| |
It was a sacred night. It was a wedding night. Around the fire, the children of the oasis danced. "Ŝùde. ŝùde," they chanted, calling for blessings. The full moon witnessed their prayers.
Smoke spiraled from the burning wood. Adults stood by their huts, chanting along while sprinkling salt. From the west, the men of the Gudea tribe emerged, carrying the sixteen-year-old groom on a golden palanquin. He was dressed in a short tunic, belted at the waist, and a nervous smile.
Like a sunrise, marriage symbolized a new beginning; thus, the newlywed had built his home in the furthermost east of the oasis. It had one room, with the hearth in its center, and on the side, the bedding stuffed with aromatic herbs.
There, the thirteen-year-old bride waited, dressed in a white garment that trailed on the ground. Her long hair was braided to the side and adorned with the white and golden hilis, her favorite flower.
When the groom entered, the bride offered a graceful bow. "My name is Rimanis," she said. "Please, take care of me."
The groom’s face beamed at the sight of his bride. The glow in her bronze skin, and the fragility in her eyes—he had never seen such beauty before.
"J-jivaros." He dropped into a deep bow. "My name is Jivaros. I promise I’ll take good care of you."
A coy smile spread across Rimanis’s face.
***
Five years passed, and the love Jivaros had for his wife grew. Rimanis’s external beauty mirrored that within. She was an artist and a Seer. From plants and herbs, she created pigments and painted things no one in the oasis knew.
One day, Jivaros walked into the hut to find Rimanis’s fingers wet with colorful paint. On a wooden canvas, she had painted a medieval castle with round towers and a large moat— something Jivaros had never seen before.
"What is this?" Jivaros asked.
"It’s someone’s home, in a land far away. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."
"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," Jivaros said. From the pouch bag at his waist, he pulled out a hili, and gently, he put it in his wife’s hair.
She blushed.
Another day, Jivaros found his wife weeping. Her fingers were wet with blood-red pigment. On her canvas, she had painted men fighting, blood splattering, and the water of the spring turning red.
"What does this mean?" Jivaros asked.
"It means war is about to start." Rimanis’s hands trembled. "The tribes will fight over the sacred spring."
"We have always shared the water."
"Yes, but this year, there will be no rain," she explained in a fearful voice. "The men will choose to fight. They will ask you to join them."
"Don’t be scared, Rimanis." He wrapped his arms around her. "I never choose violence. We will find a way to solve this without bloodshed."
"We have to run away. Jivaros," she said, weeping. "I beg you. I don’t want to live in a world of hatred."
"I’ll never let anything hurt you." Jivaros tightened his grip and stroked her hair.
As a Seer, Rimanis could glance into the future, but for some reason, she saw neither her husband’s nor hers. She never told him, but the inability to see scared her. It scared her too much not to know, to give up control and let fate unfold. She refused to believe ignorance was bliss.
***
A few months later, Rimanis’s vision came to life. The five tribes declared a civil war, the Brothers War, and the chief of the Gudea ordered Jivaros to join. "What will we do now?" Rimanis asked, heartbroken.
"Tonight, we leave," her husband said.
"Where will we go?" Her eyes shined with a faint ray of hope.
"Does it matter?"
"No." She smiled. "I’ll go anywhere with you."
"But I have to warn you," he said. "It’ll be a long ride until we find a safe village."
"I’ll ride with you for the rest of my life." Rimanis reached for his hand and pulled it close to her heart.
The two lovers headed west, where they settled in a peaceful village by the river. There were no other witches there; therefore, they had to keep their powers hidden. "People resent those who are different," Jivaros said. "We have to be the same as everyone else."
For ten years, Jivaros and Rimanis hid. They made their living making pottery, inlaid by Rimanis’s art. But eventually, they grew tired of the alienation, and their hearts ached, longing for home. Alas, the home they returned to was more bitter than the one they had left. The war changed the people of the oasis. Their bonds melted, and their hearts hardened.
***
Nature punished those who fought in the Brothers War by taking away their magic. The former warriors meandered in the land, searching for a way to make a living. Farming, herding, merchandising—none of that filled the hole magic left in their hearts.
Those who never fought at the Brothers War kept their powers intact, but they came to be loathed, envied, and belittled within their tribes. Magic, which was once an honor, became a shame.
Soon after the two lovers were back, Rimanis found a guest at her door: a young witch with a brown cloak hiding most of her face. "P-please, tell me what the f-future holds," she begged.
Rimanis invited her in, and the two women held hands over a small fire. Rimanis closed her eyes and glanced into the witch’s life. "You’re in pain," Rimanis said. "Someone is hurting you. I see a warrior who carries a staff."
"M-my hus-sband."
"You are having his child," she added. "A little girl. She’ll grow up healthy and beautiful."
"She will?" the witch asked with excitement.
"So will her daughter and her daughter’s daughter," Rimanis added. "I see a long line of women in your family. One of them will be more powerful than the others."
Rimanis pulled her hands away when she saw something that scared her, something she didn’t understand.
"I-is s-something wrong?" the witch asked.
Rimanis opened her eyes and gaped in silence.
"D-did you see m-my future?"
Rimanis nodded.
"C-can you t-tell me about it?" The young witch looked gullible. How could this fragile girl be not just a murderer but the server of doom?
Rimanis arranged her thoughts before she answered, "I can see that your future will be an echo of your choices," she said. "Always choose kindness, Lú."
***
The chief of the Gudea tribe showed up at Jivaros’s home uninvited. He was an old, bitter man who never learned how to smile. "There’s a ritual I want you and your wife to do for me," he said. "A purification ritual to bring my powers back."
"Pardon me, Chief," Jivaros replied. "Your powers were taken away as a punishment. We can’t fight the laws of nature."
"I haven’t forgotten what you did, Jivaros," the chief said. "Ten years ago, you fled the Oasis and abandoned your tribe at the time of war... Unless you do the ritual, I shall banish you. Neither you nor your wife will step foot in the oasis."
The two lovers were left with a choice. Although their hearts were pure, they failed to learn from the lessons of the past. They agreed to do the spell, interfering with the natural course of things. Thereupon, they were punished by a fatal illness that slowly ate their bodies away.
The disease manifested in Rimanis first. She lay in bed with a fever. Her face was pale and her voice faint. Jivaros sat next to her and cried, "Be strong, Rimanis. You promised to ride with me for the rest of your life."
"And I kept my promise," Rimanis said while caressing his face with her scrawny hand. "Don’t be scared, my love. We have paid our debt to this world."
A rattling cough fit seized Rimanis, and blood dripped out of her mouth. Jivaros hurried to the fire, on which a healing potion boiled. Its thyme-scented steam weaved into the air. "Why is this taking so long?" Jivaros shouted. He grabbed a wooden bucket and threw it at the door, breaking it into halves. "It is all my fault. We should have never come back to the oasis."
"Don’t blame yourself, Jivaros... Jivaros," Rimanis tried to call out, but her voice couldn’t reach him.
Jivaros sought the help of every healer in the oasis, but no one wanted to get involved. One witch, however, was kind enough to give him advice. He told him to let Rimanis go, to sacrifice her life for his. "You’ll find another wife." His grin showed his oversized, brownish teeth.
Hatred deluged Jivaros’s heart. He despised the oasis and its people. Why do they get to live while Rimanis has to die? he asked himself over and over again, succumbing to the despair.
***
Things changed when Rimanis’s friend, Lú, showed up one night with her child in her arms. The moment Jivaros met her, he knew she’d be able to help, but he had to wait for the right time to persuade her.
"Tell me, Jivaros, what spell do you need?" Lú asked, intrigued by his offer to help her escape the oasis.
Jivaros tucked his arms behind his back and said, "A dark spell."
"W-what?" Lú recoiled in shock.
"Listen to me," he said. "My wife is dying. I tried everything to save her, but I failed. This is my last chance. All I want is a spell. A spell that stretches our lifelines and overcomes death."
"This g-goes against the l-laws of nature," Lú said.
"So be it," he stressed. "Why does Rimanis have to die?"
"People die, Jivaros, and Rimanis has had a long life."
"Not long enough." He was adamant.
Lú glanced at her bed-bound friend, who took a loud and gurgling inhalation. Every breath she took was hard work, it seemed.
Lú turned to Jivaros asking, "Do you love her?"
"I’d give my life for her," he said, and the witch dropped her gaze, pondering.
***
It was a wicked night. It was a sinful night. Not a whisper could be heard in the oasis. From the darkness, Lú emerged along with Jivaros, who carried his dying wife in his arms. The blue moon witnessed their vile intentions.
Far from home, they came to a stop. While Lú set the altar for their spell, Jivaros laid his wife on the sand. Although she smelled like death, he was determined to keep her alive. He untied a water canteen and brought it to her lips. "Drink."
Rimanis forced herself to swallow.
When the altar was ready, Jivaros and his wife sat in the center, surrounded by blood. "I don’t want to do this, Jivaros," Rimanis whispered.
"Trust me." He kissed her on the forehead. "The best of our lives is yet to come."
Standing at the edge of the altar, Lú summoned her grimoire. Jivaros could see her hesitation in her trembling lips.
"You’re doing the right thing," he affirmed.
Lú glanced at her daughter, who lay at her feet. She gave Jivaros a hesitant nod before she began to chant, "O-obsecro te noc-ctis et tenebr-rarum-m, et factus est mihi."
A thousand years passed, but Jivaros never forgot that night—the spell going wrong, Rimanis dying in his arms, the child wailing, and her mother falling to her knees. He remembered the anger, the sorrow, the guilt, and the fact these feelings lasted for only a moment. Jivaros never had time to grieve because, in a moment, all his feelings faded. Even the love he had for his wife vanished along with his soul.
