Celoturs uz Siksraja

CELOTJURS UZ SIKSRAJA by Lukca Zelkuk

I must have been all of four anlas when we fled.  My mother's
legs were a comfort I clung to as she bustled about gathering
what she could for our rapid departure.  Years later, when I
asked, she said the pack knew the elders were going to try and
erect a magical wall that would grant us the needed escape time as
we ran from our homes.  We traveled for many years.  I was a pup
when the elders erected the wall I hope still holds back the
undead scourge.  Delay was the key word, which is why the pack
kept moving for so long, certain Lyras and that crew were fol-
lowing.  We left in the dark, as day broke.  Fortunately it
was fall, and we took our harvest with us.  Careful rationing
provided sustenance over the winter season.  When no sign of
pursuit had presented itself and supplies were running low,
we stopped in early spring and tilled and planted.  In fall we
harvested, and once again began moving onward.  This pattern
continued for many years.

Our pack was large, and representative of all ages and stages of
life.  At first the group ran, but as the realization dawned
that we were not being followed, the journey slowed enough that
life and its rituals continued even without a home.  Babies were
birthed, children were taught by the elders, came of age, fell in
love, married and had babies of their own.  People aged, became
ill, died, and were buried in our way -- life went on as we con-
tinued to move.  In time we stopped along the way, some places
for a season to plant and harvest, sometimes the area seemed a
good choice for a new home, but in the end, most of us kept
moving.  Each time a small group chose to remain behind amidst
promises to keep in touch, which we knew was unlikely.

We would travel till spring and then seriously search out a water
supply.  Every member of the pack was assigned a job, children
gathered twigs and searched for berry bushes, the strong cleared
land, built homes, tilled soil and planted crops, the elders
fished to augment the dwindling food supplies.

The year I turned nine we stopped on the shore of a fast flowing
river.  I grew wiry and built muscles as I learned to swim like a
fish that year.  It was also the year my Grandmother took ill. 
Nothing seemed to make her better and as the winter approached,
she passed on.  Granddad became bitter, certain the forced flight
had taken his bride from him before her time.  When we packed up
to leave, he insisted on staying with the group that remained
behind.  My Dad couldn't talk him out of it, and with many tears,
we left and continued our journey.  It turned out to be a bitter
winter, and though we missed him, we took solace in knowing that
his old bones would surely be more comfortable at home by a fire
then plodding through snow-covered fields.

During our journey in a place I knew not before that day, I came
of age and we tarried there no longer than necessary.  Sahred was
the same age as I and we had lived near each other before the
migration.  On the road, our friendship solidified until we felt
as though we were brothers.  We were inseparable while we tra-
veled, staying with one or the other of our families -- usually
dependant on what our mothers were making for dinner.  As time
passed we grew in knowledge and became restless with the
restraining cloak of childhood.  We put our heads together and
decided to prove we didn't have to be watched so carefully: we
set about to play a prank on our mothers and pretend to be lost. 
We planned it out in great detail for months.  One day, as camp
was made for the night, we slipped away and didn't show up for
dinner at either tent.  By bedtime, our parents connected and
sent an alarm through the pack that we were missing.  We watched,
huddled behind a large hedge a short distance away.  The pack
began methodically searching for us.  Watching them going the
wrong way, it was hard not to snicker as we congratulated our-
selves on how well everything was going.

Suddenly, someone snuck up behind us and grabbed us by the back
of our necks.  Obviously, we weren't as smart as we thought.
Anyway, after being hauled back to camp by our ears, the elders
met to decide our fate as we stood shamed before the pack.  After
some deliberation, the elders dismissed us into our parent's care
without informing us of any decision.  That was when I realized
just how wise the elders were.  Sahred and I were constrained
from showing any concern or interest in whatever would befall us
as we awaited the decision of the elders with false bravado. 
Everyone but us knew the elders had decided that since we thought
we were so mature it was time to hold a Coming of Age Ceremony
for us and a few others in the pack.  From that day, for a few
weeks, every camp the pack made was scouted by the elders for
suitability.  When a suitable site was found, the ceremony was
held and we were released from our tension to pure terror.  Since
I obviously survived; I shall spare you the details.

After I came of age, my father shared with me the one thing other
than his family that he had taken with him when we fled Odcoru. 
It was late in the evening, inside our tent when he called me to
the fire by his side.  He explained that he was about to show me
something I must never speak of to another until I could be
certain no harm would befall it.  I swore on my honor as a man
and on my mother's head.  He stared into my eyes for a long time,
then slowly reached into his odaj and drew out a package wrapped
in linen and tied with a leather thong.  With great care he undid
the knots and laid the thong in the lap created by his odaj. 
Unrolling the linen, he revealed to me what appeared to be a
stone sliver.  The small, dark stone was shot through with ruddy
red streaks.  One side was sheared off on an angle as if chopped
from a larger block while the rest was smooth and slightly shiny. 
He then shared several of the stories our pack told about that
stone.  He folded the cloth over the shard and placed it within
his odaj next to his heart.  When my father died, it became my
turn to guard the precious stone.

I have helped found Siksraja  and lived a good life there, but soon
my time will come.  I have no regrets save that I have no son to
pass the stone to.  Instead, I have found a special place for it
in the hills above Siksraja, where contemplation with our Gods is
possible and Coshivi might visit undisturbed should he so desire.