The slim canoe cut through the water. He was pushed on by the strong strokes of Crawler’s paddle and the seven-foot Crocodilian spirit that swam beneath the small boat. Crawler could have had Crocodilian carry the boat on his back and lazed the afternoon away, but that was not his way. A task at hand and a thrill of excitement pushed him to move quickly. A year with the Rivers had taught the boy how to move through the water with practiced ease. The sun was high in the sky, and the air was still.
A growing scent of wet green decay was carried to him with the breeze. The savannah was on his right, and the hill country of the Harvest Kingdom was on his left as he approached the green wall of the Colri River Delta. The wide river entered the lowland swamps, and large mangroves rose from the banks. Here the river split and split again as channels cut through the region. The humidity rose sharply under the tall canopied trees. It had taken him under three hours to move into the Delta proper. Crawler estimated that it was around fifteen kilometers if one could draw a straight line. But the river was no straight line, curved and snake-like. He had traveled almost twice that distance. He could have run that far, but it would have taken longer due to the rough terrain and dangers involved in going overland. Not that there wasn’t danger in the water, but Crocodilian kept most of that at bay. Crawlers’ biggest irritation was the insects; a small ceramic cup held a smoldering mash of sap, herbs, and sawdust. The knob of incense let off a semi-noxious smoke that kept most of the biting flies at bay.
More than a kilometer down the main channel, Crawler found the Lizardfolk marker. Part boundary marker, part parley marker, the stacked stones were clearly what he was looking for. The stones had been dredged from the swamp, bonded by the shamans, and shaped by their power. The mark was dark gray stone with natural black lines running through it. Shaped like the front half of a Crocodilian as it lunged from the water, the eight-foot statue had glazed black teeth as large as Crawler’s hand.
Crawler could feel Crocodilian’s appreciation for the marker statue. Crawler knew this was the right place because stone was precious to the lizardfolk, who had to draw it up from the mud bit by bit. They also revered the Totem Spirits like the Colri and had been allies to the people of the plains for as long as either side could remember. Crawler paddles his boat over to the statue and found a large flat rock, an offering table on the ground between the statue’s front legs. As he approached with the token that Blackfinger had given him, he could feel the power of the marker stone and the eyes of several folks upon him. He looked around cautiously but could see nor sense anything, just a nebulous sense of being watched. He laid the token on the offering table and moved back to the canoe. Colri were welcome in the Delta as long as they announced themselves to the territorial and shy lizardfolk.
Crawler decided to float down the river and draw upon the mana of the ley line along the river. He would explore the reedy murk of the delta for a few hours. A few hours to simply exist without being called upon to learn or work was almost novel. He paddled out into the slow current and merely let the canoe take him where it would. He snuffed the insect-repelling incense with the ceramic lid to the small pot and drew the spirit of the Crocodilian into his body. He felt his skin thicken and knew that if he were motionless, the insects would not sense him and thus not attack. He slowed his heart rate, entering into a semi-meditative state. He called Nighthawk Owl, and the spirit flew down from the sky to land on the prow. He asked the spirit to watch over him and alert him to danger. He then began to open himself to the mana flows within the river below.
The oppressive heat and humidity fell away as a wholly different cycle of life fed sensations into him. The incoming oceanic tide would overwhelm the pressure of the river’s outflow in its lunar cycles. It brought salt, algae, fish, and other life. Mixing the brine and fresh waters created a unique region of brackish swampy flats. Creatures like river dolphins, catfish, and certain sharks could survive in all three types of water. Most of the aquatic species preferred only certain levels of salt. Sweetgrass mud flats spread out where the mangroves did not hold sway. The delta’s estuaries bred life like the green shrimp that filtered the salt water for minerals and the many creatures who fed on them. Moon squid, which came into the estuary with the tide, feasted on the shrimp and departed with the outgoing tides. Where the plains were rolling grass-covered hills, the life cycle there was similar but slower than in the Delta. Here the waters increased the pace many times over. That cycle generated mana with a very different flavor and feel than in the plains or even simply in the river. Life was more abundant, with far more variety, each struggling in their way to grow and survive.
Crawler simply floated along, sipping at the cascade of power that didn’t quite flow here but simply hung in the air around him. “The mana here is strong.” Crawler said quietly, speaking to Trickster. “Is that why the lizardfolk are so strong?”
“Yes, but the higher levels of man also slow their reproduction. They are far fewer in number than the many tribes of the Colri and a mere drop in the water compared to the numbers of folk in the wide world. Though few would dare to encroach on them.” Trickster replied.
The time passed both slowly and faster than Crawler would have liked. There was peace to the constant chittering insects, burping frogs, bird calls, and other sounds of life in the Delta. Unnerving when one was used to the sound of the winds in the grass on the savannah, but peaceful in its own right. After the sun had sunk two hands in the sky, Crawler turned the canoe, and with Nighthawk Owl guiding his path back, he paddled up the river toward the marker stone. On the offering table was a woven reed packet about the size of a loaf of bread. It felt heavy and damp in his hands as he lifted it and said to the watchers, “My thanks, and those of Blackfinger too.” He didn’t know the correct ritual response, but he knew the lizardfolk would understand. This exchange happened many times yearly. A different child would come down the river to make the exchange each time. Each time the lizardfolk would learn the face of one of their new allies and help imprint them as an adult of the Colri. Such as it had been for generations.
Paddling back up the river, Crawler re-lit the incense and released Crocodilian into the river’s water. Holding the totem for that long in his skin was a test of endurance for Crawler and Crocodilian. While it tightened their bond, both felt the strain as they moved back up the river in unison. Nighthawk Owl flew ahead of him as darkness began to spread across the sky and the lands below. The song of the river’s night birds, bats, and insects began to fill his ears with the slosh of the paddle. Going against the current was more challenging work than with it. Crawler channeled some of the mana from the Delta into his connection with Crocodilian, his Heart glyph, refreshing them both. Like a hearty meal and strong drink, the mana flowed into him, he would be even more tired when he ran out of mana, but he would be home in bed by that time. He drank from the waterskin as he paddled for home.
He returned late at night, keeping quiet as he lashed the canoe to the communal dock. Blackfinger had instructed Crawler to return to her immediately, so he knocked on her door minutes after. She opened the door wrapped in a gray and white fur-lined robe. The inside of her hut was lit by the brazier, which had a pile of fragrant redwood giving off bright flames. She peered at him and raised an eyebrow in question. He held up the pouch, “I’ve brought the items the lizardfolk put out for the token.” Stifling a yawn, she waved him inside and placed a water kettle onto a heat brick. She traced the fire glyph on the side of the brick, and it pulsed with power for a moment. Crawler stood just inside the door, watching. She eyeballed him and waved him over to put the packet on the desk. After a few moments, the pot was boiling, and she touched the heat brick again. She poured two clay mugs of water and put a large pinch of tea leaves into one, handing him the other.
“For your tea. First, I need some fresh blood here.” She passed him a small brass bowl. She watched him take the point of his old knife to the forearm. He winced as he pierced his flesh. He held the lip of the bowl to the puncture. Blood began to pour from the wound and pooled in the bowl. After a moment, he passed the nearly full bowl over to her after she motioned that it was enough. Nodding, she said, “Make your tea and come back to me at dawn after you are clean.”
He took the cup and mixed in some of the mixture from the pouch he had been given. The tea was dark and muddy and smelled of citrus, roses, and manure. His empty stomach rumbled as the scent hit his nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and told him, “Best to gulp it down quickly. It’s not pleasant.” He thought he recognized the scent, a strong cleansing tea mixed with something else. He shuddered at the thought and did his best to chug the mug of tea quickly. The taste overwhelmed him as the hot liquid hit the back of his throat. He struggled to keep it in and drink it down. Forcing himself to swallow, he gulped and felt the heat in his throat hitting his stomach. Blackfinger quickly took the cup as his eyes went wide. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She said wryly as the boy turned and ran for the door. The sound of his running retreat made her laugh.
He had to pause and vomit twice on the way back to Trouble House. He stripped off his clothing as he moved through the door at speed. He barely had time to make it into the bathroom. His stomach rumbled and bubbled; after spending some time retching and evacuating, he sat exhausted on the floor—the cane of an Ancient hit his thigh. The elder dropped a waterskin on him, then pushed a scrub brush and bucket over to him with the end of the cane. Crawler felt overheated, an oily sweat beginning to bead on his skin. “Just clean up when your cleanse is done, young one. We have all been through it.” She stumped off, leaving Crawler to his misery. After an hour of laying in his filth, he could stomach a drink of water. After a few more minutes, he felt somewhat recovered and began scrubbing the thick oily sweat from his skin and the other nastiness that had come from his body. By the time he was done returning the bathroom to cleanliness as well as himself, he felt hollowed out but well. The waterskin was empty, and the sky was brightening. He refilled the skin after dressing in the clean clothes the Ancient had graciously set on a bench by the door for him.
When he climbed the ladder to Blackfinger’s door, the sun had just risen above the horizon following the dawn chorus. She opened the door for him dressed in simple linens and an ink-stained leather apron. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, I am cleansed.” He replied with what strength he could muster. He was weakened, drained, but clean.
She smiled, “Good, now for the fun part.” Her smile was genuine and somewhat ominous. “Strip down to your breeches and lay down on the cot. Face up, please. We’ll start on your right thigh.” He looked over, and the cot had been turned perpendicular to the wall. He did as he was told, and she placed a tray next to him. It had an assortment of tappers and combs and a small pot of thick black ink. “This ink is made from Moon Squid ink, charred swamp walnut shell, and your blood. Just lay back and close your eyes; this will hurt.” She said gently. He closed his eyes; he could hear her doing something with the things on the tray. He felt her warm hand on his thigh before she set something sharp against his skin. She removed her hand, and then the pain began. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, five quick strikes with a tapper along the back of the comb. The needles affixed to the comb bit into his skin, a line of fire for a moment, to be repeated again and again and again. “Now, call forth the Water Moccasin.”
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Concentrating on his connection to the totem, he could feel the spirit slide up his foot and place its head on the point of fire on his thigh. “Good, now be still and quiet.” She said gently. He could feel the snake on his skin. Its flickering tongue was the point where the needles first pierced into his skin. She began to tap-tap-tap again; pain burned lines across his leg, knee, and shin. Down to his ankle and back up the other side, she carved the shape of the totem into his flesh with the ink made from his blood. After a while, the endorphins settled his beating heart, and he felt the bond to the snake totem strengthen. She worked carefully, precisely as she inked each scale, each detail of the spirit into him. He fell into a trance of sorts as she worked. He did not notice her glowing or the wisps of power waft off the needles.
A new voice slid into the trance of detached pain and pleasure that his mind floated in. Sibilant and quiet, it whispered to him. “To be my partner, one bonded to me in life, you must give this fragment a name. I am The Water Moccasin, hunter of the reeds, poisoner of the flesh.” The voice was old and powerful, sinister in its hunger. “You may carry one of my children to help you, but you must give it a name.”
Memories of Wallace floated into his mind from the past. Renamed creatures, specifically snakes. “Noodle.” Was the name he gave to the child of Water Moccasin.
“A bit of humor to disguise the deadly danger of my child. I see Trickster already has influenced you. I accept this name.” The was a hint of humor in the voice of Water Moccasin. Crawler felt the bond to the totem become stronger. Where once it was a bit of twine, now it was iron. Not a leash of bondage, but the mark of partnership, a marriage of spirit. Crawler could feel the individual spirit of Noodle. He smiled to himself; the name was a silly one for such a dangerous creature. He could feel that the greater spirit of Water Moccasin had retreated, and the lesser spirit of Noodle had become his new partner.
After a seemingly endless time in the trance state, the tapping stopped when a warm hand on his shoulder drew him up and out of the trance. He blinked a few times, and Blackfinger’s smiling dark eyes looked down on him. “You did very well. One down, four to go. Drink some water, move around, and we’ll return to it in a few minutes.” She stepped away, wiping blood and ink from her hands. Crawler saw a fresh layer of ink and blood across the front of the apron. He sat up feeling a bit dizzy. He looked down at his leg. The tattoo started at the middle of his left thigh, a top-down view of the fat snake that curved to the right and then into an s-curve across the front of his knee. The snake’s tail ran behind his calf and back around his ankle. Each tiny scale was a stark black diamond, the pattern of stripes of the snake apparent. Blood still seeped from the raised flesh, which still burned.
He picked up a cup of water she placed next to him and drank deeply. He took a breath, pushed mana into his heart glyph, and felt the calm healing power of the magic circulate through him. He felt the ink in his skin and how the mark was mirrored on his spirit. Carefully getting to his feet, he wobbled around and stretched the stiff muscles in his back and legs. Blackfinger returned from the back of the house through the curtain and looked at the young man, “Are you all right to continue? We have a lot to do and not much time to do it. If you want all of your totems before your ceremony, that is.”
He blanched as he looked outside. It was sometime in the afternoon. “I can keep going for as long as you can.”
“Is that a challenge, young man? I can keep going for days.” She replied with a smile, her eyes glowing.
He nodded and laid back down on the cot. “Who is next?” He asked.
“The next one will be a bit more of a challenge. Legs are easy. Give me your hand.” She said as she sat next to the cot on his right side. He held out his arm then she grasped his wrist, positioning his arm across her lap. She took up the first comb and held it to the back of his wrist. “Close your eyes and call forth Crocodilian.”
He closed his eyes and reached for the ancient hunter. He felt the weight of the reptilian beast slide out of his skin, the tiny claws gripped his flesh, and the muscular tail curved around his shoulder, anchoring it in place. Again he felt the bite of the needle. This time the pain was sharper. It felt like the needles bit into the meat of his arm, deep into the muscle. He felt an involuntary twitch of pain but quickly controlled it. He calmed himself as the tap-tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tap filled the room. He felt the ink sink into him, and he fought to control the pain by sinking again into meditation.
He held his mind away from the pain. It was still there but not overwhelming. He felt the coming of something unseen and terribly frightening. A weight fell across his soul, sharp-toothed and frighteningly heavy. A deep and rumbling voice, full of patience that covered a vast depth of danger, said to him, “Child of man, I see you carry two others already. You have a strong soul, and I have watched your steps for some time now.” Crawler held himself with confidence, bearing up the weight on his soul. He knew that Crocodilian was a mother and a protector, and the ferocity of the great Totem was well known. “Should I allow one of my daughters to swim in the waters with you? What would you name her?”
Wallace searched his memories, discarding many of the joking names of cartoon characters. He instinctively knew that such a name would be a trespass. He recalled some ancient Earth mythos and the reverence some cultures held for Crocodiles. “I would name her Neferu, for one of the queens of long past from my origin world. This queen was known as Neferu-Sobek or the Crocodile Queen.”
The voice of the spirit came again, eons of time carried in her breath, “That is acceptable.” Again he felt the greater spirit pull away, but a lesser spirit stayed with him, bound in partnership. The sense of timelessness slipped from Crawler, and he was called back to consciousness. He blearily shook his head as he looked at Blackfinger; he could see past her through an open window that was now night.
“How long was I under for?” He croaked, mouth and throat dry.
She glowed with inner light, “It is close to midnight. Drink, stretch, and lay back down if you want to continue. One totem is what most people bind for their Passage Ceremony; some only ever bind one. Two is not too common. Three is pretty rare.” Blackfinger said as she handed him the waterskin again.
“I would like to do the third, at least.” Crawler said as he looked at the sleeve tattoo. The gaping toothy mouth encircled his wrist. Looking like his hand was coming out of the creature’s mouth, or that Crocodilian was eating the hand after eating the arm. The skin was raised and throbbed with pain. He drank the entire skin of water and lay back down. He circulated mana through his heart glyph, healing himself and bringing his body back to a calm state.
“Okay, the pain will be much worse for this third one. Once we start, we cannot stop until it is done. Are you sure?” She asked with concern.
“I am sure.” He said confidently.
She placed the first comb above his heart. “This one is smaller and should not take as long.” She said as she struck the back of the comb with the tapper. The needles felt like they slammed straight through his skin, through the pectoral muscle, and into the bone of his ribcage. Pain filled his mind, clouding his vision and making him grunt. He called forth Boar, who plunged through his chest as if bursting out of a wall. Blackfinger moved the comb and began with the tapping. Searing pain scoured his mind and burned through his body as he fought for self-control. Feeling the struggle for control was the wrong method for this. Giving in to the pain washed away his conscious mind. In doing so, he no longer felt like he was fighting the river’s current at flood stage, but flowing with the waters, rushing forward and not drowning in it.
“You were mine first.” A voice spoke into his head. This spirit ran with him through the grass, hungry, seeking. “I am not jealous; I like friends.” The voice of Boar did not carry the depth or weight of Crocodilian nor the pride of Water Moccasin. It was almost joyous in its simple way; Boar was not wise. Boar was full of emotion and stubbornness. “Now I have caught you, and you will be a part of my herd. I will give you one of the little ones to show you the way. What will you name it?”
“Gulli, after a golden boar from myths of Earth.” Crawler replied.
“I am named.” Said the voice of the lesser spirit as it bound itself to Crawler. The torrent of pain lessened to a slow flow, an ache deep in his body. His mind rose from the depths of his subconscious, where it had retreated from the pain.
“How are you doing, Crawler?” Blackfinger greeted him as she handed him another waterskin. He looked at her carefully and saw a level of weariness hidden by her tattoos.
“Still here, still alive.” He rasped as he greedily drank the clean, clear water.
“Do you want to continue? I have never bound a fourth spirit in one session, and it seems you are at the limit.” She inquired with concern evident.
“I just need a minute.” He said. He sat and entered into a meditative state. He felt the ley line that ran through the river not far away. He pulled a slim tendril of that power into his heart glyph. He felt like old jerky, dry stiff, and leathery. The mana trickled into him, beginning to soak into that dryness. As it flowed into him, it healed the ache of the newest tattoo, refreshed him like a hearty meal and a good night’s sleep. His head was clear, and the strength and partnership of his three bound totems filled him. He opened his eyes and looked at Blackfinger. The light of dawn peeked through the open window, the thin clouds orange and pink. He had been meditating for more than a minute. “I am ready.” He said. He felt refreshed and exhausted. Physically he was fine, but his soul was tired.
Blackfinger shook her head. She pulled a sizeable wedge-shaped pillow from under the cot and directed Crawler to lay face down across the pad. His shoulders were raised while his neck hung exposed. She placed a single needle against the base of his neck, right on the vertebrae. “This will be a tribulation above and beyond what you have felt yet. Bite into this.” She passed him a leather strap, it was clean, but more than one set of teeth had bitten into it in the past. “I rarely bind a fourth spirit to anyone, let alone in one sitting. Usually, a person is well into full adulthood before they even try.”
Crawler replied, “I am ready.” He bit down on the leather strap.
She did not tap on the single needle but simply applied pressure. As it pierced into his skin, his body almost revolted utterly. Muscles seizing, he screamed out between clenched teeth. He heard Blackfinger say, “Hold still, hold on, bring forth the Nighthawk Owl.” The needle remained in his spine. A breeze came in through the window, and the near-silent wing beats of the Nighthawk Owl filled the air. The pain carried Crawler away. The flooding river of torture overwhelmed him.
He suddenly felt claws; long sharp talons jabbed into his sides. Wings beat, and he was lifted out of the torrential pain. “Little one who would be prey. You are heavy. I cannot carry you for long. I can see far into the distance, into a time when you will be great. I would have my daughter fly with you, guide you to the falling sun. She needs a name; what would you name her?”
“Athena was the name of a goddess of wisdom in my old world. Will that work?”
For the first time, a name Crawler suggested was refused. “It will not. She will not carry the name of another goddess. She will be her own goddess.” There was no anger, just simple flat refusal. Crawler began to think, to feel around his almost century of memories for something appropriate. He thought of how light and shadow slid across surfaces, how the shadow of a hawk slid across the ground far beneath them. The feeling of the hunt, of the chase, filled him. He said suddenly, “Tag, her name will be Tag.” The swoop, grab and fly away of the bird of prey reminded him of the game of tag children played, Touch And Go.
“Yes, please take care of Tag as she will you.” He felt the claws release him, and he fell. He fell back into the river of pain, his mind swirled down, drowning. The binding was complete; he was strengthened. He was also washed away in the deluge of burning, piercing pain. It was everywhere and all things. His mind began to burn away. Gulli came and rooted the sense, Neferu gave him the strength to hold on, Noodle gave him the flexibility to bend but not break, and Tag allowed him to move with the flow of the current. He was not a rock or tree in the great flood but a reed bending but not broken.