Page 175 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

I think of the elders of our tribe, of Darran’s.

Those males lost much when the sickness came.

Linashas, children, brothers, sisters. It is a blessing in its way that I was so young when the sickness came.

There is a hurt in losing my parents, in not having the chance to know them better, but I know I am saved from much of the hurt of my tribe’s losses.

I have no memory of many of the people the sickness took.

The elders bear all of that, and for a time they bore the responsibility of raising us younglings.

Dealing with the demands of those with only a few seasons, who did not know not to be difficult and boisterous and needy.

My Grandfather’s face stirs in my memory - stern and unfriendly.

There was no joy in his heartspace for a long time after the sickness passed.

Shemza used to be afraid of him, only playing with me when he was out on patrols.

I never feared him, but I never felt much affection from him, either.

I have often wondered if he looked at me, saw my strangeness and wished that I had been taken rather than his son, his linasha.

A recollection strikes me, strong enough that I can almost see the scene playing out in front of me. A slice of my grandfather sitting in his comfortable chair, viewed through a gap in my bedroom curtain. Standing over him, an elder whose name I do not recall, chastising him for his sour mood.

“You should not speak to the younglings so, Kieyam. Let them have their fun.”

“Must their fun be so noisy? So bothersome?”

“They are younglings. Making noise is what they do.”

“Endzoh is not so noisy.”

It has been many long seasons, but I still feel a fizz of pride that my grandfather had something good to say about me.

“Have you considered that he is quiet because he is afraid to be otherwise? That you have frightened him out of his joys?”

To my youngling self, this did not make any sense. I was quiet because that was my nature. But it was a blow to my grandfather. I saw the way his face fell, the hurt that came to the surface of him.

The elder was more gentle with his next words.

“Zohkie would not wish for his son to be unhappy, would he? He is not here to see little Endzoh’s joys, but he would want him to have them. We owe our joy to all those we have lost, do you not think?”

“What good is our joy to the dead?” my grandfather snapped.

“If we do not have our joy, then what sense is there in living without them?” The elder put a hand to my grandfather’s shoulder.

“We cannot join our loved ones until Lina is ready to take us. We cannot bring them back to the living world. We cannot join them in dreams. The only thing we can offer them is our joy, so that when we are returned to them once more, it will be with heartspaces full. Jarnay would not wish for you to live the rest of your seasons in misery, my brother. Do your linasha the honour of finding some joy.”

I bring myself back to the present and my Carrie’s fingers still wound through mine. I lift our twined hands to my heartspace again, press them there so that she might feel it beating for her. Then I draw them up to my lips and place a kiss on her knuckles.

I gesture to the pictures, try to find a way to speak with hands and chalk the message that has come to me from my memories.

Your mother would want you to have joy.

But hand shapes and chalk lines are not enough to make my meaning clear. My Carrie sighs and shakes her head before gesturing that we should return to the village. I look at the thin quality of the light. Know she is right. That it is past time we returned.

My Carrie is quiet as we walk home - more quiet than usual. Quiet in her expressions. She does not look at me, and she does not offer me any smiles. Lost in the spinning thoughts of her headspace, I think.

She has spilled tears and shared her hurts with me. Such things are difficult. The hurts will be fresh in her mind for a time, more painful than normal. I can understand that. And I can guard her heartspace. Make sure no other hurts try to invade.

Starting with Larzon. I look round for him as we cross into the village, expecting him to be returned from his patrols. I am sure he will keep away from my Carrie as he has been told, but while she is feeling vulnerable, I will not risk allowing him anywhere near her.

I do not see him immediately. Mostly because it seems all of the village is gathered in a cluster next to the fire, rather than around it. I wonder what they are doing when my eyes land on Jaskry at the centre point of the gathering. Jaskry holding a bundle in his arms.

I know when my Carrie notices from her soft intake of breath.

She likes Jassal and Ahnjas, often plays with them with Lorna.

I know she will want to see the newest addition to our tribe.

So I nudge her forward, putting my hand to the small of her back.

She takes a few steps, then Lorna spots her, rushing to her side and dragging her into the crowd.

I keep my place on the edge, watching as Lorna pulls my Carrie to Jaskry’s side.

I cannot see the youngling from where I am, but I see my Carrie’s expression as she looks down at the little one.

How bright her eyes go, how the tears in their corners are not sadness anymore, but from delight.

I hope it soothes her hurts, hope it eases her spirit, to be in the presence of something so wondrous as a newborn.

“It was a smooth birth,” Shemza says, coming up beside me. “Sally was very calm and patient with me when she should only have been concentrating on herself. A little girl. Marsal. Another female for our tribe.”

I look back over to where my Carrie is. Jaskry has handed her the youngling, and I see the little one’s arms waving about above the furs she is swaddled in.

My Carrie looks half terrified, half delighted to be clutching such a precious bundle to her breast. Something deep inside me throbs with a longing as strong as I have felt for my Carrie.

We will have this one day. I will help her to work through her hurts.

I will care for her until they trouble her heartspace no more.

We will be mated and we will have younglings of our own.

It is not something I have given much thought to before, but now my headspace fills with pictures of my Carrie and a daughter or son. All of us together. A family.

Strange how I have gone from feeling I am best on my own, to knowing that I could never be complete without her and the family we could have together.