“You’re back,” Jezura squeezed her hand. “How are you feeling?”
Rushe-kih forced a smile. Looking down she saw the lump of only one foot beneath the blanket. “Where is the little girl?” she asked.
Jezura stepped back to reveal a net strung across the wall opposite. Over it was draped a shaggy white bed mat. The child rested beneath a woven blanket. Her skin had regained some of its copper color, but was black and hollow around the eyes and pale at her lips. She’d been washed and a long braid lay on either side of her head.
“She’s pretty,” Ahr-tyr said, “I plaited her hair.”
“It’s a very nice job,” Rushe-kih said. “She’s all right then?”
“She’s breathing regularly,” Hem said, “But she hasn’t woken yet.”
Rushe-kih pushed herself up, “I want to go to her.”
The men looked anxiously at Jezura, “Not yet, friend. It’s all settled. I’m staying here a few days to watch over you and the little one, and you are to stay in bed until your blood comes back.”
No amount of arguing could change the situation. As one trained in medicine, Rushe-kih knew Jezura was right. At least she’d finished her harvesting. She lay back and watched the girl from her bedside, unable to peel her eyes away. Where had she come from?
It was no coincidence that Rushe-kih had dreamt about the choosing ceremony the morning after the vamfloria disaster. It had never left her mind all these years, although her fate seemingly had not lined up with destiny. Still, she’d never given up hope. After all, hadn’t Olee-fuku given her the name Rushe-kih-zicahl after interpreting her river-clay prints? Hadn’t the elders annointed her to be the future Behrowain queen when they learned that her name meant “She raises from the dust the one who mends worlds?
How her people had marveled as they’d left the fire that night so long ago! Rushe-kih remembered their sayings: “No doubt the girl will bear a future chief judge! Olee-fuku was right to betroth her to Chief Endroyim.” Although only twelve years old, Rushe-kih had felt swollen up in awe at her own name. To raise someone from the dust had something to do with childbearing, she knew, but she didn’t know about mending worlds. Her mother mended their clothing every melting season, so Rushe-kih brought the question before her later, as they were falling asleep.
“Before the clan of the chief judges was begun, we all lived separate and in tribes,” her mother had explained, her voice a solemn whisper in the darkness of night. “The Behrowain of the north. The wild mountain Zoolewain. The Rikkawain who live in fire. The Trinnowain and the Kinnowain, who have always been enemies, and the far away Lakkewain. Everyone looked for themselves, and some did better than others. Then came Juz-Uah Ha, who brought brotherhood and united us together. He became the first Chief Judge, the mender of all the tribes.”
Rushe-kih’s mother pulled the quilt close to Rushe-kih. “See this quilt. It is made of many pieces, each different. Separated, the pieces are useless. But sewn together it is a strong shelter.”
The rest did not need to be explained to Rushe-kih. How the tribes were mended together through royal marriage—one wife from each tribe, united in a royal family. All her life she had been prepared in case she was chosen. And now this prophecy—that she would be the Behrowain queen, married to Chief Judge Endroyim. But more than that—a child she bore was also destined to be chief judge over all the tribes. Mender of the world.
The name had been more than just a prophecy to Rushe-kih; it was a promise. More potent became the promise when Rushe-kih contracted dry fever the summer before her wedding to Endroyim. She’d recovered after three months of blindness, but everyone knew that women could not bear children after having dry fever. Mor-moring was sent in her place, and Rushe-kih was instead apprenticed to the village medicine woman. But healing was not Rushe-kih’s gift, and while her helpfulness was useful to Po-puli-ah, the old woman never passed the medicine stick to her.
Rushe-kih had returned to her mother’s tent, humble and quiet with the hardness her life was becoming. No man expressed interest in her, and without a calling her life had no purpose. At first she shared in her mother’s womanly tasks, but living this way made her feel like a wingless eagle. Finally, she decided to make her own tent where she could tend her own fire.
On her own Rushe-kih thrived, and if she had not been lonely she would have lived out her life there in her Behrowain village. She would never have found her gift. But she was dreadfully lonely without a man or children to nurture and watch over.
At this time there was an old woman in the village named Fok-hakki, whose three children had all died many years before of the dry fever, and whose husband, named Moki, was an invalid. He had almost died of the fever along with his children, but miraculously recovered after the magi administered to him. His legs, however, had not regained their life power, leaving him a burden to Fok-hakki, who loved him and never complained. But her time finally came and she died, leaving her gnarled old man behind.
When something like this happened, and a helpless person was left with nobody to keep him alive, the elders would call upon a villager to accept the individual into their tent as part of their family. But before the elders had time to meet, Rushe-kih took matters into her own hands. The very day Fok-hakki had been buried in her rock tomb, Rushe-kih appeared at the tent of Old Moki holding a platter of seasoned fish and flat bread. Again the morning after, she arrived with a dish from her fire. The elders raised their eyes, but said nothing.
Under Rushe-kih’s care Moki seemed to gain strength. His eyes acquired a luster that nobody in the village ever remembered seeing. More and more the neighbors saw him through the door of his tent, sitting upon his pallet without even a pillow to hold him up. Watching for Rushe-kih, the angel who had brought light back into his tent.
If the arrangement was pleasing to Moki, it was even more satisfying for Rushe-kih. She found that it was nothing to add a little more fish or flour to her bowl, and in this way her heart was filled. Before long she was cooking for the lone woman at the edge of the village who had a baby and another child, and whose adventurous man had met some accident and had never returned. And after these, an old man and his woman who’d grown so blind she burned her hands while cooking. All these Rushe-kih brought to her table. From earliest light until dinner Rushe-kih cooked and delivered her meals. And for the first time since she’d been anointed the Behrowain queen, her life had purpose.
Then, on a particularly frigid day a traveler stumbled into their village. The Behrlands saw few visitors. A band of rimers came to preach in the summer, but they seldom stayed more than a few weeks. After the first of September the Behrlands were too cold for anyone but the most experienced voyager. Hem came in November seeking the family of Mo-shing, a companion he’d been traveling with who had fallen and died. Hem was sick and near to death himself. The elders sent him to stay in Moki’s tent through the winter, and in this way he met Rushe-kih.
When Rushe-kih brought her winter stew, Hem was wrapped in a fur on a pallet shaking with fever, his skin a fragile shade of white. In her quiet manner, she lifted his head and spooned in the stew. After that he stopped shaking and fell into a long and even sleep. The next day she brought a seasoned meat with roots and bread. Again he was too weak to feed himself, but color crept into his face with each bite. Then she brought flat bread spread with a thick layer of spicy fish paste, which brought the spark back into his eyes. In two weeks Hem was walking about, without an ache to complain of.
Then the whispering began. Perhaps Po-puli-ah should have passed the medicine stick on to Rushe-kih? Hadn’t Rushe-kih more than proven her ability to heal the sick?
To anyone who cared to ask, Hem swore that Rushe-kih had indeed healed him with her cooking, and then his eyes would mist, because as his body became whole so had his heart, and while was returning spring to the Behrlands Hem was falling deeply in love. Moki told Rushe-kih’s mother and father, who brought her into their tent to discuss her feelings. Marriage to one of another tribe was not forbidden, although it could be complicated. But for Rushe-kih there was no answer but yes. Buried beneath her calm exterior, Rushe-kih had developed tenderness for this traveler.
“After all, Mah-ti,” she said to her mother, “Wasn’t I prepared to leave our tribe when I was engaged to Endroyim? Who knows but my prophecy will still yet come to pass?”
And so Rushe-kih was wed. And before the planting season was over Rushe-kih turned her back on the home of her birth to travel to her husband’s inheritance of the southern plains. But the couple remained childless, in spite of Rushe-kih’s ache for motherhood. In spite of Olee-fuku’s prediction at the choosing ceremony so long ago. In spite of the promise Rushe-kih had trusted all these years. Now listening to the fluttery breathing coming from the tiny bed across the room, Rushe-kih wondered if she was finally seeing the fulfillment of the prophecy.
“You’re back,” Jezura squeezed her hand. “How are you feeling?”
Rushe-kih forced a smile. Looking down she saw the lump of only one foot beneath the blanket. “Where is the little girl?” she asked.
Jezura stepped back to reveal a net strung across the wall opposite. Over it was draped a shaggy white bed mat. The child rested beneath a woven blanket. Her skin had regained some of its copper color, but was black and hollow around the eyes and pale at her lips. She’d been washed and a long braid lay on either side of her head.
“She’s pretty,” Ahr-tyr said, “I plaited her hair.”
“It’s a very nice job,” Rushe-kih said. “She’s all right then?”
“She’s breathing regularly,” Hem said, “But she hasn’t woken yet.”
Rushe-kih pushed herself up, “I want to go to her.”
The men looked anxiously at Jezura, “Not yet, friend. It’s all settled. I’m staying here a few days to watch over you and the little one, and you are to stay in bed until your blood comes back.”
No amount of arguing could change the situation. As one trained in medicine, Rushe-kih knew Jezura was right. At least she’d finished her harvesting. She lay back and watched the girl from her bedside, unable to peel her eyes away. Where had she come from?
It was no coincidence that Rushe-kih had dreamt about the choosing ceremony the morning after the vamfloria disaster. It had never left her mind all these years, although her fate seemingly had not lined up with destiny. Still, she’d never given up hope. After all, hadn’t Olee-fuku given her the name Rushe-kih-zicahl after interpreting her river-clay prints? Hadn’t the elders annointed her to be the future Behrowain queen when they learned that her name meant “She raises from the dust the one who mends worlds?
How her people had marveled as they’d left the fire that night so long ago! Rushe-kih remembered their sayings: “No doubt the girl will bear a future chief judge! Olee-fuku was right to betroth her to Chief Endroyim.” Although only twelve years old, Rushe-kih had felt swollen up in awe at her own name. To raise someone from the dust had something to do with childbearing, she knew, but she didn’t know about mending worlds. Her mother mended their clothing every melting season, so Rushe-kih brought the question before her later, as they were falling asleep.
“Before the clan of the chief judges was begun, we all lived separate and in tribes,” her mother had explained, her voice a solemn whisper in the darkness of night. “The Behrowain of the north. The wild mountain Zoolewain. The Rikkawain who live in fire. The Trinnowain and the Kinnowain, who have always been enemies, and the far away Lakkewain. Everyone looked for themselves, and some did better than others. Then came Juz-Uah Ha, who brought brotherhood and united us together. He became the first Chief Judge, the mender of all the tribes.”
Rushe-kih’s mother pulled the quilt close to Rushe-kih. “See this quilt. It is made of many pieces, each different. Separated, the pieces are useless. But sewn together it is a strong shelter.”
The rest did not need to be explained to Rushe-kih. How the tribes were mended together through royal marriage—one wife from each tribe, united in a royal family. All her life she had been prepared in case she was chosen. And now this prophecy—that she would be the Behrowain queen, married to Chief Judge Endroyim. But more than that—a child she bore was also destined to be chief judge over all the tribes. Mender of the world.
The name had been more than just a prophecy to Rushe-kih; it was a promise. More potent became the promise when Rushe-kih contracted dry fever the summer before her wedding to Endroyim. She’d recovered after three months of blindness, but everyone knew that women could not bear children after having dry fever. Mor-moring was sent in her place, and Rushe-kih was instead apprenticed to the village medicine woman. But healing was not Rushe-kih’s gift, and while her helpfulness was useful to Po-puli-ah, the old woman never passed the medicine stick to her.
Rushe-kih had returned to her mother’s tent, humble and quiet with the hardness her life was becoming. No man expressed interest in her, and without a calling her life had no purpose. At first she shared in her mother’s womanly tasks, but living this way made her feel like a wingless eagle. Finally, she decided to make her own tent where she could tend her own fire.
On her own Rushe-kih thrived, and if she had not been lonely she would have lived out her life there in her Behrowain village. She would never have found her gift. But she was dreadfully lonely without a man or children to nurture and watch over.
At this time there was an old woman in the village named Fok-hakki, whose three children had all died many years before of the dry fever, and whose husband, named Moki, was an invalid. He had almost died of the fever along with his children, but miraculously recovered after the magi administered to him. His legs, however, had not regained their life power, leaving him a burden to Fok-hakki, who loved him and never complained. But her time finally came and she died, leaving her gnarled old man behind.
When something like this happened, and a helpless person was left with nobody to keep him alive, the elders would call upon a villager to accept the individual into their tent as part of their family. But before the elders had time to meet, Rushe-kih took matters into her own hands. The very day Fok-hakki had been buried in her rock tomb, Rushe-kih appeared at the tent of Old Moki holding a platter of seasoned fish and flat bread. Again the morning after, she arrived with a dish from her fire. The elders raised their eyes, but said nothing.
Under Rushe-kih’s care Moki seemed to gain strength. His eyes acquired a luster that nobody in the village ever remembered seeing. More and more the neighbors saw him through the door of his tent, sitting upon his pallet without even a pillow to hold him up. Watching for Rushe-kih, the angel who had brought light back into his tent.
If the arrangement was pleasing to Moki, it was even more satisfying for Rushe-kih. She found that it was nothing to add a little more fish or flour to her bowl, and in this way her heart was filled. Before long she was cooking for the lone woman at the edge of the village who had a baby and another child, and whose adventurous man had met some accident and had never returned. And after these, an old man and his woman who’d grown so blind she burned her hands while cooking. All these Rushe-kih brought to her table. From earliest light until dinner Rushe-kih cooked and delivered her meals. And for the first time since she’d been anointed the Behrowain queen, her life had purpose.
Then, on a particularly frigid day a traveler stumbled into their village. The Behrlands saw few visitors. A band of rimers came to preach in the summer, but they seldom stayed more than a few weeks. After the first of September the Behrlands were too cold for anyone but the most experienced voyager. Hem came in November seeking the family of Mo-shing, a companion he’d been traveling with who had fallen and died. Hem was sick and near to death himself. The elders sent him to stay in Moki’s tent through the winter, and in this way he met Rushe-kih.
When Rushe-kih brought her winter stew, Hem was wrapped in a fur on a pallet shaking with fever, his skin a fragile shade of white. In her quiet manner, she lifted his head and spooned in the stew. After that he stopped shaking and fell into a long and even sleep. The next day she brought a seasoned meat with roots and bread. Again he was too weak to feed himself, but color crept into his face with each bite. Then she brought flat bread spread with a thick layer of spicy fish paste, which brought the spark back into his eyes. In two weeks Hem was walking about, without an ache to complain of.
Then the whispering began. Perhaps Po-puli-ah should have passed the medicine stick on to Rushe-kih? Hadn’t Rushe-kih more than proven her ability to heal the sick?
To anyone who cared to ask, Hem swore that Rushe-kih had indeed healed him with her cooking, and then his eyes would mist, because as his body became whole so had his heart, and while was returning spring to the Behrlands Hem was falling deeply in love. Moki told Rushe-kih’s mother and father, who brought her into their tent to discuss her feelings. Marriage to one of another tribe was not forbidden, although it could be complicated. But for Rushe-kih there was no answer but yes. Buried beneath her calm exterior, Rushe-kih had developed tenderness for this traveler.
“After all, Mah-ti,” she said to her mother, “Wasn’t I prepared to leave our tribe when I was engaged to Endroyim? Who knows but my prophecy will still yet come to pass?”
And so Rushe-kih was wed. And before the planting season was over Rushe-kih turned her back on the home of her birth to travel to her husband’s inheritance of the southern plains. But the couple remained childless, in spite of Rushe-kih’s ache for motherhood. In spite of Olee-fuku’s prediction at the choosing ceremony so long ago. In spite of the promise Rushe-kih had trusted all these years. Now listening to the fluttery breathing coming from the tiny bed across the room, Rushe-kih wondered if she was finally seeing the fulfillment of the prophecy.
