The Secret Path
[01]

Part Three

Two weeks had come and gone.  A cooler breeze was now flying down the hill and rustling through the tall grass that surrounded the villa.  It tugged restlessly at Eto’s blouse as she rested upon the portico with her arms wrapped around her knees.  From where she sat, she was able to look out over the fields where the hired hands maintained the vineyard and spices, but today the fields were empty.  They had been so for several days, now.  Her mother would trade what harvest was left, and look for maiden spinsters to aid her in the work that would come with the fall.   

Eto glowered at a tiny flower sticking up out of a crack in the step as the breeze plucked away its petals and cast them to the ground.  She watched as they were dragged along the earth and smothered in the dust.

All felt empty and still; even the house had fallen into somber quiet in the absence of her father and brother.  Eto could feel it as a stillness that not only penetrated her heart, but rested ominously over all of the neighboring estates.  All of the men had gone.     

Her brother, she was happy for, although she missed her playmate.  Just as Zabsi had predicted, he had found favor with the Elder Master.  She would not see him for the many years he was to train in the academy, and although this saddened her, she understood its importance in bringing honor to their family.

But sadder still were her thoughts as they turned to her father.

He had left not long after Puma’s acceptance into the academy, donning the crimson armor Eto had seen the night before.  She had been confused at first—angry, even.  She did not know where to place her blame, whether it be upon the Holy Prophets who had called him back to duty, or these . . . humans who stood in defilement of their holy Covenant.  She found that she struggled with the reasoning of it.   

Word of the “detestable vermin” had come like a thief in the night, stealing away their warriors to this new and most urgent of sacrosanct callings.  She had listened to their sermon with contempt, but she had soaked up the Prophets’ explanation nonetheless.  She felt naught else but melancholy at these thoughts now, as she was sitting upon the steps of the porch.  She let out a long, heavy sigh before resting her chin upon her knees.  In truth, she didn’t know what to think.  She wasn’t even sure if she knew what a human was, exactly.    

There came a soft step behind her, and the swish of long skirts.  It was her mother, without a doubt, but Eto ignored her presence and continued to stare sullenly out over the fields.

Ahmesa stood framed in the doorway of the hall as she regarded Eto with some measure of concern.  This skulking had gone on for days, and was such a striking departure from her usually bright demeanor.  It was wearing on her.

“Eto,” she said gently, “I tire of such despondent behavior.  Should not today be a joyous day for you?”

Eto grunted, inclining her head towards her mother ever so slightly.  The Bangala.  She had almost forgotten.

“It’s today,” Eto mumbled impassively.

Ahmesa scowled at her daughter’s reaction.

“Eto, we haven’t much time.  Come into the house and gather your things.  We must bathe at the springs today,” she said and was already heading back down the hall. 

She glanced quickly over her shoulder at Eto, who had risen slowly and was now following in her wake.

“Hurry!” Ahmesa called.

 

***

 

The springs resided in a rocky grotto a short distance away from where most of the Ilah homes rested in the low hills.  It was one of several community baths in the area, this one being the favored place for mothers to bring their children.  The water was shallow and fell in from the rocky ceiling in a number of beautiful waterfalls.  Sunlight filtered in through several holes that dappled the ceiling of the grotto.

It was a traditional custom for women to bring their hopeful daughters to the spring for special preparations before their induction to a Bangala House. 

Eto had noticed several other girls her age getting a similar treatment as her mother bathed her twice over and rubbed scented oils into her dusky skin.  They glanced furtively at each other while their mothers gossiped and discussed the heated topics surrounding the emergent war. It sounded as though every household had been impacted by these recent events, with many a departed husband and son.  Eto listened in silence as a heavy feeling hung in the air.     

When the bathing part of it was done, Eto was led by her shoulders to a special alcove of the grotto, where a number of other girls were already being clothed in their finest garments.

Eto squeaked as her mother wrapped a beautifully embroidered sash snuggly around her waist.

“Does it need to be so tight, Amma?” she gasped in between breaths.

“Of course it does,” she said.  “A loose kebo is no good.  It looks sloppy, and it will fall down while you work.”

“Work?” Eto asked curiously.  “What kind of work?”

“Never you mind,” Ahmesa replied as she fastened the sash.  “Hold still.”

She stood back from Eto and turned her around slowly, making sure that her kebo sash draped elegantly in the back.  She spun her around once more, admiring her handiwork and beaming at how her daughter’s skin glowed.

“Oh, Eto, you look like a bride already!” she exclaimed with pride. 

A few of the mothers nearby smiled knowingly.

“A what?” Eto asked.

“Of course, that is many years away from now.  Come,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand, “it is time to go up to the Craftmother’s Bangala.”

“What happens then?” Eto asked as she followed her mother out of the grotto.

“You will be tested,” Ahmesa replied simply.

 

          
* * *

 

 

The Bangala was a simple establishment, handsome and ancient in its design; and situated in a relatively isolated area of the hills above Ilah.

Eto took in the lush setting with a wide, curious gaze.  She stood patiently with a handful of other girls her age, forming a neat row before the doors of the main house.  Her mother, like the others who had accompanied their daughters, stood a few paces behind her, her own kebo wrapped with neat perfection, and her chin held high.  They had been waiting for some time now, and a few of the girls had begun to fidget impatiently.

Could this be part of the test?

Eto was careful to stand still while she let her eyes roam.  There was a low, open building with slatted mat flooring to the right, set back into the forest slightly.  To her left was what appeared to be a small, private bathhouse, its thick stone pillars carved with figures in various poses of song and dance.

Eto decided to focus her attention upon the doors of the main house, so that she would be ready when the Craftmother appeared.  She resisted the urge to squirm as a bug landed on her skirt, and kept her gaze steady upon the heavy double doors—so much so that she was startled when they flung outwards and banged against the outer posts of their framing. 

She quickly regained her composure as a tall, thin woman stepped sharply from the deck of the house and approached the lineup of girls.  She regarded them with a sharp gaze before moving to the first of the girls at the end of the row.  There she stopped and looked briefly down the line of gathered hopefuls.

“I am L’amsi,” she said in a high, clear voice.  “You are to be evaluated before you may enter in to meet the Craftmother.”

And with that said, she turned to face the first hopeful.  Eto glanced anxiously to her right along the row, for she could not hear what was being said; she stood towards the end of the line of girls, though she dare not lean forward to get a better look at what was going on.  She wouldn’t risk shaming her mother with foolish behavior.  Eto did, however, let her gaze resume it’s wandering over the Bangala grounds.  Much of the area was covered in dappled shade from ancient-looking trees that nested between the main house and the other buildings.  There was a small grassy field where the sun came in some ways back from where they were standing, and a series of curious trails that wound up into the hilly forest from there.  She was eager to explore them, but contented herself with absorbing the ambient sounds that surrounded her.   She was startled somewhat at the sudden sound of sniffling from the girl to her right.  Eto peered incredulously at the source of the distasteful sound.

The girl was crying.  Eto frowned at such shameful behavior and hissed softly under her breath.

Eto had opened her maw to quietly reprove her peer, but stiffened when L’amsi seemingly descended from out of nowhere and stood before the girl, fixing her with a baleful gaze.  The poor child broke into full tears under this scrutinization, to the embarrassment of her mother who stood nearby.  L’amsi whipped her head up to meet her with a cold, piercing gaze.

“Next year, Rjasa,” she said sternly and then simply turned away.

Rjasa lowered her head in shame and quietly led her daughter away from the group where they would watch the others in silence.

Eto quivered inwardly when L’amsi came to stand before her, but she met her gaze and held it steadily.  She smiled weakly, but L’amsi was seemingly unphased.  She said not a word as she slowly circled around Eto and studied her with a critical eye.  She paused mid-stride and looked up at Eto’s mother.

“You have a sturdy daughter, Ahmesa, but she is curiously sun-kissed,” she commented, referring to Eto’s numerous freckles and the bronze tint to her skin.

“She has a love of the wind and the sun,” Ahmesa replied, bowing her head respectfully.

This apparently satisfied L’amsi, and she came back around to face Eto once more.  Eto gazed up in anxious uncertainty to find that L’amsi’s features had softened, and that the barest traces of a smile were playing at her four mandibles. 

“Are you afraid?” L’amsi spoke softly so that only Eto would hear.

Eto glared fiercely into her questioner’s eyes and shook her head defiantly.  L’amsi favored her with a full smile and graciously inclined her head. 
“Welcome to the Bangala, young daughter,” she said.

And as quickly as the test had begun, it was over.  L’amsi moved on to the last girl, who was trembling slightly.

Eto blinked for a confused moment.  Could it be as simple as that?  Perhaps the true tests lay within.

She chanced a glance backwards, and received a warm smile of affirmation from her mother.  She turned back around to face forward, and a grin slowly spread across her face.  Her mother had said she would learn many things from the Craftmother, things that would transform her into a beautiful and pleasing young woman.  Could her teachings be as mysterious and exciting as were the things that her father had shown her?  Her heart leapt at the thought.

Her musing was broken by the sharp tap of L’amsi’s hooves.  Having finished her inspection, she had climbed the stairs before them, and now stood upon the deck of the main house.

“New daughters who are welcomed into the house,” she said, casting an appraising glance over the anxiously waiting girls, “The Craftmother waits to greet you, but has graciously granted you a moment in parting.  I will call upon you shortly.”

She stepped quietly into the house, leaving the doors open behind her.

Eto’s heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach for a brief, sickening moment.  Parting?  She had not given any thought to what would happen afterwards, and neither had she realized that she would be leaving her home that very day, were she to be accepted.  Was this how her brother, Puma must have felt joining into the academy?

She turned to her mother in shock, but was caught up in a warm embrace as Ahmesa came forward and  wrapped her arms around her.

“Amma—” Eto began in a troubled voice.

“Beloved, understand that this is a part of the test,” she said as she kneeled down to Eto’s height.  “I won’t see you for a little while, but there will be visits from time to time.”

She beamed proudly at her young daughter. 

“This is going to be your new home, Eto.  The Craftmother will look after you and train you in the ancient and noble ways of our people.  There is much for you to learn; more than I could ever teach you myself, though I would gladly do so were I able.”  She softly caressed her daughter’s rounded face.  “For now, I need to look after our home while your father is gone.  Don’t let your mind be troubled, love,” she added at Eto’s concerned expression.  “You will bring honor to our family with each day spent here.”

Eto’s features had lightened at her mother’s words, and she was feeling a little more confident.

“When will I see you again?” Eto asked with quiet resolve.

“Soon, Eto,” Ahmesa said and drew her close.  She smoothed her hand across Eto’s small back in a comforting gesture as she held her in quiet thoughtfulness.  “Are you worried for your father?” she whispered instinctively after a moment’s pause.  Eto nodded slowly with her face pressed into her mother’s neck. 

Ahmesa gently drew away from Eto and looked her firmly in the eyes.   “Don’t let it burden your heart, Eto.  Remember that your father is a devout and powerful warrior, whose very soul is infused with the strength of our Lords.  All you need do is to pray that the Gods will deliver him safely to us once more.  Wish the same for your brother,” she said, smiling warmly at the sure expression on her daughter’s face.

Eto nodded in understanding and jumped as a smooth voice quite unlike L’amsi’s came from within the open doors of the Bangala.

“Enter in, favored daughters,” came the deep, feminine voice.

Eto threw her arms around her mother’s neck in final parting, giving her a swift peck on the cheek before turning away and trotting up to the house with the other girls.

“All my love, Eto—don’t run!” Ahmesa called after her. 

She stood slowly and watched as Eto looked back with an enthusiastic grin for the briefest of moments and then disappeared into the main house with the last of the eager young girls.  Not a sound could be heard but the gentle rustling of the leaves and the calls of exotic songbirds overhead as the doors of the Bangala were gently closed behind them.  Her eyes lingered on the ornately carven doors for a fondly reminiscent moment, and the smallest of forlorn sighs escaped her throat despite the smile which still graced her fine features.

For a time now, she would be truly alone.