[piosenniel]

A spark . . .

Jamílah rose from her mat and closed the tent flap, throwing the interior into a half-light from the small opening at the top where the smoke of the cooking fire could drift out. There was no fire lit now, and motioned Briellah to sit close to her.

‘For several months now, there have been growing signs of unrest in the north. Our tribe does not travel that far north to trade, but often we meet with others who bring back herbs and other goods that we desire. Trade has grown scarce over these months with the north, or so they have told me. Fewer groups come south down the Harad Road from the cities of the pale skinned men, and fewer come in by way of the Great Sea, from Umbar.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘And I have been told many times now that there are none that come south over the Mountains of Shadow. That is a dark, uneasy land now, and the shadows surrounding it grow thicker and obscure the sight.’

She fumbled at her waistband, untying the small leather pouch that hung there. ‘Over the last month, as I throw the bones each morning, there has been a darkness that hovers over them.’ She poured the small polished pieces of old, yellowed bone into her cupped hand, blew gently on them once, her lips moving in silence, then dropped them on the ground in front of her. They skittered on the rug, and she leaned over them, looking closely at the pattern.

‘The first throw is for ‘who’ or ‘what’ weaves the pattern for the day. Look here,’ she pointed out, her first finger ringing the larger cluster of bones. ‘This is a pattern which has been growing larger this last month. It is the pattern for ‘seeing’, like an eye, and these three bones near it indicate a burning fire.’

She picked up the bones and threw them once more. ‘And this throw is for ‘where’. See how they concentrate here and trail here? Something comes from the north and east toward us. I get no good feelings from it, only unrest and darkness. It pulls at us, and some have the strength to resist it, and some do not.’

Briellah’s face held worry and concern as she looked up at her friend. ‘There is no hope you see? How can we fight something we cannot see clearly?’ She shook her head. ‘We cannot fix this by killing off our own young. Is there a way to escape from this?’

Jamílah picked up the bones a last time. ‘I thought as I watched this pattern grow that we approached our end of days.’ She looked thoughtfully at Briellah. ‘We have a story of that time to come, but I thought it would not come in my lifetime.’ She scattered the bones again. ‘And perhaps it won’t. The third throw is for the 'outcome'. Look here.’ Her finger traced a ring around a tightly clustered grouping. ‘This is small now, but a little larger than it has been.’

‘What is it?’ asked Briellah quietly, trying to make some sense of the pointy looking pattern.

Her friend held up her left hand, pointing with her right to the tattoo there between her thumb and first finger. ‘It is a star, five-pointed, like this one. Shining out of the darkness.’

There was sound of footsteps approaching outside the door to the tent, and a discreet cough. ‘Jamílah! Faruq requests that you come now. We should leave soon and return to our camp. The warriors will return later in the evening to escort the rest of the trading party.’

‘A moment,’ she called back, ‘and I will be there.’ She gathered up the bones and secured the pouch once again at her waist. Briellah had given her a number of packets of herbs and she stored them in her carry basket. ‘May your daughter have many fine babies, Briellah. Give her my best wishes when you give her the cradle.’

Briellah rose to tie back the tent flap once again. The warm bright sun streamed in, dispelling the pall of fear and gloom their previous discussion had brought on. Jamílah paused, looking over the packets she had traded to her friend. A frown creased her brow. ‘Ah, I knew I had forgotten something. Here,’ she handed Briellah a small pottery bottle sealed tightly with a cork. It had been carefully wrapped in layers of cloth and lay at the bottom of her carry basket. ‘From the far south, where the sandy plains meet the area of dense trees. One of the tribes there gets this from a tree toad.’

‘Careful now,’ she cautioned as the other woman removed the cork and sniffed the acrid, heavy scent. ‘Do not let it touch your skin. Mix it carefully with the sticky resin from the tree I brought you. Then dip your arrows and blades lightly in it. It is a poison they use to paralyze and kill their foe.’

Briellah replaced the cork on the bottle and wrapped it securely, placing it safely out of the way. She rose and saw her guest to her traveling companions. She watched them as they headed west, and in the distance she could see Jamílah turn a last time and wave to her . . .

[ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]