Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tara rose before Felicima, eyes blinking against darkness. After weeks of practice, the routine had worked its way into her body. She stood, yawned and stretched, then slipped on moccasins before venturing into the predawn coolness of morning. Her arms bore waterskins and her feet carried a firesider toward the well.

I’ve become one of them, she realized, thinking of the woman her mother had pointed out on their first visit. The emptiness behind that woman’s eyes must match Tara’s, and she quickly filled the bladders, then hurried to begin her day.

Toil was the ancient way of the Pescari. While the city dwellers may have forgotten its meaning, the firesiders had not. There was meat to hunt and bread to bake, lariats to braid, baskets to weave, and so forth. Work ensured survival and, though firesiders were forbidden from selling openly in the market, trading men would visit at midday to shop for wares. These go-betweens sought impeccable quality. If Tara hoped to make some coin, she would also need to finish her baskets. Four sat completed against the wall of Kailani’s hovel beside three more yet to weave.

But first she had to light the fire, check her traps, and prepare breakfast for the family. The brick oven waited as Tara unloaded her burden beside the unfinished baskets. She filled the hungry mouth with a blend of oak and birch, then built a nest of kindling in the center. Thinking of how Lina had lit a flame using Felicima’s eye, Tara frowned at the darkness. She had to use the other method she’d learned and carefully struck a dull blade against flint. After several attempts and a bruised finger, she succeeded.

Tara eyed the horizon, taking relief in its darkness. There was so much more to do, and the work must be completed before the goddess emerged. She still had doubts regarding the deity, but she had learned to keep those to herself. She asked questions when she could, seeking to further understand the culture of her people.

The fireside tradition, it turned out, was more than mere doling out of punishment and instead served as the source of daily blessing for the tribe. When Felicima finally awakened from her slumber, she would witness the wretchedness of her people first thing. The widows, lame, and indebted would always be hard at work when the goddess rose, just like Tara did now. She earned for all the people a daily dose of mercy instead of wrath.

After ensuring the fire had roared to life and would continue to burn, Tara ventured out once more down the southern road following the river. In the dark, she found it difficult to spot the specific boulder she sought, but she eventually recognized the signal to turn eastward. This road, Adsil said, led toward the mines. He had been proud to point out this crossroad, well shaded and with parts overgrown, describing it as the perfect place to snare quail.

Tara scanned the horizon, finding the first glow of Felicima beginning to rise. She quickened her pace, checking the traps laid the night before and finding two birds struggling against imprisonment. Snapping their necks for mercy, the girl thanked Felicima for the nourishing heat they would provide Kailani and her wards.

A melodious cry interrupted the silence of morning, reaching Tara’s ears and mournfully condemning the loss of tiny lives. She turned, expecting another quail, but found a surprising creature watched on. As large as an eagle, a different sort of raptor perched on a rock, cocking its head and measuring the girl with fierce eyes that nearly glowed the yellow of fire. Its feathers, layers of red and orange, lay flat against a skin that matched the appraising orbs.

“What sort of bird are you?” Tara asked softly, careful not to send it flying away or raging toward human prey.

It silently fanned its plume, revealing splendid colors. With a screech and a powerful beating of wings it rose up into the air, a spectacle of ascending grace. Tara marveled how the light reflected off the beast, shimmering and flaring under the rising eye of Felicima. The bird almost appeared to burn with inner flame as it surged into the sky, eastward to warn the awakening goddess of the human it had encountered.

Tara thought instantly of Robert, her sweet love who desired to soar with eagles. She finally understood his desire now, yearning to join this bird rising into the sky. If only it could have carried her off to her love, she would find happiness and rekindle the spark they shared with their first kiss.

No. She told herself, putting aside selfish thoughts. I must first honor Felicima by learning my people’s ways. Flaya had been right after all. Robert will have to wait.

She quickly lashed the quail and tied them to her belt, hurrying toward New Weston and the waiting fireside. As she approached, an angry Kailani stood on her crutch next to a cold oven.

“Why didn’t you light the fire?” the old woman demanded.

“I did.” Tara peered inside. The wood, once roaring with flames, had completely burned to ash. “That’s impossible,” she protested. “I was only gone for a few moments, only long enough to check my traps. There’s no way the fire burned all the wood!”

“More likely, you failed to sweep yesterday’s ashes and forgot entirely to light it today!” Kailani scolded, placing a feeble hand against the stones. “It’s obviously cold! If you had lit it I would have burned myself, or at least felt warmth.” She pointed a finger to the rising light in the sky. “Felicima witnesses your lies, and so you are unclean. Do not leave the house again until nightfall.”

“No.” Tara did not mean to speak the word, and it’s utterance surprised her as much as Kailani.

“Excuse me?” The old woman stood straighter, as tall as her curved spine would allow. It had been ages since she had felt such emotion, and she stared up at the girl with unbridled anger. “Do you openly display defiance as well? Here, on the fireside, and beneath the eye of Felicima? Your mother did well to bring you to me and, were I younger, I would beat this arrogance from you.”

“I do not defy the goddess,” Tara explained, but her defiance continued.

She would never be a true Pescari and Kailani knew it. She watched as the girl’s jaw clenched and cheeks danced with anger. “So you defy me, then? Either way it’s an affront to our goddess. Go now, serve your penance away from her gaze and maybe she won’t curse you further.”

“Curse me?” The girl let out a laugh, but the words which followed were laced with anger. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said. “I’m dutiful under Felicima’s eye, and your correction of me offends her! You forget I’m no firesider and don’t belong here with you!”

Kailani froze in place, watching the girl as she scolded. Her eyes, she observed, I’ve seen those before! Every muscle in her body abruptly trembled with fear as she remembered. Once a dull brown, they had changed color to golden, burning like embers with her fury.

“You must leave my home,” the old woman commanded, “now and never to return.”

“No,” the girl said again, defying the elder.

“Twice blasphemed is thrice punished, child,” Kailani warned. “Be off with you, and make haste in your departure.”

“So you cast me out of the fireside?” Tara spat upon Kailani’s hovel. “I leave on my own accord.”

Kailani smoothed her buckskins and watched the girl depart. She would be trouble, just as her father before her. Looking up to the goddess she said a prayer for blessing, pleading for mercy and forgiveness. Her people’s troubles had not ended with Taros’ death, and the daughter may be worse than the father.

“Kailani banned you from the fireside?” Flaya spoke the words as accusation, not with disbelief. She had expected this outcome. The girl knelt before her, begging forgiveness and spouting nonsense about how she had tried to honor the goddess. “You’re an embarrassment to our people,” the mother scolded.

“Then send me to Robert,” Tara quipped, earning a backhanded slap across her mouth.

“The prince won’t have you!”

“Prince?”

“That’s right! Your sweet love is the Prince of Andalon, no doubt matched to an eligible arrangement by now. What? You really thought he’d choose a Pescari wife? No, Tara, women like us are only passing dalliances to Andalonian men. They mean to lure us, defile us, then leave us with bastard children.”

“Robert’s not like that!” Tara shouted.

Flaya turned away as the door to her apartment opened. Teot stood in the entrance, waiting.

“She won’t take her back,” the shappan said sadly. “We must move up her test, whether she’s ready or not.”

“So be it,” Flaya agreed, “I am through with her insolence. Take her, whether she returns a Pescari or dies in the wilderness makes no difference to me. May Felicima judge her worthiness!” She turned her back on Tara. “I’m finished raising her.”

Teot nodded and helped his great-niece into a standing position. Her muscles trembled at his touch, but her skin felt normal. That was good, with all the yelling he half expected her to burn feverishly.

“Come,” he commanded and she obeyed. He led her outside where two horses waited, tied to hitch, nervously snorting at their bridles. To saddle was an Andalonian custom, not Pescari, but they needed supplies and also to move quickly. The Pescari custom would not do for this journey.

Tara took the reins immediately, eager to be gone. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To find a goddess.”