Amáne of Teravinea - The Chosen One (The Teravinea Series Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: D. Maria Trimble
actually felt better than I had for days — it may have even been weeks since I came home to find my mother in her bed.
I delivered the herbs to the thankful mother, and felt good about it. I knew it was something my mother would have encouraged me to do. She would never hesitate to help a needy family, no matter the sacrifice to her.
As I stepped back on the path to head home, I heard a dog’s mournful howl in the distance. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach twisted in a knot. I ran faster than I had ever run before. The tears started again, stinging against my cheeks as the wind hit the salty wetness that flowed from my eyes.
I bounded up the path and rushed into our cottage. The old Healer’s eyes told me all. It was over. My mother was now at rest. A pressure that started at the bottom of my lungs released itself in a wail drawn from the very depths of my heart. At that moment, even a Valaira could not have muffled the sound that came from me.
I ran to her bedside and threw my arms around her now cold body. “Mother. Mother. No. Don’t leave me.” Although I thought I was ready to accept this moment, no amount of preparation could possibly lessen the devastation of this ultimate separation. My body shook with uncontrollable weeping. I cried until I was spent. My sobs continued, even though there were no more tears left in me. My mother was gone. I had never experienced anything so shattering.
The Healer lit her herbs and candles around the room, softly sang her dying songs and waited patiently until I was silent. Mother was her good friend — this death was obviously difficult for the Healer as well. She took me by my shoulders, gently guidedme away, and lovingly pulled the burial cloth over my mother’s now peaceful face. My grief renewed, she held me as my shoulders heaved while I sobbed dry tears. Staying with me for quite a while, she watched and waited until I at last calmed down.
She had come prepared with her donkey and cart to take my mother away. It is our custom for the Healer to take the deceased, to prepare the body for crossing, and then to cremate it. Once a year, when the desert flowers bloom, we have a gathering in the fields outside the south wall to celebrate the lives of those who had passed that year. The deceased’s family is then given the urn that contains their loved one. It’s a beautiful celebration, but much easier if it was not your own mother’s ashes being handed to you. I was not looking forward to the next Life Celebration Gathering.
Another solemn practice we have in Teravinea is called a memorial journey. It’s a pilgrimage in honor and thanksgiving for our loved ones. The family must decide on a location significant to the deceased, and travel there to sing our memorial songs. It could be far or close, of short duration, or long. As it was only Catriona and myself and no other family, I would make my memorial journey alone. I wasn’t in the least opposed to going by myself.
I assisted as the Healer dressed my mother in her favorite gown. The one I will always remember her in — the blue one. She was fond of saying it was her favorite, because it matched my eyes. We gently lifted her into a box that waited on the cart. The colorful cloth lining will forever echo in my memory. The Healer slowly let the lid down, as I caught my last glimpse of my best friend, my mother.
Trudging back inside, the Healer followed me. She put a hand on my shoulder and turned me to face her, “Won’t you ridewith me back to my home and begin your stay with me? It would be better that you don’t stay alone tonight. Also, if you need me, I would be honored to accompany you in your memorial journey, when you decide to go. I’ve always considered you and your mother as family.”
“No thank you, Healer, I’ll be fine by myself here ... and when I make my journey. I’ll come and stay with you afterwards.” I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my misery.
She hesitated and
I delivered the herbs to the thankful mother, and felt good about it. I knew it was something my mother would have encouraged me to do. She would never hesitate to help a needy family, no matter the sacrifice to her.
As I stepped back on the path to head home, I heard a dog’s mournful howl in the distance. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach twisted in a knot. I ran faster than I had ever run before. The tears started again, stinging against my cheeks as the wind hit the salty wetness that flowed from my eyes.
I bounded up the path and rushed into our cottage. The old Healer’s eyes told me all. It was over. My mother was now at rest. A pressure that started at the bottom of my lungs released itself in a wail drawn from the very depths of my heart. At that moment, even a Valaira could not have muffled the sound that came from me.
I ran to her bedside and threw my arms around her now cold body. “Mother. Mother. No. Don’t leave me.” Although I thought I was ready to accept this moment, no amount of preparation could possibly lessen the devastation of this ultimate separation. My body shook with uncontrollable weeping. I cried until I was spent. My sobs continued, even though there were no more tears left in me. My mother was gone. I had never experienced anything so shattering.
The Healer lit her herbs and candles around the room, softly sang her dying songs and waited patiently until I was silent. Mother was her good friend — this death was obviously difficult for the Healer as well. She took me by my shoulders, gently guidedme away, and lovingly pulled the burial cloth over my mother’s now peaceful face. My grief renewed, she held me as my shoulders heaved while I sobbed dry tears. Staying with me for quite a while, she watched and waited until I at last calmed down.
She had come prepared with her donkey and cart to take my mother away. It is our custom for the Healer to take the deceased, to prepare the body for crossing, and then to cremate it. Once a year, when the desert flowers bloom, we have a gathering in the fields outside the south wall to celebrate the lives of those who had passed that year. The deceased’s family is then given the urn that contains their loved one. It’s a beautiful celebration, but much easier if it was not your own mother’s ashes being handed to you. I was not looking forward to the next Life Celebration Gathering.
Another solemn practice we have in Teravinea is called a memorial journey. It’s a pilgrimage in honor and thanksgiving for our loved ones. The family must decide on a location significant to the deceased, and travel there to sing our memorial songs. It could be far or close, of short duration, or long. As it was only Catriona and myself and no other family, I would make my memorial journey alone. I wasn’t in the least opposed to going by myself.
I assisted as the Healer dressed my mother in her favorite gown. The one I will always remember her in — the blue one. She was fond of saying it was her favorite, because it matched my eyes. We gently lifted her into a box that waited on the cart. The colorful cloth lining will forever echo in my memory. The Healer slowly let the lid down, as I caught my last glimpse of my best friend, my mother.
Trudging back inside, the Healer followed me. She put a hand on my shoulder and turned me to face her, “Won’t you ridewith me back to my home and begin your stay with me? It would be better that you don’t stay alone tonight. Also, if you need me, I would be honored to accompany you in your memorial journey, when you decide to go. I’ve always considered you and your mother as family.”
“No thank you, Healer, I’ll be fine by myself here ... and when I make my journey. I’ll come and stay with you afterwards.” I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my misery.
She hesitated and
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