The Ordeal: Ciera of the Aranak-ja

By Jean Lejeune

1500 years after the apocalypse, Ciera is a member of a band of hunter gatherers. She shows us a world of harmony, grace, beauty and danger. Within stories within stories, Ciera wants to be a "teller of stories." But first she must survive a terrible ordeal and learn the meaning of redemption. Travel with her through a world that may be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jean Lejeune
• Release date: Jan 6, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452375793

Book preview

The Ordeal

Ciera of the Aranak-ja

By Jean Lejeune

Published by Jean Lejeune at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Jean Lejeune

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Note

Prologue

Part 1 - The Prairie and the Sea

Part 2 - The Story

Part 3 - The Warrior

Part 4 - The Ordeal

Epilogue

Writer's notes

Glossary

Note

The following is a story of the Aranak-ja from the dark time. It is based on stories written by the Ancestors who knew those people and heard their stories. My sincere appreciation goes to the New Caledia Institute for access to the collection of ancient manuscripts of the Ancestors. More notes and a brief glossary follow the story.

Prologue

The battle began in the dying day. The enemy had the numbers and the discipline but were rigid. The people were fluid but were trapped. The toll climbed, rage replaced reason, the battle became its own purpose.

It seemed the world was burning. The red of the sky was as terrible as the blood on the ground. When her brother fell, her mind began to leave. The last word her mother spoke was, Run!

Her mindless legs ran. They ran her into the arms of a scout who had escaped, and she passed from thought. A steady rider on a steady horse will make a fine rhythm. The mind must find a rhythm before it can find the light.

* * *

The large brown hawk floated on the southern breeze. It was a lazy day. Her chicks were fed on a young hare, her mate was circling the nest. She liked this prairie. There were just enough tall trees for the building of nests, but not so many as to hide her food. But she did not like what she saw this day.

With a subtle lean and turn of her tail, she banked into the midday breeze. With climbs and dives and side slips, she traveled many miles south with little effort. She wanted a closer look at some strange creatures crawling north. She had been watching them from a distance all morning.

There were four, and one looked like a horse, but behaved like the other three. They all walked like horses, but did not graze as a horse would. They kept a steady walk and did not turn aside for the best grass. Though eating little grass, they passed many hares, ground squirrels, quail and snakes, and never stopped to eat one. For a reason she did not know, these creatures made her angry. She passed them high overhead and gave them her angry skreee. Then she beat her wings for altitude and rode the wind to her waiting mate.

Antran sat tall on the big pony, for he was feeling good and well rested. A woman and a girl, Celryn and Ciera, rode behind, and he could see they were also feeling well. The pace was slow, the grass was thick. They would let the ponies graze at midday. Two miles downhill there would be a small clear stream with frogs and crayfish and the cool shade of willows. Then two miles uphill and the peak of a rise. Antran would slowly scour the distance for the slightest movement other than hawk or dove. The land continued this long lazy up and down for an ocean of grass.

Antran shaded his eyes from the glare of Nra ja for a glimpse of the faraway cry of the hawk. To his mind, the hawk was a thing that was good. She took what was needed. She fed her family. She tolerated no foolishness. She made no enemies and had no enemies. The prairie was her garden. The rising of Nra ja was the only god she needed.

He turned to Celryn. A Voge! Ur-jise av sagessent. Ur-jise nav gur-gen. (The hawk! She is with wisdom. She is without war.)

Ciera watched the hawk glide as if falling, falling into endless sky. She watched the tiny black speck slowly merge with the blue. Spinning her pony full circle, she yelled, Eeya, yip, and raced past her comrades. Ur-ise Ciera! Ur-ise liv! Ai venre a shakua mai! (I am Ciera! I am free! The wind is my friend!)

As she topped the next rise, at full gallop, she stood in the stirrups, spread her wings, turned the pony with her legs and banked into the wind, then disappeared in the distance.

Celryn pulled along side Antran. She is happy.

I can see.

You have done well.

Hmmm.

An occasional stand of the thorny trees would force them off their line for a while, but no bother, there was no hurry. There would be a small mesa, and they would climb it for the change of view. But then the view was the same.

There were creeks which sometimes cut small canyons in the prairie, and the walls of the canyons might be layers of the red or yellow rock. There might be the birds of pointed wing which built nests of mud in the overhangs of rock. But they would ride around these and within a mile see only prairie. It would soon seem as if the small canyon was only a dream.

All they could see was the grass, far into the west and north. All the ponies Ara ja had made from the beginning of the world, and would make until the end of the world, could eat this grass for ten lifetimes each, and it would make no difference. The grass would not even notice they were here. The south wind made waves in the grass, and the waves topped a rise and washed down a slope and up the next rise and the next and the next and...the waves went on forever.

This party of three was traveling to a rendezvous. A campsite on a river was the meeting place agreed upon with the rest of their party. Antran, Celryn and Ciera had left the sea for home a few days before. The others had taken a different route.

Antran was pleased with the time he had chosen for the journey to the sea, the time of the first thaw. For now, even having spent two passings of Mra je on the coast, when they returned to the mountain valley of the clan, it would still be high summer. Plenty of time to gather roots and berries and tubers and to dry meat. And may it be he would find his son taking first steps or uttering first words.

Two smaller ponies, with two of his three mates, and a pack horse followed Antran. First was Celryn, ten and seven years, tall, strong, a decent hunter and very good with the herbs that heal and reduce pain. Antran loved her most for her easiness and her patience. She was his rock. She could always be depended upon to endure, to wait, to be gentle when others were hurting, to calm the angry, to seek a solution. Celryn was good with horses, goats, dogs - even captured animals like the falcon or the otter. She would also fight with courage and ferocity.

As she rode, day after day, second in line, Celryn followed the endless swaying of his long braid, and gave much thought as to how to help him best. Antran was troubled by thoughts of leadership and responsibility. Celryn would do all she could to help him find the truth of himself.

Next rode Ciera, the orphan, just the opposite. She was often impatient, restless and quick to anger. Ciera was only ten and one years and was a promised mate to Antran. This had allowed Celryn and Calyne, Antran's first mate, to bring Ciera into their lodge. Since the death of her family, Ciera had caused many problems with the families she lived with, and for the clan. She was often punished.

Ciera was sometimes like a boiling cauldron, but Celryn assured Antran that the girl would grow calmer in time. And what a prize she was. Better with the bow and spear-thrower than anyone in the clan could remember in one so young. She could run almost as fast as Antran and Celryn and for longer distance. Most amazing was her stealth in the forest which she was quickly adapting to the open grassland. And her humor, while sometimes vicious and grating, was often a joy.

Antran had been reluctant to make the promise to a girl of nine years. But as Celryn and Calyne had told him, some man soon would, for she was orphan, and he would miss the great prize she would grow to be. Then, when Ciera was ten years, she had driven a spear into a barely wounded Borais, and Antran's decision was validated.

Calyne had not made the journey, the baby being barely half a year when they had started. Calyne at two tens years, was four years the younger of Antran. He had helped in the guarding of her, almost as a little sister. The males of the clan had, out of respect, not claimed her until Antran was old enough to take a mate. She was his favorite, but these two younger ones had grown high in his thoughts during this long trip without Calyne.

Last came the large pack horse following faithfully as a dog, mile after mile, with no lead. She would stop for favored flowers to munch, then, with her great load, trot to catch up. She carried a man's weight of seaweed, a boy's weight of shells and most of their supplies.

For two days they had seen fat pheasants rise before them, and Antran wanted one. Late in the dying day, he ordered little Ciera to crawl forward in the grass, and he and Celryn followed with their slings. Shortly, a magnificent golden-red bird took wing and both Antran and Celryn missed. A while later, three more pheasants had escaped the stones of the hunters. Then the birds stopped rising and the two could not see any movement in the grass. Had Ciera crawled faster than they could walk? They climbed a small boulder and searched the grass ahead. Soon a noise caused them to turn, and there stood Ciera, a hare with a broken neck in her hand, a disgusted look on her face. She said, Flush your own birds, and turned and walked to camp.

The hare was not much, but some seaweed from the coast, half a potato, wild onions, some crayfish from the stream, and they had a pleasing soup. Celryn made a tea from fresh paintbrushes. They had a flask of the liquor from home, and each drank a small cup. Celryn mended a tear in Ciera's moccasin with a needle made from the rib of a huge fish they had caught. The bones and skin of this fish were a treasure of useful things.

Antran and Ciera fought in the grass. He chased her, grabbed for her, tried to pin her. With a wooden training knife, she slashed his hands, belly, hamstrings, the back of his neck. When she kicked his ribs too hard, Antran tired of the training.

Ciera ran barefoot chasing fireflies while Celryn mended and Antran smoked and thought of the beginnings of this journey. Celryn and Ciera each sang a song of their own making and the three lay down in the grass, side by side, without even a blanket. They marveled at the clouds which had taken the shape of the ripples of the sand in the surf. The ripples covered the sky like a blanket woven of the softest wool. The star which travels, and is bright in the darkening day, looked through the gaps in the weave. They watched the light of Nra ja slowly fade and paint the blanket the many colors of plums. Then they talked about the wonders of the sea and the coast until one of them signaled the fine breathing of sleep.

Part 1 - The Prairie and The Sea

The earth and the sky are vast.

The minds of men are small.

But if the people will hear

with their hearts

the songs of earth and sky

the hearts of the people

will be vast.

-- From Songs of the Aranak-ja

The party of eight crossed the muddy river two tens of days from home. An early wave of heat caused them to change their deerskin for loin cloths and the thin shirts of woven llama hair. One day south of the river they took a deer. They knew it may be the last deer they would see for a long time. Soon they would leave forest and live for many days on the prairie.

Antran had been to the sea before and had wanted to see it again, and the group had needed him as a guide and teacher. So he gave up a few passings of Mra je, of seeing his son grow, to lead two other families on the long journey. His two younger mates had been overjoyed for they had heard the stories of sand and waves and strange birds all their lives. The clan sent a party every two years for seaweed and shells, but only a few could go, for the clan could only afford to risk a few to the dangers of travel. So when Mra je was in full glory, at the first thaw, three families, eight of the people and their ponies, and five pack horses had begun the ride to the sea. A journey of more than three tens of days.

One family was made of Antran, Celryn and Ciera. The next was Antran's cousin, Apelon, his mate, Celia, and Apelon's younger brother, Axtlan. The third was Apelon's good friend, Alejeun, and his mate Cetnyne. These had been selected because they were steady and good workers and there was harmony among them. The elders saw this as a time for Antran to learn more about leadership. And for him to build the bonds a leader would need.

Only Antran of this party had ever seen the southern portion of this great plain. His clan were people of the mountains, valleys and meadows, though they hunted the grasslands west of their mountain valleys.

The grass does not come upon you suddenly. For at least a full day, they rode through gradually thinning trees and brush. Only when there was a day with no signs of forest, did they become fully aware. And it was stunning. If they looked in four directions they might see four trees. Or none. To the people of the plains, the grass had more colors than there were names. But to these mountain dwellers, the grass was one color, a yellowish, brownish gray which they could not name or describe.

Ciera thought the grass was the color of Cylneera's hair. Cylneera was her best friend, the one who had stood by her when she was orphan. But the grass did not have the smell of flowers of Cylneera's hair. It smelled like a horse. When a young filly plays too hard in the bright day, her coat gets a fine sheen. The grass smelled like that. But the filly had a sour smell, and the scent of this grass was more sweet.

The land rolled and had contour and shadows. If they concentrated, they could remain oriented. The slope they had seen a while past might be the slope they were riding up now. Or it might not. It was difficult to remember. There was only one thing they knew. Antran was in the lead and seemed confident, so they followed.

As long as there have been humans, there have been navigators. Some seem to know how to get where they are going and back again. Antran was one of these and to him the problem was simple. He would cross three rivers, it did not matter where. The third river he would follow south and east, keeping the bank to his left. He would stay about a mile from the river, where the land was not as sloped. In some number of days, he did not know how many, he would come to a campsite he knew well. From there he would head south and west, cross a certain number of creeks, then follow one to their destination. When he crossed that last creek, the air would smell different, the sky would look different. If he made this journey two tens of years from now, he would feel the same changes.

Antran did not know which of this party, young or younger, male or female, might make this journey in the future and be a guide. At the midday rest and again at evening, he spoke to everyone everything he had seen and every decision he had made. All listened respectfully but Ciera. She seemed bored. But Antran knew this was because she had already observed. Or if not, she heard his every word while pretending not.

For days, they had watched the shorthorn antelope, a curious beast, travel with them. The antelope never ventured between the party and the river. They always stayed to the west of the people, seemed to always be a half-mile off, and were always watching and wiggling their ears. It seemed to be a goat. But its legs were too skinny and its horns were wrong. Watching a buck and a kid at play, Ciera's breath was taken by their speed. No one of the people had horns of the antelope. Ciera thought their hide was beautiful.

One day, Ciera took her bow from the packhorse. She bade Axtlan, a boy of ten and three years, to take his, as well. Ciera rode south and Axtlan circled north. They closed slowly and were sure the beasts would be driven to one of them. Antran watched in amusement. After half the morning, the two met and the antelope were a half-mile further west.

As they trotted back toward the party, Axtlan said, Ciera, your pony spooked the antelope.

My pony? It is yours that is out of control.

Hah, when you are older, you may know a little of the way of the horse, as I do.

Spotting a hare a fourth-mile ahead, Ciera said, Can your pony find that hare? With a kick in the ribs her pony took a huge leap.

Axtlan was only a heartbeat behind and in moments they were side by side, the ponies still gaining speed. The young riders leaned over their necks and shouted in the ears of their steeds. The ponies got their heat up. They reached out and pulled in prairie, ten steps of the people at a leap, faster than the deer or the wolf or the lion at their fastest. The thunder of hooves confused the hare, and it blindly ran.

At full gallop, the rider must reach almost to the ground and touch the ears of the hare. If the hare swerved the wrong way, the pony would also, to avoid it. And so the rider must be strong in arm and leg to not be thrown at a killing speed.

Five strides from the hare, Axtlan kicked Ciera's pony in the ribs. He was able to push her away a step and get the position on the hare. He slipped from his stirrup and made the reach. But the hare swerved at the last moment.

You missed.

Hah, but I won.

No, you missed. And you kicked my pony.

So who is the better rider? He laughed, and reached over and struck her shoulder hard enough to hurt.

The sideways kick caught him under the arm and he landed on his back in the soft earth. His pony loped south toward the party. Ciera walked her pony to him, then backed a few steps when he got up to dust himself. Horse master, your pony has left you. Would you like me to catch him?

Axtlan gave her a sharp look, then started walking toward the people.

Celryn said to Antran, May it be that boy be is trying to steal your mate?

Hah, I would sell her to him for a good knife.

Celryn did not see the humor. You took her promise.

Celryn, I would not trade her for a herd of spotted ponies.

I see that your gelding is gray.

When they lay down at night, when the chatter and the stories and the jokes finally stopped, Ciera would listen as long as she could and try to hold off sleep. The crickets, and sometimes the frogs, the rush of nighthawks, the stomp of a pony's foot, the snore of one of her companions; these soothed her, these made her warm, these were the prairie at night. But she also listened through and around these sounds for another, for a sound which made her feel lonely and far away and a little lost. Often, in the dark, if she listened carefully, a great flight of geese would pass over. If Mra je were just right, she might get a hint of a shadow, but most likely only the sound of geese talking about the long, long journey to the summer ponds.

There were few marshes on the prairie, but there were some. Flat and low places, where the thaw floods had run over the banks of the creeks. Sometimes a creek would take two paths, or even three and make a small wetland. Sometimes a creek disappeared into a marsh and came out the other side and became a creek again. A few times, the party rode close to one of these marshes. When they got too close, or a pony stomped, or one of the people coughed, the marsh would explode and tens of tens of tens of ducks would take to the air as one.

Many times in a day, all in the party would watch as the long arrowheads passed over. Sometimes one of these would have more ducks than could ever be counted. But it would be only one arrow, and there may be others, and the arrows might make a larger arrow. Sometimes something happened, they did not know what, a hawk, a strong gust, may it be only a tired duck, and an arrow would fall apart. And then some disciplined leader would pull them together and make a new arrow.

It seemed strange to Ciera that she should be traveling south when all of these ducks were going north. She did not count ducks among the wise birds, but from up so high, they could see things she could not. One day, may it be when she was a woman, she would follow the ducks and learn why so many liked, so much, the far north.

There was a day when low gray clouds covered the prairie and Nra ja tried to burn his way through them and so turned the grass a rich golden color. From the top of a rise, the prairie seemed even larger, for Ciera could see in the west the clouds reaching to the end of the world and then reaching far beyond. A cool breeze came from the north. Winter was being stubborn, making one last try at claiming this prairie. The next day, Nra ja won, the warm breeze from the south came back, and again the ducks rode the wind.

Ciera had never seen bison. Her people hunted the prairie west of her home, and the meadows and forests where mountains and prairie meet. But hunting parties