The sun had sunk below the tree line, when I arrived at the doorway of the stone cottage I have called home all my life. My joints sore, and my hair tangled with pine needles and stringy moss. A sight for my mother, stirring a pot of healing tonic riddled with the scent of sage and lavender.
"Oh Solas," Mother hisses, striding up to me with her brow creased in irritation. "Nyx dear what have you got in your hair this time?"
"Oh nothing but a bit of pine and green Mother," I answer with a smile. Tenderly wrapping my recently restitched arm around her waist. "Some of the little ones thought it be funny to dump a bucket of the stuff on me, after I left the healing hall."
Mother shakes her head, her lips twisting as she goes back to her task. "I wish you would be more serious dear," she scolds, her keen blue eyes tracking me as I close the door and shutters before undressing. "It is high time you stop playing games, and develop your gift. You waste it girl, sensing the intentions of children instead of honing it to understand the will of the Great Mother."
I huff under my breath, and shuck off the cloak and dress leaving my bare body on display.
Settling the clothes into the wash basket, I grab a bucket of river water and cloth, before preceding to clean my dirt covered skin. All while Mother continues her work, tying herbs to dry on the low rafters, and mixing her tonics in the small cauldrons above the fireplace.
Up and down I run the cloth, the water dripping down the tan flesh of my arms. Twining across, the dark form of a snake inked into my skin. The gorgeous creature, winding down from my right shoulder to the top of my hand. Where its head lays outlined in black ink, its fangs poised and ready to strike. Like the prowling shadowy cougar, etched into the skin of my other arm. Drawing attention to the savage bite mark, on my hand. The ropey scars crossing the flesh from my little finger, to the edge of my thumb.
On and on I clean my body, driving the muck away from the claw marks on my back and left leg. Reminding me of my brushes with death, the first from a male black bear and the second from a hungry cougar mother. Telling my life story, along with the healed scratches on my shoulders, and the snake bite on my foot from when I was a mere child.
Denoting my resilience in a world that has wanted to kill me since birth. Scars that mark everyone in our village, except for the very small and young. Telling us that we have survived, and will be stronger with each blow to our bodies, and each scar that is carved into our flesh. Displayed proudly before our peers with every day that passes.
Tonight is no exception, for when the moon rises I will follow my mother as she begins another marking ceremony. A celebration that will be marked by stories, dances, and songs sung along to the hollow sounds of the bone drums. My hands shake as I dry myself and throw on the voluminous ceremonial dress. The black cloth, riddled with beadwork, pools around my ankles, and the sleeves trail down to my wrists.
Peering through the slit in the shutters, I see the sun's rays continue to dim and disappear amongst the low stone huts of the village. Knowing that I have only a few more moments, I shuck on the bear fur cloak across my shoulders. Securing the moon shaped clasp closed with trembling hands, and parting my hair until it lies smooth down to the small of my back.
As the sound of drums begin to pound, and the sounds of singing fill the air. I grab my white wood raven skull mask from the table, just as Mother appears in a dress of red and a fox fur lined cloak. Her black hair glimmering like burning coal, and her hands laden with two bowls of red liquid. I gaze in awe at her effortless calm, and the wooden mask on top of her head. The screeching face of a Phoenix carved into the wood, while long dark feathers trail from its head.
"Come dear," Mother says, placing the delicate carved clay bowl into my hands. "Time for you to lead your first ceremony, as the next shaman of the Arden line."
I nod, swallowing the growing lump in my throat as we head outside. Once I cross the threshold, I feel my shoulders go back, my spine straightening, and my chin raised high as I follow my mother to the great bonfire in the center of the village square.
The village seems to come alive as the forest darkens around us. People come out of their homes and follow us, all of them dressed in their finest furs. For marking ceremonies are far and in between, as only the bravest of our people may be marked with the visage of animal they have come to embody through skill, courage, and fearless determination.
A great honor in the eyes of our people. A sign that even though we may be weak humans, we still have the strength within ourselves to combat all that dares to harm us. The designs on my body are proof of that, and the gift that sends horrific visions into my dreams is another scar that I bare with pride.
YOU ARE READING
Forest of Lies
WerewolfA thousand years past, the world was run by humankind. But it changed, when countries became embroiled in a war that gave the werewolves the opportunity, to recreate the earth in their own image. Now humans are the lowest on the food chain, little m...
