“The world only knows how to give.” - Great Mother Veacha

Third quarter of the Indigo Moon, Year 362 AA (After Alterence)

12th summer of the Orahai

Seven Steps Forest

With a slow, inaudible breath, she felt her lungs fill and held it while she moved, the young girl who was far beyond her seventh step. Far beyond what it took anyone unfamiliar with the aptly named forest to get lost in its dense and repeating foliage. But lost, she was not. Her controlled and eased exhale provided her comfort enough to settle herself for her next movement.

Relax, she told her body, most especially her racing heart. She shifted her entire weight to balance on her palms as she brought her feet forward. She looked far too young to be venturing out on her own, as she had been told countless times, but she didn’t like to listen. She wouldn’t let age be the factor that determined when she could become a hunter or a useful tribeswoman, not when she knew she was beyond capable.

She would not wait for someone to label her something that was instinctual and came naturally. Things like that indescribable feeling that made someone want to pray, made them want to capture their own dinner, and by their own means. It was satisfying. Exhilarating. And even when hunger wasn’t the drive, she could always find sport in the chase.

In the world of Nevold, she was Manyari, and that meant only her talent and skill mattered. For her people living in the wilds, it was simple. Live today so you might fight tomorrow, and so yesterday’s fights allow others to live today.

It was a deeply ingrained mantra not actively practiced by the child huntress. She let the others worry about the grander concerns of the tribe like revitalizing their lacking numbers. She simply wanted to hunt.

Barely into her eighth summer of life, she was already quite convinced that she’d never care about raising a child. Infants weren’t particularly appealing, slightly ugly if she’d had to say, and she was far too independent to have to be tied down to one. There was too much effort and care that went into raising one from what she saw.

She forgot about her people for the time being and focused her mind on listening for the slow footsteps of woodland prey and keeping herself concealed. Her full stalking posture had her nearly flat against the ground with arms and legs tight to her body. She mimicked the swaying brush when wind passed through, blending into the environment. It was a skill she liked to flaunt.

She adjusted her head ornament, the bone skull of a scaled Valkys, as it was too large for her without strapping through the eye cavities. Running parallel to the curve of the skull, where something would have normally sprouted if the creature was still alive, protruded her actual living horns, long and spiraling. They pivoted independently of the mask and moved in segments like tendrils, and were a muddied brown color. They billowed in the wind as she slowly shifted the skull again to fit tighter.

Her ears, long and with black fur covering them, twitched as they slowly crept out from hiding in the concave cavities built into the underside of her horns. They flicked in every direction, making no noise, and bounced eagerly as she moved. They took in all the sounds and vibrations from meters around as a reward, painting a view of her surroundings better than her orange, hazel-flecked eyes could see at times, impressive as they had the clarity and range that could rival most birds of prey.

She thoroughly enjoyed all the sensory gifts passed down by the Valkys side of her ancestry. They made her feel invincible. Proud, though arrogant, to be so fearless when alone in a forest that even the most seasoned hunters would be cautious in. She grinned large enough for her cheeks to pop out the side of the helmet.

Before moving on, she smeared more moss and dirt across the whole of the white bone helmet. She wanted to match that section of the forest, which had many small budding flowers everywhere. One larger flower in particular caught her eye and she placed it between her two horns. She would claim it was for camouflage, never admitting she’d put it there because she thought it was pretty.

She snaked her way through the forest undetected, not only because of her disguise or meticulous movements, but by how she seemed to effortlessly slip past objects. Her reddish-tan skin, with its occasional stripes and dots of darker discoloration, held the secret of her free movement. With almost unnoticeable scales that completely covered her there was little friction from her surroundings as everything seemed to bend away from her, like a creature moving through water. At the more vital parts of her body, scales had begun to grow bigger and more raised. Places like her shoulders, the sides of her neck, knees and elbows, her outer thighs, forearms, and on her right-side chest over her heart, all showed signs of change. And when the light broke through the branches, it made her skin shine a radiant, iridescent shimmer of reds and oranges.

Like her horns, her scales were another all-important trait passed down the long lineage that was usually forgotten. A lineage that existed long before Manyari were brought into the world, when Man and Valkys were not enemies and were able to form a bond that bridged two different peoples. So long ago it seemed like a fairy tale, no more real than the gods that slept and supposedly watched over all from above.

Her ears swiveled back and forth, suddenly facing forward as they honed in. A large buck-toothed rodent, with its uselessly small front paws and abnormally large back ones, hopped into her view, scavenging for food. A rahtani. An all too common, skittish creature that had the ability to replace their numbers as easily as they were diminished by predators. It cautiously pushed up onto its hind paws, which gave it several extra centimeters of height, to reach a branch with fruit.

The girl crept closer and unsheathed a dagger slung across her chest. Without moving, a spectrum of color swept across her as she instinctually changed the direction of her scales to make sure light wouldn’t reflect toward the unsuspecting animal. A slow straightening out of her limbs kept her perfectly balanced as she clawed fingers into the ground. Her muscles tightened visibly and it further redefined her outline.

I am a MIGHTY Valkys and I’m going to eat you, she thought gleefully.

On the brink of her attack, she relaxed suddenly, and one of her ears swiveled back. She knew without looking who had found her.

“Tahdwi,” she grumbled quietly, preceding the arrival of another Manyari child.

Tahdwi, her self-appointed best friend, had an uncanny ability to track and find her, with what she supposed was some sort of dark, yarik power. Tahdwi had appeared out of nowhere, dressed far more casually with a simple dress. Her hair, a nice earthy brunette, was artfully braided around the top of her head and horns. Compared to the single flower on the girl’s bone helmet, Tahdwi had a garden of different flowers woven into her hair and clothes. Her scales glistened with a more blueish-green accent to her naturally tan skin color.

“Ashava,” Tahdwi named her friend, skillful enough to not alert the rahtani.

“Not now,” Ashava urged, and retracted her ears back below her horns in a menacing way.

Still not looking at Tahdwi, she tried to stay the effective hunter and maintain her lock on her target.

Tahdwi’s ears wiggled happily enough that Ashava could hear them. She shifted back to stop her friend’s ears and push them back under her horns.

When Ashava returned to her lower position, Tahdwi followed and took a short breath.

“Ashava, you’ll never guess—” but Tahdwi was quickly silenced. Her eyes crossed as she looked down at Ashava’s hand covering her mouth. She smiled and joyfully pushed it away. “You’ll never guess what happened? There were more babies today,” the girl squeaked, as if the words were forced out.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to answer,” Ashava whispered as she shook her head. “So what?”

The rahtani stopped reaching for the fruit for a second and looked around. Ashava panicked and dug her feet immediately into the soft ground a little more, believing she’d lost her element of surprise.

“There was a boy!” Tahdwi practically howled.

Ashava flinched and watched her prey scurry away, along with a dozen other animals that were startled by Tahdwi.

“Tahdwi!” Ashava pulled her helmet off, and released the tangle of black hair that matched her ears. She turned to Tahdwi, visibly angry, but was taken aback by the big, happy-eared grin of the girl. It wasn’t until Ashava really processed the information that her scowl transformed into shock and amazement.

And secretly, excitement.

“A boy?! Nuh-uh.”

“YES!”

“Who was the mother?”

“Great Mother Saleal,” Tahdwi corrected.

“Right, right. And was there any like me?” Ashava curiously hoped.

“I don’t think so. No second-mother births. They all had the same father, remember?”

Ashava tensed the side of her face, but quickly cleared herself of the feeling of disappointment.

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“No...” Tahwdi sounded a bit offended. “You’re my First friend, most important! I wanted to tell you first.”

“No one?”

“NO!”

“Good!” Ashava pivoted masterfully on her heel, twirling like a dancer that she would never agree to be called. In the same motion she secured the helmet and dagger to her sling and aimed herself straight in the direction of their village.

Tahdwi admired the grace of the spin, until Ashava planted both feet and shot away with one powerful burst, starting their unfair race.

“Hey!” Tahdwi complained.

“Better hurry up, or I’m gonna see him first!” Ashava yelled over her shoulder, while vaulting over deadfall.

“What? Wait! That’s not fair!” Tahdwi said, now in full pursuit. “I’m the one who found out!”

“Come on, Tahdwi!” Ashava called back to her. “You’re gonna miss it!”

Tahdwi had no chance to keep up but tried her hardest. Through sheer will and burning muscles, she managed to catch up and locked angry eyes with Ashava, who laughed at the ugly face Tahdwi was making. Tahdwi didn’t stay mad long and eventually laughed.

Ashava slowed to a pace they both could maintain so they would see the boy together.

At the speed they ran, it would only take a quarter of the time to get back to the village. They followed the unmarked paths, past the boundaries between the forest and the clearing that opened up to rows and rows of crops reaching high for the midday sun. They were painted with colors from filtered sunlight through the canopy of huge petals that were tall enough that an adult Manyari could stand fully and still be shaded.

Ashava and Tahdwi each selected one of the cultivated paths between tall stalks as their racing lanes. Each time they would look at one another, they laughed, seeing different colors wash over them, and they soon forgot about the competition all together.

Out of nowhere, water rained from the clear sky, dousing the girls with increasingly heavy drops. They didn’t stop running, but did exchange a concerned look. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen, so they knew this wasn’t a surprise rain shower. They immediately peered through the thick canopy to the center of the field, where they saw the large boulder, the size of a small hut. Its decorations of paint and twisted rope designated it as the East watering stone, which functioned as a waymarker back home. Its glow was bright enough to be seen in the daylight as it spewed water haphazardly in random directions.

The large boulder had been set there before the field was even a crop, and took twenty Manyari to move. Outwardly, it was as normal as any other large stone, except it had crystalline properties that made it useful as a storing vessel for yarik—the world’s energy.

Being caught in the fields during watering times was a good way to get in trouble as yarik could be dangerous, regardless of the element. A stone of that size required near constant attention and focusing of its power, and turning it on or off was never a simple affair.

Ashava frantically looked for the fieldworker, but she failed to see one. There were consequences for abandoning a yarik stone, but it was evident that someone had left in a hurry.

The moment the village could be seen through the end of the field, a riled cheer erupted. News had traveled fast and Tahdwi’s secret wasn’t much of one anymore.

Ashava looked disappointedly at her friend, “Tahdwi!?”

“I don’t know how they could have found out!”

“Well, they know!”

“I didn’t tell anyone…” Tahdwi apologized.

Ashava grabbed Tahdwi’s hand and hurried to the center of the village. Absent of traffic, they furiously careened around corners and down the dirt paths that separated the rows of small, similar looking homes of their sister Manyari. The clamoring of voices billowed from just beyond what they could see, and grew louder as they reached their last turn. A stylish drift around the final corner and they found themselves at the outward edge of a crowd of Manyari, twenty deep and all women.

Before them stood the Chieftess’s hut with its forecourt where the announcement would most likely be made. A wall of women much taller than the two still growing girls screened anything from view. They decided to split and look for breaks in the crowd, but each time one would appear, it would be filled by a curious Manyari trying to see. Ashava grumbled loudly enough that it surprised those near her, who looked down, thinking they’d be faced with some sort of animal.

She became increasingly aggravated, not only with her inability to see, but how her lacking height did her no benefit. Being young meant she was shorter, but compared to other girls her age, she was also the runt. A fact only whispered about in close-knit circles as no one would dare insult her or her family. Most girls took victory in that they had already hit growth spurts, and would probably always be taller than her. More importantly, other girls already had their first experiences with yarik, where Ashava had not.

Ashava watched the people eye her oddly, but ignored them as she scurried away along the outside of the crowd in an increasingly futile attempt.

“I can’t even see the front,” she huffed under her breath. “Where did Tahdwi go?”

“I think she’s up there,” a girl of equal height, with plain dark features and horns that looked small for her age, informed Ashava. “Her mama came and got her.”

Ashava huffed again.

“I’ll stay with you,” the girl offered. “It’s nice here. Less people.”

“No, Deuna, I got to find a way to the front.”

“You sure?” Deuna asked bashfully.

“Yeah,” Ashava mildly answered.

“Ashava, this way!” Tahdwi’s hand appeared from within the crowd, grabbed Ashava, and pulled her in.

“Okay. Bye,” Deuna pouted.

Tahdwi navigated Ashava and herself through the towering forest of people, retracing her path. They squeezed in and out, between, and under, to quickly make it to the front, but not without angering a few along the way. Once there, they waited. Waited longer than they were ready for, considering how hard they fought to get there on time. It slowly wore on Ashava’s nonexistent patience.

“So, does he have a name?” Ashava asked.

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

Tahdwi hesitated and responded timidly, “I don’t know...”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I didn’t have a chance to find out. I came to get you as soon as I heard.”

Ashava scoffed, listening to others who might know. The people around her began to clamor and discuss wildly about the rumors floating about, but nothing was answered. Most didn’t see when the two female Manyari Wind Riders exited the hut. Their armor, aerodynamic layered leather with finely carved bone helmets and intricate spears, made them look like a pair of Valkys waking from a den.

They looked around for a moment and then turned back to part the door. The Chieftess of Orahai finally emerged in a grand exit donning her most formal of head dresses, similar in structure to the skull that Ashava was frantically trying to hide. The Chieftess’s hair was beautiful highlighted brown, kept in a tight weave that fell over her right shoulder. It rested beautifully beside the patch of green scales, over her worn and slightly frayed shawl that had been passed down for generations. Its colors were muted, but against the drab browns and yellows of most everything around, she stood out as a woman of importance.

Her horns stood tall, bound together and held upright with a golden plate, exposing her ears which flared outward. When she spread her free hand to welcome her people, her outfit chimed with the sound of adorned stones hitting against each other. In her other arm was her own recent addition to her tribe. A baby girl, who she hushed as she began to fuss. The crowd took the direction as if for them and quieted themselves.

The Chieftess basked in the loving smiles of those who had gathered and took the moment to admire each of them. During her sweeping gaze, she spotted her daughter and summoned her to join her side. When Ashava didn’t immediately move, Tahdwi pushed her into the open area of the assembly. She stumbled and flushed with embarrassment, scrambling to hide the skull behind her. She strode to her mother, acting as if nothing was wrong in a painfully obvious attempt but eventually gave up and presented the skull to her mother as if it was a gift and bowed courteously.

“You’re in trouble,” the Chieftess said with a raised eyebrow and took the mask gently.

“I know,” Ashava accepted.

“Hold your sister,” she directed and placed the baby in her arms.

They both turned to face the crowd, one with a joyous smile, the other with a half-worried one. The Chieftess placed both hands firmly on her daughter’s shoulders and presented her family proudly. Ashava looked up as her mother squeezed her reassuringly.

“I didn’t expect something this important to stay secret for long, so I’m sure you know why I called you here.” The Chieftess smiled, which started a wave of smiles in response. “Yes, our family is a little bit bigger today!”

The crowd cheered, and she waited patiently until they calmed themselves.

“And what you have heard is true. Mother Saleal has given birth,” she paused for greater effect, “to a boy!”

Immediately, she was drowned out by the sounds of uncontained joy, letting it last for as long as their lungs could project their happiness. The voices eventually hushed to murmurs and she continued.

“Without question, we are all in her debt. You have all made this village a sanctuary, a place where we can survive, and that has not always been easy. But we stand here as proof that Manyari did not give up. That we few will continue to fight, for we are still here, and always will be. Today, we give thanks to her, for she is now and forever, Great Mother Saleal of the Orahai.”

For a third time, the crowd burst into uncontrollable cheers, the likes of which made the forest around them rumble. The two guards parted the doors again and the Great Mother walked out with the face of exhaustion and pride. The midwife had done her best to make her presentable, but sweat still covered her face and dampened her robes. Her dark blonde mane of disheveled hair was a mess held in wraps and stood out as the only different color amongst the shifting dark haired heads of the rest of the tribe. She scanned the happy faces, trying to give everyone a deserved ‘thank you’ before turning to her Chieftess.

“Thank you, Ejah,” Saleal smiled.

Ejah helped the Great Mother present her son to the world. Saleal gently cradled him in her arms, pulling the blanket from his face to allow him to see the sunlight for the first time. His small horns barely covered his small ears, getting lost in the already full head of short red hair. He hardly made a noise as he focused on her. The oceans of his blue eyes connected to the fields of her green and they spoke to each other before they would ever speak real words.

Ejah cozied up to the new mother and brushed the head of the child lovingly. She palmed his head and smiled gratefully as the child cooed.

“You made a beautiful child. And that hair,” Ejah said almost enviously. “You sure he’s yours?”

“Funny,” Saleal cracked an appreciative smile.

While they admired him, a small wisp of energy floated past, which only he saw. He grasped for it as it gingerly moved out of reach.

An older woman emerged as if secretly summoned. The Wisewoman of Orahai, with her silvery hair with an odd tinge of red that suggested it was once a vibrant color. Her gray scales ran the curve of her chin, small but noticeable. She was adorned like Ejah, but with a wardrobe far less faded and more decorated. Each trinket and piece of jewelry described a lifetime of work serving her people, though some would simply consider her to be a hoarder. She never argued the point, but did always find a use for everything she carried. It was her task to be prepared.

She calmly watched the newborn reach out for the wisp that she also saw, “This child is blessed by spirits,” she suddenly proclaimed.

The congregation took that as a cue to let out another resounding cheer, but Saleal didn’t let it enter her mind. All she could feel was love and pride for her boy, dreaming of all the greatness his future would bring.

You are my world now, was her truth from that moment, and it would be more real and meaningful than any breath she’d ever take again. Her life would be for him—with him. Now and for always.

The cheers continued and embraces were traded, not subiding until someone from the crowd asked, “What’s his name?!”

Saleal, admiring the tiny life in her hands, almost missed the question, but responded a curiously happy, “His name...?”

“Yeah?!” someone else confirmed the question, and then the audience forcefully hushed themselves and held completely still.

“His name,” she thought, looking to the sky. “His name is...”