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Approaching father on the outskirts of the village, I took a seat on the log beside him. There we sat, the frosty air nipping us through our furs. We looked up in harmony as a welcome warmth graced our foreheads, the first rays of sunrise over the great mountains of The Cut. Father took my hand and we knelt, letting the glowing rays warm our backs as we began to pray.
As we rose, father turned to me. “Have you finished packing your things?”
“Yes father, I have just to pack the bedrolls”
“Please see to it the wares are secured in the wagon”
“Yes father” I replied as I began to trudge through the snow back to our camp.
The local Banuk around us were beginning to stir, gradually emerging from their huts into the frigid morning, their thick furs and scales protecting them from the brunt of the wind`s bite. As I walked, I reminisced on the Sundom, the land of the Carja, bathed in golden light, where people fear not the wind stabbing like daggers, the icy mountains looming above. The land where people are garbed in silks, the streets filled with chatter.
For all the love I had for father there was no small amount of resentment. I resented the fact that he dragged me here, away from my friends, my life. Across the desert, over the ocean and up the mountain to the place where the sun refuses to warm the land. I hurried to finish packing the wares, for then we could depart for the warmth and pleasures of the Sundom. Just 6 moons ago I would have found myself disgusted at the thought of performing manual labor, especially for my own father, but the activity did much to bring precious warmth to my bones.
Having securely loaded the last of the wares I went to say farewell to Opili. As the Banuk had few children, she and I had become close since I arrived, teaching me the ways of the Banuk. She had a much different way of teaching to the scholars back in the Sundom, she would take me to see giant paintings on the side of mountains, she would sing to me the songs of heroes. And in return I would recount stories of the great sun kings, of the great hunters of the lodge. But this meeting had a much more somber tone. I arrived to find her standing with her back to me, staring out over the valley that would take me home.
We stood side by side for several minutes. She turned to look face me, holding out her hand. In it was a talisman. A fireclaw fang, calved with the crest of her family. As I placed it around my neck I looked back at her, a look of finality and farewell in her eyes.
“Please tell me you will come back” she whispered.
“I swear on the sun that one day I will return to this frozen place”
“Let the talisman of my people bring you great strength in battle”
“Let’s hope I don’t need to use it then”
A small smile graced her lips. “Not every battle is a battle of strength”
“That it is not” I responded, returning the smile.
She opened her jacket as she embraced me, a Banuk tradition to share warmth with those you love. I returned the gesture before I heard my father’s voice ringing through the camp bellow.
“I guess I’d best be off now. May the sun ever light your way”
“May the blue light watch over you”
I left that place with a heavy heart, making little effort to engage in conversation as we travelled. We boarded a Carja trading ship on its way back from the Nora. A single tear rolled down my cheek as I stood against the stern of the ship, watching the Banuk lands fade into the haze. Opili was the one friend that I felt truly comfortable around, like I didn’t have to hide anything. Her talisman stayed warm under my shirt, hidden from the prying eyes of the Carja crew. Seven days and seven nights we travelled before we returned to the Sundom.
Being the daughter of a trader in the Sundom was difficult for me after our return. I had grown accustomed to the ways of the Banuk. Their bluntness, their stubbornness. I was no longer the quiet daughter the Carja expected me to be. I looked too foreign now to be truly accepted. The cold had changed me. My father had begun to notice how disconnected from the world I had become. He arranged to visit a Sun Priest to solve my so-called problems. We made our way to the chamber of the priest. After my father explained the story of our travels and my change after our return the priest turned to me.
“You must throw open the windows of your soul to the sun, let it melt the ice that has grown around it during your time away”.
But I didn’t want to forget. As much resentment as I had for that place, I realized that I never truly left there. The priest was right. Part of my heart had never truly thawed.