The Magic Hour

Chapter 17: Jinsaih

THE GIRL RAN her hand over the stone, her face only inches away, and stepped back. She drew near again and felt the cold rock wall, and raised the torch to see what she had drawn more closely. These were the hours she loved. No one else awake, only pale light starting to rise outside the cave entrance, but the morning was still an hour away.

    The dream memory was fading too fast. Some of the images were already lost.

    “Iela.” The soft whisper was behind her and she spun around, finding a woman only a little more than her own height, wearing a soft hide as covering, its folds flowing like water around her.

    “Who are you?” she said, startled, but gathering her strength as she spoke. How had this stranger come so close undetected, entered their center room?

    “You’ve nothing to worry about.” The woman smiled. “I’m Jinsaih, don’t you know?” she said, removing the covering from her head and looking at the cave wall. “These are very beautiful. Is all of it your work?”

    “Yes, yes,” Iela answered, recognizing her, feeling the words hard to release. She had always seen the shaman at a distance in the ceremonies, and knew of her most of all from her mother’s stories.

    “Well, you’re very skilled. What is this?” Jinsaih said, resting her hand beside the drawing Iela had just finished.

    To her mind it was the least successful of her efforts. How vividly she had seen the images, the black that had been filled with shapes and objects in deep colors that had reflected light from a source she could not find, but the warmth of it lingered in her mind.

    “It’s only half done. It’s all I have. It was a dream, and I forgot most of it as soon as I woke up,” she said.

    “Perhaps I can help you remember your dreams.”

    Her words terrified Iela, and yet she felt herself yearning to keep the images longer, and if the shaman helped her, there would be no question she could recall everything and draw the true visions that haunted her mind, just out of reach.

    “And these—did you create these?” The shaman put her hand near a pattern in the stone. Some of the forms were isolated, but the one she studied contained three spirals, intertwined.

    “I also saw them in my dream, spinning, so I carved them into the rock. My mother said it was all right to do that.”

    “They have power,” the shaman said. “Do you understand that?”

    Iela didn’t have time to answer, for others had arrived, and she was grateful for that.

    “Why are you here?” The man who stood at the entrance in front of the group was addressing the shaman. It was her father, Hernot.

    “Not the best greeting I’ve had these past weeks,” Jinsaih smiled, her voice friendly. “Your daughter is talented.”

    Hernot didn’t answer or look at the drawings on the wall. His eyes never left the shaman’s face. She held his gaze, until finally he nodded in acceptance. “If you must be here, so it is. I suppose you want Rimal.”

    “She’s expecting me,” Jinsaih said.

    “You are my mother’s friend,” Iela said. “She told me this was so.”

    “Since we were both children,” the shaman answered, and she brushed her hand lightly over the girl’s hair that shone like fire in the torchlight. “You resemble your mother a great deal.”