Neicha hadn't been lying when she told her siblings that she was not nervous so it came as a shock when she felt the first cold shiver of fear as she settled on the low backed chair facing the small wooden table with its steaming mug of tea on its little clay saucer. the Dekot, head healer of their tribe, had brought the tea only to leave her again, closing the door behind him with a whispered, "take your time."
This is was it, whatever happened next would dictate the remainder of her life. It had been centuries since the last vision was had by any of her tribe members, was it foolish to hope that she would be gifted such an experience? Was it prideful to think she might be deserving of a message from the Goddess Tezlos? If no vision came the Dekot would read her tea leaves to find her name and purpose as had been the tradition for all of the written history of their tribe.
Neicha forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths and raised the mug to her lips. The tea was bitter and stained the clay mugs interior a deep maroon. Neicha chocked it down, the thick syrupy texture making her gag just a bit. She carefully placed the small clay saucer plate atop the mug before flipping it over and setting it back upon the table. She did her best to ignore the cloying aftertaste of the tea.
The ceremony room, a small space at the back of the Dekot’s abode was not much bigger than her own bedroom with the same small window though no curtains softened the morning sunlight here. With the window open she could hear the faint chatter of morning activity as people began to gather for another day of celebration. Since the Dekot’s home was on the outskirts of the settlement all she was able to see were the amber grasslands yet she could picture the sleepy faces of her neighbors as they began their mornings.
Neicha could not help but fidget as she waited, tapping both toes of her left hoof against the warn woven rug. The morning sun was filling half the room with warm golden light and she tried to focus on the line of sunlight as it made its slow progression across the dark texture of the little table. Her chair was uncomfortable, seldom used as it was the wood grain had not smoothed completely and the thin linin dress she wore felt wholly inadequate as she waited for a message from her deity.
The chatter beyond the room faded, her ears filling with a stifling silence. She strained to hear anything, the chirp of birds, the whisper of a breeze, the buzz of an insect. She snaped her fingers and heard nothing... only silence. Was this it? Was Tezlos communicating through quiet? She felt a thrill of anticipation, what message could she garner from a lack of communication?
Neicha stared down at the table a spark of confusion swelling within. Where had the mug gone? The table loomed large in her vision, its dark wood tinting blue as the night sky. At its center a solitary bud sprouted, its bright pink petals glowing as they bloomed outward. She recognized the flower as a Lure Blossom, a unique vining plant that disrupted the natural behaviors of both insects and arachnids that came across it. The flower would entice the hapless trespassers into building webs and small debris piles to help the tiny vines in their eternal fight to climb higher towards the sun.
The blossom shone with a glowing radiance that made the air sparkle, a display entirely unlike the natural behavior of the true plant. It took Neicha a moment to realize the glints of light were reflecting off of droplet of rain. She ran a hand over had arm, feeling no dampness, the rain was part of the vision, each shimmering raindrop, upon closer inspection, shone a deep amber. Autumn rains were often tinted amber, it had not always been so, the autumn rains used to be crystal clear but in recent years the adults of her tribe had often complained that as the droughts grew worse the rain had darkened as it collected the dust from the western farmlands.
The blossom faded, its petals becoming transparent until it was gone completely, the soft patter of rain replaced the oppressive silence until it to faded. From the corner of her eye she caught a movement, she glanced to her left and saw a small pangolin, its little claw tip tapping on the floor as it approached her, its tiny pointed snout sniffing at her hoof.
Pangolins were not native to this area, originating further west; however, their ability to curl into the shape of a ball had lent their name to the most popular sport amongst nearly all central tribes. The pangolin at her hoof curled into itself, rolling into a little armored ball, its body warped, stretched, its scales softening into smooth red skin. As she watched the creature morphed into a wyrm, the eel-like creatures that dwelled in the hot springs north of their winter settlement grounds.
Wyrms were an invaluable animal for their tribe, the honey like secretions they produced were collected each winter and used as a resin to repair the cracks in their homes caused by the winters chill. The Wyrm squirmed on the ground, like a fish on dry land its gills worked to breathe in a place it should not be, its long tail thrashing against the floor. She wanted to reach down; to save it from its slow suffocation... yet it would be a pointless gesture, just like the blossom it was not really here.
The Wyrm finally faded away and with its absence came darkness so complete she felt as if she had gone blind. The darkness made the sudden overwhelming light of a morning sunrise blinding in its suddenness and she flinched, her eyes reflexively closing. Even with her eyes squeezed shut she still saw the star, its light too white to be the sun. Was her Goddess trying to blind her? Could the vision of a star blind her?
Before her panic could take root she felt an overwhelming sense of hope, so complete and encompassing it brought tears to her eyes. The vision of light faded but the hope remained. She opened her eyes to see the room returned to its natural state. The line of shadow on the table hardly altered even as the vision had felt like it lasted hours.
Nico rubbed tears from her face, the sense of hope dimming to a spark within her. She waited, wondering if she was meant to understand what she had just seen. She felt a tap at her shoulder, turning she expected to see the Dekot and was surprised when she was instead faced with a woman. She was too tall; her horns formed in a broad five-pointed splay of antlers that were both too large for the room yet also clearly visible.
The woman’s eyes were large pools of obsidian black, the pupils spiraling rings of stars. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, strikingly beautiful, lips full and bow shaped, darkened with a hint of charcoal gray. She was draped in a gown of emerald green moss and granite gray lichen; swollen ripe grapes were draped as a necklace along a verdant green vine. Her body was voluptuous, wide hips led into full thighs, her barred lower legs ending in dark two toed hooves.
Neicha bit her tongue, to keep from speaking the Goddesses name aloud, there was no need to name her, her identity was undeniable; this was Tezlos. The Goddess reached out one long umber arm, her delicate fingers uncurling to reveal a set of dice that showed too many sides. Her plush lips parted, a whisper louder than a scream filled Nico's mind. A single word, her name... the last of the sense of hope fell away, replaced by dread and the tears, unbidden, flowed once more. This name was not a gift, it was a curse, its etymology inescapable. She wanted to ask why, to beg for explanation, for a better name.
Before she could muster the courage to speak the woman had vanished, only the echoes of her voice, a crack of thunder softer than a breeze through leaves. Though the words were not translatable the meaning was clear. This name would be spoken only after her death. A name that would carry her legacy, her memory, a name she would never speak aloud to anyone in this lifetime.
Her goddess had spoken, and so she was to remain Neicha, the name of a child, better to be known as a child than for others to hear what her Goddess had deemed her. Neicha wrapped her arms around herself, clutching at the thin linen, hugging herself as she rocked herself forward and back, trying in vain to find some sense of self.
