No matter who or where you are, I think we can all pretty much agree that Zeel is basically the most fabulous thing EVER. Also mysterious... But mostly fabulous. XD
Which is why this year, my annual tradition of a birthday fic is going to be all about her. Too many plot holes left unfilled. Too little closure... I've explored this facet of the saga from several different angles, but I think I like this one the best. I mean, come on. A child of your hated enemy washes up in the tide, and your immediate consensus is to raise the kid as one of your own? Please. I don't believe it was that simple.
So... Here's some of Zeel's traumatic childhood. Ya know, for my birthday. Yay! 8D
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Foundling
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It was a peaceful day on the coast. The sun was shining, and the wind was warm, filled with the sound of sea birds crying high overhead, and the waves crashing on the shore. Winter had certainly passed. It was more than springtime. On the plains and in the hills, wildflowers would be blooming.
Hence, the Travelers were preparing to leave Maris, at long last. The edge of the sea wasn't their favorite place to be camped for so long; but during the winter months, there was little else they could do. The coast was warmer than the lands further west, and the bitter chill of deep snow could kill the strongest of them in days. Now that the snow had melted and spring had returned, they were more than ready to be moving on.
That hadn't stopped the girl Rebeka from taking a final stroll along the shore. The teenager was more adventurous and daring than most of the tribe's children; and even though she certainly couldn't swim to save her life, the empty, rolling expanse of the sea fascinated her. Even when the chill winds whipped up and down the shore, she tried to take a walk every day. They only came to Maris so often, after all. She had to take in as much of it as she could.
Rebeka especially loved the various treasures she could find in the sand, washed up in the tide. She returned from every walk with a pocket full of unusually shaped stones, small chunks of coral, glittering serpent scales, and beautiful seashells—one or two of which might surprise her by turning out to still be occupied. These she would, of course, immediately return to the surf, before the scrabbley, clawed little creatures withered and died for lack of cool salt water. It was only right to respect them, that way. Every life had worth, no matter how small. Every life should be cared for. That was the Traveler way, and always had been.
She had walked farther than usual on this particular, lovely day. She was coming upon a bend in the shore, partially hidden from the town by an outcropping of jumbled stones and piled dunes. Rebeka rarely ventured so far, but she felt that today could be an exception. Who knew what she might find, just around the bend, where she only went looking for treasures once or twice a year? Thrilled to be momentarily so separate from civilization, on an adventure of her own, she practically skipped around the bend, stopping only briefly to kneel and pick up a shell.
Some creature had drilled a hole into one end of the shell, to feed on whatever had once lived inside. Rebeka grinned to herself, resolving to later string the shell onto a ribbon to wear in her hair. It would be lovely, she thought. She couldn't wait to return and set about that project.
Of course, Rebeka had no way of knowing what she would find when she rounded the bend. She expected the normal things, plentiful from her lack of visiting. The first thing she saw, however, changed the entire course of the next few years for everyone.
As she rounded the bend, her eye was immediately caught by an impressive tide pool, not a hundred yards away from her. The pool was obviously very deep—the surface splashed endlessly, seething with movement from what must have been many creatures. In the midst of this splashing, a wide plank of wood was tossed back and forth across the surface of the water, tipping dangerously from side to side with every splash.
Rebeka had to blink once, twice, to make sure she wasn't seeing things, but the worst element of the scene was, in fact, true. On top of the rocking plank of wood rested a small child, unconscious, who would surely be tossed into the water at any moment by the constant thrashing. Either to drown, or be devoured.
Rebeka's heart stopped for half a second, from shock and horror. But it passed in a flash, and she looked frantically around for a weapon of some kind. Anykind. Whatever she found in that tide pool, she refused to let this little one die. The first thing she saw was another plank of wood near her feet, long and flat, soaked and partially buried in moist sand. Without wasting another second thinking about herself or the danger she was facing, she snatched the plank out of the sand, hooking it under one arm, and ran as fast as she could to the tide pool.
She didn't have to come much closer for her worst fear to be confirmed. The thrashing creatures were all serpents. They were only thin, slippery little worms, perhaps less than a year old yet, but there were several of them; at least five, she was sure. And more certainly than anything else, they were hungry. They weren't strong enough to slither up on top of the board and snatch the child themselves; but together, they had the strength to knock the wooden plank over, eventually. Slowly, they were coming closer to their goal. At any moment, the sleeping child would slip into the water. Then there would be no time for drowning.
Still thinking of nothing but saving this poor child, Rebeka jumped up to her knees into the pool, hoping her appearance would distract the serpents. If she could coax them out of the water, she could dispatch them easily. And, to her relief, she quickly got their undivided attention. At last, here was a prey that they could simply slither after and overwhelm, instead of playing games with. It must have seemed a relief to the young worms, who must have been tired from so much thrashing. All of them came crawling after her, almost at once.
Rebeka backed out of the water and onto the sand, leading the serpents into the open. All of a sudden, there were four hungry little worms facing her intently—not as many as she had suspected. Even though they were young, they moved with a speed that she hadn't counted on. They struck at her bare ankles like lightening, one after the other, their dragon fangs dripping with hunger at the sight of such a large prize.
But Rebeka was also faster than they had perhaps counted on. A smack across their scaly faces sent each one sprawling in turn, felling one on the first hit, sending another flying almost into the surf. Seeing that they were outmatched, the worms slithered back into the waves and disappeared from sight.
Feeling satisfied with this outcome, Rebeka dropped her plank on the ground and turned back to the tide pool. Without anything dangerous to stop her, she waded up to her waist into the pool after the child, fighting back the mild fear that tried to overtake her. It wasn't so often that she was faced with deep water—a perfectly natural phenomenon that could kill a Traveler as easily as the chill of winter. At the same time, she had no time to be afraid. She had bested four serpents today already, and there was still a half drowned child in peril. Her own fears were unimportant.
Now, she could see plainly that the child she had rescued was a little girl. It had to be—she was wearing nothing but a thin gray nightgown, and long, tangled curls covered her face. Rebeka also noticed at once that the little girl's skin was dark and bronze-colored, just like her own. Suddenly, she wondered how a Traveler child could have wandered all this way on her own, without being noticed or missed, and how the child could have ended up stranded in a monster-infested tide pool. It seemed exceptionally strange…
She took the girl in her arms and held her close, carefully wading back out of the pool. It was amazing that the girl had slept through such commotion. Once she was standing on solid ground once more, Rebeka smoothed the curls back from the child's face to see whose child it was, exactly, that she had rescued.
She was startled. It was the sweet, round face of a toddler, and it was a very cute face, but it wasn't one that Rebeka recognized. Whose child was this, indeed? Where on earth had she come from?
Wondering, she glanced down at the discarded plank by her feet. She looked up at the shore line, and noticed something strange for the first time. Similar planks of soaked wood had washed up all along the shore here—some very large, others smaller, still others little more than battered splinters. There were other artifacts, as well. An empty scabbard. A canteen. Torn pieces of gray fabric, like the girl's nightgown. A single, heavy boot of black leather, ruined by salt water.
There had been a shipwreck recently. Very recently. Perhaps only a day or two ago. It seemed that she had rescued the sole survivor. Shaken by the revelation, Rebeka held the girl a little closer. How horrible...
Slowly, another thought occurred to her. Who had sailed that ship in the first place? The trading season in Maris wouldn't begin for another month. And this soon after winter, the sea tended to be dangerous place to sail; the winds were still too strong, and too chill on the open sea. Who could have dared to sail for Maris at this time of year?
Well... There was one port near enough to dare such a voyage. Rebeka didn't want to think it was true... But a glance at the scraps of gray cloth littering the shore, and a second look at the little girl's gray nightgown was much more proof than she really needed.
No, she hadn't rescued a Traveler child at all. This little girl was Zebak. And if she was taken into town, there would be no way to hide that fact.
Anxiety quickly replaced excitement, as Rebeka tried to decide what to do next. How long had this little girl drifted on that plank, without food or water, or protection from the sun? She was soaked through, felt like she was running a temperature, and showed no sign of waking. Rebeka knew the child needed attention, and quickly. She could be very sick. Perhaps dying.
But would the child get the attention she needed? One look at her, and the Maris would certainly know her for what she was. This was a child of their feared, hated, ancient enemy. At best, Rebeka supposed, they would react with coldness. More than likely, she thought with a shiver, they would snatch the girl from her arms, and throw her right back into the sea without remorse.
That was an idea so dreadful and sickening, Rebeka thought she would cry, just thinking of it. Whoever this child was, no matter where she had come from or come to be here, her life was still precious. It still had worth, still had value. She still mattered.
That thought immediately stilled her fears and anxieties. There was the answer.
The Travelers. Of course! Why hadn't she thought of her own people first, when they would be so much more helpful in this moment? They would give this child sanctuary. They would care for her, and shelter her. It was their way, after all.
Rebeka turned her feet back in the direction she had come. Instead of going back toward the town, though, she toiled up over the dunes and piled rocks, taking the long way around the town toward the camp outside it. There was no reason to parade her newest treasure through town, if she could avoid attracting attention. Perhaps…
Perhaps the Maris need never know about this. Let them find the wreckage on their shores. The survival of one little girl could be another of the Traveler's many little secrets.
She just had to get back to the camp as quickly as possible, without being seen. Then everything would be alright. She was sure of it.
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It was a typical morning in the Traveler's camp, just outside the town. Nearly nothing of consequence had happened all winter—they were generally a quiet, peaceful people, and made little trouble amongst themselves. However, the camp was buzzing with activity. All of them were excited to be leaving, finally. They expected to be gone from Maris by the end of the week. There was much to be done.
That is the trouble with settling down for too long, Ogden thought to himself, as he loaded some things into his wagon. Put down roots, and getting up again suddenly becomes a chore. I don't understand how certain people manage it so well…
"Be careful with my fiddle this time," came a gentle warning from the other side of the wagon. "It would be a shame to have to replace two of them in the same year."
"Of course, of course, my dear," he called back, laughing to himself.
"And don't pile everything up on top of it, like you did last time. I'll never find it again! Leave it where I can actually find it, please?"
"Yes, dear."
"In fact, where is it? Don't even touch it, I'll see to it, myself."
An unfolded blanket still draped over her arm, the woman Ferriene, his wife of more than 20 years, came striding around the wagon. Ogden couldn't blame her for being so concerned about her instrument. She played exquisitely—she always had—and took her practice very seriously. And, if he was honest, every fiddle she had ever owned had been ruined at his hands, somehow. So, of course she was concerned. He wouldn't have trusted himself with such a fine and expensive instrument.
Of course, she had ruined many of his things since their childhood. He supposed that's what happens, when you know a person for such a long time. That was a lot of broken things… But in the end, the relationship was more than worth it.
With a teasing smile, Ferriene shoved the blanket into her husband's hands and began rummaging through all their things for her fiddle. He tried not to wince too badly, as everything he had just loaded into the wagon was rearranged.
"Dearest, I really wish you wouldn't," he protested. "I just got everything to fit."
"You'll unpack everything, and then repack it all again three times before we finally leave. You always do. You're too particular."
"Well, be that as it may—"
"Ogden, hush, listen. Do you hear that?"
He paused, and didn't have to listen too hard to hear what his wife already had. There was arguing and shouting, from somewhere nearby. Within the camp. Slightly alarmed, they abandoned their own bickering and ran to see what the trouble was.
By the time they came to the site of the argument, most of the tribe had already gathered to see what was going on. Ogden and Ferriene had to push their way through the crowd, but were unhindered. He was their wise leader, and she was his trusted right hand. Whatever was going on, they would resolve it.
In the center, they found several Travelers surrounding one of their own, blocking the view of who it was, exactly, as they pushed, pulled, and shoved their victim back and forth, shouting over one another.
"Just hand that thing over, already! Give me that monster!"
"She's just a child! Leave her alone!"
"That thing is a monster, Beka! If we don't get rid of it—"
"He's right! If we don't kill it now, it's going to kill us!"
"She's a baby! She's sick!"
"Stop your howling, and just hand it over!"
"Silence! All of you, silence!"
Ogden seldom had to raise his voice; so whenever he did, it left an impression. The fighting stopped at once, all heads turning to face him.
"Enough of this foolishness," he scolded, storming to the circle. "What is all this, about a monster? Who is it you have here?"
The assailants stepped aside to reveal one of their own children: a teenaged girl, dripping wet from the waist down, fear and relief mixed in her dark eyes. It was Rebeka, who so often ventured down to walk along the shore, despite the many warnings of danger. She often brought back odd things she found on her walks. Today, she carried a limp gray bundle in her arms.
It was a little girl. A girl who looked amazingly like one of them. But Ogden's eyes were sharp, and his senses keen. He didn't have to look too hard to see what the sleeping child really was.
Rebeka had found a Zebak child. No wonder other members of the tribe were alarmed and angry with her.
For himself, of course he was shocked. Mostly, though, he was confused and curious. While he paused, caught in an onslaught of thoughts and emotions, Rebeka bravely stepped forward with her head held high.
"I found her while I was walking," she explained in a quiet voice, still shaken with fear from her unexpected attack. "There must have been a shipwreck… I saved her… Ogden, please, she's sick. She needs help, quickly! Won't you help me?"
The teenager's earnestness finally moved him to action. He gave her a comforting smile, and gently took the child in his own arms. Having her answer, Rebeka sighed with relief, looking overjoyed.
"But this can't be!" one of her attackers burst out. "You've seen as well as we have what that thing is—Zebak, if there ever was such a thing! Only a blind man or a fool would miss it! It is a monster!"
Ogden humphed sharply at the resumed shouting. "This little one? She appears to be a sick baby, to me."
"No good will come of this," the other man insisted imploringly. "Mark me, this will be the end of us all."
Ogden regarded the man coolly, quite tired of fighting for today.
"We shall see. Come, my dear, there is a sick child to tend to. Rebeka, come with us."
Rebeka followed in somewhat stunned silence, and Ferriene shooed the crowd away.
"Go about your business," she was saying. "And not a word of this goes beyond this camp, is it understood? Not one word, or there will be hell to pay for it."
"Do the Maris know of this?" Ogden asked the teenager as she trotted alongside him.
"No. I went around the town. No one saw us."
"Good girl. That was exceptionally wise of you, I think. Now, tell me exactly what happened on the shore."
As Rebeka recounted her story, he untangled the blanket, still over his arm, and wrapped the wet child in it. She didn't seem very sick yet; but if she wasn't dried and warmed soon, she could become so.
By the time they had reached Ogden's wagon and the tent beside it, Rebeka was finishing her story. She had babbled it so quickly, she was a little out of breath. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, deciding not to scold her for being so rash and thoughtless. He chose to think she had been selfless, not thoughtless; brave, not rash.
"You've done well, and I am very proud of you," he said with a smile. "Now, go put on dry clothes, before you catch a cold, then come right back here. There are things we must discuss."
She nodded her thanks and agreement, and started off to find her family. Long, silent moment passed, until Ferriene returned, looking concerned.
"Let me see this child," she insisted right away, taking the bundled girl in her arms. Sitting on the grass outside the tent, she unwrapped the blanket and began checking the child all over for injuries, and testing her vital signs.
"Her pulse is strong," she announced after a few minutes. "She has a mild fever, more than likely from exposure to the sun; and I would wager she is dehydrated. If she doesn't wake soon, long enough to take a little water at least, we will have to wake her, ourselves. We will lose her, otherwise."
"And that would be a pity," Ogden mused, admiring the toddler's face. "She only just got here."
"When she is awake, she could also use a bath and dry clothes. And perhaps a meal, though it is perhaps wise to start with milk; I suppose it has been a while since she has eaten, and, clearly, she is only a baby, after all."
Ogden smiled sadly down at his wife. She knew so much about babies and their care. She would have been a fine mother… It was one of fate's little barbs that his Ferriene was barren, unable to have children of her own at all. It was a fact they had come to terms with together; but if they said it no longer pained them, they would be lying.
Before they could think on it further, Rebeka suddenly reappeared with a basket on her arm, looking much cheerier than she had before.
"My mother sent some of my sister's old clothes with me," she explained. "And she has some other things she is willing to lend you, should you need them."
"Ah," Ogden sighed, relieved. "Then she is not upset with you?"
"Well… Perhaps, a little. What I did was foolish, and I can see that now. I'm so glad my mother feels the same as I do about the girl—no matter who she is, or how small she is, she still has value. She should be cared for. She deserves the chance to live, to be loved, to love in return. Just because some of her people are bad doesn't mean that she is, too."
He put his arm around her, and drew her into the tent to sit down. "You speak with a kindness and a wisdom beyond your years, Rebeka."
"Thank you," she said, her face growing red.
"Now, shall we see what your dear mother has sent us?" he suggested, peering into the basket.
"Oh, all the best things, I think. But I worry that she may soon grow out of all of them. She can't be much older than five years old; she will outgrow many of these thing quickly."
Ferriene laughed gently and shook her head. "She can't be much older than two years old," she corrected. "Never forget, child, the Zebak are a very tall people; and this little one is still quite small, yet. She is hardly more than a baby. If she is fully weaned, I will be surprised."
Rebeka looked startled at the thought. Ogden had expected as much, and so wasn't as surprised. However, as he considered the idea that this half-drowned little girl would likely grow to tower over him, he chuckled to himself.
It is not as if we can simply put her back, after all, he thought. Whatever comes next, I will certainly watch this child grow up and become a woman. At any rate, I cannot imagine it is best for her to return to her own people. Then, perhaps, she could very well grow to be a monster. But today, she is an orphan who needs tending to. We still do not know her name, or if she even has one.
I suppose we shall just have to wait until the child wakes… I hate waiting…
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Many hours passed before the child began to stir. When she did, at last, her three caretakers all gathered around the blanket where she slept, eager to finally greet her. Ogden wondered how such a little child would react. He counted on her being frightened and confused, and in need of comfort. When that moment came, all the comfort in the world would be supplied.
Heavy eyelids slowly lifted, revealing a pair of shockingly pale blue eyes, still clouded with sleep. They drifted lazily from one strange face to the next, perhaps not fully registering what they were seeing. Ferriene took a damp cloth and pressed it to the girl's warm face, trying to manage her fever.
"Gently child," she said softly, giving the girl a smile. "Gently, now. You are safe here."
Perhaps the coolness of the wet cloth brought the girl more to her senses. Her eyes opened wider, and her eyes began to dart to and fro, taking in her strange new surroundings. Or, Ogden sensed, as if she was looking for something. All at once, she began to whimper in fear, and Ferriene swept her up at once to hold her close. The child squirmed to look all around the tent, her eyes bright with fright.
"Be still, little one, be still," Ferriene nearly begged, startled by the child's strength. "Nothing will hurt you here. You are safe with us."
"My mama papa," the child squealed suddenly, so fast and so high pitched that they almost didn't understand what she had said. And still, her wide eyes frantically searched every corner of the tent.
For her parents. Parents, who none of them knew how to explain, were not there, and were not coming. Ogden had felt that the child was looking for something. Now he understood, and it ripped at his heart.
Not receiving an answer, the child spun to look at Ferriene, her small face desperate and terrified. "My mama papa!" she repeated, louder and demanding this time, tears filing her pale eyes.
Ferriene looked almost afraid of the child's forcefulness. Mostly, though, she met the girl's fierce gaze with deep apology. A few seconds of tense silence passed between them. Somehow, that silence seemed to explain everything none of them could express with words. Suddenly, the child seemed to understand that something terrible had happened, and that she was all alone now.
Exhausted in every way, the girl's fierceness evaporated. She slumped in Ferriene's lap, rested her head on the woman's slim shoulder, and began to cry softly. There was nothing else such a small child should have been expected to do.
Rebeka looked ready to cry as well, for the sheer tragedy of the thing. Ogden wondered if he, himself, would cry. It was all so unfair…
After several minutes had passed in unproductive sorrow, Ferriene straightened a bit and brushed the child's tears away, doing her best to smile, in spite of everything. Suddenly, she was quite serious.
"Tell me, child, do you have a name?" she asked urgently, trying to distract the child from her terrible loss. "Tell us your name."
The girl ceased her crying—though she continued to hiccup pitifully—and stared back at Ferriene with enormous eyes and a somewhat puzzled expression. Perhaps she didn't understand words as well as they had thought.
Or, Ogden thought gloomily, they never gave her a name, and she does not know the meaning of the word.
Seeing that the girl didn't understand, Ferriene quickly came up with a way to try to convey her meaning. With one arm still around the child's broad, trembling shoulders, she pressed her other hand to her heart.
"I am Ferriene," she said firmly, pointing to her heart for emphasis. "Ferriene, do you see?"
Again, puzzled silence. Seeing that another example was needed, she reached out and placed her hands on the hearts of her husband and Rebeka, in turn. "See, here is Ogden, and Rebeka, who rescued you.
"Now, tell me," she insisted gently, placing her hand softly over the child's heart, "who is this?"
There was a sparkle of understanding in the girl's pale eyes; it was easy to miss, clouded as it was by grief and uncertainty, but Ogden marked it. He knew at once that the child understood. It was his turn to be puzzled, when she remained silent. Perhaps she had no name, after all.
Disappointed and overwhelmed, Rebeka sighed. "Is there anything I can do right now?" she asked, fidgeting slightly.
To that, Ogden shook his head. "No, I do not believe so, girl. Return to your own family, and tell them what has happened so far. No doubt, they will want to know."
Looking relieved to have a meaningful task, Rebeka bowed her head in salutation, and took her leave.
Once again, it was very quiet. The nameless child watched Rebeka go in silence, not sure how to feel about her departure. Mostly, her face was blank; but that blankness masked a clever mind hard at work, trying to make sense of what must have seemed a chaotic and empty world.
Suddenly, she sat back in Ferriene's lap, and placed her small hand firmly on the woman's heart.
"…Ferriene."
"Why, yes," she agreed, amazed and relieved to be making some progress.
The girl looked over her shoulder for Ogden, and reached as far as she could for him. When she couldn't quite reach him, he came closer until she could place her hand on his heart. Then she paused, thinking.
"…This is…?"
"Ogden," Ferriene reminded with a gentle laugh.
"Ogden," the girl repeated softly, patting his chest with a tenderness which, he had to admit, surprised him a bit.
The child withdrew her hand, and slowly moved it over her own heart. A heart which was small, but which they both could see was beating, and strong, and just as capable of love as anyone else's. Suddenly, her whole round face illuminated, and she grinned magnificently at them as she patted her heart excitedly.
"Zeel!" she squeaked proudly "This is Zeel!"
"Zeel… That is your name?" Ferriene asked, just as excited.
Still grinning, the girl—Zeel—nodded her head so fast that her curls began to bounce back into her face.
"That is a lovely name," Ferriene answered, unable to hold back a grin of her own. Ogden smiled, also. It was good to find that this child had a name. A name that she was clearly proud of. A name whose origin and meaning he wondered at, but couldn't hope to guess. For the moment, though, what did that matter? They would find this out another day. For now, he rather felt like celebrating. This moment in time felt like a victory.
Before he could think much more about celebrations, small Zeel was touching Ferriene's heart once again, gazing up at her with imploring, unsure eyes.
"…You are mine mama," she said decidedly, laying her head down once again on the woman's shoulder. Ferriene hesitated for a second, surprised by the declaration. In seconds, though, she had drawn her arms tighter around the little girl, holding her closer, safer.
Slowly, Ferriene looked up at her husband with a hopeful smile, her dark eyes shining with tears of joy.
"Ogden… For how long have we prayed for a child of our very own?" she said softly, hardly more than a whisper. "Perhaps this little girl is the answer to our prayers."
Ogden smiled back, wrapping his arms around his wife, and the lost child who had suddenly become his very own daughter.
"Ferriene, my dear heart, I do believe you are right about that," he agreed, stroking the child's damp, springy hair. The pale eyes flashed up at him, followed by a smile, as if all were perfectly fine and normal with the world.
Because now, everything was fine. Now they were a family. A real family.
And nothing—nothing—could every change that.