From the very beginning Rushe-kih was stubborn about caring for the foundling herself. On the crutch Hem had made for her she hobbled from her pallet to the fire to add this or that to the pot Zhe-myrrha started each morning. Then back to the unconscious child to spoon a draft between the girl’s parted lips. When Zhe-myrrha insisted she rest, Rushe-kih returned to her pallet only to pick up her sewing needle. With unsleeping eyes glued upon the child, Rushe-kih produced a quilted jacket and leggings almost by magic.
Zhe-myrrha threw her hands up in the air. “You are positively the worst patient I’ve ever nursed!” she teased. “What am I doing here anyway? I’m not on vacation, you know!”
“Definitely not on vacation!” snapped Ahr-tyr from her corner where she folded cloths for poultices, occupied little Manut, and carried out the other tasks required of her, all the while keeping her own inquisitive watch over the mysterious girl. As the curious raccoon is drawn to mischief, so Ahr-tyr was attracted to crises. A very tragedian was young Ahr-tyr, and inspired by the drama unfolding before her eyes. Now it had always seemed to Rushe-kih that Ahr-tyr must have come from the womb singing, for indeed Ahr-tyr could out-chant any rimer, and so it was natural at this time for Ahr-tyr to sing of vamfloria. And sing she did. At least a dozen times a day. Rushe-kih suffered it patiently.
Zhe-myrrha, on the other hand, took comfort in the psalm, evidently pleased by her daughter’s devotion. “It’s terrible, isn’t it, that Nono brought this grief upon us,” Zhe-myrrha commented one morning while clearing breakfast. Ahr-tyr had just concluded the psalm for the second time.
“Hmm?” Rushe-kih looked up from the dainty jacket on which she was quilting the figure of a fox guardian.
“The psalm—vamfloria?” Zhe-myrrha motioned toward Ahr-tyr, “If Nono and Rup-tinyon had only shown gratitude—if they hadn’t become greedy and fought with Ee-loyi, there’d never have been such a thing as vamfloria. But they did, and as such they become vamfloria, and we all suffer.”
“Nono was a bad daughter,” Ahr-tyr moralized, “Vamfloria is a reminder to us to be good and grateful for what our parents give us, right Ma-maki?”
“That’s what the legend tells us,” Zhe-myrrha nodded.
“If it weren’t for that bad Nono, you’d still have your foot. Are you cursed too now?” Ahr-tyr asked indelicately. Zhe-myrrha hushed her.
“Honestly, Ahr-tyr! Think before you open that mouth of yours! The things you say…” she scolded,
“It’s all right. I’m unscathed.” Rushe-kih joked and then, eyeing her friend cautiously, she added, “I’m not offended, because, to be honest, Myrrha, I don’t practice the rimer’s way.”
“Oh?” Zhe-myrrha absently dropped a piece of flatbread in the fire. In a stream of fragrant smoke it crinkled away into ash. “Didn’t the rimers make it to your country then?” While Rushe-kih had lived over twenty years in the Trinnenlands, Zhe-myrrha knew her friend clung to the Behrowain way of life. It wasn’t just Rushe-kih’s nasal accent and green eyes that set her apart, but the tunics she wore were adorned with northern symbols and underlacings, so that even from a distance one could tell she was a foreigner.
“I don’t remember ever seeing rimers when I was little,” Rushe-kih recalled, “But they came more and more in the years before I married. I listened to their stories and I considered them. But I never converted.”
Ahr-tyr gasped, “You’re an unbeliever?”
Zhe-myrrha fell silent. “Where do you think vamfloria came from then? What is its purpose?”
Rushe-kih knew that the rimers taught that all of earth’s creations existed for a human purpose, even if only to teach a lesson. But she’d been taught otherwise. Vamfloria was neither good nor evil. It lived as all organisms do, in a manner consistent with its own measure of creation, having as much claim to life as the sacred bear, or man, for that matter. Certainly the plant was dangerous, and with the other Behrowain children she had learned to respect it as well as to how to defeat it. But she’d been taught nothing of a vindictive god burning his child out of retaliation.
“Purpose? I don’t know. I don’t suppose the magi of my village spoke of any particular purpose. I remember them saying vamfloria was something between animal and plant, and that it too has a place in this world.”
“You don’t believe in the curse then?” Ahr-tyr was dumbfounded.
“Ahr-tyr, I think I hear Manut waking up. Go check on him please. Now.”
Rushe-kih sensed dismay in Zhe-myrrha's voice and remembered that in the flatlands magi had poor reputations. Ahr-tyr snorted twice in displeasure at having to leave such an interesting discussion. She stalked out the room.
Gently Rushe-kih reasoned, “You’re a mother, Zhe-myrrha. I’ve seen the way you and Oriah look at your children. Do you believe a parent would do what Ee-Loyi did, no matter how willful that child was?” Rushe-kih sighed, “I cannot. Least of all, a perfect parent—a god.”
“I don’t think of it like that,” Zhe-myrrha responded, “I cannot hope to comprehend the actions of a god. They are above us. It’s the lesson that’s valuable, that greed will be punished. That’s why I teach Ahr-tyr the psaltery. And she loves to sing…”
“Don’t worry,” Rushe-kih spoke reassuringly, noting a hint of defensiveness in Zhe-myrrha’s words. “I would never dream of undermining your teachings. I don’t know why I even brought it up today…”
Zhe-myrrha touched Rushe-kih’s hand, “It is nothing between two friends such as we are. It’s just that…it surprised me. I just assumed you believed as we do. And Hem—he grew up here in the flatlands. What does he think of your unbelief?”
“Oh,” Rushe-kih chuckled. If Zhe-myrrha only knew! “Hem has his ways. His own beliefs. He has received the Ash, you know.”
Zhe-myrrha’s eyes rounded and her jaw dropped. “The Ash! The Ash of Eth?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t believe it!” Zhe-myrrha breathed, “We are practically sisters these ten years; you’ve nursed me through the births of my two children, and yet I never knew these things about you! When did Hem make his journey?”
“Oh, long ago before we met. It’s what brought him to my country. One of his companions died on the journey—a Behrowain, and Hem brought the news to our village.”
Zhe-myrrha was still reeling, “I’d heard there were still a few who went looking for the Ash. But I never imagined I’d ever meet someone. Is it true? All that they say—does it give him powers?”
Rushe-kih smiled, glad that their differences would not drive a wedge between them after all, “I don’t know whether you’d call them powers. More like gifts. A heightened awareness—he has dreams…”
“Hex and vexes!” Ahr-tyr appeared at the door holding a puffy-eyed Manut, still groggy from sleep.
“Watch your language, young lady,” Zhe-myrrha began, but fell off scolding when she followed Ahr-tyr’s gaze. There, in the hanging net, the foundling had opened her eyes and was calmly taking in her surroundings. In one instant, Rushe-kih was bounding across the room, numb to the pain shooting up her body.
Rushe-kih lowered herself to the side of the net while Zhe-myrrha hovered above. But for the harsh bruises beneath the child’s eyes which had yellowed and the copious puncture marks which had faded, nothing was altered. The fragile head sunk into the pillow, two thick dark braids spilling out from opposite sides. But now two round eyes, as soft and green as sage gazed back at them.
“Welcome back, Little One,” Rushe-kih whispered, “Don’t be afraid. We’re friends.” Rushe-kih radiated a smile as comforting and bright as sunlight. Encouraged, the girl returned the smile.
“Those eyes, Rushe-kih—she’s just like…” Zhe-myrrha gasped. While lighter eyes were common among the northern tribes, Zhe-myrrha had never seen another human like Rushe-kih.
“Who are you? Can you tell us your name?” Rushe-kih prompted, but the girl only responded by examining the scars on her arms. Distress fleeted across her brow. She raised an arm toward Rushe-kih questioningly.
“Yes,” Rushe-kih murmured, taking the arm and caressing it, “You’ve had quite a scare. You were caught in a bed of vamfloria. Do you remember that?”
Naïve, the girl smiled again.
“Vamfloria. Do you know what that is, little one?” Zhe-myrrha asked, but the girl only smiled on. “I don’t think she hears us. Maybe she’s deaf.”
Just then Hem slammed the front door, and the girl’s jump made it clear that she could indeed hear. All watched as Hem crossed the front room and stopped at the door to the bedroom.
“She’s alive!” he said.
“Of course, alive!” snorted Rushe-kih.
“I mean, awake! She’s awake!” he corrected himself, and recovering from his shock, he crept in for a closer look. “Has she said anything? Who is she?”
“She hasn’t spoken yet; she’s just now awoken,” Rushe-kih answered without taking eyes off the girl.
“Well, ask her where she came from then,” Hem coached.
“I’m not sure she understands our speech,” Rushe-kih said.
“Rushe-kih, try speaking Behrowain,” Zhe-myrrha suggested, still captivated by the child’s eyes.
Rushe-kih asked a few hopeful questions in the northern language without result. Rushe-kih sighed and lifted the girl’s tiny hand. “Let’s see if this works,” she said, holding the hand and pointing it at Zhe-myrrha. “Zhe-myrrha,” she instructed.
Zhe-myrrha patted her chest, “That’s right. I’m Zhe-myrrha.”
“Zhhhe-mmmyyyrrrrha,” Rushe-kih drew out each syllable, “Can you say that?”
The child drew in her breath. “Zhe-myrrha,” she repeated slowly in a soft, scratchy voice. Immediately her audience burst into cheers.
“That’s right! I think she understands!” Hem clapped Zhe-myrrha on the back.
Next Rushe-kih pointed to Ahr-tyr, who had wormed in behind her, still holding her brother. “Ahr-tyr. Aaahrr-tyyyrr. And Manut. Can you say that?”
“Ahr-tyr and Manut,” came the response, to the delight of everyone.
“Hem,” Rushe-kih moved on confidently.
The girl now pointing independently. “Hem,” She pronounced with a smile, as applause rang out again. The girl next pointed her finger at Rushe-kih, who was sitting so close that the tiny finger pressed against her breastbone.
Rushe-kih hesitated. “You can call me Ah-ni,” she said in a motherly tone.
“But that’s not…” Ahr-tyr contradicted. Zhe-myrrha shushed her.
“Ah-ni,” Rushe-kih repeated.
A glimmer of awareness. “Ah-ni,” the girl said reluctantly at first, and then repeating with more confidence, “Ah-ni.”
“That’s right,” Rushe-kih beamed, squeezing the tiny hand. “Ah-ni. It’s a term in my country for caregiver. Like a nurse,” Rushe-kih explained. “She can call me that until…” Rushe-kih held Hem’s glance, “Until we find who she belongs to.”
