Pact - Drakonophobia

            He wandered through the forest— no, drifted— almost as if carried. His feet never fell upon the burnt and broken branches, nor the hewn rocks that signified crossing into its territory. The signs were everywhere; in the silence of a forest that should have teemed with life, in the faint smell of dried pitch…. And in the incredible warmth of a cloudless, star filled night.
            The absence of everything brought to him a great trembling; a prince did not belong alone in a castle, much less the wilderness. He thought to call for his attendants, but something caught his voice, whispered to him so gently, alarmingly, that it was better to remain silent. The slightest gasp would spell doom so thorough that no means might spare him. He covered his mouth and scrunched his eyes closed real tight. Already, he could feel hot moisture streaming down his cheeks, and he did his best not to let his sobbing disturb the world around him.
            A roar broke out through the forest, and he froze. The pale light took on an ugly orange hue as  the air sweltered. Wicked streams of fire spurted over the broken treeline, writhing in the air for a moment before burning to nothingness. He threw himself on the ground, curling up tight upon himself, now sobbing uncontrollably between his wild and ragged breaths. The ground shivered at first, and then shook rather violently as another roar echoed throughout what remained of the wilderness.
            It was coming. Amid the tremors of sundered stone, the unmistakable quake of individual footfalls. The snapping of tree trunks as easily as he might fracture a twig. The intermittent gusts of wind that drove forth further jets of flame, scorching the tips of the trees still left standing. The thicket immediately before him burst into splinters, and shards of the wood tore at his skin as it scattered around him.
            Then, silence.
            Don't look.
            The vast and nightmarish footfalls became the modest patter of flesh moving across stone.
            Don't look.
            "It's alright, Feil." His mother's voice. "It's okay, my beautiful baby boy."
            Don't look!
            He could feel her hands upon his shoulders, warm, comforting. "Don't cry, my sweet child."
            Don't look!
            He looked.

            Standing above him, his mother. Whole. Beautiful. Smiling at him, her eyes crinkled warmly at the corners, overful with love and light.
            “There we are,” she said. Her smile widened, and she gently cupped his cheek in one hand.
            The sobs receded to sniffles as he regained himself. He stared into her eyes and wiped the tears from his face with tiny, trembling fists.
            “There, there,” she murmured, stooping further to place a kiss upon his forehead. She smoothed his hair with her free hand. “You’re alright now. You’re safe, my beloved.”
            He peeked at her again through his clenched hands, and a smile crept along his face.

            A sound.

            She gazed back at him, still smiling, eyes brighter than the stars. He wanted to throw himself into her arms. He wanted to bury himself in her warmth and never let go again.

            He couldn’t move. Couldn’t cross mere inches for the embrace he so craved. A wind picked up, that familiar, hot wind, and it swept her garments all around.

            A tear slipped from one eye and slid down her face, a thick and bright red streak in stark contrast to her pale and clammy skin. Abover her, the dragon. It glared at him with golden eyes narrowed in challenge, dragged a slavering tongue over rows upon rows of sharp fangs. Bubbling pitch oozed from its hideous, foul smelling maw, great droplets that fell like small birds. The force of their splattering alone seemed to shatter the rocks upon which they landed, and the sizzling vapors that escaped as they melted through the stone brought fresh, painful tears to his eyes. He began to choke.

            "It's okay, Feil," Mother told him. "Everything is okay. Everything is—" she lurched as the dragon's claws lacerated her back.  Feil choked again, but this time it was not the stone that withered under the dragon's vitriol. The dizzying fumes smelt of more than pitch now;  blood, flesh. He toppled to the ground again, stomach churning, heaving.
            "It's okay, my Prince. My sweet, sweet Prince..."

            He fell from his bedsheets and immediately began to vomit. Sobs wracked his tiny form in tandem with the gasps and heaves of his purging.  He heard footsteps in the hall, and still horrified from his dream, he did his best to hush, crouching down in the mess he'd made, lest the dragon hear his wailing and punish him further.
            The door opened, and torchlight pooled in the entrance to his chamber.
            "M-mommy?" he croaked.
            "Are you alright, Prince Feil?"
            He could make out the concerned faces his attendants. They watched him for a moment, then hurried into the room to assist. The first scooped him up while the second proceeded to size up the mess.
            "What happened?"
            Feil, recognizing the voice of his father, broke away from the servant and hurled himself into his father's arms.
            "What's wrong son?"
            "I want to see mommy."
            "Did you have another nightmare?"
            "I want to see mommy!"
            The King heaved a great and heavy sigh.

*

            They started down the hall to the royal bedchamber. "Your mother is resting now."

            They entered, and Feil started for the bed, but his father caught him. He struggled, to no avail.
            "Quietly."
            The pair of them paced across the chamber and carefully around the bed to stand beside the Queen.
            "Ralasia..." the King whispered. He stroked her brow.
            She looked at them, expressionless, eyes gleaming with specks of gold.
            "Mommy," Feil cried, clutching at the blankets. "Mommy!"
            She stared at him now, a demure face bearing a touch of curiosity, confusion, and nothing more.

Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter I - Reception of the Chajman

          Gathered within the chamber of the Chajman, the once open hospitality became hushed- still present, but dormant in reverence to something greater than my arrival. As instructed by Renkou, I took a place upon one of the guest mats near the edge of the great space. Renkou proceeded to a place much closer to the center, and quickly enough, many others, ones Renkou called Chajman, filled in the numerous mats. Each of them that passed me did so with a quiet poise, and many among them offered brief, but open smiles. Around me, others gathered upon the mats, and beyond the boundaries of the chamber, I noticed still more; unlike the more colorfully garbed occupants closer to the center, many of the onlookers I sat among, as well as those outside, wore more nondescript clothing.
          The chamber, I realized, resembled a great wheel. I thought this not for the shape alone, but the arrangement of the chajman gathered, who, according to their vibrant robes, seated themselves around the center. Any chajman’s garments came in hues matched by those before and behind them, and yet lay at odds with their fellows on either side. Renkou, for one, had found Their place among those dressed in shades of gold and saffron.
          And then the elders entered; I knew this by the way they moved and the way the seated chajman watched them rather than their appearance. They gathered upon the mats at the very center of the chamber, and for a short time, a pure silence held the room. Then, the short and stout woman among the inner circle, seated before those garbed in greens and browns, lifted her hands and lowered her head.
          “I, Mete-Bèso, VwaChaj-Peyi, come before you in complete integrity to acknowledge your fortitude and give thanks for your support of our people and the foundation you lay for all living things.” Behind her, all of the Chaj-Peyi followed suit with their bodies, their voices taking up a deep hum in the silence that followed her words.
          Seated beside Mete-Bèso in the circle, another woman clad in blue performed the same bow. “I, Soutyen-Liy, VwaChaj-Dlo, come before you in complete austerity to acknowledge your wisdom and give thanks for your nourishment of our talents and the nurturing of all creatures.” Behind her, the Chaj-Dlo prostrated themselves, and their voices joined the others.
          Beside Soutyen-Liy sat a woman hardly older than I, dressed in feathers and fabric of white and gray. She performed the bow and spoke thus: “I, Flannen-Jantiyès, VwaChaj-Le, come before you in complete freedom to acknowledge your boundlessness and give thanks for the change you bring to our lives and the relief you provide all creatures from hardship.” The Chaj-Le followed suit with their Vwa, and with the others.
          A hardened, darkened man to the right of Flannen-Jantiyès then lifted his hands, head lowered. “I, Chofaj-Kontanple, VwaChaj-Soley, come before you in complete devotion to acknowledge your intensity and give thanks for the trials you allow to test us and the space you prepare for rebirth.” The Chaj-Soley added their cries to those of their brethren.
          Finally, a caramel toned man, tall and thin and graying, spoke from his position between the VwaChaj-Soley and VwaChaj-Peyi.“I, Rive-Gide, VwaChaj-Nanm, come before you in complete tranquility to acknowledge your unity and give thanks for the fellowship you bring into our lives, and the harmony you protect among all beings.”
          Hearing this, I could imagine quite clearly the smile upon Renkou’s face, though I could not see it. Along with the other Chaj-Nanm, They lifted Their voice and lowered Their body. The entire room resonated with the voices of the Chajman, and though I did not quite understand it(or perhaps because I did not), I found myself in awe, bearing a smile of my own. These were the Vwa, the voices. The Chajman, the stewards. I dipped my head in respect.
          After the harmonization of voices had held for several heartbeats, a silence returned to the room, and after that had passed, the VwaChaj-Nanm spoke again. “By the grace of the Nanm, we may all visit together. In doing so, we share of ourselves and indulge in good tidings.” As he finished, I could feel rather than see the warming presence that moved about the room, filling it, greeting everyone with a reserved enthusiasm. It stirred my spirit in a gentle way I had never experienced. In the heat of day, it would have held me, and I would feel no burden, nor fatigue. Under a cool night, it would rival a fire in its warmth. I knew this to be the work of Rive-Gide, and knew that I would know such somehow, even had he never spoken.
          “It appears that we have among us a special visitor,” he added in a soft voice. I could feel a strange sensation encircling me, a focused concentration of that warmth.  He turned his attention to Renkou. “Kè Renkou, tell us of this stranger whom you have brought to us.”
          Renkou rose and extended a hand to me. “This is Riyoon. I found her upon the marked stone.”
          Mete-Bèso hummed in agreement, a deep and pleasing sound.  “Peyi has spoken to me of your unfamiliar steps upon the land, and further blessed us with your arrival. Please, sit with us.”
          I rose, hesitant. The eyes of the Chajman fell upon me, and I looked to the center of the chamber where the Vwa waited.
          “Courage, Riyoon,” Chofaj-Kontanple commanded. Despite his rough appearance, his voice did not carry that same harshness.
          Now, I could feel the warmth again, tugging at me gently. I looked to Rive-Gide, and he smiled. “Yes.”
          With the blessing of the Vwa, I approached, careful not to tread upon the chajman as I passed. In the center, a slightly larger mat. At their indication, I settled upon it, encircled by the Vwa.
          “You have journeyed quite far to reach us,” Mete-Bèso remarked.
          “The winds tell me that such has set you free,” Flannen-Jantiyès smiled. “That your travels have distanced you from bonds that would restrain you.”
          “The waters whisper of your talents,” Soutyen-Liy added. “Now that you are unburdened, your precious gifts waiting to realize their true potential.”
          “And realize them you shall,” added Chofaj-Kontanple. “For your spirit is strong. Your hardships have proven such. Never falter.”
          Not one among them had an unkind word for me; in spite of such welcomings,  in spite of their  warm faces, new, and yet somehow familiar, almost familial, I found myself skeptical.
          “Doubt us if you must,” Rive-Gide added kindly. “But do not disregard the spirits, nor yourself. Trust.”
          “We welcome you, stranger, to our home, Sik Nati. Please, stay with us, learn from us in your own time.”

          The greeting had brought us into the night. As the sun faded from the horizon, the fires were lit, and a wild drum beat broke out beyond the chamber.
          I glanced to Renkou, and They met my gaze with a knowing smile.
         
          “You are free to go or stay as you please…” Flannen-Jantiyès remarked to me.
          “We would prefer that you partake of the blessings we have received,” Mete-Bèso finished.
          The Chajman had risen and began to file outside. The clamor of their steps and voices blended well with the drums, matching the energy and the excitement of the music. Though curious, I hesitated at first, unsure of what to expect.
          “Come, Riyoon,” Renkou beckoned. “Let us welcome you properly as we celebrate the harvest.”
          As I accompanied Renkou outside, I took note of the lit fires that encircled the meeting chamber, and the people that clustered around each flame. Of the nearest, I made out a quintet of dancers strutting about, backed by the rhythm of djembes. They carried handfuls of dried, reeds and moved with a practiced grace. With simple strides and head bobbing, they pumped their arms in and out, and the rustling of their brush added a music of its own. They brought their legs higher and higher as the steps progressed, tossing down one handful of reeds to sweep the other through the air. Then, the parted with this burden as well. They kicked out their legs, first right, then left, bent at the knee, and all the while, they set their arms in wide sweeping arcs. They moved nothing like I did, and yet every motion carried with it a serene grace, swift and purpose-filled. Just watching them, my heart began to race.
          Renkou eyed me and gave Their knowing smile. “There is space in the circle,” They said.
          “I do not know the steps.”
          “Dance as you do. Uplift your spirit in the way that you know how.”
          I could feel the now familiar warmth creeping its way up through my body in response to Renkou’s influence. In spite of myself, I smiled, blushed.
          I stepped as I knew. I rocked as best I could to the beat, swaying my hips. I lifted my arms and swept them, not in the arcs of the Sik Nati dancers, but as gentle waves kissed by the breeze. I slid my feet across the dirt, a glide rather than the skipping of my partners, who moved as they knew and welcomed me nonetheless.
          Each step upon the earth ground my fear into the dirt. Each wave of my hand swept away my apprehension. I danced for myself, with myself, in spite of myself, and they welcomed it; not for themselves, as the men of my village might, but for the recognition of who I was.
          “Now there,” They told me, “Is a proper welcome.”
         

Pact- Soliophile

         They’re keeping a close watch on you at every moment. You know this because you are never quite asleep, and yet both the haziness that circles your vision and the way sounds echo in your ears tell you that you are never quite awake either. Through it all, they persist, indistinct, but everpresent along the walls, watching, waiting.  Like the constant presence of your silent stewards, the haziness is something you grow used to. It feels… comforting, in a rather disconcerting way.
          A few other things are constant; you always feel cold, so much so that it sets you trembling. The attendants keep blankets and garments on you at all times. It's never really enough; It's not what you truly need, but you understand that they mean well, so you let them.  They also try to feed you; bowls of lukewarm pale sludge. Entirely unappetizing. If only they would let you near the braziers, the fireplace....but they know better; or at least, they think they do.
         Whenever the Sun rises, everything is clear. The numb haze recedes, and you can feel a billowing in your lungs, a quickening in your heart. Fluttery. Yes. Gold-orange light on the horizon. Beautiful. So beautiful. Fluttery. Everything so clear. Sun.
         You hurl yourself from the sheets and dash out of the chamber, out onto the balcony, tearing away at your garments in the process. It’s not the first time. Vaguely, you can register the changes. The numbness, the stillness, the Sun makes it all go away. Your skin is golden now, glowing like the Sun. It always is, but now it shines especially well. You smile.
         The attendants come to drag you back. They always do. Their tones are terse, faces concerned; they make sounds with their mouths, but you can’t really make sense of it. They grab you; wrists and shoulders. Touching them, being touched by them fills you with an eerie sensation. It’s uncomfortable. You squirm away from them and back into the sunlight.Truly, they are the ones who don’t understand. Urgently, you point to the sunrise. Sun. Sun!
          They know not what to make of the light on the horizon. They can see it, but they can’t feel it like you do. This is evident as you examine their faces. They see only you. They think they know, but they don't. They know nothing of the warmth in your womb, just beneath your skin. Their expressions spell a fright,and it makes you frightened as well. They manage to pull you back inside, and, having received at least some of what you need, you let them.  They pile upon you blankets and garments once again. Stifling, clumsy creatures.
          Three times. Three times!
          When the Sun is directly overhead, you hurry outside again; it is warmer now, and your skin shimmers. You smile. It feels amazing. Already, you can hear the clucking of the attendants, the same warbling in their voices. You look at them, and they do not glow. Not at all. Now you have the energy to evade them a little longer, darting to and fro, even with your swollen belly. Sometimes you feel it moving, deep inside. It stirs especially in the light, feeling what you feel, as you feel. You stop as it squirms. You smile.
          The man comes to see you then, and he brings the child. Both look as concerned as  the attendants harassing you. Still, seeing you, he says something to them, and they retreat. The child runs to you, throws itself into your arms. It is wild and panicked, and you are not quite sure why. You pet it, because…. Well, it seems like the right thing to do. It seems to work a little.
          A deep tone draws your attention. The man’s voice. He makes more sounds, and you can tell he is also panicked. You smile at him; it seems the right thing to do. The child is noising now. You pet it a little harder. It doesn’t help. A little harder… now it’s yelping, and the man’s panic becomes clear. He pulls it away from you, and you frown.
          When the Sun is at its last, just about to sink below the horizon, you scurry outside for the final time.  The last of the red orange rays exacerbates the pleasant squirming within, and though light and heat are beginning to fade, you still feel so warm. Surprisingly, the attendants do not drag you back, but come outside to watch with you. It's nice.

         You are glowing again. Warm and golden.

Riyoon's Reflection, Part I - Sik Nati

I’ll always remember the first time I stepped through the gate.

            The stars receded. A veil of clouds stormed in suddenly, though the sky held complete clarity moments before. Without the light of the doublemoon, it became difficult to navigate, and I slowed in my pace, but continued.  A fog descended upon the savanna. Now I had no choice but to halt. A wind rose and stirred the grass, but the fog did not lift.
            Everything seemed to shudder. The air trembled so tightly that I could hear a buzz like numerous flies all around me. My hair stood on end, and my skin prickled. I felt hot, and yet the heat brought a chill to my skin as I searched for explanations. Ahead of me, the fog had taken on a peculiar shape, swirls within swirls, clouds dancing in slow motion upon one another. Light poured out from the billowing folds, throwing hues of violet and skye over the otherwise darkened savannah. The vivacity stalled the concern rising in me - but then the wind picked up. Everything moved toward that brilliant, beautiful void. I tried to run, but could not gain proper footing. I dug my spear into the ground, but even the soil gave way. I passed through, and everything around me shattered like brittle steel. Then I was that brittle steel, breaking away piece by painful piece, as everything went dark.

            I find that my thoughts often return to that first night. I’d like to say that it was chance that put me before that odd chasm that split the calm, that took me from the savannahs I called home. I know now however, that both chance and home are relative.

 
            I remember feeling cold, and that was enough. Somehow, the night sky and empty plain did not seem nearly as lonely as the village, a place where as a woman, my desires went unfulfilled, my talents went wasted- a place where my voice did not quite matter. Exile —my exile— had brought contentment to my circumstances.  I had my freedom, and so that first night, I wandered. I took each step for myself, on my own terms. I resolved that I would travel as far away from Ngarobah as necessary in order to make my life my own.

            And I have, though not at all in the way I expected, in the place I expected. Truth be told, my place was no place at all, and quite frankly, I am happy with that. My feet have always sought to move- the curse of a dancer. Even had that first gate not swallowed me, I’d have kept walking, and I would have made my camp somewhere, danced in the moonlight and found myself. But the portal did swallow me.

 
            I felt the smooth firmness of stone beneath me. The darkness receded, and I noticed not at first, because my vision had been stifled by the passage. Around me, everything spun. That, combined with the piercing light from the sun, did nothing to help my confusion.
            “Are you hurt?”
            I bolted upright, and immediately regretted it. Through swimming, spiraling vision, I found a stranger on a rock nearby- short, and likely thin, but unknowable at this distance, obscured by a worn, and yet cared for robe, and a hat woven of now tattered stalks.
            “It seems you are unharmed. This is good.” The voice, somewhat deep, and yet soft, reverberated on the inside of my skull and carried an odd quality to it that I could not discern. Regardless, I found it comforting. My observer rose and approached with a slow, shuffling, uneven gait.
            At first I thought my eyes played tricks on me; the person who now stood over me had rather peculiar features. The wide and bright eyes and plump lips contrasted with a full and solid jaw, and now the voice made sense.
            “Who are you?” I asked.
            The shaman pursed lips together, ignoring my question and appraising me instead. “You’ll want to drink this, child.”
            A withered hand, empty seconds ago, now offered me a small earthen vial.
            “What is it?”
            “Medicine.”
            I stared at the vial and thought of my swirling stomach, the relentless throbbing in my head. “I don’t need it.”
            “You have head pains. Your stomach is unsettled. If you were to stand, you would lose your balance almost immediately.”
            “I’m fine.” To prove my point, I hopped to my feet, but found myself kneeling and clutching my gut. The ground spun faster than ever now.
            “You have nothing to prove to me, child.”
            I stared at the shaman, and received a toothy grin. “Alright.” I took the offered vial and uncorked it. It smelled foul; somehow I knew it would. I reeled, partly by reflex, but realized that already my stomach had begun to settle, and nearly all of the blurriness in my vision had receded.
            “See? You can tell it’s good.”
            I stared at the figure a moment longer, and realized I didn’t have anything to lose between my apparent exile, and the fact that my rescuer could have slain me on a whim while I lay unconscious. I threw back my head and took the medicine in one gulp.  The bitter draught burned my throat, but did not taste nearly as awful as it smelled. The swirling died down in my stomach, and I took a deep, cautious breath.
            “See? See?”
            “Thank you, stranger.”
            “You are the stranger. We are from this side.”
            “This side?” This time, I took care in climbing to my feet. A few more deep breaths and I felt like myself again. I turned in a slow circle, looked around. Savanah grass. Open, nearly flat plains. I could see animals in the distance- a pride of lions lounging in the shade of the sparse trees. Further away, a thick cloud of dust that suggested a herd on the move. It seemed no different than home.
            The sharp clap of wood on stone drew my attention to my feet; as expected, I had been lying on neither grass, nor packed earth. I knew at a glance that the stone could not be natural; from my vantage near the center, it appeared to be an almost perfect circle, the surface of which had been carved with ringlike patterns at the edges. Along such rings lay other carvings in runes I did not recognize. They traced one of the various glyphs with the end of Their staff.
            “As We said, you are the stranger.”
            “And who are you?” I asked again.
            They quirked Their head at me, confused. “Apologies, child. We are Renkou.”

Renkou. The portal led me to Them. Meeting Renkou, Their people, and seeing Their village reaffirmed what I knew all along. 

I followed Renkou across the savanna, still shocked at how similar it looked; were it not for the stone and the last of my sickness, I would not have thought myself somewhere new.
            “How did you get here?” They asked.
            “I think you know more than I do,” I replied. “You found me.”
            “But We do not know what happened before We arrived.”
            “Can you tell me about this place?” I asked. “The territory seems familiar, and yet it is not home.”
            “We are sorry that you came to be here,” They dipped their head. “However, it may become home enough in time. We travel westward to Sik Nati. It is Our home, and one of three great villages upon the plain.”
            We arrived in Sik Nati. Being unfamiliar with the land, and having known only my own people, I was not sure what to expect. My reservations were misplaced- I found welcoming smiles on every face that looked in my direction.  Someone fetched me a basket, and others began piling it high with gifts of fruit, dolls, sweets and potions.
            Renkou watched my surprise at the hospitality of Their people, a warm and knowing grin upon Their face. “As we said, you may find home here.”
            We journeyed to the very heart of the village, where I discovered a vast ring of tall stones, each of which stood half buried in the earth. In the center of the great formation lay a circular building, broad and low and open. The foundation came in the form of thick segments of rammed earth, which lifted the structure some small distance above the flattened earth beneath it. As far as I could tell, packed clay walls extended around the entirety of the building, save for gaps that served as doorways. The walls themselves did not obscure much, for they did not reach to the mud and thatch roofing of the great structure. As a result, our approach allowed me to see additional doorways, apparently equidistant, on the far side of the circle. Within the vast chamber, we found the company of other men and women, and people in between, all seated upon mats woven of reeds.
            “What is this place?” I asked.
                “We chajman meet here to discuss,” Renkou said simply. “As you are not one with the land, We must ask you to wait at the edge.” They gestured with one wrinkled finger toward a ring of mats on the outermost edge of the room. Do not stray, for we may have need of you.” Saying this, Renkou proceeded to a place near the center, and I did as I was told and selected a mat upon the border of the chamber. The hospitality remained, ever present in the warm smiles of the chajman, but it had become reserved in a reverence for what lay ahead.
            The elders took to the centrally placed mats. Many of them were older even than Renkou, though they had aged well; the few wrinkles between them appeared more decoration than delineation of years upon the earth. Their skins ranged from charcoal to cocoa, all of which matched well with the azures, golds, reds, violets, and greens that they wore.
           

 They are all so different from one another, Renkou especially so, and yet each of them honors the others, and is honored in turn. I discovered in Sik Nati a community diversified, yet overflowing with generosity and respect, even for an outsider such as myself… everything I was missing.

 

The elders called me forward after a time, and sat patiently, silently, as I told them of my village, Ngarobah. I told them of the great differences between my home and theirs; I told them of my banishment, and prior to that, my disinclusion from the hunt, martial arts, and several trades. I gave account of my regulation to cooking, cleaning, and weaving. In doing these things, I clarified aloud the absurdity of such artificial limitations.
            Whenever I thought I had finished, they would ask questions, one after another, and consider every answer. In explaining myself further, I reaffirmed who I was. If I’d held any sliver of doubt upon my exile, my departure, it vanished in the comparison of my once beloved Ngarobah to their Sik Nati —where each and every one among them served as they best could, according to their own decisions.
            At home, I could never have held such a conversation; were I somehow given a voice, men, and perhaps women too, would think I desired to be a man— but that has never been the case. It was true that I missed the occasions of my childhood where I had helped with the hunt, startling prey into our traps or ambushes. These things I had done before everyone suddenly declared me woman. But it was also true that I enjoyed the Kwaito, the dance, as well. While some believed that we women performed such for the pleasure of the men, I had never run, nor leapt, nor danced for anyone other than myself.

            In the end, being able to speak with the chajman— to be heard— is the experience that has taught me, perhaps more than any other, that it is not enough to be satisfied with merely my freedom.

Because of that,when I learned from the chajman of Sik Nati that the portal I’d come through had in fact been ‘created’- and that there were others like it, I knew I had to make a journey not only to Ustaarabu, the source of such wonders, but anywhere and everywhere such portals might be found…