Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin (4 page)

Ash went on ahead, glancing back once to see that Enat had settled on the ground again, waiting. Even so, she did not enter the sett. She would not take the chance of exposing the hidden entrance to this two-leg, no matter that she spoke their language. She waited and, before long, heard the snuffling of Broc and Cuán as they approached, their heads high as they sniffed the air, the white stripes on their heads gleaming brightly in the moonlight.

“She asks to meet you,”
Ash said.
“She speaks as we speak.”

Cuán snorted.
“I do not trust any two-leg. It is a trap.”

Broc nuzzled him.
“She came looking for Ash. I have heard her. I will meet her.”

Cuán huffed his displeasure, but shuffled along behind as Ash led them to where Enat sat.

Enat looked up at their approach. If she was surprised to see Ash accompanied by two badgers, she did not show it. She bowed her head. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a handful of shelled nuts and berries.
“I bring an offering of friendship to those who cared for a human cub.”

Cuán backed away suspiciously, but Broc approached, sniffing tentatively at the berries she had left on the ground. Enat reached out and plucked one of the berries, placing it in her own mouth.
“You do not have these in season here.”

Broc nibbled on one of the nuts.
“We offer thanks.”

Enat smiled.
“I am called Enat. You wonder why I am here.”
She gestured to Ash to sit.
“I have felt the stirrings of power in this one for a long time.”
She settled comfortably against a tree.
“Tell me of how you saved her.”

She listened as Broc, with a little help from Cuán, told the tale of the night they had found Ash. Enat frowned, looking more closely at the ridges on Ash’s face. Ash pulled her arms and legs more tightly under the cloth she wore as Enat’s sharp eyes probed her.

“But there was something, something stronger, something different last moon, was there not?”
Enat asked.

The badgers looked at each other.

“Tell her,”
Cuán said.

Enat nodded as Broc told of how Ash had healed Cuán’s wound.
“This is what I felt that night, and I knew it was time.”
She looked at Ash.
“Your power is growing as you grow. Now, you are like a storm that blows up without warning and without control. I can offer the teaching to control and use your power.”

“How?”
Ash remained suspicious.

“You would come with me,”
Enat said.
“To a very ancient part of the forest.”

Ash watched her.
“Are there other two-legs?”

Enat nodded.
“Yes. There are others. But all are like us. When we feel the stirrings of magic, we leave to reap, to gather young ones like you, who have shown signs of power, and bring them back to be trained in our ways. We are not like the villagers.”

“How long would I be gone?”

Enat’s gaze rested on Broc’s bright eyes.
“Long. If you come, you will not return to see Broc and Cuán.”

Ash’s eyes blazed.
“No!”

Broc lifted her head.
“Hush, little one. Let us speak. When do you leave?”

Enat spoke gently.
“You are wise, Broc. I leave tomorrow at mid-day.”
She looked at Ash.
“If you do not come to me, I will take that as your answer, and I will not trouble you again.”
She got to her feet.
“Thank you for speaking with me. You have newborn cubs. May I give them a blessing of health on this night when we celebrate life?”

Broc bowed her head. Enat raised her staff, and her lips uttered words Ash did not understand. The staff glowed like the moon. Ash gasped and backed away.

“There.”
Enat lowered her stick, and it looked again like ordinary wood.
“I cannot promise they will not be hunted, but they will not die of illness.”

“Thank you.”
Broc looked up at Enat.
“We will speak of what you have said.”

Enat turned and left them, moving away on feet as silent as Ash’s own.

Broc and Cuán led the way back to the sett. The cubs whimpered for Broc and settled contentedly to nurse when she lay down beside them. Ash lay down as well, resting her head against Cuán.

“I will not leave you,”
Ash said.

“I want you to listen to us, little one,”
Broc said solemnly.
“Though we have raised you and you are part of our clan, you are a two-leg. You will live much longer than badgers. If you stay with us, Cuán and I will still leave you. We are already in the second age for our kind. We will never make you leave, and you may stay with the clan all your days. But you should consider what Enat offers you. With her, you will not be an outcast, as you would be among other two-legs.”

Ash’s eyes filled with tears.
“I do not want to leave you. I love you.”

Cuán nudged her.
“And we love you, little one. But Broc is right. Even if you stay, we will leave you one day. You should think on what Enat said while you hunt.”

Ash turned her head, wiping her tears against Cuán’s sleek fur.
“I do not want to hunt tonight.”

Broc whickered.
“Let us all stay here for our last night together.”

Ash woke early and went to gather food for a last meal with Broc and Cuán, plus some extra for her journey. She had not asked Enat how far they would travel. She could think of nothing to say as she tried to eat.

“I will not tell you to not be sad, little one,”
Broc said. Badgers could not cry, but her voice in Ash’s head was muffled.

The other badgers came to join them, the cubs squirming into Ash’s lap and nuzzling her ears. When she could stand it no longer, Ash crawled out the tunnel of the sett – for the last time, she realized – and stood.

“Take this,”
Cuán said, dragging out her old cloak, the one they had wrapped her in the night they found her.
“You will need it.”

Ash draped it over her shoulders and then dropped to her knees to give them a final hug.
“I will miss you.”

“And we you, little one.”

With a cry that sounded as if her heart were being ripped out of her chest, Ash pushed to her feet and ran. She refused to look back, for she knew, if she did, she could never leave them.

Ash did not know where to find Enat, so she simply climbed a hill above the village and waited. Her eyes were swollen with crying. She was still crying when Enat found her. “Come.” She led the way, letting Ash weep as she followed. They walked for a long time, as the sun traveled across the sky and began to settle behind the hills. Only then did Enat say, “I know it was hard to leave your clan, but I’m glad you came.”

Ash said nothing, only wiped her nose with the edge of her cloak. Enat did not speak again until darkness had fallen. She found a clearing under an overhang of rock.

“This will offer us some shelter.”

Ash thought it offered no shelter at all.
“We should look for a tunnel where we can take shelter.”

Enat shrugged her basket from her shoulders. “You will have to learn to speak aloud. Not all can hear as you do. Gather some wood and we will make a fire.”

“Why?”

Enat looked at her.

“Why?” Ash said again, aloud this time. Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

“For warmth,” said Enat. “It is cold above ground this time of year. I have food the villagers gave me in thanks.”

Ash went off to gather wood, but, never having built a fire, she brought only twigs and brush. Enat shook her head.

“We need some of this, but we need more like these.” She picked up a branch as thick as her arm. “Find more of these.”

By the time Ash returned, Enat had a fire kindled. She showed Ash how to add wood to it. Fascinated, Ash held her hands out to the heat. She had only had fleeting visits to the villagers’ fires to steal food. Not since Broc pulled her from the fire had she been this close to one.

“Do they hurt?” Enat said.

Ash looked up in question.

“Your burns. Do they hurt?”

Ash opened her mouth, but no sound came out as she searched for words. “I do not know… hurt.”

Enat reached out to touch a fingertip to Ash’s face. “Is there pain?”

“No.”

“Show me your leg.”

Ash pulled up the cloth she wore, and Enat took Ash’s leg in her hands. Turning it to the fire, she saw the pink skin behind the knee, stretched tightly so that the knee could not straighten. She then took Ash’s arm and did likewise. The elbow was bent, the skin there looking as if it had melted, pink and shiny in the firelight. When she tried to straighten the elbow, Ash gasped and pulled away.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”

Enat turned to her basket and retrieved a bundle wrapped in cloth. “This is bread.” She tore a chunk loose and handed it to Ash who sniffed it curiously. She touched her tongue to it, and then pulled a piece off and put it in her mouth. Her eyes widened as she chewed. She quickly stuffed another piece into her mouth. The only bread she had ever had had been the burned or moldy chunks tossed away by the villagers. This was nothing like that. Enat reached for another bundle, similarly wrapped in a cloth. “And this is cheese.” This time, Ash took a bite without hesitation. “Good?”

Ash gave a low growl of contentment. Enat looked up from her food.

“Among humans,” she said, “that sound would not be comforting, though I’m guessing among badgers, it’s a happy sound?”

Ash lowered her head.

“Don’t feel bad.” Enat reached out and patted her knee. “You have much to learn. You haven’t lived among two-legs since you were very small.”

Ash tilted her head as she listened to Enat’s speech. She swallowed a large mouthful. “Will you teach me?”

Enat nodded. “I and others. You will learn from many of us. We each know different things, different kinds of magic.”

Ash glanced at her. “How did you find me? Did four-legs show you?”

“We call them animals. You will learn the human names of the different kinds of animals,” Enat said. “But no. The trees told me of you.”

Ash was so astounded, she forgot to eat. “The trees?”

Enat smiled. “Yes.” She reached out and placed Ash’s hand on the trunk of a gnarled pine tree. “Listen. Reach out with your heart and mind.”

Ash listened. From under her hand, she became aware of a vibration and a very faint pulse, as if the tree had a heartbeat. It did not speak in thoughts or words, not as the badgers and the humans did. But gradually, she became aware of feelings, images – a great storm, a flood, the passage of time – and she gasped.

“Trees do not bother with small things,” Enat said. “To them we are no more than ants, but they sense the big changes that occur, and they can tell of magic and power, for they are of that power. Do not ask a tree where to find a fish, but if you wish to know what happened long before you were alive, a tree might be willing to tell you if you know how to listen.”

“Cannot all humans do this? The ones with magic?”

Enat shook her head. “Only some of us. Others can move wind and water. Some can call fire from the earth. We all have certain gifts that we were born with; others we have to learn how to use, but they will never feel as natural. All of us learn to heal, to call up the elements, and we can learn to hide things.” She waved her hand and, suddenly, was not there.

Ash cried out and scrambled away. With a word, Enat was once again sitting before her.

“Will I learn to do that?”

“If you wish.” Enat narrowed her eyes. “But what we do, we do only when necessary. To do magic requires energy. How did you feel after you healed Cuán?”

Ash thought back. “I do not remember. I think I was weak.”

Enat nodded. “What you did took a great deal of energy, especially for someone untrained. If you exceed your energy, you must draw upon other sources. That is never something we do lightly, for it might take a life. All of this, you will learn.”

Ash drew closer to the fire, as the night was growing cold. She stared into the flames, thinking about everything Enat had said. Loneliness pressed upon her as she thought about Broc and Cuán in the warm, safe sett. Tears pricked her eyes again.

Enat must have seen, for she said, “I’m sure they are missing you as well. We should sleep now. We have a long journey ahead of us.”