Blood.
It had always been a part of Oresnya’s life. Viratas demanded it. The Viratassa commanded it. And through her childhood and adolescence, Oresnya had watched her loved ones pay that price. She knew, through teachings of her elders and her own readings of the Viratassa, that Viratas was not a bloodthirsty god and didn’t revel in the useless shedding of blood or loss of life. What was required was loyalty to that which made one’s identity, namely one’s family and one’s people. No. Sacrifice was not required, but Oresnya had watched her sister and friends perform the ultimate sacrifice for family, death in childbirth. It came with being Symenestra.
Oresnya didn’t remember her birth mother. As with most Symenestra, the woman died the day Oresnya was born. But giving birth to someone didn’t make them family. The woman’s sacrifice was not forgotten. In fact, Oresnya honored it every year when her birthday rolled around. But those she considered family were the ones who impacted her life. Even if unrelated, they became one’s blood. That was the way it was for Oresnya and her mother Senessa, mate to her father Davulod. Senessa, like all good Symenestra mothers, considered any offspring of her mate’s to be her own, and so she took Oresnya under her wing as she did with all her children and taught her the many things she’d need in life, things for survival and things to advance her in their culture, things that taught her to honor Viratas.
Oresnya had a passion for learning. Anything she was taught, she tried to better herself at. With how important it was to Kalinor’s economy, weaving was the first thing she was instructed in, and she took to it with a great liking, but what perhaps interested her more was other cultures and languages. It would have been better if it was men who needed harvesting, because Oresnya would have taken to it better than her brother. When the time came to begin training them for what they’d need to draw mates to Kalinor, Oresnya devoured the knowledge more eagerly and with greater comprehension than her brother and any of her cousins could demonstrate. In the end, she was teaching them what they would need to know.
Before her brother had left for his Harvest, Oresnya had already become familiar with death. Her elder sister had fallen in with the influence of the Esterians, though not for any benefit of the surrogates. Her sister, like herself, had been raised on the teachings of the Viratassa. Blood was what mattered above all. Symenestra blood was holy, and her sister believed it was the Symenestra right to bear their own children. So she had given Oresnya a nephew and taken from her a sister. To Oresnya, who believed wholeheartedly in the sanctity of blood, the process still felt futile. She found herself doubting.
And then, it came time for her brother’s Harvest. No one had faith in him. Every web, even his own, was certain that he would return home empty-handed. His mother and father doubted him. His cousins doubted him. Even Oresnya, who had spent much of her free time instructing her brother on language and proper social interactions of the varied cultures and cities he might visit, would have bet against him. It was thought that the Cacao web might be coming to its end. While it had been large in the days of Kalinad, that time had long ago passed, and they were much diminished.
So when Deshvelon returned a year and a half later with a beautiful redhead on his arm, the entirety of Kalinor was stunned but celebrated his success. Furthermore, he had done what few of his fellow Harvesters could. His surrogate had been brought back willingly. While many surrogates ended up segregated to keep them in check, Yora lived with Oresnya’s family, bringing with her a spark of joy that had been lacking. She knew what her coming pregnancy would mean for herself, and yet, she did not despair.
Yora thrived in Kalinor. Her skills and passions were many, and she put them to use in her wait for a child. Languages and writing were the biggest of these, and many up and coming Harvesters found themselves under her tutelage. Kalinor’s library, the Cribellum, found itself with many copies of their existing materials written in Yora’s elegant hand. She had perfected the art of calligraphy in Wind Reach and was certain that she put care and a personal touch on anything she copied. The Cribellum also found itself with several new tomes with snippets of the history and culture of Wind Reach and the Inarta.
But while the teaching and recording of knowledge gave her happiness, what brought her the greatest joy was her family. Family, as Oresnya and every member of a web understood it, did not exist in Wind Reach. There were no ties to family, only the responsibility and privileges brought by one’s standing in society, one’s caste. The thought of dedication to someone based solely on their relationship to her was jarring to her at first, but she quickly grew to love the idea and to love the people in her new family. Though Yora loved every member of her new family, Deshvelon and Oresnya held a special place in her heart. Both of them were hers by choice. Deshvelon was her lover, because she had chosen him. The whole of Kalinor was still unsure of why. When Oresnya had asked Yora about it, Yora herself wasn’t sure why. His charm, for that is what she called it, came from his inability to string sentences together around her, his lack of confidence, and his overall clumsiness.
Oresnya had accepted Yora as her sister the moment the woman had arrived willingly. Perhaps it had something to do with Oresnya’s sister having died only a few years prior and her ache to have sisterly guidance once more. Perhaps it was Yora’s infectious personality. Whatever it was, Oresnya and Yora became inseparable.
Eventually, Yora became pregnant, but the knowledge that she would be dying in nine months didn’t dampen her spirits. Laughter was hers. Yora could laugh to lighten a room and bring laughter to the overly solemn, and she did both. She continued on as she always had, immersing herself in teaching and being taught, loving and being loved by those she considered her family. But the child in her grew, and as its time came near, its venom began to spread. Slowly, Yora’s smiles became fewer and faded, but she always held one ready for Deshvelon.
And Oresnya, too. When the little sister realized that, Oresnya wept for a day. And then realizing that her sister was holding back tears and fear for the benefit of those around her, Oresnya stopped and spent every available moment with Yora, giving as many smiles in return as Yora gave her.
Then the day came. It was over more quickly than Oresnya had imagined. Yora was giving birth, and then, she was gone. Once again, Oresnya became more familiar with death than she would have liked. In Kalinor, the birth of a child was cause for great celebration, but Oresnya and Deshvelon grieved. As kin came to see the child, their congratulations died on their lips at the sight of the siblings’ eyes. No one spoke to Deshvelon or Oresnya, but rather, bade the girl’s grandparents the fairest of wishes for the child’s future.
It wasn’t until a month had passed that Oresnya realized that this was not what Yora would have wanted for her and her brother. She vowed right away to live her life as Yora had, full of laughter, smiles, and joy. Despite her heartfelt vow, though, it took Oresnya a long while to bring a genuine smile to her face. It took her even longer to teach her brother how to smile again, but she did. Together, the two rediscovered the joy Yora had brought in Ynessa, Deshvelon’s daughter, Oresnya’s niece.
As the girl grew, joy once again returned to the Cacao web, but Oresnya’s thoughts often turned to her lost sister. The light of joy was often in her eyes until thoughts of Yora surfaced. When those thoughts reared their head, a distinct change came over Oresnya. Joy was there no more, only an odd, empty anger. Her friends and family avoided her when this look entered her eyes. She didn’t realize it, but it frightened them.
Deshvelon found new purpose in his daughter, but Oresnya, despite her joy, felt that she was contributing nothing to her family, and family, blood, was the most revered of all things. As she began to search for a way to honor her blood and better her family, Oresnya found it in what she thought was the oddest of places. Yora. Yora had died far from the place of her birth. Her passing went unknown to those who had known her, and though family meant nothing to the Inarta, Oresnya thought it better that Yora’s legacy not be forgotten in her home city.
In secret, Oresnya prepared herself for travel, packing the things she thought she might need to journey to and establish herself in Wind Reach. One thing she was certain she took was a copy of the Viratassa written in Yora's hand. When she was satisfied, she said goodbye to her family as she had done every day when she headed off to weave silk for export. To them, it meant nothing different. To her though, she knew its full intent, and her embraces lasted a little longer.
Her first route took her to the coast. It took nearly a fortnight for a trading vessel to travel close enough to the coast to see her and be willing to take on a traveler. Oresnya was ill equipped to handle the rigors of surviving in the wild and was half-starved when she was brought on board. The sailors were skeptical of her at first. She wasn’t strong and had no experience on the waters. They were certain she would be dead weight until she was dropped off at the closest port.
But Kalinor did not thrive by idle hands. Oresnya put herself to work doing what she could, and putting her will to learn to work, she found herself slowly gaining familiarity with the nautical jargon, their many varied knots, and the basics of sailing. Unfortunately, they were headed south, away from Wind Reach, but by the time the first port, Black Rock, arrived, the sailors found themselves fond of her. At their invitation, she stayed on board, working for her passage across Mizahar. It was another year at sea before they found themselves leaving Lhavit, northbound for the northern coasts near Wind Reach. Near the end of autumn, she found herself saying goodbye to new friends too soon. All of them were sad for the parting of ways but knew Oresnya’s mind wouldn’t change. Unable to dock in Thunder Bay, they left her on the coast as near as they could, leaving her to walk the rest of the way.
And at the end of autumn, Oresnya found herself working her way across the coast toward Wind Reach in the middle of a storm.
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