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.