Eden Emerged by Seth Benjamin (digital e reader txt) 📖

The old crones never worried about being gentle when they fussed over her appearance and they were always fussing. Lamais tugged at her hair hurriedly with a jagged comb, never satisfied until her hair fell like silk around her shoulders. Tishe had buried herself in the corner, measuring the last adjustments to her robe. Every now and then she would return to Meera’s side to roughly measure an arm before returning to her material. Zeika was busy applying dye to Meera’s face, hissing whenever Meera moved.

When Meera had been little, Zeika would shout at Meera not to move, but over time the shout had turned into a sharp hiss, framed by stern eyebrows and wispy grey hair. Meera tried her best to remain as still as possible, but Lamais’ and Tishe’s sharp tugs were making it difficult. Meera made due by sticking her tongue out at Zeika every time the woman moved to dip her brush in a new dye.

She felt a sharp jab in her side as Lamais jabbed the brush into her. “Keep your tongue in your mouth or I’ll cut it out, Seer or no.”

She was a seer she reminded herself, at least she would be. It was hard to keep her patience around the crones, but a true seer would show her patience.

“My apologies Suicha.” Meera said roughly, averting her eyes to hide her frustration.

Zeika scoffed as she drew a curling blue streak on Meera’s forehead, “No need to hide your hatred of me child. After tonight, you will call me what you really wish.”

Lamais tugged her head sideways, pulling wisps of silver hair from the brush, “Curse this moon hair child. It may be pretty but you shed. Soon there will be more hair on the floor than on your head.”

Meera doubted that. Her silver hair fell well past her shoulders contrasting sharply with her olive skin. Her hair was by far her most defining feature. Lamais could pull hair out all day and Meera’s hair would still come back in full force, straight and lustrous as ever. There was no reason to focus on her clothing, but the crones would hear nothing of it.

“No one looks at a bird with dull feathers,” Tishe was fond of saying. So each time she stepped out into public, they brushed her hair, and prepared her clothing and covered her face in beautiful dye. Luckily, her public appearances were rare. Sarro kept her away from the public eye as often as possible for her training.

Sarro sat across from the crones at the far end of the tent, the way he always did when the crones set themselves on Meera. He was old and bent slightly at the waist, with creased features and dull skin. His eyes were heavily lidded from old age and from across the room Meera couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or watching closely. There had been a time when the crones would have prepared him for the public eye as well, but those days had long passed since Meera had been chosen to succeed Sarro as a Seer.

A seer was responsible for bridging the gap between human and God. Ordinary humans were not strong enough to bear witness to the Gods. Only through a seer could the Gods converse with their creations. The seers communicated the Gods’ wishes through visions and relayed them to the people.

“Are you nervous Lama?”

A seer cannot show weakness. They must be vigilant and immovable. “No Lami, I am ready for the challenge ahead.”

“Your voice shakes.”

Meera was not surprised by his bluntness. The old man had never been shy about giving his opinion to Meera.

“I am worried that you are mistaken. All seers have been men. Perhaps you chose incorrectly.”

He nodded and sternly reminded her, as he had every time she brought up this concern. “I did not choose you Lama, The Gods choose the seer.”

She looked down at her feet and mumbled, “I am a girl.”

“The Gods saw fit to change their mind.” He spoke and his eyebrows lifted momentarily so that Meera could see a soft twinkle in his kind eyes. “I was told through dreams that you would arrive soon. I did not know your face but I was told that I would be able to feel when you entered this world. I knew I had found the next seer before I even stepped into the room and saw you.”

“I have had no visions.” She started.

“And no cause to have one.” Sarro smiled

The crones continued their work hurriedly while the two conversed. Meera studied him from across the room, fighting the shaking in her feet.

“What if I never have one?” She trembled. “I am expected to fail. They will exile me. You will have to begin again.”

“Meera,” Sarro sighed. Meera’s eyes widened. It was rare for Sarro to use her given name, instead of her apprentice title. Usually it meant that she was in trouble.

“Do not make the mistake of believing that you are the first Seer to feel scared and alone. I made no mistake. I stood, just as you did on my 10th passing and fretted about what I would say. Truthfully, I do not remember my vision, but I had one just the same.”

Meera felt frozen by his eyes. Tishe raised her arms and slid a length of cloth over her shoulders, while Zeika placed sandals on her feet.

Sarro continued, “I have prepared you in every way that I could. You have learned to speak, in the old tongue and the new. You have learned to read and write in the old and the new. You hold yourself properly in public, and act the correct ways. You listen properly and study all you can,” he paused and smiled lifting his eyelids again to show them smiling, “with a little push when necessary. I have taught you all I can, the Gods will give you a vision when the time is right.”

For a while, Meera stood while Lamais brushed out the final strokes of her hair and the butterflies rested in Meera’s stomach. She looked down at her dress. They had died it pale blue to match the paint on her face. It hung off of one shoulder, leaving the left side of her chest down to her waist exposed. Her waist was tied with an ivory sash and the bottom flowed until just past her knees. The sandals were ivory as well and were so thin that she might as well be standing in the dirt. Lamais had twisted thin strands of her hair into braids at either end, framing her face.

Sarro rose from the far end and glanced at her admiringly. He began to step toward her, stooped and cautious with each step. Meera stepped off her small pedestal to greet him in the middle, much to the dismay of Zeika, who wasn’t content with her final appearance. “It will have to do” Meera thought.

She met him with her arms outstretched, grasping him by the forearms. He brought his eyes up to meet her and grinned, although Meera noticed that he was wheezing from the strain of standing. He had taken to sitting so much lately. She felt the trembling, but she couldn’t be sure if it was her or him.

“Do I look the part Lami?” She asked, supporting him by the wrists.

He hardly looked at her, turning his head to the side where the steps led to the world outside. When he looked back to her and met her gaze, she saw a tear flowing at the corner of his eye.

She laughed and wiped it away with her finger. “A seer is vigilant and immovable Lami”

He smiled and nodded toward the steps. “I am no longer a Seer my Meera. People will not care how I look.”

She slid to his side and took his arm. They interlocked elbows and waited at the threshold below the steps. Lamais, Tishe, and Zeika collected their supplies and stepped out before them, leaving the pair alone in the shadows of the tent. There were no words between them, just the nervous trembling between the old man and his apprentice. Without a glance between them, they stepped forward into the moonlight.

The crowd had gathered in a crescent moon shape around the tent, giving Meera plenty of space as she ascended the steps with Sarro in tow. She kept her neck stiff, back straight, and expression stoic as Sarro had told her, looking as imperious as possible. The crowd gasped as they appeared and Meera could see why the crones had chosen to outfit her with blue garb. The drifting moonlight reflected well off the blue fabric and her silver hair. She floated like a wraith before them, illuminating her own path as she walked with Sarro at her side.

When they reached the center, between the steps and the crescent moon, they stopped and faced each other. Here Sarro bowed slowly and kissed her hands. When he painfully reset himself, she did the same, kissing his loving hands. He smiled at her one last time and stepped away, turning his back to her. She watched as he stepped away from her, toward the waiting crowd in the crescent moon shape. He took his seat, cross-legged in the front and waiting on her, just like the rest of them.

Suddenly she was alone. She held her arms at her side, fighting the urge to clench her fists nervously. Her feet were sweating, but she kept her back rigid and head forward. For a long time, they stared at her while the wind blew the leaves in the canopy above them. She willed herself to step forward.

Meera’s feet barely left the earth as she stepped carefully. With each step, she kicked up dust that writhed around her sandals like snakes. She kept her neck rigid, staring above their faces at the dimming tree line. Staring away from them was the only thing stopping her from sprinting back to her hovel, or maybe even farther into the wilderness. She wondered how far she would make it, if she sprinted into the forest and never came back.

She gasped as her toe struck the bowl sitting in the dirt, spilling liquid onto the ground and over her toes. She stiffened even tighter, if that were possible. She scanned the crowd but only received dead eyes in return, until her gaze met Sarro. His lips were taut, but the creases in his eyes were smiling warmly at her. She brought a hand to brush away a small grin and finally allowed her body to exhale.

She lowered herself towards the ground, tucking her legs beneath herself. She folded both hands and rested them lightly against her thighs. The liquid in the bowl shined a pale purple beneath the light of the moon flies. She reached forward for it gently. The water shivered in the bowl, as if moving away from her touch. Her hands tightened around the rim of the bowl. She brought it to her face slowly and held it inches from her face. The concoction had been prepared by the crones. Sarro told her that it would make it easier for the Gods to communicate with her.

“Will it hurt?” She had asked.

“A seer cannot show weakness, they must be vigilant…”

“…and immovable.” She had finished for Sarro.

She closed her eyes and tipped the bowl toward her lips. It was cool and thick. It ran like iced honey down her throat. Chills shot through every limb in her body and made every hair stand on end. She shivered as she lowered the bowl away from her face and set it hastily on the ground. For a moment, the night air hung thick around them, with only the moonflies moving. She sat, with hands folded and eyes wide, but nothing happened.

This is it, she