Note from the author: This story takes place before Chapter 1; however Radeek has no knowledge of anything in this chapter... yet.
The air is heavy with the scent of incense that slowly
smolders within the six censures hanging from the poles that support the camel
hide tent. The flaps of the tent have
been raised, allowing the cool of the night inside.
"It is time" said the one clothed in crimson. The other women in the tent look to her to
continue with her thoughts. She closes
her eyes, deep in concentration, as her blood, running from a cut in the palm
of her hand, continues to drip into the copper chalice that sits in front of
her upon the morduska hide meditation mat.
In her right hand she holds a grey ironwood sacrificial dagger set with
pale moonstones; the blade, darkened with her blood, glistens dully in the dim
light from the few burning candles inside the tent. Another woman, covered from head to toe in azure, the acolyte to
the crimson clothed one, binds her hand with a clean linen bandage.
"Iebri Tzi'fizum, Zevib zhi Zome. La Qyeke, la yuvi, la huid, la qua, loji
u'tufi" (I am she who Sees, A Sister of the Sand. My Blood, my life, my power, my body, I
offer in trade) intones the woman in crimson, in the Tehir language. The other women in the tent softly chant
"Qyeke uz huid" (Blood is power) continuously, in unison.
The crimson robed Seer reaches into a sun-streaked braided
leather satchel that rests in the sand beside her, brings forth a scrying bowl,
and places it beside the chalice. She
removes a silver flask from the satchel and fills the bowl with water. She places the flask back into the satchel
and brings forth a long fossilized talon, which she dips into the chalice
holding her blood. She holds the talon
over the scrying bowl, allowing a single drop of her blood to drip from the
talon into the water. She passes the
talon off to her acolyte, who holds the talon in the flame of a candle,
cleaning it, purifying it.
The Seers hands begin to twist and turn over the scrying
bowl, her fingers weaving mystical symbols of power, as she recites "Blood
is Power, Power is Life, Blood is Life.
I call forth the power of my blood, my will shall control the power, my
spirit will walk within the power. I
will see!"
The Seer grips the bowl with both hands, peering intently
into the depths. "I would see him,
I would know him, I must see him, I must know him" she chants to the bowl
in her hands. "Reveal him to
me!" she shouts at the bowl, "Show him to me, I must know!" Blood begins to trickle from the seers nose;
she pays no heed to the blood, seemingly unaware of everything except the bowl
before her.
The water in the bowl begins to feebly glow with a soft
violet light, dimly illuminating the Seers face. She quietly chants repeatedly, in Tehir, "Blood is power,
power is life, blood is life"
As she stares intently into the scrying bowl her eyes narrow...
then, suddenly, her eyes open wide and she releases an agonizing scream into
the air. She falls backward onto the
meditation mat, convulsions wracking her body, the spasms causing her to knock
over the bowl, spilling the water onto the ground inside the tent, where it is
quickly absorbed by the desert sand.
Blood pours from the seer's nose, eyes, and ears as her
screams echo across the sands. Her
acolyte rushes to her and kneels beside her, taking the seers head into both
her hands. "Q'atild, you must
return from the spirit world!" she yells to the seer. "Follow my voice, heed my words, and
return to this path. You must return,
for your people, for your son!"
The seer stares ahead, unseeing, uncomprehending, her eyes
seeing something no one else sees, her body feeling what no one else feels, her
soul experiencing what no one else experiences. Her acolyte slaps the crimson clad woman across the face, hard,
and blood spatters the sand.
The seer blinks, returning from that distant place that she
had travelled to. Her tears begin to
flow then, mixing with the blood upon her face. Her acolyte brings fresh linens and pours a bowl of clean water;
dipping the linens into the bowl, she uses them to clean the blood from her
mentor.
The seer is visibly weakened by her experience, and her
hands shake uncontrollably. A woman
approaches bearing a cup of tea, which the seer gratefully accepts. The seer sips at the tea, fighting to
control the spasms in her hands, trying to recover from her experience. Her lower lip quivers visibly, but she
maintains her resolve.
She moves to sit up but the room spins and she lies back
down. A number of large pillows are
brought for her and she is propped up on these, allowing her full view of the
assembled women. "I have
seen", she says in a voice weakened by the experience but which still
retains a measure of authority and determination. "I have seen that which I asked to see, but that which no
mother should have to bear witness to."
She takes another sip of her tea and with a clean piece of
dry linen she wipes the sweat from her brow, continuing, "I have seen the
future of my son, and I have seen those things which will forever shape
him. I have seen his pain and his loss,
but I have also seen his joys and his triumphs... and I have seen his
love."
The women listen closer as the young seer continues, her
viridian-swirled twilight grey eyes meeting each of them in turn, silently
thanking them for their participation in this event that meant so much to
her. "My son will be always alone,
and troubled. He will deny his calling
and his birthright. He will be bathed
in blood and surrounded by darkness, his path, though it will make him strong,
will lead him to shadow."
The Seer motions her acolyte over and whispers something in
her ear. The acolyte leaves the tent
and strides away into the darkness.
"My son will have happiness, but the cost will be high. He will suffer, as will those he loves, and
he will be marked, in both body and spirit, for that suffering. He will only know peace after living the
torment of war, and he will embrace love only after hating with all his heart
and soul. His love for a raven-haired woman will
be strong, she will return that love, and he will answer the calling."
The acolyte returns with a small polished bloodwood bowl
containing a thin broth that smells of various herbs and roots. The Seer accepts the bowl with a nod of
thanks and takes a small sip, testing the warmth, before consuming more. After finishing the meager contents of the
bowl the Seer passes the empty container back to her acolyte.
A woman among the group asks the Seer, "When will he be
told?" The Seer frowns slightly at
this question, but she answers, "There will be an end that signals a
beginning, he will pass through blood, death, and smoke, he will be told then,
and I will tell him."
The acolyte then addresses the group of women at large,
saying, "Q'atild has had a very difficult spirit walk. Please, excuse her, she needs her rest." The women leave, only the acolyte remaining
to tend to her instructor.
Q'atild looks at her acolyte and says to her, "You have
worn the azure well, and you are a fine acolyte, but I can teach you no more,
K'miza." The crimson seer studies
her acolyte, and says to her, "I know why you wished to learn the gift of
sight, you have been unable to bear any living children to your husband, and
you wish to know if you ever will."
K'miza gasps in surprise, but nods almost
imperceptibly. Q'atild continues,
"You have kept secret your identity to all the people of this clan, you
have worn the veils, and none know who you truly are, except me. You will not become a Seer, K'miza; you will
be much more. You will return to your
husband, you will burn your veils, and you shall be a mother to one son. You and your husband, G'Arrone, will raise
that son into manhood, you both will teach him all that you know... and you
will love him."
"I must rest now K'miza, and so should you, for when
the sun sets tomorrow you must leave here... you must go home," Q'atild
says to her acolyte, to her friend.
"You will be a good mother, K'miza, I have seen it."
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