Flaws: Vedmykiv

Epilogue

When we are born, we are placed in a world not of our choosing. Some believe we carry with us a history of past experiences, the memories of a natural cycle, a record of the circle in which we travel, the wheel that turns with each breath we take. The volkhv has seen mine. The soothsayer predicted I shan't see you again, at least not in these wild steppes. The true faith speaks of twin flames, lovers destined to find each other. I know in mine own heart the songs speak of us. The connection between our souls is strong. Sometimes we shall be together, the priestess says. Other times we shall be apart. 'Tis the set of circumstances we live through and the decisions we make that shape us into who we become. Not only this time around. Every action leads us through all of our lives.

It has been seven years since the Commonwealth took you away. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. You challenged the emissary, but you didn't get far. Several blows caught you. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell and curse at them all. "May Perun strike thee dead!" I wanted to shout and condemn them all for a thousand lives or more. I didn't care if that would give me away. But I knew what you would have said: Watch over the children, mine own sweeting ved'ma, mine own sweeting witch. You had many names for me. Be patient, I knew you would say. So I was patient, and I waited.

I watched as you fell onto the ground, and the blows kept finding your bones. They might break your body but never your soul. I knew then as I know now. That part of you is immortal. I unsheathed the bodkin from mine own waist. You looked frightened, disconcerted. So I extended mine own hand in the air and sliced a cut. It is only the bodies that come and go. That was the last time your eyes got a hold of me. I bled for you to remind you I was not afraid. You found the resolve to get up again and charged against the oppressors. You knocked them down. You brought the emissary down with you too. Your enchained kin watched, concerned yet hopeful. The brotherhood fought back along with you, but it was to no use. They shackled and caged your unconscious body, and I didn't get to give you a proper farewell, and mine own heart for that was shattered. Seven winters, in fact.

The circle ordered funerals for the ones who didn't return. I buried you a year ago, one a cold winter like the ones you adored. Your body might be missing, but your memory cannot. Your shashka, your spear, your tunic, your belt, and the leather cartridge boxes you kept to protect and guide us are now buried in your place. It appeases the souls of the ones left behind. I know you know, they are but simple encouragements for the living. Today we honor your memory with a feast. Bread, cheese, porridge, and honey were prepared for this meal. Dried herbs burn, perfuming the air with sweet aromas of yarrow, periwinkle, and thyme. The smoke helps to connect. Wenches dressed in wreath weaving sing and dance for their lost fathers and missing husbands. I walk shoeless to be closer to you. Not everyone is a believer. But your brothers know you like they know themselves. They know you would have found a way to free yourself. They know you know death is but one step. They know I wouldn't have it any other way. So, today we celebrate. We celebrate your freedom.

I follow the trail down unto the bottom of the ravine, where your memory rests. I cut mine own bare feet with a rock. For you, I bleed. I dig below the stone that marks your resting place. I bury mine own wheel. It's mine own reminder. A reminder to be patient, to wait with grace. I now know your place in the natural world was to find freedom—I have to believe you did. You always had. You set us free. You explored. You discovered, and with your bare hands, you domesticated the wild. Mine own natural cycle here is to miss mine own soul flame, to learn patience, to remember the essence of the Divine. I shall do this until we are reunited again. Our children are strong and patient like you. They are here, visiting you too. Our people are excited today. They place food and ale next to the false graves as if that would win them any favors. Some use symbols of the accepted ways. There are crosses everywhere. I carve the thunder mark on a rock. The six-petal rosette will protect you. You didn't mind mine own ways when you affectionately called me names. I didn't mind theirs. I don't need a connection to mine own past or a reminder of who I am. They can't deny the search within myself, mine own relationship with nature, and mine own connection to the Divine that still thither toward your heart. Not separate, not two, but one. I don't anguish in pain. I know the only truth that is universal lies in mine own heart with you. If you look far enough, we are together. If you look deep enough, we are the same. I am in all things, and all things are in me. The absolute is within me. It is within reach. It is also time, the wheel, the time it takes me to find you again, the many names you will use for me. Dirty, shoeless, and alone, with the depth of the world in our souls, the undertow of the cosmos shall call you home. I wonder who you shall be when we meet again, my sweeting. 

I wonder who you shall be.