AtLan: Genesis

Ishka had not expected the vicious slap to the left side of her head that sent her sprawling. She could taste the blood in her mouth from a cut inside her cheek, but pursed her lips tightly together and swallowed. He had hurt her, but she would not allow him the pleasure of seeing that. With slow and determined movement she pulled herself from the ground to stare once again into the cold, flinty eyes of her assailant. Ishka knew she had enraged Dowan to the point where he couldn’t control his emotions. Stupid old fool, she thought. He doesn’t know what a spectacle he’s making of himself. She readied herself for the blow to the other side of her head, and managed to stay upright when it came.

“Four sunrises!” the old man shouted. “Four!” he repeated, as his eyes probed the assembled village community, daring anyone to challenge him. Then he looked back at Ishka. “Be gone!”

According to the ritual, Ishka was supposed to leave immediately, but she stood watching him as the wind blew wisps of white hair across his leathery face, waiting until she saw the hint of uncertainty and perhaps fear in his dark eyes. Satisfied, she broke off her gaze and turned to leave, containing her anger over what had happened. The slapping part of the banishment ceremony was supposed to be a mere suggestive formality, not an actual physical strike. Dowan might be an old man with an addled mind, she reminded herself, but her stinging face and hurt cheek testified to a considerable life force still within him. Nevertheless, she had made up her mind when she returned from her last banishment of five sunrises that she would confront him and demand he relinquish his position as chief in favor of someone more capable. No one had supported her on this, of course, but she knew they all wanted to be rid of him. And it had earned her this new banishment. Four more sunrises on the heels of the five she had just completed. It didn’t matter. The forest was like a second home to her, and nine days there, especially in the summertime, would pose no problem.

As she walked away, Ishka heard her name called from behind her. She recognized the unwelcome voice, and turned to see Vindior ambling toward her with a smirk on his face that his bushy red beard failed to conceal. A good ten summers older than her, he was a large man, with a broad face and a narrow, pinched nose that didn’t seem to fit the rest of his features. He moved in much too close to her, but Ishka knew that was because his squinty eyes looking down on her now couldn’t see very well. She refused to back away.

“You really shouldn’t provoke him, you know,” he said, his amusement clear from his tone. “It does no good.”

“And I suppose you are the authority on what is good.”

She turned to walk away from him, but Vindior reached for her arm, holding it only for an instant before an icy stare from Ishka warned him to release her.

“He is the chief,” he said, stepping back a little. “The people must respect their chief.”

Her eyes continued to stare up into his. “I respect those who deserve my respect. Dowan is an old fool. He should let someone else lead. For the good of our people.”

“So now you are the one who decides what is good.”

“I know what is in the heart of our people. They agree with me.”

The corners of Vindior’s mouth turned up in a humorless smile. “Ah yes, the wise healer who knows her people so well.” He nodded, appearing to weigh this as an important insight, then arched his eyebrows. “So, how is it that no one spoke in your defense?”

She waited a heartbeat before answering. “I didn’t expect them to. It’s not our custom. But people in the river village speak their minds more freely. And their chief listens. To everyone.”

With that, she began to walk away, only to hear Vindior proclaim behind her in a loud voice. “The river village?” She turned to watch him spit on the ground, as if the words he had uttered repulsed him. “You know it is dangerous to speak like this of the river village,” he said. “Pagh! A good chief would increase your banishment for doing so.”

“And who would be that good chief, Vindior? You?”

“You think I want to be chief?” he said in mock surprise.

“I know you want to be chief. When you talk to Dowan you speak ill of anyone who could possibly be your rival. But you know you cannot be chief next. Our next chief by custom must be a woman.”

“Customs can change. You tell us that all the time. Or perhaps you think you should be chief next. That’s why Dowan was so angry, you know. He thinks that’s what you want. A strange idea, isn’t it? Replacing someone too old for the position with someone too young.”

Ishka felt her face flush. In her secret dreams she saw herself leading her people with wisdom and compassion. She believed that the ori, the spirits of the forest around them who guided her people’s lives, had chosen this as her destiny. And she certainly felt old enough to lead. She had celebrated the bonfires of the midsummer festival twenty-five times.

“I am not too young. You don’t know the stories of our people.”

“And you do.”

“Of course I do. My father was spirit interpreter and taught the stories to me. I was supposed to be spirit interpreter after him.’

“You want to take that position away from Dowan as well?”

Ishka ignored his insinuation. “Tashar, our first chief, was only a few years older than me when he founded this village.”

“Then I won’t have to worry about you for a few years, will I?”

She shook her head, exasperated. She wondered why she felt it necessary to respond to his goading. The discussion was pointless. Chiefs were chosen by consensus, and Dowan’s successor, by custom, had already been agreed upon long before.

“Epher will be our next chief,” she said. “Sooner rather than later, I hope. She has the hearts of our people.”

“Yes, of course. An excellent choice. She is old and the duties will quickly drain her strength. Then a proper leader can succeed her.” Vindior paused before continuing in a darker tone. “One who can deal with dissenting voices even better than old Dowan.”

“Is that a threat, Vindior?”

He was about to reply when he noticed Ishka’s right hand move down to grasp the head of the bronze axe she wore in her belt. Settling for a look of disgust, he turned and walked away.

Ishka had seen the glint of fear in Vindior’s eyes when she grasped the axe, and it pleased her. Not that she would ever use her axe in anger against another person, but the threat that she might do so served her purpose. When she had returned with the weapon from one of her banishments, Dowan had demanded that she relinquish it to him. Not only was it a weapon such as no one else in the village possessed, it was clear that she had obtained it by travelling to the forbidden river village. Instead of turning it over, Ishka had brandished it menacingly and dared him or anyone else to take it from her. It was all bluff, but no one challenged her.

The weapon had given her a certain status among the villagers, even if it frightened some of them. Not that she needed to intimidate anyone. She was no warrior. She was a healer, like her father, Koron. He had been the spirit interpreter, or religious leader, as well as the healer for the village. He had taught her the virtues of the forest herbs, the meaning of dreams, and how to discern from the actions of people what thoughts and feelings lay in their minds. He had introduced her to the spirits of the forest, gave her the words to speak to them that would join their strength with hers to be able to achieve the things she wanted. And he had shown her how to use her natural empathy for people. That, more than anything, had given her success in dealing with illnesses and emotional problems, and made her an effective healer. It was ironic, then, that her ability to heal rather than hurt had brought her the weapon that she wore.

During her many banishments, she often visited the river village, despite the prohibition to travel there. Its community was larger than her own, and she found the people to be open and accepting, welcoming her skills. On one occasion she had healed the son of the chief crafter. In grateful response, he had offered her his most prized creation, a magnificent bronze axe. A single piece of metal, the weapon had a shaft of delicately etched designs that helped give it a firm grip. At once beautiful and fearsome, it symbolized for Ishka an honour to her healing skills. Let others think what they would.

As she approached her family hut, she could see Mok and Tira engaged in conversation. Mok stood with his back toward her, his tall, thin form looking down at Tira, stroking his beard while he listened to her. Tira’s round face was set in a determined glare as she spoke, and Ishka could imagine only that her cousin must have been defending her to Mok. Their conversation stopped abruptly when they noticed her.

“Ishka, you can’t keep doing this.” Mok had been the first to speak when she reached them. A frown intruded upon the handsome face that she found so attractive, along with the green eyes framed by his sandy hair and beard. “The date for our joining keeps getting pushed back further each time. I’m not sure any more if Dowan will even favor it.”

Ishka bristled at the suggestion. “He cannot change things. My father negotiated the match with your family. They agreed. You agreed. I agreed. Everyone agreed. It is done.”

“But your father is no more, and Dowan is spirit interpreter now. He can change things.”

“That would be a first. Dowan doesn’t change anything.”

Still, Ishka found the prospect disquieting. Pushed far enough, Dowan could take his revenge on her by annulling the agreement for her joining with Mok, since it was a ceremony the spirit interpreter performed. That task should have fallen to her father, but he disappeared almost a year ago, near the summer solstice. Dowan claimed that the forest spirits had taken Koron to be with his wife, Ishka’s mother, who had passed away earlier, and that they wanted him to assume the position of spirit interpreter as well as chief for the village. Ishka had inherited her father’s role of healer.

“Listen to Mok,” said Tira.

Ishka felt her cousin’s gentle touch on her shoulder as she spoke. Tira’s brown eyes were kind and caring, very much like her own. With similar facial features and their auburn hair set in a single braid down their backs, they could almost be mistaken for sisters, except Tira tended to be more heavy set, Ishka thinner and lithe.

“Try to be patient with Dowan,” Tira continued. “I know you want things to change, and maybe that would be good. But you know Dowan won’t listen. What good does it do to keep annoying him?”

There was that word again. Good. What is good, thought Ishka, and what is not good? And who really knows? She was tired of the debate. “I will think about it,” she lied.

Mok shook his head, all too familiar with her subterfuge. “Promise me not to challenge him again when you return. Promise.”

“I said I would think about it. That will have to be sufficient.” She knew it wouldn’t be. Mok folded his arms together in an exaggerated motion and looked away.

“Think about the people here.” Tira’s tone was gentle, but pleading. “You are the village healer, and yet you are away so often because of your banishments. You’ve taught me some of the healing arts, and I can help, but it’s not the same. We need you.”

She had to admire Tira’s ability to get to the root of the matter, as always. Ishka could not deny the guilt she had been feeling over her many absences, causing some of the villagers, despite Tira’s efforts, to endure illnesses and problems she could have easily treated had she been more available.

“I will think about it, Tira. Trust me.” This time she was being truthful. She would have to find some way to accommodate herself to the incorrigible Dowan. For the sake of her people.

Shouts of alarm and cries of panic from further in the village ended any further conversation. Ishka looked to see the people gathering again, but this time she could feel an atmosphere of sheer terror pervading the crowd. They were looking up at the low-hanging clouds, pointing and shrieking. Ishka followed their gaze to see the shimmering gleam of an enormous, seemingly metallic object floating gracefully across the morning sky. She studied the apparition as it moved along. Its size was difficult to determine, since it seemed far away, but it looked larger than any village hut. The four sides of the object converged on each other, tapering to a point at the top. It soon moved past, disappearing from sight behind a cloud.

Ishka wandered over to the crowd, with Tira and Mok following. More people had gathered now, including Dowan, who was engaged in lively conversation with many around him. Seeing Ishka, he advanced toward her, along with some of the villagers. Vindior, of course, was prominent.

“Why are you still here? You were supposed to leave! See,” he said, one arm pointing upward, “Mongor, the sky spirit, is angry with you, and has come to tell you to go!”

“I am allowed time to prepare for my banishment.” With some effort she attempted to sound reasonable and composed, not deferential, but not confrontational either. She was tempted to complain that her conversation earlier with Vindior was the cause of her delay, but she held her tongue. “I will leave as soon as I can.”

“Do it quickly, or Mongor will come back and visit ill upon the village!”

Ishka couldn’t contain herself further. She had tried; it didn’t work. “Dowan, that was not Mongor.” She could hear a low murmuring from the villagers around them.

“What? You dare to question what we have all seen with our own eyes?”

Mok stepped between them. “Be careful what you say, Ishka. Dowan is the spirit interpreter.”

She looked steadily at the old man, noting the necklace of sacred beads that he wore as his badge of that office. The necklace had been her father’s. He had been wearing it when he disappeared, and no one had sufficiently explained how it had come into Dowan’s possession.

“And I am the daughter of a spirit interpreter.”

“This is too much, Dowan.” Vindior had joined the fray. “Increase her banishment.”

“No, listen to me!” Ishka was addressing the whole crowd now, not just the few people around her. “I know what that is. I have not seen one before, but I have heard about this from the people of the river village. They have heard others speak of it. They call it a shining cloud. It holds people – strange, tall people who wear bright coloured clothing. But people. Not Mongor. In the river village they are known as cloud travellers.”

Dowan spat on the ground before her. “The river village! This is nonsense!”

“It’s true. They have heard reports from people who have seen them, but only from a distance. When the shining cloud descends to the ground, these people, the cloud travellers, emerge from it and walk around.”

“Are they a danger to us?” asked Tira. She seemed to have discerned that the crowd was listening to Ishka, and believed her. Her question helped Ishka’s explanation find some acceptance among them.

“I don’t know. Maybe. The people who spoke of this to the river village were very frightened of them.”

“Mongor has sent them,” said Dowan, trying to gain back control of the situation. “And it’s because of you.” He pointed fiercely toward Ishka.

“I don’t know who has sent them.” She couldn’t keep a defiant tone out of her words. “But I am curious,” she continued, unconsciously grasping the head of her axe, “and I will see if I can find them.”

A gasp of alarm went up from the crowd. Even Dowan remained speechless. As she turned to go and set her face toward the edge of the village, she realized she had not made any provision for her journey of banishment, but she did not want to stop. The moment was hers, and if she paused now to do anything else, she might lose that advantage.

Mok grabbed her arm. “Ishka,” was all he said, more menacing than pleading.

She shook free from his grasp. “It will be all right,” she said, with one last backward look. “The ori of the forest will protect me.” Dowan was still staring at her in astonishment; Vindior was smiling. She noticed that Tira had disappeared from the crowd. Ishka turned her back and walked on.

As she passed the sheep and goat pens at the edge of the village, out of sight now from those she had left behind, she saw Tira waiting for her.

“You will need these,” her cousin said, handing her a bow and arrows, as well as a sack that probably contained food for her journey. “Be careful.”

Ishka could only nod. As Tira embraced her, she knew that saying anything now could betray her resolve. She looked a long time into Tira’s eyes and departed in silence. In truth, she was nowhere as brave as she had made herself out to be. She found the forest trail and let herself be enveloped by the tree-dimmed shadows.

She had no intention to seek out the cloud travelers. And she really hadn’t the slightest inkling where they might be. The idea to claim that she would do so had simply jumped into her mind in the heat of her confrontation with Dowan. She had not wanted to aggravate the situation any further, and it was an effective way of diverting the discussion from what was becoming an awkward exchange. Vindior was pushing to increase her punishment, and he may have succeeded if she hadn’t decisively taken control. She had been sincere in agreeing with Tira that she should try to avoid conflict with Dowan for the sake of her people, but she couldn’t help being incensed by his manner. And the sight of the necklace – her father’s necklace! – brought back so many unanswered questions about his disappearance. She could not let Dowan take advantage by usurping a role that should not have been his. She had never believed his story about the forest spirits conferring the title upon him. Spirit interpreter indeed! She was more qualified to be spirit interpreter than he was, more qualified even to be chief!

She made an abrupt stop and buried her face in her hands. She was letting her anger run away with her. No, she reasoned, that is not what she wanted. What she wanted was to know what had happened to her father. He was dead, she felt certain of that. And Dowan knew more than he would ever say. He may even have had something to do with it all. That was the seat of her anger with Dowan, why she would never be able to accommodate herself to his leadership. But somehow, she had to. Opposing him would not accomplish anything. But what was she to do? She needed these four days to clear her mind, to find ways to move forward without being drawn into conflict again and again. Tira was right. As healer, she owed that to her people.

Ishka thought about going to the river village. A day’s travel from her own, the village sat beside a real river, not the paltry creek that ran near her smaller community. She knew people who would welcome her and invite her to stay with them. Perhaps she could ask them some more questions about the cloud travellers, and then return to her own village with some story she would invent about how her search had been unsuccessful. If Dowan and Vindior didn’t believe her, she would dare them to go look for themselves. That would silence them.

On her way she would pass by the secret cave. Her father had introduced her to the site, a shelter where he would stay overnight in his ventures through the forest to find the plants that he used to make his medicines. He had credited the river spirit for showing him the place, since the cave opened on to the river, and could be accessed only by wading through it. He had spent time enlarging the entrance enough to allow easier passage into the interior, where he had furnished the place with a bed and some cooking utensils. She had accompanied her father on several occasions when they stayed there, a comfortable lodging for the two of them, safe from any forest predators. No one but she and her father knew of the place. And now, only she knew.

Ishka had been following a trail familiar to her, making her way through the forest until the sun was at its highest point. When she came to the crest of a hill she noticed in the valley below a bright glint of sunlight reflecting through the trees. She could not think what might have created such a strange glare. Curious, she left the trail to wind her way down to investigate. She had not yet reached the valley floor when a glimpse through the trees caused her to catch her breath with a terrified gasp, and revealed the reason for the mysterious reflection. There, in a small clearing in the forest, sat a shining cloud.

Far larger than the biggest hut in her village, or even in the river village, the object rested on four thin, dark metal legs, leaving easily enough room to walk underneath. In a growing panic Ishka looked around for cover, and crawled into a bush near the bottom of a large oak tree. She pleaded with the spirit of the tree to embrace her and shield her from danger, resolving to imagine herself as a part of the tree, invisible to anyone – or anything – that might look her way. Risking a glance toward the shining cloud, she watched as a platform began to lower from its raised base.