41st of Spring
the empty hours before the morning
The eastern skies were just beginning to turn gray when the hunter opened his eyes. He could feel the indistinct chill of dew on the tent walls, as true dawn was still too far away to heat the world with the breath of spring.
He shifted in his bedroll, a disorganized thing that had been roughed to be more circle-like in shape than linear. He had always felt strange sleeping straight-backed.
The world was silent, and even when he pushed aside the tent flap nothing could be heard but the rustling of the cloth. And in the quiet, it could have been thunder.
He wasn’t quite sure what it was that had roused him so early. Perhaps something had happened and then vanished as he was on the edge of consciousness. Perhaps it was the strange buildup of tension that had come from traveling with Endrykas for two and a half seasons. Perhaps it had been the announcement the day before, requiring all male Drykas to marry. Perhaps it was none of these, or perhaps it was all of them.
Akaidras stood nearby, as still as the tree above him, and he was sure that the she-falcon was also resting in its branches. As they should be; all sane creatures were either still asleep or preparing for it. The hunter observed the stallion fondly for a moment, and then turned and walked into the grass.
He needed to think. He knew that many people thought him stupid or challenged in some way because he did not speak, but his wit was as sharp as anyone’s. And still he was plagued by concerns and worries buzzing about in his head like gnats, unwilling to let him be. Everything seemed to be coming together against him; the city’s noise, his difficulty communicating with others of his kind, and the announcement of marriage seemed to have sent it all settling onto his shoulders with a sudden weight.
His feet slowed, then stopped altogether at the crest of a small rise. With a tired sigh the hunter sat down, crossed his legs and faced the east. And, almost without thinking, he began to pray.
Just because he did no often speak Pavi did not mean he couldn’t understand it, and so he pulled words from the jumbles of feelings and images and colors that were his thoughts. He picked up a small stone from by his knee and turned it over in his calloused hands as he began.
Caiyha… Caiyaha? Cayha? Is that how it is said out loud? It seemed that even in his mind, his words were not the best. He settled for a more ambiguous, but more known term. Mother of All Creatures, Lady of the Wild. Acceptable. Perhaps You are aware of me, perhaps You are not. I know that there are many things that call You mother, and many that perhaps vie for Your favor, and so I do not expect it to be given to me. I am a human, and a simple one; I cannot hope to compare with others creatures of this world. But even so, I cannot deny, not to myself or to anyone else, that I am Yours.
And perhaps that it where all of this is coming from. Are all humans Yours? Or are they something else, something foreign? I know of the Drykas origin, but not that of humanity itself. Some say we are of the earth, the very clay of Semele, others of the wind, and still others say that we are of the stars. I’ve yet to see anyone, even my people, that are a part of the wild. Yes, the Drykas may live in harmony with it, but they are still different things. A bird may live in harmony with a tree, but that does not make the bird a tree.
But I have touched the wild before. For two seasons I was alone; no clans, no pavilions, no people. Just myself, Zulrav above me, Semele below me and You around me. I lived and hunted without laws, without money, and I found that I needed nothing but what You had to give. And in that, I found that, as the things of the world were open for the taking, so too was I open for the taking of the world. Things die so that others might live, and had I died, another might have lived through me. And what wisdom such thoughts brought me! Once I accepted death as it was, I no longer had need to fear it.
And yet here I am, not a half-hour’s walk from Endrykas. I wear woven cloth, and on my back are javelins made by the hands of the Drykas. By the hands of my people. For indeed, they are my people, as strange as that now is to me. And what odd creatures are they! To babble and shout as they do, almost as if they are afraid of the silence, as if some terrible danger lurks in the quiet. They are talking, forever talking, and yet they say so little. I can never truly be at ease with them, with their clustered tents and loud sounds and pungent odors. They crush me from all sides, deafening me. They are so chaotic in comparison to the mere two seasons that I lived beside You. But still I remain. They are my people, that much I know. It is where I belong, even if it is also where I do not belong.
And my people are strong, my Lady. They… we… are passionate and powerful. We protect this land as the treasure it is, and when in the grass there is no one that can match us. We keep the Sea of Grass wild, and upon it we are free.
But I cannot help but wonder… what would become of it, should we vanish? The storm of spring claimed so many of us, and the pox of winter so many more. We are weak, weak enough that another disaster might shatter us completely. Ours was a song of thunder, but now I hear only echoes in the wind. The people’s eyes are guarded and sapped, and bodies are lean with hunger and sickness. Our pride is but a tattered flag with rapidly fading colors.
And so the Clan leaders have issued an order: all men that do not have wives must take another by summer’s end, else they will face drastic punishment. This is a necessary step, I know, as with so many gone new children will be sorely needed. But as much as I agree, I cannot help but resist in my mind. I do not believe that this is something I will do… that I can do. I do not even speak, and courtship is a ritual that is alien to me. I feel that to marry simply to produce offspring would be to condemn myself and whatever unlucky woman that becomes my wife to torment. I am a Drykas, yes, but hardly a husband. I have nothing; no great wealth, no pavilion, not even a name. Nothing but my strider to mark me as one of the people of this land.
But I see my people’s suffering, and every day it cuts me like a knife. I can see them dying, and I need to do something. I am a hunter; no one knows that as well as You. I am strong, and strong Drykas are precious few now. I know that I could do so much to help my people, and I know that I could do more atop Akaidras than in a tent. More than anything, I wish to help my people, but could I say the same if I had a wife to provide for, and then little ones to take care of? I watch my people grow more hollow every day, and never before have I felt so helpless.
He could feel the prayer coming to a close, and words soon fell away to more raw thoughts, to unrefined feeling and pictures and a terrible feeling of doubt. What was he asking for? A sign? Some kind of affirmation? Luck on his hunts? Luck on everyone’s hunts? Something, any action that he could take?
He shifted uncomfortably, and did his best to convey the dark vacuum in his heart. Asking for something, something that he did not himself comprehend. But perhaps, just perhaps… Caiyha would know what it was.
He stood, feeling much lighter than when he’d sat down. Just talking to someone, or even if he had just been pretending to talk to someone, seemed to have helped. He could convey all the things that he was unwilling to convey to his fellow, as for the first time, he could see all his problems; his worries and difficulties had been laid out neatly for him to peruse, and it made them just a bit easier to deal with… at least for now.
He turned and smiled and the now-pink sky, and then turned to walk back to his camp.
Caiyha is the Goddess of Flora and Fauna. Many a traveler has walked right past her without ever being aware of her presence. Some say that the gods Navre, Siku, Oriana, Eywaat, and even Bala are actually her children, and that she gifted them with their specific spheres as specialties of her own. She is incredibly easy to approach, but she abhors senseless slaughter and waste. It's been said that when she seeks retribution, she does not waste her time with Gnosis marks, but instead turned those malefactors into fresh food for any of her feral companions. But whether there is any truth to it or not... you decide...
by Marcus Gray-Dawn on February 26th, 2013, 9:13 am 
