Maliha

By the time Ray’et returned with the blanket and Makula, Maliha was wet to the bone and shivering uncontrollably.

Rivulets of water trickled down her face and her hands shook with the large concentration of power she was drawing from the earth.

Even the thick, rolling waves of heat that licked against her palms could not chase the chill that clung to Maliha’s body. Her prone form was wracked with shivers as small, indecipherable words slipped from her lips. A chant building in her chest as she prayed for Darsan to heal, but the girl’s body did not listen.

Darsan’s body thrashed, her head rocking back and forth as her eyelids flickered open and closed to reveal the unnerving pale blue orbs that stared unseeingly into the sky.

“Maliha.”

Makula’s voice carried through the unbidden rain storm to where Maliha lay.

“Here.”

Maliha sobbed, her long lashes blinking in a futile attempt to remove the water that clung to them.

Makula’s withered hand landed on Maliha’s hunched shoulder.

“You have done well my child,” she praised lightly before ushering Ray’et over with the blanket.

“Wrap Darsan in the blanket, but make sure you do not touch her skin.”

Makula watched Ray’et with an unblinking stare as he wrapped Darsan in the blanket and then hefted her still thrashing body into his arms. He spared Maliha a look, perusing her body with his heaters stare and to make sure she was still okay, before he headed off into the storm.

“Let’s get you out of this rain. Come ashra” Child.

Makula’s withered hands were surprisingly firm as she clasped Maliha’s palm in hers and pulled Maliha to her feet.

“This way,” Makula muttered leading Maliha through the blinding storm and into the safety of her tent.

Thick clouds of smoke filtered into the air, the heat of the fire waving over Maliha’s damp skin. The sweltering air in the tent was filled with the musky and earthy tones of incense and sage. Large wafts of smoke plumed around Maliha’s face as Makula pulled Maliha’s weakened body inside the tent and away from the harsh weather.

“Strip.” Makula grunted.

She waved for Ray’et to lay Darsan down in the corner where there was a pallet of thick furs and pillows.

“Brew some tea.”

Makula grunted, motioning to the small wooden drawer that was in the corner by the tent flaps. Ray’et nodded his head and moved to follow Makula’s command.

“Maliha, look through that chest for spare clothes.”

Maliha’s head nodded slowly in agreement but her feet refused to move, her spine tingling from the transition from freezing cold to boiling hot.

“Maliha,” snapped Makula.

“Bring me clothes for Darsan, and while you are there get some for yourself.”

Maliha scampered to do Makula’s instructions, rummaging through a carved wooden chest before she headed back to the bed.

“Strip,” repeated Makula.

Maliha was used to Makula’s blunt and harsh commands and so she obeyed, reaching forwards to help remove Darsan’s clothes but Makula slapped her hand away.

“Not her, you. Strip and change.”

Shock and confusion still muddled Maliha’s mind making her compliant to Makula’s wishes. Climbing to her feet, she stripped down to complete nakedness before hastily throwing on the fresh clothes.

“The tea is brewed.”

Ray’et’s husky voice had Maliha’s cheeks burning at the realisation that she had stripped before him and that he had likely seen everything.

“Good. Maliha, sip.”

Makula’s words were abrupt, her conversation riveted to her job of stripping Darsan out of her wet and muddy clothes.

Once Darsan was dressed in new clothes and her body had stopped thrashing about, Makula made Darsan sip drip some of the warm tea. Darsan’s eyes were still clenched firmly closed, consciousness had not yet claimed her but Makula seemed unworried.

Hobbling to her feet, Makula picked up one of the burning clusters of sage scattered from the fixture of the tent and gathered a large fleck of gold.

She placed the thick, circular fleck of gold at the centre of Darsan’s forehead before waving the sage over the girl’s body. Soft chants in a language that Maliha did not understand flowed around them, lulling her mind into a state of slumber. Maliha’s eyelids dropped in drowsiness as the chant rocked the last of the chill from her body.

The deep timbre of Makula’s voice washed over Darsan’s body, soothing the girls mind until the lines on her face became softer in what were the signs of a natural slumber.

Makula blew out the flickering flames of the burnt end of the sage and removed the gold fleck from Darsan’s forehead.

“She will be fine now,” muttered Makula, motioning for them to move away from Darsan’s prone form.

“Let her rest while we warm ourselves by the fire.”

Maliha clasped her cup tightly in her hand before following Makula to the small fire at the centre of the tent. She spared Darsan one final look before sitting on one of the large cushions.

As the fog of all that happened began to fade, she took in her surroundings. Racks and racks of wooden shelves lined the walls of Makula’s tent, large lanterns dangled from the wooden beams that supported the structure of the tent. Inside the lanterns were more clusters of sage and sticks of incense that have the woman’s home a welcoming and calming feel.

The tent looked well lived in, every corner was either filled with either some sort of plant or a rack of shelves that contained dried herbs and other ingredients used to make her medicines.

“I am sure you are wondering what happened,” croaked Makula, her eyes like liquid pools of fire as she stared across at Maliha.

Maliha turned back to the fire as she responded. “Yes, Ray’et said Darsan was having a vision.”

Makula’s head nodded in agreement as she took a sip of the tea that Ray’et had brewed. The warm and sweet content sliding down her throat as she thought deeply.

“Darsan is what we call Alhasmiji, an anointed one. She has been blessed with the gift of sight but with every blessing comes its curse.”

Maliha felt a large wave of sympathy at the struggle that Darsan had to go through daily, though it had never been visible until this moment. Maliha had become accustomed to the girls stare that often said she knew more than she spoke of, but Maliha had never guessed that Darsan had such a gift.

Visions.

The Melikit tribe had been full of stories of those holy ancestors who had been blessed with such holy gifts. Ancestors who had seen the downfall of their people and had saved them many a time from extinction. The Feri tribe Maliha had visited the longest with, had lost their last seer a century past and had not been blessed with a new one.

Seers were blessed amongst every tribe Maliha had visited upon but seeing Darsan like this made Maliha understand that there was more to the revered gift, than just sight.

“Unlike my sight, Darsan’s is one that sees true.”

A deep sigh tumbled form Makula’s chest as she looked to Darsan’s resting form.

“I can see possibilities. The infinite possibilities that change as quickly as they come. Will you stay, will you leave?”

Makula’s vibrant eyes glared into Maliha’s soul with her unnerving ability to see more.

“I see in possibilities, but what Darsan often sees is definitive. She sees futures that are fixed. Often times these fixed futures are revealed to her as the choice is being made.”

“I don’t understand,” huffed Maliha, her brows knitting in confusion.

“How can I put this?”

Makula’s finger tapped along her chin as she pondered the best way to explain Darsan’s plight.

“Our lives are like a tree, many branches, many different paths and one choice can alter our whole destination opening up a different pathway.”

Makula paused to make sure both Maliha and Ray’et were still following her before continuing.

“However, there is a moment in time that solidifies a pathway, that makes your destiny resolute. Darsan not only has visions of this moment but often times her choices, her presence, can affect those choices.”

“I am confused,” groused Ray’et, his skin wrinkling with the lines of his confusion

“Bankuff,” empty head, cursed Makula, tutting her teeth in trepidation.

“Darsan not only sees your future, her seeing the vision, being in that moment, moulds the future to what it is. To what it is supposed to be.

The goddess Savuriya uses her to ensure that certain things happen.”

“She is a vessel to Savuriya,’ muttered Maliha, finally realising that Darsan’s gift was a way for the goddess to keep her people on their designated pathway.

To ensure that they never strayed too far away from her guidance and light.

“Yes, and every time a pathway is solidified, Darsan is wracked with debilitating seizures.”

“What did she see?”

Ray’et’s face was one of pure interest, the harsh lines of his confusion, softening out into fine lines of understanding and sympathy.

“To reveal would be to err the chosen path, which is why Darsan never remembers.”

A deep well of emotion tumbled over Maliha, her eyes dampening at Darsan’s plight. Yes, she was blessed by the goddess, chosen to be a rune of balance among the people but how could Darsan ever love her own life if she was always in fear because that was what she was.

Darsan’s mourning looks at the riverbank a few days passed, all of a sudden made sense. Darsan hadn’t been upset because the tribe hadn’t welcomed her, she had been sad because she would never experience their freedom. Though Darsan did not say those words, Maliha was sure of it.

She was finally seeing their behaviour in a different light.

Her deep green eyes full of sorrow coasted back over Darsan’s face only to notice the pale orbs that stared back at her with a more profound feeling. Water shimmered along Darsan’s pale eyes as she stared deeply at Maliha before she turned on her side. Wispy, blonde lashes shuttering over Darsan’s stricken expression.

“I am just going to check on Darsan,” croaked Maliha, her hands shaking with the emotion that strummed through her.

“Daz.”

Makula nodded to the weather outside.

“The rain will be stopping soon.”

Maliha shuffled to her feet and slowly made her way over to the far corner where Darsan lay struggling to hold back her tears but Maliha could see her shaking frame.

“Darsan.” Maliha gentled, her fingers smoothing over Darsan’s unruly curls.

“I don’t want you to look at me the way they do.” Darsan whispered, snivelling away the tears that trailed down her ruddy cheeks.

Darsan didn’t need to expound upon her point because Maliha understood exactly who ‘they’ were. They were the tribe who looked at Darsan not with fear of what she would do to them, not out of fear of what she could see, but out of fear for what the gift of sight would do to her.

The seizures that accompanied Darsan’s visions were only possible if she was in that moment with a person. Which is why the tribe shied away from her. If they did not interact with her then Darsan could not have those visions and as a result, no seizures.

There seemed to be a method to their callousness, something that Maliha had never anticipated.

“Darsan-” she sighed, reaching out to stroke away the girl’s tears.

With red rimmed eyes and a tear-stricken face, Maliha was confronted with how young Darsan was. She had an air about her that made her seem much older than her years but Darsan was just sixteen. She was only a few years Maliha’s junior, but those years made such a difference. Darsan was still a girl but what a heavy burden she carried.

“I know it is hard but-”

“I know I am different.” Darsan interrupted.

“That I am a danger to myself but if the goddess has given me this gift, how can it be wrong?”

“It’s not wrong.”

Maliha soothed even though she doubted that these seizures were truly a part of their goddess plan.

What purpose could these seizures serve but to hurt Darsan?

—————

The final meal that night was a sombre affair. The sky was dark and the earth damp from the torrents of rain that had washed the land bare, but that was not the cause for the disheartened spirit among the tribe.

They all knew.

Somehow, the whole tribe had become aware of Darsan’s seizures.

The solemn attitude proved to Maliha, that all that she had begun to believe was correct. They cared for Darsan and though their methods were not always the best, they cared for her in the only way they knew how. The Der Surjaz gave a hard type of love.

They did not seem to be the type for sweet serenades and gentle murmurs. They were blunt, brutally so, but Maliha was beginning to see that their rough the exterior was just that, a front. A protective barrier for the love that they gave.

A deep sigh tumbled form her throat as she took in the downtrodden faces of those amongst her fire. Even Enzo was not himself. No one was eating their food in their usual vigour, even Maliha. She had barely touched her food, content to merely fork the pieces about on her plate instead of eating what she knew would be some of the most tender and juiciest pieces of meat.

Releasing another bone-weary sigh, she placed her plate to the side and reached for Enzo.

He came willingly. Discarding his food with all possible haste and clinging to Maliha. She tucked his small body onto her lap and placed her head on top of his. Her legs swinging as she rocked them from side to side.

The tribe felt bereft, their sounds so hushed it were as if they were in mourning but even in mourning, Maliha knew they would be more vocal than this. The silence was unnerving.

As she sat their humming to herself and Enzo, she became aware of his desire to speak up.

“Why does Darsan fall?”

His big grey eyes stared up at her with the confusion of a child who did not understand the world, and for the first time Maliha felt the same. She was like a lost child who had been given answers that did not make sense.

She did not know how to answer him and so she looked to the other members of her fire for guidance.

“Darsan has visions. She was gifted by the goddess to see the future but sometimes that can take a large toll on her body.”

Maliha was surprised to hear Ray’et speak up. He had been silent since they had left Makula’s tent, no doubt, Darsan’s seizures having the same effect on him as they had on Maliha.

“If It is a gift, why does it hurt her?”

The childish innocence of his question was mimicked in Maliha’s mind and along the faces of everyone present. It was a valid question, one that not even Makula’s words could make true sense of but still Kamir tried.

“Maybe we are straying from the goddesses’ plan and every vision Darsan has is pulling us back to the chosen path.”

“How so?” Ray’et’s dark orbs sparked with interest as he pondered Kamir’s sentences.

“We have never had a healer like Darsan. None have ever seen things the way she does. She could be a sign that we are closer to breaking the curse that would see us dead.”

“But why must she have seizures?” Whispered Xiuri, her lips puckered with sadness for Darsan.

“For balance.” Murmured Maliha.

It was the only other explanation that made sense. It was the same conclusion that Makula had given them earlier on.

“So Darsan is to take the toll for everyone’s mistakes? She is the sacrifice.”

Ray’et’s growl was full of a hostility that Maliha had never witnessed from him in the short time they had known each other.

Kamir shook his head in disagreement. “Not as such.”

His finger tapped on his chin, forehead wrinkling as he continued speaking.

“I will give an example.”

“On the day we found you,” he looked to Maliha. “We were supposed to head into the desert and see how Ujarak was fairing but we had decided against it as there were signs of a sand storm and we couldn’t risk being isolated out there.”

“Not when such a large member of our warriors was already missing for the training,” added Ray’et.

His eyes lit up with understanding of what the events of that particular day meant in connection with Darsan.

“Darsan had a seizure,” husked Xiuri, her head nodding at the memory.

“Yes, it was a severe seizure.” Agreed Ray’et.

“It was so severe, she smashed her head against a rock, and what did Makula make us do?”

Maliha looked at the two males who seemed privy to a conversation that no one else understood, no one else but those two and perhaps Xiuri. Her eyes glittered with an understanding sheen that had been absent from her eyes a few moments ago.

“Makula spoke with Abazz and they demanded we head to the desert to find the nectar of a pricai. The inside of it is known to have healing benefits amongst our tribe.”

“If that seizure had not happened you would not have found me,” muttered Maliha, her eyes wide as she finished the story before they needed to.

She remembered that day clearly, remembered how they had come across her with a sand storm at their feet and she had assumed it was their powers.

“Yes, and Namali and Kanu may not have been born,” said Xiuri.

“The tribe would have never met you, you, who many believe are our Sujurrah or at least a key to finding her.”

“I would have been alone,” whispered Enzo, his big expressive eyes glancing up at Maliha.

The goddess worked in mysterious ways but one thing Maliha was beginning to see was that nothing was a coincidence. The Der Surjaz had found her in the dead of night, they had appeared like most and had been resolute in their conviction that she returned with them. As much as she had resented this tribe for forcing her to stay, she now understood that by staying she had gained more than she had in quite some years. She had true friends and a family.

Savuriya had guided Maliha here, it was part of the goddesses’ pathway but thoughts of this plagued Maliha.

If Darsan’s visions and seizures were a way to guide the tribe onto the correct path when they went astray, that meant that Maliha and Ray’et had somehow strayed from Savuriya’s design?

And what did that mean for them now?