Disclaimer: I own La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya, in all her incarnations and names, Aurora La'ana, Verya, Nexa, Arvan, Tavela, Zan, K'char, the Goddess La'ana, Kela, Naré, etc., etc., etc. I own all of La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya's forseen ancestors, save the infamous Lyra Belaqua aka Silvertongue, whom Philip Pullman owns. He also owns his interpretation of Gypsies, as I own mine. I own the sha'leth and any other original organisms La'ana should chance to meet on her journeys, blah blah blah. I do not own anything fur, including Verya's furry baby bonnet, as I do not own the Aurora (aka Roarer) or the world.
A/N: I talked about the moon in my last... installment... of whatever this story-thing is. Can you see the moon from the North Pole? Somebody tell me! Anyhow, I found two sites with interesting pictures from the Arctic on them. Here are two:
http://www.mosquitonet.com/~tasteak/images/animated.html – Animated picture of the Aurora
(I realize that I have not capitalized Aurora in this (these?) story/ies. This is on purpose. Don't ask why, I do not know. I also know that Aurora borealis does not mean Light-within-the-Darkness. At least according to scientists and such. Aurora is the Roman goddess of dawn. The Romans stole gods from other religions and changes them. See? THIS story is the truth!)
***
I have too many names. I began as La'ana and nothing more, the girl who watched my mother stream up into the sky at the Edge of the World in a curtain of light and vanish. This was the girl who stood on the icy cliff that is the Edge and was not afraid. Then I became La'ana Sha'leth, sworn to do all I can to save the folk who saved me from the cold where my mother vanished, the shy sha'leth. And now I am La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya, dæmon-partner of Verya.
And I thought my name had too many apostrophes before this...
The truth is, I'm not sure where to go from here. The Church is getting stronger, and the number of sha'leth is diminishing as the months pass. I am La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya, but I am still just a girl. Or perhaps, as I have said, more than a girl, but even if that is true, I am young and powerless. And the Church is hunting me as dæmon-child, as well as heretic, on top of the sha'leth. I am in danger, all I love is in danger, and I still do not know what to do.
Nexa tells me I must go south, south and then east, but other than this I know nothing. Verya is a tiger, golden and black, and I am La'ana, named for the Goddess, but what is this small power against the growing influence of the Church? The thing that keeps me from despairing is my stubbornness. Tiger-like, I will not give up. I refuse to. And no matter what I come up against, I will not abandon my people. I am La'ana Sha'leth.
Verya and I are leaving tomorrow. We don't know where we will find ourselves when our quest is over, nor whom we will be. Spirit is eternal, but mind and body change. And my fear is derived from this. I fear change. Not even my stubbornness can hold the earth in the pattern it is in. My mother may or may not have died when she filled the sky with dancing light, but she changed, and I was left bereft of something. I have Kela and Naré, Arvan, Tavela, Zan, K'char, Verya, but there has always been something missing. I know what it is but I will never have it. There is nothing I can do and nowhere I can go to get this missing thing and for my tiger-self it is too much. And I fear this.
We have packed two bundles with weapons, food, clothing, shelter, water, money. I am filled with the old excitement and apprehension that my mother gave to me. As young as I was then, I remember that journey we took together, to the Edge of the World. I was born into it, into feeling her warm breath against my face and my head against her chest as we rode, sledded, finally walked to the Edge. I remember the fierce cold, everlasting night, and the pervading silence, stillness. The star-speckled sky, and the darkness spreading out around me, veiling everything in mystery. Here, there is one long day and one long night, but I remember the night best. La'ana is Goddess of Night, and I am her daughter, if only in name. And then I remember the sunset: black clouds above me, and a sky in so many shades of orange, blue, yellow. That was at the beginning of our trip, and so the rest passed in darkness. I do not know why we went north, why my mother abandoned my father and took me to the Edge. So much is unexplained. I will never understand her, this woman who gave me life.
:It is time.: Verya cuts into my thoughts, his golden, rhythmic tiger thoughts bringing warmth into this coldness. I start. I am afraid. (Was my mother afraid when she came to the Edge? Did she know so much would change?)
We have two packs, both heavy. One is shaped for a human, and one fitted with a bewildering mess of straps and buckles. This is for Verya. A tiger has never worn a pack before, as far as I know, and it took the combined minds of several sha'leth to make one that Verya is able to wear. They could not make one that did not look so startlingly silly on him. I laugh, almost forgetting my nervousness, and have the golden orbs of Verya's eyes turned on me reproachfully. Tigers are prideful, I have learned. They also have an excess of sharp teeth and claws. I hide my grin, thinking of the "shallow" cuts he'd given me in the past few months. To teach me, he said.
Somehow, he ended up with a furry baby's bonnet tied on his head when he woke up the next morning.
Tavela and Arvan are here, to show me how to secure the pack on Verya's back. I have said my goodbyes already, and we part with only the light handclasp which is the sha'leth version of an embrace. Arvan has given me a staff carved of pine, precious in this barren expanse. Into the handle is set slivers of milk-white agate speckled with blue. They form an angular R-like shape, and I look at him curiously. "Safety in travel" is all he says. And then we leave. I turn and watch them, my heart nearly suffocating, but in the darkness of endless night, they are only shadows in the starlit darkness, and then nothing. All there is to see is the line of footprints, mine large and heavy, Verya's round and light. These, too, recede as we walk further and further into the night and new footprints take the place of old ones. Verya's breath comes out in great, warm clouds, and I nearly weep at this familiar sight. But tigers do not weep, and so I do not.
So much is changing already, and I am afraid.