After several weeks recovering from a flu that had left me feeling drained of energy and frail as a puppy, I was hale enough to resume my nightly routine. Putting on my jacket as I went out the front door of my apartment, I noticed it smelled oddly like mothballs. I shrugged, stepping outside and taking a deep breath of clean, fresh night air. I began my walk.
Near the end of the two-mile circuit around my neighborhood, the old Mercy Medical Center came into view above the elms and oaks that blanketed the hospital’s grounds with a green canopy. I’d only been inside the building itself once, when I was in my early twenties, nearly a decade ago. As with most people that age, I knew I was invincible and could do anything I wanted. My skateboard conveyed me from one adventure to the next, carefree as the day I was born. A simple gap in the asphalt–a root breaking through the surface from beneath–was all it took to end my career as a social nuisance.
Snap, crackle and pop- the sounds my ankle made were much like a bowl of breakfast cereal, but far less delightful. The spiral fracture and torn ligaments were no laughing matter, and it was nearly a year before I could walk properly again without crutches. The pins and screws in my ankle never let me fully forget the cost of carelessness, and I seldom ventured more than a few miles without my old war wound making twinges of protest. I had a wooden cane, but I refrained from using it unless absolutely necessary–I hated feeling like an invalid.
As I passed the park, I saw the bus stop bench in front of Mercy, where I’d planned to rest a moment, was occupied. A woman with shoulder-length, mousy brown hair sat expectantly, holding an oversized pocketbook in her lap. As I approached, she turned toward me and smiled. She seemed vaguely familiar, although I knew I’d never seen her before.
“Oh, hello, young man. Might you be able to tell me when the bus will be stopping by? It’s frightfully cold. “She had the ghost of an English accent, very proper, and she was dressed like somebody’s grandmother. She wore an ankle length brown skirt and several layers of long-sleeved blouses and thin sweaters, but no coat to ward off the night’s chill. A large pair of librarian’s spectacles hung on a chain around her neck.
The strangest part of her dated ensemble was one of those archaic nurse’s hats, the little white ones that perched on top of their heads, which she held in her frail hands. I’d never seen a cap like that, except in old movies. She also wore a pair of long, brown, gloves which reached nearly to her elbows, and sensible walking shoes.
I looked at my watch: 10:43. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I told her. “The bus doesn’t run past nine o’clock.”
She looked crestfallen. “I’ve missed the last pick-up? Goodness, whatever shall I do?”
“Do you mind if I sit for a moment? “
“Oh, heavens, no, “she replied, waving to the bench beside her. She murmured something I couldn’t quite catch as she stared intently at her feet.
It was difficult to gauge how old she might have been – probably at least forty, but not more than fifty. She appeared to be extremely skinny, almost emaciated, but this too was hard to be sure of, since she was buried in many layers of clothing. Her eyes were huge and intense, the deep blue of a glacier lake. Her nose was a sharply pointed knife flanked by equally sharp cheekbones.
I wondered if she might be a patient at the hospital. But why would she be leaving so late? And with a nurse’s cap?
“Do you live far from here?” I asked, interrupting whatever internal dialogue she was having – she looked spacey. A look of abject helplessness clouded her features.
“It’s not so far. Certainly not farther than I could walk. It’s just...” She bit her lip, sighing. “It’s quite late, and I don’t feel safe walking the streets at night, alone as I am. You understand, don’t you?”
Her gaze was piercing. “Of course,” I said, though if she lived anywhere nearby it couldn’t have been that bad of a neighborhood. This was a small suburb of a quiet city and there was very little for our local police to do except ask people to turn their music down on the weekends and issue the occasional speeding ticket. Still, this woman looked like a strong breeze might knock her down; I understood where she was coming from.
“Would you like me to escort you home? It wouldn’t be too far out of my way, and I’m out for a walk anyways.”
She beamed. “Oh dear, would you? I’d be ever so grateful. Nobody would think twice about bothering an old woman in the company of such a strapping young man.”
“Well then, shall we?” I smiled and stood, offering my hand. When she rose, I was surprised to see that she was nearly as tall as I, a hair over six feet. She did seem frail, though I wouldn’t have called her old. Middle aged, as most – she wasn’t much older than my mother. Her apparent fragility came from her exceptionally thin frame; she had no curves whatsoever, as if she was made of nothing but skin stretched over bones.
We began to walk and she put her gloved hand on the inside of my elbow. I felt a bit silly, but the immeasurable relief on her face made it a small sacrifice.
As we strolled along a shadowed sidewalk, she told me she was indeed a registered nurse at Mercy, though she hadn’t been there long enough that she might have crossed paths with a daredevil skater with a sideways foot. There was still something naggingly familiar about her.
She’d picked up a late shift for a friend and hadn’t thought to check the bus schedules. Her name was Mandy, which she told me was actually short for Matilda, not Amanda, which I found a little strange. The night air was growing colder, so I offered her my jacket. She accepted gratefully.
By the time we’d navigated the complex warren of side streets and alleys to reach the porch of her tiny house, I felt totally disoriented even though I’d lived in the area for half my life. My ankle also voiced its displeasure at my chivalry most insistently. Walking her up the steps, I waited while she fished around inside her purse. She withdrew a single large iron key that looked like it should open a treasure chest.
After opening her door, she turned toward me and smiled softly. “You’re a very sweet boy,” she said, drawing close. “Thank you so much for seeing me home safe and sound. I don’t know what I’d have done if you didn’t come along and rescue me.”
I blushed. “Really, it was nothing. I don’t mind,” I reassured her. I could feel my ankle glaring at me.
Her piercing eyes bored deeply into me, as if she was assessing something far beneath my skin. She seemed to reach a decision and leaned slightly forward, closing her eyes.
I realized she meant to kiss me goodnight and met her, partly not to be rude and partly because I did find her endearing and cute despite, or maybe because of her oddness.
Her lips were dry, chapped and ice cold. It was a very brief and chaste kiss, but I felt a wave of tension I didn’t know I’d been carrying fall away. I sighed and it seemed as if I’d awoken from a deep sleep.
“Goodnight,” she whispered, slipping inside.
I turned to leave, but as I headed down her steps, my ankle betrayed me and I nearly fell. Cursing, I quickly limped down the last step, but she’d seen.
“Oh my goodness, you’re hurt!” she cried, her door opening again.
“It’s just an old injury, nothing serious, “I replied as convincingly as I could through gritted teeth.
“And I’ve had you walking on it half the night! How ghastly of me! Oh, you’ll come inside and rest a while, won’t you dear?”
I could think of no reasonable excuse not to accept her invitation and as I reached her doorway and saw her smiling, I found that I didn’t want to leave just yet. I hobbled into her home, where soft light revealed a cluttered but cozy living room.
Mandy’s house smelled musty and stale. Her windows were all painted shut, but it was warm and clean. She had a lot of knick-knacks along shelves covering her walls – little porcelain dogs and cats, candle holders, antique wooden clocks, china sets and stacks of books.
There was also what must be the world’s oldest television, a huge oak square the size of a washing machine with a round screen. I wondered if it actually worked. Atop it sat a box radio that looked as if it awaited FDR’s next Fireside Chat.
There were a number of well-worn throw rugs all over the hardwood floor and chairs covered with pillows and cushions flanked the most modern thing in the room. A huge black leather sofa called to me, looking soft enough to drown in. Mandy ushered me to it and I sat, sinking into its comforting embrace.
“Would you like something to drink? Water or juice? Or, I know – I bet you’d like a nice glass of wine, wouldn’t you?”
I didn’t drink much but nevertheless I found myself accepting a large crystal glass of blood red wine. I sipped it and was surprised. It was very strong, but smooth – definitely not a two dollar Safeway special. It made my mouth tingle.
As I put my foot up, she bustled around her kitchen and talked about nothing in particular. The sound of her voice comforted me and that along with the wine, made me feel drowsy. It occurred to me just how seriously I missed having a woman in my life. My last girlfriend had departed so long ago I scarcely recalled her name.
I yawned and wondered what sort of a future there might be in a friendship with Mandy, or if she was looking for something more. If so, was I?
When she came back into the living room, she had her gloves off and carried a small black bag that looked like something an old fashioned doctor might bring with him on a house call.
She sat on the footstool next to my ankle and began to unlace my shoe. As she removed it and peeled off my sock, I tried to sit up, but the couch was swallowing me whole. She smiled at my efforts and rolled up my pant leg.
“It’s such a comfy sofa, isn’t it? Just lay back and relax. Your ankle is quite swollen, but I’ve got just the thing. Remember, I’m a nurse.” She winked.
I acquiesced, setting down my empty cup and closing my eyes. A cool sensation began to spread through my tortured joint. It quickly grew icy, then numb as she applied what felt like a cold pack. The pain receded into the ether as she massaged the stiffness out of my calf and foot. When she’d finished, she rose and sat beside me. I caught a whiff of mothballs and an earthy scent beneath that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
“That ice pack feels amazing,” I told her dreamily.
“I just have a magic touch,” she grinned. I peered up and saw, though my ankle remained numb with cold, there was nothing on it at all.
“Isn’t the moon beautiful tonight?” She asked before I could ask how she’d done it. I turned to look out the window. The full moon hung huge and silvery in the sky, closer than I’d ever remembered seeing it, though I didn’t make a habit of hazing at the night sky often.
Tonight, I felt hypnotized by the craggy lunar surface, and stared into its depths. Mysteries from time immemorial resided in the interplay of dark craters and light peaks. Strange thoughts, but not unwelcome.
I was dimly aware of something tickling my bicep and coolness on my forearm, but for the moment I couldn’t break away from the overpowering call of the moon’s eye. I lost myself for long minutes and felt a heavy lethargy settling over me.
A monstrous yawn shook me from my trance and I realized I was exhausted, falling asleep where I sat. I slowly turned to Mandy to tell her I ought to head home before I passed out, but what I saw shocked the words from my brain.
The woman sitting beside me was no longer a pale, blue lipped starveling. She now seemed vibrant, ruddy cheeked and full of life. A far cry from the anemic matron I’d escorted home, Mandy appeared ten years younger and bursting with energy. Her womanly attributes were now clearly defined.
The transformation was extreme and unexpected, but it only registered in the furthest reaches of my mind, the place where you’d not see your drink spilling in your lap as your plane plummeted from the sky. My mind, frozen into immobility, tried and failed to comprehend what she’d done to my arm.
The black bag sat open in her lap. She’d tied a red silk ribbon securely around my upper arm, my sleeve rolled up. Below, in the crook of my elbow, an intravenous needle protruded, attached to a valve and a clear rubber tube. This directed the blood draining from me into the wine glass I’d emptied earlier, which was now nearly full.
As I watched in detached horror, Mandy twisted the valve to stem the flow, smiled at me and lifted the goblet to her lips. She drank deeply, her cheeks flushing. She drained the glass and replaced it, opening the spigot once more.
I tried to jump up, to shout, to tear the needle from my arm and run screaming down the street, but I could barely summon the energy to voice a single word.
“…why…?”
My voice was hardly more than a croak. My arms were thousand pound slabs of stone.
Mandy smiled again and felt my forehead with her palm, her hand slightly cool. Then she checked my pulse and nodded, satisfied.
“You’ll be just fine, dear. You may feel a little fatigued, but I promise you’ll recover fully in time. I really appreciate what you’re giving me, more than you understand.” The glass was now a quarter full.
“Are you… a vampire?” I managed.
She rolled her eyes. “Nothing so glamorous as that. I don’t turn into a bat or burst into flames in the sun. And I’m afraid I’m a little too much of a plain Jane for all the gothic romance.” She shrugged. “There isn’t a proper term for exactly what I am. As far as I know, I’m the only one of my kind, and I never attached much importance to labels, besides.”
I struggled to move, but my whole body felt as if it had fallen asleep. I raised my hands a few inches, but the strain made black spots swim before my eyes. “I’m dying,” I gasped, not sure if I was asking or telling her.
She frowned at my melodrama. “Absolutely not. I would never, ever squander your life. It’s precious to me–you’re just my type, dear.” She stroked my cheek, her touch drawing my fear and anxiety right out through my pores. I nodded–she was right, everything would be okay.
The glass filled. She drained the tube and removed the ribbon and needle, then downed her crimson elixir. She rinsed the tools of her trade in the kitchen sink and dried them on a clean towel before returning them to the black bag. While I watched her do this, I felt my eyelids growing immensely heavy, and I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke to a strong herbal smell–cedar and juniper and something else I couldn’t identify. Mandy held a steaming mug of greenish tea out to me and urged me to drink.
As I sipped, she put my sock and shoe back on, retying the shoestrings as she spoke. My ankle no longer ached.
“The tea is very good for you. It helps you regain your strength and will keep you from having unpleasant dreams. I made it special for you because I don’t want you to harbor any ill feelings for me. I really enjoy your company and I’d love to see you again when you’re feeling better. You won’t hate me, will you dear?”
I shook my head. “No, of course not, Mandy.” I felt more like my old self again, but I was still utterly convinced this woman would murder me if I didn’t go along with her insane delusions. Though I felt the tea thrumming through my depleted veins, I was still as weak as a kitten and I knew I couldn’t outrun her. And everything she said was so damned convincing, too.
“Good,” she said, helping me to my feet. She walked me to the door, and then studied me seriously.
“I hope you don’t feel like I’m putting you out. I could ask you to spend the night, but it may lead to… complications. When you’ve been dead as long as I have, your libido reaches a terrible state of atrophy. I’m afraid I’d be a frightful disappointment.”
She seemed sad to let me go as she held the door for me. For my part, I put forth a heroic effort by not racing down the steps, though every nerve in my body gulped adrenaline and screaming, ‘run, you fool!’
As I stepped over the threshold and back into the refreshing night air, she caught my hand and stopped me. I cringed as I turned back, fully expecting an ice pick to plunge into my eye or claws to tear my throat out.
Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. They were no longer chapped and cold, but warm and sensual. I felt the sensation of peace break over me like a tidal wave and all my misgivings washed away. I smiled, looking into the depths of ancient seas in her eyes. What a great night we’d shared.
“You won’t forget about me, will you?” she asked hesitantly.
“No, of course not. How could I?” I replied. She said nothing more, so I turned to go, once more descending her porch steps but no longer limping. As her house faded from view into the shadows, I swore I heard a whisper in the wind. ‘You will’ I shook my head and made my way home.
I arrived at my place much later than usual, though I couldn’t quite sort through the confused jumble of events from the last few hours in my head. Exhausted, I tossed my jacket on the hook by the door and climbed the stairs. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep in my bed moments later.
Several weeks later, I was finally over a flu that had left me feeling drained and weak as a puppy. I put on my jacket, which smelled oddly of mothballs, and stepped outside to resume my nightly routine. I took a deep breath of clean, fresh air and began to walk, hoping I could complete the two mile circuit before my ankle started bothering me.
As I passed the park outside Mercy Medical Center, I saw the bus stop bench where I’d planned to rest for a moment. To my surprise, it was occupied by a woman with shoulder length, mousy brown hair sitting expectantly, an oversized pocketbook in her lap. As I approached, she turned towards me and smiled. She seemed vaguely familiar, although I knew I’d never seen her before.
“Oh, hello young man,” she said, “Might you be able to tell me when the bus will be stopping by? It’s frightfully cold….”
Witness
When they had reached a distance at which Chem thought they would not be able to hear Coda’s screaming he turned to the girl picking her way across the broken stone behind him.
“My legs are very tired. Would you like to rest, my dear heart?”
Rakkora smiled broadly, her blunt, yellowed teeth still smeared with the juice of the blueberries they’d been eating. She looked at him expectantly, knowing something was not quite right.
“You run all day, Chem. That's what Mother told me. You run to lead the longclaws away. How can you be tired?” she teased, poking him in the side. He grinned, then pointed towards the half-decomposed front of a building that had once been brightly painted and smelled delectable.
“Would you like to go to the bakery, Rakki? Maybe we can find something good to eat.”
She giggled, nodding and taking his hand as Chem led her across the old pathway carved by ancient hands. He had a hard time understanding just who had made such a vast village as Kohaven, or how there could have ever been so many people in one tribe that they would have needed an entire building just to house their bread. If not for witnessing, if not for the Tomes, he would never have believed it.
They stepped into the grand hut, careful not to disturb the nesting piles of the owners. He made an offering to show they meant no trespass and the large orange and black speckled creature sniffed the dried meat curiously, then snatched it up and blinked at them languidly.
“Orly-girl says yes?” Rakkora asked hopefully, her dark eyes dancing. Chem smiled.
“Yes, our Angel is pleased.” They made their way into the oven room, leaving the kitten to her own devices.
The ritual ensured their ally would alert them to the presence of any longclaws, though the cold-bloods almost never ventured this close to the tribe’s lands. On the off chance they did, Chem had his flint and his iron, so he was not worried.
He sat on a flat stone by the doorway and allowed Rakkora to spend several minutes hunting for treats the Builders had left behind. He took his iron from his belt and laid it on the stone beside him, a warning to any who might seek to attack them, that his tribe was blessed by not only the kittens but also the First Angel.
Chem’s mother, Gineer, had given him the iron. She said its name was Colt and that it was the very same iron carried by the First Angel, Orly-girl, after whom their bakery protectress had been named. He knew she could not know this in truth, because she had not witnessed, and because the iron was old but it could not be that old. This bakery was far younger than the iron Orly-girl had used to help Queen Sophie battle the Witch, and it was in ruins. Thus, his iron Colt must have been born much later, though long enough ago that the machines still listened to the tribe. That made it at least seven generations old, though Gineer’s old-mothers had taught her the process of making the stones that fly from the iron, and how to make old stones young again, and Gineer had taught Chem as well.
Chem would teach his child all that he knew one day, if she lived long enough to be able to witness. Many children did not.
As Rakkora began to grow disheartened, he slyly reached into a nearby oven mouth and slipped a bundle wrapped in longclaw hide from his fur coat inside. “Rakki, dear heart, have you looked in this one?”
She frowned, thinking. Then slowly, she nodded. “Yes, Chem. It is empty.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps you should look one time more.”
Rakkora plodded over and knelt to peer inside. The bakery, like everything the Builders had left them, was designed for very tall men and women. They must have been giants, Chem thought, because he was the tallest man in the tribe at exactly one and a half meters, but everything in the Builders’ world made him feel as a child. This oven was low to the ground, though, and the girl had no trouble searching inside. She squealed with delight as she found the surprise.
“A cake! There’s a cake, Chem!” she cried, opening the bundle to reveal the small, round loaf. She gasped. “It’s warm!”
He smiled. “They must have just been here! Perhaps next time we will meet them.”
Rakkora’s eyes went wide. “Oh , that would be fun! To see the other tribes. Mother says there are many.”
Chem nodded indulgently, but he had never witnessed such a thing. Nikkera-Liz, Rakkora’s mother, had told a great many stories. She had believed them, so much so that she had left on a pilgrimage to the island where Queen Sophie had defeated the Witch, though what she intended to prove by doing so, Chem could only guess. She had made Chem promise to watch over Rakkora, but he would have done so anyway. He believed extracting the oath from him had been her way of saying goodbye, and absolving herself of the guilt at leaving behind her daughter. He sighed, wondering if the girl understood what had happened.
“Go on and eat that up before it gets cold,” he urged, and she took a big bite. She gasped.
“There’s raspberries in this cake!” He knew. He’d helped Surgan and Travek pick them, as well as find the wild cereal plants that Surgan and Coda and the other women used to make the grain to cook the cake. It had been a community effort, for the plants had stopped listening to the tribe even before the machines had, and a tribe that did not grow baked little. The smile on Rakkora’s beautiful face told Chem that it was worth all the trouble, and that was something he could witness. Even before Nikkera-Liz had left on her journey, Rakkora had been the whole tribe’s child.
“Will you tell me a story, Chem?” the girl asked as she ate, savoring each bite as if it were pizza. He did not know what pizza was, but he knew from the Tomes that it had been a fantastic food of the Queens.
“What would you like to hear, dear heart?” he asked, pulling a copy of one of the Tomes from his fur coat and leafing carefully through the ancient pages. He could scarcely see the symbols scrawled in neat, spidery writing on every line, but that didn’t trouble him. He was not a Reader. There were no Readers, not anymore - Rakkora’s mother’s mother, Jesikera, had been the last person in the tribe the words would speak to. He didn’t need to read. He knew the stories of the Tomes by heart, having heard them from Gineer and Nikkera-Liz, as well as the Priestesses for his whole life.
“Queen Sophie fights the Witch,” Rakkora said as he knew she would. It was her favorite story. It was everyone’s favorite story. He began, and for the next moments the two of them were transported in time and space to the far away place across the North Sea.
He told Rakkora of how the Queen and her brave Knight Abelard had chased the Witch from their home, a grand city on a Hill called Chapel, in a land the Tomes called Carolina. They had followed her across a sea so vast that it made the North Sea seem as a rain-puddle, to make sure she could not poison the land against the tribes as she sought to. They came to a land called Copenhag, after which their village of Kohaven had been named. They followed the Witch north to one island, then another, before Queen Sophie finally challenged her to a contest for the favor of the gods.
Sophie danced a blood-dance, making a great sacrifice, as her Knight bore witness, as one must to ensure Truth. The Witch was so infuriated by the beauty of the Queen’s dance that she attacked Sophie, knowing no one could ever move with more grace. As they fought, the Queen called out to the gods and they sent an Angel, Orly-girl, to strike the Witch down with her iron. The Queen was gravely wounded by the Witch’s claws, but the First Angel and her Knight bore her back to the land of Carolina and a sorceress healed her with the ancient magics of Science. The Queen awoke and she was so overjoyed that the gods had liked her dance that she professed her love for the sorceress, Rachel-Liz, and they gave themselves to the tribes by having many children.
Chem had always thought this part of the story was amusing, both because he didn’t understand how two women might have a child with one another and because the idea of any woman having more than one child, let alone many, was far-fetched at best. The Priestesses had been born to one woman, but both of them had come upon the same day and the tribe considered them to be a blessing of the gods, sent to guide them towards the old ways that Queen Sophie had set out for them.
Rakkora asked the same questions she always did, and he answered as he always did. What was it like, in her castle in Carolina? Beautiful, of course, a palace that the Builders made for her and her children to be ever safe in, every room more filled with wonderful art and warm clothing and delicious food. And Kittens? Of course, many kittens, to keep them all safe and sound.
Rakkora asked about the Pilgrimage the tribe had taken, and this tale too he told her, though the Tomes spoke little of this. He believed this Queen must have been very old by then, because her children’s children’s children for a dozen generations were said to have set sail on a great ship and crossed the same vast sea Sophie had crossed, coming to Copenhag and living in the city with the Builders.
“But where did the Builders go?”
Chem could only guess, but as always, he told her they left this city behind to build an even grander one, so that Queen Sophie and the Sorceress might once again cross the sea to live among her tribe. This was the story the Piestesses told, and it was a nice thought.
Rakkora grew sleepy, as she often did by mid-day, and she crawled into his lap to have a nap. He held her, stroking her hair and singing softly to her until she dozed. He was a warrior and strong, but she was a child only in her mind, not her body, so once she began to snore he set her down wrapped in their fur coats and stretched. He stood watch as the sun moved in the sky, and Orly-girl left to hunt. Once the kitten returned with a neck-wrung wolf in her jaws for her own children, Chem decided they ought to return. One way or another, Coda’s ordeal would be done and he would meet his grief or his joy as it came. He would Witness.
“Dear heart, it is time to go home,” he said as he stroked her cheek. Rakkora woke, smiling. She always smiled, and he was glad she knew little and less of the harder side of this world.
“Chem, will Mother be there when we get back? I miss her.”
He gave her a hug. “Not yet, but soon. I almost forgot, she gave me a gift for you. Here, look.”
Rakkura’s eyes were entranced by the sparkling golden object he withdrew from one of his fur coat’s many pockets. He held it out to her and she turned it over in her hands.
“What is it?”
“It is a bracelet, Rakki. Here, this is how you put it on.” He guided her hand into its loop and pressed the ends together. They made a click and held fast, as Surgan had taught him when he’d brought her the strange object. He’d been digging for water-roots in a field of stones, since the metal tubes often led on to the builder’s wells. Instead, he’d found a very old wooden box. He and Travek had cracked it open.
To their shock, they’d found a boneman inside, so long dead that even his clothing was only scraps. He had with him a golden ring, which Travek had given to Surgan, and the golden bracelet. Chem had shown the bracelet to Nikkera’-Liz and she’d explained to him the ancient purpose of such an object.
“It is named Watch. The Builders would Watch the day and the night always, because they were always worrying about the future. That is why we do not Watch time. We only Witness, because we know that the future is not promised. We have only this moment. They forgot this,” he told her.
Rakkora kissed the bracelet, then took his hand. “I shall name him Witness and I will never forget,” she declared.
“Good girl,” Chem said, leading her back the way they’d come. They waved goodbye to Orly-girl and made their way towards Kohaven. As they approached, he saw Surgan standing by the building the tribe shared as a home. There were rooms for two score or more families, but most ohad been empty for generations.
Surgan walked towards them, her hand bloody, her clothes bloody, her eyes stoic. He felt his heart hammer, but then she smiled. “A good day, Chem. Breathe deep the sweet air.”
He let go of a long-held breath, and Rakkora showed off her new bracelet to the woman as she shepherded the girl after her. “Oh, my, that is so pretty, Rakki! Come, let us wash up for dinner.” Surgan looked at him over her shoulder.
“Why do you still stand here? Foolish man - your wife waits for you.”
He ran to their hut within the big house, and when he saw Coda in their bed, wrapped in blankets, he finally relaxed.
“You have been gone a long time,” Coda scolded gently as she shifted. Something small, a tiny bundle, moved her chest. He felt his heart skip a beat.
“I wanted to be sure.” He did not need to say of what, since everyone in the tribe knew only a woman must make a child. A man could only complicate a ritual already fraught with peril.
“You can come closer, we won’t bite you,” Coda teased. Her face was glowing, but he saw a deep weariness underneath. She was not a young woman, nearly thirty winters old. He was several years older, and most in the tribe had believed Chem would return this day to an empty home. The gods had smiled upon him.
He stroked the broad head of their kitten, Klausi, whom his wife had named for the first of his kind. The sleek and powerful Angel moved to permit him entry, then circled up in the doorway of their hut. He sat beside his wife and looked into the face of their child.
“A daughter?” he asked as Coda settled against him and the two of them bore witness to her existence.
“Yes. She is strong. She will do many great things for the tribe, my Chem,” Coda said. “Her name shall be Hope.”
Chem smiled. He did not need to tell his wife that with only one woman in ten born to the tribe capable of bearing children, and only once in their lifetime, that there would not be many among the tribe left to witness what their child would do if she defied the odds and lived past her first years. Unless they found other tribes, there would likely not even be a husband for her, since Surgan’s boy had died last winter and the other women were either too old or, like Rakkora, had never had their moon’s blood to begin with. The tribe would likely end with them.
Instead, Chem kissed his wife’s brow and he kissed the brow of his daughter, stroking her soft cheek with his rough finger. The child’s dark, intelligent eyes stared at it, then rose to search his face. She smiled.
“Hope is all I have ever wanted, dear heart. I think it is the perfect name,” he said. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow he would take Travek and they would head north, to look for the other tribes.
“My legs are very tired. Would you like to rest, my dear heart?”
Rakkora smiled broadly, her blunt, yellowed teeth still smeared with the juice of the blueberries they’d been eating. She looked at him expectantly, knowing something was not quite right.
“You run all day, Chem. That's what Mother told me. You run to lead the longclaws away. How can you be tired?” she teased, poking him in the side. He grinned, then pointed towards the half-decomposed front of a building that had once been brightly painted and smelled delectable.
“Would you like to go to the bakery, Rakki? Maybe we can find something good to eat.”
She giggled, nodding and taking his hand as Chem led her across the old pathway carved by ancient hands. He had a hard time understanding just who had made such a vast village as Kohaven, or how there could have ever been so many people in one tribe that they would have needed an entire building just to house their bread. If not for witnessing, if not for the Tomes, he would never have believed it.
They stepped into the grand hut, careful not to disturb the nesting piles of the owners. He made an offering to show they meant no trespass and the large orange and black speckled creature sniffed the dried meat curiously, then snatched it up and blinked at them languidly.
“Orly-girl says yes?” Rakkora asked hopefully, her dark eyes dancing. Chem smiled.
“Yes, our Angel is pleased.” They made their way into the oven room, leaving the kitten to her own devices.
The ritual ensured their ally would alert them to the presence of any longclaws, though the cold-bloods almost never ventured this close to the tribe’s lands. On the off chance they did, Chem had his flint and his iron, so he was not worried.
He sat on a flat stone by the doorway and allowed Rakkora to spend several minutes hunting for treats the Builders had left behind. He took his iron from his belt and laid it on the stone beside him, a warning to any who might seek to attack them, that his tribe was blessed by not only the kittens but also the First Angel.
Chem’s mother, Gineer, had given him the iron. She said its name was Colt and that it was the very same iron carried by the First Angel, Orly-girl, after whom their bakery protectress had been named. He knew she could not know this in truth, because she had not witnessed, and because the iron was old but it could not be that old. This bakery was far younger than the iron Orly-girl had used to help Queen Sophie battle the Witch, and it was in ruins. Thus, his iron Colt must have been born much later, though long enough ago that the machines still listened to the tribe. That made it at least seven generations old, though Gineer’s old-mothers had taught her the process of making the stones that fly from the iron, and how to make old stones young again, and Gineer had taught Chem as well.
Chem would teach his child all that he knew one day, if she lived long enough to be able to witness. Many children did not.
As Rakkora began to grow disheartened, he slyly reached into a nearby oven mouth and slipped a bundle wrapped in longclaw hide from his fur coat inside. “Rakki, dear heart, have you looked in this one?”
She frowned, thinking. Then slowly, she nodded. “Yes, Chem. It is empty.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps you should look one time more.”
Rakkora plodded over and knelt to peer inside. The bakery, like everything the Builders had left them, was designed for very tall men and women. They must have been giants, Chem thought, because he was the tallest man in the tribe at exactly one and a half meters, but everything in the Builders’ world made him feel as a child. This oven was low to the ground, though, and the girl had no trouble searching inside. She squealed with delight as she found the surprise.
“A cake! There’s a cake, Chem!” she cried, opening the bundle to reveal the small, round loaf. She gasped. “It’s warm!”
He smiled. “They must have just been here! Perhaps next time we will meet them.”
Rakkora’s eyes went wide. “Oh , that would be fun! To see the other tribes. Mother says there are many.”
Chem nodded indulgently, but he had never witnessed such a thing. Nikkera-Liz, Rakkora’s mother, had told a great many stories. She had believed them, so much so that she had left on a pilgrimage to the island where Queen Sophie had defeated the Witch, though what she intended to prove by doing so, Chem could only guess. She had made Chem promise to watch over Rakkora, but he would have done so anyway. He believed extracting the oath from him had been her way of saying goodbye, and absolving herself of the guilt at leaving behind her daughter. He sighed, wondering if the girl understood what had happened.
“Go on and eat that up before it gets cold,” he urged, and she took a big bite. She gasped.
“There’s raspberries in this cake!” He knew. He’d helped Surgan and Travek pick them, as well as find the wild cereal plants that Surgan and Coda and the other women used to make the grain to cook the cake. It had been a community effort, for the plants had stopped listening to the tribe even before the machines had, and a tribe that did not grow baked little. The smile on Rakkora’s beautiful face told Chem that it was worth all the trouble, and that was something he could witness. Even before Nikkera-Liz had left on her journey, Rakkora had been the whole tribe’s child.
“Will you tell me a story, Chem?” the girl asked as she ate, savoring each bite as if it were pizza. He did not know what pizza was, but he knew from the Tomes that it had been a fantastic food of the Queens.
“What would you like to hear, dear heart?” he asked, pulling a copy of one of the Tomes from his fur coat and leafing carefully through the ancient pages. He could scarcely see the symbols scrawled in neat, spidery writing on every line, but that didn’t trouble him. He was not a Reader. There were no Readers, not anymore - Rakkora’s mother’s mother, Jesikera, had been the last person in the tribe the words would speak to. He didn’t need to read. He knew the stories of the Tomes by heart, having heard them from Gineer and Nikkera-Liz, as well as the Priestesses for his whole life.
“Queen Sophie fights the Witch,” Rakkora said as he knew she would. It was her favorite story. It was everyone’s favorite story. He began, and for the next moments the two of them were transported in time and space to the far away place across the North Sea.
He told Rakkora of how the Queen and her brave Knight Abelard had chased the Witch from their home, a grand city on a Hill called Chapel, in a land the Tomes called Carolina. They had followed her across a sea so vast that it made the North Sea seem as a rain-puddle, to make sure she could not poison the land against the tribes as she sought to. They came to a land called Copenhag, after which their village of Kohaven had been named. They followed the Witch north to one island, then another, before Queen Sophie finally challenged her to a contest for the favor of the gods.
Sophie danced a blood-dance, making a great sacrifice, as her Knight bore witness, as one must to ensure Truth. The Witch was so infuriated by the beauty of the Queen’s dance that she attacked Sophie, knowing no one could ever move with more grace. As they fought, the Queen called out to the gods and they sent an Angel, Orly-girl, to strike the Witch down with her iron. The Queen was gravely wounded by the Witch’s claws, but the First Angel and her Knight bore her back to the land of Carolina and a sorceress healed her with the ancient magics of Science. The Queen awoke and she was so overjoyed that the gods had liked her dance that she professed her love for the sorceress, Rachel-Liz, and they gave themselves to the tribes by having many children.
Chem had always thought this part of the story was amusing, both because he didn’t understand how two women might have a child with one another and because the idea of any woman having more than one child, let alone many, was far-fetched at best. The Priestesses had been born to one woman, but both of them had come upon the same day and the tribe considered them to be a blessing of the gods, sent to guide them towards the old ways that Queen Sophie had set out for them.
Rakkora asked the same questions she always did, and he answered as he always did. What was it like, in her castle in Carolina? Beautiful, of course, a palace that the Builders made for her and her children to be ever safe in, every room more filled with wonderful art and warm clothing and delicious food. And Kittens? Of course, many kittens, to keep them all safe and sound.
Rakkora asked about the Pilgrimage the tribe had taken, and this tale too he told her, though the Tomes spoke little of this. He believed this Queen must have been very old by then, because her children’s children’s children for a dozen generations were said to have set sail on a great ship and crossed the same vast sea Sophie had crossed, coming to Copenhag and living in the city with the Builders.
“But where did the Builders go?”
Chem could only guess, but as always, he told her they left this city behind to build an even grander one, so that Queen Sophie and the Sorceress might once again cross the sea to live among her tribe. This was the story the Piestesses told, and it was a nice thought.
Rakkora grew sleepy, as she often did by mid-day, and she crawled into his lap to have a nap. He held her, stroking her hair and singing softly to her until she dozed. He was a warrior and strong, but she was a child only in her mind, not her body, so once she began to snore he set her down wrapped in their fur coats and stretched. He stood watch as the sun moved in the sky, and Orly-girl left to hunt. Once the kitten returned with a neck-wrung wolf in her jaws for her own children, Chem decided they ought to return. One way or another, Coda’s ordeal would be done and he would meet his grief or his joy as it came. He would Witness.
“Dear heart, it is time to go home,” he said as he stroked her cheek. Rakkora woke, smiling. She always smiled, and he was glad she knew little and less of the harder side of this world.
“Chem, will Mother be there when we get back? I miss her.”
He gave her a hug. “Not yet, but soon. I almost forgot, she gave me a gift for you. Here, look.”
Rakkura’s eyes were entranced by the sparkling golden object he withdrew from one of his fur coat’s many pockets. He held it out to her and she turned it over in her hands.
“What is it?”
“It is a bracelet, Rakki. Here, this is how you put it on.” He guided her hand into its loop and pressed the ends together. They made a click and held fast, as Surgan had taught him when he’d brought her the strange object. He’d been digging for water-roots in a field of stones, since the metal tubes often led on to the builder’s wells. Instead, he’d found a very old wooden box. He and Travek had cracked it open.
To their shock, they’d found a boneman inside, so long dead that even his clothing was only scraps. He had with him a golden ring, which Travek had given to Surgan, and the golden bracelet. Chem had shown the bracelet to Nikkera’-Liz and she’d explained to him the ancient purpose of such an object.
“It is named Watch. The Builders would Watch the day and the night always, because they were always worrying about the future. That is why we do not Watch time. We only Witness, because we know that the future is not promised. We have only this moment. They forgot this,” he told her.
Rakkora kissed the bracelet, then took his hand. “I shall name him Witness and I will never forget,” she declared.
“Good girl,” Chem said, leading her back the way they’d come. They waved goodbye to Orly-girl and made their way towards Kohaven. As they approached, he saw Surgan standing by the building the tribe shared as a home. There were rooms for two score or more families, but most ohad been empty for generations.
Surgan walked towards them, her hand bloody, her clothes bloody, her eyes stoic. He felt his heart hammer, but then she smiled. “A good day, Chem. Breathe deep the sweet air.”
He let go of a long-held breath, and Rakkora showed off her new bracelet to the woman as she shepherded the girl after her. “Oh, my, that is so pretty, Rakki! Come, let us wash up for dinner.” Surgan looked at him over her shoulder.
“Why do you still stand here? Foolish man - your wife waits for you.”
He ran to their hut within the big house, and when he saw Coda in their bed, wrapped in blankets, he finally relaxed.
“You have been gone a long time,” Coda scolded gently as she shifted. Something small, a tiny bundle, moved her chest. He felt his heart skip a beat.
“I wanted to be sure.” He did not need to say of what, since everyone in the tribe knew only a woman must make a child. A man could only complicate a ritual already fraught with peril.
“You can come closer, we won’t bite you,” Coda teased. Her face was glowing, but he saw a deep weariness underneath. She was not a young woman, nearly thirty winters old. He was several years older, and most in the tribe had believed Chem would return this day to an empty home. The gods had smiled upon him.
He stroked the broad head of their kitten, Klausi, whom his wife had named for the first of his kind. The sleek and powerful Angel moved to permit him entry, then circled up in the doorway of their hut. He sat beside his wife and looked into the face of their child.
“A daughter?” he asked as Coda settled against him and the two of them bore witness to her existence.
“Yes. She is strong. She will do many great things for the tribe, my Chem,” Coda said. “Her name shall be Hope.”
Chem smiled. He did not need to tell his wife that with only one woman in ten born to the tribe capable of bearing children, and only once in their lifetime, that there would not be many among the tribe left to witness what their child would do if she defied the odds and lived past her first years. Unless they found other tribes, there would likely not even be a husband for her, since Surgan’s boy had died last winter and the other women were either too old or, like Rakkora, had never had their moon’s blood to begin with. The tribe would likely end with them.
Instead, Chem kissed his wife’s brow and he kissed the brow of his daughter, stroking her soft cheek with his rough finger. The child’s dark, intelligent eyes stared at it, then rose to search his face. She smiled.
“Hope is all I have ever wanted, dear heart. I think it is the perfect name,” he said. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow he would take Travek and they would head north, to look for the other tribes.