Daughter of Ninmah Page 3

  “Goodbye…”

  She thought she heard the whisper as her heart shattered into a million pieces. Juaan slipped behind her, further with every mighty stride.

  “No!” She screamed and writhed. “No! Don’t leave him! They’ll kill him! Take me back!” She was half mad.

  Strong arms steadied her. “I can’t, child. He cannot come with us. He knew that but he had to save you first.” The man sounded as though he was weeping too. Nyri did not care.

  “Go back! Go back! Please!”

  “I can’t,” the man repeated softly over the beating of hooves. “Your friend is already dead.”

  And in her own heart of hearts, Nyri knew this to be true. The centre of her world was gone and now everything else was collapsing inward. This new world of tears, darkness and pain turned completely black and she knew no more.

  2

  Nightmare

  Seven years later…

  “No!” Nyriaana screamed, waking herself from a fitful sleep. The smoky world resolved into the clear, familiar shapes of home and the beating of hooves morphed to the heavy thudding of her own heart.

  It was still dark. The hush of pre-dawn hung thick upon the air. Nyri drew comfort from the living walls cradling her in their embrace and let the silver shivering of leaves outside soothe the rush of blood in her ears. She flexed her hands to rid them of the panic-induced tingle. She was safe and the monsters of her dreams were far away.

  For the moment at least.

  Nyri lay back, stirring the moss and leaves of her resting place. Breathing in the earthy scents of her home, she centered herself, stilling her soul.

  In a well worn routine, Nyri blocked the dream from her mind. She knew she should not dwell. No amount of grieving would bring those loved and lost back to the living. They walked now in the company of the Great Spirit, riding the wind, flowing in the waters, never to look back or return. It was a hard lesson her people had learned well; they who lived in death’s constant company.

  But Nyriaana could not forget. She would never forget.

  Keeping her eyes closed, she stretched her senses beyond her body, feeling for the ever-present flow of the Great Spirit and her place within his world. Nyri could feel Him in the slow, stately presence of the trees, the silent sentinels of life that supported them all. He was there in the quick intent of the birds. A snake concentrating on being invisible as it lurked outside of a nest. Nyri felt the individual spirits of the people; all that remained of her once vibrant tribe. So few and yet their energy shimmered with vital thought and hope as they woke to the rising of Ninmah, the great Golden Mother. Indeed, as Her warm veil crept slowly into the sky, chasing the darkness before Her, the troubles that stalked their lives seemed very far away.

  Nryi sensed the summoning before she heard it.

  “Nyriaana!”

  Kyaati’s presence was an insistent nag on the ground outside the giant tree. Nyri threw an arm over her eyes and groaned softly. She would have liked to have been left alone with her thoughts for a little longer but Ninmah was awakening and there were duties to attend to.

  I’m coming, Nyri extended the intent. She pictured Kyaati’s arms folding, her toes scraping impatiently at the dark earth.

  Rising in one smooth movement, Nyri emerged from the thick nest of moss, feathers and leaves that filled the cradle of branches that was her bower. She shivered in the cool air. It was early Fall but the morning was as chill as if it were already passing into Ninsiku’s Fury. She tried to ignore the sense of apprehension this evoked. It was always cold now. Reaching for her warm, leaf-leather coverings, she donned them swiftly and gratefully, grabbing a woven Gathering basket as she went.

  “Nimah’s greetings.” She flashed a smile to Kyaati as she swung down from her tree. Dawn mist swirled in the semi-light as she landed and straightened before her friend. Nyri was expecting the lash of Kyaati’s tongue, barbed with irritation, but her friend said nothing, she simply eyed Nyri’s agility with thinly veiled envy.

  “Ninmah’s greetings,” she replied shortly. Her hands smoothed over her rounded belly; nearly full with child. The skin around Kyaati’s pale lavender eyes was tight, the smooth, honey skin of her forehead creased beneath her silvery-white hair. “We’d better hurry or we’ll be late for the Gathering.”

  Nyri sighed. The Gathering. She wasn’t in the mood for a Gathering. As always in the wake of one of her nightmares, she just wanted to be alone or, better yet, to be with Baarias, burying herself in his teachings. She did not wish to spend the morning wandering the failing groves, struggling to find what little food there was while looking into the faces of barely fed children learning at their heels. It was too stark a reminder of what they faced.

  Nyriaana did her best to mask these feelings from Kyaati, however. It would not do for her mother-to-be companion to guess her thoughts. If Kyaati detected her reluctance, she chose not to show it. Deep down, Nyri knew she was most likely feeling the same. Probably worse.

  They walked in companionable silence as the light of Ninmah grew stronger. The cool mist that shrouded the eshaara grove began to lift and the great, red-gold trees became more clearly defined. Nyri’s quick gaze swept over her home. As she listened to the music of the river flowing away in the forest beyond, she made her customary blessing to Ninmah for the gift of this place. Without it, her people would not be here to worship the Golden Mother’s beauty.

  The horrors of her dream broke through her control and danced hauntingly before her eyes. Maybe it would be easier to bear if they were just that. Dreams. Not the true memories of a burned life.

  That night, seven long Furies ago, the Woves had taken everything from her people, not just lives, but everything their existence depended upon. They had raised the trees to the ground. Her tribe’s shelter, source of food, everything. Gone.

  A single eshaara tree, seeded from the spirit of a passing Kamaali, took years of energy and patience to grow to maturity, sheltering families for many generations. Her people could not simply make new homes when driven from the old. They had been turned into the very nomads they despised; defenceless and starving. Worse still, the demon Woves had somehow shifted the Balance of the world. The power of the beloved Ninmah was diminishing.

  As Her warming touch withdrew, Nyri’s tribe had been left increasingly at the mercy of Ninsiku’s dark and icy grip and the evil of his creations. Their every step had been stalked by strange beasts, driven down from the north to pick off the weak. Each terrible Fury following the massacre had threatened to be their last. Each short, frozen day and crushingly long night, filled with starvation and despair.

  What had been left of Nyri’s tribe in the aftermath of the attack diminished to a mere handful of souls. The few that had endured those unspeakable days would surely have perished along with their brethren had they not stumbled across this abandoned eshaara grove.

  The trees had been strangers, seeded by the unknown Kamaali of another tribe, but the empty dwellings, twisted into the mighty boughs had offered protection and shelter at last. Nyri did not know what had become of the tribe that had once lived here. They had not encountered others of their Ninkuraaja kind for many cycles, but her people had not questioned their good fortune. Ninmah had smiled upon them and they quickly settled into their new home. During the seasons that followed, they had attempted to rebuild their lives.

  Walking through the now familiar trees, Nyri and Kyaati passed by members of the tribe who were not able to accompany the Gathering, those too old or too infirm to carry out the duty. Nyri caught sight of an ancient woman sitting at the base of a great, gnarled eshaara. Several well-worn tools surrounded her. Close at her side, the roots of the tree had been formed into a large bowl, filled with the preserving sap of the tyra. She was making garments. A pile of large aacha leaves were placed beside her.

  Nyri paused to watch the withered, red-gold hands, trembling from use and old age yet steeped in the skill of both, select a large, deep green leaf and dip it
into the waiting sap. The leaf was left to soak and another was pulled from a second pile. This one had already been treated and left to dry in a pool of light, its perfection now preserved and strengthened by the miracle sap. An extremely tough material made ready for crafting.

  Nyri touched the smooth, leathery sleeve draping over her arm. The same old tribeswoman had taught her how to fashion it. Slipping her fingers beneath the green coverings, Nyri felt the soft warmth of the cotton pods that had been attached to the inside. It had been hoped that this addition would offer protection from the increasingly bitter cold. Nyri smiled sadly. It seemed nothing in her tribe’s power, none of their ancient skill or knowledge could protect them from that.

  Kyaati must have sensed the shift in Nyri’s emotions for she paused and followed her gaze. “What is she still doing here?” she asked in mild surprise. “Shouldn’t she be at the Gathering?”

  Nyri shrugged and walked over to where the tribeswoman sat, lifting her palms open and skyward, a greeting symbolising trust and welcome and hope for the same. The ancient one raised her own palms, sticky with sap. Opening her hands, opening her soul. “Nyriaana,” she spoke simply.

  “Sefaan.” Nyri bowed her head in profound respect to the once great Kamaali guide of her people. Nyri did not care what the Elders whispered about her weakening state of mind, in Nyri’s eyes, she would always be the greatest of them all.

  She was always a little over-awed by the sheer power of Sefaan’s presence. The energy infused within the old body glowed against Nyri’s senses. A Seeress of the Great Spirit, KI, Himself. His voice for their tribe. Such a one was born only once in every generation. Upon Sefaan’s forehead, standing clearly above the twisting mark of Ninmah borne by all Ninkuraaja, was the symbol of KI. An honour reserved for the Kamaali alone.

  A large enu nut dangled on a twisted thong about Sefaan’s throat. Nyri eyed the seed worriedly. An eshaara nut only fell upon the birth of a Kamaali. This particular seed had fallen and been tied around Sefaan’s neck even as she had drawn her first breaths. It would remain next to her skin, infusing itself with her energy, until the day she became one with the Great Spirit. When that day came, it would be planted, a new eshaara ready to be shaped by Sefaan’s successor.

  The time for planting was overdue, the enu tied about Sefaan’s neck was showing signs of sprouting; it had already waited too long. But no successor had appeared to guide it to adulthood. The Elders were growing increasingly anxious. Every female birth was anticipated with a desperate hope and each time the Elders’ hopes were dashed when the nut of a eshaara failed to fall. No child had been marked for Sefaan to pass on her knowledge and none of the Kamaali’s children had ever survived. It was a bad omen.

  There were whispers that such a power would never be seen again, that Sefaan was the Last and she was losing her grip on her senses. Murmurings arose that the ancient legends were true and the End of Days were upon them, signalled by the weakening of Ninmah and the growing strength of Ninsiku’s children. The signs were clear.

  Nyri hoped with all her heart that they were wrong. She trembled to think of what would happen to the tribe if Sefaan joined with the Great Spirit without a successor. Sefaan had lived for countless Furies and her enu was ready to sprout, but the seasons passed and no future Kamaali came.

  Sefaan raised an eyebrow; questioning her purpose. “You have no need for new garments, child. The ones on your back are barely two seasons.”

  “No, Sefaan,” Nyri forced a smile. “The Gathering is about to leave. I’m in need of something else.” She hid the folded woven basket she already possessed behind her as she bent to lift a newly made one from Sefaan’s pile of completed articles. “This.”

  The old Kamaali smiled. “Take it. May it serve you well.” She went back to her work.

  Nyri hesitated. Like Baarias, Sefaan possessed an energy that had the power to calm those around her. Nyri found herself wanting cling to that comfort for as long as possible. “Would you like to walk with us to the Blessing?”

  In truth, the Kamaali should already be there. The Blessing of the Gathering couldn’t very well go ahead without her. Nyri glanced up into the rippling canopy, assessing the angle of the light now falling through the leaves. Ninmah was creeping higher. “Aardn will be getting anxious that you are not there.”

  A wicked twinkle flickered to life in Sefaan’s eyes. She slid another leaf into the tyra sap in what Nyri judged to be a deliberately protracted motion. “There is a Gathering today?” She said in mock surprise. “Oh my.”

  Nyri shifted in the face of Sefaan’s casual disregard. She certainly would not want to provoke the senior Elder’s wrath. Sefaan, on the other hand, seemed to revel in poking the hornets’ nest. Then again, she was still the Kamaali. The Elders could not outwardly show her disrespect, regardless of their opinions regarding her state of mind,.

  “Tell Aardn I will be there when I am ready. Take note of her reaction. I want you to describe it to me later.”

  Laughter bubbled from Nyri’s throat. Shaking her head, she reached into a pouch folded into her garments and pulled out a small gift; a beautiful bright red feather. Nyri knew Sefaan would never take the gift without giving something in return; hence her pretence at needing a new basket. Sefaan could work the feather into one of her finer creations. Perhaps for one of the Elders. They favoured red as a symbol of their position.

  “You always bring me the most glorious materials, Nyri.” Sefaan admired the silken gift. Nyri’s heart swelled at the sight of the ancient one’s simple pleasure. She had collected it days ago. As soon as she had seen Sefaan working and feared for her fate, Nyri had known where this prize belonged. The Last Kamaali deserved everything beautiful before…

  Sefaan’s attention shifted abruptly from the feather to Nyri’s face. “Your thoughts are heavy this day, Nyriaana. What troubles you?”

  “Nothing,” she said, then, knowing she could not hide anything from Sefaan, she told part of the truth. “I have simply been dwelling on the past, when I know I should not.”

  “Ah,” the Kamaali’s depthless eyes were sympathetic. “Such thoughts would crack the hardest of hearts.” She tilted her face towards the trees twisting above, light and shadow playing across her crinkled features. “Strengthen yours, Nyriaana. You have endured much suffering in your short life but I fear we have not yet seen the last of our trials. Not since the Great Fury has the Almighty KI trembled as He does now. Ninsiku is not finished with us yet. In fact… I believe he is only just getting started.”

  As if in answer, the wind shivered through the leaves. Its icy breath brushed the back of Nyri’s exposed neck. Stifling a shudder, she followed Sefaan’s gaze. She knew all too well what the old Kamaali meant. She studied the strong trees twisting protectively overhead, picking out the increasingly obvious signs of disease and decay. Several of the mighty eshaaras already stood dead and empty, their skeletons whistling eerily in the breeze, their Kamaali spirits shrivelled and spent.

  The End of Days…

  Nyri gritted her teeth. It terrified her to think of the prayers and offerings Ninsiku’s Wove children were making to lend the Cold One such strength. The snows should not reach this far south. Not even frost should touch these lands. Ninmah had always protected them with her warmth and light; now her strength was diminished. Even healthy homes stood stark and empty; no families sheltered within their growing walls. In the absence of joy and laughter the wind whispered too loudly.

  “Ah,” Sefaan clapped her hands, startling Nyri’s attention back to the present. She had that strange look on her face and Nyri knew what was coming. “Don’t mind me, Nyriaana. You will prevail. I keep telling you-”

  “Yes, Ariyaana is coming. Who is Ariyaana?” Nyri knew she would not get any further. She never did.

  “I do not know!” Sefaan laughed. “The Great Spirit does not say. But you will know her when you see her and she will lead the way.”

  Nyri sighed. Sometimes she worried that the Eld
ers were right and Sefaan’s wits were starting to fray.

  Sefaan grunted and Nyri’s cheeks grew hot, embarrassed that the Kamaali might have picked up on her thoughts, but Sefaan was no longer paying attention. The Kamaali glanced briefly at Kyaati before refocusing on the red feather. “I know what I’ll do with this.” She turned the feather in her wrinkled hands as the light hit it and intensified its colour. “You had better be gone, child, and I had best be going, too. I think I’ve antagonised Aardn long enough.”

  The old one struggled to her feet, over-used bones creaking as she peered into the trees behind her and Nyri felt the power of her will extend. Moments later a large, brown doe trotted from the undergrowth and came to stand at the Kamaali’s side. Sefaan rubbed the beautiful creature’s neck and its large, liquid eyes gazed back in adoration. “Time is of the essence. We need that Gathering. It is the last before the Fury finds us.”

  “That’s what I keep trying to say,” Kyaati chimed.

  “I’m coming!” Nyri answered. She turned to leave as Sefaan called after her.

  “And do not think I missed the basket you already had hidden behind your back! I’m old, not blind. Now you’ll have to work twice as hard. See if you can find some of those soft fruits, if there are any. You know the ones I like. They’re kind on my gums.”

  Sefaan’s merry laugh died away behind them as Nyri moved off with Kyaati into the trees.

  “Poor old woman,” Kyaati lamented once they were out of sight. Nyri felt the shift in her friend’s mood and could not help but notice that her hands were restless on her belly once again. Nyri guessed what was on her mind and grew uncomfortable. She could hardly comfort herself, much less anyone else.

  “What if it is true, Nyri?” Kyaati burst out. “What if the worst is yet to come and the End of Days are upon us? What am I bringing my child in to?” She gripped Nyri’s arm, searching for assurances Nyri could not give. “What if I end up like Sefaan? Childless and alone with my mad ramblings. If there’s something wrong with my baby and I lose it, just like…” she choked off.