The Women Who Marry Ghosts

Uperi

Uperi's first moon blood did not come easy. For days she writhed on her sleeping mat, racked with a gut full of knives and a back full of stones, unable to complete the most basic of chores. Her mother did not scold her, and only fed her bark to ease the pain. Her father brushed her hair from her face and dabbed the sweat from her glistening forehead. When she awoke one morning to relieve herself, she pulled down her breeches and screamed.

She was younger than most girls who had to make the same journey. The apprentices hadn't trained her with the other girls her age, so the elders allowed her parents to help her pack and prepare. She had hunted and scavenged with her mother since she could stand upright, but she still had much to learn.

"Most evil spirits prefer still water, so avoid ponds or puddles," her father taught her. "And if you're not sure, or if you have no choice, boil it. It will strip the water of evil spirits." She practiced with him until he was satisfied.

She practiced various prayers and offerings with her mother. She was ready to appease any spirits she might come across on her journey.

"Be polite. They guide our destinies, our hearts. Thank them, apologize for your mistakes, even if you think you don't need to. Do it, anyway. Just in case." Her mother helped her bundle sacred herbs and sweet grasses Uperi would light along her way.

Her father taught her how to tie her belongings in a tight bundle on her back. She wanted to take more, but he insisted. Only a few sharp blades, a heap of salt beef and fried corn patties, and a strange, heavy cloth her mother warned her she would need, and little else. He made her practice lighting fires until she could make a bonfire from with one spark and two sticks. She learned to stitch wounds, set broken bones, and prepare salves for burns.

"You never know," her father said solemnly. She had teased him, saying he must not trust her if he was teaching her such things. But he had only shaken his head and squeezed her shoulder.

The day she left, an apprentice recited a prayer for her journey. Then, Uperi shouldered the heavy pack and left. On her way out of the village, her people handed her flowers and delicate shells. They passed a light hand over her head and wished her well. They waved, murmured a prayer. From a distance, she could see Apo. She waved, and he waved back.

Once outside the village, she asked the spirits to lead her, to humble her. With a wink, she asked them to show her their secrets.

First, she marched across the rolling golden plains. That was easy. She burned sacred herbs and thanked the spirits for almost every step. The sun shone, but not too hot. Clean water spirits streamed everywhere and small game practically leapt onto her knife. She cooked it and ate it that night, saving her salt beef for the mountains where her mother had warned she would find no food and only frozen water. Her mother called it snow. Uperi knew it was white and it draped over the tops of the mountains after the rains, but she still didn't understand what her mother meant by "frozen."

As she rambled through the high grasses, she beamed, she wiggled, she grinned, and knew the spirits were watching. They were good. They would help her become a woman. They would be gentle and they would be understanding. She had nothing to fear.

Halfway to the edge of the world, she found a gift Apo had snuck into her pack. Her favorite doll, made of sticks, leather, and cow hair. This discovery sent her to her knees.

But then, she began to climb. Slowly at first, so she hardly noticed it. It felt as though something was gradually but firmly winding its way around her chest. Breaths became gasps and wheezes. After a while, she had to stop every few hours to rest. Then, every few minutes. Then, every few steps. With a flash of panic in her belly, she realized. The spirits. She had upset them. Done something wrong.