Ya Embaela learned many things from Zchi that year. Slowly she began to lose the knowledge of her native language, replaced by the wild, emphatic tongue of the ancients. It was in this language Zchi recounted the years of the war long before she was born.
"Why do we fight?" Zchi asked her once.
She puzzled over the answer for a while. "Because the Mafaeri are wicked and pose a threat to our way of life." She responded finally, remembering the answer her father had given her once. Zchi didn't seem satisfied with this answer.
"But why are they wicked? Have you ever met a Mafaeri?"
"No." the idea was rather profound. What if the Mafaeri weren't the evil ones, what if her own people were?"
Zchi's eyes lit with a wild spark.
"Or rather, what if neither side was any more evil than the other? Then what?"
"How would we ever know? The only ones we ever see are on the battlefield..."
"And by then it's too late, right?"
"... That's the only reason why we keep fighting? Ignorance?"
"Well, child..." Zchi's laughter tinkled like a thousand tiny bells in the cave. "It's a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid. But... you've touched on the heart of a 400 year old problem. I'd like to show you something, come closer." The glowing figure motioned her to come closer. It was when she sat this close that she could feel the living deity's warmth. It was this closeness that made her yearn for more. Zchi had the features of the classic Androgen, the large dark eyes, the soft narrow cheekbones, strangely feminine set against a masculine jaw. Zchi's skin, however, was luminescent, brightening the darkness of the cave as if they lived in perpetual sunshine.
Zchi extended a hand to her, impossibly long fingers enclosed over hers, and she met those dark eyes almost warily. Before she had a chance to hesitate the cave went pitch dark. Had it not been for the feeling of Zchi's hand enclosing her own she might have been more worried. In the distance was a pinpoint of light, then a faint voice.
"Why?" a child called into the darkness. Ya Embaela began to answer but Zchi gently squeezed her hand as if to urge her into silence.
"From the moment I was born, I have known nothing but death." the voice wavered in sadness. "If this is what it's like to be alive I want no more of it."
Waves of pain and sorrow washed over her, provoking tears from her eyes.
"Where were you, O Great Zchi, when my wife was taken from me" Another voice, much older, intoned.
"I am afraid, I'm too frail to go outside in all this smoke."
"Mama says my friends can't come over to play anymore. Ever since baby Junil went to Auraach... Zchi... I'm lonely."
The voices came in a barrage; Ya Embaela felt as if she were drowning in the emotions of thousands of people. She tore her hand away from Zchi's to cover her ears against the onslaught. The voices faded and once again the sounds of the ocean below them calmed her.
"This is the voice of my people, of your people, Ya Embaela."
"I have heard nothing of any of this." She stammered, fighting back the urge to cry.
"Those are the prayers of a nation in shambles. They are prayers I'm no longer strong enough to answer. My time has come to an end. I only hope it is the design of the Great Mother that another will take up my yoke in due time. Ya Embaela, just remember, even I have prayers to someone higher. I'm just as scared as our people are. Dying truly is frightening. What will happen after I'm gone. How many of those prayers will continue to go unanswered? How will I KNOW everything will be okay?"
Ya Embaela blinked. Even gods became afraid? she wondered. She pulled Zchi to her tiny breast and smoothed back it's hair. She wondered at that moment if this was what it was like to feel motherly. Her heart ached for Zchi, wished she could take away the fear and uncertainty. She had expected Zchi to pull away from her, but instead it clutched her tighter, burying it's face in her dark tangled hair.
"It seems the world is in a cycle of dying. I am no exception to this. I just didn't want to spend my last days alone."
Ya Embaela, at that moment, made a decision that would shape the rest of her life. It was impulsive, poorly thought out, completely based on emotion.
"And you won't... I will stay with you until your last days." She knew after she made the commitment what that would mean. When the procession arrived this year she would not be joining her family back home. Perhaps it was her youth, or simply the gravity of the situation, but somehow, as she sat stroking Zchi's hair, she knew this was where she belonged.
"Why do we fight?" Zchi asked her once.
She puzzled over the answer for a while. "Because the Mafaeri are wicked and pose a threat to our way of life." She responded finally, remembering the answer her father had given her once. Zchi didn't seem satisfied with this answer.
"But why are they wicked? Have you ever met a Mafaeri?"
"No." the idea was rather profound. What if the Mafaeri weren't the evil ones, what if her own people were?"
Zchi's eyes lit with a wild spark.
"Or rather, what if neither side was any more evil than the other? Then what?"
"How would we ever know? The only ones we ever see are on the battlefield..."
"And by then it's too late, right?"
"... That's the only reason why we keep fighting? Ignorance?"
"Well, child..." Zchi's laughter tinkled like a thousand tiny bells in the cave. "It's a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid. But... you've touched on the heart of a 400 year old problem. I'd like to show you something, come closer." The glowing figure motioned her to come closer. It was when she sat this close that she could feel the living deity's warmth. It was this closeness that made her yearn for more. Zchi had the features of the classic Androgen, the large dark eyes, the soft narrow cheekbones, strangely feminine set against a masculine jaw. Zchi's skin, however, was luminescent, brightening the darkness of the cave as if they lived in perpetual sunshine.
Zchi extended a hand to her, impossibly long fingers enclosed over hers, and she met those dark eyes almost warily. Before she had a chance to hesitate the cave went pitch dark. Had it not been for the feeling of Zchi's hand enclosing her own she might have been more worried. In the distance was a pinpoint of light, then a faint voice.
"Why?" a child called into the darkness. Ya Embaela began to answer but Zchi gently squeezed her hand as if to urge her into silence.
"From the moment I was born, I have known nothing but death." the voice wavered in sadness. "If this is what it's like to be alive I want no more of it."
Waves of pain and sorrow washed over her, provoking tears from her eyes.
"Where were you, O Great Zchi, when my wife was taken from me" Another voice, much older, intoned.
"I am afraid, I'm too frail to go outside in all this smoke."
"Mama says my friends can't come over to play anymore. Ever since baby Junil went to Auraach... Zchi... I'm lonely."
The voices came in a barrage; Ya Embaela felt as if she were drowning in the emotions of thousands of people. She tore her hand away from Zchi's to cover her ears against the onslaught. The voices faded and once again the sounds of the ocean below them calmed her.
"This is the voice of my people, of your people, Ya Embaela."
"I have heard nothing of any of this." She stammered, fighting back the urge to cry.
"Those are the prayers of a nation in shambles. They are prayers I'm no longer strong enough to answer. My time has come to an end. I only hope it is the design of the Great Mother that another will take up my yoke in due time. Ya Embaela, just remember, even I have prayers to someone higher. I'm just as scared as our people are. Dying truly is frightening. What will happen after I'm gone. How many of those prayers will continue to go unanswered? How will I KNOW everything will be okay?"
Ya Embaela blinked. Even gods became afraid? she wondered. She pulled Zchi to her tiny breast and smoothed back it's hair. She wondered at that moment if this was what it was like to feel motherly. Her heart ached for Zchi, wished she could take away the fear and uncertainty. She had expected Zchi to pull away from her, but instead it clutched her tighter, burying it's face in her dark tangled hair.
"It seems the world is in a cycle of dying. I am no exception to this. I just didn't want to spend my last days alone."
Ya Embaela, at that moment, made a decision that would shape the rest of her life. It was impulsive, poorly thought out, completely based on emotion.
"And you won't... I will stay with you until your last days." She knew after she made the commitment what that would mean. When the procession arrived this year she would not be joining her family back home. Perhaps it was her youth, or simply the gravity of the situation, but somehow, as she sat stroking Zchi's hair, she knew this was where she belonged.
