Xea smells the wind. It’s saltier everyday, and with the salt comes the cold and the roar of the faraway sea. She stares at her two shadows to ascertain the time of the day. Her stomach rarely fails her, but she has to make sure. It’s the only way to survive.
She stops and sits by a large rock, and decides on a ration of dry meat for today, and just a sip of water from her canteen. So far, so good, she reckons, provided that she has made no mistakes. She’s the best scout in her group, but that means nothing here. The shaman has drilled that into them. Xea knows one or two of her group will be lost forever, because they don’t pay attention. She might still fail, but if she does, it won’t be because she’s daydreaming while having her lessons.
She looks up. A single cloud drifts lazily. Ah, a nap would be wonderful. But not yet. She can still squeeze in a couple of hours’ progress today.
Xea stands up and walks on, following her nose and her ears. She picks some tooth-herb from her satchel and munches it as she marches. The herb in her mouth makes her think. She has seen no life since yesterday. No plants, no animals. This is a barren desert. She shivers and tightens her coolsuit. She smiles, realizing the shiver isn’t from the cold but from trepidation.
No life. She’s close.
Her heart wants to go faster. Her brain tells her not to worry. She follows her brain, like she has always done. Her trip is timed: one day going in, one night stay, one day going out. It has always been like that, for generations.
Xea stops. She thinks she has seen something ahead, in the distance. The thump in her chest is stronger, faster. Is that it? She changes her breath, following her training. It may be. We’ll see it when we arrive there.
She moves on, purposefully looking down. It’s funny. This looks like a path and not like a path. Which is what the shaman said. Is she so good she has done everything correctly, found it on her first trip? Can she allow herself to feel pride?
Petty, petty. Not the true route to enlightenment that Xea seeks.
But she raises her eyes, and it is there. Unmistakable.
You will know the totem when you see it.
And she knows.
Even from here, the shape is alien. A sort of needle that is like the fang of some gigantic beast, all crooked and twisted. She forces herself not to run, but her sight is fixed on it. The strange shape seems to shift and move. As she approaches, she picks more details. Things that look like ribs of that impossible animal. Circles and squares that have been bent and distorted.
The light changes. Xea curses. The first sun is down and she has not noticed, so dazed she was with the totem. She lets her training come to her again. A refuge for the night.
Find an adequate dry spot. Rucksack down. Tent out. Plant tent.
The last beams of the second sun fade as she lights her torch. Xea munches her last meal of the day as she stares out from her tent.
Under the MyriadStars, the totem now seems to be a jaw full of jagged teeth.
All laughing at her.
***
“What did you see?” the shaman asks.
“The… the shapes are strange,” Xea says. “Like nothing I have ever seen. Like… like being on the inside of an animal, or… of a tree. But if they were broken open. All of it made of… this strange material.”
The shaman nods.
“Please continue.”
Xea nods. She knows the ritual, the shaman has to make sure. Everyone has heard the stories. Everyone could make something up. Someone could even make up a very good lie. But you have to have been to the totem to really know, because telling outside of the shaman abode is forbidden.
“I saw a large shape. Like the fin of a fish.”
“Did you see anything on it?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“I’ll show you.”
Xea picks a twig, and draws on the soil. Three lines, a snake, and a pyramid.
The shaman smiles.
“Now I know you speak the truth. You have braved the wastes. You have spent the night under the MyriadStars by the totem. You are a woman.”
Xea smiles, but remembers her place. Full of pride that now she is allowed to feel, she nods and presents her brow, where the shaman traces a circle with traditional oil. Xea looks down and sees what she has drawn.
E S A
Well, last week I was on holidays and, instead of writing more, I just forgot about it. Completely. So, full holidays, we could say. The story from my last prompt is here, and I hope someone reads it and likes it.
And now, to make up for my lack of writing, this: I’ll have two new prompts up during the weekend, and that means that this next week I’ll write two new stories, one for each prompt.
See you soon.