24ish

The steam from the boiling water plastered Tsuda’s bangs to her forehead, and she carefully threaded a piece of rope through the clay handles of the jar. She crumbled a handful of a sweet-smelling herb in the water, and placed the lid on the jar. The jar was far too hot to carry, so Tsuda grabbed the rope handle instead, making sure not to let the jar swing too freely.
Her mother pushed back the curtain that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house, and smiled. “Going to see Mede again? You’ll probably want these, then.” She handed Tsuda a small stack of clean linen cloths; they must have been only recently washed because they still smelled faintly of the sun and the breeze. Tsuda took them, smiling, and hastened towards the door.
“Tsuda! Don’t forget to cover the fire!” Her mother called after her.

“Oh!” Startled, Tsuda set the jar down on the floor with a clatter, and ran back towards the firepit, where open coals were glowing. She carefully banked the fire until no embers were exposed, then picked up the pot again. “Thank you, Mother, I’ll be back later!” She trotted quickly out of the door, and out into the street.

The market was in full swing that morning, and she could hear the roar of trade long before she crossed through the streets where the merhcnats set up their stalls. One of the first noises to trickle distinctly through the hubbub was the crash and dash of a tambourine; the beggars of Meko must have come in. Tsuda loved watching the dancing monks, who depended on the income from their dancing in marketplaces for their support. They said that dancing freed their minds, and that they found union with the gods through it; she wasn’t sure what to think of that, but she loved watched their stsmping feet beat out the complex rhythms of their dance. As she entered the great square, she gripped the rope on the jar more tightly, and began weaving through the crowds. The chatter of housewives rose from the mass of humanity, and the bleating and braying of animals filled in any silent gaps. Brightly color skirts were the order of the day, reminding Tsuda as ever of a large flock of fiki birds.
Tsuda caught sight of the fruit-sellers’ booths, and darted through the crowds. As she approached the booth, she caught a glimpse of black robes in the crowd. Craning her neck to see a little better, Tsuda saw hair black as night, and piercing green eyes in a pale face. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized one of the warrior priests. He must be examining the market, she thought wildly, they so rarely leave the temple grounds. The noisy plaza contrasted quite strongly with the quiet temple, and she could see that the priest did not much care for it.
She paid for two piji fruits; the fruit vendor wrapped them in large green leaves to keep them fresh, and Tsuda tucked the package into the waist of her skirt. Picking up the rope handles of the jar again, she hastened across the square, being careful to avoid the priest. She had no quarrel with them, but their green eyes always sent a chill down her spine; she tried to look at them as little as possible. More than once, she had given thanks for their isolated nature.
The roar of the market died down behind her as she made her way through the vine-draped streets that lead to Mede’s house. The jar had cooled somewhat, but she hoped that the water would still be hot enough to soothe the wound in Mede’s foot. At the garden gate, she called out, and received a shout from Mede in return.
She entered, and found her friend sitting in her hammock, with a pile of scrolls beside her. “Mede! I knew you could read, but why so much now? You need to be resting!”
Mede smiled, and carefully set the scrolls in a basket which she lowered to the ground below the hammock. “You’re later than usual today; did your lessons go alright?”
Tsuda nodded, carefully removing the lid from the jar; scented steam curled up, and she carefully dipped a few of the cloths in the hot liquid. “Yes, more weaving today. I can’t seem to keep my mind on it, though I’m good enough at it when I concentrate. I keep getting distracted by the colors, the smells, the way the light reflecting off the river makes little patterns on the undersides of the leaves.” She wrung out the cloths and wrapped them around Mede’s foot. “By the way, this cut looks a little red. Are you feeling feverish at all?”
Mede shook her head. “No, not really, but my foot has been feeling sore today. The water and herkil will probably help.” She gestured toward the scrolls in the basket. “It’s funny, you know. Today, everyone knows that herkil is good for reducing fever, but I just read an account from about two thousand years ago. They beheaded a servant for using herkil, thinking that she was a witch. It’s odd, how times change, isn’t it?”

Wisps of ginger hair mixing with the sand on paving stones

Blood soaks into the sand

Blue skin smelling of flowers

Tsuda shook her head slightly, and the images cleared. They had passed through her mind so quickly she almost believed she had imagined it. She nodded, and pulled the rapidly cooling cloth off the foot. “It is strange. Did that happen here? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.” She pulled fresh cloths from the jar, and covered the foot again.

Mede winced slightly at the heat, then replied, “No, it was in Kedon. A long time ago. I don’t think they behead people for being witches anymore.”

“Did the scroll say why using herkil made them think she was a witch?”

Shaking her head, Mede reached down and pulled the scroll from the basket. “Not really…but the Kedonese at that time were pretty superstitious. It might have had something to do with it.” She leaned forward and showed a portion of the scroll to Tsuda; Tsuda’s eyes scanned the page, and could make nothing of the delicate writing.

“You know I don’t read, Mede. In fact, I think you’re the only girl I know who does. Not even my father knows how to read.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” She sighed. “Back where my family comes from, nearly everyone reads. The priests don’t control those lands, and we are encouraged to learn as much as possible. But here, I’ll read a little to you.” She cleared her throat and began.

“On the ninth day of the month of Nestrad, a witch was executed in the public square. She was the housekeeper of a very influential man, but had switched his child with a hadji changeling. Her head was cut off and the changeling abandoned to the desert. The man and his wife remained under her spell, and died soon after.”

Blood seeping into sand

The whistle of a sword slicing through the air

Colored lightning flickering across polished stone

Dead hands gently crossed

Wisps of ginger hair mixing with sand on paving stones

Tsuda’s knees weakened and she grasped the tether of the hammock to keep herself from falling.

“Tsuda, are you alright? I thought you were going to faint!” Mede’s voice sounded far away at first, before slowly becoming more clear. Tsuda opened her eyes to see her friend staring at her.

“I’m…I’m alright. It’s just…” She shook her head slightly. “I think I must be coming down with a fever myself, I’m starting to see things. You know me and my over-active imagination!” She forced a laugh, and sat down on the bench for a moment.

Mede looked her over carefully; she didn’t want to increase her friend’s distress, but knowing the truth might help, in time. “Are you still having strange dreams, Tsuda? Like the one you told me about the other day?”

Tsuda’s head shot up suddenly, but then she slumped over, and nodded, resting her head in her hands. “Yes. They’re…horrible. All about blood, and dead things, and flames…I don’t understand what’s happening…Maybe Kio’s story got me too excited, and my imagination just took over from there…”

Mede paused for a moment before replying. “Mmmm…maybe…but there might be other explanations. You know my father is a scholar; you see, he studies the soul, which is why he spends so much time at the temple.” She swallowed, and plunged ahead. “I know you’ve noticed that we participate in all the temple rites, as often and as much as we can. The Temaltans would come after us in a heartbeat if they didn’t believe we were the most enthusiastic of converts. By playing by all their rules, we can do our own work without being noticed too much.” She ran her hands through her ginger hair and paused, searching for the right words.
Tsuda sat uncomfortably in the bench, wondering what could be causing Mede such distress. Of course, everyone knew that the priests did not approve of scholars, but made good use of their findings, and so allowed them to continue, though there were some things forbidden. But surely Mede’s father wasn’t involved in…

“My father studies the soul, particularly the transmigration of the soul. He goes over all the historical records that he can find, trying to find when certains souls were born into a physical body again.” Mede stopped, and looked intently at Tsuda.

The white-haired girl shivered slightly and rrubbed her arms. “But why would a soul that’s been freed ever come back? Only the earth-bound spirits would be dragged down into a body again.” She paused, twisting her fingers, then her curiousity got the better of her. “How would he even know if a soul came back? Would they remember anything from before?”

The corners of Mede’s mouth quirked upwards momentarily. “Well, many whose souls come back remember things; they can come out if someone sees something that reminds them of a previous life; these memories are often confused with visions. But the most common way for these memories to make themselves known is through dreams, when our conscious minds are less strident in their grip on our current place and time.”

Tsuda’s voice was low as she spoke. “Mede, ypou know what the priests would do if they heard you speaking this way.”

She nodded. “Yes, and that is why we attend every temple rite rigourously, and make ourselves as little known as possible. They must never know, and I beg of you, please do not tell anyone of this; my life and that of my father depends on it. But Tsuda, if you dreamed of a previous life, I can help you find out what happened in that life, and what it was that your were supposed to learn from it. Well,” she blushed, “I can try, at any rate. I am not yet skilled enough to see back into the lives of others, but I mayh be able to interpret the images that come up. When the soul re-enters into physical matter, it forgets most of what happened before, but the most important images remain, buried, but still present. These are the ones that come out in dreams.”

“But what sort of lessons could be learned from such a thing? To have a free spirit, and be pressed back into flesh again and again…What good could it do?” Tsuda paused, running her hands through her hair. “What happens when these lessons are learned, anyway?”

Mede spoke quietly and calmly. “We believe that when the lessons of life are learned, and have shaped the soul into its proper form, the soul takes flight and goes to live with the gods.” She pointed a finger upwards. “Some think that the stars are those souls who have completed their journey; I don’t know about that myself, but I do believe that our souls will be as glorious as those stars when we finish our journeys.”

The sun gleamed brightly off Tsuda’s dark skin, and she sat in complete stillness. From Mede’s sudden silence, she knew that her friend would say no more. She pressed her fingers to her temples; her head was aching. “Mede…I…I need to think about this. Please…”

Her friend nodded mutely, and sank back into the cushions of the hammock. Tsuda got up and absently brushed a few stray leaves off her skirt. She threaded her way back through the garden, and made her way out into the street, but she could not bear to go home. Her mother would know instantly that something was wrong, and she wanted time to think alone. She drifted down one of the vine covered lanes, and found herself at the small stream that ran through the town and out to the sea. There was a large flat rock that jutted out over the stream, and she seated herself on it, dangling her feet in the water. The greenery shut out most of the noises of the town, though she could still hear the calls of the merchants in the lanes, hawking their wares. She lay full-length along the stone, and gazed into the water. In the wavering surface of the river, she saw a wide-eyed girl, whose burnt-umber skin contrasted sharply with the mane of white-gold hair that flowed down her back. Purple eyes gleamed dimly from under the shade of a high brow, which was furrowed with concern and indecision. She reached out a brown hand and touched the surface of the water, shattering the image. She scooped a handful of clay out of the bank, and rolled onto her side on the cool rock. The clay was supple and slippery under her fingers, and more than once she nearly let it slide back into the water. But the prodding of the clay seemed to relieve the whirling of her thoughts, and let them fall into something resembling sanity.
She wanted to simply dismiss Mede’s words as the fantasy of an impressionable girl, but Mede was not the type to think herself more powerful than she was. She was extraordinary sensible for a sixteen-year-old, probably more so than tsuda herself, who was one month her senior. Her habit of jumping off cliffs not-withstanding, she was generally the most thoughtful and sane person that Tsuda knew.
But the priests surely knew more about this than one scholar and his daughter. Perhaps Mede had even misunderstood her father; how much detail would he have told her, anyway? Perhaps she simply picked up on idle conversation, and wove her own vivid dreams into the scraps of theory she had heard…
Tsuda sighed again, and prodded the lump of clay somewhat harder than she had intended. She smoothed out the lump as best as she could, and set it gently on the stone.
It was an odd thing; a small, winged figure, she thought, but it was somewhat crudely done, and the shape was not entirely evident.
She left it there, and made her way back up the street to her home. Her mother called to her as she came in, but Tsuda did not hear her. She sat in her own family’s garden until night fell. As the stars came out, she gazed upwards, watching the sparkling lights.
Her father joined her, and sat down on the bench beside her. “Your mother tells me that something has been troubling you today.”

She looked over at him; he was dressed in the manner of most of the men of the Astaldak. He wore loose-fitting pants, bright blue, that made his skin seem almost black by comparison. He wore nothing on his chest save a worn leather cord from which dangled a few tokens of vows made to the gods. Tsuda absently wondered what the vows were, and how soon he would fulfill them and give the gold tokens to the temple.

“It’s…nothing. I think I’m just tired, and ready for things to return to normal. I love Mede, but…” Her voice trailed off, and her father chuckled. “You are tired, I think, because you have not been doing enough. When you work at your lessons, swim for hours, and run about the village like a barbarian, you have more than enough energy, but sitting quietly tires you, I think. It’s almost as though something within you were trying to get out. Sometimes I believe that you are all spirit, and that you will burn your way out of that body soon.”

Tsuda thought briefly of her little winged figure, reaching out for something just beyond its reach, but said nothing. She wished she had dropped it back into the river; she suspected that she had been sculpting her idea of a soul in Mede’s myth, and such a thing was beyond improper. She would go back to the stone in the morning, and make sure that the thing was gone. She was surprised at how much the idea of destroying the clumsy figure hurt her.

“Tsuda, my child, tomorrow I recommend that you beg Mede’s pardon, and go off and spend at least an hour swimming or running about. Your friend can spare you for that long, and I think it will do you a great deal of good.” He reached out and gently stroked her hair, silver in the light of the moons. “And I will ask the gods to heal your friend quickly so that you may run around like little barbarians soon.”

She smiled, and he laughed. “I will take my leave of you now, but please do remember to sleep tonight.” He wound through the garden, and went into the house.

The dim light from the lamps of the house shone out warm and golden in the deep blue of the night. Tsuda saw a small winecup vine near the window, its crimson blooms shining like gems in the warm light. Her heart rose into her throat, and a longing for a far-away home washed over her.

“How can this be?” she whispered. “I have known no other home than this, and I am sitting in my own garden. How can I yearn so much for somewhere I have never been?” With an aching heart, she stood, and walked through the doorway into the house.