Chapter 1
Often the golden dusk would brush the tips of wild grass at day's end. When Gunilian's light faded the cicadas sang their lament beneath the warbling cry of the kakaws as the sun fell to dream. Bronze evening fingered through green-leafed chaos. Quiet never touched them, so filled with unending life as they were. But the village remained still, half land eaten, and faded from memory.
Unabated, the vines grew as they would, willful in the reclamation of their own flesh. Mud brick cleaved and clay pots seeped into the silt until overcome by the black and dispersed in jagged pieces. Burnt wood laid half digested by Earth. The sweet smell of rot wrapped pungently in those empty homes. But then there stood the warm scent of flame where brazier still burned, alone, like a spirit of what was. Saela sat before it, heat lapping her dark face. The mud brick walls encased them with that small fraction of light. Her father’s bright eyes blinked shut and her own followed close with them. Her mind was addled by Naka root urged towards the edge of dream. Her father called to her, wild and unbound. She was old enough to receive him now. The air was thin and the colors, quivering together, formed blurs of red, yellow, and deep brown that was all smudged over with dark figures.
One of them touched her shoulder, sliding up to her neck and feeling the tense cords of muscles that bulged beneath her skin. Calloused fingers mapped out the contours of her. All three figures boasted palpable concern, but she who touched her was Nailah, and hers overshadowed all else. A ritual laid out within Saela’s body, a welcoming of His touch and His spirit within the fruit that sprouted from His seed. Bound with Him, she would be His tether from the Heavens to the mortal world. He fumbled, struggling, forgetting what mortal meant. The sweet scent of fruit broken against the hard root, the feel of life blooming fragile and loud.
She could hold that memory of a day's zenith so many days hence. Merava, long and black with her proud furred head raised. The panther was languid in the daylight with a mother's calmness as her water broke and her womb spasmed to push the black balls of wet fur from her canal and into the open light. Saela had guided them from their old home and into her palm. She felt their still bodies ripple then come alive as her fingers pressed gently across them. Shaking in the breeze they coiled closer to the heat, but then in ravenous hunger wriggled in their babyish way to their mother's leaking nipples. How beautiful in their newness. One girl, strong as her mother, radiant and with that same deep desiring hunger. One boy that reached with unyielding bravery that soft mouth across her thumbs. One boy runty and shaking. He did not breathe when Saela rubbed his back. He did not breathe when her finger pressed against the fragile ribcage that threatened to bend.
She bent instead, tasting those bitter birthing waters as her mouth breathing life within his lungs. Felt that way his heart jumped and started with the first brush of tiny paws against her hot cheek. A miracle so astounding and marvelous she longed to see his eyes open and peer into that new soul that had nearly fallen away to death.
It was, perhaps, that desire to feel again the creation in its purest form is what brought Him to the mortals he wrested himself so far above.
They made her stay upright - Naka was nasty and old enough was still young. Her stomach was volatile and she knew that well, for it slid down her throat like a coal and now brandished deep within threatening to belch black smoke like the fire mountain did when the the goddess resting below it grew restless. Her mouth closed tight, her fingers curled against her thigh in ardent silence as her head bent. Air came after, a barely remembered necessity.
Gunilian had burned against the back of her mind since the day of her birth as a silent reckoning awaiting awakening. A seed of him was planted squarely in the center of her mind. It grew roots, reaching down in the depths of her and blooming, now, with first fruits of a labor long worked when he tilled the soil of her soul until it yielded to his breath and tears.
He coaxed her to settle. The crux of his will lied waiting. His burning touch tightened on her throat until her esophagus closed. She could not breathe. His face floated before her translucent and golden as the final reaching rays of the dying light. His eyes were twin flames that swelled and pulsed in the depth of his skull where no lid was left to cover them. It struck, what others saw looking upon her, flaming eyes of gold set in a dark face that warmed and burned with the blazing sun just under the surface.
But unlike her, there was no shadow on him, for he was the blazing sun and the flames of life engulfed him whole. It pulsed beneath the mask of his skin and she could feel it sink down into her own. Her belly flared with the bits of him planted inside of her. But despite being sown of his seed she still felt her eyes water and the desperate fear as his fingers dug into her neck. Through a tangle of tears she glimpsed the faces of her amma, her brother, her baba.
They were too far. The cacophony of flame rose and beat against her eardrums. Colors flitted in blue and white, orange and black, swirling into unknown patterns as her fingers loosened on the bowl of Naka root juice. This was supposed to be a gift. As her body turned from girl to woman, as she let loose protections of youth for responsibilities of maturity. Reality jerked apart, bulging out against its own skin and tearing at the seams. She wanted it to be stitched back, pretty as a tapestry, the miracle of the surface unbroken.
The first gulp of Naka had slid down in one excited swoop. At the bottom of the bowl lied freedom. The land across the sea called to her and she could feel the fibers of her tethers fraying as the flames pitched higher. The second now waited to become a puddle on the floor. Weakness, perhaps, or something unerringly ground born. Divinely hewn yet Earth was all she knew. How could He think her able to hold his will? Salvation dripped away and she wished she had chosen to finish her boat before this day came.
Her fingers parted.
They would not open. Another willed them closed. Her father's hand - now so tangible and present - pressed deep until the clay threatened to crack, groaning under her sweat-slicked palm. Her lips pressed together. Vaguely, she knew her arm moved. A body moving unwilled by the mind. His will inked through her muscles and subsumed them as vines twisting tight over the gangly sprout that suffered for breath. She did not know he could touch her in such ways. The contours of the muscles contracted and forced a bend at the elbow, coaxed up by his hand. His thumb dug between the joints of her jaw until the bones unhinged and teeth parted. Neck muscles bunched, desperate and wild to unhitch Him. The Naka root split her open. A fractured desire mended mind and body together again. His grip tightened and realizing her body was not her own, she fell into panic as the last gulp slid unwillingly into her protesting stomach. She gagged, throat opening in some desperate attempt at regurgitation but only fire brewed within and only fire could be expelled.
Storm swirled in color and sound, pounding at her inner sanctum and tearing every wall built about her asunder as though thin leafed blades ripped from the branch. The shadows collapsed into light. He remained, alone, before her as the roaring pounded against her mind, clawing in through the thin membrane that separated her from madness.
The thread that had bound them pulled taut. He called to her, silent yet approaching, his voice reverberated unendingly in the center of her. Hot tears threatened but refused to fall, the pressure behind her eyes simply building. Her mouth opened, but now words fell lost in the roar of heat. The string tugged and, helpless, she fell forward, collapsing into Him.
All consuming, enormous, and wild. Lost within his throes she floundered, no ground awaited, no solitude prevailed as her limbs knocked outwards finally reclaimed as her own, but useless as she spiraled in the wrathful cacophony. Her eardrums bursts and her tears burned deep into her eyes until they smoldered in the empty interior of her skull. The molten liquid bubbled against her throat, pounding at her chest and belly for their own freedom. Her fingers grasped blindly for threads of safety and finding only the feathery touch of Gunilian's fire slipping between the gaps. She flailed against it, the oncoming gale, as her vision was blighted and body consumed.
Still, quiet, know me, I am your father.
What have you done? Out, out, out of me.
Blood of my blood, perfection in creation, daughter walk to me.
Leave me, leave me, leave me, it hurts.
I know. Endure. Come to me.
I can't.
You will. I call to you. You will follow.
Enfolded in herself she felt it, threaded through her mind like her own thoughts with the barest flickering spark of an unknown. He was there and he was not.
Beautiful daughter. Flesh of my flesh. Mine on Earth and mine to hold.
Father, please...
Come to me. I will it.
It subsumed her mind, reaching to the far reaches until she was given no place to squander. His hand curved around the edges of her enacted universe. She could see nothing beyond him. The burn, the weight, the power, all laid languid atop and pressed down until the groundless sky broke and sent her careening endlessly.
I can't breathe.
You do not need it. Come to me. I need you.
I can't.
You will.
***
The pain in her head followed the piercing darkness. Her stomach clenched as she turned her head feeling something hard press against her cheek. The brazier coals burned red and the shadows caught the light. She saw the faint wisp of hair and hushed whispers that were garbled beneath the pounding of her heart. A large hand brushed over her brow and she did not know it Janeer or baba’s. Her stomach clenched in a familiar way that sent her scrambling upward as her head pushed through the thickness of the air. Her spine went rigid, then she retched across herself shamefully. Hot liquid spread across her thighs and dribbled, half burning, down her naked chest, Liquid flame gone, she felt cold twisting wind that knifed into her core. A child of the sun never felt cold, but as it pressed itself into her she shuddered and retched more, sobbing.
As she finally rose erect hands touched her shoulders. Someone had pulled back her hair as she vomited and now she felt her skirt pulled from her hips and a warmed damp cloth stroking across her clammy umber skin. Stinging bile was replaced with a warm tingle that seeped deep, rebuffed by the frozen gales within. She was reminded of the snowy mountain tips Janeer had told of, claiming it to be so cold a man’s fingers would numb. A sharp breath and then harsher sobs followed. It was Nailah behind her, her long callused fingers brushing tenderly through Saela’s hair and down across her neck.
“Breathe, breathe...” She murmured against her temple. “You’re alright, sweet thing.”
“I told you it was too early.” Baba’s voice was more distant, water splashed against the old beaten floors. As Saela’s eyes finally focused and adjusted she saw Janeer before her, catching her eye as he swiped a streak of vomit from her belly. His lip curled in a smile and his brow cocked.
“I think you spewed more than anyone I’ve ever seen.” He tossed the soiled rag and leaned back, he was squatting on his toes, elbows loosely resting on his knees as he studied her. “Are you alright?”
“She’ll be alright.” Nailah petted back a strand of loose hair. Saela managed a half nod in response, rubbing just beneath her eye as a heaviness overtook her, with the flames gone there was little to keep her afloat.
“Will she?” Baba’s voice was closer now. Saela let her gaze move to the corner of her eye, she could see just the edge of his blue sarong flickering in the the breeze that brushed through the wide windows. Her eyes began to drift closed again, tucking against her amma’s dark breast.
Nailah ran her fingers through Saela’s hair again, lightly tugging to rouse her. “Jaledar doubts your strength.”
“I do not.” Jaledar was before them now, he squatted as his son did and they were, at once, remarkably identical in their unison. “I doubt your wisdom.”
“Tch,” Nailah’s fingers curled and Saela felt the bare brush of a nail against her scalp. “Saela did you feel unready?”
Saela was silent, black numbness overwhelmed her. Their quarrel was inconsequential in the scheme of her current memory. It would go as it always did, expectantly waiting for her side to be chosen before the other turned and grumbled in disquietude as though wronged. Saela wanted to sleep.
Nailah’s chest rose high with a sigh that casted warmth across Saela’s brow when it expelled. “Ah, nevermind that. It is best she sleeps. She made it.”
“Barely.” Jaledar touched her cheek, his hand cupped it gently as his thumb stroked a stray hair from her eye.
“She made it.” Nailah said again. “She walks the path to Gunilian now.”
Jaledar grunted, his hand did not leave her face. Silent questions still rung but he had few words left. Saela turned, letting her head rest in the crux of his hold. His hard hands soothed her, the waving call of rest only coaxed by the gentle stroke of his thumb beneath her eye. They spoke, still, of her and Gunilian. But she heard none of the rest.
