The Women Who Marry Ghosts

The Seer

6 Months Ago

At the beginning of last spring, an older man noticed the Seer leave their tent a little before dusk. This by itself was not unusual. But the Seer was naked, which gave him pause. This was slightly unusual. Then, he beheld the Seers' headdress – the one with the moonstones carved into flowers. Long, white horns curled from behind their ears. The stud moon rises, he realized. That's when he knew.

"It's time!" He raised the alarm throughout the village. Joyous calls and laughter met him at every hut. Elders uncorked fine, sweet beer and parents indulged in dried, ambrosial leaves for their pipes. How foolish youth makes us, they all agreed, smiling. Herds of giggling young folk flocked together, hands over their mouths, sneaking glances. Their time was soon, and they knew it.

A few of the sneakiest, light-footed youths trailed the Seer. They had been promised handsome rewards if they came back with names -- the names of the betrotheds the Seer would decide on that night, underneath the glistening stud moon.

Uperi found all this silly. The Seer would proclaim the names to the moon for ratification, and return to the village around dawn to share the decisions with the village.

"They are being foolish," Uperi complained to Apo. "They should just wait a few more hours, save their gold. Knowing changes nothing." She outlined his collarbone with bands of white. Her soft, stroking fingers lingered on his skin. Apo swallowed.

"To them, it does," he pointed out. Uperi shrugged.

Apo took the black paint and drew lines across her forehead and cheekbones. She closed her eyes. She kept them closed even after he finished. She had wanted, had even pressed him once or twice -- but he had always told her to wait. Be patient. The stud moon and the Seer would agree. Apo and Uperi were one, and were meant for each other. Let's wait, he had breathed in her ear. Let's do this right.

That night, she felt his hand slip into hers.

Everyone dressed in their finest, from fine leather vests to flower crowns. Unwed youths slashed their bodies with white and black, to purify themselves before the ancestors. Villagers passed around the purple honey to drizzle over beer, meat, and roasted roots. Groups of married women sung under the deep bellied orange moon. They held hands and told stories and begged the spirits for goodness. Their menfolk circled around a nearby bonfire that licked the stars. They sang for guidance, for love, and for rain.

Meanwhile, the shriveled Seer shuffled towards the cattle ring, chanting and murmuring and hissing. Their deflated, sagging breasts swung in time with their long, wrinkled penis. They normally covered themselves, but tonight was not a night for modesty. After all, not many were born with the honor of being both sexes at once. This had, in fact, earned them the honor of being Seer.

A cluster of apprentices haunted the Seer's footsteps, but the Seer shooed them away.

"For this, I don't need you."

The Seer's purse jangled with some of the bribes they had accepted that past year to arrange certain matches. A handful the Seer had turned down, for one reason or another. Usually because the spirits told them to. A handful they had accepted, for the same reason.

At times, the Seer heard the youths following them. The villagers took bets, the Seer knew, on which youth would be able to follow the longest. The Seer allowed it, when it pleased them. It was a game, a race, and it was one of the Seer's last pleasures to make it interesting. However, for the most part, whenever the Seer heard a titter or a muffled rustle they would whirl around, wheeling their staff to the sky.

"Leave me! Your breathing groans louder than a painful shit – leave!" And the nearest bush would erupt with lithe forms that shrieked into the night. A few youths would remain to see if the Seer would notice. The Seer would scoff, prod their staff towards the offenders, and they, too, would scurry away to join a bonfire or sip too much sweet beer.