Rise of the Degeneracy

Chapter 39 - Pyre

Camp of Oma, Leva soils. SE Britain

Aarva watches Ur’salla dragging firewood from the margins of the woods. This she heaves past the farmstead of a young widow, and down the hillside to a stack freshly raised on Torixe’s garden soils. No longer will that young man terrorise any woman. Torixe has succumbed to poison and is being prepared to join his ancestors in barbarian afterlife.

Mazde blames the spirits of the Dark Forest, and although the wives of Oma gossip, Amaia herself isn't under suspicion.

Sun dies, and Ur’salla is given her bread. Aarva props her hatchway shut. Prior, he releases more poison,

‘Mazde say we should burn you with Torixe, to pleasure him in afterlife. ‘Here no living man of Oma desires of you. Bad savage magic of Dark Forest say Mazde. He say burn but widow say no!’ He closes the hatch, extinguishing all light from the stinking den.

Paaxti’s clan carry the body of his son, placing Torixe onto the funerary pyre. Void of his widow and concubine, the barbarians say their goodbyes to a monster. With no son to ignite the bonfire, the duty falls to the father. Paaxti brings forth a torch, and lights the kindling. The flames rise to warm a cold body, as farmers form into circles to dance. They bang drums and sing songs praising a monster to glorious ancestors. They celebrate as Torixe transforms into the energy of the Sun. Tomorrow, once the ashes have cooled, Paaxti will be permitted to fetch a few charred bones of his son to take to a stone tomb south of the estuary. The remaining ashes will be scattered across the gardens. The monster will become this altered landscape of barbarians.

Mourners continue singing praises while flames rise higher, illuminating the hovel of Torixe. The smell of roasting flesh permeates the night sky and falls onto hides. The faithful conclude the service with prayers, then the tongues of gossips waggle,

‘Where is Torixe’s young wife? Why does she remain concealed within the nearby lodge?’ Neighbours start to whisper such terrible rumours about Amaia.

To stall this gossip, a small figure emerges at the doorway of the widow’s den. Firelight falls onto Amaia as she ritually dances towards her husband’s cremation. The other mourners stop their own dancing, and prayers. They stand still and stare at the latecomer. Because Amaia has transformed from both a pretty young girl, and a submissive wife. The onlookers part to allow Amaia to approach the burning pyre.

Her teenaged body has been painted over with bright, colourful dyes. A white spiral has been finger drawn across her belly. Circles across her still growing breasts and her buttocks. Zigzag lines of magic stretch along her limbs. Her hair has been waxed in badger fat, and is decorated with wild bird feathers. In her hands, she cradles the carved skull of an ancestral witch as her drinking cup. Amaia wears the preserved skin of a hedgehog over her pubic region. This is held by a thread of dark leather, suspending the dried skins of frogs around her waist.

The faces of her kin display horror. Some put hands to mouth to ward away Amaia’s magic. They see the lovely, fair Amaia, has transformed into a witch of the frog mother. She passes the horrified faces of her neighbours approaching the radiant heat of her husband’s fire. Amaia lifts the skull-cup to her lips, fills her mouth and then sprays it into the flames, before releasing her spell,

Paaxti loses self control and lurches towards Amaia. Mazde as Strawman intervenes to restrain him as Paaxti screams,

‘This witch curses my son in death, she damns his gardens and tomb’

But Mazde insists, ‘Elderman you mustn't hurt a priestess of Athiratu. You’d endanger us to the wrath of Athiratu’.

Nearby and unafraid, Amaia giggles. Her dark eyes stare through the circles of mourners to find Gorka staring back. They smile at one another. Torixe is dead and burnt, with his spirit cursed for eternity. He’ll not rise from the Underworld.

Sister of the Gardens

The hatch is unplugged the following morning. Ur’salla blinks in the sudden daylight, to see Amaia’s friendly face greeting her,

‘Good morning Sister. Come with Amaia, come follow me into my own house’.

Ur’salla feels reluctant, for although smiling, that face has transformed. Amaia’s eyes have grown darker, almost black. Paint, charcoal, and clay cracks across her nakedness. Ur’salla reflects,

I thought that Torixe had been poisoned with the Death cap. I hadn't thought that his young wife could be responsible. Amaia seemed so innocent, but now?

Nevertheless, with cramped muscles, Ur’salla crawls out of her prison and follows her changeling mistress into her lodge. A hearth smoulders in the centre of the floor. The roof of thatch above is steep. A bed of wicker is covered in sheepskins and furs. Clay pots clutter the interior. Amaia hasn’t had time to convert her marital quarters into a witch’s den. Amaia points to a space by the hearth for Ur’salla to crouch. When she does sit down, her hostess then plants a pot of warm gruel onto her lap. Ur’salla studies Amaia suspiciously, the widow croaks,

‘Sister, eat up. Fear not, this porridge doesn’t contain the herbs I gave to Torixe’. This confession made, neither can resist chuckling. Ur’salla wolfs down her filling meal. She had been so hungry. Amaia sits next to Ur’salla and enlightens. She speaks slowly so that Ur’salla can comprehend her Leva words,

‘Men of Oma frightened of both you and I. They think Dark Forest Magic killed my husband. They fear Ilua protects you’. Amaia points to the white encrusted circle on Ur’salla’s forehead, ‘Mazde wishes to burn you’,

‘Yes’ Ur’salla replies, ‘this Aarva has threatened’.

Amaia stokes at her fire, and continues, ‘Elders of Oma give you to Paaxti and then to my husband. I know he hurt you, as he hurt Gorka, and he hurt me’.

Ur’salla forwards a question,

‘What of yourself Amaia? Will the Elders of Oma give you to a new husband?’

‘As a widow I’ve chosen to be a priestess of the Frog Mother, and I’ve no need of a husband. Our laws protect the daughters of Athiratu. They value our gifts of healing, of propagating the calves, and fear our powers’. Amaia turns the conversation back to Ur’salla,

‘Soon Paaxti will return from the tombs beyond the estuary. He wishes harm to both of us. Even now, he has Aarva and Brazille watching. Should you run they'll catch you and I'll not be able to protect you’.

‘Amaia, I wish to return to my wilds’.

‘Ur’salla, this is the wrong moontime. Please promise to stay with me until it's safer’.

‘Why do you wish to help me? I am a wildborn, your husband’s breeding beast and toy’.

‘We're sisters. Both you and I share new life inside of our wombs’ The Frog-witch sees shock in Ur’salla’s face, ‘Torixe was a vessel for the spirits. Bull Father used him. He planted his seed in both of us’. Amaia places one hand on her own belly, then reaches to place the other on Ur’salla’s own midriff.

Then the witch prophesises, ‘Fear not my Sister. Our two daughters already have their own destinies. This is a fine thing. Torixe was no more than a cockwipe of the spirits’.