Ander - Part 4: Subchapter 9
9
- crunching outside her tent, one pair heavy, one pair light, both of them loud enough to wake the dead. Even after they had passed by and the sound should have disappeared, she could still hear them inside her head. Maddening... infuriating...
How was this possible!? How!?
Shekka dug her claws into her hair and scraped them along her scalp, shaking in anger, but not for any reasons Kadai might have hoped for.
She paced the circumference of her private witch's tent, too restless to sit still, ducking underneath the hanging strings of rat skulls and sidestepping bowls of noxious liquids on memory alone.
How did her 'son' survive being thrown to the Wolves? HOW!? She wanted to hear his_corpse crackle in the fire, she wanted to smell _his fur burn, not Garten's! Normally the executed don't get funeral pyres. Such things were reserved only for those who had suffered honourable deaths, but she would have made an exception for him. She would have told the Wolves it was because he was a Chieftain's son, but the Cora would know the truth. The Cora always knows.
But that would never happen, because the unholy Fox spawn had somehow survived one of their oldest, cruellest punishments. Everyone says he must be dead, that there's no way he could have lasted more than a few hours, but she knew better! He had walked away under his own power and now there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it! Someone had burned down his tent just now, but that was a hollow comfort that only rubbed nettles into her wound. An empty tent wasn't Ander! An empty tent was just that! An empty tent! Burning it down was nothing more than the childish act of someone who wanted desperately to get at the real thing but had to settle for a paltry symbolic substitute instead!
Shekka dropped down to her knees and clawed at her face, breathing heavily through her clenched teeth. The small circle of vision the Cora had seen fit to leave her revealed nothing more than a blackish spot of dirt, blurry and wavering.
She could have had a daughter. A sweet, beautiful daughter. Maybe she would have died even if Ander hadn't taken her place, but dammit that was still her baby girl! She was her mother! She never had a chance to hold her daughter close, or to stroke her fur, or to shed tears for her passing. She had been born from her womb, but Kadai had taken her baby away before she even had a chance to lay eyes upon her! He had betrayed her, all for a Fox living in another world, a Fox who he loved more than his own mate. He apparently loved his precious Sarah so much, he didn't even care how deeply his actions would hurt the one who has sacrificed everything for him. As long as his lies went undiscovered, and his betrayal could remain a secret, then everything would be justified. After all, what Shekka didn't know couldn't hurt her.
Well she did know! He had lain with a Fox, and replaced her real child with the spawn of his infidelity! And it was tearing her apart!
How could he do that to her? How could he tell her such awful lies? Was she not a good mate to him? Has she ever disobeyed him or betrayed him? Has he ever suffered a wound she was not able to heal, whether it be of the flesh or of the heart? Was she not always by his side? What did she do to deserve this? She never had a chance to say goodbye to her only daughter... and it was all his fault...
There were whispers among the other Wolves, heard passing from shadow to shadow like a breeze in the night, whispers of insurrection, mutiny, revolt. They whispered of Kadai's inability to punish his son and those who had come to his aid. They whispered of his clouded judgement and his softened heart. They whispered of murder in the dark...
Shekka forcefully choked back her tears. Now was not the time. She blinked her eyes a few times and squinted into the gathering gloom, past the snake skins and the pots of powdered herbs and the bowls of venomous mixtures, deep into the farthest edge of her tent, where the effigy of the Cora stood.
She scuttled towards it like an insect before her God and fell before its feet, bowing in abject submission. She reached out to the dark shape, caressing it with her fingers, gently moving her hands up and down its legs, her touch like that of a lover. The texture of the wood was so familiar beneath her hands, each chip and crack lodged deep in her memory.
Ander had carved this for her many, many years ago, but that didn't matter. This was still an avatar of the Cora, and that transcended all impurities. He loomed in the growing darkness, bent over slightly to compensate for the angle of her tent, staring down at her with His five, perfect eyes. Two in the palms of His hands, two above His mighty jaws of stone, and one set deep within His forehead. Five perfect eyes that saw everything, that knew everything, that _were_everything. He would tell her what to do. He would show her the right path, the path that would lead to her vengeance and the salvation of her people.
All she needed to do was talk to Him, and He would listen.
He would answer.
Shekka felt around the base of His statue, loving the transition from His wooden paws down to His claws of stone. She brought her hands together and found what she was looking for on the ground between his feet, just as she had left it. A small wooden bowl, filled to the brim with some very special mushrooms she had gathered in the woods, mushrooms that would let her speak to the Cora, her God.
"Gemagtige berg hor mi gebede..." she chanted in the ancient Wolven tongue, bringing the bowl up to her face and breathing deeply of its earthy aroma. "Dar is grote moi lik heda, en ek weet ni wat om te doon ni. Ek smeek yo, wys midi regte pad, sodat U wil kan plas vind..."
The mushroom's cap was dark brown, but the underside was a milky white, just like her eyes. If felt slightly greasy in her hand, but still soft and fresh. She could feel her mind opening just from holding it in her palm, because surely, these mushrooms were a part of the Cora, just like everything else.
But more so.
She opened her mouth and placed it on her tongue, savouring its mild flavour. She chewed it up, cutting the cap from the stem, mashing it with her tongue, mixing it with her saliva until it formed a grainy paste in her mouth. Only then did she allow herself to swallow. She took another, and another, and another and another, one for each eye of the Cora.
She took deep, calming breaths, knowing that she only had a few minutes before her journey would begin. She lay down on her back beneath the statue as a sign of complete and utter surrender to His power and majesty, and she waited.
She could already feel her heart speeding up in her chest, pounding against her ribcage as if it intended to break free of its mortal shackles of flesh and bone. Her skin was becoming prickly, as if each strand of fur was a tiny needle puncturing her body, but not in an unpleasant way.
She craned her neck back and looked up at the tip of her tent, where the support post disappeared against the canvas. There was a golden spot in the roof, no bigger than her pinky claw, its edges rippling ever so slightly in the breeze. Normally she wouldn't be able to see that far, but the Cora was inside of her now, letting her see the world through His eyes. Even something as mundane as the setting sun shining in through a hole in her tent was transformed into a glorious spectacle of golden rapture.
There were colours now, so many colours, swirling around and around the golden core; reds and greens and yellows and blues and purples of infinite shades! Growing larger and thicker, more there, more real, until they broke through the edges of her vision, gently breaking her blindness like one would break a spider's web just by walking through it. The colours filled her, they coalesced inside of her, they lifted her up and up... away from this festering hellhole her life has become... away from the fear and the anger... away from her misery and doubts... up and up... up to the Mountain tops... up to her God... up to...
I know some of you probably have questions about the mushrooms in this scene, but I'll add a footnote to a future update for those interested in the research that goes on behind the scenes of my story. Until then, here's another loose translation for Shekka's 'Old Wolven'.
"Almighty mountain, hear my prayers. Great troubles lie ahead, and I know not what to do. I beg of You, show me the right path so that Your will can be done."
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