Zafiil, Distant Past, Chapter 3 (Patreon)

The next day Zafiil woke just before sunrise—she thought, from the color of the sky seen through her window. Was it too early to be up? But she was definitely awake! Paden-aul had warned her that she might find it difficult to adjust to a new schedule on a new world; maybe this was what he meant.

Zafiil padded out of her room as quietly as possible, wondering if she’d find Baila in the kitchen, the way she would have Qazen-dii. But Neden was there instead, minding the firepot and putting together a bundle large enough for two meals. His back was facing her but some small noise must have betrayed her presence, for he glanced over his shoulder.

Some other adult might have said something. But Neden only waited, tail swaying as calmly as the waves on an autumn ocean, and his eyes were interested and patient.

“Are you leaving?” Zafiil asked shyly.

Neden signed an affirmative, and he smiled kindly at her as he continued wrapping his food. 

“Do you do this every day?”

Again, a signed ‘yes.’ Zafiil stared, struggling with curiosity and sorrow. How horrible not to be able to speak! Thank Faulza for the Dance.

“Where do you go?”

Neden leaned over, placing one large, calloused hand against her back. With the other, he pointed out the window over the kitchen table. Zafiil steadied herself on the sill and stared in that direction. It looked like more fields, so maybe…

“Farming?” she guessed and Neden broke into that smile like the sun coming through clouds, and Zafiil decided he didn’t need words, not really. 

Certainly he was talking now, using abbreviated gestures: ‘where’ and ‘you’ and the wrist-twirl that asked a question.

“Where am I going?” Zafiil interpreted, and he nodded. She frowned. “I don’t know. I think I’ll look for Duzai. Maybe we can go back on the plains… that was fun.”

Neden held up a hand with a little finger motion: ‘wait.’ She stood beside the kitchen table as he returned to the counter and began folding again. A few moments later, Neden presented her with a bundle of her own. Unfolding the knot just a little, she spied the same food he’d packed for himself, but in smaller portions. 

Beaming, Zafiil reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you! I hope Baila-ai won’t mind if I stay out that long? Do you think she will?”

He gently patted her hand before reclaiming his. With a gesture that placed the words in the future, he signed, ‘she’ and ‘know.’

Zafiil wondered how… but she could always ask later. Neden had picked up his pack and headed for the door, pausing there to look back at her. Eagerly, Zafiil slung her bundle on the bridge of her tail and hurried after him. Neden’s path took him to the opposite end of the village, so she followed him while peering at the houses, wondering which might contain Duzai’s family. Walking with Neden reminded her of similar outings with her mother: the silence had the same, comfortable quality. In that easy camaraderie they found their way to the village’s edge, where Neden waved her back, wishing her a good day in sign. A spurt of affection prompted Zafiil to hug the silent Faulfenzair, and she tried not to think of it as betraying Paden-aul to find the hand on her back comforting.

She was in the middle of the village, trying to decide how to find Duzai, when Duzai found her… by knocking her over with a surprise pounce. She squealed and wiggled, and Duzai laughed until he got an elbow in his muzzle, and then he laughed harder. “Um… got you!”

Zafiil tried to bare her teeth but couldn’t because the sight of him clutching his nose while giggling was too funny. “Piipiizauq! You cheated! I didn’t know we were playing!”

“Tag never ends! Catch me if you can!”

He sprinted away and she had to follow him; she had her honor to defend! And this time she’d catch him so fairly that he wouldn’t be able to say she hadn’t!

Duzai fled her past the houses, heading back in the direction of the three-day-path to the port. His tail bobbed in front of her so invitingly that she ignored the flash of trees in her peripheral vision. Just a little closer and she could just… reach out… and yank! 

The boy let out a muffled yelp and tripped. Zafiil gasped as he went down beneath her heels. Desperate to avoid trampling him, she leaped high into the air, hoping for a soft landing... and splashed headlong into another stream. No, not another stream, but the same stream she’d bathed in before seeing the FireMother. What was it with Duzai and water? She pawed onto the bank and shook out her hair, glancing around until she spotted her food-sling lying on the ground.

Duzai crawled to the bank to grin at her. “You caught me, but you let me go! That doesn’t count.”

Zafiil stared at him for several heart-beats, then reached out, grabbed his jaw ruffs and fell back into the water, dragging him with her.

Duzai squeaked. “Another bath! And I just had one yesterday! You are mean!”

Zafiil huffed. “You deserved it! You know I caught you, you just can’t admit it.”

“You’re right,” was the cheerful reply.

“You are so silly.”

“I know. But so are you. And mean!”

Zafiil hmphed, but decided that reputation might be useful if it prevented other people from acting like silly-Duzai. “That’s right, I’m mean like the meanest teeth-terror from the sea! Remember that next time you try to cheat!” She pulled herself out of the water and padded to her discarded sling, sliding it back to the crook of her tail.

Behind her, Duzai climbed out of his impromptu bath. “Hey, how old are you, Zafiil?”

Paden-aul had often told her that age was not an indicator of maturity and that one shouldn’t judge people by it, but this had never made her less reluctant to divulge her own. But she was curious about Duzai, so in the hopes of inspiring a similar confession she said, “I’m thirty-two.”

Duzai was wringing out his tail as if it were some sort of make-clean. “Oh! We’re year-mates! You’ll be coming into Dance-Learning with me in the autumn. That’ll be so much fun!”

Oh, if only! To finally learn the intricacies of the language that Faulza gave to Qudii, the First Mother! Would the FireMother tell the Dance-Teacher? Maybe they would forget? 

Duzai was continuing, blithely unaware of Zafiil’s reverie. “I didn’t see you last night at the Dance, either! I was sure you’d be there. The Favored Dancer did the Scroll of the Birth of Qufal. It was great!”

“I missed a Dance?” Her heart hiccupped. While she’d been sleeping, the entire village had been watching a Dance. In person! By a Favored Dancer, no less! “I’ve never seen the Scroll of the Birth of Qufal....”

Duzai gaped. “You haven’t? Oh, I really like that one! What do they teach you over there on Seeker’s?”

Zafiil blushed lavender from her eartips to just under her bi-colored muzzle. “We see many Dances on Quapendai,” she said quickly, “I just haven’t seen all the scrolls ever written!”

“I guess there are a lot,” Duzai said easily. “Come on. There are lots of great places around here.”

Without the pressure of the three-day walk, Zafiil found the forest far more engaging. Her companion showed her ridges formed by old streambeds; trees that had grown into strange shapes; and little holes where nestling feniirez made their homes. They stayed there long enough, lying flat and still, for the creatures to sneak out, little noses quivering, and then their giggles scared the animals back underground.

Zafiil was just beginning to get hungry when Duzai patted a tree. “Let’s go!”

“Come on!” Duzai said, looking up at a tree. “Let’s go!”

“Home?” Zafiil said. “I brought food—”

“Not home,” Duzai said. “Up!” He dug his hands into the gray bark and shimmied up it like one of the arboreals that used them as ladders.

Zafiil stared, gape-jawed. “You want me to do that?”

A charcoal-colored head peeked from above a branch. “You’ve never climbed a tree? How can you never have climbed a tree?”

Zafiil cleared her throat. “Adults don’t climb trees,” she tried, wondering if it was true. Had her parents ever climbed a tree?

Duzai snorted and arranged himself in the couch of two intersecting limbs, crossing his digitigrade legs and cradling the back of his head with his joined hands. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

That burned like a furious little itch she couldn’t reach. “What? What am I missing?”

Her answer was another grin, one of those impish ones he was so good at. “I can’t describe it. You’ll have to come see for yourself!”

“But I don’t know how to climb!”

“Oh it’s really simple, I’m sure you can figure it out—”

“Duzai Qodii! If you do not teach me how to climb this tree so I can see what it is you can’t describe that I’m missing, I...I...,” Zafiil searched for a suitable threat and found it when her stomach rumbled again insistently. “I will not share any of the wonderful food I have in my sling with you!”

 The boy scrambled down the tree so quickly that Zafiil was hard pressed not to giggle.

Climbing a tree wasn’t complicated, but it used muscles Zafiil hadn’t known she had. By the time she made it to the branch where Duzai was waiting for her, her shoulders and back and wrists were complaining. Even her hands complained, so kinked she had to unlock each finger one by one.

“Hey, Zafiil... you made it up and now you’re staring at your hands! Look around!”

Zafiil’s face jerked up, and she froze with a gasp of wonder. The tree canopy extended in every direction, orange and turquoise where the sun fell through the leaves and wine-reds and blue in the shadows. The sky above her head was cut into glowing shapes by the intertwining branches that moved with the warm breeze. She felt safe, far from all the things that could harm her, but simultaneously she felt cut away... hanging between earth and sky and touching neither.

…and her companion was trying to untie her food-sling without her noticing. She squeaked and elbowed him, which made him giggle—of course. But she shared out the food equally, deciding that as a mature adult she should be generous and forgiving.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Duzai said smugly, mid-munch. “I told you I couldn’t describe it, and that you were missing it.”

“You were right,” Zafiil said, because adults were also gracious in admitting error and it really was amazing.

“Perfect place for a nap, don’t you think? Perfect time, too.” He burped, folded his fingers over his slightly distended belly and curled his tail around his legs. Zafiil watched in amazement as he dropped effortlessly to sleep.

Was she tired? How could she be when she’d spent the morning and part of the afternoon exploring a forest… a real forest! Paidiiza was beautiful, but there were so few trees there. Lots of sand and water, though… aquamarine waves, lapping at the neckline of a red beach… what would she be doing around this time? Probably swimming. Afternoon in early autumn was the best time to swim because the ink-creatures retreated back into the depths of the ocean, and the tides were not as strong. The water would have been warmed all day by the bronze rays of the sun...

Zafiil yawned. Maybe a nap wouldn’t be so bad.

She woke to a faint but tantalizing smell. The sun had almost set and Duzai was still snoring on the other side of the tree. Straightening, Zafiil looked around, but saw nothing unusual. The scent didn’t go away and she snuffed at the air in various directions, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from… but she couldn’t tell, even when it intensified and became a tingling that set her fur on end. Zafiil searched the ground, the sky, the trees, growing more puzzled by the moment. Leaning around the tree’s trunk, she prodded the sleeping boy.

“Duzai! Duzai! Wake up!”

 The Faulfenzair boy opened an eye just a crack before closing it again and smacking his lips. Zafiil shook him a little harder and hissed into the waxing blue twilight. “Duzai! Wake up! There is something here but I can’t see it!”

This time she actually got batted for her troubles. The tingle had become a sizzle. Would it keep growing stronger until it burned? In a place she couldn’t scratch or define, a place so deep her apprehension thickened just thinking of it?

“Duzai!”

With a yarl of surprise, Duzai started and almost fell off the branch. “What! What!”

“Do you sense it? Tell me where it is, I can’t find it!”

Duzai rubbed his eyes. “Sense what? The air smells like twilight. I don’t feel anything. What are you talking about? Wake a poor boy like that for nothing!”

Zafiil shot Duzai a half-frantic, half-pleading look. “Wake up! You can’t see anything when you’re asleep!”

 Duzai sighed and sat up. “I’m awake! I’m awake, by the Fireborn!”

She hissed. “Don’t swear! Just tell me what you see!”

Rolling his eyes again, Duzai scooted out further on the branch. He studied the surrounding leaves and the forest floor with sharp, narrowed eyes. Zafiil watched anxiously, her grip on the branch aching from tension, but eventually Duzai shook his head.

“There’s nothing out there. Are you sure you felt something?”

Sometime between Duzai waking and his evaluation, the tingling had stolen away. “I’m sure. It was there. It woke me up.”

He signed a noncommittal gesture. “Maybe it was a dream. Or a pain from climbing the tree.” He started climbing down. “Let’s go back, it’s getting late.”

“If you’re sure?”

Duzai snorted. “‘Course I’m sure.”

There was nothing for it but to follow.

Parting ways at the edge of the village, Zafiil trotted home to dinner. Ever since her arrival, she’d been grappling with new thoughts and new things happening to her, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. No, actually, she didn’t like it all! And now she was beginning to... what was that word she’d heard her father say once? Hallucenaze? Hallucinate! That was it. Hallucinate. Now she was having dreams about weird feelings. Where on Qufiil was her mind lately?

It was a very distracted girl who sat to sup with Baila-ai and Neden... but not so distracted that she forgot to ask, “Will we go see the Dance tonight?”

Baila-ai was bringing out dessert, a spiced milk custard. “Of course.”

Zafiil tried the custard; like all of her foster mother’s cooking, it was delicious, and she applied herself to it while allowing enough time to pass so she could pose her next question. “Will I go to learn the Dance with Duzai and the others this year?”

That gave Baila pause. “Zafiil... you know the FireMother said you weren’t to be taught.”

“But she said I knew how to Dance and I don’t! I want to learn with everyone else!”

“Faulza’s Eyes are never wrong,” Baila said, slowly. “Even when we don’t understand how they’re right.”

“But she is wrong!” Zafiil said, vexed. “She said I knew how to Dance and I don’t, so how can she be right in some other way? What other way is there? Don’t you believe me?”

Neden eyed Baila reprovingly, and Baila sighed. “I do believe you, Zafiil. But I can’t go against her word. Don’t you see? That would be breaking the FireMother’s law.”

Zafiil’s ears sank. She did indeed see. There was nothing Baila-ai could do. If she wanted to learn to Dance with all the rest....

She would have to go to the FireMother and ask to be allowed. That was all there was to it. Even if the idea did terrify her. 

Zafiil helped Baila-ai with the dishes and allowed her foster mother to brush her for their outing, and then they joined the rest of the village at the Dancing Place. Zafiil had seen crowds on the viewers, but never been in one, and it was very different. To smell the scents of over a hundred bodies pressed together, feel the heat generated by their bodies, hear the murmuring that seemed louder than ordinary talking, was overwhelming, and she grasped her foster-parents’ hands and hoped she wouldn’t get lost. It was also frustrating to find several rows of people, all taller than she was, barring her view. How could she see the Dance with all these people in the way?

Abruptly everyone sat on the ground. Baila-ai gently tugged on her elbow and Zafiil sat too. Everyone’s head was still taller than hers; but Neden patted his lap and sitting there made her just high enough. She smiled shyly at him and then leaned forward to see what would happen next.

Two Faulfenza had parted the curtains to the house of the Fauldii—that must have been the signal for everyone to settle down. Now the FireMother was emerging, leaning on her black staff of office, so vivid a contrast to her white pelt with its crimson edges. Following the FireMother was a solemn, blue-gray Faulfenzair, an aged male whose muzzle had begun to grizzle with age; the strain of the years had wrinkled the fur around his jowls and eyes, there was confidence in his movements, and his eyes were alive with much knowledge and kindness.

Baila-ai whispered to Zafiil, “Jeqezii, the WisdomDancer.”

Zafiil twitched an assent with her fingers. She could well imagine him as the keeper of the ancient scrolls.

Behind Jeqezii was another male, middle-aged, very strong, tail held behind him in an alert arc. Brindled brown and gray with ruffs of white and maroon, he walked with an oddly deliberate grace, each footfall precise.

“Aunu, the Dance-Teacher,” Baila-ai whispered.

Of course—who else would be so cognizant of every motion? But now for the last of the village’s powers, the Favored Dancer, who would perform the night’s scroll. What would the Fiilzafiir look like?

The male who exited last strode with a cocky confidence, quick and hot as fire. He was in his prime, his charcoal coat glossy against his shining white and red-orange ruffs, and his scarlet eyes flashed in the lowering evening light. His tail made idle gestures, hinting at words of fire, prayer, and flame, as he crouched before the FireMother.

“What is his name?” Zafiil whispered to Baila-ai. There was no need to ask what he was, for if he was not the Favored Dancer then Faulza did not sit on the Shoulders.

“That is Qiirun.”

The FireMother, who was now seated with the Dance-Teacher and the WisdomDancer, leaned over and laid an aged white hand on Qiirun’s shoulder.

“I ask the blessings of the Fauldii Qodii,” said Qiirun clearly, and his voice was as strong and confident as his body.

“The blessings of Faulza upon you, Fiilzafiir Qodii.”

“What is the wish of the FireMother tonight?”

Zafiil held her breath, wondering which scroll she would see. She hoped it would be one of the good ones.

The FireMother was scanning the crowd as if searching for something...or someone. Puzzled, Zafiil followed the sweep of her eyes until it stopped on her. On her! Zafiil forgot her fear, her anger and bewilderment, and simply stared back.

The FireMother jerked her chin sharply downward and spoke. “Tonight, Dance for us the Choice of Qudii, First-Mother.”

The crowd rustled in appreciation and Zafiil’s heart leaped. She’d often dreamed of what it would be like to be the First-Mother, and the scroll of the First-Mother’s choice always filled her with hope. To see it in person! And to think she would see all her Dances in person while she lived in Qodii! Perhaps there were compensations to fosterage after all. Along with the forests, and the games of chase, and Baila-ai’s cooking….

Qiirun had formed the prayer-stance in the center of the Dancing Place. His bodyspeech seemed more assured than Jeniiz’s, but that was the last thing Zafiil had time to observe before Qiirun launched himself whole-heartedly into a Dance of such vigor, such immediacy, that she was lost in the story.

‘And so I shall tell you of the Choice of Qudii, First-Mother, and the days before

we were what we are, the Faulfenza, when the world was dark and we

were black with birth.

The small tribe looked all around in fear, and that night huddled cold and

miserable in the darkness. Finally, Liiwen said to Qudii, “Call on

the gods for intervention, or surely we will die.”

And Qudii agreed. She was afraid, but her people were helpless. So she walked

into the forest and prayed and fasted for nine days. On the evening of the tenth

day, her prayers were answered.

The God came upon her there, and He was so bright a white-orange she could

not look upon Him.

‘Child,’ said He, ‘I have heard your pleas for aid. What ails you?’

‘Oh Holy One,’ Qudii answered, shaking, a small figure in black, ‘we will

die... we have no claws to kill food or protect our young, and our teeth

are not enough.’

The God looked upon her and slowly nodded. ‘Little Mother,’ He said,

‘You will choose for your people their defense.’

And Qudii was frightened for that she might not choose well.

Nevertheless, she answered with brave retort, ‘if it is your

bidding, oh Mightiest. Lay the choice before me.’

And the God said, ‘Choose amongst these four of the five -- fire, water, 

earth, and air. Choose carefully and think cautiously, little

mother, for you will make for your children ever after their

defense.’

Qudii thought long and hard where she kneeled before the God.

She considered carefully, and for many hours. Finally, she spoke.

‘I choose fire, Holy One,’ she said.

And the God smiled on her and asked, ‘Why?’

Qudii answered bravely. ‘The air that gives us to breathe is good,

but you cannot touch it, nor barely feel it save when the wind blows.

What good is a defense that cannot be felt?’

The God smiled. ‘That is true, little one.’

Qudii continued, ‘The ground beneath us gives us a place to walk

and shelter in its caves... but it does not move. What good is a 

defense that cannot move to its attackers? For a defense can often

be an offense, also.’

The God seemed to smile. ‘You are wise beyond your years, little

one. Pray continue.’

Qudii was nervous, but she went on. ‘The water gives to drink and

quenches our throats and eyes... but it has no rhythm... it does not

dance. What good is a defense that does not dance? For the defender

who walks or stands still is dead before the first engagement. The

beasts give no quarter.’

The God said nothing.

Qudii finished. ‘I choose fire, Holy One... that our defense might be

hot with anger, swift with dancing, true with striking, fast with moving.

I chose fire for that we may live.’

The God was quiet.

Qudii finally asked timidly, “Have I chosen well, oh Holy One?”

The God shook his head and laughed, like joy made into sound.

‘Call me not that, nor any other made-name. Know now my true

call-name, child. I am Faulza, the FireDancer, and the FireDance itself,

and I say you have chosen well!’

With that he touched her cheek, her ears, her hands, her chest, 

tail, feet... painted her black fur in red, the color of fire, and white,

the color of smoke.

‘I name you the First-Mother, the Mother of all your people.

You will be a race of Dancers,’ Faulza said, ‘And though fire

will be your first defense, water and earth and air will move to

you as well in smaller ways. For the truest defender is the one

in balance with the All... and that is the fifth essence.

Never forget, nor use what I give you unwisely.’

Qudii was amazed when the God brought her hands to his mouth.

‘Go forth,’ said Faulza, ‘and worship me. Love each other, and 

be swift. Be strong. Be Dancers... like the fire you have chosen.’

Qudii exclaimed, and then the God was gone.

 From that day forth, we were the Faulfenza, children of Faulza, 

Dancers, fire-makers, swift, strong, and sure.’

Qiirun spun into an ending prayer-stance, holding it as easily as if he hadn’t been lately leaping and twirling through the rigors of the scroll. Watching him had been exhausting… exhausting, and elating, for she could rarely remember witnessing anything so beautiful. It had ended so quickly! She wanted to watch another—to never stop watching. But the crowd was murmuring the traditional close, “Faulza the First-Dancer be thanked,” and begun to disperse. Zafiil was glad her foster-parents didn’t try to move through the crush. She leaned back against Neden, listening to people discussing Qiirun’s skill, the message of the First-Mother’s Choice, and why the Fauldii had taken so long to decide on the evening’s scroll.

Duzai wormed through the crowd to join her, tail twisting in excitement. He dropped on Baila-ai’s lap. “You made it this time! Wasn’t it stupendous? Can you imagine seeing the God in person? I always thought Qudii should have been blind from looking at Him! But I guess that wouldn’t have been very heroic or anything, and maybe kinda mean of Faulza to do that to Qudii, who was only looking for help, but wouldn’t it have been, well, more real?”

“You don’t understand, Duzai,” Zafiil said, working it out in her head as she spoke. “The Fire of Faulza isn’t… it’s not like the fire you touch. It’s a fire you feel inside.” She pressed a hand to her chest where she’d always imagined such a fire would be. “She was burned inside... that’s what gave her the sacred Mindfire. Faulza set something on fire inside of her.”

 Duzai blew out his nose. “If it’s inside her, how does it get out through her hands, then?”

Which was a good question, one Zafiil was saved from answering as Jeniiz and the rest of Duzai’s family joined them for good-natured gossip, and there they stayed until most of the village had wandered home.

Later, Zafiil climbed into her bed and grasped her body-snuggles, looking out the windows where the stars seemed bright and hot in a cool sky. She had often wondered what it would be like to meet Faulza. He seemed more remote in the scrolls than she imagined Him—but surely the scrolls were right? What did one Faulfenzair girl, no matter how mature, know about the nature of the God? And Qudii... so brave! To go into the dark first-forest and try to summon Faulza? That took more courage than Zafiil could imagine mustering. But in Qudii’s place, wouldn’t she have tried?

Her dreams that night were crowded with Faulfenza as black as space, figures in white-orange that trailed fire behind them, and Dancers whose leaps took them into the clouds and never back again.