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Somewhere, somewhen in time and space there exists a world not unlike ours but at the same time, very unlike this one. I have spoken with these folk, eaten meals with them, loved with them, cried, and rejoiced. I have seen their past, their present, and their future, all within the confines of my room. If it is simpler for you to think I am insane, then do so. If you prefer thinking this tale only my imagination, then please, feel free.
For I know the truth. They exist. Or they will, in time.
Ran’ya likes to say she was born at a very early age, laughing as she does so, for she was born a full two moons early. This is her story.
Sha’reen was playing in her special garden just in sight of her mother’s larger one filled with a mixture of fruits and vegetables for the body and flowers for the immortal soul, as her mother liked to say. Her garden was one of rounded pieces of colored smooth glass and shells found on the beach of the fresh water sea and twigs with snippets of her mother’s home spun and colored thread, woven from the pod plants and the long hair goats kept away from the garden by a high wooden fence. Sha’reen’s garden was not a small patch of dirt under the long leafed tree, but mountains and hills covered in beautiful flowers, inhabited by flower people of all colors, blues and reds, golden and green, rich purples and pale violets. She would play there for hours, whispering to the flower folk of the sister she would have soon, a special sister for her to love.
Mara, the mother of Sha’reen, bent over double, a sharp pain lancing through her belly as her waters broke to drain into the garden, giving the plants feeding. She leaned heavily on her hoe as she closed her eyes against pain and fear. As the pang of birth passed she called quietly to Sha’reen, not wanting to frighten her youngling, but needing her help. “Sha’reen my dearling, mother needs you to get father. Tell him I need the Healer and Seer. Run quickly precious, and tell father to hurry.” Mara smiled at Sha’reen, not realizing the child of only four turnings saw her mother’s pain and fear on her face. “Hurry now my precious, go get Father.”
Sha’reen dropped her flower folk in the dirt, trampling on the flower mountain in her haste to get her father, leaving them there in the dust, wondering what happened to their world. She ran faster than ever before, baby-chubby legs stretching out to eat up the distance between home and father’s store in the tiny town in which they lived. Swiftly Sha’reen ran past the goats in their pen, watching her move with goatly disinterest, past the cow in her byre, past the chickens clucking as the rude child disturbed their constant search for food.
As Sha’reen ran faster than ever her russet hair escaping her usually neatly tended braids, her little apron so like her mother’s billowing out behind her, she called for her father, sending her voice to alarm the birds in the trees, setting her father’s favorite cat to scurrying for the top beam of the store. Her feet clattered on the wooden raised walkway, startling the grandsires as they recounted stories to each other they had told so long that each knew the other’s lives by heart.
Ca’lan stopped his little daughter, swinging her up in his arms, laughing to see her running so fast. “Here now my little maiden, it isn’t time for the noon meal, why come you like this. Where is mother?” Seeing her frightened face he held her close against his suddenly thudding heart. “What is the matter Sha’reen, where is mother?”
Finally in her father’s arms Sha’reen relaxed and began sobbing, “Mother hurts. She said Sha’reen go get father and tell father to get the Healer and Seer. Mother said ‘tell father to hurry.’ Sha’reen ran fast Father, now will Father get the Healer and Seer for mother?”
Ca’lan closed his eyes in pain, understanding what was happening, trying to keep his fear from his little daughter, controlling his breathing, trying to slow the rapid pounding of his heart. He opened his eyes, nut brown like his daughters and smiled. “I will get them now. You stay here with Bab and the grandsires like a good girl.” He nodded at the store helper, Bab, knowing the grandsires heard every word, especially the unspoken ones, and knew that they would care for his youngling, bringing her home when it was time.
The eldest yet spryest of the grandsires was already better than half way to the home of the Seer and Guide on the edge of town, so Ca’lan ran to pound on the door of the healer. The healer’s wife, alerted to the urgent need, by his calling of the Healer’s name had the door open, standing there drying her hands wet from the dishes, in her apron, worry showing on her face as she recognized her dearest friend’s life partner. “Ca’lan what is it. Is it Sha’reen? Has she fallen? What is it? Mara?” Gundra turned away, calling her life partner Na’tan from the little laboratory where he prepared simple medicaments and potions. “Na’tan, hurry! There is need. Ca’lan is here.”
Na’tan took one look at Ca’lan, speaking only one word “Mara?” At Ca’lan’s nod he turned back to the laboratory to gather his bag and stock of medicaments.
Ca’lan swallowed hard, turning to the Healer’s wife, “Gundra will you keep Sha’reen until… well until she can come home again? She is over with Bab and the grandsires right now.” Gundra nodded, already out of the door to gather Sha’reen against her ample bosom, promising her freshly baked cakes.
Sha’reen sensed something very wrong, even at four turnings and a half, whimpering against Gundra’s body, smelling the sweet cakes on her apron, and feeling the worry in the tension in her arms. “Hush, hush dearling. Mother will be fine. You are going to stay here with me until Father comes to take you back home again. We will have a wonderful time. You can help me ice the cakes and make cha for Na’tan when he comes home. Everything will be all right, Sha’reen, truly.” Sha’reen read in her face the fear behind Gundra’s calm words and cried all the harder.
“She will be fine, Ca’lan, go to Mara now. I will take good care of her.” Gundra swung Sha’reen up in her arms easily, cradling her to her body, snuggling her close. “Look at you, your hair all over the place and tear stains on your pretty face. We don’t want you frightening your good mother now, do we? Let’s go in and get cleaned up for her. Is this the apron she made you last eight day? It looks just like hers, doesn’t it? We have new kittens, did you know that? Four of them. Let’s get cleaned up then you can go see them.” Gundra chattered as adults do when they are trying hard to keep children from seeing their upset and fear, and failing as adults always do, children being more observant than they think.
Ca’lan and Na’tan strode up the hill to where Mara waited holding onto the doorframe, her face shining with sweat as yet another pain tore through her. “Gods no,” Ca’lan whispered, taking his beloved into his arms. “It is too soon. Na’tan do something please.”
Picking her up as easily as he would have their daughter, Ca’lan bore his lady to their bed, sweeping the lovely embroidered coverlet back to lay her down, his heart weeping as he saw the next pain knotting in her belly, heard the soft moan escaping her lips. He looked up into Na’tan’s eyes, “Please Healer, do something. It is too soon. Make the birth stop.”
Na’tan shook his head slowly. “It is too late for that now, Ca’lan. All I can do is make her comfortable until…”
Ca’lan put his head down on the bed next to his beloved and wept, his hand protectively on her belly as if he could hold the child within by his will and love alone. Mara panted with the pains, fighting the labor, fighting to keep the child within, but knowing that her birth was inevitable…and the babe’s death from too early a birthing. Na’tan’s voice was gentle “Ca’lan, go for the priest. It won’t be much longer.”
From the door where she stood as proudly as a queen, the village Seer answered. “There is no need for the parting prayers yet. She will live.” P’aralda swept into the room, her thin hand on the arm of her Guide, her thin shawl fluttering in the breeze of her passing. Her smile was as a blessing on the little mother laboring on the bed, easing the pain of the father, and giving hope to the Healer who hated loosing a life. The grandsire lurking outside the home smiled, turning to carry the news to the town, panting as he labored down the hill on stiff knees.
The news spread more swiftly than one of the King’s finest steeds, the joyous news that the Seer had said the child would live bringing happiness to all, so close was the town in caring and love of each. For ten turnings had Ca’lan and Mara been partnered and childless, seemingly condemned to living without children to delight their lives when Sha’reen had been born, then another four turnings before once again Mara was filled. There was not a family in the small village that was not making something special for the child, each wanting to have a small part in sharing the happiness of the family.
Bab shut the door of the store, not locking it, for there was no lock on the door; neither Ca’lan nor his father before him, nor his father’s father seeing the necessity to distrust neighbors. As they had each said in turn, “If someone has such need as to break into the store, I would rather keep him as a friend and fill his arms with what he needs than to have my friend and neighbor loose his self regard.” She scurried up the hill, not wanting to intrude, but like the others, wanting to see for herself the birth of this special child.
Gundra heard the footsteps on the wooden walkway and went to the door with a heavy heart, certain that she was to be given word that the child had passed on, when she heard excited talking, saw her neighbors, baskets and cold lanterns in hand, rushing up the hill. The grandsire came to a wheezing, creaking halt and let her know that the Seer had promised the child to live and Gundra, so filled with joy pressed his frail body to her so admired bosom, giving him, as he later told the other grandsires “More woman than I have held in my arms in over twenty turnings!”
She laughed as she washed Sha’reen’s face yet again, quickly putting the plate of sweet cakes in a basket, the cha yet unmade, and for some strange reason, a pot of hot sweet relish, which she and Mara would laugh about for some years to come. “Hurry my little love; let’s go welcome your sister!” Lightly as a bird she ran up the hill, child and basket in her arms, barely noticing the ground she sped over, not seeing the cow lowing in her byre, the goats watching still with goatly disinterest, nor hearing the clucking hens irritable with the disruption of their search for seed and grubs.
The yard had taken on an air of merriment and celebration. Some had gone into the kitchen and brought out the freshly scrubbed table and benches, others had made swings to put their own babes in while the town waited the birth.
Food soon appeared almost magically on the table, another was made from boards from the barn and more food. Jellies and cakes and hams, a great roasted haunch of bison, roasted, fried, boiled hens and little light dumplings swimming in broth, vegetables fresh from the garden all red and yellow and green in great bowls and plates of blue and white and yellow and green and crimson, all ready for the celebration.
The vintner rolled a large cask of wine up the hill, puffing and huffing, patting his sweating red cheeks, fat and ripe as twin apples after the exertion. Pies showed on the table, and little quick foods, fruits and the sweets mothers always had hidden away for special treats for their loved children.
Gundra handed the basket to the vintner’s wife with an excited smile and little hug, whispering “Keep an eye on Sha’reen for me, would you?” before tripping into the house to be with her friend.
All the day the town quietly kept watch, hushing the children when they got too noisy, rocking the babes in their swing cradles, eating, and quietly sharing the day. From inside could occasionally be heard a low moan from Mara as her body worked to release the child. The Seer, P’ralda, came out once for a glass of sweet cider and a small cake, smiling so sweetly that the young man who served her almost fell at her knees. She spoke as ever, with a musical voice, which sent delight through those near, “She is very impatient to be born, is little Ran’ya”
A delighted gasp went through the crowd, “Ran’ya, did you hear, her name is Ran’ya!” Sha’reen, playing with her flower people, having remade her mountain and replanted her flowers, whispered to them, “My sister’s name is Ran’ya.”
The Seer smiled again and handed cup and plate back to the blushing youngling and stopped at the door. “Did I forget to tell you? She will be a Seer.” Hushed silence fell over the townsfolk, the babes in their swing cradles not making a sound, even the crickets forgetting to rub their legs together in song as the town absorbed the news. Sha’reen was the only one who was not surprised, as she told her flower people, for her sister had been speaking with her for ever so long.
Just as dusk fell and the cold lanterns were lit where they swayed on the boughs of the trees in the yard, just at that moment when the world takes one last sip of sunlight and sighs softly the sound of a tiny baby came from the house, gathering strength as she yelled. As one, the town sighed and came to life again. The vintner opened the cask and handed cups around as fast as he could. The town waited for Ca’lan to come to the door, holding their cups, the children stuffing sweets and cakes into their mouths as fast as they could while their parents were waiting the new father.
Ca’lan and the Seer P’ralda came to the door, P’ralda holding a tiny baby wrapped in her own shawl, a tiny babe, looking almost like a doll but a doll with rapidly beating fists, and face screwed up in a yowl of outrage at being taken from her mother’s arms. Sha’reen ran to her sister and father, some in the group trying to hold her back, she dodging them easily as she came to her sister. P’ralda knelt in the grass at the door and let Sha’reen see her sister. Ran’ya stopped crying, her unfocused newborn eyes somehow locking on her sisters, a tiny fist finding her sister’s finger. Sha’reen kissed her sister gently, laughing happily. “I have a sister!”
The little boys of the town looked at the tiny thing to make all the uproar, shrugging, when you have seen one girl you have seen them all, they thought at the time, but the food and sweets were good enough reason for standing in line to shake the hand of the father politely and congratulate him and the little mother on the birth.
Outlanders looking in on this town would perhaps have been astounded that an entire town gather together to celebrate the birth, albeit very early, of a child, even one marked as Seer from before birth, but the folk of Fair Crossing were close. It was a good place for a child to be born, a good place for a grandsire or grandmam to spend final years, wrapped in the rich caring and loving hearts of Fair Crossing folk. Perhaps Ran’ya’s memories are recalled through the roseate tints of childhood, but all things considered, it was a good place filled with good people.
Ran’ya prospered and grew on her mother’s warm milk and later good plain foods in abundance, grown in their own garden, baked, roasted, prepared by her mother’s loving hands. Later she would laughingly recall that her parents spoiled her terribly, but never so terribly as did her sister and the rest of Fair Crossing. Unspoken was the thought which always followed that one…that her family and folk of the town knew from her birth that she would not blossom to young womanhood in their midst, but would have to leave when her Gifts emerged, to go to the School of Seers and Guides called Herrien. It was natural that she would be the cosseted and cherished darling of town and family.
Unfortunately, being the cosseted and cherished darling was not enough to prevent Ran’ya from contacting every sickness that went around the village. From the head sniffles to the more serious sickness, if it was in the air, her family could be virtually certain that it would find home in Ran’ya’s body. This propensity to sickness did not make her a weakling, moving from one sickness to another, but built in her a natural will to fight what she could not change, for she chose to not meekly endure.
Having finally discovered the secret behind having children after the ten turnings without, Ca’lan and Mara went on to produce a child a turning till her eighth birth celebration. S’van and Isme were the twin son and daughter born in the year of festival following Ran’ya’s birth then Kelar who would be their final son, and who would join Ran’ya at the school to be trained as a guide some years hence, but that is another story, as Ran’ya has reminded me.
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