Closed [Jackalope] It Fills Their Inconstancy With Light

[Aramenta]

Summer 55, 513 AV
Raider's Camp, The Sea of Grass
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Ara rose early. Among her people, rising early was simply an expectation - as her grandmother had been fond of saying, "The sun, she rides fast, and the wise girl is up early enough to mount her back instead of her rump." But since her marriage, she rose earlier. The sun-horse still had it's tack being attached below the line of the east, the sky still dark and cold and blue, only the beginning whisper's of the morning star's invitations casting the faint hue of coming day. She very gently took her husbands hand from where it rested tangled in the hair of her womanhood - a strange habit, that. She presumed all men had their quirks.

It was too warm, and the beginnings of marriage too filled with evening hungers to sleep in a nightdress. Even in the height of summer, the suddenness of air against her sweaty skin as she peeled the sheet from her made her shiver, in a way she found comforting. It was as if the air came round her and scrubbed her clean. She stood, crouched over in the low tent, and lit no light. Pedrion murmured softly, and turned, curling into the warm spot she left in the bed, his thin limbs nestling into it, his face burying in her pillow. She smiled, a quiet, protective, sad smile. She wondered if all wives had this, this strange feeling over a sleeping husband, how small and childish they looked, unconscious and unmanned.

She slipped on a thin linen shift with a short-fronted riding skirt - to the heels in the back, to the knees in the front. Just in case she should need to ride Canter. She had brought trousers, but the kernel of a child that rested in her thickening womb made her spot blood almost daily, these days. The strain of pulling the dress on awoke her stomach, which immediately lurched, sickly, and she sighed, and found her way outside, and to the latrines, where she hunched over and vomited. It was a long time coming up, the tedious pain of her emptied stomach looking for a spare corner of bile to throw afterwards sending her into a dry, nauseous heave. The nausea didn't leave, but the unbearable urge did. It would be a light day for eating.

She slid down through the camp, still barefooted, to where the cooks were awake, now, preparing breakfast. It was still strange to her, not to cook her own breakfast, but the camp was run shipshape - no wasted fuel on individual cook fires, no wasted effort on individual tastes in food. She came up, to the gnarled old man, Yvrias, who roasted thick, wet bowls of stewed grain-berries, and nodded kindly.

Yvrias chuckled, "The babe has Aramenta of Facetshine up before the sun again, hmm? I'll put a spot of vinegar in it, no worries, I haven't forgotten!"

Ara half smiled. Her husband's pavilion still felt foreign and unfairly in her name, but she no longer felt confused each time she heard it. A gourd full of grain was set in her hand, thick with the sour smell of huckleberry vinegar filling her throat, at once making her ravenous and rising her gorge again. She signed thank you, and half-bowed. The old cook nodded, smiled, went back humming tunelessly.

Ara took a few spoonfuls, and argued irritably with her testy stomach, closing her eyes and breathing deep gulps of the cool morning air. It was better to get the stuff down now, before the heat set in, and eating became impossible, and the vinegar for whatever inexplicable reason really did help. She picked carefully through half the gourd, before hearing a cry, a child's cry.

The first days after the first parties returned, she'd been shocked by this sound. Syliran children cried differently than Drykas babes who, once they were old enough to be called children, seldom cried at all. The cry of a Drykas infant was usually frustrated, upset, unhappy. The Syliran children sounded confused, shocked and panicky that some perceived need was not met. To her, each one of these cries sounded too desperate for 'I'm hungry' or 'I had an ill dream', and the first few weeks, she'd awoken with a start to them in the middle of the night. She'd learned to accept them for what they were, now. They would change. They would learn.

But now, she was up, and if she was up, the night-watchers would be tired, and the captured children seemed to be most demanding in the early hours. She started to hurry - then stopped, and walked: her own child made a searing stabbing demand in the nerve at the core of her right buttock, that made Ara limp clumsily toward the tent.

Aramenta looked at the guard at the front door to the prison tent, and made the sign of the watchword: The Grass is Thirsty. The guard nodded, and pulled the flap, and Ara ducked inside.

Now she struck a light. There were four children in the tent. Two still slept. The third sat up irritably, and began rattling off in clumsy, broken Pavi - but still, it amazed her, the children's tongues, savaged by years of Commonspeak, still seemed to grasp onto the language of her people so quickly. They would grow quickly, and wisely, these ones.

"Missy Ara. Inana pissy fit, no good reason."

Ara nodded, and smiled, her best gentle, soothing smile. The boy who had addressed her was seven, and one of her best wards, a child named Michael in the queer speech of the Sylirans, but who they had given the Drykas name of Rhumillian. It suited him, he did not have the fat jowls of some of the grown Syliran men, but a proud, narrow chin, and dark imperious eyes. He would find a Strider one day, this one. Some children one could simply tell.

The girl he was talking about, was indeed throwing a hissy fit, bawling noisily in her bed. She was, perhaps, in her fourth summer.

"I'm not Inana! I'm not! My name is Joley, and my mummy is going to come for me, you watch!"

The girl's words cam in common, and Ara smiled, sitting on her cot - much softer and richer than Ara's own - and pulled the girl into her lap, leaning the child's head on Ara's own breast. Ara took her hand and ran it through the soft sheen of sweat just underneath her own chin, then gently probed the little girl's lips with her middle finger, pushing with a gentle insistence past her teeth, to rub her fingertip against the soft roof of the child's mouth. Inana resisted a moment, but then submitted with a sigh and began suckling on the finger, breathing slow and deep into cupped palm and fingers of Ara's hand.

Ara remembered her own mother doing this when Ara was very small. She was glad it comforted Inana. It gave Ara a certain sense of continuity, of rightness. The girl would not be an outsider. She would remember, in her little way, the same things Ara remembered. Ara kissed the girl's forehead,and set her lip by her ear.

"Hush, little grass-seed. Rest, rest. You still need to rest. You need to finish getting better. That's my Inana, that's my sweet girl. Suckle and rest. Its alright."

Ara, as long as the girl was captive a little tense ball of energy suckling on the finger like a thirsty calf, probed gently behind her ear with her own burn-scarred fingers. The gash there - a backslash of a raider's axe, shallow but uncomfortable - was healing up nicely now, within a few days they would be able to snip the gut-string sutures and she would half a beautiful scar. Her first scar, as near as Ara could tell. A proud thing for a girl. Within a year, this girl would be pulling her hair back to show the red welt off, and proclaiming to friends, how she'd faced down a real warrior with an axe, when she was only four.

Ara laughed softly to herself, the silent gesture reverberation through her breast, causing the girl to nestle in closer to her. Inana was crying, her face still streaming new tears down her sodden cheeks. This was good, Ara smiled, leaned down, kissed one of the wet cheeks. The sooner cried, the sooner dried, the longer kept, the longer wept.

"Inana, my child, do you know? You will have a new mother soon, a wonderful, kind, good mother, who will teach you lovely things. You will learn to ride a horse, and to weave canvas, and pitch a tent, and how to cook with a fire. Maybe she will give you a pony. You would like to have your own pony, hmm?"

Inana nodded, tentatively, her brow furrowing.

"Come, imagine with me, Inana. What will your pony be like?"

She disengaged softly from Ara's finger, and Ara traced the girl's lips quietly while they spoke.

"A grey one."

"A grey one, you would like that? That would be nice. You could name it… what would you name your grey pony?"

"Big Knight."

Ara smiled, sadly. It took so long, these children, disentangling them from the knots of their childhood.

"But that is no name for the Sea, little one. A knight is great and heavy and bulky and clumsy. You, my dear, you will grow up and be like a ghost. You will slip down from the shadows, and be wise and beautiful, and none will know you are there until you are ready for it."

"A ghost?"

"Yes. You will ride in grey linen, with a long blue watch-coat, with a rider's bow. And you will hunt the beasts of the plain, and be Inana the Brave, Child of the Shadows."

"Maybe."

"What is the pony of Inana the brave called?"

She paused, her tiny pink tongue reaching out to lave Ara's finger thoughtfully. The girl sighed, and buried her face in Ara's chest, and mumbled to her.

"I name it Ara. Ara-pony."

Ara laughed and wrapped her arms around the girl, kissing her again.

"Very well, and what shall be the name of the girl who rides Ara-pony?"

The child hesitated, frowned, struggling with this.

"Its alright, little one. You don't have to be frightened. You are a good girl, none will cry if you let the old name go."

"Inana."

"Yes?"

"My name. I'll be Inana. On Ara-pony."

Aramenta squeezed her tight, and reached down to kiss the nape of the child's neck.

"Yes, Inana. Inana the brave, my good, good girl."
x

[Jackalope]

Aramenta. Newly wed. Newly with child. Fearfully brave. A proud Drykas woman, just wishing to do her duty to her people, her clan, and her new pavilion. Yet, she was still a child herself. Oh yes, an adult in the eyes of the Drykas. She had a strider. She had her windmarks. She was married and with child. Yet, she wasn’t ready, even though she wore a face of confidence. It was both inspiring and saddening to watch, and watch Kiara Whitewind had done. Since the moment the young woman had arrived at the basecamp, she’d kept an eye on her, though never interacting with her. There was always work to be done, worries to soothe, injuries to mend, and that left the Konti with little to no time for socialization. Everyone needed a break at some point, however. The guards of the tent simply nodded in greeting as the blonde haired woman approached, her long blonde hair and plain white dress both flowing freely in the gentle breeze. They were more than familiar with her and her regular visits to calm the fears of the captured children. The Syliran farms and their families had been hit the hardest, as it was quite difficult, though not impossible, to get someone out of the city. Perhaps those children and their families would have a greater appreciation of the land they would coincide with. They weren’t burdened with sheltered life which caused the weakness in the hearts of so many Sylirans. They lived from the land, though not in the way the Drykas had learned to live with it. In time they would all learn. They had to. Peeking in through the flap of the tent, Kiara observed the interaction silently, her presence unknown to those in the holding area. A soft smile grace her features as she listened in as Ara spoke, reassured and comforted a young girl, Inana. She’d been the one to work on that child. Oh how much fear she’d had. She wanted nothing to do with the scary blonde woman. One of the few unable to be calmed by the sweet voice and soft touch of the Konti, but it seemed that Aramenta had found the approach needed with this one. “Brave, brave Inana,” she said quietly, stepping into the tent fully. “I think the most courageous of children in the entire world sit in this tent.” They were already willing to give up their old names, like it was some sort of adventure. Curious. When would they realize that this was their new reality? Would they ever realize it? “I’d come here to care for the children, but thankfully it seems you’ve given me a respite, young one. For that I am most grateful.” “Aramenta Facetshine, when you are finished here, I’d like to request your presence. Please meet me at the medical tent at your earliest convenience, my dear.” She smiled down at her and the child nestled so closely against her, lingering only for a moment before she turned and exited, throwing a quick glance before disappearing from sight.

[Aramenta]

Aramenta started slightly at the new voice, and this made Inana startle as well. Ara silently cursed herself, for her skittishness. Inana needed calm, needed surety. She needed to borrow her trust from someone else for now, and her was Ara, leaping like a child in a flock of glass-beaks. She settled back into the cot, and looked down soft-eyed at the girl's unsure eyes, then turned her warm 'you are safe' eyes to the healer woman. Her right pinky slipped between the girls lips again to brush against her palette, and softly, like a subconscious whisper, Ara signed her hand in front of the little girl's body, as if speaking through her, the fluid movements of her weaver's fingers brushing the girl's skin and linen. Safe. Friend. Trust, trust, trust. Safe. Drykas. Family. Rest, trust.

A compliment came to her from the woman. Ara had seen her - the camp was big, yes, but it was no Endrykas. It was difficult to have a Drykas, or really any but the most dangerous of prisoners, in the camp any amount of time and not recognize their face, at least - but she did not really know her, had never spoken to her. The healer women in the camp were at a premium, as respected even as much as the warrior's, for they were integral to this mission. In comparison to them, Ara thought of herself as little more than a charwoman, tidying up, keeping the the underpinnings of the camp flowing, filling gaps. Giving respite where possible to those with actual, useful skills.

Having one speak to her - though she was careful now not to show, for children were so sensitive to these things - left Ara uneasy. What could one of the Healers want with such as her? In many ways, Ara reflected, the healers were in a position of power, especially among the camp followers, in much the way the raiding chiefs were leaders of the expeditions. Her hollow breast swirled, and she kissed the little girl's eyes with a trepidation she could not quite hide.

"Inana, brave girl, can you be the quartermaster today?"

The girl looked up. The children were being taught the way of a camp of course, so they always had a role. Quartermaster, though, this was the role everyone lusted after, the reward role. Rhum was almost always Quartermaster, the one who controlled the distribution of food and work in the tent, because he was brave and understood his duty, and fair.

"Coramaster? I'm Coramaster?"

"Today, yes."

"Yes, ma'am. Yes ma'am!"

Ara smiled and kissed the little girl. She hoped her timing was right, anyway, and selfishly, she didn't like to wait too long for the meeting with the healer. She stood now, and looked to Rhum. The boy looked quizzical, but nodded obediently at her. He would keep an eye on the little one, keep her in line.

Ara nodded, and began to walk - the movement awoke her morning sickness again and she lurched a bit, as she walked, but swallowed it down, and stumbled out of the tent. The healer's tent was not far. She walked down the row of tents, with shoulders hunched inward, and head slightly bowed.

The camp was awakening now. A small man nodded to Ara as checked the stakes and knotwork on his tent. A group of women with arms full of grain-pots, addressed her by name, and she nodded without meeting their eyes. The streets were torture once people were awake. So many people seeing her, looking at her, young and pregnant being such an easy license for conversation.

She ducked into the Medical Tent and sighed with relief, shutting her eyes. Then reopened them, to look for the woman who had summoned her.

x

[Jackalope]

No one paid her much mind as she walked in. She wasn't obviously injured, she didn't have a captive in tow. Little of any concern, other than her pregnancy, so she was allowed to move about freely in the tent. A few greetings, a few general questions about her health. The medical tent was generally in good spirits. There hadn't been any vicious battles, no horrible bloodshed, though a few of the captured had been injured in the process. It still made for rather light work thus far. This was the place where the strangers to their land felt the most safe, and understandably so. These weren't the terrifying horsemen who'd claimed them as their own. No, these were kind healers with reassuring words. A moment of calm in the storm which had become their lives. Kiara was patiently listening to a young woman not so calmly inform her of what she thought of the raids. It was understandable, she was a prisoner now. No amount of explaining would ever change that for her. "You monsters! How could you take my daughter from me!?" "Please, my lady. I must treat your wound." It was an all too common and a sad scene. The children had to be ripped from their parent's care. It was just how it had to be done. It allowed them to educate the children and bring them up in the Drykas culture. By the gods did it breed bitterness with the adults. Glancing over, Kiara noticed the young Drykas woman approaching, and managed a small smile. "Aramenta. Forgive me, I'm a little busy, but I should be done soon." Turning her attention back to the Syliran woman, she continued. "I know you are upset, and I'll gladly allow you to curse me until the end of your days, but I must treat that gash on your arm. Please stay still, if only for a moment." The wound was fairly deep. An accidental slice. The excitement of the capture. It was a dangerous situation, that was plain enough to anyone involved. The woman pursed her lips for a moment before sighing and offering her arm up to the Konti woman. "Thank you. It will be quick." She placed her hands over the injury, the swirling marks of her goddess glowing as she used her miraculous powers to cleanse and close the wound before their very eyes. It was truly amazing to behold in the opinion of most who viewed it. Men and women could spend a lifetime studying medicine and not be able to keep up with the healing prowess of one touched by Rak'keli. "T-thank you," the woman managed, silenced by the display. "Worry not, my child. All will be well in the end." Two Drykas escorts led the woman from the Konti, and as they left, Kiara turned her focus fully to the young pregnant woman. "Sorry about that. The life of a healer, no? Welcome, welcome. Please, get off your feet. You really mustn't push yourself too hard, my dear." She firmly, but kindly, guided Aramenta to a seat, the calm, sweet look never leaving her countenance. "You work too hard, but it pleases me to see such dedication to not only our people, but our newest. Are you happy you came?"

[Aramenta]

The Medical Tent, to Ara was a soothing place, even at its worst of times. Suffering, of course, was not a desireable thing, but Ara had the Drykas sense of realism about the matter, at some deep level: Suffering existed. Hiding it from one's eyes did not make it more palatable. And the medical tent was a place that spoke of giving, the infusion of the self into the sufferer, through skill, or for the rare few, through gnosis. It was not comfort, this work of healers, it did not feel like a home to Ara - she herself had never taken an interest in learning their ways, aside from the rudiments of caring for those she loved. But it was the sister of her heart's hazy comfort, and felt comprehensible to her. The reduction of suffering, in the abstract.

Still, it remained a place, at some level, where she had no business being. She was pregnant, not sick. She was nauseous, not infected. And the healers, both those touched by the Goddess, and those who simply were clever with their hands, would have too much to do to deal with the petty complaints of every woman who bore a child. Ara had taken some of the children to and from the place, but by and large was not a regular. She felt unneeded her, which was, in her hollow-hearted state, unsettling. The healers' tent made her seem superfluous. These women and men soothed and calmed, and what did she do? Babysit?

She threaded queitly through the tent, looking for the Konti woman with quiet, shy eyes. A healer approached her on the way, witha smile, a grey-haired, kind woman, stopping her a moment.

"Aramenta Stonewhistling, how is the baby?"

Ara smiled thinly, and nodded quietly, making the sign for 'All is well.' The woman smiled, and put a horned, bony hand gently to the young girl's belly. Ara took it with grace. She HATED this feeling, of being a sort of display piece to be petted and cared for. But it gave pleasure to others, and so she smiled and nodded kindly when it came.

"Precious, precious. You're getting your rest, then, my dear? Yes, yes, I'm sure you are."

Ara nodded, stupidly - how does one respond to that? - and drifted quietly onward.

The woman shouting about her child... Ara stood back a bit, and frowned, sadly. It was so hard, these women. She understood their sorrow. It was an animal response, the response of the gut - I had a child, and they are gone now. I want my child to grow strong, and how can I protect them if I cannot see them? The animal heart was slow to accept the human, reasonable response, and explanation did these women no good. It would, simply, take time, and their age meant it would take more time than the children, whose youth made the wise enough, still, to listen and learn. How much she wished she could simply take these women in her arms, and show them they were her sisters, now, instead of captives! How much it hurt to see the occasional scuffles when the mothers would grow restive!

The Konti was so patient, and so reasonable, Ara felt the quiet pride of her culture, of how it could be patient with these frightened creatures. And the pride struck her in the hollow drum of her heart - she was not, truly, a part of this, anymore. She was a monster. An outsider. A traitor. Her face hollowed, and the nausea in her belly rose up again, making her face green. She turned her eyes down, as the Konti infused her healing power into the woman's arm. She felt, again, wrong here, an intruder in a place that fulfilled the needs of those welcome. She turned her eyes up, as the new woman humbled, and grew quiet and grateful. And she realized, even as these women slowly struggled into the bosom of her people, she was falling away, benig drawn form the heart. She felt sick, and sad, and her face grew heavy and tired.

The Konti stood now, and approached her, her kindness overwhleming and shaming. This woman was working to make the Drykas strong, and yet she stood now to tend to Aramenta, to Aramenta the Traitor. Her shoulders fell inward, and her head bowed, humbly, as she was guided into a seat. No. No the woman was wrong, she was not working too hard. She needed the work. She needed the task, she needed to have some opportunity to do good, in a vague hopeless hope that doing good, would make it accceptable to be evil. For the evil could not be excised She had tried, so hard. So terribly hard.

She retracted quietly into the seat, and her hand went involuntarily to smooth her hair, touching at the little hollow spot where she had removed a single braid, tucked carefully in to be invisible to outside eyes. But Ara, intimate with her braidwork, felt the hollow place, like an echo of the sick emptiness of her own heart.

She looked at the woman, and attempted, weakly, a thin smile, and signed before her: Grateful. Happy. But they were unconvincing, and she blushed. This woman did not need her misery, she needed to fel that all was well. Why had she come to ask her? Why would she care about Aramenta? So much, so much that needed doing, and somehow, she had made herself appear to need... something. Had distracted the woman from her real duties. She leaned forward, with the blush still heavy on her face, to set her lips close to the Konti's ear.

"I am... I am happy to be able to do good for these people, the little goods I can do, ma'am."

This at least was true. She drew back, and averted her eyes to her lap.
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