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Auntie Tuiling was going to have an excellent day.
Rain? Pah! A little rain would only make it memorable. Calamity? The world wouldn’t dare.
Her grandchild was pledging to a sociate today; the first such bond to be honoured with an exchange of marks this year, despite the late season. A slow year for new connections, what with the stubborn malingering winter that had kept them all at home and the rovers out afield for months longer than usual, and now a precipitate, distractible lunge into sweltering heat. Their moon was moody this year, and it made for hard going.
But the rovers had come home, eventually, and among them was a newcomer: her grandchild had found haeself a bond with someone of another stad the rovers had met along the way, and brought that person home. Almost before taking hael boots off, ae had declared hael intent to pledge, but had demurred to explain what manner of bond ae had formed, claiming that the question had yet to be fully answered.
A good response, in Tuiling’s opinion; a good bond was never really done revealing its full nature. There was always a little more, another pair of points for a strand to connect, between two people who had enough to offer each other.
Hael bondmate had likewise declined to give up anything ae did not, which spoke well of him. Her grandchild was not a fool, to have brought home some unworthy to stain the entry-stones of their thorp.
It was going to be an excellent day, or it would know her displeasure.
x
The braided banners were already up by the time she and her clan finished their morning repast and ventured out into the vast circular courtyard of the thorp’s main holdring. A small but elegant open-roofed shrine of stone stood dead centre, the spire of their small but kindly god rising out of it to drink in what little sunslight there was on this humid highspring day.
There wasn’t much; it was going to rain after all. No matter.
Braided banners from every balcony, in cheerfully vivid shades of green and red and purple; the flowering vines coaxed to drape around doorways more artfully than was their instinct; a good crowd of neighbours already gathering in their thick-skirted finery below. The thorp was home to four clans, eighty-seven persons, and the courtyard was just large enough to comfortably hold them all.
Her grandchild, Uska, was perched atop the shrine’s roofless wall, long purplish-black hair blowing loose in the wind, heathery brown skin set off quite splendidly by hael simple dove-grey slip, the lowest layer of a feasting dress. The dark oiled leather sheath of hael chronicle bone hung at hael hip, contrasting and cinching the fabric in an elegant way. Tuiling had never thought Uska a particularly attractive child before, but there was a keen, fascinating edge to hael face these days, as ae neared hael second puberty, that put one in mind of a falcon or hawk. Not beautiful, perhaps, but interesting, which was worth more, in Tuiling’s opinion.
Hael bondmate, Temad, emerged from the quarters across the holdring a minute later, an ester on one elbow and an ander on the other, both of whom seemed to have taken it upon themselves to ensure he was properly undone and rendered vulnerable for the occasion: he, too, wore only the underlayer of a feasting dress, his in white. His hair, too, was loose, as long as Uska’s but darker, almost true black. His skin was a little paler than Uska’s, though still ashy brown; the heathery undertone of Alongan skin came through a little more clearly, giving him just enough colour to avoid looking sallow.
Uska grinned down at him and lifted an eyebrow, as if to ask how hard he was thinking of running.
He smiled back up at hae, calm and steady. His back was very straight, not rigid but simply assured. The plain white sheath of the under-dress suited him oddly well, though he was not beautiful either, his features too lean and eccentric for it.
Neither of them beautiful, no, but beauty happened all around them and between them as they held each others’ gaze.
Yes, Tuiling thought to herself, greatly pleased. Yes, Uska had found something worthwhile here.
The rain began to patter down, light and hypnotic from a pale sky. The suns broke through here and there all around, fleeting rays brushing over the rocky, lopsided crimson hills and all their fresh-blooming finery. Memorable weather.
The last of the thorp’s denizens had trickled into the courtyard and turned the nascent crowd into a proper throng, which sluggishly organized itself into more dignified curving rows on either side of the approach to the shrine.
Uska hopped down, landing lightly and easily without a heavy dress to encumber hae, and waited at the archway. Temad joined hae, reaching out his hand as he came close, and they both turned to look up the impromptu aisle of people.
The ossifer had not missed her appointment, though her dress was in mild disarray and her hair had not had all the brushing it might have wanted. No one of the thorp minded much; their Dimat was a bit of an eccentric, they all knew, and she made their lives more interesting by being the way she was, so she was allowed to stumble over the unspoken rules here and there without admonishment. She had her tools with her, at least, arrayed about her waist in their finely oiled leather loops and slots. Her hair might want for brushing most of the time, but her tools were always spotless and impeccably maintained. A fine ossifer, all things considered; they wouldn’t trade her for any other.
Uska and Temad drew their chronicle bones from the sheaths at their hips and presented them. The stitches on Temad’s needed a bit of tending, Tuiling noted, but otherwise all looked to be in good order. Pleasing, again.
The chronicle bones — the ulnae of their elders, imbued with all their love and hopes for their descendants — were lighter than they looked, and had the soft oiled and polished look of bones that have been lovingly handled and cared for over years. Neither had many marks upon them yet; Uska and Temad were yet young, hardly more than twenty, and had not earned them. The marks already present were mostly those that everyone received over the course of their early lives: the date and location of their births; the names of their parents and clans; two lines straight across for the successful attainment of age ten and age twenty; twisting figure-eight shapes shortly after the first line which marked their first roves.
Today they would add the first marks truly unique to them and their lives: the record of a chosen bond, a sociation consecrated in the presence of a god. Only the ossifer knew what sigils she would choose to represent it, if she knew in advance at all; many suspected the markings were divinely inspired in the moment. Their names would accompany the sigils, and a few other details about when and where and what nature, but those would be written so small and unobtrusive that the sigils would dominate at a glance, as they should.
Tuiling found herself standing in the second row behind Kawang, who had once been kammerein of their clan. Kawang, whom she had she had once shifted vilder for, and with whom she had fathered the clutch that contained Uska’s eventual mother, Dihir, who stood front and center where she belonged. Tuiling and Kawang were no longer as close as they had once been, but they were bonded as surely as their grandchild was about to be, and that was forever.
Smiling, she laid a hand on Kawang’s shoulder, and winked at her when she turned around. Kawang was a much more serious person than she was, and often found her go-lightly attitude grating, but today she was more open than usual and took the gestures for the support and congratulations they were meant to be. For a moment, she reached back and covered Tuiling’s hand with her own, then turned back to the proceedings.
Everyone around them was family, in a way. A quarter of them were literally family, the rest of their 23-member clan, but the other three clans had been sharing in their fortunes and misfortunes for nearly three hundred years, since the establishment of this little thorp in the wider orbit of the larger stad downvalley. While it was mildly taboo to reproduce with one’s close neighbours, it had still happened a few times over the years, so they all shared at least a little blood as well as all that history. She knew every name, could cite every lineage back at least four generations, knew them all almost as well as she knew herself and knew the same was true in reverse. Her people, her community, her descendants. Her legacy.
Today was not about her, and she didn’t need it to be, but she was suddenly brimming with such love that she fidgeted, unable to think of a way to express it in the moment that wouldn’t rudely draw attention to herself. She settled in the moment for touching Kawang’s wrist and trying to wordlessly communicate her feelings in the moment when Kawang glanced back again. At first annoyed, Kawang softened, and curled her hand back to lace their fingers together. Thus shared, the feeling became more manageable, at least for the moment.
The ritual was underway. Though most could not see what went on within the courtesy wall of the shrine, all but the youngest and most reserved knew the shape of it firsthand: the pair kneeling at the base of the god-spire, laying hands on it so that it might hear and feel them more clearly, telling it together what they wished. The god, slowly, remembering how to exist at the same speed they did and responding, winding its ghostly fingers into their souls to weave an ineffable tether. A ritual touch to seal the bond, different depending on the nature of each bond: palm to palm, perhaps, or forehead to forehead, mouth to mouth, back to back. Symmetry was important. Intent and focus were vital. Neither could falter, even in the depths of their hearts, or the god would know and dissent.
They were dressed simply and sent in with their hair all undone and faces bare so that they might behold each other without artifice or misconception, as they were at their most vulnerable. It was not necessary to be fully naked, as that could be more distracting than helpful, but sometimes people did go that far, and it seemed to work as well either way, as long as it was true to the nature of their bond.
Tuiling wondered which touch they would choose. Not mouths, she thought; she knew the look of young romantic and sexual infatuations all too well, and this was something altogether else. Hands? No, that wasn’t right either; that touch was mostly chosen by bondmates united by purpose and trust more than feeling, those who ventured together and undertook great projects. Back-to-back was for comrades-at-arms and such, those defending each other from the dangers of the world.
Foreheads, then. That did feel most right of the common options, though they might always opt for something less conventional. There was no one in there with them who could or would judge their choice, whatever it was; the god would leave all of that to them. Forehead to forehead, scar to scar; every human being had one there above their brows like a third eye, where their shellcrackers — oviruptors, egg-horns — had fallen off within their first years of life.
She could wonder, but it would be the height of discourtesy to ask. It was up to a pair to decide how much they wished to share, and Uska and Temad had already indicated that they leaned toward reticence. Unusual, in those so young, but a point of pride for their nosy old grandsire. She admired prudence and discretion in others, though she was unfortunately somewhat deficient in both herself. They made for better neighbours.
Perhaps half an hour later, they emerged, looking radiant and deeply at peace. Tuiling knew the feeling, and suddenly missed it.
Would Kawang be willing to renew their bond, if she asked? Would any of those she had bonded with over the course of her long and interesting life? Some would, she thought after a few moments of consideration, but she’d have to find them first. She’d met many of them on the rove, denizens of neighbouring lands. Even if she could remember the names of their homestads, some of them may have shifted vilder and gone on to sire children in other thorps none-knew-where.
Here, there was only Kawang, the kammer she herself had left the thorp she’d been born in to serve. Stoic, taciturn, wilful Kawang, whom no one had expected to shift kammer and assume leadership. Ten years she had reigned, three clutches, seven children all told between three vilders. More than enough to sustain the thorp. Enough that two had shifted vilder when the time came and gone to spread her bloodline far and wide; Uska’s elder siblings from the first clutch, as ae was from the second.
That first clutch had yielded three children. Those two, who had left, and Kidal, the current reigning kammer. She too stood near the centre of the proceedings, across the aisle from her mother, in a place of honour, to witness the binding of her little sibling. She had inherited Kawang’s wilfulness, but had a more open demeanour, more given to laughter and mischief. That was the influence of her vilder, whom Tuiling had only met briefly before he had unfortunately succumbed to a long-standing illness.
The second clutch had been Tuiling’s. Two children, Uska and Peras, both nulwer at the moment and very hale. Tuiling’s pride, Tuiling’s joy. Peras was standing in the row behind Kidal, a few years younger than her but several inches taller and several more inches broader. Ae had the same dark violet hair as hael sibling Uska, the same skin, but was nearly twice hael size overall, powerfully built by both nature and habit. Hael long hair was very tidily braided about the head, and hael feasting dress was stitch-perfect; fastidious as always, a trait Tuiling sometimes found frustrating but quietly admired.
How she loved the both of them. How glad she was that she had stayed, when Kawang’s reign had ended and she had been given the choice. Many vilders returned to their birth families after seeing their get through their first few years of life, but equally many opted to stay and become fully part of the families they had contributed their blood to, and both were normal and neither punished. A child did not really need its vilder specifically, as it always had a great number of clanmates around it to guide and cherish it, but there was always room for a vilder who wanted to stay and help, too.
Tuiling had almost left. Almost. She’d really only meant to plant her seeds and go on to the next, share her blood around as much as she could and then go home to her family.
But she’d loved Kawang so much. Loved the children they made together so much. When the time came, the choice came, she couldn’t go. She’d been back to visit her first family since, any number of times on the rove and in summer, but this was indisputably her home now. She couldn’t be anywhere else, even now that her children were grown and forging bonds of their own.
Everyone was hugging Uska and Temad, but she muscled her way through after a minute or two and held them both in her thin, wiry arms, fiercely willing her love and goodwill into them with all her considerable heart. They had so much life ahead of them still. She hoped so much that they would remain important to the course of each others’ lives as the years wore on. That was what binding was for: choosing at least one element of one’s destiny, a person who would always affect them and pull upon their heart no matter how far apart they were.
Perhaps it was time she went on the rove again. She was too old, probably, but her people would accommodate her if she set her will to it. Uska haeself would probably tie her to a pullalong and haul her across the moonlands, if it came to that. If they came to any communities whose names she recognized, she could get up and go ask after the people she’d bound herself to, chosen to have destiny with.
There were four, aside from Kawang, who made five. Four souls out there whose presence and general disposition she could always feel. They were all alive, she knew, and all well enough, going through the usual ups and downs and joys and miseries of life without exceptional catastrophe. Alive, and aware of her as she was of them. Friends. Lovers. Partners. Bonds beyond description, harmonies too complex for words or even music.
They’d feel her coming. She’d know if she was welcome. Yes… perhaps it was time. Who knew how many years she had left in her to do this? And what a shame it would be, to return to the soil of the moon without ever re-tethering those all-important threads of her life. A shame and an unsatisfying dissolution.
She would go, she decided, watching Uska and Temad receive the joy and congratulations of the people of the thorp, seeing the serene spire of the god looming over the shrine’s courtesy wall to observe.
She still had time enough for that.
X