Amáne of Teravinea - The Chosen One (The Teravinea Series Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

appeared to struggle with my decision, but then relented. I felt she left something unsaid, but with a look of intense sorrow, she left my home and climbed onto her cart. She clicked to her donkey and rode off slowly. I stood at my doorway and watched until the cart was no longer visible as my mother — my life, was taken away.
    At that moment I forced myself to face the fact I was truly alone. I turned, closed the door, and looked around our humble little home as I tried in vain to fight off the approaching depression. Maybe I should have gone with the Healer.
    My breath then caught in my throat. I could barely breathe. The stark realization hit me as suddenly as a Valaira — Mother hung on for so long because of me! It was my fault she wouldn’t let her spirit go. Her words echoed in my head, “... please, I do not want you present when I take my last breath.”
    A wave of guilt and desolation spiraled around me as darkness wrapped me in its embrace. I had not honored her dying wish. I never left her side after she said that. Not until the wise old Healer gave me the bag of herbs to take to the sick baby. The Healer, for whom I had shown such disrespect, knew my mother didn’t want me to witness her last breath. She sent me away, so Catriona could finally rest. This truth was more than I could bear. I crumpledto the floor, wrapped my arms around my legs and curled into a ball in the corner of the room, succumbing to despair. I lost track of time — I didn’t care if it was day or night. It was all the same to me as I headed down a tunnel of shadows and nightmares. My mother wandered in and out of my dreams as if she was attempting to lighten my heavy load. She drew near to me with a loving look but there was something else in her gaze — something unsaid. A look similar to that of the Healer. She softly called my name, told me she was at peace, and then faded away to be replaced by fire and wind, lizards and snakes writhing in my disturbed sleep.

Awaking before light the next morning, still curled up on the floor with a pain in the pit of my stomach, I recalled that my mother was gone. But something in me had shifted — a decision made. I would leave today for my memorial journey. This day — my 15th birthday, that had for quite some time been the anticipated pivotal point in my life. I would start my journey in thanksgiving for my mother. Not sure if I was coming back or not, I had made my choice.
    I rose from the floor stiff and hungry. It took an immense amount of effort for me to grasp at some substance of hope to blot out my feelings of utter desolation. My thoughts turned to my mother for strength. She would have expected more from me. She deserved better than a cowering, sniveling daughter.
    Straightening up, I took a deep jagged breath and said out loud, “I am Amáne, daughter of Catriona, and I will push myself to go forward and make my plans for my journey.”
    My mother’s words echoed in my ears, “Accept whatever befalls you, in great misfortune be patient; for in fire gold is refined.”
    Whenever she and I felt a need to break from our daily activities, we would pack up some provisions and make the long hike to our special cove on the bay. Nature and beauty and our little family all came together in that one location. This cove would be where I would make my memorial journey. My mother had taught me survival and that was how I would honor her memory and give thanks for her guidance and love she had shown all my life. I owed her that much.
    Comforted by the fact I now had a direction to follow, I lifted my chin and took another deep breath. I moved forward slowly, step by step and repeated, “I am Amáne, daughter of Catriona. I am Amáne, daughter of Catriona.” Finally, I was sure of myself and the course I’d chosen.
    Changing my clothes, I put on a simple gown — the less skirts, the better. I washed up and brushed my hair until it returned to its original state — long and straight.