Fellen looked like she couldn’t decide if she was as panicked as she had been when we had to walk through the shamble men horde or smug. We were standing next to the ramp that led up to the platform in the back of the meeting hall dressed in our best. For Fellen that meant her mother had spent the past day adding patterns reminiscent of the ravines to the hems of a spare dress in a rich brown color. Her face was washed and deep berry red paint darkened her eyelids and lips. Placing the color of loyalty, fealty, and victory on the openings to the soul was no accident. I had similar markings. Fellen’s hair had also been pulled back in a half up do with red cords braided into her blonde hair and a bone hair comb carved to look like a splashing fish holding it all together.
I wasn’t nearly as decorated. My face was washed and marked same as her, of course, but while my child’s dress was no longer the bloodstained mess I had worn in Flickermark, it was hardly new and slightly too big for me. I didn’t have a dotting mother to decorate it for the ceremony or fancy combs for my hair. However, my hair was probably the fanciest thing about me. Rawley had spent a long while sectioning of strands of hair and braiding the top half of it into a plait. She said it was her best five strand lace braid so far, but I could only take her word for it. Despite the annoyance of having to keep reminding myself not to let one of my hands wander up to feel the new hairstyle, it felt more grown up than anything I had done with my hair before.
I leaned against the wall to save my legs’ strength while Fellen fretted. I had no desire to collapse in the middle of celebration and my legs were still sore from when we had to press our way through the snow to the forest’s edge the day before. It made me wish for a lake weed and blue fish eye salve to numb the ache and help my body heal faster. But I wasn’t at Gabbler’s Shore, and the healer who came to check on me this morning was from a runner tribe and not as familiar with the properties of lake plants. Instead, he rubbed a salve of purple broad leaf and frostbite berry onto my legs that soothed the ache until mid afternoon. I knew him and he knew me, but we were both careful to keep conversation short and the pretense up that I was just a patient that didn’t have the knowledge or capability to do everything he did. Just as I was careful to keep my eyes on the ground and not stare too long at his work or the alcoves on the other side of the hall where the healers did their work.
Still, I didn’t miss the symbolism of the fact that Jasper had been sent out to care for me and not one of the other healers. He was competent, sure, but he was still a male healer and the youngest of the three male healers there was to pick from. Male healers were rare for one simple fact—no one wanted them. They were hated and had superstition heaped on them even more so than normal healers. There was too much life in that pairing of a male and the healing craft, just as there was in a male and male pairing. A dangerous amount that was sure to draw the goddess’s attention unless carefully managed. So it was best to only let such an occurrence happen under the strictest necessity.
Sometimes there was no one else to take up the healer’s position and so a son was allowed to step into it and use the knowledge he spent his childhood learning. I knew Jasper was such a case. His mother had complications during birth that rendered her unable to have another child. My brother could only hope to become my sister’s assistant unless he cut off his beads, and even then he wouldn’t ever have status to become more than a common laborer.
And there were rumors that Jasper had dabbled in being intimate with another man. Female pairings might be considered a boon and lauded, but male pairings were never necessary. Too much life and it broke the social order. Being caught in such a relationship was often a sentence to beatings, threats, and eventual exile. And even if you ignored that, Jasper had broken the unspoken rule that healers had to carry on their line. It was said that he only managed to avoid exile because he saved the tribe’s Grandmother from a coughing sickness and early funeral pyre. After that he was put under watch for a year, and when no illicit details rose, he was allowed to stay in the tribe. It probably helped that they didn’t want to come begging to another tribe for a healer of all things.
That was the man who was sent to treat me.
Someone who shouldn’t still have even the lowest rank possible in a tribe. I had little trouble imagining who would have the influence and distaste to do something so petty.
Fellen cut into my thoughts. “I hate how calm you are.”
I followed her gaze as she glanced at the growing crowd in the meeting hall and did my best to keep my tone even. “We survived Flickermark.”
“Yeah, and every tribe that winters at Grislander’s Maw wasn’t watching us then.” Fellen gave her left hand a lost look.
“The kids that wouldn’t let me play with them will be here. I want to shove our success in their faces”—there was the smug look only to be quickly dashed by worry—”but not when everyone I’ve ever known is there to judge us at the same time. We won’t even get to see their reactions this way.”
I needed her to focus, so that she wouldn’t decide to panic in the middle of Grandmother’s story. I couldn’t exactly interrupt Grandmother and challenge Fellen to a contest in the middle of the ceremony if that happened. “It doesn’t matter what they think or how many people are watching. You’re my rival, right? Not theirs. If I can stand up there and not panic, you better be able to, too.” Fellen’s eyes widened in shock before she grinned. Not sure how to handle how satisfied she looked, I shifted to watch Old Lily bustling toward us from the stage. “Besides if you still want to see the idiots’ reactions when this is done, we can always show them the trial marks in person.”
I snuck a glance back at Fellen to see that smugness had definitely, finally, won over her nerves. “We might have to do that.”
Old Lily reached us a few moments later. “Are you ready?”
I nodded while Fellen set her shoulders and spoke up. “As we can be.”
“Good.” Old Lily glanced at where my shoulders were pressed up against the wall. “You’re part is simple. You’ll start on the stage, behind the Grandmothers and us. We’ll do the intro and then Grandmother will take the lead with a prayer and your story. The only thing you have to worry about is making sure you join Grandmother at the front of the stage when it’s time—the other Grandmothers will part to reveal a path forward. Do you understand?”
We understood.
Fellen’s mother wasn’t the only one who had been busy. Both Grandmothers and Echoes had been preparing for the celebration since yesterday morning. The Grandmothers had to coordinate how all 27 of them would be involved while the Echoes had disappeared for most of the day to practice with their rhythm sticks and their other sound effects. Most of it they all knew already by rote and tradition, which was how they were able to pull together a full celebration in a day, but the details had to be smoothed out.
Fellen and I were a couple of details. Normally, there wouldn’t be anyone on stage with the Grandmothers and Echoes, but given that the celebration was happening because of what we had accomplished, they couldn’t exactly leave us out. So we were to do as little as possible so we didn’t ruin the ceremony and celebration.
I kept my focus on Old Lily as Fellen asked a question. “How will we know when it’s time? I don’t want to accidentally move too soon.”
Old Lily rose her eyebrows at me as if to say isn’t-nice-when-someone-asks-nicely-for-help before giving Fellen a reassuring smile. “It’ll be at the end of the story after you reach the Grove. Grandmother will decide the exact moment, but if you keep that in mind and watch for the Grandmothers parting in front of you, you shouldn’t miss it.”
Fellen smiled back at her. “We won’t.”
“Follow me, then.” As soon as I pushed off the wall to start walking, Old Lily swooped in to brush off my shoulders. “Now you’re as ready as you can be.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
I snorted and didn’t meet her gaze. We followed her up the ramp and onto the stage behind the crowd of Grandmothers and Echoes settling into their places. Old Lily led us to a spot in the center of the back half of the platform.
“You can sit until it’s time. We know you haven’t fully recovered and there should be time for you to stand while the Grandmothers are still making the path.”
I held my tongue despite the part of me that wanted to recklessly argue that I could stand the entire time, no problem. My pride would take a bigger blow if I stumbled when we went to join Grandmother because I refused to sit now. We sat. Fellen clasped her hands together to keep from nervously touching her belt where her sling normally hung. I did my best to keep my posture perfect.
In between the legs of the Grandmothers and Echoes, I could see small sections of the swelling crowd. They murmured amongst themselves. Some looked excited and were happily chatting with friends and family while others show discontent and uncertainty. They would be the ones this celebration was for even if we didn’t have to keep the goddess happy. It wouldn’t do if they openly questioned the goddess’s gift and how we, two girls not yet to their blooding years, had completed a trial only a few in history had accomplished. The answer of luck, desperation, and my mark keeping me alive wouldn’t satisfy them on its own, but with the Grandmothers’ support to give our story the marks of authority and truth, they should accept it.
The Grandmothers and Echoes formed two staggered rows that were shaped like a spear point; Grandmothers in the front and their Echoes to their back right. All were dressed in their ceremonial best. Grandmother and Old Lily stood in the center of both lines, the places of prominence. Flanking them were the clan Grandmothers and their Echoes as we were in their territory and the clans they led were definitely larger than most tribes. The positions of the rest on stage were a jumble of runner and water hole tribes, but the smallest tribes, those with only fifteen to twenty people, were at the very end.
As one the Echoes lifted their rhythm sticks and then cracked them together. The sticks flashed to their sides and hit their neighbors’ sticks with another crack. All murmurs ceased. Expectation rose in the hall as the crowd focused on the platform. The Echoes, old and young, veteran and new, took a prefect twirling step through the line of Grandmothers and hit their sticks together again. Back to their neighbors’.
Then they straightened and settled into softer rhythmic beats as the line split into two and headed for either side of the platform. Once both new lines were in place on the right and left sides of the stage, they lowered themselves down to kneel on small cushions. The Echoes began to softly tap on the stage with their sticks. It sounded like rain. Then the first in each line began to make the sharp cracking sounds again and the whole group gradually sped up the tempo until I felt my heart in my throat.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
All the Echoes hit their sticks on the stage before crossing their arms to connect their sticks with their neighbors’ and then finally hitting their sticks together again over their heads as they uncrossed their arms. They stayed in that position as the crowd sank to their knees and lifted their arms over their heads, wrists crossed and facing outward. It looked like a ripple flowing out through a lake of bodies. Once everyone in the crowd was bowing, the Echoes hit their sticks together with one final crack before lowering their hands to their sides.
The Grandmothers had closed their line together when the Echoes’ line had split. Grandmother stepped slightly forward from it and her voice rang out over the crowd. “We are gathered in a valley made by a beast the goddess slew. Do you thank Her for Her shelter?”
“We thank Her.”
“We have two among us, singled out among us to face Flickermark’s trial. What have you faced this year? Picker bands and bad weather? Illness and difficult game?” Grandmother scoffed. “Do you thank the goddess for Her leniency?”
“We thank Her.”
“The goddess does not accept empty platitudes. What do you offer Her?”
Hands slapped against knees in unison before the crowd held their prayer needles aloft. “Blood.”
“What do you humble tribe members offer Her?”
“Blood!” This time the Echoes hit their sticks together with the crowd’s shout.
Grandmother pulled out her own prayer needle with the other Grandmothers. “Then She shall have blood!”
Fellen and I watched as nearly two thousand people pricked their wrists and let a drop of blood fall to the ground and the Echoes only used their red carved stick to hit the ground. The Grandmothers smeared their blood across their lips. A heartbeat later and every single drop dried up and flaked away into nothingness.
Grandmother let the room breathe for a few moments before taking another two striding steps up to the pedestal. “Let me tell you the tale of two girls who caught the eye of the goddess and lived. One now blessed twice over and the other who proves the goddess’s wisdom in granting us fire. Let me tell you the tale of Gimley and Fellen of Gabbler Shore—two who demonstrate the strength and will of the tribes to survive.”
The Grandmothers stomped their right foot twice as the Echoes cracked their sticks together. As Grandmother began her account of the bridge breaking the Echoes provided a soft, simmering tapping to draw out the anticipation of the crowd. The other Grandmothers provided sound effects that were eerily realistic. Grandmother skipped over the fact Fellen’s jumping had caused the bridge to break and instead focused on how I saved her despite our rivalry—tribe sticks together became a reoccurring theme.
It was interesting to see the crowd’s reactions as she continued to spin the story. Those that were suspicious and uncertain were drawn in by her retelling of our struggle for survival. They were mollified when she recounted our lack of skill when it came to navigating and hunting, but that we managed to scrape by on gathering berries and such. I did my best to make sure that her story didn’t sink me back into the vivid memories of our time in Flickermark. Grandmother had a way with words that was certainly better than our messy, rambling retelling.
The one thing that made my back prickle with unease was wondering how she was going to present my blessing, and that unease kept growing as the story continued but she didn’t mention it. It was one thing for me to decide to not reject my blessing, and another thing to leave it up to another person to explain to a crowd of people I mostly didn’t know and had no reason to trust. But my survival also didn’t make sense without it.
Grandmother never touched on it. Instead, just like how she skimmed over the details of what she knew about the route we took, she lightened up the severity of our injuries and blood loss. In the story, I walked more on my own than I leaned on Fellen and we found plants to eat, not because of my healer’s background—that was left out entirely—but because we had knowledge from traveling in Flickermark before. Anything that could lessen our standing as truly blessed by the goddess or that made us appear too weak, rather than lucky and resourceful children, was put to the wayside. It was then that my foolish naivety was quickly reminded that stories didn’t always have to be the whole truth. Grandmother had an agenda, and striking a balance between that and the truth was what was important.
Everyone in the crowd, during the course of the story, was supposed to forget everything they knew about Fellen and I, and instead view us as the pinnacle of our people, symbols of what we could accomplish if we worked hard and the goddess was in a favorable mood. If those who did know of us in the crowd re-framed how they thought of us after Grandmother’s story than all the better. Anonymity would still be lost to us, but only because of the marks on our chins and nothing else.
Grandmother swept into the last part of the story with more energy than I thought possible for her to show. “After carefully navigating around the horde of shamble men, bravely confronting the reminder of the worst punishment the goddess has brought to bear, they reached the Grove. The tall stand of pine trees beautifully outlined by the sky above.” I had no recollection of even seeing the sky once we reached the Grove. “With strength they had been reserving for that moment, the pair pulled out their prayer needles and offered their blood to the goddess, giving life to Her trees. She accepted and the trial was complete.” The Echoes ramped up their soft tapping as she continued after a pregnant pause, “In the days following they received special care by a healer brought from the Seedling Palace. Three dots, the trial mark of Flickermark, were placed upon their chins and sanctified by the head whisper woman herself.”
The Grandmothers began to move, the two sides of their line crossing and opening up a path as they turned to face the center of the platform in their new spots. Fellen and I scrambled to our feet and barely managed to be up in time to start walking before the crowd could see us. We walked forward, careful and dignified as we could be, to join Grandmother at the front of the stage.
As soon as we reached her, she pricked both of her wrists and, using her thumbs, smeared the blood over the trial marks before turning back to her audience. “The marks you can see now glittering like the night itself!”
Murmurs swept through the crowd as the Echoes cracked their sticks to emphasis Grandmother’s statement. Grandmother placed her hands on the back of our necks and pushed us to the very edge of the platform, just above where the goddess’s eyes glowed from between the carved branches.
“One has pledged to become a Realmwalker—to become one with the wisdom of all of the goddess’s lands and embody her lessons! The other prepares to train in the Seedling Palace and lead our people as a whisper woman! Look upon them and remember that the goddess sees all!”