[a novel-in-the-works... maybe]
The verdant hills swelled on the horizon, set aglow in the mist, by the first rays of a dawning sun's life-gift. At their foot, the soft hand of a mid-summer breeze rippled wheat-gilded fields, and tidy rows of green were jostled by smallish things scurrying to safety after their morning meal. The master of the skies glided on, annoyed at having his favorite hunting ground denied him, for far below he could see ‘they’ were already gathering. In twos and threes they came, bags and implements slung over shoulders, their noisy gabble sending his prey back to dens and burrows where they’d be safe for one more day.
A doe and her twin fawns bounded away from the orchard’s depths, where they’d been feeding. They left not in fear (never having felt threatened by “them”), but in respect for those who had provided this bounty. There was enough for all, she knew. Of course, if too many of her kind showed up at one time, trampling tender shoots or otherwise repaying “their” generosity with greed, they’d be chased off with frightening noises and waved arms. But, never harmed. All life here was respected and nurtured by these gentle, odd-looking ones. The doe hurried her little ones along. Others weren’t as kind and forgiving. It was time to hide.
Zola knew it was her time. She’d felt it coming as she arose this morning, but put aside the notion, not wanting to miss the first harvest of her newest food plant. Of the many she’d developed and seen successfully grown and enjoyed by all, this was her finest, she was sure. The one she was most proud of, that would mean better health for every one of them, old and young alike. But, there it was again! The pain once more growing up from her lower back and into her belly where it writhed and twisted and threatened to make her cry out, despite her strong will. She dropped the still-empty bag she carried to the ground and sank down onto it, giving her will over to the will of ‘the mother’ who would not be put off by a stubborn daughter who was about to become a mother herself.
“Zola!”
“Oh, Zo!”
“Zo-Zo’s time has come!”
The cries rang out across the fields, each generating others, till the happy chattering sounded like a flock of birds discovering an over-laden cherry tree. Loving hands helped Zola gently to her feet. Strong arms supported her front-heavy form, half-carrying her into the shade of an ancient oak, where skirts and shawls were quickly spread to make a soft birthing bed for what was obviously soon to occur. Her water had broken already, and as the eldest among them parted the sturdy legs for a look, a small, dark-haired head crowned, impatient to emerge and not caring that a first child should take its time in coming.
‘Oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and knowing comments followed the news that Zola would not be availing herself of the comforts of the sanctuary for her ordeal. Her first child (and, at her age, likely to be her last) would come into the world sheltered by this mother of all trees, beneath a sun-warmed sky and surrounded by the fruits of its own mother’s labor. No birth could have been more fitting.
… … …
“Sera!” she called. “Ser-a-fi! Come here, child. It is time. It is not fitting to keep them waiting.” The old woman shaded squinting, crinkled eyes with both of her gnarled hands and searched the fields and orchards, her failing eyesight not quite up to the task. The child was nowhere to be seen. Not for the first time had she escaped her studies and run off to no one knew where, to do no one knew what. Such a rebellious child she was. And yet, the favorite of all.
In view of the awesome tasks ahead of her and the responsibilities that would one day rest on her shoulders, none could begrudge her a bit of freedom now and then in a childhood otherwise filled with serious learning and important duties any adult would gladly shirk. But, today was not as other days. Today, Serafi was to be tested. On this test would depend the future of their entire community. She must submit to the test. And… she must not fail it.
Well within hearing distance of her grand-mother-sister’s impatient calls, the six-year-old crouched beneath low-hanging branches of her own birthing tree. An impish smile lit her face and soft, light giggles escaped her up-curved lips like soap bubbles from a curry brush. Let them come and get me, she thought. If they are wise enough to teach me and test me, let us see if any of them can find me. The student would test her teachers. If they passed her test, perhaps she would submit to theirs.
Perhaps.
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