. The flames dancing, swaying back and forth were like the images of thoughts, purposed in their reach for unknowns like the stretch toward the sky. The emotions were like the cinders and coals, fluctuating in intensity, ranging in heat and hue from the dark red to the brightest of whites. I asked if he could see how they shimmer red to black and back to red again. He turned to study them as well as if he had done so many times before just as I had and said yes. He said that he guessed emotions were necessary but that did not mean he had to like them. It was what set him apart from all the others. The voices spoke the same, inside and out.

I’m not sure why I confided to him that there were so many new names and faces that it was hard to remember them all. He said to give it time, they would all make sense after a while. He made me laugh when he said when he could not remember, he would just grunt. He had a nice laugh, a kind of rumble like the thunder of a summer’s heat storm.

When everyone started picking on him merely because he smiled, I told him that laughter was healthy. It made the heart beat stronger and the lungs fill. He said then would try to laugh more ... for health reasons.

He had been the one that spoke of the days we would spend on the trail before we found water. I realized he had been the one out scouting ahead in search of it for us, for all of us. I patted the top of the water barrel before Pacu hoisted it up on the flat wagon. When he drove it to the inner fires, Mother and I began gathering small pebbles to place inside our cheeks then we spread coated swatches of silk across empty jars to catch condensation. Mother asked nothing else of the inner fires while we worked. She left me instead to my thoughts.

Red and White

I stayed far too long among the inner fires so that the return to my wagons was a weary climb just to make it up the platform. It seemed as if I could barely hold my eyes open yet when I drew my fur up around me, sleep did not lull me away immediately. Small portions of the evening danced in my mind, one at a time giving themselves enough light to make them a little clearer. Sitting up, I added another chip to the brazier and a little herb to soothe the ahns if I were going to be awake.

That was when I felt the canvas around me swirl like it had been caught in the eddy of a storm. Nauseating and dizzying until the sides flared open to become a walled room. I could see myself searching with deep intent through every belonging I had. The topple of chests, pots and trunks left everything exposed … everything even my intimate things, the things women do not wish anyone else to see. I looked for a key, to what I am still not sure but I felt sure that I had had it, I just could not find it now and it held an importance. The feel of wood surrounding me was darkly stained without an encompassing imprisonment.

This was my wagon with the sides simply expanded. I was about to turn back the furs to look beneath only to find a lover … my lover curled upon them as if he was supposed to be there, as if he had always been there. It was quite pleasant without allusion to anything sexual. He was comfort, he was familiarity in an intimate way. His attention was not upon me but deeper into the recess of my wagon. He looked to a young girl, soft in feature, smooth of cheek bared to the waist with a perfection. Her skin was warmed by the fires to a gentle pink. She was too pretty to be beautiful. He looked at her with such longing that it touched my chest and took my breath. There was no jealousy, only a yearning that he should have her, should be able to reach out and touch her and she would become part of him. I knew she was happiness. I knew her existence was brief. I knew that time was fleeting even as my dream was dimming in upon itself.

I felt the tears flow as if they were my own. They were peace, they were happiness, they were sorrow and they were pain. I knew I could not intrude. I knew I could not interfere but still I found myself beside Grandmother’s fires with a drum in my lap. I was painting one side of it red and the other white. Quickly I smeared the colors together but it only made the hues combine to a delicate shade of pink, the same as the girl of my dream’s skin. I closed my eyes and breathed a deep breath.

What had I done?

Task

"You're the best Meez, I don't care what Pei says about you!"

That first adventure to the inner wagons was a unique experience. Among my own fires, everyone knows everyone. There is a venerable notoriety there. It is new to me to need to tell everyone I am Mezoo. Mezoo, who? Mezoo, daughter of Pacu, daughter of Astar. Granddaughter of Oren. It is not that I wish the fame of all knowing my face or my name. In my heart I expect them to know my parents, my grandmother, to have the much earned respect we have of them. That they do not disturbs something within me. Mother says that I am arrogant like my father to believe that even the sky knows us down to the number of hair on our head. If it doesn’t ... then why does it not?

Tao had no trouble what so ever walking in among the Ubar’s fires and telling all there, who he was and why he had come. He was Salukaii, son of Salukaii. Tao, because he does not like the name Salukaii. Call him whatever you like he was there because it is said that was where one made advancement in clan and rank. It was what a good Tuchuk does, right? He does not fit the mold of his Father, a warrior who has earned his scars, filled the ribbons of the year keepers and created the songs of history that will passed down to our children. Salukaii, son of Salukaii. His own heroics still damp like the ink in his scars are often confused with those of his Father’s. Salukaii did what? No, Not Salukaii, son of Salukaii, Tao. Ohhhh Tao with that sage nod of understanding. Tao has an insatiable thirst to stand on his own. It isn’t really attention that he demands, it is focus.

Pei does not mind riding the tail wind of my uncle’s reputation. Pei is content in being just hard working, what will be will be. First son … my brother, Pacu, son of Pacu is like that too only more so. He will accept the credits of Father as his own. He will breeze through letting everyone mistake his identity with our Father’s.

Tao is a lot like his Mother, not in the sense of giving that brought her to her knees but the want for the best of life. He wants more. It is a hunger he cannot seem to sate. I’ve heard him say that he was the arrogant son of a whore, as if he wears her sometimes like a second skin. I used to think it was just for the shock effect but over time I learned there is more there. A feel of something he cannot define. Come to think of it, I can’t either.

All I know is that my eyes widened when he added on the end of all that ... oh and this is Mezoo. What? Wait? This is your adventure ... not mine. Too late I was in the midst of it all. Next time I will show Tao what an adventure really is.

Since Tao boasted of being the best of the best at anything he put his hand to, the Ubar gave him a challenge to prove it. Tao was to put his hand to the dung and tell him what he would or could do to make it the best. With focus turned to my friend, it gave me chance to look around, to meet some of the others there.

Eventually the Ubar looked to me. I was all squared back ready to answer the question I had heard he asks of the young but it was not what he asked. He simply asked what was my story. There is little of Mezoo sung by the singers at least yet. My reply was brief. I am Mezoo, beginning to learn within the clan of the Haruspex. Since I had not come to present myself before the fires of the Ubar there was only to tell him that I search for where among the Tribe I can offer most.

I jabbed an elbow into Tao’s ribs for having put me on the spot that way. He just thought it was a love tap. Typical Tuchuk male.

Before we all parted ways from the fires that night, the Ubar said he would have tasks to offer Tao and I. They would be due before we reached the southern plains. Mine would begin … something that shows the past, present and future of ones life.

Adventures

I wanna have the same last dream again,
the one where I wake up and I'm alive.
Just as the four walls close me within,
my eyes are opened up with pure sunlight.
I'm the first to know,
my dearest friends,
even if your hope has burned with time,
anything that's dead shall be re-grown,
and your vicious pain, your warning sign,
you will be fine.
Here we go, life's waiting to begin.
Any type of love - it will be shown,
like every single tree reach for the sky.
If you're gonna fall,
I'll let you know,
that I will pick you up
like you for I,
I felt this thing,
I can't replace.
Where everyone was working for this goal.
Where all the children left without a trace,
only to come back, as pure as gold,
To recite this all.
Hey, here I am,
and here we go, life's waiting to begin.
Tonight ...

Angels and Airwaves

Mezoo!

He came strolling up filled to the brim with self-importance like the skies had told him so and he believed it.I was trying to warn him not to wake everyone. Grandmother needed her beauty sleep and would throw something at him if he disturbed it.
He ran right at me scooping me up in his arms and spinning me around. He almost caught my skirt on fire when he half stepped into the embers sending them crackling and sparkling into the air.

You are much too serious tonight.

I was trying to bat him off me but it had to have been hard to take me seriously since I was laughing so hard. It was only a half hearted attempt anyway. It was nice there in his arms. Close enough to inhale the scent of him and feel his breath. It felt like it took mine.

All the noise did wake Imke up from his nap where he had been under the edge of my skirt. He sprang to life, climbing right up the warrior's leathers and holding on for dear life by the ends of that sleek black hair.

Get your crazy jit before he pulls all my hair out.

It felt like silk under my fingertips when I brushed a strand from his cheek then I buried a boot toe into his shin.

Don't hurt him, you big brute!

I couldn't help laughing. It was just contagious. Imke was laughing, He was laughing and I was too. The warrior was still turning circle with his celebration of life and trying to get a hold on the jit swinging from his hair.

What has you in such a good mood?

We are moving south. I can't find a reason not to be in a good mood.

A motion to come let me check out that hard head of his and make sure most of the hair was still attached was firm and direct.

You're bossy this evening.

Yeah and you are funny.

His hand slid into min without guile and mine met it without any reservation.

Come with me to the first fires.

Oh now I tried to argue my way out of that. They are all serious and sour faced. I even tried to show him my version of the elders and that look. It wasn't swaying his courage one bit.

You need to be more adventurous. Ah, come on Mez.

A Tuchuk male doesn't know the word please but the sleen puppy look in their eyes, the petulant catch of lip and that sort of soft drop in tone spells it in the air. It took two of my strides to keep up with just one of his and I realized I was smiling at the notion that I would always be trying to keep up with him.

Trust

I remember Asria from Trayu's fires. Father would bring us there now and then when we were younger. It took a few ihn for her to recognize me without the tarsktails. She hugged me tight in a way that brought a connected closeness. We share a loss greater than the warriors we have loved so dearly. Tuchuk women have an inner strength like no other peoples but we draw part of it from the men in our lives. We have both lost the wall we leaned on. We spoke of the needs of our wagons. Everyone’s generosity had filled our stores to over flowing such that it created new needs. We needed salt to cure the meats before they went bad and we could use extra hands to see it done before the wagons began the move. Fonce had the answers then told us we could go through his storage wagons. I think Asria and I both lit up at the thought.

I returned to the feeling of being a child when they started talking of the first fires. Something was troubling Asria and it upset Fonce. I felt bad for her when he seemed to make her smaller than I felt at the moment. I did not really understand why a simple question could provoke so much emotion from both of them. When it came time, I had my own answer if I were asked. She left quickly after that. She and Lei and Imke too.

I’d been watching the girl thinking I was half her and half the woman but not balanced on either side and not balanced in the middle either. Fonce disrupted those thoughts when he grabbed my arm and brought me against the side of the wagon. What he spoke to me of was not quite the same as he had spoken to the woman. I heard him speaking of the ones that would not be named and I heard many from far away speaking above him and behind him. They issued different warnings. I heard the voice of Aunt ... laughing. I was not so intimidated by him nor all that swirled around him not to find defense. There would not have been hesitation if the wall of him had changed, had come closer.

Despite the echoes in my head and the feel of a male that was not my Father, or my brother and not even one of my cousins, I drew my focus back to listen to what was beneath it all. Until this moment I had felt that his stepping in had been from guilt of Father’s death, a way to salve his own soul. Voicing the sentiment aloud so he would understand as I slipped my blade back into its sheath, His worry was sincere. As suddenly as his shadow of darkness had emerged, it seemed to vanish.

Did I hurt you, Mezoo? I assured him he hadn’t while making sure I hadn’t hurt him either. Something in the way he told me he would never hurt me like that, that he would die first, touched me inside. I made him promise all that he had asked. This surprised him and he asked why. It was hard to form the words through the mists of emotions.

He was all we had.

The shrill sound of the wind through the wagons sounded just like the shriek of the dark witch

They begin to speak

They begin to speak in hushed tones among them. They all speak more of me than to me but they begin to speak. My name is clear each time, they do not realize that I hear them. The embers of the fires blaze bright then shadow as they come one by one. I am not sure when it started. I began to hear them. Voices ... many voices like a white noise constant, buzzing in soft sounds like the wings of bees. Some come close, more clear; some are nothing more than whisper. Constant. Never ending. Turning from them is a deafening silence. It is more comfort to leave them as they are. There, humming in the background until one nears more defined than another.

Those that are directly related to me stand out for now. The importance's felt like a touch on my skin. Mother speaking to Father insuring I was pierced before he left us. Mezoo. Mother when she spoke to Enosh then Grandmother. Mezoo. Grandmother when she spoke with Aunt then Fonce. Mezoo. They were all speaking of me then one would emerge to speak to me. It had become quite disconcerting.

Mezoo. Enosh brought three bowls asking which was mine. I separated them. One placed to the side, another before him before I brought one to my lap and traced my fingertip inside its center. He looked to the one I set aside to ask why I had done this. I felt he should have known. That one was for the Tribe. The second for the clan. There was only one left then to choose from. He gathered the two and left in silence.

I was returning to Grandmother's wagon when Imke had one of his hide and seek moments. I bent beneath the wagon trying to summon him out with a piece of fruit when I heard my name behind me. Mezoo. I have been looking for you.

Why do you seek me?

Fonce had been sent to speak to me of the clans. I had known one would come. I was only my hope that he would be the one. The skies favor me. It was all too new in my head and still spinning to find comfort of it all. I was glad that it was not another parting of the crowds and Aunt standing there to crook her finger. When he asked me what I wanted, I formed the process of decision in the air so that he could see it. I could have lived my life peaceably among the verr as Grandmother had done. I could have kept my hands busy to the tasks of the wagons as Mother does. What I did not want was to be like the dark one. If that was to be the case then I wished no part of any of it. Verr it would be and happy at that.

His reassurance was encouraging. I confirmed what so many already knew, my path seemed set as I gave him my answer. There would be formalities to set all in its place but the lessons would begin now.

He asked how I knew it was time to move, meaning before the drums sounded the message. I gave him only a small portion of an answer. My answer was because the sky had shown me, the colors washed it across the canvas of the plains, the wind whispered it. That the move had spoken to me. For all the splendid sound of that, it was simply ... the air had changed its feel and direction, new sprouts were beginning to defy the ground and the gray of the sky was becoming more blue. The southern plains were calling to me, Mezooo .. where are you?

He grinned.

The Ways

"Sweet save, Aunt."

I heard the sound of a dry chuckle from the old woman. A lot of people believe she is this mean old woman that will turn their livers inside out and feed it to the sleen. They would be right most of the time. Forget the wager, she would do it just for the amusement. The ominous cloak of mystery she wears is there to keep people out. Its just her way.

That little chip of wisdom came when I was very young and she was swirling her cane around trying to wallop Imke, my jit monkey. He had run up her leg when I first got him. It looked and felt for all the plains like the skies turned themselves upside down. She was batting at him and he was screeching and jumping everywhere trying to get out of her way. I screamed at her to stop ... just stop. Then I told her she was a mean old woman, that he was just a little monkey and she was scaring him.

Everything fell silent as if it the world grew still. That was when I could see her ... the real her without any barriers or mists. She was just frightened and unsure of what was around her, especially of Imke. I put her hand on his fur and felt the tension ease from her old weathered hand. Imke's hair stood out but not because he was scared but the way it does in a lightening storm. He bolted out of the flap and wont dare come near her since but I sat talking with her for a while. It was like her voice came from somewhere beside the channel of her mouth when she said I had the ways. Oh yeah well thank you Aunt, thank you very much but umm no thank you. I didn't tell her the rest of what I was thinking ... I do not want to be like you. She seemed to have heard my thoughts and set my mind at ease when she told me I didn't have to.

Always clarify when you are talking to a Spex. Always.

In her wagon now, I felt a lot like that little girl. "It is time Mezoo." So much was happening so fast that I wasn't sure I was keeping up very well. She did what she has done for many envars, she placed her hand over my eyes so that everything and everyone went away. It was there that I found the comfort of the dark. The margins of silence. With my eyes closed she introduced me to her world, laying different things in my hands for me to see without seeing, to know by the touch of my hands or the smell or the sound that it made without light. I knew the variances of herbs she used for healing to the touch of sand as it flowed through my fingers. I know the warm pulse of a kajira's heart still fresh, still beating. She spared no expense that I could see the way she did. This time she lay her hands in mine and I explored her palms and fingers, the ends of her fingertips. She was holding something in them that couldn't be seen with the naked eye.

I grew up with the verr helping Grandmother and Mother made sure that I knew how to card the wool and make functional and beautiful things with it. Now I had to make a choice between them all. I had to find which way was my way. Grandmother's way and Mother's way, I could do with my eyes closed, but Aunt's way was something altogether different. There was a great deal unknown. It was a trail less traveled.

The world wasn't going to stop, just stop until I could make up my mind. I kept thinking it had been made up for me and was waiting for me to understand. I was just frightened and unsure of all these new changes around me and no one was reaching to place my hand on it so that all the tension would ease. Maybe it was because it would tuck tail and scram like Imke did. I closed my eyes and chuckled to myself kind of picturing it.

The Gathering

I heard the sound of voices before I opened my eyes. It was the gathering of women, those who have been touched by grief and know that the way back must begin quickly. They came laden with baskets, meats, furs, whatever they could spare and sometimes more than. It was not the gifts they held in their hands that they offered, it was a part of their hearts. Their hands to keep our hands busy, our minds occupied. They came bearing the fruits of labor. They came to clean, to cook and to season and dry meats for our stores. Their daughters came to help with the tanning of furs and to sing the songs of family and togetherness. We were rarely alone for even an ihn. Always someone. It was not just those who live among the outer wagons around us but women of the first fires that if nothing else came to give a word of condolence.

I watch Mother as she greets them. She has always been a quiet woman, her hands always busy but now they move only as motion. She is no longer whole. I wish I had the ways to fill this hollow, Hers and Grandmothers. Those that have not known them close would only see their strength and determination to survive. They gathered themselves together to carry on with life. I know that their blood flows through me just as my Father's does. I found a comfort in this.

First was trying hard to step into the role of provider and protector. He will bear a proud name. One that holds fire as well as integrity. One that will take all that he is within to fill a small portion of the courage, honor and even the temperament. My brother has much ahead of him to fill those boots. The men of this family have a way of slipping off when women gather. First was no different. He even winked at me when he rounded the end of the wagon and I heard those boots tear into the ground making a clean get away.

I found that I alone was the welcome for many of them when Mother could go on no longer and returned to her wagon to rest. Grandmother sought the peace of the flocks as is her way. There was a great to do over the puffiness of my nose where the new ring had been placed. Congratulations filled the air with as much heartiness as the conversations of clan. Women can be quite animated of tongue when they get together though a hush fell over them all at once and it seemed as if hands had parted the crowd into two portions. It was such a vast contrast that everyone turned to look.

Aunt was standing at the end of Mother's wagon pointing at me. She crooked her finger for me to come.

Bone Deep

My fingers fell into the grooves of the carving and I began to trace the memories of my Father's life. He had etched the adventures he shared with his best friend into the bone on the handle so that when they grew old, they would know and feel and see and remember.

I know it was to be a gift but I cannot bring myself to turn it loose. I keep it folded inside one of Father's unwashed shirts. His scent still clings to it, still reminds me of him. I know that from the moment our lungs seize hold of their first breath we owe one death as the price for living. Knowing does not ease the pain. A warrior among the Tribe could not ask for more than to die in battle side by side with his brothers. There is always the song of triumph to carry them on the winds to the sky. There were only two that returned from that hunt and neither of them sung the tale of blood and honor. They are both silent. This is what disturbs me. It is unfinished like the carvings on the dagger.

Last night I heard Grandmother. She spoke to grandfather although he has been gone from us as long as I have drawn breath. She is a strong woman but in those few moments, I heard her soul fracture when she thought no one could hear. She wanted to know what she had done wrong that she could not meet him before her sons. Father was my world. He was Mother's breath and Grandmother's heart. Skies forgive me, it made me angry. Angry with Father for leaving us, angry with Fonce, angry with the sky. The ire just could not burn hot enough to fill the ache that goes bone deep. What will we do without him?

Memories

Upon a fading gleam,
Float out upon a long
Last reach of glittering stream
And there sing his last song.
And I declare my faith:
I mock plotinus' thought
And cry in plato's teeth,
Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole,
Made lock, stock and barrel
Out of his bitter soul,
Aye, sun and moon and star, all,
And further add to that
That, being dead, we rise,
Dream and so create
Translunar paradise.
I have prepared my peace
With learned Italian things
And the proud stones of Greece,
Poet's imaginings
And memories of love,
Memories of the words of women,
All those things whereof
Man makes a superhuman,
Mirror-resembling dream.