Legend: The Waterbender
She cups her hands against the wall, gathering water to drink: it's sweet and cold on her tongue.
She runs as fast as her shaking legs can carry her, past whipping branches and scratching brambles that snag her skirts and leave angry welts on her ankles. She stumbles, but refuses to fall, and presses onward with all the strength she has left. A terrible, familiar ache is growing at the base of her spine: she knows this ache, has felt it once before, and no longer fears the pain that will soon follow if she doesn't stop the undue stress of running - but she is far more afraid of the humans who are chasing her than the one who resides in her body. She carries him with an arm wrapped tight around her swollen middle, holding her cloak against her clammy skin.
As she meets the steep incline of the mountain's slope, she begins to pray.
They've killed my husband for defending his home…
She breaks through the tree line with only a moment's hesitation. Her hands reach out to grasp the sharp stones that rise before her, far up into the clouds. There is no path here, and the way is steep, but she is strong and determined.
They've taken my son to fight their war…
She finds a foothold, and lifts herself up amidst the roaring winds and craggy rocks. Her cloak flaps wildly around her legs, and her hood falls back. The scarf in her hair comes loose, and she dares not let go of the stone face to grab it, even if it will tell them she has passed this way.
My brothers are dead, and my sister is a soldier's whore…
With luck, the wind will carry the scarf away. The ground is far below, and the mountain still looms above her. She pushes onward far past dark, and then cannot tell if she is farther from the ground or the mountain's peak. Her arms tremble with the strain of pulling her weight, her feet begin to slip, but she will not let herself fall. She pushes onward, and soon the child begins to push too.
But I am alive. We are alive! And I don't mean to end my life running like some coward, or have his ended before it has begun…
She can feel herself slowing, the harder the child pushes. It is all she can do to grope her way over the rocks now. Her hands are slippery with what can only be blood, and the wind has turned her legs to ice. She knows she will need to stop soon: the baby cannot wait much longer. There is a patch of deeper darkness just above her; a crevice perhaps, or maybe a cave. Far below her a dog begins to howl and the answering cries are too many for her to count. Either they've found her, or there are wolves in the mountains. She's not sure which she would prefer.
I don't know if you hear me, or if you even care to listen anymore…
This cave is old: she can feel it in the rock. She doesn't know what bending is, or that many years ago – too many to count – her ancestors were able to touch and feel and move the rocks as easily as their own bodies. The stone is smooth and warm beneath her hand. Far ahead there is moonlight, and she hears the trickling of water.
I don't know your name now. I think I did, once, a long time ago when I was little…
Her palm leaves a red trail on the wall. She thinks she can hear shouting far, far away, outside the cave and miles down the mountain. She cares nothing for it. The cave arches like a passageway, and there is writing on the ceiling. A millennia ago it would have read, 'Despair, you who enter with violence in your minds and anger in your hearts. Peace dwells here, and healing is at hand.' She does not see any of these things.
You're older than my god, and maybe you have more power…
There is a room, brimming with the moonlight that was spilling out into the tunnel. The chamber is vast and lofty, the ceiling rising out of sight. The moonlight isn't moonlight, because there is no hole in the rock over her head, but she doesn't notice that either. Her eyes connect with those of the figure on the far side of the cavern, and that is where they stay. The woman who gazes back at her has a kind face.
You can save me. I know it. You can help me save him…
She cries out as the child moves, and stumbles forward. One arm reaches out for her, a hand offered in love and guidance; the other, the woman has wrapped around her middle, one hand clutching the opposite hip. The baby moves again, and again she stumbles, but she does not kneel until she is clutching the base of the statue in both wet hands.
Help me! You have to help me. My God has abandoned me. I need you to find me!
Her fingers find the writing at the statue's feet, but the words are strange, and foreign. Once, they read, 'We looked to you, and you looked to the light, and it was there that we walked.' She knows women have prayed here. She can feel it in the rock, just as she can feel the age: hundreds of women, perhaps up into the thousands, years and years ago. The earth was young then, and marks were easily made. The earth beneath her dips a little, from the weight of all the uttered prayers.
The beautiful face of the nameless woman – goddess, she thinks the statue must be a goddess- gazes warmly down at her. Water trickles down the cave walls. She knows there's not a river for miles.
Then she is overwhelmed by the pressure of clenching muscles and pushing infants. There, at the statue's base, under the watchful eyes of one long passed, she gives birth to her second son. She is scared, and alone, but she knows she will survive the fear, and the steady gaze of the statue eases the loneliness. She cleans herself and the babe as much as she can manage, then falls into an exhausted sleep with the infant wrapped tightly in her cloak, curled in her arms.
When she awakes, it is light. Sun shines down through the tunnel, into the cavern, glinting off the slick rock and illuminating the statue's face. The woman seems to smile in the sunlight. She cups her hands against the wall, gathering water to drink: it's sweet and cold on her tongue. She feels as though she's just eaten.
When she's fed her son, and swaddled him again with her cloak, she trudges down the tunnel to the cave's entrance. Her scarf has snagged on the sharp rocks beside the tunnel, and flaps wildly in the breeze. Her baby blinks in the sunlight.
AN: So after many weeks of waiting, here is the second installment. I'm fairly pleased with the tone. I can't wait for all the questions I'm going to get for this one. Yes, I realize it's a cave. But it's a cave high up in the mountains. Do your own imagining. I know what went on, and I think you can figure it out too... And to clarify, this takes place much, much later than the first chapter.
