In the fullness of time one child will come
out to destruction, denied by a dom
in purpose unchallenged provided life grows
this is foretold and this, how it goes
in signs and in wonders Nexus gives life
and here is the answer to eons of strife
the righteous restored through grace of this plan
- if all be in place, for salvation of man
Book 111 Song of Sundering – Redemption’s Plan
Shaynee Greystome was just thirteen summers when she ran on skinny legs away from the safety of the dom into a pre dawn light that even at this hour showed promise of unmerciful heat.
Her skin tingled and blood flowed as she ran through the forest and into the barrier Sister Moon, or so legends said, had placed there to protect her people from the spite and anger Father Sun had shown when he had created the arid, lifeless hamatai, that bordered all eight doms from the smallest Eremon to the great dom of Trygn. She was so frightened she hardly noticed the rising level of anxiety that came when anyone usually approached the border of the dom.
Her heart had filled with fire as she ran; her wrenched knee throbbed in time with her pulse. Now that she had stopped a range of hurts niggled at her. She realised she was outside the dom. She was in the wilderness without the filtering protection of the dark canopy that turned the magenta sky to soft violet. She was sweating and desperate when she finally slumped down exhausted. All energy drained out of her and she lethargically wiped sweat from her brow. She had run like shapras escaping ravenous humac from the safety of the marketplace in the middle of the dark span before Brio and Carnacan had risen.
“What had possessed her before this sun’s rounding to run away unaccompanied and unprepared.” It had something to do with uncle, she was sure of it, but try as she might she could get no further before red filled her vision and a paroxysm of trembling overtook her. Voices, constant companions since early childhood, argued. Some were shrill with terror; others whispered praise over her cunning and cajoled her to her feet. She turned, bewildered and dazed and began to walk around the perimeter of the dom hiding in the shadow it generated. However try as she might she could not find an opening and panic caused her to spin around, lose her way and walk blindly into the gritty, sapphire paasa of the hamatai, Father Sun’s domain.
She had never been away from the protection of any dom before, except once when uncle brought her from Bridd. At the time she was a youngling, about seven summers and an orphan. The journey had taken eight spans. Although she had not counted sun’s rounding and grounding, she was aware of how thin and tired she was at the end of the journey and that it had begun after a rest day and they had approached Trygn as a new rest day was beginning. She had spent much of that time sheltered beneath a silk covered dhurga, in which she was joggled and lay semi conscious from grief and druff which uncle gave to keep her passive and quiet. Uncle said he did this so that she would not give away their presence to the Grapii who lived under Father Sun’s protection in the hamatai and were savages who raided and pillaged without conscience.
The fierce suns Brio and Carnacan were above the horizon, although Carnacan had not quite left sister Moon’s shadow. She walked on more slowly. Thirst began to take hold and she thought longingly of the clear aruatha that was always available even when she was being punished. Aruatha gave life in doms as well as hamatai.
The voices urged her to be calm and to remember. She plodded on through shifting paasa, head bent against the rising wind and eyes half closed to prevent them turning to grit. Scripyds and cryckaa scurried away at her approach and she slid, dislodging showers of paasa scraping her arms and legs when she fell.
Beeds hovered negligently in the warming air, their carapaces glistening, not yet grounded by Brio and Carnacan’s heat. She stared angrily at the dazzling creatures remembering that it was the legend of the beed that started her on this journey. “If your will is strong and you desire a wish to come true, you must first capture a beed. Then whisper your wish to it. Because it is silent, it will tell no one. Release the beed and it will deliver your wish on wings of promise.” More than anything else she wished to be free of the constraints of her uncle’s house. She had gone to the market as usual, while it was still dark before Allijah had left the heavens. Her body ached from the half healed bruises she had been given three spans ago, but her mind was fresh.
She had caught a beed as it fluttered in Brio’s pale orange light and she felt a yearning to travel away from the hurt. Although the beed had bitten her before it flew away it had taken her wish. It had been set free only to flutter under the paw of a bassite, a spitting, snorting and totally repulsive beast of burden, which had crushed the fluttering beed without a moment’s thought.
She was shocked and had unthinkingly told uncle Hellyth about the beed on her return. He had laughed, a brittle sensuous laugh that held undertones of lust and had kissed her on the mouth saying, “You will never be free! When your gressa in whyre is done you will return to this household as truly mine. Death is the only escape.”
Then he kissed her again, forcing his tongue into her mouth until she gagged. He released her, allowing her to fall on the cool, stone flags and turned abruptly away. She could hear the sound of his laughter echoing all the way down the corridor. She sobbed and whispered, “I will not let that happen. I will die first.” Yet she knew it would happen when she became a womyn; she would serve others for 420 spans, a gressa. Then he would claim her back, lock her away in shanaha behind closed grills with veiled by djilbas in public and she would be his property. He could rightfully demand whatever he wanted in exchange for her food and clothing. There would be no barrier to any perversity he chose to impose on her body. As soon as uncle Hellyth moved out of her sight, the voices in her head had told her to run while she still could and she had.
The memory left her suddenly weak and she sat down with a thump, raising gritty, sapphire paasa all around. The voices told her to rest and cover herself with it to give a measure of protection from the rising suns. Aware once more of her surroundings she felt the sweat gather in the crevices of her skin and trickle between her breasts saturating her brown, ferrars skin sinnorga that always made her itch. The fabric covered her from neck to ankle but offered minimal protection from the fierce red and purple suns beating down upon her, Clothing was optional, even considered bad manners, in the shanaha of uncle’s house. However it was law that womyn had to be covered in public places, their faces and hair were obscured by thick djilba that showed only eyes. Despite the temperate weather, womyn were also required to wear a neck to ankle shift made out of durable hide, or soft treated velvet, or silk for those rich enough to purchase them.
She was glad of the djilba; it hid her, protected her so that she appeared the same as her kin. She knew she was not the same. She was different. Her head covered by bronze curls, darker than akvataas blonde most womyn had, tumbled in an unruly mass past her shoulders where it stopped in a rim of frizz as if singed. Even her stature was different. Her cousins were lithe, tall and graceful with dark eyes, pale hair and smooth skin so that even the gorund milk, the purest and most natural kind, did not match them for color and silken texture. Her cousins worked hard at maintaining their appearances. They were willing to starve themselves to carry off the svelte look required to wear the decorations they called clothing. She had no need for she was petite and inclined to be wiry, almost as if she had been stunted at birth and had never learned how to grow. They seldom left the house while she loved to be outdoors. In the dom it was unheard of for womyn, except soldiers, slaves and drudges, to work the fields.
She had explored every alleyway, every narrow street, dark with dirt or hidden secrets. She had travelled across the farms and seen the forests that ringed the barrier of the dom. On occasions she had risked a beating to stay out past suns grounding and explore. She knew better than anyone all the hiding places and crevices where she could go to escape uncle Hellyth’s anger. The only place she would not go was through the forest. It was filled with shadow and something nameless, perhaps from her memory, dwelt there.
She looked with longing at the hazy outline of the dom and felt homesick, not that she had called Trygn home. She had been like the cheeson scuttling underfoot, hiding in shadows and stealing kjhass from the tables of the unwary. She was the chokau, reviled and unwanted; only kept by Hellyth’s duty to his brother, her father, whom she could not remember.
Trygn, unlike Bridd, was filled with sights and sounds that comforted her even as they frustrated her. Everything about Trygn was a paradox, womyn were fiercely protected and also abused as chattels. Sometimes they were little more than slaves. Shaynee, as an adopted child, was given the poorest clothing and was sent to the marketplace before sun’s rounding to get food for the table without consideration for her wishes. She loved the freedom of being unchaperoned; where sights caused wonder but also confusion. The kjhass vendor for example, walking along in the dawn light with his turban trailing sparkles always made her smile until she smelled the cooling, yeasty, smell of black kjhass and then she became anxious and nauseous without reason. So many things seemed to happen without reason. The voices in her head gave her explanations and kept her calm but there was no other guide to lead her through the labyrinth of fears and doubts she frequently suffered.
Her skin began to scorch as she thought she heard silver trumpets blazing forth signalling that Carnacan had left the horizon following in Brio’s wake and was now ready to burn across the sky. The thrum of tambours beating echoed on the still air. In her mind she could hear the clang and the thwack of the soldiers’ swords as they went about their daily practice. She had always been a silent observer of the soldiers as they practised in the early morn, their short hair covered by burnished helmets that made them alike, men and womyn indistinguishable, both fighting side by side. She did not know what fascination the soldiers held for her but she knew they drew her, as a well draws life-sustaining aruatha from the depths of the earth. She watched fascinated, while soldiers, as familiar as the marketplace at suns rounding, drilled and moved in synchronised harmony. Many gyrls came to the armoury and begged to be soldiers after a gressa in whyre. They cut their hair and wore the armour of men and played men’s games until their death. They formed a tight knit group; with lives segregated from society. They were held in barracks and not able to leave the training compound without permission. They spent all their spans from suns’ rounding to grounding, in training and war games. Shaynee had yearned to be a part of the soldiery but the thought of being broken in like a bassite or chained like the barracks dragons filled her with such loathing that even as the memory struck she was filled with trembling. Their lives were subject to whimsical discipline, more so than hers. They were governed strictly by what Lord Trynyan wanted. Lately they had been dragooned into forming patrols and leaving the dom, at suns rounding and not returning for spans because what Lord Trynyan wanted was more dragons than Bridd, Trygn’s rival in commerce. The only place dragons could be found were in the hamatais guarded by Grapii. Many did not return. It was said, they had chosen death rather than the torture assigned to those shamed by returning without dragons to train.
She licked lips that were dryer than the holy writ taught to childer to make them obedient and looked up, shading her eyes against the fierce light of the suns. She briefly glimpsed several flashes of brighter light, as if dragons were sky dancing, as if they had escaped the thrall of Trygn just as she had. That reminded her that Hellyth had said she courted death outside his protection and she decided that death was better. At least out here death would be clean. She removed her djilba and wiped her face now red, although the span was still young. Sweat coated the fabric and she shook it out. Then she dropped it carelessly in the paasa beneath her feet. Her head throbbed as the promised heat began to affect her. The voices began to get louder and, for the first time, there were conflicting messages. Some said run others said stay and conserve strength. She did not know what to do and ran blindly for a crija or two before she stopped, slumped panting and looked once more to the horizon now nothing more than a shimmer on the horizon. She wondered idly if uncle Hellyth would come after her. He was the only one who could survive the rigors of the journey. He had followed a trade route regularly to trade aalosen, druff and caarsinym that made the family wealthy and powerful, but he had always returned gaunt and angry. She had borne the brunt of that anger more than once. “If uncle comes for me could I return?” she asked herself then in a moment of startling honesty she answered. “No it would be the same. I would be the same and my due time in whyre still fills me with foreboding.” Then half delirious with thirst she argued with herself and the voices inside were silent.
She rose and began to walk aimlessly, arguing with herself all the while. Finally exhausted and frightened she lay down and began to cry. Tears ran in a torrent down her bare cheeks and gathered around her neck causing scripyds and cryckaa to leave their hiding places and bite. Tears, sweat and minute particles of blood fell onto the sapphire paasa, where life began without her knowledge.
Her mouth became a furnace and her skin throbbed in time to her heartbeat. The paasa, which had covered her, now buried itself under her skin and abrasions flamed. Brio and Carnacon, now overhead, flamed unmercifully and her eyes hurt from the glare. Her stomach cramped and she felt wetness on her siljnora. She removed and saw that blood had spattered it. She cursed that Alijah’s flow should occur in the desolate place.
Her uncle had warned her she was close to her time she remembered the words he had spoken “Myrtya tells me you are close to becoming a womyn. Then you will be mine to do as I please with you and you will obey me without complaint.” It was then he had kissed her and she had run. A memory of burning overwhelmed her, if this is what being a womyn meant she would go willingly into Lord Shadow’s arms.
Semi conscious now she dreamed as unfamiliar voices rose on the dry gritty air. Doms rose and fell at her command and always fire surrounded her, forcing her to make choices she would not otherwise have made. Banners, bearing creatures of legend, flew under soft breezes. People dark and stark paraded before her in chains begging for mercy. Soldiers, once glorious in bronze, lay diseased and dying. Bridd became a blackened place with bodies strewn in the street, her majesty shattered before a dragon army.
She sobbed in anguish as she killed her father, then saw him rise to become a drunken sot. She screamed as the hamatai bloomed, fuelled by her sweat and blood that drained her of life. She giggled as her mother drew her in a whyre and collared her, taking all her clothes. She screamed again as Hellyth claimed her, hurt her and told her this is not for a gressa. This is shanaha forever.
Through it all voices led her to destinations unknown and a stranger’s face as familiar as heartbreak, came, went and offered comfort, teaching, discipline and death. She had waist length Brio coloured tresses, darker than her own closer in colour to the daani wood that rimmed the doms. Alongside her stood a hsraak-eyed man who called his people to war on her behalf. She tossed restlessly, refusing the idea than any could be hurt because of love for her. Whispered voices conferred about her fate.
“Is she the one prophesied?”
“She has strength and will. She has power in her blood. She has gifts from each of us, fetching of water or fire, nurture and healing from you, foreknowledge and forth-telling latent but strong, tongues enough that all will respond to her voice. Her alter selves offer wisdom and knowledge and she understands her frailty but does not give in. She can read intentions but has compassion for those who speak, believing the best of them at all times. She could even control time should the need arise. But look there!”
“She has a dark memory buried deep so that she sees not.”
“Yes. When she was an innocent she was violated. In response she called lightning. Our brother corrupted her gift. The fire she raised killed her father.”
“Too long has he hidden in shadow and gotten away with murder! Beloved if this is the one; we must help her; though it breaches our promise to remain neutral.”
“She could be Nexus but first she must survive.”
“She will not survive this span, except we intervene.”
“Then intervene we must. The Jhaddii are near. Anuk will be praying. I will send word to him.”
“Ah, and Anuk is partnered with Allysn, a healer. This one has much need of mind and spirit healing. Be swift in the telling my love, for shadows are rising and we must not lose this battle. I will gift her with a song to hold her.” And with that one voice disappeared and the other rose in song.
Oh Father Sun, my first love and foremost
hear me I pray and honour all you’ve said
look unto to this gyrl, hold her in your keeping
until her rescue comes, I bind her to this earth
Oh Father Sun go swiftly with your message
her lifeline grows thin and hard to hold it here
I will abide and hold her in your keeping
till you return and bring her back to health
Oh Father Sun her will is fading slowly
then she will die and prophecy delayed
she is our hope, the promise held for Nexus
send us your help while I am waiting here.
The silken cord that held Shaynee’s life firmed and settled. She tossed and turned until finally, her thoughts and body stilled. She lay as one dead beyond, her pain, beyond hearing and barely breathing. Mother Earth continued to watch and sing, praying that her beloved Father Sun would be able to reach Anuk and he would respond quickly for this gyrl on the cusp of womynhood bore all the indicators of Nexus potential.
Mother Earth laid her hand on Shaynee’s brow and whispered a blessing. Shaynee breathed more steadily as the god watched the horizon for signs of rescue. Mother Earth prayed that this time prophecy would become promise. They had waited so long and she longed to see her brothers and sisters again. And mayhap this time the Shadow Lord would be bound forever.
Carnacon and Brio blazed. The Earth Mother called winds to raise the paasa and reduce heat. Dragons came at Mother’s command and hovered expectantly shadowing the gyrl with the wingspans. “Is this the one? They thrummed.
“She has all potential. She could be the one.”
“She is marked by the Shadow Lord.”
“Then we must wrest her from his keeping. Out here in Father Sun’s domain she is hidden from his sight. We must see to it that she remains hidden.”
The dragons screeched with one accord and began to skydance. The heat from their bodies and breath wove an impenetrable screen, until a net as fine as spun theridj surrounded her and clove to her as a second skin.
Mother Earth continued to sit holding the gyrl to life. She smiled occasionally as she watched the thoughts of the potential Nexus. This child would have a long way to journey if she survived but what a glorious future she could bring, even now the hamatai showed signs of new life and under a magenta sky dragons cavorted as if echoing her dreams.