Azaria (38 page)

"Very well, then," Azerban said. "But give the basket to Hadir."

Together, the three scaled the icy trail to the top of the ridge and once there Azerban laid Zephia's body on the stone altar. Azaria carefully arranged the items from the basket around her mother's body. She gave her one last kiss and wept openly in her father's arms before turning away, hugging Hadir and placing the basket in his hands. It was difficult convincing Grayfoot to come back down with her, in the end having to wrap a leather leash around his neck. The canine would not be able to contain himself once the carrion birds arrived.

Azerban waited long enough for his daughter to return to their cave before beginning the final funerary rites. He again recited several incantations beseeching the Ta'ar's minions to release her soul from its fleshy host. The vultures circled high above, needing no bidding to come down and begin the part of the ceremony they'd patiently waited for. Finally, Azerban and Hadir backed off to a watching station far enough away to let the winged beasts come down, but close enough to shoo away any curious camp dogs or interloping scavengers if they tried to share in the feast.

It didn't take long for the minions to arrive. Finding fresh meat was particularly difficult during the winter and they were ravenous. Once they'd begun, Hadir excused himself. As a member of the Order, it was within his right to stay, but the excarnation process was a deeply personal ritual. Family members were usually left alone to oversee the event unless one of the Ta'araki was specifically asked to stay. Hadir knew Azerban to be one who coveted his privacy and the senior Ta'araki made no complaints when he took his leave.

Azerban watched in silence as the vultures devoured the body. They were efficient workers. When finished, the bones would be picked nearly clean. Only seldomly did he need to intervene, when one of the birds would try to carry a segment away for their own personal meal. Armed with his spearthrower and a quiver of light spears, Azerban downed two of the thieves just after they took flight. It was the one occasion killing the sacred birds was allowed. The ritual was only briefly interrupted, as the Ta'ar's minions returned quickly once he reset what was stolen and backed off again. Despite best efforts, it wasn't uncommon for the birds to make off with small pieces of bone, leaving an incomplete skeleton for the final burial.

The ceremony was almost finished when Azerban heard crunching footsteps behind him.

"Hello, father," Azaria said.

"Azaria. I thought you’d stay at the cave," he replied in surprise, but not annoyance - he was proud his daughter chose to join him. If she were older, he would have pushed her to stay. But she was in that in-between age, when the choice was left to the young individual. He wouldn't have denied her earlier had she more strenuously asked, despite the ghastly nature of the process.

"So did I, but I tired of weeping and decided I'd rather be here with you," she said. "Is it okay?"

"If you prefer to be here, then I cannot refuse," he answered, inwardly torn between his desire for his daughter to remain and his fear the scene may inflict added emotional distress. "Come and sit beside me."

Azaria sat and laid her head upon his great chest as he wrapped an arm around her.

She noticed the basket at her father's feet and turned her eyes from it. She knew what lie inside. There were containers like it in their cave below, as well as many other Natu hearths, but the thought of this one repulsed her. Right now, nothing seemed worse than opening that basket to see its gruesome contents.

It was a great while before Azaria could bring her gaze to the scene taking place upon the altar. When she finally did, what she saw disgusted her. Even from far off there was an ugliness to the Minions. To her, they didn't seem worthy of their standing.
They’re nasty beasts,
she thought. Nothing about them appeared sacred or majestic as she'd been taught. They performed their duty without subtlety, or the tenderness she felt her mother deserved. Despite her upbringing, she couldn't help her revulsion. She couldn't shake the feeling her mother's body was being desecrated and it made her angry. She finally looked down, not able to take anymore in, knowing her thoughts were wrong.

"Father?" she whispered, after another long moment.

"Yes, child."

"I was wondering... In all the stories we have of the Ta'ar, there is no mention of this..."

"Of what?" he answered.

"Of this..." she pointed to the altar where what was left of her mother was quickly disappearing. Then she pointed at the basket in front of them. "Of that."

"Ahhh," Azerban sighed.

"Why do we honor customs the Ta'ar never taught us?" she asked.

He sighed again before answering. "Those are good questions... the answers require much meditation. But I can tell you almost everyone has the same sense of repulsion when first seeing this, especially with a loved one. Your feelings aren’t wrong, Azaria."

She was surprised her father knew so precisely how she felt. It hadn't been implied in her question, but he knew anyway. She wondered if he felt the same. The realization comforted her somehow. But he hadn't really answered her question. "From all the stories, I don’t remember the Ta’ar ever saying we could reach Them this way," she said. "How do we know this is the path to Them?"

He pondered deeply before answering, "Not every Knowledge They gave us has been put into story or song. There is wisdom the Ta'araki have chosen to keep hidden."

She hadn't thought of this. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation and she felt a little childish having asked the question in the first place. Of course the Ta'araki would have their secrets. If one wanted to explore that world, one needed to dedicate one's life to the Order - a proposition which had never held any interest for her, except maybe as a carver. Azaria decided her father's answer was good enough. "I understand," she said. "Thank you, father."

Azerban was gratified to put an end to her probing questions, but also felt a slight pang of guilt. He sensed his daughter's skepticism hadn't been fully aired, that she was suppressing her curiosity. In his experience, truth came from such probing. And although he may have made peace with the ways of the Ta'ar long ago, she hadn't yet. She wasn't Ta'araki, but she still had a right to wonder.
She's a smart girl,
he thought proudly -
perhaps she will discover some insight I’ve never achieved.
"Azaria, I hope you know it’s okay to have questions. You shouldn't feel guilty if some aspects of the new ways don't make sense to you."

"But isn't it wrong to question the Ta'araki?" she asked. "Or the Ta'ar? Shouldn't we consent to Their ways, despite our objections?"

"Yes... and no," he started, not knowing how to explain himself without confusing her even more. "It is wrong to question the Ta'araki directly. To challenge them, especially in front of others. But it isn't wrong to have questions."

Azaria was thoroughly confounded. "I don't understand..." she said. She felt he was contradicting himself.

He let out a hearty chuckle. "Yes, I know I'm being unclear. How do I explain? Questions are okay. Confrontation is wrong, especially with one's superiors, and all Ta'araki are your superiors along with your elders, as you know. It's good to have questions though, to struggle with them, in your own head, and to seek guidance from the Ta'araki. Does that help any?"

"I guess so..." Azaria answered. He seemed to be saying it was acceptable to talk to the Ta'araki about one's questions as long as one was respectful. "But I still don't understand why the questions are allowed, when I'm supposed to accept that you know things that I cannot. What happens when my questions are about something that you keep hidden?"

"Ahh, I see why you are confused. Of course there will be moments when the Ta'araki will not be able to fully answer and that you must simply trust in the greater wisdom. But that is what faith is. You see, faith is belief, despite an absence of truth. If there is already absolute truth, there is no need for faith."

Azaria was beginning to comprehend. "Are you saying that even if we don't fully understand, we must still trust in the Ta'araki, because that's what faith is?"

"Yes, that's a good way of putting it," he answered. "And I would go even further. Those who have faith, despite their skepticism, are the blessed of the Ta'ar. For they have chosen to believe. But those who accept fully, despite a lack of truth, without even allowing for skepticism... well, I would say they’ve been touched by Luna."

Azaria laughed at his reference. "Like Fahim," she volunteered. He had chuckled with her, but it ended abruptly and she regretted the comment. She knew it was a sore subject for him, one he'd been avoiding. But she still had many questions about what had happened when Jesenia died. She'd hoped her joke would open the door to further discussion - and to some answers.

"Yes, Fahim was very resolute in her beliefs. In the end, she may have been under Luna's influence. But I think a battle was being waged within her," Azerban eventually answered. Azaria was surprised when he finally did and, afraid interrupting him would change his mind, listened in silence as he went on. "Fahim was obsessed with witnessing the return of the Ta'ar. In her last winters, it was the only thing that drove her. Every act, every decision, was guided by that one desire. I think deep down, she may have doubted the Ta'ar. Her father was a great Ta'araki. Her mother openly questioned his belief, preferring instead to honor the Mother. When their differences drove them to break, Fahim was still young and had to choose. She set aside her mother's beliefs, siding instead with her father. Although she loved her mother deeply, it eventually caused a rift between them, a chasm that hadn't closed when her mother died. Maybe she needed to know she’d made the right decision, that it was all more than just a story. And so she did everything in her power to seduce Them to return, so she could have resolution before she passed. I believe she would’ve gone even further if allowed. Her end was a good thing."

Azaria sat in rapt silence, almost disbelieving her father was sharing so much. When she was sure he would say no more, she asked, "And so that is why Jesenia was sacrificed? As an offering to the Ta'ar to entice Them to return to us?"

"Jesenia's death was an act of evil, Azaria," he said. He calmed himself before continuing. "I only hope we’ll be forgiven."

She was disturbed by her father's tone. Clearly he was in turmoil, but more than that she had the feeling he was truly frightened. Her mind turned back to the Summer Solstice, when she had spied on him and the other Ta'araki and watched Fahim murder the Kebar. She wanted to know if that man was also a sacrifice. But to find out she'd have to admit to her own transgression. "Father, I have a confession to make."

Azerban stared into the distance, wondering what was on his daughter's mind. It could be a number of things. Over her short lifespan, she'd done many things she thought he was unaware of. But he believed he knew what she would say - and wished she wouldn't. "What is that, child?"

"Last summer, on the Solstice, I was out hunting when I saw people at the Great Temple-" she started.

"Azaria," he interrupted. "I know what you're going to say. I know what you saw. I’ve always known."

Her stomach churned. "But why didn't you say anything about it, father?"

"Because I didn't want to admit to my crimes any more than you did."

---

Azaria sat cross-legged on her furs, staring up at the wicker basket sitting on its shelf. It was given a place of prominence, the other baskets moved further back to make room. She was happy now things were done the way they were. It was nice to have her mother so close, so accessible. She never felt the desire to look inside, but she'd often run her hand against the outside surface, caressing the interweaving pattern of reed fibers with the pads of her fingers. The feel was somehow comforting. If the odor was particularly offensive, she'd open it enough to add some fragrant dried flowers or herbs, but never enough to see what was inside.

The rest of Zephia's remains were buried shallowly in the back of the cave. The semi-frozen soil prevented any lingering stench from rising up. When Azaria’s hearth left for Boar Camp in the spring, the bones would remain entombed where they lay, waiting peacefully for their return.

Winters were never particularly enjoyable. Even for the young and strong, who had little trouble thriving, boredom came quickly and only deepened as the winter moons slowly wandered across the sky. It was fought off with games, socializing and craft, but one could only weave so many baskets, shape so many tips, or dye so many furs before they too lost their appeal. The onslaught of colds, flus and more serious ailments added to the torment. As if that weren't enough misery, as more moons passed and foodstocks ran dry, the lack of variety made meals dull and unappetizing. It was no wonder so many thinned down, bone beginning to show through sallow skin.

Azaria had not escaped the fate of many. She also felt less than whole, nursing a slight fever and an annoying cough that seemed intent on persisting. She’d lost weight too. The joy of fresh, flavorful food was now like an evaporating dream.

The one point of light during the season was the Winter Solstice Celebration. There would be music and dancing, games and socialization, flirting and feasting. A sufficient amount of fare and poison were saved all winter for the revered event. It was perhaps their most anticipated celebration, not because it was the most extravagant, but because of the wretchedness all had been enduring for so long. Moods lightened in the suns leading up to the feast, with the promise of diversion from desolation, of indulgence and gratification replacing worry and monotony.