"The Tinganjani Seal"
Part 5
by Osiris Brackhaus

 

Drums filled the smoke-clouded interior of the tent Soraya was led into. Deep, throbbing sounds not so unlike the thunderous heartbeat of a dragon, she thought. Smoke from the fire-bowls hung in the air like gauzy veils, pungent with herbs and the clean smell of burning pine.

Shona Sirdai was at her side, together with two other women of the tribe they were guests of. Despite the old Sirdai's announcement, Soraya had learned very little about her future Sirdai on the three days travel here. There had been, though, enough opportunity to talk to Shona's grizzled old Warden Hama. About his life, his adventures, and his bonding.

The young woman's heartbeat quickened noticeably as in front of her, a circular space in the middle of the large tent formed in the hazy shadows. So that is where it is going to happen, she thought. This is where my Sirdai is going to run my own sword through my heart, offering my life to the spirits. Only if they see more need of me living at his side, as his protection, they will let me live. I could very easily die tonight.

"Don't worry, girl", Shona Sirdai whispered at her side. "It's an exceedingly rare thing that a Warden dies during the bonding. We consider our matches very carefully." With gentle insistence, the old woman pushed Soraya further towards the circle, and in the dim light, she could now make out a handful of women sitting in the shadows, beating the large ceremonial deerskin drums that had been heard already all day.

They had arrived at the tribe's camp in the early dawn today, and ever since, tonight's ceremony had been prepared. Every single step had been met with proper grace and care, and yet, to Soraya's eyes there had been a certain... urgency to the whole preparations, if not outright haste.
They hadn't met the tribe's chieftain, they hadn’t been offered a tent and a meal, as should have been proper. Soraya wasn't even sure that is was the Tree Lake Tribe they were with, she only had guessed by the subtle accents and differences in clothing and the ways of wearing the braids.

But as soon as the young five-braid had seen the two white banners flying in the breeze above the largest tent in the camp, she had realized that indeed, things weren't normal. A white banner or even simple cloth above a tent indicated a Sirdai lodging with the Tribe, not a very common thing already, but more than one at the same time was hardly ever heard of. Except, of course, for the bonding of a new Warden.

Changing a simple five-braid to a Warden, keeping him alive through the ritual and binding him so closely to his Sirdai that he always knew where he would find her and in what condition was a feat beyond the already respectable skills of any single Sirdai. All bonding rituals were conducted by three Sirdai together, with the one being bonded to the Warden joining in as the fourth.
So as Shona arrived with the potential Warden at the camp, the three Sirdai for the ritual had been complete, and the young woman had already learned that the male Sirdai was also present.

Silently, the two tribeswomen took off the soft fur cloak Soraya had been wearing on her way to the tent. Underneath, the red-haired warrior was nude except for a short loincloth that could just as well have been omitted as well. It covered as much as nothing.

"I'll be back soon", Shona Sirdai said softly, "I am fetching the others. Will you be alright?"

Soraya shrugged and watched curiously as the two women raised her arms and started to wash her body with a pungent liquid that slightly darkened her already well-tanned skin.

"Probably." She looked up at Shona again, and was relieved to see a faint smile glimmer in the old woman's eyes. "I'm excited, but I don't think I am afraid. Which, on the other hand, might be a bit stupid, considering what I'm about to do."

"You can still talk, so you'll be fine." Patting Soraya on the cheek like it would have befitted a four-year old girl, Shona Sirdai turned around and disappeared into the smoky darkness, leaving the five-braid to her thoughts again.

She wasn't afraid, not afraid of dying, at least. But what if she was not as well suited for the job as everybody had thought? What if she messed up her responsibility as a Warden?
Nonsense, she chided herself a mere heartbeat later. The spirits will decide wisely, and after all, well trained as I am, what is there to fear?

With a slight irritation, Soraya noticed someone tugging at her loincloth, and looking down, she saw one of the women trying awkwardly to rub some of the lotion onto her skin underneath the cloth.

"Is there any reason for me to keep this little thing on during the ritual?", Soraya asked, and the woman at her feet chuckled softly.

"Not really", she answered, standing up straightening her back. "I think it because men are usually a bit difficult when being completely naked and there are only women around."

"Well, I am not", the young warrior said, ripping off the loincloth with a single deft jerk. "This felt awkward the whole time already. I bet the ritual was intended with the Warden being completely nude in the first place."

The woman just shrugged, her face clearly telling that she would never dare to argue in the matters of Sirdai and Wardens.

"Have you assisted in many bondings?", Soraya asked the woman, glad to have someone to talk to after all the solemnly silent Sirdai.

"Only in one", the woman replied and took up her work of rubbing the pungent lotion into Soraya's skin. "When I was a young girl."

"I bet it's more fun to prepare a man, isn't it?", Soraya suggested dryly, and was rewarded by a stifled giggle from both women.

"Of course", the one who hadn't spoken until then replied. "But you're nice as well. It's different, though, you're not so... "

"Stiff", the other one completed, and all three women burst into laughter, so contagiously that one of the drummers even completely lost her rhythm. "This is definitely less somber than the other bonding I have assisted", the fist woman stated after a while.

With their mirth calmed down a little, the two women continued their work, one of them binding up Soraya's hair onto her head in a big knot, the other one beginning to paint white patterns of vine and water onto her arms.

It was when the other woman started to paint Soraya's legs with stones and storm that Shona Sirdai finally returned.

"I've heard you laughing", the old woman said as she walked up to them. "That's good, very good. Laughing makes good spirits listen. And we can use all assistance we can get tonight."

"I thought it's such a harmless thing?", Soraya asked in good-natured challenge, and Shona grinned widely.

"I only said that very few Wardens die." But the dark look in her old eyes clearly pointed out that there were things worse than that. "But you are doing flawlessly, dear, and I am not worried about you."

"Then who are you worried about?", the young woman asked, and the white-haired Sirdai blinked at her thoughtfully for a while.

Shona was just about to word a reply as suddenly, the sound of the drums changed, their beat growing faster, more urgent, calling. The ritual was about to begin.

Silently, the two tribeswomen hurried to add the last finishing touches to their work and packed up their stuff.

"May the spirits bless you", one of them whispered to Soraya as they left, "Losing you would be a shameful waste indeed."

Before the red-haired warrior could thank them, they were already gone, disappeared into the ever thickening, cloying smoke.

"Are you ready?", Shona Sirdai asked, and her eyes were filled with serious concern. "Very last chance to drop out."

Soraya laughed, feeling so sure of her way she would have been able to skewer herself on her sword if that had been demanded of her. "I don't think I am ready, but I will never be, so we can just as well start."

Silently, almost respectfully, the old Sirdai mustered the warrior in front of her, slowly nodding. "Yes, indeed. I wish I could have told you more. But he's your charge, and you'll have to see him without an old woman's prejudices in your mind."

The drumbeat sped up one more notch, and Soraya could see three white Sirdai robes moving in the darkness in front of her.

"Watch his eyes, girl", Shona whispered to her more urgently than ever before. "Whatever happens, watch his eyes and learn. You might be able to see all he is and will be, and you mustn't miss that moment. Not with him. Watch his eyes."

And with that, she abruptly turned around and left for the approaching Sirdai, leaving Soraya alone to ponder the meaning of this last cryptic remark.

"Sisters, all are gathered", Shona Sirdai announce with a clear voice, and on cue, the drummers started a low, humming song accompanying their instruments. "We are here to bind spirit to spirit, to protect and to serve. Shall we begin?"

"Yes." A single word, spoken by three voices as one. Soraya couldn't make out the faces of the two other Sirdai yet, and with Shona standing in front of her, she couldn't see her Sirdai at all.

"Is the sacrifice ready?", one of the other Sirdai asked, and Shona bowed in ritual agreement.

"Yes, she is. Trained and prepared, and the finest the tribes can offer. The spirits will be pleased."

It filled Soraya with a cold wave of dread as she realized that she was the sacrifice spoken of. But in a way, it was only proper, she thought. She was giving her life to protect her Sirdai, and if she didn't die tonight, it was only by the spirits' will who thought her death would be needed in another place and time. It was harsh to speak of her as a sacrifice, but proper.
Straightening her neck, the young five-braid decided that she would be truly the finest and fiercest and proudest the tribes could offer, and that there would be no hint of fear to be seen in her eyes.

"And the one taking the sacrifice? Is he ready?" Shona Sirdai stepped forward some more, and now Soraya could make out a slender figure in white between the two other Sirdai.

"Yes, he is. Trained and prepared, gifted with all talents of his calling, ready to receive a Warden and the rank of a Sirdai."

Soraya thought there was a certain relief ringing in the Sirdai's voice, like joy of an arduous task finally accomplished. But perhaps, that was just her over-eager mind playing tricks at her.

"Then, Obanian of the Hundred Rivers Tribe, step forward, and greet your sacrifice", Shona announced and stepped aside to make way for the young Sirdai to walk up to Soraya.

Behind her, the young Sirdai who would be sharing Soraya's life from now on finally came into view, and the red-haired woman had to bite her tongue not to say something very rash.

Whatever she had expected, it had definitely not been... that! The young woman had hardly spent an hour since she had received the call without thinking how her Sirdai might look like, but that was...
In Soraya's daydreams, she had imagined a slender young man, with gentle healer's hands and wisdom in his dark eyes. But the person standing a few steps away from her in the smoky haze was a gangly youth, a mere boy, thin and awkward, with no grace in his stance at all. The white Sirdai robes hung to his narrow frame like they had been stolen from someone else, and the way he had crossed his arms in front of his chest and that oddly willful curve to his neck and chin didn't hint at a meek character. Not at all.

And, despite the order he had been given by Shona Sirdai, he didn't move a single finger.

"Obanian of the Hundred Rivers Tribe", Shona repeated with slight annoyance in her voice, "step forward and greet your sacrifice!"

Still, the boy didn't move, and instead turned his gaze slowly from Soraya's body to Shona Sirdai.

"I thought we had straightened that out already", he pointed out with so much lazy arrogance in his voice that it caught Soraya's breath. "My name is Obi, and you will address me properly in front of the spirits."

A soft gasp was all the three Sirdai in the room gave as an answer to that outrageous behavior. Telling his superiors how to act in such a situation... Soraya felt the strong urge to slap the boy. If the Sirdai thought that even after having heard his wish, he was to be addressed by his formal name, then they would have a perfect reason for doing so, and it was surely not his place to question that. And definitely not the time.

Silently, the young man about to become the first male Sirdai stared at Shona with unveiled conviction that he was unassailable in this dispute. And to Soraya's surprise, it was Shona Sirdai who indeed gave in with a soft sigh.

"Come then, Obi of the Hundred Rivers Tribe, and greet your sacrifice." The old Sirdai sounded tired, deeply hoping that she would be able to pass on her burden soon enough.

This time, the young Sirdai nodded as gracefully as his gangly frame allowed, and stepped forward through the smoke until he was only a step away from Soraya. The young five-braid stared at the young man, clinging to his eyes as if her very life depended on it, for however cryptic Shona's last remark might have been, her advise had always proven right. Until now.

Obi stood almost a head smaller than his Warden-to-be, and smooth as his cheeks were, Soraya guessed him to have seen fifteen summers, maybe sixteen, no more. A brat, she thought furiously, I am to be bonded to a mean, pimply two-braid brat!
Sure, his eyes sparkled with intellect, but there was such a willfulness, such a self-conviction, that it made the young woman want to retch. It struck Soraya as odd that Obi didn't look at her eyes, and it took her a heartbeat to see that he was smirking, staring at her exposed breasts all the time. That little rodent was leering at her!

It took a respectable amount of willpower for the warrior not to slap him outright then.

"Greetings, sacrifice", the boy said without even once looking up at her face, still grinning and apparently very pleased. "I am eternally in your debt for the gift you offer. Will you accept me as the one you will protect with your life?"

Obi looked up to meet Soraya's eyes for the first time, and just for a blink she saw something behind the arrogance and snugness. For a tiny moment, the Sirdai-to-be looked anxious, lonely, lost, his eyes questioning as if longing to know if she would be the one he would be able to rely on. But as suddenly as it had appeared, the moment was gone, only to be replaced by his apparently perpetual smirk, one of his eyebrows cocked sassily.

No wonder Shona had said he was 'in a difficult condition' and 'in need of a strong hand'. This little monster apparently had never been taught his proper place, and suddenly being the first male Sirdai surely hadn't helped one bit. For a heartbeat, the red-haired warrior was tempted to decline.

But then, Soraya remembered what Chief Sydon had asked her when she had been called. 'Are you ready to serve the tribes?', he had asked, nothing of serving her Sirdai or her own dreams. And, all the spirits, that the tribes needed her help in this case was painfully obvious.

So, as gracious as the smoldering fire inside of her allowed, the five-braid answered: "Yes, I do, Obi of the Hundred Rivers Tribe." There was a clear warning, almost a threat lying underneath her words despite her best attempts at not letting her anger show, and it made the young Sirdai in front of her blink with insecurity.

"Tell me you name", he asked, rapidly regaining his composure.

"Soraya, Daughter of Varian, of the Stone Forest Tribe."

"Hand me your sword." Again, Obi's self-assurance seemed to waver, and as soon as Soraya handed over her sword that faceless hands had given her from out of the smoky darkness, anxiety definitely gained the upper hands in the young Sirdai's eyes. A certain disbelief was ringing in Obi's voice as he fingered the heavy weapon, asking: "Is this yours?"

"It has been my father's blade, and now, it is mine", she replied sternly, worriedly watching as her Sirdai's hands grew ever more restless, fiddling with the sheath like he was about to bolt and run like a deer.

"Then all is prepared", Obi replied flatly, looking to the ground. "May our proceedings be hidden from the Dark God's eyes, and only the benevolent spirits listening. We can commence."

Abruptly, he turned around, fleeing Soraya's eye contact and her immediate presence, taking the sword with him into the shadows. The young woman just hoped dearly that this terrible boy would be able to run her through properly. With a certain morbid humor, she saw Obi before her mind's eye, repeatedly stabbing at her, desperately trying to hit her heart. Failing each time, of course, and just making a big mess out of her chest.

What an obscene image.

"You're still smiling...", Shona Sirdai whispered as she suddenly turned up next to Soraya. "You're doing even better than I thought."

The young woman snorted grimly. "Smile can be the first sign of an attack", she answered, glad to have someone less complicated around for a change.

Shona chuckled softly and walked in front of her placing one hand to her chest, just above her left breast. Then, after a second of silence, the old woman took out a stick covered with pale blue color. Carefully, her wrinkled hands painted a spot above her breast with the symbol of devotion. Just above her heart.

"Does he seriously need that to hit my heart?", Soraya burst out, chuckling in dreadful disbelief.

"Not really. But he needs you." Shona's voice was completely even, and her dark eyes were like bottomless lakes in winter.

"He's a brat", the young woman snarled, straightening her neck a little more, grinning ferociously as she saw a hint of a smile in Shona's eyes.

"Watch his eyes", the white-haired Sirdai whispered once more. Then, with a last companionable nod of her head, she stepped aside, taking up a position about a step behind Soraya.

Once more, the drums sped up a last time, the chants growing louder, darker. The red-haired woman could feel her own heartbeat quicken in response to the music. A faint, odd tingle began creeping up her skin, cool and probing like a spider's touch despite the oppressive heat inside the tent.
So the Sirdai had begun calling the spirits for serious.
Several times already, Soraya had witnessed a Sirdai banishing an unburied spirit, had seen them banish spirits that caused illness or carried curses. And each time, it had felt like this, only this time, it was stronger than ever.

As if the very air was growing fingers, touching and probing, gentle and curious, it felt, and in the thick smoke, she even thought she saw shapes of beasts and plants, of warriors and legends. They were coming, she thought, all coming to see me die and judge if I was worthy to live a bit longer.
But the spirits' touches were comforting, Soraya found, like friends casually touching a fellow warrior in passing, and it calmed her. There was unrest among the spirits, she noticed, yes, but not when they dealt with her. Never before had she been so aware of all the intangible beings around her, and wide-eyed, she stared into the smoke until her eyes started to burn.

And she felt the power of the Sirdai. Like a second voice to the drummers' song, she thought she could her them calling, asking for help, inviting the spirits to come. The Sirdai's will was like the wind, like water washing a mountain to dust in the passing of eons. Spirits bent and lost their shape only to take on new forms, not forced, but gently coerced.
Slowly, Soraya noticed with a certain surprise, she was raising her arms without moving herself, spirits supporting her all around, holding her body as well as her own spirit, fixing them together on the ground of the tent.

Looking down on her, she realized that the marking above her heart had the same color as the scar she had seen on Hama's chest and back. One night, she had asked to see Shona's Warden's spirit scar, where the blade had passed his heart during his own bonding and yet hadn't killed him, and he had shown her without hesitation. Pale blue and slightly raised it had been, narrow and wide as his sword, a mark that showed each man and woman in the tribes whom he had given his life to, in the most literal sense possible.

Come dawn tomorrow, she would be wearing such a scar as well, or be dead and buried.

Unannounced, Obi stepped up to her again, his face pale, his eyes darting nervously. In his bony hands, he was carrying her sword like a club, and his steps clearly showed that he would have preferred to be anywhere else but here.
In Soraya's chest, her heart was beating louder than the drums, and her only thought was not to let go of her Sirdai's eyes.

To her greatest concern, it was nothing but fear she was seeing in his gray eyes. Fear of failing, fear of being rejected. And, oddest of all, fear of loneliness. Obi was still holding up his chin in a defiant display of courage, but his eyes were giving away his emotions too easily. He wasn't a warrior, Soraya thought, definitely not. Too much fear, too much insecurity, and she wondered what kind of life the boy must have led to become that brat he was.

By now, the three Sirdai in the darkness were filling the tent with their spirit song, and the young woman would have bet that she could spot the position of each one of them without opening her eyes. Slowly, the spirits were growing restless, and even Soraya could feel the urgings they send out to Obi to go on with the ritual.

The boy raised the sword with both hands, up to the level of his eyes, his left hand on the hilt, his right palm pressed flat against the pommel, to lend more force to the thrust he would have to execute. Clenching his jaws in concentration, Obi stood almost motionless, only the tip of his blade wavering to a concerning degree.

It was also his coming of age, Soraya suddenly realized. He had to make a decision few adults would ever have to make. Risking to kill a friend and ally by your own hands, only to maybe gain an advantage. It was less the killing part that made him hesitate, the young woman suddenly understood, but the responsibility he was assuming with the act.
He was taking her life, for good or for bad, and no boy of his age smart enough to understand what he was doing could be prepared for that.

The spirits grew even more restless, rustling in the tent like dry leaves, the three Sirdai straining with the effort to keep so many of them gathered at the same time. Like warriors singing at the fire, they could only sing so much louder, sing so much longer. There would come a moment where they would have to stop singing, and that moment was not too far away.

'Come on', Soraya urged her Sirdai wordlessly, glaring at him with unveiled anger, 'stop acting the fool!'

And yet, Obi did nothing more than standing there, staring at her, the marking on her chest, his face pale, sweat running down his brow, the sword quivering.
It was only when a wave of fear ran through the whole tent, when one of the Sirdai thought for a moment that she would not be able to hold her voice any longer, that the boy about to become a Sirdai gathered all that was left of his courage and plunged the sword into Soraya's chest.

Pain blossomed up in the young woman's body, agony beyond any description, and yet so far less than she had feared. Soraya fought down the urge to look and see if he had hit the mark, instead forced herself forward a step, pulling her spirits with her like a horse a fallen rider, impaling herself even more on her own blade.

With a vile sound she would never be able to forget, she heard the tip of the blade grating along one of the ribs of her back before it finally broke through her skin and out of her body again. A gust of blood spurted out of the wound in her chest, splattering Obi's arm, his robe, his face. Pain was threatening to swallow her mind, her whole being, and yet she didn't gave in. Anchoring herself in the young Sirdai's eyes, she sought for the bit of greatness, of wisdom or grace that had to be hidden somewhere there.

But there was nothing but shock, and with a stuttering yelp, Obi let go of the sword sticking in her chest, stumbling backwards and falling over his own feet. Sitting on the ground, splattered with her blood, tears in his eyes, he was staring at her, the fear in him so overwhelming he was hardly human any longer.

Around Soraya, the spirits wailed, some in anger, some in agony, all in uproar. The ones having been forged into forces to hold the young Warden's soul in her body until the ritual was completed were straining beyond their powers with Soraya's spirit urging to leave its dying shell. Others that had been supposed to keep her body alive were burning up their powers like straw in the fire with each second that passed. The spirits were angered at this blatant misuse of their powers, confused and trying to flee this ritual that caused them so much hardship, making it all the more taxing for the Sirdai to keep them in line.

One by one, Soraya could feel the bonds holding her soul snap, one by one a spirit destroyed by forces far stronger than his own, the Sirdai's song wavering, dissolving into disharmony.

Don't you dare to let me die like this, you little rodent, Soraya thought furiously, her anger given her a few seconds more she was able to hold on to her consciousness.

Suddenly, one of the three voices in the spirit song broke off in a shrill wail, and somewhere in the tent, the impaled warrior could hear a body slump to the ground like knocked out.

Don't you dare, Soraya tried to say to her prospective Sirdai, but no more than a weak croak passed her lips.

From out of the shadows, a white-robed figure appeared, grabbed Obi at his shoulders and hurled him up at his feet so forcefully that Soraya feared his neck might snap.

"Foulheaded spawn of the dark god", that person screamed at the young Sirdai, so enraged that Soraya could see spittle flying through the air although she never let go of Obi's fear filled eyes. "You MUST finish the ritual!"

The sudden movement seemed to have jerked the boy out of his panicked stupor, and he blinked shock as he realized what his hesitation had done.

"Take out the sword and seal the ritual!", the person next to Obi yelled, but it was too late.

Like tent-straps snapping in the storm, the spirits holding down Soraya's soul broke apart under the strain, the Sirdai's song falling apart in a last, confused note, the first spirits beginning to flee this place of abuse and pain. Unsupported by the Sirdai's magic, she felt herself slump down on her knees, keeping upright by sheer force of will. In the boy's eyes, the young woman saw pain, worry, and guilt, fear still, yet washed down by a wave of overwhelming guilt.
Don't just stand there boy, she thought as she felt the last bits of magic flee the tent, her pains growing ever more distant, take responsibility. Only this one time!

Confused, Obi looked around for help, his lips stammering some soundless nonsense, and his utterly shameful display of helplessness made Soraya's anger flare one last time.

"Don't you dare", she croaked, blood running from her mouth, but still loud enough to be heard, " let me die like this!"

Still locking eyes with the brat, she finally saw a glimpse of what she had been looking for. Suddenly, Obi seemed to see a warrior in her, a true friend and ally, not just a token of his status and a naked woman. Without thinking, he grabbed the hilt of the sword still sticking in her chest, hesitating as he suddenly realized that there was no magic left in the tent to keep her alive, no spell for him to seal, only some confused spirits filled with the same fear he somehow had managed to overcome.

And yet, there seemed no end to the ways he was able to surprise. Faintly, only marginally listening with her spirit all but gone, Soraya suddenly heard his voice, Obi's spirit voice, and it was like a sun rising after the endless night. Deep and resounding, full of joy and sadness at the same time, it called out so much louder than she would ever had thought possible.
In this moment, she saw him like the spirits did then, powerful and caring, worried and responsible. Strain showed in his face, his body, but not once in the soundless voice Soraya heard in her mind. He broke down on his knees next to her, his face ashen pale, blood running from his nose, but now his Warden knew what he would become one day.
Like water poured back into the bucket it belonged, she suddenly felt herself filling her body again, together with new sensations and abilities she knew had been transferred to her by the bond. Tears in his eyes from the strain, Obi took the sword, shivering so hard from exhaustion he hardly managed to pull it out, and yet did so with the last bit of his strength before he lost his consciousness and fell over to his side.

Desperately, Soraya felt the overwhelming urge to see how he was, to see if he would be well, but her own mutilated body didn't obey her commands any longer. Falling to the other side, her face on the ground, she lay there, her heart throbbing in her chest as if trying to catch up with all the beats it had missed while her sword had been right through it.

 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus

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