The bypath that ran through the nomadic settlement was teeming with tribespeople. It was getting dark, and they were worried that the hunt would go on late into the night. It was already beginning to snow, and the portents had warned them about a blizzard. The khan had been clever in delaying the hunt, knowing that with the thick crimson fog descending on most nights from Hell’s Teeth mountains, the animals would be forced to give up and head east towards their settlement, or die. They were perceptive of the route that their quarry would take to escape and had carefully laid traps on the path, and barricaded themselves within their encampment. They did not want the stampede passing through the sacred grounds and defiling their totems.
In the deathly silence, all who watched hidden in their reindeer-hide tents perceived a movement from the west. Something large was headed their way — not a stray from a herd they were hunting — but something fiercer. Two glowing eyes regarded them from the marshes behind tall pine trees. A lone shaman made his way towards the bypath in the ankle deep snow. He raised his staff and rattled the jingle cones, hoping to ward off whatever evil awaited in the darkness. When the glowing eyes disappeared, the shaman turned to head back into his tent. His colourful robes were now dotted with snow, and his beard and face were frosted.
A gust of wind and snow whitewashed the landscape, but when it cleared there stood a great grey bear behind the shaman — it was bigger than him. The khan boldly rushed ahead with some of his warriors, bone-scythes in hand, to protect the shaman, but he gestured to them to stop. It was a young elken bear whose antlers had already grown to adulthood. Its fur was grizzled and it gazed plainly at the old shaman — there was no threat in its eyes. The shaman stepped forward discreetly, hand extended. The bear closed its eyes as the man approached and welcomed a pet on the snout.
The khan, discerning something upon the bear’s back, called out to the shaman to be cautious. The bear turned to reveal a rider strewn across its enormous furry back, as if dead or dying. The khan and his warriors tiptoed around the bear, moving in to take a closer look at the traveller — a young woman who was unconscious. Even in her rag tag clothes, her skin had not turned blue. Patches of white fur seemed to protect her from the freezing temperature.
The bear sat down, allowing the tribespeople to haul the girl off of its back. One of the warriors laid a violet, woollen rug on the snow, while the others laid the traveller down upon it. The khan ordered them to carry her back into one of the tents, but just as they were about to lift her up, the traveller opened her eyes. Her white irides glowed in the darkness and she screamed — icicles protruded from various parts of her body, and the warriors leapt back out of harm’s way, dropping her back on the snow.
The shaman jingled his staff again, chanting a song to ward off evil. The traveller rose up slowly, eyes still gleaming, body covered in hundreds of icicles large and small. She glared at the shaman, her head lowered, biding her time to strike. She surveyed the warriors and the khan. They looked petrified… waiting for her to make a move.
But then the shaman suddenly stopped —- the woman’s gaze swung back towards him. The concern and fear in his eyes had been replaced with curiosity and understanding. He walked bravely, but slowly toward her. Whispers rose among the warriors, and the khan called out a word of caution. But the old shaman ventured forth, his left hand raised up, trying to reach the woman’s frost-covered face. She did not move and allowed him to step forward as close to her as he dared. Their eyes met. Carefully, with two fingers, he dusted the frost off of her forehead, revealing a tattoo in white ink — bottom-half of a hollow circle pierced in the middle with a straight line. He proceeded to dust off the frost from other parts of her face, and as more tattoos were revealed, he smiled.
The traveller looked around at the others, whose expressions were now that of awe. They, too, had white tattoos imprinted on their faces and arms… all of them. The Shaman began chanting a new song —- a song of healing. The traveller felt her pain ease, and her knees were weak again. No longer able to sustain the weight of herself, she dropped face-first into the snow.
It was mid-winter when the old woman in the fox mask made her way towards Morowyth. The journey through the snowy mountains of Ginsa’kura on her pony had been arduous, but it was all worth it. Keeping an eye on the girl was crucial. Girl? Amaha thought. She was now a grown woman. She probably never had a childhood — taking up all the responsibility, not just of herself, but for her people. She had always been like this… ever since her sister left.
The pony trudged down the mountain side as she guided it toward the banks of River Ch’huin. She had observed the river from the mountain top, meandering north for miles until it spilled into Mora Bay. She could barely make out its southern end, which disappeared into the mountains. It flowed from Lake Na’mel, which was fed by a narrower tributary of River Ch’huin to its east that came from the mountains surrounding Asenya.
Amaha’s journey was interrupted by an overly-excited little, white fox. The tiny beast stopped in front of the pony and looked up at her. It let out a short bark and looked to the west.
‘By the river?’ asked the old woman. ‘Curious. I wonder what happened.’ The fox then darted away in the direction it came from. Amaha patted the pony to follow, and it obeyed her by continuing west in a canter.
In less than an hour she came upon the banks of the wide river. An old, yet sturdy, bridge allowed travellers to cross over the narrowest part of the river to the western shore, which would lead them into Morowyth. Ignoring the bridge, Amaha scoured the landscape to the south and rode on for a few miles until, as expected, she found a woman with short ash blond hair standing idly in the wet mud of the river bank, staring blankly at the setting sun. Purple clouds blanketed the horizon as the golden rays, struggling to pierce through, painted the skies in various hues of red. The calm waters of the river emulated the brilliance of the sky perfectly, like a mirror.
Zov’ha had seen the white fox earlier in the afternoon, and she knew that the old wanderer would be near. She did not turn when she heard Amaha approach, instead spoke casually, ‘These waters seem familiar.’
Amaha did not reply immediately. She alighted from her pony, ushering it to feed on the grass by the river bank. It trotted to a dry grass patch by the water, where a small boat had been moored. A log drifted lazily bumping into the boat as the littlest of waves thrust it back and forth, resounding a sloshy knock every now and then. Other than that, only the occasional cry of a curlew could be heard from a distance.
The old woman noticed some movement in the river, which she quickly recognised as the younger woman’s travelling companion — a young Elken bear, now grown to an enormous size. The tips of its antlers were glowing dully in the oncoming darkness. He floated on his back frivolously, poking his large snout now and then in hopes of grabbing the grasshopper that had been merrily bouncing around him.
Standing a few feet away from Zov’ha, she took off her mask and replied, ‘Yes, this river leads you to your home.’
‘Asenya…’
Amaha folded her arms and gazed at the back of Zov’ha’s head. ‘But you must not go there, child. At least… not yet.’
Zov’ha turned around. It seemed to Amaha like years had passed since the last they had met in the cave outside Aeroz —- but it had been a meagre four and a half months. Yet, Zov’ha appeared to have grown stronger and wiser. She wore simple, yet colourful clothes, like the nomadic tribes of the region. It seemed they had fashioned a special set for her, for she would have been too tall to fit in any of their own. She wore a loose black gown embroidered with traditional geometric symbols in various colours, and sable fur sewn to the collar and cuffs. To protect her legs, she wore double-layered pantaloons, and black leather boots. To top it off, she wore a single-layered yellow parka loosely over the darker attire — but in a style not akin to these parts — it looked like she had made it herself, with a little help from the tribe.
Amaha hoped that Zov’ha had come across her own people —- yes, her ancestors belonged to one of these nomadic clans. But the Svao family, exasperated with the wandering life, had moved to Asenya many generations ago. They still followed the tradition of tattooing themselves with white ink that glows faintly in poor light.
Now, this lost one looked pleadingly at her. This is only the beginning, the old woman thought. You do not have the slightest inkling as to what awaits you… what the world expects from someone like you. But she kept her thoughts to herself. Now was not the time to reveal anything to Zov’ha. It would be too overwhelming. She needed time to learn to weather the storm, just as Amaha had.
‘Travel to Neva,’ she smiled, extending a hand to caress the young woman’s furry cheek.
Zov’ha’s eyes darted to take in every detail of Amaha’s countenance, which she was seeing for the first time. The old woman was some sort of Poban — her face was mottled with thick white fur, and her mouth was protruded like an ape’s… or a fox? Her hands too, were furry, but thin and clawed. Zov’ha did not find her repulsive, rather she felt comfortable and protected. ‘What will I find there?’
‘Answers,’ was all Amaha could say in spite of herself. She wished she could tell her everything. But it would be unwise. She needed to be patient.
‘I don’t know the way,’ Zov’ha mumbled, and Amaha thought she heard disappointment in her voice. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘I am required elsewhere, child. Follow the river south through Urumoi Mountains until it turns east and opens into a wide lake. Then, you would have entered the realm of Rud’vyr. The first town by the lake is Neva.’
‘I want to know more,’ Zov’ha shook her head. She remembered their last encounter. Amaha had puffed a cloud of purple smoke into her face, which had made her faint. ‘...please.’
Amaha sighed. She knew she was being harsh, but maybe she could relieve some of Zov’ha’s worries. ‘Ask away, then. What do you want to know?’
‘These visions I have, what are they?’
‘Ahh…’ The old woman crowed, ‘They are memories. They will slowly come back.’
‘What happened to me?’ Zov’ha felt herself choking up, and her face was twisted in agony.
‘If I know anything about Asenya, you were given Nepenthe. A drug to make you forget your past. It never fails to work, but in your case, it seems something is helping you draw your memories back.’
‘I have some sort of... power,’ Zov’ha continued, sniffing. ‘I cannot control it. But it has always saved me.’
‘It is a gift. Someone gave it to you before you were exiled from your homeland,’ Amaha realised she had struck a chord, and gently pulled Zov’ha close into an embrace. ‘But I do not wish to speak about them now. All you must know is that you have earned it, and you need to learn to control it.’
‘Is it... Autoichorium?’
Amaha smiled, her cheek touching Zov’ha’s chest, ‘You will know all in time. For now, you must go where I ask you to.’
Zov’ha did not speak for a long time. They stayed embraced for a while. When Zov’ha felt a bit better she withdrew and looked down at the old woman, ‘Will I see you again?’
‘Meet with the disciples of Saint Awynyth in Neva,’ Amaha reassured her. ‘You will find what you’re looking for. And then we may meet again.’
Three days ago, she had set Zov’ha off on a journey to Neva. Not needing to continue to Aeroz, Amaha had wheeled around to start the long journey back to her homeland. She was interrupted again, but this time it was not a fox, but a thick cloud of black mist.
‘You won’t fool me with your foreboding presence, Aekis,’ Amaha said, donning her fox mask.
A short lean man materialised out of the black mist. His irides glowed white like a wolf’s, and he had ghastly pale skin. His mouth and nose were covered by a mask that looked like it was made of some organic jelly. Amaha knew that under his dark robes, even the bodysuit he wore was organic and made out of his own Autoichorium. She was a little surprised that he no longer let his hair down over his head, like he used to as a boy, rather he tied it up, so that his hair stuck out straight above his head.
‘You stand in the presence of an Astraleid, and yet you show contempt?’ The man said in a husky voice, as he traipsed slowly towards the old woman and the pony.
‘Astraleids have not terrified me before, nor will they now,’ she replied plainly. ‘I suspect you are here to ask about the girl?’
‘It seems you have news about Zov’ha’s whereabouts,’ Aekis replied, ignoring her insolence. ‘Why else would you be wandering so far away from home. We would like any information you have.’
‘Oh, stop it!’ Amaha waved her hand begrudgingly. ‘You are miles away from the range of the nearest Terra Vinculum. I know you can’t communicate with any of the others. There is no “we”, it’s just “you.”’
He moved closer, a bit threateningly, but his face was expressionless and his voice was calm, ‘You think you know a lot about us and our ways, but our dealings in the past do not place you any closer to us than it did when you were born. Our superiority over humans has always been envied, and it has clearly left a mark on you.’ Amaha did not reply. She looked plainly at him without moving a muscle. ‘Now tell me about the girl.’
‘I have not seen her since she was exiled from Asenya,’ Amaha lied, but she was curt. ‘Every time you stop by, it is the same thing! How many other doorsteps do you drop by unexpectedly demanding about a lost girl? She probably died in Hell’s Teeth a few years after she was cast away.’
‘She is alive, I know it,’ he said, raising a gloved hand knocking the air with his index finger. ‘You better not be hiding anything from the Astraleids…’
‘Oh, shove off!’ She interrupted him, waving her hands in the air. ‘I have places to go!’ She clicked her tongue and whistled, and her faithful steed unwillingly trudged ahead, bumping Aekis unceremoniously out of the way.
Aekis watched her disappear into the night — his only hope of finding Zov’ha.
Comments (5)
See all