Stormcallers: Chapter 1
Hearken and hear the tale of Rukiya, she of Puddle Tears, wise woman of Lergos, caller of storms, Phalamili, scourge of the empire, midwife of the Wailing Hour, Ada, shackle-breaker, she most fortunate, mother, daughter, and friend; But before she earned her many names, before the scars and wrinkles covered her skin like the bark of a tree, before legends were whispered of her among the many floating islands of the cloud-sea, her only name was Rukiya.
She only had one name? Why?
Because it was the way of the many tribes of Lergos, who called themselves the People, to give only a single name to their children. From the nomadic Onwatomi to the steadfast and bloodthirsty Biret, there was never a need for a second name; Rukiya was Rukiya, and she was of the Orenda people.
Who are the Orenda?
The Orenda people lived many years ago on the twin islands of Olemi and Orem, named for the children of the first ancestor, Orenda, from whom the tribe took its name. Great and wise was Orenda, who traveled from across the Isles of Lergos, to find a home where she could bear and raise her children in peace and comfort.
Rukiya was a true Orenda. She was strong, she was kind, she saw her kin as kin. She knew the three seasons, and the sounds of the storms. She knew when to plant and when to harvest, how to hunt with bow and snare, and fish with net and trap. She sang along with all Orenda people during the harvest festival, and had earned the right to know several of her people’s names.
But even though Rukiya was a girl child, she did not take to the ways of women. Her mother had died bringing Rukiya into the world, and so had not taught her the things every girl child must learn from her mother. Instead, her father and shaman of the village had taught her some of the secret magics of men. Back then it was a great crime to teach a girl child such things as he taught her, for the wise knew what dangers could come, and spoke out against such recklessness.
But then why did he teach her?
Because if he did not teach her these secrets, he would not have taught her anything, and it was then, as it is now, a far greater crime for a child to not know anything of the ways of the Orenda people. And so her father, in the manner of all men, sought to protect his girl child with what he knew, thinking in his foolishness that such knowledge would protect her. He taught her the ways of the Light Above and the mighty rituals. He taught her of curing disease and strengthening copper into bronze. He taught her how to see the world from the side.
But these were such secrets as are taught only to the boy children, and she did not understand his lessons. Her mind was filled with questions and her father’s wisdom slipped from her grasp. When she looked into her father’s eyes, she saw sorrow, regret, and eventually despair. She thought, as is the way with all girl children, that her father was perfect. She thought the fault lay with her.
But it didn’t, did it?
No, it did not. But I will tell you that story later. This is the story of what happened when Old Wana fell sick to the madness.
You see, dear one, the Orenda people did not know what the madness was, for they were innocent and had not learned of the many ways of being. They called it the Storm Madness, as did many of the cloud-sea in those days. They thought it an illness like any other, and the Orenda people did not know how to cure her.
So they turned to Rukiya’s father, the shaman of the village. He knew all the secret magics of men. He knew how to call the spirits of the old times, and purge the sickening evils from the hearts of his people.
But Rukiya’s father did not like Old Wana, for she knew all the secret magics of women. He feared her because he did not understand her, and feared she might someday lead his people astray.
Yet for his fears, he knew — as he had taught Rukiya — if he did not try, as was his duty, his magics might leave him. So he chanted the magic chants and brewed the magic potions, though his heart was not bent towards his work.
When all his magics were spent, he began to craft a flute of mourning.
When Rukiya saw her father shaping this tiny clay flute, she knew that her father had given up. The making of the flute was one of the secrets that her father had taught her. He showed her how the pieces fit inside each other like nuts in a shell. When the flute was dried over a gentle flame, and blown in the proper way, it wailed with such a mournful cry as to make the land itself weep. Rukiya knew these flutes were only blown when one of the village died, and so she knew her father expected Old Wana to die.
When she saw the flute taking shape in her father’s strong hands, she knew that he was not strong enough to save Old Wana, and she was ashamed of his weakness. So Rukiya began to pack for her journey.
Where was she going?
This was the question her father asked her, with a paternal smile playing about his lips. “I am going,” she told him, her jaw set as hard as bronze, “to Clashwind.”
Clashwind?
What is now called the Isle of Annis, and was once called the Isle of Dadlan before the people of Erosea came to the Archipelago of Lergos. They took the land from the Dadlan people, and called it Clashwind. They built a town with stone walls and iron torches. They were powerful, and dangerous, and Rukiya believed that if anyone could cure the Storm Madness, it was the Eroseans. But her father was worried, because he knew how dangerous they could be, and he forbade her to leave.
“You cannot stop me,” she said, and he knew that it was true. “I know the turning of the Light Above,” which is what they called the sun, “and the three seasons. Harvest will begin in two days. I have lived for fifteen years, and I will be a woman. I will marry whom I chose, build a house for myself, and speak with adults as adults do. I am no longer your daughter.”
When her father heard this, his heart broke, for even in those days, a woman would forever be her father’s daughter. Such is the bond between them. “But why travel to Clashwind,” he asked of her, “when there is nothing for you there?”
“There are Two-chins,” she answered, which was a cruel name for the Erosean people. “They have magics and medicines more powerful than yours. They will know how to cure Old Wana.”
Her father, fool though he was, knew that there were things that had no cure, as well as things that should never be cured. He did not tell her this, however, and instead spoke to her like a father. “It is a tiring journey, across both Orem and Oleni, the Isle of Apitan, and then Clashwind itself. If you go now, alone, with no trade-band, then I will not be able to help you.”
“I am glad,” Rukiya answered. “If I am to be an adult, I must be strong. A tiring and difficult journey will strengthen me.”
“The Two-chins do not think a girl is a woman until she is married. To us you are a woman, but to the Eroseans you are still a child. Your presence may offend them. They might laugh at you.”
“Then I will laugh at them. I will laugh at their sickly skin and two-chins.”
At this, her father’s face grew grim. “Do not laugh at them, daughter. My little warrior, always fighting. There are things in this world it is best to surrender to.”
To hear his words, a flash of anger boiled up from Rukiya’s stomach, and she spoke to her immediate regret: “You want Old Wana to die. She knows the stories of before the Two-chins. She remembers when our children did not wear Two-chin clothing, or speak Two-chin words. She reminds you that you are no longer Orenda.”
There are few harsher words she might have said, because they were true. The Orenda people did not dress as they used to, or farm and hunt as they once did. The Erosean’s paid handsomely for the feathers of the wading-birds, the skin of the rock-bison, but perhaps most of all for the storm-breath and fireseed.
What is storm-breath? And fireseed?
Fireseed is what we call sulfur, and storm-breath was what the people of Lergos called lift-gas. Both were common along the edges of the Lergosian islands, where they bubbled up from the cloud-sea through the soft lands. Many of the Orenda people traveled to the edge of Orem to gather the storm-breath in large bags of leather and copper barrels. They left their fields fallow, for why till the soil for food when a single bag of fireseed could buy a feast from the Eroseans?
But Rukiya had no fireseed, nor storm-breath. Her father knew this, and demanded to know what she would give in exchange for their magical cures. Rukiya showed him first a tie of long redbird feathers as soft and full as any cloud. Next, a roll of three river-fox skins she had taken herself. Last, a small bag filled with five Erosean coins. It was not much, but it was all she had.
But her father was not finished, and so he asked of her one final time, “why do you do this? Why will you risk your life to travel all the way to Clashwind town?”
She said, “Because if I am to ever become strong, I must learn strength. The Two-chins are stronger than anything. They have magics which give them mastery over the cloud-sea. They have metal bodies and weapons of fire. They can do things we cannot, and I must learn what they know. When I return, I will cure Old Wana of her illness, and teach all our people the Two-chin’s magic, so we might be as strong as them.”
Her father did not react the way she hoped he would; cowering from the flint in her eyes and the iron in her jaw. Instead, he sighed again as his jaw shifted left and right, chewing imaginary air as his heart and his head struggled. In the end, though her glare did no good, he relented as she knew he must. He smiled down at her in his familiarly friendly manner, and called her Qualya again, his pet name for her when she was young.
But she was not young anymore. She was no longer his, she did not need to plead or beg for his permission to go and trade for medicine. He could no longer shake his head and command she remain in the village. She was an adult now. She could control her own destiny.
But what was the debt Rukiya owed Old Wana, that would send her on such a dangerous journey?
Hush, beloved, and I will tell you.
Now you must know, dear beloved, that Old Wana was an Icatan of the Orenda.
What is an Icatan?
An Icatan is one who does Icatan things. She kneaded her bread with a stone instead of a wooden stick, and she cooked over a fire outside her house instead of inside. She drank strange smelling drinks, and she always knew who was with child before their first ill-morning. She knew women’s magic, which she gave to the young men and women who knocked on her door late at night.
But most important, Old Wana knew the ancient stories of the Orendan people. She told the tales of the warrior-sage Orenda and her children Olemi and Orem, from which the islands and the tribe took their names. She told of the warrior shadows of Yiska, and the singing trees of the Land of Green. She could tell you why the quayla sang in the day, while the bluecrow sang at night.
She sat quietly, spoke gently, and yet her steely gaze could silence the most rambunctious and aggressive man. When she stuck out her chin, even Rukiya’s father would clear his throat and turn away.
The house of Old Wana was full of shadows and secrets. While the boy children would laugh and fright each other with drawing close to the rickety old door only to run away again when the sound of wood or pottery clattered from within; the girl children of the village knew better, and gave Old Wana’s cottage the respect it deserved. But when anyone knocked on her door, no matter how high or low the Light Above, she would always allow them in.
In her innocent youth, Rukiya had thought Old Wana was an Edge-witch.
And was she?
No, beloved, for an Edge-witch is very like a Beldam, or a Stormskin.
Oh, so they don’t exist.
Ah! They do exist, though not as you have heard. Edge-witches, they once said, were elderly and evil women who lived in the soft-lands, closer to the tempestuous edge and the cloud-sea. They were dark and magical, and did what they did without tears or laughter. They could speak with the storms, control animals, spread curses and disease among the good people of Lergos, and all of them were mad. They saw people, animals, and lands that did not exist; ate children who wandered too far from home, and were only appeased by gifts of milk and shiny stones.
Rukiya was fascinated, as you are, by the tales of these mighty and capricious women, who spread evil and suffering as they wished without fear of reprisal or consequence. She believed the many wrinkles on Old Wana’s face made magic runes with each expression. When she twisted her mouth this way, the wrinkles formed into a spell of command. Twisted that way, a charm of ill-fortune. In the darkest time of night, if Rukiya ever lay awake listening to the wind, she would frighten herself with the thought of Old Wana creeping from her hut and sneaking to Rukiya’s window to breathe a foul disease upon her.
When Rukiya grew older and wiser, Rukiya recognized edge-witches for what they were; stories to frighten children, no more. She began to listen when Old Wana spoke of the old times. She was enraptured at the tales of how the Shappo tribe drove off their ancestors. The tales of the people of Orenda and Otonway, and the terrible war that raged between them. She told how the Apitan tribe were friends from ages past, though now they could not speak to each other, and how the ancient pact had been broken. She told of the great festival days when all the tribes of Lergos traveled across the Archipelago to the lands of the Picanti, the Musim, the Biret, the Onwatomi, and the Yanwoah. She told of raids by the spiteful Lanquo people, and wars against the cruel Wigok. She spoke of bravery, and generosity, and a people who were deserving of respect.
She told Rukiya the story of how the Two-chins came to the Lergos Archipelago, and how Dadlan island became known as Clashwind, as I have told you.
Rukiya, for her part, did not let the woman rest. She asked why the quayla flew out over the cloud-sea when the other birds didn’t dare. She asked where the water for the river Pawa came from, when its current carried it over the island’s edge. She asked about the rock-bison and the foxes and the fish and the bluecrow and the snap-beetle. She asked about bark-wine and the harvest and the odd skull that Old Wana had hung over her door. She asked why the Orenda people sought her father’s magic in the daylight, while in the nighttime they came to Old Wana.
But Old Wana did not answer, as her father did. For her every question, Old Wana did but smile, as for all her curiosity, Rukiya never asked the right questions. Poor Rukiya, she had been taught by her father, and so knew only to ask the questions of men.
It was because of her father’s teachings that she knew if she was to make the long journey to Clashwind, she would need a traveler’s charm, a special blessing for travelers so that they never lost their way home. Many were the Orenda legends of those who left the twin islands for honor and glory, only to lose themselves in the lands beyond. Their bodies would return forever changed, housing a different soul than what left.
Among her father’s things, she found a small diamond of thin sticks tied with cord and woven between with grass. In the center of the weave sat a single stone, polished from the waters of the Pawa river. This was a traveller’s charm, but it was incomplete. Rukiya was Rukiya, and to remain so she would need an anchor that was uniquely hers; a piece of the village that would guide her and only her home again.
So, because she was leaving for Old Wana, it was to Old Wana’s cottage that she went.
In her cottage, Old Wana was asleep, weak from her illness. Her long white hair glowed softly in the faint light that leaked through the cracks of the covered window. Her face was as cracked and worn as ancient leather, softer than Rukiya had ever seen it. Rukiya crossed the floor to the old woman, stepping as softly as she could, because she knew it was ill luck to wake another, worse luck if that person happened to be Old Wana.
She had seen Old Wana asleep before. She often rested near the center of the village against the tree that was nearly as old and bent as she was. Even in repose she carried with her the weight of a rock-bison, and the Orenda people circled about her like ripples in a river circling a giant stone.
Now, in her bed, she looked small. Rukiya knelt down by the old woman’s bed, her heart filled not with awe, but with pity, because this is what it means to become an adult. Waking Old Wana had been unthinkable before, like pushing a river back the way it came or shouting defiance to the storms; Now it was unthinkable only because the woman was old and sick and needed rest. It was not wisdom, but compassion; To wake her for a few words to soothe her own childish fears? Rukiya would never be so cruel, so selfish.
But she could not leave without a piece of Old Wana to bring her home again, so she stood up again and walked to the old woman’s shelves. Here lay the tools of an Icatan; drying herbs, bowls of strange powders, and an assortment of ingredients from across Lergos sat in wait for Old Wana’s creative hand to pinch, mix, toss, and blow into the crafty winds. Rukiya studied the shelves, her deft eyes darting this way and that, looking for something to remind her of who she was. And what did she find?
What?
She found Old Wana’s ring. It was bronze, the only metal she had ever seen Old Wana wear. It lay on her table, winking in the light. Reaching out, she took the thin ring and slipped it in the woven mesh. A few twists of cord later, and the ring was held tightly in the charm, forever binding Rukiya to her village, and the Orenda people. She would be back soon enough, and then she could return to Old Wana both her ring and her health.
Holding the charm in her fist, Rukiya spoke the vow that she carried with her through her years. She would return home as Rukiya, or not at all.