Thar of Val'Ste

The First Novella

Dedicated to Lyubov Nikolaevna Bykova –
my teacher, my friend and the wisest person in the world.

It was Thar's thirteen birthday, and for this occasion, the villagers began to prepare the ceremony Om'shu'nagok, a word in the Forgotten Language, which means 'finding the last soul'. Thar had already received two: the first from his mother, when he was born and the second from his father, when he taught his son the craft of pottery. Now Thar must understand for what purpose he came to this world. According to the custom, he must figure it out on his own, without the help of his family or friends.

The villagers decorated the streets with flowers and red ribbons that led to the centre of the village, where the great White Stone stood. According to legends, it just grew right out of the ground, like a tooth or a claw, during the Ancient Times, and then the wise people found it and made it their guardian spirit. Since then, many generations of Val'Ste have worshipped the White Stone to get advice or protection from diseases and evil forces.

Morning light came into the valley, reflecting off the smooth surface of the Oshu river and colouring trees and roofs in crimson paint. The midsummer was approaching, so nights were very short. Thar used to be very fond of this festival. He always counted the days before the Long Song, but now Thar was completely self-absorbed, searching for his third soul. He didn't sleep much and didn't eat well. Sometimes Thar shivered with fever from lack of sleep or fear of the unknown, but this happened to every boy or girl on the eve of Om'shu'nagok, so no one asked Thar how he was feeling or if he was all right. Thar sat on his bed until dawn, not closing his eyes, trying to figure out what his purpose was. Everyone would gather at the White Stone to hear his words. Not a boy's words, but words of a young man.

'But what if I can't do it?' Thar spoke to the emptiness, and, of course, it did not respond. 'What if the Stone doesn't want to talk or I can't hear it? Who even thought it was a good idea to trust one's fate to this idol? As if it had a mouth or at least ears'.

Thallila came into the room. Her brown eyes were filled with joy and calm confidence, and her dark hair was neatly braided.

'Are you awake?' she smiled and sat in front of him.

'I didn't go to bed... Mom, I'm afraid I won't be able to find my third soul. How did you and dad find it? I have never heard the voice of the White Stone. Every year, during the Long Song, I sang solls, but got nothing... I didn't get anything in return: no dreams that grandma Omma keeps telling me about, no good luck that dad believes in, not even the sweet berries that Olai brings'.

'Well, calm down, son,' Thallila patted Thar on the head, 'You're like your father. I knew right away that I would be a weaver. Still, Vallo couldn't decide whether he would be a fisherman, a ploughman or a hunter until the ceremony. Something happened up there on the green hill, and, without a shadow of a doubt, Vallo declared that he would be the best potter in Val'Ste. As you can see, over time, it turned out to be true.'

'I wish I could be that lucky.' Thar said sadly.

'You have to believe in yourself, just like dad and I believe in you. As well as Olai, too. She's been sneaking out to the walnut grove by the river for a week and collecting macadda to congratulate you on finding your third soul. And you know how difficult it is.'

'I know, I taught her that. I remember that both of us had scratches on our hands at first. Olai would get stuck in the spikes, and then I had to get her out. But she has talent. Now Olai can do many things, not only collect nuts. Sometimes I believe that she understands every blade of grass and sees the root, she needs, through the ground. Only Omma knows more.'

'Yes, I suppose it is obvious that she would make an excellent herbalist, but would Olai have discovered her gift without the help of her older brother?' Thallila paused for a moment, then added. 'I think the Guardian has special plans for you. Perhaps your soul will not come from this valley or descend to us from the sky but will rise from the bottom of Oshu?'