Quiet surrounded Vestra's secluded home for miles in all directions. The noises in the vicinity of the hut were scarce but beautiful: a symphony of songbeetles in the outlying brush; the occasional whoop of an phantom crane; and the soft rustling of leaves as the night air rushed on, moving with timeless urgency. There were no chimes hanging from the eave of the hut; Vestra feared she'd confuse their sound with that of her alarm contraption.
Pa'Rin had to steady herself as she entered the hut – partially due to the surprising declaration Vestra had made about knowing who she and her parents were, and mostly because of the overpoweringly fragrant aroma that wafted into her nostrils as she crossed the threshold of the doorway. The home smelled – reeked – of reiberries, jirsin blossom, ranjaro wood oil, hyllaria weed, and a dozen other scents Pa'Rin recognized. How she managed to tell them all apart, she could not say. If Rymar's nose had a mind, it would surely go quite mad, though Pa'Rin. Indeed, Rymar was at the tiny, spoke-paned window at the front of Vestra's hut, peering in at his small human friend and fogging the window's glass as he sampled what little air escaped the home.
Vestra's hut was a cacophony of color and dim, rosy light and shadow. Earthy-looking objects populated untold, split-log shelves, all apparently handmade and older than time. Scent-burning lamps (no doubt the origin of much of what Pa'Rin was breathing) were perched everywhere, some at seemingly impossible angles, seemingly on the brink of tipping. Phials and earthen cups sat all about, coexisting peacefully with the other curiosities of the old woman's home, each marked with white chalky symbols, same with small colored flags to help Vestra tell them apart when she needed them. No good confusing the powdered eel skin with the extract of jirsin blossom when one was making tea.
The walls were coated with craterous, pocked mud – perhaps not just mud, for these walls were too orange for that; mud mixed with something else? Something that glittered when the light of the lamps played off the uneven surfaces. Whatever it was, Pa'Rin assumed it came from the woods nearby; it seemed that everything, from the rug at her feet to the arches bracing against the hut's tightly-thatched roof, was made of either plant, earth, or stone.
"Sit, my dear little one! Sit, yes oh yes!" Vestra whipped a hole-riddled scarlet sheet off the back of a chair, tucking it into a crude chest of drawers by the front door. "Sit and I will start a fire to warm us."
Though she had only just met the woman, as far as she could recall, Pa'Rin felt no fear. The woman evoked a sense of family in Pa'Rin – not in the biological sense, but of a kinship that need not be spoken to be felt. It felt right to be there. Pa'Rin breathed deeply for the first time in a long while.
The girl relaxed in the rickety yet curiously comfortable seat Vestra had offered her. It appeared to be made of ranja wood, twine, and nothing more. But so soft, Pa'Rin considered.
She nearly said so to Vestra, but suddenly opted not to. All of her questions and concerns had left her, and felt not panic that they had. Perhaps it was something Vestra was burning in the lamps that made her feel that way. But Pa'Rin knew better. She had important work to do, and could not stay for long.
I must find out what happened to Mother and Father.
Vestra hunched over (painfully, it seemed to Pa'Rin) in front of a small stone pit in a corner of the hut. She held a glassy black agate in her gnarled right hand, turning it over a few times. After a moment, she whispered some muffled speech, and a blaze sprung up from the bottom of the pit. Pa'Rin simply shook her head and gawked as a disbelieving giggle found its way past her lips.
"I am preparing a drink for us, my little blessing," Vestra said. Pa'Rin smiled, noting the woman's recognition of her namesake.
The old woman hung a small metallic container from a strip of treated twine that hung above the fiery pit and stretched between where the walls met in the corner. She poured water from another container (this one earthen) into the metallic one, and crushed a handle of dried leaves and berries into the bubbling liquid. "If it pleases you," the old woman said, "you may look more closely at my home. I'll not force you to stay in that chair while I see you plainly hoping to explore."
Pa'Rin blushed, feeling a bit shy of herself for the first time since she'd come inside. Indeed, her curiosity was as palpable as the taste of reiberry smoke on her tongue. Did she look like a fool staring so goggle-eyed at Vestra's belongings? After all, Pa'Rin had never seen a home like Vestra's – nor had many other people in Trylia, for that matter.
But the girl felt no need to explore at the moment. She felt like sitting still, absorbing the luxuriously acrid ambience of the home. Time seemed to crawl here, as if Vestra's little domain chose not to race along with the rest of Trylia. It had only be a few hours, but it seemed forever ago that her parents had vanished, and the journey she and Rymar embarked upon had taken more out of her than she anticipated.
After a short while, the concoction was ready. Vestra used worn wooden tongs to lift the metal container, and pour some of the sweet, steaming liquid into a fresh mug.
"Sip this, my dear little one," Vestra cooed to Pa'Rin as she handed her the drink. "Something to warm you from soul to skin." Pa'Rin smiled politely. She sniffed at the beverage, placing her nose close to the mug to help discern its scent from the hut's circulating air. If Mother and Father were here, they might warn me not to drink from a stranger's cup. But Vestra is no stranger, I feel. I never cared for when Mother and Father were strict with me, but now I would not mind so much, for it would mean they would be home safely. I do not know if this old woman is whom you wanted me to find, Mother, but I know you'd be happy that I have.
Pa'Rin stared into the dark steaming liquid. Oh, how she feared for them, if in fact they were still alive. She wished for any sign from them, or of them, if even in a vision, to tell them she is safe and on her way to find them. Even if she hadn't the faintest idea what she'd do when she'd found them, if she was to find them at all.
Vestra filled two more mugs, and went out to share one with Rymar, who slurped at the drink happily. Rymar too felt perfectly at ease with the woman, having forgiven her completely for the attempted attack on he and Pa'Rin. Perhaps it was that Pa'Rin showed no apprehension toward her, and thusly informed the tralion that all was well. Or perhaps, like Pa'Rin, he knew on some level that this woman hid nothing and bore only good tidings. At least, as well as a tralion could perceive such a thing.
While Vestra was outside, Pa'Rin got up and crossed to a small three-legged table on the other side of the hut. Beside the table on one side was a wide padded bench (She must have sewn the cushion herself, Pa'Rin thought), and on the other was a rumpled, comfortable-looking bed; not large by any means, but with enough support to give the old woman a pleasant night's rest.
Atop the table was an assortment of objects as Pa'Rin had never laid eyes on. At the center of the table, she saw a bowl-shaped depression. After closer inspection, she saw that there was a hole cut into the tabletop, and a half-sphere was resting in the hole by a lip that circled its top edge. Resting at the bottom of the bowl was a pile of small bones; animal bones, Pa'Rin hoped. A shiver of dread unexpectedly struck her, slightly dampening the pleasance she'd been feeling. The chill from her flight began to return.
Surrounding the mouth of the depression was a collection of rough-edged pieces of paper with dark, scrawled writing. Pa'Rin could read, and even knew a fair amount of words and phrases from Trylian dialects other than her own; but this was the first she'd ever seen characters such as these. Many of the papers were held down at all corners by brightly color stones, all cut at precise angles, defying a natural shape. Peeking out from the edges of the papers were carved symbols – some she recognized, others like those on the papers and phials – that circled the depression in the center.
"Did you find the broth to your pleasure, my dear?" Vestra had come back inside, too quietly for Pa'Rin's liking, jolting the girl a bit and nearly splashing the drink onto her already dirtied garments. What comfort had been there before was beginning to wane ever so slightly. She felt no threat, but she did not feel altogether welcome, either.
"I am sorry, good woman," said Pa'Rin, using the formal address children used when speaking to adult women in her world. "I have not yet tasted it. It smells delightful, though. I wanted to see what was on this table of yours."
Vestra cackled softly, reassuringly. Pa'Rin never thought it possible to hear such a strange laugh sound so pleasant, and in spite of the unease that was growing within her, it had something of a counteractive, calming effect on her.
"Dear oh dear, please call me Vestra. Though I thank you for calling me a good woman." Vestra raised the hand that had been holding the black firestone and motioned toward Pa'Rin. "That 'table' is not a table at all, so you see. That is my divining prahma. Have you heard of such an instrument, my dear?"
Pa'Rin thought hard. She thought perhaps her mother had mentioned something of the tools of divination in one of her lessons, but if she had it was spoken of offhandedly, as a footnote. She knew parents did not believe in such rituals, and would give little credence to them and the teaching of their practice.
"I believe so," Pa'Rin said, "but I did not know what it was called." She took a sip of the drink at last, feeling a wave of sweet, tangy flavor fill her mouth, while the warmth of the liquid melted away the remains of the chill she'd received from the night air. Her eyes drifted from the old woman and back to the prahma. "What do you do with it?"
Vestra ambled toward the girl and the prahma, resting her own mug on an anomalously bare spot of shelf. "I use it to hear what the bones have to say, yes oh yes."
Pa'Rin swallowed hard and furrowed her brow all at once. The unease, she felt, was rebounding. And she found it difficult to concentrate on the thought of finding her parents. She took a step back and spoke powerfully.
"I thank you for your kindness, Vestra, but my tralion and I must leave at once. I believe my parents are in grave danger, and we have lost our way—"
"Oh, but you haven't, my little blessing. It is understandable, yes, that you may see that this is so. But you have lost the trail you had been following. And though I often rely on the bones to tell me what truths I seek to know, I say truly of my own accord that you will not find your parents without Vestra's help, so you see."
Pa'Rin's eyes brightened. "Do you mean to say they are alive?"
Vestra gave a brief but noticeable glance toward the prahma. "Yes. They are."
Pa'Rin cocked her head slightly. Such wonderful news…but how could this old woman know? Pa'Rin was grateful for the hospitality Vestra had afforded her, and for her willingness to help, but she spoke of things she could not possibly know about. Pa'Rin's feelings of trust and apprehension were matched evenly. It was her desperation kept her from leaving Vestra's home outright.
"How do you know of these things, Vestra? You say you know myself and my parents, but I have never met you. Or have I met you when you may have been disguised? My parents told me there are many people in Trylia who wish to do me harm—"
Pa'Rin froze. She was only speaking hypothetically, but the nagging sensation that the old woman may be hiding something intensified. The girl composed herself and continued. "Respectfully, Vestra, why must I listen to what you have to say? Forgive me; you have shown me nothing but kindness—"
"I did launch my weapon at you," Vestra said matter-of-factly.
Pa'Rin blinked. Yes, that was true. "But you did not know who we were," the girl countered, trying not to let the old woman's observation sway her train of thought. "But now that you do know—"
"Yes oh yes, I do know, my dear Pa'Rin. The question I pose to you is, do you know who you are?"
The girl stared blankly at the old woman, who seemed now to only speak in contradictions and riddles. Pa'Rin eyed the front window; she could not see her tralion.
He must be resting. Please, Ves, let him be resting.
"My dear little one," Vestra said calmly and directly, as if she were done toying with Pa'Rin, "I am so very sorry, yes oh yes. Vestra does not mean to trick you or tell you half-truths or no-truths. It is not Vestra's way, no Ves no. I do give you my oath that Vestra will speak only all-truths, and she may endeavor to answer all questions you have for her, in as plain a way as Vestra can muster. How sounds that?"
Pa'Rin considered the offer. She'd answer any question asked of her – Pa'Rin believed this. Whether the answers would be easily decipherable – Pa'Rin was not sure that that promise could be kept.
"Yes, that sounds reasonable." Pa'Rin cleared her throat, and without thinking, asked her first question.
"How do you know who I am, and who my parents are?" Pa'Rin hoped that the old woman had only heard gossip from the nearby villages and local merchants of her existence, but even if that were so, it still didn't explain how she could use that information to determine who the little girl that fell from the sky and into her vacant field was.
Vestra nodded. "A fair question. I have met your parents before, and you as well." The old woman volunteered nothing more. Pa'Rin frowned.
"When?"
Vestra smiled. "I met with your parents for the first time shortly before you were born. As for yourself, my blessing, I helped deliver you from your mother."
And time stopped momentarily for Pa'Rin. The air sat still in her lungs, unexpelled, and the old woman's drifted on the perfumed air like a far-off tralion soaring on the currents. Pa'Rin shook her head again, slowly and unconsciously. She needed no words for her next question; Vestra already knew what it was.
"Perhaps it is best that I share how it was I came upon your parents, and thus how I helped your mother and father bring you into this world. And, further, why Vestra has not seen you since that day, yes oh yes."
Pa'Rin realized she had unknowingly tipped her mug and spilled the contents onto the floor. She began to look for something to dab up the purple mess with, but Vestra playfully shooed her away from the task.
"I am sorry, Vestra," Pa'Rin half-whispered, still unable to speak at full volume. "You have spoken things that have stunned me. Forgive me." Pa'Rin bowed slightly to Vestra, but the old woman would have none of it, gently reaching out and lifting Pa'Rin's head up with an ancient finger. The old woman's face rumpled as she smiled at the girl, her eyes moist with age and emotion. Pa'Rin was moved by the feeling in Vestra's gaze.
"I would hear more, please," the girl said, tucking her questions away for the moment, just as Vestra had tucked away the scarlet sheet.
The old woman waved her hand over the prahma, like a merchant parading their wares to a prospective buyer. "It is the bones who introduced me to your parents."
Pa'Rin squinted at the prahma. "I do not understand," she said. Vestra nodded, as if to say, Of course you do not, my child, but Vestra said she would tell you all you need know. Pa'Rin put a hand to her mouth and nodded back, faithfully, knowing the answers would soon come. She folded her hands together and listened.
The old woman negotiated her way around the prahma, and plopped down onto the cushioned bench with a strained but positive sigh. "It is not so much that the bones speak themselves, no Ves no! The bones are but messengers. They do not make the message; they simply relay the knowledge. They are but conduits of the beyond and of the—"
Pa'Rin's confused expression deepened. Vestra, upon seeing this, again cackled that same oddly comforting cackle.
"Bless me Ves, I am sorry, yes oh yes. Vestra forgets that she must reap the grain before she bakes the loaf. Where to start, yes oh yes…" Vestra closed her shriveled lids and nodded to herself.
"First, let me show you this, my child." Vestra held her necklace-bound medallion out to Pa'Rin. At first sight, it appeared no stranger than any piece of jewelry she had seen in her mother's collection. But as her eyes traced the curvature of the medallion's edges, she picked out minute etchings resembling the carvings on the prahma's top, and noticed a circular hole in the direct center of the medallion—
"It looks just like a tiny prahma!" blurted Pa'Rin.
Vestra nodded. "Indeed, my little one. Now, tell me, have you ever heard the farmers in Kaasitar sounding their horns at the end of day, when the harvesting is through and night begins to settle, as they call upon the other farmers to retire for the evening?"
Pa'Rin nodded carefully. She didn't know where Vestra's explanation was headed, but listened fiercely.
"You may say in a sense, yes oh yes, that Vestra's medallion is akin to the farmer's horn. But rather than calling upon farmers to do as I ask, I use it so that I may call upon the voices in the psi'vali."
Pa'Rin knew this word; her parents said it was the life force of all good and wise beings, and that she was rich with it. Vestra paused for Pa'Rin to begin asking questions again.
"There are voices in the psi'vali?" asked Pa'Rin. "Mother and father never spoke of this, not even idly."
"That is sensible to Vestra," the old woman said. "There are few who have such knowledge. Or rather, there are few who would choose to believe such a thing to be true. I am one such Trylian who believes. And practices, so you see." She let the medallion hang low again, fixing her eyes on the bones in the prahma.
"To begin the divination, I speak what is written upon the medallion and on the prahma, like this." Vestra shut her lids once more and muttered words of a foreign tongue as she moved the medallion in a continuous circular pattern above the prahma. She did not do this for very long, and when finished, resumed her explanation.
"So you see, Vestra understands that knowledge is not limited to the minds of Trylians. Knowledge and life are in all things. Psi'vali is everywhere. But most Trylians, they are not so keen of ear that they may hear all that is true in the world. So, it is with the aid of the prahma and the medallion that I may improve my hearing."
Pa'Rin laughed lightly and genuinely. As fantastic as the old woman's words were, she seemed to follow with no trouble.
Vestra cleared a space for herself on the prahma, moving a few of the mysterious papers and stones aside. She rested her arms on the prahma's flat top, and run her fingers along the top lip of the prahma's depression. "It is with the medallion that I call upon the psi'vali to speak its truth to me when I may hear it. However, it is the bones that relay what the psi'vali has to say."
Pa'Rin craned her head a bit, peering once again at the modest pile of small bones.
"Are they Trylian?" Pa'Rin asked with a brave face.
Vestra paused thoughtfully. "Yes, my child, but do not fear. Vestra did not slay a single man or woman or child. These are but gifts from those who came before. I am part of an ancient collective of diviners of the bones. It is our way that when we die, we may bestow the gift of our bones to those in the collective that are still living. For what better bones to divine with than those who believe in their sacred power?" The old woman smiled unapologetically.
The young girl, though, did not flinch, but was fascinated with the potential of this practice, if even part of what Vestra said was true. And it did Pa'Rin's heart some good to know that the bones had not been acquired through nefarious means, however unsettling the notion was.
Pa'Rin stared intently at the bones now, matching their shapes to those she had been taught about by her parents when studying the anatomy of the Trylian body. She thought she recognized an index finger joint at the top, and a portion of an ankle bone jutting from the bottom. The rest were an eerily beautiful jumble of milky curves and shadows, and all alarming clean.
"Whom did these bones belong to, Vestra?"
"Were those of a dear, dear friend. Kupestri was his name. Many phases did he live, and much did he heed the bones. I was most saddened by his departure from our world, but it is joy that now fills my heart, knowing that he shall assist Vestra in her quest for knowing, as he takes his place with Ves on the cloud."
Pa'Rin stifled a shudder as she listened, though her mind told her that the old woman meant well and carried a deep respect for the man.
The man whose bones now sit before me, she considered.
The young girl sought to shift away from the macabre turn in the conversation. "Why are the bones special? Why are they able to…I mean, what is it that the bones have to do with psi'vali?"
Vestra straightened up as best she could, still lovingly gazing at the white remains of her old friend. "The bones are the very core of every creature; the strength, the structure, the solidity. But indeed, they also have many secrets to share."
The old woman reverently lifted half of a femur out of the depression and held it in front of Pa'Rin. "Look closely, my dear. Do you see them, each and every one?"
Pa'Rin nodded. She knew that bones were porous; she had learned as much in her lessons. "Yes, I see the small holes. What of them?"
Vestra studied the bone for herself, bringing it closer to her own eyes. "The psi'vali that we all carry with us comes to rest, if only for a scrap of a moment, in the many little channels and tunnels we all have in the bones. The bones are at the center, and at the center is where the psi'vali rests and converses with itself." Pa'Rin imagined a great cave filled with thousands of interlocking passages, where travelers may rest and converse about their journeys. Was this was Vestra was saying?
The old woman placed the bone fragment in precisely the spot she had taken it from. "The prahma acts as a place for the bones to rest once they are no longer within the Trylian body. The psi'vali lingers on, and it is with this—"
She held up the medallion once again.
"—that we call on the errant psi'vali of the world to join that which lingers in the bones of the prahma. Do you see, my little dear?"
Pa'Rin did not fully understand the complex nature of the prahma and the role the bones played, but she pretended that she did.
"It is important," Vestra went on, "that many scents are burned and cast into the air, for they draw the psi'vali that is foreign to the bones, and soothes the lingering psi'vali into remaining." Pa'Rin's nose twitched with surprise; if a few more scents were introduced into the present mélange, there'd not be a speck of psi'vali for several provinces.
"Once I have summoned the attention of the psi'vali, I set about listening." Vestra reached back to her right and lifted a small silvery object from a holding brace mounted into the mud of the wall. The object was no longer than a finger, and was open on one end. It, like the bowl resting in the center of the prahma's hole, had a small lip around the top. Vestra inserted the object – it looked like a phial, but an alien one to Pa'Rin's eyes – into the hole in the center of the medallion.
"This is filled with a blend of hyllaria weed and jirsin extract, as well as other plants from all reaches of Trylia. It is with this that I open myself to the voices of the psi'vali that is drawn to the prahma."
Pa'Rin was a statue; apprehension had given way to fascination. She could not look away.
Vestra held the medallion and phial in one hand, and produced the black firestone once more in the other. She muttered something soundlessly, and a spark sprang to life and leapt into the phial. A tiny orange glow crept out from the top of it, followed by a tiny curl of red-gray smoke that thickened into a steadily ascending plume that snaked upward at mysterious speed.
"The smoke works to place my mind in a state of openness; my body becomes an ear to the voices. With my mind, I speak what I wish to know, and my thoughts – my voice – carries through the smoke and mingles with the voices of the psi'vali. I wait for an echo to return. It is the echo of my own voice, but when it reaches Vestra, it is reshaped into the answers to my questions. I do not always hear what I wish to hear, but it is up to Vestra to do well with what is told to me."
She capped the top of the phial with her thumb, killing the tiny unseen flame and the smoke along with it. "On one occasion years ago, I put forth a question I very often ask: 'What may I do today to help the people of Trylia?' And it answered: 'Find the woman and man known as Leital and Agran.'"
Pa'Rin shook out of her stillness. "You heard that from the psi'vali? What does the voice sound like?"
Vestra nearly answered, but couldn't. She considered for a moment, plumbing the depths of her memory for a solid answer, but could only find hints and guesses. "I would say that it sounds like myself; as I said before, the voices and the answers that are spoken by them are but transformed echoes. However, I believe that the sound of my voice is but a mask, covering the true sound of the psi'vali. I suspect it is a voice made from many; untold numbers too numerous for Vestra to total. When I am in the depths of divination, I perhaps am able to assign a certain quality to the voice; but when I arise from my divining at the prahma, the memory of it vanishes like so much smoke.
"And so it was that I asked, 'What may I do once I find these people?' And the psi'vali replied, 'Help the woman deliver her child.' I asked if I should help in raising you, and the voices said 'Do not speak with her until she is the age of seven; she will find you when it is time to speak with her again.' And find me you did.
"But the psi'vali did not say how to find your parents, though I had asked. I have found that the psi'vali answers only questions that need answering.
"One day soon after, as I was coming home from the marketplace, I could hear the anguished cries of a woman from behind a jirsin bush just off the path – forgive, my dear little one, if you have heard the tale of your birth before."
Pa'Rin shook her head, dumbfounded. "This is the first I have heard of this," she said.
Vestra nodded softly. "So I see, yes, yes. I went to see who was in such terrible pain, and I found a woman and a man. The man looked frightened and unsure. He turned to me and said, "Good woman, my wife is about to give birth! Will you assist me?" He told me later that he and his wife were heading home, but that the pangs of childbirth had arisen earlier than they had expected."
Pa'Rin's eyes were wet with tears. It filled her with grief and joy to hear of her parents again.
Mother and Father never told me this. Oh, how I love them so.
Vestra went on. "It was fortunate that I happened by at that moment. No, no, not merely fortunate; it was fortune. Vestra has done many a thing, and helping to bring a child into the world is one of them. Your father had rolled up his cloak and laid it under your mother's head. I took my own cloak and laid it on the ground before your mother, so you would have a clean, soft welcoming into this world.
"Your mother was in too much pain to show her fear. She strained and strained, and your father held her hand and told her that he loved her. And, soon enough, you arrived.
"I took you up in my cloak, and handed you to your mother and father. He cleaned you off with a torn bit of garment he had with him. There was a small stream nearby, and I fetched some water, filling the bladdersack I had with me, so that you and your parents could wash with it."
Vestra paused with a deep sigh. Her eyes too had become damp with emotion. She smiled lovingly at Pa'Rin. The girl had to avert her gaze after a moment, she was so overcome. Pa'Rin let the new knowledge course through her mind, like the psi'vali Vestra had described in the pores of the bones. She could see the pieces of the tale circling around one another, brushing past, connecting and disconnecting. And the sensation was considerable. She managed to speak.
"Was that all the time you spent with my parents, or did you speak with them after my birth?"
"I returned to their home – your home – shortly thereafter. They thanked me for my help. Your mother rested with you at her breast, as they two of you slept through the night and into the new day that followed. Your father prepared a meal of gratitude for me that evening."
"Father does cook well."
"Indeed, yes oh yes. But there were things I discussed with your father that evening, and again the following day with your mother – things that the psi'vali had told me, and that I have not yet told to you."
In the pit of her stomach, Pa'Rin felt the tiniest bit of sickness stirring. She did not look forward to the rest of Vestra's tale.
"Before I shared with your parents what the psi'vali had shared with me, I asked them how it was that you came about. Vestra knew this is not a proper nor ordinary question to ask, but I knew the answer I would receive would justify the question. You do know, dear one, that your mother did not conceive you with your father, nor with any other man, yes?"
Pa'Rin nodded shyly. This she knew, and knew it was why she had been named as an unexpected blessing. And she knew it was why she was feared by so many.
"Your parents answered yes. I had to hear it from their own mouths before I told them what the voices had spoken to me. From the psi'vali to the bones, from Vestra to your mother and father, this is what was said:
"I told them that I was not privy to how you came to be, my dear. Nor am I now; the psi'vali decided this was not worth answering, so you see. But they did share with Vestra that you come from many places and no places all at once."
Again, the tide of time stopped and Pa'Rin was stranded on the shore, shivering and alone. But she was not afraid. She knew in her heart she could not afford to be. She nodded, almost heroically, and continued. She knew the very fiber of her existence was being laid before her, strand by strand, for the first time. She would miss nothing.
"I told them the day would come when we would meet again, you and I. Since that day when bones spoke of our impending reunion, I have not consulted them."
"You haven't divined since before I was born?" Pa'Rin asked.
"Truly spoken, my little one. But worry not; for an old woman such as I, time passes more quickly, and the wait was over before I knew it. The psi'vali said there would be no need to consult them until such time. And here we are." She showed neither joy nor dread. "The psi'vali spoke of your birth, and spoke of your path in the flow of life. Your future."
Pa'Rin swallowed. "What did it say? Was the news good or bad?" She wanted to know and not know. Could she choose not to believe whatever Vestra said next?
The old woman grinned proudly at the girl. It was obvious to Pa'Rin that Vestra had been preparing for this moment. She thought she would be better equipped for the news she was about to deliver. A solitary tear stumbled down her time-creased cheek.
"The psi'vali informed me of the importance of your life, dear one. Sadly, as I have said before, the messages are not always made as clear as Vestra would care to hear them—"
Pa'Rin frowned with impatience.
"But," Vestra said, "I have sworn to myself that I would do as the psi'vali has instructed me. I know not where to start, for there are many things to tell. Let us begin with a milder truth, shall we?
"You life shall span a great many years, so they said. And when the day comes that you leave this world, when your bones are all that is left and you ascend to Ves' golden cloud, you shall be remembered honorably. You will not die in vain."
Pa'Rin looked at the floor. Not to shrink away from what she was hearing, but to cope with the shock of it. She closed her eyes tightly, nodding a bit, and resumed looking at Vestra.
"I was also told that no living creature of Trylia – no man, no beast – will ever harm you. The psi'vali volunteered this information to me; I know not why, but Vestra does not question such things."
It is Vestra who now averted her eyes. "However, child, harm may befall you nevertheless at the hands of a foreigner."
Pa'Rin moved forward, her hands resting on the prahma as she leaned in closer. "That makes no sense, Vestra … a foreigner … to Trylia?" Pa'Rin's thoughts flashed to the Havenworld, the only world foreign to Trylia she was aware of. Never in her visits to that exotic land had she encounter any sentient life forms. Just the moss and the flowers.
Vestra shook her head helplessly, as if to say I can divine the voices from the psi'vali, but I cannot always divine the meaning of their messages.
"Sad to say, yes oh yes, I am at a loss to explain. But it will happen, it pains me to inform you. It is unclear how or when. Many years hence, and yet somehow so much sooner. It is hard to say. I am so sorry."
Pa'Rin knelt before the prahma, falling hard on her knees but barely noticing the pain. Nothing but riddles from the old woman. Nonsense, to be sure … but she spoke with such conviction, with such affection for the girl's well-being … how could she be lying?
The girl shook her head. "No. I don't believe them. I don't believe you."
"The bones have never lied," the old woman assured her, "and if ever they have, then a fine task of deceiving this old heart have they performed. They are honest messengers. Never have they foretold a thing that has become unhappened."
A red anger rose in Pa'Rin's chest. "What does my death have to do with my parents, old woman? You say that I must let you help me find them, but your words do nothing but confuse and hurt me!" Pa'Rin wanted to run to the door, to hug her dear Rymar around the neck and fly away. But she knew her business with Vestra was unfinished.
Vestra shrugged, as if she had not seen the growing rage in the young girl's eyes. "The psi'vali have offered no reason for their news, and never have. They simply answer with honesty. But that is not to say it is without reason that you have come to learn such truths. It is Vestra's opinion that you must prepare for your fate, and not attempt to waver from it. You see, the fate I have shown you is but one of many fates; however, it is this fate, this path, that you must follow, or else …"
The old woman fell silent. Shook her head. She had heeded the voices with devout obedience all these long years. It made her task no easier, however.
Before Pa'Rin could ask what Vestra was about to say, the old woman spoke up. "There is a legend spoken of in Trylia. The legend of the kaam'da. You have heard of it, yes?"
"Of course," Pa'Rin said hotly. "People have called me that before. Mother says that the people who fear me say those things because it is in their nature to hurt someone with the worst possible words. They say I am a monster, though they do not know me at all. It hurts me when I hear them call me that, but Mother always…what did she say…oh, yes: 'If a man calls another man a horse, there are still only two men standing when all is silent.'"
Vestra stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Yes oh yes, your mother is wise. But what if Vestra told you some of those who called you a kaam'da actually believed that you were?"
The little girl shook her head. "That does not matter. I am not the ruin of all things. I know this."
"Vestra did not say that you were, my dear. Vestra does not believe so either. But my collective and I are not the only ones who divine the bones. Others have listened to the voices of the psi'vali, through other bones and with other prahmas. And they are not as trusting as Vestra is. They choose to hear the echoes as warnings, not blessings, and as tidings of darkness. They are fearful folk, hearing what they wish to hear and not what is truly said, and take everything they hear as a threat. What I am saying, my dearest one, is that Vestra does not see you as a threat; nay, she sees you as the ultimate salvation, yes oh yes. In the depths of my bones do I believe this. But there are others who see you as the kaam'da. They feel you will be the death of us all. And they would carry out what grim plans that they may, if they believe it will serve to destroy that which threatens them.
"It is these people, Pa'Rin, that have taken your parents, I believe."
The crushing weight of it all had finally become too much for Pa'Rin to bear. She sobbed uncontrollably, her head buried in her arms as they rested on the prahma. It seemed impossible to accept, that vast ominous forces far beyond her control were conspiring to doom her. What was it Vestra had said about her life, that she had many years before the end came? Would they be years of prosperity, or of torture? Or something in between; a life that flailed wildly from pain to hope and back again, always living in the shadow of fate?
Rymar, who had been resting in the tall grass outside, heard Pa'Rin's sobs and peered in through the window. His instincts told him that the woman was responsible for the girl's pain, but he could see no sign of physical injury. He butted his muzzle against the door, hoping to get her attention.
Pa'Rin looked up, startled, and went to the door swiftly, throwing it open and embracing Rymar's neck just as she'd wanted to. Rymar sniffed happily at Pa'Rin, but sensed something wasn't right. Vestra simply sat, tired from the task she had just performed, resting for what lay ahead.
The girl scratched behind her tralion's ears as she stared into the night sky. So clear it was, with the stars twinkling peacefully and indifferently. She wished she was dreaming all of this; that she was still back at the pond in the woods, lying on a cool carpet of leaves, with Rymar and her toy sword at her side, having simply fallen into a very bad dream, that her mother would call for her and father would prepare the evening meal. A cruel little squall of chilly air rose up, slapping Pa'Rin in the face, rousing her back to reality.
Pa'Rin turned to head back inside, but stopped. Vestra was at the door, draped in her cloak and likewise staring at the night.
"Time was, I had lived where I was closer to others," she said wistfully. "Since I learned of this news, I have gone into hiding. No psi'vali guided me to this place, but Vestra did not wish to cross the paths of those that may do harm to me, or to your family. Vestra has always had your best interest in mind, so you see. But now it is time for you to be looking for your parents. Yes oh yes."
But Pa'Rin did not feel like moving. She slumped down next to Rymar, her back resting against his smooth and scaly hide. "What hope is there? Will they be unharmed when I find them? If I find them? Will they be alive or dead? Has the psi'vali told you any of that, Vestra?"
The old woman sighed. "All I am knowing is that you will find them alive. They will have important words for you. But I can say no more."
Pa'Rin stood up, steadying herself against Rymar. "Why not? Can't you divine the bones again? Right now, for me?"
Vestra bowed her head so low that it could not be seen; all Pa'Rin could discern was an angled landscape of shaded wrinkly flesh. "The psi'vali said that I would need not divine until I am once again visited, after you have left me. After this parting, I shall never see you again."
Pa'Rin barely heard her. The woman's word defied logic. "What do they say of my parents' condition? Will they be injured, or…"
"My dear, I had asked these questions and more of the voices, and they have told me all that they will. This is all that Vestra may share with you. You will find more answers, in time. But not here."
The young girl shook her head. "How do you know the bones aren't lying? Is that not possible?" But she knew Vestra would stand firmly by what she'd already claimed, that the psi'vali never failed to speak truly. Pa'Rin shivered with futility.
"We've lost the scent," Pa'Rin went on. "Rymar lost the scent we were following. We found a spearhead in the ashes of where I last saw my parents—"
"Do you mean, this?" Vestra threw back part of her cloak. Clutched tightly in her hand was the spearhead, gleaming with the light of the scent burning lamps. Pa'Rin blinked several times at the object.
"How in Trylia did you get that?" Pa'Rin shouted joyfully. It was the first time in hours she'd felt anything close to happiness.
Vestra looked away, coyly. "Oh, Vestra saw something glimmering in the weeds when I came out to give your tralion his drink earlier."
Every cell of in Pa'Rin's body knew that was an outright lie. Vestra wasn't trying to make her actually believe it, she figured. The old woman was simply keeping a secret.
"How did you really get it, Vestra. No half-truths or no-truths." Why must she try my trust in her?
Vestra tittered. "So sorry, my blessing. Let us just say that the spearhead found its way to Vestra, leading you and your tralion friend to Vestra as well."
Pa'Rin could not deny that. She was desperate to know the truth, but chose not to pursue it.
Was it magic? she thought. It could have been, couldn't it have? Yes. That is good enough for me. If I am to believe she hears voices from bones, then surely this is within her power also.
"Come inside, my dear little one. Vestra will return the spearhead to you, and provide you with food and supplies for the long journey ahead. You will find your trail again, and it will lead you to where you need to go." Vestra turned and went back inside the hut, rummaging around her shelves and placing items in a woven sack beside the prahma.
Pa'Rin stood there, somewhat relieved. The world was far stranger to her now, but things were somehow starting to make sense. She thought about the fortunes Vestra had spoken of, about her destiny and how she must act upon it. But none of that mattered at the moment. Her parents were waiting.
I believe some of what Vestra says, but I do not wish to believe all of it. Is that possible for me to do?
She kissed Rymar on the top of his head. "We're almost ready to go, Ry." And back into to Vestra's hut she went, for the last time ever.